#wait does that mean we left the two alone at the compound for five years

[ivysos2001]

I still can’t believe marvel had Steve tell Natasha he could only really see himself with someone with ‘shared life experience’ (5 seconds after they literally kissed) and then had the two of them practically glued together for literal years (in this movie and in every other movie after it), only to not even seem to consider them as a potential couple/love story

[malum-forev]

Try Anything Once

BuckyBarnes x Reader

Bucky finds himself at the worse place, the doctor’s office. But maybe it isn’t as bad as he thought.

Word Count: 2.6k

There were many things that brought James Buchanan Barnes rage, but at the top of his list was his mechanical arm. It was bad enough that it was a constant reminder of who he was, who he was created to be, but now due to a technical failure, it was even more of an inconvenience.

“I already told you that it’s fine.” He muttered at Sam, trying to open and close his palm, with no avail.

“Yeah, and if I were blind, I would believe that. You need to get that thing fixed. Maybe it just needs some motor oil.” He said followed by a loud laugh, only making Bucky’s eyes roll. “I already reported it to the medical department, anyways.”

“What are doctors going to tell me about this thing, it’s not flesh. They don’t know anything about it.”

“Well, I mean, we do have the best doctors in the world. I think they know something about that contraption.” Sam replied, standing up from his position and traveling to the front of the airplane to see how long it would take them to get back to the compound.

Bucky closed his eyes, trying to calm the bubbling anger that was filling him up, almost to the point of explosion. It was supposed to be the best, why would it be giving him trouble. Subsiding his anger, he thought that maybe he would have to go to Wakanda to get it fixed. Maybe he would even have to stay there for some time, he could only dream of that. In the past 80 years, that was the only time he felt something close to peace. Forcing his eyes to open, he realized that the plane was descending. Looking out the window, he saw what he dreaded the most. A team of people in white bathrobes.

“Doctors.” Bucky huffed in annoyance.

As he made his way through the white corridors with fluorescent lighting, he could hear at least three pairs of feet shuffling behind him. He could almost sense they were too nervous to ask him any questions. He stopped at the end of the hallway and waited for three seconds before turning around to face them.

“Well? Are you going to open this stupid door, or do I have to break it to get this thing fixed?” He yelled, not feeling anything as he saw the three young doctors shake and vigorously nod their heads. The tallest one, she couldn’t be a day older than 25, quickly entered the access code and opened the door. Revealing a large waiting room with one assistant behind a desk. He heard the elevator music first, after that came a whiff of something. Some kind of flower Bucky couldn’t recognize.

“I have an appointment.” Was the only thing he said as the assistant moved his eyes away from the computer and saw the former Winter Soldier. He was different, he wasn’t scared of Bucky.

“Name and date of birth please.” He asked kindly as he faced back to the computer.

“This must be a joke.” Bucky said, as he watched the assistant’s motionless expression, he realized it wasn’t. “James Buchanan Barnes, March 10th, 1917.”

“Thank you, Dr. (y/l/n) will be with you shortly. Would you like anything to drink while you wait?” He smiled again, only enraging Bucky even more. He decided no answer was needed. After about two minutes, he saw the door swing open and a field agent came out first.

“Thank you so much Doc.” She smiled, Bucky had seen her before if he remembers well, she even introduced herself. But like always, he never remembered anyone’s name. She smiled as she passed him, and he just nodded back. After the agent, a woman in that dreaded white bathrobe came out. Average build, fragile looking, late twenties, it would take me less than two seconds to knock her off the ground. Bucky thought, immediately erasing the thought from his mind, something his therapist had taught him to do.

“Mr. Barnes, please come inside.” She said, her voice was extremely peaceful and calm. Everything about her seemed that way. It was as if one of those singing birds from Snow White had come out of the storybook and became a human. Bucky followed her into her office and sat down, looking at the pendulum sitting on top of her neatly organized desk. Swinging back and forth infinitely. “You’re here because your arm is giving you trouble?”

“The metal one.” Was the only thing he said, she just nodded and motioned him to sit on the exam table, “I’m not laying on that. I’m not five.”

“You’re obviously not five, you were born in 1917.” She quickly replied. “If anything, I should have you sitting on a wheelchair, or one of those reclining chairs they have elderly people in. I need you to lay down here to check your prosthetic. I also need you to remove your jacket, and anything that would obstruct me from performing my analysis.”

With a quick glare, he followed her instructions. He took his jacket off and without thinking twice, ripped the sleeve from his t-shirt.

Laughing a bit, the doctor started contorting his arm in different directions. “You superheroes really have a passion for all things dramatic. You could have taken off your shirt.”

“This was easier.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?” she said before pressing on a disk near the arm’s wrist. Gaining a hiss from the former assassin.

“Could you just stop.” He said in an annoyed tone. “I’m just here because your people were waiting for me once I got off the damn plane. Now stop messing with it before you break my arm.”

With one swoop motion, he was back on his feet. “This is made from an incredible rare material. Something that they probably didn’t even know existed at whatever school you got your degree from. Which one was it?” Bucky said, getting more and more angry as he saw the doctor didn’t even flinch at what he was saying. He started looking around the walls to see where she had that paper framed. The one every doctor likes to display, as if it was some sort of badge.

“I don’t have a medical degree. You can say this comes,” Dr. (y/l/n) took a pause. “Naturally to me.”

Bucky let out a small laugh. “I’m fine. And even if I wasn’t, I’m not going to have some random person who couldn’t even finish med school looking at my arm. It’s probably more expensive than everything you own.

Dr. (y/l/n)’s expression didn’t change, the small smile still on her mouth. “Pepper’s team warned me about you, Mr. Barnes. They said you were, difficult.”

“Difficult.” Bucky scoffed as he leaned on the medical table, he watched the doctor move back behind her desk. Typing something on her computer, the printer slowly coming to life, sending out a small piece of paper.

“Well, they actually said you were a huge pain. Difficult is just the word I choose to use.” She adjusted her glasses and read what was on the paper, taking out a pen and signing it.

“It really shows that after Steve left, this place started hiring just about anybody. Their whole system is going to fall apart if they keep uncredited people here.” Bucky spat out, aggravated at the mere thought that Sam would have sent you here with her.

“You’re not completely wrong with that statement. But I don’t think it was after Steve, it was before that. At one point they even recruited brain washed assassins.” The doctor replied with a grin on her face, only making Bucky’s blood boil even more. “Try this, it will help with regaining mobility.”

Bucky ripped the paper out of the doctor’s hand, crumpling it up and shoving it in his back pocket. Turning around to leave the office.

“Oh and Mr. Barnes, you have to come back to finish the assessment before you can go back into the field. Those are the orders stated by Mr. Wilson.” Again, that smug smile adorning her face. Does she always have something to say? Bucky thought as he stormed out of the medical building, heading straight to Sam’s room. He was going to hear what Bucky had to say about that know-nothing fake doctor.

Bucky heard Sam’s laugh before he actually saw him, as the automatic doors opened, he saw that the laughter was directed towards him.

“I’m guessing by your angrier than usual glare, you saw (y/n).” Sam said with a gigantic smile.

“Was that some sort of prank? You hired a fake doctor only for me to go and waste my time?” Bucky asked as he strode past him walking straight into the kitchen.

“What did you have planned for the rest of the day? Sitting on the corner of your bed at three pm, standing in a corner at four and do your hair at five? I know you do your hair, it’s impossible for it to always be perfectly imperfect.” Sam said shooting Bucky a questioning gaze, but he just rolled his eyes and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “And what are you talking about fake doctor? Please tell me you let her do her job, if not I can’t let you come on the mission tomorrow.”

“Of course I didn’t, tomorrow I’m going to see an actual doctor to get a stupid note that says I’m fine! Even though I’m telling you right now that I’M FINE.” He yelled as he smashed down the bottle, making it as flat as a piece of paper.

It was at this specific moment that F.R.I.D.A.Y. said: “Bucky Barnes, you have an appointment with your therapist tomorrow at 11:30 am. If you were to miss this appointment, you will be sanctioned and will not be able to assist on missions.”

This obviously sent Sam on a fit of laughter. “That message couldn’t have come at a better time. Anyways, you need to get your appointments aligned. I suggest you go to the Doc’s office tomorrow morning to see if she has anything available.”

“Just send me the actual doctor’s office and I’ll be there tomorrow morning.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Bucky, I don’t know who got it into your head but, (y/n) is an actual doctor. That why she’s Dr. (y/l/n) and not just (y/n).”

“She was the one who told me she’s not credited. She doesn’t even have a medical degree, let alone know anything about vibranium!” Bucky said throwing his hands up in the air.

“You don’t have a degree but that doesn’t mean you’re not capable of being an ass. And an annoying one too!” Sam said, getting frustrated with the conversation. “Look, Dr. (y/n) has been here for a long time, she knows what she’s doing. Maybe you don’t know anything about her because you were frozen for half of your life and the other half you spent being a cyborg assassin. Also, she was one of the first people to handle vibranium when it was found in Wakanda, so I think she knows something about that. She even spent some time in a hut over there, just like you! You have more things in common than you think. So, tomorrow you’re gonna get her some coffee, go to her office, apologize for being, well, you; and get that arm fixed. In the meantime, you can look up some things about her. You do remember how to google things right?”

“Of course I remember. Could you just help me get on the net?” Bucky said while holding out his phone, it was now Sam’s turn to roll his eyes.

--------

The next morning, Bucky reluctantly made his way back to the medical building. The two disposable coffee cups were almost knocked out of his hands when the doors swung open.

“Back already Mr. Barnes?” he heard Dr. (y/l/n) say, it surprised him that she would talk so casually with him, given that yesterday he was, difficult. “Should I put down extra thirsty as a side effect on your chart?” She asked pointing to both of the cups.

“Actually Doctor, one of them is for you. I didn’t know what you drank so one is a black coffee and the other one has a splash of milk and sugar. Sam told me you would accept coffee as an apology, some sort of olive branch.” Bucky said, shoving both of the cups near her for her to choose.

“You can take me to get coffee instead. Judging by the stale smell, this is day old coffee. Plus, I don’t think you have tried oat milk lattes.” She smiled as she guided him to the restaurant inside the compound.

“Oat milk wasn’t a thing in the 40’s.” Was all that Bucky replied. “I wanted to formally apologize. It’s something new to me, my therapist says I should externalize my feelings more. I did not know your past; you know with the whole regenerative thing.”

This was the first time he saw her not smile. She looked away for a moment and asked “Did you try what I told you. It’s a type of oil that seeps into the smallest indentations in vibranium, creating a protective layer. With that, and some rehabilitation exercises, you will feel as good as new.”

Bucky just shook his head, not wanting to talk about his less than normal extremity. He opened his mouth to ask her, but she interrupted. “I know what you’re going to ask me. I may not be able to read minds but this profession has taught me many things, one of them being how to read people’s expressions.”

“Can you still do it?” He pressed on, if what he had read was true, then she was probably one of the only people that could understand what he was feeling.

“Yes, of course I can. As a supersoldier I would think you understood. It’s not something that you can just turn off, it’s here forever.” She said pointing to her whole body. “I didn’t want this; I didn’t ask to be able to regenerate. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time and with the wrong people.”

“I researched you last night.” Bucky admitted shooting her a shy smile.

“Didn’t think you were tech-savvy.” She said, taking a sip of her coffee. “That was a long time ago, she’s long gone. I thought what I was doing was the right thing. And he, he convinced me that it was. But alas, I was only some sort of protection. Receiving the bullets that would wound him and healing the cuts that would kill him. But after I realized all the damage, we were actually doing I, I found this place. And from there on I decided I was going to heal other people. Even if they couldn’t regenerate.”

“I can relate.” Bucky said, slouching back on the bench they were sitting on, a weird feeling appearing inside of him. Something that he wasn’t used to, relaxation and peace. “I appreciate you not flipping out yesterday, I was out of line.”

“I’ve dealt with worse people here.” She laughed. “I looked at your videos fighting. You need to take better care of that arm of yours.”

“I didn’t know you were keeping tabs on me Doc, had I known I would have smiled at the camera.” Bucky said shooting her a smile, it was the first time she had seen him actually do that.

“It’s my job to check my patient’s whole file.” She explained but couldn’t resist to smile back. “And you can call me (y/n) by the way.”

“In that case, call me Bucky.”

[fw00shy]

hello!! i see that you're taking prompts 👀❣️ i would love to see your take on hitman draco - whose next target is harry

hello shal!! I loved your prompt and wanted to write something super dangerous and sexy for it, but instead I wrote this. 😅 

Horrible Luck

Harry/Draco | M | 2.8k | Hit-Wizards, Humor, Catsuit, brief mention of dudley working out in front of the telly | ao3 link

When does a relationship stop moving forward and start looping back like a broken time-turner, intent on rewinding the same disagreements in perpetude? When did all the little quirks Draco used to love about Harry turn into a list of things he wouldn't need to deal with if he were alone? Draco's mind is on his kitchen table this morning — specifically, the half-eaten plate of eggs that Harry left behind; Harry knows the kneazle will sick up from it — so Draco doesn't notice the name on his latest assignment until he's already signed off the disclosure forms.

Harry James Potter.

"We don't need him dead for a few days," Pansy's saying. "Just get it done before the Rodney Snyder Bill comes to a vote in Parliament on Monday."

"Get it done..." Draco trails off, swallowing sickly.

"Yes, Draco? Sorry — oh-thirteen. Blast this numbering system. It isn't as though you're on my payroll as 013. I'm tempted to order a hit on you just so I won't need to write all five bloody titles of yours every two weeks. Only joking, of course — Draco? You alright there?" She taps the heel of her stiletto against the desk, where she has it propped up next to her coffee.

Draco blinks. "Right, yes. Before the Rodney Snyder Bill. Which bill is that again?"

"It's the usual hem-haw about how life is so unfair blahblahblah." Pansy waves the peacock-feathered quill in her left hand. "Don't worry yourself over it. Are you all worked up because it's Harry Potter? I know you had a bit of a tiff with him back in school, but hadn't we all? Potter's an absolute waste of breath if you ask me."

"It's not that..."

"What is it? If it's because of his involvement in the last war, you needn't worry about that. All our sources report that he's nothing more than a tax acrobat for Muggles now, on the days that he's not wreaking havoc with his voting powers in Parliament. I don't know what half those words mean, but I want a drink just for saying them out loud."

Draco decides that it is probably not in his best interest to tell Pansy that Harry was actually a tax accountant, and yes — it is indeed as dull as Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom if their dinnertime conversations concerning the subject matter are any indicator.

Draco's mind flits briefly back home. He hopes their kneazle didn't manage to eat any of the eggs before Draco cleaned up Harry's forgone plate. Who knows where she'll puke it up this time. If she ruins his pillow again... Potter is in for a slaying. Only verbally, of course.

"Don't worry about me," Draco says.

"I never do," Pansy says far too flippantly to be a lie. "As I said, you have a few days, so finesse it however you like. Toy with him a bit, for all I care. Get him in bed, then turn a wand on him — go wild. Now doesn't that sound exciting!"

Draco decidedly does not tell her about the last time he "turned a wand" on Harry in bed. Let's just say that it was both slippery and steamy and smelt faintly of strawberries.

"Alright, Pan — sorry, P. I'll get it done. You know I will."

"That's my boy," she smirks. "Now come give me a kiss before you go."

Pansy started demanding that sort of goodbye after she picked it up from a Muggle romcom. "Absolutely disgusting," she'd proclaimed, kissing Draco's cheeks. But the kisses stayed while the mocking subsided. Don't let it fool you, though — she still has plenty of unlearning to do. They get along fine as long as Pansy keeps her mouth shut.

Which is practically never. This is Pansy, after all. Her father liked to joke that she was born wailing for someone to wipe her arse. But Pansy is the only family Draco has left.

The next few days pass in the doldrums of a daily routine. Draco goes off to the local library and does his usual research (a combination of Muggle Internet and blood spells for tracking; Find My Friends is a godsend) despite knowing full well where Harry is at all times. He watches Harry's green dot make its way down the tube to the financial district by way of the Pret a Manger on 3rd Street. The blinking green dot doesn't move for several hours (it never does; Draco knows because he tracks Harry every few weeks out of paranoia). Draco is starving by noon, but he hangs on until three to see if Harry's dot will move the slightest; but alas, Harry is as much the meticulous Gryffindor hero at tax accounting as he was at Horcrux hunting; he doesn't do so much as grab a bite at the cafe in the lobby.

Harry heads home at precisely five-thirty. Draco waits a respectable fifteen minutes before doing the same, so Harry has time to put dinner on the table. The spread tonight smells delicious as it always is: roasted chicken and potatoes, broccolini, those purple carrots that Harry covets from the Muggle farmer's market; homemade treacle tart for dessert. Sometimes Draco wonders how Harry can manage all of this in the fifteen minutes he has before Draco gets home, but he never questions it for long. Who knows how cooking charms work. Not Draco. He's still a Malfoy, after all.

Harry kisses him good-evening before they sit for dinner. They share meaningless conversation about their day. Draco makes up some story about how Hannah in Marketing took the last premade salad he wanted from the deli down the block and is appalled over how, even in his made-up life, he's about as dull as Neville's — well, you know.

"If I hear another word about Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom, I'm going to start thinking you want to fuck it," Harry declares while savagely tearing into his chicken thigh. Draco shudders at the sight; whoever taught Harry how to cook clearly forgot to teach him how to eat.

Still, it's a clear opening for a fight. Draco welcomes it as one does a summer storm, and soon they're throwing plates at each other. The kneazle (Morticia; Granger's idea) scampers out of the kitchen — that Hufflepuff coward — and Draco manages to graze Harry's left cheek before they stall to catch their breath.

The calm is a fallacy, of course; the eerie stillness of a storm's eye, broken up in the next minute with a low growl, and they're clawing at each other again. Except now, Draco is inexplicably hard.

But still, so incredibly bored.

What is the standard deviation of the time from start to Scourgify? Draco wouldn't be surprised if it's less than five minutes.

Monday comes and goes. Draco's thinking about Harry's dirty socks, the ones he tucks between the sofa cushions, while Pansy dresses him down for his latest failure.

"I swear, oh-thirteen. If we weren't like family..." Pansy trails off, her crimson-lacquered nail pointed threateningly at Draco.

"Sorry, Pans," Draco says, trying his level best to look his most innocent. It's not his fault he's an awful hit-wizard, alright? They should've known from his resume. Ronald Weasley, Katie Bell, Rosmerta, Dumbledore... mainly, he kills his marks by accident. He's got horrible luck.

Pansy declares that this is Draco's final chance. And then a week passes, and Harry stays alive. Draco's dead bored staring at his boyfriend's unmoving green dot all day on Apple Maps. He's made friends with Stephanie-the-librarian, though; they go out for a pick-me-up around three pm, and then Draco makes up stories about how she sends him racy pictures of their fake manager and this and that over dinner with Harry. All's okay if not precisely thrilling until the bill passes with Harry still alive, and then Draco reports to Pansy's office with Theo also in the room.

Theo is wearing a full suit, which is par for the course. But Draco knows he's in trouble because Pansy has her heels off her desk.

"Oh-thirteen," Theo booms. "You let the James Buckles Bill pass."

"Which one is that?" Draco asks between nervous swallows.

"Ten-percent increase in taxes on long-term capital gains," Theo explains the same time Pansy snaps, "None of your business."

"Right." Draco has no idea what these words mean. "Umm... sorry?"

"And the week before," Theo says, pacing now, "you let the Rodney Synder Bill pass."

"Ten-percent increase on income tax for those who make more than seven figures a year," Pansy says before Draco can ask.

Figures? Income? None of this means anything to Draco. If he wanted to be a solicitor... well, he's a Malfoy. Malfoys solicit, never solicitator. Or whatever the word for it is.

"It's only two bills, sir," Pansy pipes up in Draco's defence. "Meaningless in the grand scheme of things compared to the Pepper Oakley Bill tomorrow."

"What is —"

"Thirty-percent increase on property tax on all parcels of land within major metropolitan districts, and a twenty-percent increase on all property over two acres, compounding," Pansy hisses to Draco before turning her full attention back to Theo. "Which will not pass. Draco's been building up a relationship with the mark, hasn't he?" She kicks Draco with the pointed tip of her heel.

"Yes!" Draco yelps out in pain. "Yes, absolutely. I've been building... a relationship with Ha — the mark. He's umm. He thinks we're in love."

Theo regards Draco with narrowed eyes. "In love."

"Turns out he's desperately lonely," Draco says with a mocking sneer, though the truth is that they were both rather pathetic in the beginning.

Draco's story passes Theo's muster. He straightens up and gives them one last menacing glower before he leaves. Draco and Pansy stare at the door for a long, vacant second.

Pansy turns to Draco with a sigh when Theo's footsteps retreat down the hall. "Are you really seeing Potter?"

"Oh. Umm... sort of."

"I'm happy for you," she says. "You worry me, you know. Can't be too healthy for the aura with you sulking about all the time."

"Right," Draco says.

"Right," Pansy agrees. She schools her features. "Sorry about the, um — having to kill your boyfriend."

"It's alright," Draco says.

"Right." She coughs. "Well, then. I suppose you ought to go prep. Remember to get it done before tomorrow morning. If I were you, I'd get it done tonight, so you can stop worrying about it and have a decent night's sleep. Now come and give me a kiss before you go."

Draco short-circuits his usual trip to the library and heads straight home. The midday sun comes in too bright from the printed kitchen curtains. He's never noticed how disproportionately large the clumsily illustrated lemons are in comparison to the cherries and ice cubes — but that's what he gets for letting Harry pick the print. When Harry's dead, he'll replace them with a pattern worthy of the Malfoy name. He's always liked snakes and daggers (just the image of them; they're ghastly in reality).

He gets hungry enough around three to rifle through their cabinets for a snack. All he finds are two expired Twinkies and a can of tuna that he realises only after his first bite that it's meant for Morticia. He briefly considers popping by the library to see what Stephanie's up to before deciding against it. He needs to focus on murdering his boyfriend.

Draco is in the middle of purging his wardrobe when he finds his hit-wizard uniform hanging in the back. It's all black and one-piece, like a Muggle wetsuit but much sleeker, like a seal. But not as adorably chubby. More like Catwoman. Lithe, but deadly. Unfortunately, it's not a very practical uniform for murder, so Draco hasn't worn it in years. He slips it on out of morbid curiosity and is pleasantly surprised to find that it still fits him — especially around his arse. Morgana and Mordred both, his arse.

He loses track of time admiring himself in the mirror. And that's when Harry opens the bedroom door.

"Fuck," Draco says. His wand is out and trained on Harry's chest. (Hit-wizard reflexes; Draco's terrible at murder but surprisingly adept at keeping himself alive.) "I — um. I can explain."

"Merlin, you look hot in that," Harry says. He sounds like he's come back from running. "I've always wanted to see you wear it."

"What?"

"Your hit-wizard catsuit." Harry holds both hands up and steps toward Draco. "So fucking hot. I'm going to fuck you into a wall if you let me get any closer. Promise."

Did someone start up the fireplace? "I knew you stared a bit too hard at Halle Berry's arse the last time we watched Catwoman."

"Can you blame me for imagining what you'd look in it?"

"You don't look so bad yourself," Draco purrs. He can't help himself; Harry hasn't looked so fit in years. What is it about him today? Did he do something different with his hair? No...

Harry disarms Draco's wand hand and pushes him up against the wall. He's always been good at following through on his promises.

Draco's washing up in the shower when he realises what's different about Harry today. Harry's wearing an Auror uniform.

Draco bursts out of the shower still wet and dripping. He finds Harry in the living room with the telly on.

"You're going to ruin the carpet with all that water," Harry says, his nose scrunched. He's still got his crimson Auror robes blatantly bunched over the sofa.

"You're a fucking liar," Draco says. "Muggle tax accountant? I can't believe I bought that lie."

Harry remains painfully nonchalant. "We both had our secrets."

"But you knew mine." Merlin, for how long? Was their whole relationship a sham to —

Harry sighs and spells Draco dry. A bathrobe — plushy and cottony, Draco's favourite — flies in from the bedroom to wrap around Draco's shoulders.

Draco begrudgingly shrugs it on.

"Sit down," Harry says, patting the space next to him. Draco almost does as asked, but stops when he spots the smelly old sock peeking between the seat cushions.

"You're an Auror," Draco says. His lips sneer involuntarily at the betrayal.

"And you're the hit-wizard out to kill me. Yet we're both still here," Harry says. "Come on, Draco. Sit down."

Draco eyes the sock.

Harry's face purples. "Is this about the bloody sock? For the thousandth time, it's not me leaving them about. It's Morticia!"

Harry vanishes the sock. Suitably appeased, Draco walks over to their sofa and sits primly at the edge of it.

"I wasn't actually going to kill you," Draco says by way of an apology.

"I know that," Harry says. "You're an idiot. Hit-wizard, really? It's a wonder how I ever thought you were my nemesis."

"That is absolutely rude and uncalled for," Draco says. "I was plenty good at Quidditch."

Harry grins. "I'll give you that. Most distracting arse on the pitch... some things never change."

"You don't look so bad yourself in those robes," Draco says. He coughs. "I mean. We should... talk."

"Yes."

They've never been good at talking.

"So..." Harry says slowly. "What are you going to tell them when I'm still alive tomorrow?"

"Oh, I dunno. Can't you pretend you're dead? Please? For me."

"I'll be helping a lot of people if we pass this bill," Harry says apologetically.

Right. Saviour complex. Draco's painfully familiar with compromising around that character flaw. "Pansy's going to kill me," Draco sighs. "Well, unless we kill her first. But I'd rather not. She's my favourite person in the world — besides, you, of course."

"She's actually. Um." Harry coughs. "I think she's going to be fine."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... err."

"No," Draco gasps. "No, don't tell me she's been a mole this whole time."

"Err. Well..." Harry scratches the back of his head. "Did you know she's getting married to my cousin Dudley?"

"The awful Muggle bully?"

"He's um. He turned alright in the end? He's been working out in front of the telly. Bought these free weights and all... says it's really changed his outlook on life."

"Sweating in front of the telly changed his life?"

"Something like that," Harry says.

"That sounds disgusting."

"Yeah... I try not to think about it much either. So, err… takeaway? Greek, maybe? You loved the rotisserie chicken we had a few weeks ago. Before um, you started throwing it at me."

Shouldn't they be discussing something serious? Draco already forgets what. "Takeaway? But don't you —"

"Right," Harry laughs. "Now that everything else is out in the open, I suppose there's no harm in you knowing that I order takeaway and vanish away the boxes before you come home."

"I..."

"Draco? You aren't mad, are you?"

Mad, no. Surprised — absolutely. But Draco should've known that dating Harry Potter would never be boring.

Read on AO3

[libsterslobsters]

Whole Lotta Love

Synopsis: For some people, Valentine’s Day is another word for "stress", especially when you don't know what the other person is expecting. Several years into their relationship, Bucky’s pretty sure he has a good understanding of the Reader, until a word from Sam makes him question everything he thinks he knows. The race is on to make their first Valentine’s Day since saying their vows a special one, but as per usual, fate has it's own ideas about what will make the holiday truly memorable

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Enhanced! Super-soldier Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Author's note: This fic contains references to earlier stories. For more information, click the series masterlist link. As always, the reader is unnamed so that this can be read as a self-insert, but at this point, I think of her as an OC.

The song referenced is Hearts Don't Break Around Here by Ed Sheeran

Series Masterlist

A The Song Remains The Same Fic

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“So, Valentine’s Day.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from his laptop (or more specifically, the field report he’s typing) at Sam’s words. Despite his concentration, he can tell that his partner is staring at him, boring holes into his back with his gaze.

“Uh-huh.” He’s listening, but so far, he doesn’t care.

“What are you doing for it?” For Valentine’s day? Um…

“Not much.” It’s a Tuesday this year, right? Then probably working, like most other people, he’d imagine.

The room is silent as he types, so Bucky assumes that settles the matter. That is, until Sam mutters a quiet, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“About what?” How many paragraphs does he have to type before he can pass this off as a full report? When he joined the Avengers, he thought the hardest part of his job would be the bad guy of the week, not doing paperwork!

“You’re really not doing anything for Valentine’s Day? Seriously?” He nods absentmindedly and clicks the save icon. He’ll finish this tomorrow. It’s five o’clock. Time to head home. Home to-

“What’s your wife gonna think about that?” He shrugs and cuts the power to the laptop.

“She thinks that the whole holiday is a rip-off. See you Monday?” He turns around for confirmation, only to catch Sam staring at him, mouth hanging wide open. “What?”

“A rip-off?” Is he just going to be stuck repeating himself?

“Yep.” Told him that the first February 14th they spent together.

“And you actually believed her?”

He nods. “She’s not one to lie.”

Sam nods incredulously. “Uh-huh. And are you planning to ever have sex again?”

He’s not going to dignify that with an answer (because really, isn’t it obvious?).

“Fine.” Sam shrugs. “You do you, man. All I’m saying is, if I had a wife who looked like that-” he indicates the lock screen of Bucky’s phone (a picture of her laughing, telling him to put away the damn camera after wrestling the dog for the tie to her favorite robe). “-I’d have my V-day plans set up a month in advance.”

Normally Bucky would take what Sam says with a grain of salt, but he is after all a man out of time, so maybe it’s worth considering that his partner may be right.

“What would you suggest I do?”

“Outside of the bedroom?” He narrows his eyes at the Falcon. “Okay, bad joke.” Sam scratches at the back of his head, thinking. “I don’t know, man. That’s your girl. You know her best, but flowers are always a good place to start.” Good to know that hasn’t changed since the 1940s. Although, last time he brought her flowers, she spent the afternoon sneezing until he eventually convinced her that it was okay, he wouldn’t be offended, she should throw the damn things out. Then again, that was before she was a super soldier.

“Flowers.” He repeats, earning a nod from Sam.

“You can get creative. Do a little research. But I’m just saying, when a woman waits five years for you to reappear, the least she deserves is a few flowers.” On that, they can agree.

He must bid Sam some sort of goodbye and make his way through the Avengers compound, but he’s unaware of anything until he’s in the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of his car, googling “What to do for your wife on Valentine’s Day.” There’s a web page that boasts twenty different selections. Might as well give it a look.

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s nearly home when her phone dings with a text from Barnes. “Just got in. Forgot to get milk. Can you swing by on your way, or should I go to the gas station and pick up a gallon?” A frown forms on her face. It’s pretty rare that Bucky forgets things. Must’ve been a hell of a day at work, then. Either that, or his brain has completely turned to mush thanks to typing out field reports. Either way-

“I got it. See you in twenty.” She thinks about tacking on a “love you”, but the light turns green before she can.

The grocery store is packed thanks to so many people getting off work. There’s only three carts left, all with bad wheels. She chooses the least squeaky option and, grabbing an add on her way, heads into the grocery store. Milk, and if she remembers right from this morning, they’re running dangerously low on coffee and tea. Despite caffeine having absolutely no effect on their enhanced bodies, both of them are nightmares to be around in the mornings without their beverages of choice. Force of habit and all.

She’s halfway to the checkout when she sees it. A sign, decorated in garish shades of red, pink, and purple. “All Valentine’s Day chocolates 10% off.” Shit. Yeah, that is coming up. To tell the truth, she’d completely forgot all about that day halfway through February. For most of her life, it only meant giving homemade cards at school when most kids had store-bought. Then, once she reached adulthood, it was a reminder that she was destined to be alone. Who would want someone who’s on the run, and what’s more, sees the future? Once she and Barnes got together, it didn’t change much. That first Valentine’s Day, he mentioned the holiday, and she shut it down immediately. They were both broke (or at least, he had no legitimate way of making money while she was broke), and celebrating a mostly commercial holiday seemed like a waste. Plus, she didn’t want to put a strain on a new relationship. Over the years, the subject never came up again, and she’s content for it to stay a non-starter, thank you very much. In her opinion, you should show your partner you love them every day of the year, not shoe-horn it into one twenty-four hour period. Call her unromantic if you must.

She’s completely immune to the various displays of cheap chocolate in heart-shaped boxes and overly sentimental cards as she approaches the register and starts to unload her items. Milk. Tea. That one specific brand of coffee that he likes because, “It tastes like what we drank in basic training. Terrible, but I kinda got used to it, so now everything else tastes like it’s trying too hard.” whatever that means. He’s right; she’s tasted it, and it’s fucking awful. Still, every morning, he drinks at least three cups while she drains her pot of tea.

“You got a hot date for Valentine’s Day, hun?” The cashier asks her, never breaking her rhythm as she rings up the items.

She chuckles. “As a matter of fact, yes.” The cashier’s eye go wide, and she holds up her left hand. “And every other day.”

“Ooh, nice. How long have you been together?”

“Nine years.” Wait… “Or four years, depending on which of us you ask. He blipped, I stayed.”

The cashier nods. “So are you older than him now?”

Physically? They’re not completely sure, but if you calculate the times he was off the ice with HYDRA and add that to the age he was before the serum, then they’re not far off. But chronologically- “No, he’s still older.” And yes, it will always be funny that Sam responds with “Okay, boomer” whenever Bucky makes an outdated reference (even if he’s off by a good twenty years).

With a little more light chatter, she pays for her items and leaves. Now, for home.

As soon as she opens the front door, she’s greeted by their dog, Sarge, barking excitedly and hopping around like he’s on a trampoline despite missing a leg. Bucky’s not far behind, placing a quick peck on her forehead before taking the bags from her and unloading them in the kitchen. Tonight’s his night to cook, but unless her nose has suddenly decided to give out, he hasn’t started dinner yet. She doesn’t mind taking over tonight, and when he sheepishly apologizes while she begins her preparations, she brushes it off. Although, for the second time in an hour, she’s seen proof of his unusual absentmindedness. Oh well. She’ll ask him about it later.

Despite being relieved from tonight’s chef duties, Bucky stays in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar scrolling through his phone as she cooks. His expression is neutral, which can mean one of two things; a) he’s just killing time and there aren’t any interesting posts or articles vying for his attention, or at the opposite end of the spectrum, b) he’s deep in thought, possibly angry, sad, or even frightened, but he’s gone into Winter Soldier mode and shut down so that she won’t pick up on his mood. Damn the man and his poker face.

Eventually dinner is served and she sends him off toward the fridge in search of two beers while she serves their plates. Just as she’s spooning a generous helping of salad into her bowl, it happens. A vision, but a limited one. All she’s seeing is a phone. Well, that and the hand holding it. She’s not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed that she immediately recognizes the hand as Bucky’s, but that goes by the wayside as she takes in the article he’s reading. “Should you do something for Valentine’s Day even is she says no?” It’s a thread on some anonymous discussion board. The reply that has his attention is in reference to a now divorced individual who “was dumb enough to believe that, on our first V-Day as a married couple, she didn’t want anything.” Oh boy. Not good. This will be their first Valentine’s Day since exchanging vows, and if the fact that he’s read this reply (if not already read, will read soon) means that it’s at least crossed his radar that she might be feeding him bullshit. That’s not the case, but after his research, she knows from experience that no matter how much she tries to convince him otherwise, a small part of his mind will be stuck on, “But what if this is a big deal?” Which means-

“Doll, are you just gonna stand there with the salad tongs in your hand?” That snaps her out of it.

“No. Just a vision.” He frowns as she passes him his plate.

“Anything important happen?” Should she say?

“No.” She’s not sure if the smile or not, so she takes a bite from her roll to cover it. “Random sneak peek.” It’s not a lie. What she saw really isn’t important. Still, if he’s in that mindset, she should probably go on and do something for him just in case. After all, why should it only be the ladies who reap this holiday’s benefits?

___________________________________________________________________________________

Not flowers. That’s the one thing that, after copious amounts of research Bucky is one hundred percent certain about. They may still be a common romantic gift, but since they were also a go-to back when he was courting girls in the 1940s, it’s safe to say they’ve been overdone. Plus, he doesn’t really want to remind her of that time she had such a severe allergic reaction to the flowers he picked her on a walk through the park in Bucharest that her eyes nearly swelled shut and she sneezed herself sick. That doesn’t exactly seem like prime romance.

Chocolates or other candies have the same issues as flowers. Contrived and predictable. A bottle of wine is nice, but neither of them can so much as get mildly tipsy thanks to the super serum. The fourteenth is his day to cook, so he guesses he could do some reading and try to create something a little more special than spaghetti (he thought about going to a nice restaurant for dinner, but there’s a few issues with that, not the least of which is they’re likely to be recognized without their disguises, and he’d rather not look at his wife through sunglasses on Valentine’s day), but that seems a little underwhelming.

As he loads the dishwasher (she fell asleep half-way through the third episode of whichever nonsensical comedy they’re watching this week, so he sneaked back downstairs to clean up the dinner dishes), he thinks back to the dozen separate articles he read on the subject of Valentine’s Day gifts. Jewelry was a common theme, but that’s out. She’ll say thank you to his face, but worry about the cost behind his back. Plus, he has absolutely no idea what she’d like, and there’s no sense in purchasing something only for her to hate it.

Another common one was lingerie. Bucky almost choked on his tongue when he saw some of the examples given with that option. None of it looked comfortable (in fact, he’s still scratching his head about how you even put on one of the pieces that popped up on the web page) and he doesn’t want to give her the impression that she has to dress up for him. Even putting all that aside, he has no idea what size she’d even wear. He likes to think that he knows his wife pretty well, but somehow, in all their years together, it never occurred to him to ask her for her clothing sizes. That, and have you even seen the bra sizing system? Does it make sense to anyone, because to Bucky, it’s all gibberish. 32 B? 36 DD? What the hell? Somehow, when HYDRA was training him to extract information, they failed to go over the translation of a woman’s bra size. He supposes he could ask, but he’s not sure there’s a non-suspicious way to work, “Hey, sweetheart. What size are your breasts?” into casual conversation.

Sam said to get creative, so he tried to think outside the box. What’s something she really needs? A new vacuum cleaner is the first thing to come to mind, but he’s not stupid enough to think that would make a good gift. He knows she’s had her eye on a set of throwing stars, but that doesn’t seem to correlate well with what this holiday is all about. That’ll keep until her birthday.

He’s still wracking his brain for anything at all that might work when he feels a wet nose poking at his hand. Sarge. “Hey, boy. Has your mom gone to bed?” The response is a quiet “woof” and lick to his palm. He scratches the mutt behind the ears, smiling to himself as Sarge’s back leg thumps at the treatment.

“What do you think we should get our girl? Huh?” There’s no reply (of course not, he’s talking to a dog), but he nods, pretending all the same that Sarge has offered up a suggestion. “A bone. Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s her thing. Try again.” The dog blinks at him lazily. “No, you’re the one who wants new tennis balls. Not Mom. Although you’re right about her liking peanut butter.” At this rate, he might as well get her a bone and some tennis balls, because he’s sure not coming up with any ideas.

She likes music. The thought pops into his head while he’s brushing his teeth. All sorts of music. Over the years, he’s tried to make sense of the songs he’s heard her listen to, but has yet to find a discernible pattern in her listening habits. She doesn’t seem to stick to just one genre or era. More like she picks songs by how they relate to what she’s feeling at the moment. Wait a second-

“A mixtape.” His reflection mouths the words back at him. Despite technology having moved on from the days of burning CDs, she still has a thick stack of the disks stored in a cabinet and plays them on the regular. He’s even seen a few that she made herself, pasting together the songs she likes to make a “Cleaning mix”, ��Workout Mix” and “Pissed off Mix”. Bucky’s sure he could figure out how to burn a CD, but it’s not like she’d be able to listen to that everywhere she went. That leaves a playlist. She uses one of those apps to listen to music on her phone, right? Surely he can put something together for her using that.

Quietly, he climbs into bed next to his sleeping wife and pulls her back against his chest, slinging one arm over her waist as usual. He closes his eyes, but his mind is alight with activity. A playlist. Of course. He’ll put some extra effort into whatever he cooks that night, stop by a bakery and pick up some sweet treats for dessert. Hell, maybe they’ll both dress up and act like they’re on a date. Then, once they’re sitting down to their meal, he’ll pull out his phone and hit play. It’s perfect. At least, he hopes it is.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Putting on a lacy bra and panties set underneath her regular work attire seemed like a brilliant idea this morning. Today’s a short day; she’s only got three classes to teach, and Rhodey called last night to tell Bucky that he’s suspending work hours at three pm “Since most people have holiday preparations to make.” Her plan was to be waiting on the sofa in the living room when he arrives home, professional button-down blouse open just enough for him to get a good look at what’s underneath, pencil skirt pushed up enough to reveal the stockings and garters she’s donned for the occasion. It’s fun, with just enough cheesiness to match this whole holiday. And, well, it’s a guarantee that by the end of the night they’ll be in bed together, both rumpled, sweaty, and satisfied. Perfect, right?

Wrong. On her drive to work, her skimpy underwear began to ride up, giving her a wedgie, and there was no way to adjust without running the risk of wrecking. She was so distracted by her discomfort that she missed her exit, and by the time she arrived at the college, she was running so behind that she didn’t get the chance to run to the bathroom and readjust. Her lecture on sentence diagrams was pure torture before the underwire from her bra decided to join in the fun and poke her directly in the ribs, but with that addition, she was especially impatient with her students’ tendency to joke around a little too much in class.

Luckily, she had just enough time to wrap the exposed metal bit in tissues before her next class, which eliminated the pain in her chest, but did nothing to alleviate the discomfort once her stockings began to slide down, having at some point disconnected themselves from the garters. She taught like that for the next two classes, but as soon as they were over, she pealed the whole ensemble off in the teacher’s restroom and changed into her gym clothes. Alright, screw the whole seduction routine. She needs to blow off some steam and fast, or else she’ll be in a bad mood all night.

That’s why, thirty minutes later, she finds herself in the training room of the Avengers compound, working over a punching bag. “Fuck-” Her fist connects, making the bag swing crazily from it’s hook. “-this- whole- day!” It goes sailing, and she feels a little better.

“Ouch!” The voice comes from behind her and she whirls around, gaze resting on-

“Sam.” The man in question holds up his hands in an “I surrender” gesture.

“Don’t shoot! I come in peace.” Rolling her eyes, she holds up her middle finger, receiving a snicker in acknowledgment.

“Just working off a little frustration before I head home.”

“Good.” Sam chuckles. “’cause otherwise, I’d be worried that when Barnes pulls out his dick tonight, you’ll bite it off.” She thinks about telling him that there’s no chance of that, but she might just cut off his if he crosses her. However, that jogs her memory.

“Has he left yet?” Sam nods.

“About an hour ago. Said he had to pick up groceries.” Shit. There goes her plan to shower, throw the damn lingerie back on and proceed as planned.

Bidding Sam a hasty reply, she makes tracks towards her car and, once inside, heads for home. Fine. New plan. She’ll shower once she arrives and then when the evening is drawing to a close, wait for him in bed. Nodding to herself, she puts the car in park and climbs out. Now, to psych herself up enough in the next few hours to put the damn lingerie back on.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Where did he go wrong? It takes all of Bucky’s self control not to spit out the spoonful of sauce he just tasted. This was supposed to be an easy recipe for Chicken Alfredo (or at least, that’s what the website boasted; he should’ve known better than to get his information from the internet and stuck to a good old-fashioned cookbook from the library). Not… whatever the hell this is. Maybe even if the sauce is nauseating, the chicken is okay?

He pulls open the oven door, and immediately smoke billows out, making his eyes water. Okay, chicken’s a little well-done. Who is he kidding? Black. The chicken is burned black. And the pasta… he lifts the pot lid and stirs, only to come to the realization that the pasta is completely stuck to the bottom of the pot. Wonderful.

It’s inevitable; over the years, he’s had his fair share of cooking disasters, but usually he does okay. Tonight though… who the hell up there did he piss off, because the only explanation for how badly this is going is his karma coming due.

Still holding the offending spoon, he looks over at Sarge, who’s staring at him, long pink tongue sticking out as he pants. “Trust me, boy. You don’t want any of this.” There has to be something else he can pull together on short notice. Normally he’d be worried that she’s running late without so much as a text, but today he’s relieved. At least if she’s running behind he’ll have time to… what? Maybe order takeout? Before she gets-

“I’m home.” Shit.

Sarge yips, shaking with excitement, and starts towards the kitchen door, then turns back, uncertain. “Go on. I know you’re dying to jump on her and lick her face.” Something they really should be training out of him because he’s getting too big for that sort of behaviour but, well… there’s a reason they call them “puppy dog eyes.”

Not needing to be coaxed, the dog takes off, tripping a little in the momentary lapse in his memory that he’s a tripod, but easily catches himself and goes on his merry way, leaving Bucky to clean up his mess. From the sound of things, a game of fetch is going on in the living room, so she should be distracted for a while.

He manages to pour the sauce down the drain and scrape most of the pasta into the trash while Sarge is acting as a decoy, but there’s absolutely no way he can dispose of the chicken without tipping her off (damn enhanced senses, it’s a wonder she hasn’t already smelled it). Finally, he decides to just go for it. She’s going to notice whether he throws it out now or two hours from now. Might as well get a head start on cleaning.

Sure enough, not ten seconds after he empties out the oven, he catches a movement in his peripheral vision, and the familiar sound of her breathing tips him off that he’s no longer alone.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Bucky. Did something burn in here, or-” He holds up the pan for her inspection before continuing his scraping.

“That’s one way to put it, yeah.” He slams the lid back on the trashcan and turns on the tap, intent on rinsing out the pan. “Another is whoever the god of culinary arts is has it in for me today.”

She chuckles. “You know, that would be funnier if we didn’t actually know a god.”

“Yeah, but he’s in control of thunder.” He meets her eyes, smirking slightly. “Although it did look like I electrocuted the bird.” Her lips quirk up into a smile, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her, cupping the back of her head gently to hold her in place when she tries to move away, muttering something about being sweaty.

He’s not entirely sure how it happened, but by the time they come up for air, her back his pressed against the wall and he’s got her pinned in place. Not that he’s complaining.

“Anyone ever tell you that the tip of your nose turns pink after you’ve been kissed?’ Her cheeks go rosey in response.

“I think so. One guy did. I told him it’s only when I’m kissed properly.”

He really would like to continue the playful banter, but there’s still the small matter of whatever it is they’re going to eat.

“What do you feel like for dinner tonight?”

“Apart from electrocuted chicken?” He responds with a swat to her ass, which earns him a snicker. “Let’s keep it simple. Pizza. Your choice of toppings.” Right, that’s easy enough. Plus, if they have to wait longer than thirty minutes, it’s free.

“Okay. I’ll order while you shower?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He’s just pulled up the menu on his phone when the sound of her clearing her throat attracts his attention. She’s standing in the doorway, combing through her freshly let down hair with her fingers, a playful look in her eyes.

“Or you could join me. Just a mild suggestion.”

Dinner can wait for a while.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The Brooklyn townhouse they live in has many nice features. There’s a functional if small screened in back porch, big enough to hold a table for two and a grill. Two bedrooms, on the off chance someone from work needs to crash for a night or two. A kitchen with a dishwasher. A working fireplace. Good closet space. And an en suite bathroom.

Maybe it’s a little ridiculous to call a bathroom luxurious, especially when, in comparison to what’s featured in many brownstones, it’s more than modest, but she can’t help but think of it as such. There’s a double sink so that in the morning rush to get ready, Bucky’s able to shave and brush his teeth without having to wait for her to finish applying her makeup. Shelving above the toilet makes certain that even if the last person to shower took the towel with them, another one is on hand. Speaking of the shower, it’s not the largest one in the world, but both of them can fit in comfortably at the same time, which is what’s lead to their current situation.

She’s just finished allowing the water to course over her body, easing the sweat from her skin, and is about to begin the process of washing her hair, scrubbing her body, but she hesitates. She might as well ask. It’s only practical after all.

“Do you want to start now or get cleaned up and have dinner beforehand?” It’s obvious what she’s referring to, so she doesn’t bother to spell it out.

His brown knits, and if she didn’t know him as… intimately… as she does, she’d actually believe he’s confused.

“Oh, so you’re just assuming there’s gonna be sex involved at some point tonight?”

She shrugs, wringing out her hair.

“Seemed like a safe enough bet.” She glances pointedly between the two of them. “After all, we’re already undressed. “

His laugh is a quiet huff, barely discernible over the sound of the water. “Then I’d say start now, have dinner, then go for round two. Sound about right to you?”

She nods. “Solid plan.”

“Then get over here.”

Unlike the welcome home kiss they shared not half an hour ago, this one is less tender, more electric. Hands twist in hair, bodies press together. Tongues begging for entrance quickly give way to teeth nipping at bottom lips, an unspoken sparring match for who’ll be in control this time around. Ultimately he wins, grasping her hips and lifting as she wraps her legs securely around his back.

There’s no need for prep; the teasing of their earlier words is foreplay enough. Back pressed against the wall, her body easily welcomes him in as she braces one arm against the glass shower doors for balance. Any concerns about slipping and falling wash away as they move together like so many times before. She’s sure her nails will leave marks on his back, fingertips digging in for purchase and it’s a guarantee her hips will be littered with fingerprints from his grip, but she can’t find it in her to care, and if the desperate, bruising kiss assaulting her lips is anything to judge from, neither can he.

“So damn good, Doll.” It’s panted against her neck. “Always. So damn perfect for me.” All she can manage is a moan in response.

She feels him twitch inside of her and knows he’s close. So is she, but she can’t quite get there without-

As if he’s read her mind, he reaches between them to touch her where she needs it most, and on instinct, she readjusts, locking her arm around his neck to stay in place. “Let go, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” She couldn’t disobey if she wanted to.

“Fuck.” As her walls contract around him, he pulls out just in time to paint her middle with his release.

“That’s one word for it.” She’s still fighting to catch her breath, but she shoots him a shaky smirk, which he returns.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Barnes.” Snickering, she releases him to stand on unsteady legs and pecks his legs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Barnes.” Maybe there’s something to this holiday after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You want the last slice?” Bucky considers it for a moment before deciding-

“Nah. You can have it.” It may not be exactly what he planned, but it’s been a good night. Between the two of them, they’ve gone through two large pizzas while watching the new version of Beauty and the Beast (she rolled her eyes when he asked if this was her way of saying he reminds her of a certain hairy, horned character) in their pajamas.

“No, really. You take it. I don’t want it.” She nudges the mostly-empty pizza box towards him. The noise makes Sarge lift his head from where he was snoozing beside her on the sofa. That gives him an idea.

“I don’t want it either, but I can think of someone who does.” He cocks his head towards the now-drooling dog. “How ‘bout it, boy? Wanna help us out?”

Snickering, she picks the pepperonis and pieces of sausage and ham from the pizza, forming a pile. “Here, Sarge. Catch.” She tosses a coveted treat in the air, and Sarge’s jaw snaps, swallowing it whole. “Good boy.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“You know, I actually did have something planned for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She nods.

“Absolutely. Had a whole seduction plan laid out. Tiny underwear, lacy bra, and stockings with garters included.” Huh. Guess she wouldn’t have taken the “lingerie” option the wrong way. He’ll file that away for future use… along with a mental note to ask her bra size. “That is, until I tried wearing the damn things for longer than an hour. Turns out, hiding a dirty secret under your clothes is more itchy than sexy.”

He can’t help it. He laughs, producing a pout from her which quickly turns into her own quiet laughter.

“Well, that fits in perfectly with my fancy dinner going up in smoke.”

“We really do have shitty luck with the whole “romance” thing.” She’s joking, but he decides to respond anyway.

“I don’t know about that.” Entwining his fingers with hers, he lifts their hands, twin wedding bands catching the light. “You waited five years for me to reappear after the blip, and I convinced you to elope with me. Seems pretty romantic.” Although, that reminds him…

“Don’t move.” Releasing her hand, he stands and goes in search of his phone.

“Bucky, what-”

“Don’t move, Doll. Stay right where you are.” Ah. On the kitchen counter, just where he left it. Jogging back into the room, he resumes his place on the couch next to her. Ignoring her questioning gaze, he pulls up the app and, selecting the correct playlist, hits play.

Immediate recognition blooms on her face at the opening lyrics. “She is the sweetest thing that I know. Should see the way she holds me when the lights go low.” He’s not one for modern music, but when he was googling “songs for Valentine’s Day” and this one popped up, he couldn’t help but think that the lyrics were fitting.

“I didn’t know you’d heard this one.”

He chuckles. “Even old men have a few tricks up their sleeves. That, and a wifi connection.” She rolls her eyes but leans closer, which he takes advantage of to show her the playlist.

“This is the app you use, right?” Receiving a nod, he continues. “Feel free to scroll through and add whatever you want. I haven’t listened to all of them the whole way through, but they seemed to fit the mood.”

Her hand closes over his, covering the phone. “Thank you, Bucky. It’s perfect.”

As the singer goes on about how hearts don’t break around here, he presses his lips against hers.

“I love you, Doll.”

“Love you.”

Not bad for a disastrous Valentine’s Day. Not bad at all.

[mavda]

Beast Tamers

Ch.1 |  Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4(1) | Ch.4(2) | Ch.5(1) | Ch.5(2) | Ch.5(3) | Ch.5(4) | Ch.6(1) | Ch.6(2) | Ch.6(3) | Ch.7(1) | Ch.7(2) | Ch.7(3) | Ch.7(4) | Ch.7(5) | Ch.8(1) | Ch.8(2) | Ch.8(3) | Ch.9(1) | Ch.9(2) | Ch.9(3) | Ch.9(4) |

Ch.10: The Two-Tails (1)

It is early morning and Naruto stares at Hinata's face. Her chest goes up and down and her hair is sprawled over their bed -where his hand plays with it slowly so as not to wake her-. He brushes the hair out of her eyes, and he can’t help but notice the contrast between his tanned skin against the pearl white of hers, even whiter under the moonlight.

He had not been able to go back to the meeting. After a while -when he had composed himself somewhat- he went back and asked to be excused. Nobody said anything and he holed himself in his room. 

It was also not the first time this had happened. But now when he sat in his room, looking at the wall as the hours went by, Hinata sat next to him, dragged her hand over his back, brought him food and let him rest his head on her shoulder and lap as she soothed him. 

He felt better and worse all at the same time.

She rustles in her sleep and Naruto startles, turns into a statue as she settles again. She didn't move as much in her sleep before, but now with the baby it takes her a while to fall asleep, and then she moves and turns, her legs curling up and then straightening all night long. 

Naruto adjusts the bedclothes around herself and lets his hand rest on her belly. Her perfect round belly. 

She had once touched herself after he came inside and brought his seed over her stomach by chance. And now Naruto has found a new favorite place in which to finish. 

Outside is dark and he can't bring himself to wake Hinata only because he's horny, so he takes care of his erection himself. 

Muffled moans as he stares at her body and images of himself touching and licking and sucking. His breathing grows labored and he comes into his hand. A sticky mess he cleans quickly. 

He sits there, spent and with his robe half opened. With his pregnant wife next to him, and the words from yesterday come back with a vengeance.

He washes himself, puts on clothes and kisses Hinata's temple with reverence. 

He doesn't know how he can ask for forgiveness.

⁂⁂⁂

Jiraiya is going over some documents when Naruto knocks. 

"I was waiting for you."

He motions for Naruto to come inside and then sprawls a bunch of pages in front of him. 

"Would you believe me if I told you I found Toad Sages deep into the forest this one time?" 

Naruto glances over the documents while a chuckle leaves his mouth, "Please, I've seen weirder."

"It took me almost a whole year to master the whole sage mode, you know, but I was able to-"

"Sage mode? Tacky."

"Because the Toad Sages called it that way, thank you, I'll be sure to let them know you find their naming sense lame."

Naruto goes over the documents and crosses his arms as he reads. Jiraiya is glad to see him back to normal. 

"Anyway, I made sure to write down the main points, you see?" He motions towards the paper Naruto is holding, "You should be able to start seeing results after 5 months or so-"

"Two," Naruto interrupts and Jiraiya only snorts as an answer. 

"Two it is, then. Go over the whole process and then we can get started at once." 

The sound of papers being moved fills the room and Jiraiya goes back to his own documents. An assortment of reports he got from Shikamaru regarding the movements of the Beast Tamers, other prominent clans and whatever information they could gather about the Uchiha. 

The Uchiha are nonexistent though, and it makes him anxious. 

Jiraiya turns after he stops hearing sound. Naruto is staring at a paper on the floor, but he's not reading any of it. Jiraiya can guess what's going on inside his mind, but he has never felt qualified to help his godson navigate through these obstacles. 

"Do you think I should go through with it?" 

Jiraiya takes his time turning around. He leaves his pen on his table, accommodates the papers spread across in front of him. And lets his shoulders fall when he is looking at Naruto's blonde head, as he keeps staring at the papers. He knows why Naruto asks him. 

Minato would say yes.

Mito would say yes.

Because they care more about Naruto than the clan. 

Out of love. Out of guilt. It doesn't matter. Naruto thinks they are blinded, so he asks the man who has been able to keep him on track and grounded on reality throughout his life. 

"I think you were- are in a tough spot, kid."

Naruto scoffs, because that is an understatement. 

"I also think I would have taken the same choice if I were you.”

Naruto lets out a shaky breath. It doesn’t mean much, but knowing that someone would have taken his same decision is enough to make him feel slightly better. Slightly. 

Because the pain of knowing what this means for everyone around him is-

“But you know what you can focus on, instead of going around in your mind wondering if what you did was the correct thing to do?”

Naruto knows. Remembers. Time after time, fall after fall. The same words. 

“On the things I can do for myself,” he utters. 

Jiraiya slaps his shoulder as he tries to cheer him up. He does. Or at least Naruto lets him think he did. “Let’s go train your body now, shall we?”

Naruto follows behind him, reciting the words inside his head. This is a real thing he can do to stay longer. This is something he can do without putting everyone else at risk. 

This is something that will help him stay longer.

They reach one of the training grounds that Naruto likes to use. Far and secluded from the compound, where he can unleash part of his power without worrying excessively over its consequences. But now there are no flashy movements, no chakra powered moves that make holes in the ground or can tear trees in half.

Naruto sits in a patch of grass, places his hands on his thighs, and breathes in and out while being conscientious of his body. His blood flow, his breathing, the way his muscles tense and relax. The cold makes him shiver at first, but after a while his mind is so focused on the task at hand that he can barely hear what Jiraiya is saying.

“Thin out your chakra,” Jiraiya instructs, “you are supposed to become as non invasive as a rock to the chakra flow around you.”

All the years Naruto has been meditating make it easier for him to enter this trance. He usually uses this technique to correct his own flow -disrupted by the Beast's chakra- before he starts his day and before going to sleep in hopes of minimizing the damage. 

Spreading his chakra comes easy, too, something he did as a child out of curiosity, then something he was trained to do in case of an attack, then as a means to further control his output, and now as a means to quench his anxiousness regarding Hinata's well-being. 

"Remember to have enough to control the Beast's chakra, though." Adds Jiraiya, and Naruto wants to laugh.

As if that wasn't drilled into his very bones. 

His chakra flows and he covers the inner compound without trouble, he keeps on reaching and goes halfway through the outer compound before Jiraiya stops him. 

"You have to feed on the energy around you, you're just reaching out for reaching out. Focus."

There are no changes on Naruto. From the outside he remains still, impassive. But Jiraiya can feel his energy going around,  he has attuned himself to catching the chakra flow around him as a fighting skill, but now thanks to the Toad Sages he can catch changes around him with more precision. Naruto is doing better than any other chakra wielding person. Better than Jiraiya did himself when he was being trained, too. 

It’s a curious thing. Jiraiya can’t know for sure if the Beast’s vessels are stronger because they have to deal with their Beasts, or if it’s only because they are strong that they can deal with such an enormous chakra.

Naruto is a monster in his own right. Kushina was a prodigy, too. Sometimes he likes to let his mind wander and think about what it would have been if the Nine-Tails, no- if the Beasts were left alone like before the Beast Tamers came into the picture. 

They were fighting their wars just fine. 

But he guesses that someone wanted more, as always. 

He wonders if Naruto likes to daydream about what-it-could-have-been like him, too. But that’s not a fair question to place upon him, so he has never shared it with him. Nor with Minato. Nor with Mito. 

He has seen first hand what failure after failure does to a person.

He himself wanders the world in search of help he never finds. Takes off into places unknown in hopes of finding something, anything. This time for sure. This time for sure.

Naruto had been as full of hope as his father once. Blue eyes open wide when he came back, hands reaching for his scrolls while laughing. Jiraiya tried to lift the mood with a joke here and there, but then… time after time, the barest of progress and Naruto began to mimic him. 

Minato would shake his head at their antics, and Jiraiya would indulge Naruto without missing a beat, but it was obvious, so obvious that he was as disappointed as his father.

Jiraiya rests his hand on Naruto’s shoulder. “Focus.” 

Naruto is doing everything he’s supposed to do, but it is difficult enough to thin out your chakra and try to lose yourself with your surroundings without the need to stay very much conscious of your own body. Lest you bring destruction to everything around you. 

“You gave yourself two months, kid, don’t rush it.”

Naruto tries to stay in control, but his chest is beginning to feel like it's shrinking, so he lets go. It’s just the first day. 

The first day of many. 

“It took me five months to start seeing any type of results, you know? Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Naruto stares at his hands, at their slight tremble. 

“I wasn’t rushing,” he whispers. He feels Jiraiya’s stare on the back of his head, so he plasters a smile on his face and raises his head. “Let’s try again, then.”

⁂⁂⁂

Naruto is on his way to meet Shikamaru when Neji comes to him.

“Hinata?”

Neji shakes his head no before he’s close enough to be heard without raising his voice. “No, my lord, Lady Hinata is fine, she’s with Sai. It’s Lord Shikamaru.”

“I’m on my way to see him…”

“Yes, but he’s not there, he is in a meeting with the Inuzuka’s leader.”

“Tsume?” Naruto’s legs start moving and Neji follows. 

“Yes, we have received a message and Lord Shikamaru has gone to check on security-”

“Again?” 

Naruto hurries now. “What was it about?”

“I- Maybe we should wait-”

“No. Tell me now, what was it about?”

“The Two-Tails is asking for a meeting.”

Naruto is frowning the moment he enters the meeting room.

“My lord!” Tsume starts, her hair wild and her eyes filled with worry. 

Shikamaru locks eyes with Naruto for a second before coming back to the plans on the desk. 

“Grandma Mito?”

“Kiba went to get her,” Tsume informs. She shakes her head before anyone else can add on the conversation. “I don’t like this, my lord.”

And judging by Shikamaru’s deep frown, Naruto surmises neither does he. “Do we have a date?”

“January.”

Naruto stops for a second, “Oh, that’s… not that urgent.”

“A month and a half is a good amount of time to prepare, yes,” concedes Shikamaru, “but-”

“I do not approve,” says Tsume. “Putting all of the Beast Tamers that are left in one place after… after what happened?”

“Where’s Shino?”

“Hana went to look for him,” Tsume shares. Her eyes don’t leave Naruto’s face and he feels the pressure.

“What’s the purpose of this?”

“Prepare countermeasures,” Shikamaru air-quotes. As for excuses, it is one, but it is so vague, it can only be seen as-

“That we have already put in place,” Tsume snarls. “This is just a plot from the Two-Tails to fuck around with our lord. Now our clan has the upper hand, we are literally keeping things together by being decent human beings and keeping low while the whole world is running around like wild beasts. I can smell this from kilometers away! They want to take a chance and do something underhanded, I assure you, do not waste your time, my lord.”

“The Four-Tails is going,” Shikamaru says. 

“A ploy,” Tsume crosses her arms, disgust on her face, “now they’re using a dead man to keep the ball rolling?”

“Allegedly,” Shikamaru sighs. Tsume glares at him, but Shikamaru only shrugs, “allegedly dead, he may well be alive and kicking, we have no way of knowing.”

“Our lord doesn’t go and what can they do,” Tsume presses, “we have our lord and Lord Gaara, whatever they can do-”

“But they can do damage,” Naruto is close to the table now, he puts down the message Shikamaru received and he knows Tsume is right. This looks nothing short of a trap. 

This looks like nothing but a trap.

“We can’t just deny a call from a Beast Tamer without good reason,” Shikamaru taps his fingers on the table, “now even less, with the Beast Tamer truce we have going on and all.”

“You don’t need a reason to say no.” Tsume sighs to the ceiling, hating the direction this is going. 

“You could…” Shikamaru looks at Naruto. They could use Lady Hinata’s pregnancy as an excuse, but then everyone would know about her condition and-

“No,” Naruto shuts him down, his head shakes side to side. “Hinata’s pregnancy stays a secret.” 

Tsume frowns. She can see where the lord is going with this. Can taste it. Ever the one to put himself in danger to take the brunt of it all. 

“This could be an opportunity,” Naruto starts. Shikamaru looks at him and the cogs move inside their brains. 

A fight away from here. A fight where Naruto could potentially unleash his power without worrying about the repercussions. 

A trap, sure.

But a trap they know is one.

Shino arrives a while later and without the knowledge of anyone else, they hatch a plan.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Escape

Summary: The Red Room haunts you, from the moment you stepped foot inside to long after you’ve left. Truth is, you don’t think there is any escaping it.

Warnings: 18+ Violence, Depression, Mentions of Death, Smut

Chapter 15

******

Silence settles over the building. Aside from the pained breaths escaping Bruce’s lips no one makes a sound.

After the stones had been set in the gauntlet, and there was a brief discrepancy over who would snap, Bruce decided to do it. Despite it being painful, he’d still managed to do it. Now you all wait for some sign of it having worked.

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

It’s the faintest sound but you recognize it, birds chirping. Scott walks over to the window. 

Natasha’s hand squeezes yours when a trill ring sounds. All eyes snap to the plastic device ringing on a nearby table.

Moving like a snail, Clint inches towards his cell phone. Tears spring into his eyes immediately and he scoops it up.

“Honey? Honey?” 

A smile breaks across you face. Natasha throws herself into your arms kissing your lips repeatedly. 

“Guys! I think it worked.” Scott calls.

But the joy is short lived. For you before anyone else.

Rushing wind. You listen closer. An aircraft of some sort? It gets louder.

You panic and quickly press the Black Widow symbol on your wife’s belt, just barely watching the black nanotech cover her body.

A weight presses on to your left arm. Pain bursts through your ribs. Water drips on your forehead.

When your eyes snap open there’s nothing but darkness, minus the sparking of electricity coming from your wrist. Cursing, you tap the band and almost jump when the nanotech suddenly spreads from the bands and over your body.

The dark toned suit covers you and gives you the additional strength to un-wedge your arm from the rubble.

You roll your shoulders, adjusting to the additional armor.

Tony was right, an iron suit would come in handy.

Suddenly you remember.

“Tasha!” You exclaim into your comms.“ Natasha answer me! Is anyone with Natasha?”

Assist finally boots up and you frantically search for Natasha’s vitals through the A.I.

“Tasha, baby, please tell me you’re okay.” 

Under different circumstances you wouldn’t have wanted everyone on the comms to hear your panic and distress. But this is your wife, you don’t give a single damn who hears if it means making sure she’s okay.

Just as your blasting through another wall of rubble, you hear the static in your ear, followed by her voice.

“Y/N, I’m-” she breaks up,“ I’m okay.”

“Where are you?” You ask, eyes searching the opening you stumble into.

Assist finally displays her vitals. Her heart rate is a little high but you expect nothing less. On a whim, as you hadn’t designed it for this, you ask Assist to find vitals on the baby. 

It’s highly possible it won’t work. 

So you’re breathing a sigh of relief when Assist displays the babies heart beat. They’re still alive and until an actual check up can be made that’s enough.

“I don’t know, but I’m with Clint.” Natasha answers after a minute.

Hearing that calms you. At least a little.

Still, you won’t truly settle until you see her, until you have her in your arms.

The three of you aren’t the only ones trapped. Eventually you hear Rhodey’s distress call, he’s under here somewhere in danger of drowning. 

You move as quickly as possible, searching for wherever Rhodey is. He’s with Rocket and Bruce. As you search, you catch bits and pieces of Tony, Steve, and Thor’s voices. 

A broken statement from Thor, of killing someone, comes through and you’re filled with dread. 

Thanos. 

It has to be. But how?

Everything that’s happening confuses the hell out of you. It’s clear that Tony, Steve, and Thor are fighting Thanos. Rhodey, Rocket, and Bruce are taking on water but Scott says he’s there. You’ve yet to hear from Clint or Natasha again, sans some unidentifiable grunting. 

You know you’ve reached Rhodey’s location when you step into knee deep water. 

Not wasting a second, you go under the water. It’s easy to find Rhodey and Rocket, they’re holding their breaths but struggling to get free. Swimming over, you lift the bits of rubble that have Rhodey pinned down before grabbing him and Rocket and bringing them to the small space you’d come from.

You dive back under in search of Bruce. 

Whatever is happening above is making the rubble down here fall faster. 

Finally you reach him. Despite the suit it’s still difficult to get the large man to the surface. But you manage to.

“Tha-thank you.” Bruce speaks through water filled coughs and deep breaths.

Simply nodding, you survey your surroundings. Assist lets you know that there’s a thick layer of debris above you. Too large a shift will result in your inevitable demise. 

“Guys we’re trapped down here. There’s too much rubble above us for me to break through.” You speak into the comms.

More static hits your ears and you know you’re too far under to get the signal to anyone above.

Just as you’re about to give up, a rapidly growing Ant-Man emerges from under the water. He scoops you all into his hand and bursts through the wreckage of the compound. 

As you rise, a big blue and red metal capsule flies over. It breaks apart before forming around Rhodey’s body. A suit.

Looking down you take in the many light circled portals. Familiar faces stand outside of them, the people you’d fought beside in Wakanda five years ago. Others you’ve never met. 

Scott lowers you to the ground and you jump out of his hand. A glance to your side reveals your wife, clad in her own black iron suit, and her best friend. 

War cries sound behind you. 

“AVENGERS!”

Everyone turns to face Thanos and his large army. You quickly produce two standard pistols. 

“Assemble!”

When you fight this time it’s harder than the last. Determination to beat Thanos drives each move you make. Every time you take down one of the many aliens, you feel as if you’re getting stronger.

The first time Thanos came you were solely motivated by protecting the universe. Now though, now you fight for your family, you fight for your wife and unborn child. You fight for the future that is so close you could taste it.

A groan falls from your lips at how many of these creatures there are. Ones you remember from Wakanda and new ones as well. 

Managing to clear the enemies in your immediate area, you pause to take a breather.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting tired lyubov moya.”

Natasha stops beside you, the mask of her suit disappearing to reveal her face. Apart from some dirt she looks fine.

“We both know I have stamina for days baby.” You retort cockily, also revealing your face.

Before you can see the flush of her cheeks, her mask reforms. 

“You two should really learn how to read a room.” Sam’s input in your conversation makes you laugh.

A smirk clear on your face, you shrug, speaking a noncommittal sorry into the comms before resuming the fight.

The fighting seems to last hours with no clear view of who’s to win. It all shifts though when Clint asks Steve what to do with the gauntlet.

Steve is unsure at first. The original plan was to return them after the snap but the bombing destroyed the portal. Scott is quick to remind you all of his van.

Except it’s in the middle of the sea of Thanos’ army. So everyone begins to work together to get the gauntlet to the van.

It literally becomes a game of hot potato. The gauntlet is passed through multiple sets of hands. Even getting from the King’s hands to yours to Peter’s.

Faintly through the comms you hear the gruff shout of the mad titan, but you have no clue what he said. It becomes clear though when his ships start to fire relentlessly.

Being completely out in the open, you scramble to find cover. Only for your wife to appear at you side. She throws her arm up, the shield from her suit covering the top of you both.

No, you hadn’t put the shield interface in your suit. You hadn’t had the time.

The blasts do more damage to Thanos’ army than it does to your side. He’s thinned his army by an enormous amount but doesn’t let up firing. That is until it suddenly stops. 

Everyone looks on as the ships aim to the sky.

A literal ball of fire shoots through the clouds. Crashing through the biggest ship and completely disabling it.

The second you recognize it as Carol you smile wide. Not just at seeing your friend but also at the obvious shift in the battle. It finally seems as though you have a chance.

Now to get those stones to the portal.

Both you and Natasha head toward where Carol landed, arriving to see Peter Parker handing her the gauntlet. 

“I don't know how you're gonna get it through all that.” The kid states, looking from the advancing wave of enemies to Carol. 

Wanda lands right behind the space traveling woman,“ don't worry-”

“She's not alone.” Your wife finishes.

Wanda smiles over at Natasha. Every woman apart of the battle assumes a spot around Carol, readying their weapons.

“Is it just me, or do you ladies feel insanely powerful right about now?” You ask, smiling approvingly at the female power surrounding you.

Pepper chuckles and Carol agrees.

From there each of you kick as much ass as possible to clear the way for Carol.

Natasha, Valkyrie, Wanda, and Pepper handle covering the air. They take down the giant flying creatures while also shooting at enemies on the ground. 

Despite trying to stick close to Carol, you end up getting caught in an onslaught of ape like aliens and the creatures from Wakanda. 

It takes a minute but you are able to take them all out. Chest heaving, your eyes snap over the field, lingering on the battles being had, and focusing on the most important part of everything.

Carol speeds through ships and enemies toward the van. From your position you see Thanos charging at her, only to be stopped by Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey. 

He stumbles back, but doesn’t lose focus of Carol and the gauntlet. You watch as he throws his weapon toward the van and you blast it with a repulsor beam that is milliseconds from missing but hits it’s target.

The sword is knocked off course, flying in the opposite direction as Carol gets the gauntlet to the van.

Pure euphoria spreads through your chest as she hands the gauntlet off to Scott before he and Hope vanish into the quantum realm.

Thanos rages, concentration switching from you to Carol, essentially locking on to you, the reason he’s failed.

“Uh, angry titan, angry titan!” You exclaim into the comms, shooting a repulsor beam at the giant, pistols forgotten all together.

It knocks him back, but only a little. You look around for a possible plan of action, only to stop short when the problem is resolved.

A lightening covered axe sails towards you, cleanly slicing through the neck of the titan, stopping inches from your form, and then returning to the hands of the god.

Beheaded, the titan’s body falls to the ground. The so called children of Thanos have long since been dealt with, leaving the few seemingly mindless creatures behind. But they’re quickly being dealt with.

Still you hold your breath, eyes falling to the ugly brown van stuck in rubble.

The quantum tunnel still pulses with light and you watch it closely. Only to mentally fist pump when Scott and Hope reappear in front of it, empty gauntlet in hand.

With the mad titan dealt with and the stones returned, the threat to the universe vanishes. Everyone deals with the remaining aliens until the field is littered with their bodies and rubble from destroyed ships.

Yet you don’t breathe easy. Instead you look all over the field, panning over superheroes and warriors, familiar faces meet your eyes but not the one your looking for.

Next you search the ground. Maybe she’s just unconscious or underneath a bit of rubble. But nothing.

Dread floods your system, thoughts whip through your head as you process that she’s nowhere to be seen. She can’t possibly be gone. You’d done everything you could to ensure you didn’t lose her.

What could’ve possibly gotten through the suit? How had you managed to screw that up?

Tony and Pepper, in each other’s embrace, look over to you. Their concerned gazes grabs Steve’s attention who looks at you as well. The lack of your wife’s presence beside you has them searching the field as well.

Your vision starts to blur, panic blinding you to whatever they start to say.

You quite literally start to crumble in on yourself, until you feel the soft hands on each side of your face, a familiar warmth accompanying them, but you struggle to focus on her.

“Breathe lyubov moya.” Her sultry voice slips into your ears and soothes your mind.

She strokes your cheeks with her thumbs, coaxing you into security.

With her whisper of “I’m okay” you’re finally breathing properly. Blinking back unshed tears, you pull her into your embrace. Your suits clink together but you couldn’t care less.

Instinct has her face resting in the crook of your neck, warm breath fighting the sudden chilly wind. You kiss her neck, just above the retracted metal of her iron suit.

You remain in her embrace for a moment longer, needing the assurance and grounding. After pulling away, you can’t help but smile at the sight of everyone that you’d watched disappear five years ago, plus the additional faces of the people you’d yet to meet.

A nonverbal agreement is made to reconvene to celebrate at a later time, when things have settled, and you all aren’t standing in a crater moments from flooding.

Hand in hand with Natasha, you exit the hole in the ground. 

“Please tell me you’re taking me home.” 

Getting a good look at your wife, you see the adrenaline slipping away and revealing her exhaustion. She’s still incredibly gorgeous behind the thing layer of dirt on her face and minor cuts.

How she managed to get cuts on her face through the mask is unbeknownst to you, but you’re determined to make sure she’s taken care of.

“Hospital first, home second.”

She gives a tired sigh, but agrees nonetheless.

Knowing they may not have anywhere to go, you offer the keys to your lake house to Steve, telling him that they are free to use the place to get clean and rest up.

You don’t leave with Natasha until after she’s said a couple ‘goodbye’s and ‘see you later’s.

******

Taglist: @thelastavenger-3000 @aaron-despair @messuhp@izalesbean @bvb-bk @username23345 @sighsam@confusinggemini612 @natasha-danvers @rileigh519@higherfurther-romanova  @dynnealberto

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Rainy Season

Summary:  After three failed attempts at adoption and being rejected as foster parents, your marriage to Natasha is starting to fall apart. Determined to save your marriage, you and Natasha embark on a journey of acceptance for the things you can’t change. 

Features/Warnings: Angst

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff/Reader

Request: “Hi there! Could I please request a Natasha Romanoff x fem!R fic? Where they’re married and having serious problems, like not sleeping in the same bed, R feels like her touching Nat is unwanted, fights etc and they go to marriage counseling and we see their journey through that and it’s heartbreaking? But like with a hopeful (no break-up) ending please? One part or ten parts, I don’t mind! I’d just love to see this story written after it came into my head. Thank you so much, you’re fantastic! Xx”

Notes: This is a bit different for me as far as subject matter. It’s also one of the longest oneshots I’ve written. 

Word Count: 4545

The clinking of dishes in the sink and the sound of running water were the only sounds in the house. A plate sat in the microwave, waiting for someone you knew wouldn’t be coming anytime soon. She’d been on a mission for three weeks. You’d had a fight before she left. You knew from Bucky that they had returned that morning. The light caught your ring, shining brightly under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. You sighed. It hadn’t always been like this. The stretches of time she’d spend at the compound rather than the home the two of you shared. The fights, the shrinking away from any kind of touch. 

You had met Natasha at a coffee shop. Such a cliche, but it was how you’d met. You had been having the morning from hell. It was a Saturday, but that meant nothing when it came to your work. You had things to get done that kept piling up. Someone had bumped into her, causing her to spill her coffee on you and the papers you’d had scattered on the table. The two of you had gotten to talking and before you knew it, you had her number and a date. 

Now, you’d been married for three years and you were watching her fade away from you. You heard the door open and close, but you didn’t bother saying anything. You focused on the dish you’d been washing for the past five minutes. She came into the kitchen and leaned against the door frame.

“No hello?” she asked. You paused for a moment. 

“Didn’t hear you come in,” you said. She scoffed.

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” she said, walking over to the microwave. She opened it to see what you’d made, a simple lasagna. She scrunched her nose before going to the fridge.

“Do we have anything else?” she asked. Your grip tightened on the plate.

“No, Natasha. You’ve been away. I had a long day. Forgive me for heating up the lasagna I froze,” you snapped. You couldn’t read her expression.

“You’ve had a long day? I just got home from a three week mission. Is it too much to ask that my wife make something other than a frozen lasagna? That I get more than silence when I walk in the door?” she yelled. You dropped the plate, ignoring it as it shattered in the sink. You turned the water off before turning to face her.

“Yes, Natasha. I had a long day. You don’t have a monopoly on hardship in this relationship,” you said, keeping your voice low and even. 

“I never said I did,” she replied. You raised an eyebrow.

“You implied it,” you said.

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” she said with a glare. You weren’t sure how it had gotten this bad. It was as if the fight from three weeks had picked right back up. You didn’t want to deal with it or her in that moment. You knew you would end up saying something you’d regret. You went to grab your wallet and keys.

“Where are you going?” she asked. 

“Out. Don’t wait up. Welcome home, dear,” you replied. You couldn’t deal with her. Not like this. She was looking to fight and you knew it. There was a time in your relationship where you would never leave a fight unresolved, but you needed to cool off before you said something you truly regretted. You found yourself at Mo’s, a dive bar in town that was crawling with a mix of locals who were regulars and students from the local university. There was an odd mix of people in the bar. It was why you liked it. 

“Uh-oh, I know that look. Meri, get this woman a whiskey on the rocks and an order of sticks,” Beth said when you sat down at the bar. Beth owned the bar with her wife Merilee, taken over from Merilee’s father, Mo. Beth was older, in her sixties. She and her wife had been together for years and got married as soon as it was legal. 

“Spill kid, what happened?” she asked as Meri set your whiskey down, handing one to Beth as well. 

“We had a big fight, I told you about it. She came home today. I made lasagna. She got upset about the lasagna,” you said. Beth tutted and gave you a look.

“It wasn’t about the lasagna, kiddo,” she said. You sighed. You knew that. You knew it was about more than the lasagna. About more than your work schedule or hers. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore. We don’t even sleep together anymore. I sleep in the guest room, have for weeks now,” you admitted. Beth looked at you with a sad smile. You used to work at Mo’s when you were in college. She’d seen your relationship with Natasha grow and change over the years. She adored the pair of you. 

“Have you tried counseling?” she asked, breaking the silence. You shook your head.

“That’s the nail in the coffin isn’t it? You go to marriage counseling to admit it’s over,” you said glumly. She shook her head.

“I’ll tell you something, kiddo. Meri and I have been through counseling. Did us a world of good. We weren’t communicating our needs and it spiraled. There was a time we almost split up,” she said. You looked at her in shock.

“But you two are so happy,” you sputtered. She laughed.

“You never know what people are going through. We have our rough patches. Every couple does. Some just need help working through them. Sometimes, ending things is for the best. Other times, it works out. You won’t know unless you try,” she said. You sat there, thinking about her words as she went around the bar checking in on people. You hadn’t looked at your phone since you walked out.

Across town, Natasha sat at the table, eating lukewarm lasagna alone. She never could figure out the right amount of time to let it heat up for. Somehow, you always managed to do it perfectly. She swore you were magic. 

She knew she hadn’t been fair, but there was so much weighing on her lately. Between the team and the two of you continually struggling with the adoption process. Last time the two of you had been about to sign the papers when the mother backed out. It had devastated both of you, but Natasha put on a brave face, for you. She had been gutted. She couldn’t get pregnant and you had no interest in being pregnant. 

Adoption had always been the goal but the pair of you hadn’t had luck. The state had denied your application to be foster parents on the grounds that Natasha’s job would endanger the children, no matter how much the pair of you argued that you had the means to protect the children, no matter how many people argued on your behalf. Adoption through a private agency was your only option. 

She knew it tore you apart. You wanted to adopt. You wanted to be a foster parent to help those kids who couldn’t be with their families for various reasons. And she couldn’t give you that. She was the reason you couldn’t. She blamed herself even if you wouldn’t. She knew she was pulling away, that she hadn’t been fair to you. .She wasn’t surprised when Clint walked in.

“I know you Natasha. You love that woman. So do you want to tell me why you asked Tony about a divorce lawyer?” Clint asked, grabbing an apple from the counter and leaning against it. Natasha sighed.

“She’s not happy,” she said. Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Did she say the words ‘Natasha I’m not happy, I want a divorce?’ or are you jumping to that conclusion without talking to her like an adult?” he asked. 

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“Try me, Tasha. Make me understand. Because you two have been off for months now. She never goes to the compound anymore. She didn’t come last time you came to the farmhouse. What’s going on?” Clint asked.

“We had an adoption lined up,” she said.

“Had...so what happened this time?” he asked. She sighed.

“What always happens. The mother decided to keep the child. Which is her right. I respect that. I just...I wish it didn’t hurt so bad. Our application to be foster parents was rejected because of me. I’m the problem,” Natasha said, her voice cracking. She was good at hiding her emotions, to a fault. Clint pulled her into a hug as she broke. He had only seen Natasha breakdown once since they had met.

“It will work out. You know how I know? Because I know the two of you. You two are two of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. Have you talked about counseling?” he asked. Natasha shook her head.

“I feel like that’s admitting we can’t work it out,” she replied. 

“It’s not, Tasha. It’s admitting you need help communicating with each other and that’s okay. You two can’t keep living like this. Bucky let it slip that she mentioned she’s been sleeping in the guest room. He said she shut down after saying that and changed the subject. He said he’d just asked how the new bed was that the two of you got...Tash, how long has she been sleeping in the guest room?” Clint asked. Natasha ran a hand through her hair and sighed.

“About a month? I don’t know anymore, to be honest. I stopped counting days after the first week,” she admitted. 

“Any reason why?” he asked. Natasha looked down. Vulnerability wasn’t something Natasha Romanoff often showed. Clint could see the pain on her face clear as day.  

“We had a fight. The adoption fell through, we had another fight and then the mission. I thought...maybe she’d start sleeping in our room again, while I was gone. That I’d come home and we’d be okay,” she told him. 

“I think you know what you need to do,” he said. Natasha nodded.

“I do,” she said. 

The light in the living room was still on when you walked in a little past one in the morning. You’d had one drink and spent the rest of your time talking with Beth. You knew what you had to do. You didn’t want to lose what you had with Natasha. Not in the slightest. You looked at her as you put your keys in the dish by the door. You knew she’d been crying. Her eyes were still red-rimmed. 

“Hi,” you said, your voice soft.

“Hi,” she replied, her voice raspy. You walked toward her, finding yourself sitting beside her on the couch and pulling her toward you. She wrapped her arms around you. The two of you sat in silence, holding on to one another as if the other would disappear if you let go. It was the first time in a while you had held Natasha without her recoiling.

You remembered that first time she pulled away when you went to touch her. It was after the second adoption fell through, six months before. The two of you had tried three times to adopt. That was ignoring the agencies that had denied you out of the gate because of who Natasha was. You had been attempting to adopt since the start of your marriage, knowing it could take a while. 

The two of you sat in the office of the agency that had finally agreed to work with you. The person assigned to your case had a sad smile on her face as she welcomed you into her office. It reminded you of the last time the two of you had been there, receiving bad news.

“I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to say this. Ms. Carson has decided against putting the child up for adoption through the agency,” Catrina said. Your shoulders slumped as you looked to Natasha who had a blank expression. You moved to hold her hand but she pulled away from you.

“So, what now?” you asked, your voice breaking. 

“You go back on the list,” Catrina said. 

“Was it because of me?” Natasha asked, breaking her silence. Catrina was quiet for a moment. You knew no matter what she said next, that the answer was yes. Last time this had happened, the birth mother reached out. Saying it was nothing personal, but her family thought it wasn’t safe for the baby. Safe. As if Natasha was a danger, you thought bitterly. There would be no where safer for the child than your home. You maintained a suite at the compound, but your primary residence was a home not far from there, with more security features than anyone could ever imagine. You and Natasha had decided early on that you needed your space as a couple away from the compound, especially once you brought children into the equation. You never counted on it being that difficult. 

Leaving the agency, you tried once more to take her hand, only to have her pull away. You sighed as you got into the car. The pair of you were silent on the drive home. You pretended you couldn’t hear her cry when she closed the door to the bedroom. You sat at the kitchen table, pouring yourself a drink, losing yourself in your thoughts. 

You imagined a life where you weren’t shut down at every turn. At least two kids, didn’t matter if it was a girl and a boy, two boys, or two girls. Playing sports, learning instruments, teaching them to defend themselves. Maybe one becomes a teacher, another joins the team. Or maybe one decides they want a music career. In your dreams, you get approved to be foster parents. You weren’t a superhero like Natasha, but giving kids a safe place to live? You could do that. You could help like that. The two of you had just started the process of getting approved for that. You saw no reason why they would reject you, especially when you knew there were truly awful people out there who were foster parents. It was something that angered you when you dwelled on it too long. 

You were pulled from your thoughts when Natasha started playing with your hair. She hadn’t done that in months. 

“We need to talk, but I think we need to sleep first,” you murmured. She yawned before nodding. You stood up, taking her hand when you did and helping her up. You led her to your shared room. For the past month, you had only entered to change clothes and shower. Natasha didn’t protest as you helped her into pajamas before changing yourself. You pulled back the covers for her before moving around to your side of the bed. It was a rare side of Natasha, a side you usually saw after rough missions where she was too tired to function properly. You pulled her close, falling asleep shortly after her breathing evened out. 

When the morning light streamed through the blinds, you woke to find Natasha still fast asleep, sprawled across you. You kissed the top of her head before extricating yourself from the bed. It was no easy feat to escape the bed of Natasha Romanoff. You managed to get out without waking her, something you took as a personal victory.

You headed to the bathroom, trying not to let your thoughts wander. You weren’t naive. You knew things weren’t magically fixed. As you washed your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed. You hadn’t been sleeping well. The previous night had been the best sleep you’d had since before you’d started sleeping in the guest room. You headed toward the kitchen, glancing back at Natasha’s sleeping form before leaving the room. You knew breakfast was in order. 

When Natasha emerged from the bedroom a half hour later, she smiled when she saw you finishing cooking. You plated an omelette, putting a few pieces of bacon, some homefries, and toast on the plate before bringing it to the table along with yours. Her toast had her favorite jam spread on it. You glanced up when you heard her footsteps against the hardwood floor.

“Morning sleepyhead,” you said with a light laugh. It felt normal. But both of you knew it wouldn’t last long. Anxiety twisted in your stomach at the thought of the conversation you needed to have. You knew this was make or break. You weren’t sure what you’d do if she didn’t agree with the idea of counseling. You weren’t sure if you two would make it to your fourth anniversary if you didn’t go. 

“Morning,” she said, sitting down. You set a glass of orange juice down beside her coffee before sitting down. The two of you ate in silence for a few minutes before you decided to take the plunge.

“I think we should see a marriage counselor,” you said. Natasha took a bite of her food as she looked at you, head slightly tilted with a small smirk on her face. You knew that look.

“Is this breakfast to butter me up to be open to the idea?” she asked. 

“Breakfast is my apology for letting you walk out that door for a three week mission without saying ‘I love you’,” you said. The two of you didn’t sit down for breakfast often. Usually it was bowls of cereal or oatmeal as you rushed around getting ready for the day. 

“I think we should. I was thinking. And I talked to Clint,” she said. You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you telling me Clint Barton suggested we go to marriage counseling? We are talking about the same Clint Barton who on the Fourth of July thought it was a good idea to try to launch a firework from his bow, that Clint Barton?” you asked. She laughed. 

“He may do stupid things, but he had a point. Everyone’s noticed something is wrong. We just...don’t want to admit it to ourselves,” she said. You nodded.

“Beth, she uh, she gave me a recommendation. She and Meri went to counseling, apparently still go every once in a while,” you said, sounding unsure. She nodded. 

“Make the call. If they trust this counselor, that’s enough for me,” she said. It wasn’t uncommon for you and Natasha to have dinner with the two women. They had never had children of their own, but it wasn’t uncommon for a teenager kicked out by their family to find their way to the older women. They owned the bar in town and a good portion of their staff had at one time or another been housed by the women for one reason or another. 

Another month found you in your fourth session. Natasha had requested to be kept off longer missions for the time being unless it was unavoidable. The first session had been your standard getting to know you session. The following two hadn’t seen much progress. You both beat around the bush on the elephant in the room. Dr. Reynolds had you write down questions you wanted to ask each other. Yours went in one dish, Nat’s in another. You stared at Dr. Reynolds when she read Nat’s question.

“Pardon? Can you repeat that?” you asked, unsure if you heard her correctly. 

“Would you still love Natasha if you never are able to have children or foster?” she read. You looked at Natasha. 

“Nat?” you asked, your voice soft. She looked down.

“I know you want to adopt. I want to too. But every time we’ve tried,” she said. You moved to cup her cheek as she turned to look at you.

“Natasha. I love you. I chose you. I’d love you if your skin turned green and your sprouted goat horns and an extra five eyes. Yes, I want children. And I still believe it will happen for us. But if it doesn’t, that doesn’t change my love for you. Some things are out of our control. Does it change your feelings for me if we don’t have kids? If we never get to be foster parents?” you asked. 

“No...but I’m the one who’s the reason why it’s fallen through every time. I’m the reason why we can’t be foster parents,” she said.

“And I don’t care! Natasha, I love you. And that’s not changing. The fact that you think I’d leave you because of things that are out of our control, that hurts. That hurts. I know it’s a dealbreaker for some people, but Natasha, you are my person. I don’t walk away just because life isn’t going how we hoped. One day, we’ll expand our family. I know it. Maybe it won’t be how we planned, but...it will happen,” you said. 

“I feel like I’m holding you back,” she admitted. You shook your head.

“You aren’t. Do you trust me?” you asked.

“Of course I do,” she said.

“Then believe me when I tell you I’m not going anywhere,” you said. It was a draining session. The pair of you were drained by the time you walked in the door. Natasha held up three menus and you pointed to one at random. She nodded and went to order your dinner, knowing it’d be a bit before the food arrived. 

The two of you ate in silence. It had been a long day. You and Natasha had agreed in counseling to give it one more try with adopting. You weren’t sure you could handle another heartbreak, and you knew she was feeling the same way. After dinner, you went for a walk with Natasha. This time, you were keeping the news about the adoption to yourselves, not wanting to get your hopes up. The agency had reached out saying they had someone who had chosen the pair of you to adopt their child. You could only hope they wouldn’t back out. You had met with the woman and her boyfriend, that morning, two young kids barely out of high school. 

“Why did you choose us?” you asked after you had been introduced to Michael and Danielle. They shared a look and he squeezed her hand in comfort. 

“When we saw you two on the list...we knew there was no other option. Our child will be safe with you two. We know it. They’ll be loved and well cared for. Dani...she didn’t have the best childhood,” Michael said. Natasha’s brow furrowed. Recognition flashed on her face and you gave her a confused look. 

“You were in the Red Room,” Natasha said quietly.

“Until a woman and her family came and saved me when I was a child,” Danielle said with a nod. You understood in that moment why they had chosen you.

“We aren’t ready to be parents. But we know the two of you will love and protect them,” Michael said. 

“Of course we will,” you said. You dared to allow yourself to fill with hope. This time was different. You knew it.

The two of you walked in silence, your hands laced together as you walked through the neighborhood. You smiled as you saw your neighbors in their yard with their kids, allowing yourself to imagine when it’d be you and Natasha doing that. She squeezed your hand and looked at you with a small smile. 

You knew a child didn’t fix things, you weren’t naive. But you and Natasha had seven months. Seven months before the baby would be here. Seven months for things to fall apart with the process again, but you refused to allow yourself to think of that. The stress the process had put on your relationship was impossible to deny. But you had hope. It would work out. 

It was another three sessions until the two of you opened up to Dr. Reynolds about the pending adoption. Neither of you had told anyone. Not Clint. Not Bucky. Not even Beth and Meri. You were both afraid that talking about it would jinx it, that Michael and Danielle would decide to keep the baby or decide that they didn’t feel comfortable with the Black Widow raising the baby. 

“Have the two of you talked about it outside of meeting with the couple?” Dr. Reynolds asked. You both nodded.

“A little. We’re trying not to get too excited. We know a baby won’t fix us. We know a baby might complicate things more. But we feel like we’re heading in the right direction. This is what we’ve wanted for years,” Natasha said. 

“I’m scared. I’m scared that we’ll allow ourselves to be excited, and the rug will be pulled out from under us again and break us. I don’t know if we can handle another heartbreak,” you admitted. 

“That’s a natural reaction, especially in your situation. The two of you are in a much better place than you were two months ago when you first came to see me. Don’t get me wrong, there’s always progress to be made. But you both are in a much better place,” Dr. Reynolds said. 

You left the appointment feeling lighter. You and Natasha decided to head to Mo’s after. The bar had good food, and you both wanted to talk to Beth and Meri. 

When the two of you sat down at the bar, you saw the look Beth gave her wife. You weren’t surprised when a plate of mozzarella sticks ended up in front of you.

“Well aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes?” Meri asked. You smiled at her.

“We’ve been busy,” you said. 

“How are things?” Beth asked.

“Good, really good,” Natasha said. 

“Actually, that’s why we came in. Natasha and I...we think...we think this time it’s going to work out,” you said, keeping it vague. You saw both women light up.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s wonderful! You two, you deserve all the happiness this world can give you,” Meri said.

“I think this calls for the good stuff,” Beth said, turning to find a bottle. You shook your head with a laugh as she grabbed a bottle to pour four shots. She may have been in her sixties but you knew better than to think her days of taking shots were over. The four of you clinked glasses before taking your shots. 

You looked over at Natasha, a smile wide on your face. Things hadn’t been easy, but life rarely was. The one thing of which you were absolutely certain of was the fact that you loved her and you would never stop loving her.

Seven months later, the two of you brought home your baby, your daughter. The road had been hard, but in the end, as you sat on the couch with your wife and newborn, it was worth every bump. As the baby started crying Natasha took her from your arms.

“I’ve got her. Go take a nap. I know you had a rough few days while I was away,” she said before leaving the room. ‘Yeah. This was worth it,’ you thought with a soft smile on your face as you stood up to head toward your room. 

[unbelievableholland]

Love, Me: Prologue

Pairings: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Warnings: Alcoholism, death, bad coping mechanisms

Words: 1,200

A/N: It's hereee!!! I'm excited! This part is relatively short, but it'll be longer next time, I promise. As for the Moodboard, I'm still working on it. Can't find a good combination of pictures😅

Edit: After a few hours, I finally got the Moodboard done!!! I hope y'all like it❤️

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“Uhm, hi. I’m Peter. Peter Parker.” Shakily, he holds out his hand for you to shake. He seems nervous, and he is. I mean, you would be too if you met the daughter of Tony Stark. Well, that is, if you’re not already the daughter of Tony Stark.

Smirking at the boy who— you can tell— is buzzing with excitement, you hold out your hand as well. Shaking his hand, you introduced yourself, but he beat you to it.

“I-uh, I know who you are actually. Mr. Stark told me about you a-and I hear about you in the internet. Y-Y/N Stark, right?” You hum in agreement, laughing slightly when he realized that he was still holding your hand and retracted it.

You decided to ignore his blushing cheeks entirely though, for his sake.

“Peter Parker, you’re that Spider guy, right?” Still, you retain that classic Stark smirk on your face. Proud of yourself for making him blush a little more.

“It’s Spider-Man” looking down as he mumbles.

“Well Spidey, I can tell you’re an interesting guy. Dad told me you had some prototypes for your suit you want help with?”

He looks up and his face lights up at your comment, looking a bit relieved that you didn’t point out his awkwardness. “Uh, y-yeah I do. C-Can we go use your lab or something? I-if you d-don’t mind I m-mean. If y-you even have a la—” giggling, you cut of his rambling.

“Yup! I do have a lab, and yes, we can use it.”

Just as you’re about to take him to your lab, your dad enters. Smiling when he sees that you’ve already introduced yourselves to each other.

“Ah! I see you’ve met my daughter, Underoos. How’re you getting along so far?”

“W-We’re good, M-mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, I was just about to take him to my lab to check out the prototypes.”

His smile widens at the thought of his two favorite kids getting along. Especially at the thought of you, finally having a friend your age.

“Well Peter, I need to talk to my daughter for a bit. Just go straight ahead and to your left, you’ll see her lab. You can’t miss it. Friday will unlock it for you,”

“O-kay. Th-thanks Mr. Stark.”

“No problem, kid.”

While Peter walks away, stands beside you and leans closer. “How do you like him so far?”

Grinning, you shrug.

“To be honest, he’s great. I think he’s cute.”

Those are the times you treasure most. You wish it could’ve stayed like that. Before all of it happened.

The stones, the snap, then the war. Those five years you lost that you can never get back. The time you could’ve spent with your father before he ultimately sacrificed himself for the good of the universe.

Everyone feels like they’re waking up from a deep sleep. Like they’re being pulled out from the void, mostly because they practically are.

It isn’t long until Strange told everyone what is actually happening, and why they need to get to the compound— or at least, what’s left of it.

After he told everyone how long it’s been, that’s where the panic struck. You got this weird feeling in your gut that something bad is about to happen.

And you were right. Because now, you’re standing in front of your very injured father. Pleading— begging— for him to pull through.

“H-hey, dad? I-it's me, Y-Y/N. I’m back, you did it. You saved us. I—” You can’t take it anymore as your legs turn to jelly and you fall down, hugging your dad before it’s too late. Telling him how much you love him, how you always will, like your life depended on it, because it probably does. “I l—love you, dad. Please don’t go” you hug him tighter, somehow trying to keep him alive.

“Hey, m-mr. Stark? Y-You did I-it. We won. We won mr. Stark” You don’t think your heart could possibly break even more, until you see Peter. Hands holding Tony’s chest plate, crying just like you. Each and every person that’s there, has their heart breaking for the two kids in front of them.

Tony doesn’t say a word. Even when Pepper talked to him. You all but hear him say, “Hey Pep.” and flash one last small smile before his arc reactor shut off and he drifted off to sleep.

You weren’t usually like this. You never wanted to be like this, but after all the nightmares and the panic attacks, you didn’t know what to do.

So, you turned to alcohol. Trying to numb yourself as everybody else talk to each other while grieving. You were always the one to cheer them up. You never wanted to look weak in front of them, so you decide to suffer alone.

You don’t want to be a burden to anyone.

Right now, in your room, you look at the pictures of you and your dad, as well as the ones with Steve and Natasha in them.

You clutch onto the frame with the picture of you and your dad in it, walking towards your desk and chugging down a bottle of red wine. Yes, you’re hurting, but you don’t want anyone to see that. They’re hurting as well. Especially Peter.

Peter. God, you miss Peter. Your father’s death has caused a big wedge in your relationship, but luckily, you know you both will be able to go through this. You just need to talk to him.

Putting the bottle and the picture frame down, you grab a towel and prepare to go to the bathroom. You miss the times when Peter would have to tackle you so you could stay in bed with him.

You’ve texted him, and he’s texted you.

But it’s not the same.

No routine I love you’s or good morning’s anymore. Just plain texts to see how each other’s doing. You haven’t seen each other for a while since your father’s death, but you know it’s alright.

You just have to open up to them. To the remaining Avengers, and Peter. You need to be better for them, because you can’t let yourself push them away.

Tony wouldn’t want you to do that. Natasha or Steve wouldn’t either.

So, with all the strength you could muster up, you message Peter before entering the bathroom.

N/N😘❤️: Hey Pete. I want to talk to you about something. Wanna meet up later around 8:00 at my room?

Pacing around the room, you try to calm yourself down while waiting for a reply.

But ultimately, you decide to clean your room. Hiding the bottles and sobering yourself up before taking a shower and brushing your teeth.

The warm water immediately calming your nerves and brushing your teeth, ridding you of your alcoholic smell.

Even though you’re eventually going to tell Peter about this, you don’t want him to see you messed up.

As you get out of the shower, you hear your phone ring, notifying you of a text message.

Spidey🕷️💕: But Ned and I are going to MJ’s to hang out. Maybe next time? Really Sorry.

N/N😘❤️: It’s fine. I’ll just tell you next time. Have fun :)

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Love, Me Tag List:

@averyfosterthoughts

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 76: Going Home? Question Mark?

Lance, Keith, and their ‘associates’ give their farewells and prepare to leave.

Sorry for my perpetual lateness :’(

First  Previous  Next

Keith sits across from his mother, sipping some tea. Krolia watches him. He’s very still, waiting patiently for her to speak. He's put his circlet back on, though not his Altean clothes, as they no longer fit. A part of her wonders if he has what it takes to be a leader. He always seems so gentle outside of combat.

Perhaps a little too gentle.

“Are you going to tell me, or are you two keeping it to yourselves for now?”

“Putting it like that sort of backs me into a corner,” Keith observes. He worries his lip. “We’re very excited, but I don’t feel ready to celebrate yet.”

“Because you don’t want to feel sad if you miscarry,” Krolia concludes.

Keith nods. Guilt stings at his hearts. “Lance is so happy. I don’t know what I’ll do if-”

“You’re allowed to be happy, kitten.” Krolia pushes some hair out of her son’s face. “Thace’s equipment only goes so far. A few movements ago, we weren’t certain you could get pregnant. Now, you know you can, and you will have every possible chance of bringing this kit into the world.”

"Right..." Gazing around his freshly cleaned den, Keith’s visibly saddened. The windchimes are gone from outside; BleepBloop’s climbing towers missing; the fireplace has been cleaned and scrubbed of soot. The den is empty, like it’s never been lived in. It feels wrong.

“Keith? What-”

“I don’t want to go,” he whispers, throat tight and ready to choke him. “I want to stay here with all of you. I want to see Lance be happy and feel like himself.” “Feel like himself?” Krolai’s ear cocks, trying to understand.

“When we return, Lance will become busy again, with no more excuses to delegate so much of his work. He’ll sort through it, and give me the easy tasks so that he finds time to eat and sleep, and we’ll be together, but apart all over again. He’ll be distant, and coy, and never touch me unless we’re alone and I’ll hate it!” The young man sighs, tugs on a lock of his hair. "I know he's trying, but I don't know how to help him break out of these habits. I don't think he can do it alone, either. I don't want him to."

Krolia fixates on her son, watching his frustration over the rim of her cup. “This is my fault. No one ever told you what being a bearer means on Altea, did they.”

“Obviously I know what it means-”

“No, you don’t.” Krolia’s stare is searing. “Pregnancy is power, Keith. A good man or not, the crown prince is no different than any other Altean sire. You carry his progeny, and he will worship at your feet. He will give you anything you ask for. If you want to be his fawned-over, spoiled pet, tell him. If you want power, tell him. If you want luxury, tell him. If you want to share in his duties, tell him. If you want him to hold you, keep you close all the days of his life, tell him. Whatever you want, he will give it to you.”

“Momma. That’s…”

“That’s survival, kitten. You have power over him. He’s desperate for heirs. After your first kit, hold out on him. You’ll have whatever you want.”

“Momma, what I want is my mate. By my side. Sharing my life.” Keith sips his tea. “I understand what you’re saying. And I understand that you still have concerns about me mated to an Altean, and living on Altea. But I promise, Momma. I promise I don’t have to manipulate Lance into giving me things that I need. I can just ask.”

He waits until his mother meets his gaze. When she does, her eyes are so very sad. Sad for everything they’re still struggling to build between them. He taps his fingers against the clay of his cup, tries to find a way to explain why he’s not worried about having to ask for things.

“You know, when I first arrived, I spent the first movement avoiding everyone, including Lance. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was watching me. Asking the guards about me. He must have asked the gardeners, or was approached, because it’s the only way he found out about this flower I stole from a greenhouse.” Keith laughs. “The next thing I know this garden he built for me is full of orchids. I kept finding new blankets and pillows, uh. Puzzles. Random trinkets. Raw crystals. Snacks.

“We’re addressing his control issues, obviously, but… He was so desperate to make me comfortable, to make it easier. He cared about me even then. I don’t need to manipulate or use him to get what I need or want. Chances are he’ll give it to me before I even ask.”

“I hope you’re right. I do think better of him. But he wears the face of the species that slaughtered your father. My mate.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t be blaming my uncle for that?” Keith asks, steady, completely serious.

“An excellent question, kitten. One I ask more every quintant.” The soldier woman gets to her feet. “We should go and meet your mate and your friends. It’s about time for you to leave and we need to stop by my den on our way to the Compound.”

Keith nods, reluctantly following his mother to her own den. BleepBloop is already on their ship, ready for Altea. It’s on the edge of the community. No one owns dens, or even has an ancestral den anymore. Too many people have left, or died. A den becomes empty, and whoever’s lived on the fringes the longest gets to move inward if they like.

“I have something for you,” Krolia tells him. “I suppose, in a way, you have your mate to thank for this. Perhaps you can educate him about it.”

“Okay?”

“Wait here.” Krolia ducks inside her den, coming back out seconds later with a very small wolf cub. “So your mate decided to save an orphaned wolf cub, which was incredibly honorable and respectful of him, but his mother’s companion could not find a surrogate for him, and now he needs a home. The hunter decided that since your mate saved him, you two might like to have him.”

“I-” Keith gulps. Being offered a cub is an extreme honor, especially as an outsider. And the cub is cute. He takes the animal from his mother, rubbing his ears, looking him over. “I love him already. So much.”

Not that he could turn down a wolf cub even if he wanted to. Especially not this one, the one that carries not only a piece of his mother's life force, but Lance's as well. He strokes the wolf’s midnight fur, working a tangle out of the pale blue ruff circling around the animal’s neck and down his back. The cub stares up at him with brilliant, golden eyes.

“I knew you two didn’t have the time for him, so I told Lance I’d keep him here. It was his idea to give him to you today. I guess he thought it might make going home easier.”

“It doesn’t,” Keith whispers. “But it’s still something. Stupid idiot, he’s really toeing that line between secret and surprise.” He holds the cub up to his face, smiling. “You had a rough start, huh?” The cub licks his nose. “Me too. Don’t worry. It gets so much better.” Keith smirks. “Finally someone to take BleepBloop down a peg. He’s gonna be so jealous-”

Keith’s comms unit buzzes in his pocket, a message from Adam: It’s time to go. He takes a deep breath. “Well, little one. Wanna come with me to Altea?”

The animal licks at his face again, tail wagging. Keith grins, cuddles the cub close. Yeah, he’s keeping this little guy.

Keith stalls on his way to the compound, stopping to talk to people, ask a few carefully worded questions about the political climate and what the villagers think of Lance, ask if those thoughts have spread. It’s good news. It means their kit will be a little safer.

“So… Lunch last quintant was a thing, huh?” Lance nibbles at his breakfast. He’s in Allura’s sitting room, one of the few rooms she and Lotor have deemed safe from prying eyes and ears. Meaning Lotor and Pidge searched the room from top to bottom.

Allura nods, eating as quickly and as much as her manners will allow. “It really was quite something.”

“What do you think?”

“I think…” Allura wipes her mouth with her napkin. “I think I should stay closer to Lotor and keep a closer eye on Romelle. I think you should keep an eye on yourself and keep closer to Keith.” She gives her brother a meaningful look.

“Was it that obvious?”

“No. The others wouldn’t have caught it. But I know you, and I know Keith. I could tell… Are you trying to keep it quiet?”

“For now. Keith may very well miscarry and feels too uncertain to make an announcement.” Lance sips his tea.

“And?” Allura gives her brother a pointed look. Lance sighs.

“And the longer we can hide this, the longer our child will be safe. The moment Alfor and Zarkon know, our baby’s future will be dictated to us.” Lance leans forward in his seat, expression tense. “Remember our cousin, Griffin? His son is four years old and rumor is Alfor’s already made an arrangement. Keeping it quiet means I have time to come up with something myself, or pass some legislation under the table to protect the rights of our children. We only have a few movements until the thaw, and I’ve just got ideas, nothing written.”

“Do you plan on including Nibling in that?” Allura asks, gesturing to her belly with her spoon. “Because frankly I don’t like the way Honerva’s been looking at me lately. Lotor doesn’t like it either.”

“Of course. Anyone possessing Altean blood, or under Altean rule.” Lance frowns. “How long do you have?”

It’s a more difficult question than it seems. Galra gestation is only five phoebs, their children born small-bodied, vulnerable and useless with eyes and ears still shut. Altean infants gestate for a decaphoeb and a half- three times as long. They’re born hearing and seeing, ready to learn how to walk and talk.

“Well, I’m about six phoebs along… We’re guessing six more, judging by their development.”

Lance nods. “I don’t know how long we have. I just- I want us to be safe and happy.”

“Lance…” Allura taps her finger on the table. “You don’t remember what Mother was like. She wasn’t at all how she’s described. I mean, she was kind and all that, but she was also wild and very strong. A powerful leader and presence. She didn’t die by accident, Lance. Her death was on purpose. When she was assassinated, they chose her for a reason.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Safe and happy are not available to us. Be respected instead. Be the type of leader that people will kill on purpose, because of who you are, not what you are. That’s how you can best protect our children. Be feared and respected.”

Lance nods, licks his lips. “I should visit Romelle before I go.”

Allura sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you would… I know father was lying about looking for more possible solutions. It was unusually kind of him.”

“I… had a screaming fit with him before we left Altea. I think I got through to him. Somewhat. He’s still Alfor, but he’s a slightly less frustrating Alfor.”

Allura laughs through her nose. “We must take what we can get.” She meets her brother’s gaze. “I am going to miss you, brother.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” Lance rises to his feet, giving his sister a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll come visit again when I can.”

“So… When I make you an uncle?”

Lance grimaces. “Or when Keith makes you an aunt.”

The princess nods, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. They stay like that for a long moment, Lance standing, Allura sitting, missing each other, still in the same room. This woman, his sister, raised him, loved him, supported every one of his choices, even if she disagreed.

Sometimes, he still feels lost without her.

“I love you, Lance.”

“Love you too, ‘Lura.” Lance kisses her cheek again, slips his hand from hers as he heads for the door. “I’ll see you again soon.”

Across the hall, in another room, Lance finds an even sadder affair. Romelle is sitting by a sunny window in yet another red stone room, eyes staring into some unfathomable distance. Despite her vacant expression, she’s visibly well cared for. Her hair is groomed and braided how she always wore it before and she’s clean. Her clothes are fresh, fingernails files short and round so she can’t hurt herself.

He wonders if she still knows how loved she is.

“Hey, Romelle. I just thought I’d come say goodbye. We’re leaving today, so…”

Lance sits in the chair opposite the frail woman, disrupting his sister’s imprinted shadow. Before he knows it, Lance’s eyes are stinging, welling with tears. He grew up playing with this woman, watching her and Allura fall in love. She was so, so young when she went on that final voyage with Alfor, and she won’t ever get better. Not hoping for conversation, Lance elects to sit quietly and keep his friend company for a while-

“Are you afraid of the water?”

“I-” Lance blinks, unsure of the proper response. He takes a chance on the truth. “No, I’m not afraid of the water. I love the water.”

Romelle hums, skeptical, quizzical. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t be. You would not even be aware.”

“Beg pardon?”

“What has come to pass will pass again... the love story theirs and yours are so very fond of. Only neither of you knows it.”

“Romelle-”

“Generations of flesh give way to the rebirth of souls… The guardian waits for the descendants.”

“...I understand,” Lance lies. It’s easy, like lying to a small child, promising that there are no monsters outside their door. He stands, having had as much as he can bear. He gently squeezes the woman’s hand.

“Do not fear the water,” Romelle whispers. “Even submerged, you will still burn.”

“Good, uh.” Lance clears his throat. “Good to know.”

As Lance leaves to gather Pidge and Adam and say goodbye to Lotor, Shiro, Thace, Ulaz, and a few other Blades, he can’t quite shake the anxiety. He struggles to convince himself that Romelle is unwell, just spouting random nonsense from her collapsing mind.

He doesn’t quite succeed.

Sooner or later, Keith finds himself in the courtyard where they arrived, the ship open, revealing a number of packages- gifts and other items they’ve accumulated since their arrival. Lance is talking with Thace and Kolivan, hands animated, eyes shining. Whatever they’re discussing, Lance is excited for it.

“Keith.” Krolia turns him to face her, grips his shoulder tight. “Listen to me carefully. Are you listening?”

Keith turns to his mother, nods, holds the wolf cub closer between them, petting his head.

“You train this animal well. You keep him close. Do not trust anyone except the crown prince… There is something in the stars. I have seen it. All we can do is brace ourselves and wait.”

“What do you mean?” Keith whispers, fear trickling like ice down his spine.

“I mean that the sociopolitical strain on Daibazaal is reaching a breaking point, and none of us are prepared. There are enemies in every corner, and fools behind and beside them. You are carrying the hopes and dreams of an entire civilization in your womb. Know your place, even if it is to run.”

“I-” Keith gulps, nods. “I will… I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, kitten.” Krolia embraces her son, kisses his temple. “You tell that Altean of yours I’m allowed to visit, because I can and will.”

“Okay. Just let us know you’re coming. There’s an entry medical procedure.”

“Noted. I see your mate-”

“Ready to go, beloved?” Lance slips an arm around his waist.

“Not really,” Keith whispers.

The Altean’s smile is so, so sad and so very gentle. “Me neither. But we’ll come back soon; I promise.”

“I know.” Keith doesn’t want to ask for one more trip before their kit is born, but he imagines Lance is already trying to set up the same thing. Lifting his gaze, he spies Adam, holding both of Shiro’s hands. They’re talking quietly.

He’s not the only one breaking his heart today. As he watches, Pidge trots up to the Altean, tugs on his vest, gently whispers that it’s time to go. The look on Adam’s face is inscrutable as he nods, leans up, whispers something in Shiro’s ear before he slips away and onto the ship. The conflicted expression on Shiro's face tells Keith it was a tender confession. His heart breaks for his littermate and for Adam, who finally found each other only for them to be kept apart by duty and honor.

As the ship lifts off the ground, Lance catches Keith sniffling into his new pet’s fur, trying to hide it. The crown prince doesn’t question the cub’s presence, having known about it the whole time. Instead he just holds his husband close, lets him cry.

There’s not a whole lot else he can do. Pidge’s feelers creep over his hands, investigating them both. They hum, soft enough to barely register, sitting quiet for a moment before going to watch Altea loom larger and larger before them. They whisper quietly to Adam, who only shakes his head.

Leaving here is far harder than leaving Altea.

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (16)

You had your phone on silent the entire time you were shopping. Once you realized you checked your notifications. You had a text and missed call from Steve a voicemail from your therapist and a text from Tony. You called Steve back. His message seemed to be the most urgent.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Where are you?” He sounded upset.

“In the city shopping. Why? What’s going on?”

“Did you see your doctor today?” Snitch.

“No. Look I know what you are going to say. I think I really have a handle on everything, Steve. I don’t want to see Dr. Calloway anymore.”

“Good. No, baby, that’s good. Don’t take anymore of those pills. Come back to the compound as soon as possible. We need to talk.”

“Steve you are scaring me.”

“Everything is fine, doll. Come on home.” You drove as fast as the law allowed. Steve met you outside of the gate. He stopped you before you could pull in and jumped in the passenger seat. Wanda and Sam got in the back and Bucky followed on the bike. “Just drive.” He pulled the radio out of your dash and told you to kill the navigation.

“We need to get somewhere out of SHIELD and Tony’s reach.” You bit your lip knowing exactly where to go. You started driving towards the freeway to head north.

“I have a place but you have to promise not to lose your shit when we get there. Promise me, Steve.” You tapped your fingers on the wheel and chewed your lip raw.

“I promise. Want to tell me what I’m walking in to?”

“Uh. My house. Not the one that was burned down. The new one.”

“When did you buy a house?” You were silent and started to tear up a little.

“Heimdall! I know you can hear me. Tell Thor to meet us at our house.” You wouldn’t look at Steve. You could feel his anger building. “You promised, Steve.”

“Baby, when you said ‘our house’ what did you mean?” He was gripping the arm rest so tight he almost snapped it off. He knew the answer to the question. He just wanted to hear you say it. You didn’t answer. You were concentrating on keeping the mood from escalating in the car. You were scared and it would be really easy to lose control at this moment. “Y/N I need you to answer me.”

“Loki built a house on the land that my family owns. He may or may not be living there. I don’t know because I haven’t talked to him in almost a year.” You put your hand on his arm and he pulled away.

“Nope. You don’t get to tell me how to feel right now, Y/N. I thought when you took that bracelet off he was out of your life. Out of our lives. That was a big deal for me.”

“It was a big deal for me too. I only found out about the house a couple of months ago. It’s a gift.”

“That’s a pretty big fucking gift. I can’t fucking believe you right now.” The rest of the ride was silent. Sam and Wanda looked out the window. The only sound you heard was the growl of Steve’s bike behind you.

The road went from paved to gravel to forest floor. You traveled far off the main drive. You arrived at the glen that was hidden in the shadows of a the mountains save for the beam of sunshine that shone down like a spotlight. There was a patch of grass that was singed where Thor likely landed.

You were trying so hard to hide your emotions but it was so beautiful. You took a deep breath getting a nose full of the mimosa that was now in full bloom. Wanda held your hand. “It’s stunning. I can’t believe he did all of this.”

The five of you walked into the gate. Loki was waiting in the doorway. “This is not exactly how I envisioned you seeing the place.”

“Thought she’d be alone?” Steve said blowing past him.

“Nice to see you too, Captain Rogers.”

“Don’t. Please” you begged. “Steve, honey. Can we have a seat and talk about why we’re here?” You gathered in the kitchen so Steve could explain. He confessed to knowing about the medication but not exactly what it was. He said he knew that Dr. Calloway worked for Fury and that the operation in Alaska was a rescue mission. He still hadn’t figured out the rest.

“I promise you I had no idea what that medication was not until I spoke to Agatha and Professor Xavier. Tony does and that’s why we’re here.”

“Steve, you should have come to me. The good news is I know what Aconite is. It’s been used for centuries as a poison and, in some varieties to help with anxiety. It slows the heart rate. Luckily I know an antidote. Plus I minored in chemistry and I’ve been working with Stephen Strange a literal medical doctor who helped me compound a quick dissolving tablet to neutralize the Aconite.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I was protecting you. I should have talked to you. I would never willingly hurt you. Do you understand that?” He hugged you tight and kissed you. You nodded your head and hugged him back but you were still hurt.

Loki beamed with pride. You were always one step ahead of these idiots. What a clever little witch. It irritated him to his core that you met Steve with understanding and compassion rather than blind rage when he lied to you. You were clouded by your feelings for him.

“So what’s the plan, Cap? Do we go on this mission?” Sam asked. While they discussed a plan and you excused yourself to explore. Every detail was as you imagined right down to the door knobs and drawer pulls. Loki left a clone of himself in the kitchen so he could join you.

“What do you think? Did I get it right?” he whispered. You slipped your hand in his and squeezed.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Loki. I love it so much here. I’m sorry I’m seeing it this way.” He didn’t let go of your hand right away.

“I’m just glad you’re here. I do admit I thought it would be just the two of us. But, there’s plenty of room. I’d better get back.” He pressed his lips hard to the back of your hand. You heard Steve calling from the kitchen.

“We’re going to stay the night here and go back to the compound in the morning. Until we figure all of this out you stay and we’ll come back to get you. I trust you’re safe here.” Steve explained. You went back to the bedroom to try to get some rest. Loki took the couch. He grabbed some blankets from the linen closet and winked at you as he went down the hall.

“Baby, I’m gonna check on everyone to make sure they’re set for the night. Why don’t you go take a bath? I’ll be back in a sec.” Steve checked on Bucky and Sam who were sharing a room. The bed was large enough for the two of them to fit comfortably. Wanda was already in bed so was Thor. Loki was sitting up on the couch reading.

“Can I talk to you?” Steve asked. Loki looked around to see who else was in the room. He gestured towards the big chair across from him. Steve sat down and stared around the room trying to collect his thoughts. Everywhere he looked he saw you. Everything was soft and inviting. There was a spice to the air warm and aromatic. He wanted to curl up in this place. Get lost in here. This wasn’t his place though. Loki built it with the intention of living out your days here. There were flashes of him too. No. There was no place here for Steve.

“Can I trust you with her?” His voice was low and gritty like it was worked over with sandpaper.

“You know she’s safe with me.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking. Can I trust you to keep your hands off of her?”

“I won’t touch her. You have my word.”

“Your word. That’s cute. You see here I was thinking you were gone. Out of our lives. It took her six months to take that damned bracelet off which means it took her six months to get over you. And here you are back in our lives again. What possessed you to build this house?” he put his hand up to stop him, “No. Don’t tell me. I already know. It’s the same reason I went out to Westchester today. The same reason I’m ready to go ape shit on Tony fucking Stark and all of SHIELD. Because you are in love with her just like I’m in love with her. The difference is she chose me. She chose to have me in her life. You just keep showing up.” Steve buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure if he was coming or going.

Loki was deep in thought dissecting what Steve said but also trying to figure out Tony’s play. “I’m trying to understand what binding her will do. It won’t change the fact that she’s a conduit. It will only leave her defenseless. Unless that’s what they are trying to do.” Loki’s eyes were wide thinking of the possibility that you would be able to absorb all of the powers of the people Hydra kidnapped. You’d be a nuclear bomb indeed. That’s only if you were powerless to stop it. As it were, you cast a spell on yourself that had a fail safe built in. If you kept training with Strange and Wong, you would be able to stop the lot of them. “Captain. That’s it. They are using her to steal powers. What is in Alaska?”

“Fuck. That’s it. Fuck! Alaska is a giant Hydra base housing mutants. I’m leaving Wanda with you. I’ll call Stephen Strange in the morning. Don’t tell her anything. She’ll want to confront Tony. I won’t let her. I can’t let Tony know she hasn’t been taking her meds.” Loki nodded in agreement.

Steve stood up to go to bed. He was bone tired. All he wanted was to crawl into your bed and wrap his body around yours like a cocoon.

“Steve,” Loki called after him. Steve stopped in the doorway his shoulders slumped down in defeat. “I’ll keep her safe for you. When all of this is over, the place yours. Just promise me you’ll let her be herself out here. She hides a lot from you because she’s afraid she’ll scare you if you really saw her. You really love her? Get to know the real Y/N.” Steve responded with a weak smile.

The master bedroom was painted a deep green and had warm wood trim. A large vanity was situated in the corner with perfume bottles a comb and a brush neatly arranged on top. A massive four poster bed was dead center. The posts were ornate and winding like a tree the legs like roots. The Yggdrasil tree. A big round window sat high on the wall letting the moonlight stream in. He could smell the oils you used in the tub. Warm spice notes and deep florals. That’s what your skin would smell like. He wanted to burn it into his nose.

Off in the corner there was a small winding staircase that lead to a loft. He climbed it to find a reading nook with a small table for snacks. He smiled thinking about how much you would love it up there.

On the other side of the room was a wardrobe. Inside there were dresses that you’d no doubt wear barefoot and blouses and trousers for you to wear to work. Off to the side were three little drawers. The top was for bras the middle for panties and the bottom larger drawer for sweats leggings socks and T-shirts. The bottom was neatly lined with heels strappy sandals and a pair of boots that made his cock twitch. He imagined you wearing them with the leather dress that would barely cover your thighs.

In the chest of drawers there were sweaters jeans that looked worn in and a whole drawer for tac gear in case you went on missions with them. This fucker thought of everything.

He wanted to go out there and punch him in his smug little face but stopped when he heard you sloshing around in the water. He cracked the door open so he wouldn’t startle you. “Sweetheart? Can I come in?”

“Hey. Yeah. There is plenty of room for you.” Steve stripped and eased in to the too hot water. You grabbed the big sponge hanging over the faucet and got it sudsy enough to wash him. He let you though he felt like it was somehow wrong. Like he shouldn’t be this intimate with you in another man’s home.

The bathroom was just as glamorous as the bedroom. A small gas fireplace sat perfectly positioned to warm the whole bathroom. A chandelier hung from the ceiling. The shower was also large enough for two people. There were so many spouts it looked like a car wash. There were candles placed on every and any flat surface. The place was fit for a queen. Loki’s queen.

Funnily enough you didn’t seem to care. You rinsed off the soap and kissed your way up to his neck. You used a small pitcher set on a step stool to wet his hair. When you massaged his scalp you kissed him deeply. “Close your eyes and hold your breath” you said in that low tone that made him crazy.

He shook off like a dog making you giggle. His favorite sound. He lifted you enough to sink you down onto him. He will never get enough of how you felt. The water lapped around your body as you moved. You both came quick and hard collapsing your body down around him. “I love you, Steve” you whispered as you caught your breath.

“I love you, Y/N. So much.”

You got out of the tub feeling like your limbs were made of jelly. You dried off braided your hair and slicked your skin with more oil. The one you chose was warm and slightly citrusy. Vetiver. It made your heartbeat quicken knowing that Loki remembered your mother’s fragrance. The two of you crawled into bed and slept like you’ve been sleeping in this room for ages. You weren’t sure if it was being back on your land or something else but you felt like you were finally home.

[post-itpenny]

I thought I'd seen a ghost

Some long awaited Slasher AU 

Mother, Mother

“Now just why on earth would such a little thing be out here alone?”

Maeve quietly hummed in amusement as she stalked the child down the trail. Always a good distance behind so she could hide, but never so far that she lost sight of the little one. She recognized her, the child from the diner that one time.

A little girl in a jacket with a bunny tail and ears. It was rather adorable, but there was something feral about her. The way she had acted in her small movements.

And then there was that thing in the forest.

Maeve hadn’t been able to get a good look at it, but it was big- bigger than her artist.

Speaking of.

Maeve grinned, but it was more of a nervous one. They were close to her territory. Maeve had come with another offering of bread, and finding the child had been an accident. But something… something felt off… felt...

...So lonely, yet Maeve had never felt so watched...

Maeve blinked and looked around. The child was gone.

Her grin grew wider as she crouched down, scanning the undergrowth.

A twig snapped behind her.

She sprung up, spinning around and pulling a kitchen knife from her satchel all in one swift movement.

A man stumbled back in surprise, “take it easy! Didn’t mean to frighten you.”  

Maeve gripped the knife tighter. She was never this jumpy, not once had she slipped like this. She would have to-

Something rushed past her, the child now clinging to the man’s leg and hissing at her. “Stranger!”

Maeve wasn’t smiling now. She needed a plan, needed… needed.

Something.

The man gave a small wave, “are you ok miss? I’ll be honest I thought I saw a ghost, walking around the corner and spotting you.”

Maeve gave her head a small shake, she had to pull herself together and focus for five seconds. What was her plan?

Did she need one?

The man watched the knife in her hand but didn’t seem too frightened. Rather he was concerned.

Maeve blinked, well then.

She smiled and stashed the knife away. “I’m not a stranger dearie, we met once at the diner yes?”

The girl hissed and her hair puffed up. But she didn’t say no.

Maeve smoothed her skirt and took one step forward. The man staying still and the child gripping his pant’s leg tighter.

Maeve took another step forward, “Forgive the startle dears I”m just looking for a friend.” Maeve watched the child, remembering the thing in the woods waiting for her.

Perhaps….

“Well I’m afraid my granddaughter and I are the only one’s out here miss.” The man explained. “Maybe-“

“A bird,” Maeve explained, “I’m looking for a great bird.”

At this the man fell quiet, eyeing the woman intently. The child poked her head around her grandfather’s leg. More interested then scared now.

Maeve grinned, “her name is Maggie.”

……………..

The next day, Cecilio held Ama’s hand as they walked up to the woman’s front door.

She said her name was Maeve Blackwood. Ama did recognize her but the meeting had been brief. Cecilio cleared his throat as he knocked on the front door. Not sure what to expect of the strange woman. She seemed very proper, or at least she tried to be. Her old fashioned dress and sickly sweet mannerisms felt both genuine and an act. Like a possessed china doll.

Maeve opened the door at the first knock. She was, surprisingly, in jeans and a sweater, her white hair down in loose curls.

As they walked inside Ama froze, grabbing her grandfather’s hand as she sniffed the air. Cecilio leaned down for her to whisper something in his ear.

Cecilio sniffed the air as well for a moment but said nothing, standing up to find Maeve watching them intently despite the bright smile on her face. There was a “ding!” from inside as Maeve’s head whipped around. Demeanor shifting as she practically skipped down the hall humming to herself. He thought back to how distracted she seemed yesterday, was she always this flighty?

Maeve was found in a kitchen pulling something from the oven.

Fresh baked bread

Amaranthus gasped at the smell causing Maeve to turn with a grin.

“I wondered if you would recognize it, I’ve left loaves for our friend in the past.”

Cecilio sat down at a small kitchen table where tea was already laid out. “You’ve left her baked goods?”

Maeve nodded with a small hum as she carefully sliced the loaf and set it on the table with a small plate of butter. “Best way to anyone’s heart is their stomach, yes? I wanted to try and slowly build an acquaintanceship with her but she’s so weary of strangers I worried I wouldn’t succeed. But… well, here the two of you are.”

Cecelio took a sip of tea, “why are you so interested? No offence ma’am, but you don’t seem the type to enjoy long hikes in the woods with a monster.

Maeve took a sip of her tea with a small smile. “No, she’s not a monster. An artist yes, but not a monster. She is a person of interest to me however. Would you be so kind my dear in sharing what you can about our friend?”

Cecilio arched an eyebrow at the “artist” comment but did not say anything on it. “Well ladies first, I have a feeling you know something I don’t if I’m being honest.”

Maeve gave a warm smile with the tilt of her head. Humming quietly as she pulled something from her pocket and set it on the table.

A police badge.

Maeve gave a wicked grin, “lets try this again hmm? Tell me what you know.”

Cecelio stared down at the badge in disbelief. It was a good minute before he could muster up a dry chuckle. “Well son of a b-”

“Language!” Maeve snapped.

Both Cecilio and Ama jumped in their seats, startled by the first real sign of aggression Maeve had given them, a deep frown on her face. For just a moment Cecilio thought back to what Ama had whispered to him.

Cecilio cleared his throat, “my apologies miss. You just threw me for a loop there. Let’s make a deal huh? I’m here because I’m worried about Maggie, and you clearly know something I don’t. So let's all be honest to each other.”

Maeve tilted her head, “have I lied? I mean, in this room?”

“Well you weren’t forthcoming about being a cop.”

“Our dear one here met my brother and I at a diner,” Maeve replied with a nod to Ama, “we showed her our badges.”

Ama wasn’t paying attention, she hadn’t touched the bread or tea either, she was still sniffing the air. “Why does your garage smell like blood? I could smell it from outside.”

Maeve and Cecilio both froze. When Ama had whispered this piece of information to him, Cecelio was concerned but driven in the want to help Maggie. But now here was Maeve with a blank expression on her face. Watching him as she slowly leaned to one side.

“She’s got a weapon under the table”, Cecilio realized.

“Hey now if we’re all being honest I can honestly say that's not an issue.” Cecilio said with a casual wave of his hand. “Ama sweetheart, I think you can take your hoodie off.”

“But-”

“Eh, she's ummm…. Our new friend here is kinda like your dad. “

Ama watched Maeve in uncertainty before slowly pulling her hood off to reveal a tiny set of horns.

Maeve gasped in surprise, but there was no fear. She grinned like a kid at Christmas.

“They’re so darling!” She cheered as she clasped her hands together in delight. “I wondered if there were more than just our artist. This is splendid!”

Ama stared at the older woman dumbfounded. “Your not gonna-”

“Oh no don’t worry sweetheart I won’t say a word to anyone.” Maeve promised before turning to Cecilio, “As long as we’re all honest with each other, there is no need to be a tattle tail.”

The badge went away and all three of them calmed down after that.  At one point a small dachshund entered the kitchen much to Ama’s delight and Cecilio’s relief since she didn’t see Maeve pick up the butcher knife from under the table and casually deposit it in the sink.

Cecilio shook his head, remembering the knife from yesterday. Guess she had an M.O.

Ama pulled the dog into her lap as Maeve returned with a plate of cookies and several manila folders. “Trouble can’t be at the table when there’s food my dear,” she instructed as Ama set the dog down with a sigh.

“Now then,” Maeve began. “I am technically a part of an investigation regarding several ritualistic murders in that part of the forest. When I couldn’t copy the M.O. myself I realised the killer couldn’t possibly be human.”

Cecilio nodded as he bit into a cookie, “but I think she is- or at least was.”

“You’re correct.” Maeve agreed as she flipped open a folder. Inside Cecilio was shocked to see photos of two older women. One with frighteningly familiar red hair.”

“Are they?”

“Her oldest sisters yes.’ Maeve confirmed, “did you know Maggie is in her fifties? She wouldn’t look it would she?”

“She doesn’t age?”

“I don’t think she could if she tried. But picture this, nearly fifty years ago twelve children were found on the side of the highway. Oldest was fifteen and the youngest was six. You won’t believe the leg work I had to do to track down these two.”

Cecilio nodded, “I’ve been teaching Maggie to read. We became friends after Ama wandered into her territory by accident.”

Maeve nodded, “she won’t kill children.”

“Yeah, I got a free pass as well I guess. But in her cabin there’s a photo of all these kids plus a number thirteen.”

“Maggie.”

“Yes. Where did they come from?”

“About three miles from where most of the killings occurred there are the remains of a compound. From what the sisters told me their community worshiped whatever it is Maggie is bound to serve. Think of her as an unwilling high priestess. The honor was supposed to go to the eldest sibling.”

“So they were runaways? Why leave Maggie behind?”

“It wasn’t their intention. But we are talking about two teenagers organizing a mass breakout. Their mother was the old Huntress and the community had no choice but to use Maggie.”

“So she's been like this since she was a kid? What happened to the compound?”

“Abandoned.”

Cecilio leaned forward, the writer in him sensing a plot twist, “what do you think happened?”

Maeve gave a grim smile, “No child would be able to perform such a complicated kill. It takes too much strength and dexterity. I suspect until Maggie was capable, the entity turned to the only food source available.”

“It ate them?”

“I suppose.”

“Maggie said she feeds it so whatever that thing is would get out of control and eat everyone else. How much do you want to bet she’s protecting a village she doesn’t even realize is empty?”

“Maggie’s job is to share visions and directions she is given to her people in exchange for her work.” Maeve explained. “I guarantee you she knows and is trapped in her contract. But I have a suspicion this thing isn’t nearly that powerful if it needs a host.”

“Wait,” Cecilio choked as he hastily swallowed the cookie he was eating. “Host?”

Maeve nodded, “it needs someone to kill for it. It’s shaped our girl into the thing that she is but according to the sisters Maggie is just a glorified puppet.”

“She’s not the monster-”

“She’s it’s first victim. At least in my investigation. The sisters gave me the impression this has been going on for several generations.”

Cecilio nodded, processing all this new information. “Maggie is out there alone, she stays quiet and follows that thing’s orders.”

“Not very well if she’s letting the three of us live whenever we visit,” Maeve commented with a sip of her tea. “From my understanding this thing is rather glutinous.”

“What will it do if it gets angry with Maggie?”

“Maggie is apparently not allowed to live for herself but she's not allowed to die either. Not until a suitable successor is given.” Maeve explained, “her sisters told me that the last time a hunter was belligerent their free will was stripped away entirely.”

“Maggie hasn’t been allowing Ama or I to visit in months,” Cecilio stated. “We’ve been trying but she won’t have it. And yesterday-”

“Didn’t it feel like something was wrong out there?” Maeve asked.

[nev3rfound]

not who you think : s.r

brief summary: bucky becomes curious as Steve starts sneaking off. but when he realises Steve has a secret girlfriend, she isn’t the only secret left to uncover

word count: 1.3k requested: yes - by @alexisj42kp thank you for the cool idea, hope it turned out as you hoped. warnings: none that i’m aware of!

* masterlist of sorts * 

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight

Over the course of the past two months, there was something different about Steve and it didn’t go unnoticed. 

Despite his best efforts to remain stoic and avoid being overly happy, he couldn’t help himself. Which was what first alerted Bucky that something had happened. From that moment, it didn’t take long for Sam to become in on it as the pair remained curious as to what had Steve so joyful all of a sudden. 

Walking into the kitchen Steve smiled to the pair as he picked up an apple as he headed over to the window. “What a mornin’ it is.” Steve happily sighs as Bucky and Sam share a look, mornings were never the nicest, especially when there’s a walking ray of sunshine in the room. 

“Sure is nice.” Sam comments as he straightens up. “Got any plans today, Cap?” 

Steve pauses as he looks at them both, watching them carefully as Bucky remains expressionless, merely sipping his coffee. “I don’t think so. Might go for a run.” Steve states as he heads out of the kitchen before Sam can rise to his feet. 

“Great try there Sam.” Bucky mutters as Sam rolls his eyes, returning to his seat as Steve jogs back to his room, knowing a message should be awaiting him. 

“What do you suggest we do then, Buck?” Sam asks as Bucky glances over, a smile forming on his face. 

“The best thing I can do,” He mutters into his mug. “spy on him.” 

*

Unaware of being followed, Steve heads out of the compound and straight to the subway. 

Over the course of the past few months, hiding in plain sight became something Steve had no choice but to perfect. Ever since he set his eyes on you he knew he couldn’t be without you, meaning he had to venture out of the compound without being noticed by the public. Being Captain America didn’t exactly make him a discreet character to not recognise. 

“Where’s he goin’?” Sam asks as Bucky enters the next cabin down from Steve’s. 

Closely Bucky scans the space, motioning to Sam which one Steve was; baseball cap and glasses on, thick beard. It was the ideal disguise, hiding that poster boy look he was infamous for.

“Our boy’s getting good.” Bucky mutters as they closely watch Steve leave the Subway and follow closely, knowing they’re less likely to get their cover blown than Steve would. 

Picking up his pace, Steve glances down realising he’s running late. It was something he hated, the sense of holding someone up on his behalf, being the reason they’re sat alone contemplating if they’ll turn up. But Steve would always turn up for you, without any doubt. 

Slowing down Steve catches his breath as he walks into the cafe, nodding to the usual waitress who smiles politely. “She’s in booth three for you dear.” The lady motions to the booth as you remain with your back turned. 

Steve walks over, his smile already growing as his heartbeat picks up at the sight of you. “Hey stranger,” He mutters as he slips into the booth, sitting opposite you. “this seat taken?” 

Lowering your book you shake your head. “Shame it is now I think about it.” You joke back as you reach over, slipping his sunglasses off as you smile to him. “Hey Cap,” You smile as your hand rests in his. “how’re things going?” 

“You’re telling me that Steve Rogers has a girlfriend?” Sam watches in amazement whilst Bucky remains silent. “Damn, our boy is getting good!” Laughing to himself Sam takes a step away, nudging Bucky to do the same but he doesn’t oblige, he never will to Sam. 

The waitress brings over your drinks. “For my two favourite love birds,” She chimes in as the two of you smile shyly to one another. “oh don’t get all nervous on my account. I see that look you two share,” Looking over to you she gives you a sweet smile that causes heat to rise in your cheeks. “you treat her well, young man.” The waitress pats Steve’s shoulder lightly before walking off, leaving you two to return to your personal bubble. 

In that space, you could talk about anything and everything. In that booth, Steve was Steve. He wasn’t the Captain America everyone saw him as. He was Steve, the polite guy who spilt his coffee on you once and refused to let you leave until he got you one to make up for the trouble. He was the guy who took you dancing and would play games with you until the early hours of the morning. 

“What have I missed then?” Steve asks as he focuses on your eyes, how they crease when you get shy and automatically lift your hand to cover your face. 

Shrugging your shoulders you look around the room. “Only the fact that I beat your ass and got the newest high score.” You wink and Steve sighs dramatically, lifting his arms up in annoyance whilst you laugh. “Beat that, Rogers.” 

“Oh doll, you know I easily will.” He comments as he chuckles at your antics, something he’ll never tire of. “But really, how’re things?” 

Steve watched as you shifted, something you had a habit of doing when it came to your personal life. It wasn’t that you had a bad past, you were just more reserved to admit the things you once had to go through. “Things are okay. I, I’m seeing my brother this week.” You quietly speak up as you sip your drink for a distraction. “He wanted to come check up on me, make sure I’m keeping outta trouble and all.” 

“Does he know about us yet?” As soon as the words leave his lips he regrets thinking aloud. Opening his eyes, Steve watches as you avoid his gaze. “I shouldn’t have said that it’s still early days, Y/n.” 

Shaking your head in response he pauses. “No, it’s not that. It’s just, my brother isn’t exactly the most reasonable character.” 

All Steve wanted to do was ask you more, ask about your family, what your brother was involved in that gave you that impression. But he didn’t want to overdo it, scare you off when you were finally allowing yourself to be open with him. 

“Sounds familiar, actually.” Steve mutters as he glances up, seeing two figures quickly move out of view. 

“Okay, that was too close.” Bucky states as Sam nods along. 

“Did you see her, though?” Sam asks and Bucky sadly shakes his head. “I just want to see the girl that has finally thawed Steve’s heart.” 

Bucky watches closely, seeing you rise to your feet as he pats Sam’s chest repeatedly. “She’s heading to the bathroom.” He informs Sam who sighs in response. “We’ll see her comin’ back.” 

Patiently, the two wait as you walk out from the bathroom holding your head low. “Woah,” Sam whistles whilst Bucky focuses on you. 

Slowly, Bucky shakes his head in disbelief as you lift your head up, pushing your hair out of your face as you return to the booth. “No,” Bucky tells himself as he begins to walk away, Sam turned to see his friend walking off. 

“Bucky? What’s up, you know her?” Sam asks as Bucky scoffs lightly. “Oh she’s not an ex is she? Do you guys ever talk about that?” 

Turning to face Sam, Bucky merely gives him a silencing look. “It’s worse than that, Sam.” Bucky sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair. “She’s an assassin I trained with for two years. I think she might be trying to kill Steve.” 

Unaware of the reality before him, Steve leans over the booth, kissing you softly. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” He asks as you nod in response. “I love you.” He lets his hand slip out of yours as he exits the cafe, realising what words just left his lips. 

“He’s a dead man walking.” Bucky states as the pair watch Steve walk off, having you stuck on his mind.

[basicjetsetter]

At the End of the Day (II)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: Sad Fluff, Tons of Angst, Language, Mentions of PTSD

Summary: All Bucky wants to do is protect his family and keep them happy, keep them safe. But no matter what he does, danger hunts him down and makes his life a living hell. It has a name. Baron Zemo.

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the likes on Part I. Hope you like the second just as much, if not more (conspiratorial wink-wink). Like/Reblog. Comments are always welcome. I’d love to interact with you guys and see what you think about it. (Gif not mine, all credit to its creator) - TJ 💙 

Part I

Bucky left 119 days ago.

The first week stranded you in a stunning fog. Living through it felt like waking up from a bad dream, the type that picks up where it left off once you finally fall unconscious and haunts you during the day. 

You didn’t want it to be real, and in some way, you tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t, that Bucky was still out on a mission and coming home in a few days. But then you went into the bathroom after rocking Bumblebee back to sleep the night after he left, and you stared at the swollen, red indents molded around your neck. An inner flood you kept tucked away from your daughter poured down your cheeks, and you cried until your body shut down for the night. That was the first, and only night you allowed yourself to grieve.

You couldn’t afford to let your emotions get the best of you. You needed answers.

What happened to him?

Nothing you thought of could make sense. If anything, it left you with more questions. Why now? Why after you fight with him? You knew it was the Winter Soldier, but you wondered how the hell did the programming rewire itself back into Bucky’s mind, especially after all the time Shuri spent undoing Hydra’s work.

Could there have been something she missed? What if the Winter Soldier is now an integral part of Bucky, something that’s grown attached to him after seven decades and has ingrained itself within his DNA? 

Or what if it was just your fault? What if you hadn’t pushed him away?

These questions taunted you since that night. You couldn’t sleep. What if it was your fault?

All week you ignored everyone’s calls and messages. The doorbell rang constantly. They all wanted to know where Bucky was and why he wasn’t reporting back to them. 

You didn’t want them to see the fresh handprints and hear the croaking strain in your voice.

But after that second week, you finally had to tell them everything. You’d been holding out hope for Bucky to find his way home when the dust settled, but when that fourteenth day hit, and he never showed, you knew. He wasn’t coming back. And it’d be futile to search for a man capable of disappearing into thin air.

Everyone reacted how you feared they would. One look at the bags under your eyes, the faded marks on your neck, and the little girl clinging to your leg and anyone might assume what happened. 

They brought Bumblebee into the living area and turned on some cartoons for her, then guided you into the conference room for questioning. Wanda and Sam’s voices were the calmest. What the hell did he do to you? Do you know where he went? Why didn’t you tell us sooner? Did he hurt Bumblebee? Is he the Soldier again?

“No,” you rasped, your eyes burning as you stared at the floor. “It was… it was like hearing Bumblebee scream brought him out of it.”

“Why’d she scream?” Wanda asked quietly, kneeling, and taking your hands in hers. “Honey, we need to know to help.”

You gulped back the lump constricting your throat. “She saw Bucky on top of me and came to help.” The image of your daughter’s horror-stricken face flashed in your mind. “He stood up and grabbed her by the shirt and lifted her in the air. And then she started to scream, and he got all confused… and then he left. I swear. The soldier is gone. Bucky would never hurt us. That’s why he stopped.”

“We know that. Right?” Sam asked sharply, looking around the room at the other Avengers. “Bucky is a lot of things, but he ain’t that.”

Rhodey stiffly folded his arms over his chest. “Wasn’t he supposedly ‘fixed’? Cause that doesn’t sound like it to me. As far as we know, the other guy could have been waiting in the wings this whole time, and none of us would have been ready for it.”

You unconsciously rubbed at your throat.

Peter spoke up defiantly. “Uh, hello? I’d have known.”

“Come on, kid, with that tingle-whatever-thing you got? You can’t even tell me when the weather is going to be bad,” Rhodey said, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not a tingle-thing, and I’ve already told you it doesn’t work like that. I’m not a meteorologist.”

Banner chimed in. “Doesn’t Happy call it a Peter Tingle?”

“It’s my spidey sense, guys,” Peter groaned. A small smile played at your lips at his exasperation, but it faded when he stared into your eyes. “Trust me. I’d know if Mr. Barnes was a threat.”

Clint sat back thoughtfully, covertly throwing glances to Wanda. “Someone could have been rooting around in his head.”

“Oh, give it a rest, will you?” she hissed back at him.

“I’m just sayin’.” Clint tapped a finger to the middle of his forehead and then to his chest. “I’ve got firsthand knowledge on how that sort of thing works, and not just from you. Hell, if Nat hadn’t beat the snot out of me, I’d have… well, you know.” He trailed off and let the unsaid fill the room. 

Sam broke up the tension. “So what? You think someone did something to set him off?”

“Most likely. Wouldn’t be too hard, I guess, considering how the guy had his head screwed with for over seventy years.” Clint said it bitterly but tried to remain sympathetic in your presence. “I know that genius over in Wakanda might’ve fixed what was already there, but there’s a possibility even she didn’t think those mad scientists would set up some type of safeguard to bring the other guy back.”

Banner leaned his hulking mass against the wall. He’d been mostly silent the whole time, rubbing two huge fingers over his chin. His eyebrows scrunched up in concentration.

“What’re you thinking, big guy?” Rhodey called out. Everyone directed their attention towards him.

Banner shook his head clear. “I don’t know much about the guy, to be honest. But your story checks out.” He nodded at you. “Think about it. I heard about what happened that first time Cap saw Barnes and the time they were fighting in the Helicarrier. If seeing him was enough to shake a few memories loose, I’m sure hearing his daughter cry was enough to snap him out of it.”

Rhodey said what you’ve been trying not to think about for the last two weeks, and what you predicted everyone else didn’t want to say. “Sure, let’s say that’s true. Then what about almost killing his wife? That wasn’t enough?”

That was as far in the conversation as you got. You stood up and walked out of the room, closing the door on a stewing argument, and went all the way down the hall and into the large living area. You never spent too much time in the Compound, and you rarely brought Bumblebee here, but every time you did, she never wanted to stay inside.

The trees surrounding the facility are full of vibrant green leaves, and the river is sparkling from the rays of the warm sun. On such a beautiful spring day like today, she’d be running rampant if she had to sit and watch cartoons. She’d be begging all the available Avengers to go outside and play freeze tag with her. Usually, Sam, Wanda, and Peter willingly volunteered if Bucky got caught up in handling some business.

At the moment, Bumblebee stagnantly sat in a bean bag chair, and Scott Lang sat crisscrossed right beside her, sharing a bag of popcorn and tub of Red Vines. From time to time, he’d pretend to throw a sneaking glance behind his shoulder and slide her another Vine, and she’d giggle. You hadn’t seen her smile in two weeks.

You stayed at the back of the room, looking at your child with new eyes. She’d been so affected by what happened. Her little shoulders sagged, and she never asked where her Daddy was or when he was coming back. Most nights, she’d crawl into bed with you, holding her broken rainbow night-light tight to her chest. Every night, she made sure that you locked the door.

She was arming herself against an attack. It broke your heart.

Bucky had been his daughter’s best friend. Now, she only saw him as a danger.

Sam cleared his throat behind you, and you jumped. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He peeped over at Bumblebee and Scott. “How is she holding up?”

“Not well,” you sighed, turning around to face him. “She’s scared to sleep alone.”

“How’re you holding up?”

You felt yourself shrug as you responded robotically. “I’m fine.”

Sam cursed softly. “Man. All of this is just so damn crazy.”

Your voice lowered to a whisper. “I know. You guys figure out what you’re going to do?” 

He spoke gruffly. “Rhodey wants to put out an APB across the country to push him out of hiding, Banner thinks we should wait it out until he makes that move, Clint is siding with Banner, and you know me, Wanda and Peter are down for whatever you want to do. You want us to go out and find him; we’ll do that. We left the decision up to you.”

You glanced back at your daughter and tried to picture what that might be like for her, seeing ads and hearing announcements calling for her father to turn himself in to the authorities. No, you wouldn’t put her through that.

“Banner’s right,” you said after a while. “He’ll come when he’s ready.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

You set your chin to stop it from quivering. “He will.”

One hundred and five days later and your confidence had withered into tiny pieces, blown away by a swift summer breeze.

The Avengers accepted your wishes to let the matter solve itself after that initial meeting, but you had a feeling that they tried to keep tabs on him, just to be positive that he was no real threat. 

You found yourself driving out to the Compound every day since then, leaving at the light of dawn and coming back at sunset. You told yourself and everyone who wanted to know that it was because Bumblebee asked you if she could watch cartoons with Scott again, which was true, but you also went because the more time your daughter spent away from the house, the more she became her old, happy self. She can sleep in her bed now. She is playing outside again.

Unfortunately, you have yet to snap back to your usual self.

You’d love to pretend that everything was going great in your life. You had the most fantastic support system to fall back on, your daughter healed well from a traumatic experience, and the bruises have vanished into nothing but a ghost of a reminder.

And yet every night, you awoke covered in a sheen of sweat, gasping and clutching your throat with one hand and blindly reaching out to Bucky’s side of the bed with the other, only to find it empty every time.

A deep sense of loss created a chasm of pain and heartache in your chest. Some days it felt as though you were a shadow going through the motions, putting on a brave face for your daughter when you felt like you had nothing else to live for.

The last thing you said to him before going to bed that night played on repeat in the back of your mind. You’re someone I can’t lose.

Not I love you. Not I miss you to pieces every time you walk out that door, and I don’t know if you’ll ever come back. No, those last words you spoke to Bucky just had to prophesize what was to come.

You lost him. And now you’re losing yourself.

Anguish slowly edged through the cracks of your façade. As the days passed, those cracks became visible to anyone who took a good, long look at you whenever Bucky’s name came up. Wanda and Sam caught it every time.

Right now, you and Wanda are sitting out on lounge chairs outside of the facility, watching Peter swing low around the trees with Bumblebee on his back and hearing the girl’s delighted whoops. A tray of lemonade and fresh-cut strawberries is situated between your chairs, and Tater is lying on his back in the grass, soaking up the sun. 

Your loose, knotted shirt clung to your perspiring skin, but the sun felt nice on your legs.

“She’s growing up so fast,” Wanda mused, spearing a slice of strawberry on her fork. “Five in three days. You ready for that?”

You nodded absently. “Yeah. I am.”

“Got any birthday demands yet?” she asked lightly, monitoring your response.

You tried to smile. “Scott told her about Disneyland in Los Angeles, and she’s been leaving all these subtle hints around the house. Yesterday, I found a drawing of Mickey Mouse ears taped to the fridge.”

You had bought the tickets the first time she outright asked you a month ago, but you wanted it to be a surprise. Out of habit, you bought three tickets. You hadn’t found it in you to get it refunded. You thought about asking Peter if he’d want to tag along. Sam would no doubt hold a grudge against you for not inviting him.

Wanda placed her fork on the table, turned to sit on the side edge of the lounge chair, and placed a warm hand on your shoulder. “How are you?”

That’s a question you try to avoid with her. Lying came easier when it was Sam or Peter asking, but Wanda knew the hurt you were masking like an old friend. 

“I’m fine.” You didn’t look into her intent eyes, choosing to focus on the flair of red hair haloed in the light.

“Is that true?”

“I don’t know.” You gave up and met her gaze. “I guess if I say it enough, maybe it will be.”

Bumblebee squealed louder in the distance, and you turned in time to see Peter climbing up to the top of a tree, dropping down, and then shooting out a web to swing them up into another tree. He’d be fun to take to Disneyland.

Your throat tightened as your vision grew blurry. You tried to clear it as you spoke. “Bucky’s never missed her birthday.”

Wanda nodded knowingly. Two years ago, they were on a mission in Normandy, acquiring intel on a potential terrorist organization. Bucky left despite the threat of insubordination. He ended up facing a week of suspension and received an official reprimand from the Secretary of State, but he promised you that it didn’t matter. You and his daughter were his priority.

“I need to use the bathroom,” you said abruptly, hopping up and rushing into the main entrance hall. The glass doors easily opened to let you into the heavily air-conditioned foyer. Bright rectangular patches of sunlight highlighted the floor, offering a little warmth to the room.

In your haste to reach the bathrooms before the tears spilled, you ran right into Sam. He caught you before the impact sent you backward.

“Woah! Slow your roll, speed demon. Where’s the fire?” He held you back a little to look your over, and his eye widened at the sudden gush of tears running down your cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

You threw yourself back into Sam’s arms and sobbed against his chest, hiccupping. “I miss h-him. I miss him s-so much.”

Sam led you over to the sitting area by the front entrance, seating you close by his side and letting your tears leave wet blotches on the shoulder of his light grey shirt.

“It’s been almost four months. Why won’t he come home? Why won’t h-he come back to me?” You were asking yourself, not Sam. You’d known for a long time that Bucky thought of himself as unworthy of you, Bumblebee, all his friends. He’d held onto the guilt for years. You weren’t entirely sure it ever went away. 

“He doesn’t think you want to see him,” Sam confessed, keeping his eyes to the floor. “He uhm… he may have told me not to tell you that.”

You wiped at your eyes. “You talked to him?” He didn’t say anything. Your eyes narrowed, and your voice took an edge as realization smacked you in the face. “You know where he is?”

Sam bobbed his head, groaning deeply. “He came to me the night everything went down.”

In a flash, you’re on your feet. “You knew this whole fucking time?!” An emotion you haven’t felt in months blazed through veins: red, hot, fiery anger. It crackled into your nerves, swelling in the cavity left in your chest. You clung to the fire like it was the first glimpse of warmth after an unforgiving winter.

Sam raised his eyebrows in defense. “Look, I did what I thought was best. What was I supposed to do? Tell you his address? And then what? What do you think Bucky would have done if he saw those bruises on your neck?”

“I don’t care! I’ve been losing my fucking mind over him, and he’s out here playing hide-and-seek!”

“He wasn’t hiding. He flew over to Wakanda and asked me to keep an eye out on you and Bumblebee.” Sam said coolly. “Zemo reactivated him.”

The name instantly doused the scorching flames to a dull flicker. “Wait? Zemo? How?” The last you heard of the man who broke up the Avengers, he was stashed away under twenty-four surveillance in a secluded Government facility. As far as you knew, he was an ordinary guy with no powers. There’s no way a normal guy could escape that, right?

“Don’t know, but he hasn’t been back to the house since that night. I guarded the perimeter for a month and saw no sign of him.” He watched the fight leave your body sluggish and gestured to the seat you previously occupied. You dropped down into the cushioned chair before your knees decided to give out on you. 

He continued. “Bucky said the dude paralyzed him with some kind of sedative and read off Hydra’s magic mind control spell. He didn’t want to risk coming back home, knowing he could go off again.”

You furrowed your brows as you thought of how Bucky looked when you had run into the living room. There was a clear sign of struggle and seconds before the door slammed shut. You’d been so out of it that you forgot about ever hearing the damn door.

You slumped back and pressed the heel of your palms into your eyes. “How long was he in Wakanda?”

“Two months.”

“And he’s fixed?” you pressed, looking up to find Sam staring right at you. “Or is it something that isn’t fixable?”

Sam rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and said, “Shuri fixed him. How she did it, I don’t know. He never said. You’ll have to ask him that.”

Hope desperately bled into your words. “Is he coming back?”

“No.” Sam shook his head, and before the chasm in your chest could dig down further, he pulled out his phone and sent you a message.

233 E 80th St. Press 9.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“Because you both deserve to know how the other feels. Bucky thinks living like a hermit for as long as that serum keeps him alive and wallowing in self-pity is the best game plan he can come up with. I’m trying to be the good friend and let him know that he’s a dumbass,” he said gravely.

You nodded appreciatively. “He is.”

“Also, Tic-Tac told me that my goddaughter is having her fifth birthday party at Disneyland, and I’m trying to build my brownie points,” Sam added, smiling widely.

You coughed out an incredulous laugh. “I’m not the one you have to convince.”

“Sure, you aren’t,” Sam winked. He glanced down at his watch. “You better head over there now if you wanna beat traffic. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

He called out to you as you ran out of the doors. “Hey! You owe me that Disneyland ticket! Tarzan out there doesn’t deserve it!”

The apartment building wasn’t as shabby as you thought it would be as you pulled into an empty parking spot a few feet up the street. All the old units sat bunched together along the road, some with new faces of paint to cover the fading brick. Bucky’s building is a fire-hydrant red, and floor level is a cool gray. If the façade didn’t hint at the old age of the complex, the butts of the air conditioning units perched out the windows gave it away.

The heat made it feel humid in this part of the city. Your hands felt sticky rather than clammy as you walked up to the single-doored entrance, and pressed the number 9 on the intercom panel.

Dread filled your stomach as nothing happened. Did he already look out the window and know that it was you?

You pressed it about three times before giving up. He’s not there, and if he was, he wasn’t going to let you in.

Turning around, you headed back to your car. You reached the front door, and just as you pulled the keys from out your back pocket of your shorts, you heard the sound of approaching feet. You raised your eyes and saw Bucky walking down the sidewalk. A black cap shielded his eyes, and he’s holding a big Target bag in one hand. He hasn’t seen you yet.

You stepped away from your car and right into the middle of the sidewalk. The movement caused him to snap his in your direction, and he paused mid-step.

Bucky looked just as bad, if not worse than you did, but not in the way someone does when they let themselves go. He shaved, and you could tell by the fit of his cap that he’d cut off a considerable amount of hair. Without the facial hair and the locks framing his face, the creases of stress dominated his features, giving him the appearance of a stern-faced model.

A painful thud in your chest reminded you to let go of the breath trapped in your lungs.

“You look different,” you stammered. You look different? Really?

He didn’t say anything. 

You wrung your hands awkwardly and tossed a quick nod over to the red apartment building. “That your place?”

His jaw clenched tight, and he nodded, never taking his eyes off of you.

Clearing your throat, you asked, “Can we go inside? We need to talk.”

“How’d you find me?”

The harsh question sent a chill down your spine and raised goosebumps on your arms. But you held firm and steeled your voice to match his. “We need to talk, Barnes. We either do it right here so everyone can see, or we take it inside. Choose.”

Another held breath whooshed out of your lungs as he lumbered to the door and punched in the code to open it. You followed him quietly. 

The inside didn’t stray too far off the mark of age as the outside. The same brick furnished the walls on the inside, but instead of red, they were a milk-white. The stairs moaned under the weight of both of you as you headed for the second floor. Bucky stomped, and you kept your step to a light tread. His room was right off the landing to the left. 

Once he pushed the door open, and you stepped inside, and immediately the lack of space felt stifling. Down the smallest hallway possibly built, you saw a bed, the fridge, and a desk piled with equipment all in one room. Bucky slid past you after he shut the door and threw the Target bag on the bed.

“Talk.” He ordered, throwing off his hat. The shave left him with a small crop of hair on top of his head and slightly buzzed sides.

Anger clawed its way back through your system. “I’m not one of your subordinates, Sarge. Don’t treat me like one. And I’m not the one who fucking disappeared without a word. You did. So no, I won’t talk. I’m going to hear you explain to me exactly what happened that night and why you felt perfectly fine with deserting your family! Go ahead! Explain that to me!”

Bucky glowered and said, “If you’re here, then you already know why I’m here.”

“Don’t play that game. Just start talking, Barnes. I don’t have all day.” 

He pressed his back up against the bare brick wall, staring at the Target bag. “Zemo broke into our house and reactivated me. I went to Wakanda. Shuri went back into my brain and finished fixing me up. Then I came back.”

You asked, “What about the other two months?” Your nails bit deeper into your palms every second that ticked by without him giving you an answer.

Bucky shrugged with a blank face. “Recuperation.”

Hot blood reached its boiling point in your veins, pressing out hot tears that slithered down your face. “Why won’t you just fucking talk to me?”

“Because I don’t want you here.” There was a catch in his voice on the last word, and it dawned on you that he was purposefully building a wall between you, and your anger almost let him get away with it.

You took in several deep breaths, smelling all the Chinese take-out boxes most likely stuffed in the fridge, and exhaled until the anger washed out your system. Bucky stepped away from the wall and plopped onto the edge of the bed. He held his face in his hands. A stab of hurt pierced you once you saw his flesh hand. His wedding ring is off.

“I remember everything,” he whispered. “Everything. Your screams. How you tried to get away from me. My hands around your throat. Bumblebee.” His breath hitched, and the bed shook as his body trembled. “I almost… Fuck, I almost…”

Tentatively, you lowered to your knees in front of Bucky, coming face to face, and you wrapped a hand around the rough skin of his flesh hand and brought it down from his face. Tears dampened his cheeks. “That wasn’t you, Bucky.”

“Then who else was it?” he asked bitterly, letting the tears fall to his chin. “Whose name did you yell to stop? Whose name did our daughter scream? You don’t see any other face but mine. Just because I can’t control what I do doesn’t mean I didn’t do it.”

“I knew it wasn’t you,” you said in a small voice. “It’s your eyes.” They regarded you now, bloodshot and watery. He hasn’t slept well either. You went on softly. “The Soldier’s eyes are ice-cold and vacant. Your eyes are sky blue, open and filled with warmth. I knew the instant he looked at me that it wasn’t you, Bucky. You’d never hurt me.”

He shook his head, miserably. “But I did.”

You held onto his flesh hand and motioned for him to give you the other one. He didn’t budge, so you reached out and grabbed the metal hand. Then you began to move them up to your neck. Bucky tried to snatch them away, but you gripped them harder and placed them around your throat.

You firmly held his hands in place, noting how his metal hand felt almost as warm as his flesh hand. He shook harder.

“I trust you.” When you were sure he’d keep them there, you laid your hands on either side of his face and brought his forehead to yours. “Please come back home.”

Bucky’s breath blew ragged in your face, and a pained sob rumbled in the back of his throat. “I’m not worth it, Doll.”

“Yes, you are. I meant what I said that night. I meant every word. You, James Buchanan Barnes, are someone I can’t lose.” You pulled back and looked straight into his eyes. “Because if I lose you, I might as well be lost too.”

Your lips met his halfway, pressing together gently in a long, unbroken kiss meant to memorize what you hadn’t felt in almost five months. They felt warm and incredibly soft as they found their rhythm against yours. He relaxed under your hands and allowed him to cup your neck gently. The kiss didn’t exude lust and passion. It didn’t have to, because it wasn’t supposed to heighten or rekindle the spark. It’s supposed to keep it warm and safe.

You parted breathless, sharing each other’s air as your foreheads pressed together again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his thumbs along the back of your jawline.

“Don’t be. Just don’t leave me like that again.” You sighed as he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose.

He opened his mouth to speak right at the moment your phone vibrated in your pocket. You kept his eyes on his eyes, not even checking to see who was on the caller ID when you tapped the green ‘Answer.’ The voice on the other end spoke frantically and out of breath.

You frowned. “Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s Peter. Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I can’t find her. I’m so, so sorry. It happened so fast, and I had my back turned for like one second to go get us some ice cream at the park and she was on the swings—”

“Peter, slow down. Just tell me what happened.”

“Bumblebee is missing.”

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Escape

Summary: The Red Room haunts you, from the moment you stepped foot inside to long after you’ve left. Truth is, you don’t think there is any escaping it.

Warnings: 18+ Violence, Depression, Mentions of Death, Smut

Chapter 13

******

The tool in your hand hums just barely as it melts the metals together, effectively sealing the band to the watch face. You slide it over to cool beside the others.

Across from you, Tony assembles the suits, synthesizing it with the nanotech. Schematics of Scott’s Ant-Man suit hover above the table alongside one of Rocket and Nebula’s space suits.

Just a few hours ago everyone gathered to speak with Tony and came up with an actual plan. It included gathering a team, as it usually does. 

The beginnings of the team were easy to pull together. One simple call from Natasha had Rocket and Nebula flying back to earth in a couple hours, followed by Rhodey who had to finish up some business. She couldn’t reach Carol through normal communications, instead using the advanced pager they found from Fury years ago, she’d yet to show up. 

From there, they got the run down of the plan and their current assignments. Rocket and Bruce were tasked with going to get Thor. Rhodey had also informed you and Natasha of Clint’s future whereabouts.

The man was headed to Tokyo, hunting down a prominent member of the Yakuza.

You’d been ready to go with Natasha but she told you she had to bring him in alone. Despite your worry, you trust her, and let her go get her best friend.

Steve, Scott, and Rhodey were somewhere around here, no doubt hashing out more details of the plan. And Nebula was all over, occasionally stopping by to offer help to you and Tony. You were impressed with her knowledge of the tech and listened intently to the tips she gave.

Right now though, she isn’t around. 

Led Zeppelin blares from the speakers above, setting the lab in a familiar work environment. If it weren’t Tony you’d have complained about it, with him you don’t mind. 

While the two of you chat on and off, you actively avoid speaking about the Time Heist. Focusing instead on your separate projects or your families. 

Tony rolls his eyes as he mentions Morgan still wanting to play superheroes and Pepper wanting your red velvet cupcake recipe. 

As normal as the conversation is, it makes you wonder about the outcome of this whole thing. 

You’d yet to have children with the woman you love and while she makes up your family, there’s still the want of children, which could possibly not happen. Nothing is set in stone but the fear is there.

Tony suddenly pushes himself away from the suits,“ I’m gonna need some more coffee, these four can be linked to the watches. You want some more coffee?”

Shaking your head, you watch Tony leave out, before focusing back on the work. By the time you’re finished, six of the eleven suits are ready. You make sure the nanotech is secured in the watches. 

Needing Tony to finish the last five before you can finish the watches, you leave out the lab. 

Walking through the compound, you notice the added presences. Thor who doesn’t look so well and Clint. He looks different from the pictures you’d seen. Apart from the new haircut, the exhaustion and pain is clearly written on his face. 

The God of Thunder, noticing your appearance, exclaims your name. His heavy set form staggers over to you, crumbs sit in his beard along with droplets of beer.

“Hey pal.” You reciprocate his one armed hug, making sure his mess doesn’t transfer to your body.

“Ah, it-it’s so good to see you old friend. Join me in the kitchen for a drink.” He slurs.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there buddy. Drink a water in the mean time.” You instruct.

His mumble of something Vodka related doesn’t miss you but you don’t react, instead shaking your head, and focusing on the shorter brunette man that approaches. 

Clint stops in front of you, eyes scanning your form, before settling on your eyes as he speaks,“ you must be Y/N.”

“That I am. Pleasure to meet you Clint, Tasha speaks highly of you.” He shakes the hand you’ve offered.

“Nat’s told me a bit about you as well.” There’s a brief pause,“ I’m glad she’s found someone. Thank you for making her happy.”

You smile softly, warmed at the obvious love he has for Natasha. He’s hurting but still has enough care in himself to be happy for Natasha. 

“Speaking of, you know where she disappeared to?” Eyes search the vicinity for her red hair.

“No, she didn’t say and I didn’t see her.”

With a nod, you excuse yourself and head off to find her. You check the most obvious spots: her office, the training room, and your shared room. Not finding her there, you check her room.

Quiet sniffles hit your ears on entry. Instantly going into “wife” mode, you look to comfort her. 

She’s leaning over the bathroom sink, face buried in her hands, as her shoulders shake with her cries.

“Tasha, love what’s wrong?” You ask, stopping at the bathroom doorway, noticing her freeze up.

No reply comes for a moment, only for her to move toward you and wrap her arms around you. You instantly return the embrace, holding her close in hopes of making her feel better.

Whatever she mumbles into your shoulder, you don’t hear it.

“Gonna need you to speak up baby.” You whisper quietly. 

“Don’t hate me.” She speaks up, though it’s still muffled.

“We need to go through a hell of a lot of shit before I could even consider disliking you. Hating you sounds impossible.” You reassure her.“ Why would I?”

She pulls away from you, walking around you, and back into the bedroom. E/C eyes follow her movements, taking in the nervous wring of her fingers, and her nibbling on her bottom lip.

“I should’ve told you sooner. I forgot myself.”

“I’d love to know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m pregnant.” She sighs, eyes trained on the floor.

Her words circle the room, getting louder, before entering your ears, and then settling in your brain. 

She’s pregnant.

There’s a baby inside of her.

Your wife is having a baby. 

Your baby.

By the time you’re ready to reply, tears are rolling down her face, dropping off her cheeks to the floor. 

Stepping closer to her, you gently grasp her hands in yours,“ you’re pregnant?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes when she sees the pure euphoria written in yours. She frowns,“ yes.”

“We’re gonna be parents?”

Despite her confirming it multiple times you’re still in shock.

“We are.”

A shriek leaves her lips as you pull her into another hug. Spinning her around excitedly, before setting her down, and peppering kisses all over her face and neck.

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. 

“Wait, when did you find out? When did you even have the procedure? Are they healthy?”

She chuckles, still a little confused,“ I went to see the doctor before we got back. I got the procedure about two months ago. And yes, they are very healthy. She said that at nine weeks they already have little hands and little feet and they’re developing toes and fingers.”

The more she spoke about the baby the harder it was to hold back the tears. By the time she’s done, they’re cascading down your cheeks.

“You’re happy about this?” She asks after you’re brief silence.

“God, of course I am.” You pull her into a kiss, certain that your love and excitement pours through it,“ I love you so much, you are my world Tasha. How could I be anything but happy about you being pregnant with our child.”

You kiss again, initiated by her. She mumbles that she loves you over and over after each kiss. 

Before she can even allow another apology to leave, you’re kneeling in front of her. As slowly and gently as ever, you raise the bottom of her shirt.

How could you not have noticed? You’ve seen her body more times than you can count, yet you missed the slight bump growing at her abdomen. And now that you know all the signs are obvious. 

The random disappearance? She went to see Tony and the doctor for the procedure. Only eating peanut butter sandwiches and ice cream? Cravings. Sleeping longer and still being so tired along with all the mood swings? The pregnancy. 

“I can’t wait to meet you little one.” Natasha had seen how soft and loving you could be with her. This was completely new.“ I’m going to do everything that I can to make sure I’m the mom that you deserve. I’ve known about you all of five minutes and I’m so ready to give you the world.” 

You feel Natasha’s fingers comb through your hair as you press a kiss on the growing bump. 

She genuinely believed you’d be angry at her for keeping it from you. She knew the procedure worked months ago but couldn’t bring herself to tell you. Why? She was simply scared.

Despite having talked about children with you, her anxiousness of the news ate at her until she’d decided to keep quiet at the time. 

On the flight home she’d mentioned it to Clint and her best friend wasted no time in telling her she needed to confirm it and tell you. 

Looking at you now, the way happy tears fill your eyes and the way you’re smiling like she’s given you the world, she wishes she’d told you sooner. 

‘Miss Y/L/N, Mister Stark has requested your help in the lab’

You nearly groan at F.R.I.D.A.Y’s announcement in the room. 

Slowly rising to your feet, you cup Natasha’s face in your hands, and place a kiss on her soft lips.

With a promise to continue talking later, you both leave out. Natasha goes to find Clint and you head to the lab with Tony. 

Together you both finish up the suits and the watches, then go to help Bruce and Rocket finish the traveling platform. You pass by Thor who’s opening yet another can of beer and spilling it all over the floor and himself.

You hate that his depression led him to drinking but that’s something to be addressed when the fate of the Universe isn’t at precedents. 

While Tony finishes up with Rocket, you take a time suit to Scott. He’s supposed to be testing it. The suit uses the Pym Particles to shrink the user to atomic size in order to travel through the Quantum Realm, using the watch as a gps to navigate when and where to go. 

Scott steps away to put it on and you chat with Bruce about what’s about to happen.

“Are we sure we trust this imbecile to do this properly?” Nebula asks bluntly.

You laugh and shrug,“ he’s the only one that’s done this before so,” your sentence trails off.

When Scott comes back, Rhodey comes in,“ time travel suit? Not bad.” He nods approvingly.

“Hey, hey, hey!” All eyes fall to Scott whose looking at Bruce bewildered,“ easy, easy!

“I'm being very careful.” Bruce replies.

Shaking his head, Scott argues,“ no, you're being very Hulky.”

Offendedly, Bruce exclaims,“ I'm being careful.” 

“These are Pym Particles, alright?” Scott waves the red vial around,“ and ever since Hank Pym got snapped out of existence, this is it. This is what we have. We're not making any more.”

You all frown at the obviously frazzled man. Rhodey tells him to calm down.

“Sorry.” He takes a deep breath.“ We've got enough for one round trip each. That's it. No do-overs. Plus two test runs.” 

In the blink of an eye he shrinks down and then resizes,“ one test run.” 

He nods, then admitting that he isn’t ready to do this. Only for all your eyes to snap over to Clint who volunteers.

Figuring it’s better than Scott, and seeing as no one else offers, you all wait for Clint to change into the time suit.

Once he’s done Bruce explains some things to him. And Rhodey butts in, offering a plan.

“If we can do this, you know, go back in time, why don't we just find baby Thanos, you know, and-” He demonstrates choking him out.

You shrug at the suggestion. It’s not the worst idea but it wouldn’t work.

“First off that’s horrible,” Bruce starts.

Rhodey argues that it’s Thanos.

“Nice thought, but that’s not how it works. Killing Thanos in the past won’t reverse what he did to our present.” 

Bruce nods along with what you say, pointing a finger at you to make his agreement clear.

“Look, we go back, we get the stones before Thanos gets them. Thanos doesn't have the stones. Problem solved.” Scott explains as if that makes perfect sense.

“Bingo.” Clint agrees.

Nebula looks at him,“ that's not how it works.”

He frowns,“ well, that's what I heard.”

When Bruce asks by who, Scott and Rhodey list off a number of movies about time travel. 

It amazes you that these guys manage to chip away at your faith in this so easily with their lack of knowledge. Not even lack of, just misconception.

“Those are all movies. Fiction.” You roll your eyes.

Bruce shakes his head, then explaining,“ if you travel to the past, that past becomes your future. And your former present becomes the past. Which can't now be changed by your new future.”

“Right.” You say as Nebula says,“ exactly.”

Clint mumbles about it all being bullshit and you just sigh and walk away. 

Everyone is gathered around the platform, preparing for the test run. You nod to Steve and Tony, going to stand beside Natasha as the rest of the team comes out. 

Clint steps up to the middle of the platform and Bruce stands in front of the control panel.

Finally being ready, Bruce gives Clint a count down. The man shrinks away, you all wait a minute, before he comes back. 

He drops to one knee and Natasha rushes over.

They speak quietly for a second and then Clint stands.“ It worked.” He speaks louder, tossing a baseball glove to Tony.

Steve nods,“ alright everybody, we’ll reconvene later to talk about the stones.”

******

Taglist: @thelastavenger-3000 @aaron-despair @messuhp @izalesbean @bvb-bk @username23345 @sighsam @confusinggemini612 @natasha-danvers @rileigh519 @higherfurther-romanova @dynnealberto

[woodrokiro]

Hollowed (fic) Part Five

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: They call her a miracle, but he looks at her as if she’s normal. It scares her. Fantasy/Futuristic/Zombie kinda?AU. Read Parts One, Two, Three, and Four. 

It turns out to be a Hollowed… Because of course it is. 

Luckily it’s only one, and small from what the messenger describes. Still, from the way the messenger’s eyes widen while describing it, Ichigo assumes it really has been a while since these people saw one, and must’ve given the soldiers quite a drill.

But he could care less if the soldiers panicked. What he wants to know is if it’s dead.

“Y-yes sir! I saw if for myself, its eyes had clouded over, and its mouth--”

“I don’t need to hear about it.” And he really didn’t, as he could already imagine it: its yellowed fangs bared into a nasty snarl, the eight legs curled pathetically into its jet black body, its eyes peering from behind a horrific mask, milky with death.

He’s seen enough of them. 

“Were there any casualties?”

“No, not that I’m aware of--”

“Aware of? What does that mean?”

“Well, all soldiers are accounted for…”

“But not civilians here?”

“If you’re worried about your friends,” Rukia calls from behind him, and the messenger straightens as if he’s forgotten she’s there-- “there’s not much to worry about. Very rarely are civilians even let outside the compound. When soldiers go out, they are often flanked and covered by the remaining at the walls. It’s all planned far out in advance. We would know about it.”

That clears a bit of Ichigo’s anxiety, but not enough. 

In truth, he’s worried about his sisters. The last time they all encountered those monsters, they were even more horrifying than all the previous times before. Their village was destroyed, people left dead in the streets, their father fighting with all he had left…

Not that he’s not worried for his friends’ mental well being, but his sisters are just twelve years old: too young for any of this bullshit. 

And yeah, it’s always been a part of their lives… But he’s their big brother. He’s supposed to be their protector, or at the very least comforting them. 

Which is why being cooped up here in the name of a job is driving him insane. 

When the bell first started clanging, a soldier ran through to tell him he was to remain here with Lady Rukia at all costs until somebody gave him further instruction. When Ichigo tried to ask when might he be given further instruction--let alone what happened--the soldier sneered. 

“This is your job now,” he spat. “And an important one at that. You are never to leave Lady Rukia during your shift. As for what’s going on, you’ll be told when the information needs to be relayed to you. I recommend you stop asking questions.”

Fucking hell, he’s tired of hearing that. The guy is lucky he ran out so quickly, as Ichigo could’ve throttled him. Instead, all he could do is pace around his partitioned space like a tiger in a cage, ignoring the girl on the other side of the room who probably wouldn’t speak to him anyway.

And now, apparently, she feels inclined to butt in, all uppity and knowledgeable. He spins to face her. 

“Yes, I’m worried about my friends,” he grits out his teeth. “But I’m also worried about my sisters. I’m all they have, and the last time one of those things were within such a vicinity to us it was a real fucking nightmare. Now,” he turns back to the messenger. “If you have the time, I’d really appreciate if you could go to the kitchens and relay a message to Karin and Yuzu Kuro--”

“Go to them.”

Ichigo turns incredulously back toward her, and is starting to think this twisting back and forth is getting really old. “Huh?”

“I was clear enough, fool. Go find your sisters. Take the rest of the day off.”

He nearly sputters. Is there something he’s missing here? “B-but you heard that other guy--”

“That ‘other guy’ is technically correct, in any other situation you won’t be able to leave me.” She’s got her arms crossed, with a superior look in her eye that Ichigo kind of hates but also he’s feeling hopeful about what she’s saying so he’ll just ignore it for now. “But today is your first day. I believe you’ve received basic training enough--”

“Well, I mean I didn’t really do anything--”

“Don’t be so modest, sir. You’ve done plenty.” She looks at him with raised eyebrows pointedly. 

He shuts his mouth. 

“Some soldiers will probably be here shortly to relieve you in any case. They always take me when this sort of occurrence happens...” she drifts softly, before her eyes suddenly shine (yes, shine) toward the messenger. “Sir there! Would you be willing to chaperone me in Sir Kurosaki’s absence, until then? I would be most appreciative of it.”

The messenger shifts, but Ichigo can see a blush rise on his cheeks. “Oh, w-well I’d be most honored, milady. But I’m afraid I’m not of military calibre to watch you. You see, I might as well be a grunt--”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. So long as you’re a soldier, you can protect me. And don’t worry, if any of the higher ranks or even Lord Yamamoto raise questions about it, I’ll be happy to take the blame.” She smiles sweetly before turning back to Ichigo. “Thank you for your services, sir. You are dismissed.”

He blinks. “So, does that cover for me too or…?”

“What, you believe I would cover for one party in a situation and not the other? Yes, Mr. Kurosaki, you as well. Now, goodbye.” She waves him off dismissively. 

While that kind of pisses him off--and it’s bizarre how fast she changed gears--he’s grateful.

---

He finds the girls perfectly safe and sound when he rushes into the kitchens. In fact, they hadn’t even heard the news of the Hollowed… Which Ichigo finds quite eery how news like that isn’t relayed to the service as quickly as the bell clangs for the military--but at the very least, he’s glad to find they’re safe and not scared. 

He tries to express some sort of a game plan to them: that if he’s not able to go to them in times of danger, find Chad, or even Uryu--well, not Uryu, as he might be on the front lines--

“Relax, Ichigo.” Karin cuts him off with a gentle smirk. “We know how to take care of ourselves for this sort of thing… Or at the very least: how to not get killed. Worst case scenario, I’ve got kitchen knives here I can use.”

“Plus, they’ve got me.” Inoue steps forward from the spot she’s been quietly listening and kneading dough. She claps her floury hands together. “I know that I-I don’t look like much, Ichigo, but you can count on me to protect the girls! All this kneading is giving me some real arm strength! Not to mention when I put in my secret ingredients, that makes it even tougher!!” 

She strikes a pose with her biceps flexed, and while Ichigo’s not quite sure if that’ll be enough to tear apart the creatures responsible for the near extinction of humanity, he still smiles and thanks her. He has to remember that the three in front of him are smart and very much capable of taking care of themselves.

He doesn’t really have a choice, otherwise. 

---

Later that night when everyone else but the boys are asleep, he asks Uryu whether he saw the Hollowed. 

“I did. In fact, one of my arrows got stuck in its putrid ribs.” He pushes his glasses up.

“I saw it as well,” Chad offers. “My boss and I were restocking the weapons on the wall while they burned the body.”

“Chad, you too? So I was the only one to miss out on the action, huh?”

“Not much action, Kurosaki. Truth be told, the military is true to its word. Pretty organized on the killing, once they got past the initial shock. I imagine they’d have a harder time with a horde of them, though.” Uryu opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates.

“What?” Ichigo eyes the look passed between Uryu and Chad. “What was wrong with it?”

“It… Had some… One of its legs was a human arm.” Uryu grinds his teeth. “Recently turned. I think… It might’ve been someone from our village.”

Ichigo prays it wasn’t anybody he knew well, let alone his dad. Trapped in a horrid body like that, slithering miserably up the mountain for fresh blood--it’d be a nightmare he can barely stomach. 

But it wouldn’t matter in any case, he guesses.

A loss is a loss is a loss. 

---

The next morning, he’s informed that he has to report to Yamamoto before his shift. It must be because of what happened yesterday, he realizes. The old man is pissed.

He drags himself into the office, where Yamamoto is (seemingly) calm, reading a book.

The old man smiles. “Ah, Kurosaki! Do sit. Why, you look quite uncomfortable. Are your concerns with the Hollowed yesterday? I hope your sisters were all right.”

Well, shit. 

“Yeah, they were… Thanks.” Ichigo eyes the man across him, waiting for an explosion. “So… Rukia told you…?”

“Lady Rukia told me she dismissed you, yes. Oh dear, you thought I might be upset about that? Well, I suppose on any other occasion I might be quite angry.” 

Ichigo shifts uncomfortably. “So… Why not this time?”

“Well, I suppose I never did properly explain Lady Rukia’s position in this place. Certainly, she is technically ranked above you--ranked above many generals, in fact--and so I cannot blame you for following her orders. How did you like her, by the way?”

“Well… I mean she’s… Quiet. But okay, I guess--”

“She can be quite quiet, you’re right. But I hope you’ll find she’s also very kind. Gentle. Clever, too.” Yamamoto raps his knuckles against his desk. “But she’s also rather frail. The soldiers that took her after you left go to her quarters quite often to escort her to the medical facilities. She runs through quite a number of tests and medicines there for her condition. She’s very smart and capable, yes; but also can suffer some… Sufferings in judgement. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s the best for her, so a select few including myself make certain decisions for her. Does that make sense?”

Ichigo doesn’t think the girl he saw yesterday looked sick at all, let alone capable of being anything but a smartass brat--but he nods. 

“So next time it happens that my lady gives an order that you’re not quite sure about, request my presence immediately and I’ll sort it out. I trust your judgement. In fact, I’ll be requesting meetings every few days to ask you about updates on her condition and such.”

“... So you’re asking me to spy on her?”

“Not at all! Just that she gets quite tired sometimes… You’ll see. I just want to know how she’s doing after her treatments, so we can get her the help she deserves.” Suddenly, the old man’s focal point shifts to somewhere past Ichigo. “Ah! Well, speak of some sort of devil. Ichigo, this is Lady Rukia’s older brother, Byakuya. He’s a captain within our military.” 

Ichigo turns around to see a man with long black hair standing in the doorway, eyeing him coolly. He clumsily gets up, walking over while reaching out his hand. The guy looks like a complete douchebag, but an older brother deserves to know his sister’s taken care of. “Ichigo Kurosaki, it’s--”

“I know who you are, thank you.” Byakuya drifts past Ichigo’s outstretched hand, toward the seat where Ichigo was previously sitting. 

All right. So he really is an asshole.

“Give Rukia my regards. Lord Yamamoto, I have some reports with you I’d like to discuss.”

“Of course. Kurosaki, you may go now.” And just like that (again!) it seems the Yamamoto forgets his existence. 

Ichigo is just about to shut the door when the old man’s voice calls out. 

“Oh, and Kurosaki?” 

He holds the door, waiting. 

“I understand some--including Lady Rukia--warned you against being in her quarters with her, past the screen. This is one of the occasions I’d like you to ignore her order.”

Ichigo looks back inside at Yamamoto. “Um… I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that. Not if she isn’t.”

“Of course, completely understandable. But if she ever relays a sense of danger in being there… Worry not. There is none.”

Ichigo shuts the door.

He’s not about to go into some girl’s room without her wanting him there.

[tvdversefanfiction]

Original Love

Warnings: I do not own nor claim to own the copyright or any of the characters within the TVDverse which consists of shows including “The Vampire Diaries”, “The Originals”, and “Legacies”. 18 Plus: Some chapters may contain graphic descriptions of sex, sexual smut, and fluff, that may be considered somewhat pornographic but only some chapters, think of it as a plot with some porn instead of porn with a plot. All chapters contain moderate to strong violence, language, and sexual innuendos. Strong displays of violence, gore, and torture, with supernatural horror elements and scenes of a sexual nature. F/F, M/M, F/M, GEN, OTHER +

CHAPTER TWO HERE

Chapter 3 - Gather up the Mikaelsons

It had been five whole years since Hayley Marshall had seen any of the Mikaelson siblings which meant it had been five whole years since her and Klaus’ now seven-year-old daughter Hope Mikaelson had seen her father or aunts and uncles, and that was not acceptable for the werewolf/vampire hybrid who had dedicated the last half of the decade trying to reunite the family and after chasing many leads that turned out to be dead ends Hayley had finally started to reach her goal. On a warm Summer’s day, Hayley had dropped her daughter Hope off with her step-grandmother Mary Dumas as she out to meet with a new ally with the intention of that day being the day that she would get to see Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, and Freya once again as this new ally promised to cure Elijah and Kol’s beast bites courtesy of Marcel Gerard, Rebekah’s curse, and Freya’s poisoning. Hayley found herself stood outside of the front of what looked like an abandoned garage but was secretly the headquarters to where she was stashing the comatose bodies of Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, and Freya, waiting for a certain heretic to show up to help awaken and cure them, as she slowly began to let herself that she would soon be reunited with her one true love Elijah and his siblings, siblings she had begun to love like they were her own siblings. “If news got out that a Petrova woman was helping the baby mother of Niklaus Mikaelson fix his eternally damaged brothers and sisters then my dead relatives would surely turn in their graves.” Darla Petrova announced after she vamp sped from out of nowhere, to now be standing right in front of Hayley. “Luckily for you, I jump at the chance to piss off the bloodline I’m reluctantly bound to.” “So, you’re the heretic I’ve heard so much about, I’ve heard a few stories about Klaus and your ancestor Katherine Pierce’s centuries-long feud.” Hayley greeted the half-vampire/half-witch hybrid who now stood before her. “If you must know Katerina Petrova or Katherine Pierce as you call her was born long after me which makes her my descendant, not my ancestor and as for her feud with Niklaus the entire supernatural community knows about that,” Darla interjected, showing little interest in that subject. “I am not here for girl talk I am here because you requested me and it just so happens you have what I need so let us go straight to me siphoning the magical bite out of the boys, un hexing Rebekah and curing the long lost Freya but if you think for a second about crossing me then I’ll siphon right out of you, put down your adopted family and hand use all over to that beast Marcel.” “Yeah, I cannot say I’m eager to hand over the remains of someone I once knew especially to some heretic that I basically found through supernatural gossips but I’m desperate which means you got a deal.” Hayley reluctantly agreed, as she pulled out keys from her right jean pocket and handed it to Darla. “There’s a storage place about five miles from here that’s where you’ll find Davina Claire…or what is left of her anyways.” “Do not worry my client is not planning anything untoward with the girl’s remains they just want to make sure her spirit can find peace and not continue to suffer anymore with the New Orleans ancestors,” Darla revealed to a suspicious Hayley. “Considering the bitches tried sacrificing her and then your family offered her up as a prime steak to them it is good somebody cares for the kid.” “I happen to know a lot of people who care for Davina, I care for her.” Hayley began to argue with the heretic. “Davina’s death…” “Happened at the hands or rather fangs of Kol Mikaelson a man she foolishly trusted and then your kid’s uncle Elijah who also happens to be your lover and the witch sister Freya cemented her fate.” Darla snapped back at the werewolf/vampire hybrid. “And you very easily handed over her remains so please do not stand there and spin me a lie because frankly, I do not give a damn!” “For someone who does not give a damn, you sure seem to be holding up a lot of judgment!” Hayley replied, making it clear she knew Darla was not as carefree about it all as she was pretending to be. “Listen, wolf girl, my client happens to be Davina Claire’s father and just wants to put her to rest I guess to numb some of the guilt he had for abandoning the poor girl,” Darla confessed to Hayley, shocking her by her revelation. “I do not sell out other women if that is what you were thinking, well not without their consent first.” Hayley’s interest was well and truly peaked after hearing about Davina’s father for the first time ever, wondering who he was and wishing he had a chance to have been in Davina’s life which could have saved her from going through such a traumatic life. Hayley had so many questions about the absentee father, but she also knew Darla Petrova was here to help her with her family not answer questions about Davina’s.

Marcel Gerard had reached the top of the supernatural hierarchy after becoming an upgraded original and reclaiming his role as the king of his city New Orleans. The Mikaelsons were banished from the city except for Klaus who remained in a cage located within the underground tunnels of New Orleans as Marcel kept a man who was once like a father to him as his prisoner as evidence to prove he was now the most powerful being. Thanks to his upgrade courtesy of meddling vampires and the New Orleans ancestors Marcel had secured almost everything he had always the one thing he could not claim was the love of his life Rebekah Mikaelson. Being a king to his beloved city meant nothing if he did not have his queen to share it with but the painful truth was that Marcel knew Rebekah was a Mikaelson which meant no matter what her family, the people who killed Davina, would always come before him and that was just something he could not get over. Losing Davina Claire, the girl he loved like a daughter, was something Marcel could not forgive himself for, not only because he could not protect her as he promised but because he allowed her to get close to Kol, the vampire who killed her. Marcel loathed Kol for killing Davina, but his true anger laid within Freya and Elijah for the parts they played in cementing Davina’s demise as they once again put their own family above all else. Marcel’s grief over the woman he claimed as his own kin was so strong and had wounded him so deeply that he would rather hold onto the hurt, rage, and vengeance inside of him than allow himself to feel anything for his one true love Rebekah knowing if he were to reunite with her, he would too wind-up reuniting with her siblings, something he could never do. “I have got to admit for the legendary home of the first family of vampires I was kind of expecting something a little grander this place kind of just looks like well a slaughterhouse which I know is ironic considering it was,” Lazarus stated, as he walked into the Mikaelson compound, walking his way over to Marcel who was stood there waiting for the male witch. “You must be the ironically named Lazarus witch who specializes in necromancy,” Marcel replied with his signature charm as he walked over and shook Lazarus’ hand. “I have to say Mr. Gerard my rush to meet you was something non-existent purely because of your persistency to get me to revive Miss Davina Claire and I am afraid to say that is not something I am willing to do,” Lazarus informed the upgraded original after breaking off their handshake. “The kind of magic I dabble in comes from a dark heritage and to use it to bring back such a pure spirit would be defiling everything about the woman you have come to miss so dearly.” “Right, so you came all the way to my city to deny me the one thing I have asked of you!” Marcel snapped, furious by the necromancing witch’s inability to bring back Davina. “You better have a good reason for being here or I may just have to kill you right here and now.” “As we speak my most persistent colleague is about to awaken your prisoner Klaus’ siblings and I can get her to awaken them just for hybrid Hayley to watch them all die barring Rebekah who will just become a soulless ripper which in all honesty would not change her personality that much if at all.” Lazarus was quick to respond, making it clear he had something else to offer the king of New Orleans. “Or she can heal the wounded and cure the hex the decision being entirely yours if you allow me a little visit to your prisoner.” “You seriously want me to believe that you have it within your power to choose whether the Mikaelsons live or die?” Marcel questioned him, in no rush to believe anything the witch was saying to him. “Forgive me if I’m not in a rush to believe anything you say let alone allow you alone time with Klaus.” “Listen up you are nothing but a pompous little witch project! I could have her cure only Rebekah and make her watch as her beloved siblings perish which is something, I believe you would probably enjoy, or I could just lead a hexed Rebekah straight to your door ready to rip off that head of yours.” Lazarus threatened Marcel, making it clear he did not fear him in the slightest. “You may have grown far too accustomed to everyone being your bitch over recent years, but I am not afraid of you and I am literally the one standing between life and death for your one true love so wise the fuck up and make a friend out of me before you make an enemy you would really have to worry about…now to kill the Mikaelsons or not to kill the Mikaelsons? And I highly suggest you rush my prison visit!”

To say the last five years had been particularly difficult for Klaus Mikaelson would be an understatement considering he had spent the last half of the decade being imprisoned by a man who he raised and forced to endure ongoing torture followed by Papa Tunde’s blade continuously being plunged into his chest and then pulled back out whenever Marcel saw it fit to do so. Klaus was feeling the lowest he had ever felt as he began to believe that his current imprisonment would never end making any chance of a family reunion seem impossible to the original hybrid as he feared Marcel Gerard would never let him go nor let him be with his daughter Hope who had spent the last five years without her father by her side but little did Klaus realize that his escape was vital to a certain figure from his past. “This whole beat and the broken thing you have going for yourself is one hell of a turn off I am not going to lie,” Lazarus admitted as he walked into Klaus’ prison to find Klaus chained up against the wall looking a shell of his former self, the sight of his first love in so much pain hurting the necromancing witch. “You are not real!” Klaus hysterically shouted at him, clearly broken by his torment, not believing anything he saw anymore. “None of you are real!” “I’m going to take a wild guess and presume you’ve been hallucinating certain family members and those two annoyingly beautiful blondes,” Lazarus replied to the original hybrid as he kneeled towards Klaus’ face. “Of all those twisted illusions I doubt you ever once saw me…” “No,” Klaus replied, not realizing how much his admission wounded Lazarus, mostly because he did not believe Lazarus was even there. “Well then after all these years why would I suddenly cross your mind now when you clearly forgot all about me a long time ago?” Lazarus asked him, trying to persuade Klaus into believing he was there and not a figment of Klaus’ imagination. “You have crossed my mind so many times over the years you have haunted my dreams more than any other I never stop asking myself how I could have done things differently if only I could have saved you back then and now you would not be here as another ghost of my past tormenting me like all the others,” Klaus confessed to his first love before being caught off guard by Lazarus leaning over and kissing the original hybrid gently on the lips. “You are not too far gone to not realize that was real.” Lazarus reminded him, hoping his kiss would make Klaus realize that he was there. “The enchantments on your chains are no more thanks to me and the blade inside your chest is just waiting for you to toughen up and pull out!” “You cannot be real you are dead!” Klaus cried in disbelief. “Aren’t we all?” Lazarus replied before going on to say. “I have loved you for a thousand years Niklaus there is nobody on this earth that has ever or will ever love you as I love you; you were my first and despite everything you remain to be mine forever. Something is coming Klaus and you need to get off your ass and fight if not for me then do it for your daughter because she along with everybody else will not survive if you do not keep fighting!” At that moment Lazarus knew his choice of words was perfect, knowing with certainty that the mere mention of Klaus’ daughter Hope would force the original hybrid into action knowing that he would do anything for the family especially his daughter and something was well and truly coming so Klaus and everybody else had to get ready for one hell of a fight.