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sconnie-doesnt-know · 3 years

Text

Ransom’s Hallmark Moment

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Word Count: 4300

Warnings: Language, drinking, smut including unprotected sex (imagine that birth control), Ransom's bad attitude and Ransom being soft (what?!)

A/N: written for the Hoelentine's Day Challenge hosted by @chrissquares @amythedvdhoarder and @drabblewithfrannybarnes

My giftee is Heather @hevans-angel and I hope I've been able to fulfill some of your wishes you sweet lady!

So much appreciation for @stargazingfangirl18 and @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me and being so supportive and creative! Now, on to the fic!

Aside from the date on the calendar, it feels like a typical Sunday. You got a lot done around the house, allowed yourself some time to relax and baked enough for a small army. Wiping the last of the crumbs away, you proudly look over the pile of treats ready to be given out the next day at work - all sweet and sprinkled and festive in pink and red. Spending the day baking, relaxed and comfortable with old episodes of ‘Bewitched’ on for company is just what you needed before starting another week. Plus, you aren't really alone. There's always Andy.

The wind suddenly blows hard, shaking the windows. You glance outside at the darkened sky, noticing the heavy sheets of snow falling to the ground.

“Shit,” you hiss, making your way to the back door and opening it, “Andy!”

You wait a moment and shout again, “Andy! Come on in!” followed by a series of whistles.

Nothing.

“Oh no, no no please no, not again,” you whine, heading back into the kitchen to find your phone already ringing. You scrunch up your face in a grimace as you answer as sweetly as possible, “Hello?”

“Missing something?”

You roll your eyes, “Yes, I was just about to call you.”

“Yeah, well, he’s here of course. If you don’t get here soon, I might call animal control.”

“You always say that, Ransom, but I know you like him. I’ve seen the water bowl and that old tennis ball by the front walkway.”

“That’s from the housekeeper.”

“Mmhmm, sure. You know I’ll be right there. I’m sorry.”

“Sure you are, see you soon angel.”

You scoff at the nickname. He’s always using a sweet one on you, while calling your dog something far less endearing like hellhound, or fleabag, or even Cujo. The first time he said that one, you looked over at your Lab/Husky mix, with his ears perked at attention and tongue lolling out from his dopey dog smile and laughed like you hadn’t in a long time.

Ransom was less amused.

For some reason, when you moved to the little cottage house set back into the woods, your dog decided to treat himself to adventures which almost always ended with him in front of the wall of windows at Ransom’s home smearing his nose, and drool and mud all over the panes of glass.

That first pickup was not encouraging. You’d been out searching and going down the long driveways of your neighbors to search until you found him at Ransom’s, sitting and thumping his tail against the ground and staring at Ransom through the window, who for his part, stood with his arms crossed and scowling down at your dog.

That was the first time he told you to keep him contained or he’d call animal control.

You gave him your number, begging him to call you instead if it happened again. After a few weeks the promise of calling animal control was more of a joke than a threat.

Half the time you were already on your way over, having noticed the dog had taken off, but the other half, it was a grumpy call from Ransom, complaining about being harassed by some wild beast. Apparently the ability to spin a tale was a family trait.

By the time you got there, Andy would usually be tired out from his little journey and be waiting for you to leash him, allowing you and Ransom to get caught up in conversation. And so began an awkward-sometimes tense-sometimes flirty almost-friendship with the man. You were equal parts grateful and pissed at Andy, because of course he would go out of his furry little way to make an ass of you in front of the most handsome man you’ve seen in real life. Tall, broad-shouldered, stoic and reserved, plus cocky to top it all off - the man was checking boxes left and right.

Weeks later, Ransom was still those things, but also sarcastic, witty, a bit playful and very charming when he was in the mood. You caught the appreciative looks he gave your body when you approached (not that he really tried to hide them), and you allowed yourself moments to linger on his features as well. Your little conversations on his front walkway almost always turned flirty, at least until Andy made his impatient presence known by tugging at the leash or barking to get your attention.

You pack up some cookies, cupcakes, and truffles you made to make some sort of peace offering, grab the leash, and head out to retrieve your little trouble-maker. The thick, wet flakes are heavy, and make the journey down the wood-lined roads slower than usual.

You pull up, squinting through the falling snow, unable to see Andy in his usual spot. You see Ransom walk through the house and to the door, waving you inside, so you hurry from the car, head ducked down to try to avoid the chill and wedge your way in, shaking away the snow once you feel the warmth inside.

“He’s in my garage,” he tells you in lieu of an actual greeting, moving away as you shake off the snow.

“What? You let him inside?”

“Not inside-inside, but yeah. I know better than to leave a pet out in that. Christ. And you know, I keep telling you, princess if you want to see me, you don’t have to keep sending that mutt over as an excuse.”

“Yeah, sure. But what a waste of all that training,” you quip back. It’s almost a routine at this point.

You roll your eyes when he gives you an over exaggerated, proud smile. You immediately want to roll your eyes again because of how good that stupid smile looks on him, too. Your gaze can’t help but travel up and down the length of him, long legs, slim hips that go up to those broad shoulders, all encased in a heavy sweater...with holes torn at the lower hem and at the stomach.

Without thinking, you rush forward to grab the frayed yarn cringing at the idea of needing to replace the expensive garment, “Oh no, did he do this? I know he gets jumpy when he’s excited.”

“No, he didn’t,” he wipes at the front of this stomach. “It’s fine. It’s just like that.”

He can’t even say anything else before you start with more apologizing and rambling, “I am so, so sorry. I swear I only left him out there for a few minutes so he could play in the snow, and he’s been so good. And here,” you thrust the package at him, “I made some food and I hope you have a sweet tooth, and I know it doesn’t make up for the inconvenience and-”

“What’s this?” he asks, shaking it slightly and breaking up your word vomit.

“Uh, it-it’s just like some cookies and stuff that I made.”

“What for?”

“For Valentine’s Day. I made a bunch of stuff because at work we’re doing a thing tomorrow, so-”

“No, I mean why are you giving these to me?”

“Oh,” you hadn’t thought you would need to explain, “Um, neighborly kindness? Gratitude? Because it’s Valentine’s Day?”

“Huh. Does this make you my Valentine?” He laughs and turns on his heel, walking away toward where you can see is the kitchen area.

“For some reason, you don’t strike me as the sweet and cuddly Valentine type,” you call after him, hearing him chuckle in response.

You wait in the foyer for what feels like too long, just listening as he moves around, opens and closes cabinets and goes on like you’re not there. You look around uncertain what you’re expected to do since you usually don’t make it past the doorway until you decide to pull off your boots and hang your jacket over a chair set near the door. You follow the path he made into the kitchen.

“Sooo. Like I was trying to say, I don’t want to bother you,” you say quietly, “I will just grab Andy and head on home.”

“You really wanna drive with that going on?” he gestures to the window. When you look, it’s practically a blizzard and your car is covered in a fresh, thick layer already.

“Shit,” you rub at the side of your face, nervous at the idea of navigating the roads, but just as anxious to not irritate the man staring you down from across the counter. “Not really. Where’s Andy? I wanna check on him.”

He points to a door down the hall. “Garage is through there.”

You make your way through the house with your jaw clenched, unsure with what you might find knowing that Ransom’s not exactly a fan of dogs. So opening the door he pointed to and finding your dog curled up on an old tarp with that familiar worn-out tennis ball, a full water bowl, all cozy and warm inside the otherwise empty garage is not what you expected at all.

Your dog lifts his head, tail thumping against the floor as you approach, but he seems worn out from his romp through the snow, so you let him settle down after making sure he’s alright and head back to Ransom in the living room. A small smile in place of your grimace from a few moments before.

“The garage is heated,” Ransom tells you from his seat on the couch. “Figured he’d be alright in there. Can’t do much damage.”

“That’s...that’s really great.” You’re caught off-guard by the thoughtfulness of it. “Thanks for setting him up. I’ll just wait until it slows down and head back out, don’t want to mess up any plans you had.”

He laughs at that, hard and loud. “No, in fact you and the mutt gave me the perfect out from a family thing.”

“Oh really, don’t let us keep you.”

“Oh no, I’m too busy being a hero during the snowstorm,” he answers dryly, letting silence hang in the air for a few moments afterward. “Drink?” he offers.

“A hero? That’s the excuse you’re giving them?” You try to wave off the drink offer, but then he points back outside.

“I think we’ve got some time on our hands. And yeah, makes for a great story, doesn’t it?” he chuckles to himself.

You glance back to the wall of windows, seeing nothing but swirling white and sighing, “Sure, might as well. But just to let you know, Andy might not be thrilled that you’re using him as an excuse.”

He smiles and gets up from the sofa to pour you each a glass, then turns back and holds yours out to you, “I know a girl, I think she might be willing to put in a good word for me.”

You take a sip of your drink to hide your grin and sit on the sofa when he does.

A little while goes by and despite the somewhat awkward start to the situation, he’s not bad company. Andy is still content with his set-up, nearly ready to tuck in for the night when you check on him again later. When you return, Ransom’s opened the box of goodies, happily making a dent in the whiskey dark chocolate truffles you piled in there.

“So, you’re sure we’re not interrupting anything? No lady or ladies or even gentlemen you planned to entertain?” You ask as you settle back onto the sofa, closer to the center. Ransom had ignited the fireplace while you were up, dimming the lights and letting the orange flames illuminate the space in front of you.

“Will you drop it already? Nothing aside from the usual family obligation to show up, deal with passive aggressive bullshit, then some outright aggressive bullshit, and watching the show when it all implodes. I am happy to let a pretty girl and her big, messy dog give me an excuse to stay home.”

You laugh, trying to brush off the compliment thrown in there, “Hard to believe you want to miss out on all that. Sounds like a real special time.”

“Very special,” he drawls. He wipes some crumbs off his fingers as he shakes his head before adding, “Trust me this is much better.” He tosses his arm over the back of the couch, letting it fall on your shoulders and force you to lean a bit further into him.

“Yeah,” you mutter as you look down to your feet and fumble a string of syllables of incomplete words as you try to remind yourself to not read too much into what he’s saying.

“Oh, come on.” He picks up the slack in the conversation when you still don’t manage to say anything else for a few moments, leaning into your space as he breaks the silence. “So, I finally have you all to myself and you’re gonna be shy for me?”

You look up at him, eyes wide and heat rising in your cheeks and chest. “What?”

The hand not wrapped over you reaches out and pushes your chin up, closing your mouth which dropped into an ‘o’ of surprise. His thumb slides up to trace at the pout of your lip.

“Please, baby girl. Neither of us is very subtle. I don’t really do romance, but we’ve got a fire going, we’re stuck in a snowstorm, and I’ve been wanting to get you all to myself since that mutt first showed up over here. If that isn’t some panty-soaking Hallmark crap right there, then I don’t know what is.”

That makes you laugh, which makes him laugh right along with you. The tension has shaken loose and your smile is uncontrollable. It’s ridiculous - the scenario, his words, that he can read you so well, that he isn’t wrong.

“Hard to believe you don’t have women knocking down your door with all that to offer.”

“Just one woman, and her very stupid dog.”

“Hey,” you start in offense, but still move in when he does, smiling into the kiss. It’s chaste and soft for brief seconds before lips part and your tongues meet. His hands waste no time to pull you closer, tugging you along and making you shift on your knees until he pulls you over him to straddle his lap.

You’re grabbing at everything you can, bunching his thick sweater in your hands, then sliding up and down over his shoulders and biceps, appreciating how solid he feels beneath you. Until finally, you rake your fingers into his hair, ruffling it a bit and then grasping it tightly at the crown to pull his head back, drawing a short moan from his throat.

He tilts back into the pull and you lift yourself up higher on your knees to keep your lips together. When your hands finally let go, allowing him to ease the arch of his neck, you take your time sliding your body down against his torso, pushing your core over the hard bulge in his slacks.

“You gotta ride me, baby.” It sounds like an order, not an option.

Yes. You aren’t sure if you say it out loud, but you feel the air leave your lungs in a rush and your body quivers at just the thought. You don’t care if this is quick, or rushed, or frantic - it’s exactly what you want rightfuckingnow.

His palms rest at the edge of your hip bones, fingers spread and digging into your sides and just slightly pushing and pulling you to get some pressure where you feel that he’s hard.

You reach down, covering his hands with yours and pull them up your sides under your sweater, not so much encouraging as demanding that he move things along. He gets with the program quickly and pushes the sweater up, separating your lips long enough to take it off then pulling you back as quickly as he can. His hands find their own way to the clasp of your bra, making quick work of removing it as well and eagerly touching every inch of bare skin.

When you both start to pant, breaths coming out hard and shaky, he moves his lips to tickle the skin on your cheek, down to your jaw, along the curve there and onto your neck. He sucks at the sensitive skin, nibbling and dragging his teeth when he gets focused on a single sensitive spot that makes you whine out loud.

Your head hangs down to the side, letting him work his way down the column of skin there and sinking into the loose, ragdoll feeling as your body just gives in to every sensation of pleasure. His arms squeeze you against him while he keeps pushing his hips up and into you, teasing you with hints of pressure where you are starting to feel empty and needy.

“Yes,” you gasp, definitely out loud this time. “Yes,” over and over, every time he does something whether it is with his tongue, or his fingers - his blunt nails digging into the sides of your ribs to hold you tightly in place, or the twist of your hips as he lifts his own up against you.

It’s so much, and you’ve only just lost your shirt. It’s not worth waiting anymore. Your mind is set now to just get what you want.

You push away from him. He slowly comes to, eyes glazed and unfocused, a low mutter of “the fuck” slurred from his lips. Before he can reach for you, you lift off him. Your legs are shaky, but you stand as steadily as you can, undoing the button and zipper and pulling down your jeans and panties in a single push.

He watches for a second, then reaches behind him, gripping the neck of his sweater and hauling it up and over his head. He reveals almost exactly what you were hoping for - solid, defined muscles and smooth skin - but there’s more. Hair across his pecs and in a line down the center of his abs, and freckles dotting everywhere on his fair skin. You want to caress and trace every one, run your fingers along imaginary paths and press against him - but it can wait. It’s got to wait.

Impatiently, you kneel, kicking the legs of your pants away and shuffling forward to reach for his belt. His hands settle at his side, flexing, but letting you do what you seem to be compelled to do. You fling the ends of the belt apart and pull at the button and then the zipper, already salivating at the mingling scent of his cologne and sex.

He straightens his hips, lifting from the couch to allow you to shove his boxers and pants down his legs, his cock pulling with them, then bouncing back up once freed. It throbs, slightly bobbing with a rush of arousal and you can’t help but admire the thickness of it, the swollen head that glistens with smeared pre-come.

Heat burns over your skin, and when you look up at Ransom, he’s clearly feeling the same. His cheeks are flushed in patches of pink, his lips red, swollen, and parted as he lets out short, shaky breaths, hair hanging loose and disheveled. It’s more than you hoped for, and it’s disgusting how perfect he looks.

As much as you want to tease, to keep this view while you swallow him down and taste him, your pussy throbs. You promise yourself again to take more time with him later, to lick and suck and taste him the way you want, but you can’t resist at least a taste. You grab his shaft, leaning in to swallow him deeply - just once - and draw a shocked moan from him before pulling off and pushing up from your knees, humming at the taste of him.

“Damn, princess. I thought I was going to ruin you, but fuck, you’re good.” He reaches forward as you’re moving up, his hand grabbing at the back of your head to guide you. He pulls a bit at your hair when you’re back up to the couch and spreading your thighs wide over his. His free hand reaches between your legs swirling through your wet, sensitive slit and pressing the heel of his palm hard against your clit.

“Later,” he promises, “I’m gonna taste your pussy. Gonna lick it all up.” He pulls his hand away and sucks away your juices as they drip down his fingers. The promise is so dirty it makes your breath shake in anticipation. You stare into each others’ eyes, admiring the wreckage between you and moving without guidance to seat yourself on top.

You gasp when you finally feel the hot, hard line of him pressed against your pussy. It feels so thick, and you’re eager to feel the stretch of him pushing inside. You lock your arms around his neck, pushing your breasts together, nipples peaking as they drag along the coarse hair on his chest.

The lips of your pussy spread over his cock, coating him with your slick. His cockhead rubs over your clit, making you shudder and suck in stuttering breath, and that’s it. You can’t take it anymore.

“Can I have your cock?” Deep down, you know you don’t really need to ask.

“Yeah,” he adjusts his hips, scooting himself out a little further to give you more room to settle against him. “You’re gonna fucking ride me, princess. Come all over me.”

“Uh huh,” you breathe out, high and airy.

He takes one hand off you, using two fingers to angle his cock toward you. You lift up on your knees, tipping your hips until you feel him against your entrance. You pause for a brief second to ready yourself, then sink down, taking him all in at once.

The stretch makes you groan, the static-like buzzing mix of ache and pleasure spreading all over and making you throw your head back and deepen the moan.

He huffs out a few quick breaths. “That’s it, oh that pussy is so good. So fucking good, princess,” he mumbles.

Then his hands are back on your hips, warm against the bare skin and strong when he digs the tips of his fingers in to pull you further down, “This cock filling you up? Huh?”

All you can manage is another high-pitched, “Uh-huh,” while you start to roll your hips, barely lifting as you shift back and forth to grind against him, your walls still squeezing him tight.

“Come on, let go, baby,” he whispers, his mouth tight against your ear. Your arms loosen their grip around his neck and you place your hands instead on the muscles flexing at the tops of his shoulders.

You move your knees to get them comfortable and then finally push yourself off him, sliding and gasping as you feel the head of his cock catching just at your entrance again, and after another silent beat, you slide back down, taking his hard length again.

With the space given, he dips his mouth to your breasts, swirling and suckling at your nipples, Harsh, fast sucks followed by quick nips when he catches the hard peaks in between his teeth until you gasp and moan. Only then does he switch it up, his tongue gently rolling over the bud, soothing the stinging ache.

All the while you roll your hips and the burn, the push, the fullness of him inside you is drugging. Your eyes fall closed as you focus on the steadily growing tingle low in your belly.

You start to chase it with slow, dragging strokes, easing up only to drop down and have him bottom out deep inside. It builds fast, making your thighs burn and knees ache as you try to keep your position; one knee has managed to wedge into the corner of the couch and the rhythm needed to build your orgasm conflicts with the concentration needed to keep yourself steady.

“Just take it, babygirl. I got you,” he whispers, feeling your body getting tired on top of him.

He shifts his legs, placing his feet on the ground and pushing up into you, letting you settle on his lap and rock yourself forward and back while his cock stays buried in you. He adjusts his hands to rest just at your tailbone, pressing you steadily against him and giving the pressure needed to your clit when you press against his pubic bone.

Cries start to escape from you, first quiet and breathy, but then building as the air gets pushed out in hard breaths. Your body inches closer and closer to that release, your body hot and burning and there’s a slight moment of too much just before it hits...and then it’s rushing over you - all liquid fire and bliss. You clamp down over him, legs straining over the tight muscles of his thighs.

He pushes up into you, his hands pressing harder at the middle of your back to keep you moving through your release as he works to find his. He hisses through clenched teeth, broken praises coming out on hard breaths.

“Yeah...There...Righthere...God...Fuck.”

When he curls into you, nails digging into your soft skin and breathing heavy against your chest, you know he’s right there.

“Come for me,” you whisper.

“God - yeah!” With one final, hard thrust, he does. You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside you when he releases, his hips jerking up slightly to keep pushing into you while the tense features of his face soften with relief.

For a moment it’s nothing but panting breaths and the racing beat of your pulse in your ears. Then it’s slow, dragging hands across naked skin and muscle, soothing the tense muscles and tickling sensitive spots and whispering praise to the man beneath you while he hugs you tight to him.

His voice is low and quiet as he asks, “Is the mutt gonna be mad that I stole his Valentine?”

“You like me,” you smile against his neck and tease him with a sing-song voice, “And you like my dog.”

“I like you,” he agrees. “The dog’s okay, too.”

“Does that mean Andy should come harass you again on Friday night?”

“I’ll even get a dog-sitter.” He says with a smirk. “Let him know that 7 would be good.”

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extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

innocence - 24

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: none

A/N: i took three weeks to post, i am very sorry but i’ll now be posting the holiday chapters i was supposed to but i got lost in eating mince pies. hope you enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

- Bucky, what are you doing? - Y/N smirked as she returned from set, still dressed in a scandalous dress covered by a beige rain coat. Small droplets of water covered the beige waterproof fabric which rolled onto the ground as she made her way further into the small flat.

Bucky was sat in bed, looking at a pile of clothing thrown next to an open old military green rucksack by his feet. A few worn out brown leathered tags we attached to one of the handles and had she been wearing her glasses, she could’ve probably guessed what it was written on them. The brown haired man rose his head at the mention of his name, eyes widening at what she was wearing. He was used to seeing her in tight, revealing dresses but this dress was something else and he wondered how she could walk with such a skin tight garment.

- I’m just deciding what to pack. - he shrugged, trying to forget about the dress his girlfriend was wearing.

- Just pack warm. - she sat next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder, an immediate smile extending in her limps. - Mum said it might snow. Can you imagine, a white Christmas?

- Did they give you a bad time on set?

A bad time? A bad time was an understatement. She had gotten an earful from everyone who passed by her that day from her manager to her personal assistant to even Mr. Hayworth who just screamed about how stupid she was. Even half the cast was upset, not enjoying the publicity it would bring to the movie and while she would normally end up crying in her trailer, Chuck ensured to follow her around to make sure she was alright. Yet, none of it matter. It was the last day of shooting before she got to go home to her parents and forget about the mess she had willingly created. It was only a day before she could spend the holidays with someone who chose her and kept choosing her for the first time. It really didn’t matter if she had a bad time, things were starting to look up for her.

- Other than the stripper dress? Not as bad. - she giggled. Bucky looked at her, trying to peak through the coat. - I was thinking ... maybe we should have a nice long bath together? I’ll light some candles, get some nice wine from the shop down the street.

- You little vixen, I still have to go see my sister. If I take a bath with you I will end up staying much more time than I should. - Bucky kissed the side of her face. - Did you wear that dress just to tempt me?

- I would never. It is not my fault you cannot control yourself.

- That dress is staying until I come back, though.

- I want to come. - she got up from the bed, pulling the dress from her body and grabbing her white jumper and pair of jeans from the wardrobe. - You’re meeting my family, it’s only fair I meet yours.

- I’ve told you already, princess. We don’t wanna poke the media, they’ll bite us back with no mercy. I don’t want people hurting you because of me.

- You can’t sneak me into a care home? My, my, Mr. Barnes, I thought you could get anyone into anywhere. Your CV said so.

- Are you doubting my abilities, princess? - he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closing to him before starting to tickle her sides. - It’ll be boring to you, my princess. Just stay here, put back that tight little dress and I’ll make it worth your time.

- No way. I’m meeting your sister.

- No baby pictures, Y/N.

- I would never. - she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hard felt yet soft kiss. - Only childhood stories.

Bucky rolled his eyes, handing her the jacket and hat as they made their way onto a taxi. Bucky visited his sister a lot but he’d never mentioned Y/N. Not that he didn’t want to, of course he did. In all honesty, he could speak about his girl for as long as someone allowed him. However, Y/N was still a public personality and he wouldn’t want to let something out that she wasn’t comfortable with people knowing. Besides, he knew how much his sister still adored to gossip and he wouldn’t want to possibly hurt Y/N or be the cause.

She, on the other hand, was excited. She knew Steve and Steve was the oldest of Bucky’s friends but she never thought she would get to meet someone from his family or that he’d even want to introduce her to someone from his family. After all, he was a war hero and Y/N was an actress from a small town in London who everyone seemed to despise at the moment.

The man drove them up to small complex building of what seemed to be newly built flats. Bucky was the first one off the taxi, running up to her side so he could open the door. It always left her feeling like a school girl; the pageantry, it is. She never believed she would find someone and the fact someone rushed to go and open the door for her and held his hand out.

- Anything you’d like to confess before I ask your sister? - Y/N teased, hugging him side eyes as he led her to the entrance.

- Do not believe what she says, I did not date too many girls.

- Steve disagrees with that.

- How would you know what Steve agrees or disagrees with?

- I called him to wish him happy holidays.

- I didn’t know you and Steve were friendly.

- Don’t be jealous, love. I’m not stealing your best friend. - Y/N pinched his cheek playfully as the two of them stopped in front of a wooden door with the number 35 in gold numbers pinned to it.

Bucky knocked on the door, announcing himself before holding Y/N once again close to him. He went through his mind, wondering if there was anything Rebecca could tell which would upset her. Sure, he used to be a bit of a womaniser in his youth but Y/N knew that. He hadn’t gotten anyone pregnant, he hadn’t proposed and ran off, he was off the hook. Still, he didn’t like the idea of Becca telling Y/N about his past quests.

Y/N waited patiently until someone held the door. The first thing she noticed were her eyes, the same as Bucky’s and she could recognise them anywhere. The woman had perfectly styled grey hair and a smile on her lips as she recognised her brother.

- Who is this lovely girl, Buck? You didn’t tell me you’d bring company, I would’ve gotten some biscuits.

- This is Y/N, she’s my girlfriend.

- Steve told me you were seeing someone, I just didn’t think she’d be this pretty. Come in, come in. - Becca grabbed Y/N away from Bucky leading her to the living room. - What you wanted is in the bedroom, Buck.

- Behave. - Bucky told his sister before he went into the bedroom to look for what he had come in from.

- I have some photos I think you’d love to see, darlin’. - she pointed the couch for Y/N to sit in before waddling to the big mahogany bookcase. She had a huge collection of books from old classics to new contemporary masterpieces which Y/N would love to read someday. The house itself was cozy, way more comfortable than other care homes she’d seen but she guessed Bucky would’ve only allowed for the best for his little sister. - It’s been ages since I’ve seen one of Bucky’s girlfriends. Not that he used to bring them home, but I used to sneak in and take a peak. You’re definitely the prettiest of all of them.

- Thank you. - Y/N couldn’t help but feel her cheeks heat up.

- Ah, there it is. - she dropped a photo album on Y/N’s lap. - My father gave my mother a photo camera and she went crazy with it. Too many photos. However, when Bucky was born, it was a special occasion. Dad used to say she wanted a professional photo taken with her Jamie.

She pointed at a photo of an woman probably in her early 20s holding a baby wrapped in several blankets, accompanied by a man who Bucky resembled very much. Her fingers traced the face of the baby, a little smile forming on her lips. It was nice to see him like that, normal. No mentions of the Winter Soldier, no pain, none of her constant drama due to her profession.

- He was the eldest of four and despite what my mother would say, he was always the favourite. The only boy. He got away with whatever he wanted.

- Bucky has three siblings?

- Three sisters. Some of them didn’t survive. It was war. - her voice softened with sadness as she turned the page for a photo that Y/N wasn’t expecting to see. The same woman from before, his mother, was hugging a shirtless Bucky who had some boxing gloves on. Her face contorted into curiosity as Bucky exited the room and leaned against the couch, standing next to the two women.

- What are you two ladies looking at? - Bucky kissed Y/N’s head, putting his hand on her shoulder.

- I think Y/N is very curious about your welterweight boxing past.

- You did boxing?

- Princess, I was a three-time YMCA Welterweight boxing champion. - Bucky closed the album before any of the photos of him with some of the ladies he used to hang around with showed up. - Becca, we should get going. We have an early flight tomorrow.

- You need to bring her more often. - Rebecca got up from the couch to accompany them to the door. - Did you find what you were looking for?

- Yes, Beccs. Thank you so much for keeping it all these years.

- Pretty sure mum would come back to haunt me if I hadn’t. Have fun meeting the parents. - she kissed Bucky’s cheek allowing for the two of them to leave. Bucky immediately wrapped his chunky knitted scarf, something his grandma had knitted for him ages ago, around Y/N’s neck, pulling her to his side.

He couldn’t truly remember a time where he was this happy, so full of need to continue living. She really brought him to this sort of weird normality where his past didn’t seem to affect him or at least not as strongly as it usually did. The two walked into grey skies, it was probably going to rain but none of them cared, walking side by side like those couples on Christmas songs.

- A boxing champion?

- Knock it off, princess. - Bucky helped her into the taxi, telling the driver his address before fastening his seat belt. - It was a long time ago.

- Do you miss her? - she questioned, leaning her head against his shoulder, watching the horizons run through in blurs. - Your mother. Rebecca said you were the favourite.

- Rebecca is always saying that. - he scoffed. - I do miss her. She was a swell lady, always caring about us, not complaining whenever she had to travel around because of my father. She was the best mother someone could’ve asked for. She would’ve liked you.

- You think so?

- I know so. Dad would’ve liked you too so would aunt Ida. Of course there’s still my nephews and nieces and their kids, but they don’t really want to speak with me ... - she didn’t need to ask why, she could see it in his eyes why and it made her sad. It made her sad to think of his family not wanting to be with him, specially during the holidays. - But I’ve had Rebecca and Steve for all these years. They’re my family and now I have you.

- Well, I can’t promise my family will like you but they’ll definitely found the fact I have a boyfriend amusing.

- You mean to tell me I don’t have any ex boyfriends I’ll have to fight once we get to London?

- That’s just unfair, Bucky. You’re a three-time boxing champion.

- You’ll never let that one go will you?

- Nope. Dating a three-time boxing champion is a new identity I can get used to.

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir

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slutsofren · 3 years

Text

Danger Days Chapter 1: Summertime

Summary: You think you've settled in pretty well to Jackson, your best friend Maria was leading the community with her husband Tommy. Things were going rather fine until a turbine went south. While at the power plant, you came across two visitors. Joel needs his brother to complete a mission but you stepped in, dredging up your past with FEDRA, with the Fireflies. Shit can't hit the fan twice right?

Word Count: 1,399

Read on AO3 here

Warnings: none, just a bit of backstory

Notes: this is a Joel x Reader/OFC multi-chap series, absolutely no use of y/n or other descriptors as long as I can try. Reader is about 30-35 in this timeline.

You put on the worn-in boots, trying to ignore the phantom pains shooting in your left hand. The skin around the nub where your pinky used to be was swollen and throbbing. It frustrated the hell out of you. After all these years, memories and ghosts haunted you whenever the nerves flared up in your palm. Doing your best to ignore it, you laced up the last shoe and grabbed your black sherpa denim jacket, tossing it over your shoulders to keep the late summer chill away.

“Oh shit,” you whispered to yourself as you took a step outside your home, immediately being blasted by the cold.

Tonight was one of the weekly adult get-togethers at Seth’s, something most of the Jackson residents looked forward to. Usually, you’d never bother with attending but your best friend and her husband managed to convince you to come out and relax for once. Admittedly, it was rare for you to have a night off since you often volunteered to walk the perimeter of the safe zone, keeping an eye out for any activity.

Your feet shuffled along until you came to the bar, the music wafting through the air and you made your way inside.

The pub was lively tonight, you could spot a few couples having a blast dancing to the music playing from the jukebox. It seemed like tonight the adults were throwing it back and reminiscing with some old 1980s music. You called over the man himself, Seth, and he grabbed you a beer.

Thank the stars the greenhouse had a steady growth of hops, you couldn’t imagine trying to do any of this sober. You leaned against an unoccupied area of the bar table, idly watching as people danced and sipped at the bottle.

After doing this little routine, the drink was getting a little warm from the heat of your palm but that was alright, you were living in the moment. Your best friend and her husband always told you to let your hair down every once in a while, so to speak. It was near impossible to always be on edge, waiting for the next fight. For half your life this is how it’s been, it’s hard to shake off that feeling even after a couple years of relative safety.

You looked up from your drink, your eyes finding the couple on your mind. You sat watching as Maria and Tommy were in the dead center of the dance floor looking at each other like there was not a damn worry in the world. It was something you envied of the woman, if you could admit it to yourself. Not everybody finds love and some semblance of peace in the goddamn apocalypse. Good for her, good for them .

Gustavo, an elderly Hispanic man, walked up and stood next to you. “Mija, why don’t you go dancing? You’re too pretty to be standing here alone,” he says, his subtle accent eliciting a soft smile from you.

“Because you know I’d sooner bite their heads off if they tried, tio.” Gustavo wasn’t related to you but you loved the blacksmith like family, so much that you called him your uncle.

The elder man gave a hearty laugh, his calloused hand gave your cheek a small pat. “I want to see you dance with somebody before I die,” he says as he turns to leave.

You give him an incredulous look, “Don’t keel over too soon, tio, or I’ll bring you back myself and make you wait even longer!”

His laughter still rings in your ears long after he walks away. Your eyes steal a few more glances at the dancefloor as you turn around and abandon you nearly empty glass of beer on the countertop and resume watching how everybody sang along and moving ungraciously together. Feeling alive, living in the moment. Carpe diem or some shit , you think.

It doesn’t take much for Maria’s perpetual scowl to mark across her face, that woman was always pissed off about something. So, when the power went out in the pub, you could only imagine the blonde woman immediately furrowing her brows, grumbling something explicit wanting to find out what cut her date night short. Being the leader of the community rarely had nights off.

The crowd inside Seth’s was slightly alarmed, power hardly ever went out in Jackson. It usually signalled the worse. You gently shoved your way to where you last saw Tommy and Maria and found her leather clad arm, “Think it’s bandits?”

“I hope not,” came from Tommy to your right, his voice low and weary.

“Alright everybody, go home. We will figure out what’s going on and we will all be back to our normal routines. Got it?” Maria’s voice was short and authoritative, something you sure scared the shit out of some of the younger kids.

Slowly, the patrons all filed out, using whatever the moon illuminated as their only guide to getting outside safely. You could hear a few curses and muttering every time it sounded like somebody walked into a stool or table, it was kind of funny.

Tommy was the first to pipe up, “Let’s head to the fence, make sure everybody is okay.”

The three of you filed out and headed straight for the perimeter, there were no sounds of shouting or gunshots which was good to note. The closer each of you got to the fence, the eerie silence met with you.

“The electric fence is down,” Maria grumbled.

You looked at her, “Think the power plant is out?”

“Probably,” she sighs, “We can leave at first light.”

After you leave them, you head straight for your home as they continued to circle the perimeter and talk with whoever was on guard duty tonight.Your home was a walk away, further out from the other homes. It’s not much outside of a small studio loft but you loved it. It’s cozy and has everything you need within a couple dozen steps.

The room is dark, naturally, but you manage to walk to the little kitchenette off to the left of your room to find your solar lantern. One of the best damn discoveries you managed to find since the pandemic hit. It turned on easily, creating a dim glow around your room. You went to your desk and started to get your backpack ready for the trip to the dam. Stuffing it of some snacks, your spare knives, and some extra bullets, each a hotter commodity than the next.

It had been rainy recently so you decided to pack a couple extra jackets and flannels, making sure you had plenty of socks to go too.

By the time you finish packing your backpack for the excursion, a soft knock arrives at your door. You opened it to find Gustavo standing there, looking bright eyed. “Mija, I heard you were headed out to the dam.”

You nodded, “Wanna come in, tio?”

“Ah, no, Antonia is waiting for me,” at the mention of his wife, the lovely woman, you wonder where she was hiding at Seth’s. The two of them hardly go far without the other. “I just wanted to come by and bring you this.” Gustavo puts a semi-large wrapped gift in your hands and you take it, shifting it this way and that.

You open it, removing the ornate paper and it opens to a brown rectangular box. You slip the lid off and find an incredible hunting knife with a leather holster. “Gustavo,” you say. Your eyes wide in adoration, looking at the handcrafted knife.

His chest puffs out in pride, “Just don’t let Tovar see it, pendejo has been trying to take it.” The two of you chuckle at the expense of his young apprentice. He was a bit of a handful and full-time idiot, you admit.

Putting the knife down at the small table by your front door, you give Gustavo a warm hug and your thanks. He left shortly after that but not without giving the old man a kiss on the cheek and a promise to not hurt yourself with his gift, and another for keeping it away from Tovar.

You shut the door and turned back to your loft, standing in the dim light. Leaning against the door, you take a moment and close your eyes. Tomorrow’s excursion was going to be long.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel (the last of us)#joel the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us 2 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel tlou x reader insert #asher's writing #danger days fic

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wyofabdoms · 3 years

Text

Undercover I Do - Chapter 5

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, hospitalization, blood and injury, swearing, awkward Javi, unrequited feels, mentions of sex toys, feelings, pining,

Word Count: 3132

Notes: You're released from the hospital, and Javi sets up house. While doing so, he stumbles across a couple of things that make him feel all kinds of ways!

Read on Ao3

You were released from the hospital two days later under the stipulation that you were to rest and were not to return to any kind of active field duty until fully cleared by the doctor and his medical team. Over the course of those two days, some of your memories had seeped back in, like figures appearing through thick fog and slowly taking form and shape. But, it seemed to you, not any of the really important ones were returning. You remembered now some specific events from the last two years of your time as an agent: big busts you had made, critical incidents that had ended badly for your agency, colleagues that had been lost in the line of duty. You had been able to recall many details of your work against the worst of the drug cartels in Colombia from the last two years and even further back...but most memories of things from the past three or four weeks were still a grey void with nothing in them, not even shadows to hint at memories waiting there in the fog.

You were rarely alone at the hospital: if Dixon was not sitting at your bedside, then Javi was there in her place. Between the two of them, you had managed to scrape together some large pieces that were missing about your relationships: you had worked with Dixon earlier in your career in San Diego and when she had risen in ranks and earned a seat down here in the thick of things, she had brought you along with her. You had the feeling that she viewed you as a bit of a protege and you felt confident that the memories you had of her support and backing of you were true. Memories about your relationship with Javi proved to be a bit more difficult to get confirmation on. While both Dixon and Javi were very willing to discuss and confirm anything you asked about your mentor, when you inquired or asked for clarification on your history with your husband, both agents seemed to hesitate for a moment before answering you. Dixon was more guarded than Javi and the older woman would often change the subject as quickly as she could when you asked her about your husband. You got a distinct sense that she did not approve of your marriage to the man you had been partnered with during your time here.

You remembered that was how you had met Javi; you had been assigned as his partner. You remembered the earliest days of working with him: how he had flirted with you and you had rebuffed him, how there had been moments when your partnership had skated the line of something more. But it was only the older memories that seemed to come clearly to you...the closer to present day you came, the emptier your memories became. You had tried to remember when exactly your relationship with Javi had made the jump from work partner to life partner. When and how had the two of you told each other how you felt? And you had zero memories of a proposal, a wedding....no memories at all of how it felt to touch and be touched by the handsome man who spent hours sitting in comfortable silence next to your bed. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him questions about those things...not yet.

Surprisingly, Dixon was the one who escorted you when you were released. After the older woman saw you carefully buckled into the passenger seat of the car, you inquired as to why Javi wasn’t the one driving you home. Dixon’s eye flickered behind her dark sunglasses, and she mumbled something about him getting your apartment ready for you. She assured you that he would be waiting at your home when you got there.

Your home. For a moment, your stomach sank, thinking about how you would be going back to a place that was foreign to you but was supposed to be a safe haven, a refuge, the home you shared with a husband you were supposed to be in love with. Would you remember any of it? Would anything that you found there help jog anything loose in your memory?

You could only hope.

***

“Fuck!”

Javi growled as he struggled to keep a box from teetering off the pile of other boxes that it was precariously stacked on. His hands were full of his clothes on hangers, halfway between the box he had just removed them from and the clothing pole in the closet. He had been struggling most of the morning with lugging half of his possessions down the two flights of stairs of their shared apartment building and trying to make it appear as though he had lived in this apartment for longer than a few hours. Both he and Dixon had agreed it would be best for her to return to familiar surroundings...but they still needed to keep up the premise that the two of you shared a life together.

Javi had never given much thought to domesticity. The closest he had ever come was Lorraine...and the brief moment of introspection he had had when he had seen her those several years ago at that wedding. Thoughts had crossed his mind then: what would it be like to have a wife, to wear a ring on his finger, to have promised himself to someone forever? To have a future that was shared with another person? To make important decisions with another person and not just on your own? To have 2.5 kids and a house? But he hadn’t spent too much time dwelling on it simply because none of that was really who Javi was, was completely unimaginable to him. He had never once really thought that sort of life would ever be one he would want, much less be able to live. And, quite honestly, he wasn’t all that sure that that kind of life was one that he deserved.

Now, it seemed, life was playing a little gag on him: turns out maybe there WAS a way for him to see if married life was for him...although he did hate the fact that his partner had had to be injured in the process.

One thing he was certain of at the moment, though: if getting married and divvying up and combining possessions was as big a pain in the ass for real as it was for this farce?...Well, that was a strike against matrimony in his opinion.

At first he had merely grabbed a small duffle bag full of items; things he thought he might leave at a woman’s house if he was spending the night or a weekend: a change of clothes, toiletries, firearm. But when he had let himself into her apartment two floors below his in their building, it had struck him that that wasn’t going to be good enough.

Her apartment was lived in. Unlike his own, which he realized now seemed a little sterile and cold, her’s was warm and (though not a word he often used in his vocabulary) cozy. She had artwork on the walls, shelves full of books from all different genres...even a few board games and some well-worn records on the record player stand. He spotted a rolled up yoga mat under a bench beneath the window and a couple of handwritten recipes and smiling photos tucked under bright magnets on the refrigerator. Her bedroom smelled of lavender and soft vanilla; the bed was neatly made (again, unlike his own) and dirty clothes resided in a hamper rather than tossed carelessly into a corner. The spare room that served as an office housed neatly organized work related content and photo albums of people from home, holiday decorations stashed under the guest bed; her closet had her clothes neatly organized (by color, who knew!?). He had quickly come to the conclusion that he might need to put a bit more effort into this charade.

So he had proceeded to spend the next several hours being swept into a whirlwind of imagining what a shared space would look like if the two of them were actually married. He had started with the few books he had in his own apartment; a few biographies, some car magazines and a ratty copy of “The Art of War” and “The Hobbit”. He had jammed them onto the neat bookshelves in her living room before returning quickly with some of his own records: some Cumbia records and an Eagles album, which he shuffled in with her own Steely Dan, Creedence Clearwater and Three Dog Night.

He didn’t have much to contribute to the kitchen besides a few bottles of whiskey and a bottle of tequila next to her own bottles of red wine. He had pulled a photo taken when he graduated from high school from his wallet and placed it on the fridge next to one of her with her huge family. He paused a moment to assess the contrast in the two pictures: her in the midst of her five older brothers and parents, all wearing matching Christmas sweaters...him standing bashfully and stiffly next to his dad, who grinned proudly at the camera, one arm awkwardly slung over a teenage Javi’s shoulder. The bathroom didn’t take long, either. He added his razor, a bottle of Old Spice, and his toothbrush and comb; he glanced into the medicine cabinet as he placed his deodorant there and eyed what looked suspiciously like a package of prescription birth control...his mind started to wander and he slammed the cabinet door shut, heading back upstairs to his apartment for another load.

He had strong-armed his clothes still on the hangers into some file boxes to make them easier to carry down the stairs, then had hauled shoes, underthings, suits, jeans, and (what he had not really realized until this moment) a ridiculous amount of the same style shirt in different colors downstairs and was now trying to wedge them into one half of her closet, trying to make it look like they had been there for a while and doing his best to not become buried by the haphazardly stacked boxes. Once the last set of shoes was stuffed into the closet next to a pair of sky high red heels he had never seen her wear before, (he was CERTAIN he would have remembered those) he opened the dresser to shove his socks and underwear into a drawer and gulped. Staring back at him was a drawer full of his partner’s bras and panties.

For a moment he felt like a creep pawing through her underwear drawer, but he steeled himself and carefully nudged the sensible pieces of cotton material to one side of the drawer. As the material shifted, he spotted a brief flash of red lace and something that could be black and leather, but he refused to investigate any further; he could feel his face flushing and his heart pounding harder. He dumped his own underwear into the drawer and shoved it closed, sighing with relief and opening the next one; socks wouldn’t cause his mind to wander into dangerous territory nearly as badly! He carefully shoved the rolls of clothing to the side to make room for his own once again and felt his hand hit something. His breath hitched as he uncovered what was very obviously a vibrator. Next to it was a tube of lube and a small box about the size of a deck of cards. Try as he might, he could not stop himself from carefully tilting open the lid of the box...Javi was quite educated when it came to knowing his way around a woman, but he was clueless as to the purpose or use of the two small colored balls nestled into the velvet inside of the box...although he was pretty sure he at least knew where they were supposed to go.

His mind clouded with images of his partner stretched out on the bed behind him, bringing herself to orgasm using these items and he felt himself harden in his jeans. He let out a puff of air and carefully nudged the items to the other side of the drawer, reburying them beneath the socks as they had been before. He piled in his own footwear, then shakily closed the drawer, still trying to blink away the images playing out in his mind. He wondered what her face would look like as she came apart. What did she sound like? Did she cry out when she reached her peak? What would his name sound like tumbling from her lips in the middle of her climax, what would she taste like…?

He stormed out of the bedroom, furious at himself for going down that path. He felt like a pervert, getting so turned on after snooping through her personal effects. He was angry at Dixon for insisting that they do this; but he was frustrated at himself, more. He shouldn’t be going through her things like this. He splashed some cold water on his face from the kitchen sink and trudged back up to his own apartment, pacing for a while once he got there, trying to both ease his erection as well as determine what else he should bring with him back to her apartment. His eyes settled on the shoulder case that had been retrieved from the house that had been used in the undercover operation. He pulled out the two framed photographs that had been next to “their” bed; the photos that she had referenced when she had first woken up. He stared at them, thinking that if he hadn’t been present at the time they had been taken, he would have believed they were real, too...that they were actual photographs of two people madly in love with each other.

Maybe…

No. He stuck both pictures under his arms, grabbed another box filled with work files, tossed his favorite ashtray and lighter in the box along with one or two small tchotkes, a couple of coasters and a small plastic plant from the window sill, and made one more trip down the stairs. He dispersed the items randomly throughout her apartment, thinking to himself that it at least gave a more unified image of two different people existing within the same space.

He hauled the box of paperwork into her second bedroom converted into an office space and plopped it down on the desk, taking one or two folders and strewing them about the top of the desk, again in stark contrast to her own organized, neat piles. It started to reflect their separate desks at work now, which he found convincing. He sat in the desk chair for a minute and quickly shuffled through the small desk drawers, double checking for anything glaring that might be difficult to explain. As he opened the bottom drawer, his eye caught a blue leather bound notebook. Flipping through it, he saw pages and pages of writing in his partner’s familiar handwriting. As he thumbed through, he was startled to spot his name on one page. He carefully flipped back, scanning the writing and was surprised to find that it actually appeared quite often. He turned a page and began reading from the beginning:

“Everything sometimes feels so incredibly heavy here. The job, the humidity, the pressure of being a woman in this man’s arena. I hate it! I hate that I have to be strong all the damn time. I hate that it feels like I can’t seek the same comforts as other women...even if I have insisted that it be this way. I’m so grateful and proud of myself...most of the time...like 95.5% of the time. The other times, I just wish I could let myself cry when something heartbreaking happens. When someone says something scathing that hurts my feelings at work. When I watch Javi go off to sleep with yet another woman.

Javi. That feels so heavy all of the time, too. I can’t seem to ever level myself out when it comes to him. Some days he drives me absolutely insane and I want nothing more than to bash his face in with a paperweight. Other days, I just want him to put his arms around me and hold me. Not do anything or say anything, just hold me tight…because he is, truthfully, the only single person that I trust.

And yet, am I fooling myself in saying that...in saying that I trust him? Because do I really? If I really trusted him, why don’t I just go to him? He only lives two floors up. Why can’t I knock on his door and fling myself into his arms and kiss him and feel what it’s like to press my body against his? Why can’t I bring myself to do that? Well...probably because I don’t really ACTUALLY trust him...not with that part of myself. Javi is the man I want having my back in a shootout...but is he the man I want to be next to me every night when I fall asleep and every morning when I wake up? I dream about him sometimes...about him being in my bed with me, but we’re usually not sleeping...we’re doing everything but. I dream about it and then I wake up feeling empty because he’s not there, because it wasn’t real. The emptiness is heavy, too...”

Javi clapped the journal shut, feeling his stomach churn. He shouldn’t have read that and guilt thrummed through him. These were her private thoughts; never meant for anyone else but her to read. Once again he felt like an intruder and he loathed himself...Dixon...that asshole Ortiz...for putting both of them in this situation. He dragged a hand over his face, growling low in his throat. He looked down at the box at his feet, still open with a few files and the two photographs staring back up at him. He reached in and took out one framed picture, sitting it upright on the desk: the “engagement” photo. He took the “wedding” picture out and then tossed the journal into the box, carrying both items from the home office. He carefully set up the photo on a bookshelf in the living room, then put the lid back on the box and headed back up the stairs to drop the box off in his apartment and lock up. Before he left, though, he made sure to slip the freshly cleaned gold band onto his left ring finger.

His wife would be coming home any minute now.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x female reader #narcos #javi #pedro pascal fanfiction #fake marriage #undercover marriage

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liusaidh-writing · 3 years

Text

Call it True - Chapter 3

[Prefer AO3?]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Here is Chapter 3! I am sorry it’s so late. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy. Chapter Four is on its way soon, too!

*****************************

Claire and Jamie exchanged texts and phone calls in the following days and nights. Unable to connect in person, they did what they could to remain close. Claire's night shifts ended after a week, and she was relieved to be back in the world of daylight once again. She also hoped this meant she and Jamie could get together again. And soon.

I'm free! Well, until my time rolls around again, anyway. Next two days off, and not a single thing planned!

She hit send with a grin and imagined what she and Jamie might do on her time off. Go to dinner? Watch a movie, preferably curled up on a couch. What movies did he like? She started compiling a list of possible options while she rode along in Lesley's car after her final night shift had ended in the early morning hours. They’d picked up a grumbly Harry at the sitters before heading to Claire’s flat.

Lesley, in the driver's seat, reached back to grab Harry's snack cup before it was flung to the floor by a frustrated toddler. The car swerved slightly as she turned back in her seat, causing Claire to gasp before Lesley set it right again.

Lesley thrust the snack cup at Claire, snapping, "Did you not hear me? I was asking you to grab it from him! Where's your mind been these last few days, anyway?"

Claire grasped the cup in her hands, dropping the phone in her lap. "Sorry! I just...didn't hear you! I’d rather the snack cup take the hit next time instead of us!"

"You're sitting right next to me, and unless you've gone deaf in the last ten minutes, you're just not paying attention," Lesley said in a sing-songy voice, ignoring Claire’s comment regarding her driving, but making an obvious effort to keep her tone light. She sighed, flipping the wipers on to clear the windshield of mist. It was annoyingly rainy, only a mere drizzle, but oddly cold for a spring morning. "Feels like winter outside, does it not," she remarked, attempting to change the subject.

"Yep...pretty cold."

Claire's mind wandered back to Jamie in the sweater he'd worn on their date. It had looked so cozy, and Claire wondered how it would feel on her. She blinked rapidly, forcing herself back to the present.

"So, you had been telling me earlier about...custody?"

Lesley sighed, grudgingly answering Claire's question.

"Yes...I told you everything, but you were off in lala land half the time. Not surprised you don't remember. If you're here with me now, I'll tell you again."

"Yes, please, I'm really listening." Claire shoved her phone between her leg and the seat, hoping that having it out of sight would help her stay focused on what her friend was saying.

"Well, Frank has decided he wants full custody of Harry. Make me some kind of weekend Mum." Lesley gritted her teeth thinking about the very idea of it. "Like he's capable of taking him on full time," she said, gesturing at Harry in the back, who'd fallen asleep. “He wouldn’t last an hour before he was calling me, begging for help.”

"He doesn't have grounds, surely! He can't just...make stuff up!" Claire was indignant, knowing how great of a mother Lesley was, and how perfectly lousy Frank was at everything from keeping Harry fed when he had him to keeping promises to Lesley about drop off times.

Lesley shook her head and rested her left elbow on the car door as they sat at a stoplight. "It's absolutely insane. He thinks because he makes more money that he should have Harry. That my schedule at the hospital isn't 'suitable for a toddler.’ He's just making sure I waste my money on legal fees fighting him instead of spending it on taking care of Harry so I'll look bad," she finished, glancing at Claire with an incredulous expression.

"Well, you know I'll do anything to help, Lesley!"

They had reached Claire's building, and as Claire got out she reached back and lightly ruffled Harry's hair, giving Lesley a smile and thanked her for the ride. She grabbed her things and headed to her door, feeling her phone signal that she had a text message as she walked. She quickly unlocked her door, slung them to the floor and hungrily unlocked her phone to see a message from Jamie waiting to be read.

Good to hear, Sassenach. I suppose you’ll need to go home and sleep. How about I come by later this evening?

Claire quickly sent a reply and beamed at...well, no-one. She locked her door and dreamily waltzed to the shower, eager to strip off her scrubs and wash the night away.

“Jamie and I are hanging out tonight!” she squealed, raising her arms in victory over her head. She gave a little twirl as she moved past her bedroom. Taking off her top, she flung it on her bed. Claire felt like a teenager - she was sure her cheeks were pink and her mind raced with all the possibilities of the evening. She nearly replied to Jamie that she didn’t need to sleep, but...that wasn’t true. She was dead on her feet and her shift last night had been especially brutal with several stressful patients. She sighed, realizing she deeply regretted not having made the effort to really meet Jamie earlier. Why had she wasted so much time? Now that they were friendly, she couldn’t seem to get him out of her mind. Lesley hadn’t been wrong when she’d said Claire had been in la-la land. She reminded herself to thank Lesley for saving her ass more than once at work in the past week. If it wasn’t Jamie’s calls or texts, it was her own imagination getting her in trouble. Over the phone, Jamie had told her all about his family, his nieces and nephews and sister. He had a best friend named Ian, who happened to be his brother-in-law. And a father he clearly cared a lot about. Claire had never known that sort of reality, growing up as she had. She revelled in Jamie’s stories of his boyhood, clinging to bits of him that he unknowingly exposed.

For instance, Claire was sure that Jamie was secretly in love with his father’s farm, though he had claimed he didn’t care to run things when the time came, that he’d gotten his flat in the city to escape that reality. He talked of it with such pride, and Claire wondered why he didn’t live there full time, as much as he was there. It held fond memories of his mother, and it was his connection to his extended family, and she knew family meant a lot to him.

She couldn’t exactly relate - though she had loved her uncle a great deal - but it was almost surreal hearing about hectic holidays or birthday celebrations Jamie got to experience growing up. Claire was rather envious at times. Her holidays usually involved Uncle Lamb flat-out forgetting them, and though he always remembered her birthday, he wasn’t the greatest at remembering to mark the date in any meaningful way other than a sweet ‘Happy Birthday, darling,’ and a pat on the cheek. She quickly made a mental note to ask Jamie about his birthday sometime.

Pulling back the shower curtain, she sighed as the steamy hot water washed away the night at the hospital; it succeeded in making her drowsy enough to fall quickly asleep.

---

Claire woke to a rather loud knock at her door. She rolled out of bed, hair all akimbo, eyes squinting as she opened her room darkening curtains. Padding towards the door, she quickly wrapped herself in the throw from the couch before turning the knob. There stood Jamie, a slight smile on his face that immediately fell when he caught sight of her.

"Oh God--"

"I'm sorry--"

They both spoke at the same time, Claire wrapping the blanket more securely around her shoulders. She had shorts and a small tee-shirt on, but no bra. She began to speak again, wondering if she looked as horrible as she feared. Jamie grimaced and took a breath.

"I am so sorry, I didn't wake you did I?"

"Oh, no. It's fine, really! I must look frightening..." Claire carefully took one arm out of her wrap and tried to smooth her hair in an attempt to calm her curls.

"NO! You look...stunning!" His eyes were wide, as though he’d seen a ghost.

"Oh, God no. Would you like to...?"

She gestured him inside, and quickly caught that he was holding a few things in his hands. A wad of blankets and a small thermal lunch bag were clutched in his arms as he shuffled inside.

"Let me just...go change. Have a seat, will you?" She moved towards her bedroom as she watched Jamie sit on her sofa, placing his things on the cushion beside him.

She closed her bedroom door, tossed the throw on her bed and leaned heavily against the door, her head making a distinct thumping sound as it hit. "Ow..." she muttered. "Hope he didn't hear that..."

She was jittery and her mouth was dry. He had that effect on her - one she couldn't put into words. Her stomach was consumed by a swarm of butterflies as she got dressed, brushing her teeth and washing her face. She raised her arms over her head checking her armpits for odor, and swiped on some deodorant, finishing with a quick spray of her favorite perfume with a flourish. She didn’t dare go back out there smelling like a hospital. She wasn’t entirely trusting of the shower she’d taken.

Taking a few deep, but not-so-calming breaths, she went back out to her living room, where Jamie waited patiently, thumbing through a magazine on her coffee table.

“I’m all for color in a room, but this shade of green makes me think of vomit.” Jamie was pointing at a photo of a painted room in some home decor article, curling his lip up in disgust at said shade of green.

He smiled at Claire, dropping the magazine and taking her in slowly, his eyes large and bright.

Claire looked down at her outfit - Jeans and a warm, deep red top. She’d been told it ‘brought out her eyes’, whatever the hell that meant, so she figured it was a good choice. She smoothed her shirt down and gestured at the magazine.

“Well, we don’t have to worry about that - I asked if I could paint when I moved in and was told no. Can’t wait to be able to live somewhere without blank white walls.” She waved haphazardly around the room, devoid of artwork, save for several of her own photos from various trips, and a few of Uncle Lamb, of course.

“It’s good to see you again, Claire.” Jamie stood up, moving towards her with his hand out. She wasn’t sure what he was going for, so she moved with him, meeting him in the middle. He clasped her hand in his, and they both paused for a moment, Claire watching his eyes dance as he gazed at her. He gave a small smile with one corner of his mouth, and quickly kissed her cheek.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” Claire sighed, her breath coming out in spurts. She felt him relinquish her hand, and she glanced at it, half expecting it to be bright red the way it radiated his lingering warmth. He stepped back just a bit, and gestured to the items he’d brought with him.

“It’s a little wet outside, but there’s a free concert at the park. Would you like to come? If you don’t want to sit on the ground, I have chairs.” He raked a hand through his hair and tapped the fingers of his right hand against his thigh. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

Jamie’s voice was shaky with nerves, and Claire quickly tried to put him at ease.

“I don’t mind the ground!” She figured Jamie could offer her spikes to sit on and she’d accept them if that meant he’d be there, too. “Let’s go, it’ll be fun!”

Jamie nodded, picking up the blanket and lunch bag. “Brought some goodies for us to snack on, too.”

“Oh, good. I’m starving! Haven’t eaten all day!”

Claire grabbed her purse as they walked to the door together, slinging it over her shoulder and grabbing her keys from the counter. She didn’t know what kind of music would be playing at this concert, but she didn’t care in the slightest. She was also rather eager to find out what was in that lunch bag. Her stomach gurgled, and she made a face as Jamie hid a smile.

He took her hand again, pulling her toward the door and out into the damp night. It was about 7 in the evening, and though the days were getting longer, the rain clouds obscured any remaining sunlight.

-----

Having picked the driest bit of ground he could, Jamie spread out one warm wool blanket, gesturing for Claire to take a seat while he unfolded the other one. It was as large as the one they sat on, and doubly thick. Claire shivered slightly as she watched him swirl the blanket around her shoulders. He sat down next to her - quite closely, so she could feel the heat coming off him, and he wrapped the other half of the blanket around his own shoulders, meeting the two ends in the middle between them. It was cozy, and the band had just started. She looked around, wishing they weren’t surrounded by other people at the moment. Claire looked at Jamie - who had been casually checking out the band. He glanced at her, then reached for the lunch bag.

“What do you have for us?” Claire’s stomach growled again, and Jamie chuckled as he unzipped the bag while Claire held the blanket in place.

“Erm...not much. Some crackers, cheese, grapes. A small bag of chips, if you’re in the mood for junk food?” He held the chips out to her and she hungrily ripped it open, popping one in her mouth with a satisfied grin.

“Mmmm...so good. I’ve not had anything to eat since about 6 this morning. I forgot to eat when I got home from work.” Because you texted me, she added in her head, and I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep quickly so I could see you.

Jamie went for a few grapes, munching them as he watched her devour the chips. She offered him one, holding it up to his mouth.

“Have one!” she exclaimed, wiggling it in front of him.

He went for it, and she quickly pulled it away. She laughed as he pursed his lips in mock irritation. “Give me that,” he said, pulling her hand towards his mouth again, taking the chip between his teeth. His lips slightly brushed Claire’s finger tips, and a shiver traveled through her body as they laughed together.

Their bodies were touching entirely now, from shoulder to toes, and Claire didn’t want to be anywhere else. She leaned against him, and he let her put her weight against his chest as he held the blanket with his left hand. His right arm wrapped around her waist. Claire felt flush, slightly feverish, silently basking in his glow. The rain was cold, the ground was colder, but she wouldn’t have known it with Jamie securely keeping them both comfortably warm.

The band played on, the bass pulsing through her. She didn’t know the songs, but nodded her head with the beat periodically. For all the sound, though, her mind was somewhere else entirely. She wanted nothing more than to turn around, place her lips on his, and fall into him. She glanced at the people around her again, most of them chit-chatting, drinking, or eating. She felt him squirm slightly, and glanced back at him as best she could in her position. She felt his arm leave her side, make its way up her arm to her shoulder, and then into her hair. He played with her curls as he stretched one long leg out in front of them, where his boot got wet with rain. Claire’s hands were in her lap - she was entirely unsure what she should do with them, so she clutched her middle as the swarm of butterflies (more like angry hornets, if she was honest with herself) engulfed her middle. Her eyes fluttered closed as Jamie continued twirling her curls around his finger.

“Hey, Sassenach, are you thirsty? I could go get us some drinks at the food cart?” Jamie gestured with his head, back behind them where beer and soda was sold at an exorbitant price.

Claire turned slightly and looked at him, his brows raised in question.

She took a breath, swallowing all her fear and uncertainty. The hornets in her stomach faded to a dull ache as she turned some more, raising her hands to his face. She’d caught him off guard, and as her lips enveloped his own, he was still for a split second before deepening the kiss with his hand still in her hair, clutching her curls now, tugging slightly. Claire breathed in deeply, the noises of the band and people around them fading into oblivion, a fuzzy mirage at the corner of her vision as she closed her eyes, unwilling to break their connection. His tongue danced with hers briefly before he pulled away. Claire, with her eyes still closed, felt him rubbing her cheek with his thumb.

“Oi, if we wanted to see that, we’d have gone to see a movie!”

Claire’s eyes snapped open, her head whirling around to her right searching for the person that matched the voice. A young teenage boy smirked in their direction, sniggering a bit as she eyed him. He held a full pint of beer in one hand, and cocked his head, daring her to say something in return.

“He’ll break up with ya tomorrow,” the boy said, laughing with his mates, one of them slapping him on the shoulder in congratulations for his stupendous observation. Claire’s brow knit in confusion.

“Why don’t you-” she was cut off by Jamie, who stood up quickly, pulling the blanket that was around them up into a ball. He put it down, and stretched his arms over his head, making himself appear even larger. The kid with the beer blanched, spilling a bit in his lap as he involuntarily jerked away at Jamie’s stone cold glare.

“Come on, Sassenach. Let’s go…” He gathered up the lunch bag, and offered her his hand. She took it, letting him pull her up. She was shivering now, his warmth having left her. She moved so he could pick up the other blanket, and they slowly picked their way through the crowd.

Claire was surprised to feel her chin trembling a bit. Was she going to...cry? God, not now, she thought. How silly. It had just been a kid trying to stir up trouble for a laugh. It wasn’t funny, though, Claire thought angrily. It made her feel ashamed, but for what? She’d simply kissed Jamie. She held her breath for a moment, as she wondered if Jamie had minded that she’d done that - in the middle of the park, surrounded by people. She let her breath out again as she felt him grab her elbow and tug her closer. Perhaps he hadn’t minded afterall. He wasn’t making excuses to leave, anyway, she thought with some relief.

She felt Jamie put her hand through the crook of his elbow as he guided her back towards their building. She still shivered, and Jamie pulled her in, their shoes meeting the pavement in unison.

“Don’t worry about him, Sassenach.”

Claire looked up when he spoke, gave a small smile, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“It’s ok…” she mumbled, wondering what the rest of the night would hold. She’d be up all night now, and didn’t particularly want her time with Jamie to come to an end.

“How about we get that full meal in you? You must still be hungry,” Jamie offered. “Let me drop these things by my flat and we’ll go, yeah?”

Claire nodded. “Sounds good, Jamie.”

#Outlander #Outlander Fanfic #Fanfiction #Call it True #i have come to realize that this is horrible #and i am sorry #but i will keep trying #i am so rusty at this writing thing...#please forgive me #i'm not as good as most of you #but i try...#ugh

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

Text

Remus x Reader- May You Love Her As I Love You

Can I request an scenario with Remus Lupin having a fiance that disappeared for 13 year because of the Death Eaters but then she came back because she was found. But he was married, so after the war ends and after thinking a lot about it he asks for divorce to be with her again.

Hogwarts had been turned into a battlefield, carnage everywhere. The sun was high in the sky as neither side wanted to give any slack. They had to keep their boundaries while trying to push forward. The Death Eaters were greater in number than Remus had anticipated and he was growing tired despite trying to keep them back.

While dodging spells and trying to save overwhelmed students and cornered professors, Remus had caught sight of someone darting behind a corner with such speed he was certain he’d imagined it. More than that, he was certain the person he’d seen, or not seen, had to be imaginary. You had been dead for years and that was a burden Remus still bore on his shoulders.

Remus shook his head violently right as a bob of brown hair returned into his view. Tonk’s hand was warm in his and she dragged him out of the wreckage and into a momentarily unpopulated space of the castle. “You’ve got to pay attention,” She stressed with urgency in her voice.

Remus took a deep breath and nodded, kissing her forehead in thanks. “I know... Silly as it sounds right now I just felt like I’d seen a ghost rounding the corner of the school,”

“I hate to say it love, but we’ve got ghosts all around us now,” Tonks frowned deeply and Remus stroked her cheek before pushing the corners of her mouth up. “I’d like for you to not be one of them,” She spoke through his poking and it brought a more genuine smile to her face even if it didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t the time to smile.

“And here I thought you were trying to get rid of me,” Remus teased, kissing his wife softly- afraid he would lose the chance to do so.

“Oh hush, you old grump,” Tonks poked fun, kissing him back before her posture stiffened and that fiery spirit filled her back again. She’d needed to see Remus, needed to know he was okay. Now that she knew he was, she could go back into the heart of the battle. “I love you,” She reminded him, squeezing his hand before running away.

“Love you too,” He called out after her but he doubted she could hear him over all the noise. Remus clenched his fist, holding onto the warmth a bit longer. Tonks had been his peace of mind and a reminder that there were still good things in the world. James and Lily had been ripped from him in a second. Sirius being sent away had seemed like the worst that could happen. He had spent so many years hating his best friend and believing lies that when Sirius had come back he’d been too relieved to think anything could get worse.

He had been wrong and when Harry had come to him with anger in his heart and tears in his eyes he had known that something had happened. Losing Sirius all over again had caused him to block out the people he cared for most and he had neglected Tonks for months after. It had been his sudden fear that if she stayed with him, she too would lose her life. He’d already lost one wife and losing another seemed unbearable.

It had been nearly two decades since he last saw you. You’d made a gorgeous breakfast while he’d been getting ready for his day and he’d come downstairs to see you setting the table, humming as you twirled about the kitchen. You’d worn some shorts and an old Gryffindor t-shirt of his that was faded nearly beyond recognition. It had always been your favorite and when you snuck into his dorm at night to fall asleep curled up beside him you always requested (demanded) to wear it.

You had both spoken of trivial things that morning, reading the paper and rolling your eyes over the gossip articles. He’d held your hand while he drank his coffee. You’d snuck a chocolate bar into his jacket pocket when he wasn’t looking. When the clock struck seven, he had rose from his seat and you’d followed him to the door.

You’d kissed him like you always had and he had smiled against your lips because no matter how much time passed he would never get tired of the feeling of you pressed against him. Everything had been blissfully ordinary.

Remus hated remembering what had occurred next while he had been away. He’d gotten home to find the door to your cozy one bedroom home wide opened, the wood splintered around the handle and one of the hinges had come loose. He’d gone into a panic, running around your small home screaming your name. He’d found a vase shattered on the ground, drops of nearly dried blood on the carpet. You’d been stolen from him, but worse than that he hadn’t been there to keep it from happening. He’d eaten the lunch you’d packed him, talked to coworkers, done paperwork. All while you’d been dragged, kicking and fighting and afraid.

It didn’t take long for Dumbeldore to come to him with the same pitying look he’d grown accustomed to over the years. His adolescent life had been full of dreams and hopes for the future. He’d dreamed of having a home with you and having all his friends over for dinners. You’d all see each other at least once a week and you’d all grow old together with kids of your own who would befriend one another. Instead, the friends he considered family and the woman he loved more than there were stars in the sky, were taken from him and he was left empty.

He loved Tonks, was happy she could love a man like him, but painted on the backs of his eyelids were the faces of everyone he’d lost and your loss still pained him the most. You had been his soulmate and he hadn’t gotten even a fraction of the years he’d wanted to spend with you. A not-so-distant boom, accompanied by a bone rattling quake through the stone beneath his feet shook Remus from the nightmare he found himself trapped in every time he closed his eyes.

With a muttered curse and the resolve to ignore his ghosts, Remus ran back into the chaos.

You nearly tripped over a slab of concrete when you’d seen Remus. He’d been standing still, eyes surveying the battle as he caught his breath. He looked old, defeated. But he was still the same handsome man you had loved with every bit of your heart and more. You forgot yourself for a moment and when he began to look your way you gasped and darted around the corner, legs moving quicker than you had in ages.

There wasn’t much to do when you were in hiding, you could only jog up and down the stares so many time to cure the boredom and you had read every book you owned four times over in the past thirteen years. You cleaned every square inch of the place to pass time but even that grew difficult as you found you didn’t have much to clean when you did it every day. Alastor Moody had kept you some company when he could, he would bring your groceries and despite the permanently sour look on his face you found a good friend in him.

When he’d stopped arriving, you’d gotten the terrible news that he’d been killed. It was hard losing another friend. Especially when you couldn’t reach out to the ones that were still living, still growing and laughing and smiling and loving... You had so hoped that Remus would be one of them and that he hadn’t forgotten how to love once you’d disappeared. It had been Dumbeldore’s decision to tell him you were dead.

“We cannot know how long you will have to stay hidden... Why give a broken man hope when that hope may be the thing that destroys him? It is, regrettably, our only decision. You will only bring him pain otherwise,” He had told you in the first week of your disappearance when you had grown restless and wished to have your husband by your side. Remus and you had been inseparable since your first year of school and being without him had seemed like hell. It was hell. You thought sourly, the past thirteen years having gone by slowly and painfully.

The headmaster had given your love some time to come to terms with the tragedy that supposedly befell you, and then he had torn the bandaid off the wound that was bound to fester and told him you were killed. You tried to believe that was the best decision. And now, it seemed you were forced to.

You rounded the corner but paused once more as you heard Remus’ voice floating from an empty hall. There was a chunk of the wall that had been blasted out and you could easily hide behind a crumbling slab without being seen. You watched as a pretty woman held Remus to her, love and concern vibrant in her expressive eyes. His smile was small, hesitant even with the current events, but genuine. He was in love. It was hard to see but you knew it would have been harder to see him lonely. Just like you.

As he ran off you righted yourself, grip around your wand tight again as you searched for stragglers who intended to cause more destruction and the wounded. Minerva, Moody and Dumbeldore were the only three who knew you were living and well. With two of your secret keepers dead, Minerva had taken it upon herself to tell you of how grievous things had become.You hadnt taken a moment to think about it, you had gone to her and asked how to help.

Despite her initial upset, it was decided that when a battle began- “and there will be one, I can promise you that Miss. Y/L/N” Minerva had said- you would join and help fight for the children. You were not to approach Remus and it was in everyone’s best interest if you stuck to the shadows. Dependent on the outcome, you’d be free or a dead woman.

Collecting yourself, you weaved through the wreckage with sharp eyes, tuning out the screaming voice in your head that told you to go to Remus.

It was with bated breath that everyone waited when victory was announced. Victory was a bitter taste in the mouths of all who had lost a parent, a child, a friend. It seemed too good to be true that the war was over, Voldemort defeated once in for all. It seemed like a nightmare that the living couldn’t wake from. Many crowded to view the bodies, hidden by white blankets. Some looked peaceful, their expressions like that of someone sleeping. Others died with a scream that had been permanently etched onto their face. Some were missing parts of them, the sheets soaked through with blood.

The wails of mothers and the disbelieving expressions of the students around you were nearly too much to bear as you walked in the shadows. The mourning was stifling and deep and you hid behind it- observing. Your heart pounded with fear as you tried to get a look at the killed and injured. Was Remus there too? You had to know, despite Minerva’s warnings. She’d been the one to tell you when he married again and you loved and hated her for it. You were glad to know he was happy but a bitter and lonely part of you hated that he was happy without you.

You could only feel relief now however as you spotted Remus’ wild hair, his pants tattered and a very obvious hole at his knee. Dirt was smudged against his cheek but you could see a clean trail through it as he cried. Exhaustion weighed him down as he slouched. His hand was intertwined with someone’s and your heart twisted as you recognized the woman as his wife. You hadn’t asked Minerva for her name, not wanting to hate someone who you knew was probably a lovely person.

She was laid out on the ground, eyes closed but you noticed, with a bittersweet feeling, that her chest was still rising and falling with determination. It seemed you had stared a bit too long however, because the next time you went to observe the man you had hoped to spend the rest of your days with, he was staring right back. The blood had drained from his face and his mouth hung open.

You were frozen to the spot as he ran a shaking hand through his hair as he continued to star at you, his wife’s hand falling from his grasp as he rose on trembling legs. His mouth moved, a whisper of your name that didn’t quite reach your ears but you had stared at those lips more times than you could remember and it wasn’t hard to know what he had uttered. He took one step toward you and it caused your chest to restrict with panic.

Run you fool! Apparate! Anything! You aren’t a ghost and he’ll realize it soon if he hasn’t already. He’s happy and you’re ruining it!

It seemed no matter how much you demanded yourself to you were stuck in the same position, knees locking into place and arms stiff. When you failed to disappear, Remus’ steps grew more reassured and determined. He was nearly upon you, you could hear the sound of him breathing and see the stubble dappled across his cheeks and the fuller mustache that he had always been adamant he’d never grown when you’d first been married.

You were so close you could touch him and oh how long it had been since you’d felt his familiar warmth... Your breath hitched and his eyes grew wide at the sound of it. Your time was running out.

You ran.

Remus stared down at Tonks, her face free of wrinkles and worries as she lay unconscious. He held tight of her hand and stroked the skin there with his thumb, wishing she would give him one of her gorgeous smiles. “Please wake up darling....” He begged as a few tears escaped him. She gave no response and his battered and beaten heart ached in his cheat.

It was then that the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and a chill traveled down his aching back as he sat up straighter, rubbing the tears away as he searched around the crowded area. Death hung heavy in the air and when his eyes found the source of his discomfort he was sure that you had come to haunt him. You looked as beautiful as you did the day you’d been taken.

Yet, you looked older. Your hair was longer than he remembered, wrinkles apparent on your forehead as you looked the the left of him, your eyebrows knitted together in thought. Your gaze shifted and suddenly he found your eyes staring into his. He thought he imagined it when you went still, eyes wide and lip tugged between your teeth. It couldn’t be. He told himself yet he looked to Tonks and set her hand down gently against her cot.

“Hold on love, I’ll be back soon,” He promised to his wife as he tried to find the strength to go to you. Had he died? He wondered as he walked on autopilot past his mourning peers. Was he one of the dead, buried beneath a sheet and now roaming aimlessly. Had you come to collect him?

It seemed impossible solely because of the ache that permeated his entire being. Surely death would have freed him from his pain, not trapped him within it.

“Y/N,” He tried, the sound of your name odd in his mouth and guilt sunk in his stomach like lead in water.

You stayed frozen and he nearly feared that he was hallucinating until he was only a few paces from you. Your chest rose quickly and he heard your sharp inhale. Y/N, his Y/N, was breathing. The sound knocked his own breath from his lungs and he hesitated long enough that when he came back to the present, you were spinning on your heel and darting from the ruined castle.

“Wait!” He hollered after you, voice cracking like it had when he was a teen. You’d been quick to defend him back then when Sirius’ and James’ teasing had become insufferable.

You didn’t seem to hear his words, or you chose to ignore them, as you continued to escape him. His legs were growing stiff in the joints from endless, brutal full moons. It was hard to keep up with you but he was determined to reach the ghost that had been torturing his sleeping and waking moments for thirteen years.

Your feet carried you all the way to the Black Lake, a place where you and Remus had spent many evenings watching the sun set. You paused, head spinning on your shoulders as you caught your breath, wondering where to run next.

Remus charged forward with renewed vigor and caught your forearm in his grasp. You involuntarily jerked away and he tightened his grip. He had been half expecting his hand to phase through you and now that was proven incorrect, he wasn’t sure what to think. He opened his mouth to speak as you turned towards him with pain in your eyes. Unsaid regrets and untold secrets swam in the depths and he wanted to dive in and learn the truth.

“Rem-” You were the first to speak and the sound of your voice nearly broke him as his knees buckled. Your own legs felt weak beneath you and you sank beside him as he kept a tight hold of you.

“Why?” He interrupted, breaths coming quick as he stared at you. Remus didn’t know if he was furious or crushed or over the moon. Maybe all three. “Why is my dead wife haunting me?”

Your words betrayed you as they got stuck in your throat. Your eyes were quick to well up with tears and you gripped his shoulders to steady yourself.

“Why are you alive?!” He croaked, voice rising with his mounting confusion and hurt. How could you be here? How could you be in front of him, living and breathing and wonderful while the woman who had stayed, the one who had picked up his broken pieces was back in the crumbling castle fighting to stay alive?

“I’m so sorry,” You choked out, cheeks glistening with tears. “I so badly wanted to tell you...”

Remus felt like the world had slowed but his thoughts had sped up beyond his comprehension.He didn’t know what to think, what to feel. He was waiting for you to fade away, a distant memory brought on by the battle’s trauma. Yet your hands were warm and strong against his shoulders and it couldn’t be denied that you were living.

“I had to hide, we’d be killed otherwise and I couldn’t risk you!” You tried explaining. “I wanted so badly to tell you, to let you know I was okay but Dumbeldore h-he said it’d only bring you pain if I said anything and I couldn’t do that to you...”

Remus scoffed. “You think I haven’t been in pain? How would you feel being abandoned by the only person you have left? I had no one! James- dead! Lily- dead! Sirius- imprisoned and then murdered!” Remus’ voice was growing in volume and you winced against the painful truth he spat at you.

“I watched the people I loved most die and disappear around me and all I had was you to keep me together. You made it bearable, you made it okay to look forward to another day. And you’re telling me you faked your own death to keep me from hurting? I will tell you one thing Y/N, I never stopped hurting!”

His tears were burning against his eyelids as he let them fall to the grass beneath him. “I never once stopping missing you, wishing they’d taken me instead. I went to your grave every day for months until I couldn’t bear talking to stone any longer. I married the most brilliant, loving, forgiving woman in this world and I still only see you when I close my eyes. Because I love her, but I love you...” He choked out as the truth burned him.

Remus felt sick as he fell apart in front of you, your own sobs mingling with his as you leaned against one another. “H-how am I supposed to face her knowing you’re alive? How am I supposed to go back to her and pretend that you aren’t out there somewhere?”

“No,” You shook your head, eyes startled and so, so sad. “No Remus, you can’t say that! You are going to go back to your wife and you are going to forget this ever happened,”

“I can’t! I can’t forget you no matter how much I wish I could!”

Your heart was being torn in two. You couldn’t be the woman to take Remus away from the life he had built here, yet you wanted nothing more than to be that woman. You wanted to have him as your husband again, you wanted to find another sleepy little cottage to live in. You wanted to make him breakfast in the morning and read the newspaper, you wanted to fall asleep beside him after tracing his scars and playing with his hair. You wanted him back.

Your bottom lip trembled and Remus cupped your cheek in his gentle hand. You let out another sob as you leaned into it. How many days you had woken wishing to hold his hand, how many nights you had fallen asleep wishing his hands were on you. “How can I ever stop loving you-” Remus whispered. “When I know you’ll always look at me like that?”

You gave him a weak smile as you held his hand against your cheek. His nose brushed against yours and you had to bite back a whimper when his lips hovered less than an inch away from yours. “I love you Remus,” You reminded him as you began to shake.

“I love you too,” He mumbled as he connected your lips. You kissed back with all you had held back in the years you couldn’t be with him. Your tears mingled with his and all you could taste was salt and not the normal sugar you came to relate with Remus.

You had to pull away as your breath was stolen from you and another sob wracked through your body. You let out a pained cry as you began shaking your head. “I love you so much,” You hiccuped. “Please forgive me,”

“Of course!” Remus rushed to say, hands cupping your cheeks. "I forgive-”

“Somnium” You interrupted, lips skating across his once more as his eyes rolled back in his head, shoulders slumping as you gathered him up in your arms. You held him tight against you, knowing your time was limited and the sleeping hex wouldn’t last long but you weren’t ready yet. You didn’t think you’d ever be ready.

Despite the longing that was ripping you to shreds, you couldn’t let Remus tear apart the love he’d found. You had been so ready to be his again, to find that cottage and live that dream. But he had been right, she had been there putting him back together and you hadn’t. You’d left him alone and vulnerable. You couldn’t put her in the same position by stealing away the man she adored, and the man that so clearly adored her. “I hope you meant it when you said you’d forgive me,” You cried out, placing a tender kiss to Remus’ forehead.

Closing your eyes, you shielded yourself from the face that would make you hesitate. Your hand shook as you attempted to raise your wand, pressing the tip of it gently against Remus’ temple. “May you love her as I love you. I am only but a ghost to you now,”

Obliviate.

Tag List: @angelinathebook @thehumanistsdiary @cleopatera

#remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #fluff #angst #ask #request #anon #anon ask

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adhd-demetri · 3 years

Note

First things first, love the new url, it's super you. Second are you working on the story for your oc? I actually want to read more on it -Jane

Yep and after thinking about it, if you have a twilight oc, message me and I'll add them into the story :) but this is it so far. Consider this a free sample

~Breaking news~

Things are getting pretty wild in ohio near cowan lake campgrounds. Two coyotes and wolf have been spotted in the area roaming around together wrecking havoc and panic. Biologists are baffled by the sudden appearance of a wolf in ohio with what is supposed to be their enemy.

No one knows where the trio came from but police and wildlife officials are urging people to haze them away and for parents of pets and children alike to keep a sharp eye on them.

Witnesses say they have been seen near dumpsters and trash cans tearing open bags of uneaten food-

-Click-

Demi turned off his phone as he took a bite out of a sub he and his mate had dug out of the dumpster. He snickered at the thought of him, his little brother and his mate 'wrecking havoc' over simply digging in dumpsters for goodies people through out. Like phone chargers, towels, clothing, sleeping bags and even small one person tents with easy fixes.

People are so wasteful. Throwing away perfectly good treasures. Oh well, they were now theirs.

Casper walked up behind him and threw down a tent that he just patched up. It was a cheap green and beige 4 person tent that had a hole in the roof of it. It wasn't nothing special truthfully.

"What do you think? Nice patch work right?" He said looking very proud of his work. Demi turned around and ran his fingers over the the patch, inspecting the delicate stitching and the vinyl that protected them from wear-and-tear.

"Looks good Cas, can't imagine why someone would get rid of this for a easy fix!" He shrugged, oh well. It now belongs to his younger brother.

As he got up from the forest floor, he dusted off the leaves and dirt that clung to the back of his pants. Grabbing the tent, he headed to Caspers car that was parked by an abandoned entrance way that led to overgrown trails leading to their little hideout.

"Hey alex. Check it out, Cas fixed you a tent. Now you can go camping with us instead of sleeping in the car." He said giving his 10 year old little brother the now fixed up tent.

Alex was sitting in the back playing mario kart tour on his phone. He glanced down quickly and laid his phone down. He picked up the tent bag and looked at its contents. His baby blue eyes started to widen with excitement.

"Th-this is for me? My own tent? Wow this is so cool!" The little blond was practically jumping up and down in his spot with pure joy and happiness radiating off of him. He was so happy to have his own tent finally.

"Yup, tonight Cas and I can teach you how to put it up and when we leave, take it down. Sound good?"

"Yes! Thank you thank you thank you!!!!" He suddenly slammed into Demi with a tight hug. Demi patted his head and pulled the excited child off of himself.

Alex went back to playing his game. Demi went back and sat on the ground to join Casper in the small clearing while he was redoing the zipper work on one of the sleeping bags. Casper nearly had this one finished up and planned on giving it to Alex since it had Kion and other lion guard characters on it. Casper concentrated as he worked on stitching the zipper to the sleeping bag.

"Soooo Alex loved his tent. Thank you for fixing it up for him."

"No problem. Seemed better than sitting in the car ya know? Oh hey look I finally got it stitched. You know these zippers are so hard to fix now a days." He said zipping up the bag and admiring his work.

He looked up and noticed the sun was starting to paint the sky in a beautiful array of oranges and pinks mixed with some purples and blues. The air felt slightly cooler than it did before.

Demi rolled his eyes and simply smiled.

He knew it was time to get going and head back to the campgrounds.

Casper followed right behind him and started up his car. They headed back to Cowan Lake campgrounds tenting area.

"Hey alex! Buckle up bud!" He yelled getting back up and getting into the car to leave.

The ride there was quite relaxing as the trio was simply jamming out to some music on their way to the campgrounds. They didn't have a care in the world it seemed.

They finally made it back to their spot. Alex quickly hopped out along with his tent and claimed a spot right next to where Demi and Casper's tent was. He started to pull everything out of the make shift bag that he had stuffed it in previously.

Demi quickly got out and ran to him. He didnt want Alex to lose anything.

"Hey bud slow down, We still got to help you put it up. Cas you want to get the fire going? We can roast some shmellows and some hot dogs. I'm starved!" Demi quickly started unraveling the tent and pulling out the poles, laying them nice and neat.

While they did that, Casper started up the fire. It roared to life after a few moments of poking and prodding it with fiery paper. He grabbed all the goodies, the roasting sticks and a mini table from his car.

The sun sunk down below the trees as the beauty of the moon rose to the sky. She bathed the area in a soft ghostly white glow.

Meanwhile Alex and Demi finally got his tent all nice and set up. It looked a little worn down but it was definitely still usuable.

"Hey who wants shmellows? We got some dogs that need roasting too!" Cas called out to Demi and Alex. He laid out the marshmallows and chocolate along side the hotdogs, gram crackers and bread. Alex and Demi joined him by the cozy fire grabbing a few bits of food and wolfing them down like ravenous animals.

Demi shushed him real quick. He didn't want to disturb others and cause any unnecessary commotion. The last time that happened didn't end well .... for the other person that is.

Around them other campfires crackled and popped while kids and couples alike told stories and roasted foods. Some saying goodnight while others stayed out.

"So when the fire goes out, do you two want to go on a run? I'm pretty sure that stupid Cullen family is out hunting and I do NOT want him near our area." Demi asked Casper and Alex.

Casper thought about it for a moment and mouthed I dont care while shoving a hotdog in his mouth. Alex simply shook his head yes as he ate a burnt gooey marshmallow.

"Yeah it's a full moon tonight! And I haven't ran with you guys in forever!" Alex shouted a tad bit to loud grabbing the attention of a few nearby campers.

"Let's wait till 10. Most of the other campers will be asleep and in their tents by then. It would be the perfect time to slip out." Demi said leaning into his mate's embrace.

No one screams at his little brother for being excited.

"Yeah, it has been awhile hasn't it? It's about time we run and get a good idea of how big our territory is too if this is our permanent home." Casper said.

Demi nodded in agreement as he got up. He went to his and Casper's tent and stripped down to just his incredibly warm out pants. He didn't care if these pants got destroyed while shifting. They've been through so much and it was time to finally to get rid of them.

Casper got up from his spot and joined Demi in the tent. He wrapped his arms around Demi's midsection, pulling him into a warm hug.

"So when you want to head out love?" He whispered.

They both sat down on their makeshift bed. Minutes passed as they simply stayed still together.

A sense of euphoria enveloped him. What a lovely feeling it was.

He got up quickly, peeking out of the tent entrance way.

Neither wanted this moment to end.

His little brother crossed his mind. He left him out there by the fire by himself!

Hide and seek

Thankfully the fire was dying since no one was paying it any attention.

His brother was lying down on the grass. His headphones over his head and his hand tracing the stars as he sang a familiar song quietly. His head bobbing in sync to the beat.

Reason and rhyme

Grand and glorious

Living the dream

yours and mine

~ Euphoria!

As he sand the last part, his arm fell to his side. A smile was spreading across his face as he lost himself in his own little world of euphoria.

Demi felt his body shift quickly. Thankfully his pants were worn enough to not make hardly any noise. Brown, orange and white fur littered from his skin quickly.

The feeling of happiness and joy could be felt radiating from him once again.

Demi sighed to himself, grateful his brother was ok.

"Everything alright love?"

"Yeah, just got worried about Alex but he's fine. He's in his own little world right now."

"I can tell. I can feel it from here."

Demi went back and sat down. He searched for his phone to check the time.

9:57 PM

All of the other campers were asleep by now. The only ones awake at this point was the trio.

Casper's body morphed as well. Silvery gray fur with white swirls that resembled a starry galaxy painted his skin. His body shifted and the shorts he had were ripped quickly.

And just like that, a coyote that could blend in with the autumn themed environment stood before Casper.

The air swirled around Demi. With it, The smell of wet leaves and smoke with sugary delights. Demi inhaled the savory scents before making his way to the child that was still relaxed on the grass.

And just like that, a wolf stood above Demi in the 10 person tent.

Giving his mate a quick nuzzle, Demi slowly crept outside the tent. He didn't want to wake anyone or draw attention to himself. He still had to get Alex into their tent.

Demi nudges Alex with his snoot, urging him to get up. Alex realised it was time and ran to his brother's tent as there would be no room to shift in his own.

Soon after a small blondish white coyote pup came out. His ears and tail were probably the most unique feature both the wolf and coyote have ever seen.

Casper ran out of tent to give Alex some privacy.

'So Cas, did you hear what they said about us on the news? They think we are trouble makers!

Just were the ears attach to the head, Alex's fur was a shiny metallic gold color. His tail was the same way.

He jumped up into the air and started to run a tad bit. The excitment seemed to rub off on Demi. He too started to jump around with his little brother. Together their energy seemed to wile them up even more.

With a burst of energy, the trio took off onto the road. Demi and Alex yipped along the way down the road. Casper's tongue lulled out of his mouth while he ran.

Alex on the other paw didn't want to go digging like his older brother. He was more interested in the playground that was close by and the toys that had been abandoned there as well.

Ha! Can you believe that? Let's give them real trouble!'

Cas nodded in response. He started to slow down as they approached the dumpsters. The overwhelming smell of garbage that has been marinating all day under a scorching hot sun wafted around the trio.

Demi charged ahead of them. He loved digging in the trash, all kinds of goodies people would throw out for no reason was calling his name!

He chased after his brother though.

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sadaboutniall · 4 years

Photo

something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Six. November, 2008.

A week and a half into November, the calm, cozy, comforts of autumn in Mullingar begin to give way to winter. The weather bites more every day as the temperature falls, the wind picks up, and the nights stretch longer and longer. People are beginning to talk about Christmas—mam has already called to ask if he and Greg are going to come over on the 24th or the 25th, and at least one store in town has put up their lights already, even though Mullingar’s official tree lighting ceremony isn’t until the first weekend of December.

Still, autumn clings on. Niall can smell it in the air when he leaves school on a Tuesday afternoon, backpack slung over one shoulder, chilly air flooding his lungs. His cheeks flush from the cold almost as soon as he steps outside, a bright red to match the color of the few leaves that still linger on the trees. The school yards are golden in that way only autumn brings—cold but still lively, bursting with color and excitement before winter zaps it all away.

Mully’s with Emilia but Niall’s taken to enjoying his walks home alone these days. Sometimes he listens to his iPod, imagining himself singing Viva La Vida on stage, or Hotel California. Other times, he just lets his mind wander—thinks about the songs he’s writing, the places he’d like to travel to, the people he’d like to meet. It gives him time to feel like he’s anywhere but Mullingar—like his life is one that’ll make an impression on the world beyond his tiny hometown, beyond the streets and the skies and the stone walls he knows so well.

Most days, he doesn’t see many people along his route, which is why he’s surprised, that Tuesday, to turn the corner and see a familiar figure a few feet ahead of him. She’s walking with her head down against the wind and her hands deep in her pockets and Niall doesn’t really have control over his inhibitions, it’s almost automatic for him to call out, ‘Isla! Hey!’

She turns around, wind whipping her hair backwards into her face and it’s like a shot from a music video or a rom-com, one of those moments where everything slows down and the only thing in focus is the person the main character is falling in love with. Isla tucks her hair behind her ear as her eyes light up, autumn sunlight glinting against brown irises, and she waves her other hand in greeting.

Niall picks up into a slight jog and Isla waits for him to catch up to her, her smile soft and sweet, her dimples prominent. Once he’s at her side he slows down, and they fall into step with each other as Niall catches his breath.

‘Where are you headed?’ He asks, as soon as he can speak without breathing too heavy.

‘I’m babysitting today,’ Isla looks over at Niall, still smiling. ‘The O’Hagan’s little boy, Aiden.’

‘You babysit for the O’Hagans? They’re right around the corner from me,’ Niall can’t put his finger on why it feels so weird not to know that Isla’s been spending time so close to him.

Isla hums a response, a pretty sound that makes Niall think about writing a song. It would be gorgeous, he thinks, the sound of her hum layered under his singing voice. Isla carries on, ‘usually in the evenings and sometimes on Saturdays, but they need me this afternoon, too. Aiden’s a sweetie, and it’s good money.’

‘For sure,’ Niall nods, hitching his backup up as it starts to slide down his shoulder. ‘You can head into Dublin and go shopping, like.’

‘I could, yeah. Been saving it, though,’ Isla hesitates for a minute, like she’s nervous. Niall’s quiet, and then she carries on. ‘I know it’s stupid and so far away but if I want to be able to go to uni in London… I mean, I don’t know if I’d get in or anything, but I need to have money saved up for a flat and stuff.’

‘London?’ Niall feels shaky at the idea of Isla so far away. At the idea of Mullingar without her. At the idea of her getting out of this place before him. Niall knows his uni prospects aren’t great, and, without a miracle, there’s no way he’d be able to afford to move to London. He’s trapped here for the rest of his life, the way his whole family has been for generations. It’s an idea he’s never been fond of—but it feels so much worse without the thought of Isla by his side.

‘I know it’s stupid,’ Isla says again. ‘But I’ve already saved almost 400 euro from babysitting and birthday money. Plus my communion money, which my parents put away for uni, too. If I actually manage to get an acceptance anywhere… I think I can afford to do it.’

‘It’s not stupid,’ Niall rushes to say. ‘And neither are you, Isla. There are millions of unis in London, you’ll definitely get in somewhere.’

Isla’s quiet for a few moments and they keep walking together, their shoes crunching over fallen leaves, Isla’s uniform skirt fluttering in the chilly wind. Niall’s eye catches on the flash of skin just above her knee and it hits him that she’s worn her knee high socks today instead of the tights girls usually wear when it gets cold. He lets his eyes trail up her body, slowly, and he lands on the way her arms are crossed over her chest tightly, her lips pressed together from the cold. Something tightens in his stomach.

‘Are you cold?’ He asks, although the answer is obvious. He realizes it now: the apples of her cheeks are flushed pink and she’s shivering a little, only wearing her school sweater. He can’t believe he’d been so oblivious.

‘It’s okay,’ Isla tightens her arms around herself. ‘I overslept this morning and I was rushing. Couldn’t find my stockings and I forgot my fecking coat. Bit of an eejit when I’m tired, really.’

‘You’re fucking freezing,’ Niall doesn’t let himself hesitate. He stops walking and drops his book bag to the ground before pulling his grey Derby jumper off over his head. Now he’s in just his school sweater, but he doesn’t mind. ‘Isla, it’s like 8 degrees out. Here.’

‘No, what, Niall,’ she shakes her head, but Niall can tell she’s freezing. She’s staring at his jumper, practically shaking. ‘Now you’ve got nothing.’

‘I’m a lad. Lads run warmer than girls, here, take it. Plus, if you catch a cold out here then Aiden will catch one too.’

Isla hesitates, but when she reaches out to take the sweatshirt her hands are shaking, practically purple from the cold. In his chest, Niall’s heart pangs pathetically as he watches her slide into his clothes. She looks like something Niall’s seen in his dreams.

Niall’s so skinny that his hoodie actually looks a little snug on Isla, but she’s grateful nonetheless, and Niall can’t help his fluttering stomach when she tucks her chin against her shoulder to hide a shy smile. He wants to see her like this all the time: in his clothes, in front of everyone. Or, he thinks, a sudden flash of something embarrassing in the pit of his belly, just for him, tangled in the sheets of his twin-sized bed, just his sweatshirt, nothing else. He feels bad thinking about her like that, shakes the idea away as quickly as he can.

Isla asks about his plans for the evening and he tells her about how he’s part of the starting squad for Friday’s football match, for the very first time. They talk football as they walk: Isla about Arsenal, Niall about Derby, and she teases him, bangs her shoulder against his as they joke, tilts her head to give him smiles that make his chest warm and his stomach stir. He hardly even notices when they round the corner to the O’Hagans, doesn’t put two and two together until Isla puts her backpack down to take off his jumper.

‘No, no,’ Niall stops her, hand coming out to rest on her arm. They both still, wide eyes, shaking hands. ‘Keep it. You can give it back to me tomorrow.’

‘Niall.’

‘It’s fine, Isla. You’re cold, and Aiden’s gonna want to go to the park, probably. I’ve got a million more jumpers at home.’ He means it, the logical reasoning—but he also likes the thought of her in it, even when she’s not with him.

‘Thank you,’ she says, quiet. Now that he’s standing still, Niall realizes how much the temperature dropped while they were walking. He can see Isla’s breath as she talks. ‘The, uh. The uni I want to go to in London… it’s King’s College. Their law program.’

‘Shit,’ Niall lets out a low whistle. ‘That’s brilliant, Isla.’

‘I don’t know if I’ll get in,’ she says again, and it makes Niall want to scream. ‘I just… I haven’t said that aloud to anybody yet. Not even my mam and dad. I just… just wanted to say it. To someone.’

‘You can say anything to me,’ Niall’s freezing, but he doesn’t dare move. ‘Anything.’

Isla presses her lips together and then opens her mouth. She takes two deep breaths, eyes locked on Niall and he can feel it, can almost hear what she’s about to say—what he so badly wants her to say. He thinks he could throw up from how badly he wants it, from how close they both are to it.

A gust of wind blows Isla’s hair back into her face and Niall doesn’t stop himself this time. He reaches out gently, tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. It’s soft and sweet and he lets his fingers trail down gently, his thumb tracing the outer shell of her ear. Isla’s hand, freezing cold and shaking, grasps Niall’s wrist and they stay like that for a quiet minute, the sun setting around them, eyes locked on each other.

‘I know,’ is what Isla says eventually. It’s so quiet, just for him. ‘I know I can. Thank you.’

And then she drops her hand. And he does too. And Niall is frozen to the ground as he watches her pick her bookbag back up, throw it over her shoulder, and turn to walk up the path to the O’Hagan’s. When she reaches the front door she turns back around one last time, a soft smile, a sweet wave, and then she lets herself inside and Niall’s still there, freezing and on fire, his heart battering against his ribs like it’s never done before.

####

taglist: @stylishmuser @thicksniall @stayclose-holdsteady @niallhoranruinsme@ajayque @halfpinthoran @flickerswinehouse

join the taglist here

#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #something about you #we're almost there lads!!

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

Text

Only For A Moment Ch. 47

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Canon violence, trauma, feels so many FEELINGS

A/N: Excuse me. I’m just sobbing in a corner. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS OVER. I started writing this a year and a half ago never imagining it would be what it is. I’ve made dear friends through this fic (my tumblr wife @wonderlandmind4 lookin’ at you bby, thank you for the love and support and betaing and everything). I’ve grown as a writer. So many thingssss.

Thank you to EVERYONE who’s still reading, who’s been patient with the delays, who has reblogged and said kind things. You’re all amazing and my life would be a little darker without you in it sweet pumpkins!

Come get in the feelings with me and these two characters one last time... (until Part 2 that is 😘)

Tags are open!

Steve paces another circuit around the back of the jet.

“Steve,” Natasha snaps, “just sit down for fuck’s sake.”

“Extracting them shouldn’t be too hard,” Hill says eyes skimming schematics once more.

He tosses them both a sidelong glance before sitting, eyes fixed out the window. It wasn’t that he was worried about getting everyone out—with Natasha at his side neutralizing who they needed to in order to get to the team would be easy.

No, the thought making him shift in his seat is who of them would even want to come…

Everything, every ounce of stability they had was gone because of him, because of the choices he made. He led them all into this fight and somehow he was the only one standing free and unharmed. It felt like failure. How could he blame any of them if they hated him for this? If they refused to stand with him now?

Then there was you.

Would you trust him without Bucky by his side? Believe him when he said Bucky was safe? Even after all that had happened… did he trust you?

“I’ll be taking us down in five,” Hill says.

No more time to worry about any of that now. All he could do was try.

Just as he suspected, they make quick work of quietly clearing the section of the vessel they need to. Before entering the block where the team is they both pause.

“Do… do you think they’ll forgive me?” Natasha looks up at him in a rare moment of vulnerability. “For making the wrong call?”

“We all made the right call for ourselves, Nat.” He forces a smile, “They know that.” If only he could make himself believe it.

He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until he sees Sam’s smirk.

“Took you long enough,” Sam quips.

“Five days vacation not enough for you?” Steve asks, prying the cell door open.

“Oh, it’s been five stars.”

Natasha pulls Wanda’s cell open, helping her out, he feels his blood boil seeing her in that straitjacket. While she sees to freeing Wanda and Sam opens the other cells Steve steps to your cell and freezes.

You’re strapped into a chair reminiscent of the one they held Bucky in, clearly unconscious. Before he can move to open the door Wanda’s red haze engulfs it, practically ripping the metal from the wall. She pushes past him, tearing the shackles from your arms and legs while her hands cup your face, fingers checking your pulse.

“Thank god,” Wanda sighs out.

“How is she?” Sam asks from behind Steve as he steps into the tight space.

“Breathing. Her pulse feels strong.”

Sam opens one of your lids, but you don’t react. “They probably drugged her.”

“Any time they tried to take Wanda or any of us elsewhere she stopped them,” Clint says, arms crossed. “They must have a small crew because rather than just take her and us they’d focus on her.” He’s right, that small crew was the only way they were able to get everyone out.

Steve studies the dried blood from a place your lip had busted, your black eye, a painfully dark bruise on your cheekbone. He hears Bucky’s voice in his head, “She’s like you never knows when to just stay down.”

Whatever questions about trust, he had before are gone. You protected his team, his family when he couldn’t.

“I’ve got her,” gently he lifts your pliant form in his arms, cradling you close. “Let’s get moving.”

“Y’all head on without me,” Clint says.

“What?!” Natasha spins on him.

He gives her a sad smile. “I can’t be on the lam, Nat.” Clint rests his hands on her shoulders. “You know I can’t put Laura and the kids through that.” She looks away before flinging her arms around his neck.

“Same for me,” Scott says. “I got a daughter to think about.” The two men exchange a knowing look.

Steve feels his chest tighten with guilt. “Are you both sure?”

“Yeah-” Clint shrugs- “besides, being stuck in close quarters for an indiscriminate amount of time with all of you? Think I’d prefer prison.” Natasha punches him in the chest playfully.

“Look out for each other,” Clint says.

“We will,” Sam says. Steve nods in agreement before leading them all to the jet and an uncertain future.

It feels like your body is being torn apart… No. It feels like a million imperceptible particles are trying to get in. You can feel the dust in the air, the fibers of the bandages on your chest, the tiny mites in the old mattress beneath you eating away. Even through the darkness of your closed lids, you perceive the unfamiliar room you’re in clearly; every piece of furniture, every corner, visible to your mind’s eye like a relief sculpture.

Too much! Your brain screams as it tries desperately to process every bit of information slamming into it.

Move, you have to move, come on Y/N! You try to open your eyes, move your hand, get a grip on your body.

Finally, you break through, shooting from the bed, gasping for air. The salt in your own sweat feels like tiny needles running across your skin, the particles thundering into your lungs threatening to choke you.

Gripping your skull you press yourself into a corner, trying to hold your head together as you feel the pain begin at the top of your spine spreading up.

You didn’t know where you were or what the hell they did to you. The last thing you remembered was the sting of a needle before falling into blackness but you were pretty certain you were still on The Raft. This was a shit time for your brain to overload.

Pushing your back into the solid wall you force a deep breath into your lungs. Think of anything else but the countless sensations bombarding your awareness. You think of Bucky—his smell, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, his gentle hands.

Slowly the doors slam shut, damming the flow, allowing your tired mind to process simple things like the stale smell of the small room, the dim light, the worn carpet.

“Y/N?” A tentative voice asks. You gasp a little, startled.

“Oh,” Sam says softly. “I’m sorry. It’s ok.” He stops a few feet away holding his hands open in a non-threatening way.

He crouches down, “Can you tell me what you’re seeing?”

“You?” You answer, confused.

“Just me? In this bedroom?”

You understand suddenly that he thinks you’re having a flashback. A small smile rises to your lips at his kindness and caution.

“I’m good, Sam. I’m here.” You look around the room, “Where is, here, anyway?”

He stands, clearly more relaxed, and extends a hand to you. “Some small town in Switzerland.” You take it and let him help you up.

“Bucky and Steve?”

Sam doesn’t meet your eyes, just turns for the door. “Steve and Natasha are doing a perimeter walk.”

“Sam,” you say, unmoving. He looks back at you, expression uncertain. Suddenly your stomach is in your knees, heart in your throat. The lamp on the table behind you begins to shake your fragile control wavering.

He looks around the room as it shudders before answering. “All I know is he’s ok. You’ll have to talk to Steve when he gets back. But…” He sighs, “He’s not here.”

He wasn’t dead, that was what mattered. But… you knew there were things almost as bad. Your power slides back into you, the room calm once more. Still, your chest is tight with worry.

“Come on,” Sam nods at the door. “You’ve been out for almost two days, you’ve got to be starving.” As if in affirmation your stomach growls loudly.

Sam leads you downstairs through what feels like the home of someone’s grandmother—maybe it was at some point—to a cozy kitchen. Two people you don’t know sit at the table, talking easily over steaming mugs. The man looks up at you with one good eye as you enter.

“Y/N this is Nick Fury and Maria Hill.”

“Just Fury,” the man says. He stands, hand extended.

“Hill or Maria is fine,” the woman gives you a warm smile. You shake her hand as well, eying the man.

“You were the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.” It wasn’t a question just a statement of fact, your tone flat and cold. You hadn’t wanted to get anywhere near the Hydra files but you had read enough in the aftermath of everything to know the name Nick Fury, to know that Hydra had existed just beneath the surface while he collected superheroes.

“I was.” He meets your stare, jaw set.

The gurgle of a coffee pot breaks the tense silence.

“Coffee open to anyone?” You ask no one in particular.

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “Though maybe water would be best-”

“Maybe. But I’ve been denied caffeine for almost a week-” realizing how little time had passed made your head spin a bit- “it’s in everyone’s best interest for me to opt for the coffee.” Sam shakes his head but pours you a cup anyway.

That first sip sings through your senses. Closing your eyes you breathe in the scent, imagining that you’ll open them and see your kitchen, Bucky at the table reading the paper, Billie or a brass band playing in the background.

“Y/N!” Wanda stands in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Hey,” you offer up as much of a smile as you can muster.

“How… How are you feeling?” She asks, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m ok.”

She opens her mouth to say more but is cut off by Natasha and Steve entering through the back door.

“Everything looks clear,” Natasha announces to the room. Her eyes sweep the space, landing on you. “Oh! You’re up. Good,” her smile is warm.

You give her an acknowledging nod but look to Steve, desperate for answers that only he can give. He says nothing though, just focuses on slipping out of his jacket.

“Steve,” you say. It almost sounds like a greeting but your desperation is curled between every letter. His shoulders tense a bit.

He finally meets your eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing hard. “Let’s talk. If you’re ready.” Not waiting for a response he walks from the kitchen, heading to the back of the house to a small office where a cot is set up in one corner.

Steve tosses the jacket on the cot followed by his baseball cap. Sighing heavily he runs a hand through his hair.

You can’t wait any longer. “Where is he?” Your voice cracks, hands white-knuckled around the mug, barely holding it together.

His eyes are sad as he says, “He’s safe.” It should be relieving. It isn’t.

“That’s not good enough, Steve. Where is he?”

“Why don’t you-”

“I don’t want to fucking sit down-” the coffee in your cup swirls, the window rattles- “I want answers.”

“I can’t tell you.” A book flies from the shelf behind you, landing with a resounding thud on the hardwood floor. Steve looks at it, raising an eyebrow. “I’m asking you to trust me, Y/N. He is safe and with people who are going to help him.”

Your eyes narrow, “Help him how?”

Steve sighs, “He was hurt…”

He explains everything that happened once he and Bucky left you all at the airport. At some point you drop onto the cot, hands shaking so much you have to set your coffee down. You hardly breathe as he tells you about Bucky’s arm, unable to imagine the pain he must have been in, aching that you weren’t there.

“Where is he?” You growl out.

“Y/N, like I said-”

“No” —you shake your head—“Zemo.” Hatred burns cold throughout your body.

You may want to rip Tony Stark’s own arm from his body but Zemo… You knew how to hurt someone just enough to not kill them. Already you’re imaging snapping small bones one by one, the muscles you can slowly shred, calculating just how long you can drag it out.

“Don’t go down that road.” Steve’s hands ball into fists, belying his own feelings. “Zemo is being handled.” He strides across the room, retrieving something from a pack.

“Here,” he holds out an envelope with your name on the front in Bucky’s neat script. Your mouth goes dry. “I think it will help fill in the rest.”

Steve sits in the desk chair, staring at his hands, as you slowly open the letter.

Y/N,

There’s so much I want to say, so much I need to tell you, but the words just aren’t coming to me. I hope Steve has told you what he can about all that happened. Don’t be too upset with him about the blanks he can’t fill—some promises need to be kept.

As for my decision… even he is struggling to make sense of that.

I am so sorry I’m not there, wherever you are. I don’t think words exist that express how much I want you with me but—and I know you’re going to be furious with me for saying it—you aren’t safe with me right now.

What happened in Berlin was one of my worst nightmares made real. The fact that someone would only need to mutter a few well-placed words and I could… Well, we both know what I could do.

You are everything to me, Y/N. And the truth is I am not strong enough to live with the burden that I could put you in harm’s way. Especially not when I have a chance to remove that threat.

The people here truly feel they can fix whatever Hydra broke in my head. I swear once they do nothing will keep me from you. If you’ll have me still that is.

I hope you can forgive me… for everything. I hope you know the depth of my love for you.

I will be dreaming of only you my darling.

Yours always,

Bucky

Futilely you try and stop the tears sneaking from the corners of your eyes by looking at the ceiling. Still, they come, flowing silently down your cheeks.

How could he think for even a moment you wouldn’t have him? That you could ever begrudge him enough to not forgive him? You dig your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from sobbing, squeezing your eyes shut.

Steve rolls the squeaky chair closer to you, covering your fist, resting on your thigh with his large hand. You look into his own pained face, blue eyes dark with emotion.

“He loves you.”

You look away. Wherever he is he’s unconscious and alone and you cannot protect him.

“As soon as I know anything I swear I will tell you,” Steve says giving your hand a squeeze.

Time opens like a black hole in your mind. “Soon,” meant nothing. There was no telling how long it would take for them to figure out all the damage Hydra did, let alone fix it. The thought of going years without him shoots despair through your heart like a dagger.

“Thank you,” Steve says. You look at him confused.

“For what?”

“You looked out for them when I couldn’t. I-” He clears his throat, running a hand over his face. “Just thank you.”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to thank me. It was the least I could do.” It’s his turn to be confused.

“If it wasn’t for you, for all of you, I would truly have lost him.”

Steve cocks a crooked grin, “I only owe him a few hundred for saving my ass so many times.”

You huff out a small laugh, “I’ve heard about a few of those.”

His grin blooms into a full smile, “Oh? Should I be scared?”

“Definitely.”

A knock at the door draws both your attention. Hill opens it popping her head in.

“Sam made breakfast if you two want some.”

“Thanks, Hill,” Steve says. Hill closes the door, the smell of bacon creeping in.

“Food?” He asks.

“God yes.” Tenderly you fold Bucky’s letter, tucking it into the pocket of the sweats you found yourself in.

For a few awkward seconds, the two of you stand staring before you embrace each other so tight it’s almost hard to breathe.

“You’re family now, you know that right?”

And you do. Bucky was his family just as Nix had been yours. Even though your heart was broken, it felt good to have a family again.

“Sam!” You call out into the house. “Did you use all the chili powder?”

“What kind of monster do you take me for?” He hollers back. “It’s on the top shelf.” You have to float up a bit to find it, tucked behind the cinnamon Sam liked to sprinkle on his toast.

He saunters into the kitchen. “What ya makin’?”

“Chili and cornbread. Picked up some stuff for it while Hill and I were on recon yesterday.”

“Good luck with this chili powder. Not sure how good it is.”

You open the container and smell it. “Seems ok.”

“Yeah but my ribs last week were off.” He plucks the container from you looking at it.

Playfully you shoo him away. “Your ribs were excellent. Now get out of my kitchen.” It was the same thing he said every time it was his turn to cook.

“Ok, ok!”

You can’t help but smile as you fall into the familiar motions of chopping and sautéing.

Most of your days were spent like this, with good people and good food—between you and Sam, no one in the house was going to go hungry. True, you often found yourself longing for the peace of the farmhouse or the cozy feel of your apartment; but you had forgotten how comforting it was to be in a space filled with chatter and warmth.

Each night it felt like you were lost at sea though, untethered without the reassurance and comfort of Bucky’s presence. Every morning starting with a cup of coffee and a desperate look to Steve that was always met with a subtle shake of his head. After a little more than a month it began to feel like your new normal--caffeine and heartbreak to kick off the day.

Rather than wallow you buried yourself in as many daily tasks as you could. The old two-bedroom one-bath house was a tight fit with five of you which meant there were often things to clean, cook, or fix.

A few times you’d even gone with Hill to work recon on some intel Fury had gotten from god knew where. One other you’d joined Natasha on what she called a ‘quickie’ to neutralize a small arms dealer in Ukraine. Each time had felt like an audition like you were unwittingly trying for a part you didn’t ask for but you wouldn’t mind having either.

As you clean the kitchen, trying to think of what to fill the next few hours with, you see someone you weren’t expecting chatting with Steve in the back of the property. Fury.

Bitterness touches your tongue. He’d left a few days after you came to and hadn’t been back since. You were glad of it—you hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of dislike you had for the man, despite the help he’d provided. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.

You turn away before they can see you, not wanting to chance an uncomfortable exchange if you don’t have to. Quickly you dry your hands, leaving a few things in the sink, and turn to head upstairs.

Wanda dodges you on her way down. Her headphones are in but she gives you a smile and a nod.

“Why’s Fury here?” She asks while opening the fridge.

“No idea,” you say, pausing halfway up the stairs.

“Hey-” you turn back and she gives you one of her knowing looks-“wanna go for a hike?”

The house was nestled close to the mountains. With the tight space, it had become pretty normal for each of you to head out into the idyllic woods a few times a week at least. You smile, appreciating the out she’s giving you.

“Sure.”

It was early summer but there was still a crispness to the air that was bracing. Under the soft green shadows left by the trees, you forgot your discomfort at seeing Fury and let everything fall away.

You’ve lost yourself in the sounds of the forest when a small twig smacks you in the face, still glittering red as it falls to the ground. Your jaw drops as you spin to see Wanda laughing, disappearing into the woods, flying into the canopy.

“That was dirty!” You call after her, your own feet leaving the ground.

This game of telekinetic tag started one night that neither of you could sleep. The room you shared, hell the whole house, felt claustrophobic so you both headed into the woods. Now, if you were alone one of you could be counted on to kick it off.

Halfway up a pine tree, you perch lightly on a branch. Your eyes scan the trees for a red shimmer. When you finally find it you reach up, plucking a pinecone from the tree, and propel it through the air.

“Dammit!” You hear Wanda call out.

A soft laugh rolls from you as you step off the branch, guiding your fall with your ability. At the ground, you don’t let your feet touch the earth to avoid making a sound. Instead, you push yourself between the trees like a human pinball, pivoting to make it harder for her to get a lock on you.

This endless game had an unseen advantage, it allowed you to flex your power in ways you never truly had. Even training with Bucky you’d always fought to keep it in check, only use it when necessary, always afraid of just what it could do.

With yours and Wanda’s game though, all those fears were gone. Neither of you was afraid of the other or worried you’d unsettle them--the fear of being a freak fell away and for just a moment you were both free. With that freedom, you felt yourself getting stronger.

Though it hadn’t been the intention when this game started you were glad of it, the stronger you were the better. Your hand settles for just a moment on the still-healing wounds on your chest, a reminder of why you needed to be as adept as possible. You would become strong enough that no one could take him or anyone else you love from you ever again.

One of the tendrils of power you sent out snaps back to you, indicating she’s close by. In less than a heartbeat, you’re into the canopy once more. Your toes barely touch the flexible pine branches as you fly.

Just ahead you can see the clearing which was the unofficial neutral ground. Focusing you make a beeline for it. You’re almost there when a deluge of leaves and pine needles drop on your head from above.

You drop to the ground, landing lightly, sputtering bits of foliage from your mouth while Wanda cackles.

“I cannot believe you,” you say tossing a handful of debris at her. Slipping your jacket off you give it a few good shakes, though some things still stick to the soft fleece.

“Oh come on-” she nudges you with her shoulder- “that was hilarious and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say as you lay your jacket on the ground--it was already going to need a wash so why not use it as a blanket. Laying down on it you sigh contentedly looking up at the picturesque blue sky with its fluffy white clouds dancing around.

Wanda settles close by and you both take in the peace for a time, comfortable with the silence. You’d actually dozed off a bit when her voice wakes you.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You respond groggily.

“I… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” the hesitation in her tone makes you nervous. You turn onto your side to look at her.

“I didn’t mean to see it but…” One of the pebbles she was orbiting above her falls. “You were dreaming last night, you said a name--Nick, maybe? I’ve seen him before, it just seemed particularly strong--er, painful--last night…” She tilts her head to meet your eyes, “Are you ok?”

It was easy to forget that Wanda had more than telekinesis under her belt.

“Yeah-” you force a tight grin- “I’m good. Just a dream. Sorry, I woke you.”

“Who is he?” Her eyes hold an emotion you can’t quite name and she doesn’t even acknowledge your weak lie. Something about the whole thing shakes you.

Sighing you sit up, resting your forearms on your knees. With effort, you swallow the lump in your throat, focus your gaze on the tree line to keep the tears from falling.

“I’m sorry,” her voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “I try not to pick up things from people. Just when I’m asleep it’s harder and I-”

“Wanda,” you cut her off. “It’s absolutely fine. Never apologize for things you can’t control, especially not to me.” Looking over your shoulder you see her up on her knees, eyes focused on the grass she was plucking up blade by blade.

“He was my brother.” At the telling word ‘was’ her eyes shoot to yours, brimming with emotion. “His name was Nix. Hydra-” Your voice cracks, forcing you to draw in a trembling breath. “Hydra killed him.” You don’t say, And everyone else, or, Because of me, but god you feel the weight of those truths.

“I’m sorry...” She dashes tears away on her sweater sleeve. Your lips purse in something you hope looks more like a smile than a grimace.

After a long pause, she says, “I lost my brother too.” You feel your chest tighten. “When we fought Ultron.” She sniffles, “He died a hero so I guess that should make it better…” You almost pull her into your arms but you don’t know if she’d welcome the gesture.

Instead, you sigh, “No, it shouldn’t.” Because she deserved to know that just because he died for a good cause didn’t mean he deserved to die at--you did the math--17 maybe 18.

She nods. When she looks back at you her expression is desperate, “Does it get better?”

For a moment you’re struck dumb. She looks so young, suddenly. All you want is to protect her from this brutal world that takes so much mare than it gives. You want to tell her that it does, want to believe that lie so very much. But you just can’t…

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think anything will ever fill that blank space. At least for me.”

“Not even Bucky?” She doesn’t mean for the question to hurt. She’s just a girl who wants, on some level, to believe that love can heal all wounds, even ones this deep.

“Not even him. But-” you reach out for her hand, happy when she takes it- “it helps. Knowing you can love someone, even after you know how much it hurts to lose the ones closest to you. It makes you… start to feel like a person again.”

Wanda nods, wiping at her eyes. Neither of you says more. The silence holds you close and you allow yourselves to be lost in it for just a little while. By the time you pry yourselves from your peaceful getaway, the sun is setting.

Just before you exit the trees by the back of the property she rests a hand on your shoulder. Wanda opens her mouth to say something but nothing falls out.

You’re about to ask when she flings her arms around your neck hugging you tight. You return the hug, hoping that maybe she felt less alone in her grief.

You look toward the house, “You’ve got something here, Wanda, with these people. It won’t ever be the same but it doesn’t make them any less family.”

“I know,” she says with a soft smile.

As you get closer to the house you allow thoughts of sweet cornbread and spicy chili chase away the clouds of sadness hovering around your mind. Wanda lets out a contented groan as the smell of the chili envelops you both.

“When can we eat that?”

You laugh, “About an hour. Cornbread needs to be made.”

“Can I just-” The lid of the pot is suddenly enveloped in red.

“Nope,” you say, slamming your power on top of her own.

“Fine,” she sighs. “But tell me when it’s ready before Steve and Sam.”

“I will absolutely give you first dibs since you won today.”

Nodding with approval she floats a banana over to her. The glowing fruit follows her as she heads upstairs.

Before you start the cornbread you make a fresh pot of coffee. Honestly, who would expect you to cook without caffeine? Humming whatever song pops into your head you line up the few ingredients you’ll need, determine that you’ll likely need a triple batch for this crowd, take a swig of coffee, and dive in.

Once the oven is loaded you’ve all but forgotten the ache that opened up when you and Wanda spoke. Not wanting to lose this feeling you take your coffee to the breakfast table and pick up a book someone, Natasha you’d wager, left. You smile at the bawdy image on the cover, the woman had a thing for a good smutty romance, and open it up.

Quickly you lose yourself to the words and the homey smells. You could be almost anywhere good in your past. It was wonderful.

When the kitchen door opens you expect to see Steve or Natasha but instead Fury is there sniffing the air. All the comfort you’d been wrapped in immediately falls away.

His gaze finally lands on you, “I was hoping I’d catch you.”

“Where else can I go,” your tone is frigid.

He doesn’t acknowledge your snipe, “Can I have a word?”

You glance at the timer, “You have eight minutes.”

Nodding he sits across from you, sliding a manila folder over. You take it, opening the front flap slowly. Immediately your mouth goes dry.

“Do you government types get off by showing people documentation of the worst things that have happened to them?” You fling the file across the table.

“Technically I’m not a government type anymore.” You raise a brow at him but he continues. “But no. That file is, to the best of my knowledge, the last remaining documentation of your time with Hydra.”

He slides it back to you. This time your hand rests flat on the smooth surface as you try to process exactly what he means. Thankfully, Fury wasn’t in the mood to hold back.

“You’ve been wiped from the dark web, every IP that accessed your information has been hunted down, any paper copies that could be located were destroyed-” he pauses, meeting your disbelieving stare- “and I pulled that one from Ross’ personal files myself.”

Almost reverently you open the file once more. Flipping through you stop at the photos Ross had displayed, the ones with just the faintest glimpses of your family. A trembling finger traces the edge of Nix’s image, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Barnes-” the sound of Bucky’s name makes your eyes shoot to Fury once more- “was well before my time. But you… What happened to you, to your people, that was on my watch.” He pauses, expression sincere, “I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

Guilt rushes over you in a wave. You had greatly misjudged this man. He deserved better than that.

“Thank you.”

Fury nods, “Well, that’s what I was here to deliver.” He stands, turning to go.

“You should stay and eat. I promise it’ll be good,” you say with a genuine smile.

He takes a deep breath, “I think I will.”

Within the next two weeks, it’s time for you all to move on.

For a few days, you light in the Austrian city of Strausberg, waiting on instructions from Fury. Once received you head just outside of Krakow in Poland to work on flushing out a human trafficking operation.

Though few would argue Steve’s de facto position as the leader of this group the necessity to stay as under the radar as possible means you all rely heavily on Natasha’s espionage roots. Her masterful ability at laying out quiet but extremely effective plans and countermoves ensure that not a whisper of who was behind this mission slips out.

The more you’re in the field the more you’re surprised to find that you’re able to put your ill-begotten skill set to good use. It feels like spitting in Hydra’s face which, of course, makes victory all the sweeter.

You’re also surprised at how it makes the ache of missing Bucky lessen even a little. This does, you’re ashamed to admit to yourself, make victory just a touch bitter.

Six weeks later you’re all packing your bags once more though you don’t all head in the same direction. Natasha and Wanda opt to take some personal time away, for what exactly neither specifies but they agree to one be gone for a couple of weeks and to be in touch. Hill goes with Fury, focused on some other clandestine mission. This leaves you, Sam, and Steve to fend for yourselves with little to do in Belarus of all places.

Sam walks into the kitchen of the small house the three of you were staying in as you and Steve clean blood off each other’s faces.

“Y’all…�� He sighs, setting bags of groceries down. “I swear, we need to find something to do before the two of you kill each other.”

You laugh, “A little training never hurt anyone.”

“Your black eye begs to differ,” he says from behind the fridge door.

“You should see what she did to my back,” Steve groans dramatically as he plops into a dining chair.

“Wow. Hangs up his shield and turns into a big beardy baby.” Steve hurls his washcloth at your face playfully. Sam just rolls his eyes at both of you.

Looking at Steve’s bruises, your bloody knuckles, and feeling the swelling on your own face--maybe Sam had a slight point. It felt good though. Steve’s style was different from Bucky’s and since he was less afraid of hurting you, it was closer to a real fight. To Bucky’s credit, he hadn’t been wrong when he said neither of you knew when to quit. But what were a few bruises between friends?

“Sure you don’t wanna go a round, Wilson?” Steve asks.

“Yeah-” Sam sits at the table with you both- “don’t think I need a reminder on where I fall in this ranking. Last time I went around with her I thought I was gonna lose a lung.”

“I did not hit you that hard.”

“Some of us are just plain old people and have a very different definition of hard.”

“Oh come on Sam,” you say with a smirk. “You’re not plain.”

“Why must you wound me, woman?!” He exclaims.

Between the banter and laughter from the three of you, the sound of Steve’s phone ringing is lost. When it goes off again he notices, glancing at the screen his expression shifts from joy to severity so fast it’s jarring. His eyes dart to you and away before he pushes away from the table.

“I need to take this,” he says heading for the door.

“Steve?” You don’t try to hide your desperation as you shoot up, sending your chair slamming into the wall behind you.

He turns, a tight smile on his lips. “I promise I will tell you everything I can as soon as I know.” His hand rests on the knob as he says over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

Sam rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, guiding you into the living room. You curl your legs under you on the squeaky couch. He sits beside you, offering his hand. You hold it, taking comfort in his firm grip.

“He’s gonna be ok, Y/N.”

“What if he’s not?” You say in a flat tone.

Sam’s hand squeezes yours, “If he’s not, you will be. You’ve got us.” He pulls your hand toward him, “Come here.” You don’t resist him and lean into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, holding you tight.

Surrounded by Sam’s warmth you try to convince yourself that he’s right. Maybe you could be ok, maybe you could keep your promise to Bucky… Maybe. Something in your heart knows that you’re just trying to lie to yourself.

Right back, turns into over an hour. Sam doesn’t try to give you any other words of comfort. He’s just there for you and that’s enough.

When the door opens you literally fly up from your seat, power coming in one rush. Forcing yourself down, you look at Steve, unable to speak. When you register the genuine smile and wide eyes a lump rises in your throat.

He reaches up, pulling you the rest of the way to the floor. “He’s ok. They did it.” You stare in disbelief, it had been only four months...

“He’s awake, healthy, and they got that shit out of his head. Hydra’s triggers are gone.” You shake your head, unwilling or unable to accept such good news. “He’s gonna be fine, truly.”

Your hand rushes to your mouth to contain the sob as you fold at the waist, hot tears spilling out. Steve envelopes you in his arms, tugging you to his chest. A moment later Sam joins, and you’re surrounded by love and support as you weep, for once, in absolute joy.

Pushing away you take a jittery breath, “Can--When can we see him?”

Steve’s blue eyes sparkle with his own happy tears, “I don’t know yet. Soon hopefully.” He brushes a tear from your cheek with a calloused finger before pressing a brotherly kiss to the top of your head.

“Woo!” Sam whoops. “I knew I got steak for dinner tonight for a reason.”

“Fuck yes!” You turn, giving him a tight hug. “Whiskey, we need to celebrate.”

“If you can stand more good news,” Steve says a bit coy. You and sam stare at him waiting, “Heard from Nat too. She’s meeting up with Wanda and they’ll be here tomorrow evening.”

The thought of bringing Bucky into this collection of people one day, maybe far sooner than you ever allowed yourself to hope for, keeps you on a cloud of happiness for the next few days.

You’re enjoying your morning coffee with Natasha and Wanda, pulling bits of information about their individual time away when Steve pops in.

“Can I steal you?” The smile playing at the edges of his lips make your heart skip.

“Sure.” You follow him to the backyard.

“We head out today,” he says. It takes all you’ve got to not jump up and down like a kid hearing they’re going to Disney. “1100 hours.”

“Are we all-”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Just us. We should pack everything in case they need to move on before we get back. We’ll be catching a ride so they’ll keep the jet.”

“Where are we going?” You ask, brows knitting.

“Can you wait a bit longer to find out?” You shrug in aquesiance.

The next few hours are both the longest and shortest of your life. Your heart aches for him but you hate to leave so quickly. When you’d asked Steve if you had a timeframe he wasn’t sure, it made this goodbye feel strange.

“Ok, be sure to tell your cyborg boyfriend-” Sam begins.

“I thought we agreed that per your definition of cyborg he no longer qualifies thanks to Stark’s fuckery.” You still wanted to rip that assholes arm off to show him how it feels.

“Nerds,” Natasha shoots at you both.

“Whatever,” Sam shakes his head. “Be sure to tell him he doesn’t have my approval yet.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna go over beautifully.”

Sam laughs pulling you into a hug. “I’m happy for you,” he says by your ear. You give him a big smile as you pull away, not trusting yourself not to cry if you speak.

Clearing your throat loudly you say, “It’s not like this is goodbye, I’ll be back.” Though Steve admitted he didn’t have an exact timeframe.

Natasha sighs, “It better be soon. We can’t just rely on Sam to cook. He’ll kill us.”

You giggle, “This is true.”

A red glowing spiral bound book smacks into your head drawing your attention to Wanda who had been lingering in a corner. You pluck it from the air, opening the sketch pad to reveal crisp blank pages.

“Your other one is getting full,” she says with a sniffle. Surrounding her in your power you drag her to you and hug her close.

“Your it,” she whispers.

“Fair,” you say, dashing a tear as you release her.

See you soons exchanged you and Steve head for the door.

“Hey!” Sam yells after you both. “You should also be sure to tell him who gave you that shiner!” Steve looks down at you, back at Sam, and lets out a pained laugh, fingers running through his hair.

Leave it to Sam. The two of you walk into the bright day with a chorus of laughter from your friends following you, chasing away the sadness of leaving.

The meeting place was about an hour’s walk from where you were staying in an industrial park that had shuttered for the night. Steve leads you into a warehouse building, clearly confident in where you were headed.

Fluorescents lit the space, the harsh light almost brighter than the sun. Looking around you notice two women, arms crossed looking somewhat annoyed, speak by the loading ramp of a jet that puts the Quin to shame. They silence as soon as the two of you are close.

“Captain!” An oddly familiar voice calls.

When Prince T’Challa rounds the jet you immediately flinch back, feeling the fresh scars on your chest burn with the memory of sharp claws. Another woman following him joins the other two.

He holds his hands up, “I come in peace.” His smile seems true but you still glare at Steve, demanding an explanation.

“Prince T’Challa-”

“Just T’Challa, please.”

Steve nods, “Has been harboring Bucky.”

“What?!” Your tone sounds more venomous than you mean it to.

“I made a poor judgment call and acted out of grief and vengeance. Sergeant Barnes wasn’t deserving of the blame I put on him. I wanted to make it right.” His eyes move to your chest for an instant. “I hope I can make right the harm I did to you too… If you’ll let me.” You look back to Steve, still in shock.

“I trust him,” he says with a nod.

T’Challa extends a hand to you. For just a breath you hesitate before taking it in your own.

“You swear he’s safe?” You ask, eyes boring into his.

“I do.”

“Ok.”

“Can we leave?” The woman asks T’Challa.

He laughs, “Yes we can leave as long as these two are good.” You and Steve exchange a quick glance and nod. “Good. Let’s move out.”

According to the three-dimensional map, that you can only comprehend as fucking magic, you’re already almost to Wakanda in a little over four hours. Your brain can’t fully comprehend how but this jet was full of mindblowing elements.

Your foot begins to bounce rapidly, anxiety spiking for some reason the closer you get.

“Hey,” Steve sits beside you, nudging you with his shoulder.

“Hey.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“I’m not-” He sets his own heavy boot over yours, stopping your bounce. “I don’t know.”

“Here,” Okoye holds out a glass. “Tea, it will help.”

“Thanks.” You hated tea but she didn’t strike you as the kind of woman who’s kindness one took lightly. Taking a sip you’re actually surprised that you like the spicy earthy taste. “What is this?”

“Tea,” she says with a smirk sitting across from you crossing her legs casually. You raise a brow and she laughs. “It’s a special, personal, blend.”

“She bought it at a tea shop,” T’Challa says walking past her. She scoffs and kicks the back of his calf. He laughs, “But they made it for her so I guess it counts.”

“Three until we’re at the barrier,” Nailah calls back.

Okoye’s smile fills her face, “You’re going to want to see this.’ She stands, nodding to the front. You look to Steve and he has the same smile, nodding for you to follow.

You all crowd the front of the jet as you rapidly approach what looked to you like the side of a mountain. No one else seemed nervous though… Assuming this wasn’t the calmest suicide mission ever you swallow your exclamation and watch… Just as you brace yourself for the impact the goddamn mountain opens--no fades away like a hologram--revealing a massive river city nestled in the mountains. The late afternoon sun makes the structures sparkle, trams seem to hover around the buildings, green spaces seamlessly flow through everything.

“Holy shit,” you breathe in absolute wonder.

“Welcome to Wakanda,” T’Challa says, beaming.

When the jet gently touches down you finally look at Steve.

“I know,” he laughs, “believe me.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward your waiting bags, the weight of his arm the only thing keeping you from floating off the ground in sheer excitement.

The two of you follow the others off the jet onto a large landing deck.

“Finally!” Someone calls as you all step off. A slight woman with a smirk on her face stands waiting with her arms crossed.

“What?” T’Challa responds. “We made excellent time.” She sighs loudly, rolling her eyes.

“Shuri, this is Y/N.” He turns to you as you walk up. Her face explodes in a Cheshire-like grin, extending a hand to you.

“It’s so good to actually meet you!” Her handshake quickly turns into an enthusiastic hug.

You huff out an awkward laugh, “Do I even want to know how my reputation proceeds me?” Your eyes slide to Steve who shakes his head to indicate it wasn’t him.

“Oh! Bucky talks about you often,” she says with a soft smile. At the mention of his name you look around the platform, perhaps a little desperately. “He’s not here. We’ve got a raft ready to go see him though.”

“Is going immediately a good idea?” T’Challa asks cautiously.

“Of course!” Shuri says with a shrug. “Plus, he hasn’t had a positive surprise like this yet. It will be good research.”

Steve shoots you a glance, his fresh worry mirroring your own. There isn’t time to ask more questions before you’re loaded up and heading off once more.

You want to be awestruck by the goddamn hovercraft you’re standing on, and the breathtaking… everything you’re passing but all you can hear in your head is Shuri saying he hadn’t been surprised yet. What could happen? What risk was there? Was this a bad idea? Would everything be broken by yours and Steve’s sudden arrival? Would he even want-

All thoughts cease as the craft crests a small hill. There, sitting by a small lake was a man looking out at the water and the fiery sky. His hair, so much longer, hid his face but then you see a hand raised in a familiar motion, fingers running through this hair.

You weren’t sure you could have stopped it if you wanted to. A burst of power propels you from the craft, sending you into the air. Vaguely you hear Shuri let out a sound, Steve says something, but you’re quickly too far away to hear. You push against the air with all you’ve got, body humming, heart thundering, arms aching to hold him.

Ten feet away from him you land silently, suddenly nervous again. Worried of breaking him somehow… But then-

“Bucky?” You say softly, almost a whisper.

His back straightens but he doesn’t move immediately. Fear fills you, bad call wrong fuck-

Bucky plucks a small earbud from and turns, blue eyes glassy, face filled with wonder. He stands, rounding the bench so slowly it feels like forever.

“I’m not dreaming?” He asks sincerely. Tears make his image ripple, turning everything into a watercolor. Biting your lip you shake your head no, taking a few steps forward, each one less grounded than the last.

“Y/N…” His smile, unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

You don’t rush into one another’s arms. The space between you closes with tentative steps. So like how you fell in love, a short distance carefully traveled until… A familiar calloused hand tenderly wipes the tears from your cheeks.

Reaching up you take his face in your hands. His eyes flutter closed as you dash away his tears when they open once more you nearly gasp at their beauty.

Bucky’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair, pulling your lips to his. There’s no resistance as you melt into him.

The kiss begins tender but quickly succumbs to your hungry need for one another and the world falls away. This is all there is, he is all you feel, taste, breathe.

Gasping for air, you both pull away. Resting your forehead against his you realize that the world literally fell away. Unconsciously you’d enveloped the both of you in your power, sending you about five feet off the ground. His eyes glitter with the wonder they always hold when it comes to your ability.

Gently, you lower you both back down, unable to look away from him. Once gravity has you again though you can no longer hold back the question that weighed on you since Steve handed you Bucky’s letter.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t still have you?” He looks away and you tilt his face back to you. “I will always love all of you, James Buchannan Barnes. Always.” Your voice cracks on the final word, emotions overwhelming you.

He kisses you once more. “Goddamn, I love you, Y/N.” You let out a little laugh and press your lips to his briefly before he pulls you away, thumb lightly touching the bruise at your eye.

“What happened?” His tone suddenly concerned. “Who-” Steve clears his throat from behind you, cutting him off. A snicker slips from you as you turn to face your blushing friend.

“Uh-” Steve runs an awkward hand through his hair- “That would be my fault.” Bucky’s eyes dart from his best friend back to you in confusion and worry.

“Friendly fire,” you shrug.

He rolls his eyes hard, laughing, “I knew I shouldn’t have left the two of you alone.”

Steve laughs, clearly relieved Bucky wasn’t pissed about giving his girl a shiner. Your heart swells as the two of them exchange a long tight embrace. When they separate Steve sniffs hard, clearing his throat.

“You should see what she did to me,” he says with a sidelong glance at you.

Laughing you respond, “Oh my god. You are not going to let it go, are you? It’s not even that bad.” Steve raises a brow and lifts his tee, a dark plum bruise spreading from his back around his ribs.

You grimace, “Ok. Maybe…”

Okoye lets out a low whistle, “Damn.” She looks to you, “We absolutely have to go a round.” She, T’Challa, and Shuri stroll up from where they’d been waiting, giving the three of you some space.

“Oko, loves a challenge,” T’Challa chuckles.

“I’m down,” you say lightly. Bucky’s arm wraps around your waist, holding you close.

“Tomorrow,” she says authoritatively. “Though-” she eyes the two of you playfully- “we’ll make it in the afternoon. I won’t steal your woman away before you two get to catch up, Wolf Man.”

“Wolf Man?” You ask looking up at Bucky’s smiling face.

Shuri laughs, “The kids started calling him the White Wolf. It just sort of stuck.”

“Steve’s looking a little more like a Wolf Man than me though so I may not keep my title for long.” Steve rubs his beard and gives an agreeing nod.

“Why don’t we all stay here to talk,” T’Challa takes a few steps toward a circle of low stone benches by the edge of the water. “The sunset is too beautiful to miss.”

As the sky burns in magnificent colors above you all T’Challa and Okoye walk you and Steve through what happened after the events in Siberia. Shuri exclaims that’s why it took so long to get Bucky’s treatment completed if what she accomplished wasn’t miraculous. She explains how she managed to circumnavigate the triggers and how it should remain effective longterm. Sometime during the talk a few folks arrive setting up a table quietly with food.

“I definitely want to continue monitoring for any changes but it seems that this treatment could be helpful in a lot of cases,” Shuri’s voice drips with excitement. “Honestly, I don’t know why others aren’t utilizing AI in this way. It just makes sense.” You can’t help but laugh. It seemed that she often forgot that not everyone had a mind like hers.

“If we’re going to have any more technical talk I can’t do it on an empty stomach,” Okoye says standing.

By the end of dinner, your cheeks ache from smiling.

T’Challa stretches, letting out a long yawn. “I think I’m ready to head back.” Okoye nods and Shuri lets out an exasperated sound. He laughs, “You can keep pummeling Y/N with questions tomorrow if she’s not ready to scream.”

“After what you’ve done, Shuri, I’m an open book.”

“You may regret that,” she says with a wink.

“We’ve got a room for you Captain,” Okoye says. “And you, Y/N.” For a second your chest tightens, the thought of leaving Bucky’s side draining the joy you’d been soaking in. “If you want it that is.”

“Thank you but…” You look up to Bucky, suddenly unsure. “I’d rather stay with you if-” His smile silences you.

“Of course,” Okoye’s warm smile coloring her words.

Once they all head back to the city Bucky leads your into his cozy hut. Fire-like lights illuminate the space as soon as you enter, belying the low-tech aesthetic of the space.

Your eyes wander around, soaking it all in until they land on Bucky. His expression is so tender and full of love, it makes your stomach flutter.

Without a word, he closes the small space between you. His lips press against your forehead before he looks into your eyes, right hand cupping your cheek.

“I dreamed about you,” he says in a rough whisper. You can’t help but smile.

“I dreamed about your smile,” his thumb gently touches the laugh lines at the corners of your mouth. “Your eyes,” a finger tracing your brow. Your hands rest on his hips, holding him close.

“Your touch,” he presses his body even closer. “Your taste,” he kisses your prone lips, savoring the feeling. Your body shivers with desire as his hand slides down your back, fingers slipping just under the hem of your shirt. “The way you feel.”

“I dreamed about all of you, but here you are and I realize my dreams didn’t do you justice.” He studies your face before continuing, “You are so much more than I could ever have dreamed, Y/N, than I ever could have hoped for. And I love you so much more than I think I ever realized before.”

Your eyes sting with tears as you pull his face to yours, kissing him softly. He was right. You thought you knew how much you missed him, how much you loved him--but you didn’t really know until you had him back in your arms.

When you pull back his hand wanders to your chest, softly touching the thick pink scars there. For a moment pain floods his features before he leans down and kisses each one, causing your breath to catch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin.

“No,” you say firmly. “Don’t.” Your hand gently runs down the beautiful fabric draped over his left shoulder.

When you meet his gaze he nods subtly. Hooking the knot with your fingers you pull it over his head. Your fingers undo the buttons of his shirt, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest before peeling the garment back. Only then do you slide your eyes over to his left side.

The silver metal you’d grown so used to seeing is gone, replaced with a dark smooth material. It’s warm to the touch, the end a smooth cap.

“Does it bother you?” Bucky asks.

“Of course not,” you assure him. “I just… Stark...” There’s a bite to your voice.

“Honestly, I’m glad it’s gone.” His eyes are steady and you know he’s being honest. It was a reminder.

His fingers run along your jaw, a smoky grin curling his lips. Desire explodes in you.

At first, you’re both fumbling a bit, the new mechanics of the situation and the time away needing to be worked through. It doesn’t matter. You laugh, kiss, and relearn one another inch by inch.

Bucky wakes but doesn’t open his eyes, too afraid that yesterday was a sweet dream.

He notes the earthen smell of his hut, the feel of his soft bedding, the sound of the lake… The sound of your breathing, deep and steady.

Not a dream. You were really here. You were really safe.

He opens his eyes, looking over at your sleeping form. The golden light from outside slips beneath the curtain making you practically glow. One arm is curled under your pillow, the other languidly reaches in his direction.

Sitting up slowly he studies you closer. The way your hair falls into your face, the length starting to dust your shoulders. The gentle curve of your spine. And he hoped he wasn’t imagining the slight smile on your sleeping lips.

Before you and Steve arrived he knew that eventually, you’d come together, but that he’d have to choose between the safety Wakanda afforded him and you. For a brief period, he wasn’t sure what the right choice was. Was it better to stay away, to avoid putting more of a target on your back?

Now he knows it doesn’t matter. Be it the right choice or not, nothing could make him leave your side again. Nothing.

Tenderly his fingers run a path down your back, not wanting to wake you but needing to touch you. The latticework of scars there looking like golden embroidery in the light, just something that makes you all the more beautiful to him.

A small noise slips from between your lips. He rests his hand on your low back as you stir.

“Bucky,” you breath out, expression almost disbelieving.

“Goodmorning, sweetheart.” Your smile makes his heart rabbit in his chest.

Shuri glances from the readings before her and back to Bucky, a look of mild concern coloring her features.

“Everything alright, Bucky?”

“Of course,” he lies. He’d spent the morning oscillating between suffocating joy at having you back and paralyzing fear over knowing he won’t be able to say goodbye to you… and just what that means.

“I’m sure Okoye won’t go too hard on her,” she gives him a reassuring smile.

He huffs out a small laugh. While he went to Shuri’s lab for his daily check-in Okoye had stolen you away for a sparring session. Admittedly, he wasn’t the most comfortable with that either, though he wasn’t worried about you.

“We can call this good for today. We’ll meet them at the training field.” Shuri, ever four steps of everyone, doesn’t wait for him to agree just begins grabbing things to leave.

It’s a short walk from Shuri’s lab to the training field. His mind doesn’t have time to wander with her constant excited chatter. While he may not fully comprehend half of what she tells him he knows she likes to have a sounding board, talking helps her narrow in on whatever brilliant thing her mind is working on. He’s happy Shuri is comfortable enough with him to do this.

They stop under a large awning, slightly elevated from the large open-air training space, to watch you and Okoye have at it. She lands a hard blow to the side of your face and he flinches, knuckles white as he grips the railing.

“Come on!” He hears Okoye taunt, circling you. “You’re holding back,” she tosses a blunt spear between her hands. “I want to see what you can really do.”

A smirk curls your lips before you spit red into the dirt. “Alright.”

Your shoulders roll back, feet planted like he taught you. With an almost imperceptible twitch of your head, the spear flies from Okoye’s grip, landing in your hand. It’s a showy move but you’ve left yourself open just enough.

Bucky bites his tongue to keep from calling out as Okoye takes the chance, moving with the grace and speed of a trained warrior. The moment she moves to kick your abdomen you’re suddenly airborne, using the spear as a pivot point. Okoye’s foot meets nothing but empty space sending her stumbling while you bring both feet down into her side.

She rolls away, body already coiled to right herself. You’re faster though.

He watches, slack-jawed, as your toes barely touch the ground before you propel yourself with speed through the air to Okoye. She’s barely registered your presence before the spear point is pointed at her throat.

“I think by your rules that’s a win,” you say, a bit breathless.

The sound of slow clapping from behind him makes Bucky jump. He’d been so engrossed in watching that he hadn’t noticed T’Challa and Steve enter.

“Why thank you my king,” Okoyes says as you pull her to her feet.

“Don’t be a sore loser now general,” T’Challa teases. She throws him a sideways glare.

“Impressive,” Bucky says as you walk up.

“I had a good teacher,” you say before pressing your lips to his briefly.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t teach you that.”

“So,” Shuri begins, a peculiar tension in her tone, “does she pass?” You give Bucky a questioning look but he only shrugs, just as confused.

“Oh yes,” Okoye pours water over her head, wiping her face with a towel. “If only because I demand a rematch.”

“Did I miss something?” You ask turning to face the others. They all have grins on their faces, even Steve.

“Let’s sit,” T’Challa nods to a small seating area. Glancing at Bucky, you slide your hand in his before following.

T’Challa’s expression is open but he lets out a long sigh before beginning. “I offered Bucky asylum in Wakanda because I realized he’d been just as much a victim of Zemo’s hatred as my father. I feel the same goes for you.” He pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts. “You had no choice but to become involved in this mess, your whole life was turned upside down… again. I feel partially responsible for that.”

“I don’t-” He cuts you off with a raised hand.

“I’d like to offer you the chance to stay here as well.”

Bucky draws in a sharp breath. Your eyes, large and disbelieving turn to him. Neither of you dare speak.

“There is one stipulation.”

“Of course,” you say almost breathless.

“Given our recent… incident, we are aware of the need to bolster our forces. If you chose to stay you’d be expected to serve as a defender of Wakanda under General Okoye should the need arise.” Shuri makes a small noise and T’Challa laughs. “Go on.”

“I’d also be interested in studying your ability,” she says. Bucky sees your body instantly tense.

“Nothing without your consent,” Shuri tries to assure you. “I can also do as I’ve done for Bucky and look into exactly what those monsters may have done to avoid any potential issues in the future.”

Your gaze falls to Steve, an unspoken question hanging between you both.

“They’ll understand,” Steve says smiling.

When you look at him once more his mouth goes dry. He should tell you to do what feels right, to do what was best for you, but the words stick in his throat along with his breath.

Bucky watches as all question and doubt drains from your expression, replaced with a softness he can’t name. Your fingers gently trace his jaw and air floods into his lungs, tension fleeing him.

You turn back to T’Challa, “Yes. I… anything to stay I’ll do it. And Shuri-” you take a deep shaky breath- “I’d like to know what they did too-”

“Everything at your pace I swear,” Shuri cuts you off, almost bouncing with excitement.

“I believe you,” you say with a small laugh.

“Thank you,” he says to T’Challa, holding his gaze. T’Challa smiles and nods, understanding the weight of Bucky’s words.

You expected saying goodbye to Steve would be hard but not this hard. His arms crush you tight into his chest and you just know your tears are soaking into his tee. Sniffing hard you pull away.

“Tell them…” You trail off, wiping your eyes. Sorry wasn’t right, you could already hear Sam calling you out on that bullshit, and you didn’t know when you’d see them again.

“Tell them, I’ll miss them and that this isn’t goodbye.” It hurt to say it, fresh tears finding their way down your cheeks, but it was the truth. You wouldn’t let this be goodbye. Steve nods, quickly wiping at his own eyes. He looks at Bucky, forcing a slight smile.

“There are a few people you’re gonna have to answer to later, Buck.”

“I look forward to it,” Bucky says, his hand resting on the small of your back. Steve looks at you both before pulling you into a group hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” he says softly before releasing you.

“We’ll see you later, punk.” Bucky’s smile is soft and sad.

Steve laughs softly, “Jerk.”

You and Bucky stand on the landing deck until the jet is out of sight, silent, just holding tightly to one another. After all what was there to say?

Shuri offers to give you both a lift back to Bucky’s place… your place? How strange to think of it that way. On the ride her easy conversation is comforting.

As soon as you say your goodbyes to her you head to the edge of the lake, a bit dazed after everything. The sun is just barely above the horizon, casting the sky in breathtaking shades from yellow to deep twilight purple. You take it all in, the beauty almost overwhelming.

“Y/N,” Bucky calls to you. Turning back you see him by the doorway. He extends his hand but you don’t go to him immediately. Instead, you take him in, lit in soft golden light.

He was impossible, this man you loved. Impossible that his kind heart could remain after so much pain, impossible he could survive all he did, impossible that he loved you with all he was despite all you were. And the most impossible of all, he was here, safe, reaching out for your hand. He was yours.

Finally, you go to him, his palm engulfing yours, tugging you in for a kiss. Bucky pulls back, looking down at you with such love it takes your breath away.

“We’re home, doll.”

Nothing had ever felt truer.

[THANK YOU ALL AGAIN!]

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @fairislesheets @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @wintersoldierswhore @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @jewelofwinter @siriuslycloudy2 @hardygal69 @marvelousmeggi @jdoenson @gamorazenn @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @demonlover87 @winterboobearsworld @this-kitten-is-smitten @damnaged-princess

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky x enhanced!reader #bucky feels

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httphopewrld · 4 years

Text

hot summer (sneak peek pt.2)!!!

He was a boy across the street—no—an attractive boy across the street who happened to be a tattoo artist. You didn’t want to do anything about it, but your friends encouraged you to either stop sulking or make a move. And you chose the latter.

Pairing: tattoo artist/neighbourjungkook! x female reader

Genre: fluff and smuuuuuut

Rating: 18+ because there’s some smuuuuuutttt (it’s the most detailed I’ve ever written, soooo proceed with caution) and swearing

Warnings: smut, soft sex, dom!/sub!jungkook, dom!/sub!femreader, penetrative sex without protection (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!), bullet vibrator, oral fem receiving, creampie, fingering, making out, and swearing. There are mentions of domestic violence, but it is not detailed. It is in the perspective of the reader, who is witnessing this from a distance.

Word Count: 9,000-10,000 (each because there will be 2 parts)

A/N: Uni has been a lot, so I will be post the full part 1 on Monday. Thank you so much for waiting, and for all the support and love I’ve gotten from the previous sneak peek! Here’s a little more to keep you on your toes ;)

Also, if you’d like to be on this fic’s (and future ones) taglist, comment your username, and I’ll update this fic and have your username in future fics too!

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You looked across the traffic, into the apartment building across from yours. A boy sat back into his chair, holding a book in his hands. He began to read, of course, in a simple manner. His eyes scanned the pages, imagining the words written in his mind.

He was man, most likely, in his early twenties, but referring to him as a “man” felt odd.

You were fascinated by him. He was good looking, even from kilometres away. If you leaned against your balcony’s rails, you could see his dark wavy brown hair, his slightly sun-kissed skin, and his all-black clothing ensemble. He wore no shirt, probably from the heat or being in the comfort of his own home.

You stepped away from the railing and back into your apartment, drawing back the curtain and turning your back to the balcony.

How long have you been gawking at this stranger? Had he glanced up from his book and saw you standing there?

You drew all your curtains closed, paranoid, and embarrassed.

People crowded the city’s streets.

The sun was out, which meant everyone became runners, joggers, and walkers. People, families, and friends came out from their hideaways and into the sunshine. You, on the other hand, sat safely on your balcony.

Crowds made you nervous. You liked meeting people, but the thought of pushing through a dense mass of strangers made you shudder.

So, you watched people push and brush pass each other from ten floors up, sipping at your iced tea.

You gazed at the apartment from the other night.

It was empty.

You could see simplistic black and white art and photographs decorating the walls and modern furniture. His bedroom is to the left, with a gaping window that allowed anyone to look in. The same applied to the rest of the apartment: big windows and no curtains.

You sipped your iced tea.

You could imagine this man’s wardrobe. Minimalistic shades, and maybe some pops of colour. Chunky black sneakers and dark accessories. He must’ve been an artist of some sort.

Your phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” Your friend, and roommate, Ashly, chimed on the other end. “Are you busy at the moment?”

“Not at all,” you replied, setting down your drink, “what’s up?”

“I was thinking of having a get-together. There’d be wine, snacks, and music. It’d be small, maybe five people, including ourselves?”

“You want me at your party?”

“Well, it isn’t a party—just a few girls and gossip.”

You pondered for a moment. “Where is it?”

“The get-together?”

“Yes,”

“It’d be at our place in two weeks.” Ashly sighed. “Is that enough time, mom?”

You chuckled. “Yes, my child.”

“Awesome! We can plan when I come back from work.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

“See ya!”

“Bye.” You hung up and looked back at the apartment.

The boy had come back. He wore a back cap, which he quickly took off and ruffled his hair, and, like a few days ago, adorned a full black ensemble. Despite the warm weather, he had worn a black leather jacket, jeans, and sneakers.

You watched him shuck off his jacket and toss it on the couch, and head to his bedroom.

He, with a lack of better words, flopped onto his bed and appeared to take a nap.

You chuckled to yourself—definitely a boy.

It had been a week since you looked back at the apartment.

You had just come back from work, and Ashly usually arrives back home an hour later.

The apartment you shared with Ashly was a carbon-copy of an IKEA display. You joked about it before, saying, “if someone were to flip through a 2019 IKEA catalogue, randomly choose a page, you’d probably think our place looked the same—or you’d find one of our pieces of furniture.”

It wasn’t a bad thing. IKEA was a popular place to shop at, and it was excellent quality.

Your furniture was various shades of white, navy blue, grey, silver, and light brown. The colour palette continued to your cutlery, kitchen items, and your bedrooms.

The place was cozy and didn’t leave room (pun intended) for a frivolous lifestyle.

The boy’s apartment was similar yet different. There was a sense of minimalism, like yours, but the furniture was dark—almost raven black.

As remarked before, there were black and white photographs and inky modern furniture. There were no colours in his home, just assorted shades.

His front door opened, and two bodies tumbled inside—his and a female.

Their bodies entangled with one and other and gripping each other’s clothes. The female’s clothes were the first to come off, exposing her bra and lack of underwear. The boy seemed pleased because he smirked before attaching his lips to her vagina.

You were shocked, scared, and worried all at once. You wanted to look away but found a curiosity within.

This man—boy—didn’t appear to have any desire to shut the world out.

You watched as this boy perform oral sex to this female—in the right way because the girl appeared to be moaning a lot—and you couldn’t look away.

It was like watching live porn, in a weird and public sense. It was, slightly, pleasurable too.

They took off their clothes shortly after the girl seemed to orgasm and engaged in penetrative sex. He took her from behind, against his couch. You, and whoever else stumbled upon this erotic scene, had a perfect view of their naked sides.

“Oh, my lord,” you gasped.

You felt the familiar tingle in your lower region.

Realizing this, you cursed under your breath and closed your curtains.

“What the fuck,” you exhaled, leaning forward on the dining table.

“I just watched my neighbour have sex,” you muttered, “and enjoyed it.”

You paced the room as if giving a lecture to a child.

“You were turned on by your neighbour having sex!” You shouted at yourself. “What the hell?! Were you fantasying? Him?! What the fuck, Y/N? Might as well be Joe Goldberg, and whip out your—”

“Y/N?”

You stopped in your tracks and turned to your front door. Ashly stood in shock.

“Are you alright?” Her Australian accent was thick with concern.

You smiled, “Never better.”

She let out a pulse of nervous laughter before tossing her keys in the small dish on the kitchen counter.

“What were you saying about Joe Goldberg? The guy from You? And why are the curtains closed?” Ashly leaned her hand against the counter, and her other on her hip. She resembled a mother about to lecture their kid about a text from a stranger.

You chuckled. “Nothing of importance—anyways, how was your day, Ash?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, Y/N. You’re not escaping this one.” She walked up to you and firmly placed both her hands on her hips. “What is all this that about?”

“Look who’s the mother now,” you muttered, making Ashly raise her eyebrow.

You inhaled a lungful of air. “The boy in the apartment across from us is having sex right now, and they’re bare-ass naked in front of their big-ass windows. I had to close the curtains because I felt like I was intruding on their sexual activity, and it was just weird that they didn’t close their own—but I feel like that boy doesn’t own any curtains—so I just closed our curtains.” You said in one breath.

Ashly’s eyes widened with shock, “What?” She walked past you and threw open the curtains.

“Ash, don’t just rip them wide open!” You rushed over and closed the curtains.

She glared at you before cracking the drapes a bit to take a look. “Oh, my God.” She gasped. “They are having sex.”

“Still?” You crouched down and peered through the break.

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, “and harder than ever.”

You both watched, only for a few seconds before closing the curtains again, the boy drill into the girl. The boy faced the windows, leaving everyone to see his face and the top of the girl’s head as she tilted it back with pleasure.

“Well, he seems very good at what he’s doing,” Ashly commented, walking away as you closed the drapes.

“Ash!” You said in a loud whisper as if the boy across the street could hear.

“I’m just saying, the girl seems like she’s having the best time of her life, being pounded by that dude!” She defended.

“Jesus Christ, Ash, shut up!”

“I’m not wrong,” she shrugged.

You looked at her sheepishly, and you both burst with laugher.

Both of you spent dinner recapping your days: Ashly was currently dealing with an HR (Human Resources) problem in her company—she couldn’t go into details because of confidentiality, but it had to do with a problematic employee who was spouting racist nonsense online, which could affect the company’s image; and was immorally wrong because racism and any discrimination based on sexuality, race, religion, and so on, cannot be tolerated.

Your day and work-life were conversely dull.

You managed finances and taxes for your corporation, and the only exciting event to date was the incorrect money evaluation from a co-worker, which lead the company to believe there was wiggle-room for spending; when in reality, they were spending too much.

You pushed the pasta around in your plate while looking at the covered windows. You watched the curtains sway in the wind. Ashly had opened the windows a few minutes ago to let the hot air out of the apartment.

It was the hottest summer since you moved to the city five years ago, including the weather and the recently noticed neighbour across the street.

You continued to think about him and the way he had sex with that girl. It was romantic, yet aggressive and needy.

Fuck. You cursed.

“Hello?” Ashly waved a hand in front of your face. “I know that HR can be boring to listen to, but please try to look interested.”

You chuckled, “Sorry, Ash. I just zoned out a bit.”

“Oh, I know,” she replied, “but thank you for the apology.”

She sighed. “Well, I’m ready to watch some Netflix.” She looked at her watch, “And as it is almost eight o’clock, I think I’ll only be able to last for a ripe two hours until my old body starts to shut down.”

You laughed, taking both of your empty plates and cutlery to the kitchen. Ashly joined you, bringing the drained wine glasses.

“Care to join me?” She asked while you loaded the dishes.

“It’d be the highest honour, m’lady.”

⋅. ✯ .⋅

Reminder:

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#jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fuff #ficswithluv

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resurrectedhippo · 4 years

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post-endgame stevetony fic: down in lonesome town

Summary: After the universe is restored, Steve finds himself at a loss without any direction. Retiring from the Avengers, he moves across the country and ends up building a house by a lake. Across the misty blue lake is Tony Stark’s new workshop.

Tags: Tony Stark Lives, Pining Steve, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lake Tahoe, Post-Endgame fix-it, Angst with a Happy Ending

Chapters: 3/8

Read Part 1 here.

Read Part 2 here.

Chapter 3:

Steve arrives at Lake Tahoe sometime in the late afternoon. The drive into town was quiet with only a cassette tape to accompany him when the radio was out of range.

The cabin is located on the edge of town called Lover’s Lane. Natasha’s property, according to her will, is three acres of barren land. Tony used to go on and on about global warming, making the joke that Steve was only found because all the ice has melted in the Arctic.

Natasha wasn’t exaggerating when she mentioned the house as just a step above a set of wood mashed together. The safehouse is a derelict cabin that faces a clear blue lake. It’s still and calm, reminding Steve that he’s here all alone. There isn’t a house for another ten mile radius. Well, other than what lies across the lake. There’s a humble sized rustic home with its porch facing the lake. Sadly, it doesn’t look to be occupied, so Steve can’t play the role of a friendly neighbor.

The irony is that in Steve’s trek for peace and connection, he’s isolated himself from the world.

Perhaps, this was needed though. It’s the only thing that feels right.

Steve enters the cabin to an open-space studio. It’s empty of any furnishing other than a dust-covered bed and a small, round table and a single chair by the window-still. The light filters through the giant kitchen windows. Steve, with his enhanced eyesight, catches specks of dust floating through the house.

There’s a set of books on the kitchen counter of varying themes, from Russian literature to German philosophy to a romance novel. Steve picks them up, examines them closely, flips the pages with special attention to Natasha’s notes neatly scrawled in the margins. He smiles at her careful handwriting. She was always meticulous to the point of irritation and her cautiousness reminds Steve of his own recklessness. Maybe if he was more thoughtful like her, well, he wouldn’t be here, alone.

There’s a set of dried dishes in the rack, a chipped teacup, and a stack of beans along with expired canned goods in the pantry. They were nine years off the expiry date, meaning it’s been a long while since Natasha last occupied the space. The rest of the house is spartan with the bathroom reeking of mildew, the ceilings a constellation of green-gray mold.

He sighs, oddly finding the whole thing comforting. Natasha didn’t have it all together, she let the little cabin grow musty, allowing the dust to settle.

Then again, this wasn’t her home. Just a pit stop.

Back in the living space, Steve collapses on the rickety mattress. He was too tall to fully fit. Legs dangling off the bed, he examines the ceiling once more.

“Well, I’m here.” He says to no one in particular. “Alone with my thoughts. What the fuck am I supposed to do here?” He rubs a hand across his face, then over his hair in frustration. Steve drifts in and out of sleep until late in the evening. He always has trouble falling asleep in a new environment.

Since it’s nearly midnight when he rises, he decides to shower, unsurprised when the water is lukewarm. He digs a towel from his suitcase and changes into a set of worn sweatpants.

Here’s the thing with Steve: he’s always much more functional with a set goal planned. He pulls out a notebook, a pen, and begins his list. Groceries. A tent. Sleeping bag. A shovel. Wood. Plans, he needs plans for the house. Some sort of feeling takes over as Steve begins to sketch a house, imagining something comfortable, cozy, big enough for a nuclear family. Steve realizes he’s excited and not just waiting to die.

As per Natasha’s suggestion, he begins with the sun room to overlook the lake.

He has no goddamn idea how to build a house, but he’s armed with a rough sketch, every bit of stubbornness known to man, and the plan for a deep, hot rod colored door and blue shutters. One step at a time, he breathes, allowing inspiration to lead his design.

By early morning, Steve has a plan side porch and a small office on the left side of the house. It’s an idea for now, but it’s on paper, so Steve has to do it for his own piece of mind. Hungry, he takes the truck to the nearest town with a diner, orders a large breakfast, and mentally prepares himself for the day.

Steve begins with a simple task: go to the hardware store and pick up the most essential tools. He chats up the owner, Augusto, a foreman who relays his experience in constructing homes.

“It’s gruesome labor to try to build a home all by yourself, mate.” The older man shakes his head at Steve wistfully.

“All I’ve got is time.” Steve tells him the truth. “Besides, an old friend says I need a hobby. Figured building something for once would do me some good.”

Steve leaves the shop with three books on the basics of home building, notes, and the man’s phone number. He isn’t recognized as Captain America, just a man hoping to make something for himself. Steve spends the following days reading up on construction and sketching his designs. He’s only got a graphite pencil and a battered sketchbook, but it’s fine. It’s all fine and dandy. He sleeps for over eight hours and lies in bed with his thoughts for hours in the morning, mind drifting to the battle, to Vormir, to Tony’s hospital room.

He feels like shit and most days, he doesn’t want to get up. Sometimes he just wants to wither away, but then, he looks at Natasha’s chipped teacup and feels guilty. He made a promise. Isolation isn’t doing Steve any good, but he forces himself to have lunch at the diner, Mango House, and makes friends with the waitress. She serves him black coffee which Steve adds two sugars to and savors. He stays in the diner for hours, ordering tea and pastries, sketching and writing in a journal.

Sam’s been sending him articles on PTSD, pestering Steve to come back to the East Coast for a visit, despite that it’s only been weeks since Steve left the city. But taking Sam’s advice, Steve’s compelling himself to write whatever thoughts he has in the journal. He writes about his vague dreams, Natasha in Vormir, flashes of red that he sees throughout his days, a ghost figure following him in the lake.

He sketches Tony, mostly. From memory, he traces the lines on Tony’s face after the wormhole, after not seeing Tony for five regretful years, and then the moment when Tony showed up at the Compound. Tony is flying in battle with Rescue on his tail. Of Tony in the hospital room, asleep, looking like a million miles from Steve.

Without guilt, Steve imagines Tony in the lake house, in its ramshackle glory, to how Steve pictures it to be: a garden of lilies out in the back and a canoe in the docks. The lilies would grow wildly on the side of the house and serve as a path to the lake. It would dovetail with the properties leading to the beach in the northside shore.

Steve goes upon his day, reading, writing, planning. It’s enough.

But here’s the thing, he’s yearning in the meantime.

Read the rest on AO3.

I’d appreciate if you liked and reblogged! Comments and kudos are fuel for more writing.<3

#stevetony #stony #stevetony fic rec #stevetony fic #stony fic #stony fic rec #steve rogers #tony stark #post-endgame #post-endgame fix it #marvel #mcu stony

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Revelation Sunshine, Chapter 6 (Courtney/Vixen) - Veronica

A/N: Thank you so much to @theartificialdane and to anyone who’s been reading and commenting on this story! Love you guys!

Last chapter: Vixen took a trip to LA to meet her new work colleagues and play house with Courtney. And magic words were shared.

This chapter: Courtney meets the family, and Vixen gets a surprise.

***

Courtney could barely sit still as she rode in the back of the car from the airport. It had been three weeks. Three endless weeks, since Vixen had left LA. Of course, they still spoke every day, but the physical absence had gotten more excruciating with each passing day. Now, Courtney was in Chicago for Thanksgiving and she’d blocked out a full week to spend with her beautiful girlfriend.

VIXEN: Tell me when you’re pulling up, I’ll come down and get you. <3

COURTNEY: Pulling up!

COURTNEY: A nice old lady let me in. You’re on the 3rd floor, right?

VIXEN: Shit!

Courtney stepped out of the elevator, suitcase in hand, just as Vixen threw open the front door of her apartment.

“I’m sorry, I was making dinner and I didn’t see the phone buzz, and then you were—”

Courtney cut Vixen off by leaping into her arms, legs wrapped around her waist.

“—already here,” she finished, holding Courtney tightly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Courtney said, inhaling the sweet scent of her neck, thrilled to be back in her arms. She tried not to sound pathetic as she said, “I missed you,” against her skin.

“Me too,” Vixen whispered back.

Courtney lifted her head to kiss her hungrily—almost desperate. She felt Vixen’s fingers digging into her back as she slid down, forgetting everything but the feel of her lips, the press of her body. Winding her fingers into her hair.

Vixen giggled softly, saying, “I knew you’d go straight for the hair.”

She’d been to the salon to get her twists out, and even though Courtney had seen it on FaceTime, it didn’t do justice to how soft and shiny and perfect her curls were. Courtney gazed at her, lashes fluttering.

“I love it,” she proclaimed, going in for another kiss.

“Do you want to take this inside?” Vixen asked, and a blush rose to Courtney’s cheeks.

“Sorry,” she said, breaking away and picking up her suitcase and backpack from the ground, where she’d carelessly dropped them.

“It’s okay.” Vixen grinned, taking her hand and leading her inside.

“Omigod, I love your place!” Courtney exclaimed, leaning her suitcase against the wall and spinning around.

Vixen’s apartment was exactly what Courtney expected. Warm and cozy, the kind of shabby-chic style you would expect from an academic, with hand-knitted afghans on the sofa and chairs, and an eclectic mix of bold, colorful art. And of course, there were teeming, overstuffed bookcases everywhere.

“Yeah? I tried to straighten up for you,” Vixen chuckled. She picked up a bottle of wine from the dining room table, saying, “Want a drink?”

“Yes please!” Courtney answered gratefully.

While Vixen opened the wine, she wandered around a little, browsing the bookshelves, touching the spines of a few as she read the titles. There were a lot of academic tomes and social science, but also lots of well-worn novels and books of poetry.

“Monet fucking hates that they’re not organized properly,” Vixen said. “She can barely tolerate even being in here.”

Courtney chuckled. That made sense—Monet was a librarian, after all. But for Courtney, it was a delightful mix, like putting a playlist on shuffle. Every shelf gave a slightly different but equally accurate snapshot of Vixen’s personality, of all the things she cared about. It was beautiful.

She ran her finger along the spine of one book, a copy of Invisible Man that was so well-loved, it appeared to be falling apart. As Vixen approached with the wine, she felt a smile tugging at her lips.

“I had this ex who had stuffed bookshelves, too,” Courtney said, fingers dancing over more of the titles. “Only, when you looked up close, you realized that they were mostly coffee table books and bestsellers, arranged for aesthetic purposes.”

“Mmm.”

Courtney turned around to see the mildly exasperated smile on Vixen’s face.

“What?”

“You don’t always have to say ‘my ex.’ You can just say Bianca,” Vixen said.

Courtney opened her mouth, then closed it, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Do I do that a lot?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Vixen, handing her the glass, touching her fingers gently to soften the blow.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m less fragile than you think, you know.” Vixen gave her a smirk, taking a small sip. “And I know she’s still important to you.”

“I honestly don’t know why I even think of her that way. It would really be more accurate to just say ‘my friend.’”

Vixen tucked a lock of hair behind Courtney’s ear, lips brushing against her temple.

“Call her whatever you want. As long as you’re here with me, I don’t care.”

Courtney looked up at her, eyes shining with relief and happiness, and clinked their glasses together.

“Cheers to that.”

***

Vixen smiled, feeling Courtney’s thighs trembling and shaking, continuing to lick her softly from below until her muscles gave out completely, then depositing her onto her back and quickly grabbing a vibrator from the little bag of toys on the nightstand.

Courtney hadn’t even caught her breath before she turned it on, barely touching her, making her moan and thrash, clawing at her back and ass.

(It was still a bit mind-boggling to Vixen how many times in a row Courtney could come. She supposed it was just one of those XX chromosome things she’d never experience.)

Courtney’s hands were everywhere on her body, and it made Vixen shiver to think of how much she was getting off on just touching her.

“Baby…” Vixen worked the vibrator in circles, trying to catch her glazed eyes. “How ya doin?”

Courtney whimpered, arching up.

“Are you done? Do you want me to stop?”

Courtney shook her head vigorously, fingers wrapping around Vixen’s wrist, guiding her hand, showing her where to press harder. Once Vixen complied, Courtney wove her hands into her hair and pulled her in for a frenzied kiss, breath ragged. Vixen licked into her mouth, swallowing those delicious moans until they reached a crescendo, then immediately pulling the vibrator away, knowing it would be too much in her over-sensitive state. As Courtney curled against her, she went back in with the pads of her fingers, rubbing lightly. She pressed kisses against her temples, her lips, down her jaw and into the tenderest spot on her neck.

“Fuck…” Courtney breathed. “That was incredible.”

“I missed you,” Vixen whispered against her.

Courtney mustered up all her strength to roll over on top of Vixen, kissing her with even more urgency, still hungry for her even after all that.

“I missed you too, baby…” said Courtney, taking Vixen’s lower lip in between her teeth and sucking on it. “I hate being away from you.”

“It’ll be better soon,” Vixen murmured, wrapping her arms securely around Courtney, holding her tight. Courtney let out a small noise of agreement, burying her face against Vixen’s neck, breath warm on her collarbone.

“Have I ever told you how much I love this scent?” she asked.

“Oh yeah? You’re into shea butter?”

“Yeah.” Courtney lifted her head, eyes glittering in the dark. “Every time I smell it, I get all…” She grinned, biting her lip.

“Wow.”

“What?” Courtney asked.

“It just never occurred to me until this second that everyone’s mom doesn’t smell like shea butter.”

Courtney burst out laughing.

“Please don’t hit on my mom tomorrow,” Vixen said somberly. “She’s going to smell very irresistible.”

“I’ll do my best,” Courtney giggled, tickling her in the side, making her squeal. “You’re so cute.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. I love you so much.” Courtney ran a thumb along her bottom lip.

Vixen smiled up at her, enjoying the warmth of her body pressing down.

“I love you, too,” she said, eyes falling closed to accept Courtney’s soft, gentle kiss, hands sliding down her torso, showering her with affection.

***

Vixen was strangely calm about introducing Courtney to her family. She supposed that she should have been nervous--after all, she hadn’t brought a girl home since high school, and that was, of course, an entirely different situation. But it just somehow felt natural with Courtney.

And to her relief, no one acted weird about Courtney being famous. In fact, they put her to work in the kitchen right away, first chopping garlic and then shelling beans. It wasn’t until her cousin showed up that anyone even said anything about Courtney’s career.

Amanda, her cousin’s ten-year-old daughter, stepped inside the kitchen and let out the most blood-curdling scream Vixen had ever heard, then burst into tears.

“You okay, Mandy?” Vixen asked.

“It’s…” Amanda lifted a shaking hand to point at Courtney. “It’s P-princess Luuuucie...”

As she dissolved into fresh tears, Courtney got up and made her way towards the little girl tentatively.

“Hey there, I’m Courtney. Can I give you a hug, sweetie?”

Amanda nodded, tears still rolling down her cheeks as Courtney knelt down, giving her a big hug.

“Thank you. I’m so glad you’re here! Want to help us shell the rest of these beans?” Courtney gestured to the table.

“They’re making you shell beans?!” Amanda exclaimed, horrified. She whirled around to look at Vixen’s mother, her great aunt, yelling, “She’s a princess!”

“Okay, Mandy, that’s enough. Go wash your face, and then say hi to Grammy, and then think about acting right before you come back in here.” Her mother set a couple of bags of groceries on the kitchen table, greeting her relatives with hugs and kisses, completely unfazed by her daughter’s meltdown.

“But, mama-”

“I said go!” she exclaimed, then turned to Courtney as Amanda slunk out of the room, saying, “I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Courtney shrugged. She seemed quite unbothered by the whole scene as well, which made Vixen laugh.

“Does that happen a lot?” Vixen asked incredulously. She couldn’t imagine walking around causing children to spontaneously scream and cry.

“Kinda, yeah,” Courtney admitted. “Kids love me.”

“That must be so weird.” Vixen tossed a few beans into the bowl and picked up a new pod.

“It was at first. But like...I think the really weird part is that it’s not weird anymore? That’s when you know you’ve become especially disconnected from reality. Like, my friend’s daughter being utterly distraught that I spoke English, since she’d only seen the French dub-”

“Wait,” Vixen interrupted. “You have French friends?”

“Oh, uh...not really?” Courtney said.

“Let her finish her damn story!” Vixen’s mom said.

“Fine, fine, go ahead.”

“Well...she was really upset, but then I said three words in French and the poor baby lost her absolute shit, and then 10 seconds later we were BFFs. Oh! And later that day, another little girl fainted in the lobby of the hotel when she saw me. Normal Tuesday.” Courtney shrugged. “What can I say, my life is strange.”

“Hmm...well, if you ever need me to knock you down a few pegs…” Vixen offered sweetly, kicking her under the table.

“Awww, you’re so generous…”

“Endlessly giving,” her mom echoed from the sink, and the whole group burst out laughing some more.

***

Courtney sighed, climbing under the covers. It had been a long, fun day, but she was exhausted. Even though Vixen’s family was lovely and welcoming, it took a lot of energy just to be that “on” for so many hours, doing her best to make a good impression and not say any ignorant shit that would make them hate her.

She knew that she was being a little paranoid. (After all, if she survived Bianca’s family, she could survive anything.) But nonetheless, she’d felt a strong pressure, knowing how close Vixen was with her family and how important their opinions were to her.

Vixen settled in beside her, allowing Courtney to wrap her arms around her from behind, lips pressed to the back of her neck.

“Mmm…” Courtney sighed happily. “Can I just say that I love how you can be the big spoon or the little spoon?”

Vixen let out a sleepy chuckle, saying, “You know that spoons only nest if they’re the same size, right? There really shouldn’t be a big spoon or a little spoon. Just...spoons.”

When Courtney was silent for a few long moments, Vixen turned her head to look at her.

“You okay?”

“Yeah I just...my mind is totally blown.” Courtney shook her head, stunned, and Vixen giggled.

“Okay.”

“Seriously! That’s...the best metaphor. You should write a book.”

“I did write a book,” Vixen reminded her.

“Another book. About relationships. ‘Just Be Spoons.’ It’s fucking brilliant!” she enthused.

“Maybe let’s see if we make it through the holidays first.” Vixen kissed her forehead before turning back around and settling against the pillow.

“Fair enough,” Courtney laughed.

***

“Keep your eyes closed,” Courtney insisted, guiding Vixen through her house. She’d just arrived in LA, and after mauling her in the doorway for a few minutes, Courtney began to chatter excitedly about a “surprise” that she just couldn’t wait to show off. “Are they closed?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Vixen promised, making Courtney giggle. Knowing her, the surprise could be anything...a new plant, tickets to a concert, a romantic dinner...Vixen didn’t think she was super into jewelry, but she allowed herself a brief fantasy of something extravagant that she could wear with a little black dress.

“Okay.” Courtney’s hands left her shoulders and settled on her waist. “You can open them.”

Vixen opened her eyes, and for a moment she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. They were in a room off the kitchen that Courtney used for yoga, as an office, and, when necessary, a spare guest room. The last time she was here, the door had been closed, so she assumed that Courtney was in the middle of some elaborate project.

Turns out, she was right, because the room was now a gorgeously decorated office, with floor to ceiling bookshelves on almost every wall, a beautiful desk in the corner, an overstuffed sofa and two comfy chairs.

“The furniture is all made of reclaimed wood. And the upholstery is covered with ethically sourced textiles,” Courtney explained proudly. “Do you like it?”

“It’s really nice,” Vixen told her, looking around. The big picture window had a cozy seat and a beautiful view of the city, and the graphic prints on the upholstery and rugs would have looked at home in her own apartment. “Maybe sometimes you’ll let me use it, too.”

“What?” Courtney’s brow furrowed.

“You know, when I’m here, maybe I can...share the space. If that’s okay.”

“No, baby, you don’t understand.” Courtney laughed, pulling Vixen in by the hand. “It’s all yours.”

Vixen’s brain short-circuited for a moment, blinking at Courtney as if she was speaking an as yet unknown language. Finally, after a few moments of disbelief, she managed to squeak out, “Mine?”

“Mmhmm. I know you need a place to write, and I figured that having a private space while you’re here would just...make things easier for you.”

“I…” Vixen was overwhelmed. In spite of her brief fantasy about jewelry, she was wholly unprepared for an entire room. How was this her real life? “I don’t know what to say. It’s...it’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” Courtney said, wrapping her into an embrace. “And we can change stuff if there’s anything you don’t like. I just thought it would be better to get it started, so that-”

“It’s perfect. Thank you. I’m sorry, I’m really overwhelmed. I mean...it’s a whole room of your house.”

“Our house,” Courtney said softly. “I know you’re only gonna be here part time, at first, but…”

Vixen nodded, throat suddenly feeling dry and itchy. Her eyes misted over, Courtney’s face becoming blurry as tears clouded her vision.

“Shit.”

Courtney cradled her cheeks, standing on her tiptoes to press their foreheads together.

“I love you, baby…” she whispered.

***

“So, what do you think?” Courtney asked. When Vixen had come out of the restroom, she was posed on the bed in her harness and a brand-new strap - this one neon green, textured and curvy.

“Uhh...it’s bigger than the other one.”

“Too big?” Courtney asked, a saucy glint in her eye.

Vixen felt her cheeks grow hotter under Courtney’s knowing smirk, shaking her head.

“I’ll manage.”

Courtney grinned, patting the spot on the bed beside her. “Come show me.”

Vixen tilted her head coquettishly and crawled onto the bed. She was wearing a Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras tank top, borrowed from Courtney, and a pair of turquoise panties. Even though she knew that she looked cute as fuck, the way her girlfriend eyed her up and down definitely confirmed it.

Courtney wasted no time, flipping her onto her back and hovering above her before dipping her head for a deep, intense kiss. Tingles went up Vixen’s spine as Courtney’s fingers danced up her thigh, slipping under her tank top. Vixen’s arms went soft and pliant, allowing her to pull off her top, a hand sliding over her breast, thumb circling her hardened nipple.

Soft, loving kisses blanketed her neck and chest, making her weak and slightly dizzy. And the more she whimpered, curling her fingers into Courtney’s hair, the more it encouraged her. She caressed every inch of her torso, hot mouth traveling over her skin, tongue circling her nipples.

It wasn’t long before Vixen was swooning under her careful attention, body aching with need. Especially when Courtney began to gently ease her panties down, trailing just the tips of her fingers over her trembling thighs. She reached blindly for the nightstand, groping for the bottle of lube and nearly knocking it over in the process. The bottle itself was a bit slippery, and Vixen pressed it into Courtney’s hand with a soft whine.

Courtney took the bottle, but continued to worship her at a leisurely pace, teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of her inner thighs.

Vixen whimpered, arching up, and was rewarded with a playful bite.

“Please,” she whined breathlessly, long legs wrapping around Courtney’s shoulders.

Courtney nuzzled against her thigh as she finally opened the lube, pouring it onto her fingers. Vixen closed her eyes. Letting Courtney prep her was still pretty new, and even though she felt a little funny about it, she couldn’t deny how deeply cared for she felt when Courtney pushed a finger inside her, her other hand wrapped around her waist, lips placing a gentle kiss against her hip. She breathed in slowly, trying to relax her muscles as a second finger joined, twisting in a way that made her gasp with pleasure.

“Are you okay, baby?” Courtney murmured against her, and she opened her eyes, nodding.

“Yeah, that’s good.”

Courtney withdrew her fingers slowly, leaving Vixen feeling empty and desperate. She pulled Courtney close, nails raking down her back to her ass.

“Gimme the lube,” she whispered, and Courtney poured a generous amount into her hand. Vixen reached down, coating the dildo, running her hand up and down the velvety curves as Courtney continued to kiss her.

Courtney hovered above her, brushing their lips together gently and then sucking on her lower lip. Vixen drew her knees up and back, goosebumps breaking out all over her arms as legs as she shivered with anticipation.

“Are you ready?” Courtney teased, nibbling down her jaw.

“Yes, yes!” Vixen declared, nails digging into her ass, trying to pull her closer.

“You’re so beautiful…”

“Omigod, just fuck me!”

Courtney laughed, face tucked into Vixen’s neck as she said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Sorry,” Vixen breathed, letting out a deep sigh as Courtney pushed inside her.

“Don’t be sorry,” Courtney said, “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Yeah?” Vixen asked, rolling her hips.

“Uh huh.” Courtney gripped her hips, thrusting against her, deep and slow. “So tell me...is this good?”

“Harder,” Vixen whimpered, body arched up, eyes falling closed. Courtney began pumping harder, faster, and then a mouth found her nipple, sucking hard, and she let out a strangled moan. “Oh god, yes…”

Courtney pressed her body forward, trapping Vixen’s dick between them, rubbing against their stomachs. Her tits brushed against Vixen’s own with every thrust, every inch of Vixen’s skin tingling with the contact. Her legs wrapped tighter and tighter around Courtney’s waist until her whole body was as tense as a coiled spring.

“Are you close, baby?” Courtney asked, reached down to circle the head of her dick with her thumb.

“Uh huh. Uh huh…” Vixen was so close, she found herself unable to speak, body in overdrive as she plunged off the cliff and dove head-first into the waves of pleasure. “Oh god.”

Courtney licked up her throat, hips continuing to pound, slow and deep, until Vixen collapsed backwards, limbs falling limply onto the mattress.

“I love you so much,” Courtney whispered, kissing her so softly that Vixen felt like she was made of glass.

Vixen let out a soft, gratified sigh as Courtney pulled out, enjoying that feeling of being sated and spent. Her eyes fluttered open to look at Courtney’s face, the sweet and slightly smug smile as she gazed down.

“So, did you like the new dick?” Courtney asked, winding one of Vixen’s curls around her finger.

“Mmm…” Vixen nodded sleepily, letting Courtney wrap her into an embrace, cocooning them into the warm blankets.

#rpdr fanfiction #revelation sunshine #veronica #the vixen #courtney act #courtney x vixen #trans!vixen #fluff #mild angst #smut #lesbian au #galactica au #fic challenge #black girl magic fic #diversity fic #trans character

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misssunflowersandsangria · 4 years

Text

Roses

Chapter 3- Purple Roses

Hello my lovely readers! Welcome back! Uhm no super important notes for this chapter. I’m still just building up the story and their backgrounds. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy it!

Summary: There was so much that was left unsaid between them.

Purple Roses: Purple roses primarily stand for enchantment. The giver of the purple rose seeks to convey that he or she has fallen in love with the recipient at the very first sight. A deep magnetism and charm that makes the recipient almost irresistible is what the purple rose seeks to convey.

Flashback

“What are you drawing?”

Sai looked up startled by blonde hair and blue eyes blocking his view of the pond. Wordlessly he showed her a picture of a duck that he’d drawn.

Her eyes brightened at the picture amazed at how wonderfully he’d drawn it. “How cute! Can I keep it?” He peered at her confused but nodded tearing the sheet out of his notebook. She smiled gratefully before folding it up to place in her pocket for safekeeping.

“I’m Ino!”

“Sai”

“Hi, Sai! Are you new here? Where's your mommy and daddy?” She looked around not finding anyone watching him.

“I...I don’t have one..” He didn’t know quite how to explain what happened, but all he knew was that they were no longer around.

Ino’s face fell at the sad response. Her mommy and daddy were the best, she couldn’t imagine not having them.

“Okay well, then you’re mine.”

His head tilted confused by the statement. “What?”

“You belong with me! Daddy said it’s important to be part of something, to belong to a clan or family. You’re mine and I’m yours.” She explained as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Sai had never had anything that was his own, that was just his. She was a curious creature much more excitable and intrusive than anyone that he was used to but she had a pretty smile and her eyes were his favorite color.

“Come on play with me.” She held her hand out to take and for the first time since his life had started to fall apart, he felt himself smile. Her hand was soft and warm against his and it reminded him of when he held his mom’s hand. He felt safe with her.

“No matter what happens we’re going to be best friends and you’ll be a Yamanaka. You’ll sell your pictures and buy me a nice house with a garden of roses and bush clovers!”

He liked the idea of a friend and the future she described. He could draw, he had Ino and a home. What more could he ask for?

End Flashback

The coffee shop was just as he remembered it. Cozy with plush chairs and painted walls. On one wall he was surprised to see a painting that he’d gifted the owner years ago to thank him for always letting him hang around there. Even after they closed, on days he just didn’t want to go home, the owner would let him stay until it was all cleaned up.

She was there in their corner on her second cup of coffee. He could easily tell that she was worried. She had a habit of biting her nails when she was nervous. Still, this was only the third time seeing her and he felt his heart racing. He had always known that she was beautiful but he didn’t think that she could have become this gorgeous.

He sat down next to her taking the offered cup.

“Green tea.” She explained looking back down at her worn nails. This wasn’t right they’d always been almost too comfortable with each other. This tension felt wrong.

He took a sip gratefully. She had it made perfectly for him remembering how he would drink it. “Thank you.”

“Talk to me.”

He could see the pleading in her eyes for something, some kind of explanation. He wanted to avoid this conversation but she needed to know everything, or at least most of it.

There was no point in delaying this talk any longer. “I’d wanted to come back for a while. Exploring the world was great but it was starting to wear on me and I was feeling less inspired. I needed to come home. Danzo didn’t like that.” Ino looked up hearing that name having her own feelings about his foster father.

Sai just stared up at the ceiling, wanting to avoid the pity in her eyes. “He kept booking appearances and making promises that kept delaying my return. Then he died.”

“I’m sorry Sai.”

He just shrugged. “I’m not. We both know he took me in for the money. Then when he realized he could keep milking art and money out of me he just kept me around. When he died I asked Yamato for help. He found me the teaching job at the university. Remember, I’d always wanted to teach. I teach your class, sell my work in galleries around the world and have my studio and gallery I’m opening up.” Since his foster father died all the money he’d hid away was finally released to him. He could live a pretty comfortable life just off of that in addition to the money he had coming from different sales. Teaching though had been another dream of his. He had such incredible teachers that helped and inspired him. He wanted to do that for others.

Ino sat there speechless trying to process all the information he’d given her thankful that he was willing to reveal everything he had. He’d been through a lot the past few years and she was sure the last months were challenging, but why didn’t he try to reach out to her or their friends. She thought that he knew how much they all cared about him. That she cared.

She began to worry her pinky until he placed his hand over hers to stop her movement. She looked at him gratefully.

She paused before considering her next question. “Why.. uhm why did you return my letters?”

He just stared at her confused. “What letters?”

“My dad, he asked Danzo for an address so that I could write to you. He knew that he’d never give me a number to call you at. This seemed like a happy medium. I was pretty torn up after you left. The letters just kept getting sent back. I just assumed you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” She admitted remembering how worried her parents had been.

Fuck. If he knew Danzo the bastard was probably keeping them from him to keep him focused. He’d asked time and time again if he could get in contact with his friends but his “father” said that they were just a distraction, and kept trying to convince him that they didn’t care about him anymore. Years after not hearing from them it became easier and easier to believe. He was stupid to believe anything that man told him.

“I...I never got them.” He knew that if he had their lives right now would be very different.

She nodded as the pieces were being put together she wasn’t surprised and felt a bit relieved. She was thankful that there was another reason than him just not wanting anything to do with her. “I was sure that it was a mistake at first so I kept writing, but they just kept coming back. Still, there were so many times that I needed to talk to you, to my best friend, so I started writing.” She placed a worn journal with roses embossed on the cover in his hands. “They have the first few letters I wrote to you and some other entries. I know you’re busy so you don’t have to read them all. Uhm you don’t even have to read any of them.” She started to feel anxious about bearing her heart and feelings to him so openly but they had already lost so much time together. They both needed to be honest.

She paused to look at him blue meeting an inky black both their eyes set in sadness but hopeful. “Sai, I hate that I know nothing about your life anymore. We were inseparable and when you left it was like a part of me went with you. This was the only way that I could keep any kind of connection with you.” His heart was breaking at her tears.

“Ino…” There was nothing else that he could say. He’d abandoned her and she had to face life without him there. He’d missed so much and there was no way that he’d ever be able to make it up to her.

She knew that by handing over her journal she was giving him her heart again. She hoped that this time he’d know what to do with it. That this time he would understand how she felt about him. “I know things are weird because you’re my teacher but you were my friend first and maybe things can’t go back to the way they were but I still want you in my life.” Carefully she took his hand in hers hoping that he wouldn’t push her away but his fingers curved around hers.

“We’ll figure this out together.”

She smiled hoping that it was true. “We always have.”

Ugh...Danzo...I still haven’t completely worked out how long it's going to be. I feel like I have the end down but it’s all the stuff in the middle throwing me off haha. Also if it’s moving fast it’s because it is lol. I really have no patience for writing a slow burn, I don’t have enough mental fortitude or ability to focus long enough for that haha Also I want my babies happy! Okay, thanks again for reading! I really appreciate you taking time out of your day to read, reblog or comment. I love you all!

*Till the next one!

Roses:

Chapter 1: Roses

Chapter 2: Yellow Roses

Chapter 3: Purple Roses

#inosai #saiino #sai x ino #modernau #collegeau #fanfic

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

A love that never leaves (11)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Descriptions of depression. Some pretty heavy sads.

A/N: Flashback time. Grief can be all consuming and overwhelming. This time, we follow her while she tries to learn how to live again, before a night in 1946 changes everything.

And again...I am sorry.

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

In her hand, is a ripped piece of faded blue cloth, with a familiar gray patch sewn into it; smudgy rust-red splotches color the edges like fingerprints.

Wings. Gray wings. Nostalgically familiar, because back in the war, each of the Howling Commandos wore one on their left sleeve, a mirror image tribute to the one painted on Steve’s helmet.

Including Bucky. Who wore one on the left sleeve of his coat.

The left sleeve of his blue coat.

Now, he stares uncomprehendingly at the piece of cloth. “What - “ he starts, but his voice fades. Small shivers are running through her body as she watches him, her face filled with dread. Taking a shaky breath, she whispers.

“There was one other time we met.”

*****

February 1945

The telegram informing her of Bucky’s death, written in Steve Rogers’ messy, cursive scrawl, sits on her kitchen table for a week. Across the creamy white paper are crinkled watermarks and trickles of black ink, where the paper swallowed her teardrops and bled out the sorrow of Steve’s words. One night, in a fit of anger, she tears it to shreds and feeds each piece to the hungry flames licking up the stone wall of her fireplace. There is immediate relief at the words disappearing, but even without their physical presence, the grief always returns.

March 1945

The plush wool feels soft in her hands. A week after his last visit, she saw the bundle in a storefront and bartered two of her old dresses for it; the color was a simple heather gray, but she knew it would look perfect against the deep blue of his coat. Every evening, she would knit until her fingers ached, but in a few weeks, she had a thick wool scarf, one of her old hair ribbons tied around it for a bow. She thought she would keep it as his birthday gift. Now, on what would have been Bucky’s 28th birthday, she wraps it around her neck and crawls into bed. Sleep doesn’t come, but every memory of him arrives like a fresh bullet, punched clean through her chest.

May 1945

Over! The war is over! Relieved cries reverberate through the town when VE Day arrives, children running down streets screaming with excitement, mothers and widows weeping joyously in the streets. Healing will take decades, but with those words, the world begins to plan for what comes next. Life is breathed back into the village and in the crowded town square, she lifts her face to the sunshine and closes her eyes. Fingers the chain around her neck holding the St. Michael medal Bucky gave her for their engagement, and wonders if she will ever be warm again.

July 1945

Wildflowers grow in riotous bursts of yellow and red and purple, filling the space behind her chicken coop with color. Laying amid the blooms, she sits in the baking summer sun, tracing her fingers over the colorful images on the postcards Bucky gave her. She thinks about traveling. About visiting those places, seeing them with new eyes, free from war. When she looks at the Brooklyn postcard, she wonders about visiting his family, but then she sees the crooked hearts he drew on the back, and she knows it would be too much. She puts the cards away.

September 1945

Leaves begin to fall, carpeting the grassy bank near the stream. Going through the motions, she dumps clothes from her basket, dunking them in the gurgling water, scrubbing them clean under crystal clear moonlight. Humming under her breath, she sings to pass the time, but the only words she can find are the ones she sang the first night Bucky found her by the creek and walked her home. We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. It hurts too much, so she just stops singing.

October 1945

Soldiers have been returning for weeks. Gaunt and haunted, new men arrive every few days, and do their best to pick up the threads of their old lives. One Saturday morning, she walks through the stalls of the market, examining produce and talking with the vendors. A young soldier steps aside to let her pass, quickly pulling off his hat and smiling. Offering a quiet hello in response, she finishes her shopping and leaves; the soldier jogs after her and nervously asks, could he perhaps walk her home? The earnest look in his eyes is so familiar, it makes her sick. She gently tells him no.

December 1945

Taking a sharp kitchen knife, she goes into the trees and cuts an armful of pine boughs. She spreads them through her house, taking deep breaths of the sharp, piney scent. In the white vase on her table, she tucks them carefully in place and adds a small sprig of holly, the red berries shining brightly. Curled in the armchair beside her fire, she drinks tea and listens to the staticky crackle of Christmas hymns on her new radio. It’s a daily battle, but it happens. Life really does go on.

February 1946

Coming home late one evening, she unlocks her back door and hangs her coat in the hallway. Rubbing chilly hands together, she walks into her kitchen and turns on the light. She skids to a stop. Filling the small space, are two hulking men dressed in black. One steps forward and quickly grabs her arms, while the other plays with a length of rope and smiles at her. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Someone wants a word.”

There’s a cursory struggle, but she doesn’t fight hard. She thinks to herself, if they kill her, maybe she’ll see Bucky on the other side.

That thought makes her smile, before the world goes dark.

*****

For the second time in her life, she awakens in a cold cell. Stretching her aching limps, she knows immediately this most certainly isn’t heaven.

Hell has a very specific look to it. One she knows far too intimately by now.

The small cell is clean, containing a lumpy bed and a worn blanket; in the corner is a pitcher of water and a bucket, and high on the wall is a small window letting in slivers of light. Her hands are bound in front of her, rough pieces of rope looped so tight around her wrists, the skin has rubbed itself raw. Blood soaks into the bristly rope fibers, staining it with streaks of black.

Where is she this time?

Leaning back against the wall, she blows out a long breath and there’s a strange satisfaction in her realization.

She just doesn’t care.

*****

Hours or maybe days later, her door creaks open. Outlined in the doorframe, is a tall Hydra guard dressed all in black, a mask over his face, a pair of reflective goggles covering his eyes. When he sees her, the gun in his hands trembles the slightest bit, before it steadies once more.

So, she thinks. Here it comes.

Motioning with the gun, the guard indicates she should stand, but she mutinously stays on the bed. If she has to go, she will be defiant to the end.

Stepping forward, he hesitates briefly, before grasping the rope and jerking her to her feet. Balancing his gun at the back of her neck, he pushes her forward.

Down a long hall they go, moving through a set of wooden doors. With a mute resistance, she refuses to walk, forcing him to physically drag her instead. Finally, he simply picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, stalking down the hallway with a series of breathless grunts.

She kicks him the entire way.

When he arrives at a heavy oak door, he bangs three times and throws it open.

The room is surprising. This is no torture chamber, filled with metal tables and metal chairs and the metallic taste of electricity on her tongue. It is warm and cozy, a roaring fireplace on one wall, armchairs strewn casually around, tall shelves lined with books.

In the middle of the room, stands Colonel Richter, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Please, come in,” he says cordially, laughter in his voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The guard dumps her in a sprawling heap and departs. In the flickering firelight, she struggles awkwardly to her feet and readies for battle.

“You again. What do you want? You know I won’t help you,” she snaps, her eyes roaming around the room, searching for threats.

Richter looks amused. Sipping his whiskey, he comes slowly closer until he is only inches from her face.

“First things first. Before, when you stole away in the dead of night - that was a bit rude, don’t you think?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

The quick crack of his backhand sends her stumbling sideways. The heavy ring he wears rips open a fat gash on her cheek and she instantly feels blood begin to ooze.

“Such language for a lady. Did you learn that from him? Let’s try again, shall we? I have a story for you and I’d like you to listen,” he says. “A few months ago, we were working on him and in the middle of one of his delirious rants, I hear something interesting. Can you guess?”

Glaring at him, she remains silent.

“No guesses?” he grins, raising his eyebrows. “Alright then. Through all the screaming and crying, I hear him say your god damn name. Imagine my surprise.”

The first prickles of confused fear skate up her back. “What the hell are you talking about?” she spits out.

“It took some digging, but we managed to trace the path he and that wretched group of assholes from his unit made the last couple years of the war. I sent a few search parties out, and low and behold - here you are.”

Bucky told her once, how he and Captain Rogers parachuted from an airplane. She remembers him laughing about the free-fall, how it made his stomach swoop in a million directions. That feeling of free-falling sweeps over her now, turning her blood to ice.

“What do you mean? Who?”

Richter smiles widely, his eyes gleaming. Grabbing the bloody ropes around her wrists, he yanks her forward and pushes her into the shadowy corner of the room.

“Wait here. I have a surprise for you.”

Outside the door, she hears voices arguing. The scuffle of feet and the sharp bite of an angry voice. Suddenly, the door swings open and four guards enter, dragging a fifth man.

From the dark shadows, she muffles a scream.

Bucky looks exhausted. Dressed in a long-sleeved green shirt and ragged brown pants, he’s thinner than the last time she saw him. Rings of black circle his eyes, the vibrant blue now dull and listless. All his beautiful dark hair has been buzzed short and she can see bloody sores scabbing over along his temples. The left sleeve of his wool shirt is empty, pinned up at his shoulder and his right arm is tucked behind him, a leather strap looped around his wrist and stretched across his chest, keeping his good arm immobile.

“You didn’t tell me it was a party,” he rasps mockingly. “I would’ve put on my fancy clothes.”

One of the guards grabs a fistful of his shirt and drags him closer. “Jesus Christ, I am so fucking sick of your fucking mouth,” he sneers and Bucky shoots him a cocky grin.

“Sweetheart, you’re adorable when you’re mad,” he stage-whispers. In the blink of an eye, the guard draws back his arm and smashes his fist into Bucky’s face. Dropping to his knees, Bucky’s mocking laugh turns into a rattling cough that comes up with a spray of blood and he spits strings of red on the floor. “Like being kissed by your mom,” he says weakly.

Swearing ferociously, the guard moves to kick him, but Richter holds up his hand.

“For god’s sake, every fucking time. You know he does this, why do you let him get to you?”

The guard is visibly furious, but he says nothing. Instead, he grabs Bucky by the back of his shirt, hauling him roughly to his feet. Bucky sways precariously, before he finds his balance. Taking several deep breaths, he fixes his mouth back into that mocking smirk and lifts his chin.

“Evening boys. What the fuck can I do for you today?”

Richter gives him a congenial smile. “We have a visitor tonight. I thought perhaps you’d like to meet her.”

Bucky barks out a hollow laugh. “I sincerely fuckin’ doubt that.”

Richter’s smile grows impossibly larger. “Well, let’s see, shall we?”

Pulling her from the shadows, he throws her forward and she stumbles into the light.

Here’s the thing.

Bucky Barnes is so weak, he can barely stay on his feet. For the last five days, he’s eaten nothing more than a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water. When he walks, he greatly favors his right side, still unbalanced by the loss of his left arm even a year later, and when he speaks, his voice has a perpetually guttural sound, his vocal cords shredded from months of screaming. Sprinkled across his shaved head, are a mess of pink scars where the dull razor blades they used bit cruelly into his scalp.

He looks exactly as one would expect. A prisoner of war.

For weeks, he’s been on the verge of collapse, but the moment he sees her, none of that matters.

Horrified disbelief fills his face and his eyes flick from the tears on her face, to the trickle of blood down her cheek, to the blood-soaked ropes around her wrists.

With a feral howl, he lunges toward her.

Throwing off the shocked guards at his side, he head-butts the man in front of him, sending him flying back. With a well-aimed kick, he knocks the legs from under the fourth guard and the man falls hard, before Bucky levels a savage kick to his head.

Richter laughs delightedly as he watches the show, until Bucky rushes for him. Lifting his gun, he sets it casually against her temple and cocks it. At the click of the hammer, Bucky skids to a stop, his mouth still twisted in a vicious snarl. Sweat dripping down his face, blood dripping from his busted lip, his chest heaves furiously.

“You god damn motherfucking cocksucking piece of shit, you let her go. Let her fuckin’ go, or I’ll fuckin’ gut you.”

“I thought so,” Richter says smugly. “So, our Soldier has something to fight for. How utterly inconvenient.”

“You’re god damn straight I fuckin’ do,” Bucky hisses, staggering under the rush of adrenaline. “Hurt her and I swear to god, I swear to fuckin’ god, I will slit your fuckin’ throat.”

With a dramatic sigh, Richter keeps his eyes on Bucky and bends down to speak in her ear.

“Apparently this one’s special, fights harder than anyone I’ve ever seen. Every time we wipe him, every memory comes back in a couple days. I don’t know what Zola did to him, but his brain fixes it too fast. Basically, he just won't fucking stay down.”

“Fuck no I won’t,” Bucky interrupts.

“See what I mean? You know what happened last time,” Richter says softly, his breath hot in her ear. “I don’t care if he is Zola’s little pet, he’s a wild fucking animal and I’m not above putting him down. So here we are. You fix him or I kill him. Your choice.”

“What the fuck is he talking about,” Bucky asks, looking directly at her now. “What - darlin, what the hell does he mean?”

Looking into his eyes, she thinks about that lovely blue. For the rest of her life, she knows she will see it everywhere. In everything.

Behind him, the guard he head-butted lumbers to his feet and manages to get his forearm locked around Bucky’s neck.

Richter stands behind her, waiting. Against her skin, he presses a light kiss and she shudders at the hideous feel.

“Come now. You love him, don’t you? Do the right thing.”

Clasped in a tight chokehold, she can see Bucky’s face turning red as he splutters for breath.

“No,” she chokes out. “I won’t. I won’t.”

Cruel fingers dig into the back of her neck and he hisses in her ear. “If you say no, I will put him in that chair and fry his fucking brain every single day for the rest of his life and I will make you watch. Even if he heals fast, he still screams like a baby. Trust me on that one.”

Bucky is still fighting, his throat working uselessly as he tries to draw a breath.

Every scenario, every choice, every possibility, flies through her head. Trying desperately to come up with a solution, with a way to save them both, she thinks and thinks and thinks.

And she comes up empty, because the answer is simple.

There is no solution.

Then what choice does she have?

She remembers the parade of men from before, the sound of their screams as the chair rocked bolts of electricity through them again and again. The thought of Bucky strapped in that chair, his body convulsing as the electric currents wrack his body, as he screams for her to help him - it is inconceivable. She knows what she has to do. She knows.

What choice does she have?

“Yes,” she sobs, her eyes filling with tears. “Fine, yes, I’ll do it, please just - let him go.”

Motioning to the guard, Richter points at the floor. The man releases his death-grip on Bucky’s throat, kicking his feet from under him and Bucky falls hard to his knees. Wrenching herself from Richter’s harsh grip, she rushes to catch him before Bucky’s face hits the floor.

“You have one minute,” Richter warns, fading into the shadows of the dark room. “And then you do it. If you leave anything behind again, I will kill him.”

After everything, here they are. Together.

Kneeling in front of the fireplace, the warm light cocoons them in their own world, one last time.

Bucky rests his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes when she cradles his thin frame against her. In the quiet room, his short, shallow breaths echo raggedly. Carefully, she runs her fingers soothingly up his neck, over the spiky tufts of dark hair and his body wilts in her tight embrace.

Sighing wearily, he picks his head up and touches his forehead to hers. Cupping his face, she brushes her fingers over the scratchy stubble lining his sunken cheeks and he gives her a rueful smile.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking. You okay with a one-armed husband?” he breathes. “Promise I can still love you just as hard.”

Tears streaming down her face, she returns his smile. “I love it. It makes you look dashing.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” he replies, pushing his nose against hers. Precious seconds slip by as they sit in silence, breathing each other in. Both trying their damndest to remember everything about the other, before they lose it all. Finally, she whispers her favorite words in his ear.

“I love you, Bucky.”

He hums contentedly and smiles. “I love you too. Don’t ever forget it, okay? I know I won’t.”

It takes every last drop of willpower for her not break down. Because he will forget. He will forget, and she will make certain that he does.

Rubbing her cheek against his, she presses her lips to the shell of his ear, giving him one more thing that the rest of the world cannot take. Something that is theirs, and theirs alone.

“You’re everything for me, Bucky Barnes. You’re the love of my life,” she murmurs, and he leans his head against her. When he opens his eyes, she finds an endless ocean of sadness pouring from the blue depths and he speaks quickly under his breath.

“Listen to me. Whatever happens, I need you to do something for me, okay?” The desperate urgency in his voice makes her heart skip. “No matter what happens, don’t you dare stay here. I can see it in your face honey, don’t you stay here, stuck in this room inside your head, thinking you could’ve done something different. You understand me?”

Swallowing hard, she tries to answer, but he cuts her off. The words are full of fear, holding a message he needs her to accept. “Please, I’m begging you. When you get out of here, you find a way to go on. Find a way to live.”

Losing him again will break her. That fact is as certain as the sun rising in the east.

There’s no way she can do this again, but in her heart, she knows that’s not what he needs. He needs her to agree, he needs her to try, and if she has to send his mind into a graveyard of buried memories, at least she can do this one thing for him.

She owes their love that much.

“I will,” she says. “I promise, I will.”

“That’s my girl,” he whispers with a tired smile. Staring into his eyes, she does everything she can to memorize the love she finds there, before Bucky gives her a crooked smile and tells her one more secret. “You know what? I don’t regret anything that happened. If I had to do it all over, I wouldn’t change one damn thing. It all led me to you, and I’ll remember every piece of us to the end. Because this kind of love, it never leaves. Right?”

“No, it never leaves,” she echoes. Placing her hands on his cheeks, she kisses him full on the mouth, tasting blood and salt and love, trying with her whole heart to carve even a small bit of herself into his bones.

Breaking the kiss, her heart plummets at the sight of his sweet smile.

Blinking away her tears, she takes a deep breath.

And then she tears her entire world apart.

Surprise fills Bucky’s face when he feels the heat begin to pulse from her hands, when he sees the soft glow of white light from her fingers. Watching her in confusion, his lips part as though he wants to say something, but no words come. Concentrating harder than she ever has before, she gathers everything, all those beautiful memories that make Bucky Barnes the man he has become and she wipes them all away.

All his stories about the Howling Commandos. That spring day he caught a foul ball at a Dodgers game. Steve Rogers’ floppy blond hair shining in the summer sun at Coney Island. The way his mother sang while she baked, and the fairytales he read his sister before bed. How he felt looking in the mirror the first time he put on his uniform, pale and scared to death. Watching a brilliant red sun sinking in the ocean, the day he sailed for England. Every memory he has of her. The thrill of their first kiss and the way she held his arm when he walked her home from church and the first time they made love and how nervous he felt asking her to marry him.

How god damn much he loves her.

Every colorful memory he owns, she siphons away. Nothing is left behind, because this time, she can take no chances.

The white light burns hotter, so bright Bucky squeezes his eyes closed and still she watches him through it all, until finally, finally, finally -

She lets go.

Bucky slumps unconscious, his chin tucked to his chest. Pressing one final kiss to his forehead, her silent tears splash to the floor. She wants to stay forever, to be there when he opens his eyes, to force herself back into this new life, to make him remember her. To make him remember who they are together.

My god. Oh my god, what has she done.

Before she can say a word, the guards rip him from her arms. Dragging him away, his head lolls to the side and the last thing she sees, before they exit the room, are Bucky’s eyes beginning to flutter open.

“Wait -“ she says, panic filling every last cell in her body, “no, please wait, don’t - please, where are you taking him?”

“He has work to do,” Richter says dismissively.

Sick with heartbreak and drowning in regret, she remains kneeling on the floor, and every last piece of her soul shatters.

*****

Day later, there’s a screech of metal, and her door bangs open.

Richter saunters in, a length of cloth folded over his arm. Behind him, is the Hydra guard who escorted her from her cell last time, his gun cocked and aimed.

Caked in dried mud and an obscene amount of blood, the bright blue of Bucky’s Howlie jacket is nearly unrecognizable. The left arm is mostly torn away, the thick material hanging in ragged strips below the elbow. With a grunt, Richter tears away a piece of fabric at the shoulder and tosses it at her.

“Here. Thought you might want this,” he says coldly.

At her feet, the cloth looks dark and dirty, but in the midst of grimy blue, she sees the gray wings Bucky had sewn into his jacket sleeve. She remembers tracing her fingers over them, asking what they meant. Bucky had grinned, his chest swelling with a bit of pride, before he wove tales for her about the Howling Commandos. He glossed over their missions and focused on the men instead, and she remembers how wonderfully he could tell a story. The small bits of humor he found amid the bleakness of war painted a bright world for her to see.

Now, she picks it up, touching the rusty-red smudges lining the edges of the wings. She looks up at him.

“Why?”

Richter says nothing, but a grim smile pulls at his lips. He draws out the pause, savoring the expectation in her face, before carelessly dropping a bomb.

“Zola lost him during a routine experiment. He coded on the table. Guess we haven’t made our soldiers as durable as we need just yet.”

This bomb, it finishes the job Steve’s telegram began. For the second time, she learns the love of her life is dead and now there is nothing but cold emptiness where her heart used to be.

“We no longer require your services. We have a new machine that should work just fine,” he tilts his head, looking down at her. “But thank you for your help.”

Spinning on his heel, he shoves the remains of the blue coat at the guard still waiting in the doorway.

“Burn it,” he orders. “And leave her here to rot.”

The door bangs shut and the lock clicks with a sickening finality.

*****

No food. No water.

For two days, she hears footsteps marching back and forth in front of her door. Something seems to be happening, but through it all, no one pays attention to the woman locked in the cell at the end of the hall, waiting to die.

In her dreams, she sees Bucky strapped to a table exactly like the one they used for her. Was he scared? Did he go willingly or did he fight? Did it happen quickly? Did it hurt? Did he realize what was happening before his heart stopped?

Was there any part of him, maybe buried deep down, that loved her to the end?

She dismisses that last thought. No, of course there wasn’t. She made sure of that fact.

In a strange way, she finds a perverse relief in Bucky’s death. At least this way, he will never know how she betrayed him.

Perhaps if there is an afterlife, someday she can find him there and beg his forgiveness.

On the morning of the third day, sunlight flows through the rectangular window near the ceiling and she waits on her bed. For someone to come. Anyone. To save her. To kill her. Either would work, she’s not picky. Watching the slow crawl of sunlight move across the floor, she counts the minutes, until she notices something peculiar.

Silence.

Sitting up takes a massive effort and rising to her feet almost knocks her out. Knees wobbling dangerously, her sweaty hand presses to the wall for balance, and she stumbles to the door.

“Hello?” she croaks, but it comes as nothing more than a rough whisper. Wrapping her fingers around the bars of the door, she rests her forehead against the cold metal. Summoning her strength, she tries again. “Is anyone there?”

Silence.

No one answers. No lights illuminate the hallway. There is no hum of electricity, no sound of a distant radio playing, no raucous laughter. There is no one there.

So. They left her to die then.

Angry tears fill her eyes, and she bangs a weak fist on the door. Without expecting a solution, she grabs the door handle and rattles it, hot tears spilling over and streaking through the dirt on her cheeks.

But miraculously - the door opens.

Stepping cautiously into the doorway, she scans the hallway and finds nothing. Perplexed, she looks down and her confusion grows. Outside the door, a cloth bundle is propped against the wall. Crouching down, she hesitantly pulls at the loose knot and it falls open, revealing a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, two apples, and a cracked leather canteen full of water.

Common sense screams at her to think, but she throws caution to the wind. Grabbing the canteen with trembling fingers, she flips the lid and chugs the cold water. It has a dusty, alkaline taste, but she cries with relief. Tearing off a hunk of bread, she stuffs it in her mouth, her eyes drifting closed at the taste. It hits the hollowness in her belly so fast, she almost retches, but she manages to keep it down.

The rest, she wraps up in the cloth sack and hugs it to her chest.

She walks down the hall. Through a small office, down another hall.

With every step, she expects to be stopped. But nothing happens.

At the end of the hall, is a heavy black door. When she opens it, sunlight spills in and she takes a deep breath of fresh air.

From the outside, the base looks like a series of old buildings, but there is literally nothing else. No people. No vehicles. Nothing but the peppy chirp of birds warbling in the trees. For one brief moment, she stands in the morning light and thinks about giving up. Such a soothing thought.

But then the sound of Bucky’s voice fills her head.

Find a way to live.

The years that follow will be filled with devastating sadness, but beneath it all, she will hold these words close to her heart. She can do this for him.

So, she starts walking.

Down the ruts of the narrow access road leading away from the building, one foot in front of the other. She anticipates bullets hitting her from behind, but nothing happens. On she walks, through a forest of trees, one step after another. Into the open, where the access road joins up with a small country lane. She turns left and keeps going. Five slow miles she traipses along, until a town appears.

On the edge of the main street, she sees a small grocery store and walks inside. Covered in grime, shivering from head to toe, she tries to speak, but instead, she collapses. An older woman looks up from behind the counter, and her curls of thick black hair bounce when she rushes around the front counter shouting in Italian for help.

For two weeks, she stays there recovering, but no one comes.

In that sleepy Italian town, she finally understands.

After everything she has done, after everything they stole from her, after they broke her one last time - it appears that Hydra really was finished with her.

With freedom should come relief, but that is an emotion reserved for saints, not sinners like her. What she has done, she can never undo.

She will live with that fact, from now until the end of her days.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky fic #altnl

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