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kenzieam · 3 years

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Remember Me - Chapter One

@jewels2876 @moonbeambucky @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iammarylastar@captstefanbrandt @badassbaker @pinknerdpanda @oliviastan17 @mizzzpink

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

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Rating: M

Warnings: Major angst, drama, sorrow, pain, suffering, language, my usual shit

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FEEDBACK IS LIFE, Y’ALL!

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Lev is newly born, her entire life up until the last mission gone. How does she navigate these new waters where she doesn’t remember anything anymore? And what to make of the heartbreaking way Bucky is always looking at her now?

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

My head hurts and I’m getting tired of the endless questions, but the people milling around me can’t seem to accept what I keep saying, over and fucking over.

“You don’t remember me?”

I study him, if only to give the impression that I’m trying really hard to remember but it’s all a blank, just a big fucking expanse of white. Not overly tall, tailored suit and smart-ass twist to his lips. “No.”

He glances at one of the others, a quiet, introspective guy who’s been doing most of the medical shit and only receives a shrug in return.

“C’mon Banner, what the hell is going on?” The little one asks, sounding surprisingly distressed.

Who are these people and why do they care so much if I know them?

“I told you,” the one called Banner begins, voice quiet and somehow chronically sad. “She can’t remember; going by my preliminary findings, it’s most-likely post-traumatic retrograde amnesia.”

“What? She hit her head or something?” The little guy looks around at the rest of them, hands out in exasperated query.

I consider answering, something cutting and acerbic about the blood-stained uniform I wear, the bruises and cuts and cracked bones that Banner has already splinted and given me lovely drugs for, but it seems like too much effort and really, if the suit can’t deduce that something went down out there based on how I look and feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, I’m not going to waste my breath.

A tall blond who’s holding his side gingerly answers, flicking a glance at me as if he’s read my apparently scrambled mind. Judging by the way the others pay attention to him, I’m guessing he’s one of the bosses. There’s a reassuring steadiness about him and I see why he’s the one everyone looks to for answers. “Yes, Tony. She hit her head, Kozlov had a few dirty tricks laid out that we got stuck in.”

The one called Tony shrugs, looking inexplicably pissed. “The rest of you look okay.”

That was far from true, every single one of them was bleeding or bruised somewhere, but if he was referring to the fact that no one else was sitting there unable to remember anything personal, then he was right. A petite redhead, her arm in a sling, shifted her weight, throwing a dirty glance at Tony, while a handsome black guy, one whole side of his uniform scorched and torn but the skin beneath thankfully intact, scoffed, looking ready to say something in return if not for the blond glancing warningly at him over his shoulder but my attention was on the brown-haired man hovering in the shadows.

As tall as the blond and heavily muscled, chocolate brown hair hung lank in a stunningly beautiful face, all the more striking because of his almost supernatural blue eyes but the most defining feature by far was his shiny, metal left arm. He looked like he was struggling with the urge to simultaneously destroy something in rage and collapse into tears, the dichotomy both fascinating and unsettling. Although heavily injured, at least to my eyes, he’d eschewed all attempts at help, insisting on everyone else being taken care of first. He’d spent most of the time here in this sterile room watching me, something indecipherable in his stare. He seemed to be taking this amnesia business far more personally than anyone else, eyes red-rimmed and swimming in tears, even as his fists, one metal and one flesh, clenched at his sides.

“I know,” the blond replies, sounding chagrined and I look his way once more, curious despite the pain in my head. He flicks his eyes to me, and I’m surprised at the distress there. “Lev took a hit meant for all of us.”

I did? Why? And is that my name, Lev?

The anguish in the metal-armed guy seems to overflow at the blonde’s words and he turns away, hammering his synthetic fist against the wall, the sound barely concealing his sob, but the group appears remarkably indifferent to his reaction, as if used to it; maybe he’s the emotional one of the team.

Or maybe, based on the way he’s been watching you; this news hurts him more.

Whatever, my head frickin’ hurts and I just want to lie down, we can all play twenty-questions later.

Banner seems to notice my weariness first and steps closer, freezing when I tense then seeming to accept my reaction almost sadly. “C’mon, let’s leave her alone. She needs to rest.”

“She can’t go to her quarters…” the redhead begins, looking between the one named Tony, Banner and the blond, glancing once apologetically at the brunette, who’s turned away from the wall to watch us again, but looks like he is barely holding on. A strange compulsion hits me, to leap off the exam table, rush to him and hold him close but it makes no goddamn sense, I don’t know this man, I need to go lie down, like Banner said.

“No.” Banner agrees, and he too flicks a look at the man, seemingly sorry to agree with the woman. “That won’t work… not right now…. Anyway, she needs to be monitored closely for the next day or so, I’d feel better if she stays here.”

Whatever, I can’t think about this, everything hurts too goddamn much. The darkness swirls up again and, rather than fighting it, I embrace it, faintly registering my body sway and tip over, the impact with the bed probably painful but I’m too gone to notice.

********************************************************************************** Heavy breathing wakes me later and I slit my eyes open, trying to find the source. Whoever it is, they sound like they’re fighting tears and my heart cracks at the sound. I imagine the sound of anyone crying is something I don’t particularly want to hear, but something about this person’s anguish is particularly cutting.

It’s the brown-haired man, the one with the metal arm. He sits to my side, hunched over, face buried in his hands and massive shoulders shaking. It’s disconcerting to see someone so physically imposing and large looking so… broken but there’s some serious shit going on with this guy.

Before I can move though, shift my hand to brush his knee or anything really to help him, the blond appears at the doorway. I can barely make his features out, due to the dim lighting and my barely-opened eyes, but he’s not looking at me anyway. I close my eyes again, it’s easier.

“Buck, c’mon man.” He murmurs, stepping further into the room. “You need to lay down.”

Buck, okay; that’s his name.

“She’s gone, Steve.”

No, I’m not. I’m not dead.

“No, she’s not.”

Thank you, Steve.

“Her memory is! She can’t remember us; she doesn’t remember me.”

“Bruce hopes it’ll all come back.”

“What if it doesn’t?” There’s a horrible resignation in his deep voice, a stark question.

“Then we’ll deal with it.”

“She’s everything to me, Steve. She’s my life, you know this. If all we had is gone-”

“Stop it.” There’s an edge in Steve’s voice now, but I get the impression it’s not anger, but the same fear currently affecting Buck. “She will come out of this. You know as well as I do that Tony and Bruce won’t rest until they figure this out.”

Buck scoffs, but it’s half-hearted and I feel a calloused hand take mine. The touch is gentle, if a little desperate. It feels like he’s saying goodbye.

I hear Steve step in further, a hand slap lightly on a shoulder. “C’mon.” He says again and I hear the chair scratch as Buck stands. A moment later dry lips brush my forehead.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” Buck murmurs but then my shadows are dragging me down again and if he says anything more, I don’t hear it.

********************************************************************************** The next days pass with painful slowness, dragging like rusty blades across my skin and, based on the faint scars I find on my inner arms and thighs, that’s something the old me used to do with heartbreaking regularity.

What sort of life did I lead, that made inflicting pain on myself acceptable?

I want to stay away from the others, but it’s made difficult by their damn persistence. I’m given some space but not nearly as much as I crave. They all mean well but being asked a hundred times if some location or activity ‘triggers anything?’ gets old. And Banner, Bruce now as I’ve learned is his first name, has a thousand and one ways to try and restart my memory.

But it all remains frustratingly blank.

I remember nothing, not one thing about my life before waking up in the quinjet, everyone hovering over me looking like I’d gone and died on them a time or two.

But apparently there’s records and I spent the first few days that Bruce insisted I stay in the medical labs working my way through them.

I was an orphan, raised in a series of group homes and shoddy orphanages, fighting for scraps. Faint memories trickle back as I read this, just flashes and hints but, based on what I’m reading, that’s a good thing. Sometimes they seem little better than nightmares.

And it explains the scars.

After slumming around in dead-end jobs for a while I, seemingly on a whim, applied to SHIELD and passed the entrance exam, a surprise given my basic background, lack of higher education and chip on my shoulder regarding authority.

Following one particularly ugly assignment, where I completely disregarded orders and then told my commanding officer to go fornicate with himself, I was offered a choice.

Leave SHIELD in disgrace, or volunteer as a guinea pig, only I wasn’t supposed to call it that, even if I was.

For what exactly I had no idea, but that didn’t seem to stop me and, after a half-dozen unsuccessful tests where I nearly got my head blown off more that once testing out experimental weapons, (an expendable resource for R&D), I was offered up to Tony and Bruce.

And what a proposition they’d had for me.

For years Stark had been working on perfecting a serum similar to what his father and Erskine had used on the blond I now knew was called Steve and, with Banner’s help, he’d achieved a version he was fairly confident in.

For whatever reason, they saw something in me (that I did not and had never seen in myself) and the multiple personality and psychiatric tests that were standard at SHIELD and felt I was worthy of the opportunity. Or maybe just perfectly expendable, with no family or close friends to speak of.

And I’d apparently had no sense because I’d agreed to let them test it on me.

If the serum had failed, as it had the few other times Stark had felt confident enough to try it on a real person, I would have probably been booted out of SHIELD entirely, left to my own flawed devices; but it hadn't and I’d become the first successful recipient of serum since Rogers himself, at least for our side. There was a section included in my reading on HYDRA and their Winter Soldier program, including a group of volunteers who’d been executed by their handlers that I skimmed over, feeling the strangest sense of discomfort.

Anyway, with that came the transference to the team, and my first exposure to The Avengers.

That was as far as I got before Bruce cleared me to leave medical, despite the near crippling headaches I was still suffering from, and I was glad for it, being awakened every few hours (usually just after I’d managed to nod off again) had gotten old fast.

The topic of my quarters was still a touchy subject apparently, because I was led to a furnished but plain set of rooms to make myself at home. Steve was the one to take me and his shoulders stiffened when I asked if this was where I had lived before.

“No,” he replies quietly, not looking directly at me.

I was getting really tired of being spoon-fed inf0rmation, at the rate everyone else had decided I could handle it and there was obviously more here than Steve was willing to tell me. “Then where did I live before? Why can’t I go back there now?”

“Lev-” Although I didn’t remember this man, the look of reluctance on his face was universal. He doesn’t want to tell me.

“Goddammit, would someone tell me the truth?” I snap, slamming my fist into the wall, only a small part of me sorry for my outburst. “Why is everyone lying to me?”

“We’re not lying!” Steve almost shouts and I get the sense that this big man rarely raised his voice like this because his face went pink and blotchy and he looked away from me. “Look, Lev. This is hard for everyone-”

I snort, because really.

“No, it’s true.” He returns, finally meeting my eyes. “We just don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“By taking me to an empty room?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Its not a good idea for you to go to your old quarters.”

“Why not?”

He looks downright miserable now. “Because you share them with someone.” He lifts his gaze to me, beseeching me to stop asking, to not press him further.

To hell with that. “Who?”

“Lev.”

“Who?!”

“No,” he shakes his head and get the feeling he’s digging in his heels. “Bruce said it’s dangerous to overload you with information, I’ve already said too much. Don’t ask again.”

There’s such misery on his face I pause. “Was it you?”

He starts slightly, fighting to hide it. “No.”

I feel bad suddenly, pressing him like this. It’s not his fault I can’t remember anything (at least I don’t think it is) and he’s just the poor bastard that got tasked with showing me my new room. A headache flares up with sickening strength and I suddenly don’t care anymore who I shared space with. “Okay, thanks.” I reach for the knob, hoping to keep my face from betraying my pain.

“Lev-”

“I’m going to go lay down now, Rogers. Thanks.”

I close the door in his face before he can answer.

************************************************************************************ Murmured words against my throat.

Soft lips caress my pulse-point.

A soft, stroking touch.

Heat and weight as someone stretches out on top of me, the feeling welcoming and familiar.

A knee between my thighs, a shuddered exhale.

“I love you, baby.” A tender voice.

I wake to a dark room, cold and alone. There is nobody with me, no one whispering tenderly in my ear. Whoever they were, I trusted them completely, felt one hundred percent safe with them and…. Shit, loved them in return.

But who?

My brain has been too scrambled, my interactions with the team too awkward and stilted to give me any clues. Nobody so far has sparked anything in me like that, male or female; not that I’m prejudiced, but the weight on me, the timbre of the voice says it was a man I loved.

Steve says it wasn’t him, but that doesn’t really narrow it down. There’s apparently a thunder god running around out there somewhere I haven’t met in my new form, and his brother, plus a multitude of others, it’s all a jumbled maze in my head right now.

I could be standing right next to this person and not have a fucking clue, thanks to the tangled spaghetti in my brain.

It’s been a week since I was escorted to these empty rooms and I’ve rarely ventured out, preferring solitude to everyone’s well-meaning ‘help’. It’s not like I’m partying it up or anything, most of the time I sleep, exhausted and baby-weak, trying to remember my life when I’m awake, which usually just leads to more sleeping.

The others do get in unfortunately, because even though it’s exhausting and draining to talk with people, see the hope in their eyes that their words are going to somehow trigger some memory in me, it’s also strangely lonely by myself. I don’t have myself in my head anymore to keep me interested, the general background noise of a busily-humming brain. Mine is still shell-shocked, with no files to sort through for entertainment.

The dreams, or perhaps memories, continue. Not all the time, but enough to make me think they’re more than simple fantasy. The whispered words, the warmth of someone’s strong, muscular body. I’d sit down and try to figure it out if I didn’t now have the attention span of three-year old and the napping habits of a ninety-year-old.

“It’ll come back.” Bruce reassures me, but I’m not sure who he’s talking to, me or him.

“The memories,” I clarify. “Or everything?”

“Everything?”

“My… ties with people, friendships?”

Bruce shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know. It’s still too early to tell, but with traumatic brain injury there is always the risk of permanent damage, personality changes. You being serum-enhanced just makes it a bigger question mark. Steve has never experienced something like this, and Bucky’s amnesia was an entirely different set of circumstances.”

I’ve learned since that first strange encounter with him, that his name isn’t in fact Buck, but Bucky, and both are nicknames for his real name, James; but that’s about it. The guy avoids me like the plague, and I guess that’s fair, since Bruce just said he’s experienced something the same but different, and probably doesn’t want to be reminded about it.

Once or twice, I’ve brought up Bucky to Steve, the first time in curiosity, the second to see if I imagined the first reaction. Both times his face went red and he suddenly couldn’t speak clearly, suffering from an acute case of the mumbles.

It would be telling, his reactions, if I actually remembered the man and whether he was a frequent sufferer of such things, or if my questions are hitting a particularly sore nerve.

“How’s your headaches?” Bruce continues, watching me carefully.

“You tell me, I know you’ve got that computer thing watching me all the time, what’s it called, MONDAY?”

He smiles faintly. “FRIDAY, and it’s for your own protection. You insist on being alone but if you ever suffered a seizure or was suddenly overcome with pain or-”

“I’m fine, really Banner. Don’t need a babysitter.”

“Right now, you do. Sorry Lev, I know that offends your sense of independence.”

“I have a sense of independence?”

“Yes, you were very self-reliant. That didn’t stop you from maintaining strong relationships with the team, but you preferred to nurse any wounds or injuries only in the company of a select few.”

“Them being?”

He grimaces, the same ‘oh shit’ look on his face as Rogers and we’re back into the ‘keeping Lev in the dark for her own good’ bullshit. “Lev-”

“Either tell me or leave me alone, Banner. I’m drowning in ‘what’s good for me’ around here.”

“Lev,” he looks genuinely hurt and I feel bad for a heartbeat. “We just want to help you, this is as strange and new to us as it is for you, we don’t know what will trigger memories for you, or overload you-”

“I know.” I heave a sigh because, as much as it grieves and frustrates me, I do get the sense that these people truly care about me and want what’s best for me.

“Do you feel well enough to try some exercise?”

I shrug, was that something I was into before? The toned lines of my body say yes but, as with everything, I have no memory of gym training.

“You have retrograde amnesia Lev; your personal memories are affected but not the practical ones. Your body remembers repetitive activities, you can dress and feed yourself, if you went down to the training area your body would remember your exercise routine, your muscles would take over.” He paused, weighing his next words. “No guarantees, but it might help trigger your memory as well.”

I nod absently because I’m wondering the same thing. There’s small bits and flashes that I remember now, but they only come if I’m not trying to remember. My mind needs to be blank and floating, basically concentrating on the opposite of thinking and sometimes I’ll get a little hit, some quick blip. Mostly it’s early memories so far, before I joined SHIELD or the team, but I’m starting to get a sense of the scrappy orphan I was, fighting more often than not, learning street smarts more than books.

I don’t feel like talking anymore and if the old me felt the need to exit conversations gracefully, the new one doesn’t. I stand, surprising Bruce and force a smile. “Okay, see you later?”

He recovers quickly and smiles. “Yes, Lev. Later, and I’m here anytime you need to talk, okay?”

Start actually answering my questions and I will, I think bitterly as I leave.

I find gym clothes in the bag someone packed for me, as well as a set of earbuds. Huh, maybe I’ll get more of sense of who Lev was if I listen to her music choices too.

The training area is empty when I get there, which is better than I’d hoped for. I don’t want anyone watching me right now or, even worse, trying to help.

I jab experimentally at the display on the treadmill and start walking. Bruce’s right, the practical shit is still here, I can work a treadmill, but if you asked me what my favourite colour was, I’d be lost.

Oh well, at least this gives me something to do besides sleep.

After a while, I speed up, moving into a jog. Even though I’m still stiff and sore, it feels good to move, and my body seems to remember doing it and doing it well. I catch sight of me in the mirrors and can’t help but smile. I don’t know how much is hard work and how much is the serum, but I love this body, it’s toned curves and latent strength… if only my brain would catch up.

The doors open and I look up, turning down some bass-heavy rap song that old me used to listen to and stumble on the track.

He looks as surprised to see me as I do him.

The infamous and rarely glimpsed Bucky.

He dithers at the door, clearly torn between continuing what he was doing or turning and leaving before setting his square jaw and marching inside. He nods once to me, averting his eyes and heads directly to the weights section.

I try not to stare as he gets started, putting in his own set of earbuds and grabbing a large set of dumbbells. Sweet baby Jesus, but the man is a work of art, and strong as an ox to boot.

I turn up my treadmill and music, forcing myself to look away because, damn.

But, despite myself, my eyes occasionally track back over.

Sweat darkens his tank top, his metal arm shining under the lights. His skin glows with good health and effort, each muscle cut and sharply defined. Small tendrils escape his man bun, sticking to his cheeks and the back of his neck. I can’t hear him over my music, but I imagine a very manly series of grunts as he works, straining at the weights, pushing for each rep. Maybe he swears too, the occasional gasped ‘fuck’ that wouldn’t be out of place in bed either-

Jesus. Calm the fuck down.

My fingers fly over the controls and some program flashes across the screen, something with lots of hills and valleys, whatever and, for awhile, I’m too busy trying to keep up to worry about Bucky. Then, movement nearby makes me flinch, a completely unexpected reaction.

Bucky, a few treadmills away, freezes at my response, something sad crossing his face, dimming the hope I see there, it looks like he was approaching me tentatively, perhaps to talk, and I had to go and spaz instead. I swallow, trying to think of something to say, a feat in itself since this program I chose is actually quite demanding and I’m working my ass off to keep up but, before I can think of anything, everything swirls grey and my knees give out. A loud thump hits my ears and I wonder if it’s my body bouncing off the track, but it doesn’t matter, because the comfort of oblivion has wrapped around me again and nothing else matters.

Raised voices wake me later, that and another monster of a headache. This is getting old, fast and I struggle to make sense of what’s going on around me.

“We need to tell her; she needs to know!”

“She needs to know, or you need her to know?”

It’s hazy, but I recognize the voices, Bucky and Steve, apparently arguing about something I need, or Bucky needs me to know. But then another voice weighs in, Bruce this time.

“We can’t rush her; this seizure just proves how fragile she still is.”

“No, the seizure was because someone told her she was okay to go to the gym!” Bucky snaps. “Who the fuck said that?” The way he asks it says he already knows and through slitted eyes, I see him squared off with the quiet doctor, his face a stormcloud of emotion, scary even. Steve intervenes, stepping deliberately between them. Tony appears, seemingly out of nowhere and the whole tense stand-off is dragged outside the medical lab, the doors cutting off any sound.

I can’t keep up with this shit and I let the darkness take me once more. Sleep is infinitely better right now than cryptic conversations I clearly was not meant to hear.

The next time I wake, my head is better, but my body still aches; what did I hit on the way down and I seriously consider just trying to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but there’s someone sitting beside me again.

It’s Bucky and he’s staring blankly at my hand, which is currently twined with his, tears in his eyes. He looks like sitting here beside me is absolutely killing him, or is it me? Something about me is hurting him. Does he feel bad I fell in the gym in front of him? Were we friends before all this happened?

I swallow painfully and the motion startles him back to life. He looks at me with indescribable pain in his eyes, like he’s dying to say something but can’t, maybe won’t. He’s the one I heard saying I needed to know earlier, what did he mean, what is so earth-shattering that the others seem to think I don’t need to hear yet?

His other hand reaches up and, I must still be semi-dreaming, because he strokes my forehead gently, an easy intimacy, like he has a right to my body and then he murmurs, so softly I almost don’t hear it.

“Baby.”

I jolt, but before I can get myself together enough to speak, he stands, giving me one last heartbreaking glance before leaving and I lay there for a long time in shock.

His voice; the few times I’ve heard him speak it was always in anger, arguing with Bruce or Steve or someone; I’ve never heard him tender, speaking softly and, now that I have, more questions flood into my tangled brain.

His voice is the one I hear in my dreams, the one that makes me feel safe and loved.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky and lev #bucky and levi #bucky barnes drama #the avengers

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martaare-llopart · 4 years

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Beloved...

Tw: This drawing & oneshot are settled on the canon comic “ Batman: death of the maidens”. This contains abuse and brief mentions of past torture.

Talia deserved much better than what happened to her

*:..。o○☆○o。..:*゜*:..。o○☆○o。..:*゜

She looked pitiful, fully naked and trembling as a leaf, her lips purple from hypothermia. Nyssa smirked at her pittiful half sister. Her body was full of scars she had inflicted on her, her revenge will soon be completed.

Talia, on the other hand hugged herself tightly, trying to ease the sharp cold. Her mouth tasted acidic from the pit’s water she had swallowed on and on. Her green eyes, dull and lifeless looked at the murky green waters below, she felt Nyssa move, until a few days she had been the closest thing she ever had to a bestfriend. Who she thought understood and loved her.

But no, she had once again been a ploy to anger her father. The incessant tourture Nyssa was inflicting on her made her mind crack more and more, Death was traumatic, and in a few days she had died more than 20 times.

There was a tiny ray of hope, a thick but slim line that held her mind together.

“ Where are you, my beloved?” Her breaking mind tried to ease the pain. Thoughts of her beloved Batman, her beloved Bruce… It had been so long since she could gaze into his beautiful azure eyes, feel his glove caress her skin, as he kissed her-

“GASP!” A sharp breath cut her line of thoughts as Nyssa,her first and only friend aproached with a sword, Talia’s own sword.

“N-Ny-Nyssa-” her throat burned, the acidic taste of the water of Lazarus stinged. She saw Nyssa raise her sword, aiming directly at her heart, sunking it util shs pierced it. Talia’s breath got caught in her throat as blood started to drip from her mouth.

“ You will feel what real punishment and pain are, dear sister” She grinned madly.

Talia felt the hairs on her arms stand from the cold and dread that overtook her,her purple, dry and cut lips trembled, her hair, once silky and beautiful was tangled and abused. Angry red scars of Nyssa’s “"gifts to father"started to feel numb as her vision blacked slowly.

Harshly, the blade was taken off, splating the mad woman behind Talia. She saw her weakly try to craw away and grinned like a cat. With her heavy boot she stepped on her fingers as she slightly bend to be closer to her ear.

“See you soon, my dear little sister~”

Her boot collided against Talia’s abused back, pushing her over the edge and down the green thick water of the pit. Nyssa’s cackle echoed in the room as she saw closely how her half-sister fell down.

Painful hot tears slipped down her sun kissed bruised cheeks as Talia close her eyes, awaiting the harsh landing on the water, that would make her unconscious again.

She just could see Bruce, his smile, his eyes… How happy they both were while on Paris. How his lips felt like that missing piece of herself.

And Damian, her little babyboy, with a smile as sweet as sugar and those perfect greenish-blue eyes… her little baby how she missed him so, singing him his favorite lullaby cuddle him while on his naps, see him laugh just one more time

Soon…soon she will be able to escape this hell, get away from her father and find a secure place. She will pick Damian back to raise him and live that normal life she craved for so long.

“Beloved…” her hoarse voice came as a mumble as the pit’s surface came closer. “ please… take care of Damian…please”- she recited as a mantra.

As her body harshly hit the pit, just as if she had fall on harsh concrete. Her bones cracked as she swallowed the disgusting green water. Just one last phrase escaped her lips in form of bubbles.

“Beloved… Come for me… Help me…”

As the air of her lungs dissapeared and her eyes closed, a calmn relaxed smile on her pretty face.

Her beloved would soon find her and take her home with her beautiful Damian.

Soon she will be free.

Her beloved would never abandon her.

Talia’s unconscious body sank in the pit futher, the attentives eyes of Nyssa watching her.

But Batman never came.

Her beloved didn’t save her.

Nyssa smirked as she planned new ideas to torture her sister when she raised. Ra’s would feel true pain once she was done.

As bubbles reached the surface, Talia’s face stayed relaxed.

Her beloved would come.

He would.

If not, the circle would keep going on and on.

*:..。o○☆○o。..:*゜*:..。o○☆○o。..:*゜

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trampledcactusboy · 6 years

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Opposites Attract (Joker X Gender Neutral Reader)

READER’S POV

Cold

Is what his skin felt like on mine.

Sour

Is what his breath smelt like in my face.

Dark

Are what his eyes shaded into once trained on me.

Loud

Were the warning thoughts swarming through my head.

His hand was wrapped firmly around my neck, his bulky rings digging indents into my delicate skin I was sure would be seen in the form of bruises come morning.

My back was pushed up against the brick wall, almost painfully so.

I arrived here in strides of pride.

My aura had a nasty stench of confidence he quickly sniffed out amongst my team.

The second I stepped through the doors of this warehouse… I didn’t stand a chance.

My eyes shifted to my left to see Bruce knocked unconscious, thick ropes tied around his sloping figure on the concrete floor.

Next to him was Barry, who’s pupils were dilating and shrinking over and over in a desperate attempt to take control, his mouth dropped open and hands shaking- no, jolting -like crazy as the “shock syndrome” drug took easy effect throughout his system.

I glanced to my right.

Diana was asleep, the drug taking an alternative effect on her supernaturally strong body.

Not to far away from her sprawled out self was Arthur who was ruthlessly shoved into what could only be described as a human cage due to his brutal restraint against the unwanted injections.

I swallowed at the realization I was now alone, a small gasp for air occurring from the slight choking sensation Joker was causing.

I focused myself, forcing my sight to go back to the green haired man before me, our eyes locking instantly.

“Yeah, train those pretty e/c eyes on me. I love the attention.” He drawled out sinisterly, that sickly smile permanent on his whitened face.

“Why don’t you just get it over with? You’ve won.” I rasp out, feeling defeated on all fronts from this turn of events. We hadn’t expected an ambush, thus us charging in thoroughly unprepared.

“Oh no no no, pet. I’m not going to stick you. You’re too precious for that, aren’t you?” He mused, his unoccupied hand reaching up to gently stroke my cheek with the back of his hand.

I cringed, nose scrunching up at the touch.

“You’ll make a fine addition to my collection.” He growled, tone suddenly much lower than previous.

“Collection of what?” I spat out at him, his smile only widening from the cruelty of it.

“Broken hearts, of coarse.”

===================================

I huffed in annoyance, the loud shouts from Joker downstairs being heard over my own thoughts.

I felt like I was drowning.

It’s been two weeks now.

A full fourteen days at the Joker’s estate.

And I can’t lie…

I’m enjoying every second of this.

I want to say I miss my friends, my teammates.

But I’d be lying.

I want to say I despise not being able to fight crime as I often do.

But I’d be spinning a tale.

And worst of all the confessions…

I want to say I hate the Joker.

Which I have always been able to do without regret.

But now… not so much.

I’ve been able to view an entirely hidden side to Gotham’s most renown criminal.

I’ve been given forbidden access into the mind of a psychopath and what I have found… didn’t frighten me but…

aroused me.

The Joker is only a facade he has created, a mask he has worn for all the world to see but inside he’s just a human being like the rest of us.

Fighting him for so long… I have forgotten that disturbing fact.

The Joker isn’t just someone who blows up buildings and reeks havoc amongst the living.

He’s someone who makes himself a cup of coffee every morning with four spoonfuls of sugar to make it taste extra sweet.

He’s someone who slow dances by himself as he cooks dinner, humming along to whatever classical piece is playing that evening.

He’s someone who knows how to play piano as well as any professional, only taking the time to pursue the craft when he has a mental block in need of removal.

He’s someone who prefers hot bubble bathes to steamy showers.

He’s someone who says what he means but doesn’t entirely mean what he says.

Like when he told me I’d be just another long lost broken heart left upon his dusty shelf.

Instead, he’s done the opposite- giving me more and more reasons to fall into a full blown infatuation with the damaged man.

And somehow, he’s fallen for me too. Even if he won’t confess to it just yet.

I can tell in the ways he beckons me to his side when failing to fall asleep at night.

I can tell by the way my name rolls off his normally sharp tongue like his favorite song.

I can tell in the way he unintentionally will grab ahold of my thigh whenever someone gets too close to me.

I can tell by the way he smiles at me when we’re alone.

Not that crazed smile, but a secret one only known to the two of us.

The one that’s not as big but just as evident.

The one that’s soft and genuine and inviting.

The one that whispers “tell me more” during conversations and “goodnight” before bed.

And now it’s an uncomfortable stand-off between us.

We both have come to notice each other’s feelings for the other, but neither want to confront them.

I was meant to become his hostage.

Maybe his science experiment if held captive long enough.

But something within him begged him not to, screamed for him to keep me safe from the world instead.

And now there’s tension constantly swirling the air around us.

We don’t want to give up our own personal morals, promises and lifestyles for the temporary pleasure of each other’s company.

So we are left in a sea of unknowing and waiting.

I heard a piercing shatter sound throughout the house.

I shot up on instinct, my guard never dropping.

I made my way downstairs to investigate the commotion that kept interfering with my simple plans of relaxion.

“YOUR INCOMPETENCE HAS SOILED MY PLANS FOR THE LAST TIME!”

I turned the corner into the kitchen to see Joker, fuming mad, standing dangerously over an anxious crony.

I walked inside slowly, treading lightly over to J.

I placed my hands on the backs of his shoulders as I listened to his heavy and rapid breathes of anger.

He spun around to face me, my hands now on the tops of his shoulders.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. You are in control. You have everything under control.” I soothe, his eyes never leaving mine as if in a hypnotoc state.

“Tell me how you always manage to show up at the right places at the right times.” He grumbles, hands visibly itching to grasp onto me.

“It’s a gift.” I shrug with a playful smirk.

“You’re a gift.” He licks his lips hungrily, eyes trailing down my body and back up again.

As he does this I lean a bit to the side to look at the young crony who seemed like he was about to piss himself, nodding my head toward the door as a signal for him to make his leave. He did as I ordered with a grateful expression adorning his face.

“You can’t always distract me like this. It’s not playing fair.” He sings out teasingly, a sinful smile growing upon him.

“I don’t know what you mean.” I whisper, arms slipping around his neck to hang loosely.

“Mmmm, I think you know exactly what I mean. I have business to do, Y/n. And you’re preventing me from doing it.” He says lowly almost as a warning to me.

Yet he still snakes his arms around me, pulling me tight to him while his fingertips drum against my lower back- right above my ass.

“Yelling at people isn’t business.”

“Someone has to do it.”

“Fine. I’ll be ‘someone’, you’ll be ‘it’. How’s about that?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart.” He growls, hands now squeezing the backs of my thighs roughly.

“Oh I’ll finish alright. But I won’t finish first. I tend to last long.” I wink, running my hands into his untamed hair.

“I know how to keep up, baby.”

He leans in and for the first time ever

I let him.

He’s less than an inch away from my lips now and I’m anticipating the feeling to come.

But it doesn’t greet me as sweetly as I thought it would, because he pulls away as quick as he came in, leaving my desires unfulfilled.

“Why now?” He asked suspiciously.

“What?”

“Why have you decided to randomly flirt with me. To finally be with me like this. What’s your game plan?”

I just raised a brow, confused.

“Your goal? What do you want from me?” He questioned on accusingly.

“Nothing.” I breathed out.

“Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Y/n.” He growls maliciously, grip tightening on me to inflict a small stinging.

“I don’t lie.”

“You’re trying to tell me that you, of all people, want to be with a monster like me?” He laughs sadistically at his own words, but a dry, sad undertone was obvious in the reaction.

“Yeah. I am.” I confirm seriously, standing my ground.

He’s taken aback at this response, his grip softening once again as his laughter fades.

“You’re not going to try to tell me how I’m not a monster? That I’m just misunderstood? That I’m a good person deep down?”

“No. I told you, I don’t lie. You are a monster. There’s no denying that. But you’re also so much more than that. The side of you that I love is so much bigger than the side I hate. You have a habit of only showing 10% of yourself to people and for some reason you’ve let me see the other 90 and if your ‘goal’ from doing that wasn’t to wrap me around your finger than I don’t understand you anymore than I do this situation right now because that was the only possible outcome, J.”

A short moment goes by of him staring at me wide-eyed, not moving a muscle.

“Do you love me?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper as if we are gossiping.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you want me to?”

He gulps, his pupils blowing up in size but wide eyes returning to their normal state.

He pushes me up against the island behind me and moves in as close as possible.

“Oh, I want you to. I really want you to. I want to have you. I want to claim you as mine. I want to keep you on my arm at all times and have everyone see that you belong to me and only me. I want to make you feel things and experience things beyond your imagination. I want to learn every part of you until I’m able to play you like piano keys. I want you to fucking want me as bad as I want you. I want you to want this.” He whispers in my ear huskily, his lips brushing against my skin.

I let out a shaky breath and move his head to be directly in front of me but still at a very close distance.

“Is this you saying you love me back?”

“Is this you admitting you love me?”

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

“On what?”

“Everything.”

“It’s what we do best, doll.”

And that’s when I smashed my lips against his, him immediately pulling me to him and dipping me in his arms as we made out for the next few minutes.

He pulled me back up once we concluded with our entanglement, still keeping me flushed against him.

“Stay with me.” He glided his fingers across my bottom lip as we spoke, parting them for me.

“Isn’t this the part where I disagree?”

“This is the part where you stop being a smart ass and start putting those tempting lips to good use again.”

I giggled, him flashing me that soft and genuine smile from the sound.

He pushed the back of my head toward him and caught my lips with his own, them moving in synch- just like we do.

Well, you know what they say…

opposites attract.

420 notes · View notes

imagine-loki · 6 years

Text

Loki and the Witchling

TITLE: Loki and the Witchling

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 58/76

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you’re a healer working with the Avengers when Loki comes to join the team

RATING: T (so far)

NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

You strode too calmly, too fluidly, too much a graceful dangerous predator, to where Loki was chained in the middle of the room. You were the eye of the storm as chaos, rage, and power swirled around you. Attacks came at you, the bullets, powers, people couldn’t get to you, they couldn’t get through the storm around you.

You touched Loki’s hair when you reached him. He growled and struggled, too pained to recognize your touch. “Shh, love. I’m here. You’re safe now,” you told him softly as you removed his blindfold. You stroked his hair, using a touch of power to ease his pain. You would free him when you’d dealt with the walking carrion who had harmed him. He was safe and not being injured more while you were here. He looked up at you with such hurt and fear in his eyes. You bent down and kissed his forehead. “I’m here. No more pain,” you promised, then turned and glared maliciously at those who had dared to harm a hair on your Loki’s head. “For you,” you corrected.

Loki tried to shout something. It was probably ‘no’, but he couldn’t. He would know what was coming too. It wasn’t just Thor who knew the perils of angering the healer.

“Shit. She’s going off plan,”

Even the team was thrown by the depth of your grief and rage. Nat and Thor seemed to be the only ones who understood, though Bruce seemed to understand the anger at least. Thor braced himself against the spirals of your rage and powers, to kept from being swept away.

Power swirled, the maelstrom of your rage and grief spiraled faster around you as it spread, enveloping the entire building. Your rage touched every single person in that place, every single one who had been in on this plan.

You dove into your power.

The people who hurt your Loki

Who tortured your love

Were

Going

Pay

So you dove to the very last drop of your power, faster and faster, deeper and deeper, spiraling down to the very core of your power, you gathered it all, gathered everything you had and exploded out from the center of your power, hitting every single person there who had a hand in harming your love. Your natural ability was healing. You were a healer to the core. Even in your anger, your rage, your grief, your power went to healing first.

Not

Anger

The

Healer

A healer, a true and proper healer like you, could and did knit wounds back together in an instant, could reassemble people on a molecular level, could do the impossible and stitch any and every inch of the human body together when it was injured.

While a healer could do all of those miracles, they were far more deadly for their ability to do the exact opposite. You could rip the human body apart, could destroy with the same abilities which let you heal, could pull a body apart until nothing was left.

That is exactly what your power did now.

Every person who had a hand in this plot, who had tortured your Loki, who had added to your rage and grief for the pain administered to your love was ripped to particles so small that the air was thick with the red mist that was all that was left of your victims.

It wasn’t an easy death either, for all that it was fast.

Pop

They exploded one by one as your power touched them.

Pop pop

They screamed as they realized what was coming

Pop pop

As they realized there was nothing they could do to stop it

Pop pop pop

They all died for their crimes

Pop pop pop pop

They died for the pain they had inflicted on your love

Pop pop pop pop

They were all destroyed

Except one

The one in the office. The one who had let his people fight you while he hid. The one in charge. He got to live. He got to live just long enough to be questioned. Just long enough to find out why your Loki had been tortured. Why you had been targeted. What they had wanted with you.

Thirty seconds

Thirty seconds was all it had taken to destroy 100 people? More? Less? You didn’t know. You didn’t care. You didn’t care about the red mist. About the horror on the team’s faces. About the knowledge that they were finally understanding. They finally understood Thor’s warning about the Ladies of Asgard, about angering the healer. They finally understood what you could do when you were backed into a corner.

You saw the resolve on all of their faces never to let it happen again.

Thor just offered you a nod and a small bow. He knew. He had known all along. You nodded at him in return.

“There’s two mutant kids in cells through that door,” you pointed toward the back of the warehouse. “Also a man with a metal arm. More victims of these people. There’s an office at the top of the steps. You’ll find someone to question up there,” you added. That was all the helpful you were willing to be. You had other more pressing matters to attend to.

The team rushed to go deal with the people you mentioned, the survivors of your rage.

You summoned the thermos of monster-coffee you had poured earlier. You downed its contents in a moment and shuddered as you dropped the thermos to the floor. You needed the power spike to help Loki. The power flared, artificial though it was, and you would pay for it later. But for now you had the power and strength to do what was needed.

You turned to him then. “It’s alright now, love. I’m here. You’re safe,” you told him gently, stroking his hair reassuringly. “I’m getting you out of here. Just hold on a little longer.” It took effort to summon the exact blade you needed. It wasn’t one you summoned often, or had you ever? you couldn’t remember. It wasn’t important. The blade came to your hand now. Loki stiffened, but recognized the blade and held still. You carefully cut through the heavy metal collar around his neck, the manacles on his wrists, every single bond. It was slow work. You had to be so careful to cut the metal and not him, but finally, finally you made it through them all. You vanished the blade again as he collapsed against you. You caught him and held one of his arms across your shoulders, standing and bringing him up with you, supporting his weight. “I’ve got you. It’s ok,” you told him softly, gently.

The others were coming back with the two teens with powers, the man with the metal arm, and a very beaten up, bound man in a suit.

“Let’s get you home, love. I’ll fix you up there,” you told Loki. You couldn’t here. It would take too long. He was too injured. You wanted him home safely. You needed him home safely.

“Lady Sigyn,” Thor drew your attention with his formal words. “Allow me to take him. I will not allow harm to come to my brother.” You hesitated, but it was Thor. Thor wouldn’t let anything happen to Loki, but still you hesitated. “Lady, let me help you,” Thor implored. You finally nodded once. Thor dropped Mjolnir to lift Loki carefully into his arms. He was so gentle, so worried. Loki was so very injured, bruised, and bleeding. You placed a hand on Loki’s bare arm, using magic to ease his pain. You knew him. You knew he hated looking and being weak like this. Knew he hated that Thor was carrying him. He hated all of this, except that you had been saved from the same torment or worse. You still didn’t know why they had wanted you exactly.

“It’s alright, love. Everything’s ok now,” you promised him. “I know better than to lie to you,” you added softly, a small humor that did nothing. All you could do was try to ease his spirits and pain until you could heal him properly.

“Is no one going to talk about what she did?” Stark asked. He had the bound man thrown over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t,” Nat replied stiffly. “You wouldn’t understand.” She did. She had lived in that anger and grief before. You saw it in her eyes.

You knelt and picked up Mjolnir and Stark and the others gasped. They hadn’t expected you to still be able to.

Even after destroying all of those people, you were still worthy.

You all walked back through the portal to the sanctum. You saw Strange’s expression at Loki’s state, at the additions. Cap was already working to get SHIELD to clean up your mess. You didn’t care.

You touched Thor’s arm. “Hold on. I’m going to teleport us,” you warned him. He didn’t care for teleporting, but he wanted Loki home as much as you did. He nodded and an instant later you were in your and Loki’s suite in the tower. “Set him on the bed,” you told him and propped up the pillows after summoning a sheet to lay down so blood wouldn’t get on the bed. He wouldn’t want to be moved once he was healed and the sheet could be vanished easier than remaking the entire bed. Thor set Loki down gently. You both winced at the pained noise Loki made. You climbed up on the bed.

“Sig, are you up to this? You have used quite a lot of power already…” Thor’s voice was concerned. You had used way too much power already. You both knew it.

“I’ll get through this,” you told him firmly. “Thanks for your help, but I’ve got it from here, and Loki is about five seconds away from summoning a dagger to stab you with for seeing him like this,” you warned him. Thor saw Loki’s expression and nodded reluctantly.

“I will wait in your sitting room. Call if you need assistance,” he finally told you. He didn’t want to leave Loki like this, but knew he would be safe in your care, and more comfortable with fewer witnesses.

Your hands started glowing blue as you wrapped your Loki in your arms, holding him as he whimpered and began the healing, carefully, gently. You eased the pain, fixed all the cuts, bruises, the marks on his back, the…how the fuck did they break bones?

You growled that you hadn’t killed them enough for what they had done to your Loki.

You fixed everything except his poor mouth. You saved that for last. It was the hardest to fix, and you would have to make it worse first, before you could make it better. “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry. I’m going to fix it this, going to fix what they did to you, I swear,” there were tears in your eyes. “It’s going to hurt,” your fingers ran through his hair he whimpered again and you could feel him fight back the tears. “I know, my love, I know. Just a little longer. Be strong a little longer for me. I’ll fix it. Trust me, trust me, Loki, please trust me,”

He nodded once and sat up, though you saw the effort it took him. You summoned a pair of tiny, but sharp scissors and a small cloth. You steeled yourself and ever so carefully cut away the stitches binding his lips shut. The wounds bled anew as you worked and he made a soft noise in pain, but fought not to move. You soothed his pain with what power you could spare. You had to be careful. You were running purely on the caffeine you had thrown into your body and you had to save enough power to heal his lips so they wouldn’t scar. He let you work, closed his eyes, trusting you. It took forever, you had to be so careful, but you finally, finally got the string cut away and cleared from his lips. You healed those last wounds and carefully wiped away the blood. It took too long too, you were running dangerously low on power, but you got the wounds healed, no scars left behind.

You sighed in relief when it was done.

The physical wounds were healed, but his emotional scars would take longer. He looked so lost and hurt and…scared. You settled against the pillows and pulled him into your arms. He didn’t resist as you pulled his head to your chest, stroking his hair. “Rest now, love. You’re safe now,” his arms wrapped around you as he curled himself around you, more like a small scared boy than your Loki. You kissed his forehead. “I’ve got you. You’re safe,” you repeated. You stroked his hair and rubbed his back until he finally, finally fell asleep in your arms.

You gave him a small smile and kissed his forehead again.

“Thor?” you asked softly, figuring he was eavesdropping. Loki didn’t stir besides making a small noise and curling himself more comfortably around you. Thor was in the room in a moment.

“He’s healed?”

You nodded. “Physically. Emotionally? Mentally? That might take longer. But that’s not what I needed,” you had to talk fast to beat the side effects of your artificial power boost.

“What do you need besides that you obviously need to rest? You have pushed yourself far too hard today.” What he meant was that you looked like hell. You knew it. You had pushed yourself and your abilities way too far.

“Tell Loki about my stunt with the coffee,” you told him sleepily. Your voice was starting to slur in exhaustion. “He’s healed and safe, but he’ll worry,”

“There is a side effect to all magic,” Thor said astutely. He knew more about magic than he liked to let on. He knew there was a reason that you hadn’t wanted Loki to know about how you’d boosted your powers. He hadn’t said anything at the time, and you saw now that he didn’t regret that decision. Loki would have been in far worse shape had you waited any longer.

You nodded. “I need to sleep it off.” Did you even say all the words of that sentence? You couldn’t be sure. Hopefully you said enough of them that Thor understood. “Might not wake…” you were slipping too fast.

Thor nodded and pulled the blanket up around you and Loki. “I will tell him. Both of you need rest. I will stand guard. Don’t fear, little sister. Rest now, you have done beyond a warrior’s work today,”

You wouldn’t close your eyes until Loki was securely in your arms, until you’d kissed his forehead one last time.

Until you’d reassured yourself that he was back and he was safe.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #Loki and the witchling #Chapter 58 #nekoamamori

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 7 years

Text

The Cure

Bucky Barnes x Reader Drabble

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers | Word Count: 1493

Warnings: Nothing but fluff. A drabble. This is what happens when I’m bored. Spotify is my nemesis. The Cure by Lady Gaga

You looked up from your book when the door opened.

Bucky, in all his combat gear, stumbled into your shared suite within the Avengers compound, shedding guns, gloves, and grenades with such disregard for their explosive nature it had you leaping to your feet. The look on his face spoke plainly of just how hard the latest mission had been.

Going to him, you grabbed for the belt he was getting ready to chuck across the room, the one with at least three grenades, and gently laid it over the back of the sofa. He went still, just stood there, shaking, breathing, anger radiating off him in waves.

Lifting your hand, you laid it gently against his clenched jaw. You only had one question. “Is everyone alright?”

He gave a jerky nodded.

Alive, then, but someone was hurt. “Steve?”

“Barton.”

“Bad?”

“He’ll be out a while, but he’ll live.”

Sighing in relief, you turned your attention to the buckles over his chest, working them open so his vest could slide off. Tugging his shirt from his waistband, you worked it up his abs.

“What you doing, doll?”

“Taking care of you. Is that alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Pressing up on your toes, you give his shirt a tug. “Arms up.”

A small smile twitched his lips as he complied. “Yes, ma'am.”

Drawing it off his head, the silver of his vibranium arm was revealed. A frown marred your features as you took in the explosion of bruises across his ribs, the laceration down his arm. Moving around behind him, hands gentle, you walked them over his broad back, flinching when you found more bruises.

His hair was filthy, appearing as if he’d taken a tumble through some mud at some point.

Returning to his front, you took his hand and led him through the room to the washroom.

Toeing off his boots while you turned the shower on, you turned back in time to take over when his hands sought his belt. As it came loose, you hooked your fingers in the waist of his underwear, drawing them down as you lowered to your knees. Helping him out of his socks, his fingers skated gently through your hair, a tender caress, a silent thank you.

Rising to your feet, you encouraged him into the shower. Removing your clothing with speed, you stepped in behind him. Already the water was turning brown, running in muddy streams down his face, chest and back. Eventually, you would ask, but not yet, not while his breath hitched and rattled.

Taking up the shampoo, you moved before him, unsurprised when his hands latched to your hips. Warm and cold, they stayed still, his thumb dragging small circles occasionally, but otherwise, his movements were minimal, almost as if he were afraid to move too much as if he’d shatter and break if he did. Stretching up, you worked the lather through his hair, picking out twigs and leaves, painting a picture of a flight through the brush at some point, or a hard run for his life.

The idea of it took your breath, but you didn’t let it show, not now while he was still living whatever hell he’d fought. Tipping his chin up, you helped the water rush over his scalp, lathering a second time when it again ran murky. He had beautiful hair, dark and soft, a pleasure to touch. Seeing it like this was a travesty.

Picking up a sponge and the bottle labelled antiseptic wash, you dumped a generous amount onto it. Bucky still had issues with doctors, medical bays, and cold metal tables. He did alright with Bruce, but when Banner wasn’t available, or the memories were riding him hard, only you would do.

The lab had created the soap with Bucky in mind, something he could use to wash out the worst wounds until he was comfortable having someone check him out.

You’d gotten the stuff in a paper cut once. It stung like a wicked bitch, but he didn’t even flinch when you washed out the cut on his arm, what was apparently a bullet graze on his thigh, and the strange slice you realized was a knife wound on the back of his neck. The idea of a blade anywhere near his throat had fear pounding in your heart as you touched it with your fingertips. “Bucky?”

“Self-inflicted.” He looked out at you from behind a veil of wet hair.

You arched a brow.

“Later.”

Humming softly, you finished up, washing his thighs and calves, making sure both bruises and cuts were all covered by the soap. It’s healing properties, combine with his advance metabolism, would have the dark patches and frayed skin looking like new in no time.

Turning off the water, you stepped out, wrapped a towel around yourself, and returned with a big fluffy one to work over all of him. Drying his back you leaned forward, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

He shivered but remained quiet.

You scrubbed the towel over his head, drying the shaggy locks, before urging him into the bedroom. Finding him a pair of briefs, you handed them over, watching as he slid them up his thighs, dressing swiftly in your own tank and shorts. A return to the bathroom had you retrieving the first aid kit.

Laid out on the bed, you silently doctored all his wounds, wrapping and bandaging when necessary. At his feet, you took out a bottle of lotion and worked it into his soles with your thumbs. He groaned, turning into putty beneath your touch.

You rubbed both feet, relaxing the tight arches, before shifting up to give his right hand the same treatment. It, too, was tense, as if it had been clenched hard for some time.

When you were finished, you climbed up on the bed, pulled the duvet up from the foot, settled in the mound of pillows and drew his head to your chest. Running your fingers through his hair, you hummed a quiet tune, soft and soothing.

His arms wrapped around your waist, tugged you in tight, and for the first time since he’d come home, Bucky took a full breath and relaxed.

“Baby,” he whispered, his face lifting to tuck up against your throat, lips leaving a gentle kiss.

“S’okay, Bucky.” Drawing your hand down his back, you pet him like a cat, calming the writhing tide of memories and fears which haunted him.

“Love you.” On a quiet sigh, he fell asleep.

Continuing to pet and stroke, you waited, knowing another would join you, seeking the comfort of familiarity you were happy to offer.

The door opened.

You looked up, smiled at Steve in his pajama pants and t-shirt, and threw back a corner of the duvet. “C’mon.”

He crawled in, tucked his face against your abdomen, and slung an arm over both you and Bucky.

“Thanks, doll,” he murmured, squeezing gently.

“It’s fine, Stevie.” Threading your fingers through his hair, you hummed softly, happy to comfort your soldier and his best friend.

It was nothing untoward, Stevie in your bed. They’d talked about the past in New York as kids when they’d often bunked together to keep little Steve from freezing. Even after, as big Steve, when exhaustion hit, they habitually fell face down on the same flat surface together.

The first night it had happened accidentally after you’d moved in with Bucky had been a bit of a shock. Steve’s blond head had rested against the back of your shoulder, but as you’d grown up with siblings of your own, and occasionally bunked together when someone had a nightmare, you’d let it go and gone back to sleep.

Steve had done a lot of stuttering come morning, but you shrugged it off. So he cuddled. Who cared? Sleeping between two human furnaces had proven delightful when it was cold outside.

When Steve rubbed his nose against your abdomen, you giggled quietly.

“I mean it, doll face.”

“I know, Stevie. Have a nap. You can tell me how Bucky slice open the back of his neck later.”

Humming, he chuckled. “He was pretending to be He-Man.”

“What?” you snickered softly.

“Mmm, the whole sword strapped to your back thing. Good thing he used a little knife. He might a lopped off his head otherwise.”

“Punk,” Bucky grumbled.

“Jerk,” Steve replied.

“Can’t a guy get any sleep without you two yackity-yacking?” He gave Steve a lazy push. “Go find your own girl. Stop loving on mine.”

“Nah. Little sis cuddles are the cure for all things.” Snuggling deeper he shoved Bucky back, nothing more than a weak push.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an overgrown security blanket. Both of you hush up and sleep,” you quipped without heat.

Mumbles of, “Yes ma'am,” came from both sides as they drifted off together.

Patting both of your boys, your lover and the one you considered your brother, you drifted off, grateful the love you shared was enough to fix what ailed them.

-The End-

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter solider x reader #winter soldier #the winter solider x reader #drabble #the cure #steve rogers

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 7 years

Text

Soft Names, Soft Touches

Chapter Two

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Bucky x OC | Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: Swearing. Violence. Russian that may or may not be correct. Angst. Mild sexual content.

Franki woke to the soft sound of beeping and had an instant heart-stopping moment of panic before a strong hand squeezed her own. Her eyes snapped open and darted to the person sitting beside her bed and finding Natasha filled her with relief that she wasn’t back there. Back in the hell hole the Avengers had pulled her out of. “Sestra,” she murmured, calling Nat sister and causing the redhead to smile.

“Sestrenka,” Nat replied with little sister, a smirk twitching her lips. “You gave us all a fright.” Especially one large, metal-armed supersoldier but she kept that knowledge to herself for the moment.

Sitting up, Franki looked down at her air cast coated leg and sighed. “Steve is going to chew my ass out for this.”

“He’s going to have to stand in line.” Seeing her best friend and heart sister sit up was all Natasha needed to unleash the anger living inside her. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have killed yourself, Franki! You took a swan dive out a seventh-floor window onto a concrete roof and expected to what, just get up and walk away? God! I just want to smack you so hard!”

Blinking, surprised by the vehemence, Franki had to take a moment to catch up. “Natasha,”

“No! No way,” The fired up redhead waved her hands and paced back and forth at the foot of Franki’s bed. “You don’t get to speak, not yet.” Stalking back around to stand before the brunette with the sickeningly perfect mane of hair, Nat gripped her by the shoulders and wasn’t offended when she flinched. Holding her tight, she jerked the other woman forwards and hugged her hard. “You are not expendable. You are not allowed to throw your life away because you feel nothing! You may not feel your pain, but the rest of us do, dammit! You are not some afterthought that we picked up one day in China. You’re part of this team, part of our family, and if you don’t stop pulling this bullshit I will see that Steve and Fury bench you!”

Gasping softly, Franki recoiled at Nat’s words. “You think that I... that I am trying to hurt myself?”

Sighing, Nat plopped down beside her. “Sometimes… yeah.” Taking the brunette’s hand, Natasha held it between her own. “Franki, I’ve seen you take blows you could easily have avoided. I’ve listened to your bones break, watched your bruises heal, your skin knit back together as if the damage was never done. You take unnecessary risks. You fight like your life doesn’t matter. Only the job. Always the job. Sometimes… you scare me, sestrenka.”

A second sharp gasp left Franki’s lungs. She had scared Natasha, the Black Widow. The one all the girls in the Red Rooms had been told was the best. The fearless one. Franki had caused the strongest woman she knew to admit to fear. It broke something inside her to hear those words. “Klubnika,” she whispered, heart aching. “I did not realize…”

“Yeah, well, cut that shit out,” Natasha grumbled, a small smirk twitching her lips, a tiny flush of red in her cheeks announcing her embarrassment at admitting something so personal. “I mean it, Franki. You are important to me, to us. We feel your pain, even if you don’t.” Patting her hand, the redhead stood from the bed and gave in to the need to grin coyly. “Some of us more than others.”

Franki looked at her confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just a large metal lug has been lurking, waiting for you to wake up.” Natasha snickered when Franki blushed.

“Oh, god,” she whispered, fingers going to her lips as everything she’d said to him before she’d passed out came screaming back. “I’m so stupid.”

Natasha was quick to sit back down. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Klubnika, I did something very foolish.” Franki whispered, “I don’t know what came over me. I gave him his soft name.”

“No!?” Nat gasped, wanting to shriek for joy. “You called him snegopad?” It was an unknown fact that Franki had soft names for all of them. Wanda knew hers because it was impossible to keep anything from Wanda. Clint and Natasha’s were well used, though Sam had only called her strawberry once before Nat had thoroughly handed him his ass in the training ring, but all of them had her little soft names. Franki just kept them close to her heart, rather than dolling them out.

Steve was belyy rystar’, the white knight, an honourable leader that she was happy to follow. Wanda was blesk, a brilliant sparkle, and Nat thought it suited the Scarlet Witch well, as did Wanda who always blushed in pleasure when Franki used it. Sam was lovko, slick, for his smooth talking ways. Franki would always just roll her eyes and walk away. She loved him like a brother, but he was the little annoying one that did too much talking. Scott had earned his, obayatel’nyy, for being exactly what he was, sweetly charming and a charlatan at the same time. Franki had pegged him, and the Ant-Man hadn’t stood a chance.

Tony was kotenok, kitten, and Nat wasn’t sure how the Iron Man had garnered such a name, but he was excessively arrogant, kind of like a loud-mouthed Siamese who had moments of swift activity but could also spend hours doing nothing. On second thought, Nat found it was kind of perfect. Peter, the little spider, had become lapochka, sweetie pie because he truly was. Plus, he was too damn young and innocent for any other name. And Vision was myshka, little mouse because he was as quiet as one and moved without noise, appearing and disappearing without warning. Fury was nachal’nik, boss man, though he spent little time with them now.

Both Bruce and Thor hadn’t been around as much, Franki unable to make a decision on their soft names as she just didn’t know them very well. Thor was stuck in Asgard, dealing with the fallout from his brother’s latest escapade, and Bruce was, well, he was being Bruce and had disappeared again. The Hulk had been more present in his day to day life than ever before and, though he accepted the other guy was part of him and not something he was ever going to get rid of, sometimes he just needed to disappear into a rainforest or the wilderness of some remote area to find a little balance again.

Focusing back on Franki, Nat let her grin widen at her rapidly reddening friend. “And!?”

“And what? I passed out!” She flopped backwards over the bed and felt a mild hitch in her breathing. “Did I break ribs, too?”

“Ribs, leg, punctured your femoral artery and bruised a kidney.”

Nat’s voice was hard and full of disapproval, but Franki ignored it in favour of sitting back up. “Shit.” She’s was going to be out at least three days before she was back to fighting strength.

“Forget that. What are you going to do about Bucky?” Nat said, poking her in the shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“You can’t just do nothing!”

The screech was enough to have her flinching. “Nat,” she sighed when the redhead glared at her. “I think I have embarrassed myself enough for one lifetime.”

“It is a soft name! You know the others all want one.” It was a bone of running contention that only she and Clint, allegedly, had them.

“Nat… my mouth ran away with my brain. I told him why!” Franki almost wailed. Using her enhanced hearing to make absolutely certain they were alone before telling her friend all that had happened in the quinjet before passing out. Nat’s wicked smirk and glee filled giggle made Franki growl, “Not funny, Natasha! I practically mauled the man!”

“It’s hilarious!” Franki was never so vocal or so outgoing. She was very contained and to tell Bucky all she had, wow! But to initiate touching… it was unheard of.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Franki sighed. “It was like my mouth had a will of its own that my fingers followed.”

“Well you did have a severe head injury at the time,” Natasha scoffed.

“Oh. Must have been when I was hit with that chair…” she trailed off at Nat’s look of exasperation. The agent had rung her bell with the blow causing her vision to swim but, like all injuries, she had powered on.

“Franki…” Nat sighed but refused to get sidetracked. “You should take a chance and talk to him. Tell him how you feel.”

“You know why I can’t.” Franki murmured, rubbing her temples. She didn’t have your traditional kind of headache, but there was pressure behind her eyes that was playing havoc with her vision. It was a stress thing, she knew, but it didn’t make it any less annoying or easier to calm herself.

“Franki, you won’t know you can’t tolerate his touch if you never try.” Retaking her hand, Natasha squeezed it gently. “You have grown used to my touch.” And she had no doubts that the petite brunette would handle Bucky’s just as easily. Most of her issues with the team seemed to stem from the mental phobia, not from actual physical discomfort.

“Yours is different.”

The softness, the whisper, hurt Nat’s heart. “Why?”

“Your touch is not sexual in nature.” Franki turned her face away, embarrassed. She’d grown up in the Red Rooms but had never gotten old enough for that kind of training. And every touch she’d ever experienced afterwards had been to inflict pain, pain that she couldn’t feel though they kept trying. “I’m not even sure I can feel pleasure.”

Without hesitation, Natasha reached out and cupped Franki’s breast through her cotton gown, brushing her thumb over the other woman’s nipple. The brunette gasped, her mouth falling open in shock. “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem.” Nat chuckled, drawing back her hand.

“What… I … what?” Franki was quick to cross her arms over her chest.

Natasha frowned at the strange reaction. “Franki, what do you know about sex?” Another bright red blush covered her milk-white skin and widened Nat’s eyes. “You’re kidding me?”

“I am familiar with the… theory behind the process but I was not… initiated,” she murmured, wringing her hands. “And then I was in China. They were more concerned with pumping me full of that serum and teaching me to be an efficient killing machine. I could see the lust growing as I did, but, no one ever…” She shrugged. There had been that one time, but she had killed the man so quickly, his touch so foul, no one had dared try it again. Even drugged, she would grow feral at the slightest brush of her skin. It seemed the softer the touch, the more she fought. She didn’t want gentleness. Softness bred weakness. Weakness was death in the facility she had been in.

“Alright, alright. Okay.” Nat breathed out. “I can work with that. Come on.” Tugging on Franki’s hand, she helped her to her feet and into the robe at the foot of the bed. “We need a girl’s night. I’ll call Wanda in, too. She’ll want to help.”

“Help what? Do what? Nat?” Franki asked, puzzled, tying her robe closed. “And what about the boys?” They were all going to rip into her eventually. She kind of wanted to get it over with.

“I’ll deal with them.” Nat flicked her fingers in dismissal and wrapped her arm around Franki’s waist, gripping a little tighter when the woman stumbled. “Let’s get you settled on my couch.”

They hobbled towards the door, doing their best to keep the pressure off Franki’s cast. She may not feel the pain, but her body was still working to fix her. They didn’t need to do more damage or slow the healing process. They’d made it to the elevators before one of the boys caught them.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s out of bed.” Tony’s smug voice called out.

“Not now, Stark,” Natasha growled as the doors slid open.

“And why not? I have a few things to say to little miss Francessca that keeps making me restock my med bay.” Striding forward, he ignored the look from Nat, glared at the two of them, and finally focused on the pale face of the woman he was annoyed with. “Oh for god’s sake,” he huffed before giving Nat a shove and lifting Franki into his arms. “You’re a stubborn little fool.” Tony griped.

“Bite me,” Franki snarled, gritting her teeth together. She tried very hard not to shudder, but his touch made her want to throw a punch so badly. “Put me down, Tony.” She didn’t have enough layers on for this. Her uniform was different, offering its own sort of protection, but in day to day life she spent the majority of it covered up unless Tony was throwing another party, in which case Nat wouldn’t allow her to go in less than a body-baring dress.

“I know your issues, kid. You’re going to suck it up and deal until we get you where you’re going. Or would you rather I call the metal man to cart you around?” he asked smug smirk and raised brow making him look more arrogant than usual.

“Tony,” Franki couldn’t contain her shiver a second time but had no time to protest further when he stepped into the elevator with Nat who hit the button for their floor. The pressure was building in her chest as the warmth of his arms seeped through her clothing. “I need you to put me down.” She didn’t want to hurt him but she would, soon, unable to stop herself if he didn’t.

“Tony,” Nat could see the sharp panic beginning to fill Franki’s face.

Silver eyes were slowly going glassy. “Franki, focus on my voice,” Tony murmured, well aware she was halfway to a panic attack. “Look at me and take a deep breath, follow my breathing.”

He was exaggerating the inhale and exhale, forcing his chest in and out against her side, and she latched on to the moment of distraction, staring into brown eyes filled with more understanding than she’d ever given him credit for. Closing her fist in his t-shirt, she breathed with him until the doors slid open and he followed Nat to her suite where he placed her quickly on the sofa and sat on the coffee table before her.

Rubbing her arms, Franki refused to look at him, embarrassed to react so to a teammate that wouldn’t ever try to hurt her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes.

Looking to Nat standing guard over the small woman, Tony sighed. No matter how badly he wanted to yell at Franki for being stupid and reckless, she looked like a kicked puppy. Much too pale and so very young. He felt old just sitting there. “Franki,” he murmured, reaching out slowly to lightly touch her chin. She jerked against his fingers, and it hurt his heart. Yes, the one Sam and Scott teased that he didn’t have. “Hey, kid. I know all about panic attacks. You ever want someone to talk to, come and find me.” Standing up, he nodded to Nat and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Was Tony Stark just… nice?” Franki asked in shock.

“Yeah, yeah he was.” Natasha smiled after him. She’d thank him for that later. Picking up her phone, she called Wanda to join them and began gathering snacks and drinks, and everything they would need for a girl’s night in. While she was in her small kitchenette, she texted Clint, telling him to keep everyone off Franki’s ass for the night and to warn the others they’d have to go through both her and Wanda to get to the other woman if they tried. He sent back a smiley emoji and nearly made her snort. Clint had an obsession with emojis.

Next Chapter

#soft names #winter soldier fic #avengers #avengers au #avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction

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