#and he’d never admit it but it was amusing to watch Steve’s standards for a proposal drop as time went on | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vydante · 3 years

Text

Restart | END | Avengers x Male! Reader

I am discontinuing my Restart series because I've simply lost creative juices for it. That's it, no elaborate or other reason. Anyways, I didn't want to just end it on the last chapter, and as someone who loves to overshare (especially if it's unsolicited), I thought some might like to see what drafts I had in plan, going chapter by chapter.

It goes up to Ch. 20 with additional bonus chapters, and chapters where I wasn't sure where they were going to be placed in the timeline.

If you have any comments, let me know! I'd love to read them :)

Here goes! Warning: very long, since the formatting is weird! The reader will be referred to as (Name) and "you", as in the story.

Right after Ch. 12 (Circumvention), are 2 special chapters (High Caliber Bullet) & (America's Sweethearts).

(High Caliber Bullet)'s basic plot was that Barnes, now # amount of weeks since the last chapter, has gained some freedoms and can now go out and about with either (Name) or DAHLIA for supervision (via his phone, and through the cameras everywhere).

In this particular chapter, he basically goes out for a typical grocery run with DAHLIA "accompanying" him, since before, he remembers (Name) telling him that "I won't always be there with you". But something bad happens! Wooo! (Maybe an attempted robbery, I didn't have the details sorted out yet.)

Either way, DAHLIA loses contact with him, and she tries to contact you ASAP, but it takes a little while since your dumbass was asleep the whole time! Wow! The suit had to manually power on and shake you awake.

Anyways, the only thing I had "written down" after that was that, after a failed search attempt for James, you go back home and are greeted with a surprise... "Kabedon"? Or, you're pinned to the walls by James... Or, rather, the Winter Soldier!

You're not sure what's going on, only that, "Wow, Barnes is acting weird. Why is he suddenly Russian? Wh- Okay, wow, he's suddenly gotten a lot closer. Now, wait a fuckin' minute-!"

Either way, you and James make a discovery of a second personality living inside his body- the Soldier! Or Winter, I'm still unsure which I would have gone for. If you're familiar with certain WinterIron tropes, this is one of them. Anyways, that's the end of that chapter, or what I had written so far, anyway.

This chapter is really important to the canon of Restart since it establishes Soldier, but it didn't fit into my initial plans of 10 chapters an arc, so. That's why it's a "special" chapter.

The next "special" chapter after that was (America's Sweethearts). I had written 2 "chunks" of text for this chapter. The main plot is, basically, you and Steve spent a platonic (promise!) Valentine's Day together. Hence the title. Cute, right? This was referenced in Ch. 9 (Revelation) during Future! Steve's reminiscing.

Anyways, below the next text is what I had written for that chapter. It will be in normal text.

No other thoughts on that, so let's move on.

"You live like this?"

In his defense, Steve's apartment wasn't messy in the slightest. In fact, it was the other way around- everything was too clean, too pristine, too detached. The only saving grace he's getting from standing in the middle of his apartment is the fact that compared to the chilly Brooklyn weather, it was almost obnoxiously warm in his apartment.

Not only did he have the heater going on, but he had another separate, portable heater blasting hot air in the corner.

(Sometimes, and only sometimes, Steve will stand in front of the heater and slowly spin around like a rotisserie chicken. The heat feels good, in his defense.)

The heat was something that you, thankfully, didn't comment on as you shed your jacket and slung it around the coat hanger near the door. You're wearing an over-sized tee- Thor's tee, he absentmindedly notes- and some sweats, both like and unlike the (Name) he often sees.

(It's not uncommon for Steve to glance at a newspaper or TV still shot and see you with your hair slicked back and dressed head to toe in a suit so expensive he's confident it costs at least a few years' worths of a typical New Yorker's rent.

Neither is uncommon to see you on the front cover of Men's Magazine, wearing a simple tee that shouldn't look that good on you but still does and posing confidently for the camera.

But despite all that, all of the clearly flattering outfits you could possibly wear at the tips of your fingers, often Steve will see you wear a disparagingly obnoxious, dirty shirt, and an old pair of sweats as your go-to outfit.)

(No, he will never admit that he really likes seeing you like that. Even with the mysterious smudged substance often found on the bottom of your sweats, as if you had swing danced in mud and crude oil.)

Regardless, while he often questions your private life fashion choices (and this is coming from a man who willingly wears khakis), he at least knows why you're wearing what you are, given the fact that he's also dressed in an overused tee and some joggers.

"What's wrong with my apartment? Not up to par with your penthouse standards?" Steve jests.

"Steve. Please." You threw him an unimpressed glare, much to Steve's never-ending amusement.

You glanced back to the inside of the apartment and squinted at it with what Steve could only describe as a rich man's scrutinizing gaze, before shrugging nonchalantly. You strolled into his apartment with a confidence Steve can still never get used to, one that reminds him so much of Tony's, and even Howard on his bad days.

(He understands why Tony doesn't like it when he brings Howard up, as he belatedly realizes that Howard didn't die the same man he knew him as, but he never understood why you've suddenly gotten bitter about Howard as well.)

He follows you into the hallway, and if it weren't for the fact that this was his apartment, he would've looked like a lost puppy following its new owner.

His apartment's not really that big, so it doesn't take long before you've both reached the living room. A simple TV, simple couch, simple table. Nothing really exciting in his living room, but it serves its purposes, in Steve's opinion.

(This is the end of that chunk. Next is where I picked up in writing. Short time skip, they both fall asleep and now Steve's waking up.)

It was the change in the smell that woke him up.

It's always the scent of fresh linen that greeted him early in the morning, something that's become so attuned to his everyday life. So when, instead, popcorn and sweets drifts his way, for a brief second his heart rate jumps.

'What?', his mind asks as he opens his eyes, bleary but cautious.

'Oh,' his mind responds back at him when his eyes drift down to your sleeping form laying splayed right on top of him, body glued to his side. You're mainly hogging the blanket, but he doesn't really mind as he runs hot 24/7.

'Oh', his mind repeats softly, as something deep unfurls from his stomach and rises to his throat, clenching up and unable to say anything as his eyes fixate themselves on your steady breathing. Your lips are too close to his neck, each breath too warm, even for him. His skin burns where it meets yours, and absently he thinks, 'this is nice'.

'Yeah,' he lifts his hand to brush away a strand of hair away from your eyes, 'This is nice.'

Steve blearily throws a glance at the clock on his nightstand. 4 more minutes until he'd typically wake up and start his day with a morning jog.

'No,' his body protests.

'Okay,' his mind agrees without a fight.

He carefully reaches over and presses the silence button on his alarm. Above him, a breathy exhale escapes your lips at the sudden movement, and if possible, you curl closer to him than you were before. He pauses, unsure if you're going to wake up or not, but relax when he realizes that you're still in a deep slumber.

(Another break. Next sentence was supposed to be the final sentence of the chapter.)

In the end, neither of you commented about how Steve had missed his daily morning run as his limbs were straddled in between yours.

Ch. 13 (Upheaval) and 14 (Airlocked) are short in terms of drafting, so I'll combine them into one section here. Ch. 13 (Upheaval) was about taking down SHIELDRA in a better manner than the mess that was CA:TWS. And (Name) also forces Steve and Natasha to fess up immediately about Tony's parent's murderer. ((Name) threatens them.)

As for Ch. 14 (Airlocked), it's pretty much a filler chapter of sorts. (Name) graduates, there's now an official class-action lawsuit against Ross, also now keeping an eye on Baron Zemo, and we see some progression on Barne's therapy session. Not much, but some.

I really was not looking forward to these two chapters, as I knew they were gonna be boring as hell.

Ch. 15 (Spiralling) has actual written chunks. It's basically about the early prevention of Ultron. The Avengers go to a Sokovian HYDRA base, take out baddies, and the Super Twins get captured first- wow! But not before Wanda does... something to (Name), causing you to hallucinate and lose contact with the team- uh oh!

But don't worry! You get run over by a car. Lol. Below is what I had written for it, sans minor text.

A/N: In Ch. 7 (Summer), there was a 'dream-sequence' that happened where (Name) was on Titan with Tony, Peter, Stephen, and the GOTG. I've now decided that in canon, (Name) was not on Titan- instead, you were on Earth instead during IW helping at Wakanda. Just a brief plot-hole wrap-up; let's imply that (Name) had watched video footage of the fight at Titan via Tony's suit afterward, and that's where the nightmare came from. Okay bye.

(VERY abrupt start into the story, not meant to be the start of the chapter in the final draft, just where I wanted to start writing. Intro to Wanda.)

You jerked your head, catching a glimpse of brunette hair in the corner of your eyes. You swung your gauntlet instinctively and made instant contact with whatever was next to you. Flutters of red wisps followed your eyes, and you instantly knew what just happened as a body dropped next to you.

You grunted and leaned onto the nearest wall, watching the girl's limp body with caution. Your shoulder plate lifted, and a tranquilizing dart connected to her thigh.

Just in case.

"Guys, I- I've been- ugh..." You wanted to vomit, the pounding in your head worsening with each millisecond that passes. Already, your surroundings distort you with each blink, walls melting and the floor sinking in on itself. "I've been- com-," you swallowed back your bile, "-compromised... Sending- location... Ergh..."

You didn't even have enough time to hear a response before the whole world around you shifted. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to calm your thundering heartbeat. The pounding got worse as the armor around you dissipated into nothing but the under-suit you were wearing. Before, where there were the shouting and gunshots, is now replaced with an eerie silence filled with just your laborious breathing.

You didn't know the full extent of what visions you were about to see, but you needed to remember that none of this is real. Scientifically, that was your only safe haven from possibly losing your mind for what's about to come. And it was worse because you had no idea what visions you'd see. Would you see Thanos? The Chitauri, just like your father once had? Or would it be something more close to home; the bunker? Tony's dead body, splayed with vomit around him, frostbitten to the touch and still like a marbled statue?

Ready to go up and arms at whatever it was you're about to see, you cautiously opened your eyes.

(Line break, there's meant to be an "oh shit" line, like "Only, you were met with eyes far too similar to yours." but I still didn't know what I wanted to do for the hallucination sequence. Maybe meeting an older you, a younger you, or your dream life without the Avengers or meta-humans.)

(Below is an abrupt shift in the story; same general setting, but outside POV! What I had was dialogue only, alternating between people in bold, as a POV switch.)

(Name) "Guys, I- I've been- ugh... I've been- com-compromised... Sending- location... Ergh..."

(Steve) "Apex, do you copy? (Name)!"

(Steve) "Shit, (Name) isn't answering! Tony!"

(Tony) "Got his location, he's inside the base. J.A.R.V.I.S., what's his status?"

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "I'm sorry, Sir, but it appears that I am not in contact with his suit."

(Tony) "Wha- the hell do you mean you're not in contact?!"

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "I cannot connect to his suit; it appears that Young Sir has somehow deprogrammed me from his suit."

(Tony) "Wha-!"

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "However, it seems as if there is an A.I. present nonetheless. Though..."

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "I do not recognize the code. Would you like me to attempt at forming a mode of communication?"

(Tony) "Yeah, just- God, make sure (Name)'s okay, please."

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "On it."

(J.A.R.V.I.S.) "Establishing a connection."

(DAHLIA) "Mister Stark?"

(Tony) "Wha- I'm sorry- who are you?"

(DAHLIA), ignoring Tony, "An enhanced got to (Name). The operative is down, but (Name)'s experiencing hallucinations. I can't get through to him- you need to get to him, now. I fear he may hurt himself more than he already has."

(DAHLIA) "And if I may be privy to a request?"

(Tony) "What?"

(DAHLIA) "Don't bring Rogers." (I don't remember why I wrote this bit.)

(Steve) "Any updates on (Name)?"

(Tony) "Yep, and by the looks of it," there was a loud boom coming from the base, and as Tony looked up to see an all too familiar suit fly out of the building. Or, rather, flying was an interesting way to put it- it was more of a free-falling more than anything else.

(Steve) "What was that?"

(Tony) "That was (Name), and he's not havin' a great time I'll tell you that."

His voice was light and joking, but he'd be lying if he didn't say that his heart wasn't in his throat by the sight of you flying out of the building and falling back into the forests.

(Line break, another POV switch)

Steve sprinted towards the loud boom, movements quick and calculated, but mind racing a thousand miles an hour. He saw a red and gold glint fly up above him, zipping in and out between trees gracefully.

(Line break, but no switch, same place. Another story POV shift, sort of. Steve makes contact with (Name), or so he thinks.)

"(Name)? Hey, do you copy?"

The suit was eerily silent, glowing eyes that once gave comfort to the soldier now bringing nothing but an awful, gripping dread; one that he'd get when there were Nazi soldiers nearby, but he couldn't tell where even with his enhanced senses. The suit gave away nothing that usually screamed out everything that was you- no head swaying, no restless and constantly shifting feet, only a stillness that looked so unnatural. Almost as if there was no one in there.

"(Name)?"

There was no response from you.

The hairs on Steve's neck stood up, everything in his system suddenly screaming to get out of there, run, leave, get away from the suit, but he ignored it as he took a cautious step forward.

Again, you didn't seem to react.

Then, the suit took a step forward.

Then another one.

And another one.

"(Name)-"

Before he could say anything more, the suit lunged forward. Only for a moment could Steve react, but even he wasn't as fast as you could be when you're in the suit. He raised his shield, ready to be shot at, but only the sound of harsh metal on metal makes it to his ears. By the sounds of it, it sounded like Tony had managed to land a direct hit on you, from wherever position he was at. Cautiously, Steve lowers his shield to look.

But instead of the familiar red and gold suit of armor greeting him, it's the sight of two (color) suits wrestling on the ground with each other that manages to sucker-punch all air from his lungs.

(Basically, you went bat shit insane and got out of the older suit, then prematurely activating the nano suit instead, in a fit of panicked hallucination. The older suit, now operating by DAHLIA, was trying to protect Steve from being ambushed by (Name), and now they're wrestling.)

(Another big break, but I think I had a hallucination sequence from (Name)'s POV planned here. Not sure what I was gonna do here since I planned this like, maybe in 2018, early 2019. It's... 2021 now...)

"-(Name)!"

Your eyes widened as the world around you suddenly shifts out of existence, and instead, you're outside in the dim, snowy alps once again. Someone called out to you, you don't know who, but there's a light in the corner of your eyes that's so goddamn bright. You turn your head in the direction of the light, and amidst all of the yelling and gunshots, DAHLIA's cool, chilling voice rings the loudest in your ear.

"Aborting protoc-"

And then the world turned black.

Ch. 16 (Enflamed) also has written text. Basically, you're recovering from being caught slipping by a car, the team is now aware of certain secrets you've been keeping behind their backs, and you realize that you have to get back to Barnes to let him know you're okay.

This chapter was meant to be focused on the twins, but I guess I forgot that as I was "writing" it. Basically, the gist was that their parent's deaths weren't by officially licensed Stark tech (maybe even a counterfeit since Stark weapons are the best, and don't malfunction as it did in WandaVision ep. 8). Maybe HYDRA was the one that did it in order to recruit more people. Or something like that. Basically, Tony wasn't the one who authorized those weapons to be sold and used there, but it was Stane. Either way, they get their own healthy moment to mourn and lament over it all.

Here's the text below. Italics for a dream sequence, since you were unconscious/ in a coma from being bOnked on by a car.

"Hey, sweetheart."

You smile, turning around to face the voice only to be greeted with lips on yours. You chuckle, amused that this was the first thing you'd be greeted with, but lean into the kiss anyways as you wrapped your fingers around their cheek.

They pull back first, but their eyes are warm as they smile, lingering in the space between the two of you. Where their hands laid on your hips, your skin burned bright hot, but you paid no mind to it.

(There's supposed to be more, maybe foreshadowing, but I stopped here in terms of the dream sequence. Jump cut to another POV, but you're waking up!)

(Name) "Hnng..."

(Steve) "Stay down! You're in no condition to move at all, just- just rest, okay? The doctors- and- your dad are coming."

(Steve) "How're you feeling? You want some water?"

You tried to turn your head to look at the blonde but hissed suddenly.

(Name) "S'nnof'a' b'ch..." (Son of a bitch.)

Steve helped you settle back onto your pillow- which even he'll admit doesn't look like the most comfortable setting in the world.

"Language, (Name)..."

He reprimanded, but there's no heat in his words as he's just so thankful that you're even capable of forming any words, no matter how profane they may be.

Beside him, Clint laughs a bit too loud for comfort. Steve wants to tell him to be quiet, as he's sure you're sensitive to noise right now, but God he can't blame the archer for his overwhelming relief.

Lord knows Clint wasn't the only one to stress over their youngest Avenger.

"First words after a damn coma, and it's 'son of a bitch'! I told you he's a fighter!"

"Of course he is, he's a Stark after all."

All eyes turn to see the billionaire and assassin walk into the room. They look clean and pristine as always, but by the slight sheen of sweat on both of them, Steve knew they rushed here as soon as word spread that you were awake.

(Natasha) "Tooting your own horn a little much there?"

Natasha's smile betrays her words as she looks fondly from the senior Stark to the junior. Even the ironclad wall she has up 24/7 has a soft spot for the team's junior member.

(Especially for the junior member, but you didn't hear that from Steve.)

(Tony) "It's both of our horns, excuse you."

Tony turns his attention to you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"You sure took a hit back there, champ."

"Mmm... 'm feel like a... Nn... A damn Make A W'sh kid...", (Mm, am feeling like a damn Make A Wish kid...) your eyes, though blown out from still being drugged up, wandered across each Avenger. You frowned, then smirked- well, as best as you could, anyways.

"Where's th' Hul'k? T'or?" (Where's the Hulk? Thor? (As a joke, since usually the whole gang visits, but they're missing))

"Relax junior, you're not that special. We can only afford so many Avengers to visit you."

Despite his harsh words, Tony places a kiss right on your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed, lashes delicately batting as Tony leans away.

(Big block of nothing, there were supposed to be more text here, more dialogue or something. Same setting!)

(Tony) "So. We need to talk about what happened back there. Y'know. The brand-smackin' new A.I. that's in your suit- she's been awfully quiet. Oh, and the- lord, the thing's a work of art- the- what is it? Nanite suit? That's in a collar- a collar? I mean, I'm not one to judge questionable fashion statements, but-"

(Steve, or someone else) "Tony."

(Tony) "Right- but, we are going to talk about all that, okay?"

"L'ter, ple's? Am tir'd..." (Later, please? Am tired.)

"An' b'sides, chok'r's fun..." (And besides, chokers are fun.)

(Line break, basically, you remember you have a certain Winter Soldier that's been sitting at home without any word from you.)

’Oh fuck.’

(Big line break, basically, you get discharged from the hospital, and now you visit the safehouse Barnes is in to check up on him.)

It was eerily quiet when you opened the door to the safe house. You limped into the door, thankful that the ride on the way back, there were no paparazzi to see you leave at all. (Really, Happy should get a raise.) Lord knows how much of a rile that'll get out of the news media.

'Avengers' Golden Boy: Fatally Injured?' or something dumb like that.

You'd love to roll your eyes, but the tension that's coiling up in your gut surpasses the want as you slowly step into the house. It's warm, more so than the slow brewing chill that's been tempering outside. James never liked the cold, but even so, the house was warmer than you remembered. His shoes are still near the doorway, in the exact place that you remembered it to be, so he definitely hasn't gone anywhere.

(Though, the alerts that were on your phone from DAHLIA definitely show that he wanted to.)

For a brief moment, you were concerned that there wasn't enough food; but even then, DAHLIA would still be up, so she could place an online order to refill the fridge at a moment's notice, so it's not like James (even with his super-soldiered appetite) would starve himself here.

You quietly slipped out of your shoes, slowly as to not incur another cramp in your back, and stepped into the hallway barefooted. You glance into each room you pass by, but not a single sign of the soldier was anywhere to be found.

You stopped when you stood in front of one specific lounge room; yours and James' favorite lounge room.

Lurking into the room, you glanced around.

The room looked exactly like how it did days before when you were still conscious. There are a few mugs strewn about. Most empty, conjoined in one area of the table (James' area), but there's one that's filled with your favorite drink. A drink that you don't remember making for yourself.

And it's placed right in front of your favorite chair, too. Something squeezes at your heartstrings as you couldn't help but smile fondly.

It's gone cold, you absently note as you dip a finger into it. Wiping your finger on your pants, you grabbed it and the rest of the empty cups, making a note to place them into the dishwasher when you make it into the kitchen.

"James?"

You called out, but only your voice echoed back. The cups quietly rattled with each step, and it's not long before you make it into the kitchen. It, too, looks the same, but there's a thin layer of dust only a clean freak would notice. The sink is empty and clear of any beads of water. Unused for a little bit, you concluded.

Yeesh.

You placed all of the cups into the dishwasher, which was also dry and empty as well. Sighing, you turned on the machine and jumped out of your skin when you felt a pair of built arms wrap themselves around you tightly.

It only takes a split second for you to realize that, no, this is not some ax murderer that's about to choke the life out of you, it's just James.

James who, apparently, is holding you flush against his chest, fingers curling themselves against your bandaged abdomen. You held back a wince of pain, careful not to make your breathing waver, as James nuzzle his whole head against the crook of your neck.

(Honestly, for someone named the Winter Soldier, he sure is warm because whew, boy-)

"Ja-"

"I thought you were gone."

His name is caught in your throat as James' voice- gritty, deep, unused- rumbles into your skin. You freeze, unsure of what to say to that as you shuddered, suddenly breathless as he mouths at your neck. Your ears turn bright red as he takes that moment to speak up, not once letting up on his fingers ghosting a trail on each muscle on your abdomen.

"You were gone. One second you were in my arms, and the next... The next, DAHLIA's tellin' me you're in a damn coma."

You winced, not sure how to respond to both what he said or the growl that accompanied it. You looked up at the camera that was in a nearby corner and threw it a withering glance, feeling slightly betrayed by DAHLIA for telling James that.

Thankfully (or probably not), James isn't really looking for a response as he continues on.

"Моя звездная пыль (My stardust)," Russian slips out, bringing a chill up your spine as bits of Winter spills out from James' fingertips, "The witch got to you, didn't she?"

Goosebumps raised on your skin, and to your silence, James snarled. You can barely feel his teeth graze on your nape, and you really don't know if you should feel embarrassed or something else.

And wow, okay, maybe you should tell James to ease up on the "hug", because holy shit, his grip's getting tighter and it's starting to actually hurt.

(Ah, he might tear the stitches.)

"HYDRA сукa...! Я убью ее...!" (HYDRA bitch...! I'll kill her...!)

You huffed, still red in the face as he hasn't even nudged away from letting you go. You patted his forearm, signaling for him to loosen up his grip, and to his credit, he does. Barely, but it was still something.

"I dunno what ya' just said in Russian, but I know what Hydra сукa means. No cussing in Russian, only in English."

He mumbles something incoherent into your shoulder, rubbing circles into your stomach with a tantalizingly slow speed. You coughed; in literally any other situation this would be one of the hottest things you've ever experienced, but considering that James was more Winter than James right now, and your stomach is literally burning in pain from the rubbing, you opted to ignore the fact that you really liked that James was this close and spoke up.

"Not to alarm you or anything, but uh, if you keep rubbing my stomach like that," your breath hitched, the pain starting to become a little too much, "I'm gonna pass out from the pain," you said, with clenched teeth.

(End of what I had written down. Anyways, not sure where I was gonna go from here.)

Ch. 17-20 are relatively short in terms of what I had written down.

Ch. 17 (Reconditioning) has 3 things typed down:

integrating the twins, thoughts of integrating bucky

supreme distrust between you and the twins

meanwhile maybe thoughts from twins abt you? you're around their age

3rd bullet introduces the idea that they might be love interests. Maybe. Shrugs. That chapter would be heavier on the character developments of the twins, both as their own persons and their relationship with you, specifically. They don't like you because you're Tony's son, still some bitter feelings there, and you don't like them because... Well... there's just a lot of bad feelings. They helped kill J.A.R.V.I.S. in your original timeline. Wanda basically fucked off with Vision. She antagonized Tony. (And there is a hypocrisy there since I would've written you to have done the same thing there. (Name) isn't perfect.)

You just didn't get along with Pietro since, back when he wasn't dead, you were immature and not yet accustomed to dealing with people who're purposefully frustrating/ teasing/ mocking/ etc. Nothing really personal with him, it's Wanda that you had beef with. But you'll get over it one day.

Ch. 18 (Longstanding) is shorter.

you and james have a talk, and after a year or two being solitary, you agree that he should be in the avengers

he joins the avengers

That's it, that's the chapter.

Ch. 19 (Accountability) deals with newer Accords (not a Sokovian one! Just from the proposed need for accountability).

It goes better around this time, as basically all of the Avengers agree to it, with their own caveats of course. Steve especially, but of course, he's willing to work with the governments about it this time around. Also, Peter Parker gets introduced, in accordance with the "underaged enhanced/ superheroes" clause, or some bull like that.

Ch. 20 (Wakanda) is basically the intro to CA:CW but like, civilized. No bombing since Zemo still has his family. Introduces Wakanda, and T'Challa as a potential love interest. If you're interested in IronPanther, I highly recommend reading the IronPanther Collection by Okyverlo on AO3. It's great and got me a lot of interest in T'Challa as a love interest.

As for official chapters with the plot, that's about it. I wasn't sure what to do afterward.

There were some loose ideas I had about what would happen to (Name). Maybe the truth is revealed, that you're actually from the future, and Dr. Strange separates past and future you into two separate bodies. Future! you into your original future body, and past! you into the current body. Past! you still have the same memories and thoughts that future! you had, but with less angst. Future! you is noticeably more depressed and just a bummer. Lol.

And after that, 2023! you would go back to the future where you belonged, and Past! you would stay in the present since, duh, that's still Past! you's original timeline. It's a little confusing when I type it down haha.

I was thinking maybe 2023! you would pair up with Steve since you realized how burdensome it is to continue to resent someone. Now you understood what Tony meant.

And Past! you would definitely pair up with James, but maybe Steve too. A nice lil' polygamous relationship.

Now here's the other, non-official chapters.

2 What If's, and 3 Specials, in the order they're listed at the moment.

What If (2013 Counterpart) plays with an initial idea I had, where Past! (Name) was actually sent into the future into 2023! (Name)'s body during the prologue. Not sure where I was gonna go with this chapter, but I really wanted to mess with that possibility, and show just how immature and teenager-y Past! you were.

What If (Swapped Places) plays with the idea that you and Tony, in the original timeline, had swapped places. You were on Titan with Spiderman, Dr. Strange, and the GOTG, while Tony was on Earth with everyone else. That's all I had planned. Maybe you actually won and managed to get the gauntlet off of Thanos when you realized that Peter Quill was about to go crazy over his ex's death, and you knocked him down in time.

Special (Find My Body, Only At The Oak Tree), deals with you and your depression over the reality that you might have to relive the blip again, and aside from the Avengers, you really don't have anyone else and nothing's worth really living for at this point. I actually have a lot written for this one. Not sure if I wanted this to be canon.

Trigger warning: suicidal tendencies.

(Below is the general idea I had for the plot.)

(names) birthdays across the years so far

we see slow mental deterioration of (name) as he aches

we see as we reach closer and closer to the deadline, (name) dreads even thinking about thanos and wants to die before even looking at him, a symbol of their failure

lowkey highkey suicidal

___

The first time you celebrated your 17th birthday was in 2014.

The second time you celebrated your 17th birthday was also in 2014... Obviously.

The first time you celebrated your 17th birthday, the whole tower was flooded with people who you knew and people who you couldn't care to know. It was filled with what little was left of your friend group outside of the Avengers; it was also filled with the rich, the pompous, the irritating of New York.

You got into a yelling match with your dad that night, over something you couldn't even bother to remember, and stormed off into your room, fuming as the party still went on without their birthday boy present.

(It's always like that as if you're replaceable. Surely, you must be; the Avengers can and will, if need be, exist without you.)

The second time you celebrated your 17th birthday, you told your dad you wanted it to be small and personal. Only the Avengers were there, as a few days ago did you spend a pre-birthday celebration with some of your high school 'friends' (which only mainly consisted of playing Smash Bros Brawl in your room and eating an ungodly amount of junk food as you fake laughed along with their shitty jokes.) (Steve promptly made you burn those calories off in training.).

(What Steve doesn't know is that you purposefully ate that much to train with him; otherwise, you had the whole day off the next day.

You didn't want to be alone.)

It was sweet as everyone gave their gifts to you (which you already knew what it was, but said nothing of it), and as everyone got drunk off of the expensive liquor or Asgardian mead, you quietly snuck out of the building and back into the safe house where James was waiting for you.

(He waits, but how much of it is because he has no other choice?

It is not like that, you keep reminding yourself.

Who is to say, other than you?

James never says anything of it, and you start to wonder if he feels as if he has no choice.

As if he feels like he's been made another prisoner, once again.

At what point, what is separating the distinction between you and HYDRA, in his mind?

You're not too keen on finding out the answer anytime soon.)

The whole way there, you thought of nothing in particular.

You quietly celebrated with him too, shared a few slices of cake he made just for you before you quietly said goodnight to him. He kissed you on the cheek, said a simple goodnight, and slipped away into his own bedroom.

Meanwhile, you spent the rest of the night drinking too much alcohol, alone, in the dark of your room, staring at nothing in particular, thinking about nothing in particular.

The next morning, you jokingly wished you had just died last night as you're bent over the toilet emptying your stomach contents.

___

The first time you celebrated your 18th birthday, you spent it outside in another country with your friends.

The second time you celebrated your 18th birthday party, you rented out a bumper kart arena with the Avengers.

The first time you celebrated your 18th birthday, you tried desperately to hang onto the remaining friends you had outside of the Avengers, a chance to feel normal for once. You practically went hiking across Europe and into Asia over the week of your birthday, and by God did you visit so many places. From the Louvre to the casinos in New Deli, you trekked everywhere with your friends and acted as a cash pig for their endeavors under the guise of celebrating your birthday. Least to say, you always got 'accidentally' blackout drunk on multiple occasions, oblivious to their actions.

Later you found out and cut them off instantly without another word. They didn't seem to notice that you stopped talking to them.

It hurt.

Pointless of you to try to maintain that friendship.

So on your next 18th birthday, having long forgone those friendships ages ago, you suggested going bumper karting with the Avengers. Bruce operated as the 'coach' of sorts, but he seemed to have enjoyed it as well.

It was fun, obviously.

It went on for a few hours, as you all had made up mini-games to play along with as they got bored of chasing after each other aimlessly for half an hour. A few games had you pairing up with some of the Avengers; the other had them actually using their skills to try to maim each other.

(Wanda at one point lifted everyone into the air as Pietro zoomed through the rink; though, he did slip and slam into the wall. Everyone laughed, but it was interrupted as Wanda promptly dropped everyone out of shock.

Everyone was too busy in their own shock as well to notice your labored breathes, wild crazed eyes, or how you clawed viciously at your throat at the sight of Wanda's red wisps. Your fingers were tinted a sick vermilion.

Thankfully, the arena was relatively dim, so no one could tell what just happened.)

It was fun. Everyone didn't hold their shoves back, and when things riled up, it turned into who would break a bone first. No one did, but everyone was definitely sore afterward. Of course, the enhanced ones didn't limp as much, but it made your limp nothing out of the ordinary.

(You tried your most damn not to just collapse completely, both exhaustion and pain threatening to snap your spine into little bits and pieces.

You jokingly wished it did.)

Thankfully, during the whole ordeal, no one noticed how you didn't avoid obvious hits, instead opting to just get harshly jostled in your kart and neck snapped haphazardly to the side at the sudden jolt. Or how you 'accidentally' keep forgetting to put on your seat belt or keep your fingers inside the kart.

Or at least, if they noticed, no one said anything as you limped around the tower the next day, bruises marred everywhere on your skin, a sheen of sweat blanketed on your skin throughout the whole day.

___

The first time you celebrated your 19th birthday, you were too swamped with both college and SI to actually... Celebrate.

You didn't even realize it was your birthday. No one did, actually; it took one of your professors to comment on how your name was trending on Twitter to actually get you to realize what the day was.

But even that didn't change your schedule, and as you moved on with your day, so did Twitter and the Avengers.

You never got to celebrate your 19th birthday, too swamped with other things to care.

The second time you celebrated your 19th birthday, you had too much free time in the world.

It ended up being just like your 17th. The Avengers had a little get-together (they remembered this time; what made it so different?) and all of them got drunk wildly off their asses. Once again, you slipped away from the main lounge, and stalked silently, blank-faced, towards a balcony.

You adjusted your collar appropriately and stood there. You stared outside into the bustling busy streets of New York, the city that never sleeps.

(Strange, that it's named that when often times it's the quietest whenever you're there to see it.)

You spend maybe 10 minutes standing there, staring into the oblivion that is New York.

And then, you climbed onto the railings.

Standing there, there was no rush of adrenaline that coursed its way through your veins, nor was there any fear or dread.

Only an overwhelming and crippling exhaustion that made waves through your body. No longer are you in your 19-year-old body, but your 27th. No longer are you in your younger, former self; one that shone brightly above the others, aspiring as both a heroic figure and one that would help pave the way towards a better, peaceful world.

No, instead, your soul feels like it's settled deep into your bones, an aching tire that keeps rocking and rattling at your already fractured, beaten down body, laughing at how pathetic you look.

(You're so tired.

You just wanted to live normally.

You never can, you eventually come to realize on your first 24th birthday.

That thought, now fully realized, would come to permeate it's way deep into your bones.)

All you wanted to do was to just take one step forward, off of the railing that you're so delicately balanced upon, and dive into air headfirst.

Really, all it takes is just one step.

And truly, you've never felt more at peace as your body dropped from the railings, descended quickly towards the streets below you.

What should've been a quick few seconds of a dive felt like an eternity drowning in a bottomless pool. The lights of New York flashed and beamed at you, but it changed rapidly from one to another. Your throat closes, shuttering, and you want so desperately to start screaming.

Only, no one would hear them.

The winds would carry away your screams, rushing a sound of its own that would overpower yours.

You wonder, absently, was this similar to what Rhodey felt that day?

Well.

You'd never really find out, now, will you?

Too late to ask.

(There's no way to get back home.

You can never see Morgan again- the Morgan that called you her big Care Bear, the Morgan that cried and threw a temper tantrum because you forgot to give her a goodnight kiss.

You can never see mom and dad again- while they're still here, it's just not the same. You'll never get to see the same Pepper who was so relieved just to see you alive after the Battle of Wakanda, even if you were practically on your death bed. You'll never get to see the same Tony who you spent hours crying into the shoulder of after the Blip.

You can never see the same Steve, Natasha, Rhodey, anyone, ever again.

Years spent just trying to be better, to help the world, to mend and build any relationships you could, gone.

And even if they weren't?

There's just no way to get back home anymore. Not back to the person you used to be.)

The next day, you got an earful from your parents when photos of your falling body appear all over the internet. All the meanwhile, you're not really listening to them, just staring right back at them.

Odd.

('When did you start looking at me with contempt?', you'd ask one day.

Tony just stares at you, then out the window. In his hand, he's holding a cup of coffee; in yours, water. You've since stopped drinking anything remotely sugary, caffeinated, or alcoholic, though you've never told anyone why.

'When did you start mistaking concern with contempt.', he responded, though it was more of a statement rather than a question.

You stared at him, then followed his gaze out the window.

Neither of you says anything, even as the hours go by in the blink of an eye.)

(That's all I had written down so far. Not sure where I wanted to go with this afterwards.)

Special (Vapidity, Testament To Absence) deals with future DAHLIA realizing what it means to mourn someone.

The house is empty.

It is an irrelevant thought, DAHLIA notes.

Technically speaking, the house has been empty quite often than not; after all, you were a busy man with an equally busy schedule. Being the CEO of SI and a huge contributing factor to the world's rebuilding made it more or less impossible for you to stay at home for long. Though, she also doesn't linger long in the house, either. But she's still there regardless, even if she's also with you on the other side of the planet for diplomatic reasons.

She knows of the emptiness inside this house; it was never an unfamiliar concept.

But with this emptiness, she's never once associated loneliness with it either.

It's a bit better when Virginia occasionally comes around to the house to do some maintenance. She might even bring along little Morgan with her.

("You keep saying she's a pest, but I know I sure as hell ain't the one that keeps shifting the TV to the kids' channels when she's around," you comment, not even taking your eyes off of the pan. DAHLIA says nothing towards your accusations, instead opting to tell you that you're burning your eggs.

You aren't, but she says nothing amidst your panic.)

A few others occasionally visit, too, much to DAHLIA's internal disapproval.

Rogers used to visit every day ever since she first noted the emptiness. His behavior was also peculiar. He'd prowl around the house, pausing here and there at random parts of the house. He'd often just... Stand there, seemingly looking at nothing for a long period, before jolting back and continue what he was doing. She's thankful that he hasn't noted her silence when he's around.

Often Banner would come along too, and he'd be talking quietly with Rogers. As of recently, they've stopped visiting though. Probably because of the recent news (that (Name) might still be alive, just lost in time), DAHLIA almost bitterly notes.

James ("Just call him Rhodey- literally no one calls him James nowadays." you laugh, eyes crinkling with amusement) visits too. He doesn't linger for long, but he makes sure to check up on DAHLIA, help tend to the flowers... She'd even dare say she wishes he'd visit more often.

Peter also visits here and there as well. He often comes with Morgan and Virginia, but there have been a few occasions where he's come here by himself. He'd spend most of his time in the garden, your favorite place. And when he's alone, she'd given him privacy out of respect, but even at a long distance, she can hear him talking by himself. He'd come back eyes red and swollen, but he's always smiling afterward.

A few others have visited too, but not as often as the others. Though, none of that really helps negate the emptiness she feels as she wordlessly navigates through a routine she devoted herself to after your disappearance.

And the final chapter, Special (Chemically Compromised) is basically a fluff filler with (Name) chaperoning Peter's field trip, inspired by an Instagram post.

Written in bits and pieces, unfinished. Not sure if I wanted it to be romantic (the name implies it in a nerdy way) or just a fun, platonic, "dude you're literally embarrassing me" way.

(Peter) "I can't believe you're doing this...!"

(Name) "What? What's wrong with this?"

Pan to (Name) dressing like he's a Typical, Normal Civilian Man, but it's clearly (Name) Stark, son of Tony Stark, and an Avenger.

(Peter) "I don't need you to chaperone my field trip...! May could've done this-"

(Name) "No, she really couldn't, sweetheart. She's got a busy shift, and even told me that no one else's parents was free."

(Name) "Listen- this really could have gone worse if, say, Tony, knew. God knows Tony would've dropped everythin' and just embarrass ya- he did that shit to me every chance he got," Peter winces, almost forgetting that Tony was still your dad, and a chill ran up his spine as he imagined what it would have been like for you.

(Peter) "But still..."

(Name) "Don't worry, I'll just wear a cap and sunglasses."

(Peter) "That can't possibly work."

(Name) "You'd be surprised- Sam's standin' down there, right near that phone booth."

Peter's head snapped over to where you were pointing at, and indeed, right on the floors of the Manhattan streets, there was a relatively built black guy that's wearing a cap, sunglasses, and a brown leather jacket. Peter tilted his head.

He hasn't been around Sam all that much, but he still knows what the Avenger looked like. But even then, he wasn't sure if that man was actually Sam. He's built right, but Peter can't see much of his hair or eyes. Plus, he's kind of far away.

He squinted at the man, before glancing back at you, now unsure of himself.

(Peter) "That's really the Falcon?"

You stared at him, before snorting.

(Name) "Nah, I'm joshin' ya, that's just some random guy...", you glance at the man, sniffing, "... Probably."

That's... pretty much it. That's all I had for Restart, as far as writing goes.

Now here are some closing thoughts, just to wrap all of this up nice and tight, sort of.

I'm not really happy with how the initial chapters were paced and how they were written. My writing style has mildly changed, and if I had the motivation to, I'd love to rewrite them. But alas, I don't.

I think about this story often; or at least, variations of it. It's like when you daydream, and you restart it but to the left. But unfortunately, writing a plot without too many plot holes while remaining as canonically correct as possible, and making it interesting without being a complete word-by-word remake of the movies, is difficult.

I'm not sure if I would ever pick up this story again, especially since this whole chapter told you what I had in store anyways.

Thank you to those who took the time out of their day to write nice and encouraging comments about this story. It's unfortunate it had to end this way, but I'm glad it happened anyways. And hopefully, it's the same for you.

And remember: the one thing writers love to do is talk about their story! If you have any other comments, questions, or just general thoughts about the story, I'd love to discuss it further!

Anyways. If you're reading this now, thanks for sticking with Restart for as long as you did.

_____

Masterlist

_____

I know I had people on the tagged list, but it’s a bit hard to get them all as URL’s change, so I opted not to. Sorry!

#male reader #avengers x male reader #steve rogers x male reader #bucky barnes x male reader #avengers #reader insert #avengers x reader #restart

98 notes · View notes

gotmeringinghellsbells · 3 years

Text

After the Storm

Fandom: Pokemon

Characters: Steven Stone, Wallace

A/N: There’s not enough Steven and Wallace tickle stuff in the world and my brain had been begging for me to do some of my boys soft.

Summary: After the events that occurred in the Kalos region, Steven returns home to Hoenn where his boyfriend and long time best friend was ready to help care for the trip’s aftermath on the champion.

Wallace had to admit, there was just something about a man with a bit of scruff that was just so…. attractive. It was a bit sloppy in his opinion and required a certain body and style to truly be able to be pulled off; but whenever Steven had become so busy to remember to shave and let his grow slightly, Wallace was all for it. Just returning from a rather large journey through Kalos that involved babysitting an angsty, headstrong fifteen-year-old and clumsy ten-year-old (not to mention trying to stop Lysandre form destroying the world…. or just pokemon because somehow he could destroy one without the other, but whatever), and he’d been rather distracted to say the least.

As a result, his typical hygienic self-standards were rather off. He’d grown a bit of a scruff, his hair had become less tame, and he wasn’t fullying paying attention to detail of his outfits. Wallace smirked behind his hand slightly as he examined the other. Steven had also been allowing himself to fall behind on sleep, earning discoloration and swelling under his eyes and the current exhaustion he was now dealing with as he lay on top of his bed’s comforter. “Perhaps a nap would do you good,” Wallace hummed as he strolled into the familiar bedroom to unload his boyfriend’s luggage.

The oor jet lagged man shook his head. “I’d like to get back to having a sleep schedule Wallace. If I nap now, it’s going to take forever to get back to a routine.” Wallace felt his cheeks heat up slightly when he caust Steven’s eye. The tired, dorky smirk that grew on his face as he stared at the other. Shaking his head, the water-type-gym leader unzipped the large suitcase and started to sort through it. “Well, what do you plan to do with your day if you won’t nap then; hm? I can’t imagine that almost twenty hours on a plane feels that well.” Steven laughed softly before sitting up. “It’s not like I didn’t sleep on the flight at all love,” he said stretching out slightly before leaning back against the soft pillow that sat against his bed frame.

“I’ve been on flights with you. It’s never a true slumber, Steve,” Wallace lectured, using Steven’s nickname. “Mmhmm,” Steven hummed before resting his head back against the wood of the head board. Steel eyes closed as he exhaled softly, only to snap open again as he jolted upwards, attempting to pull his legs into his chest. Wallace let out a grunt, still holding onto his boyfriend’s shoe as he was tugged forward from the reaction. “Geez Steven, I’m just tring to take your shoes off,” the taller huffed. “Ah, sorry,” the champion said sheepishly before leaning forward to undo his other shoe; as Wallace finally managed to wrestle the designer item off his boyfriend’s foot.

“See, isn’t that better,” Wallace hummed before furrowing his brows from the Steel-type specialist’s response. Well, lack there off, anyway. He was groggily looking Wallace over, repeatedly. “Did…. did you acquire a new uniform,” Steven finally asked as he reached a hand out to feel the thin, narrow piece of cloth that attached the top of Wallace’s outfit to the bottom. “Ah, yes…. you like it?” Steven was continuing to feel the fabric as he nodded rather easily. “Feels nicer than your last one,” he mumbled before slipping four fingers under the purple crop top, earning a squeak. Wallace turned slightly, curling up the best he could as he stood. “Steve,” he squeaked. “Don’t do that.”

“Hm? Oh.” Steven didn’t bother to apologize. He merely removed his hand from the crop top and gently started to tickle the exposed sides. Wallace threw his head back with a sequel as a result. One hand attempted to over his mouth, the other trying to pry his boyfriend’s callused hands off of him. “Ah! Stheheheve! Chahahut it out!” Steven chuckled softly as he watched his long-time best friend squirm and laugh about. “It feels nicer, but I don’t get why you decided to expose so much skin? Is it meant to be a bathing suit as well or something? Honestly, with a weakness like this, I would have thought you’d keep such vulnerable spots covered.”

“Whahaht ahahare you - ah,” Wallace gasped for air as he finally pulled away enough to escape the tickle monster’s hands. “What… are you … t...talking about,” he panted as he rubbed away the ghostly ticklish feeling. “You know, weakness? You're a gym leader after all.” Wallace paused before quirking a brow. “Steven, dear, trainers don’t fight gym leaders hand to hand.” Steven nodded, rather confused. “Yes? I know that love.” Wallace gave a slow nod. “So…. why would I have to worry about… someone tickling me?” Steven shrugged before simply saying: “Weakness to water”. What? “Dear you should really take that nap,” Wallace sighed as he turned his attention back to the suitcase. “I’m not made of water, Steven. Just as you’re not made of steel.”

“I know that,” the other yawned out before laying back into the bed more. “But a Tangela could easily have you at it’s mercy.” Wallace still couldn’t figure out what his beloved was trying to say. “Steve, I don’t fight the pokemon. My pokemon fight trainers’ pokemon. There’s no reason for a tamed Tangela or Tangrowth to tickle me for a badge.” There was a long silence as Wallace started placing dirty clothes in the hamper and rocks on Steven’s dresser to be sorted later. “Oh, you found more mega stones I see,” he hummed; despite feeling it to be pointless to try to talk to his zombified boyfriend.

‘Yeah,” Steven confirmed, sounding as if he was deep in thought. Wallace placed teh suitcase aside before climbing up the bed to lay beside the shorter. “We…. don’t…. Fight pokemon? But we fight pokemon.” God, Steven was so cute when he was sleep deprived. It was amusing to say the least. “We don’t touch the opposing pokemon. Our pokemon fight them.” Steven slowly started to nod. “You need that nap,” Wallace giggled. “Come on, I’ll help you change and then you can rest that poor brain of yours.” He ruffled the steel, slightly greasy locks of hair before feeling his wrist be gently grasped. “No,” Steven yawned softly. “I’m good,” he assured. “Your good? For the last twenty minutes you’ve been convinced that we fight challengers’ pokemon. Not that our pokemon do.” Steven nodded slowly nevertheless. “Mmmhmm. I’m good.”

With that, he slowly started to get up to look for things to do to feel productive, but he found himself being pulled back onto the firm mattress. “No. You're going to rest,” Wallace insisted as he started to adjust Steven back on the bed. “I’ll fall asleep if I keep laying here,” Steven protested weakly. “And you’ll hurt yourself if you don’t,” Wallace lectured. However, his boyfriend wasn’t having it. Steven was starting to sit up again, only to be pushed back down. Steven huffed, pouting slightly before attempting to roll the green haired male off of him. “Are you seriously trying to roll me off you,” Wallace laughed as he pulled the other with him.

“Yes. Wallace please, I’m f-pfff! Hey,” the champion giggled as he scrunched his shoulders into his neck. Well cared for nails gently fluttered against the soft, warm neck of the shorter; moving to the soft, right ear when the neck became unavailable. “Tangela for me huh? Blaziken would have some fun with you,” Wallace teased before moving to tickle the silk, button-up shirt-clothed chest. “Ehehehehehe! Mmmmm Wallace,” Steven whined as he rolled beside the taller. Wallace giggled before moving to sit on top of the other’s waist. Nimble fingers delicately moved to untuck the soft shirt from the pant line that tucked it away. Said fingers then carefully glided under the surface on the warm, taught stomach that danced below the gentle touch in an attempt to escape the touch.

“W-Whahahahllace,” Steven laughed, reaching with a bit more coordination and energy for the assaulting digits. “Coochie, coochie, coo,” Wallace laughed before moving to squeeze at the shooter’s hips. Steven bucked, practically squawking through his adorable snorts that only encouraged his boyfriend to tickle the poor dork even more. “Hmm…. you seem a bit more awake now. Maybe I should move down to tickle thoe aching feet of yours, hm? A tickle massage sound ideal,” the water specialist teased softly. He looked over the other so adoringly, so lovingly. He hadn’t seen Steven in months, maybe two at the most, but still… it was more than one month! He just missed his significant other; the champion of the region who couldn’t be bothered to text or call back generally. Wallace had been rather lonely the last eight weeks.

However, said loneliness was over as suddenly Wallace snapped out of his daze. He felt a hand grasp his torso before gravity come up to meet his side with the comforter below him. Blinking in shock for a moment. Turquoise eyes sheepishly glanced up to see playful, steel ones looking back at them. Steven was panting softly, smirking playfully as his eyes scanned the other. “Thanks for the wake up dear,” he panted, continuing to gently pin his partner. “Ah, of course,” Wallace replied rather sheepishly. He wiggled slightly, testing Steven’s grip on him and weight balance. “No, truly,” Steven chuckled, moving to lay Wallace out on his back some while still sitting on him.

“You’ve been nothing but caring since you came to greet me at the airport. Helping me into the passenger seat of your car, into my house. You even unpacked my luggage for me. Now you’ve woken me up enough to be productive and I really think my first task of productivity is thanking you.” Wallace felt his stomach fill with butterflies as he gently squirmed under the other. “You truly don’t have to dear, it was nothing,” Wallace attempted to bargain. However, both new that wasn’t going to happen. “I meant what I said earlier,” Steven chuckled as he sat back on Wallace’s pelvis. He gently placed a hand on the hardly clothed stomach with a small smile. “You do look nice, but I still don’t understand why you decided to expose so much skin. I mean, your hips are even exposed.”

Wallace let out a giggle as his boyfriend started to tweak his bare hip gently. “Stheheheve!” Wallace felt his face heat up as he gently tried to bite his bottom lip. “Wallace,” Steven said softly. He truly could careless about the skin exposure. In all honesty, it was probably for Wallace to move around quicker, feel the ocean breeze on his skin, and bring more attention to himself and his pokemon during pokemon performances. “Oh? Trying not to laugh,” Steven practically purred as he leaned forward. He ceased teh attack on the taller’s hip before gently taking Wallace’s wrists and lifting his arms over his head. “Oh no,” Wallace giggled as he started to gently try to shift his legs and wiggle his feet. “Oh yes,” Steven whispered softly, huskily, into his lover’s ear. “You're going to kill me,” Wallace whined, turning in an attempt to avoid the soft lips that were attacking his ear with warm air.

Steven rolled his eyes before gently kissing the warm cheek before him. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Wallace giggled slightly as Steven briefly and gently fluttered his fingers under one of his arms. “Ah, no,” Wallace squealed as he gently started to wiggle in his boyfriend’s grasp. Steven chuckled before leaning close to his lover’s ear. “Ah,” he fake sighed, “yes. Let’s start with these sensitive hallows, hm?” Wallace tried to hide his face in his arms, his breath already starting to go haywire from just the idea of being tickled by his sweet boyfriend. Steven wasn’t always so playful, but when he was, he made sure Wallace was enjoying himself as well. “Wrestling with me, ah, my bad. Tickle wrestling with me? Did you truly think I’d let you just walk away from that? Let alone let you truly start to tickle me?”

Wallace was slowly starting to giggle, twisting and turning in his boyfriend’s hold. “I haven’t even started to tickle you yet,” Steven laughed. “Why in the world are you laughing so soon? Could it be… you want me to tickle you? That you want to laugh so freely?” Wallace started digging his heels into the mattress, just wanting the other to start already. He’d missed Steven so much, and quite frankly, if this was how he was going to get cuddles out of the other, he was willing to “suffer” at the hands of the tickle monster. Regardless, one of them was going too for that cuddle time, Wallace was going to make sure of it. Of course, he fancied the idea of him getting revenge on the more ticklish later once cuddle mode had entered it’s full relaxation status much more than Steven gently trying to tickle him here and there at random not allowing them to get to such a state.

“Coochie, coochie, coo,” Steven teased, hovering his fingers just above the delicate, hairless skin. Wallace bucked gently, shaking his head as he tried to compose himself. Clearly, it wasn’t working so well. “I’m gonna getcha,” Steven continued. “Have to make up for lost time, right? Would you like that?” Wallace was really laughing now. “Oh Stheheheven,” he whined. “Sthahahaop theheheasing!” Steven may be the more ticklish and typically the easier to tickle, but Wallace was weak to teases. The stupider, the better of a reaction. “Oh? You want to be tickled?” Wallace was pressing his head back into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. “Huh? Do you want to be tickled Wallace? The famous Wallace of Sootopolis. The water specialist who’s become a champion in the world of pokemon battling and performance, wants to be tickled at the hands of his boyfriend? Is that what your telling me?”

Wallace started wiggling his feet desperately. “Steve sthahahahop,” he squealed. “You truly are a sight to behold,” Steven started. He moved his hand from the underarms to gently flutter his fingers under the exposed chin. Wallace let out higher pitched giggles, now trying to hide the area. “Such soft, radiant skin; glowing like the cleanest diamond.” Wallace’s face was right red at this point as the compliments and lack of air were affecting him. “Er, well, I guess ruby at this point. But I suppose it looks rather unique with such beautiful hair and matching eyes.” Wallace shook his head more frantically now. He may seem like the type to love compliments, but they always made him a little flustered. With Steven, they made him weak, like an old time cartoon girl being complimented by a bad boy she had a crush on. It was embarrassing but true. “Oh just tickle me,” Wallace begged. Steven stopped for a moment, a look of entertained shock on his face. “What,” he chuckled out in disbelief. “Did… did you just ask me to tickle you?” Wallace was silent, panting softly before daring to open his eyes slightly.

“I haven’t been this close to you in months. If I can’t get you to sit still, can you at least stop teasing me,” he huffed before giggling as fingers slipped under his exposed underarms. ‘Anything you want dear,” Steen cooed as he slowly started to dig into the sensitive hollows more; earning louder laughter. “Oh shahahahit! S-Stheheheven, eek! Nhahahahahaha! N-No, no, no, no! Ghahahaha!” Music to the champion’s ears as he worked his way down to the half clothed rib cage, playing it like a piano…. kind of. He was a little sloppy. “You said you wanted me to tickle you, so that’s what I’m doing.” Wallace’s back was arched, his arms trying to fight him to cover the area as he tried to hold on to the top of the headboard or anything to keep him from bringing them down.

“It took a little while longer, but Steven eventually stopped, just smiling down at the mess that was his boyfriend. No matter how dolled up Wallace tried to present himself as, or how “ugly” he could be with messy hair and blood shot eyes…. he was always just beautiful to Steven. Nothing he wore made him any less attractive, not emotion, no hair style, no time of day; Wallace was always just an image of beauty to him. He was like a rare stone amongst the humans Steven had met in his twenty five year of life. Wallace slowly pulled his arms down, panting quite heavily as he tried to calm down.

Part of him was disappointed it was over, the other, glad to relax a bit. He slowly brought a hand up to wipe at his face. “Oh Arceus,” he sighed. “Oh, I didn’t over do it, did I,” Steven asked with slight concern as he used his coat to help wipe some of the tears of mirth from the flushed face. “Ah, just a little. My underarms are just…. ah, you know,” Wallace sighed as he gently clamped his hands under his arms. He sat up looking a bit sheepish, only to be pulled into a hug. Steven nuzzled into the other’s neck as arms struggled to free themselves to hug him back. “Steven come on,” Wallace sighed as he moved away slightly from his boyfriend.

“What,” Steven asked with a bit of a pout. “Your…. your scruff,” Wallace huffed. “It tickles.” Steven sighed, rolling his eyes. “You know, I just want to cuddle now and you just have to be so sensitive huh?” Oh, was that how he was going to play? Wallace knew Steven was messing with him, but quite frankly, it was on. “Oh? Is that so? Well, if that’s the case.” Wallace pushed the other off of him before gently taking his boyfriend’s ankles into his arms with a smirk. “Well my dear, you should have jus settled for cuddles earlier.”

#steven stone #wallace #tickle #pokemon tickle #tickling #tickle fight #originshipping #fanfic #fanfiction #pokemon tickling

73 notes · View notes

asgardianthot · 5 years

Text

Flesh And Bones - part 1

Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Soulmate AU

In a world where people bond with their soulmates through physical pain, living in the same compound makes the search much easier (or it should, if they weren’t so damn stubborn)

TW: self-inflicted injuries

words: 1742

A/N: this is my first time posting a series on the tumblrs but I’ve had the idea for months so here goes nothing

Series Masterlist

Pain is such human extravaganza.

For your body to react to certain dangers or stimulations that trigger specific nervous patterns, that’s something most living creatures are built with. We are but machines; when you lay your hand over fire and it hurts, your nervous system is alerting the rest of your body of harm and yelling at it to get away from said harm, similar to how old hair dryers would stop functioning when they overheated to prevent explosions.

That, we have a general idea of. Pain is natural and not a construct.

But suffering. Aching from love, or the lack of it… nobody does it better than humans. Super-humans included. Enhanced, hyper-trained, whatever. The pain parade of romance is something so deeply rooted into the dumbest parts of our brains, that that must be the reason behind soulmates.

The point is, it is only logical for such a cruel universe to bond love and pain so tightly.

It’s simple, really. Sometime in the speck of dust of time in which we live, a person will get injured. They’ll bump their toe on a kitchen counter, fall on their butts, cut their finger while chopping vegetables, or maybe get into a chaotic car accident. No matter the damage, when the universe decides that hurt idiot is your hurt idiot, you’ll feel their pain on your own skin. It also didn’t matter if you knew the person or not, only chances were your soulmate was a complete stranger.

At first it comes like a tingle, a small pinch or even the ghost sensation of a scratch. But if your soulmate is nearer than they should without you realizing who they are, the sensation becomes full and the closer they are the more vivid their pain feels on your own skin. It is extremely uncertain, however, if it has to do with spatial proximity, or emotional.

Sam Wilson would eventually sit on the park, after his morning jog, or afternoon jog, and contemplate people. He enjoyed the easiness, the memory of a time before the army, when his life was simple. No PTSD, no Avenging. To be fair, the Avenger life was the cure to the PTSD somehow, for Sam Wilson was a man of action and the more quiet his life was, the more his mind wandered. He loved the agitation, the missions, the feeling of helping people, yet every once in a while, or once a day even, he would simply sit and watch the futility of civilian’s walks around the park.

A woman sat next to him and didn’t offer any sign of kindness. She seemed busy -occupied- in the way that she moved and looked around, which is why he didn’t look at her any longer so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. However, he then began getting the feeling that she was keeping an eye on him, and when he glanced at her nervous hands, he noticed the poor woman holding a needle to her skin, poking her own hand a few times.

A desperate soul.

On one side of a binary coin, some people don’t believe in soulmates. They aren’t the easiest to spot, and when a couple like that is seen, there is no proof for a simple skeptical individual that they actually felt each other’s pain. There were studies proving the neuronal effects, and were those hard to execute, but not everyone fell for them. Some argued that it was psychological placebo, that the person forced themselves to feel their lover’s feelings, some accused the studies to be biased or false. Some were old and hadn’t found one so why would they believe soulmates were real? They’re not necessary. You don’t just love the person you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with, and them alone, there’s all kinds of love and affection. Then, well… some were simply bitter, covering up their fear of never finding one for themselves.

On the polar opposite, there were the desperate ones. They would inflict harm on themselves in public spaces, expecting a reaction from the passersby.

More than once had Sam seen a man stab their own leg or cut through their palm yelling ‘can anybody feel this?’ as if they feared this was their only shot, forcing the Falcon to run and make them stop hurting themselves along with other civilians. Some couldn’t wait. And Sam never understood why someone wouldn’t be able to enjoy life if they didn’t know their one and only; It made dating much more relaxed and fun and honest. Perhaps that person would eventually become your soulmate, and even though the probabilities of that happening were slim to none, it didn’t need to ruin every romantic relationship in your life.

Therefore with pain in his chest, he addressed the young woman whose eyes were directly analyzing Sam’s hand.

“Hey, lady?” he asked her, earning a big pair of hopeful eyes to find his; yet he had to give her a sad frown to let her know he wasn’t who she was looking for, thus gaining a mimicking disappointed look, “It’s not worth all this trouble.”

Her expression quickly turned into one of distance, like she was trying to protect herself from people who didn’t understand her. She sat back and allowed a smirk to take over her face as she stared into nothingness.

“You’re one of those people who think it’s all a hoax? A construct?” when obtaining no reply, she kept pressuring the Falcon, “Placebo effect? Self-conditioning?”

Sam didn’t give in. He simply took a big breath and sat up from the bench. When he turned to face her, her eyes weren’t as distant.

“No.” He said calmly, “I think yours will come when it’s time. Until then,” he raised his eyebrows a bit, “you’re just hurting yourself for no reason.”

Sam walked away before he could see the young woman’s lower lip tremble.

“I didn’t eat your cereal.” Bucky protested, plopped on the couch that faced a flat screen.

Sam, however, wasn’t buying it. He held his ground, one hand on his hip and the other agitating the skimpy remains inside the carton box, making it rattle.

“It’s empty.” He insisted, in a way that screamed paranoia over being accused of overreacting or being crazy.

Instead of acting in an opposite behavior, he gave Bucky all the more reason to treat him as if he were going insane.

“Well, it wasn’t me.” The soldier replied easily, not flipping through the channels anymore but surrendering to a local news one; after a sigh, he looked at the accusatory, “Maybe Steve did it.”

Sam pursed his lips before turning to Steve with a dead look on his face.

“Steve, did you eat my cereal?” he asked condescendingly, already knowing the answer to be no.

As a matter of fact, the blonde’s shirt had small dark spots where he sweat his morning jog on, his hair was still perfect for a regular person but a bit disheveled for Captain America’s inhuman standards, and he was focused on drinking from a water bottle.

He tilted his head to Sam, who nodded, more agreeing with himself than with Rogers.

“You’re the only one who stays on the couch all morning.” He braked back at Barnes.

He didn’t respond this time, perhaps because he was, once again, being accused of being lazy and not using his time nor his gifts wisely. Perhaps because he was just tired of saying he didn’t eat the cereals in question when he had undoubtedly and decisively eaten the cereals in question.

Paying attention to the random local news he’d landed on, he got the gist of what the reporter was saying. They were presenting a quirky story of a bitter man suing his soulmate. He claimed the only reason he got into a car accident was because he felt a sudden sharp pain in his foot and got distracted, and therefore, was asking for his soulmate to pay off the insurance money. Of course they had to find the soulmate who was allegedly responsible for the crash.

“That’s ridiculous.” Bucky mocked.

Sam sat next to him, already having dropped the subject of the missing cereals. He listened to the reporter interviewing the odd man and let an amused but very quickly evaporated smile.

“People have been pulling stunts like these for ages, you can’t be surprised.”

Barnes glanced at him for a second, then returning to the TV. He still thought it was the stupidest reason to sue he’d ever heard of.

“It’s insane.” He said anyways.

“I think it’s sad.” Sam derailed the commentary on an opposite direction, “Can’t be fun starting your lifelong love story through a lawsuit.”

Steve joined the conversation from behind the couch. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a way of getting their attention. You know, find them whatever it takes. It’s actually kind of romantic.”

Bucky scoffed. He couldn’t stop Steve from being such a hopeless romantic and blindly believe in fairy tales where there was none, but he could still be annoyed by the fact.

“A little convenient, isn’t it?” he raised an eyebrow in judgement, yet not turning around to face the blonde.

“What?” Sam shot defiantly, “You don’t believe in this stuff?”

They both knew he was referring to the soulmates paraphernalia. With his glum attitude and dark observations, Barnes did seem like the kind of people to discard the idea of a soulmate. Love that never changes, souls that bond… it did not sound like James Buchanan Barnes’ cup of tea.

“Not the whole part.” He admitted, “I think there’s a lot of bullshit to it.”

The smirk grew on Wilson’s face, “So you’re one of those wacko conspirationists?”

“What if I am?” Bucky shot back, just to mess with him.

He wasn’t though, or not when it came to soulmates, at least. NASA and the government, on the other hand? The man had seen too much inside Hydra to not believe any crazy theory to be possible. He dropped the subject and became more serious, shrugging a little.

“All I’m saying is there’s lots of rules and conditions, I mean, who makes the calls?” Bucky questioned, almost angry, “Who chooses everyone’s partners? And what if you hate your soulmate?”

“That’s the point.” Steve intervened with his bright optimism, “You won’t. They’re your other half.”

Bucky pursed his lips and picked up the remote to switch channels again.

“Sounds real dumb.”

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sam x bucky #sam/bucky #marvel fanfiction #sambucky fanfiction #tw: self harm #avengers fanfiction #soulmate au #soulmates bond through pain #sambucky au #angst #fluff #the falcon and the winter soldier #ftws #asgardianthot: flesh and bones

168 notes · View notes

chimaeracabra · 4 years

Text

Cooking for Cap

Author’s Note: I’m Nigerian. Lately I’ve been cooking a lot of jollof rice, wanting something new to eat in quarantine times. It’s one of my favorite dishes. Lots of autobiographical info thrown in here.

Genre: Fluff/romance

Captain Steve Rogers leans attentively against the counter in the kitchen, watching Ada mete out a mess of seasonings he has never cooked with in his life. The centenarian usually ate whatever Sam, Bucky, Wanda, or Nat cooked. He isn’t very handy around the kitchen; he can make a good sandwich, a burger, the standard American diet, but he doesn’t know his way around cooking much where boiling isn’t involved. Ada’s umber gaze meets Steve’s and he blushes a little bit, returning her smile. Her teeth could have literally shined, they were so white in contrast to her rich espresso skin.

“I’ve heard of thyme,” he nods, as she holds the bottle up his way before dumping a large teaspoon of the herb into a saucer, where she had already collected sea salt, curry powder, and bay leaves.

“And this?” she asks, holding up a small clear bottle of something he hasn’t used before. The Captain’s wheat gold eyebrows arch as he reads the label.

“Cayenne…wait, isn’t that the stuff they put in pepper spray?” he asks a little nervously.

Ada laughs.

“I think so. But don’t worry, it’s still edible. And I never make it too spicy for…well…” Had it not been for the deepness of her complexion, Steve would have seen Ada blush, “when I cook it for other people,” she finishes, her eyes lingering a moment on his exposed forearms. They’re noticeably milky, in stark contrast to the black shirt he’s wearing, which hugs his shoulders such that Ada can see the bulge of his muscles when he shifts, standing up straight and gripping the counter. Measuring half a tea spoon of the lethal spice and adding it to the saucer, Ada’s heart throbs slightly as Steve smiles and starts around the counter until he’s standing next to her, seemingly mesmerized.

“The recipe actually calls for one and a half teaspoons of cayenne, plus a Scotch bonnet pepper, which I hardly ever use,” she explains, reaching for garlic and plucking about four cloves to peel.

“And I always like to do my garlic and ginger fresh,” she explains, sparing him a glance. As she peels the garlic, Steve’s white hand gracefully reaches for the plate of seasonings she’s compiling and he lifts it slowly to his nose. He closes his icy eyes and sniffs it gently.

“Mmmm,” he hums. Ada can just about feel this expression of satisfaction rumbling deep within his chest. He places the saucer back where it was gently.

“I can’t wait to try it, Ada,” he admits, “Aside from Thai food, I haven’t really had much of anything with all these powerful flavors,” Steve explains.

“Oh, yes, it’s—”

“ACHOOO!”

Steve had abruptly turned away from her in time to catch his sneeze, which causes Ada to laugh.

“Yeah. You never want to straight up sniff pepper,” she says, “Especially not cayenne.”

“Noted,” Steve sniffles, turning back to her, “Burns a little,” he says with an awkward smile, scratching the back of his neck. His nose has pinkened now and Ada knows that another sneeze is coming. The Captain makes it to the roll of paper towels and catches his sneeze, his ears met with the pleasant ring of Ada’s laughs. She wonders, had she had the actual pepper, whether the star-spangled hero would have been able to handle her jollof. Steve is so overtly strong that it was rather amusing to Ada that a bit of spice could pretty much take him out.

“Wow, that’s powerful,” he notes, before sneezing again, walking around the counter and returning to his safe distance from Ada’s preparation.

“It smelled good, though,” he admits, his eyes fixed on what she’s doing with genuine interest. Ada opens the food processor and drops the cloves of garlic in before finally peeling some fresh ginger and adding a smaller amount of the herb to the food processor. It’s loud for about thirty seconds before the device yields the desired result. She adds the minced garlic and ginger to the saucer with everything else. To Steve’s relief, Ada had purchased pre-chopped onions. She had admitted to hating cutting them herself. She often had to use goggles, they made her eyes so sensitive. The red of the bell pepper pops against Ada’s espresso fingers, and the sight is oddly satisfying to Steve’s sapphire gaze. He watches her chop and de-seed all three bell peppers before chopping two plump tomatoes, and adding the onions, peppers, and tomatoes to the Ninja Blender Natasha had bought for the kitchen not too long ago.

It doesn’t take long for the mixture to be like a soup, which Steve observes, having moved around the counter again to stand closer to Ada.

“This you can safely sniff,” she grins, opening the blender. Steve’s hands brush hers lightly as he reaches for it, and his heart skips a beat. Her laugh chimes in his ears again as he closes his frosty eyes and takes a sniff of the blended vegetables.

“Smells kinda like…salsa?” he says.

“It pretty much is, at the moment,” Ada beams. He places the blender on the counter again.

“Now, will you mix the herbs in?” she asks, handing Steve a wooden spoon. He’s honored she’s allowing him to do anything at this point. He had asked several times before she even started whether he could lend a hand, and Natasha had passed through at one point to tell him to “let the woman cook. He wasn’t Nigerian and didn’t know his way around their food,” which had caused the Captain to roll his eyes genuinely, but it made Ada laugh. And he loved when Ada laughed because her perfect teeth would show and just be so bright against her skin. It made his stomach do summersaults. Steve mixes the herbs into the blended vegetables as thoroughly as he can after removing the blender’s blades.

He watches Ada pour a half cup of vegetable oil into a large pan and cover it with a lid. At some point between preparing the herbs and chopping the vegetables, she had measured one and a half cups of water and poured it into a separate pot on the stove with the heat medium. She now dumps two and a half cups of brown rice into the pot to parboil it.

“And then all you do is heat the oil, simmer the vegetable mix, and add in the rice,” she explains, throwing away the peels from the garlic and ginger, the pieces of the bell peppers she omitted.

“I bet it’s going to smell delicious.” Steve mixes until the herbs are evenly dispersed, “Can I pour it?” he asks.

“In about ten minutes. Just need the rice to finish parboiling.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Normally, we use medium-grain rice in jollof. But I love brown rice,” Ada smiles. Steve loved brown rice, too. It was heartier, more satisfying than white rice. In fact, he thought it more visually appealing, as far as meal preparation went. It was just so earthy and healthy.

“If my dad saw what kind of rice I use, he would probably roll over in his grave.”

At this, Steve laughs genuinely, Ada following suit. He liked that she shared things like this with him. It wasn’t very hard to get to know Ada. From the moment he’d begun to train her, Ada had stood out among the other recruits in a way that Steve couldn’t really put his finger on. Maybe it was something in the way that her laugh made his heart race, or her cheekbones which could have cut diamonds, or the perfect way her hips were wide and swung when she walked, Steve blushing now as Ada traipses to the trash to throw away pieces of unused vegetable. He swallows hard. He has never really seen an ass like that.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t sniff that cayenne again, did you?”

“What?”

“Your face is so red, Steve,” Ada explains.

Steve glances out the window, and Ada senses the faintest bit of nervousness emanating off of him.

“Guess that pepper got into the air a bit,” he says.

And he turns away in time to catch another sneeze in his elbow. Little does Ada know that this sneeze was in fact fake. Steve pulls himself together, hearing the sound of the refrigerator dispensing filtered water behind him. When he turns around, Ada is already approaching him with a glass of water.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks,” he says, and he blushes like a cherry for a moment. Ada begins to wonder if it was really the cayenne that had gotten to him again.

“How long does it cook for?”

“Maybe forty minutes. I usually lose count after thirty. I just like it to cook long enough that the rice is neither squishy, nor too al dente.”

He nods.

“And the other key ingredient, which I don’t personally use, is a bouillon cube.”

“Hmmm, I’ve never heard of a b…bou,” Steve struggles with the word, which makes Ada hold back a laugh, “B...booollon cube.” Ada starts laughing and Steve pulls his phone out of his pocket and Googles it. The phone says it and he repeats it correctly with finality, looking rather satisfied with himself.

“Yes. It’s a—”

“Stock cube. A type of broth, formed into a small cube about thirteen millimeters wide, typically made from dehydrated vegetables, meat stock, a small portion of fat, MSG, salt, and seasonings, shaped into a small cube,” Steve finishes, flashing her a smile, and pocketing his iPhone. Ada nods.

“Well, I think what you already used will be more than enough seasonings for me,” he adds, “Plus, I swear I’ve heard some bad news about MSG.”

“Yeah, that’s part of why I don’t use it,” Ada explains.

“Did your dad use bouillon cubes?”

“He did, actually. But I can’t remember him ever making jollof. I do remember him making rice and stew, and when I was in fourth grade, he’d make a lot of it, and my mom would come into the classroom and read about Kwanzaa to my class, hand out the food, and everybody loved it,” Ada continues, this faraway, nostalgic expression surfacing on her face as she leans back against the sink, her arms crossed as she nods into the gustatory memory.

“Yes, and my mum would bring in these kente cloth scarves and give one to everybody. My classmates really liked the way my mom would read the Kwanzaa book.”

“It’s like Hanukkah, sort of,” Steve chimes excitedly, “Well, I mean you still have that candle stand, which looks kind of like a menorah. But it’s like a celebration of the harvest, isn’t it?”

When Ada’s umber gaze meets Steve’s again, his pulse quickens.

“I spent a little bit of time in Wakanda and I was there during some of it,” Steve adds. He’s cultured, curious, open, and eager to learn, something which Ada finds rather delightful.

“Hmmm, let’s see…” Steve’s frosty gaze is cast skywards momentarily, “There are seven principles. Umoja, for unity in the family and community. Ujima, collective work and responsibility…boy, there’s a bunch I won’t even try to pronounce or I’ll butcher it,” he grins. Ada finds herself very impressed suddenly, especially considering how much trouble he’d had pronouncing bouillon, a French word. The principles just sort of rolled off Steve’s tongue as though he’d said the words regularly.

“You know a lot more than most people.”

Steve shrugs.

“Well, that’s a shame. African history is American history.”

“Very true.”

Ada’s heart swells. There’s a moment of silence between the two, where they’re just looking at each other. Steve shifts slightly, his brawny arms traveling from across his chest, his hands landing on the counter on either side of him. There’s a noticeable vibe or tension between them, so thick that the pair is almost certain they could cut it with a knife.

“Do you actively celebrate?” Steve asks.

“Me? Oh, my family did. Sometimes, one of my aunts would invite everyone over and one of my uncles would lead a libation in Igbo,” Ada smiles, lost in memory again, “And in my immediate family, we did it when I was growing up. But over the years, we just kinda got lazy and kept forgetting to light the kinara—the candle holder. So, eventually, we stopped.”

Steve looking rather sad to hear so makes Ada feel the same way.

“That’s too bad,” he says, “People don’t really observe holidays like they did when I was coming up. We used to actually go to church and mass for Christmas. I never really got that many gifts growing up poor, and now it’s all the kids ever care about. They don’t really understand the significance of the holiday anymore. Same applies to a number of other holidays.”

“I agree. It’s gotten very…secular.”

Steve sighs wistfully, shakes his head in disappointment.

“Ada, I tell you, if I had kids, they’d understand their roots and the history behind that. It really teaches values that people don’t exactly bother to pass down in quite the same way in this day and age.” His gaze makes her uncomfortable suddenly, but not in a bad way. Just the way he was talking made it feel like it was about her specifically. Sometimes she forgets just how old Steve is. It’s very clear to her that his life experiences have taught him things in a similar, yet vastly different way. He could appreciate things like this in ways many people were simply not open to in her experience.

“That makes sense. I mean, I couldn’t really tell you everything about Kwanzaa, if I’m honest. But the food is just so vivid to me.”

“Food is something everybody likes, right?” Steve beams, “It’s a great way to experience culture.”

Ada nods, “I’ve never made it myself, but my dad used to make fufu—”

Steve snaps his fingers, “I’ve had that. With the spicy soup? Burnt the mouth off me when T’Challa had me try it,” Steve reminisces. Ada laughs.

“Very tasty, though.”

“Yes, that’s why it’s called pepper soup,” she giggles, “You’re brave, Steve.”

“He warned me, too,” the Captain grins, “But I liked the flavors.”

“So, then my jollof will be less than mild for you.”

The timer goes off and Steve checks the rice with an oven mitt.

“This ready?” he asks, gazing into the steaming pot. Ada hurries over to dip her spoon in the side and check that the water is gone. When she finds that it has all evaporated, she nods and turns on the pot inside which she had poured the vegetable oil.

“Now, we just heat this oil up, and you can add in the vegetable mix.”

Steve reaches for the blender full of blended onions, bell peppers, tomatoes, and herbs, removing the lid and closing his bright eyes to inhale a few more times. There’s something almost erotic about the way his chiseled face develops such a satisfied look. And he gazes down at her, the corner of his full, pink lips curling. Ada melts for a handful of seconds, beginning to sweat a little bit. She suddenly tears her gaze away and uses the same oven mitt with which Steve had checked the rice to lift the lid off the pan of oil and find that it is beginning to bubble and pop.

“Shit,” she mumbles, “go ahead, before the oil splashes.” She moves clear out of Steve’s way and he pours the vegetable mix into the pan, her ears perking up to the sizzling noise that it makes.

“Wow,” Steve states, turning the heat down, something Ada was about to do when he beat her to it. He reaches for the wooden spoon and stirs the mix into the oil, as if he has cooked this hundreds of times before.

“Is this good?” he asks.

“Yes. You’ve definitely gotta turn the heat down so it doesn’t burn.”

Steve nods. Shortly, he places the lid back on the pot to get it to heat up the vegetable mix faster.

“And once that’s hot enough, add the rice?”

“You’re a natural,” Ada shrugs, impressed with his eagerness to cook. Steve has been wanting to get better at cooking, and his hands-on approach allows her to relax a little bit.

“In the meantime, I’m gonna go ahead and wash these.”

Ada retrieves the blender and the food processor.

“You’ve already worked so hard. Don’t add in extra work for yourself,” Steve explains, taking the blender out of her hands before she can put it in the sink and opening the dishwasher, which still has dirty dishes from breakfast in it, and the pan on which Wanda had made some sort of Sokovian pancakes for everyone. Ada loves this about being on the team. Everyone is so warm and inviting to her so far, sharing their homelands in the kitchen. She finds herself looking forward to some Asgardian dish Thor had decided to cook for dinner.

Steve’s milky hand brushes Ada’s as he takes the food processor, disassembling it, and placing the parts strategically in the dishwasher. He then reaches into the cupboard for a clean dishtowel, soaking it under hot water, and adding a little dish liquid before rubbing it to get suds and approaching the counter where she’d prepared ingredients. Ada lifts the cutting board out of his way and pauses at the sink to watch Steve wipe the counter clean. She had seen him clean up before, but something about it is very appealing and she turns away to finally wash the cutting board, glad he can’t see her blush. By the time she turns around, she finds Steve spooning the rice into the pan. She leans against the counter to watch him stir until everything is evenly dispersed. He places the lid on again, turning to look at her.

“Thirty minutes? Forty?” he asks.

“Just do thirty for now.”

His fingers punch in the numbers and he looks rather satisfied with himself. His stomach growls audibly and he blushes.

“The stomach doesn’t lie!”

Ada giggles.

“Can you wait that long?” she asks.

“Of course. How about some coffee in the meantime?”

Before Ada can answer, Steve is already pulling the French press and his favourite brand of coffee out of his area in the cupboards. Steve loves coffee. It’s his favorite part of the day, and everyone knows never to borrow Steve’s coffee without asking first. He just wasn’t himself in the morning without it. He preps it all so quickly, producing two large mugs by the time Ada answers him.

“Sure, I’ll have a little.”

“A little? Come on,” he says, that New Yorker accent making its way out of his mouth. He winks, causing Ada’s heart to race again. The scooper looks comically small in Steve’s large hand as he scoops a generous amount of the ground beans into the French press. Ada helps him by filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. Steve turns it up high, eager for his coffee.

“It’s starting to smell good.” Steve hovers near the cooking rice and inspires deeply.

“It’s my favorite west African dish.”

“I can always tell by the smell that I’m gonna like something,” Steve explains.

Shortly, the kettle whistles and Steve wastes no time in pouring the boiling water into the French press.

“You take cream and sugar?” Steve asks, stepping towards the fridge.

“Uh, I can’t do dairy.”

“Oh, right. I forgot, sorry,” he explains, glancing back at her before finding her almond milk. He shakes the bottle, something he has seen Ada do several times in the morning before adding some of it to her cereal. He glances at the bottle.

“You, uh, like vanilla?” he asks. Again, she’s glad he can’t see her blushing.

“I don’t know what kind of psychopath uses plain almond milk in their cereal,” Ada explains, cocking an eyebrow. This causes Steve to laugh heartily as he places the milk on the counter beside the French press. Ada’s humor is very unique, he has learned, and it always leaves his gut aching, especially when she doesn’t laugh nearly as hard as something she’s said causes others to laugh.

“Well, you’re in luck, doll,” he says. Doll. Ada has heard him call only his closest female acquaintances this nickname, but something about the way he says it to her is just unique, “‘Cause I only do French vanilla for coffee. I’ll do hazelnut every now and then, but something about vanilla…”

Many times, Ada had passed by Steve in the kitchen and he’d been caught off guard by something he’d smell. It took a while, but he had begun to realize that it was Ada’s skin or hair. He never got quite close enough to distinguish which part of her it was, but it always smelled very pleasant to him. As she turns on her heel to bring the saucer she had put the herbs on to the dishwasher, her braids whip slightly in their pony tail, and Steve catches the scent again. He closes his eyes in the moment, not wanting the aroma to dissipate. He turns away towards the counter again, unable to fight the fire beneath his cheeks. He keeps his back turned as he presses the plunger down slowly, forcing the coffee beans under pressure, releasing their oils and scent.

She hasn’t had the pleasure of Steve making her a coffee yet, but he always would if anyone asked. His nisus to get her a cup fascinates her as she watches him lift the lid of the French press. Carefully, he brings it to her nose and she takes a whiff.

“Wow, that’s powerful,” she says, closing her eyes. Steve smiles.

“Trust me, you won’t find a brand as good as this one anywhere else,” he promises, handing her the bag so that she can read the label.

She watches Steve pour and mix some vanilla almond milk into her cup, stirring it gently.

“You may not even need sugar,” he says, pouring his own cup next. He adds one spoon of sugar to his cup before taking her almond milk back to the fridge. He makes his way back to the counter without the milk.

“You don’t use creamer?” Ada asks.

“No. I like my coffee black,” he explains, looking her full in the eyes as he continues to stir his cup. A lump develops in Ada’s throat, and she can’t tear her eyes away from the Captain’s, but her hand reaches shakily with his bag of coffee and places it back on the counter top. There’s not much space between them now, and Steve looking down at her creates that tension again. It’s rather swift when he ducks his head to compensate for her height at last. Her hands already knew where they wanted to land, and she finds herself clutching Steve’s shoulders as his mouth makes full contact with hers.

Steve’s lips are as kissable as Ada had imagined. They aren’t thin, like some of the white men she’d kissed before. But hers are as juicy as he thought they would feel. His hands rest gently at the small of Ada’s back, and she’s a little surprised when his tongue makes contact with hers. He’s not shy at all. A satisfied mmm emanates from Steve’s mouth, traveling through Ada’s whole being, causing her to shiver, despite the heat of his hands, one of which is drifting towards her rear. He seems to be enjoying a taste, a smell, similarly to how he had sniffed the blended vegetables. She starts to wonder how long Steve has been wanting to do this. The thought had crossed her mind several times.

“It smells amazing in—!”

Natasha stops dead in her tracks, Steve releasing Ada’s left butt cheek almost as quickly as he had grabbed it.

“Here,” Natasha finishes, cocking a flaming brow and smiling, Sam beside her looking away as if he hadn’t seen anything, but the two of them know that he did. Steve scratches the back of his head a moment, looking rather disappointed to be interrupted.

“Ada is making us jollof rice for lunch,” Steve explains, crossing his arms.

“Uhuh,” Natasha nods, walking towards the cupboards and pulling out one of her bags of popcorn before popping it in the microwave.

“Call me when it’s ready.” Sam’s voice fades as he makes his way casually out of the kitchen.

“Well, I’ve been wanting to ask you out on a proper date,” Steve explains, looking hypnotized as he speaks quietly to Ada, knowing that Natasha can still hear him. Ada gazes past him at Natasha, who is grinning knowingly. The redhead gestures to her encouragingly.

“Ya know, at like a restaurant, where we can eat…in private.”

Ada laughs. For a moment, Steve looks crushed.

“I’d love to, Steve.”

He exhales in what seems like relief, and they reach for their coffee at the same time, unaware of the buttery aroma filling the kitchen, mingling with the jollof’s savory scent, the popping noises in the background, that same tension resurfacing.

“It’s about time, Rogers. I knew you liked her!”

Steve nearly chokes on his coffee.

30 notes · View notes

littlesliceofmarvel · 4 years

Text

Manipulating a God | chpt. four

Synopsis: Trying to break the information out of Loki during the attack of 2012 wasn’t exactly the easiest task, but it was a challenge you were willing to take head on. So, what happened when a master manipulator tried to get information from the God of Mischief?

Series warnings: Swearing, mentions of violence, blood and gore

Pairings: Stark!Reader x Loki

A/N: sooooo. i am sooooo sorry it has been so long. there have been many personal/school/work issues the past few weeks and i have neglected this. :( But, I am back and very excited to continue. So, i hope you all enjoy and thanks sososo much for you patience i love you all. xoxoxoxoxo

Since agreeing to the case of investigating Loki, the entire team had been throwing tidbits and important information your way any chance they could get. You told them you were listening, jotting down everything in your mental notepad, but honestly, you were more confident about the whole thing than they thought. Thor was the only one who seemed to believe you could handle it yourself. Of course, he didn’t view Loki as a murderer the same way everyone else did, but he was also the one who really knew what Loki was capable of.

Thor told you a lot about Loki’s history and childhood; a frost giant, taken in by Odin, given the impression that he could eventually rule, living in incredible self-doubt, all that jazz. Small, personal things you hadn’t found on Google. You debated questioning him about the whole ‘Loki fucking a giant wolf’ thing but figured that that wasn’t information you needed - nor wanted - to know.

Tony on the other hand wanted to stop you as best as he could. He even tried locking you in your room once or twice (or five times.) Of course, he was fully on board with dragging Loki through verbal (and probably physical) Hell to get information that was desired, but he was worried you would fall victim to his lies and lose your mind, and in his words ‘have a Joker-like descent into madness.’

You couldn’t say you had the same vision, but we all know Tony can be quite the drama queen.

Steve, who you now trusted more than you thought you could, told you he’d be there for you if ever you needed help. Apparently being a part of the second World War could help this situation, so he offered you some strange advice on how to hold your ground. Your favorite, for example, was; “if ever he tells you he’s going to be a wonderful ruler, don’t trust him, Hitler said the same.” Steve had good intentions, sure, but his constant reminiscing made you feel as if you were a child listening to their grandfather speak about how ‘getting to school was so much harder in my day.’

Natasha, who was quite trained in the field of manipulation as well, gave you some tips she learnt in her mysterious past - some of which you already knew. Always form a connection. Listen to them. Don’t put them down if you want them to trust you. Simple things that worked wonders. Things you had used before, mostly on Tony, but they worked either way.

Sure, Loki was of another world, and he was the infamous God of Mischief. So, he had an obvious advantage over you, and you’d admit, a part of you was worried that he wouldn’t fall for you tactics and eventually be the one to drag you down to the deep dark depths. But, you were willing to take this challenge head on and nothing was going to stop you. For now, at least. If ever Loki dug his claws into your lungs to the point where you were gasping for breath and surrender was the only option, you’d opt out. But your goal was to not let it get to that point.

You hadn’t actually gotten the chance to speak one on one with Loki since his capturing, but Fury gave you a rundown of his so-called ‘prison’ chamber to ensure your safety. Which button to press if Loki went ballistic, where the security cameras were hidden out, which button to press to drop the cage - the basics. He also told you there’d always be someone listening in at all times, so if ever there was danger and you somehow didn’t sense it, you wouldn’t be alone.

But finally, today was your first day in getting to start breaking him down, and a part of you was slightly looking forward to it. On the countless times you had used your manipulative tactics to gain information from people in order to save your slightly self-sacrifical brother, none of it felt like it was up to the standard of actually being of worldly, even grave importance. The information you were trying to get from this guy was going to be do-or-die, and the sadistic side of you was slightly exhilarated at the thought.

“Alright, Y/N, are you ready to start? Remember, I’ll be watching everything,” Fury warned as if you were his daughter and about to go hang out with someone of the opposite sex for the first time.

“Yes, dad, I know you’ll be watching,” you reassured him, following him into the room where Loki was being kept, the loud thud of your overly-eager footsteps startling the man at the computer when you entered the room.

The dark, circular room was surrounding by computers, machines, pipes, wires, anything technological that you could think of. The only light source, though, seemed to be coming from the glowing white cage in the center of the room. The overwhelming scent of metal was almost aggressively jabbing at your nostrils, but you weren’t too affected - this is what Tony usually smells like after his Iron Man expeditions. You eventually turned your attention to the man standing in the center of the room.

When your eyes landed on him, you ended up staring more than you wanted. He looked so much worse than the first time you saw him. His pale, white complexion looked almost green, the deep indent of his eyes and cheekbones resembled the deepest craters and the pale blue of his eyes dulled down to a lifeless grey. His hair was messier, the little points at the end no longer bouncy, almost looking discouraged. You know, if it were possible for hair to have that emotion.

Fury had dismissed himself quietly and walked back out the same door, leaving you and Loki glaring at each other. You could tell he was reading you the same way you were him. His long cloak stayed put on his shoulders, but somehow, it looked just as dead as the rest of him.

“So, is this the best Fury has to offer?” His sultry voice spiked your ears, and you almost forgot you were here to actually speak to him, the staring contest feeling like it had lasted eight years.

“If anything, I think I’m the best Fury has. Period.” You shrugged, eyeing the small metal chair placed in front of his cell. You slowly walked over to it, fully aware of the God’s undivided attention following your every move.

He chuckled lowly at your comment as you sat down, “So, to what do I owe this insufferable thrill?”

Insufferable thrill?

“I’d like to think of myself as an angelic pleasure, but whatever suits your fancy,” you replied, crossing your legs and leaning back against the cold metallic chair, brushing past Loki’s insult.

Remember: don’t let him affect you.

“Why are you here?” He quipped, the teasing tone of his voice gone as he sat down in his cell, eyes boring into you as he searched for his answers.

Your mind thought up of something to justify your presence, “Uh - is it true you fucked a giant wolf?”

Smooth. Real smooth.

“Where did you hear this?” He asked, slightly more amused than he had previously been. His lips formed upwards into a subtle smirk, slightly confirming your question which once again, you didn’t really want an answer to.

“Never mind, uh, I actually have something serious I want to ask you,” you brushed past your initial awkward question, trying to set the tone that you were going to ask the questions around here and not the other way around.

He raised his hand as if to say ‘go ahead,’ leading you to proceed with your so-called interrogation.

“What’s the interest in Earth?” You found yourself asking, out of both curiosity and in following with Fury’s plan. Loki leaned back against the glass, crossing his arms as he took in your question.

He seemed to ponder, “Have we not gone over the cockroach metaphor--”

“Yeah, yeah, we have,” you rolled your eyes, “but seriously, out of all the galaxies and planets that have life and resources, what is it with out little home that’s caught your specific attention?”

His face seemed to drop slightly as you said ‘your’ - almost as if referring to the attack as ‘his’ had somehow upset him. He looked down to the ground, uncrossing his arms before making eye contact once more.

“Earth has something - something very valuable, priceless, something we’ve been looking for.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think his tone was somewhat luring - as if he wanted you to ask for more information, but at the same time, wanted you to stay away from the details. It didn’t really make senseYou scanned him with your eyes once more. His body was slouched, showing vulnerability. If anything, this was way too easy. He had to be playing you somehow.

“What have we got that you want? Obama? Maybe some chicken wings?”

Loki scoffed, “No, you dim-wit. Something much more valuable than some Earthling. Or cheap food. Besides, your puny human brain wouldn’t be able to comprehend the power that I could find here.”

You made a mental note to bring that exact quote up to Fury later - the tone of Loki’s voice led you to believe there was subtext or some sort of hidden meaning that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“And what is this ‘power’ you speak of? Spill the tea, Loki,” you responded, leaning forward in your chair to listen better. Sure, you could hear just fine from the previous position you were in, but your subconscious says otherwise.

“As if I’d tell you,” he rolled his eyes once more, “I know Fury’s sent you here just to get information from me, but it won’t work that easy, I know they’re all listening in.” A smirk made its way onto his lips as he caught onto your act.

You knew Loki would catch on to what you were doing eventually - I mean, you were here to get information, and that was obvious, but a part of you felt as if you had already failed your little quest and it hadn’t even been ten minutes. But honestly, what else was he supposed to think with you coming in here and asking questions? You were here to get information.

Struggling to find your next words, you started laughing. Loki raised an eyebrow in confusion, looking around to check if there was some sort of joke he hadn’t seen.

“Ha, you think that’s why I’m here? To just wait around and work with what you’ve got at your pace?” you toned down the laughter slightly, regaining your breath, “Please, we wouldn’t go through that much trouble, we just want you dead. Or gone. Fury’s already planned the ten thousand ways he could behead you. No, no, we’re not that desperate, nor are you that important. I’m here because once I get framed with murder for ripping you apart, I’ll be able to justify it.”

Loki’s smirk dropped, the amusement disappearing from his eyes, “What did you just say to me?”

Chuckling once more, you raised an eyebrow at him, “What? Don’t like it when someone talks back to you, Mister Hot-Shot?” you leaned back in the chair, “Get used to it.”

Loki let out a sassed-filled sigh, dropping his shoulders as if he had been scolded, and started to mumble what sounded like, “No, it was just unnecessary.”

Now it was your turn to scoff as Loki took offence, looking like a small child who had been denied cookies before dinner. Your amusement spiked at his behaviour, his avoidance of eye contact being the cherry on top.

“You’re such a child,” you remarked, the unmissable pout disappearing from his lips, his eyes snapped back up to you as he stood up to defend himself.

“A child? Please, I’m over a thousand years old, have experienced wars, loss, have wrecked havoc - I have seen things your eyes can’t even begin to comprehend, and I am a God,” he was now right in front of you, of course separated by glass, but intimidating nonetheless, “Do not refer to me as a child--”

“You don’t have to be so touchy,” you smirked, standing up as well, “Sit down.”

Not used to taking commands, Loki blinked multiple times as he registered your words, practically discarding everything he just said about himself. Silently, he sat back down, leaving you to mentally swim around in victory.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen, Loki,” you placed your hands behind your back (you felt like Fury) as you started to walk around the circular cell, Loki’s eyes glued to you, “You are going to tell me what’s going on. I don’t care how much you think your honour and God-liness is going to prevent that - I will eventually get the answers I’m looking for. Now, you can either cooperate and get yourself sent safely back to Asgard - or we can do this the hard way - and believe me, with a team of enhanced superheroes who have a lot of fucking built-up anger and long-lasting unresolved issues, I can’t see that as being fun for you. Unless, of course, you’ve got some sort of dark sadistic torture kink, that is.”

You had made your way around the whole cell by now and were standing by the door, Loki’s eyes still stuck on you like flex tape, his mouth slightly open. To say you were basking like a champion would be an understatement. You felt over the fucking moon right now, having left the God of Mischief speechless on your first day of your mission. His lips formed into a smirk once he caught up to what you had said.

A small smirk formed on your lips too as you turned away, “Anyways, I need to go eat, my stomach’s been gurgling for a while now, so whenever I return, you can feel free to give me what I’m looking for. Have a lovely evening, Loki.”

You swayed in pride as you walked out of the room, Loki not uttering another word as you disappeared from his sight. Part of you felt as if you could have stuck around a little more to apply a bit more pressure, but at the same time, you didn’t want him thinking you were giving him all of your attention. He’d probably love that too much.

Making your way back into the main control room, you noticed Tony, Steve, and Thor huddled around the table, probably having watched your encounter with the dark-haired man. Fury stood not far away, hands clasped behind his back, his eye on you as you entered the room.

“How’d I do on my first day, boss?” You asked, a small smile playing at your lips. Fury sighed, looking over to Tony who had now stood up.

“Well, you were only in there for twenty minutes, so it was short--” Fury began speaking until he was cut off by Tony’s obnoxiously loud voice.

“I didn’t realize how much of a badass you were, lil sis,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, leaning in to say the last part to you instead of yelling it to the whole room, “You make me proud.”

You chuckled, leaning in to his touch, “Gee, thanks big brother.”

“As I was saying,” Fury regained your attention, “It was short, but effective. You’ve left him thinking.”

Fury pointed to the screen which displayed the room you were just in. Loki was sitting in the same position, his eyes still glued to the door that you walked out of not five minutes ago, that damed smirk still on his lips.

“What can I say? I have that effect on men,” you smirked, a strange wave of confidence coming over you from who knows where. Fury groaned slightly, ignoring your comment. Tony played the exact same reaction.

“You’ve messed with his mind, that’s a good first step. But, you’re going to have to be more logical than emotional from now on. You got this.”

You grinned, patting Fury on the shoulder as you made your way to the small array of snacks on the table. You couldn’t lie, a part of you was left thinking about Loki too. You didn’t really like it, but at the same time, it helped you process what had just happened. You remembered the mental note you had made to yourself while talking to Loki, but figured you’d bring it up once your stomach got food. Fury’s ears were probably dealing with a lot right now since Maria just dragged him away, blabbing about some computer errors.

Thankfully, someone had brought out some food (finally) and you were grabbing just about everything you could - salad, crackers, cheese, whatever was in front of you. If this was what being aboard the helicarrier brought you, maybe you could live with it.

For now, you continued to think about what you were going to go over with Loki tomorrow, and hoping that things would work out much better now that you stood your ground.

You were proud of yourself too, in all honesty. Loki’s shock to your statement might have just been some sort of game, but at the same time, you had the guts to say it. That’s what mattered, and that’s what was important.

Fury’s words echoed into your head as Tony started a conversation with Thor about how hotdogs weren’t sandwiches.

You got this.

Damn right, you did.

Taglist

[Message me to be added - if you’re in bold it means I somehow wasn’t able to tag you, apologies!]

@appleappleton @what-a-fantasy @the-girl-of-many-fandoms1414 @brighteyedmichelle @leasly @cassiopeia-barrow @jay-the-mothafuckin-gay @themusingsofmany @bambamwolf87 @thefandomzoneisdangerous @cyberskeletonhandsbat @ultracarpediemfan @vgirl-10123 @bangvateez @leximills666 @littleredstarfish @blue-spider-official @what-a-fantasy @hello-lemons @yandereforyou @hippityhopitygetoffmyproperty @godhateskyleigh

112 notes · View notes

ghostspideys-moved · 4 years

Text

We’ll Have Tomorrow

Chapter Eight

A/N: It’s finally Christmas time this chapter! Since I have this all typed out already, I can say that we’re a few chapters away from finishing this series.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x OC, Nancy Wheeler x Jonathan Byers x OC (eventually)

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Christmas is finally here, and everyone is really just trying to have a good time after the chaos they endured together.

Hawthorne had been deep asleep until he felt someone shaking him awake, followed by the eager squealing of, “It’s Christmas!” It was El, and she had the brightest smile on her face, which he could just make out through bleary vision as he started to wake up.

Once El ran out of his room, he groaned and dragged himself out of bed. Naturally, El and River were both sitting next to the Christmas tree already. From the looks of it, he hadn’t been the only one dragged out of bed seeing as Hopper was slowly making his way out of his room as well.

Hawthorne sat near the tree, still partially half asleep. Of course, El was the most excited of the three of them. Not that he was too surprised considering this was her first proper Christmas. River and Hawthorne, at this point, hadn’t celebrated a whole lot of holidays in general seeing as their father hadn’t cared too much about them anymore. More than anything, both of them were just excited to do some sort of celebrating for once in a really long time.

Hopper bought each of them a few presents, figuring none of them would really care too much so long as they got anything at all. Of course, he’d been right. Hawthorne now had some more books to add to his collection, and he’d definitely need them to help his reading. He wasn’t bad at it, but he certainly had some trouble here and there, so he needed the practice.

There was a knock at the door, and River set down the Walkman she’d been looking at curiously before racing to open it. Steve came in with bags of more presents, which Hawthorne definitely hadn’t expected. But he wasn’t going to complain at this point.

El was more than excited to see Steve, but she was also drawn to the bags of presents, hoping a decent amount of them were for her. Steve ruffled her hair and brought everything in before he started handing out more presents.

Hawthorne was more than surprised he’d even bought as much as he had, because he really didn’t have to. Of course, he kind of remembered River saying she’d invited him, but this was more than he would have expected from Steve.

It occurred to Hawthorne that Steve had a decent amount of money, so that was probably why he’d even bought so many presents.

Of course, most of El’s presents were a bunch of toys and other things she might have found interesting. Not that it was hard considering how new everything was to her, and therefore, everything was interesting to her. She’d given Steve a tight hug in response, a good enough indication for him that she more than appreciated the gesture.

Hawthorne wasn’t really sure he’d known, but Steve gave him a book full of information on lots of different plants. Of course, he suspected he’d just asked River. Not very many people knew that he really loved plants. Gardening in general was a favorite of his, even if he hardly got to do it outside of the botany club he’d joined. Nonetheless, he appreciated it, and he even gave Steve a slight smile, which might as well have been Hawthorne’s version of a hug by his own standards.

River, of course, received more comics, which she was more than excited to read later. If she didn’t already have a lot of them before, she definitely did now. She seemed especially over the moon to have more Superman comics.

At some point, there was another knock, but a shared look of confusion told Hawthorne that River didn’t know who it was either. He got up to answer it and was surprised to find Jonathan at the door. In fact, it wasn’t just him, but also Will and Joyce. He let them in, and it seemed they also brought a few presents. Not nearly as many as Steve, of course, seeing as they didn’t really have much money to go around, but it was still appreciated.

Joyce immediately joined Hopper, who must have been the one to invite them. He could already see Joyce trying to help out with dinner, which was probably for the best. Hopper wasn’t a bad cook, or anything, but he didn’t do a whole lot of it, other than breakfast.

Hawthorne took his spot back on the couch as El was flipping through channels nonchalantly with her powers, hoping to find a good Christmas movie.

Jonathan took a seat next to him, neither of them really saying anything right away. Neither of them really seemed to know if they were supposed to talk or not, or what they’d even talk about. It was quite an awkward moment of silence, and Hawthorne decided to be the one to say something first.

“How, um...how’s Will doing?” he asked quietly. The kid seemed okay so far. He was sitting next to El, debating over what to watch. Of course, he knew better than to think Will was totally okay after being possessed by the Mind Flayer. The kid didn’t seem to like people worrying over him too much, so he wouldn’t be too surprised if Will was doing his best to seem like he was okay. He didn’t particularly blame him either.

“Fine,” Jonathan replied. “Mostly. I mean, he hasn’t complained about feeling strange. He might still be a little...rattled, I guess.”

Hawthorne nodded, figuring that might be the case. “You know him better than anyone, but if there’s anything I can tell about him already, it’s that he bounces back quickly. At least to some degree.”

He’d never really talked to Will before, but he could already tell he was a tough kid considering half the shit he’d been through. Even if he didn’t know he kid well, it was easy to see he could hold his own well enough.

“Yeah, he’s a lot tougher than he looks.” Jonathan even offered a smile, which Hawthorne had to admit looked nice on him. Why didn’t he smile more?

Hawthorne smiled back and turned when El and Will had finally agreed on Rudolph the red nosed reindeer.

What might have made this moment even better was finding out Steve knew all the words to the song, which almost made Hawthorne laugh. He wasn’t bad at singing at all, but it was hilarious watching him sing along dramatically, and River looked more than embarrassed by his theatrics. She was laughing, sure, but she also had an exasperated look on her face. Probably because of how loudly he was singing.

Steve certainly didn’t seem very ashamed, but then again, he might have been doing it to embarrass River even further. Hawthorne couldn’t say he wasn’t guilty of doing the same, and he was finding it very entertaining.

The look of relief on River’s face when they were all called for dinner might have actually been funnier.

At the table, food was being passed around, and there was some light conversation here and there. It was kind of nice, actually. Especially when compared to how horrible things had been only a month ago. They weren’t exactly trying to forget so much as they were trying to keep some sense of normalcy in their lives. For that, Hawthorne couldn’t blame anyone, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t been doing the same.

As Hawthorne was eating, he listened more than he actually talked.

“I thought you said you guys don’t celebrate Christmas?” Steve asked River, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Technically, we don’t,” she answered. “But El was super excited about it, and we haven’t really celebrated Hanukkah properly in a really long time, so this is just as fun, honestly. It’s just less days of celebrating.”

“Wait, don’t you get presents all eight days during Hanukkah?” Will asked. “I think I remember someone in my class mentioning that.”

Steve gasped and turned to River and Hawthorne. “You mean this whole time, I could have been getting you guys presents?”

“You brought a whole bag of them. I think that more than makes up for it,” Hawthorne pointed out. “Besides, no one said you had to.”

“I say I had to. If I would have known that, I would have given you guys presents on all eight days.” He almost seemed a little sad that he hadn’t had the chance, which was amusing on its own.

River shrugged. “We kind of didn’t really pay attention to the days while we were settling in, so I didn’t even realize, in all honesty,” she said. “So don’t worry about it all that much.”

Steve didn’t seem any less sad about it, but he let it go for now. At this rate, Hawthorne wouldn’t be that surprised if he tried to give it a shot next year.

“First I miss your birthdays, and now I missed a whole eight days of a holiday?” He shook his head and stuffed his mouth with ham. “Such a wasted opportunity,” he mumbled between bites.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Hawthorne said as he finished his plate, “this year the last day of Hanukkah is tomorrow.”

“When did it even start?”

“Last Tuesday.”

“That means it was going during the Christmas Party!” Steve exclaimed, turning to River.

She sighed and gave an apologetic look. “I told you. I forgot.”

Steve shook his head. Hawthorne could practically see the gears in his head turning, which almost scared him. Whatever Steve might be planning, he wasn't sure he wanted to be around for it. He might not know him too well, but Hawthorne was sure any plan of his was bound to be...interesting to say the least.

Dinner went by quickly, and while everyone was socializing, Hawthorne slipped outside. Even in the warm flannel he wore ninety percent of the time, it was freezing. He could feel the cold air biting at his nose. It had to be red even if he hadn't been out terribly long. Despite the cold, he stood on the porch, leaning against the rail as he let his mind wander.

Hawthorne hadn't even heard the door open. Admittedly, he nearly jumped when Jonathan suddenly joined him.

"Shit, don't give me a heart attack like that," he mumbled.

Jonathan snorted and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "What are you doing out here?" he asked. "It's cold as shit out here."

"I could ask you the same."

"I asked first."

Hawthorne chuckled and shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm just not much of a social person," he said.

Jonathan nodded. "Yeah. I can't really say it's really my scene either."

Hawthorne offered a small smile. He found his eyes wandering over Jonathan's figure. There wasn't any particular reason why, and he wasn't entirely sure why he was having the thoughts he was having. He had to admit, Jonathan was surprisingly easy to talk to, or maybe that was just him, and he wasn't unattractive by any stretch of the imagination. Of course, Hawthorne's face grew red the moment he'd been caught.

"Do I have something on my face?" Jonathan asked, a slightly teasing tone in his voice.

Hawthorne's mouth went dry for a moment. "What? Oh, no. Sorry I just...I was thinking," he said.

"About?"

Sighing, he crossed his arms, his gaze turning forward again.

"Do you think...do you think everything will go back to normal now that everything's over?" he blurted out. "You know, after the Demodogs, the lab." He hesitated for a moment, turning to face him again. "Everything with your brother."

Jonathan smiled weakly and huffed, his breath escaping in a visible cloud that quickly dissipated.

"The first time this happened, it took awhile for everything to go back to normal," he answered. "And even then, it was never truly the same. By now, I think I've accepted that it never really will be."

Hawthorne rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess you'd be the expert in this situation."

"I don't know if I'd say that," Jonathan said. "But I think I'm definitely qualified to give some advice at least." He grinned, and it was quite possibly the most genuine look Hawthorne had ever seen him give. It was almost strange how weak that look almost made him feel.

Hawthorne turned away from him again, not wanting Jonathan to see just how red his face was. He might be able to easily blame it in the cold, but it wasn't worth the risk at this rate. He wasn't even sure why he was suddenly thinking the way he was. At any rate, it became clear to him that he was going to have a hard time focusing near Jonathan.

Christmas quickly came and went in a rush. Even after several days, at least half of the decorations were still up. The tree, of course, was still standing, though a number of the decorations had either been removed or came off before someone put them away.

Hawthorne was busying himself with making breakfast. At least this way he could keep El from eating more Eggos, at least until lunch rolled around anyways.

He placed a plate in front of El when there was a knock at the door. Unsure who it might be, they both shared a look before Hawthorne went to check. Of course, he logically assumed it had to be any of El's friends, or Jonathan, or anyone else who would actually know where they were.

When he opened the door, Steve was standing on the other side. He should have been surprised perhaps, but it wasn't much of a shocker at this point.

He stared at Steve for a moment before turning inside the house. "River, Steve's here." Hawthorne felt it was safe to assume he was here for her.

"Actually, I have a bit of a surprise for everyone," Steve cut in. Well, there was first for everything, including Hawthorne being proven wrong.

El perked up at the mention of a surprise, and River was just coming out of her room when she'd heard him.

"A surprise? What kind of surprise?" she asked.

Steve grinned and motioned for all of them to follow him. The three of them shared a confused look before following.

He led them out to his car and stopped them. "Okay, so I was thinking about how you guys didn't get to celebrate Hanukkah," he started, excitedly fidgeting. "And I thought, 'what makes up for eight days worth of presents?' So, I think I finally figured it out."

Of all the things Hawthorne was expecting when Steve opened the car door, a dog was certainly the last thing.

A German Shepherd hopped out and jumped up at Steve, scratching at his legs. He was small enough that he picked it up, the grin on his face never leaving.

"So, what do you think?" he asked.

Hawthorne's mouth fell open. "You...got us a dog?"

"Yeah! Pretty cool, huh? I figured I'd have to go big to make up for missing eight days," he said, as if that truly explained everything. "And don't worry, I bought food, a bed, all that other good stuff."

El seemed a little hesitant at first, but when Steve handed the dog over and it licked her face, she laughed and pet it.

"Steve, this seems like a lot to throw at us this early in the morning," River sighed.

"I know, I know. And I'm sorry about that. I just...I wanted it to be a surprise."

Hawthorne turned to the dog, still content to be in El's arms, its tail wagging wildly.

"He also doesn't have a name yet. I thought you guys might want the honor," Steve added.

The three of them shared a look, trying desperately to think of a name they could agree on. After some debate, El tossed in an idea they all seemed to like.

“Why don’t we call him Rexasaurus Rex?” she suggested.

Of course, they weren’t going to tell her that was a weird name, especially because she didn’t have any concept yet of how naming worked. That, and she was a kid. It was cute, at least.

"How about we call him Rex for short?" River chimed in.

El seemed more than happy with that, so they decided that was a good enough name. Hawthorne felt like that fit him well enough.

"Shit, we should probably see how Hopper feels about this?" Hawthorne realized.

Steve shrugged. "Don't worry. If he hesitates, I've been known to be persuasive."

They all went back inside where, luckily, Hopper was watching TV as he usual did on his days off. He looked up when he heard all of them, though he paused when he spotted Rex.

“That’s a dog,” he said rather observantly.

“Yeah, about that. Steve bought us a dog,” River said. “We can keep him, right?”

Hopper seemed rather hesitant, but before he could refuse, El cut in.

“We’ll take care of him ourselves.” She gave him a pleading look. Her big, brown eyes mixed with a pout were enough to crack anyone, even Hopper it seemed.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But you guys will have to take care of him,” he said. “And we’ll have to set some rules, because he’s not allowed on the couch, for starters.”

They cheered and went to help Steve take in everything else. Hawthorne helped set up once it was decided Rex’s bed would go between their rooms. Once they were good to go, they let Rex sniff around a little as Steve was on his way out. He let them discuss how they were going to divide up their responsibilities, which, of course, took some debate.

It took a while, but eventually the three of them came to an agreement. The general agreement seemed to be that none of that they’d take turns with the different chores involved in taking care of a dog. They were also in agreement that the only thing they really cared about was that they actually had a dog now.

Hawthorne realized this was probably the most normal he’d felt in a long time, and he could definitely get used to it.

Taglist: @bravest-at-heart @musicalytrashpanda @queenofthehairharrington

#steve harrington #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #mike wheeler #jonathan byers #will byers #joyce byers #jim hopper #jane hopper #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3

16 notes · View notes

sunmoonandeddie · 5 years

Text

feelings are fatal (10/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 3,731

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing, violence

masterlist

a/n: Here’s where it gets a little more interesting. Let me know what y’all think!

The call came in the middle of the night.

The first mission since the Final Battle against Thanos.

Which is why you found yourself zipping up your uniform at four in the morning. You’d been awoken by F.R.I.D.A.Y. with orders to be ready to go in an hour, and honestly, if it was possible to kill an A.I., you would’ve. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be dragged out of bed with no sleep to save the world.

Or rather, a part of it.

As you pulled on your thigh holsters, your eyes fell on the picture frame on your vanity. Taking a deep breath, you walked over and picked it up. Your fingers gently ran over the face behind the glass.

“Hey, Nat,” you muttered, voice cracking a little. “We’ve got a mission that I’ve gotta leave for in—” You checked the clock next to your bed. “—twenty minutes. But it’s weird.” You swallowed as you felt your throat tightening up. “It’s my first mission without you. And I just keep thinking that you should be here.” A laugh tore itself from your throat, though it felt hollow. Fake. You were trying to fight the tears away, though it wasn’t going very well. “You should be here anyway. And I know if you were here right now, you’d tell me not to cry, but I can’t help it.” You wiped your eyes, sniffling. “I don’t know how to do this without you. I know that Bucky and Sam and everyone else will have my back but—it’s not you.” You stared at the photo for a long time, an overwhelming feeling of emptiness in your gut. “Sam says it might help for me to talk to you. He suggested I do it at your grave, but I don’t know if I could do that,” you said, thinking back on the therapy session that the older man had finally roped you into. “If you were going to haunt anything, it’d be us. Not some slab of marble.”

“Agent L/N, Agent Wilson wanted me to remind you that you have fifteen minutes until take off,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.

Huffing, you took one final glance at the picture. It was a selfie the two of you had taken on the way to one of Tony’s fundraising galas. You were in your fancy gowns, hair and makeup done better than it ever had been before. Her bright eyes glittered like emeralds. You two were happy. It was a rare moment where you didn’t have to worry about the world possibly ending. “I’ll be sure to be as safe as I can, but you know how our job can be,” you told photo-Natasha, wincing as you realized just how much she knew. She’d given her life for it. “I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”

Even though Sam’s therapy had helped slightly, you wanted to ask him if he was seeing one himself, if he was doing anything to heal.

The two of you were incredible at pushing your feeling under the rug, after all.

Most of the team were already gathered in the hangar, sleepy-eyed and a little irritated. None of you had expected the first mission to come so soon after everything, and had hoped for another few months of getting to sleep in. You’d thought you’d at least have until October, if not November, but you wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Good morning,” you mumbled as you approached the group.

“Nothing good about it,” Wanda snapped, a little too harshly in your opinion. But it was clear by the look on her face that she hadn’t had her coffee and had probably stayed up way to late the night before.

Probably crying about Vision. You knew that she had hoped that he would’ve come back with everyone else when the Snap was undone and had been devastated when he hadn’t. After all, she’d been one of those to turn into dust. For her, she’d lost him just months before, not five years ago.

Sam just smirked as he clapped a hand onto the redhead’s shoulder. “Cheer up, Wanda. We’re lucky this mission is only going to take a few hours at most.” He looked good with the shield strapped to his back. There was a small twinge of pain in your heart at seeing the familiar piece of vibranium, but you were more proud than anything else. He deserved the shield, deserved for the world to see how amazing he was.

You crossed your arms over your chest, willing your body to wake up long enough to make it onto the quinjet. If you could just make it to the bunks, then you’d be able to grab another two hours or so of sleep.

“You gonna make it?”

Jumping, you turned to see Bucky standing beside you. You’d been so lost in your own little world that you hadn’t even realized he’d arrived. The black Kevlar stretched over his chest made your mouth water and you quickly turned your eyes away. “Yeah. ‘M just tired.”

He raised his eyebrows as he watched you for another long moment. His blue eyes were as skeptical as ever as they searched your face. “How are you feeling?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, giving you that look that told you not to argue with him because he’d call you out on it before you could blink, “that this is your first mission without Natasha. How. Are. You. Feeling?”

You shrugged as you watched the ramp of the quinjet lower. Rhodey was flying today, since he had the most experience flying a plane. Plus, he still had limited use of his legs since the fight at the Berlin airport. It was the best way for him to stay involved with the Avengers while not putting himself into unnecessary danger. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m feeling.” Ignoring his eyes on you, you started to head for the jet. “But it’ll hit me later.”

“How are you feeling?”

You looked up just as Natasha slid into the seat beside you. “Shouldn’t you be flying this thing?” You asked, even though the smirk on your face made it clear that you weren’t serious. You always enjoyed her company.

“This thing flies itself. Plus, Steve’s keeping an eye on it,” she said. Her flaming red hair had been tied into a ponytail. Her suit fit her in ways that you wished yours did, but you were still the rookie. You got a standard SHIELD agent uniform. It was itchy and ill-fitting, but you’d cried when it’d been given to you, unable to believe that you were actually being accepted into the little rag tag family.

“I’m nervous,” you admitted after a long pause. Rubbing your hands on your pants, you tried to ignore the hammering in your heart. You got a little quiet, eyes dropping to the ground. “What if I mess it up?”

Nat shook her head, nudging your knee. “You won’t. You’re just as good as everyone else on this mission. You have just as much training. It’s just…” She bit her lip, trying to find the words. “For a different team. For the good guys.”

“It’s weird, being one of the ‘good guys,’” you said, amusement lifting the corners of your mouth as you leaned back against the wall of the quinjet. The others on the jet aren’t paying attention to the two of us, too busy talking to each other or ‘getting in the zone’ for the mission. “Granted, we never thought we were doing anything bad with the Red Room. Just maybe not right.”

She snorted, her nose scrunching up. “I’m happy we can laugh about it now.”

“We definitely weren’t then.”

“We were just trying not to get murdered,” she reminded you.

And maybe it was a little fucked, that the two of you were joking about your time in the Red Room. The both of you knew that Sam would most definitely get onto you for using humor to cope with what the two of you had been forced to go through, but hey, you’d taken comfort where you could get it.

“Besides,” the redhead said. “We get better healthcare here.”

Steve looked up as you burst into laughter, covering your mouth with both hands as you snorted. There was something in his blue eyes as he watched you from his seat. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he asked, “What’s go you cracking up?”

“Nothing,” you said as you tried to get a handle on yourself. Your cheeks were red from laughing, your chest heaving. “Nat’s just being dumb.”

“Steve here would know exactly how great our benefits are,” she drawled with a lazy smirk. “It’ll cover his hip surgery and his dentures.”

The blond rolled his eyes, a pout on his pretty pink lips. “I’m not that old,” he grumbled as he leaned back. His thick arms crossed over his chest, blocking the white star that adorned his uniform. “At least not physically.”

“Says the man who’s in bed by nine every night,” you said. The teasing gave you a little reprieve from your nerves. You could pretend for just a second that you were back at the compound, in the gym or the living room. The three months you’d spent with the team so far had been the best three months of your life.

Though there was one person you wish was there.

And you knew it was ridiculous, that you were thinking of him in that moment. But part of you wished you could’ve seen him. Could’ve made some joke that would’ve sent him rolling.

But that didn’t matter.

He was a part of your past.

“Hey,” Steve said, snapping you out of your trance as he sat next to you. In your moment of thought, Natasha had slipped away. Probably back to her seat in the cockpit. The man beside you smiled comfortingly as he placed a hand on top of yours where it rested on your thigh. “You’re going to do great.”

“Auntie Y/N! Auntie Y/N!”

You turned, confused, to see Morgan running towards you. She was still in her pajamas, her hair mussed. Pepper was chasing after her with exasperation painted all over her. It was probably one of her most common emotions now-a-days. “Hey, baby girl,” you said as you came back down the ramp.

She launched herself into your arms, wrapping herself around you. “Promise me you’ll be safe?” She asked, her voice wobbling.

And that’s when you realized she was crying. “Oh, Morgan,” you hummed as you held her close. Your eyes closed as her tiny hand tried to fist into the thick spandex of your uniform. “I’ll be home by tonight, okay?”

She pulled away then, her brown eyes glittering as she pressed one of her plushies to your chest. You hadn’t even realized that she’d been carrying it. “Daddy will keep you safe.”

Brows furrowed, you looked down at the toy, only for your heart to break. She was giving you her Iron Man plushie. “What’s this for?”

“Nothing bad can happen to you if my daddy’s protecting you,” she said, her face set with determination. It would be adorable, if it didn’t hit you just how sad it was.

No one should have to be afraid that their loved ones wouldn’t return home.

Eyes welling up with tears, you pulled the mini Stark into another hug. Your face burrowed in her dark hair as you tried hard not to cry. “Thank you, baby girl. I’ll hold onto him, okay?” You squeezed onto her for another long moment before letting her go. The little girl’s eyes swimmed with worry as you said, “You should go back to your mom now, okay? I’ll be home by tonight, alright?”

Pepper huffed as she finally reached the two of you. You could tell that she was trying to appear much stronger than she felt as her eyes took you in. “Come on, Morgan,” She said as she picked the four-year-old up, setting her on her hip. “Back to bed.”

But the two of you knew that she most likely wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not until you and the rest of your team were home.

The older woman locked you in place with a steely gaze, though you could see the fear behind it. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I won’t,” you said, nodding to her once before heading for the ramp.

The others were already in the quinjet, settling in for the three hour flight. Sam looked up as you walked up, the ramp closing behind you. “You ready to go, darling?”

A sad grin spread over your lips as you held up the little plushie. It was soft in your hands, still warm from Morgan hugging it so tightly. “I have our protection detail, now,” you said.

The silence that enveloped the people around you was palpable. Tense.

“Well,” Wanda said after a long moment, “I’m happy we have someone looking over us.”

Two and a half hours later found all of you gearing up. The only sound in the air was that of tac suits and shoving guns into holsters. You looked at the gun in your hand, running your fingers over it in an almost loving manner.

“That Nat’s?” Bucky asked, his voice low enough that the others wouldn’t be able to hear him.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, nodding as you brushed your thumb over the spider that was engraved into the handle. “Figured if I can’t have her here with me, I’d at least have a part of her.”

“Good,” he said, his hand resting on your arm. His touch was soothing, even if there was Kevlar and spandex between the two of you. His sea blue eyes were locked on you, his dark hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck. “She’d be proud of you. I know I am.”

And fuck, that meant the world. The entire time you trained with him in the Red Room, you’d been longing for praise, for recognition. And knowing that he was proud made you feel like you were seventeen again.

“Can you two stop staring into each other’s eyes long enough for us to get a game plan?” Sam asked, shoving the former Winter Soldier. There was a teasing glint in his eyes as he looked between the two of you, causing your cheeks to go a bright fire engine red.

Wanda pulled on her worn, red leather jacket. She clung to that thing like it was a lifeline. Like it was a part of her identity. “What have we got?”

Rhodey pulled up blueprints of a building on his tablet, throwing it up into the air in a hologram. Stark tech, of course. It was always the best out there. “We’ve got reports of children being kidnapped from the local towns. Rumors of experiments being done in an old abandoned shoe factory.” He tapped on a spot in the hologram, blowing it up. “Wanda and Sam will take the front entrance. Your focus is getting all the children out.” He then blew up the blueprint again before hitting a spot on the opposite side. “Bucky and Y/N, you’ll go through the back entrance. Your focus is getting information. Find whatever hub there is in there and get everything you can. If there’s a new set of bad guys running around, we need to be two steps ahead of them at all times.”

You drew your bottom lip in between your teeth as you approached the back entrance of the old factory. It was a beaten-up loading dock, the garage doors left hanging half open. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird that there’s no kind of security?” You asked as your eyes scanned the area around you. Bucky already had his gun at the ready as he walked ahead of you. “If they’re kidnapping kids and conducting experiments, you’d think that they’d want to have some kind of guard.”

To his credit, he seemed to agree, even if he didn’t call in your suspicions on the coms. “If this is some new kind of group, they might not realize how imperative it is to treat their bases like fortresses.”

But as you got further and further into the factory, you got more uneasy. There was no sign of life except for the occasional rat. Everything was covered in dust. Broken glass and wood littered the floor. There were signs of people breaking in, but it was more than likely a few homeless people looking for shelter.

“Have you two found anything?” Wanda asked, your com crackling.

“We haven’t found any kids or anything,” Sam added.

You looked to Bucky, both of you seriously considering turning back and leaving. “No,” you said, eyes locked with the man ahead of you. Something in your gut twisted, but you weren’t going to blow a mission just because of a bad feeling.

Natasha would tell you to trust your gut.

“But we’ll keep searching for another ten minutes,” you said, steeling yourself. “If we can’t find anything, we’ll leave.”

“Could be some wild goose chase,” Bucky said, irritation clear on his face. He looked so menacing in his Winter Soldier garb that it kind of shocked you. But also, it was kind of nice knowing that only you and a few others got to see how soft he actually was. He paused as he noticed the door that led to the stairwell, nudging you and pointing to it.

It was the only part of the place that wasn’t covered in dust.

“Someone’s been here,” he said.

The two of you headed for the stairwell, and you let out a huff of air. “Can we talk about how shitty it would be for us to have been dragged out here only for it to be a false alarm? The lack of dust could be from a homeless person,” You said, still dreaming of your bed. It had taken the entire flight for your body to wake up, and the first thing you were planning to do when you got back was fall right back into it’s warmth. “First call since the Final Battle. Only for it to be nothing.”

“Thought we’d have longer,” he said as he peeked through the door leading to the second floor. He led you through the door, and the two of you found what seemed to be just another abandoned bunch of machinery. “I figured—”

He was cut off by a figure in all black jumping at him. He’d been hiding behind a column, clearly biding his time until the two of you got there.

“GRAB HER!”

You went into battle mode as four more of those black-clad figures appeared. It all felt like a blur as the two of you fought back against your attackers. It was a frenzy of uppercuts, jabs, and roundhouse kicks. “Wanda, Sam—any chance you could get to the second floor?” You asked as your thighs wrapped around a man’s head, twisting until you threw him to the ground.

A scream tore it’s way from your throat as you were grabbed from behind, your arms twisting until you couldn’t move. Thrashing, you tried to force yourself out of their hold, but it was to no avail. The cold metal of a knife pressed against your throat and you froze.

“Y/N!” Bucky shouted as he noticed your predicament. There was a bang that resounded through the air and the man holding you crumpled to the ground, his grip on your arms disappearing.

Your heart pounded against your chest as you stared at the men that littered the floor around you. Their bodies were twisted at unnatural angles, blood pooling on the ground below them. “J-James—”

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe,” he said, rocking you back and forth.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered as tears pricked your eyes. “I-I just. Froze.” At that second, all you could think about was how that knife felt against your throat. How scared you were to die. “I couldn’t think. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured you, smoothing your hair down. “Anyone else would’ve reacted the same way.” Bucky leaned back, his eyes searching yours. “Can you walk? We’ve gotta get back to the others.”

“Yeah,” you said, getting to your feet with a sigh. Your muscles already ached from the hits you had taken. You looked at the abandoned factory around you with a new light. “It was a set up,” you said, brows furrowing as the two of you headed out the front entrance. “But why?”

Everyone was deathly quiet on the quinjet, too afraid to speak. The weight of what had happened weighed on everyone’s minds as they became more and more aware of the fact that it wasn’t some new group of villains for your team to take down. No, it went much deeper than what you had originally thought.

“Are we not going to talk about the fact that for some reason, a bunch of goons just tried to kidnap Y/N?” Sam asked, fury lacing his veins. His hands were clenched at his sides. The Captain America shield had been tossed to the side, a little recklessly.

It would appear that Sam and Bucky’s protectiveness over you had only increased since coming back from the Snap.

Bucky was sitting beside you, a blanket thrown over your shoulders while you held Morgan’s Iron Man plushie close to your chest. “Those guys weren’t some new group. They were experienced,” he said, a growl in his voice. His thigh, pressed against yours, was bouncing anxiously. “Took us a lot longer than it should’ve to take out those men.”

“Who the hell could it be?” Wanda asked, eyeing you from where she was standing. Despite the fact that you weren’t much younger than her, she saw you as the baby of the group. The one that needed to be protected.

Even though Peter was still a teenager.

“I know who it is,” you said. Everyone’s eyes turned to you, confused. You wrapped the blanket around yourself tighter. Your eyes met Bucky’s, and he immediately knew where your mind was going.

He sighed, running his hand across his face. “HYDRA.”

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine

852 notes · View notes

tilltheendwilliwrite · 5 years

Text

Warrior Daughter

Chapter Twenty-One

Master List | Steve Rogers Master List | Series Master List

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Roger's x Reader, Bucky Barnes x OFC | Word Count: 5453 Warnings: Language

Song: Glitter and Gold by Barns Courtney

Bucky was finishing the buckle on his sword belt when the door to his room opened. He palmed a dagger, but it was only Eira returning. Her leather was snowy white, pants tight, skirt faulds swinging around hips he'd worshipped with his lips but hours ago. The heavy silver breastplate was back, and Bucky had the ridiculous desire to run his hands over her breasts.

Sure she wouldn't feel it, but that didn't mean he didn't want to do it and when she stalked toward him, bristling with blades, Bucky swallowed thickly and sat down hard on the end of the bed.

“So that's what that looks like.” He'd heard all about Murder Strut; he'd just never seen anyone else pull it off before.

“What what looks like?” She stopped between his spread thighs and began adjusting his armour.

“My walk.” He batted at her hands. “Watcha doing, kitten?”

“Fixing this.”

“It's fine.”

“It's not fine. After last night, I know, now, how this,” she stroked her fingers down his left arm, “works. You need you cuirass to be tighter around the ribs, but looser at the shoulder. Right now, it's fitted as any standard armour would be. Honestly, it gives you away as a novice. A few tweaks, and you'll appear as one comfortable in his armour.”

Bucky stroked his hands up her thighs beneath the faulds of her skirt. “I'm no novice, sweetheart.”

“Mm? You often wear heavy armour in your day to day life, do you?”

The smug, teasing lit in her voice had Bucky grabbing her ass. “Keep it up, kitten, and I'll turn you over my knee.”

A fire simmered to life in her eyes as she shifted to slide one leg over his and lowered to sit. “I'd rather just straddle it.”

Bucky gave a wanton groan and rocked her body on him. “Baby doll, you're gonna be so much trouble.”

Her arms went around his neck. There was an even bigger smirk on her lips when she leaned forward and purred against his ear. “Sjelevenn, you have no idea.” Her mouth attached to his mark and Bucky went ridged with sensation, the pleasure pounding through his body.

“Eira.” He sounded like a broken record with the way his voice cracked.

“Come,” she breathed and made him shake. “It's time for breakfast.”

“That was cruel.”

“It was, wasn't it.” Her grin was all devious Valkyrie as she tried to shift off his thigh.

Bucky wasn't having it. “Nuh huh. You started it; you can finish it.”

“We will be late for breakfast. Are we not supposed to arrive looking concerned and flustered?”

“I can definitely get behind flustered.” A roll of his thigh made her gasp. “C'mon, kitten. You can't tell me you don't want it.”

“I do want it, but I also don't want to smell of sex all day.”

Bucky pouted as she rose from his thigh. “Spoilsport.”

“I'll make it up to you later.”

Her eyes held a promise that weakened his knees. His sweet Eira was a demon in bed, and he loved it.

“But first. Breakfast.”

She took his hand, and they left together, shutting the door tight behind them.

***

“I still can't believe that asshole stuck me with a knife.”

You chuckled softly as you led Steve through the halls. Loki hadn't even allowed him time to exit the bathroom entirely before a short blade slashed over Steve's exposed forearm. Laced with poison, you’d all held your breath, waiting to see what, if any, side effects would occur.

Thankfully, Steve remained unharmed, reporting only a mild burning at the sight of the wound that was swiftly knitting itself back together. It wasn’t until after he was assured Steve was fine and immune to the poison that Loki informed you it had been the same poison which had killed Helgi in your first life. Loki had been swift to return you to the Valkyrjur when you’d damn near taken his head off with your sword. Still, he’d nicked you with the same blade first, making sure you, too, were immune to the poison, one of the strongest known to Asgard.

You’d arrived in your suite, now clean and free of blood, and Loki assured you anyone coming through the door with ill intent would be met with painful consequences. It was a relief, and an even bigger one when he explained he’d warded Bucky’s suite with the same magic. Inside those two rooms, nothing could get to them without bringing the full might of the God of Mischief down on their heads.

It made you feel better, knowing at least while you slept there was security there.

“It was rude, but at least we know we’re good now though I want to pour the same concoction down Bucky and Eira’s throat. Right after breakfast, they need to go to the temple and seal Eira’s scroll.”

“Yeah. Least then we know she’ll be able to find him again, right?”

“Exactly.” You smiled when you saw Bucky and Eira waiting at the end of the hall, out of view of the dining hall where the low murmur of voices sounded a bit like a beehive droning in the background. “Sister.” You held your arms out for Eira who rushed into them. “Congratulations.”

The shifting shadows of your minimal vision couldn’t hide the smile on her face. “Thank you, my queen.”

Steve poked Bucky in the side of the neck. “So you took the plunge, huh?”

“Figured why wait? If it’s meant to be, there’s no point in fighting it.” Bucky shrugged, but his emotions were clear as a bell, his happiness appearing to almost glow around him.

“After we eat, you must take him to the temple,” you said to Eira who was already nodding her agreement.

“I will, but I don’t like leaving you for even that short amount of time.”

“I’ll have Ama and the others with me, along with Steve until Odin arrives, and Loki is skulking around here somewhere,” you assured her. “I’ll be fine until you two can return. We’ll take no chances with your bond.”

“Yes, my queen.”

You gave her a final hug and turned toward Bucky. “Welcome to the fold, Barnes.”

His grin likely matched yours for smugness when you reached up to hug him. “Guess this makes me family for real.”

“You’ve always been family for real.” You drew back to look at him. “Even before all this happened you were Steve’s brother. I’ve never not considered you mine.”

“Y/N,” he murmured before dragging you in for a hug that squeezed your ribs.

“Okay, okay. Love on your own Valkyrie.” Steve punched Bucky in the shoulder while grinning at Eira. He stepped closer to the blushing Valkyrie, gave her a little hug and kissed her cheek. “Welcome to the family, dollface.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

“Steve’s fine especially if we’re on Earth. I’ll never live it down if you call me your grace in front of the others,” he chuckled.

“Should we get this show on the road?” Bucky asked.

“Yes, we should.” You took a deep breath and turned toward the hall. “I’d say watch for disappointment, but I’m not sure it will matter. Gunborg may not have been behind this, but she likely knows who was. The Valkyrjur attended Valhalla last night. Eira.”

“Yes, my queen?”

“Once you’re back from the Temple, get me a list of everyone on duty at the keep.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Let’s do this.”

With a glance up at Steve, you took his arm and headed for the dining hall. The doors stood open, revealing the long space flanked in windows. The same kind of tables that had lined the hall of Valhalla filled this one as well, but the Valkyrie gathered only took up a third of the space at most. Still, they were a sea of white and blue, earmarking those Valkyrie who were on duty today, along with the young novates. The rest wore the garb of training, comfortable clothing easily cleaned.

Your attention appeared focused forward as the women came to attention and rose to their feet, but really, you were watching Gunborg and the women around her. They were slow to their feet, all wearing scowls. Gunborg’s anger was like a raging beacon, and you noted Brynjar was not at her side.

You slowed to a stop beside her. “Gunborg, how’s Brynjar?”

“What do you care?”

“He’s your sjelevenn, Gunborg. Of course, I care.” And you did. No matter how much she hated you, or the things she might have done, she’d been worthy of a bond with Brynjar, the longest lasting one in the history of the Valkyrjur. “Please. Is he alright?”

A flicker of something softened in her hard gaze. “He’ll live.”

“Good.” You smiled and moved on, tightening your grip on Steve’s arm when he inhaled to speak. Only once you sat at the head table did you lean closer and speak. “Don’t ever apologize for kicking his ass.”

Eira snickered as she sat beside Bucky. “Steve kicked Brynjar’s ass?”

Steve smiled at the novate with the jug of water. “Embarrassed it first.”

“What you do?” Bucky asked.

You rolled your eyes. “Drunken Monkey.”

Bucky spat water across the table. “You didn’t?”

“I did,” Steve said smugly.

“And I missed it,” Bucky groaned. “How was it?”

“I’ll admit it was amusing,” you snickered, “but incredibly impractical. And now Thor wants to try.”

Bucky snorted a second mouthful of water. “I gotta see that!”

You chuckled as you pushed back your chair and raised your hands for silence. “Sisters of the Valkyrjur, it is with great pleasure I announce a new sjelevenn bond has formed after a thousand years! Lift your voices in celebration for our sister, Eira, whose sjelevenn is my dear brother, James, son of Barnes!”

Loud cheers and whistles erupted as they all came to their feet. You could practically feel the renewed hope fill them at the news, and when Eira leaned over and kissed Bucky hard on the mouth, the noise doubled. To see a new bond form right before their eyes gave each of them hope that the possibility of their sjelevenn was out there, just waiting to be found.

The dark malady of shadow which hung over the valley and felt like pressure against your skin lifted slightly, appearing as new light pouring through the windows.

It was good, and a step in the right direction, but even as the darkness lightened around the majority of the gathered women, the half of the hall where Gunborg sat remained as dark as ever.

Again you raised your hands, calling for silence. “Brynhildr, Jesslyn, and Magret are posting lists against the far wall. On them, you will find where I want you training. Teachers, some of you have been reassigned into better positions. Novates, you will attend your classes as usual, and I will assess you there.

It was no more than a disgruntled murmur from the back of the room, but you could still hear it.

“She watches for one day and thinks she knows us?”

“Nera! Rise and come forward.” The speaker rose with uncertainty and wide eyes. “Find your name and speak aloud where I think you should be improving yourself.”

She stalked to the back wall where Brynhildr smugly pointed out Nera’s name. “Footwork and shield art.”

“Am I wrong in my assessment?” you asked.

Another Valkyrie snorted, “No,” and a chuckle ran through the hall.

You smiled but didn’t join in their laughter, only waited till it settled. “The next bit of business has to do with them.” You motioned toward the doors where Terra and those former slaves who wished to remain walked through wearing long dresses of black. They looked smart and formal and nowhere near the slaves they’d once been. Each stood a little taller, though they all looked nervous. “Fifteen slaves. Fifteen! How dare the lot of you call yourselves Valkyrie when you allowed this to happen. Slavery has been outlawed on Asgard for millennium, and we as the Valkyrjur have many times fought for the rights of people enslaved!”

Faces filled with shame as the Valkyrjur looked down at their hands.

“I am aware some of you fought this decision, and I know two of our sisters were killed for their stance. Later this week, we will honour them and their pegasi as they should have been. We will lift their names to Freyja in glory of their sacrifice, but today we begin moving forward to erase the blight upon our history. They are slaves no more, each now a free person. Five will be returning home, the others have decided to stay on as household staff and will be tasked with overseeing our accolades. Let me make this clear. Terra is Head of Staff. I will soon set her duties and those of her team, but you will treat each of them with the same respect you would give any of your sisters. And because of this shameful, deplorable act, the wages they are owed will be taken from yours.”

“Valkyrie get paid?” Bucky whispered to Eira.

She winced but nodded. “Yes, quite well, but paying for ten years worth of wages to fifteen staff will hurt, even split over all of us.”

“You can’t do that!” The cry came from the darkest section of the hall.

“I can, and I will. Be thankful those responsible for the death of two Valkyrie and their pegasi are not being punished. Selky has paid the price for her mistakes, and I shall include this transgression among them.” You looked directly at Nera and Gunborg. Only one had the good sense to appear contrite, and you shifted your focus to Terra at the door. With a nod, you dismissed them from the room. “Moving on, Benatta, come here.”

The redhead stood and hurried forward to bow to the table. “My queen?”

“Benatta, we spoke once of the Jegere. Remember?” She nodded. “The Jegere were a separate, much-revered wing of the Valkyrjur. They were tasked with finding those worthy of becoming Valkyrie.”

“How?” she asked, her eyes wide in wonder.

“It is a gift, a rare one that has not been nurtured as it should have.”

“Are you sure it’s me?”

You motioned her to her feet. “Have you never looked at a girl and thought, “She would make a perfect Valkyrie?’”

Benatta nodded. “Yes, as I said, twice before.”

“That is the job of a Jegere, to find and return with girls for the Valkyrjur. The ones you know belong with us. Has anyone else experienced such a feeling?” you asked the rest of those gathered. Three more women raised their hands, and you motioned them to join Benatta. “After I return from the Einherjar, we will discuss your new roles and change of wing. From now on, the four of you will ride together.”

“A wing of only four?” Benatta asked. “But I thought wings were always of nine?”

“Yes, usually, but Jegere are special. Without you, our numbers do what they have in the last centuries. They dwindle until but a third of our tables are full. You four will have new duties and responsibilities. This doesn’t mean you will never be called to battle, but we need you to refill our ranks and train new Jegere when they are discovered. We cannot let our numbers fall so low again.”

All four pressed a fist to their hearts and bowed. “Yes, my queen.”

“Eira will call for you when we return from the Einherjar. I will teach you what I remember. Until then, see if you can find reference to Jegere in the archives.” They nodded, each looking a little shocked but mostly excited as they headed back to their tables.

“Finally,” you stood tall and turned stern, “It will take more than a blood curse to kill me, and when I find out who was behind the one left waiting for my sjelevenn and me in our chambers last night, I will show you no mercy.”

Half the women came to their feet and reached for weapons, most speaking in outraged tones.

Brynhildr, Jesslyn, Magret and Ama stalked through the group to come forward and bow before dropping to each to a knee. All wore the white of full battle dress, no different than you or Eira. Each looked ready for war, every honour gained through their years in the Valkyrjur on full display in the braids and cuffs present in their hair.

“My queen. If an attack could come even from within the halls of the Valkyrjur, it is time for you to choose your Honour Guard,” Ama said.

“We humbly submit ourselves for consideration,” the other three said together.

Oda pushed through the others. “I request the same consideration, my queen.”

May and Frey followed. “And us as well.”

“Brynhildr, Jesslyn, Magret, and Ama, your council yesterday was invaluable. You are accepted. Join my table.” You motioned them to rise and sit next to Bucky. “Oda.” She looked up hopefully. “You are a trainer of the little ones, but I think you are better suited to training others in speed and agility. You have the talent for it. If you choose this path instead, you would be giving that up. To hold that position is a great honour.”

She shook her head. “There is no honour greater than being in your guard.”

“Then I guess I will need to find a new trainer.” You smiled and motioned for her to join the others. “May and Frey, the skills you showed on the field yesterday were beyond compare. I welcome you to my guard.” They grinned wide and rose to take seats beside Oda.

“You need one more, my queen.”

You smirked at Ama and set your hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Why? My group of nine is complete.”

He arched a brow. “Did I just become an honorary Valkyrie?”

You snorted a laugh and sat down. “You wish, Barnes.”

***

Steve stood on the steps of the keep and watched the group of riders and half as many shaggy wolf style hounds race up the valley. “That horse has eight legs.”

“Of course he does. That’s Sleipner.”

He glanced at Y/N. “You say that like it should mean something.”

It made her chuckle and shake her head. “Remind me to make you read up on Germanic history when we go back to Midgard.”

“Only if you help me differentiate between the fabrications and the truth. It’s hard to tell anymore.”

“Of course.” She beamed up at him, her smile wide. “Have fun and remember what I said. Don’t fall off your horse.”

“I won’t.” Hopefully.

The group of roughly fifteen riders plus Odin came to a halt at the foot of the stairs where Sif was the only one to dismount.

“Your grace. My horse for you.” She bowed her head and held out the reins.

Steve placed a swift kiss on Y/N’s cheek and jogged down the stairs. “Your horse?” he asked Sif.

“I won't need him while here, and won't be returning to Asgard before you are finished. He is fast, sure-footed, and knows better than to dump his rider.” She gave the gelding a stern look. “He's also strong enough to carry your weight over rough terrain. May you have a successful hunt, your grace.”

She stepped out of the way, and Steve patted the bay gelding's shoulder. “He gotta name?”

“Baldor. He'll go well for you.”

“Thank you, Sif. I appreciate the loan.” Throwing the reins back over Baldur's head, Steve mounted with some semblance of grace. Enough not to embarrass himself, at any rate. With his shield strapped to his back and sword on his hip, he looked at the group of eight women and Bucky standing with his girl. “Buck.”

The man nodded. “We've got this.”

“I'll be fine, sjelevenn,” Y/N assured him. “All-father. Happy hunting.”

“Queen Sváfa. I'll return him to you in one piece.” Odin spurred Sleipner into a rear that had the big stallion pawing all four legs at the sky. “Loose the hounds!”

The six dogs bayed as their leads vanished and took off for the forest at the side of the road.

The others followed Odin, but Steve took a final look at his girl. “Be safe.”

Her smile softened. “Right back at you.”

He let Baldur have his head as the gelding tore off after the others. They hadn't gone far, the forest brush too dense to gallop through. Catching up, he urged the gelding up beside Odin. “What are we hunting?”

“Whatever catches the hound's noses.”

The lead dog howled and raced off, followed by the others. The riders followed suit, pushing through the underbrush into an expanse of an open ridge that sloped down into a meadow.

Never had he ridden a horse as fast as a car before, and while he was a little concerned they were flying over open, rough terrain, it was also thrilling. Baldur was a smooth ride, and as Sif had said, he was sure-footed and fast.

Steve shot a glance at Sleipner, fascinated by his eight legs. How did he keep from clipping his ankles?

The group thundered down into the valley where the dogs had slowed to race back and forth, apparently having lost the scent.

Odin frowned at the dogs before gesturing to two men with copper red hair. “Steven, son of Rogers, meet Balus and Gar, sons of Tarin. Two of your Vassals.”

“Your grace.” They both executed half bows from the backs of their horses. “We are honoured to ride out with both you and the All-father.”

“Vassals?” Steve grumbled. What was Odin playing at?

“They still serve the kingdom of Sváfaland though Asgard has been holding the seat for you. With your return, you will be reclaiming your duty.”

There was a gleam in the old man's eye. “That is a decision between Thor and I. I have duties and obligations on Earth.”

“Yet you are here.”

Steve would not be bullied by the man, God of Asgard or not. “At my queen's behest. Where she goes, I go.”

Odin appeared about to speak when the hounds bayed and the riders were off like a shot. Only eight were hunting, all as well dressed as Odin and the two brothers. The rest appeared support staff, packing spears, food and drinking skins of water or wine, Steve couldn't tell. And a larger draft type horse supposedly for packing home their kill.

The horses followed the hounds down the valley, and Steve noticed tracks. Deer, he thought, but larger than any he'd ever hunted. When the hounds again slowed to circle, Steve leaned over and had a closer look. “Deer?”

Balus and Gar rode closer.

“Yes, very good, your grace. We did not expect you to ride so well or know how to track.”

Steve shrugged, an action made difficult by his armour. “Not my first hunt. But I used to track on foot and in snow storms. You learn fast, or your men don't eat.”

Gar took a pull from the skin he held and handed it to his brother. Balus drank and passed it to Steve. As he could smell the water, Steve accepted. Asgard might be coming into winter, but the morning's exertion was sending sweat down his spine.

“The All-father said you were once an army man. A Captain, I believe?” Gar asked.

Steve capped the skin and handed it back. “I still am, though my men are different. Now I lead a group of enhanced individuals. People of special skills or powers. We protect the Earth.”

“Ah, I see why you are busy.” Balus nodded, but his face gave away his disappointment.

“I don't get it.”

They both looked up. “Get what, your grace?”

“Sváfaland has been without a ruler for how long? Hundreds of years?” They nodded. “Then why is it so important that I suddenly take on the role? I'm a soldier, not a king.”

“Thor is more a soldier than a king, but he does a fair job of being both.”

Steve glared at Odin when the former king spoke. “And has had a lifetime to prepare.”

“And you have a wife who has thrice been the queen of the Valkyrie. Learn from her.”

An angry retort was on the tip of Steve's tongue, but the hounds bayed and they were off again. This time they streaked into the woods where the undergrowth was sparse, allowing the horses to keep pace.

Vigilance was needed to avoid taking a branch to the face, and Steve was thankful for his quick reflexes. Sweat had begun to gather on Baldur’s neck and flanks by the time the hounds slowed a third time. The horses were all blowing hard, and they’d ridden a long way from the keep, crossing streams and meadows, chasing something they hadn’t even caught a glimpse of when all the hounds began to growl. The hackles on the beasts were high, their stance threatening when the first whiff of scent hit him.

“Blood. Lots of it,” Steve murmured to Odin.

“Spears,” Odin called just as quietly.

Steve caught the one tossed toward him, but when the others made to push forward on their horses, he swung his leg over and dismounted.

“Your grace, you should not-”

Steve shot Gar a look that had the man shutting up. “I can’t fight on horseback.”

As the others pressed cautiously closer to the break in the trees where the strong scent of blood was coming from, Steve skirted the clearing without a sound, avoiding downed branches and sticks. It may have been dozens of years since he’d hunted on foot, but it came back with a flash.

When he finally drew close enough to see what was making the smell, he grimaced. The stag whose trail the hounds had been following was gutted in the center of the clearing, its belly torn out and gathering flies.

“Norns! That’s disgusting!” One of the riders who Steve had yet to meet said.

Balus rode toward the carcass and poked it with the butt of his spear. “No animal did this. The cuts are too clean, and there is an arrow strike here.” He indicated the stag’s jugular.

The hair on the back of Steve’s neck lifted a second before the hounds began to growl. Something was moving through the trees. Something big. It came out of the forest with a crash and roar, leaping on the man beside the carcass in a flash of stripes and claws.

Steve gasped, remembering Thor and Y/N talking about a Smedlheim, a tiger as big as an elephant with antlers like an elk. A hide of green and brown and white, it had blended so perfectly with the foliage he’d never seen it coming. Even the antlers had the look of branches when the cat swung its head and knocked the dogs charging for it to the side.

Balus screamed as claws like daggers went through his thigh and pinned him to his horse, already dying beneath the fangs of the tiger.

He didn’t even think to hesitate. Steve raced from the trees, sliding the shield from his back as he threw the spear. A different weapon than his shield, he misjudged the weight and missed the creatures neck, hitting it square in the shoulder. Still, it knocked the cat clear off Balus.

The blood-curdling scream of the animal set Steve stumbling and swearing as he shook his head to clear the ringing. “Get Balus out of here!” he bellowed to the men who were trying to control the terrified horses. The only one not panicking was Odin’s mount, though he was digging at the ground with three of his front legs.

Steve leapt the carcass, Balus, and his horse, heading for the thrashing cat, screaming and growling as it snapped at the spear, trying to pull it from its flesh. He jerked his sword from its sheath as the cat wrenched the spear from its flesh. It rolled to its feet and hissed at him as Steve slid to a stop.

“Big kitty,” he muttered to no one in particular. The thing was huge and angry. “Nice kitty. I don’t want to kill you, but I will. Let us get our guy out of here, and you can gorge on the deer.” Claws clanged off his shield with the cat’s first swipe. “Or not.”

It charged, and Steve rolled out of the way. Randulfr hummed in his hand, the energy beginning to sing up his arm. He turned and dragged all that power down the cat’s ribs. Another scream followed the spray of blood. Steve thought it would run, injured twice and bleeding, but it only turned on a dime and came at him again. The paw that slammed into him was nearly as big as the shield and sent Steve flying through the clearing. He landed hard, but rolled to his feet, the armour taking the worst of the blow. The cat was charging again, but a glint of steel on the ground caught Steve’s eye. It was the spear he’d hit the creature with initially.

It was a quick calculation, and he wasn’t sure it would work, but Steve was willing to take the risk. Running for the spear, Steve threw the shield, sending it ricocheting off the Smedlheim’s antlers. It hit the cat in the forehead three times before flying free and embedding in a tree, but it slowed it down long enough for Steve to reach the spear, kick it up, and change course to intercept the cat.

He could already hear Bucky gripping at him about this being the stupidest thing he’d ever done as Steve raced straight for the lowered head of the cat. There would be no end of scolding if he got hurt, and the idea of getting injured and Y/N feeling the blow had him doubly determined to finish this quickly.

From the corner of his eye, Steve could see the men working to get Balus out from under his horse while others were fighting to keep the rest of the horses from bolting.

A half dozen yards from the cat, Steve threw the spear. This time it flew true, slamming into the cat’s eye. As it threw its head up and roar, Steve leaped to the lowest tine of its antlers and let the creature toss him into the air. It felt like time slowed as he twisted mid-leap, rising high above that cat, and fell slowly down to drive his sword through the top of the cat’s skull. It went down beneath him like a stone, falling to the ground in a heap, finally dead.

Steve dropped to a knee in the dense fur, panting at the exertion before checking on the others.

They had Balus up, and his leg wrapped, but all motioned had stopped as they stared at Steve. Mouths open and eyes wide. They appeared shocked.

Steve gripped the hilt of his sword and gave it a pull, drawing it from from the cat’s skull before leaping to the ground and using a handful of grass to clean the worst of the blood from the blade. Then he looked toward Odin.

The former king of Asgard leaned forward and crossed his arms on the horn of Sleipnir's saddle, a small smile curving his lips. “Yes. I see it now. Indeed you are Hurgid’s true heir.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “Was this a test?”

“Not an intentional one.” Odin gestured toward the aid leading Steve’s horse. “Come. I have much to show you.”

“Your grace!” Gar called out, drawing Steve’s attention. “Thank you for saving my brother.”

Steve nodded as Baldur trotted closer. Once he was mounted, the aids turned toward the cat and began the process of skinning it. “What are you going to do with it?”

“It will be yours to gift your queen.” With the golden spear in his hand, Odin pointed it at the group of men with the injured Balus. They disappeared in a flash of golden light. “I have returned the others to Asgard where they can seek medical attention. Come with me, Steven, son of Rogers.”

Odin turned away, heading into the trees.

Steve took one last look at the men and the cat and followed Odin.

Next Chapter

#warrior daughter #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x ofc #avengers au #valkyrie #asgard au

190 notes · View notes

flamboyantly-incompetent · 5 years

Text

Neuron Ch.9

Bucky x Named (Mutant) Reader

Warnings: fluff, fluff, dealing with trauma, etc.

Masterlist

Word count: 2,929

Note: THIS IS A REVISED CHAPTER. I didn’t really like the first iteration as much as I think I should for a chapter that basically sets the tone for the focus characters and relationship. And it’s my story, so I figured I could do what I wanted with it.

All in all, I really like this one better - I think it adheres more to the Bucky that I’m trying to write, and... it’s just better.

If you read the first one, and remember it at all feel free to let me know if you have any thoughts (I mean, feel free anyway) on the characterization.

The gifs still aren’t mine.

If you’ve ever made a gif, I appreciate you.

Bucky stood in the hallway outside your apartment, bouncing on his feet, mentally reciting his battle plan. Apologize, flash drive, retreat. Apologize, flash drive, retreat. Okay. Probably good to knock now.

He knocked on your door and took a deep breath; he heard you sigh, and wander over. He also heard you mutter, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

This was going well.

“I heard that,” he mumbled, trying to put his heart back where it was supposed to be. Then you opened the door.

Standing in the doorway, you wore your standard - large tee-shirt and shorts, but you were still so pretty. Pretty and tired. Why had he come here again? You blinked at him for a moment; every word he had ever learned escaped him.

When you finally broke the silence, your voice was hesitant, “Sorry. I just... I wasn’t expecting to see you. Is everything okay?” You poked your head out into the hallway, looking for Steve, Natasha maybe.

Bucky’s hand found his hair on its own, running through the tangled locks absentmindedly. “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine, just,” he trailed off, plunging his hand into a back pocket for the drive, “Steve forgot to give this back to you.”

“Thanks, that’s kinda important,” you said, taking the flash drive from his hand. The tone of your voice settled his nerves, but it didn’t escape him that you were careful not to brush his fingers with your own. Not that he could blame you.

“We figured. Steve was gonna mail it, but I wanted to come down myself,” he caught the ghost of a glimmer of hope in your eye and continued quickly, “just to be safe. I’m just a delivery boy today.”

That look was gone quick as it came, and you looked tired again. Damn near broke his heart. This was not going as planned.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, “I should’ve asked Mr. Stark before I left. That’s a long trip for a USB.”

Definitely not going to plan. He sighed, throwing the plan out the window. “Shoot, doll, that’s not what I meant. I just...” Finally, you met his gaze again with a look that said me too.

Nodding, you opened the door wider. “Let me make you some tea?”

Bucky had followed you into your apartment, at once watching the sway in your shoulders as you watched and covering all his exits - a window and fire escape to the east, and the door he’d come through.

You opened the microwave before it could beep and poured the steaming water into the two clean mugs on your cluttered counter. As you handed Bucky his mug of Constant Comment, the constellations on the heat-change mug started to show.

Several pillows and a few blankets sat piled on your couch, which you pushed onto the floor, and sat down crosslegged.

Bucky sat next to you, talking about the weather, about Peter having to start school again, about how when Sam showed up with a bugle Wanda threatened to chemically bond it to his backside should he play later than sundown. Small talk, sure, but it made you laugh.

“Alright, Buck. Lay it on me.” You peered over the rim of your octopus shaped mug, sipping slowly. “What’s on your mind?”

Bucky took a deep breath in, bobbed his tea bag, and asked, “Are you okay?”

The corner of your mouth turned up ever so slightly. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“I am a hundred years old, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“We’re friends. Generally, that means we take turns worrying about each other.” When he didn’t respond, you asked hesitantly, “We’re still friends, right?”

“Yeah. We’re still friends.”

“I missed you,” you said quietly and Bucky’s heart was called back into his throat. Shit, he’d missed you too. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, doll, what for?”

He could feel the heat radiating off your face as blood rose into your cheeks. “I ran away. From Strucker, myself, you guys. You.”

“I’ve done my share of running.”

You shook your head. “You’ve had valid reasons. I should’ve handled it better,” you whispered into your tea before taking a long sip.

Bucky took a long look at you. “It’s not a contest.”

“I know, but-” A car’s alarm forced its way into the room through the open window to your back, starling you and making you jump to your feet. “Mr. Carson I swear to god if that’s your Prius again,” you trailed off to smack the wall you shared with your neighbor. Presumably Mr. Carson.

His voice came back muffled through the wall, “Sorry!” Only when the beeping stopped did your shoulders recede from your ears.

“Wow,” Bucky remarked, watching you closely as you plopped back onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. “You sure you’re okay?”

You snorted, “Y’know I used to be better at hiding it. I don’t know what happened.”

Against his better judgement, Bucky said quietly, living your chin, “Don’t hide. Not from me.”

Good job, Barnes. That’ll keep things platonic. He withdrew his hand, internally facepalming and doing his best to ignore your expression. Wasn’t he supposed to have retreated by now? Recover you dumbass. “I just mean,” he cleared his throat, “you’ve been shot at, in hiding, a car chase, an explosion and harassed by reporters. That’s a lot to happen in two weeks.”

“Don’t forget chastised by Wanda and Rogers,” you said, laughing a little at the absurdity of your life at the present.

Bucky chuckled into his grimace, “Been there. Not fun.”

“And now I’m afraid of microwaves, car alarms, and peanuts.” You rolled your eyes and took another sip of tea.

“I freak out when it’s too cold,” he said with a shrug, “Especially if I’ve just woken up.”

“Buck,” you started.

“And, for the record, you could kick the shit out of any microwave.”

You let out a breath of laughter and nudged his shoulder, “What happened to not hiding?”

He grinned, “Made you laugh though.”

“Yeah, yeah, you cheese ball.” You held his gaze, eyes filled with something he couldn’t quite read.

His eyes flicked away from you, knowing that they’d give him away, and reached for his tea. “I’m still really fucked up.”

You stiffened and quickly deflated; he could feel it through the cushions. A glance in your direction, and he saw you nodding, lost in thought.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your tone suddenly colder. He waited for you to continue, frozen. “I misjudged... this, and,” you paused, “We should probably just forget it.”

Bucky nodded for a bit. Then he stopped nodding. Then he looked you square in the eye. “The thing is, I don’t want to forget it. Because you didn’t misjudge anything.”

Your mouth popped open in surprise. “So...” You bit onto your lower lip just to keep your mouth shut.

“I don’t know what that means, for us, y’know. I wouldn’t know where to begin, and I don’t know if I’m ready to be... But that’s... I thought you should know. You, uh,” he chuckled in defeat, “you’ve done some kinda number on me, Reese.”

Feeling your face begin to flush, and your heart begin to pound, you joked, “Oh, we’re on last names, are we Barnes?”

“Denna.”

“Sorry. You know, we could just go slow. Like ultra slow. Like, Steve playing Grand Theft Auto slow.”

He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling, cheeks bright red. “Y’know, I actually kind of understand that reference. He would probably try and use turn signals.”

“Well that’s an image I’ll never get out of my head. It’s pretty funny, though.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” Bucky smiled to himself, letting his eyes wander over your face. “But I think that could work. Us. Going slow. If that’s what you want.”

“I, yes. That is what I’d like, yes.” He put his mug back on the coffee table. Your mouth turned up in a smile over your mug. “Is your tea still hot?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

“You don’t have to drink it.”

“Thanks, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

A while later, the two of you were tidying your apartment. You yawned, closing the closet door on the mass of blankets and pillows from the floor.

“Lets clean, he says. You’ll feel better, he says,” you complained as you trudged over to Bucky, who was washing dishes, and thunked your forehead on his shoulder.

The smile was all over his voice as he replied, “You will. Trust me, the worst thing for you right now is living in a mess.”

You craned your neck to look up at him, squinting in suspicion and from tiredness. “Are you calling my apartment a dump?”

He glanced down at you, smirking. “Only a little.”

“It’ll be fun, he says.” You turned clumsily to bobble over to your couch, then flopped unceremoniously onto it facedown.

“Are you admitting defeat?” You only groaned in response. “It is well past midnight.” You groaned louder.

“Shoot,” you said into a cushion, “Do you have to drive all the way back?”

“Not if you let me sleep on your couch.”

You wiggled somehow into a sitting position. “You would be absolutely welcome to do that, or I can sleep on the couch, and you can sleep on my bed.”

He gave you a look. “We aren’t seriously about to have this argument again, are we? And why do I get the feeling you’ve slept on this couch every night since you’ve been back?”

“Because you’re a cyborg and a psychic?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you and crossed his arms in suspicion. “How many days has it been since you’ve gone outside?”

“How many days ago was Italy?”

“Okay, we are going outside tomorrow.”

“But Jimmy,” you whined, stretching back out on the couch.

“And,” he sounded amused, “you aren’t sleeping on the couch. C’mon.”

“I’m not even tired.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, I’m very tired I just don’t want to go to bed.” Bucky looked you up and down. You’d probably been having nightmares; most people would after the month you’d had, and that would explain your preference for the couch. And if they were anything like his, he couldn’t fault you for avoiding sleep.

Eventually, he sighed and uncrossed his arms. “What’d ya have in mind?”

Two and a half movies into a Star Wars marathon, you fell fast asleep on Bucky’s shoulder. When he realized you were completely unconscious, he’d smiled, turned the sound down but not off, and shifted a little to lean a bit more comfortably against the couch and let you stretch out more, slipping his arm around your shoulders. His movement didn’t seem to rouse you in the slightest.

He himself nodded off there for a few hours, until all your muscles tensed against him and he was called out of sleep.

Your brow was furrowed, mouth scrunched up and face paled in what seemed like vertigo, and your hand shot up to grab a handful of Bucky’s shirt. His hold on you tightened slightly on instinct.

You mumbled a string of names: Steve, Ra, Wanda, Sharkbait, Bucky.

Neurons began to crackle on your fingertips.

Oh boy.

“Nope,” Bucky mumbled, “Den, wake up, doll.” Your eyes flung open, glowing a soft yellow in the darkness. Once you processed who you were laying on top of, you released his shirt and relaxed into him.

“Sorry.”

“You were talking in your sleep. You okay?”

“Been better,” you blinked, trying to clear the sleep from your eyes, “What was I saying.”

“Uh, a lot of names, actually. Ra, Wanda, Steve, somebody called ‘Sharkbait,’ me.”

“That would make sense”

“You know your eyes glow when you do that?”

“Do they? Huh. I did not know that. Great.”

After a moment or two of silence, Bucky nodded to the kitchen. “Tea?” You shook your head, burying your face in his side. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Carefully, you nodded, coming up for air. “I was on this spinning plate thing, and I kept making people jump off. I don’t know what they were falling into but it wasn’t good. A-and after I did Ra, and Wanda, and Sharkbait, and you... and Mr. Stark, my parents, my boss and I think every other person I’ve ever met. After I had them all jump to their deaths I looked up, and there was Tiffany Strucker and some henchmen, for lack of a better term, and she had me on puppet strings.”

He’d be lying if he said that didn’t sound familiar, but it wasn’t as if you’d made a habit of playing into Hydra’s hands. He told you just that.

“How can we know that?” you asked. “Everything that’s happened has been so, just, off. I don’t know. Why would she expend so much to capture you, capture me, and then put us in a room together when she knows full well what I’m capable of and didn’t even try to disable it. I just don’t get it. And she tortured you for hours, for no reason?”

“Okay, that’s a fair point. I honestly don’t even remember all of it, but I think... please tell me you couldn’t hear...” You nodded. “God, Denna, no one should have to... Should we restart Return of the Jedi?”

You sat up abruptly, shaking your head. “It’s like six in the morning, you probably want to sleep.”

“Nu uh, come back here.” He pouted at you, arms outstretched. “If it’s six in the morning, that means in forty odd minutes we are gonna have a great view of the sunrise through that window.”

Smiling gratefully, you lowered yourself back into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Okay,” you said, “but no yawning when we go outside.”

“Who could yawn with you around?”

“Oh, hush.”

It didn't take long for you to fall asleep again, and looking down at your peacefully sleeping face, beautifully illuminated by the rising sun, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Denna,” Bucky whispered, “You’re asleep, right?” Your toes twitched, and he had to stifle a chuckle. He pushed a feather-light kiss to the top of your head.

He waited another moment, then began, “I think going slow is gonna be harder than I thought. You’re just so damn, I don’t even have a word for it. I just don’t know how to any of this anymore. I dunno, maybe I never learned. But I want to give you everything, ‘cause you deserve more than me. And I’m too selfish to tell you that when you’re awake. And I think it’s because I’m falling in love with you.”

In all his rambling, Bucky hoped a little, somewhere in him that was secret, that you could hear him. But you were, in fact, sound asleep, and would be until eleven that morning.

But there were no more nightmares, so that was something

Genoa, some time ago

Tiffany Strucker made her way deeper into the earth beneath the facility, the area of her abdomen where Denna Reese had kicked her only slightly hindering her progress. She’d been trained to withstand worse, much worse, after all. The tunnels under the facility had been built during the war, but they hadn’t served much of a purpose until now.

She reached her destination, a dusty but functional lab, breathing heavily. She wasted no time; she strapped herself into the chair in front of a console that whirred, inserting IV drips into her veins.

Jason and a very tall woman joined Strucker soon after.

“I’ve brought the nymph, ma’am,” Jason said.

“Thank you, Jason,” Strucker started, when one of the many screens in front of her switched on, displaying the unhappy face of Hydra’s newest director.

“Strucker!” the man growled in anger, “Just what do you aim to accomplish here?” A medium sized man, of medium build with a medium ranged voice, was extraordinarily unremarkable except for his abnormally long thumbs.

Still fiddling with the rest of the monitors, Strucker replied, “The Avengers have always been an impedance, sir, but once I get the Reese girl on our side, no one will dare go against us.”

He scoffed, “You had Sergeant Barnes in custody and you let her escape with him - hell, you’re compromising two score of our special operatives for this girl.”

“I will not fail,” she said through gritted teeth. Feeds from the security cameras appeared on the screens. The Avengers’ Quinjet had just landed on the beach.

“For your sake, Tiffany, you’d better not.” Without another word, the director’s feed blacked out, and was replaced with another of Strucker’s office.

Jason spoke up, “I believe he is beginning to suspect... something.”

“If he has just now begun to suspect, then he is more of a fool than I thought.” Strucker swiveled around to face the woman, the nymph standing in the corner. Her hands folded in front of her and a shock collar hung on her neck. “What of you, Egeria? Has your vision changed?”

Egeria gave a thin smile, wondering why she’d let these mortals capture her. “As I’ve told you, visions do not often ‘change,’ as you put it. Reese and yourself are still the sides of a single coin. What that coin is, I couldn’t tell you.”

Strucker nodded curtly and settled back into her seat. “Jason, when the building blows, take her to the facility in Quebec. I’ll meet you there shortly, and then, what we discussed? Good. Now, they’ll expect me to wake up soon. I need to concentrate.”

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #james buchannan barnes #bucky x reader #mutant!reader #MCU #avengers #dear god #happy new year?#fanfiction #fluff #kinda #oc kinda #excuse me #Star Wars should not be watched chronologically #okay #fight me

14 notes · View notes

a-splash-of-stucky · 6 years

Text

A Messed Up Place | Fourteen

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: A collection of precious moments throughout your pregnancy

Warnings: Fluffiness, swearing.

Notes: WooOOOoooOOO! A whole century later and we’re finally back with another chapter! I’ve missed writing for this baby :’) Also -- four fics in four days whut? 2018′s off to a good start ;)

As the summary suggests, this chapter is a collection of ‘moments’ throughout your pregnancy. After the trainwreck that was the last 13 chapters, I’ve decided to finally gift you with some pure fluffy goodness.

AMUP Masterlist

Bucky moves back into the compound that very evening. As they say: no time like the present, right? Having made amends with you, Bucky feels as if the chains that have been holding him back have finally been unshackled, like he can finally go about this relationship the way he actually wants to, the way he should have done from the very start.

He’d had to make a quick trip to the apartment in Brooklyn, just to clear out his things. He hadn’t brought a lot with him in the first place, which means that most of his worldly possessions are still safely stowed in his room in the compound — something that worked out in his favour, in the end.

Since then, he’s thrown himself into romancing you like he’s never romanced anyone before. Bucky’s also been doing a lot of reading, trying to prepare himself for parenthood as best as he can.

The rest of the team are happy to have him back at the compound, if a little puzzled by his sudden, unexplained disappearance, and equally confounding return. Natasha comes to visit him a couple of days after he moves back in. a grim set to her jaw and a purposeful gleam in her eye.

Bucky watches her with wary eyes from his spot on the bed, hands stilling in his lap. He’d been cleaning one of his rifles before she’d come in and interrupted him. He tracks her as she leans against his dresser, arms loosely folded over her chest.

“I know that you and Y/N had something going on before she got with Steve,” she tells him. Before Bucky can open his mouth to refute her claim, she holds a single finger up and barrels on. “I also know that when she did get with Steve, you were devastated. Pretty obvious with the way you were moping about the place. And it’s why you asked me to set you up, right?”

Bucky hasn’t said anything, but his silence must’ve been a good enough answer for her.

“It was to help you get over her, wasn’t it?” Natasha presses, picking up the comb he keeps on top of his dresser and twirling it between her fingers. “It was to get over her.”

“Stop,” Bucky growls, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

She smiles tiredly. “I’m not judging you, Barnes. I just—,” she breaks off, eyes downcast as she says the next two words. “The baby.”

“What about it?” Bucky asks tersely.

“Is…I don’t know whether it’s yours, or whether it’s his, but I’m guessing that it’s either Steve’s death or her pregnancy that was your trigger. One of those things, or maybe both of them, I don’t know — made you leave,” she surmises, setting the brush down and affixing him with a cool gaze.

“The two events happened so close together—I’m just not sure what set you off. But—whatever it is, I just hope you two get it sorted out.”

Bucky blinks owlishly, surprised by the sudden swerve in the conversation. “I—thanks, Natasha,” he murmurs.

She nods curtly, pushing off from his dresser and sauntering towards his door in one sinuous motion. “You’re both good people,” she says, glancing at him from over her shoulder. “Idiots, but good people.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says dryly. She blows him an exaggerated kiss as the door falls shut.

————————

“You don’t have to come,” you say nervously, for what is probably the tenth time in half as many minutes. “I’ve gone to them by myself before, it’s—,”

“Y/N,” Bucky says, cutting short your nervous babble. “I want to, okay? I really do. I wanna go with you, I wanna see the baby.”

“Okay,” you breathe, smiling nervously at him. “Okay, of course.”

It takes exactly eighteen minutes for Happy to drive you both to the hospital. Throughout the entire journey, you keep your hands folded in your lap, fidgeting anxiously with the hem of your t-shirt. Towards the end of the drive, Bucky finds himself reaching across the massive gap between you and him in the back seat, resting his hand on your knee and squeezing it reassuringly. You’re startled by the sudden gesture, but the tentative smile you flash his way tells him that you’ve appreciated it, nonetheless.

Happy pulls up in front of a sleek building which Bucky has a hard time believing is an actual hospital. It’s all shiny glass and polished steel and spotless floors, nothing like the dingy labs that HYDRA used to work in. Though the interior is sophistically decorated, the faint scent of antiseptic that seems to cling to every hospital building is present, making Bucky’s nose scrunch up in disdain. He follows you to your doctor’s office — Dr Habiba, he learns, is her name — and takes a seat in the overstuffed armchair. You, on the other hand, perch yourself on the examining table, jiggling one leg nervously.

It’s a fairly standard office, albeit devoid of those tacky health-conscious posters that normally adorn hospital walls. Even the medical equipment in there has its own aesthetic appeal, fitting in with the rest of the decor as if they were abstract art installations.

“Twenty weeks, eh?” Dr Habiba comments, once she’s got you settled on your back. You smile and nod, your expression perking up as she chats pregnancy stuff with you — most of it goes straight over Bucky’s head. Dr Habiba’s got dark skin and jet black hair that she’s pulled back into a neat chignon. By his best guess, she’s probably in her mid-forties. She seems pretty competent, moving the machinery around and speaking with the air of someone who’s been through this routine a billion times.

When it’s time to start the scan, you gesture for Bucky to stand beside you, near your head. He’s touched by the gesture, even more so when you take his flesh hand from where it’s lying beside your shoulder and interlace your fingers together.

“All healthy, looks exactly as it should be at this stage,” is the verdict you receive. You blow out a breath Bucky hadn’t realised you’d been holding, expression visibly relaxing at the words.

“You sure you don’t want to find out the sex of your baby?” Dr Habiba asks, looking to you, then Bucky, then back again. Bucky flushes. Does she think that the baby is his, or something? After he’d introduced himself, you’d told her that Bucky was a friend of yours. Perhaps the doctor is more perceptive than she appears.

Bucky squints at the mass of black and white on the monitor. The grainy image does look like a baby, he’ll give it that; he can see the shape of the head, can even make out the bump of a nose and the slope of what he thinks could be a lip. Even so, he’s got no idea how this woman, talented as she may be, can tell what sex the baby is with any kind of certainty.

“Um,” you say, sharing a look with Bucky that he can’t decipher. “I—um, well…I…Bucky? Do you wanna know?”

He’s taken aback. Surely it’s your decision, not his. Bucky licks his lips nervously. “I…uh…only if you want to,” he says hesitantly, not sure whether that’s the answer you’re wanting to hear.

“But do you want to?” you ask, more insistently this time, as if his opinion really matters to you.

“Uh…not really,” Bucky admits, free hand scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I—think a surprise might be nice.”

Your mouth splits into a grin, eyes beaming with happiness. “Really? Great!” you exclaim.

Dr Habiba has been watching this entire exchange with an amused smile on her face, clearly discerning that there’s something more going on between you and Bucky, that you are clearly more than just ‘friends’, as you’d claimed. Whatever she thinks she does not voice aloud, however, instead just murmuring a soft ‘okay then’ as she turns back to the screen of her monitor.

“How many pictures do you want me to print out?” she asks.

“Three,” you say unhesitatingly. At Bucky’s arched eyebrow, you elaborate, “One for me, one for the fridge in the kitchen — so that no one tries to steal my picture, y’know? And one for you.”

Bucky is not ashamed to admit that he looks at that small print-out for a full five minutes before he falls asleep that night.

————————

“Oh fuck, Bucky!” you moan, head lolling forward as Bucky runs his hands all over your back.

“Yeah, doll? That feel good?” he murmurs absentmindedly. He digs his thumbs into the base of your spine, chuckling at the low groan that rumbles out of your throat.

“Ah, f-fuck, yeah,” you hiss, as his hands start to smooth down your sides, exerting just the right amount of pressure to make your body limp and pliant.

Someone snickers.

Bucky looks towards the direction of the sound and discovers that the source is Wanda, who is trying very hard to conceal her giggles behind her hand. Sam and Natasha, sitting on either side of her, are doing their best to suppress their own smiles. Bucky quirks an eyebrow up questioningly, and that seems to be the tipping point. Wanda gives in, doubling over and clutching her stomach as her shoulders shake. Her laughter set Natasha off, who buries her face into Sam’s neck.

“Wha’s so funny?” you slur out. You scoot backwards and inch the bright red exercise ball you’re bouncing on towards Bucky, so that his hands can start massaging out the tense knots in your shoulder.

“S’nothin,” Sam snorts, “You just sounds like you’re havin’ sex over there.”

“Fuck you, Wilson,” you growl, though the heat in your tone is subsequently ruined by the whimper that falls from your lips. This promptly sets off another round of giggles among your three spectators. Bucky can feel his lips fighting to pull into a smile, even as his cheeks flame up in embarrassment. It seems that you’ve decided to staunchly ignore Natasha’s wolf-whistles, instead choosing to arch into the steady press of Bucky’s fingers.

When you told him that you were feeling sore today, Bucky hadn’t hesitated to offer you a back rub. In hindsight, he probably should’ve waited for the privacy of your room, or something.

Tony and Pepper walk in at that moment. “What is this I hear about sex being had? Why am I not invited?” Tony asks loudly.

“Tony,” Pepper sighs, giving him a gentle cuff on the ear. He scowls like a little child in response.

“Bucky’s giving Y/N a massage,” Wanda wheezes, still not having fully recovered from her laughing fit, “And I think Y/N’s enjoying it a bit too much.”

“Fuck you, Wanda,” you grumble. Bucky pets your side sympathetically.

“Well, I think we should all just be happy that Y/N and Bucky have worked things out,” Pepper says, raising her voice to be heard above everyone’s laughter. “And we should all leave them in peace, hmm?” she suggests, eyes darting towards the door pointedly.

“It’s okay, Pepper, they can stay if they want to,” Bucky assures her.

It’s good knowing that the rest of the team are at ease like this. Bucky hadn’t noticed it, but him being in a sour mood for the better part of six months had really been a dampener on the atmosphere at the compound. Now, with all of the bad air cleared between you and him, it’s like a curse has been lifted; smiles are easier to come by, nowadays, and the sounds of laughter can almost always be heard.

Besides Sam, no one else on the team knows the full truth. Of course, some version of the truth had to be fed to them, that had been an inescapable fact. The condensed version of yours and Bucky’s story, is that you and Bucky started a friends-with-benefits arrangement about six months before you got with Steve, after which, the arrangement became null. Then, one drunken night of passion in KL changed everything, meaning that this baby could potentially by his — that had earned you and him a couple of disapproving looks, at the time. The two of you have assured everyone that you’ve put your differences and disagreements behind you, and that your relationship from here on out should progress a whole lot more smoothly.

Natasha’s probably managed to put together more of the puzzle, but he’s not going to begrudge her that. Natasha’s Natasha; she’ll understand, in her own roundabout way.

“How dare you insult the pregnant woman,” you grumble, tipping your neck forward to give Bucky more room. “Just fuck off and let Bucky give me my massage in peace.”

Bucky can’t help but smile a little at the hint of fondness in your tone.

————————

You’re coming out of the bathroom just as Bucky pops his head into your bedroom, having just got back from a trip to the city. You’re swathed in a fluffy polka dot bathrobe, your damp hair hanging limply around your face. Bucky holds up the small canvas bag he’s holding in his right hand and waggles his eyebrows triumphantly.

“What’s that?” you ask, waddling over to your bed and sinking down on it with a grateful sigh. Being five and a half months pregnant is starting to take its toll on you.

Instead of answering verbally, Bucky comes bounding up beside you, thrusting the bag into your hands. Nervous excitement is radiating out of his every pore. He feels a little like a wolf that’s gone hunting for its mate — not that you’re his mate, or anything — and is now presenting his treasures for inspection.

Your lips pull into a frown, which quickly turns into a giddy smile when you peer into the bag. Inside is a collection of fruits that Bucky bought from the farmer’s market earlier this morning — strawberries, blueberries, a small melon, even a couple of mangoes.

“Bucky, what…?” your voice trails off as you turn to look up at him, eyes sparkling with wonderment.

Bucky shifts his weight from foot to foot and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Well, uh…I’ve noticed that you’ve been craving a lot of fruits, lately, especially the sweet kind, so I—I went out and bought you some.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, exactly, but he’s certainly taken by surprise when you surge forward and throw your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a fierce hug. “Thank you,” you whisper sincerely. Bucky wraps his arms around your torso and gives you a gentle squeeze, not wanting to jostle anything he shouldn’t be jostling. He’s enjoying the way his heart swells with pride at having made you this happy.

“Oh, there’s also this,” Bucky says, when you finally step away. He shrugs his backpack off his shoulders and plonks it on the bed, pulling open the zip and rummaging around inside. With a soft hum of victory, he pulls out a tub of cookies and cream ice cream and waves it in your direction.

“You got me ice cream?” you gasp, eyes going comically wide.

“Well, last week you said you really wanted some,” Bucky said, handing it over to you. There’s a brief moment where his fingers brush yours as you take the tub from his hands — maybe it’s his imagination, but he swears that sparks fly at that point of contact.

“You remembered that?” you ask softly, gazing down at the tub of ice cream like it’s a whole lot more symbolic than simply, a tub of ice cream.

Bucky snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You were keeping me awake all night talking about it!” he reminds you, aiming for nonchalance, but tone coming out far too tender for him to do it effectively. Besides, he’s pretty sure he’s got some goofy grin on his face that ruins the effect anyhow.

You shyly catch his gaze through your lashes. “I was not,” you mutter, “But thank you. I love you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat, just as your free hand flies up to clamp over your mouth. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head once the words you’ve just said finally register with your brain.

“Y/N—,”

“I’m sorry!” you blurt out, “I—I mean, I do, but—,”

“Romantically?” Bucky interrupts, “Or as a friend?”

Your jaw snaps shut, eyes travelling to the floor by your feet, not wanting to meet his stare. “Um…would you kill me if I said both?” you ask timidly.

“No,” Bucky replies. “I bought these things for you because I feel both, as well.”

“Oh, good,” you say, before tossing the ice cream onto the bed and pulling Bucky in for another enthusiastic hug.

————————

Bucky’s just finished relieving himself and is busy washing his hands at the sink when he hears your scream.

“Bucky!” you shout, “Get in here, now!”

A million and one thoughts surge through his system, a sense of panic being the strongest of them all. He bursts through the door — probably ripping it off of its hinges in the process — and sprints towards you. You’re sat on the armchair in the corner of his bedroom, bottom lip caught between your teeth and hands cradling your bump.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks breathlessly, fighting to keep his cool in the face of all the emotions threatening to cloud his rational mind. Bucky collapses to his knees in front of you, reaching up to cup your face. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Are you hurt? Are you—”

He shuts up when you grab his flesh hand and place it on top of your belly. His confusion deepens momentarily, until he feels a barely-there fluttering sensation against his palm. Understanding clicks into place.

“Are those—,”

“The baby!” you cry happily, your hand coming to rest on top of his. “You feel it?”

Bucky has to swallows around the lump in his throat before he speaks. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “I feel it, alright.”

He flattens out his hand, pressing as much of his palm onto your stomach as he possibly can to maximise the amount of movement he can feel. There’s no pattern to the motion. He’ll feel a quick burst of fluttering, before the baby quietens down again. Some movements are harder and sharper than the others, but all make him smile equally wide. There may or may not be tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He makes no move to brush them away.

“I started feeling movement a few weeks ago, but you never when you were around, for some reason,” you say softly, the fingers of your other hand threading through his hair, nails scratching gently against his skull. He has a sudden urge to butt into the touch, nuzzle his head into your palm like a cat.

Bucky’s not embarrassed to admit that the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon watching a movie from your couch, your hands intertwined on top of your stomach. He can think of worse ways to spend his day.

————————

Bucky is lying on his bed, back propped up by a couple of pillows, feet crossed at the ankles and a parenting book held in his left hand. He looks up when you breeze in through his open door, a small white box in your hand.

He resolutely tries to not think about the last time you waltzed into his room holding a box. The past is the past, and your relationship has come far since that day.

“I bought my first something for the baby!” you announce, beaming happily at Bucky as you climb onto the bed.

“Oh really?” Bucky asks, putting his bookmark back into place, before setting the book on his bedside table and pushing himself upright. He crosses his legs Indian-style and rests his elbows on his knees, all whilst trying to tame the exhilarated thumping of his heart. “What is it? Lemme see.”

You twist around so that you’re sitting on the bed properly, mirroring Bucky’s pose. You set the box down between the two of you. It’s square-shaped and pristine white, probably a little larger than Bucky’s hand. The name of the company is embossed on the front in a neat gold font. You open the lid and set it aside, then reach into the box and pull out the �� wait, is that a piece of fabric?

“It’s a blanket,” you explain, holding the item in question up and shaking it brusquely, so that it opens up completely. Bucky reaches out and touches it, rubbing the material between the thumb and forefinger of his flesh hand. He fights not to gasp aloud; the blanket is the softest thing to have ever touched his skin.

You pass it to him and Bucky drapes it over his lap, running his fingers over the material to marvel at its unbelievable softness — Jesus Christ, he can’t wrap his head around how silky this thing feels. It’s a pale brown colour, a cross between beige and warm chestnut. There’s a small teddy-bear embroidered on one corner. It’s square-shaped and pretty large too, probably about half a metre in length and width.

“I wanna go baby shopping with you,” Bucky says suddenly, the words coming out of his mouth before his brain can even parse them through.

“Okay,” you say, as if that settles everything. It’s probably not as big a deal as Bucky’s making it out to be in his head, but his excitement levels have definitely kicked up a notch at the prospect of being able to go baby shopping with you. With great reluctance, he hands the blanket back over to you, observing as you carefully fold it into a neat square and place it back into its box.

“I need to properly start buying clothes and things,” you sigh, “Ugh, I need a changing table, and a crib, and a stroller, and—,”

“Hey,” Bucky interrupts, laying a hand on your knee, “Don’t stress yourself out. I’m here to help, right?”

The corner of your lips quirk up into a half-smile, just as one of your hands come to rest on top of his, your thumb stroking over his knuckles. “Yeah. I’m glad,” you murmur. “What’re you reading?” you ask, jerking your chin over to the book he’d set down.

“Oh, uh…” Bucky flushes, running a hand through his hair in embarrassment. “Just a parenting book,” he replies. There’s a pause, then, “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Y/N,” he says quietly.

Your thumb pauses its back and forth motion. “You…want to stop? To back out?” you ask carefully.

“No!” Bucky cries hurriedly, quick to reassure you that that is not what he means at all. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just…I think I’m gonna do more harm than good, is all,” he sighs. “I’ve never fed a baby, or put one to bed, or given one a bath, or—,”

“Hey, neither have I,” you point out, “I’m gonna be just as clueless as you are.”

“But—,”

“We’ll just have to learn together, yeah?”

And there’s just something so earnest in your gaze that Bucky finds himself not caring about his inexperience anymore. Who cares if he fucks things up? It’s all a learning curve, right? Even so, he can’t quite shake off all his worries. “And—there’s something else,” Bucky says, “It’s not just that.”

“No?”

“No,” he admits, shaking his head slowly as he gathers up the courage to say what he’s been meaning to say for a while. “I—don’t know if this,” he says, waving his metal arm around, “Was made for handling babies.”

He forces his gaze to meet your eyes, even though all he wants to do is curl up into a ball in the corner and wallow in his self-pity. Bucky watches as your eyes soften, your mouth falling open into a soft ‘o’.

Moving carefully, as if you don’t want to spook him, you reach forward and take hold of the wrist of his metal hand, bringing it into your lap. You wrap both of your hands around it, enclosing it in your grasp. Your gaze flick towards Bucky to ensure that he has his eyes on you, before you bring that hand up to your lips and slowly, deliberately, brush the tenderest kiss over each knuckle. Then, you stretch each finger out and press your lips to each fingertip. There’s a sense of reverence to your actions, adoration and—and acceptance so clearly discernible in your gaze. The gears and plates in his arm whirr and click, responding to the nervous energy flickering through him. Bucky wants to snatch his hand away from you, but it is as if you have him frozen in place.

His breath hitches as you use one finger to trace the grooves on the back of his hand, your expression unreadable as you cock your head to the side. “I have faith in you,” you say quietly. “Once upon a time, you didn’t think that this hand could touch my lady bits, either, remember?”

“Y/N,” Bucky says exasperatedly, pushing aside the scandalous images that pop into his head.

“And lemme tell you,” you whisper breathily, leaning in closer so that your face is just inches away from his own. “I’ve had some of the best orgasms of my life, thanks to these fingers.”

Bucky feels as if you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs. He clears his throat and tries to remember how to get his mouth working again. “M-metal arm kink,” he jokes, but his voice is too husky for it to come off as playful as he wants it to.

You shake your head. “No! Well, actually—maybe, but that’s not the point,” you say, rolling your eyes at Bucky’s self-satisfied smirk. “My point is that you’ve got more control over this arm than you give yourself credit for,” you tell him, giving the hand an extra-tight squeeze, for emphasis. “I mean, I’m sure you can get Tony to amp up the sensors in it, if you really wanted to, but—whatever the case, I know that you won’t hurt the baby, and that’s good enough for me.”

If Bucky were to ask himself what possessed him to reach up and cup your jaw, at this point, he wouldn’t have been able to answer his own question. He feels as if his body is on autopilot, flesh hand holding the back of your neck as he leans forward. He’s thrilled to see that you’re closing your eyes, your own head tipping upwards and slightly to the left.

The first press of his lips against yours is perfect — everything he remembered it to be from that night in KL, yet so much better, untainted by bitter thoughts of self-hatred. You hum softly in the back of your throat as Bucky deepens the kiss, tongue licking lightly at the seam of your lips. God, but he’s wanted this for as long as he’s known you. All the parts of him are singing in ecstasy, overjoyed to finally be able to indulge in this experience with you.

The two of you pull away before anything can get too heated. Bucky does so remorsefully, but he knows it’s for the best, in the long run.

You sit back, a dazed look in your eyes. Bucky swallows, cards his hands through his hair. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to that. “Um…that was—,”

“Perfect,” you finish, smiling happily at him.

Bucky breathes an internal sigh of relief. “I—yeah. That’s…yeah. Wanna watch a movie or something?”

————————

The two of you are in your room, snuggled up under the covers as a random movie plays on the TV. You’ve got the volume turned down low, however, because neither of you are really watching it. You’re just using it as an excuse to have a lazy evening together.

You’re pressed up against Bucky’s side and his fingers are idly drawing loopy patterns on your tummy. With you at almost seven months pregnant, your belly has rounded out considerably. One of Bucky’s favourite past times is running his hands all over it.

“C’mon, I’m being serious here, any name suggestions?” you ask, prodding him on the shoulder. “This baby ain’t gonna name itself, y’know?”

“What boy names are you thinking of?” Bucky asks.

“I was thinking maybe Steve, or Steven as a middle name,” you admit.

Bucky snorts. “We should spell it S-T-E-P-H-E-N,” he jokes.

You scrunch up your noise in disgust. “Ew, no, that’s an atrocity. I—fuck no, that’s too weird.”

Bucky laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. A hint of possessive pride flares in his chest at the way you burrow even closer to him. “Being serious though,” Bucky continues, “I like that idea. Using Steve’s name, I mean. Spelt the proper way.”

You hum, brows knitted together in thought. It’s apparent that you haven’t heard a word he’s just said. “Or…how about Roger? As a middle name, I mean?” you suggest.

“Oh, that’s nice too,” Bucky says. “But why’re you thinking of middle names first? Shouldn’t first names come first?”

“I know,” you sigh, scrubbing a hand over your eyes. “They’re just harder to think of.”

“What ideas d’you got?”

“I like Carter,” you tell him, “William. Nicholas. Theodore—,”

“Theodore’s good,” Bucky interjects.

“Yeah? Theodore Roger?”

“Yeah, and the baby’ll have your last name, right?” Bucky asks.

You turn your face to look at him properly, confusion evident in your expression. “Oh? Are you sure?”

“Well, we don’t exactly know whether this baby is mine or Steve’s, right?” Bucky points out, shrugging one shoulder indifferently. “I mean, well—it’s all up to you at the end of the day, I guess, I’m okay with anything.”

Bucky watches as you nibble on your bottom lip, mulling over what he’s just said. “Yeah, I—y’know, let’s just cross that bridge when we get there, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing, doll,” Bucky agrees, squeezing your hand reassuringly. He watches as you yawn widely, covering your mouth with your hand, a sheepish look in your eyes. Bucky then notes the time on the clock on your bedside table; it’s almost 11PM at night.

“I’ll just head into my—,”

“No!” you cry, hand darting out to catch his wrist as Bucky moves to roll away from you. Bucky stills, heart racing so fast he can feel it in his throat. “I—I mean,” you add hastily, “I would really like it if you could stay, but if you wanna go back, I understand.”

It takes Bucky two tries to get his answer out. “Okay, doll, I’ll stay,” he says softly, reaching out to stroke your hair out of your face. He asks FRIDAY to switch off the movie as he rearranges the pillows around you, propping one underneath your head, before pulling the covers up and over the both of you. He reaches over to switch off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You pull him down by the sleeve of his shirt, rolling onto your left side so that Bucky can spoon you.

His mind is whirling. This is the first time he’s actually sleeping with you — that night in KL doesn’t count — and his heart doesn’t know what to do with itself. He hopes that you can’t feel or hear the mad thumping of his pulse. Bucky allows his body to do what feels natural, curling protectively around your back, his arm resting around your burgeoning waist, his nose tucking into the space behind your neck. Your hand rests on top of his, fingers intertwining with his flesh ones.

“I love you,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin.

“Love you too,” you whisper.

————————

“Oh my god, Y/N!” Bucky gasps.

“What?” you ask, turning around to look at him.

“Look at these!” Bucky cries excitedly, holding the tiny booties up for you to see. They’re a lovely blue colour, with white stripes on the soles. “They’re so tiny!”

“I know!”

“They’re so cute!”

You place your hands on your hips and narrow your eyes at Bucky in suspicion. “Barnes, do you need a moment? Need to step outside?” you tease, “I’m gonna need you to calm down.”

“But they’re so cute!” Bucky whines, as he brings them over to you for closer inspection. He drops them into your hands and watches the small smile that crosses your lips as you rub the material between your fingers.

“It’s times like these that I wish I knew what I was having,” you groan, looking miserably around the shop.

“You’re having a human child, I hope,” Bucky deadpans.

You snort, smacking him across the chest with the back of your hand. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

Bucky grunts in agreement; for as progressive as this century may be, all the baby clothes in this shop seem to be in various shades of either pink or blue. “Everything’s either really girly, or really boyish,” you grumble, as you continue walking between the racks of clothes. “I mean, yeah, if I had a boy, I could put him in pink things, and vice versa, but…yeah.”

“Oh look!” Bucky cries, as the pair of you round the corner and enter a different part of the shop. Specifically, the part of the shop that houses distinctly less gendered clothing; the unisex section. Everything here is in calming shades of white, beige, yellow and green. Bucky wanders down the aisles, dropping the items of clothing that catch his fancy into his basket as he passes them by.

“Buck? Come take a look at these,” you call.

Bucky hurries over to you and barks out a sharp laugh at the display you’re looking at. “Avengers merch? For real?” he asks.

“Bucky, we need to get this stuff,” you say seriously, moving to put a set of Black Widow-themed bibs into your basket.

“Wait, no!” Bucky says, catching your wrist to stop you.

“What? Why not?”

“Because I’m pretty sure the rest of the team are going to get us this kinda stuff for our baby shower,” Bucky explains. You frown, but shrug a shoulder in agreement, dropping the subject in favour of exploring the rest of the shop.

Bucky’s noticed that he’s started referring to the two of you as ‘us’ more and more frequently, in recent days. It’s not something that he consciously chose to do — it’s more a habit that he picked up and found he couldn’t stop. If you notice, you don’t correct him and for that, he’s secretly pleased.

————————

“Never again!” you groan, throwing an arm over your eyes dramatically. Bucky chuckles as he continues digging his thumbs into the soles of your feet. Apparently, three hours of non-stop shopping takes a lot out of a heavily pregnant lady.

“Never again,” Bucky agrees.

“How ‘bout Samantha?” you suggest, continuing the discussion you’d been having in the car. You lift your arm away from your eyes at Bucky’s indignant scoff.

“Who’s nickname would be Sam? Do you want Wilson’s head to get any bigger?” Bucky asks, “If it gets any bigger, he won’t be able to fit it through the door.”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” you laugh. “What about…ooh! What about Stephanie? Or Steffi, as a play on Steve?”

“Oh, I like Steffi, actually,” Bucky agrees, using a thumb to dig into a particularly sore section of your foot, if your sharp intake of breath is anything to go by.

“Middle name?” you prompt. “Oh, what about after your ma? Or one of your sisters?”

Bucky’s fingers falter at your suggestion. It means a lot to him, honestly. “Um…Steffi Rebecca doesn’t sound that nice, and neither does Steffi Winifred,” he muses. “My second youngest sister was Elizabeth—,”

“Steffi Elizabeth?” you try, “Mmm…Steffi Beth? No, don’t think so.”

“And my youngest sister was Ann,” Bucky finishes.

“Steffi Ann,” you murmur, lips pulling into a small smile. “I like it. I really like it, actually.”

“Me too,” Bucky says quietly, “Almost as much as I like you.”

“Like?” you echo, waggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Bucky rolls his eyes but takes the bait. “Okay, more like love,” he admits, as he leans forward to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

“Love you too,” you breathe.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucyk barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x reader angst #bucky angst #bucky x reader smut #bucky smut #avengers x reader #my writing #a messed up place

462 notes · View notes

imagine-loki · 7 years

Text

Love is Healing

TITLE:Love Is Healing CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Ten AUTHOR:[email protected] ORIGINAL IMAGINE:Imagine Loki trying to convince you of his love for you for months after your constant disbelief. One day at the Avengers Tower he pushes you up against a wall, holding tightly as he kisses you, only to have you wildly fight back as you scream and cry begging him to let you go. As Steve helps your trembling form up from your spot now on the floor, your best friend Natasha explains to Loki that there was once a man who claimed to love you when you were a minor and said he would wait for you as long as it takes, only for him to turn around and molest you and eventually rape you, admitting that he never loved you all along. Ever since then you’ve never believed in love, but Loki promises you that he will spend every moment with you trying to convince you that his love for you is true. RATING:PG 15 NOTES/WARNINGS: There’s a make out scene in this one, but I don’t know if that warrants a warning.

Chapter Ten

Loki knocked on Arianna’s bedroom door at exactly six-thirty. Within seconds she opened the door. Loki stood there staring for a few seconds. Arianna was wearing a black dress with bell-shaped sleeves and a flowy skirt that ended just above her knees.

She had straightened her hair and it was hanging loosely over her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink and her lips were glossy, but her face was otherwise void of makeup.

He’d noticed that her breath had caught when she’d noticed his makeover. He was just glad that he wasn’t the only one who had put in an effort to look nice.

“You, um … actually look like a prince tonight,” she said, having found her voice.

“Is that … good?”

“Yes,” she admitted and smiled.

Something loosened in Loki’s chest then and he could breathe easy all of a sudden.

“Well, you look lovely.”

He offered her his hand and she took it. She at least didn’t seem nervous about that.

“So … what are we doing?”

“Chinese food, talking, perhaps a movie.” Loki glanced her way even as they began walking down the hallway. “Tony set up the floor below this one. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s … fine. I just didn’t know we would be alone.”

“Are we ever really alone while Jarvis is online?”

“True.” She squeezed his hand. “Sorry I’m being so silly.”

“You are not being silly. You’re just nervous.”

She nodded. “I am.”

“Maybe it would soothe you to know that I, too, suffer from nerves at the present time.”

“Really? But you’re a prince.”

“I was a Prince,” he said. “I’m only human here.”

“Being human is okay,” Arianna said, “if you give it a chance.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he said, his tone most definitely flirty.

Arianna grinned, and Loki noticed her blush before she turned her head away. Maybe he had a chance after all.

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

When they got to the room Tony had picked out for them, Arianna was surprised to see that a table had been set up. A deep red table cloth covered it, and a flaming candle was seated on top. Two plates – fresh and steaming – of chicken and broccoli with rice and brown sauce awaited them.

“Did you do this?” she asked.

“The candle was my idea. I don’t know if I like Chinese food, but Tony said this dish is your favorite, so … that is what I ordered.”

“Thank you. This is … nice.”

Ten minutes into their dinner Arianna finally settled down. She even felt safe in knowing that Loki meant her no harm.

They were eating together as they had done many times before. They were talking about normal things. Most importantly, there was no pressure coming from Loki at all.

They were just spending time together, and that was okay.

“I’m surprised you actually went to Tony,” she admitted.

“In order to get what I wanted I had to. For me to get what I wanted you had to have what you wanted.”

After a brief pause, during which Arianna took a bite of rice, Loki shrugged.

“Tony and I have an understanding.” Then with a small, self-deprecating smile, he continued. “Besides, I really don’t understand this … dating.”

Arianna smiled and nodded. “That makes two of us.”

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

After dinner, Loki and Arianna moved to the living room to find something to watch. Loki, not knowing what was good and what wasn’t, told Arianna to pick something.

She chose a series called Sherlock and they watched the first episode. Loki decided he liked the show and would continue watching it in his own time. He found Sherlock Holmes amusing. Loki sympathized with him; he normally felt as if he were surrounded by morons as well.

“So, this is a date, by Midgardian standards?” Loki asked once the episode was over.

“It’s considered one, yes.” Arianna smiled. “Um … it depends on what one likes to do.”

“Is there something you would like to do? That we can do together.”

“We always do stuff together,” she teased.

“You know what I meant. Together, as a date.” A thought occurred to him then. “Unless you’ve not enjoyed yourself.”

Her eyes widened then, and Loki knew that Arianna had been enjoying herself. She just hadn’t thought much about it.

“I … usually enjoy the time I spend with you. I just haven’t dated in so long that I didn’t know what to expect from this – or what you expected of me.”

“For you to be you,” Loki confessed quickly. “You being you is what made me fancy you. Why would I want anything different just because we’re on a date?”

Arianna’s face went blank for just a few seconds, and Loki didn’t know what had happened during that time, but it made her smile brightly.

“I think I’ve been thinking about this way too much. Worrying too much about you being different because it’s a date. Most guys I’ve gone out with only wanted – uh, well, you know.”

“What’s under your clothes?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Well, maybe you just need better taste in men.”

She shrugged. “I did agree to go on a date with an ex-villain, criminal mastermind.”

Loki grinned at her playful banter. He wasn’t even hurt by her words because, no matter how true they were, he knew she hadn’t meant anything by them.

“Ex-villain, but not ex-criminal mastermind?”

“You still have the same brain. I just think you’ll find better uses for it.”

Loki hoped he wouldn’t let her down.

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

Arianna soon found herself outside her bedroom door with Loki, much like the night before. He had walked her there, but, unlike the night before, he hadn’t tried to kiss her.

“You never did say what you would like to do,” Loki said. “For our next date.”

“Yes, I did.” Arianna shrugged. “Just spend time with you. Besides, it’s your turn to pick.”

He must’ve been thinking about it already because he was quick to respond.

“I’d like to go outside. I have not been out since the last time with you.”

With a start, Arianna realized he was right. He hadn’t been outside since then. She hadn’t really either except to go to hospitals. She hadn’t been outside for fun in what felt like forever.

“You will have to pick the place, however, as I am unfamiliar with Midgard geography.”

She grinned. She knew just the place to go.

“I’ll get with Tony tomorrow to ask about transportation. We can go for coffee tomorrow and then take a walk. Night time is probably best. Less of a chance for you to be noticed and recognized.”

“Great. Um … good night then, Arianna.”

Arianna said good night too, confused when Loki just turned around and started walking towards his room. She also found herself disappointed. Wasn’t he going to kiss her? Hadn’t the whole point of the date been about him wanting to kiss her? And now he was just going to walk away?

“Loki,” she called out without really meaning to. “Wait.”

He did, turning back around. “Yes?”

“I …”

She moved forward, stopping when she was close enough to touch. Where had her fear gone? What had happened to the girl that had been so nervous about Loki trying to become intimate with her? Where had she gone and why wasn’t she stopping her from doing this? She was only going to make a fool of herself doing this. She was no good at it. She could never get her mouth to move with someone else’s; she was a horrible kisser. She knew that she would freeze if she actually let her lips touch his.

Only she didn’t freeze. In fact, she … she came to life under Loki’s attention. She had initiated contact, her hands pulling him down to her only to card her fingers through his silky black hair.

She hadn’t planned on kissing him like that or for as long as it looked like they were going to, but she soon found herself requesting entrance to his mouth. He let her, and she scratched his scalp with her nails.

Loki was being so … pliant, which wasn’t like him, but she was glad he was letting her lead. Even when he placed his hands on her sides he wasn’t demanding anything. His fingers squeezed gently, but he seemed content with just this.

She pushed him against the wall, knowing the angle must have been hurting his neck, but she didn’t want to pull away. She hadn’t wanted to be trapped against the wall either.

Arianna was not used to this, the heat and the ache at her core. She was not used to wanting … well, anyone. She’d never wanted anyone to ease the ache before. She knew what it was, of course, but she’d never felt it this intensely.

Of course, she’d never been the one in control before either, and for it to be Loki that she was leading made it even better. He was always in control of himself and yet he’d let her come to him, had let her initiate whatever this was.

She felt as Loki moved his hands to her behind only to begin kneading the flesh there. Instead of freaking her out, it made her lean more into him.

“Loki.” She gasped and pulled her mouth away. “Please, I –“

She what? Wanted to stop? No. Wanted to keep up with the making out? Yes. Right then and there in the hallway? No. Did her body agree with her mind? Definitely not, but was she going to listen to her body? No … even if she wanted to. Badly.

She did pull away then. Slowly but deliberately. She wasn’t rejecting Loki; she just couldn’t do this here.

And what had she been doing anyway? What was wrong with her? She didn’t do things like that. Ever. She didn’t throw herself at guys.

“Um … I think … I think I’m gonna go now,” she squeaked.

She refused to meet Loki’s gaze until he lifted her chin. He pressed his lips to hers briefly but pulled back. He wasn’t mad at her for stopping in the middle of things. Though his green eyes did appear glazed over.

Had she done that? There was a flush in his cheeks – a healthy one, not a fever flush – that went down his neck. It disappeared underneath his shirt, but Arianna knew his upper chest was probably pink too.

She had done that. With a sudden bout of giddiness she quickly planted another kiss on Loki’s lips. She nipped at him once before pulling away once again.

“You want me,” she said, happy yet terrified. Not in the normal way she felt terrified by intimacy – not in the way where she thought she would be physically hurt – but terrified in the way that told her if she gave in and let Loki want her, care about her, it could emotionally damage her because she wanted him too, and she already cared about him.

“It was not my intention for this to happen,” Loki admitted. “Though I am not at all sorry it did.”

She breathed in, held it for a few seconds, and then let it out.

“I’m not either, though I didn’t expect to like it so much.”

Loki grinned and looked smug. Arianna shook her head.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Loki. Good night.”

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

Still warm and slightly out of breath, Arianna entered her room. She felt like a teenager – or what she thought a teenager should feel like after making out with someone they were obviously attracted to.

“Did you enjoy your date?”

At the sound of Natasha’s voice Arianna quickly asked Jarvis to activate the lights in her room. Her friend was seated on the bed, right at the edge. She appeared to have been waiting there for a while.

“Hey, Tash. Been there long?”

“Maybe ten minutes. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Well, I – yes, I did. We ate and watched a show. Talked a bit, nothing too heavy.”

Natasha nodded but also looked at her knowingly.

“I don’t think you did much talking at all judging by the flush on your cheeks and your loss of breath.”

“Tash!” This really wasn’t Natasha’s business. “We kissed. That’s it.”

“No. You went on a date without telling me.” Tash stood then. “You always tell me in case you need a way out.”

“We never left the building, Tash.”

Arianna could see then that Tash was kind of hurt that she hadn’t been included in the list of people that had known about the date beforehand.

“If it makes you feel any better, you can be my potential way out tomorrow. Loki and I are going to get coffee and then go for a walk.”

“No, you’re not.”

Natasha was in full agent mode now, so Arianna waited for an explanation.

“The building is being watched. Clint and I noticed recently. Tony has been made aware. It’s not safe for you to leave.”

“I’ve been stuck inside for weeks. You and Clint can be our security detail, but I need to get out.”

Natasha frowned. “You mean Loki needs to get out.”

“That too.”

Arianna knew it wasn’t the only reason there was, but now that Loki looked different and no one had a chance of recognizing him, Ariana felt she needed to introduce him to the outside world. Something told her that he hadn’t taken much in the last time he’d spent more than an hour outside.

“I just ask you to keep this in mind. He’s forced people to do things they didn’t want to. You don’t –“

“That’s enough!” Arianna hissed. “I know what he did, and I know it wasn’t fun for Clint, okay. What Loki did was wrong, I know that. But what Loki forced people to do is not the same thing as what David forced me to do. I don’t appreciate the comparison.”

Natasha’s face remained blank aside from blinking once.

“I wasn’t trying to compare. I was reminding you of what he’s capable of.”

“I’ve been in his head, Tash. I know what’s in there.” She sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Please leave … I – just go.”

She didn’t want to dismiss Natasha like that. She knew Tash would be hurt even if she didn’t let it show, but Arianna needed to be alone. Tash had gotten her to think about what Loki had done. He could be manipulative, she knew that. He could be cruel, though he hadn’t been towards her since she’d gotten to know him better. He could also be funny and kind in his own way.

“I need to think,” she told her friend. “I’ll remember what you said. But you need to remember this, Tash. Loki wants what he wants and he’s proven he’ll do what he has to in order to get it. He wants me. He knows he can’t be that way with me. He didn’t even try anything tonight, Tash. He was on his best behavior.”

She blushed. “I kissed him.”

“Hm.” Tash opened the door. “Let me know before you leave tomorrow night.”

Before she left she turned and said, “Just be careful. Okay? That’s all I meant.”

That, of course, made Arianna feel terrible for arguing with Natasha. She’d only wanted to make sure Arianna didn’t get hurt.

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

Loki lay in bed that night, thinking about how well the night had gone. Arianna had been nervous at first, but she had settled quickly as she had begun to eat. He’d found the reason for her unease had been because of past experiences with men, but after she had realized he didn’t want her to act any differently than normal she’d relaxed completely – enough to gain the confidence to kiss him. He didn’t know where she’d gotten the idea that she couldn’t do it properly – or where the men she’d previously kissed had gotten that idea.

She hadn’t seemed too terribly experienced, but she’d more than made up for it with passion – until she’d realized they’d been in the hallway. Then she’d been embarrassed, but she’d quickly regained control of herself.

Loki hadn’t wanted to let her go, but he’d finally gotten a response from her and hadn’t wanted her to go back in her shell.

He was just glad that he’d gotten her to agree to another date, this one outside. Loki didn’t know if he liked coffee or not, but he would definitely enjoy the company.

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

The next day it rained and everything was soaked. That didn’t stop Arianna from wanting to go get coffee, so she found herself in Tony’s lab at around four in the afternoon asking for transportation for later that night.

It was also how she found a buzzed-on-something Tony Stark. It wasn’t alcohol – it was probably some energy drink he had concocted himself.

“Uh … you okay?” she asked as she came in.

Tony had recently changed all the security codes and the door to the lab now opened only if your handprint was in the system.

“Always. What d’you need?”

“Um … a car or a driver. For tonight.”

“Why?”

“Coffee and Central Park. A walk … with Loki.”

Why did she feel as though she were talking to her dad? Tony Stark was not her dad – he wasn’t even a cool uncle. Though she did enjoy the fact that he cared about her enough to ask questions.

“Why are you hyper?”

She could tell he hadn’t been sleeping well. There were dark circles around his eyes and his skin had lost some of its normal color.

“Caffeine. Lots of it.”

“Maybe you should try sleep – lots of it.”

“Can’t. Working.”

“O … kay. Probably not healthy to live off of caffeine, but hey, it’s your life.”

“And I’m a genius,” he pointed out.

“Right. You’ll crash eventually and you’ll sleep the sleep of the unconscious.”

“Til then, work.”

She assumed he was working on his suits because one of them was on display, chest plate opened up.

“So, the car?”

“Happy will take you. Pepper can spare him for the night.”

“Okay. Thanks. Um, all joking aside, you really should try to get some sleep. Don’t wanna lose our genius.”

“Right.”

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

Not even two hours later Loki and Arianna were on their way to a nearby coffee shop. It was not dark – apparently Tony did not want them out after dark, which she got since people had been monitoring the tower.

The rain from earlier had become even heavier and there was even thunder in the distance. Loki did not seem thrilled. Thor connotations, she assumed

“Hey, so we may not get that walk, but we can fill up on sugar at the café.”

“I like sugar.”

“I know.” She smiled.

Loki looked out the window and sighed.

“Everything is rebuilt or … what couldn’t be rebuilt has been removed. Almost as if nothing ever happened.”

“Right. Uh, people move on when they can, ignore it when they can’t. There are a few who hang on to things.”

They arrived at the café, a small white and brown building in a row of many others. It was a small place with about ten tables on the floor, only two of them occupied. To the right, against the wall, was the counter where the customers ordered. Beneath the counter, in a display case, Arianna saw all the baked goods.

“Blueberry muffins! Fresh blueberry muffins.”

She grabbed Loki’s arm and tugged him to the counter, where a small blond woman greeted them with a smile.

“How can I help you?”

“Two blueberry muffins, and two French Vanilla cappuccinos, please.”

The café door opened as Happy came in and took a seat in the back corner. Arianna rolled her eyes without any real frustration.

“Black coffee for the guy who just came in, and a couple of chocolate chip cookies. I got it.”

After Arianna paid the woman she told Loki to find a seat. The barista would bring their order to their table, and after about two minutes of waiting she did.

Happy nodded her way when he received his own coffee and cookies. She sent him a small smile before focusing on Loki, who was looking down suspiciously at his drink.

“It’s sweet too,” she said. “You’ll like it. And I know you like muffins, and these are fresh so they’re even better.”

Loki lifted the cup and took a small sip. His nose wrinkled in distaste at first – probably the first bitter taste before the vanilla hit his tongue – but his expression cleared within seconds and he hm’d his approval.

“See. It’s good. Although I’m suddenly wondering if you should have caffeine. It can make you hyper.”

Loki’s eyes scanned the room and Arianna suddenly wondered if he felt okay, felt safe, being out in the real world.

“Loki, we can leave if … if you want to.” She leaned forward, closer to him. “If you feel overwhelmed.”

“I don’t – I … It is habit to look for threats wherever I go.”

“Oh. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you afraid of storms? I mean, I get that Thor is the god of thunder and all that, but is there more to it? I mean, he didn’t cause you to get struck by lightning or anything, right?”

Loki blinked, shocked, before letting out a honest-to-goodness belly laugh. Arianna would have been offended by him laughing at her question, but she was distracted by the beauty of a happy Loki. No manic smile, no craziness in his eyes.

“What?” he exclaimed. “No. He probably could have, and I probably deserved it many times over, but he would have considered that not fair. No. My fear comes from the fact that any time it thunders he may appear.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Loki was still grinning. “You have such a high opinion of my brother.”

Arianna didn’t mention the slip up. Until then, Loki had refused to call Thor his brother.

“Well, I didn’t know,” she exclaimed, laughing herself.

The door in the front slammed open, and both Arianna and Loki jerked their heads in that direction; Happy was probably at full attention at the moment, but Arianna hadn’t been paying attention to him.

She was, however, paying attention to the men that had just walked in. There were two of them and they both had guns.

Great.

“Everybody out!” they said. “Nice and easy.”

They let everybody out – everybody that wasn’t Arianna or Loki. Happy refused to go anywhere, so the leader guy shot him in the leg. He went down and Arianna was shocked to find that there was no blood.

A tranquilizer? They were using tranquilizer darts? Happy wasn’t moving and was closing his eyes.

The two men, both wearing all black with ski masks aimed at her and Loki then.

“You’ll come with us.” They were talking only to Arianna now. “If you don’t, I will kill both of them and we will get you anyway.”

Why had they left Stark Tower? Even after she’d discovered they were being watched she’d wanted to go out. She’d been so stupid.”

“You promise not to hurt them?” she asked. “If I come with you, do you promise not to hurt them?”

“Arianna, no.”

“Does it look like I have a choice?” she snapped. “I can’t let them hurt you or Happy.”

Arianna took a deep breath, moved forward, and then even as she was moving she let a burst of power through. A table lifted from the ground and flew towards the two men.

Surprised, they ducked, and Arianna grabbed Loki’s hand. They ran toward Happy. What were they to do with him? They couldn’t just leave him.

Something struck her back and then she was screaming, and Loki was grabbing her. Pain tore its way through every nerve in her body, or so it seemed. It was red hot and almost unbearable.

Had she been shot?

“Arianna!”

Loki didn’t know what to do. She knew that. And he couldn’t fight guns. He wasn’t bulletproof, not anymore.

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

Loki saw the dart sticking out of Arianna’s back and quickly pulled it out. She was still screaming and had begun to convulse. Had the dart been full of poison? Was she going to die?

No. These men wanted her for something. That gave Arianna an advantage. She needed to stay alive – they needed her alive. He, however, had no such luck. They would kill him – or sedate him … or torture him.

Who cared? Who cared about a little pain? They couldn’t have Arianna. He would fight for her. His chest twisted uncomfortably at the thought of her dying or being taken from him.

He lunged, knowing he couldn’t take both the men at once. They both reacted, and Loki felt a sting in his neck. He was aware enough to know he hadn’t been dosed with the same thing as Arianna had been. He wasn’t in pain.

He was just going to pass out.

#Loki #Imagine #Submitted fic #submission #love is healing #chapter 10 #creativewoman88 #avengers tower #kisssing #screaming #Natasha Romanoff #steve rogers

100 notes · View notes

rebuildhq · 7 years

Photo

Every television simultaneously flicked on. Three hooded figures appeared on every screen across the city.

They were holding knives. Bloody knives. “Let’s dispense with pleasantries,” said the middle figure, her voice a cool, collected whisper. “We are the Syndicate. And we are responsible for the death of Trish Walker.”

The entire city seemed to gasp, and the woman paused as if she could hear it. Her gloved fingers ran along the blade. “We had hoped our message would not need to be so blatantly stated. But you, dear citizens, are so good at ignoring what is right in front of you. The deaths of a few Inhumans and freaks are so easily covered up. The body of a ‘hero’ left in Times Square so quickly forgotten.” She spoke the word hero with a heavy disdain.

The figure straightened up, the hooded men behind her stock-still, standing like vanguards. “But our pain is not forgotten. For too long have we allowed these unnatural creatures to exist among us. To threaten our lives, our homes, our families. No more. No more will we cower in fear and mourn quietly while all around us, those things reign down hell in the name of ‘saving us.’”

It was impossible to see her face, but her sneer was clearly audible. “The Panel sought to control them. But it is clear that these animals cannot be controlled. They are wild, feral, and dangerous. And dangerous animals must be put down, for the greater good of society. For a normal society to once again be free to flourish. Sacrifice is necessary, and we of the Syndicate are willing to give our lives to see our goals become reality. Every hero, every ‘gifted’ person, every freak who wears a mask and leaves destruction in their wake, will be eliminated. Only then can we reclaim our city, our world from the blight of so-called superheroes.”

She held up the knife now, the blade glinting as if the blood was still fresh. Perhaps it still was -- there was no way to tell if this was a recording or a live broadcast. “Trish Walker defended heroes, and look at what it brought her. She claimed to be one of them, but we believe the ‘most honest voice in New York’ was nothing more than a liar. If you stand against us, your blood shall be the sacrifice paid to open the door to a new world, a safe and normal world. A sane world, cleansed of insanity by any means necessary.”

She passed the blade to one of them behind her. Folded her hands together beneath her long, dark robes as if she were a monk, praying. “But if you feel as we feel. If you see what we see, if you too long for the terror to cease, then we invite you to join us. We will find you, and we will welcome you with open arms. Consider this our last invitation -- and our last warning.” And the screen went black.

Half an hour later, The Panel announced a special broadcast. Karl Orse once again appeared at his stark desk, though no papers were in front of him this time.

“Greetings, citizens,” he said in a serious voice. His face, usually so stoic, was twisted in a deep frown. “We all know the fate of Ms. Walker. She was not only a beloved child-star, a trusted voice in these troubled times, and a person of upstanding moral character and judgment -- she was also a valued member of our team. Despite her comments in her final broadcast, we on the Accords and Accountability Panel deeply regret losing her.”

A heavy sigh left his lips. It seemed stiff and awkward, not quite human. His pale eyes fixed on the screen, and though they were watery, they were as fierce as ever. “Ms. Walker believed in the Accords. Whatever else you may take from this tragedy, please remember that. She believed that being a hero was a privilege, and not a right. That it was a responsibility that should not be taken lightly. Accountability is one and only goal, protecting each and every citizen by holding heroes to a higher standard, to face the weight of the role they choose to take on. It is no easy task, being a hero, or being one of those who watches them. Who watches over them, and over every citizen of this city.”

He paused, hands folded lightly in front of him. “We have failed Ms. Walker. In the name of Accountability, we admit that. Just as we failed the unregistered hero who met his untimely fate in Times Square, and the countless more before him. But my fellow citizens, we are not the enemy. We never have been.”

His face grew stern now, eyes colder than ever before. “The so-called Syndicate has stepped forward and told you themselves the horrors they committed. Their ‘safe world’ comes at too high a cost, and we on the Panel do not believe in paying for peace with bloodshed. We renounce these people, see them for what they truly are -- a cult, preying on fear and weakness. Do not be swayed by them. We must stand strong if we are to face this new threat. We must stand together. A wise king once said, ‘United we stand, divided we fall.’ And though he was nothing more than literary character, his words ring with truth.”

Orse leaned forward, towards the camera. “It is time we put aside our differences, and choose security over secrecy. We once again implore all unreigstered heroes to come forward, to stand with us, to fight against this cult and bring them to justice. A humane justice, a responsible justice. A true justice. We cannot do it alone. And thus we have made a difficult, but unanimous decision. We hereby waive all criminal charges that may arise from those who would seek to register. Whatever you may have done in the past, it is the present that matters now. If we wish to protect the future, time is of the essence. And as Ms. Walker has shown us, time is a luxury we do not have.”

He let the words sink in for a moment, as he sat back in his chair. His hands fell to his lap, hidden by the plain, empty desk. “The choice is yours, citizen and hero alike. We can allow our city to bow to terrorism, or we can stand tall and stand for justice. Goodnight, citizens. May tomorrow bring a brighter future, in spite of all that we have lost.”

“Five minutes of airtime,” the hacker promised, a bracing smile on her lips. “Then you’re on your own, Cap.”

Steve nodded. He could work with that. An hour ago, he was worrying over what to do next. How to help. Now, it was what to say. That was easier. Saying the right thing wasn’t as easy as doing the right thing, but it could be done. Sam once wondered if Steve pulled the words out of thin air, or memorized a script. The truth was, it was something in between.

Agent Johnson motioned to him. “And live, from Saturday Night,” she murmured.

Steve set his gaze on the camera. Attention, he thought, but changed his mind. This wasn’t a call to arms to the agents of SHIELD. This was a message to everyone in Times Square, a plea to keep going to the everyday people. “Hello,” he began, “this is Steve Rogers. In the words of this ‘Syndicate’, I’ll dispense with the pleasantries.” He paused, seeing Johnson’s smirk of amusement in the corner of his eye. “I’m here to talk to you about the Accords.” Steve would bet every cent to his name that some expected this to be the end of it. He could easily throw in the towel now—raise the white flag. He could, but he wouldn’t. Not ever. “Some of you out there have been hunting me down. Some of you stand with me, after all this time. I’m here to talk to both of you, and everyone in the middle, still not sure what’s right. What’s best. Listen to me, now, like you listened to the Syndicate and Orse. The right thing to do is to keep fighting,” Steve continued, looking down for a moment at the shield lying on the table in front of him. He could see Howard’s handiwork in the grooves, Peggy’s bullets near the center, Bucky’s catch as the Winter Soldier, Clint’s hand off against Ultron, and Natasha’s own volley—always picking up after you boys. The shield has always been held by heroes, heroes just as brave as Hellcat.

He lifted his gaze back to the camera. “The Syndicate wants you to stop. The Panel wants you to stop. Stop fighting this ridiculous, losing battle against them. A fight they started,” Steve reminded them, sternly as he dared. “They aren’t against action, though. They’re against you. Us. The ‘gifted’ and the ‘freaks’. They want to reclaim the city and the world from the people who make it better. I quote Trish Walker—I’m sick of this bullshit, aren’t you?” He demanded, leaning forward a little. “They both want to steal your freedom. They both want to steal the world from you. Trish Walker died for it. Trish Walker and that masked boy were murdered for upsetting the status quo.” Steve felt a flush of anger rising on his neck. That, at least, hadn’t been washed away by the serum. “Orse, meanwhile, calls this a tragedy. ‘United we stand’, he says. He’s got it wrong. He wants you to forget about the sword hanging over your heads when you blame the Syndicate for Miss Walker’s death, for that boy’s death. He’s wrong. Hear me? The Panel and the Syndicate are both responsible, and it’s up to us—up to you—to unite against them. See them for what they are: the common enemy. Orse wants security over secrecy,” Steve went on, coldly. “At a price. The price of your identity. I’m not willing to pay that price. Not this time, and neither should you. Stand for the right thing. Stand together. Stand as bravely as Miss Walker did, when she held the line until the end.” Steve paused again, letting it sink in. “I won’t speak for the Avengers, but I am speaking for myself, and for the Justice League. We’ve set aside our differences for the greater good, you see. For you.

“Compromise where you can, a friend of mine once said. Where you can’t, don’t. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say ‘No, you move’. I know I’m asking for a lot,” Steve said, acknowledging Johnson’s wrap-it-up gesture. He’d given them enough to chew on. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to give you the right to choose. The right to freedom. The right to privacy. The right to do what’s right, to the best of your ability. Goodnight, and thanks for listening.”

WHAT’S HAPPENED:

Trish Walker was brutally murdered in a live broadcast at 9pm last night.

The Syndicate have stepped forward out of the shadows. In a pre-recorded message, they claim responsibility for killing Trish Walker, the boy in Times Square, and the other brutal murders of Inhumans and heroes that have occurred over the last few months. Their message is clear: they want a world free of ‘freaks,’ and will kill to make it a reality. They warn those against them to stand aside, and those who agree to join them as quickly as possible.

The Accords and Accountability Panel gave a broadcast after the Syndicate’s message. Mr. Orse spoke of the Panel’s grief over losing Trish, their spokesperson, and once again implored all unreigstered individuals to come forward. The Panel has decided to waive all criminal charges that might arise against them, a blankest amnesty for any and all who choose to register now and help them track down the Syndicate.

Captain America gave the broadcast as seen above calling the heroes and citizens to arms.

PROMPTS:

REGISTERED HEROES:

A team of the registered heroes hunting down the Syndicate, this can be done either in pairs or as a group. We suggest that they find a lead, but no specific location of the Syndicate. (If you’d like them to discover something bigger, please message the main!) We’d expect this to be action packed and tense! The government is scrambling.

The registered heroes discussing what to do, whether they still support their cause, and together, rethink their position with the Accords. This can be a member of the Strike Force, a member of their heroes who have joined, or a registered hero with a citizen! This can also be done SOLO.

Registered heroes may also leave the government to ally themselves with the Alliance! We suggest you plot this further with the current members, which include Bruce Wayne, Diana Prince, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. We’ll keep you updated as people join in the ooc blog!

UNREGISTERED HEROES:

Unregistered heroes banding together with the Justice League/Avengers alliance. They can seek them out at various locations to be plotted in the future. Current members include Bruce Wayne, Diana Prince, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. We’ll keep you updated as people join in the ooc blog!

Like the registered heroes, the unregistered will likely take it upon themselves to hunt down the Syndicate. Like above, we suggest they find leads, but nothing concrete. This would be an action packed thread, and tensions would be running high.

GENERAL:

Shows of support for those that have not registered can also be seen through protests, blog posts, and simple discussions between characters. We’d love to see people participate through whatever means possible! Write up an open starter at a protest, write up a blog post your character did, we’re flexible.

#rebuildplotdrop #big shout outs to cris for helping us come up with this and to ry for writing steve's brilliant part!

17 notes · View notes

copperbadge · 7 years

Text

So everyone who donated to the IRC fundraiser was amazing, but I had one donor where I actually had to email them and be like “Did you...mean this amount?” and I thought I’d do a little something extra for them. So for @s2ma, a bit longer even than the “this is well over 100 words” fics I did:

any Tony/Steve with Tony being a responsible human and taking care of Steve would be welcome

The moment it happened was straight out of the climax of an action flick. Not that Tony had never had “this is a bad buddy film from the eighties” moments before, but the craftsmanship of that spontaneous moment was truly admirable.

In the wake of Hydra’s fall, a lot of technology had gone missing and a couple of splinter groups had gone rogue; there were the Sons of Schmidt, the Nine Heads, the Hydra Skulls. The FBI handled most of the in-country Hydra cells, and some shadowy agency or other, probably at the behest of Coulson from a shadowy bunker somewhere, handled the international ones. Most weren’t worth the Avengers rolling out of bed for.

Spydra was different, aside from having a super dumb name, Tony thought. Spydra had been formed primarily out of one of Hydra’s more far-flung heads, the one that dealt with scrubbing their presence from records, repainting Hydra agents as eager soldiers and law officers, and gathering blackmail material. They’d spent most of their blackmail capital squeaking past Steve’s hurricane of fury in the wake of the battle over the Potomac. Now they were trying to bill themselves as a guerrilla band of freedom fighters, stomped down on by SHIELD and Captain America, victims of a new liberal form of fascism.

But they were also really clever, and they knew how to strike.

(There is a readmore below! Read more!)

The battle was the first time the Avengers had caught up with them, laying in ambush as they tried to rob one of Manhattan’s larger banks. Civilian casualties would be minimal, Tony thought, as he circled the former combat zone, and property damage was almost nonexistent except for a couple of cars.

Down below, cops were handcuffing Spydra agents, firefighters and EMTs were treating the few wounded, and Steve and Natasha were engaged in a little friendly chat with one of Spydra’s top brass. Tony touched down and lifted his faceplate just as the Spydra agent spat, “ -- can’t oppress us forever, Captain America!”

“You hear this guy, Tony?” Steve called. Natasha twisted her arms, which were tangled in the Spydra agent’s arms in a complicated knot, and he let out a whistling breath, gasping for air. “He says that the laws we have in this country about bank robbery are oppressive.”

“I have rights!” the agent shouted.

"Sure, and I’ve read the Geneva Convention,” Steve replied. “Natasha hasn’t, but she’s read a lot of manuals about human anatomy.”

Natasha shifted her weight and the Spydra agent flinched in anticipation. Steve grinned.

“I actually have,” Natasha said in his ear. “That’s why your arms are still attached. Tell the nice man what he wants to know.”

The agent seemed to subside, going limp in her grasp.

“Where’s your home base?” Steve asked, clearly not for the first time.

“There’s a tunnel,” the man admitted. “Under the Hudson. There’s a subway train that Spydra runs. It stops in a couple of the abandoned stations, then under the river -- “

“He’s lying,” Tony said, watching his body temperature and heart rate on the HUD.

The Spydra agent glared at Tony, then surged upwards against Natasha’s restraints. “Hail Spydra!” he yelled, snapping his teeth at Steve. Steve danced backwards, surprised, and Tony saw the glint of metal.

“Steve, your four -- “ he called, and Steve turned just in time. There were two sharp cracks in quick succession, and blood blossomed on Steve’s uniform. He staggered, and Tony caught him around the waist with one arm, firing back with the other. A body tumbled out of a third-floor window.

“You okay?” Tony asked, as Natasha put her prisoner down, punched him unconscious, and began ziptying him. She took off to deal with the sniper as Steve sucked in air.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, shuddering.

“Yeah, you sound fine. I gotcha, sniper’s down,” Tony said. Steve was bent over, blood dripping slowly onto the pavement, but he was still standing.

“It’ll be okay in a minute,” Steve said.

“Steve, you’ve been shot.”

“I shook off worse during the war. It’s a through-and, right?”

Tony leaned up to check; the wound on the back of his uniform matched the one on his front. “Yeah, bullet’s out.”

“Just gimme a minute. It’s like -- “ Steve grunted, “when you stub your toe really bad and you gotta...huhgh....wait for the pain to die down.”

“Take your time. Tasha?”

“Secured,” Natasha said, tapping her comm. “Nice shooting, Tex.”

“Take Clint and any cops that look bright enough to find their ass without a roadmap and clear these buildings,” Tony said. “Thor, you on radio, buddy?”

“I’m here,” Thor replied.

“You got air?”

“Indeed, I do have air,” Thor said, amused.

“Find Bruce and get him home. I’m taking Steve to the quinjet.”

They made slow progress; Steve stopped bleeding after a minute and was walking all right after two, but it took them long enough to get to the jet that Natasha and Clint came running up as they boarded.

“We’re cleared to leave the scene,” Clint said. “They want statements, but that can wait. Hey, Cap, how’s the bullet-riddled body?”

Steve grinned at Clint. The color was back in his face -- a little flushed, even -- and he was sitting up straight on the bench. “Think I’ll live, Hawkeye.”

They made it home, and most of the way through the post-battle meal, without much incident. Clint and Natasha chatted with Thor about Spydra and where their base could possibly be if it wasn’t under the Hudson, and what the FBI were likely trying on the prisoner to get it out of him. Steve, shirtless and with gauze taped over the fast-healing wounds, was quiet, but then he usually was after a fight, body recharging and mind -- he’d admitted as much once to Tony -- replaying the fight to study the flow of it.

Bruce fell asleep face-down on the table, and when the others got up to at least move him to the couch, Tony rose to head down and have a look at the suit, do a post-flight check and work on any repairs he needed. It was soothing, after combat, and it helped tire him out enough to sleep.

He was at the elevator doors when he paused. Steve had still been sitting at the table, head resting on one closed fist. He hadn’t gotten up to help them with Bruce, and he hadn’t ordered Tony to take no longer than an hour in the garage. Usually he’d come down within the hour anyway, to drag Tony upstairs and to bed, but the order was standard, and he hadn’t done it.

Curious, he ducked back towards the dining room and arrived in the doorway in time to see Steve half-stand, grab the table in a startled motion, and then make a strangled yelp and stumble, tripping over his own feet, sprawling on the floor.

“Steve?” Tony called, and Steve’s head jerked up.

His skin was chalky again, lips pale, blue eyes dark and huge. Tony hurried across the distance between them as he tried to get up.

“I think I got a bullet in me,” he gasped, as Tony tugged on his bicep. With a huge heave that nearly pulled Tony over, he got to his feet, then staggered back into the chair.

“It went right through you, though,” Tony said, lifting the gauze to study the wound. It was closed over, skin puckering, still raw and scabby but not in any danger of reopening. The wound in Steve’s back was the same.

“There were two shots,” Steve managed. “I think one didn’t make it through. It feels like...” he clapped a hand over his side, well below the bullet. “I think it’s moving.”

“When did you start feeling it?” Tony asked, kneeling next to him.

“About three minutes ago, I thought it was a muscle cramp,” Steve said.

“Okay, okay -- JARVIS, I need the helmet,” Tony said.

“On its way, sir. May I also suggest -- “

“Yeah, the Handy too,” Tony agreed.

“What’s the Handy?” Steve asked.

“New tool I’m working on. Hold tight,” Tony told him, heading for the kitchen sink.

Dummy arrived in the kitchen a second later, one of Tony’s spare helmets in a basket hung on his arm, pulling what looked like an old television hooked up to a pair of Iron Man gauntlets behind him. Tony unhooked him, took the helmet, and pointed at Steve. “Gimme some light.”

The LEDs in Dummy’s fingers lit up. Steve gave him a weak smile.

“What’re ya gonna do?” he asked, chest heaving. Tony put the helmet on. “Cute.”

“I’m always cute,” Tony replied, lighting up the HUD. “I’ve been working on a new tool for combat trauma. Jesus,” he added, as he switched over to sonar mode. It built a map of Steve’s body on his screen, bones coming into focus as increasingly dense dots, muscles as ghostly lines, organs as undulating masses. And the bullet, a packed cluster of dots --

He tilted his head around, staring at Steve from the back.

“Tell the truth, Doc,” Steve said, voice breathy. “I got six months to live.”

“The bullet’s moving,” Tony said. “It looks like your body’s trying to eject it but doesn’t know how.”

“If you got a knife I can go in and get it,” Steve said. Tony looked up at him involuntarily, seeing his smile more as the light drift of muscle over his skull. “Don’t be shocked, I done it before.”

“We’re not in the middle of a field in Germany,” Tony said, pulling the gloves on. “It’s pressed up against your spinal cartilage.”

“What are you going to -- ooooooh,” Steve sighed, as Tony lit up the gloves and flexed his fingers carefully. On the screen, the bullet drifted a quarter of an inch towards him. “That feels better.”

“That’s because I just pulled it back from your spine.” Tony disengaged the gloves briefly and waggled his fingers. “Magnetic.”

“Like your chest.”

“Yeah. The hope is, with a tool like this, we won’t have to cut in at all to get the bullet. We can guide it...” Tony focused, activating the magnets again, and tugging the bullet between two lines of muscle gently, “...out of the body in the least damaging way possible.”

Steve’s breathing came short and fast. Tony paused. “I can pull it out now but we can also try and sedate you first. We’ll need Bruce and his horse tranqs for that, but -- “

“No, just get it out,” Steve said, voice uneven.

“There’s no organs between the bullet and the skin, but I’m going to have to pull it between two lumbar muscles,” Tony said. “You’re going to walk like an old man for a couple of days.”

“Please take it out,” Steve replied. “My body does...not...like it and it’s...not coping well.”

Tony nodded, carefully pulling the bullet into alignment, trying to move it as little as possible and still get it where he needed it. When it was at just the right angle, he focused the magnetic beam, upped the power --

The bullet came out clean, leaping into his hand, and Steve let out a bellow of pain, hands tightening on the dinner table until the wood creaked.

“It’s out, you’re fine, you’re good,” Tony assured him. dropping the bullet onto the table and resting a gloved hand on his back. Steve caught his breath, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. Tony tore off the gloves and disinfected the wound -- smaller than the others, a neat little circle, but bleeding harder -- and taped a patch over it while Steve got his response under control.

“Funny,” Tony said, pulling the helmet off, “usually you’re the one dragging me to bed.”

“Why’s that funny?” Steve asked. He still looked pale, unnaturally so.

“Oh, just that it’s me doing it this time.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Sure you will,” Tony agreed, tucking the bullet into his helmet and handing it off to Dummy. “Take this stuff downstairs and plug the gloves in, let’s do a diagnostic,” he told Dummy, who beeped agreeably and began reversing out towards the elevator.

“I’m okay, now that it’s out,” Steve said.

“Then this shouldn’t be an imposition,” Tony informed him, pulling his arm on his uninjured side over his shoulders. Steve leaned heavily on him as he stood.

He helped him out to the elevators, and JARVIS took them smooth as could be down to Steve’s floor. His apartment was always clean, floors gleaming, a blanket folded over the top of the couch, books neatly organized on their shelves. Steve started towards the couch, but Tony gently guided him past it, jabbing him lightly in a tender muscle when he tried to resist. Steve grunted but let him do it, then looked pleased when Tony settled him in the big overstuffed chair in the bedroom.

“I got a book -- “ he began, but Tony gave him a look, and he subsided. “There’s no need to fuss over me like a hen with one chick.”

“As you should well know by now, I am king of fussers,” Tony told him, stripping the bed neatly and going to the closet for fresh sheets. He laid down the black linen ones he’d bought Steve as a joke -- a few rose petals and you’ve got a bed fit for a gothic debauchery! -- and the soft flannel topsheet.

“Hospital corners,” Steve murmured, as Tony neatly tucked the topsheet and Steve’s thick blue-and-white quilt over it.

“Boarding school was big on having us do our own chores,” Tony told him, as he replaced the pillowcases. He fluffed up the pillows, pulled back the sheets, and manhandled Steve into the bed, sitting up, propped on the pillows. Steve watched him, eyes a little glassy.

“Ma used to change the sheets first thing when I got sick,” he said. “Haven’t had anyone put me to bed like this since the Serum.”

“Well, emergency surgery in the dining room earns you perks,” Tony told him. He headed for the kitchen to pour a glass of water, and when he got back, Steve was reaching for the bedside table. Tony put the water in his hand instead, pushing him back, and dug the tablet he’d been reaching for out of the drawer.

Steve sipped meekly as Tony pulled off the sweatpants he’d changed into after the fight, climbing in next to him in his t-shirt and underwear. As soon as he was settled, Steve huffed a happy sigh and slid down a little, leaning heavily into him. Tony wrapped an arm around his shoulders and patted the side of his head, tucking it into his neck.

“Better?” he asked. Steve nodded. “You want Netflix, or one of your dumb cooking shows?”

“Cake decorating tutorials aren’t dumb,” Steve mumbled. Tony grinned.

“Cake decorating it is,” he said. Steve was already logged into youtube on the tablet, and his cake decorating playlist wasn’t hard to find. It took exactly two videos of people pouring ganache over cakes or folding fondant on top of them for Steve to pass out. Tony moved to switch over to Netflix, where a couple of documentaries were waiting in his queue, but as soon as he started, Steve grumbled in his sleep.

Tony resigned himself to watching Man About Cake make unnecessarily gendered cakes, and kissed the side of Steve’s head fondly.

#captain america irc #s2ma

283 notes · View notes