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tremendum · 16 days

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Me and the Devil; i

(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader prelude next

word count: 5.3k

summary: Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn.

warnings: blood/violence, family deaath, v brief allusions to smut/dubcon, reader is traumatized. pls lmk if i missed anything. not edited.

notes: thanks for all the love so far!!! here's the first chapter of the story - if you want to stay updated, i post on AO3 first :) just a quick first chapter to lay the scene before we jump into the engaging parts of the story. feedback is very motivating and highly valued, thank u all <33

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Penitent Crimes of Retaliation

In accordance with the legal doctrine of the 'Reprisal Accord', as sanctioned by the High Court of the Landsraad, houses are granted the right to retaliate against proven offenses committed upon them. This action shall such be labelled as "Penitent Crimes of Retaliation". Under this mandate, should sufficient evidence be presented, the aggrieved house may initiate a retaliatory strike and engage in warfare against the offending party. While reparations for damages incurred during the conflict are mandated, perpetrators shall be exempt from criminal sentences, ensuring a balanced recourse within the framework of inter-house disputes."

- From the Reprisal Accord, Office of the Padishah Emperor. Imperium, 10041.

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There was once a time when green was your favorite color.

You'd enjoyed a childhood of it; Peridot, Jades, the velvet green of winter dresses, the tall, mighty green the sacred Pine. The woven banner of your house, waving in the snow-whipped wind; A snarling green wolf upon the grey armor your parents wore to train you.

When the men of one other Houses Major arrived to retrieve your older sister, she'd been shroud in that very same pine-colored satin, an elegant dress, as she waved good-bye to you for the last time. When the ice would melt off the lower glaciers for those three months every year, the lakes would thaw to a deep emerald green, and your brother, sisters and you would play in it; servants and soldiers alike yelling and pulling you out, shivering to your bones.

Even at your sister's funeral. The green of the casket, laid to rest in the ground of a foreign planet by a man who'd never truly loved her. The women of your House, wearing a veil of mourning in that sacred pine satin as you said good-bye to her. Killed by the birth of her first; a son. Your parents had been proud - You became the oldest of your siblings that day.

You can barely stand to look at green anymore. No, instead, you mostly see black.

Black, white, and red.

They'd sent you away to make for your house a Fortune; a son, they'd wished, for your sake - and, by whispers of your Lady Mother, a daughter - but this place... it crawls with shadows and monsters and deadly smiles; most in the form of your betrothed.

Your na-Baron.

If Feyd-Rautha ever had a semblance of hesitancy, it was when you first met four years ago. You were at the end of your seventeenth year; he, freshly eighteen. He had been as cordial as you'd ever seen him, escorting you with an arm held out, eyes malicious but mouth less than offensive. He'd even called you Lady Bourbon those first few months on Giedi Prime. And, in fact, you can consider yourself lucky; perhaps for your bloodline, or for you yourself, Feyd-Rautha took special care of you. Maybe he did care for you -in the ways that he could.

After that, he taught you all you needed to know about the rest of the world. In these final days together, he has admitted furiously that he waited too long to claim you as his wife - four years was much too long for you to wait, even if your purity was claimed by him long before then.

The accusations had come from his uncle, the Baron; House Bourbon was stealing their precious refinery codes, committing treason against the trading accords along their exportation route. Perhaps, he thought, you were the one to plot it against your beloved future family.

But Feyd-Rautha knew better - knew that you'd never dare betray him. He was the one to demand a public execution of your family - but also the one to redirect your sentencing to a mere prisoner. As if you weren't one already.

Don't look away. See what we do to scum, my pet?

After all the sparring, each time you drew that precious blood from him, and you still haven't been able to kill him. If you'd had a blade, you would have, right there in the stands.

You were, in some ways, relieved when their bodies had hit the sand fast; You'd never seen your brother's skin so reflective as you did this morning. The black sun couldn't hide the blood that had seeped from him, nor from your mother's throat. You'd swallowed thickly, wishing you could look away, gasp - cry; but you had to hide your pain. Your na-Baron would've loved it too much.

Why don't you leave me with them, then? You'd hissed through your teeth.

Though he was wild and psychotic, growling with hunger at the bloodsport in front of him, he heard you for what you'd said. Feyd's fingers pulled your hair hard; forcing your chin to stare up at him. A sickly glint in the black sun, his teeth shone with hunger.

You'd have me throw you to your Wolves, and lose my prize? He'd tutted, kissing your forehead with a sickening sweetness; enough so that the servants had turned away their spider-black gazes. They didn't care much for the acts of affection you'd occasionally show one another - in a world marred by ugliness, any glimpse of beauty becomes a hauntingly grotesque show of power.

He'd snarled, slapping your cheek hard enough for you to groan. His breath hit your face, you're mine to keep - there's plenty of life left for you to serve.

He'd held your eyes open as they'd slit your father's throat; then both of your sisters, and your brother's. Your mother had fought as much as she could in her drugged state - the Harkonnens are rutheless, and Feyd-Rautha had sat calmly behind you, your head in his hands, caressing your shaking cheek - but the neckline of her gown was too high, and too thickly inlaid with encrusted heirlooms.

Bless their voided souls.

The emeralds that tore from her gown as she'd spilled her blood to the sand sent a ripple of pain out of your throat. Feyd had buried his face in your neck, teeth sharp as he sucked a mark just behind your ear, watching as you clenched your palms so hard, your own ruby blood beaded out, blackened in the sun's light.

If anybody would have bothered to look before burning the bodies, you know they'd find all the family diamonds sewn into the fabric of their clothing - centuries of your House, melted away.

Feyd-Rautha had drank up your agony with his lips, smiling as his hand wrapped around your throat.

Now, alone and away from the thick industrial air, your chambers are cold and suffocating.

There are screams coming from the hall - not the kind that you've grown to associate with your na-Baron testing his new blades, but the kind that comes with danger. With change.

As it turns out, you are not Feyd-Rautha's to keep any longer.

A loud noise outside of your quarters jolts you from your bed, whispering to yourself. They're coming for you. Pulling the sheets closer to your body, your hand finds the blade gifted to you on your nameday three years ago by your husband-to-be, still tainted with the ghost of your own blood.

Your whispers reverberate in the empty room. "I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me."

Your voice shakes. Few things remain from your early days of training, before you were sent off to become a Harkonnen; This is one is a relic.

There is a loud noise just outside; blades.

For a moment, you imagine there is a hand on your arm. It is strong, ghost-white, and possessive. His voice rumbles in your head. Don't look so sad, my pet. I will never let them keep what is mine. I will find you again.

You almost wish he will.

When you look down to the weight on your arm, you do not find the hand of your once-betrothed, but the remainder of his ownership, a handprint of a bruise that will not fade even as the soldiers in Atreides armor deliver you to the next planet.

You rise from your bed, preparing your sore body for a fight that will surely end before it even starts. You don't stop your old prayer, in fact, you hardly notice that you're saying it at all. Even as the doors give in.

"-and when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing - only I will remain-" There are soldiers that burst through.

The way one of them fights strikes a faint memory from a lost childhood, and it fills you with rage.

Why did you wait so long to rescue me?

You lunge, snarling like the wild beast you've become in your captivity. You will fight, because that is the only thing you know how to do. It is the only thing you have left.

Your blade falls within minutes.

You're taken by the man from your past not a minute after.

You're on a ship, watching the black Opiuchi B disappear, in an hour.

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"My Lady."

You don't realize the worker addresses you until you snap out of it, flushing behind your veil as you step out of the aircraft.

The dress you wear, salvaged from your family's old castle, is dusty.

It clings to your skin, drowns you, as the rain falls. A staff of House Atreides holds an umbrella above you, shielding your elaborate dress from the water as you walk up towards where the members of the House await you. You stare down at the dress - green velvet. A texture you have not felt in years; your skin looks different not wrapped completely in black.

Your eyes strain to take in the grand entrance to the castle from the hangar which Duncan Idaho had escorted you, ignoring him as he turns to glance back at you momentarily. You can't bear the look of unfamiliarity that flickers over him when he looks at you, now.

He looks the same - maybe less tall, but that has more to do with it having been six years since you last saw the man. You, however, are not the same girl you were when he knew you on Sabberon. Fear, panic, and wrath rage within you while your gaze smolders daggers at the back of his head.

He walks just slightly in front of you and despite yourself, you slide just a bit closer - the only semblance of comfort you can allow yourself to feel as you take in the largess of the castle. The air is thicker here than you've ever felt; salty, windy, like you can taste the sea in the rain... it clings to your skin, but it feels clean. You'd been changing into your robes when you entered atmo - you've heard many things about the ocean, about Caladan.

Something within you yearns to witness it yourself. Subtly, you crane your neck outwards to catch a glimpse; nothing in the near distance but the walls of the castle and high cliffs.

You nearly trip as Duncan Idaho stops just a few paces from where the members stand at attention to greet you and your retinue.

Duke Leto Atreides, regal and composed, stands at the center of the room, his presence commanding your attention. Beside him, a woman wearing a deep cerulean gown - Lady Jessica. Easily, from behind your own veil, her gaze penetrates you; A cool sensation down your spine as you seem to feel her words in the back of your head as she watches the Reverend Mother who'd travelled with you per High Court orders.

Hello, sister.

You purse your lips, looking on - there, next to his mother; Standing tall with an aura of quiet intensity, his eyes on you, is Paul Atreides.

The son to whom you're now destined.

Even from your obstructed vision, you can see that he's handsome - lithe, hair curled and combed back to show his eyes. They are wide, penetrating like his mother's, but Maker, they are so green.

There is no hunger in his eyes, nor hatred, nor anything but a mild curiosity; it strikes a chord of fear in your gut, wishing briefly to return to the na-Baron's sight. It was easy to go unseen with the Harkonnens; They always made their intentions clear, and the na-Baron never wanted many to see you besides himself. You always knew what he wanted, and you could give it to him enough to control him.

But Paul. His stare betrays no emotion but duty. If not for the boyish pout of his pink lips and his freshly-shaven jaw, you could have mistaken him for his father. A Duke.

Your name, boomed from the voice of Leto Atreides, pulls you back to the surface of Caladan. "Welcome." Duke Leto's voice resonates through the hall with authority as he addresses you, his tone measured yet warm. Your stomach twists and turns as the man nods courteously to you. Coaxing your body to move, you bow to him.

"We are honored by your presence." His voice is surprisingly humane, exceedingly polite towards you; someone who was just come from the protection (a laughable phrase) of their sworn enemy.

Your throat tightens at this. There is no honor to your presence, not anymore.

Though you feel the prickling behind your eyes, you force your head to tilt in acknowledgment, schooling your expression to respectful - perhaps they can't quite make out your face, but Lady Jessica watches closely. She sees.

You take a sharp breath, swallowing away the lump of emotion in your throat.

"Thank you, Duke Leto, my lord." Your voice carries steel beneath its polite, quiet veneer, though you try to calm your heart. You turn to Lady Jessica to greet her.

"My Lady, it is a pleasure." You say, equally even. Lady Jessica offers a tight smile, something akin to understanding swimming among her irises. It's been quite some time since you were permitted to talk to a woman; Your servants on Giedi Prime were, of course, tongue-less, as na-Baron wished. "Thank you for welcoming me to your home."

"We understand that these are trying times for you." She says softly, her words a gesture of solidarity as your legs stagger. You feel dizzy and tired, but you force yourself to nod, bowing again. Your chained headdress overlaying your veil chimes slightly with the movement, swaying with the rain.

For such an acclaimed House, you're surprised by the gentleness of their welcome. Perhaps, they'd thought that the groaning and echoing hallways of Giedi Prime might break you, that they'd be taking in some injured little dove, wings clipped by the ferocious boy who'd gifted her with a knife plunged between her ribs on her nameday.

The scar that lies just below your breast on your right side serves not as a reminder, but as fuel. It did not quell your spark. It ignited it, with a bloodthirsty rage for revenge.

Months of being thrown into a pit under the glaring black sun; Not the arena that assassinated your family, no - this pit was smaller, with one large seat for the na-Baron himself, and drugged concubines and servants with blades to service his na-Baroness. A place to watch his pets play.

Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common.

Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn.

Lady Jessica is correct, these are trying times for you. You swallow as you straighten your back. Despite everything, there's a minor comfort in the Atreides' insistence of providing you with the necessities for you to perform your traditional customary mourning traditions. Your family may be gone, but you can still have this part of them; as a way of saying good-bye. It's what they would have wanted.

You turn to the young man who stands next to Lady Jessica.

The Harkonnens had tried to show you the dangers of house Atreides; The poison of appearance, of trust. You are not foolish enough to have believed the Baron Vladimir and his webs of deception, but you are sharp enough to know that in times like these, nobody can be trusted.

Your betrothed watches you, as if trying to see through your mourning veil. The green of his eyes sends a warmth through your stomach as you avert your eyes. "My Lord," you bow to him, your heart thumping in your chest, remembering how you might be rewarded for looking your formerly betrothed in the eyes during ceremony. Trying not to flinch, you wait to see what Paul's hands may do. But they do not strike you, nor grasp your jaw sharply. He barely moves.

"My Lady." His voice is softer than you expected, and it strikes your heart with a cool unease. Distrust slithers around you like a daunting snake. He bows back to you.

It's silent for a thick moment before Duncan Idaho - the man from a distant past - speaks from beside you. "We have much to discuss."

Cutting to the chase, as always. Your eyes fall to the Duke, who nods. "Do you need to see treatment?" He asks the Swordsman, eyes assessing the soldier.

Duncan laughs at this, gesturing to his arm, where beads of blood still slowly peeks through his the tunic he'd slipped on after changing out of his armor.

"Harkonnen blades are sharp. So are Lady Bourbon's nails."

The prickling of four pairs of eyes strike you as he continues, turning this time to address you full-on. "Your fighting is much different than I remember, Little Bourbon."

What he doesn't say is clear to you: Much more savage than he remembers. Something between shame and pride licks at your cheeks and you avert your eyes; It had been a force of habit - rabid hounds don't tuck tail when cornered, do they?

You clench your hand, your nails digging into your palms; you learned early on that sharper claws could keep Feyd tame for longer.

The force of Duncan's old nickname for you, when you'd been young - it nearly knocks the air out of your chest. It's been over half a decade since you'd seen the man; too much has happened since then. Nonetheless, you smile toothless behind the veil, trying not to think of the life you'd just left behind. Of what cold life lies ahead.

When you respond, your voice is frigid.

"Sometimes adaptation is survival, Duncan Idaho. Threats demand evolution."

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The rain is gone by the next day.

In the morning room, forks scrape over blue-plated China. There must be a clock somewhere near, as the seconds pass in quiet, insistent ticks. A cleared throat, a swallow of water.

Your eyes burn from exhaustion.

Your arrival last night held no such time for small talk - you were whisked away by the service staff to make sure your quarters were comfortable; Your old clothing and that of your sisters and mother - the few things the Atreides soldiers had salvaged from the ransacked Castle at Sabberon - had been washed thrice of rubble and smoke and were hanging, waiting for you, in the wardrobes.

Barely awake, late in the evening, you'd attended a meeting in a small conference hall. There, sat across from Lord Paul, Masters of War and Swords and Strategy, a Mentat, and the Lady Jessica, the Duke had asked you questions, ensuring you were not harmed - more importantly, trying to ensure there was no malicious intent to your presence. Your eyes could not ignore the Lady Jessica, who stood behind the Duke, her fingers twitching to the others when you responded to a question asked of you. They had some kind of language, you'd realized, as they responded in their own subtle hand gestures.

You'd only been there for ten minutes before you were escorted by a handmaid back to your chambers, where you sat without rest through the night.

Truthfully, you're breaking fast with Lady Jessica and Lord Paul out of courtesy; You were up far before the sun had found the horizon this morning, staring emotionless at the ghost who stood in the corner of your new chambers.

You'd sat watching, cradling your chest with wide eyes, as the ghost slid onto his knees. How he'd crawled, smirking at the foot of your mattress, whispering to you with sharp teeth and beckoning fingers. The sweet promise in his eyes laid with blood and pain, coaxing you forward despite yourself - until something in the corner of your vision moved, and you'd screamed.

That had woken one of the servants.

She came in with her head tilted down, holding a pitcher of water, and you'd asked her to stay.

Her name is Hestia; she must barely be twenty. You insisted on sharing a pot of tea with her, sitting in the silence but sipping shortly on your teacups. You didn't talk much, but instead breathed and felt the safety and of a woman's company, even if she is a few years younger than you.

It wasn't until she'd brought you breakfast a few minutes later that you realized the staff must have been informed of your courting customs before your arrival - she said nothing as you ate silently, staring out towards the coast of rocky cliffs and rolling moors you could just barely make out from your chamber windows.

And now you sit similarly - in the morning dining room, your hands perched in your lap, unsure what to do with yourself.

Your future husband, no older than yourself, sits across the table from you now, pushing his omelet around on his fork. The table shakes just slightly, jilting your glass full of water - he must have a restless knee. He chews at his lip, avoiding your stare, sharing slight conversation with his Lady mother. Her attempts to bring you into the conversation are met with polite answers and more silence, your voice shaky and cold.

After a while, a woman enters, whispers something to the Lady at the end of the table. Nodding, Lady Jessica takes her leave with a pointed look at Paul, suggesting he might escort you around the castle to settle you in.

Though your stomach coils, you nod, "-if you have time, my Lord, I'd appreciate it."

His eyes find yours from behind the veil and you clear your throat. He's quiet but chivalrous; A nod, a glance sent back to his mother as she leaves. A short gust of air through the room and suddenly you can smell him. His hair, clean and glossy - healthy - glints as he faces a window, exposing the early morning sun to his bright eyes.

It's silent for a few moments as only the two of you remain; Your food untouched and his half-eaten.

"Are you one of them?"

Them?

You stare at him from behind the thin pine veil that covers you. It occurs to you that Paul may assume you are just as bald and sick as each Harkonnen; years of adapting, surviving off of instinct and placation, are over. With a jolt, you realize you are not a Harkonnen. And you will not be wed to one.

You shake your head, thankful for the lack of chains upon the crown of your head today, ignoring the melancholy feeling in your gut.

"I have hair." You state simply, looking down at the skin of your arm; The skin that boasts arm hair, none of the sickly pale skin that knew of no clean air nor healthy sunlight - your skin, glowing with real melanin like the House of Bourbon.

You'd never spoken this freely on Giedi Prime besides in the sole company of Feyd-Rautha - stars, you'd never have spoken this freely at home on Sabberon, either - but there is no home anymore. And if you've learned one thing in your years since coming of age, its that the Great and Noble Houses of the Landsraad are crawling with perjurers, fabricators.

Paul is likely the same.

If the Atreides boy must be wed to you, you cannot help that, just as you couldn't help with Feyd-Rautha. They can dress you, insist in your traditional customs - but you will not go down easy. No matter how cold the home, you can be colder. You are more than the bones which hold you up; Meaner than the demons that kept you in their ghostly-grip for four years.

His cheeks flush a peculiar pink, bottom lip captured between pearly teeth. "No," he starts again, eyes searching - trying to find you, beneath the layers of green that wrap around you. "Not Harkonnen-" he quiets after he says the name, as if worried to offend you. "I meant-" his eyes swim, "Bene Gesserit."

Your stomach chills as you meet his eyes.

After some hesitation, you shake your head. "No, my Lord."

When he blinks at your words, you feel compelled to continue. "I suppose I was..." you move your hand to pull on the sleeve of your robes.

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"or, I was supposed to be." your unemotional tone rings through the room. Paul doesn't say anything to that, biting back the suspicion that climbs up his throat.

He stands when you rise from your seat; Your mourning dress, unlike anything he'd ever seen before, flows like the leaves of a weeping willow as you push your chair in behind you. When he offers a stiff arm to escort you out of the room, you hesitate before looping yourself loosely to him.

She is telling the truth.

His mother had indicated, with flicks of her hand, during the meeting the evening before; you, sat before the Atreides' council, unaware that his mother was reading your honesty.

But that could be a trick; you've admitted to being partially trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, perhaps you found a way to deceive his mother. As much as he trusts Duncan and his father, he can't shake the suspicion that you're a mere pawn in the Harkonnens' game.

But his father's words burn sharply into his mind.

Duty often requires us to navigate paths we may not have chosen for ourselves, Paul. You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future spouse. Love may come in other ways - but you will marry her, and together you will sire an heir when the time comes.

By decree, it was ordered you be wed to Paul, but he can't find it within himself to lose the feeling of distrust. He has spent hours learning about the Harkonnens - how they think, their strategy; and yet, from Duncan's account, the Baron and his nephew just let you go. It makes no sense to him.

"I was supposed to be a lot of things."

Your voice is undeniably beautiful; strong, much more resolute than he'd expected. But you are extremely cold, and evidently unwilling. Polite, yes - it seems you've been trained just as he and every other young noble of the Great Houses have - but you are calculating, aggressive.

He saw the claw marks you'd left upon Duncan; a man you've known since you were a young girl.

You walk with your chest out, back straight like a soldier; your words are cordial yet laced with steel and indifference - it only serves to deepen his unease. He guides you through the castle, murmuring quietly as he shows you along, introducing you to various members of staff who stop and bow in recognition.

You don't say much until he escorts you to a path that winds down out of your sights; Below the castle, between jagged rocks, Paul finds himself concerned to no longer be surrounded by castle walls. Beside him, you take a deep breath, your footsteps faltering as you slow to stare at moss that sprawls across the cobblestone.

Curiously, Paul slows to a stop beside you.

For a moment, you stare down at the dirt and fallen tree limbs, the grassy fields and rocks. Soon, as though an invisible string pulls you upwards, you snap your head, voice sheepish behind your veil. "Apologies, my Lord." You start to turn away. "I've read of plants like this, but never seen them before in person."

Paul is suddenly struck by the realization that you may not have seen much of any flora nor fauna on Caladan. He knows what Giedi Prime is like; and your homeworld, from what he'd read last night before bed, was mostly full of Glaciers, forests, and high altitudes. Perhaps you are interested in such things; the idea surprises him.

So instead of moving along, he finds himself bending to pull off a bit of the moss from a fallen trunk. The earthy dirt spreads between his nimble fingers, the green bright against his skin. You watch him silently.

"It absorbs up to twenty times its dry weight in water." He says it quietly, repeating what he'd learned in an ecological lesson, pushing on the spongy material with his thumb. "Banks of it grow just around the brackish tidepools outside the castle."

Your interest, piqued, causes your head to crane slightly from your short height - he can tell, even without seeing any part of your face, that you are fascinated. "Am I allowed to see?" You ask stiffly, your arms by your sides.

An initial wave of protectiveness over his home washes over him; remembering his father's words, he forces his shoulders to relax. He lets the moss fall back to the stump, brows furrowing.

"You are to be Lady Atreides, one day." He tries to school his voice evenly, avoiding any hint of resistance to this fact. "You do not have to ask permission to see your own land."

The wind from the sea whips around you; his stray curls fly in his vision. There are no words from you for several very long breaths, in which you clear your throat.

"I do not feel well, my Lord." You say moments later, voice cordial but thick with the desire to be alone, "I believe I am sick from travel. Please, if you would excuse me."

He is unsure if he had made you uncomfortable or if you are truly feeling sick; nonetheless, Paul escorts you to your chambers silently, calling one of the handmaids - Hestia, her name is - to check on you. He insists she bring you some bread and cheese, to draw you a bath if you please.

His jaw clenches; he's to train with his mother soon, but he needs release. His muscles clench in repressed frustration and so Paul lets his feet carry him swiftly to the training quarters.

His fingers itch for a blade; his mind itches to forget about the last day, about the cold life that lies ahead of him.

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arc-misadventures · 1 month

Note

What Are Those: In some stories, due to their nature, dragons seek, avoid and attack certain places/objects. Fire dragons seek anything and anywhere that gives heat, Ice dragons avoid said heat while Holy dragons attack anything that's impure. We know Jaune seeks precious gems. Is there anything that he would avoid and attack?

I Am A Creature of Stereotypes, Evidently

Ruby: Okay… here’s one for you: “The more I take the more I leave behind.”

Yang: Uhhh… Air?

Ruby: Nope.

Yang: Crap.

Weiss: Dirt?

Ruby: Also no.

Weiss: What?

Jaune: Foorsteps.

Ruby: Correct! Okay, next one: “If two is a company, and three is a crowd, what is four, and five.

Weiss: Four is a quartet right?

Ruby: Yes, but that’s not the answer.

Weiss: What?

Blake: It makes sense, five is a pentagon, I don’t think that works as an answer.

Ruby: Nope~!

Yang: Then what is it?

Jaune: Nine.

Ruby: Correct!

Weiss: What? That doesn’t make any sense?

Yang: Four, and five… equals nine…

Weiss: That’s a stupid answer!

Ruby: Okay next riddle! “Iron roof, glass walls. Burns, and burns, but never falls.”

Blake: Iron roof, and glass walls?

Weiss: Never falls…

Yang: Is it a…?

Jaune: A lantern.

Ruby: Correct!

Yang: What?!

Blake: How does he keep doing this?’

Ruby: “I have rivers without water, forests without trees, mountains without rocks, and towns without houses.”

Yang: So it’s an image then? It has those things, but it doesn’t have them…

Weiss: Oh! Its a…?!

Jaune: A map.

Weiss: A map?! Gods dammit?! I had it!

Blake: That’s one to us! Right?

Ruby: Mmmm… neither of you get the point.

Yang: Dammit.

Ruby: Okay… Oh here’s a good one!

Ruby: Ahem: “I begin eternity, and end space. At the end of time, and in every place. Last in life, second to death. Never alone. Found in your breath. Contained by earth, water or flame. My grandeur so awesome. Wind dare not tame. Not in your mind. Am in your dreams. Vacant to Kings, present to Queens.”

Weiss: Huw…?

Blake: That is a good one…

Yang: It would be better if I knew the answer?!

Jaune: The letter ‘E.’

Ruby: Correct!

Weiss: Oh come on?!

Blake: Already?!

Yang: How is the letter ‘E’ the fucking answer?!

Jaune: Simple: The answer is found when you think literally, not metaphorically.

Yang: Eh?

Weiss: ‘End of Time.’ Time ends with the letter ‘E.’

Blake: ‘Vacant in kings, present in queens.’ Queen has the letter, ‘E’ in it, and kings doesn’t…

Yang: …

Yang: I hate riddles…

Ruby: Ah-ha… H-Here’s an easy one: ‘What kind of ear cannot hear?’

Weiss: A deaf one?

Ruby: No.

Weiss: How is that not the answer?!

Yang: Ear hair…?

Ruby: Eww, gross!

Yang: But, am I wrong…?

Ruby: Yes, yes you are wring.

Yang: Shit!

Blake: Uhhh…? A… A…?

Weiss: You have no idea do you?

Blake: No…

Ruby: Haa… Jaune?

Jaune: An ear of corn.

Ruby: Correct!

Weiss: Oh?! Give me that book!

Ruby: What… hey?!

Weiss: Okay, Jaune here’s one for you: “He who makes me doesn’t want me, he who buys me doesn’t need me, he who uses me doesn’t care.”

Jaune: A casket.

Weiss: What!! How did you… grrrr! Never mind. Next riddle! “I run through hills; I veer around mountains.I leap over rivers, and crawl through the forests. Step out your door to find me.” What is it…?!

Jaune: Roads.

Weiss: Okay…?! Let’s continue shall we…?!

Yang: I think we should take that book away from her.

Blake: I’m afraid she’ll bite me if I try…

Weiss: Okay… “I am a portal to another world, I can take you to places unseen, but I require no magic spell to open. What am I?”

Jaune: A book.

Weiss: MOTHER FU…?!!!

Yang: We’re in public, Weiss! Don’t scream your head off!

Juniper: Oh my? What’s going on by on here?

Ruby: I was just asking my team some riddles, and I think, Weiss is angry that he keeps on answering the riddles. I’m not really sure though.

Blake: Probably has to deal with the speed of which he is answering them too. I mean, here’s a riddle for you, Jaune: “I have a heart that never beats, I have a home but I never sleep. I can take a man’s house and build another’s. And I love to play games with my many brothers. What am I?”

Jaune: The king of hearts.

Blake: Correct.

Weiss: You didn’t even fucking think about it?! You’re cheating!

Blake: And, that’s why, Weiss is upset.

Ruby: I think it’s more so to do with her pride of not answering any herself.

Blake: Probably.

Juniper: Ahh you silly girls; You asked a dragon to play a game of riddles. You were bound to lose eventually, Jaune is a master of riddles. It’s honestly a little scary.

Jaune: What’s scary about my love for riddles?

Juniper: Nothing really, It’s just weird overall.

Jaune: And, why is that?

Juniper: No reasons. Now girls, let me give you the ultimate riddle for, Jaune! Okay, Jaune sweetie; “What have I got in my pocket?”

Blake: That riddle from that book?

Weiss: Then that means that the answers a…!

Jaune: A condom.

Blake: A ring! Wait, what?!

Yang: You’re kidding me… That’s not the answer.

Ruby: Is he right?

Juniper: H-How did you know?!

Weiss: HE’S RIGHT?!

Yang: Seriously.

Jaune: I can smell the latex.

Blake: You know what a condom smells like?

Jaune: She waved them in my face for an hour when she was showing me ‘how’ to use them. I remember that smell…

Juniper: And, that is good so you remember how to have safe sex.

Jaune: You told me not to use them because it, and I quote: “Condoms cut off the circulation to my penis, and make it fall off. So don’t use them.” End quote. So knowing that girls: “Why does my mom want me to use a condom?”

Ruby: To actually have safe sex?

Yang: Yeah, I mean you’ve already done it with a few girls. Hopefully me too… You don’t want them to end up pregnant, and ruin their careers now do you?

Jaune: Wrong.

Weiss: Those answers make complete sense.

Blake: How is that wrong?

Jaune: Simple: Mom punched a hole into the tip of the condom with a pin, rendering them useless.

Ruby: That’s not why you’re giving him those condoms now is it?

Juniper: Dammit, I’ve become predictable…

Ruby: W-W-What…?

Yang: Wait seriously?!

Blake: Talk about baby fever…

Weiss: Thank goodness you used a working one when you slept with my mom. Right, Jaune?

Ruby: Wait, You did sleep with her mom?!

Yang: I thought that was just a wild rumour?! You actually did it?!

Jaune: Uhhh…

Weiss: Y-You used protection… R-Right, Jaune…?

Jaune: Well, you see…

Weiss: Jaune… did you use protection…?

Jaune: I’m not saying she… But, I’ll take responsibility… Okay?

Weiss: Ahh… I see…

(Thud!)

Ruby: Weiss?!

Yang: Great, she fainted again…

Blake: Wait… You slept with, Weiss’s mother?! How the hell did that happen?!

Jaune: She discovered a new kink for me, and I lost it… okay?

Yang: What new kink?!

Jaune: I’m not answering that!

Juniper: So… does that mean grand babies…?

Jaune: Uhhh…?

Juniper: Grand babies~?

Jaune: Oh no…

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #ruby rose #juniper arc #willow schnee #jaune x willow #willow x jaune #yang x jaune #jaune x yang #rwby dragonslayer

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puppys-tiny-space · 2 months

Text

🧁Games to play with your plushies/sibbies/cg's🧁

This list is mainly focused on games I like to play and aren't focused on proper pretend play but more things that follow a script of sorts as I'm autistic and don't enjoy playing differently

🩹doctor office, I love playing doctors office, I even make little patient sheets for everyone, set up a proper office, and waiting room, this games is great because there is a clear structure to play with and focus on🩹

🍨ice cream shop, ice cream shop is such a fun game, I have a Play-Doh set to make ice cream with that's really fun to play with, I like to set up my plushies in a line and give them fake money and then arrange them in groups to eat that candy together🍨

🦴puppy pound, playing things like animal shelter can be lots of fun with your plushies, you can make little introduction cards for each of them and makeup backstories, then you can lead another plushie or imaginary person through your shelter and introduce the animals🦴

🍼tea party, now this one is a classic, having real or pretend tea and cakes or other snacks with your plushies, discussing funny gossip or plushie land political issues, maybe even giving good life advice to your furry friends all this and more can be super great for playing tea party🍼

🪽funeral, this might seem morbid for some but for me it's very fun as I want to become a mortician, you can craft a pretty casket for the plushie, make a flower bouquet with paper, write a eulogy and set everything up nice and pretty, don't forget to make sure it worn make you sad though🪽

🧴beauty salon, I adore this game, giving a silly makeover to your plushies or human friends is so much fun, you can put bows in their hair, pretend to wash it, put makeup on them, paint their nails, give them silly outfits and talk about their life's🧴

🍥grocery store, playing grocery store isn't for everyone and I have to admit it's not something I like too much but for some people it can still be lots of fun, I especially like the organizing part🍥

📖library, this is a game I adore, you can make little library cards for your plushies and friends, set up books in piles, read story times to the visitors, help everyone find thr books they would like and give your recommendations📖

🌸flower store, for this game you can draw and craft lots of pretty flowers to sell to your plushies, advice them on the perfect way to put together their bouquet, add beautiful ribbons and lave to the flowers ans write nice cards for them, I think especially flowers out of pipe cleaners are amazing for this🌸

🩰ballet, now this could either mean you out on a show for or with your plushies or even going to a ballet with them, either way you can dress up beautifully and either dance together or watch a ballet on YouTube and pretend you are in a theater, I really like the Russian ballet's 🩰

Fun fact of the day: a cloud weighs around a million tonnes

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s-4pphics · 2 months

Text

mourn. intro. (e.w.)

INTRO.

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

WARNINGS: streetracer!ellie, dealer!oc, backstory lemme cook, parental death, mentions of overdoses, funeral, baby ellie :), oc intro… cackles evilly

A/N: last post til eid lol

pay zakat. feed a family this ramadan. k!ll zios.

SEPTEMBER, 2009

ANGUISH floods Ellie’s chest as she witnesses decorative rosewood being lowered into the sopping dirt. It’s cinematic; watching herself from a bird’s eye view, floating above her own body. Her brain cranks at an alarming rate. Churning in attempts to convince her that she’s not actually here, staring dead at her mother’s casket. The grass sludges beneath her shoes with every unsteady shuffle of her feet.

There aren't many people around. Three of her mother’s former work friends, a service dog, and the officiant. They’re hardly acknowledging Ellie; no one would be able to stop her from leaping head-first into the ground due to the lowering clouds. Buried and suffocated by grass and mud, a feast for the maggots, but loved eternally. Every cell in Ellie’s body thrums with anxiety. Just when she trusted that her mother’s health was improving, she woke up, shrouded in ice next to a limp body and an empty pill bottle on the nightstand. The same ones her mother took to sleep throughout the night.

That was three weeks ago. She doesn’t remember calling 911.

Her best friend — her only friend is gone. And it’s permanent. This isn’t like how her mother used to scavenge the streets until dawn searching for another job before Ellie woke up. She’s not coming back to crawl into their shared, warm bed, sleep for half an hour, then help her get ready for school. No more oatmeal in the mornings. No laughter. No joy. No symmetry. Ellie’s life is forever scattered. Beaten to death until she’s leaking venomous, black blood.

There’s a man that keeps staring at her with pity: familiarity crushes her every time they lock eyes. She kind of remembers him. Somewhat. She almost forgot her shoes before coming here. He seems more upset than her. At least externally; Ellie’s rotting from the inside.

Her mother’s chamber is completely submerged underneath dirt within the next few hours. The man from earlier is much closer now.

She jumps when he whispers,

I owed your mom a favor.

OCTOBER, 2009

Ellie hates Joel. Hates her mother for leaving her with him. Hates herself for not being able to save her from the claws of addiction.

Joel’s home is always silent during the day. He gave Ellie the grace of letting her stay home until the Spring, but it’s too quiet. Music never plays and they never talk, and it’s driving her to madness. The silence makes her itch.

Until the sun sets.

She already has trouble sleeping. Her insomnia combined with the thunderous clanking that blares from the garage every night is enough to get her sobbing into her pillow until the sun rises the next morning. One night, the noise had gotten so uncontrollably loud that Ellie barged into the garage to shout every curse she recalled her mom screaming into the phone before bedtime.

She didn't expect, however, to see Joel’s legs extended out from underneath her mom’s wrecked ‘57 Chevrolet. Ellie could hear him grunting as cranking and banging of metal took over the space.

… What are you doing?

Joel rolls out from beneath the car on a creeper, face confused and smeared with dark sludge.

Why’re you up?

It’s loud. She snaps. Why is her car here.

Joel sighs. Just trying to fix it up.

For what. Ellie eyes the cracked windshield. She somehow remembers how a rock hit it on the freeway when she was six. Her mom was livid. She can’t drive it anymore.

Joel’s face twists uncomfortably. It’s almost comical; the seemingly boiling child stands at a whopping four-foot-three with her fists clenched, burning holes through her bright yellow Spongebob pjs. Her glare sharpens when he mumbles,

Kid…

So you stole her freaking car? Her eyes swelter, brows hauled downward and hands in fists. He sits up straight, palms up in surrender, wrench in hand. How’d he even get back into their old house?

No, I — He rushes, She asked me to try n’ get it started again. That’s all. I… I shoulda asked you —

Ellie’s not sure why she’s so enraged, but she’s hollering with a pointed index in his direction, berating him, degrading him with sobbed vulgarities. Pushes him hard when he rises to comfort her. Eyes him with so much disdain that he flinches.

She hates him. She misses her mom.

The guest room door slammed shut with the click of a lock. She screamed for her mother for hours. Voice shrieking so loud that the neighbors came knocking after the first fifteen minutes. Cops pounded on Joel’s door and proceeded to conduct a wellness check on the household after an hour.

Their presence made Ellie swallow her scorn. Ellie’s already received a small taste of what it’s like to be in the system. She vowed to never reenter as if her life depended on it.

NOVEMBER, 2009

Joel made Ellie chocolate chip pancakes for her birthday.

Breakfast is silent, per usual. Light clinks of utensils on silverware and breathing are the only proof of life in the room. Ellie refuses to touch the squared slices of pineapple. It was her mother’s favorite, despite her complaints of an itchy mouth after every juicy piece.

Your mom and I…

Ellie pauses, skeptic eyes connecting with Joel’s. He’s treading light, she can tell. The nerves in his fingers are evident; The sorrow in his eyes suffocates her. Joel’s gaze drops onto his plate at the scrutiny he receives from across the table.

She’s a good friend of mine, He mutters before his lips turn downward. Was.

Ellie snorts humorlessly, Way to rub it in.

Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he sighs, I’m… Sorr—

Were you the one she told? Her tone is sharp. Unforgiving. I heard her on the phone a few days before she did it.

A storm flurries in the man’s gaze. A familiar one; It’s identical to when she would catch her mother in the middle of night talking to herself with a bottle in her hand. The winds in his pupils take her back to one of the darkest times of Ellie’s life. Maybe they were closer than she assumed. They look identical when they’re guilty.

I didn’t—

But he did. He’ll never forget being on the other line with Ellie’s mother as she attempted to keep her cries to a minimum. Her croaked wails terrified him. Left wounds in his chest as his heart raced. I can’t do this to her, She’d said, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t! … Please… You owe me…

Joel did what he could over the phone. Made promises to her that he couldn’t keep, reaffirmed how much Ellie loved her. How badly she needed her mother, and eventually eased her sobs into pained whimpers. He believed the calmness she exuded prior to ending the call was a sign of understanding of her importance, but it wasn’t. Her mind and body merely accepted her fate. She was dead two mornings after.

And Ellie was a witness to it all.

Ellie’s eyes roll and sickness floods her, so she stands, You’re a liar. When you’re ready to tell the truth… You know where I am. She doesn’t bother to push her chair in, clean her dishes, pause at his calls of her name. Her feet stomp through the hallway, marrow searing beneath her skin. The guest room door slams shut and she breaks, guarded by the plainness of the beige walls while tears flow.

She knows he knew. Why else would her mother leave her with him?

When Ellie got up to use the restroom hours later, she nearly tripped over a teddy bear holding a birthday cake. With candles. She’s never received a gift before.

She doesn’t tell him that she slept for an hour with it hugged to her chest.

The noises in the garage halt for a week. Ellie still can’t fall asleep. Joel has the same problem, she’s discovered. She finds him sprawled out on the couch one night, burning holes through the roof with a picture frame in his arms. She watches him silently for some time, perched behind the main wall of the hallway.

Hey.

Joel’s acknowledgement earns a gasp followed by scuffling, and he snorts. He sits up and sets the dusty frame on the cushion in front of him, noting how awful Ellie is at hiding; It makes him smile. Barely, but he’s endeared; Her entire arm was exposed. He can even see her duck-shaped slippers from where she’s tucked behind the wall.

Ellie.

She doesn’t come out, and he sighs. His heart twists painfully when he hears a wet sniffle. He’s up and moving when a guttural sob echoes from the hallway, crouching down in front of Ellie with her knees squeezed into her heaving chest. Joel’s heart cracks at her flushed cheeks drenched in salt. Talking won’t calm her, he knows it, but he’s unsure of what else to do. Ellie… isn’t an emotional kid, but he hushes her, attempts to cradle, apologizes softly.

But when her wet eyes pinch open, she unravels and falls into him completely. Her arms squeeze around his neck in a deadly grip and she cries and coughs and whines for her mother. Joel holds her just as tightly as she hangs off him.

We're gonna be fine, sweetheart. He mumbles, and he feels her head shake in denial, tucked in the crook of his neck. His knees wobble, and a soothing hand rises to caress the back of her head; He's never seen a kid this hopeless. It makes him wonder.

What the hell did she witness in that house?

Ellie’s always struggled to fall asleep alone.

Her need to be coddled to dreamland was always a mystery to her mother. Skin-to-skin was a normal trait for infants, toddlers, maybe even a little over, but at age ten? Eleven, and unable to fall asleep without the feeling or knowledge of a loved one present? There was only one time where she recalled her mother carrying her to her own room to rest, but the second the door clicked shut, she was up. Awake. Alert and exposed to harm. Or, at least that’s what she convinced herself.

She crawled into her mother’s bed minutes later and snoozed throughout the entire night. She didn’t hear the end of it when the sun rose.

Joel doesn’t berate her, though.

I can’t sleep by myself, she’d said to him after she calmed from her breakdown in the living room. They’d sat on the couch as he rubbed a comforting palm down her back, her small ones coming up to wipe her wet cheeks.

How come?

She scoffed, Scared of the dark, I guess? I dunno. I just can’t.

Joel hummed in understanding.

I’m like that, too. Sometimes.

Ellie snickered wetly, You’re old, though. It’s not the same.

Joel scoffed and snatched his hand away in mocked hurt. I’m not old!

The gray hairs say otherwise!

That night was the first time they ever laughed together. The first time Ellie laughed since her mother’s death, and it carried on until she knocked out beside him on the couch.

For Joel, though, he couldn’t rest. Not when Ellie favored his daughter that much. Whenever he feels as though he’s progressing, letting go of grief, something life changing — disastrous — forces him right back to square one. Meeting Ellie was one of those moments. He tried to keep his weeping to a minimum as he held her sleeping form, eyes glued to the picture of him hugging his baby after her first soccer win.

DECEMBER, 2009

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Ellie’s trapped inside the garage with Joel.

Watching him tweak her mother’s vehicle has aided her raging boredom… To a certain degree. When he starts getting nerdy and raving about car parts, she tunes him out, despite the slight interest she’s taken with underneath the hood.

The connecting wires, the bolts, the valves and cranks and this manual makes absolutely zero sense—

Can you stop dillydallyin’ around n’ hand me that?

Ellie’s gobsmacked reading is paused when she passes Joel the manual, dark sludge-covered hands staining the fading paper. She cringes.

Ellie watches silently as Joel inspects the contents, nodding to himself as his eyes flicker from the vehicle to the booklet, mapping out his next moves of attack. His eyes sparkle and curiosity sparks in her.

Did you fix it?

Joel only murmurs to himself, and Ellie’s eyes roll. She inches closer to him and waves a hand in front of his eyes. Hellooo? Is it gonna start?

… I think so, kid. His head shakes in disbelief, If I can get that transmission replaced, it might be alright.

Ellie’s brows furrow… What on earth is a transmission?

I’ve been workin’ on cars for a while. I can tell you now that finding such an essential part for a model this old is gonna be tough. Might cost me an arm n’ leg.

Ellie shrugs, You’ll figure it out, old man.

He stares down at her blankly, Gee, thanks. Hand me that wrench, assistant.

Ellie mocks glee on her skip to the rolling cart, Gosh golly dang, does this mean I’m hired?

He jokingly snatches the tool from her extended hand. Little bugger. And just like that, you’re not gettin’ paid. How’s it feel to be outta funds?

WAAAAAAA—

Ellie’s fake wails earn her a deep holler.

Ellie oversees Joel until the clock strikes twelve, following his line of vision on every rusted compartment of the vehicle. Stood attentively at his side as he pointed out the carefully crafted machinery, listing their parts despite Ellie’s protest of forgetfulness. There are so many names for everything; Building cars seems so complicated, but curiosity sparks in her. She starts to think: maybe cars aren’t so boring.

Another sleepless night for the both of them; Might as well commit to movie night. Fireworks are still going off in the small neighborhood hours later. The booming colors in the sky makes Joel's teeth grind. Reminds him of the time he took Sarah to Santa Monica Pier.

Joel?

Mhm?

… What favor did you owe my mom?

Thickness builds in his throat the second Ellie mentions her. He sets the large bowl of chocolate-doused popcorn onto the coffee table, reaching for the remote to turn the movie down. Not off, down. Ellie hates feeling like she’s being scolded.

Joel doesn’t look at her, but her eyes are glued on the side of his face.

Umm… He scratches his face, Did your mom ever mention me to you? Ellie denies with a hum.

Joel’s mind whirs back to the first time he met Anna: sophomore year. He was exhausted, drained, barely making it, but despite being miserable, he still cared deeply for his education. He studied until his eyes burned, jotted down notes until his hand cramped and the librarian was gently urging him to head home.

She… We were friends in college. He fonds, We met at an ice cream truck.

Weird. Ellie notes causally, She hates dairy.

… Yeah. She does. Joel coughs to mask the brokenness in his voice.

Anna was… a genius, to put it lightly. Academically gifted to an intimidating degree. Her mind was a camera; She’d scan one excerpt from the thickest novel once and still manage to repeat it word for word years later. They had comms together; Her voice sounded like tweeting birds whenever she recited her prepared speech like it was nothing. She was an emotional speaker, entranced everyone in the room, and always ended with a question that forced students and professors to self-reflect. Joel wouldn’t call it a crush… Merely admiration. Envy. He was motivated whenever he left comms.

He’ll never forget the image of her, sweating and worn, carrying what seemed like a twenty-pound backpack — all stuffed with calculus books — while ordering a can of Sprite from the humming, beaten down truck. Anna didn’t leave after the vendor handed her the soft drink. She simply turned to Joel, inspected him from head to toe, and turned back to the vendor.

I’ll cover whatever he gets, too. With a thumb aimed at him. He nearly choked.

A free snow cone couldn’t halt the racing in his chest.

I know what you are.

What, He questioned without a stutter.

You fix cars? Anna quirked a brow at him. Joel’s brows pull downward. How did she know that? He’s fixed one car since he’s been enrolled. His buddy pulled up in front of his dorm asking for a windshield repair. But he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. I dunno.

The green-eyed girl scoffs and sips from her nearly emptied can.

You down to replace a tire? Some jackass thought it would be funny to leave a rusty nail in our parking lot.

Our. She must have roommates… or lives where he does, he thinks. For how much? Not a beat missed.

Her shoulders lift, I dunno. How much does a tire cost?

Depends on the model. What d’you drive?

A chevy. Don’t ask the year, I’m not sure. It was a hand-me-down.

A slight pause between them before Anna suggests with a sigh,

Come see ‘er.

Thar she blows.

Joel can’t help but snicker at the woman in front of him, posing right next to her teetered vehicle. It’s quite charismatic; the bright pink bumper stickers, the crisp turquoise paint job, the slight scratch on the trunk. It’s nice. Classically vintage; it suits her.

A beauty, he notes with his eyes locked onto Anna’s. She gives a hum in agreement.

Revive her, if ya don’t mind. I’m desperate and can’t sue, so. Joel nods and inspects the damage on her tire. The air is nearly fully gone, and it’s making her drive slump.

Tire shouldn’t be more than thirty-five… Gonna have to head home for some stuff. Willing to wait an hour? When he turns to her, they’re shoulder to shoulder.

Anna smirks, Whatever you need, mechanic.

My dad, Joel corrects, He taught me the basics when I was like… twelve.

Her voice lowers, Good on him… Earned me a discount, eh? A hand claps down on his shoulder and gives it an encouraging squeeze, and he revs to life.

He swears the tips of his ears are red hot, Sure… minus that deposit. I needa twenty for emotional damages.

Fuck off. Her eyes are soft, Might never go to the shop again. You’re officially my car fixer-upper. Fuck these grease-balls n’ their price spikes.

Joel snorts, You get into that many goddamn accidents?

She leans in closer, and his throat closes. Slams shut. Turns to dust.

You’ll find out, mechanic.

That’s why you’re spending so much time on it, Ellie notes at Joel’s retelling before a harsh gasp escapes her. Dude, were you in love with my mom or somethin’?

The man stutters and coughs, No — what? I told you she was a frien—

Ellie snickers with a judgmental point, Yeaaah, yeaaah, I know how these things go. You sucker!

What the hell — I’m not a sucker… And what things—

Anna and Joeeel sitting in a tree! —

A pillow smacks Ellie dead in the face, and she topples over in cackles. Joel rubs deep in his temples. Ellie would’ve loved Sarah. Two little bullies who feast on his suffering.

No more storytelling. I’m going to bed.

You can’t! Remember? Ellie hollers as tears fall from her eyes. She coos at Joel when he lifts himself off the couch and down the hall, trying to mask his small smile.

Aww! C’mon, old man, it was a joke!

I can’t wait for you to go back to school, ya vermin!

An exhausted Ellie creeps into Joel’s room half an hour later. She sighs in relief when she doesn’t hear snoring. Her mom was the worst when she was tired. She tiptoes across the carpeted floors until she’s in front of the unoccupied side of the mattress, stealthily adjusting the blankets and pulling back the sheets.

She slowly manages to tuck herself in, fixing the pillows so her head rests on the cold side of the case, exhaling happily at the warmth defrosting her limbs.

The second she dozed off, she yanked to consciousness by raspy sarcasm. Her eyes roll underneath her lids.

You can’t, either. Joel croaks, Remember?

JANUARY, 2010

Five days until school. Five days until misery. Five days until… strangers. Ellie’s skin crawls whenever she thinks about being an enclosed space with snot-nosed boys and soggy lunches.

And math… Gross.

Joel has been more than willing to postpone Ellie’s enrollment whenever she becomes anxious, but she always denies his requests. She’s grown to like Joel, but… he’s not the best teacher, especially social studies. Reviewing one of her old packets nearly gave him an aneurysm. She can’t afford to be homeschooled by him.

What's been the best distraction from her impending doom?

Binge watching Cars for the billionth time… And helping Joel patch up that blue Chevy.

They celebrated their first victory last night for repairs, at least: Joel stuck and twisted the key to start up the engine, and it managed to stutter to life. For less than five seconds. The headlights barely came on and an old Foreigner record broke through the crackly speaker. They rejoiced with the brightest smiles as their hands slapped the dashboard before the vehicle crashed out once more.

A glimmer of hope. A chance for reconnection. Anna’s sending them messages. The joy in that car shifted to grievance; Joel had to cradle Ellie in his lap as she wept into his shoulder.

But there’s hope. Ellie wanted nothing more than to get this car working after that. Duty calls, though, and the alarm’s coming from a backpack.

You got this, kid. Stop stressin’.

Ellie, without a doubt in her mind, does not got this.

Screaming children, muddy slides, bloody band aids; they’re all on the other side of that office door. Her worst nightmare has come to life, and she desires nothing more than to hide out in her mom’s car forever. The bag strapped around her shoulders matches the weight of a body. She refuses to let go of Joel’s hand as he speaks with the giggly receptionist who’s too happy to see him (what the hell), but it's okay; he’s holding hers just as tightly. Just as paranoid, apparently.

She’ll be with Mrs. Lawson for the remainder of the year. Ellie hears the receptionist say over her pounding heart, She’s incredible! I’m sure they'll develop an amazing bond.

Ellie’s palms are sweltering. Joel must feel it because his thumb nuzzles into her wrist. She’s not built for this. Maybe returning so soon wasn’t a great idea. She can’t do this without her mom.

Cool backpack, Spidey, is said from behind her, and she stiffens instantly.

She has a Spider-man backpack.

Hush. An older man’s voice replies. Sounds strained. Stressed, but he only receives a light snicker from her in return.

Ellie watches with squinted eyes as a young girl gets escorted towards the front of the office by… the principal, she assumes? He seems fancy in his suit slacks.

You stay right here until I get your uncle on the phone, The suited man is stern towards the girl, who plops down on one of the waiting chairs. Backpack and all, You can explain to him how you swore at a teacher. I’m not dealing with this from you today.

M’kay, Mr. Harris.

Ellie observes the entire scene indiscreetly. Her stares are obvious, glued to the clearly agitated dean who stomps into his office.

Where’d you get your backpack?

Ellie’s stunned at your sudden whisper. She shocks herself when she quietly stutters,

Um… Walmart?

You smile, I like it. I want one.

Ellie simply nods, but gets paused before she can redirect her attention to Joel.

Are you new? Your voice grows quieter when you look over your shoulder. Right at the principal’s door. I am, too. I just moved schools.

This shocks the brunette. The new year just started, and you're already locked in the office with evidently angry staff.

Yeah… I’m new.

Something in your grin shifts. Ellie’s nails lock into Joel’s hand. … Interesting—

Young lady! Did Mr. Harris give you permission to speak?

You audibly ponder like the attendance clerk asked you to solve a riddle.

No, ma’am. I apologize.

Then hush. Not another word.

Ellie watches you fold your hands politely, twiddling your thumbs. Your eyes don’t leave her backpack.

Ready, kiddo?

Her eyes finally reconnect with Joel’s, encouraging and chocolate, and she nods. He guides her to the office exit where her new life resides. Before their departure, she can’t help but take one last respectful glance over her shoulder. She finds you staring with a quirked lip and your wrist outstretched like your shooting spider webs at her. Ellie jerks her head forward and releases the breath she’s been holding.

What a weirdo.

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#ellie williams smut #ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams tlou #lesbian #streetracer!ellie #works 𖧧࣪#ellie williams x f!reader

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wkemeup · 1 year

Text

The Casket

summary: When a mission goes wrong, you’re helpless but to watch as Bucky is forced into the object of his nightmares – Hydra’s cryochamber.

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 12.5k

warnings: canon level violence, nightmares, body warming tropes, pissed off reader won’t stop until she saves her man,

a/n: Here it is. The last fic in my archive. I adore you all so much. Thank you for everything 💕 In case you missed it, here’s the post on the future of this blog.

You woke to darkness. The bedroom was cast only in the dim light of stars and the pale glow of the alarm clock. It had yet to reach the witching hour. Daring a glance over the safety of warm covers, you spotted the ends of curtains dancing at the window as an icy draft escaped through the thin fabric.

It was warm the evening before, but New York weather was unpredictable in the changing seasons. The crickets chirping down by the lake had been a comfort as the sun had set. It was a glimpse of Spring on the horizon. Hours later, your breath was visible in each exhale.

Wincing as another breeze crept through the open window, you sleepily brushed your eyes. Snow blanketed the grounds. Layers of white piled onto tree branches and coated the hills behind the compound. A dusting of ice lay upon the ledge within your bedroom.

A weight shifted on the bed beside you. Bucky slept with his arms tucked tight under the pillow, a lock of hair hung over his eyes. He groaned as a shiver trembled along his spine. Gently, you traced a line with your fingertips over his brow, guiding the hair away from his eyes. His nose twitched in his sleep. He looked so young as he slept. Peaceful. Even as he shivered against the breeze.

You leaned over and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, lips grazing over his t-shirt. He seemed to relax against the touch, if only for a moment, before the cold air brushed his skin again. You cursed the frigid Northeastern weather and quickly pulled yourself from under the comfort of the sheets.

Dressed only in one of Bucky’s discarded t-shirts, the icy air was unbearable as you crossed the room. Bucky usually ran as warm as a furnace so you had little use for much fabric sleeping beside him; often, you wore less and still took easy comfort in the heat of his body.

A final breeze crept through the cracked window before you could close it, brushing against your exposed thighs. Your whole body shook with shivers and you rubbed your chilled hands down your arms in a fruitless attempt to draw warmth. Closing the window hadn’t provided the instantaneous relief you’d hoped for, but you knew Bucky would warm up soon enough. The serum all but ensured it. And you certainly didn’t need an excuse to climb into his bed and curl up against his sleeping frame.

You took only one step back toward the bed when you heard Bucky groan again – though this time it was something painful, something aching. You paused, startled by the sound. For the first time since you woke, you noticed the inflection of a whimper muffled by the pillow.

Cautiously, you inched closer to him, heart sinking as you caught sight of the deep lines on his brow and the sharp cut of his teeth into his bottom lip. You saw then how violently his right arm was shaking, his body trembling with every hollow breath.

“Bucky?” you called quietly.

You’d seen his nightmares before. The faded imprint of a scar along the left of your collarbone was proof enough of what Bucky endured in his sleep – waking to a state where he was unable to separate dream from reality, past from present, captor from lover. He hadn’t known it was you – that the shadowy figure in his room was the woman he loved and not the Hydra handler he’d known in his dreams. You often caught him tracing the scarred line upon your skin when he thought you were long asleep, carrying the guilt of what happened even years later.

But Bucky hadn’t woken from a nightmare like that in nearly a year. Stability, family, and therapy had done him good. He’d severed his connection to the Winter Soldier and the fear that his mind would slip back into that bleak, unforgiving darkness.

This... This was different.

There was no cold detachment. No grip of anger or vengeance.

What laid upon his features instead... was fear.

“Sweetheart?” You sank to your knees at the edge of the bed, bristling against the cold hardwood floors.

Bucky’s features were distorted – his brow pinching at the center, his jaw wired shut and still, his breathing was harsh in every clouded exhale. He pressed his face into the edge of the pillow to suffocate the whimper slipping through.

“Not again,” he mumbled, barely audible against the silk pillowcase. “Please... I don’t... I don’t want to... Not again...”

You drew in a shallow breath, heart sinking beyond the floorboards to the depth of the foundation below. There was a reason Bucky couldn’t stand the winter; why he insisted on keeping your room set to sweltering conditions. Every shiver on his spine – every drop of snow – brought him back to the vessel that had stolen years of his life. The tomb that had sustained him in crystalized ice like a weapon in storage until Hydra deemed him useful again.

“You’re okay. I'm here with you, baby. You're safe,” you whispered as you lifted the blanket he held clutched within his grip and slipped yourself under the covers beside him.

There was little room for comfort between Bucky and the edge of the mattress, leaving your back exposed to the chilled air. You cursed your frozen fingers as you curled yourself around him – sliding a leg between his own, wrapping your arm around his waist, tucking your nose to the crook of his neck. Clinging to him in an effort to give him as much warmth as you could offer. All of it, if your body would allow it. You’d let yourself freeze if it would grant him an ounce of relief.

It took several minutes before you could no longer see your breaths flutter against Bucky’s collar, before his body stopped shaking and the ice warmed from his skin. You did not dare to slack your grip on him in fear you might find the red imprint of your hands along his spine, tucked under the thin layer of his shirt. Even as he stilled, quiet whispers slipped through the haze of his dream – the paralyzing fear he held of the chamber that had housed him for decades.

You held onto him tighter – clung to him as if he might slip through your grasp and plummet to the icy embrace of the ravine. You held him until sweat beaded on his forehead and the spine of his shirt was damp with it. Until his heartrate began to fall to an even pace and his chest no longer rose in short, shallow gasps. Until, what felt like hours later, when his lips grazed your temple and the soft murmur of an apology shattered your heart.

You pulled back only enough to see the shame burning dark into the blue of his eyes. It seemed to suffocate the light there, burrowing claws into his spine until it dragged him a step back into the shadows. You shook your head against his collar, tucking in tighter to his frame, unwilling to deny him even a lost second of warmth.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you assured him. "I'm just holding you. That’s all. I love holding you, in fact.”

Bucky’s chest shook for a fraction of a moment with quiet laughter, though you knew very little of it would be present in his eyes. It was a distraction – a levity he needed to allow himself to move forward, to not let his feet get stuck in the mud of his past.

“I know you do,” he sighed, squeezing you a little tighter.

It was where you felt most at home – when you struggled to draw in a full breath because of how close he held you. To be completely encompassed by the warmth of his body and the security of his strength. The soft give of his right arm curled around the dip in your waist, the left draped over your shoulders. No hesitation in his embrace. No reluctance for the history of an arm that had burden him for decades. No second guesses of the love you held for him and the parts of his body he despised.

Several breaths of silence passed before he spoke again.

“You’d think I would have liked being in cryo.”

You almost flinched in his arms and you desperately hoped he did not notice the sharp catch of your breath at his words. If he did, he didn’t say anything. Gently, you slid your hand – now warmed in Bucky’s embrace – under the seam of his t-shirt and began to trace gingered lines along the curve of his spine. A gentle encouragement to continue.

Bucky swallowed as though the words tasted of bile. “They couldn’t touch me when I was in there. Couldn’t starve me or punish me. Couldn't give me orders. Couldn't put me in that... that fucking chair. I was just... nothing. Everything stopped. You’d think... You’d think it would be a relief.”

You pressed your lips to his collarbone, inching in closer though you were already pressed flush against his body. Anything to make him feel safer. To remind him that he was lying in this bed with you in his arms and not halfway across the world in a metal box lined in ice.

“It was worse,” Bucky admitted, his voice shattered as if gravel churned in his lungs. “I never knew if it would be the last time. If they’d just... forget about me or... decide I was used up and... and leave me there. At least when I was him, I could breathe. I... I had some sense of humanity. The cell they kept me in was a cage but cryo... cryo was a fucking casket. Storing me in a box like I was... like I was nothing more than a...”

He could have finished that sentence in ten different ways, each enough to break your heart worse than the last – a weapon, a monster, an object, a tool. He could have, but instead, you felt the warmth of a tense breath brush against your crown as he willed his body back to his control. His hands stopped shaking with panic, his chest taking in as much air as it would allow. Slowly, he relaxed into your arms again.

“They won’t do that to you again,” you whispered though your voice was laced in the rage you felt for the men who had induced such fear into the man you loved. “I won’t let them.”

You felt the soft curve of Bucky’s lips against your forehead. A ghost of a smile. “I know, sweetheart.”

The sliver of doubt in his voice brought tears to your eyes.

“You are safe and you are real and you are my world, okay?” you told him, hands sliding up to the sides of his face, begging him to look at you. You dared him to try and carry his doubts while you held him in your arms, while you told him you loved him so desperately. “You are everything. You’re not some weapon to be put away. You are a person. My person. I would die before I let them do that to you again. I would kill them all.”

The flicker of surprise was subtle, barely a noticeable shift in the blue of his eyes, but you saw it. For as much as you told Bucky of your love for him, he could not let go of the seed of doubt instilled in him from his time at Hydra – the doubt that convinced him he was not enough, that he was broken and shattered and unworthy of your love. But you’d remind him a dozen times if he needed it. A thousand. You’d tell him every day if only to subside the doubt for another day.

Bucky pulled you close to his chest. His lips grazed over your forehead as he whispered, “I love you,” to your hairline. His breath was warm over your skin, his embrace tightening around your waist. You knew those words did not come easily to him, that he often showed you how he felt for you more often than he was able to speak it, and you held him a little tighter in return.

Bucky sighed something that sounded of disappointment before a knock came at the door. It creaked open slowly, revealing Steve’s reluctant expression in the frame. You realized then that Bucky must have heard Steve’s footsteps approaching and tensed for the interruption, though Steve looked less than thrilled to be awake this hour as well judging by the pillow crease marks on his cheeks and the chaotic fluff of his dark blonde hair.

“Sorry guys,” Steve said, a frown tugging at his mouth. “Fury’s calling us in.”

***

The first mention of Hydra jolted whatever lingering tiredness you felt.

Bucky hardly reacted as Fury detailed the mission – a stealth op to dismantle a crucial Hydra weapons facility. It wouldn’t take more than a virus to their computer system to reduce their weapons to useless metal, but you’d need to be on-site to make it happen. It was an active base, but most of their agents were out on various assignments – opening a window for SHIELD to make a move on a vulnerable Hydra stronghold.

It wasn’t the first time Bucky had been on a mission where Hydra was concerned and it certainly wouldn’t be his last, but you grieved for any pain he felt walking back amongst those halls, amongst the sort of men who enslaved him and made him to feel as if he was the monster.

Bucky would keep close to you while inside the Hydra facility, assigned as backup while you input the codes meant to unravel Hydra’s weapons supply. Steve and Natasha had their own assignment, not that the director felt the need to brief you on the details. Two birds, one stone, Fury had said. While you broke down their coding, Natasha would be downloading intel classified above your paygrade on the opposite end of the building. It didn’t make for easy backup, but there was a limited time frame to get this done undetected. And Fury trusted the four of you to get it done. And you would.

The turbulence was rough on the descent, but Bucky’s hands clenched the straps of his seat whether the jetstream was smooth or not. You glanced over at him, studying the tension in his body and the hard concentration of his gaze through the pilot’s window where Steve and Nat were talking quietly to one another.

Gently, you set a hand against his knee. Though the touch startled him, he seemed to snap out of his gaze and his shoulders slowly began to relax. A soft smile pressed on his lips, a heaviness in his eyes as silent appreciation nestled over his features. He released his hold on the straps, the movement seeming to ache in his right hand, and he opened his palm to you. You took it graciously and brought your clasped hands to your lips, kissing his knuckles.

“It’ll be fine, Buck,” you told him. “It always is.”

Bucky nodded, forcing out a smile despite the lingering hesitancy. “Of course. I get to watch my girl bring Hydra to their knees. I think I can call that a good day.”

You grinned, grateful to see his eyes brighten even as Steve landed the jet in a discreet break in the woods. His heart rate slowed the longer you held his hand, the tension in his body melting the longer he looked at you.

“Ready?” Steve called from the cockpit. Natasha had already strapped five weapons to her suit by the time Steve pulled himself out from the pilot’s seat. She sent him a teasing smirk as she unlatched the loading dock.

Bucky squared his shoulders. It would always be a challenge for him to enter a Hydra base, even as a fully certified Avenger. Whether he was housed in these halls as the Winter Soldier or not, distorted memories worked their way to the surface and often followed him home after a mission like this. Pride was not enough to describe the feeling that bloomed in your chest as Bucky swallowed back his demons and took the first step forward off the jet, leaving the fear behind him.

“You have eighteen minutes,” Nat reminded you of the plan. “Get in and get out.”

You nodded, exchanging a quick glance with Bucky. He offered you a strained smile in return.

“Eighteen minutes,” you confirmed. “We’ve got this.”

***

You felt it in your bones from the moment you stepped foot in the empty hallway. The reportedly active Hydra base was eerily abandoned. It was as if they were waiting for you.

It worsened as you made your way to the computer mainframe without interruption. No silent alarms to trip, no guards rounding the halls on duty waiting for a sliver of action. Bucky sensed it too and though he did not say a word, he kept pace a single step ahead of you, careful to check the adjoining rooms along the hall before he let you step out into the vulnerable openings.

“It shouldn’t be this easy,” you stressed as you typed away at the keyboard, inputting the codes needed to dismantle their hardware. You passed every firewall without issue. It hadn’t even been this easy during your training at the academy.

“I know,” Bucky agreed, his voice tense. He looked to the hallway; his hand still tight around his rifle. His finger had not moved from the trigger since you entered the building. “Forget the assignment. We need to get out of here. Now.”

You passed another firewall. Only two more to go.

“I’ve almost got it, Buck,” you told him. “Give me two minutes and we’re out.”

Bucky swallowed; his gaze fixed on the hall. Reluctancy furrowed his brow, but he nodded anyway. “Two minutes. And then I’m dragging you out of here, understood?”

You smirked, though you did not look up from the screen. “Yes, sir.”

It got a tense laugh out of him at least. Restrained and muffled, but still there. It was a strange thing to hear his laughter in a place like this – to know these halls had once witnessed such violence only to see his joy years later. It was a vengeance of sorts. To still hold light amongst such darkness.

As you continued to fire off code after code to shatter the computer’s defenses, Bucky hovered behind you, his pacing insistent as he trailed a path from one end of the room to the other. He couldn’t let himself stand still. Could not let his body relax for even a second. Not here.

“Got it!” You hit the final key stroke but suddenly, the screen went black. The buzzing hum of the overworked ventilation on the side of the monitor dulled to an unsettling silence.

You froze, hands still hovering over the keyboards. “That can’t be good.”

A series of clicking sounds began to rattle overhead. Your eyes darted to the ceiling as you followed the sound as if waiting for some sort of creature to drop from the airducts, as if expecting something living to be crawling its way through the ceiling tiles.

“Bucky...” you warned, backing up from the computer. He was only a few paces from the door when you heard the distinct click of locks latching into place. You spun toward him, heart pounding as he shoved his left shoulder into the door though it barely gave way under his strength. He slammed into it again, his hair falling quickly out of place, matching the growing panic on his features. The metal door fractured under the strength of vibranium but it wasn’t enough.

A bitterness burned in your nose as you drew in a shallow breath. Wincing at the sensation, your eyes trailed up to the ceiling to find a cloud of green mist billowing into the room. It coated over the entire ceiling, sinking lower and lower with every passing second. By the time you looked back to Bucky to warn him, he’d already noticed the gas and lunged toward you. His hand clamped over your nose and mouth; his breathing sporadic. You watched in horror as the gas drew into his lungs with each desperate inhale.

“Don’t breathe it in!” he shouted; his eyes already hazy, his balance swaying. “Don’t breathe it... in... Don’t...”

His hand slipped from your face as if he no longer had the strength to carry the weight of his own arm. The horror of it flashed through the sedated weight in his eyes. Slowly, his gaze lifted to yours – apology and remorse burrowed deep into the soft shades of blue. He stumbled then against the desk, trying to catch himself as his balance gave way. You dove for him, but he was too heavy for you to carry, and he crashed against the unforgiving tile with an awful thud.

“Bucky!” You slid to your knees beside him; hands desperately brushing against his cheeks, drawing the hair from his eyes, begging him to wake. You coughed through the smoke as it filled the room, green gas blinding you enough that you could hardly make out Bucky’s features as he laid mere inches from you.

Your body began to feel heavy and you knew you’d succumb to the gas soon enough. There was no word from Steve or Nat on the coms, only an eerie silence listening in. Slowly, you lowered yourself to the ground, rested your head against Bucky’s chest – as if to pretend for only a moment that it was merely sleep you sought. It was only a bad dream. By morning you would wake at home in the comfort of your shared bed.

There was no fighting the pull on your consciousness. It dragged you to the darkness as you listened to the steady thump of Bucky’s heart through the thick layers of Kevlar. Lulling you to sleep as poison filled your lungs.

***

“It’s been too long since he’s been wiped,” a voice whispered to a quiet room. Distant – like it echoed from the end of a long tunnel. “He’s too unstable like this.”

You groaned, willing your eyes to open though they felt impossibly heavy. Weight burrowed onto your limbs, paralyzing you, though you sensed it was the aftermath of whatever drug was in the green mist you’d inhaled.

Slanting your eyes open, you caught a blurred image of Bucky propped against the wall. He was unrestrained. Two guards stood on either side of him holding tasers strong enough to knock out a rabid animal. The tips of Bucky’s fingers began to twitch – the slight movement promising he wouldn’t take long to wake from the drug induced haze.

“We won’t be able to control him unless he’s under,” a second voice continued, one of two men stood huddled in the corner of the room wearing long, white coats with several pens tucked into their breast pockets. They were thin and meek in comparison to the soldiers flanking Bucky; stealing concerned glances at the former Winter Soldier.

“The chamber is ready for him now,” the first agreed, a short a round looking man with thin rimmed glasses and cheeks redder than the mark of Hydra’s emblem on his jacket. “We must hurry before he has the strength to fight back.”

Whatever clouded your mind and body vanished in an instant as your gaze followed the pointed hand of the scientist. It was as if you were drenched in ice water – awareness snapping back to your bones with the full force of freight train.

It was worse than what you had imagined.

The long, countless wires running along the floor strapped into the thick metal frame. A bed made of unforgiving steel and iron discolored over centuries of use. A door with latches and locks trailing up the entirety of the border. Frost clinging to the condensation of the small glass window and a violent hissing sound as a cold breeze blew through the tube at the top of the chamber.

The cryochamber.

Heart pounding, you stayed as still as your body could manage in effort to not alert the men of your regained consciousness. You stared at Bucky, desperately willing him to wake before the scientists gave the order to have his unconscious body thrown into cryo. Your nails dug into your palms. Blood seeped onto the floor as the scientists muttered quickly to one another, adjusting dials on the machine that plagued Bucky’s dreams and fidgeting with the ends of their sleeves.

Slowly, Bucky’s eyes fluttered open. Still sedated, still hazy, but he found you within seconds. Relief swelled in your chest, though it was not enough to overtake the clutch of panic over your heart. Bucky flexed his hands, testing his body’s response. He gave you a short nod, barely noticeable to the guards standing above him, signaling for your ready. You steadied yourself on your breath and returned the nod.

On cue, you both jumped from your seemingly helpless positions and lunged to attack. Before you could knock them out, one of the scientists managed to sound the alarm. A bright red light flooded the room, a roaring siren blaring in your ears. The smaller of the two men – the one who had alerted for backup – held his hands in the air as you stalked closer, his terrified gaze glancing down at the unconscious body of his colleague. If he was expecting mercy from you, he had gravely misjudged who he was dealing with. It took one blow for him to fall.

At the other end of the room, electricity buzzed through the short gaps in the siren’s scream as the bright ends of the tasers flared. Sadistic smirks lifted the edges of the guards' mouths, as if they were waiting for an opportunity to maim the Winter Soldier. If one so much as grazed Bucky’s skin, it could bring him to his knees in seconds. You didn’t want to imagine the voltage on the ends of those batons or whether a strike might stop your heart before you could even reach him.

It didn’t stop you from sprinting towards him anyway.

But you only made it a few steps before an arm latched around your wrist and yanked you back.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” One of the guards hissed, a gold tooth glaring under the reflection of the red alarm overhead. Two of his friends snickered behind him – the backup the cowardly scientist had called for before you knocked him out.

Not bothering to deem his rather unoriginal taunt a response, you barreled a roundhouse kick to his ribs instead, knocking him off balance. He stumbled a few paces, sneering a crude insult under his breath. The others charged after you, earning a fist to their ribs, throat, and temple, before you shove the sole of your boot directly to the heart of their chests just as Natasha demonstrated for you in the ring weeks earlier. They dropped like flies, and you smirked as you straightened your back, reminding yourself to thank her later.

You turned back to Bucky, who had taken out one of the guards, though the other had managed to acquire both batons. His eyes flashed to you in warning, urging you to hold your ground, telling you that he had it handled. Those tasers were no joke and it was taking all his concentration not to let the burning edges take him out.

You gritted your teeth, watching from your safe distance. The electricity singed the ends of Bucky’s sleeve on the last swing and he hissed, his face contorting in pain from even the smallest brush. Screw that. You were going to stand on the sidelines while he suffered. Not in this godforsaken place.

You sprinted toward him and wasted no time before you dove the edge of your elbow between the guard’s shoulder blades. He cried out, losing his stance for only a second – but it was all the opportunity Bucky needed to gain the advantage. One hit to the sternum, another to the stomach, and the guard’s grip on the taser slacked. Bucky caught it before it could hit the ground, not offering the same reprieve to the guard before his nose broke against the tile.

Bucky exhaled, his chest rising rapidly as his eyes slowly lifted to you. A flash of panic coursed through him as he tensed, a hand suddenly reaching out for you, but you were pulled quickly out of his grasp. An arm slung over your collar as the cold press of a barrel dug against your temple, stilling your attempts to pry free.

“Go ahead, princess,” the guard sneered, his breath sticky and hot against your cheek. “Give me a reason to pull the trigger.”

You froze, gaze centered solely on Bucky. His body was rigid, his grip on the baton so tight you wondered if it might snap under his strength. His eyes darted back and forth, his thumb inching closer to the trigger for the taser, and you knew he was calculating his next move – how to get you out of the arms of the guard without the gun going off.

“Don’t even think about it, Soldat,” the guard hissed, waving the gun in Bucky’s direction before it returned to your temple. It pressed against you hard enough to tilt your head, unable to withstand the pressure. “Drop it. Now.”

Bucky hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. You could see the resistance filtering through the blue of his eyes – the desperation to defend himself smothered by his need to keep you from being harmed. Slowly, he did as he was ordered and released the taser from his grip. The baton now on the floor, Bucky nudged it with his boot so it slid to the guard. He raised his arms defensively in the air – tension burning through his shoulders.

“Interesting...” the guard pondered. You could practically feel his smirk rising against your neck.

“You have me, okay? I’m what you want, right? Let her go,” Bucky demanded, though he was in no position to do so. The guard yanked you backwards, dragging you to the center of the room, leaving Bucky to follow.

“I’ve heard rumors of the woman who claimed the cold heart of our greatest weapon, but I never expected it to make you so docile,” the guard taunted. “But not to worry. We’ll make quick work of you. Such weakness won’t be tolerated by Hydra.”

“Fuck Hydra,” you sneered, yanking against the guard’s hold. You kicked your heel to his shin, pleased at the whine that slipped through his yellowed teeth. “He’s not going anywhere with you!”

“Quiet, bitch!” The barrel of the gun jabbed into your neck, enough that you started to choke against it. Gasping for air against the pressure suffocating your windpipe, you dug your nails until the guard’s forearm, blood trickling in your wake, though he didn’t relent. Bucky’s hands raised a little higher, the subtle tells of panic fracturing through the seemingly stoic nature of his calm expression.

“Okay, okay!” Bucky eased, trying to get the guard to turn his attention from you. Only when the gun released from your throat, returning to the soft flesh on your temple, did Bucky dare to speak again. “What do you what?”

“I think you already know, Soldat.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed, the muscle growing taunt under the skin. His otherwise stoic features gave away little to what he was thinking, to the burning rage coursing under his skin or the panic seeping into his veins. You'd spent too many nights coaxing his demons away, too many hours memorizing the lines on his face, too much time falling in love with every inch of the man before you to not recognize fear on his face when it grabbed ahold of him.

All it took was a subtle twitch of his gaze.

The chamber.

“No,” you choked out, the word barely audible through the hoarse ache in your throat. “No!”

“Go on, Soldat,” the guard instructed, gesturing to the cryochamber. The amusement in his voice was sickening, churning deep into your stomach as each word slithered off his venomous tongue.

Bucky swallowed, looking to the chamber. His right hand curled to a fist, his chest struggling to find pace with each new breath, but still – he eased himself from the edge of panic. His shoulders relaxed; his hand unclenched. Slowly, ocean blue returned to you and your stomach dropped to a free fall, your knees nearly giving way under the hold of the guard.

Because what coated Bucky’s features was no longer the fear you’d witnessed in the early hours of the morning, when sweat beaded into his hair and his pulse climbed beyond what his heart could handle. But instead, the lines on his face sank to a semblance of resignation that made you want to scream until your lungs gave out.

It was acceptance.

For what he was about to do. For what he would willing subject himself to again if it meant you walked out of this room alive.

Nausea crept up your throat, bile burning on your tongue, as you watched Bucky slowly walk toward the chamber.

“No!” Your voice was shattered as the word broke past cracked lips. You struggled against the grip of the guard, but he only pressed the barrel of the gun tighter to your head, surely bruising the skin. You barely felt it, not as Bucky took each step closer to the chamber that had haunted his dreams just hours earlier. You could still feel the damp fabric of his shirt under your hands, the slight trembling of his body as you held him. It was etched into your memory – burned there. And he took another willing step toward it.

“Don’t do this,” you cried out, whining under the strain of the gun jarring into your temple. “Bucky, please. You don’t have to do this! Just fight back! Fight back!”

“Get back in your fucking storage, Soldat,” the guard taunted with a sickening laugh, ignoring your pleas.

Rage burrowed into your veins at the reflexive flinch over Bucky’s shoulders, how he swallowed back the shame, the humiliation, and set a hand against the machine that would be his tomb. It cracked something in you – snapped your last remaining thread of self-preservation and you swung your elbow back at the guard’s ribs with as much force as you could manage.

The barrel of the gun slipped as it rung out – the echo shattering your eardrum into a numbed, high pitch ringing. You dove for the guard.

Through the chaos, you did not hear the door swing open, nor the influx of a dozen Hydra agents swarming the room. Vision blurring to pure red, you did not see the paralyzing fear in Bucky’s eyes as he sprinted into action – how he took out nearly three men on his way to you.

The golden tooth guard laid upon the floor, still holding the gun in his hands as you towered over him, though this time – it was his eyes that bore crippling fear as you brushed away the stream of blood from your temple.

It only took a well-placed kick to his wrist to slack his hold on the gun. He whimpered, crawling back along the floor to escape you. But there was nowhere he could go. Nowhere to hide. You swore you’d kill any man who dared to put Bucky back in that godforsaken coffin and you’d do it without a trace of remorse. You’d take your time with him. Make sure he knew what would happen if he dared to threaten the Winter Soldier in your presence.

Just as you bent to retrieve the gun, intent on ending this fight, a scream broke through the ringing in your ears – one you’d heard more often than you ever cared to admit, a scream that often woke you from your sleep and haunted your silences.

Bucky.

He was on his knees as you frantically turned in search of him, overwhelmed by the number of Hydra agents surrounding him. His eyes were falling heavy, his body swaying as he clutched his ribs. Smoke filtered from the frayed edges of his suit between his fingers, around the bloodied purple and red marks on his skin. Above him, two of the Hydra guards flared the ends of their tasers, grinning wildly at one another.

You moved to fire single headshots into each of the guards, but your vision was beginning to fade. Doubling. Circling. Muscles suddenly aching with heaviness. The gun slipped from your grip and you stumbled backwards until you fell into the hard frame of a body, arms quickly encasing around you to hold you still.

“Get her out of here!” Bucky's distorted voice shouted through your haze. Blood smeared over your vision, dripping from the wound running from your temple to the center of your forehead. You could hardly keep yourself conscious, but you willed your eyes open on panic alone – watching as the guards stabbed the burning end of the taser into Bucky’s ribs again, his cries sinking straight to your stomach.

The man keeping you steady hesitated on Bucky’s order and you used the advantage to try to break free of his hold, but you were too weak, your body too exhausted. Watching helplessly as another taser burrowed into Bucky’s ribs was enough to break you from your fog.

“No! I’m not leaving you!” you cried, blood spewed from your lips with every word. You were in no condition to fight, no condition to aid the blur of auburn hair and black leather as Natasha did her best to subdue an increasing number of assailants.

“Steve!” Bucky ordered. Tears burned down the sides of your face at the crack of desperation in his voice. The guards shoved his weakened body toward the chamber. “You promised me! Do it now!”

You could feel the resistance coursing through Steve’s body as he held you on your feet – the sudden anger rushing in through the taunt flex of his muscle. But he began to drag you towards the exit anyway, even as Bucky trembled on the floor, his body seizing from the sudden surge of electricity. You screamed as if the tasers had plunged straight to your own heart.

“Y/n, listen to me! We have to go!” Steve urged; his voice strained. “There’s too many of them!”

Sobs tore through your body as Steve hauled you from the room. Natasha followed quickly behind, clearing as much of a path as she could to keep the Hydra agents from swarming you. Your attempts to break free were useless – even if you were at full strength. Steve was too strong, the serum too powerful. There was nothing you could do to stop what was about to happen.

You were going to leave your heart behind.

Leave him to the people who broke him.

The last thing you saw before your vision caved in was the Hydra guards’ sickening grins as they dragged Bucky’s unconscious body to the open cryochamber. The darkness that followed was no relief.

***

It was a betrayal to sit within the safety and comfort of the compound’s walls. A betrayal to let Helen bandage the torn flesh on your forehead from where the bullet grazed your skin. A betrayal to clean the blood from your suit and your hair in favor of fresh soaps and warm towels. A betrayal to breathe as Bucky was kept hostage by Hydra in that fucking chamber.

Your arms were crossed firmly over your chest, your back slumped into the conference room chair. Somewhere at the head of the table, Fury was giving orders to stand down, to stay put until a plan was put into place and ‘Sergeant Barnes could be extracted efficiently.’

You knew what that meant – a shit ton of red tape and days of sitting around waiting on approval from a board of wealthy old men who never left the safety of their cozy penthouse offices. Waiting for them to deem Bucky’s freedom a necessary commodity to SHIELD; to decide that his life was work the risk of a rescue mission. They sat in their leather chairs, behind their marbled desks, and weighed the worth of Bucky Barnes’ life.

Screw that.

“I want confirmation from you, Agent Y/L/n,” Fury ordered from the head of the long table.

You glanced up at him, face blank. You hadn’t a clue what the last thing he said was, but you suspected he was ordering you to stay on base, to not go after Bucky yourself. The entire room was watching you, studying you as if you might snap under the weight of the last twenty-four hours.

Natasha sat in the chair across from you, her eyes the only feature giving way to the concern lingering under the stoic surface. Sam hovered from the door at the back of the room – not having been on the mission himself and still, he argued his way into the debrief room when word broke the team was coming back to base one less than when they left.

But Steve – Steve was standing next to Fury, one hand on his belt, the other leaning against the table. All high and mighty. He was the one who dragged you from that room. He was the one who forced you to leave Bucky behind. If anyone should shatter under the guilt of what happened, it should be him.

“Agent Y/L/n,” Fury repeated.

You swallowed back bile. “I won’t go after Barnes.”

Fury exhaled a sigh of obvious relief, turning to the rest of the team. “Sit tight. I’ll get word to you when we have clearance for a rescue op.”

You kicked out your chair and stormed from the room the second you were dismissed, unable to stand choking back the same air as the people who would willing leave Bucky in the arms of Hydra.

There was little else centering you than pure determination and rage as you shoved open the door into your room. You didn’t allow yourself to look at the unmade bed – the sheets still crumpled from the aftermath of a nightmare Bucky had fallen prey to. You didn’t stop to notice Bucky's t-shirt hung over the edge of the lounge chair in the corner of the room or the rows of photographs on the dresser. You couldn’t. You'd collapse if you did and you’d be no use to him then.

You grabbed your suit from the closet and fisted it into your backpack. There was no way Fury would let the armory dispense you a weapon, so you'd have to make due to with the handgun Bucky kept under his nightstand. It was heavier than your usual choice, but you were left with limited options. You’d storm a Hydra base on your own with nothing but your bare hands if you had to.

By the time you made it to the landing bay, Steve was waiting for you at the mouth of the jet. He was dressed in full combat gear as if he was prepared for you to try to take the jet on your own, as if he was ready to fight to keep you from going after the man who was supposed to be his best friend.

“Get the hell out of my way, Rogers.” You walked past Steve with little resistance, tossing your backpack to the row of seats in the front of the jet. “You’re not going to convince me to let this go, so don’t bother. You can kick me off the team after I bring Bucky home.”

Steve clenched his jaw, a tight line across his lips as if restraining himself. Just as you slid into the pilot’s seat, Steve slammed a hand to the trigger to close the ramp, closing himself inside the jet with you. You turned back to him, annoyance and surprise furrowing your brow.

“You think I wanted to leave him behind? Is that it?” Steve snapped, coming up behind you and yanking the pilot’s headphones from your grip. He gestured for you to stand and you did so cautiously, watching as he took your intended seat behind the dashboard.

“You think I’m not sick at the thought of leaving him to those monsters? After all he’s been through?” Steve gritted his teeth, flipping switch after switch until the board began to light up. Panic ensued below on the landing bay – SHIELD agents running around frantically trying to figure out how to stop Captain America from taking off.

“It fucking kills me, Y/n,” he hissed. Then, he slammed his hand against the switchboard harsher than you suspected he meant to. A dent was left behind on the knob under his palm when he pulled it back. He winced at the red mark on his skin.

“Captain Rogers, stand down!” a sudden voice echoed through the jet – air control.

He ignored the command, flipping a few more switches until the jet engines roared to life.

“He’s a brother to me,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard the frantic efforts of the SHIELD agents attempting to keep him on base. “My best friend. Leaving him there gutted me. If you think I was going to just stand by while we wait on some bureaucratic schmucks to give us permission to after him, you don’t know me very well at all.”

There was anger in his voice. Resentment. Perhaps, if you let yourself acknowledge it, a sliver of betrayal.

“I jumped out of a plane into Nazi territory for him. Against the orders of my superiors, mind you. When everyone told me he was beyond saving,” Steve reminded you, his knuckles white as he clenched the wheel. “Hell, I was a fugitive for him, Y/n. And you think I’d just leave him there?”

You gaped at him, unable to respond. Guilt burned warm in your cheeks.

“This is a direct order!” air control called again. “Stand down, Captain!”

Steve turned off communications, nearly breaking the transmissions nodule in the process. He let out a heavy exhale, and for the first time since you returned to base, you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the worry lines running over his forehead.

“He made me swear an oath to him. Did you know that?” Steve said, his voice softer now. You sank into the co-pilot chair beside him, a slow shake of your head. He pulled on the yoke, lifting the jet into the air much to the panic of the crews below.

“It was early on,” he continued, “earlier than you’d guess, I think. Before you got together. Back when he was pining over you, still convinced he wasn’t worthy of anything good in his life. He made me swear that if it ever came down to... to him or you... that I’d make sure you got out alive.”

Something in your heart splintered, wondering when Bucky had decided your life was worth more than his. “He never told me that.”

Steve smiled, though it was aching. “I don’t doubt that. You never would have put up with it. Clearly.”

“You should have told him that oath was bullshit.” You were surprised then as Steve began to laugh and a tired smile tugged at the edges of your lips. It was an awful thing to ask of someone – to prioritize one life over another. But you knew, on some level beyond what you were willing to admit, that you would have done the same if you were in his position. You’d do a lot worse if it meant keeping Bucky safe.

You already turned your back on SHIELD and disobeyed a direct order by going after him. You didn’t know what would await you when you returned or if you’d still have a home at the compound after what you’d done, but you’d have Bucky safe in your arms again and that was all that mattered. Besides, maybe having Captain America on your side will soften the blow of your misconduct. The suits weren’t as willing to put their poster boy in cuffs as they were with you.

The jet was flying steady through the clouds when the smile on Steve’s face began to fade, slowly sinking as he stared out into the sea of pale blue. He glanced over at you then, his gaze lingering on the bandage over your forehead.

“You were shot in the head, Y/n,” Steve finally said, an awful weight pulling on his voice. Before you could argue it was only a graze, that it had barely caused any significant damage, Steve gave you a look that silenced the words on your tongue. “You were bleeding bad. You could hardly stand up straight by the time Nat and I found you. You were in no condition to do anything for him. You would have passed out before you could reach him, and then what? Hydra had both of you? How is that any better? How would that have helped him?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, knowing he was right and hating the resignation of it burning through your chest. “I made him a promise too, Steve. I swore I wouldn’t let anyone use that chamber against him, that he’d never be trapped like that ever again. I— failed him, Steve. I left him there... all alone and—and...”

“No,” Steve argued, his grip on the yoke tightening. “Bucky knew what would happen and he begged me to get you out of there anyway. He knew what he was risking by staying behind.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you fought against the lump in your throat. It was too much – the thought of Bucky willingly stepping foot into his nightmares if only to ensure you survived. This wonderful man who dared to question his own worth was beyond anything you could ever deserve. Your heart ached for him.

Steve gently reached out and brushed the fallen tears with the sleeve of his jacket, the rough material scratching your skin. He offered you a sad smile.

“Bucky also knew you’d move heaven and earth to get back to him,” Steve added, certainty clear in his voice. “And we will, okay? We’ll bring him home.”

You nodded, sinking back into your chair. The sky resembled the soft fragments of pale blue you knew so well – the lighter shades of Bucky’s eyes. You brushed the wetness from your cheeks.

***

Once you landed, Steve wordlessly handed you a com. You took it without question and fitted it into your ear, adjusting the device until it settled comfortably.

“Welcome back, kids,” Natasha’s voice purred through the coms. Your eyes shot to Steve, who gave you an amused smirk in return. “Hope you didn’t think we’d let you disobey direct orders and infiltrate a Hydra base on your own.”

“I’ve gotten in enough trouble over metal man already,” Sam chuckled. “What’s another strike on the record?”

You clenched your jaw enough to ache, trying to stop the sudden swell of emotion at the sound of their voices. You could picture Sam leaning over the edge of Natasha’s desk, the two of them huddled around a computer screen in the dark of a locked room they’d commandeered back at the compound.

You weren’t alone in this. Bucky wasn’t alone in this.

You looked at Steve, eyes glistening with tears, and he set a warm hand on your shoulder and squeezed.

You and Steve loaded up with as many weapons as you could strap to your suits without impacting your range of movement. A quiet calm swept through the jet with every click and latch of a holster. You could spot the Hydra base through the break in the trees – a simple, concrete frame that looked like it could have been decades abandoned.

You kept both hands on your weapon as you walked down the open ramp of the jet, your grip aching against the metal.

“Nat’s keeping an eye on us through the security cameras,” Steve explained as you approached the edge of the base. He gestured to the cameras hidden under the paneling of the roof. “And Sam’s—”

A buzzing sound zipped around you – a blur of silver and red as it flew up above the base and shot a single electric pulse. The drone hovered for a moment, waiting patiently, and then a body tumbled off the edge of the roof. You grinned as it flew back down to meet you.

“Nice work, Sam,” you said, looking right into the camera.

“His name is Redwing,” Sam reminded you, the familiar influx of pride swelling in his voice. You could almost see Natasha roll her eyes beside him as he puffed out his chest.

“Well Redwing can keep watch out here,” Steve ordered, amusement lost from his voice as he looked to the entrance of the Hydra base. A soft chime followed as Natasha must have hacked the security system to unlock the door. The light by the knob shifted from red to green.

You shared a single look with Steve before he pulled open the door and you fired your first shot. The first man went down before he had even glanced to your direction.

One after the other, falling in short precision before a finger could so much as grace the trigger of their guns. Steve barely had the opportunity to fire a shot himself as you channeled every ounce of the boiling rage searing under your skin into the men who had dared to take Bucky from you. And when that wasn’t enough – when the bullets emptied from the chambers – you left the firearms to the tile and drew your blades.

It was more personal this way.

“So you’ve returned for round two?” a voice seethed ahead, the full shine of a gold tooth reflecting under florescent lights. His lower lip was busted, his right eye swollen and bruised. You did not miss the way his gaze flickered to the bandage running over your forehead – evidence of the shot he nearly ended your life with. A sickening grin curved at the edges of his lips.

“I will enjoy this, princess.” The guard cracked out his knuckles, twisting his neck to one side and the other, readying himself for a fight. He was looking for a rematch – for redemption. Or perhaps, to fuel his pathetic ego from the concussion you’d given him at your last encounter.

But you were in no mood for games.

Without dropping your stare, you flung one of your daggers across the hall with as much force as you could muster. The golden toothed guard didn’t seem to realize he’d been struck with the knife until the momentum shifted his balance. His sinister smile fell as he looked down at the blade embedded in his chest. Shaking hands hovered over the hilt. Then, slowly, he looked up to you as if you might offer him mercy.

You threw the second dagger instead. This time, you struck his heart.

You said nothing as he dropped to his knees and then to his side as blood began to seep from the wounds. He was dead by the time you crossed the hall and bent to retrieve your weapons. It took some effort to yank the blades from the guard’s body.

“Y/n,” Steve called, pausing at the threshold of an open room. His shoulders were stiff, his stance rigid. “Over here.”

Your heart threatened to tear through your ribs as you followed him into the room. A trail of blood still laid upon the floor, scuffle marks obscuring the droplets from where Steve had dragged you away – your heels digging for purchase in the solid ground.

It took nearly all your effort to draw your eyes to the center of the room – to the cryochamber. A low hum sung from the series of computers attached to the machine; the effort exerting from maintaining the freezing temperatures that once sustained Bucky’s body for decades. Steve was speaking into the coms behind you though you could not discern a word of what he said, not as you slowly approached the chamber – locked upon it as if you were drawn in a trance.

A shaken hand lifted to the small window. You couldn’t see beyond the glass – not with the fog of frost and ice obscuring your view – but you knew he was there. The glass was frozen under your fingertips, enough that the sensation startled you enough to flinch as you touched it.

“We’ll have to move fast,” Steve ordered, his voice coming in clearer now as he came up beside you. “Hydra reinforcements will be on us any minute.”

You nodded, trying to still the rapid trembling in your hands as Steve rushed to the control panels. He began pulling at wires and pressing buttons seemingly at random until the distant humming began to fade and the cool blast of air disconnected from the chamber.

Steve swiped at the dark green button in the top left corner of the panel and a latch suddenly unlocked. You lunged for the chamber’s door, propping your foot against the wall to leverage your weight enough to lift it open.

It was like stepping out into a winter storm as the door swung open. Blistering wind rushed out at you, forcing you to shield your eyes. When it passed only seconds later, you lowered your forearm to find ice adhered to the fabric of your suit – the small droplets of your opponents’ blood now frozen in crystalized red.

You understood then why Bucky had such horrific nightmares of this chamber. His skin was an awful shade of blue – his lips purple and chapped. Ice clung to his hair where it had once been dampened with sweat. His chest did not rise. His eyes did not flutter open. He looked... dead.

You reached out to touch his face, fingertips brushing over the ice crystals on the short bristles of his beard. A sob nearly broke you before Steve set a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I’ve got him,” he eased, guiding you away from the chamber. You stepped back carefully, folding your arms around yourself and sank into the swell of relief as Steve was the one to shoulder Bucky’s weight and pull him from his casket. He hissed at the contact, as if the chill of Bucky’s skin was burning him. Steve’s neck and hands were turning bright red where he held contact to him.

“Sam and I will have medical ready for you when you return,” Natasha’s reassuring voice came through the coms as you led Steve and Bucky through the empty hallways. You kept Steve’s gun raised, though you met no enemies as you inched towards the exit. It was an effort not to trip over the series of bodies laid over the floors. You tried not to look at the pools of blood sticking under your boots.

“And Fury?” Steve questioned; his breathing labored.

“Let me worry about him,” Nat replied without missing a beat.

“Hell, I’m half convinced this was his plan all along,” Sam chuckled. Part of you might have wondered whether he was right if you had any energy left to do anything but hold a hand to the trigger and guide a careful path away from the Hydra base.

Something had to go wrong. It always went wrong.

But somehow, you made it back to the jet without interference.

Steve quickly released Bucky and gently laid him on the soft mats near the cargo hold and rushed to the cockpit. He threw the pilot’s headphones over his ears and fired on the engines before you even closed the ramp to the jet.

“Y/n, can you hear me?” Natasha called through the coms.

You sank to your knees at Bucky’s side, hands hovering over his chilled skin; scared that a single touch might shatter him.

“Yeah,” you replied though it was barely audible.

“It’s just us on here right now,” she told you, a softness to her voice. “You did good, okay? But the work’s not over. Coming out of cryo won’t be kind on his body. Even with the serum he’s at risk for hypothermia. You’re going to need to—”

“I know,” you whispered, nodding though she could not see you. You’d done it enough times, spend enough nights curled around him to draw the warmth back to his body. It had never been like this – his body so lost to the cold that his chest did not rise on his shallow breaths. He wasn’t even shivering.

“We’ll see you on base,” Natasha said in way of goodbye.

Your hands trembled over the zipper of Bucky’s jacket as the jet lifted from the patch of green in the woods behind the Hydra base. You fumbled with it, cursing at your fingers for slipping their grip. It wouldn’t budge no matter how hard you tugged on it. The damn thing was frozen solid. Tears slipped over your cheeks as you pulled back, wincing at the frozen burn marks on your fingertips.

Skin to skin wasn’t an option – not with his clothes frozen onto him like this. But you could still manage, you could still give him some layer of heat; any of it, all of it. You laid down to the floor beside him, draped against his right side. You slid a leg between his and laid your arm over his chest, your palm setting gently against his cheek.

You drew in a shaken breath at the iciness of his skin, but you did not pull away from him. Your thumb slid along his cheekbone, your hand stinging under the cold. Still, you curled against him the best you could. Even as the jet flew soundlessly above the trees and Steve glanced back at you over his shoulder, you did not dare to put space between you and Bucky.

By the time you landed back on back, you were shaking. Steve had to pry you from Bucky’s body; your skin numb and flushed from the cold. The ice crystals had melted from Bucky’s hair and skin, a pool of water under him. You clung to Steve as you watched the medical team quickly board the jet and drag Bucky away. It was like you were paralyzed – frozen – as they carried him from you. Steve set a steadying hand on your back.

Natasha was standing at Fury’s side as Steve gently led you down the ramp, following behind the med team. You glanced over at the director, expecting to find his namesake carved into the lines of his face. But instead, his hands were clasped behind his back, his long signature coat swaying in the wind of the landing bay, and he gave you a short nod.

Perhaps Sam was right.

***

You’d forgotten about the taser burns.

Standing in the far corner of the room, you struggled to catch your breath as the nursed gingerly removed Bucky’s tactical suit – cutting a clean line down the center with scissors when the zipper broke like shards of glass at their attempt to grasp it. Pealing the fabric from his body, you’d expected to see the slight tint of red on his skin – the blood rushing to the surface to warm his body now that the blue tint had dissipated. You’d expected the scars you knew well – scars you’d kissed and brushed loving fingertips over the evenings he looked at them with disgust.

But you’d forgotten the burns.

Two vicious red marks on his ribs. Another set just below his collarbone upon his chest – frighteningly close to his heart. Soft pink marks crept like spider veins away from the burns. Almost like lightning, you realized. The intensity of the tasers carried enough voltage to kill any other man – to kill even a large animal. His burn marks resembled lightning.

Just as the nurses tucked Bucky under the clean sheets, you stepped forward. “Why hasn’t he woken up yet?”

You hated how small you sounded. How afraid. But the nurse offered you a warm smile and gestured towards the door. You followed her, armed folded tight over your chest. You left puddles of cold water in your wake.

“He will,” she told you reassuringly. “Give him some time. The serum will do the work for him. It always has.”

You nodded, brushing away a stray tear before she could notice. When she left, the room was achingly silent. Steve had promised to check in on Bucky after he debriefed Fury and settled the council before they threatened to banish you from the compound. It wasn’t a job you cared to handle right now, not with the chance of Bucky waking without you and still believing he was at the Hydra base. You would not be leaving his side until he woke up. You didn’t care if Fury or his superiors tried to throw you in the Raft and toss the key to the ocean. You weren’t going anywhere.

As you approached Bucky’s bedside, you began to peel away layers of your suit. If you let yourself believe it, you might imagine you were in the comfort of your shared bedroom, the stars still coating the night sky, the window left open overnight. Bucky was only sleeping. It was only a mere chill from the draft trembling his body. Nothing more.

Wordlessly, you slipped under the covers with him, gasping at the still frigid touch of his skin. It wasn’t nearly as bad as when he was on the jet, but there was no barrier between you anymore. Dressed only in your undergarments, you pressed as much of your body against Bucky as you could manage.

Body heat, you remembered, was the fastest way to warm him. You could pile blankets on top of him until the weight sunk his body into the mattress, but it would be nothing in comparison to the heat radiating from your skin as you curled up against him. Even when goosebumps lined your forearms and you shivered against him, your body would guide him home. Your warmth would protect him from the cold.

You didn’t know how long you laid there with him. Long enough for Steve to come by after he was likely berated by the council, though he didn’t stay long. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he looked over his friend, noting the slight flush of pink that returned to Bucky’s cheeks. He promised he would return in a few hours with something for you to eat. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

***

The sun disappeared behind the tree line, leaving only the soft neon glow of the heart monitor charting Bucky’s pulse to illuminate the room. You didn’t attempt to pick at the pasta Steve brought you or move around the noodles to make it look like you’d even tried to swallow a bite. You didn’t have the energy for it.

Bucky’s body had returned to the comforting furnace you knew him to be – warm and strong, steady. But he hadn’t woken. Steve speculated it could be the sedatives Hydra gave him before putting him under. They'd expected him to be under a lot longer than he was. You and Steve were the ones to interrupt that cycle. Perhaps he only needed to shed the sedatives from his system.

It took nearly seven hours since arriving back at the compound before you felt Bucky’s hand twitch.

You gasped, flinching at the sudden sensation. His hand was rested between yours, curled up against your chest as you held his arm as if he were a childhood teddy bear. His fingers flexed in your grip as you carefully observed the movement. A slight groan came from his lips next, and your eyes darted up to his face.

“Bucky?” you whispered, releasing his hand gently to draw your fingertips gingerly over his jawline.

He groaned again, his whole body shifting uncomfortably.

Before you could get his name out again, his eyes shot open. A rapid breath expanded his lungs as if he had just broken the surface after hours underwater. His eyes darted around the room, trying to place where he was and you felt his whole body begin to tense.

“Bucky,” you called again, your voice barely a whisper to avoid startling him. He flinched anyway. “Bucky, you’re okay. You’re home, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

He blinked a few times, the black in his pupils beginning to ease in favor of the blue you adored. He looked at you then, the realization coming back to him. It was as if you could see the memories spinning behind his eyes, the slow recollection of what transpired over the last twenty-four hours: how he’d nearly lost you, the chamber he was forced into after you promised him it would never happen again, the ice that had suspended him in time.

You’d failed him. You knew that. Shame crept into your skin the longer he looked at you. You expected him to be angry, to be resentful of a promise you had no right to make. But instead, he brushed his fingertips over the bandage on your forehead, a frown tugging on the corners of his lips.

“You’re hurt.”

His voice was raspy as he spoke. It brought tears to your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, but Bucky’s eyes narrowed on you.

“You were shot,” he said, as if the memory was only now coming back to him. “An inch to the left and that bullet would have killed you.”

You swallowed, though your throat was dry. “It didn’t.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, unable to look away from the bandage. It had happened because you fought back, because you could not simply watch as they forced Bucky into that chamber. You didn’t care that you had a gun to your head or that the Hydra agent behind you had the clear advantage. You didn’t care because Bucky was doing what they told him to do simply because he hoped they would spare your life. He was walking towards the chamber, toward his nightmares, and you couldn’t stand it.

You’d do it again.

But you didn’t dare tell Bucky that.

It was your fault he’d even stepped foot toward that damn chamber in the first place. Your fault he went willingly. Your fault that you left him behind to the very same horrors that plagued his dreams. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

His nightmares will only get worse now. After all he’d been through, after all the hard work he put in with his therapist, you retraumatized him again. You were the reason he was forced to relive the worst parts of his time under Hydra’s thumb. He may be holding you now, but you knew – you knew – he would not be able to untether that thread, that he’d forever associate you with the promise you’d broken.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” Bucky warned though his voice was gentle. He tugged you tighter against his side, the heat radiating off his body now enough to bring sweat to the nape of your neck and still, you’d never be close enough. He'd never be warm enough. Not after what happened.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, unable to stop the well of tears from consuming you entirely. You buried your face in the corner of Bucky’s neck. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. I— I failed you. I swore to you I’d never let them hurt you again. I promised I wouldn’t let them take you and I— I left you there and—”

“Sweetheart, stop,” Bucky said again, more urgency to his voice now. The ends of his fingertips curled under your chin, gently lifting you to face him. There was only remorse in his gaze, only love and affection. “I knew Steve would have to drag you out of there. I knew you’d keep fighting for me, even if it meant going down yourself. I saw the blood on your face. I knew you were close to passing out. I begged him to get you out of there for a reason, honey.”

You shook your head, tears slipped past your cheeks. “But I—”

“You didn’t leave me behind,” Bucky insisted. “You didn’t do this to me. Hydra did. Don’t ask me to blame you for what they’ve done.”

Your lips parted in search of an argument, but you couldn’t find one. The softest smile pressed on the edges of Bucky’s lips.

“Besides,” he sighed, his mouth ghosting over your temple as he kissed you, “you came back for me. I knew you would.”

He kissed your forehead next, allowing himself to linger there. You closed your eyes under the feel of him, tears slipping past your cheeks as the warm comfort of his lips.

“I know you’d come for me,” he said again, with enough conviction that your heart began to settle into rhythm with his. Steady beats, mirroring one another – perfectly in time.

“I could still be fired,” you mumbled as you wiped the tears from your eyes, “or arrested. Depends on how good of a defense Steve pitched.”

Bucky chuckled and you could feel the vibration of it in his chest. It was your favorite feeling in the world.

“Steve isn’t one for following the rules of his superiors, so I think you’ll be okay,” he said. “Hard to argue against a successful mission.”

You offered him as much of a smile as you could muster. Bucky traced his thumb over your lower lip, as if to mark the shape to permanence.

“Besides, I won’t let them take you from me,” Bucky added, a cheeky grin stealing the darkness from his eyes, stealing the fear and panic that had once burrowed into the soft shades of blue. “I promise.”

A heaviness sank in your gaze, your smile slipping from you despite Bucky’s protest. “Perhaps we shouldn’t make promises like that anymore.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment, but you could feel his grip on you tightening, pulling you tighter against his chest. “How about a different one then?”

His fingertips settled under your chin, drawing your gaze back to his. You were met with nothing but the warm, gentle affection you’d always known in him.

“How about we promise to find each other?” he offered instead. “No matter what happens, no matter what tries to separate us... We will come for one another. Always.”

Tears swelled in your eyes. “Always.”

As always - thank you so much for reading and for all your kind words ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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