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sprout-fics · 9 months

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(Gif originally by @shadow0-1)

Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Again.

(Soap x GN! Reader)

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 5400 Tags: Doomed Narrative, Time Loop AU, Heavy Angst, Blood and Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Whump, Hurt Very Little Comfort, Happy Ending, (I PROMISE THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING!!) Warnings: Major character death. That's...literally the plot A/N: Hi here's the doomed timelines AU nobody asked for

Call of Duty Masterlist

Summary:

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

The first time you meet Soap, it’s how you expect.

It’s a warm spring day, the kind where you need to shed layers in the brightness of afternoon, only to don them again come sunset. He stands just beyond the shade of the barracks, awash in sunlight that seems to catch the blue of his eyes. You blink as you take him in, and it’s the only barest indication you give at the instant impression that he’s handsome.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You reach for it automatically, remember yourself and offer a pleasant smile in return, along with your name.

“Looking forward to working with you, John.” You reply, and John- Johnny, as you’d come to call him in the tender moments between you, chuckles.

“Call me ‘Soap’.” He tells you easily, and you smile a bit wryly, tilting your head at him.

“The hell kind of name is ‘Soap’?”

- - - - -

It’s easy to work with Soap. He has a cheery, bright demeanor to him that is immediately endearing. He’s friendly, outgoing. His smile is contagious, and the bark of his laughter becomes familiar to you. You listen and guffaw at his jokes over the comms, try vainly to hide your smile when he says them before you.

It only makes his eyes twinkle to see you try and conceal your amusement, and that becomes familiar too- the sparkle of his irises with endless mirth.

He catches you during your duties, sidles up beside you during weapons training, becomes the first to suggest himself as your partner during drills. The company he offers is warm, welcome, lifting the dusky heaviness of your heart into something more tender, fragile. You hold it for him, feel his grin bleed into yours, lay awake at night and sometimes think about the shake of his shoulders when you get him to laugh.

You feel endlessly special when he devotes his time to you, feel as if Soap treats you like you’re the only person in the world. Even in the presence of others he finds ways to indulge himself in you. A nudge of his boot against yours under the table of the briefing room, tossing you an extra round of ammo as you gear up for a mission, finding an excuse to sit next to you on the chopper ride home. Soap feels like a breath of fresh air, the first taste of a cool breeze during summer, a respite from the weight of the world.

Like two stars in orbit, you circle each other, drawing closer into the gravity of each other’s gazes. You try at first to resist, to hold yourself away from the feelings of the other sergeant, knowing at any moment that he could be taken from you. It’s written in the wheels of fate, your destinies as soldiers. If you’re lucky, if you stay alert, if you train hard enough, if chance smiles upon you, maybe you’ll both live to a day where the sound of rockets and bullet-fire doesn’t haunt your waking dreams.

Yet you can’t resist him. When you fall asleep against his shoulder after a days long mission with hardly any sleep, when he playfully grapples with you over the last slice of pizza during movie night, when he gives you that smile during a rare night off-base at the pub- how can you resist?

Gravity pulses between you when you at last fall into him, feel his breath against your lips as your fingers comb through his mohawk. He breathes the blessing of your name against the corner of your mouth in a panting gasp, flexes his fingers across the small of your back when he drags you even closer. The taste of him is honey and ale, a sweetness with a beloved bitter aftertaste, one you drink down greedily in the form of his moans against your flesh.

When you lay in bed together after, sweaty limbs tangled together, you watch the tender, soulful smile form across the handsome planes of his face, and you know.

He’s yours.

There’s kisses stolen in the hangar before take off, moments hidden in the shadows of safehouses. He cups your face and lifts it to him in the aftermath of battle, smears ash against your cheek with his gloved thumb. You try to carve each moment into your heart, never fail to try and memorize the glint of his eyes, the soft slope of his smile. You know the shape of him in the darkness of his bedroom, know the sound of his voice even blinded by the brightness of his mere presence.

Johnny is the sun- emanating a gentle, beckoning warmth from afar. Yet when you get closer you see the glory of his inferno, see the flashing burn of his eyes in the midst of battle. The solar flare of his battle cry seems to carry you like soar of Helios's chariot upwards into the heavens of his devotion. When you touch him, you’re seared, branded by his fingers as they trace sentimental sketches across the dip of your waist. You want to bask in him, feel the ember of his stare as he gazes at you silently across the table of the restaurant he takes you to for your official first date.

“What?” You ask him, averting your eyes a little bashfully, catching his shrug in your periphery.

“Just lookin’.” He replies with a grin, his cheek smushed as he balances on his hand. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

You kiss him for that, and when he laughs you kiss him again.

You kiss him a thousand times, each as sweet and passionate as the last, know the curve of his smile on your lips. You kiss him before your next mission, when he holds you against the wall of the armory and tells you how he can’t wait until you both get back.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t come back.

He’s looking at you in the chopper when you hear the sound of the RPG. The explosion has him backlit for all of a moment before the world is spinning, the roar of the dying engine in your ears and Price’s holler to “BAIL BAIL BAIL-!!”

You reach for the rope, glance behind you to see Soap not out of his seat- a breed of panic in his eyes unlike that you’ve ever seen from him. The jammed clasp of his strap is caught in his hands as he tugs at it desperately, and you meet his gaze for all of a moment, seeing the imminent knowledge of what comes next in his beautiful blue eyes.

You fall, without him, are caught by the canopy of trees where the snap of branches under you muffles the distant sound of the helicopter exploding as it lands.

You ignore Price’s orders, run desperately for the wreckage, only to be greeted by an inferno that stretches towards the sky.

Johnny is on fire, and this time when you reach for the burn of him the flames are real. They scorch your flesh and you shout his name even as you try to reach him, already knowing it’s too late. When Ghost and the others haul you back you fall to your knees, grip the scorched earth beneath your fingers and scream.

And then you wake up.

Warm springtime.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You blink, heart still hammering in your chest, feeling the warmth of flames chase you even as songbirds sing in the trees. Yet Johnny is alive before you, whole, smiling, looking so much like the man he was when you met him for the very first time.

“Was it a nightmare?” You ask him breathlessly, and Johnny- Soap- merely arches a bewildered eyebrow at you.

“What?”

Nightmares, you come to learn, are so much more kind.

It happens all as it did before. The jokes over comms, the glancing gazes over drills, the bump of elbows in the mess hall. It’s familiar, sweet, amorous…

And you know something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Back to the start, somehow. You don’t know how, you don’t know why- but there’s no denying what has happened. Johnny died. You went back, and now you have a chance to save him.

It’s months before the helicopter crash. You replay the scene over and over again in your mind, and you keep arriving back to the look in Johnny’s eyes as realization washed across them. Everyone who dies a sudden death is confused, scared, not ready, and the knowledge and horror you saw in his stare haunts your waking dreams.

Yet Johnny falls in love with you just as he did before, and you fall into him so readily, desperate to accept his warmth in the wake of his death. Orpheus embracing Eurydice, you try to trace him into your skin, imbue the memory of him into the marrow of your bones and pray that you can reverse his fate. The gears of destiny tick in the back of your mind even as he stares at you over the restaurant table on the evening before your departure.

“Just lookin’.” He tells you when you return his stare, mistaking your concern for confusion. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

When you kiss him, you try to swallow the sob in your throat.

When you get on the helicopter, you point out his jammed strap with shaking fingers, and he blinks in astonishment.

“Hell’s bells.” He huffs, fiddling with it before it comes loose, and it stays that way for the remainder of your journey. “That coulda been terrible, ey bonnie?”

He makes it out this time, and when he rises from the forest floor he rushes to you, cups your face in his hands and stares down with eyes glinting in concern.

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, chest heaving with exhilaration. “Are you hur-”

He jerks back at the sound of a gunshot, and you drop automatically, crawl to him just in time to catch his hand as he reaches for you. The bullet wound at his collarbone gushes red, red, red, and your hands are coated in it as you plead, tell him he’s going to be okay-

The light fades from his eyes, still staring up at you, the last thing he sees.

You still feel his heartbeat on your hands when you wake up.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You tremble, take it and see him blink in surprise when he feels the uncontrollable shake of your palm against his.

The second time, you think it’s a fluke, a horrible prank.

He steps on a landmine, scattered to the four winds.

The third time, you’re petrified.

A man hidden in the darkness, he lunges for you. Johnny pushes him aside. The blade wedges between his ribs.

The fourth time, you beg destiny for answers.

You make it to the compound, the fence lights him up like a firework.

The fifth time, you try to tell him, only to find your throat clogged, unable to speak. You try to tell him a hundred more times in the months that follow, and each time the words are stolen from your breath, as if fate forbids you to inform him of his doomed destiny.

“...Nothing.” You tell him when he asks after you’ve tried to speak over the restaurant table, your food barely touched.

Johnny shrugs. “Doesna matter, too busy looking at how pretty you are.”

You cry silently that night in his bed, while he dozes gently next to you, unaware of what awaits him.

You can’t tell him. You don’t know how to save him. You still love him.

He’ll forget he knows you, forget he loves you by the time he wakes up

You’ve found eight ways for Soap to die, and have taken years to defy all of them. You have to write them down everytime you wake up unless you somehow forget. The notebook is filled with scribbled reminders, ever present in your pocket even as he steals the last slice of pizza out from under you.

He doesn’t have enough ammo. Remind him to take extra clips

He put his knife on the wrong strap that he usually does, fix it for him.

He steps on the landmine fourteen steps after the creek. Stop him.

You can’t stop trying. Not when it’s him.

Yet each time you find a way to outsmart the latest execution of him, fate finds one more thing to steal him out from under you. Unstoppable, imminent, condemned to wake up and see his smiling face mere moments after his heartbeat slows to nothingness.

“I love you.” You whisper as you cradle his head in your lap, knowing he already can’t hear you, glassy eyes staring up at the sky. “I’ll see you soon.”

You burst into tears by the 19th time, buckling in on yourself much to the shock of the men around you, relaying startled looks of confusion between them. You excuse yourself, find a dark corner to fold into and sob, knowing this time you’ll fail too.

It’s Soap who finds you, sits beside you, says barely a word when you cry into his shoulder even though he doesn’t know you. Not yet.

Falling in love with him each time is painful. Your heart beats for him and him alone, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose him again. You’ll go right back to the start, to him having just met you, not yet falling into gravity with you, even as you hear the tick of gears turning ever closer to the moment you’ll watch him die.

“Don’t you know me?” You want to ask him, want to bunch his shirt between your fists and let tears stream down your face. “Don’t you know you loved me?”

His smile doesn’t waver. He jokes and laughs and playfully teases you and it hurts. It’s a balm that burns, heals your heart and yet doesn’t erase the scar. He’s your only comfort, the only thing you have as you feel your soul chipped a little further each time he leaves you. You can’t tell him why you cry into his arms, can’t confess to him that you’ve seen him die more ways than you care to remember, that you’ve tried to save him in dozens of lifetimes and he doesn’t even know.

He holds you even though he doesn’t understand, hushes sweet endearments into your hair and comforts you, not knowing how this will end.

“I love you.” He tells you softly as you hiccup against his chest, not knowing what else to say. “Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

Your tears drip into the fancy china at the restaurant he takes you to and Johnny looks afraid.

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

He looks at you, blinks. His brow furrows.

“How’d you know my name?”

This time, you forget to warn him about the rigged doorway, and he vanishes in a flash and puff of smoke.

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

You wake up. Everything happens as it did before. You meet him, you listen to the sound of his laugh, you finish one of his jokes over the comms and he groans.

“Don’t tell me ye know that one too!” He grouses, and when you smile your chest aches with the force of thirty lifetimes.

You place a palm against his back, unable to help yourself as you enter the compound, wanting to feel the frame of his body just one more time before destiny finds a new way to kill him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiles even as uncertainty colors the blueness of his gaze.

“Yer like my guardian angel.” He tells you, still smiling even after all this time. “Dannea what I’d do w’out ye.”

A grenade at the staircase. He pushes you out of the way. He doesn’t duck out of the way in time.

You close your eyes when you wake up. You can’t bear to look at him, knowing you’ll just lose him again.

You try to keep him from loving you, thinking perhaps that is the crime to warrant this eternal punishment. You can’t stop loving him, but maybe, maybe you can stop him from loving you. Maybe if you never have him to begin with, maybe you can save him.

Yet Johnny is drawn to you anyways, sucked in by the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, like a moth to an infant flame. He hovers at the fringes of your soul, tries desperately to find his way inside, and you can’t help but let him. He comforts you when you cry against the futility of it all, and there’s nothing you can say to him to explain. You wet his shirt with your tears, knowing it’ll be the one he dies in.

The next time, you force yourself to not speak to him, to try and avoid him at all costs, try everything to drive him away. If he never loved you to start, then maybe he’ll live. He seems pre-ordained to find a way to confess to you, ask why you hate him so, look at you through glistening eyes and ask “What did I do?”

You wonder if maybe that’s destiny too, if it’s truly Soap falling in love with you, or his strings being pulled by the same machinations that inscribe his death.

When he asks you again, tries to approach you with flowers and apologies, and offers to take you to dinner on the eve of his death, you wheel on him in desperate fury.

“You don’t actually love me!” You cry, face hot with tears. “Can’t you see that?! All this time it’s just- it’s just the story we’re in. Just because you’re supposed to love me doesn’t mean you do. It’s all just a fucking lie.”

Soap is stunned, too shocked to speak. In all the dozens of lives you’d lived, you’ve never ever yelled at him before.

Hurt flashes across his eyes. His eyes drop along with his hands, the bouquet limp in his grip. The bitterness of his smile as he refuses to look at you threatens to shatter your heart like glass.

“You hate me.” He murmurs, as if to himself. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean tae…”

He falls silent, and eventually he walks away.

You don’t get on the chopper this time. You can’t stand to watch him die again.

You try to tell him again, ask him why. Why does he have to torture you like this? Why love you, why allow you to love him so deeply, only for him to leave at the end of this doomed story bound to repeat? Why would he love you?

He looks torn. He’s hurt. He wants to comfort you. He doesn’t know what to say

“Why wouldn’t I love you?” He asks in a whisper, devastated by your outburst.

You can’t speak. You’re forbidden to tell him. You want to. You can’t.

“Bonnie-” He tries, stepping forward, trying to embrace you as if that will somehow solve everything.

“No.” You manage, pressing backwards as he reaches for you, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Pain dances across his eyes. “Go away, Johnny.”

He leaves.

He dies anyway.

When you wake up, your body feels weighed down with the passage of a hundred lifetimes, and your legs fall out from under you without warning. Johnny hauls you into his arms, his blue stare flickering with concern.

You forgot how much you love being held by him.

This time, you don’t push him away. In fact, you never do again.

Yet things are different now. It’s subtle at first, things you take for granted. Something in this story has changed, and in turn it’s changed him. Johnny walks into rooms and seems to forget why he’s there. He asks what day it is and frowns in confusion when Ghost replies blandly for the second time that day.

“Didn’t you already tell us this?” He asks of Price during a meeting, and Gaz’s head snaps to him, to the smartness of his tone towards your captain.

“No.” Price responds gruffly, succinctly, and continues on. You watch Soap, see the way he doesn’t seem to understand. His fingers tap on the table, and it’s a small gesture meant to conceal the worry in his eyes- the knowledge that maybe, maybe he’s been here before.

“I saw you in a dream, once.” He tells you one night as you both clamber onto the roof of the barracks to stare at the stars. “Before I even met you.”

You stare at him, and he laughs a little nervously, rubbing at his nape. “A bit crazy, eh? Sounds like am’ off ma heid.”

You shake your head, slide your hand over his, feel your heart thump when he looks at you in surprise. “Tell me.” You whisper, and when he smiles you shudder, feel the weight of destiny press heavy on your shoulders.

“I saw you crying.” He murmurs, and his eyes are a little distant, like he’s looking back at a life that no longer exists. “I told you not to cry.”

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

This time, you nearly die beside him, and almost wish fate would take you too.

He has nightmares now. He thrashes in his bed, a cold sweat dampening his skin when he wakes. You ask him what it was, what vision plagues him, and he only shakes his head, eyes distant and terrified. He clings to you like he’s a little boy frightened by shadows, gazes at something you can’t see but know all the same. He doesn’t have the words, but he doesn’t need them.

You roll over one night, startled to find him wide awake, eyes unblinking as he stares at you. His voice sounds like an echo of himself, a dark magic winding through his words that sound like an all too familiar prophecy.

“I saw myself die.” He tells you, in a voice you’ve never heard- one you’ll never forget. “You were there- and then you weren’t.”

He finds bruises on himself the next morning, in the same places you watched him become riddled with bullet holes.

You’re running out of time. You don’t know when you’ll wake up and he won’t be there. You don’t know if this will be the last time you ever see him.

“Please.” You beg him, tugging on the straps of his vest as he steps towards the chopper. “Johnny please, don’t. Stay here. Don’t go.”

His eyes shine with worry at the sudden, fervent desperation in your words, and he opens his mouth to respond-

Only for his eyes to take on that foreign, distant stare once more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, and once more you’re forbidden to tell him.

Because you’ll die. Because I’ll be forced to watch. Because I have no way to stop it. Because I’ve seen it happen a hundred times and I can’t do it anymore.

Inevitably, you arrive here, and this singular moment in time, at the place where you’ve yet to find the part in which he survives.

It always ends like this.

You survive the crash, fend off the ensuing ambush, weave past the landmines and the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, disable the electric fence and disarm the rigged door. You make it inside, stop him before he triggers the tripwire, disarm the pressure plate, lob the grenade back up the stairs, open fire on the door to his left before he passes it. You anticipate the reinforcements at your back, fix the radio when you signal for ex-fil, remember to give him your extra ammo. You know when the roof collapses and drag him to safety, point out the missed charge in his demolitions package, take out the turret before he even spots it-

Then you arrive here.

“The detonator doesn’t work.” He tells you for the thirty sixth time, out of a hundred and forty eight lifetimes. You know what comes next. The chopper will get here, you will be overrun, and Johnny will kiss you one last time with an apology, push you into Gaz’s arms even as you scream. Then he’ll make his way to the control room without you all, will stay behind and make it his final, valiant act.

Then you’ll watch the facility explode with him still inside, hear the gears of fate click and send you hurtling back to the beginning.

If you stop him, you’ll all be shot down. You’ll be the only survivor of the crash, and will see the broken bodies of your teammates join him. Or someone else will take his place, and your rescue chopper will be shot down anyways.

There’s no escape. This is always the moment that you can’t save him from. Thirty six lifetimes and you know in just a few minutes you’ll wake up, will hear his voice begin it all again, over and over until one day you wake up and he isn’t there.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You had a dream last time. You were both sitting at the restaurant table, and you spoke before he could.

“Are you going to tell me how pretty I am?” You asked him, swallowing down grief, feeling it bloom like a macabre bouquet when the sound of his joyous laughter tickled your soul.

“Stole the words right from mah mouth.” He chuckled.

You blinked, and the seat across from you was suddenly empty.

You close your eyes, in this moment, try once more to find the part where you all make it out alive. You try to find the part where you don’t lose him. Where you’ll go back to that restaurant and it’ll be the last time.

You’ve had enough.

“I’m going to stay.” Soap declares, eyes grim with resolve.

He turns to you.

You close the distance, reach up and kiss him. You tangle your fingers in his mohawk like you did the very first time, listen to his shocked gasp as you try and drink in the taste of him just one more time. Just one more time.

Honey and ale. A bittersweet goodbye.

You snatch the detonator from his hands, raise your hands to his shoulders and push.

He topples backwards, nearly colliding with Price, and it gives you just enough time to bolt for the door leading towards the control room, locking it behind you.

Soap screams your name, hurls himself at the door, frantic desperation coloring his beautiful blue eyes. The color of a sky in summer time, of a fresh breeze that reminds you so much of him.

There’s a nervous smile on his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He thinks it’s a prank, another joke between you two, and he says just as much, voice wavering when he asks you to unlock the door.

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You whisper, tears warming your eyes. “I can’t lose you again.”

Confusion makes him pause, but it’s only for a moment.

“Open the door.” He demands then, jiggling the lock uselessly as his voice rises. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!!”

“I love you.” You whisper, raising your hand to the glass pane, your splayed palm against his closed fist and the world between them. “In this lifetime, and the one before. Ever since the day I met you, I’ve loved you, Johnny.”

He calls your name, voice cracking in desperation and he begs you to come back. You take a few more moments, and think to yourself how unkind it is that the last time you see him will be like this. Afraid, broken, desperate.

Terrified.

Just like how he was all that time ago, the first time you failed to save him.

Not this time.

“Don’t cry.” You tell him quietly. “I always hated watching you cry.”

You leave him even as he screams after you, running in the direction of the control room.

You don’t know this part. You’ve only ever watched Johnny or one of them vanish in this direction. You aren’t prepared for this the way you are with the rest of this story. You’re not ready for the hail of gunfire that greets you, the bullets ripping through flesh. Your blood drips red onto the floor, you run low on ammo, and yet somehow you press on.

Not this time. You think. Not ever again. You can’t take him from me any longer. I won’t allow it.

You’re limping, heavily wounded, riddled with bullet holes, chest seizing and smearing an abstract of crimson behind you as you finally make it to the control room. By the time you dispatch the remaining soldiers you’re on the floor, feeling the corners of your vision pulse red and black as the gears turn, as the clock ticks down.

The timer has just enough time to make it out once you start it. You know you won’t be able to.

So you watch the numbers click on the countdown, flop onto your back and cry.

You didn’t want this.

You wanted just a little more time. Maybe you should have let him go, let him finish this if only he can wake up and not know you. Maybe you should have let him die one more time, if only to get the chance to fall asleep in his arms months into the future and past, knowing he was going to die.

It’s too late now, and as the numbers click down, as your heartbeat thrums in your ears and your vision pulses red, you can only try to remember the feeling of his smile against your lips, the sound of his laughter, your name breathed into your skin as he wraps his arms around you, safe from destiny in his embrace.

“Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

You love him. You’ve always loved him. In this lifetime, in the hundred lifetimes before. In a thousand lifetimes to come you will still love him. Even if you go back, wake up again to that warm spring day, you know you will only love him once more.

You wish he was here, at the end, and wish that even if he was he’d find a way to live without you.

When you exhale, it’s the sound of his name, the memory of his eyes as they stare across you from the restaurant table, full of endless devotion.

The world goes dark.

And then you wake up.

It’s bright.

You don’t expect what comes next.

There’s no birdsong. No springtime warmth. Only the beep of a heart monitor, the feeling of cottony sheets tucked into a hospital bed, the fluorescent glow of overhead lights.

And the sound of a voice.

Johnny is holding your hand, head bowed, tears falling freely down his face.

“I did it.” He sobs, words choking his throat, shoulders trembling.

Whole. Alive. Just like you.

“I did it.” He cries again, looking up and finding your eyes with his that swim with emotion. When he speaks, it sounds like the weight of a hundred lifetimes presses down on him.

“This time. This time, I saved you.”

Taglist: @soapskneebrace @guyfieriii @writeforfandoms @alicesfracturedmirror

#john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #Soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #my writing #my fic #to add to masterlist #Alex play Dumb Ways to Die

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iceman-kazansky · 4 months

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Two Halves of a Heartbeat, Beating as One

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Merry Christmas @currahee! I'm your secret Santa!

Request: a character who assumes they won't get a gift for Christmas, only to be pleasantly surprised.

Pairings: Ronald Speirs x f!reader

Warnings: Death, depression, probably swearing, kissing

A/n: Hey! I've never seen your account prior to this, so I'm glad to have you as my designated Secret Santa gift receiver!! I hope this is tailored to your liking, and I hope you like this! Merry Christmas and happy new year! :)

Taglist: @inglourious-imagines || (If you'd like to join my taglist; submit a form here!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥

The days slowly melted past one by one, very scarce new events occurring. Every day was a repeat of the one before. Countless shelling from the artillery located just across the clearing. The never ending supply of dead soldiers soaring as morale stooped to an all time low.

Everyone was on the verge of their breaking point.

Through the harshness of Sobel in Toccoa, all the way to Holland, the 506th had been through so much death and destruction yet had remained steadfast throughout it all.

But now, in the company's arguably darkest time, the regiment became ever-fragile. The exhausted soldiers couldn't handle any more of this.

False promises of the war ending before Christmas had become what kept the 506th going, but as the day ticked closer and closer that hope began to dwindle.

Everyone, no matter the transparency each individual experienced as the thought dawned on them, knew they weren't going home for the holiday. They never were.

Dragging yourself from those wretched thoughts, you exhale softly, your breath creating a thick fog that rises and dissipates nearly as fast as it first appeared in the cold afternoon air. Even now, where all you could focus on was the numbness of your fingers, the air held a certain briskness to it that made your throat and nostrils burn when you inhaled.

‘Now is not the time for such dark thoughts’ you think to yourself, shaking your head as if to knock some sense into yourself.

Those thoughts, the one that let reality set in a little too far, were killers. Even just a mere drop in a soldier's ability to keep strong mentally on the frontlines ultimately affected their physical well-being aswell. In a time as dire as war, a drop in strength translated directly to a meaningless death.

In the distance, you could hear the crunching of feet on snow growing increasingly closer.

“Sergeant,” The voice is firm, yet recognizable. You glance up at the mysterious figure who approaches, once again ripped from the storm of endless thoughts brewing within your very mind.

Ronald Speirs.

You instantly recognize Dog companies CO. An intimidating man surrounded by rumors he'd never bothered to confirm nor deny. Yet, a handsome man. His face is one of chiseled beauty, like a Greek god. Something you'd been sure to notice over your countless interactions. Since you'd known him, Speirs had treated you equally despite being the only female in the 506th. Something you admired.

Ever since your first weeks at Toccoa, you’d taken a special interest in Speirs, and naturally you’d gotten a lot closer.

Speirs isn't one to dawdle, so he gets right to the point, “Sergeant, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Go ahead,” you reply through chattering teeth, sore from clenching them closed so often.

"What are your plans for Christmas this year, if we go back to the states?"

Even in the cold, you can feel your cheeks flushing red. He wants to know what you're christmas plans are?

Not answering immediately, letting the words sink in as you formulate a response, “You don't seriously believe that?" You chuckle dryly at last, "I thought of all people you'd be the most sensible."

"No, I don't," he replies after a moment of silence, "but everyone at least has some plans this holiday. A hope. I wanted to know what yours was." You could've sworn you'd seen him shift his gaze away momentarily, but his face was shadowed by his bulky helmet, obscuring your vision of his beautiful face.

"That everyone wouldn't be me, then," you avert your attention momentarily to his lips, but shake your head in disgust at yourself, what were you looking at? He was your superior! "What about you, captain? Any plans yourself?"

"I was going to visit family if we went back. But, seeing as that isn't happening anytime soon, I thought I'd settle on a gift for someone here." He responds.

“Who would that lucky person be?” You ask, curious who the CO might be referring to. You think back to the town of Bastogne, the town a few klicks away, and all the people for him to choose from.

“I'm still not sure.” he shrugs, standing abruptly and moving away silently, leaving you puzzled and alone.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Christmas day had arrived grimly, the promise of being home by this day long forgotten and farfetched.

The Germans on the other side of the clearing were fortunately nice enough to halt the bombing for the day, leaving the front lines oddly quiet for the first time in weeks.

Despite this, morale wasn't very high. Nobody in the 506th wanted to be in the frozen-hell they were right then.

Standing and unable to withstand the boredom of your foxhole any longer you left to relieve yourself momentarily.

Upon standing, your limbs ached, stiff and sore from the cramped position you'd stayed in for multiple hours, and your feet numb while you stumbled the first few steps. You remembered Doc Roe's countless warnings to the 506th about trench foot. Something you wanted to be certain you wouldn't catch. Perhaps you should invest more time in moving about.

It didn't take long to finish your business, and you figured you ought to head back to the safety of your foxhole soon. Afterall, you never knew when the next shelling would occur, the Germans were unpredictable. You wouldn't doubt they'd go beyond cruelty and bomb the 506th on a day like today. And that was something you absolutely didn't want to be out of your foxhole for. You'd seen the destruction left in their wake countless times.

Your feet crunching loudly in the fresh snow was all you could think of as you retraced your steps back to the front lines. Along the way you passed a few E company members, smiling a little at them and wishing them a short ‘Merry Christmas’ as you trudged past.

Ahead, your empty foxhole beckoned and as you drew near your excitement at the small warmth it provided grew rapidly. You prepare to jump in, but pause at the sight of a small cardboard box nestled at the bottom. The peanut-coloured box appeared as vibrant as blood in the dull white and gray surroundings.

Jumping into your hole, you're careful not to crush the delicate box while you move into a sitting position, pulling it into your lap.

Curiosity consumes you as you open it carefully, revealing a small silver object, a thin wool blanket and a pristine white letter.,

Taking the necklace out you raise it to your face for examination. The pendant was long, and had a natural shimmering silver allure to it. At one end, a small, smooth heart was suspended by the lengthy yet elegant chain. It was beautiful. You gasped as you moved it around in your palm, a large smile pulling at your lips.

Carefully, you fastened the necklace around your neck, looking down to admire it settled against your collarbone once more. Not wasting any more time, you moved onto the next object. An army-issued blanket. Something the company should've been guaranteed before it came to Bastogne, but was never supplied. You took it out, taking care not to lose the letter you had yet to open. How did your mystery sender manage to get their hands on this? However they did it must've been tough, they were in demand everywhere. The material was wool, and you could almost imagine the warmth it provided.

After a short examination of the blanket you were eager to move to the last object, a letter. Grabbing the object and letting your fingers run over the grainy surface momentarily before pulling open the seal to reveal the neatly-folded contents.

Unfolding the letter you're stunned at the lack of words, but regardless begin reading;

Dear Sergeant,

I hope you enjoy these gifts. Merry Christmas.

Signed, Ronald C. Speirs.

Speirs got you these? Hardly containing your smile, you close the letter once more, slipping it into your pocket and getting out of your foxhole, leaving the blanket and box behind.

It took every ounce of strength you had to not run as fast as you could to his assigned tent, instead maintaining a brisk walk. However, something you couldn’t contain was the dopey smile that tugged itself onto your face as you moved, your heart pounding in your chest and your face flushed a bright scarlet.

As you drew near, your pace quickened ever so slightly, your mind urging you to move faster than your legs would allow. You were itching at the prospect of seeing him. Finally reaching the sepia coloured tent, it’s walls faded and worn from the harsh uses it had endured throughout the war, you say “Permission to enter, sir?” from the other side of the tent wall.

His husky voice answers from within the tent, allowing you entry immediately after your request. Without further ado, you step in, blinking to readjust your eyes. In the shadowed room, you make eye contact with Speirs. “I wanted to thank you for the gifts, sir.” You say, not quite sure how to properly thank him.

“Please, just call me Ron,” he corrects, smiling softly at you. A sight so beautiful and rare you can't help but stare in awe. He stands when you enter, maneuvering out from behind his desk.

“Then call me Y/n,” you counter, mirroring his smile.

After a moments pause where nothing is said, you resume, “Ron, do you mind me asking why?” You say hesitantly, unfamiliar with the use of his true name, seeming like all formalities were tossed aside, “Why me?”

He looked at you with an odd unnamed emotion, yet so familiar. It seems like a millenia passes before he replies, “I have admired you since we've met, Y/n.” He pauses to allow the words to sink in, watching your expression closely, “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I've always been set on you. You drive me crazy. When you step into a room, you're all I can look at. Everything else is irrelevant. When you talk, your voice echoes in my ears all day like a mothers lullaby.

“I've never wanted another woman so badly as i've wanted you before. I didn't care for the dames of Eindhoven like most men. I wanted you. And only you. I've come to the realization I love you, and I couldn't wait another day for you to carry on, not knowing.” he stops to drink in your features before he allows himself to continue, “It's alright if you don't feel the same. I know how terrible the timing is. I can't believe I allowed myself to become so vulnerable in a state of war.”

Without missing a beat you reply, “I feel the same.”

Truthfully, you can hardly believe your ears. It's like a dream come true. You'd loved Ron since he'd done that daring act with Dog Company and the batteries, and you swear you could've felt your own heart stop when he leaped out of that trench and ran, exposed, into the battery, guns blazing. You'd heard the rumors about him too, but they didn't scare you. In fact, they almost drew you in closer, with hopes of unravelling them yourself.

Without even noticing it, you and Ron had begun moving closer to each other, pulled by some other-worldly gravitational force. Drawn to each other like a moth to flame.

When he was within reach, he lifted up his hand, cupping your cheek while the gap grew smaller yet, your faces hovering inches from each other, “Can I kiss you?” he asks, eyes flitting down to your lips only to return once more to your eyes.

You couldn't speak, only administering a nod before he closed the gap.

His lips tasted of lucky strikes, something you wouldn't have thought to expect at first, and they pressed against yours passionately, releasing his inner tension. Your lips moved against his in a synchronized dance, two lovers moving against each other like twin moons in the sky, orbiting the same center. Like two halves of a heartbeat, beating as one.

Reluctantly, he pulled away breathless, resting his forehead against yours.

“I've never wanted more than to kiss you,” he sighs, “I love you.”

“I love you more, Ronnie,” You whisper back

#hbowarsanta23 #ronald speirs x f!reader #ronald speirs x reader #ronald speirs #dog company #band of brothers #hbo war #bob #easy company #iceman-kazansky #fanfic #band of brothers fic #bob fic #bob fanfic #band of brothers fanfic

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themculibrary · 4 months

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Fics Written In 2023 Masterlist

A Kiss To Remember (ao3) - anxiouswebhead steve/bucky, clint/natasha G, 10k

Summary: When he knows he's dangerous, nothing more than a threat to anyone in his life, Bucky Barnes allows himself to be put under cryogenic stasis by Princess Shuri and her team. What he wasn't expecting is for Steve Rogers to jump aboard the ship with them, refusing the leave until he saw that he was okay. When he woke, they decided he needed to heal for awhile, but eventually ask for a ship to get Bucky to remember. They fly to Romania, staying in Bucharest where they do, in fact, get Bucky to remember his life, but the how is indeed, a million dollar question. They share a kiss that the former sergeant thinks will be tough to forget.

all eyes on me (in the center of the ring) (ao3) - archerskate carol/maria T, 9k

Summary: An assassination of Carol and her brother Steve's parents leads to Steve's coronation and Carol being assigned a knight to protect her: General Maria Rambeau. Carol senses something fishy going on, and Maria starts to feel it too. With corruption, conspiracy, and treason, who will Carol be able to trust?

----

or a carolmaria royalty au

a love so pure (ao3) - ArabellaAM steve/tony, bucky/natasha G, 21k

Summary: The last thing Steve expects when he has an asthma attack in Stark Industries' elevator is for Tony, a handsome alpha who also happens to be his boss' son, to not only save him but also show interest in him.

That's the kind of thing that only happens in the romance books he likes so much, right?

Or, Alpha!Tony helps Omega!Steve through a rough day and they start falling in love.

An Endless War (ao3) - Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye) loki/natasha T, 23k

Summary: The Watcher dropped Natasha Romanoff into a world where she had died. It is very similar to the world she lost, with very significant differences. She's not about to let this world go down the same path that hers did, and will do whatever it takes to save it. Including dealing with a war criminal.

Bated Breath (ao3) - karedeviltrash matt/karen M, 46k

Summary: A step forward is suddenly interrupted by an unfortunate event.

Buck to the Future (ao3) - Ultra bucky/natasha T, 23k

Summary: What if Bucky never fell from the train? What if Steve wasn’t alone when he crashed the plane? What if the two of them really did stick together to the end of the line, even if that turned out to be the twenty-first century... and what would a certain red-headed spy make of Cap’s best friend?

How to (Try to) Lose a Guy in 10 Days (ao3) - rohruh steve/bucky E, 39k

Summary: “I like it,” Carol snaps her fingers and points in Bucky’s direction. “Let’s give it a deadline. How long do you think you’ll need to get someone to break up with you, Barnes? 10 days?”

This actually sounds kind of fun. It’s been a while since Bucky has felt this kind of excitement towards any of his work assignments.

“How to lose a guy in 10 days,” he says with a bit of wonder.

“How to lose a guy in 10 days,” Carol agrees, sharing a wicked smile with him.

“I won’t need all 10, though,” he tells her with certainty. “I’m sure I can scare him off way sooner than that.”

i can run but i can't hide from my family line (ao3) - archerskate clint/laura T, 4k

Summary: Everything in Kate's life had gone belly-up. Her home, her family, her life - gone. She expected to be spending Christmas alone in a hotel in New York, but Clint didn't let that happen. Kate asks Clint for a favor, and Clint obliges - even if he doesn't want to.

post-hawkeye kate confronting her mother about everything and clint and laura adopt kate

I Just Want You to Know Who I Am (ao3) - TooManyBattles (Skarabrae_stone) steve/bucky E, 19k

Summary: By the time Steve Rogers was selected for Project Rebirth, Erskine thought he had eliminated the side effect that turned Johann Schmidt into Red Skull. He was wrong. This story explores the question: What would change if the serum caused Steve to look like Red Skull?

Kate Bishop: Vampire Hunter (ao3) - mabbbbs kate/yelena M, 16k

Summary: Kate Bishop wants nothing more than to avenge her father’s untimely murder. The only way to do that? Well, become the world’s greatest vampire hunter, obviously. But what would happen if it turns out the potential love of your life may be one of your greatest sworn enemies?

Never Let You See (Baby, What You Mean To Me) (ao3) - Carsonian steve/tony M, 12k

Summary: Steve Rogers' life was the kind of romantic comedy that most people would find themselves cringing out of watching after the first twenty minutes.

(A.K.A. the summer camp fic where Steve is a pining mess, Tony is an unrepentant brat, and there's a game of prison break to be won.)

Nothing But You (ao3) - scottxlogan bucky/tony M, 18k

Summary: Bucky's best friend Steve is getting married to the girl of his dreams and Bucky is playing his part as best man for the pre-wedding festivities. As Bucky works towards putting together the events leading up to the big day, Steve makes a request from his best friend that brings Bucky's secret past back to haunt him. When Tony Stark rolls into town it opens the door to a yearning that Bucky promised himself he would never return to again. Faced with temptation in Tony's arrival, Bucky finds himself fighting his forbidden attraction to the one man that years earlier Bucky told himself that he could learn to live without.

omega instincts (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor sam/bucky, steve/tony T, 2k

Summary: Sam Wilson is having a normal day when there's frantic knocking at his front door. What he really doesn't expect to find is his neighbors little boy seeming scared and panicked. Sam's omega instincts kick in immediately.

So, we can be friends now, yes? (ao3) - catastrophe86 yelena/kate T, 16k

Summary: Set immediately following the events of s01e06: So this is Christmas?

Kate and Yelena meet up again after months of thinking about each other. Things don't go well, but it's clear there's something between them. Eventually they'll have to come to terms with their feelings.

Speak of the devil (and he shall appear) (ao3) - Anonymous bucky/brock/zemo E, 5k

Summary: “Rumlow was a better handler than you. He gave me what I needed.” It sounded pathetic in his own ears, much less Zemo’s. His growl was closer to that of a despondent puppy than a wolf. “Rumlow gave me what I wanted.”

Bucky has no problem using Rumlow's name to call out Zemo for how bad he is at handling him. Zemo decides to give him what, or who, he wants so badly.

Stained in Red (ao3) - TheeWill peter/wade M, 22k

Summary: Matt Murdock is used to working alone. He doesn't work well with others and others don't work well him. At least it used to be that way until two men dig into his life with quips and cheap food.

I guess this is the start of team red.

Tension (ao3) - Heavenly_hyacinth peter/wade M, 12k

Summary: Peter gets dumped by MJ due to his “second job” AKA being Spider-Man. Peter realizes he needs to step back from being the famous web slinger and focus on his personal life. In the meantime, he starts to hang out with his—sort of—friend, Wade Wilson/Deadpool. They both start to realize that there’s much more than their odd friendship and they could potentially be more.

Unknowing Witness (ao3) - airas_story tony/stephen G, 4k

Summary: The two men in front of him wanted to get married. They had somehow made this Wong's problem.

Wong was blaming the Ancient One for all of this.

We're All Made of Stars (ao3) - MoreThanAFeeling (Daretodream66) steve/bucky T, 21k

Summary: Bucky is studying a nebula that keeps doing something unusual and what he finds is his childhood hero, Steve Rogers. How does Bucky not fall in love with the big dork? Spoiler alert: he falls.

Would've, Could've, Should've (ao3) - Shelios28 steve/bucky M, 31k

Summary: Or, when the Winter Soldier takes an injured Captain America with him after the events at the Triskelion.

#themculibrary #marvel #mcu #masterlists #2023fics #2023fics masterlist

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georgesbestieboo · 3 years

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Confessions Pt 1.

Hello my loves! few things before we get started!

The pairing you will read here is an original character of mine with Bucky. She is the biological sister of our beloved Natasha Romanoff, was also put in the red room but later than Nat since she is a couple years younger. Also, the timeline is the comic timeline just to make it a bit more interesting, meaning, Natasha was born in 1928 and Calina, (My OC) was born in 1934 but since the Widows carry their age VERY well Nat will remain the age she appears in the movies and Calina will appear to be 26.

Summary- Bucky and Calina have reunited years after they were the red room lovers, can they become lovers once more or will fear get in the way?

Warnings- A bit about self doubt/disliking body, mentions of torture nothing explicit though, slight swearing, possible spelling and grammar errors (I did check but there are always those things that slip past you)

Calina was not one to party, she would rather spend her Friday nights curled up in her bay window, a fuzzy blanket draped across her lap, a good book clutched tightly in her hands and a warm cup of chamomile tea steaming on her night table. But no. Being an Avenger meant getting dragged to all the famed, insane, and overwhelming parties of Tony Stark and to be honest she hated them. The earsplitting music, the drunk, sweaty bodies pressed together, the...the people, it scared her shitless. Alas, here she was getting dragged to the mall with her best friend and sister Natasha Romanoff in search of a party dress.

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” The redhead promised, pouting her lip as she held open the department store door.

“I don’t know Nat…” Calina trailed off eyeing the endless racks of sparkly dresses that certainly were not her. “You know this isn’t, me” The assassin’s eyes just about bugged out her head as she pulled a dress with such a plunged neck seeming like it was barely attached. Natasha instantly swatted the thin material away, taking her hand as she led her towards the back.

“It used to be though,” She winked “Remember those days, Lina? Partying till dawn, drinking so much we’d see the stars, and-oh!” A short but joyous laugh escaped both lips as they thought about the nights they had spent after they had eventually both escaped the Red Room.

Calina’s laughter soon died out and her face became serious, “Yes, but, that was then. This, this is now”

“Oh don’t be such a sourpuss”

“I am not a sourpuss, ew you sound like Alexi”

Natasha shuddered.

***

“Absolutely not” Calina declared the second she slipped the dress over her body.

“Oh come on!” Nat sighed from the corner of the fitting room. They had been at this for almost 2 hours, every dress tried on ending up on the same, ever-growing pile of fabric on the floor. “This one looks good!”

Calina shook her head hearing none of it. “Nope, nope, nope. It’s too…” Her fingers slid across the scratch rime stones. “Glittery”

“Glitter is nice though!”

“And it’s so…” Her eyes trailed over her exposed figure in the mirror, her hands coming up to cover the neckline dip that reached her stomach. “Low”

“And that’s hot, so I don’t see the problem”

Turning to face her sister Calina crossed her arms, “Why can’t I just wear one of your dresses?” She whined “You have like, a million”

Natasha stood, scoffing. “One, you never wear a dress twice, and two, we need a dress that hugs your beautiful curves perfectly,” She pretended to make an hourglass outline of Calina’s body with her hands, the spy rolled her eyes. “I wanna make Barnes drool when he sees you”

Ah, the truth comes out.

“I knew that’s what you were trying to do!” Calina yelled, pumping her fist back. “I knew there was an ulterior motive!” The older woman smiled shyly,

“You got me, but hey! In my defense you and Barnes flirting with each other all the time and neither of you doing anything is annoying, I just wanna give you two a small push”

“We do not flirt all the time”

“Yeah, yeah you do”

“Молчи” Slipping out of the uncomfortable dress and breathing a sigh of relief she couldn’t help but groan, her eyes taking in all of the discarded clothes. “This isn’t going to work, Natalia, I look horrid in all of these” She squeezed her stomach as she stood before the mirror in her bra and underwear, her fingers pinching away at her skin, wishing it hugged her body tighter. Natasha’s heart clenched as she watched her sister doubt herself, something she had hated The Red Room for taking the idea of beauty from her mind. They had taught her that she would never be pretty, that she would never be enough, that she could never be loved. What hurt, even more, was knowing that her beloved sister still was haunted by those teachings. Those words constantly hiding in the shadows, waiting for a crack in her walls just to seep in and poison her mind. She slowly approached her sister, carefully pulling her hands away from her stomach and holding them tight.

“You are beautiful,” She whispered “Inside and out. Don’t let them control your head” Handing her the last dress they had left to try on she gave a small smile “Just try this last one on and if it doesn’t work, then I won’t make you go”

“Fine” Slowly taking the dress from her sister’s hands she began to step into it, the silky material sliding snuggly up her body as she wriggled her hands through the thin straps. She heard Natasha gasp but she couldn’t bring herself to look in the mirror.

“Look up младшая сестра, you look beautiful. This is the one”

“Are you sure?”

The woman chuckled, “Yes now hurry up and look”

So she did.

And my god did her heart flutter.

She actually looked pretty.

The dress was a deep sapphire blue, with cross material over her chest showing a bit of her stomach. The neckline dipped just enough to show the curve of her breasts but not too much as to make her uncomfortable. The dress was satin and tight, the shiny material clinging to each and every curve making her actually like her body for the time being. It stopped about mid-thigh a bit shorter than she preferred but everything else was perfect so she could let it slide for one night.

“I like it” Her eyes were bright with excitement, something her sister had not seen in her the other in a while. “I think James will like it too” She added sheepishly attempting to hide the heat that went to her cheeks.

“Ha! I knew it! You still like him!” Nat danced around the small dressing room triumphantly.

“Okay, okay, don’t make such a big deal about it” Calina huffed. “Of course I still like him” Her mind wandered to the first time she had met Bucky, long ago in the Red Room, the soldier teaching her many ways to kill. Romantic, I know. But it was more than that, at the time he was The Winter Soldier, yes but he had a soft spot for the ballerina. Disobeying his strict orders to sneak in and see her during the night, spending it under the moon talking about everything and anything, sharing light kisses. It didn’t last long though, soon the authorities found out, ripping her soldier from her grasp. As the years went on she never forgot about the handsome, yet the broken man she met once upon a time. They didn’t meet again until the day on the bridge where he attacked everyone but her to find out later that he had recognized her instantly giving Hydra a run for its money as he tried to get back to her.

Once they were reunited she knew she had her James back. While the road to trust and recovery was rough, she was by his side the entire time, holding his hand as they walked back from hell, getting through their ongoing trauma together. Calina’s feeling resurfaced, and the team knew his did too, but for two of the world, greatest trained assassins they were completely oblivious.

“No shit” Natasha smirked, pulling Calina from her thoughts. “Now, let’s go max Tony’s credit card with this dress and then get finish getting ready at the tower. Sound good?”

Finishing getting back into her street clothes that consisted of her over-sized jeans a sweatshirt of Bucky’s she had stolen months ago. Taking her sister’s outstretched hand a smile tugged at her lips. “Sounds good”

***

Bucky groaned as a knock echoed throughout this floor. Shuffling to open it he was met by Sam who had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “I know something you don’t” He sung, pushing past the super soldier and plopping himself down in his living room.

“I don’t remember inviting you in” Bucky deadpanned, holding his face in his hands.

“-I just ran into Nat and Calina downstairs”

“Cool do you want a metal?” “Will you let me finish?! Goddamn” Sam snapped “Anyways, they’re getting ready for the party tonight. Keyword their, more than one, meaning Calina is actually attending tonight”

Okay, that caught Buckys attention. “Lina’s coming? She never comes to the party’s?” He would know. Every time Tony threw a party, Bucky would always bring her up a plate of food, staying with her for dinner but eventually getting dragged back down to mingle by Steve even though he wanted nothing more than to stay with the girl.

“I know, crazy right? You should totally make your move tonight, man!” The Sergeant glared at Sam.

“Why would I do that?”

“You flirt with her all the time. You’re always touching her. You follow the woman around like a lost puppy-”

“Do not”

“-You guys have such strong chemistry anyone in the world could see it and-and! Not to mention, you guys dated before, right, in the Red Room?”

He grit his teeth at the mention of that cruel place, thinking back to the torture they had to endure. “I’m not sure if you could call it dating, we didn’t do dating in the Red Room.”

“But you loved her then?”

“Of course I did” He sighed, running a tired hand through his unruly hair. Calina Romanova was his light, his steady, constant shining star. The person he fought for, the reason he even lasted as long as he did, the reason he never gave up because after all the memory wiping sessions, her smile was always in the back of his mind.

While he had forgotten everything, even himself, he never forgot the time they spent together, hoping, praying, he could hear her laugh one more time. And after 36 years, he finally could.The weight of all he had done lessened as she ran to him just before Steve had reached his apartment, he remembered it like it was yesterday.

**Flashback**

She stood in his kitchen, the Widow suit he knew oh so well clinging to her skin as her fingers skimmed over his dusty table. “Hello James” She had whispered, her familiar accented voice standing up the hairs on his back. She stood to face him, her bright blue eyes boring into his as she smiled softly. “I’m not here to hurt you. You and I were...friends long ago I-I’m not sure if you remember me but-”

He couldn’t believe it

“Солнышко” The nickname he had not used in so long rolled off his tongue like he used it every day since they last parted. He couldn’t help but grin as the girl who danced around his dreams stood before him. Slowly, he approached her, his right arm reaching out to cup her face as if to check if she really was here and not just one of Hydra’s evil tricks. “Is it really you?” A tear slipped down her cheeks as a laugh bubbled throughout her chest. “You remember me” Bucky pulled her to his chest, the woman instantly responding by wrapping her arms around his torso tightly, afraid to ever let go. They held onto each other as if the world around them was crumbling down, after all these years they were finally able to hold one another again, tears stung in both of their eyes as they crushed each other into the embrace. “Of course I remember you, Calina” He murmured into her hair, breathing in the scent of Cherry Blossoms and crisp fall nights he had oh longed for. “I’ve missed you” He admitted.

“And I, you”

Then of course Steve Rogers had to burst in with the whole German Special Services on his ass, but ever since then, she hasn’t left his side. His soulmate was placed back into his life.

**Flashback ended**

“Yo, Buck, you still with me” The man shook his head, attempting to shake away the memory seeping to the front of his mind.

“Yeah, sorry”

“It’s good, but you really should talk to Cal, its getting annoying watching you two make goo-goo eyes at each other and not do anything about it. So either you say something or I will” He warned, waving a finger as he dramatically excited the floor. “Oh, and you might wanna start getting ready!” He called from outside the door. Bucky rolled him but made his way to the dark blue suit he had laid out days before.

“Here goes nothing”

~~Translations~~

Молчи- Shut up

младшая сестра- Younger sister

Солнышко- My sun

A/N Okay! I think that went well, let me know what you think and leave a heart if you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading, part two should be up soon but I’m on Vacation, although I will try my best to update quickly. feel free to leave recomondations! Lots of love and know I’m so proud of you!

~Celeste

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tortoisesshells · 3 years

Note

wait ok just saw your post about rewatching Downton so I'm sending two more mashup prompts lol. Sybil x Tom, mutual pining + arranged marriage (just to flip canon on its head). AND Thomas x happiness (could include whoever he ends up with in the movie, which I didn't watch), detective AU + noir AU. (noir was not one of the prompts but it should have been!)

It is a truth universally accepted that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife –

Miss Austen was right about a lot of things, but a still truer statement could have started Pride and Prejudice: a single man without a fortune was even more in need of a wife. That’s why he’s here in Newport, isn’t it? Tom Branson, second son of an impoverished, eccentric Anglo-Irish baronet (and a good Catholic mother, thank you very much) was perfectly happy with piecing together his living as a writer and reporter in Dublin, reporting on Lady Gregory and the theater and, when he was lucky, the Irish Republican Brotherhood – until a series of unfortunate events (his father’s passing, his irritatingly Anglo brother taking the title, and kicking the wrong political hornet’s nest several times (and whacking it with a stick to boot)) got him packed off to America with Grandmother Boyle to find a rich American heiress – or just stay out of Sir John Branson’s thinning hair.

He’s pretty determined to do neither, but the United States provides distractions in spades: on the one hand, it’s a land of social unrest and economic upheaval; on the other hand, there’s Sybil Crawley – third daughter of a shipping-turned-railroad family (presumably– her poor cousin, Matthew, helpfully remarks – they own what the Vanderbilts and the Wideners and the Garretts don’t) who’s got ideas of her own – and whose parents would probably account it a blessing if the only unconventional thing she does is either take a degree at a women’s college or run off and work at a settlement house.

As luck would have it, Grandmother Boyle and Sybil’s grandmother, Mrs. Levinson, get along like the proverbial house fire. As luck would further have it, so do he and Sybil, swapping pamphlets and confidences in the interminable afternoons, between outings to Bailey’s Beach, endless rounds of croquet and tennis, and marveling at the fine-hulled Herreschoff yachts bobbing off Station Number 6 of the New York Yacht Club. But Sybil doesn’t want marriage, not right away – she wants her education, she wants to be of use, she doesn’t just want to help pass her Papa’s money from one generation to the next –

Not that her parents listen. After knowing Sybil for only a month, Tom is surprised to be approached by her mother, who wants her settled and is willing to overlook Tom’s empty pockets and Catholicism for his good pedigree; when he puts the question to Sybil, she defers – until the Crawleys lose everything nearly overnight, in the scandal of the decade. The money’s gone. Of course, she must marry; and, unlike others, Tom never cared about the inheritance in the first place. But the hasty marriage sets Sybil’s teeth on edge, and neither of them ever felt so alone as they did leaving the church as man and wife. Can they move past a marriage that both hoped for, but neither wanted in this particular way?

[Thomas AU under the cut]

Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.

Corporal Thomas Barrow wakes up hungover in a handsome stranger’s bed on VE Day, + 1, and takes stock: his hand’s not getting any better, his hair’s not getting any less gray, and – given that he’s not truly interested in staying in the Army any longer than he has to, and given that he’s not too keen on going back up to Yorkshire to play footman to the irritatingly unsinkable Crawleys – he’s definitely in the market for a new life. Why not London? Sure, half of it’s a smoking ruin, and sure, a lot of people in London are like people everywhere else, but London’s going to have to rebuild somehow, and there’ll be money in that, maybe even a life, too, if he’s clever – and Thomas Barrow’s always been clever before he was anything else.

Eventually he gets mustered out. Eventually, he makes his way back to London, and finds a place to rest his head at night. It’s pretty easy to find a way around postwar rationing, when you’re used to finding a way to hide more than half your life; and pretty soon, Thomas feels almost comfortable with his black-market trade and his tidy little flat and the discrete pubs and clubs – it’s much more space, much more safety than he’s ever had before.

So he really should have seen it coming, when a metaphorical doodlebug lands smack in the middle of his new life: Dr. Sybil Branson, black-sheep daughter of his one-time employer, standing red-eyed and silent on the landing outside his little flat: Gwen Dawson, maid turned secretary, now Sybil & Tom’s partner & flatmate, has gone missing after receiving a troubling letter about her cousin, Ethel, who was supposed to have been killed during the Blitz. Sybil promises she’d never have troubled him with this, only – only it’s got something to do with the black market and war-time malfeasance, and she and Tom have gone as far as they can go under their own power. He was always the cleverest soul in Downton - she’ll pay him for his trouble, of course – can he help?

Well, why not? How different is tracking down a person from a sack of sugar?

Pretty goddamn different, that’s for sure. For one: it’s not the black market in goods but an entirely different kind of back alley dealings that Ethel, an unmarried secretary who’d been suspiciously sick before the fateful raid, was involved in. For two: she’d made a complaint of assault in 1940, but the records seem to have vanished. For three: Ethel’s friend and long-ago neighbor, the one-time Sergeant Charlie Metcalf, is only too happy to help – something Thomas doesn’t mind so much, as he’s a Leyendecker illustration come to life, not to mention the sharpest barman at his favorite pub, but he’s quickly beginning to feel like this is all more than he – or Sybil and Tom, or Gwen – ever bargained for. Can Thomas find Gwen? Who sent the letter in the first place? Was it Ethel’s work as a government secretary that put her in danger, or the as-yet unnamed man who assaulted her? When the dust of all this settles, will Charlie still look at Thomas like he’s something fine and wonderful?

#ask meme #polkaknox talks #fic #my fic #whaddya know it's newport AGAIN #god friend you are so right noir AU should have been on the list!

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chiseler · 3 years

Text

The Silva Screen

Howard Da Silva

Am I the only one who constantly gets character actors Howard Da Silva and Henry Silva confused?

Howard Da Silva was born in Cleveland in 1909 and was working as a steelworker when he decided to go to drama school. He first appeared on Broadway at age 20, and made a name for himself playing Jud in the original production of Oklahoma!.

Da Silva (born Silvablatt) was a burly, jowly man with a boxer’s face, thinning hair and an unmistakable voice, half-midwest, half Lower East Side. He made the move to Hollywood in the mid-thirties and, over the next decade and a half established himself as a familiar screen presence playing gruff but ultimately understanding characters. He was the tough but fatherly criminal mentor in They Drive By Night, and Nat, Ray Milland’s wise but increasingly frustrated bartender in The Lost Weekend. He played opposite Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake in The Blue Dahlia, Edward G. Robinson and John Garfield in The Sea Wolf, and portrayed Wilson in the 1949 adaptation of The Great Gatsby.

After actor and fink Robert Taylor, while testifying as a friendly witness before HUAC in 1947, described Da Silva as a troublemaker “who always has something to say at the wrong time,” Da Silva himself was called to testify about his supposed communist sympathies. When brought before the committee in 1951, Da Silva became the first of over three hundred writers, actors and directors to refuse to answer questions, citing the Fifth Amendment. He was promptly blacklisted and for much of the next decade vanished from movie and television screens, though he continued to work in theater.

When he reappeared in the early Sixties, older, balder, and jowlier, he found himself playing an array of historical figures from Ben Franklin to Franklin Roosevelt to Boss Tweed to, ironically, Nikita Kruschev in The Missiles of October and Louis B. Mayer in Mommy Dearest. He also appeared in the 1974 adaptation of The Great Gatsby, this time around playing Meyer Wolfsheim. He made his final screen appearance in 1984’s Garbo Talks, and died of cancer two years later.

Henry Silva

Henry Silva, meanwhile, was born in Brooklyn in 1928. Although often accused of being Puerto Rican, he insisted his mother was Spanish and his father Sicilian. His father walked out on the family when Henry was three months old, at which point he and his mother moved to Harlem.

Silva, who had decided early on to become an actor, dropped out of public school at age 13 and enrolled in acting classes, taking a dishwashing job in a local hotel restaurant to help support him and his mother. Fourteen years later, he’d finally worked his way up the ranks to become a waiter in that same hotel.

Then twenty-seven, Silva, having grown into a darkly handsome young man standing six-foot-two, decided to apply to the Actor’s Studio, and was accepted. He soon made his Broadway debut in in 1956 in A Hatful of Rain, with classmates Shelley Winters and Ben Gazzara. The play became such a hit it soon landed Silva in Hollywood, where he co-starred in the 1957 film adaptation.

His commanding stature and sharp, angular, swarthy good looks not only made Silva an easy choice for producers looking for a suave but sinister villain, they also allowed him to play everything from Mexicans to Russians to Italians to Middle Easterners to Asians to Native Americans with very little extra makeup. He was a chameleon without even trying.

In the Fifties and early Sixties he played a string of suave and sinister gangsters, killers and thieves on TV series like The Untouchables, Climax and The Outer Limits and in films ranging from Green Mansions to Ride a Crooked Trail. He became a regular Rat Pack satellite, appearing in Ocean’s 11, Sergeants 3, and making guest spots on The Joey Bishop Show, as well as playing one of the evil stepbrothers in Jerry Lewis’ Cinderfella. In what may have been his breakthrough role, he again co-starred with Sinatra in 1962’s The Manchurian Candidate as the double-crossing Korean guide who delivers Sinatra’s company into the hands of those dirty commies.

He earned his first starring role the next year as the titular Mob assassin Johnny Cool (co-starring fellow Rat Pack alumni Joey Bishop and Sammy Davis Jr.), after which he accepted an invitation from an Italian producer and moved his family to Rome. Over the next decade he would become a star throughout Europe, appearing in dozens of Spaghetti Westerns, occasionally even playing the hero.

He returned to the States in the mid-Seventies to once again co-star with Sinatra in 1977’s Contract on Cherry Street. Following that, he would spend much of the Eighties playing cartoon villains in comic strip movies (Buck Rogers, Dick Tracy) and and endless string of cheap jingoistic action films (Megaforce, Code of Silence), as well as a few sub-lowbrow comedies (Cannonball Run II, Lust in the Dust). He was admittedly spectacular in his brief turn as Brock, the would-be Great White hunter out to kill a monstrous alligator roaming the Chicago sewer system in Lewis Teague’s 1980 darkly comic monster movie Alligator.

After co-starring in Jim Jarmusch’s 1999 Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai and a quick cameo in the 2001 remake of Ocean’s 11, Silva retired from acting at age 73.

But back to where all this started—namely, am I the only one who gets Howard Da Silva and Henry Silva confused?

Yes, Howard Da Silva was some twenty years older than Henry Silva. And yes, Howard was born in Cleveland to Jewish parents while Henry was a Spanish-Italian kid from Brooklyn. And yes, Howard was a steel woorker while Henry washed dishes in a hotel restaurant. And yes, Henry was some four inches taller than Howard, and had thick black hair to boot. Yes, Henry tended to play suave and sinister villains while Howard tended to play gruff but lovable types. Yes, Henry played everything from Italians to Mexicans to Asians while Howard was as decidedly American as they come, and yes, Henry is still alive while Howard died in 1986. But if you’re going to say “Yes, you dunce, you’re the only one who gets them confused, because you’re stupid,” consider the following.

First, Henry Silva’s official biography is suspiciously inconsistent. Despite repeated claims about his heritage, a 1930 U.S. Census entry states that both of Silva’s parents were from Puerto Rico. But I guess being half Spanish and half Sicillian is much more Romantic than being just another Puerto Rican kid from Brooklyn. That same form also lists Henry’s given name as “Harry.” What’s more, after supposedly working at the same hotel for fourteen years, shouldn’t he have worked his way up to something more than waiter? You’d think he’d at least be night manager or something, right? And despite his claims he made his film debut only after the 1956 Broadway premiere of A Hatful of Rain, his first screen appearance was actually in 1952’s Viva Zapata!.

Now, given we can clearly not trust a thing Henry Silva says, or has ever said, about himself, ask yourself the following questions:

Is it mere coincidence that Howard Da Silva and Henry Silva, as prolific as both were, never appeared onscreen together? Their careers overlapped for some thirty years! What are the odds of that? I mean, Sinatra co-starred with Groucho Marx, for godsakes!

And is it sheer coincidence that Henry Silva’s film debut in Viva Zapata! occurred at the precise moment Howard Da Silva had been blacklisted? Think about it—Howard vanishes and Henry steps in. Hmm, right? Plenty of other blacklisted artists worked under the radar by using pseudonyms. Maybe Howard, given his troublemaking reputation, decided to take the idea of thumbing his nose at HUAC a few steps further. I mean, take a look at the two of them side by side. Give Howard some lifts, a little swarthy makeup and a black toupee and BOOM! He’s Henry Silva.

And what better way to throw off the scent than to play a completely opposite character type from the one you were known for? And how better to flip the bird, just for fun, than by playing a bunch of evil communists and revolutionaries?

After the blacklist ended, Howard was faced with a dilemma. He could work again, which was great, but what to do about Henry? Kill him off? Retire him? His career had just taken off and was going great guns in the early Sixties. Then it struck him—with Henry still around, he had two solid income streams flowing. Why give that up? Both Howard and his alter-ego Henry were character actors, after all, meaning they were rarely needed on set for more than a couple days on each picture. Easy as pie to do a Howard role one day, then a Henry role at the end of the week.

My god, it’s all so perfect! What an ingenious scheme! And what better way to throw everyone off the scent for good than to have Howard “die” in 1986? At that point, after all, Henry was awfully busy with those stupid action movies that paid so well, while Howard’s own jobs were becoming more sporadic and low-profile.

So there you have it, and remember you read it here first—Howard Da Silva and Henry Silva WERE THE SAME PERSON! I likely never would have figured it out for myself had Howard just put another minute’s worth of work into choosing a name for his alter ego back in 1952.

By Jim Knipfel

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sergeantbarnesimagines · 5 years

Text

By Any Other Name: Part One

Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader

Summary: [Y/n] Stark is an acclaimed journalist (and infamous anonymous hacker) who has dedicated her career to uprooting corruption. She has worked hard to separate herself from her brother’s reputation and his world. Now, however, she finds herself right back in the fray as Sergeant Barnes resurfaces. Bucky is drawn to [y/n], and she finds herself betraying not only her convictions, but her family as she joins him on his path to redemption.

Warnings: like one curse word

a/n: So excited to finally be posting this! I hope you all enjoy. It might help to watch the highway scene from Civil War because this is strictly based on that.

One year. That was all she wanted. One year without throwing herself into the fire.

After eight years of endless life threatening situations, [y/n] Stark had come to the conclusion that she had developed some bad habits. So, in an effort to survive until her twenty eighth birthday, she made three news years resolutions: no speeding, no boys, and no Avengers.

When the Prime Minister invited her to Bucharest, [y/n] was ecstatic. Her article detailing the corruption brought into the Romanian parliament by Rau Tradat had established her as an international journalist and saved the country from decades of HYDRA tyranny. For her efforts, [y/n] was to be recognized at the country’s capital and officially declared an Honorary Citizen of Romania. Not only was she finally separating herself from her brothers reputation, but also his world. At least, that was what she thought when she accepted the invitation.

Now, as she caught sight of a man with a metal arm sprinting past the vehicles traveling in the opposite direction, [y/n] realized there was no escape. She did a double take, not quite sure if she had seen correctly. However, as she turned back around, she saw the male version of Catwoman clinging to an SUV that had been hijacked by Steve McFucking Rogers, and she realized she had indeed seen correctly. A groan escaped her lips as she looked further down the underpass to see the Romanian police also in pursuit.

Don’t do it, [y/n]. Don’t give in. She grit her teeth, but the itch was there, and she was already turning her motorcycle around.

“Oh to hell with it! OSCAR tune into the local police scanner.”

“Mistress Stark, I feel obligated to remind you that I’ve been instructed not to aid in any events my calculations deem as life threatening-”

“Override previous instructions.” [y/n] commanded the AI before veering onto the shoulder of the highway. A cocktail of car horns, screeching tires, and sirens blare as she sped into oncoming traffic, guaranteeing a wonderful headache soon to follow.

The screen of her visor transitioned to infrared, singling out the three forms ahead on the other side of the underpass.

“Suspects heading east. We have lost visual, sending in ground troops.” OSCAR translated directly. “It would appear they are in pursuit of Sergeant James Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier, suspected for the terror attack on Vienna. Captain Steven Rogers, Samuel Wilson and an unknown assailant have interfered with an international manhunt. This is currently being considered an act of aggression and authorities have been instructed to take them into custody along with the suspect.”

“How typical,” [y/n] muttered. “Leave it to Steve to pick a battle he has no chance of winning.”

As she sped toward her friends, OSCAR worked to discern the Sergeant from Steve and the unknown aggressor. He singled out the farthest heat source and a gold line illuminated on her visor, highlighting the most efficient path to reach him. “Might I inquire what it is you plan to do once you’ve reached the target?” His incredulous voice pulled a dry laugh from [y/n].

“Subdue him of course.” “And with what training? You are not an officer of the law and you are certainly not an Avenger. Do you recall what happened during your last encounter with the Winter Soldier?”

[y/n]’s leg throbbed at the mere memory of the incident. It had been two years since she sustained her injury. Although Dr. Strange had done an excellent job removing the shrapnel from her knee and repairing the ligand, permanent damage had been done to the tissue, leaving her with an uneven gait. She shuddered, remembering how her palms burned as she attempted to drag herself out of the street, a trail of blood staining the asphalt in her wake.

“Charge the repulsor.” [y/n] ordered, shaking the memory, sparing a glance at the rod hooked to the side of the bike. A spark ignited at the hilt of the bar, and she smiled. There were perks to being a “cripple.” Tony had finally deemed her helpless enough to supply her with a means of self defense, building a repulsor into her cane.

A blaring horn brought her attention back to the road. She jerked the bike to the left, narrowly avoiding a semi. Suddenly, Barnes jumped the barrier and Steve followed. [y/n] swerved to avoid the barrels and then pulled up beside Rogers. His gaze flicked to her, startled by the sight of a new competitor. She grinned, offering a mock salute before speeding ahead of him.

Barnes was just ahead. When she was nearly ten feet behind him, another motorcycle came into view, and dread chilled her to the bone. Without warning, Barnes grabbed the handlebar and spun the bike around in mid air, throwing the rider off. He got on the bike and rode away, sending cars careening out of the way.

“Holy shit.”

[y/n] had never seen anything like that before. It should have been enough to convince her to give up the chase, but now her adrenaline was pumping and there was no stopping her. A warning appeared on her visor, alerting her that she was breaking the speed limit. She sped up.

Her hand dropped to grab her cane as she pulled up behind Barnes. The hilt buzzed with electricity, and [y/n] momentarily wondered if he would remember the last time she tazed him. Just as she pulled her arm back to swing, a shadow passed overhead.

The man in the catsuit leapt over [y/n], lunging for Barnes. The Sergeant caught him by the neck and flung him over his head. The assailant clawed at the arm holding him mid air, preventing Barnes from detaching himself. The action caused the bike to lean over, and Barnes barely managed to push himself up, his vibranium hand leaving a trail of sparks.

[y/n] had been able to assess that the masked man was not an ally of the Captains, and with his claws out, it became clear he had no intention of detaining the Sergeant. Panicked, she swung.

The electric pulse caused the man's muscles to contract, allowing Barnes to throw him away. He rode on, not turning back to notice [y/n].

Determined, [y/n] pushed her bike to the top setting, shooting ahead of Barnes.

She heard something click behind her and then a large blast shook the ground. When she was far enough ahead, she turned abruptly and skid to a halt. This caught Barnes off guard. Then, the cat man flew through the curtain of falling rubble and tackled Barnes off the bike, causing them both to roll across the asphalt. Steve dove through the collapsing bridge and shoved the assailant away.

“Hey, handsome.”

Bucky's head shot up only to be faced with the end of an electrical rod. The sparks that ignited mere inches from his face gave him a start, but reminded him of an incident two years ago. Sure enough, behind the cane was an all too familiar face. His eyes widened at her tousled hair and exhilarated grin.

[y/n] Stark was a rising star in the media, having been dubbed by TIME Magazine the most accomplished journalist of the 21st century. After breaking the story of the corruption within SHIELD, her career had taken off, and she was finally being recognized for her writing and humanitarian work. Any serious news report kept track of her work, praising her name with each new article released. Tabloids, however, seemed to only care for her last name and the reputation attached to it. She was an accomplished woman, but she was still a Stark. To Bucky, that made her the enemy.

It wasn’t until that moment did Bucky realize [y/n] was also the woman who had tazed him in DC. He analyzed the curve of her lips and the freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose. Up close he could see the little details TV stations deemed as imperfections. His eyes glanced at the cane in her hand and then to her leg, which seemed to drag behind her. The TV had covered that up too.

When her wild stare met his, her look softened. First he mistook it for pity, but then recognized the familiar reflection of guilt. What could she have to be guilty for?

Steve came to a halt beside Bucky, prepared to fight off another attacker, but he froze. “Stark?”

“Steve,” she nodded. Her grip on the cane didn’t waiver, and neither did her resolve.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Breaking all of my New Year's resolutions.”

Steve gave her a confused look, but a burst through the air caught everyone’s attention. War Machine leapt down from above, raising his hands at Bucky and Steve. “Stand down, now.”

His command was followed by teams of police vehicles enclosing the five of them. Yet, the whirling lights and sirens were just a haze as they all realized what had transpired.

“Congratulations Cap. You’re a criminal.”

Bucky spared one last look at the girl before him. The elegant and graceful journalist he had witnessed on the news was different from the wild and dangerous woman standing before him, and it piqued his interest.

He held her gaze as he put his hands behind his head. The guilt quickly turned to horror as she watched the police kick the back of his knees, forcing him into the ground. His wrist were bound by cuffs and his neck strangled by an electroshock collar.

In that brief moment, something passed between them. This wasn’t their first meeting and it wouldn’t be their last. Somehow they both knew their next encounter would be sooner rather than later.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfiction #the winter soldier #the winter soldier imagine #the winter soldier x reader #fic #james barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky imagines #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #marvel

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callmehopeless · 5 years

Text

Honeyed Eyes (Chapter 2)

CLYDE LOGAN x READER Other Chapters: I, AO3

Words: 2792

Plot: The newest attraction at the local circus is anything but an ordinary wolf. Clapped in chains and kept in a cage; he’s slowly given up all hope of rescue. But kindness can be found in unlikely places: and Clyde is slowly learning to trust that you might be the one to give him his freedom - and with it, his humanity.

A/N: I just love writing this fic so much! You asked for it, I have delivered! ALL HAIL BORKY BOY CLYDE!

Kofi | Masterpost| Ao3

Clyde Logan.

Your eyes scan the webpage, over and over: close to committing it to memory as you untangle every little piece of information. West Virginia State Police listed him as missing three months ago, in bold typeface as it stood out on their website. Missing from Boone County, it says.

And the picture. It’s like staring into the face of a familiar stranger - like recalling the visage of a dream. The man before you has thick, shaggy hair. An angular profile, yet a muscular build. Plush lips peel back into a nervous smile, brown t-shirt clinging to the muscles on his pectorals as he leans back against the exterior of a concrete building, beer in hand. And sported on his other...a prosthetic. His left arm.

The same arm that your wolf has missing.

You don’t need to do a double take: and a little part of you wishes you did. Part of you had hoped that you’d scan the endless pages on the State Police website and find nothing - find no trace of any man who even remotely sparked familiarity in you. Had hoped that this was all some sort of fever dream.

But it’s him.

He’s so much more handsome than you ever could have dreamed up: listed as 6ft 3. An ex-Veteran. He owns a bar; he was last seen somewhere nearby it. Contact information on reporting him lists a few local sergeants, and for the briefest moment, you actually consider calling them.

And saying...what, exactly?

No - no. That’s not happening. Not until he’s halfway human again.

But then, in small text at the bottom of the page, a contact is listed: Jimmy Logan. Clyde Logan’s brother, offering a small reward for information on his whereabouts. A local area code - looks like a landline. No mobile?

Nervously, you thumb at your mobile phone: punching in the number as your hands shake. What the hell are you going to say? Are there words for this? Does Jimmy...know?

The line rings...and rings...and rings. Finally, it offers a beep: prompting you to leave a message.

You clear your throat.

“Hi...Hi, um. I’m calling because...I saw you were asking for information regarding...Clyde? Is that it? Anyway, I don’t know how much I should say over the phone, but please - give me a call if you can.” You slowly recited your name and the return number: voice wavering. “Please just...call me back as soon as you can.”

It’s a stuttery mess of a phone message: darting about the point, not concise at all. Even as you hang up; anxiety sticks in your throat like a ball, stopping you from swallowing down.

With shaky hands you jot down everything you can on a crummy notepad, printing off the webpage and stuffing it into a threadbare backpack. You gather a few basic tools, some light snacks, zipping it up carefully. Palming your car keys, you check your hair and sling everything over your shoulder.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Clyde feels his heart leaping in his chest.

He’s been pacing for the better part of the day - back and forth, back and forth. The little straw cage isn’t big enough for him to let out any of this nervous energy, singing in his paws and building in his muscle. He wants to run more than almost anything: wants to feel the grass under his paws, feel the sweet relief of the breeze against his metal-clasped legs.

More than almost anything.

He puffs a whine; metal chain clinking as he does another lap. Every now and again, he’ll bring his nose up to the bar you’d leaned against last night: nervously huffing at it and letting it fill him. Every time he drags it in, he feels his whole body tingle: electricity in his bones, dragging him downward. Shifting is still a long way off, but Clyde has to wonder.

Has to wonder if there’s something about you.

He doesn’t pretend to know much about his condition - he knows shifting back and forth is easier when he’s calm, though. Tranquility breeds control: when Clyde feels a soft breeze, a gentle summer night, he feels the gentle shiver in his blood. For months now, that feeling has totally escaped him. He’s spent days and days trying, pleading for a shift to come. Nothing.

But thinking of you, smelling you...yes. It drags him closer to it, lets him feel his humanity in his blood. It has his body responding, internal clockwork moving in all the right ways. God, your scent, your visage: he can’t deny that even though he might be trapped in the body of a wolf, his wants are...

For goodness sakes, Clyde. Not now. That ain’t any way to feel calm, now is it?

“Clyde?”

He bolts around, golden eyes seeking out your voice in the evening light. Every part of his body ignites into sudden joy: and when he sees you, standing by the front of his cage, Clyde lets out a soft little bark of pleasure.

You’re...God. So beautiful. Has he ever seen someone more beautiful? Tank top and skirt, hair pulled back. Smelling of everything Clyde loves: of spring flowers, swirling perfumes. It makes his whole body ache as your eyes light up: throwing your backpack down onto the ground and reaching a hand through the bar.

Clyde practically sprints to your side, leaning in to your pulse and huffing, taking you in. Your hands are so soft as they appraise the underside of his chin; brushing the soft fur of his chest in greeting with a toothy smile.

“Hi Clyde. Did you miss me?”

Clyde whimpers.

More than anythin’ else.

You bend down to unzip your backpack, pulling out a sheet of paper and unfolding it carefully. Flattening it, you push the paper up to the bars and hold it there, pointing at a little black-and-white picture in the center.

Clyde’s heart almost stops.

“Is this you?”

He touches his nose to the paper, letting it crinkle by his muzzle as he stares it down. He remembers that day well - it’d been boiling hot, and Clyde had been standing on the porch of Jimmy’s little suburban home. Sipping a beer as a light breeze ruffled his hair: laughing at some dumb joke his brother had taken to telling.

If he were able to cry, he thinks he would. Grieve for an easier time: when it all made sense.

Clyde lets his eyes softly shut, dipping his head down, then back up. Clyde Logan, missing from Boone County. Even though Jimmy had known it’d be moot, he’d still put out the call. Hoping someone, anyone, might find his little brother.

You hush him with tender hands, folding the piece of paper into your skirt pocket. Bending down, you grab the strap of your backpack and hoist it onto your shoulder. Purposefully, you march around to the other side of the truck, and Clyde, against his better judgement, howls. Panic beats in his chest - where are you? Where the hell did you go? Please, please don’t leave him here.

Some sort of noise on the door side of the truck; he smells your presence through the metal and moves to run to the source of your scent. Chain jingles as he hobbles - then he yelps as it pulls taut. He kicks at his back leg, giving a whimper as he struggles against it, feeling the metal rub into the scabs on his ankle.

Something clunks: rattling metal. One thump, two thumps: then the door swings open.

Oh my god. You’re...He’s...

There’s nothing standing between you but straw: nothing at all. If this stupid goddamn chain wasn’t on, Clyde could literally hold you in his paws: and the thought of it has his whole body wracked with nerves as you swing around a monkey wrench victoriously. You busted the lock by just...hitting it really goddamn hard? Holy shit. Clyde can hardly feel his paws. You’re magnificent.

You let your backpack down, throwing the monkey wrench on top as you rush to Clyde: bending down on your knees and just...reaching out. Reaching to hold him, to bury your face in his scruff and hold him close as ever.

Clyde’s whole body ripples with pleasure as your warmth eclipses him, your scent on his thick dark fur from every angle, all over him. He dwarfs you easily, even just standing on his three legs. But your whole being is directed entirely on him, on holding his scruff and nuzzling him and god oh god oh god this is too much, this is too much after too long and he’s desperate for this and more, so much more-

He sobs wordlessly as he pushes his nose into the crook of your neck, licking at your chin, your face, anywhere. Straw moves as he lays down on the floor, kicking out his legs so that his massive form is as close to you as possible.

You taste like absolute heaven. He licks against your skin and his eyes are practically rolling back in ecstasy from every sensation: your scent, your skin, your touch.

Your hands reach down to the metal chains at his paws: following them to the huge bolt in the wall. No, there’s no way you’re getting that out with a monkey wrench. Clyde’s thought about it over and over - you’d need a hacksaw and a lot of muscle.

But even if he won’t be free today: he’ll take this. God, this is...this is incredible. Your touch just sends his heart ablaze, lighting him up: he feels so close to human for the first time in a long time.

His ears swivel as your phone vibrates, flicking your cheek with the soft fur from the shell as you push it to your ear.

“Hello?”

A voice crackles to life at the end of the phone, and Clyde immediately jolts back.

“Hi ma’am, I got a phone call from this number. Left on my machine. You sayin’ you’ve got information about my brother, Clyde?”

Oh my lord. He’d recognise that voice anywhere: Jimmy’s twang coming out even over the crackling of the phone. Clyde’s legs are shaking as he puffs a breath, pressing his ear closer to your phone.

So close. So close to safety now. Hope flits in his chest like butterflies in his ribs and he tries to quash it, tries to stay grounded and realistic but god, he could just cry.

“Yes” you breathe, your eyes darting to Clyde’s “I’m...I’m not sure how to explain to you this, Jimmy. There are so many things I...And I might be going crazy but-”

“-You’re not goin’ crazy. You’re not. I can tell in your voice you ain’t crazy - so I’ve gotta ask you, ma’am, whether Clyde’s...walkin’ about on both legs. You understandin’?”

Clyde puffs air in his cheeks, letting out a little whimper that crackles through the phone speaker. His ears swivel hopefully, body tense as he shifts his weight on his front leg.

“...Clyde?”

Clyde looks to you for permission - you smile softly, giving an encouraging nod as he repeats the action.

“He’s here. I’m...I’m here with him.”

“Oh Lord. Bless you, sweetheart. Where are y’all at? I’m gonna hop in the truck and get on the highway to you right now. Are y’all safe?”

You lick your lips, looking around at the confines of Clyde’s cage. The red peeling paint on the ceiling has haunted Clyde for so long now, but for the first time - he almost feels it falling away.

You whittle off the address, grinning at Clyde as you softly stroke the hair on his ears.

“You’ll need to bring some sort of tools to cut through iron. Anything, whatever you’ve got.”

Jimmy goes quiet for a second.

“I swear, I’m goin’ to kill those bastards-”

Clyde growls in agreement. Yes. He’ll enjoy watching that.

You hash out more details - how will you transport Clyde back to his trailer? You’ll need to bring him in your car - Jimmy’s truck doesn’t have enough room in the back. Clyde is trying to pretend that doesn’t send his heart skipping: the idea of you in his trailer is entirely too tempting.

Jimmy declares he’ll be there in thirty minutes: you should both hang tight while he gets there. Try not to attract too much attention, don’t call the police.

When you put the phone down; Clyde can’t help himself. His long pink tongue darts out to lick at your face, lick at your throat: drag your scent into his lungs and let it carry him. The way he’s marking you with his scent, his saliva: it’s tempting a heat in his blood. He knows what it’ll do to him. He already feels it in his veins - he’s been stuck in this form for too long without company, and your skin is begging him.

God, when he shifts back - if he shifts back - he’s going to be paying for this. His hormones are going to go off the damn wall.

“Okay buddy” you laugh, shuffling up to lean your head against his stomach. He takes this as an invitation; throwing a glance over his shoulder and curling up around you, shielding you from view. If anyone looks in at a passing glance: they’ll just see a chained up wolf curled up, facing the wall. Not like anybody passes by anyway: not unless he needs feeding or humiliating some more.

You hum softly as Clyde places a paw on your leg: gazing at you in wonder. In another life, another time: you might’ve met Clyde over a drink. Perhaps this is a blessing, though - how the heck would he ever have built the confidence to strike up conversation with someone so beautiful? He’s a coward, tried and true.

Clyde lets his body relax, heart still thrashing as he swallows deeply. Your presence curled up on him has all sorts of thoughts reeling through his mind: but there’s something better. Electricity, running through his pulse. His tail twitches - little shocks in his skull. Oh god, he’s close. It’s rolling through him, tempting at him. He tries to follow it, willing it harder than anything: please, let this be it. Let me shift here, now. Let Jimmy show up to his brother - the brother he knows better than anythin’.

And someone out there starts to hear.

Clyde’s paws start to throb for the first time in months: the paw draped over your form suddenly gains a splitting pain in his bones. It radiates up into his skull, pulsing in his muscles as he gives a muffled groan. It shocks him immediately - how human it sounds in his throat; the low baritone that leaves his lips is so Clyde that it makes his heart ache with self-pity.

“Oh” you gasp “Clyde, your...your eyes.”

Yes! Oh yes! He’s...He can feel it! It’s unholy painful as his paws dig into the straw of the floor, claws stretching as joints pop from their sockets. Nausea hits him, hard and fast as his teeth sink back into his jaw: almost blinding in its complete agony as he thrashes on the straw.

“...p...le...e...aAa-”

It hacks from his throat: so close to the words on his tongue as he cries out. Please, please...

“P-l...ease!”

His skin shivers as something pulls taut; Clyde reaches out, bringing the feeling into him, letting those shudders wrack him as he huffs in your scent-

And it snaps back.

No. No! This isn’t-

Fangs jut back out from his gums as his hands recede; pleas turning to growls and whines as his bones click back into place. He cries out in despair as the shivers make him sway, trembling on the spot in pain and frustration.

Clyde feels despair wracking his bones as he cries: your hands on his scruff as you nuzzle into his neck reassuringly. He forgot, in that stretching moment of pain, that you’re here: present. Waiting for him when his golden eyes open.

“Oh, Clyde. I’m so, so sorry. That looked...Oh God. Don’t worry, we’re...it’s not long now.”

Clyde doesn’t know what to say. And even if he did - what would it do? He can’t...It won’t...

But you’re right. As you nuzzle him, nuzzle him like a mate might - oh god. No, Clyde, don’t think about that. Don’t be torturing yourself that way. But, as you hold him: Clyde looks up at the pink of the sky, peaking out from the slightly open door.

Jimmy’s coming. You’re here. He’s gotten closer to shifting back than he has in so, so long.

He huffs a breath, leaning into your touch.

Hope flits in his belly.

Please.

Let me know what you think!

#fanfiction #clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #adam driver #werewolf!clyde #logan lucky

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aintinacage · 2 months

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sergeant handsome - part 2

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nadiarexler · 5 years

Text

NOIRELLA: The Case of the Glass Slipper

Part: 1: 4

Word Count: 1947

Themes: Fairytale Retelling, Romance, Mystery, Crime, 1940′s, Cinderella AU

NARRATOR: Rags to riches, told by folklore. The story you know will be no more. They told you of mistreatment, endless chores, unsavory stepfamily and all. So, we'll skip to the part where they're all at the Ball.

"Hey boss, you having a good time?" Donnie shouted over the live bands' music.

I shook my head, staring right at him as he said it to someone else's face. It was a masquerade party, all the guests wearing colorful Venetian masks made it hard to distinguish who was who in the dim lighting. Still, I'd told him at least a dozen times that I'd be in a green mask. The man he spoke to wore one in Gold.

"I'm over here you fat-head," I lifted my mask showing my face.

He marched over to me happily, "Hey boss, you having a-"

"No, Donnie, and neither should you, you're supposed to be watching the door."

"Yeah boss I was, but I had to hit the john, then figured I might as well grab some punch and a snack before I go."

"I hate to bust your chops buddy but we're here to do a job, not to enjoy the soiree."

"What job? I'll tell ya, anyone who tries to break into a Reyes party would be clinically insane. We might as well enjoy it while we're here. I doubt we'll be invited again!"

I gave him a glare, to show him I wasn't joking around. Which made him freeze up like a scared goat before turning to head back to the door.

"He's right you know," I heard a voice near my ear, "My father is just paranoid. You should enjoy yourself, besides, your looming presence is making my guests uncomfortable." He said to me while smiling at giggling girls eyeing him.

Casper Reyes, the guest of honor at this party. All of high society, came out in their best to celebrate his 21st birthday. The Reyes family were royalty around these parts. On top of being rich, Casper was the tall, dark and handsome type. Everyone had their daughters dolled up, hoping they'd catch his eye and become in-laws of the family in the near future.

His father invited me and a few of my boys to run a security -as if we had nothing better to do. As I said, the Reyes family were like royalty and Elil Reyes was the king. What he says goes and the police force was no exception- especially since Sergeant Duke was his childhood friend.

"Good, maybe it'll keep them in line," I told him, scanning the room.

"This is a party, not a sting detective, try to blend in. A highly decorated officer like you could catch a criminal in your sleep." He patted my shoulder before sliding his red and gold mask back over his eyes and going to greet more guests.

The compliment cut me like a double-edged knife. I had a career to be proud of, the youngest person on the force to make detective, then captain. I connected clues like puzzle pieces, and I didn't need all of them to see the full picture. Never had a perp I couldn't catch, nor one I couldn't get to confess. That was my legacy - until a year ago when the jewel thief showed up.

A thief in the night, bold enough to climb over gates, into mansions, and take thousands of dollars’ worth of jewels with them. Smart enough to take one valuable piece at a time instead of everything. Whoever this guy was, he was no robin hood. It seemed no one was benefiting from it, the jewels didn't show up in pawnshops, or on the street and the poor kept on getting poorer. There wasn't a single trace of the thief or the jewels left behind.

We didn't have a time frame of when the robberies started. It wasn't until some rich, old, broad discovered that she was missing a necklace that anyone knew there was a problem. A dozen people came out of the woodwork after it hit the papers, saying they were missing this or that.

They hadn't realized there was a stranger in their homes. They hadn't even realized when their prized possessions were taken. Yet, they expected me to solve the case at the drop of a hat.

I looked around at all of them, dancing, laughing, dripping in jewels. Silently judging each other over meaningless things, while my career was slowly going down the drain. My necktie suddenly felt tight, I needed some fresh air or maybe some smoke in my lungs. I thought I'd relieve Donnie of his door duties, after all, let him enjoy the party instead.

I narrowly made to the doorway when I saw a bundle of blue fabric rush passed it. I jogged over, looking down the hall in the direction it went. A Blonde dame in a blue dress was running as fast as she could in her high heeled shoes.

"Hey," I called after her, "Hey!" She kept running.

My natural curiosity kicked into gear. I began to follow her, trying to keep up with the twists and turns but, eventually, I lost her. I searched room after room until I spotted her in the garden, sitting on the ground by a fountain.

"You're gonna ruin your dress, sitting like that."

She turned to me; a white mask covered her face but her tropical sea-blue eyes were unmissable. Tears dropped out of them, making the whites turn red.

"Hey now, what's a beautiful girl like you have to cry about?"

I reached out to her, offering my hand.

"What's it to you," she sniffled, letting me assist her.

"Wondering if I could help, that's all."

"Can you bring someone back from the dead?" she scoffed.

"Sugar, I can't even keep a goldfish alive."

She tried not to, but she smiled brightly. Though I could see another tear rolling down her face as she did. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful smile, pearly whites that weren't too big or too small for her mouth, plush pink lips that surrounded them and one adorable dimple on her left cheek. Mortality must be offensive to whoever is lucky enough to be in her life. I was sure the ghost of whoever she was trying to bring back was lurking somewhere nearby, kicking himself for making her cry and being powerless to stop it. Hell, if I were him, I'd let Dr. Frankenstein himself reanimate my corpse just to be with her.

"That's a bad joke, mister, something my, my-" her smile faded, and tears filled up between her eyelids again.

"Hey, hey doll, it's alright. People die, it's a natural part of life. I'm sure whoever is looking down you right now wouldn't want you to be sad."

"I know, I'm not a fool I just... I'm not usually like this- I'm the strong one, you know."

"We can't be strong forever, we're only human after all." She nodded, agreeing with me but didn't say another word.

"So, who was it, that you lost?"

"My father... he was my best friend."

"That's a tough one, I lost my old man too, right after I turned 12."

"Really?" her eyes widened, "What did you do? How'd you move on I mean."

"The only thing I could do, keep living. Even when it was hard and bleak I just kept on going."

She nodded again, sniffling away the last of her tears. It was quiet for a while, so quiet that the music from inside the Reyes estate was clearly audible. It gave me an Idea; I outstretched my hand to her once more.

"Darling, would you like to dance?"

"Who do you think you are, some kind of prince?" She cackled.

"As a matter of fact, I am."

She exhaled with contempt, a matching look in her eyes. "It's time for me to take a powder, your highness." She bowed facetiously then began to walk around me, leaving the garden.

"One dance," I called to her, "then you'll never have to talk to me again." She stopped in her tracks. "It'd be a shame for that pretty dress to go to waste. I doubt you came here just to cry in it."

She stood with her back to me for a moment before turning around, "One dance... and no funny business, I mean it."

We kept quiet as we swayed back and forth, trying to keep to the rhythm of the faint music. I could feel her muscles relax in my arms and her head rest on my shoulder. If I had to guess, I would say the last person she had ever danced with was her father. I was comforted by the fact that I could soothe her for this moment. It's been some time since I felt this feeling.

It was part of the reason I had gotten into law enforcement. Solving cases, giving people back their piece of mind. I lost myself somewhere along the way, caring more about my conviction rate than that one simple feeling. But the more this small dame with the tough exterior, melted into me, undoubtedly thinking of her dead father, the more it came back.

I smiled to myself before taking her hand and twirling her around making the skirt of her long dress swirl around her. I ended the spin with a dip. Her eyes went round -surprise on her face and a small smirk on her lips.

"Maybe you are a prince after all."

I chuckled and pulled her back up, looking directly into her sparkling eyes.

"What's your n-"

I was cut off by the sound of a long car horn, coming from somewhere within the gates. I was going to ask again when I saw her squeeze her eyes shut in despair.

"That's my ride." She announced, smiling at me a second more before the horn sounded again, making her lift her dress to run off.

"Wait but what's your-"

"Goodnight your highness!" she continued to run.

"Oh what the hell," I said aloud, giving myself permission to go after her.

I followed her to the front door hoping that she'd stop, turn around and at least tell me her name before leaving. Donnie hopped up after seeing me frantically burst through the doors. He was calling my name, but I paid no attention. The back of her dress dragged on the ground as she went down the stairs.

I watched her run towards the red convertible roadster parked at the bottom, a girl with orangey-red hair at the wheel. She hopped in and the car began to pull off. I waited for her to look back, going down the stairs slowly. Finally, I saw her blonde mane billow in the wind as she turned her head.

I smiled to myself, looking down to hide it, feeling a light hit my eyes as I did. I looked for the glimmer again, finding the culprit. There, on the 12th step, was a crystal high heeled shoe. I picked it up, looking in the distance towards the direction of the red roadster.

"Bill! Bill!" Donnie shook my shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah Donnie, everything's alright."

"Thank god, you scared me half to death. Who was the good-looking dame? Is that... a shoe?"

"It's a shoe indeed Don," I sighed, “maybe the most important one I'll ever have."

Narrator: And so, that orange-haired girl drove off into the night. Leaving Detective Bill knowing he would have a sleepless night. He stood on the steps holding the tiny crystal shoe, wondering who was that girl with eyes so blue.

#shortfiction #short series #short story #fiction #cinderella #folklore #fairy tale au #modern fairytale #mystery #crime #miniseries #writing #writers community #creative writing #fiction writing #new writeblr #writeblr #fanfic

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thestuckylibrary · 6 years

Note

Do you have any Touch-Starved!Steve recs? Most of the Touch-Starved fics feature Touch-Starved!Bucky.

we do!

Werewolf? There wolf by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) (oneshot |9,695 | G)

After the car accident that cost him his arm and the endless rehabilitation that got him his shiny metal Stark Industries replacement, Bucky's happy for a break from people. The house in the forest is peaceful, town's a fair distance away, and he's got no neighbours...except maybe a blue-eyed wolf and possibly a naked guy named Steve.

(PS: Steve is the wolf.)

Don't Leave Me Alone In This Cold World by mischiefmanaged95 (complete |8,692 | E)

All he could see was those bright blue eyes, now closed forever, his soft skin, gone, blond hair covered in dirt, his body sinking lower and lower into the ground as he was returned to the Earth, just as he was given. All he could see was the coffin, the funeral, what would’ve happened if he’d lost Steve. The speeches and condolences, the broadcasting of it all and while the world mourned, Bucky would be sinking, sinking into the black pit, where he deserved to be, for losing Steve. For losing his heart.

“Sergeant Barnes, did you hear what I said?”

Bucky looked at her and only then did he realise that he was crying. Mutely, he shook his head, his hands were trembling and there was this mix of rage and utter sadness welling up in his heart, like the light he’d gained, the love and forgiveness, the good he’d been doing was suddenly worthless, because he had almost lost Steve. The one thing that made him good.

Tentacle Things I Like About You! by LadyAngelique, Mystrana (complete |16,973 | E)

Living in the future hasn’t been easy for Steve Rogers, but at least he doesn’t have to worry about standing out because of his creature mark -- a lot more people have them these days. His past of being bullied for his lion mark is just that -- the past, though the memories of being beaten up still color his reaction to people trying to touch him in the present.

Steve joins the Avengers, a group of people who use their creature marks for good. And when he gets a chance to meet Bucky, a handsome agent with a tentacle mark who seems to like Steve?

Well, Steve might finally be open to letting someone touch him again.

#thestuckylibrary asks #trope:touchstarved #mod julia #orchidsrule

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sebuckyverse · 6 years

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untitled | one [bucky x reader]

Summary: Bucky Barnes has been woken from cryo sleep and Y/N is assigned to help him readjust to the world. [miniseries] Warnings: swearing; BLACK PANTER SPOILERS!!!!!! Word count: 802 A/N: Here it is! My first writing in what.. a YEAR? Hope it doesn’t suck. I'm starting my tag list over from scratch, so if you want to be tagged in future writings, let me know! ALSO, LEAVE FEEDBACK. And this is currently untitled, so if you have any ideas what I should name this, let me know! x

m a s t e r l i s t

The fluorescent lamp flickered as it was switched on with a soft ‘click’. The week couldn’t have been longer. You were more than ready to sleep in tomorrow and enjoy your day off. Dragging your feet to your locker, the only thing still keeping you awake was the longing thought of your soft, plush bed back at your apartment, just waiting to embrace you. You let out a delicious yawn as you removed your name tag and snapped the magnet on the lavender colored door of your locker.

‘‘Tough day?’‘

Your breath hitched as you gasped and quickly whipped around, only to see Shuri standing in the far corner of the room, a lazy smirk featured on her face as she tapped on the tabled perched on her arm. She looked to be paying no attention to you, almost as if she hadn’t even noticed you. But you knew her better than that. Ever since you two became friends and Shuri picked up on how easily scared you were, she wasted no oppurtunity to scare the soul out of you.

‘‘Jesus fuck.’‘ You coughed out, placing a hand over your speeding heart. ‘‘You have got to stop doing that.’’

‘‘Maybe some day, when it gets old. Right now it’s fun, your reactions are priceless.’‘ She replied, taking a few steps forward, her joyful eyes now locked with yours.

'’I need a raise..’‘ You mumbled and ran a hand through your hair.

‘‘What was that?’‘ She asked.

‘’I said what do you want?’‘ You replied.

Shuri smirked and handed you the tablet she was formerly so interested in. ‘’I need a favour.’’

You looked down at the tablet now in your hands and saw a picture of a man. A man you recognized. His face was clean and not bloody like you remembered, eyes closed like he was sleeping, chocolate hair framing his handsome features and not an inch longer than on the day you saw him. The first and only time you ever saw him.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun had risen only a few hours ago, shining brightly above the endless lushy forest of Wakanda. You felt relaxed yet excited as you walked through the long, creamy halls of the Wakanda Science Facility. You worked at the rehabilitation wing of the facility; your job consisted of helping children of all ages get back on their feet after an accident or simply because they never properly learned how to walk or move. It was a tiring, yet an incredibly humbling job. Every day you were reminded of how lucky you were to have all of your limbs or be able to walk without needing help.

You were half way down to the rehabilitation wing when you hear noises coming from your left. You slowed down your pace and tried to focus on the noises, wondering what was going on. Another long corridor extended to your left and you carefully made your way towards it. You had never been to that side of the building before, you had no reason to. You edged closer to the door the noises seemed to be coming from, becoming more alert by the second as soon as you saw the trail of blood dissapearing under the door. You steadied your breathing as you slowly creeped open one of the double doors and peeked inside.

As soon as you opened the door, everything grew two times louder. People were running around, their white robes flying behind them like a cape. In the middle of the room, surrounded by more doctors and staff, you saw three men and a young girl. You recognized the girl as Shuri, The Princess of Wakanda and one of the men as The King himself, T’Challa. The other two guys didn’t ring any bells, but you couldn’t get a good look to say for sure. One had short blond hair, the other longer, darker hair. They looked to be contrasting one another, like ying-yang. Both of them were bloody and beaten, like they had just returned from war. Nobody had noticed your presence, too busy with the pair in the middle, one holding up the other. Nobody, except the dark haired man, whose eyes were now locked on yours, his eyes pleading yet intense. You could see the pain in his eyes, could feel his agony, could sense his dilemma - let go or keep fighting.

‘‘Y/N! Get out!’‘ Shuri ran towards you, having noticed the man staring at you, and slammed the door in your face.

The photo must’ve been taken on the same day. Your stomach turned and you had a feeling you wouldn’t be sleeping in tomorrow, like you had hoped. ‘’Isn’t this... This is the guy I saw. Right?’’

‘‘Sergeant Barnes, yes.’‘ Shuri answered. ‘‘He’s been woken up.’‘

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #marvel imagine #winter soldier #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #wakanda #sebuckyverse #black panther spoiler

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potentiala · 6 years

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Don’t Let Go (Of Me)

@shidgevalentinesexchange for @adeerli !

Nice to meet you! This was really challenging for me to write, but I hope you enjoy all the work I’ve put into this and help spread some of that quality Shidge all around.

As you might be able to tell, this fic was heavily inspired by James Arthur’s song ‘Say You Won’t Let Go’

I will also cross-post this on my AO3, so make sure to check it out over there! <3

“I met you in the dark, you lit me up”

They met on orientation day.

Not her orientation day, mind you, but her brother’s. And freshly graduated Garrison Officer Takashi Shirogane couldn’t help but notice them.

He introduced himself to Matt first.

Immediately taking a liking to the bright young man with the mischievous eyes. He answered his questions and helped quell some of his parents’ worries.

Then he saw her.

“You made me feel as though I was enough”

A quiet, small little thing with long hair and a brand-new dress. Looking half in envy and half in worry at the state-of-the-art facilities all around them. Then she caught his eyes looking her way.

Her’s were gold.

Bright and burning and not unlike a punch to the gut. Somehow, Shiro managed to send a smile her way before he was whisked away by their father, a Commander Shiro had nothing but respect for.

But the look of her and those intense eyes never left him.

===

He was here.

Of course Katie knew him, Matt never shut up about him in his letters. The Garrison golden boy that everyone seemed half in love with, Takashi Shirogane. And Katie definitely couldn’t understand the allure. Absolutely. No way. Not at all. Pffft!

That’s ridiculous!

“We danced the night away…”

Who was she kidding? Katie has faced a lot of problems in her 14 years of life, but this was, by far, the worst one. Katherine Annalise Holt had a crush.

And she had it bad.

“We drank too much.”

So bad that the young girl couldn’t help but wring the hem of her dress in her hands. The Holt family had traveled back to the Garrison after an entire year to celebrate Matt graduating from Cadet to Cadet Corporal at the youngest age of 17. Pride warming away every one of Katie’s frazzled nerves at the sight of her brother standing at attention in a brand new uniform.

Iverson continuing to drone on.

“…as acting Drill Sergeant of this year’s class I have had, not only the honor of watching these young men and women mature and grow, but to collaborate with one of the Garrison’s brightest alumni, Takashi Shirogone.” Iverson’s constantly shrill voice paused to allow the room to fill with applause.

For him.

Katie’s stomach flip-flopped as she clapped along with the crowd. Everyone’s eyes on Takashi. Who looked illegally handsome in his Officer’s uniform. Fit to his figure, it showed off a great deal of his excellent build.

Much to Katie’s destress.

“A few words Shirogone?” Iverson called out, Shiro clearly caught off-guard but accepting the offer graciously nonetheless. Flashing a smile so bright, Katie’s brain had to reboot for a solid minute. He turned toward the graduating cadets, Matt being one of the smallest among them. Dark grey eyes alit with warmth and pride.

“As my first year teaching, I must say that it’s been an eventful one.” Laughter titered amongst her brother’s class, in inside jokes Katie longed to know. The young girl wishing, not for the first time, that the age requirements for apply to the Garrison weren’t so high.

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” At this, he looked back to the crowd. That warm gaze sweeping over everyone like dawn’s first rays of sunlight. Katie barely fought back a blush as Shiro’s eyes seemed to settle in her direction. But, to her surprise, Shiro suddenly seemed so nervous.

Those warm eyes lowering.

“I-um…I’m really humbled by this experience. Teaching the next generation like this…has been amazing a-and a tremendous honor. So, thank you all for sticking with me for so long.” There was something incredibly endearing about the way Shiro seemed so bashful in that moment. Something so sweet that Katie could help the bright, brilliant smile gracing her young features.

“I held your hair back when you were throwing up.”

Then his eyes were on her.

Not on the crowd. Not on her brother’s class. But on her. Katie knew it, she felt it. That soft gaze nearly gave her a heart attack, sure, but she did her best to smile encouragingly at him.

And, to Katie’s surprise, it seemed to work.

“Then you smiled over your shoulder…”

“I look forward to seeing all the boundaries you all willbreak. And I know that each and every one of you are capable of incredible greatness. But I must admit…” Her heart leapt to her throat. But what? What did he-Shiro’s gaze on her warmed, a bright smile tugging at his lips as he looked at her.

“And for a minute…”

“I eagerly await the conquests of the newest generation of graduates, I…have a feeling they’re going to do so some pretty amazing things. Thank you.” Katie couldn’t even hear the applause, she was still glued to her seat. Heart slamming against her windpipe. The image of Shiro’s encouraging half-smile and soft eyes imprinting onto her mind. Cementing itself amongst all the other theories and equations that made way more sense to her than her own feelings for Shiro.

“I was stone-cold sober.”

===

Don’t think of her.

Don’t picture her. Don’t try to remember her voice. Don’t try to remember how her eyes shone. Don’t bring her visage to place like this. Don’t say her name.

Don’t you dare bring her memory here.

“I pulled you closer to my chest.”

Who knows how long Shiro had been in this place. Purple fluorescent lights and alien, animal faces blurred together in his mind. Or in what little cognitive function he had left. Everything seemed to be an endless cycle of blood and bone and screaming.

Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill. Lunge. Cut. Fight. Kill.

Katie.

“And you asked me to stay over…”

God, but then there were moments, too many for Shiro to count, where he’d think back to all the people he’s failed. Matt, who was God knows where. Commander Holt, who Shiro hoped and prayed was still alive, despite all the horror of their situation. And…no, he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that. Shiro can’t think of-

Katie.

“I said, ‘I already told ya-‘ ”

Out of everyone, Shiro had failed her the most. He remembered how proud she looked on launch day. How those golden eyes turned molten with joy as she and her mother sent the three of them off. How she jokingly made him promise to keep her family safe.

So lovely he couldn’t breathe.

He still couldn’t breathe as he, guiltily remembered memories of the brilliant younger Holt in a place like this. A place so messed up and violent that it should never tarnish her memory, no matter how secondhand it was.

But Shiro didn’t have long to think.

Two more purplish aliens cornered him in his cell. Shiro couldn’t even muster the spirit to fight them. The former pilot roughly shoved into the wall and muzzled. Bound in strange, glowing chains until it was time to release him.

Out of the fire and into the frying pan in the worst way.

But even as Shiro was pushed and shoved towards the slaughter fest that was the Arena.

His thoughts were of her.

“ ‘I think that you should get some rest…’ ”

===

She saw him again.

Part of her knew she would, eventually. But this time the sight of him did nothing to her. Gone we’re the blushing cheeks and fluttering heart. She wasn’t that crushing young girl anymore.

She wasn’t Katie anymore either.

Nothing like love twisted her heart at the sight of him, seemingly deranged and pleading on that hospital cot. Katie, now Pidge, only felt one thing as she looked at him. Felt something ugly and hideous coil in her stomach.

How dare he?

How dare he be here instead of Matt and her father? How dare he be the only one who came back? How dare…how dare he just show up?

Crashing back, quite literally, into her life.

“I knew I loved you then.”

She had spent so long killing whatever she had felt for him. Exhausting herself with the search to find her family to avoid thinking about him. But it never worked.

Not really.

And now here he was, screaming, pleading for anyone to stop and listen to him. That they were all going to die. That there were Galra just outside-

Pidge couldn’t take it.

She had had enough. Enough with the lies. Enough with the hurt. Enough with the constant dull ache in her chest. She had to end this the only way she knew how.

She had to save him.

“But you’d never know…”

===

She can’t leave, was his first thought.

But Shiro looked at her face, at those burning gold eyes and that furious glare, and couldn’t find it within himself to stop her.

He failed her.

“'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go.”

Shiro a had failed to protect her family, of course she wanted to leave them and find them herself. Of course she’d want nothing more to do with him. Shiro knew all that.

But it still hurt.

“I know I needed you…”

It still hurt seeing how little she seemed to care about him. How much she wanted to get away from him. It cut him worse than the Galra ever had.

But he’d let her go.

“But I never showed.”

It’d kill him, but he owed her so much. So, for the rest of the night, Shiro kept outside. So no one could see how much he was hurting. He liked her.

He really liked her.

Which was horrible because she was only 15. Which was awful because he had left Matt and her father in the hands of the Galra. Which was just wrong because-

“But I wanna stay with you until we’re grey and old…”

“Shiro? Can we talk?” Trying to tell himself that his heart didn’t skip a beat at her voice would’ve just added insult to his many injuries. Shiro took a few moments to school his expression before turning to her.

And how much she’d changed.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

The last time he saw her everything was different. Everything was simpler. Her cheeks were flushed with cold, but Katie’s smile was so electric that she seemed completely immune to it. She was so small then, so delicate.

Not anymore.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

Seemingly everything about Katie had hardened, sharped to a deadly point. She was force to be reckoned with. A young girl becoming a woman in war. And Shiro couldn’t help but morn the fact. Especially like this, when she was standing just to his left in her armor. All its sharp angles and thick plating doing nothing to help Shiro’s guilt.

Doing nothing to stop his heart breaking.

===

“I’ll wake you up with some breakfast in bed.”

He’d get nightmares sometimes.

After the first couple instances and the deep, dark bags under his eyes, Pidge had decided enough was enough. She, despite her best efforts, had begun feeling something for the Black Paladin again. Something gentle and flickering in her chest that warmed her when this war chilled her.

Thus began their unique sleeping arrangement.

“I’ll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head…”

They’d head for his room at about the Earth equivalent of 10 o’clock, and, while Shiro would usually knock right out, Pidge would just slip in beside him and continue working until she was either done with her project or passed out from exhaustion.

But it was usually the latter.

“And I’ll take the kids to school…”

Still, for reasons Pidge refused to think about, Shiro seemed to sleep better with her there. Even when she wasn’t under the blanket with him, Shiro would still rest surprisingly peacefully. And for that, Pidge was immensely thankful.

Even if mornings were a little awkward.

“Wave them goodbye.”

Shiro, for the most part, would wake up before her. But the 6-foot-something guy had no chance of leaving the small, twin sized bed without disturbing her awake in some way. Neither would really talk about it, seeing it was a habit the two just sort of…picked up.

Shiro would leave.

Leave Pidge alone in a suddenly too-big bed in a room that smelled just like him. The young girl having to tell herself over and over that this was bigger than her resurfacing feelings for Shiro. This was for his sake and sanity.

She couldn’t take advantage of that.

So every morning Pidge had to stumble back to her own room, alone. Then go to breakfast and act like the whole arrangement never even existed. Like Pidge never knew how much younger Shiro looked when he slept. Or that sometimes his hand would fall to her waist and sleep would suddenly be the furthest thing from her mind. Yeah.

It’s sucked.

“And I’ll thank my lucky stars for that night…”

But there were bigger things than the aching hurt in her chest to deal with, so Pidge just fought it down and threw herself into everything she did even more. Hoping that, one day, things could be normal again.

That she could be honest with Shiro.

===

Years passed.

Everyone grew harder, tougher. The war still raged on, but now they were fighting fire with fire. The Coalition was growing everyday and people were shedding their fear of the Empire like a second skin. Everything was looking up.

But Shiro didn’t feel that way.

“When you looked over your shoulder-“

They found Matt. And for the first time, in a long, long time, he saw Pidge truly and purely happy. Pidge, now 17, had finally gotten a piece of her family back. Not as battle scarred or traumatized as him, Matt fit in right away with their crew.

Falling back in place with Shiro.

The two rekindling their friendship and trust. But one thing, one very important thing was different now.

Katie.

Pidge.

Before the younger Holt had been a witty, brilliant young girl who Shiro liked to joke with. Now? Now things were different.

Now she was different.

“For a minute, I forget that I’m older.”

She was still as burning and brilliant as those gold eyes, but there was so much more to her now. She was a woman on the war front. Battle-scarred and formidable in every sense. Pidge was someone he’d trust his life with. The only problem?

He wanted her to have his heart to.

“I wanna dance with you right now…”

Pidge had indeed grown lovelier over the years and to say that Shiro had never imagined the two as couple would be false in every sense. As beautiful as she was smart, those golden eyes seemed to spell ruin for suitors who weren’t careful.

And Shiro was one of them.

“Oh! And you look as beautiful as ever!”

Matt had found out embarrassingly easily. But the older Holt never ridiculed Shiro. No. Matt did something much worse.

He encouraged it.

“And I swear that everyday you’ll get better.”

Saying that the two were perfect for each other and that she definitely thought of him the same way. Which, naturally, Shiro knew better to believe.

But a part of him hoped.

Hoped that Matt was right every time her smile seemed to linger on him. Everytime he’d find himself lulled to rest by her focused face illuminated by her computer within his room. Everytime she’d pull him back from the nightmares and visions and into her brilliance. A dear, dangerous part of him hoped for such things.

And maybe, one day, he’d tell her all that.

“You make me feel this way somehow…”

But war was never kind to such sentiments. Such sentiments already begged to be proven wrong.

And they were.

===

Oh God.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. This couldn’t be happening. No. No! This wasn’t real! This is just a dream.

Just a nightmare.

“I’m so in love with you…”

“SHIRO!” Her throat hurt, but Pidge couldn’t care. All she cared about was getting down this damn hill and rush to his side. What was he even thinking?

Taking that bullet for her.

Oh God, there was blood everywhere. A usually orthodox sight made horrifically new when she saw who caused it.

Shiro.

Was he even breathing? Oh God please be breathing. Don’t stop breathing. Don’t leave me again. Don’t go until I-

“K-Katie?”

“And I hope you know.”

“I’m here, I’m right here Shiro. Stay with me. Stay with me please.” When did she start sobbing? When had her tears began to choke her?

She grabbed his hand.

Slick with blood, the metal was cooling in her hands. Hunk quickly rushed in, med kit in tow while Pidge tried to keep Shiro awake.

Alive.

“Darling, your love is more than worth its weight in…”

“Shiro! Shiro, look at me! Eyes on me, c’mon. Please!” Dark, blood soaked lashes fluttered up to her. Shiro’s bloodied head in her lap as Hunk tried to stanch the massive amount of blood leaving his body. But his eyes, warm and gray and heartbreaking, still cling to her so dearly.

So preciously.

“Gold…” He murmured weakly as she gazed up at her. Pidge’s tears falling onto his soiled face. Creating clear tracts in the dirt and gore. But, despite all that, the sight of such a soft look on Shiro face made Pidge smile.

And tears fall harder.

“We’ve come so far my dear…”

“Stay with me ok big guy? Well get you patched up s-”

Shiro coughed.

Blood splattering against his lips as the man sounded as if he was trying to retch out his lungs. Pidge cupped his face, trying to bring him back to her. Trying her best to ignore the warmth of his blood against her palms.

“Shiro? Shiro please stay with me…” She hated the whine in her voice, but the tears just wouldn’t stop. The pain in her chest damn near killing her. No…No, I couldn’t end like this.

Not like this.

“Look how we’ve grown.”

Not after everything they’ve been through. Not after how long she’s loved him. He can’t die. She wouldn’t let him.

She couldn’t let him.

“And I wanna stay with you until we’re grey and old.”

“Katie…Katie I-” Pidge saw it then. Saw it in the way he looked at her, halfway dead and broken beyond measure, but still gazing up at her like he’d do it all again for her. She saw it in those gray eyes and how they shone with unsaid words and unshed tears. She saw it in the way his bloody, bruised hands held onto her arms so reverently. Pidge saw it then.

And cursed herself for not seeing it sooner.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

“I know…I know…” She soothed, gazing back at him. Pidge’s face a near mirror of his own. Vision blurring with tears as she leaned down.

And kissed him.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

===

Kissing her was all Shiro wanted to do.

Pidge made a soft noise in the back of her throat as she pulled him closer and out of his thoughts. The air between them, in his room suddenly too hot. Too stifling unless every inch of her was pressed against every inch of him.

“I wanna live with you…”

Shiro’s mechanical hand slid under her shirt. Reveling in the smooth curve of her hips and waist. Against his throat, Pidge sighed contently and sent Shiro’s heart fluttering.

He kissed her again.

“Even when we’re ghosts.”

Kissing Pidge was like nothing he’d ever imagine it to be. Kissing Pidge was all bursting citrus and warmth and freckles against his hands. Kissing Pidge was the best thing in the world, and Shiro didn’t know if he could ever give it up.

Her arms wrapped around his neck.

Pulling him even closer, if that was possible, as Shiro rubbed his hand along the gentle curve of her bare back. He parted away from her, if only slightly. Just to look at her.

And those gold eyes.

Made a little darker from their kissing, but shining in the lowlight of his room nonetheless. Pidge was older now, her features more prominent, and fondness sang so loudly in Shiro’s heart, he couldn’t help but feel weak.

“'Cause you were always there for me…”

“I love you.” He breathed, the declaration coming out half scared and half infatuated. Watching the spark in Pidge’s eyes light up and a bright smile stretch along her face.

“When I needed you most.”

Her palm on either side of his head.

Seeming to memorize all his features with her calloused, thin fingers. Trailing along his jaw and over his temple. Across his eyebrows.

Fluttering over his scars.

“I love you to.”

===

“I’m gonna love you till my lungs give out.”

The war was over.

The greater evil had been defeated. The universe could finally breathe a breath of freedom after so long a time spent suffering.

Especially for the Paladins.

“I promise till death we part…”

Hunk chose to stay with Shay and help her fellow Balmerans discover what it meant to be free. Though, judging by their entwined hands as they waved the Castle off, that wasn’t exactly the only reason.

Allura and Matt had a lot of work ahead of them.

The rebel fighter and the Princess had grown close over the course of the war. Matt every bit a gushing, loving boyfriend that never failed to make Allura laugh. Coran watching the two carefully all the while. Allura’s diplomacy plus Matt’s strategy proving to be an incredible combination for the Coalition.

And, naturally, Lance and Keith went back to Earth.

“Like in our vows.”

Lance, apparently, having promised the Red Paladin an introduction to the entirety of Lance’s family. The sight of their entwined hands and bright red cheeks never failing to bring a smile to Pidge’s face.

Which left only two.

“So I wrote this song for you…”

What was next for her? For Shiro? Well, with the Empire out of the way, someone need to take charge of the noncombatant Galra and establish the Blades of Marmora as pillars of stability. And who better to do it?

Than the Champion himself.

“Now everybody knows!”

He was hesitant about it. She could see it in his eyes and the way his human hand wrapped around his metal one. Pidge knew that the thought of overseeing the entire race of creatures that harmed him would be painful.

But that’s why she was there.

“ ‘Cuase now its just you and me…”

Whatever the challenge, whatever the curse. Pidge would help him bear it. So, come the day Kolivan and the Blade came to take them away to rebuild their enemies, they just held each other.

Steadied each other.

“Till we’re grey and old.”

Shiro looked to her then, concern pinching the worn planes of his face in such a way that he seemed to ask her, “are you sure?”, all over again. He looked older now. Older in ways Pidge couldn’t even describe. But he was hers.

And she was his.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

So while she knew this new adventure would test them, as long as they had each other, Pidge knew that they’d be fine. They’ve gone through too much to just back down now. Squeezing his hand in hers, Pidge took the first step toward leading a new legion of Galra. With her hand in his, Shiro walked right beside her.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

Side by side.

Toward a new future, together.

“Just say you won’t let go…”

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mgnemesi · 7 years

Text

*facepalms* I cooked up another Stucky fic-non-fic/prompt/notes for fic I'll never write

So.

First things first: I'm a glutton for punishment kind of reader,so I love my TREMENDOUSLY HAPPY ending to be on the wake of lots of angst and misunderstandings.

I've been toying before with the idea of a "bonded but Steve didn't realise" or "confession gone south" kinda fic, (I'd post hundreds if I had the time) but this morning I found me a recipe I truly like, which features lots of Peggy, and of Peggy&Bucky bromance to end the ages.

Please follow me under the cut for details...

So. Steve's in love with Peggy,and Peggy's love with Steve. Everybody in the army knows it. And nobody knows it better than Bucky, who's been in love with Steve his whole life. He's...Bitter, about letting Steve go, and who could blame him? But he's determined to see Steve happy,and if Peggy is his happily ever after, he'll never interfere.

Only, Bucky's still a mess, reeling from the horrors he saw in Zola's lab, from the torture and experiments. He's a young man still, and scared out of his mind, because his body is changing, modified against his will, and he has no idea what that makes him. And it's not just the psychological aspect of it that's exhausting and horrifying. He has cramps, his skin hitches, his muscles burn, the very marrow in his bones bubbles and hisses like poison. He keeps misjudging his own strength and reactions; and even the good perks - his eyesight is so good, he can make out details a mile away - even those, scare him senseless. He's, in short, adrift at sea. Drowning and desperate.

So desperate, he confesses to Steve.

And gets rejected.

He might even ask Peggy first. Like, I'm torn between two opposite scenarios. In one, he doesn't plan to, but a frustrating discussion with Steve leads to him confessing. In the other, he tells Peggy beforehand. It's a complicated mess, and he expects nothing from this confession other than a sense of closure. He KNOWS that Steve will say no. But he won't trouble Steve without coming clean to Peggy first.

The morning after the confession, Steve is edgy and scowling, even a bit snappish, with a stormcloud hanging around his head. Peggy is befuddled beyond words. She goes to find Barnes to hear his side of the story, and she finds him crying with a bottle of booze. And. Well.

Bucky's crying is a disarmingly heartwrenching sight. It hits her like a punch in the gut.

He's desperate, but there's a quiet dignity in the way he hid, to lick his wounds away from the scrutiny of the world, away from Steve's sight, like a hurt animal. In the way his eyes fill over and the tears spill, silent, slow, hypnotic-like, but still he won't sob, his shoulders won't shake. His breathing hitches, and his cheeks are flushed. With his dishivelled hair and glassy eyes he makes for a disarmingly PRETTY sight, and she's honestly bowled over by her need to bundle him up in a blanket and make him honeyed tea.

So she...Kind of does just that? Or at least, she kicks his ass back into gear a little less harshly than she normally would have.

They become fast friends after that, and she is as viciously protective of him as Bucky is of Steve. She's seen a softness in him that she never saw in Steve himself. So she flirts with Steve, is stern with him when needed, supportive at times and oppositive when he goes into reckless-hero-mode, but she doesn't coddle him, while basically? She's soft and caring with Bucky in a way she seldom allows herself to be. Plus, if you touch Barnes, you get in her shit list and will be terminated with extreme prejudice.

Bucky gets maudlin moods from time to time, and confesses to her he's not really expecting to survive the war and she's all BARNES DON'T BE AN IDIOT IF YOU DARE FALL IN THIS WAR I'M COMING TO PICK YOU UP MYSELF AND FIREMAN-CARRY YOU BACK HOME.

(And he makes a joke about preferring to be carried bridal-style, and the set of her eyes goes more stern even as her mouth softens and she DEMANDS he stops deflecting because Lord help her, but she's stuck with him and he with her and he'd better realise it fast)

People are a bit confused by the fact that Cap's girl won't do more than shake hands with her sweetheart when he comes back from missions but WILL fuss over his Sergeant and go GODDAMMIT BARNES IS THAT A KNIFE WOUND WHY ARE YOU STILL ON YOUR FEET STEVE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY DRAG THIS IDIOT TO THE MED TENT.

Steve, however, is very happy that they get along so well (think waggling Labrador. You have the right picture). And has no idea that they're like, planning his whole future ahead.

Maudlin moods get less frequent for Bucky, but he still talks for hours on end with Peggy and confesses stuff he usually can't explain very well even to himself. He's glad that Steve isn't holding Bucky's feelings for him over his head, and that they're back to their casual, touchy-feely friendship, but he's stumped on what to do if *INSERT POINTED LOOK FROM PEGGY HERE* ... WHEN he goes home from the war.

"And why's that?"

"Well. I always thought I'd,I dunno, live with Steve as bachelors or. Or if he found a girl to love, that we could at least find us a way to live close together, you know? Like next door apartments with our kids playing together in the street, and taking turns driving them to school and spending the summer together and. It. It can't happen now, can it?"

"... Elaborate on that." *Narrow eyed look*

"I. Hum." * Squirms* "Steve's been... nice. So far. Understanding. Of. Of my feelings. But I can't. Can't truly expect Captain America to be all right living next door to a dev--"

"Barnes, you bloody sod, finish that word and...!"

"You know what I mean! A no-one man clinging to a national hero, people are bound to realise about me and give Steve shit for allowing me close...!"

"First. Talk yourself down again, I'll sock some sense into you. You're as much of an hero as Steve is. Second. There's NOTHING wrong with you, and if you truly think Steve or I would care for RUMORS, you're deluding yourself. The world is a cruel place, and you're hurting and used to having to hide that hurt and fear away, I get that. But this isn't up for discussion,Barnes. We go back to the States, you WILL stay where I can keep an eye on you. Lord knows you need someone close to remind you to love and care for yourself for a change, and I'm not letting anybody else doing what's clearly mine and Steve's job."

But then Bucky falls, and Steve crashes the Valkyrie and all that.

When Steve returns and is reunited with Peggy, they smile and cry over their past and what they lost, and inevitably they breach the subject of Bucky, and Peggy just sighs quietly and goes: "He loved you so much. I'd never seen devotion like that before knowing him, and I've never encountered it again, afterwards."

"Peggy, Peggy, no, you're confused. He... He loved YOU, maybe. I never understood. If it was a like a sister or. Or romantically. He always sang your praises, and you were the first person he looked for when we returned to camp, and the only one he'd willingly let fuss over him, but... He didn't love me, you're mistaken." And his voice is taking on a distinctly panicked tone, so Peggy grabs his hand and gently forces him to recount his side of things, and yeah, he DID love Peggy an he WAS glad that his best friend and his girlfriend went on like an house on fire but he also WAS jealous, because Peggy had parts of Bucky Steve never thought he'd have to share.

Peggy hums thoughtfully and asks him about the infamous night of the confession and it turns out that Steve's an IDIOT. He turned down Bucky without even realising (he thought Bucky was drunk, OR mocking feelings Steve might have had, OR reeling from the experiments and so doing anything would feel like taking advantage... The possibilities are endless). So Peggy very wisely nods her head, struggles into a sitting position against her pillows in her sick bed and very very calmly socks Captain America in the jaw because BLOODY HELL STEVE THE POOR KID WAS WASTING AWAY IN LOVE WITH YOU AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN THINK IT WAS REAL KIDS THESE DAYS I SWEAR.

Which might be hilarious if Steve wasn't on the verge of tears and suddenly realising he could've had it all, all he ever wanted (either Steve realises now he used to love - and still loves - both, or he always knew but never realised Bucky loved him back and maybe Peggy loved them both enough to...?)

When the Winter Soldier appears, Steve doesn't have time to tell Peggy. But after the fall of SHIELD, the nurses in the place Peggy is staying are suddenly introduced to a nephew they didn't know she had, a very handsome guy with long hair and steel eyes who likes to rest his head on his aunt's bed and let her gently card her fingers through the tangles in his hair, crooning softly about a blond idiot that shall remain nameless.

...So later Bucky is at the funeral and is spotted by several SHIELD agents and thus can't be framed for the Vienna bombing (and he never killed Howie and Maria), so they have a chance at an happily ever after.

#stucky #Neme rambles #Peggy is better than us all #Peggy and Bucky bromance #bisexual Steve #bisexual Bucky?#possibly they're all poly but the train and the Valkyrie happen #personally I prefer not poly but it WORKS here #never hate on the things you're not a fan of #you break peoples' hearts that way #and like i said #they WORK as poly #so #POLY #Stuggy

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