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ereardon · 2 years

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You Again [Part 3] [Hangman x Reader]

Summary: It’s been five years since you last saw your childhood best friend and first love Jake Seresin. But fate, or coincidence, has you back in Jake’s life and he’s desperate not to lose you again.

WC: 6K+

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of death

Series masterlist; Part 1, Part 2

Jake’s dog tags dangled around your neck, the ends tucked tightly inside your scrub top as you entered the OR scrub room. You felt the metal shifting against bare skin as you ripped open a sponge packet. Lost in thought, you scrubbed at your hands and forearms aggressively until you heard a voice over your shoulder.

“Doctor? Are you alright?” Tina, your favorite nurse, tilted her head to look at you. She pulled down on her mask. “I’ve been watching you scrub for five minutes now. You’ve barely blinked. Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you said, letting off the foot pump and watching the water come to a stop. You stepped through the automatic doors into the operating room, and Tina held out a cloth to dry your hands which you took before sliding on a fresh pair of gloves. You wiggled your fingers to make sure they were tightly fitted and nodded in acknowledgement.

“First surgery of the day,” Tina said, tossing the used towel into the laundry bin near the wall. “There’s that quiet calm.”

The room was bustling — the patient already sedated on the table, two medical students hovering in the corner with notebooks and nauseous looks on their faces, the anesthesiologist checking the ventilator, scrub nurses recounting the tools on the metal trays – but you understood what she meant. There was no blood on the floor. No damp cloud that trailed after the cases that ended with a zipped body bag. The first surgery of the day meant a clean slate.

But it would only last for a moment. And then, chaos.

Although you didn’t know it, while you were elbow deep in the chest cavity of a sixty-three year old man with a ruptured descending aorta, Jake was thousands of feet in the air, going head to head with enemy planes. As you called out for more clamps, more gauze, hang another blood bag, he’s bleeding out, Jake was traveling at nine hundred miles per hour, dodging bullets in a dog fight. You didn’t know that as the blood rained down over the table and across your shoes, as the lead surgeon called time of death, as you ripped off your gloves and slid down to the floor in despair, Jake’s plane was also descending, a wing on fire, out of bullets and out of time, a commander screaming into his headset to eject, a blinding whiteness overtaking him.

All you heard was the heart monitor flatline, the urgent beeping that often haunted your dreams during call shifts sloping into a sharp whine. And then it stopped, bringing with it the all too familiar sound of death.

Two weeks before

He was gone.

You had done this before. Pulled yourself up, rebuilt your life after Jake Seresin left. But this time was different. There were his dog tags around your neck, for one. You had slipped them on after you finished reading his note, the cold metal sending shivers down your spine. And unlike five years ago, you knew why he left this time.

Before you even realized, you were in your car flying across the Coronado bridge. It was early, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon. You had two hours until you had to scrub for your first surgery. You could make it.

When you pulled up to the gates at the base, a man in uniform stopped you.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Yes, I’m here to see Lieutenant Seresin.” It came out rushed. Every second mattered. “I’m not signed in, but I was here just yesterday. It’s urgent.”

He typed across his computer in the small booth outside the gated fence. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Lieutenant Seresin’s squadron is departing this morning. I’m not allowed to let visitors enter.”

“Are they gone already?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“For fuck’s sake, is he here or not?” you screamed. The man’s face remained stoic, like concrete. Any other moment you would have felt guilty at the outburst. But the only thing that mattered was knowing whether or not Jake had gotten on the ship.

“Ma’am, that is confidential. I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath, slamming into the driver’s seat and peeling back in reverse, throwing the car into park on the other side of the gatehouse. Your fingers trembled as you dialed Jake’s number by memory. “Please pick up, please pick up.”

It rang and rang and every time it rang your heart sped up, nearing tachycardia. You could feel your heartbeat in your ear as it pressed against the phone.

“Jake, fuck, please pick up.”

Finally, “Y/N.” You gasped a little hearing your name on his lips. His voice was strained.

A tear slipped out of your eye. “Jake, please, I’m here. I’m at the gate. They won’t let me in. They say you’re leaving today.”

You heard him cough on the receiving line. “Bunny.” Or was he choking back tears?

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving today? I thought we had time!”

“Baby, I left this morning because I didn’t want this to happen.” He paused and you paced near the gate on shaky legs. “I meant everything I wrote. You’re the reason I’m going and you’re the reason I need to come back and I fucking promise you, Bunny, I’m coming back for you.”

Tears started to form at your lower lid, obscuring your vision. You swiped at them.

“You look so damn pretty, darlin’, even with tears down your beautiful face.”

You sucked in a breath and pressed your free hand to the metal fence, watching a figure appear in the distance next to one of the white hangars. You could just make out Jake’s tanned physique in his green jumpsuit, a pair of sunglasses planted firmly over his eyes.

“I’m coming back,” he said and you heard the gravelly voice give way to a softer, gentler Jake. Then, “Do you remember the summer after high school when we went to that party at Bobby’s house, and the cops came so we had to hide in the shed until the morning?”

You laughed despite the tears. “I had a shovel pressed into me the entire time. Pretty sure there’s still a dent in my rib cage because of it.”

“Do you remember what you said to me that night?” Jake asked. “You said that you were happiest when we were together. Didn’t matter where, didn’t matter when, didn’t matter if we were doing something or not. You said that you were happier being trapped in Bobby’s dad’s gardening shed that night with me than you would have been inside with a bunch of random people.”

His voice cracked at the end. This was the side of Jake that he didn’t let people see. The Jake that held your hand at the doctor’s appointment as they ran gene tests to make sure you wouldn’t have to go through what your mother went through. The Jake that had let you hold him in your arms the night before while he prayed to a God you weren’t sure he still believed in to bring him home safe. It was Jake, not Hangman, who needed you to need him.

“I still feel that way, Y/N,” he breathed into the phone and you tightened your fingers around the metal of the fence. “If you’ll have me.”

You slid your hand past the metal bars and made the OK sign with your fingers. There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone.

“Be safe,” you whispered. “For me.”

“Always,” he said. “I gotta go, Bun, we’re loading up. I love you.” The line went dead before you were able to respond.

***

That first night after work you drove to the Hard Deck, your fingers shaking. You weren’t sure why you went. This time you had the foresight to change out of scrubs and into regular clothes, but you chose the same bar stool as the one you had occupied the night Jake waltzed back into your life.

“What’ll you have sweetpea?” The brunette bartender from last time smiled at you across the wooden bar.

“Vodka martini,” you said quietly. “Dirty.”

She nodded and started to turn around. And then, “Y/N, right? You were here a few weeks ago, with Hangman.”

You were shocked that she was able to remember you amid the crowds of rowdy patrons. She smiled, reading your mind.

“We don’t get a lot of scrubs in here,” she laughed. “And Pete’s team is pretty small, I try to keep tabs on all of them.” You looked at her blankly, despondent, and she reached her hand out to cover yours. “I know what you’re thinking. They’re coming back safe. I made Pete promise me.”

“There’s no guarantee,” you whispered, looking up and catching her eye. “We have no idea what they’re facing right now. We have no idea if they’ll ever walk through that door again.” Penny watched your eyes shift toward the entrance.

“You’re right, we don’t know,” she said softly. “But I know Pete, and I know Hangman. And the way he looked at you, I’ve never seen him look at someone like that before.”

You shook your head, embarrassed that tears had started to split down your cheeks. Penny passed you a napkin and you lifted it to your face. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”

She smiled sadly. “Once or twice. Trust me, it never gets any easier.”

“Do you know when they’re coming back?”

She frowned. “No. I probably know about as much as you do.”

“I literally don’t know anything,” you whispered. “We, uh, we’re not together. Before the other night, I hadn’t seen him in five years.”

Penny tilted her head. “You’re allowed to miss him. Doesn’t matter what you two are. If he means something to you, you get to be nervous.”

You bit your lower lip and Penny slid the drink over to you. “This might help,” she said, smiling. “Or not, but this is a bar after all.”

The vodka went down smooth. Too smooth. You felt light even just after one drink, and as you slid your card over to Penny to close you out, she placed her hand on your forearm. “You OK to drive?”

You nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be fine.” Your signature was sloppy, it had been since medical school, and she squinted at it briefly. “Doctor’s scrawl,” you said and Penny chuckled. “Trust me, I’m fine.”

“Come back, OK?” she said as you pulled your purse off from the hook beneath the bar. “I don’t know when they’ll be back, but I promise this will be the first place Mav comes. We’re open every night.”

You smiled at her. “Thanks.” She lifted an arm in a wave.

The apartment was cold when you got back. Less than twenty-four hours before it had been filled with candlelight and Jake’s voice and delicious food and now it was empty. Wandering into the kitchen, you expected to find it crusted with remnants of the prior night’s dinner, but to your surprise it was cleaner than when you two had arrived home the night before.

Jake. Of course he had cleaned up. That was just like him.

In the living room, you collapsed on the couch, memories of the night before flashing behind closed eyelids. Jake’s hands caressing your face, fingers digging into your hips, sliding under your shirt, pressed against your back to bring you closer to him. His lips trailing over your entire body, planting kisses in your hair, intertwining with yours. His whispers rumbling in your ear, telling you he was sorry, saying he loved you. And later, telling you how scared he was. Letting you in, showing a softer side you had never seen before.

As you stood to take a shower, wash away the reminders of the day, something caught your eye. The table next to the couch which held a small lamp and a framed photo felt off. You stepped closer and realized it was because the photo frame was empty. Picking it up, you turned the frame over in your hands. It was the same photo that Jake had on his mantel, the two of you on the beach at Kiawah. Setting it down, you reached for Jake’s note that still sat crumpled on the coffee table from where you had tossed it earlier in your rush out the door. His scrawl took up most of the first page and ended with his signature, but you turned it over just in case and gasped. There was writing on the second side.

P.S. — Hope you don’t mind, but I needed a new good luck charm. Can’t believe you still had the photo. That is how I will always remember you. Beautiful, golden, all mine. It’s always been you.

Days went by. Patients came and were discharged. You ran more ECGs and code blues and emergency bypasses than you thought were possible. At the end of every shift you drove back to the Hard Deck, often closing out the night with Penny on the beach. Sometimes after night shifts, you drove out there and sat alone on a picnic table around back, watching the sun rise over the crisp horizon, imagining Jake. What terrors was he facing? What thoughts were running through his mind?

Your fingers gripped the dog tags. They had quickly become your good luck charm, just as they were Jake’s. Since you had slipped them over your head that first morning you hadn’t lost a single patient.

Despite everything that had happened, you still didn’t know how Jake Seresin fit into your life. You finally had answers for why he walked away all those years ago, but was it enough?

***

You were seven, playing in the grassy field behind the elementary school. A group of boys playing kickball nearby were watching as you and two friends hopped around in a made up game, everyone acting out different animals.

“I’m a pig!” one of the girls yelled, down on all fours with her nose flared wide. The second girl was flapping her arms as wings, imitating a bat. You hopped in a circle with both legs pressed tightly together, your hands and wrists fused out in front of your body, palms facing down toward the ground.

Laughing, you had your head turned before you felt a bump and were knocked to the ground.

“I’m sorry!” When you opened your eyes, there he was. Sandy blond hair, green eyes, bright blue t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, holding out a hand. “Here, let me help you.”

You took his hand, which was caked in dirt, and let him pull you to standing.

He smiled at you, the red textured kickball that only seconds ago had decked you now tucked nearly under one arm. “I’m Jake.”

“Y/N.”

He nodded. “Sorry for knocking you over.”

You shrugged. “It’s OK, I guess.”

“What were you guys doing?” He looked out at the other girls, still in the throes of their game. But standing there with Jake, the lingering tingle of his fingers still on your hand, as well as some very real dirt, you suddenly felt embarrassed by the childish games the other girls were playing.

“Animal kingdom,” you whispered quickly, blushing.

“What animal are you?”

“A rabbit.”

He smiled and even back then it was dazzling. The other boys hollered at him from the kickball field, but he didn’t seem to be in any rush. Jake shifted his weight between his feet. Another shout from beyond made you tilt your head back at him.

“Think it’s your turn.”

Jake began to turn around and join his team, but stopped first to give you a grin. “See you later, Bunny.”

Your cheeks flamed red. Even then he was handsome and a smart ass and kind.

You fell a little in love with Jake Seresin that day.

***

You were sitting at the bar, nursing another martini, when you watched Penny’s face transform. It was a Tuesday night, quiet all around. But you were getting tired of waiting. You had lost a patient on the table earlier, a grandmother of nine. It broke you.

Witnessing her and Mav felt like a movie. You saw her smile so wide it threatened to overtake her, watched as she scurried around the bar, threw herself into his waiting arms. He was wearing a khaki uniform, his hands pressed tightly around Penny like he couldn’t believe she was real.

You stood up, watching them with an open mouth, your face turned toward the door, waiting.

After what felt like an eternity, they broke apart and Mav stepped toward you, one hand on your shoulder.

“He’s OK,” Mav said and those two words cleaved you in half. You fell back into the chair, choking back a sob, and Penny rushed to your side, patting your hair. “A little banged up, but OK. Everyone made it.”

With Mav and Penny flanking you on either side, you felt like their child and it made you momentarily long for the parents you had lost. You couldn’t afford to lose anyone else.

“You did good,” Mav said. “Whatever you said to him after our conversation, he took it to heart. He was incredible out there.”

You shook your head. “I said what you told me to say.”

“What do you mean what he told you to say?” Your heart stopped. The three of you whipped around to see Jake, followed by the rest of the dagger squad, filtering in through the side door. He looked more handsome than ever, but his mouth was drawn into a tight line. Your line of vision immediately went to his arm, which hung in a sling from his shoulder. “Y/N? What did he mean?”

You stood on wobbly legs and Jake stepped forward, closing the gap between you two. You looked up at him, acutely aware the rest of the team had taken their place near the pool table within hearing distance. “What happened to your arm?” You ran your fingers across his sharp jawline and he pulled your hand away.

He shook his head. “Answer the question, Y/N.”

“Jake, it’s nothing,” you whispered. “Mav just mentioned to me that day I came to see you at Top Gun that in order to do well on the mission, all you needed was to believe in the fact that everything would be OK when you got back. That you and I would be OK.”

You couldn’t read his expression. “Believe? So everything you said, it was just because Mav asked you to?” Then, softly, “Was it all a lie?”

“Baby, no!” You reached out to place your hands on his face, but he scooted back so he was just out of reach. “Jake, no, that’s not what I’m saying.”

He shook his head. “I tried to get past it, but there was something in the back of my head that just didn’t feel right. It felt too easy. Like why would you all of the sudden forgive me? After five years. After everything. But this,” he pointed toward Mav and Penny who were glued in place at the bar, “this makes sense. He asked you to do it so I wouldn’t fuck up the mission. He made you get in my head”

“You think I slept with you because someone asked me to?” Tears had started to form behind your eyes. “You know me better than that, Jake.”

“I used to know you.” The harshness of his voice tore you apart.

“You know me,” you insisted softly.

Jake was seething. “You didn't once say you love me,” he whispered and you felt his anger bubbling at the surface, alongside something else. Regret. “I fucking worshipped you. And you never once said you loved me back that night.”

Your voice was stuck in your throat. Thick, like biscuits and gravy. He was right. You hadn’t. You did love him, you always had. You just didn’t trust him. “Jake, let’s go outside, OK? I don’t want to do this here.” You placed your hand on his arm and he shrugged it off so hard you stumbled, Mav stepping forward to catch you.

As you looked up at Jake behind glassy eyes, you saw him looking at you, really looking, for perhaps the first time. He was angry. It radiated off of him like steam clouds in a cartoon. He was heartbroken. You could see it in the way his mouth trembled, the way his fists squeezed together at his sides. But he was also sorry. You watched him watch you stumble, watched his pupils widen and his jaw tighten as he fought his urge to save you.

Maybe he was done trying to be your savior.

All you wanted to do was step forward, gather him in your arms, try to explain everything. It wasn’t that you didn't love him. And you hadn’t spent the night with him to appease Mav or to ensure the mission’s success. You had done it for Jake. For the Jake who had pushed you through high school and stayed up late with you to study for the MCAT during college breaks. The Jake who had stood by you when everything else was falling apart and had pieced you back together. Jake who had loved you wholly, until the day he left.

He whipped around and stormed out. You started to rise to follow him and Penny whispered in your ear. “Let him cool off.”

Rooster rose from his seat. “I got him,” he said gruffly, following fifteen steps behind. Phoenix and Bob gave you looks of sympathy before standing up and joining you at the bar along with Penny and Mav.

You were embarrassed but you dissolved into tears, feeling Penny hugging you from behind, her arms wrapped around your shoulders. Someone nudged a glass of water across the bar toward you.

“The kid did good,” Mav said finally, breaking the silence. “He saved our asses and almost died in the process.”

You swallowed tightly. “What happened out there? If you can tell us.”

The team launched into a full recount of the mission. You watched their faces light up as they interrupted each other, talked over one another, finished each other’s sentences. You drank the water that Bob inched toward you and gave him a small smile, which he returned with a blush.

After a while, Rooster walked back in and all eyes turned to him. You stood. Waiting.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Y/N. He’s really upset. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before.” Rooster took a step forward and placed his hand on your arm. “Give him time, OK? I sent him home. He’s not really in a place to talk right now, but he’ll come around.”

You sighed. “I’m not so sure he will.”

“Can I give you a ride home?”

You shook your head. “My car is here. I’m fine to drive.”

“Let me walk you out then.” You nodded and pulled your purse out from under the bar. Penny hugged you and Mav gave you a pat on the shoulder.

Phoenix closed in and wrapped her arms around you, whispering into your ear. “He loves you. He’s going to realize that’s what matters.” You smiled at her and she smiled back.

Four weeks had changed everything. But one thing was the same: you and Jake were back to not talking.

Rooster guided you out to your car. You clicked the button weakly, lighting up the headlights. “Déjà vu,” he said. You sniffled and reached for the handle, but Rooster’s hand shot out to cover yours. “Y/N. I gotta ask. Did you do it for the team like he thinks? Or do you love him?

“Because Hangman, for all his flaws, saved our asses out there. And he loves you. I’ve never seen him care this much about anyone, not even himself. So if you did it just to save us, that’s admirable and I can’t say I don’t appreciate it. But I have to ask you to walk away. Don’t drag it out with him if you’re not in it for the long haul. He’s a mess right now. He saw his life flash before his eyes and he thought there was someone he loved that he was fighting to go home to. Only to find out maybe she was never his to have.”

Rooster looked at you, dropping his hand. You felt shaky and leaned up against the car door. Pulling the handle out, you slid into the driver’s seat, turning the key and rolling down the window. He put both hands on the open window frame and leaned in. “It’s always been Jake, for me,” you said quietly. “That was never a question. So no, I didn’t do it because Mav asked. I did it because I love him.”

Rooster breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled, standing up. “OK, good.”

“But I just don’t know if he and I have a future.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I needed him to be safe. I needed him to be OK. And I know he needed me to be here when he got back,” you exhaled. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to forgive him for everything. If I can just go back to how things were, pretending like the last five years didn’t happen. I don’t know if we can rebuild things and act like we haven’t lived different lives. Like we didn’t plan different futures for ourselves. Like he didn’t make promises to other girls that are just like me. Like he didn’t walk out of my life once without a single care in the world.”

You felt a stream of tears coming, and you gripped the gear shift tightly, yanking it back into reverse.

“Goodbye, Bradley,” you said, throwing the car into drive, the headlights piercing the darkness ahead.

In the rearview mirror, you saw him standing in the dust you had kicked up in your wake, hands on his hips, shaking his head. As the tears started to bloom in your eyes, he almost started to look like Jake.

***

You gave him three days. You had left a smattering of voicemails and texts, all unanswered. Finally, you gave into the panic and dialed Bob.

“Hello?” There was a small southern twang in there that made you smile, reminded you of Texas. But that only served to make you think of Jake, and immediately you felt a lump form in your throat.

“Bob, hi. It’s Y/N.”

“Hey there,” he said. “Let me guess, you’re looking for Jake?”

“Yeah, I uh, I left messages and voicemails but he’s not answering. Have you seen him?”

Bob hesitated and you pressed him.

“He told you guys not to talk to me.”

“Something like that.”

You sighed into the receiver. “Guess I deserve that.”

“I shouldn’t tell you this, but everyone’s going to the Hard Deck tonight for Phoenix’s birthday. He’ll be there.”

“I could kiss you Bob.”

He laughed. “Don’t make Bagman any angrier at me than he already will be.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

Your hands shook as you pulled into the gravel parking lot later that night. Smoothing out your blue sundress, the one you wore because you knew how Jake felt about sundresses, you adjusted the gift you held in one hand. It was nearing ten o’clock – you had tried to guess a time that would guarantee Jake would have shown up, but not so late that he would have already left.

Inside, it was rowdy. Friday night in full swing, the entire bar packed to the brim with uniforms. A few heads turned as you entered alone. Immediately, you spotted the team in the back. They were wearing their khakis again, Phoenix laughing and blowing out candles over a white cake that Penny held in her arms. You made your way slowly through the throng of people before a hand reached out to grab your arm.

“Hey sweetheart, can I get you a drink?” A brunette in uniform has his thick fingers wrapped around your upper arm and despite trying to shake them off you weren’t able to. “What’s a beautiful thing like you doing here all alone?”

You opened your mouth to tell him off before a hand came around your shoulders and the brunette stepped back. “Hands off the lady, Campbell. She’s with us.” Turning to your left you saw Rooster with his arm around you, once again wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned too far.

The guy held up his hands in apology. “My bad, Bradshaw. Didn’t know.”

Rooster steered you away, toward the group in the back. Bob spotted you first, smiling behind his wire frames. Your eyes landed on Jake immediately. He had one arm propped up on Phoenix’s shoulder, grinning wide. You hesitated for a split second, not wanting to make a scene on Phoenix’s night, but Rooster scooted you along.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispered in your ear.

You almost tripped in your heeled sandals, stumbling forward and catching the group’s attention. Phoenix lit up when she saw you and rounded the corner of the table to give you a hug.

“Happy Birthday,” you said softly, handing her the gift. “I wasn’t sure if it was a presents type of thing.”

“With me it’s always a presents type of thing,” she said, looping her arm through yours and pulling you toward the group. “Come on, we were just cutting the cake. Doctors eat cake, right?”

“This doctor does,” you murmured and she laughed. Jake’s eyes were on you, his tension palpable in the already humid air of the bar. Penny slid a piece of cake over to you and you took a bite as Phoenix opened her gift, pulling out the trio of Le Labo candles and a bottle of champagne.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands around your neck. “I love it.”

You smiled and hugged her back, despite Jake’s hot glares on your skin. Bob appeared at your side holding out a beer and you took it, chatting with him for a moment. Across the table, Rooster had inched up behind Jake and was whispering in his ear. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as the pair, formerly enemies, spoke in hushed tones with muted body language.

Finally, mid-conversation with Bob and Coyote, you felt a hand come around your waist. Looking up, you saw Jake standing behind you and to your left. “Can we talk?”

You nodded and Bob and Coyote shot you knowing glances. Jake offered his hand, and guided you out the back door and down the beach toward a picnic table. He sat on the top of the table, his boots planted on the bench seat and you followed suit.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” he asked quietly.

“Just a really good guess.”

“Oh yeah? You always just walk around with birthday presents for Phoenix?” he teased and you laughed. Jake’s face perked up at the sound.

“Don’t be mad at them, OK? They were just trying to help us.”

He shook his head. “I know. They’re all meddlers anyway.”

You reached out and touched his hand that was splayed on the wooden table. “What happened to the sling?”

“It was just a dislocation. Doc said I could stop wearing it after a few days.”

Your lips formed a pinched line. “Mind if I take a look?” Jake shook his head and you pushed yourself off the table, standing between his legs. Gently, your fingers circled his shoulder, lifted his arm softly, pressed against the joint. “Does that hurt?”

He looked at you, a quiet frown on his handsome face. “Yeah, it hurts.”

“I still think you should wear the sling,” you said, dropping your hands. “And ice it, twice a day. I don’t care whatever your doctor is saying, no heat. Got it?”

“It’s not the shoulder that hurts, Y/N.”

You gently rested your hands on his thighs. “Jake, I’m sorry. Things got really messed up the other night. But I need you to know that I do love you. And I didn’t try to trick you or whatever you’re thinking. I would never do that to you.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “I know, I jumped to conclusions. But the idea that you let me back in that night just to make sure I would be able to fly, that hurt, Y/N. It really hurt.”

“I let you in because I missed you,” you said, pressing your fingers harder into his muscular legs. “Why would I have come here, to this bar, every single night for two weeks waiting for you to come home if I didn’t give a shit?”

Jake raised his head. “You did that?”

You nodded. “Jake, these last few weeks have been a daze. It’s like I was on autopilot. And then I would feel these,” you yanked at the chain around your neck, pulling the dog tags out of where they had been tucked inside your bra and you felt Jake suck in a breath, “and remember what I was fighting for. I was fighting for you. For us.”

His hand slid into his front pocket, pulling out the folded up photo of the two of you that he had taken from your apartment. Jake unfolded it carefully. “I flew better in this mission than any other flight in my entire life,” he whispered. “And it’s not because I knew how important it was, or because I was just having a particularly good day. It was because of you. You’re the reason I needed to come home. You’ve always been the reason, Y/N. I just let myself forget it.”

He tucked the photo back into his pocket and pressed one hand to each side of your face.

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I’m scared you’re going to leave me again. That I’m going to have to pick myself up in your wake. I don’t know if I can do it a second time.”

Jake paused. Then, “Do you love me? Not back then. Not when we were kids. Do you love me now?”

Lifting your gaze to Jake’s, you nodded.

A thumb grazed your cheekbone. “I’m going to need to hear you say it, darlin’. I need to know this is real.”

You pulled him to standing so the two of you were only inches apart. Jake slid an arm around your waist, and you wrapped your hands around his neck. “I love you, Jake. It’s you. It’s always been you. I just need you to promise that you’re not going to run away again.”

A small yelp left your mouth as Jake bent down and lifted you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. Supported by one arm, he lifted a hand to brush the hair out of your eye and tuck it behind your ear. “I am never leaving you again, Bunny. Not if I have any say in the matter.”

You leaned down and pressed your lips to his, felt Jake’s hands tighten where they held you up. Inside, you heard a round of cheering, Rooster taking his place at the piano.

Jake pulled away and leaned his forehead against yours, smiling. “Guess you're finally going to marry me now? Just like we talked about when we were kids.”

Your hands raked through his hair, green eyes glued to yours. “Lieutenant and Doctor Seresin. That sounds pretty good to me.”

“Bunny girl, anything with you sounds good to me.”

Four years later

“Don’t let him eat so much ice cream, he’s going to get sick!”

Jake chuckled and pulled your back against him, letting you sink your weight into him as he rubbed circles on your expanding stomach. “It’s his birthday, just let him be Bunny.”

You sighed and turned around, pressing your fingers to his cheeks. “God, you are an absolute pushover, did you know that?”

He laughed again and grabbed your hands, pressing kisses to the inside of both wrists. “Only because we make really cute kids.”

“Yeah, this one better be cute, I’m sick of getting kicked in the kidney,” you muttered.

Across the yard, you spotted your son sitting on Rooster’s shoulders, playing with a toy airplane.

“I wonder who he got that from.”

“That would be me.” You both turned to see Bob, Phoenix and Fanboy approaching. They hugged you and Jake, and Phoenix’s eyes widened at your growing stomach. “What else are godmothers good for?” she asked, pressing one hand to your stomach. “Still no update on this one?”

Jake shook his head. “We’re stuck on girl names.”

“Girls are tricky,” you said, sitting down on a foldout chair, Jake coming to stand behind you, his large hands massaging your shoulders gently.

“C’mmon, you’re not going to name her Bradley, too?” Rooster appeared out of nowhere, your son giggling in his arms. You started to reach out for him, but he lept into Bob’s arms instead and the group laughed as the two-year-old began to climb the WSO like a tree.

“One Bradley in this family is enough,” Jake huffed and you squeezed his fingers.

“It’s not even his first name!” Rooster exclaimed, cracking open a beer. “Just his middle name.”

“It’s been two years, man, let it go,” Phoenix laughed. “They named him after her dad, can’t really compete with that.”

Rooster nodded slowly. “Yeah, well, I’m still rooting for Bradley for the next one.”

“It’s a girl!” you chuckled, running a hand over your belly.

“We still have three months to decide.” Jake planted a kiss on your temple and crossed over to take his son out of Bob’s arms. He lifted the little boy into the air and you watched as he laughed.

“Where’s my godson?” Everyone’s eyes turned to the edge of the fence where Mav and Penny were entering, their hands full of gifts. You sighed and watched your son light up.

“Mav!” he yelled, his tiny voice barely able to reach across the yard.

Maverick put the gifts down, crouching and holding open his arms. Jake set your son onto the ground and everyone watched as the toddler ran toward Mav, who scooped him up in a big hug.

“Hey there Hangbaby,” he said and you stifled back a laugh. The baby callsign never got old.

The song changed and everyone was on their feet. Jake held out a hand and pulled you up, one hand coming to rest on your back and the other on your stomach. You watched as Jake’s teammates who had quickly become family started to dance in the backyard. Your son sat in Mav’s arms as he bounced from foot to foot to the music.

Jake leaned down and pressed his mouth close to your ear. “I love you, Bunny.”

You smiled and leaned your head back against Jake as he shifted to cradle you from behind, swaying to the song.

All those years ago you thought you were saving him. You never once thought that he might be the one to save you.

THE END

A/N: Thank you everyone for your love on this series! I absolutely lied when I said part 3 would be short. On the hunt for my next TGM fic so if you have any requests please drop them in the comments!

Tag list: @notanordinaryprincess95 @coleishere @shanimallina87 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @fangirling-4-ever @lgg5989 @smoothdogsgirl @kkrenae @wishfulwithwine @pariahsparadise @madslake06 @alana4610 @abaker74 @muushwrites @another-tblr-fangirl @avoirlecoupdefoudre @mrsharringtonmunson @greenteaandsagetea @thegirlnextdoorssister @n3ssm0nique @lover-of-nights @multiplefandommess

#jake hangman x you #jake hangman fic #hangman fanfiction #jake hangman x reader #hangman top gun #top gun imagine #hangman imagine #hangman angst #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #natasha phoenix trace #bob floyd fanfiction #miniseries

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typical-simplelove · 9 months

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Peace in Chaos (R. Spiers)

Summary: When the jump into Normandy goes wrong, it feels like the end is right there, but then Ron shows up, and maybe things are okay now.

Author's Note: This is for @hbowardaily's short story exchange, and I've had the honor of writing for @hxad-ovxr-hxart. I had a blast writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading this!

Word Count: 982

Warnings: Explicit!female reader; canon typical mentions of war and D-Day (and it going astray); mentions of death

likes are appreciated, but reblogs are better!

In the haze and the exhaustion amidst the morning dew settling across the grass behind the beaches on Normandy, her heart couldn’t stop racing. There was a plan. She was supposed to land behind the beaches, and her unit was supposed to be right there. She’d have Luz’s familiar smile, Bull’s strong but steady presence, the leadership of Winters, and the friendship of so many others, but instead, she was walking around, without any ammo or supplies, alone, in enemy-infested France, away from any markers that she recognized.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. While she was trained in the event that everything went wrong, the training never went this wrong. There was always something there for her to lean on. Now, though, she couldn’t use any of that training to get back to where she was supposed to be.

As she’s crouching down behind bushes and trees, in the grass, her uniform muddy and wet, she can’t help but wonder if this is where she dies. She doesn’t know if this is the way she’s supposed to be heading, but if she knows anything it’s that for every single second she spends alone out here, there’s a higher chance of her never finding her company or making it home.

She had so much she wanted to go home to, so many people and opportunities and dreams. Really, though, there was only one person’s face she’d want to look at once more before she died, but at this rate, it wasn’t going to happen. He told her landmarks to look out for in the event she ended up near him, and she knew those as well as she knew her own landmarks and orders, but try as she might, she couldn’t get in the direction of him.

As the sun slowly started to rise behind her, she only hoped she was still going in the right direction. No one would blame her for getting lost because after all, in war, things are always bound to go wrong. However, no one prepared them for when things went this wrong. At this point, as the smells of the early morning began to fill the air, she couldn’t help the tears that began to form around her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, and she wasn’t supposed to be alone, fearful that a single bullet could go flying through the sky, striking her, fatally, at any moment. There was supposed to be someone with her; she’d rather have someone she loathed than be wandering and almost frolicking through the French countryside on her own.

This is where it all ended for her, right? She’d be lost for the rest of her life, and when starvation and dehydration caught up with her, she’d be so far from any other American or Canadian or British or French troops that her dog tags would never make it home, and her family would never have any closure. She’d be labeled Missing in Action, presumed dead, and no one would know her demise. Her body would collapse, leaving her in a free-for-all for any German troops that might come across her. It wasn’t the ending she thought she’d have in this war, but it was the ending she knew was inching closer to her.

She was supposed to be brave, the bringer of doom towards the Axis powers, but at this moment, she felt like a five-year-old, afraid of the dark. She always thought that she could manage to be alone for extended periods of time, and she’s done it before, but right now, all she wants is someone by her side, anyone.

She doesn’t know how much more of this she can take. She’s considering giving up.

However

The minute she decides to sit down and take a rest, she sees a figure walking toward her through the fog, the morning sun illuminating their features. Her senses and instincts creep in. Slowly, she begins to back up, her handgun ready to fire. If she’s going to go down, she’s going to go down fighting.

As the body moves closer to her, she prepares her voice to yell out the code word. It’s been a while since she’s used her voice; her throat is dry from fear, anxiety, and dehydration, but she knows when the time comes, she’ll be able to use her voice.

She doesn’t have to use the words, because the figure says them first.

“Flash.”

“Thunder,” is her automatic reply, but the relief she feels in her body is immense. Not only is it friendly, but she also recognizes that voice. That smooth voice comforted her in the highest points of her homesickness and pain during training. That voice was the one that was by her side during late-night walks at Curahee, and it was the voice that whispered in her ear at the movies on the rare chance she got a weekend pass.

Ron.

As he steps out from the fog and his eyes focus on her, she can’t help the sprint that overtakes her. She rushes over to him and launches herself into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his arms holding her tight to his body as he allows himself to feel. When he landed on his own, with no one in his company around him, his immediate thoughts went to her. If his landing didn’t go well, then it’s safe to assume hers didn’t either. While he knew she could take care of herself, he still worried for her, but that’s what happens when you love someone.

For the first time in years, Ron felt safe because he was holding his entire world in his arms, and with his world in his arms, nothing could harm it–nothing could harm her.

Amidst all the blood, pain, death, fighting, and war, they finally felt at peace in a world lacking peace.

#hbowarshort23 #claudia writes #ron spiers #ronald spiers #ron spiers x reader #ronald spiers fic #ronald spiers x reader #band of brothers #op: 2023

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fuckmymunson · 2 years

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𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐥 — 𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤

★ Request: Dark!Sirius Black, prompt words: Bullet, graveyard shift, sinner.

★ CW: 18+ DARK SMUT, NON-CON, religious corruption kink, disrespecting holy items, nun!reader, loss of virginity, BLOOD, unprotected sex, choking, breeding kink, (barely there?) dumbification, not exactly dirty talk but kind of?, dacryphilia, not edited/proofread! lmk if I miss a tag! | Word count: 2,8k. | Minors DNI.

★ a/n: Requested by 📸 anon, hope you like it!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Walking under the pouring rain, the half-moon and stars hidden behind the big, dark clouds of autumn, side by side with sister Lisseth, who was explaining to you tonight's divine office. Crossing the open gates of the graveyard next to the cathedral, holding the skirts of your habit, the atmosphere felt heavy the moment you stepped inside the holy property.

“I promise you the night will go in the blink of an eye.” She spoke, her green eyes glowing softly at the oil lantern she had in a pale hand. “You know your divine office, right?”

“Yes.” You nodded, obedient as always. “Ten Hail Mary Prayers, fifteen prayers for Our father and the Rosary for the salvation of the poor souls who had left this earth too early.” Your sister looked pleased with your answer and handing you the oil lantern as well as an umbrella, identical to the one she was holding, she guided you to an empty mausoleum, which would be your shelter for that night.

“God blesses you, sister.” She smiled, holding your hand. “Repeat with me the night shift praying.”

“Dear God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.” The two nuns spoke in unison, the rain around them acting as a sweet lullaby to their prayers. “Remember those who labour and toil while I eat and rest. Bless those who go unseen during night hours. Strengthen those who ply their trade after the setting of the sun. Amen.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, please take care.” Before leaving, Sister Lisseth spoke words that left you slightly puzzled.

After a few minutes of silent prayers, the night shift you were committed to finally started. Walking through the rows of graves and tombstones, murmuring merciful prayers clenching the red rosary tight against your chest. The rain stopped after a few hours and returning to the empty mausoleum, you folded the black umbrella, ready to continue with your night prayers.

“In the name of the Father, and the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen.” Your voice resounded in the ancient stones, in the names of the departed. Hands clasped together still holding the crimson beads in a devoted sight. “In times of sickness and death, prayers are the best means of consolation, comfort and help that people can give. Let us now begin this Rosary by calling on our Blessed Mother Mary to pray for us now as we pray for all of the poor unfortunate souls who had left us too early…”

A loud crack was heard in the distance, followed by a low growl, something that sounded too similar to a whimper of pain. Remaining still on your knees, you muttered a quick prayer for protection, feeling your heart speeding up in a split second. Maybe is just a stray dog who got hurt, that made a lot of sense, a dog.

“God of heaven, You called them from this life. God of Mercy, fulfil their faith and hope in You.” You continued the prayer, eyes darting at the abyss of darkness that unfolded before you. “Lead them safely home to heaven to be with You forever, filled with joy and peace in Your presence. We ask this through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

With every second that passed, the sounds got louder, heavier, almost as if they were steps, that was slowly approaching you. Standing up abruptly, one hand clasping the holy figure and the other holding the oil lantern, narrowed eyes, scrutinizing the dark corners and paths of the graveyard, looking for the source of the sounds. Amazingly, a tall figure emerged from behind an old oak tree, limping and curling in its own figure. The rain enhanced the smells of the forest next to the cathedral, the scents of musk, moist grass and tar flooding your nostrils, and, the unmistakable metallic smell of blood.

“Who are you?” Your question made him raise his head, it was a man. An injured man. He was a few inches taller than you, he looked ragged and dejected, he wore an old grey coat, wet with the rain and ripped in a few spots. His eyes were also grey, sparkling with the dim lights of the lantern, his chiselled cheekbones and jawline were painted with droplets of blood, the light shadow of his facial hair enriching his pale skin.

Instead of answering your question, the stranger approached you a little more, one hand firmly resting against his stomach. “You’re hurt.” You acknowledged his damaged state, and he nodded weakly, his eyes giving you a silent plea.

Placing the lantern on the floor, you approached him this time, worried and ready to aid a stranger in disgrace. You were so blinded by your kind heart, that you didn’t notice the devilish smirk in his eyes. Helping him take a seat on the edge of the empty mausoleum, you kneeled next to him, moving his hand gently to asset the damage. “What happened?” You asked, alarmed by the amount of blood.

“I was shot.” He explained briefly, making you gasp. His voice was calm, too calm for someone who had been shot, but you were too worried to notice that too. “I need you to help me, Sister.”

“Of course.” You nodded, a determined fire in your eyes. This is what God would’ve wanted, to help a wayward soul. “We can go back to the cathedral, I’m sure Sister Lily will be of help, she is a really good healer and—”

“We don’t have time, Sister.” He interrupted you, placing a hand on top of yours, guiding it to his wound. “I need you to remove the bullet, with your hands.” A surprising gesture appeared on your face, almost making him chuckle. “Please, it hurts so much.” His wince was too convincing.

Swallowing all the panic and fear, your shaky hand darted over his wound, a few centimetres next to his belly button. When your soft fingers slid inside the wound, he hissed in pain, and you flinched in disgust and anxiety, it was horrible, and the sensation was one you would never forget. Sliding another finger in, your fingertips bumped with a small object and curling them gently over the silver bullet, you pulled it slowly, afraid of hurting him more. The whole time you avoided his gaze, afraid to break down at the pain he had to be experiencing. The clammy sensation of blood clots and skin made you gag, tears prickled in your pretty eyes, the sound of your fingers leaving the wound was so disgusting you miraculously suppressed the urge to vomit.

“Thank you, Thank you.” He whispered, letting out a satisfied groan, his voice echoing in your ears.

“We need to go back to the cathedral, the wound is deep, it needs to be cleaned.” Your voice was supposed to be confident, but it came out shaky and nervous, still in shock, looking at your bloody hand holding the silver bullet in awe.

“There’s no need, Sister.” This time, you lifted your eyes, meeting his and feeling your heart-stopping at the smirk he wore on his Adonis's face. “The bullet was the only thing preventing my body from working as it should be.”

Right before your eyes, the wound started closing, the skin stretching and then shrinking, until there was no wound, the only evidence of an injury being the blood stains and a very faint silver scar. Mouth wide open, you gasped again, this time in total fear.

“Who are you?” You repeated the question from earlier, your hands quickly reaching for the crimson rosary, the same colour as the blood in your fingers.

‘Sirius Black.’ He said, as cocky as he could be. Black, you had heard that last name before. Before, sure, but where?

Then, it hit you.

“Black.” You repeated out loud. “Just like the family who was murdered a few days ago.” The exact family who was buried in the graveyard you were now stuck in, in an ostentatious marble mausoleum, a few yards away. “Mother, Father and only son were found dead in the Black manor.”

“That was my family, yes.” He looked amused by your reactions as if he was playing with you. “Not by my hand, unfortunately.” A weak whine fled your lips by his words, making him chuckle.

“Please, don’t hurt me.” You begged, scared, holding the rosary in your chest.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Sister.” The way the holy title rolled down his tongue was different, it sounded blasphemous, sinful. “You helped me, and you deserved a reward for your kind heart.”

“Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve, to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.” You whispered hurriedly, terrified, the tears rolling hotly down your cheeks, your words only making him laugh again. “Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy towards us, and after this, our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus.—”

“Praying won’t save you from me, little one.” He interrupted you, again, cupping your face with one hand, harshly pulling you closer to his face, you continued with the prayer. “Oh, sweet Virgin Mary. Pray for us, O Holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.” He joined the prayer, mocking your voice and laughing darkly at your tears. “Oh, sweet virgin.”

His lips were pressed against yours, swallowing the sob that emanated from you. Sirius could taste the salty flavour of your tears, fueling his increasing arousal. He felt hungry, starving, and the only thing he wanted to ravish was you. You tried to push him away, a desperate attempt to escape his claws, but he was monstrously strong. Standing up, he grabbed your coif, snatching it away from your head, letting your hair exposed to the night air. One hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, dragging you inside the cold mausoleum with him. Kneeling next to you, just like you did minutes before, he licked your tears groaning at the taste. “So pretty.” He whispered before kissing you again, the goal of ruining you being the only one inside his twisted mind.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” You cried, desperate for salvation, squeaking when his cruel hands slid inside your tunic, groping your thighs and loosening the fabric. “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

“Amen.” He finished the sentence, smiling. His fingers twisted your nipples, torturing you beyond limits. “Answer me, Sister, are you a virgin?” The painful moan from your part answered his question, but he wanted verbal confirmation. “Answer me, little one.”

“Please, please don’t.” You cried, a cry that broke into a choke when his thumb circled your clothed clit.

“So, you are.” He repeated his actions until he was satisfied by the subtle wet patch in your cotton underwear, as white as your coif, as pure as your heart. “Then I’m sure I will enjoy ruining you more, my sweet virgin.”

He slid one finger, only one, and it hurt. The slick between your legs was providing him with enough lubrication, but the intrusion was too much. “So tight.” He pointed out, kissing your jaw. “Can wait to rip you apart with my cock. Break this tight cunt in two, if I’m feeling clement enough, perhaps I can bless you with my baby, don’t you think? Sister.” Curling his finger, he seized from the way you rocked your hips involuntarily, adding a second finger, the burning sensation of being stretched by his digits overwhelmed your head.

“I believe in one God—.” You tried to continue, believing so foolishly in the superior being that could pull you out of this misery, your voice cracked at the way he curled his fingers again, hitting that spot that made you moan in pleasure, a guilty pleasure. “the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible… Fuck.” You gasped when his thumb met your clit again, the bliss of an orgasm clouding your head.

“That’s it, little one.” Sirius cooed at you. “Let yourself go, there’s nothing bad about pleasure, on the contrary, why would God give you such a gorgeous body and not put it to good use?” He added a third finger, and the pain returned. Biting your lip, you sobbed at his words, feeling so guilty for getting any pleasure from this sinful act, you made a celibate vow, and you tried to remember the celibate prayer you spoke out loud in the cathedral a few months ago when you decided to change your life and be faithful to your one and only God.

“I-I ask you, Jesus, to fill my sexuality with your holiness, to strengthen me and restore me in your n-name.” Every word was harder to pronounce than the one before, Sirius was kissing your neck, nibbling at the flesh and leaving purplish marks. Everything was getting blurry, your head was floating, the sensations were too powerful.

“So dumb.” Sirius mocked your pout, removing his fingers from your aching pussy, swirling his tongue over his wet digits, wet with your arousal, with your sin. “Such a holy fool.” Unbotting his trousers, you gasped in shock, knowing well what was about to happen. Trying to move was useless now, he had you caged, and when he lined up with your throbbing cunt, he smiled almost gently. “Don’t worry, Sister, I will make you feel good.”

The pain was unimaginable.

Even if he attempted to prep you beforehand, his fingers weren’t compared to his cock. Sirius groaned, delighted by the way your velvety virgin walls suck every inch of him. “So greedy.” He growled, moving until his hips collided with the back of your thighs. “So tight, such a holy cunt.” Dragging his length out of you, the crimson sheer layer that covered it only thrilled him even more. Leaning down to kiss you, he drank your desperate cries, hands pressed on your thighs opening your legs even further if it was possible.

Next to you, discarded and forgotten, the red beaded rosary caught his attention. Closing your eyes due to the pleasure and pain that rocked your body, your eyes widened when you felt a familiar material wrapped around your throat, the rosary sinking into the skin of your neck, denting the tender flesh and obstructing the air from your lungs. Sirius kept choking you with your own holy item, bottoming out at the way your gushing pussy pulsated around his hard cock. “You like that, don’t you?” He asked in a hoarse voice, struggling to thrust at the way your walls were gripping him.

Little black dots clouded your vision, your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and Sirius released the pressure from your throat, allowing you to breathe, the rosary hanging loosely around your poor neck and bouncing over your exposed breasts with every snap of his hips.

“I’m gonna fill you up, little one.” He spoke, leaning down, squeezing your cheeks together, forcing an exaggerated pout from your part. “I’m gonna bless you with my child, ‘m sure you’ll be a wonderful mother.” His fingers rubbed your clit without any compassion, throwing you into that state of bliss, feeling the orgasm again, this time harder than before. “Cum, cum for me, Sister. Let your sins consume you.”

Sirius moaned when you came around him, and after a few deep thrusts, he did as well, inside you, the warm squirts of his cum pooling inside you, making you whine at the new sensation. Sirius cooed at you, kissing your lips, your neck, your breasts. Your body was overworked, every inch of it hurt, and the world was becoming a big blur with every second that passed.

“Rest, little one.” You heard him talk, feeling something being placed inside your hand, something you hold tightly. “Rest, for now.” That was the last thing you registered before fainting.

The next morning, you woke up in one of the infirmary’s beds, feeling sore from head to toe. Next to you, Sister Lily and Sister Lisseth had a permanent gesture of distress, when they noticed your awake state, they rushed their way to you.

“Thank God you’re awake.” Sister Lily cried, covering her face with her hands.

“What happened? Take your time, there’s no rush, your wellbeing comes first.” Sister Lisseth grabbed your hand, rubbing soothing circled in your palm.

Feeling something cold against your other hand, you lifted and opened it, a little ring falling on your lap. Picking it up, it was a gold ring, with initials carved. It was elegant and shadowy and it only screamed danger. Your finger traced the initials: S.O.B.

Sorry for any mistakes! English is not my first language. I appreciate any feedback!˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

#Anya is writing! ᜊ( ᜊ ´ ˘) ੭ #Anya dreams of Sirius!(〃＾▽＾〃)#sirius black #dark!siriusblack #dark!sirius black #sirius by omel!#dark!sirius by omel!#sirius black smut #sirius black x reader smut #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #dark!sirius black smut #marauder x reader smut #omenhel's 200 flowers!#📸 anon

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lonepower · 6 months

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OC + Random Associations

(tagged by @cannibalisticskittles, tyvm!!!!! you didn't specify which oc but I'm assuming you mean for bg3 so you're getting the murder angel (◡ ‿ ◡ ✿))

🗡 animal - definitely an ermine. (animal predation/death cw in linked image) just because they're small and adorable doesn't mean they're not close cousins of the wolverine.

🗡 colors - grey, silver, gold, white. some red, though I try to avoid too much of it in order to maintain a contrast with orin.

🗡 month - january or february. cold, quiet, the dead of winter.

🗡 songs - well of course it's obviously the dismemberment song. (runners up are i like the way you die and kill of the night.)

🗡 number - oh fuck i have no idea lmao. 7? that's the first thing that popped into my head, but there's a nonzero possibility that that's just because it sort of vaguely rhymes

🗡 plants - angel's trumpet. one of the many, many, many effects of this plant family (which also includes sacred datura) is photophobia/photosensitivity, which I didn't know until I went to get a picture of it, but that's too perfect.

🗡 scents - jasmine and lye - too clean. the dry, antiseptic smell of a doctor's hands. a faint undercurrent of rust.

🗡 gemstone - white opal.

🗡 time of day - the first glimmer of dawn.

🗡 season - winter.

🗡 places - culverts, caverns, buried ruins, the secret compounds of cults and nobles. anywhere underground.

🗡 food - i mean. [soos voice] i ate a man alive tonight- (she does also favor white eel sashimi. it's only a little bit poisonous. don't worry about it)

🗡 drink - some kind of white wine? (i don't know anything about wine. i want to say a sweet wine, but that's just because i won't drink anything less sweet than manischewitz, which is basically grenadine left out in the sun a little too long.)

🗡 element - earth, but the kind of earth that's jagged stone and falling stalactites and bottomless caverns, not the warm alive kind of earth.

🗡 seasoning - cardamom, black pepper, ginger, ghost pepper.

🗡 sky - the weird unlight of a really snowy night.

🗡 weather - that specific kind of featureless gray day where time doesn't seem to change at all because the light never shifts.

🗡 magical power - technically she's a warlock, but I've homebrewed her into a glass cannon melee fighter and the only spell I ever actually use is misty step lol.

🗡 weapons - a cleaver in her main hand and a bonesaw in her offhand. failing that, sharpened teeth and nails.

🗡 sweets - 100% cocoa dark chocolate.

🗡 method of travel - she strikes me as a berline kind of gal. she's small, delicate, and sun-sensitive - not really meant for the sort of traipsing-around-outdoors-in-daytime adventure that gets foisted onto her! (also, sidenote: where are all the horses? shadowheart lampshades us not having any, but seriously, why are the only domestic animals we see cows/rothe, dogs, cats, and one (1) chicken (before baby boy eats it lol)? where are the rest of the livestock? where are the beasts of burden? hello?? *hammering on adam smith's window with a stick* ANSWER ME LARIAN-)

🗡 art style - francisco goya, but specifically the early 19th century/Black Paintings era. my man was going Through it

🗡 fear - pointlessness/purposelessness. she has to be what she was made for, because if she's not, what is she?

🗡 mythological creature - the bann sidhe/banshee.

🗡 stationery item - this pen set.

🗡 3 emojis - well i had already picked 🗡 as my bullet point before getting here, so: 🪚🩸🫀 (<- i was today years old when i learned there's an anatomical heart emoji now?! we live in the future)

🗡 celestial body - neutron star

aaaand I will tag @diantha with Amara, @megparsec with Ellara, @curlyparmesan with Flit, and @ballofbitter with Eos (but of course no pressure!!!!) :D

#tag meme #cannibalisticskittles #replies #lilin duskryn #baldur's gate #oc stuff #thank you!!!!!! you know i love the excuse to talk about my ocs >:3c

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snowbird-down · 1 year

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Character Summary: Laelia (jen) Belisar

alias/nicknames: Lee, Jeanne, Snowbird, Valkyrie

gender: female

age: 23

zodiac: ----

abilities + talents:

A highly skilled if not batshit reckless pilot who can pull off stunts that probably shouldn’t be possible in all manner of machina

A crackshot gunslinger with the kind of draw time that Marty Robbins writes ballads about

Cooks a mean plate of spaghetti

alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

languages: Fluent in Garlean and Common, can speak haltingly conversational Ala Mhigan (but only in the present-tense) and knows all the swear words in Old Elezen.

family: Justus Belisar (father), Tacitus Belisar (older brother), Marco Belisar (younger brother), Verina Belisar (younger sister), Alfonso Belisar (estranged cousin)

friends: While the survivors of III Squad are by technical definition her ‘friends’, the bond that exists between them is probably more familial than anything. Laelia is quite literally inseparable from Victoria Castellus and Maxima Sawyer, and she’d do absolutely anything for either of them. Ride or die? You bet.

More recently she’s gotten close to Arym Ord, who she shares a love of adrenaline (among other things) with. She even would have considered him an ‘honorary’ squad member who they’d ‘adopted’, except he’s being Very Difficult right now.

For some reason fate keeps sending her through hell alongside a girl named Reima Awen, so the two share a mutual understanding of each others’ trauma and do their best to support each other while dreaming of -- and striving for -- better days.

The healer Norhi Morovine helped her settle into Gridanian life back when she first deserted Garlemald and was hiding out in the Shroud, and continues to be her go-to for all manner of Eorzean expertise.

And while she thinks that Ser Basile Bellerose is currently just her friend (with extensive benefits), the reality is that she is much, much closer to him than she realizes.

sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

relationship: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated

libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent / who knows

build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

hair: white / blonde (platinum) / brunette / red / black

eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other

skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

height: 6'0"

scars: Surprisingly few for all the stunts she pulls. There’s a puncture wound from an arrow on the back of her left calf; by the way it healed it looks like it got infected at one point. There’s a hand-sized patch of burnt skin over her ribs on her righthand side. And there’s a more recent bullet wound in her left shoulder.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow gun|| summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future present

A few songs that remind you of them:

Kenny Loggins - Danger Zone ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Green Day - Holiday ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Some Nights - Fun

D’Angelo - Unshaken

The Ecstasy of Gold -- Ennio Morricone

Coyote Kisses - Six Shooter

Primo the Alien - Heart on the Run

Hunter as a Horse - The Train :)

Tagged by: @rhotanored Thank you this was due for an updatew fhweuidkfjhewrkjdghkjer

Tagging: @high-and-away @autochthonousone @endangered-liaison @norhimorovine @daughter-of-fire-and-dreams idk who’s done this forgive me!

#character memes #tag memes #laelia belisar

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mangoslixes · 1 year

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🎵

Choose an artist you like and use their songs to answer this as close to the truth as possible!

thanks for tagging me @violetsnotebook! this was fun <3

Artist: Florence + The Machine

Gender: I need my golden crown of sorrow / My bloody sword to swing / my empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology / I am no mother, I am no bride, I am king – King

Describe yourself: My heart is like a haunted house / There's things in there that scratch about / They make their music in the night / And in the day they give me such a fright – Haunted House

How do you feel: And are you afraid? 'Cause I'm terrified / But you remind me that it's such a wonderful thing to love/ It's such a wonderful thing to love – Patricia

Best friend(s): you've always been my North Star / And I have to tell you something / I'm still afraid of the dark / But you take my hand in your hand / From you the flowers grow / And do you understand with every seed you sow / You make this cold world beautiful? - Patricia

Favourite time of the day: Suddenly I'm overcome (Overcome) /Dissolving like the setting sun (The setting sun) / Like a boat into oblivion – Queen of Peace

If my life was a TV show: I know I seem shaky / These hands not fit for holding / But if you let me, oh / I will see you right – Hiding

What is life to you: And every city was a gift / And every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips / And I was making you a wish / In every skyline – How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful

Relationship status: Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back / Struck from a great height / By someone who should have known better than that – Dog Days are Over

Fear: Is it too late to come on home? / Are all those bridges now old stone? / Is it too late to come on home? / Can the city forgive? I hear its sad song – Long & Lost

tagging (if you want to): @therefugeofbooks, @girl-bateman, @oldyears, @theliberationclub, @gustingirl, @qurbatpdf, @heyitsme-ana, @themelodyofspring

#tag games #this was so fun!#idk if i did it perfect tho #violet 🦦

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generalcircus · 2 years

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The Perfect Male Height

"How tall are you?" Ah yes. The age old question. The physical feat SO important that specific requirements for it grace the Tinder bios of seemingly every hot girl in America. Height. And when it comes to making your case for attractiveness, men... you better have it right.

Any guy who has ever swiped through Tinder knows the drill. You come across a profile of some gorgeous girl… She’s athletic, fashion forward, and seems to spend most of her weekends jet setting across the globe like some skipping stone playing tag with the continents. So you scroll through her pics, stopping briefly to stare at the one of her in a skimpy bikini before making your way to that ever so unoriginal bio that you've read a thousand times before.

After brief paragraphs mentioning how adventurous they are, their love of trying new foods, a warning about their sarcasm, and an FYI that they will never love you as much as they love their dog, you finally get to the bullet points. Oh god.

Sagittarius

Wine

Coffee

Brunch

Travel

Music

Fitness

Hiking

Laughing

Living

Adventures

Old Soul

Reading

Yoga

Family

Friends

Farmers Markets

Cute Dates

Independent

Hopeless Romantic

Honesty

Loyalty

Spring

Summer

Fall

Winter

Blah blah BLAH blah blah. And then comes the inevitable. That last bullet point they strategically place at the bottom of their match making grocery list. The "oh by the way". The last thing they want you to see before swiping left or right. Their requirement for height...

Yep. You knew it was coming. But your heart sinks nonetheless. "Fuckin bullshit" you mumble to yourself as you ponder whether or not she would notice the difference between 6' and 5' 8". It just sucks. What's a little fella have to do to get a decent girl these days? Well I wish I had the answer for you circus attractions, but I on the other hand never have to worry about picking restaurants based on whether or not they have highchairs. I'm 6' 3". And if you're wondering how awesome life is up here, mind your own business. Knowing the view I have 24/7 would just depress you anyway.

So what is the perfect height? Well I'd say it's 6' 3", and not because I just happen to be a gentleman of that stature. 6' 3" is the perfect height because you're not short, yet you're not TOO tall. And you're not right on the edge of being 6 feet tall like those frauds who are 6' - 6' 1". A guy in this range dips below the 6' mark every time he steps in a pothole. Nobody wants to be that guy. I'd rather be 5' 10" - 5' 11" and the king of the kitty pool instead of struggling to stay afloat in the deep end. Being a tall 5 footer is like being a superstar in the minor leagues. Sure it's the minors, but you still get first pick of all the farm club jersey chasers and best seats on the coach bus.

In addition to not being short, at 6' 3" you're also not too tall which is important. Once you start getting into skyscraper range, that height starts to come with deformities that make you less desirable to women. You know those dudes, the slender man looking weirdos who are like 6' 10" - 6' 11" and wobble around like baby giraffes trying to walk for the first time. They usually have deformed faces with big bony noses and bulging foreheads, and they die when they're like 35 because their heart has already put in a full life's work. Once you get too tall, most women are either off the table or standing on one just to get their face in the same area code as yours.

So with that being said, without further ado I present to you the perfect male height...

6' 3"

Update your bios, ladies.

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heliads · 3 years

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Deserve You

Based on this request: “Bucky imagine where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good at all for him even though he loves you more than anything. one time he comes from a mission to you waiting in his room, doubting again but he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then? :)”

masterlist

You open your eyes gradually, the last remnants of sleep being dragged away by the brightness of dawn. You allow yourself one final moment of lingering silence before sitting up with a yawn. A brief spurt of panic flashes across you when you realize that you’re alone in your bed, but then you hear a quiet noise from the kitchen and your pulse begins to settle once more. Bucky must have already gotten up, there’s no need to worry.

You keep having moments like this, where you turn to find yourself alone and keep thinking that this is it, that he’s finally left you. Then you mentally chide yourself for thinking that way- every single one of the Avengers that you’ve met on your trips to the old Stark Tower keeps talking about how Bucky’s head over heels for you, so why would he ghost you out of nowhere? You always smile for a second, thinking about your boyfriend, and then the doubt creeps back in and you glance around to find him. Every single time, without fail, those lurking remnants of doubt always worm back into your mind, and sometimes it feels like there’s nothing you can do to get rid of them.

The only available option is to find Bucky and put your mind at ease by knowing that he’s still here. So, you slide your legs out of the still-warm blankets, grimacing at the shock of the cold air, and pad over to the kitchen. Sure enough, Bucky is holding a mug of some hot beverage, maybe coffee or tea, and staring out the window at the city below him. He does this, sometimes, just watches the city like he could do it for hours. You have a feeling that he’s studying the city for any last lingering resemblance to the New York he’d grown up in, when the most pressing news was World War II and he didn’t see himself in Siberia for anything more than a ski trip, if he could put together enough pennies to afford it. However, life has a way of throwing you for a loop, and all of Bucky’s plans for the future evaporated as soon as he plummeted from the train all those years ago.

Bucky turns when he hears you approach. “Good morning.” You smile, joining him by the window. “Good morning yourself. Are you up early for an assignment or because of a nightmare?” Bucky frowns. “The latter. Did I wake you? I thought I was quiet.” You shake your head. “No, I was asleep the whole time. I just knew because you have that same look on your face after you have your nightmares.” Bucky laughs quietly. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the spy who knew everything. Sure you don’t want a job at S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not sure that paying attention to my boyfriend really qualifies me for FBI: Avengers Edition, but I’ll keep it in mind.” You head over to the fridge, starting to pull out some items for breakfast. Bucky leaves within a few minutes, mumbling something about an early morning meeting, and you head to work yourself soon after. Your own workplace is no Avengers Tower, just a typical office building, and you slide into your seat just in time to start the day.

The morning itself is fairly uneventful, and you’re just starting to think that it’s going to be another boring day as usual when you head off to your lunch break. As you’re waiting in line to use the microwave, you hear a pair of women talking at a table near you. You had no intention of eavesdropping, but although their voices are fairly loud your attention was hooked from the beginning when you realize they’re talking about Bucky. More specifically, they’re talking about Bucky’s girlfriend, or lack thereof.

Ever since you started dating Bucky, he had been careful to keep you out of the public eye. When you work as an Avenger for long enough, you learn to keep everyone important to you out of focus, out of danger. If a HYDRA agent got word of the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend, you’d be on a train to Siberia with handcuffs and a blindfold within the hour, a ransom request already placed on your head. That’s if they were patient- if not, they would just shoot you to send a message. By making sure nobody heard about you, Bucky could keep you safe.

The downside of this is times like now, when you have to listen to two of your coworkers discussing how strange it is that a man as attractive as James Barnes would still be single. Obviously, you can’t say anything, and you’re not sure that they’d believe you if you tried, but it’s still slightly uncomfortable to hear the conversation swirling around you even as you have to stay silent.

One of the women clicks her tongue in confusion. “I mean, isn’t it weird, though? He’s a friend of Tony Stark, there’s no doubt he’d have a shortage of girls who’d be willing to go out to a bar or something on a weekend.” The other woman laughs. “I bet that surplus of girls includes you, right?” The first woman grins cheekily. “I wouldn’t say no if he asked, but even I don’t have a chance. I mean, he’s an Avenger, and one of the hottest ones there. No one here could hold a candle to him. He saves lives on a daily basis and what do we do, sit around all the time? The only woman I could see him with is an agent or maybe Black Widow. At least then he’d be dating someone who’s his equal.”

The words feel like shards of ice threading through your heart, and you turn to go back to your desk, hunger suddenly forgotten. As you stare at your work, though, you find you can’t concentrate. You keep hearing what the women had said, that no one in this miserable office could be worthy of dating the famous Avenger Bucky Barnes. They’re right, aren’t they? Bucky was saving lives all the time while you complained and acted so needy. You sigh to yourself, feeling your spirits dampen by the second. Why did Bucky see in you anyway?

Bucky’s shoulders feel like they’ve been carved from stone. He’s been tense for so long that he’s certain he’ll never be able to move again. Today is the day that he has to begin reviewing case files from his time as a Winter Soldier. He’ll have to come face to face with photo and video evidence of all the wrongs he’s done, of all the killings and blood shed by his own damaged hands. He’s been trying to avoid it for a while, but S.H.I.E.L.D. needs his input on all of the past Winter Soldier missions in order to proceed with the ongoing investigations into the last HYDRA strongholds. Bucky has no choice but to confront his past, he knows that, but it doesn’t make his job any easier.

It’s not like he’s alone, though. Natasha is here, because her experience with the Red Room could prove useful with putting together some pieces of the HYDRA-Siberia-Soviet puzzle that’s been plaguing them for some time now. Steve is also here, one door down, looking at his old medical files that detail exactly how some brilliant scientists turned a scrawny kid with a death wish when it came to standing up to bullies into the strongest man of the century.

Bucky clenches his jaw, and turns back to the manila file folder in his hand. He flips it open, taking out the diagrams and security camera stills and laying them out onto the table before him as he reads. He’s flipping through the rest of the contents of the folder when he pauses, staring at the images awaiting his acknowledgement. Natasha sees him freeze slightly and glances over to see what’s troubling him. Her brow dips in understanding.

Lying before him are photo after photo of death and destruction. Bucky remembers this day now, after it was buried so long under HYDRA mind wipes and his own crippling want to forget. The bodies of the dead line a small street, buildings reduced to rubble. He can see the dead, so many of them. There aren’t just the few military commanders he was sent to exterminate- no, HYDRA wants no witnesses and so Bucky had killed everyone in sight. There are children in pools of blood, their mothers reaching over them as if to shield them from the inevitable bullets coming their way. He tells himself that their deaths were quick, efficient, maybe even painless, but it is not enough. There is no way to justify this amount of bloodshed.

Natasha puts her hand on his shoulder. The gesture, meant to bring comfort, startles him and it takes all of Bucky’s self-control to not flinch. Bucky swallows hard. “I did all of this. I killed every one of them.” Natasha’s voice is low and quiet. “It wasn’t you. You had no choice in any of this.” Bucky laughs, thought it is heavy with horror and breaks in upon itself. “It’s easier to say that, but it was still my hand pulling the trigger.” He leans back against the wall, trying to steady himself.

“How were you and Steve able to convince anyone to trust me? Why did you even want to save me in the first place?” Natasha stares at the photos, taking in the broken bodies of the dead. “Steve knew the real you, the one who’s standing here right now and would never attempt this sort of carnage. I knew what it was like to lose all control and feel like your hands would always be stained with blood. Second chances are more powerful than you might think.”

Bucky shakes his head slowly. “I don’t deserve that chance. I don’t deserve any of this.” He closes his eyes for just a second as if by blocking out the world he can block out the memory of the methodical shudder of the rifle in his hands, the recoil as he fired again and again. “I don’t deserve Y/N. She-” Natasha cuts him off smoothly. “Y/N knows what you’ve been through, and she knows that you are not that same man. I’ve spoken with her before, and she knows the full extent of what you did.”

Bucky’s eyes cut back to the photographs. “Then why does she stay?” Natasha’s gaze feels like a leaden weight, unflinching and unyielding. “She stays because she loves you. She stays because she knows that the real Bucky Barnes is a hero, someone who is willing and able to move on from their past. Y/N is one of the most important parts of your life, not because she’s a good kisser but because she’s one of the only people who can see straight through you and know that you’re a good man.”

Bucky nods. “I don’t need you to tell me twice.” Natasha’s right, though, and even the barest mention of Y/N brings back a wave of good memories to fight against the bad. She’s like an anchor, someone holding him in place even when all of the darkness he’s had to endure threatens to pull him under. It astonishes him sometimes that he still wakes up beside her every morning. She’s so perfect, so wonderful. What does Y/N see in him anyway that would make him so lucky to have her with him?

You’re in a despondent mood for the rest of the day. You slump home, not even bothering to turn on the lights but discarding your coat and bag in the dark of the room. The faint light still shining through the windows is all you’ll need. You stare unthinkingly at the apartment for a while, then head to your bedroom. As you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, you stop with a sigh, leaning your hands against the dresser underneath.

You stare at yourself, at the dark circles under your eyes. Who are you, anyway? Who are you to think that you would ever be good enough for an Avenger? At this point, it’s only a matter of days before he breaks up with you. No wonder he keeps waking up before you- he’s trying to leave without seeing you that often, as a way to lessen the blow of the eventual goodbye.

The problem about gloomy thoughts is that they tend to wrap around you, pulling you away from everything else. You’re so distracted that you don’t hear the front door open, and you don’t notice Bucky enter the apartment until he knocks softly on the wall of your bedroom as he stands in the open door. You turn around with a flash, plastering on a smile, but your reaction is too late and his brow furrows. “Are you alright?”

You try for a smile, reaching out to kiss him in greeting. “Of course I am. How was your day?” Bucky is not to be deterred. “I saw your face, Y/N. You looked really upset. Is everything okay?” Maybe it’s that velvet tone of his, or the concern laced in his eyes, but your few fragile defenses break down. You turn to him, fighting back tears. “Why are you still with me?” Bucky frowns. “What?” You hold your hands up uselessly. “You’re an Avenger and you’re out there saving lives all the time. Why would you ever be interested in some girl from the city? I’m not half the person you are.”

Bucky stares at you for a second, then wraps his arms around you, drawing you close. “Y/N, love, why would you ever think that?” You look away. “Because it’s true. You should be dating some other superhero of a woman who could be your equal.” Bucky’s frown tinges slightly with anger. “Did you hear about this on some news show? I told that one news outlet that if they said a single thing about me I’d shut them down, and I’ll do it-” You cut him off. “It’s not like that. It’s just- You’re an Avenger, Bucky, and you deserve someone equally as brave as you are.”

Bucky guides you gently over to the bed, and the two of you sit down on the edge. He pulls you into his arms. “I don’t want some superhero. I want you. Y/N, I love you because you’re the only one here who sees me for who I really am, not just some soulless Avenger but a faulty person. Honestly, if anything I’m surprised that you’d still stay with me.” Your tears dry up as you stare at him. “What?” A quiet smile spreads across Bucky’s lips. “Every single day, I come home and you make a difficult day a thousand times better. You know me better than I know myself, and even despite everything I’ve done and the monster I’ve been, you still make me feel like a good man again. You’re one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met, Y/N, and you deserve someone equally as good as you are.”

You shake your head slowly. “That’s not the same. Anyone can be nice.” Bucky cups your cheek in his hand. “Nobody else knows that I always get up in the mornings and pace around because of the nightmares. Nobody else knows that I always stare down the alleyways on the walk home because I keep thinking I’ll see Steve in there getting beat up, or help me pick out jackets based on how easy it will be to remove the left sleeve. You’re the only one for me, doll, and I wouldn’t trade you for a heartbeat.”

He reaches into a pocket. “Here, I’ll prove it.” He takes out something silvery, like stamped metal. With a jolt, you realize they’re his dog tags, the ones he had from fighting in World War II all those years ago. He gestures for you to turn around and you do, feeling the weight of the metal around your throat as he fastens them. When you look back at him, he’s smiling. “See? You can’t get rid of me, love. Not in a million years.”

You smile, running your fingers over the faded lettering. “Won’t you want them? You know, as a memory of your old life?” Bucky shakes his head, a content expression lingering in his eyes. “I don’t need them to remember. I’ve got you, and you’re the only home I’ll ever need.” When he kisses you again, you can feel the dog tags right over your heart, like a promise that he’ll always be with you, no matter what.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier imagines #winter soldier x reader #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #tfatws #tfatws imagines #tfatws x reader #catws #catws imagines

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sophie-i-guess13 · 2 years

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The Dead Guys’ Girls

I was unreasonably in love with this one lol

“No one knows how Sherri feels after the murder death of her boyfriend. Well, except for maybe one person.”

|Words: 1785|

|Characters: Sylvia, Cherry Valance, Bob Sheldon, Dallas Winston|

|Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort if you squint|

|Tw: Underage Drinking, Character Death, Murder, Suicide|

Tag! @apricot-colored-feathers @ralphmaccchiato. If you’d like to join, let me know :)

There's no right answer on how you're supposed to grieve. Sure, there are books and pamphlets for losing your baby, your husband, someone you've had time to love.

But no one told me how I was supposed to grieve for you.

Do I stay up all night, laying in my bed like it's made of hot coals? Do I stay up with the moon until it ducks back under the horizon, replaying our last words like some scratched record? Or do I remember you as our parents did, perfect in every aspect, the guy who'd be the final piece to the puzzle and give me everything a girl could dream of?

It's cold tonight and the sky is dark, but I know it isn't as cold as the earth we buried you in. It's not as dark as the casket you were laid to rest in, but it's just like the last night you had with us. With Randy, with Marcia. With me.

My heart burns every time I think of you. I think of the day we first met, the day we first spoke. I think of the days we spent on the playground and how you'd wave to me from the monkey bars while Marcia twisted my hair into braids. Everyone says their chest aches when they grieve, but that couldn't possibly describe how I feel about you.

I thought we were gonna be happy. We'd been together since the ninth grade, so waiting one more year to get married didn't seem like some impossible feat. You were gonna get me out of Tulsa, remember? We'd move somewhere nice, close to our families though, and we would build our own. I wanted horses and a son, you wanted dogs and a girl. You said we'd compromise because you'd spend our money on a ranch, rather than another line of pearls like your parents did.

Their eyes burn like bullets, even under the thick haze of smoke, weed, and whatever else, they know who I am. They know what I've done, all because of you.

I painted so many pictures of us in my mind. We were gonna be the high school sweethearts, as flawless as those on the television, and we'd love each other until we grew old. None of that will happen now, obviously. Not when you are doomed to rot in a box six feet under the frozen dirt, all because of the liquor burning like poison in your blood. None of that will happen now that your name still clings to me. It's on my lips, my skin, my clothes, it's even on your mother's ring, the one you said you'd give to me when the time was right.

I know it shouldn't, but the rage burning in my soul is hotter than the seventh circle of Hell -- the one so many people are convinced you now occupy.

How could you do this to me? How could you have let me love you for so long, despite every fight and flaw, and leave me?

How could you leave Randy like this? It's been weeks since I've seen him last, he disappeared as soon as they put you in the ground. He loved you like a brother, you know. Randy's loved you just as long as I have, and you let him watch you die. You took Marcia's boyfriend from her too, but everyone knows it isn't the same thing. Sure, both our boys vanished into the night, with nothing for us to remember them by except a memory, but it isn't the same.

There's only one girl in all of Tulsa who knows what it feels like, Bob, and she's sitting on the floor, rifling through his drawers with bloodshot eyes. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or how I'm supposed to break the silence. I want to leave. I want to leave her here to her own devices, going through his clothes and the only things he's left behind. You had so much. Your car, your clothes, your room, me.

But what did Dallas Winston have? As it turns out, very little.

Blankets and clothes, garbage, and her. The room's been everything except for completely demolished, and she sits in the middle of it, staring down a pile of t-shirts. They're all thin and threadbare, and it's all I can do not to cry when her long, slender fingers reach out and brush against the fabric. Like if she was too rough, she'd wipe away his very essence.

The floor creaks as I cross the threshold, that's when she looks at me. Makeup is thick and heavy, smeared down the side of her thin cheek and clumped under her eyes. Maybe they were once loud and bold, like all the other greaser girls we'd seen before. Now they swam with defeat as it mingled with tears and whatever was sitting in the bottle beside her hip.

It's silent. Silent like the car ride when you dropped me off after the Drive-In. Silent like the kitchen when Mom got the phone call. It's silent like the kitchen table when the detectives came to ask me questions. Silent like your funeral. You had so much. And yet, it was never enough for you, was it?

"You're the dead guy's girlfriend," she says to the clothes in front of her. No one's ever called me that before, but she's right. It's been weeks since your death, but you're the only reason people know my name. Months will pass, and I'll still be your girlfriend. Years, even, and that's all I'll ever be. They're all right, anyway. It's not like we ever broke up.

"I was about to say the same thing to you."

She's like a shattered mosaic, I think. Her clothes are filthy, her nails are bare and chipped. It's clear she dyes her hair, now that her roots are as brown as the dirt they used to bury your casket. She really is a beautiful girl, but ultimately shattered. That's what her voice sounds like too, shattered glass. It's high pitched, but it wobbled and cracks like the beer bottles you had stuffed under your car seats. "Dally wasn't my boyfriend," she snarls. "He broke up with me. Before..."

Before you tried to drown a kid in a fountain. Before his buddy, Johnny Cade, stuck you with his switchblade and left you for dead. Before Johnny died in the hospital a few days later with a broken back. Before Dallas Winston got gunned down for robbing a convince store. Dallas broke up Sylvia, but here she was. On the floor of his bedroom, taking whatever piece of him he's bothered to leave her.

You left me with too much. I think that's the problem.

I sit down beside her after a while. She flips through his clothes slowly, methodically, like she was searching for clues as to why he left her behind.

"If Dallas wasn't your boyfriend, why are you in his room?"

Sylvia doesn't look at me. Like if she pretends I'm not there, I'll disappear completely. I can't blame her, especially when I've been doing the same thing for days now. "Left some clothes here," she mutters thickly. Her pale complexion only makes the flush in her cheeks even more obvious. She hides it well though, with a quick wipe of her eyes before reaching for the bottle and taking a quick sip. "What're you doing here, Valance?" Sylvia asks stiffly. Her eyes linger on the red t-shirt on the top of the pile. It's ripped here and there, even stained on the collar, but she pulls it to her lap anyway. It reeks of cheap cologne and smoke, but by the way Sylvia holds to its fabric, you would've thought it was Dior.

"No one knows what it feels like," I admit. Tears are stinging my own eyes now as I pull at my collar. "Everyone's sayin' I should miss him, but I just can't."

"I shouldn't miss him," Sylvia scoffs harshly. "All we ever did was fight, and cheat, an'-" her voice cracks again, this time she barely has time to stop the tear rolling down the side of her cheek. "-He never loved me, y'know? But he... He was there when I didn't wanna be alone." An amber drop rolls off her lips, down her chin, before splattering against his t-shirt. It's just another stain, but I can't stop but think of your shirt now.

There was so much blood.

I pull my knees to my chest, letting my skirt roll up to the tops of my knees. I always thought they were cuter this way -- more practical in the Oklahoma heat, too, but Daddy would throw a fit if I tried leaving the house like this. He hasn't said much to me since you died. Now he has to start all over and find me a new forever, I suppose. The bare mattress behind my back rattles when Sylvia tilts her head against it, eyes scrunched closed and her lips forming a tight seal around the lip of the bottle. She swallows most of it in one go and for a second, all I can hear is her weak breaths.

"That was Dally's favourite trick, pretty sure that's the only reason he kept me 'round." Her chapped lips split into a smile, dark irises dance over scarlet veins. "Why'd he keep you around, Sherri? Got any tricks up that skirt of yours?"

It's funny how easy it is to say it now that you're gone. "Our parents thought we'd be a good match. Sure, he was nice an' all, funny and handsome-" dead. "I'm sorry about Dallas," I finally say. She stares down at the heap of fabric in her lap and sighs. In a truly defeated fashion, Sylvia downs the last of her liquor and lets the bottle roll out of her grasp.

"Don't be. He was gonna die like that anyway. It just happened a bit too soon."

You were gonna die, too. Stupid and drunk, blinded by the rage in your heart and the liquor it carried. Dallas died stupid and hurt, blinded by the pain of losing someone he loved.

"Sorry 'bout Bob. You two seemed real happy."

I sat there with a girl I barely knew for an absurd amount of time. We were only two girls, our fragile hearts weighed down with grief we didn't earn. And even years after that night, when we'd healed the cracks in our hearts with all but cement, that's all we'd ever be. We'd never be two girls again. Not without having the ghosts of our past leering over our shoulders.

#sophie’s stuff #the outsiders #cherry valance #dallas winston #bob sheldon #sylvia (the outsiders)#the outsiders fanfiction #I guess I write now #MOVING

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egcdeath · 3 years

Text

strangers again

summary: “hiiii sweetie!! can i request a steve x reader where he left yn for peggy. but he always felt guilty and missed yn. he would always stare at her pic. when he came back he bumped into yn while she was dropping a kid to daycare. and steve realized it was his son. kinda sad but fluff at the end pls!!!! and oh i super love your works!!! tysm 🌼🥺💕”

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: decent angst, brief mention of a depressive episode, abandonment, somewhat unrealistic behavior

word count: 3.8k

author’s note: i really hope that this lives up to your expectations but it is a little cheesy. i’d also like to warn that i have not interacted with a child in several years, so.. sorry. (there’s also a lot of exposition so double sorry if that’s not your thing!)

You’d never forget the moment Steve left to return the stones, with the promise to be back in only a matter of moments.

Maybe your definition of a matter of moments was different from his.

You seemed to be the only one without a clue of what Steve truly planned to do, with Bucky only telling you after the matter that Steve was leaving for the past and for Peggy, and probably not coming back.

After finding out, something deep within you broke. You could barely leave your bed for days, you struggled to eat, sleep, even drink water. Every task that used to seem like muscle memory, began to feel like it carried the weight of the world behind it. Every hobby that you once enjoyed becoming empty and bleak.

You constantly felt inadequate. How could you love someone so much, and be told you were loved so much while always being second to someone else?

The simple sentiment of it had left you feeling miserable, and sick to your stomach. Literally. Nearly every morning, and occasionally if you smelled something too strong, you found the contents of your stomach emptied.

You attempted to ignore it at first. Meshed with every other unpleasant symptom you were going through, you’d figured that it was just one more bullet point on the list of things that had been plaguing you. But when your friends insisted that you go check up with your doctor, you had a hard time saying no.

Once you received the results from your blood test, you were completely taken aback by the fact that you were pregnant. You couldn't believe that you hadn’t considered the possibility of pregnancy earlier.

Yet, after a long and hard period of pondering, you managed to surprise yourself once again after you realized you wanted to keep it.

After all, that could be the only piece of Steve you had left.

----

You began to tell yourself that Steve was dead. That was somehow less painful than the idea that he left you for someone that he barely knew, yet had fallen so hard for nearly 70 years ago. You refused to let yourself fall for anyone else romantically, now that you were aware that anyone had the capacity to leave you at any time, no matter how deep you perceived your relationship to be.

You guarded your heart, and made sure to only let in those that you knew you could trust for a fact. For the remainder of your pregnancy, only your closest family members and friends stood by your side.

About 8 months later, you brought a small, but healthy infant into the world. From that moment on, you promised yourself to become the best version of yourself that you could be. No dwelling on the past, and no yearning for what could’ve been. Your only duty now was to provide the best life possible for your offspring.

So you did.

----

You stood in the kitchen, peeling an orange for your son before he bounded into the room. You turned and gave him a big grin, and he grinned back to you.

“Did you get dressed all by yourself?” You asked him excitedly, receiving a nod in return before he ran up to your leg, and hugged it.

“I did, Mommy!” He looked up at you with his soulful eyes, and you couldn’t help but to feel bombarded with emotion.

Even at the tender age of five, Grant seemed to become a bit more like his father every day. The shape of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the sound of his giggle. To the average onlooker, he came across as the same as any other child, but to you, your son was the splitting image of Steve.

“Good work, little man. Now go sit at the table so mommy can finish breakfast, okay?” He didn’t even bother confirming with you before more or less sprinting to the table. You couldn’t help but to ask yourself if your son had obtained all of that energy and speed from his father as well.

Breakfast was over almost as soon as it started, and before you knew it, you were warming up your car after you’d assisted Grant with brushing his teeth.

You were in an oddly nostalgic mood that day, playing music from a time period before you’d even imagined bringing another life into the world. You glanced up at the rearview mirror and watched your son happily bop his head to the beat. You thought in passing about how much of a gift he truly was.

After arriving at his school, you hopped out of the car and over to the furthest seat in the back, where he’d insisted on sitting that day.

“You ready, big guy?” You questioned while reaching out to grab him from the car seat.

“Born ready,” he agreed. You chuckled and shook your head fondly at that while getting him out of the car.

“Who taught you that?”

Grant shrugged, “I came up with it myself.”

“I’m sure. Can you hold my hand while we’re out please?” You reached out for him, and he gladly obliged.

You soon became distracted by a large man across the street, his built figure and light blonde hair making you recall the father of your child. You gave Grant’s hand a light squeeze and continued to approach the door, not being able to help yourself, and glancing over at the man one last time.

Except this time was different. Your eyes locked with the blonde man outside of the coffee shop across the street unexpectedly. Where you once thought casually to yourself that it looked like Steve, you now had confirmation that it was in fact the man who you’d fallen in love with, and found yourself pregnant by.

You audibly gasped, receiving a bit of a questioning look from your child. Your heart dropped as a metric ton of emotions hit you all at once, anger, sadness, confusion. Everything you told yourself you needed to repress, had suddenly come back to you all at once.

Even from a distance, you swore you could see his eyes flit from you to Grant, and the next thing you knew, he was approaching your direction. Looking for an easy out, and a distraction from your rather observant child, you quickly caused a misdirection.

“Grant, is that Stacey over on the playground? You should totally go show her that new version of tag that you were telling me about!”

Your son, ever the speedster, booked it towards the playground, and you let out a sigh of relief. Although, the relief didn’t last long, as just moments later, Steve was almost all the way up to you. As you turned to try to escape, you felt a hand on your arm.

“Y/N?” He asked, almost timidly.

You weren’t even sure what to say. In fact, you didn’t feel like you had control of your own body at this point. “Steve? I-“ You ran a hand through your hair and bit the inside of your lip. “You need to go.” The pain that was rushing through you was too much for you to bare, especially considering the man who caused the hurt had suddenly decided to reappear in your life after giving you a world of self doubt and abandonment issues.

Steve seemed hurt by your statement, but you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand to even look at his face. “Please, Y/N, let me explain,” he begged.

“No, Steve. You don’t get that luxury. You left me for someone else, and I guess you got to live a nice, long life with her. You don’t get to just show back up in my life when you get bored, okay? I can’t afford to play those types of games anymore. Now if you’d let me go-“ You attempted to get to your car, but Steve side stepped you.

“It wasn’t like that. You know it isn’t like that.”

“Just fucking leave! You have no idea what this has all been like for me. You had your opportunity to leave, and you gladly took it. Stay the fuck out of my life, and the hell away from my son.” You grabbed the handle of your car door and got in, reeling as you watched a dejected Steve walk away.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you rested your head against the steering wheel. You were feeling way too many emotions to pinpoint exactly how you felt, but you knew that this couldn’t be good.

——

You put a brave face on for your son that day, picking him up from school in a daze, and only half listening to whatever it was that he was telling you.

You felt bad for only being able to nod along to whatever he was saying, and did he just ask you if he could get a dog? Did you just say yes?

You felt like a stranger watching yourself from the outside in. The ghost of the person you’d developed into over the years watching the past version of yourself slip right back into your body, and take over your daily routine through the next few days of your life.

You had an obscene amount of anger that soon dissolved into a deep sadness, and that sadness shorty developed into a morbid curiosity.

You spent an unreasonable, and certainly unhealthy amount of time searching your old lover’s name on tabloid websites and social media, just to see if he’d given a statement on his whereabouts, or a statement about anything at all.

After about day three of your minor internet stalking, you’d had an epiphany while sitting in your office.

You still have Steve’s number saved on your phone.

That was, of course, if it hadn’t changed between now and the years that he’d been off living in the past.

Something about knowing that you were just one text away from him made your heart race with a mixture of nerves and interest. Just one impulsive decision, and you could change the whole trajectory of the rest of your life.

If you got back in contact with Steve, you might not ever be willing to leave him. You refused to make that mistake again.

Until you did.

After reading Grant his nightly bedtime story, then wrapping him tightly in his little bed, you’d decided to treat yourself to a glass of Chardonnay.

It’d been a weird past couple of days. Your time traveling ex had randomly appeared back into your life, your coworkers seemed to get on your nerves a little more every moment you were around them, and Grant had a temper tantrum in the grocery store that afternoon over a chocolate bar, which gained judging stares from customers, and may have made you feel the slightest bit inadequate.

At least that’s what you told yourself as you filled your glass again, because two glasses can’t hurt, and again, since I kinda deserve this extra one, don’t I? The next thing you knew, the bottle was empty, and you were texting Steve for the first time in years.

Y: Is this Steve?

You watched as three white dots hovered on your screen for a moment, disappeared, then came back once again.

S: Is this Y/N?

Y: Yes.

Y: We should tlak

Y: *talk

S: I agree.

Y: So lets

Y: talk

S: I don’t think this is a conversation for texts.

Y: Then call me???????????????????

S: We should talk in person.

Y: Im not gonna do that sober

S: You’re not sober?

Y: do you think id text u sober u big fuckni asshole

S: I guess you’re right

S: So are we gonna talk?

Y: no ur gonna meet me at b cup cafe tomorrow at 10

S: AM or PM?

Y: AM I’m off

S: Are you sure you want to do this?

Y: Say yes before i change my mind

S: I’ll see you there

Y: Bye babydaddy

S: ????

You promptly deleted the messages, tossed your phone somewhere on the sofa, and sunk into the seat. Even in your not-completely-sober state, you already felt the all too familiar sense regret. You dragged the blanket that hung over the top of the sofa over your exhausted body, and closed your eyes, wishing that this was somehow all a dream.

----

It was not all just a dream.

You woke up with dried drool on your chin, and a deep pit of bad feelings and regret in your chest. Of course, you ignored the bad feelings and got ready, business as usual. You successfully dropped Grant off at school with little complications, and found yourself perking up a bit more.

Yet, something still felt slightly off. You reached into the passenger seat for your phone, and as you looked down on it, saw the familiar notification of a calendar event.

10:00 AM b cup coff w Steeb

You groaned out loud at this. There was no obligation for you to go meet with him, but perhaps going and talking to Steve would bring you some sort of closure. Maybe then you could move on with your life, get with a nice guy who would mean it when he tells you he won't leave you, who loves Grant like he’s his own biological offspring, and to take care of the both of you through thick and thin.

You gladly daydreamed of this fantasy man while driving to the shop, but you couldn’t help but to see Steve’s face doing all of the aforementioned things. Before you even fell pregnant, that’s what you’d truly wanted with Steve. To be a family. To have your definition of home be with your people, rather than a place.

Entering the coffee shop, you briefly ordered your drink before looking around and find Steve sitting alone in a booth, mindlessly stirring around the liquid in his cup.

Timidly, you approached the booth, before setting your purse down and sitting across from him.

“You... you came?” He looked up to you with almost watery eyes.

“Of course I did,” you tried to hold yourself back from mentioning something about following through on your word. You wanted this to be as civil as possible. To build bridges rather than burn them.

“I just didn’t expect to see you in person again. And, you know, you were running a little late,” he added.

“Well, you try waking a five year old up and getting him ready for school every day,” you expelled a humorless chuckle to deflect from the slight agitation you were feeling.

“While you’re hungover?” Steve asked with a bit of a smirk, trying to lighten up the mood.

“While you’re hungover,” You confirmed, genuinely laughing now. It felt good, natural even. You’d kind of forgotten just how pleasant things used to be with Steve.

“Did you mean it last night?” he interrupted the laughter with a serious look.

“I honestly cannot remember anything I said last night. Elaborate, please?”

“That he’s mine. Your son.” He watched you silently nod, then began to speak again, “Wow, I just didn’t realize… How did that happen?” He looked down into his drink nervously.

“Well, it’s kind of hard to recall the exact details, but when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much...” You trailed off, and looked up as a barista called a butchered version of your name.

You were glad to have an excuse to get up and leave for a moment. Adrenaline was racing through your body, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep your composure before you erupted into tears, or had some sort of angry outburst.

Bringing your cup back to the booth, you sat down and took a sip of the scalding drink, “Where did we leave off?”

“I believe you were giving me the birds and the bees?”

“Right! Well, I think you know the rest. I’ll tell you more about Grant later. Right now, I want to know why you left and suddenly decided to come back.” You genuinely felt proud of your delivery. This was the moment you’d practiced in front of the mirror for years, and you didn’t even butcher it.

Steve shook his head and looked into his drink once again. It was so hard to look at you, let alone make eye contact with you, when he knew that he’d been the one to give you an ocean of grief. Yet, he was somewhat intrigued by hearing that his son’s name was his middle name.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Steve began.

“Good thing we have time,” you crossed your arms as you spoke.

“Well, waking up in a whole new time period isn’t exactly the easiest thing ever. You and me both know I missed it there, and it’s always been more than just nostalgia for me. I truly believed that I belonged back there.”

Of course, you had an idea of this, but hearing Steve confirm what you’d already thought made your insides twist.

“But I was so wrong. More than anything, I guess I was in love with a romanticized version of the past. Of Peggy.”

Hearing her name, especially from Steve, made you bristle. You wanted to interrupt him at this point, but it wouldn’t do you or him any good to become hostile while he explained himself.

“By the time I realized, it was too late. I figured you’d already moved on and found someone else to take care of you, and the world, this world, didn’t really need me anymore. But something possessed me to come back.”

“So you’re telling me that if you stopped being an idiot that just assumes things, we could’ve worked this out before? That you could’ve been an active participant in your son’s life?”

“I guess that’s a good way to interpret that story. I know I haven’t been in his life, but is there any way that I can still meet him?” Steve asked hopefully.

“Yeah, of course. He’s just like,” you sighed a bit to yourself. “He’s like a carbon copy of you. Especially his personality, but like, down to his mannerisms. I always struggled to understand how he could be so much like his dad, and never even had met him. You’ll love him.”

“Even if I didn't like him, I’d still love him.”

“How do you still manage to be such a cheeseball all the damn time? You think you’d be able to make it to dinner tonight?”

----

At exactly 6:30 on the dot, your doorbell rang, and before you even had the chance to think about opening it, Grant already was at the door, and opening it. You cringed on the inside, and made a mental note to have another conversation about stranger danger with him.

“Do I know you? Who are you?” you heard your child question from the other room as you set down the last of the plates in your dining room.

“I’m Steve, your mom’s friend... and…” Steve nearly spilled the beans to his son, but didn’t want to cause any more damage than he’d already done. “Her friend.”

“That’s so cool! I have friends too, like Nick, and Stacey, and,” you’d rushed up to the door and wiped your brow, internally hoping that you hadn’t just smudged the makeup you’d put on for the occasion.

“Hi, Steve, come on in,” You beckoned him in, and pulled Grant to the side, quietly scolding him before leading Steve into the dining room. “Grant! This is the last time I’m telling you about opening doors, okay?” He nodded obediently, then followed you and Steve.

“Can I sit next to your friend, Mommy?”

“Is that alright with you, Steve?”

“More than fine.”

Grant sat down next to him, and scooted a bit closer than necessary, while you sat across from the two of them.

“I have to in… enter a gate you now. Because Mommy never brings any over her friends over. I didn’t know she had any friends.”

You blushed a bit at this, at your son’s overdramatic behavior, and his admission that you’d become a bit of a loner.

“Go ahead, pal,” Steve chuckled heartily.

“When did you meet my mom?”

“Before you were even born.”

“Wow! That’s a long time. You’re really old. What’s your favorite dinosaur?”

“I’ve heard T-Rexes are pretty cool.”

“Have you met any?”

You nearly spat out your drink at this. If only your son had known.

“Nope, never. Have you?”

“Hmm, not yet. But they’re my favorite dino too. Now your ‘gating is over.”

You couldn’t help but to burst out into laughter at the bizarre exchange, but you were glad that your son and Steve were getting along so well.

The rest of dinner went pretty similarly, with Grant bantering with Steve, and Steve indulging him. You could tell that the relationship between the two of them was something that came both naturally and easily. You couldn’t help but to grin as Grant began to ramble about how cool Steve was, and how he swore he was better friends with Steve than you were.

“Mommy, isn’t Steve the best? You guys should totally get married so he can have dinner with us every day!” he swooned. “He even kinda looks like me, right?!”

That’s why you couldn’t help what came out of your mouth next.

“Grant, Steve is… He’s your dad,” you said quietly.

Grant nodded, then slurped up a noodle, “That’s why he’s so cool! He gets it from me, right Mom?”

“That sounds right to me,” You glanced up at Steve, and noticed his surprised expression. You mouthed something along the lines to ‘He’ll process it later,’ and waved a dismissive hand, before going in for another bite of food.

----

After putting Grant to bed, You and Steve stood at your kitchen sink, bumping elbows occasionally as the two of you silently worked together to wash and dry dishes.

The domesticity and familiarity of the action brought you an obscene amount of comfort. You remembered how you once believed that this is what your future would look like. Your thoughts were interrupted by Steve beginning to talk.

“Doesn’t this remind you of life after the first snap?” He asked, breaking the silence.

“Kind of. You’re not off the hook yet, by the way. You still have plenty of explaining and proving you’ve changed to do.” You set the last cup in the cupboard, then dried your hands off.

“I know, I know,” Steve began.

“We don’t even know if you’re ready for fatherhood. But right now, I kinda don’t care. I really just want you to kiss me.” You reached up to Steve’s cheek, and he pulled you in for a soft and chaste kiss.

You’d never felt more at home.

——

me with this fic:

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #angst #captain america x reader #captain america x you #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #request

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kiirokero · 3 years

Text

Outro: Love is Not Over (4)

Pairing: Daycare Teacher! Hoseok x Single Mom! Reader.

Genre: Single Parent! AU, Teacher! AU, Hybrid! AU, Fluff, Angst, Adorable Kids,

Warnings: Self doubting behavior, self-deprecating language, mentions of deadbeat parents. Y/n’s pretty doubtful of themselves in this chapter :(

Word Count: 1.2k

Note: Happy grandpa Yoongi day!

Summary: Years after a relationship goes south. You are the single mother of a beautiful 6-year-old golden retriever hybrid who you named Yunho. He is the light of your life. Yunho is everything to you, and you’d do anything for him. But you’re a human. Yunho doesn’t care, he will tell you he doesn’t. “You’re still my Eomma. No matter what.” He says. But you can’t help but feel like you will never be enough for him. You can’t be the mother he deserves. You can’t show him the ropes of being a hybrid, and you can’t teach him things the other moms can. But you try. You try your damn hardest. So, when a handsome German Shepard hybrid comes into your life, helping you and guiding Yunho in a way you can’t, you can’t help the cozy home he sets up in your heart.

Chapter Guide:

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Tag List: @kurochan3 @mrcleanheichou @anonymous-armys-blog @alanasfashion

Blogs highlighted in bold could not be tagged. Please message me privately so we can resolve the problem and I can tag you next time ^^

“Are you ready?” I asked Yunho, looking at him through the rearview mirror. Yunho nodded and unbuckled himself from his car seat as we got out of the car. Yunho hopped out and latched onto my arm, a gigantic smile on his cute face.

He had a skip in his step as we walked up to the daycare. We greeted Seohyun with a brief wave and I watched him as he navigated the walls on memory. Looking at the children’s artwork that lined the walls, smiling at some, looking in confusion at others.

Once we reached the classroom, Yunho gave it a tiny knock. Waiting patiently by my side, holding onto my hand. The door swung open to reveal a smiling Hyejin, which Yunho eagerly greeted with a hug that she reciprocated. “Imo!” He exclaimed, tail wagging furiously. “Hey bub!” She smiled, kissing his forehead.

Hyejin let him go and went to give me my hug, “You look tired,” She commented as she held me in her grasp. “Your observation would be correct.” I joked, causing Hyejin to chuckle and playfully hit my shoulder. “Come on in, it’s a rather small group today.” She said as she led us through the door.

As Hyejin said, it was a small group. About 11 kids were playing inside the room, all doing their own little things. “Imo... Where’s Hajun?” Yunho asked, ears sagging in disappointment. “He’s just in the bathroom, bub.” Hyejin explained, petting him on the head, which helped him cheer up.

“Well, hello again!” I heard a cheerful voice call. “Hello again, Hoseok,” I greeted with a smile, one that was dull compared to his blinding one. “It’s nice to see you again. You look nice!” He complimented, which I knew was a lie cause I looked like a bus hit me. Like (almost) every working single mom with a young boy. “Thank you,” I said nonetheless, genuinely appreciating his kindness.

“Who’s this?” He asked, smiling at Yunho, who came to hug my side when Hoseok approached us. I reached down and picked Yunho up, carrying him on my side. “This is my son, Yunho,” I explained, and Yunho gave Hoseok a little wave. I saw Hoseok do a double take in his mind, which was the usual reaction. “Yunho? That’s an awesome name,” Hoseok said to Yunho, which made the hybrid boy smile. “Thank you,” He mumbled.

Hajun suddenly opened the door and Yunho jumped out of my arms to go play with his best friend. I smiled at him as he pulled Hajun to go play with the stuffed animals he spotted earlier. “I didn’t know you had a son.” Hoseok commented, “I thought Hyejin talks about me a lot?” I asked, remembering what he said the last time we spoke.

He chuckled, “She does! But she never mentioned you had a son.” I sighed, unable to hide my smile. “Well, I do. He’s a cutie too.” Hoseok nodded in agreement. “Golden retriever hybrid, right? I’m surprised his dad let’s him keep his fur that long,” Hoseok commented, and I felt my mood dampen.

Hoseok seemed to notice my change in demeanor, stumbling to backtrack over his words. “I-I mean it’s fine that he-” “Yunho’s doesn’t have a dad.” I stated, watching my son from afar as he and Hajun laughed and played together. “What?” Hoseok asked, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly. “Yunho doesn’t have a father. It’s always just been me and him. Since the very beginning.” I swallowed, trying to keep my composure.

“I’m sorry...” Hoseok mumbled.

“It’s fine.”

I gave Hoseok the best smile I could muster and went over to bid my son goodbye. “Yunnie, I have to go now.” I said, and Yunho’s ears drooped a bit before he and Hajun got up to give me hugs. Yunho and Hajun took turns nuzzling their faces in the crook of my neck, and I pet them both on the head. “I love you baby,” I whispered to Yunho, taking in his ruffled hair, his button nose, and his freckles. His features taking me back in time like a time capsule.

A time where I was younger, dumber, more naïve. A time where I let people walk all over me. A time where I tricked myself into believing I was happy, happy in hell. “I love you too, Eomma.” Yunho whispered back to me, and I’m reminded that right now isn’t that time. That this is a time where Yunho and I take on the world, the both of us together.

“That was awkward as hell.” I groaned, hitting my head on the steering wheel. After I said goodbye to the boys, the air between Hoseok and I was... Thick. Thick with this aura of “I messed up. Shit.” If I had a knife with me, I would’ve cut the air between us.

Hoseok was obviously feeling bad about his comment. I could tell by the fact he was avoiding my eyes and was being extra careful about his words. He didn’t need to, but I didn’t want to embarrass the guy further by commenting on his apparent guilt.

What was I supposed to say, anyway? “Yeah, Yunho’s father is a deadbeat and any mention of him makes my blood boil in hatred that rivals that of the three furies.” That’s not something you say to a handsome German Shepard hybrid who looks like he’s ready to grovel at your feet.

It surprised me that Hyejin’s blabber mouth didn’t slip that I’m a single mother of an adorable son named Yunho. She usually couldn’t keep a secret for the life of her unless it was really important. She couldn’t help but talk. Not like I minded that, I enjoyed listening to her blabbering.

Maybe she thought it was my information to tell? That’s a possibility. She respected my privacy, but she usually bragged about her second son to anyone who asked. So much to where people thought I was Yunho’s aunt, and not his mother.

Whatever the reason, now Hyejin’s coworker knows I’m a single mother to an amazing son who has a deadbeat father. What a resume. What a look that brings onto me. Human mom and hybrid son. He probably thinks I’m an incapable mother, seeing as he thinks Yunho’s fur is too long.

Is it too long? I’ve always advocated for Yunho doing what he wanted with his appearance as long as it wasn’t dangerous... Maybe we should get it cut? He wouldn’t like that... Is his fur being too long dangerous to him? God, I don’t know... I’m not a hybrid... Yoongi and Hyejin are cat hybrids, so they wouldn’t know. Namjoon is a wolf hybrid which, their fur isn’t THAT different, but enough that he couldn’t help. Jin’s a human... Maybe Hoseok is right?

He’s the dog hybrid, after all. I mean, he’s not a Golden Retriever, but he must know a thing or two, right? Am I being a terrible mom? Should I bite the bullet and cut Yunho’s fur? No... Yes? I don’t know. God I, I just wish I could be better for him...

#bts #bts fic #bts hoseok #jhope #hobi #jhope x reader #hoseok x reader #bts hybrid au #hybrid

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silverhandsimp · 3 years

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Have there been many posts about the Tarot and their relationship to where they find them and the characters? Because Cyberpunk is def not the first to do this, but i still love it everytime.

The first card where i realized that the tarot location was a givaway for who the card was related to was finding The High Priestess so close to Hanako. Takemura is associated with the Chariot and is found outside the dinner when you talk for the first time, Evelyn (or possibly Judy but the card def suits Evelyn more) is the Magician found outside Lizzy’s bar, and Rogue is the Empress (god damn i love that card for her so much) which is found outside the Afterlife.

Then there’s the two i really want to focus on in debt right now and i might come back to the others later; V and Johnny’s cards and how they break my heart with the ending. V’s was the first i noticed, and assumed was associated with the but wasn’t sure just yet. Similar to how the death card is often missunderstood, so too is the fool. Based on the name it might be assumed to be negative, but this is not the case. The fool is the card associated with youth, naïveté, a beggining, dreams, and asperations. It’s the first step on a journey and fate yet undecided and infinite possibilities. Most protagonists start off represented by the fool as it is also a transitionary card, and is most known for meaning that the individual in question with go on a journey or will be faced with a challange that will make them grow and change them. It thustly comes as no surprise that V is The Fool.

Johnny’s card and it’s location also both do and do not surprise me. He is the Hanged Man. This card is found on the water tower in the oil fields. With all the moments you speak to Johnny, it might come off strange to find his card all the way out there at first. It might make more sense to have it near the Sunset motel in the badlands where you have two important cutscenes with Johnny and V having a heart to hear, or at the Pistis Sophia where you two have another heart to heart where he tells you he would take a bullet for V and will die if it means V will live and gives V his dog tags. Instead The Hanged Man is found closest to Johnny’s resting place in the Oil Fields. The hanged man is a card of sacrifice and martyrdom. The hanged man does not struggle, for it is his choice to endure pain and suffering as the toll for enlightenment. There is no halo in the Cyberpunk interpretation of the card, but it is an important feature of the card as it reinforces that the hanged man finds his peice in his surrender and sacrifice for the greater good. He has accepted that his pain and his death means new begginings and rebirth for others. The Hanged Man also represents being frozen in time, and Johnny really IS literally rozen.

Stuck perpetually stuck at 32 years old in his scraped, brused, and dirty body. He accepted death long ago if it ment taking down Arasaka, and freeing not only Alt but the rest of Night City from the corperation’s grasp. He even outright says this. That death ment nothing to him. If you had any doubt that Johnny was telling the truth when he said he would give his life for V then his association with this card should put that to bed. He’s been a martyr before, and he’ll sacrifice himself again if it means even saving just one person.

From the tarot’s pov it makes sense that Johnny would come back. He dies not having learned to trust others, addicted to nicotine, pills, booze, and anger still living his life as fast and hard as he can without introspection. His first death is not one of acceptance, but of fire, anger, denial, and an attempt at atretribution. He had not reached enlightenment. It’s through meeting V and being forced into staying still that he learns his lesson, grows, reconciles, and truely comes to peacewith not only death, but his life. Johnny could not be more representative of The Hanged Man.

#cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk v #goro takemura #hanako arasaka #evelyn parker

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xwing-baby · 3 years

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Living The Dream (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

For #WriterWednesday hosted by @autumnleaves1991-blog

Summary: A new house, dog and a baby on the way, Javier’s life couldn’t get any more perfect... its a dream come true.

Word count: 1.6k (good things come in small packages)

Warnings: Angst (cus duh), blood and injury description, mentions of pregnancy, dog death, hardly edited.

Masterlist

—

A tiny little house in the country, with a dog and a child on the way, was not how Javier thought his year would end but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

In the chaotic and dangerous life he led he never thought he would settle for more than two minutes let alone marry someone. You’d snuck up on him, coming out of nowhere to drag him into domesticity. Drag is the wrong word because he willingly went despite how much he pretended to drag his feet. He fell into it comfortably, he was even the one to suggest the house in the first place. You were happy in his apartment in Bogotá but Javier traded you a dog and you couldn’t say no.

A house, a girl, a dog. All he had ever wanted. Everything he swore he did not deserve but he could not imagine anything else now. Everything felt a little more manageable when he could come home to you. His own little oasis away from all the devils that haunted him in Bogotá or Medellín .

Javier planned to show Steve the new house on the drive back into Bogotá . You’d moved in a few weeks ago and everything was basically unpacked now, Javi was desperate to show off to his partner and could barely wipe the smile from his face as he pulled in.

The house was an old farmhouse, covered in iconic white plaster and red tile. The surrounding farm land had been sold off years ago, but left the house with a sizable garden around it to do whatever you wanted. There was enough for the baby to happily grow up and play in when the time came, for now the dog just chased rats through the long grass.

It was a mess when you bought it, but you were handy enough to get on with decorating and fixing up holes in walls while Javier was away working. He loved that part. Though he never admitted it, he always worried about you when you were working in the city. He never knew where you were until you came home. It was a lot easier to keep you safe, in his mind, with you at the house all day. You had done a fantastic job. For someone who claimed to have never even painted a wall before, the house was looking nice. It was becoming a home.

He called your name as he entered expecting to hear your music floating through the house. Instead he was met with silence.

“Must be asleep,” Javi said to Steve, “Pregnancies kicking her ass already,”

“Still can’t believe you’re gunna be a dad, man,” Steve clapped him on the shoulder, “I’ll get Connie to give y’all some baby books when she comes over,”

The two men chatted about the house, the baby, and everything else that had once seemed so out of the question for Javier but was now commonplace. He pulled beers from the fridge, cracking each open before sliding it across the patio table to sit and enjoy in the sunshine. They didn’t have anything to get back to urgently. The stop was justified and needed.

“Where’s that mutt of yours?” Steve asked looking around. In the weeks before the house was liveable, Javi had kept the dog at the apartment and used the Murphy’s as dog sitters whenever needed. Steve was excited to begin with but became a little more ambivalent when he ate his shoes one day. He was very happy when you moved him out to the house permanently.

“Must be with Y/n, they’re inseparable at the moment. In fact I will go check on her, she’ll be pissed if you leave without her seeing you,” Javier emptied his bottle and stood up. Steve chuckled and nodded.

Javier hadn’t been around the house as much as you had. Every time he had been you’d been close by making some kind of noise, a radio on somewhere in the house playing music with you singing along to it. He wasn’t used to it being quiet. It made the whole house seem so much bigger.

He walked upstairs to your bedroom, noticing the photos you had put up while he was gone. Simple wooden frames held photos from your wedding, photos of your family, and his favourite photo of you and him, taken by Steve candidly on the first day you had met. No one knew then just what would come from that one conversation but he was so happy it had led him here.

He pulled himself out of the fond memory and continued along the hall to your shared bedroom. The door was open, sunlight streaming in through half drawn curtains, the entire house was still. He smiled to himself, knowing that behind the door would be one of his favourite sights. He did not doubt that he would find Ringo, the dog, and you curled up on the bed. As much as Javi protested that the dog couldn’t sleep in your bed he knew you let him in as soon as he left in the morning.

Javier called your name again, listening carefully as he crept into the room. A full laundry basket sat on the floor, underwear and socks scattered the wooden floor boards. The drawers were open. You never left things untidy like that. Javier wasn’t the most untidy person in the world but you kept everything pristine. You wouldn’t just take a nap mid task. He frowned and touched the door to push it open.

“Peña!” Steve suddenly called urgently from downstairs. Javi knew that tone, instantly putting him on alert. You could wait for a moment. Javier stopped and turned back, leaving the door as it was and jogged back downstairs.

He came outside to see Steve, white as a sheet with grief written across his face.

“What is the-,” Javier started as he walked towards his partner. Steve brought him around the side of the house and Javi looked down and saw what was bothering him, “Oh fuck,” Javi swore the entire world stopped in that moment. Poor Ringo, shot in the head where he stood around the side of the house, just left without a care on the ground.

“I found him like that I swear! I am so sorry man,” Steve quickly explained. Javier wasn’t listening, couldn’t hear anything but alarm bells, his mind only thinking of one thing. You.

In a second Javier turned and ran back inside the house, picking up his gun from the kitchen counter where he’d left it. Steve followed quickly, keen on his heels. Javier knew exactly where to look, running up the stairs three at a time. He barrelled into your shared bedroom, praying that you were asleep and the dog was just an accident.

If his world had slowed at the sight of the dog the entire universe had stopped now.

He couldn’t move his feet, mouth agape in total shock at the sight before him.

There was blood everywhere. On the bed, on the walls, even on the ceiling. Three bullets marked the walls behind the headboard. So much blood. He didn’t understand how he had not smelt it when he was outside a few moments earlier.

They had not been kind in your death, three shots to the stomach meant you did not die quickly. You were sprawled out on top of the sheets, still in your pyjamas. The white shirt you wore, Javi’s shirt, was now deep red, soaked through. There was a handprint dragged over the landline phone on your bedside table, glass and book knocked over in your effort to call for help. You hand still reached for it, so close yet so far.

Steve heard his cry of agony and ran in. He saw you, then Javi, and his heart sank. You were dead, there was nothing he could do now but he had to get Javier up. He pulled at his shirt trying to get him to move but was only met with violence as he ripped himself out of Steve’s grip away.

“Javi,”

“Javier! Wake up!”

Javier’s eyes finally opened, his chest heaving and covered in sweat he was dazed for a moment before he finally looked at you. Your heart broke at the sight. He looked at you with such terror in his eyes, you didn’t have a chance to say anything before he grabbed you and pulled you in tight to his chest.

“It was just a dream,” You comforted him, “It’s okay,”

He took a deep but shaking breath, taking in the scent of your hair. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. It felt so real.

Slowly, he let you go and sat up wiping his hands over his face to clear the tears on his cheeks. He looked around him. He was in his apartment, three am on the clock. There was no dog, no baby, no new house. No body. It was just a dream.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, sitting up with him and putting a hand on his shoulder, lightly rubbing his warm skin. He shook his head.

“It was just a dream,” He said softly.

The reality was he couldn’t afford to give you that vulnerability yet. He couldn’t let you know just how much he liked you for exactly the reason his dream had shown him. He was dangerous to be around. If you stayed, while it would be nice for a while, someone would pull the rug out from underneath you both eventually. It could only end in disaster. He would rather keep you at a distance, emotionally at least, so when that day came it would maybe hurt a little less.

He settled back down again, pulled you closer with your head on his chest. He could have you for now, like this, and let his imagination run wild with ideas of a picket fence future. But, to protect you that was all it could ever be. A dream.

—

A/n: I don’t know what is wrong with me... I am sorry Javi one day I will write something nice for you but today is not that day.

tagging: @autumnleaves1991-blog @hunters-heathen @beskarbabs @wille-zarr @all-hallows-evie

#writer wednesday #javier pena x reader #javi x reader #javier pena x f!reader #javi x f!reader #javier pena x you #javier pena drabble #narcos x reader #agent pena x reader #pena x reader #steve murphy x reader #narcos #javier pena #steve murphy #tw dog death #tw major character death #molly writes

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heroofpenamstan · 3 years

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—OC PROFILES: JOANNE & MICHAEL

tagged by the lovelies: @shallow-gravy, @shellibisshe, @belorage, @honeysides, @strafethesesinners, @faithchel, @blissfulalchemist! thank you, dears! x since i’m tragically late to the party as per usual, not going to be tagging anyone since i assume most of my mutuals have done it, but if you want to go right ahead and tag me too so i can see! :”)) also, fair warning: 80% of the questions i answered at ungodly hours overmedicated on paracetamol and it shows because re-reading this in the morning was a Yikes

GENERAL

name: joanne burton alias(es): jo, annie ( mike exclusive ), burton, dep, jr. deputy, rook, traitor, sinner, wrath/pain in the ass ( john exclusive ), rabbit ( jacob exclusive ), heinous fucking bitch—( also john exclusive ), black widow ( new dawn au ) gender: cis. female age: 29 birth: 30th october, 1988 place of birth: meridian, idaho spoken languages: english; may or may not recite some hebrew lines over the holidays sexual preference: bisexual occupation(s): junior deputy of hope county, montana/menace to all cultists everywhere ( in a certain radius of said hope county, montana, anyway )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: brown hair colour: black height: 157cm ( 5′2 ), or approximately 7′11 when balancing on michael’s shoulders to peer inside john’s windows scars: split right eyebrow ( thanks, jake ), minor cuts and incorrectly healed bruises and gashes, scarred bullet wound on left hip ( you’re welcome, jake )

FAVOURITE

colour: orange or yellow or cyan, or whatever is more stupidly eye-catching and not at all fit for her current environment song: i’ve been thinking by handsome boy modeling school food: various stir-fries, fruits and protein ( or anything that she claims to be “healthy” when, truly, bitch is one step away from living off of instant noodles and canned pineapple and cigarette buds from dutch’s stash ) drink: beerherbal teas and infusions

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, but passing the police academy was already a pleasant enough surprise for her had sex: today? no. two weeks ago? probably had sex in public: probably said two weeks ago gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes, but we don’t talk about it kissed a boy: yes ( derogatory ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate ) gotten tattoos: yes, loads: most were practice scribbles for her ex-girlfriend, and the only true meaningful one she possesses is lydia, scrawled into her pinky in remembrance. otherwise, john seed do not even engage with that rusty ass tattoo gun— gotten piercings: yes, loads multiplied; if there’s a place for a piercing in her ears, she has them. also, an old septum piercing she hasn’t worn in a hot second been in love: yes, loads squared ( girl rents out her heart on the weekdays and cries about the scratches she notices on saturday, but still repeats it all over again come monday; falling in love for her is easy, but actually loving someone and getting over her self-loathing to do so is a whole different ball game ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: she’s probably on hour 31 as we speak ( someone knock her out pls )

ARE THEY

a virgin: whitehorse has heard enough horror stories in the break room between her and joey to last him a lifetime a cuddler: closeted cuddler, yes a kisser: most definitely; woman has to play up her natural assets scared easily: her response time is too lagged for that jealous easily: depends; she’s more jealous of what she should have/could have/would have had in a general sense than being jealous of a particular person or a thing trustworthy: in her own way, yes dominant: disgustingly so submissive: not in this lifetime in love: very much so single: very much so part 2

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: yes, but it’s more by means of unintentional yet severe substance abuse thought of suicide: not as often as one would assume; joanne has a very strong sense of self-preservation, but tends to run from her bleak reality by means of one harmful way or the other attempted suicide: once or twice during her lowest points in life wanted to kill someone: on the daily have/had a job: girl had juggled three part-time jobs; there is nothing she fears anymore have any fears: ( see above ) to fall back into old bad habits, loss of control, death, failure, a bad future, poverty, being abandoned and forgotten, long stays at a hospital, the judges, the bliss, the power of john’s hair gel

FAMILY

sibling(s): micah burton ( older brother ) parent(s): abigail burton née belman ( mother ); jim burton ( father ) children: asher seed ( daughter in new dawn au ) significant other: jacob seed ( circumstantial lover/”could do without” mentor/#prisonwife #prisonhusband #imkidding #kinda ) pets: boomer for the cuddles, cheesecake for the throttles ( bitch naturally attracts the judges but will forget her dog 101 and run away like what does she think will happen then?? )

GENERAL

name: michael scott-hughes alias(es): mike, mikey, mickey ( mary may exlusive ), mike the bike/fall’s end’s bicycle, resistance’s poster boy, manwhore, cassanova, the archangel ( joseph exclusive ), the antichrist ( also joseph exclusive ), war dog, hughes boy ( fairgrave exclusive ) gender: cis. male age: 30 birth: 6th july, 1988 place of birth: fall’s end, montana spoken languages: english, russian, basic chinese mandarin and turkish sexual preference: pansexual occupation(s): residential shady, shady man ( international arm’s dealer, most recently demoted to local resistance leader and occasional general goods store co-owner )

APPEARANCE

eye colour: green hair colour: brown height: 181cm ( 5′11 ), and 6ft on tinder jkjk man’s confident enough to not grasp for that extra inch, unlike someone ( john ) scars: heavily burnt left hand ( from trying to fish out his ex girlfriend’s boiling corpse r.i.p. to that steaming puss— ), gash on his right temple, nicely healed gun wound on left shoulder, not so nicely healed amputated right hand ( man’s not having the best time in my canon, is he ), various incorrectly healed cuts and bruises

FAVOURITE

colour: green and rustics song: wild world by yusuf/cat stevens food: unlike the faker above, michael actually likes to cook and eat healthy meals, so anything from salads to veggies to oatmeal to soups will do ( and meat; man’s been a vegetarian for a grand total of 4 days in his entire life ( or 14, if you count the time he got abducted to john’s bunker womp )) drink: sugary drinkswhiskey, fresh juices, “water can be so, so sexy, annie—”

HAVE THEY

passed university: no, though michael really busted his ass to self-educate on subjects that will be beneficial to his line of work had sex: we stopped keeping tabs and numbers nearly ten years ago had sex in public: we stopped blinking at these types of shenanigans nearly ten years ago too gotten pregnant/ someone else pregnant: yes? no? maybe? ( mike’s too afraid to even think about it, but hopes he hasn’t fathered any babies any time soon ) kissed a boy: yes ( affectionate ) kissed a girl: yes ( affectionate² ) gotten tattoos: yes: the sword of damocles on his left inner forearm, intertwined snakes running across his right ribs, a tiny smiley face on his ass lord save him gotten piercings: yes, and everyone hated his attempt to revive the 90s with his lil earring like c’mon you already have a reputation of being a sleaze— been in love: yes, but surprisingly not as many times as one may think ( truthfully, three times: mary may, lana, joanne mary may again ) stayed up for more than 24 hours: sometimes it just cannot be helped

ARE THEY

a virgin: maybe in a past life as an amoeba a cuddler: yes ( try to escape his hold during a summer night i’ll give you 5 bucks if you can break the deadlock ) a kisser: he just exists to smooch at this point scared easily: truthfully, he’s quite desensitized as is, so it’s really hard to truly rock him jealous easily: no; though he might get a bit petty and bitter if someone mentions merle and mary may becuase, like, c’mon, mary—merle briggs? trustworthy: one of his better traits, but past events have shown that boy tends to lose some of his morals for love dominant: yes submissive: yes part 2 man will accommodate and switch it up in love: often single: loosely, often

RANDOM QUESTIONS (tw for self harm/suicide mention)

have they harmed themselves: michael has bad mental health trips stemming from having a lot of insecurities as a child; these may evolve into bad habits and pure recklessness on his part to prove his worth thought of suicide: these thoughts don’t come often, but when they do, it’s harder for him than most to shake them off and recover attempted suicide: once, during the boiling pit incident wanted to kill someone: yes, but it comes more from need than want usually have/had a job: yes, though no retail until he was 30 and stuck providing hope county with slugs and bullets have any fears: loneliness, rejection, abandonment, repercussions and consequences, not being good enough, powerlessness, loss, the angel pit, the process of dying

FAMILY

sibling(s): none, but: jackson hughes ( uncle ) parent(s): jessica hughes née scott ( mother ), david hughes ( father ) girl i have his whole family tree drawn up like you wouldn’t believe children: andrew hughes ( son in new dawn au and maybe canon ) significant other: mary may fairgrave ( childhood sweetheart/awkward ex/once in a rare cosmic event fuck buddy/volatile lovers ) pets: peaches loves him she doesn’t; she just wants to chew on his hair

#tag game #deputy joanne burton #michael s. hughes #oc: get to know jo #oc: build a bicycle #my stuff #far cry 5 oc

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Eight

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 8 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; extreme canon violence (gun violence, hand-to-hand, baton use, knives); strong language; mentions of drug smuggling, drugs, and human smuggling; mentions of blood and blood loss; major/minor character death (not the mains, don’t worry!); angst; gunshot wounds; heavy alcohol consumption

Word Count: 14,600+

A/N: Listen... you know damn well I had to put some American Pie lyrics in this. The reader’s and Jackeline’s relationship is not modeled after Nat and Yelena lol it was literally the biggest coincidence.

MedBay - The New Compound, 2024, 1:52 pm

“He did what?”

Bruce smiles sheepishly as he lugs Steve’s practically lifeless body onto one of those beige medical beds. Dr. Cho is pacing calmly around the room, getting her instruments cleaned and ready. She tries to ignore the way you’re crowding her, inspecting everything she touches and in turn is going to end up touching Steve.

“He took a bullet for someone.”

“And where is that someone?” you bite. You immediately want to apologize to Bruce for your tone but you’re distracted by the tiny groans of pain coming from the pale super soldier beside you. You have to look away to avoid whimpering yourself, but you can’t exactly make yourself deaf. “Don’t tell me he took a bullet for you.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and steps to the side as Dr. Cho begins cutting away Steve’s pants. “Everyone else is on vacation. He has no one here to take a bullet for besides. It was a shitty liquor store robbery and Steve was, of course, being a hero.”

“Where’s he hit?” you ask, heading over to grab a pair of gloves yourself. No one questions it.

“Femoral artery. Seems like he was plugging his own wound until he could get help.”

Dr. Cho is right. There’s a massive gash in his thigh that’s leaking excessively and the skin surrounding the wound is raised like Steve’s own fingers had plunged so deeply it left an imprint. Not only that, but his hand is covered in his blood. So is Bruce’s, you realize, because he had tried to plug the artery as well.

“How is he not dead yet?” Dr. Cho more mutters to herself than to you guys. Steve’s head is lolling to the side and his lips are an awful shade of white. His eyes are fluttering open and closed… open… closed… and he’s still mumbling random phrases. There’s a rough tug at the bottom of your stomach that pulls and pulls and there’s a weird urge to crawl onto the table to keep Steve warm.

“He needs blood,” you say, even though all parties in the room know that as fact.

Bruce, however, winces. “Sam’s not even in the state right now and I don’t think we have enough time to fly him-”

“Is he Sam’s blood type? What’s his blood type? Why can’t Bucky do it? Bucky’s in Brooklyn, he can be here in five minutes if he runs.”

Bruce starts rummaging through the upper level shelves and freezer cabinets. “Can’t mix the serums. We’ve tried.” He finally finds the blood bags, pulling them all out and spreading them across the clean tables. “It’s - shit - do we not have?”

Dr. Cho is now covered in blood, working as fast as she can to close the wound. “What’s his blood type?”

Bruce repeats it out loud and watches as Dr. Cho’s face falls. “I ran out yesterday. The blood drive isn’t until this weekend. I had a patient come in yesterday, I - I ran out yesterday.”

They seem to be having their own conversation with their eyes and are too focused on each other to see you already stripping your long-sleeve shirt and wrapping that horrible blue rubber band around your upper arm. “Me. Take mine.”

Bruce immediately shakes his head, stuttering as he tries to remove the rubber band. “Nu-uh, I don’t know if you know this but you’re human. I need two bags, three tops. I can’t just take it all from you right now!”

“Then get me some cookies and a juice box. I don’t care how much you have to take to make him speak a coherent sentence. Do me.”

Bruce hesitates but he rushes to the cabinets for the needles, vials, tubes, whatever - “No, do it direct.”

Your words startle the two doctors but they don’t question it. They hook you up and poke the needle in the first vein they find, attaching the tube instead of a single vial and direct it to Steve.

“You sure your blood matches?”

You give Bruce a pointed look as if that isn’t something written on your dog tags or on your weekly personal reports.

In the end, you’re told that you gave him the equivalent of two pints of blood. Not that you were awake for the second anyway but you vaguely remember Steve’s voice ringing in your ears. You’re not awake as he regains consciousness or to witness his very confused glare at seeing you in the bed next to him.

He swears he heard small mumblings… ‘If you die because of some highway robbery, Rogers --- I’m never gonna fucking stop bullying your grave --- haunt it’.... ‘Stay --- with me, please’.... ‘---supposed to apologize first’....

He tests the waters, mumbling a name he only says with annoyance nowadays. But now, it’s gently said. Soft, a whisper that sounds like a fractured hymn.

Present Day, 2025, 12:05 pm

There isn’t a set emotion in the world that seems appropriate. What are people supposed to feel when they’re singled out and chosen to suffer a life of pain? Self-hate? Pity for themselves? Anger? Sadness? Remorse? Nothing?

You really don’t know what you’re feeling. In the middle of rubbing vaseline on your newly acquired cuts and scrapes and bandaging yourself up, biting on a belt as Bucky set your shoulder back in place, and lying with Steve discussing everything and nothing all night after your promise - well, what the hell are you supposed to feel? As inevitable as it was considering he had ordered you shot before, the one feeling you know you feel is betrayed. Because even though Ernesto has proven himself evil time and time again, to his own flesh and blood, there was still a small part in your heart that didn’t think any parent truly wanted to inflict pain on their children. And your heart keeps proving itself wrong again and again.

“You just... jumped out of the car?”

Ramirez’s voice snaps you from your inner thoughts. He was let out of custody this morning. He’s currently filling in anyone who asks about the shipment, about Ernesto’s future plans, about the role he thought he had.

“Against my better judgment, but yeah.”

He chuckles and grins like he’s a kid hearing the best story ever told. “That’s what superheroes do. At least, what I’ve seen in the movies. John Wick, Bond, esos tipos.”

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, Omar,” there’s a teasing tone, “but I’m a fucking Avenger.”

That makes him laugh louder and in turn pulls one from you. “Ya se, ya se. I’ve known you since you were born. It’s weird hearing stories about you saving the world and jumping from bombed cars.”

“Mm, wait until you hear about that time I went into space and landed on another planet. Or time traveled. Take your pick.”

He’s stunned into silence and after a few more praises, he lets you return to typing out your report. There are plenty of other agents around for him to busy himself with. The base is tiny and not at all what you expected, but it’s secure enough to fit Torres, Sam, Bucky, and about fifteen other agents as they prepare for tonight. The plan you and Steve outlined was simple: attend the wedding, butter everyone up, send Steve away to help Ernesto retrieve and move the shipment, Scott and Sam will infiltrate, Bucky would be on standby to help you fight, and the rest of the team at base will begin arrests and sweeps. If everything goes according to plan, at least.

It’s easy to speak negatively about these things - there really were only two ways this could go.

You finish your report and go to stand, only realizing a minute later walking through the base that Ramirez is following you. You send him a funny look over your shoulder and he returns with a small smile of his own.

“Tengo preguntas!”

You stop and let him catch up. “Hmm?”

“Okay,” he starts, motioning his hands wordlessly until he could form them. “Are you and the Captain actually... juntos? Or just Avenger partners?”

“That’s personal, Omar,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “But I guess? That’s weird discussing with you.”

He nods in agreement. “It’s okay, I was just curious. So, him being mad was just an act? He doesn’t really hurt and threaten you, no?” He’s treading lightly, but you can already see the cartel mind turning. He would order Steve’s execution if he had to, even if he believed it to be morally wrong in some situations.

“Never. It was just an act for Ernesto.”

“Ah, Dios. Thank goodness.”

“Yeah, keep your men in line. It’s fine.”

He chuckles at that. “And the other Avengers?”

“They’re my family, Omar,” you grin wide, waking slower for the old man to keep up. “They would never hurt me.”

“That’s good, but not what I was asking.”

“Oh?”

“What are they like?”

Handing your report to one of the agents at a handful of monitors, you laugh loudly. “Do you want to meet them officially?”

“Aye, I know my daughters would like that...”

You raise an eyebrow.

“But I would like to meet them, too.”

“That’s what I thought. C’mon.”

The rest of the team are all relaxing and discussing the past days events in the lounge area, which is really just a glorified break room. Bucky’s still in his morning sweats same as Scott, Torres is already suited up, and both Sam and Steve are wearing their Avenger gear (minus Sam’s wings and Steve’s battered shield). Steve is the first one to notice you enter and he instantly gets up from his chair to greet you with a kiss on the cheek.

“Gross,” Bucky mumbles.

“You’ve been trying to get me a girl for over ninety years, Buck. And now that I’ve finally got someone who likes me back, you bully me for it?”

“Who’s bullin’? I said the same thing when Agent Carter smooched you in the weapon’s room and you thought you were alone.”

You pat Steve’s shoulder. “Think about it, Rogers. When Bucky settles down with someone, you have free reign.”

Steve pulls a thin smile and glances back at Bucky. “I’ll make them hate you.”

“Love and hate are the same thing, pal. It worked out for you two.”

“Okay, we’re done. Everyone, Omar wanted to formally introduce himself.”

Ramirez gives a shy wave. Torres returns it. It’s kind of hilarious to witness. Here you all are, Avengers and some standing over six feet with one of the most wanted drug lords in the world, and the all mighty drug lord is shy.

“I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” You notice how when Ramirez speaks to strangers or those he deems good people on his side, his accent is a little thicker. It’s like he wants to speak only in Spanish other than the Spanglish you were all accustomed to. “But it really is an honor to meet you all.”

Scott is the first to stand and shake his hand. “Sorry I pointed my gun at you, man. Habit.”

Ramirez chuckles, “Sorry I broke into your room.”

Steve interjects, “Thank you, though. For telling us what more we’re fighting for.”

Ramirez nods, a solemn look spreading over his face. “The minute I found out, I didn’t know who to tell. I’m lucky you were never truly on his side.”

“And what will you do after all this is over?” Bucky stands. “How do we know we can truly trust you?”

Ramirez sneaks a glance at you and you raise your hands. “Hey, I’ve got the same questions as him.”

Ramirez must know he isn’t getting out of this one because he answers quickly. “Drugs have a market where people choose. I just meet supply and demand protocols. I don’t do the unnecessary violence or blackmail. There is no need to. People will always want drugs.”

There’s a round of agreement throughout the small room. Ramirez continues, “But smuggling humans? There is no choice, nothing moral about it, it’s evil.”

“But people get addicted to drugs. They die from them everyday,” Sam argues.

“I produce and deal what you American’s call weed. Ernesto does the big stuff, as does White. I’m,” he laughs a little. “I’m their weed guy.”

“That is true,” you confirm. You’ve moved and packaged Ramirez’s product before. “Literally just weed.”

Everyone seems deep in thought, like their processing Ramirez’s words and the weight behind them. Ramirez ran with the big boys and was the biggest distributor of marijuana in Mexico and America alike, but he never messed with any other product. Besides producing, selling, and smuggling illegal weed, his only other crimes included conspiring with Ernesto on how to get the product over state lines.

“Okay,” Steve starts. “So how is tonight gonna work? We have to discuss that.”

Ramirez bows his head. “You’ve allowed me safety, you’ve listened to me speak, and you’re saving both my life and my daughter’s. If you must arrest me, then you arrest me.”

“The minute you’re transferred to a prison with less security, Ernesto’s men will get you,” you reason, already shaking your head no.

Ramirez gives a nonchalant shrug, “But you’ll get him and White. That’s all that matters.”

You look over to Steve for some other ideas, but like you he doesn’t have any. No one seems to have any.

Torres matches his shrug and his voice is small as he speaks, almost like his next idea is insane. “We can always put him in the Raft.”

Everyone’s eyes go wide.

“That’s where all the enhanced humans go, no?” Ramirez is stunned. “Do I count?”

“We’ve got no idea,” Steve rubs at his chin, looking at you for confirmation he knows you don’t have. “But it’s an idea.”

The plan is no longer singular. Fury had sent his best field agents for the job, the ones with the best aim, the ones with great strategic planning. Although you and Steve were still in charge, it was no longer just your mission. Your mission was to arrest the big three, big four when including Seda. That was it.

The plan goes like this: half the team will be focused on the venue itself, hidden in the shadows and monitoring the big three as well as your mics, and will aid you in the physical fight and arrests. Some are on the ground while others in the sky. Afterwards, they’ll sweep the estate and collect stolen property or priceless artworks. The other half is split into two, where one of those halves will be spread out for miles to capture anyone that might slip through, like guests who were on the most wanted list or guests that have helped Ernesto in the past. The other part of that half will intercept the shipment (once Steve radios in the location), save the hostages, and shut down the routes.

They instruct Ramirez to call Ernesto and to ask him if there’s a vegetarian menu offered. Ernesto responds with only a muttered groan and in a wild turn of events, asks if Ramirez can call you to make sure you arrive earlier than expected to make sure Jackeline walks down that aisle. He’s completely serious. Not only does Ramirez play along, but Ernesto doesn’t give any indication that he knows about the car bomb. So the team makes a judgement call: this was only Seda’s doing.

Ramirez is then told that the Raft is not an option; both the US and Mexican government want him and the only reason he hasn’t been arrested is because he still has many cards to play. The more he helps, the less time he’ll get.

One thing is known: this is the biggest mission anybody has been on in over two years.

Bucky remembers things in bits and pieces. Sometimes he’ll be minding his own business, enjoying this new world and the countless amenities it offers, and remember exactly where he was on the hottest day of the year in 1936. He remembers the blistering heat, boiling his once pale skin and giving him that beautiful olive he was now known for. He remembers the way his tongue dried almost instantly the moment he stepped outside and how he asked his next door neighbor, Ms. Kranshall, for a cup of water before work. He remembers her massive square glasses and how they nudged the tip of her nose as she nodded sweetly at him. He remembers her high but smoky voice and the way she patted his shoulder as he drank the cup down.

The first time he remembered Natalia was around the same time he remembered Steve. He sees a flash of ember in strands, speed almost matching his, and he sees those panicked green eyes he was once all too familiar with.

She was twelve when he first met her, forced to throw her around like a ragdoll until her ribs were bruised and her spirit broken. He went again and again, and when he wasn’t forced he would teach her how to fight properly and how to shield her most vulnerable areas. Scared as she was, she never showed it in those private moments, and decided to follow his lead in most things. And she learned to be fierce, no matter how hard he hit, and he still remembers the look in her eyes and the pull of her young face as they yanked him away for cryo before he could congratulate her on winning her first fight.

The first time he remembered you was when you leapt onto T’Challa’s back as the chase neared, tackling the young prince become king, and watched with sad eyes as both him and Steve climbed onto the jet for Siberia. He remembers your clumsy punches when you fought him with half his brain and how he kicked you so hard you flew. He also remembers how when you took that kick for Steve, the sound of his wail almost deafened the soldier.

Everytime he remembers something, a memory, no matter how strangled it may arise, the twinge in his chest is good. He’s remembering. He’s James Buchanan Barnes.

He feels that same twinge when a face full of freckles greets him at the entrance, documents raised above her head in a show of selfish glee, and a pep in her step that tells him she remembers him too.

“Sergeant Barnes!” Maribel gives a toothy grin. “Never thought I’d see you again!”

Bucky tilts his chin up and rests the tip of tongue between his incisors. “What? Hydra wasn’t enough for you, you gotta infiltrate the Mexican cartel, too?”

She scoffs playfully, “Other way ‘round.”

He snatches the documents from her hand and leads her inside. “I hope you got something here. Steve put a lotta faith in you.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Y/N does. That’s enough for me.”

Rolling her eyes, she snatches the documents back to turn the pages herself. “Follow me. We need to chat in private.”

“Shouldn’t we get-”

“I’d rather you know, and you tell them later. No audience.”

This causes Bucky to tense. He follows her in further and closes the door behind them both.

The left side of her face had less freckles back in 2012, he remembers, and now she’s covered in them.

Bucky remembers things slowly, but he remembers them.

It’s cold outside, air bruising your skin, and there are hundreds of goosebumps now erupting. You joke with yourself that in the end, you’ll most likely have to ask Steve for his jacket and ruin your overall look but hey, you’ll be warm. The wedding doesn’t start until five in the evening and it’s one’oclock right now, and there are white clouds in the sky instead of gray and the songs of some desperate birds searching for their lunch near your ears. It at least drowns out the constant noise of the agents hammering away at each other and preparing for tonight.

It makes your stomach roll: these agents are putting their lives at risk because of you.

You stepped through the discarded papers and tried not to leave your footprint anywhere important. His office was empty, left in a state of purgatory, and his lamp was still on. It’s like he stepped out for a minute.

You picked everything up: pens, computers, books, chairs. Under everything, there was dust.

He really did die.

As much as you wanted to step on his remains and spit on him, you couldn’t. The gash in your heart was still open and bleeding for everyone else and there was no room left for anger. You were indifferent, for lack of a better word. Frustrated?

A paper crumbles outside his office. No one had followed you in - a week after the snap and every single person on earth was still searching for loved ones or running from something - so no, no one else was supposed to be here. Mexico had been hit hard, it’s government shattered, and every cartel was picking up pieces or tearing the world further apart. There was no line anymore.

You twisted around and aimed your gun at the door, immediately lowering it when you saw Natasha raise her hands. She had this embarrassed smile on her face like she knew she had been caught.

“I meant to say hi over your mic. But you turned it off.”

You sighed deeply and dramatically shrugged your shoulders. “Well, I’m here. Guess who’s not.”

Natasha only nods and steps further into the room. She looks over the same things you did. “He’s gone? Good, good riddance.”

“But his death means nothing if trillions of others died also. It’s so fucking typical of him. If he’s going down, he takes everyone else with him.”

“He didn’t take them, Y/N.”

“I want to be happy,” you spit out through clenched teeth. “I want to feel relief. The fucking bastard is finally gone and I can’t even enjoy it properly.”

Natasha takes one more look at the hallway before letting her guard down almost completely. She envelopes you in a hug, squeezing tighter each time your breath hitches. “Hey, listen to me.”

“He’s gone.”

“I know,” Natasha’s voice is low and reminds you of the gentle hum of record static. “He’s gone and he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“But everyone-”

“No,” she pulls away and places both her palms over your neck. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

It takes a while before you’re nodding along, repeating her words gently.

“You’re more than the pain he inflicted. You’re more than his name or crimes. You’re worth more than his impact ten times over. He can’t hurt you anymore. I know everyone’s gone, and we’re going to fight like hell to bring them back, but in this little moment, this little thread you can pull - pull it all out - he can’t hurt you anymore.”

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would you do without Natasha?

The grass beneath your bare feet calms you down. It’s tendrils are a little ticklish and there are droplets of silver morning water fog melting as they touch your skin. Focusing on the feeling isn’t enough to get you out of your own head and for a wild second, you think the God of Thunder is going to come up behind you and hold your hand. It’s peaceful out here, but what you wouldn’t give to see him again.

The day before Steve and Carol returned the stones, he had been here. He did as he promised: the second the flood of happiness extinguished like a Christmas candle, he found you settled in the mass of pillows with only instrumental music playing. He left for two cups of tea, sat in silence with you as you both drank, and whispered a strangled ‘I’m sorry’ as if you weren’t meant to hear it. Apologizing for someone who did come back, and you for someone who didn’t.

‘You know I don’t regret what we did. We brought everyone back.’

‘Don’t try and justify your sadness. Not at all, not with me.’ His voice was stern and his eyes serious.

‘I’m sorry he didn’t come back.’

His eyes had closed, as if he was expecting that apology, and he looked out the window where the sun was just barely rising, shining on him and him alone. ‘I’m sorry, too.’

There are footsteps, though. Heavy ones, footsteps that announce his upcoming presence on purpose so as to not startle anymore. Bucky was too generous for his own good.

“Had a visitor.”

You remain silent as Bucky sits next to you, looking up from his spot and expecting you to sit as well. “There’s water on the grass.”

“There’s water in the air in this godforsaken state, now sit down.” A push of laughter escapes your lungs but you follow his instructions anyway.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, admiring the way the pine trees bend slightly with the gusts of wind and how the birds have changed their pitch. You expect Bucky to speak first so you occupy that time by playing with the strands of wet grass.

“In 1997, I was taken out of cryo for a mission.”

You wince on accident. This wasn’t how you expected the conversation to start.

Bucky continues, “There was this man south of the border.” He points south to prove his point. “Hydra wanted to take him out because he was interfering with the drug routes they were monitoring.”

“Hydra controlled drug routes?”

“Hydra had their heads in plenty of places. They didn’t control them, but they did monitor them.”

You shake your head in understanding. “And this man?”

Bucky sighs heavily. His eyes are focused on the gentle yellows behind the trees instead of you. “He was told to take out another man traveling through and out one of these drug routes. He made a different call.”

“Who was your visitor?”

“Maribel.”

“Wha-?” You go to stand but Bucky gently pushes your left shoulder back down. “Why are you telling me this and not her?”

“She wanted me to tell you. And I guess, in turn, you tell Steve and the rest of the team.”

“Bucky,” your voice trembles on accident. “Tell me.”

“The man I was ordered to take out was Maribel’s brother.” He chuckles at your frantic shuffling and pushes you down again. He continues, “Hey, it’s okay. She never knew him and she doesn’t hate me for what I was.”

You don’t really believe him. But his face isn’t telling you otherwise. You're stuck between wanting to dig for more information and giving him a giant bear hug. “Did you… succeed?”

“The soldier ever rarely lost.”

Your face contorts. “Bucky…”

“He disobeyed orders, Hydra didn’t like that since it disrupted the drug routes, and so I was sent to help. Hydra didn’t seem to care about the man he let go, though.” Bucky shrugs and starts playing with the grass behind your hand. “The thing was, Maribel’s brother had been doing this a long time. Ernesto was on Hydra’s radar but in a good way. Maribel’s brother was also given very specific orders from one other person - their mother.”

The story pieces are all discarded haphazardly, pieces that are from different boxes and don’t seem to entangle properly.

“She told him to let the man go. Because this man was an American, and killing an American on Mexican soil was something that was impossible to hide from the claws of the law. So, this American made it back on US soil safely and was never heard from again. Until 1998, when he tried to re-enter Mexico under a false name but with one purpose. To see his newborn baby girl.”

The yellow behind the pine trees fades into orange.

“Are you saying-?”

“Maribel’s mother kept everything your mother left her when she tried to cross the border herself. Your real birth certificate, her real birth certificate, you.”

Bucky looks over finally, sad smile and all. “Maribel thinks, and now I think, that Ernesto isn’t your real father.”

There are so many questions formulating at the base of your skull that you don’t really take the time to absorb the news. “What did she bring you? What was in those papers?”

Bucky seems startled that your reaction wasn’t one of shock. “Like I said, Maribel’s mother kept a lotta things.” He pauses momentarily before speaking again. “Blood results was one of them. Still trying to authenticate them. The American was a doctor, after all.”

“A doctor,” you whisper.

“A doctor. He changed his name but he’s alive. Maribel’s checked.”

“Why would she tell me this now? Why now just hours before the wedding? Isn’t that why you guys didn’t tell me about what was really in the shipment?”

Bucky winces and his expression tells you he’s sorry.

You continue, “Why now? Why does it even matter anymore?”

He inspects you quickly, scanning your features for any signs of discomfort. “You’re okay? I thought this would surprise you more.”

The chuckle you release is dry, kind of harsh. “It actually answers a fuckload of questions. Like, number one, why he fucking hates me.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “You think he knows?”

“If he doesn’t, then he’s a super fucking asshole instead of just a fucking asshole.”

Bucky pauses again and smiles up at the sky. The clouds are white and extra large today, and he suddenly remembers the taste of that mini popcorn he had bought and shared with his little sister Becca… Becks… while watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarves at the theater. The salt and butter had stuck to Becca’s fingers and she had wiped them on Bucky’s sweater. He remembers scolding her for that but giving her a napkin in between his giggle fit. He feels the same swell in the meat of his heart listening to you. “We don’t deserve you. You’re like the moon. Always there, shaping yourself into what that person needs, crater after crater beat into you and yet, you move the tides.”

The little snort that leaves your nose hurts a little. “That’s pretty damn poetic for this moment of ‘you’re not the father!’”

Bucky bites his lip and smiles toward the yellow and orange hues. “Like the moon.”

The hotel had replaced the door, no questions asked. The reason Sam decided to bust open the door instead of using the very functional key you had given Torres? No one knows. But the poor receptionist was told that you couldn’t possibly change rooms because this was top secret business and you absolutely wanted to slap Scott upside the head for worrying her. So they fixed the bolts and gave you all new keys.

Didn’t matter much anyway since you weren’t sleeping here tonight. You had already packed and made the beds.

You lay your dress and Steve’s dress attire on the respective beds. The dress sent over was a backless red silk, spaghetti strapped and slit on the left side - you’ve wanted to wear it since it arrived when Scott did.

Steve knocked before entering the room. You almost laughed at the gentlemanly aspect of it. “Thought for sure they’d have kept you for another hour at least.”

“I gotta change sometime. That your dress?” Steve shrugs off his uniform and climbs on top of his freshly made bed.

“That’s my dress. Sort of skimpy for a wedding, no?” You hold it up to show him the front and back.

“Does ‘skimpy’ mean bad?”

“Means slutty.”

He gives you this disappointed look, like he’s judging your vocabulary. “I wouldn’t use that word. So no.”

You silently apologize and move the dress over to the end of your bed. Everyone else was also getting ready for tonight. Agents were posing as local police, many infiltrated the wait staff, suits were being double-checked for any malfunctions. There was so much going on, but all was relaxed in your room. Steve smiles at you from his bed, head resting in his palm as he leans up to stare at you. It’s impossible not to blush under his stare, so you move to climb into his bed. You lay down with your feet to his head, the sides of your hips pressing together; just two upside down puzzle pieces. He chuckles and goes to lay on his back, right arm coming up to lay rested on top of your right thigh.

“All this week I thought I wasn’t ready.” You’ve had no more nightmares. “But I am. I’m ready to end this.”

He runs his fingers delicately along your thigh. “I’m ready to help.” He sighs deeply and cranes his neck to try and meet your gaze. “We’ll make sure they get maximum time.”

“You know that’s not our call.”

“Still.”

You rest for another few minutes, gentle touches calming you. His body is so warm, emitting sweet thoughts like the beginning of spring heat, and it’s impossible not to curl up into it. Steve breaks the comfortable silence, “What are you thinking about?”

You suck in a breath and tell him the truth. “That in the matter of like… five days, you and I are basically lovers now.”

“Lovers?”

“Lovers.”

He laughs out loud and goes to sit up. “I intend on taking you out when we get back home.”

Lifting your head, you rest on your elbows and grin at him. “Oh? And where are you planning on taking me?”

He thinks for a second before pressing his lips together and giving up. “I have to ask Peter or Wanda. I have no idea where you go during the day to eat.”

You laugh, “Seriously? I could’ve sworn you tagged along once or twice.”

“Nope. I always refused.”

You frown slightly, “Riiight.” Not wanting to rehash the reasons why, you try to soften any wrong feelings about what that implies. “I’m sure you’ve been, though. I take Bucky places, too. Ask him.”

“Mmm, I have my pride. Can’t have Bucky thinkin’ he knows more about my girl than I do.”

You smile largely now and hope no lipstick rubbed off on your teeth. “Your girl?”

Steve averts his eyes like he’s just now asking for your name and if you’d like to go dancing. There’s a beautiful scarlet glow painting his pale cheeks. “Like I said, I’m taking you out and asking properly.”

“We’ve already surpassed third base. I remember it vividly.”

His smile falls comically and he turns to grab a throw pillow to smack you with it a couple times. “Crude! Crude as always. Goddamn.”

“I’m sorry! Hey, I’m sorry!”

He stops his attack and pulls you into his chest. He warms your back instantly. “So, you’ll let me take you out?”

“I really, really like french fries,” you hum lightly and tilt your head back to lean into his shoulder.

“That narrows it down, thanks.”

You chuckle due to his sarcastic tone. He rubs his hands up and down your arms. An idea formulates while in the warmth of his body. “You know what I really want to do after we finish with this?”

“What’s that?”

You tell him honestly. “Rent a cabin. Spend a Christmas there, maybe. Catch some fuckin’ fish. Experience the snow properly.”

His eyebrows furrow like he’s dissecting such a claim. “I… wasn’t expecting that.”

You shrug, “Sounds cool though, right?”

“Got room for one more?” He looks down to meet your gaze and there’s a glint of hope shimmering in the blue of his eyes.

“Nat… Natasha.”

Natasha took in a sharp exhale as she lifted her head from the desk, left cheek numb and pink. Steve shot her a funny grin and continued shaking her shoulder until she fully opened her eyes. She slaps his hand away with a huff of laughter.

“Come here to do your laundry? You know, there’s only so many times I can help prevent shrinking shirts.”

Steve scoffs, “I used to do laundry by hand. I can figure out a few buttons.”

“You would think.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bumps her shoulder with the palm of hand before speed-walking into the kitchen. “It’s one of those days.” He opens the high cabinets and pulls a few vodka bottles.

Natasha pushes down whatever was starting to eat at her. She calms her deep breaths and rises from her chair. No words needed to be exchanged. She makes her way over to pull two glasses from the same high cabinets.

Steve watches her a little hesitantly, but she has that lopsided smile that pinches through only one cheek and her eyes are the slightest bit swollen from her power nap, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. She tilts her head to the other side of the kitchen, that lopsided grin gracing her bare feet. Steve fumbles through a few cleaning supplies and some plastic bags before he finds the bottle.

“I hid it after… after Thor had that meltdown a year ago.”

Now, he was second guessing. It was a small bottle, only half left, but half a bottle of Asgardian liquor was enough to knock the God on his knees. For Steve, a few sips would do the same. But he needed it, he needed it, god help him. It’s been four years, he needs it. “Be my designated driver?”

“How about you spend the night? Y/N wanted to start a new show anyway.”

“I’ll be passed the fuck out during the opening credits.”

“But you’ll be here.”

Steve sighs and pops open the bottle. Natasha puts her hand up to stop him from pouring, “Check under that sink again.”

His eyebrows pinch together but he does as instructed. More cleaning products… more cleaning products. He tilts his head to look at the corners and there it was: a small, pink paper airplane taped mid-flight. Steve hunched his shoulders to grab it and crawled out carefully. “You know, you’re not supposed to tell me where you hide them.”

“Well, I felt bad! I’ve found like fifteen of your blue ones and how many do you have of mine?”

“That’s besides the point-”

“Say it. You’ve found six.”

His cheeks turn hot. “I’m not here all the time.”

“Excuses.”

“I leave mine in good spots. You probably got better eyes or something.”

Natasha laughs, loud and from her chest. “Sure. But hey - I’ll promise you somethin’.”

Steve pours the Asgardian liquor into his glass and straight vodka into Natasha’s. “What do you have in mind?”

“You find more than me by the end of this year, and I’ll take that vacation.”

Steve takes his first sip and tries not to pull a hard face. “You’re on. But what if you win?”

Natasha raises her glass and clinks it with his. He wants to apologize for forgetting to toast but her eyes are playful and forgiving. “You come with me. I’m not the only one who needs it.”

“So, I win regardless?”

She takes a sip and pulls a funny face. “Easiest battle, don’t ya think?”

They’re off their right minds twenty minutes into drinking and the common area is chaos. Pillows are thrown, the TV somehow ends up with dozens of fingerprints, and they’ve broken a couple flower pots. The cushions of the couch know Natasha’s bare feet and Steve’s boots; the walls fail to constrict their loud singing; Rhodey has already snuck past them to get himself a snack undetected.

‘And so I cry sometimes when I’m lyin’ in bed, just to get it all out what’s in my head!’

‘Hit the high note, Rogers!’

‘When you do, I will!... I scream from the top of my lungs-’

‘What’s goin’ on? And I say, ‘hey!’ ‘hey!’ I say ‘hey!’ What’s goin’ on?’

Steve’s still clear-headed enough to twirl Natasha around. She’s flexible enough to climb onto his shoulders.

‘I pray every single day - for a revolution!’

She’s starting to slur her words and Steve wonders if that blond streak in her hair was there last week.

‘The story of my life! I take her home,

I drive all night to keep her warm and time,

Is frozen!

The story of my life, I give her hope,

I spend her love until she’s broke inside!

The story of my life.’

She can longer feel her toes but seeing Steve let go makes her so incredibly happy and breaks her heart. I needed this too, she thinks.

‘So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die!”’

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would Steve do without Natasha?

“You wanna come?”

“Sure. I’ll cut down the trees for wood. Have a real fireplace.” He’s serious, you realize. Like, really truly serious.

Your heart swells with excitement and some other feeling you can’t quite place. But it’s good, like really good. The sigh you release is full of sweet wonder. “A real Christmas tree.”

Steve tightens his grip around your arms. “December’s right around the corner. Trees should be ready and standing tall.”

It’s almost too much to imagine. You have the sudden urge to talk specifics, to plan out this vacation. A beautiful, rustic cabin with only a coffee maker brought from the outside century, knitted quilts, real snow, Steve’s body heat, Christmas lights… inviting Sam, Scott, Wanda, Peter, and Bucky down for Christmas dinner and presents. A whole sleepover filled with ghost stories, candle burning, board games, Christmas movies. You’re up and tucking your knees under yourself to look down at Steve in an instant. “You’d throw on that checkered shirt, grow out your beard even more, and chop down a few trees for me? With me?”

“There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be,” Steve says, eyes crinkling. For a second, he’s worried you’ll realize that he’s quoted your letter. But that same moment, you’re giggling with excitement over your future plans.

“Well, we lasted a week here without killing each other. The holidays always hold a few surprises.”

Steve picks up another pillow.

Business is not conducted during the church service. It feels normal, with half the guests attending the service and watching the happy couple exchange vows, while the other half only arrives for the party.

Jackeline’s dress is modern with a mix of vintage - simple, with long sleeves of lace and fabric that isn’t entirely white but with hints of beige; the dress dips lower in the back than it does in the front, and it’s tight near the waist but loose as it drapes down her long legs. Her hair is left loose and her make-up is heavy, and she illuminates under the sun rays that burst through stained cathedral glass. You don’t even pay mind to Ernesto and Seda seated in the aisle in front of you - not when Jackeline looks the way she does.

As the service ends, Steve tells you to wait until most of the guests exit. The priest eyes him warily, inspecting his young face and build and obvious persona. He says nothing, but he places a gentle hand over the cross on his chest as he follows the guests out. Steve stands, and out of respect dips his fingers into the holy water provided near the heavy wooden doors. He signs the father, the son, and the holy ghost and dips his fingers in again to sign the same on you. With a silent thank you and tender wipe to your forehead, you don’t question it. He’s not Catholic, or at least you don’t think, but you know he does it for what’s to come. No matter your beliefs, he just wants something, someone, to protect you. You turn back to the cathedral and grip the door as you bend down to one knee and tip your head.

Everything is grander, that’s for sure. The decorations are tripled; the violet lights are reflecting like diamonds off every marble and glass surface; the chandelier’s are no longer gold sculptures but diamond; the clay flowers hanging from the ceiling yesterday are now a part of the centerpieces, squeezed in with the largest bouquet of roses and violets; the live bands (because of course there are two) are each still setting up as everyone is getting seated; and there are about fifty round tables circling the large dance floor. There’s still a nice view of the lake and the pine trees ahead, and the tarp was abandoned as there was no rain in the forecast. All in all, and there were a thousand other things you could focus on but didn’t have the energy to, everything was beautifully put together.

Jackeline wasn’t lying when she said half of Mexico was attending. Besides family, there were celebrities in attendance, famous musicians who were simply guests and not performing, family of some of the other biggest drug lords from both countries (minus Europe), and a couple politicians who dipped before the new couple even walked through the doors after seeing Steve. But Steve worked his magic like he had yesterday and had everyone eating out of the palm of hand in pure amazement. He even had a famous actress hanging off his shoulder in under three minutes. Walking away to go congratulate Jackeline, Steve doesn’t miss the quick, sarcastic flick of your middle finger aimed in his direction.

“You’d tell me if you needed my help, right?” Jackeline asks after a while, bottom lip dripping champagne. She wipes it gingerly, careful not to smudge her pink lipstick.

“I would if there was anything wrong,” you respond truthfully. She pauses to swallow her sip and squints. She follows your gaze to Steve, whose right arm is being tugged by a girl who looks about twelve with five multi-colored bows trailing down her french braid, and who is also trying hard not to blush at the very attractive actress he can’t seem to get rid of.

“You’re going to stop him, aren’t you?”

You glance to your left, but it isn’t really a question. Jackeline knows. “Yeah.”

She nods and tilts her chin up, eyes still on Steve. “Make him watch as you burn it down.” You know she’s referring to Ernesto. She continues, “Every last bit of it.”

Smiling down at your feet, you raise your glass at nothing in particular. Just to salute the night air and whoever is watching. A few seconds pass as you both watch the guests enjoy the music and appetizers. Jackeline shuffles in her heels but she doesn’t seem to want to leave your side just yet. “You run, you understand?”

She’s only momentarily startled by your words. “Okay.”

“I never meant to leave you here, Jackie. I just had to find a way out first.”

“You found a loophole,” she chuckles, but the next moment she’s serious. “There is no way out.”

“Might not be,” you admit, downing your glass in one shot. “But I know this. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You don’t exchange more than a few words with Steve before he’s called by Ernesto’s men and motioned toward those massive dry lava rock doors; doors that don’t muffle sound but are strong enough to withstand a bullet wound. You watch him leave with them, and he shoots you a smile over his shoulder to simply look at you. Your eyes swell only slightly, burning the corners and blurring everything. He’s bright and brilliant, walking head first into Hell and shining like the bolts of Zeus.

Steve has faced giants before, from all backgrounds and all worlds. He has blocked their punches, taken near mortal injuries; stared them in the face with every ounce of anger and determination his cells could produce. There was always this whispered voice in his head that warned him of the last day he would pick up that shield. In 1945, the voice was loud and raging as he drove that nosediving plane into the Arctic. Over the last few years, however, the voice had quieted and let Steve ponder his fate himself. Steve swears the voice, or rather his own conscience, is getting tired.

He listens intently, responding only when spoken to, and prays his mic is picking up every bit of this conversation. Ernesto commanded the room as he screamed orders in both English and Spanish. His men fell in line; some as determined as the old man, some quiet, some bothered. Didn’t matter what the orders were. Steve noticed the few who would glance at one another and speak their distaste with their wandering eyes. And when Ernesto would speak directly to Steve, the same men would pinch their lips into a thin line and glare.

The shipment had arrived mid-conversation and as men were sent out to do their jobs, Ernesto kept Steve behind. I need you to stay with me until the shipment is secure and can be moved - you’re my bodyguard, Ernesto had told him, confident and only slightly bending his back in discomfort from the weight of the day. Steve agrees, and hears Bucky mention how they have eyes on the shipment from the sky.

Steve stays by Ernesto’s side even when Ramirez is called in. He’s prepared for a bloodbath, for two big men to cement their graves in this tiny office, but it doesn’t happen. Or at least, it doesn’t happen yet. Ernesto regards Ramirez as an old friend and finally trusts him enough to tell him what the shipment contained. Steve isn’t surprised, however, when Ernesto takes nasty satisfaction at Ramirez’s horrified expression. Because even though Ramirez had already known, the confirmation adds a multitude of terror. Steve can feel his palms sweating.

As expected, Ernesto tells Ramirez that he plans to use his lands for his gain. The safe thing to do would have been to agree, to nod along, and to live in the knowledge that the shipment most likely wouldn’t head out. But Ramirez, for some reason Steve can’t fathom, stands up and says no.

Steve understands now; the odd shaking of your shoulders even when your face was completely blank and emotions calm. He watches the beads of sweat drip from Ernesto’s forehead onto the tip of his nose; he watches the way his chest heaves as his voice becomes louder; he watches until he can’t take anymore and he enlarges the shield with Scott’s tech and tells Ernesto to move away from the other man. Steve understands now - the man really is scary, even if he wants to admit it or not.

“You really are a phenomenal actor.”

Swaying slowly, you try not to step on Seda’s feet as he guides you across the dance floor. The music is calmer than it was five minutes ago, the guests are enjoying dinner and conversing, and Steve had told you fifteen minutes ago that he would be right back. Ernesto had sent you a malicious wink, but you knew better. Steve’s name was written in blue and Ernesto’s real target had to be you.

“Acting with what? Acting that I enjoy this dance? Acting like I respect you?” Your upper lip twitches into a teasing smile. “Or acting like I don’t know it was you who planted that bomb?”

He matches your smile, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes. His grip around your waist tightens. “Acting like you’re really on our side.”

Lowering your voice just a fraction, you lean in, top of your head level with his chin. “I’m on Ernesto’s side. You almost had me and my Captain blown up.”

His left hand is settled on your shoulder and he uses the opportunity to dig his nails in. All around him, his men are watching. “How did you get away?”

You give a dry laugh. “You think that was my first bomb? It was childsplay.”

Seda scoffs, “You speak of this Avenger business like I don’t know who you are. You’re still that scared little girl who hid in her room when alien’s fell from the sky.”

“I may be. But there’s a difference between you and I. I actually stared them in this face and won.”

“The second time, maybe”

Sticks and stones, but goddamn did those words always hurt. Blame goes a long way but you and your team are used to keeping it close to home. “Why do you want me dead?”

His scowl deepens and the wrinkles by his eyes crinkle over each other as he squints down at you. “The Avengers are not secretly on our side. Tony Stark never was but Ernesto loves to tell people otherwise. Same about your Captain. You’ve been playing us for years.”

“What evidence do you even have? For years, we’ve done nothing but clear the roads for you,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief.

He unwraps his arm from around your waist and sets both hands around your upper arms. He’s pressing down as hard as he can but still loose enough not to draw unwanted attention. He breathes a sharp exhale, and the puff of air hits your cheeks. “I don’t know what happened to my men after you got what you deserved. They were good men and just like that, erased.” He smirks. “I know you had something to do with it.”

A guest with bright red hair laughs loudly to your side as she is twirled around by her partner. It’s not as vibrant as you’re used to, but you still imagine that lopsided smile you hadn’t seen in forever. “Does it matter? You know what they did, so why is my hypothetical revenge chastised?”

“Tell me right now that none of your Avenger friends did your dirty work. Tell me your Captain’s hands are clean.”

“I promise you, my Captain is clean.” Seda doesn’t show any signs of believing you. Still, your mouth twitches into a mocking smirk. “But our once mutual friends Tony and Natalia tell another story.”

“Am I supposed to believe that two people who are dead are responsible for this? Ironic,” he grits his teeth.

You repeat, clear and true. “My Captain is clean.”

He fakes a tiny gag but you know he means his disgust. “You turned over so quickly for him. For the heroes who destroyed the world. Pathetic.”

“You really need to stop underestimating me,” you practically order, voice full of warning and annoyance.

Seda continues, “Following orders from a fascist. Following orders from a country that only does harm.”

He turns you around as the dance instructs, a half-hearted waltz that didn’t have a beginning, middle, or end. You take that second to scan your surroundings and weigh your options. “I agree about the country part. But I don’t follow orders from the country, I follow them from my Captain.”

You’re facing him again and in those hellish eyes you see truth. “No, he’s a symbol of everything we hate. Of everything we need to destroy.”

“Touch Steve and I’ll blind you.”

His feet stop mid-step, as do yours. His eyes widen only a little, but it’s all the ammunition he needs. “I knew it.”

It’s barely a whisper, a tickle from a single strand of hair, but you catch it. No longer keeping it a secret, or rather a secret you didn’t care that you let slip, Seda now knows it was all a lie. All this time you had never referred to Steve as anything other than your Captain.

You feel the blunt head of a .22 press against your abdomen as Seda laughs, “You never could get a mission right.”

Twisting his arm and knocking the gun from his loose grip with your wrist was easy. So was catching the gun mid-air and elbowing him in the ribs. Seda falls to the floor in a state of shock, instinctively gripping his chest. You aim the gun at him and like you’ve seen in the movies, place the tip of your heel just below where his belly button would be. He releases a sharp breath and his eyes are challenging, practically begging you to dig deeper and get on with it.

You can hear the screaming and frantic murmuring from the guests surrounding you and the leveling of guns from Seda’s men. But you’re focused on the man trying so hard not to quiver beneath you, his nasty grin spreading wider.

“You’re alone,” he bites. “Your Steve is helping Ernesto right now, no? You’re alone.”

Your grin forms slowly, and you’re counting down the seconds you have until his men start firing, but you lean your upper body down slightly to make sure he hears you. “That’s never been a problem before. Don’t you remember?” You click back the safety as discreetly as possible. “I was trained by the Black Widow herself.”

You quickly raise the gun to shoot the closest of Seda’s men in between his collarbones, effectively starting the bloodshed. You jump out the way in a flash, rolling across the floor and behind a table. Tipping the table over is easy and it seems like a smart idea at first, until you realize the tables are all glass. The tablecloth had covered that detail, which sucks like hell, because now the bullets are shattering through and you’re forced to kick yourself away and run behind the pillars instead. The heels are kicked off at the same time you’re fishing underneath your dress.

A stray bullet hits the pillar’s side making you squeal. It makes you work faster, though.

Once you find the secure nano-tech ‘button’ (as Scott liked to call it), you strip as quickly as you can and slap the button on your bare shoulder. The nano-tech spirals and threads into itself as intricately as frost spreads on a window, shielding you in both metal and kevlar.

When a storm of bullets hits the pillar and cracks the marble, you’re forced to crouch and hope Seda’s .22 and the myriad of weapons you’re now equipped with are enough. Before your thoughts can creep into a ‘last man standing’ mode, a roar of wind sweeps across the estate and between the cracked pillars, causing your loose hair to slap your face and blind you for only a second. Quickly putting your hair up and pulling the metal batons from the back of your suit, you’re met with the best sight - one that was a little late, in your opinion.

“Kind of you to show up!”

Sam ignores your quip as he flies into three men at once, feet first with his wings extended with the might of a guardian angel. He immediately shields runaway guests who were caught in the middle. He takes the ones on his left, you take the ones on his right.

You let them swing first. They’re fast and pulling their punches and are clearly aiming for the end result of sticking you to the ground. But you’re quicker and deflect the punches. You manage to deliver a solid punch upward to crack the nose of one. As he reaches up as instinct, his ribs are open season.

He falls out cold easily after your batons do their damage and the next man isn’t nearly as fast as the first. He doesn’t move enough to his right to avoid the harsh kick to his sternum. Each ambitious kick to the chest seems to demolish the man’s protective wall he’s trying desperately to keep intact, but once you give your legs a break and switch back to the batons, he doesn’t stand a chance. There are bullets raining across the venue, but Sam is shielding you and deflecting them elsewhere. It allows you the freedom to rip into whoever you think deserves it.

You’ve got two men on your tail and after knocking their weapons from their hands, it seems like a fairer fight. The first doesn’t step back far enough to avoid your roundhouse kick and he falls hard on his ass, gasping for a lick of air. The second is closer, however, and manages to wrap you in a chokehold. Releasing yourself to fall deadweight for only a second, gravity tricks him and you use the momentum to kick up and fly over his shoulders. It’s hard to do without a wall to propel yourself off of. But your abs and thighs are clenched and you don’t quite think you’ll actually end up on this guy’s shoulders but you do. You don’t dwell on that moment of personal pride, though. Tightening your thighs, you use your upper body weight to lean downward and wring his neck. Once he’s down, you sweep your leg around across the floor to trip the other man who was just barely standing back up. With the .22, you fire point blank.

Detaching yourself from the gore has never been much of a challenge. Eyes rolling back and clouding, limbs dangling limp after having just been full of life, bodies thumping against the floor after eating your bullets - you don’t so much as grit your teeth anymore.

Sam is dealing with his own mess closer to where that poor cake is now destroyed, vanilla filling exposed and now two stories instead of four. The other cakes are no better. Sam pulls the trigger once more at someone charging at him and he averts his eyes. Sam, however, clenches his jaw.

“Where’s Seda?” you shout, firing at men who are jumping out from behind tables but giving away their location before they even surprise you.

“Lost him. I think he’s heading over to Steve!”

You look over the room and pray everyone got out safely. There are no civilians lying in their own puddle of blood, no guests begging for help, but you can never know for sure. “We need more hands. Where the hell are Scott and Bucky?”

A storm of bullets starts crashing into the tables and pillars beside you. Trying to duck doesn’t work and you’re grazed in the left arm. Sam tackles you behind the stage, wings extending further and out bending around you.

“I’ve been shot!”

Sam can’t help the laugh that erupts from his throat because of your dramatic tone. “You’ve been grazed. The nano-tech has already rebuilt itself.”

“I don’t care, I hate being shot. It’s not nice. I’ve been hit.”

“Dramatic.”

“Y/N?” a harsh whisper sounds from under the stage tables. Watching your eyes bulge paints a mournful expression on Jackeline’s face. Julian is right beside her, pistol out but not shooting. You wonder if he knows you’re the invader.

“What in the hell are you still doing in here? I told you to run!”

“I’m sorry,” Jackeline squeals as bullets continue firing. “Everyone crowded. I was scared so I just got down.”

“Sam.”

Sam nods, already reading your mind. You had to find Steve; you couldn’t stay here. But there’s bullets still blazing in your direction and you find yourself hopping on your ass slightly each time a bullet connects to the ground beside you. The nano-tech does great in deflecting the lead but it really isn’t an invitation to get shot more times. The graze on your arm is already starting to burn.

“Sam is going to guide you both out of here, alright? Julian, cover her. Sam will cover you.”

There’s a war going on behind Julian’s eyes. His face does a thousand things at once as he hears your orders and the scream of guns combined, but he nods. He grips Jackeline’s waist and pulls her in close, but before they can begin crawling Jackeline turns back to you.

“Mátalo. Okay? Para nosotras dos.” She’s got this fierce determination in her eyes and her accent is as thick as can be.

“Okay.”

Sam relays his location over his mic and who he has behind his wings, but before he can safely guide the married couple down the stage, a new wave of men enter and open fire. Sam’s wings can only take so much, and even though they’re vibranium, his suit is not. Ducking behind the table and reloading your gun, you then lift your head over to view the scene. It’s a mess and you could surely take them down hand-to-hand if you were close enough, but you’re stranded with your batons and seven bullets and a world of automatic machinery pointed at you.

The storm of bullets pauses and every single person looks up to the sky. You thank the Gods for no rain today because the absence of a tarp allows for the quinjet to settle over the chaos and create a much needed distraction. Sam takes his leave, wings still wrapped around your sister, and you do the same. Running from behind the stage with batons lit up and tazed, you knock out the closest men. They fall in a strangle of electricity, vibrating and convulsing as each shock travels through their veins, ultimately paralyzing them for however long it turns out to be. This gains the attention of almost everyone else but before they can train their weapons back toward you, the back of the quinjet opens. There were a few tables still standing and it seemed the super soldier liked them better than the flat floor.

The glass shatters from the impact of Bucky’s weight, glasses of champagne and plates with unfinished meals folding onto the shards. He’s dressed in his tactical gear and a dark navy blue jacket without a trusty sleeve. Even if the arm was covered and his hair was long rather than the short length it was now, the men would certainly know who just fell from the sky. Almost immediately, the men scatter. Bucky takes them down one by one, shot after shot, and decides to use his knives for the ones who don’t run. It’s tricky, but he manages to lodge his knives in the base of the spines of those who later changed their minds.

He catches your eye after you manage to snap the neck of one of the runners. He tilts his head toward the left and watches you run to give Steve the backup he needs.

The mansion seems longer, wider, just generally bigger as you rush through the rooms and halls to get to Steve. The stuffed exotic animals follow your gaze and you can’t ignore them for long. There are men following you and men leaving Ernesto. You duck behind the standing polar bear and wait until the footsteps sound farther. Checking the amount of bullets in your gun, just in case, you finally flick the safety off and run.

There’s really only one thing of importance floating around the padded confines of your skull - get Steve out. Another thing you two had in common: both sacrificial idiots. But there wasn’t any way that you would give up the chance to save his life, as he would yours. Didn’t matter if the man you were protecting him from was your father or not. It hadn’t really settled, hadn’t truly digested, and you didn’t think it ever would. Because for years, this man was your father. He was the only man with that title. He wasn’t fatherly, far from it, but he had the label and that’s what you were going to focus on. It made no difference.

You push the office door open and start stuttering over your words. You want to ask what happened, why there’s so much blood, whose blood it is, but all that comes is a fractured series of what the hell’s? The last syllables push through with necessary force, hardly intelligible, but exhaled at last.

Ernesto is kneeling with his head hanging low and his hands behind his back, defeated. But it isn’t Steve who’s holding a gun to the back of his head - it’s Seda.

No, Steve is in the corner clutching at his right hip and gritting his teeth, a wild look on his face that tells you he too was blindsided. He’s hurt. He’s gasping and wincing at the slightest of movements and it ignites the flame you’ll use to burn this world to the ground. It’s splitting your fucking ribs apart.

“Don’t move!” Seda yells, gun still locked on Ernesto’s head but eyes on you. “Put the gun down.”

“Seda-”

“Put the fucking gun down!”

Biting your tongue, you flip the gun in your hand so it’s facing downward and move to gently place it on the table. Flicking your eyes to where Steve is, you get your answer as to why he’s been so easily shot. His massive body and shield are draped over Ramirez, who is also disarmed and pissed.

The self-righteous idiot, you think, he’s always gotta save the little guy.

“We’re gonna talk about this like the gods we are, yeah?”

Your face pulls awkwardly, “Seda, what is happening?”

“Don’t act like you’ve been on this asshole’s side the entire time now,” Seda bites, shoving the head of the gun harshly into the base of Ernesto’s neck. “Go on, tell him.”

“The shipment was intercepted,” you tell him. But you’re not just telling Seda, no, it’s the first Steve is hearing the good news and it allows him to feel a bit of relief. “You’ve both lost.”

“What have you done?” Ernesto screams, cheeks vibrating and face red with anger. He pays no mind to the gun and dares to glare at you. “Tell me!”

The top of your lip greets a run of tears and snot and it isn’t until then that you realize your hands are shaking mid-air and your throat is closing. “My mission.”

Blood or not, this man had the power to tie your thoughts into knots. He only had this power at precious moments and sadly, this was turning out to be one of them.

Seda bites out a laugh - it’s wet and bloody and scares you half to Hell. “I’m not the only one here who wants to kill you. But I’m going to beat her to it. She brought you back, I can’t have that.”

“No!” You curse inwardly at your involuntary hiccup. “We’re not here to kill you!”

“Oh?” Seda raises the gun at you. “What’s the endgame? Que mas necesitas?”

“I don’t need anything. The shipment is intercepted. The estate is on lockdown. Your routes are down. You’re cornered. It’s over.” You let your shoulders drag just a little. “For both of you.”

Surprisingly, Seda doesn’t pull the trigger when Ernesto charges toward you. He doesn’t pull it when Ernesto wraps his hands around your throat, either.

It’s instinct for you to hold out your hand to stop Steve from doing what he does best. He’s already halfway up and wincing with each push to help you, to rip Ernesto from your capable body, but Seda clicks the gun in his direction. Steve watches the way your arm extends, all five fingers spread in a hopeless plea of ‘don’t you sacrifice yourself for me, don’t you dare’.

“I have done nothing but help you! I put food on the table and clothes on your worthless back! You spent my money!” Ernesto’s eyes are practically bulging and his thumbs are almost crushing your windpipe, but his placement is off. You can still breathe air, no matter how bruising his grip may be. “This is how you treat me? I should have killed you all those years ago. I should have ripped you limb by limb until your cries bled!”

“Please,” you whimper out, hand still extended toward Steve and the other attempting to push Ernesto by the chest.

“Please? Please? Te voy a matar aquí, ahora, porque siempre te lo mereciste!”

You let out a strangled scream and are about to fight back. To save yourself and to end Steve’s suffering of watching you suffer, of watching his newfound hope dwindle right before him, when a gunshot erupts. Everyone screams, ears ringing, and there’s blood splattered all over your cheeks and neck, spots and leaks that trail down into the collar of your bodysuit. A heavy weight lands on you and knocks you back into the shelves. You hold Ernesto’s now limp body as best you can, knees locking painfully. There’s a massive hole where the top of his head should be and for the first time in years, you have to look away to keep from throwing up.

“Dejalo.”

You open and close your mouth but regret it when the taste of copper lands on your tongue. You follow Seda’s order and drop Ernesto to your feet, the thud sending a shiver up every single one of your vertebrae.

“Por qué hiciste eso?” you ask him, voice small. You choke on another hiccup.

“Don’t lie to me and say you weren’t going to do it yourself.”

You look over at Steve. His eyes are just as wide as yours and the same red specks, now turning brown, are tainting the flush pink skin of his beautiful neck.

“No,” you whisper. Steve hears your lost accent returning and it clutches at his heart.

“It was for the best.” Seda marches over to grab Ramirez by the tie, ripping him up from the ground and pointing the gun to his head. Steve lunges forward and Seda fires another bullet into the same hip.

“No!” Your throat is raw, scratched, and Steve hits the floor in another heap of muffled groans. Seda returns the aim on Ramirez.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw this one confronting Ernesto with your Captain. Imagine my fucking surprise when I tried to find all our passports, all our files, and nothing was here! Imagine my surprise when I saw that fucking idiot White being taken away by one of your agents!”

“Seda, please.” You were never much of a negotiator. It was always go in and let the others do the talking. Steve was the talker, he was the negotiator, but he was out of his element. He was always the enemy to Seda. He could never convince him otherwise.

“You’ve given me new purpose,” Seda grins and Ramirez is rather calm in his arms, like he accepts this. “Look at the crime scene. I’m using the gun Ramirez got from your team. My men are still loyal.”

He pauses and smiles with all teeth, blood in between most of them. “You shot Ernesto. You shot your Captain. You shot Omar.”

The frightened look on your face seems to fuel him even more. He continues, “We’ll never stop hunting you.”

“Try it,” Steve manages, standing up again and vaguely registering the flash of light to his right. His shield is no longer there. “You’ll have to kill me to win. You’ll have to kill all of us to win. Me, Y/N, Omar, Sam.” He breathes in deep but smiles. “The Winter Soldier.”

You swear Seda’s face pales but his grip around Ramirez’s waist only tightens. “Easy.”

“It won’t be,” you finally say, voice no longer wavering. There’s no plausible way Seda could win. But one thing is fact: whether they’re Seda’s or Ernesto’s men, they’ll never stop hunting you now. “You lost, Seda.”

All stills but there are shouts and the ring of gunshots still echoing near the lake.

“No,” Seda looks to you and to Ernesto’s body. “I didn’t.”

He aims the gun at you and fires.

Steve’s wail is grease to the fire in your soul and you accept whatever pain might hit. There’s space and then there isn’t. There’s emptiness and then there’s a space being filled by that horrid but lifesaving shield. There’s no one and then there’s Scott, blown up to his regular size with shield in hand and in front of you. The bullet bounces off the shield easily and hits the wall. You’re pushed into motion and in about two seconds, you’ve grabbed your gun again and do not hesitate to fire. The bullet hits Seda in his exposed chest and Ramirez fumbles to get the gun from him. Seda hits the floor and no one else follows.

The shot hits its target perfectly. Seda doesn’t so much as stutter.

“God,” Scott grumbles, eyes trying to focus on anything other than the pools of blood. “Was I late?”

You don’t pay any mind to Scott and rush over to Steve, where he’s barely holding himself up with his hip tilted on the edge of the desk. “Steve? Steve. Did he hit anything important?”

“Besides the fuckin’ meat of my stomach?”

There isn’t a way to see beneath the kevlar, but your fingers have a mind of their own as they try to dig in. “You know what I mean.”

Steve huffs a laugh and gently slaps your fingers away. “No, but motherfuck me Christ, I get shot way too much and it hurts no less.”

“Was the shield not enough? You had to sacrifice your one-hundred year old hips? Are you hit anywhere else?”

“I was caught off guard. What about you? I heard over the mics that you were shot and-”

“Are you two done?” Scott interrupts, clearing his throat awkwardly but half a mind still paying attention to his own mic.

It’s like you’re snapped back to reality. There’s not only Steve but others, alive and dead, and the smell of copper is all too familiar. “Sorry, I’m still in shock. I don’t really know how to proceed from here.”

“Y/N-” Scott tries, but you resume.

“We were supposed to arrest them. Just arrest them.”

“Okay, I think we should get you outta here,” Steve acts like he’s the one guiding you, but his weight is falling. You faintly register a phone ringing in the room but Steve, ever so persistent, is still acting like he is holding you up. He lunges forward with a sharp wince, and your hand immediately goes to his hip.

“Captain.”

Ramirez lowers his phone, call ended, and he wears an expression Steve recognizes immediately. It’s an expression that looks all too similar to Dugan’s when he relayed the news of enemy forces breaching their base. “...How many?”

“They’ve already sent the news to their men in Mexico.”

“Have they shut down the border?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“They don’t know two of their men are dead, so we can-“

Scott shakes his head, shield still in hand with specks of blood drying on the blue stripe. “They know White was arrested. That’s all they need. They’ll assume the rest, the worst.”

You sigh, “Seda was right.”

Scott literally pouts and he looks like he wants to wrap you in his arms. “No, don’t send yourself there.”

Steve, however, agrees with you. “If they know about White, then they know about Omar. Seda had time to tell his men.”

“Then we make sure he’s arrested and taken to a secure facility. We can keep an eye-” Scott starts, but you shut him down quickly.

“He’s wanted by the US government, not the Avengers. We can only transport him. We can’t guarantee his safety.”

Ramirez gives a small smile. “Mija, voy estar bien. No te preocupes.”

“I don’t know.”

Scott looks between the three of you. He places the shield against the wall near the door. He raises his eyebrows at Steve and looks to his wounds, but Steve waves him off. Reluctantly, Scott nods. “I’m gonna go check on Sam.”

There’s a pool of blood near your boots. You don’t want to know if it’s from the dead or from Steve.

“Doll, what are you thinking?”

He can’t hurt you anymore. “That I need you to go, too.”

Steve forgets about the pain in his hip and focuses solely on you. “What?”

“Go. If there’s one more thing you can do for me and my reckless family, go check on Sam.”

“You know I can’t leave you here alone with him.”

Your voice is steady and calm and it’s scaring Steve. It’s scaring him. “I promised myself that you wouldn’t be hurt by this mission. I stand by it.”

“I promise, Captain, I have no resentment. Whatever she does, I will follow,” Ramirez speaks, and Steve doesn’t even pay him a glance.

“I can’t just go.”

“Steve,” you interlock your fingers behind his neck. “Please. Listen to me.” He looks so confused, a million questions flying through his mind and almost escaping those sweet pink lips. Fierce, you whisper for only him. “He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

He relishes the feeling of your soft hands behind his neck. They’re bloody, but yours. His neck is bloody, but you don’t seem to care. “Two minutes.”

“Two minutes,” you confirm.

He pulls from your hold and turns to leave. He picks up the shield. Before he leaves, he grips the doorway and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows pinched and jaw tense. “Two minutes, I swear to Almighty Christ, Y/N. I’m coming back for you.”

You smirk, the dim light from the office lamps creating nothing short of a sparkle in your eyes. “I don’t expect anything less, Rogers.”

Steve hesitates for a moment and then he walks away. Once his footsteps are no longer heard, you turn back to Ramirez. There’s a voice in your head telling you this was a bad idea and that you were an idiot to have your back turned on him for so long, but Ramirez is simply leaning on one of the chairs and grimacing at the bloody scene before him.

“Remember when Ernesto bought you that car when you were thirteen? And then another when your brother crashed it?”

Your nose pinches, “I don’t feel like reminiscing when he’s lying right there.”

“Do you remember what you told me when he bought you that second car? The sports one?”

You sigh. Ramirez was clearly going to continue speaking. “‘No lo quiero. Soy una niña. Get rid of it.’”

“And I did.”

“You did.”

He smiles, and for the first time you notice all the gray hair dusting his head, the most by his temples. There's a limp in his step too but you can’t remember if he had before or after the wedding. “I’ll get rid of this.”

“What?” you blink, unsure if you heard him right.

“I’m already a traitor. If I spin this, you can continue the mission. You can arrest even more of his men. They’ll come after me instead of you.”

It’s what he’s been trained to do. It’s what he’s done since he transported his first shipment. It’s what he’s done time and time again for Ernesto, for Seda, for some of his own careless men. He’s numb to it, just as you were a few days ago, but now you can’t stop thinking about the aftermath. Where would he put their bodies? Would they be buried here or back in Mexico? Would people really care if Ernesto was dead? They didn’t seem to care when he was snapped out of existence. But Ramirez has this sag in his shoulders that tells you he’s already calculating the best way to wrap the bodies and how deep he plans on sending them… or burning them. Burning them was always easier.

“They’ll come after your family. Your daughters.”

He shakes his head, “I’ve ensured their safety. They’re safe.”

Against your better judgement, you tap your mic discreetly and turn it off. “I can’t let you take one for the team.”

He chuckles, “I’m a part of your team? I’m an Avenger?”

You can’t help but laugh with him. It’s not a light moment, but it’s a moment nonetheless. “Sure, Omar. But we don’t trade lives.”

“I had this coming.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t.” Straining your ears and shutting your eyes, you mumble a quick prayer in hope that this plan of yours worked. You pass Ramirez your own gun and speak low. “Go.”

He’s shocked and he stutters. “Que haces? Que esta pasando?”

“There’s no one on the east side right now. All the guests were moved to the front. It’s clear. But not for long.” Pushing him to the door, you make sure he’s not leaving any bloody footprints behind. He’s clear. “Go.”

“This will kill us both.”

“But it will give us a head start.”

“No puedo hacer eso! No quiero hacer eso.”

“Omar, they’re not going to protect you once you’re charged. I can’t protect you then. So I need you to go.” You reach into your suit and pluck that random Roman coin you had stolen just a few days earlier. It was a token of good luck but you didn’t need it anymore. You avoid looking at the carving for fear that the likeness to Steve will make you change your mind. You place it in Ramirez’s hand and clench his fist shut. “If there’s one thing you can do for my stupid, anti-hero mentality, go.”

“Que hago con esto?”

“No me llamas. But let me find this.”

He looks at you with pity. It’s so much pity and understanding for your situation that you have to look away. “I owe you my life.”

Eyesight now on the wall over his shoulder, you offer him a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

He stumbles at first, unsure if this is really happening, and finally passes by. “Y/N.”

You figure it’d be pretty rude not to answer. You turn slowly. He continues, face somber and head shaking with so much pity. “The amount of Hell that’s coming...”

It’s funny, really. You shoot him that famous smile you were known for. It tricks him like it’s supposed to. “I’m already going to Hell for the lives I’ve taken and the crimes I’ve committed. But the journey to my fate has been worth it.”

The estate is being swept as quickly as possible. There are agents dressing wounds, reading rights, snapping photos, on the phone, etc. It’s organized chaos and there’s so much happening but it’s never impossible to catch Steve’s side profile in a crowd. His nose is pinched up and he’s dealing with his wounds himself. No one is even looking at him.

Speed walking to him, you hook your arm in his and turn him around. He’s too tall, and your toes strain as you rise on them, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway. He returns the gesture and squeezes you as hard as you’re squeezing him. After a few seconds, he whispers quietly.

“Where’d Ramirez go?”

If he saw your eyes, he would know you were lying. You keep your arms in place. “He got away.”

He tries to push you away but fails. “Y/N.”

“He got away,” you repeat. Slowly, regretfully, you pull back. “We should go.”

There’s a horrible crease in between his eyebrows and he knows he’s caught you in a lie, but he also knows that if there was one thing he knew most about you, it was that you were just as stubborn as he was. Quick with wit, always asking to be punched, and stubborn to the point it made strangers worry. So he doesn’t question it, and turns with you in the direction of the jet. “Maribel has the safehouse set up. Montana.”

“You sure you can make it to the jet? Should I get Bucky to come with us?”

The quinjet is empty except for a few supplies, a medical bag, and Friday. There are only two seats and by the way Steve’s bending over to show his true pain, you’d be flying it. Once you land, you can fish out those bullets.

“No one else.” Steve bites. He can’t risk anyone else - hell, he doesn’t even want to risk you. “I’ll protect you.”

You board the jet and watch as the trees sway in rhythm to the movements of everyone doing their job. It’s dark, and you push the fact that you’re so horribly night blind to the back of your skull, and it’s starting to eat away at you that the mission didn’t really go as planned. No one seems to notice yet that you never brought them the two main players they were hoping for. It only makes you close the quinjet faster. You sit Steve down in one of the seats and kneel before him. “And I you.”

If anyone asked, Steve would lie and say he was tearing up because of the bullets piercing his skin in half. To protect and be protected.

“Let’s go.”

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