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bvbygrl-writes · 5 months

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What Do I Know?

Pairing: Rich!Dilf!Sam Wilson x Black!College Student!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Your best friend ain’t tell ya her dad was a daddy.

A/N: This is a repost from my old blog since I haven't been able to write anything with how exhausting work is jtgktr enjoy! ♥

Warnings: Age gap, fingering, pussy eating, overstim, fucking

THIS FIC IS 18+!!! MINORS / ACCOUNTS WITHOUT AGE DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED WITH NO WARNING BUT THIS ONE. I CHECK EVERY ACCOUNT DO NOT PLAY WITH ME.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come home with you? This isn’t some small break like spring or that lil rinky dink one they give us in February.” (Y/n) asked, zipping the sides of her suitcase together. The long awaited summer break had come and after tiring, long hours of college classes all (Y/N) and Miyaki wanted to do was head home.

Well that was the original plot however it had clearly been lost. One phone call home and all of a sudden her mom and dad had magically ‘forgot’ to inform her that they had planned a trip for the two of them and the addition of her other three siblings (who somehow had been informed and never got left out..) to Europe. Although the girl was originally mad - rightfully so- she got over it really fast. So much so that she didn’t even bother letting her mom finish her little half assed excuse of how she thought she had texted her with the info and what not. This was her summer too and she was not going to start it off being upset over family drama.

However she still did feel bad about joining Miyaki on her trip home. The two girls had become fast friends during their few years at college and as the tall woman had said “We’ve been friends for years and ain’t been to each other’s houses once. You don’t think that’s a lil weird?” and she had to agree but it was one thing to spend the night at a friend’s house but to spend an entire summer? That was practically unheard of from where she came from! Nobody had that kind of money and food to be feeding an extra mouth for an entire three months.

“Yes girl, relax! I asked my dad today if it was chill for you to come and he agreed! Quit worrying and grab yo shit, the car is waiting out front.” The green eyed girl said, tossing her faux locs over her shoulders. Before (Y/n) could get in another worry or complaint she walked out of the dorm, slamming the door behind her.

“That girl has some serious attitude problems, I’ll tell ya that…” the girl muttered to herself, rolling her suitcase in tow. She eyed the dorm one last time, smiling at the nice memories they had made this year before exiting, leaving the key under the mat for the next students that’d come to stay.

——————————

The first sign that Miyaki came from a different living situation from her was the shiny black Rolls-Royce parked in front of the housing part of campus. There was an older gentleman in a chauffeur outfit who put their bags in the car. She’d given her friend a look who gave her a confused one back before hopping in the car with her. Was this really not out of the ordinary for her? If this was just her car what would her house look like?

(Y/n) let out an audible gasp as the big black gates opened.

“You live in a gated community?!” she exclaimed, turning to her roommate. Miyaki’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Gated community? Sis….this is my house!” she let out a laugh as the (h/c) haired girl remained silent, looking at the large house in awe. How many people lived with Miyaki? To say she was stunned was an understatement. Miyaki was the most down to earth person she had met since going to college at Stonebrook. As the name suggested, it was a really prestigious and fancy school, tons of stuck up brats on daddy and mommy’s pay going to the school. (Y/n) had always been isolated by her peers since she was attending on a scholarship. They found it pathetic and pitied her which she despised. Why should she be looked down on for actually working to get into school?

Miyaki had never felt that way though. She treated (Y/n) as she treated everyone else…if not a little better (the girl had quite a mean streak) and was very quiet about her home life. But now as they walked up the quartz stairs and through the big marble columns, she could understand why.

“Dad, we’re home! Come meet my friend!” the girl’s voice echoed across the entire house causing her to snicker. ‘Does she ever use an inside voice?’

“I’ll be down in a sec, sweetheart!” a deep baritone voice called out. (Y/n) felt her heart race at the sound. The man’s voice went through her ears like silk. It was smooth but had a bit of a dark tinge to it, like a hint of cream in black coffee. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through her socials as she awaited the man’s presence. After what felt like forever a pair of footsteps came in their direction before parking in front of them. The woman almost dropped her phone at the sight in front of her.

In front of her was the finest man she had ever seen. Brown skin that had that healthy glow, prominent cheekbones, and a bit of facial hair around the mouth region. He was only in jeans and a t- shirt but the way it fit him? The shirt clung to his torso perfectly, the muscles of his upper arms constricted by the cuffs, toned chest. This was her father? She could’ve never guessed by how fit he was! Thighs so thick that she had to stop herself from letting her thoughts drift (more so than they already were..). But when he smiled? Her legs turned to jello. His smile was bright and blinding and he had the most charming gap. It seemed as time had slown down when she was looking at him and from the looks of it he wasn’t disappointed at what he was seeing either. She didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on her midriff for just a little too long or the slight whistle he let out before covering it up with a cough.

“I’m Sam Wilson, Miyaki’s father. You must be (Y/n).” he said, holding a hand out for her to take. She gladly accepted it, shaking it with one hand as she placed the other one on top of both of them in a gentle way. The girl smiled back at him offering him a nod.

“Indeed I am! It’s so Nice to meet you Mr.Wilson and can I just say how thankful I am for you and Mrs.Wilson allowing me to stay with you guys for the summer. Especially with Miyaki’s short notice and all.” out of the corner of her eye she could see Miyaki roll her eyes at her sudden over-politeness towards her father and the way she had completely thrown her under the bus. Her attention was brought fully back to the man in question as he tightened his grip around her hand some.

“Mrs.Wilson? I’m not surprised Miyaki didn’t give you the details. It’ll only be the three of us here for the summer so in other words, there is no Mrs.Wilson.” he looked to the side a bit before turning back to face her, a smirk present on his face. “Also you don’t gotta be so formal, just Sam will do.” Miyaki cleared her throat impatiently causing the two to look to the side before laughing together. “Well it looks like Yaki is getting impatient so if you girls need anything, I’ll be around. Dinner is at 6.” the older man gave her a once over before walking off to what she could only assume was the kitchen.

“Girlll and you been hiding him from me because??” (Y/n) asked, rubbing her hands together. Miyaki smacked her lips together, dragging the girl towards her room.

“You betta stop playing with me.” when her friend stayed quiet, the girl gasped, turning her head. “Wait you’re joking…you tryna get my dad to hit?! Oof.” she grunted as one of her pillows hit the back of her head. Turning she saw her friend on her bed, glaring at her.

“Don’t say it like that! All I said was he’s fine nothing more nothing less. That can’t be your first time hearing that, one of your other friends has had to say something.” She felt the girl thud down beside her on the bed. She hummed for a bit before flipping over to face her friend.

“I mean I can’t say I’m surprised really. You love you an older man. Remember when you switched to that one baking course just so you could flirt and make googly eyes with Mr.Garcia?”

“That’s not why I switched! I was simply interested in getting to know his favorite dessert!” (Y/n) exclaimed, turning her head the opposite way. “In hopes that maybe I could become his favorite dessert.”

“Whateva. Anyways, you wanna watch a movie till dinner?”

—————————–

Dinner had been amazing. Sam went all out, pulled out the grill, made dessert, it was all so lavish and delicious! He even had lobster which (Y/n) made sure to take full advantage of. He had said help yourself and who was she to go against his wishes in his home?

It was now around three in the morning as she stumbled around the house curiously. She and Miyaki had gone to bed early, absolutely exhausted from the long car ride over and while it was easy for her friend to stay asleep when turning in early, she found it hard to. No matter what if she went to bed before twelve she’d always end up waking up during some odd hour of the night.

A sound came from down the hallway catching her attention. It was a repeated thudding and while usually she wouldn’t go chasing after mysterious noises, she knew it couldn’t be anything too bad. Sam had the security on this house underlock and she had seen how beefy his security guards were.

Once she reached the end she turned the knob from the room in which the sound was coming from. Gasping quietly, she opened the door a little wider trying to be as quiet as she could. The sight in front of her was absolutely heavenly. There was Sam, shirtless, in nothing but a pair of grey joggers beating the hell out of a punching bag. His jabs were sharp and powerful causing the chains to rattle with each blow to the sack. Goosebumps formed all over her skin at the sight of his power. If he could do that to a punching bag, what could he do with her?

All the what ifs invaded her mind causing her to rub her thighs together hungrily in thought. She hadn’t even noticed that Sam had moved until the door she was standing in closed, leaving the two of them in the room together. He offered her a smile, a yawn interrupting his incoming words. His arms flexed above his head giving her an even better view of his muscles. It was an even grander sight than she had imagined when she saw him clothed earlier.

“Can’t sleep?” she shook her head at his question, sitting on the bench in front of him. “ ‘S alright. Why don’t you help me train then? Try to get me to the ground. Come on, don’t be shy, didn’t seem like you were earlier.”

———————————-

As expected, (Y/n) couldn’t get him to the ground at all! Time and time again he had managed to get her down but she couldn’t complain too much. Being this close to a hot and sweaty man? Having him touch and feel all over her body? She could get used to this.

“You know, for an old man you’re pretty strong!” (Y/n) was out of breath, sweat dripping down her chest. Letting out a deep breath she held a hand out for Sam to shake. He eyed it before taking it causing her to give him a devilish grin. Within a few seconds she had dragged him close, sweeping a foot under his leg. He fell like she intended but what she hadn’t done was calculating him keeping a hold on her wrist. The two both fell with a thud, Sam hitting the mat while the not so sneaky woman fell on top of him. She pushed herself up, hands flush against his chest as she straddled him, looking down at him. Her eyes widened at the feeling of two large hands gripping her ass, eyes trailing up to his.

“Didn’t you say you were having trouble sleeping? I think I got something that can put you right to sleep.” was this really happening? Was she hearing him correctly? That thought didn’t last long at the feeling of his dick poking at her through the fabric of his sweats. His dark eyes were practically black from how blown out his pupils were. Leaning forward, their lips connected.

The kiss was slow and sensual like the vibes he gave off. His lips were soft, the taste of coffee mixed with his natural taste. As the kiss grew more heated, Sam flipped them over, laying the girl gently on the mat. He continued with a trail of kisses, from her neck, collarbone, his fingers massaging the flesh of her hips. His lips gave extra love to her chest, licking and sucking upon the brown sensitive buds.

His open mouth trail of kisses slowly became sucking the further and further he got towards the center of her legs.

“C-careful. Don’t leave- don’t leave marks our else Miyaki might see.” she warned, causing him to pause momentarily. Lifting his head he chuckled some, brushing his thumb against the sensitive area of skin near her upper thigh. Whether or not it’d be visible in summer attire was something she wouldn’t know until she got dressed the next day. Massaging her legs, he leaned up near her face, softly caressing her cheek.

“You’re a smart girl, (Y/n). I’m sure you can figure it out.” she huffed but remained quiet, a pout prominent on her face. A large hand came to rest around her throat, squeezing lightly. “ I’d advise you to lose the attitude if you wanna go to bed satisfied.” She shuddered at his words but remained quiet, anxiously awaiting what he’d do next.

From the looks of it, he wasn’t sure where he was going to take it next. He was eager, lust clouding his brain and thoughts. Sam was now acting on primal instincts alone. He reached for her sleep shorts, peeling them off before tossing them to the side. Keeping the eye contact they had, he guided two of his fingers into the mess that was her cunt. Despite barely touching her, her pussy was beyond creamy, juices dripping out the further he stuck his fingers in. Long, thick digits made their way into her with ease.

He made sure their eyes were connected, his stern eyes in a narrow assertion of dominance while her own (e/c) ones were glossed over as she fought to keep them open and focused on him. It was an agreement that didn’t need to be spoken: her eyes were to be on him at all times. Every so often her eyes would jitter close as his fingers nudged against her spot but still she persisted, wanting to be good for him, to prove herself.

Sam removed his fingers, guiding them up to the girl’s lips. Her eyes widened, gagging around the digits as waiting tears finally fell. Once he was satisfied he removed them, positioning himself between her legs. Using his thumbs he spread apart her pussy lips, salivating. Her cunt was so plush, clit engorged and pulsating, just aching to be touched.

He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking on it as he swirled his tongue. The girl reached instantly, hands clinging to his head the best that she could as her hips arched forward. This is something Sam usually wouldn’t fly with but he’d allow it this once. An airy moan fell from her lips as she continued to buck against his face, pelvis jerking rapidly at the feeling of his fingers lightly teasing her around her hole.

(Y/n) felt her entire body buzzing with pleasure. Her hands searched for anything to cling onto as her orgasm approached her, making its way to her faster and faster. An overstimulated whimper left her lips followed by her slick coating the older man’s face and mouth which he gladly accepted, the most sinful of noises leaving him as he cleaned her up. Her clench eyes relaxed as her body fell limp to the mat, chest heaving in heavy breaths.

“You tapping out already, princess?” she lifted her head from the ground, propping herself up onto her elbows as she gave him a glare. Kicking him onto his back, she climbed into his lap, aligning the tip of his cock with her entrance, bits of his precum mixing with the reminisce of her arousal.

“Not even close old man.” they both shared a loud groan as she sunk down onto him in one swift movement. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she tried to gain a hold on him, wanting to get the upper hand. However Sam was just so…large. His girth stretched her out greatly, the head of his cock just barely kissing her cervix causing her to let out a pathetic whimper. Sam chuckled some, wrapping his hands around her waist, guiding her own to rest around his shoulders.

“It’s okay baby, I’ve got you. You gotta relax though or it’s gonna be a toughy for both of us.” she nodded lazily at his words, tightening her grip on his shoulders, head under his chin. He rubbed at her back gently, feeling as her muscle began to untense around him. “Better?”

“Y-yes just move. Wanna feel you.” he placed a kiss to the top of her head before beginning to thrust, letting out a small ‘fuck’ under his breath. Despite her being fully relaxed and prepped, she was still so tight around him. After a bit of trial and error, he had finally managed to find a good rhythm but even with as patient as he was he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Locking his arms around the base of her spine, he gripped her in his arms, trading out his slow and deep thrust for a series of fast and shallow ones. The sounds she was making for him only egged him on as she babbled and drooled on about how she couldn’t take it, how good it felt.

“O-oh god! ‘M not gonna la-last any longer! Wanna cum with you! Wanna- can we, pl-please!” she cried out, tears mixing with the mess of drool on her face.

“Yeah? Let’s cum together then.” he agreed, not having much left in him himself. With a few final powerful thrust, Sam came deep inside of her, (Y/n) following right along with him. The girl fell forward into his chest, the both of them panting, holding each other covered in sweat. She let out a soft chuckle, looking up at the man who was already staring down at her.

(Y/n) had originally thought it was gonna be a long summer, but this was way different from what she had in mind. She was fucked.

Metaphorically and Physically.

#x black reader #x black fem reader #x black plus size reader #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #captain america x reader #falcon x reader #poc!reader #poc reader #black!reader #black!fem!reader #marvel imagine #marvel smut

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c-nstantine · 1 year

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Chaperones

Description: All Y/N Wilson wants is to go on a date with Peter Parker, her uncle diagrees

Warnings: None, fluff

Word Count: 0.8k

Y/N was one of the few people who could stand to change Sam's mind about something. Her current goal was to convince him to let her go on a date with Peter Parker, her crush. Peter was a complete sweetheart about the entire situation and even gave Y/N flowers which Sam threw in the garbage.

"You're not going on a date with that boy," Sam said with his arms crossed. He was doing his best to remain stern but his niece always knew how to tug at his heartstrings.

"Why not?" Y/N asked pouting a little. Bucky looked between the niece and uncle duo feeling slightly glad about not having any relatives. All he wanted was to get lunch, but somehow he ended up in their crosshairs.

"Because I don't like him," Sam mocked Y/N's tone as she glared at him.

Y/N was only in New York for the summer, and she was determined to go on a date while she was there. She could not keep her mind off of Peter since she bumped into him at the Avenger's Compound, but ever since then, Sam had been watching her every move.

"What if Bucky chaperoned?" Y/N asked, and Bucky looked up with wide eyes. He clearly had two options here. He could help the girl he had grown to see as a little sister, or he could stand with the man who had become his closest friend.

"Good luck getting Bucky to agree to that," Sam spoke with confidence. He hadn't managed to get Bucky to do anything for him in the entire time that he'd known Bucky.

"If you do it, I'll put in a good word with Sarah, "Y/N offered while looking at Bucky. She was sitting at the edge of her seat with wide eyes.

"Deal," Bucky said with no hesitation. For a moment, he almost felt bad about betraying Sam, but it was worth it in the end. Y/N kissed Bucky's cheek as she stepped away from their table to call Peter. Her curly puffs bounced with the pep in her step.

"Buck!" Sam exclaimed while hitting Bucky's vibranium arm. Bucky snorted as he watched Sam grab his hand in pain.

"Oh, I would've done it for free," Bucky took a sip of his coffee and watched Y/N talk on the phone with glee.

"To make her happy, or to see me annoyed?" Sam asked as he looked at Bucky. Bucky's lips curled upwards but he did not answer the question.

"Hi, Peter," Y/N said with a dopey smile. She wore a sweater and jeans. It took her forever to pick one outfit because she wanted Peter to like her.

"Hi, Y/N," Peter responded with a shy smile. He handed her a small bouquet of flowers that was primarily made up of daisies.

"I'm sorry about the super soldier following us around," Y/N apologized as the duo began to walk around Central Park. Bucky and Y/N agreed that he would linger about forty feet back to give them the illusion of privacy.

"Eh, it's fine. It kinda makes me feel important," Peter joked as he scratched the back of his neck.

"My uncle is a little overprotective," Y/N stated the understatement of the year. Sam just wanted Y/N to be safe and his definition of sage did not include Peter Parker.

"I get why he's worried. You're very beautiful and this is your first time in the city," Peter was one of the few people that actually knew all of the dangers that lurk in New York. He would hate to see something happen

"You think I'm beautiful?" Y/N tucked a single faux loc behind her ear and smiled.

"I think you're stunning. Not just in a physical way, you're really smart. Not that you can't be smart and pretty because you ar-" Peter rambled on and Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at his antics.

"I think you're pretty too," Y/N admitted as she stared at the boy next to her. His face turned bright red and his eyes widened.

"Oh, I'm gonna pass out now," The blush from the compliment crept down his neck and Peter was dying on the inside. He just got complimented by the girl of his dreams.

"Please don't," Y/N giggled as she watched Peter take deep breaths. Y/N was sure that the boy needed a church fan to keep him from passing out in the middle of Central Park.

"Okay," Peter was forever willing to do whatever a beautiful girl told him to do. He looked at her like the entire world was in her eyes and it was he was determined to make this the best date ever.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x poc!reader #x black reader #x black!reader #black!reader #spiderman #spiderman x black!reader #sam wilson #bucky barnes #c-nstantine

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laculebrasanta · 2 years

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im tired of searching for poc characters on their own fucking tags and only getting fanfics of boring ass white ass, stale ass, oily ass, don't use fucking sunscreen ass characters like what the actual FUCK

like im not even hating on the characters themselves bc some are my faves but why are you using poc character tags when they aren't even included? like if you want to write fanfics about bucky or jj do it but don't tag it as Sam wilson or pope heyward

like i get that y'all don't get fandom racism but literally flooding their tags with white characters??? not the fucking move and yeah i could write a whole thinkpiece but it shouldn't even be fucking said at all

#im tired of trying to get spice and only having salt #literally all poc tags end up being a tag for white character x reader fanfics and im tired if it #pope heyward #sam wilson #luke alvez #diego hargreeves #literally they are the first characters that poped into my head bc i search them up and get fanfics of jj or bucky or number 5 #marvel #mcu fans im looking at yall HARD #mcu

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captainsimagines · 2 years

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hunting the fates || three

Summary: When the repercussions of giving up your Immortality come back to haunt you, a journey to Hell seems to be the only solution. With the help of your friends, both old and new, you set out on a journey to destroy the three Fates who have messed with your life long enough. There you discover that your power extends further than you ever thought possible, as does the Winter Soldier’s.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (Fem) POC Enhanced Reader; Sam Wilson x Female Original Character

Trope(s): Fantasy/Mythology/Horror; Soulmates/Mates; Angst/Fluff/Smut; Bisexual! Bucky Barnes; Multiple POV’s

Based on the Song(s): ‘Power’ by Isak Danielson ; ‘Breakfast’ by Dove Cameron ; ‘Darkside’ by Neoni ; ‘Bow - Slowed’ by Reyn Hartley

AO3 Link

Warnings: strong language; mention of infertility; sword fighting; canon-level violence; Spider-Man: No Way Home spoilers; magic; inaccurate Greek Mythology

Word Count: 8,500+

Author’s Note: No, Hades is not trying to steal the Reader away from Bucky. He’s just a flirty sonovabitch. But wink-wink anyways. Sorry for the late update, I just started graduate school. xxMoni

Elva Bloodwing had two goals for the end of this week: One, to make sure her new trainees knew how to handle a sword. Two, to wring in her prejudices about humans.

Yet, this might be the most insane, disruptive, and weird group of humans she’s ever agreed to train. So goal number two was looking pretty bleak.

The Birdling had been first to arrive, wiping the sleep from his eyelids as he entered the room. He had greeted her with a kind smile, honorably gap-toothed and scarily genuine. Elva had not returned it, no matter the odd night before. He had immediately scoped out the weapons hanging from the black marble walls, marveling at the sharpest of them. She told him to start with the wooden swords that were stored in the kid’s section—she had told him to pick up a shield as well. The Birdling followed her orders, seemingly happy to do so, and commented something about holding a shield for the first time and not needing to throw it.

She did not laugh.

This was a training session—not a meeting to make friends. They were going to kill some sleazy, old bitches together. That was that.

The gorgeous one, as Wenrel liked to call him, arrived second. He also looked sleepy, his long hair up in a messy bun but with strands still dangling down his cheeks. He had greeted the Birdling and teased about the wooden sword. His mouth instantly shut when he reached for the steel, the sudden weight smashing the tip to the floor, ringing loudly. He apologized, and Elva simply pointed at the wooden weapons again.

It was the gorgeous soldier who showed grace with the footwork before the third human passed through the door. A sophisticated dance, born to hold a sword in his palm—or a weapon in general. Elva watched the soldier glide through his own routine, like a figure skater on ice, and the Birdling copied.

That was the moment Elva had dumbly believed this session would run smoothly. The Birdling absorbed information easily, the soldier had a background in combat training, and they seemed to work very well together—

The Goddess walked through the door, and the soldier’s attention was immediately split. Suddenly, his footwork halted. All thoughts of warming-up simply sliding from his brain. The Goddess stretched, unbothered, and the soldier ogled. The Birdling ignored—or at least, he pretended not to notice.

Funny, Elva thought. Her and the Birdling have that in common.

“That’s enough warm-ups,” Elva spoke, her voice mighty as it carried through the training facility. She was dressed in her leathers, albeit these were a navy blue and not her usual black. They allowed for great flexibility and were water resistant. On the outside. Very helpful if she fell into water—not very effective when sweating like a pig.

“I will walk you through the simple techniques of holding our weapons. Then show you how to cross blades, and avoid them.”

“Are guns not common in Hell?” the gorgeous soldier asked.

She tilted her head at him. “If your war weapons do not injure a space alien, do you think they would hurt an Immortal being?”

He blushed, the pink of his cheeks spreading to the collar of his neck. He and the others were dressed in the clothes provided: training sweatpants and loose tanks. All black.

“Fight me,” Elva continued, backing away several steps as she braced her hands in front of herself. The soldier’s eyes widened, before he stepped forward too.

“Are we holding back or are we serious?”

Elva grinned, teeth and all. “Serious as Pandora’s curiosity.”

She threw the first punch, excited when he easily dodged it. His smile was a beautiful one, one that had the ability to brighten the darkest depths of Poseidon’s seas. A guiding light.

She wanted to punch it good and well, because such beautiful things should not exist in Hell.

She and the soldier danced, tripped, twirled, and drew blood for a full five minutes. Neither of them backed down, neither of them seriously hurt. The soldier still retained his god-like abilities in this realm. It was a part of his blood after all. But she could have sworn his sweat was unlike the others. Where it should have remained, it vanished. And where it stained his shirt, it did not dry.

“Take him down!” the Birdling cried from the sidelines, hanging off the Goddess’s shoulder. The Goddess simply held him up, like this was a regular occurrence, smiling all the same. Who would support their significant other being “taken down”? Was this a joke to her? Or was she so dense—

The soldier knocked one straight and center into her nose, cutting off her air supply for a strange second. Her eyes flashed with anger before the heat quelled. The blood halted, only reaching her top lip, before she rolled her neck and concentrated. Concentrated hard as the blood rose back into her nostrils, a slow crawl, and reentered her system.

“Thought you said you couldn’t wield your powers for seven hundred years?” the Birdling said, crossing his arms as he stared her down. She rubbed at her nose absentmindedly, then looked to the soldier, who was too distracted by his momentary win and the Goddess fucking blinking to notice her arm reach forward.

She twisted him underneath her arm, locking him tight. Twisting herself, Elva bent her knees and clenched her stomach, then hauled the soldier over her shoulders and onto the mat. He made a horrible splattering sound, groaning in pain when he moved his first muscle.

Elva placed her hands on her hips, looking over at the Birdling with a satisfied expression. “I cannot wield my true power. But I can still control my own blood.”

The soldier looked up at her, his hair now pulled from the hair tie, his stare hard. Not in a mean way, not even in threatening promise. He simply stared into her red eyes as a small crease between his eyebrows began to take form.

Later, after they’ve worked through some footwork and defense maneuvers, Elva judged them individually. She had to give the Goddess some credit—her past training must have included some form of meditation technique or patience. Like an archer readying their bow. Swift and ancient.

Perhaps a bow and arrow would better suit her.

Elva stepped behind the Birdling, counting his steps, studying his roundabouts and the shapes his pointed toes made. He kept missing the sixth and fumbling the eighth.

“Birdling, no,” she grunted, taking his shield from him. He was more than happy to be ridden of the wooden atrocity. “Don’t worry about this damned thing. It was for stability and familiarity. But that won’t matter if you cannot walk.”

“I’m doing the footwork I learned in the Air Force, when boxing. You’re telling me I’ve been doing it wrong all these years?”

Elva shook her head. “Not wrong. You are just doing another dance that does not require you to hold a sword. You must change that dance."

The Birdling huffed, stretching out his neck. “Then I am your loyal student. Teach me. Please.”

“I have been teaching you. You have not been listening apparently.”

The left side of his mouth twitched, then spread into a full-blown smile. Elva tried to push down the odd feeling of melting warmth inside her abdomen, frightened in herself that she could even feel such a reaction. Was her blood acting up? Did Hades need to make her that tea again?

The two others in the room had stopped running through Elva’s routine. They were straining their ears, so obviously, two peas in a pod. Did the Birdling not receive privacy from them?

No more questions. She had a job to do.

Elva ran them all through the steps again, but added words and rhythm. She had always been a more hands-on learner, but she worked well with visuals too. But it seemed not all people learned the same way. Everybody had their strengths. She incorporated some auditory steps, let them watch her, and even used the Goddess as a partner when she slow-motioned her way through fake battle.

The Birdling worked well with hearing. He no longer missed the sixth step and would have to work on balancing his own weight with a sword in the future. The whole session was two hours and Elva only let them stop because the soldier’s stomach had roared so loudly the Goddess almost burst a lung from laughing so hard.

In the kitchens, Elva ignored the servants as she walked through and began rearranging her plate. She sees them everyday, they know her and she knows them, and introductions weren’t necessary. That didn’t stop the Goddess and the Birdling from greeting every soul they passed.

That’s it. She related more to the soldier. At least he had the good sense to keep his hands to himself and just nod.

As if reading her mind, the soldier strolled up alongside her and grabbed a plate for himself. They moved down the counter together, holding their plates out as they were loaded with eggs, sausages, and strawberry tarts. He didn’t speak until his coffee cup was filled and placed carefully on the table Elva decided to sit down at.

“So, the Fates…What are they hiding up their sleeves? Should we be prepared for iron nails or eyeballs that shoot lasers?”

Elva squinted at the soldier, frowning when he took a seat directly in front of her. “What odd things you say.”

The soldier blushed—even redder than this morning—and shrugged a broad shoulder. “You might live with demons and Gods, but I’ve seen my fair share of aliens and Nazis.”

Elva scrunched her nose. “I hate Nazis.”

“Oh, that’s good, I was worried there for a second.”

Her red eyes snapped up, holding his stare. “Your sarcasm is not your best trait.”

The soldier waved a hand while bringing his coffee to his lips with the other. “My best trait is inappropriate to say.”

“Neither is your humor, I see.”

His shoulders slumped. Sheepishly, and with a little bit of that godsforsaken sarcasm, he said, “Mm, I see. I’ll try harder, I promise.”

Elva moved the food around on her plate, taking small bites whenever she felt like it. She glanced up to see the soldier scanning the room, his mind alert. She followed his gaze and saw the Goddess sitting with the Birdling, chatting with a couple of servants and making them laugh. Like the mere fact he had his eyes on her quelled whatever worry his chest was most likely pounding with.

“Do you want to know what Hades did and still does to Nazis?”

The soldier’s gaze instantly snapped to her face. He didn’t speak, but there was something in his eyes that told her she should continue. “Hades is a kind God. He shows a lot of mercy. He did not create this place or the three levels. He is not the first and he is not the last. But he was Hades during your World War.”

The soldier wrapped both his hands, flesh and metal, around his mug. Elva continued, “He brought them in as a group and told them they had two choices. One, to venture to Tartarus and burn for all eternity. Or two, to say they were sorry.”

“What? How could he just forgive—”

“Every single one of them said they were sorry. And Hades told them that words were not currency. That they were cowards for what they did and for not admitting to it after death. He stripped them of their name, of their memories except for the atrocities they did. Stripped them of their prejudices, of their hatred, of everything that once made them human. He made them burn in Hell with only the memories of what had been done. Not the why, just the horror.”

The soldier swallowed his coffee a bit too loudly, but he urged her to finish. So she did, smiling a little as she neared her favorite part. “They cannot sleep or eat or bathe. They do not know love or calm or reason. All they know is blood and death. It is making them go mad. The greatest torture is to rip out someone's heart. That’s where your humanity lies, no? You can argue and say these villains had no heart at all, but they did. It beat and it bled and they still went against its purpose.”

She thinks he’s going to ask her a million more questions, but he simply nods and stands. She doesn’t know if she’s angered him or answered his original question. Still, Elva can’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty, shameful that she ruined his breakfast.

But he smirked at her, grabbing the last strawberry tart on his plate to go. “So the presence of a heart doesn’t always guarantee goodness, huh?”

Elva shook her head, and bit into her toast. “The absence of one doesn’t always guarantee evil either.”

He nodded again, as if digesting the words. “Enjoy your breakfast, Elva. Thank you for training this morning.”

Before he could leave her, Elva reached out to grip his wrist. The soldier startled, looking from her to their point of contact. No doubt debating whether to pry her off. She does it for him, and cursed inwardly that she forgot his aversion to touch. “Those villains wanted you to reject your humanity, Bucky. The Fates wanted that. They wanted that of me, too.”

The soldier, Bucky, seemed to realize that she had finally said his name this morning. That their squabble last night, his prejudices against her that seemed to have died in his sleep, did not matter anymore.

They had a common enemy and Bucky Barnes was a person who would fight by his foe’s side if it meant peace and tranquility for those he cared for.

It had only been a day.

One day and you were certain you were going to go mad. There was a difference between being locked up without consent and being trapped with consent. At least when it’s against your will there’s this adrenaline rush that propels you to find a way out faster. When you’re trapped because of your need for revenge, that adrenaline is limited. It sits, and sits, and sits and it will most likely burst when the action occurs.

You feel like you’re about to burst out of your skin, for no reason, but your body is holding you back.

Making small talk with everyone you saw after training was intense—you wanted to be nice, and it came off as fake. Not that anyone noticed. And that made you feel like shit.

The Underworld was a palace full of talkative, energetic souls and visitors that defied most of its legendary attributes. It looked like a thing of legend, but did not compare to the stories of fire and brimstone. There were no souls screaming for help—unless you ventured to Tartarus, which you weren’t ever planning to do—in fact, most souls you’ve encountered have been happy.

Happy.

Was this where Ari’s soul ventured? After he took your immortality, he mentioned wandering with purpose. Direction. Did he get a choice in where he wandered? Was his vision of an afterlife real for him?

Either way, you were tired. Tired from training, tired from faking smiles, tired from pretending this was normal. All you wanted to do was kill the three Fate bitches and get it over with. No training, no backgrounds—just cold-blooded unaliving.

“Elva said you moved like leaves in the wind today.”

“Oh my—!” You stumbled from the bed with your hand clutched to your chest, heart pounding underneath your sweaty palm. You had locked the door, had bid Sam and Bucky farewell for an afternoon nap. You didn’t expect to be woken up from the voice of Hades himself.

He smirked, his flamed blue eyes following your awkward movements. He stood casually—hands locked behind his back, silky attire draped across his broad shoulders, absent of any wrinkles. Dressed like a God. There was no other way to describe it. His aura was of casual elegance.

“What are you doing here?”

“It is my palace.”

“It is my temporary room.”

He chuckled. The rumble of death. “I am simply checking in. I will visit your friends later as well.”

“Why now? Why when I was peaceful?”

He tilted his head, that smirk stretching farther. “Do I unnerve you?”

You huffed, rubbing at your arms. This morning you had been cold—not even Bucky’s usual warmth could heat you up. In fact, it was as if Bucky was making it worse. The cardigan you wore now made you sweat, its cotton fabric suddenly suffocating.

It made sense: To feel such a wave of heat from the God of the Underworld.

“You don’t unnerve me. Women just don’t like being woken up by an unknown man’s voice.”

“We met yesterday.”

“What difference…” Your voice trailed off as you realized he was messing with you. Your nose twitched before you spread your lips into a thin line. “What do you really want?”

Hades pointed over to the vacant chair by the mirror. With more than an ounce of hesitance, you still nodded. Hades strolled to the chair, kicking its leg slightly to turn it toward you. He slumped down, hooked an ankle over a knee, and played with the red-jeweled ring on his ring finger. “Does he know?”

You squinted at him. “Does who know what?”

Hades barely pursed his lips, but the obvious expression of Really? came to life. “Does the Winter Soldier know your heart beats no more? That your immortality stayed in your heart?”

Sitting back down at the edge of the bed, you sighed as loudly as possible. You put your face in your hands. “Is that what it is? Ari took it from my magic and the Fates’ prophecy, but not my heart?”

Hades tapped his thumb and index together, thinking. “Your mate took what he could and was forced to leave it in your heart or else it would have killed you.”

Mate.

Ari was your mate.

Just hearing it confirmed made you want to sob, but nothing formed within your chest. All your grief was currently on pause—logic and reason was necessary nowadays.

“No. I have not told Bucky. Can’t he hear…or rather, not hear anything?”

Hades looked to you, to the floor, then back to you. A quick rise of his eyebrows told you he was hiding something, but that it wasn’t so drastic of a secret that it needed to be told right now. “If he focused hard enough, probably. But no heartbeat doesn’t mean you’re immortal. Doesn’t mean you're dead either. Just means you’re in limbo.”

“In life or in aging?”

Hades snorted. “Look at me, Goddess. No heartbeat, yet I can be killed by my rivals. No heartbeat, yet I yearn for my other half.”

“Your life story isn’t one I aspire to match. But I see we’re more alike after all…” You frowned at him, then moved higher up onto the bed until you were at the center of it.

A question formed at the tip of your tongue, however. A question for a question. “Do you really not know where or who your Persephone is?”

Something resembling a shiver seemed to crawl up his spine, causing him to readjust his position. “I only get glimpses. Persephone and Hades have been mates for thousands of years. My mate is out there somewhere. But for some reason, it has taken forever.”

“And forever is truly endless for an immortal,” you lamented, meeting his eyes with more sympathy now. “What do you see? Have you seen her face?”

Hades shook his head. “Orange. Lots and lots of orange. Fruit, hair, t-shirts. One time I even saw some yellow.”

You couldn’t help but grin, chuckling through your teeth. “Vague.”

“Very.” He stared at you for a few more seconds, his mouth parted around an invisible word. But he simply stood, smoothing his vest. “I only meant to check in. Elva has been collecting reports from the guards. We will find the Fates soon. Then you three will be off to the human lands.”

“Wha—“ You scrambled off the bed, rage building. “You promised to look into my infertility.”

“Yes. I did.” Hades blinked, unmoved. “I am expecting that answer any day now from Maxwell.”

“Don’t fuck me over.”

Hades paused, his stature seemingly growing—small inches mimicking miles. His shoulders loosened, his fingers dangled beautifully, and his breath steadied. Steadied like he had perfected such a mode over his thousand year reign. A God built for darkness and muted evil.

Hades reached a hand forward, gripping your chin. You did not startle, nor did you feel fear. Greenery existed in the Underworld, apparently. You’re sure you could have them smash through the walls and into his chest in a matter of seconds.

He tilted your head up so you were staring directly into his blue eyes. Blue eyes that combined flame and shadow. “I keep my promises, Goddess. I keep them so well that I don’t have to repeat them. They are guaranteed.”

You reached up and gripped his wrist, smiling at him. “That’s good to hear. But if you ever touch me without permission again, I will harvest your damned soul in one of those narcissus flowers your mate loves so much.”

Something flickered across his beautiful face—anger, surprise, respect—it was not identifiable. But he let you go, interlocking his hands behind his back, and bowed slightly at the hips. “My mistake.”

But you couldn’t just let him leave. Not when you still had so many questions. Does Elva need help locating the Fates? Can the guards be trusted? Are there any live souls down here? Where is the entrance? Is this the main afterlife?

“Is Ari here?”

Hades turned again. One eyebrow raised, he asked, “Do you think he’s here?”

“No.”

He hummed lowly. “Then why ask?”

“Because…” Something resembling a whimper formed in your chest, but you pushed it down. Down into your stomach where the acid would burn it. “Because I just had to know.”

He nodded, understanding. “His soul can be accessed. It won’t be him physically, but it is him. The Offering Room…You can visit and pray to him there.”

That was more than enough. The funeral had been six months ago and you were grieving too much to speak your prayers. Maybe now was that time.

“Thank you.”

His lips twitched at the sides. “I still speak to my mother. Besides the gardens, it’s my favorite place.”

The two of you could tell that too much had been shared already. That even if he was a God and you a Goddess, there wasn’t much else to speak about right now. Especially alone—any answers you seeked were answers Sam and Bucky wanted, needed, to have as well.

Hades finally took his leave without so much as a wave goodbye.

Peter Parker wished he paid more attention to you and that weird Eternal because he could really use some summoning expertise right about now. Smacking pans together and dialing long distance numbers just wasn’t working like he thought it would.

It’s been a week. A whole week and his friends have not come home.

All is okay, all is dandy. Peter’s freaking the fuck out on the inside, but he can power through. He’s been through worse.

But rent is due in three days and he doesn’t have Sam’s banking passwords. And he’s broke. So either Peter Parker sits on his ass and faces the landlord when he inevitably comes pounding, or he can do something about it.

“C’mon, you big, blond hunk of a Viking—Answer!” Peter yelled at the roof, waving around a wad of herbs he had found in your closet. Nothing in your apartment gave him any answers either. Date, phone call, and then no one returned to either apartment that night—that’s all Peter’s come up with. He’s checked Sam’s camera footage, checked Bucky’s traps he thinks no one knows about, and has swept the apartment vents like an actual fucking spider.

He has learned nothing and seen too much.

Peter huffed, snuffing the small flame out on the herbs before throwing it across the room. This was hopeless. Bucky had his phone so Peter couldn’t exactly call up the God like he had done in Iceland. The only other person he thinks about calling is Druig, but that motherfucker doesn’t have a phone and Peter’s not about to dredge through the Amazon to find him.

Standing for a few more awkward seconds in the middle of the living room, Peter decided it was time to venture to a place he swore he wouldn’t go back to. He does not want to see the wizard—he’d rather spring off the Empire State without his webs than go and see him after what happened a few months ago.

But if he could just explain himself better, maybe bring some tangible evidence this time, then maybe Dr. Strange will entertain him for more than a few seconds before turning his attention back to whatever alien species needed to be transported off Earth that day.

“I work and I work,” Peter mumbled, arranging a last-minute bag. “And what do I get from it? No old friends and now, no new friends. Did I piss off the Gods? Did I piss off God? Who the fuck knows, certainly not me—”

A knock on the door.

Peter practically stumbled across the living room before he halted, sudden flashes of an old white man with bulky glasses and stained sweats demanding his rent pop into his mind. He listened hard, caught no old man scent—

But it is a familiar scent. So familiar he wondered if the sweatshirt in his bag had somehow teleported to the hallway when he wasn’t looking. A scent that he misses, a scent he would fight the world again for, again and again.

He ripped the door open as casually as he could, trying hard to steady his breath. But that proved impossible as he discovered her standing there: curly hair dried at the split ends, black-on-black attire, that black dahlia necklace hanging between her breasts.

MJ was here. At his apartment.

MJ. Is. Here.

“Hi.” That's all that came out. All his lungs could push upward.

MJ smiles. That wonderful smile that used to (and still does) send bolts of lightning through his spider veins. “I have literally tried every apartment building in Queens. Do you know how many knocks that is?”

She was looking for him? “I—You were looking for me?”

“Yeah, duh. But you didn’t exactly tell me much, other than I live in Queens and My name is Peter Parker.”

“What…Why did you need to find me? Did something happen?” He found himself scanning her, checking for blood or visible broken bones. MJ shivered from his gaze, and he forced himself to look back up at her face, to focus on the beauty of that perfectly curved upper lip.

“Well, yes and no. Not to me, persay. I was just there when it happened and behold! I knew the name that woman screamed out.”

“Someone…Screamed my name?”

“Oh my god, yes. I just said that. Aren’t you going to let me in?”

Peter blinked, then blinked some more. He was certain a whole hour had passed before his body moved him out of the way, before he allowed MJ through and offered her a bottle of water. He watched her sit down. Watched her pull her hair into a ponytail. Watched her scrunch up her nose as she watched the rain tumble from outside and slap against the windows. Watched her agree to a cup of hot chocolate as she sipped her water. Watched her sit at one of the barstools as he made the drink.

“Are you some sort of superhero?”

Peter cringed. He busied himself with watching the boiling milk, weighing the pros and cons of telling her the truth or not. And so what if he did? Dr. Strange hadn’t told him he couldn’t start the roster all over again. He had every right to do so.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

MJ’s tapping fingers stopped mid-air, her expression rounding into an amused glare. “You’re fucking with me.”

Peter sighed and shot a web into a corner of the room, all without even looking away from the boiling milk. He grabbed the dark chocolate bars and sank them into the pot.

MJ cleared her throat, her mouth snapping shut. Then, because she’s MJ and he knows her like he knows the sun rises in the east, she burst out laughing.

Joyous, clear laughter.

“Which mug do you want?”

“What!” MJ sat wide-eyed, her laughter now short bursts of innocent delight. “You’re just going to shoot that liquid across the room and not say anything else about it?”

“It’s not a liquid.”

“Semantics. You’re freaking Spider-Man!”

“Louder. I don’t think my landlord heard you.”

She waved a casual hand through the air. “No wonder that woman screamed for you! You could actually help them do something!”

“Who screamed my name?” He poured the brown milk the best he could without spilling it over the rims. He knew the answer before she even said it.

He handed her the drink as she answered, “The woman dating the Winter Soldier. Captain America was there, too.”

His heart plummeted. “What happened to them?”

Because he would have heard if they had been slain. He would have been contacted by Sam’s assistant, Margot, about his possible passing. The apartment would be listed and he’d be kicked out before he could even explain how Sam had promised him a room for life.

“Sucked into a portal to Hell from what I saw.”

His heart plummeted some more, turning to dust like it had six years ago. “Tell me everything.”

MJ looked up at him, her soft lips sipping from the mug. Then she gave him a salute, face going deathly serious, before she explained everything, every detail, like Peter had physically been there himself.

“Elva invited me to the Guard Briefing. Thought you might want to join us.”

Bucky side-eyed Sam, popping a cherry into his mouth as he lounged on Sam’s temporary king-sized masterpiece of a bed. Why was he only given a queen?

“Oh, you’re inviting me on this little rendezvous now?”

Sam sent him a similar playful glare. “I don’t want to go toe to toe with the Winter Soldier’s wrath, so yeah.”

“The Winter Soldier is on vacation at the moment. You’ll get full Bucky Barnes wrath if you exclude me again.”

Sam laughed. “Got it. When I’m planning to engage in dumbassery, I should call you always to see if you want to join.”

“Now you’re starting to understand our relationship.”

Sam laughed again, popping a cherry from his own bowl into his mouth. He kicked his feet up onto a nearby stool. “The faster we find those witches, the faster we get to go home. How much time do you even think has passed?”

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. Sam had sent his letter to Sarah out this morning, explaining their predicament and how they were planning on leaving as soon as possible—except Sam didn’t exactly mention they were trapped in Hell. The literal Underworld. Sam had simply called it “limbo”.

Like Sarah would ever believe that. But Sam did write and advise her to keep track of time there, to monitor the effects of their absence and notify the proper people. Sarah had Bruce Banner’s, Clint Barton’s, and Wanda Maximoff’s numbers. Bucky hoped Sarah didn’t try to contact Wanda, though. She had destroyed Kamar-Taj and basically whipped Doctor Strange’s ass last month.

Her help probably wouldn’t be the best option. Plus, no one knew where she was.

“Honestly,” Bucky continued to ponder. “Maybe a month?”

“Pfft. Don’t be so damn optimistic,” Sam teased, sarcasm drenched over every syllable.

“A week, then.”

“Two tops.” This Bucky could agree with.

A small knock sounded on the door. With a noise of approval, the door creaked open to reveal the loveliest shade of forest green Bucky had ever seen. So you had caved and opened that closet in your room.

The dress hugged you tightly around the waist but was otherwise loose on the sleeves and skirt. A soft, cotton fabric that reached mid-shin and billowed lightly at the ends. You had kept your heeled boots, however, but it only enhanced the outfit’s overall look.

“Hello, our medieval princess! To what do we owe the pleasure?” Sam beamed, chewing on another cherry.

You rolled your eyes. You made your way over to where Bucky was sitting, plopping down on his lap and kissing his cheek in greeting. Sam groaned underneath his breath, and Bucky felt all-powerful.

“I’ve come to see if you two would like to join me in the Offering Room. Hades said it was a way to…speak with souls who have passed.”

Bucky’s fingers fidgeted around your waist. “Like…Talk-talk?”

You shook your head. “No. But the soul is there, I think. That’s what he explained.”

Bucky scrunched his nose a little, trying hard not to show his distaste. It’s not that he didn’t want to join you—to be honest, fuck Sam and his rendezvous adventures. Let the fucker be eaten by a demon. Bucky wanted to spend some time with you. But going to a place where he would only be hounded by the fact that Steve was somewhere, wasn’t exactly tempting.

“Is it okay if I pass?”

You blinked at him, surprise in your irises. “Yes, it’s okay. I was not forcing you.”

Bucky’s lip twitched, rising higher on the right side. “I know you weren’t, but it’s just…I said my goodbyes. I don’t want to do it again.”

“I completely understand.”

“But do you need someone there with you? Do you want support?”

You smiled down at him. That smile that always made his chest glow from the inside-out. “I think I’ll be fine. But meet me afterward? In my room?”

“Ew,” Sam mumbled from across the room. He was searching the closets for a suitable shirt for the briefing. “I’m so glad our rooms are soundproof.”

“Not good,” you replied. “If we’re being stabbed to death, you won’t be able to hear the screams.”

Sam grimaced. “Damn, Shortcake. Straight to it.”

You stood from Bucky’s lap, the cold air immediately hitting him. Just yesterday, you two had been on your first date in six months. Now, you’re both acting as if being sucked into Hell was just a roadblock. An insignificant obstacle that had a simple solution. Tell 1940s Bucky he’d be making deals with the literal Devil and fighting non-human entities, and he would have laughed so hard a lung would have popped.

Maybe this Guard Briefing would go well. Maybe they have located all three Fates and killing them would be a piece of cake. Maybe Bucky’s life and all those scattered puzzle pieces would finally stick and form a clear picture. One that allowed Bucky to put the Winter Soldier behind him, the Avengers behind him, and only focus on you and Sam.

But just like in the “human-lands”, Sam was Captain America. Sam was going to get answers because you and Bucky were his unit, his team, and Sam was your leader. If that meant going to Underworld briefings and following a dangerous, red-eyed woman around the palace, then so be it.

“Sam and I are going to join Elva and the guards. I’ll meet you in about two hours.”

You nodded at him, sweeping down to plant a quick kiss to lips. A kiss that had him wanting more. But Bucky reined it in, quelling that feeling until it was appropriate. You seemed to notice though, because the tiny snort you accidentally released was completely at his expense.

After you left, Bucky watched Sam contemplate the combination of a black undershirt and navy blue pants.

“Automatic no,” Bucky pressed, grabbing a long-sleeved, black undershirt for himself. He slipped it on, careful to not tear the fabric across the left arm. His care was short-lived however when Sam simply reached forward and tugged at the sleeve, ripping it off completely.

“There.” Sam smiled, pulling out two extravagant vests and coats. Black with gold embroidery, and definitely something Bucky’s only seen described in fantasy novels. “Now you’re good.”

Bucky grumbled. He opted to leave his long hair down—as much as he wanted to leave behind that Winter Soldier look, he had to admit it made him look authoritative. And dominant.

“They better have some answers,” Sam said, pulling on his own vest. It stretched across the expanse of his chest, the buttons somewhat strained but capable. “Or else I’m going to get pissed.”

Two servants guided you to the Offering Room, their heads bowed in silence and hands interlocked in front of themselves. You did your best to minimize the sound of your heeled boots on the stone floor, even keeping your breathing to a minimum. The servants seemed to float effortlessly.

You brought some orange slices in a bowl that you had been allowed to cut up yourself. You had mentioned how you could simply just grow the fruit, but they refused. Something about the specific fruit they gave you having been blessed already.

The servants left you alone, bowing their heads in silent goodbye. Good, because now you were able to truly marvel at what was before you.

Floor to ceiling glimmers of light, sparkling then dying out, flashing from one side to another then back and forth. The two walls to your sides were the same—a whole universe of light, enveloping you. The wall wasn’t entirely black. The base color was more silver, then ocean blue, then death’s night. And the lights were opal, pink, purple, and gold. Stars that made an appearance for a few seconds, then vanished.

You placed the bowl of oranges at the altar. Your heart leapt from all the other baskets and flowers surrounding the altar, all remnants of love, grief, and joy. Your heels clacked as you walked around, watching every soul jump and bounce, every soul a thousand, a million, a second year old. The Underworld’s treasures.

On the ceiling, water dripped onto and over the rocky surface, cascading like a waterfall. Some parts were missed, while others were hit and soaked. The bottom corners of each wall had vines growing upward, flowers full and vibrant as they tried and failed to latch onto the walls. There was no wind in the room, but something seemed to blow a soft breeze, an encouragement for each desperate petal.

You waved a wrist, turning your fingers slightly, and watched as your magic aided the first of many flowers. The vines remained the same length, but the flowers opened up more. Petals turned and glued themselves into the walls, pollen dancing from their centers and into the air. The souls within the walls shimmered all at once, overjoyed. Stars embraced by current life.

“Ari…”

The shimmering halted for a moment, the room turning darker. Your worry was short-lived, however, when a single light shone from your left. Gold. Blinking. Directly beside the raining water from the ceiling.

You raised a hand up, hovering your fingers, feeling the vibrations sink into your skin and along your veins. Pure. “Guess what I’ve been up to?”

The light blinked excitedly, hopping around in a little circle. You giggled, holding back happy tears. “Bucky is treating me well. Very well. You would have really liked him.” The light blinks twice in response.

As you take a pause, simply marveling at its brightness, you felt deep down inside, in the marrow of your bones, that you were speaking to Ari. Somewhere out there, Ari has paused because of this feeling. He had been wandering, then he wasn’t, and now he’s suspended in time and space with you. Accepting the offering, leaning against a tree bark or something, closing his eyes and envisioning you. It’s him, yet, it’s not. He’s here, yet, the universe has created a boundary. A boundary that can no longer be crossed.

“I’ve learned how to paint. Paint by numbers, but it’s something. Remember how you were the one to paint the pottery with the women, and how they would kick you out whenever you showed them up?” you chuckled, still hovering over the golden light. “I hope you’re okay. And you might not agree with what I’m planning to do, but it’s something I want to do.”

The golden light blinked once, as if saying No, I don’t agree, but it stayed. It stayed and glowed deeper, pulsing, until it faded. Fading back into the wondrous display of a thousand souls.

“If we just look across the Styx—”

“You mean if we look in the human world?” Maxwell laughed. “I know I let a demon out and I take full responsibility, but trust me. If a Fate bitch was on a beach in Cancun, I would know. Dr. Strange and his band of misfits would know.”

The guard, a stocky fellow of middle authority, snarled at him. Maxwell has dealt with these assholes for over two-hundred years—one snarl doesn’t bother him. But the fact that they were actually thinking about infiltrating Earth because they think the first Fate somehow ventured across the godsdamned Styx…

“Even then,” Hades added from across the long table, seemingly undisturbed. “Charon has no time on his hands. I will not have him row you to the other side just because of a guess.”

The guard grumbled, but took a seat. Maxwell didn’t try to hide his smirk. He turned to Sam and Bucky, two silent soldiers of their own making, standing near the entrance. Or exit, however one calls it. They hadn’t spoken much, only Sam when it came down to strategizing.

“Charon is your loyal servant, Hades. He would not have granted passage to any of the Fates.” That was the voice of the boorish and nasty Arc Kane, one of the few guards Hades enlisted on pure strength alone. “I say we travel to Tartarus. We know their parents reside there. Nyx resides there.”

So far, he was making sense. The Fates, surprisingly enough, adored their parents. Nyx, especially. But Nyx was only in Tartarus when Hemera wasn’t, so the idea wasn’t strong.

“You know only Atropos would be stupid enough to go there. Clotho and Lachesis are scared mice who scattered, but most likely scattered close by. Going after Atropos first would reduce our forces and put us at an even greater risk physically. She’s the most powerful, Kane. You do not go for the big one before the war even starts.” Elva’s speech silenced the whole room. Hades’s smile pulled higher on the left side, and the look of pure pride was evident. Of course Hades was thinking the same thing. But he was the type of God who sat back, relaxed, and let the film roll.

“What is it, Elva? Feeling emasculated because you can’t churn their blood and have to fight with your hands now?”

Maxwell slowly turned his head to Kane, his mouth splitting into a wide smile. He didn’t say anything—Elva could speak for herself. But he did want Kane to see the pure glee he was rightfully feeling.

Elva leapt across the table, papers and leftover glasses of wine toppling as her weight shook the wood. She threw herself into Kane, knocking him off his feet and onto the floor. There they rolled, punches thrown and lips cut until Elva took a hold of her hidden dagger, slicing at his cheek until his blood coated her hand. The other guards merely watched, as did Hades.

It was routine. Maxwell knew this. Sam and Bucky didn’t.

As the blood became more noticeable then the guards moved. Elva was ripped from Kane. The force of such a tug sent her flying across the room, right into Sam. He caught her the best he could, slamming into the wall behind him. Bucky steadied her by the arms, anger turning his light blue eyes as dark as the marble doors. Maxwell took a seat, just as unbothered as Hades.

“No,” Elva finally spit. She locked eyes with Kane, who was being helped up, her glare one of absolute malice. She raised her dagger to her mouth and licked the blade clean. “But I can still drink it.”

Everyone, including Sam and Bucky, shuddered. Maxwell had seen Elva go feral before—a beautiful, golden vampire-witch who drained every last drop just for fun.

“Until we have definitive proof that Atropos might be residing in Tartartus,” Hades called from across the long table. Maxwell turned to him. “I will not send my guards to investigate. Only I can make the trip under the guise of official business. I will tell you all what I gain from that visit next week. Dismissed.”

The guards, including Kane, obliged. Kane, however, exited with a scowl thrown over a shoulder, directed mainly at Elva.

“That was entertaining,” Hades teased, standing. His full height always intimidated Maxwell. A giant sure to trick you of the measure of his true strength. “But I need them to want to fight alongside you. Not against you.”

Elva huffed, pushing away Sam’s arms. He backed away, blushing slightly. “He angers me.”

Hades snorted, “Kane angers everyone. But from what I understood from the beginning of the briefing—our two lowly sisters are somewhere near. Hiding, like cowards.”

“Can’t you feel them out?” Sam asked.

“I don’t feel them out. They’re their own beings. I am not connected to them.”

Maxwell could tell they were getting annoyed. Hades wasn’t trying to seem like an asshole…He just always came off as one.

“Aren’t you supposed to know everything that happens here?” Bucky deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at the God.

Hades smirked at him, looking him up and down. “Observant, Barnes. Do you feel anything?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he tilted his head at the God. "What do you mean?”

Maxwell knew where this was heading. But it was still too early, just as it was too early to reveal to him that he should be able to hear the Goddess’s heartbeat. Subtle hints weren’t going to break through the dense, naive heads of two humans.

Hades seemed to debate those very questions in his own head. He watched Bucky for a few awkward seconds—or at least, it was awkward for everyone else in the room. Finally, in a low voice that Hades reserved for the gentlest of souls, he said, “You are muted on Earth…”

Bucky’s face only turned with more confusion. Even Sam pursed his lips around a silent vowel.

“What do you—

A rumble caused the walls to creak. Everything halted, even their breathing. Maxwell stood slowly, his shoulders now loose but his fists locked. “What was that?”

Hades straightened, blue light now shining like a shadow behind him. Flames even torched the ends of his night-black hair.

“Do you have earthquakes in Hell?” Sam whispered, instinct making him step close to Bucky. His stance resembled that of a prepared Avenger, but there was an underlying fear in his eyes. Fear that cracked the surface when a deafening bout of laughter whipped straight passed, invisible but there. Like a gust of wind.

Maxwell’s first thought was to get to Wenrel. To guard her and keep her safe in his pocket. On his shoulder. Wherever, just so long as she was with him. Because Elysium had just been breached.

“Fuck.”

Backing away, you wondered how many times Hades has visited the Offering Room. Who he prays to besides his mother. If he has ever asked the souls to help guide him to his mate.

It’s a shame Bucky didn’t want to join you. But it makes sense—he has already said goodbye to Steve Rogers. He had buried Steve, visited his grave, said his peace. Speaking to him again would just reopen old wounds when he’s been working so hard to keep them sealed. Friends, humanitarian work, reading, knitting—collective balms that kept his mind occupied, that relaxed his nerves and gave him a reason to wake up the next day. That distracted him from the urge to drink. The wine in Hell held no ability to intoxicate—this Bucky found out last night when he had accidentally sipped from a glass in an effort to remain casual and steady when he met the dark God.

But the Offering Room suddenly went dark again, as if reading your mind. To your right, in a glorious display of blue light that was almost white, beamed a soul. Walking slowly, cautiously, you raised a hand to its radiating heat. It pulsed, then pulsed again, breezy across the hair of your arms. In a low whisper, as if scared someone might overhear, you asked, “Are you Steve Rogers?”

The light danced in a similar circle Ari’s soul drew. Not quite as excited as your mate, but happy nonetheless. “And are you okay?”

The white light flashed twice. A yes, apparently. “I hope you’re resting. I feel like it would be inappropriate to speak of much else, you and me.”

It danced again.

Duh.

A sense of humor, this one. “Thank you for drawing Ari for me all those years ago.” Another dance. "And yes…Bucky’s okay, too.”

It stilled, shining bright, then pulsed strong enough you felt the heat beneath your feet. Yes.

The light diminished, then joined the beautiful chaos once again. You released a heavy sigh, backing away from the wall. Visiting two souls seemed to drain your energy. Your legs felt heavy and your arms were tired from being raised for so long. A long night’s sleep was the best option right about now.

You turned to walk out the Offering Room, tired but glad you came, when a rumble unlike Steve’s soul shook the stone beneath your feet. A quick one, one that ended a millisecond after it started. Seconds passed before another rumble sounded, this one shaking more than just the ground. The servants threw open the black, stone doors. Fright painted across their purple skin.

You waited, not stupid enough to take another step. Suspended with one foot forward and one back. Your back heel lifted. The wall showed no disturbance luckily—the souls were safe.

But the altar.

You turned your head slowly, years of stealth molding useful for this one moment. All that was heard was the sound of your modest breathing, the sound of the servants’ jewelry clinking.

Silence.

Then the altar exploded with a battle roar, black shadows stretching and curving as they burst from the hole in the ground. You leapt as far away as you could, hands ready to rip the vines off the Offering Walls to defend yourself and the servants.

But the four figures emerged from the clouds of smoke, all with the same pale, dry skin. Eyes as dark as onyx, as large as tennis balls. A mouth with no teeth, no smile, just a foul scent that reeked of death and torture. Hands as thin as skeletons. Bouts of laughter as ear-splitting as nails on a chalkboard.

“A shame,” the demon crawling toward you purred. “You weren’t our Persephone after all.”

TAGLIST: @fandoms-writings @hajmola-vs-aamchaska @natbarnes1917 @howlermonkey69 @shirukitsune @sentimental-for-maneskin

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #dreaming in june sequel #hunting the fates series #bucky barnes smut #sam wilson x original female character #marvel fanfiction

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

Text

Wingman {1} || Retribution MC AU

Sam Wilson x Air Force!fem!reader

Summary: You and Joaquin served together, starting as his wingman, but the long overdue reunion doesn't go quite to plan. Warnings: 18+ only, reader PTSD, violence, blood, panic attack WC: 2.6k

Sam's Masterlist || Retribution MC Masterlist || Part 1 ||

It had been years since you last saw Torres, back when he was discharged from the Air Force, but you spotted your wingman the moment you stepped out of the terminal at JFK. His boyish smile stood out, as much as his leather kutte, among the business people strutting through the airport with determination. He also couldn’t help holding up a piece of cardboard with a picture of a fire drawn so badly it could have been a five year old’s artwork.

“Look at you, trading one uniform for the next.” You smirked as you dropped your bag to hug him.

“This is freedom baby, no uniform here.” He grinned, grabbing your back and chucking it over his shoulder before frowning. “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

“I travel light.” You shrugged. “A few changes of clothes do me just fine.”

Joaquin seemed unconvinced but let it go and led the way out of the airport to a beautiful Harley that was parked illegally. “Still a daredevil?”

You grinned as you looked at the beast. “Hell yeah, you gotta promise to go fast.”

“You know me, I don’t do anything slow.”

“That’s not what that RIO, Chantelle, said, second tour wasn’t it?” You teased, earning a friendly punch to the shoulder.

“Please don’t mention that in front of my brothers, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He begged as he swung his leg over the bike and patted the leather seat behind him. “We have a party to get to.”

You could see the attraction to spending your days riding a motorbike, it equally gave you a sense of freedom but also a thrill knowing it was only the rider's skill that kept you upright through the hard and fast turns. You had served with Joaquin so you knew you could trust him with your life but it was one thing to say it and another to put it to the test.

“Where’s this party?” You shouted over the throaty growl of the engine and the wind.

“Clubhouse.” He shouted back, chopping down a gear as he slowed down and turned into what could have been an old roadside tavern decades ago. “Welcome to Retribution.”

Joaquin kicked the stand out after parking next to a line up of bikes and grabbed your rucksack from the saddle bag before you could. Classic rock spilled out of the open doors and you were taken back to the days off you spent in the desert, cold beers, steaks on the bbq and a boombox playing cassette tapes that had been hoarded since the Fall of Saigon.

“Hey, you okay?” Joaquin frowned as he saw you frozen beside his ride.

You were jolted back to the present by a hand on your shoulder and you tensed up to stop your reflex reaction of dropping the person who had touched you. “Sorry, must be the jetlag. So this is your new family?”

Your question did its job and distracted him from probing into your reaction as a bright smile lit up his face. “Yeah, most of the guys served too so it’s just like the old days.”

“Just slightly illegal.” You joked but his smile dropped and he sighed.

“It's easier to stomach than the legal shit we did over there…”

“Don’t remind me.” You muttered before doing what you do best and deflecting. “Is there a bar here or what? What kind of hospitality is this Wacky?”

He chuckled at his old callsign and nodded his head to the door with an affectionate wink. “Come on, you’ll need some hard liquor to deal with this lot.”

You were only halfway across the crowded space when a sharp slap burned across the back of your jeans. Almost as if there was a built in radar that detected fights, the entire crowd turned and the music cut off as you took a deep breath. Joaquin had dropped your bag on the closest table and narrowed his eyes at the man behind you, not knowing the mistake he had just made.

“Take that shit elsewhere.” A man ordered as he stepped into the ring of space that had appeared around the offender, the flash on his chest reading Sergeant at Arms. “We treat women with respect ‘round here.”

“Thanks, boss.” You said as you turned to face the guy who stared at his red palm like it was the one who betrayed him. “But I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“Blaze…” Joaquin stepped closer as he saw your fist clench but it was too late.

You smashed your fist into his face and felt the crunch of his septum breaking from the force before you raised your leg and kicked him square in the chest. The man stumbled backwards into a table and crashed it to the ground with a pained groan, Joaquin rushing in to catch you around the waist before you could get in for another shot.

“So this is Blaze, huh?” The Sergeant at Arms laughed as he held his hand out for you. “I’m Sam Wilson, welcome to our clubhouse.”

You couldn’t help grinning back and you broke Joaquin’s hold to shake his hand. “Y/n Y/l/n.”

“You know, ya boy here failed to mention the Blaze he spoke so highly of was a fine looking woman.”

“He’s been known to do that. Is that gonna be a problem, Wilson?” You cocked an eyebrow but his smile only grew and your stomach clenched at the sight.

“Hell naw, we love pretty ladies ‘round here.” A chorus of agreements echoed around the room before the music was restarted and Sam stepped in beside you, his body so close but not touching and the heat his lips warming your neck. “What are you drinking, sugar?”

His warm brown eyes caught the light and you spotted flecks of amber swirling around his irises, it was almost unfair that he had such pretty eyes and thick eyelashes surrounding them. He watched with fascination as you stared at him, your eyes seeming to search for his soul as he waited patiently for an answer. He didn’t mind, he was enjoying the view.

“Something strong.” You finally answered before biting your lip. “Wacky’s watching isn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s totally planning on giving me a big brother speech as soon as I step away.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you patted his hard, broad chest beneath the leather kutte. “Goodluck, he’s got this routine locked down.”

You slipped into the crowd and grabbed your bag from the table as Joaquin made a beeline towards Sam. You loved how protected he was over you, there was so much good in his heart that you let him have his moment and went to get a drink.

“I’m not gonna hurt her.” Sam said before Joaquin even opened his mouth.

“Not intentionally.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Sam crossed his arms, offended by the notion.

“Blaze has been through some stuff alright, she’s…fragile.”

Sam looked at the broken table where the man had been dragged out from and scoffed. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

“That’s just her default defense mechanism, that’s Blaze - the hot headed soldier.” Joaquin tried to explain but he sighed as he couldn’t find the right words.

“I get it bro.” Sam clapped him on the back and started making his way towards the bar. “We all put up a wall to survive over there.”

Joaquin watched Sam approach your bar stool and waited for the inevitable elbow to be thrown but you didn’t even flinch when he dropped his arm over your shoulder and reached over to grab a glass. You were so often trapped in that head of yours that if anyone startled you or snuck up behind you, you dropped them to the floor before even realising who it was. He couldn’t blame you for it, even after four years he still had nightmares - he could only imagine how much harder it was for you.

You were savouring the whiskey on ice, taking little sips as you listened to Sam boast about his club. You would have thought he was cocky but from the scars he was showing off he proved that he could back up his tales. It only made them more impressive and brought out the competitive spirit that tended to get you in trouble.

“An IED went off outside a school we were helping rebuild.” You pulled the waistband of your jeans down slightly to reveal your hip and Sam winced at the puckered scar tissue that disappeared below the denim. “It was packed with shrapnel.”

He reached out and gently traced his thumb over the scar, scorching heat trailing his touch. “How far does it go?”

Maybe if you had drunk more of the whiskey you would have jumped at the opening and let him take you to one of the rooms out back. As it was, you really were starting to feel the jetlag seeping in and with his devilish charm he would probably disarm you until you had laid all your secrets bare - he just had that trusting sense about him. “Maybe one day you’ll find out.”

You finished the now watery whiskey and placed the glass on the bar top before slipping from the stool in search of Joaquin. He was easy to find once you heard his laugh, the sound bringing back memories of the good times before it went bad.

The taste of whiskey, scent of smoke and the heat inside the clubhouse threw you back to a humid tent a few miles west of Kabul. It was supposed to be a time to relax before the next projects were assigned so you cut loose, drank too much and forgot for a moment that you were thousands of miles from home. Insurgents hadn’t known it was your time off, they hadn’t cared that you were a part of the mission trying to help rebuild infrastructure.

You could still hear their bullets ripping through the tent, see the glint of their machetes and they hacked their way in to find survivors of your team.

Light reflected off something beside you and ducked for fear of the blade burying itself in your neck. Your heart hammered in your chest as you heard the screams of your team calling for backup that would never arrive in time.

“Blaze!” Wacky called out and you reached blinding, still feeling the cold blood of your teammates running down your face as you hid beneath their bodies like a coward. “Let me through.”

“Hey sugar,” Sam’s velvet voice broke through the sound of your heart echoing through your head, “wherever that pretty head has taken you, you’re not there anymore.”

Your vision was hyper focused and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the boots you wore, military standard issue steel cap boots. They weren’t the same boots that you had worn that day, these soles weren’t soiled with the blood that had seeped into the dirt.

“Here.” Sam said as he took your hand and placed it on his chest. “No uniform.”

You watched your fingers run over the smooth leather and the thumping in your head was replaced with thoughts of the steady beating under your palm.

“What was that?” Joaquin asked, concern dripping from the question as he knelt beside you.

You were ashamed that you had let the past bleed into your present and you were especially sorry that you had knocked over a bartender who had been collecting empties on a steel tray.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.” You muttered as you pulled your hand back and rose to your feet. “You’ve got a good family here Torres, I don't want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.” He said as he reached for your arm, catching himself as he saw you reel back. “Please, stay.”

You backed away to the door with your bag on your shoulder and your eyes darting around to make sure no one could attack. You knew in your heart they wouldn’t but your mind was your worst enemy most days. You had hoped that wouldn’t be the case once you were out of the war zone but ghosts had a way of following you.

“She’s got PTSD.” Sam said to Joaquin as they watched you leave.

“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead roughly. “I tried to get her to talk to someone but she’s stubborn, she won’t listen to me.”

“She listened to me.” Sam pointed out. “Let me go talk to her.”

“I know you mean well Sam, and no offence, but I don’t want you getting involved if you can’t see it through. You just met her.”

“I know what she’s going through. I think I can help her.”

“But what if you can’t?” He snapped. “Are you gonna abandon her too, like everyone else has?”

Sam clicked his teeth and started making his way after you. “Thought you knew me better than that.”

Heavy boots quickly caught up to you and you cast a short glance over your shoulder, stumbling as you realised it was Sam. You took a second look, expecting to find Joaquin behind him but there wasn’t anyone else along the dimly lit street. Stopping under one of the few streetlights, you turned and waited for Sam to close the distance with long, purposeful strides.

“How’s Joaquin?” You asked, seeing the confusion on his expressive face. “I assumed you had to beat him into submission to get out the door.”

“You two know each other pretty well.”

You could hear the suspicion in his tone, something you heard a lot in past relationships and you were beyond the point of caring if you came across as rude. “He’s my best friend. I would take a bullet for him and I would put a bullet in someone for him. End of story. If that’s gonna be a problem for you then turn around and march that nice ass back to the clubhouse.”

His lips parted with a laughing smile and he buried his hands in his jeans as he leant against the lamppost. “I knew you had been checking out my ass.”

“That’s all you got out of that?” You chuckled, tipping your head back to see the sky full of stars.

“The only thing that matters to me.” He said as he sobered up. “And you can’t wander these streets all night so how about you crash at mine tonight.”

“What’s the catch?” You asked as you tightened your grip on your backpack.

“No catch.” He promised. “But if you’re up for it tomorrow, I have some people I’d like you to meet.”

You pursed your lips in consideration but knew you didn’t have a lot of options aside from going back and finding Joaquin but you weren’t ready to face him again just yet. Nodding tentatively, you let him take the bag off your shoulder and slip his hand into yours.

“It’s a nice night for a walk.” He commented as he started heading further away from the clubhouse. “I only live down the block.”

“Thank you for all this.” You mumbled as you tried to ignore the comforting warmth of his hand radiating up your arm.

He pulled you to a stop and waited silently until you had the courage to look up from your shoes. “It’s no problem, really. You’re like family to Joaquin, and we take care of our own.”

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x poc!reader #biker!sam wilson #biker au #sam wilson fanfiction #sam wilson imagine #tw: ptsd #tw: panic attack

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duckybarnes1917 · 2 years

Text

Figure My Heart Out - Chapter 6

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Chapter Summary: We return to the main storyline, picking up where chapter 4 left off. After fighting off Nicolo and Luka, who are working for the Power Broker, Chanel is having a mental tug of war between who she thinks she is and who she wants to be. Zemo has convinced her that she doesn't need to change and should be proud of who she is. Sam goes to bed upset with Chanel, but slowly softening after his talk with Bucky. Bucky is left confused after Chanel coldly pushes him away. What happens now when an all too familiar face appears in Chanel's room?

Warnings: Light smut, unhealthy relationships, mild torture (nothing gruesome or gory); slight, accidental anti-US government sentiments (oops, it just slipped out). 18+only.

A silky voice slithered into Chanel’s consciousness, dragging her out of a nightmare. She slowly opened her eyes, “Stephan?”

“Yes, Schatz, it’s me; I hope I didn’t frighten you. You were having a bad dream.”

Chanel shot up, and Stephan turned on the lamp on the bedside table. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he took her in.

She was just as sinfully angelic as he had remembered. He had really tried to stay away, knowing he would only hurt himself by seeing her again. But he had to make sure she was okay; the thought of her being hurt had sent him into a panic. His anger returned as he remembered why he was there.

Chanel’s eyes widened in shock at the presence of his handsome, chiseled face in front of hers. He was dressed as always in a black button-down designer shirt, black chino pants, and expensive leather loafers. The alluring subtle scent of the Gucci Guilty cologne he wore invited her to indulge in her deepest desires. She reached out to touch him, afraid he was a whisper of a dream she would forget by dawn.

“You’re not dreaming.” Stephan chuckled as her hand continued to explore his face as if she was familiarizing herself with a treasure, she thought was long lost.

Despite his grin, Chanel readily picked up on the anxiety that soured his features.

“What are you doing here?” Chanel wanted to run her fingers through his hair but knew better than to mess it up. She settled for twisting her fingers through his instead.

“Did you think I wouldn’t immediately return after receiving that phone call this evening? By the way, I don’t appreciate you not calling me back.”

Chanel rolled her eyes, “you really didn’t need to come home. You worry too much. I told you I would handle it.”

“That you did. But you can’t blame me; how could I sit in Madrid knowing that you and Manfred were being threatened?”

He gently caressed her face, and Chanel relented, knowing she would have felt the same way if the roles were reversed.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

Stephan waved off her apology, “I would have come anyway; Manfred was quite insistent. Plus, you shouldn’t have had to clean up this mess.”

“I told you, it’s just as much my mess as it is yours.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way because I need your help.”

“Now? It’s past midnight.”

“Yes. You were effective in dealing with Nicolo tonight, but we cannot allow his disloyalty and disrespect to go unpunished.”

“You think I didn’t punish him?” Chanel challenged a hint of insecurity in her voice.

“I know you did.” Stephan smiled at her proudly and brushed his hand over her hair. He liked when she wore it messy. It reminded him of the lioness caged inside, trying to claw its way out.

“But the rest of them need to know that we are serious. I won’t have this happen again. The Power Broker needs to mind his place.”

Chanel nodded; Zemo had been right. This was serious. Her loyalty to Stephan and Manfred, and her guilt at being part of the problem, was enough to override the voice in her head telling her to stop him.

She jumped out of bed and flicked the light on. “One of our guests may be interested in helping us. But we can’t wake the other two.”

Moving quickly, she discarded her sleep shorts and pulled a pair of black jeans over her bodysuit before stuffing her feet into her combat boots.

Stephan handed her a leather jacket from the wardrobe with a knowing grin. “Still keeping secrets from your friends?”

Chanel shrugged into the jacket. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have any friends.”

Stephan chuckled as he grabbed hold of her hand, stopping her from heading to the door. “Hold on. Give me a moment to just look at you.” He placed both of his big hands on her face, “I missed you.”

Chanel could feel the excitement that only Stephan could elicit blooming. Zemo’s words rang in her head, never shy away from that part of yourself. Stephan, more than anyone, appreciated and accepted that part of her without condition. She knew it wouldn’t last, but she felt whole again by his side. She was going to allow herself that much. She needed it.

“I missed you too,” she whispered.

They stared at each other for a beat, a silent exchange of apologies and forgiveness passing between them, before he removed his hands and opened the door.

Chanel and Zemo were taken aback by the plethora of weapons Stephan had laid out in his study.

“Are we going to take out the entire town?” Chanel asked as she led Zemo into the room.

“Only if necessary,” Stephan replied without looking up.

“Steph, this is Baron Helmut Zemo.”

Stephan looked up at Chanel in surprise, “The same Helmut Zemo that is supposed to be in prison right now?”

“The very same. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Zemo shook Stephan’s hand as he appraised him, noticing just a slight nervousness in his eyes.

Zemo’s curiosity had gotten the best of him when Chanel had appeared in his room, quite agitated. This certainly hadn’t been what he was expecting; he was starting to learn that anticipating her next move would not be an easy task.

Stephan raised his eyebrows, “The pleasure is mine. Chanel, you never cease to impress me.”

Chanel grinned slightly at the praise before turning back to the weapons laid out in front of her.

Her eyes scanned the display, looking for something in particular, her lips pulling down in a frown when she didn’t find it.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten,” Stephan grinned at her knowingly. He pulled a box out of his safe and opened it for her.

Her lips curled into a small smile as she ran her hands over the cool metal of her old daggers and guns. She picked up her favorite, a 7-inch Fairbairn-Sykes dagger, and lightly ran her fingertip over the smooth blade.

Stephan watched Chanel with rapt attention as if she was performing just for him. His eyes followed her movements curiously as she put the dagger back, and her hand hovered over the other weapons. Finally, when she settled on a 9mm pistol, he nodded in approval.

Zemo observed silently from his position near the table; Chanel proved to be more interesting than he had anticipated. He watched as Stephan put the box back in the safe and returned with ammo and a gun holster. When Stepan grabbed her wrist and slowly inserted the magazine into the pistol without breaking eye contact with her, Zemo almost looked away, feeling like he was intruding.

Chanel’s breath hitched as the click of the magazine punctuated the tension radiating between her and Stephan. She was almost embarrassed at how quickly she was falling back into rank for him. However, the feeling vacated her body when he lightly grabbed her hips and turned her around, her back flush against his chest and her gaze catching Zemo’s across the room.

Neither of them broke eye contact as Stephan knelt down, his hands never leaving her body, to fasten the holster to her thigh.

Chanel smirked when Zemo broke first, his eyes leaving hers to rake down her body. “See anything you like?”

Zemo’s eyes snapped back up to hers, and she nodded in the direction of the weapons table.

“Zemo, please, what's mine is yours,” Stephan added, his hands still resting on Chanel’s hips.

Chanel restrained her giggle at the unintended meaning of Stephan’s words.

Zemo cleared his throat, as if the action would somehow dislodge the stakes she was slowly sinking into him, and refocused on the artillery.

As Chanel watched him, she found that she kept having to remind herself that he was a terrorist. It was hard to remember when he looked so enticing in his element, his hypnotic fingers dancing delicately over the weapons, a flippant smile at the corners of his lips. Her hands were itching to brush the one strand of cognac brown hair over his eye back into place.

Zemo felt her eyes on him and peeked up at her; her eyes followed his hands closely. Now it was his turn to smirk. Two could play at this game.

Chanel finally looked up and saw him staring at her, his head cocked to the side with a cocky grin on his face.

Shit, he’s doing that on purpose.

She narrowed her eyes and spun away from his smug face to search for the ammo he needed.

After composing herself, Chanel handed him the magazines. "I trust that this will stay between us?”

“Of course, my dear. My lips are sealed.”

“Excellent.” She turned back to Stephan, “Steph, let’s do this.”

Stephan grabbed her hand and kissed her forehead, his excitement increasing in sync with his anger.

He led them outside, where Manfred was already waiting in a black SUV. The previous thunderstorm had left behind an eerily calm feeling in the chilly night air. One last crack of thunder sounded as Chanel got into the car, making her shiver involuntarily.

“This is all very clandestine. You did not lie when you said you were a guaranteed good time,” Zemo said as he slid into the back seat next to Chanel.

Stephan, growing more possessive as his excitement increased, climbed into the car on the other side of Chanel. He kept his arm around her, pinning her to his side.

Zemo felt that they would be engaging in much more explicit forms of PDA if he hadn't been there.

Chanel had a fleeting feeling of doubt as they pulled away from the house and left Sam and Bucky behind.

I have to do this. For Steph and Manfred, it’s my fault, and I can’t leave them in danger.

The feeling of Stephan’s lips grazing her ear as he whispered sweet nothings to her in German further cemented her decision.

Once this is handled, I can repent.

“Stephan, I do have to ask. What was it that you took from your old friend Dante after the failed deal with the Power Broker?” Zemo asked.

Stephan eyed him suspiciously and shot an annoyed look at Chanel, “I never found out what it was. It was just a small briefcase with a few vials in it. Some kind of vaccine, I think.”

Zemo tried to hide his increased interest, simply nodding.

“I was glad that we hadn’t gone through with the deal. It seemed overpriced.”

“What did you end up doing with the vials?” Zemo asked flatly as he looked disinterestedly out his window

Stephan tensed, “I destroyed them as payback for cutting us out of the deal.”

Zemo nodded his head, and the conversation died.

A slight tension filled the car as Manfred approached Nicolo’s warehouse.

He parked and cut the engine.

“They all pay, but leave Nicolo for me.” Stephan led the way to the warehouse, his AR-style rifle held out in front of him.

Chanel and Zemo unholstered their weapons and turned the safety off as they got closer to the door. The silence of the night heightened their adrenaline; it buzzed around them like a force field.

Stephan held up his hand to stop them when he reached the door. He peeked through an open window and saw several men working and talking inside.

“It looks like they’re all here. They didn’t expect me to come back home.”

“Let’s do this.” Chanel pushed Stephan forward.

“Patience. Listen.” Stephan snapped.

The harshness of his voice surprised Zemo, and he looked to Chanel, waiting for her to rebuff him. But, instead, Chanel did what she was told and strained to hear the conversation happening in the warehouse.

Nicolo’s voice rose above the others, “Listen! The Power Broker won’t give us another chance to give that bitch what she deserves. Others have already failed before us. We go tonight, all of us this time. You focus on taking out the other threats, including the old man, and leave the princess for me. No survivors.”

Chanel didn’t have time to process what she was hearing before Stephan kicked the door down and burst into the warehouse, spraying bullets wildly.

Chanel stood aghast for a moment; she had expected a stealthier plan of action. But, as Nicolo’s words fully sunk in and her anger grew, she quickly followed Stephan into the room. She used his cover fire to make her way behind a flipped-over table. Zemo hesitated as he watched Chanel disappear into the chaos of blood and bullets. He caught sight of another entrance and opted for the less direct approach; he had more important things to do other than fight with drug dealers.

Chanel focused her fire on the men getting too close to Stephan, hitting them in the arm or leg to disable them. Less than a minute had passed, and all the targets in the first room were down, but Nicolo had fled as soon as the bullets started flying. Chanel followed Stephan through the next door as they hunted him down.

Chanel moved elegantly, dodging bullets and fists and wounding anyone that got in her way.

As a burly man lunged at her with a large knife, she shot him in the knee and quickly turned her back to shoot another approaching man in the arm. She jumped at the loud ring of a gunshot right behind her and then saw a bullet hit the target she had just maimed through the eyes.

“You’re pulling your punches. This one almost stabbed you from behind.” Stephan chided her as he continued forward through the warehouse.

Chanel huffed but bit her tongue, now wasn’t the time to start a fight. As she continued slinking through the dark hallways, she ruminated on the complaints she didn’t voice aloud.

Something is off about him. He’s being needlessly reckless; what the hell was his plan anyway? Busting the door down was beyond stupid.

And what was with the possessiveness in the car?

He’s never been that insecure.

Maybe this all just got to him. Understandable.

Stephan was growing frustrated at searching for his primary target, and Chanel suggested they split up. “Just let me know if you find him, don’t do anything alone.”

“Be careful,” Stephan whispered before he left her.

Chanel stalked silently through another dim room. The wind was knocked out of her when she was attacked from the shadows and thrown against the wall. Her gun clanked loudly as it hit the ground and slid away from her. In the glint of the moonlight, she barely saw the blade of a large knife that came for her. Two shots rang out and the assailant, and knife, dropped to the floor.

Zemo came into view. He had avoided joining in on the violence until now. Unnecessary bloodshed was not his style.

“Thanks.” Chanel caught her breath as Zemo helped her off the floor.

“Where have you been? I was afraid you ran off,” Chanel whispered as they prowled through the warehouse together.

“And leave you in danger? I wouldn’t dream of—" Before he could finish his sentence, Chanel had shoved him out of the path of an oncoming bullet as she whirled around and fired in the assailant’s direction. The bullets hit his knee and shoulder, and a loud thud resounded as he hit the floor.

“You were saying?” Chanel kicked the gun out of reach and continued forward as Zemo rejoined her side.

“I don’t have a hand in this fight, but I had a suspicion. So I searched the building, but I came up empty.”

“Hmm.” Chanel had stopped listening; she was getting frustrated at how long this was taking. The longer they remained inside the building, the more time they gave Nicolo’s back up to show up. “I’m beginning to think he’s not here.”

A scream followed by a loud crash sounded from the next room, and Chanel and Zemo hurried towards it.

Chanel burst into the room first, her eyes sweeping the room for threats. Stephan had found Nicolo and Luka. His gun had been discarded on the floor. Luka was already slumped over in the corner, bleeding from his chest.

Nicolo was getting up off the floor. Chanel noticed the crumbling wall where his body had clearly made contact. She tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

Did Steph throw him against the wall?

That’s not possible.

Chanel hurried to Stephan’s side, ignoring the confusion as her anger took the driver’s seat in her mind.

Zemo hung back and watched; he knew immediately what gave Stephan the ability to punch a man across a room and into a wall.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Chanel placed her hand gently on Stephan’s arm.

He smiled at her, “got carried away. Be my guest.” He waved his hand in Nicolo’s direction.

“Please,” Nicolo whimpered as Chanel stalked towards him.

She turned his head to the side to see the mark she had left on his neck earlier that evening. He had it crudely bandaged, and it was bleeding profusely.

“Begging is not a good look on you,” Chanel said flatly before her tone switched, her words coming out in a sinister purr. “It’s out of my hands now. You knew better.”

Chanel hadn’t intended on hurting him again, but she was furious at the thought of this man harming those she had cared about, those she felt responsible for. Without thinking, she pulled her gun and shot him in the foot.

After his screaming subsided, she met his eyes, “that was for attempting to harm what is mine.”

His anguish didn’t bring her any peace; it only flamed the aggression coursing through her.

She put a bullet in the other foot, and Nicolo crumpled to the floor in agony. She loomed over him, “and that was for touching me.”

Stephan placed his hands on her shoulders, “he touched you?”

“He tried.”

Chanel’s gun was still pointing at Nicolo, now trained on his kneecap.

I shouldn’t. Walk away before you do something else you’ll regret later.

“What are you waiting for?” Stephan whispered in her ear.

Chanel turned her head to look at him. He raised his eyebrow; the question he was asking didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Was she going to please him or not?

Stephan read some minute change in her expression, and a sly grin crept onto his face. He grabbed her hand and raised her aim from Nicolo’s kneecap to his stomach, where it would cause the most pain.

“Do it.” He commanded.

Her heart pounding in her chest, she pulled the trigger, immediately turning to search out admiration in Stephan’s eyes.

“Good girl,” he whispered against her ear.

Zemo was enthralled; she had become a different person.

Chanel’s heart rate slowed as Stephan’s praise washed over her. She stepped back and watched Stephan roll up the sleeves of his black button-down shirt. Her eyes lingering on the toned muscles of his forearms.

He squatted down to look Nicolo in the eye. Then, without saying anything, he grabbed his hand and slowly squeezed it until Chanel heard the bones crack.

She watched as he repeated the action on the other hand.

Is that possible?

“Why don’t you and the Baron go wait in the car? I’ll finish cleaning up here.” Stephan’s voice was dark, and Chanel knew better than to argue.

She grabbed Zemo’s hand, and they rushed to the car, leaving Nicolo’s screaming behind them.

She didn’t enjoy it, but torture was not unfamiliar to Chanel, both in the U.S. government and outside of it. She knew Stephan only resorted to it when it was truly deserved. At least that’s what she told herself to keep the guilt away.

“What an interesting evening. Is this how you spent most nights here undercover?” Zemo studied her closely as they sat in the car waiting on Stephan.

“If you’re asking if I make a habit out of murder and torture, no, I don’t.”

“But it doesn’t bother you.”

Chanel laughed shortly. “I’m a spy for the U.S. government. Steph is merciful compared to the things I have seen done to men much less deserving than this one, all in the pursuit of freedom.”

Chanel knew the excuse was weak, but why should she care what Zemo thought. He had certainly done worse things in his lifetime. Being honest with him was as easy as breathing.

“He might be testing that limit tonight.”

“Out of sight, out of mind.” Chanel leaned forward, resting her elbows on the front seats, her eyes laser-focused on the exit, waiting on Stephan to appear.

Zemo decided against mentioning his theory about what Stephan had taken from Dante all those months ago. If he was right, he was outgunned and certainly outnumbered; he was sure Chanel would not be on his side. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m glad that you decided to take my advice; a surprise attack in the middle of the night would have been hard to defend against.”

“I might have to listen to you more often.” Chanel turned back to give Zemo a wink and a smile.

The adrenaline rushing through her veins had her almost giddy. The high she had was fueling her, and she felt fully transformed into her old identity as Frau Thomas. The realization of this titillated her more; finally, she was getting what she had been searching for. She wasn’t going to let it go easily.

A moment later, Stephan came out of the warehouse. He threw an empty gas can on the ground and calmly made his way to the car. He opened the trunk, and they watched him walk a few paces in front of the car with a grenade launcher. With one shot, the warehouse was in the process of burning down. Stephan turned cooly and placed the weapon back in the trunk before sliding into the back seat.

Chanel was still leaning forward in her seat, watching the flames reach up to the sky.

“Quite impressive,” Zemo said to Stephan as he admired the look on Chanel’s face.

She was exhilarated, proud, set free. She was born for this. It was evident to Zemo that she didn’t belong with Sam and Bucky.

He imagined for a moment what it would be like to have her by his side on his missions. His lips whispering praises in her ear as they reveled in their violent delights, keeping the violent ends at bay. His daydream was interrupted when Stephan pulled her into a kiss. He respectfully looked out the window as Manfred drove them back to the villa.

Stephan whispered to Chanel, “du bist ein Schatz.”

“I know,” Chanel muttered against his lips. The joy that consumed her from making Stephan happy left no room for doubt or guilt about what she had done.

She turned to Zemo with a bright smile, “Thank you for coming with us, Helmut.”

Zemo was taken aback when she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

This is what you wanted, just part of the plan. She’s falling for it.

Zemo continued silently, trying to convince himself that was all it was as he watched Stephan pull Chanel back to his side. He shot her a look that Zemo didn’t like but that Chanel ignored.

“It was my pleasure,” he started, “I am concerned, though. The Power Broker sent Nicolo to kill you, and he said others had already tried.”

Chanel had already forgotten about the exchange they overheard but had not had time to process. She leaned away from Stephan and sat up, alert. “You’re right. I haven’t been attacked. Well, other than my Paris mission going south.” She paused as she thought, making connections quickly.

“What happened in Paris?” Stephan asked, concerned.

“My cover was blown; I didn’t know how but now I think I do. But how could the Power Broker have even known I was in Paris?”

“The Power Broker knows everything. Especially when he wants something from you, especially when that something is your life.” Zemo didn’t even have to lie for dramatics. Everything he said was a simple fact. “It’s too bad you destroyed the vaccine you stole. Are you sure there isn’t any left? Maybe giving it back would keep the Power Broker off her back.” Zemo feigned innocence as he made his suggestion to Stephan.

“No, I told you I destroyed it all.” He didn’t look at Zemo, keeping his eyes on Chanel. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Stephan kept his arm wrapped around Chanel’s shoulders as they walked inside the house. The incandescent moon cast malevolent shadows across the grand space.

“Shall we have a celebratory drink?” Stephan asked as he steered Chanel to the bar. He waved Zemo over.

“Normally I would, but I think it best that I retire for the night. We do have to be up in a few hours. Thank you for the lovely evening.” Zemo relinquished his guns to Chanel, and she placed them on the bar top. “Goodnight, my dear,” he nodded at Chanel.

She started to reach out for his hand, but Stephan’s hand closed tightly around her bicep, pulling her backward. Chanel glared at him and forcefully yanked her arm out of his grip. His behavior was starting to get under her skin. As if they had never been apart, they slipped right back into their usual patterns. She wanted to piss him off. With a defiant glance in Stephan’s direction, she told Zemo goodnight. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug that spoke to a level of intimacy that did not exist between them.

Zemo tried to search her face for a hint at what he was supposed to do. Did she want him to stay? But her angry gaze was glued to Stephan. “Are you okay?” He whispered to her.

Chanel looked at him like she didn’t understand the question; like she had forgotten, he wasn’t just a prop to be used at her whim. “I’m good. Thanks. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Her stormy eyes returned to Stephan, and he gently pushed her away and excused himself from the room. They didn’t wait for him to disappear up the stairs before they started yelling at each other.

Zemo flinched when he heard Stephan call her a whore followed by the unmistakable sound of something heavy whizzing through the air and smashing into the wall.

If I were to kill him now, it would undoubtedly bring me pleasure, but I need to find out if he has any of the serum left.

For a moment, he thought about waking up James to fill him in on what was going on but decided against it when the noises downstairs quickly turned from rage to lust.

Best to keep Chanel as an ally for now. I guess he can be allowed to breathe for a bit longer.

It will make for an entertaining morning, at least.

Stephan’s lips moved roughly against Chanel’s. When she kissed him back just as urgently, a low moan left his throat. He gripped her waist and lifted her up onto the bar counter. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer as he pulled her jacket off and threw it on the floor. It landed on top of the scattered broken gems from the Faberge egg that Chanel had chucked at his head. His hands roamed over her body quickly, as if to claim every piece as his once more.

He broke the kiss, the sensations overwhelming him for a moment. “So, you still consider me yours?” He teased as he caught his breath.

“What?” Chanel tried to kiss him again, but he was persistent.

“Tonight, you told Nicolo that you shot him because he threatened what was yours. I thought you moved on.”

Chanel hesitated, “I have. But it still pissed me off when you and Manfred were under threat.”

Stephan was barely listening; he was planting demanding kisses on her neck. “Come stay with me in your proper room.” His lips reached her weak spot and gently sucked on the tender skin.

“Fuck,” she moaned quietly as she gripped his hair to hold him in place.

He chuckled against her skin. He had dreamt of this moment since the day she had left him. He needed her in more ways than one. Now that he had her, he wasn’t going to let her go.

Stephan scooped her up from the counter and planted his lips back on hers as he carried her to the master bedroom down the hall. Their bodies quickly synced together, completing the deranged ritual. Chanel’s head was clear; she felt weightless as she surrendered to Stephan’s pleasure.

Sam had slept restlessly. He was still mad at Chanel, but Bucky’s words had touched a nerve. He eventually decided that all things considered, she had done what she needed to do, and nobody got seriously hurt.

He had already been awake when his alarm went off at 5 am. After throwing his running clothes on, he left his room to talk to Chanel.

Wait a minute, I didn’t hear her scream at all last night...that’s odd.

When he stepped into the hall, he saw Bucky, also dressed in athletic clothes, already at Chanel’s door.

“I thought you didn’t run?” Sam asked as he approached Bucky.

Bucky ignored his question, “She’s not answering. I don’t know if she’s still asleep or—”

Sam opened the door with the confidence only an old friend would have. “Chanel? It’s me; we need to talk.”

Sam stepped into the empty room, “Chanel?”

She wasn’t there. He thought maybe she had already left on her run, but then he noticed her tennis shoes still on the floor.

Weird, what else would she be doing up this early?

Zemo...no, surely she’s not...she wouldn’t.

Sam shook the thought out of his head, feeling guilty for even thinking it. He turned to Bucky, who was still standing in the doorway. “I guess she’s already downstairs. I wouldn’t be surprised if Manfred made her a goodbye breakfast feast.”

Bucky laughed shortly, “That sounds about right.”

“Whoa, was that a laugh?”

“Barely. Don’t push it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Did Chanel wake you up at all last night? I didn’t hear her wake up from a nightmare.”

“No, I didn’t hear anything. So that’s good, right?”

“Maybe.” Sam gave one last wary look around the room; he was worried about what Chanel may have done to keep the nightmares at bay.

Upon approaching the kitchen, they could hear Zemo speaking in German. They shared a suspicious glance when the voice that replied was unrecognizable. On edge, they cautiously entered the kitchen, always expecting the worst. But, instead, they found an untroubled Zemo sipping coffee while he leaned against the counter talking to Stephan.

“Zemo, who the hell is this?” Sam’s eyes scanned the room, “and where is Chanel?”

“You must be Sam. I’m Stephan; this is my home.” Stephan did not extend his hand. He was frigidly leaning against the kitchen island, his face poorly masking his annoyance. He turned his gaze to Bucky, “And you must be James. Manfred has told me you have made yourself quite comfortable here with my things.”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, a snarky reply ready on his tongue. Sam cut in before he could get a word out.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here soon. Speaking of, where is Chanel?”

Sam was almost afraid to ask. Stephan’s presence had him rethinking forgiving her for the previous night.

“She’s sleeping,” Stephan replied as he moved across the kitchen to the coffee machine, already bored with their conversation.

“Sleeping?” Sam anxiously checked his watch. “She knows we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“Don’t wake her.” Stephan turned around quickly, “Let her sleep; she clearly hasn’t been resting well.”

Bucky felt a small wave of dread pass through him.

She’s just sleeping. It doesn’t mean anything. Calm down.

“She did have a rough night. A couple hours won’t mess up our travel plans.” Zemo offered.

Sam could feel that something wasn’t right. His attempt to stay level-headed was failing; he simply didn’t have the energy.

“You don’t get to have opinions, Zemo!” Sam yelled.

The yelling in the kitchen had woken Chanel, she would have been annoyed, but she was just happy it wasn’t her own screaming that had woken her up for once. She rolled over in Stephan’s bed. The silk sheets he had bought, just for the protection of her hair, caressed her skin, begging her to never get up. As she became more conscious, she felt the cold heavy diamonds on her chest, reminding her what Stephan really wanted. He had fastened the ostentatious string of white-gold and exquisite gems around her neck while she was still blissed out. She ran her fingers over the diamonds and decided it would be ridiculous to return the gift. Stephan had to know she wouldn’t stay; he wasn’t naive. She finally opened her eyes, looking for him, and realized he was already gone.

Did he sleep at all?

It clicked that if Stephan wasn’t in bed, he must be out in the house. And Sam was yelling.

Oh shit…

She jumped out of bed and looked for her clothes. Everything was strewn around the room and ripped into pieces.

What the fuck...did Steph do that last night?

She picked up a piece of what used to be her black bodysuit. In his impatience to have her, Stephan had ripped it in two.

Chanel dropped the tattered clothes on the floor and dug through Stephan’s drawers. She chose a plain t-shirt, which for Stephan was a crisp white linen Gucci V-neck, and pulled it over her head. Even though the shirt covered her enough, she grabbed a pair of boxers and pulled them on too. Her fingers snagged on the knots in her hair as she appraised her appearance in the full-length mirror.

God, why am I so sore?

She winced when she stretched to the side. Lifting her shirt, she saw the beginnings of a bruise on her left hip; a similar bruise was also on the right side. The dark spots reminded her how powerfully possessive Stephan’s hands had been on her body last night.

Damn.

She ran her fingers over the bruises, and her thoughts drifted.

I wonder what Bucky’s hands will feel like...

As if her thought had called to him, she heard his voice join the others in the kitchen.

Just the sound of his voice lifted her mood a notch, excitement to see him brewing. She then realized how she looked in Stephan’s clothes with his marks on her body and neck. How she ended her conversation with Bucky last night also came back to her, and her stomach sank.

Pull yourself together, Chanel. You can apologize for last night, but you don’t owe him anything other than that.

Why should I care if he sees me like this? It’s none of his business.

As she walked down the hall towards the kitchen, she started to lose her nerve.

Okay, maybe I don’t need to rub his nose in it, though.

She tried sneaking past the kitchen to get to the stairs, but Manfred caught sight of her and called her name.

Shit!

She paused and turned her head to see all 5 men staring at her from the kitchen door—Zemo furthest in the back smiling to himself.

“Good morning Schätzchen, did we wake you?” Stephan ran his hands over her hair as he spoke to her.

Chanel froze, her eyes watching the displeasure and disbelief on Sam’s and Bucky’s faces. Manfred looked quite pleased with himself as he watched them and threw smug looks in Bucky’s direction.

“Um, no, I just want to go get dressed.” Chanel tried to leave, but Stephan grabbed her hand.

“Come, eat something first. Manfred worked all morning preparing a goodbye breakfast for you. Though you know, you could just stay and make this breakfast unnecessary.”

Stephan wrapped his arm around Chanel’s shoulders and led her into the kitchen.

The wave of dread fully crashed over Bucky, nearly drowning him, as he took in what was happening, or rather what had already happened. His increased perception was a curse at that moment. He easily noted the bruises that peppered her neck, the way her hair was mussed from the lack of a brush, the slight puffiness of her lips, the obvious menswear she adorned, and that fucking necklace.

How did this happen?

He watched dejectedly as they chatted while Stephan made her a cup of coffee. She didn’t even look at him. Her eyes never left Stephan’s face.

She said it had all been fake, a lie.

Bucky wondered if maybe she really did love Stephan.

Was I just a distraction until she got what she really wanted?

He lost his resolve to stay in the kitchen when he watched Stephan rub the small of her back as she sipped her coffee. He quickly left the room as his dread turned into rage.

Sam watched him stalk off.

I knew he wasn’t ready to handle her shit.

He turned to glare at Chanel. She was watching Bucky leave with a look of guilt on her face, but she remained where she was, leaning against the tall German man who had randomly shown up.

“Chanel. A word?” He said through gritted teeth.

“She needs to eat,” Stephan said dismissively as he wrapped his arm around Chanel’s waist, pulling her closer to his side.

“I wasn’t talking to you, man,” Sam spat.

Stephan whipped his head up, “Excuse me?”

Chanel knew Stephan was about to get angry; she put her hand on his chest before he could say anything else. “It’s fine, Steph. I need to talk to Sam, and I need to get dressed. I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t let go of her, so she added, “I promise,” and tilted her head up slightly, signaling for him to kiss her.

He let her go after the kiss, and she chased after Sam, who was already speed walking away in anger. He led her through the sitting room and out the patio doors before he spun around and began yelling.

“Are you fucking kidding me with this?!”

“I know. I know. I wanted to apologize last night. Can you just let me explain what happened?”

“Last night? This isn’t about last night!”

Chanel shook her head in confusion. “What? So you’re saying you’re not mad that two drug dealers showed up last night, and I almost killed one of them?”

“No. I was mad about that, but Bucky, whose heart you just stomped all over, convinced me to forgive you. But, this? This is not okay.” Sam paced around in circles with his hands on his hips. “How did this even happen?! Why is he here?!”

“Oh fuck, I forgot he said he was going to talk to you.” Chanel’s guilt was increasing, threatening to pull her back down from the high she had finally found. “Okay, I fucked that up, I admit. But ‘stomped all over his heart’? That’s a bit dramatic. Stephan just showed up last night; he was worried and flew straight home. Things happened; it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Sam laughed mockingly. “So you prancing around in another man’s clothes with hickies all over your neck...acting all domestic picture of happiness , isn’t a big deal? Did you not see him leave?!”

“Jesus, will you calm down! He kissed me a couple times, and now what? We’re in a committed relationship?! I don’t owe him anything!” Chanel’s guilt was making her more defensive than she typically would have been. She could feel the dam starting to break, the shame from the previous night’s activities threatening to burst through.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you messing with him.”

They glared at each other silently for a moment, neither willing to say what was really going through their heads for fear of truly hurting each other.

Chanel broke first, “I’m sorry, okay? For everything, last night, and Steph showing up out of the blue. I know it stresses you out. I really want to help, and I keep fucking things up. I’ll do better, I promise.”

Sam nodded his appreciation; she sounded sincere, but he wasn’t satisfied yet. “And Bucky?”

Chanel sighed and crossed her arms protectively, “you know I’m right. I didn’t do anything wrong. I think it’s nice that you’re looking out for him, but we’re all adults here. I think he can handle himself. I’ll be sure and thank him for talking to you.”

Knowing that was the best he would get out of her, his anger subsided, replaced by anxiousness to leave the villa as soon as possible.

“I guess you have a point, but just be more mindful; he clearly has feelings for you.”

Chanel made a face of disbelief.

“Don’t be naive. Not everyone is as cold-hearted as you are. Now, please go get ready so we can get the hell out of here.”

Chanel nodded in agreement, and they walked back into the sitting room.

“That necklace is ridiculous by the way,” Sam said muttered so only she could hear him.

Chanel jabbed him with her elbow. “You’re just jealous.”

Zemo and Stephan had moved from the kitchen to the couch and were watching the news. Stephan pulled Chanel onto the sofa next to him before she could make it to the stairs.

“Look.” He pointed to the screen, where the news showed footage of the warehouse they had attacked, burning to the ground.

Sam planted himself behind the couch and watched the broadcast, his eyes flicking between the screen and Stephan and Chanel on the sofa.

“Chanel? Isn’t it an odd coincidence that this warehouse, that belonged to the Agostinelli, just happened to burn down the same night they came here and tried to extort you?” Sam had no hint of playfulness in his tone.

Bucky came back downstairs, having changed into his usual t-shirt and jeans, and stood next to Sam behind the couch. Chanel flinched at the loud thud of duffel bags hitting the floor; he had brought Sam’s down too, clearly ready to leave.

Before Chanel could answer Sam, Stephan replied, “It’s no coincidence. I made a quick stop before I came home.”

“You did this?” Bucky challenged.

Stephan turned around to look Bucky in the eyes, “Well, what would you have done if someone had threatened your family?”

Bucky glowered at him, barely restraining his urge to knock the smirk off of his prim face.

Sam wasn’t buying it, but he had no reason not to, so he and Stephan just shared a challenging stare.

Chanel caught Bucky’s eye, and he quickly looked away from her, making her heart sink.

“Steph? Why don’t you go prepare my things while I go upstairs and get ready?”

Stephan finally looked away from Sam and smiled at her, “Certainly. Meet me in the study when you’re done.”

She returned his smile and quickly moved off the couch before he could kiss her. She tried to make eye contact with Bucky again, to signal that she wanted him to follow her, but he wouldn’t look in her direction.

Dammit. I’ve got to fix this. He’ll come around; he has to talk to me at some point. Maybe when we’re out of this stupid house.

The villa was no longer a retreat; it was starting to feel like it was suffocating her. Like it was trying to lock her in as its prisoner.

She quickly showered, the warm water washing away the sins of the previous night. The hurt look she had seen in Bucky’s eyes kept her stomach twisted in knots. Sam’s voice calling her cold-hearted replayed in her head, so even though she didn’t have the time, she sat at the vanity and applied foundation over the marks on her neck and chest.

One last-minute thought had her running back to her closet. She searched through it until she found a box of wigs. She now knew she was a wanted woman, and Madripoor was already unsafe enough as it was. The honey blonde one she had worn last time she was in Madripoor was still on top. She gently placed it into a silk pouch and put it in her bag before going downstairs.

When she hit the bottom step, Sam turned around, “Ready?”

“In a second, Steph has my gear.”

Bucky snatched her luggage from her and went outside to Zemo’s car.

“Can you blame him?” Zemo said in response to the annoyed look on her face.

Chanel chewed on her cheek as she pushed past him to get to the study.

Great, even Zemo thinks I’m a cold-hearted bitch.

Sam and Zemo followed her curiously.

“Damn. What is all of this stuff?” Sam reached out to touch a curious-looking bracelet in the large weapons case on the table.

Chanel swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch. It’s not a toy.”

Sam eyed the lethal-looking weapons in the case with a frown. “Are you sure you need all of this? We’re not assassins, you know.”

Chanel looked between Sam and Stephan, both staring at her expectantly as if asking her to choose right there who she was loyal to. As if they were asking her to decide what kind of person she was.

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” Chanel snapped, avoiding Stephan’s disappointed glare.

“So, you’re the reason she’s gone soft,” Stephan addressed Sam with malice in his voice. “If anything happens to her because of your childish moral code—”

“Nothing is going to happen to her,'' Sam fired back. “Not while she’s with us.”

“Are you sure about that? The other one—” Stephan referred to Bucky as if he didn’t remember his name, “is he even safe to have around her? Shouldn’t he be in an insane asylum or something?”

Sam looked like he was ready to knock Stephan’s head off his shoulders. Even Zemo looked annoyed.

Chanel’s eyes widened a fraction before narrowing. “Steph don’t be a dick! These are my friends.”

Stephan rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively as if that excused his comments.

Chanel snapped the weapons case closed. “Sam, can you and Zemo take this to the car for me? I’ll be right out.”

Sam took the case from her, “Don’t make me have to come back in here and find you.”

Zemo shut the glass door behind them, “I forgot something upstairs. I’ll be out shortly.”

Sam nodded, and Zemo headed to the stairs. When Sam was out of sight, he quietly moved back to the study and strained to hear the conversation.

“So that’s it then? You think you’re going to leave me to go be what—?” An Avenger?” Stephan laughed at her mockingly.

“I’m not trying to be an Avenger. I’m just helping a friend. And I left you a long time ago.” Chanel returned the same level of venom that he had sent her way.

Stephan’s eyes flickered with anger. “You think you can just change who you are?” He hissed.

Chanel wavered, frozen in place as she stared into his deadly eyes. He wasn’t yelling; his voice was cold, calculated like he knew exactly what damage he was about to do and wanted to enjoy every second of it.

“You know who you are. You showed me last night. You’re a cruel, violent, wicked woman. You’re not a hero.” Stephan circled around her like a shark, “What do you think is going to happen when your friends see the real you? They’re going to leave you, just like everyone else.”

Chanel didn’t know why she was crying; he wasn’t saying anything she didn’t already know. Of course, he was right. But hearing it out loud made her feel stupid for even thinking she belonged anywhere but here.

Stephan wiped a tear off of her cheek, “Don’t cry, mein Schatz. You’re perfect. I’m the only one that will truly accept you for who you really are.”

Chanel wiped the tears from her face, willing herself to snap out of his trance.

“I’m going, Steph, you’re not going to talk me out of it. I don’t want to end things like this.”

“Then don’t end it,” he replied with a hint of desperation in his voice. “At least promise me you’ll—" he started to say, ‘be safe’ but knew that was a ridiculous ask, “—come out of this alive.” His fingers trailed over the diamonds on her neck.

Chanel looked down at her feet, “Steph—"

“Don’t. Just listen.” He gently lifted her chin, staring into her wet eyes. “I know what you’re going to say, but I don’t care. I love you, I’ve always loved you, and I know you feel the same way. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Chanel closed her eyes as if the darkness would swallow his words. “Steph, you know how I feel. I’m not capable of loving you, of loving anyone.”

“Like I said, stubborn.” He held his finger to her lips to stop her retort. “My point is, I won’t have you running around out there risking your life because when you do finally come to your senses, I want you alive and well and able to come home.”

He grabbed her hand and led her over to the safe. Zemo watched through the door as he revealed another safe within the walls of the first. From it, Stephan withdrew a small box. He opened it, took something out, and put the box back into the safe.

He turned back to Chanel, “I should have told you this a long time ago, but I didn’t want to get you involved. However, now that we know the Power Broker is after us, and you insist on leaving, you should know.” He opened his hand, and Zemo’s heartbeat increased.

“Steph! How do you have this?” Chanel stared at the vial of super-soldier serum in his hand in disbelief.

“I took it. From Dante. This is what Klaus was trying to buy from the Power Broker.”

“So you didn’t destroy it? How much of it do you have?”

“Of course not. I sold most of it.”

“To who?”

“Your government. The CIA was very interested.”

“And the rest?”

“Well, I took one for myself, and I have 4 more vials here, including this one that I want you to take.”

Chanel stumbled backward in shock. “Wait a second. You’re telling me that you took the serum? As in, currently, right now, you are a super-soldier?!”

“Did I not make that obvious last night? You wound me.” Stephan brought his hand to his chest playfully.

“Steph, this isn’t funny. How could you? And how could you think that I would want to take it?!”

“Why not? It will keep you safe. And when you come back home, we can be as we were. No one will be able to stop us.”

Chanel stared at him in disbelief, a million things rushing through her mind. Number one being Zemo. He couldn’t find out about this.

“Just take it, and at least consider it. For me, okay?”

Chanel took the vial and stuffed it in her jacket pocket. The urge to leave was suddenly overwhelming.

“I’ve got to go.”

“I know.” He grabbed her for one last kiss and rested his forehead on hers, “I have some people looking for information on the Power Broker. We’re going to find out who this bastard is. I’ll keep you updated.”

“I would appreciate that. Goodbye, Stephan.”

Zemo hurried out of the house and climbed into his car, impatiently tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Took you long enough. What did you forget?” Sam asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Zemo answered, distractedly. His jaw was tight with anger; all the different ways he could kill Stephan flicking through his mind like a horrifying picture book.

Chanel practically ran out of the house and threw herself into the passenger seat. “Let’s go.”

Zemo stomped his foot on the gas, and they sped off.

“Damn, what’s got you two so on edge?” Sam turned around to look out the back window, half expecting the house to be in flames.

“Nothing.” Chanel and Zemo snapped at the same time.

Chanel eyed Zemo suspiciously; he looked ready to murder someone.

He tried to pull himself together and offered her a tight smile, “I don’t think any of us are sad to say goodbye to your possessive ex-boyfriend. Or is he no longer an ex?”

Bucky turned his head toward the conversation, interested to hear her response.

“He’s very much an ex.”

“Splendid. You deserve so much better. We can all breathe a sigh of relief. Right, Sam?”

Sam grunted his approval. “Yeah, he’s a peach. I can really see the appeal,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m sorry about him; I don’t know what got into him today. I swear he’s not usually like that.”

Sam just gave her a concerned look.

This is definitely a conversation we are having later.

“James?” Zemo prompted.

“Not my business,” Bucky replied shortly. “Can you just drive? We don’t need conversation.”

“Apologies.” Zemo turned on the radio, and they all sat in silence.

Chanel sank a little in her seat as she chewed on her cheek. Bucky sounded particularly broody.

How am I going to make this right?

She felt exhausted from being pulled in so many directions. She knew she couldn’t stay there with Stephan, but part of her wondered if that was her best chance at happiness. She shook the thought out of her head, Sam was her priority, and she couldn’t make both of them happy.

As they passed through the gate, leaving the villa in the rearview mirror, a fleet of unmarked black sedans sped past them. Chanel turned in her seat and watched as they entered the gate. She knew those cars well. They belonged to Stephan’s number one henchman.

Probably helping him with the Power Broker stuff, but why so many of them?

Stephan stepped out onto the front steps as the cars pulled into the driveway. His duffle bag was slung over his shoulder, his phone in his hand as he watched a blinking dot on a map move farther away from his home.

“How long until the plane is ready?” He asked of the large man that met him on the steps.

“It will be ready for take-off as soon as you arrive.”

Stephan nodded. “And you have prepared the others?” His gaze was focused on the three tough-looking men that were approaching.

“They know it won’t tickle if that’s what you mean.”

“Good, it doesn’t take long. Manfred will administer the serum. When they’re done, send them straight to the airstrip to meet the rest of us. We don’t have much time.”

“Understood,” the large man motioned for the others to go inside.

The three men nodded to Stephan respectfully as they passed.

Stephan ran his hand through his hair, the team he was assembling calmed him a little, but it wasn’t enough. He had a small army but a limited supply of serum. “Did you get in touch with—what was her name? The Flag-Smasher girl.”

The large man frowned; he didn’t like disappointing his boss. “I did, but she’s not selling.”

Stephan scoffed, “Not selling? Did you tell her how much we were offering her?”

“She said her movement was more important than money. I can keep trying; everyone has a price.”

Stephan’s jaw was locked as he glanced back down at the moving dot on his phone. “No. If she doesn’t want to do it the easy way, well—" Stephan left his sentence unfinished as he began walking to the SUV, his eyes glued to his phone.

“I’ll let you know their whereabouts as soon as I get a solid lead,” the man called after him.

Stephan waved his hand in acknowledgment as he climbed into the back of the SUV. Each one that followed carried more men dressed in tactical gear, ready to follow Stephan into war.

As they pulled away from the villa, he wondered if it might be overkill. His eyes drifted back to the blinking dot on his phone, and he made a mental list of all the people he would have to go through to get what he wanted.

Not overkill. I will get her back, no matter what.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky angst #bucky fluff #bucky x poc!reader #bucky x black!reader #original characters #helmut zemo #sam wilson #tfatws #MCU fanfiction

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missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway · 4 days

Text

I got all these issues. Will you be my prescription?

Bucky Barnes x POC!Reader

Wordcount: 4462

Summary:

A fight about your safety ensues when pictures of the two of you together get leaked by a fellow agent and former one night stand. He's livid that your relationship is exposed to the world and now could be used against him. You could care less who knows about your relationship. You've been together over a year, you knew what dating the former Winter Soldier brought with it. No, you're pissed that some bitch, who doesn't even count as an ex, is trying to ruin the best thing to happen to you.

Warnings:

Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Feels, Some Humor, Protective Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Song Lyrics, Inspired by Music, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, P In V Sex

Notes:

Hello Heathens! This oneshot came out of nowhere one evening when I was listening to music on my phone while working on another fic. A cover of the song "Issues" (originally performed by Julia Michaels) came on and my mind was flooded with this idea and story that I need to flesh out. I have no control of my muse. I just write the stories she tells me to. HAPPY READING! Lyrics for the song Issues by Cameron Bedell will be in bold. ( Here's a link for you to check out the song ) Thoughts in italic.

Banner by @cafekitsune Divider by @firefly-graphics

You're trying to get him to understand that the real problem is the agent and not the exposure. Yes you now have to be more careful when you're somewhere without him. But it's not much different than what you were already doing.

"If she leaked us being together what makes you think she wouldn't leak other more sensitive information. Hell, she already could have!" You argue, trying to get him to see the whole picture.

"I don't give a fuck about some jealous drunken hook up who still feels jaded. I never wanted you in danger. That's why it was so important to keep us hidden." He snaps back.

Your emotions finally get the best of you. "I never WANTED to be hidden James! I went along with it because it was something you needed that made you feel secure. One less reason I might leave."

You shake your head as the tears begin to well in your eyes. "We're over a year in. I thought we'd be out to more than just people with enough clearance to be made aware. Makes me feel like your dirty little secret. I don't want to be that forever."

"Keeping your attachment to me hidden keeps you safe. What about that dont you understand?" He's so lost in his fear that he can't see things clearly.

"No. It leaves me vulnerable and easier to take with no one noticing because they're unaware of my relationship to the deadliest man I know." You calmly state. That seems to get his attention. "How can anyone fear the repercussions of even trying to get close to me like that without knowing who to be afraid of?"

He just stands there. Tension radiating off his body.

You let out an exasperated sigh and start walking to your door. "I think you need to go Bucky. I can't do this with you right now. You're so lost in your anger and fear that you're not thinking clearly. And I'm just plain pissed off. I don't want either of us to say something we regret later."

A look of shock crosses his face. "Doll, you can't be serious? We just got exposed. You're not safe."

"No one knows where I live, yet."

"Key word, yet."

"James." You reach for the knob. "Please just give me some time alone. I know where to find you when I'm ready. We both need to think about things from all angles."

He walks up to you and pins you to the door with a soul crushing kiss. Putting all of his fear and love into that one small gesture. He pulls away and allows you to open the door. Just as he crosses the threshold he turns his head your way. "This is far from over, doll. Don't keep me waiting too long."

You spend the next couple of days working through your thoughts with your guitar. Letting the music take you where you need to be. Mending the frayed edges and soothing the aches.

Through your musical therapy a song develops. Something that you think might help ease things between the two of you. Because, let's face it, you miss your man something fierce.

Every imperfect piece of him. Responding to his texts just to let him know you’re safe and alive, just isn't going to cut it anymore. Someone has to yield first, and it looks like this time around, it’s going to have to be you.

Mind made up on what you are going to do, you decide to give Steve a call.

It rings three times before he picks up. “Rogers.”

“Hey Stevie. How’s he holding up?” You waste no time asking what you so desperately want to know.

“Hey, Dollface.” He sighs. “‘Fraid to say, he’s not doing too great. Seems his already short fuse has shortened significantly. Had to take him off the training roster for the recruits because too many couldn't keep up with his demands or got injured.”

“Shit.” You shake your head even though you know he can't see it. “I was hoping he had calmed down some by now. I’m sorry Steve. I didn’t think he'd still be affected this much.”

“It’s not your fault. You know how overprotective he is in general. Add a threat, from the inside at that, and he goes nuclear.” He excuses.

“Well, I think I may have a solution to our problems.” You admit. “If not at least a band-aid for the time being. I’m going to need you and Sam’s help though. If you're willing of course.”

“I’m all ears. Want me to grab Sam so you don't have to explain it twice?”

“That would be great actually. I’d appreciate not having to spend more energy than I need too.”

“Alright. Hang on a sec.” You hear shuffling, followed by a door opening. Then the tell tale sound of a knock and a muffled voice before a door opens once more. “Hey Sam. Mind if I come in? I’ve got Buck’s best girl on the phone and she has something she wants to go over with us.”

“No problem man. Come on in.” Sam replies.

Once safely behind Sam’s door he places the phone on speaker. “Okay, doll. Tell us your plan.”

“It’s pretty simple really. I’ve used my time alone to reflect and process things the best way I know how. With my guitar.” You lightly chuckle. “Anyway. Long story short, I wrote something for James and I want to surprise him by performing it in front of you all.”

“All of us?” Sam asks.

“Well, just the Avengers. A small little private concert type of thing. Though I'll only be singing the one song halfway through. My friend has a great band that I think you all would love. If you can get Tony to hire them for the night to do a private show for you guys, I can sneak my performance in.”

“So Bucky will know about the private show but not that you're a part of it?” Steve questions for clarification.

“Yup.” You pop the ‘P’ for emphasis. “Think you can sway Tony to make this happen?”

“Seeing as how this should improve Bucky’s temperament and save us doing extra recruit rotations and paperwork. I don't see Tony being a problem. Text us when you know if your friend's band can do it and we’ll take it from there.” You can hear the relief in Steve’s voice over your plan.

“Thank you guys. I owe you big time.” You declare.

“Just help us get the normal grumpy old man back. That’s all we ask.” Sam imparts.

“That’s the plan.”

Tonight’s the night. You rub your hands anxiously against your thighs as the town car Tony sent for you cruises leisurely down the long Compound driveway. You surpass the front roundabout and make your way around to the back, near the private entrance and garage the Avengers use.

You text your friend Marco, the lead singer of Bow & Dagger, that you’ve arrived and to send someone out to get you. Of course your ex Chase, the bassist, is the one to greet you. He leans his body against the door frame, a smirk plastered across his face, as he scans your body from the bottom up. “Looking good Firefly.”

You roll your eyes at the use of your old nickname. “Still using that outdated moniker Chase?”

He quirks a brow at you. “You’ll always be my firefly. Maybe even more so now that you’ve gotten away. I’ll forever be chasing your light.”

You can't help but laugh at him. “Does that lyrical prose still work on the female population nowadays?”

“I’ve had no complaints.” He shrugs. “It used to work on you just fine if I remember correctly. Hell you used to toss it right back at me.”

“The blessed naivety of youth. Thank the Goddess that I grew up and my priorities shifted. I’m a more well rounded individual now. Less in search of useless validation.”

“Ouch.” He clutches his chest. “Still got those talons, I see.”

“Never leave home with them.” You wink at him. “You gonna let me in so you can make that paycheck I’m sure is well above your normal fee, or stand there all night?”

“Get in here smartass before Marco lays in to me for wasting time.” He moves aside.

You walk into the pseudo green room and are immediately smothered in a bear hug. “Hiya Stu. I’m happy to see you too.” You say into his barreled chest. “Mind letting up a bit. I kinda need to feel my fingers in order to play.”

He quickly lets go, only to place his hands on your shoulders and stare at you with a dopey smile across his face. “I’m sorry girlie. I’m just so happy to see ya. It’s been too long.”

“It has. I’m sorry ‘bout that.” You wince. “Life kind of got away from me. You know how it goes.”

“I’d say all is forgiven, seeing as you booked us this sweet gig.” Marco butts in, scooping you up in a hug himself.

“Fuck yeah! I finally get to shoot my shot with the Black Widow.” Stu exclaims.

“It’s the least I could do. You guys have no idea how much you're helping me out here.” You walk over to the couch and place your travel case down.

“What exactly are we helping you with anyway?” Chase inquires.

“Some Rom-Com grand gesture type shit” You smugly state.

“No shit?” Stu asks.

“I speak only the truth.”

“You gonna tell us who the unlucky schmuck is?” Chase snipes.

“With that attitude, you’re just going to have to wait and see.” You give him a smile to rival the Cheshire Cat’s. “The look on your face is going to be fucking priceless. I can’t wait.”

Before he can respond with some dickish comment, there’s a knock on the door, followed quickly by Tony and Steve entering the room.

Steve makes his way over to you. “Hey Dollface. You ready to get this show on the road?”

“I’m all set if these knuckleheads are ready to head on out there.” You turn towards the boys. “Have you guys met your benefactor for tonight's little private concert?”

“Negatory little lady.” Stu speaks up first, walking over to Tony. “Howdy Mr. Stark. The name’s Stu. Bow and Dagger’s drummer and loveable goofball. That’s Chase. Bassist and resident fuckboy. And the merose looking fucker over there is Marco our lead guitar and vocals.”

“That suits you.” Tony imparts. “You certainly give off drummer vibes. Lots of energy. Any questions on how this is gonna work?”

“I wouldn't mind a breakdown.” You pipe up.

"Here's how it's going to go." Steve grabs everyone's attention with his Captain voice. "We're going to gather the team in the common room where Sam and I set up a stage earlier. Tony is going to introduce the band. You'll play 3 songs and announce your taking a 5 min smoke break. That's when Dollface here is going to make her way on stage and do her thing."

He smiles over at you. "Hopefully if all goes well you guys will finish your set and then you're welcome to stay for dinner and hang out."

"Solid plan golden boy. You come up with that all on your own." You joke.

"Always with the smart quips. I'll remember that. Now let's get moving before the team gets restless and wanders off."

So far the evening was flowing seamlessly. As Bow & Dagger played the last notes on your third song, your nerves decided to make themselves known. You watched them announce their break and leave the stage.

Before you could sabotage yourself, you made your way onto the tiny stage and turned to the group of mostly stunned superheroes. “Hey guys. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting. I have some things I need to get off my chest and thought I might provide some intermission entertainment in the process.”

You roam the space for Bucky and lock eyes with his Steel blues, seated on the sofa next to Steve. Taking a deep breath, your fingers begin to strum the opening chords, the team looking on in curiosity over what may come out of your mouth.

Sustaining eye contact you let the lyrics flow out of you as if there is no one else in the room.

Mmm mm mm I'm jealous I'm overzealous When I'm down I get real down When I'm high, I don't come down I get angry Baby, believe me I could love you just like that And I could leave you just this fast

You take in his demeanor, stock still but engaged nonetheless.

But you don't Judge me 'Cause if you did, baby I would judge you too No, you don't judge me 'Cause if you did, baby I would judge you too

The only thought in your head is Here goes nothing, as you put your whole heart into the chorus.

'Cause I got issues But you got 'em too So give 'em all to me And I'll give mine to you Bask in the glory Of all our problems 'Cause we got the kind of love It takes to solve 'em Yeah, I got issues And one of them is how bad I need you

You breathe a little easier when you notice him start to soften. Just absorbing the piece of your soul you're sharing with everyone.

You do shit on purpose You get mad and you break things Feel bad, try to fix things But you're perfect Poorly wired circuit And got hands like an ocean Push you out Pull you back in

A subtle smile crosses his face at the truth in your words. The picture of him that many do not get to see. You really get into it as you run through the bridge and chorus one more time. Now it’s time to bring it home and woo your man.

Ooohhh, Need you OOOOOOH AHHHH I got issues You got 'em too So give 'em all to me And I'll give mine to you Bask in the glory Of all our problems 'Cause we got the kind of love It takes to solve 'em Yeah, I got issues And one of them is how bad I need you Ooh hoo hoo I got issues One of them is how bad I need yoou Issues And one of them is how bad I need you

You could hear a pin drop in the room as Bucky rises from his seat and makes his way over to the stage. You swallow and try to get your breathing under control as you have no idea what is going to happen.

Before you know it, he’s standing in front of you, broad chest heaving. He brings his hands up and cups your face before pulling you into an earth shattering kiss.

You forget that you have an audience until the sound of their cheers and clapping reaches your ears. You think you not only hear but see the muted flash of a camera through your closed lids.

You come up for air to see Bucky with the most lovesick expression on his face. “You did all that for me?”

You nod your head. “Figured it was the best way to get you to listen and understand.”

“Fuck I love you.”

“Love you too James.”

Sam rushes over to the stage. “Man, I live streamed the whole thing. The people are going crazy over ya’ll.”

“You did what?!” You both blurt out.

“I streamed it. The world already knows about you. Might as well milk it. No need to thank me, damn.”

Bucky moves to jump off the stage and rush Sam. You barely catch him in time. “Hey. Don't let him get to you okay. You know how much he loves to rile you up.”

“Sorry, doll. He’s just such a douchebag sometimes. We were having a moment.” He apologizes, running his thumb along your bottom lip.

“It’s fine.” You nip at the flesh as it passes over once more. “What I really want to know is if performing the song in front of everyone was okay? I just wanted you to hear me out and understand my side of things. I didn't want to embarrass you or anything.”

“Doll. Stop rambling.” You shut your mouth. “I loved it. Honestly I liked that they got to see how much you feel for me.”

You beam up at him. “Good.”

“Now I have some displays of affection I need to show you myself. Come on babygirl.” He pulls you off stage and heads towards the hallway that connects with his, Steve and Sam’s wing of the compound.

You’re pulled inside Bucky’s room, tripping over your sneakers as he hurriedly maneuvers you through his space. “James, slow down. I’m gonna eat shit if you keep it up.”

He stops in front of the bed, turning toward you. “Shut up.” He grabs your waist and tosses you down on to the mattress, climbing on and caging you in with his massive frame. “You’ve used that mouth enough tonight. Now it’s my turn.”

With no time to catch your breath, he renders you incapable of responding by capturing your lips with his own. Kissing life back into your body, as your tongues dance a tango only you know.

He takes his time as his hands roam your curves. Sneaking his cool metal digits under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He begins to remove your shirt, placing his flesh hand underneath your lower back as he slowly lifts your torso to pull your shirt over your head. You raise your arms in aid, grazing your fingertips across the stubble along his jaw when he tosses your shirt aside.

He trails his hands down your flesh until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. With a quick snap of his vibranium fingers your button is undone, your zipper quickly following suit. He starts to slide the denim down, tapping your hip to get you to raise them so that he can remove them entirely.

Leaning back on his haunches, he grabs the back of his shirt with his flesh hand and pulls it off. His lust blown blue eyes focused on you draped over his bed sheets. “So fucking beautiful.” He runs his hands up your legs, gripping the waistband of your panties when he reaches your hips and takes his time removing them from your body.

“Take your bra off for me, babygirl.” You lean up on your elbows, reach behind your back and unclasp the garment, letting it fall away from you body.

Leaning forward, he ghosts kisses along all of your exposed skin. Mapping out a trail of pleasure and gooseflesh. Teasing first one and then the other nipple with his tongue, ending each with a deep suction.

The slow paced teasing continues, driving your need for him higher. He stops his trek at your mound, hot breath blowing puffs of air on the cooling slick leaking from your folds. “So beautiful and all mine.” He runs a cool metal finger along your drenched lips. He ensnares you in his gaze. “That’s right, isn't it, babygir? This pretty little pussy is mine to do with as I please?”

“Yes. All of this is yours.” You pant out. Delirious for him to do something more than tease.

“Damn right it is.” He runs a stripe from taint to clit with his skillful tongue. Circling your sensitive little bundle nerves, pulling a moan out of your throat. Having had enough of taking his time slowly torturing you he thrusts his tongue inside your aching center. The thick muscle massaging your silken walls, giving them something to finally clamp on to.

“Mmm. James. Fuck. Your tongue feels so good baby.” Your hands anchor themselves in his hair, just enjoying the ride. But that’s not enough for him. He wants you desperate and begging before he gives in and makes you come apart on his cock.

He pulls his tongue out, swirling it along your folds, seeking out every drop of your essence. Moving the appendage upward to lightly circle figure eight patterns on your clit, bringing you right to the edge. So close to falling over that cliff into utter bliss before he pulls away.

“No! Why’d you stop? I was so close.” You sit up, reaching out for his face, wanting to drag him back to your pulsing center.

He scoots back off the bed. “The first time you come after sending me away and keeping your distance, is going to be while my cock is deep inside you.” He unbuckles his belt, drawing your eyes down to his hands working on divesting himself of the last of his garments.

You're hypnotized by his movements. Mouth watering as you wait for his thickness to spring free from its confines. Time seems to stand still as his pants drop to the floor. “You went commando.” You whisper out, licking your suddenly dry lips.

“Wonderful coincidence. I wasn't expecting to see you tonight and Steve came pounding on my door right as I got out the shower to tell me I had to come be a part of the festivities. I just threw on the closest clothes.” He shrugged, wrapping his metal fist around his length, giving himself a few pumps as he drank you in with a predatory gaze.

“Lay back down, babygirl.” He husks out. The command sends a fresh wave of slickness to your core, anticipating what’s to come, as you slowly lie back.

“Spread those luscious thighs for me, doll. Present me with my perfect little pussy.” He grunts out as he continues to stroke himself, a bead of precome precariously close to dropping from the tip as he places a knee down on the bed.

You open your legs wide enough to show off your glistening folds. Following his command, but holding back just enough to make him growl and push your thighs open the rest of the way.

“You really wanna play with me right now, babygirl? After keeping this body away from me for days?” He rubs his cock between your cleft, tip bumping against your engorged and still so sensitive clit.

You squirm and whimper, just wanting him to be inside of you already. That halted orgasm, inching its way back to the surface every time his hot length grazes your bundle of nerves.

“I’m sorry, James. Please. Need you inside me.” You plead. “It’s been too long since you filled me up.”

“You’re sorry huh?” You quickly nod your head. “Gonna let me wreck this pussy? Ruin you for anyone else? Milk me dry like the cumdrunk little slut that you are?”

“Yes. Yes. Please.” You beg, just wanting him to finally take you, reclaim you as his own.

“As you wish, babygirl.” He slams forward to the hilt, splitting you open with his girth.

He doesn't even give you a moment to get reacquainted with the size of him deep inside you. He just pulls back and thrusts in harder. Setting up a pace that just makes your brain go fuzzy and every nerve-ending sings in pleasure.

“Fuuuck. Look at you doll.” He grunts out. “Already cock drunk and I’ve barely gotten started. Pussy’s gripping me so tight baby. She doesn't want to let me go.”

Your mind can't function enough to produce anything other than moans, whimpers and wails of pleasure. You’re flying a serotonin high you are not ready to come down from yet. The coil in your core tightening as you dance closer and closer to the knife's edge of orgasm. Waiting for the moment when you dive off the edge into ecstasy.

Almost as if sensing that your climax is impending, Bucky picks up the pace, swiveling his hips and grinding his pelvis down on your clit for added stimulation. “Come on, baby. Come for me, pretty girl. I can feel your walls quivering around me. Give in. Fall apart on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”

That’s it. That’s all you need to lose yourself and let go completely. Surrendering to the euphoric bliss, screaming out for the whole compound to hear.

A rainbow of stars detonate behind your eyes as you writhe beneath him, back arching off the mattress before you go limp, laying in a state of bonelessness.

“Don’t pass out on me now doll. I’m so close. Little pussy is squeezin’ me so tight.” His pumps become erratic as he chases his own high. “Don’t you want me to fill you up? Have me leaking out of you for days?”

You just nod and whisper out. “Please. Full.” Not able to formulate more than two words in your current state.

It was all the validation that he needed to hear to stop holding back and release the days worth of his seed into your waiting womb. Painting the walls white with rope after rope of his spend.

It felt like it went on forever with how much he was pouring into you, until his dick stopped twitching and he collapsed on your chest. Catching his breath and covering your face in sweet kisses as you both come back down to earth.

You stayed locked together, your pussy warming his cock, as you both let your fingertips roam along the other's skin. Allowing yourselves time to just revel in the moment of the new direction your relationship is heading.

"You sure you're okay with the world knowing about us, doll? You’re not afraid that you'll no longer be safe?" He asks into your neck.

"Like I said before, I feel no less safe than I did before, James.” You tell him with conviction. ”Plus now, I get to rub it in everyone's face that the White Wolf is all mine.” You grin like the cat that got the cream. “You're truly stuck with me now, Bucky."

He chuckles. "I wouldn't have it any other way." He places a soft kiss on your lips.

Just as the kiss deepens and you start the journey towards round two, there’s a knock at the door, followed by Sam’s muffled voice. "You guys done making up yet? Steve wont let us eat until you guys get back out here."

You both can’t help but laugh. "Tell Stevie we'll be right out but we're not staying long. I've got time to make up for."

“TMI man! A simple ‘Be right out’ would have been enough, Buck.” Sam scoffs as we walks back to the common area.

“Come on, doll. Let’s get dressed before Stevie comes looking for us next.”

If you made it to the end, THANK YOU! If you liked it please feel free to let me know (but it's not required); and if you didn't, that's okay too, I still thank you for even giving it a chance.

#poc reader #avengers smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes

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havensins · 2 years

Text

@ masterlist.

navigation.

━━ fics & whathaveyou.

tony stark.

tony stark & intern!reader

tony stark x jealous!m!reader

steve rogers.

steve rogers pwp

steve’s first time being submissive

steve rogers x poc!reader headcanons

steve rogers x m!reader (enemies? to lovers)

bucky barnes.

soft sub!bucky x dom!reader

sub!bucky x dom!reader

stephen strange.

stephen strange & m!reader headcanons

bratty!stephen strange x dom!reader

thor odinson

sub!thor x m!reader

thor x dom!m!reader (personal favorite)

peter parker

peter parker x symbiote!m!reader

misc.

bruce wayne x m!reader cafe au

lucifer morningstar x male reader

━━ drabbles & whatnot.

tony stark.

tony trying to dom / powerbottom

breeding w/ tony

fingering ftm!tony in public

thigh riding with bratty ftm!tony

exhibitionism and public indecency with tony

pillow princess tony

tony surprising you with lingerie

steve rogers.

fucking steve dumb

free use & steve (mentions of avengers x steve)

sentimental sex with steve

1940s soldier!steve

pre-serum steve with a praise kink

dumbification with pre-serum steve

exhibitionist steve

oral with pre-serum steve, bucky watches

fucking steve’s pecs + feminization

breeding and degrading steve

hair pulling with bratty!steve

bucky barnes.

bucky + comfort sex

oral with ftmbucky

overstimulating bucky after a nightmare

jealousy and ftm!bucky (personal favorite)

somnophilia & dub-con with bucky

steven grant + marc spector.

insecure ftm!steve grant

ftm!steven grant

more ftm steven

thigh fucking marc spector

face sitting with ftm!steven

stephen strange.

bratty ftm stephen

incubus? reader & stephen strange.

thor odinson.

submissive thor

ftm thor

needy thor wanting your attention

free use & thor

loki laufeyson.

pillow princess ftm loki, extremely mild

loki cumming from having his hair pulled

ftm loki riding you & squirting

thigh riding with ftm bratty loki

sam wilson.

rimming sam wilson

sam wilson + captain kink & praise kink

peter parker.

pushing peter to his limits with overstim

choking peter parker

rimming peter parker

teasing & fingering ftm!peter parker

eating out ftm!peter

peter wanting you to take aggression out on him

exhibitionism? with peter

ftm!peter with a size kink

cockwarming, dumbification, daddy kink, and feminization with peter

jerking peter off where the other avengers can hear

wanda maximoff.

making wanda touch herself as punishment

miguel o’hara.

exhibitionism & breeding with miguel

miguel who goes into subspace when praised

sub miguel with overstim, praise kink, & biting

breeding ftm miguel

giving miguel head while he’s at hq

enemies to casual hookups with miguel

miguel riding you

hobie brown.

fucking hobie dumb

misc / multi character.

bucky & miguel for your birthday

tony, bucky, and steve in subspace + aftercare

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fatalitysficbakery · 1 year

Text

𓆰♡︎𓆪 Fatility’s Fic Bakery Masterlist; Multifandomed & OC Menu Updated Pt. Two 4•12•24 𓆰♥︎𓆪

↳ A Multifandom blog, that caters to less represented. Mainly black women but other poc and minorities as well.

↳ CHECK THE RULE LIST. Highly important to check my rule post before requesting ANYTHING.

↳ ❦ Fatalitysficbakery navigation menu ❦.

↳ ❦ Fatalitysficbakery rules + drabble menu ❦.

↳ ❦ Fatalitysficbakery requests guidelines menu ❦.

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••

𓆰♥︎︎𓆪 Welcome To The Bakery 𓆰♥︎𓆪

series (☀︎︎) oneshots (☦︎︎) smut (✞)

fluff (☻︎) angst (☹︎)

two parters (♫)

reactions (❥) headcanons (☠︎︎)

drabbles (☾)

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••

𓆰♡︎𓆪 9-1-1 𓆰♡︎𓆪

↳ Athena Grant.

coming soon!!

↳ Henrietta Wilson.

coming soon!!

↳ May Grant.

coming soon!!

↳ Maddie Buckley.

coming soon!!

↳ Karen Wilson.

coming soon!!

↳ Bobby Nash.

coming soon!!

↳ Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.

coming soon!!

↳ Howie “Chimney” Han.

coming soon!!

↳ Evan Buckley.

coming soon!!

↳ Ravi Panikkar.

coming soon!!

↳ Albert Han.

coming soon!!

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••

𓆰♥︎︎𓆪 9-1-1: Lonestar 𓆰♥︎𓆪

↳ Tyler “T.K” Kennedy Strand.

coming soon!!

↳ Carlos Reyes.

coming soon!!

↳ Judson “Judd” Ryder.

coming soon!!

↳ Paul Strickland.

coming soon!!

↳ Mateo Chavez.

coming soon!!

↳ Wyatt Harris.

coming soon!!

↳ Owen Strand.

coming soon!!

↳ Gabriel Reyes.

coming soon!!

↳ Tommy Vega.

coming soon!!

↳ Grace Ryder.

coming soon!!

↳ Marjan Marwani.

coming soon!!

↳ Nancy Gillian.

coming soon!!

↳ Kendra Harrington.

coming soon!!

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••

𓆰♡︎𓆪 Miscellaneous (Artist ++) 𓆰♡︎𓆪

↳ Beyoncé Knowles-Carter.

Tongue, Teeth, &’ Fire. (☦︎︎ - ✞ - light ☻︎) x Black Fem!Y/n

warnings: possessive (angry???) public makeup oral/fingering (reader receiving), slight dirty talk, adultery, calm dom!bey, shy sub!y/n.

synopsis: she missed you. more than anything, she missed you.

↳ Megan “Thee Stallion/Tina Snow” Pete.

coming soon!!

↳ Solange Knowles.

coming soon!!

↳ Kelly Rowland.

coming soon!!

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••

𓆰♡︎𓆪 The Last Of Us 𓆰♡︎𓆪

↳ Ellie Williams.

coming soon!!

↳ Riley Abel.

coming soon!!

↳ Dina.

coming soon!!

↳ Abby Anderson.

coming soon!!

↳ ((Ships)) 𓆰♡︎𓆪

↳ Riley x Ellie

coming soon!!

↳ Dina x Ellie

coming soon!!

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••

𓆰♡︎𓆪 Scream 𓆰♡︎𓆪

↳ Samantha Carpenter

Never Trust The Love Interest. (☦︎︎ - ☹︎ - ☻︎ - ✞) x Black Fem!Y/n

warnings: listen to 'What a wonderful world' by Louis Armstrong while reading, ghostface!sam, sub!sam, soft dom!y/n, praise, oral (reader giving), slight!fingering, soft ‘reuinited’ smut, sub worship.

synopsis: legacies make franchises.

↳ Tara Carpenter

coming soon!!

↳ Billy Loomis

coming soon!!

↳ Stu Macher

coming soon!!

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••

𓆰♡︎𓆪 Gen V 𓆰♡︎𓆪

↳ Jordan Li.

Bad For Me (☦︎︎ - ✞ - ☹︎??? - ☻︎) x Black Fem!Y/n

warnings: enemies to lovers, car sex, slight humor, possessive dom!jordan, got your tea bitch sub!y/n.

synopsis: jordan hates your guts or wants to rearrange them. they haven’t decided yet. (yes they have).

↳ Marie Moreau

coming soon!!

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••

𓆰♡︎𓆪 The Originals 𓆰♡︎𓆪

↳ Niklaus Mikaelson.

coming soon!!

↳ Rebekah Mikaelson

coming soon!!

↳ Elijah Mikaelson

coming soon!!

↳ Freya Mikaelson.

coming soon!!

↳ Hayley Marshall

coming soon!!

↳ Marcel Gerard.

coming soon!!

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••

𓆰♡︎𓆪 Wednesday 𓆰♡︎𓆪

↳ Wednesday Addams.

coming soon!!

↳ Morticia Addams.

coming soon!!

↳ Enid Sinclair.

coming soon!!

↳ Larissa Weems.

coming soon!!

••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••[❦]•••[❦❦]••

This List will be updated regularly as I go on. Enjoy the baked goods in Heaven’s Fic Bakery! 🥖🥐🥯🍞🥨🥮🧁🍧🍨🍯

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our-destiny · 2 years

Text

☁ Introduction ☁

Welcome to my blog! You can call me Destiny and here I reblog posts that i like but i also sometimes make my own short, self indulgent content. I am aromantic and asexual so most of my content is platonic.

⚠ Disclaimer ⚠

On this blog you will find Dark Content, with themes of Noncon, Manipulation, Gore, Yandere, and overall not good stuff. I am not responsible for what media you consume, and I do not support or encourage this behavior in real life.

Masterlist

My requests and asks are always open.

What I write for

Obey me!

I write for all characters except for 13, though my favorites are Solomon and Michael.

Twisted Wonderland

I will write for:

Cater, Ace, Deuce, Leona, Ruggie, Rook, Kalim, Jamil, Floyd, Azul

Marvel Cinematic Universe

I will write for:

Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker (Tom Hollands version only), the Winter Soldier, Thor, Loki

Rules for requesting

You can request headcanons, oneshots, alphabets, anything. You can request as many characters as you'd like. I love getting requests so please, ask!

I write character x reader and

I write in second person (you, your), and try not to describe readers appearance or gender, though I am afab so I might mess up, if I do please tell me.

I am comfortable writing platonic relationships (familial or friendships).

I also like writing dark/Yandere relationships. I do both romantic and platonic yanderes (familial or friendships). If it is a romantic yandere the feelings will not be reciprocated as that makes me uncomfortable, the only exception would be in a case of Stockholm.

I am now going to be writing nsfw! However it will only be noncon/dubcon, and only in a dark/yandere fic. And only with romantic yanderes, not platonic.

I won't write an established romantic relationship. I will write scenarios that could or could not be read as romantic or platonic, but I won't refer to someone as a boyfriend or write about going on a date; I would write about two people hanging out that could classify as a date.

Last Thoughts

I struggle with finding motivation so I don't write often, or I might take a while to write something, please be patient.

This is a safe space for Lgbtq+, poc, etc, and I will not tolerate any hate.

I am a Hellenic Polytheist, and a devotee of Ares, so you'll find that here too!

I struggle with mental illness so you'll find posts to do with that as well.

I also write poetry sometimes!!

Thanks for reading <3

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aynanasstuff · 2 years

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💜

Oooh thank you!

Who's the bionic staring machine now? (Biker!Sam x POC!Reader AU)

Choices (Sam Wilson x Desi!Reader)

Gehraiyaan (Spencer Reid x Desi!Reader)

Tu Marz Hai, Dawa Bhi (Sam Wilson x Desi!Reader)

A Whole Lotta Love (Wilson's Residence, Domestice Sam Wilson x Desi!Reader drabble series)

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cevansbrat0007 · 2 years

Text

Reckless

Summary: Your police officer husband does not approve of your reckless driving habits.

*Warnings: Reckless Driving, Brat Reader, Daddy Kink, Cursing, Spanking, Punishments (mentioned), CMNF, Minors DNI

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this, so I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think. Not super proofread. All mistakes are my own.

Your husband was highly upset with you. A fact that you were only aware of because he had said as much just now.

Sammy: I am absolutely furious with you. (Received 1:36pm)

Sammy: When you get home tonight I’m gonna tear your ass up. (Received 1:40pm)

Oh boy. And here was the thing...you knew why. But you weren’t ready to admit to it quite yet. Just in case he was talking about something else. No need to get yourself in trouble twice. You take a couple deep breaths and then respond.

You: Umm…why baby? (Received 1:43pm)

Sammy: Do not play with me. You know why. We’ll discuss it tonight. Be home by 5:30pm. Understand? (Received 1:50pm)

You: Yes, sir. (Received 1:52pm)

Knowing you were in for it later, you simply sigh and try to concentrate on work.

You arrive home a little after 6:00pm. Walking in with your shoulders hunched, you find your husband sitting in the living room watching a show you don’t recognize. You know he hears you come in, but he doesn’t even look in your direction.

“Hi baby…” You whisper.

“I thought I told you to be home by 5:30pm?” All you can do is offer a shrug and an apologetic smile, hoping that might be enough.

“I know.” You mumble. “And I tried but…I lost track of time and…”

“Hmm.” Sam grunts again before standing up and approaching you. “You lost track of time. What a surprise. Ever think that’s why you’re always running behind?” He points at a nearby table and orders, yes orders, you to sit.

Head bowed, you do.

He proceeds to join you, arms crossed, face angry. His jaw ticks. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?” You shrug helplessly. “I didn’t…I just thought that maybe if I paid it and everything that maybe you’d never have to know.”

As soon as the words leave your lips you know that was absolutely the wrong answer. Sam just stares you down. “Oh, so you planned on keeping it a secret too? Hmm.” He takes a calming breath and nods. “Okay. Okay. You thought that I wouldn’t find out that you’d gotten yet another speeding ticket. You get that your husband”, he points at himself and offers a sarcastic wave, “is a cop, right?”

“Yes, but since I was in a different district and everything I just figured –” He cuts you off.

“But sweetheart, you’re a cop’s wife. And we look out for each other. I spoke with the officer who stopped you. Funny enough, he’s a buddy of mine.”

Ooh, how you wished you would have known that.

“He told me that in most cases, he would have let you off with a warning. But see, since you were going, oh what was it?” He levels you with his trademark glare, the one that had the power to make you, and most other people, squirm. Couldn’t you just stop this and get your spanking over with already? “You know what? You tell me. You tell me how fast you were going.”

You stand up, bracing your hands on the table. “I was going 95 in a 60.”

Sam leans back in his chair. “And is that safe?” His growl comes out soft, quiet. Meanwhile, you shake your head in a wordless “no”.

“And how many times have we had this conversation? How many times have we discussed your penchant for speeding?” With a shrug you start to pace.

“Sit. Back. Down.”

After taking a moment to think it over, your ass plops back in your chair. Gotta pick your battles. He quirks one intimidating brow in your direction.

“A lot, Daddy.” It comes out as a mumble.

“You’re right, sweetheart. We’ve talked about it a lot. Too much, in fact. But I just can’t seem to get you to listen. I need you to start hearing me.”

All you can do is let out a defeated sigh in response.

“Let me explain something to you. When I took on the role of being your Daddy that meant that it was now my responsibility to protect you. That’s my job. It’s my privilege. Look at me.”

Stomach in knots, you force yourself to make eye contact. “When you drive like that, it’s beyond reckless. It’s dangerous. You could hurt someone, you could kill yourself. Do you honestly think that I want to get a call saying my wife has wrapped her car around a tree or something? That would gut me.” His voice is beginning to sound a little hoarse.

“I know it would, Daddy. I would never want to do that to you.” You find yourself choking back tears. God, you hated when he was right. He continues on. “I’m trained to operate a vehicle at high speeds, but it’s still dangerous - even for me. Are you listening?” Slouching back in your chair, you nod.

“You’ve disappointed, Daddy.” A lone tear trails down your cheek. “So here’s what I want you to do. I want you to go upstairs and strip. I’ll be up to deal with you in a moment.” Sam’s eyes bore into yours.

“Yes, Daddy.”

You quickly shuffle upstairs, upset with yourself. To be honest, you hated when your equally protective and loving husband was disappointed with you. And you knew Sam was. And you also knew that he was right. Damn it.

You make it to your room and sit on the bed with a huff. You just wanted to curl up, preferably with your man, and cuddle or something. Lost in your thoughts, you once again lose track of time. And then you hear Sam approaching. Now you were out of time. And you hadn’t followed directions - something he notices very quickly.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously trying and failing to keep calm. But you knew he was out of patience with you. “Sweetheart, why can’t you just listen?” Your husband grits out through clenched teeth. “I gave you very specific instructions. You must think Daddy’s playing with you.”

You quickly, frantically shake your head “no”. “No, Daddy, I don’t think you’re–.” He cuts you off.

“No, you do. And I’m going to fix that right now.” He swiftly strides over to where you’re sitting, which makes you try to scramble away. But Sam is too big, too fast. Clearly pissed, he snags your leg and drags you back across the bed. You put up a struggle, but he manages to manhandle you onto your front.

Ripping down your leggings and your panties, his hand immediately begins doing what he promised you he’d do earlier. And that is blistering your butt. Slap! Slap! Slap! His hand is coming down hard. Still struggling, you reach behind you in an attempt to protect yourself.

“Move your fucking hand! Move it now!” You’re wailing now, crying into the bed covers. When you don’t comply, he grabs it. Holding it in an iron grip, he moves your hand for you. “Put your hand back here again and I’m taking off my belt.” He snarls softly, and then he goes back to tanning your ass.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

See, the thing about your Sammy is that he very rarely yelled when he was disciplining you. He didn’t have to - he knew you found his quiet authority to be the most intimidating.

“Sammy - I mean Daddy, I’m sorry! I won’t speed anymore! I promise I’ll leave on time!” Slap!

“You had better. Because I promise you that I will bruise this ass everyday if you don’t.” Your husband growls out. “If you don’t wanna be able to sit, keep it up.” He slaps your bottom again. Your leg kicks out. Your ass lifts up, which earns you a harsh slap to your vulnerable pussy. Youch!

“I swear I will! I will whoop this ass everyday to remind you to be safe! You listening to me?” Another hard slap graces your very hot butt. Fuuuuck!

Slap! Slap! Slap! “Oh, Daddy! I’m listening. I hear you!” You belt out. Satisfied, he stops. You can feel him admiring his handiwork. And then he flips you over. Silently he removes your shirt and bra, leaving you naked and exposed to his gaze.

Breathing heavily, he lowers himself to his knees. You close your eyes, still sniffling and hiccupping. And then you feel him press a tender kiss to your ankle.

“You’re mine, baby. Do you know how much you mean to me?” He whispers against your skin.

Sam keeps slowly, reverently trailing kisses up your body - your calf, your knee, your thigh. He pauses briefly when he reaches your core. Then he leans forward and buries his face in your pussy. You whimper when you feel him inhale your scent.

He groans and then gifts you with a wet, open-mouthed kiss - his tongue taking a second to slip between your folds. The contact is brief, but it’s enough to make you tremble.

He continues softly kissing up your belly, and then both breasts - making sure to lavish a little extra attention on your pouting nipples. His lips grace your neck. And then his lips are on yours. Your husband takes his time dominating your mouth with his own. “Who am I, sweetheart?”

“You’re my Daddy.”

“Correct. And my job is to what?”

“To keep me safe.”

“Good.” Another kiss.

“I know that was a rough spanking for you, baby. But I am proud of how you took it.” Sam nibbles the shell of your ear. Now leaning over you, he pulls back to help you sit up, which makes you wince. Noting your look of pain, he takes you into his arms. “Here’s how the rest of the night’s going to go. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You manage out over the sound of your sniffles.

“We’re going to go down and have dinner. And then we’re going to review your schedule for the rest of the week. Make notes about what time you need to leave to get when and where. And I’m going to hold you to this.” You bury your face in his shirt, taking in his cologne and a scent that was all him.

“This is something we’re going to do every week from here on out, okay? I’m doing this because I love you,” he whispers into your hair. “But baby, please remember that Daddy will not hesitate to spank your ass when you need it.”

“I will be sure to keep that in mind, sir. I promise.” He smiles, proud of you. You smile back through watery tears. Sam begins to lead you downstairs, which makes you hesitate. “Um, Daddy..?” He turns to you. “Can I put my clothes back on first?”

“No sweetheart. I’m going to keep you like this for the rest of the night. I want to be able to look at what’s mine whenever I want.”

END

390 notes · View notes

captainsimagines · 2 years

Text

hunting the fates || one

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (Fem) POC Enhanced Reader; Sam Wilson x Female Original Character

Trope: Fantasy/Mythology/Horror; Soulmates/Mates; Angst/Fluff/Smut; Bisexual! Bucky Barnes; Multiple POV’s

Based on the Song(s): ‘Power’ by Isak Danielson ; ‘Breakfast’ by Dove Cameron ; ‘Darkside’ by Neoni ; ‘Bow - Slowed’ by Reyn Hartley

AO3 Link

Warnings: strong language; inaccurate Greek mythology; mentions of infertility; mentions of slavery

Word Count: 6,100+

Author’s Note: Oh my Gods! Here we go with the fantasy sequel! I’m so excited for this, you guys have no idea. Like I’ve stated, the Greek mythology is both accurate and inaccurate on purpose so do not bully me lmao. Every song is for a certain character or couple! You can guess who “Bow-Slowed” is for... wink wink! xxMoni

The temperature was cool in Hell.

Or at least, moderate.

The exact word was lost for Bucky Barnes, who was hurdled through time and space and fuck-all after being tossed into a fiery portal and landing on a plush, red carpet in the middle of the most impressive room he has ever seen. One crane of the neck and he took in the castle’s black walls, adorned with intricately carved designs—statues that sat in their own miniature thrones; gargoyles of winged angels…or demons…with wide open mouths and silent screams; pillars indented with a language he did not understand.

There were doors everywhere. In front of him, to his sides, probably behind. Beautiful black wood that curved in arches and squares. Through some, he swears he sees eyes of all colors staring back. Through others, pure darkness.

He’s positive the portal already closed and trapped him in whatever alternate universe this was.

But Bucky Barnes knew where he was. He would be an absolute idiot to ask.

Hell. Bucky literally landed in Hell.

Every original perception he had of Hell painted a land of chaos. Endless screaming from the poor or deserving souls trapped in the rivers, that damned three-headed dog aiming for necks, fire engulfing even the tightest corners. But what greeted him was comfortable quiet, the way a throne room usually functioned. The air was clean and absent of the smell of iron. Not one lick of fire started at his feet.

“I see you put up a fight.”

And upon that throne of beautifully carved wood that could also possibly be bone—was the most beautiful man Bucky Barnes has ever seen.

Black hair with highlighted blue when reflected with light, blue flame lightly touching his fingertips, and tattoos of such terrific and complicated designs stemming from his exposed collarbones, to the other areas of pale skin. In fact, he may be covered in ink. The man—the God—before him was sculpted brilliantly, stretching the confines of his dark grey dress shirt and tailored black pants. A black, cashmere scarf lay loose upon his broad shoulders and down to his seated hips. Those dark blue eyes were almost black. With his left foot resting on his right knee and his sliced jawline leaning on a tattooed hand, the God of the Underworld was the picture of casual and detached elegance. Seemingly disinterested in what just landed at the foot of his throne.

Bucky felt a shudder beside him, then realized he was still holding something—someone in his arms.

Shortcake.

He loosened his grip, only to have you fling from his arms and into a standing position. Heavy footsteps, green light illuminating from the ends of your hair, and then—

“Maxwell told me you were feisty.”

Maxwell, at the corner of Bucky’s eye, flinched. Not frightened, but guilty and ashamed.

To Bucky’s ultimate horror, you growled and spit at the base of the throne. “Bastard!”

The God of the Underworld’s disinterested expression brightened, his smile widening. “Charming, too.”

Sam pushed against Bucky’s shoulder, ordering him to stand down. Bucky blinked a few times to focus, his vision white around the edges and his arms suddenly cold.

Hell is hot. Why is he cold?

“But my name is not bastard—” The God stood to his full height, dwarfing you and emitting such a punch of command, Bucky wavered. “My name is Hades.”

“That’s not your real name,” you said, teasing along every word. As if you were tempting the God to smite you, to curse you, to dismiss you—Bucky knows you’re buying time to assess the room, the situation.

Hades grinned, his chuckle barely restrained. “And in time, you’ll learn it.”

Sam made sure to stand to Bucky’s right, leaving his metal arm free. They’ve both adopted slightly defensive stances, but have remained more cautious than anything. Sam doesn’t need to voice it—Bucky knows they’re both terrified of your boldness.

“What gives you the right?” you yelled, green light unfurling from your fingertips. “First the Fates fuck with all our lives and now you want to get involved? Why is it up to us to help you? Deal with it yourself!”

It’s at that moment that Bucky noticed two other people in the room. Or…one person and one—what in the world?

A gorgeous, golden-haired woman standing to the right side of Hades’s throne snorted softly, rolling her…red…eyes when you glared at her. Her wavy hair extended to the middle curve of her back, and the baby hairs at her forehead curled from the humidity Bucky had not yet noticed. She was blushed in her high cheeks, and wearing black leathers that covered every inch of her, but did not hide her strong figure. A fighter, Bucky realized, who protected the throne and the God sitting on it.

But it’s the chains wrapped around her wrists, unconnected and functioning as bracelets. Chains that weren’t decorative, but rather unchosen. The cold in Bucky’s veins deepened into a burning rage, like dry ice, from the sight.

A slave. Not a fighter. A slave that Hades has as his right hand—

“Your defiance, trickery, game—whatever you want to call it, has chosen you. Those damn crones were waiting for an out. By blindsiding them, they blindsided me.”

“Not. My. Problem,” you seethed.

“It’s all our problems!” A voice, light as a butterfly, fluttered from behind Hades’s shoulder. Bucky recognized it as a female voice, a voice soft like a feather’s touch, but close to a battle cry. Her words weren’t meant to be vicious, almost like she raised her voice for the purpose of being seen.

A figure the size of Bucky’s wrist-to-palm ratio, lightly levitating above Hades’s shoulder and formed purely of water, emerged. She was graceful as water is graceful, with blue hair with white highlights. But her hair floated around her ears, behind her, like calm ocean waves. Her facial features were difficult to see from far away, but Bucky could clearly make out pretty silver eyes, a delicate nose, and plump lips. Her skin wasn’t skin, but water too. Blue—she’s completely blue. Her sheer dress left nothing to the imagination, so her body was completely visible. Nipples, toned stomach, even the slit between her legs. But modesty seemed nonexistent, especially for a creature as exquisite as her, so Bucky doesn’t dwell on it. He focused instead on her lithe movements, until she was fully visible and standing proudly on Hades’s shoulder.

Her feet might be Bucky’s favorite feature of hers—feet absent of toes, and instead arched and looped, like an elf’s boot.

A water sprite.

In Hell.

The water sprite continued, “They have cursed humans and Gods alike for too long!”

“How—” Sam said, raising his hands. “Is that our problem?”

“Do you take no responsibility?” Hades said through a grin.

“I would be more hospitable, man. You’ve just sucked us through the Portal of Hell, sending a goddamn lackey in your place. We aren’t in the mood for an interrogation.”

The absolute balls on Sam, Bucky thinks. To stare down the literal Devil with a steady voice.

Fuck.

“I’m not his lackey, ” Maxwell scoffed. “We figured you’d come willingly if you saw a friendly face.”

“The portal sucked us in and you looked like you were in pain,” Bucky heard you say before the water sprite hopped from Hades’s shoulder and to the arm of the throne. Her hair floated behind her, droplets falling but evaporating before it reached her feet.

Maxwell shrugged. “If I do not want to leave this realm, then it’s painful. I didn’t plan on staying so long on Earth.” His tone was near mocking.

“I am not a being who kidnaps.” Hades waved a bored hand through the air. “If you want to go, go.”

It’s a trick. They wouldn’t have gone through so much trouble and created a massive scene in a fucking Denny’s if it wasn’t serious. They were planning on keeping everyone in this realm for a while longer.

Bucky could hear you breathing through your nose. Your fingers clenched your sweater, then unclenched when you rolled your neck. Bucky had seen the excitement in your eyes tonight. A good meal, a walk around the nearby blocks, perhaps a trip into each other’s beds. That was promised. And now someone other than you and him have broken that promise, tarnished this night—the night you were both ready to move on fully. The first step of many.

Now, no one moves.

“Smart humans,” Hades clicked. He slowly sat back down, leaning backward until he mimicked slouching. “If you go, then the Fates are set loose forever. I do not know where they are. And since it was your fate—" He pointed at all three of you. “You will help me. If you do not, then they have abandoned their posts, leaving your realm in chaos for the foreseeable future. Even with the rip in the multiverse.”

“Do you exist in only our universe or all the others?” Sam asked.

“Only this one.”

“So, Greek mythology is…real?”

Hades chuckled. “In this universe, Norse and Greek are real. So are parts of other human religions. In other universes, I do not know.”

At this, Bucky pondered. It isn't like his Jewish faith is shaken—it's been rocky for a long time. Still, he can't help the feeling of loss.

The golden-haired woman stepped forward, looking to Hades before she spoke. He gave her a slight bow of the head. “The Fates have been terrorizing the Gods and humans alike for centuries. Fate is just a made up word for their fun. With them scattered, we cannot employ new Fates.”

Sam cleared his throat before saying, “It’s that easy? You can just replace people who have been doing this job for centuries?”

The woman snarled at being interrupted. Sam doesn’t verbally apologize, but he does avoid her glowing red eyes.

“They must die for us to search for new Fates—Better Immortals who will not use their gifts for sport.”

“Elva is right,” Hades agreed. “All of us in this room have been plagued by their games.”

“What. Games.” Your voice sent violent shivers down Bucky’s spine.

This means…Bucky understands what it means.

He understands, he understands—

“Sam Wilson,” Hades started. “From what I know, the Fates were ecstatic when you became the new Captain America. They chose that road for you. As they did with the Falcon.” Then, with a soft sigh, Hades’s expression actually conveyed pity when he said, “Riley was never supposed to make it.”

Sam’s lips thinned as he stared. And stared.

Then, “They killed Riley?”

A statement of deathly promise.

Hades gave a curt nod before continuing. “I hear they call you Shortcake. But you’re more than that…Aren’t you? Princess…Goddess.”

Bucky watched as your chest rose and fell. His hands ached for you, to count your heartbeats and match them with his.

“If they killed Riley,” Hades lamented, even if there was no personal grief behind his words. “Then I know you know what that means for you.”

Ari.

Your fists clenched and remained clenched, as did your eyes.

Bucky’s going to do it. One more blasted second and he’ll run up to you, hold you, carry you out of here to wherever he can. Every single time you experienced the pain of losing Ari all over again—every single time he experienced the pain of losing Steve—it hurt like fucking Hell.

“Hades,” you breathed, your voice dripping with hatred for the man or for the situation, Bucky didn't know. “Were they responsible for Bucky’s fall from the train?”

A pause, then a jut of his chin.

“His capture?”

Silence. The same jut.

“His torture? His shit luck? His time lost? Steve leaving him?”

A muscle in Hades’s jaw jumped as he confirmed, “All of it. And when you became mortal, that’s when their fun ended. Because they never intended for you two to be—”

“Hades!” the water sprite exclaimed, shaking her small head. “That is not what we discussed!”

Hades rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched in amusement. Bucky’s breath had stalled while you listed everything the Fates were responsible for.

About him. About his life. The life that was stolen from him. The time that was stolen from him.

Before he could voice it, however, you beat him to it.

“Then point me in the direction of the first Fate bitch.”

Elva is tasked with leading the three of you to your rooms. Three separate rooms, all in the same hallway, on the sixth level of the palace. You don’t trust yourself to complain about it—how the three of you would much rather share a room and not be separated so you could watch each other’s backs each passing second.

You don’t trust yourself to speak at all. If you did, your voice would have demanded these things and more. Demanded to know how to get back to your realm, to know how much time had passed, to be told every single detail about this palace. This prison for however long Hades decided to keep you here. Or at least, until you murdered the Three Fate bitches.

“This is yours,” Elva instructed Sam, not bothering to look behind her. You had half a mind to attack her from behind, to hold her down and rip those answers from her throat, but you refrained. And not because you were above violence, but because Elva didn’t deserve it.

“Does it lock from the inside or the outside?” Sam asked, running an unconcerned finger along the fine wood.

Elva released a noise that sounded like a snort, though her face was absent of humor. “The inside. You are not prisoners.”

“If we go, our realm is thrown into chaos that’s possibly worse than a multiverse intrusion. If we stay, we’re essentially reluctant guests,” Bucky explained. Most of his attention was focused to Elva’s dangling hands, but you could see he was mapping out the hallway’s twists and turns.

The idea that this was your fault ate away at you slowly. With each step to your assigned room, with every breath you took.

Ari had done a selfless, brave thing. You allowed mortality into your bloodstream. Sam took demon claws to the abdomen in order to save you. And this was how you’re repaid?

You returned a demon to Hell. You cured a group of Immortals who simply wanted to have a regular life without the exterior disasters of your passed-down bloodline. You reburied Ari to send his soul to a peaceful afterlife.

And by doing everything right, the Fates are pissed at you for it?

Elva pointed to another room a few doors down from Sam’s. “This is yours, Earthling.”

“I have a name.”

Elva turned around and angled her head slightly. “What would you like to be called?”

No one, not even Sam and Bucky, call you by your real name. On official documents, you’ve opted for a shortened version. Sam has only ever said that shortened version.

Your birth name died with Ari, with your people. Ari was the last person to ever utter it. Even Druig refrains from using it.

So you look Elva in her blood-red eyes, a tic in your jaw. “Earthling is fine.”

She smirked, and angled her head at Sam. “Then that makes you Birdling.”

“Did I say I wanted a nickname?”

Bucky snorted, scratching at his top lip as if that would mask the sound.

Elva smiled at him. Teeth straight and white, but the formation of such a bright smile was intimidating. “I quite like your name. Bucky.”

He involuntarily shivered beside you, and nodded quickly.

Elva turned around and continued down the hallway, pointing at the last door to the right as she announced, “And here’s your room…Buck— ”

“Thank you,” you said promptly, basically dismissing her. Elva does nothing but smile brightly again, obviously faked. With a quick whip around, she left you alone. Her stride was graceful, and with all the confidence of a soldier.

You had seen the chains masked as bracelets. You know Bucky did, too.

Keeping that quiet was bothering you, but it would be smarter to address it another time.

In the quiet, Bucky cleared his throat and suggested, “Should we scope out the rooms as one?”

Together, you swiped the rooms and mapped every anomaly—nicks in the paint, the strength of the mattresses, the sturdiness of the furniture and doors. One thing you all agreed on was that the rooms were grand, furnished for royalty.

Or Gods.

Gothic-themed and luckily clean, the rooms were obviously meant for esteemed guests. Sam pondered if Hades was simply trying to confuse you, to have you feel wanted and protected only to fuck you over tomorrow.

All three rooms were adorned with king-sized beds, blood-red sheets draped over them and bed posts carved with such intricate woodwork, you had to study them closely. On the two against the wall, great dragons looped around the strong wood and burst at the tip, mouths wide in a recorded battle cry. On the two near the end, elegant flames reached their arms to the high ceiling. The walls were painted red and black, Bucky’s differing only slightly with shades of blue and black instead. Rugs that depicted stories about demons, past Hades and Persephone’s, even Gods that had no beef with the Underworld. The rooms were packed with dressers, exquisite dark clothing practically spilling from the drawers and hangers. And the shoes…Even Sam whimpered a little bit.

But in your search, you found nothing amiss. Nothing that screamed bad bad bad besides being trapped here with an ultimatum. As Sam and Bucky complimented their surroundings, you held your breath.

Yes, everything was beautiful. Yes, you could probably sweet talk your way out of here. But the fact remained that half of you, screaming and kicking, wanted revenge.

Revenge that could taint your soul, as loss has frozen your heart.

The other half was entirely with Sam and Bucky, thinking about ways to escape. To gain alternate answers.

The rooms merged into one image in your mind, blurring at the sides and calling your name. Nothing seemed original and glorious anymore.

You had to lie down.

“Okay, so here’s what I think we should do,” Bucky began, instantly falling into Avenger mode. Numbers passing by his vision, plans ABC sprouting as quick as their former. “Gods need to sleep too, right? So we wait until the palace and all its inhabitants go down for the night—”

“There are no windows, dumbass. How will we tell it's night?” Sam deadpanned.

“We’ll assume Hell functions like Earth. If it was night for us, then Hell has got to be—”

Without a word, you slam the door to your assigned room closed, and relish the silence.

Power surged through your veins, but you quickly buried it. The tingling at your fingertips, the tension in your spine—all quieted, like the many times you’ve done it before. The same power that emerged in 1527, the same power in 1864.

Not here. Not again.

You couldn’t risk bringing down this palace with loved ones on the other side of the door. You couldn’t risk it at all.

Sam pursed his lips as he stared at the massive wooden door you had just slammed in his face. Silence spread throughout the dark hallway, lightened only by the shuffling of Bucky’s feet. Donning a stunned expression, Sam watched as Bucky blinked and then turned to him.

Sam motioned him farther down the hall, if only to give you the privacy you wanted. When they entered the room assigned to him, Sam closed the door before he sighed, almost dramatically, “So, what base did you get to before being ripped into Hell?”

Bucky growled, flashing Sam his metal middle finger before flopping face-first onto the surprisingly soft mattress.

“Tell me you at least got to first.”

Bucky grumbled into the sheets, his words unintelligible.

Sam nodded at nothing. He casted bored glances around the room, surveying even the smallest details all over again. It didn’t sit right with him that you were all separated and put onto a nearly abandoned floor. Sure, there were servants cleaning adjacent rooms and mumbling down the halls, but it was vacant nonetheless.

Later, he promised. Later he would venture out into the hallways and gain as much gossip as he could.

“I’ll scout the place later, then—”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky demanded, moving onto his back.

Sam shook his head. “This dinner isn’t going to go smoothly. I can feel it. You stay here afterwards to see if Shortcake is alright.”

Bucky grumbled again, “You are not going alone.”

“She shouldn’t be left alone, Buck. Hades practically blamed all this on her. Guilt is eating at her. You know it.”

Bucky’s face contorted with pure sympathy. “Then we share the guilt. It’s not our fault, but we played a role nonetheless.” Then, Bucky paused, shooting Sam a good-natured glare. “Do not leave your room at night without me or her.”

Sam forced a neutral expression as he lied, “Okay. I won’t.”

If the throne room was grand, then the dining hall was extraordinary. A place for royalty. Fucking Beauty and the Beast ass shit, Sam marveled.

He has eaten in the wondrous fields and dining halls of Wakanda, thinking nothing could possibly top it.

But this.

Sam had to remind himself he was in another realm, and perhaps his eyes saw things as extra. His human eyes.

He was the only human without enhanced abilities here.

He was fully human, and in Hell.

“Glad you three can make it.”

Hades stunned in a black-on-black suit, nonchalant in his chair and already chewing a piece of cured meat. The water sprite sat at the corner near him, delighting in fruit herself. Where the food went, Sam didn’t know. He could vaguely see the food pass through her throat and downwards, but that was it.

Sam looked at the two people beside him. At Bucky, who had changed nothing of his appearance but removing his gloves. And his Shortcake, who had thrown a shimmering black sweater on instead of keeping the old one. With the sweater, your stone face with a heavy frown, Sam would have guessed the Underworld was a second home to you.

“You want us to eat food down here?” you chuckle, humor lacking. “Do you think we’re stupid?”

Hades paused chewing, his smile growing and stretching as he laughed for real. “That stingy little trick was abolished centuries ago. I couldn’t entertain and have that trick hanging over everyone’s heads, could I?”

Sam’s high school knowledge clicked then.

Persephone and the pomegranate. But Sam sees no women besides the golden-haired beauty and the water sprite. No other woman who could pass for Persephone—not the servants, not the short–time visitors he saw sneaking in through the kitchens. No one.

“Swear it on your Immortal life that if we eat your food, we are not trapped here.”

Hades rolled his eyes but promised, “The food is not enchanted. I can even send a messenger to pick-up human food and bring it back.”

So it is possible to realm hop, just as Maxwell described. Where the green-eyed sonofabitch was hiding, Sam couldn’t tell.

Bucky stepped forward, surveying the grand table and every platter before it. Meats, potatoes, soups, vegetables and fruit, desserts. Every plate had its own burner, its own section.

A literal meal for royalty.

Bucky picked up an apple, throwing it in the air as he said, “We won’t help you if we don’t get something in return.”

Hades smirked. “Besides free range of my palace, my training facilities, my expertise, and my food?” Bucky was better at scowls, so Sam let him give Hades his best one. “I see. Right to the point.”

Sam asked, “What do we get out of this?”

“Besides revenge?”

“Something more.”

Hades quieted for a moment. He glanced at Elva, then to the water sprite beside him, who was munching her cured meat happily. “What do you want?”

Sam thought hard about it. To bargain with the Devil…His Christian mother must be turning over in her grave. Or rolling in the river just outside the palace walls. Sam shook the thought from his head.

So he kept it simple, stopping himself from asking for too much, too fast. “I want revenge, of course. But I want to be able to send my family a message that I’m alright.”

Hades hummed. “A letter system—Got it. Anything else?”

“I want to kill the bitch responsible for what I went through,” Bucky declared, then took his first bite of the red apple. You flinched beside him, your hands clenched into fists, as if ready to knock the fruit from his hands. But as Bucky chewed, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. He swallowed, waited a second, like his mind was wired to yours, and bit into it again.

“That would be Clotho, then. That can be arranged.” Hades turned to you, something devilish flashing in his dark blue eyes. “You?”

You paused, your jaw ticking. “Lachesis is the one who measured Ari’s life?”

Hades threw a grape into the air, ignoring the soft but irked pats from the water sprite, no doubt chastising him for being so careless in a conversation like this. Hades caught the grape in his mouth. “She is the one.”

“The one who measured my life?”

“The very one.”

Sam marked the way you huffed and finally pulled out a seat, four seats away from the God of the Dead himself. “Then I will kill her if you give me my choice back.”

“A cure for magical infertility,” Hades pondered, even if it wasn’t a question. Sam speculated the ways the God could have possibly known that, but that was just it—the God. “You have free use of my library. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“That simple?”

Hades gave a tilt of the head. “Did you expect a fight?”

“The God of the Underworld kidnaps us and there isn’t one? Seems a little suspicious to me,” Bucky snorted, reaching over to fill his plate. All the while being heavily scrutinized by the golden warrior studying him. Or…maybe what shone in Elva’s eyes was restrained amusement.

Bucky placed his plate down gently on the placemat made entirely from what looked like real gold, and took the seat beside you. Then pushed his plate gently between the two of you, offering to share.

Hades grunted, lifting his wine glass to his lips. “Those crones have pissed me off for centuries.”

Sam, the last one to relent and sit at the grand table, suggested,“Why not kill them yourself?”

Another eye roll from the great God. “I cannot kill my own Fates. And anyone cursed by them cannot kill them either.”

Sam turned his head in time to see Elva sneer and look down at her feet. It bothered him greatly that she was not given a plate, let alone a seat. Just left standing, her hand on the hilt of her silver sword, watching.

“Is Shortcake not cursed?” Sam asked.

Hades shook his head. “Her grandmother cursed her. The Fates simply found it reasonable and let it slide.”

“My grandmother. The Elementalist who could summon the dead. How does that make sense—her making me live.”

Shrugging, Hades took a long sip from his glass. “Immortality brought about a lot of death for you, didn’t it?”

Bucky grimaced, lifting his own wine glass. Sam was thankful as he changed the subject. “Where’s crone number one?”

“Clotho is our spinner. She spins the thread of human fate, and decides where you go from there. I’d say she’s hiding out on the icy plains of Cocytus.”

“There’s ice in Hell?” Sam asked. He risked taking a bite of the bread, noticing how you still hadn’t eaten a single thing.

Hades narrowed his eyes in response. “And trees, if you’re curious.”

To that, you lifted your head to him. “Where?”

Hades grinned, knowing he struck the correct cord. “My gardens are also free range.”

For a long minute, no one spoke. The water sprite chewed her food happily, smiling up at Hades as he smiled down at her. Sam watched every exchange—when Bucky buttered a piece of bread and handed it to you, mumbling that if he was destined to be stuck down here why not get you trapped here as well, which earned him a soft chuckle.

Sam also noticed the golden warrior studying him, her own grand posture causing him to straighten.

“I did not mean to trap you three in my world,” Hades muttered. “But I saw how you handled the demon. How you dealt with Maxwell, that insufferable idiot. Even Wenrel here was mad at him, and she’s never mad at him.”

At that, the water sprite hid her small face in her transparent hands.

“I am at a loss. The only Gods who will aid me in this are Hermes and Hecate. But they are Gods, their power only stretching so far when it comes to the Fates.”

“These literal Gods aren’t fighters?” you deadpanned.

Hades shook his head. “You don’t have to be a fighter to be a God and you don’t have to be a God to be a fighter.”

“We barely held down a demon,” Sam explained. “You expect us to hold the Moirai?”

“I think you three expect so little of what you can actually do.”

“Do not speak like the Crones, Hades,” Elva ordered. Sam braced himself for the God’s reprimand, for his hand to swing backward and strike her—anything that gave Sam a reason to leap over this table and twist his neck. But Hades did nothing of the sort. He regarded the warrior with a gentle smirk and a wave of his hand. A friendly wave, one contradicting the chains around her wrists and the seriousness of her face.

“Elva will also offer her sword. And teach you three how to wield your own.”

“So a bullet won’t do?” Bucky joked, swishing his wine around.

“Mortal instruments are not key here, Soldier. As with demons, we kill our own with our own,” Elva clarified.

No nickname for Bucky, my ass.

“And you’ll have the aid of Maxwell, Wenrel, and myself. Don’t you worry.” Hades mocked a bow the best he could sitting down.

This was all too crazy. Sam remembers the stories Steve shared that one week of calm after bringing everyone back—of how he visited space, another planet. Sam had joked that Steve had finally seen the whole world. That nothing could possibly live up to the bright colors of space jumping.

But here Sam was, trapped yet welcomed in the realm of middle school curiosity. Of mythology kids picked up for a few months, reveled in, then moved on from. In a realm of fantasy, even if his life proved anything but.

Thor is a Norse God. Loki, too. Sam shouldn’t be surprised he’s had a run-in with yet another God. Except this one needs his help.

Sam isn’t big on ego, but this is boosting his a Hell of a lot. Pun intended.

“For now,” Hades stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “Get some rest. You wake early tomorrow.”

A knock on the door stirred you from your thoughts. You’ve been seated on the red velvet chair, looking at yourself in the mirror for however long it took to make your back strain. In Tenochtitlan, you had your own in your sitting room. One where your maids brushed your hair and adorned you with jewels. Then another during your limited stay at Versailles, but the glass wasn’t as impressive. The jewels were, however. This one, with its fine metal work and reflection dusted in glitter, outranked them all.

Brushing through your hair, you cleared your throat. “Come in.”

Bucky entered, smiling shyly. He came to sit beside you, his scooting narrowly throwing you off the chair itself until he gripped your hips and placed you on his lap. You were nearer his knee, but the sensation was all the same. With a small gasp, you met his eyes in the mirror. Eyes that glimmered with the knowledge of what emotions he just caused.

Stealing one silk hair-tie from the beautiful, onyx bowl beside all the perfumes, Bucky moved to tie his hair back. A tight bun, but one that failed to catch the tendrils of hair in the front from falling forward and framing his face.

“I don’t know how to start apologizing,” you began, but Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Then don’t.”

You sighed, “This is all kinds of fucked up.”

“Are you worried he’s lying?”

You shrugged, sighing again when Bucky’s hands came up to run smoothly over your shoulders and back down. Over and over. “He mentioned other Gods. And yet, the myths aren’t real.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked, his eyebrows scrunching.

“Where the fuck is Persephone? If Hermes and Hecate are real, if the myth of the pomegranate is real, then where is she?”

Bucky grumbled, “Don’t even, for one second, think that you are Persephone.”

“My power involves life.”

“Yeah, and your literal soulmate was a human. If your fate was to be the Goddess of Spring, why did the Fates fuck with you at all?”

Bucky made a valid point. You know you’re an Elementalist—a being able to control one or many natural elements in the world, even those not classified as such. You know you’re a Mutant—a being born with a genetic mutation that was the sole reason for such power, hunted by demons themselves. You know you’re Mother Nature—yet another myth who’s sole purpose was to shape the Earth.

But Hades did call you a God. And Thor did compare you to other Gods who wielded similar power. Being the Goddess of Spring would be the cherry on top—but you’ve never quite liked cherries.

“I can’t produce offspring so we know I’m not Demeter, either.”

Bucky shuddered, and your laugh vibrated from your back into his chest. “Don’t—” Bucky laughed. “Don’t even suggest that.”

Your laugh only grew. You turned your face to him, your lips only centimeters apart. “What if I’m just not a Greek God?”

Bucky glanced down at the small space, his breath hitching the slightest bit. “That would make sense. You’re not Greek.”

Slowly, you nodded. You looked down at Bucky’s lips as well. Such perfect, pink miracles.

Six months. You’ve deprived yourself of Bucky’s taste for six months. For good reason, for a healthy and valid reason, but still. Now those sugar-spun lips were parting, and his hot breath mingled with yours, and your room wasn’t even that close to Sam’s—

A splash of water sounded from the door, slapping against the floor rapidly.

“Oh! Almost there, almost there—and!—Whoo!”

Wenrel, the water sprite, had shimmied her way underneath the crack of the door. Both you and Bucky turned, wide-eyed and confused.

Wenrel stood, all six inches of her, and placed her hands on her hips. Her glittering dress moved in the same direction as her hair, floating and curling. “The handsome one was not in his room so I decided to check in here.”

Bucky blushed, his lips twitching with the threat of a smile. “Uh, yeah. I’m in here.”

Wenrel skipped and shortened the distance between you, hopping onto a nearby chair, then leaped and pulled herself onto the dresser. There she sat on the overturned brush you were just using, crossing her legs as she leaned back on her hands, and smiled.

“I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about the handsome one.”

Your grin widened. “Sam?”

“Ouch?” Bucky feigned offense.

Wenrel giggled. “Sam…the handsome one! You are the gorgeous one, Soldier.”

Bucky smiled truly now. “That’s better.”

“Wait,” you paused, blinking. “Sam isn’t in his room?”

Wenrel shook her head, and as she did small droplets of water sprung free and evaporated mid-air. “He went exploring, it seems.”

Bucky scoffed, already moving you off his lap so he could stand. “Mr. ‘I’m afraid of ghosts’, went exploring?”

“Probably for entrances and exits,” Wenrel divulged, her tone similar to those telling ghost stories. She giggled again as she witnessed Bucky puffing his chest. You blinked down at her, cocking an eyebrow. She giggled at you, too.

“Only entrance and exit he’s about to know is my foot entering his ass and exiting his mouth.”

With that, Bucky unhooked the gun from the back of his belt and removed the safety. You didn’t even know he had it on him.

“C’mon, Goddess,” Bucky urged, throwing open the bedroom door. The nickname wasn’t out of spite or jokes. Bucky said it like he had all the others—with the absolute intention of making your knees weak. Wenrel hopped onto your shoulder and made herself at home.

“We’ve got birdling to catch.”

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#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x poc!reader #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #dreaming in june sequel #hunting the fates series #hunting the fates #sam wilson x original female character #captainsimagines #by Moni

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