Summary: You and Bucky Barnes have been friends for years. You are deeply, completely, in love with the super soldier, but he sees you as nothing more than a little sister. What happens when Bucky starts to date in earnest?
The question is a simple one in theory, and it’s also one to which Sherlock has given quite a lot of thought in the past, most notably when he was in his depressed moods and wanted to torture himself with the more wonderful images of John that he had stored up in his Mind Palace. It’s no longer torture to remember those times, to picture those small smiles and shared giggles that were so frequent early on in their acquaintance, but there is still a dull ache that resonates within him at the thought they had wasted so much time.
He flicks through his favorite memories now, a quick perusal before settling on one that seems so very inconsequential but that he has never been able to shake away. John is watching him, that same impossibly soft look in his eyes, a look that Sherlock still can’t believe is directed towards him.
Sherlock pulls his bottom lip between his teeth briefly and then takes a deep breath, settling his hands on the arms of his chair again. “The first time I knew was the day we met with Sebastian.”
John frowns. “Sebastian?”
“Sebastian Wilkes from the bank, you remember.”
John’s eyes light up. “Oh, the Blink Banker case!”
Sherlock rolls his eyes and is on the verge of making a comment about how John really needs to work on his titles, but John’s expression suddenly shifts, the light in his eyes fading and his lips turning downward.
“That long ago?” he asks, and there’s something so unexpectedly sad in his voice, a quiet note that squeezes Sherlock’s heart.
He clears his throat. “Well. Yes. I was–it was quite early on in our…friendship that I realized I was…”
Falling in love with you. The words won’t form even though he’s thought them so many times that it’s become an integral part of who he is. But neither of them have said it out loud yet, a fact which hadn’t really seemed important until this moment.
There hadn’t been any dramatic declarations, no emotional outbursts. It had been simple, in the end; John had come home with the shopping, heavy bags hanging from each hand, and Sherlock had turned from his place by the window (where he’d been watching as John trudged down the street, head bent against the cold). And John had met his eyes and given him that smile, the one he frequently used to hide behind when he was feeling more emotionally tired than usual, and Sherlock had decided right then and there. In three strides he was across the room, and it turned out that deciding to kiss John Watson had been the simplest thing he’d ever done.
He remembers the way John’s mouth, so cold from the biting chill outside, had warmed beneath his lips, his tongue; the way John’s shock had melted almost immediately, fading into heartfelt reciprocation as the groceries spilled to the floor at their feet and his hands, free of their burden, slid into Sherlock’s hair. From there, the bedroom was only a few stumbling steps away, and neither of them had looked back since.
Saying the words simply hadn’t seemed necessary after everything they had told each other with their bodies. All of the longing and frustration and emotion had come pouring out of them in such a physical shape that they had never stopped to really define it with words. Or perhaps, Sherlock thinks now, they had both been too afraid to give them voice.
John’s hand touches his own where it’s curled on the armrest, and Sherlock is startled out of his memories. He realizes he must have been silent for some time because John has moved, is now perched on the very edge of his seat, his knees nearly knocking against Sherlock’s.
“There you are,” he says, smiling softly, his head tilting as he searches Sherlock’s face for clues as to where his mind might have taken him.
Sherlock lets out a breath and flips his hand over, catching John’s fingers in his own. “I’m sorry, I was…distracted.”
“You all right?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Where was I?”
John rests his elbows on his knees but keeps hold of Sherlock’s hand, folding it in between both of his own. “The day we went to see Sebastian.”
“Right. Yes. It was before that, though, before the case began.”
John’s thumb rubs a warm, smooth line back and forth across Sherlock’s palm, and it makes him want to close his eyes and just exist in this moment, a feeling he can’t ever remember having had before he’d let John Watson touch him.
“I don’t remember,” John says, sounding apologetic, which is ridiculous. Sherlock supposes he must think they’re talking about some significant moment in their lives, something that should stand out.
He shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t. It was…you had just come back to the flat. You’d gone out to get the shopping.”
John’s confusion seems to increase, and he opens his mouth, but Sherlock goes on before he can say anything.
“You were in a bit of a state,” he says, and he can’t help the fondness that colors his tone. “Apparently the chip-and-pin machine had been giving you some trouble.”
Realization dawns slowly across the lines of John’s face, first in the widening of his eyes and then in the shaping of his lips into a small “oh.”
“You…that was when you knew?” he asks, and he sounds so disbelieving that Sherlock laughs.
“That was when I began to know, yes.”
John shakes his head slowly, seemingly bewildered. “But…why? I was such a grumpy arse that day–”
“It was cute,” Sherlock says before he can stop himself.
John’s eyebrows rise so high on his forehead that Sherlock almost can’t see them beneath his fringe, which is quite a feat considering the length of John’s hair. Sherlock’s cheeks flood with heat, and when John opens his mouth, presumably to give him the teasing of a lifetime, he glares as fiercely as he can.
“Not. A. Word,” he says through his teeth.
John’s mouth shuts with an audible click, but his eyes are wide, and he pulls his lips between his teeth in a clear effort to restrain his laughter. Sherlock continues to glare at him, but it doesn’t seem to be having any effect whatsoever, and only a few seconds pass before John can no longer contain himself. He breaks down into uncontrollable giggles, leaning forward to press his forehead to the back of Sherlock’s hand, which he still has a hold on.
Sherlock sighs and falls back against his chair in a dramatic fashion. “Oh, go on then.”
John shakes his head, still bent double. “Cute,” he gasps through his laughter. “I didn’t even know you knew that word!”
Sherlock rolls his eyes, but John’s giddiness is infectious, and, try as he might, he can’t quite keep his own face straight. “Well, you should’ve been recording it because I’m never saying it again,” he says, but the sour effect he’s going for is lost in the twist of his lips.
John straightens up, tugging at Sherlock’s hand insistently. “Oh, god, c’mere,” he says. His eyes are damp, and his smile is so huge he can hardly kiss properly, but Sherlock really doesn’t mind, not when John is climbing clumsily into his lap, his hands warm on either side of his face, tilting it back to get better access to his mouth.
“I can’t believe you think I’m cute,” John whispers, and Sherlock pinches his side in retaliation. John’s answering laugh bubbles up against Sherlock’s mouth, and Sherlock’s hand curls around the back of his skull, holding him there. John’s lips turn soft and pliant, his smile fading with a soft noise as Sherlock’s tongue slicks into his mouth.
He’s lost in it almost instantly, in the press of John’s body, the heat of his hands through the thin fabric of Sherlock’s shirt, the feeling of John’s hair between his fingers. His mind goes quiet except for the thought of more, and his hips push up, seeking blindly, wanting–
“Mm, wait,” John murmurs, and his hands curl around Sherlock’s shoulders, stilling him. “Not yet.”
“Hmm?” His brain is too weighted with lust to say anything more coherent, a fact that would have horrified him only a week ago, before he knew what it felt like to have John Watson in his arms.
John pulls away slightly, sitting back against Sherlock’s thighs. Sherlock attempts to follow, but John catches his chin in one hand, his thumb sliding across his lower lip, causing tingles to erupt down Sherlock’s spine.
“We had a deal, remember?” John says. His eyes remain fixed on Sherlock’s mouth for another moment before he lifts them to meet Sherlock’s hooded gaze. “You tell me yours, and I tell you mine.” He smiles. “My turn.”
OKAY so that ended up being longer and a bit…more than I meant for it to, but there you have it. I’d like to go ahead and say that this was rather inspired by @thespiritualmultinerd‘s comment on this post here. After reading that I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so you have them to thank for this. :D
I guess there will now be a part three because I can never seem to do anything easily lmao. Thanks for reading, friends, I hope it was worth the little wait. <3 Just tags below the cut. I apologize if I left anyone out. <3
Continuation of this Mafia Au. Trigger warnings for guns and violence
There was silence for several seconds as they both looked at
each other, guns raised and muscles tense. Viktor could see the hard light in
Yuuri’s eyes, the conviction to act but he was the one who moved first. Not
diving out of the way like he knew Yuuri expected him to but forward, forcing
the two of them together. The brief surprise that flitted across Yuuri’s face
and the fractional hesitation at the unexpected movement was enough. Viktor’s hand
shot out and grabbed onto Yuuri’s wrist, twisting and forcing the gun from his
Yuuri cried out in pain and twisted away, slamming his heel
into Viktor’s leg and causing it to buckle, sending them both tumbling to the
floor. Yuuri’s gun skittered away but Viktor kept his fingers
locked tightly around his own, knowing that it was his one and only lifeline. Yuuri was absolutely deadly and they were almost completely evenly matched. Viktor needed every advantage he had if he wanted to make it out alive.
Yuuri’s body weight slammed into his own, pinning him down
and Viktor didn’t even have time to move before a fist connected with his face,
sending his head reeling. Yuuri’s used Viktor’s momentary distraction to grab for
his gun, fingers locking around Viktor’s own and pulling with all his strength,
forcing them apart.
Despite the adrenaline pounding through his veins and the
seriousness of the situation, Viktor couldn’t help the bittersweet memories that flooded
through him at the familiarity of the move. Wrestling together playfully on the
sofa, Viktor holding something just out of Yuuri’s reach as Yuuri laughed
and reached for it, pushing Viktor’s face away and trying to playfully pry his
fingers apart for the prize. Now it was a matter of life or death and inside,
Viktor mourned the loss of what was and what could have been.
Back then, when the fighting had been playful and not deadly, Yuuri had made a mistake. Leaving his side exposed as he focused on his goal, allowing Viktor
to swoop in and tickle him until he was writhing and begging for mercy. Now, when the stakes were at their highest, Yuuri
had done the same again and Viktor knew he had to be far less forgiving.
sharp blow to Yuuri’s exposed side had him gasping and gave Viktor just enough
freedom to flip them over, bringing the gun around in a vicious strike to the
side of Yuuri’s head before the other man had time to react.
Yuuri cried out at the impact and Viktor flinched at the noise. The blow
had left Yuuri’s eyes dazed and unfocused and Viktor hesitated for a fraction
of a second, unable to prevent the sick feeling rising within him at the sight
of Yuuri injured.
The single moment of weakness was enough. Yuuri’s knee
rammed up into his stomach and Viktor doubled over, gasping. His grip on his
gun loosened and before he had time to think it was skidding away across the
floor as Yuuri forced it from his hand.
They both dived at the same time but while Yuuri’s hand
reached out for the gun, Viktor’s reached for Yuuri’s throat, dragging him
backwards until Yuuri was pressed against his chest in a mockery of a lover’s
embrace, Viktor’s arm tightening across his windpipe and slowly choking the air
from his lungs.
Yuuri writhed against the grip, kicking and twisting with
all his strength but Viktor was unrelenting. Slowly, his struggles grew weaker
and Viktor tried to force himself not to look down, to pretend it was another
nameless, faceless target growing weaker in his grip and not Yuuri. Yuuri to
whom he had given his heart. Yuuri who he had wanted to spend the rest of his
life with, until the cruelty of the world and their circumstances pulled them
apart. Yuuri was trying to kill him. He had to put his own life first.
He couldn’t. Sentiment forced him to glance down and Yuuri’s
eyes held his gaze, the same eyes he had stared into for so many nights and that had
haunted his dreams for years. They were filled with tears as Yuuri gasped for
air and Viktor felt his grip loosen instinctively, the overwhelming urge to
protect overriding everything else.
Yuuri’s struggling had been growing steadily weaker but at
the feeling of Viktor’s chokehold on him loosening, it renewed at full force as he wrenched himself from Viktor’s grip and gasped for air as he dived for the
gun again. This time, Viktor was far too slow to stop him and he barely had
time to move before Yuuri was on him again, pinning him to the ground with the
barrel of the gun pressed to the centre of Viktor’s forehead.
There was silence for a few seconds as both of them froze,
Yuuri’s finger curled around the trigger and Viktor hardly daring to breathe.
The cold of the metal on his skin seemed to seep into his bones but strangely,
he didn’t feel any fear. Instead, there was a strange sort of acceptance. People in his line of work rarely lived long anyway. There
were worse ways to die, he thought, than by Yuuri’s hand.
The silence dragged on, Yuuri’s finger still on the trigger
but making no move to shoot. Viktor could see the breath heaving in his chest,
the scarlet trickle of blood sliding down his temple from where Viktor’s gun
had collided with his head. Yuuri’s eyes were focused, determined, but he still
remained frozen, unmoving as he stared at Viktor beneath him.
“You’re the one who wanted to end this,” Viktor prompted,
trying to keep his voice as steady as he could. “So end it.”
“I will,” Yuuri said through gritted teeth, although his
finger on the trigger still didn’t move. “I have to.”
There were still tears in Yuuri’s eyes and they began to
spill over, sliding down his cheeks and Viktor guessed they weren’t just remnants
of the his near strangulation from seconds before. Yuuri’s grip on the gun was steady but
Viktor could see the hesitance in his eyes, the war Yuuri was waging with
himself. The same war that had caused Viktor to loosen his grip on Yuuri’s neck and put himself in
this position in the first place.
Yuuri’s finger twitched on the trigger but he still didn’t
“Why is this so hard?” he gritted out as Viktor stayed
silence beneath him, watching the indecision growing in Yuuri’s eyes. “Why did
you have to make this so hard? Why did you have to be different? Why did you
have to make me fall in love with you?”
Yuuri’s voice was pleading, desperate and more vulnerable
than Viktor had ever heard it before. Viktor reached up, ignoring the gun still
pressed to his head as he cupped Yuuri’s cheek in his hand, wiping away the
tears falling there.
“I told you we could have been happy,” he murmured, watching
as Yuuri tilted his face into the touch but still refused to let go of the gun.
It was a cruel fate of theirs, to have been forced to end up this way. “We
still could be.”
They stared at each other, Yuuri’s hand still wrapped around
the gun and Viktor’s cupping his face.
BTS reaction to you cutting your finger while cooking for them
Jin: He’d already be right by your side as he helped you chop the vegetables for the stir fry you were cooking for the boys. When the knife fell from your hand and you doubled over with a gasp he’d look at you for a second before realizing you had cut yourself. He’d quickly take your hand and run it under the warm water to see the severity of it and then help you get things to clean and dress your wound.
You cussed loudly and threw the knife to the counter. Hearing your yell Yoongi would emerge from the living room to see you sucking on your knuckle and shaking your hand as the pain started to subside. “Ah, Jagiya you have to be more careful. Let me help.” He’d say shaking his head.
Namjoon would take a second to get to you and wouldn’t fully realize what was happening till you pulled your hand away from your palm to turn on the sink. When he saw the blood he’d take over and clean and dress your hand, making sure you didn’t need stitches. “If it was me cutting I would have lost a finger. I’m glad you’re okay.” He’d say before pressing his lips to your forehead.
Hobi loved sitting with you while you cooked so when a cuss came from your lips he’d look at you and cuss himself as he reached for your hand so he could apply pressure. He’d insisted you went to the doctors and he’d hold your hand while they gave you stitches. On the way home he’d pull into your favorite restaurant to pick up the food he’d ordered and he’d spend the rest of the night making sure you were okay and not hurting.
He would run into the kitchen with wide eyes and an extremely worried look on his face. He’d relax when he noticed it was only a small cut and laugh off his reaction. “Feels so good to know you’d come to my rescue.” Youd saw rewarding him with a gentle kiss. He would blush and then hover by you as you finished cooking.
Like Jimin I feel that Tae would over react a little. I feel like he’d also be a bit squeamish when it came to blood and wound pace around you trying to help by handing you things. You’d laugh at how unsteady he was acting and when you were done he’d wrap you in an over dramatic hug and make you laugh as he faked cried and told you everything was going to be just fine.
He would be laying on the couch playing video games when he heard the knife hit the floor and your sharp cuss. He’d call to you putting the controller down and standing up slowly. “You bleeding?” He’d call rubbing the back of his neck and walking to where you stood trying to hide the fact you were bleeding every where. Seeing this issues would widen and he’d grab you a bunch of paper towels to help sop up the blood and cart you into the car where he’d drive a little dangerously to get you to the hospital.
The idea of mad! Flug came from that beauty! Try checking out their blog before reading! :D
“Flug!!” Snarled the annoyed voice.
The anxious scientist made his way towards his boss, tripping on his feet along the way.
“S-sorry sir! W-what is-” Dr. Flug pauses midsentence to gasp. There in Black Hat’s arms was a knocked out super hero. A wide grin stretches across the scientist’s hidden face.
“We’ve brought in another one. 5.0.5 managed to grab him after destroying half the city. The hero knocked right out after he was used as a chew toy.” Sneered Black Hat. The demon dropped the hero to Dr. Flug’s feet.
“Do… Whatever you do with those heroes. I’m surprised you manage to keep them quiet wherever you put them.” Muttered Black Hat, walking off. As soon as he laid his eyes on the unconscious hero, a million thoughts ran through his head on what he’d do. Flug immediately began dragging the body away. Dragging the body was easy for him, picking it or lifting it up long distances was another. He could only pick them up short distances. Enough to make it from the lab to a trash can out back that later burned trash periodically. I mean, what else was he gonna do with corpses? Leave them to rot and stink? He was evil, but he was not trashy, no. Flug dragged the body into the lab, and behind his desk. He glanced around, making sure he wasn’t followed. As soon as he saw the coast was clear he opened a small patch on the floor, tossing the body down, before climbing down himself. The room was dark, dimly lit by a light in the middle of the room, which shined above a glass dome over a large pit. Where Flug kept heroes to rot. He tossed the hero he had been given into the pit from a small opening in the dome before sealing it shut as he always did. He studied the hero, mumbling noted out loud.
“Hero appears to be.. Cumulus. Abilities include controlling the amount of water in the air along with weather to a small extent.” He searches around the table he had beside the pit, finding a needle beside a multitude of blood samples from different heroes from the past. He tied a small cord around his body before hopping down into the pit holding a remote and a small needle. He gets on his knees beside the sleeping hero, poking her skin with the small sharp object. As he did this, the hero squirmed with discomfort.
“Hey! Hey. Hey, sshh. It’s all fine. Doc just needs a bit of blood is all. Then we can poke you and cut you and potentially zap you until you make your way to the little gates down below!” Dr. Flug giggled softly. His voice wad smooth as silk and clear as day a polar opposite to him outside the room. He pulls the needle away, with a considerable amount of blood in the needle, the blood a grayish hue. He sighs, getting up. “Too bad too. You were such a cool hero.” Dr. Flug sighs.
As he begins walking back, the hero shoots up with loud gasp, snapping her neck towards the villain.
“you.” She spat. “Where am I!?” She raises her hand, shards of ice forming in the air at rapid speed as Flug presses a button on the remote. As the shards fly towards him, the rope around his waist pulls him swiftly out of the pit, missing the shards just barely! He slams the pit’s opening shut and giggled frantically.
“Hahaha! You almost got me there you little hero, you!!” Dr. Flug cackles. The hero stands up. “where am I!? Let me go you bastard!!” She snarls. Dr. Flug ignored her, setting the blood sample inside a vial labeled the hero’s name, setting it right along side others.
“interesting note to add! Not only can you affect the water levels in the air, you can also change temperature as well! You’re blood could make a great freeze ray!! Ohh, how exciting!” He grins.
“Let. Me. OUT!!” Roared Cumulus, shooting a multitude of ice shards at the ice. The loud thud of the ice’s impact against the seal made Flug jump with surprise. “it’s no use doll!! Impenetrable!” Sang Dr. Flug. Cumulus snarls. “So- so what!? You gonna test me? You gonna torture me? Brain wash me? Control me!?” The hero growls out. Flug taps his chin. “you know. Giving the villain, the person with the upper hand, options is not a good move. However! I will happily accept torture!!” Cheered Flug. He presses a button on the table and arms flung out the side of the pit, grabbing the hero’s arms and legs. Flug hops down yet again with the remote, walking up to the hero who’s now unable to move. She squirms and tugs at the arms trying to break free, alas it was no use. Dr. Flug walks up to her, reaching his hand out. The girl immediately flinched making Flug laugh. He lightly grabs her chin, looking closely at her face. The girl shakes her head, snapping forward to bite his fingers. “You won’t get shit out of me.” She spat. Dr. Flug chuckles slowly, his laugh chilling and dark, unlike his normal self. “Oh sweetie. What do you think I’m torturing you for? Go on. Guess.” He eggs her on.
“Info? Weaknesses? Any villain would be stupid not to want that.” She scoffs. “Not necessarily now! A smart villain tortures for info because he lacks it without others to give him the info. A GOOD villain tortures for fun because he already has all the info he needs.” Dr. Flug grins.
“What? So you’re torturing me without reason? How stupid!” Cumulus cackles.
“See now you’re learning! Evading me from my true goals! Good! Good! But you know, the thing is. When you have a reason, once that reason is reached, you no longer have a reason to hurt! Its a stopping point for pain. A way out for heroes,”
He grips her chin rougher than before, making her unable to shake him off, “See, I don’t want that way out for you. You’re trapped here. No matter. What. You. Do!” Dr. Flug spins himself, harshly kicking her dead in the face making Cumulus let out a choked roar in pain. Flug spins back around to face her, punching her on the opposite side of her face, knocking out a tooth. She spits blood onto the doctor. “Fuck. You.” She pants. “Aww! No thanks.” He hissed, running back and kicking her in the stomach. She yells scratchily, doubling over in pain, gasping for air as she hack up blood. Her body falls weak. She’d have fallen on all fours had if not been for the arms holding her in place. Flug punched her face upward, staring her dead in the eye.
“Go on now. Do something about this. Drown me, freeze me, stab me with a weak little shard!” Dr. Flug teased.
She growls and Dr. Flug bounced out of the way and as he looks away the hero lets out a scream as he hears the sound of sharpness puncturing flesh. He spins around on his heel seeing she had accidentally stabbed her self in the stomach with her own ice shard. “Ohh! That works EVERY time! You heroes are SO gullible!” Dr. Flug smiles. She feels blood dripping from the ice. “S-so you gonna k-kill me huh?” Cumulus coughed. “Damn. Here I though I’d die by a successful villain.” She chuckles weakly. “Oh but honey. I am a successful villain. The disappearance of Unit, Mr Frost, Jubilee, oh what’s his name uhh, Storm clock? Yeah that’s it.” Dr. Flug lists. “Pfft. Idiot. Everyone knows it was Black Hat who killed them.” Cumulus scoffs. Dr. Flug stiffens, before walking closer. He put his hand on the ice shard, pushing it inward making her scream. “He. Did. NOT. A good villain does not boast. A good villain. Does not get caught. A good villain. Is not. That fucking. DEMON!!” Dr. Flug roars. He clicks another button on his remote, tossing it in the air. The metal shifts and reforms and by the time it hits Dr. Flug’s palm, it’s already a destabilizer ray.
“Black Hat. Is no. Villain. He is just a cocky. Arrogant. Self absorbed. Fuck.” Flug growls past gritted teeth. Cumulus grins. “Damn. You must really hate him.” She sighs. “Yeah well he pays the money and brings in the heroes like you I get to play with.” Flug sighs, twiddling with the ray in his hand. “So. What are you gonna-” “God damn it. All this Black Hat talk has ruined the mood. You’re not fun anymore.” He pouts. He repositions his body, shooting the hero straight in the head, blood splattering across Dr. Flug’s bag and the ground. He sighs, as the arms around the girl let go and retract into the walls letting the hero’s body fall limp on the floor with a loud thud. Flug shakes his head. “These new toys get worse and worse.” Flug sighs. He digs out a key from his pockets, unlocking a hatch on the wall before dumping the hero’s dead body into the chute to slide out into the garbage. He switched his ray back into the remote, pulling himself out the pit without a care. He showed no pity, no remorse. Like a good villain. He switched out his clothes and bag for a cleaner pair before turning to head back up. As he turns, he stops dead in his tracks, staring at a wide-eyed, trembling, whimpering Dementia. Flug sighs. “How much did you see you little cretin?” He snarls. Dementia’s voice was barely above a whisper. “a-all..” She whispers. Dr. Flug shakes his head, walking up to Dementia. He switches his remote to the ray, the device making an intimidating hum as he slowly held it up under Dementia’s chin, raising her head up making her whimper with fear. “You do not speak. Of what you saw in this room. Black Hat does not know and he never will. Understood.” Dr. Flug growls. “Y-yes.” She whispers. Dr. Flug puts away the ray, patting her head. “Good pet.” He says calmly. As he walks to leave Dementia halts him. “W-wait! I-I just have one question.” She stutters out. Dr. Flug turns around, tilting his head. “why don’t you ever act like this in front of the rest? Wouldn’t black hat.. Y'know. Like it?” She asks. Flug shakes his head.
“If a person has a double life, it is to protect the people in the primary life. People have faces. Different ways to act under different situations. No one is sane when no one is looking, Dementia. Besides. Don’t you think if I acted this way for you all, I would have shot that demon in the head by now?” Dr. Flug replies. “Come now. You have your jobs and I have mine.” He smiles. They get out of the room, and Flug shuts the door against the floor. As soon they get out, they hear black hat aggressively calling out for Flug.
“FLUG!! WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU!??” he screeches. Flug sighs, looking over at the scarred girl beside him.
“remember. No telling~.” He winks. He takes a deep breathe before running for the door. “C-coming boss! O-oh gosh!!” He calls out, flustered.
Summary: You are the sister of Charles Xavier. You are part of the Avengers and dating Bucky Barnes. Unbeknownst to you Bucky is having an affair with Natasha. When you catch them in the act, things go downhill from there. You are a Mutant with similar powers to Jean, only with Immortality thrown in.
Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Bucky X Natasha, Logan Howlett X Reader
Warnings: Angst, Violence, Cheating, Feelings of worthlessness, Depression.
Roaming the halls in search of Steve and the rest of the team, you sense her before you see her.
“Come out, Natalia,” you sneer.
She materializes out of a dark corner, her trademark smirk on her face. “(Y/N),” she greets.
“What do you want?” you demand.
“I want him,” she answers simply. “You are in the way.”
You groan inwardly. How could a woman who was touted as the world’s greatest spy be so damn dense?
“You are clearly unstable, (Y/N).I won’t let you destroy him,” she emphasizes the last part as she lunges at you.
Sighing, you stop her mid attack with nothing more than the flick of your wrist. “Honestly, I am so fucking done with the lot of you,” you say tiredly, rubbing at your eyes as she flails around in mid air. “If you want him so bad, go get him.”
Logan’s voice rumbles behind you, sending you jumping nearly a foot in the air. Whirling around, a protesting Natasha forgotten momentarily you yell, “Jesus!” while clutching at your chest. “Why is everyone sneaking up on me today?”
Logan chuckles wryly. “What’s up with the floating broad?”
You snicker softly. “She thought she could attack me. I decided to prove her wrong.”
He sighs out your name. “Put her down,” he orders, grabbing you by the waist, and pulling you to his chest. “I have a better idea for how you could use your powers, and they don’t include no dumbass redhead,” he growls into your ear, lowering his voice to whisper incredibly naughty suggestions.
Giggling softly, surprised by his action, you set Natasha down on the floor. Turning toward her, you smile a full baring of teeth. “Come at me again and I will smack seven kinds of snot out of you. If he wants to be with you, he will tell you. Trying to get rid of me is not going to help your case.” You walk away hand in hand with Logan, leaving a terrified Natasha to contemplate your parting words.
“You alrigh?” Logan asks as he leads you toward the common room.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just want to go home. I should never have come back here,” you answer truthfully.
He nods. Taking a deep breath he says, “Hey, I really wanted to talk to ya about-”
He’s cut off mid sentence as alarms start to blare in the compound. F.R.I.D.A.Y informs you that you that the compound is under attack.
“We have to find the others!” you yell over the screaming sirens. Pulling Logan along the hallway, you try to detect any kind of foreign minds.
Rounding the corner, you run into a stray Hydra agent. Reflexively aiming a punch at his throat, he doubles over gasping for air. You follow it up with a knee to the solar plexus while simultaneously bringing your elbow down onto the crown of his head. He crumples to the floor. You have no idea if he’s dead or not.
Logan grunts his approval, claws out. The Wolverine taking over, he takes a defensive stance as approaching footsteps catch you attention. You form a ball of power, ready to hurl it at the person who’s unlucky enough to round the corner. When that person just happens to be Bucky, you sigh in relief as he scans you both.
“We good?” he calls
“All good,” Logan replies as the three of you hurry toward Tony’s lab.
“How did they get in?” you wonder out loud.
“I wish I fuckin knew,” Bucky replies ushering you into the elevator.
Logan growls slightly as Bucky’s hand makes contact with your lower back. You send him a warning glare, and he looks momentarily sheepish. It fades quickly, replaced with his usual confident swagger as he steps in after you. The ride up is silent, tension thick and uncomfortable. You practically sprint out when the elevator stops at the correct floor, scanning briefly for hostile forces.
Finding none you enter the lab where the Avengers team is gathered, looking slightly worse for wear. You quirk a brow at a grumbling Tony.
“Well, this looks cozy,” you quip.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “What can I say, darling? There ain’t no party like a couple of Hydra agents trying to murder you while you try and upgrade your suits,” he remarks dryly.
You chuckle briefly. It’s such a Stark thing to say. “Are they taken care of?”
Steve snorts, bruised and bloodied, from the corner. “All of them who got in were taken out, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try again,” he says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
You can’t tell whether his discomfort is pain related, or because you freaked him out so badly, or if it’s the tension radiating between Bucky and Logan that’s making him uncomfortable.
“They really have a hard on for you and the tin can,” Tony remarks thoughtfully, drawing your attention off Steve.
Logan bares his teeth snarling, “Over my dead fuckin’ body!” His claws make an involuntarily reappearance.
“Alright, wolf man. Calm your shit. We can sort this out,” Tony quips.
You make a disapproving noise at Tony’s blasé attitude. He looks momentarily guilty before winking at you. You roll your eyes at the billionaire’s antics.
Clapping your hands together you cheerfully say, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to take them out first.” The entire room regards you skeptically.
Bucky, being the first to pipe up, asks sarcastically, “And how do you expect to do that?”
You turn and give Logan a predatory smile, one which makes him wince.
“Ah hell,” he mutters before reaching for his phone. Dialing a number, he grumbles under his breath as it rings three times before Charles answers.
“Professor,” Logan drawls. “We got a problem… again.” He listens to Charles for a full ten seconds before saying, “Alright I’ll let them know.” He shuts off the phone and turns to regard Tony. “Ya better get the spare rooms ready, bub.”
Tony’s looks at him in mild panic.
Logan smirks, a cigar appearing from his pocket. He strikes a match and lights it, drawing in a long plume of smoke. He breathes it out and chuckles darkly. “The X-Men are coming.”
Hope flares in your chest. With a full team of X-Men and the entire Avengers Team in house, Hydra didn’t stand a chance.
1.5k of pre-canon trans Jack fic for Paulina, who’s a tireless advocate of trans fic in fandom. Brief misgendering; may paint a rosy view of women’s hockey culture in Canada, but let’s have some wish fulfillment.
Can I get a little thing about dark being afraid of not being able to breathe
“You’re growing weak,” the voice in his head hisses at him, a blending of Damien and Celine’s voices echoing through Dark’s thoughts. “If we’re going to get our revenge, you cannot show weakness.”
Dark gets up from his desk and locks the door. “I am not weak for refusing to hurt them. They’re my… I’m one of the leaders. It’s my job to keep them alive, not make them wish they were dead.”
The aura sends a stabbing pain through Dark’s head. “Don’t talk back, you worthless figment.” Dark presses a hand over his eyes as even the sunlight coming through his windows sends needles through his brain.
“They don’t question me. They respect me… in their own way,” he leans against the wall and slides to the floor, resting his elbows on his knees. “Don’t worry about it.”
“It is you who should worry,” the aura growls, flashing red and blue across Dark’s vision as it thickens around him. Suddenly a shadowy hand is wrapped around Dark’s throat, cutting off his air.
Dark’s chest floods with panic, and he thrashes his hands through the smoke but nothing works. The pressure doesn’t release even as his lungs are screaming, begging for air. He shouts in his mind, “Pleasestoppleasestopplease! I won’t do it again! I’ll do anything, just stop!”
Finally, just as his vision is starting to fade, the aura releases him, and Dark doubles over gasping for air and trembling like a dry leaf. Tears course down his cheeks as he wraps his arms around himself to try to stop the shaking, but it’s no use.
“Just keep this is mind the next time you think you are the one in control here,” the aura says with a final hiss before dissipating again.
Dark is left shaking and gasping on his knees until he hears a knock at his office door. With as much control as he can muster, he growls, “Leave me alone,” before hanging his head and listening as the person eventually walks away. It’s nearly a half hour before the shaking subsides and Dark is able to drag himself to his feet and stumble over to the couch where he passes out from exhaustion, colder than ever.
A/N: Based on anon request: What if reader gets injured or sick in some way and Bones has to treat them but he’s mad that they’re hurt (because he hates to see them hurt) and he’s kind of rude about it? And reader is anxious and doesn’t like doctors/being yelled at and he goes to apologize after but reader isn’t ready to accept and says they need some time to think about it?? Surprisingly not as angsty as I originally intended, but I hope you still enjoy it!!
“Told you so,” Bones gloated, running a dermal regenerator over the burns of your hand.
“I wouldn't’ve gotten hurt if Keenser could’ve held his sneeze two more goddamn minutes,” you grumbled. “‘It’s the last time you’ll see me for a week. Promise.”
“Are you well sister?” Loki asks worriedly as you sigh heavily, wiggling your toes in the God awful shoes Natalia had seen fit to stuff your swollen feet into.
You glance toward him, his face paler than usual, pinched as his eyes roam your body, looking for any signs of discomfort. You suppress a snort, choosing to smile sweetly at him instead of laugh like you want to. “I am well. Stop fretting like an old woman. Should you not be with the bridal party?”
Loki glances toward the main table where Odin sits, all seeing, beside a thoroughly soused Thor, as Rayne looks nervously on, sneaking glances at the all father while desperately trying to get her new husband to stop yelling for more mead and making increasingly suggestive remarks about their wedding night.
Stifling a giggle at Loki’s put out expression you gently grab his hand to pull your large frame out of the plush chair.
“You should not be walking! Curse that fool for bringing you here! You should be at home resting!” he nearly yells as his face turns an interesting shade of puce.
You shush him with a dismissive wave. “I am exactly where I need to be, Loki, and I am not an invalid,” you chastise lightly, scanning the area for Bucky who had disappeared nearly an hour ago with SIf, talking animatedly about Asgardian liquor and it’s wonderful restorative properties. By the end of night you would, undoubtedly, be holding his hair back as he purged his stomach of the potent drink.
Sif was the master of mead drinking, she had no rival, often drinking Thor under the table.
Bucky was by no means her equal, Erebus or not.
You sigh heavily. Your feet and back were aching. You were exhausted, and you wanted nothing more than to retire to your chambers and sleep, for at least a year, perhaps more.
Holding tightly to Loki as you make your way forward, the guests parting in front of you, you nod graciously as you move through the sea of people, winking mischievously at Rayne as you pass the wedding table.
She blushes a lovely shade of pink and ducks her head, a small smile playing on her lips as Odin claps his hands, signalling the start of the bedding ceremony.
Loki guides you safely through the cheering crowd, ushering you around a corner as a sharp, hot pain lances through your belly.
You whimper softly, grabbing onto the wall for support, your left hand flying to your stomach. Doubling over, you gasp, eyes snapping to Loki’s as he hops from one foot to another, panic evident on his face. You swallow down the hysterical laugh at his antics when another shooting pain pierces through your mirth.
“What do I do? What I do?” Loki asks, stuck between trying to help you and bolting head first out the corridor in search of someone more qualified to deal with a heavily pregnant woman who is going into labor.
“Shush, Bucky will be here momentarily,” you assure him, breathing through the pain, a little annoyed at having to be the one doing the assuring instead of being assured, but such was the nature of Loki and your relationship. You can feel Bucky’s excitement, and slight panic, as he races toward you, a crooked smile making its way onto your face as the emotions spill out.
It’s not a minute later that he comes skidding around a corner, his eyes darting about the abandoned corridor, finally resting on you. He takes two giant strides before he’s in front of you. “Hey, darlin,” he says as he picks you up, the smell of mead hot on his breath. “You doin’ alright? Our little tikes ready to come out and meet us?” he asks as he follows Loki down the hall to an empty bedroom.
You grunt in acknowledgement, the pain greater than anything you had ever experienced.
He lays you gently on the bed, speaking in a low voice to Loki who nods and exits the room. Bucky rolls you onto your side, positioning himself behind you, and begins rubbing soothing circles on your belly, muttering unintelligible nonsense that you don’t register, far too focused on the twins who are, apparently, attempting to split you in two.
You don’t remember it being this painful with your other children, but it was so long ago. You bite down on the scream bubbling its way up your throat, while Bucky mutters “Breath” under his breath. Irritation at his calm tone rises to the surface, and you swat his hand away from your stomach, your face pinched with annoyance. “Stop it!” you hiss, “This is all your doing!”
He looks mildly confused, but rallies magnificently, nodding morosely as what seems like a thousand midwives enter the room, ushering him out bodily as you start to scream profanities.
Five hours, and a whole lot of swearing later, your twins enter the world, kicking and screaming, with a full head of raven black hair and the bluest eyes you had ever seen.
Bucky stands silent and in awe as he watches them sleeping, so caught up in the beauty that you had created together he can’t bring himself to move or speak.
You recline exhausted against the pillows of your bed, watching him carefully as various emotions filter across his face. You smile softly to yourself. Clearing your throat, he doesn’t look at you. “What will we name them, my love?” you ask gently as he stares at his son, who had, in his sleep kicked a hole through the bottom of his crib.
He was definitely his father’s son.
Bucky smiles brilliantly. “Andreas” he replies, finally raising his eyes to meet yours.
You giggle softly, nodding in agreement. “Fitting,” you agree, your eyes moving toward your daughter who was staring at her father with an intensity a newborn should not possess.
Bucky moves toward her crib, picking her up and cradling her in his arms.
Her little arms and legs stop waving in the air as she seems to melt into her father’s embrace. Her eyes drift shut as she falls to sleep under her father’s watchful eyes.
Bucky doesn’t hesitate. “Enyo,” he says confidentially, glancing at your for approval which you provide happily. Placing his sleeping daughter back into her crib, he climbs into bed, careful not to jostle you as places a kiss to your forehead.
“I agree. She is fierce already,” you reply, entwining your fingers with his.
He sighs happily, staring lovingly at you. “Thank you,” he says, causing your heart to swell in your chest. “Thank you for bringing the light back into my dark.” Cupping your face gently in his palm, the love shining in his eyes brings tears to your eyes.
Stretching up, you kiss him with all the love in your soul as you thank every God still in existence for reuniting him with you.