eta: the second

7

Day One: Why You Love Them
↳ ‘know no shame’

so uh, i’m having an emotional crisis since voltron ended and i just?? want more??? i haven’t pined for a series like this in so long ahahaha

so now have that blade-of-marmora!galra!keith + altean!lance au that nobody probably wants feat. eventual mutual pining

Inspired by this art of rachelhuey (thank u for letting me running away with your ideas!!!)

ETA: fic (+the second chapter) is up in ao3 here

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Wet Dreams and Stuttered Confessions


Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Rating: M

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst??? (Briefly)

TW: Underage sex, cursing

A/N: I have no idea, honestly. I just was playing a door game and this is the first scenario I got??? I’m going to make more based on the door games I play, so watch out. (P.S. this is my first smut fic ever please don’t bash me for being bad at this)


It was no secret to anyone that you and Taehyung were best friends.

In fact, if someone didn’t notice how close you and the boxy-smiled boy were, they were literally seen as the most unintelligent and oblivious people in the world. Mostly due to the fact that you and Tae were basically attached at the hip, always joking around and play fighting and bickering and just acting like toddlers around each other.

If there was a day you didn’t see him, there were approximately four-quadrillion messages, three missed calls, and seven voicemails (you don’t even know how he manages that, but-) left on your phone by the time you go to bed.

And this phone-splosion is what you’ve been experiencing for the past week or so.

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Project Paperclip

I have watched Winter Soldier three times this week, and I was watching this scene when the idea of this fic occured to me. Of course, maybe the idea behind it is wrong. It is based on my own theory.

If you have any feedback, please let me know! I hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS-IMPLICATION OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

TIMELINE-2014

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You pulled up to Steve’s old military camp in silence. Nat was baffled, you knew, by the possibility that such an advanced program, which had bested even her, had originated from such an unlikely place. Steve was wading through his memories of the camp, of a time before Captain America. A time when life was simple.

You were worried. There had to be a reason you were led here, and it couldn’t be good. You were overcome by this feeling that as bad as things were now, they were going to get much worse. You stayed silent, choosing not to worry the others more than necessary, and followed closely behind Steve, hand hovering above your gun, anxiously waiting for someone to jump out at you.

Nat wandered for a bit, searching out any signals that would assist in finding the source of the data that had nearly cost Fury his life. She called out that there was absolutely nothing. No heat signatures, no waves. She began to theorise about what could have happened. You didn’t understand much of what she said.

But Steve seemed to have noticed something, and strode towards a cold, angular, concrete building.

“Steve?” You asked, still following behind him.

“Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards from the barracks,” Steve began. “This building is in the wrong place.” With absolutely no effort, he used the rim of his shield to smash the padlock off of the door, and the three of you ventured inside.

Your mouth dropped open. There was a SHIELD insignia upon the wall, and office furniture, long forgotten, littered the dusty room.

“This is SHIELD,” Nat uttered.

“Maybe where it started,” Steve replied.

Entering a smaller room to the side, your eyes were drawn to three photographs that hung in broken frames on the wall. Howard, Peggy and Colonel Phillips smiled down at you.

“There’s Stark’s father,” Nat pointed out.

“Howard,” you elaborated with a fond smile.

“Who’s the girl?” Nat asked. Your eyes moved from Peggy’s beautiful face to Steve. His jaw clenched slightly, and instead of replying, he turned to investigate the room.

“Agent Peggy Carter,” you said gently. Nat nodded her understanding, but before she could say anything else, you heard Steve’s voice.

“If you’re already working in a secret office…” he said, pushing aside a heavy looking bookshelf, “why do you need to hide the elevator?”

The two of you walked to where Steve was standing and studied the elevator. The doors were quite old, and there was a keypad next to them. Nat pulled her device out of her pocket again, and held it up the keypad. It determined the passcode, and she pressed the numbers in sequence. The doors slid open. You glanced nervously at Steve, took a deep breath, and stepped into the elevator. It didn’t lurch, or give any indication of collapsing, so you relaxed, and the others got on with you. There was only one button. You pressed it.

When the doors opened again, you were staring into a dark space. It was cold, and seemed to be quite large. Stepping out of the elevator, the lights turned on. There must have been some sort of movement sensor.

At the opposite end of the room sat several large computer monitors, and behind that, an endless sea of databanks. You looked to Natasha, and saw her shaking her head.

“This can’t be the data-point, this technology is ancient…” she confirmed your thoughts, but as she moved closer, she noticed a USB port. Even you could tell how out of place it seemed. She placed the USB into the port, and then there was a cacophany of whirring, as the databanks began to roll, and the old computer flashed to life.

The words Initiate System? blinked on the screen. You and Steve were both well and truly out of your depth, so you deferred to Nat. This was one of her specialties after all.

“Y-E-S, spells yes,” Nat smiled as she typed. You could tell despite everything, she was genuinely enjoying having a puzzle to solve. Her level of intelligence was unrivaled by most. “Shall we play a game?” Nat laughed as she waited for the computer to process her input. “It’s from a movie that…”

“Yeah, we saw it,” Steve remarked dryly.

Before that conversation could progress any further, a familiar voice rang out, reverberating around the cavernous room. You recognised it immediately. It was just one of the voices that haunted you in your nightmares.

Rogers, Steven. Born, 1918. Barnes, (Y/N). Formerly (Y/L/N), (Y/N). Born, 1918. Married, 1939. Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna. Born, 1984.

“It’s some kind of a recording,” Nat breathed, impressed by the technology, as a small camera focused on each of you, one at a time.

I am not a recording, Fräulein. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I am. The screen flashed an image, and your fear was confirmed. You were being addressed by Dr. Arnim Zola. The man who stole your husband from you. Your fists balled at your sides.

“Do you know this thing?” Nat asked, looking between the two of you. This time it was your turn to offer no answer, as you continued to stare at the face on the screen, now not a photograph but a digital face. The camera seemed to pause on you and observe you longer than the others. You hated that you couldn’t feel him. He was there, but he was just a machine. He had no emotions.

“Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He’s been dead for years,” Steve explained for Nat’s sake. He was confused, but you barely noticed.

First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972 I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body, my mind, however, that was worth saving on two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.

“How did you get here?” Steve asked angrily.

Invited.

You began to feel sick.

“It was Operation Paperclip after World War II,” Nat elaborated. “SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic values.”

Sick.

Zola continued. They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own.

The camera observed as you swayed, light headed.

“HYDRA died with the Red Skull,” Steve spoke with conviction.

Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.

“Prove it.”

Accessing archive.

A flurry of images appeared on the screen. Zola told his story. But you couldn’t concentrate. It felt like you were underwater. Everything was fuzzy, voices were far away, and you couldn’t breathe.

Zola was the only member of Hydra that had been captured by the American military that didn’t immediately pop a cyanide capsule. He had entered custody without a fuss, and from what you had been told, he was mostly cooperative.

The intel about him being on the train had been so easy for you to procure. The train route so readily available. Steve had told you that there were Hydra agents on board that attacked Bucky and himself, but less than he thought there would have been.

Zola wanted to get captured. He wanted to be taken into custody, and prove his worth. He wanted SHIELD to need him. To rely on him. A parasite from within could do much more damage than someone on the outside ever could. He made sure Hydra would survive, undetectable until it was too late.

Bucky had died. He died trying to protect America. The world. He died. For this?

He died.

Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA’s new world order will arise. We won, Captain, Barnes. Your deaths amount to the same as your lives; a zero sum.

You walked up to the monitor that was displaying Zola’s face, and before anyone could reach out to stop you, you punched it with all your might. You showed no indication that your bleeding knuckles caused you any pain.

“(Y/N),” Steve said softly, walking up behind you.

As I was saying… Zola interrupted, face popping up on one of the smaller screens. What’s on this drive? Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.

“What kind of algorithm? What does it do?” Nat asked, watching Steve pull you away from the monitor gingerly. She was enjoying the puzzle a lot less now.

The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.

The doors that you had entered the room from, the only doors that you were aware of, began to close. Steve turned from you, and threw his shield at them in order to avoid being trapped, but it was too late.

“Steve, we’ve got a bogey. ETA 30 seconds,” Nat said with carefully constructed calm.

“Who sent it?” Steve asked.

“SHIELD…”

Admit it, it’s better this way. We’re all three of us…out of time.

Steve looked around desperately, and found a grate in the floor. He let go of your hand, and pried the cover off. Nat jumped in. You were torn between finding protection and just accepting what was coming, when Steve pulled you in with him, covering the three of you with his shield.

There was a loud explosion, and the building began to collapse. You were buffeted by concrete and debri, and the resulting fire made it difficult to breath. In order to protect you and Nat, Steve was slightly exposed. You hoped desperately that his Super Soldier Serum would help him. You closed your eyes.

When you next opened them, you were in a car. You were dazed, but you knew that it wasn’t the one that you had driven to New Jersey in. Something was wrapped around your hand tightly, and your ribs ached. Your ears were ringing, but soon you were able to make out two voices. Steve and Nat. They were alive.

“We should go to Stark. He’s closer,” Steve argued.

“We can’t Steve, you know that,” Nat countered. “They’ll expect that. Hell, they might’ve already visited him looking for us. I don’t know if we have anywhere we can go!”

“Sam Wilson…” you piped up. Your throat was dry and sore. Smoke inhalation.

“(Y/N), thank God,” Steve sighed in relief. You felt him calm ever so slightly in knowing that you were awake. You felt the same from Nat.

“Sam Wilson?” She asked.

“We were talking to him a while ago, when you picked us up for the Lumerian Star mission,” you continued, sitting up and clicking your seat belt on. You winced when the belt brushed across your ribs.

“How will we find him?” Nat pondered.

“The old fashioned way,” Steve replied.

A long drive, and a flick through the Washington phone book later, you found him. Steve parked the car a block away, so it wouldn’t cause any problems, and you all walked, injured and exhausted, the rest of the way.

Just as you had hoped, he had taken you into his home without hesitation. “Not everyone,” he had said when Nat told him everyone you knew was trying to kill you.

Nat showered first, while you waited with Steve.

“(Y/N),” he hesitantly began. “What happened back there?”

You thought for a moment, before deciding against telling him about your realisation.

“I didn’t like what he was saying,” you lied. It would be better if he didn’t know. He already had too much to carry on his shoulders. He didn’t need to know.

“Are you sure that’s it? You don’t normally react that way… unless something really upsets you.”

“I’m sorry I lost control…”

“Don’t apologise. I was about two seconds away from doing the same. But brash reactions are not something you’re generally known for… you hurt your hand.”

“It’s fine Steve. I’ll clean it thoroughly in the shower, and bandage it afterwards. It’ll be fine.”

Nat walked back into the room from the bathroom, and sat on the bed next to you, drying her hair.

“You go (Y/N). I’ll go after you,” Steve offered.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, and you accepted his offer gratefully. You needed to be alone for a little while, to process everything that you had learned that day.

You cried in the shower. When you got out, you dried off, and wrapped your hand. The gash on your ribs would need attention too, but it was too difficult for you to manage alone.

You forced yourself to focus on something, anything, else. Luckily the awkward energy that you had felt surrounding Steve and Nat would provide a nice distraction for you. You had to force yourself to be OK, for Steve.

You took a deep breath, braced yourself, and rejoined Steve and Nat. Steve went to take his shower, and Nat went to find a drink in Sam’s kitchen. Alone again, you concentrated on Steve. And waited for him to come back into the room.

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THE SECOND [ THINK ‘BOUT IT ]

The Second [ Think 'Bout It ]