Steve getting cut off from his parents and following Robin to college. She brings him thrift shopping because that's all he can afford now with his less than minimum wage job as a barista.
One day he finds this cool shirt and buys it, not realizing it's a band shirt. He wears it constantly because it's soft and comfortable from years of wear, likes how it feels against it skin.
Meanwhile Eddie is going insane because he keeps seeing Steve in a Metallica shirt around campus and his friends back home in Hawkins don't believe him. It's driving Eddie crazy in more ways than one.
Alpha Mack/Beta Will is just sitting there in my head. Taunting me to do something about it.
Like, Will is insecure about being a beta and having a massive fucking crush on the alpha and he cannot do anything about it because he's a beta, and alphas are meant to be with an omega. They're pairs - bond partners, and Will doesn't fit into that equation.
So he just stews in it and tries to repress his wants and desires. But constantly being with Mack, rooming with Mack on roadies, playing with Mack on the ice, laughing and yapping, giggling and wrestling - it's all with Mack and Will just wants it too badly. To be the closest person to him, to have everything about him, to be the only one that truly knows him.
And then Mack is in rut.
Will isn't that good at detecting scents, he just gets faint hits of it, not enough to make out distinct aromas or emotions. But when he walks into Macks room - unaware of the rut happening because Will never experienced an alpha in rut or an omega in heat. He knows about them sure, Leno went through ruts but Will was never around and he always told him.
But he finally smells Mack - and Mack is everywhere. His scent is so concentrated in the room, it's impossible not to. The scent of salt off the ocean, the unique smell of fir and cedar and hemlock trees, something hotter, musky masking it all, but also something sweet woven between it, like fresh honey or sap. Something so uniquely Mack, it's insane.
It's not overly strong - just enough that it smells like someone over used cologne, but it's making Will's brain go foggy and his mouth water. And Will thought, if he was an omega - he'd be gone and begging for Mack to take him and use him, to bite him and claim him.
A pain runs through Will at the thought, and it sobers him enough to see Mack curled up on his bed, sheets tossed all around, shirt soaked through with sweat, toes curled, and a hand down his shorts.
Mack hasn't even noticed Will standing in the doorway, watching the alpha fist himself through his shorts, frantic strokes up and down. Mack's breathing hard, gasps broken up by grunts and moans. And Will swallows and wonders can I do something for him.
To Will, Mack looks like he's in pain. Face flushed red and sweating, collapsed on the bed and moaning. Curled up on himself, head nearly buried in his pillow.
"Mack." He walks towards him and crouches at the edge of the bed. He watches as Mack locks up, hand barely stopping but stroking slowly. His eyes snap open and they meet Wills. His pupils large and black, the beautiful green Will loves so much is just a thin ring. His mouth is open and Will can see his fangs.
Will wonders, not for the first time, what they would feel like against him, against his neck. Against the spot where a scent gland would be if he was an omega. Someone built and made perfectly for Mack. Yet Will lacks all that - he's flawed, missing pieces he can't have.
"Will, what-" Mack leans up and groans, his body hitting the bed again, but his eyes stay on Will. Something needy and greedy showing on his face. Or maybe that's just what Will wants to see.
"Can, can I help?" The words are out before he can stop to think. And then he panics at Macks stunned look. "I mean, like, I've never seen someone, anyone, in rut before. I just, is there anything I can get you? Do you need anything? Do you-"
He doesn't get a chance to finish.
Mack is already grabbing at him, pulling all six-foot even, 180 pounds of hockey player into his bed. Pinning Will beneath him, and - and Mack is kissing him.
The kiss isn't gentle, it's hard and sloppy, messy. Needy. Spit is everywhere, running down Will's chin and by his cheeks. But that doesn't matter to him, because Macks tongue is in his mouth and it's claiming every part of him. Will let's out a moan that Mack swallows, and Mack let's out a sound that could be a growl.
"Fuck, Will." Mack breaks for air and then he's grinding against Will and he can feel how hard Mack is. The grinds are slow against Wills own erection and he has to bite his lip to stop a groan.
Mack watches the action and reaches out with a thumb to pull it out. He licks his lips and lets his eyes roam over the beta.
"So beautiful." He says above a whisper and Will thinks his heart might explode.
"Can I, Will please," Will doesn't know what Macks asking but soon enough he's snaking a hand down Wills body and thumbing the edge of his shorts, the rough skin of his burning Wills hip where Mack touches.
It doesn't take much convincing after that. Will nods and Macks already ripping his own clothes off before nearly tearing Will out of his. He thinks he hears the shirt ripping and that just turns him on more.
Mack's hand is wrapped around them both, he's trusting into his tight fist, rubbing against Will. His eyes are trained on Wills, Macks not even blinking.
They're back to kissing a moment later and Will can feel Macks hand passing over the head of his cock, stimulating him just right that Wills about to come. He lets out a moan as Mack breaks the kiss to trail soft peaks down his neck to his collarbone.
And then Mack is sucking at his neck, hard and wet, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin and Will feels himself melt. If Will's brain wasn't so far gone, he'd notice that that's where a scent gland would be.
Will can't take it anymore and he's coming moaning Macks name over and over, and Mack's fangs are digging into his skin, then Mack's coming, and he's saying Wills name. And it's all just too much.
Will feels the pain in his neck and he hopes the Macks mark bruises and scars, a rememberance of this day and moment for him and everyone to see.
Things calm down a little after that, Mack collapsing on to Will, his full weight knocking the air out of him. And then he's licking and sucking fondly at Will's skin, making little, needy noises.
Will's raises a hand to run fingers through Mack's hair and another up and down his back. And Mack let's a sound out and his cock is still hard and leaking against Will's stomachs.
"Will, Will," Macks been quietly panting his name between sucks and kisses along his neck. "Can I..."
He trails off, the kisses getting softer and then stopping. Mack's breathing into his neck and mutters something, his words slurred.
"Yea, Celly? What was that?" Will pulls gently at his hair but Mack doesn't move, just nuzzles closer.
"Want you stay here, with me." He says into Wills ear and then nips at it. "Wanna be inside you, want to make you mine."
Will has to be dreaming, this can't be real.
And yet he wakes up the next day, Mack draped over and breathing slowly, head buried in Wills neck, arm tossed around his waist. Will can feel something sticky and thick between his legs, Macks hard cock pressed between his cheeks.
Will smiles to himself and the first time, he lets himself believe he can actually be with Mack. That Mack wants him back as much as he wants him.
Warnings: Forced pregnancy (backstory) and discussion of sexual assault
Summary:
From what Yelena and John spoke of, Bucky expected to see some montage of Winter Soldier highlights. Not the bright and cozy family room, not you standing opposite of him watching the scene unfold with tears streaming down your face.
A duplicate of you, younger, your hair a different colour, was handing a package over to a woman he didn't know.
A/N: im weak, i wont survive the winter.... baby fic. We were all talking about the Found Family of it all, what about the Found "Baby I Abandoned and Didn't Tell You About" in the Void?
part one, part two, part three, part four
From what Yelena and John spoke of, Bucky expected to see some of the Winter Soldier highlights - an innocent's warm blood coating his face, the scream of one of his victims echoing in the inky black, a hit on an uncooperative politician. Not the bright and cozy family room, not you standing opposite of him watching the scene unfold with tears streaming down your face.
A duplicate of you, younger, your hair a different colour, was handing a package over to a woman he didn't know. They're speaking to each other. He opens his mouth to interrupt them, when he's shoved back.
"What-" Another shove. "Are-" Another. "You-" The hands pushing him become fists. "Doing-!?"
He snatches you by the wrists to stop you, and all of the fight seeps out of you. You're still sneering at him as though you hate him for stopping you and not fighting. The two of you were excellent at fighting.
"I thought you died, coming in here." he states, calm enough to set you off again.
You roll your eyes at him, scoffing. It doesn’t convince him that you are as untouchable and unphased as you want it to come across. The tear tracks that had cut through the dust and grime on your face from that last fight, had him thinking otherwise.
A mask for what he can see is a deep sadness. This room...what was so traumatic about a room? He moves to pass you, to get a closer look at the woman he didn't know.
Your instinct is to grapple him to the ground. It didn’t matter that you were one of the best fighters this world had known, he wasn’t going to use his strength. The two of you had fought each other in the past, but he never hurt you. This has not been the first time you have pinned him, and knowing you, it will not be the last. Your knee is in his back, his hands twisted into your grip.
The door slams shut as your younger self nearly runs away. A second later, you come back in with the unfamiliar woman.
“Is she one of the younger ones?” she asks as they step through the door, around the two of you on the floor.
There is a whimper of a response, but Bucky can’t see from his position who it comes from.
“I-I-I-I’m next-”
His chest feels like it collapses in on itself. That’s your voice, he’s never heard you cry before. When he speaks, he directs it up to you, “Your next what? What is she saying?”
You take a deep breath above him, in through the nose out through the mouth, before ordering, “Stay down.”
His hands are released and you get off his back. You don’t move too far, simply sitting with him on the ground. Not risking another grapple, Bucky places his hands palm down, lifts his head to tilt his ear toward the conversation taking place.
“So he’s going to come then?”
Younger you sniffs and hums an acknowledgement. “I lost him in DC, I think he was assigned another mission.”
The other woman gasps, “Project Insight. SHIELD’s entire archive was released. Three helicarriers crashed into the Potomac.”
“Knowing my luck, he survived.”
Older you snorts in amusement.
Bucky twists his head to give you a bemused look. He had gathered that they were talking about him - or, the Winter Soldier. But the look fades as the realization sets in. Bob was showing them their fears. Yelena had described this as a shame room.
You were afraid of him.
The you of the memory continues talking, “I can lead them away. No one will know about this, and when I tell you, you will be the only person to know. It has to stay that way. You will be in danger from HYDRA, the Red Room, and who knows who else. I am telling you because you got me out. You are the only person I trust, Oksana.”
“сестра, you are one of the nests. They will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”
“I’ll do it for her. Just take her far away.”
“She’s yours! You can hide now, with her.”
“I can lead them away. She’s his. They will come for her. They’ll send him. Maybe he’ll kill her outright, he won’t know she’s his daughter.”
The revelation takes its time sinking in. He doesn’t get up, doesn’t move. He just turns onto his back, now trapped between you and a couch on the floor of a memory that isn’t even his. He was wrong. This wasn’t your shame room. The Winter Soldier had committed many atrocities but this was the worst.
This was a shame room built for him. He had done— that to you.
You take his closest hand - the metal one - in your two, and pull the pair of you to your feet.
“Your next.” he says, his voice thin. He had misheard your younger self, “You’re a nest.”
He had heard about a subsect of the Widow program, the Nest, dedicated to the repopulation of the small army. The few of the Widows who were left in tact for Dreykov’s nefarious purposes. A program for training swallows. Teenage baby factories.
You squeeze his hand. “Yes, and you-”
“How can you even look at me?” he was shaking his head, “It’s not right. What I did-”
“Was as much assault on you as it was for me. You aren’t the only one in therapy. Bucky, this room is not for you. I’m the one that left her. Didn’t tell you.”
“I hunted you, of course you didn’t tell me.”
As if he could dismiss your self-hatred with his own. The easy forgiveness brought the tears back to your eyes. You close your eyes to block them, gritting your teeth. He brushes your tears away for you, and rests his hand on your cheek. The hesitance in the air makes you open your eyes and make eye contact.
He takes in a breath, as if steeling himself.
“Can I look at her?”
You take his hand and lead him over to the back of the couch so the pair of you might lean over the memory. He had seen the baby as a package of some sort earlier, because younger you had used a shipping box as a makeshift carrier. The cardboard box was stuffed with a soft hoodie as a blanket. The baby had not made a sound the entire time, even as a younger you shoved the box into the other woman, Oksana’s, hands. Ignoring her protests, you tell her, “Don’t tell me where you’re going. Protect her.”
And you leave. Bucky turns his head to watch you go, and when he turns back - Oksana and the baby are nowhere to be found.
The door opens again. The two Widows walk in, and Bucky trails them back to the couch that they sit down on.
“She’s so little,” he comments. He does not look at you, lest he acknowledge the fact that seeing a reflection of you holding his baby was plucking a heart string.
The pair of you lean in, and you huff out a laugh, as you nudge him, “Looks like you from tip to tail, doesn’t she?”
He looks up at you, sees the tiny features that made the baby beautiful to him. His jaw is left hanging. “Looks like you.”
You grimace and apologize to the baby, “Sorry, junior.” You reach down to poke the baby’s nose.
Bucky’s heart clenches, imagining it all turn to smoke and shadow. He had not touched anything to do with this room, contributing to the dreamlike quality that this all held. But you touch the baby, scrunching your nose when the baby adorably wrinkles her face against your finger.
A voice, not yours, and yours at the same time speaks from the younger you.
“You knew then. Don’t be stupid. You don’t deserve her. ”
There is something behind you - and on the wall. Bucky puts his hand on your shoulder to move you and the baby behind him, put himself in between. Instinctively, you scoop up the baby.
But there is no standing between you and your shadow. As if you had a second arm attached at the elbow, a darkness - a void - clamps down on your wrist and twists.
When you yelp, Bucky reaches into the split in space and yanks the shadow from you. You recoil, hunching over the baby. Your good arm still cradling her to your body, turned away from the chaos. The darkness manifests itself as the younger you. She sneers at Bucky.
“Look at me, Soldat.” she says, enraged, “You forgot a name on the list. Where is the effort to make amends, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes?”
She goes for a strike. Pale and frozen, he takes the hits. You can see the pattern, the memory is taking the same moves you would use now, not the Red Room clone that you used to be. Or have you always been that obvious, telegraphing your punches? You watch Bucky and understand him. You understand why you could pin a super soldier like the Winter Soldier.
He has never hurt you, but you know that’s because he would never fight you.
You draw your gun to help, but your aim shakes with the weight of it on your broken wrist. In that instance, the woman who had rescued you from Dreykov restrains you. With her arm around your throat, and your injured arm twisted behind.
With her holding your arms and dragging you back, you can only call out.
“She’s not me, Barnes!” you shout at him, “Kick her ass!”
You watch him sink into a place he hasn’t in a long time. Bucky would never hurt you, but the Winter Soldier has no mercy. Following your command, the metal hand reaches back and grabs the ankle of the twenty year old assassin on his back. In a maneuver too quick to track, he has her pinned and her throat caught in his hands. She gasps for air, tilting her head up- to look at you. Her mouth moves - and you hear her (not yours and yours at the same time) voice from Oksana behind you.
“See how he hates you? See how the hero will never love the villain? He will always hurt us.”
That’s not true. He never fought back.
With that flimsy plate of armor around your heart, you bend your head to bite Oksana. Her recoil gives you enough room to drop and spin, knocking her feet from under her. You use the momentum to slide yourself away and point your gun up at her. She drops and you turn the muzzle on yourself - your younger self. Two bullets for your ledger. Daddy Alexei would be so proud of his little murderer, dripping red.
Bucky staggers to his feet, eyes wide and fearful before he looks at you. Child murderer. There’s no shadow to remind you of what you are, but you know. This memory is a decade old. You have just shot a twenty year old who has just escaped the prison that held her for her entire life. He must see the same child you do.
His face twists into something else, and it’s worse than you could have dreaded. He looks at you with pity.
You feel it then.
That same rush of adrenaline that comes with firing a shot - that same rush of adrenaline that comes with quarrel for the sake of quarrel - that same rush of adrenaline when he looks at you with any other expression, when he shines that spotlight attention on even a fraction of you.
You want to be mad, to tell him off for pitying you, but the relief that all of you are okay hits you before the urge to fight comes up like nausea.
He steps forward, and you think he’s just going to leave you. But he comes behind you to help you to your feet.
You take the opportunity to put the gun away and cradle the baby. You trace her fragile skull with your finger. The pain radiates from your wrist to the tips of your fingers. You deserve this pain. You don’t deserve to touch her. This is why you left her behind.
Bucky still hasn’t stopped supporting you, leaning into your back as he wraps his metal arm around your waist. You feel his other hand move to support your wrist, careful to not touch the inflamed bruising.
“Do you want me to take her?” he asks. You take a breath to steady yourself. He’s standing so close that swaying on your feet leans you into his chest. You shake your head, but hand her over all the same. “We have to find Sentry.”
“Bob.” you correct. You still had the image of that sweet civilian who grabbed a gun and ran into a field of soldiers to distract them. It didn’t matter that Valentina dyed his hair and poisoned him against you and the team. “His name is Bob. He needs our help.”
There’s no Winter Soldier in the soft look you receive. “You came in here not knowing if we can save him.”
“We haven’t moved on. Can you carry her?”
“Yes, of course,” He adjusted the baby as if to show off how capable he was. You grit your teeth at the back of your mouth to not see a father holding his baby. You have a mission. Save Bob.
You nod and lead the way to the door out of the room.
a/n: ummmm ya in the middle of italy and every time i see someone smoking all i think of is paget brewster maybe i have a problem. also writing this violently hungover and i haven’t written smut in months & this is not proofread. relationship between em and reader is left to interpretation xx enjoy!!
my gif
“you know how bad that is for you, right?” you spoke from behind, the older woman’s eyes turning to meet yours. you stood leaning against the precinct doors, arms crossed as you eyed the cigarette between emily’s fingers.
“it’s stress relief,” she replied, tapping the end to remove ash. “only do it at work.”
“i’m sure there’s some better ways to relieve stress,” you said, moving towards her. there was something about the way she held the cigarette between her hands, so delicately as if it the most fragile item in the world.
prentiss shrugged, moving the cigarette to between her lips and taking a hit. your eyes followed, your legs clenching as you watched her movements. how was something so deadly so attractive?
“so,” emily started, taking note of the way your cheeks heated as she blew out the smoke. “you come out here to watch or for a case-related question?”
“oh, right, sorry.” you muttered, clearing your throat as you felt your cheeks get red. “yeah, we think we found a lead in the case.”
**
as it turned out, the lead was a dead end and the team was back to square one. frustrated, hotch sent everyone back to the hotel for the night. which is how you not only found yourself rooming with emily, but you also found yourself ogling as she whipped out a cigarette on the hotel balcony. you watched her settle into the chair, her eyes focused on the view in front of her. well, until she turned and saw you staring.
emily smirked as she caught you watching her. she found it amusing, really, the way your eyes were fixated on the little product in her hand. as she pulled the cigarette to her mouth for another draw, she motioned to the chair next to her as if to invite you over.
you picked up on this and pulled yourself out of bed, making your way over to the balcony in your pajamas. wordlessly, you settled in the chair next to emily, mere inches separating you two. you shivered, unaware of just how cold it was.
you felt emily’s eyes rake over your body and suddenly became aware of your clothing choice. your small tank top and ever shorter shorts were not uncommon for you to wear around her on a case, but today was different.
“here, hold this.” emily said, passing you her cigarette as she took off her sweatshirt. your eyes shamelessly watched, cigarette in hand as you watched her tank top ride up just a bit as she removed the outer layer.
you two traded items, reaching for the sweatshirt with a grateful smile.
“looks good on you,” emily spoke, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. you looked down, noticing it was her old academy sweatshirt. just a little too big for your frame, the front design fading slightly, it fit you perfectly.
“if it goes missing, you know where to find it,” you teased, moving closer to the older woman. the two of you sat in silence, emily’s hand still playing with the sweatshirt. except, she moved on from the sleeve and started toying with the bottom, right at your upper thigh.
as she finished her cigarette she teased you, slowly moving her hands around your thighs. it was torturously slow, almost agonizing the way she made it feel like hours.
eventually there was nothing of the cigarette left, your eyes following as you watched the butt fall to the ground. emily’s eyes turned to you, pupils blown with lust as she pulled you closer.
no words were spoken as you were pulled into her lips, kiss deeper than ever imagined. you could taste the cigarette on her tongue as it entered your mouth, moaning at the taste.
emily smirked hearing your moan, pulling back and eliciting a whine from you. she ignored it, beginning to trail her lips down your neck. “such a hypocrite,” she murmured, pecking your neck. “hates the concept of cigarettes, but becomes such a slut when she sees me with one.”
“emily,” you gasped, feeling her hands move up under the sweatshirt. you moaned, feeling her pinching your nipples through your tank top. your hand raked through her hair, grounding yourself as you felt wetness around your pussy. you used your free hand to grab her chin, lifting her off your neck and pulling her into a kiss.
this time it was emily who moaned, deepening the kiss as she stood up. she pulled you with, careful not to knock the chairs over. you giggled as she picked you up, keeping your lips pressed together as she carried you inside.
settling you down on the bed, emily pulled back, studying you. “look so pretty in my sweatshirt, sweetheart,” she murmured, hands once again finding the hem. “think you’d look better naked,” though. in a swift motion she whisked both the hoodie and your tank top off, discarding them somewhere on the floor.
your hands mimicked hers, tugging at emily’s shirt and pulling it off. “so pretty,” you whispered, lips attaching to her breast and sucking a hickey into her skin. emily moaned, her hands exploring your body freely as she rested her head atop your hair. your hand moved to her ass, squeezing hard before pulling her sweatpants down.
you gasped as your hand trailed over her pussy, the combined material of the lace thong and the feeling of her wetness eliciting a smirk. “you always wear this to bed?” you asked, toying with the top of her thong.
“that’s for me to know and for you to find out,” emily replied, pulling off of you. “let’s see what you’ve got on, baby.” you watched her reaction as she tugged your shorts down, eyes dark when they were met with your bare, dripping cunt. “all this for me?” she asked, dragging her finger through your folds and collecting your wetness from your cunt. “all this,” she began, eliciting a moan as she brushed over your clit, “from a cigarette?”
“em, oh fuck,” you whined, watching her bring her drenched finger to her lips and suck. you pulled her by the hair and brought her into a smashing kiss, whining at the combined taste of yourself and the remnants of her cigarette. you felt your pussy clench around nothing at the taste, emily’s palm making its way back down to your dripping cunt. you rutted against her hand, wordlessly begging for more friction.
“use your words, princess,” emily said between kisses, her other hand snaking down to press against your hips, effectively stilling your movements.
“need more, em, please,” you begged, trying as best you could to move despite being held down. emily didn’t respond, instead choosing to plunge two fingers into your hole. she instantly hit your sweet spot, eliciting a gasp from you as your hands clawed down her back.
“feel so fucking good, baby,” emily praised, sucking a hickey into your chest. “so fucking tight and wet, all for me.”
“all yours,” you choked out, emily’s gaze reaching up to yours. you could feel the knot in your stomach growing, sensitivity increasing as your orgasm drew closer. as if on cue, emily added a third finger into your cunt, and began flicking her thumb across your clit.
“close?” she asked. you nodded frantically, arching your hips to get emily’s fingers impossibly deeper.
emily leaned down, nipping your earlobe. “come for me, sweet girl,” she whispered. “show me how good you are.”
at emily’s command, you felt your orgasm wash over you, the pleasure hitting you hard as emily’s lips made their way back to yours. she fucked you through it, only retreating when you began panting in her mouth.
emily collapsed on top of you, her fingers breaching your lips as you sucked them clean of your juices. she smiled, watching your fucked-out haze slowly begin to pass. too in awe of your beauty, she gasped as she felt your fingers brush through her slit.
you smirked at emily’s sudden reaction, fingers going deeper into her cunt. “my turn.”
