do you trust me with your scars enough to show me your heart
author: aspen blackwood
series: wonder if it's room in heaven for savages
james “bucky” barnes x steve rogers | mcu
masterpost | 🅼 | word count: 3455 | multichapter fic
tags: creature au, non traditional omegaverse, pre war ➳ ww2 stucky
There was always a sweetness that lingered in Steve’s nose whenever he spent time with Bucky Barnes. It was a light floral scent with underlying honey and peach that followed Bucky wherever he went. Steve was never too far behind, low eyes and an intoxicated grin gracing his features every time. It was the look of a boy caught in a snare.
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A dark and twisted fairytale.
bingo fills + event prompts
@anyfandomaubingo | free space
@afgomegaversebingo | falling asleep together
@anyfandomfluffbingo | cuddling in bed
@augustwritingchallenge: april showers brings m-au flowers | flower language
For @juneofdoom, day 30 | “Breathe, damn you!” + Shock + Asphyxiation + Emergency Room. All of them seemed to oddly fit this one episode of New Amsterdam and I couldn’t resist writing for my ship.
Fandom: New Amsterdam (TV 2018)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Pairing: Casey Acosta/Lauren Bloom
Tags: Episode: s03e12 Things Fall Apart, Friendship, can be read as platonic but why would you
Summary: After the pipe bursts, it’s Lauren’s priority to take care of everyone before her. Casey finds her when she collapses.
Wordcount: 608
Also created for: @hurtcomfort-bingo, Pick Your Poison | Skin contact (POISON) / @fandom-free-bingo, Maritime May | Avalanche + Pride Bingo | ‘I’ve Seen the Light, I’ve Seen the Darkness’ + Book Night Edition | New Treatment / @sweetspicybingo, Hurt/Comfort Bingo | Bridal carry / Blog: @seasonaldelightsbingo, Language of Flowers | Frostbite / @fandombingo, Reverse: 1999 edition | A Deep Sleep / @multifandom-flash, April Events: Honest Day | Accidental Truth
Excerpt:
Casey slept by her bed in the ICU. At least that’s what he told Reynolds when he came in checking on them, because he didn’t really sleep at all.
The continuous exposure of Bloom to the toxins made her go into shock, collapsing on what was left of the emergency room —taken to the hallway next door since it had been flooded by the dangerous agent, to start with— and tried to help her last patient. While other doctors tried to find an effective treatment against their odds, having lost the very first exposed patient who happened to be right next to Bloom when it happened, Casey still waited for her to wake up if her asphyxiation hadn’t caused further issues.
Additional tags: This is my entry to @seasonaldelightsbingo Language of flowers bingo. 63.
Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.
@saiyanprincessswanie
My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.
I don’t give any kind of permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.
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Brock sighed. It had been many years since the last time they had been like this. If he had been asked, he would never have believed he would have another chance like that. The only difference was that now he would do things right and do them the right way; there would be no more lies or hiding anything because he might never have a chance like that again.
Brock took Kath by the hand as they began to walk under the trees that were in bloom. Maybe in another time or situation, he had thought it was too colorful or pink, but right now, everything seemed perfect, especially for what he planned to do. He was sure this was the way she would have really liked it.
For the moment, he had to control himself, or she would get suspicious, and the whole surprise would be ruined.
It also crossed his mind to ask her if she had ever walked among the cherry trees with Steve; the view was beautiful and relaxing, and she had always told him how much she loved this activity, although they had not had the opportunity to share it until this moment.
He quickly arranged the tablecloth; he had to distract himself a little so that his nervousness wasn't so evident. He even had trouble keeping the conversation going; she was telling him something in a very animated way, although he wasn't sure if he understood.
Now the problem was choosing the right moment to surprise her. He lightly ran his hand through his pocket; he just wanted to make sure she was still there.
He should have taken advantage of it before people arrived, so now was the right time. He cleared his throat as he put a hand on Kath's shoulder, and she turned around immediately.
"I know I've made a lot of mistakes, but the biggest one was letting you go. Now we can be together, and I've wanted to do this for a long time. I love you too much, Kath. Will you make me the happiest man in the universe and marry me? " Brock put one knee on the floor as he pulled out the box he had the ring in and showed it to her.
Kathleen was speechless; she didn't expect the proposal at that moment. She smiled, and she could feel the heat on her cheeks.
"Of course, I accept; I won't miss the chance to be happy this time," she replied, stretching out her arm so that he could take her hand and put the ring on it.
After eating and watching the flowers and petals fall from the trees for a while, they walked back to each other, just hoping it wasn't a dream.
Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 1 Behind Closed Doors
Set adrift by his own choosing, Bucky goes home to the abandoned apartment he grew up in, but perhaps it isn't as abandoned as he first thought.
Read it on AO3 here.
Chapter 2
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes
Rating: T
CW: blood, threat
Prompts filled:
Fandom-Free Bingo Frosty Edition (card 1): Cuddling to stay warm @fandom-free-bingo
Fandom-Free Bingo Flight Edition: Anonymous gifts
Fluffbruary: Day 2 - Scent, Day 16 - Neighbour @fluffbruary
Seasonal Delights Language of Flowers: Calla lily @seasonaldelightsbingo
Multifandom-Flash Round 1: A scar to remember @multifandom-flash
Dividers by @cafekitsune
“The Bible tells us to love our neighbors, and also to love our enemies; probably because generally they are the same people.”
G.K. Chesterton
Bucky came and went via the fire escape that he’d carefully mangled on his second night back there, a relic of his childhood now inaccessible to anyone who couldn’t bend cast iron or jump 6ft straight up. Didn’t account for at least half of the people he actually knew, sure, including the guy he’d most often climbed it with, but seemed effective so far at keeping out random squatters. Not real charitable, he guessed, locking down an entire apartment building to himself somewhere so many people lacked even a roof to call shelter but he never signed up for them to be his problem. And he liked not being disturbed. Other things he liked included not thinking too hard about some of the stranger aspects of the building he was once again calling home. In spite of the housing shortage, he guessed it might not be so weird that no one had gotten round to tearing the place down in all these years, and to judge by the disintegrating newspapers he’d found tacked up as draft excluders the building hadn’t been inhabited since the 80s. But why was the gas still connected? No electricity, far as he could tell without knocking more holes in the walls than he thought the place could take without crumbling, but the water was still running.
Those mysteries had come clearer after he found the first camera. It had been pretty well camouflaged by a dense cobweb that looked dyed black by half a century of city smog – fuck knew how the asshole had managed that. He’d never have spotted it if he hadn’t caught the whine of tiny servos or something when he passed it. He’d panicked, smashed the thing, torn around the building searching for more. As he bore down on the third, it spoke to him. “Hey Terminator, point’s taken. Quit breaking my stuff. Drop the others in the mailbox and I’ll have them picked up.” He had dropped them in the mailbox. But he’d taken a certain joy in crushing them as small as he could before he did so. Oops. Sorry, Stark. It made him itchy for a while to think of Stark having anything to do with his habitation – hadn’t he turned down a space at the compound because he wanted out of barracks controlled by someone else? But, fuck it, if the nerd had nothing better to do with his billions than pay Bucky’s bills he might as well let him. And now he was back, he didn’t fancy leaving.
This last week his resolve was being tested. It had started with the smell. He knew the odours of sweat and blood well enough, and he knew that neither had been coming from the back apartment when he left for work. He’d been back there, of course, on his initial homecoming perimeter check and again on his hunt for Stark’s bugs. The place had been as deserted as the rest of the building, inhabited by nothing more sinister than rats, roaches, and a few pigeons. He needed to check again. He also needed to stop and fucking think. He was half way over the sill before he remembered it had taken an hour’s scrubbing for him to get more than a bit of half-assed light through his own apartment’s grimy windows. From the outside? No chance. It would have to be the hallway.
With the generator humming and the wireless playing (somehow even now he struggled to think of it as the digital gadget it was), giving all the impression that he was still in his own apartment, he edged out into the hall. He winced at the minute change in the air pressure when he opened the door. But the only people likely to drop-by unannounced who would notice something like that would either have taken more care with their smell or would have said hi. Unless it was deliberate bait. Ten feet to the next door. A longer step over the cracked floorboard that had groaned ominously the first time he’d crossed it.
The smell of the intruder grew stronger as he approached the door. The ancient lock hadn’t given him much difficulty when he took his original look around but the door was heavy and he shifted it with care. He wished he’d thought to oil the hinges, or pulled the door right off them. Aging lino crackled silently beneath his feet. His own heartbeat filled his ears and gradually he remembered how to breathe and move, even blink, in time with it, aligning the sounds he made so anything that fell outside the rhythm would instantly draw his attention. He remained alone with the soundtrack of his own body.
He knew he was just short of silent as he passed from room to room, every sense trained for the least disturbance... so when the affronted pigeon erupted from behind the bathroom door raising a fetid cloud of feathers and dust, it took him effort not to swallow his own tongue. He tried to inhale as little as possible of the heavily pigeon-laced air while he let his heartrate settle and watched the bird panic at the narrow window until it finally burst out into the gathering evening gloom. The bird’s distress must have been audible to anyone else in the otherwise silent apartment but nothing and no-one stirred. He lowered his guard a degree as he made his way around the few other rooms. His search was thorough, every cupboard opened, the sparse remains of furniture eased away from the walls. No one.
The thought that it might have been his imagination haunted him from hall to kitchen. He shook the hair from his eyes and touched a cold wrist to his forehead, trying to remember exactly. The smell lingering in the hall. He was sure. Wasn’t he? He shivered. But the air in here felt disturbed, didn’t it? By more than a pigeon and his own cat-like steps? There was a taint on the air – garbage? He crossed, moving more quickly now, to the window that overlooked the alley and its tideless sea of detritus. The smell hit him harder as he stepped into the cold air that hung in front of the window. The glass was uncracked and no draft would be creeping around that deeply dirt-caked frame. He tested the sash. Grime and old paint wouldn’t resist him but it might hold out longer than the decrepit frame. A little more pressure. He hissed between his teeth when the window rose, barely sticking or rattling in its grooves.
He was crouched below the sill before conscious thought could catch up.
Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Dumbass.
How long had he been stood in full view of any of half a dozen rooftops and twice as many windows? Long enough for a whole squad of snipers to take their shots. Again he let his pulse regulate and raised his head a fraction. No one had shot. And as thorough a survey as he could make of the surrounding area, stopping to scrutinise every spot he would have selected for his own firing position, showed him nothing suspicious – not a movement or a shadow out of place. Nothing, in fact, to cause him concern. Until he drew his gaze back into the room, and down over the smear of blood on the peeling paper below the windowsill. He sank down. A knee had brushed the wall as the other leg lifted to the sill. And, yes, now he could see the pattern of new chips in the old paint where a foot had braced. He returned to the blood. A fair stain. The size of his palm. A significant wound, but not enough to keep the victim from climbing or to force them to staunch the blood with a hand. He gave the window another look as he closed it. No trace of a bloody fingerprint.
Bucky returned to his own apartment troubled. He could nail up the windows as he’d done downstairs. He had enough supplies for that, sure. From his seat where Winnie Barnes’ spotless kitchen table had once stood, he glanced at the stack of salvaged wood in his mom’s bedroom. She’d be spinning in her grave if he didn’t get it cleared out of there soon. And with a bit more work he could probably make the windows virtually unreachable by climbing too.
He picked up the M38 that stood on its stock beside him and began checking it over again. The thing was... He found himself picturing the boarded up back apartment – dark and silent rooms in which his neighbours had once laughed and rowed and rushed to get out the door for work. The thing was... that, if he forced whoever had gone to the trouble to climb into the second floor of his building to move off permanently, they were unlikely to lose interest. He would either have to hunt them down – so much for the quiet life – or he would be waiting for a bullet through the head or worse until they made themselves known one way or another. That didn’t exactly sound like a peaceful retirement either, did it? And the thing was... he’d felt his heart beating back there.
Whatever he did about apartment 4, he wasn’t as safe in here as he’d let himself believe for a while. That needed fixing tonight.
This was his last stop, rucksack already bulging. He heaped the coils of fishing line and bungee cords on the clerk’s desk. The guy’s eyebrows rose when Bucky dropped a couple of handfuls of personal attack alarms on top of the pile. “Stocking fillers. For my self-defence class,” he offered. His cheeks heated a little when the man glanced at the glossy and explicit calendar behind his shoulder which read “February” without offering the least apology for the embarrassment caused. Bucky followed its example and stared blankly, defying contradiction.
Supplies secured, he disregarded his fire escape and entered by his bedroom window, hauling his way up by the well-concealed handholds he’d made on his way out, scooping out lines of mortar with Vibranium fingertips. He paused on the windowsill to delicately pluck the rudimentary tripwire free and by-pass the edged weaponry that would otherwise have made a spirited attempt to ruin his good looks. He’d considered using a few grenades, but decided it wouldn’t be worth the clean-up. He had enough structural damage to repair around the building as it was. He did a quick round of the other possible entrances, but all were untouched, their makeshift defences untriggered. Finally, he wormed his way up inside the crumbling wall cavity to retrieve one or two personal items he hadn’t been able to leave on display to any sightseer or would-be hit squad but could also not carry freely around Brooklyn, his rifle chief amongst them. He’d read a couple of Stark’s James Bond novels when he’d been insufferably bored in the Tower. Why did that guy’s weapons all fit up a sleeve or his ass or something? When his requisitions came through the British civil service? Stark, SHIELD, and Hydra should all be fucking embarrassed to be lagging so far behind.
With the limited supplies he’d had on hand, protecting his personal domain had taken precedence. Once he’d made a more professional job of his fortifications, he loaded up some materials and headed back into the corridor. And stopped.
Something was on the floor outside of number four. Something whose colour and life stood out in the dingy shadows. He went closer and looked down at the leafy plant in its bright striped pot, its three white trumpet-like flowers gazing right back at him. Surely, only a lunatic or a child could like a combination of sunflower yellow, electric blue, and that alarmingly neon pink? A folded paper dropped as he picked up the plant. The handwriting inside was almost as childish as the colour scheme, printed in biro comfortably rounded and neat – something about it made Bucky momentarily picture the writer’s tongue poking out between their teeth as they worked.
“Hey neighbour, sorry if I bothered you this afternoon.
Got you a housewarming present as an apology. Hope you like it!”
It was unsigned, though they’d made no apparent attempt to disguise their handwriting. He glared at the door. It hung slightly askew, and would do – of course – until he was done with the repairs to his own place and made a start on the rest of the apartments. Well, if he was honest with himself, he’d have to get started on his own apartment first of all. Nothing stirred beyond the door. He tucked the note back into the pot and went thoughtfully back up the corridor. He found the plant a spot by a window and stood staring at it for a full minute, waiting for an explosion or maybe some kind of toxic spore cloud – though maybe the latter was kind of cartoonish even for his usual enemies. The plant did nothing sinister. Its dark glossy leaves shone slightly in the light of the sunset.
Bucky took his M38 up to the roof with him that evening and stayed low for a few minutes, circling in a crouch and checking out his surroundings, but in the end the distant roar of the city lulled him just as it always had. On his third circuit, he touched his fingertips to the chimney stack where he and Steve had scraped their initials, taking turns with Bucky’s new penknife. Smog and pigeons had done their best to obliterate the deep, angular “JBB” and the lighter, neater “SGR”, but Bucky had done his best to restore them the first time he’d come back up here. They’d huddled together against the stack for warmth, watching the stars and hoping Stevie’s dad wouldn’t turn up to drag him home this time, Bucky’s arm usually wrapped round his best friend’s skinny shoulders to stop him shivering.
He’d dismantled the lower part of the fire escape after his search for the intruder but when it came time to remove their old route to temporary freedom... no, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Fuck it, anyway – anyone determined enough to get onto his roof, with no way to cover the first twenty feet, wouldn’t be put off by a little thing like a missing fire escape. So, he wondered as he settled down with his back to the long-cold chimney and let his gaze wander out over the Hudson, who would got to so much trouble to infiltrate his safe house, just to leave a smear of blood and a goddamn house plant? “Neighbour”? If they were a local, why had he never had any inkling of someone interested in the place? He’d been vigilant enough. Passers-by mostly treated the condemned and wire-fenced pile as though it wasn’t even there. Like it was as invisible to them as it was irrelevant. Just a relic. Hah. A ghost story.
A last glimpse of the sunset flashed off his fingers. He rolled his shoulders and hissed between his teeth. It was bad tonight, but he would have to do without the pills. If there was still someone prowling around he wouldn’t risk being caught sleeping too deeply. He eased his left shoulder; knotted scar tissue stretched like exposed sinew, raw as a live wire. No, he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. No fear on that score. He tapped his knuckles against the wall and knocked free a triangle of cement. He bounced it on his palm. He and Steve had thrown so many of these it was a wonder there was any building left. Steve’s had almost always fallen short of any mark he chose, of course, though Buck had sworn blind he’d seen them hit more than once when his buddy’s spirits needed a lift. Hundreds had dropped into the alley below, sometimes raising angry shouts that sent them laughing into cover before anyone could spot their faces silhouetted overhead. The fragment exploded into dust against a raised air vent three buildings over and Bucky grinned to himself as he swung over the edge of the roof and returned home.
Cuadro: 1 “Un paseo entre los árboles florecientes.”
Clasificación: B.
Sinopsis: Brock esperó por el momento perfecto.
Advertencias: Fluff, propuesta.
N/A: Esta es mi entrada para Language of flowers bingo. 63.
Links: Wattpad, Ao3, versión en inglés.
Si te gusto por favor vota, comenta y rebloguea.
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Brock suspiró, habían pasado muchos años desde la última vez que habían estado así. Si le hubieran preguntado, nunca había creído que tuviese otra oportunidad como esa, la única diferencia era que ahora si haría las cosas bien y de la forma correcta, ya no habría mentiras ni ocultaría nada porque tal vez nunca más volvería a tener una oportunidad así.
Brock tomó a Kath de la mano mientras comenzaban a caminar bajo los árboles que se encontraban floreciendo, quizás en otra época o situación había creído que era demasiado colorido o rosado, pero en estos momentos, todo parecía perfecto, especialmente para lo que planeaba hacer, estaba seguro que esta era la forma en la que realmente a ella le hubiese gustado…
Por el momento debía de controlarse o ella sospecharía y toda la sorpresa quedaría arruinada.
De igual manera por su cabeza pasó preguntarle si alguna vez había caminado entre los árboles de cerezo con Steve, la vista era hermosa y relajante, ella siempre le había contado cuanto le gustaba esta actividad, aunque no habían tenido oportunidad de compartirla hasta ese momento.
Rápidamente acomodó el mantel, tenía que distraerse un poco para que su nerviosismo no fuese tan evidente, incluso le costaba trabajo mantener la conversación, ella le estaba contando algo de forma muy animada, aunque él no estaba del todo seguro de estar entendiendo.
Ahora el problema era elegir el momento indicado para darle la sorpresa, pasó levemente la mano por su bolsillo, solo quería asegurarse de que aún estuviera ahí.
Debería de aprovechar antes de que llegase la gente, así que ahora era el momento oportuno, se aclaró la garganta a la vez que ponía una mano sobre el hombro de Kath, ella volteó enseguida.
—Sé que he cometido muchos errores, pero el más grande fue el dejarte ir, ahora podemos estar juntos y tiene tiempo que quería hacer esto, te amo demasiado, Kath, ¿quieres hacerme el hombre más feliz del universo y casarte conmigo? —Brock puso una rodilla en el piso mientras sacaba la caja donde tenía el anillo y se lo mostraba.
Kathleen estaba sin palabras, no se esperaba la propuesta en ese momento, sonrió, podía sentir el calor en sus mejillas.
—Claro que acepto, no perderé la oportunidad de ser feliz esta vez —respondió, estirando su brazo para que él pudiera tomarle la mano y ponerle el anillo.
Después de comer y observar por un rato como caían las flores y pétalos de los árboles volvieron a caminar entre ellos, solo esperaban que no fuese un sueño.
My fills for event hosted by @seasonaldelightsbingo 🌹 Fort this one I managed a blackout with almost 9k written words with drabbles a some short stories. Hope you like them!
It’s Dizzying to Bid Farewell
💐 Riding a Bike Down the Lane
Fandom: Captain America Movies
Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers | T | 4,5k words
WARNINGS: No Powers AU, Single Parent Bucky Barnes, Teacher Steve Rogers
Summary: Bucky’s friends set him up on a blind date, while Steve’s hoping to get a second date and fate seems to have other ideas for the pair.
Dancing, Happy, Seen
💐 Intense Eye Contact
Fandom: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Carlos Reyes/TK Strand | G | Drabble
Summary: Carlos’ thoughts during his first dance with TK.
Going Fishing and Other Summer Disasters
💐 Going Fishing
Fandom: Red White & Royal Blue (2023
Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor | G | 504 words
WARNINGS: mention of fishing, not described
Summary: Alex takes Henry fishing. Henry is not that thrilled.
I Already Have You
💐 Picking Dandelions
Fandom: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Carlos Reyes/TK Strand | G | Drabble
Summary: Carlos and TK go on a picnic.
Harder Than It’s Supposed To Be
💐 Frostbite
Fandom: New Amsterdam (TV 2018)
Casey Acosta/Lauren Bloom | T | 608 words
WARNINGS: Episode: s03e12 Things Fall Apart (New Amsterdam), Asphyxiation
Summary: After the pipe bursts, it’s Lauren’s priority to take care of everyone before her. Casey finds her when she collapses.
Dough and Love
💐 Watching it Rain Outside
💐 Baking Together
Fandom: The Avengers Movies
Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton/Laura Barton | T | 1,4k words
Summary: Bucky has been visiting the Barton’s monthly for a year, and gotten closer to Clint and Laura throughout time. This visit, though, may be the last one.
I Am Free
💐 “Your Love Lifted Me Higher Than I’ve ever Been Lifted Before”
Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV)
Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard & Christopher Diaz | G | Double Drabble
Summary: The 118 get ready for a Pride demonstration. It’s both Tommy and Buck’s first time.
Rooftop Confessions
💐 Locked Outside
Fandom: The Avengers Movies
Bucky Barnes/Loki | T | Drabble
Summary: Bucky and Loki talk to kill time while being locked outside on the rooftop.
Characters: team CCHM; Cherry Arc, Cassandra and Helenus Nikos-Amitola, Marmalade Rose (all ocs)
A/N: this is for @seasonaldelightsbingo language of flowers. there was originally supposed to be a fight, but i kind of ran out of time for that so it's brushed over
They grate on her, by the time they graduate and get their huntsman licenses. Cherry, Cassandra, Helenus. But Cherry grates on her the most, with her pretty pink eyes and winning smile and belief people are fundamentally good, because she knows Cherry is wrong. She knows deep in her bones; knows with the certainty of a child who grew up ignored by her mom simply because she had the wrong eye colour. When she finally breaks from her team, it is with great pleasure.
It’s a week after they get their licenses. They’re still in Vale, waiting for a mission, because that’s what they do now. Wait. Marmalade can see the way it grates on the team, the impatience of Cherry trickling out into Cassandra. She feels it herself, though she’s felt it for longer than they have, ever since the beginning of the year when she finally stopped trying to be her mom. The only reason she stayed was for her license, since it seemed a shame to waste two years and not follow completely through.
Plus, beating an entire team on her own? Beating her year’s best fighter? It seemed like a hell of a resume.
So, a week after they get their licenses, Marmalade quietly packs her bags, takes her sniper rifle, and sets about leaving her team behind. The type of person Cherry is, Marmalade knows it won’t be without a fight. And honestly she really wouldn’t want it any other way. What better audition is there, then taking down the top fighter of her year and her (remaining) teammates?
It’s not hard to draw the team out to a clearing near the forest for a picnic, though Cass and Helen keep sneaking glances at her and she can’t help wondering how much their semblances allow them to see. Wondering just why they’d even let themselves be lured, if they have an inkling of her plan. She takes them to a clear spot; it’s sunny and green, spotted with flowers, close to the trees, and on the complete other side of the home Cherry’s parents built in Forever Fall. No one should be able to hear the shots and if they do, they’ll likely think it’s just students practicing. And given Cherry’s relationship with her dad, the three of them will be found. Maybe even before night falls.
Marmalade places the blanket on the ground; it’s a pink plaid the team got in their first year, specifically for picnics. Because that’s the type of team she had the misfortune to end up on. One who’s always done silly, childish things in the guise of “team building”. And Marmalade hates to say it, but some of it genuinely worked. Of course, she doesn’t think the team made top of their year– with Cherry as top individual fighter– because they played ultimate tag. But the games helped with individual strategy, teamwork, and speed. Something which definitely showed in part when they fought in the Vytal Tournaments. Especially when they won three out of their four years.
The other three work together, a well-oiled machine, taking out the food and a frisbee. Marmalade watches them, not so much preparing for what’s to come as calculating for it. She’s planned as much as she could for it, but she could only plan so far. The real would never match every calculation she may make.
As they eat, her hand brushes Helenus’ and he startles. She has no clue what of the past few days he saw, but she knows what it pertained to. His eyes flicker to her weapon, sitting innocuously with Cherry’s sword. The sniper scythe lost it’s scythe portion at the beginning of the school year, reducing it to just a sniper rifle. Marmalade likes it better this way. Likes the feel of the recoil, the smell of gun powder residue on her hands. Likes how it doesn’t remind her of her mom anymore or her childish efforts to get her attention. Helenus’ eyes meet hers and his mouth moves soundlessly.
No.
She looks away like she didn’t notice.
the weirdest thing, perhaps, is how she doesn’t think he says anything to Cassandra. The four of them eat and Helenus keeps glancing at her, but never once does he whisper to his twin or their leader. Perhaps he is doubting his own vision, his loyalty making him weak. She shakes her head because in the end it doesn’t matter. His silence only helps her.
Once they’ve eaten and rested, Marmalade walks to her rifle. Helenus’ eyes track her as she does, whatever flash of the past he’d gotten no doubt back at the forefront of his mind, playing again behind his green eyes. Marmalade ignores it easily. her hand wraps around the sun-warmed metal.
“How about we train? It’s nice and we have the space for it here; it’d do us good not to get slow before our first mission as actual huntsmen,” Marmalade says, looking into Cherry’s pretty pink eyes. Cherry lights up, because of course she does. She’s like the hero in one of those stupid shows she used to watch with Vermillion, back when they were both very small. Before everything went to shit.
His eyes were the right colour. His eyes were silver.
Marmalade closes her eyes, takes a breath, and smiles on the exhale. When she opens her eyes, Cherry is smiling.
“I think that’s a great idea,” she says, walking over to her own weapon. “Cass? Helen?”
“Why not?” Cassandra shrugs, looking equally pleased. Another who loves fighting, though she’s calmer than Cherry, in her own way. She trusts less easily. It’s one of the reasons Marmalade can tolerate her.
Helenus looks more nervous, eyes flashing between the weapons and her and his teammates, but he assents with a nod and Cherry’s smile somehow gets wider.
“Let’s go!” Cherry says, picking up her sword with the ease of a children’s toy. Maybe to her, that’s all it is. A toy, not something to destroy with. (It’s not either of those things, Marmalade knows. It’s something to defend. To protect. Cherry has the same soul as her brother and it makes Marmalade grit her teeth behind false smiles. The twins join them, picking up their own weapons.
“Last one standing, best of three rounds?” Cherry asks, looking at Marmalade, who nods. Trust Cherry to ta goes for the trees, Cherry following after. Only Cassandra stays behind, smiling, a berserker with the gift of foresight. But not enough foresight, clearly. Or if she really does know, like Marmalade expected of her, simply with too much hubris.
Marmalade takes Cassandra out with nearly brutal efficiency, using years of watching her fight, fighting with her, to her advantage. She knocks her out with the butt of her rifle so she won’t get back up anytime soon, and turns her sights to Helenus in the trees, where he was no doubt watching. With his twin gone, he’s almost disturbingly easy to pick off. It almost makes her worry about them in a real fight, no teachers around to save them if he gets distracted, but she shakes it off as not her concern. The last is the leader, Cherry, left purposely for the end.
Cherry, who stares at where her teammates fell, unmoving but alive.
Cherry, who of course can’t believe what’s right in front of her, when it involves a friend.
She fights her till they are both bloody, Cherry pushing past her own limits, past what Marmalade thinks even someone who doesn’t have an aura deficiency should be capable of. But that’s just who Cherry has always been. Marmalade shoots her, sending bullets grazing through her shoulder and forearm and one through her leg when those aren’t enough. And yet Cherry limps toward her, sword in hand. Blood trickles down her shoulder in a thin line. Marmalade lines up another shot for her other leg, another shot to injury, not to kill, because she really doesn’t actually want to kill the people she spent four years fighting and learning beside, not now. One day, if she is hired for it, maybe. But not today.
Not today.
Cherry coughs and swallows.
“Marm, this isn’t you. Whatever is happening, whatever caused you to do this, you can fight it. I’m sure of it,” Cherry says, ever the good knight. It’s clear she truly believes it, too. Believes Marmalade wouldn’t do this, couldn’t do this, unless some outside force was causing her to. Marmalade smiles, something small and mean, but finally, actually, truly happy. She feels alive. For the first time in her life, she feels alive.
“I can assure you,” she says, firm and quiet, “This is the most me I’ve ever been. And I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time.” Cherry looks at her in surprise, betrayal thick in her eyes. They’re beautiful eyes, she’s always thought so privately, even if they’re not silver. Pink, like the blossoms she was named for. Blossoms which bloom beautifully, but die so quickly. Marmalade presses her fingers into the pressure point at Cherry’s neck and after a few seconds she drops, she joining the rest of her team in darkness. Cherry’s team, not Marmalade’s, because they’re not her team anymore. Now, finally, she is free of the last vestiges of who she once was. Of who she once tried naively, desperately to become. A laugh leaves her in a huff of air. She leaves that place, alone, and very ready to be just herself for the first time in her life.
Wrote a last-minute fill for Build-a-Bucky-Bingo’s May prompt — Accidental Love Confessions. I’ve been wanting to write something for this pairing for some time and I’m happy I finally did 💗
Fill for for: @winterhawkbingo — free space / @seasonaldelightsbingo, Language of Flowers — Baking Together + Watching it Rain Outside & , Types of Love — Sleepover
Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton/Laura Barton
Tags: Post-Canon, Retirement, Fluff, Getting Together, Love Confessions
Summary: Bucky has been visiting the Barton’s monthly for a year, and gotten closer to Clint and Laura throughout time. This visit, though, may be the last one.
Wordcount: 1,4k
Excerpt:
Bucky’s sleepovers at the Barton’s house had become so regular in the last year after Clint got his family back, that Bucky was visiting the whole family monthly once the archer had retired and moved permanently with Laura and their kids. The time he was preparing his bag to visit them right following his birthday, Bucky received a text from Laura telling him to pack for a few more days, offering him a longer stay because the children had heard it had been his birthday, and they wanted to celebrate it with Bucky like it had to.
The offer took Bucky by surprise, but he quickly changed his regular bag for a sports one and filled it with clothes and care products and counted down the days to his flight and being reunited with the Barton’s.
