It's promo time, so here! Have an angst/comfort fic about what it's like trying to do... Well, anything, with a disability.
When Clint gets the Invite to his sisters Wedding, there are a lot of things going through his mind. Not all of them are good.
As a disabled person, I cannot explain how much I empathised with this. It can be so hard to be excited, even about things that should just be a happy day, when you have to put so much thought into 'will the venue be accessible? Will there be issues with the travel? Will everything that is supposed to be there actually be there/be functional/only be available on request and there's nobody around to actually ask?'
It's draining, and Clint's worry captures this perfectly. It was so encouraging to see how Charles handled it, though. @42donotpanic does it again. <3
In Our Deepest Moments, We Say the Most Inadequate Things.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> The morning after.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 2934.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) injury mentions, relationship anxiety... .But mostly, it's just smut. Almost entirely smut.
𝐀/𝐍 -> A Companion Piece to Multitudes, exploring the relationship of Tony Stark and Stephen Strange. This chapter best corresponds to Multitudes Chapter Thirty- I recommend starting here if you're reading both <3. Masterlist can be found here! I'm aware that we're skimming some of the Nat details - but this project is, after all, largely about Stephen and Stark! ❤️
Check it out below or on AO3 here! Dividers come from yours truly.
<- Previous Chapter (16/46)
Waking up in his arms after yet another painful period apart was a blessing.
But rolling and catching sight of the rough lines of stitches on either side of his throat took my breath away for an entirely different reason, and I grimaced.
His eyes flickered open, catching my expression, and he snorted. “Is my breath so bad? I didn’t-”
“Tony?”
“Hm?”
“Can you… Can just shut up and fuck me? Please.”
He grinned, but it faded quickly as he winced. “Are… Are you sure you-”
“Yes. For the love of God, yes. It’s been… So long since I felt close to you. I need you to look me in the eye and make me feel like you want me,” I whispered, arms hesitating as they went to wrap around his throat, and he flinched.
“Sorry. For… Both things.”
My nails dragged lightly down his chest, sinking into the taut muscle lightly and making him groan. “I can just hold you somewhere else for now, honeybee. Don’t worry about it.”
He purred and rolled me, hands catching my wrists and pinning them by my head. “Or I can just make sure you can’t touch me anywhere…”
I hummed in pleasure as I rolled my hips against him, then shook my head lightly. “Not today. I’ve… It’s been so long since I touched you. Please.”
He released me immediately, and I skimmed my hands over his biceps with a purr, squeezing and scratching lightly, carefully avoiding the litany of wounds across his skin, and he flinched minutely. “Sorry.”
“Sh, honey. Please. It’s okay.”
He nodded as his lips found mine, his hand on my thigh pulling my leg around him. “I’m going to make you feel… So good.”
I whimpered, nodded desperately. “Please. Please, honey. Please.” His mouth shifted to my neck, nipping and licking and – my God I forgot how good this felt-
“Tony…”
“Tell me what you want, baby boy.”
“Hm- I-I… It’s been a while s-since you…” My eyes flicked down pointedly, and he smirked.
“Oh, is that right? You know, it’s been a while since you did that, too…” He leaned up to bite my lip softly, and I whimpered.
“I-I want to. Please. Please, Sir. Let me taste you.”
He swallowed dryly, meeting my gaze with a quirked eyebrow. “What happened to look me in the eyes?”
“Y-You can look me in the eyes while you swallow like that, if it makes you feel better.”
He exhaled heavily, pupils blowing wide with desire. “Damn… You got it. But I think I should go first. That way I can bend you over when I’m done with you.”
I gulped and nodded desperately, hips twitching. “Yes, Sir. Please. I-I want to taste you. Please…”
Not sure how I went from begging for my own pleasure to begging for his, but I’m fine with that.
He groaned and rolled off me, smirking as his hands found the back of his head. “Come on then, honeybee.”
I couldn’t shake the fact that everything felt slightly clunky and out of sync, but I nodded as I sprawled between his injured thighs.
The second his fingers found my hair, and my lips found his length, my anxiety receded somewhat, and I whined around him as his hips twitched, hissing. “Holy shit, baby boy. Fuck… I forgot how good that tongue feels. Hm.”
My thumbs rubbed his hipbones encouragingly as I bobbed, and he grunted softly, rutting against me needily. Drawing back infinitesimally, I sucked lightly at his tip, and he let out an indecipherable sound of joy, jerking me back closer. “No, no, go nowhere, fuck. Nice and deep, sweet boy. Take it all for me, yeah?”
I whimpered, teeth skimming over him as I obeyed, revelling in the feeling of his hands in my hair, tugging and pushing lightly as his hips jerked. “Fuck, you’re so good- you’re so perfect,” he groaned, pressing up until he skimmed the back of my throat. “God, just like that, baby boy. Just there- fuck.”
Holy shit, I’d forgotten how hot he is, I reflected, rutting lightly against the bed in my desperation, taking him deeper, my hands on his hips pulling him closer eagerly, and he chuckled breathlessly. “I forgot how needy you are, s-sweet boy… I love how much you fucking adore this c-cock…” He jerked his hips and groaned, nails catching against my scalp in his passion. “Fuck- I’m- fuck-”
He whimpered weakly as he buried himself inside me, back arching from the sheets, my name falling from his lips as he begged for mercy, hot and thick in my throat as I swallowed with a whine of pleasure.
When he stopped spasming – and I’d sucked him dry – I crawled up his body slowly, kissing him deeply and eliciting a nose-wrinkle that made me laugh. “It’s not that bad.”
“You aren’t,” he corrected, his palm finding my chest as he pushed me back lightly. I sighed at his mouth on my chest, nipping and trailing and licking, and I whined as he bit a bruise into my hipbone firmly.
“Jesus- e-easy, Tony,” I hissed, a soft sound of pleasure dragged from my still-tingling lips, and he laughed.
“Lubricant.”
I arched an eyebrow in surprise, but obliged quickly, his fingers trailing my length with a feather-light touch, and I whined. “That’s incredibly distracting.”
“Sorry, shall I… Stop?”
Handing him the bottle, I purred as his touch was replaced with his lips. “Please- Please don’t tease me, sweetheart. I-I need you. Please.”
He took me in his mouth quickly, and I stuttered out a groan, jerking up desperately. Holy fuck, just- Never stop, please-
I mewled, legs spreading when his finger pressed against me lightly, my body torn between up – because holy shit, that tongue, that mouth, those teeth – and down – fuck me, please fuck me, it’s been so long and I can feel every inch of my body-
He took me deeper in his mouth as he pressed deeper inside me, and I whimpered eagerly. “F-fuck, honeybee, just like that, please,” I panted, eliciting a soft growl and a shift in pace as he worked me.
“Oh f- just like that, just there, please,” I whimpered, eyes rolling as he found my sweet spot, and my fingers tangled in his hair, rutting desperately. “Please, please, I need you, I need this, please-”
He hummed encouragingly around me, his second digit joining the first as I writhed, one hand across my hips holding me still – or as still as he could, at least. “Please, I-I- I’m- Please-”
He met my eyes, beautiful mahogany watching me intensely, and I squealed humiliatingly as I spasmed beneath him, the intensity of his stare dragging me bodily into an abyss of pleasure as I found my release, the gentle, repetitive motion of his swallows and sucks dragging further embarrassing sounds from between my clenched teeth.
I had barely finished pulsating before my legs were around his waist, and he leant over me to kiss me passionately. “Hm... See? Sweet as cherry pie. Sweet as honey, for your honeybee.”
Whimpering, I nodded desperately, pushing down needily. “Please, honeybee. Please fuck me. It’s been so goddamn- fuck.”
My voice failed as he pushed inside me, stretching and groaning and holy shit was it always this good? How did we stop?
“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby boy,” he hissed as he sheathed himself slowly, and I nodded frantically, fingers curling, legs around his waist pulling him deeper as he leant back, purring. “I love seeing you take it, honey... Fuck, that’s so hot...”
I whimpered and wriggled closer, and he chuckled softly. “What’s up, sweetheart? You tell me what it is that you need, and I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”
“I-I- fuck- just fuck me- hard- f-fast- I need you- need your cock- I-I need you to put me through this mattress,” I whined, squirming against him.
The effect was instant as I begged for him; his hands found my hips as he jerked me closer, his pace fast and punishing, and so goddamn perfectly angled holy shit how is he doing that how is it this good how am I so fucking hard already-
“Sorry, baby boy, b-but I don’t know how l-long I’ve got,” he grunted, fingers grasping at the thin skin over my hipbones as his nails dug into me desperately. “You’re so good and it's been so long...”
I whimpered and nodded, guiding one hand to my throbbing length eagerly. “Please- please, I-I want you to come in me- make me come for you- please, T-Tony- Please, Sir...”
He groaned breathlessly as he fucked me roughly, his fingers tight around my already leaking member. “Fuck, you’re so desperate, baby boy- is this what you want? You want me to stroke that pretty cock and make you come while I fill you up?” I nodded frantically, hips bucking as he fisted me, dragging soft whines from my lips against my will. “Come for me, sweetheart. Show me how much you want me.”
I whimpered and writhed, the muscles in my jaw screaming at the tension as he buried himself inside me, groaning as he reached his peak, and the feeling of him filling me had me biting down on the back of my forearm as I sobbed with pleasure, my own crescendo and twitches dragging him deeper with a whine of overstimulated joy.
I reluctantly released my latch on my skin when he pulled away, jerking with sensitivity. “Hmn- fuck. Jesus, baby boy. You really took it, huh?” His fingertips teased my stretched hole, still leaking, and I giggled quietly.
“Mmmhm,” I agreed sleepily, waving a hand toward him. “Hm. Need a shower. Carry me.”
He hesitated, and I winced guiltily, cracking an eyelid to find him glancing at his multitudes of stitches. “... I... Sorry,” I murmured, shame crawling through my body as I shifted upright with a subtle wince. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart, it was-... Stephen, c’mere a sec?”
I’d gotten halfway across the room before his voice drew me a halt, and I glanced back with a weak smile. “No, I know, it was... Just a mistake. I know it’s not the end of the world, don’t worry.”
He shook his head slowly, extending a hand to me. “It’s not about that, baby boy. Please?”
I obeyed slowly, head cocked with concern. “... Yeah?” I prompted, sliding my hand into his, and freezing when he turned my arm over.
“What happened here?” he murmured, fingertips skirting the lightly bleeding bite embedded into my skin, and I pulled away with a blush.
“I... Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” I muttered, shaking my head, but he simply grasped my wrist as he stood.
“No, baby boy. You can’t... Do something like this, and tell me not to worry about it. Not after everything. Please,” he breathed, touching his forehead to mine softly, and I closed my eyes in pain.
“I-I wanted to... To...”
“To be quiet,” he finished softly, and I parted my lids in surprise to find his own squeezed shut, and nodded weakly. “Yeah. I thought – feared – that may have been the case. Everything felt a little... Discordant, didn’t it?”
I nodded again, swallowing dryly. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know-”
He silenced me with a gentle kiss, hands finding my neck tenderly. “You have nothing to apologise for, sweet boy. It’s not your fault. We’ve just... Lost our step a little, that’s all. It’s not surprising things were a little… I mean, it was good – it was incredible – but something was just…”
“Something was missing?” I offered softly, and he nodded uncertainly, my lips skimming his. “I guess we’ll just have to… Keep trying.”
He raised an eyebrow, smirking, and kissed me harder, growling under his breath. “Mind if I join you in that shower?”
When he slid inside me, bent into the spray, I froze, muscles tensing, and he paused. “I-I… Is this… Should I stop?” he offered softly, and I bit my lip.
“This is…”
“I know. This is how it all went to shit.”
“Is this a good idea?” I whispered, and he hummed.
“I… I don’t know. Do I… Not?”
“I… Carry on. Please,” I breathed, pushing back lightly. “Please.”
We need to make this good again.
He swallowed audibly, shifting slowly, my legs trembling as I gasped. “Fuck.” The sparks burnt under my skin, back arching as I pressed against him, and he groaned, hands tightening on my hips.
“Jesus, baby boy….” he hissed, thrusting roughly. “Fuck, I-I… That’s…”
“So much better,” I whimpered, gasping softly as he jerked me closer.
“My sweet, tight boy-“ His fingers clawed along my back, and I clenched my teeth in pleasure until he pulled me back, one hand on my wrist to keep me steady as he rocked against me, while the other found my throat. “Don’t you dare. If you want to scream, you scream. You scream, and moan, and beg, and make all those other delicious sounds that make me want to fuck you for the rest of my life.”
I mewled lightly, and he purred in my ear. “Let me know how much you love it, baby boy. Let me know how good it feels to have me fucking that ass when it’s already leaking with my come…”
I whimpered again, soft and needy, as I pushed back against him, his hand finding my length making me shiver desperately. “I-I do… I love it. Please…”
He groaned quietly, driving himself eagerly inside me. “Fuck, you’re so good. I… Hm… I remember exactly what made you come so hard last time…” His tongue trailed my jaw, and I whined. “You’re my little fuck toy, aren’t you?”
Gasping, I nodded frantically, hips twitching needily. “Yes- yes, Sir.”
He tutted, pace slowing, and I whimpered. “We covered this, pet…”
“M-Master! Master, please, please… I’m sorry, please… I’ll be g-good, just- just fuck me, please,” I breathed, shifting needily on his length.
He hesitated only a heartbreak longer before thrusting roughly, my body jerking from the force, and I groaned weakly, fingers curling against the tile. “That’s it, my good boy – you make all the noise you want, you hear? I want to fucking world to know how goddamn amazing you feel…”
I whimpered again, quiet and restrained – until his free hand found my ass, hard and punishing, and I yelped around my gritted teeth. “Didn’t you hear me, slut? I know you love this cock inside you; I can feel you twitching around me like the whore you are… So let me hear you.” His hand left my skin again, and I whined in anticipation, but the blow never came. “… Is this-”
“Yes,” I whimpered, rutting back desperately. “Please. Take the ch-choice away. Make me loud. I-I need-”
The sting of his palm on my flesh had me groaning deafeningly, and rutting back with wanton abandon. His hand found my thigh, shifting to prop my foot on the edge of the tub and drive himself deeper, my noises undeniably exactly as loud as he wanted as I cried out. “F-Fuck yes, just like that, just- God damn, you’re so fucking hot, I-I’m so close,” he panted, his pace losing rhythm as he stroked me desperately, and I ground down frantically.
“Please- Please, I want- I need you- Fill me up, Master, please, please- m-make me scream for you,” I whimpered, hips jerking desperately, and he stuttered out a moan.
“Fuck, don’t you dare stop, come slut. I want every last bit of it stuffed inside you, do you hear me? Take it all... And then you can come.”
I nodded frantically as I rutted back, the memory blurring with reality, and he moaned loudly, forcing himself deeper as he found his release. My legs trembled as his thrusts failed to slow, jerking me closer to hiss in my ear.
“Scream for me.”
His hand stroked me deftly as he ploughed against my sweet spot, and my fingers grasped desperately, sinking into his forearms as I obliged, and he groaned in pleasure, driving harder inside me.
Fuckyespleasemorejustlikethat-
I panted as my knees gave way, dropping to an exhausted heap in the spray until he recovered enough to chuckle, helping me slowly back to my shaky legs and wrapping his forearm my waist. “I’ve got you, baby boy,” he purred, nose nudging mine fondly. “I’ve got you.”
The sound that escaped me was simply one of baffled, exhausted pleasure, and he snorted, his free hand guiding my arms one by one to his neck. I winced at the rows of stitches under my skin, opening my mouth to express my concern, but he interrupted my objections with a tender kiss. “It doesn’t hurt, honey. And I need my hands, so you need to have a way to stay upright.” I cocked my head curiously, then purred in surprise as his fingers slid into my hair.
“Oh… That’s nice,” I murmured gently, wincing at the pain in my throat, and he chuckled, pressing his lips to my neck gently.
“God, I love the sounds you make,” he breathed, tongue trailing the skin gently. “So, so much. It makes me… Ugh. Insatiable.” I purred happily, twitching my hips toward him, and he snorted. “I do still have a recovery period though, baby boy. We can’t all be as young and virile as you,” he murmured, and ducked down.
“Oh, okay, I’m f-fine with…”
He stood once more with his shampoo in his hand, one eyebrow raised, and I flushed deeply. “I… I mean, let’s at least get you clean first.”
The Water Crests and Sinks Away (He Looked Just Like a Navy Man)
Epilogue Eight - Brooklyn, New York - December, 1945.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> James 'Bucky' Barnes x Original Male Character (Winter x Lt. Gregor Tyne)
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Some secrets don't last long, and some memories will never fade.
Or: Greg asks if Winter remembers Reykjavík. Winter says yes.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 2026.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> E - Please read mindfully and be aware that this will be set in the arena of WWII and naval service, with corresponding themes, including but not limited to mentions of military procedures and weaponry, and era-typical attitudes to homosexuality.
𝐀/𝐍 -> Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Masterlist can be found here.
<- Epilogue Seven
Winter had known something had happened from the moment he walked in.
The air felt different. It wasn’t guilt, not exactly - Greg didn’t strike Winter as the type to have anything to feel guilty for, while Effie had perfected herself as unreadable years ago - but a sense of something settled. Resolved in a way that impacted him without him yet knowing how.
The pair assured him it was nothing, his mother moving about her business with barely a flicker of something behind her eyes, making a fresh pot of tea as if there truly was nothing different.
If it had been only her, Winter might not have known something was afoot - might have believed the assertions and let it go.
But his lieutenant did not quite have the ability for discretion that Winnifred Barnes possessed. In the subtle twitch of his jaw and the slight shift of his eyes, Winter could see that something had transpired between the pair.
He also knew that these were two people who loved him without compromise, without condition - and that whatever secrets they held between them would become known to him when, or indeed if, it was necessary.
Winter made tea when he was uncertain. It was a habit he had picked up from his mother, who had picked it up from her own mother in turn.
And later, when they were home, and Greg had been quieter than usual for most of the evening, Winter made tea.
When he returned to their living room, Ana at his feet - seemingly trying her hardest to make him fall over her - and tea in each hand, he found Tyne stood at the window, his back to the room as he gazed out over the water.
“… Hey, pretty boy… You okay?” Winter murmured after a moment, pausing to place the mugs on their low coffee table before stepping up beside his parter. He recognized this stance - Greg’s hands folded behind his back, his shoulders squared. It was a formal, braced position; it was the way he stood when he had something on his mind.
His hand passed gently around his partner’s waist to rest on his hip as he stood beside him, pressing a gentle kiss to the lieutenant’s shoulder. Nothing else was said; he simply watched the side of Tyne’s face quietly, eyes tracing the hard line of his jaw, the subtle shift of light reflected on water that moved over his skin.
“I always liked this view,” Greg noted softly, eventually, his gaze not shifting away from the ocean. “I believe I said to you, that day you came back to me… That when sky is clear and the water is on fire, it's almost like being back on the sea.”
At last, he lowered his mahogany eyes to his partner’s, finding a blue so similar, so similarly familiar, that it made his chest ache. “I miss the ocean.”
Winter winced subtly, sympathetically. “I know.”
Greg’s hand rose, cupping his partner’s jaw gently. “But you… You make me feel the way I do when I’m out there. Like the world is wide enough.”
The younger man only smiled, tipping his face into the touch. “I hope you get back out there some day. Whatever that looks like.”
“And I love you for it,” Greg replied evenly, brushing his lips against Winter’s forehead softly. “I love that you don’t let the things that you’ve seen, the things we have endured, keep me contained.”
“It scares me,” Winter admitted quietly. “The thought of you on the ocean again. The idea that something similar could happen, or worse.” He hesitated for a moment, his thumb rubbing his lieutenant’s hip idly. “But if I tried to keep you from the sea - worse, if I succeeded… You would not be the man I fell in love with.”
“Do you remember Reykjavík?” Greg asked softly. Winter blinked, surprised, and raised his head from where it had drifted to the other man’s shoulder to meet his gaze.
“Of course. Every second.”
Tyne nodded, his eyes drifting back to the ocean. “I think… Despite everything, the moment I remember the most was as I fell asleep.”
Winter thought back to wind against glass, to the scent of steam-warm wood, to the sanctity offered by a nondescript room. To the feeling of the other man’s body against his for the first time. It felt almost like a lifetime ago, with everything that had happened in between. Love, loss, farewells and returns - and through it all, one another.
He didn’t say anything; he simply watched, letting his lieutenant take his time to find the words. Remembering what he had said on that day - “I’m not always good with words. Orders – that’s clear. Unequivocal. A task set. It’s… Easy. But this? … I don’t know the words for these things.”
“As I fought sleep, not wanting our night to end… Not wanting to return to the world we lived in, you held me close, and you whispered something. Do you remember?”
A flash of surprise passed through the younger man, and he shook his head. “I… No.”
Greg looked down at his partner, his gaze gentle. “‘I’ve got you.’ That’s what you said to me, as you held me - your superior officer. Another man. ‘I’ve got you.’” Tyne smiled softly, his thumb trembling slightly as it traced Winter’s cheekbone. “And in every moment since then, no matter how far apart we have been, I have known, without doubt, that I am got. That in a world that guarantees little, there you are.”
Winter blinked hard, fighting the water that gathered on his lash line at his partner’s soft words. “Greg…”
“I spoke to your mother,” he pointed out quietly - unnecessarily, really, but by way of explanation for the moment they were in. Winter nodded once.
“I assumed as much, though I wasn’t sure what about.”
“I asked her if I may have her permission.”
Winter raised an eyebrow. “Permission for what?”
Greg turned to face his partner more directly, free hand raising to rest gently against Winter’s neck, gaze drifting for just a moment to where the hair had grown back in an interrupted pattern. “To bind my life to yours,” he replied simply. “In every way available to us.”
Winter’s throat seemed too dry, tongue too clumsy. “… Oh,” he whispered eventually, eyes wide. “Wh— what, uh… What did she say?”
Tyne’s fingers came up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his partner’s ear delicately. It was getting long again now — the way it had been when they’d first met, almost four years ago to the day. “She said yes.”
“Oh,” Winter whispered again. “That… That was… Good of her.”
The lieutenant’s lips twitched, and his hands wrapped around one of the younger man’s, shaking a little but undeniably sure. “It was.” He leaned closer, pressing his forehead to Winter’s softly, breathing him in for a moment.
“You didn’t warn me,” Winter murmured, and this time, Greg couldn’t keep from smiling a little.
“No.”
The younger man swallowed dryly. “You’re serious.”
“I have never been more serious about anything in my life,” Tyne replied evenly, eyes closing for a beat before once hand came up to cup his partner’s face gently, fingertips fluttering against his jaw.
“I cannot offer you the things I wish I could,” Greg murmured softly, mahogany locked on azure once more. “I cannot promise you safety, or acceptance, from the world. But I can promise you a port in the storm. I can promise that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, even if I can’t promise I’ll never fall short. I can promise you love, and home, for as long as I live. I can promise you loyalty and fidelity. I can promise that I will fight by your side when the world is hard. I can promise that I will walk beside you, for as long as you’ll have me.”
He exhaled once, softly, his thumb caressing his partner’s cheekbone tenderly. “I cannot offer you paper, or anything the world will recognize. But… In every way that is available to us, I am asking, Winter… If you will marry me. Please,” he added, lips twitching just a little.
By the time the lieutenant had fallen quiet, Winter had hardly dared breathe. His free hand came to Tyne’s hip, first resting, then clinging, as if the words themselves had made his knees unreliable. “Gregor,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I… You…”
“Hm?” the older man replied steadily, though a flicker of uncertainty passed over his expression.
The sound that escaped him was one of joy and surprise and excitement, his mouth finding Tyne’s with a desperation that made his lieutenant stumble slightly, fingers shifting to wrap in his partner’s hair.
“Yes?” Greg repeated softly against his officer’s lips, almost in disbelief.
“Yes,” Winter enthused, pulling him closer. “A thousand times, yes.”
Miles to Go Before I Sleep - Chapter Three
I Took the One Less Travelled By
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> James "Bucky" Barnes x Original Nonbinary Character (Soldierbug).
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Gen.
Some stops are forced. Others are chosen.
Sometimes it's harder to still than to continue.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 1469.
𝐀/𝐍 -> Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Masterlist can be found here.
<- Chapter Two
Prompts -> - “You Still Hesitate Before Sleeping.” - @fandombingo (Bleach);
- “You’re Still Here. That Matters.” - Fandom Bingo (Bleach).
Late afternoon began to fade into early evening, Mars’ soft snoring and whatever their cell phone decided to play next acting as the soundtrack to my drive. I had assumed, when I’d planned the trip, that there was a danger of becoming lost in the darkness of my own thoughts. But their occasional shifting and new songs I didn’t recognize but rather enjoyed kept me grounded, metal fingers drumming idly on the wheel.
It was peaceful.
They stirred when the sun dipped low enough on the horizon that it shone through the windshield and onto their face, scowling against the light as they sat a little higher. Instinctively, I reached over and flipped down the visor, earning a grateful grin that had my lips twitching back.
“I fell asleep,” they noted, guilt in their voice, and I let out a low chuckle.
“Yeah.”
“Did I snore?”
“Only a little.”
“… Did I drool?”
I glanced over at them, my mouth compressing into a thin line to hold back a snort. “… Only a little.” They let out a groan, and I laughed, unable to bite back the sound any more. “Ah, it’s fine. It’s been a while since the truck had a good wash.”
The groan intensified, their head disappearing into their hands. “Kill me.”
“I’d rather not,” I replied evenly, eyes flicking back to the road with a chuckle. “I’m quite enjoying the company.”
They looked up at that, their dismay quickly forgotten and eyes alight. “You are? Even though I fell asleep?”
With a smile, I nodded softly. “Hey, you kept your promise. I got at least three hours of awake before you passed out,” I tease lightly, grinning when they snorted.
We settled into a companionable quiet once more, with Mars commenting intermittently on the road and the surroundings.
“Are we stopping for the night at some point?” they asked when the sun had begun to inch below the horizon, and I hesitated. “We don’t have to,” they pressed, noticing my pause. “I was just wondering.”
My intention, when I’d planned the route, was to simply push through; it wasn’t like I slept well anyway. I’d rather drive through the night than stare at the ceiling for hours — or worse.
But the idea of stopping didn't seem as wrong as it usually would.
“Sure,” I replied after a few seconds. “I’ll keep an eye out for a place.”
It only took a few minutes to start seeing signs for a motel just off the highway, and we decided it was worth a look. Small and unassuming, it was the sort of place that came a dime a dozen — a neon sign that declared ‘VACAN Y’, and a handful of cars in a largely empty lot. Nothing special, but clean enough, and seemingly quiet.
I checked us in — and paid for the room, before they could inevitably attempt to offer — while they waited by the truck. By the time I returned a few minutes later, they’d pulled their hoodie tighter around themselves against the cooling night air.
We stood a moment, looking at one another uncertainly, the key clasped in my hand.
I wondered if they were also realizing that this would be the first time we shared a private space that wasn’t going somewhere. That we would just be… Existing, alone together.
I wondered if they had also become hyperaware of their heartbeat.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been alone with someone like that, other than Steve. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept — or tried to — with someone else in the same enclosed space.
My mouth felt too dry.
Snagging the bags over the edge of the truck to cut the moment short, I cleared my throat. “Come on. Room fifteen.”
There were — as requested and mercifully fulfilled — two queen beds. I took the one nearest the door automatically, while they claimed the one nearest the window, immediately setting about making the space feel more lived-in — phone charging, crochet on the nightstand, their hoodie coming off and draped over the back of a chair.
I ordered pizza from my cell — without difficulty and much to their surprise, they informed me with a grin. When silence descended, it was a little more awkward, a little more heavy, than it had been with the road running beneath us — but they filled it readily enough, making comments on the room, the drive… and how weird it was being somewhere new with someone they didn’t actually know all that well.
I snorted at that, the atmosphere effectively lightened.
Over pizza, with little else to distract us, the conversation deepened naturally.
Mars didn’t push, but asked questions without flinching away. They asked about the drive itself; they wondered why I’d decided to drive, rather than flying or simply shipping the box. I answered honestly, explaining the things I felt both Steve and I had missed out on — many of which would be impossible to replicate in any way.
“But I can do this,” I noted quietly, chewing thoughtfully. “Always figured I’d be driving out somewhere to see him — some fancy school, maybe. It feels… Right, doing it this way. Like a correction.”
I didn’t go into detail about the worst of things, but I didn’t shy away from all of it. I observed, softly, how strange it still is sometimes to have ordinary days. They didn’t try to offer platitudes or some misguided attempt at fixing things, but simply nodded.
“That makes sense.”
They fell quiet again after that — but it didn’t feel like heaviness, or grief, or pity. It just felt like space being offered, in case I wanted to say more.
I didn’t — not then. But the fact that it was held at all meant more than they could know.
After the food was eaten and the boxes thrown out, I stepped outside for a little air before I turned in, leaning against the side of the truck and breathing deeply.
I didn’t explain to them that, after everything, I wasn’t good at staying in one place for too long. Especially if that place was an unfamiliar enclosed space. They didn’t ask as I headed towards the door; I found that it didn’t surprise me. They had a tendency to simply… Notice. To understand.
It also wasn’t a surprise when they joined me a few minutes later, resting their forearms on the edge of the truck bed. I gazed out at the dark road out the way we came, while their head tipped back, eyes on the stars; I tried not to think about what our actions said about us.
In the quiet, I thought about all the nights that had come before. All the times I would have driven straight through without hesitating, even if — or perhaps especially if — the other option was to stop somewhere with someone else.
Nothing made me stop at that motel. Not Mars, not orders, not a mission. I’d simply looked over and seen them tired, and I hadn’t wanted to keep driving only to avoid being still.
It was a choice that I’d made of my own volition, and it felt like that mattered more than I was truly aware of yet.
Mars hummed under their breath beside me, seemingly content with whatever mysteries they’d discovered in the heavens, and turned to lean against the side as I did.
“This was a good day,” they murmured at length, gazing out into the darkness, the words coming almost absently.
I glanced toward them, quiet for a long moment before replying. “… Yeah. It was.”
Back in the room with the lights dimmed, Mars mumbled something about turtles as they slipped into sleep once more, a stuffed panda tucked without any hesitation beneath their chin. Their project rested on the blanket beside them, and I couldn’t help but smile softly as I rolled onto my back, gazing up at the ceiling.
I wondered if I’d ever feel normal about something like this — sharing my space with someone else, stopping when I didn’t have to. Someone existing beside me without it feeling like either a threat or an obligation.
But for the first time in longer than I cared to remember, glancing across the narrow gap between our beds at the slow, steady rise-and-fall of Mars’ breathing, tomorrow didn’t seem like something I would simply need to survive.
It was something I was actually looking forward to.
My eyes closed, and I fell asleep without fighting it.
𝐀/𝐍 -> Sorry, I know this was a little condensed, but... It was hard to write.
A Companion Piece to Multitudes, exploring the relationship of Tony Stark and Stephen Strange. This chapter best corresponds to Multitudes Chapter Thirty- I recommend starting here if you're reading both <3. Masterlist can be found here! I'm aware that we're skimming some of the Nat details - but this project is, after all, largely about Stephen and Stark! ❤️
Check it out below or on AO3 here! Dividers come from yours truly.
<- Previous Chapter (15/46)
Next Chapter (17/46) ->
I see why Natasha likes her so much.
Wanda had stumbled upon my dazed wandering and dragged me to the lounge, staring at me until I began to speak, brushing briefly over the exact nature of the complaint as I blushed, and reassured by her sympathetic clucks and murmurs.
“Yeah, that sounds... Hard. He – both of you – hell, all of us have given a lot to a world that can be... Difficult. Beautiful, and worthwhile, and incredible... But definitely difficult sometimes. I’m so sorry, Stephen. Neither of you deserved that.”
I smiled weakly, wrapping my arms around my knees remorsefully.
“He… He said he regrets it,” I admitted quietly, and she flinched, reaching out to take my hand.
“You know he doesn’t mean you, right? He regrets… Being heard. Well, no – probably not even that. He regrets this goddamn societal bullshit and the fact that y’all were treated that way. I-”
“Heart rate spike detected in the-”
Friday’s voice was cut off, and I snarled with gut-wrenching panic, darting to my feet, hands moving in a blur as Wanda blinked in surprise.
“Wh-What-?”
“Only one person can disable Friday’s alerts,” I snapped, and I barrelled through my portal, slipping on the wet floor as I waved it closed.
No.
No, no, no.
The steam was blinding, but it didn’t stop me as I jerked back the curtain and dragged his semi-conscious body from the tub with a broken wail. “Tony! Tone, no. Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me, I… You can’t do this to me. Not now, okay? Not now.”
The rattle of the water on the empty porcelain set my teeth on edge as I wrapped a towel around each profusely bleeding forearm, heart hammering in time with the pulsations. “Don’t you dare, honeybee. Don’t you fucking dare, do you hear me?”
My hands moved without volition, and I cradled him to my chest as he groaned, struggling weakly. “Help!” I snapped as I snapped through the portal, glaring at Bruce sat blinking owlishly at his computer. He hesitated only briefly before darting to my side, fingers fumbling as he gathered nylon and guaze.
“What happened?” he asked softly, and I shook my head fiercely around the tears.
“Can you – can you cover him up?” I stammered, gently easing one towel from his arm with a wince after my steady hands threaded a needle.
Thank God for magic.
My stitches were quick and messy, focused on stemming the blood dripping sickeningly to the floor. “How’s your side looking?”
“U-uh- just- there’s a vein implication, but I’m halfway done. Do you know his-”
“B negative, same as me,” I interrupted sharply, typing off the continuous suture with a deft knot. “Have you got this, or do I need to take over?”
He met my eyes steadily for a heartbeat, gentle but warning. “I’ve got it, Stephen. I’ve done this before, remember? Get the blood.”
I winced, chastised, and darted to his fridge – now mercifully well-stocked with a constantly replenished supply, after the last time we did this. “900?”
“1350. Pressure’s in the dirt.”
I flinched again, grabbing three bags and an IV line.
Don’t you fucking dare, Stark.
He wouldn’t look at me as his consciousness became more certain, simply dragging the sheet higher up his chest and rolling onto his side.
I sighed, resting my head on the bed as I wept silently.
Bruce had left us, after apologetically acknowledging the existing wounds on his thighs, and asking if I was okay – which I, naturally, assured him I was.
I’m not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.
… I wonder what the appeal is.
Tony slept fitfully throughout the day, weakened by his ordeal, only reacting enough to nod his head when I squeezed his fingers and asked questions about sensation. I sat in front of him, reaching out to hold his shoulder when he went to roll over again.
“No, Tony.”
“Please just leave me alone,” he whispered, eyes squeezing closed. “Please, Stephen. You… You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Done what? Saved you?” I snapped, then scoffed. “Are you serious? Do you know how much it would have killed me if anything happened to you? You’re lucky you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, or else this could have been far worse. Goddamn it, Tony!” I stood angrily, and he winced, but I was too incensed to care. “I didn’t sit through it the first time just to watch you end it like this, do you hear me? Don’t you dare do that to me. Not after everything we’ve been though. You think it isn’t hard for me, too? You think I don’t hate the way people look at me – at us? Like it doesn’t make me feel like I’m doing something wrong?”
He flinched, eyes shifting to me guiltily. “I... I didn’t know.”
“No, you didn’t. Because you never asked, Tony. You never, not once, bothered to ask,” I snapped, pushing a hand through my hair, and he winced again, reaching a hand for me.
I hesitated only briefly before entwining his fingers, sighing heavily. “I’ll always forgive you. But I can’t... I can’t keep doing it. I... You’re supposed to be talking to me, remember? You’re supposed to be letting me help you.”
“I couldn’t. I just... I felt bad enough that everything had been ruined, you know? It was such a good date, and then it all got fucked up, and I didn’t want you to know that I fucked it up even more. Like I always do,” he added at a whisper, and I sat beside his legs with a grimace.
“No, honeybee. None of this was your fault. Not... This, and certainly not the things we were subjected to. You deserved better, and I’m so sorry.”
He shifted into a sitting position, whimpering as he buried his face in my shoulder. “I hate it, Stephen. I hate that it’s like this.”
“I know, sweet boy,” I murmured, my lips grazing his hair. “Me too. But we can do anything if we’re together, right?”
He nodded softly against me, fingers curling in mine with a subtle wince. “... You... You aren’t going to leave me, right?” he whispered, and I dragged him carefully onto my lap, head shaking.
“Not a chance, honeybee. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
When I carried him to bed, it was with a pained flinch from us both, and a pair of boxers carefully guided up his thighs when he muttered that it hurt too much to hold things.
He curled against my chest with a gentle sob, my fingers stroking his hair until he cried himself to sleep before I slipped from his embrace.
The bathroom was still a mess of blood and water streaks from the steam, and I worked quietly in the early hours of the morning, ears alert for any sign of movement as I carefully and thoroughly removed any trace of his transgressions.
The scalpel beside the sink winked in the artificial light, and I couldn’t help but hesitate over it, the air between flesh and metal feeling thick with tension.
…I wonder if it helps.
Tony and I passed the days submerging ourselves in the search for Natasha, sending the team on desperate, if ultimately futile, missions.
But the evenings were a tense combination of the occasional stolen kiss – but mostly movies watched in bed after Tony had a shower, and I bandaged his wounds, the sheets stretched into chasms between us.
Sixty days in a row.
Sixty horrifying, horrific, horrible days in a row. Sixty days without another date, another post, another fuck – or any discussion of our relationship at all, except for a stoically muttered ‘I love you’ as we settled down onto our opposite sides of the bed.
The twenty inches of space between us felt like twenty thousand miles for all the ability I had to reach across that gap.
I spent night after night staring at the imperfect skin of his back, willing myself to just move.
It’s not that far. It’s not insurmountable.
... Right?
But ‘insurmountable’ was precisely how it felt, especially when the most intimate or emotional moments we passed together was me watching attentively as he added lines to flesh that was quickly becoming more scar than skin, or the brush of my hands across his thighs – and then, later, his shoulders, and then his ribs.
The only time I cried now was when he moved to a new area, marring yet another otherwise perfect section of his skin.
We barely spoke outside of requirements, and even then, most of our discussion was limited to Natasha, or the odd hiss of pain as I cleaned his wounds.
It was odd to feel my heart both break and harden, all at once.
But on that day – the sixty-first after he had come to me in the evening, blade in hand, wincing guiltily - I woke up cold and alone.
I don’t want to have to look for him, I realised, distantly, horrified at the revelation. I... I’m not happy. I haven’t been happy. Not for months.
... I wonder if it’s worth it.
But, despite the reluctance, I still loved this beautiful, broken man in some damaged place in my heart, and I slid from between the sheets with a soft sigh of resignation, crossing to the light appearing through the gap under the door.
I gasped and swore, lifting my foot at the spark of pain in the arch. “Fuck- ow,” I hissed, hobbling over to the lamp and peering at my skin in surprise. “What the heck?”
I deftly plucked the shard of glass from my flesh, wincing at the bubble of blood. Turning the piece over in my grasp, I hummed thoughtfully. “… Huh. I wonder what…” My gaze drifted to where I’d stumbled, and my stomach sank with dread.
No. No. No.
No, no, no, no, no.
I stumbled over before dropping to knees, fingertips trembling as they skimmed the shards. “No… Not this. Not this. Not again. Please. You were doing so well, honey…”
Jerking upright at the sound of gagging, I scrambled across the floor, slamming my shoulder into the door – and wincing when it didn’t move. “Tony? Tony, honeybee, sweetheart, you need to open this door, and you need to do it now.”
There was no response, and my breathing hitched in my chest. “Please, baby. I’m… I’m scared. I know things have been… Hard, lately. But I can’t. It can’t end like this. Please.”
No response, again, and I sighed, hands shifting. “Fine. We can do this the hard way, if that’s what you-”
“Just… Just g-go away, Steph-Stephen. I already kn-know what you’re gonna… Gonna do, okay? Y-you don’t need to l-look at me as you… As you break my he-heart.”
His voice was soft and muffled, slurred with drink, and I flinched. “I’m coming in, Stark. You can either open it yourself and have a second to look presentable, or I can make a portal, but one way or another, I’m going to get in there, do you understand me?”
He sighed audibly, and there was a quiet sounds of movement before the door cracked open, his eyes appearing, narrowed in annoyance. “What?”
“Keep going.”
“No.”
“I wasn’t asking, Tony.”
Letting out a soft groan of frustration, he stepped back, waving me in sarcastically. “If you insist.”
I stepped past him with a roll of my eyes, watching him carefully as he swayed. “… So? Where is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re-” I interrupted him with a wave of my hand at the sink, the blood smeared across the porcelain, and he winced. “… Oh.”
“I’m not above tying you down and finding out myself,” I snapped, my eyes roaming across his forearms and flicking to the black towel around his neck as he weaved.
“Kinky,” he snorted, eyebrow raised, and I rolled my jaw in annoyance. “What? It’s b-been a while.”
“Oh, do not start with me right now,” I growled, stepping closer warningly. “Just don’t. Now tell me where you’re hurt.”
He shook his head, stumbling as he stepped back. “Jus-just leave it. Let it go. Let me go, Ste-Stephen. I know… I know you don’t love me, okay? I know. S-so just-”
My palm met his forehead, and his gaze cleared immediately, making him wince. “Fuck you. You don’t get to do that. Not anymore. Get the fuck out.”
“No. We’ll talk about this after, but for now, you are going to fucking listen to me.” He blinked in surprise, and I growled. “I’ll do this the hard way if you want to make me. I’ll knock you out. Or you can show me of your own volition… But either way, this is happening.”
He grimaced, meeting my eyes as he ripped the towel from his neck, revealing two deep, ugly gouges on either side of his throat, still trickling weakly. “You were right, okay? You were right. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing – I couldn’t even cut my throat right! So I got drunk so I can try again! So give me back my buzz, because I smashed the last fucking bottle and I can’t be bothered to find more, and then get the fuck out.” My mouth worked wordlessly as I took in the gaping skin, and he stiffened when my fingertips brushed the edges of the wounds. “Don’t touch me.”
“Fuck you, Tony.”
“You don’t touch me for months, and now you won’t fucking leave? Are you kidding me?”
“Fuck you, Tony.”
“Is that all you can say?”
My jaw set, and I met his eyes furiously. “You know what? No. It should be, but it isn’t – because fuck you. But you are going to march into that living room and sit that ass on the sofa, I’m going to stitch you up, and then we’re going to have a fucking conversation, do you hear me?”
He blinked, opening his mouth to respond, but my glare left him speechless as he slunk past me. “Fine. Whatever.”
I fizzed with fury as I secured my knots, then jerked his chin to look at me, muscles clenched. “Right. What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing.”
Hollow laughter escaped me, and I shook my head. “No, Tony. You’re really, really not. And if you don’t start talking to me, I’m not above doing exactly what Bruce did to Natasha, and putting you somewhere you won’t be able to hurt yourself. Do you hear me?”
He flinched, eyes dropping, and his fingers knotted in his lap. “I… I… I just… I can’t… Cope, Stephen. After I…” His palm hesitantly brushed the long, jagged scar of his forearm, and he winced. “After this, nothing has been the same. I’m losing you. And I… I’d rather go before you have to say it. And there’s no point me carrying on without you, so…” He shrugged aimlessly, and I scowled.
“Okay, let’s just… One thing at a time. Nothing has been the same because you haven’t been speaking to me. I came back to bed that morning, I tried to put my arm around you, and you moved away from me. And then the same thing happened. Again, and again, and again. I tried to talk to you, and I got one word answers. I tried to do anything, and you shot me down, Tony! And it was breaking my goddamn heart, okay? So, yes – perhaps shutting myself off was not the best plan of action, but it was the only way to keep myself sane. But I’ll admit it – I stopped trying. I stopped trying to hold you, or talk to you, or do anything except wish things could be different. And I’ve been just as fucking miserable as you have, okay?!” He blinked in surprise, and I growled. “You weren’t losing me. You were actively shoving me away.”
“And don’t you dare put that pressure on me, Stark. I should not have to be with you because I’m afraid I’ll be the reason you kill yourself if I don’t, do you hear me? I should not be the only reason you keep going. And do you know what? I won’t be. If this is how it’s going to be, then I’ll do it. I’ll put you somewhere you can’t hurt yourself, and I will leave you. And I will make sure that you are there until you find a different reason to survive, even if it’s from a distance – and that’s not because I don’t love you, Tony. It’s because I do. We live a dangerous life, and I won’t be around forever. I shouldn’t be terrified to do my job because I’m scared of what will happen to you if something goes wrong. I shouldn’t be afraid to live my life for fear of ending yours.”
His mouth worked wordlessly, and I smiled weakly as the rage ebbed.
“Anything else?” I prompted softly.
“I… I hate the way the world treats us.”
“Yeah? Same here. It can be horrible to us. Which is why we should be nice to each other, and ourselves.”
He snorted weakly, shaking his head. “I… I love you, Stephen.”
“I love you too, you goddamn fucking idiot.”
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, glancing away. “I… I couldn’t cope with you touching me. Or being… Nice to me. Not after the way I treated you. And then time went on, and it got harder, and then it just…” He sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’d lay there in the night, and I’d be looking at you, and I’d think, you know, ‘just reach out, just touch him, start the closeness again, it’s not so hard’. But it felt…”
“Insurmountable?” I offered, smiling shakily when he nodded.
“Exactly.”
“… Tony?”
“Yeah, baby boy?”
I shivered in delight at the name I hadn't heard in far too long before inching closer, my hands shaking. “… I… Please hold me.”
He licked his lips anxiously, evidently just as nervous as I, before nodding, opening his arms to me. “Come here, sweetheart.”
A soft sound of distressed joy burst from my lips as I crawled against him, curling into his chest, his hands grasping at my back desperately. “You’re so skinny. When did you get so skinny? How?”
“Haven’t exactly had the most voracious of appetites lately, dumbass.”
He sighed, kissing my hair gently. “I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t know it was possible to miss someone so much when they’re right beside you.”
I nodded as my mouth found his, chaste and sweet. “I know, honeybee. I know. I’ve missed you too.”
“… Are we supposed to…?”
Snorting, I nuzzled against his throat. “We’re not supposed to do anything, my love. We can do whatever we want.”
He tugged at my shirt gently, purring. “I just want to feel you. All of you. And wrap you up in my arms and just…” He sighed contentedly as it slipped over my head. “You’re so beautiful.”
I grinned as I lay back, shuffling from my sweatpants. “Come cuddle me, honey.”
He jerked off his own shirt, and I revelled in the feeling of skin against mine as he pulled me against him, humming happily, fingers lacing through mine. “… I’m so sorry.”
“I know, my love.”
“… I… I think it’s over.”
I sighed softly, eyes squeezing shut as I leant back further against his chest. “Don’t. I… I can’t get… I…”
His lips found my neck gently, and he nodded. “I understand. But… I’m really going to try. I promise. And if I can get sober… Today’s blip aside,” he added, wincing detectibly, “then I can do this. I… I’m going to do to better. I swear to you. I love you more than anything, baby boy. And losing you – thinking I was going to lose you – was… I never want to feel like that again, okay? So I’m going to do better. And it’s going to be hell, and hard, and everything else. But I’m going to try my damn best to be the man you deserve.”
Smiling despite myself, I pulled his arm tighter around me, nodding. “I know, honeybee. I have absolutely no doubt,” I whispered quietly, eyes flitting closed.
I have… So much doubt. But I want to believe you. I really do. I hope you’re right, sweetheart, because I don’t know if I can keep doing this.
The Water Crests and Sinks Away (He Looked Just Like a Navy Man)
Epilogue Seven - Brooklyn, New York - December, 1945.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> James 'Bucky' Barnes x Original Male Character (Winter x Lt. Gregor Tyne)
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> In which Tyne has a very important question to ask.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 956.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> E - Please read mindfully and be aware that this will be set in the arena of WWII and naval service, with corresponding themes, including but not limited to mentions of military procedures and weaponry, and era-typical attitudes to homosexuality.
𝐀/𝐍 -> Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Masterlist can be found here.
<- Epilogue Six
Epilogue Eight ->
Tyne had decided with the certainty with which he decided most things.
In war, a wrong step, a hesitation, a moment of doubt - all of it could mean death for dozens, hundreds of men. He had learned a long time ago to only act when he was sure.
And he had never been more sure of anything.
He waited until Winter had left. The younger man had gone out - not far, simply sent down the block on an errand he hadn’t questioned, because Winter trusted Tyne in the way that you trusted someone who had well-established themselves not to misuse your absence.
And Effie noticed immediately, of course, watching Greg pace back and forth across her living room, glancing periodically out of the window as if watching for her son’s return, his jaw set and his mouth in a tight line.
“You look like you’re about to deliver bad news,” she noted, her eyes never wavering from his face as she folded a dish towel and placed it on the counter before crossing her arms over her chest. “Sit down, before you wear a groove in my floor.”
Tyne sat, as obedient to the wishes of Winnifred Barnes as her own son was.
He placed his hands on his knees. The shaking was bad that day, and his fingertips fluttered irregularly against his pressed - and fur-dusted - trousers. He sat with his spine straight - the posture of a man who had stood before inquiries and commanding officers without flinching - but something in the set of his jaw betrayed his nervousness before a Brooklyn seamstress. The mother of his partner.
Winnifred Barnes watched him with a calm interest, unshaken.
“Well?” she prompted softly.
Greg inhaled.
“I want to be very clear with you,” he began carefully. “I know there is no legal recognition for what I am about to ask you. I understand that what I can offer your son is not a protection in the eyes of the state, and certainly not a safety from judgment. I will not insult you by pretending otherwise.”
Effie’s expression softened - not indulgent, nor pitying, but simply attentive.
“But,” Greg continued, his voice steadying as he gained confidence, “I love him, and I intend to build a life with him. One that is… Deliberate, and lasting, and…” He hesitated, searching for the right word, one that would do his thoughts justice without promising something it couldn’t. “And honorable, in every way that matters.”
He waited, giving her room to speak, and swallowed when she said nothing, pressing on.
“I can’t offer him something that the world will recognize, I know that. But I can offer him constancy. A home. My name, to those who would count it. And my vow - which is not something I give lightly.”
“So I’m asking you,” he finished softly, his eyes on hers unfalteringly, “for your permission. To consider myself bound to your son, if he agrees. As his partner and as his family, for as long as he’ll have me.”
The room lapsed into stillness, into silence, and Effie watched him for a long moment - not as judgement, but in the careful consideration as something being weighed with care.
Finally, she reached for her teacup, and took a sip in silence. Greg gulped.
“You know,” she murmured eventually, not looking away from the dark gaze locked on hers, “when James was little, he used to come home with pockets full of broken things - a watch that didn’t work, a small knife with the blade bent.”
The lieutenant blinked at that, wrong-footed by the sudden shift.
“He’d lay them out on the table,” she continued, “and tell me what they used to be for. What they could be again, if only someone knew how. What they could be again, if he put in the effort.”
She looked at Tyne over the rim of her cup, quiet and considerate.
“You look at my son in the same way he used to look at those things.”
Greg’s throat tightened, jaw twitching once. “He’s not broken,” he replied immediately, and Effie smiled a little.
“No, he isn’t,” she agreed. “But he’s been handled roughly by the world. He came back from that war with pieces he didn’t know how to set down, how to put them back together in a way that makes sense to him.”
Greg nodded, just once. “I know.”
She studied him again - steadiness, restraint, unmistakable love.
“Will you choose him,” she asked softly, “even when he’s the difficult choice?”
“Yes.”
“Even when he goes quiet?”
“Yes.”
“Even when the world reminds you that it won’t make room for love like yours?”
“Especially then,” Greg replied without hesitation.
Effie reached out, placing her hand over his, a smile curving the edge of her mouth. “Then you have my permission, and my blessing. For whatever shape your marriage takes.”
Greg swallowed, head bowing for a moment in gratitude so profound it stole his breath, his fingers trembling lightly beneath hers. “Thank you,” he murmured eventually, his voice thick.
Effie squeezed his hand gently. “I know you’ll take care of him.”
“I will,” the lieutenant agreed firmly. “Every day. On my life.”
When the door opened a few minutes later, Winter stepping in with his coat half unbuttoned, he paused, brow furrowing with concern. “… What is it? What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” his mother replied easily as she got to her feet, but Winter scoffed.
“Then why do both look like you’ve been crying?”
Effie smiled, and paused to kiss his cheek as she passed. “Because your tea’s gone cold, Jamie.”
Winter looked at his partner, one eyebrow raised. “What did I miss?” he mouthed, and Greg met his eyes steadily, his gaze warm.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Aurelia x Yoshitsune (Natasha Romanoff headmate x Original Male Character)
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Four times they fucked in front of the fire, and one time they didn’t.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 8480.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> E. Minor PTSD Mentions, ALL the smut.
𝐀/𝐍 -> Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Masterlist can be found here.
Prompts -> - ‘Tortured With Visions’ - @fandom-free-bingo (Heroic Edition);
- ‘Gratitude as Self-Care’ - Fandom-Free Bingo (Madness May);
- ‘“That’s Not Really You.”’ - Fandom-Free Bingo (Reunion Edition);
- ‘x+1’ – @flufftober 2025;
- ‘Fire on Fire || Sam Smith’ - @seasonaldelightsbingo (Types of Love).
<- Chapter Twenty-Two
One.
I laughed aloud as we all but fell through the front door, shaking snow from my hair and grinning when he shivered. “See? You’re not as immune to the cold as you like to make out, Silver.”
Yoshi rolled his eyes, dusting flakes from my shoulders affectionately. “Yeah, well, when you splatter snow at me like a dog, what do you expect?” he teased. As if on cue, Kodiak shook himself out, sending more powder swirling around us, and I yelped at the sudden flurry, earning a snort from my fiancé and a look of disapproval from the dog.
“You get yourself out of that wet coat, and I’ll get the fire going,” Yoshitsune ordered gently, pressing a kiss to my damp cheek before moving away. Humming contentedly, I hung my coat to dry on the back of the door, the sound of slowly melting snow dripping to the floor seeming loud in the almost silent house.
Artemis and Apollo were at the Farm, while Sammy had taken Lexi with him to visit Utseo - as much as he was unlikely to admit it, the ninja had a soft spot for anyone Yoshi regarded as his own, and was always happy to have the kids visit. It felt odd to have the house so silent - but nice, in its way. Yoshitsune and I had spent little time alone together since the pregnancy had been announced, and while I loved having my family flock around me, it was also good to have some one-on-one time occasionally.
The fire caught and flared to life, casting a gold hue over silver metal. I shivered at the sight, moving closer instinctively as the first hints of heat reached me, frigid fingers extended.
With a chuckle, Yoshitsune pulled me down onto his lap, pressed close to his chest. “Gonna warm you up good, Swan.”
“You’re wet!” I laughed, squirming. “That’s not going to help!”
Humming thoughtfully, he paused, shedding his shirt over his head before pulling me close once more. “Better?”
“Much,” I agreed, pressing myself to his skin, fingertips trailing the site where metal met flesh reverently. “… I can’t believe how beautiful you are.”
“You’d know,” he teased, as he always did, catching my hand and brushing his lips against the slowly-thawing skin of my palm. With a contented sigh, I rested my head on his shoulder, trailing lazy kisses across his collarbone.
His hands slowly began to work their way under my sweater, the touch seeming warm in comparison to my frigid flesh, and I shivered minutely. “Hm- whatcha doing, Silver?” I teased, glancing up at him, and he met my gaze with an innocent smile.
“Getting you out of these wet clothes,” he replied, his face the picture of nonchalance. A low hum of pleasure escaped me as the fabric passed over my head, shirt riding halfway up at the pull. His hands immediately found the exposed skin, smoothing his palm over the curve of my stomach, his mouth pressing gently to my throat. “God, you’re perfect.”
I could only let out a small, happy whine as my shirt joined the sweater on the floor.
His head dipped, lips trailing lightly along over the curve of my breasts, one hand coming up to cup me through the thin fabric of my bra. “I could worship you forever,” he breathed, silver eyes shining when he glanced up, earning a blush in response.
“Well, you did drag me out in a blizzard,” I teased, arms wrapping around his neck. “Is that how you’re going to make it up to me? A little worship?”
Yoshi hummed, shifting me in his lap to drag my leggings single-handedly down my thighs. “Maybe more than a little,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath over my jaw making me tremble. “You did get very cold, after all.”
My thighs slipped either side of his hips, pressing myself to him instinctively, letting the warmth of him sink into my skin. “I did, it’s true…”
He shifted quickly to lay me in front of the fire, settling himself beside me, hand roaming over my skin as though each spot was more captivating than the last.
By the time his fingers deftly unclasped my bra, it was no longer the cold that had me trembling.
The mouth closing around my nipple pulled a small whimper from my lips, hips twitching instinctively as his thumb make soothing circles over the bone. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he purred, voice low. “I’ll take good care of you.”
His mouth inched lower, pressing reverent kisses across my stomach before he moved to kneel between my thighs, unhurried as he shed my panties and dropped to his chest. My legs draped over his shoulders instinctively, offering myself to him without hesitation, the gesture eliciting a soft chuckle from the man between my thighs.
“Always so eager, my Swan,” he hummed, lips ghosting over the soft skin inside my leg with infuriating patience. “It’s a challenge to make you slow down occasionally for me.”
My fingers knotted in his hair, whining quietly. “Please,” I whispered, tugging gently. “Please, Yoshitsune…”
I gasped aloud as his tongue passed along the length of me, feather-light and teasing, and he sighed in pleasure at the sound, glancing up at me for only a moment, a joyous, mischievous glint in his eye before he lowered his head once more.
My quiet moan sounded deafening in the silence, punctuated only by the cracking of the logs on the fire. As if encouraged by the sound, the hands holding my thighs apart dropped lower, spreading me open to his gaze. Heat rose in my cheeks at the gesture, and I squirmed minutely.
“Yoshi…”
He hummed questioningly, eyes raising once more. “Aurelia?”
My arm draped over my face, hiding my red cheeks from view, and I giggled. “You’re all… Looking at me,” I noted shyly, and he chuckled, trailing a fingertip along me lightly.
“Can’t help it,” he purred. “You’re just so pretty. You look good enough to eat.”
I opened my mouth to reply, feeling my face flush further - but the sound was cut off with a sharp groan when he pressed himself between my thighs once more. There was no gentle, light pass of his tongue now - only his face buried against me hungrily, his soft grunts sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my skin. “Fuck,” I breathed, back arching automatically to press myself closer. “Fuck, how are you- how the hell did you get so good at that-?”
I felt him chuckle softly, drawing back only long enough to reply. “I’m fortunate enough to be allowed plenty of practice.”
His lips latched around my clit as I squirmed, tongue flicking until I was panting. “Yoshi- Yoshi, please,” I whimpered, tugging on his hair once more. “Please…” He hummed again, refusing to raise his head long enough to form words, and I mewled pitifully. “I need you inside me…”
With a soft, almost reluctant sigh, he drew back, wiping my wetness from his chin with a grin. “Whatever my Goddess wants, my Goddess gets.”
He was on his knees an instant later, fumbling eagerly with his belt, and I grinned at the sight. No matter how he tried to paint himself as suave and unruffled, there were moments when his goofy, enthusiastic energy shone through brightly - and I relished the beat spent watching his overexcited fingers tug at the leather, a small smile playing on my lips.
By the time he was lay over me once more, his hand gently resting on my hip while the other supported his weight, he was as bare as I was. My legs wrapped around him automatically, heels pressed to his thighs to pull him closer, and he grinned. “Always so eager,” he purred again, leaning in to press his lips hungrily to mine as he pressed inside me slowly.
Our foreheads pressed together, I relished the slow movement, the patient drag of his cock inside me, heavy and thick. My arms passed around him, holding him tight as his eyes met mine, intense and intimate. The fire shone on metal and sweat-damp flesh, and I shivered beneath him, taking on a heat all of my own as his face dropped to my throat, groaning softly against my skin.
“Fuck, Lia…” he breathed, fingers curling tighter against my hip. “You’re always so tight, so perfect for me…”
I gasped as he drove himself a little deeper, head falling back against the floor. “I- I aim to please,” I stammered out, earning a gentle, breathless laugh.
“You always do,” he assured me. His body lowered slightly, arm passing beneath mine to hold me closer. “My perfect, wonderful Goddess, wrapped around me like a damn vice, so wet and eager… I’m the luckiest man alive…”
The feeling of him moving inside me, of being held so closely, had my veins alight with pleasure, hips straining beneath his hand to press into each thrust. He chuckled, low and joyful, feeling me squirm beneath him. “My needy girl… You want your pussy stroked, hm? Want to feel yourself squeezing me tight while you come for me?”
I whined softly, nails digging into his shoulders, hips shifting again, and I felt his lips curl against my throat. “Please,” I whispered, tears of pleasure distorting the firelight on the ceiling.
With a small, happy hum, his grip loosened, fingers passing between us to find my clit. The first brush of his touch made me shudder, pressing closer needily, and he let out a soft groan. “God, you make it so hard to take you sweetly, Swan… Trying to impale yourself on my cock, so wet for me - I can feel you dripping, pussy clenched around me like it’s a sin for me to pull back…” He drove himself home with a little more force, and I moaned breathlessly, gripping him tighter. “That’s it, my perfect girl. Hold on to me. I’ve got you.”
I could only shudder and whine beneath him, the slow movement making my toes curl. “Fuck - please, Yoshitsune, god, I’m so close already… So deep…”
Growling quietly, he drew his head back to press his forehead to mine once more, eyes locked on mine as the fingers teasing my clit became more insistent, stroking and guiding while I quivered. “There you go, Swan. So pretty with your eyes all wide, trembling and needy…” His free hand shifted, weight on his elbow as he cupped my cheek. “You come whenever you need to, baby. Let me see you give me everything.”
My release came patiently, built slowly by his careful ministrations, but no less intense for its prolonging. I kept my gaze on his as my lips parted, breathless moans turning to soft pleas. “Fuck- yes, just there- don’t stop, Yoshitsune- don’t stop, fuck, please- I’m gonna- I’m-”
When I surrendered to the wave of pleasure cresting through me, his pupils flared, black almost encompassing silver at the feeling of me clenching around him. The muscles beneath my desperately-clutching hands tensed, jaw set with the effort of not immediately following me over the edge.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathed, his thrusts becoming stuttered and uneven as my body slowly began to release its tight hold on him. “That’s it- fuck, love it when you come around me, love watching you give me everything you’ve got, you’re so fucking beautiful, baby.” His gaze didn’t waver as he buried himself to the hilt, letting out a soft, breathless groan of his own, fingers knotting in my hair to anchor himself to me as I felt him pulse inside me.
I was held to his chest, wrapped in blankets, his fingers teasing knots from my hair while I caught my breath. Feather-light kisses trailed over my throat, gentle and comforting, drawing a gentle hum of contentment from the skin beneath. “You okay?”
“Perfect,” I replied softly, my voice hushed and reverent, head falling back against his shoulder. “You always know exactly what I need.”
His heart thrummed steadily beneath my palm, unwavering and strong, and I felt him chuckle softly. “Fire and my fiancé… The best way to end a cold day.”
I looked up at him, eyes dancing with joy and pleasure. “Always.”
Two.
I jolted awake with a whimper, the cold air on sweat-damp skin making me shiver violently, curling away from a shadow looming over me.
The walls drew in, pressing closer, suffocating, pressuring, closing-
Light burst without warning, and my breathing hitched minutely as I take in the space.
My room.
No shadow beside me. No walls creeping in.
Just a warm light and sheets twisted around my legs, and steady silver eyes fixed on me, filled with worry.
“Hey, Golden Swan,” he murmured softly, arm passing around my waist - carefully making sure the cooled metal stayed over the top of my shirt, not wanting to chill me further as I trembled violently. He always slept lightly when I was restless, ready to respond if needed, and he didn’t complain as he gently drew me into his side.
He didn’t ask what happened - what I saw in the darkness. Even if the details changed, the theme never would.
But even so, I press my forehead to his throat, sniffling. “He’s never going to leave me alone. It’s always so cold there…”
Carefully, slowly, giving me time to object, he guided me closer, letting me press myself to his chest as his lips brushed my hair gently. “I’ve got you. You’re here. Safe. Warm.”
I simply sniffed again, curling closer, my fingers pressed to his skin to ease their shaking.
He was delicate as he lifted my quivering body, knowing what I needed without me having to ask.
There was a distinct difference between his soldier efficiency and the way he looked at me.
Bundled in a throw and tucked gently into the corner of the sofa, I watched his precise, quick movements, punctuated by the occasional glance over his shoulder to where I curled against the fabric, trembling. His hands may have been professional and unwavering, but his eyes were soft and warm, filled with concern and love each time they shifted to me.
I exhaled the moment the fire caught.
Golden light spilled across the room, throwing his silhouette into sharp relief and glinting off metal. The warmth washed over me almost immediately, and I let out a quiet sigh, eyes closing, comforted by the flames.
I felt the sofa dip beside me, and smiled when my body was shifted, pulled onto his lap with the throw still around me. I nestled closer to his chest with a soft, grateful purr. The feeling of him rocking me gently, humming against my hair, further soothed the ragged edges of my mind, and I felt myself relaxing under his touch, fingers caressing my spine lightly.
“I hate that he still gets in my head,” I admitted quietly. A small, sympathetic rumble resonated beneath my cheek.
“I know, sweet girl,” he murmured, holding me a little tighter. “I know. But he’s just a ghost - and I ain’t afraid of no ghost.”
I snorted despite myself, rolling my eyes as I glanced up at him. “Have I ever told you that you’re ridiculous?”
He grinned widely. “Frequently.”
“Good,” I chuckled, nodding once.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, my fingers ducked under the edge of his shirt, tracing muscle and scars. I felt his chest shift as he swallowed, and lifted my chin, pressing a soft kiss to his pulse.
“Make me forget,” I whispered.
With a soft groan, he moved, shifting to pin me gently to the sofa beneath him, one hand already hooking a thumb into my panties and pushing them down my legs. “You won’t remember your own name by the time I’m finished with you,” he breathed, eyes alight. I giggled, the sound morphing into a gasp as he shifted, dropping his head to nip lightly at my nipple through my shirt. “Too many layers,” he grunted, tossing my underwear somewhere over his shoulder before pushing my shirt higher, palms gliding up my ribs reverently. “Gonna need to fix that.”
A soft bubble of laughter rose in my chest as he tugged the fabric over my head, bursting free when I dropped back to the sofa with a soft thump.
“If you had it your way, Silver, I’d never be dressed at all,” I noted dryly, and his jaw dropped in mock offence.
“I’d still make you bundle up to go outside!” he argued, amusement clear in his eyes. “I like your body, I’d rather no bits dropped off it!”
I laughed aloud, shaking my head adoringly. “Ridiculous,” I noted again. With a grin, he settled himself between my thighs, passing his tongue over a nipple that stiffened beneath the touch, eliciting a soft sigh of contentment.
“Yours,” he replied, almost gleefully, and I purred, fingers entangling in his hair.
“Mine,” I agreed. With a quiet, delighted sound, his lips wrapped around my nipple, teeth tugging gently to make my back arch, the sensation shooting fire through my veins. “Fuck, you always know just how to get me hot…”
“That was the aim,” he muttered against my skin, deadpan, and I rolled my eyes, the motion only half-completed before a shift of his hips against me made my lids flicker shut with a soft whine. “You make such pretty noises for me,” he purred, head raising long enough to kiss his way across my chest to repeat his actions. Another whimper escaped me at the gentle tug, fingers wrapping into his hair lightly, holding him close to me. I could feel the grin against my skin as his hand dipped between my thighs, teasing my wetness, making my breath stutter in response.
I whined when his touch left me, pouting down at him, and he glanced up long enough to snort, drawing back for a moment. “I can’t put my cock in you with my boxers in the way…” he teased - the words punctuated by his leaking tip sliding against me, a low shiver working through his body. “Always so wet for me, Swan - I’m the luckiest man in the world…”
My thighs parted further instinctively, heels meeting against the small of his back to pull him closer. “Please,” I breathed, the longing utterance a mixture of both pleasure and a need to quiet my mind.
He pressed inside me with a patience and reverence that made my blood sing, head falling back against the sofa as his lips closed around my nipple once more.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered, eyes wide and sightless. “No matter how often you fuck me, Yoshitsune… I will never get tired of this.”
His chest rumbled against me, a gentle vibration of joy and pleasure, as his hips rolled, patient and steady. My body responded as readily as always - muscles twitching to press myself closer, rising to meet him when he buried himself to the hilt inside me, always wanting more.
The fingers that had teased me returned once more, not with slow, light touches, but with more determination, his thumb caressing my clit in time with his strokes.
“I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he purred, lips shifting to my throat. “I’ve always got you.”
He nipped and sucked at the delicate flesh over my pulse, and I could feel the bruise already blooming on my pale skin in response - a visible mark of possession, of dedication, placed high on my neck for all to witness. “Mine,” he breathed, making my fingers curl tighter in his hair.
He groaned softly against my skin, free hand curling against the back of my neck to hold me to him. “I’m so damn lucky,” he whispered, lips pressed to the spot below my ear. “Having you in my life - our kids, our baby… Being able to do this with you, to make you feel so good that you cling to me like a lifeline while you tremble for me… It’s everything to me, my Goddess.”
My breath shuddered out at the reverence in his voice, the passion, the firelight catching on the metal of his arms and casting scattered reflections on the ceiling, a kaleidoscope of color just for me.
“You’re so beautiful.” The words came as a gasp as he drove himself deeper inside me, thumb caressing my clit with expert touches. “So beautiful, Silver…”
My fingers dug into his back desperately as he rolled his hips against me, holding me to him with a tenderness that makes tears prick my eyes. “That’s it, sweet girl… You feel so good wrapped around me like this, taking it all for me,” he breathed, lips caressing my throat. “God, I can’t get enough of you.”
I giggled softly, breathlessly, my head falling back once more. “Prove it, Silver,” I whispered, my legs hooking around his waist to pull him closer. “Take all of me, sweet boy… I’m yours.”
He groaned quietly against my skin as my muscles tensed around him, the patient, rhythmic movement of his hand and hips in unison working me so thoroughly, so gradually to my climax that tears sparked in my eyes as I came undone with a quiet cry and a desperate shudder.
He stilled almost immediately after, body flush to mine as his own release came on the heels of my own, the steady clenching around him drawing him over the edge.
His forehead pressed to my collarbone for a few moments before he shifted slowly, still buried inside me as he drew me onto his chest. I quivered lightly in his arms, his heavy breaths mingling with mine as we lay entwined.
A blanket passed gently over my body without me needing to ask, and I smiled, pressing a light kiss to his sweat-damp skin. “I’ve got you, my Golden Swan,” he murmured, his lips skimming my hair. “You’re safe, you’re loved, and you’re home.”
I curled tighter against his chest, his steady heartbeat already beginning to lull me as the fire crackled softly on. “You always know how to help me find my way out,” I replied simply, eyes fluttering shut with a yawn.
Three.
The kids were asleep, Kodiak snoring away happily sprawled across Lexi’s bed, and the house was, at last, quiet.
I was freshly bathed, hair piled in a messy bun, legs still bare as I dropped onto the sofa in one of Yoshitsune’s old shirts - far too big and slipping off one shoulder - curling up with a book in front of the fire when the front door opened.
Yoshi smiled softly at me, knocking the snow off his boots. “Porch is gritted,” he noted, never taking his eyes from me. Within seconds, he was knelt in front of me, pressing a chilled kiss to my knee reverently. “You look so at home here,” he observed quietly, and I grinned, setting my book aside to run my fingers gently through his hair.
“I am,” I replied simply.
He offered me that killer crooked grin - the one that made my heart flutter - and his fingers trailed patterns on my thigh, pausing only when the motion elicited a shiver. “Sorry- cold, I kn-”
I snagged his wrist as he went to pull back, returning his hand to my leg with a grin. “No. Well, yeah, a little,” I confessed with a chuckle. “But mostly it was just enjoyment.”
“I see,” he replied, smirking, his fingers shifting to tug me forward a little, palms gliding smoothly up my thighs. “Enjoyment, is it, Swan?”
I hummed my agreement, letting out a soft moan when his head dropped to press another tender kiss to the inside of my thigh. My knees parted instinctively, and he let out a quiet rumble of contentment against my skin. “You look so damn good in my shirt,” he murmured, mouth inching higher. “Good enough to eat…”
I giggled, the sound morphing into a sharp gasp when his fingers curled behind my knees and pulled me closer. His eyes rose, seeking permission, and he grinned when I nodded.
My panties were gone before I had chance to react, and he gazed up at me reverently, draping one leg over his shoulder, the other pressed wide my the metal fingers slowly beginning to warm from the fire and my flesh.
“So sexy like this,” he breathed, mouth trailing along the inside of my leg once more. “Wearing nothing but my shirt, hair all messy, smelling of pineapple and mango…” He inhaled deeply against my skin, humming happily. “I love it when you’re all… Happy.”
I giggled, fingers tangling lightly in his hair. “I should hope so!” I snorted, shaking my head fondly.
“Not to mention,” he continued, rolling his eyes playfully at my interruption, kissing ever higher as his free hand met my stomach, thumb caressing the skin gently, “how beautiful you are with my baby growing inside you.”
A small, delighted sound escaped me, and I shifted a little closer, moving instinctively towards those lips trailing along my skin. “You think so?” I murmured.
“I know so.”
With a small grin, I tugged gently on his hair. “Why don’t you prove it th-”
My jaw clamped shut quickly as he pulled me flush against his mouth, tongue dragging slowly along the length of me. “Fuck, Swan, you always taste so good…”
I let out a soft, needy whine though my clenched teeth, back arching. “And you have a sinful tongue, sweet boy,” I replied shakily, tugging a little closer. “Shh, stop talking…”
He laughed quietly before wrapping an arm around my thigh to hold me closer, tongue sliding patiently inside me, the soft groan against my core making me quiver.
His mouth on me was as close as I ever felt to heaven.
That talented tongue alternating between pressing inside of me and flicking eagerly over my clit never failed to leave me breathless, rutting needily against his face within moments.
When two flesh-warmed fingers slid inside me, I shuddered, teeth closing on the sleeve of my shirt - his shirt - to keep from crying out. “Fuck, Yoshitsune,” I breathed after a moment, having regained my composure, “God, just there… So good to me, Silver…”
He hummed against me, lips closing around my clit as he worked me patiently, tongue and hand working in perfect unison. His free hand spread my leg wider, pulling me closer, always eager for more, and I whined weakly into the fabric in my mouth.
“Fuck- gonna make me come, sweet boy,” I breathed, hips jerking. I felt him groan against me at the thought, redoubling his effort, and bit back a cry of pleasure, the fingers tangled in his hair pinning him to me as I pressed against him helplessly.
When my back arched, his hand moved instinctively, pressing over my mouth as I moaned deafeningly, smothering the sound even as he continued to work me without pause. “Yoshi- Yoshi, fuck, I-”
The words died as I whimpered against his palm, body jerking against his mouth, his head held fast as I came undone.
He worked me eagerly, his own groans muffled against my spasming pussy, tongue dragging through my folds as my climax crested and dropped, slowing only when I began to twitch with sensitivity.
When his hand left my mouth, I panted hard, eyes fluttering as his fingers slowly slid out of me. My own digits caressed his hair clumsily as his mouth gently moved against me, chasing every drop of my wetness with a soft, hungry sigh.
When his head lifted eventually, he was grinning.
“Good?” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the delicate skin inside my thigh, making me shiver.
“Good,” I breathed back. “Christ, Yoshitsune… That tongue is the devil’s own work.”
He chuckled, low and satisfied, and shifted to settle beside me, skimming kisses over my forehead, cheeks, lips - light and tender. “You’re worth the effort, my Goddess,” he replied quietly, pulling me closer and settling me against his chest as trembled with pleasure.
“You’re too good to me,” I purred, leaning into him as his arms wrapped around me readily. He snorted and shook his head, fingers carding through my hair gently.
“You deserve the world, Swan,” he answered simply, lips brushing my forehead once more.
I let out a satisfied mumble, more sound than actual words, and hummed contentedly as he wrapped a thin blanket around us, my eyes absently finding the flames.
“… He had fires,” I muttered eventually, the words coming soft. “They weren’t always lit, and I had no way to light them - he did it with magic. I got heat if I was good.”
I felt him stiffen a little beneath me, reflexive, any mention of my period of captivity always making anger surge through him. Not towards me - never towards me - and he would let me describe every gruesome detail if it would help, I knew that. But I still felt bad for his discomfort, and pressed a kiss to the side of his throat, soft and apologetic.
“You never have to earn comfort with me, Aurelia,” he replied at length - but his arms held me a little tighter, a little more protectively.
I couldn’t help but smile softly, head resting on his shoulder.
“I know, Yoshitsune. I know.”
Four.
We lay sprawled on the floor beneath a blanket, the furred rug below us cushioning us from the hard wood, Yoshitsune’s fingers tracing lazy circles on the small of my back under my shirt.
We’d settled before the fire after a long hike in the cold - fortunately without snow, but still close enough to freezing that we’d returned with pink cheeks and numb fingers (on my part, at least).
Without asking, he’d lit the flames, pulling me against his chest when I returned with a hot chocolate in either hand, the mugs placed carefully beside us.
But the beverages were long since drunk, and we hadn’t moved, simply enjoying the moment. The house was quiet - the kids dispersed elsewhere for the day - and Kodiak had plodded off upstairs, no doubt to sprawl out on Lexi’s bed contentedly as he liked to do when she was off somewhere (and hadn’t taken him along).
I looked up at him, and smirked.
His eyebrow raised. “I know that look,” he murmured, grinning. “What are you plotting?”
“A wager,” I replied, beaming innocently, and he snorted.
“Oh, yeah? Like last time? Is Chiyo hosting another game show?”
I snorted, shaking my head, resting my chin on his chest to gaze at him adoringly. “I was thinking something a little more… Personal.”
The other eyebrow joined the first. “Is that so?”
“I bet… That I make you come first.”
He let out a short, sharp laugh of surprise, the arms around me tightening a little. “Is that so?” He grinned, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek. “Bold words, Swan. Are you sure you want to lose?”
I snorted, hand finding his chest as I slung a leg over his hips to straddle him. “Oh, sweet boy… I’m winning, trust me.”
I leaned in to kiss him, hair loose and brushing his skin, and he let out a soft groan, making me grin. “Promising start,” I teased, trailing my lips down his throat. A quiet, strained noise of pleasure crept between his clenched teeth, and I hummed, tongue dragging over his nipple as I pulled his shirt over his head.
“I wonder how long it’ll take you to concede,” I purr, tugging sharply at his belt and earning an eager grunt for the effort.
“It’s like you don’t know me at al- fuck…”
His words died as I unbuttoned his jeans, palming his already-hardening cock through his shorts.
“Oh, Silver,” I replied, grinning, and settled myself between his thighs. “I’d argue I know you perfectly.”
My fingers curled in his waistband, dragging his shorts down patiently, my eyes on his. The firelight glinted off the metal as his hand rested gently on my head, holding himself more than me as I trailed my mouth along his length, fingers wrapping around him.
“Fuck, Swan,” he murmured, gray gaze locked unwaveringly on mine. “Always so good to me.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but instead a yelp of surprise escaped me as he shifted with disorienting speed, pinning me beneath him, my hands over my head.
“My turn,” he breathed.
The air in my lungs stuttered and solidified as his lips met my throat, nipping and sucking in a way he knew was guaranteed to make me squirm. “Yoshitsune,” I sighed, head falling back obligingly. “Mm- that’s good, baby…”
He let out a small sound of amusement, his hand drifting under the hem of my shirt and pushing it up a little, fingers curling around my hip.
“Promising start,” he quipped, drawing back to meet my eyes as he grinned, and I snorted.
“You’re mean.”
“Oh?” His mouth began to trail down my chest, pausing only long enough to pull my top over my head. “Mean, am I?” Thumb teasing my nipple through the thin material of my bra, he paused at my waistband, looking up at me with amusement evident in his eyes. “Sorry, should I stop?”
I glared playfully, fingers wrapping in his dark hair and tugging a little. “Don’t you dare.”
With a grin, he rocked back onto his knees, dragging my leggings and panties off in one, and pushing my thighs apart before dropping back to his chest, arms curling around my legs to jerk me closer.
I let out a groan as his mouth met me, fingers curling in his hair once more, hips twitching. “Fuck, Silver…”
He hummed against me, eyes dancing as his gaze met mine. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, drawing back to drag his tongue along me slowly. “Let yourself feel it… Give in, sweetheart…”
I sighed, hands tightening, letting myself submit to the feeling of his fingers holding my thighs wide, his lips wrapping around my clit.
If only for a moment.
And then I draw back, smirking down at the sight of him with my wetness on his chin, fingers still laced in his hair.
“C’mere,” I murmured, tugging gently.
He was atop me in a flash, his mouth meeting mine hungrily. Whimpering softly at the taste of myself on him, I rolled us until he lay beneath me, my body between his thighs.
“Mm- I taste so good,” I breathed, earning a soft huff of amused delight.
“Incredible,” he agreed, voice cracking minutely.
My lips trailed over his chest once more, letting his length drag against my body as I shifted. A soft smile tugged at my lips as I glanced up at him, settling between his legs once more.
The second I wrapped my lips around his leaking tip, he groaned, fingers gripping the rug fiercely. I grinned, drawing back to drag my tongue along him. “You’re already close, Silver… Don’t hold back on my account…” I purred, breathless and teasing.
He let out a low growl, gray eyes flashing. “Cheater… You know what your mouth does to me…”
Another groan, and his hand found the back of my head - never forcing, simply resting, grounding himself as my head bobbed.
The moment I took him into my throat, it was over.
He came hard as I swallowed greedily around him, my name falling from his lips with a groan, hips twitching instinctively as his fingers tightened in my hair and my eyes fluttered with pleasure.
As soon as I drew back, he laughed breathlessly at his defeat, and I grinned. “Told you.”
No sooner hand the words left my lips than he was moving my body, my chest meeting the rug as he pulled my ass up. I gasped at the sudden movement, but my knees inched wider, offering myself to him willingly.
“My turn to make you scream,” he breathed, trailing the still-leaking tip of his half-hard cock against my wetness for a few moments, giving himself a beat to recover, before he slid into me slowly, nestling himself deep inside me as I shivered.
“Fuck, Yoshitsune…” I groaned, forehead pressed to the fur. “You’re always so good to me…”
His fingers curled around my hip as he settled himself behind me, free hand reaching around me to find my clit and earning a sharp cry of pleasure for his efforts. “That’s it, my sweet girl,” he hummed, beginning to thrust into me with deep, steady strokes that made my muscles quiver. “You just enjoy your reward… Every inch buried deep inside you, just how you like, my Swan.”
I let out a soft, pitiful sound, rutting back against him instinctively, head turning to look at him. “God- Yoshi, yes- feels so good- I don’t think I can- fuck-“
He moved a little more firmly at my stammering, lips curled into a cocky grin. “Give it to me, Swan. Give me everything.”
I groaned again, hands stretching out overhead to push myself further backward. His fingers tightened around my hip as he moved me on his length, speed steadily increasing as he caressed my clit. “Please- Yoshi, just there, just like that, fuck, I’m-”
My words faltered and died, silence gripping me for only a moment before my back arched. Already close to the edge from his teasing, his steady, precise thrusts sent me hurtling into the abyss with a desperate moan, my body shuddering and convulsing around him.
He groaned deafeningly. “Fuck, Swan - it feels so good when you clamp down on my cock like that…”
His touch on my clit eased up, but his thrusts grew ever more powerful, my body jerking from both the motion and the aftershock.
“Yoshi- fuck, Yoshi-” I panted, one hand dropping back to find his on my hip and gripping hard. “Fuck- please, fuck me harder, please…”
With a quiet grunt of pleasure, he drove himself into me more forcefully, and I cried out in ecstasy, mind whitening. “That’s it, my sweet Goddess,” he growled, hips meeting mine roughly. “Taking every inch so beautifully… So good for me, my sweet girl… So pretty when you’re wrapped around my cock and coming for me.”
I let out a soft, pitiful whimper, my fingers knotting into the furs. “Don’t stop, Yoshi - oh God, Silver… Fuck… Gonna make me come again for you, please…”
He groaned aloud, hips snapping forward hungrily. “Come for me, Swan. I want this tight pussy milking my cock.”
The fingers on my clit caressed me more firmly once more, and I sobbed with pleasure, nails catching on the metal of his wrist. “Yoshi- Yoshi, yes, fuck- I’m- Yoshi!”
I wailed with pleasure as he drove himself home with a grunt, the feeling of him filling me so deeply pushing me over the edge. My pussy spasmed and clenched around him obligingly, drawing every drop from his pulsating length even as I whimpered and quivered from overstimulation, tears carving paths down my cheeks as I sobbed. “Fuck- fuck, Silver, yes… Fuck, I love the feeling of you filling me up…”
He groaned softly as he stilled at last, staying where he was for a beat with his muscles shaking.
Then he dropped down beside me, still buried deeply, and pulled me flush to his sweat-damp chest. “Jesus, Swan…” he breathed, panting hard. “You’ll be the death of me.”
I grinned up at him, my cheek resting against his skin. “A good way to go?”
He laughed softly, eyes dancing. “I can’t imagine a better one.”
“I always win,” I tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek lightly, and he smiled, his fingers trailing through my hair.
“You always win,” he agreed, his lips brushing my forehead. “But I’m okay with losing to you.”
One.
The storm had been battering the house for hours before everything finally gave up.
The kids had been shipped off to the farm, sparing them the cold and the dark. The menagerie had extended the invitation to us - but I knew Yoshi worried about the house, and he’d seen through far worse storms.
And I, being stubborn as a mule, was not about to leave him there alone.
So we stuck it out with the fire lit and hot drinks on hand, wrapped up watching movies - until the house plunged into darkness, wind screaming against the glass.
The fire didn’t seem like enough in that moment, and I stood gazing into the darkness beyond the window, my arms wrapped around myself.
Green eyes glinted in the darkness, and I shivered.
Yoshitsune was behind me in an instant, his chest warm against my back, fire-flush cheek pressed to my own. “I know, sweetheart. I’m here. I’ve got you, my Swan.”
I nodded softly, leaning into him, the back of my head resting on his shoulder. “… He’s out there,” I murmur, unable to tear my gaze away.
A study metal arm wrapped around my waist, holding me closer protectively.
I loved that he didn’t point out that he wasn’t, not really; it isn’t like I didn’t know that, after all.
But the ghost of him was, and that was enough.
My jaw set, and I straightened a little, turning to kiss Yoshi hard, my hands wrapping in his hair. “I want to go outside,” I muttered against his mouth.
I felt his face flicker in surprise, but he simply nodded, offering me my coat from the hook - thick and warm and with faux-fur lining, he’d gotten it for me when he realized that absolutely nothing I owned was fit even for the milder Canadian weather.
His lips left mine at last as he helped me into it, pulling the zipper up close to my chin with a tender smile, pressing a gentle kiss to my nose. “There. The cold can’t hurt you while I’m around, Swan.”
He pulled on his own jacket - and some thick gloves, because while he may not be able to feel the cold in his fingers, the metal would become icy within seconds otherwise - and put a hand on the door. “Ready?” he asked softly, looking down at me.
My fingers slipped into his, and I nodded once, determined.
The wind had died down a little, at least - but the cold bit instantly, making every hair on my body stand on end defensively.
It was… Unreal, in its own way.
The snow was so thick, yet barely made a sound as it added to the layer already on the ground. It seemed the only noise in the hushed world was our soft breaths, the crunch of it as it compacted beneath our feet.
I stepped closer to the railing that wrapped around the porch, gazing in wonder. “It’s kind of beautiful,” I whisper, watching as the falling flakes shifted and danced, obscuring the tree line barely twenty feet away. Pine and hardwood blurred until emerald faded, and I breathed a little easier, breath leaving my lips in billowing, frozen plumes that drifted and danced against the snowfall.
“Yeah, it really is,” Yoshi agreed softly, and my cheeks colored when I turned my head, finding him gazing only at me, his silver eyes vibrant from the snow’s albedo.
I turned to face him, resting lightly against the railing, and extended a hand to him. “C’mere.”
Without hesitating, he moved closer, his fingers curling lightly against the small of my back as he held me against him. My mouth found his once more, stretching up onto my toes to kiss him and earning a smile against my lips for the effort.
When he picked me up, I gasped and giggled, letting him settle me on the rail with my coat tucked beneath me to keep out the chill. My arms wound around his neck, legs locking around his waist as I sighed into the kiss, into the warmth his strong, unfaltering body extruded.
“I want you,” I whispered, and he drew back a little, one eyebrow rising despite his grin.
“You sure you can handle the cold, Swan?”
I laughed softly, tugging gently on his hair. “You’ll just have to keep me warm, Silver,” I teased back. He groaned under his breath, his head dropping, cold lips and warm tongue moving against my throat with rapturous attention. A low sigh escaped me, my back arching a little, pressing myself closer.
He dropped to his knees right there in the snow, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my leggings, keeping my coat beneath my ass as he tugged them down to my knees and ducked into the space. The feeling of snowflakes melting on my bare thighs and his carefully-covered hands holding me open for him made me tremble, and he looked up at me, pale eyes dancing. “Cold?”
“No,” I whispered back. “No, Yoshitsune… Not cold.” My fingers wrapped in his hair, tugging him a little closer, the warmth of his breath washing over me and eliciting another subtle shiver. An obliging groan escaped him only a beat before his mouth met me, tongue dragging a slow, reverent stripe along my folds as I whined softly. “Fuck, Yoshi…”
“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured, hands shifting, thumbs parting skin so his tongue could press deeper inside me. “Pussy already dripping for me, even in the middle of a storm…”
My free hand curled around the railing hard, the wood groaning under the pressure. “Oh- fuck- that’s it, sweet boy, fuck…”
He grunted against me, his lips latching around my clit hungrily, tongue flicking with practiced, expert precision, making my thighs shake. He was too good to me, for sure; he knew exactly what I liked, exactly how to make my body squirm and writhe for him. The heels against his back pressed him closer insistently, head falling back, almost oblivious to the flakes falling on my cheeks. Arms curled around my thighs, he held me fast, working me like my pleasure sustained him.
A groan vibrating around my clit pushed me over the edge as I whimpered, the sound escalating into a sharp cry as my legs clamped around his head, a gust of wind carrying the sound into the night.
By the time he ducked free, I was trembling, the chill settling in once more as adrenaline faded.
I slid to my feet without fixing my leggings, and bent over the railing pointedly, shifting my coat higher, ass bared to the cold air. Yoshitsune was on his feet in an instant, his belt clinking quickly. I felt his head slide against me once, hurried and hungry, before he thrust into me deeply, one arm locking around my waist to steady me as his free hand wrapped around the rail beside my own. I shuddered and moaned at the ferocity, pressing back insistently when he paused.
He groaned roughly, and his fingers shifted to my hip. “Such a needy little ballerina… Don’t worry - I’m going to have you squirting on my cock in a few minutes.”
He pulled back slowly before driving home once more, setting up a brutal pace, the wood creaking beneath his grip as I gasped, head falling forward, tendrils hanging toward the snow and jerking with the force.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed, bending low over my back as he drove into me hungrily. “Look at you, my gorgeous Swan… Taking every fucking inch in a blizzard, dripping on my cock so prettily…”
I whimpered weakly, forehead pressed to the back of my forearm, fingers finding his and holding tight. “Yes- fuck, Yoshi, please- Fuck me harder- ruin me, Silver-”
My free hand slipped between my legs to stroke myself desperately as he obeyed, slamming into me with enough force to make my chilled skin sting.
He didn’t stop as I spasmed around him, sobbing his name, my wetness running down my own thighs. If anything, he made his thrusts longer, letting me feel every inch moving inside me as I came undone for him.
The moment my rhythmic clenching stopped, he drew back - only long enough to turn me quickly, lifting me easily with one foot planted on the fabric around my ankles to pull it off fully; I giggled breathlessly when only one of my thick boots slid free, leaving the material hanging uselessly from the other. But he didn’t stop to rectify the issue as my legs wrapped around his waist, his gloved hands beneath my ass to protect it from the cold wood as he pushed inside me once more. Deep, punishing strokes that had stars sparking behind my eyes, my nails tightening in his shoulder. “That’s it, my Goddess - so fucking tight, so wet for me- you feel so fucking good…”
He let out a rough, stuttered groan, every muscle tense beneath my hands as his mouth met my throat, nipping and sucking at the offered skin when my head fell back.
“Yes- fuck, please, Yoshi- come inside me, mark me- I’m yours, sweet boy, all yours, please-”
He buried himself to the hilt with deafening groan, one hand sliding up my back to hold me tight to his chest as he pulsed inside me, the snow melting on our skin and mixing with the sweat and wetness from our passion.
The woods were dark behind us now. Not a flash of malicious gaze in sight.
He carried me back inside, bundled protectively to his chest, my leggings still hanging from one ankle. Our mingled essence on my thighs gleamed in the light of the fire, and he grinned at the sight as he tugged off my wet layers, snagging a dry towel to rub my chilled skin quickly.
When I was deposited in front of the fire, a blanket around my shoulders, he stripped off his own soaked clothes, flopping beside me with a grin as one hand found my leg, now without gloves and making me yelp at the cold.
“You’re freezing!”
“You love it,” he replied with a grin, pulling me into his lap, his arms tight around me as my shivers subsided. “Doing okay? Warming up? Anything hurt?”
I smiled softly, pressing my forehead to his. “I’m doing wonderfully, Silver,” I assured him gently, lips brushing his. “You always know how to make everything feel safe.”
He let out a soft, contented sigh, tucking me closer to his chest, pressing a tender kiss to my hair. “Good. That means I’m doing my job right - keeping you safe, warm, cozy, loved… And thoroughly fucked.”
I snorted affectionately, cheek resting over his heart, the beat steady and soothing, our limbs entangled as the snow fluttered harmlessly against the windows.
The Water Crests and Sinks Away (He Looked Just Like a Navy Man)
Epilogue Six - Brooklyn, New York - December, 1945.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> James 'Bucky' Barnes x Original Male Character (Winter x Lt. Gregor Tyne)
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> In which Lieutenant Gregor Tyne may have met his match.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 2215.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> E - Please read mindfully and be aware that this will be set in the arena of WWII and naval service, with corresponding themes, including but not limited to mentions of military procedures and weaponry, and era-typical attitudes to homosexuality.
𝐀/𝐍 -> One of my favorite chapters, I won't lie.
Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Masterlist can be found here.
<- Epilogue Five
Epilogue Seven ->
It was, without question, his mother’s fault.
She claimed later that she was ‘just looking’.
After that, she claimed that she ‘needed a good home’.
She claimed consistently that she never intended her to end up with them.
Winter knew better.
When Greg returned home from the market, Effie and Winter were already in his apartment, and there was a box on the table.
A moving box.
Something inside shifted, and a confused huff radiated from inside.
The lieutenant stopped dead in the doorway, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “… Winter,” he asked softly, carefully, as if considering an unexploded device, “why is this box breathing?”
Effie breezed past with a smile. “You should put your coat away, Gregor.”
The box tipped, as if the entity inside became bored of waiting to be released.
A German Shepherd puppy - white as fresh-fallen snow, all legs and ears and determination - tumbled onto the table, and half-jumped, half-fell onto a chair, then onto the ground, skidding on the linoleum, slammed into Tyne’s boot, and sat down hard, tail wagging so violently it hit the floor with an audible thump-thump-thump.
Winter covered his mouth and tried not to laugh.
The puppy looked up at Greg.
Greg looked down at the puppy.
The lieutenant cleared his throat uncertainly. “… Hello.”
The puppy lunged.
Not aggressively - enthusiastically. Entirely with love, and teeth, and zero spatial awareness or concern for personal boundaries.
Greg yelped - actually yelped - as the puppy’s teeth latched in the hem of his trousers, wrestling the clearly accursed fabric with a heroic commitment.
Winter leaned against the wall, laughing so hard that tears streamed down his cheeks. “I wish I could be sorry,” he gasped, one hand pressed against the pain in his ribs from attempting to catch his breath.
Effie was utterly unrepentant, carefully dismantling the box and placing it flat on the table. “She doesn’t have a name yet.”
Tyne stared down at the puppy - now clamped to his cuff, tail wagging so hard it looked as though it might detach. “Puppy,” he ordered weakly. “Release me.”
The puppy simply growled, head shaking as she fought to separate the fabric from his leg.
Greg tried again, a little more firmly. “Dog. No.”
She froze, and the lieutenant straightened slightly, looking proud of himself.
Then the puppy sneezed on his boot, and resumed chewing.
Winter let out a sob of laughter. “She’s immune!”
“I have commanded men under fire,” Greg declared weakly. “This is an unacceptable response.”
“She’s just a baby,” Effie soothed, petting the lieutenant’s arm.
“Yes,” Greg replied flatly. “A lawless one.”
Greg attempted discipline.
He read all the pamphlets. He stood straight, and gave calm, measured commands. Every inch the lieutenant that Winter had fallen for.
The puppy responded by sitting perfectly for a moment, before sprinting off in the opposite direction, dragging Greg’s boot with her.
Tyne gave chase - and returned five minutes later with hair disheveled, his dignity in ruins, and the puppy triumphantly dragging half a shoelace.
Winter almost forgets how to breathe.
“I don’t understand,” Tyne muttered, once the dog had fallen asleep on her back, paws twitching contentedly. “I was very clear!”
The younger man grinned. “You’re trying to reason with a creature whose thoughts don’t currently extend beyond ‘chew’ and ‘glee’.” Winter looked down at her, and smiled softly. “She needs a name…”
Winter’s eyes narrowed, and he smiled. “You’ve been thinking about it.”
Greg shrugged, eyes flicking away for a beat. “It seemed… Inefficient, for her not to have one. And given that she’s apparently ours, it seemed fitting we name her after where we… Established.”
“You can say ‘fell in love’, you know,” Winter teased, leaning into his partner’s side. “The words won’t bite.”
The lieutenant shot him a fond smile, lips brushing the younger man’s forehead. “I don’t know,” he mused playfully. “I think Reykjavik will always be where I started to realize that I was falling for you. But that seems like a lot to ask most people to spell.”
Winter snorted, and the puppy - Ana - huffed herself awake, sensing the attention being paid to her, and scaled her way into Greg’s lap.
Greg stiffened. “Win-”
Ana licked his chin, and he froze entirely. “… She’s breached the perimeter,” he whispered, eyes wide.
Winter was cackling openly, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You’re her favorite.”
Greg looked down at the creature; soft, warm, trusting - and entirely unbothered by tone or rank or reputation. “I see,” he replied slowly.
Ana let out a soft sigh, curled up, and fell asleep once more.
Greg didn’t move for twenty minutes - when the puppy had decided it was time to explore again, taking Greg’s other boot with her.
It was late in the night when Winter woke to find Greg’s spot cool beside him.
With a small, worried frown, he rose, padding quietly through the apartment. It wouldn’t be the first time that the memories had driven the lieutenant from their bed, and Winter often found him by the window, gazing sightlessly out over the water as the ghosts circled around him.
But this time, he didn’t find his partner stood before the glass, vacant eyes on the docks.
Tyne was sat on the floor, back to the sofa, his legs extended before him and Ana lay in his arms, belly up, one ear flopped over as she snored softly.
The lieutenant was holding her like a bomb technician who was told to cut the red wire in a monochrome world. His eyes were guarded as he looked up to Winter. “She cried.”
Winter smiled, just a little. “You stayed.”
“She stopped when I sat here,” Greg offered weakly, then looked down at the puppy once more, appearing bewildered but tender.
Winter’s smile grew, and he sunk down beside the pair, resting on Tyne’s shoulder. “You’ve been chosen.”
“Apparently,” Greg sighed, but his eyes danced with quiet, resigned delight as Ana snored louder.
They eventually retired to bed, Ana still snoring as she was placed gently in a makeshift basket made of a cardboard box turned sideways and lined with an old shirt.
Greg awoke to a weight on his chest and the dawn light obscuring his vision as he cracked an eye.
There was a German Shepherd puppy standing square on his sternum, tail wagging so ferociously that it blurred, a black, wet nose only inches form his own.
“… Ana,” Greg croaked, voice rough with sleep. “This is not appropriate behavior.”
Ana responded by dragging her tongue happily over his eyebrow, and Greg flinched. “Winter.”
The younger man, face still mashed into the pillow, let out a sleepy grunt. “Mm?”
“The dog has mounted a surprise offensive.”
Winter tipped his head slightly, squinting his eyes open, and took in the scene before him before laughing. “She likes you!”
“I am being targeted,” Greg replied, his voice grave.
Ana sneezed, and sat on the lieutenant’s chest. Winter grinned, reaching over to scratch behind the puppy’s ears, chuckling when she flopped onto her side and drove the air from Tyne’s lungs. “Nah,” Winter disagreed lightly. “You’re being furniture.”
Greg stared sightlessly at the ceiling. “I have been reduced.”
Greg insisted on beginning to walk Ana at the same time every morning.
“We should establish structure,” he observed, clipping on the leash with military precision.
He’s been reading the books, Winter noted with glee.
“You sure?” he checked, eyes alight.
“Yes,” the lieutenant replied steadily, eyeing the puppy. “She’s still young. Nothing I can’t handle.”
He pushed open the door of the apartment building and stepped outside. Winter, who had been solely responsible for Ana’s bathroom breaks so far, already knew what was coming, and leaned against the doorframe with his knuckle between his teeth.
They made it approximately four steps before Ana saw a pigeon - and lunged.
Greg, entirely unprepared for the raw, joyous force, stumbled forward for half a pace before regaining his balance, clearing his throat in some attempt at dignity. “Heel.”
Ana paused, and Greg straightened with a triumphant smile - until she sat and began chewing on her lead eagerly.
Winter sank to the step, cackling, as a neighbor passed by - eyeing the man he likely knew to be a distinguished Navy lieutenant, with his immaculate coat and dignified posture… And a puppy fighting with the leash like a captured enemy.
“Cute dog,” the neighbor noted, trying not to grin.
Greg looked down, his eyes narrowing, the fondness evident as he nodded stiffly. “She is… A challenge.”
Ana let out a happy yap at Greg’s gaze on her, and shifted to fighting with the laces of his boots.
That night, Greg was reviewing the latest papers, checking for any notes of resistance. Things had been settling down since the war officially ended, but he still worried, keeping an eye out for any familiar names in the obituaries or headlines that may give him cause for concern. Papers aligned, glasses perched - and Ana sitting at his feet, staring intently.
Greg ignored her, and she reached up to place a paw on his knee.
The lieutenant stiffened.
“… Winter,” he murmured, and the younger man looked up from his book on the sofa, face splitting into a wide grin.
“Yes?”
“She… Wants something.”
Ana tilted her head, ears flopping adorably, and Greg sighed, reaching down - and starting in surprise when she immediately climbed into his lap.
Winter’s grin softened into a fond smile, and the lieutenant froze, hands hovering uncertainly. “I… Don’t know what to do with her.”
“Just hold her,” Winter replied gently, his eyes crinkling at the edges when Greg did so and Ana sighed deeply, melting against the lieutenant’s chest happily.
Tyne’s eyes lowered, resting on the puppy for a few moments before raising to Winter once more.
“… I would go to war for this animal.”
Winter snorted, shaking his head fondly as Ana let out a soft snore. “I know.”
Effie watched it all unfold with satisfaction.
The first time she came to visit them and found Greg with the puppy asleep in his arms, she leaned against the door frame with a smile. “You know, Gregor, dogs have a way of knowing who needs them,” she noted mildly.
His fingers trailed absently down Ana’s back, and he replied without thinking. “Yes. She seems to think I am emotionally compromised.”
“She’s very smart,” Effie agreed, smiling.
Winter watched the trio - his mother, his partner, his ridiculous puppy - and felt contented bliss settle into his chest.
Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was home.
Greg insisted that Ana would learn to sleep in her own bed instead of falling asleep cradled in someone’s arms.
“We cannot encourage reliance,” Greg explained, placing Ana’s basket with clinical precision beside the sofa. “She must learn independence.”
Ana looked at the basket, then at Greg, sitting heavily with a small peep of confusion, and Winter bit his lip. “Greg…”
“No,” the lieutenant replied firmly. “We will hold firm.”
They did not hold firm.
It was a little after three in the morning when a sound echoed through the apartment. Not crying, not barking - just a soft, miserable huff, and Tyne opened his eyes.
The darkness of the room was deceptively still, Winter asleep beside him, breathing slow and even, and Greg lay motionless, staring at the ceiling.
Another huff, and the lieutenant closed his eyes resolutely.
When a third came, Greg exhaled slowly, already aware that he had lost, and slipped out of bed. Padding quietly into the living room he knelt beside the basket.
Ana was awake, her ears drooped, entire body radiating betrayal, and Greg’s chest tightened. “Oh. I see.”
The puppy shifted closer, her nose flush to the edge of the basket, eyes enormous and sorrowful.
Tyne hesitated for exactly half a second before scooping her up against his chest.
Ana relaxed immediately, her tail giving a single, sleepy wag before she burrowed under Greg’s chin, and he paused, the edge of his lips twitching. “This was not part of the plan,” he whispered gently.
Ana simply snored in response.
The lieutenant closed his eyes, forehead resting against the puppy’s. “I understand,” he murmured. “I know what it is to not want to be alone.”
She let out a soft huff, nestling closer, and Greg laughed under his breath - a quiet, helpless, devoted sound.
When Winter woke later, he found them both asleep on the couch, with Greg curled protectively around her small body, arm draped over her like a shield.
He simply smiled to himself and gently pulled a blanket over his little family, his heart aching with love.
Yeah. This is it. This is… Everything.
Greg acknowledged it almost absently, as he leaned down one afternoon from his papers, scratching behind the ear of the puppy asleep with her head on his foot. Her tail thumped once, and the lieutenant glanced up to his partner. “Winter?”
“Yes?” the younger man asked as he passed by, empty tea mug in hand.
“I believe,” Greg replied carefully, “that this creature has compromised me.”
Winter grinned and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “She and I both,” he chuckled adoringly.
Ana let out a soft bark in her sleep, one leg kicking out violently.
And Lieutenant Gregor Tyne - decorated officer, composed partner, utterly defeated dog guardian - laughed.
𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. Check it out below, or on AO3 here!
<- Chapter Fourteen
The snazzy Black Widow divider comes from @/firefly-graphics and I love it <3 The Multitudes Universe one is our own!
The compound had become a place I haunted, rather than a place I lived in.
I moved through the halls almost exclusively at night - silent corridors and dim lights, no sound beyond my own soft breathing.
The scale had rewarded my efforts. Forty-eight pounds gone. Ribs like blades, hip bones sharp enough to bruise when I curled on the floor.
Not good enough. But better. Keep going.
My hands shook constantly; coffee cups slipped and knives trembled, so I clenched them until my nails drew blood and the quivering subsided.
Occasionally, the voice seemed almost kind. Gentle, encouraging.
You’re leaner. Harder. If you go back now, on your own, they might not punish you too badly. They’ll see you tried, at least. Maybe even see some use in you still. They’ll fix you. Make you strong again.
I found myself believing it without hesitation.
Food became something I drank. Coffee in the morning, consumed in darkness before I ran, needing something to quiet the shaking, the dizziness.
Eventually, after the murmurs began to follow me, I started going to dinner with the team again. Pushing food around my plate, flattening it with the back of my fork.
I knew tricks enough.
Food was squirreled into pockets and sleeves when nobody was looking my way. Spat into napkins and mugs.
I couldn’t let them get suspicious. Not when I was getting so close.
My stomach didn’t cramp, didn’t rumble anymore. It had learned, just as I had, that food was not something we deserved. It was something that had to be earned, and used sparingly.
I ran until the world narrowed to pain and the next step and the sound of my heart pounding.
One mile bled into the next until I lost count, slipping past the perimeter and into the woods where the compound lights couldn’t reach me. I ran until my legs shook and my vision blurred, and more than once I stumbled, catching myself on a tree, bark biting into my palms. A punishment for my weakness.
I only showered in the dark. Hot water made my lacerated flesh scream, and I stayed there until the pain subsided.
But the team started to smile at me again - started to believe that whatever had gotten into me had passed. Clint still watched me, as always, but the rest had moved on. Forgotten.
The go-bag waited under the bed. Knife, cash, fake ID, burner phone. I pulled it out frequently and held it close, almost tenderly.
Go back now, the Voice crooned softly. They might not punish you too badly. What are you waiting for? Nobody needs you here.
More than once, I almost did. I stood at the door, one hand on the handle, the other on the strap of my bag and my heart pounding in my chest.
Then Clint’s face would flash before my eyes - the real Clint, not Loki’s puppet. The too-long stares, the quiet worry, the way he still left coffee even though we barely spoke anymore.
I always let the handle go.
We flew out one morning for a low-priority recon - a simple intel pickup, just Clint and me. Straightforward.
We communicated a little more easily than we had been. I hid the pain better, burying it beneath hunger and self-revulsion. I still didn’t say much, but he was okay with that. He always was. Sometimes we’d sign instead, or sometimes I just needed it to be quiet. He accepted it without pressing, without complaint.
The steady hum around us was familiar, and for a while, neither of us spoke. He flew easily, as he always did - one hand on the controls, the other on his knee.
I watched the clouds, and tried to remember what it had been like when I could sit beside him without the weight of everything pressing down on my sternum.
He barely glanced my way as he signed. “Boring flight.”
“They usually are,” I replied in silence, almost automatically, and earned a half-smile I saw before I looked away once more.
It was easier, for reasons I wasn’t sure I knew how to explain. I never needed to, not with him - but words had texture, and weight, and implication. ASL was just… Communication. Chopped into our own shorthand that had come about through years - has it really been so long now? - of missions, of safe houses, of late nights when talking or hearing aids felt like too much effort. It had gone from a language used by some half a million into something most people would find largely unintelligible. Something private. Something ours.
Sometimes it felt like the only way I could be near him without wanting to come apart at the seams
The hunger sat in my stomach like a stone, and the jet’s hum and altitude seemed to shift every few minutes, my body feeling unreliable.
I pressed my feet flat against the floor, forcing myself to focus on the pressure. Real. Solid. Here.
“You good?” he signed, shooting me another glance.
“Fine,” I replied easily. The simplest lie I knew.
He nodded once, and I turned my gaze back to the clouds.
Always accepting. Always understanding.
It was as easy as promised.
But I still managed to fuck up.
I froze as I reached out, fingers shaking, vision going gray from hunger. Clint didn’t comment as he covered for me smoothly, taking the flashdrive without drawing attention to my weakness.
I spent the rest of the brief interaction stepped back, silent, lost in my own head.
You can’t even handle a simple pickup. You’re a fucking disaster. They’re going to kill you. You’re weak. Useless. A waste of skin.
The flashdrive sat in Clint's breast pocket, and I stared at the middle distance and said nothing.
He didn't mention it. Of course he didn't — that was Clint, smoothing over the cracks so efficiently that sometimes I wondered if he even saw them, or if he simply chose not to. Either way, the result was the same. My weakness, absorbed and redistributed, leaving no visible trace.
I should have been grateful.
Instead I felt the shame of it sitting hot and corrosive behind my sternum, burning with every breath.
You froze. The Voice was almost conversational. In the field. In front of him. You couldn't even manage a simple pickup without falling apart — what exactly do you think you're offering them? What use are you?
I pressed my thumbnail into my palm and said nothing.
Clint's hands moved on the controls, unhurried. The line of his shoulders was relaxed, or performing relaxed — with him it was sometimes hard to tell. He'd always been good at making himself small and unthreatening, at taking up only the space he was given.
I thought about the go-bag under my bed. The knife, the cash, the burner phone. The Voice, soft and coaxing: go back now, they might not punish you too badly.
I thought about the way his hand had frozen in the air when I'd flinched.
The compound lights appeared on the horizon, pale against the grey, and something in my chest contracted sharply.
You froze in front of him. The Voice again, less conversational now - sharper. He covered for you. He always covers for you. You are a liability. You are a weight around the neck of everyone who makes the mistake of caring about you.
"Almost back," Clint said quietly, not turning around.
I nodded, though he couldn't see it.
The feeling of toomuchnotenoughneverenough rose in my throat, and I stood without a word, moving toward the back of the jet.
I slipped into the bathroom without comment, locking the door behind me. The small space didn’t allow much privacy, and I gripped the sink hard, staring in the mirror hatefully. I no longer felt like I was becoming slender, or stronger - all I could see these days was my shortfalls in multitudes.
Natasha Romanoff. Renowned assassin. Expatriate of Soviet Russia.
Fucking disaster.
I growled at my reflection, wholly dissatisfied with the person I saw in the mirror.
“How are you ever supposed to be of use?” I muttered under my breath, digging my fingernails into the bare, expansive flesh on the back of my arms, the edges falling into semi-permanent ruts formed through similar ministrations.
“Natasha? Nat, come on. We’re almost back at base.”
My partner’s knuckles rapped smartly on the pokey bathroom door, and I rolled my eyes, releasing my grasp on myself.
If I didn’t love Clint so much, I’d throw him from this goddamn jet.
The quinjet didn’t give much room for emotional breakdowns – particularly with my well-meaning, but overly invested, teammate aboard.
Clint can understand many things… But he could never understand this.
A/N: And that, my friends, is that.
But this is a prequel, remember? If you want the main event - the truth comes out, and we find out more about what exactly it is that whispers into Nat's ear - not to mention, what on Earth did Clint buy in Monaco? - you can head over to Multitudes (and it's co-running companion, Magic & Madness).
Miles to Go Before I Sleep - Chapter Two
Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> James "Bucky" Barnes x Original Nonbinary Character (Soldierbug).
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Gen.
The body learns to brace long before it learns how to let go.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 1653.
𝐀/𝐍 -> Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Masterlist can be found here.
<- Chapter One
Chapter Three ->
Golden morning light spilled over the road, and Mars was frowning to themselves, lips pressed into a thin line of concentration as they carefully pieced together songs for a playlist they vowed wouldn’t just be ‘sad indie stuff’.
When the next track started to play, soft and upbeat, I smiled to myself.
“I don’t know this,” I noted quietly, “but it’s nice. I like it.”
They grinned back, shy but visibly pleased with themselves. “I promise you’ll know some of it. I’m already making a whole separate playlist for when you inevitably get sick of my music taste, too.”
I let out a soft laugh through my nose. I expected something… Louder, or too modern for me to appreciate fully. It was surprising, but pleasant.
We drove like that for a while - the music low, Mars occasionally humming along under their breath while they toyed with the loose thread on their sleeve again.
I found myself stealing the smallest of glances from time to time. The light caught on their skin, turning it warm and golden. It shone in their eyes, shifting mahogany to honeyed cognac.
Something changed, about an hour in.
I don’t know what activated some deep recess of my mind, but the tension slowly ratcheted back up in my muscles, until my shoulders were set and the wheel groaned softly under my hand.
They tilted their head a little without looking directly at me, their voice soft. “You know… The road’s not gonna go anywhere. You can loosen your grip a little. Promise I won’t judge you if you need to white-knuckle it again later.”
I blinked a little, surprised they’d noticed, and consciously tried to relax my hands.
It half-worked, at least.
“Old habit,” I muttered after a moment, gaze still focused on the road ahead.
“I figured,” they replied easily, shrugging a shoulder. “I mean, I imagine the cars took a little more handling back when you learned to drive. Did you still have to hand-crank them, or…?”
I let out a short, sharp laugh of surprise, turning my head to stare at them. “Did you just-”
“Make a joke about you being old? Yes,” they answered, grinning broadly.
I laughed again, a little more warmly this time, shaking my head.
But, whether intended or not, it worked. By the time we pulled into our first roadside stop - a gas station with a tiny diner attached that looked like it hadn’t changed in Mars’ lifetime - my posture was relaxed and easy once more, elbow resting on the open window as I drove.
I pumped the gas as they ducked into the diner, throwing an absent comment over their shoulder about checking out the specials.
By the time I was done and paid, they were ducking out of the door, two Styrofoam containers stacked in their hands and a bottle of water under each arm. Their tongue extended in concentration as they attempted to balance the containers against the door, and I raised an eyebrow.
“Do you-”
“I got it,” they attested, hooking a finger under the door and shimmying backwards until it was wide enough, placing the containers carefully on the seat before offering me a bottle of water with a flourish as I got in opposite. “For you!”
With a snort, I shook my head, unscrewing the top to take a long drink. “Thanks. What…?”
The aroma hit me before they answered, my mouth immediately beginning to water. “Pie. One apple, one cherry. Want one?”
I grinned a little, taking the proffered container with a grateful nod. “Thanks. It’s been a while since I had a real pie that didn’t come in a box.”
They laughed at that, settling deeper into their seat as they popped the lid on their container, the smell of warm cherry and homemade pastry washing over me. “I mean, arguably…”
I waved off their note with a chuckle, opening my own box and letting out a soft groan under my breath. “Holy shit, that smells incredible…”
Mars let out a soft laugh, carefully picking at the crust of their pie, tasting it tentatively before nodding as if satisfied and stabbing their plastic fork into it. I watched in silence, smiling a little.
It was… Domestic, in a way that should have felt strange, but, inexplicably, it didn’t. It was peaceful. And despite the unusual turn of my day, it felt like the most normal morning I’d had in longer than I could remember.
Mars talked more than I was used to.
The only person I’d really spent much time with in recent years was Steve - and he was no more inclined to idle chatter than I was. But Mars spoke freely, seemingly verbalizing their entire stream of consciousness.
“Oh, hey - look at these trees! Aren’t they pretty? I’m gonna wind down the window, I bet they smell amazing!”
“You’re tense again. I can take over for an hour if you want, so you can stretch? I can’t really drive, but the roads here are so straight, it’d be fine. Probably.”
“Is the music okay? I can put on something instrumental if you’d rather. Sometimes something without lyrics is nicer, you know?”
If I’d been asked beforehand if I’d find it annoying, I almost certainly would have said yes. If I’d been warned that my peaceful drive would be accompanied by an unceasing backing track, I’d have thought twice before agreeing to let them come along.
But I didn’t find it annoying - and I didn’t for a moment regret that they were sat beside me. Their unhesitating way of speaking was soothing, for reasons I couldn’t put my finger on. Honest.
They didn’t push, or assume. They simply…. Noticed.
At one point, Mars fell silent for a little while, pulling a small crochet project from the bag at their feet - something green and soft-looking, working idly as they hummed along to the music. My eyes were drawn to their hands, the almost instinctual rhythm of it, for longer than I intended before I looked back to the road.
“… What are you making?” I asked eventually.
They seemed a little startled that I’d spoken, head coming up as they blinked owlishly. “Hm? Oh.” Their eyes lowered again, appearing almost surprised by the material in their hands. “… I’m not really sure yet.”
“You’re… Not sure?” I echoed, lips twitching, and they grinned sheepishly.
“Nope. I just like doing the stitches sometimes. It keeps my hands busy.”
My mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before closing with a smile. “Well, okay then.” I fell silent for a few moments before speaking again. “… My mom used to crochet.”
“She did?” Mars asked, head tipping as they glanced at me, appearing genuinely interested.
I chuckled and rubbed my neck, mildly embarrassed under their attention. “Yeah. Just little things, usually. Stuff for babies of the women she knew, mostly. Blankets, hats - you know?” They nodded, still watching me with curiosity. “She was good, though. Could do all kinds of… Patterns? I don’t know the words,” I added, smiling softly at the memory. “But… Yeah. She was real good at it. As soon as she found out anyone she knew was expecting - and it didn’t usually take long, she seemed to have a nose for it - the hooks came out.”
“She sounds nice,” they replied gently, and I nodded back, jaw clenching slightly.
“She was. Yeah. She… She was the best.”
They lapsed into silence then, not rushing to fill the space created by my grief - and I appreciated it. Too many people offered empty platitudes or apologies, clearly uncomfortable, but they seemed to understand that some things were simply… Sad. That loss was painful, but it shouldn’t be shoved to the side.
They let me sit with my pain for a few beats, and I was grateful.
And then they saw a bird, gasped, and the endless stream of consciousness began again.
They kept their promise; they didn’t fall asleep for at least three hours.
But by the time late afternoon sun poured through the windshield, painting everything in a warm gold, Mars had drifted off with their temple against the window, the crochet hook still held loosely in one hand and the project resting on their lap. Their breathing came soft and even in the quieter moments of the music.
I didn’t turn it off. I simply drove - one hand loose on the wheel, shoulders relaxed, the road stretching out endlessly ahead. It didn’t feel like an empty or uncomfortable quiet, and I was surprised that having them sleep beside me felt… Peaceful, rather than strange.
It was starting to feel like an experience we were sharing, rather than one I was having with a witness. And something about that didn’t scare me like I thought it would.
It's been a while, but we're going to be posting new cards very soon! In the meantime, he's a round-up of all the fics that have been posted over the last year!
Ones:
@papermacherainbow
Say It's Kinktober Chp 5 - Peter Parker/Sam Wilson
Prompts: Peter Parker | Shibari
@polizwrites
Art In Place of Hate - Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Bucky helps out a stranger who’s working to replace hateful words with something better.
Prompts: Pre-Serum Steve | Size Difference | Art/Artist AU | Introduce
Threes:
@polizwrites
Bringing Together A Group of Remarkably Horny People - Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Tony couldn’t deny he’d had second thoughts about inviting his teammates to live in the Tower. Surrounding himself with a couple of super-soldier alphas - to say the least of a God of Thunder, a fellow scientist with breathtaking anger management issues and a couple of morally grey secret agents - well, that was almost certainly a recipe for disaster. Until he started going into heat …. and then it became the best idea ever.
Prompts: Super Serum | Sex Party | Omegaverse
Fives:
@polizwrites
Setting the Charges and Lighting the Fuse - Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark
Bucky is skeptical about watching the New Year’s Eve fireworks from the Tower hot tub, but then Tony sweetens the offer.
Prompts: Slow and Gentle | Foreplay | Fireworks
Four of a Kind:
@polizwrites
Mistaken Assumptions - Avengers Team Members/Steve Rogers
Steve Rogers had always known he was something different from his image as a wholesome, upstanding All-American hero. He just didn’t have the words until now.
Prompts: Contradiction | Canon Divergence | Steve Rogers | Virginity
@papermacherainbow
(you look) like an angel - Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Peter never thought he'd agreed to an arranged marriage, but then he'd taken one look at Tony and all his complaints had ceased. Now, it's their wedding day, and while he's elated, it's clear Tony is not. He assumes Tony just isn't happy about an arranged marriage, but as his wedding night unfolds, Peter finds out a secret about his angel Omega.
Prompts: Protect | Royal AU | Harley Keener | Slow & Gentle
Small Straight:
@papermacherainbow
Say It's Kinktober Chp 3 - Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Prompts: Steve Rogers | Familiar | Oral Sex | 1940s
The team was scattered: Tony had returned to see what could be salvaged of the Tower; Steve was helping out on a nearby Army base as a favor to a friend; Bruce was focused on the data we had on the sceptre; Stephen had gone back to the Sanctum, his purpose with us fulfilled. Even Clint was slowly getting back into the rhythm of things, spending time in the range with his bow and taking runs around the perimeter.
He said he was making sure he was still in shape after his time off, but we both knew he was keeping an eye on me.
I avoided him as much as I could without it looking deliberate - runs shifting between the gym and the grounds, convincing Tony to let me repurpose one of the outer buildings into a ballet studio.
Every morning before dawn, when the halls were empty and the lights still dim, I laced up my sneakers and headed out. Five miles. Eight. Ten. My thigh still burned under the scar tissue, but I didn’t let it slow me down, sweat soaking through my shirt.
But it was a clean kind of pain. An honest kind.
It was better than spending more sleepless hours staring at the ceiling, or else passing out despite fighting the fatigue only to wake from a nightmare that had me burying my teeth in my knuckles to keep from screaming.
Faster, the Voice came, even as my lungs screamed. It was stupid to think you were safe here - you see that now. They’re going to come, and you need to be ready. You can’t disappoint them.
I didn’t question it any more - not after everything. Not after I’d lain helpless and frozen and the Voice was the only thing that had stopped it.
I ate less.
Breakfast became black coffee - taken in the kitchen before a run if Steve was gone, or on my way back to my room afterwards if he wasn’t. Lunch was a handful of almonds or an apple if someone - usually Clint - was watching, and dinner was whatever I could get away with. Sometimes he gazed at me with those eyes and I begrudgingly let him convince me to eat with the team. Other nights I pretended to lose track of time in the gym, let him see me with a protein shake later.
He didn’t see the half that was poured down the sink when the taste turned sour.
My stomach complained sometimes, sharp and hollow, but the mirror showed results. Leaner hips. Harder collarbones. Less softness. Less failure.
Steve was the one who approached me directly, in the end.
He found me in the training room one afternoon, running through forms on the mats, knife in hand.
I’d jarred a cut on my ribs, and it was throbbing each time I twisted. And when I winced - subtle, minute, but there - he crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’re pushing too hard,” he informed me from the doorway, his voice slipping far too readily from Steve, the guy I used to have coffee with in the mornings, into Captain America. “Take a break.”
“I’m fine,” I replied steadily, not meeting his gaze.
“You’re not.” He stepped closer, jaw taut. “Spar with me - just a light one. Let’s see how your body’s really holding up, Nat.”
I hesitated briefly before nodding, hands clenching into fists.
Don’t let him see how weak you are.
We circled - no weapons, only hands and feet. Steve moved slowly, not attacking at first, but probing. Testing. Watching me closely. I matched every motion without faltering.
Jab.
Block.
Kick.
My body held, resilient and strong… Until it didn’t.
He swept low - gentle and controlled - and when I tried to jump it, a motion that would have, should have, been easy, my vision tunneled, and I fumbled the landing.
I hit the mat hard, knee first, then elbow, with the breath punched out of me.
He was beside me in an instant, face creased in concern. “Nat- are you okay?”
I rolled to my side, one arm around my ribs, the wounds there having been pummeled by the impact. The scar on my thigh throbbed hot and deep, the healed line protesting vehemently.
Weak. Pathetic. They’re going to kill you. Steve’s going to see just how worthless you are and put you out on the street; it’ll be even easier for them for to find you then.
Steve’s hand hovered over my arm - wanting to help, but knowing I’d recoil from the touch. “You need Bruce…”
“I’m fine,” I pushed myself up forcefully, even as my ribs throbbed. “Really.”
I could see it in his eyes as I stood, his disbelief sharp, but he didn’t force it. He just stood back as I turned toward towards the door, unable to keep from pressing my hand to the pain in my ribs.
That night, I cut deeper.
The morning after, I ran harder.
My legs shook my mile nine. My vision tunneled by mile ten. At eleven, I collapsed just inside the perimeter fence, chest heaving, hands clawing at the dirt as I tried to force air into screaming lungs and the world tilted.
Get up, the Voice snapped venomously. You stop, you fail, then you die. They’re coming. You need to be ready.
I forced myself upright, walking the mile back to the main building. Ignoring the tremor in my hands and the way my stomach twisted with hunger and nausea with difficulty.
Back in my room, I stared at my reflection hatefully.
Leaner.
Sharper.
But still not enough.
The sparring injury faded faster than the shame.
The burn in my ribs was dulled after the wounds scabbed over once more, but the memory of hitting the mat - of Steve’s voice saying ‘you’re pushing too hard’ - stayed sharp, no matter how many miles I ran. I couldn’t shake the humiliation of having been so thoroughly, so easily beaten.
So I stopped sparring. Stopped practicing forms in the gym where I could be walked in on. I just ran the perimeter, on and on until my body couldn’t take any more. A dawn ritual - out the door before anyone woke, twelve miles slowly becoming fourteen, then sixteen. My legs shook by the end, lungs burning and raw, but I didn’t stop, didn’t slow - not until the main building was in sight once more, and I finally shifted to a walk, refusing to let anyone see me gasping for breath.
Good. Don’t let anybody see how much weakness still remains. Keep pushing. Harder. Faster. Stronger.
Food became a war of silence.
One I was determined to win.
The scale rewarded me - another pound lost, then two, then five.
The mirror rewarded me - ribs more visible, waist narrower, arms leaner. Less to grab. Less to hate.
Harder. Faster. Stronger.
The Voice did not reward me. It simply reminded me that I was still too much. Still not enough.
I started skipping team meals entirely.
Clint tried repeatedly to rekindle our friendship. He knew there was something I was keeping from him - something hidden in my silence that he seemed to perceive only in fuzzy edges, in the way my gaze slid over his without landing. A quiet part of him didn’t want to push, and we both knew it - though only I knew why.
“Hey. Wanna head to the range with me? It’s been a while.”
I looked up from the book I was pretending to read, eyes not quite meeting his own where he stood in the doorway.
“Hm? Oh, no thanks - I’m pretty absorbed in this,” I replied vaguely, trying to seem far more nonchalant than I felt, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Nat…” He took a half step closer, brow furrowing a little.
His hand raised to reach out to touch me - my arm, my shoulder, like he had a thousand times before.
He froze when I flinched instinctively, the memories coming unbidden.
I could see the moment it registered, a flicker of hurt passing over his features. I didn’t speak; I simply turned my gaze back to my book, shrugging a shoulder absently.
I didn’t let myself blink until I heard his footsteps fade away.
It’s better this way, Clint. It’s better if you let me go. It’s better if you never know.
The lights in his room felt too bright, too clean - too wrong after the emergency lighting that had stained everything the color of blood - an ominous warning I’d been blind to.
I sat in the chair beside Clint’s bed, elbows digging into my knees, my knuckles blanched white where my fingers locked together. The monitors beeped on, steady and indifferent, marking everything as nominal. Normal.
Like everything hadn’t changed.
He hadn’t yet moved, and so neither had I. Bruce had come and gone twice already, noting his vitals to be stable, and that there was no sign of intercranial bleeding. Only a deep exhaustion, and whatever mess the scepter had left to rot in his head.
“He’ll wake when he’s ready,” he’d informed me softly, his voice kind, eyes flicking over my body with his way of seeing that combined both the man and the monster - the professional, and the one who knew what it was to hate yourself.
I’d nodded once, and nothing more. There was nothing to say.
When he eventually woke, he had questions.
“You know what it’s like to be unmade?”
I answered that one. I didn’t answer the others - the ones about the things he did.
I would carry it with me. I had burdened him enough with my past; I wouldn’t let him become a part of it.
The door hissed open, and Steve stepped through, his shield over his back.
“Time to go.”
“Go where?” I asked, standing.
“I’ll tell you on the way. Can you fly one of those jets?”
Clint emerged from the bathroom as Steve spoke, still drying his hands, and nodded once. “I can.”
Cap’s eyes flicked to me, and I nodded subtly.
He’s ours again.
“Got a suit?”
“Yeah.”
“Then suit up,” Steve replied, his voice heavy with the weight of whatever it was that we were about to face.
The invasion was noise and fire and the sound of bodies I didn’t know breaking under moves I knew too well. The portal above Stark Tower yawned like a wound that refused to close, with aliens pouring through in endless, shrieking, surreal waves.
We fought in fragments, separate but together - Steve barking orders on the ground, Tony streaking through the sky in a blur of red and gold and propulsion, Thor calling lightning that made the air crackle and spit. The Hulk burst forth at last, the ground beneath my feet shaking with the fury of his roars.
Clint’s eyes were clear - but there was a hollowness in them that there hadn’t been before.
“You know what it’s like to be unmade?”
He was on the rooftop, firing with the same lethal grace, but every time his gaze found mine he hesitated, only for a fraction of a second, before he loosed his next shot.
Like he could still feel Loki’s fingers in his skull.
Like looking at me reminded him of something half-forgotten, a nightmare burned away by the dawn.
He hadn’t mentioned it. I hadn’t either. It seemed, consciously at least, that one of us had been spared remembering.
I moved through the fights on muscle memory - knife, gun, chokehold, roll, repeat. My injuries screamed with every quick movement.
We closed the portal.
Loki was dragged back to Asgard in chains and golden lights, and the city smoldered in his wake. But the team stood on the roof of the tower amidst the wreckage - exhausted, bruised, and alive.
When Clint limped over to me, his eyes were searching mine for something he didn’t seem sure he wanted to find.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“A little bruising. Nothing major.”
A lie. My calf ached were I’d dug shrapnel out of the flesh. The fresher wounds high on my thigh were itching from heat and strain.
His eyes told me that he didn’t believe it. But he didn’t push; Clint never pushed.
Back at the compound, the quiet felt deafening after the clamor.
Clint was fully discharged after a week with reports of no permanent damage, much to my relief.
He stayed close. He watched me a little too long when he thought I wasn’t looking, especially when I winced or when I pushed food around my plate until it grew cold and unappetizing.
I started running again. Not physiotherapy, not training, just… Running. Running until my lungs clawed at my ribs hungrily and the scar along my thigh burned. Until the pain smothered the sound of his voice in my head. Until sweat stung the half-moon rivulets on the back of my arms where my nails had dug in.
I ate less. Not deliberately - not at first. I simply forgot. I skipped breakfast. Pushed lunch around idly until I found myself left alone, appetite disintegrating in my solitude. I started to miss out on team dinners, unable to tolerate the enforced companionship, the eyes on me. I ate a protein bar alone in my room, swallowed with guilt and water while the mirror reflected the parts of me that were too soft, too weak. The parts they would pull at when they inevitably came for me. The parts that would tell them I was too weak to be worth keeping.
If they come for you and you’re like this, they’ll kill you. You need to be better.
When it got too loud, when my own nails didn’t make the Voice ease up enough to give me any rest, I turned to knives, to scalpels hidden inside tampon boxes and blades from my tac gear. Every meal I finished, and every meal I didn’t. Every time Clint’s eyes lingered too long, searching for something half-forgotten and better left buried. Every night I woke up in a sweat, shaking, my legs curled beneath me and the knife beneath my pillow pulled out to fight an attacker that wore my best friend’s face.
He looked for too long too often, after a while. Whenever I winced when we sparred, whenever I diverted my eyes too quickly when the nightmares were bad. And his soft eyes, his tight jaw - it made my stomach twist in some nameless, guilty way that followed me into the showers; into the gym; into the dark, where I sat on the edge of my bed with a blade and counted out new wounds like rosary beads.
Thirteen.
Fourteen.
Fifteen.
For the invasion you couldn’t stop.
For the mind you couldn’t save.
For still being too weak.
I knew the Voice in my head was right; if they came for me now, they would be disgusted with what they found. I’d been soft ever since Clint made the call.
I pressed the blade in again, slow and deliberate, and I felt the Voice purr in satisfaction as blood welled.
For a long time, Yoshitsune refused to acknowledge that I was not a morning person.
Rising with the sun - or before it, in the long Canadian winter - was something that he had never quite let go of, used to making his bed with hospital corners, moving through his morning routine with military precision.
From the moment I embraced a life free from the rigorous demands and harsh punishments of the Red Room, I had decided that I was not going to drag myself unnecessarily from a warm nest of blankets and sheets when there was no pressing need to do so.
There was a little while where he tried lightheartedly to cajole me into joining him. I sat with him on the porch, coffee in hand - his black and bitter, mine loaded with sugar - and I admitted readily that the colors exploding on the horizon were breathtaking.
It took a simple negotiation in order to get him back to bed; the moment my shirt came off, he was helpless, following me inside without looking back.
After that, we tended to rise together - more often that not with satisfied grins and an unmade bed.
He wasn’t the most experienced chef, but he was passionate about my eating enough to put in the time in the kitchen.
Yoshitsune favored hearty, simple Canadian staples - the sorts of things he relished making as a father and fiancé. Venison stew, poutine, pemmican - and his Saskatoon berry pie was to die for - though his pancakes would always be considered his crowning glory.
I, meanwhile, had never quite shaken myself free of the idea that food meant pain. My palate had adjusted, calling for extravagances and dramatics - borscht with extra dill and curry with ghost peppers. He argued me down to habaneros after one particular experience had him chugging milk and wheezing, his fingers gripping the table so hard that the wood groaned.
“If you feed that to the children, I’m calling CPS.”
Apollo was the only one who had my taste for spice; Yoshitsune would watch in awestruck horror as he sneaked chillies straight from the back, eating them raw without batting an eye.
It was this that made him declare our youngest a tougher soldier than he could ever be, earning Appie’s huge grin and giggle of delight.
Suffice to say, we typically cooked together - working with one another to create something rich and flavorful, ending up with a meal we could all enjoy - most of the time.
It was well-established that my body was not designed for the cold long before I moved north. Even before the events in Asgard, I didn’t handle the cold well - my small, slender form lacked the insulation, delicate feet relied upon for dancing more than sub-zero temperatures were want to facilitate.
Yoshitsune, however, was a true Canadian. The windows remained cracked throughout the year, a single thin blanket draped over his mostly-nude form in the night.
Until me, of course.
If there was one thing Yoshitsune would not compromise on, it was keeping me warm enough.
Windows became shut tight. A thick comforter covered the bed. The fires stayed lit almost endlessly for several months of the year, heat radiating through the cabin and wreathing around us. When I expressed concern about altering his natural environment, he simply smiled, shrugging his shirt over his head and leaning back against the sofa, letting the warmth radiate from his skin. I’d curled into his side with a contented sigh, earning a soft grunt of discomfort when my cold hand met his chest.
He was always willing to endure the spike of discomfort for me to press frozen flesh to warmth, thawing me out without complaint.
I hadn’t always been social.
For a lot of my life, I avoided people. I was known in reflection. Nat didn’t realise until years after the first time I piloted the body that I’d been around for a while - finding comfort in the solace of darkness, stealing away to the custom-made studio while the compound slept. Nat woke with blood on her toes and no memory of how it got there.
Then I was discovered. I was loved. I was slowly introduced to a world that was both terrifying and magical.
I relished the isolation of my life as it was now - my existence in the quiet of the woods with Yoshitsune and our family. Never far from those I loved, thanks to Stephen’s portal, but it was a contact driven by choice, not inescapable proximity.
Suddenly, I had the ability to choose. And choosing crowds and chaos was an option I made frequently, unflinchingly.
Yoshitsune was more quiet, more observant. He would happily limit himself for most of the year to only our close family, content in his Canadian wilderness, hiking mountains and tearing along roads on his motorbike at speeds that made my blood run cold.
But for me, he attended festivals and parades. He spent multiple days a month at the compound and the farm, never faltering.
He let me pull him into the spotlight - both physical and metaphorical - and I adored him for it.
When I’d asked him once - quietly, curiously - he’d only smiled, cupping my jaw gently in one unwavering hand.
“You’re the sun,” he replied simply, shrugging. “It’s an honor to be around your light.”
While I would be the first to argue that gently encouraging social interaction was a good thing, I’d also be the first to note that he made me better in a lot of ways, too. His calm kept me grounded. His ability to think rationally kept us in food and home - and, at one point, was the only reason Artemis didn’t end up with a house-pony.
He was handy - when I declared the broken porch light an art installation, tying a bow around it, he laughed and kissed my cheek. The next time we went out in the dark, it blazed with an unwavering light, complete with the bow I’d made.
We sat outside under that same lamp’s glow one night, and I gazed up at it quietly, his fingers stroking gentle lines down my spine.
“Do you ever wonder why we work?” I asked, my voice soft, cheek resting against his chest as I watched the fireflies gather. When he made a small, curious sound, I shifted my gaze to his. “We’re so different. Sometimes it feels like… We shouldn’t go so well together, you know?”
He considered my words for a moment, quiet and thoughtful, his touch on my back never pausing. “You bring the fire,” he replied gently, shrugging, “and I bring the steady. We work because between us, we can burn bright without going out.”
Slowly, I grinned, leaning closer, chest aching with adoration. “Solar opposites with the same orbit,” I declared, and he laughed, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“I don’t know. I’d say you’re the center of my universe, Swan.”
The Water Crests and Sinks Away (He Looked Just Like a Navy Man)
Epilogue Five - Brooklyn, New York - November, 1945.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> James 'Bucky' Barnes x Original Male Character (Winter x Lt. Gregor Tyne)
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> In which men stand alone, and consequences cause decisive actions.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 3184
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> E - Mentions of war-typical lifelong injury and permanent disability, era-typical homophobia. Please read mindfully and be aware that this will be set in the arena of WWII and naval service, with corresponding themes, including but not limited to mentions of military procedures and weaponry, and era-typical attitudes to homosexuality.
𝐀/𝐍 -> I opted not to include a ‘live’ description of a specific scene in this chapter. This was due to both the secrecy of these things at the time making it very difficult to find out what exactly happened in these moments, and also out of respect for said secrecy they held by not creating my own version of events.
Check it out below, or on AO3 here! Masterlist can be found here.
<- Epilogue Four
Epilogue Six ->
It was the middle of November when there came a knock at the door.
Winter and Greg looked at one another, the former’s brow furrowing a little. Neither had expected any visitors - and impromptu guests were not something that happened often.
Winter hung back as Greg approached the door, glancing through the spyhole for a moment.
A smile creased his features as he glanced back at his partner, warm and genuine. “I think it’s for you.”
Winter frowned a little as he stepped forward, confusion flicking across his features.
When the door opened, his grin matched his partner’s. “Peters.”
The Lieutenant stood on the doorstep - looking a little more ragged than he had last time the pair had met, but no less alert, his kind eyes on Winter’s.
“Good afternoon, Petty Officer Barnes,” he replied evenly, a smile tugging at his lips. He glanced over the younger man’s shoulder and inclined his head respectfully. “Lieutenant Tyne.”
“Lieutenant Peters,” Greg answered, moving to stand beside his partner, one hand resting gently on the small of Winter’s back. Not possessive, simply there - a subtle moment of affection in a situation where such things would not be punished.
“Come in, come in,” Winter enthused after a moment, taking a step back from the threshold. “When did you return?”
Peters moved inside, and paused before answering. “September,” he replied after a moment. “Medical discharge.”
Winter’s brow furrowed worriedly - but the question died on his lips as Peters shrugged off his jacket, revealing a shirt with one sleeve neatly pinned by the shoulder. “… Oh.”
Greg’s fingers slid into his partner’s, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry.”
Peters smiled back weakly. “I’m alive, and that’s the most important thing,” he replied evenly, sparing a brief glance toward his missing arm. “I’m home. Well… Most of me.”
Winter gripped Greg’s hand a little tighter. While all his limbs were accounted for, the older man knew what it was to return with a different body than the one you left in. Winter had, so far, been quite lucky - the deterioration to his hearing was not yet so bad that little more adjustment than occasional repetition was required, though he was already beginning to struggle to pick out words in a crowded environment. Fortunately, neither man was a great lover of such things, so it was rarely an issue.
Winter ushered the pair deeper into the apartment, flustered and fumbling - he’d had time to adjust to the way things had changed with Greg, but he worried endlessly about accidentally upsetting Lieutenant Peters. He paused when he returned with a mug of coffee, panic written all over his face, and Peters snorted softly.
“You can put it on the coffee table,” he offered with a kind smile, and Winter ducked his head, grateful and shamed.
“Sorry.”
Peter waved his hand gently. “It’s an adjustment,” he agreed. “I’m still getting used to it, too. You don’t realize quite how… Instinctive everything becomes.”
Greg nodded, curling fingers that still shook slightly in his lap, before offering his hand to his partner. “I know what you mean,” he agreed, pulling the younger man down beside him. “I still find myself picking things up through habit, and then… It never stops being surprising when I drop them because they’re too heavy, or because I’m having a bad day and I overestimated what I could hold…”
Winter leaned against his lieutenant’s side supportively, fingertips tracing encouragingly over the back of Greg’s forearm.
Greg cleared his throat, straightening a little as he pushed the melancholia away. “The VA is looking after you well?”
Shrugging his shoulder, Peters smiled ruefully. “About as well as I expected. Better than some, certainly. Which, in part, brings me to why I’m here.”
His gaze shifted to Winter, and his smile softened. “I believe I made you a promise the last time I saw you - to show you a little of what you’ve been blind to.”
Winter grinned, feeling his eyes light up. “Oh?”
“There’s a movement starting, right here in New York,” Peters continued, enthusiasm creeping into his tone. “The Veterans Benevolent Association - have you heard of it?” When Winter shook his head, Peters shifted a little closer, wrapping his fingers around his mug and taking a drink before continuing. “I’m not surprised. They focus on the support of gay veterans - we’re being disproportionately targeted by blue discharges, and then denied the benefits issued under the G.I. Bill. So four men who were honorably discharged decided to start an organization to help.”
The younger man leaned nearer, enraptured. “That’s incredible. Sad that it’s needed, but…”
Peters nodded. “There’s a meeting tonight - I thought you might be interested in attending.”
“I am,” Winter replied immediately. His eyes shifted to Greg, who hesitated infinitesimally.
“I am,” he agreed slowly. “But…”
Peters nodded. “I know. It’s not the safest thing to do.”
Greg nodded in response, then glanced at his partner, full of fire and determination, and smiled softly. “The right thing usually isn’t,” he murmured, squeezing Winter’s fingers gently, then set his jaw, looking back to Peters. “We’ll be there.”
Lieutenant Peters stayed with the men for the better part of the afternoon, explaining where they would meet and some of the things the VBA had been working on - particularly legal advice for those adversely affected by discrimination.
Winter was both saddened and enchanted, and he couldn’t wait to learn more.
His partner, however, still looked worried - especially when Peters had mentioned the ongoing investigations into the group. Trembling hands had curled against his thighs, jaw tight with worry.
When they were alone, he looked at the younger man. “I need you to promise me something.”
Winter frowned, concern creasing his brow. “I need to know what it is first.”
Greg sighed, scrubbing a hand slowly over his face. “Win - if this… If things go wrong… You need to get yourself out.”
“Well, yeah, I’m not just going to hang around to-” Winter paused as the reality of his partner’s words hit him, and his jaw set. “No.”
“I might not be fast enough to-”
“I’m not leaving you,” he interjected, quiet but stubborn. “I went through a war to come back to you, Gregor Tyne. I’m not abandoning you on our own shores because politicians on a power trip get to decide what is and isn’t legal. No. It isn’t happening.”
Greg watched him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I suppose I can’t change your mind?”
“No.”
With a small, weak smile, the lieutenant slid his fingers into the younger man’s, pulling him nearer to press a kiss to his temple. “You’re infuriating.”
“You love me anyway.”
“Yes,” Greg replied softly. “Yes, I do.”
They moved with more expediency than usual through the streets. For once, their hands were not entwined - months without incident had made them complacent about such things, but now was not the time for complacency. Not when any action that drew attention could impact a lot more than just the two of them.
They needn’t have rushed - they arrived at the nondescript building in plenty of time - but their steps came faster instinctively, eyes flicking about themselves furtively.
Peters was there already - Ben, Winter reminded himself. It’s going to take forever to get used to that - with his hand in his pocket, looking for all the world like someone simply minding his own business as the pair approached. With a nod, he nudged open the door and led them inside.
By the time they emerged, blinking, back into the light, both Winter and Greg had received an education.
Things were bad. Worse, Winter realized, than he had any idea they’d been.
He had, despite the barriers and the societal disdain for his relationship, had it remarkably easy.
He had never been beaten by his crewmates acting under suspicion. Their fear had never driven them to assault, or accusation, or even formal report.
Winter realized that serving his time and leaving with honor was a rarity for those like him - especially those who had, in any way, roused suspicion. For not the first time, he found himself painfully grateful for the protection the men above him had provided - a different ship, a different command, and he would likely have had a different outcome. A very different outcome.
Greg’s rank did not make him immune. In some ways, it made him more at risk. Such behaviour amongst seamen was frowned upon, but such behaviour amongst officers was an outrage. A mark upon all that the US Navy stood for. More than one of the men they had met had been comissioned officers, dishonorably discharged for nothing more than their own thoughts and feelings. More than one had not acted, but had simply felt. And they were pushed aside in shame, in secrecy, their details and their records buried as deep as they could go.
Greg was grateful. Horrified and, guiltily, grateful.
He had gotten out without the world punishing him for who he was. The man he loved had gotten out without the world punishing him for who he was.
It was, awfully, a privilege.
The two stopped without speaking a block away, sitting on a low wall and staring sightlessly into the middle distance.
“That was…”
“It was,” Greg agreed softly.
“I had no idea.”
“I had some. But I didn’t realize how bad it was.”
Instinctively, automatically, Winter’s fingers wrapped in his lieutenant’s with the simple motion of one who had done so many times, and had yet felt the sting of consequence.
For the first time in a long time, Greg glanced about themselves nervously.
But the world they lived in had not changed. It was, in many ways, terrible, for people like them.
But it was also, in many others, indifferent.
People passed by without glancing their way. The one who two who did barely seemed to register what they were seeing.
The day-to-day of society largely, it seemed, simply didn’t care. Most people had enough of their own things to worry about than whether the men down the hall were in a relationship. But for some reason, the larger structures seemed to take particular offense to their behavior.
“How odd it is,” Winter mused quietly, “that to kill another man brings medals and accolades, but to love one brings disdain. We’re supposed to feel proud of the former and ashamed of the latter.” He glanced at his partner briefly, something deep and troubled in his gaze. “I think, somewhere along the line, this world began to get things backwards.”
Greg nodded, his thumb stroking softly over the back of the younger man’s knuckles. “I think you’re right.”
“I want to help to change it,” Winter enthused, his voice low but certain. “I don’t want to stand by while others fight. That is not my way - not our way,” he added, and the lieutenant nodded again.
“You’re right on that one, too,” he agreed. “We’ve fought before. We’ll fight again.”
“I never realized how lucky we were,” Winter murmured after a beat, breaking the thoughtful silence that had begun to settle between them. “It all seemed so… Unlikely. Like only being truly reckless would actually get us caught and punished. But…”
“But people far less reckless than us stood in that room and talked about how they received blue discharges simply for suspicion,” Greg finished softly. “Yes.”
“We were lucky.”
“Incredibly.”
“We are lucky.”
Brown met blue, calm and unwavering, and Greg nodded once. “Incredibly.”
