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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

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scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 5

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia, blood, gore, bloodplay, knifeplay, suicidal thoughts.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find yourself trapped.

Note: So I managed to finish this chapter before work really starts to kick my ass. Just letting y’all know, there will be a part 6 but I have an 11 hour day tomorrow and work straight through to wednesday so I’ll probably be exhausted.

That being said, I appreciate y’all reading and your reactions have been the highlight of writing!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You coughed into the blackness. Your awakening was gradual as you waded through the void and slowly broke the surface of consciousness. Your throat was dry and sore and your head swelled with each breath. You reached to touch the tender flesh along your neck, bruised by the rope which had so violently been strung around it. You only recalled the dread of your suffocation before the world turned dark.

As you moved, bright lights flicked on suddenly and you groaned as your eyes watered. You trembled as you pushed yourself up on the bed. The room was small, just big enough for the large bed and the metal chest secured with a heavy padlock. There was a heavy door with a slot and no handle and another smaller door to your left.

You shimmied to the side of the bed and turned your legs over the edge. You slowly turned as the wall behind the bed stood in contrast to the rest of the sterile white room. Every inch around the low frame, from floor to ceiling, was pasted in images and documents. A startling map of your existence.

Pictures of you in the grocery store, at work, on the train or even in your apartment, spanning years back. There were even a few of your dorm room, long forgotten to the haze of your college years. A transcript of your credits and copies of your resume and even pages of the journal you thought only known to you. The one you’d thought you lost in your move from student to adult. And the drawings; just as you remembered, sickening and horrifying.

You stood, unsteadily, and neared the demented collage. There were other pictures; of women who looked like you; crying, screaming, bleeding. You grabbed one and tore it off the wall. You crumpled it up, unable to look at the woman’s dead eyes.

You flinched as the heavy door jolted suddenly and you turned as it opened. You dropped the picture and pressed yourself to the wall as Bucky entered and the door closed behind him. His blue eyes were predatory and intent on you. His right hand twitched as he cleared his throat.

“Sit,” he said softly.

You gaped at him and shook your head. You quaked as you edged over to the corner as if you could hide there.

“Baby girl…” he warned, “Please, don’t make this difficult. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You grazed your neck with your fingertips and scoffed. The sharp breath scratched your throat and made you wince.

“You made me do that,” he said, “Please, sit.”

You blinked at him. His left hand balled into a fist and he shifted on his feet. Your heart jumped and your lip quivered. Slowly, you pushed yourself away from the wall and neared the bed. You sat sideways against the wall with one leg hanging to the floor. You folded your hands and braced for the unraveling of his wrath.

“Good girl,” he preened. “I just want to talk. That’s all I came for.”

“You’re a murderer,” you rasped, “So just kill me already.”

He smiled and chuckled. He took a breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He neared the end of the bed and gripped his hips.

“If that was what I wanted, I wouldn’t have waited so long.” He said. “All you have to do is listen, baby girl. And if you can do that, I will bring you a treat.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you muttered, “You’re disgusting. You’re…” you shook your head as you couldn’t put into words how he made your stomach twist and churn.

He sniffed and took a deep breath.

“Where were you seven years ago? What were you doing?”

“Looks like you already know,” you paused and tried to clear your sore throat. You coughed and pressed your hands to your neck.

“You were just a student, yes?” He shifted on his feet as he spoke, “Innocent, unaware. Running across campus to get to your next class. So clueless you didn’t even notice the man you collided with. Didn’t notice me with that look in my eyes; distant, determined.”

You frowned, confused. You shrugged. You didn’t remember.

“And what did you think when you heard of what happened to the dean?”

Your heart dropped. You remembered that. It was in the headlines for weeks; the mysterious attack on the dean of criminology. It was revealed that he was a former intelligence officer but it could not be linked substantially to the event. He resigned shortly after and as any new cycle, the story washed itself out.

“You--?”

He sighed and his eyes darkened. “What I was… then. What they made me.”

“I don’t--”

“Shhhh,” he hushed you and neared the bed until his legs touched the mattress. “I was their weapon; a machine. My job was death but that day, their weapon failed. Their weapon was distracted and for that the weapon was reforged, honed, beaten down until it was once more sharp enough to use.”

You shook your head in confused, Your fingers curled until your nails cut into your palms.

“Even when they wiped my mind, you remained. The girl who smiled at me without thought; who apologized and asked if I was okay… Who gave me directions to the right building… never knowing… because she thought I was good.”

“I don’t remember. I don’t know you…”

He held up a finger and tapped his lips. You went silent and watched him.

“When I was free, when I found Bucky again, I found you.” He breathed. “And you were the same. Flitting around without a care. And you ran into me again and you apologized, as you had before, and not a second thought to the man who watched you run for the train. To the man who held the door for you the next day or returned to you the card you dropped on the sidewalk. Always just a smile.”

You touched your cheeks. You remembered the card, some forgotten coffee rewards counter you never used. It came clearer then. His gloves hand holding the cardstock, his blue eyes. It was just another random interaction in the chaotic city. But it wasn’t.

“No…” you shook your head, “But why--”

“You see, the people who corrupted me, their control has nothing to do with what I am. It is a part of me. The soldier, Bucky… one does not exist without the other. Bucky fell in love with you, Bucky wanted you, but the soldier… he didn’t how to help Bucky. How to get you. So he found the girls and he tried to figure it out.”

“Stop. Please. I can’t--”

“But even the soldier couldn’t hurt you,” he put one knee on the bed. “Bucky won’t let him.”

As he placed his other knee on the mattress, you turned to get off the bed. He caught your ankle before you could and pulled you down the bed. He climbed over you and straddled you beneath him. You struck out at him and he stopped your hands, gripping your wrists tightly.

“I told you, I won’t hurt you.” He said softly.

“You are hurting me,” you tried to pull away from him and wiggled beneath him.

“I am trying to help you,” he pushed your hands beside your head, pinning them to the bed. “I only want to love you.” He bent over you and his hot breath tickled your lips. “To feel you.”

“Please, you can’t-- I never-- I’m scared, Bucky. Please don’t hurt me.” You begged. “Please…”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. He glared at you and pressed his forehead to yours. He let go of your arms and his hands gripped your head instead.

“Listen. I’m not going to hurt you,” he growled. “But I will if you make me.”

You stared at him, paralysed beneath him. He squeezed your head until it pulsed then pushed himself up suddenly. He climbed off of you, jostling the bed, and scanned the wall of photos. He lowered his chin and nodded.

“Take your clothes off.” He said.

You stayed as you were, stunned and scared. He looked at you slowly and his lips curled.

“Do it or I will.” He warned.

You sat up. You were numb as you skirted to the edge of the bed and pulled your tee over your head. He snatched it from you and you stood to unbutton your jeans. You rolled them down and he took them in turn. You struggled to unhook your bra as you trembled and he spun you sharply. He snapped the clasp and the fabric fell away from your chest. He gathered it up and tore your panties just as easily. He even bent to take your socks as they sat balled on the floor.

You tried to cover yourself as you turned back to him. He marched to the door and stopped. He looked back at you and gritted his teeth.

“Good girl,” he smirked and then turned around and looked above the door.

A small lens sat above the frame and the door unlocked. He opened it with his foot and sent you one last glance before he pulled it shut. You slumped onto the bed and folded your legs against your chest. There was only the sheet stretched across the mattress and a single pillow. You shivered and hung your head.

You felt the eyes of all the dead women behind you. Felt the weight of their souls. And yet you were horribly alone.

👁️

Shortly after he left you, a tray was slid through the slot in the door. You ignored it at first but your stomach began to ache as the hours dripped by. You took the tray and rested it on the foot of the bed as you sat carefully. You took a long gulp from the bottle of water and the muscles of your neck reminded you of your assault.

The sandwich was cut neatly in half; ham and cheese with mustard. You chewed it without tasting and emptied the cup of applesauce. That was all you could manage and you set the tray in the corner.

The other door, the smaller one, opened up to a small booth. A toilet and sink only. You refused to be thankful for anything but were relieved to have at least that.

You hugged the pillow for much of the time. Your only shield against the cold and your nudity. You dozed off for a little, a shallow, distraught slumber.

You were awoken by the door. You sat up dizzily and stared at the figure as it cleared in your vision. The lights were dimmer as Bucky moved around. He went to the metal chest and opened the lock. You pulled the pillow to you as he closed the lid and plopped a roll atop it.

He turned to you and you cowered as he knelt on the bed. Wordlessly, he pulled on your arm until it bent painfully away from the pillow. You fought with him as he dragged it to the top corner.

“What are you doing?” You whined. “Please, don’t--”

You choked on your voice as he pulled up a leather cuff over the mattress. He wrapped it around your wrist despite your struggles and buckles it.

“Bucky, Bucky, please--”

He hushed you and grabbed your other arm. You kicked you as he forced you onto your back and shook the whole bed as he secured your other wrist. You hit his shoulder with your heel before he grabbed your left ankle and tied in down before he did the same to the right. You were stuck, stretched across the bed, writhing and whimpering as he backed away.

“What--”

“Baby girl,” he tapped his fingers atop the metal chest. “I don’t want to gag you… You have such a pretty mouth.”

You grunted and tugged on your binds. It was pointless. Even if you got loose, there was no way out of this room, no escape from this monster. Your eyes drifted to the wall above you and you closed them against the sight of the tortured women. Would he do the same to you?

You heard a clink and your eyes snapped open. You looked over at the knives that lined the fabric roll and you sobbed. You let out a pathetic squeal that slowly built to a scream.

“Please, please, please!” You shouted. “Don’t do this!”

“Baby girl,” he hummed as he dragged his fingers over the blades. “I told you, you’re safe with me.”

He turned and his eyes roved over your body. He let out a thick breath and grabbed the bottom of his shirt. He pulled it over his head and let it heap on the floor. His gaze clung to you as he undid his belt and pushed his pants down. He forced his boots off as he stepped out of his jeans and his socks went with them. He undressed methodically, never looking away from you.

You grunted as you tried desperately to free yourself. This animal, this monster, was coming for you.

He went to the chest and slid a knife from the row. You bounced in frustration on the bed and shook your head. No, no, no, this couldn’t happen. His weight caused the bed to dip as he lowered himself between your legs. He looked up at you as he pressed the cold blade to your thigh. You squeaked and bit down.

“You see, if one doesn’t know what they’re doing then it’s difficult to know what cuts will kill and which won’t,” he slithered. “But if they do, they know how much pressure, what angle,” he pushed the point down and you felt it pierce your skin, “where to cut… just for a taste. That’s all.”

He sliced along your thigh, a shallow but painful cut. You cried out and he did the same to your other leg. Your feet arched as your muscles tensed and you pulled against the cuffs.

The warmth of your blood was met by the heat of his mouth. You gasped as lapped at the flow and smeared it over your skin as he edged closer to your cunt. You grasped at air as your fingers curled and uncurled. You let out pathetic noises as he pressed his thumb to the slice along your other thigh.

He purred as he brushed his tongue along your pussy. He pushed carefully between your folds and you gulped. The tingle it sent through you had your heart hammering. He spread his hand over your thigh and his other gripped your hip as his tongue teased you.

He sucked on your clit as his hand slipped further up. You pushed your head down into the mattress as you felt a storm of hot and cold fill your core. He needed to stop. He had to stop. You couldn’t feel like this. It was wrong. He trapped you, he cut you, and now he was toying with you.

He traced two fingers along the crease of your thighs and pushed against your entrance. You moaned and he dipped them inside slowly. He stretched you around his vibranium digits until his knuckles were pressed to your cunt. He curled his fingers and moved them in time with his tongue.

You bared your teeth as you tried to resist the instinctual response of your body. The way your core pulsed and buzzed without your consent. You whined as he brought you closer and closer to your peak. Between your mewls, one word was clear; ‘no, no, no.”

You went rigid as the waves rolled over you and your climax overwhelmed your fear. He urged you through it, his fingers working into you quickly as your sighs turned to sobs. He didn’t stop until you were shaking and wincing against his touch.

He raised his head and drew his fingers from inside you. You looked down at him, his beard and nose stained red. Your stomach flipped and your fear spiked once more. He took the knife from beside your leg and backed off the bed. His cock bobbed with each step as he went to the chest and unsheathed another blade.

He returned to you. This time he moved to straddle you as he turned the knife in his hand. He admired the sheen of the metal and poked your lips with the tip. He trailed over your chin and traced the line of your cheek. His blue eyes sparkled as he teased you.

“You’re beautiful…” he breathed, “I could never ruin that face.”

He brought the blade to your neck and lingered on the still tender flesh. He continued on to your chest and circled your nipples. His hand cupped one tit as the knife played with the other. He moved his hips and grinded against you.

He closed his eyes and took a breath. He hovered the knife below your clavicle and turned the tip to your skin. He split the flesh slowly along the centre of your chest, a red line rising between your breast. Again, it was shallow, enough to bleed, enough to make you sick.

He set the knife down on the mattress and his fingers crawled along the incision. Your torn skin stung at his touch and he bent over you. He traced the line with his tongue and lifted his head. He pressed his hot lips to yours and forced his tongue inside. You tasted the metallic taint of your own blood and groaned.

His chest rubbed against your and you felt the warmth as it spread across his skin. His hand felt around as he lifted his pelvis and moved his knee between your legs. He slickened his fingers with your blood and once more began to play with your cunt. You squirmed and tried to turn your head away from him. He bit down on your lip and shoved his fingers inside of you.

“Baby girl,” He drew away, “You’re ready for me.”

“No--” He pulled his fingers out of you and his hand came up to wrap around your neck and he shushed you once more.

His eyes bore into yours as he angled his hips. He shifted as his tip poked along your cunt. He slowly pressed against you until he slipped inside. You grunted and bit down on your lip. You shook your head as his hand grew tighter. He eased into you an inch at a time and your eyes rolled back as he reached his limit.

He sighed as he moved his thighs flush to yours. His heavy breaths filled your ears as he began to rock. He thrust into you carefully, relishing in each long stroke. He hummed as he kept a steady rhythm. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to resist the burgeoning swell in your core.

He moved fast and pushed himself up, his hand still on your neck, nearly crushing your windpipe. His other hand stretched across the gash on your chest and he slammed into you harder and harder. The clap of his flesh echoed through the room as the blood from your thighs seeped onto his.

The bed quaked beneath your bodies as he pounded into you, his voice rising with each tilt of his hips. Your own breathy moans floated in the air and knotted in your chest.

“Baby girl,” he growled, “Fuck, you feel so good… you taste so good.”

He lifted his hand from your chest and you opened your eyes. He licked your blood from his hand, his left still firmly at your throat.

“You’re gonna look so pretty,” he touched the cut again and played with your blood. His chest was marked with red and it trickled down his muscled stomach as he hammered into you. “This is gonna be a pretty little mark, isn’t it?”

You gnashed your teeth and turned your head. You stared at the blank wall as your thighs tensed against his. You gasped as your orgasm rose violently and your body spasmed.

Bucky let go of your neck and grabbed the knife. Your eyes followed the blade and he pressed it along his chest and cut into his left peck. He stilled as the blood leaked from his flesh and he put the knife aside once more. He coated his fingers in his blood and wiped them across your lips. He forced his way inside your mouth and began to fuck you again.

He lowered himself over you. He slipped his fingers from your mouth and grabbed your chin. He kissed you deeply, tasting the mix of your blood. He pulled away as he began to pant and rutted into you without relent. He snarled and pressed his lips to your cheek.

“You feel that, baby girl,” he rasped, “Hmm, you’re going to make me cum. You want it inside of you?”

“Please--” you whispered.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby girl. Over and over--” He jerked his hips with each word, “And over-- and over--”

He hissed and thrust into as deep as he could. He spasmed and rolled his hips as his cum spilled into you. He slowed and let his weight down onto you. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest and your own beat loudly in your ears.

“Over and over… baby girl,” he murmured and flinched. He slid his arm up under you and slowly moved his hips. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

👁️

You were in a daze when Bucky finally untied you. He left you limp across the bed as he packed up the knives and locked them away. He sat lightly on the edge of the bed with a wet cloth and began to wipe away the blood from your cuts. You winced but only closed your eyes and waited for it to be over.

Your entire body hurt. You lost count of how many times he’d fucked you. He cut you again on your thighs and under your breasts. You were caked in your own blood and sweat. He washed you gently and you let him. You hoped he would go when he finished.

He stood and you heard the heavy lid of the chest again. He returned to you and wiped each cut; the alcohol tickled your nostrils and burned your skin. The bleeding had mostly stopped but he bandaged each carefully. The crumple of wrappers and the tinny clasp of metal. He rose again and the padlock was snapped shut.

“You have to keep yourself clean, baby girl,” he said. “I’ve left some bandages and wipes out for you. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”

You ignored him and rolled onto your side painfully. You shivered and hugged yourself. You’d wait for him to leave before you cried. You listened to him dress. He hadn’t cleaned himself up. Your blood was still smeared over his face.

“Good night, baby girl.” He looked at you for a moment. “Are you cold? Do you want a blanket?”

You didn’t answer and just stared at the wall.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” he cooed as his footsteps neared the door, “It’ll take some time… but we both felt how much you liked it.”

The door opened and clunked behind him. Your eyes pricked and you closed them as the tears began to fall. You grabbed the pillow and hugged it as your entire body was wracked with sobs.

You wished he had cut you deeper. You wished he had just killed you. There was no other way out.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #mcu #marvel #serial killer #serial killer au #scopaesthesia #winter soldier

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shotsbyshae · 5 years

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Rock & Roll (Part 2)

Warnings: Vomit inducing fluff, angst

Words: 2.9k

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

A/N: Takes place post Endgame, so spoilers. For those who have age issues, Peter is over 18 in this scenario.

Song: Rock & Roll by Led Zeppelin

It's been a long time, been a long time.

2025

The room looks familiar, but absent of all the personal touches your old one used to have. There are a couple boxes stacked near the dresser with your name written in permanent marker on the side. They were some of the things you had left in Tony’s garage, Happy had come across the boxes and offered to bring over for you. You’re not ready to open them yet though, so you slowly unpack the few clothes you do have, mentally making a note to add a shopping trip to your list of things to do in the upcoming weeks. Hotel living for the past two years had meant only the basics when it came to clothing.

Once you finish putting away everything you brought, you turn to look at the boxes once more, trying to muster up the courage. Your brain wants you to unpack the ugly brown cardboard eyesores, but you’re not sure what’s in them, after all, you stayed over at the Stark’s more than you did the compound after the snap.

You make your way into the kitchen, placing your phone on the counter, as you notice the far wall has a large board with a collage of various small photos pinned to it. It’s an addition you hadn’t seen on your first walk through, so you approach it and immediately see a photo of Steve and Bucky, both in stealth suits, wide toothy grins on their faces. Beside it is a photo of Natasha, she’s wearing boxing gloves and Clint’s in the background, waiting on the sparring mat. Another photo is of Wanda and Vision standing in the kitchen, the messy counter in front of them makes it apparent they were attempting to cook something. There’s also a photo of Tony, Steve, and Thor, all three laughing heartily about something in the common area of the compound. Another photo is of the entire team before the fallout, a much happier time and everyone’s faces show it.

Two pictures catch your attention, one you recognize, because you have a copy tucked away in your journal, and one you don’t remember. The one you have is from the lab, you’re standing beside the table and Tony has one arm draped across your shoulders and he’s kissing your temple. You’re not looking at the camera – eyes closed – caught in the moment. Parker had taken that photo; you remember Tony giving you a copy of it. The other picture is of you and Peter, both of you baby faced, and he’s holding the camera out to fit both you in the frame. The background doesn’t look familiar, but he’s sitting in the floor in front of a bed that you’re lying on. Both your smiling faces are side by side, although each is a little bruised and dirty.

“Done unpacking?” A voice draws your attention away from the board and you glance over to see Peter approaching.

You nod with a smile, “Yea – hey – where’s this from?” You point to the photo in question.

He moves closer to get a better look and laughs a little, “Oh wow – yea – that was Berlin.”

The memories slowly start to come back as you glance over at the photo.

“You’re done, take Parker back to the hotel,” the metal fingers are wrapped around your wrist tightly. “Wait for me there, understood?”

“Yes sir,” your response was automatic as he glared down at you.

“You did good kid,” his eyes had softened slightly as he released his grip. “Now go – hurry.”

You had quickly made your way across the lot to the kid in the red and blue suit who was still lying on the ground. He managed to prop up on one elbow as you got closer and you offered him a hand, “You must be Parker.”

“Peter – yea – P-Parker,” he stammered a little as he took your hand and you pulled him to his feet.

“I’m –” you tried to say as he fidgeted with the red mask in his hands.

“I know,” he interrupted you quickly and raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “You’re – wow – I mean – you’re awesome.”

“I saw you web up Captain America. I’ve never seen anyone slow him down,” you had remarked with a smile. “That’s pretty impressive Spider-Man.”

“That was after the fight?” You question Peter and he nods as you remember slowly. “Back at the hotel – that’s right.”

“We ordered so much room service we thought Happy was going to kill us,” he remarks. “That was so long ago.”

“Look at us – we were just kids,” you touch the photo gingerly.

“It was fun though,” Peter glances over to you, still seeing the same girl he’s had a crush on since that day in Berlin. I’ve missed you, he thinks to himself. “Hanging out with you was always fun though.”

You smirk as you glance up at him, still trying to get over the size difference, “Just because I was older, and it impressed your friends.”

“No,” he begins defensively crossing his arms. “Well, yes and no. Ned did have a poster of you in his room, I think he died a little when I told him I met you.” You roll your eyes as he continues. “No, you were always the nicest to me, treating me like an equal – you know – and you were funny and really smart and the way you twirl your hair with your left hand when your working a problem out in your head – I always thought that was cute.”

You raise an eyebrow at him curiously, “How observant, but I also twirl my hair when –”

“You’re sleepy,” he finishes your sentence with a smirk. “I know.”

Those dark eyes pull you in again and you stare at him for a brief moment, trying to decipher what’s happening. Your phone rings from the counter, interrupting the moment, and Peter notices the name Happy Hogan on the screen as you reach for it. Sliding the green bar sideways you answer the video call and see the man’s face staring blankly at the screen, smiling suddenly as your face appears on his end.

“Hey,” his voice is more enthusiastic than he is when talking with Peter. “So, I’m over here, helping out this evening and someone wanted me to give you a call.” He moves his phone beside him to reveal an adorable dark-eyed little girl who is smiling brightly.

“Aunt Sess,” she squeals in excitement. “We’re having ice cream for dinner!”

“You are,” you try not to laugh at her statement. “That’s so awesome, I wish I could have ice cream for dinner.”

“Are you home now?” Morgan questions. She’s more mature than most kids her age. “With Uncle Rhodey?”

“I am,” you smile at her warmly, those dark eyes reminding you so much of her father.

“What are you having for dinner?” The little girl questions curiously, taking you by surprise.

“I’m not sure,” you glance over at Peter for a moment smirking before looking back to the little girl in your phone. “Only boys live here, so there’s probably not a lot of options.”

“Hey,” Peter sounds insulted, “there’s a few things. Sam cooks sometimes.” Morgan’s face scrunches up in confusion as she listens to him speak and you turn the screen so she can see him. He waves at the child with a grin, “Hey Morgan.”

“OH!” Her voice blasts through the speaker as the idea comes to her. “Uncle Peter can make you a grilled cheese. He’s the best cook.”

Peter quickly raises his finger to his lips, “Ssshh – that’s supposed to be our secret.”

“It’s okay, she can keep a secret,” the girl assures him with a confident nod of her head. “I got to go, my ice cream’s melting.”

You angle the phone to fit both you and Peter in the frame before you speak, “I’ll see you soon okay? Sleep tight.”

“I love you tons,” she replies with a smile before blowing you a kiss with her small hand.

“Love you,” the two of you say simultaneously, each moving your hands from your lips toward the screen.

The call ends and you lay the phone on the counter, before you glance over at Parker, “Grilled cheese huh?”

“She did say they were the best,” he comments, standing up from the bar stool.

“We’ll see,” you remark as he moves around to the refrigerator and begins gathering the ingredients.

“It’s nice though,” Peter says glancing over his shoulder, “I didn’t know you talked to Morgan – I mean – since you’ve been gone.”

“I face time with her at least once a week,” you respond, glancing down at the phone. “I left because I needed to – not because I wanted to. I didn’t want her to think I’d left and forgotten her.”

“That’s good though – you staying in her life. She’s a great kid,” he moves a skillet onto the stove.

“She had a great dad,” the words slip out before you realize it and the two of you share a moment of silence as Peter continues working at the stove.

“Question though, why does she call you Aunt Sess?” He finally asks.

“Well,” a laugh slips through at the memory, “one day, I’m sitting there and she’s – I don’t know maybe a year old – maybe more. She’s already saying dada and mama at this point. Anyway, I’m there and she’s in her playpen reaching for me saying ‘Sess, Sess’. Pepper’s like, ‘So, you’re Sess, she’s been saying that word and I don’t know where it came from.’ All we could figure out is maybe she heard Tony call me princess and that’s what stuck with her, but I’ve been Aunt Sess ever since then.”

Peter turns from the stove with a smile, “I just thought you were her imaginary friend, when she’d tell me about Aunt Sess and how one day you’d come back home, but you were off on adventures, slaying dragons and saving princesses.”

“Technically,” another voice joins them as Sam approaches from the hall, Bucky trailing along behind him, “she was an heiress and he was the leader of one of the largest drug cartels in South America – so same thing.” You move quickly from the bar stool to embrace the man. He hugs you tightly noticing Peter at the stove, finishing up on the grilled cheese he’s making. “What’s this?” Sam pulls away from you, keeping one hand on your shoulder. “You show up and suddenly Parker knows how the stove works?”

“Shut up,” Peter shoots back at him, watching as you smack Wilson against the chest before moving over to greet Barnes.

Sam walks towards the stove while Peter moves to the sink with the now empty skillet, subtly watching you with soldier. There’s a small embrace, his metal hand lingers at your waist as the usual pleasantries are exchanged, then Barnes questions, “Was that the cartel in Bogota?”

“Yea – you were there,” you respond.

“With that shitty motel.” Bucky continues, glancing over at Sam. “Someone said it was the only one available.”

“It was,” Wilson defends himself as he tears one of the grilled cheese sandwiches in half and takes a bite from it.

Peter turns his attention back to the skillet, turning the water on and grabbing the scrub brush. He hadn’t thought about anyone helping you over the past two years, especially not Barnes. The idea of the two of you working together – alone – sharing a motel room. Maybe that’s why he looks comfortable with his hands on you, because they’ve touched you before. A wave a jealousy washes over him as visions of you and Barnes flash through his mind. A loud snapping sound brings Peter back to the present and he quickly turns off the water, looking down at the broken skillet in the sink – snapped in half.

“What the –” Sam steps over to look at the source of the sound.

“Oops,” Peter says bashfully.

The man shakes his head at him, “Really? This is why we can’t have nice things Parker.”

You walk across to the plate Peter had prepared and grab the half Sam left on top and take a bite for yourself, as the man throws the broken pieces in the garbage. You grab another half and offer it to Barnes as he walks over and accepts it, before you take another one for yourself to carry back to your room. Walking towards the hall, you reach up to pat Peter on the chest, “It is really good.” You hold up the grilled cheese. “Thanks for dinner Parker.”

His smile is a mix of awkward and warm as he watches you head down the hall toward your room, “You’re welcome.”

Wilson waits a few moments before he leans back against the counter, eyeing the man suspiciously, “Damn, man.”

“What?” Peter questions him.

Sam glances across to Bucky, “He’s got it bad.”

“Worse than we thought,” Barnes replies with a nod.

“Wha – no,” he stammers, placing his hands on his hips. “It’s not what you think.”

“Dude, you cooked,” Sam looks at him in disbelief.

“The only other person you’ve ever cooked for has you wrapped around her finger,” Bucky chimes in, “and she’s like seven.”

“She just got back,” Peter tries to defend himself. “I was being nice.”

“Uh huh,” Wilson looks skeptical. “Is that why your shirt looks two sizes too small?”

Parker flicks his left wrist at the man, the watch he’s wearing quickly shooting a web across the kitchen, catching Sam’s hand as he reaches for another piece of grilled cheese and plasters it to the countertop beside the plate.

"Hey!” Sam protests, trying to pull his hand free from the adhesive. “No webbing in the kitchen.”

“Jokes on you,” Peter gives him an unimpressed look. “This is your shirt.”

He turns and walks away as Bucky snorts, trying not to laugh, causing Sam to glare at him, “Real funny, now help me get this shit off.”

2017

“You two can stand there all day,” Tony remarks loudly without turning away from the table, “or you can actually come in and learn something.”

The two of you move quickly from the doorway and across to the table, each on opposite sides of the man. Peter looks a bit frazzled, “Sorry Mr. Stark, I just –”

“Don’t apologize,” the man cuts him short.

“You know I never interrupt your genius in action,” you say smoothly.

A wide smile spreads across Stark’s face and he glances from you back over to Peter, “That’s why she’s my favorite – take notes.”

Peter looks across the table at you, slightly annoyed, and a little envious of just how easy you make it look. You’re only a handful of years older than him, but he imagines you’ve always had this rebel attitude – too cool for school – never awkward.

It’s obvious you’re the class favorite and not just with Stark. During the fight in Germany, Peter can remember seeing Wanda fling a car at Rhodey, but he dodged it quickly, leaving an unsuspecting you in the path of it as you were chasing after Barnes. Steve Rogers had managed to tackle you out of the way before the car crashed into the pavement, metal and glass exploding around the two of you.

“You good?” He had questioned, as you both stood back up.

“Yea.” Peter can remember you had looked a little shaken and embarrassed.

“I didn’t want this – I’m sorry,” Steve informed you sincerely before he turned to rejoin the fight.

Captain America had given you respect that day and Peter a black eye. He knows normally anyone else would be jealous of that, and maybe it’s because he’s geeky and awkward, but it makes him like you more.

Peter would never admit to anyone else, but he loves spending his spare time at the compound hanging around the lab with Tony because – well duh, he’s Tony freaking Stark – but you’re always there too. You’re the only person who doesn’t treat him like the awkward teenager he truly is. Always asking his thoughts or opinions on things, never talking down to or chastising him in anyway.

“Hey,” Tony looks over to you, “will you go up to Rhodey’s office and get him, I need his thoughts on a few things?”

You give him a quick nod, “Sure thing boss.”

Peter watches you leave lab; not sure what Stark has said in the last ten minutes because his mind has been elsewhere. He turns to see the man move over to his computer and begin typing away in a program.

“If you’re going to spend time in my lab,” Tony says, not looking at Peter, “I’m going to need your full attention.”

“Yes sir.”

“That means stop looking at her like a lovesick puppy or I’ll have to split your time in the lab,” his tone is abrasive.

“I’m – I don’t – I’m not,” Peter stumbles over the words as he folds his arms across his chest defensively.

“She’s too old for you,” Stark spins around on the stool he’s sitting on to face Parker.

“I know,” the boy responds.

“The age thing won’t matter in a few years,” he cocks an eyebrow at his protégé, “she’s out of your league though.”

Peter clenches his jaw, furrowing his brows in confusion at Stark’s words, “I – I know that.”

“Good,” he glares at the boy for a moment. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Stark spins the stool back to face the computer and Peter takes a deep breath, “Yes sir.”

“Always go for the ones who are out of your league kid,” Tony comments nonchalantly, fingers flying away on the keyboard. “Remember – they’re the ones worth chasing.”

Part 3

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crazyauntjanequilt · 7 years

Text

AUNT PAT'S FUNERAL

It's been a while since I posted.....life just seemed to get in the way....and a terrific trip to see my brother Don and his family in Nova Scotia in July slowed me down enough to enjoy every moment. The weeks seemed to fly by and I can't believe it is already September.

My dear friend Trudy has been here over the last few months helping me get organized and do some of the jobs I promised myself I would do over last winter. (Trudy is the friend that took me to every doctor's appointment 10 years ago when I was going through breast cancer treatment.....she is smart, and funny and incredibly organized. We met at work 18 years ago and when we get together all we do is laugh.....and drink......and purge 'stuff' from my apartment.

After going through my bookcases and letting go of plus-thirty years of books and magazines, cleaning closets and tossing unused items, we decided to paint my bathroom and my kitchen. Let me reword this....I watched as she painted - after she made several trips to Canadian Tire and the $ Store for supplies....she bartered with Canadian Tire to get paint half-priced, days before their sale...After she left, I had a nap as watching someone work is very tiring.

I sat in my red chair (what I refer to as 'master control' ) and tackled the chest of drawers that contained letters, notes, postcards and travel journals I had saved over the past 50+ years. A huge endeavour as a I have been travelling every year since I was 19.

In one of these drawers I found an e:mail I sent to Don after the funeral of our Mother's sister...Aunt Pat.

To give you a 'head's up', Mother had 3 sisters and 2 brothers. My mother Rita and Uncle Ken Kitchen were the only ones that married and had kids. The household was half English and half Irish....half Catholic and half Protestant.....guess which one ruled? IRISH CATHOLICS.

It was 1997 and Don and his family had just moved to Nova Scotia so he wasn't able to make the funeral. Stories of funerals in our family were legendary.....according to my mother and her mother, it's wasn't always a requisite to even know who died....you usually knew the family and the lunch was always very good.

So here is the letter I sent Don.....on 12/9/97

Dear Don;

Well, we buried Pat yesterday. The sun came out in the blue sky just as we started to say prayers at the graveside. A lone plane slowly made a turn and vanished out of sight. I had the feeling that was Pat on an extended holiday....probably to get away from the rest of us to a more peaceful existence.

It has been quite the family experience over these 3 days...it sure felt like more. But, you know me, I have to see the funny side of everything and this was no exception. I did miss you being there and many people asked about you and your family. If you had been here, the four of us would have been in fits of laughter more than once. You just have to sometimes stand back and pretend it's not your family and see the funny side...and at times it was very funny.

You will be glad to know nothing has changed in our family with time. Mother and Mary are still trying to upstage each other and mixed in with all the prayers and masses were rapier-sharp jabs, given just when the other thought all was going well.

All the sisters had agreed to a closed casket...Mother said she wasn't voting but if she had to it would be NO. Noreen and Mary didn't think it looked like Pat (as if someone had made a substitute), so it was closed. No one liked the flowers Mother had ordered on behalf of the 'sisters', including Mother...so she was calling the florist today to get her money back. However, our flowers which Paul ordered were simply beautiful and stole the show....If flowers could steal the show from this motley group.

The second bone of contention came when we put up a 'collage' of pictures of Pat and various members of the family. Mother had not asked Mary if she had any pictures of her and Pat (Mary had been in the Convent for 25 years so there were few recent photos with family members)...so she was upset at being left out. It probably didn't occur to Mother to ask her for pictures...as she was organizing this funeral like she organized my sister's wedding....I tried to get a plane to Japan that day but all flights were booked.....

The next thing I heard from Mother was that she couldn't do anything right and no on appreciated her. Mary was saying the same thing at the other end of the room. I was looking for an open window from which to escape....as we were on the first floor, I knew I could probably make my get-a-way without anyone noticing and without breaking any bones. All the while poor Noreen, who had failed health-wise so much in the past few months, sat at the door and welcomed family and friends.

All the Kitchen cousins were there at one time of another. Mary Majidi and Therese were both there...always great to see our first cousins...so much fun with great senses of humour...well, you have to have a good sense of humour to survive this family. Mary and Mike were there too.. their 3 girls would be at the funeral...Mike's wife Mary doesn't drive and has her girls on the roads driving to work each day, she listens to the traffic reports then calls and tells them what roads to avoid. In case you are confused, at one time there were 3 Mary Kitchens in the family.

Tim and Gloria as well as Frank and Chris were there...Frank with two of his red-headed, freckled kids....definitely Kitchens. Their grandfather Ken was a red-head. At one point I thought they had left but Barb told me that Frank was down in the coffee room...face down on the floor where Barb's husband Wayne was adjusting his back....right beside the embalming room. She said he always hugged people so he could see if their spines were aligned. Lord help me!

Mother's Sheedy cousins Jack & Lucy, Redmond and Marilyn were there too....Red says he's bored with retirement so he is walking dogs when he is not playing Tennis....looking better than ever.

Between the 2-4 pm and 7-9 pm Visitations, we had dinner upstairs. It's the first time I have ever had dinner in a Funeral Parlour....food was good....an outside caterer...thank goodness....by then I wasn't questioning anything...I figured anything I didn't know wouldn't hurt me.

After dinner we said the Rosary...well, Mother and Mary vied to see who could demand what family member would say the next decade...in their best 'sergeant' major voices...you had to be there Don........I looked at Paul once and Barb another time and we nearly all lost it...

After we survived the Rosary game, Glenda and I spotted an open door on the way to the ladies room. It held an assortment of caskets and urns for sale.....so we did a little window shopping....if I go first, I want one in the shape of a flower planter so I can be on someone's garden deck or balcony.

That was it for the visitation...we just had to get through the actual funeral.

The day of the funeral the family was waiting in the car for the casket to be carried into the church. A black and white cat (Pat did not like cats), tried to get into the front door of the church. Barb was close and spotted it so she tried to shoo it away but it only turned over and let her rub his tummy....which she did and his collar tag said he was 'Oliver'.

Well, my last glance back out the doors of the church, as we started up the aisle behind the casket, was to see 'Oliver' jump up into the open back door of the hearst.

I had visions of the cat popping up out of the flowers at the graveside ....now that would have sent me screaming down the road in fits of laughter. By the way, that was the same roadway that Bertha and I went down the day we accidentally got into the 70 cars funeral procession and didn't know we were in it.

That was my weekend.....how was yours?

My love to the family....email me if you get a chance and don't ever let Mother or Mary see this email or I'll be playing bridge up in Heaven with Pat, Ken and Ed...well before my time.

Love,

Jane

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