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#bad things happen bingo
avvail · 1 month
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truth potion/serum 😌
“What’s that?” The hero murmurs uneasily under their breath, watching as the villain carefully inserts the needle into the soft flesh of their forearm, making them wince slightly. They watch it plunge into their vein, only daring to tug against the restraints once the needle is out of their skin.
The villain merely sends them a smile. “Nothing that’ll kill you.”
“Let me guess,” the hero growls. “A fate worse than death? Are you really trying this bullshit with me after all this time?”
“You don’t think our dynamic is a conventional one?”
The hero shuts their mouth, contemplating what the villain’s game was. If it was a sedative, it was a slow acting one, since they couldn’t feel any symptoms creeping up on them just yet. It was peculiar - they felt just fine.
“Let’s be honest,” the hero sniffs, and they don’t miss the way the villain almost laughs in amusement. They don’t know why that’s funny. “If our relationship was a conventional one, you would have killed me the moment you kidnapped me.”
The villain hums, their eyes roaming from their face languidly, kissing their teeth. The hero watches with a stubborn frown as they begin to circle around them, ever so slowly, and it makes them nervous.
They try not to shift.
“You’re right,” the villain sighs from behind them, and they want nothing more than to crane around to keep their eyes on them, but they can’t. Their heart races relentlessly in their chest, clenching their jaw. “Would you rather we adhere to the stereotypes?”
They roll their eyes. “If it means getting killed, then why would I?”
“You’re self righteous and selfless, aren’t you?” The villain teases. “Doesn’t that come with your job?”
“It doesn’t mean I’m eager to die. Dying means defeat, and I wouldn’t ever let you defeat me. You and I both know that.”
The villain stops beside them, a smile on their face that the hero doesn’t like. They send them a sharp glare for good measure, just because they can.
“So, is that a no?”
The hero wants to know where this is headed.
“No,” they confirmed. The villain stepped closer to them, their thumb gently brushing over a tender bruise on their temple. The finishing blow that had rendered them unconscious, making it easy for the villain to drag them here into their clutches. The hero forces back a wince, their eyes hard and determined. The villain loves that look.
“But you’re like that with others,” the villain comments, still stroking their temple. “Other villains, I mean. Especially Supervillain - the typical good versus bad. You know they’d kill you if they could. Stereotypes, after all.”
To hero resists the urge to lean keenly into that touch. “Because I know Supervillain is dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Their eyes gleam mischievously. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?”
They shift. No dizziness yet, and their vision is completely clear, along with their mind. It’s not a sedative. What are they planning?
“No,” they respond after a moment, and the villain’s jaw ticks. It’s the only sign of irritation they’ve seen from them, but their tongue blurts more before they can stop themselves. “You’re dangerous in different ways.”
The irritation disappears, and the thumb slips down their cheek.
“Dangerous in different ways,” they muse, as if chewing the words that came out of their mouth. The hero’s heart is pounding against their ribcage, and they’re not quite sure why. The villain is incredibly close, feeling pinned down by their cold gaze alone.
“You’re easier to be around,” the hero speaks, trying not to stammer over their words. “I...” I hate you, don’t get me wrong. That’s what they want to say, but their throat closes up before they can. The villain’s thumb strokes the bottom of their jaw, and they shiver, as if encouraging them.
“Because I know you won’t kill me. When given the chance, you go easy on me.”
“You think I go easy on you?”
The hero gives them a disgruntled look. “You never torture me. Last time you kidnapped me, I slept in one of your guest rooms.”
“You were still a prisoner, or did you forget?” The villain scoffs. Of course they had been. The hero had spent all night trying to pick the lock, to smash the windows, but there was no point. They were a prisoner, but it never felt like they were in danger. Not in the same sense they felt when the supervillain almost incapacitated them. It was different.
“That’s not the point,” the hero snaps, unaware of their own rising irritation. They jerk their head away from the touch, feeling as though it was distracting them. The villain has this arrogant smirk on their lips, as if they know exactly what they’re doing. “If I ever kidnapped you, I wouldn’t stick you in a luxurious room. I wouldn’t let you sleep on a bed, I wouldn’t have you here and not torture you.”
The villain hums, their voice dropping low. “You like it when I treat you good?”
“Yes.” No. “I do.” It’s weird.
It takes a single, heart stopping beat for the hero to realise what they’d just said, their brows furrowing in confusion. They open their mouth to say something else, before their eyes flick down to the red pinprick from the needle in their skin. They release a shuddering breath.
“A truth serum,” they breathe. “That’s what you injected me with.”
The villain lets out a dark, amused chuckle. “I was waiting for you to figure it out.”
They lean back, creating a rift of air between them where the hero can still feel their warmth. It still feels hard to breathe, their wrists flexing under the restraints, and they grind their teeth hard together. This is dangerous. This was exactly what they were talking about.
“Are you tired, Hero?” The villain’s soft voice questions, enough to make the hero swallow uneasily. Their heart is racing now, so fast they feel like they’re going to throw up. They screw their eyes shut.
“Yes,” they say, feeling fingers under their jaw, tipping their head back. Their eyes open instinctively. The villain almost coos.
“And you love how easy it is with me,” the villain murmurs, admiring the embarrassed, shunted look in those cute eyes of theirs. “Love how I treat you.”
The hero’s fists clench. They desperately try to say no. “Yes.”
“And,” the villain purrs, their thumb brushing along their bottom lip with precious ease,” it’s dangerous because it’s so easy to shut your brain off. So dangerous to let your guard down around me. Easy to manipulate, as much as you wish that wasn’t true.”
The hero almost whines. “Yes.”
“Do you think I’m manipulating you?” They ask, their voice a hushed whisper, like a soft lull in their brain. The hero squirms, but they still can’t look away, not even daring to swallow. The villain leans in closer, their lips so close to theirs, and their voice turns dark. “Do you think it’s working?”
Who knew the hero’s weakness was simple acts of kindness. The villain had never thought going so easy on them would make them putty in their hands. But it did.
The hero bites down on the inside of their cheek, straining not to answer. The villain’s fingers curl around a lock of their hair, tucking it behind their ear tenderly. Too tenderly - the hero loves it.
“Better not fight it,” they hum. “It’ll hurt.”
“Yes,” the hero finally gasps, the throbbing pain in their head easing. They almost feel out of breath, trembling under each of their cunning touches.
The villain’s eyes gleam, leaning forward to kiss them. The hero had been so adamant they could never defeat them, and it almost makes them crackle. Maybe never in the stereotypical sense, but they had proved this was not a stereotypical rivalry; what was true defeat if they didn’t conquer them, after all?
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@badthingshappenbingo
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try-set-me-on-fire · 2 months
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won’t you close your weary eyes
Rated t / 3714 words
Bobby doesn’t actually hear the warning shout. Or- it’s possible that he did, in the moment, but he has no memory of the sound. Just Buck, 20 or so feet away, turning towards him mid conversation with a look of horror on his face, mouth open around an unheard word, arm moving slow motion up in what he's sure is a frantic wave. He does hear the sound of impact, an almost comical series of hollow metallic bonks. They'll all laugh about this later, he thinks on the way down. Bunch of pipes dropping on the fire Captain's head. Pretty sure he saw that on looney toons.
Bobby gets a concussion and Buck stays with him. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: concussion.
Tag list (interact here to be added or taken off) @phdmama @bbbugzzz @leothil @pantsaretherealheroes @giddyupbuck @hobbitnarwhal @kaseysgirl86-blog @thebrofriends @lillathelegend @thewolvesof1998 @devirnis @bigfootsmom @blahblahwoofwoof @lover-of-mine @steadfastsaturnsrings @malewifediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @jenniferscraftlife
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kytiit0o · 1 year
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i forgot bad things had to happen lol, they sleep
Working Themselves to Exhaustion 
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loserdiaz · 6 months
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careful fear and dead devotion
buck/eddie | teen and up | 14.7k words, one-shot
The Jeep in front of him makes him sick to his stomach, the driver door all dented and damaged, with the hinges of it twisted and wrecked. The windshield is shattered with a few stubborn pieces of glass holding on, and— Buck. Buck, right there. Buck, with his face down on the dashboard and his usually bright and golden hair matted and covered in blood, the crimson liquid making Eddie want to throw up right then and there.
Eddie did this.
or;
Eddie sucks at driving the ambulance and Buck has horrible luck, y’all do the math.
(Inspired by the Malfunction Episode)
bad things happen bingo: bleeding through the bandages.
read on ao3
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kybercrystals94 · 6 months
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I Miss You
By KyberCrystals94
Read on Ao3 here!
Whumptober 2023|Day 5|Alternative Prompt: Playing Cards
Bad Things Happen Bingo|Prompt: Crying Themselves to Sleep
Rating: G
Words: 785
Summary: Echo discovers a message from a brother.
“Those look so old!” Wrecker declares, leaning on the upper bunk to scrutinize the playing cards Echo is sorting through.
Echo smiles. “That’s because they are old. I pilfered them off a graduated trooper when I was a cadet.”
“You stole them?” Wrecker sounds as impressed as he is surprised. “I thought you never broke a rule in your life.”
“With the right motivation, I’ve been persuaded to bend a few.” Echo chuckles. “Technically, they were contraband for the guy I stole them from. So, really, I was doing him a favor.”
Wrecker grins. “That’s neat you still have them even after they thought you were blown up.”
Echo’s smile falls slightly as he continues to set the cards out, dividing them into suits. “Yeah, when they thought I died, they went to my old batch mate, Fives. After Fives, they went to Rex, and then Rex gave them back to me when I-"
"Came back to life?” Wrecker offers.
“Sure,” Echo says. “When that happened.”
“I don’t think you could even shuffle them if you tried.” Wrecker laughs.
“They’ve definitely seen better days.”
The cards are dogeared, and every one of them has been folded into quarters because of the time Cutup tried to cheat at Sabaac. He folded a few of them so he could identify them in someone’s hand. When the other Dominos found out, they had painstakingly copied the folds on every single card so they all matched. Echo had been so angry at his squad mate, but he desperately wishes he could take back the harsh words that came out of his mouth. After all, they were just cards. A toy. Nowhere near as important as the individuals that played with them.
Echo finds the card he is looking for, the one that had made this deck obsolete. He had accidentally dropped the card in his cup of caf, discoloring it. Fives had suggested they stain all the cards in caf to match; however, Echo decided to retire the deck and get a new one. The old deck was tucked away in his storage bin in the barracks on Kamino, carrying too many memories in its deteriorated fibers to throw away.
Echo holds up the stained card for Wrecker's inspection. “I dropped it in my caf. It’s the reason we didn’t play with this deck anymore,” he explains.
“What does it say?” Wrecker asks.
“What does what say?”
Wrecker points to the back of the card. “On the back. There’s writing.”
Echo flips the card around, squinting to make out the ink of a pen on the intricately designed backing.
I miss you.
Echo feels like the air has been stolen from his lungs.
Fives wrote those words. There is no doubt in Echo’s mind. Not before the Citadel mission. After. After Echo died. After Fives went back to Kamino. Echo can see him. Sitting in their barracks, sorting through Echo’s meager collection of personal effects. He’s searching for a playing card stained in caf. He writes the three words, handwriting ragged by a trembling hand. A note for the brother he lost. That he'd never get back. I miss you.
“Echo!”
Echo blinks and finds that Wrecker has half climbed into the bunk with him, a hand on each of his shoulders. “You with me, buddy?” Wrecker asks.
“Yeah,” Echo croaks. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Wrecker’s good eye searches Echo’s face, trying to understand. “You scared me there for a second. You sorta zoned out, and then your breathing got weird.”
“Sorry,” Echo says again. Emotions bubble up, threaten to burst out of him, card still gripped in his flesh hand. Dark, inky, familiar script carving into his mind. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
“Did I do something?” Wrecker asks, climbing down from his precarious perch.
Echo shakes his head and tries to reassure the man with a thin smile. “No, you didn’t do anything. It’s just…” Echo holds up the card. “The writing. It’s a note from my batch mate, Fives.”
He leaves it at that, and Wrecker doesn’t ask for more. Instead, he offers Echo a kind smile. “I'm gonna go start my watch but let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Wreck, I will,” Echo says, and he means it.
Wrecker leaves the bunk room, and Echo gathers up the cards, tucking them in their tin. He keeps the caf stained card out. He lies down, back to the room, facing the wall, and holds the note in front of him. The last words his oldest brother ever gave him blurs in his watery vision.
“I miss you too,” Echo whispers, and silently cries until sleep claims him.
END
Read the prequel, You Promised, here!
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princessfbi · 1 month
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Caught in the Crossfires
Bobby took a step back. “Back up, Eddie,” Bobby said, his arm inches in front of Eddie’s chest. He grabbed his own radio, not stopping as he ushered Eddie back. “Dispatch, we have what appears to be an undetonated explosive device in the alleyway between—” Eddie stopped listening, finally seeing the small round cylinder a few inches away from Buck’s radio.
BTHB Prompt: Ambush for BTHB Fics and @badthingshappenbingo
Read on Ao3
Rated: T | One Shot | Words: 18,590
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sweetpeapod · 29 days
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Hello! I was wondering if you could do a funny, angsty yet fluffy Eddie drabble?
That he has somehow upset Reader but doesn't realize how hurt she is and when he doesn't understand why she's being so cold towards him and ask Steve and the other guys and tells them "yeah, I did do something bad but she said it was 'fine'" and the guys are all "oh my God, you idiot - when a girl says it's 'fine' then you should be on your knees begging for forgiveness" And Eddie then makes it up to her double up?
Thank you for your request! It was definitely fun writing for Eddie again. I hope you like what I did with it, I'm not sure about the ending but I couldn't think of a better way to go either??
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Summary: With prom fast approaching, what will Eddie think when you finally work up the courage to ask him to go with you?
Word Count: 1,283
AO3 link - | - all masterlists
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Bingo Fills: @seasonaldelightsbingo - Apology, @anyfandomgoesbingo - Prom Night, @fandom-free-bingo - First Date, @badthingshappenbingo - Accidentally Hurt By A Friend
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Prom fever had infected Hawkins High, transforming the usually-drab hallways into a cascading flood of glitter and streamers. Whispers and nervous energy rolled off students in waves as they all prepared for the biggest night of their high school lives. 
You, however, felt only the unease and anxiety that sat heavy in your chest. 
While your friends remained indifferent, being the outcasts that they were and having already resigned themselves to going stag for the main event, a sinking feeling swam in your gut. It wasn’t the dance itself that left you feeling as though the floor might disappear from beneath your feet, but rather the question that consumed each of your waking thoughts since you heard the quiet murmurs of prom mentioned all those weeks, months, ago.
Would he say yes? Or, more importantly, would you ever muster the courage to even ask him?
Eddie Munson. The school’s social pariah, the outsider, the master of your own private corner of chaotic spiralling thoughts. 
Your crush was a secret that you had kept locked away from the very moment you first laid eyes on the metalhead. Happy to exist as simply his friend, because regardless of your ever-present feelings, Eddie was someone worth knowing. He was someone that few gave the chance to truly get to know, and yet he was someone whose kindness was unwavering to those who deserved it. 
But when the chance presented itself, an opportunity to let him in, to admit that your feelings ran deeper than he knew, well it was an itch you couldn’t quite resist.
Finally, with prom only days away, desperation outweighed your timidity. With a racing pulse and sweaty palms, you found yourself cornering him outside the cafeteria.
“Eddie,” You blurted out, cheeks warming exponentially. “Would you- I mean, if you’re not busy, or whatever. Would you maybe like to go to prom? With me.”
The words hung in the air with an awkward silence. He looked at you, as if trying to find a hidden meaning behind your question. 
“Prom?” His voice held a mix of amusement and scepticism.
“Yeah, I- I thought it might be fun.” You stammered. “And…you know, never mind. Forget it.” Shaking your head, you turned to leave, silently berating yourself. 
“Hey, hey, wait a minute,” Eddie said as he reached out for you, his tone softening. “It’s cool, it’s just not really my thing, y’know.” With a lopsided grin and a gentle punch to the arm, he began backing away, “I’ll see you later, yeah?” 
He didn’t wait for your answer, spinning with more grace than you ever could as he half jogged towards his next class, leaving you feeling hollow.
The rest of the week was pure torture. You tried to shake it off, plastering a fake smile on your face. But Eddie’s words, regardless of how kindly he meant them, played on repeat in your mind. Every casual glance from him felt like a shard of ice straight through your aching heart.
Eddie, for his part, couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he’d done something wrong. Your usual shy smiles and timid exchanges were replaced by smiles that didn’t reach your eyes and stilted conversations that you cut short as soon as could be deemed polite. The subtle shift in your demeanour left him feeling unsure of himself. Driven by both genuine concern for you, and a spark of guilt that it was somehow his fault, he knew he had to get to the bottom of it. 
“Hey, man, I think I screwed up.” Eddie began with a nudge to Steve’s shoulder. The video store was quiet, leaving Steve to restock the shelves as the metalhead shuffled along behind him. 
“What did you do now?” Steve laughed, rolling his eyes at the other boy.
“Okay, well, I kinda got asked to prom.” Scratching his head as he spoke, Eddie shifted from one foot to the other, though he was soon shocked to stillness as Steve spoke.
His mouth hung agape as Steve instantly said your name in response, the question clear.
“How- whatever, yes.” Eddie side-eyed Steve suspiciously, “They asked me to prom, and I guess I kind of shrugged it off. It’s not my thing, you know that. And, well, they’ve been kind of off with me ever since?”
Steve’s eyes widened with a look of horror reserved only for the truly clueless.
“How are you this much of an idiot?” He groaned, slapping a hand on Eddie’s shoulder with more force than the other boy expected. “That’s not okay, dude! You should be on your knees, begging for forgiveness right now.”
“Why? They said it was fine.” Eddie shrugged.
“Eddie, my man. You are not this dense. They asked you to prom.” The videos Steve had stacked precariously in his hands fell to the floor as he gesticulated widely. Crouching to pick up the fallen movies, Steve groaned, “They like you, dumbass.”
A knot of dread settled within Eddie’s stomach. It was so ridiculously obvious now that Steve had laid it out for him. He hadn’t been a jerk, or done anything wrong, per say. It’s just that he had been so completely and thoroughly dense. You had asked him out, stepped out of your comfort zone and put your heart on the line, and he had unknowingly stamped on it right in front of you. 
It was Friday. The day the entire school had been waiting for. The hallways were filled with the excited hum of teenagers, discussing their dates, their outfits and who would be sneaking in the prohibited and obligatory flask of alcohol to spike the punch. 
But you were sitting alone, tucked away on the bleachers with a well worn copy of your favourite book, entirely oblivious to the world around you. That is, until a familiar voice startled you from your safe haven.
“Mind if I join you?” Eddie asked, his gaze holding a hint of hope.
You nodded hesitantly, scooting over on the bench to make space. Settling down beside you, Eddie struggled with the right words to say. Finally, after the silence between you began to grow awkward, he spoke.
“Look,” He began, his voice laced with sincerity. “About prom,”
You braced yourself, expecting yet another rejection that was wholly unnecessary. 
“I messed up.” You looked up at him in surprise, “I misread the situation and I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to brush you off like that.” 
“I- I understand, Eddie. Prom isn’t for everyone, and…”
He cut you off gently, hesitantly placing his hand on top of yours.
“No, that’s not it.” He said, sucking in a breath before continuing, “I didn’t realise you meant it like a date. I just- I never thought you’d be interested in me like that.”
The confession, unexpected as it was, left you speechless. But the silence only left Eddie to misinterpret the situation further, his voice growing quiet.
“Forget it, I’m being stupid. You clearly didn’t-”
He moved to remove his hand, but you instinctively squeezed it, holding it tighter in an attempt to get him to stop. The action seemed to jolt him, making him look at you, his eyes searching yours.
“You’re not stupid, Eddie, for many reasons. But especially not for this.” Your cheeks burned as you smiled shyly at him. 
His answering smile was as blinding as it was mischievous.
“So, if I was to ask you out…” He began, leaning towards you conspiratorially, “forget prom for the jocks and cheerleaders. How about we have our own little prom, just the two of us?”
His suggestion, whispered softly with the promise of an evening you would never forget, sent a thrill through you.
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To be notified of any future Eddie Munson related works, please follow & turn on notifs for @sweetpeamunson 💚
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mellaithwen · 4 months
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Seven Several Sentence Sunday (Ren’s birthday fic edition!)
Thank you for the tags @princessfbi @daffi-990 @rewritetheending @bigfootsmom and hAPPY BIRTHDAY @renecdote <33 because it’s definitely still the 10th and not the 11th right now adjdksk 👀 maybe I’ll finish this fic by next year???
Buck’s sitting on the side of the firetruck when the ambulance pulls back up. He’s perched precariously on the step beneath the hydrant intake, shivering under the foil blanket that Bobby had given him just moments earlier.
Beyond the headlights, if Buck squints past the ache of his concussion, he can see Hen in the driving seat. But she doesn’t even get the chance to come to a complete stop before the passenger side door swings open, and out jumps Eddie—diving into a sprint to get to Buck’s side.
“Hey,” is all that comes to mind, and Buck whispers it as steadily as he can to keep his teeth from visibly chattering after his unscheduled muddy slip’n’slide left him lying in a flooded ditch. In the middle of the night. In winter.
Eddie doesn’t respond—not with words at least—but he crouches down in front of Buck; a concerned frown already etched into the space between his eyebrows. Buck gives him a lopsided smile to try and ease the tension there. It nearly works.
“I’m okay,” he insists, and the scoff Eddie lets out is every bit as exhausted as it is desperately affectionate.
He reaches up to cradle the back of Buck’s neck, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to his forehead.
“You’re freezing,” Eddie reminds him softly before pulling away just enough to shirk off his own turnout coat and drape it over Buck’s shoulders.
The foil blanket crinkles under the weight, but all Buck can focus on is the lingering warmth that comes from the remnants of Eddie’s body-heat as it’s tucked around him, and the pull of sleep that he’s been fighting back for so long grows ever stronger now that his husband has arrived.
& I’ll taaaag a bunch of you lovelies because I haven’t done any tagging for a bit: REN THE BIRTHDAY BEAN of course aaaand @homerforsure @lovebuck @fcntasmas @hopeintheashes @fleurdebeton @thisissirius @kananjarus @buttercupbuck @thekristen999 @nymika-arts @extasiswings @like-the-rest-of-la @queenklu @capseycartwright @henswilsons @hattalove @kitkatpancakestack @glorious-spoon @clusterbuck @tripleaxeldiaz @buckactuallys @shortsighted-owl and @littlespoonevan :) mWAH 😘
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homerforsure · 6 months
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(header by my darling @mellaithwen. Thieves will have their cars keyed)
through tooth and claw (to where you are)
Rated: T (for rabid animal behavior and kissing)
WC: 18653 (I know)
Tags: Buck whump, worried Eddie, worried Christopher, protective everybody because they're a family okay, blood, injury, first kiss, getting together, a truly surprising amount of soft and silly flirting considering all the blood
Summary:
With a reverent hush, Christopher said, “Whoa, it’s so close.”
And it was almost as though Buck needed to have that obvious fact pointed out to him before the vague dread of animal instinct that had been pooling in his stomach could solidify into a real, actionable fear.
It’s so close.
Something’s wrong.
AKA: The Rabid Coyote fic
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sunriserose1023 · 1 year
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Ignite Your Bones
PAIRING: Bucky x Avenger!Reader WORD COUNT: 10k SQUARE FILLED: Bleeding Through the Bandages WARNINGS: Canon-level violence, injuries, explicit mentions of blood and bleeding, medical terminology, medical situations, angst AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've been working on this one for quite some time. It's a fill for my @badthingshappenbingo card, along with a little enemies to lovers vibe. Title taken from "Fix You," by Coldplay, which definitely fits the last section of this story.
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You slammed the door as you walked into the compound, narrowing your eyes at the questioning looks from the people on the couch in the common room. 
“The next time you send me on a mission with him, expect him back in pieces, Captain.”
Steve opened his mouth, closing it again when you stomped out of the room. Two seconds after your boots stopped clicking on the kitchen floor, the door slammed again as Bucky made his way into the common room. 
“Never in my life have I dealt with anyone so reckless, so … stupid, and I grew up with you, Steve!” “‘Stupid?!’”
Bucky muttered “Goddamn it” under his breath as you stomped back into the room, a bag of Doritos in one hand, orange dust-covered finger poking him in the chest. 
“You think I’m stupid?” “Running into a building of heavily armed combatants—“ “Ooh, breaking out the big words, Sarge.” “Get that finger out of my chest before I break it off.”
You dragged your dusty fingers through the stubble on his cheek, smiling wickedly at the disgust on his face as he lifted a hand to wipe off Dorito dust. 
“You’re disgusting.” “Kiss my ass, Barnes.”
You turned and walked away before he could say another word, and Bucky glared in your direction before he turned back to the couch. 
“Next time you want to send me on a mission with her, don’t.”
Bucky walked down the hallway, muttering under his breath as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. Back on the couch, Steve studied the floor and beside him, Natasha rearranged herself, toes crawling under his thigh until he sighed and shifted, picking up her ankles and setting her feet on his lap. He started massaging her heels, finally looking over, making eye contact with her, seeing the joy in her eyes. He shrugged as he spoke. 
“So maybe I did that on purpose.” “You know they hate each other.” “‘Hate’ is a strong word.” “Hiding an even stronger emotion?”
Steve smiled, popping her toes. 
“Guess we’ll just see, huh?”
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“Of all the rude, idiotic, downright miserable human beings … I mean … he’s such an asshole! Right?”
You turned around, the pure white cat sitting on the floor behind you. She tilted her head, tail swishing back and forth across the tile floor. She gave a questioning meow and you nodded. 
“Yeah, Bucky Barnes. I never thought I’d say this, but he’s the bane of my existence. I can’t even breathe right around him. Can you believe that, Alpine?”
She meowed again and you nodded back. 
“Trust me, you’d hate him, too. But I’d never subject my best girl to the likes of him. He’s awful, Alp. Just awful.”
She stood up, stretching her paws, arching her back. She walked over to you, weaving her way in and out of your legs, her tail looping around your calf. You bent to scratch your nails on her head, and she bumped her head against your hand. 
“Don’t worry, Alpine. We’re better off without Bucky Barnes in our lives. I promise.”
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Bucky aimed his gun and fired, turning slightly towards his right before firing again. He straightened once his targets had fallen to the ground, seeing Natasha and Clint on the roof of the building, hearing the steady idling of the quinjet. He heard a distinct sound in his earpiece, watching Natasha turn towards it and he blew out a breath, running towards the east. He shook his head as he saw his target recoil from the punch he had thrown, cursing under his breath as he raised his gun and fired again, the target crumpling to the ground. Bucky tucked his gun away as he slowed to a walk, shaking his head as he loomed over you. From your place on your back on the ground, you slowly met his eyes, squinting your eyes as the sun glared behind him. Bucky sighed, offering a hand. 
“You know … sometimes I think you like getting punched.” “Oh, shut up.”
You laid a hand in his as he helped you to your feet. You groaned, lifting a hand to your forehead as Bucky held your shoulders.  
“You okay? Seeing double?” “God forbid. If I had to deal with two of you…”
You shook your head, going still and groaning again. 
“Take it easy.”
You moved to lean against him, and Bucky wrapped an arm around you, laying his metal hand over your left ear. 
“Talk to me. What year is it?” “It’s, uh… oh god.”
You pushed him away and Bucky stepped back just in time as you threw up at his feet. He wrinkled his nose and turned his head, closing one eye as he looked up to Nat and Clint. He turned back just in time to catch you as you fainted, shaking his head and lifting you into his arms. 
“I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
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You laid on your couch with Alpine on the arm at your feet, watching as she licked her paw. 
“You know we have a room you could use specifically for bathing.”
She didn’t dignify you with a response, and you sighed as you gingerly rolled your head towards the television. Netflix was playing softly, the documentary you’d tried to watch long since lost your attention. You sighed and turned the TV off, tossing the remote to your coffee table and gently turning your head. You closed your eyes, pulling the blanket up to your chin, exhaling as the throb in your head made itself known again. You gave a quiet moan, smiling when Alpine crept over and curled up on your stomach. You took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. 
“Miss Y/N, Sergeant Barnes is requesting entry.”
You gave a quiet moan at the soft voice sounding through the speakers of your apartment. 
“Let him in, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”
He was just going to have to fend for himself, because your head was hurting too badly for you to do anything except nap. You heard the door unlock and then open, heard it softly click shut. You grunted when Alpine used your belly to launch herself to the back of the couch, tail swishing as her blue eyes studied the intruder. 
“I didn’t know you had a cat.”
His voice was soft, and you answered in turn, not opening your eyes. 
“Her name is Alpine. She’s very self-sufficient and she adores Happy. He takes care of her for me when we go on missions.” “Huh.”
You heard Bucky’s careful footsteps as he walked to the couch, giving a sigh when his shadow fell over your face and hid the light. You cracked open one eye when you heard a distinct purr, finding Alpine preening under his gentle touch, moving her head to keep in contact with his hand. 
“I think she likes me.” “She has questionable tastes.”
Bucky chuckled as he stepped back, Alpine meowing in protest. You moved your eye to follow Bucky and he nodded to you. 
“Sit up.” “No.”
He blew out a breath. 
“I’m here to help you.” “My head throbs when I move.” “I know. Bruce sent a pill with me to help that.” “I don’t want—“ “I know. It’s just going to knock you out. Your concussion isn’t that bad. Just painful. Come on.”
You moaned and groaned as Bucky helped you into a sitting position, and he managed to roll his eyes only a few times. You gripped his flesh arm as waves of nausea rolled over you, the throb in your head seeming to echo with every heartbeat. 
“Just breathe.”
You whimpered, leaning into him, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. He leaned his head on yours, shushing you softly, the stubble on his chin tickling your forehead. 
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“You okay?” “I think so.” “Let me get you some water.”
You nodded, eyes closed as he walked into the kitchen, filling a glass and walking it back. He put the glass in your hand, setting the pill in your other hand. You opened your eyes, wincing as you did. 
“What is it?” “It’ll help.” “Bucky.” “I’m not a doctor, but a doctor gave it to me. We trust them, remember?”
You snorted. 
“Them I trust. You, not so much.”
He rolled his eyes, but smiled. 
“Just take the damn pill.” “What if I’m allergic to it?” “That’s why I’m here, and I’m staying until we see how it affects you.”
You gave a shake of your head, moaning softly. 
“Nat busy?” “Yes, and Wanda was, too. Sorry, kid. You’re stuck with me.” “I’m not a kid.” “Then take the damn pill.”
You sighed, putting the pill in your mouth and quickly drinking. You wrinkled your nose at the bitter taste, finishing the water. 
“Atta girl.” “Don’t patronize me, Barnes. Let me sleep.” “That’s the plan, cupcake. Lay down.” “Do not call me ‘cupcake.’” “Just lay your ass down.”
You did, rolling onto your side and closing your eyes, doing your best to ignore the throbbing in your head. You felt the blanket cover you, but you couldn’t open your eyes again. You felt Bucky’s gentle touch to your forehead, heard his soft murmur to get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to turn off the lights, and your headache started to ease as you drifted to sleep. 
Bucky stood over you, shaking his head as your breathing evened out, your eyebrows relaxed, and the pain that had been evident on your face disappeared. Bucky watched you sleep for a moment, turning and going into the kitchen to put the soup Wanda had sent with him into your fridge. He turned and stopped, staring at the cat in the middle of the kitchen floor. Her tail swished back and forth over the tiles, blue eyes locked onto him. 
“I come in peace. Even though your mom would probably disagree.”
Alpine chirped back at him and Bucky’s eyebrows raised. 
“So you’ve heard of me.”
Alpine turned her head and Bucky chuckled. 
“I’m sure she’s bitched about me to you, but I’m not that bad, I promise.”
He knelt down and Alpine walked to him, sniffing the hand he held out before bumping it with her head. Bucky smiled, petting the cat. 
“See? You can tell I’m a good guy. Well, I mean … might not go that far. But I’m okay.”
He moved to sit on the floor, sighing as Alpine crawled into his lap. 
“Your mom just brings out the worst in me. I don’t know why. I mean … you know how she can be, right?”
Alpine chirped and Bucky nodded. 
“Exactly. You get it.”
Alpine leaned closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Bucky moved his hand to scratch under her chin. 
“She’s really not so bad. It’s just easy to get her riled up. And now we’ve just always acted like this, so why change, you know? But she …”
Bucky glanced towards the living room, where you were softly snoring on the couch. He sighed, shaking his head. 
“She’s got to stop being so stupid in the field.”
Alpine gave a quiet hiss and Bucky looked at her with wide eyes. 
“I didn’t mean anything by it, but she doesn’t think. She just goes balls to the wall and one of these days she’s going to get killed. I swear to God, she's just like Steve. I’m like a magnet to little bleeding heart do-gooders with no sense of self-preservation.”
Bucky lifted a hand to rub over his face as he sighed. He shook his head, gently ushering the cat off his lap, smiling at her offended glare. 
“Come on. I’ve got to stay at least another hour to make sure she’s alright.”
He walked back into the living room, finding you sound asleep and breathing fine. He grabbed a book from your bookshelf and sat in a chair, smiling when Alpine jumped into his lap and curled up, purring when his metal hand began gently petting her. 
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“I swear to God, if you don’t get your hand off my back, I will break it off and shove it up your—“ “Easy, cupcake. We’re supposed to be deeply in love, remember?”
You smiled as you and Bucky passed a couple in the hallway. You gave the woman a nod, laying your hand against Bucky’s shoulder. When the two of you rounded the corner and it was apparent you were alone, you dug your nails into his neck, pinching right at the pressure point. Bucky’s knees buckled and he stumbled as he cried out. 
“Son of a bitch!”
Bucky jumped away from you, blue eyes flashing as he lifted a hand to his neck. You looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, blinking once. 
“What’s wrong, dear?” “You’re an insufferable witch.” “Ooh, watch it, cupcake. We’re supposed to be in love, remember?”
Bucky stepped closer to you, the hand you expected was going for your throat gentling as voices could be heard just before people rounded the corner. Bucky stepped even closer, his nose brushing against yours as his hand came to rest on your shoulder, his words muttered under his breath. 
“I loathe you.”
You gave a breathy giggle. 
“Right back at you, toots.”
The people walked away and Bucky stepped back from you, straightening his suit jacket. 
“Can we just get the intel and get the fuck out of here?” “It would be my pleasure. Just—“ “Stay out of my way.”
You blinked as Bucky walked away from you, narrowing your eyes as you followed him, heels clicking on the marble floor. 
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“Priscilla! Oh, there you are darling. You look lovely!”
You took her hands as you accepted the kisses to your cheeks, smiling at the heiress before you. 
“Amelia, it’s so good to see you.”
Amelia didn’t even try to hide her blatant perusal of the man beside you and she gave him a demure smile. 
“Amelia Weatherford.” “Of Weatherford Jewels?” “Handsome and intelligent. My favorite combination.”
Bucky smiled as he took the hand she offered, pressing his lips to the back of it. You blinked at the sudden flame of fury you felt roll down your spine, shaking your head as he straightened. 
“Nicholas Rockefeller.”
Amelia’s eyes widened, as did yours when you turned to Bucky. He winked at you, offering his arm. 
“Miss Weatherford—“ “Amelia, please.”
Bucky nodded. 
“Amelia, will you excuse us? I promised Prissy a dance.”
Amelia grinned, nodding her head and stepping back, allowing the two of you space to walk to the dance floor. Bucky turned to face you, taking one of your hands, settling his other on your hip. You dug your nails into his hand, setting your other on his shoulder. You put a smile on your face, leaning in closer. 
“Rockefeller? Are you out of your goddamned mind?” “You pull out a Rockefeller, no one questions it.” “Maybe that worked in the olden days, Grandpa, but these days that shit can be verified in a few seconds.” “Would you relax and get your fucking nails out of my skin?”
You loosened your hold on him, pulling him closer and studying the room over his shoulder. 
“So how’d you cross paths with a jewelry heiress?”
You smiled, murmuring just as softly as Bucky had. 
“Undercover op in Ibiza, years ago. I’m actually surprised she remembered me.” “Well, it was Ibiza.” “Good point.”
Bucky moved his hand to the small of your back, eyebrow raising at your sudden intake of breath. Your eyes met his and you shook your head. 
“Don’t even. You just took me off-guard.” “Mm-hmm.” “I still can’t believe you went with Rockefeller. That’s not who we agreed on.” “Sometimes you’ve just got to go with whatever strikes you in the moment, cupcake.”
You scoffed. 
“Stop calling me cupcake. And don’t ever call me ‘Prissy’ again.” “It’s a common nickname for Priscillas.” “How many Priscillas do you know? You know what? Don’t answer that.”
Bucky chuckled, pulling you closer, smiling when you gasped quietly again.
“Quit it.”
He chuckled again, cheek brushing against yours when he saw a figure over your shoulder. 
“He’s here.” “Who?” “You know who.”
You slowly nodded, pressing your temple against his. 
“You want to take this one or me?” “I’ll do it. Let’s meet up in ten minutes, cupcake. Don’t be late.” “Fifty bucks says it takes longer.” “I’ll take that bet.”
You giggled, pulling back and staring into his blue eyes. You ran a finger down his nose, tapping his lips before turning away.
“Amelia!”
She rushed to you and you took her hands. 
“Do you know where the ladies’ room is?” “Of course!”
Amelia winked at Bucky.
“I’ll bring her right back, Mister Rockefeller.”
Bucky winked back at her, and Amelia giggled as she leaned closer to you, touching your forehead with her own. The two of you began walking away, and you glanced over your shoulder to see Bucky making his way across the room. 
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“Fifty bucks richer.”
You shook your head, crossing your arms in the cool night air. You glanced around, then went back inside, shivering at the sudden temperature change. You walked to the doorways and looked into the ballroom, quickly scanning the room and coming up empty. 
“Yeah, this was a great op to refuse comms. Stupid boy.”
You looked around the hall, hearing a metallic clattering from a room nearby. You shook your head, a sneer on your lips. 
“Five to ten odds he’s banging a waitress in the back alley.”
You looked from one end of the room to the other, lips twisting as you murmured to yourself. 
You shook your head, putting a smile on your face and making your way through the ballroom. In the hallway, you looked right and then left, before deciding to go left. You stepped to the side when a man in a suit rushed past you, nearly running into you, and you narrowed your eyes at him before you continued on your journey. You rounded a corner and let out a breath. 
“There you are.”
Bucky was standing with his back to you in the middle of the hallway. You shook your head, dress swishing on the ground, heels clicking on the floor as you rounded to stand in front of him. 
“‘Let’s meet up in ten minutes, cupcake. Don’t be late.’ And what happens? Cupcake shows up like always. Grumpy Old Man flakes, as usual.”
Bucky didn’t roll his eyes. He didn’t shrug and turn away from you, like just the sight of you was enough to make him sick. He didn’t make any movement at all, which made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You glanced at his feet, going still at the drops of blood by his shoes. You moved a hand to gently touch his shoulder. 
“Buck? Hey. What’s wrong?”
He blinked, slowly moving his eyes to yours. Your eyebrows furrowed at the look on his face, paler than usual, paler than you were comfortable with. Your ears perked up at the sharp exhalation he gave, and you shook your head as your eyes combed over him. 
“What happened? What?” “I think … I think he stabbed me.” “What?”
Your eyes widened, and you grabbed the lapels of Bucky’s suit jacket, opening it and gasping when you saw the crimson spreading over the right side of his stark white shirt. 
“Oh, shit.”
You pressed a hand against his side and he gave a quiet moan. You looked over his shoulders, then behind yours and he shook his head. 
“He’s gone. I didn’t … I didn’t get—“ “It’s okay. Can you walk? We need to get out of here.”
Bucky nodded, and you stayed beside him, hand pressed against his side as the two of you took a step together. Bucky shook his head, reaching to grab hold of your arm. 
“Damn it, that hurts.” “Hang in there, Buck. Just one foot in front of the other.”
He nodded, looping an arm around your neck. He grunted with every slow step the two of you took, sweat breaking out over his forehead. You could feel your hand getting wetter as the bleeding continued, but Bucky refused to stop until the two of you were outside. You looked around, speaking as you scanned the parking lot.
“Let me get a cab.” “No, I—“ “You can’t walk all the way to the hotel.” “No, but I can’t bleed all over a cab either.”
Your mind was racing, and you turned your head to look at him. 
“Do I need to call an ambulance?” “No. Just …”
Bucky blew out a breath, blinking wide eyes before exhaling again. 
“Do you know how to hot-wire a car?”
You narrowed your eyes. 
“Do I look like a natural-born idiot? Of course I know how to hot-wire a car!”
Bucky grinned, sweat rolling down his pale face. You swallowed as you looked at his side and he nodded. You helped him take his jacket off, balling it up and pressing it against his side. He moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, nodding as you moved your hands away and moved his to hold the jacket in place. You ran through the parking lot, ignoring the shaking in your hands as you found a nondescript dark-colored SUV, easily picking the lock on the driver’s side door and quickly hot-wiring the car. You drove to where you’d left Bucky, helping him into the passenger’s seat. You pulled open the glove compartment and almost cried in relief. 
“Look! First aid kit.”
You pulled it out and opened it up, finding the biggest bandage you could. Bucky gritted his teeth as he lifted his shirt and you pressed the bandage to his skin, doing your best to ignore the immediate spread of blood under it. You shook your head, pulling his shirt down, going to the driver’s side and climbing in, speeding away from the gala and towards the nondescript motel you were staying. 
“Are you—“ “I’m okay.”
You nodded, both hands tightly gripping the wheel. You kept your eyes on the road, shaking your head. 
“I thought you had the serum to heal you.” “I do, but it’s not always … instantaneous.”
You bit your bottom lip hard, making yourself smile. 
“You don’t have to try and impress me with big words, you know.”
Bucky barked a laugh, but it trailed into a groan. You white-knuckled the steering wheel, breathing a sigh of relief when you saw the motel. 
“Thank god. We made it.”
You looked over to see Bucky with his eyes closed, big body slumped against the door. 
“No! No, Buck, stay awake. Bucky!”
He jumped when you threw an arm over, smacking his shoulder. He blinked wide eyes and you shook your head. 
“Don’t go to sleep.” “Okay.” “I mean it, Bucky. Stay with me.”
He nodded, groaning as he pressed a hand to his side. You parked the car and jumped out, running to help him out of the car, looping his arm around your neck, helping him lean onto you as the two of you hobbled into the room. He immediately collapsed onto the bed and you stood over him, ripping his shirt open and giving a shaking breath. 
“Jesus, Buck.”
You bit your tongue as you saw the blood-soaked bandage you’d placed on him. He nodded, wincing as he squeezed his eyes shut. 
“Fuck, it hurts.” “I know. Let me …”
Your words trailed off as you ran into the bathroom, gathering towels and wetting one. 
“My … suitcase.”
You poked your head out of the bathroom to see Bucky pointing and you unzipped the front pocket of his suitcase to find a bottle of rubbing alcohol. 
“Thank God.”
Bucky nodded as you hurried back into the bathroom, gathering the towels and the alcohol and heading back to him. You walked into the room to see Bucky with his eyes closed, blood-covered hand hanging over the edge of the bed. 
“No! Bucky, no.”
He jumped at your sharp tone, eyes sluggishly opening. You shook your head as you dropped your supplies onto the bed before looming over him. 
“You stay with me. Do not close your eyes.”
Bucky smirked as you turned away. 
“First you … rip my shirt off, then you … boss me around. Keep … keep it—-“ “You can’t even talk, much less pretend like you could get it up. Don’t even.”
Bucky laughed, groaning when you pulled the bandage off his side. You tossed the blood-soaked bandage off the bed, pouring alcohol over his wound before pressing the wet towel against his side. You increased the pressure and his groan grew louder, metal hand moving to grip your arm. 
“I’m sorry.” “Don’t. You’re … fine. Don’t let me hurt you.”
You nodded, trying your best to clean the wound. Blood continued to bubble out and you shook your head. 
“God, there’s so much blood.” “Might’ve n … nicked the liver.” “No, there’s got to be … oh, fuck. Fuck, Bucky. He got you twice.”
Bucky rolled as best he could when you tapped his shoulder, and you gave a quiet whine when you saw the wound to his back, inches from the first wound. You shook your head as you moved the towel and pressed both of your hands to both of his wounds. 
“Goddamn it, Y/N.” “Don’t give me shit right now. I’m trying to save your life.” “I know. I’m just …”
He wheezed out a breath, and you quickly set a thick bandage on the wound on his back. Bucky rolled back to his back, wincing as you put another bandage on his front. 
“Just breathe.”
Bucky nodded, widening his eyes. You shook your head, leaning over him. 
“Come on, bionic man. You’ve got an arm made out of the strongest metal in the world and you’re going to let a little prison shank take you out?”
Bucky wheezed out a laugh, his metal arm moving to cup your elbow, thumb rubbing over your skin as his sleepy eyes met your own. 
“I’ll be … fine.” “Please don’t leave me, Buck. Stay with me.”
He nodded, eyes drifting closed. 
“No, damn it. No! Open your eyes and keep them open. Bucky, please. Oh, look what you’ve done. You got blood on your dog tags.”
He blinked his eyes open at that, looking down to see your blood-covered fingertips grab onto his dog tags before letting them sit in your bloody palm. He shook his head, your thumbprint perfectly outlined on the smooth side of the metal. 
“You did that.” “Prove it.”
Bucky groaned, head falling back on the pillow. 
“Fuck.” “I know. Just hold on.”
Your eyes widened when you looked down at the bandage, blood seeping out from under it. You swallowed and pulled the bandage off, cleaning the blood as best you could before finagling a piece of gauze and taping it to his skin. Blood quickly soaked through the gauze and bubbled around the tape. 
“You’ve got to … stitch it up.”
You looked up and met his eyes, shaking your head. 
“What? No. No, I …I can call for—“ “For what?”
You looked at his pale face, watching his eyes slowly blink open, the icy blue dull around his widening pupils. He gave a slow shake of his head. 
“They … won’t make it.” “Buck, I can’t.” “You … have to. You … you’re my only … hope.”
You squeezed your eyes closed, shaking your head. You opened your eyes again and he gave you a small smile. He nodded and you blew out a breath. 
“Oh, god.” “You … can do this.”
You nodded, stepping back from the bed and to his suitcase, pulling out a sewing kit. You blew out a breath, shaking your head. 
“Goddamn it.”
You grabbed a needle and some thread, moving back to the bed and picking up the bottle of alcohol, pouring it over the needle. Your hands shook as you tried to thread the needle, stilling when you felt metal fingers gently brushing your elbow again. You looked at him and Bucky smiled. 
“You’ve got this.”
You shook your head, staring into his sleepy eyes. 
“I’ve never sewn anything before.” “Nothing … to it. Just … back and—back and forth.”
You nodded again, doing as he instructed, listening to his murmurs as he walked you through how to knot the thread. You blew out a breath and wiped the towel over his skin, cleaning away the blood. 
“Pinch the … skin together.”
You did as he said, doing your best to ignore his wince. He shook his head. 
“Don't … pay atten—attention to me. Just do it.” “Okay, Nike.”
He gave a breathy laugh, groaning as you took the opportunity and pushed the needle through his skin. Your eyes were wide, mouth open when you saw what you’d done to him, the stark black thread standing out against his skin. 
“Oh my god.” “Keep—keep going. In and—“ “Out. In and out.”
Bucky nodded, groaning again as you pulled and tugged, pushing the needle into his skin, pulling it out, closing the wound on his side. You tied another knot in the end of the thread, helping Bucky move the slightest bit onto his side. You couldn’t stop the whine from escaping your lips when you saw the blood-soaked bandage on his back, pulling it off and cleaning the wound as best you could. You licked your lips and cleared your mind, focusing only on the task at hand, going through the same motions as you stitched up the other, albeit smaller, wound. You gave a sigh of relief, laughing softly. 
“Okay. Okay, that’s it. They’re closed.”
You rolled Bucky back to his back, the breath catching in your throat when you saw his eyes closed. 
“No, no, no. Bucky? Buck, open your eyes.”
He didn’t do what you said this time. Your hand gently slapped his face, and you let the tears come when he gave a soft moan, trying to move away from you. You nodded, your hand resting against his cheek as you brought your knees up, resting your elbow on them as you put your forehead against your wrist and cried. 
After a moment, you sniffed and stood up, going into the bathroom and staring at yourself in the mirror. Your gown was stained with Bucky’s blood, your hands were covered in it, it was caked under your nails. You even had blood on your forehead. You closed your eyes, opening them again to see your blood-soaked reflection staring back at you. 
“Carrie. I’m Carrie at the prom.”
A laugh bubbled from your lips and you lifted a hand with the intention of covering your mouth. The laughter died as you gasped instead, staring at your hand. You took in a shaky breath, glancing over your shoulder and watching Bucky’s chest rise and fall a few times. You walked to the shower and turned it on, not even bothering to check the temperature before you walked into the shower fully clothed. 
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You sat on the side of the bed, eyes focused on Bucky’s chest as it rose and fell. You’d at least combed your hair when you got out of the shower, leaving it in wet ropes around your head. You’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants before rifling through Bucky’s bag and stealing one of his Henleys.
You’d felt so cold ever since you’d gotten out of the shower. 
You looked down at the phone in your hand, taking in a breath before letting it out slowly. You tapped the screen until you found a number, lifting the phone to your ear. 
“Hello?” “Hey, it … it’s me.” “Hey, you. How’s it going?”
You looked to the bed, shaking your head as your bottom lip wobbled. 
“Not … not great.” “What’s wrong?” “Bucky got stabbed.” “Jesus. Is he okay? Where are you?” “We’re at the motel. Clint, I had to sew him up.”
You couldn’t fight back the sob, and you put your forehead in your hand as you heard Clint murmuring through the phone. 
“Y/N, it’s Steve. Is he alive?”
You nodded until you trusted your voice. 
“He’s unconscious, but he’s breathing. I had to sew up the wounds and I’ve never done that before. You need to come get us and get him to a doctor.” “I’m sure you did fine.” “There was so much blood.”
Steve didn’t say anything after your whisper, and his voice was shaky when he spoke again. 
“We’re on the way.” “We didn’t finish the mission.” “That doesn’t matter now.”
You nodded, closing your eyes as Clint came back on the line, telling you they’d be there in a few hours. You hung up the phone, moving to the other bed, lifting a shaky hand to brush through Bucky’s hair. 
“They’re coming, Buck. Steve’s coming and he’s going to help you. You’re going to be okay.”
Bucky muttered nonsense words, and you shushed him, hand coming to rest against his cheek. Bucky murmured again, leaning into your touch before settling down again. 
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You sat on the other bed and watched as Steve ran in, hitting his knees beside the bed where Bucky was still sleeping. Clint pulled up a hologram of Helen Cho, who praised your stitches and instructed the boys to get Bucky to her cradle ASAP. They were loading him onto a stretcher when Wanda walked in, kneeling before you. 
“Hey, you. Let’s go home.”
You turned your head to meet her eyes, your own eyes narrowing. Even though you’d been watching and hearing everything that was happening around you, you felt far away, like you’d been watching television instead of real life. You swallowed, giving Wanda a nod when she murmured your name again. She held out a hand and you grabbed onto it, holding tighter than you realized. You blinked when you noticed Sam grabbing your suitcases. 
“The … the dress.” “What dress, honey?”
You blinked as you looked at Wanda again, like you weren’t entirely sure if she was there. 
“The dress for the gala. It’s … it’s in the bathroom.”
Wanda nodded to Sam. 
“We’ll take care of it. Come on, sweetie.”
You followed her lead, still gripping tightly to her hand as she led you to the quinjet. 
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Two weeks later, Bucky walked into the kitchen, heading for the fruit bowl. 
“How are there never any bananas? I swear to god, I put them on the grocery list yesterday.”
Natasha’s eyebrows raised, but she didn’t say anything as she spread peanut butter over the piece of bread in her hand. Bucky blew out a breath, muttering to himself as he picked up an orange instead. 
“Nat, are you stealing all the bananas?” “Do I look like a banana thief?”
Bucky shrugged his metal shoulder as he peeled his orange. Natasha glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. 
“We have knives for that, you know?”
Bucky grinned at her with a section of orange in his mouth and she rolled her eyes. She finished her sandwich, leaving the room without a goodbye. She made her way down the hall, knocking softly on a door, hearing F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s announcement of who was at the door. At the click of a lock, Natasha walked into the apartment. 
“Hey, I brought you some lunch.” “Just a sec.”
Natasha walked into the kitchen, hearing you curse under your breath. She sighed, looking at the pile of banana peels at your elbow. 
“Y/N…” “Hey, Nat.”
You scrambled to hide whatever was in your hands from her and Natasha narrowed her eyes. 
“What are you doing?” “Nothing. Did you say something about lunch? I’m starving.” “It’s just a peanut butter sandwich.” “Ooh, my fave.”
You pushed your chair away from the table, turning your back to Natasha quickly so she wouldn’t see your hands. 
“What are you trying to hide from me?”
You faltered at that, pausing a moment before walking to the sink. 
“Nothing.” “Y/N—“ “Drop it. Please.”
Natasha sighed, setting the sandwich down and crossing her arms over her chest. She waited until you walked back to the table, staring you down until you sighed and sat in the chair. 
“What’s going on with you?”
You put your head in your hands in lieu of answering her. Natasha shook her head. 
“Come on. You’ve been avoiding the team ever since you got back from that mission with Bucky. Steve’s about ready to mandate therapy for you.” “Steve can’t do that.” “He’s the Captain. He can do what he wants.”
You snorted and Natasha sighed, sitting across from you. 
“Come on, kid. Talk to me.” “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Can I have my sandwich now?”
You let your hands fall by your sides. Natasha stared at you, but you stared right back, and she eventually sighed and nodded. You slid the plate closer to you and took a bite out of the sandwich. 
“So you’re the one that’s been stealing the bananas?” “I thought this was lunch, not an interrogation.” “The evidence is overwhelming.”
Natasha rolled her eyes at the way you spoke with your mouth full, then motioned to the banana peels at your elbow. You swallowed the bite you’d taken, lifting your shoulders. 
“I’m really into smoothies?”
Natasha just cocked an eyebrow and you blew out a breath. 
“I made banana bread last week.” “I know. Clint kept making perverse comments about how good it was.”
You smiled at that, looking down at the sandwich. You gently pushed the plate away, your sandwich with one bite missing staring back at you. 
“Hey.” “I’m not doing anything illegal or unmentionable with the bananas.” “You know I don’t care about that.”
Natasha reached over and laid a hand on your wrist. 
“I’m worried about you.”
Her eyes softened when you lifted tear-filled ones to her. You shook your head and she tightened her hold on you. You gave a shaky exhale and shook your head again. 
“I’m sorry about the bananas. I’ll make my own grocery order or something.” “Honey, that’s not the point.”
You tugged your hand away from her, wiping your eyes. 
“I, uh … I’ve really got to clean out my bathroom. It’s horrible. Can’t even remember the last time I mopped it.” “Talk to me.” “I’m just busy, Nat. I'm fine.” “You’re not—“ “Can you lock the door on your way out?”
Natasha sighed as you walked away, closing a door down the hall. She closed her eyes, hanging her head as she exhaled again. She picked up the sandwich you didn’t eat, biting into it herself as she left your apartment, locking the door behind her.
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“No.” “Come on, Wanda. It’s for the greater good.”
Wanda raised one eyebrow as Sam tried to hide his smile. Natasha was unperturbed, taking one of Wanda’s hands. 
“Something is going on with her. She hasn’t been to movie night or game night or even dinner in two weeks. Almost three! You know how she is.”
Sam tilted his head. 
“You know that last mission took a toll on her.” “I know it did, but she usually bounces back quicker than this.”
Wanda laid her other hand on top of Natasha’s. 
“You didn’t see what we saw when we picked them up, Nat. She just needs time to process this.” “It’s been two weeks. This is past ‘processing time.’ This is mentally fucked up time now.”
Wanda looked to Sam, who stared back at her, a silent conversation passing between them. Wanda sighed, turning back to Natasha.
“I don’t like this.” “Let the record state she doesn’t like this.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled. Wanda sighed again, standing up and brushing off the dress she was wearing before making her way down the hall. She stopped outside your room, putting her ear to the door, closing her eyes as they began to glow red. 
“And pull slowly … there. Perfect.”
Wanda turned her head slightly as she listened to your thoughts. 
You can’t even see it! That’s a surgeon’s precision there. “Excellent work, Agent. Do you want to try the chicken now?” 
Wanda blinked her eyes open when she heard the second voice. It sounded different, further away, and she thought the voice had to be coming through your phone or computer. 
“Ew, it’s slimy.” “You knew it would be. Remember how we talked about it?” “Right. It’s more like normal skin, and with an injury, slime is a possibility.”
Wanda heard a tinny laugh, and she closed her eyes again as your voice went silent, save for the one in your head. 
Take a breath. You need this practice. You have to do this right. Next time could be life and death.
Wanda’s brows furrowed as she laid a hand on the door. 
In and out. In and out. Don’t forget to breathe. In and out. “Very good. Go just a bit deeper … that’s it. Perfect.”
Wanda’s red eyes opened when the soft sound of your thoughts echoed in her mind. 
I need to figure out how to make this bloody. It’s slippery enough as it is, but the blood adds an extra obstacle. Remember how Bucky’s blood soaked the needle and thread? “Agent, clear your mind. Keep your focus on the task at hand. That last stitch slipped.” “Sorry.” “It’s still very good.”
Wanda turned the doorknob, silently making her way into your apartment, stopping at the entry to your kitchen. You were sitting at the table with your back to her, your laptop on the table, along with a small pile of bananas and a raw chicken breast. 
“What are you doing?”
You jumped, quickly turning in your chair. 
“Wanda? What the hell are you doing? How did you get in here?” “Agent, I think this will end our session today. Very good work.”
You turned back as the video call ended with a chime, and you blew out a breath as you hung your head. Wanda stepped further into the kitchen, eyes scanning the room. 
“What are you doing in here? Why do you have so many bananas?” “Wanda, you need to go.”
Wanda’s eyes started glowing as you tried to hide the contents on the table from her. 
Shit. God, she can’t know. Nobody can know. They won’t understand. 
“What won’t we understand?”
You whirled around, eyes full of hurt. 
“Are you in my head?”
Wanda blinked, her eyes cooling back to their normal color. You gave an almost silent laugh. 
“You were. You were listening. You promised you’d never do that.” “Everyone is worried about you. You won’t leave this apartment. Ever since your mission with Bucky, you’ve closed off.”
You couldn’t help but flinch when she mentioned Bucky and that disastrous mission. Wanda’s eyes softened as she took a step closer.
“This has something to do with that, doesn’t it?” “Can you just mind your own business?” “Not when you’re hurting this badly and won’t let any of us help. We know what you’re going through.”
You whirled to face her, eyes wide. 
“How?! How could any of you know what I’m feeling? You weren’t there. You didn’t have his blood all over your hands, all over your dress. You didn’t stand in the shower and watch his blood flow down the drain. You didn’t do everything you could to help him and it wasn’t enough.”
Wanda’s eyes filled with tears as yours did.
“You didn’t watch him almost bleed out. You didn’t have to push a needle through his skin to try to hold him together.” “Oh, honey.”
You shook your head, stepping away from her. You went to the sink and turned the water on, pumping soap into your hands and rubbing them together. Wanda lifted a hand to her lips as she watched you, tears sliding down your face and dripping into the sink. When she noticed the steam from the water, she rushed over and turned the water off, turning the cool side on and gently moving your hands under the water. 
You gripped the edges of the sink as Wanda turned the water off. She took your hands in hers, drying them off gently. 
“You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”
You lifted your head, tear-filled eyes meeting hers. She gave you a sad smile, pulling you into a hug. You put your face in her shoulder and let her hold you, not seeing her eyes start to glow red, but feeling your own eyes grow heavier and heavier until you couldn’t help but close them. Your knees slowly buckled and Wanda helped you, going with you until you were laid out and sleeping peacefully on the floor. 
Wanda sighed, going to your door and opening it, whistling softly. Sam and Natasha popped their heads around the corner as Wanda raised an eyebrow, then motioned for them to come. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she looked around the kitchen, widening when she saw the bananas and the chicken, the needle and thread. 
“Oh my god.” “Sam, can you…?”
He nodded, gently brushing past Natasha as he walked to you, kneeling and lifting your sleeping body into his arms. You curled against his chest and he closed his eyes before carrying you down the hall and into your bedroom. 
Natasha met Wanda’s eyes and Wanda crossed her arms over her stomach. 
“She had a doctor on the computer who was talking her through stitches.” “That’s why she kept stealing the bananas.”
Wanda raised an eyebrow and Natasha walked over, picking up a pristine yellow banana. 
“If you do it correctly…”
She unpeeled the banana and Wanda’s eyebrows raised at the neat black stitches on the peel. 
“You can’t even tell it was peeled.” “She’s out. What’s going on with the prep line in here?”
Natasha showed Sam the stitches in the banana peel and he closed his eyes before crossing his arms over his chest. 
“Shit.”
Natasha and Wanda nodded. After a moment of silence, Wanda spoke. 
“Now comes the hard part. Do we tell Bucky?”
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You woke up with a headache, feeling quite hungover even though you hadn’t drank a drop of alcohol. You sat up in the bed, putting your head in your hands. 
No matter how hard you’d tried, you just couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky and the last mission the two of you went on. You couldn’t get the sight of his pale face out of your head, the way the blood wouldn’t stop, soaking through the bandages you’d tried to put on him. You felt like Lady Macbeth because in your dreams, you couldn’t get his blood off of your hands, no matter how hard you scrubbed. 
You crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom, trying and failing to avoid your reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles under your eyes, and your complexion was dull. You hadn’t left your apartment in a few weeks, hadn’t even gone outside. You were too preoccupied with the bananas and the stitching. 
You sighed and pulled your unwashed hair into a bun on top of your head, leaving the bathroom and coming to a hard stop when you saw the man sitting on your couch. Bucky lifted his eyes to yours, metal hand still as Alpine sniffed all over it.
“Long time no see.”
You nodded. 
“I’ve been busy.” “You’re the one that’s been stealing all the bananas.”
You shook your head. 
“I mean, yeah at first, but I’ve done my own grocery order for a while.” “Why?”
You lifted a hand to scratch at your neck. 
“No reason.” “Babe, we’ve got to work on your tells.”
You felt your cheeks heat up, dropping your hand and looking down at the floor. 
“Tell me why you needed so many bananas, Y/N.” “I went on a banana diet.” “Stop going up on your toes. That's another tell.”
You went to your flat feet, eyes cast down. You heard Alpine’s annoyed mrow as Bucky stood up and when he took a step towards you, you took a step back. He took a step back and you lifted your eyes to his. He held up his hands, sitting back down on the couch. Alpine moved to sit in his metal palm and he smiled. He brought his eyes back to you, seeing you staring at the floor still. 
“Cupcake, look at me.”
You did as he asked, and his voice was gentle when he spoke. 
“Why did you steal all the bananas?” “Why are you so obsessed with bananas? Did they not have them back in the old days?” “Quit deflecting and answering my question with a question. Tell me the truth.” “It doesn’t matter.” “To me, it does.”
You looked away from him as tears welled up in your eyes. Bucky sighed, dragging a hand down his face. 
“If you’re not going to tell me the truth, let me tell you what I think, alright? I think you stole the bananas to practice stitching them up. Because if you do it right, you can’t even tell the banana’s been peeled.”
You looked down at the floor, Alpine sitting up and jumping down from the couch beside Bucky to walk to you. She gave a curious meow when a tear fell from your eyes and landed on her nose. 
“You’ve been practicing stitching until you’re damn near perfect at it.” “I’m not perfect at it.” “Yet another lie.”
You lifted your eyes to his, shaking your head. 
“You don’t understand.” “Enlighten me.”
You didn’t notice your hands were shaking as you spoke, the tears also falling unnoticed. 
“You were dying. You were dying and I was trying to hold you together. I was holding the stupid bandages against the holes in your side and you were dying. I can still smell it, Bucky. The whole room smelled like copper and I couldn’t make it go away.”
You moved your shaking hands to press them against your stomach, and Bucky’s heart lurched when he realized you were pressing on your body the places where he was stabbed. He stood up and you backed away again, the tears coming harder. 
“I kept begging you to stay with me and you kept trying to fucking die. I had to hold your skin and literally stitch you back together with a needle and thread. I’ve never sewn anything in my life and the first thing I ever sewed was you.”
Your back hit the wall and Bucky stopped inches from you. You shook your head, unable to do anything but sob. Bucky took hold of one of your hands, ignoring Alpine’s warning meow and hiss, pressing your palm against his chest. You tried to pull your hand from his grasp, but he had an iron hold on it. 
“Breathe.”
You did, shaking your head as you sobbed. Bucky flattened your palm against the center of his chest and spoke again. 
“Feel that?”
You shook your head, and he squeezed your wrist for a split second, urging you again. 
“Do you feel that?”
You took in a ragged breath, feeling the steady thump of his heart under your palm. You met his icy blue eyes and he raised his eyebrows in question. You nodded, and he adjusted his grip so that both his hands were holding your wrist, holding your palm to the center of his chest. 
“You saved me. My heart is still beating because of you.” “There was so much blood.” “But you stopped it.”
You shook your head. 
“I didn’t do enough.” “Not enough? You saved my life, cupcake.”
You shook your head again. 
“I should have known what to do beforehand—“ “What, because you knew I’d get stabbed?”
Your eyes met his and he shook his head. 
“It doesn’t matter anymore. You did what needed to be done and I’m still here because of it. Because of you.”
Your knees buckled as your hand fell from his chest, but Bucky gathered you in his arms before you hit the floor. You clung to him, arms holding him tightly as you cried into his chest. He held you, flesh hand gently rubbing your back, shushing you softly, but letting you cry. 
He shifted and lifted you into his arms, and you put your face in his shoulder as he carried you down the hall. You felt yourself be lowered to your bed, but you stayed clinging to Bucky until he lay down with you. 
“I got you. Shh. I’m here.”
You kept holding onto him, staying close when he rolled onto his back. You kept your head on his shoulder and an arm around his stomach, one of his arms steady around you and holding you close. You slid your hand up to the middle of his chest, closing your eyes when you felt his strong heartbeat under your palm. 
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Bucky woke with a start, eyes opening to find white fur filling his vision. Alpine tilted her head as Bucky met her blue eyes, and he glanced towards the door when he heard your voice. 
“She’s not the best about sleeping in. I tried to tell her to leave you alone, but… I think she has selective hearing.” “Wonder where she gets that from.”
You rolled your eyes, pressing your towel to your wet hair. Bucky sat up in the bed after sliding Alpine off his chest, smiling at her irritated chirp. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, shifting to where he could look at you. You moved the towel off your head to hold it in your hands, speaking more to it than to Bucky. 
“Thank you for staying with me last night.” “You needed a friend. I didn’t mind.”
You slowly nodded. 
“So we’re friends now?”
Bucky softly smiled as he looked down at his hands, clenching his metal one into a fist, then releasing it. 
“Do you think we are?”
You sighed. 
“I thought you hated me.” “I never hated you.” “You’ve got a weird way of showing that.”
Bucky nodded. 
“You want to know the truth?” “It’d be nice.”
Bucky smiled as he looked over at you. 
“You’re good. And smart, but you listen to your heart more than your head. You’re so much like Steve, and I knew if I didn’t rein you in somehow, you’d sacrifice yourself into the ocean just like he did.” “And that morphed into you hating me … how?” “I never hated you.”
Bucky blew out a breath. 
“It was just easier to fire up that brother/sister relationship with you. And then you gave as good as you got and it was easier to make you think I hated you than to really—“
Your breath caught in your throat when he cut himself off. He shook his head, standing up and heading for the bedroom door. 
“Really what?” “You want coffee?” “I want you to finish what you started.”
He grabbed onto the door frame, looking back over his shoulder at you. 
“You really don’t know where that sentence was going?”
You swallowed and shook your head, and he blew out another breath. 
“C’mon, cupcake. There’s no way you can’t know.”
You did. At least, you thought you did. All those times you caught him looking at you with that soft smile, the way he tried to cover it by rolling his eyes and looking away. The gentle touches when you were hurt, the way he always seemed to be the one to volunteer to go on missions with you. 
The way your heart pounded when you realized he was hurt. 
The fear in your chest you thought would consume you when you couldn’t get the bleeding to stop. 
The begging you did for him to just stay with me, don’t leave me.
“Cupcake?”
You met his eyes with tears welled up in yours. He stepped away from the door and walked to you, shaking his head. 
“What did I say? I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
You shook your head, laying your hands on his chest. 
“You didn’t. I just … I haven’t cried this much in a long time.” “I think you’re sort of emotionally constipated and it’s all coming out now.”
You laughed as you shoved him away. He stumbled back, a blinding smile on his lips. You shook your head. 
“You’re the worst.” “You know you love it.”
You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the floor and Bucky gave a quiet sigh. He turned away and when he was at the door again, you spoke. 
“I didn’t realize. I mean … I kind of did. But you always acted like you hated me, so I pushed it down and tried to convince myself that I …”
He kept one hand on the door frame, turning his head towards you, keeping his eyes away from you. 
“That what?” “That it wasn’t attraction I felt towards you. Then I tried to convince myself that you were like a brother to me and that hurt more. So I just locked it down and like you said, gave as good as I got.”
Bucky fully turned to face you and you swallowed again. 
“Everything was fine until you got hurt. Faced with the prospect of losing you … I lost it. I tried so hard not to let it show, but I … Bucky, I was so scared. You were so pale and there was so much blood and no matter what I did, I couldn’t stop it.” “You did stop it.” “I thought I was too late. I just prayed that you would wake up and I went and showered with my dress on. Watched the blood go down the drain.”
You sucked in a breath when you saw him in front of you. You’d been staring at the floor, lost in your own mind. Bucky reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. 
“You can’t hold onto that anymore. It’s over. It’s done. No matter what happened in that hotel room, I’m here and I’m fine.” “I can’t stop seeing it. Every time I close my eyes, I see my hands covered in your blood. After I stitched you up, I went into the bathroom and I swear I looked like Carrie after the prom.”
His eyebrows furrowed and you shook your head, waving him off. 
“I can’t just let it go, Buck.” “Then give it to me.”
You looked up and met his eyes, the icy blue earnest as he stared into your eyes. 
“Let me carry it for you.”
You started to shake your head and he took hold of your hands. 
“If not me, then someone else. We’ll find you someone to talk to, who can help you through this.”
You held tightly to his hands and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. You sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly as you closed your eyes. Bucky lifted his head to press his lips against your forehead, and you stepped forward, putting your face in his chest. He smiled as he wrapped his arms around you and you turned your head to where his heartbeat was directly under your ear. You kept your eyes closed as a Bucky started to gently sway. 
“Does this mean you’ll go on a date with me?” “Have you asked me to go on a date with you?” “I thought it was this unspoken thing.”
You shook your head, leaning back and staring up at him. 
“You’re old, and your mind must be going.” “I’ll show you—“
You shut him up by going on your toes and pressing your lips to his. Bucky’s shocked inhale sounded a second before his hands tugged you closer, and you threw your arms around his neck. When you broke apart, both of you silently panting for air, Bucky gave a quiet laugh. 
“Took you long enough.”
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lilacthebooklover · 2 months
Text
Rating: Teen Fandom: Cookie Run Word Count: 4700 BTHB Prompt: Forced to Kneel/Bow @badthingshappenbingo
“You have some of my soul jam, correct?” Shadow Milk asked, clearly having deduced the truth. And Pure Vanilla was not a liar, so he nodded reluctantly in confirmation, watching the Fallen Hero's twisted smirk stretch even further up azure dough. “Then that makes us one and the same! We wield the same magic, hold the same thirst for knowledge, we alone are able to manipulate the truth wholeheartedly. You and I are capable of possessing all-consuming power!” The Beast crowed, and a new sort of fear began to settle in Pure Vanilla’s gut.
“No,” he blurted out suddenly, before the action could even register in his brain. It was an instinctive response: a denial of something that simply couldn’t be true. He didn’t want ‘all-consuming power’, and Shadow Milk Cookie had fallen. He was corrupted. Pure Vanilla refused to let that happen to him.
“Yes! You are like me,” the other cookie hissed delightedly. “We share a soul, little cookie. And that makes you mine.”
OR: Pure Vanilla buys his friends some time, and Shadow Milk Cookie decides to have him put on a show.
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avvail · 30 days
Note
(enemy turned caretaker)
During a fight, Villain accidentally ends up triggering Hero's trauma but Hero keeps it together until they find an alley to have a silent panic attack in.
(love the Bingo idea btw!)
The hero couldn’t breathe.
They had barely managed to slip away from the battle undetected, terrified of what might have happened if they’d been unable to. They can feel their sharp nails digging into their neck, as if trying to remind themselves that the villain’s hands aren’t crushing their windpipe, but it’s too late.
They’re spiralling ridiculously bad, and they can hardly suck in a sufficient amount of air.
Their head is so loud. Even when they’re leaning against the wall of the alleyway, it’s so overwhelming that they feel as though they’re going to fall. Even when something grips their shoulder hard, the hero can barely feel it, like they’re somewhere else completely and everyone else is as invisible as the air they can’t even breathe.
“Hero,” the villain says curtly, trying to get their attention. The hero’s eyes are wide, unfocused, and they don’t miss the pale sheen from the lack of oxygen. They frown, tugging their hand away from their neck. It’s purpled with the villain’s handprint, and their brow twitches.
“Stop that,” they snap, gripping their wrist tightly. “You’re bleeding.”
They tug the hero down to the ground, their lips pressed into a thin line when their jerky movements make them feel almost bad, knowing they were the cause of this panic attack. They press their hand hard against their mouth, forcing them to meet their eyes.
The hero squeals, cutting off their breath. They try to pull away, but the villain keeps them pressed to the wall, unmoving.
“Snap out of it,” they snap, their voice low, intent on trapping the hero’s attention so they can’t think of anything else. “Just look at me.”
The hero barely does that, the terror evident in their watery eyes. They squirm and wriggle, their fists pounding against the villain’s chest, but their hand doesn’t budge, and neither do they.
“Keep looking at me,” the villain growls, and the hero does. For a long few seconds, their shaking hands stutter to a stop, and there’s a flash of lucidity in those wide eyes. Only when they start to pale from the lack of air does the villain finally release them.
They suck in a sharp breath, forcing themselves to take long, deep inhales of air for at least a minute or two. The villain watches intently, just to make sure they don’t spiral again, and the hero swallows uneasily, wincing.
The bruises around their neck suddenly make the villain feel a twitch of remorse again. They supposed that was off limits from now on, not if it made the hero feel like this.
“Tell me five things you can—”
“I’m not doing that,” the hero rasps, their face contorted in discomfort as they focus on getting the air back into their lungs. The villain raises a brow, but they don’t say anything.
“Indulge me,” the villain hums.
They shoot them a glare, but regardless, they comply. Silently. They don’t speak, but they can see the hero’s eyes flicking around, and their mind ticking away as they process everything around them. Finally, they look back at the villain.
“Good,” they sigh, rising to their feet. They hold out a hand for the hero to take, but they ignore it, remaining on the floor. Stubborn, the villain comments in their own mind. “Is that something that happens often?”
The hero quicky looks away again, rubbing their arm. “Not really.”
Not unless they strangle them again, the villain mused internally. They make a mild note that although victory was what they were aiming for, they weren’t going to play dirty. But they didn’t have any intention to stick around.
“Let’s postpone this for another day,” the villain says dismissively, waving a hand. “This was a mood killer.”
They bristle defensively. “Sorry, I can’t control it, asshole.”
The villain shrugs. “I’m not talking about the panic attack. I’m talking about helping you.”
The hero goes quiet.
“This won’t happen again,” the villain continues, an edge to their tone. They were enemies - any normal villain would have taken advantage of that panic attack, or even the discovery of a weakness of theirs. Taken advantage of it; they hate how they don’t want to.
“Are my morals rubbing off on you?” The hero sneers, and the villain is somewhat pleased there’s a flicker of that fire again.
“Let’s be clear, sweetheart,” the villain scoffs. “We’re enemies. That’s not going to change.”
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@badthingshappenbingo
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chrysochroma · 2 months
Text
within your walls (desire, desire, till there’s nothing left of me)
@febuwhump 2024: Day 2: solitary confinement
@badthingshappenbingo : locked in a freezer (card is at the end)
Rating: Teen And Up
Words: 2,367
Fandom: Hermitcraft
Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture, Human Experimentation, Unethical Experimentation, Temporary Character Death
Read on Ao3
the title is from Strangler Fig by the Crane Wives
this is inspired by @aquaquadrant and @lunarcrown ‘s Hels to Pay AU and From Eden by aquaquadrant.
i highly suggest you read that first bc it is both amazing and the context is helpful
this is the link to aquaquadrant’s From Eden master post
this is also inspired by this piece of art by lunarcrown
as well as lunarcrown’s orginal comic
anyways, enjoy some pain and suffering :)
Deep inside the Hels Tek facility, Tango stood, claws dripping with redstone dust, in front of a grid of circuitry.
The machine Dr. Atlas had sent him to repair wasn’t too complicated, in fact it wasn’t much of a challenge at all. It was just as simple as replacing a few components with the ones the circuit required and drawing a few more lines of redstone dust. The mechanism felt reminiscent of a puzzle you might give a toddler—Tango felt that all he was doing was placing the different shaped blocks in their corresponding holes—but he figured that it was just a test to see what he knows, which didn’t surprise him. This was like his entrance exam before being hired to work at Hels, he supposed. It explained why Dr. Atlas always seemed to be just a few feet away, no matter where they were. Tango hoped that that was a good sign.
A voice came from behind him. “Very nice.”
Tango jumped and spun around to come face to face with Dr. Atlas. “Oh! Doctor, didn’t see ya there. I finished fixing this thing for you,” He gestured at the contraption behind him.
Atlas took his eyes off Tango and studied his repair job instead, as Tango continued to talk.
“It wasn’t too hard, a few things were in the wrong places but that’s pretty much it.” He turned around to look back at his work.
“I see,” Atlas responded, somewhat distracted. His eyes had locked back onto the swirling crown of blaze rods floating above Tango’s head, and he reached into his lab coat.
“So, do you have anything else for me to do?” Tango fiddled with a spare comparator as he spoke.
Atlas stepped closer. “I think that you’ll be very beneficial to us here at Hels Tek.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Dr. Atlas.” Tango spoke, still focused on his redstone.
“So am I.”
Tango felt a sharp prick on his neck, and before he could turn to see what it was from, his legs gave out from under him and his vision went black.
A numbing chill spread through Tango’s bones as his eyes slowly opened. His mind was racing but his breathing was sluggish, muscles slowed by the cold. His senses seemed dulled—whether it was because of whatever knocked him unconscious or yet another effect of the raw, sharp iciness he was surrounded by, Tango didn’t know.
He was laying on the floor, staring up at a plain, white ceiling, dotted with glowstone lamps. They cast a warm yellow over the room, providing Tango with a false sense of warmth that he wished was real. He started to sit up, then immediately noticed an unfamiliar weight on his wrists and neck. The deep jangle of chains being dragged along the floor pulled him even further out of unconsciousness.
“Good morning, Mr. Tango.”
Tango’s eyes snapped up to see Dr. Atlas writing something into a small notebook. The pair made eye contact through the wall of glass separating them, and Atlas smiled. Tango tried to push himself up onto his feet, his arms trembling, but nearly fell onto his face instead. (He glanced up to see Atlas watching him fail to adjust to his lack of energy, then write something down.) His arms, his legs, his brain all seemed to betray him as he struggled to stand, but finally, he forced himself to do so. The heavy iron chains that connected to his collar and shackles and kept him tethered to the ground seemed to drag him back down, but he stood and looked Atlas in the eye.
“Hey, Atlas.” He called out. “What is this?” His voice was filled with confusion and frustration, but overall much less fear than there should’ve been.
“Your new assignment,” Atlas responded.
“Uh, no, thanks. What even-“ He looked around for a second, cutting himself off as he stared into the solid white room beyond the glass box he was trapped in. “What is this?” He repeated.
Atlas snapped his notebook shut and tucked it into one of the pockets of his lab coat. “Like I said, your new assignment, where you will be staying. Indefinitely.”
Tango frowned. “Yeah, no, let me out.” He looked down at the new jumpsuit he was wearing. “And where are my clothes?”
Atlas didn’t respond.
“Hey!” Tango raised his voice. “Let me out of-“ He stepped forward and the chain attached to his collar pulled taut, momentarily choking him. Hurriedly, he stepped back, coughing.
Dr. Atlas stepped up to the glass door, then punched a code into the keypad mounted on the wall next to it. The door opened with a click and Atlas stepped inside, followed by two other Hels Tek employees, who moved to stand on either side of him. Tango’s eyes flitted around the room, trying to keep track of all three at once. Then, Atlas nodded, and the other scientists stepped up, each grabbing one of Tango’s arms. Tango’s muscles tensed up—at least as much as they could—and he pulled against the scientists restraining him. Still, they held him fast, not much effort required.
Atlas stepped forward, reached up, grabbed one of Tango’s blaze rods, and yanked. The blaze rod sizzled, leaving a trail of sparks behind it, but it came loose from Tango’s crown and smoldered in Atlas’s hand. He brought it up to eye level to inspect it—golden, shining, smoking, and most of all, valuable.
Tango gasped in pain, but quickly regained his composure and continued to pull away from the scientists, while glaring at Atlas.
“Hey! Stop it! You can’t do that!”
Dr. Atlas tucked Tango’s blaze rod into his lab coat, then looked back at Tango. “Yes I can.”
The two scientists pushed Tango down, forcing him to his knees. He pulled against their grip with all his strength, but couldn’t do anything to stop them as they pushed him closer and closer to the ground, until he was on his stomach, his face pressed up against the concrete. One of them pinned his wrists behind his back, and the other held his neck against the ground until they had him under their control.
“Guys, hey-!” Tango protested.
Atlas leaned down, fixated on Tango’s swirling crown, then plucked each of the blaze rods out of orbit, one by one. Tango felt each and every one of them leave their place, their absence feeling like a pit in his heart.
“C’mon, not another one,” Tango pleaded. Dr. Atlas ignored him.
In the absence of any blaze rods, sparks fizzled up around Tango’s head, but no new ones formed.
Atlas frowned. “Hm. That’s a shame.”
“Atlas, stop this! Just- c’mon-“
One of the scientists forced his head back to the ground, slamming it into the concrete. Tango gasped at the impact. Then, from the sparks, a new blaze rod flared into existence. Atlas smiled.
“You know,” He looked Tango in the eye. “You and I are going to do great things together, Mr. Tango.”
“Atlas! St-“ he cut himself off with a wince as Atlas stole his final remaining blaze rod.
Still smiling, Atlas stood and walked out of the room, the other two following him out. The door slammed shut behind them, pushing another wave of ice cold air over Tango.
Slowly, he sat up, aching and fatigued, shivering. Then he tucked himself into a ball, too tired to fight back. He closed his eyes.
All of Tango’s days seemed to blend together, forming one painful, seemingly endless existence. Except it wasn’t really endless—Tango had died almost too many times to count over that long expanse of time. Almost.
Minuscule thorns like hypodermic needles jabbed into his skin from all angles. They seemed to suck the blood out of him, slowly and steadily, until there was none left. The branches wrapped around his arms and legs bore scarlet red berries, and the droplets of Tango’s blood scattered over the leaves and floor looked just like minuscule versions of them. They brought a constant, throbbing, piercing pain that Tango could never take his mind off of, at least until-
But that was too slow.
Deep red mist seemed to linger in the air, clouding Tango’s vision and filling his lungs. It burned his eyes and throat, adding to the pain swirling around his body. Each time a bottle dropped, he felt as if a portion of his soul was ripped away, claimed by the burgundy flecks that seemed to glimmer in and out of existence. He lost more and more of himself, never given a chance to recover, until-
<Tango was killed by magic>
But that was too effective.
Steam swirled up from the ground, enveloping him in a cloud of warmth. The red-hot, glowing coals were almost comfortable under his feet. The heat was scalding, yet familiar, and almost sympathetic. Tango was hardly surprised when the first sharp sting across his face came. The Doctors needed to have their fun, after all. So, he stood in the welcoming embrace of liquid hellfire and heard his bones snap, and break, and shatter, until-
<Tango walked into danger zone due to AtlasSyn>
But (as much as it was fun) that was too inefficient.
A cold, slippery nothing filled Tango’s throat, invading his lungs and emptying his mind of anything except panic. It was too thin, too slick to get a hold onto as it dissolved into his core, turning his embers into nothing but smoke. It filled him with terror like nothing else ever could. He was surrounded by it, and helpless to do anything to stop it from ripping away his life, his soul, his fire, until-
<Tango drowned>
But that harmed the product.
A prickling, unnatural chill crept over Tango’s bones. It seeped into his skin like salt dissolving into water—slow and gradual, yet present all the time. It seemed to touch each and every one of his nerves, somehow lighting them on fire and enveloping them in numbness at the same time. It sent a shiver down his spine so curious it almost could’ve tickled if it didn’t hurt so much. It ate away at him, bit by bit, until-
<Tango withered away>
It was perfect—slow, constant, enveloping, (painful,) impeccable. And so the experiments began.
Tango sat, unmoving, just like they told him to. He held still, just like they said, as rows of thorns were stabbed into his arms. Both of his arms were completely numb, yet seemed to be flickering with pinpricks of pain. Dr. Atlas himself was there to pluck the blaze rods from his crown, tucking each one into his coat as if he meant to protect them with his life. It was a constant cycle: Dr. Atlas would take a blaze rod from him, another thorn would be stabbed into his arm, and another blaze rod would appear, ready to be stolen once more.
There had once been a bouquet of wither roses in front of him. They were enchanting, almost would’ve been beautiful, if he hadn’t known what it was like to feel their wrath. Now, there was a pile of deep purple, almost black rose buds lying discarded on a table off to the side (they only needed the thorns).
As a scientist moved to place another bud in the pile, a clump of black, dusty pollen tumbled out of the flower and onto Tango’s arm. Almost immediately, it melted into Tango’s skin, turning the surrounding area a bit gray.
Dr. Atlas’s eyes instantly locked onto the still slightly gray spot. He pointed to the scientist holding the rose bud. “Bring that over here.”
They complied, and Dr. Atlas stuck his finger into the center of the rose, then pulled it out. Black dust coated the tip of his gloved finger, sticking to it like glitter. He turned back to Tango, then smeared the pollen across his forearm. Just as quickly as before, it absorbed into Tango’s flesh, this time leaving faint traces of black veins underneath his skin.
A newfound sense of pain rushed through Tango’s arm, pumping through his bloodstream. The sparks above his head flared, and a blaze rod shimmered into existence, taking its place in his crown. Dr. Atlas reached up a hand, then plucked it, a faint smile on his face.
The pollen was better, they’d found. It was more potent, more harmful, more efficient. The once discarded rose buds had suddenly become a treasure trove for the scientists, and Dr. Atlas couldn’t have been more pleased. And so the testing began.
Test #1: Tears welled up in Tango’s eyes as the now familiar prickling numbness drove him further to insanity. That black dust coated his throat and lungs, making him cough. A couple tears rolled down his cheeks as he felt one of his blaze rods get ripped away from him.
Test #60: Slowly but surely, they were tearing him apart. He felt like, as each blaze rod was stolen from him, a part of his fire went along with. His soul was being taken and sold to the masses for nothing but a bit of profit.
Test #157: Tango longed for the sliding metal doors to his blank white room to open. Even when they were there to refill the respawn anchor, trapping him here. Even when they came to empty the hoppers of his blaze rods, using him for their gain. Even when they came to chop off his claws, preventing any resistance. Because it was better than nothing, right?
Test #326: For Tango, crying was a constant. He took some comfort in it—among all of the deaths, all the malfunctions, through the never-ending blanket of prickling numbness, at least he had this. It was enough.
It wasn’t too much of a change for Tango when Dr. Atlas and the others came to move him into his new home. Just one torture chamber in a blank room to another. He could barely even notice a difference (maybe he didn’t care to).
Dr. Atlas smiled at him through the glass. “Welcome to your new home, Tango Tek.”
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underwater-ninja-13 · 12 days
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(Slightly more than) Seven Sentences Sunday!
It is technically Sunday for me, so here's some sentences before I go do the sleep!
This is another snippet from my Bad Things Happen Bingo fill for the Public Humiliation square. We're in Eddie POV this time but the warnings remain. Buck is not okay. He has made some poor decisions. Warnings for subdrop, hurt buck, worried eddie, and referenced lack of aftercare
Snippet and tags are below the cut
He settles for hovering, his hands almost touching Buck, but not quite. “Buck, sweetheart. You’re okay, you're gonna be okay. Can I touch you, please?” The last sentence is the most important. Something is clearly wrong and he suspects it has something to do with the dom that left. And he doesn’t think Buck’s autonomy needs to be violated any more right now.  Eddie’s stomach drops as he sees Buck shake his head. He hates that Buck doesn’t want his help, but he has to respect Buck’s decision. Before he can pull away, hands grip his wrists in an echo of the way he held Buck’s not minutes ago. Eddie takes in Buck’s plaintive whine and pleading expression, making a decision he hopes won't ruin them.
No pressure tagging @father-salmon @spotsandsocks @bigfootsmom @giddyupbuck @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @honestlydarkprincess @wikiangela @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus @exhuastedpigeon @loserdiaz @snarkythewoecrow @weewootruck @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @spagheddiediaz @sunshinediaz @actualalligator @tizniz @lochnesswriter Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!
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kytiit0o · 1 year
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don’t mind me just playing bingo
Faint
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thekristen999 · 4 months
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Still collecting All my Bad Things Happen Bingo Card Entries :) I’m trying for a complete black out. Even if it will take me over a year...lol
Here are the entries thus far for a whumpy Sunday reading. I used the card for inspiration mainly. Some are pretty plot heavy others are just a nice nugget.
Whatever It Takes To Find You  5k   Eddie Begins AU.  Buck is a Pararescue (PJ) specialist sent to rescue the downed chopper.  (Going Into Shock, Distress Call)
The Shape Of Water 9k T.  How water has influenced Buck’s life. Backstory. (Concussion, Bloodstained Clothes)
We're In This Together Now  5k Meth lab fic. (Caught In an Explosion, Barely Conscious, Stumbling and Staggering)
Tick...Tick...Boom    4k. Call gone wrong. (Stabbing)
bro·ken   32K  Forced to take shady side jobs to pay his bills, Evan Buckley doesn’t think he’s ever seen such rock bottom. Until he meets Eddie Diaz, a man even more desperate and alone. Season 3 AU.  (Cry Into Chest, Who Did This To You?)
Follow You Into The Dark- 14K A serial arsonist terrorizes the city, plunging Buck and Eddie into a dangerous game of cat and mouse. (Held at gunpoint)
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