I could be more comfortable, yes, but a gentleman isn't supposed to assume anything. Have you never had a decent guy take you out before, Natasha?
( It's all the game right now, him playing up to his ladies' man charm from the 40s, but he does wonder if Natasha has ever had a normal date or a normal relationship. Bucky had some before the war, at least, but times have definitely changed. )
[she pauses when he asks because of course she hasn't. it's always about the mission. any actual decent guys are pushed to the side in lieu of the next job and the next time she has to leave to do something. anything. it's the nature of the beast.]
Careful, Barnes, or a think you actually care.
[she quirks her smile as a means of deflection but he's hit a spot that comes dangerously close to the truth: he's the only decent guy she's met. Banner doesn't count. Steve's not even close. just this one and she still has the scars low on her abdomen from the bullet he put in her years ago.]
( She's not looking at her phone as she types, and so this is a message most definitely not meant for the hot but tragic man she's trying to help. )
I'm just going to drink my milkshake, watch Teen Wolf, masturbate, and lament my inability to form meaningful relations with men who aren't gay or like a brother to me.
Bucky is well aware he ought to propose. He has the ring, even, and it's been burning a hole in his proverbial pocket for about two months but he just hasn't found the right time or the right way to ask and so he hasn't. He has it in his head that any proposal he makes just has to be perfect and anything less will be a tarnished memory that they'll look back on and regret a little. He doesn't want that.
He's been living with Natasha in Wakanda for the better part of a year now and it's not like that's changing any time soon but he has no idea how to just...ask. It's only a handful of words, really, but Bucky's from the forties and he feels like it's got to be a hell of a production when it probably doesn't have to be. All in all, it means he's a little jumpier than usual because he's afraid it's written on his face and Natasha is going to guess before he gets to ask.
She's dozing still when he gets up to cook breakfast and he's trying to get it done before she's really awake; maybe he can do it this morning and just get it out and over with (is that something you get over with? probably not.)
It was routine by now; Bucky was usually awake right around daybreak, easing out of bed to tend to his animals and the early morning chores, then it was breakfast in bed and slowly greeting the day, at least for Natasha. She never minded dozing in her soldier's arms for "just a little longer", while he held her close and stroked mismatched fingertips over and across her skin.
Sometimes she pouted when he slipped out of bed, but she simply curled around his pillow, buried her nose into his scent, and drifted right back off, content in the knowledge that she was safe, Bucky was close, and she had absolutely nothing whatsoever to fear. This morning wasn't any different, save for a mild stomach ache that had plagued her for a few days now. Natasha wasn't so obtuse not to know what was going on, of course, but she didn't want to build up any high hopes only to have them dashed on the rocks - again - so she'd decided to wait before 'making sure'.
A sharp clang and rustle coming from the kitchen had her blinking further awake, however, and she almost called out, but the noises settled before she could. Natasha felt her stomach give another roil right about then, and she suddenly flung back the covers and bolted for the bathroom, barely managing to keep her guts on the inside before she made it to the toilet.
Five minutes later, she rinsed her mouth and looked at her reflection in the mirror, gazing pale and wan back at her. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, figuring that little box in the medicine cabinet was pretty much a formality by now.
Bucky has always liked the red-haired dames and as much as he shouldn't be getting involved with anyone before he ships out, he wants to get involved with this dame and he doesn't know anything about her other than she has red hair and the kind of curves he wants to get his hands on in the back room of a club if she'll let him - he's a flirt, sure, but he's no cad. If the lady doesn't want it, it's not his style to try and get it anyway. He can, however, be very persuasive.
He'd spotted her at Stark's expo and slipped away from his current date (going nowhere fast) and Steve (who probably needed double the chances to get a girl) and chase her through the crowd. He finds her near a booth where they're selling cheap beer and popcorn and he pushes through the crowd to sidle up alongside her.
"You know, as swell as this demonstration is and all, there's better drinks a couple blocks away. It would be an absolute disservice to not let you know about quality gin."
She'd already made sure that Jarvis would be close by to take care of Howard after the Expo, and she'd even arranged a 'treat' for the scientist once he arrived at his hotel room. She'd also assimilated enough information to satisfy her own superiors for a good few weeks, so she opted to take a little time for herself, because being in the background of every single photo focused on Howard Stark did get a little...tiring.
But she didn't like to wander far; Howard was a rogue and a cad and sometimes an out-and-out idiot, and there was no way to know when his ass wouldn't need hauling out of the fire. Again. And it was the wishes of both her superiors and Stark's investors that their playboy genius continue to generate good press for the "American Ideal".
Mingling with the crowd was easy. Her Expo badge read "Natalie Rushman", and it had always been easy for her to assume monikers other than her own. Granted, the refreshments for this spectacle had been arranged last minute, but she'd never minded less than stellar alcohol. She was Russian, naturally. But she'd just taken a soft sip from her cup when a decidedly Brooklyn drawl hit her ear, and she became aware of a closer presence than just the crowding audience.
A pair of steel-blue eyes met hers when she turned around, crinkling over an easy, crooked smile, and for some insane reason, Natalia felt her heart rate increase just a bit. The decorations tacked to his lapel silently introduced him as "Sergeant - First Class", and the name tag above them read "BARNES". Cheap cup still resting against her lips, Natalia finally lowered it, gave her long lashes a brief flutter, and smiled right back.
"That a fact, soldier?" She absently set the cheap swill aside, propping one small hand on the edge of the kiosk's counter. "I might just have to see for myself."
Traveling with Howard Stark definitely had its perks. He owned his own plane, and was a very accomplished pilot, he was rich and had homes situated all over the world. He paid for the best wherever he went, and was generous enough with his immediate staff to share those benefits. All in all, not a bad guy to toddle about after.
On the other hand, traveling with Howard Stark could definitely be a never-ending challenge. The man was a genius, true, but with all those smarts came great leaps and gaps in customary logic and simple problem solving. Getting Howard and his entire laboratory packed and loaded for the war front had taken every ounce of Natalia's skill, levelheadedness, calm, and attention to detail.
But the plane was loaded down with as much as it could possibly hold, with even more less-requisite equipment following along by ship, to arrive a few weeks later. Natalia was thankful, at least, that Agent Peggy Carter would be flying along on this trip, as well as Colonel Phillips and the entire unit of Howling Commandos, including one Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes.
Good secretary that she was, she stood at the ramp of Stark's plane while Stark himself went through his pre-flight checks, and she checked off each name on her roster, smiling graciously and directing the soldiers to their seats towards the latter half of the large transport. Agent Carter had already appropriated the first set of seats near the cockpit, where Stark and the Colonel had already disappeared, and once all were on board and Jarvis had closed and locked the door, Natalia joined her with a silent smile, taking her seat and opening her briefcase to work on a few documents during the flight.
Natalia lowered the telegram transcript with icy hands. She was still reeling from the news, the news that Captain Rogers' team had been ambushed just outside of Azzano, Italy. Of the names of those still missing, only one stood out in perfect, horrible clarity: SGT. JAMES B BARNES. Her knees suddenly began to wobble, and she had to stumble to a chair before she collapsed completely.
She hadn't known about this. None of her encrypted transmissions had even hinted at such a bold move. But was it very surprising? HYDRA had its tentacles in so many branches of government, military, and economies all over the world, it was almost impossible to find any given one uncorrupted by that hellish organization. And she, for all of her deadly training and unspeakable skill, was but one cog in that massive, massive wheel.
The paper suddenly crumpled in her fist, her knuckles whitening with the force of her grip.
Natalia got to her feet, brows lowered over cold green eyes as she strode for Howard's office. She slipped a small, rumpled piece of paper beneath his closed door, hearing him puttering about inside. On it, she'd hastily scrawled, Be back soon. Have business to attend to. XO--Natalie.
A quarter-hour later, she was on her way south, moving as only a ghost could - swiftly and silently. She was going to do what no one else could; what the combined might of the Allied military couldn't accomplish: she was going to infiltrate one of HYDRA's largest and most invisible bastions and retrieve those who didn't, could never belong there.
Natalia rolled her eyes at the voice, huffing under her breath. Absently chewing on a thumbnail, the redhaired Enforcer shook back her disheveled curls - her normal hairstyle these days - and gave her companion a mild shrug. "He can get in line, just like the rest of them."
The dark-skinned man straddling the wooden chair scoffed his own snort. One dark eye turned her way, its eyebrow arched in saturnine amusement. A black patch hid the other, giving him a sinister, piratical air. "Somehow I don't see the good Captain having all the much patience, when it comes to this particular subject."
Annoyed, Natalia rose abruptly to her feet, booted heels loud on the wooden floorboards as she crossed to the simple stove to pour another cup of scalding tea. "He will," she stated, adding a little cream before turning around to level her mentor with a hard, gimlet gaze, "otherwise I'll kick his ass back to New York, superhero status be damned." She took a soft sip, scowling around the cup. "I didn't go to all this trouble just to have it completely backfire on me."
The subject of the two Enforcers' discussion currently lay comatose in the middle of the small room. At first glance, it appeared to be a dark-haired human male, thickly muscled, evident by the fact that he was naked, although his skin was covered with a myriad of small bruises and scratches. Nothing overly serious, however; which was a good thing because he was also incarcerated in a particular sort of cell, one made of adamantium coated with pure silver, just in case.
Their captive had been unconscious for the latter part of an entire day, and the vampire who'd wrangled him in from the wilds of snowy Siberia had spent that time tending her own wounds, for their battle had raged across the countryside for hours, finally requiring the huntress's own mentor to intercede, lest the two combatants tear each other apart, so very evenly matched were they. ...eerily so, in fact. But she'd fulfilled the first part of her mission: find and subdue the Asset formerly known as James Buchanan Barnes, one of HYDRA's deadly (and the first and only successful) Winter Soldier.
Now came the difficult part.
"How long was he living as a wolf?" Fury inquired curiously, gazing thoughtfully at the "Asset" within the bars.
Again, Natalia shrugged. "Rogers reported more than a year, but who truly knows?" She had her own opinions about this "Bucky" Barnes, not the first of which had been the absolute amazement at how fierce he'd fought, how hard he'd been to subdue, and how shocking the very strange connection she'd felt the moment their eyes had met - emerald green and Nordic blue. It'd almost made her pause. --almost.
Fury hummed under his breath. "So there's way to know if there's even a man left in there, is it." Not really a question, that."
"...no. There isn't." They'd just have to wait until he woke. "But if there isn't, then there's only one real option." And strangely, she sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that.
Pain. There's nothing but pain just now and all the smells are wrong. He remembers fighting in the snow with the flame-haired vampire and wondering when she'd go down and leave him alone. Vampires scare off game as well as humans and he wanted her gone so he could hunt, kill, eat. She was relentless, though, and he fought until he couldn't any longer. There were two vampires by the end of it and one fresh and not staggering on the battlefield like the first; he'd gone down hard.
He's waking up but his body feels wrong. His limbs are wrong. He hasn't felt this cold in longer than he can remember and he doesn't know where his fur is, why his left side feels as if it's been rent in two and held together with flash-frozen soldering. He can hear voices but his mind is so fuzzy that he cannot concentrate on where they're coming from and what's being said; he hasn't had to use his voice in longer than he can remember and he doesn't remember how to use it except to howl.
Still, when he lifts his head and sees the vampire, the one who'd fought him in the hills all day, he snarls and throws himself against the bars of his prison and recoils in hissing pain when silver touches his skin.
Not for the first time did she wonder if this had been the right idea. Granted, it'd been the only idea that had even the slightest chance of her coming out of it alive, so that had to count for something, right? This conference room looked identical to the conference rooms she'd been in for the last two weeks; bare, plain, and cold. They knew better than to put her in shackles; she was here of her own volition, and they'd learned the hard way to respect that.
She had nowhere else to go. Her cover had been blown, thanks to Yelena's betrayal, and she hadn't had enough time after getting out of the hospital to lay down a new set of false tracks. So, rather than run into a corner like a wounded animal, she'd abruptly changed pace and turned herself in. But thank God she'd had the foresight (and training) to provide contingencies even for that scenario.
Her demands had been simple. Citizenship, protection from extraction, and immunity, and she would hand-deliver all information she possessed regarding one of the greatest terrorist organizations in the entire world. And, on her advice, given coldly, the sensation of one of HYDRA's Black Widows getting 'captured' was kept off of all media, lest the target between her shoulder blades expand exponentially. She'd also requested protective custody, insisting that she be placed under the care of a specific individual. They'd bitched, but she'd held her ground.
And he was on his way now, they'd informed her about an hour ago. She stood by the barred window, arms crossed, defensive. Would he remember? Would he agree? Would he refuse? Her stomach was in knots, and not simply because of the unknown. Seeing him again...would be difficult. And it had been years, since their last meeting. He'd known her as "Iliana", then. And as "Alexia", the time before. She sighed, then involuntarily tensed a few minutes later when the door opened.
Bucky hadn't expected this assignment. He'd only run into the Widow a handful of times over the years and their rivalry ran hot - hot enough to end up in bed a few times when his marriage had been rocky. It's not surprising to him that the marriage is down to dividing property but he didn't expect to see her any time soon. He didn't expect her to ask for him to take her into personal custody.
He rakes a hand through his hair as he comes into the room and sits across from her at a no-nonsense steel table. She's at the window, looking out at freedom that's long gone, but even if she's going to be on his leash he knows she won't consent to sitting at home like a good little girl.
"Turned real south on you, I'm guessing? Surprised you demanded me. I don't normally protect foreign spies. You turn double agent, go CIA, and I don't even know you exist. I'm Marshals now, though, and the only thing you get with me is WITSEC. You sure that's what you want before we wrap all of this up?"
It was a credit both her determination and efficiency, Natalia decided, landing this particular job. Interim secretary to James B. Barnes, one of Stark Enterprise's top and most valued minds, thanks to his impeccable engineering background and creative vision. Alas that Barnes wasn't much of an administrator; he'd rather be hunched over a drafting desk scribbling designs for whatever new gadget was burning in his cranium.
But she had other reasons in fighting for this particular position, reasons other than the great benefits package, upscale location, and two-weeks paid vacation without even having to pass a ninety-day trial period. And the main of those reasons was portrayed in one of the very few photographs that sat atop her still-new boss's moderately cluttered desk.
The photo was of a little girl, between two and three years old, sporting long dark ringlets, startlingly blue eyes framed with thick black lashes, dimples in her cheeks, and a bright, true smile. James Barnes' daughter, Rebecca Grace. Named for his youngest sister, Natalia knew, only child of a single, but absolutely doting and loving, father.
The slender redhead gazed at it now, gently smoothing her thumb over the little girl's perfect, pale cheek, and felt her heart skip a bit. But it was very nearly seven-thirty, and the department would be coming alive soon, and Barnes had a habit of showing up earlier than everyone else. But his coffee and breakfast waited in their customary spot, and "Natalie, Miss Rushman" smoothly replaced the framed photo just as the elevator doors chimed open and the father of her one and only child stepped out, wrangling his overcoat and his briefcase at the same time.
She met him at his office door, automatically holding her arms for both as she nodded in greeting. "Good morning, sir." The coat she hung on the rack near the door, and the briefcase she placed gently beside his desk. "You've a nine-thirty conference call with Mr. Stark about the new design, I believe he had some questions about metal integrity versus cost effectiveness. Then there's your interview at one; a replacement for Ted who quit last week."
Appearing every inch the professional secretary she'd crafted herself to be, Natalia gave her devastatingly handsome boss - and the father of the daughter she'd never met - a warm yet professional smile, and inquired, "Anything else I might do for you, sir?"
Bucky actually likes Natalie a lot. More than a lot. More than he ought to, considering she's his direct report and he ought not be looking at her as anything other than his executive assistant. He's always been too busy to pay much attention to women and, besides, having Dot leave had been hard on him. He's just glad Rebecca was too young to remember it. All she remembers is him and he has to tell her the story of her mother someday, yes, but he doesn't have to tell it any time soon.
"No, no. Hopefully the guy for Ted is good," he says. He gets a little distracted sometimes when Natalie talks and now is one of those times. She has a perfect body and she dresses well for it - professional and poised and not one hair out of line - and her hair is deep red and has the kind of curls he wants to sink both hands into. None of these things are relevant to their jobs.
"Did you have anything else for me? Otherwise, go get your breakfast and clear out until people actually start working. I think we're in a race to see who gets here first every day."
"But Papa, I don't want to go!" Grand Duchess Nataliya Elizabeth Alexandria Romanova tried to pout, but her father simply shook his head and took off his reading glasses.
"I'm sorry, darling, but it's all been arranged." Tsar Alexander Romanova told his only daughter and heir. "I must make this tour this year, and I'm not comfortable leaving you here alone. Not this time, malyshka." He rose from his chair and came around his large desk, reaching out to ruffle red curls. "Spring's come early this year, and it's better to have it done, da?" He grinned as she ducked away from him, huffing and pretending to roll her eyes.
"And I'd feel better if you were elsewhere, somewhere safe and fun, not stuck here in the palace for the rest of the winter," Alexander added, stepping to the sidebar and pouring himself a drink. "Besides, you love Malta. The beach, the lagoon, the swimming and the diving? It's one of your favorite places to visit."
The fifteen year old princess pouted a bit, but had to concede her father's point. "...da, I know," she huffed. "But I just really wanted to spend time with you, Papa." She contrived a little whine, reaching out to give her patron a brief hug. "We never get to be together anymore."
The Tsar returned the affection unhesitatingly, holding his daughter close for a moment, before pulling back enough to gaze down at her. "Tell you what, how about I join you there after the tour, da? We can spend a few weeks getting sunburned on the beach before coming back home for the summer, hm?"
Natalia squealed, clapped her hands in agreement, and hugged her father again, tighter this time. "Da, Papa, da-da!" She squeezed her father once more, then darted out of his study to gallop down the corridor towards her quarters, excited to share the news with her constant companion.
Nikolai always awaits word from the Tsar about where he’s headed or, more recently, from his charge. The Tsarina isn’t exactly shy about making her wishes known and he knows when she comes bounding down the hall, there’s news of where they’re going or something they’re doing that has to follow with her.
He sweeps the door open as she approaches, anticipating her flinging it wide otherwise, and lets a ghost of a smile touch his lips. She’s the only thing that he ever smiles about and even those are rare in public. In private, though, he feels a little safer with those emotions.
“Did you speak with His Excellency, Lisichka? Are we seeing him off tomorrow for his tour?”
The modern world is overwhelming a lot of the time. Online dating is just plain weird most of the time. Bucky doesn't think he's got the hang of it, really, and the few women he's tried to start anything with don't seem to want to keep up with a guy who can barely send a text message regularly. He's almost to the point of giving up, really, when he sees the redhead on his app.
Sansa, 24. 8 mi away.
Close. Very pretty. Is he too old for someone her age? Well, truthfully, he's too old for everyone so that's probably a moot question. He tries to come up with a line for her and in the end, he can't come up with much of anything. He used to be good at this, once upon a time.
The morning had started out with a slow, cold drizzle, but by afternoon, the skies had cleared enough to make a ride across the moor possible. Bear Island was beautiful, but the high wooden walls of Mormont Hall were sometimes stifling. And Vanya too was restive, wanting to run. Natalia soothed the grey mare with soft words, double checking her daggers, arrows, and once more making sure her bow was securely strapped to her saddle.
The Mormont girls had pouted when Lady Maege declared the weather too rough for them to leave the keep, but Lord Jeor had given his redheaded ward a subtle wink and a small tilt of the head, allowing her to slip out of the hall without anyone noticing. Half an hour later, she and Vanya were thundering across the bridge to the mainland, heading for the broad open fields of the North. It was a freedom that Natalia relished as often as she could.
As a ward of the Mormont family she'd always been somewhat of an outsider. While Lord Jeor and Lady Maege had raised her as one of their own, the small redheaded girl had no idea of her true parentage, not that it mattered. Life was good in Mormont Hall, save for the odd itch to lose herself within the wilds every so often. Such as today. Keeping the big grey mare going, she only slowed when they reached the treeline, weaving through the trunks and the foliage with the ease of the familiar.
James and his party are hunting down below the Wall, on Kneeler land, and it's when they're in the woods that he sees the girl. She's with a horse and dressed fine like a lord's daughter and her long, red hair streams down her back in beautiful curls.
He wants her.
He's never wanted a wife and never stolen one before but he approaches this one carefully, moving quietly through the woods. He has his bow and his knives but he doesn't want to use them on her. Not on a wife. He will show them, though. He's close enough that bolting for the horse won't do good - his strides are longer than hers.
"I don't like it," Tony Stark grumbled, crossing arms over his chest, mulish. "This isn't a good idea, and both of you know it."
"He's suffering, Tony," Steve Rogers returned, also crossing his arms and adjusting his stance, firm, unyielding. "And it's not his fault. He's as much of a victim as anyone else destroyed by HYDRA. You know that."
The third participant said nothing, but instead watched the other two as they bickered back and forth. Natasha Romanova, ironically, was the one who'd suggested this, and had, once again, been completely outzoned by her comrades. Unintentionally, she was sure, as both Stark and Rogers considered themselves the "authority" of their little cadre.
But still.
Finally, after listening to the both of them argue for several minutes more without really getting anywhere, she cleared her throat and spoke up, tone brooking no nonsense. Tossing her scarlet curls, she stated, "It doesn't really matter what the two of you think." Both men abruptly turned and stared down at her, gazes nonplussed.
"This is what's going to happen, because it's the best chance any of us have to actually live through it." Tony opened his mouth, but Natasha shook her head. "No, Tony. Barnes needs this, and we're going to accommodate him. Because Steve's right."
Now Steve started to speak, but the small redhead cut him off, too. "And I can handle this, and him, so I won't need either of you sticking your noses in where they don't belong. And that's final." She didn't give either man time to splutter or object.
"Now, go tell him what's going on," this to Steve, then she said to Stark, "and go get me some protocols in place, just as a contingency." Her eyebrow went up, gaze sharpening. "And only as a contingency, Tony. Nothing else."
Bucky, for his part, forgets his own name half the time. He has a half dozen journals scattered across the room they've given him and they're full of dates and names and facts - everything he can cobble together on his own without Steve's help. He doesn't want fabricated memories. He wants his memories back.
Right now, though, it's hard to think because his hormones are clouding everything and he's wound up so tight he can't manage to sit for more than a few minutes at the time. He'd tried taking a shower, then another, and another for good measure and none of them had worked. He's too wound up to ease himself without an omega and who is going to want to be with someone as fucked in the head as he is?
He smells the scent before the person gets announced and he's ashamed to know that he's run to the door and yanked it open without even thinking about what danger could be on the other side. The "danger" is Natasha but he can't really focus on her so much as her scent.
"You probably shouldn't be here right now. I'm not stable."
The Los Angeles police department's central booking office was never not busy. And, ironically, it was a place with which she was, sadly, more than a little familiar. Natasha Romanoff, one of the most exclusive and expensive PR Agents in the celebrity world, parked her new Mercedes sedan in one of the officer spaces; she didn't really intend to be here that long, and most of the duty officers knew her, anyway.
It wasn't the best way to meet a client, bailing him out of jail in the early hours of the morning, but it wasn't the first time she'd done so. And even at four-fifteen am, she was still all business; sleek black skirt with white silk blouse and smart black jacket, impeccable makeup, and deep red curls swept into a perfectly coiffured chignon behind her head.
Greeting the duty-sergeant with her customary cool, polite flair, Natasha tapped manicured nails against the leather strap of her satchel, then was led further into the station, back to Preliminary Holding. Where sat her client, in a cell by himself due to his "status". Apparently he was being held on a "drunk and disorderly", which had evolved into "second level assault, which might, God forbid, morph into manslaughter, if the poor sod who'd been send to the hospital ill-advisedly died from his thrashing.
"James Barnes," the officer called hollowly, unlocking the cell door and gesturing for the musician to get up and get moving. "Move your ass, boy. Your lawyer's sent someone to take ya home."
Not flicking so much as an eyelash at this less-than-flatting label, Natasha merely stood silent and still, not speaking until her new client shuffled from his holding cell, and then she held out a slim hand, stating in a calm, professional tone, "Good morning, Mr. Barnes. My name is Natasha Romanoff, and I've been sent by your office to escort you home. Shall we go?"
Bucky knows he probably shouldn't have busted up Angel's Share and he sure as shit shouldn't have pummeled the nobody at the end of the bar who had been talking shit about Steve but it was Steve and no one talks shit about Steve. No one.
He's still a little drunk and he's at least half concussed when the lawyer shows up and Jesus, she's hot. She's a curvy little thing that would tuck right under his chin and she's a redhead and exactly what he likes. He grins at her.
"You're better looking than my other lawyer," he slurs, taking her hand and just holding it for a second before letting it go. "You new or something?"
The small canyon was still burning. But all of the flammable fuel was almost gone, leaving just smoking ruin in its wake. Machine parts littered the ravaged campsite, along with several human corpses, each one sporting feathered hafts and a few deep lacerations, making it nearly impossible to decipher the cause of death. Supplies had been scattered, canisters of blaze glowing a sickening green beneath a no-color tarp. Shadow Carja weapons, discarded, many broken and useless.
Nothing moved. Nothing seemed alive.
Odd tracks led away from the battle, however, rough scrapes over stone, the dirt-hued rock stained with dark red. Up into the hills, away from the eyes and ears of preying machines, and well out of sight of any humans which might stumble across this small grotto. Traps had been set, half-camouflaged by the scrub, but there was no sound behind them, as if whoever might have placed them had gone on.
But no tracks led away from the small hiding place, although the scent of blood lingered, should anyone venture close enough to notice.
Bucky is a scavenger. All of the parts for his left arm have come from the ruins of machines he's killed or found killed along the way and when he comes across the burning camp, he can't figure out what's happened at first. There's clearly been a fight with humans involved; machines don't use arrows and blaze. The machines had come in at some point, though, and he doesn't know if some had been overridden and used as weapons or if it was an ambush to a skirmish already in progress.
He does notice the blood, though, and while the tracks are faint he is a good enough tracker to follow them to their source. His Focus keeps him from stepping into traps set along the way, too, and it's a good thing - any one of them could have injured him badly and left him easy prey for the next thing that came along.
The blood ends up on the hillside where the scrub covers things and Bucky calls out in a low voice.
"I know you're hiding. I can patch you up if you come out."
Natasha shouldered her duffel as she stepped out of the Uber, gazing up at the impressive three-story brownstone. Hmm, apparently this client had roots here in Brooklyn, and opted to renovate and rehabilitate his own living space himself. Given that he was a top-tier engineer for Stark Industries, she wasn't too surprised, but the niggling curiosity of why such a corporate lion would even need someone like her had only grown since she'd received this assignment.
Nevertheless, the negotiated salary was more than worth the formal party tonight and the long weekend afterwards. So she paid the driver, let herself into the small gated yard, and lugged her bags up the steps and rang the doorbell. She was very sensibly dressed in a soft sweater, nicely-fitted jeans, and sensible flats, with her long curls pulled into a comfortable ponytail. The client had specifically requested casual clothes as the norm, so she'd left her "racier" outfits for later.
Bucky had never thought himself the type to have to hire someone to pretend to be his girlfriend but at this point in his life, he doesn't have the time to date and no one would want to date someone whose left arm is metal. It's a wonder of modern engineering, a joint project between he and Tony Stark himself, but he's sure that no woman would want to be touched by it or see it in bed.
A woman he pays for, though, would endure that as part of the contract. He hates to think of it that way, enduring, but he guesses that women who get paid for these things have negotiated all sorts of contracts in their time. The woman he's contracted to pose as his girlfriend is named Natasha and when he'd looked through the pictures while picking, she'd been the one he'd wanted most. She's petite and curvy and he imagined himself doing more than just taking her to a party which is more than he can say for the other women.
When he hears the doorbell, he comes downstairs and opens the door. He's not dressed up either and he's sporting jeans and a plain shirt, his hair tied back.
"Hi, Natasha. Come on in? I'm James. Or Bucky. Whatever you prefer."
It wasn't the storm that woke her; the ocean roiled more often than not, although her comfortable reef was mostly shielded from the worst of the waves by the larger islands protecting the archipelago. No, it was the shockwave from something big hitting the surface of the water, sending a massive boom rocketing through the normally crystalline waters, jolting her right out from under the comfortably shielded bench where she slept.
A quick examination of the wrecked vessel which she called home revealed that some sort of land-craft had crashed into her bay, scattering heavy metal and other debris throughout the reef. And, she was late to notice, humans, too.
But her sisters were already en route; any chance to obtain new stock was always a flurry, a welcome frenzy to claim the best and relatively strongest. A harsh world, theirs. Survival was never easy. Therefore, prime specimens were always prized. But Talia had yet to obtain any of her own, thus she hung back as the wreckage was swiftly plundered of any survivors and dragged away into the depths, but a sinking form caught the corner of her eye, and she quickly turned to investigate it.
Another human, unconscious and sinking fast, wrapped in similar garb as the others, a particular metal necklace wafting from around his neck. She caught him before he could sink further, and, with a flick of her powerful tail, propelled them both to the surface, breaking the water to find the remnants of the wreckage still burning. And the storm still raging.
So she made a quick decision; clasping the human in both of her arms, she swiftly covered his mouth with hers, kissing him thoroughly and feeling the magic inherent to her kind sing between their joined lips, then once more she sank with him beneath the waves. Bearing her charge back to her shelter, Talia tucked him safe into her small bower, his unconscious form floating in the still waters. But he was breathing; her kiss had granted him that magic, for a few hours, at least.
Hopefully until the storm moved on.
Indeed, several hours later, he was the sole survivor of the wrecked military transport, lying still comatose but alive on a pristine beach of white sand and wide-leaf palms, a small pair of footprints still etched into the sand beside his prone form.
Training to be a pilot and going to the Pacific hadn't really been Bucky's choice in deployment. He'd wanted to go to Europe with the 107th, like his father had in the last war, and Steve was in Europe. The Army doesn't really care where you go, though, and so he'd ended up deploying to the South Pacific to fight in jungles over tiny islands with the Japanese.
It'd been good until the typhoon had taken them down outside Guadalcanal and they'd gone into a spin. He'd tried his best to pull them out of it but it wasn't successful; nothing left but to hang onto your ass and pray your best.
He doesn't remember much after hitting the water. There's a weird dream about a girl and a house under the sea and when he comes to, he's on a stretch of sugary sand and there's the sun bright overhead. He's still got about half his uniform on, at least, but he doesn't have anything else. He waits a moment before opening his eyes and when he does, he sees a completely naked woman at the edge of the water.
"Hey, whoa, who are you? You gotta...you need my shirt," Bucky says, struggling to get it off and offer it to her.
Bucky has twenty patients to monitor at the moment but the only one that truly interests him on a personal level is in 104. Stephanie Rogers is a young, slim girl that's only a couple years younger than he is but they couldn't be more different. She's fighting off TB and asthma and a host of other things and here he is walking around with health to spare.
He keeps her to last on his rounds so he can spend a little extra time with her and he knocks lightly on her door before coming in.
"Came to check your lungs, Miss Rogers," he says. "You wanna sit up for me?"
"My lungs are where they've always been, Doctor," Steph quips with her usual dark humor, pushing herself up to seated with difficulty but waving him off when he tries to help. She's fine. She's sick, not dead. And absolutely bored out of her mind. There's a battered paperback on the bedside table and the day's newspaper, and she's already doodled on the margins of every page.
She watches his face as he works. She likes watching him. He's probably the youngest of the many doctors she's gone to see over the years, and rich as fuck — she can tell from his hands, those are the hands of someone who's never known true labor — but he's kinder than most and easier to talk to.
"What color are your eyes, really?" Not that she would know what blue actually looks like, colorblind as she is.
Steph nearly had a panic attack when men in uniform had shown up on her doorstep. She remembered her mother's stories about getting a letter and later on a folded up flag for her father's death, though when one of them called out, "Miss Rogers?" from behind the door, she was reminded that she wasn't Bucky's next of kin so she would probably hear about whatever happened to him from Becca or their parents.
The men were Army. The older, higher ranking one even knew her father. "Joe's kid, huh," he remarked, before giving her five minutes to pack. Then it was a long trip to God knew where in the company of soldiers, most of which were delighted to have a woman along, even if it was only of Steph's caliber. The flirting and the joking stopped as soon as her father's friend got wind of it, however. "Trust me, boys, you best leave her alone, or you'll have to answer to the Captain," he threatened, and pretty unconvincingly that the lads complied.
Many, many hours later, they drive into a military base somewhere in Europe, where they deposit her in what she supposed was a room for talking strategy. By then she'd grown tired of the secrecy and had, in fact, punched one of the soldiers, which had led to her being sat down by an English lady in military uniform. Odd.
"You have medical experience?" the woman asks, to Steph's confusion.
"I'm a nurse, Ma'am," she answers. Is that what this is about? Her failed application to the Army Nurse Corps?
Their conversation is interrupted by the door opening and a group of men walking in. More soldiers but in different uniforms... wait, is that the Stark guy? From the Expo?
"Captain," the woman greets from behind Steph, and Steph turns to rise, because while she isn't military she knows that when an officer—
She freezes.
She's read the news in the papers, seen the posters. Captain America and his Howling Commandos, the Allies' best and bravest. But their real identities have remained a secret to the public, which is why it takes Steph a second to put it together. That, and he looks different now. Taller, broader. But she would know those eyes from anywhere.
"Bucky?" She steps toward him, then stops. "What the hell," she says, laughing, still quite unable to believe it. "You're Captain America?"
Bucky tugs off his helmet and blinks at her, surprised that Steph of all people is here. Where did they find her? Did they really go to Brooklyn and find her to bring her here just for him? Is it even safe for her to be here? He has a million questions but right now he's just paralyzed looking at her.
"Steph? Why are you here? It's too dangerous to be here," he says immediately. "And yeah, I'm Captain America. They've been keeping me a secret so that my family's safe. And, well, you."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
TFLN continuation; byebyebikinis
I could be more comfortable, yes, but a gentleman isn't supposed to assume anything. Have you never had a decent guy take you out before, Natasha?
( It's all the game right now, him playing up to his ladies' man charm from the 40s, but he does wonder if Natasha has ever had a normal date or a normal relationship. Bucky had some before the war, at least, but times have definitely changed. )
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Careful, Barnes, or a think you actually care.
[she quirks her smile as a means of deflection but he's hit a spot that comes dangerously close to the truth: he's the only decent guy she's met. Banner doesn't count. Steve's not even close. just this one and she still has the scars low on her abdomen from the bullet he put in her years ago.]
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I'm just going to drink my milkshake, watch Teen Wolf, masturbate, and lament my inability to form meaningful relations with men who aren't gay or like a brother to me.
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You...want some help with any of that?
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wickedwithbatons; diamonds are forever
He's been living with Natasha in Wakanda for the better part of a year now and it's not like that's changing any time soon but he has no idea how to just...ask. It's only a handful of words, really, but Bucky's from the forties and he feels like it's got to be a hell of a production when it probably doesn't have to be. All in all, it means he's a little jumpier than usual because he's afraid it's written on his face and Natasha is going to guess before he gets to ask.
She's dozing still when he gets up to cook breakfast and he's trying to get it done before she's really awake; maybe he can do it this morning and just get it out and over with (is that something you get over with? probably not.)
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Sometimes she pouted when he slipped out of bed, but she simply curled around his pillow, buried her nose into his scent, and drifted right back off, content in the knowledge that she was safe, Bucky was close, and she had absolutely nothing whatsoever to fear. This morning wasn't any different, save for a mild stomach ache that had plagued her for a few days now. Natasha wasn't so obtuse not to know what was going on, of course, but she didn't want to build up any high hopes only to have them dashed on the rocks - again - so she'd decided to wait before 'making sure'.
A sharp clang and rustle coming from the kitchen had her blinking further awake, however, and she almost called out, but the noises settled before she could. Natasha felt her stomach give another roil right about then, and she suddenly flung back the covers and bolted for the bathroom, barely managing to keep her guts on the inside before she made it to the toilet.
Five minutes later, she rinsed her mouth and looked at her reflection in the mirror, gazing pale and wan back at her. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, figuring that little box in the medicine cabinet was pretty much a formality by now.
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forties AU
He'd spotted her at Stark's expo and slipped away from his current date (going nowhere fast) and Steve (who probably needed double the chances to get a girl) and chase her through the crowd. He finds her near a booth where they're selling cheap beer and popcorn and he pushes through the crowd to sidle up alongside her.
"You know, as swell as this demonstration is and all, there's better drinks a couple blocks away. It would be an absolute disservice to not let you know about quality gin."
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But she didn't like to wander far; Howard was a rogue and a cad and sometimes an out-and-out idiot, and there was no way to know when his ass wouldn't need hauling out of the fire. Again. And it was the wishes of both her superiors and Stark's investors that their playboy genius continue to generate good press for the "American Ideal".
Mingling with the crowd was easy. Her Expo badge read "Natalie Rushman", and it had always been easy for her to assume monikers other than her own. Granted, the refreshments for this spectacle had been arranged last minute, but she'd never minded less than stellar alcohol. She was Russian, naturally. But she'd just taken a soft sip from her cup when a decidedly Brooklyn drawl hit her ear, and she became aware of a closer presence than just the crowding audience.
A pair of steel-blue eyes met hers when she turned around, crinkling over an easy, crooked smile, and for some insane reason, Natalia felt her heart rate increase just a bit. The decorations tacked to his lapel silently introduced him as "Sergeant - First Class", and the name tag above them read "BARNES". Cheap cup still resting against her lips, Natalia finally lowered it, gave her long lashes a brief flutter, and smiled right back.
"That a fact, soldier?" She absently set the cheap swill aside, propping one small hand on the edge of the kiosk's counter. "I might just have to see for myself."
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the actual end of the line
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II - Germany
On the other hand, traveling with Howard Stark could definitely be a never-ending challenge. The man was a genius, true, but with all those smarts came great leaps and gaps in customary logic and simple problem solving. Getting Howard and his entire laboratory packed and loaded for the war front had taken every ounce of Natalia's skill, levelheadedness, calm, and attention to detail.
But the plane was loaded down with as much as it could possibly hold, with even more less-requisite equipment following along by ship, to arrive a few weeks later. Natalia was thankful, at least, that Agent Peggy Carter would be flying along on this trip, as well as Colonel Phillips and the entire unit of Howling Commandos, including one Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Barnes.
Good secretary that she was, she stood at the ramp of Stark's plane while Stark himself went through his pre-flight checks, and she checked off each name on her roster, smiling graciously and directing the soldiers to their seats towards the latter half of the large transport. Agent Carter had already appropriated the first set of seats near the cockpit, where Stark and the Colonel had already disappeared, and once all were on board and Jarvis had closed and locked the door, Natalia joined her with a silent smile, taking her seat and opening her briefcase to work on a few documents during the flight.
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She hadn't known about this. None of her encrypted transmissions had even hinted at such a bold move. But was it very surprising? HYDRA had its tentacles in so many branches of government, military, and economies all over the world, it was almost impossible to find any given one uncorrupted by that hellish organization. And she, for all of her deadly training and unspeakable skill, was but one cog in that massive, massive wheel.
The paper suddenly crumpled in her fist, her knuckles whitening with the force of her grip.
Natalia got to her feet, brows lowered over cold green eyes as she strode for Howard's office. She slipped a small, rumpled piece of paper beneath his closed door, hearing him puttering about inside. On it, she'd hastily scrawled, Be back soon. Have business to attend to. XO--Natalie.
A quarter-hour later, she was on her way south, moving as only a ghost could - swiftly and silently. She was going to do what no one else could; what the combined might of the Allied military couldn't accomplish: she was going to infiltrate one of HYDRA's largest and most invisible bastions and retrieve those who didn't, could never belong there.
And she was going to do it alone.
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i said what i said
👉🏻👌🏻💦💦💦 🍆🍑🥵🥵🥵
oh my god he's a boomer he doesnt understand
You know my book was in Russian, right?
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pretend this is.....idk when, but after hydra bullshit
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that werewolf/vampire thing...finally.
Natalia rolled her eyes at the voice, huffing under her breath. Absently chewing on a thumbnail, the redhaired Enforcer shook back her disheveled curls - her normal hairstyle these days - and gave her companion a mild shrug. "He can get in line, just like the rest of them."
The dark-skinned man straddling the wooden chair scoffed his own snort. One dark eye turned her way, its eyebrow arched in saturnine amusement. A black patch hid the other, giving him a sinister, piratical air. "Somehow I don't see the good Captain having all the much patience, when it comes to this particular subject."
Annoyed, Natalia rose abruptly to her feet, booted heels loud on the wooden floorboards as she crossed to the simple stove to pour another cup of scalding tea. "He will," she stated, adding a little cream before turning around to level her mentor with a hard, gimlet gaze, "otherwise I'll kick his ass back to New York, superhero status be damned." She took a soft sip, scowling around the cup. "I didn't go to all this trouble just to have it completely backfire on me."
The subject of the two Enforcers' discussion currently lay comatose in the middle of the small room. At first glance, it appeared to be a dark-haired human male, thickly muscled, evident by the fact that he was naked, although his skin was covered with a myriad of small bruises and scratches. Nothing overly serious, however; which was a good thing because he was also incarcerated in a particular sort of cell, one made of adamantium coated with pure silver, just in case.
Their captive had been unconscious for the latter part of an entire day, and the vampire who'd wrangled him in from the wilds of snowy Siberia had spent that time tending her own wounds, for their battle had raged across the countryside for hours, finally requiring the huntress's own mentor to intercede, lest the two combatants tear each other apart, so very evenly matched were they. ...eerily so, in fact. But she'd fulfilled the first part of her mission: find and subdue the Asset formerly known as James Buchanan Barnes, one of HYDRA's deadly (and the first and only successful) Winter Soldier.
Now came the difficult part.
"How long was he living as a wolf?" Fury inquired curiously, gazing thoughtfully at the "Asset" within the bars.
Again, Natalia shrugged. "Rogers reported more than a year, but who truly knows?" She had her own opinions about this "Bucky" Barnes, not the first of which had been the absolute amazement at how fierce he'd fought, how hard he'd been to subdue, and how shocking the very strange connection she'd felt the moment their eyes had met - emerald green and Nordic blue. It'd almost made her pause. --almost.
Fury hummed under his breath. "So there's way to know if there's even a man left in there, is it." Not really a question, that."
"...no. There isn't." They'd just have to wait until he woke. "But if there isn't, then there's only one real option." And strangely, she sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that.
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He's waking up but his body feels wrong. His limbs are wrong. He hasn't felt this cold in longer than he can remember and he doesn't know where his fur is, why his left side feels as if it's been rent in two and held together with flash-frozen soldering. He can hear voices but his mind is so fuzzy that he cannot concentrate on where they're coming from and what's being said; he hasn't had to use his voice in longer than he can remember and he doesn't remember how to use it except to howl.
Still, when he lifts his head and sees the vampire, the one who'd fought him in the hills all day, he snarls and throws himself against the bars of his prison and recoils in hissing pain when silver touches his skin.
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A little while later... /Spongebob
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Cops AU - retconned
She had nowhere else to go. Her cover had been blown, thanks to Yelena's betrayal, and she hadn't had enough time after getting out of the hospital to lay down a new set of false tracks. So, rather than run into a corner like a wounded animal, she'd abruptly changed pace and turned herself in. But thank God she'd had the foresight (and training) to provide contingencies even for that scenario.
Her demands had been simple. Citizenship, protection from extraction, and immunity, and she would hand-deliver all information she possessed regarding one of the greatest terrorist organizations in the entire world. And, on her advice, given coldly, the sensation of one of HYDRA's Black Widows getting 'captured' was kept off of all media, lest the target between her shoulder blades expand exponentially. She'd also requested protective custody, insisting that she be placed under the care of a specific individual. They'd bitched, but she'd held her ground.
And he was on his way now, they'd informed her about an hour ago. She stood by the barred window, arms crossed, defensive. Would he remember? Would he agree? Would he refuse? Her stomach was in knots, and not simply because of the unknown. Seeing him again...would be difficult. And it had been years, since their last meeting. He'd known her as "Iliana", then. And as "Alexia", the time before. She sighed, then involuntarily tensed a few minutes later when the door opened.
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He rakes a hand through his hair as he comes into the room and sits across from her at a no-nonsense steel table. She's at the window, looking out at freedom that's long gone, but even if she's going to be on his leash he knows she won't consent to sitting at home like a good little girl.
"Turned real south on you, I'm guessing? Surprised you demanded me. I don't normally protect foreign spies. You turn double agent, go CIA, and I don't even know you exist. I'm Marshals now, though, and the only thing you get with me is WITSEC. You sure that's what you want before we wrap all of this up?"
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Dad!Bucky Au
But she had other reasons in fighting for this particular position, reasons other than the great benefits package, upscale location, and two-weeks paid vacation without even having to pass a ninety-day trial period. And the main of those reasons was portrayed in one of the very few photographs that sat atop her still-new boss's moderately cluttered desk.
The photo was of a little girl, between two and three years old, sporting long dark ringlets, startlingly blue eyes framed with thick black lashes, dimples in her cheeks, and a bright, true smile. James Barnes' daughter, Rebecca Grace. Named for his youngest sister, Natalia knew, only child of a single, but absolutely doting and loving, father.
The slender redhead gazed at it now, gently smoothing her thumb over the little girl's perfect, pale cheek, and felt her heart skip a bit. But it was very nearly seven-thirty, and the department would be coming alive soon, and Barnes had a habit of showing up earlier than everyone else. But his coffee and breakfast waited in their customary spot, and "Natalie, Miss Rushman" smoothly replaced the framed photo just as the elevator doors chimed open and the father of her one and only child stepped out, wrangling his overcoat and his briefcase at the same time.
She met him at his office door, automatically holding her arms for both as she nodded in greeting. "Good morning, sir." The coat she hung on the rack near the door, and the briefcase she placed gently beside his desk. "You've a nine-thirty conference call with Mr. Stark about the new design, I believe he had some questions about metal integrity versus cost effectiveness. Then there's your interview at one; a replacement for Ted who quit last week."
Appearing every inch the professional secretary she'd crafted herself to be, Natalia gave her devastatingly handsome boss - and the father of the daughter she'd never met - a warm yet professional smile, and inquired, "Anything else I might do for you, sir?"
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"No, no. Hopefully the guy for Ted is good," he says. He gets a little distracted sometimes when Natalie talks and now is one of those times. She has a perfect body and she dresses well for it - professional and poised and not one hair out of line - and her hair is deep red and has the kind of curls he wants to sink both hands into. None of these things are relevant to their jobs.
"Did you have anything else for me? Otherwise, go get your breakfast and clear out until people actually start working. I think we're in a race to see who gets here first every day."
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Tsarina AU
"But Papa, I don't want to go!" Grand Duchess Nataliya Elizabeth Alexandria Romanova tried to pout, but her father simply shook his head and took off his reading glasses.
"I'm sorry, darling, but it's all been arranged." Tsar Alexander Romanova told his only daughter and heir. "I must make this tour this year, and I'm not comfortable leaving you here alone. Not this time, malyshka." He rose from his chair and came around his large desk, reaching out to ruffle red curls. "Spring's come early this year, and it's better to have it done, da?" He grinned as she ducked away from him, huffing and pretending to roll her eyes.
"And I'd feel better if you were elsewhere, somewhere safe and fun, not stuck here in the palace for the rest of the winter," Alexander added, stepping to the sidebar and pouring himself a drink. "Besides, you love Malta. The beach, the lagoon, the swimming and the diving? It's one of your favorite places to visit."
The fifteen year old princess pouted a bit, but had to concede her father's point. "...da, I know," she huffed. "But I just really wanted to spend time with you, Papa." She contrived a little whine, reaching out to give her patron a brief hug. "We never get to be together anymore."
The Tsar returned the affection unhesitatingly, holding his daughter close for a moment, before pulling back enough to gaze down at her. "Tell you what, how about I join you there after the tour, da? We can spend a few weeks getting sunburned on the beach before coming back home for the summer, hm?"
Natalia squealed, clapped her hands in agreement, and hugged her father again, tighter this time. "Da, Papa, da-da!" She squeezed her father once more, then darted out of his study to gallop down the corridor towards her quarters, excited to share the news with her constant companion.
no subject
Nikolai always awaits word from the Tsar about where he’s headed or, more recently, from his charge. The Tsarina isn’t exactly shy about making her wishes known and he knows when she comes bounding down the hall, there’s news of where they’re going or something they’re doing that has to follow with her.
He sweeps the door open as she approaches, anticipating her flinging it wide otherwise, and lets a ghost of a smile touch his lips. She’s the only thing that he ever smiles about and even those are rare in public. In private, though, he feels a little safer with those emotions.
“Did you speak with His Excellency, Lisichka? Are we seeing him off tomorrow for his tour?”
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for thenorthernqueen
Sansa, 24. 8 mi away.
Close. Very pretty. Is he too old for someone her age? Well, truthfully, he's too old for everyone so that's probably a moot question. He tries to come up with a line for her and in the end, he can't come up with much of anything. He used to be good at this, once upon a time.
I like your name. Never seen it before.
Her name, of all things? Really?
Wildling AU
The Mormont girls had pouted when Lady Maege declared the weather too rough for them to leave the keep, but Lord Jeor had given his redheaded ward a subtle wink and a small tilt of the head, allowing her to slip out of the hall without anyone noticing. Half an hour later, she and Vanya were thundering across the bridge to the mainland, heading for the broad open fields of the North. It was a freedom that Natalia relished as often as she could.
As a ward of the Mormont family she'd always been somewhat of an outsider. While Lord Jeor and Lady Maege had raised her as one of their own, the small redheaded girl had no idea of her true parentage, not that it mattered. Life was good in Mormont Hall, save for the odd itch to lose herself within the wilds every so often. Such as today. Keeping the big grey mare going, she only slowed when they reached the treeline, weaving through the trunks and the foliage with the ease of the familiar.
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He wants her.
He's never wanted a wife and never stolen one before but he approaches this one carefully, moving quietly through the woods. He has his bow and his knives but he doesn't want to use them on her. Not on a wife. He will show them, though. He's close enough that bolting for the horse won't do good - his strides are longer than hers.
"All alone, are you? In these woods?"
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Post-Hydra ABO Au
"He's suffering, Tony," Steve Rogers returned, also crossing his arms and adjusting his stance, firm, unyielding. "And it's not his fault. He's as much of a victim as anyone else destroyed by HYDRA. You know that."
The third participant said nothing, but instead watched the other two as they bickered back and forth. Natasha Romanova, ironically, was the one who'd suggested this, and had, once again, been completely outzoned by her comrades. Unintentionally, she was sure, as both Stark and Rogers considered themselves the "authority" of their little cadre.
But still.
Finally, after listening to the both of them argue for several minutes more without really getting anywhere, she cleared her throat and spoke up, tone brooking no nonsense. Tossing her scarlet curls, she stated, "It doesn't really matter what the two of you think." Both men abruptly turned and stared down at her, gazes nonplussed.
"This is what's going to happen, because it's the best chance any of us have to actually live through it." Tony opened his mouth, but Natasha shook her head. "No, Tony. Barnes needs this, and we're going to accommodate him. Because Steve's right."
Now Steve started to speak, but the small redhead cut him off, too. "And I can handle this, and him, so I won't need either of you sticking your noses in where they don't belong. And that's final." She didn't give either man time to splutter or object.
"Now, go tell him what's going on," this to Steve, then she said to Stark, "and go get me some protocols in place, just as a contingency." Her eyebrow went up, gaze sharpening. "And only as a contingency, Tony. Nothing else."
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Right now, though, it's hard to think because his hormones are clouding everything and he's wound up so tight he can't manage to sit for more than a few minutes at the time. He'd tried taking a shower, then another, and another for good measure and none of them had worked. He's too wound up to ease himself without an omega and who is going to want to be with someone as fucked in the head as he is?
He smells the scent before the person gets announced and he's ashamed to know that he's run to the door and yanked it open without even thinking about what danger could be on the other side. The "danger" is Natasha but he can't really focus on her so much as her scent.
"You probably shouldn't be here right now. I'm not stable."
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Rock Star Bucky
It wasn't the best way to meet a client, bailing him out of jail in the early hours of the morning, but it wasn't the first time she'd done so. And even at four-fifteen am, she was still all business; sleek black skirt with white silk blouse and smart black jacket, impeccable makeup, and deep red curls swept into a perfectly coiffured chignon behind her head.
Greeting the duty-sergeant with her customary cool, polite flair, Natasha tapped manicured nails against the leather strap of her satchel, then was led further into the station, back to Preliminary Holding. Where sat her client, in a cell by himself due to his "status". Apparently he was being held on a "drunk and disorderly", which had evolved into "second level assault, which might, God forbid, morph into manslaughter, if the poor sod who'd been send to the hospital ill-advisedly died from his thrashing.
"James Barnes," the officer called hollowly, unlocking the cell door and gesturing for the musician to get up and get moving. "Move your ass, boy. Your lawyer's sent someone to take ya home."
Not flicking so much as an eyelash at this less-than-flatting label, Natasha merely stood silent and still, not speaking until her new client shuffled from his holding cell, and then she held out a slim hand, stating in a calm, professional tone, "Good morning, Mr. Barnes. My name is Natasha Romanoff, and I've been sent by your office to escort you home. Shall we go?"
no subject
He's still a little drunk and he's at least half concussed when the lawyer shows up and Jesus, she's hot. She's a curvy little thing that would tuck right under his chin and she's a redhead and exactly what he likes. He grins at her.
"You're better looking than my other lawyer," he slurs, taking her hand and just holding it for a second before letting it go. "You new or something?"
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Horizon 0 AU
Nothing moved. Nothing seemed alive.
Odd tracks led away from the battle, however, rough scrapes over stone, the dirt-hued rock stained with dark red. Up into the hills, away from the eyes and ears of preying machines, and well out of sight of any humans which might stumble across this small grotto. Traps had been set, half-camouflaged by the scrub, but there was no sound behind them, as if whoever might have placed them had gone on.
But no tracks led away from the small hiding place, although the scent of blood lingered, should anyone venture close enough to notice.
no subject
He does notice the blood, though, and while the tracks are faint he is a good enough tracker to follow them to their source. His Focus keeps him from stepping into traps set along the way, too, and it's a good thing - any one of them could have injured him badly and left him easy prey for the next thing that came along.
The blood ends up on the hillside where the scrub covers things and Bucky calls out in a low voice.
"I know you're hiding. I can patch you up if you come out."
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Girlfriend AU
Nevertheless, the negotiated salary was more than worth the formal party tonight and the long weekend afterwards. So she paid the driver, let herself into the small gated yard, and lugged her bags up the steps and rang the doorbell. She was very sensibly dressed in a soft sweater, nicely-fitted jeans, and sensible flats, with her long curls pulled into a comfortable ponytail. The client had specifically requested casual clothes as the norm, so she'd left her "racier" outfits for later.
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A woman he pays for, though, would endure that as part of the contract. He hates to think of it that way, enduring, but he guesses that women who get paid for these things have negotiated all sorts of contracts in their time. The woman he's contracted to pose as his girlfriend is named Natasha and when he'd looked through the pictures while picking, she'd been the one he'd wanted most. She's petite and curvy and he imagined himself doing more than just taking her to a party which is more than he can say for the other women.
When he hears the doorbell, he comes downstairs and opens the door. He's not dressed up either and he's sporting jeans and a plain shirt, his hair tied back.
"Hi, Natasha. Come on in? I'm James. Or Bucky. Whatever you prefer."
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Fins 'n Feet
A quick examination of the wrecked vessel which she called home revealed that some sort of land-craft had crashed into her bay, scattering heavy metal and other debris throughout the reef. And, she was late to notice, humans, too.
But her sisters were already en route; any chance to obtain new stock was always a flurry, a welcome frenzy to claim the best and relatively strongest. A harsh world, theirs. Survival was never easy. Therefore, prime specimens were always prized. But Talia had yet to obtain any of her own, thus she hung back as the wreckage was swiftly plundered of any survivors and dragged away into the depths, but a sinking form caught the corner of her eye, and she quickly turned to investigate it.
Another human, unconscious and sinking fast, wrapped in similar garb as the others, a particular metal necklace wafting from around his neck. She caught him before he could sink further, and, with a flick of her powerful tail, propelled them both to the surface, breaking the water to find the remnants of the wreckage still burning. And the storm still raging.
So she made a quick decision; clasping the human in both of her arms, she swiftly covered his mouth with hers, kissing him thoroughly and feeling the magic inherent to her kind sing between their joined lips, then once more she sank with him beneath the waves. Bearing her charge back to her shelter, Talia tucked him safe into her small bower, his unconscious form floating in the still waters. But he was breathing; her kiss had granted him that magic, for a few hours, at least.
Hopefully until the storm moved on.
Indeed, several hours later, he was the sole survivor of the wrecked military transport, lying still comatose but alive on a pristine beach of white sand and wide-leaf palms, a small pair of footprints still etched into the sand beside his prone form.
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It'd been good until the typhoon had taken them down outside Guadalcanal and they'd gone into a spin. He'd tried his best to pull them out of it but it wasn't successful; nothing left but to hang onto your ass and pray your best.
He doesn't remember much after hitting the water. There's a weird dream about a girl and a house under the sea and when he comes to, he's on a stretch of sugary sand and there's the sun bright overhead. He's still got about half his uniform on, at least, but he doesn't have anything else. He waits a moment before opening his eyes and when he does, he sees a completely naked woman at the edge of the water.
"Hey, whoa, who are you? You gotta...you need my shirt," Bucky says, struggling to get it off and offer it to her.
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doctor psl - dysmorphics
He keeps her to last on his rounds so he can spend a little extra time with her and he knocks lightly on her door before coming in.
"Came to check your lungs, Miss Rogers," he says. "You wanna sit up for me?"
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She watches his face as he works. She likes watching him. He's probably the youngest of the many doctors she's gone to see over the years, and rich as fuck — she can tell from his hands, those are the hands of someone who's never known true labor — but he's kinder than most and easier to talk to.
"What color are your eyes, really?" Not that she would know what blue actually looks like, colorblind as she is.
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that au i said, also oops this got long sorry hahaha
The men were Army. The older, higher ranking one even knew her father. "Joe's kid, huh," he remarked, before giving her five minutes to pack. Then it was a long trip to God knew where in the company of soldiers, most of which were delighted to have a woman along, even if it was only of Steph's caliber. The flirting and the joking stopped as soon as her father's friend got wind of it, however. "Trust me, boys, you best leave her alone, or you'll have to answer to the Captain," he threatened, and pretty unconvincingly that the lads complied.
Many, many hours later, they drive into a military base somewhere in Europe, where they deposit her in what she supposed was a room for talking strategy. By then she'd grown tired of the secrecy and had, in fact, punched one of the soldiers, which had led to her being sat down by an English lady in military uniform. Odd.
"You have medical experience?" the woman asks, to Steph's confusion.
"I'm a nurse, Ma'am," she answers. Is that what this is about? Her failed application to the Army Nurse Corps?
Their conversation is interrupted by the door opening and a group of men walking in. More soldiers but in different uniforms... wait, is that the Stark guy? From the Expo?
"Captain," the woman greets from behind Steph, and Steph turns to rise, because while she isn't military she knows that when an officer—
She freezes.
She's read the news in the papers, seen the posters. Captain America and his Howling Commandos, the Allies' best and bravest. But their real identities have remained a secret to the public, which is why it takes Steph a second to put it together. That, and he looks different now. Taller, broader. But she would know those eyes from anywhere.
"Bucky?" She steps toward him, then stops. "What the hell," she says, laughing, still quite unable to believe it. "You're Captain America?"
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"Steph? Why are you here? It's too dangerous to be here," he says immediately. "And yeah, I'm Captain America. They've been keeping me a secret so that my family's safe. And, well, you."
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