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And in the dead quiet of the utility closet, the frantic adrenaline in Ryland’s pulse gave way to something far heavier.
The urge to scramble backward vanished, replaced by a sudden, heavy inertia. They both lingered there, the small of Ryland's back still pressed against the hard valve, his hand braced flat against the dark metal wall right next to Tony's head.
Ryland gazed down at him, swallowing stiffly.
From Chapter 11 of Mechanics and Microbes by @cheerfullycynicalfandom on ao3!
Once again, y'all are going to LOSE IT at this chapter! It has probably my favorite TonyGrace scene we've written so far. Don't forget to send Cheerful your love for this wonderful fic!!! It's truly an honor to beta read this masterpiece 💕
This thought made me laugh a little too hard for how stupid it is, but let me tell you I was giggling the whole time I was drawing this. This one may just be for me...
I also wrote this to be Steven Grant Moon Knight, but honestly imagining it being any of the other personalities is also making me laugh.
Side note, who tf designed Moon Knight with so many bandages, He is a character that has to be drawn multiple times, I get it looks cool but it took me forever to draw him once and I got sloppy with it! I apologize to anyone who got stuck with the bandage drawing grunt work. It does look sick af tho, I'm just mad my wrist still hurts.
Request: @ruby-white-rabbit Dean and bucky cross over. Dean is on the hunt for a ghost, a monster of a man, a myth. Its bucky he's sent to kill. But will he? Can he?
The file shouldn’t exist. That’s the first thing that bothers Dean. Hunters trade intel constantly—vampire nests, werewolf packs, ghosts that won’t stay buried. But this one? This one reads like a campfire story.
A ghost.
Except the “ghost” has fingerprints. Government files stolen by a contact list the sightings across decades. Assassinations. War zones. Bodies left behind with impossible precision.
One name keeps surfacing in whispers. The Winter Soldier.
Dean flips the page again, frowning. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters to himself. “So either I’m hunting a ghost… or Jason Bourne on demon blood.”
Across the motel room, Sam rubs his eyes. “Dean,” he sighs, “this isn’t supernatural.”
Dean taps the photo. A grainy surveillance image. A man with long dark hair. Metal arm glinting. “You see the part where he doesn’t age?” Dean says.
Sam pauses. “…Okay, that part’s weird.”
Dean stands, already grabbing his jacket. “Monster’s a monster, Sammy.”
The warehouse smells like rust and ocean water. Dean moves silently between shadows, the familiar weight of the Colt in his hand. Something is wrong. Hunters know the feeling. The way your skin prickles when something ancient watches from the dark. But this doesn’t feel supernatural.
It feels…human.
A sound echoes behind him. Metal shifting. Dean spins— And suddenly the barrel of a gun is pressed against his temple. Cold. Steady.
“You’re not Hydra,” the voice says behind him. Low. Rough. Confused.
Dean slowly raises his hands. “Buddy,” he says carefully, “I got no idea what a Hydra is.”
The gun doesn’t move.
Dean glances sideways. And finally sees him. Bucky Barnes.
Taller than Dean expected. Hair falling into tired blue eyes. The metal arm gleams under the dim warehouse lights. But the thing that stops Dean cold—
The man looks exhausted. Not monstrous. Not demonic. Just… broken. A shell of a soldier. Dean would recognize that stare anywhere. “You’ve been following me,” Bucky says quietly.
Dean shrugs. “You leave a hell of a trail.”
The gun presses harder. “You here to kill me?”
Dean should say yes. It’s what hunters do. Kill the thing before it kills someone else. But Dean studies him closer. The shaking hands. The haunted eyes. The way the metal arm flexes like it’s not even fully his.
Dean has seen that look before. In soldiers. In victims. In himself.
He exhales slowly. “Well,” he mutters. “Was thinking about it.”
The silence stretches.
Bucky’s expression barely changes. “Then do it.”
Dean blinks. “…What?”
Bucky lowers the gun slightly. “Everyone else has tried.”
Dean frowns. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
Bucky stares at the ground. “Would make things easier.”
And suddenly Dean understands something terrible. This man doesn’t think he deserves to live.
Dean sighs and holsters the Colt.
Bucky instantly raises the gun again. “Don’t,” Bucky warns.
Dean points at him.“Yeah, see, that right there? That’s why I can’t kill you.”
Confusion flickers across Bucky’s face. “You hunted me across three states.”
“Yeah,” Dean says. “Thought you were a monster.” He gestures at the metal arm. “Turns out you’re just another weapon somebody else pointed.”
Bucky stares at him. Long. Searching. “Who are you?”
Dean smirks. “Guy who’s been someone else’s weapon before.” He steps a little closer. Not afraid. Not anymore. “You want a tip, Terminator?”
Bucky stiffens slightly at the nickname. Dean shrugs. “Monsters don’t hate themselves this much.”
The warehouse falls quiet again. For the first time in a long time… Bucky lowers the gun completely.
------
The rain hasn’t stopped since the warehouse.
It drums softly against the roof of the Chevrolet Impala as it eats up the empty Kansas highway.
Inside, silence stretches.
Dean Winchester drives with one hand on the wheel, the other draped over the window. Classic rock hums low through the speakers.
In the passenger seat sits the most dangerous man Dean’s probably ever let into Baby.
Bucky Barnes hasn’t moved much since they left the warehouse.
Back straight.
Hands on his knees.
Eyes constantly flicking to mirrors, road signs, tree lines.
“You planning to bolt when we stop for gas, or are we actually doing the whole safe haven thing?”
“…You trust me that much?”
Dean snorts.
“Buddy, I let a demon king crash on my couch once.”
He glances sideways.
“You’re practically a golden retriever compared to that.”
Bucky doesn’t respond.
But his shoulders loosen a fraction.
The bunker door groans open.
Fluorescent lights flicker on beneath the massive underground corridors of the Bunker. Dean strides in first like nothing’s unusual. Bucky follows slowly. Eyes scanning everything. Entrances. Angles. Potential weapons.
Dean notices. “Try not to assassinate the furniture.”
Footsteps echo from the library. And then—
Sam appears from between the shelves, holding a book. He freezes. Dean’s back. Which is normal. The six-foot, metal-armed stranger standing behind him? Not normal. Sam blinks. Once. Twice.
Dean drops his keys on the table. “Sammy, good news.”
Sam stares.
Dean gestures casually behind him. “I found the ghost.”
Sam squints at Bucky. “…Dean.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s a man.”
“Technically.”
Sam slowly closes the book. “Why is there a metal arm.”
Dean shrugs. “Long story.”
Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “You left to hunt a possible supernatural assassin.”
“Correct.”
“You were gone three days.”
“Sounds right.”
“And you came back with—” Sam gestures vaguely at Bucky. “—whatever that is.”
Dean turns. “Hey.” Bucky stiffens. Dean points between them.“Sam, this is Bucky.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly. “Just Bucky.”
Sam stares. “…Okay.”
Dean grins. “Bucky, this is my brother.”
Sam extends a cautious hand. Bucky hesitates. Then shakes it. Sam immediately winces. “Jesus—”
Dean bursts out laughing. “Super soldier handshake, Sammy.”
Sam rubs his hand. “You brought a super soldier home?”
Bucky quietly steps back. “You can still turn me in.”
Sam blinks. “Turn you in to who?”
Bucky shrugs. “Government. Avengers. Whoever.”
Dean waves a hand. “Pass.”
Sam looks between them. Then back at Dean. Then the metal arm. Then Dean again. The realization dawns. Slow. Painful. “Oh my God.”
Dean smiles.
Sam points at Bucky. “You brought home a stray.”
Dean scoffs. “He’s not a stray.”
Sam gestures wildly. “You picked up a deadly government assassin on the side of the road!”
Dean shrugs like it was a normal, regular Tuesday and they were only discussing dinner plans.“He looked sad.”
Sam stares at him.
Bucky looks… mildly confused.
Dean crosses his arms. “What?”
Sam throws his hands up. “Dean, you can’t just adopt a super soldier!”
Dean tilts his head. “Why not?”
Sam opens his mouth. Stops. Sighs deeply. “…Fine.” He turns to Bucky. “You hungry?”
Bucky blinks. “…What?”
Dean smirks. “Told you.”
Sam points toward the kitchen. “We have food. And a shower. And a library if you’re the reading type.”
Bucky stands there for a moment. Like the concept is completely foreign. Safe places usually come with chains. Or cages. Or interrogation.
Dean claps him on the shoulder. “You’re good here, man.”
For the first time in a long time… Bucky looks uncertain in a different way. Not hunted. Not threatened. Just… unsure what to do with kindness.
Sam watches him carefully.
Then leans toward Dean and mutters: “Please tell me he’s not going to murder us in our sleep.”
Dean smirks. “Nah.” He glances at Bucky. “Pretty sure he’d already have done that.”
Bucky almost smiles.
------
The library of the Bunker is quiet except for the turning of pages. Sam has a laptop open, several old intelligence documents spread across the table. Across the room, Bucky sits stiffly in a chair, watching the floor like a man waiting for a verdict.
Dean paces. Dean hates this part. Research.
Sam suddenly goes still. “…Dean.”
Dean sighs. “Please tell me you didn’t find out he explodes or something.”
Sam slowly turns the screen. “I found Hydra programming files.”
Bucky’s head snaps up.
Dean notices immediately. “Hey, hey—easy.”
Sam hesitates. “There’s… something else.”
Dean squints. “What?”
Sam swallows. “They controlled him with trigger words.”
The room goes completely still. Bucky’s breathing changes. Shallow. Tight. “Don’t,” he says quietly.
Sam immediately backs off the keyboard. “I’m not going to say them. I don’t speak German or Russian.”
Dean walks closer to Bucky slowly.
“Bucky.”
Bucky’s metal hand curls into a fist. “Sometimes… they make you say them. To prove it works.”
Dean’s voice softens. “No one here is doing that.”
Sam closes the laptop gently.
Bucky stares at the table. “…You should keep them.”
Dean frowns. “For what?”
“In case I lose control.”
Dean scoffs immediately. “You’re not a weapon here.”
Bucky doesn’t look convinced. But he doesn’t argue. And that’s a start.
--
Later that week, Dean stands proudly beside Baby in the bunker garage. Bucky studies the car like it’s some sacred artifact.
Dean spreads his arms. “Alright. Rule number one.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You touch her wrong, I bury you under the bunker.”
Bucky tilts his head. “…You’re joking.”
Dean stares.
Bucky pauses. “…You’re not joking.”
Dean tosses him a rag. “Wipe the chrome.”
Bucky catches it effortlessly. His metal hand moves with careful precision over the bumper.
Dean watches. “You ever work on cars?”
Bucky shrugs. “1940s Brooklyn.”
Dean’s face lights up. “Atta boy.”
Soon they’re elbow-deep under the hood. Oil on their hands. Dean explaining engines like they’re living creatures. Bucky listens carefully. For the first time since he arrived… He looks calm.
Dean notices. “Feels good, right?”
Bucky nods slightly. “…Quiet.”
Dean grins. “Yeah, you’ll enjoy it here.”
---
It happens three nights later. Dean wakes to the sound of metal slamming. He grabs a knife and moves down the hallway. A door is open. Inside the room— Bucky is sitting on the floor. Breathing hard. Metal arm dented into the wall beside him.
Dean lowers the knife. “Nightmare?”
Bucky stares ahead. “I remembered another mission.”
Dean sits beside him. No questions. No pushing. Just quiet.
After a moment Bucky speaks. “I killed people who were begging.”
Dean nods slowly. “Yeah.”
Bucky looks at him. “You?”
Dean exhales. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”
Silence settles again. Then Dean nudges his shoulder. “Good news though.”
Bucky glances at him. “You’re stuck with us now.”
Bucky almost laughs. Almost.
----
The bunker alarm suddenly screams. A sharp, mechanical wail that echoes through the stone halls of the Bunker
From down the corridor comes the unmistakable shout of Sam. “DEAN!”
Boots pound against the floor as Dean Winchester bolts from the garage hallway, wiping motor oil from his hands onto a rag.
“Yeah, yeah, what is it—” He skids into the war room.
Sam is already standing at the console, staring at the security monitor like it personally offended him. “Tell me I’m hallucinating,” Sam says.
Dean squints at the screen.
Outside the bunker entrance stand three very distinct figures.
One of them holds a shield.
Dean leans closer. “…Well.”
The man at the front—tall, broad-shouldered, impossibly square-jawed—steps closer to the camera. Steve Rogers.
Behind him stand a red-haired woman with an assessing stare—Natasha Romanoff—and a man wearing sunglasses who seems way too amused for someone standing in the Kansas wilderness. Tony Stark lifts his hand and waves directly at the camera.
Dean slowly leans back in his chair. “Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t look away from the screen. “Yeah?”
Dean gestures vaguely at the monitor. “Think we accidentally kidnapped an Avenger.”
Sam groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Dean, you can’t kidnap Avengers.”
“I didn’t kidnap him,” Dean protests. “He got in the car voluntarily.”
Sam presses the control panel button.
A distant mechanical rumble echoes through the bunker as the hidden entrance unlocks.
“Too late now,” Sam mutters.
“Door’s open.” Dean folds his arms. “Well… this should be fun.”
It doesn’t even take a minute. Footsteps echo down the corridor. Then suddenly Three strangers step into the war room like they just walked into the world’s strangest underground library.
Tony immediately looks around with open fascination. “…Okay, wow,” he says. “Secret bunker in the Midwest. Very dramatic. I’m into it.”
Natasha’s eyes sweep the room in a second, cataloguing exits, weapons, angles.
Steve doesn’t look at any of that. He’s staring at the brothers. Specifically Dean.
Dean raises his hands slightly. “Before you say anything, in my defense—”
Another set of footsteps approaches from the hallway. Slow. Measured. The room shifts. Bucky steps into the doorway. He stops the moment he sees them. His eyes lock instantly on Steve.
Something fragile flickers across his face—shock, disbelief, something painfully hopeful.
Steve’s breath catches. “Bucky?”
No one moves. Not Sam. Not Natasha. Not Tony.
Dean looks between them. Then leans slightly toward Sam. “…Well this just got awkward.”
Tony glances between the two soldiers, then at Dean. “Okay,” he says. “New question.” He points at the Winchesters. “Who are the flannel guys who apparently stole Captain America’s best friend?”
Dean shrugs. “Hunter.”
Sam sighs. “Hunters,” he corrects.
Steve doesn’t take his eyes off Bucky. “You’re safe here?” he asks quietly.
Bucky hesitates. Then nods once. Steve’s shoulders relax just a fraction.
Natasha crosses her arms. “So,” she says calmly. “You want to explain why the Winter Soldier is living in a secret bunker with two men who look like they run a classic rock radio station?”
Dean grins. “Funny story.”
----
The war room of the Bunker is quieter now. The tension that filled the air when the Avengers first arrived has settled into something calmer—something cautious, but not hostile.
Tony is halfway through a beer he definitely helped himself to from the bunker fridge. Natasha leans against the map table, arms crossed but relaxed. Across from them stand the brothers. Sam with his laptop. Dean leaning back in his chair like this whole situation isn’t surreal.
But the center of the room— That’s where the real moment sits.
Steve and Bucky stand facing each other.
For a long moment neither of them speaks.
Then Steve exhales slowly. “You disappeared again,” he says.
Bucky looks down at the floor. “…Wasn’t planning on sticking around anywhere.”
Steve nods slightly. “I know.”
Bucky glances toward Dean.
Dean lifts his hands. “Hey, don’t look at me. You got in the car.”
That earns the smallest huff of a laugh from Bucky.
Steve notices. And that tiny sound means everything.
Tony tilts his head. “You kidnapped him with kindness.”
Dean shrugs. “Works on strays.”
Sam groans softly.
Natasha’s eyes move between Bucky and the Winchesters. “You didn’t turn him in.”
Dean snorts. “To who?”
Tony raises a hand. “Technically—”
Dean points at him. “No offense, Iron Man, but we deal with monsters, ghosts, demons—” He gestures toward Bucky. “This guy ain’t one. If anything, he’ got my respect. He’s a war hero, a vet just like my pops.”
The room falls quiet again.
Steve studies Dean for a moment. Something like respect flickers in his eyes. “You protected him.”
Dean shrugs again, suddenly uncomfortable. “Guy needed a couch.”
Bucky’s voice breaks the moment. “…I didn’t know where else to go.”
Steve steps closer. “You’ve got somewhere now.”
Bucky hesitates. His gaze drifts around the bunker. The long library tables. The quiet halls. The garage where the Impala sits. For the first time in decades… He looks like someone standing inside a home. Not a prison.
Dean watches him. Then scratches the back of his neck. “Well…” He glances between the Avengers and his brother. “Guess the question is—” He jerks a thumb toward Bucky. “You taking him back, or what?”
Steve looks at Bucky. Not answering for him. Just waiting.
Bucky takes a long breath. “…I think I’d like to stay here for a while.”
Tony raises his eyebrows. “In the spooky Kansas bunker?”
Dean grins. “Hey.”
Sam crosses his arms. “It’s a nice spooky Kansas bunker.”
Steve smiles faintly. “Then that’s where you stay.”
Relief passes through Bucky’s shoulders like a weight finally dropping.
Natasha nods once. “Good choice.”
Tony finishes his beer.
“Well,” he says, setting the bottle down. “This has been the weirdest road trip I’ve ever taken.”
Dean smirks. “You ever fought a vampire?”
Tony pauses. “…I’m listening.”
Sam groans again. But Steve laughs quietly. And Bucky— For the first time since he arrived— Actually smiles.
Later that night. The bunker halls are quiet. Dean leans against the hood of the Impala, wiping grease from his hands. Footsteps approach. Bucky stops beside him. For a moment they just stand there.
Then Bucky says quietly, “…Thanks.”
Dean glances at him. “For what?”
“For not killing me.”
Dean scoffs. “Yeah, well.”
He tosses the rag aside and pats the Impala’s hood. “Someone’s gotta teach you how to properly respect a classic car.”
Bucky looks at the car. Then at Dean. “…You gonna keep calling me Terminator?”
Dean grins. “Oh absolutely.”
Bucky shakes his head slightly. But he’s smiling again.
Down the hallway, Sam calls out— “Dean! Tony found the weapons vault!”
Dean groans. “Oh no.”
Bucky snorts softly.
Dean pushes off the Impala. “C’mon, metal arm.” He gestures down the hall. “Welcome to the family.”
And for the first time in seventy years— Bucky Barnes follows someone not because he’s ordered to. But because he wants to. The bunker lights glow softly. Laughter echoes from the war room. And somewhere deep in Kansas— Two worlds that were never supposed to meet have somehow become home.
Jim and Alexei are twin brothers. But fighting over a girl but end up sharing her together ❤️ 🤤🌶
Hog Hopper!
18+ adult content / MDNI / 881 words
cw: your anon mfm request granted!
jim hopper x reader x alexei shostakov
While James Hopper Sr. was overseas in the Second World War, he got intimate with a Russian ally. She conceived twin boys out of wedlock, both with gorgeous blue eyes. One son stayed in Soviet Russia, the other was raised in the United States with his father.
When the boys were 17, they were shocked to learn about their twin from the other side of the world. Alexei was brought to Indiana to live with his father and brother. He went by Alexander to fit in, and gained proficiency in English. As adults, Jim Hopper Jr, followed his father by becoming the Chief of Hawkins Police. Alexei worked odd jobs before settling in groundskeeping and landscaping for Hawkins.
You had known the twins for nearly two years now. Jim had dated you for about six months before introducing you to his brother. Alexei was equally as handsome and charming. When Jim fell back into drugs and alcohol, he pushed you away and into the arms of Alexei. He took good care of you, even though it strained his relationship with his brother.
Your heart was confused. It was unclear who you had more affections for. You also couldn’t stand to see yourself break up the two siblings, so you let Alexei go. He was heartbroken, but the split allowed him to help Jim back on his feet and get sober.
Now that he was cleaned up, Jim courted you once again. You loved Jim, but he often disappointed you. He worked long shifts, and would drag your feelings around when he was forgetful or in a depressive state. He also made you laugh and cooked wonderful meals for you. He made you feel safe in his arms and more than satisfied in his bedroom.
Alexei remained steadfast for you, secretly yearning for his brother to slip up again. He drew portraits of you, capturing your beautiful face as he saw it. He would bring you flowers and cut your grass.
Then it happened. After learning one of his army buddies had suddenly passed away, Jim took a little PTSD spiral. He seemed to be coming out of it, but it was a difficult time. One evening, on the way to a date you both were excited for, you both got into a heated conversation about Alexei.
Jim was jealous of how sweet he was on you, and how he was there to comfort you. It made him feel insecure, despite the fact that you actually loved Jim the most and would fight for him always. Nonetheless, you ended up getting out of the Chevy Blazer and walking away as Jim yelled at you to get back in. He eventually gave up and sped off. You headed to Alexei’s place.
Alexei consoled you and let you stay the night. The next day, you went grocery shopping and came home to prepare Alexei a nice dinner. Red wine filled your glasses. Soon Alexei was fucking you right on the dining table.
“Does he fill you up like this, detka?” Alexei growled.
You whimpered and squirmed, clawing at the cutlery on the table as Alexei pounded you with his large uncut cock.
Jim heard your slutty moans as he banged on the front door. Alexei pulled his jeans back on and laid his jacket over you. You were still panting from being fucked silly on the hard wood.
Jim looked at you and Alexei, eyes dark and wild like a stormy sea. You were frozen. Sure you were about to lose Jim for good.
“James I—“ you pleaded.
“I don’t want to hear it. Take that off.”
He began to unbutton his flannel. The following events felt like a wild fantasy come true. Jim shed his clothes and manhandled your nude body over to the couch. He sat right next to Alexei, and they took turns letting you ride on their cocks. Alexei’s mustache tickled your breasts as he suckled at your nipples and left little love bites. The scene looked like it was ripped straight out of a porno.
Jim was circumcised, and had a messier bush. He placed his rough hand around your throat as you made a mess all over his thighs. Both brothers stretched your pussy as you came for them.
Your trio moved to the bedroom, where Alexei stuffed his cock into your throat as Jim fucked you from behind. Your vision was fluttering, overwhelmed by the pleasure you were experiencing. Both brothers using your holes as they pleased.
Alexei withdrew his cock, and your frothy saliva was drooling off his tip and onto your chin. Jim forced himself out of you as well, he couldn’t take much more.
You stepped onto the floor and got on your knees. Two sets of blue eyes gawked at you as you stroked their swollen cocks, covered in your own juices, and let them greedily use your mouth. You released your grip on both men and opened your mouth.
Your pink tongue reaching out as if to catch falling snowflakes. Your hands played with your tender breasts. Jim and Alexei ferociously stroked themselves, groaning as they reached the finale. They ejaculated all over your face and breasts. Thick ropes streamed down your cheeks, tingled on your tongue, and splattered your tits.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Small reference to 'Thor: Ragnarok' [Except its lmk season 5 when the monkies were in jail, pretend MK is doing MK things in the behind the camera or smth]
Thor and Loki's dynamic reminded me Wukong and Macaque so I just had to make them do 'Get Help'
I haven't posted in a big while, the most biggest while actually. Haven't drawn in a while either so idk if I improved or unproved.
Summary: In where sam had to visit the PTMC after getting injured around 2am with Bucky by his side and Dr. Abbot as his Attending for the night.
The fluorescent lights of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center hummed softly, casting a stark glow over the empty exam room at 2:00 AM. Sam sat on the edge of the table, wincing as he unzipped his jacket to reveal a nasty, purpling laceration along his ribs—a parting gift from an underground arms dealer’s stray shrapnel.
Bucky leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed tight over his chest, his eyes fixed on Sam with a mix of exhaustion and quiet worry.
A sharp knock broke the silence before the door swung open. Enter Dr. Jack Abbot: crisp scrubs, white coat hanging loosely over broad shoulders, and an easy, effortless smirk that suggested he was entirely unbothered by the late hour.
"Alright, what do we—" Jack stopped mid-sentence, his eyes sweeping over Sam. The casual fatigue on his face vanished, instantly replaced by a slow, appreciative smile. "Well. You're certainly not the usual night-shift drunk. Wait a minute... Sam Wilson. Captain America is in my ER."
"Guilty," Sam replied, giving a tired grin. "Appreciate you squeezing us in, Doc."
"Are you kidding? It’s an honor," Jack said smoothly, stepping close and snapping on a pair of sterile gloves. "I'm Dr. Abbot. Senior Attending around here." He prepped the suture kit, his fingers brushing warm against Sam’s side. "Honestly, Sam—can I call you Sam?—the work you’ve been doing as Cap is incredible. The poise, the leadership... it's genuinely inspiring. A real hero."
Sam let out a soft, delighted giggle, his chest heaving slightly. "Stop it, Doc. You're gonna make a guy blush."
Bucky’s head snapped toward Sam, his expression darkening instantly. "He’s also bleeding through his shirt," Bucky cut in flatly, pushing off the doorframe with a menacing step. "So maybe save the keynote speech for after he stops losing blood."
Jack blinked, shooting Bucky a brief, amused glance before turning his full, undivided attention back to Sam. "And if I may say, the suit does not do your physique justice. You're in phenomenal shape."
Sam burst into a warm, rich laugh, tossing his head back. "Oh, man. I gotta hire you full-time just for the morale boost!"
Bucky’s left eye twitched violently. He shot Sam a mean, lethal stink eye—the kind of glare that usually made hardened mercenaries sweat—before glaring daggers into the side of Jack's head. He took a heavy step forward, his boots thudding against the linoleum. "He does pull-ups on helicopter skids. We get it. Clean the cut."
"Oh, it's noticed," Jack continued smoothly, completely ignoring the dangerous aura radiating off the super-soldier as he leaned in closer to sanitize the wound. "If you ever need a private medical checkup when you're passing through Pittsburgh, I'd be more than happy to give you my personal line. A man carrying the weight of the country deserves top-tier care."
Sam kicked his legs against the exam table, muffling another burst of giggles into his hand. "Damn, Jack. You always this charming at two in the morning?"
"Only for national treasures," Jack smirked.
Bucky snapped. He stepped right up to the side of the table, planting his broad frame firmly between Jack's shoulder and Sam, completely blocking the doctor's view. He rounded on Sam first, hitting him with a pure, unadulterated death glare that practically screamed are you serious right now? before locking eyes with Jack.
"He has a top-tier medical team in D.C.," Bucky growled, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped in his cheek. "With actual security clearances. And better bed manners."
Jack raised an eyebrow, stepping back a fraction from Bucky’s suffocating space, though his smile remained infuriatingly charming. "And who's your moody handler?"
"His partner," Bucky bit out, his eye twitching again under the harsh lights as he folded his vibranium arm over his chest, looming like a brick wall. "And he's in pain. So wrap it up."
Sam wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye, thoroughly entertained by the sheer amount of jealousy radiating off Bucky. He reached out, casually resting a palm on the small of Bucky’s back. He felt the immediate, rigid tension in Bucky's spine, but beneath the hard glare, Bucky leaned into the touch just a fraction.
"I'm flattered, Dr. Abbot," Sam grinned, flashing Jack a bright wink before looking up at Bucky's thunderous, pouting face. "Really, the offer sounds tempting. But as you can see, I've already got a grouchy old sergeant taking care of me."
Jack chuckled softly, raising his gloved hands in harmless surrender as he picked up the needle driver. "Fair enough. Guess the star-spangled shield comes with a very protective guard dog."
"Keep talking and you'll need an ER doc yourself," Bucky muttered under his breath, keeping his meanest stink eye locked onto Jack's hands for every single stitch.
A fanfic were Khonshu is a fucking Shinigami and drops his deathnote for Marc to find who chooses to use it to kill abusers. The twist being that Jake turns into moon knight and has to do the killing.
