#scribescribbles

TRANSL: ¡Maldita sea! Has hecho un desastre con mi escritorio... ¿No es así? ¡Puedo saborearte en el aire!: "Dammit! You've made a mess of my desk... haven't you? I can taste you in the air!"

***

Miguel had been prepared to spend the rest of his afternoon counting down the hours until he could log off his computer, turn off all notifications to his email and distract himself with a few laps at the pool until Aly got off shift.

It had been a tiresome month for her. Her time off since the accident had rewired her clock. Sticking to routine became harder for her, and the expectation that she could simply jump right back into work as though she’d never left was a foolhardy one.

Going from doing 6k steps a day on average to busting her ass at the hospital, increasing her daily step count to 20k+ was just the start of it.

There were the late nights. The out-of-synch sleep-work schedules. Missed PTA meetings at Hope’s new school—not that Miguel minded stepping in for her, the soccer moms were easily distracted by a well-timed smile and tactfully chosen tight shirts. Hope actually preferred it when Miguel picked her up from school. They’d sometimes take scenic routes back to the apartment, sneaking ice cream before dinner, making impromptu stops at the planetarium or science museums when they both needed an excuse to put off doing their chores.

But, as much as Miguel enjoyed their new dynamic—their new apartment and calm ever-after—he also missed Aly. He missed watching cheesy reruns of her favourite TV show. He missed cooking with her. He missed date night and heavy make-out sessions on the couch when they’d have the apartment to themselves.

And, from the state of how easily riled up he was, the ache radiating through him as he stood under the gym showers, cold water steaming from the heat roiling off his tense muscles, he missed being able to satiate his baser urges.

His mind kept conjuring the contour of her waist under his grip, the shine of her hips as they snaked around his midriff, the rhythm her breasts would fall into when his thrust would grow even, her mouth parted in an O…

God! He turned the faucet to the coldest level. He was getting hard.

Not feeling like the gym showers were the most accommodating of locations, Miguel cut his shower short, conditioner still weighing his hair down as he ran the towel through his hair.

As he worked his way into his boxers, he was painstakingly aware of how much heavier he felt straining against the white cotton. Fuck. He swallowed his sweet venom and grumbled as he was instantly reminded of his late start to breakfast a few days earlier.

Aly had been on her period—a situation that made his current predicament so much worse; Aly was always more… catty when she was on her period. Easily riled. Restless through midnight. The bane to his big spoon when she’d grind against him.

To make up for it—or possibly to satiate her own desire to see him wrecked and covered in sweat—Aly had given him a toe-curling orgasm with her mouth. Her throat opening up to swallow as much as she could before his cum splattered onto her bare chest.

Maybe a run was in order.

 Just as he was about to untangle his jeans from his legs, a message popped up on his watch.

NARWHAL: HEY THERE, BANDIT! I HAVE FANTASTIC NEWS… GINA AGREED TO COVER MY SHIFT. NARWHAL: HOPE’S SLEEPING OVER AT BREA’S. WE HAVE THE APARTMENT TO OURSELVES… NARWHAL: ARE YOU ALONE?

A sudden dryness overcame his mouth as he tried to swallow the influx of sweet, sweet venom.

With a controlled breath, Miguel hastily backed his gym back, tied his shoelaces and leaned across the bench, peeking to see if there was anyone around.

Dead silence.

Heart hammering wildly, he typed: YES.

NARWHAL: GOOD…

The three dots kept dancing on his screen as he waited for her to finish the text, but then a video file loaded in the chat. The audio symbol was slashed in the top right corner. Thank fuck! No audio.

His hands were trembling when he pressed play, and then he nearly ruptured a blood vessel when he watched the video.

Aly had slipped into a dark, lacey lingerie slip dress. The camera panned from her collarbone to her nipples, lingering by the tattoo on her ribs before dipping to her bellybuttom, and then lower… zooming into the red cord that tickled her inner thigh.

He knew what that cord was attached to.

Hidden under her dress, buried inside her, were two Ben Wa balls. She’d ordered them after reading a foreplay article centred on “adjusting to size easier”.

He couldn’t tell if she stretched easier after removing them, but he knew she was always soaked. More of a friction chaser.

“Volviéndome loco.…” he cursed into the empty space, somewhat ashamed he considered working one out right then and there.  

Furiously, he typed: DON’T MOVE AN INCH. I’M ON MY WAY HOME.

He could instantly sense her in their apartment. Her body heat, her shallow panting, the way her scent permeated the air despite the scented candles she’d lit.

When he opened the door and tossed his jacket onto the couch, he could all but taste her.

“Althea…” he said her name devoutly.

“I…” she sucked in a breath, her voice quivering from inside his office. “I’ve been waiting…”

He pulled down his zipper, all but moaning when he finally got free of the rough material. Aly was poised at his desk, glasses on, legs crossed. Her panties were rumpled carelessly at the base of the desk. He could see the spot she’d soaked through from the doorway.

“I figured it’s been a while…” she pulled one strap of her dress over her shoulder, “since I wore lace for you… mi amor.”

His shirt got tangled with his elbows, his body automatically gravitating towards her until his thigh bumped the desk.

Aly laughed, placing her hands over his wrists, “Here, let me help you get free.”

“Please,” he begged, parking himself by her knees. “¡Maldita sea! Has hecho un desastre con mi escritorio... ¿No es así? ¡Puedo saborearte en el aire!”

Suddenly, Aly stopped untangling his shirt, her fingers tracing slow paths to his chest, circling his hard nipples. “You could lap it clean if you like…”

He turned wolfish. And even though she couldn’t see him grin, from the ungodly noise that escaped his throat, she was well aware he was all on board.

He ripped his shirt, freeing his hands, and then he was on his knees, prying her legs apart and drawing her flush to the edge of the desk. His suspicion had been correct. A thick ropey line traced an arc between her swollen clit and the pool of slick on his desk.

He closed his eyes as the scent grew several degrees more intense. He wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t end up seeing the back of his skull, how far back his eyes rolled as he stuck out his tongue and covered her cunt with his mouth.

His tongue was obscured from pushing past her entrance by the Ben Wa balls, but he discovered a new pro: he could bite down on the cord and pull, only slightly, denying her the stretch that she so eagerly wanted.

She fisted his hair, screaming “Yes! Fuck! Miguel… Oh, your tongue is so hot.” She egged him on, snaking her hips and digging her heels into his back.

He could barely breathe he was buried so deep, but god he wouldn’t have minded going out by suffocation. His cock jutted, reminding him he was still palpably hard. His veins dilated to bursting. His balls so full. So much of himself to give her. So much to fill her with. And not enough of the night.

As he started to rise to his feet, he kept his jaw clenched on the cord between her legs, inching out the balls from inside her. Her legs shook with each tug, her body turning to a ragdoll, limbs heavy and mewling noises too delicious to even consider keeping hushed.

The first ball was stubborn, but once it popped free, the second followed easily, pulling ropes of slick that had been unable to escape her.

No thought about it, he was back on his knees, drinking her up, lapping savagely until she begged him to make her cum. With vigour, he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked feverishly as he plunged two fingers into her cunt and started to finger fuck her. Sloppy, wet, squelching, he had to cup his own tip to keep from spilling too much of himself on the floor. She had been devious. She deserved every drop. Every. Single. Drop.

“Miguel! Miguel! Miguel! Mig—” she gasped, her thighs pressing tightly around his ears till all he could hear was the thunder of her blood rushing through her veins as she came on his face.

Her ankles unlocked after a few breaths; his hearing still entranced with her heart. Struggling to keep his breathing even, he pulled free and readjusted their position.

 He slapped his cock onto her cunt, placing his hands under her knees, and locking her ankles together until her thighs formed a nice closing around his cock.

“My turn,” he said, biting back the urge to ram forward like a mindless animal and pleasure himself on her thighs, cock rubbing against her eager opening.

“All yours,” she mooned. “Every inch. Take everything! Give me every inch of you.”

Shit! He seized his thrusts, angling his tip to her entrance. “Whatever you desire!” And then he entered her.

“It’s okay, mi vida… just like that—Yes! Mmm, I know you can stretch a little more for me… just a bit more,” he couldn’t help but let the slick of his venom pass into her through the rough kiss. He hadn’t shaved in a while, his scruff prickly, causing Aly’s body to vibrate with laughter, bucking and writhing, her thighs and lower back working in opposition. She yearned to relax as he pressed himself deeper and deeper, but she was also ticklish, despite being ravished well and good by his deft tongue. He plunged farther into her mouth as he felt his cock grow warmer inside her divine wetness. “Fuuuuuuck. Aly… so slick—Hmmgh! God, just a little more. Almost… fully… inside… you. Hhnnggg, there… look at you, so pretty, so full…” he traced his palm to her belly, felt himself strain against her there, his cock fully sheathed, balls deep. He looked down at her face, giving her an appraising smirk, this impossible sensation of holding something coveted and all his… it made him leak cum into her undulating cunt, her walls clenching down with intent. “Taking everything inside you like the good girl you are, fuck. I’ve missed you.”

She raked her fingers through the silver of his hair, rubbing deliciously at the base of his skull. “You saw me at breakfast.”

He bit down on her neck, his venom slicking her skin, making her moan, her eyes rolling back, heavy-lidded. He took the opportunity to drive her dangerously close to the edge and rutted forward, anchoring his weight on the balls of his feet, causing the bed to creak in protest, the headboard knocking against the wall.

Aly gushed. And not just in the cute way the blush of her skin would kiss her collarbone, her thighs, her belly… Sno, it didn’t stop there. A torrent of warmth meandered out of her cunt as he pulled back, entranced by the scent of their sex. Driven to absolute madness by the copper taste of her on his lips. The sound of her moaning as he slammed forward, the tip of his cock sensitive and unguarded by his foreskin as it hit her walls with slip, and that tantalising resistance of her body still adjusting to his size.

“Don’t play coy, car amia,” he commanded, secretly hoping she’d refuse to listen. “I know how to unravel you like I was the very thing that wove you together. I know how to make you beg.”

She smiled, her hand reaching between their joined bodies to grasp his throbbing cock with a menacing grip.

“Don’t pretend as though I didn’t have you whimpering into my pillow the other morning,” she swallowed loudly, licking her lips as if ravished, as if she could practically taste his cock in that instant. She began to pump her hand against him. Long, slow, firm strokes that made him eke out a strangled groan. She sighed contentedly when the sound of her hand fucking him turned lewd, precum glistening on her palm. “It seems we both know how to play coy, I’m just a better brat.”

He bit down on his lip, the pillowcase tearing as his claws inched out. Control was beginning to become a suggestion.

“Then this is the point where I punish you, isn’t it?” he cocked a brow and she shuddered. Then he lifted her off the desk and sat himself in his large leather chair, never disconnecting them. “Too bad… looks like you’ll have to fuck me.”

Aly was speechless for a second, taken aback, pouting at the responsibility of having to be the power driver of their pleasure train. Lord knows her muscles weren’t up to the task, given his inhuman endurance. But watching her face go from bratty to shocked did make him swell with pride… and other parts.

She bit back a moan as she worked her legs through the chair’s armrests, planting her weight on her toes and circling her arms around his neck for leverage.

“I’m going to make you squirm, O’Hara…” she threatened.

“I’d like to see you tr—”

She slammed down onto his cock, making him gasp. Her whole body shook, slapping against his hard one.  

Maybe his endurance wasn’t so inhuman after all.

“You were saying?” she smirked, sucking on the shell of his ear.

He threaded his fingers through her curls, unruly and thick from the humid air in the room. Using his nose to paint a line from throat to ear, he whispered: “I love you.”

***

Steve stood beside him, an unreadable expression weighing on his face, hands placed on his hips. Could be disappointment, but Bucky couldn’t face that right now, not while staring at the scars and track marks lining Y/N’s back like a fucked-up star chart.

It was his fault. And it made breathing impossible; to see her so broken.

“Do you know where you are?” he read Shuri ask Y/N.

Y/N stuttered for a moment, her gaze trailing from her hands to her reflection in the glass. Her expression was that of confusion, as though it were a stranger looking back at her. She was practically a stranger to Bucky’s eyes too.

“What about your name?” he read Shuri say, a knot forming at her temples. “Can you tell me that?”

Y/N shook her head, her frame shaking.

At that moment, Shuri looked towards the observation window, meeting Bucky’s eyes with concern. Bucky’s heart nearly stopped at the implication. Something was wrong.

Steve sighed, running his hand through his hair. Not as blonde as it used to be, and uncharacteristically shaggy ever since he’d been on the run.

It was still a shock sometimes, seeing his best friend as this bastion of justice—a larger-than-life symbol of endurance. And yet, here he was, stripped of his stars and stripes, looking every bit as human as any man in a hospital waiting room.

“I still can’t believe it,” Steve said, pacing the room. “Elle… or Y/N… she’s—she’s alive.”

Bucky instinctively reached for his stump, remembering all the times he’d lunged at her with his metal arm with the intent to kill… the time he’d slipped his blade between her ribs.

Fuck! he balled his fist. What kind of monster tries to kill someone who loved him?

Now he was struck by memories of Steve on the airship. His friend's face bloodied, and so terribly close to mortality. To the end of the line.

“Buck?” Steve’s hand was on his shoulder, worry present in the tension of his jaw.

“What?” Bucky blinked several times, shaking his head clear of the past.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. “Ever since we found her… you—well… I guess there’s no right way to take all this in, is there?”

“I did this, Steve,” Bucky’s voice cracked. “I did this to her.”

“Buck, you weren’t yourself. You can’t—”

“No! Not this time,” Bucky shrugged off Steve’s hand. “You can’t make excuses for me this time.”

“I’m not making excuses,” Steve’s jaw clamped up, then released in a controlled manner, as if gathering himself. “What Hydra did to you, what you’re going through… it’s not black and white. It’s not easy. And Elle… Y/N, whatever her story is, there’s no good to be found in blaming anyone here.”

“I know…” Bucky nodded, believing none of what his oldest friend was saying. “I know. Doesn’t make this any easier. Seeing her like this.”

“Do you know who did this to her?” Steve hesitated. “Was it Hydra too?”

“N-no… I-I don’t think so,” Bucky stammered. “I never saw her when they’d take me out of the tank. Hydra could have done this but… No. No, I don’t think it was us.”

Steve's brow arched, “Us?”

Bucky froze. “Them,” he corrected. “I never saw them experimenting on her.”

“But you have an idea who did?” Steve saw something in Bucky’s eyes, recognition perhaps.

He remembered seeing blood in the snow through the Winter Soldier’s eyes. Remembered catching a glimpse of white hair over the tundra through his scope. He never pulled the trigger though. He wished he could say it was because some part of him knew it was her, even through the brainwashing. In truth, she wasn’t a kill worth his time. She wasn’t his target that day. Instead, he’d cleared an entire encampment of mercenaries hired by Yelena Belova, the Winter Soldier’s actual target. The little rabbit. Down the rabbit hole.

“47. One of my first missions after the… conditioning. My orders were to destabilise the black widow operation in Russia. Yelena Belova. Handler of the Western Front Operatives. One of my main targets. During the…” Bucky took a deep breath, fighting the pain knocking around in his reprogrammed brain. He cleared his throat, unwilling to relive the flames and tortured cries. “In the confusion, Yelena got away. I tracked her movements throughout Russia, and she nearly got away, until I came upon an ambush.”

Steve stopped pacing and sat down on one of the chairs, “An ambush? For you?”

“No. There was a convoy transporting prisoners from some facility in the north. It had been hit by mercenaries. They made camp a few clicks west. Then I…” a dry lump fixed itself in his throat, and he almost failed to finish his sentence; Then I found Yelena Belova and ended her life with my boot on her neck.  

Steve’s eyes roamed Bucky’s form, taking in his shrunken stature, “Y/N was on that convoy, wasn’t she?”

“I think so… I think I saw her then. Through the scope. White hair in the snow.”

A mechanical hiss sounded out behind them, a pair of footsteps making their way closer, but they both ignored it—or rather, they were both too shell-shocked to respond immediately. Bucky from the memories, Steve from hearing his best friend tell him he killed an entire mercenary group that rescued POWs.

“You guys doing alright in here?” Shuri asked, her accent sounding more and more familiar to Bucky’s ears. Hell, Wakanda’s accent sounded less alien than Brooklyn’s would right now. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Never mind that, I got the diagnostics from the tests.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was too distracted by the scars on Y/N’s back.

“And?” Steve asked, standing from his chair.

“She’s fine, relatively speaking,” Shuri said, placing one of her Kimoyo Beads on an incave near a panel by the windows. The glass instantly turned opaque, blotting out the light with a matted effect, and then a hologram of Y/N’s body scans brightened the room blue. “Her electrolyte count is low, which is to be expected considering the cryostasis chamber she was in was ancient, possibly a fault with the defrost sequence. Left a lot of water to absorb into her system. A few vitamin deficiencies too, but we can treat those with supplements and diet.”

Shuri waved her hand over her Kimoyo Bead, bringing up an x-ray that showed multiple bone resets and mended fissures. One of them stood out to Bucky. Left ribcage, between the last two bones, a chip made from his military-grade issue knife.

“Looks like I’m staring at a veteran's x-ray,” Steve noted, his eyes filled with compassion. “Never would have thought… she was so… I don’t know. It’s hard to believe the woman who served us cobbler and coffee had broken so many bones.”

“She’s seen a lot of action,” Shuri nodded, “but these old breaks aren’t what’s troubling me. It's the oedema,” she waved her hand again, this time showing a brain x-ray with one part swirling and grey in a way the rest of the scan wasn’t.

“There’s swelling in her brain,” Bucky heard himself say the words like a man under some spell, never having intended to speak at all.

“It sounds worse than it is,” Shuri held her hands up to stop the both of them from freaking out, “But…”

“But?” Bucky pressed, not at all prepared for what he might hear.

“It’s causing memory loss,” she said carefully.

There it was. The other shoe finally dropped. And so did Bucky, nearly. He pivoted his weight onto his good hand to lean against the window overlooking the city, sagging onto the cool glass. His eyes focused on Y/N’s blurred figure behind the observation room’s glass, seated still on the medical bed, fidgeting with her hands.

Maybe this was a good thing, he thought. Maybe she can be spared the pain of remembering.

The image of him standing in front of the cryo-chamber, unfettered as it sealed Y/N inside with an air-sucking sound, was so jarring to relive. Then it all came flooding back: seeing cold mist fall over Y/N’s unconscious face; the name Elle leaving his unfamiliar lips; the bruising on his back taking the shape of a butterfly from caved in; the tingling in his spine as he remembered what the rubber cushioning of the mouth guard felt like as they strapped him back in his chair and made him forget.

“Is it… permanent?” Bucky asked.

“It’s too soon to tell,” Shuri worked a tense muscle in her neck, sighing. “She doesn’t remember her name, or what year it is… her memory could return once the swelling reduces, or it might take a little longer after the treatments, or…”

“Or it might not return at all,” Steve finished.

“For now, all we can do is wait,” Shuri plucked her Kimoyo Bead off the cupped indent and reattached it to the rest on her wrist. The window looking into the observation room became transparent again, startling Y/N from her thoughts.

Bucky met her eyes then, so familiar and so distant all at once. Those very same eyes had been filled with sadness the last time he saw her. A type of quiet acceptance of defeat. Now they were hollow—not in an emotionless way, just not holding any emotion towards him. And that hurt worse than any stray bullet he’d ever caught as the Winter Soldier.

“There is one more thing I have to look into,” Shuri said. “Her blood work shows a strange synthesised compound localised around both kidneys, its chemical markup shows similarities to yours, Bucky. I think she may have traces of supersoldier serum in her system, but it's not an exact match for either sample in our records. More derivative, from the compound structure. I'd need to run some more bloodwork to be sure, and maybe monitor her body's homeostatic imbalance when stressed, but for now, I think she's calm enough to receive visitors.” 

Steve’s hand was on Bucky’s bad shoulder, ushering him to stand stronger, take a step forward. “You should go speak with her,” Steve said softly. “It might help.”

Bucky’s boots scuffed the floor, his footing unsure as he almost followed Steve’s advice. Then this clawing feeling of guilt ripped at him from the inside, tore him apart like delicate paper, and Bucky found it difficult to breathe.

“No… I… I can’t,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off a worse headache between the eyes. “I need a minute,” he shambled towards the door, forgetting words on his tongue, names of things, colours.

“Buck, wait!” Steve almost went after him.

Shuri stepped in his path, hand out as if she possessed telekinesis strong enough to hold Steve in place, “He needs time, too. We can’t push him, not when his mind’s still… confused.”

Bucky reflexively recoiled, feeling cornered, uncertain of everything. Suddenly, the room was too crowded, lights too bright. He had to get out.

Bucky looked to Y/N again, remembering her bittersweet promise as Elle, I can promise that my heart will always belong to you, Bucky, remembering her frightening conviction as she pressed the detonator in the cryo-storage basement, If I can’t save you, we’ll just have to burn together, and saw neither of those women in her.

He’d destroyed her. But he’d be damned if he’d be responsible for hurting her again. Without her memories, she was safe… from him.

 “I have to go,” he said before storming out of the medical building.

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