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myreadings · 16 days ago

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pressure points | b.b.

✮ synopsis: bucky's gotten good at keeping his distance from his harmless, sunshine-y neighbor. but when you get taken because of him—because someone figured out you're his weak spot—he realizes how spectacularly that plan backfired. turns out the winter soldier's soft spot is a lot more dangerous than he thought.

✮ pairing: post-thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader

✮ disclaimers: violence, kidnapping, blood and injury, torture (not graphic), angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, established feelings but complicated relationship, second person POV, fem!reader, miscommunication, intense yearning, emotionally constipated!bucky, past trauma, mild language, fighting sequences

✮ word count: 10.6k

✮ a/n: first fic on this blog and it's basically just 10k words of soft bucky yearning xoxo

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The first time Bucky Barnes sees you, you're trying to shove a couch through a doorway that's at least six inches too narrow, and losing spectacularly.

He's coming home from another pointless congressional hearing—the kind where everyone talks in circles about defense budgets while carefully not mentioning the alien invasion from three months ago—when he spots you in the hallway. You're wedged between the arm of what looks like a vintage velvet monstrosity and the doorframe of 4B, hair escaping from whatever you'd tried to contain it with, muttering a stream of increasingly creative profanity.

"Fucking—come on—you absolute bastard of a—"

The couch shifts. You yelp. Bucky's halfway down the hall before he realizes he's moving.

"Need a hand?"

You twist around, and something in his chest does this stupid, inconvenient flip. Your face is flushed, one cheek smudged with what might be dust or maybe yesterday's mascara, and you're looking at him like—well. Like he's not Bucky Barnes. Like he's just some guy in the hallway who might know how geometry works.

"Oh thank god," you breathe, and the relief in it makes his mouth twitch. "I've been battling this thing for twenty minutes. I think it's winning."

He assesses the situation with the same tactical precision he'd use for a Bulgarian arms deal, if arms deals came upholstered in emerald green and smelled faintly of vanilla perfume mixed with fresh sweat. The angle's all wrong. You've been trying to force it through horizontally when it needs to go vertical, then rotate.

"Here." He steps closer, and you shift to make room, your shoulder brushing his chest in a way that absolutely doesn't make his pulse stutter. "If we flip it—"

"Oh, you're strong," you say, like an observation about the weather, as he essentially deadlifts one end of your couch. The metal arm whirs faintly. You don't flinch. "That's convenient."

Convenient. Right. He maneuvers the couch through the doorway in three efficient moves, trying not to notice how you smell like coffee and something floral, how you hover just inside his peripheral vision like you're trying not to crowd him but can't quite stay away.

"There." He sets it down in what's clearly the only spot it could go in your tiny living room. The space is chaos—boxes everywhere, art leaning against walls, books stacked in precarious towers. "You just moving in?"

"Yeah, from—" You wave a hand vaguely eastward. "Nicer neighborhood. Turns out freelance graphic design doesn't pay for Manhattan rent. Who knew?" The self-deprecation comes with a grin that transforms your whole face, and Bucky has to look away, focus on the box labeled 'KITCHEN SHIT' in aggressive Sharpie. "I'm—well, you probably don't care what my name is."

He does, actually. Cares in a way that makes his teeth ache.

"Bucky," he offers, even though you clearly already know. "4C."

"The grumpy congressman." Your grin goes wider, teasing. "I've seen you on C-SPAN. You look like you're being held at gunpoint during those hearings."

"Feel like it too," he mutters, and the laugh you give him hits like a shot of whiskey—warm and slightly dizzying.

"Well, Congressman Barnes of apartment 4C, you've just saved my Saturday. Can I pay you in beer? I've got—" You dig through a box, emerge triumphant with two bottles. "Hipster IPA or hipster IPA?"

He should say no. Should maintain boundaries. Should remember what happened the last time he let someone get close—the scar on his ribs from Belgrade still aches when it rains.

Instead, he finds himself accepting a bottle, listening to you chatter about the neighbor who warned you about the rats (definitely real) and the ghost (probably not real but who knows), watching how you gesture with your whole body when you talk, like you're too much for your own skin.

It's dangerous, how easy you are to be around. How you look at him like he's just Bucky, not the former Asset, not the killer, not the congressman who can't pass a single fucking bill. Just a guy who helped with your couch.

He stays too long. Drinks two beers. Helps you unpack exactly three boxes before some long-dormant self-preservation instinct kicks in and he makes excuses about constituent emails.

"Thanks again," you say at the door, and there's something in your eyes—curiosity, maybe. Interest. "For the couch. And the company."

"No problem."

He's halfway to his own door when you call out: "Hey, Barnes?"

He turns. You're leaning against your doorframe, backlit by the disaster zone of your apartment, smiling that smile that makes his chest tight.

"I make really good coffee. You know. If congressional hearings ever drive you to caffeine dependency."

It's an offer. An opening. Everything in him screams to close it, lock it down, maintain operational security. Instead, his traitorous mouth says, "I'll keep that in mind."

He's so fucked.

The thing is, Bucky's gotten good at keeping people at arm's length. Seventy years of being a weapon teaches him that distance equals safety—for them, not him.

When you're already dead, what's a little more damage?

So he shouldn't notice when you start leaving your apartment at 7:23 every morning, shouldering a bag that's always slipping off your shoulder. Shouldn't time his own exits to avoid those encounters, then feel like an asshole when he succeeds. Definitely shouldn't lie awake listening through the thin walls as you sing along to whatever pop music you play while cooking, off-key and enthusiastic.

But here's the other thing: you make it really fucking hard to maintain distance.

You leave cookies outside his door with notes that say things like "for emergency constituent-induced rage" and "survival fuel for C-SPAN." You knock when you know he's home, ask to borrow sugar or vodka or a screwdriver, then stay to chat like his apartment isn't just bare walls and a couch Sam made him buy. You touch—casual, constant. A hand on his arm when you laugh, fingers brushing when you hand him things, like physical contact isn't something that makes his brain static out.

"You're a really good listener," you tell him one evening, three weeks into whatever this is. You're sitting on his floor, back against his couch, because you'd knocked asking for wine and then somehow ended up staying. Your knee presses against his thigh. He's catastrophically aware of every point of contact. "Like, actually good. Not just waiting for your turn to talk."

"Not much of a talker," he says, which is true and also easier than explaining that he's memorizing everything—how you twist your rings when you're nervous, the way your voice drops when you're saying something real, how you look in his space like you belong there.

"Bullshit." You bump his shoulder. He doesn't flinch anymore, which is either progress or a sign he's completely fucked. "You're just selective. Quality over quantity."

You say things like that—observations that feel like being seen, really seen, not just looked at. It's terrifying. It's addictive. It's going to get you killed.

Because here's the thing Bucky knows down to his bones: everything he touches turns to ash. Everyone he cares about becomes a target. And you—with your sunshine laugh and your disaster apartment and your way of looking at him like he's worth something—you're exactly the kind of light that attracts the worst kind of dark.

He should stay away.

He doesn't.

"So," Sam says, watching Bucky check his phone for the third time during their coffee meeting. "Who is she?"

"What?" Bucky pockets the phone. You'd texted asking if he knew how to fix a leaky faucet. He knows seventeen ways to kill a man with a faucet. Fixing one can't be that different. "Nobody. Work thing."

"Uh-huh." Sam's doing that face, the one that means he's about to be insufferably perceptive. "That's why you just smiled at your phone. Over a work thing. You. Smiled."

"I smile."

"No, you do this thing with your mouth that's like a smile's evil twin. This was an actual smile. So. Who is she?"

Bucky takes a long drink of coffee, considering how much lying is worth the effort. "Neighbor."

"Neighbor." Sam leans back, grinning. "Cute neighbor?"

The memory of you last night, paint in your hair and gesturing wildly about your latest client, flashes unbidden. His silence is apparently answer enough.

"Buck. Man. This is good. You need—"

"I need to not get people killed," Bucky cuts him off. "I need to remember that anyone who gets close to me ends up hurt. I need—"

"You need a life," Sam interrupts right back. "You need to stop punishing yourself for shit that wasn't your fault. You need to let yourself have something good."

Bucky's jaw works. The phone buzzes again. He doesn't check it.

"She doesn't know what she's getting into," he says finally. "She's—" Bright. Warm. Good. "She's not part of this world."

"So keep her out of it." Sam makes it sound simple. Like there's a way to compartmentalize, to have you without putting you at risk. "Be her neighbor. Be normal. Be happy, for once in your goddamn life."

Normal. Right. Because nothing says normal like a centenarian ex-assassin with more kills than most armies and a metal arm that could crush a skull like an egg.

But then he thinks about your smile when he fixed your garbage disposal last week. How you'd said "my hero" in this teasing, fond way that made him want impossible things. How you treat him like he's just Bucky, not a weapon someone else aimed.

"I don't know how," he admits, quieter than he meant to.

Sam's expression softens. "Nobody does, man. You just try anyway."

The faucet thing turns into a whole production.

You answer the door in tiny pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt that says "FEMINIST KILLJOY" in glitter letters, and Bucky's brain shorts out for a solid three seconds. Your hair's piled on top of your head in what might generously be called a bun, and there's toothpaste at the corner of your mouth, and he wants to—

"Oh good, you're here," you say, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. Your fingers are warm through his henley. "It's making this noise like a dying whale. I tried YouTube tutorials but I think I made it worse."

The kitchen is a disaster. Tools scattered everywhere, water pooling on the floor, YouTube still playing on your laptop ("—sure to turn off the water main first—"). You've clearly been at this for a while.

"Did you turn off the water?" he asks, already knowing the answer from the growing puddle.

"I turned off a valve," you say defensively. "Several valves. None of them seemed to be the right valve."

He finds himself fighting a smile as he locates the actual shut-off. You hover behind him as he works, close enough that he can feel your breath on his neck, keeping up a running commentary that's part apology, part stand-up routine.

"—and then the wrench slipped and I maybe screamed a little bit, and Mrs. Nguyen next door started banging on the wall, and I had to yell that I wasn't being murdered, just defeating by plumbing—"

"Hand me the—" He turns to ask for the wrench at the same moment you lean forward to see what he's doing. Your faces end up inches apart. Time does that thing where it forgets how to work properly.

Your eyes are very wide. There's a water droplet on your cheek. Bucky's hand twitches with the urge to wipe it away.

"Wrench," he manages, voice rougher than intended.

"Right. Wrench. That's a—" You scramble backward, nearly slip on the wet floor. He catches your elbow automatically, steadying you, and your skin is so warm under his fingers it feels like a brand. "Thanks. I'm not usually this much of a disaster. Actually, that's a lie. I'm exactly this much of a disaster, you've just caught me on a particularly disastrous day."

He fixes the faucet in under ten minutes. You insist on making coffee as payment, which turns into leftover pizza, which turns into three hours on your couch watching some reality show about people making elaborate cakes. You provide running commentary that's funnier than the show itself, and Bucky finds himself actually laughing—not the dry chuckle he's perfected for public appearances, but real laughter that comes from somewhere deep in his chest.

"See?" you say during a commercial break, grinning at him. "I told you this show was addictive. Next week they're making a life-size dragon cake that actually breathes fire."

"Next week?" The words slip out before he can stop them, too revealing.

Your grin softens into something else, something that makes his chest tight. "Well, yeah. You can't miss fire-breathing dragon cake. That's un-American."

It becomes a thing. Thursday nights, your couch, increasingly ridiculous cooking shows. You always have too much dinner ("I'm terrible at portions, shut up"), he always fixes something that's broken ("it's not broken, it's just temperamental"), and somewhere between cake disasters and your laughter, Bucky forgets to maintain distance.

"Your boyfriend's here," Mrs. Nguyen announces loudly when Bucky knocks on your door a month later, because apparently the entire floor has decided they're invested in whatever this is.

"He's not my—" Your voice cuts off as you open the door. You're wearing a dress, which is new. Red, which is newer. Lipstick, which is going to kill him. "Hi."

"Hi." His brain's stuck on the curve of your shoulder, the way the fabric clings. "Going out?"

"Wedding. Old college friend." You're fidgeting with your earring, a sure tell that you're nervous. "I hate weddings. All that optimism and overpriced chicken."

"So don't go."

"Can't. I already RSVP'd, and I'm a good friend even if I'm a wedding-hating gremlin." You pause, still fiddling with the earring. "Unless..."

He knows what's coming by the way you're biting your lip. "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"You were going to ask me to go with you."

"...okay, so you did know." You lean against the doorframe, giving him a look that's probably supposed to be convincing but mostly just highlights how your eyes catch the hallway light. "Come on. You're a congressman. You must love overpriced chicken and small talk."

"I really don't."

"There's an open bar."

"Still no."

"I'll owe you one. One big favor. Anything."

That makes him pause, but not for the reason you think. The idea of you owing him anything makes his skin itch. You already give too much—your time, your laughter, your casual touches that rewire his brain. But the idea of watching you navigate a wedding alone, of other people getting to see you in that dress...

"Fine," he hears himself say. "But I'm not dancing."

The smile you give him could power Brooklyn for a week.

He's absolutely, catastrophically unprepared for how you look in candlelight.

The wedding venue is one of those rustic-chic places that thinks exposed beams equal personality. You're at table eight, which puts you safely in "college friends but not close enough for the wedding party" territory. You've been providing whispered commentary all through the ceremony ("five bucks says she wrote her vows the night before"), your shoulder pressed against his in a way that makes paying attention to anything else physically impossible.

"See that bridesmaid?" You nod toward a blonde who's definitely already three champagnes deep. "That's Amber. We were roommates sophomore year. She once tried to seduce our RA by leaving Post-it poetry on his door."

"Did it work?"

"Depends on your definition of 'work.' She did get his attention. Also a conduct violation." You're playing with the stem of your wine glass, fingers tracing patterns. "Thanks for this, by the way. I know wearing a suit and making small talk isn't exactly your idea of fun."

He could tell you that wearing a suit is nothing compared to tac gear, that small talk is easier than Senate hearings. Could mention that the way you keep unconsciously leaning into him makes any discomfort worth it. Instead: "It's fine."

"Such enthusiasm." But you're smiling, soft and maybe a little fond. "Dance with me?"

"I said no dancing."

"You said that before you had champagne. And before they played—" You tilt your head, listening. "Oh my god, is this Bon Jovi? We have to dance to Bon Jovi. It's the law."

"That's not a law."

"It's a law of wedding physics. Come on, Barnes. One dance. I promise not to step on your feet much."

The thing is, he can't say no to you. It's becoming a problem. You want him to fix your sink? Done. Need someone to hold your laptop while you Skype your mother? He's there. Want him to dance to "Livin' on a Prayer" at some stranger's wedding? Apparently, that's happening too.

You're a terrible dancer. Genuinely awful. You have no sense of rhythm, keep trying to lead, and you're laughing too hard to even pretend otherwise. It's perfect. He spins you out just to watch your dress flare, pulls you back too close, and for a moment—your hand in his, your face tilted up, surrounded by fairy lights and other people's happiness—he forgets why this is a bad idea.

"See?" you say, slightly breathless. "Dancing's not so bad."

His hand is on your waist. He can feel your pulse through the thin fabric. "No. Not so bad."

Someone bumps into you from behind, pushing you fully against his chest. Your hands come up to steady yourself, one landing over his heart, and he knows you can feel how it stumbles. Your smile falters, shifts into something else. Something that looks dangerously like realization.

"Bucky—"

"They're cutting the cake," he says, stepping back. The loss of contact feels like losing a limb. "Should probably watch. For your show."

You blink, then recover. "Right. Yeah. Cake."

But you're quiet for the rest of the reception, and he catches you looking at him with this expression he can't decode. Like you're working through a complex equation and not liking the answer.

He drives home. You spend the ride fiddling with your phone, uncharacteristically silent. When he pulls up to the building, you don't immediately get out.

"I'm sorry if I—" you start.

"Don't." It comes out harsher than intended. He tries again, softer: "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Feels like I did." You're still not looking at him. "I forget sometimes, that you're—that we're—"

"Friends," he supplies, even though the word tastes like ash. "We're friends."

"Right." You finally meet his eyes, and there's something careful in your expression now. Guarded. "Friends."

You're out of the car before he can figure out what to say to fix this. He watches you disappear into the building first, red dress like a wound in the grey evening, and knows he's fucked everything up without quite understanding how.

You pull back after that.

It's subtle—you still smile when you see him in the hall, still text him memes at inappropriate hours. But you stop knocking on his door for impromptu dinners. Stop touching him casually. When he offers to fix your eternally-dripping showerhead, you say you'll call the super instead.

"You're moping," Sam tells him two weeks later, during one of their mandatory "make sure Bucky's not spiraling" brunch dates.

"I don't mope."

"You're the Black Widow of moping. The Michael Jordan of emotional constipation." Sam pauses. "That neighbor you mentioned?"

Bucky's silence is damning.

"What'd you do?"

"Why do you assume I did something?"

"Because you always do something. You get close to someone, panic, and pull some self-sabotaging bullshit." Sam's voice gentles. "Talk to me, man."

Bucky stares at his coffee like it holds answers. "She wanted to dance."

"...okay?"

"At a wedding. And I—we danced. And it was..." He doesn't have words for what it was. How you felt in his arms, how the world narrowed down to just the two of you, how for a moment he forgot he was dangerous. "And then I shut it down."

"Why?"

"Because." He sets the mug down too hard, coffee sloshing. "Because she's sunshine, Sam. She's late-night cooking shows and glitter pens and leaving snacks for the delivery guy. She has no idea what I've done, what I'm capable of—"

"Did you ever think maybe she does know and doesn't care?"

"Then she's naïve."

"Or maybe she just sees you better than you see yourself." Sam leans forward. "Buck, you can't protect people by pushing them away. That's not how it works."

"It's worked so far."

"Has it? Because from where I'm sitting, you're miserable, she's probably confused as hell, and nobody's actually safer."

Bucky wants to argue, but then his phone buzzes. Your name pops up: my smoke alarm is having an existential crisis. is it supposed to beep in morse code?

He's already standing before he realizes it.

"Go," Sam says, shaking his head but smiling. "Fix her smoke alarm. Talk to her like a human being. Maybe try not to fuck it up this time."

Your door is already cracked when he gets there, smoke rolling out in lazy waves.

"I'm not on fire!" you call before he can knock. "Well, the oven mitt was, but I handled it."

He finds you on a chair, ineffectively fanning the smoke detector with a dish towel. You're wearing those little pajama shorts again and his brain still isn't prepared for the sight.

"How does an oven mitt catch fire?" He reaches up, disables the alarm with practiced ease.

"Well, when you forget it's on your hand and rest it on the stove burner..." You shrink a little at his look. "I was distracted."

"By what?"

You don't answer, just hop down from the chair. This close, he can see the flour in your hair, the way you're worrying your bottom lip. "Thanks. Sorry for texting, I know it's late—"

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Because—" You make a frustrated gesture. "Because I'm trying to give you space. Because you clearly regretted the wedding thing and I'm trying not to be that neighbor who develops inconvenient feelings—"

"Feelings?" His brain snags on the word like cloth on a nail.

You go very still. "Shit. I mean. Not feelings. Just. You know. Neighbor...ly concern. Very platonic. Super appropriate."

"You're a terrible liar."

"Yeah, well, you're terrible at—" You stop, visibly collecting yourself. When you speak again, your voice is carefully level: "I like you, okay? More than I should. And I know that's not what you want, and I'm trying really hard to be okay with that, but you standing in my kitchen looking all concerned while I'm having a feelings crisis is really not helping."

The words hit him like a physical blow. You like him. More than you should.

"You don't know me," he says, defaulting to the easiest argument.

"Bullshit." There's heat in your voice now. "I know you reorganize my bookshelf when you think I'm not looking because the chaos bothers you. I know you bring me coffee on Tuesdays because you noticed I have early meetings. I know you have nightmares—yeah, the walls are thin—and I know you pace afterwards like you're trying to walk off whatever you dreamed about."

Each observation feels like being flayed open.

"I know you're careful," you continue, softer now. "I know you think you're dangerous. And I know you've probably got reasons for that. But Bucky? I also know you'd never hurt me. Ever."

"You can't know that."

"Why? Because you're what, too damaged? Too dangerous?" You step closer and he should step back but he's frozen. "You carry my groceries. You fixed my faucet. You danced with me at a wedding even though you hate dancing. Really dangerous stuff there, Barnes."

"You don't understand—"

"Then explain it to me." Your chin juts out, stubborn. "Give me one good reason why we can't—"

He kisses you.

It's the wrong thing to do. Selfish. Stupid. But you're standing there in your flour-dusted pajamas, looking at him like he's worth fighting for, and his self-control just...snaps.

The sound you make—soft, surprised, maybe relieved—shorts out every rational thought in his head. Your hands come up to frame his face, fingertips cool against his burning skin, and then you're kissing him back like you've been waiting for this, like you've been drowning too.

You taste like smoke and whatever you were baking, sweet with an edge of burn, and he's dizzy with it. His hands find your waist, fingers spreading wide against the soft cotton of your shirt, and he pulls you in until there's no space between you, until he can feel your heartbeat hammering against his chest. You're so warm, so alive, radiating heat like a small sun, and he wants to map every degree of it with his mouth, his hands, his—

Reality crashes back like ice water.

He jerks away, but his hands won't let go of your waist, like his body's in revolt against his better judgment. You're both breathing like you've run miles—harsh, ragged pulls of air that fill the space between you. Your lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, and he did that, he marked you, and the savage satisfaction of it wars with the knowledge that he's just made everything infinitely worse.

Your eyes are huge, pupils blown wide, and you're looking at him like he's just rearranged your entire understanding of the universe. One hand is still on his face, thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth like you're trying to hold the kiss there, keep it from escaping.

"That's why," he says roughly. "Because I want—because you make me want things I can't have."

"Says who?" Your eyes are very bright. "Who decided what you can have?"

He doesn't have an answer for that. Doesn't know how to explain the mathematics of survival, how everyone he's ever cared about becomes a liability, a target, a grave.

"I should go," he manages.

"Or," you say, "you could stay."

The offer hangs between you like a lit fuse. He can see the future unspool in both directions: leave now, go back to safe distances and polite nods in the hallway, watch you eventually move on with someone who doesn't come with a body count. Or stay, and risk you realizing what a mistake you're making. Stay, and selfishly take whatever you're willing to give for however long you're willing to give it.

You're still looking at him, patient and terrified and hopeful all at once.

He leaves.

The word echoes in his head all the way back to his apartment. Coward. Coward. Coward. But it's the right thing to do. The safe thing. You'll hurt for a while, maybe hate him a little, but you'll be alive to do it.

He doesn't sleep. Just sits on his couch, staring at the wall that separates your apartments, listening to the muffled sounds of you cleaning up. The shower runs at 2 AM. He knows you cry in the shower when you think no one can hear—learned that three weeks into being neighbors, when your freelance client stiffed you on a big project. He'd wanted to break the fucker's legs then.

Now he wants to break his own.

You're a better person than he'll ever be, which is why you still smile at him in the hallway.

It's careful now, contained. The kind of smile you'd give any neighbor, not the one that used to light up your whole face when you saw him. You don't knock anymore. Don't text about your smoke alarm or your leaky faucet or the rat you're convinced lives in the walls. You just...exist, parallel to him, in a way that makes his chest feel like it's full of broken glass.

"Fixed it myself," you say one morning when he catches you wrestling with a new deadbolt installation. Your drill slips, gouging the doorframe. "YouTube University, you know?"

He could fix it in under a minute. Could show you how to align the strike plate properly, how to test the throw. Instead: "Good for you."

Your smile flickers. "Yeah. Good for me."

Mrs. Nguyen gives him dirty looks now. The whole floor does, really. Like they know he's the reason you don't laugh as loud anymore, why your music's quieter, why you started getting grocery delivery instead of making three trips up the stairs, arms overloaded, dropping things and cursing cheerfully.

It's fine. It's working. You're safe.

He tells himself that every night when he hears you through the walls, moving around your apartment like a ghost of the person who used to dance while cooking.

Three weeks post-kiss, Valentina calls them in for a mission that's barely legal on a good day.

"Weapons shipment," she says, sliding photos across the conference table with her usual theatrical flair. "Enhanced tech, off-market, very much not supposed to exist. The kind of toys that make governments nervous."

"So we're stealing them," Walker states, not asks.

"Recovering," Val corrects with a smile sharp enough to cut. "For the safety of the American people, of course."

Yelena snorts. Alexei's already studying the compound layout like there'll be a test. Bob's doing that thing where he shrinks into himself, trying to become invisible. Bucky catalogs exits, counts guards in the surveillance photos, and tries not to think about how you looked last night, hauling groceries with your hair falling in your eyes.

The mission goes sideways in minute three.

"Intel was wrong," Ava's voice crackles through comms, too calm for the situation. "Triple the guards. And—"

The explosion cuts her off. Then another. The "barely defended warehouse" is a fucking fortress, crawling with military-grade security who definitely got the "shoot to kill" memo.

"Fall back," Bucky orders, but Alexei's already charged ahead, yelling something about Soviet glory. Walker's trying to flank, Bob's panicking, and somewhere in the chaos, Yelena starts laughing like this is the best thing that's happened all week.

It takes two hours to fight their way out. By the end, Bucky's left arm is sparking, his ears are ringing, and he's pretty sure at least three ribs are cracked. Yelena's favoring her right leg, Walker's bleeding from somewhere he won't admit, and Bob—Bob's dissociating so hard Bucky has to physically guide him to the extraction point.

"Well," Val says over comms, observing from her safe distance, "that was bracing."

Bucky doesn't trust himself to respond.

They limp back to New York in sullen silence. No debrief—Val's already spinning the disaster into something palatable for the brass. Bucky goes straight home, ignoring Sam's calls, ignoring everything except the need to get somewhere quiet before he starts breaking things.

His hands are still shaking when he reaches his floor. Adrenaline crash, probably. Or the delayed realization that they'd all nearly died for some bureaucrat's idea of asset recovery. Or—

Your door is open.

Not open-open. Cracked, like it didn't latch properly. Like someone left in a hurry. Or—

The deadbolt is broken.

The one you installed yourself three weeks ago. The one he'd watched you struggle with, pride keeping you from asking for help.

Bucky goes utterly still.

His body moves before his brain catches up. He's through your doorway, cataloging details with mechanical precision: lamp knocked over, books scattered, coffee table shoved sideways. Signs of a struggle. Signs of—

Blood.

Not much. Just droplets on the hardwood, leading toward the kitchen. But enough. Enough to make his vision tunnel, his chest compress until breathing becomes theoretical.

"Sweetheart?" The pet name slips out, raw. No answer. He clears each room like he's back in Hydra facilities, except his hands won't stop shaking because this is your space, your things, your—

Your phone is on the kitchen floor, screen cracked. There's a handprint on the wall—bloody, smeared. Too small to be anyone's but yours.

Something inside him breaks. Clean, sharp, like a bone snapping. The careful distance he's maintained, the walls he's built, the conviction that keeping you at arm's length would keep you safe—all of it crumbles in the face of your empty apartment and that small, bloody handprint.

He's already moving, phone out, calling in favors he's been hoarding. Because someone took you. Someone came into your home—the home he was supposed to be protecting by staying away—and took you. And they're going to learn exactly why the Winter Soldier's name still makes people flinch.

His phone rings. Unknown number.

"Barnes." He doesn't recognize his own voice.

"Ah, the infamous Winter Soldier." The voice is male, amused, completely at ease. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Where is she?"

"Safe. For now. Though that really depends on you, doesn't it?"

Ice spreads through his veins, familiar as an old friend. This is what he was trying to prevent. This exact scenario. You, hurt because of him. You, taken because someone figured out—

"What do you want?"

"You've been playing house, Barnes. Getting soft. Forgetting what you are." A pause, calculated. "I'm going to remind you. And your little neighbor? She's going to help."

The line goes dead.

Bucky stands in your ruined apartment, surrounded by the evidence of his failure, and feels something fundamental shift. Not break—he's been broken before. This is worse. This is the cold clarity that comes after, when there's nothing left to lose.

Someone made a mistake today. They touched you. They made you bleed.

He's going to paint the city red for it.

"Buck, slow down—"

"No." He's already moving, gathering gear with brutal efficiency. The weapons he's not supposed to have. The tech that's definitely illegal. Every favor, every resource, every skill Hydra beat into him over seventy years.

Sam's on speaker, trying to be the voice of reason. "You can't just go in guns blazing—"

"Watch me."

"This is exactly what they want. You, isolated, operating without backup—"

"They have her, Sam." The words come out raw, flayed. "They took her because of me. Because I was stupid enough to think distance would keep her safe."

Silence on the other end. Then: "What do you need?"

That's why Sam Wilson is Captain America. No more arguments, no more trying to talk him down. Just immediate, unwavering support.

"Intel. Cameras in my building, surrounding blocks. Last twelve hours." He straps a knife to his thigh, then another. "And get me backup."

"I can rally your team. Get Walker, Yelena—"

"No." The word comes out sharp. Another knife. Extra magazines. "The Thunderbolts are compromised. That clusterfuck of a mission proved it."

"Buck—"

"They're not ready for this. Half of them can barely work together without Val pulling the strings." He's checking his tactical vest, muscle memory taking over. "This isn't a government op. This is personal."

"So what, you're going in alone?"

Is he? Bucky stops, considers his options. The Thunderbolts are a mess on a good day—Walker's still trying to prove something, Bob's hanging on by a thread, and Alexei treats everything like a performance. They're not who he needs for this.

"They touched her," he says simply.

"I know, man. I know. But—"

"Get me what intel you can. I'll handle the rest."

"Buck, come on. At least let me—"

"They have her, Sam." His voice cracks, just slightly. "Every second we waste talking, they could be—"

"Okay. Okay. Intel coming your way. But Barnes? Don't do anything stupid."

"Too late for that."

Bucky stops in your doorway, looks back at your apartment. There's a photo on your bookshelf—you and him at the building's July 4th party. Mrs. Nguyen had insisted on taking it. You're laughing at something, leaning into him, and he's looking at you like—

Like you're everything he never thought he'd get to have.

"I'm coming for you," he tells the empty room. A promise. A threat. A prayer to whoever might be listening.

Then he disappears into the night, and the Winter Soldier goes hunting.

The trail goes cold in six hours.

Whoever took you, they're not amateurs playing at being dangerous. They're ghosts—professionals who know exactly how to disappear in a city of eight million people. Every camera angle's been scrubbed. Every witness suddenly develops amnesia. Even the blood in your apartment leads nowhere; cleaned of DNA markers by something that makes Bucky's teeth ache with familiarity.

"Talk to me, Buck." Sam's voice through the earpiece, carefully level. "Where are you?"

Bucky stands on a rooftop in Queens, staring at another dead end. Another empty warehouse that should have had something, anything. "Nowhere."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got." His metal hand clenches, servos whining. Below, the city keeps moving, oblivious to the fact that you're somewhere in it, hurt, taken because of him. "They're good, Sam. Too good."

"We'll find her."

We. Like this isn't Bucky's fault. Like his past isn't bleeding into your present, staining everything he tried so hard to keep clean.

He drops from the rooftop, lands hard enough to crack pavement. A passing couple startles, hurries away. Good. He doesn't feel particularly human right now anyway.

Hour twelve. Yelena finds him in your apartment, sitting on your couch like a grieving statue.

"This is pathetic," she says, stepping over the crime scene tape he'd ignored. "Even for you."

"Get out."

"No." She perches on your coffee table, uncharacteristically serious. "You think sitting here feeling sorry for yourself will find her? You think guilt helps?"

"I said—"

"I know what guilt looks like, Barnes." Her voice cuts, precise as the knives she carries. "I know what it is, failing someone you—" She pauses, searching for the English word. "Care about. But this?" She gestures at him, at the apartment, at the bloody handprint he can't stop staring at. "This is just... как это... self-pity? No, worse. Useless."

The laugh that tears out of him is ugly. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"Someone needs to knock sense into your thick skull." She leans forward. "Whoever has her, they want you like this. Emotional. Sloppy. Making mistakes."

"I know that."

"Then stop giving them what they want."

Easier said than done when every surface in this apartment carries your ghost. The mug on the counter with your lipstick stain. The book splayed open on the side table, marking your place. The sweater thrown over the chair—his sweater, actually, stolen three weeks ago when you'd claimed your apartment was freezing.

"Keep it," he'd said, trying not to notice how it made something primal in him satisfied, seeing you wrapped in his clothes.

"Just until I fix my radiator," you'd promised, but you'd worn it three more times that week, and he'd never asked for it back.

"Barnes." Yelena snaps her fingers in his face. "Сфокусируйся. Focus."

"I am focused."

"You're spiraling." She pulls out her phone, shows him surveillance footage he's already memorized. "Look again. Really look. Use your brain, not your bleeding heart."

He wants to tell her he's looked at nothing else for twelve hours. Instead, he watches you leave your apartment at 6:47 PM, mail in hand. Watches you come back at 6:53. The timestamp jumps—7:31 to 8:15, forty-four minutes missing. By 8:15, your door's ajar and you're gone.

"Professional crew doesn't need forty-four minutes for grab," Yelena says, her English getting rougher as she thinks. "So why take so long? What were they doing?"

Bucky's phone buzzes. Unknown number.

His blood turns to ice, then flame.

"You're going to want to watch this alone," the familiar voice says. "Though I'm sure your friend is lovely. Hi, Yelena."

She stiffens. Bucky's already moving, putting distance between them, some instinct screaming danger.

"Just me," he says. "Let her go."

"See, that's your problem, Barnes. Still trying to protect everyone. Still thinking you can control who gets hurt." A pause. "Check your messages."

The video file is already there. His hand shakes as he opens it.

You're in a concrete room—could be anywhere, everywhere, the kind of place that exists in every city's bones. Sitting in a metal chair, wrists zip-tied but not apparently hurt beyond the cut on your temple still sluggishly bleeding. You're still wearing his sweater.

"Say hello, sweetheart." The voice comes from behind the camera.

You look up, and the defiance in your eyes makes his chest seize. "Go fuck yourself."

The slap comes fast, snaps your head sideways. Bucky's phone creaks in his grip.

"Language." The camera shifts, focuses on your face. "Try again."

You spit blood, manage a smile that's all teeth. "Hi, Bucky. Nice weather we're having."

Another slap. Harder. Your lip splits.

"I told you he made you weak." The voice continues conversationally as you work your jaw, testing damage. "The Winter Soldier, reduced to playing house with some nobody. It's embarrassing, really."

"You talk a lot for someone hiding behind a camera," you mutter.

This time it's a fist. Your head rocks back, and when you look up again, your nose is bleeding. But you're still glaring, still unbroken, and Bucky loves you so fiercely in that moment it feels like drowning.

"Here's what's going to happen," the voice continues. "Every hour Barnes doesn't come alone to the address we'll send, things get worse for you. And before you get any ideas—" The camera pans to show three other men, armed, professional. "—we've planned for contingencies."

Back to you. Blood drips onto his sweater. You notice the camera returning, look directly into it. "Don't you fucking dare," you say, and despite everything—split lip, bloody nose, zip-tied to a chair—you mean it. "You hear me, Barnes? Don't you—"

The video cuts.

Bucky stands very still in your empty apartment, phone in pieces at his feet.

"That bad?" Yelena asks.

He can't speak. Can barely breathe around the rage threatening to tear him apart from the inside. Somewhere in the city, you're bleeding because of him. Hurt because he was selfish enough to let you close, stupid enough to think distance would be enough.

Another text. An address in Red Hook. Come alone or we start cutting.

"Is trap," Yelena says, dropping articles like she does when she's focused. "Obviously trap."

"I know."

"You can't just walk in there like idiot."

"I know."

"So what's plan?"

He looks at her, and whatever she sees in his face makes her step back. "I give them what they want."

"Barnes—"

"They want the Winter Soldier?" His voice sounds wrong, mechanical, like something dredged up from permafrost. "They've got him."

The address leads to a warehouse because of course it does. These people, whoever they are, lack imagination. Bucky counts heat signatures through thermal imaging—six outside, unknown inside. Doable, if he's what he used to be. If he's willing to be what he used to be.

"Don't you fucking dare."

Your voice echoes, but it's drowned out by older programming. By muscle memory that never quite faded, no matter how many therapy sessions or good days or shared dinners with someone who looked at him like he was worth saving.

"In position," Sam's voice, because fuck going alone. Fuck giving them what they want. "West entrance."

"Rooftop," from Yelena.

"Back door," Walker, surprisingly. "For the record, I think this is stupid."

"Noted," Bucky says, and walks through the front door.

The space is exactly what he expected. Concrete floors, exposed beams, the kind of place that swallows sound. They're waiting for him—five men in tactical gear, no identifying marks. Professional contractors, not ideologues. Which makes this personal.

"Dramatic entrance. I respect that." The voice from the phone materializes into a man in his forties, military bearing, forgettable face. He's standing next to a metal table laid out with tools that make Bucky's scars ache. "Though you were supposed to come alone."

"Yeah, well." Bucky spreads his hands, easy target. "I've never been good at following orders. Ask anyone."

"Funny." The man circles him, predator studying prey. "That's not what your files say. 'Perfect compliance.' That was the phrase, wasn't it?"

Old wounds, precisely targeted. These people have done their homework.

"Where is she?"

"Close. Alive. For now." The man stops in front of him. "You know, I studied you. The Winter Soldier. Hydra's perfect weapon. And then you just... stopped. Became this." He gestures dismissively. "James Barnes, failing congressman. Playing superhero. Pretending you're not what we made you."

"We?"

The man smiles. "Not Hydra, if that's what you're thinking. Hydra was sloppy. Cult-like. No vision beyond control." He pulls out a tablet, shows Bucky a logo—a chimera, three-headed. "Cerberus. We're more... refined. We deal in weapons, not world domination. And you, Barnes? You're a weapon pretending to be human."

"Cool speech." Bucky's cataloging angles, distances, how fast he'd have to move. "Must've practiced in the mirror."

The man's smile tightens. "Bring her out."

Two more men emerge from a side room, dragging you between them. You're conscious but barely, feet stumbling, head lolling. They drop you on the concrete, and you don't get up.

Everything in Bucky goes very, very quiet.

"So here's the deal," Cerberus continues. "You're going to work for us. Exclusive contract. Your particular skills in exchange for her life."

"No." Your voice, cracked but clear. You push yourself up on shaking arms, meet Bucky's eyes across the warehouse. "No deals. No trades."

"Sweetheart—"

"Don't you 'sweetheart' me." You manage to get to your knees, swaying. Blood's dried on your face, but your eyes are blazing. "You think I don't know what they're asking? You think I'd let you—" You have to stop, catch your breath. "I'd rather die than be the reason you become that again."

"How touching," Cerberus says. "But not your call." He nods to one of his men, who pulls out a knife. "Barnes? Your answer?"

The knife moves toward you.

The world explodes.

Flash-bangs through windows, smoke grenades, the distinctive whine of repulsor beams. Cerberus shouts orders, but it's too late—the Avengers don't do subtle when one of their own is threatened.

Bucky moves. Not the measured approach of a soldier, but the brutal efficiency of a weapon. The man with the knife goes down first, arm snapping under metal fingers. The second barely has time to scream. He's not thinking, just reacting, just removing threats between him and you.

Someone shoots him. Barely feels it. Someone else tries hand-to-hand, which is adorable. He puts them through a wall.

"Barnes!" Sam's voice, sharp. "Shield up!"

He spins, catches the thrown shield, uses it to deflect a spray of bullets meant for you. You're trying to crawl to cover, leaving bloody handprints on the concrete, and the sight shorts out whatever restraint he had left.

When the smoke clears, Cerberus is the only one left standing. Backed against the wall, gun trained on you because of course it is. These people are predictable to the last.

"Come any closer and—"

Yelena drops from the ceiling, lands on him like gravity given form. The gun goes flying. Cerberus goes down choking on his own blood, Yelena's knife finding the gap in his armor like it was designed for it.

"Predictable," she says, wiping the blade clean. "I told you they were predictable."

But Bucky's already moving, dropping to his knees beside you. You're conscious, breathing, alive. That's all that matters. Everything else—the mission, the cleanup, the questions—fades to white noise.

"Hey," he says, hands hovering over you, afraid to touch. Afraid to hurt. "I've got you."

"Took you long enough," you manage, then promptly pass out in his arms.

He catches you, holds you against his chest, and something in him breaks. Or maybe it finally, finally mends. Either way, he's done pretending distance keeps anyone safe. Done acting like he deserves to make choices about your safety without you.

"Med team's three minutes out," Sam says quietly.

Three minutes. He can hold you for three minutes. Can keep you safe for three minutes.

After that? After that, everything changes.

But for now, in the blood and smoke and aftermath, Bucky Barnes holds the person he was stupid enough to fall in love with and makes a promise:

Never again.

Never fucking again.

The medical bay at the Tower is too bright, too sterile, too full of people who keep looking at Bucky like he might snap. Maybe he will. He's been sitting in the same chair for four hours, watching machines monitor your breathing, and every beep feels like an accusation.

"You need to get that looked at," Sam says, nodding at the blood seeping through Bucky's shirt. Gunshot wound, probably. He honestly can't remember.

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding on their fancy floors."

"I'm fine."

Sam exchanges a look with Yelena, who's been uncharacteristically quiet since they arrived. She's cleaned the blood off her hands but keeps flexing them, like she can still feel it.

"At least change your shirt," she says finally. "You look like extra from horror movie."

He doesn't move. Can't move. Because what if you wake up while he's gone? What if you open your eyes and he's not there, again, like he wasn't there when they took you?

"Barnes." Dr. Cho's voice cuts through his spiral. "She's stable. Three broken ribs, concussion, various contusions, but nothing life-threatening. She's lucky."

Lucky. The word tastes like copper in his mouth. Lucky is winning the lottery, not surviving a kidnapping because you had the misfortune of living next to him.

"When will she wake up?"

"Soon. The sedatives should wear off within the hour." She pauses, studying him with that look medical professionals get when they're about to say something pointed. "You, however, need treatment. You're actively bleeding on my floor."

"Sam already made that joke."

"It wasn't a joke." But she moves on, knowing a lost cause when she sees one. "I'll send a nurse with supplies. Try not to die before she wakes up. The paperwork would be tedious."

She leaves. Sam leaves. Even Yelena eventually wanders off, muttering something about vodka and terrible life choices. And then it's just Bucky and you and the steady beep of machines he'd tear apart if they stopped working.

Your hand is smaller than his. He knows this—has known it since the first time you grabbed his wrist to drag him to see some neighbor's new puppy—but it feels more pronounced now. More fragile. Your knuckles are split from fighting back, and there's still blood under your nails. His blood? Theirs? He doesn't know, and the not knowing makes him want to put his fist through the wall.

"You're spiraling again."

Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it might as well be a gunshot for how hard it hits. His head snaps up to find you watching him, eyes half-open but alert.

"You're awake."

"Mmm. Kind of wish I wasn't." You try to sit up, wince, immediately abort that mission. "Fuck. Did anyone get the number of the truck that hit me?"

"Don't—" He's hovering, hands fluttering uselessly, afraid to touch you. "You shouldn't move. Dr. Cho said—"

"Dr. Cho can kiss my ass," you mutter, but you stop trying to sit up. Your eyes track over him, cataloging damage. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"It's literally dripping on the floor, Barnes."

"It's fine."

You stare at each other. Four hours of practiced speeches evaporate in the face of your actual consciousness, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your blood on concrete and the sound you made when they hit you.

"So," you say finally, voice carefully neutral. "Cerberus. That was fun."

"Don't."

"Don't what? Make jokes about my kidnapping? Process trauma through humor? Acknowledge that you're sitting there bleeding because you decided to Rambo your way through—"

"You could have died." It comes out louder than intended, raw. "You almost died because of me."

Something shifts in your expression. "Bucky—"

"No." He's standing now, needing distance, needing space between him and the way you're looking at him. "You don't get to—to act like this is fine. Like this is some funny story you'll tell at parties. They took you because of me. They hurt you because of me."

"They took me because they're assholes who thought they could use me as leverage." You're struggling to sit up again, ignoring whatever pain it causes. "That's on them, not you."

"You're only leverage because I was selfish enough to—" He stops, runs his hand through his hair. "I knew better. I knew what would happen if I let someone close, and I did it anyway."

"Let me get this straight." Your voice is gaining strength, and with it, heat. "You think you 'let' me get close? Like I didn't have any say in it? Like I didn't practically force-feed you cookies until you acknowledged my existence?"

"That's not—"

"And what, you think keeping me at arm's length would've magically made me safer? News flash, Barnes: I live in that building because it's what I can afford. That makes me a target for regular criminals on a good day. At least with you around, I had someone who actually gave a shit if I made it home."

"Don't." The word cracks. "Don't act like I was protecting you. I'm the reason you were bleeding. I'm the reason they—"

"You're the reason I'm alive!" You swing your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the floor with determination that makes his chest tight. "You think they took me because they wanted leverage? They took me because they were cleaning house. Because they knew you'd gotten soft, gotten close to someone, and that made you unpredictable."

You stand, sway, catch yourself on the bed rail. He moves forward instinctively, and you hold up a hand.

"No. You don't get to touch me right now. Not when you're about to do something stupid and noble and self-sacrificing." You take a step, then another, closing the distance between you despite your own warning. "They were going to kill me either way, Barnes. Whether you came for me or not. The only difference is that you did come, and now I'm alive to be really fucking pissed at you."

"You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." You're close enough now that he can see the bruises forming on your throat, the way you're holding your ribs, the tears you're refusing to shed. "You think you're poison. You think everyone you touch gets hurt. You think the best thing you can do is be alone forever because that's what you deserve."

"Stop."

"No. Because here's the thing, James Buchanan Barnes—you don't get to make that choice for me." Your voice breaks, just a little. "You don't get to decide I'm better off without you. You don't get to kiss me in my kitchen and then run away like a coward. And you sure as hell don't get to sit there bleeding and act like it's some kind of penance."

The medical bay feels too small suddenly, like all the air's been sucked out. You're looking at him with eyes that see too much, that refuse to let him hide behind the careful walls he's rebuilt in the last three weeks.

"They hurt you," he says, quieter now. Lost.

"Yeah. They did." You reach up, slowly, telegraphing the movement. Your hand cups his face, thumb brushing over the bruise on his cheekbone. "And it wasn't your fault."

"How can you say that?"

"Because blaming you for what they did is like blaming a bank for getting robbed." Your other hand comes up, framing his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. "You're not responsible for other people's evil, Bucky. You're only responsible for what you do about it."

"I should have protected you better."

"You literally threw yourself between me and automatic gunfire."

"I should have never let them take you in the first place."

"Oh, so you're psychic now? Can predict the future?" Your laugh is watery. "Add that to the resume. Congressman, ex-assassin, part-time fortune teller."

"This isn't funny."

"It's a little funny." But your smile fades, replaced by something fiercer. "You want to know what's not funny? Spending three weeks watching you shut me out. Sitting in that chair, knowing you were hurting, and not being able to do anything because you decided I was better off without you."

"You are—"

"Finish that sentence and I swear to god, Barnes, concussion or not, I will punch you in your stupid, self-loathing face."

He almost smiles. Almost. "You could barely stand five seconds ago."

"Adrenaline's a hell of a drug." But you're swaying again, and this time when he reaches for you, you don't stop him. His arms come around you carefully, mindful of injuries, and you lean into him like you've been waiting for permission. "I'm so fucking mad at you."

"I know."

"Like, incandescently furious."

"I know."

"You don't get to leave again." It comes out muffled against his chest, but he hears the steel underneath. "I don't care if the entire population of supervillains decides I'm their new favorite target. You don't get to leave."

His arms tighten fractionally. "Sweetheart—"

"No." You pull back enough to glare at him, and even bruised and exhausted, you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "No 'sweetheart.' No soft voice and sad eyes. You're either in this with me or you're out, but you don't get to half-ass it anymore. You don't get to knock on my door at 2 AM because you had a nightmare and then pretend we're just neighbors. You don't get to dance with me at weddings and then act like it meant nothing. You don't get to—"

He kisses you.

There's no grace in it—just collision, pure physics as his mouth finds yours with the same brutal efficiency he'd use to take down a target. Except this isn't violence, it's something worse. It's capitulation. It's three weeks of want compressed into the space between one heartbeat and the next.

The noise that escapes you—half gasp, half sob—unlocks something feral in his chest. Then your teeth catch his lower lip, sharp and unforgiving, and his vision whites out entirely. You kiss like you fight: dirty, determined, taking no prisoners. Your tongue slides against his and his knees actually buckle, what the fuck, he's faced down alien armies without flinching but you're going to be what finally kills him.

His hands fly to your face, metal and flesh cradling your jaw like you're something precious even as he devours your mouth like you're anything but. You're pressed so tight against him he can feel every hitch in your breathing, every shudder that runs through you when he angles his head and deepens the kiss into something filthier, something that has you making these broken little sounds that he wants to bottle and keep.

The medical bed hits the back of your thighs—when did he walk you backward?—and you use the leverage to pull him down, down, until he's curved over you like a question mark, like gravity itself has reorganized around the heat of your mouth.

When you finally break apart, it's only because biology demands it. You're both wrecked—breathing like you've run marathons, lips swollen and spit-slick, staring at each other like you're not quite sure what just happened.

Your pupils are blown so wide he can barely see the color of your irises. There's a flush spreading down your throat, disappearing beneath the hospital gown, and he has to physically stop himself from following it with his mouth. His hands are trembling where they frame your face, thumbs pressed to your cheekbones like he's checking you're real.

"That's not an answer," you manage, but your voice is thoroughly fucked, and your hands are still twisted in his vest like you'll shoot him if he tries to move away.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's really not. It's a deflection. A really nice deflection, but—"

"I'm in." The words feel like jumping off a cliff. Like defusing a bomb. Like coming home. "I'm in. Whatever that means, whatever that looks like. I'm in."

You study him for a long moment, and he tries not to fidget under the scrutiny. Finally: "You're going to therapy."

"I'm already in therapy."

"You're going to actually talk in therapy instead of just staring at the wall and hoping Dr. Raynor gets bored."

"...fine."

"And you're going to let me have a say in my own safety. No more unilateral decisions about what's 'best' for me."

"Okay."

"And you're going to teach me self-defense. Real self-defense, not just how to throw a punch."

"Deal."

"And—" You sway again, this time more dramatically. "Oh. Okay. Maybe sitting down now."

He guides you back to the bed, hands steady even if nothing else is. You let him fuss, let him adjust pillows and pull up blankets, and he tries not to think about how easily you fit into his hands. How right this feels, even with blood on his shirt and bruises on your skin.

"For the record," you say as he settles back into the chair beside your bed, "I'm still mad."

"I know."

"Like, really mad. There's going to be yelling. Possibly throwing things."

"I can take it."

"And groveling. Lots of groveling. I'm talking flowers, chocolates, the works."

"Noted."

You reach for his hand, lace your fingers through his. "And you're going to tell me you love me."

He freezes. You squeeze his hand.

"Because I know you do. I've known since you reorganized my bookshelf by genre and then pretended you didn't. And I love you too, you absolute disaster of a man, but I need to hear you say it. When I'm not concussed and you're not bleeding. When we're both safe and no one's trying to kill us and we can actually have a real conversation about what this means."

His throat feels tight. "I can do that."

"Good." You close your eyes, exhaustion finally winning. "Now get your gunshot wound treated before you bleed out on my watch. I'm not explaining that to Sam."

"It's not that bad."

"Bucky."

"Fine."

But he doesn't move. Not yet. Instead, he sits there holding your hand, memorizing the way your fingers fit between his, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the fact that you're alive and here and somehow, impossibly, still want him around.

The sun's coming up by the time a nurse finally corners him, threatening sedation if he doesn't let her treat the gunshot wound. You're properly asleep by then, fingers still tangled with his, and he lets the nurse work around your grip rather than let go.

"She's tough," the nurse comments, applying what are probably too many bandages.

"Yeah."

"And stubborn."

"Definitely."

"Good." She pats his shoulder, maternal despite being half his age. "You're going to need it."

He doesn't ask what she means. Doesn't need to. Because you're right—he's a disaster. A work in progress on his best days, a barely controlled catastrophe on his worst. But you looked at all that and decided he was worth fighting for anyway.

The least he can do is try to prove you right.

When you wake up again, he's there. When Dr. Cho kicks him out so you can rest, he goes to therapy and actually talks. When Sam asks if you're together now, he says yes without qualifying it.

And when you're finally released, when you're back in your apartment with its new locks and its carefully cleaned floors, when you knock on his door at midnight because the nightmares found you too—he opens it. No hesitation. No distance.

"Hey, neighbor," you say, and the smile you give him is worth every risk, every fear, every moment of doubt.

"Hey yourself."

You step inside, and he closes the door behind you, and for the first time in longer than he can remember, Bucky Barnes stops running from the possibility of happiness.

It's terrifying.

It's everything.

It's enough.

feedback is always appreciated! ♡

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myreadings · 17 days ago

Text

contrition | b.b. (2)

✮ synopsis: two years of healing. that's what it takes for bucky barnes to believe he might deserve you again. two years of therapy, of learning to sleep in a bed, of discovering what james barnes wants when he's not running from who he used to be. two years apart before a leaked video of his past forces him to confront the truth.

✮ pairing: post-thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader

✮ disclaimers (18+, minors dni): hurt/comfort, ptsd and trauma responses, references to past torture (hydra), trauma, panic attacks, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, praise kink, light dom/sub undertones (light), vibrating finger features (whoops)

✮ word count: 14k

✮ a/n: this is part 2 of 2! really recommend catching up at part 1 first 🤍

main masterlist

The apartment sounded wrong.

Bucky stood in the doorway of what used to be the bedroom—their bedroom—and cataloged the absence. No soft breathing. No rustle of sheets when you turned over in sleep. No quiet hum of your phone charging on the nightstand. Just his own heartbeat, too loud in the silence, and the hum of the refrigerator that had always been too loud but he'd never fixed because you said it was "charming."

Three weeks.

Three weeks since you'd left, and he still hadn't slept in the bed.

The couch had a permanent indent now, shaped to his body like a pathetic monument to his failures. He'd been meaning to flip the cushions. Hadn't. Same way he'd been meaning to call his therapist back. Hadn't. Same way he'd been meaning to do anything other than exist in this hollow space you'd left behind.

His phone buzzed. Sam, probably. Or Raynor. Both had been calling with increasing frequency, leaving voicemails that ranged from concerned to irritated to outright threatening. He let it ring out, watching his reflection in the black screen once it went quiet. He looked like shit. Felt worse.

The mission brief sat unopened on the kitchen counter where he'd thrown it two days ago. Valentina had sent three follow-ups, each more passive-aggressive than the last. He should care. Should worry about his standing with the team, about maintaining his pardon, about all the things that used to matter before you made everything else feel like background noise.

He didn't.

The apartment still smelled like you. Your shampoo lingered in the bathroom. Your coffee mug sat in the dishwasher—the one with the chip on the handle from when he'd knocked it off the counter during a nightmare. You'd laughed it off, said it gave it character. He'd been too raw from the dream to do anything but nod, but you'd seen through him like you always did. Made him tea instead of coffee that morning, kept your voice soft, didn't ask questions.

That was the thing that gutted him most. You'd always known how to navigate his damage without making him feel damaged. Until he'd made you feel like you were drowning right alongside him.

The journal you'd given him lay on the coffee table, still in its wrapping paper. He'd taken it out of the drawer the first night, set it there like placing flowers on a grave. Couldn't bring himself to open it. Couldn't bring himself to put it away either. So it sat there, gathering dust like everything else in his life.

But try for you, not for me.

Your words echoed in the empty space, bouncing off walls that held too many memories. The place where you'd slow danced at 2 AM to no music, just the sound of rain. The kitchen counter where you'd perched while he cooked, stealing bites and making him laugh. The doorframe where you'd stood that last morning, looking so fucking tired he'd wanted to drop to his knees and beg right there.

He should have.

Instead, he'd stood frozen like the coward he was, watching you leave with grief trapped in his throat like shrapnel. Three weeks later, he could still feel it cutting him up from the inside.

His metal arm whirred softly as he flexed the fingers. A recalibration, Shuri called it. Happened when the neural pathways got overwhelmed. Fitting, really. Everything about him needed recalibrating, and he didn't know where to start.

The velvet box hidden in his tactical bag mocked him from across the room.

He'd bought it two months ago, in a moment of clarity where he thought he could push through his own bullshit long enough to do right by you. The plan had been simple: therapy, real therapy. Talk to Sam about going public. Stop letting fear drive every decision.

But clarity was a funny thing. It tended to evaporate the moment shit got real, and he'd gone right back to his patterns. Pushing you away so slowly you wouldn't notice until you were too far gone to reach.

Mission fucking accomplished.

His phone buzzed again. This time, he looked.

Raynor: Barnes. Answer your phone or I'm listing you as non-compliant. You know what that means.

He knew. Back to prison. Back to cuffs. Back to being the asset everyone was waiting to snap. Maybe that would be easier. At least in a cell, he couldn't hurt anyone else. Couldn't love anyone else into disappearing.

But even as the thought formed, he could hear your voice, sharp with frustration: "Stop. Just stop with the self-pity routine. You're not a weapon, you're a person who makes choices. So make better ones."

You'd said that after the nightmare, when he'd tried to punish himself by sleeping on the floor. Always cutting through his martyrdom complex with surgical precision.

God, he missed you. Missed you like a physical wound, like something vital had been carved out of his chest and now he was just walking around with a hole where his heart used to be.

The front door opened—Sam, using the spare key you'd insisted on giving him. Because that was the kind of person you were. The kind who thought about safety nets and backup plans and making sure the people you loved were taken care of, even when they didn't deserve it.

"Man, you look worse than the last time I saw you," Sam said, not bothering with pleasantries. "And that's saying something."

Bucky didn't respond. Couldn't find the energy to deflect or defend. Sam's eyes swept the apartment, taking in the unchanged state of everything. The pictures still on the walls—you hadn't taken those. The blanket you'd crocheted still thrown over the couch. Your favorite cereal bowl still in the dishwasher.

"You planning on turning this place into a shrine, or you actually gonna deal with your shit?"

"Leave it, Sam."

"Nah." Sam moved into the kitchen, started making coffee like he owned the place. "See, I promised someone I'd check on you. Made that promise the day she called me crying because the man she loved was treating her like a ghost while she was still right there."

That got Bucky's attention. His head snapped up. "She called you?"

"Three weeks ago. Right after she left. Want to know what she said?"

Bucky's throat felt like sandpaper. "Sam—"

"She said, 'Make sure he's okay. Make sure he eats. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.' Even while her heart was breaking, she was worried about you." Sam turned, fixing him with a look that could peel paint. "So I'm here. Making sure. Even though what I really want to do is kick your ass for being the kind of idiot who lets the best thing in his life walk away."

"I didn't let her—" Bucky stopped, the lie dying on his lips. Because that's exactly what he'd done. Pushed and pushed until leaving was her only option. "I couldn't... I was going to hurt her."

"You did hurt her. Just not the way you thought." Sam poured two cups of coffee, set one in front of Bucky with more force than necessary. "You're so scared of the Winter Soldier showing up that you didn't notice Bucky Barnes was the one doing the damage."

The words hit like a physical blow. Bucky gripped the mug, needing something to anchor him. The ceramic was warm against his flesh palm, but he couldn't feel it with the metal one. Never could. Just like he couldn't feel you slipping away until it was too late.

"She's better off—"

"Man, if you finish that sentence, I swear to God." Sam sat across from him, leaning forward. "You want to know what she's doing right now? She's crashing on her sister's couch. Calling in sick to work because she can't stop crying long enough to get through a shift. Jumping every time her phone rings because she thinks it might be you."

Each word was a knife between his ribs. Bucky's hands trembled around the mug.

"But she's safe," he managed. "From me. From what I am."

"What you are," Sam said slowly, like he was talking to a child, "is a man too scared of his own happiness to let himself have it. You think pushing her away kept her safe? All it did was break both your hearts. Congratulations. Mission accomplished."

Bucky flinched. Those were the same words he'd thought earlier, but hearing them out loud made them real in a way that threatened to crack him open.

"I don't know how to fix it," he admitted, the words barely above a whisper.

"Start with therapy. Real therapy, not the bullshit check-ins you've been doing." Sam pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts. "I've got a guy. Specializes in PTSD, combat trauma. He's good. Discrete. And he won't let you get away with the stone-cold routine."

"Sam—"

"You said you'd try. She left, and you promised you'd try. So fucking try, Buck. Because I've seen you fight through impossible shit. I've seen you come back from the dead, literally. But you're gonna let fear kill the best relationship you've ever had?"

Bucky stared into his coffee, seeing your face reflected in the dark surface. The way you'd looked that last morning—hollow, exhausted, but still so fucking beautiful it made his chest ache. You'd been disappearing for months, and he'd been too wrapped up in his own damage to notice.

No. That wasn't true. He'd noticed. He'd just been too much of a coward to stop it.

"What if it's too late?" The question came out cracked, vulnerable in a way he hadn't allowed himself to be since that morning. "What if she's done?"

Sam was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentler. "Then at least you'll know you tried. Actually tried, not this half-ass self-sabotage you've been pulling. You owe her that. You owe yourself that."

Bucky thought about the ring hidden in his tactical bag. The journal gathering dust on the coffee table. The three weeks of silence that felt like three years. You'd asked him to try for himself, not for you. Because you'd known—god, you'd always known—that he couldn't heal for someone else. It had to be for him.

"The therapist," he said finally. "What's his name?"

Sam's smile was small but real. "Dr. Keene. He's got time Thursday if you're ready."

Thursday. Four days away. Four days to figure out how to walk into an office and crack himself open. Four days to stop running from the man he was so afraid of being.

"Yeah," Bucky said, and the word felt like the first true thing he'd said in weeks. "Yeah, okay."

Sam stayed for another hour, filling the silence with updates about the team, about Sarah and the boys. Normal things. Human things. The kind of life Bucky had told himself he couldn't have, didn't deserve.

After Sam left, Bucky sat in the too-quiet apartment and finally, finally opened the journal.

Your handwriting on the first page made his throat tight:

For all the stories you haven't told yet. You deserve to be more than your worst days. Always.

He picked up a pen, hand shaking slightly, and wrote the first words:

I fell in love with you on a Tuesday.

It wasn't much. It wasn't nearly enough. But it was true, and it was a start.

And maybe, if he could fill enough pages with truth, he'd figure out how to stop running from the only person who'd ever made him want to stay.

~ three weeks prior ~ The transport back to New York had been a special kind of hell.

Not the physical restraints—he'd worn worse, been treated worse. The titanium cuffs were almost gentle compared to HYDRA's methods. No, it was Walker's eyes that made him want to disappear. That mix of pity and disgust, the barely concealed I told you so hovering on his lips. It was Yelena going deadly quiet in the quinjet, which was somehow worse than her usual barbs. It was the way even Val—Val who'd seen every shade of monster there was—looked at him like a liability that needed containing.

Three bodies. Three ex-HYDRA scientists who'd been running a knockoff super soldier program out of a defunct pharmaceutical lab in Warsaw. The mission had been simple: infiltrate, gather intel, extract. No termination protocol. No weapons free. Just get in, get the data, get out.

He'd gotten in just fine.

Then one of them had smiled at him. Just a little quirk of the lips, and said, "Gotovy vypolnit' prikaz?" Ready to comply?

Not the words. Never the words again—Shuri had made sure of that. But something in the pattern, the cadence, the way the Russian rolled off his tongue like he'd been gargling broken glass. Something that bypassed all of Bucky's careful control and went straight to the place where the Soldier lived.

He'd come to with blood on his hands and Walker screaming in his ear.

The containment cell in the Tower's sub-basement was medical-grade, meant for enhanced individuals who posed a threat to themselves or others. White walls, no windows, temperature controlled to keep him comfortable while they figured out what the fuck had happened. He sat on the single bench, still in his tactical gear—they'd been too wary to let him change—and stared at his hands.

Flesh and metal. Both capable of equal damage.

His phone had been confiscated, but he could see it through the observation window, lighting up on the desk. Your ringtone—he'd assigned you something soft, something that wouldn't jar him awake from nightmares. It played three times in the first hour.

"You want me to answer that?" The tech on duty—Hollander, decent guy, three kids—gestured at the phone.

"No."

What was he supposed to say? Hey baby, I'm back in the city but currently in lockdown because I snapped and killed three people with my bare hands. How was your day?

Dr. Cho ran every scan imaginable. Blood work, brain scans, neural mapping. Looking for any trace of external manipulation, any sign that someone had found another way in. The results were horrifyingly clean. No drugs, no tech, no secret programming. Just Bucky Barnes, losing control because someone spoke Russian with the right inflection.

"It's a trauma response," Cho explained, professional but not unkind. "Like a soldier diving for cover when a car backfires. Your neural pathways remember the pattern, even if the trigger itself is gone."

"So I'm not safe." It wasn't a question.

"You're not unsafe," she corrected carefully. "But we should monitor—"

"How long?"

"Forty-eight hours minimum. Protocol."

Two days. Two days in a white box while you thought he was somewhere in Warsaw, doing hero work. Two days of your calls going unanswered because how could he explain this? How could he tell you that after all the work, all the fixing, he was still a weapon waiting to go off?

The door opened on day two. Yelena walked in like she owned the place. She dragged a chair across the floor, the screech of metal on concrete deliberately obnoxious, and sat backwards on it like they were having a casual chat.

"So," she said, examining her nails. "You had fun party in Warsaw."

"Go away, Belova."

"Cannot." She pulled out a bag of chips from her jacket—where the hell had she been hiding those?—and tore it open. "Valentina says I must watch you. Make sure you don't go—how she say—'full murder ‘bot again."

"I didn't—" He stopped. Because he had. Three bodies worth of had.

"You know what I think?" She crunched loudly, deliberately. "I think you are, eh, what is word... drama queen."

Bucky's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

"You hear Russian, you freak out, you kill people." She waved a chip dismissively. "Is very dramatic. Like soap opera but with more blood."

"That's not—"

"'Oh no, someone spoke language of my tragic past, now I must murder.'" Her accent made the mockery somehow worse. "Is like me killing everyone who mentions Red Room. Would be very exhausting. Also, very messy."

"It's not the same thing."

"No?" She tilted her head, bird-like. "So trauma is competition now? Yours is special flavor?"

He glared at her. She popped another chip in her mouth, unbothered.

"You know what your problem is, Barnes?"

"Go ahead, enlighten me."

"You think you are only one with ghosts." She leaned forward, suddenly serious. "News flash—we all have them. Difference is, some of us learn to live with ghosts instead of letting ghosts live us."

"That's not—"

"Who calls you?" She nodded at his phone, still lighting up periodically. "Every twenty minutes, same ringtone. Soft. Like lullaby. Girlfriend?"

His silence was answer enough.

"Ah." She sat back, crunching thoughtfully. "And she does not know you are here, playing prisoner princess in tower."

"It's not her problem."

"Bozhe moi, you really are American again. Everything is 'not problem,' 'is fine,' 'don't worry about it.'" She switched to a terrible American accent for the last part. "Is exhausting, this pretending."

"I'm not pretending—"

"Your phone rings, and you look like someone is pulling out fingernails." She studied him with those too-sharp eyes. "But sure. Is not her problem."

Another call. The ringtone seemed louder in the silence that followed.

"You know what Natasha told me once?" Yelena's voice had gone softer, which was somehow worse than her mockery. "She said hardest part of having someone is letting them see you. All of you. Even ugly parts. Especially ugly parts."

"Natasha never—"

"Had someone? No. But she wanted to." She stood, leaving the chip bag on the chair. "Is why I think she would be very annoyed with you right now. All this self-pity, very boring. She hated boring."

She moved toward the door, then paused. "Your girlfriend—she is normal person? Not spy, not Avenger?"

He nodded reluctantly.

"Then she chose you knowing what you are, yes? Winter Soldier, metal arm, whole package?" She didn't wait for an answer. "So maybe—just maybe—she is stronger than you think. Maybe she doesn't need protecting. Maybe what she needs is boyfriend who answers fucking phone."

She knocked on the door to be let out, then turned back. "Oh, and Barnes? Next time someone speaks Russian at you and you feel like killing? Try counting to ten first. In English. Is what I do when Walker talks."

The door closed behind her, leaving Bucky alone with her words rattling around in his skull. His phone lit up again. This time, he could see the preview of your text:

Just tell me you're alive. Please.

Twenty-four hours later, when they finally released him past midnight, he had a dozen voicemails he couldn't bring himself to listen to. Not yet. Not when he was standing outside the Tower in yesterday's tactical gear, still smelling like violence and metal and shame.

He took a cab back to the apartment—couldn't call it home, not when you weren't there—and saw the anniversary dinner he'd missed. The gift waiting on the coffee table. The careful way you'd tried to make something special out of another night alone.

Three days. Three days of choosing his shame over your peace of mind. Three days of letting you think he might be dead rather than admit he was exactly what he'd always feared—a killer waiting for the right words to flip the switch.

When you finally called from that bar, drunk and scared and needing him, he'd already been drowning in guilt since Warsaw. The way you'd said you missed him, the texts that got progressively sadder, the mention of some asshole touching you—it had all crashed together into perfect clarity.

He'd been protecting himself. Not you. Never you.

Because protecting you would have meant answering the phone. Would have meant trusting you with the ugly truth. Would have meant believing—really believing—that you were strong enough to handle it.

Maybe she doesn't need protecting. Maybe what she needs is boyfriend who answers fucking phone.

Yelena's words echoed as he drove through empty streets toward you, already knowing he was probably too late. Already knowing that three days of silence had probably cost him everything.

But he went anyway. Because after three days of being a coward, showing up was the least he could do.

Even if it was too little, too late.

~ 2 years later ~

The therapist's office smelled like leather and lemon furniture polish.

Two years in, and Bucky still noticed it every Thursday at 3 PM, still cataloged exits (two), potential weapons (letter opener, paperweight, his own hands), and the exact number of steps from his chair to the door (seven).

"You're doing it again," Dr. Keene observed, not unkindly.

"Doing what?"

"The risk assessment. You're safe here, James."

James. Two years, and he still wasn't used to anyone but you calling him that. But you hadn't called him anything in 730 days. Not that he was counting.

(He was absolutely counting.)

His metal fingers flexed involuntarily, the plates realigning with soft mechanical whispers. A phantom pain shot through his left shoulder—psychosomatic, Keene had explained. His body remembering trauma that technically belonged to a different arm. The original one, the flesh and bone one, long gone. Sometimes he still felt it, especially on cold mornings. Ghost sensations of fingers that had once known how to hold a rifle steady, play cards, touch a dame's cheek without fearing what came next.

"Hard habit to break," he said, settling deeper into the chair that had molded to his body over countless sessions. The leather creaked, and his spine automatically cataloged the sound—not danger, just furniture. Another lesson in rewriting instinct. "But I'm working on it."

That was the thing about therapy—the real kind, not the court-mandated check-ins he'd half-assed his way through before. It was work. Brutal, exhausting work that left him feeling flayed open and reassembled wrong. Some days he walked out of this office feeling like he'd gone ten rounds with Steve in his prime. Bruised in places that didn't show, aching in ways that had nothing to do with muscle or bone.

"Tell me about this week," Keene prompted. The man had the patience of a saint and the perception of a sniper. Salt-and-pepper beard, kind eyes that missed nothing, hands that never moved suddenly. Bucky had hated him for the first six months. Now he just mostly tolerated him, which was progress.

"Good week. Mostly." The words came out measured, careful. His throat felt tight—always did in this room, like his body was allergic to vulnerability. "Taught a self-defense class at the community center. Helped Sam with a mission in Lagos—clean extraction, no casualties. Didn't have any nightmares until Wednesday."

"What happened Wednesday?"

Your birthday.

The thought hit him like a punch to the solar plexus, made his ribs feel too tight around his lungs. He'd seen the photos your sister posted—you laughing at some rooftop bar, wearing a red dress that made his mouth go dry even through a phone screen. New friends, new life. A guy's arm around your shoulders in one shot, casual and possessive in a way that made Bucky's metal hand whir anxiously before he caught himself.

"Just a date," he said. "Nothing significant."

Keene hummed, that particular sound that meant he saw right through the deflection but would circle back to it later. The man was like a bloodhound for emotional avoidance.

"How are the anger management exercises working?"

"Haven't punched anyone in eight months." The words tasted bitter, defensive. His jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth ache. "Though Walker makes it tempting."

"John Walker is still part of your team?"

"Unfortunately." Bucky shifted, the leather protesting beneath him. His body felt too big for the chair suddenly, restless energy crawling under his skin like ants. "But I'm... managing it. The breathing exercises help. The grounding techniques. When he starts his shit, I just—" He paused, forced his shoulders down from where they'd crept up toward his ears. "I count to ten in Romanian now instead of Russian."

That got a small smile. "Why Romanian?"

The question sat heavy in the air. Bucky's chest went tight, that familiar sensation of memories pressing against the inside of his skull, demanding attention. "Because Russian makes me think of..."

Ready to comply.

The words echoed even unspoken, carved into neural pathways that would never fully heal. He could still taste the rubber of the mouth guard, feel the electricity racing through his veins like liquid fire, smell the ozone and burnt flesh and—

"Things I'd rather not think about," he finished, blinking hard to dispel the sense memory. His hands had clenched into fists. He forced them open, finger by finger. "Romanian just reminds me of hiding. Which wasn't great, but it was mine, you know? My choice to hide. My choice to run."

"That's significant progress, James. Reclaiming agency over your associations."

Agency. Everything came back to agency in this room. The agency HYDRA stole with voltage and scalpels and words that rewrote his DNA. The agency he'd surrendered to fear, convinced that distance was the same as protection. The agency he'd taken away from others—from you—in the name of keeping them safe.

"Can we talk about the journal?"

Bucky's entire body locked up, muscles tensing like he was preparing for a blow. The journal you'd given him sat on his desk at home, leather worn soft from two years of handling. Filled with his chicken-scratch handwriting, pages warped from tears he'd never admit to shedding. Letters to you he'd never send. Memories he was trying to preserve before they got lost in the fog of everything else. Apologies that would never be enough.

"What about it?"

"You mentioned last week that you've been writing letters to—"

"I know what I mentioned." Too sharp. He forced his shoulders to relax, unclenched his jaw. The taste of copper in his mouth meant he'd bitten his cheek. Again. "Sorry. I just... those are private."

"I'm not asking you to share them. I'm asking how it feels to write them."

How did it feel? Like performing surgery on himself without anesthesia. Like talking to a ghost that haunted his apartment, his dreams, his every waking moment. Like keeping you alive in the only way he had left—through words you'd never read, apologies you'd never hear, love letters to someone who'd moved on.

"Necessary," he said finally.

Keene waited. The man had turned waiting into an art form, comfortable with silence in a way that made Bucky want to crawl out of his skin.

"I know she's moved on," Bucky continued, the words scraping his throat raw. His metal thumb pressed against his thigh, grinding in small circles that would leave bruises later. "I know it's been two years. I know she's probably—"

Happy. In love. Getting married to someone who didn't need a manual for basic human interaction. Someone who could sleep through the night without waking up screaming. Someone who could touch her without checking for exit wounds.

"But I can't seem to stop. Writing to her, I mean. It's like... if I stop, it makes it final."

"And you're not ready for it to be final?"

"I'm never going to be ready for it to be final." The admission ripped something loose in his chest, left him feeling hollow and too full at the same time. "But that's my problem to deal with. Not hers. Not anymore."

They talked through the rest of the session about his progress. The VA meetings where he sat in circles with other broken soldiers, swapping war stories and coping mechanisms. The kids at the community center who'd gone from flinching at his arm to hanging off it like monkey bars, their fearlessness both heartbreaking and healing. The way he could walk past a flower shop now without feeling like his lungs were collapsing, though the smell of roses still made him nauseous.

"Same time next week?" Keene asked as they wrapped up.

"Yeah." Bucky stood, knees creaking in protest. His body might heal fast, but it still kept score. Old injuries that should have killed him ached in the rain. Phantom pains from wounds that had healed decades ago. The left shoulder, where metal met flesh, a constant reminder of what had been taken and what had been given back wrong.

The walk back to his apartment—new place, Bed-Stuy, far enough from your shared space that he didn't see ghosts on every corner—took him past the farmer's market. He bought plums without having a panic attack, which felt like a victory. The vendor smiled at him, genuine and warm, and he managed to smile back without feeling like a fraud.

Bought flowers too, white tulips that reminded him of nothing in particular. No associations, no memories, just simple beauty that he could practice caring for without the weight of history.

His apartment was sparse but lived-in. Books on the shelves—philosophy, poetry, the science fiction novels you'd gotten him hooked on. Dog-eared and worn, read and reread during sleepless nights when your absence felt like a physical wound. A couch that had never been slept on, because he used the bed now like a real person, even when the mattress felt too soft and his body craved the punishing hardness of the floor. Plants by the window that were miraculously still alive after six months—a small jungle of green that required daily attention, routine, care. The journal on his desk, closed but waiting, like a patient confessor.

He made dinner—actual dinner, not just protein bars and whatever he could eat standing over the sink. Grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, rice. Sat at the table like a functioning adult, used both knife and fork, didn't shovel food into his mouth like someone might take it away. Did the dishes immediately instead of letting them pile up, the warm water soothing on his flesh hand, the metal one impervious as always.

The gym was less crowded in the evenings. He preferred it that way—fewer eyes tracking his movements, fewer people trying not to stare at the arm. He sparred with Sam, who'd gotten better at reading Bucky's moods over the past two years. Knew when to push and when to pull back, when Bucky needed to go hard and when he needed to be reminded that he wasn't fighting for his life anymore.

"You're getting soft," Sam said, panting after Bucky pulled a punch that would've laid him out a year ago. Sweat dripped down his face, soaked through his shirt. Even holding back, Bucky hit like a freight train.

"Maybe." Bucky unwrapped his hands, flexing the metal fingers. Shuri had added new features in the last upgrade—pressure sensors that helped him gauge his grip, temperature regulators that meant he didn't burn or freeze anyone he touched. Small improvements that made him feel less like a weapon and more like a man with a very expensive prosthetic. "Or maybe I'm just getting better at not being an asshole."

"Nah, still an asshole. Just a self-aware one now."

They grabbed beer after, sitting on the roof of Sam's building. The city sprawled below them, lights like stars that had fallen and gotten stuck. Brooklyn glittered in the distance, and Bucky's chest tightened at the sight. Somewhere out there, you were living your life. Maybe in the same apartment, maybe somewhere new. Maybe alone, maybe with—

He cut that thought off at the knees.

"Sarah's asking about Thanksgiving," Sam said carefully. Too carefully.

"I'll be there."

"You said that last year."

"Last year was... complicated."

Last year, he'd been convinced you might show up at Sam's door. That you'd be there laughing with Sarah in the kitchen, flour in your hair and wine staining your lips purple. That he'd have to sit across from you at dinner and pretend his bones weren't trying to crawl out of his skin from wanting to touch you.

He'd spent Thanksgiving on his fire escape instead, eating Chinese takeout straight from the container and writing letters he'd never send.

I'm thankful for the time we had, he'd written, three beers deep and maudlin. Even if I ruined it. Even if it hurt. Even if I dream about you every night and wake up forgetting you're gone.

"It's been two years, Buck."

"I'm aware." The words came out sharper than intended. His body tensed, ready for a fight that wasn't coming.

"Maybe it's time to—"

"Sam." A warning, low and final. The metal hand clenched around his beer bottle, not enough to shatter but enough to make the glass groan.

"I'm just saying. You've done the work. You're in a good place. Maybe it's time to reach out."

"She's moved on." The words tasted like ash, bitter and choking. "I check— I know she's doing well. That's all that matters."

It was a lie, and they both knew it. He did more than check. He had a Google alert for your name, scrolled through your sister's Instagram with the dedication of a detective working a cold case. Knew you'd gotten a promotion at work, that you'd adopted a cat named Alpine, that you'd taken up pottery classes on Thursdays.

(Thursdays. His therapy day. Like even your hobbies were avoiding him.)

Sam was quiet for a long moment, the kind of quiet that meant he was about to say something Bucky didn't want to hear. "You know she asks about you sometimes. When she calls Sarah."

Everything in Bucky went still. The city noise faded to white static, his heartbeat loud in his ears. "What?"

"Just... how you're doing. If you're okay. If you're happy."

If you're happy. Like happiness was a switch he could flip, a state he could achieve instead of something he glimpsed in peripheral vision before it vanished. He was better. He was functional. He was surviving.

But happy?

Happy was your laugh in the morning, coffee brewing while you danced to music only you could hear. Happy was your hand in his, unafraid of the metal and what it meant. Happy was two years gone and not coming back.

"What does Sarah tell her?"

"The truth. That you're doing better. That you're healing. That you—" Sam hesitated, and Bucky's stomach dropped. "That you still love her."

The beer bottle shattered.

Glass and foam exploded everywhere, shards glittering in the low light. The metal hand recalibrated, servo motors whirring as they adjusted to the sudden loss of resistance. Blood welled on his flesh palm where a shard had caught him, the wound already beginning to close.

"Shit. Sorry." He stared at the mess, mind blank. Two years of therapy, of anger management, of learning to control his strength, undone by your name and the word love in the same sentence.

"Yeah, that's about what I figured." Sam handed him a napkin, not even fazed. They'd been through worse. "Look, I'm not saying grand gestures or whatever. I'm just saying... maybe she deserves to know you're better. Maybe you both deserve some closure."

Closure. Like you could close a wound that had become part of your anatomy. Like you could stitch shut something that had fundamentally altered your DNA. His metal hand still tingled with phantom sensations, memories of holding you that the arm itself had never experienced. The flesh remembered, and somehow that was worse.

"I'll think about it," Bucky lied.

But the universe, it seemed, had other plans.

Bucky woke to his secure phone buzzing like an angry hornet. 47 missed calls, texts flooding in faster than he could read them. Sam's name, multiple times. Sharon. Yelena. Valentina. Even Walker, which was never good. His blood went cold, mind immediately cataloging possibilities—compromise, attack, someone hurt, someone dead, you—

"What is it?" he answered Sam's callback, already reaching for his go-bag. His voice came out steady, all business, even as his heart hammered against his ribs. "Who's compromised?"

"Buck..." Sam's voice was strange. Careful in a way that made Bucky's skin crawl. "You need to see the news. But—shit, don't watch it alone, okay? Come to my place. We'll—"

But Bucky was already pulling up news sites, his metal hand gripping the phone too tight. The screen cracked under his thumb as the headline hit him like a sniper round:

LEAKED: CLASSIFIED FOOTAGE SHOWS DECADES OF WINTER SOLDIER TORTURE

The blood in his veins turned to ice water. His vision tunneled, edges going dark. No. No, no, no—

The video was everywhere. Every major news outlet, every social media platform. Forty minutes of pure, unfiltered hell—footage HYDRA had apparently kept as some sick training material. Evidence of their success in breaking him down to base code and rebuilding him wrong.

His thumb hovered over the play button. He didn't want to see. Already knew what it contained, had lived it, bore the scars both visible and not. But there was a sick compulsion, a need to know what the world was seeing. What you were seeing.

The first frame made bile rise in his throat.

There he was, young and screaming. The footage was grainy, black and white at first—old film reels from the early days, when HYDRA still bothered documenting their experiments like proud scientists. Strapped to that chair that still featured in his nightmares, metal restraints cutting into skin that hadn't yet learned to stop feeling. They'd stopped bothering with anesthetic after the first few sessions—the serum healed him too fast, made pain relief pointless. More efficient to let him scream until his throat gave out.

The video quality evolved as it progressed through the decades. Jerky 8mm film giving way to steadier 16mm, black and white bleeding into washed-out color. By the sixties, the footage was clearer, the horror rendered in technicolor precision. Multiple angles capturing every convulsion, every plea. His younger self begging in Russian, then English, then wordless animal sounds as electricity rewrote his neural pathways. The technicians taking notes, adjusting voltage with clinical detachment. One checking his watch, bored.

He watched them attach the metal arm for the first time. No anesthetic for that either. Just a bone saw and cruel efficiency, his screams echoing off concrete walls. The smell—God, he could still smell it. Burnt flesh and ozone, metal cauterizing meat. They'd had to restart his heart twice during that procedure. The video caught that too, his body convulsing on the table, eyes rolled back to show only whites.

Three minutes in, and he was on his knees in his apartment, retching. Nothing came up but bile and the ghost of a sandwich from last night. His body shook, muscles remembering trauma decades old. The metal arm sparked, recalibrating frantically as his nervous system went haywire.

The video kept playing. He couldn't look away.

Year after year compressed into minutes. The chair. The words. The wipes that left him seizing, foam tinged pink with blood frothing from his lips. Training that was just sanctioned torture—bones broken and healed and broken again until he learned to move through pain like it was weather. They made him fight other Winter Soldiers, made him kill them bare-handed to prove his superiority. One had begged. The video caught that too, caught Bucky—no, the Asset—snapping his neck without hesitation.

But the worst parts were the moments between. When the programming cracked just enough to let James Barnes bleed through. Confused, terrified, trying to remember his own name. In one clip, strapped to the chair and waiting for the next session, he'd been reciting something under his breath. The audio picked it up clearly:

"Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32557038. Barnes, James Buchanan..."

Over and over, like a prayer. Like a lifeline. Until the technician hit the switch and the electricity burned even that away, left him empty and ready to be filled with purpose.

By the end, the Asset barely looked human. Eyes empty, responding only to commands. They'd point, and he'd kill. They'd speak the words, and he'd comply. No hesitation, no recognition, no trace of the man who'd laughed with Steve in Brooklyn and danced with pretty girls and had a favorite sandwich at the deli on the corner.

The video ended with a mission briefing. December 16, 1991. The Asset nodding, accepting orders to kill Howard and Maria Stark without a flicker of emotion.

Bucky stayed on his knees for a long time after it finished, shaking. His phone rang and rang—Sam, probably, or one of his therapists. He couldn't answer. Couldn't form words past the scream trapped behind his teeth.

This wasn't the sanitized version from his pardon hearings. This wasn't redacted files and clinical language that let people maintain distance. This was the raw footage. This was what had been done to him, to the person he'd been, to the man who'd just wanted to serve his country and come home.

Forty minutes of torture, and that was just what they'd chosen to document. Seventy years of this, and the world was seeing it over morning coffee. Commenting on it. Sharing it. Debating whether he deserved sympathy or a bullet, whether this made him more victim or more monster.

An hour passed. Maybe two. Time went strange when your past was being broadcast to the world. His apartment felt too small, too exposed, like the walls might collapse under the weight of all those watching eyes. He'd turned off his phone eventually, couldn't stand the constant buzzing. Everyone had seen it. Everyone knew exactly what had been done to him, what he'd been reduced to.

The knock at his door was soft. So soft he almost missed it over the sound of his own ragged breathing. He didn't move at first, couldn't seem to make his legs work. The knock came again, barely there, and then—

"Bucky?"

Your voice through the door, small and wrecked.

He was on his feet before conscious thought caught up, body moving on pure instinct.

Two years of staying away, of respecting boundaries, of keeping his distance—all of it evaporated at the sound of you saying his name like that.

He yanked the door open and you were there. Hair wild, face swollen from crying, wearing pajama pants and a sweater that didn't match. Like you'd thrown on whatever was closest and come to him.

Like after two years of silence, you'd seen that video and your first instinct was to come to him.

You looked at him for one suspended moment—taking in his red eyes, the tremor in his hands, the way he was barely holding himself together—and then you were moving.

You crashed into him with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. Your arms went around his neck and you were sobbing—great, body-shaking sobs that he felt in his bones. He caught you on instinct, metal arm around your waist, flesh hand cradling the back of your head. Your feet left the ground as he held you, held you like he'd wanted to for 731 days.

You were here. In his arms. Shaking apart, but here.

He'd imagined holding you again a thousand times. In those imaginings, it was always different—softer, maybe. Definitely not with you crying so hard you could barely breathe, not with his own eyes burning and chest cracking open. But even like this—especially like this—he hadn't felt this complete since the last time he'd held you. Like the world had finally stopped spinning wrong. Like his lungs remembered how to take in air.

You didn't say anything at first. Couldn't, probably, around the sobs. He just held you, one hand stroking your hair while you shook apart in his arms. You were warm and solid and real, and you still fit against him like you'd been carved from the same stone. He pressed his face into your hair, breathed you in—floral shampoo and something uniquely you that made his knees weak.

"I've got you," he murmured, the words coming out rough. "I've got you, sweetheart. It's okay."

But that just made you cry harder, fingers digging into his shoulders like you were afraid he'd disappear. He maneuvered you both inside, kicking the door shut without letting go. Muscle memory had him moving to the couch, sitting down with you still wrapped around him. You ended up in his lap, face buried in his neck, and he just held on while you fell apart.

Time went liquid. Could have been minutes or hours that you cried, and he just sat there, hand running up and down your spine in the same soothing pattern he'd used to use when you had nightmares. Your tears soaked through his shirt, and he could feel you trying to get closer, like you could crawl inside his chest if you just held on tight enough.

Eventually, the sobs slowed to hiccupping breaths. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him, and Christ—your eyes were swollen nearly shut, face blotchy and tear-stained. You looked absolutely wrecked.

"There she is," he murmured, thumb coming up to brush tears from your cheek. His hand moved without permission, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with the kind of casual intimacy he'd lost the right to two years ago. "Hi, pretty girl."

Fresh tears welled in your eyes. "I couldn't—I tried to watch it all but I—I c-couldn't—" Your voice cracked, broke completely. You had to take several shuddering breaths before trying again. "Twenty minutes. That's all I could—and you lived it, Bucky, you actually—oh god—"

"Hey." He caught your face in his hands, thumbs sweeping away the new tears. "It's okay. It was a long time ago."

"It's not—" A sob cut you off. You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, shoulders shaking. "It's not okay! N-nothing about that is okay! I knew—fuck, everyone knows what happened to you, in theory. The trial, the pardons, all of it's p-public record. But seeing it—"

Your breath hitched, caught, turned into another sob. "Actually s-seeing what they—the chair, Bucky. The way you... you screamed. The way you b-begged them to stop and they just—they just—"

"Breathe," he said softly, pulling you back against his chest when your breathing went too shallow, too fast. "Come on, sweetheart. Match me. In and out."

You pressed your ear to his chest, and he breathed slow and steady until you started to match his rhythm. His hand found your hair again, stroking through the tangles. Your whole body trembled against him, little aftershocks of grief.

"Like you weren't even h-human," you whispered against his shirt. "Like you were just... parts to be rearranged. And the early footage, you were so—you were just a kid, basically. Twenty-six and sc-screaming and—"

Another wave of sobs took you. He held you through it, jaw clenched against his own emotions.

This was why he'd never told you the details. Why he'd kept it vague—'conditioning' and 'programming' sounded so much cleaner than the reality.

"I'm being—" You pulled back suddenly, laughing through your tears but there was no humor in it. "God, I'm being ridiculous. You're the one who—who lived through it and here I am, cr-crying all over you, making you comfort me through your trauma—"

"Stop." His voice came out sharper than intended. He gentled his grip on your face, made sure you were looking at him. "Don't do that. Don't apologize for caring. Don't apologize for being human."

"But I—"

"No." He was firm on this. "You think I'd rather you saw that and felt nothing? You think I'd prefer indifference?"

"I just—" Your face crumpled again. "I asked you. Remember? About the n-nightmares. About what they did. And you said—you said 'standard Hydra shit' and I let it go. I should have pushed. Should have—"

"I wouldn't have told you." Simple truth. "I wasn't ready. Couldn't even say the words out loud in therapy, let alone to you."

"But you were so alone." The words came out broken, wet. "For d-decades, you were alone. They hurt you and broke you and put you back together wrong and you couldn't even—you couldn't even remember who you were supposed to be. And then you c-came back and I—"

You pressed a hand to your mouth, muffling another sob. "I left you alone again. You pushed me away because you were sc-scared and instead of fighting for you, I just—I left. I left you alone."

"You didn't leave me alone." He pulled your hand away from your mouth, laced their fingers together. "You left because I made it impossible to stay. Because I was too much of a coward to let you see all of me."

"You're not a c-coward." Fresh tears tracked down your cheeks. "You survived that. You survived decades of that and you're still—you're still kind. Still good. Still—" A hiccup interrupted you. "Still the best man I've ever known."

"Sweetheart—"

"I missed you," you said, the words tumbling out between sobs. "Every day. Every f-fucking day. Even when I was angry. Even when I tried to date other people. Even when I—" Your breath hitched. "I couldn't get you out of my head. Out of my heart. Like you were carved into my bones and I couldn't—couldn't scrape you out no matter how hard I tried."

"I know." His own voice cracked. He felt raw, exposed. "Me too. Every fucking day."

"I'm sorry." You were crying harder now, barely able to get words out. "I'm s-sorry I didn't fight harder. Sorry I wasn't strong enough to—to stay and make you see that you were worth fighting for."

"Hey, no." He pulled you closer, pressed his forehead to yours. "No apologies. Not for protecting yourself. Not for having boundaries. Never for that."

"But—"

"We both fucked up," he said quietly. He hardly meant it, he never blamed you, but it seemed to be what you needed to hear. "We both could have done better. But we're here now."

"Yeah," you whispered, voice small and wrecked. "We're here now."

You stayed like that for a long moment, breathing each other's air, existing in the same space for the first time in two years. Your body still shook with aftershocks, little tremors and hiccups that broke his heart.

"I should—" You started to pull back. "I should go. This isn't—you don't need me falling apart on your—"

"Stay." The word ripped out of him, desperate and raw. "Please. Just—you can take the bed. I'll take the couch. Not like before. Not—" He swallowed hard. "Just stay. Let me know you're safe. Let me—let me take care of you for once."

You searched his face, and he watched you see it—all the longing, all the fear, all the love he'd never learned how to hide.

"Okay," you whispered, and started crying again. "Okay."

Neither of you moved for a while after that. You stayed curled in his lap, his arms around you, while the city lights painted patterns on the walls. Every so often, a fresh wave of tears would take you, and he'd hold you through it, murmuring nonsense into your hair.

"I watched them put the arm on," you said at one point, voice hoarse. "No anesthetic. You were awake and they just—they just cut—"

"I know," he said when you couldn't finish. "I know, baby. It's over now."

"It's not over. You still dream about it. Still have days where you can't—" Another sob. "I should have been there. Should have helped somehow—"

"You did help." He pressed a kiss to your warm temple, tasted salt. "You helped by being the first person in years to look at me like I was worth saving. Even if I didn't know how to let you."

Later, he'd give you clothes to sleep in—soft things that would smell like him. You'd brush your teeth side by side, and he'd pretend his heart wasn't breaking at how right it felt. He'd make up the bed with fresh sheets while you changed, and when you emerged drowning in his henley, he'd have to look away.

When you paused in the bedroom doorway, looking back at him with swollen eyes and something fragile in your expression, he'd be ready.

"Thank you," you'd say, voice still rough from crying. "For letting me stay. For—for being here."

"Always," he'd reply, and mean it with every atom of his being.

You'd smile then—wobbly and complicated—and close the door. He'd make up the couch and lie there listening to you breathe in the next room, marveling at the miracle of your presence.

But for tonight, you were here. Safe in his space, under his protection, breathing the same air. After 731 days of nothing, it was everything.

It was enough.

For now, it was enough.

The couch was too short for his frame, but after two years of therapy, Bucky had learned to stop punishing himself with discomfort. He'd gotten good at making himself comfortable in spaces that didn't quite fit. Still, sleep came in fragments—twenty minutes here, an hour there. His body kept jerking awake, convinced he'd dreamed the whole thing. That you weren't really in his bed, wearing his clothes, breathing his air.

Around 3 AM, he heard the bedroom door creak open. Soft footsteps on hardwood, hesitant but moving closer. He opened his eyes to find you standing there in the darkness, silhouetted by the city lights filtering through the windows. You'd put his henley back on, and it hung to mid-thigh, making you look smaller than you were.

"Baby?" The endearment slipped out before he could catch it, voice rough with sleep and surprise. He squinted, trying to read your expression in the dark. "You okay? Need something?"

You didn't answer. Just stood there for a moment, arms wrapped around yourself, before moving toward him with purpose. He sat up, ready to give you the couch if you couldn't sleep in the bed, ready to move to the floor if that's what you needed. But you didn't ask him to move.

Instead, you crawled right into his space, onto the couch that was definitely not built for two people. He accepted you immediately, arms opening on instinct as you fitted yourself against him—chest to chest, your face buried in his neck. The couch groaned under the combined weight, but held.

"Hey," he murmured, pulling the blanket up over both of you. His hand found your hair, still messy from sleep. "Bad dream?"

You shook your head against his throat. Your arms went around him, holding on tight, and he could feel the way your breath hitched. Not crying, but close. He understood without explanation—you'd woken up remembering. The video, the torture, the decades of pain compressed into forty minutes of footage. You'd needed to touch him, to feel him solid and whole and here.

"I've got you," he whispered into your hair. "I'm okay. I'm right here."

You made a small sound and pressed closer, like you could protect him retroactively from things that had already happened. One of your hands found the juncture where metal met flesh, fingers tracing the scars there with devastating gentleness. He tensed for a moment—old habit—then forced himself to relax. To let you touch. To let you see.

They stayed like that until dawn crept through the windows, dozing in and out of sleep. Every time he surfaced, you were there, heartbeat against his chest, breath warm on his neck. Real. Present. A miracle he still couldn't quite believe.

When morning came properly, neither of them acknowledged how naturally they'd fitted together in sleep. How your leg had hooked over his hip, how his metal hand had splayed possessively across your lower back. They extracted themselves carefully, both pretending not to notice the reluctance in the separation.

"Coffee?" he offered, voice still gravelly.

"Tea, if you have it." You stretched, his henley riding up to reveal a strip of skin that made his brain short-circuit. "Coffee makes me jittery these days."

These days. Two years of changes, small evolutions he hadn't been there to witness. He turned to the kitchen to hide the way that knowledge sat heavy in his chest.

"Still take it with honey?"

"Yeah." You padded after him, bare feet on hardwood.

He busied himself with the ritual of morning—filling the kettle, finding the good honey (wildflower, local, from the farmers market you'd always loved), selecting eggs from the fridge. You perched on one of the bar stools at the counter, watching him move through his space with an expression he couldn't quite read.

"You cook now," you observed.

"Turns out eating actual food is part of that whole 'taking care of yourself' thing Keene keeps harping on about." He cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them with practiced efficiency. "Who knew?"

"Your therapist sounds like a smart man."

"Don't let him hear you say that. His ego's big enough already." He glanced at you, taking in the sleep-rumpled hair, the way his clothes draped over your frame. You looked soft and accessible and untouchable all at once. "I've got some sweatpants that might fit better than the boxers, if you want—"

"These are fine." You tugged at the hem of the henley self-consciously. "If that's... if you don't mind."

"I don't mind." Understatement of the century. Seeing you in his clothes was doing something to his brain that felt both ancient and brand new. "Never minded."

Silence settled between them as he cooked, but it wasn't uncomfortable. You sipped your tea and watched him work, occasionally commenting on the changes in his apartment—the art on the walls, the plants that hadn't died, the general sense that someone actually lived here instead of just existing.

He was plating the omelets when you spotted it. The journal, sitting on the counter where he'd left it last night. Your whole body stilled, mug pausing halfway to your lips.

"Oh," you said quietly. "You use it."

Understatement of the century.

"Yeah." He set your plate in front of you, then leaned back against the opposite counter, giving you space. "Every day, pretty much."

You reached out, fingers hovering over the worn leather cover. "What do you write about?"

"Everything. Nothing." He shrugged, aiming for casual and missing by miles. "Therapy stuff. Memories I want to keep. Things I should have said."

"Letters," you said, not quite a question. "Sam mentioned letters, once."

"Yeah."

You were still staring at the journal like it might bite. Or like it might break your heart.

"You can look, if you want." The words came out steadier than he felt. "It's... a lot of it's to you anyway."

Your eyes snapped to his. "You don't have to—"

"I know. But we're doing honesty now, right? Being real?" He gestured to the journal. "That's about as real as I get."

You hesitated for another moment, then pulled the journal toward you. Your hands shook slightly as you opened it, and he had to look away. Focused on his coffee instead of the way your face changed as you read his messy handwriting, years of thoughts spilled onto paper.

He knew what you were seeing. Pages of apologies, observations, dreams he'd documented so he wouldn't forget them. Lists of things he wanted to tell you—your laugh sounds different in my memory than it did in real life. I bought plums at the market and almost called you. I still can't sleep on the left side of the bed.

The poetry was in there too, terrible attempts at capturing feelings too big for prose. He'd tried to write about the way you used to hum while cooking, how you'd steal his socks and act surprised when he'd find you wearing them. How loving you had felt like drowning and breathing all at once.

You were crying again, silent tears sliding down your cheeks as you read. Occasionally you'd make a small sound—half-laugh, half-sob—at something particularly pathetic he'd written. He wanted to take the journal back, spare you both this vulnerability. Instead, he gripped his mug tighter and waited.

Finally, you looked up. Your eyes were red but clear, seeing him in that way you'd always had. Like you could look past all the armor and see straight to the soft, desperate heart of him.

"Two years," you said softly. "You wrote to me for two years."

"Seven hundred and thirty-one days." He set down his mug, needing his hands free. Needing to move. "I know how it looks. Obsessive. Unhealthy, probably. Keene says it's—"

"Human," you interrupted. "It looks human."

You stood, rounding the counter until you were in his space. Close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in your eyes, count the tears still clinging to your lashes. You reached up slowly, telegraphing your movement, and he realized what you were doing. Giving him time to pull away, to redirect.

He didn't.

Your hand touched his face, and for the first time in two years, he didn't flinch. Didn't turn to offer the other cheek, the flesh side. You cupped his jaw with careful fingers, thumb brushing over stubble, and he let his eyes close. Let himself have this moment of being touched without apology.

"I wrote too," you admitted. "Not in a journal. In my phone. Little notes I'd never send. Anger, mostly, at first. Then just... observations. Things I wanted to tell you. Dreams I had where you were still there when I woke up."

He opened his eyes to find you closer still. Your other hand came up, and now you were holding his face between your palms like something precious. Something worth keeping safe.

"Can I—" you started, then stopped. Took a breath. "I want to kiss you. Is that—would that be okay?"

Instead of answering, he brought his metal hand up to cradle your cheek. Watched your eyes flutter closed as you leaned into the touch, no fear or hesitation. Just trust. Just love, somehow still intact after everything.

"Always," he murmured, and closed the distance.

The first press of lips was careful, tentative. A question asked and answered in the space of a breath. You made a small sound and pressed closer, and suddenly he was seventeen and eighty and every age in between, kissing you for the first time and the thousandth time all at once.

Your lips were chapped from crying, and you tasted like honey tea and salt. He'd never tasted anything better. One of your hands slid into his hair and he groaned, the sound swallowed between your mouths. Two years of missing this, of waking up reaching for you, and here you were. Soft and warm and real.

The kiss deepened, something desperate creeping in at the edges. He walked you backward until you hit the counter, lifted you onto it without breaking contact. You gasped against his mouth and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and his brain went white-static at the feeling.

He'd always loved kissing. Loved the intimacy of it, the way it could feel more vulnerable than sex. Loved how you'd melt against him, how you'd make those little sounds when he found the right angle, the right pressure. He kissed you like he was relearning a language he'd never truly forgotten, muscle memory and discovery all tangled together.

When you pulled back to breathe, he trailed his mouth down your jaw, found that spot below your ear that had always made you shiver. Still did. Your hands tightened in his hair, and he smiled against your throat. Some things didn't change.

"Bucky," you breathed, and he had to kiss you again just for the way you said his name. Like a prayer, like a promise, like coming home.

His hands found your waist, rucking up the henley to find bare skin. You were warm and sleep-soft under his palms, and when he spread his fingers wide, he could span most of your back. The metal hand was gentle, sensors calibrated to exactly the right pressure. No hiding, no hesitation. Just touch.

You shifted against him, and he became suddenly, devastatingly aware that you were wearing his boxers and nothing else under them. His hand slid to your thigh, fingers brushing under the fabric, and you made a sound that short-circuited several major brain functions.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling back slightly. Your lips were swollen, eyes dark, and it took every ounce of control not to dive back in. "Are we—what are we doing here?"

"I don't know," he admitted, resting his forehead against yours. Both of you were breathing hard, bodies lined up in ways that made thinking difficult. "What do you want us to be doing?"

"I want—" You stopped, seemed to gather yourself. Your hands were still in his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp in a way that made him want to purr. "I want to do this right this time. I want to be sure we're not just... falling back into old patterns."

"This doesn't feel like old patterns." His thumb stroked along your ribs, feeling the expansion of your breath. "This feels new. Better. Like we might actually know what we're doing this time."

"Do we though?" But you were smiling, small and real. "Because I'm sitting on your kitchen counter at 8 AM, wearing your clothes, and I'm about five seconds from doing something really stupid."

"What kind of stupid?"

"The kind where I drag you back to that couch and show you exactly how much I missed you."

Jesus. He pressed his face into your neck, trying to get his bearings. "That doesn't sound stupid. That sounds—"

"Like we're skipping steps again." Your fingers gentled in his hair, stroking now instead of gripping. "Like we're using physical stuff to avoid talking about the hard stuff."

She was right. Of course she was right. Two years of therapy for both of them, and here they were, ready to fall back into bed without addressing any of the things that had driven them apart.

"Okay," he said, pulling back to look at you. It took effort—every instinct screaming to stay close, to take what you were offering—but he managed it. "Okay. You're right. We should talk."

"Such a responsible adult," you teased, but there was affection in it. Love, even. "Therapy’s really done a number on you."

"You have no idea."

He helped you down from the counter, both of you adjusting clothes and trying to pretend the kitchen wasn't charged with enough sexual tension to power Brooklyn. You settled back at the counter with your rapidly cooling breakfast, and he took the stool next to you this time. Close enough that your knees touched. Small victories.

"So," you said, cutting into your omelet. "Talk. What do we do now?"

It was a good question. The question, really. Two years of growth, of therapy, of learning to be whole people instead of broken halves. They couldn't just slot back together and pretend nothing had happened. But they couldn't pretend they weren't still inevitably drawn to each other either.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I know I want to try. Real try, not the half-assed thing I was doing before. I want to tell you about the hard stuff. I want to trust you with all of it, not just the parts I think you can handle. I want..." He paused, gathered courage. "I want to be the partner you deserved two years ago. If you'll let me."

You set down your fork, turned to face him fully. "I want that too. But I need—we both need—to be whole people first. Not trying to fix each other or complete each other or whatever codependent shit we were doing before."

"Agreed." He risked reaching out, covering your hand with his metal one. You turned your palm up, interlacing the fingers, and something in his chest eased. "So what does that look like?"

"I think..." You squeezed his hand, thinking. "I think it looks like taking things slow. Like actually dating this time, not just falling into living together because it's easier. Like being honest about the scary stuff, even when our brains are telling us to protect each other."

"Therapy homework," he said with a grimace. "Keene's gonna love this."

"Mine too. She's been saying I need to practice healthy boundaries for months."

"So... boundaries." The word felt foreign in his mouth when it came to you. But necessary. "What do you need?"

You considered this, thumb stroking over his metal knuckles absently. "Time. Space to keep being my own person. Regular check-ins about how we're feeling, even when—especially when—it's uncomfortable. And..." You looked at him directly. "I need you to trust me. Really trust me. With the missions that go bad, with the nightmares, with the days when you can barely get out of bed. All of it."

"That's gonna be hard," he admitted.

"I know."

"But I want to try."

"I know that too."

They sat there for a moment, hands linked, breakfast cooling between them. It wasn't the passionate reconciliation his body wanted. Wasn't the dramatic merger of souls that movies promised. It was quieter than that. More solid. Real in a way that all their previous attempts hadn't been.

"So," he said eventually. "Want to go on a date with me?"

You laughed, bright and surprised. "A date?"

"Yeah. Friday night. I'll pick you up and everything. We can do the whole first date thing properly this time."

"We already slept together on our actual first date."

"Which is why we're doing it better this time." He brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. "What do you say?"

"I say..." You pretended to consider, but your smile gave you away. "Pick me up at seven. And Barnes? Bring flowers."

"Yes ma'am."

You stayed for another hour, talking through logistics and boundaries and all the unsexy parts of rebuilding a relationship. He drove you home on his bike—you still remembered exactly how to move with him through traffic—and walked you to your door like a gentleman.

"Friday," you said, and it sounded like a promise.

"Friday," he agreed.

You went up on your toes and kissed his cheek, soft and brief. Then you were gone, leaving him standing on your stoop with his hand pressed to his face like a teenager.

He made it back to his apartment before the full weight of it hit him. You were back. Not in his bed, not in his life fully, but back in his orbit. They had a date. A real date, with parameters and boundaries and all the things Keene had been telling him he needed.

He picked up his phone, scrolled to his therapist's contact.

"I need an emergency session," he said when Keene answered. "Something happened."

"Are you safe?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm—I'm good. Really good. That's kind of the problem."

A pause. "This is about her, isn't it?"

"How did you—"

"James. We've been working together for two years. I know your 'she's back in my life' voice."

"I have a 'she's back in my life' voice?"

"You have several. Which one is this—the panicked one or the cautiously optimistic one?"

Bucky considered, thinking about your hand in his, the way you'd kissed him like you had all the time in the world.

"Cautiously optimistic," he decided.

"Then I'll see you Thursday at our regular time. And James? Good job on reaching out instead of spiraling."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and James? Flowers. Don't forget flowers."

"Already on it."

He hung up and stared at his journal, still open on the counter where you'd left it. Evidence of two years of missing you, wanting you, learning to be someone who could deserve you.

Time to put all that work to use.

He had a date to plan.

~ six months later ~

The couch had become sacred ground.

Not in the way it used to be—a monument to his cowardice, the place he'd slept to avoid your bed. Now it held different memories. Better ones. The afternoon he'd spent relearning your body. The night he'd finally told you about Warsaw, really told you, while you held his hand and didn't flinch. The morning he'd made love to you slow and quiet while rain streaked the windows.

Tonight, you were draped across his lap, wearing one of his t-shirts and not much else, pretending to watch whatever movie he'd put on. He wasn't paying attention either. Too focused on the way you kept shifting against him, the little sighs you made when his fingers traced patterns on your bare thigh.

"You're not watching," you accused, but your voice was breathy, distracted.

"Neither are you." His metal hand slid higher, fingertips brushing the edge of your underwear. The sensors registered heat, dampness, the way your muscles tensed in anticipation. "Got something more interesting in mind?"

You turned in his lap to face him, straddling his thighs with a flexibility that still made his brain short-circuit. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" He gripped your hips, pulled you flush against him. You were already wet—he could feel it through the thin fabric between you both, and it made his cock twitch with interest. "Gonna need more than maybe, sweetheart."

Instead of answering, you rocked against him, a slow roll of your hips that made you both catch your breath. Your hands braced on his shoulders, fingers digging in just enough to ground you both.

"Missed you today," you said, and it wasn't what he expected. Your voice was soft, honest in that way that still sometimes caught him off guard.

"I was only gone eight hours."

"I know." Another roll of your hips, more deliberate this time. "Still missed you."

Something in his chest went tight and warm. Two years back together, and you still missed him when he was gone. Still wanted him when he came home. Still looked at him like he was something worth keeping.

And in his bedside drawer, hidden beneath old mission reports and spare magazines, sat a small velvet box that had been waiting three years. The one he'd bought drunk on love and convinced he'd found forever. Even through your separation, through all the therapy and growth and pain, he'd never been able to throw it away.

Now it waited for the right moment—not rushing this time, not desperate. Just certain.

"Show me," he said, voice rougher than intended. "Show me how much."

Your eyes went dark at the command. You loved this—when he got demanding, when he stopped treating you like glass. It had taken months to learn your signals, to trust that you'd tell him if something was too much. Now he could read your body like his favorite book, knew exactly when to push and when to ease back.

He slid his metal hand between you both, pressing the heel against you through your underwear. You gasped, hips jerking forward, and he smiled. "That's it. Take what you need."

You ground against his hand with increasing desperation, chasing friction. He watched your face, cataloging every expression—the way your brows drew together when something felt particularly good, how your mouth fell open when he increased the pressure. Beautiful. Fucking perfect.

"Not enough," you whimpered, movements becoming frantic. "Need—"

"I know what you need." He pulled your underwear aside with his flesh hand, metal fingers finding your clit immediately. The temperature difference made you cry out—cool metal against overheated flesh. "Always so wet for me. So ready. Been thinking about this all day too, haven't you?"

You nodded frantically, beyond words as he circled your clit with devastating precision. The upgraded sensors were incredible, letting him feel every twitch, every pulse of need. He could tell you were already close, wound tight from anticipation.

"Want to try something," he said, slowing his movements just enough to make you whine. "Trust me?"

"Always." No hesitation, and that trust still humbled him.

He shifted his hand, two metal fingers sliding through your wetness before pressing inside. You were soaked, taking them easily, and the sound you made went straight to his cock. But that wasn't the best part—the best part was activating the subtle vibration function Shuri had installed for "therapeutic purposes."

"Oh fuck—" Your whole body went rigid, then melted against him. "Bucky, what—"

"Upgrade." He curled his fingers, finding that spot that made you see stars while the vibrations worked you from the inside. "Good?"

You couldn't answer, too lost in sensation as he worked you higher. Your wetness coated his fingers, dripping down to his palm, and he had to grit his teeth against the urge to forget the foreplay and just bury himself inside you.

"Look at you," he murmured, free hand tangling in your hair to keep you facing him. "Taking it so well. So perfect for me. Can feel how close you are—clenching around my fingers, trembling in my lap. You gonna come for me?"

You nodded desperately, movements erratic as you rode his hand. He increased the vibration, pressed his thumb to your clit, and watched you shatter. Your orgasm hit hard, back arching as you cried out. He worked you through it, drawing it out until you were shaking and grabbing his wrist.

"Too much," you gasped, but he didn't stop. Just gentled his movements, eased the vibrations down to a subtle hum.

"You can take it." He kissed your neck, felt your pulse racing under his lips. "Know you can. Always so good for me, aren't you? Can give me one more."

You made a broken sound as he resumed his rhythm, oversensitive and overwhelmed. Your whole body trembled, caught between pulling away and pressing closer. He loved you like this—completely undone, trusting him to take care of you even when it bordered on too much.

"That's my girl," he praised as fresh wetness coated his fingers. "Getting even wetter. Body knows what it needs even when your brain's all fuzzy. Just feel, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good."

The second orgasm built slower, your body fighting it even as it climbed. He could tell the exact moment you gave in, stopped resisting and just let it happen. You went limp against him, only his hand in your hair keeping you upright as you came again, quieter this time but no less intense.

"Beautiful," he breathed, finally easing his fingers out. They were soaked, glistening in the low light. "So fucking beautiful."

You made a small sound when he lifted you, rearranging you both so you were on your back on the couch, him kneeling between your spread thighs. Your underwear was ruined, twisted to the side and soaked through. He pulled them off, tossed them somewhere behind him.

"Look at this pretty cunt," he said, running a finger through your folds. You twitched, sensitive, and he smiled. "All swollen and wet. Can see how hard you came—still clenching around nothing, still dripping for me."

"Please," you whispered, the first word you'd managed in minutes.

"Please what?" He freed his cock, groaning at the relief. He was painfully hard, had been since you first climbed in his lap. "Tell me what you want."

"You." Your hands reached for him, shaky but insistent. "Want you inside me. Need to feel you."

"Yeah?" He rubbed the head of his cock through your wetness, coating himself. You were furnace-hot, slick enough that he had to grit his teeth for control. "Think you can take it? Already came twice, might be too sensitive..."

"I can take it." There was steel under the desperation in your voice. His girl, always stronger than you looked. "Please, Bucky. Need you."

He pushed inside in one smooth thrust, and you both groaned. You were molten around him, cunt fluttering with aftershocks that made him see stars. Perfect. Like you were made for him, shaped by him, existing just for this.

"Fuck," he breathed, having to stay still or risk ending this embarrassingly fast. "Feel so good, baby. So wet and tight and perfect. Can feel you trying to pull me deeper. Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

You clenched around him deliberately, and he had to press his forehead to your shoulder for composure. Two years, and you still affected him like this. Still made him feel desperate and possessive and completely fucking gone for you.

He started to move, slow and deep, watching your face for signs of discomfort. But you just gazed up at him with trust and heat and something that looked a lot like awe. Like he was something worth looking at that way, even after everything.

"Love fucking you like this," he told you, picking up the pace. "Love watching you take my cock. Love how wet you get, how you stretch around me. Could live inside this sweet cunt."

You moaned, arching into him. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you could reach. He caught them, pinned them above your head with his metal hand. The position made you clench around him, and he smiled.

"Like that? Like being held down?" He thrust harder, deeper, watching your tits bounce with the force. "Like knowing you can't move, can't do anything but take what I give you?"

You nodded frantically, and he could feel fresh wetness where you were joined. Perfect. His perfect girl, who trusted him with your pleasure, who let him take control because you knew he'd take care of you.

"Gonna come again," he told you, rhythm getting rougher. "Gonna fill this pretty cunt up. Mark you from the inside, make sure you feel me all day tomorrow. Would you like that? Walking around full of my come, knowing who you belong to?"

"Yes," you gasped, and he could feel you getting close again. "Yes, please, yours—"

"Mine," he agreed, and reached down to rub your clit with his flesh hand. "All mine. This cunt, this body, this perfect fucking girl. Mine to fuck, mine to fill, mine to take care of."

You came with a cry, convulsing around him. The feeling of your cunt gripping him, trying to milk his cock, sent him over the edge. He buried himself deep and came hard, grinding against you as he filled you.

"That's it," he groaned, still pulsing inside you. "Take it all. Such a good girl, taking everything I give you."

You stayed locked together as you caught your breath, both trembling with aftershocks. He released your wrists, smoothing his hands over the marks he'd left. Not bruises—he was always careful about pressure—but evidence of his grip that would fade within the hour.

"Okay?" he asked, pressing kisses to your temple.

You hummed contentment, boneless and sated beneath him. "More than okay. That was..."

"Yeah." He knew what you meant. The intensity, the connection, the way it felt like coming home every single time.

He eased out carefully, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. His come immediately started leaking out of you, and something primal in him loved the sight. Marked. His.

"Stay there," he ordered, heading to the bathroom for a washcloth.

When he returned, you'd curled onto your side, looking soft and fucked out and perfect. He cleaned you gently, carefully, smiling when you twitched at the contact.

"Sensitive?"

"Mmm. Good sensitive." You caught his hand, brought it to your lips. "Love you."

"Love you too." The words came easy now, no hesitation or fear. Just truth.

He gathered you up, carrying you to bed properly. Tomorrow you'd deal with the real world—missions and therapy and all the work that went into building a life together. But tonight, you had this. Each other. A love that had survived separation and learned how to stay.

"Hey," you mumbled against his chest as he settled you both under the covers.

"Yeah?"

"We're really doing this, aren't we? Making it work?"

He pressed a kiss to your hair, pulled you closer. "Yeah, sweetheart. We really are."

And for the first time in your relationship, he thought of that ring in his dresser without a doubt in his mind.

feedback is always appreciated! ♡

1K notes · View notes

myreadings · 19 days ago

Text

Honey

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Freshly escaped from Hydra Bucky comes to the tower after Steve finds him. You weren’t supposed to meet him as soon as you did but you quickly become the person he’s the most comfortable around.

Word Count: 8207

A/n: I was really missing old Avengers tower fics when I started this so tada enjoy an avengers tower fic in the year 2025

Bucky Masterlist

James Buchanan Barnes, Caps best friend and The Winter Soldier. You weren’t technically supposed to be out to meet him when Steve brought him back to the tower after finding him from his escape from Hydra. Tony made it clear that because no one can tell just how dangerous he’d be that no regular agents should be in the building. And though you weren’t just a regular agent, you helped him and Bruce out in their lab more than anything and because you were close with the man himself you lived there like you were an avenger yourself, Tony had instructed you to stay in your room.

Which shouldn’t have been hard since the rooms are all apartmentesque with kitchens and bathrooms. But you hate feeling cooped up and in your defense they did get there at least an hour earlier than they were supposed to. So you had been eating a snack on the couch in the common room watching a horror show on Netflix when they, he, showed up. You were so pulled into it that you didn’t hear them get out of the elevator or Steve tell him he’d get him some food and direct him to the common room.

“Shit!” You caught him out of the corner of your eye when leaning over to put your drink down. He was standing in the entrance, his eyes observing you from afar gaging your threat levels. Your hand flew to your chest as his sudden presence scares you more than he himself. “You guys weren’t supposed to be here yet.”

You stood up then turning the tv off before going to introduce yourself. He stands up straighter, more rigid somehow than before, and takes a small almost unnoticeable step back. You notice it though part of your training was to be able to take in small things like that in.

“Oh!” You stop in your tracks before grabbing the hem of your baggy shirt and pulling it up to just below your breasts and doing a turn to show that you don’t have any weapons hidden away in your sleep shorts. “Look no weapons, I'm clean as a whistle! I’d pull it all the way up but just between you and me,” you lean forward to whisper towards him, “I don’t have a bra on.” You drop the shirt and take two more steps forward before holding your hand out as far as you could towards him. You wanted him to be able to come to you. “I’m y/n!” He had taken a step forward just before Steve showed up.

“What are you doing here? Tony said you’d be in your room.” He stood in front of Bucky not to block his view of you but to stay in between you two in case the Winter Soldier came out and you dropped your arm.

“Well you’re early and I don’t much like feeling like a prisoner in my own home. Besides,” you spoke as you leaned around Steve to have a look at Bucky again, “he doesn’t seem all that dangerous right now.” You smile at him and send him a wink before going back to standing straight.

“Get out of here kid. He’s got to get settled before meeting anyone.”

“Fine.” You pouted before leaving to go back to your room, sneaking in a wave and another smile to the new super soldier in the building when you caught him watching you.

What you didn’t know is that Bucky had taken a step to follow you. The Winter Soldier in him, the majority of him at the moment, had taken a look at you smiling sweetly at him and showing you weren’t a threat and decided you were his next mission. That he had to keep you safe. He would have followed you if it weren’t for Steve placing a gentle yet strong hand on his shoulder and directing him to the table where he had put heated up leftovers down for him to eat.

You didn’t get to meet him the next day. Tony had him on lockdown in his own room to watch him, make sure he wouldn’t snap and go all killer on everyone. Which you thought was just a tad unfair, even though you got it, seeing as he purposely escaped Hydra and has been nothing but compliant since he showed up. And since he had found out you were out when they arrived, because Steve’s a goddamn snitch, Tony reamed your ass out going on about safety and blah blah blah. You had zoned out while he talked only coming back to when he turned to Steve about keeping someone on watching Bucky’s door.

So the next time you had been able to meet Bucky it had been because you pulled a Clint and went through the vents knowing that if anyone heard it they’d assume it was him and that all the vents in the rooms aren’t up high so they’d be easy to get out of.

Bucky was on high alert after hearing the clang of the vent covering landing on the wood floor. He didn’t need to look for a weapon or anything; his arm was all he needed so he just posted up next to the opening ready to get the jump on whoever or whatever came out. His defenses lowered a little when he had heard the soft curse that fell from your lips. He still grabbed you by the back of your hoodie when you emerged pulling you up as if you were still a threat.

“Woah big guy it’s just me!” You smile at him despite the yelp that escaped you when you were grabbed. Upon recognizing your sweet smile he lets you go and crosses his arms in front of him. “Snuck over so you weren’t all alone, Tony’s got Nat watching the door like a hawk right now.” He doesn’t say anything to you, doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t even move much really. “Brought a bag of snacks. It's still in the vent if you wanna be the one to grab it and check to make sure it’s not a bomb or anything.” He still doesn’t move standing stock still his eyes fixated on you. “Okay then.” You crouch and reach in pulling your book bag out feeling his steely gaze the whole time suddenly unsure about this whole plan. Once it’s out and on the floor in front of you, you unzip it and hold it open for Bucky to examine the few bags of snacks inside.

“Man, I forgot how bare the new rooms are.” You speak again after getting up and glancing around. You move deeper into the room abandoning the bag. He looks down at the what should be used as a tactical bag but is instead stuffed with snacks and what looks like a blanket at the bottom peeking out from between the bags at his feet. His eyes wander from it to you who’s rummaging through his kitchen as if there’s no boundaries and he couldn’t just kill you for crossing any if he wanted to.

“So what do you wanna be called?” You come back into the living room area and look at him just as he finishes zipping the bag back up and standing with it in his hand.

“What?” His voice is rough and a little hoarse probably from all the screaming from what Hydra probably did to him. Which you don’t know the extent of but just knowing Hydra it doesn’t take a genius to know they most definitely tortured the man in front of you. His vocal cords must be so damaged and you make a mental note to make him tea with honey.

“Well I mean you’re not The Winter Soldier anymore so I won’t call you that and I’ll be caught dead before I call you Soldat like Hydra did. But also James feels so formal and I’m sure you don’t exactly feel like you’re back to being Bucky yet.” You had seen how uncomfortable he looked the few times you saw Steve use the old nickname. “So what would you like me to call you?”

“I…I don’t know.” He deflates only a little, barely noticeable but you still catch it.

“That’s okay we don’t have to use names or anything!” You send a sweet smile his way before continuing. “But if you figure it out just let me know Honey!” He straightens up at the pet name almost as if he’s standing at attention and you take note of it before reaching down to slowly, carefully, take the bag from his metal hand. You hate that it feels like you’re treating him like a stray dog in how careful and slow your movements are. You only hope that he doesn’t take it to be you’re scared of him. He doesn’t, he understands you’re just trying to make sure he knows you’re not a threat. He appreciates it really, he has to stop his instincts from kicking in each time Steve goes to wrap an arm around his shoulder instead just flinching away from him before he can be touched knowing that if he did actually get an arm around him Steve would end up on the ground in no time.

“Now how about a movie or something?”

When Grown Ups is over and the second one is started there’s a commotion from outside the door.

“Must be the changing of the guards. Who do you think they roped into watching your door now?” Bucky only shrugs when you glance his way before there’s someone trying to get in before realizing the doors locked and knocking.

“Bucky it’s me.” Steve’s voice rings out and your face scrunches up at the fact that he had tried to just barge in. “Tony said we have to check on you at each watch shift. So you gotta let me in, man.”

Your eyes go wide and you look back at Bucky in a bit of a panic before rushing to throw the unopened snacks in your bag and get it zipped up. Bucky stands when you do and follows you in your rush to get back to the vent in the floor. Your panic is enough to make him begin to panic just a little.

“Buck? You there?”

“Yeah, give me a minute.” His eyes never leave where you’re standing in between him and the wall.

“Feel free to finish the movie if you want Honey. I've seen it plenty of times.” You whisper to him as you crouch and toss the bag into the vent. “I’ll come by again tomorrow if I have a chance, maybe make you watch an animated movie next.” He doesn’t want you to leave at all and he balls his fists up at his sides to stop himself from following you into it instead just watching as you wave before grabbing the grate and popping it back into the wall.

“Hey man, how're you doing?” You know you shouldn’t eavesdrop but you can’t help it as you hear Bucky open the door and Steve greets him. “What’re you watching?”

“Just clicked on something and it started going.”

“Yeah, I’ll teach you how to use the tv. It was confusing for me at first too.” You wanna laugh at how Steve assumes Bucky just couldn’t figure out how to work the tv but instead press a hand to your mouth. “Where’d you get the blanket?” At that you want to groan and bang your head against the vent realizing you left the blanket you had packed on the couch in your hurry to leave.

“Found it in a closet.” You can picture Bucky shrugging as he answers and begin to crawl your way back to your room missing how the two super soldiers glance at the vent and how Steve says something about Clint being up to it again.

The next day you’re in the lab with Tony and Bruce for most of it helping them design a new arm for Bucky. Which when Tony had brought up doing you were the first person to volunteer to help, not that there was anyone else that really could. And after studying the scan Tony did of it when Bucky arrived the three of you agreed that he definitely needs a better one. Hydra hadn’t taken into consideration that they were working on a human being at all when they installed his current one, not one of you actually expected that from them.

The arm itself is sloppily fused to actual bone and the only thing he would be able to feel from the arm is pain. The workings and wirings of it only being tapped into his pain nerve endings rather than just not connecting to any. Which you’re all positive Hydra did on purpose. You didn’t even realize connecting to any was possible until Bruce pointed it out and Tony explained it to you. You were quick though to ask if connecting to all of it was possible in the new arm. Tony said it would take more time to do than if it wasn’t but that yes it was possible and that yes, he had answered before you could ask, that would be a feature they’d include with the new one.

Since you were busy doing that you can’t sneak away to visit Bucky until late. You almost don’t but you told him you would and didn’t want him to feel forgotten. It’s halfway to eleven when you pop open the vent. Bucky’s on alert as soon as it comes off the wall having spent most of the day glancing over and watching it. He stands arms crossed across his chest and your hand shoots out in a wave.

“Hey Honey it’s just me!” You announce yourself before sticking your head out to smile at the super soldier standing next to the vent. “Sorry it’s so late. I was in the lab all day.” You yawn as you push yourself out and onto the floor. You lay there for a few seconds fighting the urge to just curl up and go to sleep, something you fought the whole time you crawled your way over, before getting up and facing Bucky. “It’s been a long day. How’s yours been?”

“Fine.” He watches as you walk over to the couch before collapsing yourself into the corner of it.

“C'mon give me more than that, what’d you do all day in here?”

“Steve showed me the tv.” He gestures to the remote in front of you taking two steps closer to you.

“Is that it?” He nods. “You can’t possibly just sit in your thoughts all day.” As you look at him and he looks right back at you, you realize he does. And you’d bet your life it isn’t fun considering his past and just how recent his break from Hydra is.

“Well I’ll try to remember to bring cards or a puzzle or something next time so you have something else to do. Now c'mon I won’t bite you, yet.” You pat the couch next to you and give him a teasing smile successfully coaxing him over. “It’s a little late but do you want to watch a movie? I could put on a tv show though too. Whatever you’d like.”

“Movie’s fine.”

Throughout How To Train Your Dragon, which you put on because from what you’ve heard about Bucky in the 40s from Steve he seems like someone who’d enjoy dragons, you can’t stop your eyes from trailing over to his arm. You don’t want him to feel like you’re judging him for it so you keep the glances you do take to a minimum. It’s not until halfway through the movie when Bucky’s relaxed into the couch more than he was that you reach a hand out to touch it and he pulls away. Later you’ll laugh about how it parallels the scene where Hiccup tries to touch Toothless.

“Can I?” You ask just holding your hand out for Bucky to decide if he wants to put his arm in your hands or not. He hesitates, not sure why you’d want to touch it, not sure if he trusts that you won’t use it against him the way it has been before. But one look at your curious eyes has him following the silent orders that your outstretched hands give him.

Once the arm is in your hands you scoot closer to him causing him to stiffen up at your proximity. The winter soldier in him preparing for the pain that normally comes when a handler takes a look at his arm. He wouldn’t lash out and hurt you if it did come though, not when you were his unofficial mission. But pain never comes and when he glances back over to you from the movie you’re delicately running your fingers over the metal plates that make up his arm. He relaxes into the couch again and you can’t help the small smile that appears on your face.

“Can you really not feel this?”

“No. They said it was unnecessary.”

“But you’d feel it if I shot you right here?” You draw a circle on his arm with your finger before tapping the middle of it. Bucky nods wishing with all his might he could feel your kind, soft, touch even a little bit. “That’s such bullshit!” Your voice is still soft through your exclamation and Bucky can’t help but wonder how someone could be soft and yet sound so angry at the same time. And he can’t help the almost suffocating feeling in his chest that your anger is for him rather than at him. Something he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced before, even with memories coming back to him more and more as the days go by.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs, wanting to escape that feeling.

“It’s not.” You look up at him, absoluteness in your voice and written all over your face. It causes his breath to catch and he turns back to the movie playing letting you continue to examine the metal arm he hates so much.

You eventually doze off, head resting on his shoulder. Bucky doesn’t notice until the movie’s over though having been too pulled into it just the way you had hoped. He doesn’t want to wake you, doesn’t think you meant to fall asleep and let your guard down that much around him in the first place though. You had, the moment you were done looking at his arm you had wrapped your arm around his before resting your head down on it and letting the sleep that had been biting at your heels since you left the lab catch up with you.

Bucky’s slow in his movements, using his flesh hand to block your hair from getting caught in the metal plates of his arm, something he had done a lot after his own grew out and he’d try to use the metal hand to push it out of his face, before adjusting his arm to face the couch instead of your body your head falling to his chest then. He taps your face a few times to try to wake you before moving to shaking your shoulder. The only result he gets is you squirming in your sleep and digging your face farther into his chest. He doesn’t want to resort to the violence that had been used on him to wake him up, not on you at least but maybe on Steve or any of the others, so he picks you up and carries to to the untouched bed in his room watching as you bury into the covers as he puts them on you.

You don’t show any signs of waking up even the slightest the whole time causing the soldier in him to worry. If you don’t wake up to being nudged or carried then would you wake up if there was an intruder. The thought only brings the winter soldier in him further to the forefront as he sits and watches the door.

You cringe at the sound of your alarm when it goes off in the morning. You feel so groggy and out of it as you try to find your phone confused when it’s not plugged in next to your pillow the way it normally is. You’re confused when you find it in your pocket until you open your eyes and realize you’re not in your room. You’re still disoriented as you sit up but remember that you fell asleep on Bucky’s couch at least.

“Honey?” Your voice is a little raspy as sleep clogs your vocal chords and Bucky only turns his head slightly so he can still keep an eye on the open bedroom door. “Did you carry me to bed?”

“Couldn’t wake you up.”

“Oh that hasn’t happened in a while.” You’re normally a light sleeper having woken up to the soft thump of your cat jumping off of your own bed multiple times before. “You must make me feel safe.” And he does even with how nervous everyone seems to be about him falling back into being the winter soldier. Bucky’s heart does somersaults as you speak the words, pride swelling in his chest that he’s successful in that part of his mission. You swing your legs over the side and stretch before checking the time on your phone, four in the morning.

“Did you sleep?” Bucky shakes his head and you frown while standing. “Well I have to get to the lab, we’re working on something big and exciting. You should try to get some sleep alright?” You head into the bathroom knowing there’d be a couple spare toothbrushes in the mirror like there always is in the empty rooms of the tower. When you come out he’s still in the same spot. “You didn’t change into pjs or anything? C’mon get up.”

You don’t even think about it first in your sleep disoriented state before grabbing at his arm and pulling to get him to stand. The Bucky part of him comes back and he plays along faking a stumble to make it seem more like you had successfully pulled him up rather than him getting up on his own. Light laughter falls from your lips and a small smile appears on his face at the sound.

“Here. At least change your shirt, you’ve been in the same clothes for at least two days now.” You turn from where you had been rummaging in the dresser and shove a clean shirt in his hands. Bucky just places it on the bed before taking his old one off without thinking. He never had to in the recent past, if he was granted new clothes to change into at the Hydra facility there’d always be someone there watching. It’s not until your breathing hitches and he sees your eyes lock onto the shoulder the arm is attached to that he becomes self conscious about the scarring there. He’s quick to put the new one on hating the look in your eyes.

“Okay you get some sleep, take a shower when you wake up. I won’t be able to stop by later but I’ll probably come by tomorrow at some point okay Honey?” Bucky nods and holds himself back from following you as you leave the bedroom and back into the vent to get to your room to change before going to the lab.

You end up beating Tony and Bruce to the lab, not by much but they’re both shocked when they show up at six to find you looking at the projected blueprints you’d all been working on the day before. The second thought you’d had after seeing the scars at the seam of metal and flesh had been to tweak the plans so it could be detachable. The first one being ‘oh god I can’t believe he’s gone through so much pain’ .

“What’re you doing here already, worker bee?” Tony asks the nickname he gave you after that first long night in the lab with them rolling off his tongue and leading into a yawn.

“Woke up with an idea for the arm.” You zoom into where the arm is set to connect to the shoulder before swiping it away to show how you worked out it could be done. “Thought we could make it so his arm could be removed.” You take a sip of your energy drink as the two men take their spots on either side of you.

“What made you think of this?” It’s Bruce this time who speaks hand on chin in thought. “It could work though.”

“I don’t know. Had a dream about it and thought maybe it would be easier to clean or maybe to sleep.” You couldn’t exactly tell them that you thought maybe if he could remove it he wouldn’t have the urge to try to claw it out the way the scars hint to.

“You’ve been spending too much time in the lab with us if you’re dreaming about things kid. But it definitely could work, we’d just have to-” Tony trails off as he brings the hologram closer to him from where Bruce was studying it with a swipe of his hand and begins to toy with the way it could connect in a way that it could still work with the nerve endings.

You’re only in the lab for a couple of hours. You help the two of them fine tune the design ideas bouncing between the three of you. And then Tony’s ushering you out of the lab so he can get to work on actually making it seeing as that’s his expertise. You had argued that you could still help but you’re prone to dropping the smaller parts he needs when he builds anything and it ends with the two of you crawling around on the ground to find them, so it’d be quicker if you didn’t.

As tiring as it can be working throughout the days with them you do find it rather peaceful and you’re always happy to work through lunch the three of you eating takeout as you continue to work. Tony and Bruce were like the, much, older brothers you never had with how close the three of you are. Not that you aren’t close with the other Avengers, you spend a lot of time with all of them since you share living spaces with them, just some you’re closer to than others.

“So how’s watching Bucky’s door? As boring as it sounds?” You ask Natasha later in the gym as you hold the punching bag steady for her.

“The guy doesn’t even make a peep when I’m stuck sitting there. It’s a waste of my time and Stark should just have Steve on watch duty. It’s his childhood friend not mine.” You can hear the eye roll in her voice and can tell how annoyed she is with it.

“I don’t get why Tony has anyone sitting there if he’s not doing anything.” She stops punching and puts her hands on her hips while she peers around the bag to look at you with an exasperated look on her face.

“You’re joking. You’re part of the reason we have to, miss I’m going to be out of my room when he gets here and try to approach a very extremely recent ex Hydra assassin.” You cringe at her words knowing they’re true, the watch shifts are more for keeping you out than keeping him in. Not that it’s stopping you. “Now we actually have to wrap this up because I’m due to play watch dog in an hour so Steve can get his training in.”

After the gym with Nat you head to your room to shower and get ready for a comfortable night in with a book and your cat curled up on your lap. You decide that before you sit down though to check on Tony’s progress knowing almost without a doubt that he’s still gonna be in the lab. You stop by the kitchen to get him some food, burgers Clint was still working on making for dinner, knowing that he wouldn’t have eaten yet. You made one for yourself and one for him avoiding Clint's hands as they try to shoo you away playfully claiming you can’t take food before it’s all ready and head down to the lab again.

“Tony Bologna!” Your sing song voice greets the man before he can see you. “Brought you some food Clint was making your favorite.” You set the plates down at one of the clear work benches. “How’s the arm coming along?”

“I just can’t keep you out of this lab, can I worker bee?” He finishes up something real quick before spinning the stool around to face you. “It’s taking longer than I originally thought it would but it should still be ready in probably two days or so, depending on how much you come annoy me.” He playfully bumps his shoulder into yours after wheeling over to sit next to you.

“So am I just banned from the lab until it’s done?” You laugh knowing he doesn’t mean any harm by it.

“Wish I could tell you yes but you’ll find your way down here regardless. Just try to stay away, yeah? Wanna get this arm done with as soon as I can so Nat can stop complaining about guard duty.”

“You letting him out and about after it’s finished?” You speak around a bite of food.

“Yeah, gets out for good behavior.” The two of you eat in comfortable silence then with you trying to hide your excited smile.

Tony does end up finishing the arm in a couple days. Steve brings Bucky to the med bay as Tony and Bruce get it ready for the surgery it’ll take to remove the old one and install the new one. You get to be the first face he sees when he enters immediately taking a step towards you only stopping from continuing on when there’s a subtle shake of your head telling him not to. You give him a polite smile like you haven’t been spending most of your free time with him.

“What’s going on?” He asks as he notices the scrubs you and the two older men are in and the doctor in the corner of the room.

“Hi Bucky!” You cringe inwardly as you use the name and Bucky frowns at your use of it. “I can explain everything to you if you wanna come have a seat over here.” You direct him to a seat near the surgical table, hating that you can sense his panic. His eyes go wide like a stray dog feeling threatened as he gets a glimpse of the table and the tools next to it. “Steve, you can go now.”

“Oh uh, I’m actually supposed to stay.” He looks at Tony before looking back at you and you stop the eye roll that wants to happen.

“Can you go get me some water then? I’m a little parched.” You hope he doesn’t recognize your water bottle in the room just wanting him gone so you can whisper encouraging things to Bucky without anyone hearing. He nods after getting a nod in approval from Tony and heads out while you take a seat next to Bucky.

“It’s gonna be okay Honey.” You whisper wrapping your pinky around his flesh one and the man next to you relaxes a bit. “So you’re here today so we can remove that arm of yours and replace it with dun da da da one of our own design!” You smile as you say it, motioning to the black and gold one on the table next to you. You glance to make sure no one else in the room is looking before you take his hand to pull him up and towards the table so he can get a better look at it.

“This here is obviously the arm itself, but this piece is what’s permanently going to be in your shoulder so you can remove the arm as you please.” You point to each piece you talk about your eyes glowing with excitement to finally be telling him about it. His eyes go wide and his head snaps over to look at you with the news, his hand going to touch his shoulder through his shirt. He knows that’s a feature you added because of the scars there, from when he used to try to claw the damn thing out when it would get too uncomfortable after a long mission of using it.

“We’re going to have to put you under so we can actually do the surgery if that’s okay Honey?” The pet name is whispered so everyone else can’t hear it and Bucky nods unsure because he’s never been put under for anything before. He’d either just have to suffer through it or he’d pass out from the pain of it all.

“Wonderful! Now we’ll need you to take your shirt off and hop right on up on this table to lay down. Oh thanks Stevie.” You thank the man who hands you a cup of water drinking it to keep up the act of needing it while Bucky follows your order like the good soldier he is. But once he’s down and Bruce starts putting the restraints around him he gets that wild look in his eyes again like he’s about to do anything he can to get away. And while this causes Steve’s guard to come up, him taking a step closer ready to subdue his friend if need be, you step over under the guise of helping Bruce when in actuality you’re just there to rub your hand up and down his arm in a soothing way.

“Bucky, I’m Doctor Cho. I'll be assisting these three so nothing goes wrong.” The doctor in the room steps up to him with a friendly smile on her face as she looks down at him. “Like y/n said we’ll be knocking you out so it’s going to be over before you even know it. After the surgery it’s likely you’ll be a little sore but with how quickly you super soldiers heal there shouldn’t be any big pain when you wake up from the anaesthesia.”

“And then you’re free from your room prison!” You cheer from the other side of him and Tony playfully slaps you on the back of the head. Bucky’s hands clench into fists at him hitting you but he doesn’t try to lunge or anything, your laughter at Tony’s action stopping it before it can begin. “What? It’s true, you said you’d be letting him out.”

“You ready?” Bruce asks the man strapped down in front of him not enjoying the view of it any more than Bucky’s enjoying it.

“It’s not like he has a choice.” Tony says as he brings the mask over Bucky’s face. The last thing he takes in is the feel of your thumb rubbing small hidden circles on his arm in a comforting way.

When Bucky wakes up and tries to sit up only to find he’s strapped down still he panics not wanting to be back in Hydra’s lab. He calms though when he hears your laughter, the sound reminding him he’s not with Hydra and won’t be again. His eyes open and he scans the room searching for you. And like you can feel his searching eyes you turn your head just as he finds you smiling at him.

“Hey there Soldier, you made it out alive!” There’s a laughter to your voice that makes him not mind being called soldier and as Bruce’s attention turns to him you mouth a ‘hi honey’ to him with a wave. Tony’s not in the room he had a date with Pepper to get to and you had to convince him to agree to you staying for when Bucky woke up. He was nervous being under and waking up strapped to a table would snap him back into being the winter soldier but you insisted you would be fine even if that happened because of Steve and Bruce both being in the room.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks, coming closer to the bed with you and Steve following close behind.

“Fine.” Bucky grunts out and with the reassurance that he’s not feeling like a killing machine Bruce and Steve move to undo his restraints with you standing close by so you can do your job to ask him questions and tell him about his new arm.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” You ask him as they finish with Bruce moving to talk to Helen in the corner of the med bay and Steve hovers close to the two of you.

“Sore.” Bucky sits up and his flesh hand goes to his shoulder as if to massage it.

“With your healing that shouldn’t last too much longer, maybe the rest of the day but you should be back to a new normal by tomorrow. Wanna know all the new fun features of this new arm?” Bucky nods with a small smile starting to play on his lips, something Steve notices and smiles himself excited that his friend is showing through the cracks more.

“First things first say adios to feeling any major pain from your arm, at most there should just be a sting.” It had been easy to convince Bruce that Bucky had been in enough pain from Hydra and that when connecting to the nerve endings you could all leave the pain ones out of the equation. Tony took a little bit more convincing but with it being two against one he caved.

“You’ll also be able to feel whether something's hot or cold, though not enough that it would feel like something’s burning you. Like if you stick your hand in a fire you’ll be able to feel and tell it’s warm but it’s not going to burn where you have to yank your hand out quickly.” You look at the clipboard in front of you that’s full of all the notes on the arm as you speak but look up at him at your last words. “Though don’t make a habit of that we aren’t positive how prolonged heat will affect all the little things inside your arm.”

“Like I told you before it’s removable, I’ll show you how to do that in a minute but it’s time for my favorite detail.” You hand the clipboard over to Steve figuring he could at least be helpful if he’s gonna stand guard dog. “Please stretch your arm out towards me, palm up.” Bucky follows your instructions and you speak as you wrap a hand around his wrist and start tracing different shapes on his palm. “With the sensors in and under the metal and how we have it connected to nerve endings you’ll be able to feel things as they touch your arm. While you won’t be able to feel textures of anything and you’d still feel, say, a bullet hit it, you’ll now be able to feel it if I do this.” You draw a circle on his arm with your finger before tapping the middle of it just like you did the other night.

Bucky’s eyes snap to yours rather than watch your fingers in awe. With your similar words and action from the night you fell asleep on his hated arm it’s clear to him that you were the brain behind that decision. He wills away the tears that want to brim and fall from his eyes at someone thinking and caring enough about him to do something like adding that to a new arm, something he hasn’t had happen to him in close to a century where he’s known mostly pain and torture. Maybe that’s the reason he lunges at you to bring you into a hug without thinking of how that might come off as.

You could see the hug coming a mile away, it was written all over his face that that’s what he wanted to do. You didn’t have to be an expert on who he was to be able to see it, though you’d think it would be with how quickly Steve leaves the clipboard to clatter to the ground and make it so the two of you are separated. His sudden rushed movement pushes you back into one of the utility tables causing the tools on it to rattle around but it also awakens Bucky’s Winter Soldier fight or flight response. It’s both of those things that cause him to head butt his friend.

“Steve what the hell!” You yell out as Bucky’s head connects with his nose. The commotion should have drawn eyes to the three of you but Bruce and Helen had stepped out of the lab briefly before all of this.

“He was lunginging at you.” As Steve’s hand goes up to cup his nose in shock that his best friend attacked him for no reason Bucky dives past him to stand in front of you as if to protect you from any danger.

“He was just gonna hug me! Weren’t you honey?” The pet name goes over Steve’s head in the heat of the moment. Bucky gives a stiff nod, the Winter Soldier in him still braced for a fight with the man in front of him if he tries to harm you again. He doesn’t start to relax until you take his new metal hand in yours and rub circles into it. The new sensation of it bringing him back. “Anyone with a brain could’ve seen that written on his face. You all have to stop walking on eggshells all the time when it comes to him or he’ll never actually make any progress.” Steve opens his mouth to respond but you’ve stopped paying attention to him and have instead grabbed Bucky’s shirt from the table you were pushed into and started pulling him out of the lab. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to remove your arm and then you can start getting used to it.”

“How excited are you that when we get back you don’t have to watch Bucky’s door?” You ask Nat as the two of you take seats in the quinjet to finally get home after the week long recon mission the two of you and a couple other agents were sent on. You had gotten word of it right after leaving Bucky’s room from showing him how to remove and reattach his arm and left the next morning. So you’re eager to get back and see how he’s acclimating to the new arm and his new freedom to roam about the tower.

“You have no idea.” She groans before answering. “I finally get my free time back. I’ve had to postpone the same date three times now.”

“Date? You mean you don’t have something going on with Steve?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shrugs and tries to look nonchalant but you see right through her.

“Yeah sure you don’t.”

“What about you miss lots of questions about Bucky Barnes and crawling through the vents to get into his room?”

“What? I never did that, you know Clint's always messing around in the vents.”

“Yeah and I can tell when it’s him or when it’s you. It sounds different.”

“I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.” You hold your pinky out in a silent promise and she hesitates before looping her own with it.

“Deal.”

Unsurprisingly when you both leave the quinjet Nat goes straight to talk to Steve who’s standing waiting in the hangar. You leave them to it, sending him a wave as you walk past wanting to beeline for your room for a shower and quality time with your cat who you always miss the most when you’re stuck on long missions like that. You end up making a pit stop in the shared kitchen to fill your water bottle up with water from the fridge there since you’re almost positive Tony purposely made it so it had the coldest water in the tower so everyone would be forced to cohabitate. You pause momentarily in the doorway when you spot Bucky sitting at the island.

“Hey Honey!” You beam, happy to see him. He turns his head to look at you shocked to see you standing in front of him. A small smile forms on his face, unable to stop from feeling as close to giddy as he has in a long time at how genuinely happy you look.

“Hi.” He pauses as you cross the kitchen to fill your bottle. “How was your mission?”

“So boring.” You roll your eyes as you wait for your bottle to fill. “We spent most of our time in a room watching cameras and listening to mics. I bet you were glad to have me out of your space for a week though.”

He wasn’t, he had missed your presence and how you never made him feel like he had to try to be anyone other than who he was now. Between Steve calling him Bucky and wanting him to be the same guy he knew in the forties and Tony still calling him the Winter Soldier always waiting for the brainwashing to kick back in he thought he was going to go crazy. All he wanted to do was lock himself in his room and not come out until you were back and calling him Honey and not wanting or expecting him to be anyone other than the guy he was now, a guy trying to figure out who exactly he is after being stuck under Hydra’s control for the last however long and trying to cope with that.

“I was gonna shower and just collapse on my bed for a while.” You continue not waiting for a response from him which Bucky appreciates. “Wanna come with? You can meet my cat and I could collapse on the couch instead. We could watch a movie.” You start to walk away as you speak and Bucky’s quick to follow. Of course he was, the Winter Soldier in him who saw you as his mission was going mad at not being with you on your mission because what if you got hurt and he wasn’t there to prevent it, to protect you.

“Welcome to my humble abode!” You say as you open the door to your room ushering Bucky in quickly so your cat doesn’t try to escape again. He takes in the surroundings; it's warm and soft and he immediately thinks how much it suits you. You head farther in and while Bucky still stands near the entrance you approach him a white cat in your arms. “Honey, this is Alpine. I think the two of you could be the best of buds.” You hand her over to him and he’s not sure how exactly to act with a cat in his arms but just lets it happen. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower, I’ll be right back out. Make yourself at home.”

While you shower Bucky hesitates before moving to sit on your couch which is different, softer and more comfortable, than his own. There’s blankets folded and draped over the arms and the back of it with a heart pillow in one corner and a star pillow in the other. He sits in the corner with the heart because it’s further into the room and Alpine meows looking at him with her big blue eyes. She starts purring almost immediately as he scratches behind her ears and under her chin. You’re positively beaming when you come out of your room and find them like that.

“I just knew you’d be a cat person.” Instead of sitting in the other corner of the couch like he expected you to, you sit right next to Bucky folding your legs under you and leaning your shoulder into his own.

“I like animals.” That’s something about him that never changed even under Hydra's brainwashing. He would be on missions as The Winter Soldier sleeping in alleys, because if they didn’t have to they wouldn’t supply him a safe house to stay in, and feeding the strays letting them curl up next to him to sleep in a safe space for the night.

“Hmm, I think I know just the movie to put on then.” You fall asleep probably halfway through Hotel for Dogs. You hadn’t realized how tired you were from the mission until you were fighting to keep your eyes open. And when Bucky had realized you had fallen asleep he sinks more comfortably into the couch and relaxes, metal arm on the back of the couch as around you as he’ll let it be for now and a hand stroking the loving cat still in his lap. And when he falls asleep after the movie ends it’s the first time he doesn’t wake from a nightmare.

Bucky Taglist: @the-chocoholic-writer @vanillamaa @sailormajinmoon @enlyume @collywobbl @valhalla-kristin @nojamsonmytoast @esoltis280 @aactuaaltraash @cali-888 @moonNooon @Minami97 @winchestert101

Marvel Taglist: @lieswithoutfairytales @sugarbutterbailey @1-800-ch3rry @neenieweenie @fluffy-bnny @bunnyweasley23 @chaoticevilbakugo @trikigirl271 @chxosunbound @mazerunnerrose @goldylions @literally-a-ferret @angelgirl45367 @supraveng

Everything Taglist: @matchabbarnes @bubsonnobx @practicalghost @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr @kennedy-brooke @m00nkn1ghts @rory-cakes

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myreadings · 19 days ago

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Whose Cat Is It Anyway?

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: For the longest time, you thought the cat roaming the tower wasn’t owned by anybody. Then you eventually realize that the “Tower Cat” does, in fact, have a name, and is owned by none other than Bucky Barnes himself, the one team member you aren’t exactly best friends with. After Bucky finds out that Alpine has become fond of you, he starts giving you odd looks and passive-aggressive comments. This leads you to the conclusion that he is jealous of you for taking his cat. However, as time goes on, you come to the realization that it might be the other way around.

Word Count: 9.6k

Warnings/Tags: Bucky is so bad at feelings, Reader is an unreliable narrator, miscommunication at its finest, happy ending, Reader is very oblivious (it’s bad)

A/N: Is it realistic for somebody to get jealous over a cat? Probably not (keyword being probably), but I thought it was funny, so here you guys go! First post on this account :) Enjoy!

Masterlist

Cats.

You, like many people, adore the creatures.

They can be affectionate and cuddly on good days, purring and rubbing up against you as if nothing else exists. However, they can also be mischievous little demons.

Either way, you’ve always loved cats.

Recently, you had been planning on getting a cat, but after moving in with the rest of the team, the plan had been put on hold.

It was a tragedy. You were really looking forward to adopting one for yourself. You weren’t exactly sure if pets were allowed in the Watchtower. Technically, you didn’t see any rules against it, but you didn’t want to adopt a pet immediately after getting new roommates.

That being said, you did ask Valentina, but that didn’t really go well.

You shuffled anxiously, hearing the phone ring before it eventually picked up. “Hey, so—”

“Is this an emergency? You do know this number is for emergencies only, correct?” She said, and you could practically see the eye roll.

“Welllll, not exactly, but you haven’t exactly been around for us to ask any questions. You also don’t respond to my texts…” You trailed off, mumbling the last line. It’s not as if you wanted her around, but it would have solved this issue ages ago.

She remained silent for a moment, and you heard her sigh, exasperated. “Well, what is it?” She asked.

“The policy for pets?”

She sputtered for a moment, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Pets,” you said slowly as if talking to a child, “can we have them?”

She huffed, and sharp laughter rang in your ears. “Oh, absolutely not.”

You exhaled, “Damn…” You mutter to yourself, thinking she wouldn’t catch it.

“I do not want to see a pet there. I don’t care if it’s a dog, cat, guinea pig, snake, or turtle. No pets. Now, please, save this number for emergencies only. Goodbye.” She hung up the phone before you got a word in.

You soon realized after that incident that either people didn’t know about the policy, or didn’t care (likely the latter).

You didn’t immediately notice the animals. You weren’t even sure if they were always there or a new addition. The story of how you found out is actually pretty anticlimactic.

Yelena walked in with a guinea pig in hand.

That's really about it.

You watched as she sat down on the couch, petting the animal without a care in the world. You raised an eyebrow. You weren’t sure if this was a deliberate act of rebellion or if Yelena just didn’t know. Either way, you didn’t mind. You just needed to know where everybody stood, you know, for… reasons.

“Did Valentina ever mention the policy for pets?” You asked casually, walking over to sit next to Yelena. The guinea pig crawls over her lap into yours. You smile as you pet them gently.

Yelena pauses, “You know what? I don’t know.” She looks down at the guinea pig on your lap, “I also don’t really care. I don’t think Valentina knows I have her anyway.”

You nod, chuckling. “Fair enough. Would you care if she told you otherwise?”

Yelena laughs before her smile falls, “Not one bit.”

Frankly, you find it hard to believe Valentina did not notice the guinea pig. She seems like the type to have cameras everywhere and have constant monitoring. However, you let that slide, after all, it wasn’t exactly an animal that freely roams the tower.

What truly surprised you was the cat, or “Tower Cat” as you began to call her. She just appeared one day. Nobody said anything, no “hey guys we’re going to have a cat around, hope you don’t mind!” You wouldn’t have minded, but it's the principle that matters.

You had just finished up a solo mission. It was nothing too difficult, but you were exhausted nonetheless. You walked into the empty common area, blinking in confusion. Normally, there’s always one person here. You cautiously entered the space, looking around for any signs of life.

“Uhh, anybody home?” You asked, your voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

You walk over to the couch to try to catch a breather for a moment before you see her.

A cat. A fluffy white cat.

How’d she get in? You aren't sure, but you weren’t going to complain. You look around one more time to make sure nobody is nearby.

“Hello there!” You slowly moved to the cat loafed up on the couch. You tried to extend a hand to her, but she immediately moved away as if offended by your attempt to pet her. “Not the cuddly type, huh? That’s okay.” You now had a new goal: befriend the cat.

Over the next few weeks, you had taken to various methods of befriending Tower Cat. You had bought some toys and treats for her. While she was initially very hesitant, and you mean very hesitant, she slowly started to warm up to you. She would now walk up to you to eat the treats you offered her. You considered that progress since the first time you tried to feed her treats, she hissed at you.

The first time she approached you was a moment to be written down in history. You were hanging out in the kitchen, making yourself a quick snack, when suddenly you noticed something fluffy next to you.

You immediately paused whatever you were doing, looking down at Tower Cat. You didn’t want to scare her away, so you slowly started to turn your attention away from her. As you cooked, you noticed that she didn't leave the area. She didn't try to engage with you, but she watched you cook, never straying very far.

Eventually, when you finished, you went back to your room to grab the cat treats. To your surprise, she actually followed and made herself comfortable on your desk.

“Oh, so you just own my space now?” You asked her, grabbing a treat out of the bag. You hesitantly offered her a treat from your hand. You hadn’t tried this since the initial scratch incident. She stared at you for a moment before eventually deciding to approach you and take the treat. You withheld your gasp, allowing her to lick your hand before she became disinterested and claimed your desk as her own once more.

“You’re cool there?” You asked her.

She watched you silently.

“Okay, have fun, I guess.” You smiled, leaving the door to your room ajar in case she wanted to leave.

You weren’t sure if the rest of the team noticed the new addition, but you can’t imagine they didn’t notice. With how many former assassins and super soldiers you live with? No way they didn't notice. The first time you heard anything about it was when you were talking with Bob and Yelena.

“Oh, damn it.” Yelena sighed, groaning in frustration. You and Bob, being the only ones in the room, turned towards her. She was looking into her room, looking less than pleased.

“What happened?” You ask.

“Damn cat got into my room again. Knocked over all my stuff.” Yelena responded, walking into her room, leaving the door wide open. You watched as Tower Cat came out from her room looking innocent.

You blink, “The cat? Didn’t realize anybody knew she was here.” You looked between Yelena and Bob.

“She’s not exactly hard to miss,” Yelena said, walking out of her room, closing the door behind her. She looks down at Tower Cat before shaking her head and walking back over to you and Bob.

“It’s just that nobody talks about her. I just assumed it was one of those things that everybody sees, but never speaks about.” You leaned against the armrest of the sofa. “So I’m assuming she isn’t any of your guys’ cat?” You raised an eyebrow, looking between Yelena and Bob.

Yelena shook her head, “Nope.”

Bob similarly shook his head, “Not mine either.”

“Huh, do we know whose cat she is?” You asked.

Yelena shrugged, “I thought she just wandered in one day, and everybody let her stay. Haven’t really asked though.”

You hummed, “That’s funny. I was actually considering getting one too. Maybe it’s fate.” You joke, smiling.

Yelena laughs, “Please, take her. The first, and only, time I tried to pet her, she hissed and tried to scratch me.” You nodded in sympathy.

“Yeah, she did that to me the first time, too. She eventually warmed up to me, kinda. She actually came into my room the other day just to relax.” You said, looking over to the cat in question, who is walking through a hallway. Bob and Yelena followed your gaze, watching as the feline slowly walked over to your door before waltzing in like it was her own. “Oh, hey there she goes, what timing.” You laugh at their stunned faces.

“Does she have a name?” Bob asked.

“Well, I was gonna name her, but her original title of ‘Tower Cat’ just kinda stuck.” You explained.

“How’d you get her to like you?” He asked, looking at you with genuine curiosity.

“Treats and patience. Wanna see if we can try and get her to warm up to you a bit?” You asked, grinning.

Bob smiled, nodding silently. Yelena laughs sharply before bidding her goodbyes for the night. She did not want to deal with that cat any more than she already did that day.

That’s how you started your “Cat Time” with Bob. You grew close over your similar love of cats. However, there’d be times where Tower Cat wouldn’t be anywhere in the Watchtower, betraying her name entirely. You and Bob would walk around, checking around, but there’d be nothing. She always showed up the next day or two after, so you assumed somebody would just let her into their room, but you didn’t know who.

Eventually, after weeks of exposure, she warmed up to both you and Bob considerably. She’d hang out with you two while you watch TV or talk. Everything was going well. You finally got the cat you wanted.

Then you found she wasn’t your cat to claim.

If there was one person on the team where you weren’t sure where you stood, it was Bucky Barnes.

To be clear, you had tried to establish friendly relations, seeing as you were living together, but after multiple attempts being met with nothing, you eventually gave up.

When you first moved in, you wanted to make a good impression on everyone, and for all intents and purposes, you were successful.

Alexei was not very difficult. You just engage in conversation with him often and laugh. He could actually be pretty funny sometimes, much to Yelena’s embarrassment.

Ava was a bit more difficult, but she eventually warmed up to you. Sometimes when you baked, you’d offer her some cookies, and you two would talk. Yelena would join in too occasionally. Those nights were always fun.

John was John, meaning he was kinda an asshole. You eventually got somewhere with him... kinda. You both would banter back and forth, but initially it was not banter. The insults over time turned less aggressive and more along the lines of “you annoy me, but you’re alright, I guess.” In your defense, you did try to be nice to him at first, but he made that very difficult with the way he treated other people, especially in the beginning. You eventually figured it out, though.

Yelena was the easiest next to Bob. She immediately became one of your best friends. She was one of the people on the team you really looked up to. You two would often end up hanging out with each other. This was how you were introduced to Bob.

Initially, it was kind of awkward with Bob. Both of you were friends by association, meaning you both liked Yelena, but didn’t really know each other. Eventually, once Tower Cat came into the picture, you both would hang out. You realized how funny he was once you actually got to know him. This led to a lot of late nights with you, Yelena, Bob, and Tower Cat. Sometimes Yelena would insist that Tower Cat must go, but for the most part, that was your little group.

So overall, you thought you did a good job establishing a positive relationship with the team. If you try to forget about Bucky, that is. You almost feel embarrassed thinking about it. By the end, you had gotten pretty desperate and had tried bringing him coffee in the mornings, or checking in to see if he was injured after missions. If you two were friends and your efforts had succeeded, you wouldn’t be embarrassed. However, they failed, and failed miserably.

The coffee incident? You wince even thinking about it.

“Oh, hey, I left some coffee on the counter for you. Not sure how you like it, so I left the sugar to the side.” You smiled as you watched Bucky walk in. He looked like he had just woken up, hair disheveled, rubbing his eyes.

He looked over to you before glancing at the mug you left for him, filled with coffee. He nodded slowly, walking over to it hesitantly. He stared at it for a bit before clearing his throat, “I was actually going to go to the gym.”

You tried not to sigh and look over at him. “No worries. I’ll just, uh, clean it up.”

He nods, looking at you, muttering a small “Thanks anyway.”

As he walks away, you immediately feel embarrassed. Well, that was pathetic.

Of course, that wasn’t the only embarrassing incident.

Bucky had been returning from a mission with John. However, you only saw Bucky exit the elevator and head toward his room. You noticed that his face had a deep cut on it.

“Hey, you need help with that?” You asked, walking over to him. He paused before looking at you.

He smiled reassuringly, but you can see in his eyes he’d rather be anywhere else than talking with you. “I’m good, thanks.”

You blinked, watching as blood dripped down his face from the wound. “You sure? I don’t mind-”

“I am fine.” He cut you off. “I will be fine, thanks.” He told you, not even looking you in the eye. His words sounded so final that you didn’t even try to follow him. He closed the door behind him, leaving you staring at it.

That was when you realized that the “good impression” mission you had was a failure.

You had tried, and maybe it was because of your personality, you aren’t sure. He just did not like you. After that incident, you backed off of him, not offering aid or doing small gestures for him. His previous interactions sent you a clear message, and you received it.

Were you hurt by it? A little. You did put effort into trying to make him at least think you were an okay person. You couldn't help but admire him from a distance. Anyway, you tried not to take it too personally, after all, he’s been through a lot. He probably just isn’t comfortable with you, which you get, but it still hurts putting in effort for such blatant disregard.

So you can imagine your surprise when he approaches you on a random day.

“. . . and I was so confused, like how did you come to that conclusion?” You raise your hands, gesturing confusedly. Bob chuckles at your outrage.

You sigh, putting your hands down, petting Tower Cat on your lap softly. “I dunno, I was just so over it. I eventually confronted her, and she had the AUDACITY to act confused.” You continue to rant, neither you nor Bob noticing the elevator opening.

“And I’m assuming you weren’t going to let that slide?” Bob asks with a soft, amused smile on his face. You grin back at him.

“Not a chance. So—”

“Is that Alpine?”

You and Bob immediately turn toward Bucky. You blink. “When’d you get here?” You ask.

“Just now,” he pauses, “since when did Alpine start hanging out with you two?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.

“‘Alpine?’” You repeat the foreign name back at him. You and Bob look at Tower Cat, or apparently “Alpine.”

You look up at Bucky, “She’s your cat?” You feel your mouth drop in surprise.

“Whose cat did you think she was?” He asks, looking at you in disbelief.

“I thought she was like the communal tower cat or something.” You say, your voice quiet as if that will quell Bucky’s growing bewilderment.

“The ‘communal tower cat?’” He repeats incredulously.

“Okay, sorry, sorry.” You apologize profusely, hoping that he won’t murder you for taking his cat. Bucky seems to stare at you for what feels like forever. You shift uncomfortably under his stare.

“Uh, you can have her back, if you want.” You eventually say, mumbling the last part. Bucky just continues to stare at Alpine in your lap. You look toward Bob to see if he is feeling the same awkward tension you are. He quickly glances at you, then Bucky, then back at you before shifting awkwardly.

You try to pick up Alpine without disturbing her. The moment you try, her eyes snap open. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” You coo softly to the cat. You offhandedly notice Bucky shifts stiffly.

“Bucky’s back, though. Wanna go with him?” You speak softly to her. In response, she pushes herself closer to you, purring against your collarbone. “Aw, I’m sorry, I wanna cuddle with you more too.” You frown at her before gently handing her to Bucky. Your hands brush his as you try to give her to Bucky without disturbing her too much.

She meows softly, and you feel your heart break. “Didn’t realize you liked cats,” Bucky says.

Bob laughs, and you both turn to him before he covers it with a cough and low “Sorry.” He knows you love cats.

“Love them.” You respond with a strained smile. He looks at you for a moment longer. Eventually, you clear your throat and look away from his gaze, “Sorry, Bucky.”

Bucky seems to stare at you for a moment longer before leaving. Not a word said, he just leaves.

“Well, at least we know why Tower Cat or ‘Alpine’ disappears some nights,” you comment, Bob shaking his head, amused, “but damn, he hates me.” You whisper as if Bucky will hear you, and knowing him, you can’t be too sure.

“I doubt that. He just has…” Bob pauses for a moment, trying to find the word for it, “struggles.”

You huff, “Yeah, that’s one way to say it. I don’t even know what I did to him. It’s not my fault your cat likes me.” Actually, it is your fault, but Bucky doesn’t need to know the details.

In your defense, Alpine did just waltz around the entire place like she owned it. There was no indication she was owned, let alone owned by Bucky of all people.

“He do that often?” Bob asks. You raise an eyebrow at him to elaborate. “The staring.”

You scoff, “Only in days that end in ‘y.’” You shift on the couch so that you’re lying down instead of sitting. “I assumed it’s one of his weird quirks. I thought it was just a former assassin thing where he just stares at you as if assessing if you’re a threat,” you hold your hand up to emphasize your next point, “which I am not.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re pretty?” Bob suggests, and you laugh loudly, making him raise his eyebrows at you in slight concern.

You smile at Bob, “That’s so sweet,” you put your hand on his shoulder gently, “but so very wrong.”

Bob shakes his head but smiles, “You never know.”

You shake your head confidently. “No, I do. He’s probably planning different ways to kill me if needed. The stare of ‘I’m planning your murder because you took my cat.’” You stick your hands up into the air, doing jazz hands, still staring up at the ceiling.

“Is that a thing?” Bob asks, doubtful.

You look at him, contemplative. “I don’t know, but if it was, he definitely invented it.” You respond.

Bob frowns, but he nods, agreeing with the sentiment anyway.

You initially thought Bucky was jealous of you.

After all, Alpine decided that you were now her favorite person, and Alpine was his cat. Therefore, it’d make sense if he were a little upset over how Alpine clung to you.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little smug.

“Hey, whatcha guys doing?” You walk into the common area, watching as the team stands surrounding the center coffee table.

“Don’t fuck this up—”

“Shut up, John. I’m trying to concentrate.” Yelena cuts him off.

You eventually walk over and see the situation.

“What are you doing?! Don’t pick that one!” John points at the Jenga tower in front of him. Yelena leans over it, slowly tugging at a piece that’s halfway out.

Yelena stops, turning toward John, “John, I swear if you don’t be quiet, I will knock over this tower on purpose.” She points a finger at him, and he mutters a quick “Okay,” his hands held up in mock surrender.

You notice that on the couch sits Bucky Barnes himself, which immediately strikes you as odd. Bucky, while not explicitly against these little bonding activities, didn’t ever seem to care for participating in them. He’d support them, but from his own room. Seeing him actively engaging with these activities is definitely new. You also notice that Alpine is curled up on his lap.

Everybody else is standing, eagerly watching the game of Jenga. It appears that Yelena and John are on a team, which is a concerning team-up on its own, and Ava and Alexei are on a team. Bob seems content watching the game.

“GOT IT!” Yelena raises the Jenga piece into the air in victory.

Ava groans, looking at the tower, and you feel her pain. There were seemingly no good moves. You decide to walk up to Yelena and John to see how they’re doing.

“Oh, finally decided to join us?” Yelena pats you on the shoulder as you walk up to her.

“Didn’t realize you guys would be out here still.” You admit, you’d come back from a walk around the city.

John shrugs, nodding his head slightly, “Yeah, I didn’t think we’d still be here either.” He mutters.

You raise an eyebrow, “How long have you guys been at it?”

“Eh, not that long.” Yelena waves a hand casually.

”Two hours.” John deadpans at the same time.

You chuckle, deciding to sit down. “For one game?”

“We’re determined.” Yelena joins you on the couch.

You smile, nodding, “Say, since when did he start joining?” You quickly glance at Bucky, sitting on the other couch.

Yelena shrugs, “I don’t know, why?”

“Well, I mean, he just doesn’t ever show up to these. Was wondering how you guys got him to actually sit through a game.” You whisper, hoping he can’t hear you. However, you suddenly get the feeling that he’s watching you. You try to discreetly look at him, but when you do, he’s still staring at the game in front of him.

“What happened?” John asks, hovering over you and Yelena sat over on the couch.

“None of your business.” Yelena rolls her eyes.

“Well, if you are talking about B—”

“Oh, so now you’re eavesdropping.” You click your tongue, disappointed in him.

“You guys aren’t quiet.” He looks unimpressed.

“That’s not fair. We are quiet by normal people’s standards.” You turn to face him. You’re so focused on proving John wrong that you don’t even register Ava yelling “Alpine! No! Get off the table!”

“Well, I thought to inform you that perhaps the person you’re discussing can hear you, seeing as he wouldn’t fall into ‘normal people standards.’” John does air quotes.

You slowly turn to see if Bucky is watching you three have your not-so-quiet discussion. To your surprise, he is looking at you. Also, to your surprise, everybody is looking at you.

You feel yourself shrinking under their scrutiny. Did they all hear your conversation? “What?”

“The kitty cat likes you! I did not think she liked anybody.” Alexei laughs, and you furrow your brows, confused. You eventually sit up to find Alpine looking up at you, sitting right at your feet.

“Oh.”

She meows before hopping onto your lap. Yelena immediately shifts away from you, and John similarly moves away.

“Keep her there, please? She almost knocked over the tower.” Ava sounds exhausted.

“Uh, yeah sure.” You respond, still processing everything that just happened. No wonder Bucky was looking at you.

You glance up at him to find him no longer sitting laxly, but instead leaning forward, staring directly at you.

You grimace, trying to mouth an apology to him, but his expression stays the same. By this point, everybody else is sucked into the game again, except you two. You think that maybe he’ll just resolve to stare at you for the rest of the game, but no, he stands up.

Alpine purrs on your lap, but not even that can ease your growing stress levels as you see Bucky maneuver his way to your couch. You expected him to talk to you, perhaps ask for his precious cat back, but he does none of that.

Instead, he sits on the couch with you, saying nothing. He makes himself comfortable as if this is a normal occurrence. He decided to sit on the other side of the couch, pretty much the furthest he can sit from you while still being on the cushions. You can’t help but glance at him a few times, as if that would elicit an explanation.

Alpine looks up at you as you stare at the game in front of you, rigidly. You don’t dare to move or say anything. After minutes of silence from you two, you eventually turn toward him.

“Did you want Alpine back?” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, as if afraid that any louder would garner the team’s attention once more.

He turns toward you, and for the first time, you are struck by how blue his eyes are.

“It’s fine.” He matches your volume, glancing toward Alpine on your lap. If you weren’t looking for any sort of reaction, you wouldn’t have caught the way his eyes narrowed as he gazed upon Alpine in your lap.

You feel obligated to give Alpine back, even if every bone in your body is telling you to keep her. He even said, “It’s fine,” meaning it is definitely not fine. That, combined with the narrowed look towards his cat, probably means that he wants his cat back right now.

“No, really,” you start to shift, Alpine’s purring ceasing, “it’s okay. Sorry about that.” Just as you’re about to pick her up to give her to Bucky, he reaches over and gestures for you to stop, putting a hand on your shoulder.

He says your name, making you pause as your hands freeze under Alpine, ready to pick her up. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. If she likes you, she can stay with you.” You nod, very aware that his hand is still on your shoulder.

“If you’re sure…” You trail off hesitantly.

“I am.” He looks at you smiling, but can’t help but think it looks forced.

The rest of the night continued without a hitch. The game of Jenga eventually ended, with Ava and Alexei winning. John swore that he saw Ava cheat and phase her hand through the tower in order to grab a piece at just the right angle, but he couldn’t prove it. He grumbled about it for the rest of the night, taking snips at them, but he eventually let it go.

Throughout the entire night, you sat there with Alpine. Bucky did not ask for her. However, you did notice that every now and then, he’d turn to look at you, or more accurately, look at Alpine. You thought that maybe he did want to say something, but didn’t want to cause a huge scene. You would’ve assumed it’d be to ask for his cat back, but he seemed insistent that you keep her.

So you sat, watching as the team started slowly turning in for the night. As one by one went, you waited for Bucky to say something, anything, yet he sat there.

By the time almost everybody left, it was just you two. You had pulled out your phone by this point in order to look as if you were busy. Feeling a weight lift itself from your lap, you look and see Alpine get off of you, slowly walking across the couch to make her way to Bucky. You decide that this is your cue to leave.

You stand up, brushing off loose cat fur left on you. Just as you are about to leave, you sneak a glance toward Bucky, only to find he is already staring at you.

“Sorry about that.” You break the silence, casually pointing at his cat, as if his whole behavior hasn’t put you on edge all night.

He seems surprised that you spoke to him, looking from you down to Alpine. “It’s alright. She seemed to like being close to you.” You thought you could detect a hint of bitterness in his tone.

“Yeah,” you chuckle, unsure how to respond.

Silence permeates the room once again. “Well, I’m gonna head out.” You slowly start walking towards your room. “Good night,” You bid him before turning around and heading out, not expecting a response.

“Night,” he returns softly.

You pause in your retreat, turning around, to see him looking down at Alpine. You offer him a small smile before heading back into your room.

So yeah, you thought that between the constant looks, bitterness, and not-so-subtle glares, he was jealous.

Not wanting to fuel his anger, you tried to avoid being in the room at the same time Alpine would be with Bucky. Alpine could be cuddled next to you, but the moment Bucky walked in, you’d vanish.

He gave you weird looks, as if he were trying to figure out what your deal was. You just continued to give him a polite smile every time.

Cooking in the kitchen was always an invitation for Alpine to join. She liked it when you cooked because she’d just watch you, and Alpine decided watching you cook was the most fascinating thing. You didn’t mind, so you let her.

You wash the final dish before going to consume the results of your Alpine-monitored cooking session. Just as you’re about to eat, Bucky comes walking in. You make direct eye contact with him, before glancing to Alpine perched on the counter next to you.

“What are you doing?” He asks, approaching you two.

“Eating,” you look down at your plate of food, “I was going to go eat in my room anyway. Alpine is all yours.” You did not plan on eating in your room, but you did that night.

Incidents like this didn’t stop as you had hoped.

Whenever you folded your laundry, Alpine would magically find her way onto your clean clothes. She liked the warmth, and so she’d make herself cozy. You pretended to be upset, but you enjoyed her company.

Then you hear a knock at your door, which was already open, so you turn around to see Bucky.

You can’t mask your surprise before he makes a comment. He clears his throat, “Sorry, I was just wondering if Alpine was in here.” You shift to the side, allowing him to see the very asleep feline on your bed in a pile of clothes. You immediately put down any hangers in your hand.

“I am so sorry. Here, sorry.” You gently pick up Alpine, apologizing to both her and Bucky. She meows softly, annoyed at being disturbed from her rest. You would be upset too if you were suddenly woken up and removed from warmth. “Sorry, she just likes sitting on the warm clothes. Here, take her back.” You give Bucky the fluffy cat, and he looks hesitant to accept her, but does so anyway.

“I’m sorry about that, won't happen again.” You smile, embarrassed. Bucky stares at you as you slowly shut the door on him and cover your face in embarrassment.

What made all of these incidents worse is that instead of becoming less frequent over time, they seemed to almost increase in frequency as time went on. You’d always see Bucky or Alpine. You couldn’t walk around the tower without seeing one of the two. Even worse, once one shows up, it wouldn’t take long before the other magically appeared.

You would be sitting with the team, Alpine on your lap, when the sound of the elevator would ring out. Most of the time, it wouldn’t be an issue, but since you had Alpine on your lap, it had to be Bucky because the universe hates you.

“Do you still want to try that new cafe you were talking about earlier?” Ava crosses her legs as she leans back in one of the chairs.

You grin, “Oh yeah! I heard their pastries were amazing.” You pet Alpine as you pick her up to walk around with. She wouldn’t let anybody else hold her, even Bob, but she would allow you to hold her. Actually, now that you think about it, she’d probably let Bucky hold her too, but you haven’t asked him (and you don’t plan to).

“Did you wanna try and go today? I don’t know when exactly they’re busy, but we can always check.” You walk around the coffee table already thinking about what you might order once you get there.

Then the elevator rang out.

Unconcerned, you turned around to welcome the newcomer. That is, until the doors open to reveal Bucky.

Feet frozen in place, you look down at Alpine in your arms. Bucky walks out of the elevator and immediately meets your eyes before he looks at your arms.

You don’t break eye contact with him as you slowly put Alpine down on the ground. Immediately, she heads over to Bucky and rubs up against him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, despite not being very apologetic. If given the chance, you'd absolutely pick her up again. To make things worse, you completely forgot that Bucky can definitely hear you. Feeling his focus shift from Alpine onto you, you internally wince.

Forgetting Ava is witnessing this interaction, you hear her call your name out, and you turn to face her. “Sorry, what?”

“Do you wanna head out now?” She looks between you and Bucky, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely, let’s go.” You nod enthusiastically, ignoring the piercing eyes on your back.

“Where are you two going?” Bucky asks, grabbing Alpine for himself and holding her in the same position you were sporting not even a minute before. Hoping Ava won’t say anything, you look dead into her eyes, pleading.

“New cafe,” she ignores your plea, “wanna come with us?” Feeling your stomach drop, you decide to confront the problem yourself by doing the one thing he does best: staring directly into his eyes.

He matches your stare, unsurprisingly, and then looks towards Ava. “You sure?” He asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, it’s all good. We were planning on asking Yelena to come with us anyway.” Ava dismisses casually, as if this isn’t gonna be a miserable trip.

Continuing your staring contest, he breaks the silence with one dreadful word: “Sure.” He ends whatever trance you two were in, turning to smile at Ava before returning his gaze to you.

“Alright,” Ava gives you two an odd look, “well, I’m gonna go grab Lena, I’ll be back in a minute.” She starts to walk away, and you feel your soul leave with her.

“You sure this is okay?” Bucky questions, startling you.

You nod, turning to face him, “Yeah, she said it was all good.” You smile at him.

He nods slowly, “Yeah, ‘she said,’” he quotes, “I was asking if you are okay with me coming along.”

You nod, “Yep, no issue with it.” You lie.

He nods, watching you and definitely not believing you, “Alright, if you say so.” He walks over to the couches where you’re standing by. “Didn’t realize she liked you that much that she let you carry her.” He comments casually.

You immediately understand the hidden meaning. He may seem all innocent there, standing with a fluffy cat in his arms purring up against his chest, but you know it isn’t that simple. He is challenging you right now. He is asking you how you managed to win her affections over and is silently reminding you that she is not yours. Talk about being passive-aggressive.

You keep your smile, “Yeah, it’s actually pretty crazy. She doesn’t even let Bob hold her. To be honest, I’m surprised she let me carry her around.”

Bucky smiles, it’s softer than you expected. “Perhaps she feels as if you’re a safe person to be around.

You nod, humming in acknowledgment.

“Alright, are we ready? Come on, I want to get some coffee.” Yelena walks out, Ava at her side.

“It’s almost nine at night.” Ava comments in disbelief.

“Yeah?” Yelena pauses, “Well, I like coffee. Let’s go.” She enters the elevator, waiting for you all to join her.

The elevator ride wasn’t as awkward as you thought. Yelena and Ava managed to ease the tension for the most part. Whether or not they were even aware of it is a discussion of its own, but knowing them, they probably knew.

The walk to the coffee shop wasn’t very eventful either, for the most part. About halfway through, you realize that Ava and Yelena are heavily engrossed in their own conversation. Earlier, you couldn’t stop talking, but as the topics changed, you started to say less and less as they transitioned to your less knowledgeable topics. By this point, you didn’t even know what they were talking about. This led to you walking ahead of them.

To your surprise, somebody else decided to join you in what you thought was your brief solo walking moment.

“They seem to be passionate.” Bucky comments, and you both look behind you to see Ava nodding her head with a drawn-out “Yes!” All of this occurs while Yelena gestures wildly, seemingly approving of Ava’s agreement.

“Huh, yeah, I guess so.” You add on, amused. You two walk in silence for a moment before you eventually just decide to ask the question bugging your mind. “So, uh,” you pause as Bucky immediately gives you his full attention, “why exactly did you want to come?” You look at him.

He seems slightly taken aback by your question, but smiles anyway. “I like coffee, you guys said the cafe was good.”

You nod along, finding yourself questioning previous incidents. You had offered him coffee before, and he had decidedly not accepted it. So either he was lying, or he just really wanted to embarrass you that one time. You can’t tell which one is worse.

“You do? Really?” You ask, unconvinced.

“Yeah.” You laugh at his answer, “What?” He asks, matching the smirk on your face. “You don’t believe me?” He asks, acting as if he’s offended.

You continue to laugh, and he once again stares at you, resolute. “No, no, I believe you.” You smile at him.

He looks at you, nodding as if accepting that to be the end of that discussion. You eventually stop at the door of the cafe. The moment you’re about to open it, Bucky puts his hand in front of you, halting your action. You pause. What is he about to do?

Dazed for a moment, you watch as he opens the door for you. You smile at how unabashedly old-fashioned he is.

“Thank you.” You tell him, walking in. He smiles at the gratitude, garnering Yelena and Ava’s attention.

“What is it you are doing?” Yelena asks him as she walks inside. Bucky follows in behind her and Ava.

“Holding the door?” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“No shit. I meant the” she gestures to her own face then to Bucky, “smile.”

“Am I not allowed to smile?” Bucky asks, disbelief written all over his face.

“I mean, you can,” Ava asks, but even she seems doubtful of her statement, “you just… don’t.”

“Oh, so you want me to have a restriction on being happy now?” Bucky asks, shaking his head in a disapproving manner. The three of them join you in line.

“I mean, I thought you already did.” Yelena blatantly admits. You all turn to her, “What?”

“Next up!” You roll your eyes at their discussion before going to the counter and telling the barista your order. Yelena and Ava peep over your shoulder and tell her their order as well. However, Bucky stands behind you three silently.

“What do you want?” You ask him.

He pauses, “Uh, black coffee.”

“‘Black coffee?’” You repeat, and he nods in confirmation. It was the exact same coffee he had rejected months ago.

“Okay, black coffee for him.” You turn back towards the barista, telling her your name before pulling out your card to pay.

Just as you’re about to tap the card, Bucky pulls you back, “Hey—” He taps his card.

“Oh, thanks, Bucky.” Yelena nods at him. Ava also gives him a quick “Thanks.”

You look up at him, suddenly feeling unsure about everything. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, “I wanted to.”

“Thanks.” You tell him, and he accepts your gratitude with a nod before you all find a table to sit at.

This whole situation is odd. You genuinely thought he hated you. Well, hate is extreme, but he decidedly went out of his way to avoid your previous attempts at friendship.

Tagging along to a cafe with you, walking with you, and generally acting like a gentleman was not exactly what you expected this trip to be. You expected more backhanded compliments like before. If this was some sort of way to get to you, he was really playing the long game.

He hasn’t mentioned Alpine once during this whole excursion. It makes you wonder if you’ll have to be the one to confront him about that. That’s not exactly something you want to do, but you feel like it’s coming anyway.

You take a look at him to see how he’s faring here. He’s in a deep conversation with Yelena and Ava, all leaning away from you. You can’t hear what they’re discussing, but Yelena and Ava both make eye contact with you throughout their little talk. You aren’t even sure if you want to know what they’re talking about.

Hearing the barista call your name, you grab the drinks and pastries for the group, and you thank them before heading back to the table.

“So,” Ava starts cautiously at your return, glancing at Bucky for a split second before looking back at you, “when did you two… start?” She gestures between you and Bucky.

You take a slow sip of your drink. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know this whole,” Yelena interjects, “thing you two have going on. It’s painful.” She takes a sip of her coffee.

Suddenly, the room feels hot, and it doesn’t help that your drink is also hot. You turn to Bucky, but he just looks at Yelena and Ava, bored. You take another sip, hoping he will say something, anything.

After a period of silence, you accept the fact that he will not be denying anything, so you eventually speak up. “No idea what you’re talking about.” You shrug.

What makes it worse is that you truly don’t know. Your excuse is terrible, and so they will think you’re lying when you genuinely have no idea.

Ava nods her head, “Mhm, okay.” She says, looking between you two.

You turn towards Bucky, who has not taken a sip of his coffee once. “Thought it was your favorite.” His attention snaps to you.

”I never said that.” He shakes his head.

“Then why’d you order it?” You raise an eyebrow, amused.

He looks at you before taking a long, slow sip of his coffee. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t break eye contact. “Happy?” He asks.

You smile, “Thrilled.”

Walking home is not exactly silent, after all, you’re in New York, but it’s definitely quieter. Once again, Bucky decides to walk next to you. He makes a big deal about you being on the outside of the sidewalk, you roll your eyes, but let him have his moment.

You turn around every now and then to check and make sure Ava and Yelena are behind you. However, every time you turn around, they are already looking at you. Ava gives you a nod with a small smirk, and Yelena gives you a thumbs up. You give them a horrified look the first time it happens. However, by the third time you turn around and they repeat their same shenanigans, you give up, shaking your head, trusting that they will stay behind you and Bucky for the rest of the walk.

When you get back to the tower, you all enter the elevator. The ride up is relatively quiet, but then the door opens. You walk out, Bucky on your left, and John walks by, turning to see who came back, only to look at you two with an appalled expression.

“Did you two go on a date?” John looks at Bucky as if doubting what he’s seeing.

Ava and Yelena step out right after John’s question. “No, they just walked side by side together, and got coffee while teasing each other across our table.” Yelena walks over.

Alpine makes her presence known and walks over to you, rubbing herself against you. “You wanna take her for the night?” Bucky leans toward you, whispering to your ear. You feel your heart rate increase.

“Oh God, they’re sharing custody over the damn cat.” You hear John remark, exasperated. You both ignore him.

You frown at him. For somebody who is so protective of his cat, you would never have expected an offer as gracious as this one. “Are… are you sure?” You ask him hesitantly.

He smirks, amused, “Yes, I’m sure.”

You nod slowly, “And you won’t be upset?”

He tilts his head slightly, “Why would I?”

You look at him, his eyes on you with a fondness that sends your stomach whirling. You feel instantly conflicted. Why is he acting like this? What happened to being upset about you stealing Alpine’s affection? Were you wrong? There’s no way you were wrong. He was definitely upset when he commented about how much she liked you.

“We should go.” Ava looks towards the remaining team members who are watching you and Bucky. “Give them some privacy.”

John scoffs, “‘Privacy?’ There is no privacy here.”

“Just because you ruined your love life doesn’t mean you have to be bitter over other people’s, John.” Yelena snaps, disapprovingly.

His eyebrows raise, “Jesus, okay. Let’s give them some privacy.” He walks away from them, not even checking to see if Yelena and Ava follow behind him.

As that whole discussion went down, Bucky continued to look at you, confused.

“I just thought you might be upset?” You eventually respond to his question, unsure whether you're stating something or asking.

“Over you sleeping with my cat next to you?” He asks, sounding progressively more perplexed.

You open your mouth to say yes, but the look he gives you leaves you speechless. You try to say something, but everything that your brain comes up with sounds unreasonable. How do you tell somebody that yes, you thought they’d be upset that you were snuggling with their cat?

He huffs, his voice softening, “Why would I be upset about that?” You briefly wonder if he can read minds, but shove that thought away.

You eventually muster enough brain power to speak, “It’s stupid.”

He looks at you, shaking his head, “I doubt that.”

“No, it’s really fucking stupid. You’re going to think I’m insane after this.” You reiterate.

“I promise I won’t think you’re insane.” He chuckles, picking up Alpine, who was demanding attention.

You remain silent for a moment, staring at him, holding Alpine in his arms. Both Bucky and Alpine stare at you as if awaiting your response. You look around, as if checking to make sure nobody is going to hear what you’re about to say.

“I thought you were jealous…” you look up at him, finding him patiently waiting for you to explain, “of me taking Alpine all the time.” You look away from him.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you look at him once more. He isn’t reacting at all. You shift on your feet, unnerved. Suddenly, he cracks a small smile, exhaling amused. However, your dismayed reaction causes his smile to fall.

“How on Earth did you come to that conclusion?” He desperately tries to keep the amusement out of his voice, but you can hear it as clear as day, much to your chagrin.

You open your mouth to explain, but hesitate for a brief moment. “So you’re not jealous of me taking Alpine… I just wanna confirm.” You mutter.

He shakes his head, amusement lighting up his eyes, but he humors you, “No. I am not jealous of you taking Alpine.”

You walk over to the couch and sit down, leaning over and placing your palms against your eyes. “So you weren’t making passive-aggressive comments about me taking her?”

“No, promise.” He confirms, joining you on the couch.

“Okay, well,” you look towards Bucky, who nods for you to continue, “I thought you hated me cause in the past every time I tried to talk to you, you’d just ignore me. So eventually I just kinda assumed that you did not like me. Then you saw me with Alpine, and started acting weird, so I was like ‘oh no, he’s going to be upset that I took his cat.’” You ramble, watching Bucky’s eyes get wider as you progress.

“You thought I hated you?” He asks, as if the concept were absurd.

“Yeah, I mean, there was that time I made coffee for you and you just rejected it. Then I also tried to help out with an injury you got during a mission, and you said no and sounded upset at me, so I just figured you didn’t like me around you.” You explain sheepishly.

Bucky exhales harshly, “I never disliked you. I thought it was sweet when you did all that.”

You blink, “You did?”

He laughs, Alpine moving off his lap onto yours. “Yes, I did.”

You frown, “But you always rejected my offers.”

Now he avoids eye contact, “Well,” he locks eyes with Alpine, “I didn’t know how to approach you. I didn’t know how to talk to you without messing everything up, so I didn’t. I was scared.”

“‘Scared?’ Scared of what? Me?” You repeat.

He laughs softly, “Terrified.”

“I am like the least scary person on the team. Why the hell would you be scared?” You laugh at the idea.

“Because,” he looks at you, his eyes flickering down to your lips briefly before going back up to your eyes. You look at him, anxiously awaiting his response.

“You said you thought I was jealous of you,” he shifts the topic, “because you won Alpine’s affection.” He shook his head at the thought. “I was never jealous of you.” He reiterates, moving closer to you. You remain in your spot, watching as he grabs your hand. “I was jealous of her.” He looks down, smiling at the ridiculous notion.

“Of… Alpine?” You repeat dubiously.

“Because,” he looks up to meet your eyes, “she was able to get close to you. She was able to just insert herself into your life like she always belonged.” He looks down at Alpine purring on your lap. “Something I wasn’t able to do.”

You take a deep breath, “I thought you disliked me…”

He shakes his head, “I could never. I was stupid, but I have never once disliked you. I never wanted to hurt you, but I guess I did that anyway.” He exhales with a soft huff of laughter, but there’s no humor.

“This whole time?” You ask softly. “This whole time you’ve…” You glance down at his hands, clasped in your own.

He nods slowly, “All this time.” He confirms softly.

You gape at him, not saying a word. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something. Instead, you say nothing, shifting closer to him on the couch, closing what little space is between you two. Alpine doesn’t even move from your lap despite the disturbance. You look at him, and his lips part open. Your eyes flicker between his eyes and lips, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Slowly, you inch closer, giving him time to back out. You feel his breathing quicken before you close the gap.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but a soft one. You barely linger, removing yourself from him, before he can react. His mouth is slightly open out of pure awe. He looks at you, as if ready to lean in again, pupils dilated. You put your hand on his chest, causing him to raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“At least take me out on a date first, Barnes.” You smirk, chuckling breathlessly despite the short-lived kiss.

He grins, looking awestruck, eyes lighting up with that same amusement from earlier, “I did.” He squeezes your hand tighter, trying to move you closer once again.

You shake your head, “No. You tagged along to my cafe quest with two other team members.”

He chuckles, looking down in disbelief that this is even happening. “I would take you out on a date every single day if you asked me,” he rubs his thumbs along your hands. “But all I want right now, all I need right now, is you.” He slowly raises his arm up to hold your face, his hand cradling you gently.

You feel your face heat up at his words, “You drive a hard bargain…” You pretend to think about it. Eventually, you shift yourself so that you're leaning against him. Alpine looks up at you two, annoyed. “Aw, did we disturb you?” You ask her. She meows before climbing to rest on both you and Bucky. You laugh, feeling her purring resume and leaning just a little closer to him.

“Oh my God.” You blink away the sleepiness from your eyes. Oh, right, you’re still on the couch from last night. Alpine is on top of Bucky’s chest, peacefully asleep. You are cuddled up next to Bucky’s side.

“What the fuck, we sit there.” John sounds affronted, loosely gesturing to you and Bucky on the couch. “You could’ve gone to your room to do that.”

Bucky, now also awake, raises an eyebrow at him. “Sleep?”

“You know what you did.” John narrows his eyes at you two. You stand up, stretching as the rest of the team walks in.

“What happened?” Yelena asks, walking in.

“Nothing, we just fell asleep on the couch last night. Nothing crazy.” You shrug, giving a pointed look to John.

“Oh, so you two figured it out, great.” Yelena walks over to make herself coffee.

“You knew?” You walk over to her, not entirely surprised. You notice in your peripherals that Bucky, still lying down, is now being scrutinized by the rest of the team, John standing over him disapprovingly.

Yelena pauses, giving you a look. “Yes, I knew… Everybody knew. You even asked me about him.”

“Yeah! He stares at you like you hung stars.” Alexei adds on, pointing to the ceiling.

“You mean the moon?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Eh, moon and stars.” He adds on.

You roll your eyes, looking over at Bucky. He’s sitting on the couch, the rest of the team asking him various questions, presumably about you two. Seeing him now, he looks so stoic. Then, almost as if he can feel you watching, he turns towards you, and you physically see his eyes soften.

“Oh wow, he’s bad,” Yelena comments next to you, watching him. You laugh at her, but continue to admire just how soft he looks. The image is something you could not have imagined merely weeks ago, but now you have the pleasure of experiencing it.

“I’m glad it worked out, it was getting difficult to watch,” Yelena adds.

You give a small smile, “Thank the cat.” You look down at the feline rubbing up against your legs.

I hope you guys enjoyed that! This is my first Marvel fic so it might take a moment for me to find my footing. I really don't want to make characters too ooc, so feel free to leave any feedback. Thank you for reading if you made it all the way through :D

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myreadings · 20 days ago

Text

NONSENSE

Johnny Storm X Female!reader || WC: 5.6K

SUMMARY: Being best friends with Johnny Storm had always come naturally, maybe a little too naturally. Somewhere between late-night movies and whispered secrets, your feelings began to shift. But you kept them to yourself, tucking the crush away and convincing yourself that friendship was more than enough. So when Susan and Reed ask you to help Johnny watch Franklin, you agree without hesitation. What could go wrong?

WARNINGS: Contains minor Fantastic Four: First Steps Spoilers! Established friendship, eventual friends to lovers, cursing, oblivious idiots in love, fluff galore, flirty banter, Reed and Susan are unintentional matchmakers, domestic uncle!Johnny, slight angst, suggestiveness but no smut!

A/N: The way Johnny acted whenever he interacted with Franklin had to be one of my favorite parts of the entire movie! Men that are good with kids are just INCREDIBLY attractive. So this one-shot is purely self-indulgent! Hope we get more of them in the future!! Divider by @saradika-graphics <3

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The Baxter Building had practically become your second home. Between late-night movie marathons, joining impromptu family dinners, and Susan’s gentle insistence that you never needed an invitation. It's safe to say you’d spent more time there than in your own apartment lately. The elevator doors gave a gentle chime before gliding open, revealing the sleek, interior of the Fantastic Four’s private floor.

H.E.R.B.I.E. zipped into view the moment you stepped out, whirring cheerfully with blinking lights and enthusiastic beeps that filled the hallway like confetti. You laughed and crouched down slightly, holding out your hand as the robot spun in a delighted little circle. “Hello, H.E.R.B.I.E., you miss me already?” You grinned, giving the top of his head an affectionate tap.

Before you could ask about the others, a familiar figure emerged from around the corner in a whirlwind of motion. Reed Richards looked like he'd just walked out of a scientific hurricane, shirt slightly wrinkled, tie askew, and hair in the kind of tousled state only existential stress could cause. “Oh, thank goodness.” He breathed, already halfway across the hall and closing the distance with long, purposeful strides.

In a rare show of affection, he wrapped you into a brief but firm hug, clinging like a man about to board a rocket. “Jeez, Reed,” You chuckled, stepping back as he released you. “Don’t you look thrilled for date night.” His expression twisted with half a smile and half a wince as he ran a hand down his face, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt like it was suffocating him. Behind him, H.E.R.B.I.E. let out a low, sympathetic beep.

Reed pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded a lot like a plea to the universe. “Johnny.” That was all you needed. One name, and the entire situation became crystal clear. Your best friend was a whirlwind of chaotic energy, and wherever he went, trouble wasn’t far behind, usually smiling, charming, and completely unapologetic.

Almost as if summoned by name, or more likely because he had been eavesdropping, Johnny Storm burst into the room like a one-man parade. “There’s my favorite girl!” He announced, arms already open wide. Before you could react, he was scooping you up in a familiar, dizzying spin, his laughter rumbling against your ear. You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped you, the sound bubbling up like it always did around him, effortless, easy.

Only when he seemed satisfied with the display of affection did he finally set you back down, but even then, his hands lingered on your waist like he hadn’t quite decided to let you go. You didn't exactly mind. When the room stopped spinning, you looked up, and instantly regretted it. God, he looked good. Too good. A maroon bomber jacket was thrown over a white tee, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows with casual flair, displaying his veiny forearms that never failed to make your mouth water.

His blonde hair, annoyingly perfect as always, caught the light just enough to look sun-kissed, and those blue eyes sparkled with mischief, like he was already planning his next stunt. Behind him, Reed cleared his throat meaningfully. Johnny glanced over his shoulder with a grin that was all innocence and zero guilt, as if he hadn’t just been encouraging a toddler to weaponize household objects moments prior.

“Causing trouble already?” You asked, folding your arms with mock sternness and one raised brow. “Me? Never.” He winked, oozing charm, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed him completely. At last, his hands dropped from your waist, and even that small absence left your skin tingling. You tried to focus as he dashed off, already on a mission to corral the minefield of toys strewn across the living room floor.

You watched as he picked up a stuffed alien by one leg, then a miniature drum, and then immediately dropped both to make a siren noise with a plastic fire truck. Unsurprisingly, the room was destined to be chaos again the moment Franklin reentered it, but Johnny was at least pretending to tidy up, which was worth something. “How do you deal with him?” Reed asked, sounding as exhausted as he looked.

He stood there taking in the sight of his brother-in-law playing with his son's toys, rubbing at his temple with the air of a man who knew he’d never truly be free of the chaos. You offered a shrug, casual but fond. “Years of practice. He grows on you, eventually.” You didn’t even have to look to know Johnny had heard you. A dramatic gasp echoed behind you, followed by the sound of him stumbling backward as if wounded.

“Hey! I can hear you!” He cried, one hand over his heart like you’d mortally offended him. Grinning, you stuck your tongue out at him like the mature adult that you were. Before Johnny could retaliate, probably with a pillow launched in your direction or another lecture about how everyone secretly loved him, a small blur shot around the corner like a pint-sized comet.

“Y/N!” You turned just in time, crouching down with open arms as Franklin launched himself at you. His tiny body slammed into your chest, and you caught him easily, steadying the both of you with a laugh. “Whoa, careful there, sweetheart.” You chuckled, pulling him in tight. His little hands curled around your neck as if he hadn't seen you in years, and you pressed your face into his soft hair.

“My goodness,” You whispered, leaning back to take a better look at him. “You have got to stop growing.” You showered his chubby cheeks in kisses, laughing as he giggled uncontrollably, little legs kicking in excitement. The sound lit something up in you, pure, uncomplicated joy, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded out. All that mattered was the warmth of Franklin’s hug and the sound of his happiness echoing off the walls.

Which is why, you didn’t notice Johnny had stopped moving. Across the room, he stood frozen mid-step, a toy truck dangling forgotten from one hand. His usual smirk had softened into something quieter, eyes fixed on you and Franklin like he was watching a dream he hadn’t dared name. There was something in his expression, something fond, unguarded, maybe even a little stunned. For once, Johnny Storm was speechless.

“Y/N, hello darling.” Susan’s voice broke through the chorus of giggles still echoing in the room. You glanced up to find her walking in with effortless grace, powder blue dress nipped at the waist, pearl earrings, blonde hair pinned up in soft curls. Even when wrangling genius husbands and precocious toddlers, Susan Storm somehow made it look easy. You shifted Franklin on your hip, his arms still looped loosely around your neck as you rose to greet her.

“Hi, Sue, you look gorgeous.” You grinned, wrapping one arm around her in a warm hug. “Thank you.” She returned the smile, her eyes softening as she squeezed your hand with that calm, nurturing energy only she could exude. Her gaze drifted to Franklin, then flicked briefly toward Johnny, who was now pretending to inspect the bookshelf but had clearly not stopped watching you since you walked in.

A knowing glimmer sparkled in her eyes, but she let it pass with only a subtle lift of her brow. “Are you sure this isn’t an inconvenience?” She asked gently, though the hesitation in her voice told you she already felt guilty. “I know watching a toddler on a Friday night isn’t exactly ideal.” You scoffed before she could finish the thought, pulling Franklin a little closer. His sleepy weight pressed against you like he belonged there.

“He’s my godson, there’s really nowhere else I’d rather be.” You replied easily, brushing a bit of hair from Franklin’s forehead before placing a loving kiss on his forehead. “Get outta here, lovebirds.” Johnny chimed in, slipping an arm over your shoulders with the casual ease of someone who’d been doing it since childhood. His other hand waved dramatically toward the door. “Franklin’s in fantastic hands.”

You rolled your eyes, snorting at the awful pun. “Really?” You muttered under your breath, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. He grinned, utterly unapologetic, and leaned a little more of his weight against you like he had no intention of moving anytime soon. “Both children will be in one piece when you two come back.” You promised, giving Johnny a pointed side glance.

Susan let out a quiet chuckle, her eyes flicking toward her brother, clearly amused. “We won’t be out too late,” She assured again, though her tone had softened, more relaxed now. “If he gets fussy, there are snacks in the kitchen, and his bedtime is around eight.” Reed reappeared from the hallway, his composure mostly restored, tie straightened, coat neatly draped over one arm.

With his usual efficiency, he helped Susan into her coat, adjusting the shoulders with a care that made you momentarily forget he was the world’s most distracted genius. Before leaving, Susan turned one last time, her gaze resting on you and Franklin, and just briefly, on the way Johnny’s arm still lingered around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing idle patterns against your upper arm.

She mouthed one final thank you, before slipping through the front door with Reed in tow. The soft click of the latch left behind a hush that settled over the room, which left just you, Franklin, and Johnny. “So,” He drawled, quirking a brow, blue eyes fixed on you. “You, me, and one dangerously powerful toddler. What could possibly go wrong?” You smirked. “Everything.” And somehow, you were looking forward to every second of it.

As predicted, the moment you set Franklin down, he making a beeline straight for the living room. Without hesitation, he scooped up as many toy cars as his tiny arms could manage, cradling them to his chest like precious cargo. He dropped to his knees with all the focused determination of a world-class engineer, lining up the miniature vehicles in a meticulous row alongside the winding, high-tech racetrack Reed had crafted in the lab.

Johnny wasted no time. He vaulted over the back of the couch like a kid on Christmas morning, skidding into place beside Franklin on the rug. Within seconds, he was deep in the throes of an imaginary race, arms outstretched, making high-pitched engine noises, mimicking tight turns, screeching tires, and dramatic crashes. At one point, he even narrated the race in a terrible British accent, which made Franklin laugh so hard he rolled backward into a pile of pillows.

You leaned against the doorway, arms folded, unable to wipe the smile off your face. Watching Johnny with Franklin was unfair in every way. He looked too good like this, lit up from the inside out, eyes crinkled with laughter, hair slightly mussed from all the movement. Your ovaries were overwhelmed with joy, hormones, and entirely inappropriate thoughts that you had absolutely no business entertaining while a two-year-old was in the room.

To distract yourself, you busied yourself in the kitchen. The warm light over the counter glowed like amber as you set out apple slices, crackers, and a juice box, arranging them on a plate shaped like a cartoon spaceship. But, toddlers are nothing if not delightfully unpredictable. “Uncle Johnny’s loud.” Franklin announced from the floor before trotting over to you, toy car still clutched in one hand. “Book now, pwease.”

With zero resistance, you scooped him up and headed for the couch, already grabbing the well-worn copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar from where it laid on the coffee table. Franklin nestled into your side like he belonged there, head on your shoulder, thumb in his mouth. You flipped open the book, voice gentle as you began to read. Or at least, you tried to read.

You stumbled over words you’d read a hundred times before, tongue tripping more than you’d like to admit, not because of Franklin, who was happily turning pages too soon, but because Johnny was watching you. His gaze hadn’t left you since you sat down, blue eyes softened with something too warm, too intense for casual friendship. You refused to meet his eyes, cheeks burning hotter than any of his fire tricks.

After dinner, Franklin was back to racing around with his cars. Only now, he wanted you and Johnny to play too. Which is how you ended up cross-legged on the living room floor again, mid-race chaos, with Franklin assigning you very serious car duties, like “crash dis one” and “make dis one fly.” Johnny, of course, took it way too far.

He zoomed his car off the edge of the coffee table with a dramatic explosion noise, tossed Franklin gently in the air, which earned him a fierce scolding glare from you, and then proudly unveiled a mini Johnny Storm action figure from one of the toy bins. You groaned, the moment it crackled to life with a mechanical, over-enthusiastic: 'FLAME ON!'

“Bet you didn’t think I’d let this masterpiece go out of production.” Johnny puffed his chest out like he’d won a Nobel Prize. “It talks? “Why on Earth does it talk?” You deadpanned. “Because it's genius,” He stated matter-of-factly, holding the tiny figure like it was sacred. “And because the world needs more me.” You opened your mouth to disagree, but Franklin grabbed the figure from his hand and hugged it to his chest like it was made of gold.

"Uncle Johnny, cool!" Johnny beamed, smiling from ear to ear. “See? The people agree.” You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw another dimension. You wanted to argue, saying Franklin was clearly biased, but the truth was, watching him, with Franklin curled up against you and laughter echoing around the room, you couldn’t remember the last time your heart had felt this full.

Seeing as Johnny had playtime thoroughly covered, complete with dramatic reenactments and the occasional sound barrier being broken, you took the opportunity to slip away and handle the aftermath of dinner. The dishes weren’t going to wash themselves, and frankly, you needed a few minutes to cool down. Watching Johnny be good with Franklin, be soft, had your heart doing things that felt mildly illegal.

You stepped into the kitchen just as H.E.R.B.I.E. glided up beside you, silently offering the now-empty plate Franklin had used for his macaroni masterpiece. With a fond smile and a quiet thank you, you reached for it, and that’s when all hell decided to break loose. “OW! Buddy, not the hair!” Johnny’s voice cut through the room, followed by a shrill, high-pitched wail that had every maternal instinct in your body firing at once.

You sprinted the short distance from the kitchen to the living room, nearly slipping on one of Franklin’s rogue race cars. The scene that met you was peak disaster, Johnny was crouched on the floor, a frazzled mess with a toy still in one hand and Franklin squirming in his arms, red-faced and wailing. Johnny’s blue eyes snapped up the moment he heard your footsteps. His expression was a mix of panic and guilt.

“Give him to me.” Your voice was calm, instinctive, even as your arms reached out without hesitation. The moment Franklin caught sight of you, he lunged like a rocket, practically leaping into your embrace. You caught him easily, cradling his small frame against your chest. His sobs were still jagged and hiccupy, but they began to slow as you rocked him gently from side to side, your fingers drawing soft, rhythmic circles against his back.

His little fists clung to your shirt like lifelines, breath hitching in that pitiful post-cry rhythm that tugged at every heartstring you had. You murmured soft nonsense into his hair, words that didn’t matter so much as the tone, reassuring, steady, warm. Gradually, the tension left his body, replaced by that heavy-limbed drowsiness that always followed a toddler meltdown.

Over Franklin’s head, your gaze drifted to the wall clock, it read 7:58 PM. Of course, his body knew. Right on cue, the crash before bedtime. “Can you finish cleaning up?” You murmured, glancing over to Johnny, who was still sitting there, looking like he’d just been emotionally sideswiped. “I’m going to try and get him settled for bed.” Johnny nodded, standing quickly, carefully. As he stepped closer, he placed a gentle kiss on Franklin’s tousled head.

Then, his hand came to rest on your shoulder, warm and grounding, fingers giving the faintest squeeze as he brushed past you and disappeared into the kitchen. The touch lingered even after he was gone. And for a second, just a second, you let yourself close your eyes and breathe in the moment, Franklin's weight against you, the quiet settling over the room, and the echo of Johnny's tenderness still trailing behind him.

As you disappeared down the hallway, cradling a drowsy Franklin against your chest, Johnny let out the breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. It left him in a slow, uneven exhale, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, not because of exhaustion, but because watching you like that wrecked him in ways he couldn’t begin to explain. The sight of you, arms wrapped protectively around Franklin, murmuring in that soft voice that made even the toddler’s screams quiet down.

He dropped into a chair at the kitchen island, elbows on the counter, scrubbing a hand over his face as if it might shake off the feeling tightening in his ribcage. God, he was so screwed. It wasn’t just the way you looked tonight, though, yeah, that was enough to short-circuit him on a good day. The soft, lived-in familiarity of your smile, the way you rolled your eyes when he got too cocky, the gentle way you brushed Franklin’s hair back like you’d done it a thousand times before.

It wasn’t new. The feelings had been there for a while now, growing in quiet corners between inside jokes and late-night calls, rooted in the unshakable way you just got him. But this? Tonight? Watching you soothe his nephew like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he just stood there helpless, hair askew, ego bruised by a toddler? Yeah. That cracked something open.

Johnny leaned back, staring at the ceiling like maybe the answer to his emotional ineptitude was hidden in the plaster. He wasn’t good at this part, the messy, vulnerable, heart-in-his-throat stuff. Flirting, he could do blindfolded. Grand gestures? Easy. But feelings that mattered? Feelings that made his pulse stutter and his brain go fuzzy and his mouth forget how to be clever? That was harder.

But no matter how loud his heart got, there was one thing louder: the fear of ruining everything. You were his best friend. The constant in his chaos. You just got him, ego, flaws, fire and all. And the thought of letting these feelings consume him, of risking what you already had for something that might never work out? That terrified him more than anything.

Because what if he said something, did something, and it changed the way you looked at him? What if the easy laughter and casual touches turned awkward? What if he lost you? He looked toward the hallway where you'd disappeared, the quiet hum of your footsteps still echoing faintly in his ears. You’d taken Franklin like he was yours. Like you belonged here, in the middle of this family chaos, perfectly slotted into a space you hadn’t even asked to fill.

And somehow, everything felt quieter with you in it. He glanced toward the sink, eyes landing on the half-finished dishes, but his mind was still on you. Your hand on his shoulder. The way you didn’t flinch when things got messy. The way Franklin launched himself into your arms like it was instinct. Johnny rested his chin in his palm, staring at nothing in particular, lips curving just a little despite himself.

He was in love with you. Completely, stupidly, irrevocably in love with you. And the most ridiculous part? You probably had no idea. So he did what he always did. He swallowed it. Pushed it down, tucked it behind a grin and a joke and a wink. He’d take the way you looked at him now, fond and familiar, over losing you entirely. Even if it meant sitting here in the quiet, heart full of things he didn’t know how to say.

“Finally got him down.” You sighed, stepping back into the kitchen with your shoulders drooping slightly, weariness and warmth both lingering in your expression. You set the baby monitor on the kitchen island with a quiet clink, the soft static crackle filling the space just enough to remind you he was still only a room away. Johnny blinked, snapping out of whatever tangled thoughts he’d been drowning in.

“Sit.” His voice was gentle, coaxing, already rising from his chair. One hand brushed the small of your back, a fleeting touch, but enough to make your breath catch. He pulled out the chair next to his, guiding you into it with a casual attentiveness that never failed to send a zoo of butterflies stampeding through your stomach. You dropped into the seat with a sigh that was part exhaustion, part resignation. “But the dishes—”

“Herbert and I got it.” He interrupted smoothly, shooting a smirk toward H.E.R.B.I.E., who rolled up at just the right moment with mechanical precision. Johnny bumped fists with the robot, taking a bowl from his outstretched arm. You raised your hands in mock surrender, lips curling into a tired smile as you leaned back against the chair. Your eyes followed Johnny as he casually peeled off his bomber jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair.

Without it, he was all forearms and muscle, the short sleeves of his t-shirt hugging the defined curve of his biceps and the broad stretch of his chest like it had been designed with malicious intent. You glanced away quickly before your gaze betrayed you, but not fast enough to stop your face from flushing. You could feel the warmth blooming at your cheeks and cursed him, silently, lovingly, for existing so effortlessly.

The room fell into a quiet rhythm: H.E.R.B.I.E.'s faint whirring, the occasional clink of dishes, the lullaby-soft hush of a house winding down for the night. Then Johnny’s voice broke through, soft and unguarded. “You know…” He began, fingers still lingering on the edge of the countertop, but his eyes now fully on you. “You’re going to make an amazing mom one day.” The words landed with more weight than you expected. Not just because of what he said, but how he said it.

Not as a joke. Not as some offhand compliment. It came out quiet, earnest, a whisper of a truth he couldn’t stop himself from saying aloud. Your lips parted, but nothing came out at first. For a beat too long, you stared at him, trying to read what was hidden behind the usual mischief. There was no mask this time. No smirk. Just Johnny, bare and sincere in a way he rarely let himself be. You smiled, small and surprised, a flutter stirring in your chest. “You think?”

He shrugged, but the smile he wore was warm enough to melt through any doubt. “I know.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, heart full and aching in a way you hadn’t expected. That look in his eyes, bright, a little reverent, maybe even something closer to love, it made the air feel too thick, too still. You wondered if he felt it too. That quiet hum between you, the one that had been there for years but now felt impossible to ignore.

And then, without even trying, the words fell from his mouth as if he’d been fed a truth serum. “I think about it a lot, honestly. More specifically, you being the mother of my children." Your breath hitched. Time slowed. Even H.E.R.B.I.E., bless him, seemed to sense the gravity of what had just been released into the room and rolled discreetly out of the kitchen. Johnny stood frozen, one hand clenched around the dishcloth, knuckles white, eyes wide.

Like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but now that it was out, he couldn’t take it back. And frankly, he didn’t want to. A nervous laugh escaped him, breathless and uneven. “Shit, that sounds way more intense when it’s not just in my head.” You turned to face him fully, your heart beating so fast you were sure he could hear it echoing in the silence. “I mean it.” He added quickly, voice dropping, sincerity bleeding through every word.

“It’s not just some passing thought I get when I see you with Franklin, or when you laugh, or when you fall asleep during movie nights and drool on my shoulder.” You made a quiet noise of protest, heat blooming across your cheeks. He grinned softly at that, but it faltered just as quickly, replaced by something more hesitant. “I try to ignore it, y'know?” His fingers fidgeted with the hem of the dish towel, eyes focused on the counter like it might help him stay grounded.

“Because I didn’t want to mess this up. You and me... we’re good. We work. And I kept thinking, if I opened my mouth, I’d ruin it all. That I’d lose you.” His eyes finally met yours again, open, uncertain, completely unguarded. “But lately? It’s like... I can’t not feel it anymore. It’s everywhere. You're everywhere. Every time I look at you, I think about what it’d be like to wake up next to you. To build something real. I think about how natural it feels when you're here, like you're already part of the family.”

His hand hovered near yours on the counter, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat between your fingers. “I’m tired of pretending it’s not there. Tired of pretending I don’t—” The words caught on his tongue. “Tired of pretending that I don’t love you, Y/N.” And there it was. Simple. Raw. Undeniably real. The air between you felt electric, charged with everything that had been buried under years of stolen glances, long talks, missed chances, and the quiet kind of love that grows too strong to ignore.

"Oh, fuck it." Before you could react and before he could talk himself out of it, Johnny rounded the kitchen island with a kind of reckless purpose, his restraint unraveling in real time. And then, he was there. He surged forward, big hands finding your waist, as his lips crashed against yours. Your eyes flew open, shocked by the force of it, by the sheer heat, but your body answered before your brain could catch up, instinct overriding reason.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed him back, years of pent-up tension igniting like gasoline meeting flame. His hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you flush against him as his mouth moved hungrily against yours. When his tongue pushed past your lips and brushed against yours, a soft moan slipped out of you before you could stop it, swallowed by his mouth like it was the very thing he’d been starving for.

You felt him groan low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending another wave of heat straight down your spine. His hands roamed, one sliding up your back, the other briefly gripping your hip before pulling you impossibly closer, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was really happening. Your hands had a mind of their own, smoothing up the planes of his chest, over his shoulders, fingertips trailing across the warm skin of his neck and into his hair.

He shuddered beneath your touch, deepening the kiss like he never wanted to come up for air. It was messy. Intense. Every press of his mouth against yours was filled with every stolen glance, every suppressed feeling, every unsaid word that had sat between you like a live wire for years. When he finally did pull back, breathless and wide-eyed, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving, and so was his.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” He breathed out, voice low and wrecked with emotion, his forehead pressing gently to yours. His thumbs stroked your hips, like he couldn’t stop touching you now that he’d started. You nodded, still catching your breath, eyes searching his face for anything, regret, hesitation, but there was none. “I thought I was dreaming,” You whispered. “I’ve been in love with you since I can remember.”

The words, settled over your skin like a warm blanket, uncomplicated, long-overdue, and unmistakably true. “Say it again.” He begged, voice hoarse, like he needed the sound of it more than air. Like your confession might be the only thing tethering him to reality. “I love you, Johnny.” That did it. He surged forward again, but this time there was no urgency, no crashing wave of desperation, just reverence.

His lips met yours with a gentleness that threatened to undo you entirely. No rush, only the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone as his mouth moved against yours, patient and aching, as though he was trying to memorize the shape of your lips and the rhythm of your sighs. Your hands curled around his wrists, anchoring yourself to him as he kissed you like it was sacred.

His breath hitched slightly when your fingers threaded back through his hair, but he didn't press further, didn’t deepen the kiss like before. This was about worship. Like he'd spent years imagining this, and now that he had it, he wanted to slow time down and savor every second. When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes remained closed, like he was afraid they’d snap open and find it had all vanished.

You couldn't stop the airy laugh that left you lips. "You've seriously thought about me as the mother of your children?" You raised a brow, hand absentmindedly tracing the veins of his forearm you ogled more than you'd like to admit. "Baby, seeing the way you act with Franklin always gets me all hot and bothered. Anything you do really." He stated matter-of-factly, smirk breaking out onto his face. You rolled your eyes, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed you.

"Why do you ask, want to practice?" Johnny huskily murmured in your ear, his breath hot and intoxicating as it fanned across your skin. The low rasp of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, awakening something dormant and long-suppressed. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive curve of your neck before pressing a deliberately slow, kiss just beneath your jaw. The heat of it bloomed across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and your breath hitched involuntarily.

Years of unspoken desire and stolen glances rushed to the surface, threatening to unravel your composure. As much as you wanted to surrender, to drown in the fantasy you had nursed for so long, a quiet voice inside pulled you back. You placed a gentle but firm hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. The tension between you crackled, heavy with want, but you pushed him back, just enough to create distance, not rejection.

"Not with the two-year-old were supposed to be watching less than ten feet away." Johnny pulled back with a dramatic groan, his expression pure betrayal. You watched as his eyes had darkened considerably, but they still sparkled as he opened his mouth to throw out another flirty one-liner your way, only to be cut off by a familiar, high-pitched wail echoing from the baby monitor that made both of you freeze.

“Traitor.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at the tiny screen like it had done it on purpose. You placed one more chaste kiss to his heated cheek, patting his chest sympathetically, before you were already on your feet, chuckling as you padded toward the hallway. He followed with reluctant steps, grumbling under his breath but unable to stop glancing at you with that soft, besotted look he probably didn’t even realize he was wearing.

Later that night, when Susan and Reed returned to the Baxter Building, they were met with an unfamiliar but very welcome sound: silence. Brows furrowed, Susan kicked off her heels and made a beeline toward Franklin’s room, her mom instincts already stirring. Her heart skipped as she peeked into the dimly lit nursery, only to find the crib empty. “Reed?” Her voice was barely a whisper, nerves creeping up her spine.

“Hold on.” Reed called quietly from down the hall, standing in front of Johnny’s bedroom with the door slightly ajar, light from the hallway spilling just enough to illuminate what was inside. Susan joined him, brows raised in silent question. He merely tilted his head toward the crack in the door. Inside, Franklin lay curled on your chest, tiny hand fisted in your shirt, lips slightly parted in sleep. Your head rested against Johnny’s shoulder, your breathing steady and deep.

Johnny’s arms wrapped around both of you, one across your waist, the other lightly covering Franklin’s back in a protective cocoon. Susan exhaled slowly, something warm blooming in her chest. “Looks like you were right.” Susan’s smile was nothing short of smug as she crossed her arms. “I’m always right.” She quipped, fully planning to tease both of you relentlessly at breakfast. But for now, she simply stood there, soaking in the quiet proof of what she’d suspected all along.

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myreadings · 20 days ago

Text

DUMB & POETIC

Johnny Storm X Female!reader || WC: 6.1K

SUMMARY: Johnny Storm flirted like it was a reflex, so when he starts showing up at work with that grin and some line about taking you out, you didn’t flinch. You want to believe him, want to think there’s something real under all that fire and flair, but it’s hard when every time you look, some starry-eyed fan is hanging on his arm.

WARNINGS: Fantastic Four: First Steps minor Spoilers! Typical Marvel themes, angst, fluff, steamy kiss (no pun intended), cursing, Sue being Johnny’s defender yet still humbles him, self-deprecating thoughts, Ben and Johnny banter, lots of pet names, lovesick!Johnny

A/N: As soon as I saw the first trailer for this movie, and saw Joe Quinn as Johnny I knew he would do the role justice! I’m just sad now we have to wait until next year for the next set of Marvel movies! 😩 Divider by @saradika-graphics <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ johnny storm masterlist

Weekends at Maisie’s Delicatessen were a whirlwind of clinking dishes, muffled jazz from the radio behind the counter, and the sweet, yeasty warmth of the oven creeping into every corner of the narrow shop. Nestled on a street corner in Manhattan, its red neon sign buzzed softly beneath the fire escape, a beacon for locals and regulars alike. Inside, mismatched chairs and linoleum floors bore the scuffs of a hundred hurried mornings.

Your hair had been shoved into a bun since dawn, already loosened by the heat radiating off the pastry case. You moved nonstop, dodging customers and slinging paper bags filled with brownies, marble loaves, and chocolate croissants to neighborhood regulars. The cookies, especially the chocolate chip, were gone before noon, and you'd slipped a few warm ones to the kids who lived across the street, ignoring their mother's frazzled protests. Kids needed sweetness in a city like this.

You leaned against the counter for the first time in hours, arms dusted with flour and sugar, the faint hum of a delivery truck idling outside. You took a quick sip of water, your lips still tasting faintly of cinnamon. Then came the bell, ding-a-ling, that delicate sound above the door. You glanced up and froze in amused recognition. Ben Grimm stood in the doorway, trying (and failing) to disguise his massive, craggy frame beneath a trench coat that strained at the seams.

His fedora sat low, shadowing his unmistakable orange brow, but you’d recognize that stance anywhere. A few folks glanced up, but New Yorkers were practiced in the art of pretending not to notice things that didn’t concern them. “There’s my favorite customer!” You grinned, the weariness melting from your voice as you waved him in. Ben chuckled low in his throat, the sound gravelly and warm. “The usual, a dozen black and white cookies, fresh outta the oven.”

You beamed, already holding out the brown paper bag before he could part his lips. Ben’s rocky features relaxed into a rare, boyish grin. The warmth in his eyes was unmistakable, even beneath the shadow of his hat. “You spoil us way too much, Y/N.” He murmured, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat with those thick, stone-like fingers. Before he could fish out his wallet, you gently laid your hand against his arm. “Nah,” You whispered, your eyes crinkling. “It’s the least I can do. You keep our city from crumbling, literally.”

He hesitated, then chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth pulling into something half-sheepish, half-grateful. The coat shifted slightly as he straightened up, careful not to knock over the tiny table near the window. Outside, the city kept humming, taxis honking, a dog barking somewhere down the block, steam curling from a grate on the corner like clockwork. Ever since that mission to space, the one that turned the four of them into something the world had never seen, they'd been more than just heroes.

Earth-828 called them protectors. Some folks whispered “miracles,” others muttered “monsters,” but to you, they were still people. People who liked black and white cookies warm and still a little gooey in the middle. Ben tucked the bag under one arm with reverence, like he was holding something precious instead of simply just cookies. “Reed says carbs’ll slow me down,” He grunted, already lifting one to his mouth. “But he doesn’t know what he’s missin’.”

You laughed, the sound light above the soft vinyl music playing from the back. The overhead light flickered briefly, a flaw in the old wiring you never bothered fixing, casting a golden glow across the glass counter and catching the powdered sugar still clinging to your forearms. “Anything else I can get for you?” You asked, tilting your head as Ben scanned the pastry display. “Will you let me pay for it this time?” You shrugged with a playful glint in your eye watching as he shook his head in disapproval.

“Just the cookies today. I’ll take the offer next time, though.” Ben grunted, approval or defeat, it was hard to tell, and adjusted his coat. “Fair enough,” You smiled, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Tell everyone their favorite baker said hello.” You added, wiping your hands on your apron. As if summoned, the front door jingled again, and in blew a gust of hot air and unmistakable cologne. “Ben! What a coincidence!” Johnny Storm strolled in like he owned the block, hair windswept, a grin already loaded and ready to fire.

He clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, more for show than anything, before swiveling toward you like a sunflower toward the sun. “Why hello, gorgeous.” He purred, leaning casually against the counter, elbows propped like it was a bar and not a bakery. His blue eyes flicked over you, every detail catalogued in a glance that burned hotter than anything the ovens could crank out. You didn’t flinch. You’d seen this act before. “Johnny.” You replied, arms crossed more for protection than posture.

It didn’t stop your heart from racing, not with him standing there, all charm and endearing smile. He’d been flirting ever since the first time Ben sent him to pick up cookies, weeks ago now, throwing one-liners your way. It had become routine, really. Every day around noon, Johnny would stroll through the doors of Maisie’s Delicatessen, sometimes in uniform, sometimes in civilian charm, like clockwork.

He’d order the same cherry danish or lemon tart he never finished, pick at a croissant he claimed was “too flaky,” or simply ask for something sweet and then spend twenty minutes leaning on the counter and making small talk. You’d never seen him eat more than a bite. The truth? He didn’t like pastries. You knew. You noticed the way he’d discreetly leave half of them on the plate, or slide one into a napkin and “forget” it on the windowsill. But he came back anyway.

Every. Single. Day.

Only unlike all the women in New York City, you’d brushed him off. You always did. The whole city knew Johnny Storm’s reputation. He was the Human Torch, flashy, unpredictable, and impossible not to look at. Blonde hair like sunlight, eyes blue enough to drown in. You weren’t naive. You just weren’t stupid enough to fall for him and get your heart broken. At first, you assumed it was just Johnny being Johnny, chasing a pretty face with his signature swagger and a smirk that could melt through steel.

His flirtation had seemed harmless. But lately… something about him felt different. He asked questions that had nothing to do with your looks. Asked about your favorite books, your childhood dog, whether you liked jazz or doo-wop better. He once brought you a bouquet of tiger lillies because “you looked like someone who deserved a Wednesday pick-me up.” He listened. Really listened. And yet, you still didn’t let yourself believe it. Because he was Johnny Storm.

Famous. Reckless. Traveled to space. And you? You baked cookies on 3rd and Grand and slipped extras to neighborhood kids. So when he leaned in across the counter today, eyes locked on yours like you were the only person in Manhattan, it made your stomach twist. Because you couldn’t tell if it was all just part of the game, or if maybe, just maybe, he meant it. Still, you reminded yourself to breathe, burying the stupid crush on the blonde-haired, blue-eyed heartbreaker as far down as it would go.

You’d dug that hole weeks ago, right around the time he started showing up for pastries he didn’t eat, and you’d kept digging ever since. “Surprised you’re not at the Baxter Building,” You teased, grabbing a nearby rag to wipe a nonexistent smudge on the counter. “Don’t you have a world to save?” He grinned, eyes glinting. “Figured I’d start with yours.” You almost choked on your own breath. Ben rolled his eyes so hard you could almost hear them click.

“Flamebrain, pick up your danish and let the woman work.” But Johnny didn’t move. He leaned in further, elbow resting against the counter like he had all the time in the world. “Aw, come on, Y/N.” He drawled with a smirk so effortless it should’ve been criminal. That wink, practiced, perfect, probably had women lining up around the block. You huffed a laugh despite yourself, because dammit, he was impossible not to smile at. Shaking your head, you turned your back to him, pretending to be very, very busy with the new tray of croissants still warm from the oven.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was still watching you, you could feel it. You grabbed the pineapple danish, the one he always claimed was his favorite, though you were 99% sure he hated pineapple, and placed it gently on the counter between you. “Have a nice day, Johnny.” It was meant to be the end of it. A line drawn in powdered sugar. But the way he lit up when you said his name made your chest tighten in a way that was wildly inconvenient.

His whole face softened, the cocky veneer still there, but something genuine flickering behind it. The corners of his mouth curved, his blue eyes twinkling like he'd just won something. He pulled out his wallet, soft leather, edges worn, and slid a crisp $10 bill across the counter without breaking eye contact. “See you next time, beautiful.” That should’ve been it. Any normal person would’ve taken their pastry and left. But Johnny Storm wasn’t normal. Before you could even blink, he leaned in again, this time reaching for you.

Reflex made you freeze, lips parting on instinct as his hand came up to your face. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, slow and deliberate. Your breath hitched. Your skin went electric beneath his touch. “Gotcha.” He whispered with a smug grin, dusting flour off your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, like some cinematic fever dream, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, slow, gentle, and let his fingers linger just a second too long.

You couldn’t even look at him. Not directly. Not with that smile. Not with the way his cologne curled through the air, something warm, woodsy, and undeniably him. Not with his broad shoulders in your peripheral, framed by the soft golden light of the storefront window. Your heart was pounding like the city outside, and you hated how easily he could turn you to absolute mush. With one last cheeky wink, he straightened up and strolled past Ben toward the exit like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain.

You stood frozen, still gripping the edge of the counter as the bell above the door chimed again. Ben lingered for just a second longer, eyeing you with something between amusement and pity. “He’s trouble, kid.” You managed a breathless laugh, cheeks still burning. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He gave you one last tip of his hat before he was out the door. Through the foggy window, you watched Ben shove Johnny as they walked down the street, his expression deadpan as Johnny laughed, head tilted back, beaming.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the stupid smile tugging at your lips. The rest of the evening passed like a worn-out record, quiet, predictable, and just a little too slow. No more superhero drop-ins, no flirtatious banter, just the comforting rhythm of clinking coffee cups, parents herding sugar-hyped kids, and the usual faces grabbing day-old rye for half price. You moved on autopilot, smiling when necessary, nodding when expected, but your thoughts weren’t behind the counter anymore.

They were still caught somewhere between Johnny Storm’s hand brushing your cheek and the lingering scent of him that had somehow stuck to the sleeves of your apron. At four o’clock sharp, you finally peeled off the fabric, folding it with practiced hands. You greeted your coworker with a tired wave, slung your bag over one shoulder, and grabbed the small box of pastries you’d stashed for yourself, your ritual comfort after long shifts. With a practiced motion, you nudged open the back door and stepped into the fading amber of early evening.

It was cooler now, a soft breeze threading through your sleeves, but it didn’t soothe the heat still smoldering beneath your skin. You leaned against the brick wall beside the shop, juggling the box and your bag awkwardly as you searched for your keys. Of course, they’d sunken to the bottom. Because today was that kind of day. “Geez, Y/N! Don’t you know it’s not safe out here?” You jumped slightly, box nearly tipping. But then the voice registered, cocky and warm like always, laced with amusement.

You glanced up, and there he was. Johnny Storm, leaning casually against the wall beside you, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing a fitted maroon tee that left nothing to the imagination. His eyes sparkled under the streetlamp like he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. You didn’t even bother hiding your eye-roll this time. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on a woman when it’s nearly dark?” He laughed, that rich, golden sound that always felt like it was meant just for you.

“Walking a beautiful girl to her car after a long shift? That’s not rude, sweetheart. That’s practically chivalry.” You hated the way your heart fluttered. “I might even ask her out to dinner, if she doesn’t already have plans.” He added, stepping a little closer. “You never quit, do you?” Your voice was breathier than you intended, your composure already fraying. The city seemed to fall away, no cars, no lights, no sound, just the heavy press of his presence and the impossible closeness of him.

He took one more step, caging you. His arms bracketed the space like a promise. His eyes were softer now, but blazing all the same. “When it comes to you? I don’t.” You looked up at him, and you felt it, that dangerous pull. Like you were standing on the edge of something steep, and he was gravity. For one brief, selfish second, you wanted to fall. His gaze searched yours, blue eyes impossibly sincere, and you felt your whole body lock up. You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or lean in.

It was too much, all at once, the heat, the closeness, the way his words curled inside your chest and ignited everything you’d been trying to bury. “Johnny—” You started, just as quick reality struck. “Johnny! Johnny! Can we get a picture?” A chorus of high-pitched voices broke through the quiet. You both turned. Across the street, three girls, all wide smiles, glossy hair, and miniskirts, were waving excitedly. “Please! We love you!” His shoulders stiffened. For once, he was speechless, gaze flickering between you and them.

And that’s when it hit you.

Of course girls like that followed him. Of course they screamed his name and got his smile and maybe more. Girls who were everything you weren’t, glamorous, shiny, effortless. You felt plain in comparison, dusty from work, apron-wrinkled, flour on your jeans, your lipstick smudged from hours behind the counter and sneaking coffee during your breaks. You felt your throat tighten, breath catching behind clenched teeth.

He looked at you, torn, visibly. You saw the guilt, the hesitation. But you couldn’t handle it. Not the look. Not the choice. You beat him to it. “Go,” You whispered, voice thick. “Take pictures. Sign autographs. Don't let me stop you.” His head whipped back to you. “Y/N—” But you were already slipping. Already falling back into the walls you had spent so long building. Don’t get attached. Don’t believe him. Don’t be a fool. “I’ll see you around, Johnny.” Your smile was brittle.

A cracked-glass version of the one you used to give him. You turned before he could speak, before he could reach for you, because you knew, if he said the right thing, if he looked at you that way again, you’d stay. And you couldn’t. You clutched the pastry box like it was armor and speed-walked to your car, fumbling with the keys as your eyes blurred. You slammed the door shut behind you, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make your knuckles pale.

You let out one shaky breath, but it didn’t help, your chest still felt like it was caving in. The first tear slipped down your cheek, and you swiped at it with the back of your hand. You blinked hard, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep from sobbing, swallowing the thick lump that refused to go away. Through the windshield, you could still see him, standing there, not moving. Not chasing after you. Of course not. He was Johnny Storm. And you? You were just the girl who made the cookies.

It had been two days. Two painfully long, quiet days. Ben had still come in like clockwork, trench coat tight around his frame, tipping his hat with a low grunt and walking out with his usual dozen black and white cookies. Business carried on, regulars filtered in and out, the register chimed, the espresso hissed, and the world, somehow, didn’t stop turning just because Johnny Storm hadn’t walked through your door. But you noticed.

You hated how your heart leapt every time the bell over the door jingled, hated how your eyes darted up from the pastry case expecting him, golden hair tousled like he’d just stepped off a beach, sunglasses halfway down his nose, wearing that crooked grin that always seemed a little too proud to be real. But it was never him. An old man wanting lemon bars. A tired mother with her toddler. A delivery guy. Anyone but Johnny.

By the second afternoon, you were scolding yourself. You’re fine. You don’t care. It didn’t mean anything. It never meant anything. But even that was starting to ring hollow. So when the bell chimed again near closing and your head shot up on instinct, eyes connecting with familiar blue ones. Only it wasn’t Johnny. “Sue?” You breathed out, heart stumbling in your chest at the familiar face, equal parts relief and renewed confusion bubbling up behind your smile. “Hi.”

Her face lit up, warm and elegant as always, framed by a neat headband and soft waves, dressed in a powder blue coat that fell just past her knees. You rounded the counter before she could say a word, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Congratulations, you and Reed, you’re both going to be such amazing parents.” Susan laughed softly, pulling back, her hand instinctively resting over the small swell at her abdomen.

“Thank you, darling.” She whispered, her smile tender, eyes softening at your touch as you caressed the curve just barely beginning to show. Susan glanced around the shop, the quiet obvious now that the last customers had filtered out. She must have seen something flicker across your face, something you didn’t mean to let show, because her gaze settled on you a little too knowingly. "Johnny and Ben didn't tell me you were stopping by."

You hoped it sounded casual, but your voice betrayed you, just a little. She tilted her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, Ben's been busy helping Reed with all the baby stuff,” She replied gently. “And, I don’t think Johnny's mentioned anything the last day or two, actually. He’s... been a little off.” Off? Your chest tightened. You didn’t ask why. You didn’t have the right to. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even sure you were a friend.

You were just the girl who made the pastries he didn’t eat, the one he flirted with until fans screamed his name and you reminded yourself to be practical. Still, it gnawed at you. The absence. The silence. The ache that felt like a bruise just beneath the surface of your ribs. You forced a smile. “I’ve got some brioche cooling in the back. Want to take some home?” Susan smiled and nodded, but her eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary.

And you wondered, how much did she know? Because if anyone could see through the armor, it was the Invisible Woman. You wrapped the warm loaf in parchment, the buttery scent of brioche rising with the steam as you folded the edges with careful precision, anything to keep your hands busy while your mind threatened to spiral. Susan lingered just past the counter, fingertips brushing along the glass display case, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Her silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just... weighty. Like she was debating whether or not to cross a line. The silence stretched a few beats longer before she finally broke it. “You know,” She began, almost too casually. “Johnny’s a lot of things. Loud. Reckless. Infuriating.” A wry smile tugged at her lips. “A complete pain in the ass, honestly.” You snorted quietly, folding the twine over the loaf and tying it into a neat bow. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Her gaze sharpened at that, the playful warmth in her voice dipping into something more sincere. “But he’s also been completely, hopelessly hung up on you.” You froze, not dramatically, but just enough that your fingers faltered mid-knot. Susan leaned in slightly, voice softening. “I mean it. Ever since he met you, it’s been nonstop. You’d think Reed and I were hosting a teenage girl in love. Every dinner, it’s always ‘Y/N made me try this pastry’ or ‘You should’ve seen the way her eyes lit up when I told her a dumb joke.’”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry as your heart pounded loud enough to rival the ticking bakery clock. “I thought it was just another Johnny phase,” Susan continued, her eyes kind now, but serious. “He’s... well. He’s had his share of admirers. Most of them louder. But none of them stuck. None of them made him show up every morning like he forgot how to sleep or act like a lovesick teenager.” Your lips parted, but no words made it out.

Susan gave you a long look, stepping closer until her voice dropped again, almost conspiratorial. “You know what really got me? He started asking me about baking.” You blinked. “He what?” She nodded, confirming that you in fact had heard her correctly. “Wanted to know how long croissants proof. What makes a good butter ratio. If semi-sweet chocolate was the same as milk chocolate, I nearly dropped a plate.”

She gave a quiet laugh, brushing her coat sleeve with her thumb. “He burns toast, Y/N. He once tried to boil eggs in the microwave.” That startled a weak laugh out of you, but the ache behind it remained. “I’m not trying to play matchmaker,” Susan added, gentler now. “And I know he’s a mess, God, he really is, but... this isn’t a game to him. Not this time.” You stared down at the loaf in your hands, chest tightening under the weight of everything she wasn’t saying outright.

You could still feel the ghost of Johnny’s hand on your cheek from two days ago. The way his voice had softened when it was just the two of you. How his grin faltered when he thought you weren’t looking. The worst part? You wanted to believe her. You really did. Yet, that quiet voice in the back of your head, the one that always whispered your insecurities when the lights dimmed and the bakery closed, wasn’t so easily silenced, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

Why would someone like him want someone like you, when he could have models, actresses, girls with legs for days and zero baggage?

You pushed the thought down, deep, wrapping the last piece of tape around the box like it could hold you together too. Susan’s hand landed lightly on your arm, anchoring you for a moment. “Whatever you decide, just don’t let the noise drown out what’s real.” You met her eyes. And in them, you saw none of the pity you were bracing for, just quiet encouragement. Understanding. You gave a faint nod and offered the brioche across the counter.

She took it gently, her smile warm as she tucked it into her bag. “Take care of yourself, Y/N.” And then she was gone, the bell jingling softly behind her as she disappeared into the golden spill of the afternoon light. You exhaled slowly, and for the first time in two days, you didn’t flinch at the thought of Johnny Storm. You just ached. The door had barely swung closed behind Susan when you stood there, motionless, loaf of brioche crumbs still scattered across the counter like the remains of a decision just made.

Your heart pounded so loudly you swore the walls could hear it. The hum of the bakery lights, the tick of the clock over the register, the faint laughter of kids down the block, it all faded beneath the sudden, sharp thrum of possibility. What if she was right? What if he wasn’t just another cocky grin in a fireproof suit? What if, under all the swagger and fanfare, Johnny Storm had been waiting, hoping, for you to see him the way he saw you?

Your hands moved before your fear could stop them. You ripped off your apron, tossing it onto the hook so fast it spun, grabbed your purse and keys, and locked the till with barely a glance. You rushed around the counter, fumbled with the light switches, not bothering to sweep the back or double-check the signage. The “Closed” sign swung crooked in the door’s window as you burst out into the late afternoon sun, scanning the sidewalk like a woman on a mission.

There she was. Susan, a block away, was sliding her sunglasses on as she reached the driver's side of a navy blue Fantasticar. You called out her name, your voice cracked with urgency and nerves. She turned, brows lifted in surprise, then slowly tilted her sunglasses down as you approached, breathless and wide-eyed. “I need a ride,” You exhaled, planting your feet like you might change your mind if you moved again. “To the Baxter Building.”

A slow, knowing smirk curled on her lips, like she’d known this would happen all along. Like she had simply laid out the breadcrumbs and waited for you to follow them. Without a word, she unlocked the car with a flick of her wrist and gestured to the passenger side. You slid in, heart hammering, palms damp, and stared out the window as the city blurred by. Your mind ran faster than the wheels on the pavement. What would you say when you saw him? What if he laughed? What if you were wrong?

But then you remembered the way he looked at you. Not like you were an option. Like you were it. The crack in his cocky demeanor when he thought nobody was looking. Susan glanced at you from the corner of her eye, her voice casual as she merged into traffic. “Took you long enough.” You glanced down, flushed and nervous, but a small smile crept across your lips. “Yeah, I guess it really did.” And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel afraid of what came next.

The drive to the Baxter Building felt endless, not because of traffic, but because of what waited at the end of it. Every red light was another second for doubt to crawl back in. Every street corner flashed with reminders: his face on magazines in bodega windows, girls with teased hair giggling over autographed photos, memories of your own reflection feeling small in comparison. Still, you didn’t ask Susan to turn around.

The building rose ahead like a monument, sleek steel and glass stretching toward a stormy Manhattan sky. As you stepped through the lobby, nerves clamped around your lungs, but Susan’s hand on your arm kept you grounded. “Just breathe,” Her eyes told you without a word. The elevator ride was silent, the kind that buzzes with everything unspoken. When the doors opened, both Reed and Ben turned like they’d sensed a bomb ticking.

Ben looked you up and down like you’d grown an extra head, half a cookie still in his massive hand. Reed’s brows lifted, already calculating variables. But before either of them could utter a syllable, Susan threw them a look sharp enough to slice concrete, one perfectly arched brow raised, hand on her hip. You chuckled inwardly, thinking she had definitely mastered the 'mom look'. Ben grunted, glanced between the two of you, then quietly retreated toward the kitchen, muttering something about minding his own damn business.

Reed blinked a few times and gave a tiny, approving nod before following suit. You turned to Susan, your pulse thudding like it might give up entirely. She only smiled, placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Third door on the left. Go.” You didn't need to be told twice. Your heels clicked softly against the polished floor as you approached the door, H.E.R.B.I.E chirped a happy greeting in your direction. You waved, resting a hand on the smooth top of the robot’s head with an affectionate pat.

As you eyes locked on the door just past him, you could have sworn your heart lurched. You didn’t bother knocking. Your hand turned the knob, and the door flung open with all the force of your barely-contained storm. There he was. Johnny Storm, sprawled across his navy couch in a gray NASA tee and sweatpants, wearing a full space suit helmet. His posture screamed boredom, limbs flung over the cushions, one leg lazily propped up on the coffee table, until he saw you.

His eyes widened, nearly cartoonish behind the visor, and he jolted upright with such force the helmet slipped sideways on his head. “Y/N!” The name flew from him like he’d been holding it in for days. His voice cracked with disbelief as he scrambled to yank the helmet off, his hair sticking up wildly from the static. “Uh, hi! I mean—hey, you’re here. You’re… in my room.” You stood just inside the doorway, hands curled into your coat pockets to keep from fidgeting.

He blinked at you, breath shallow, eyes flicking from your coat to your flushed cheeks to the tense set of your jaw. “You okay? Did something happen? Are you—?” You didn’t even let him finish. Five steps, that’s all it took. You crossed the room with a force you didn’t know you had, your palms gripping the soft cotton of his white t-shirt, knuckles white with all the tension and longing that had been brewing for weeks, and tugged him down to your level.

Then you crashed your lips into his like it was the only way to keep from falling apart. Johnny’s breath stuttered, caught completely off guard, but only for a second. One of them slid up your spine, fingers splayed wide, pulling you impossibly closer until there was no space left between your bodies. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss like he’d been starving for it.

Your tongue brushed his, tentative at first, but then his low, guttural moan vibrated through your chest and your grip tightened in his shirt, knuckles aching. You kissed him deeper, mouths moving in perfect sync, hot and messy, with the urgency of two people who had waited too long and couldn’t wait a second more. Johnny broke the kiss just long enough to gasp your name against your jaw, voice rough and reverent.

He ducked his head, lips dragging down your neck in soft, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath catch. When his teeth grazed just beneath your ear, a sharp whimper escaped you, unfiltered and raw. “God, do you have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was hoarse, like the words had clawed their way out of him. You didn’t answer, you couldn’t. Not with your pulse pounding in your ears.

Not with the way he was looking at you like you were something sacred. Instead, you kissed him again, harder this time. The scent of him, smoke and whatever cologne he wore that made your knees weak, clouded your senses as his tongue swept across your bottom lip. Your teeth knocked, breath mingled, and his hand slipped down to the back of your thigh. Without breaking contact, Johnny bent slightly, hooking his arms under your legs and lifting you as if you weighed nothing.

You gasped into his mouth as your back met the cool plaster of his bedroom wall, the contrast making you shiver, but Johnny’s body was all heat, all fire pressed flush against you. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his hips, and the sound he made in response, part growl, part groan, was nearly enough to undo you right then and there. He kissed you like a man possessed, like he’d held back every second since the first time you handed him a croissant and smiled in his direction.

His fingers flexed at your hips, anchoring you, grounding you, while his mouth explored yours with a tenderness that burned hotter than anything reckless. You broke apart only when your lungs screamed for air, panting, foreheads pressed together. His hands trembled slightly where they gripped you, and your own were buried in his hair, fingers tangled and unwilling to let go. Your gaze met his, blue eyes wide, wild, soft, and for once, all the noise in your head quieted.

You could feel it in the space between heartbeats, in the way his thumb brushed over the back of your knee, in the breath he stole and gave back with each kiss. This wasn’t just a crush. It wasn’t a game. “Now, can I take you to dinner?” He murmured, lips brushing yours. You let out a breathy laugh, stealing one more chaste kiss that left both of you grinning like fools. “I think we might've missed a couple steps.” You teased, hands absentmindedly playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

The same ones you’d always dreamed of running your fingers through but never dared to. His eyes softened, that usual cocky glint melting into something heartbreakingly earnest. “I don’t care in what order it happened,” He whispered, blue eyes tracing every line of your face like he was trying to burn it into memory. “As long as it’s you.” Your chest tightened, the words wrapping around something fragile and long-buried in you. He leaned in, nudging his nose gently against yours, and the breath that left him was barely a whisper.

“I should’ve stayed with you that night. I should’ve kissed you the second I saw you leaning against that wall. I should’ve never let you walk away. God, I’ve been such an idiot.” You drew in a shaky breath, heart swelling in your chest. Lifting your hands from his neck, you cupped his face in your palms, thumbs brushing across the faint hint of stubble along his jaw. “Hey,” You coaxed, voice soft but firm, grounding him before his thoughts could wonder. “I’m not going anywhere anymore.”

He closed his eyes like he didn’t trust himself to believe it until you said it again, so you kissed the tip of his nose. Then the corner of his mouth. Then fully on his lips, almost as if sealing the promise between you. A knock sounded faintly, followed by Reed’s voice muffled through the door. “Johnny! Is your friend staying for dinner?” You paused, eyes meeting his. There it was again, that flicker of vulnerability, like the part of him that still feared you’d run if given the chance.

But you didn’t even need to speak. Your smile answered for you. Johnny turned toward the door, cocky grin returning with full force. “Yes she is!” He called out, eyes never leaving yours. “Tell Herbert to set another plate at the table because—” He leaned closer, pressing a final lingering kiss to your flushed cheek. “My gorgeous girlfriend is staying over for dinner.” You couldn’t help it. You beamed. That word, girlfriend, made your skin tingle.

It felt impossibly good. Honest. Earned. You tugged him back down for one more kiss, slow and sure and full of everything you’d both kept buried for far too long. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t second-guessing it. You were exactly where you wanted to be. Where he wanted you to be. Wrapped in the arms of a man who once flirted like it was a reflex, and now held you like you were the only thing in the world that ever made him feel real.

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myreadings · 20 days ago

Text

Stupidly Lovesick

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You want Bucky to be happy, even if that means it breaks your heart every time you see him with Natasha. With the aid of Steve, you two devise a series of plans in order to get them together. What you fail to realize is that Bucky and Natasha are simultaneously devising a series of plans to get you and Steve together, even if it pains Bucky.

Word Count: 10.7k

Warnings/Tags: Reader is implied to be at least slightly shorter than Bucky (it’s like one line), Mutual pining except they’re both stupid, you and Steve wingman, miscommunication, there’s some texting, Avengers tower fic

A/N: Woah not a thunderbolts fic!?!?!!? crazy

Masterlist

You have been friends with Bucky for a while. You’ve been there with him during his low points and high points. After years of companionship, you had foolishly believed you had a chance. You really wanted to believe that maybe after all these years beside him, perhaps you could be the one to be by his side for the rest of your lives.

Like you said, foolish.

You had already considered the idea that he liked Natasha, but you wanted to live in denial until it was confirmed.

You get it, she’s pretty, incredibly skilled, and can empathize with him on a personal level. They’re essentially made for each other. You wouldn’t even be lying when you say that they’d be a good couple. They would, and that makes it hurt so much more.

You walk into the common area, immediately diverting your eyes away from Bucky and Natasha as you walk in. You beeline for the kitchen and grab a glass of water, using Steve as a shield to block your gaze from them.

Despite that, your own eyes betray you and sneak a glance at them. They seem to be invested in their conversation. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you don’t bother trying to listen. If they don’t want you to be able to hear you, you won’t be able to.

“Notice them too, huh?” Steve leans on the counter next to you, a small smile on his face.

You place your glass down, “Huh? Oh, yeah.” You offer a polite smile to him.

“Honestly can’t believe they aren’t together yet,” you try to ignore how your stomach drops at his words.

You both turn to see Natasha smirking at something Bucky said. Whatever he says next seems to have her giggling.

“They really are perfect.” You admit, forlornly.

Steve nods, “Yeah, if he could do something about it.” He taps his finger on the counter before turning slowly towards you.

You turn to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well, he hasn’t exactly dated since 1945, I’m pretty sure.” Steve starts.��

You raise your eyebrow even more, “‘Pretty sure?’” You quote

He tilts his head, “Well, I haven’t exactly asked. I’m just making an assumption, but that’s not the point.” He waves a hand, shaking his head. “I’m saying that,” he points at himself, then at you, “we help him.”

You almost let laughter escape, but you catch yourself. “You want us to wingman for him?” You smile at the absurdity of the idea. Out of all the people he could’ve asked. How did Steve manage to ask the one person who also likes Bucky?

He offers you the most hopeful grin, and you want to decline. God, how you want to decline, but then you look at them. He looks unburdened, untroubled. He’s smiling as if nothing weighs him down, and at the end of the day, that is what matters.

You turn back to Steve, a smirk on your face, “When do we start?”

Dinner.

Dinner is when you start.

Honestly, you should not be surprised. You agreed to Steve’s proposition with (seemingly) no hesitation. Why would he wait to try to push them closer together?

So here you all sit at dinner. You sit next to Steve and across from the source of your pain and misery (and love, but that’s not important right now). Your eyes flicker over to Natasha, who's right next to Bucky.

It’s silent, like uncomfortably silent. Usually, somebody is making noise, but nope, not this time. All you hear is the utensils clatter every couple of seconds.

You glance at Steve, tilting your head slightly across the table to Bucky and Natasha. He returns the stare before looking towards Bucky. “So—”

“You two,” Natasha addresses you and Steve, surprising both of you. “How’ve you two been recently?” She takes a sip of water, giving you both a piercing look.

Both you and Steve glance at each other before looking back at her, “Uh, we’ve been… we’ve been good.” Your confidence falters at her random question.

“‘Good,’ huh?” She traces the rim of her glass, not breaking eye contact with you.

You nod slowly, not sure what she’s implying. “Yep,” you pop the ‘p,’ “‘good.’”

She turns back towards Bucky, for a moment, before humming. “You two been spending a lot of time together?” She phrases it like a question, but knowing her, it’s anything but. It’s a declaration in disguise.

“I mean, we spend lots of time with everyone,” Steve interjects, with you nodding in agreement.

“What about you two?” You try to flip this onto them.

Bucky looks puzzled. You wouldn’t be able to tell if you didn’t know him, but you do. You notice the details, such as a small twitch of his eyebrow, giving away his confusion.

Natasha, undeterred, quips back: “‘We spend lots of time with everyone.’”

You smile, “Touché.”

“We happened to notice that you guys were… conversing in private earlier.” Steve cuts his steak.

“I wouldn’t call that ‘private.’ If you guys could see us, it wasn’t exactly private.” Bucky joins in.

“Well, what else should I call it?” Steve takes a bite of his steak. “Intimate?” He whispers low so that only you four can hear it.

Bucky and Natasha both freeze, eliciting a reaction from one of them is an achievement, but two? They must really be trying to hide their secret.

“‘Intimate.’” Bucky deadpans, eyes flickering to you in disbelief as if asking, “Do you hear this guy?”

You shrug, “We’re only describing what we saw.” You move your food around your plate, avoiding eye contact with Bucky.

“Oh? What about you two?” Bucky scoffs.

You blink, stopping your motion, “What about us?”

“You two looked cozy earlier in the kitchen,” Natasha remarks.

“I was getting water?” You frown, you aren’t sure “cozy” is a word you’d use to describe that situation.

“Really?” She looks at you in mock disbelief. “'Cause I dare say it looked almost,” she smirks, “‘intimate?’”

Just as you’re about to defend yourselves, you’re cut off.

“Okay, what the hell happened? Did something happen? It feels like something happened. Frankly, I’m disappointed in all of you for not saying anything.” All four of you freeze and turn toward Tony.

“Nothing happened,” Steve responds dryly.

“Now why do I find that hard to believe?” Sam asks.

“Maybe we should drop the topic?” You try to smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. Thankfully, Bucky and Natasha seem to agree.

Tony gestures his hand to you, “Great idea. I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

The silence that permeates the room is suffocating, but the rest of the team looks relieved. You try to sneak a glance across the table, and Bucky meets your eyes. He raises an eyebrow, and you try to suppress a smile, but you fail. You cough in order to cover your rising laughter. You notice him smirk at his plate, and you avoid looking at him for the rest of the night. Sometimes you wonder if he is aware of the effect he has on you.

As dinner finishes up, Steve gestures for you to follow him.

“Well, that went better than expected.” You comment.

Steve gives you a look. “Perhaps we were too forward with it.”

You huff, amused, “Yeah, maybe ‘intimate’ was a bit on the nose there.”

Steve looks a bit sheepish, shaking his head. “Okay, we need a new plan. Maybe if we can catch them on their own, it might be easier to stage something.”

You shake your head, “That assumes they can be separated from one another. Every time I think I see Bucky on his own, suddenly Natasha appears out of thin air.”

“Well, Natasha does have a solo mission coming up soon.” Steve walks over to the couch, and you follow close behind.

“So what? We basically ambush Bucky while she’s gone and push him into admitting something?” You place your hand on your hip.

Steve smiles, “Your words, not mine.”

“Wait,” you shake your head, “what are we even aiming for at this point? Are we just trying to get him to admit his feelings for her?” The words feel bitter on your tongue.

“If we can get him to admit his feelings for her, then that makes our job a lot easier.” Steve sits down, looking up at you.

“I guess that’s true…” You look down at your feet, contemplative. “You know when she leaves?”

“Two days.”

“Okay…” You sigh, “We can make that work.”

Steve stands up, clasping his hand on your shoulder, “Don’t look so stressed. It’ll be quick and easy. He won’t need much convincing.”

You give him a soft smile, “Yeah, he won’t.” Your voice is barely a whisper at this point. You doubt Bucky will hesitate at the chance to get with Natasha.

“Well, I’m going to head in for the night. We can plan tomorrow. Goodnight.” He clasps your shoulder before giving a small wave and leaving.

“Night, Steve.” You return the wave.

The next day, you got up early, not because you wanted to, but because Steve knocked on your door at four in the morning.

“Is somebody dying?” You ask, half joking.

He rolls his eyes, “Wanna join me in the gym?” He asks. “We still gotta talk about what our plan will be.”

“You seem too happy about this.” You rub your eyes.

“Come on, I’ve never gotten to set up a date for him. You know, he actually tried to set me up on some dates in the past.” He leans against your doorway.

“Really?” You chuckle at the image. “How’d those go?”

“Eh, they never worked out. I always found interest in other things.” He shrugs.

“Like what? Enlisting in the military?” You smile at him.

He returns the smile, “You know me so well, now get dressed. I want to get there before Buck does.”

You sigh, mourning the sleep you could’ve had, but get changed anyway. When you open the door, Steve is still standing there. “When does Bucky get there?” You ask, continuing the conversation from earlier.

“Usually we go together a little past five,” Steve explains, walking towards the elevator.

“Oh, so you’re trying to avoid him.” You wait for the elevator door to open before walking in.

“You make it sound worse than it actually is.” Steve comments amused.

“I’m just stating the facts.” You mumble, closing the elevator door and tapping the floor number.

Eventually, the door opens up and you two make your way into the gym. “Okay, so…” Steve slowly trails off as both of your eyes widen. You don’t even hide your shocked expression at seeing Bucky and Natasha already in there.

You four all stare at each other for a moment before you try to break the tension, “Uh, hi?”

“Hello,” Natasha responds slowly, “we didn’t expect you two to be down here.”

“Yeah?” You nod. “Well, neither did we.” Your voice gets quieter the more you speak. You turn towards Steve. “I thought you said you and Bucky—” You whisper.

“I’m aware of what I said,” Steve responds, matching your tone.

Bucky and Steve look at each other for a long moment, not saying anything.

“Were you two planning on coming here alone?” Natasha asks slowly, keeping an eye on the super soldiers.

“I guess?” You frown, Steve turns toward Natasha, shaking his head. “I mean, what about you two?”

“Just wanted to get an early start to our day.” Natasha shrugs.

“Us too.” Steve gestures between you two. You nod eagerly.

It seemed the conversation started to die off after that comment, so you make your way to your preferred piece of equipment when Natasha decides to continue.

“Is this about dinner last night?” She asks, making both you and Steve pause.

“What?” You frown.

Natasha sighs, tilting her head to the side, looking at you two expectantly.

You look at Steve to try to gauge his reaction. “What about last night? I thought we moved on.” You give her a confused smile.

“Did you guys follow us down here?” Bucky asks, his eyes on you and you alone.

Your lips part in genuine shock, “No? Why would we?”

“I don’t know, you two seemed awfully passionate last night.” Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“‘Passionate?’” You repeat incredulously.

You turn towards Bucky as if to plead for him to understand, “In what world was that conversation ‘passionate?’” You shake your head. “What about you two? If we were passionate, then so were you two.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow, “We weren’t.”

You cross your arms. “Really?”

“Really.” You are briefly taken aback at his strong conviction, but nod anyway.

Steve sighs, “We weren’t spying on you.” He turns to Natasha. “Why are you two still hung up over dinner last night anyway?”

“We aren’t.” Natasha glares at Steve.

“You brought up the topic yesterday, and you’re bringing it up again today.” Steve frowns.

You groan, “We aren’t getting anywhere.” You turn toward Bucky. “Please, Bucky, I don’t know what you guys are talking about, but I promise we aren’t following you two. This has nothing to do with dinner. We just came to use the gym.” You don’t look away from him once.

Bucky looks at you for a long moment before looking back at Steve and Natasha, who are still talking (or yelling at this point). “Nat, let’s just go somewhere else.” He stands up, sparing you a meaningful glance before he ushers Natasha out.

You and Steve both watch, surprised. “Why didn’t you try that before she started grilling me?” He looks at you.

Your mouth parts, “I didn’t think it’d work.”

The four of you silently agreed to let that day go. You don’t even hide your sigh of relief when Bucky gives you the same smile he always does when he walks past you. You were worried he’d be upset at you, but it seems he let it go.

“Okay, so maybe you can trip him—”

“‘Trip him?’” You rub your temples. “Not all of us are super soldiers, Steve. Bucky is more likely to trip me while I try to trip him.”

“Well,” he pauses, frowning, “okay, maybe you can trip Natasha?”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” You shake your head, not looking at him.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, then what do you have in mind?”

You take a long sip of your water, “I dunno.”

“Great, so what I’m hearing is, we trip Natasha. Make sure Bucky is nearby, and hypothetically, he should catch her.” Steve spins a pencil in his hand.

“How would I even go about trying to trip Nat?” You look up at him.

He shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, you can push her if that makes it easier?”

“‘Push her?!’” You repeat. “Captain America himself wants me to push her so that she can fall in Bucky’s arms?” You look at him, slightly dumbfounded

He snaps before pointing a finger at you, “Yes.”

“Is this how you got dates in the 40s?” You rub your temple, looking away from him.

“I didn’t, remember? Buck set them all up for me.” He responds, not an ounce of sympathy in his tone for the headache he is causing you.

“I can see why he had to, my goodness.” You sigh. He gives you a disapproving look.

“What if he doesn’t catch her?” You ask, leaning against the desk you two were planning on. There is a large piece of paper littered with stick figures sprawled out on top of it. The top of the page has “The Plan” written in black sharpie.

“He will,” Steve says confidently.

“Okay, what if Natasha catches herself?” You put your hand down next to Natasha’s stick figure.

“Well,” he pauses, “make sure you push her hard.”

“Natasha will kill me.” You sit down at the desk, setting your head onto it.

Steve pats your shoulder, “She will un-kill you after she gets with Bucky. Now come on, this will be great.”

You sigh, grabbing your phone before following Steve out of the room. “You sure you wanna do this now?” You ask, speeding up to walk side by side with him.

“I don’t see why not. No time like the present.” He keeps his long stride.

“How are we even gonna position them to be near each other? Maybe we should reconsider.” You frown, following as he sharply turns around corners of the hallway without slowing down.

“Just get Romanoff down, I’ll handle the rest.”

“Okay, well if you—”

You run into somebody, and it’s somebody strong. They immediately cause you to fall back a little, but they immediately clutch your arms. “Shit- You okay?” You immediately recognize Bucky’s voice.

“Oh, uh, yeah?” Your brain freezes the moment you try to speak to him.

“Is that an answer or a question?” He smirks, still holding onto you.

“Answer. It was an answer.” You regain your confidence, smiling back at him.

“Alright,” he slowly lets go of your arm, almost reluctantly, “what are you two speeding around for?” He finally addresses Steve. Steve looks between the two of you, seemingly baffled.

“Places to be,” Steve says slowly, his eyes still on you.

“Oh,” Bucky seems to be surprised. He turns away from Bucky to face you. “Oh.” He suddenly looks uncomfortable. “Well, I’ll leave you guys at it.” He looks towards Steve again, offering a small smile and nod before leaving.

You and Steve watch as he walks away. “You were supposed to trip Nat, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off.

“And didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t trip Bucky?” He adds, walking down the hall you two were heading down.

“I technically didn’t. I ran right into him.” You respond dryly.

“Yeah, I guess.” You follow up right beside him. “It’s a shame that would’ve been perfect. It was just the wrong girl.” He looks toward you, giving you an indecipherable look.

“Yeah,” you look down at your shoes, “the wrong girl.”

It turns out that, despite having good plans for missions, Steve actually really sucked at coming up with good plans to get Natasha and Bucky together.

You two didn’t even get a chance to trip Natasha. You somehow failed the mission before you made it into a room. Granted, you imagine that if you successfully made it to Nat and tripped her, it would have been a whole lot worse.

So, you two were out of ideas.

“Why don’t we just wait til Nat leaves to talk to him?” You ask, tapping your pencil’s eraser onto the Bucky stick figure’s head.

“Because Buck doesn’t even have her personal number yet.” Steve takes away your pencil, getting annoyed with the constant tapping noise.

“What? How do you know? Did you ask him?” You immediately sit up, firing questions at him.

“I didn’t need to ask him. He has like four contacts on his personal phone. I figured you would ask me to make sure, so yes, I did ask him.” Steve nods.

“I’m not sure whether to take offense at that. Anyway,” You tap your hands onto the desk. “Idea! Okay, so what if we stage something for them? I have Nat’s personal number. You have Bucky’s right?” You look at Steve optimistically.

“I do.” He responds, not matching your enthusiasm.

“Perfecttt,” You grin. “So maybe we just talk to them and casually mention that ‘Oh, I have their number! Ya know, in case you want it.’ That way, they can stay in touch while Nat is gone.”

Steve looks doubtful, “That’s your idea?”

You lean back, offended, “It’s better than you telling me to trip her!” You cross your arms. “Come on, you’ll just have to talk to Nat and casually add at some point that you have Bucky’s number. Make sure it seems natural. She’ll know if the change in topic seems too abrupt. Meanwhile, I’ll go talk to Bucky, give him Nat’s phone number.” You smile at Steve.

He looks at you, frowning, but he eventually nods. “Alright.”

You hide your joy at your victory, standing up to leave the room. As you begin your search to find him, you’re hit with a wave of dread. Dread that had been previously there, but subdued.

Hanging out with Steve helped you forget that you were setting up your crush with one of your friends. Now it’s getting real. You have an actual plan, and you were so happy that you thought of an actual idea that you almost forgot what exactly you were setting up.

Despite every bone pleading in your body to stay, to not go through with this, you go. You go because you know this is what he wants. This is what will make him happy.

It has to.

The next day, you and Steve decided to enact your plan. You had pretty high hopes, after all, there’s not really a way it could fail. Well, they could decline the numbers, but you throw out that possibility.

It was early in the afternoon when you and Steve split up. Knowing Bucky’s schedule (which is not weird at all, he’s your friend) came to be very useful in this situation. There he was, in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. You stare at him for a minute before approaching him.

“Hey,” you grin at him.

He looks startled by your presence, immediately standing up straighter and clearing his throat. “Hey,” he returns your greeting.

“Haven’t seen you alone in a minute.” You start off casually. You don’t want to immediately throw Natasha’s number in his face. You gotta build up to it.

He smirks, “Could say the same about you.”

You chuckle, “Fair enough.” You place yourself on the counter next to him. He watches you the entire time. “So,” you tap your finger on the counter, “how’ve you been?”

He shrugs, “Could be better, could be worse. You?” He looks down.

“I’m alright.” You nod, quickly realizing you aren’t sure how you’ll continue this conversation.

A long moment of silence goes by, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, you almost find yourself enjoying it. You try to look at him a few times, but he continues to stare down at his feet.

“Sorry about the other night.” He breaks the silence.

You turn toward him, slightly confused. “Sorry for..?”

“Dinner,” he clarifies, gesturing a hand out, “and the next day.”

“Oh,” you respond, blinking in surprise. “It’s fine, really. We all moved on.” You place a hand on his shoulder casually. You feel him relax slightly under your touch, almost as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“I know, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to bring it up. I just,” he looks at you, “I didn’t mean to push the topic so hard.”

You shake your head, “Bucky, don’t worry about it. In your defense, we were also kinda pushy too.” You rub his shoulder.

“Yeah, but we started the conversation.” Bucky insists. Does he want you to be mad at him?

“How about we compromise? We are both at fault.” You suggest, he seems hesitant to accept it, but you give him a pleading look. “Please? For me?” You ask.

He scoffs before turning back to you and sighing, “For you.”

You grin at him, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “Great! Now that we have that out of the way, I have something you might be interested in.” So maybe you're a little impatient.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. He watches as you scroll through your phone.

“So, Steve tells me you do not have a certain someone’s number in your contact list.” You smirk at him, hiding your screen.

Bucky frowns, “I have all of your guys’ numbers.”

You shake your head, “No, I meant on your personal phone.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “Uh, yeah, I guess not.” He mutters.

“Well, I guess you can thank me later.” You scroll down to show Natasha’s number, turning your screen towards him. Her name isn’t visible on the screen, but he knows who this is for.

He blinks slowly at the screen for a moment before turning toward you, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I mean it’s always good to expand your contacts with new friends.” You shrug.

He shakes his head, amused, “I guess so.” You watch as he enters the number into his contact before he starts typing her nam-

That’s not her name.

“What… What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he types your name onto the contact that is definitely Natasha’s number.

He frowns at you, confused, “Adding your contact?”

You gape at him as he continues to stare at you, confusion clear in his eyes. “Oh, that’s uh,” you clear your throat, “that’s Nat’s number.” You clarify.

He looks down at the screen, which has your name plastered clearly onto it. “Oh.” He slowly erases it before putting “Natasha” on his phone. Well, at least they don’t have cute nicknames for each other. You might’ve jumped off the tower if that were the case.

“Sorry about the confusion,” you look back down at your phone, slightly embarrassed.

“No, no, it’s okay.” He chuckles as he puts a hand on your shoulder, helping diffuse the tension. He nudges your foot, making you look up at him. “How about I get yours too? After all, I’d like to ‘expand my contacts.’” He holds out his phone, his number reflected on the screen.

You look up at him, instantly feeling your face heat up once you see the smirk on his face. Remembering why you are here, you compose yourself before adding a new contact labeled “Bucky.” You text him a simple “hi” to make sure he gets your number as well.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You literally feel your heart rate skyrocket.

You nudge his foot, and he laughs, “Bold move there, Barnes.” You look away so that he can’t see the pure fondness in your eyes.

“Worked, didn’t it?” He opens your message, holding it up like it’s a damn trophy.

You exhale, not able to withhold your smile, “Yeah, yeah, it did.”

Later that night, you meet up with Steve.

You walk into your meeting room with a smile on your face, “I take it somebody was successful?” Steve asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, mission successful.” You take a seat next to him. “How’d yours go?”

Steve gives a long exhale, “She got it.”

You nudge him, “Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“It wasn’t bad,” he shakes his head. “She was just very hesitant,” he taps the arm rest mindlessly, “and confused.” He adds on. “You run into any issues?”

“Not really, he did ask for my number as well. Figured he wants to get past those four contacts you mentioned. Perhaps he’ll reach ten by the end of the month.” You joke.

“He asked or you offered?” Steve tilts his head at you.

“Does it matter? He asked and then said, and I quote, he wanted to ‘expand his contacts.’” You do air quotes as you speak.

Steve looks down at the ground in front of you, contemplative. “You good?” You ask, and his eyes snap back to you.

“Fine. How would we know if Nat texts Steve or vice versa?” He leans against the desk.

You shrug, “We won’t.”

“So there’s a chance that all of that was for nothing?” Steve walks over to the desk.

“It’s not for nothing, don’t be dramatic.” You sigh, at least for you it wasn’t. Steve watches you through his peripherals. “At least my plan has the potential to work. Your plan failed before we even got them in the same room together.” You frown at him, offended.

“That’s because you bumped into Bucky!” Steve points a finger at you.

“That’s because I was trying to keep up with you! You were walking beyond what anybody would consider a ‘normal speed.’” You do air quotes.

He rubs his temples, and you lean into your chair. “What are we doing?” He asks. You aren’t sure if he’s asking you or himself.

“I assumed you were the one with the answer.” You stare at the ceiling. You feel Steve give you that same “Really?” look he loves to give.

“Alright, let’s just wait til tomorrow.” Steve leans against the desk. “We’ll wait til Nat is gone, and then we can talk to him.

“Alright,” you nod, “sounds good to me.” You sit up straight.

“Meet here at eight tomorrow.” Steve looks at you.

You give him a mock salute, “Yes, Cap.” He kicks your foot.

“Get out of here.” He rolls his eyes, but there is a smile on his face.

You bid him goodbye before making your way out of your meeting room. On the way out, you decide to grab a quick snack. You grab some chips from the cabinet before closing it and turning around.

“Oh my— Geez, Nat.” You jump as you see Natasha appear behind you. “Scared me.” You lean your elbows against the counter.

“Sorry,” you note that she doesn’t sound very apologetic, “just wanted to ask you something.”

You stand up straighter. Is this something serious? “What’s up?”

“We were planning on going for a walk later. Perhaps we can get something after, do you want to join us?” Natasha smirks.

Not serious. All that for a not-so-serious question. “Sur-”

“Oh, Steve is coming.” You blink at her interjection. “Just thought you should know.”

“Oh, okay?” You laugh. Did Steve just decide not to mention this? That’s odd, you were just with him. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great,” Natasha smiles before starting to walk away, “meet us in the lobby at seven.” She says over her shoulder before disappearing from sight.

You stand there alone in the kitchen, chips forgotten, “Okay?”

You decided to go back to your room after the strange encounter, not thinking much about it. You tidy up your room a bit and scroll on your phone for a bit. Before you know it, it is time to go. You grab your stuff before heading to the elevator and descending to the lobby.

“Hey guys,” You smile at Natasha and Steve. “We ready to go?”

“Waiting on Buck,” Steve responds, looking towards the elevator as it opens to reveal a person who is decidedly not Bucky.

“Oh,” You weren’t aware he was coming. Actually, you feel substantially worse now that you know he’s coming. Did Natasha invite you and Steve to third wheel?

“Don’t worry, we’ll give you two plenty of space,” Natasha smirks, giving you a small wink.

You blink, “Okay?” You whisper to yourself. Bucky finally appears once the elevator opens again, and he walks over to you three.

“Sorry about that, ready?” He smiles at you and Steve before you all agree to leave.

You let Bucky and Natasha lead for a bit before turning to Steve, “You didn’t mention that you planned this.” You whisper to him.

He turns towards you, frowning. “I thought you planned this. Buck told me you were coming, so I thought you had some plan.”

You both turn toward Bucky and Natasha, then back to each other. “They got us.” You sigh.

“No, we can work with this.” Steve tries optimistically.

“We can try.” You mumble tiredly.

The four of you walk around the city, eventually getting to the park. Natasha seems to attempt to make eye contact with you on multiple occasions. You offer her a small thumbs-up. At least things seem to be going well for her and Bucky. You and Steve haven’t needed to do anything.

“I have an idea.” You nudge Steve. “You see them on the bridge over there?” You gesture over to where Bucky and Natasha are talking on the bridge. “Let’s offer to take photos for them.” You smile at him.

“That’s an… idea.” Steve watches as you pull out your phone.

“Come on, let’s go.” You elbow him before heading over to the bridge.

“Hey! You two want a photo together?” You walk up to them, phone in hand.

Bucky freezes before turning around to face you. Even Natasha looks startled. You smile at him innocently, holding up your phone with the camera app.

“Do we get a choice—”

You cut Bucky off, “Annnnd smile!” You take various photos of them.

“Put your hand on her shoulder, Buck,” Steve calls out from beside you.

“Are we photographing a family portrait?” Bucky retorts, amusement in his tone.

“A future one, maybe.” You whisper to yourself, slightly bitter.

“Okay, done.” You give them a thumbs up. “Those were so cute, you two. I’ll send them to you both.” You smile at them. The sooner you send them, the sooner they are out of your gallery. Those are not photos you need to keep in your phone, for your sanity’s sake.

The four of you continue to trek your way through the park. At some point, Natasha and Steve get caught up talking about the mission she’s leaving on.

“There are ducks over there.” Bucky finds his way next to you.

You turn to where he’s pointing, seeing five, maybe six ducks on the shore of the lake. “Oh my goodness,” you frantically pull out your phone. You were honestly surprised that Bucky remembered that you liked taking photos of animals.

“Want me to take a picture of you with them?” Bucky asks.

You slowly pull your phone down, “Oh, sure.” You hand him your phone.

He steps back, and you let him take a few pictures of you with the ducks. “Thanks, Bucky.” You smile.

“It’s no issue at all.” He smiles.

You don’t know where the sudden burst of confidence came from, but you grab his shoulder and pull him next to you.

“What are you—”

“Smile!” You snap probably a dozen selfies of you and him in front of the ducks. He initially looks stunned by your action, but then he eventually gives the camera a small smile.

“Aw, these are cute.” You say scrolling through the photos. “Look at how shocked you look in this one!” You turn around to show him your phone, only to find he’s already been staring at the photos from over your shoulder.

“Send those to me.” He whispers, his voice right next to your ear.

“Of course.” You smile at him.

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice catches both of your attention. “Where’ve you two been?” She asks, frowning.

You point your thumb to the ducks behind you two, “Oh,” she looks towards Bucky. “Well, come on, we were going to go get ice cream.” She walks away before either of you responds.

Despite your actual objective having no progression, with Steve talking with Natasha and you talking with Bucky, you’d say that the whole adventure was pretty fun. By this point, it was pretty dark, so the group decided to wrap things up.

You guys walk to a small ice cream shop a couple of streets away from the tower. Steve and Nat go in first to order. You tell the worker what you’d like before Bucky comes along.

“I’ll have chocolate chip cookie dough.” He tells the employee. You all decided to get cups this time around. Once Bucky gets his ice cream, you all pay before walking out.

You happily enjoy your ice cream, and you feel almost at peace right now. You could almost forget the fact that you and Steve are probably intruding on what could’ve been a date. Bucky and Natasha do such a good job of hiding their relationship that you almost think they aren’t dating. Bucky has actually spent more time next to you this trip than anyone else.

“Your ice cream good?” You walk up to Bucky. He nods, “Wanna try?” He asks, tilting his cup towards you.

This means nothing. This means nothing. This means nothing. “Sure!” You take your spoon and get a small bit of his ice cream before eating it. “Oooh, that is good!”

He chuckles, “You want more?”

You shake your head, “Nah, it’s okay.” You tilt your cup towards him. “Do you wanna try mine?” You try not to think too much about what you offer.

He seems hesitant to accept, but you offer him a warm smile as if you want him to try it. “Sure.” He gets a small bit of your ice cream. “That’s good.” You smile, happy he enjoyed your choice.

You eventually cave under Bucky’s persistent offers to share the ice cream. By the time you both finish, you realize you basically just split ice cream. You failed to notice how Steve gave you both odd looks as you shared ice cream. Before you know it, the four of you arrive at the tower and are crowding into the elevator.

“Well, I’m done for the night,” Steve says as you guys walk out into the common area.

“Yeah, that was fun though.” You add, and everybody murmurs in agreement.

You all bid each other goodnight, and you start to get ready for bed. Right as you plop into bed, ready to knock out for the night, you check your phone. Who is texting you at—

Hey, so I noticed you haven’t sent me those photos we took by the ducks. Do you mind sending them?

Instantly awake, you grip your phone, staring at the message. Do you open it now? What if he thinks it’s weird that you read his message so fast? Does he even care if you read his message immediately? Does he know general texting etiquette like that?

Oh shoot my bad

You attach the photos and send the best ones you could find.

I only sent you the best ones :)

You stare at your phone, watching as the bubble appears, showing he is typing.

Just the best ones? I’m sure all of them are perfect. Send them all.

You instantly feel your face heat up, and you kick your feet against the bed. Damn, you are glad he can’t see you acting like this.

Please.

You snort as he adds on that last text. It’s okay, though. Nobody is in your room. Nobody can judge if you act a little crazy.

Alright, but don’t blame me if they’re bad lol

You attach all the photos you guys took in front of the ducks.

Sorry I may have spammed the camera without thinking. There’s a lot.

You watch as he types his next response out.

That’s okay. Thanks.

You decide to heart the message, and then put your phone down, thinking that’s the end of the conversation. You look up at the ceiling with a massive grin on your face. You turn off all the lights and get under the covers when you hear it: a vibration.

Instantly, your hand shoots out from under the blankets into the cold air, grabbing hold of your phone.

Don’t you find it funny how Nat made us all go out to get away from work, and then proceeded to talk to Steve about work for the whole walk?

You stare at the message, an actual conversation?

Omg fr I was like bro come on why did they ditch us like that??

You eagerly await the next message. You watch the texting bubble.

I haven’t heard “fr” yet. What does that mean?

You beam at the screen.

You walk into the meeting spot right on time, rubbing your eyes.

“Okay, so— What happened to you?” Steve starts out before frowning at your disheveled state.

“I was up late.” You respond shortly.

“I knocked out last night. How long were you up til?” He asks.

“Like two? Maybe three?” You shrug, sitting down in one of the chairs.

“Doing what?” He asks, you didn’t realize he was so nosy.

“On my phone. Anyway,” You wave a hand for him to continue his original rant.

“What could you be doing on your phone that late?” He asks, frowning.

“Watching videos, doomscrolling.” You say, trying to ignore the voice in your head saying, “I was texting Bucky for hours, my bad.”

He looks at you, “Alright, well, maybe avoid doing that.”

“Yes, sir, Captain.” You spin in your chair twice before stopping. “Alright, now what is this plan you wanted to tell me about?”

He sighs, “As I was saying, Natasha is already gone by this point. Her mission shouldn’t take more than a day, as it’s pretty close to New York. I will talk to Bucky and try to open him up to the idea of a relationship.” You nod along to his plan.

“Then, later that day, you will just casually bring it up to him. Maybe even mention Nat by name. We won’t do it immediately, though. We don’t want him to think our efforts are coordinated. Let it roll around in his head for a bit. This is where you come in. You bring up dating again. Make him think ‘Wow, two people are telling me I should date somebody? Maybe I should.’ By this point, it’ll be night, and he’ll fall asleep thinking of Nat. Then I come around the next morning, and he agrees to let us help him get with Nat.” Steve gives a proud smile at the end of his plan.

You blink at him slowly, your brain still sluggish. “Yeah, sure.”

Steve smiles, “Oh, come on, give me more than that. It’s a good plan.”

“It’s a plan.” You say dryly. “Let’s just hope it works.” You stand up.

“It will, trust me. Okay, as for specific timing, I will go talk to Bucky now. You will wait at least six hours before talking to him.” Steve checks the time.

“Alright,” You give a small smile, “if this works though, Bucky owes us bigtime.”

“Oh hell yeah, he does.”

You went about your day normally. You didn’t really want to think about how you were going to approach Bucky. Hours and hours passed until you eventually got the text from Steve. “It’s time.” It read, perhaps a bit ominous for your liking.

You walk around the tower in search of Bucky, and surprisingly, it doesn’t take long to find him. You walk into the common area, having zero expectations, and find yourself staring at Bucky on the couch.

He looks up straight at you, and you’re both frozen in place. For some reason, you get this feeling that he expected you.

“Hey,” You greet him, walking over slowly.

“Hey,” He returns, and it’s so quiet.

“Mourning the absence of the other half?” You joke, leaning onto the couch opposite him.

He raises an eyebrow, “Steve? Didn’t realize he left the tower.”

Thrown off guard, you frown, “What? I meant Nat.”

He nods slowly, glancing at the elevator before nodding, “Right,” he draws out.

“How’ve you two been anyway?” You ask, taking a seat on the couch, facing him.

“Nat and I? Fine?” He seems a bit puzzled by the question, but answers it regardless.

You cross your legs, leaning onto the armrest, “Just ‘fine?’”

He frowns, shrugging, but nodding nonetheless.

You open your mouth to speak, but hesitate. He’s looking at you, and it feels like he can read your mind. Does he know how much you hate this? He couldn’t. This whole time, you haven’t struggled with aiding Steve in this operation. You’ve been doing well. Pull yourself together.

You shake your head inconspicuously before continuing, “You’d be cute together, you know.” Your voice doesn’t stutter, and it sounds confident.

Bucky’s mouth parts, as if surprised by the assessment. “You think?”

You nod, fidgeting with the fabric of the couch in order to avoid eye contact. “Yeah, I mean, you two spend a lot of time together. She’s badass, you’re badass. Power couple, ya know?”

You feel Bucky smirk at your comment, “You think I’m badass?” He chuckles.

You turn to look at him reproachfully, “That’s what you took from that?”

“I heard the rest, don’t worry.” His smirk widens.

You debate throwing a pillow at him, “Yeah huh.”

“I’m serious. What, you don’t believe me?” He shakes his head, as if offended. You know he isn’t.

“No, not really.” You can’t help the smile that appears on your lips.

He chuckles lowly, “That’s painful, sweetheart.” He gives a quick glance at the elevator.

You have to stay focused. Do not look at Bucky. Do not look at Bucky. That’s just how he is. You can’t help but think back to how Steve said Bucky was always the one who set up dates for him. If this was how Bucky talked to girls back then, you would’ve also caved.

“You’ll live, sweetheart.” You mock him, if only to detract attention from your embarrassment. You await his laughter, perhaps a scoff, or even an overly exaggerated sigh.

Instead, he remains silent. You turn to look at him, but he just seems frozen, staring at you. The moment your eyes meet, he laughs, but it sounds strained. You raise an eyebrow at his odd behavior.

Suddenly, the elevator rings out. You don’t think much of it, but Bucky gives it an oddly conflicted look. Relieved? Pained? You can’t tell. Then you turn around.

Natasha walks in, and you feel your brain short-circuit. You watch, trying to hide your obvious shock, as Natasha walks over to where Bucky is. They greet each other casually, as if you aren’t there. Ouch.

You guess that Steve was wrong.

It’s fine. Really, it’s okay. It’s okay. Steve didn’t exactly give you a backup plan on what to do. This is going great.

Eventually, Natasha turns to greet you, and you smile at her. “I didn’t realize your mission would be so quick.”

She gives a knowing smirk, “I left last night so I could finish it early.”

“Oh,” you respond eloquently. “Welcome back.” You aren’t feeling very “welcome” yourself, but that’s not important right now.

“Thanks,” she takes a seat on the couch next to Bucky.

You look between the two of them. Sorry Steve.

“Well, I’ll leave you two—”

“You and Steve? How’ve you been?” Natasha smiles, crossing her legs.

“Uh,” you glance between her and Bucky, “Good. Good? I guess? I can’t speak for him.”

“You can’t?” Natasha raises an eyebrow, clearly doubting your statement.

“No? Should I?” You frown.

Natasha sighs, “Look, we wanted to catch you on your own since we concluded that you’re less clueless than Steve.”

You blink, “Thanks?” You don’t like where this is headed. You need to get out.

“As your friends,” Natasha gestures between her and Bucky, “we feel obligated to help you.”

“Did you two plan this?” You ask them. Both of them ignore your question, but Bucky decidedly avoids your eyes.

“Look, we saw you two talking.” Bucky leans forward from his spot on the couch. “And it’s,” he looks away, “agonizing seeing you two dance around each other.”

You gape at Bucky, “You are severely misinterpreting what you saw.”

“You guys have been meeting in one of the old storage rooms.” Natasha deadpans.

“You are…” You point to Nat, “also misinterpreting that.”

“Really?” Bucky responds detachedly.

“Yes. Whatever you guys are seeing is not what you think.” You sit up straighter.

Bucky scoffs, and Natasha gives a long sigh. “Fine, live in denial.” He looks directly into your eyes. You take a deep breath as he shakes his head, “I- We will be here when you want to tell us the truth.” Bucky stands up, ready to walk away.

You furrow your eyebrows, “You aren’t going to believe anything I say, are you?”

“I’ve seen you two.” He seethes.

You shake your head, looking away from him. “Fine, believe whatever you want.” You toss your hands up in the air. “If you want to believe I’m sneaking around with Steve, you can believe that. I told you the truth. It’s your choice whether you want to believe that.” Bucky seems to falter at your words.

You don’t wait to hear what they have to say next before you walk off. Of course, you had to be the one they confronted. Couldn’t be Steve, no.

You make it back to your room, closing the door behind you. You pull out your phone.

They think we’re sneaking around together

You don’t even have to wait a minute before Steve responds.

What?

You flop onto your bed.

Bucky and Nat think we’re trying to hide some secret relationship or something

This time, you wait a bit longer for a response.

How? How could they possibly come to that conclusion? Did Bucky tell you?

Bucky and Nat told me. They’re both here.

She’s back already?

Yupppp, I think they planned to confront me about this. She left for her mission early. She not tell you?

Not a word.

He sends another text immediately after:

I’ll talk to her.

You groan, throwing your phone onto the mattress before grabbing a pillow and slamming it onto your face.

You lean against the wall, waiting for Steve’s door to open. You had gone to sleep that night, not wanting to deal with the aftermath of whatever that was. Steve hadn’t said anything after his last text.

You have your phone in your hand, and you tap the side of it anxiously. The door opens up, and you immediately move to greet Steve.

“What happened?” You ask, making him stumble.

“Jesus, how long have you been there?” He asks.

“Like twenty minutes,” you follow him as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Now what happened?”

He starts to make himself a smoothie, and you lean on the counter watching. “I talked to Nat.”

You raise your eyebrows, gesturing for him to continue. “Okay? Details?”

He sighs, “I told her that we aren’t in a relationship.”

“Did she believe you?” You grab an apple from the counter.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Seemed like it?”

“‘Seemed like it?’” You take a bite of the apple.

“Yeah, I dunno.” He grabs the ice tray from the freezer.

“How are you so calm about this?” You watch him in disbelief.

Steve pauses his movement, looking up at you, conflicted.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He puts all items down on the counter, giving you his full attention.

“What?” You blink.

“About Bucky.” He almost looks sympathetic.

“What are you talking about?” Is he implying what you think he’s implying?

“Don’t,” he shakes his head, “Don’t play stupid.”

You remain silent.

“When you bumped into him in the hallway, I thought it was odd. He was acting bizarre.” Smoothie forgotten, he moves closer to you to keep your conversation quiet.

“I thought maybe it was a fluke, but then you told me that he gave you his number.” He gives a small chuckle. “He is picky with who he adds to his contacts.”

Suddenly, your mouth feels dry. You can’t form words; you can only listen as Steve lists out the different pieces of evidence.

“Then he shared his ice cream with you.” Steve shakes his head at you.

You look down, away from his unwavering stare. “We’re just good friends?” You respond, but even you’re questioning it.

“I’m his best friend, you don’t see me scooping ice cream out of his cup.” Steve deadpans. You cover your face with your hands.

“Were you ever going to say anything?” Steve asks softly, a frown on his face.

“I dunno, you sounded so convinced that he’d be happy with Nat, I tried to ignore it.” You mumble into your hands.

“I wouldn’t have done any of this if I knew you actively liked him.” Steve sighs.

You shake your head, “I didn’t think it mattered. You’re his best friend. If you thought he liked Nat, then that was probably the most likely scenario.”

Steve leans against the counter, “This is a mess now.” He says softly.

You laugh humorlessly. “Yep.”

He turns to you, “Are you going to do anything about it?”

You give a dead stare to the fridge in front of you, “Nope.”

Steve looks like he was slapped, and it’d be funny in literally any other situation. “So you’re just going to leave him with Nat?”

“Yeah,” You look down at the ground.

He remains silent for a moment before standing up straight. “I gotta go.”

You blink, “What—”

“I’ll talk to you later!” He calls out, pulling out his phone.

You look at the cluttered counter, “Your smoothie?” You look at the forgotten ingredients.

“Guess I’m making one now.” You sigh, picking up where he left off.

After your talk with Steve, you pretty much locked yourself in your room for the rest of the day. Was it sad? Absolutely. However, you didn’t have the energy to face any of the people involved in whatever that was. The chances of seeing those people are pretty high, seeing as they live here, so yeah, you stayed in your room.

You didn’t get any texts from anybody (not that you were checking). So, you put on some of your comfort movies and watched those for most of the day.

Steve didn’t come to say anything, which you do find a bit surprising. You expected at least a text of “You okay?” He seemed concerned about your feelings earlier. Perhaps he realized that you and Bucky were a hopeless case. Which, yeah, true, but it still hurts.

You couldn’t help but rethink the past few days. When Steve laid it out like he did, it really seemed like Bucky could’ve liked you. You had ignored the signs because, well, Natasha was right there. Despite everything that’s happened, you still have that infinitesimally small spark of hope that he returned your affection.

You pull out your phone, the movie droning on in the background. You open photos and see the selfies you took with Bucky. You tap on the first one, smiling at how unprepared he looked. You scrolled through some of them until you stopped at one.

It wasn’t one of the ones you had originally considered the best. After all, he wasn’t looking at the camera. What made you pause is where he is looking.

You.

He was looking at you.

You had a smile on your face, staring at the camera, oblivious to his gaze. The look he gave you wasn’t something you recognized. It wasn’t a look he gave Natasha, nor a look he gave Steve.

You dare to say it looks lovesick. The same emotions that had you giggling and kicking your feet late at night. The same emotions that had you avert your gaze when the word “sweetheart” was uttered by him. The same emotions that had you texting until early mornings, awaiting a response instead of sleeping.

You favorite the photo, immediately hiding your screen as if somebody would see you.

A loud knock startles you, and you stand up, frantically throwing your phone (which lands safely on your mattress). You approach the door to see Steve there.

“Hi?” You ask, looking at his hand still raised to knock.

“Hello,” he puts his hand down, “so I may have done something.” He whispers to you.

“Okay?” You raise an eyebrow.

“So, remember how we were talking about Bucky earlier?” He asks.

How could you not? “Eh, maybe a little.” You respond sarcastically.

“I made a plan.” He looks at you proudly. “For you two, not Nat.”

You look at him in horror, “All of your plans for helping him with Nat were awful. How is this going to be any better?”

“Uncalled for, but this is good, I promise.” He gives you a small smile.

“Okay,” you look at him doubtfully.

“I told him I’d meet him in the common area to hang out in fifteen minutes. However, I want you to be there before then. He will be expecting me, and then see you. Then you two can hash out.” He leans against your door.

You look at him, blinking. “You serious?”

“Yes. I figured it’s the least I owe you for making you suffer through all of that.” He waves his hand as he talks about the past. You stand there speechless. “You might wanna go now, no rush.” He gives you a smirk before leaving you standing at the door.

You turn around and zip around the room, you try to make yourself slightly presentable with the less than fifteen minutes Steve gave you. You are about to walk out of your room before you decide at the last second to grab your phone.

You walk to the common area, taking deep breaths. You eventually pick a couch to sit on, pulling out your phone so that at least if somebody (Bucky) walks by, you aren’t staring at nothing. You stare at your reflection on the screen, feeling your heart race.

The couple of minutes you sit there feel like an eternity. While waiting, you open every app on your phone before closing it seconds later. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Perhaps Steve is making a mistake, and wouldn’t that be soul-crushing?

Minutes go by before you hear them: footsteps. You fight the urge to look up as they approach.

He says your name.

You look up casually, as if you haven’t been waiting for his arrival. “Oh, hey, Bucky.” You smile at him, giving him a slight wave with your phone. You both remain silent.

You try not to watch as he slowly makes his way over to the couch opposite you. He sits down, and your gaze flickers to him a few times. You should put your phone down. You should definitely put your phone down. The issue with that is it’s the only thing protecting you from just blatantly staring at him.

“I believe you.” He breaks the silence after what felt like minutes.

You look up to him, confused.

He meets your gaze, “The other night. When I thought you were with Steve.” He clarifies.

“Oh,” you pause, “don’t worry. I’m sure the situation did look weird from an outsider's perspective.”

“That shouldn’t have mattered.” He shakes his head. “I should’ve believed you, I was just…” He looks away. “Steve is my best friend. He looked happy with you. You two would sneak away and meet up secretly. I wanted him to be happy. He hasn’t found somebody who made him act like that since Peggy. I thought that maybe you’d be the one.” He looks up at you. “And I know, I know, that isn’t what you two had. I just made an assumption, a bad one.”

“You were upset that I was taking away that potential happiness from him?” You begin to understand.

“No.” He instantly says, “I mean, yes, but that wasn’t the main reason.”

You take a deep breath, digesting the information. “Because of me.” You whisper.

He gives you a tired smile, “I thought that maybe if I made Steve happy, that would triumph over the ache I felt for you. When you rejected the idea of getting with Steve,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t know what to do. I assumed you didn’t like me because you never attempted to do the things you did with him with me. You never snuck away to talk to me, never conspired with me like you did with him or anything. I figured it was a lost cause and damage control by that point.”

“You liked me?” The words are a question, but your tone makes it sound like a statement. He nods slowly.

You stare at him before leaning back and covering your eyes with your hand. “I know, please don’t feel obligated to—”

“I liked you too, but I thought you liked Nat.” You say, abashed.

That makes him stop talking instantly. “What?”

“You were talking with her that one night, Steve and I happened to see it at the same time. He started telling me how he couldn’t believe you two weren’t dating.” You chuckle, looking up at Bucky’s astonished expression.

“So we came up with a lot of plans,” you continue, “to try and get you two together. It failed, obviously.” You gesture between you both.

Bucky rubs his temples before leaning forward from his spot on the couch. “You aren’t joking?”

You smile, but it comes out more like a grimace, ”I wish.”

“That night,” he starts slowly, “we saw you two plotting. Nat instantly spotted it. She told me she had been wanting to set him up with somebody.” You feel your stomach drop. There’s no way this story goes where you think it’s going.

“She told me how cute it’d be if you two got together, and well,” he gestures to the room around him.

“That night she came over and asked if I wanted to join you guys on a walk…” You shake your head.

“Her idea.” He responds dryly. “I assume the phone number thing was one of your guys’ plans?”

“Yeah,” you respond, laughing in disbelief.

He stands up, watching you. You copy his movement, moving closer to him. Neither of you looks away, staring at one another as if the other will vanish once eye contact breaks. “I can’t believe…” He chuckles. “This whole time?” He slowly reaches his vibranium hand up to cup your face. The moment the metal touches you, he flinches back, as if forgetting it wasn’t his flesh one. You grab it before he can pull away, slowly bringing it back to your face.

He gently cups your face before freezing, “Wait, do you still like me?” He looks genuinely concerned.

You smile, stepping closer, “I never stopped.”

He leans in, and before you know it, the gap between you two is nonexistent. You feel your heart beating faster than ever. This time, however, it’s not out of stress or fear. You think that maybe this is it, you are going to melt under his touch, but he holds you firm and in place as if to tell you he will be there to support you. You find yourself relaxing in his hold. Love, the word places invades your thoughts as if it always belonged. It cements itself in the trenches of your mind. All those times you doubted who felt what now feel insignificant. The moment feels like it lasts less than a second, but oh— how you wish it was your eternity.

He pulls back, a smile on his face.

“I swear you guys can’t pull this every damn dinner.” Tony points his fork around the table. “You did this last time, where you start off quiet, and then end with unsubtle glares across the table. Please, we are better than this.” He sets his fork down.

You glance at Bucky, who is sitting across from you. As if sensing your gaze, he turns toward you, matching your expression.

“Oh, and now that is happening. Love it.” Tony remarks sarcastically.

“I take it things worked out.” Steve comments.

“You can say that.” You sneak a glance at Bucky before turning to Steve.

“Oh, kinda hate it actually,” Tony adds helpfully. “You know, when I said I was disappointed in you all for not telling me whatever you’re up to, I lied. I don’t think I want to know anymore.” He shakes his head as if trying to tune out the situation.

You roll your eyes, turning toward Bucky, who shakes his head at Tony. He meets your eyes and throws you a small wink.

“No, you really don’t.” You smirk at Tony.

The only reason that the last plan of Steve's worked is cause it wasn't his lmao. He 100% asked Nat for help. Bucky thought that you were "planning on meeting Nat" in the common area, and Nat told him to go meet you there.

Okay real side note, thank you SO much for all the support on my fics so far. I have no words. I read every single comment you guys leave (reblogged or not), and they bring me tremendous joy. Thank you so much for reading my work. I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog :D

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myreadings · 21 days ago

Text

like you like me | warren peace x reader

summary: you and Warren are coworkers, and friends. just friends. lately he's been acting different, but does it mean what you want it to mean? also, you meet a nice classmate

requested here

contents: jealous!Warren, saving of the citizen, gossiping restaurant employees, flirting

3.7k

(also on my ao3)

You and Warren are friends. You've always been friends, ever since you officially met him on your first day at the Paper Lantern. You made him laugh your first shift– a Warren laugh, mind you, which was more of a snort, but still counted– and you've made it your mission to get him to laugh as much as you can ever since then. He does the same, making comments about customers in that deadpan voice of his until you have to suppress giggles lest the boss catches and chastises you.

So you were friends. For sure, you were friends. But you were work friends.

There was always some unspoken thing that kept you from hanging out at school. It wasn't anything dramatic. You weren't ashamed of eachother. At least, you hoped he wasn't ashamed of you. You just each had your own groups of friends you hung out with.

That was okay with you. Mostly. Sure, it would be nice to talk to eachother at school as well, or even after work, maybe even become more than friends if a miracle happened and he happened to like you like that. But one of you would have to make the first move to breach that distance. For some reason, you didn't expect it to be Warren.

Color you surprised when he started to seek you out at school. Stopping by your locker to shoot the breeze. Standing next to you at school assemblies, when boomer's talking or explaining a gym assignment. You have no idea what changed or why, but it undeniably gives you a little thrill each time you feel him appear at your side. He's always so nonchalant about it too. Like he just happened to end up there. But he never stood by you before at school so it's a very noticeable, very purposeful change.

You don't know what it means, exactly. You know what you would like it to mean. But was he just extending your friendship to school as well, or did it mean something more? You're excited to find out.

Just as Warren's leaned in to whisper in your ear, probably to make fun of Boomer in some way, you hear the man himself speak your name– well, boom your name– and another student's. You're to be the next team of 'heroes' in Save the Citizen. The villains? Warren peace and Will Stronghold. They should make a good team, you think, as they usually do, seeing as they're friends. You, on the other hand, don't know who your partner, Ryan Powers, is.

"Go easy on me, yeah?" You lean into Warren's space to whisper.

He smirks, just slightly. "No promises."

——

Just before the timer starts on Save the Citizen, you and Ryan huddle together quickly to strategize. The plan is simple. You save the citizen, and Ryan has your back.

Warren hadn't agreed to go easy on you, and you were joking about that anyways, for the most part. But once you start, he so clearly is taking it easy on you. You probably should be offended at that or something, but honestly it feels more sweet than insulting for some reason.

He mostly attacks Ryan. Will is the one who attacks you or blocks your way. You do mostly okay, putting up force fields around yourself whenever he appears, but while you make a run for the citizen, you don't notice a large item Will's thrown your way until it's too late. You notice two things coming at you in the same instant, too quick for you to respond. What looks like a chair coming at high speeds, and a blur of a person. It's the second one that knocks you off course, but you're not harmed in any way. You're being held against someone's chest. You look up and it's–

– Ryan. Of course it's Ryan who saved you, you're partners. And you're very grateful; it looks like he's took the brunt of the chair with his back. But, stupidly, for a second you'd convinced yourself it'd be...

You look up at Warren and he has a look of concern and...something else, it's too far to see...on his face. You smile at him, in case he was worried. Then you turn your smile toward Ryan. Ryan, whose arms you're still cradled in. How embarrassing!

"Uh, sorry! And thank you!" You're blushing, you know you are, but you just spent however long of save the citizen looking like the citizen who needed saving. You climb out of his hold, and he laughs at the awkward way you're going about it. "Sorry, just. Hold still." You laugh at your own expense as well. This is ridiculous.

The moment you're out of Ryan's arms, you're urging him back into the game. You agree he'll cover you while you make another grab for the citizen.

You're glad for two things when you both get back into the game.

One, that Ryan had your back. Will has tried throwing several more things in your path, and while your forcefields prevent damage from most of the debris, there have been some close calls, and you don't have the invulnerability Ryan seems to.

And two, that Warren decided to go easy on you after all. Almost the moment Ryan stepped far enough away from you that you weren't in the line of fire, Warren started throwing fire balls at the other boy with a vengeance. You don't know what lit the spark in his eyes, but he looked extra determined to win now.

Unfortunately for Warren, and Will, despite your team both having defensive powers, Warren and Will were no match for the combination of both your force fields and Ryan's invulnerability. With Ryan guarding you, you both saved the citizen with seconds left on the clock.

You were high on your win, crowing victory and high fiving Ryan when you saw Warren out of the corner of your eye. He was looking down at his hands with a bit of a stunned expression on his face, like maybe he didn't know what came over him any more than you did. He looked up and caught your eye, giving you the most awkward smile you've ever seen Warren have on his face.

You approached him outside the bounds of the arena and he gave you a congratulations. You'd just opened your mouth to tease him about letting you win, after all, when you felt an arm being swung across your shoulders. You looked and it was Ryan. He must've followed you.

"Great game, guys. You really gave me a run for my money out there, Peace."

Warren's eyes lingered on the arm around you, a slight wrinkle in his brow. Dragging his gaze up to meet the other boy's eyes, Warren mumbles out a "Just trying to win."

Ryan laughs amiably.

"This is actually my first save the citizen win." You realize. Warren's lips lift at the edges, but then Ryan speaks.

"Wow, really? We've gotta celebrate, then! Whaddaya say, ice cream at Scoops, after school?"

The idea throws you a little. You've just met the boy half an hour ago and already he wants to hang out somewhere. It's not that you're averse to making friends, you're just not used to making them this fast.

"Uhh, what do you think, Warren, you want to go to Scoops later?" Now this is you being bold. Neither you nor Warren have ever invited the other to hang out outside of work or, more recently, school. But you figure, if Ryan can muster up the courage to make plans just like that, why can't you?

But Warren turns you down. "Nah, I've got a shift tonight."

Right. You knew that. You forgot you knew that. "Oh, okay." You try to keep the disappointment out of your voice, but it's hard. You'd only just suggested the idea but that was apparently enough time for you to get excited about it. And to feel disappointed that it wouldn't work out. And then, because it would be rude at this point to back out, you turned to Ryan. "Guess it's just us then."

Ryan beamed. "Awesome! Meet you at 5 at Scoops then?"

You nodded and he removed his arm finally, before waving at you and jogging to his next class.

On cue, the bell rang, and you and Warren had to go your separate ways as well. You waved at him. "See ya later, Warren."

Warren nodded in reply.

——

On Monday, Warren appears at your locker before class, same as he has been lately, but something about him seems a little guarded.

"Hey, Warren, are you okay?"

Warren shrugs you off. "Did you have fun at scoops the other day?"

You're confused by the abrupt subject change, but answer him honestly. "Yeah, it was fun, actually. I was kinda nervous 'cause I'd never hung out with the guy before, but he's actually a cool dude." You shrug.

Warren nods at his feet, lips pursing a little.

You add, because you're feeling bold again apparently, "Would've been better if you were there."

That seems to have been the right thing to say, because he looks like a smile is fighting a way to his face. He loses the battle and you feel giddy.

"That so?" Warren makes eye contact with you, life in his eyes that have seemed so dull the whole morning.

"Yeah. That's so." You giggle, and he seems to get taller, somehow.

The bell rings and you widen your eyes. You hurry to gather your books. Before parting ways, you twiddle your fingers at Warren, and he smirks, walking backwards to his own class but still looking at you.

Why is that so attractive?

——

You're a hard worker, you really are, but you have to admit, the shifts you share with Warren are probably the ones where you're least productive. Or at least, your work ethic leaves something to be desired when you're on shift together.

It's really not your fault. Well, okay, it's half your fault. It's just that he always has some hilarious commentary about one customer or another, that, coupled with his dry delivery, always has you fighting for your life not to laugh too loudly.

You really shouldn't encourage his behavior, but once he starts in, you simply cannot help yourself from joining in. And at this point, when your regulars come in, it'd just be rude not to give eachother updates. He started the gossiping, you swear he did. But now you're just as bad as him, you can't deny it. Together, you're incorrigible.

"I think Cowboy boots is in a fight with his family." You're bringing dishes back from said patron's table. Leaning against the kitchen counter while you wait for his next entree to be ready, you lower your voice conspiratorily.

Warren tilts his head toward you in intrigue. "What makes you say that?"

"You know how the rest of his family came in last week without him and we thought he mustve been sick?" You wait for Warren to nod, then continue. "Well, he's here today, sans family."

"Whoa." Warren's face shows mild surprise.

"I know. The guy is too shy to speak up and order his own meals, he always needs his mom to do it, and you know how that irritates her. And suddenly, he's here without them entirely?"

"How'd he order then? You actually hear his voice?" Warren was washing the dishes incredibly slowly. You really should let him focus on work. You should.

"No voice reveal today. He slid me a piece of paper with his order on it."

"Maybe this is what, some kind of exposure therapy?"

"Sure, maybe. But even then, whose idea was it, huh? The guy doesn't have a look of someone who's facing his fears. If anything, he seems just kinda irritated. Clearly, he wanted to eat here, so that can't be the reason. So, he must be mad that he has to be here alone. Which means he didnt want to be. Which means he was forced to. Ergo, fight."

Warren nodding in recognition of your expert deduction reasoning. "Bet you it has something to do with that date he brought along a few weeks ago. Swear, the mom was trying to explode her head with her eyes. Heck, maybe she's a super and she was holding back the urge." Warren snorted.

You laughed and were about to speculate further, when Mr. Chen called out Cowboy boots' cashew chicken was ready.

You picked up the entree and informed Warren on your way out the swinging door, "By the way, table six just left."

Warren nodded at you and you made your way, chicken in hand, to the silent Cowboy at table two. He gave you a nod, and then promptly dug in.

Your coworker, Ann, flagged you down and pointed out a new customer at table five and so you made your way over.

"Hi, I'll be your server today, what can I–" You pause your spiel when you realize who your new customer was. He looked at you with equal surprise and delight.

"I didn't know you worked here!" Ryan exclaimed.

"Uh, yeah. Since about a year ago. I've never seen you here before."

Ryan was still smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. "My family's go-to Chinese place shut down recently, so I'm venturing out, trying new places. And I'm sure glad I tried this one!"

"Aw, yeah, I heard about Jade Palace. Husband had a heart attack and the wife just couldn't keep running the place on her own. So sad."

"Yeah. It really is. They were so nice, always remembered my order. But hey, maybe I'll make this place my new go-to, now that I know you work here."

He looked eager, and you smiled. He was a nice guy, it wouldn't be bad having him as a regular. Of course, you and Warren probably couldn't gossip about him like you normally do with your other customers. If the guy's becoming a friend, it wouldn't seem right.

Speaking of Warren, he chose that moment to come clear table six. He made eye contact with you and sort of smiled. Then his eyes land on your new customer and his smile freezes. Before you can wonder why, Ryan starts talking again.

"So, hey, I was actually wondering something."

"Hm?" You turn your full attention to Ryan. "Wondering what?"

Ryan takes a deep breath, looking like he's steeling himself for something. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime."

Silverware clatters to the floor to your side but you're too shocked to look over.

Ryan continues in your silence. "Maybe to dinner? Not here, obviously. Somewhere you don't work." Ryan chuckles nervously.

Your brain jumps into action again. Things you know: one, Ryan is asking you out on a date. Two, Warren is within earshot, and definitely heard Ryan ask you on a date. Three, you do not want Warren to think you are in any way, shape, or form, going on a date with Ryan Powers.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Warren taking his sweet time collecting the dirty dishes from table six. He is definitely eavesdropping. Just in case, you raise your voice just the tiniest bit, so Warren can hear you nice and clearly.

"I'm flattered, Ryan. I think you're a cool guy."

Warren's hands still on the water cups and you power on.

"But I'm actually interested in someone already."

You recognize the disappointment on Ryan's face, and feel a little bad. But mostly, you're proud of yourself for stopping what could have been a terrible misunderstanding from throwing a wrench into...whatever it was that you and Warren have going on.

Vaguely, you're aware of Ryan nodding, and smiling, and being actually really gracious about the rejection. When he seems a little awkward and embarrassed, you take pity on him and ask for his order. He looks grateful for the change of subject, and orders quickly.

In the back of your mind, though, as you take his order, and walk back to the kitchen, and tell the chef what to cook, it dawns on you what you just did. You basically confessed to Warren just now. Well, not to him. But in his earshot. You just played all your cards on the table and you were too chicken too even glance at his face while you passed by him. You somehow are filled with both trepidation and excitement. Sprinkled in with the faintest amount of guilt for rejecting Ryan, but he didn't seem too upset about it so you let that feeling go pretty quickly.

You bring water out for Ryan and Warren passes by without looking at you. A shot of fear runs through you. Why isn't he meeting your eye?

You return to the kitchen and wait for the food to be ready, but Warren is nowhere to be found. That could be a coincidence. There could be other tables to bus, after all.

But when he appears in the kitchen, it's just as Ryan's order of potstickers is coming out, and you don't have time to ask him about his sudden silent treatment.

This goes on for the next few hours. Even after Ryan leaves, Warren is still subdued and untalkative. You try initiating conversation about a couple that came in but his heart isn't in it, you can tell. He gives you monosyllabic answers, and eventually you stop trying and just focus on doing your job.

You are definitely both more efficient in your jobs the rest of the shift, but the stress is keying you up and you don't like it.

Finally, the restaurant closes, and everyone starts cleaning up and closing the doors.

You find Warren wiping every table down with a thoroughness he has never attempted before, at least since you've known him.

You don't even know how to start this conversation. You feel like you've bared your heart and he's reacting by shutting you out without even talking to you. It's slowly dawning on you that you might've been rejected this evening as well, and the thought is like a punch to the gut. You hope you didn't make Ryan feel this way.

"Warren."

Warren turns to you, giving up the pretense of cleaning. He looks guarded. "Hey."

"Hey..." It's never been this awkward with you and Warren before. "So, I know you're were listening before."

"When?" Warren makes a confused face, like you were born yesterday.

"Warren."

He shrugs. "What about it?"

Okay, now you were hurt. "What do you mean, what about it?"

"I mean, it's not really my business, is it?"

"First of all, that's rich, considering we eavesdrop on every single conversation in this building, and you know it. We basically make everyone's business our business. And second...why would it not be your business?"

Warren breathes in and out heavily. "I just want to respect your privacy, is that a crime? Whoever you date, or don't date, or whoever you like...it's got nothing to do with me."

Oh.

You want to laugh. You're an idiot. Or actually, maybe he is.

"Nothing to do with you, huh?" You're smiling wide now, and the sudden change from your anxiety that must've been on your face is clearly confusing him.

"...Yeah?" Warren's lips purse. "And actually, and this is unrelated, but i think I'm gonna take a few days off work–"

"Warren Peace, do you like me or not?"

Warren's jaw drops. "Do I–?"

You fold your arms and lean your hip against the the side of the booth you're both standing in front of. You really hope you're right about this. "Do you have feelings for me? Romantic ones?"

Warren's eyes flick around the room, landing everywhere but on you, and it's driving you crazy. You step forward, reach up and place both your hands on the sides of his face. You turn his head, gently, and force him to make eye contact. He's actually not that hard to man-handle, but that might be due to his shock that you're touching him suddenly.

It might be that shock, or the insistence in your gaze, that forces the words out of his mouth. "Yes. Okay? You got me. I like you. But you don't have to worry about it, alright? You've got this guy you're interested in, and I get that. I'll back off and you can–"

"Warren Peace, you're an idiot" you say. His eyes reflect confusion, then offense, then confusion again when you start pulling his face, still between your hands, toward yours.

Just as your noses touch, he seems to realize what's going on. You pause, giving him plenty of time to pull away.

"Do you see why you're an idiot now?" You whisper.

He nods, his forehead moving yours. And then he's dipping down and capturing your lips against his, and your heart stutters in your chest.

Warren places his hands over yours, still on his face, and grabs them, gently guiding your arms over his shoulders, and vastly diminishing the space between your bodies. He draws you even closer with an arm around your body, and places a hand on the side of your face.

He kisses you for a moment before pulling back, just enough, to pant "Idiot. Yes." And then his lips are back on yours.

You don't know how long you both stand there in the middle of the empty restaurant, embracing, but at some point your boss must've come out and spotted you. You break apart at the jarring sounds of emphatic mandarin being spewed in your direction.

You don't know what the boss lady is saying, but you make a note to ask Warren to teach you some of the language some time, because whatever she's saying has Warren looking more bashful than he had when you first broke apart.

He responds back, in mandarin, and his voice is a little rough. The fact has a little thrill going through you.

Then, he's turning back to you, cheeks colored slightly, and you both silently agree to finish closing up the restaurant.

Later, you'll both talk about your feelings, and the kiss, and what that all means for your relationship. If you're in one.

For now, you and Warren keep sneaking glancing at eachother across the room and looking away when your eyes meet.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

thank you sm for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging/commenting, it means a lot! ♡ and if you have any requests or ideas, please let me know in my ask box

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myreadings · 29 days ago

Text

— it's brutal out here

chapter summary: Peter's class is going on a field trip to Stark Industries. The catch? No one believes he's an intern at SI and no one knows he's dating Tony Stark's daughter—other than Ned and MJ. Surely nothing will go wrong, right? word count: 14.7k+ pairing: Peter Parker (MCU) x fem!stark!reader notes: i've said it before, peter parker goes on field trip to SI is one of my favorite tropes ever. but what else is? reader being tony stark's daughter and dating peter. so i thought i'd combine both for the ultimate self-service. it's my first time writing for peter, so feedback is appreciated. enjoy! <3 warnings/tags: avengers are a happy family because i say so (includes bucky!), fluff, peter parker goes on a field trip to stark industries, tony is your biological dad, pranks, slight bullying, reader is a genius (she's a stark after all)

“Alright, before the bell rings I have something important to say!” Mr. Harrington announced, stopping most of the students from packing up.

“I swear, if it’s another—” Peter mumbled before Ned cut in.

“Dude, what if it’s a parental consent form for a movie? Or an experiment? Or—”

"—Or it's just Harrington being overdramatic. Again," MJ added in dryly, not looking away from her book.

Peter snorted softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Mr. Harrington cleared his throat dramatically again, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he lifted a stack of papers from his desk. "We will be taking a field trip next week, and it's not just any field trip."

"Oh no," MJ deadpanned, flipping another page of her book, "his voice cracked. That means it's big."

Peter chuckled quietly, looking at Ned with an amused smirk. "Ten bucks it's another 'groundbreaking' planetarium exhibit."

Ned shook his head quickly, grinning. "I'm holding out for something good this time, man."

Mr. Harrington began passing out the papers excitedly. "Next Friday, this class will be touring none other than Stark Industries!"

The room erupted in surprised chatter, excited whispers filling every corner.

Peter froze, eyes wide. "Wait—what?"

Ned's mouth fell open, equally shocked. "No freaking way!"

MJ lifted her gaze from the page for the first time, eyebrows raised as she leaned slightly toward Peter. "I take it back. This actually is big."

"Not again," Peter muttered anxiously, voice strained. "The tower? Seriously?"

"What's the problem, Pete?" Flash's voice rang out smugly from across the room. "Afraid they'll realize you're not actually an intern?"

Peter frowned, shooting Flash a glare. "I am an intern. I've been telling you guys this for literally two years."

Flash scoffed loudly. "Yeah, sure, Parker. And I'm Thor's favorite chess partner."

"Dude," Ned whispered urgently, "this means the whole class is gonna see you with—"

Peter nodded nervously, his voice hushed. "—Y/N. They're going to see me with Y/N."

MJ leaned in slightly, giving Peter a knowing look. "You're worried they'll find out you're dating Tony Stark's daughter?"

Peter's cheeks flushed pink. "I'm not worried, I just... it's gonna be weird."

"You've literally fought aliens, and you're worried about your classmates finding out you have a girlfriend?" MJ remarked flatly.

"It's not just any girlfriend!" Ned argued, waving his hands excitedly, "It's Y/N freaking Stark, MJ! The Y/N Stark!"

MJ rolled her eyes slightly, suppressing a smile as she glanced back at Peter. "So what, you two just gonna pretend you don't know each other?"

Peter hesitated, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I... haven't exactly figured that out yet."

Across the room, Flash continued loudly boasting, "Maybe I'll even get to talk with Tony Stark himself. I've got some great ideas I wanna pitch him."

"Oh, yeah, great," Peter mumbled under his breath sarcastically, "that'll go well."

Mr. Harrington clapped his hands to regain everyone's attention. "Make sure you have these permission slips signed and returned by tomorrow. This is a rare and exciting opportunity, people!"

Peter slumped slightly in his seat, sighing heavily as Ned gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

"Relax, man," Ned said confidently. "It's gonna be fine."

MJ shrugged, eyes back on her book. "Or it'll be an entertaining disaster. Either way, I'm looking forward to it."

"Gee, thanks," Peter muttered, giving MJ a pointed look.

She simply smirked without looking up. "Anytime."

Peter stared down at the permission slip in front of him, anxiety swirling through his chest. Next Friday was going to be interesting, to say the least.

---

“—but, there was always… Y/N? Hey. Hey!” Steve snapped his fingers as you slowly looked up.

"Huh? Sorry, I fell asleep to your boring recollection of the battle of… whatever," you said, leaning back in your chair dramatically with a loud yawn.

Steve crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow as he stared at you. "Y/N, we've literally been covering World War II for months. It's the battle of Normandy."

"Oh, right." You sat up again, blinking sleepily at him. "You know, Steve, when Dad said you'd be teaching me history, I figured we'd cover a little more than just your glory days."

Bucky snorted from his spot on the couch, not even bothering to hide his grin. "See, Steve? Told you even your own niece would get tired of hearing your stories eventually."

Steve shot Bucky an annoyed look. "Not helping, Buck."

You laughed lightly, swiveling your chair toward Bucky. "Honestly, Barnes, your lessons are more interesting. At least when you teach, I get to hear the real stories, not the G-rated, Captain America-approved versions."

Bucky smirked proudly, leaning back comfortably. "That's because I tell you all the gritty details your dad specifically said you shouldn’t hear."

Steve sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You're both impossible."

"And yet," you shrugged innocently, reaching for your phone on the desk, "you still insist on teaching me."

"Because," Steve began firmly, taking a step forward and pointing toward your textbook, "you still need to actually learn this stuff."

Bucky chuckled softly. "Yeah, kiddo, just pretend to pay attention for a couple hours so Steve doesn’t cry himself to sleep tonight."

You bit back a smile, dramatically nodding at Steve. "Alright, alright. Battle of Normandy, June 1944. Got it. Continue, Uncle Steve."

Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you, slowly returning to his spot by the whiteboard. "Right. So as I was saying—"

Your phone buzzed suddenly, and your attention immediately snapped down to it. Peter’s name lit up your screen, making your heart flutter as you quickly picked it up.

"Hold that thought, Steve," you said distractedly, swiping open the message.

Steve paused, arms crossed again with an exasperated sigh. "You're texting Peter again, aren’t you?"

You gave him a guilty smile, fingers flying rapidly over your screen. "Sorry, but it's important."

Bucky raised an eyebrow curiously, leaning toward you. "What's got Parker worked up this time?"

You bit your lip, chuckling softly as you finished your reply. "Apparently, his class is taking a field trip to Stark Industries next week."

Bucky laughed, leaning further forward. "Oh boy, Pete must be freaking out."

"He absolutely is," you confirmed, still texting quickly. "He's worried everyone will figure out we're dating. And, you know, that he's actually an intern there."

Steve looked thoughtful. "Peter's classmates still don't believe him?"

"Nope," you shook your head, grinning slightly. "They all think he's making it up."

Bucky chuckled again. "Poor kid."

Steve tilted his head curiously. "What’s the plan, then? Are you two just going to ignore each other?"

You sighed, setting your phone back down on the desk as you looked at Steve seriously. "Honestly? I have no idea. Peter’s a little nervous."

Bucky gave you a playful smirk. "Well, it's about time the kid stepped up. I mean, he's Spider-Man, he can handle a few high school kids."

Steve nodded in agreement. "Buck's right. Peter’s faced much worse. A field trip can't be that scary."

You smiled slightly, glancing back down at your phone as Peter's next text popped up. "You'd be surprised."

Bucky leaned back again, smirking knowingly. "You’re both being way too dramatic. I say just act normal. Who cares if people find out? You've been dating for a year."

"That's what MJ said," you replied thoughtfully. "Maybe I should just show up and embarrass him."

Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head. "That's your father's influence talking."

You flashed a grin, leaning forward eagerly. "Speaking of Dad—"

"Nope," Steve interrupted quickly, pointing at the textbook. "Lesson first, gossip later."

You groaned dramatically, slumping back again. "Fine."

Steve turned back toward the whiteboard again, writing quickly as he resumed. "Alright, moving on. Now, the invasion began in the early hours—"

"Wait!" you suddenly interrupted, lifting your hand in the air.

Steve turned back again, eyes narrowed. "What now?"

You smiled sweetly, fluttering your lashes playfully. "Can I bring Peter lunch when his class comes next Friday? Like, surprise him?"

Bucky nodded approvingly, clearly entertained by the idea. "I think that's an excellent plan."

Steve gave you both a stern look, though you could see amusement hiding behind his eyes. "That's something you should ask your mom or dad."

You pouted dramatically. "But you're my favorite uncle, Steve."

"Hey!" Bucky protested loudly, placing a hand over his heart with mock hurt. "I thought I was your favorite uncle!"

Steve chuckled, crossing his arms. "Nice try, Y/N, but I'm still not falling for it."

You grinned cheekily, shrugging your shoulders lightly. "Worth a shot."

Bucky smirked, giving you an amused nod. "I'll talk to your dad for you. I'm always up for helping embarrass the kid."

You beamed at him. "I knew you were my favorite."

Steve groaned quietly, shaking his head again. "Alright, enough distractions. Back to Normandy."

You sighed dramatically again, leaning your chin on your palm with a small smile. "Alright, Uncle Steve. Back to Normandy."

Bucky chuckled, giving Steve a playful smirk. "Better make this interesting, pal, or else she's definitely texting Parker again."

Steve rolled his eyes, finally giving up and laughing softly. "You two are going to be the death of me."

You smiled innocently, eyes sparkling with amusement. "We know. But you still love us anyway."

Steve smiled softly, his voice warm as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I suppose I do."

---

"Uncle Bruce? Have I ever told you that you're my favorite teacher?" you asked sweetly, giving him your most convincing smile as you leaned eagerly across the lab table.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his glasses sliding down his nose as he peered skeptically over them. "Ah, yes, Y/N. I believe you mentioned that just last week when you wanted help avoiding Steve's history lesson."

You laughed softly, shrugging innocently. "Well, this time I really, really mean it."

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head lightly as he placed down the tablet he'd been holding. "Alright, what's going on?"

You sighed dramatically, propping your chin in your palm. "Peter's class is coming here next Friday for a field trip."

Bruce looked thoughtful, nodding slowly. "Ah, that's right. Tony mentioned something about that."

You perked up immediately, sitting straighter. "Dad talked about it?"

"Well, mostly just to warn everyone," Bruce said with an amused smile, taking a seat across from you. "Something about trying not to embarrass Peter too much."

You groaned, dropping your head onto your folded arms. "Ugh, I know! He keeps saying we should just act normal, but—"

Bruce tilted his head curiously, smiling warmly. "But you're worried about embarrassing him?"

"Or maybe myself," you admitted sheepishly, peeking up at Bruce through your fingers. "I don't know. The whole class will be here, and they don't even believe Peter actually interns here. Let alone that we're dating."

Bruce chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair comfortably. "Teenagers can be brutal, huh?"

“Exactly!” You agreed. “Uh, wait, actually I don’t know. The only experience I have is Peter telling me about classes and Mean Girls. Do girls really make Burn Books?”

Bruce chuckled, shaking his head lightly. "I think that's more Hollywood drama than reality, Y/N. At least, I hope so."

You sat up a little straighter, eyes wide with genuine curiosity. "See, that's exactly why I'm worried! I'm totally clueless about how high school works outside of movie clichés and Peter's crazy stories."

Bruce gave you a reassuring smile. "You’re smart, Y/N. I'm sure you'll navigate it just fine. Plus, you've got Peter. He's probably more nervous than you are."

You sighed dramatically, sinking down slightly in your seat. "Yeah, he's pretty worried. I keep telling him it'll be fine, but deep down, I'm just as nervous."

Bruce tilted his head thoughtfully. "Why don't you just be yourself? Your relationship with Peter isn't a secret among the Avengers. You've got nothing to hide."

"But it's different," you argued, fiddling nervously with a pen on the table. "I mean, it's one thing for the team to know. But an entire class of high schoolers? That’s scary."

Bruce chuckled softly, adjusting his glasses again. "Trust me, most of them will probably be too busy being star-struck by Stark Industries to notice much else."

You gave a half-smile, eyes flicking up to meet Bruce’s. "You really think so?"

He nodded reassuringly. "Absolutely. Teenagers aren’t all that complicated—most of them are too wrapped up in their own worlds to pay close attention."

You exhaled softly, leaning back with a little more ease. "I guess you're right."

Bruce smiled warmly. "Of course I am."

You smiled sheepishly, biting your lip in thought before glancing up again. "Do you think it’d be weird if I just... showed up? You know, say hi, maybe give Peter lunch, see how he’s doing?"

Bruce grinned knowingly, leaning forward slightly with amusement in his eyes. "I think that sounds very sweet. Peter would appreciate it, even if he’s embarrassed at first."

You laughed lightly, your face brightening with relief. "Yeah, well, a little embarrassment never killed anyone, right?"

Bruce chuckled again, shaking his head. "Definitely not. And, frankly, you might actually enjoy it."

You smirked mischievously. "Maybe just a little."

He leaned back again, crossing his arms over his chest comfortably. "Just be prepared for some teasing from Tony afterward."

You groaned playfully, rolling your eyes dramatically. "Ugh, Dad's already been dropping hints. Like, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ Which isn't comforting at all, considering it's Dad."

Bruce laughed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I think Tony’s probably the worst person to go to for dating advice."

"Tell me about it," you muttered dryly, smiling fondly. "Mom tried to give him a crash course on subtlety the other day. It went about as well as you'd expect."

Bruce grinned warmly. "Your mom is a saint for even trying."

You chuckled, nodding enthusiastically. "I know, right?"

Bruce paused thoughtfully, giving you a gentle look. "Seriously, Y/N, don't overthink it. Peter cares about you. His classmates might be surprised at first, but they'll get used to it quickly. Trust your instincts."

Your smile softened, comforted by his sincerity. "Thanks, Uncle Bruce. I needed to hear that."

He smiled back softly. "Anytime. Now, do you still want to help me with these calculations or are you too busy plotting your field trip takeover?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes slightly. "I think I've done enough plotting for one day."

Bruce chuckled warmly, pushing the tablet toward you gently. "Alright then. Let's get back to work."

You nodded eagerly, reaching for the tablet with newfound confidence. "Right. Work first, world domination later."

Bruce grinned playfully, shaking his head. "You've definitely spent way too much time around your father."

You smirked mischievously, eyes sparkling. "Guilty as charged."

He sighed in mock despair, though his eyes shone with affection. "The world isn't ready for two Stark geniuses."

"Probably not," you replied with a dramatic sigh, then flashed a bright smile. "But that's their problem."

Bruce laughed heartily, pushing his glasses back up his nose again. "Yeah, it definitely is."

You smiled warmly, picking up your stylus and focusing back on the calculations. Bruce was right, after all—you had Peter, and you knew that was what really mattered.

---

During lunch, you sat in the common kitchen eating a sandwich. Your phone was propped up against your water bottle as you pretended to watch it while in reality, it was filming.

You had set up a prank in your head while Steve went on about whatever battle he was talking about, and while making lunch, you put your idea into action. Now, you just had to wait for Sam and Clint to get back from going over the training room schedules.

A few minutes later, you heard familiar footsteps and quickly sat up straighter, looking innocent as you pretended to watch your phone. Sam and Clint walked into the kitchen, mid-conversation.

"All I'm sayin' is, why do you get first dibs on Wednesdays?" Clint complained, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. "Maybe I like to train mid-week too."

Sam raised an eyebrow at Clint as he opened the pantry. "Because, Barton, last time I gave you Wednesday, you used your slot to watch reruns of 'Golden Girls.'"

"Hey," Clint pointed defensively, "those ladies are legends, and you know it."

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle, silently pressing record on your phone. "Sounds intense, guys," you teased, making sure you sounded nonchalant.

Clint looked over at you, shaking his head with a grin. "You have no idea, kid."

Sam smiled at you warmly as he grabbed some chips. "How was your lesson with Steve?"

You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes. "He spent two hours telling me about the Battle of Normandy. Again."

Clint groaned sympathetically. "Oof, you okay? Need medical assistance?"

You laughed lightly, waving your sandwich at him. "I survived, thanks. Barely."

Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head as he started to walk towards the cabinet to grab a bowl. You held your breath, waiting eagerly for what would happen next.

Right on cue, the cabinet doors flew open, and a burst of confetti exploded outward, showering Sam and Clint in bright, glittery colors.

Sam jumped back with a yelp, dropping the bag of chips. "What the hell—"

Clint let out a high-pitched, startled squeak, nearly tripping over his own feet as he stumbled away from the sparkling confetti shower. "Holy—"

You burst out laughing, unable to hold it back anymore, tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you captured their shocked, glitter-covered expressions on camera. "Oh my god, your faces!"

Sam turned slowly, still blinking confetti out of his eyes. He shook his head, pointing at you accusingly. "You are evil, Y/N Stark."

Clint brushed glitter from his hair, eyes wide in disbelief. "Seriously, kid? Glitter?"

You shrugged innocently, giggling uncontrollably. "Well, technically it's biodegradable confetti, but yeah."

"I don't even wanna know how you pulled that off," Sam muttered, shaking confetti off his shoulders with an annoyed expression. "Did Tony help you with this?"

You grinned mischievously. "Nope. All me. Consider it payback for your air horn prank last week."

Sam groaned dramatically, looking up at the ceiling. "Oh, c'mon, that wasn't even my best work!"

Clint was still laughing softly, brushing sparkles from his sleeve. "She got you good, Wilson."

Sam scoffed, pointing at Clint's glitter-covered shirt. "You don't exactly look untouched yourself, Barton."

You giggled again, ending your recording as you spun around happily in your seat. "This footage is gonna look amazing at the next family movie night."

Clint narrowed his eyes playfully at you. "You're lucky we love you, kid."

"Seriously," Sam agreed, finally breaking into a smile. "I oughta put glitter in your training gear."

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. "Sam, you wouldn't."

Clint grinned evilly, leaning over and whispering conspiratorially, "Don't give him ideas, kid."

You smirked playfully, standing up and putting your plate in the sink. "I'll be ready. Bring it on."

Sam shook his head, chuckling softly as he grabbed another bowl, cautiously opening another cabinet. "At least let me have lunch without another attack."

You held your hands up innocently, giving him your sweetest smile. "I'm out of glitter bombs. For now."

"Why do I not believe you?" Clint asked skeptically, side-eyeing you as he finally sat at the table with his water bottle.

"Because you're smart," you teased, winking at him as you started walking toward the kitchen door. "Better watch your backs!"

---

“Can’t you teach me Latin instead? Latin is cool,” you said to Natasha, leaning your elbows on the kitchen island dramatically. “You promised you would when you pretended to be Dad’s assistant. Or… whatever happened.”

Natasha sighed, rolling her eyes affectionately as she set down her mug of tea. “Y/N, for the last time—I was undercover, not just pretending. And I distinctly remember saying maybe. Besides, you're already learning Russian.”

You waved your hand dismissively. “Da, da, ya znayu. Yes, yes, I know. Russian is fine, but I think Latin would be more fun.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, folding her arms and giving you a skeptical look. “Fun? Y/N, Latin is literally a dead language.”

“Exactly!” You pointed at her excitedly. “Dead languages are cool, Natasha. Think of how impressive it’ll sound when I can insult Clint without him even knowing it.”

Clint turned his head quickly from his spot across the kitchen, eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, Stark Junior?”

You grinned sweetly, fluttering your eyelashes innocently. “Nothing, Uncle Clint. Love you!”

Clint narrowed his eyes suspiciously, slowly returning his attention to his sandwich. “Yeah, sure you do.”

Natasha chuckled softly, shaking her head as she returned her focus to you. “Look, Y/N, as entertaining as it sounds, Russian is actually useful. Latin—not so much.”

“Useful?” You scoffed playfully, leaning back slightly on your stool. “Nat, I already speak fluent Spanish and Chinese. I literally don’t need Russian. Did you know Chinese is gonna be the most spoken language by 2050? So, really, teaching me Latin would at least be interesting.”

Natasha tilted her head, looking mildly impressed despite herself. “You’ve really done your research on this, haven’t you?”

You nodded enthusiastically, smiling confidently. “See? Genius. I rest my case.”

Bruce chuckled softly from across the room, glancing up from his own notes. “She’s got you there, Natasha. You might want to reconsider.”

Natasha shot Bruce an amused glare before sighing softly, shoulders slumping slightly in resignation. “You really won’t let this go, will you?”

“Absolutely not,” you replied immediately, beaming brightly.

She shook her head again, giving you a reluctant smile. “Fine. How about this? You ace your Russian exam next week, and I’ll teach you some Latin. Deal?”

You perked up immediately, eyes sparkling. “Deal! Wait—exam? Since when do we have exams?”

Natasha smirked knowingly, sipping her tea calmly. “Since right now.”

You groaned loudly, slumping forward dramatically. “Ugh, betrayal.”

She laughed lightly, reaching over and ruffling your hair affectionately. “You’ll survive. Now, stop complaining and study. Latin’s waiting for you.”

You grumbled softly under your breath, sitting up straighter and nodding reluctantly. “Fine. But when I ace it, you better be prepared to teach me every Latin insult known to mankind.”

She rolled her eyes, lips quirking up slightly. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you,” you smiled brightly again, grabbing your notes dramatically off the counter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an exam to crush.”

As you hopped off your stool, Clint gave you a teasing grin. “Hey, when you learn all those insults, teach me a few so I can use them on Stark, yeah?”

You smirked mischievously at him, giving a playful wink. “Oh, definitely.”

Bruce chuckled softly again, shaking his head fondly. “I think you two underestimate Tony’s ability to insult in any language.”

Natasha smiled knowingly, eyes glinting with amusement as she watched you head toward the elevator. “He does have an impressive vocabulary.”

Clint sighed dramatically, finishing off his sandwich. “Great. Looks like I’ll have to learn Latin too, just to keep up.”

You grinned from the elevator, waving your notes cheerfully at him. “Don’t worry, Clint! I’ll give you a discount on lessons!”

The elevator doors closed on Clint’s amused laughter and Natasha’s fond shake of her head. You leaned back against the wall, flipping through your Russian notes with renewed determination. The promise of Latin—and a wealth of creative insults—awaited.

---

You were in your lab going over your Russian notes when Peter entered, backpack slung over one shoulder. You looked up from the tablet immediately, giving him a bright smile. "Hey, you made it!"

Peter chuckled softly as he dropped his backpack by the door, coming over to lean against your lab table. "Yeah, finally. Subway was packed, and some guy spilled coffee all over my shoes. So, great afternoon."

You bit your lip sympathetically, glancing down at his slightly stained sneakers. "Aw, Pete. I'll clean them up for you later."

He smiled gratefully, looking down at your notes curiously. "Is this Russian? I thought Natasha already said you're fluent."

"I am," you sighed dramatically, leaning your head back against the chair. "But apparently Nat thinks my Russian still needs work. Something about ‘too much slang’ and ‘not enough proper grammar.’"

Peter laughed lightly, shaking his head. "Well, she's probably right."

"Not helping," you muttered playfully, poking his side with your stylus. "I'm bribing Nat with my language prowess so she'll finally teach me Latin."

"Latin?" Peter asked with surprise, lifting his brows. "Why?"

You gave him a cheeky grin, eyes sparkling mischievously. "So I can insult Clint without him understanding me, obviously."

Peter laughed again, leaning a little closer. "I thought Clint was pretty used to insults by now."

"Yeah," you agreed with a grin, nudging his shoulder gently. "But I bet he doesn't know many in Latin."

Peter smiled warmly at you, his eyes softening as he watched you continue scribbling notes. After a moment, you noticed him staring and tilted your head curiously.

"Everything okay?" you asked softly, reaching out and gently touching his hand.

Peter nodded, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. "Yeah, it's just—I guess I'm still a little nervous about the field trip next Friday."

You softened immediately, putting your notes aside and squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Pete, it's gonna be fine. I promise."

He sighed anxiously, running a hand through his messy curls. "Yeah, I know. It's just weird, you know? Flash was giving me crap again today, and everyone else just thinks I'm lying about my internship."

You frowned slightly, reaching out and tugging Peter gently towards you until he moved around to sit on the stool beside yours. "Well, Flash is an idiot. And honestly? Who cares what everyone thinks? You're amazing, Peter. Let them doubt. Next week, you'll prove them all wrong."

Peter smiled softly, relaxing slightly as he met your reassuring gaze. "Thanks, Y/N. You're the best."

"Obviously," you teased lightly, nudging his arm again with a playful smile. "But, um, speaking of next week—I sort of had an idea."

He lifted a brow, his expression wary but amused. "Should I be scared?"

You laughed, shaking your head quickly. "No, I promise! Nothing embarrassing—well, maybe slightly embarrassing—but in a cute, sweet, romantic kind of way."

Peter chuckled quietly, rolling his eyes with affection. "That doesn't exactly make me feel better."

You grinned sheepishly, leaning closer to him excitedly. "What if I brought you lunch? Like, showed up during your tour, surprised you in front of your class?"

Peter stared at you, eyes wide with mild panic. "Wait, Y/N, I—I mean—"

You bit your lip softly, suddenly nervous. "Unless that's too much. We don't have to. I just thought it'd be nice—"

"No!" Peter quickly interrupted, placing a gentle hand on your arm, voice softening immediately. "No, Y/N. I like the idea. I really do."

You raised your eyebrows skeptically, watching him closely. "Are you sure? You kind of look like you just swallowed a spider."

He made a face at the analogy, chuckling nervously. "It's just—you know, people are gonna freak out. And Flash is definitely gonna say something stupid."

You smirked, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, I hope he does. Then I can watch him shrivel under the power of my infamous Stark glare."

Peter laughed softly, visibly relaxing now as he shook his head with amusement. "You really have spent too much time around Tony."

You flashed a proud grin. "Can't help it. Stark genes."

He smiled warmly at you, eyes lingering fondly as he squeezed your hand gently. "But seriously, Y/N. I'd love for you to stop by. And screw whatever Flash thinks."

You grinned happily, excitement bubbling up in your chest as you leaned forward, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to his lips. "It's a date, then."

Peter smiled shyly, cheeks turning bright pink as he squeezed your hand tighter. "Yeah, definitely."

Just then, footsteps echoed in the hallway, and you both turned toward the door as Tony strode in, a pizza box balanced in one hand, and the other covering his eyes.

“I’m giving you 15 seconds to get situated from whatever teenage shenanigans you two were up to. I better not see any clothing articles on the floor—”

"Dad!" you groaned loudly, cheeks immediately flushing. You quickly jumped away from Peter, nearly stumbling off your stool in embarrassment as you hurriedly fixed your hair. "We were literally just talking!"

Peter awkwardly cleared his throat, face equally flushed as he stared down at the floor, nervously scratching the back of his neck. "Uh, hi, Mr. Stark."

Tony finally lowered his hand from his eyes, giving both of you a deeply amused look as he walked further into the lab. "Relax, kiddos. Just making sure. Can't be too careful, what with teenagers being teenagers and all."

"Dad, seriously," you mumbled, trying to fight the burning embarrassment still flooding your cheeks. "I'm pretty sure the last thing on our minds is doing anything weird in my lab. With you literally two rooms down."

Tony smirked slightly, placing the pizza box on the counter beside you. "Hey, I don't judge. Hormones are unpredictable."

"Oh my God," you muttered, covering your face with your hands, hoping the ground might spontaneously open and swallow you whole. "Why are you like this?"

Peter laughed nervously, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced between you and Tony. "Um, sir, we—we were really just talking about the field trip next week."

Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow, glancing sideways at Peter. "Sure, Pete. You don't have to worry about me, though. I trust you. Mostly."

You let out an exaggerated groan, slumping dramatically against the lab table. "Please, Dad. For the love of Thor, stop talking."

Tony chuckled deeply, flipping the pizza box open casually. "Speaking of the field trip," he started, pulling out a slice, "I've been thinking about how we should handle this whole thing."

You sighed softly, finally looking up at him with a wary expression. "Handle it?"

Tony nodded slowly, taking a casual bite of his pizza. "You know, introductions, awkward teenage social dynamics, maybe a strategically embarrassing slideshow detailing Peter's intern duties—"

"Mr. Stark!" Peter interrupted quickly, looking mortified. "Please don't."

You shook your head vigorously, narrowing your eyes firmly at Tony. "Absolutely not. Dad, you promised you'd behave. No embarrassing Peter, remember?"

Tony pouted dramatically, sighing deeply as he looked between the two of you. "You're no fun at all. You know how much prep I've already put into this presentation?"

Peter paled visibly, shifting anxiously on his stool. "Presentation?"

Tony smirked mischievously, leaning forward slightly as he took another bite. "It's titled 'Peter Parker: Spider Intern or Spider Imposter?' Thought it had a nice ring to it."

You groaned again, burying your face in your arms on the lab table. "Peter, I'm so sorry."

Peter chuckled nervously, shaking his head as he glanced over at you. "It's fine. I mean, how bad could it really be?"

Tony grinned widely. "Oh, kid, famous last words."

"Dad," you finally lifted your head again, giving him a pleading look, "can we please just have a normal field trip? Without your involvement? At all?"

Tony raised an eyebrow, looking dramatically offended. "No involvement? I'm hurt, Y/N. This is literally Stark Industries. Emphasis on the Stark."

"Exactly," you pointed out firmly, crossing your arms. "Industries. Not Tony Stark's Personal Embarrassment Tour."

Peter nodded quickly, clearly hopeful you’d convinced him. "Please, Mr. Stark. I promise I'll make sure my classmates behave."

Tony tilted his head thoughtfully, still chewing his pizza. "Hmm. Alright, Parker. I'll consider scaling back my incredible plans. But only because you're looking at me like a kicked puppy."

Peter relaxed visibly, sighing in relief. "Thank you."

You let out your own relieved breath, reaching over to squeeze Peter's hand gently. "You okay?"

He nodded slightly, squeezing your hand back as he gave you a small smile. "Yeah, thanks. Just, you know, mild panic attack."

You chuckled softly, giving him an affectionate look. "I promise, it'll be okay. We can handle Dad."

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically, finishing off his pizza slice. "I'm literally right here."

You grinned cheekily at him, shrugging your shoulders. "We know."

Tony chuckled lightly, shaking his head fondly at you both. "Alright, alright, I get it. I'll behave." He turned his attention back to Peter, pointing a stern finger in his direction. "But you'd better make sure those high school gremlins don't touch anything. Or breathe on anything expensive. Especially Flash."

Peter nodded quickly, looking relieved but still a bit nervous. "Yes, sir."

Tony sighed dramatically again, reaching for another slice of pizza as he shot you both a teasing smirk. "Honestly, I'm pretty sure running an Avengers-level security detail was less stressful than hosting a bunch of teenagers."

You laughed softly, shaking your head at him. "Relax, Dad. It'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say," Tony grumbled playfully, giving you an affectionate smile. "You're not the one dealing with liability paperwork."

Peter smiled slightly, visibly calmer now as he relaxed next to you. "I promise, Mr. Stark, we'll be on our best behavior."

Tony smiled knowingly, pointing at him dramatically. "Good. Because if not, I'm blaming you directly, Parker. And then—"

"Tony," Pepper's amused voice suddenly cut in from the doorway. You all turned to see her leaning against the frame with a fond expression. "Don't threaten Peter. He's nervous enough."

Tony grinned sheepishly, shrugging at his wife with a playful pout. "Hey, someone’s gotta keep the kid on his toes."

Pepper rolled her eyes warmly, walking toward you and Peter with a reassuring smile. "Don't listen to him. You'll both do great next week."

You smiled gratefully at her, relaxing further. "Thanks, Mom."

Pepper gently squeezed your shoulder, giving Peter a comforting look. "It'll be fun, Peter. And don't worry, Tony will behave himself."

Tony scoffed loudly, crossing his arms indignantly. "I'm literally standing right here. You people act like I'm the teenager."

You smirked cheekily, tilting your head. "Well, Dad—"

He quickly held up his hand, shaking his head firmly. "Don’t. Finish. That. Thought."

Pepper laughed lightly, patting Tony's shoulder affectionately. "Come on, Tony. Let's leave the kids alone."

He sighed dramatically, moving to follow her but turned at the doorway to give you both a mock-stern glare. "Door stays open, kids."

"Dad!" you groaned again, flushing furiously as Tony chuckled and finally followed Pepper out, the door staying conspicuously wide open.

You sighed deeply, slumping slightly as you turned to look at Peter. "Sorry again. He's… a lot."

Peter laughed softly, relaxing completely now as he smiled warmly at you. "I’m used to it. Besides, I think your dad's threats of embarrassment kinda prepared me for this stuff."

You grinned gently, leaning toward him again. "So, still excited for Friday?"

He gave you a nervous but sincere smile, nodding slightly. "Yeah. As long as you're there, I'll be fine."

You felt your heart flutter warmly, squeezing his hand again as you leaned in, gently pressing your lips against his again. This time, without any interruption from Tony.

Peter smiled softly against your lips, pulling back slowly and meeting your gaze warmly. "Thanks, Y/N. For everything."

You smiled gently back at him, your eyes full of affection. "Anytime, Pete."

Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly. "Honestly, compared to being Spider-Man, dealing with your dad isn't so bad."

You laughed, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. "I'll remind you that you said that next Friday."

He sighed dramatically, grinning playfully. "Great. Can't wait."

You smiled warmly, knowing that despite Tony’s teasing, next week really was going to be great—because you'd be together, and that was what mattered most.

---

“Did May sign the permission slip? It’s due today!” Ned asked Peter as they walked down the hallway to Mr. Harrington’s class.

“Yeah, barely,” Peter laughed nervously, tugging his backpack higher onto his shoulder. “She got home late from her shift at the hospital, but I practically shoved the pen in her hand this morning.”

Ned chuckled, shaking his head knowingly. “Man, I still can’t believe we’re going to Stark Industries. Like, the actual Stark Industries. You think they’ll show us the Iron Man suits?”

Peter smirked, glancing over at Ned with amusement. “Probably not the real ones. Knowing Mr. Stark, he’ll probably have holographic decoys or something.”

��Oh, totally,” Ned agreed excitedly. “Wait, do you think the Avengers are gonna be there? Y/N did say the team all lives there.”

Peter bit his lip nervously, glancing around to make sure no one overheard them as they walked. “Yeah, I know. And that’s kinda what I’m worried about. Can you imagine how Flash is gonna react if Thor casually strolls by during the tour?”

Ned laughed, clapping Peter’s shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, just let Thor pick Flash up one-handed—that’ll shut him up real quick.”

Peter chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “Yeah, tempting as that sounds, I promised Y/N we’d all behave.”

“Aw, man,” Ned teased dramatically, pretending to pout. “You guys are no fun at all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter rolled his eyes affectionately, nudging Ned’s shoulder gently. “Just help me make sure MJ doesn’t instigate something. She’s been weirdly excited about this.”

Ned snorted loudly, nodding vigorously. “Dude, MJ told me she’s bringing popcorn to watch the chaos unfold. I think she’s secretly hoping Flash embarrasses himself.”

“Great,” Peter sighed, running a hand anxiously through his curls. “Just what I needed.”

“You’ll be fine, Peter,” Ned reassured gently, lowering his voice slightly. “Besides, you’re literally Spider-Man and dating Tony Stark’s daughter. Honestly, if Flash knew the truth, he’d lose his mind.”

Peter laughed quietly, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, well, let’s hope he doesn’t find out like that. Flash losing his mind is the last thing I want.”

Ned laughed again, giving Peter another reassuring pat on the back as they approached the classroom. “Relax, dude. It’ll be fine. Besides, Y/N’s coming, right? She’ll probably have your back.”

Peter smiled softly at that, nodding slowly as he walked into Mr. Harrington’s room. “Yeah, she will.”

They found their seats, and MJ looked up from her sketchbook as they joined her. “Morning, losers. Permission slips signed, or are you both gonna have to sit this one out?”

“Very funny,” Ned said dryly, showing her his slip proudly. “Signed, sealed, and delivered.”

MJ smirked, lifting an eyebrow as she glanced at Peter. “And you, Parker?”

Peter waved his permission slip dramatically, giving her a mock-serious look. “Relax, MJ, I’ve got it covered.”

“Good,” she replied casually, returning to her sketching. “Because if you missed this, I was gonna have to record Flash embarrassing himself and send it to you.”

Peter smiled faintly. “How thoughtful.”

“Always,” MJ replied without looking up.

The bell rang, and Mr. Harrington quickly stood, adjusting his glasses and collecting the slips eagerly. “Alright, everyone! Permission slips, hand them in now, please! Stark Industries awaits!”

Peter handed his slip to Mr. Harrington, heart thudding slightly in his chest as he felt reality sinking in again. As Mr. Harrington counted the slips, Flash loudly leaned toward Peter from his seat.

“Better be careful, Parker,” Flash whispered mockingly, a smug grin plastered across his face. “You wouldn’t wanna embarrass yourself in front of Tony Stark by pretending to be his intern, would you?”

Peter sighed deeply, not even bothering to look over. “Thanks, Flash. Really appreciate the advice.”

Flash scoffed arrogantly, crossing his arms as he leaned back. “Just looking out for you, Parker.”

MJ shot Peter an amused, knowing glance, mouthing silently, “Ten bucks says he cries.”

Peter stifled a laugh, relaxing slightly. Maybe Ned was right—Friday wouldn’t be so bad. Especially since he had you.

---

Meanwhile, at the tower, you were currently scribbling equations onto the large whiteboard in your lab, muttering softly to yourself as you worked through a particularly challenging formula.

“You know, most teenagers prefer sleeping in, Y/N,” Rhodey’s voice suddenly teased lightly from the doorway.

You spun around, smiling brightly as you spotted him leaning casually against the frame. “Yeah, but most teenagers aren’t Stark geniuses.”

He chuckled softly, stepping into the lab and glancing at your equations curiously. “Impressive as always. New project?”

“Sort of,” you admitted sheepishly, tapping your marker against your chin thoughtfully. “Peter and I were talking about his web-fluid yesterday, and I think I found a way to improve its tensile strength.”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Tony’s gonna be thrilled. Speaking of Peter, how’s he feeling about Friday?”

You sighed softly, leaning your back against the table. “Honestly? He’s nervous. Like, really nervous.”

Rhodey smiled knowingly, tilting his head sympathetically. “Poor kid. High school drama, huh?”

“Exactly,” you replied with a small laugh, shaking your head slightly. “It’s just… it’s frustrating. He’s incredible, you know? But he still worries what people like Flash Thompson think.”

Rhodey nodded understandingly. “Well, Flash Thompson’s an idiot.”

“That’s what I said!” you exclaimed immediately, grinning widely.

Rhodey laughed warmly, squeezing your shoulder gently. “Look, just remind Peter that he’s got nothing to prove. He knows who he is. You know who he is. That’s all that matters.”

You smiled softly at that, feeling warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks, Uncle Rhodey. I’ll make sure to remind him.”

He smiled back warmly, eyes gentle. “You two are good for each other, Y/N. You’ve always balanced each other out.”

You blushed slightly, nodding shyly. “Yeah, we do.”

“Alright,” Rhodey stepped back with an affectionate grin, “I better get to that meeting. Just wanted to check on you.”

You smiled warmly, giving him a grateful look. “Thanks, Uncle Rhodey.”

“Anytime, kiddo,” he replied gently before disappearing back into the hallway.

You turned back toward your equations, mind drifting again toward Peter and Friday. Despite all your reassurances, you knew exactly why he was nervous. Peter had always preferred blending in quietly, and dating Tony Stark’s daughter certainly wasn’t the way to keep a low profile.

But you’d made a promise to yourself—you would be there for him. No matter how awkward, how nervous, or how many snarky comments Flash made. Peter was worth it. Besides, you thought with a soft smile, you could handle a bit of embarrassment. Especially if it meant making sure everyone else knew just how amazing Peter Parker really was.

Smiling gently to yourself, you turned your attention back to your calculations. Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

---

Soon, Friday arrived and the bus to Stark Tower was overwhelmed with chatter and excitement.

"Oh my god, we're literally almost there!" Ned practically bounced in his seat, gripping the seat in front of him excitedly. "I'm actually going to see the lab where Iron Man makes his suits."

MJ rolled her eyes slightly, flipping casually through a book she'd brought along. "Please don't faint when you meet Tony again, Ned."

Ned frowned, looking mildly offended. "I didn't faint last time, MJ. I just got a little… dizzy."

Peter chuckled nervously from beside them, fingers fidgeting anxiously in his lap as his leg bounced rapidly. "Guys, please try not to draw too much attention today? Please?"

MJ lifted her gaze to Peter, arching an eyebrow skeptically. "You're dating the daughter of a billionaire superhero, Parker. I'm pretty sure attention is inevitable."

Peter groaned quietly, sinking slightly lower in his seat. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Flash loudly cleared his throat from across the aisle, leaning over with a smug smirk plastered on his face. "Parker, remind me—do interns at Stark Industries actually get to meet anyone important, or do they just spend the whole time fetching coffee?"

Peter sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Flash, I've told you a million times—I'm an intern. I work in an actual lab."

Flash snorted dismissively. "Yeah, sure you do. We'll see about that."

"Ignore him," MJ muttered calmly, returning her attention to her book. "He's just jealous because his dad couldn't buy him an internship there."

Ned snickered softly as Flash huffed indignantly, turning away again.

Peter's phone buzzed suddenly, and he quickly glanced down, seeing your name light up his screen. He smiled slightly, quickly opening your message.

You: Hey Pete! Just checking in—are you still alive? Ned didn't faint yet, right?

Peter grinned, quickly typing a reply.

Peter: Barely hanging on. And Ned’s still conscious. For now.

You: Good. Can't wait to see you.

Peter's heart fluttered at that, fingers hesitating over the screen before he sent back his message.

Peter: Me too. Miss you.

"Aw, Peter's blushing," MJ teased flatly, smirking without looking up from her page.

Peter flushed deeper, quickly pocketing his phone and stammering awkwardly. "I—uh—I'm not—"

"It's cute, man," Ned reassured, giving him a gentle nudge. "Besides, you're gonna be fine. Y/N will make sure Flash shuts up."

Peter sighed softly, leaning back against his seat. "Yeah. Hopefully without giving him permanent emotional damage."

MJ shrugged nonchalantly. "Either way, it's a win for me."

Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head as the bus finally pulled up in front of Stark Tower. The entire class erupted in excited chatter, students pressing against windows to get a better look at the imposing glass building.

Mr. Harrington stood from the front of the bus, trying to speak loudly over the chatter. "Alright, class! Remember, this is a rare and special opportunity. So please—please—try to behave yourselves."

Flash scoffed loudly from his seat. "Relax, Mr. Harrington. I'm sure Parker here can use his imaginary connections to keep us in line."

Peter bit his lip, clenching his fists tightly to prevent himself from saying something he'd regret. Thankfully, MJ was quick to respond.

"Hey, Flash," she called dryly. "Maybe Stark Industries will have an opening in the mailroom for you after graduation. Aim high."

The class laughed quietly as Flash’s face turned red with embarrassment. Peter gave MJ a grateful look, smiling slightly.

They filed off the bus and gathered at the entrance, Mr. Harrington attempting to count heads. Peter’s nerves spiked again as he glanced up at the glass doors. He swallowed anxiously, realizing in just moments, the quiet corner of his life he’d worked so hard to keep separate was about to collide spectacularly with his classmates.

"Relax, Peter," Ned murmured reassuringly, patting his shoulder. "You got this."

Peter smiled weakly, nodding slightly. "Thanks, Ned."

MJ looked up from her book again, giving him a tiny smirk. "If all else fails, just have Tony Stark kick Flash out of the building."

Peter laughed softly, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. "Good idea."

Before he could reply further, the front doors opened, and Peter's heart skipped when he saw Happy Hogan step through.

"Welcome, Midtown," Happy said loudly, in his usual deadpan voice. "My name is Happy Hogan. I'm head of security here at Stark Industries. I'll be taking you to the conference room, and we'll begin the tour shortly."

Flash's eyes widened, whispering excitedly to his friends, "That's Stark's security guy! You know he's gotta know Iron Man personally."

Peter smiled slightly at Happy, trying to catch his eye. Happy's gaze finally landed on Peter, giving him a small, knowing nod.

"Keep up, people," Happy said impatiently, already turning around and leading the class toward the elevators.

Peter felt the butterflies in his stomach grow heavier with every step they took. His breathing quickened slightly, heart pounding anxiously in his chest as he glanced at Ned, whispering nervously, "This is it. Oh god."

Ned squeezed his shoulder again reassuringly, giving Peter an encouraging smile. "You're gonna be fine, Pete. Just breathe."

MJ smirked faintly as she walked beside them, glancing sideways at Peter. "You look like you're about to faint, Parker."

Peter forced himself to chuckle, nodding weakly. "Yeah, no kidding."

Finally, they reached the massive conference room, and Happy gestured inside impatiently. "Sit down and don't touch anything. We will be passing out badges that you will need during the tour. There are different levels for different roles in the company, and badges are never reprinted unless lost. Because apparently I’m the only here who takes security seriou—”

“Ah, son of Hogan!” Thor boomed, standing in the conference room door. “You wouldn’t mind going out and getting more Pop-Tarts, would you?”

Happy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, visibly counting to ten before turning slowly to face Thor. "Thor, we've discussed this. I'm working."

Thor smiled broadly, completely unfazed. "Ah, yes, Son of Hogan, but this is an emergency. You see, I ate all the strawberry ones, and now Banner refuses to share his."

Happy sighed deeply again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Thor, please—just wait until I'm done here."

Thor's eyes drifted curiously to the classroom full of wide-eyed teenagers, offering them an enthusiastic wave. "Greetings, young scholars! Welcome to Stark's domain!"

Flash’s mouth fell open in shock, eyes wide as he grabbed his friend's shoulder. "Dude, it's literally Thor!"

Peter shrank slightly in his seat, cheeks flushing as he fought the overwhelming urge to bury his head in his arms. Ned elbowed him excitedly, whispering, "This is already the best day ever!"

MJ's smirk deepened as she leaned closer, murmuring softly, "At least Flash finally shut up."

Peter chuckled weakly, glancing nervously back at Thor, who had taken it upon himself to stride confidently into the conference room. Happy followed quickly, irritation clear on his face.

"Thor, I swear, if you break something—" Happy muttered sharply.

"Nonsense," Thor boomed cheerfully, placing his hands confidently on his hips as he smiled warmly at the stunned class. "These fine young Midgardians deserve the full Avengers experience."

Happy groaned softly, rolling his eyes upward in defeat.

Flash finally found his voice, practically vibrating in his seat. "Mr. Thor, sir—do you think we could, uh, maybe see your hammer?"

Thor chuckled heartily, shaking his head good-naturedly. "I'm afraid Mjolnir is resting securely, but perhaps another time!"

Mr. Harrington cleared his throat nervously, stepping forward to address Thor with an awkward smile. "Well, thank you for the unexpected introduction, Mr. Thor. We, uh, appreciate the warm welcome."

Thor beamed brightly, clapping a heavy hand onto Mr. Harrington’s shoulder, nearly knocking the teacher off balance. "Of course! I bid you farewell, small ones. Enjoy Stark's sanctuary!"

With a final dramatic wave, Thor exited the conference room, leaving a stunned silence behind.

Happy exhaled deeply, glancing around the room again. "So that's Thor. Please, no more interruptions. As I was saying before our surprise guest—badges. You'll each receive one based on your level of clearance."

He began passing out badges, placing them carefully onto the table as he spoke. "Blue badges grant general access for today. Do not lose these, do not trade them, do not sell them online. Trust me, we'll know."

Flash eagerly grabbed his badge, practically cradling it in awe as he turned to whisper excitedly to his friends. "Guys, this is legit Stark tech!"

MJ rolled her eyes slightly, carefully clipping her badge onto her shirt. "It's literally a laminated card, Flash."

Flash scowled at her, but Ned cut in excitedly before he could reply. "Hey, Peter, your badge is different. Yours is red!"

Peter flushed, awkwardly reaching out to take his badge from Happy, who gave him another subtle, reassuring nod. "Yeah, uh—it's an intern badge. It gives me access to the labs."

Flash's eyes widened again, looking sharply at Peter. "Wait—Parker actually has a legit badge?"

Peter sighed tiredly, clipping the badge onto his hoodie. "Yeah, Flash, that's what I've been trying to tell you."

Flash narrowed his eyes suspiciously, clearly skeptical but momentarily at a loss for words. Ned grinned proudly, nudging Peter excitedly. "Told you they'd freak."

Peter smiled weakly, glancing anxiously toward the doorway as Happy finished handing out badges and returned to the front of the room.

"Alright, people," Happy continued in his deadpan voice, "we have a lot to cover. I'll be taking you through the lower-level labs, public spaces, and exhibits. You'll be staying together and not touching anything unless explicitly instructed."

Mr. Harrington quickly nodded, his eyes wide with mild panic as he gestured toward the class. "Yes, yes—everyone, please listen carefully to Mr. Hogan."

Peter took a slow, steadying breath, trying to quell the anxiety that bubbled within his chest. MJ leaned slightly toward him, murmuring dryly, "Relax, Parker. You've survived alien invasions. You can survive a high school field trip."

Peter let out a shaky laugh, nodding weakly. "Yeah, you're right."

Happy motioned impatiently, waving everyone toward the door again. "Alright, follow me closely. We're heading down to the exhibit hall first."

Peter stood slowly, falling into step beside Ned and MJ. Flash followed closely behind, loudly whispering to anyone who would listen, "I bet we'll get to meet Tony Stark himself."

Peter's pulse quickened nervously at the mention of Tony, stomach twisting anxiously at the thought of just how close his carefully separated worlds were becoming. MJ glanced at him knowingly, giving a subtle smirk.

"You know," she murmured casually, "if Flash annoys Stark enough, maybe he'll ban him from the building."

Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, let's hope so."

They reached the elevators, and Happy quickly keyed in a security code, herding the group inside. "No pushing, please."

The elevator descended smoothly, opening into the exhibit hall. The entire class gasped, excited murmurs filling the air as they took in the massive display cases of Stark tech, holographic screens detailing various inventions, and impressive Avengers suits lining the walls.

Ned’s mouth fell open, eyes wide with awe. "Peter, this is insane!"

Peter smiled faintly, glancing around nervously. "Yeah, it's pretty cool."

Happy cleared his throat impatiently again, gesturing toward the displays. "Feel free to look around. No touching the glass. You break it, you buy it, and trust me—none of you can afford it."

Flash immediately moved toward the nearest Iron Man suit, practically pressing his nose to the glass as he marveled at it.

MJ leaned toward Peter again, speaking quietly. "You know Flash is gonna touch something eventually, right?"

Peter smiled slightly, nodding in resignation. "Yeah, probably."

“Spider-Man has his own display!?” Flash exclaimed, practically rushing toward the exhibit. He pressed his hands against the glass excitedly, ignoring Happy’s warning glare.

"Dude," Ned whispered to Peter, trying and failing to hide his grin, "That's you!"

"Shh!" Peter hissed nervously, glancing around quickly to ensure no one overheard. "Not here, man."

MJ chuckled quietly from beside them, arms crossed as she casually took in the spectacle. "So, this is what a secret identity crisis looks like."

Flash’s voice rang out loudly again, clearly trying to impress his small gathering of friends. "I mean, Spider-Man’s cool and all, but he's no Iron Man."

Peter felt his face flush slightly, resisting the urge to say something back. Ned, noticing his friend’s tense expression, quickly nudged Peter gently.

"Just breathe, dude," Ned whispered reassuringly, eyes sympathetic. "He doesn’t even know who he’s talking to."

Peter sighed softly, smiling weakly at Ned. "Yeah, you're right."

Flash continued his monologue to anyone who would listen, motioning dramatically to the display. "Spider-Man's alright, sure, but he's probably just some random guy who got lucky. Stark Industries just felt bad and threw him a bone."

"Wow," MJ deadpanned softly, eyebrows raised as she looked at Peter pointedly. "Are you gonna tell him how you single-handedly stopped a flying bird guy and an army of drones, or should I?"

Peter bit back a laugh, shaking his head nervously. "No, MJ. Please, no."

Meanwhile, Happy loudly cleared his throat again, clearly irritated. "Hey! Thompson, right? Keep your hands off the glass."

Flash pulled his hands back immediately, looking sheepish but quickly regaining his confidence. "Sorry, sir. Just admiring Spider-Man’s, uh, impressive suit."

Happy raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "I'm sure he'd be thrilled."

The class snickered softly at Flash’s embarrassment, and Ned leaned closer to Peter, whispering excitedly, "Oh man, I wish Y/N were here. She'd totally roast him right now."

Peter chuckled softly, nerves easing slightly at the mention of you. "Yeah, I know. She's definitely better at handling Flash than I am."

MJ smirked faintly, eyes sparkling with amusement. "You mean scarier."

"That too," Peter admitted with a slight laugh, shoulders relaxing a bit more.

Happy guided them further into the exhibit hall, pointing out various pieces of technology as the class followed excitedly behind. Ned eagerly snapped photos with his phone, whispering excited commentary to Peter, who smiled and nodded distractedly, mind clearly elsewhere.

They stopped again in front of a sleek glass display featuring the nanotech suit Tony wore during the battle against Thanos. The entire class gasped softly, and even MJ looked up from her book, clearly impressed.

"This," Happy announced seriously, motioning toward the display, "is Mr. Stark’s most advanced suit to date—fully integrated nanotechnology. It saved his life multiple times."

Flash stepped forward again, looking star-struck. "Is this the actual suit Iron Man wore?"

Happy sighed softly, nodding reluctantly. "Yes. And before you ask, no, you can't touch it."

Flash stepped back quickly, holding his hands up innocently. "Just checking."

"Wow," Ned breathed softly, glancing at Peter excitedly. "Dude, you've literally helped Mr. Stark build stuff like this. That's insane."

Flash overheard Ned's comment, quickly scoffing dismissively. "Oh, come on, Leeds. Stop believing Parker’s ridiculous fantasies. Like Tony Stark would ever let him near something important."

Peter felt his jaw tighten slightly in irritation but forced himself to remain silent, refusing to engage. MJ, however, tilted her head calmly, offering Flash a dry, unimpressed look.

"You're really embarrassing yourself right now," she stated bluntly, returning her attention casually to her book.

Flash opened his mouth to respond, clearly flustered, but Happy quickly interrupted before he could.

"Alright, moving on!" Happy called loudly, gesturing impatiently toward the next exhibit. "We still have a lot to see."

Peter felt a tiny bit of relief as Flash was forced to follow along silently, though his anxiety only grew as they continued deeper into Stark Tower. With every passing moment, they were closer to crossing paths with the Avengers—and, of course, with you.

The group turned the corner, approaching another expansive hall. Happy motioned toward the collection of Captain America’s shields mounted on the walls.

"And here," Happy said flatly, "you'll see the various prototypes and completed designs for Captain America's shield—vibranium alloy, nearly indestructible, and incredibly dangerous when wielded by literally anyone else."

The class laughed softly, admiring the impressive display. MJ glanced casually at Peter, raising an eyebrow with mock seriousness. "Cap's still your favorite Avenger, right?"

Peter chuckled nervously, shrugging slightly. "Uh, I dunno… they're all pretty cool."

Ned rolled his eyes dramatically, nudging Peter again. "Come on, dude. We all know your favorite Avenger."

MJ smirked knowingly. "Y/N doesn't count."

Peter flushed bright red immediately, stammering awkwardly. "I—I mean—she’s not technically an Avenger, so—"

"Uh-huh," MJ replied flatly, returning her focus calmly to the displays.

Flash scoffed softly from behind, overhearing their conversation. "Please. Like Parker even knows Y/N Stark. He probably doesn't even know what she looks like."

Peter's cheeks grew even redder, fists clenching nervously at his sides. Ned quickly placed a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder, shaking his head slightly.

"Just ignore him," Ned murmured softly, eyes sympathetic.

MJ rolled her eyes dramatically, glancing back at Peter calmly. "Seriously, Parker, you need better taste in friends."

Peter smiled weakly, trying not to let Flash’s words get under his skin. But as the tour continued, he felt increasingly anxious, dreading the inevitable moment you’d show up and his carefully guarded secret would be spectacularly shattered.

The class moved forward again, following Happy toward another part of the exhibit hall. Ned continued chattering excitedly, pointing out different displays to Peter, who smiled and nodded distractedly, heart racing anxiously in his chest.

As Happy stopped once more in front of a display case showcasing Hawkeye's various trick arrows, Flash loudly cleared his throat again, arms crossed smugly.

"Honestly," Flash announced loudly, addressing the entire class dramatically, "I'm surprised Stark even has this many Hawkeye arrows on display. I mean, he's basically useless compared to literally anyone else."

Peter frowned slightly, jaw tightening again in annoyance. He knew Clint well enough to appreciate just how skilled and important he truly was.

MJ, however, remained unimpressed, tilting her head calmly toward Flash. "You know Hawkeye could probably take you down with a single paperclip, right?"

Flash scoffed arrogantly, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, right. The guy shoots arrows for a living. Big deal."

From just behind Flash, a familiar voice suddenly spoke, casual but amused. "Actually, paperclips are a little boring. Give me some dental floss and a rubber band—now that's interesting."

Flash turned quickly, eyes wide with shock as he realized Clint Barton himself had silently walked up behind him, a mug of coffee in hand and a relaxed, amused smile on his face.

"Oh—um," Flash stammered awkwardly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as the entire class watched eagerly. "I—I didn’t mean—"

Clint chuckled softly, taking a casual sip of his coffee. "Relax, kid. No offense taken."

MJ smirked faintly, clearly entertained by Flash’s embarrassment. "Nice save, Flash."

Clint turned his gaze casually toward Peter, eyes sparkling knowingly. "Hey, Pete. Good to see you."

Peter flushed immediately, suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on him. He quickly waved nervously, voice slightly strained. "Uh, hey, Clint."

Flash stared wide-eyed, completely speechless now, as Clint simply nodded, clearly entertained. "Enjoy the tour, kids. Try not to break anything."

With that, Clint casually continued down the hallway, leaving stunned silence behind him.

MJ looked pointedly at Flash, raising an amused eyebrow. "Still think he's useless?"

Flash remained silent, cheeks burning with embarrassment as he quickly averted his gaze.

Peter exhaled slowly, heart still pounding anxiously in his chest. He glanced nervously toward the door, knowing that with Clint’s appearance, it was only a matter of time before the others arrived—and before you showed up and inevitably turned his entire world upside down.

And that moment came sooner than expected. As Happy led the class to the end of the exhibit hall, Vision phased through the wall, looking politely inquisitive as he hovered just slightly above the ground. "Ah, Mr. Hogan. I need to know where there’s extra sugar. Y/N asked for tea, and I'm 0.05 grams short."

Happy took another deep, exhausted breath, closing his eyes briefly in annoyance. "Vision, you're literally a supercomputer. Can’t you calculate your way to the pantry?"

Vision tilted his head thoughtfully. "I did, indeed. However, the pantry appears to have been relocated to accommodate Thor’s snack preferences. This requires manual intervention."

From the back of the group, Flash practically squeaked, whispering excitedly to the person beside him, "Holy crap, that’s Vision! Actual Vision!"

MJ glanced sideways at Flash, deadpan as always. "You sure? Might just be some other floating, vibranium-infused android phasing through walls."

Flash glared at her, crossing his arms tightly. "Shut up."

Peter swallowed nervously, feeling Ned elbowing him excitedly in the side. "Dude, this is literally the coolest day of my entire life."

"Yeah," Peter mumbled, feeling anxiety bubble up again at the mention of your name. His heart pounded quicker, wondering if this was the start of your inevitable appearance.

The elevators at the end of the hall opened as Wanda walked out. “Vis, you didn’t need to come all the way down here for sugar. I had found a new bag underneath the sink right when you left.”

“Yes,” Happy said, “thank you, Wanda. And Vision, I doubt Y/N would notice a difference if you were 0.05 grams short.”

Vision tilted his head thoughtfully, completely unfazed by the class of teenagers staring at him. "I suppose. But as she tells me, I make it perfect every time. I'd rather not disappoint her."

Wanda smiled softly, gently placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Trust me, Vis, Y/N will survive a slightly imperfect cup of tea."

From somewhere behind Peter, Flash whispered excitedly to his friend, voice shaking with awe. "Dude—Scarlet Witch too? This is literally the best day of my entire existence."

MJ glanced sideways, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "I'm glad witnessing you reach the peak of your existence is just as disappointing as I imagined, Flash."

Ned elbowed Peter again, practically bouncing in place. "This is insane, Pete! Wanda, Vision—who's next? Black Panther? Captain Marvel?"

Peter chuckled nervously, shifting anxiously on his feet. "Let's hope not."

Happy sighed deeply, giving Vision and Wanda a pointed look. "Alright, could you two maybe move this conversation somewhere else? I'm trying to give an educational tour here."

Vision nodded politely, still hovering just slightly above the ground. "Of course, Mr. Hogan. My apologies. We shall return upstairs."

"Thanks," Happy muttered flatly, clearly counting down the seconds until his tour guide duty ended.

Wanda turned her attention curiously to the class, smiling warmly as she noticed Peter. "Oh, Peter! Hi. How's the tour going?"

Peter flushed again immediately, awkwardly waving at her while feeling every single pair of eyes in the room shift to stare at him. "Uh, hi, Wanda. It's going good, thanks."

Flash stared wide-eyed at Peter, visibly baffled. "Wait—Parker knows Wanda Maximoff? What?"

MJ didn't look up from her book, lips quirking slightly. "If you'd listened to literally anything Peter said in the last two years, Flash, this wouldn't be surprising."

Flash opened his mouth to argue, cheeks flushed, but Wanda simply smiled gently, clearly amused by the drama she'd accidentally caused. "Well, I'll let you get back to it. Have fun, everyone."

With a polite nod, Wanda and Vision left quietly, leaving another stunned silence in their wake.

Mr. Harrington took a shaky breath, clearly overwhelmed by the day's surprises. "Well, this is certainly more exciting than I anticipated. Mr. Hogan, should we continue?"

"Please," Happy agreed impatiently, already walking ahead. "Next up is our robotics lab. Follow closely."

As the class began moving again, Flash stepped quickly beside Peter, clearly desperate for answers. "Okay, Parker, what's going on? First Clint Barton, now Wanda Maximoff knows you? How?"

Peter shrugged awkwardly, avoiding eye contact as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I mean—I told you, I work here. I'm an intern."

Flash shook his head skeptically, narrowing his eyes. "No way. There's gotta be something else."

MJ sighed dryly, clearly losing patience with Flash's stubborn disbelief. "Yeah, Flash, it's almost like Peter has an actual life outside of school. Wild concept, I know."

Flash huffed irritably, quickly walking ahead of them with a muttered, "Whatever."

Ned snickered softly, grinning at Peter triumphantly. "Finally! Flash has no idea what's coming next."

"Yeah," Peter chuckled weakly, heart racing anxiously again as he glanced around nervously, half-expecting you to pop out at any moment. "I'm terrified."

MJ smirked knowingly, nudging him gently. "Relax, Parker. This is honestly the best entertainment I've had in weeks."

They entered the robotics lab, a spacious room filled with advanced machinery, holographic interfaces, and several scientists and engineers quietly working at various stations.

Flash immediately rushed toward a particularly impressive robotic arm on display, eyes wide with awe. "Whoa, check this out! Do you think it's remote-controlled or something?"

Happy shot Flash an annoyed glare. "No. And again, Thompson—don't touch."

Flash quickly withdrew his hands, sheepishly stepping back again.

Peter lingered nervously near the doorway, fingers twitching anxiously at his sides. He glanced around the familiar lab, memories of working alongside you and Tony flooding his mind.

"Peter!" Bruce's cheerful voice suddenly called from across the room, causing Peter to jump slightly. Bruce walked over quickly, smiling warmly as he adjusted his glasses. "Good to see you, kid."

The class immediately quieted again, eyes once more shifting curiously toward Peter.

Peter flushed again, offering Bruce a shy, awkward wave. "Hi, Dr. Banner."

Bruce chuckled lightly, gently squeezing Peter's shoulder reassuringly. "You nervous?"

Peter forced a small laugh, scratching his neck nervously. "A little."

Flash stared open-mouthed, clearly unable to process yet another Avenger casually acknowledging Peter's existence. "This is not happening."

MJ smirked faintly, casually flipping another page in her book. "Honestly, Flash, your denial at this point is almost impressive."

Bruce glanced curiously at Flash, tilting his head slightly. "Is everything alright?"

Ned eagerly jumped in before Flash could respond, grinning broadly. "Flash just can't handle the fact that Peter actually interns here. He's been convinced Peter's lying for two years."

Bruce raised his eyebrows, clearly amused as he glanced back at Peter. "Really? Two whole years, huh? That's dedication."

Peter smiled weakly, shrugging again. "Yeah, it's been… interesting."

Bruce chuckled again, patting Peter reassuringly on the shoulder. "Well, don't let them get to you. You're brilliant, Peter."

"Thanks, Dr. Banner," Peter murmured shyly, cheeks pink again.

Flash stood completely silent, glaring at the floor in embarrassed frustration. Ned and MJ exchanged amused looks, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding.

Bruce smiled warmly again before giving Happy a quick nod. "Alright, I'll let you guys get back to the tour. Enjoy yourselves."

As Bruce returned to his workstation, Mr. Harrington cleared his throat nervously, trying to regain control. "Thank you, Dr. Banner. Class, shall we keep moving?"

Flash walked ahead quietly, clearly still stewing in confusion and embarrassment. MJ smirked triumphantly, looking pointedly at Peter. "See, Parker? Told you today would be entertaining."

Peter chuckled softly, still anxious but slightly less tense now. "Yeah, you're definitely right about that."

---

Lunch finally rolled around as the group was led to the mess hall, which was filled with at least a dozen small restaurants and cafes. The students murmured excitedly, marveling at the sprawling array of choices.

"No way," Ned breathed in awe, looking around eagerly. "They literally have everything. Pizza, sushi, burgers… is that a taco stand?"

Peter chuckled softly, his nerves easing slightly as he watched his friend practically vibrate with excitement. "Yeah, Mr. Stark doesn't really do subtle."

MJ raised an amused eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Gee, I couldn't tell. It's not like we've spent all morning touring through his personal Disneyland."

Flash scowled slightly from across the table, clearly still irritated by the earlier embarrassment. He crossed his arms defensively. "Big deal. My dad's company cafeteria has pretty much all the same stuff."

MJ tilted her head calmly, unimpressed. "Yeah, but I'm guessing your dad's cafeteria isn't visited by literal superheroes."

Ned snorted quietly, quickly covering his mouth as Flash's face reddened again with annoyance.

Peter shifted anxiously in his seat, scanning the room carefully. He could feel the familiar flutter of nerves again, anticipation building in his chest. He knew you'd be coming by—he just wasn't sure when.

"Dude," Ned whispered, leaning toward Peter eagerly, eyes darting around the bustling space. "Where's Y/N? She said she was bringing you lunch, right?"

"Yeah," Peter admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Maybe she's running late. Or forgot."

MJ rolled her eyes, clearly unbothered as she calmly continued sketching in her notebook. "Parker, you're literally dating the human equivalent of a supercomputer. She didn't forget."

Peter flushed faintly, smiling shyly. "Yeah, you're right."

From nearby, Flash turned sharply, overhearing the tail-end of the conversation. He leaned toward them, voice thick with disbelief and mockery. "Wait, hold up. Did you just imply Parker's dating Y/N Stark?"

Peter swallowed nervously, looking away quickly. "Uh—"

MJ calmly met Flash's skeptical glare. "Do you need a dictionary to understand basic English, Thompson? I thought it was clear."

Flash scoffed loudly, folding his arms with an arrogant smirk. "That's hilarious, even for Parker. There's no way Stark's daughter would look twice at him."

Peter clenched his fists tightly beneath the table, irritation flickering in his eyes. Before he could reply, a familiar voice rang out clearly across the crowded mess hall.

"Peter!" your voice called happily from near the doors. Peter's head snapped up quickly, and he felt his heart skip anxiously as you stepped through the busy cafeteria, smiling brightly and holding two bags in your hands. "Sorry I'm late! Dad wouldn't stop talking about something I was working on, and—"

Your voice trailed off when you noticed everyone staring at you, a hush of surprised whispers quickly spreading through the crowd. You hesitated slightly, your cheeks burning as you realized the entire Midtown High class was openly gaping at you—Flash included.

Peter swallowed nervously, heart hammering in his chest as he slowly stood up, forcing a shy, awkward smile as he walked toward you. "Hey, Y/N."

Your eyes softened immediately at the sight of him, relaxing visibly as your lips curved into a gentle smile. "Hey, Pete."

Flash stared open-mouthed, frozen in shock, his voice coming out as a stunned squeak. "No freaking way."

You glanced sideways at Flash, arching an unimpressed eyebrow at his disbelief before turning your attention fully back to Peter. You held out one of the lunch bags, offering a sheepish smile. "I brought your favorite sandwich from Deluca's. And some cookies Wanda and I made last night."

Peter relaxed slightly, unable to suppress his shy grin as he gently took the bag from you. "Thanks. You're the best."

You smiled warmly, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. "Obviously."

Behind him, Ned coughed pointedly, grinning eagerly as he waved at you. "Hi, Y/N!"

You chuckled softly, stepping around Peter and walking over to greet Ned and MJ warmly. "Hey, Ned. MJ."

MJ nodded calmly, lips quirking faintly. "Nice entrance."

You laughed softly, glancing around the cafeteria again with mild embarrassment. "Yeah, that wasn't exactly intentional."

Flash finally found his voice again, sputtering incredulously. "Hold up. You're seriously dating Parker?"

You glanced over at Flash, raising your eyebrows calmly. "You say that like it's surprising. We've been dating for a year."

Flash gaped openly, completely baffled. "But—but he's Parker! How?"

MJ tilted her head casually, voice dry and deadpan. "Generally, Flash, people date because they like each other. I know, shocking concept."

Peter flushed faintly, gently nudging your side as he leaned in closer. "I'm so sorry."

You grinned mischievously, eyes sparkling playfully as you glanced back at Peter. "Why? This is kind of fun."

Ned chuckled softly, shaking his head fondly. "You're terrifying sometimes, Y/N."

MJ smirked knowingly, still sketching calmly in her notebook. "That's why I like her."

You laughed lightly again, quickly leaning in to press a gentle kiss against Peter's cheek, making his blush deepen even further. "Anyway, enjoy your lunch. I'll see you after the tour?"

Peter nodded shyly, smiling softly at you. "Yeah, definitely."

Flash opened his mouth again, clearly still confused, but Happy suddenly appeared near your shoulder, arms crossed impatiently. "Alright, kids. As amusing as this drama is, lunch break's almost over. Finish eating, and we'll continue the tour."

You smiled sheepishly, giving Peter one final, affectionate glance. "See you soon, Pete."

Peter smiled warmly, heart fluttering softly as he watched you walk away. "See you."

As you disappeared down the hallway, Flash shook his head, muttering softly, "This is literally the weirdest day of my entire life."

MJ didn't look up from her book, casually replying, "Glad I was here to see it."

Ned grinned broadly, happily returning to his sandwich. "Me too."

Peter sighed quietly, finally relaxing fully into his seat again. He carefully opened the lunch bag you'd brought, smiling fondly when he saw his favorite sandwich and cookies neatly packed inside.

"You good, Parker?" MJ asked calmly, glancing up from her book briefly.

Peter smiled softly, feeling warmth spread through his chest as he nodded gently. "Yeah, I'm great."

From across the table, Flash silently stared at Peter for several more moments, clearly processing everything he'd witnessed before finally clearing his throat awkwardly. "So, um—do you, like, know Tony Stark, then?"

MJ rolled her eyes slightly, shaking her head with a faint sigh. "Flash, seriously."

Peter chuckled softly, finally feeling a little more confident. He glanced calmly toward Flash, shrugging lightly. "Yeah, Flash. I work with him pretty regularly."

Flash sat back heavily in his chair, looking thoroughly humbled. "Wow. That's… that's really cool."

MJ smirked faintly, muttering quietly enough for only Peter and Ned to hear. "And it only took two years to get through to him."

Peter smiled shyly, shaking his head slightly. "Better late than never, right?"

Ned chuckled warmly, raising his sandwich slightly in a mock-toast. "To Peter Parker—Stark Industries intern, Spider-Man, and boyfriend of Y/N freaking Stark. Dude, your life is insane."

Peter laughed softly, feeling a content warmth spread through him as he took a bite of his sandwich. "Yeah. It definitely is."

---

The rest of lunch passed quickly, and soon Happy returned to gather the students again. He stood at the head of the table, hands on his hips, clearly eager to finish his unofficial tour guide duties.

"Alright," Happy announced gruffly, looking around impatiently at the group. "Lunch break's over. Everyone, up. We're heading up to the R&D floors next."

Ned quickly stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth, scrambling to his feet eagerly. "R&D floors? Oh, man, I can't wait to see that!"

MJ calmly put away her sketchbook, casting Peter an amused look. "Try not to pass out from excitement, Leeds."

Flash lingered quietly near the back of the group, clearly still subdued by the earlier revelations. He offered Peter a small, somewhat awkward nod of acknowledgement as he passed by, clearly at a loss for how to handle the newfound information.

Peter smiled faintly, feeling slightly bad for Flash despite everything. He offered a small, friendly nod back before following the group toward the elevators.

As they gathered around the elevator, Ned practically bounced in place. "Dude, the R&D floors must be where all the top-secret stuff happens, right? Like experimental suits and nanotech?"

Peter chuckled quietly, nodding slightly. "Yeah, Mr. Stark keeps most of his really cool inventions there."

Happy ushered them inside impatiently, quickly pressing the button for one of the upper floors. "Stay close, please. And for the love of everything, do not touch anything."

The elevator doors opened, and the class stepped out into a large, open area filled with workstations, holographic projections, and advanced machinery. Several engineers moved around busily, immersed in various tasks and experiments.

Ned stared wide-eyed, quickly glancing at Peter in excitement. "This is so freaking cool!"

MJ arched an eyebrow slightly, looking mildly impressed despite herself. "I'll admit, this actually is impressive."

Flash stayed quiet, eyes carefully scanning the room, clearly wary of embarrassing himself further.

Happy cleared his throat, motioning toward one of the larger workstations. "Here at Stark Industries, our engineers develop cutting-edge technology daily. Everything from advanced energy solutions to prototype armor upgrades are created in this very room."

From the far side of the room, Tony Stark himself suddenly appeared, clearly engrossed in conversation with a technician. The class collectively froze, whispering excitedly as they recognized him.

"Dude," Ned whispered loudly, grabbing Peter's arm excitedly. "That's literally Tony Stark. He's right there!"

Peter smiled slightly, feeling his face flush again. "Yeah, Ned. I've seen him before."

Flash watched nervously, clearly intimidated. "Wow, it's really him. Like, Iron Man himself."

MJ sighed softly, rolling her eyes. "Congratulations, Flash, you have functioning eyes."

Tony glanced up briefly, eyebrows raised slightly as he noticed the group of teenagers staring at him. His lips quirked faintly in amusement as he spotted Peter, stepping closer casually.

"Peter," Tony greeted calmly, eyes sparkling knowingly. "How's the tour going? Still alive?"

Peter smiled weakly, scratching his neck shyly. "Barely, Mr. Stark."

Flash stared wide-eyed, completely silent again, visibly stunned.

Tony turned slightly, addressing the group with an amused smirk. "Hello, Midtown students. Hope you’ve been treating Peter nicely. I’d hate to revoke your guest privileges."

Peter bit his lip nervously, quickly shaking his head. "They're fine, Mr. Stark. Really."

Tony nodded casually, glancing back at Flash knowingly. "Good. Because someone around here owes my daughter an apology."

Flash flushed brightly, quickly looking away in embarrassment.

MJ smirked faintly, clearly entertained. "Nice going, Thompson."

Tony chuckled lightly, patting Peter gently on the shoulder. "Anyway, I’ll leave you all to it. Try not to break anything expensive."

"Yes, sir," Peter murmured quietly, cheeks flushed but unable to hide a small smile.

Tony gave a casual wave, already moving back toward his workstation. "Enjoy the rest of the tour."

As Tony walked away, Flash looked toward Peter sheepishly, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Hey, um—sorry for… you know, everything."

Peter smiled faintly, shrugging lightly. "It's fine, Flash."

MJ arched a calm eyebrow, offering Peter an amused glance. "You're too nice, Parker."

Peter chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah, probably."

Happy cleared his throat impatiently, motioning toward another workstation. "Alright, moving along. Lots to see, people."

They soon made their way to the Avengers gym. Through the soundproof glass they could see Natasha practicing her shooting, Bucky cleaning his metal arm, Steve hitting a boxing bag, and Sam and Clint preparing their own weapons.

“—well, Tony supposedly improved my exploding arrows.”

“Yeah, well he also upgraded Redwing.” Sam countered.

Clint narrowed his eyes at the mention of Redwing. "Look, Wilson, we all know Tony loves his robots, but arrows take precision and skill."

Sam scoffed, checking over his wrist controls with a confident smirk. "Oh, please. You can’t even hit a target without your fancy exploding arrows."

Clint frowned, quickly grabbing an arrow and notching it firmly. "I bet I hit my mark faster than you can get that toy of yours airborne."

Sam grinned sharply, raising his wrist confidently. "Deal, Barton. Count of three?"

"You're on," Clint shot back, aiming carefully at the target. "One... two... three!"

He fired the arrow, watching proudly as it sailed perfectly into the bullseye. But nothing happened. The arrow simply embedded itself, utterly anticlimactic.

Sam laughed loudly, shaking his head. "Well done, Barton. That’s impressive."

Clint stared incredulously at his arrow. "What the—these were fine yesterday! Stark must’ve given me defective ones."

Bucky snorted softly from nearby, polishing his metal arm casually. "Pretty sure Tony doesn't make anything defective."

Clint shot him an annoyed glare. "Yeah, well, I guess today’s his first."

"Watch and learn," Sam said confidently, activating Redwing from his wrist pad. The drone immediately sprang to life, hovering briefly in the air—before suddenly sputtering out with a pitiful beep and dropping uselessly to the ground.

Bucky raised an amused eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Problem, Sam?"

Sam stared open-mouthed at Redwing, quickly fiddling with the controls in frustration. "Aw, come on, not you too! Redwing was perfectly fine this morning!"

Clint rolled his eyes, quickly grabbing another arrow from his quiver, carefully examining it with suspicion. "Maybe the lab just had a glitch or something."

Steve paused his boxing practice, turning to watch them curiously. "You sure you two aren’t doing something wrong?"

Clint scoffed, rolling his shoulders irritably. "I've literally been doing this for decades, Steve. I think I know how to shoot an arrow."

"Alright," Sam announced, tapping at his controls again with determination. "Let's try this again."

"Second time’s the charm," Clint agreed dryly, pulling back his bowstring confidently. "Ready, Wilson?"

"Do it," Sam replied sharply, flicking his wrist pad once more.

Clint released his arrow just as Sam activated Redwing again—and chaos immediately erupted.

The arrow exploded dramatically with a loud pop, showering Clint in a thick cloud of bright, glittery red powder. At precisely the same moment, Sam’s wrist pad burst open, coating him in an identical sparkling mess.

Clint yelped loudly, stumbling backward as glitter settled over his hair, clothes, and face. "What the—oh, no, no, no! What is this stuff?"

Sam sputtered furiously, shaking his wrist uselessly and only spreading glitter further across his shirt. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me—Stark!"

Bucky started laughing immediately, clutching his sides as he watched Clint frantically try to wipe the glitter off, only succeeding in smearing it deeper into his clothes. "I stand corrected. Maybe Tony does make defective gear—on purpose."

Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. "You two might wanna clean that up before—"

"Too late," Natasha chimed in smoothly from across the room, carefully reloading her weapon with an amused smirk. "I warned you both about letting Thor and Loki visit Y/N."

Clint stopped his frantic glitter-rubbing, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Natasha. "Wait. You knew about this?"

She shrugged innocently, lips twitching upward. "Maybe."

Sam groaned dramatically, dropping his head back in annoyance. "Great. Loki glitter."

Natasha nodded knowingly, offering a small, sympathetic smile. "Sorry, boys. But I did warn you—multiple times."

Clint threw his hands up in exasperation, sending a fresh cloud of glitter into the air. "Why do we keep trusting Y/N when Thor and Loki are involved? Have we learned nothing?"

Bucky smirked faintly, leaning back comfortably in his seat. "Apparently not."

---

Outside the soundproof glass of the gym, Peter’s entire class stared in wide-eyed disbelief, clearly stunned by the spectacle they'd just witnessed.

Ned turned slowly toward Peter, whispering in awe. "Dude, that was the single greatest thing I've ever seen."

Peter shook his head slightly, trying not to smile as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah. Definitely a Y/N special."

Flash blinked rapidly, clearly still processing everything. "Wait, hold on. Y/N did that?"

MJ raised an eyebrow calmly, clearly entertained. "If you'd ever actually met her, you'd know that's practically her signature."

Peter chuckled softly, finally relaxing slightly as he nodded. "Yeah, she’s, uh... really into glitter-based revenge."

Flash let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head again. "This day just keeps getting weirder."

MJ smirked slightly, lips quirking upward in amusement. "Best day ever."

---

Inside the gym, Clint desperately tried wiping glitter from his face again, glaring toward the window suspiciously. "I swear, if Y/N is out there filming this—"

Bucky laughed again, shaking his head fondly. "Oh, I'm sure she’s got at least three different angles recorded by now."

Sam groaned loudly again, slumping down in defeat. "This glitter’s never coming off, is it?"

Natasha shrugged lightly, clearly unbothered. "Loki’s magic glitter? Probably not for days."

Steve smiled faintly, turning back to his boxing bag with an amused shake of his head. "Maybe next time, you'll both think twice before messing with Y/N."

Clint sighed dramatically, glaring down at his glitter-coated clothes. "Lesson officially learned. Never again."

Bucky chuckled knowingly, leaning back comfortably. "We both know that's a lie, Barton."

---

Happy turned from the gym window with an exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples tiredly. "Alright, kids, show's over. Let's move along before they decide to drag us into this glitter war."

Peter smiled faintly, glancing back once more at the glitter-covered scene inside the gym before following Ned and MJ down the hallway.

Flash walked quietly beside him, clearly still processing everything he'd witnessed. After a long moment, he finally spoke, voice hesitant. "Hey, Parker? Uh, your life is really weird."

Peter laughed softly, nodding gently. "Yeah. You have no idea."

Ned grinned broadly, nudging Peter playfully. "Best day ever, man. Best. Day. Ever."

MJ sighed dramatically, casually flipping open her sketchbook again. "Let's hope glitter removal isn't contagious."

Peter smiled warmly, finally feeling fully relaxed for the first time all day. Despite the chaos and embarrassment, he had to admit—today was definitely turning out better than he'd expected.

---

Back in your lab, you sat back happily, giggling softly as you watched the live footage on your tablet—Sam and Clint still frantically rubbing at the endless glitter.

Tony walked casually into the room, raising an eyebrow knowingly when he noticed your mischievous expression. "Let me guess—glitter?"

You grinned innocently, turning your tablet around to show him proudly. "Magic glitter. Loki’s specialty."

Tony laughed warmly, shaking his head fondly. "Nice touch, kid."

You beamed proudly, giggling again as you glanced back at the glitter-filled chaos. "Best prank yet."

Tony chuckled softly, squeezing your shoulder gently. "Just promise you'll give them a break tomorrow?"

You tilted your head thoughtfully, smirking slightly. "We'll see."

Tony smiled fondly, rolling his eyes warmly. "Alright, evil genius. I’ll leave you to it."

You grinned mischievously again, settling back comfortably in your chair. "Thanks, Dad."

As Tony walked away, you returned your attention happily to the glittery chaos on your tablet, already mentally planning your next prank. Life in Stark Tower was certainly never boring—and you wouldn't have it any other way.

4K notes · View notes

myreadings · 29 days ago

Text

Cool To The Touch

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Being a telepath meant being cautious. With every touch, you were cautious. Whether you used it on criminals during a mission, or tried to avoid it when in close contact with your friends.

You were cautious when Bucky, the last person you expected, woke you up in the middle of the night, begging you to use your powers on him.

WC: 7.8K

Tags/ Warnings: canon typical violence, depictions of murder/strangulation, hints at torture, Hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, reader is ex-HYDRA

A/N: Not canon compliant! It gives OG avengers tower fics so it briefly includes some of ur fav OG avengers + Yelena, and I started writing this before Thunderbolts came out so doesn’t really reference that. Beta read by my bestie @whats-yesterday00

You thought there was a noise. It was muffled and quick, but it still managed to reach your ears.

It’s what caused you to stir awake. Half asleep, half fighting to wake up. In your semi-conscious state, you assumed it was nothing and attempted to fall back asleep.

Then the knocking came. This new sound fully woke you up.

You lazily reached over and grabbed your phone off the nightstand. Your eyes pried open to see the time was 3:16 am. The knocking returned. This time it wasn't quiet, cushioned. Now it was a real knock.

You threw off the comforter and stumbled to the door. When you opened it you found Bucky Barnes about to knock a third time.

He stared at you in silence for a moment. Even though he was the one to knock on your door, he looked almost startled. Like he was surprised to see you answer your own bedroom door.

It was now that you noticed he was shirtless because his tense muscles relaxed, Like the sight of you relieved him.

“Bucky, it’s three in the morning,” you started with a hoarse voice from just waking up.

He shifted his weight as he stood in front of you. You couldn’t read his expression very well, but you could still sense something was plaguing him.

“Can you do me a favor?” He asked. His voice had a hint of desperation.

You straightened at the tone of his voice. Concern filled you in seconds.

“What is it? What happened?”

He swallowed before making his request. “Can you go in my mind?”

You froze at his question and stared back at him with wide eyes. The last thing you would’ve ever expected from Bucky, was not only him allowing you to enter his mind, but practically begging you for it.

When Steve first introduced you to the rest of the Avengers, he described your powers as similar to Wanda’s. After all, she was part of the reason you had those powers in the first place.

In an effort to replicate their success with the twins, Hydra started a new research program to create another telepath. You were unfortunately one of their test subjects, and the only one who made it out alive. That was because you were the only one who showed any positive results.

Unbeknownst to them, Wanda's exposure to their experiments brought out her own magical gifts. So when they tried it with you (and without the mind stone), the results were what they called “insufficient.” The only reason they kept you alive was to study you and your abilities to perfect their technique on someone else.

Thankfully, the Avengers tracked down the lab and found you. You were even more grateful that Steve thought you would be a good addition to the team and gave you a place to stay.

But when he briefly explained your abilities, it made a few of them wary of you like they were with her at first. You remember Tony, and Bruce tensed up at the reveal of how your powers actually worked. Meanwhile, the woman herself was immediately welcoming.

But just like with Wanda, you quickly grew on them. Even Tony warmed up to you and called you Witch Jr (even if you weren’t a witch).

One person that you became particularly close with was Bucky. From when you first met, there was something about him that you found comforting. You couldn’t quite place what it was. All you knew was that you never felt tense in his presence. You never worried that he would find you odd or strange.

He started to fill the missing pieces that hydra tried to take from you.

The beginning of your friendship was quiet. That might have been why you guys clicked so well so fast. You could exist in the calm silence together. You both enjoyed each other's company. Occasionally making small talk that didn't feel awkward or forced.

What soon followed was deep growing trust and appreciation. It almost happened overnight. How quickly the friendship blossomed into more than just enjoying the company. You looked forward to spending time together. Wanted to know all the little quirks and intricacies that made you who you were.

“So how does it work exactly?” he asked you.

Bucky sat at the opposite end of the couch from you, slightly baffled that in the many weeks he knew you he still didn’t know the full scope of your powers.

“It’s kinda like Wanda’s, but more restrictive.” The more you talked with him, the less interested you were in movie playing.

“I know that part, but how?” he inquired.

You shifted to fully face him, “I’m only a telepath. I can see into someone’s mind and alter it, but can’t move things with my own. And I need to make physical contact with the person to do it.”

He stayed silent, waiting for you to continue.

“I can see your thoughts, memories, emotions, fears, desires, anything and change them. I can alter your actions, but of course only if I’m touching you. I can plant myself in your memories and experience them for myself.”

As he took in the information, his expression grew with curiosity. “You can change memories?” he asked in a slightly lower voice.

His curiosity was no surprise to you. You were fully aware of his past as the winter soldier and the things your mutual acquaintances put him through.

“I can reach deep into your subconscious and bring out memories that were previously hidden. I can remove short term memories, but never long term ones,” you hesitated as you recalled what happened the previous times you were ordered to remove long term memories. All the minds you scrambled at Hydras orders.

“Completely erasing long term memories can be dangerous.”

Bucky nodded after you explained, acknowledging he understood.

“Got any other cool tricks up your sleeve?”

“I can make someone fall asleep and enter their dreams. I’ve done that a few times. Knocked out a lot of people since joining this job,” you ended with a chuckle.

The corners of his mouth threatened to perk up. “Sounds like a good cure for insomnia or nightmares.”

“Pretty much,” you shrugged. “I actually did help Wanda fall asleep once. I don’t do it often but sometimes it can be really helpful if your dreams just get a bit too much.”

“Sadly that’s a common occurrence for all of us.”

“Unfortunately,” you mumbled.

You were no stranger to nightmares. Every so often- more often than you’d like- terrifying images would creep their way into your sleep. Whether real or artificial, they still made you wake up feeling like your chest is running out of air.

You knew Bucky got them too. Probably more often than you did. Just a few days after you joined the team you ran into him in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Neither of you spoke about it other than a simple “nightmare?” and a nod as a response.

“How hard is it to control?” he asked, still eager to understand the depth of your abilities.

“I’ve pretty much got a good handle on it. I was offered a lot of,” you swallowed down the words hydra test subjects, “practice.”

There was a subtle look of sadness in his eyes, like he silently told you he understood.

“Except, there have been some moments when I’m in contact with someone and I can feel their emotions or thoughts without trying because it’s such a strong feeling. I don’t mean to, it’s just so overwhelming for the other person it seeps into me.”

You immediately cringed at your own words. “That sounds weird doesn’t it?”

Bucky shook his head, “not at all. I think I get it. It’s like your empathy is cranked up to a thousand.“

You nodded to confirm his assumption. A tiny breath of relief left you.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” you whispered as your attention drifted towards your fidgeting hands.

You didn’t expect the confession to leave you. But something told you that Bucky wouldn’t think of you as strange or creepy for it. While he was often found with a judgmental grimace, you hoped, prayed even, that not a single ounce of judgment would pass through his veins.

“I’ve always been afraid that if I told someone, then they’d never want to touch me,” you continued, even quieter this time.

“Hey,” he muttered to bring your eyes back to him.

He reached his hand out towards you. You stared at it in confusion before he spoke again. You’d never heard his voice sound so soft and gentle before.

“I trust you.”

Your heart nearly gave out from his sentiment. A soothing ache wound itself around your heart and squeezed it tight.

You accepted his offer and took his hand in yours. His skin was warm to the touch compared to yours. The heat from his hand started to creep its way into you.

“You don’t seem like the type to go digging around in my head.”

You gently squeezed his hand, “I promise I won’t.”

This time he allowed the smile to grow on his lips.

His hand parted from yours, his touch lingering for just a second longer. It left sparks on the ends of your fingertips that traveled in your veins and to your heart.

You tried not to overthink how that was the first time you and Bucky ever really had close contact.

He folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, “You don’t want to look in there anyway. It’s a mess,” he joked.

That’s what made you so concerned. Bucky had enough invasive alterations to his mind over the years. Turning his thoughts insight out until he no longer knew who he was.

It was assumed that he would never ask you to look inside or do anything to his mind.

Until now.

“Bucky what happened?” you asked, opening the door and gesturing for him to enter.

He cautiously stepped inside. “I haven’t slept in days,” Bucky couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke. His voice sounded shaky and rough.

“I thought I was doing better. I didn’t have a single nightmare for three weeks and then-“

He paused at a loss for words. He balled his metal fist so hard you could hear the metal adjust to the strength.

“It’s been days. Every night. I can’t sleep,” he finished weakly.

“Do you want me to erase it? Your nightmare?” you offered.

“No!” he snapped louder than he intended. A brief flash of terror crossed his face. Likely from the images of whatever occurred in his dreams. You couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want you to rid himself of the memory. But you assumed he wanted to keep you from witnessing whatever horrors he saw.

The sight of him in this state was shattering your heart.

“No, I uh … wanted to ask if you could help me sleep.”

You didn’t have to consider his request. You would help him in a heartbeat.

“Of course.”

His tense shoulders slightly loosened and his tight fist released.

You moved back to the door to leave and he gave you a quizzical look.

“You wanted to go to sleep right?” you asked in conformation as you opened the door.

His eyes widened for a second. “Right,” he muttered.

Bucky led you down the hall to his room. Upon entering your eyes all around the interior until you stopped at the floor. Your eyebrows furrowed when you saw one of the pillows and a blanket removed from the bed and layed out messily on the floor next to it instead.

“Sometimes the bed is too soft. I thought the floor would help,” he answered your question before you could even ask it.

The memory of Sam and Steve mentioning the discomfort of regular beds returned to you. How they felt like they were sinking in their own mattress and it took a while to get used to.

“Do you want to try sleeping here again?”

He shook his head, “no, I don’t want you on the floor.” He grabbed the discarded pillow and blanket and placed them back on the bed.

You held back from playfully rolling your eyes, sensing this probably wasn’t the time to tease him. “This isn’t about my comfort, Bucky. The goal is to get you to sleep.”

He shrugged as he sat down. “Still.”

The room fell into silence as you stood before him. Your body was frozen in place, hesitant to move closer. It’s not that you haven’t done this before. It just felt different this time.

This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t feel weird about this. Both Wanda and Bucky are your friends. Why should it be any different doing this for Bucky? This is normal. This is what friends do, they help each other, they comfort each other.

This is you being a friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and took a few steps closer. You ignored the way your stomach was in knots.

“So, you can lie down like normal and I can hold your hand,” you started, trying to hide the nervousness. “If you’re okay with that.”

“That’s fine,” he shifted to lie down, giving himself the pillow that was on the floor. You moved to the other side of the bed and slowly layed down.

That weird feeling in your stomach started to boil over as he turned to face you with his hand out. You had no choice but to shove that feeling down. He needed your help. You couldn’t help him with these feelings swarming around and distracting you.

“I’m gonna do this slower than when I knock people out during a job. To make sure you don’t get another nightmare I’m going to help you relax and then you’re going to slowly feel more and more tired. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered back. “Ya know, you don’t need to use your powers to help me relax.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

Bucky fake smiles back as the meaning behind his statement is lost on you.

Reaching forward, you met his hand in yours. His palm was clammy and warm. On instinct you started to gently move your thumb back and forth over his skin.

“Close your eyes.”

He followed your command. You took a deep breath, and focused your energy on him.

His emotions started to flow through your veins. It was worse than you thought. His fear and anxiety were clouded, letting you know he started to calm down. But the presence was like a black cloud ready to pour at any second. A lingering weight that couldn’t stop pulling you down.

And what surprised you, was the guilt. You felt like you were drowning in it. Suffocating on it. Like it filled up your lungs and you couldn’t breathe.

You tried your hardest to melt the feelings away. To sooth them with something he found comforting. You searched for the source of whatever started to cloud his fear, and it took you back to the feeling of his hand in yours.

Oh.

That’s what he meant.

With his eyes still closed, you didn’t bother to hide the smile on your face.

You focused back on his feelings. While smothering the flames that his nightmares sparked, you opted for a more organic source of comfort instead of mentally amplifying it.

Your hand slowly traveled to his forearm. With a gentle touch, you ran your fingertips over his arm. Occasionally, your nails grazed his skin as you drew absentmindedly.

The relief was almost immediate. It enveloped you like a tidal wave and left phantom goosebumps on your skin as you felt what he did.

“That feels nice,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Shhhh, be quiet. Go to sleep,” you whispered.

That brought out a smile from the man across from you. He threatened to open his eyes, but you reached up and covered them.

“Nuh-uh. Keep em closed.”

Bucky quietly chuckled at your antics.

Your fingers returned their dance on his arm. Now that the horrors from his nightmare had finally loosened their grasp on him, you began to lull him to sleep.

As the seconds rolled by, his body relaxed into the mattress. You watched the tension air out of his muscles and let the serenity overtake him. Even after you knew he was asleep you kept tracing his skin. You didn’t want to stop. You wished you could stay there with him all night. To wrap your arms around him and hold him close to you.

Before tonight, you and Bucky were never this close. Well, physically at least. Always leaving a small bubble between the two of you. Even now with your hand traveling up and down his arm, you kept yourself a safe distance away. Desperately craving to be closer but too scared to take the leap.

After a few more greedy moments, you considered finally leaving his room to let him sleep. Carefully and slowly, you turned away from him trying to ease out of the bed without disturbing him.

Except you couldn’t make it very far after he reached forward and grabbed your waist.

You froze in place, barely even breathing. His hand on your waist trying, and failing, to pull you closer. You knew he was asleep because you could sense it through his touch. And yet somehow he felt your presence leaving.

Your whole body was paralyzed as you weighed whether to leave or not. Hypothetically, it would be the easiest thing in the world. Use your powers to release his hold on you. You’d done it a thousand times before to other people.

But you really didn’t want to.

Because he wanted you to stay.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

So you stayed. You told yourself it would only be for a few minutes longer.

You settled into a less tense position and rested with your back to him. He sensed the movement in his sleep again. Now, his arm had fully wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

As he moved, your sleep shirt shifted, his touch was leaving goosebumps all over your skin and made your heart flutter.

It took a moment, but you finally let yourself melt into his hold. Surrendering to the comfort and serenity it brought.

You did not in fact only stay for a few minutes longer. Actually, the situation you found yourself in was so comforting you fell asleep after those few minutes and stayed the whole night.

By the time morning came, you pried your eyes open, letting them adjust to the small amount of sun creeping in through the window. After a few seconds, you registered the different position from when you fell asleep. You were face to face with Bucky as his arm lazily draped over you, keeping you close.

You studied his features, mere inches away from you. He had an essence of calm you didn’t see often. There were many times you saw his normal hardened expression soften; but this just seemed different. He looked so at peace and secure.

It was while you were observing every little detail of him you noticed his breathing change. It was a subtle disturbance in the rise and of his chest, but you saw it.

You looked at him confused before deciding to test your theory. You lightly traced your hand over his arm and watched his closed eyes move.

“I know you’re faking.”

No response.

“Bucky, I know you’re awake.” You tried not to giggle as you attempted to call his attention again.

A small smile danced on his face as he opened his eyes.

“Liar,” you playfully accused.

“Cheater.”

You pointed a finger at him, “Wrong, I did not use my powers.”

His cheeky expression softened the longer he looked at you. “You didn’t leave,” he stated the obvious. It was his way of asking why.

“I fell asleep.”

Technically it wasn’t lying. You fell asleep. You just left out a few key details.

An awkward silence hung in the air, waiting for one of you to break it. Instead you both let it linger for a moment longer. Bucky released his hold on you and you carefully backed away and got out of his bed.

“I should probably go,” you stated while fixing your sleep clothes and avoiding his gaze

As you tried to leave, he sat up and called out your name, stopping you in your tracks as you reached for the door handle. You turned back to him, his stare left you feeling exposed, like an open wound.

“I really appreciate you doing this,” he thanked with quiet vulnerability. His tone reached out and pulled at your heartstrings.

“I’m glad I could help and that you finally got some sleep,” you returned sweetly.

Bukcky’s hand fidgeted with the sheets, “It did help, a lot.” He couldn’t quite grasp the right words he wanted to say.

“If you ever need me, just ask,” you offered sincerely.

A fond expression crossed his face, “I won’t hesitate.”

You felt your cheeks start to heat up and quickly turned to leave. The short walk back to your room left your palms sweaty and heart racing.

It was so silly how much he had an effect on you. And it only got worse in the days following the night you spent together in his room.

All day long, your thoughts would be consumed by him. Like he had you under some magic spell and no matter how hard you tried to break free of it, you were left staring back at your own longing.

It started to become addicting. His attention. His affection. Him

It had been days since you spent the night. You were suffering from withdrawals and needed a fix.

And it didn’t help when one evening you were woken up by daunting dreams that kept you awake all night. You desperately wanted to seek out comfort from him, but instead you laid in your bed alternating between staring at the ceiling or the back of your eyelids.

The questions bounced back and forth in your mind. Would he even be awake at this hour? Would he let you stay? Even though you were 100% willing to help him, would he be willing to help you?

You were starting to get restless. Turning around in bed you checked the time on your phone. An hour of tossing and turning had gone by and still you were no closer to falling asleep.

With a sigh of defeat, you got out of bed and snuck down the hall. For a second there was no response to your knock. You almost gave up after your first attempt and left, but the door opened and you were met with blue eyes. Those blue eyes you could swim in.

He said your name in a raspy voice, indicating he was in fact previously asleep. You were already starting to regret your decisions.

He looked at you confused, “what’s up?”

Your hands played with the hem of your sleep shirt. The words were stuck in your throat with no way out.

He noticed the hesitation in you immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

“Did I wake you up?” you asked, ignoring his own question.

“No.”

“Liar,” you accused with a hint of humor.

He tried to resist smiling, but you caught the corners of his mouth lifted up.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” he asked, leaning against the door frame. It took all of your strength to not look him up and down as he did it. Of course he had to be shirtless, again.

“Can’t sleep,” you offered quietly as you folded your arms. “I uh, I know this might sound dumb, but I wanted to ask if- if we could-”

“Yes.”

You froze in response to his interruption.

“Really?”

He nodded, “Really. And It’s not dumb.”

The tight fists you didn’t realize you were holding loosened.

“Thanks,” you said more bashfully than you intended.

“Do you want to sleep here or in your room?”

You honestly didn’t care at this point where you were.

You just wanted to be with him.

“We can stay here, I don’t mind.”

He nodded and welcomed you into his room. Your eyes trailed to his bed, it looked slept in this time. There were no pillows or blankets on the ground. That brought a bit of relief to you that he was comfortable sleeping in a bed again.

“Nightmare?” He asked, fixing the pillows on the bed from their messy position.

”Yeah.”

“Well, I may not have any of your fancy magic, but I’ll help the best I can.”

“Wanda’s the one with magic.”

He deadpanned at you, but you could tell he found you amusing because of the glint in his eyes and the tiny smirk he couldn’t hide.

You lightly smacked his arm- the real one or else you would break a finger- and walked to the other side of the bed. “C’mon, you know I appreciate your help.”

He quietly chuckled as you both settled into bed.

That turned into a common occurrence. At least once a week, one of you would have trouble sleeping and end up in the other person's room.

But it wasn’t just your sleeping habits. There was a significant change between you and Bucky.

It was unspoken, but present. The bond between you was stronger now. You were closer, figuratively and physically.

The both of you seeked out the other more often. When in group settings, you always sat next to each other. Even offering small subtle touches of affection, like your hand on his arm or his hand on your back. He sat so much closer to you when you spent time together in the lounge.

The team had definitely noticed this change in your and Bucky’s behavior. As the weeks passed, most of them tried to clue in on what was going on between you two. Anytime they brought it up, you both tried to avoid the subject and shoot down their questions.

While you did soak up every little bit of this new bond you shared, it also started to drive you to the brink of insanity. As your bond grew, so did your feelings.

Every touch, every glance, every word shared between you was feeding the yearning that ate away at your heart.

It was borderline mean how he would rest his head on your shoulder when you’d be watching a movie and easily fall asleep against you. Or when you would rest your head on him and his arm would sneak around your shoulders. It was sickening how he let you ruffle his hair- meanwhile if someone like Sam or Clint even came close to his hair- they’d lose a hand. It was torture when in an effort to stop you from overexerting yourself, he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing and carried you out of the gym to get some rest. It was evil how he would poke your warm skin with his cool metal hand to watch you jump in surprise.

It was painful being so close to him yet feeling so far away.

You desperately wanted more. Wanted to tell him how important he is to you. That you’d do anything for him to make sure he was safe and happy. How you’d fight off any nightmares he had with your bare fists if it meant he could sleep peacefully. Tell him that he was one of the most handsome men you’d ever met and you would kiss him till you couldn’t breathe if he’d let you.

You needed him to know that when you looked at him you saw your safe space. That no other person has made you feel so content and at home. That he was the only person who you could lay next to and feel safe enough to let yourself sleep.

But instead you kept that all to yourself. Letting it fester like a wound inside of you.

Because one too many times after a sweet intimate moment you shared, he would almost close in on himself. It was subtle, but you would always catch it.

There would be this look in his eyes when he left your bedroom in the morning. His eyes would melt with melancholy for a few brief seconds. Or right after you pointed out the serenity of your closeness while casually spending time together and his posture would stiffen or he’d become less talkative.

So, you never brought it up. Instead you existed in the space between friends and more than friends.

“They look so cozy,” Yelena commented as she observed from afar.

Sam stepped closer to get a better view of what she was seeing. From where they stood in the kitchen, they could see you and Bucky on the couch. You had both fallen asleep. The movie you had previously turned on was still playing in the background. His face was buried in your neck and his arms were wrapped around your middle. One of your arms lazily draped around him keeping him close.

“Yeah, a little too cozy,” he teased.

“God will they just kiss already?” She joked walking back to the kitchen island where Steve and Wanda were cooking.

Sam looked at her like she had four heads.

“Wait, I thought they were sleeping together.”

Wanda shook her head, “No, I don't think they’ve made it that far yet.”

“What are you talking about? I saw him leave her room at like 7 am yesterday. How would you know they haven’t even kissed yet?”

“You can just tell,” Wanda answered without even looking up from chopping vegetables.

Sam crossed his arms, “Okay, how?”

Yelena pointed towards the couple in question as she spoke. “He’s still holding back.”

Sam looked at her in disbelief, “His face is in her neck. You call that holding back?”

The two women shushed him as his voice accidentally raised in volume. Sam turned around to take a peek at the living room and make sure you were still asleep. And more importantly, not listening.

Yelena shrugged back at him, “I don’t know how to explain it Sam. There’s something in the way he acts around her.”

“Not that it’s bad,” Wanda interjected. “It just seems like he’s scared of something.”

Sam turned his attention to Steve who had still yet to comment on the matter.

“What about you?” Sam asked him. “Did he tell you anything?”

Steve glanced up from the counter and his gaze landed on the scene many feet away from them.

“I know he’s sweet on her.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Well obviously.”

Steve cracked a smile at his friend. He lowered his voice, careful to not wake the couple in question, “I asked when he was gonna ask her out. He told me she wouldn’t want someone like him.”

“That’s complete bullshit,” Yelena argued as she sat on a stool and stole a chopped vegetable from Wanda’s cutting board.

Steve shook his head and returned to preparing dinner. “I told him. He wouldn’t listen.”

Steve didn’t know exactly what was going on in his best friend's head. But one thing he did know was that Bucky didn’t think he was deserving of love.

“Well he needs a wakeup call.” Sam snatched a vegetable from Wanda’s cutting board as she swatted him away.

Two hours later, the kitchen was abandoned. Dishes in the sink and leftovers, for the “love birds” as Clint called you, in the fridge.

You and Bucky were still asleep on the couch. By now, one of your many roommates turned off the tv.

You don’t remember when you fell asleep, who fell asleep first, or how you ended up in this position. But you woke up with a painful feeling in your chest.

It snuck up on you. Like one of those dreams where all is well and then suddenly you're falling and it startles you awake.

Only this was worse.

A lot worse.

This feeling was familiar. Waking up from a nightmare. You were no stranger to it. Yet this time it felt different. It felt foreign. This fear wasn’t coming from your own dreams.

Except, you didn’t realize that when you woke up. All you could think about in your freshly awakened state was the pain. The terror and guilt had wrapped around your chest like barbed wire and choked you.

You saw it.

You didn’t mean to. You didn’t go looking for it. It found you because it was so powerful. His feelings were so strong, so painful that they seeped into you from his touch. And what followed were the images of his nightmare.

You watched the dream from Bucky’s point of view. The setting was blurry. You were indoors with no windows. Maybe some kind of cellar. It was dark, but light enough that you could make out who you were fighting.

Yourself.

The first thing you noticed was the difference in his arm. It was chrome with a red star on his shoulder instead of the black and gold vibranium. He was wearing all black tactical gear and a black mask.

You were fighting the Winter Soldier.

As the fight continued, you grew weaker. You managed to hold your own against him, but his brute strength and endurance were catching up with you. He wasn’t holding back. Your strength was weakening the more you blocked off his attacks.

With a small blade, he sliced your arm before you kneed him and knocked the knife to the ground. He managed to anticipate your next move and kicked you in the abdomen, causing you to slam back into the wall behind you.

You hunched over in pain, struggling to breathe. He stalked towards you and slammed you against the wall. His metal arm wrapped around your throat and held you in the air. You choked for breath but couldn’t take one. From his eyes, you watched tears streamed down your own face and lips mouth a silent plea.

“James please.”

Seconds later your eyes fell and your body went limp.

A gasp left you as you were brought back to the present. Back in your own body.

Seconds later you felt movement and the man next to you woke up.

Bucky was in shambles. He quickly sat up on the couch, panting quick weak breaths. His hands were trembling as he gripped the couch cushion. His metal fingers dug into it so hard you were worried he would rip the fabric.

His eyes were the worst to take in from the sight in front of you. They were bloodshot, glassy, and full of panic as they scanned his surroundings.

You reached forward and placed your hands on his face. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t think to use your powers. You almost didn’t want to after what you accidentally witnessed.

“Hey, hey you’re okay. You’re okay. I’m fine,” you cooed to him. This didn’t help him at all. His face was still struck with horror.

“James, look at me.” This caught his attention. His eyes landed on yours and you watched a tear fall down his cheek and felt it land on your hand.

“It’s okay. You’re safe, I’m safe,” You comforted while stroking his face with your thumbs.

His eyes darted over your face as he recognized you were there. You were tangible.

You were alive.

Bucky dove forward and engulfed you in a hug. His hold on you was tight, like he was scared you wouldn’t be there if he let go.

His quick movements took you by surprise and almost knocked the wind out of you. After a few seconds, you relaxed against his hold and rested your arms around his neck. Your hand weaved its way into his hair. You felt his tense muscles start to ease at the feeling.

“I thought I-“ he stuttered, voice still frail.

“I know, I’m fine baby I’m right here.” You didn’t mean to let the term of endearment slip out. You hoped he wouldn’t dwell on it.

And for a moment you were worried he did. There was no response from him for longer than you liked.

Until he nervously asked, “did you see that?”

You let out a small sigh, knowing the guilt would tear him apart. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I promise. It was just so … strong,” you apologized while your fingers dug in his hair as a way to comfort him.

“I couldn’t … I couldn’t stop myself,” he whimpered. His hold on you tightened.

“It wasn’t real. I know you would never hurt me.”

He whispered so quietly you wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so close. His voice sounded fragile and small. “What if one day I did?”

“But what if you didn’t?”

You heard a sniffle followed by a long pause. It seemed like he was calming down because his breathing started to even out and slow down.

You continued to play with his hair until he finally released his hold on you. When you separated he quickly wiped at his wet eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered with guilt etched on his face.

“For what?”

“For scaring you. That you had to see that.”

The surprise of his apology hit like a brick to your temple.

Bucky was the one who had the terrifying nightmare that brought up his trauma from Hydra. He just watched the winter soldier kill someone he cared about. But you are his main concern. He’s more worried about you accidentally being a witness to it. He’s more concerned about you being scared than his own fear.

If he wasn’t reeling from what he just saw you would’ve punched his arm for apologizing. But tough love wasn’t what he needed right now.

“You don’t have to apologize for that. It’s not your fault.” You’d repeat it like a mantra to him until he believed you. “The only thing that scares me is seeing you like this,” you comforted with a soft voice.

There was a small look of relief in his eyes, but not enough to show that he was fully convinced.

Silence grew between you. As time stretched, you thought more about his nightmare. Your curiosity was growing and it needed to be answered. You needed to know if your suspicions were correct.

“Can I ask you about it?” you asked cautiously.

There was a brief pause before he nodded.

“Was that like the nightmare you had a while ago? The one I helped you with.”

His eyes couldn’t quite reach yours. He looked down with a pained expression and swallowed before letting out a quiet whisper. “Yes.”

The ache in your stomach tripled at his meek reply. Flashes of that night bounced in your head. The tremble in his voice, the panic on his face. How he practically came running to your room after he woke up. He’d been having nightmares for days, but that night specifically he needed to see you.

You thought of the terrified reaction he had to the idea of you erasing the memory of the nightmare. Because if you erased it, that meant you would’ve seen your own death.

You would’ve seen him killing you.

“You’re not usually in my nightmares. That was the first time I ever saw something like that. It’s been eating away at me ever since.” Bucky explained, still not looking you in the eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, you noticed he did that a lot when he was nervous.

His earlier question rang in your ears as realization dawned on you.

“What if one day I did?”

You sat up straighter and leaned closer to him. “It was a nightmare. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore,” you comforted in a gentle voice.

“I know but—” his eyes squeezed shut as the words he was trying to say got stuck in his throat. “I’m scared that it’s still a part of me. I’m scared that somehow it’ll all come back. And I could never live with myself if I ever hurt you.”

Things were starting to fall into place and suddenly make sense in your mind. This had to be why he kept close to you but somehow still at arms length.

He wouldn’t allow himself to fully enjoy your embrace in fear of getting too close and hurting you. He didn’t want to bring his frightening past with him and let it poison your life.

“Buck,” you whispered to make sure he was listening.

Bucky’s eyes opened back up and finally met yours. They were still red, glossy and full of fear.

It was now or never. You needed him to know.

“I trust you. More than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time.”

You placed a hand on his cheek and gently caressed his face. Instinctively, he leaned into your touch. It seemed like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“I feel safe when I’m around you. I don’t think there was ever a time I felt like I was in danger with you in any way. That's why I want to be near you or why I seek you out when I can’t sleep.” You let out a gentle chuckle before your next words, “Hell, I can sleep next to you. Do you know how big of a deal that is to me? For me to feel safe enough to fall asleep in the same bed as someone else.”

He resisted the urge to smile. He looked like he desperately wanted to believe you, but the darkness had a chokehold on him and wouldn’t loosen.

You needed to dig deeper.

“Are you afraid of me?” you asked in a serious tone. “Afraid of what I can do with my powers when I touch you?”

His expression fell with absolute bewilderment, “No, of course not.”

“Then why would I be afraid of you?”

Bucky momentarily froze as he realized the point you were making. He shook his head unconvinced, “That’s not the same.”

“Is it really?” you insisted. “You said it yourself, you trust me. You barely knew me and you trusted that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

He muttered your name, about to counteract you, but you gently cut him off.

“No, listen.” You grabbed his hand in yours. The warmth from your hand started to seep into the cool metal.

“You would never hold the things I did at Hydra against me. Why should I do the same to you?”

It seemed like you were getting through to him the way his jaw clenched. He wanted to argue back, but he couldn’t.

“I’m not scared of you. I never was.” you spoke with determination in each breath. You needed the words to sink in.

“When I look at you I don’t see the winter soldier. I see a kind man who cares so deeply about people. I see someone who even though he shows a tough exterior, is secretly a huge softy. And a sucker for physical affection even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

That made him chuckle. He almost appeared sheepish the way he looked at you in return.

“I need you to get it through your thick skull that you’re important to me. You mean so much to me and you don’t even realize it,” your hold on his hand tightened as your heart poured out into his grasp.

Bucky sat there quietly. Wide pupils staring back at you as he took in what you said. His bright blue eyes appeared almost incandescent.

His other hand found its way on your thigh. The feeling of his hand on you had butterflies swarming in your stomach and your face heating up. You were used to his touch by now, but this felt so much more intimate than anything you’d ever done.

“Ya know, when I had that nightmare for the first time and I asked you to help me fall asleep, I didn’t really need you to use your powers on me,” he confessed. His hand traveled up and down your thigh as he spoke.

“I just needed to make sure you were okay. I couldn’t go back to sleep without knowing you were safe.”

He started to lean closer to you. The distance between you was slowly dwindling as he continued.

“You mean the world to me doll,” he said softly. His voice dripping with devotion.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You closed the space between you and him and rested your forehead against his.

“I’m right here. I’m all in. The good, the bad, I don’t care. I want all of you.“

Bucky's metal hand reached up to cradle your face. Your cheeks were so flushed and warm, the cold metal sent chills down your body. His thumb gently caressed your cheek and ran over your bottom lip.

“Can I-?” he pleaded in a low voice.

Of course he would be a gentleman and ask. Even when his lips were mere inches away and you were like putty in his hands.

“Just kiss me James,” you breathed desperately.

He didn’t waste a second. He tiled your face up towards him and his soft lips collided with yours in an instant. You were practically melting in his hold.

Your mind was going fuzzy. You couldn’t think of anything other than the feeling of his lips against yours as he hopelessly tried to mold to you. Your hands found purchase around his neck and in his hair, trying to pull him closer.

He sighed and smiled against your lips. His hand that was on your thigh traveled up and gripped your waist.

Neither of you knew how much time had passed. I seemed like time stood still until you heard someone enter the deadly silent living room and gasp.

You quickly pulled away from each other at the sound to find Wanda trying to hold back a smile. Bucky and you sat like deer in headlights staring at her.

“Get a room you two. I know you use them,” she teased before retreating into the hallway.

As she left, you turned to Bucky and saw his face was bright red matching yours.

“Oh god,” you chuckled, leaned forward and hid your face in his neck.

He reached up and ran his hand up and down your back. “You wanna go somewhere more private?” he whispered close to your ear.

You leaned back to face him again. “Why? You want to kiss me more?” you asked with a cheeky smile.

He offered you a smug grin as his eyes darted between your lips and your eyes.

“Babygirl, I never wanna stop kissing you.”

5K notes · View notes

myreadings · 1 month ago

Text

hold on (even if it’s fake)

new avengers!bucky x new avengers!reader

summary: public interaction with the new avengers has never been worse, and all of valentina's previous PR stunts have effectively failed, and only caused the team to become walking memes rather than heroes. in a last ditch effort to save face, valentina proposes a new plan: make the leader of the thunderbolts publicly date a member of the original avengers team.

warnings: 18+, mdni, soft smut, piv, fingering, no use of y/n, slight fake dating trope, slight enemies to lovers, descriptions of violence (reader lowk got some anger issues to work through), reader has avoidance issues, post-thunderbolts movie, semi thunderbolts movie spoilers, tension, angst, comfort

word count: 12.5k

a/n: i want to preface that most of this was written when i was sleepy on melatonin >:3

masterlist

“Engagement has been going down,” Mel said, gesturing towards the screen behind her.

The team members dragged their gaze up towards the front of the room, weary expressions all over their faces. They didn’t want to hear this speech again– they knew engagement was down in the depths of hell. Shit, they wouldn’t be surprised if the world just decided to forget about them completely.

As if to rub salt into the wound, an animated graph showed a steady arrow that ran from the top left, all the way down to the bottom right of the screen.

“The only clicks that we are getting are memes,” Mel continued, tapping the screen of her tablet, presenting the next slide. “Most of them are about Walker and his limited time as Captain America, or talking about how Bucky is hot and his failing career in Congress, or discussing how Alexei is seen in public trying to convince locals to become fans–”

“I am a walking PR team, not a meme!” Alexei boomed, a scandalized look all over his face.

Mel gave him a smile, one that looked like she was trying to comfort a toddler more than anything.

“What is the point of these meetings?” Yelena demanded, her hand hitting the mahogany desk in frustration. “We meet every single Friday just for you to show us pie charts and graphs on how the world hates us. We already know that– are we not just trying to do the mission?”

“I was waiting for someone to ask. Thank you, Yelena,” Valentina said, giving a practiced, disgusting smile from the head of the table.

A wave of nausea filled the room. Lord. Last time she looked like this, the entire team had been thrown into a photoshoot that was supposed to up their familiarity with the people. All it did was create reaction photos for whenever articles of the team came out.

“While the mission is important, the mission is nearly impossible without the people backing you up. You can’t just blow things up, and walk away if the people hate you, after all. So, we need to come at the people with a different approach,” Valentina said, standing from her seat. “What do the people of America love?”

“Disgusting, overly processed food?” Ava muttered, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes, but you guys were not very particular with collaborating with McDonald’s last time I brought this up–”

“You put us on the face of a cereal box,” John grunted. “Isn’t that enough?”

“What America loves is a love story,” Valentia said, ignoring John. The confusion that settled in the room was palpable. The team looked at each other, frowns on their faces. Valentina continued, “And we are going to give them a love story. These people want familiarity. Something to make you guys relatable. Enjoyable to the public–”

“I’m sorry, Val, but none of us are in relationships,” Yelena cut her off. “The only one close to it is actually divorced.”

“Thanks,” John scoffed. Yelena shot him a pitiful look.

“The relationship doesn’t have to be real. You think all those celebrities in Hollywood are actually dating?” Valentina scoffed, crossing her arms as she moved to the front of the room. Mel moved to the side, allowing her boss to take the stage. “This is a PR stunt. Something to boost your credibility. Make you guys shine– make you guys lovable.”

“I’m not getting into a fake relationship with either of these men,” Ava immediately said, frowning. Then, she looked across the table. “No offense, but none of you are exactly relationship material."

“None taken,” Bucky muttered, sighing deeply. “Valentina, what are you even going on about?”

“I’m so glad that you spoke up, Congressman,” Valentina grinned. “Because you will be the face of this project.”

“Valentina–”

“And the rest of you can relax,” she cut Bucky off, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Bucky, you may not have worked with her per se, but she does have a wonderful track record with the public, and you have worked with her friends. She’s well loved in terms of media presence, though she’s been one of my shadow agents for the last handful of years since the whole… Accords situation.”

Bucky’s eyebrows creased in suspicion. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, a deep sigh coming from his chest.

“She is an ex-Avenger,” Valentina said, her smile growing wider. “Which means, her involvement with the New Avengers will increase our engagement with the public tenfold. And by having a romantic relationship with you, the leader of the New Avengers– well. Let’s just say, it’ll be amazing for the press.”

“Hang on– are you talking about Noir?” John asked, sitting up straight. “One of the original Avengers? Who fought in the 2012 Battle of New York? I thought she was dead.”

Valentina shrugged noncommittally as she looked at her cuticles. “Well, she doesn’t go by Noir anymore. She just goes by her first name, but she’s not dead. She just didn’t want to get in the middle of the fight that tore up the Avengers in the first place– the Accords. She removed herself from the situation entirely and never came back.”

“So… she’s been working for you,” Yelena said slowly. “And if she’s never come back, why the hell would she come back to be an Avenger again?”

“That’s a little above your paygrade now isn’t it?” Valentina smiled, a little crinkle to her nose. She turned to Bucky with a smile. “She’ll arrive here at the Watchtower within the next few days. I’ll arrange for a meeting between the two of you, and we’ll go over the expectations of what your relationship together is to be.”

“I didn’t agree to this–”

“Do you have a choice to agree?” Valentina dared him, gesturing back to the screen, where memes were still on display– still making fun of them.

Bucky paused, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he stared at the various different photos. Then, he looked around the conference table. None of his teammates could look him in the eye. They weren’t objecting to this either.

Fuck.

The Avengers tower is different. You know it is, and it makes your stomach churn when you see it from the outside. You hate it, even though you had made the decision with the original group to move to the Avengers compound years ago. You shouldn’t be this upset to see it bought, renovated, changed for something else.

Yet, it still bothers you.

A receptionist at the lobby recognizes you immediately, and gives you your badge to use to key in. You want to burn it into ashes immediately. Tony didn’t make you guys use badges. He had you guys use voice recognition, eye scanners, and fingerprints. You wonder if this is just a work in progress, and they’re still trying to get the tower functional. You keep your thoughts to yourself as you move to the elevator.

It’s clean, in a way that smells like a hotel. Hiding secrets, not memories. Stripped down to nothing. Valentina’s wiped away everything that was once within these walls, all the laughter.

Then again, you walked away from those same people because you couldn’t stand to watch them fight. When things got rough– when Steve and Tony asked you to choose a side, you took one look at them, and packed your bags.

Sam called you a coward. Said that you were running.

You didn’t correct him.

The elevator doors opened with a ding! and you’re brought to the top floor of the tower. The sound of water hits your ears. Someone is doing the dishes. You can see a few heads on the couch to the side, and they’re turning to face you. All within a few seconds, everyone’s coming to see you. Well, almost everyone. There’s a man missing from the group.

There’s a mixture of awe and intimidation in the air. Tension and fear. You don’t know what Valentina has or hasn’t said about you, but you know what is said online about you. They continue to stand there, watching you, scanning you– sizing you up.

You take a few steps out from the elevator, hauling your duffle bag and backpack with you.

“Morning,” you said, giving them a curt nod before turning off to the side.

“Where are you going?” one of the men spoke up– Bob– you think. His shoulders are collapsing in on himself, and his hands are dripping with water onto the floor beside his bare feet. The Sentry that Valentina told you about– the one that damn near broke apart the entire world.

“Conference room,” you replied, continuing to walk away.

If Valentina hasn’t completely torn down the place, then you know where you’re going. From the looks of it, it seems that she just changed the drywall and changed the wallpaper.

It looks fucking tacky. You should bother her to hire a new interior designer, honestly. Pepper would have never allowed these items to be in the tower. The mix of metals and the resin epoxy covered floors… You can imagine her, shuddering, while Tony grins beside her and hands her his card, telling her to go ahead and change whatever she wants about the place.

You push the glass door of the conference room open. It used to be a sliding door, one that would automatically open. J.A.R.V.I.S. used to greet you when you walked through this door, asked you if you wanted to turn on some light jazz while you waited for the rest of the team to barrel into the meeting room since you were always too early.

Except, J.A.R.V.I.S. was known as Vision now, and Vision was dead. Just like almost all of the people that you once knew, and none of them are going to be walking through these doors again. No– it’s just you. You, alone, are in this tower that used to be the place you called home. It has never felt more unfamiliar in your entire life.

“You made it. How was the flight?” Valentina smiled warmly at you, standing from her seat at the head of the table. Beside her, you see Mel standing there, ever the good assistant, with her tablet in hand ready to show you some new presentation.“Come in, come in. Take a seat.”

You want to skin her. Slowly dissect her while she’s conscious so she can feel every single nerve being ripped apart, and then feed it to her dying corpse. Then you want to bring her towards the reconstructive clinic in Seoul, have them build her back to life just enough so that she’s still in pain, so you can do it all over again.

But you can’t.

“It was alright,” you responded, and dropped your luggage by the door before pulling out one of the rolling chairs to sit.

Valentina waits for you to say more. An awkward silence settled over the room. A few moments later, the CIA director cleared her throat, and returned to her own seat, and looked between you and the other member in the room.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of each other, yes?” she asked, voice dripping with honey.

Your gaze shifts, and you’re sucked into a storm of blue grey eyes. He’s scanning you, looking you up and down with caution. It’s not the same way that the others were doing out in the common area. He’s not sizing you up, trying to see what you’re made of. No– he knows you. It goes beyond just hearing stories of each other through Steve or Sam.

You’ve fought with this man before. Maybe not him right now, but a different version of him– one that he did not choose to be has crossed your path.

You were a highly trained S.H.I.E.L.D. operative. One of the best in your line of work, and became an Avenger through some rhyme or reason that you still didn’t understand yourself. You’ve fought aliens, been on stakeouts, had snipers pointed at your head from miles away, and yet– the man sitting across from the table from you is the only person that has made you feel true, unbridled terror.

Every once in a while, you can still feel the ache in your thigh from where his blade fully sheathed into your muscle on that bridge in DC, and dragged downwards. You had only been lucky to have maneuvered so he didn’t hit your femoral artery, or you wouldn’t be alive at this moment.

You don’t tell Valentina any of that. You’re more than certain that the soldier in front of you has never even breathed out words of his past to anyone either.

“I’m well aware of Congressman Barnes and his achievements both in the military and in our government,” you replied, your eyes never straying away from him and his watchful gaze.

Bucky’s eyebrows twitched at your words. You watched as his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek as the gears in his head turned over, processing if there were any double meanings behind what you had just said– if there was some kind of backhanded retort or compliment.

“Wonderful,” Valentina hummed, and clapped her hands together. “As you both know, the reason for this meeting is to discuss our plan. Operation: Romance the Public, if you will. Do you like that? Like the name I came up with?”

There’s a sort of gloating tone in her voice that makes you release a deep breath of air. Neither you or Bucky said a single word, but you do turn to her. You’re not amused. You don’t bother hiding it, and you revel in the way that her smile falters at the expression on your face.

Mel cleared her throat from behind Valentina, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the screen at the front of the room come to life.

“Great. More pie charts?” you asked.

“The pie charts are wonderful,” Valentina quickly said, almost defensive. Clearly, it’s her idea to constantly add those graphs to every single meeting.

“I’m not too sure how pie charts are supposed to tell me how Barnes and I are to be fake dating each other,” you said, leaning back in your seat. “Valentina, you’re talking to someone that was trained in espionage. I don’t need to be told how to pretend to be in love with someone.”

“Well, pardon me. I forgot that sleeping around was part of your list of expertise,” she said, smiling at you.

You blinked at her, lips parting. Then, you smiled back at her. Sickly sweet and pretty. You leaned over the table, arms crossing over the wood as you lowered your voice. There was no need to yell. Wasting your breath on her? Unnecessary.

“I don’t have to be here,” you said softly, meeting her eyes. You saw the brief flash of panic go through her features. “Do you think I want to be an Avenger again, Fontaine? I can watch you and the rest of this team fucking dive into the pits of hell for all I care, and become the laughing stocks of operative work and the media. Hell– Sam Wilson, the nation’s new Captain America, can take up the mantle, ruin you guys, and I will watch with a smile. I think that you’re forgetting that I am doing you a favor.”

You watched as she wet her lips, and her nostrils flared at you. She swallowed thickly, clenching her jaw as she tried to sit up straighter, tried to give off the appearance that she was in control here.

“You forgot the de. It’s de Fontaine,” she whispered to you, giving you a small wink as she nodded.

“I don’t give a shit,” you whispered back, shaking your head.

The smile on her face slowly faded away as you maintained eye contact. You tilted your head at her, waiting for another witty response.

It never came.

You sat up, palms hitting the wooden table as you stood. You gave a nod to Mel, who looked absolutely petrified where she stood. Briefly, you felt bad for the girl. Valentina was definitely going to take out her anger on Mel, who couldn’t do anything against her.

“Well, I’m gonna go,” you declared, and looked across the table towards the man who had been oh so silent the entire meeting. “You tell me when I’m needed– an actual mission or if we’re supposed to be seen out in public together. I’m not sitting in one of these stupid fucking conference rooms to listen to her bullshit again.”

You didn’t wait for Bucky’s confirmation. You pushed out from your chair, and reached for your bags, going back out into the hallway. If Valentina listened to at least one of your conditions when you told her that you would do this stupid fucking PR stunt, then your old room better be vacant. If not, you don’t care who’s shit is in there.

You’re throwing it all out.

You wondered if Tony was in heaven, looking down at you, laughing his ass off. You were certain of it, actually. Him and Natasha both must be sharing a beer together, watching the show unfold in front of them. Honestly, you couldn’t blame them. The sight would be comical to you, too, if you weren’t the one actively in it.

This was the first charity gala that you attended, but one of many that Valentina threw. The reason for this? You and along with the New Avengers were attempting to raise funds to help send back to cover the costs of the damages that the fucking idiots on the team caused in the latest mission in Brazil.

You wished you could say that you weren’t part of that mission, but your name was unfortunately slapped onto it like a brand on your skin.

You thought you knew what awful teamwork looked like. After all, you had been there to see the beginning stages of the original Avengers. You watched as Steve and Tony fought chest to chest in some homo-erotic tension that made you want to rip both of their heads off at the time. You watched the Hulk throw Thor into a compression tank, and then have to be chased down by Natasha.

Hell, even after you guys finally started to get along with each other, you guys were still on each others’ asses. Debriefs consisted of arguments demanding to know who was compromised, who strayed a toe away from the original plan, and who needed to pull their weight. At the end of the day, you called it accountability.

Yeah... You wanted to go back.

You had never been part of a more disorganized team in your life. The original Avengers were dysfunctional? No. You guys at least knew each other’s skillset. You could only watch in pure exhaustion as Ava tried phasing through buildings with John following her, demanding for her to take him with her, only to be ignored. If it weren’t for that serum in his veins, you were certain that he should’ve gotten at least three concussions with how many times Ava told him that she would bring him through a building, only to change her mind right before.

At the same time, Yelena was shouting for her father to stop the theatrics with the locals before giving up completely. You didn’t have too much to say about Yelena– watching her fight made your chest hurt actually. She fought like Natasha did. You wondered briefly if it was because she was trained in the same place, or if it was because of their bond together. Either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to pick her apart too much.

Bucky stopped playing leader the second shit went to the fan. One second, he was giving orders, making sure everyone was aware of their positions, and next thing you knew it? You watched as he ripped out his earpiece and shoved it into his pocket because he couldn’t stand the sound of Yelena and John arguing over the frequencies.

Meanwhile, Bob was in the jet, keeping the AC running so you guys would be hit with some cool air after being stuck out in the sweltering heat. You still didn’t understand why you even took him to the missions when he didn’t do anything. Yelena swore that it was for field experience. That it was good for him to watch. He couldn’t watch jack shit from the forest that you dropped him off at though.

Worst of all, the damage done to the country could have been avoided. It was all so easily avoidable. None of the explosions or damage needed to happen. Yes, the original Avengers blew shit up– did you guys ever mean to? Never. You watched Wanda cry in her room for days after messing up after a mission, yet Alexei and John were chuckling about how big the cloud of smoke was in the air.

Now, it was time for your first official public appearance with Bucky. Dressed to the absolute tens– him in some both of you in matching Versace suits and gowns. God damn it, and he couldn’t even pretend to look you in the eyes. He just needed to stare at the space between your forehead, and that would be good enough for the cameras.

“Did you not receive any media training as a Congressman?” you asked through a smile, sticking yourself closer to Bucky as the cameras flashed at the two of you.

“I received media training,” he grunted, low, and under his breath as his hand twitched around your waist, but still barely present. His fingers were ghosting, as if he was afraid to touch you. “Media training didn’t include fake dating.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you smoothly took his hand in yours, pulling it tighter to your body. You felt him stiffen beside you, and you wanted to kill him. You wanted to kill everyone actually, but that wasn’t an option here.

Soon, you got the thumbs up from Mel, letting you know that there were more than enough photos taken of you and Bucky. You held in your breath of relief for just a few more minutes as you slipped your hand into his, effectively leading Bucky into the gala and away from the press.

You continued to hold hands, only the sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor being the noise between the two of you. It makes you cringe.

When you’re far enough away, ducking into the sanctuary of a hallway, you both release each other. Bucky creates some distance between the two of you. The action shouldn’t bother you, but it does. You’re still wired up from the failure of a mission that you had to endure– the mission that the others deemed was good enough because they destroyed less than they thought they would.

“I need you to pretend that you’re in love with me, or this shit is not gonna work, Barnes,” you said, closing your eyes as you attempt to regain part of your sanity. You lean back towards a wall, resting your head against it.

“It's a little difficult when I’m being suffocated in my suit,” he muttered, messing with his cufflinks.

“You look fine,” you sighed. “At least you’re fully covered. I’m one wrong move from showing off my chest to the entirety of New York. But seriously– get your shit together otherwise the media will think I’m holding you at gunpoint.”

“This wasn’t my plan, if you forgot. Not my decision to do this for publicity,” he said, eyebrows furrowed. “If I had it my way, I wouldn’t be doing any of this shit for the media.”

“Obviously. If it was, then you wouldn’t be such a mess out there! Again, I can’t do my job if you’re going to be a statue. I thought you were supposed to be a charmer. Some smooth guy that knew how to flirt. Can you channel that guy out for me?”

“Who the hell said all that?”

“Steve did.”

Bucky blinked at you, surprised for a second. “Steve said that? You– how close were you to Steve?”

“Close enough,” you waved off, trying to avoid the conversation.

Something about the way he’s looking at you is letting you know that he won’t let this go any time soon. A deep sigh escapes your throat as you look at him.

“Steve talked about you a lot,” you huffed, running your hand through your hair. “Said you were a ladies’ man. So I thought this whole operation was going to be easy, but I guess Steve had no idea what he was talking about because this is the worst undercover mission that I’ve ever had the displeasure of doing.”

The surprise on his face melts away into utter irritation. A frown finds its way onto his face, and his head cocks just slightly.

“Why are you even here?”

“If you forgot, the gala is because your team blew up half of the fuckin’ city, babe,” you replied, giving him a bitter smile.

“That’s not what I’m– babe?” he cut himself off, an incredulous look on his face as he stared at you in disbelief.

“You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” you asked sarcastically, tilting your head at him.

There’s five seconds of silence. You wondered if there’s something that short circuited in his brain because he’s frozen in place, staring at you like you’ve grown two heads. Finally, he moves. He dragged a hand down his face, taking a deep breath as he attempted to calm himself down.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said, his jaw clenched tight.

You met his gaze. It’s accusatory. Suspicious. The same way that he looked at you in the conference room, and the same way that he looked at you in the jet when you and the rest of the team were on your way to Brazil. He’d been quietly trying to figure you out this entire time.

“Why I’m here is none of your concern,” you dismissed, tearing your eyes away from his. “All you need to know is that I’m trying to help you, so it would be really great if you cooperated with me.”

“That’s the part I don’t understand,” he said, a deep sigh escaping his chest. “You said it yourself– you don’t want to be an Avenger again. You’ve been in hiding for years, since right before the previous Avengers broke up. Why are you back?”

You stared off into the side, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood. You turned to him, scanning his face again.

Truthfully, you can’t blame him. You may hate this team, hate that fucking tower, but this is his. There’s a history behind him, and the rest of those fools that he calls his teammates, and a dynamic that you can’t squeeze yourself into even if Valentina labels you as a New Avenger.

Moreover, you have no idea what was said about you in private. You don’t know what Steve or Sam told Bucky about you– if they even talked about you at all once you left. You don’t know what happened to any of your old friends aside from the media coverage, aside from the mission reports that you were able to dig up by hacking into a series of encrypted, locked files before you got caught by being too sloppy, too emotional one day. It was how Valentina located you, and when she realized who you were, she didn’t arrest you. Asked you to join her shadow operatives.

You had nothing better to do, so you agreed.

But now?

A slow, shaky breath exits your chest.

“You do your job, Barnes. I’ll do mine,” you told him, meeting his eyes once more. “Let’s try not to have anymore lovers quarrels, babe.”

You pushed off the wall, and brushed past him, going towards the heart of the gala where the others are already mingling with investors, sponsors– anyone to give some money.

You put on your best smile, and you join the fray.

Whether you like it or not, this is your team now, too. Your name is attached, and you were part of a mission that disrupted hundreds, if not thousands of lives. So, you chat. You talk with people that ask about what you’ve been doing the last few years. You smoothly evade any and all questions about where you were when the Accords were being signed all those years ago, and you managed to deflect any mentions of the final battle with Thanos.

Easy talk, easy words. Lies slip in and out of your mouth to fill in the gap in your resume, words that you’ve come up with to properly fool all these people around you. You watch as they eat up every single syllable that comes out of your mouth, and you can feel your pockets grow heavier with each and every smile you give.

It doesn’t ease the weight on your heart.

When you give yourself a break, you steal a flute of champagne from a server’s tray as you make your way to the balcony for some fresh air. You leaned your elbows against the concrete railing, staring out into the sky before you. The summer air is blankets over you, though it does little to warm you in the gown that Valentina shoved you in for the night.

“You make it look so easy.”

You looked over your shoulder, finding Yelena coming to join your side with her own glass of alcohol. She offered you a smile, pressing her back against the railing as she settled beside you.

“What’s easy?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at her.

“The mission. The… talking to the people inside the gala. The interactions, all of it,” she shrugged. “Being an Avenger.”

“Your sister is the one who made being an Avenger easy,” you said, letting out a scoff of a laugh as you shake your head at her.

A small, sad smile tugs onto her lips as she turns to look at you. She studies you for a few moments, then lowers her eyes. “Did you know her? Know her… well, I mean,” Yelena asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Yeah,” you nodded to her, returning her smile. “I did.”

Silence carefully settles, and the two of you drink slowly. You keep your gaze out towards the balcony, while Yelena watches your six, focused on the party going on through the doors. When her glass is empty, she releases a breath.

“Barnes is horrible,” she said, making your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “I’m also trained in espionage. I get it– he fucking sucks. I saw him pose for photos.”

You let out another laugh, shaking your head at her words. “God. We’re not going to convince anyone if he keeps it up. I thought he was raised in the forties. Chivalry central.”

“He’s old,” Yelena shrugged. “Maybe he just needs a reminder on how to flirt.”

You made a face at her, and frowned. “There’s no need for us to actually flirt, Yelena. It’s all fake, remember?”

“Maybe it needs to be real for him.”

The media adores you and Bucky for some weird reason.

Or rather, it’s you they adore.

When one of the original Avengers returns to New York to fight the hard battles again, it’s like a saving grace, you supposed. The memes turned into soliloquies and love letters. People began to take the New Avengers seriously overnight after the charity gala, but it’s also due to your own handiwork from the appearance that you had at the White House after the gala.

You've gone to meet with the government– to meet with Captain America. It was to congratulate you, to welcome you back into the line of work. Since the original heroes were gone, America had become real sentimental about their fanfare with making sure everyone knew who they relied on now.

Cameras are all in the two of your faces as you stare down Sam Wilson. You pretend not to feel pain. You pretend you don’t miss him. You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when his smile doesn’t meet his eyes when you shake his hand.

“So… You and Buck, huh?” he asked you, and it was loud enough for some of the cameras to pick up.

“Yeah. Me and Bucky. We got real close,” you said, smiling at Sam.

“When did that happen?” he asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“Steve introduced us,” you replied, a fond look in your eyes as you spoke. You almost looked dreamy.

Sam couldn’t say a damn thing against you– not when it meant having to discredit the previous Captain America. And the media loved it. They loved the story that Bucky’s best friend, the last leader of the Avengers, had created the couple between the New Avengers. It was almost a classic love story.

You and the rest of the team continued to watch your interviews at the White House. Watched as you spoke so highly of your new team, spoke of the plans that you were aware of, how you would be allocating the funds in Brazil to several different areas of need to ensure that each impacted site would be taken care of.

You were heavily leaned into the fact that none of this could be done without the help of Bucky, who regretfully could not have made the appearance to the White House as he was currently out on the field doing exactly as you were saying at that moment. You were simply being the spokesperson as you were the most familiar face to the people at this time.

“Reliability creates credibility,” Valentina said, a smirk on her face as she paused the clips.

“What the hell does that even mean?” Ava sighed deeply.

“It means that the plan is working– she is our most reliable figure on the team, so everyone will take what she says and worship the ground she walks on. It’s the original Avenger effect! Show them the engagement logs,” Valentina sighed, and snapped her fingers at Mel.

Immediately, a new presentation was being brought up to the screen. You all watched as bar graphs were brought to life, showing the positive incline of the last few months of how the media was buzzing about the team.

Since you had been rumored to be returning back to hero work, there had been some better talks about the team. Since you were spotted working in Brazil, right next to Bucky’s side the entire time, the whispers elevated to a decent chatter. After the gala, a storm had kicked up. Now with the White House appearance, and the construction in Brazil, this was the best interaction that the team had been receiving online since they saved New York from the Void.

“This is a great start,” Valentina said, then turned to look at you, then to Bucky. “But we need more from the two of you. More love story.”

Both you and Bucky slumped in your seats. You watched as his eyebrows pinched together, then followed the way he took his vibranium hand and dragged it down around the scruff of his mouth.

You’re not really sure what was talked about the remainder of the meeting. You’re trying to weigh the pros and cons of continuing this facade with Bucky. Is it really worth it, at the end of the day? Truthfully, the paycheck Valentina is giving you weekly is nice. Nicer than what she was giving you when you were just doing the shadow work when you completed her dirty work, but still.

Guilt continued to build within you. You had locked eyes with a woman outside of the White House, when you were walking out– and she thanked you. Something in you made you stop. You asked her what for. She said you and the Avengers saved her, many, many years ago– and that she’s happy that you’re alive. That one of the originals is back at the frontlines, leading the new generation of heroes.

She told you what a relief it was for you to return, and it’s nice that you can find love with one of these new heroes amongst the craziness of your line of work– that it must be nice to have someone close to lean on.

You only gave her a tight smile, and told her to continue to stay safe.

You leave the conference room the same time everyone else does, when you see them get up from their seats. You don’t meet Bucky’s eyes, even though you know they’re on you. He’s still watching you. He’s still trying to figure out why you’re here. What your purpose is.

You don’t really know what you’re doing either.

Either way, you grab your laptop from your room that night. You’re showered, in pajamas, and you’re over everything. You know where Bucky’s room is– down the hall and near the fire exit. It’s the quickest way to escape if there’s ever an issue within the tower. Part of you knows that he chose this side of the tower because Steve had his room in this wing, too.

Bucky’s door cracked open after exactly five seconds of you waiting outside. You don’t allow him to let you linger in the hallway– you shoved your way through, crossing the threshold of his room.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Bonding with my boyfriend,” you replied, and sat down on the edge of his bed as if you owned the space. Your legs are crossed under you as you flip your laptop open, and begin to pull up your playlists.

There’s nearly nothing in his room. Nothing memorable or personal. It’s almost like he’s a guest here. The only splash of color is his bedsheets, which are gray, and the journal on his nightstand that you know isn’t his. It’s Steve’s.

“Again– what are you doing?” Bucky asked, more exasperated this time than the last.

You glanced up at him, giving him a smile. He’s in a tank top– and his dog tags are chest. You can faintly see the scars on his shoulder peeking out from the straps, connecting with the seam of his metal arm. He’s standing there, arms crossed over his chest, with a frown on his face.

“Sit,” you said, patting the space on the bed beside you. “Let’s listen to music together.”

His frown only deepens. You continued to stare at him, expectant and waiting. You’re not leaving his room until he gives in to you.

And he does.

He shuts the door to his bedroom, and the bed dips beside you as he takes a seat, but he’s rigid– just like he was when he had to take photos beside you on the steps of the museum for the gala. He’s not even touching you, and he’s stressed out.

“Why are we listening to music?” he grunted.

“You ask so many questions, baby,” you clicked your tongue at him as you clicked onto one of your playlists affectionately labeled Nostalgic Stimulation. “Was that also part of your media training?”

Music filled in the empty space of the room, and you turned up the volume just a little bit before placing your laptop in between the two of you. Bucky’s eyes land on your screen, taking in the different song titles as you fall backwards, closing your eyes as you rest on his bed.

“I know these songs,” he muttered. “They’re in Steve’s notebook.”

“They better be. I recommended half of them to him,” you hummed. Your eyes were still shut, but you knew his gaze had shifted to rest on the side of your face where you laid. “You listen to this kinda music, too?”

“Not really,” he sighed.

“No?” you asked, finally looking at him.

Bucky had a sheepish expression on his face. Like he was almost ashamed of admitting it. He went back to looking at the songs on your laptop, reaching to touch the scrollpad– going through each of the song titles.

“They’re… I mean the songs are good, but they’re not my style,” he muttered. “I gave it a chance.”

“What’s the issue with it?” you frowned at him. “These are classics, lover boy. Staples in history, if you will.”

“Classics,” he repeated with a scoff. “Sweetheart, you’re talking to someone that’s older than these songs. These are not classics to me. Besides, you didn’t strike me as someone that listened to classics, either.”

Your lips parted, and you blinked. Fine. He got you there.

“Well, part of the reason I enjoy these songs so much was because we used to play them all the time,” you shrugged, moving to sit back up. “All of these songs in this playlist specifically just remind me of good times.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“The team,” you answered, meeting his eyes. You saw him pause for a second, his breath catching in his throat. “Sometimes, we would wake up to Tony listening to these songs in the lab. Other times these songs would be in the gym while Steve and Natasha were sparring. I would play them while I was cooking in the kitchen. We would listen to them together to unwind after a longer mission in the jet on the way home… So yeah. Good times.”

You’re grateful that you’ve already turned the music on to fill in the silence. Bucky doesn’t answer you for a while, and you don’t elaborate your words to him. Yet, you two still stared at each other.

The more that you talk, the more that you reveal about yourself, the more he relaxes. It seems Yelena’s words were right. He needs to believe that it’s real. That you’re real. You’re trying to convince yourself all at the same time that this is real, too.

“What about the other part?” Bucky asked.

You shrugged, and gave him a sad smile. “I’m lonely.”

Since that night, you continued to come to Bucky’s room as often as you could. Once the rest of the tower falls asleep, you’re making your way down the halls with your laptop and phone. You no longer knock, and Bucky doesn’t expect you to do so anymore. You just push your way through, shut the door behind you, and drop onto his bed.

Bucky doesn’t even have the energy in him to look exhausted at your appearances. You don’t know if it’s because you admitted to him that you’re lonely, or if it’s because he relates to it. Deep down, you’re starting to think he enjoys your company, with how he lets you do whatever you want. You don’t want to admit it, but you’ve begun to look forward to your nightly escapades with him, too.

You pretend that it’s just a stepping stone for the mission. That it’s only for the mission– to make Bucky more comfortable with you, but deep down, something is shifting. You’re changing, too. You don’t find so much fault in every corner of the tower. You try to pretend that the time you spend in Bucky’s room isn’t extending longer and longer every night.

You’ve turned his room into a rock concert venue. You taught him about raves, and how young folk these days can and will drug themselves on purpose for maximum fun. Bucky looked mildly horrified at the thought, and then you turned on some EDM music. The poor soldier couldn’t wrap his head around the various synthesized tracks before he asked you to turn it off. It was the only time he asked you to change the music, so you indulged in his request.

When you ran out of music to talk about, you started to bring other things to his room. Like alcohol.

“You know I can’t get drunk, right?” he asked, eyeing the several bags in your hand.

“Which makes this so much more fun,” you smiled at him as you started unloading the items onto his desk. “I’m making you my guinea pig.”

“Your guinea pig?” he repeated, eyebrows furrowing.

“Maybe bad wording choice given your background as an experiment, but indulge me a bit here, okay?”

You watched as he picked up some of the other items that you brought and sighed deeply. You met his eyes, and watched as he simply could not fight back against you. He just sat back down on his bed, defeated.

“Have you ever had soju and yakult before?” you asked, already opening up the probiotic drink.

“What the hell is a yakult?” he asked, slightly exasperated.

“Oh, you’ll love this, babe.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

But, he did love it. In fact, it was his favorite drink of the night. It was yours, too. You started off on the easier side of alcohol before you had shifted into deeper territory. You were having a blast, mixing several different things and watching his reaction. Some of them had him looking pleasantly surprised. Others made him demand for you to give him another shot of soju.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to be mixing light and dark alcohol in one night, sweetheart,” Bucky told you with a raised eyebrow as he took a slow pull on his whiskey.

You groaned at his words. “You are a buzzkill. Let a girl do what she wants.”

“It’s my room that you’re going to throw up in.”

“Just toss me into the hallway if I start going green,” you muttered, pouring yourself another glass. You’d long stopped mixing anything. You two were just drinking at this point. After throwing back your alcohol, you stared at him, and he was already looking at you. You frowned. “I wonder if you can get alcohol poisoning.”

“No, doll. I can’t get sick,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You on the other hand–”

“I’m not even drunk.”

“You’re slurring your words.”

“I am not.”

“Debatable,” he scoffed.

He was right. You passed out in his room that night, and woke up tucked into his sheets. You weren’t anywhere near his bed last time you remembered anything. You were sitting at his desk, still chatting with him. You recalled giggling with him, drunk off your mind, him smiling at you while you talked about things that you couldn’t recall.

Now, the entire room was cleaned up. The mixers and alcohol were back in the bag that you had brought, and Bucky was sitting at the desk. He was also asleep, chin tucked to his chest, arms crossed.

Your heart slightly ached at the sight.

Bucky refused to tell you what you said to him that night. At the very least, he promised to you that you didn’t embarrass yourself. You decided to swear off alcohol for the time being. You started bringing your laptop back to his room, and made him sit beside you at the head of the bed.

“This movie fucking sucks,” Bucky muttered beside you, trying to stay quiet like you were in a movie theatre despite the fact it was just the two of you and you’d seen this movie hundreds of times before.

“It’s the pinnacle of cinema, babe,” you whispered back. “Are you really Steve’s best friend? He loves this movie.”

“Steve has questionable tastes. Like being your friend,” he grunted.

Your response was to toss a popcorn kernel directly into his face. Bucky doesn’t even attempt to dodge it. He allowed the buttery thing to smack his cheek, then drop onto his bed, leaving a grease stain onto his sheets. He sighed, shaking his head before picking it up, and throwing it into the garbage can in the corner of his room.

“The cinematography is all over the place,” Bucky continued. “How can you say this is the pinnacle of cinema? Are we not in the modern world–”

You press the space bar on your laptop, and angle your head to look at him. There’s a smile on his face. He’s fucking messing with you– teasing you. He meets your eyes, and his grin only grows wider.

“You waited until we were more than halfway through the movie to tell me that you hated it?” you asked.

“I had to make sure that I really did hate it,” he shrugged.

You rolled your eyes at him, “You’re awful.”

“And yet, you still keep coming to my room every night like you own this place.”

“What can I say? I’m just visiting my boyfriend every night, like a dutiful girlfriend,” you huffed, pulling the device back onto your lap to find a different movie to watch with him.

Bucky snorts beside you, shaking his head. “Right. Because that’s what we are.”

“That’s what the world thinks,” you hummed, scrolling through the different options. Nothing looks appealing to you, and if Bucky thinks the movie that you two were just watching was bad then shit– everything you’re gonna choose is going to be bad.

“Media engagement has been more positive,” he said, almost a bit quieter.

“It’s because you started touching me like you actually like me during press interviews,” you said, closing your laptop. You gave up. “We’re really selling Val’s publicity stunt. Gotta give it to her– America does love love.”

A small laugh escaped his chest. “It’s more you than me doing the work.”

“You’re doing just fine, Bucky. I’m sure it was difficult for you to act like you love me when you had no idea who I was,” you sighed.

“No– even now… You coming every night. It was for the mission, right? So I could get to know you. Be more comfortable with you,” Bucky said. “I know you don’t want to be here. I still don’t get why you’re here, but… I’m glad that you are.”

You can’t meet his eyes.

The shame that you’re feeling is threatening to crawl back up your throat. The past few weeks, you managed to shove it all down. You had forgotten about it. Pretended it didn’t exist. Right now, it’s hard to ignore.

You take in a slow, steady breath.

“You never told me what music you like,” you said, and lifted the screen of your laptop. “It’s your turn to share some information about you with me.”

You’re about to hand over the device to him so he could search it up, but he gets out of bed. You immediately straightened, confused. Briefly, you wondered if you’d offended him. If that was somehow a taboo topic for him, but no. It wasn’t.

Bucky went to his closet, pulling out a vintage record player. He gently set it down on his desk, then went back to the closet to pull out another item– a box full of vinyls.

“I like forties music,” he told you, a small smile on his face as he started fingering through the different records.

Slowly, you got out of bed, too. You join him by his side, looking over his shoulder at the various different tracks. They’re worn around the edges, the colors faded. They looked more than second hand, and were very well loved throughout the years.

“How long did it take you to get all of these?”

“A while,” he admitted with a shrug. “Many trips to the thrift stores. I learned what FaceBook Marketplace was, too.”

“Steve said vinyls weren’t a thing yet in the early forties,” you said. “I tried teasing him one day about it, and he got real defensive.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, and pulled out a Louis Armstrong record. “They weren’t… but I like ‘em. They give me that same form of nostalgic stimulation that you crave, too.”

You watched as he loaded the track, and placed the needle onto the record. Slowly, the music filled your ears. You turned to him, seeing a fond smile on his face as he listened to the song play.

“Is your nostalgia from before the wars?”

“Yeah… The dance halls,” he nodded, looking down at his feet briefly. “I was quite the dancer back then. Charmed a lot of women, went on plenty of dates… The music would play and I would be unstoppable, really.”

“And now, you tense up now when you have to give me a hug in front of a camera,” you teased lightly. “Do I need to put Sinatra in your earpiece when we go through our interviews?”

“Honestly? It might help,” he chuckled, meeting your eyes.

You watched him for just a few moments. There’s something different about him right now. Maybe it’s the music. It’s unlike what you normally listen to so it’s affecting you, but he looks different. You couldn’t help but smile back at him, not when the smile he has is so genuine. So real.

“Pretend we’re in the forties right now,” you told him, watching his eyebrows furrow slightly in surprise. “Let’s dance, Sarge.”

“You can dance?”

“Not in the same way you can, but I’m a fast learner,” you grinned, holding your hand out to him.

Bucky’s eyes fall to your palm, and his smile only grows softer. You hate the way that your heart races at the sight. Gently pushed your hand away, before extending out his own. “That’s backwards, doll. I’m supposed to be asking you for the dance.”

“My apologies,” you laughed, sliding your hand into his.

He stepped in closer to you, his other hand moving to rest around the small of your back. You circled your arm around his, hooking your hand over his shoulder before he began to lead you in a gentle sway of the beat.

“Was there always such a respectful distance between dance partners in the forties?” you whispered to him, looking in between your bodies at the space.

A sharp laugh tumbled out from him, but he pulled you in even closer until your chests were touching– until even air can’t pass through. When you looked up at him, you found he’s already watching you, a smile so wide on his face that there are slight crinkles around his eyes.

The air gets stuck in your throat, and you have to remind yourself to continue to breathe.

“Is that better for you?” he whispered back.

“Much.”

Bucky only shakes his head, in mock disbelief, but you two continue to sway along to the music. You could understand why there were so many girls after him back then, if this was how he danced with them. He’s humming along to the song, and you can feel his heartbeat from how close you are to him.

It thumps against your own chest, slow and comforting. It’s gentle, and it makes your own chest hurt from the sheer kindness it emits. Bucky’s heart is just like his steps, and you know he’s taking this dance even slower than it needs to be because you said that you didn’t know how to. He’s dancing in half the time of the song’s tempo.

You can’t help yourself. You rest your head on his shoulder, a slow breath escaping your nostrils as you close your eyes. Bucky doesn’t stop humming. His grip on your waist tightens just a bit more, holding you impossibly closer to him.

You don’t want the music to end. You don’t want to pull away from him, but the night is getting late, and you should head off to your own room for the night. You’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe you could convince him to pull out the vinyls again. He has a lot that you could go through. You could dance more another night.

It’s what you tell yourself as the needle hits the end of the record, and automatically lifts to avoid damaging the record. His humming has stopped, your swaying has come to a halt, and silence fills the air, but Bucky’s hold on you doesn’t loosen.

“I should go,” you murmured to him, but you don’t detach yourself from him either. Your head remained on his shoulder, resting in the crook of his neck like it's your space to occupy.

“Stay.”

You shouldn’t.

You know you’re not here in the Watchtower for the right reasons– you’re not spending time with Bucky for the right reasons, and you know Bucky is suspicious of you. He has every right to be, but somewhere along the way– he decided he doesn’t care about those suspicions anymore. He’s placed his trust in you, but you haven’t told him the truth about anything.

Yet, you’re still undressing him with the same amount of vigor as he has when he’s pulling your own clothes off. Your laptop gets accidentally bounced off the bed when your bodies collide, and you both are momentarily alarmed at the sound of the shatter.

“Did you have anything important on that?” he whispered, hot breaths mingling with your own as he hovered about you.

“You really think I keep important Avenger level secrets on a fucking Mac laptop, Bucky?” you whispered back, eyebrows furrowed.

“I like it when you say my name.”

“God, you’re so lame.”

The smile he gave you in return for your sass is devastating. Then, he’s lowering himself back down onto you, mouth catching yours before he’s lifting you back properly up the bed to rest comfortably against the pillows.

Bucky’s body is slotted so perfectly against yours, blanketing yours in a warmth that you hadn’t felt in a long time. His hands are all over you, as if he’s trying to map you out, memorize you by touch as he’s too busy enjoying your kiss with his eyes closed.

You felt his fingers pause at the scar on your thigh. He pulled away from the kiss, eyes zeroed in on it. You watched, breathless, as his fingers ghosted along the raised skin.

"Sorry about this," he murmured, meeting your gaze again.

Guilt. There was guilt in his eyes. Regret. Pain and brief darkness threatening to creep up onto him. You couldn't have that, not right now- not when you were both naked, and you were under him.

"It didn't even hurt," you told him, tugging him back down to you, capturing his lips once more. "But I won't forgive you if you look at me like that again."

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered against your lips, as a small laugh falls from his lips- one that makes your chest soar. Yes. That is what you want from him. Not the sadness or the hurt. His hands are back on you, exploring once more.

“Bucky…” you sighed against his mouth as his fingers danced along your stomach, threatening you with a promise to go lower.

“Mhm,” he hummed, breaking away from your lips. “I got you, doll.”

You can’t help but dig your nails into his shoulders when his fingers slide up and down your folds, feeling you out. A low, contented moan escaped from his throat and he lifted himself off your body slightly to look between your legs– to see the glistening state between them.

Bucky watched as his fingers dipped within you, watched as your puffy lips split open for him, watched as your mouth fell open in a breathy moan as he slowly began to massage you from within.

“You’re soft all over, sweetheart,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You didn’t have a response for him, not when he added a second finger into the mix. His gaze was intense, so fixated on watching your body respond for him like he didn’t want to miss a single twitch or tremble in your muscles.

Bucky didn’t stop even though you could see his own member, hard and leaking against his stomach– begging to be touched. No, he was more focused on you– wanting you to fall apart from his touch, from just his fingers alone.

You were more than happy to oblige if it meant that you could finally get all of him inside of you.

“Bucky, hurry,” you murmured, though you were still panting, still twitching from your high. His fingers were still inside of you, still moving. “Bucky, I need you.”

“You’re so impatient,” he said, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval when you tugged on his wrist, trying to get him to shift away.

“Acting like you don’t want me, either,” you huffed, a little breathless as he began to line himself up with you.

“Baby, you don’t know how badly I’ve wanted you,” he chuckled, and pushed in.

You’re both silent for a few moments, mouths open in noiseless moans as you both take the time to adjust to the feel of each other. His forehead rested against yours as he took a moment to just let everything sink in. His hands squeezed at the curve of your waist, and a shaky breath escaped his lips.

“Jesus,” he muttered, then pressed his lips against yours.

You can only let out a small giggle in response– one that he returns right back. Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him against you as his hips started to move. Slowly at first, still getting used to you, then gradually picking up speed.

Soft chuckles and giggles are being passed between your lips in the midst of breathy moans.

You ran your hands over his body– from the hollow of his throat, down his chest, to his abdomen, and resting on his hips. You just wanted to feel every single ridge and contour of him, wanted to feel the way his muscles moved and contracted as he shifted within you– wanted to feel him as deeply as he was feeling you.

You watched as he took one of your hands, laced his fingers with yours, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. All the while, his eyes were locked onto yours while his hips continued to rock deeply into yours.

“So perfect, so, so pretty,” he muttered to you, making a shiver run down your body as he moaned out your name next.

He was the pretty one, but with the way that he was looking at you– the way that he was touching you? You couldn’t help but believe him.

Bucky held you in his arms like you were something to worship, something to love. You meet his eyes more than once, and they’re soft. Not hungry or desperate. They’re as gentle as his heart is kind, and you fall apart under his gaze. Bucky follows you right afterwards, whispering your name like a prayer.

He holds you tight that night. Tells you to stay again, in his bed. With him.

You don’t need much convincing.

You don’t know why you’re here, in this secluded corner of a coffee shop. The worst spot to meet up, in your opinion. You would’ve chosen the Watchtower. It was private, at the very least, but no. Sam wanted to meet in public. Why? You have no fucking clue.

Then again, that’s the general theme of your life for the past three and a half months. You don’t know why you came back to New York. You’re not sure why you went on those missions. There’s no clear reasoning on why you went through every single interview and public appearance that Valentina made you do for the sake of Operation: Romance the Public.

Well, that’s all a lie. You have a reason. You know exactly why you’re here.

Either way, you shouldn’t be sitting across from Sam with Bucky beside you, listening to the two of them argue about who should have the rights to the Avengers. Bucky asked you to come with him. Said it might be easier to convince Sam, to make the talk go easier since you know Sam, since you fought beside Sam as an Avenger.

You tried talking your way out of it. Said it wasn’t a good idea. Bucky gave you one look and you were a goner.

“You’re operating as a government backed team– what aren’t you understanding? You’re doing the exact same thing that we fought against!” Sam hissed, trying to keep his voice low.

“Do you think this is what I wanted? I was trying to take Val from her position,” Bucky replied, his voice just as hushed. “I didn’t expect for all of this to happen either!”

“You know, I get that– I understand that, Buck, I really do– but the name? The title? You know better than anyone how hard I have to fight to try to be worthy of my name and yet you can just waltz in here with a bunch of criminals–”

“The original Avengers were all criminals, too,” you cut in, and both men looked over at you. You met Sam’s eyes. “In case you forgot. We were criminals, too.”

“Don’t fucking start with me,” he said, pointing a finger at you. “Because I will not stop once I do.”

“Sam,” Bucky quickly said, trying to get his attention again. “I can’t change what happened. Please. I don’t know what you want me to do. I’m just trying to do what I can here.”

“By doing what? Faking to the world that you and little Ms. Perfect Avenger is in a loving relationship?” he asked with a scoff, leaning back into his seat. He’s still staring at you, jaw clenched tightly as he takes in a sharp, deep breath. “You left us. You left me and Steve when we needed you. You didn’t even fight with us. You dropped off the face of the fucking Earth, and now what? You’re back here for some fame? You’re so full of shit, you know that?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not here for fame, Sam. I wouldn’t need to join the Avengers again if that’s what I needed.”

“You are so full of shit!”

“Sam. Cool it,” Bucky warned.

“Why are you defending her? She wasn’t even there for you when shit went down the fucking drain!” Sam exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “Last time you guys met, you tried to fucking kill her, and vice versa!”

You dragged a hand down your face, irritation building into your chest as you listened to him talk. “Okay, clearly, this isn’t working. This civil conversation that you called us out here for? Over with, Wilson. I’m leaving. I’ll see you back at the tower, Bucky.”

“If it’s not about the fame, then what is it about?” Sam asked you. You met Sam’s eyes. He was challenging you. “You should’ve chosen a side. Because we got back together in the end like we always believed we would… and you were nowhere to be found—“

“You watch your fucking mouth,” you cut him off. Your body bristled, your heartbeat spiked.

“Am I wrong?” he dared. “You’re a coward. You were back then, and you still are. All you know how to do is run.”

“That’s enough, Sam,” Bucky warned, trying to keep his voice even.

Sam wasn’t done yet. He kept his eyes locked in on yours, and you couldn’t even tear your gaze away from his. Your chest felt tight. Your breathing was getting restricted. You watched as he took in a slow, intentional breath as he calmed down, just a little bit.

“You left us,” Sam said, nodding at you. “You were so afraid to lose half of the team back then, half of any of us back then… You didn’t even realize that you would end up losing all of us in the process.”

The chair clattered behind you as you pushed away from the table, and the rest of the coffee shop fell silent, looking into the direction of your table. You didn’t care.

You were already out the door, and halfway down the street. Sam was right. All you did was run, after all.

You dodged and weaved through the crowd of civilians, desperately trying to get away as fast as you could. You didn’t know where you were going. You just needed to leave— leave New York. Leave the country. Leave the Avengers again. Go back into hiding.

Your lungs are burning within your body by the time you turn into an alleyway. Your legs can’t hold your weight anymore, and your back slides against the concrete wall as you bury your face into your hands. You’re desperate for air. Desperate for a release. Something to make it all stop hurting.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart. I know Sam said that all you do is run, but that was like… a mile in five minutes.”

Your hands are being gently pried away from your face, and Bucky is on a knee in front of you, also slightly out of breath– but not for the same reason that you are.

“Why did you follow me?” you whispered.

“Couldn’t just let you run out like that–”

“I’m done,” you interjected, shaking your head. “I can’t do this anymore. The fake– the PR shit. The fucking team– us. I can’t do this.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed in mild confusion as he looked at you. You tear your wrists away from him, running your hands through your hair and squeezing at the roots. You’re going insane.

“What do you mean?” he muttered. “This– I get that it’s publicity and this is… a media stunt, but… the team– you and I– none of that is fake.”

“All of it is fucking fake, Bucky!” you shouted at him, releasing your hair. You have to close your eyes, and keep them shut tight. Otherwise, you’re going to be stuck looking at Bucky’s face, seeing the hurt that’s so clearly evident on his features. You can’t stand to look at it, when you know that you’ve caused it.

“I don’t get what you’re saying right now, doll,” he muttered, reaching for your hand again, and you want to cry. He shouldn’t be this nice to you. You don’t get why he’s being so patient with you.

“Bucky, I don’t want to be here,” you stressed, attempting to take your hand away from him. He only tightens his grip on you– interlaces your fingers together. “You know it, I know it– Sam fucking knows it!”

“Look at me when you’re talking.” It’s not a demand. It’s said as a request. He squeezes your hand, and then your name comes from his lips. Gentle. Soft. Almost reverent. “Please.”

A shaky breath exits your lungs, but you find the courage to look him in the eyes. And he offers you a small smile. It only makes you want to scream all the more. You stared at him, searching for the anger, the suspicion. There’s none of that. You don’t understand.

“Bucky… I should’ve chosen a side,” you whispered to him, heart hammering in your chest. “I lost everyone. I lost everything. I’m only here because Steve asked me to be. I fucked up– and I found out he wasn’t dead like Tony, like Natasha– so I searched for him. Found him retired in that farmhouse in the south, and begged him for forgiveness. I told him that I missed him, I missed the team, and that I was sorry that I wasn’t there for him and everyone else–”

You paused, needing a moment to take a breath. You didn’t understand how Bucky was still kneeling in front of you, taking in all of your words with such patience and clarity, but you were about to break down and start crying.

“And I pleaded with him to tell me what I could do to make up for the shit I did to him, and he asked me to help you if the opportunity ever came— and it did– it finally fucking did, Bucky–” you said, your voice cracking. “I’m only here because I’m listening to the last order my Captain gave me. I don’t want to be an Avenger because this isn’t my team. These aren’t my people. I left my team. I betrayed them– I don’t… I don’t deserve to be here.”

“I know,” he said, nodding to you. “It’s okay.”

You stared at him, the tears slipping down your face. “What?”

“You already told me this,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “When you were drunk. You also made me swear not to tell you that you told me until you said it to me when you were sober.”

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping through.

“I just told you that we are fake,” you whispered. “That I– I’m only here because of Steve–”

“You also told me that you liked spending time with me every night,” he murmured to you. “And that hanging out with me was the first time in a long time that you had felt peace.”

“Bucky. I just told you our friendship is based on a lie.”

“I don’t think you would’ve told me the truth if you really didn’t care about me. Twice now, actually.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me?”

“You’re talking to someone that has a horrible history, too,” he shrugged, a small smile tugging onto his lips. “If Steve sent you my way, then shit. I’ll send him a postcard. Never thought he would be playing wingman after all these years, but gotta give it to him. He always knew my type.”

A laugh of disbelief falls from your lips. “Seriously?”

“The media already thinks we’re together. I don’t mind it if we continue on with it. And from the looks of the conversation we just had with Sam…” A deep sigh escaped his chest, and shook his head. “We’re gonna be in some tough fucking shit pretty soon. We could use all the help we can get- if you want to keep going. I won’t force you.”

“You still want me on the team?” you asked.

“I think I need you there to keep me sane amongst the rest of them, actually,” he admitted. “They’re… a tough crowd.”

“They’re disorganized.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Bucky muttered, and you can’t help the smile that came onto your face at the exhaustion that briefly flashed through his eyes. He looked back at you, meeting your gaze, returning your smile. “Point is, I wouldn’t mind it if you were still there. I think that you deserve it, actually. For someone that claims to not give a shit about the team, that says that this isn’t your team all the time… You work harder than anyone on all those missions.”

“Old habits die hard.”

“Exactly,” he said, squeezing your hand just a bit more. “Come back to the tower with me? I need some help when Sam starts retaliating.”

“Is that all you need me for?” you asked, even though you already know the answer.

Bucky’s gaze is locked onto you. There’s a small smile on his face as his eyes roam across your features, taking in your appearance. You’re not too sure what there is to smile about, not when you’re certain that your tear stained and mussed up hair is an absolute mess, but under his gaze? You can’t help but feel beautiful.

He reaches, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he shakes his head. Your jaw is being cradled in his hand now, as he pressed his forehead against yours– just something to let you know that you’re real. That he’s real. To let you know that he needs you more than just for the team. He needs you, just as badly as you need him.

masterlist

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn @gallifreyansass @nanikio @jmclouds @sundaepoet @the-salty-asian @overwintering-soldier @kjmonster111 @okaytrashpanda

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myreadings · 2 months ago

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Your'e The One That I Want - Oneshot

Pairing: Modern!Bucky Barnes x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: She had mismatched socks , glitter on her cheeks , and the audacity to make him sing “Grease.” He never stood a chance.

A grumpy soldier. A karaoke queen. One very unexpected but well ended duet.

Word Count: 2.3k+

Content: Fluff Fic! anxiety / nerves , alcohol consumption , kissing , a mild suggestive reference , just fun and fluff <3

A/N: haii! so i was doing karaoke with my friend and sparked this idea so i hope you enjoy! Bye , bbys!

While getting used to the modern world Bucky Barnes adapted to many of its high tech and loud wonders, a few examples of things he loved now being netflix , sushi and audio books , he now loved the fact he could easily listen to hundreds of novels as he ran or worked out.

But there was also a smaller amount of things he hated of this century like the loud vehicles , dating apps and karaoke bars.

He did NOT do karaoke bars.

Correction: Bucky Barnes didn’t want to do karaoke bars. But when Sam Wilson, his best friend , stubborn punk , and soon-to-be-married man asked him to come out “just for one night,” to celebrate his engagement Bucky begrudgingly agreed.

So here he was now , sulking at the corner table of a dimly lit noisy karaoke bar in Brooklyn , nursing a whiskey neat out of a semi clean glass while a crowd of loud , already-buzzed party goers hollered along to a raucous slurred rendition of "Livin' on a Prayer."

“Buck , you’re so next ,” Sam shouted over the music , nodding his head to the stage , grinning ear to ear as he slammed down another tequila shot.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Not a chance.”

“C’monnnnn,” Torres slurred laughing , draping an arm around Bucky's shoulders.

“You used to be on stage all the time with that war tour with Steve? You were basically Justin Timberlake.”

Bucky blinked confused at the comparison , grunting. “I literally sang one song and wanted to crawl into a hole and never come back out.”

“C’mon , Barnes. You look like you’re about to get in a fight with the jukebox,” Sam teased again , sliding yet another whiskey over to him as he finished his last one. “It won’t kill you to loosen up , man.”

“I am loose,” Bucky grumbled , motioning vaguely to the group of guys sitting at the next table over. “Look. I’m... mingling.”

“Staring at people doesn’t count as mingling , old man.” Sam snickered.

Bucky gave him a deadpan look. “I thought this was supposed to be your night so why are you all worrying about me?"

“It is my night. And I want you to have fun with me. So… try , will ya?”

Bucky groaned, letting his head fall back against the booth. He was calculating the odds and ways of being able to slip out the side emergency exit without anyone noticing when you appeared in his line of sight.

Spinning away happy from the bar with a neon blue icy cocktail in hand and a tiny red cocktail umbrella tucked right behind your ear.

You were smiling so brightly it practically knocked the breath out of him. Your jeans had paint smudges and rips on them , your slightly cropped graphic tee read the name of a band he wasn't familiar with and you had sock clad feet because your heels were apparently “trying to murder you.”

He watched closely as you made a straight beeline to the karaoke signup stand giggling , still clutching the drink , turning dramatically on your heel , and looked around for someone , anyone—to join you.

You originally planned upon on arriving , to sing with your brother but he was currently in the bathroom making out with some random blonde and you still wanted to sing before the night was over.

Your beaming eyes scanned the room and locked tight onto his squinted blue ones.

“YOU!” you pointed right at him smiling big.

Bucky blinked and looked behind him.

“No , no , you! Tall , dark, and pouty.” nodding your head with your pointer finger in the air still directly at him.

A collective “ooohhh” spread through the bar by guests and a few laughs and nudges from Sam and the other groomen guys.

Bucky frowned , not believing you were meaning him , out of all the people in this crowded place. “Me?”

You grinned , biting your lip looking at the man. “Yeah. You’ve got strong "grew up on Sinatra and got great Elvis impressions in the shower" energy. Wanna duet with me?”

“I—no. I don’t sing,” Bucky uttered quickly , hands up like you were armed and he was surrendering , shaking his head frantically.

You narrowed your eyes. “C’mon , not even while you drive? Not even to annoy your siblings?”

“I-I don’t have any siblings.” He swallowed the last of his drink down fast , out of fear.

“Perfect,” you marched , grabbing his hand and tugging him up.

“Then no one’s here to embarrass you but me.”

And somehow , someway—you had him on his feet , being dragged toward the little stage hot on your heels with a grip that was way stronger than expected for someone with mismatched socks on and was that glitter spread on your cheeks?

“Alright , what are we doing?” Bucky asked, looking at you as the host handed over the mics.

You turned to him , eyes sparkling. “Grease. But we switch roles. I’ll be Danny, you be Sandy.”

He stared at you like you’d just asked him to fight Thanos again and at this point he would , anything to get out of this.

But there was something in your eyes that made him take the mic from the host anyways and move to the center stage.

You winked. “Go big or go home , right Soldier.” You patted his arm. “Here hold my hand” your eyes twinkled as you turned to him.

Bucky stared wide eyed and gladly took the anchor you offered , as the music started to play.

You bumped him with your hip playfully. “C’mon , stud.”

The music started playing. The audience whooped and clapped.

And Bucky Barnes , former hydra killer , current grumpy old man began to sing

He hesitated for a moment —then muttered into the mic , very quietly the beginning of his part.

The room cheered and whistled.

“Oh , he’s got a voice!” someone from the crowd hollered.

Bucky's cheeks flushed turning pink , and all he wanted was to sink into the floor and stay there hidden.

But looking at you , seeing you beaming somehow made him keep going.

By the second chorus , he was loosening up more and more. Just a little.

You leaned against him during the harmony like it was a routine you’d rehearsed a hundred times together.

He was still awkward , still gruff , but the way you looked at him , with zero judgment , just pure innocent joy—gave him the space to… try.

“You're the one that I want,” you both sang—your voice sweet and teasing , his deep and surprisingly steady throughout.

You danced like you’d never heard the word shame or embarrassment in your life , pretending to comb your hair back , even blowing a kiss to Bucky halfway through the song before you flopped onto the floor with a booming tipsy laugh.

Bucky choked on a laugh mid song. Somewhere between the third verse and your exaggerated hip thrusts , he gave in.

He grinned. He laughed. He tossed his head and leaned into the mic with a swoony look.

After the song had finished and you were both spent and out of breath you made your way back to the bar together.

“That didn't go nearly as bad as I had planned in my mind for it to , thanks to you.” he said in between breaths leaning on the bar.

You laughed , leaning an arm on his. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”

“I mean it ,” Bucky said , still watching you the entire time. “You’re funny. Real funny.”

“I try,” you teased , twirling a strand of hair absentmindedly. “You’ve got a good voice for a guy who looked like he was gonna punch the karaoke machine five minutes ago.”

He smirked. “I still might.”

You grinned at his words , and then glanced down at his metal arm still hanging between you.

Without asking , you tapped it gently , your finger nail hitting the plates. “And , that thing gets major applause too.”

“You’re not...weirded out by it?” He looked straight into your eyes with a hint of worry like you would now walk away once connecting the dots.

“Nope. You kidding? Half the guys I date or meet can’t even change a tire. You’ve got a whole vibranium arm.”

That made him laugh. Actually laugh.

You knew who he was the moment your eyes met across the bar , but who cares , you sure didn't , wasn't like it was his fault and we don't all get dealt the best cards , his though were just...worse than others.

“So , mystery man… you gonna tell me your name now that we’ve sung our hearts out together in front of forty plus people?”

“Bucky.” He replied giving you a lopsided smile.

You held your dominant hand out to shake his. “Nice to meet you , Bucky. I’m the disaster you just survived on stage , Y/N.”

His large palm met yours. Warm. Steady. Firm.

“Well , Y/N…” he said , trying the name out slowly on his tongue like he liked the taste of it.

“You come here often , or just show up to hijack the mic and steal unsuspecting war veterans for musical duets?”

You winked , waving the bartender down to order another drink of the night. “Only the pretty ones.”

You both ended up at a table just the two of you with two newly half-drunk drinks and one truly iconic duet left behind.

Bucky leaned on the wooden table top beside you, cheeks still a tint of pink from residual embarrassment (and maybe a touch of adrenaline).

You sipped the fruity drink from your glass , glancing sideways at him with a smile meeting his already looking at you gaze.

“So,” you began drawing out the “o” , “on a scale of one to “please wipe this entire night from my memory,” how traumatic was that for you?”

He chuckled looking down , shaking his head. “Surprisingly tolerable. Mostly because of you.”

You raised a brow. “Mostly?”

“You kidnapped me mid bachelor party ,” he reminded you with a half-smile. “Publicly.”

You grinned proudly. “You’re welcome. And hey , you didn’t totally hate it I saw that toe-tap and smirk during the chorus.”

His mouth twitched upawrds. “You saw that , huh?”

“Oh yeah. You were getting into it.” You nudged his arm. “Admit it—you had fun.”

“…Maybe.”

“Bucky Barnes ex assassin , now avenger ; secret karaoke lover , has a nice ring to it” You gestured in the air like you were laying out the words for him to read.

“I wouldn’t go that far you dork ,” he muttered , smiling over the rim of his drink. “But you made it easy. You’re... good company.”

Your chest fluttered a little. “Well , If you ever need a duet partner again…”

He looked over at you , really looked this time , like he was memorizing the way your lashes curled outward and the way your face was dotted with freckles here and there.

“…Wouldn’t mind that,” he said quietly. “Singing with you. Or just… more time with you.”

You blinked , your playful tone softening into something else. “Yeah?”

He nodded.

Then, with a small nervous huff of breath , he added , “I’ve got a phone…don't exactly know how everything in it works yet but you could put your number in it. I-If you want , I can at least answer a call or text.”

You smiled brightly , reaching for it in your bag without hesitation. “Lemme see it , Danny.”

As you typed your name and number into his contacts , complete with a microphone and smiley emoji—he watched you like you’d just stepped into his life from another universe.

Messy outfit , wild laugh , and all you had to offer.

You handed it back with a grin. “There. Now you’re legally required to sing a duet with me once a month.”

Bucky smirked. “Is that a threat , doll?”

“It’s a promise.”

A beat passed in the air between you two.

The bar around you slowly faded into a muted blur of music and mindless chatter.

For a second , it felt as if it was just the two of you in your own little spotlight , your own bubble.

Then he leaned in slowly—hesitant , but hopeful.

Eyes flicking to your lips.

And when you gave him the nod of approval to keep going , he finally connected you two fully and kissed you.

Soft and warm , it wasn’t perfect or polished.

It was a little funny , a little clumsy over the table but completely you and him.

When you pulled back for air breathless and smiling , you murmured against his lips–

“That wasn’t half-bad either.”

He let out a small laugh pecking the corner of your mouth and leaning back to take your face in his right hand.

“Oh , yeah?” he began brushing his thumb along your jaw and chin. “Well then you should see me on the dance floor.” he winked.

“Oh my,” you shook your head looking down letting a small chuckle escape from his words. “One duet and he’s already so cocky.”

“Give me a couple more and I’ll show you what does down when I put on my tap shoes”

You laughed so hard sitting back completely in your seat , you spilled your drink , but you didn't care.

And Bucky Barnes , grumpy , old , war-torn Bucky Barnes—just looked at you like maybe he’d found his new favorite song he couldn't wait to listen to on repeat.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

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myreadings · 2 months ago

Text

Bruised Mangoes

Pairing: Wakanda Bucky Barnes x LabTech!Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: An offer to Wakanda by Shuri for a temporary research role unexpectedly draws you into the slow, healing orbit of a man known more for his past than his present. Amidst curious goats, and shared silences, something gentle begins to grow between you and Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: 2.7k+

Warnings/Tags: Slow Burn Friends to Lovers? Fluffy , Winter soldier mentioned , fluff , mentions of creepy professor (nothing happens) , talks of medical/lab

A/N: tysm for every comment reblog and like it means the world and more!! enjoy this sweet healing recovery bucky fic! bye bbys :33

The first thing you noticed about Wakanda as you landed wasn’t the silence—it was the stillness. A kind of sacred , unshaken calm that settled into your skin and made the tension you’d been carrying unwind from your shoulders like a soft breath.

It wasn’t the absence of sound. It was the presence of its peace.

You could hear birdsong echoing from the trees , layered with distant voices and the rhythmic rustle of wind through wild green.

It felt ancient. Alive. And safe.

As the Quinjet touched down, you stood at the open ramp, taking a long breath before stepping into a new kind of quiet.

“Try not to be too impressed,” Shuri teased as she met you with a grin, her braids tied back and a pair of vibrant purple lenses clipped to her shirt. “We like to keep our visitors humble.”

You laughed, shifting your duffel bag higher on your shoulder. “Too late. I’m already in love with this place.”

“Good,” she said, gesturing for you to follow. “Then you won’t be in a rush to leave.”

You smiled following her , looking around in awe.

When Shuri had called you a few weeks back and asked if you would consider coming and filling in for her assistant that had to go on maternity leave, you didn't hesitate.

You jumped at the offer and left everything in Seattle to come here.

Shuri and you met when a weapons trafficker led her and her brother to your lab you were working at , at the time.

Where they were keeping stolen vibranium.

After the interesting meeting and you being their key to getting justice for the man who stole their precious material.

You and Shuri became good colleagues and later great friends.

After the incident you moved your work and studies to a college campus where you were at now. It was okay.

But the overly touchy creepy professors made it not great.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The stone path wound through the edge of the science and research village, fragrant with moss and blossoms, until it led to a cluster of small, curved huts made of smooth stone and honey-golden wood.

The sun hit the walls like a soft kiss, casting the area in a warm, golden glow.

Your new quarters were at the end, shaded beneath tall trees lining the land.

And directly across the path , set back just a little deeper into the green , across from a gorgeous pond , was his.

James Buchanan Barnes.

He stood barefoot in the grass, a small brown goat tugging at the cuff of his pants.

Around him, three kids from the village sat in a circle, giggling as they added beads , flowers and tiny braids into his shoulder-length hair.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t stop them. In fact , he smiled—soft and small, but unmistakably real.

When you met his gaze.

You forgot how to breathe.

You have heard of him for sure but , someone should have mentioned how beautiful he was.

“That’s Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri said casually. “Or Bucky, if he lets you call him that.”

Your eyes flicked to hers. “You didn’t tell me I’d be living next door to the Winter Soldier.”

“I told you the arm you’d be helping me with belonged to someone complicated , did I not?” she said, smirking. “I figured you’d put it together eventually.”

You turned back toward him, watching as he gently nudged the goat away with the toe of his boot. “He looks…”

“Better than he did six months ago,” she said, her voice quieter now. “But the healing is slow. You know how it is.”

You nod.

“Alright alright let's go, I need to show you around.” Shuri said, clapping her hands.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

In the beginning, he hardly spoke.

You worked with Shuri in the lab beneath the hill, calibrating and refining the vibranium tech that made up Bucky’s new arm.

It was a marvel lightweight, powerful, reactive—and needed delicate adjustments each week to sync with his nervous system.

He came in every Thursday.

Usually in the late morning. Always quiet and simply did what was asked of him.

“Afternoon,” he’d murmur, eyes low, arm extended for you to examine.

He sat in silence while you worked, letting you rotate the shoulder mount, test reflexes, and calibrate the pressure.

You never pushed him with conversation.

Just offered soft reassurances when needed.

“This might feel a little cold,” you’d say, holding a scanner over his bicep.

Or: “I’m going to adjust the anchor at your clavicle. Let me know if there’s any pain or tingling.”

He would nod once. And quietly say , “Okay.”

And sometimes—just sometimes , you caught his eyes flick to your face, lingering for a beat too long as you worked.

You never did mind seeing him watch you.

Watch the tip of your tongue poke out when concentrated or how your nose crinkles when you are unhappy with something.

If you did catch his eyes watching , you just would smile sweetly and he would look down quickly a light pink tint to his cheeks.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

One evening , after he’d left and you were cleaning up your supplies, Shuri spoke up.

“He likes you,” she said, typing away at her tablet.

You blinked. “What? No, he doesn’t.”

“He lets you adjust the joint mount,” she replied, barely glancing up.

“It took us a while to get there , he trusts you.”

You paused, thinking back to earlier that day—how he’d exhaled slowly when your fingers brushed just under the metal near his sternum.

How his eyes closed, like he was letting himself be still.

Maybe she did see something but liking you was a little far fetched.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The first real conversation you had was after a storm.

The air still smelled like rain, thick and earthy.

You were sitting on the step outside your hut, a warm bowl of rice and chicken in your lap, watching the sun try to burn through the mist as you scanned results from his recent nerve endings test.

You heard the sway of the cloth door open from his hut.

He stepped out, toweling his hair dry, the loose bun at his neck slightly askew.

His feet were bare. His pants rolled at the ankles.

He paused when he saw you.

Then, slowly, he crossed the path.

“Is it any good?” he asked, nodding toward your bowl looking down as he spoke.

You smiled. “It's alright , want to try?”

He hesitated—just for a second , before lowering himself beside you.

His vibranium arm rested between you, warm and shining brightly from the suns rays.

You handed him your spoon.

He took a bite. Chewed thoughtfully. “Better than when I make it.”

You tilted your head. “You cook?”

He shrugged. “Trying to. Taking care of the goats is easy. But cooking I’m still figuring out , things like seasoning and knowing which ones to use is the part I have a hard time with..”

You grinned. “I can help you if you want.��

He looked up in your eyes and smiled , “I would like that”

From then on, your relationship with the quiet soldier changed.

He brought you mangoes in the mornings—slightly bruised, clearly hand-picked.

You left an old paperback book by his door at night.

Sometimes, you caught him flipping through them in the garden, mouthing the words like they were new and precious.

He sat with you during breaks in the lab, asking shy, curious questions.

You let him test your tea blend, adding sugar until he found his preferred ratio.

Once, you caught him letting a goat rest its chin on his knee while he carved small figures from spare wood. You never asked who or what they were for.

But then after coming home from work one appeared on your windowsill.

A little robin, wings spread mid-flight.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next day midafternoon you finished your paperwork early and decided to go see your favorite neighbor.

“Need a hand?” you called gently.

Bucky glanced up, squinting against the light.

A smear of dirt marked his cheekbone, and a bead of sweat slid down his temple. But there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth , slight but nonetheless there.

“I’ve got it,” he replied, though the half-shrug he gave suggested otherwise.

“But I wouldn’t say no to the company.”

You made your way over, crouching beside him in the warm grass as one of the goats you learned was named T’chiki, the little caramel-colored one—nuzzled your side.

“She likes you,” Bucky murmured, tightening the rope against the post with his metal hand.

“Can’t say the same for me. She tried to headbutt me twice this morning because I wouldnt drop everything I was doing and scratch her ears.”

He said with a huff of a laugh , watching the two of you interact.

“Maybe she’s just trying to assert dominance.” You scratched behind her ears. “She doesn’t know she’s dealing with a supersoldier.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think that title means much out here.” He grunted softly as he stood, brushing off his hands. “They run the place.”

You stood with him, then frowned, noticing the way he winced as he straightened.

His right shoulder , flesh , not metal—was slightly stiff.

His top was damp with sweat along the collar and back, clinging to him more than usual.

“Bucky,” you said softly, tilting your head to catch his eyes. “When’s the last time you took a break?”

He looked at you, then at the goats, then away again.

“I’m fine.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Just step forward slowly, placing the back of your hand gently against his forehead.

He didn’t flinch—just blinked watching you.

“You're burning up,” you said straight.

“I’ve been out here an hour at most.”

“You’ve been out here since before lunch. Shuri mentioned you skipped your last check-in.”

His jaw ticked. “Didn’t think it was urgent.”

“It’s not,” you said softly, “but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

He hesitated, then sighed, letting the fight and strain drain out of his shoulders.

You stepped behind him, your fingers brushing the edge of his shirt where it met his neck. “May I?”

At his nod, you tugged the damp fabric gently aside, inspecting the seam where flesh met vibranium. The skin there also slightly reddened, and irritated.

“You’ve been overusing it,” you murmured.

“There’s tension here, inflammation. It’s pulling at the connection point.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away.

He just watched the goats scatter across the field, a soft bleating chorus of their “Baaas” ringing out.

“I just needed to feel useful,” he said finally, voice low. “Some days it’s the only thing that shuts it all up in my head.”

Your hands slowed.

Gentle now, tracing the curve of his shoulder with clinical care , but something more tender beneath it.

“You are useful,” you whispered.

“But not just because you’re working or fixing fences or hauling buckets. You matter even when you’re resting. Even when you’re not doing anything.”

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see you from the corner of his eye. “That’s hard to believe.”

“I know.” You moved around to face him, pulling a small diagnostic scanner from your satchel.

“Which is why I’ll keep reminding you. Sit?”

He obeyed this time, lowering himself onto a smooth stone near the fence as you knelt before him, scanning along the edge of his shoulder, watching the readings on the display flicker.

Your other hand steadied him, fingers splayed gently against his ribs. He was solid and warm beneath your touch , human and whole and hurting, all at once.

“You’re running a low-grade fever,” you said quietly. “Probably from the strain and overwork. You need water, rest, and a cool cloth. Maybe a dose of anti-inflammatories.”

“I can do that.”

“You will do that,” you corrected, smirking.

He huffed a soft laugh.

You met his eyes again, quieter this time. “Next time… just tell me, okay? When it gets to be too much.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

The moment stretched, easy and warm, like the late sun settling over the treetops. Then, after a beat:

“You gonna promise not to tell Shuri if I promise to listen?”

You grinned. “That depends. Are you going to let me put an ice pack on your shoulder without grumbling about it?”

He gave you a look, lips quirking. “I’ll think about it.”

You leaned in, brushing your fingers against his jaw.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’ll do both anyway.” you said both giving a small laugh.

Behind you, the goats let out a series of dramatic bleats—as if personally offended by the lack of attention.

Bucky chuckled, resting his metal arm on his knee. “They’re jealous of the attention you're giving me , doll.”

You rose to your feet and held out your hand. “Come on, Sergeant. Doctor’s orders.”

He took it. And let you pull him , leading.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Three days after that , after a long grueling day at the lab , you found him sitting outside his hut with his head bowed, elbows on his knees, hands over his face.

You didn’t say anything.

You just walked across the path and sat beside him.

After a long stretch of silence, he exhaled.

“Sometimes I wake up and… I forget where I am. I forget this is real.”

Your chest ached.

You turned toward him slowly. “You’re safe here,” you whispered. “This is real. You are real.”

His hand twitched. He glanced at your fingers resting beside him on the step.

Then, carefully, he laced them with his. Grounding.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Today at 5 am , you heard a small knock on the doorframe of your hut.

You threw on a robe over your sleep shirt and shorts , and lifted the cloth to see him

He had dark circles and hair mused , was barefoot standing there with tea.

Two cups.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said simply.

So you sat together as the sky turned pink and gold, , sipping the warm drink , your shoulders brushing, the world hushed around you.

Watching the sun slowly awake across the horizon line.

Today was your rare day off so you asked if he wanted to spend it together.

Perhaps doing nothing but rest ; you both needed it.

He of course agreed and the two of you were now sat on the soft swaying grass by the pond as it glittered.

He began braiding your hair. You sat between his knees sprawled out on the hillside, his fingers gentle as they moved through your strands. Making sure not to tug harshly.

“I haven’t felt this… normal in a long time,” he said, his voice barely above the breeze. “It makes me nervous.”

You tilted your head. “What does?”

“This. You. The quiet. It scares me.” he said, finishing the braid with a tie.

You turned, shifting so you could face him. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to lose it.”

You reached up and touched his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Bucky. Not unless you tell me to.”

He looked at you like he didn’t believe it.

Like hope was still foreign.

“You never flinch,” he said. “Not at my arm. Not at… me.”

You took a breath.

“Because you’re not the man they turned you into , you've proved that to me by seeing you here ,” you whispered.

“You’re the one who braids all the village kids' hair , the one who saves the bruised mangoes because they still taste the same even after being a little banged up…” you laced his fingers in yours “…and my favorite is the guy who brings tea to the girl next door.”

He blinked fast. Holding back tears. Trying to steady his heart.

So you kissed his temple. Soft. Certain.

And he leaned into it—into you , like he finally believed he was allowed to.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

After calling it a day and you both parted ways to your own huts.

You were ready to fall on your face and pass out , but as you got closer to the plush awaiting bed you saw something on your pillow.

It was a small carved goat.

Its legs were a little crooked, but its ears were perfect.

You know for sure the smile you had on your face made you look all kinds of silly. But you didn't care, you loved this.

And the next morning?Right at five in the morning.

He knocked on your door. Right as the birds began their songs.

Two cups of tea in hand but this time–

He also had a question:

“Stay a little longer this time?”

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

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myreadings · 4 months ago

Text

•·.·´`·.·•• You're Lying (and other things Sam won't stop saying) ••·.·´`·.·•

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: language, mild suggestiveness, comedy, romance, light-angst, found family, slow burn payoff, excessive teasing, established relationship, Sam being annoying

Trope: Everyone thinks you're not really dating. You are. No one believes you.

Word Count: 2.0K

Author Note: Guys this is just like my last one, this is to help me mentally prep for an AP exam tomorrow morning so if this is bad I am so sorry. But I hope you enjoy this nonetheless <3

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

You and Bucky were dating.

Like- really dating.

In the 'he's seen you at your absolute worst and still kisses your cheek like he doesn't look at you any differently' kind of way. The 'you keep an extra toothbrush at his place and he makes your coffee how you like it without asking' kind of way. The 'he pulls you into his lap during team movie nights and smiles against your shoulder, murmuring words into your ear like it's not the most dangerous thing he could do' kind of way.

And no one believed you.

Especially not Sam.

"Oh, come one," he said, flatly, as he walked in on you and Bucky curled up on the couch. "This again?"

You blinked. "We're watching Pretty Woman, Sam."

"You're spooning."

"We're affectionate."

"You're not even kissing! He's probably just cold. You know he runs cold. Like a cyborg space lizard or something."

Bucky growled. "Cyborg space-?!"

"Right," Sam interrupted. "Sure. Keep telling people you're dating. I'll be over here living in reality."

You buried your face into Bucky's neck. "I hate him," you mumbled.

"You love him," Bucky corrected with a sigh. "You just want him to validate our relationship."

"I want him to believe in our relationship. There's a difference."

Sam, in the kitchen, called out: "I don't!"

Bucky flipped him off without looking.

~~~~~

The problem wasn't that you and Bucky didn't act like a couple.

The problem was that you didn't act like a normal couple.

You didn't post mushy selfies. You didn't wear matching shirts. You didn't coo pet names across conference tables. You just... existed. Comfortable. Quietly in sync. The kind of romance that felt more like a heartbeat than a firework.

Too subtle for people like Sam Wilson, apparently.

"You didn't even kiss when you got back from that mission," Sam pointed out, a few weeks later. "She was gone for five days, man."

Bucky, polishing a knife, didn't look up. "I kissed her afterward. In private."

"See, that's the problem! You hide it. Makes it look fake."

"I'm sorry," you snapped. "I didn't realize our love life was for public broadcast. Want us to livestream the next one?"

Sam looked delighted. "That's a strong reaction. I hit a nerve. This is faker than Tony's allergy to gluten."

Tony called from down the hall: "It's real, you bastard!"

~~~~~

At first, it was funny.

Then it got exhausting.

You weren't insecure about your relationship- Bucky made sure of that, every day, in a dozen quiet ways. He cooked for you. Kissed your temple. Held your hand under tables. Brushed his thumb along your jaw like it was the most precious part of you.

But still. No one believed it.

Not Nat, who called it "convenient physical proximity."

No Clint, who claimed he'd never seen you kiss with tongue (as id that were a valid benchmark).

Not even Steve, who offered a gentle "Are you sure he's not just emotionally dependent on you?"

It all came to a head one night at a bar.

You'd just finished a mission and everyone was letting off steam. Sam leaned against the bar counter beside you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"So," he started. "You and Barnes still 'dating'?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes."

"Hmm. Okay." He sipped his beer. "So if I leaned in and kissed you right now, he wouldn't deck me?"

You stared at him.

"Try it," Bucky said darkly from behind, voice like cracked gravel.

Sam smiled. "Still not proof."

Bucky grabbed your hand. "You want proof?"

"Bucky-" you warned.

"No, no. He wants a show. Let's give him one."

He yanked you flush against him, hand cupping your jaw, and kissed you.

You melted into it, clutched his shirt, kissed him back with something that sounded like a whimper because Jesus.

Not a polite kiss.

Not a we're-dating-I-swear kiss.

A I-know-every-inch-of-your-mouth-and-I-love-you kiss.

Hot. Possessive. Unapologetic.

When he pulled away, Sam blinked. "...Okay. Damn."

"Believe us now?" Bucky raised a brow.

Sam blinked again. "Not really."

You grabbed a pretzel stick and stabbed it into the foam of Sam's beer. "I hope you step on RedWing."

~~~~~

Even after that, the teasing didn't stop.

Because of course it didn't.

"You probably practiced that," Sam said a few days later.

"What?"

"That kiss. You planned it. Just to throw me off."

Bucky rubbed his temples. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met."

"You're just mad I cracked the code."

"There is no code!"

You yanked open the fridge, pulled out a tub of frosting, and started eating it with a spoon. "I actually cannot live like this."

Sam pointed at the spoon. "See? No real girlfriend would let her boyfriend see that."

"Bucky bought me this frosting."

Bucky looked like he was about to get up and beat the shit out of Sam if he didn't start walking away.

~~~~~

Eventually, you gave up.

Let them believe what they wanted.

You and Bucky still kissed behind closed doors, curled together on the couch, whispered sleepy confessions after long days.

Until-

One night, you got sick.

Really sick. The kind of body-aching, fever-drenched flu that turned you into a grumpy, sniffling, corpse with a bag full of used tissues beside your bed.

And Bucky took care of everything.

He brought you soup. Rubbed your back. Helped you shower when you were too weak to stand. Brushed your hair out of your face. Slept beside you even when you told him not to.

Sam stopped by to check on you and walked in on Bucky holding your hand while you slept, forehead pressed to your wrist like he was praying.

The next morning, there was a small gift basket on your nightstand.

He backed out slowly.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't tease.

Didn't breathe.

"Okay. You win. He loves you. I won't say another word. P.S. Please don't tell anyone I'm capable of this level of sincerity. I have a rep to protect."

From Sam.

With a card.

~~~~~

You- of course- showed Bucky the card.

He smirked. "About damn time."

You kissed him with a smile.

And this time, no one questioned it.

~~~~~

The peace lasted exactly five days.

Five beautiful, uninterrupted days.

No teasing, no smug side-eyes, no Sam accusing you of being part of an elaborate CIA cover operation. Just you, Bucky, some early morning kisses over coffee, and one blessed evening where you somehow convinced him to slow dance in the kitchen to 40s music.

And then Sam broke into your new apartment. One you thought would give you full time peace compared to the Avengers compound.

(he claimed he "used the spare key." You knew he just picked the lock.)

"Morning, lovebirds," he smiled brightly, leaning against the doorframe like this wasn't the worst intrusion since Ross kissed someone else while he and Rachel were on a break.

You stared at him over Bucky's shoulder, still wrapped in his hoodie with sleep-mussed hair and a mug of tea between your palms. "It's 7:13 a.m."

"I brought bagels."

"And chaos."

Sam strolled in. "And relationship advice."

Bucky looked up from the couch, dead-eyed. "Why?"

"Because now that I know you two are the real deal, I gotta make sure you stay real."

You rubbed your temples. "We're not a gas leak, Sam."

"No, but you're both stubborn and weirdly avoidant and emotionally repressed, and frankly, I'm impressed it took me this long to be needed."

Bucky mumbled, "I'd rather be waterboarded."

Sam ignored him and slapped a notebook onto the table. "Step one: scheduled communication check-ins."

"Oh my god-"

~~~~~

You tried ignoring him.

Didn't work.

("It's like Find My iPhone, but romantic," he said. Bucky installed it in twelve seconds.)

Because Sam became relentless. He started showing up with couple's quizzes.

Brought you a deck of 'relationship conversation starters.'

Installed an app on Bucky's phone called 'LoveTracker.'

And worst of all- he documented everything.

"Bucky," he'd say mid-mission, "when was the last time you complimented her non-physically?"

You stared at him. "Non-physically?"

"Yeah. Like her intelligence. Or her moral compass. Or how she hasn't murdered me yet."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I call her my girl every morning."

"That's possessive endearment, not a compliment."

"I tell her she's smarter than Tony."

~~~~~

Somewhere around Week 3 of Sam's Unsolicited Couples Therapy, something unexpected happened.

But... he also started being kind of helpful.

He stopped being annoying.

(Okay, no. He was definitely still annoying.)

Like the night you and Bucky got into your first real fight.

It wasn't explosive. Just sharp. Quiet. Full of jagged silences.

You'd been on back-to-back missions, and Bucky had started pulling away. Fewer cuddles. More brooding. Less talking. You tried to be patient- God, you tried- but when he snapped at you for asking what was wrong, it all unraveled.

"I'm trying to help," you said, voice trembling.

"I didn't ask for it," he muttered.

The room froze.

You didn't cry.

You never cried in front of him.

But that night, you shut your bedroom door behind you and curled up alone.

But Sam came over first.

Bucky didn't come in.

Not until morning.

~~~~~

He found you on the balcony, hoodie pulled over your knees, cold tea forgotten beside you.

Then, quietly: "You know, when Sarah gets mad at me, I do this thing where I pretend I'm not scared I'll lose her. But I am. I always am."

He didn't say anything at first.

Just sat down next to you, offered a granola bar.

You looked over. "You think Bucky's scared?"

Sam tilted his head. "That man loved you like it's gonna be taken away from him. Like he's holding something he thinks he shouldn't have. So yeah. He's scared."

~~~~~

You didn't cry.

But you breathed.

And it helped.

Bucky apologized that afternoon.

He stood in the doorway, fists clenched, breathing hard like it took everything in him to walk in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For being a coward. For making you feel like you weren't wanted when you're the only thing I ever want."

You looked at him.

He stepped closer. "I never learned how to let myself be... this happy. It scared the hell out of me. But not as much as losing you."

You opened your arms, and he came apart in them.

That night, Bucky fell asleep with his hand on your heart.

And you whispered, "You're safe with me."

~~~~~

The next morning, Sam dropped off muffins.

"I told you you'd fight eventually," he said smugly.

You grabbed the muffins and shut the door in his face with a smile.

~~~~~

Over time, you adapted.

You didn't expect Sam to be a normal friend, he didn't know how to do that. But you did start to appreciate him as a part of your life. Your weird, overinvolved, chaotic platonic marriage therapist.

One night, you all sat around a campfire during a retreat mission. Quiet stars. Crickets. Steve snoring faintly in the background.

He became your sounding board.

Your crisis texter.

Your sarcastic but loyal brother figure who threatened anyone who looked at you funny and called Bucky 'lover boy' just to watch him twitch.

Sam looked over at you both.

"You know," he said, voice softer than usual, "you're actually really good together."

Bucky looked at him. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. But I mean it. You make him more human," he said to you. Then, to Bucky: "And you make her feel protected without caging her."

Sam threw a marshmallow at you both. "Don't get soft on me. I'll revoke my own compliment."

You blinked.

Bucky squeezed your hand.

~~~~~

Months later...

You stood at the edge of a field after a joint mission, hair tousled, laughing with Bucky as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled to yourself.

Sam walked past, muttering into comms.

"She's in love, he's in denial, and I'm still unpaid for all their therapy."

Which honestly... was kind of perfect.

You were real.

You were loved.

And you had the most chaotic friend group in the world.

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myreadings · 4 months ago

Text

RASPBERRY TARTS - p.m.

☾⋆⁺₊✧ part of my Marvel soulmate series, found here. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pietro maximoff x fem!reader .𖥔 ݁ ˖ warnings: action sequence, mention of parental death, and small depictions of violence. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 5.1k words.

The earliest memories you had were of your grandparents explaining soulmates. The exact cause was entirely unknown, but when a person was born they had the name of the person who shared their soul printed somewhere on their body. However, there seemed to be a split in the population; some people had the marks and others did not.

You happened to fall into the percentage of people who possessed a soulmark.

As a child, unable to understand much, you were excited at the prospect. However, as you grew and your grandparents revealed the truth of what happened to your parents, the idea of possessing a soulmate became bitter.

Soulmates were not guaranteed love, or even friendship with their partners. Sometimes it ended in a happy ending, other times it did not. Your parents had been the latter. Soulmates, yes, but it did not work out in the end. It was hard coming to terms with their ugly divorce, even more so the plane accident that left you an orphan and under the care of your grandparents.

Since then, the small words on your forearm seemed to glare at you. It was written in what you later learned was Sokovian.

Pietro Maximoff.

The name echoed in your head daily.

It all came crashing down shortly after the Ultron incident in Sokovia. You had been in a cafe in New York, scouting out places with your friend to start a cafe, when the news was captivated by the rising city. Then, months later, the Avengers revealed two new members that were caught on camera saving the citizens with them. Pietro and Wanda Maximoff.

You nearly had a heart attack that day and your friend, Evette, spent the rest of the day consoling you. She knew the name of your soulmate and had understood your rocky history with the concept.

Now, four years later, you and Evette had established a cafe in Brooklyn and have since moved on. Every day, you could absorb yourself into freshly made bread and other goodies and not have to worry about the very real fact that your soulmate was a superhero and living in the city. Under no circumstances did you want to meet him. If it ended so horribly for your parents, surely the same fate would befall you?

Especially if your soulmate was a high-profile person and the Avengers were not short on enemies.

You were in the front of the bakery during a lull in customers while Evette was in the back prepping some ingredients. Things were calm for once, which made you relieved to get past the morning buzz of customers. Your hand held a cloth as you wiped down one of the counters. The bell of the door rang out as a new customer came in.

You looked up to see a man who looked to be somewhere in his 40s. He had short, spiked dark hair and wore sunglasses. He was decently tall, fit as well, and walked with confidence. There was something there that was familiar, but you could not entirely pin it. He gave you a small smile as he came up to the counter.

“Welcome, how may I help you today?” You put the cloth down and wiped your hands on your apron nervously.

“I’ll have a medium black coffee with an apple fritter, please.” The man replied. You nodded while ringing his order up. While you were busy, he leaned against the counter.

“I’ve heard good things about this place, but never had the time to come by.” He spoke.

“Work keeps you busy?” You asked as you grabbed a to-go cup.

“You could say that,” He answered before taking note of your name on your name tag, “Don’t really come across that name often.”

You shrug at his words, “I always thought it was common.” You poured the hot coffee into his cup and put the lid on before grabbing a small paper bag and tongs to grab a fresh apple fritter from the display case. You packed it up and placed it next to the coffee on the counter.

“Well, it's nice regardless. I’m Clint. Good to meet you.” Clint gave you a friendly nod before turning to walk out of the door.

“You too.” You responded. Just as he was going to leave, the TV broadcasted a recent bank heist that was thwarted by some Avengers. Video playback showed a quick ray of silver shooting back and forth before it stopped, revealing Pietro, while the reporter spoke over the footage and recapped the events from just a few minutes ago.

You sucked in a breath. Pietro was undeniably an attractive man, which only made the situation worse. A superhero and hot? There was no way you could match that. Insecurity clawed at your heart for a moment.

“Pretty incredible guy, right?” Clint casually asked. You turned to him, only to see him already facing you with a look of curiosity on his face. There was something in his look, patience, waiting for which you did not understand.

Immediately you looked down at the counter, fiddling with a cloth while red coats your face, “I guess. I don’t really pay attention to that stuff.”

You cringed afterwards. Don’t pay attention to ‘that stuff?’ How ridiculous could you sound?

It was mainly the truth. You did not know the Avengers that well. It was never a priority for you. When the news of Pietro and his sister joining the team hit the media, you made sure to distance yourself as much as possible.

“Don’t blame you. That stuff is dangerous. Have a good day.”

The man left quickly, leaving you alone in the bakery. Again, that feeling of familiarity crept over you as you watched him through the front glass. You almost thought long on it, but a bell at the door and a new customer coming in caught your attention. A smile made its way on your face as you prepared to continue your day.

The ache in your feet was already prominent and it was not even midday yet. The morning rush had been especially chaotic with some convention being hosted down the street. Evette was working overtime in the kitchen and you had zipped back and forth behind the counter filling orders and trying to keep a smile.

When the crowd had dissipated, you slouched against the counter and stared at the floor with your eyes closed. It was a last-ditch effort to summon up some kind of will to continue working. A ding indicated a new customer. You immediately shot up and alert to greet them, only to relax and smile gently at who walked in.

Clint had become a regular, coming in every day for the last two weeks. He was always calm and good at conversation while being incredibly witty. There was something fatherly about the way he interacted with people. It was something you sorely missed and lacked in your life.

“You look dead.” Clint joked.

Your hand rubbed one of your shoulders to try and relieve the tension, “I feel dead.”

“Bad morning?” He asked while he looked at the pastries. One thing you knew about him was his insatiable attraction to baked goods. You were sure if the world came to an end, he would still run to the nearest bakery for a sweet treat.

“Busy. That convention down the street has a lot of hungry people.” You sighed as you adjusted some of the coffee brewing items behind the counter.

“You know, for someone who interacts with people as part of their job, you don’t seem to like them very much,” Clint spoke.

“Trust me,” Evette spoke as she exited the back with a tray full of fresh pastries to load the display case, “I’ve told her how ridiculous it is.”

You shrugged, “Big crowds aren’t my thing.” You were never a fan of crowded spaces; people shoulder to shoulder and speaking in shouts to one another. It was uncomfortable and only made you feel drained.

“Well, what about galas?” Clint slyly asked. Evette stopped loading the pastries into the glass and looked at him.

“What do you mean?” Evette asked.

“There’s this gala tonight and I got the room on my invite for two more. Does that sound good?” Clint asked as he eyed the raspberry tarts.

“Oh, uh-” You exchanged a look with Evette, prepared to turn him down before your friend interrupted.

“We’re both in.” Evette smiled at you. You gave her an intense look of disapproval. She had been trying to make you get out there and meet more people lately, but you had put up a good fight so far. Clearly, you were outmatched.

“Awesome. Here’s my number,” Clint slid a piece of paper across the counter, “Also, just my regular order, but I’ll take two of those raspberry tarts.”

Clint sighed with frustration as he sat on a high chair in the Avenger’s tower. His cup of black coffee, which was almost completely drunk, had gone cold. He had arrived to utter chaos in the living quarters. Pietro was running around, making markings on the ground as he jittered from place to place. Wanda sat next to Clint, happily eating one of the raspberry tarts as she watched her brother freak out.

“I do not see what all the fuss is about,” Wanda spoke as she took a sip from a glass of water. Despite it being four years since they joined the Avengers, their Sokovian accents were still as thick as the day they met the dysfunctional – but somehow semi-functioning – family of superheroes. Pietro stopped zooming around and took the second tart. He bit down, humming at the nice taste, before opening his mouth.

“This is going too fast. He was supposed to ease her into it.” Pietro rocked on the balls of his feet. For the first time in his life, he was nervous. A feeling he was not familiar with, nor ever wanted to feel again.

“Too fast for you, speedy?” Clint exclaimed with disbelief, “Days ago you were whining that I was not making any tangible progress and now, when I finally manage to make it, I am suddenly in the wrong?”

“Not like this. The gala is in eight hours!” Pietro started pacing. There was so much he had to do. He planned on having a grand entrance; a classic sweep-one-off-their-feet moment. He dreamed of it since he was a kid, even when he was unable to read the name of his soulmate as he had yet to learn English. It felt like he was staring down the barrel of a gun with limited time to move.

“It was almost as if this was a horrible plan in the first place,” Wanda spoke. Clint nodded her way in agreeance with her words.

“Look, you had Tony track her down and then sent me to scout the place. Remind me again why you think this is necessary?” Clint took a sip of his coffee, grimacing slightly at the cool temperature but still liking the flavour. Pietro’s soulmate makes a damn good cup, he thought to himself.

“I can’t even leave the tower without being swamped by people because your stupid American media does not stop chasing me. I don’t want her to be overwhelmed or put in danger.” Pietro reasoned. For some reason, the American media has chosen Pietro to be a darling representative of the Avengers. Sure, he was a flirt, but it had been taken too far and became nauseating to go out.

Clint hummed, “Fair point, but did you ever think that having me essentially lie to her these last two weeks was a good way to start this whole thing off?”

“Exactly what I said,” Wanda muttered before taking a final swig of her water.

Pietro paused for a moment, raising his hands to his face and digging the heels of his palms into his shut eyes, “I did not think that part through.”

“Do you ever?” Wanda teased. He looked towards his sister in challenge, but she only responded with a sly grin. His stress was getting to him and he took another bite from the raspberry tart.

“Look, we have until tonight to plan it.” Clint got up from his chair and stretched his legs a bit, “Now, what did you originally have in mind?”

This was absolutely ridiculous. Evette insisted that the cafe be closed early to prepare for the gala. For hours, the two of you got ready. Thankfully, you had an appropriate dress in your closet left over from a wedding you went to a year ago. It was good enough for the gala, but not anything entirely special. Evette spent hours on your hair and makeup, as that was something she was particularly gifted in.

It was odd to feel as pretty as you did, but the moment you showed up at the gala over an hour ago, it fled quickly. All the people here were stunning. The reporters, politicians, workers, and everyone in between. It was a charity event and the grandeur of the building shocked you. It was modern, elegant, and easily a damn expensive event.

You and Evette had been on the guest list, welcomed in, handed champagne, and walked into the area. So far, the two of you have not found Clint. Admittedly, you were having a good time despite being slightly uncomfortable with the amount of people that were there. For the most part, you and Evette stuck to one another and only engaged in a few conversations with people.

The two of you stood off to the side, engaged in a small conversation and sipping on champagne; both of you had lost track of the amount of glasses that had been consumed thus far. Both of you were looking out these large floor-to-ceiling glass windows that spanned the height of two storeys. The bright sparkling windows from the skyscrapers appeared to light up the dark sky.

“Having a good time?” The familiar voice of Clint came from behind you two. You turned to see him walking up. This area was more secluded, away from the dazzling crowd. He wore a crisp suit with no tie and the first button undone. Casual, but still fancy.

“It’s been alright.”

“This place is amazing.” Both of your voices chimed off at the same time. Clint laughed gently and stood up by you two. You felt an odd tingling feeling on your wrist where your soulmark was. It was covered by a thick bracelet and your fingers were unable to dig under and calm the itch.

“There is uh, actually a reason why you’re here,” Clint began. You turned to find him already looking at you. An unsettling feeling crept up your spine.

“Uh, guys?” Evette spoke, but it was whispered and unintelligible. She was looking out the window with an uncertain look painted across her face.

“What is it?” You questioned Clint. His hands folded in his pockets and he looked around the room as if searching for something.

“Well-”

“Guys!” Evette caught your attention and pointed down to the street to a pack of suspicious vehicles, “What’s that?”

You looked down the street to find vehicles moving at top speed, hurdling across the cement roadway. The two cars were large, armoured, and not stopping. For a moment, you froze while the worst thoughts flooded your mind. They wouldn’t, would they?

“Shit,” Clint said before grabbing you and Evette’s forearms and dragging you out of the way. In a clash of loud noise and shattering glass, the two vehicles rammed into the windows and pushed into the building. The shards dispersed all over the place, hitting your bare forearms and causing a bunch of cuts to open up. You gritted your teeth at the stinging sensation.

Everything was chaos. From your position on the floor, you could see people running all over the place while men in black clothes and balaclavas exited the cars with heavy weaponry. One of the men ran in your direction but stopped and fell to the ground instantly. You gaped in wonder when you noticed an arrow sticking out of his chest.

Evette’s familiar grip on your arms brought you out of your daze. Your head had taken a harder hit than hers and a pounding behind your eyes started to appear. Beside Evette, standing tall, was Clint with a bow.

Where the fuck did he get a bow from?

You watched as he shot another one of the invading men. It was then that you looked at him, really looked at him. Despite the chaos around you, your brain was finally thinking clearly.

Had you really been this stupid? For someone who wanted to avoid the Avengers, you were damn talented at letting one become a regular at your shop and friend. Shame and guilt filled you. You were not dumb, he knew who you were, he must have. Coincidences like this were unlikely.

Was this whole thing a setup of sorts? Did he actually stumble across your shop or was this planned? Before you could question anything further, you were brought back into the moment.

“Down that hall!” Clint pointed to a door off to the side, “Go to the end and take a right, get out of here!” He pulled an arrow out of a quiver on his back, nocked it, and fired with speed and efficiency that would have amazed you if it were not for how dangerous the situation was.

You and Evette wasted no time in heading towards the door with Clint following. He backed up with you two, focusing on shooting the men who scrambled across the floor of the grand hall. Evette opened the door to expose a long hallway, only to see that there were similarly dressed men there too.

One of the men lifted his hand that held a glock. Clint, being closer to Evette, had a faster reaction time and managed to pull her out of the way. However, it left you vulnerable to the men in front of you. Before you could even think, a flash of colour blurred in front of you. Within a second of time, the two men lay on the ground incapacitated.

Standing before you, was the person you did not ever plan on meeting.

He was slightly taller than you expected, but just as rugged as the videos he appeared in. Pietro wore a white button-up with a loose tie around his neck. His clothing was dishevelled, indicating he had been fighting the invading men well before showing up to play rescue. Your heart felt like it lodged up into your throat.

Pietro was better looking in person – if that was even possible. His silver locks with dark roots suited him, coupled with a strong nose and sharp jaw that was covered in stubble. He was obviously fit by the state of his muscles, especially the strain of his biceps against the white fabric of his shirt which had the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows.

His eyes were the most striking part of his appearance. Vibrant and alert given the situation, but still somehow soft. There was a reflection of familiarity in his pupils, and you immediately understood that he may already know about you. It only added to the evidence you had that Clint’s appearance in your shop may not have been a coincidence.

Pietro opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, his gaze never wavering from you, but the sound of a high-pitched scream back in the main room had his eyes snap to behind you.

It was interesting to watch the silent conversation he had with Clint in those few seconds. Clint gave him a curt nod, almost as if giving reassurance, before you blinked and Pietro was gone; likely off to continue fighting. This dull ache settled in your chest at his disappearance and the itching feeling on your soulmark faded the further he left.

Clint wasted no time in grabbing you and Evette and marching down the hall towards the exit door. He moved with speed, mainly so he could return to the fight. When he opened the door, a sleek back car was waiting in the alleyway. You had no idea how it got there or what it was originally for, but you did not have time to question it. Clint opened the back door and gestured for you and Evette to go in.

“The car will take you home. It will drive to shake off any potential followers. Once home, lock your windows and doors and cover them if you must.” Clint spoke.

Evette looked like she wanted to speak, but was stunned into silence and gratefully nodded before getting in. As you moved to follow her, Clint grabbed your wrist gently. You looked back at him with confusion.

“It was not supposed to happen like this. I hope you know that.” With those words, you finally understood that this was, in fact, planned. The break-in by those guys was not, but your invitation from him was very much intended. Pietro’s attendance at this event was intentional.

It almost hurt to think that Clint’s intentions were not casual. He had walked into your store, knowing damn well who you were – or at least who you were to Pietro – and acted accordingly.

All you could do was nod before joining Evette in the car. Clint closed the door and it automatically locked. He quickly went back inside and the car took off down the alleyway and to the street. You looked forward and saw that there was no driver present.

It was only until you had reached down the block that the adrenaline wore off and you could feel the pain of the cuts on your arm. Even worse, the dull ache in your heart.

The rattling buzz of your phone broke you out of your monotonous clean of one of the tables. You stopped your clean-up work and pulled it from the back pocket of your jeans. Clint’s name flashed across the screen and, like the many other times he has tried to call, you denied it.

It had been almost a week since the incident at the gala. According to the news, the infiltrators were there because the organizer owed the mob. They were stopped, of course, mainly by Clint and Pietro – which the news kept playing footage that bystanders caught during the altercation. Thankfully, you had not been in any of them and you took that as a positive sign.

Since then, Clint has tried to contact you. Truthfully, you were reluctant. The incident only proved one of your underlying fears; how unsafe you would be as a soulmate to an Avenger. The answer was lacklustre, though Evette had been trying to convince you otherwise. She wanted you to reach out and talk to Pietro at the very least. What bothered you the most was that she was right.

Over these few days, you had thought about it. It was not fair for you to isolate yourself from your soulmate. He did not deserve that. This was not a one-way bond, but a shared commonality. A shared soul. You did not want to be cruel to the person that was fated to you.

Admittedly, you were also scared. A soul bond did not necessarily mean a perfect connection. Would you even be good enough for a literal hero? You co-owned a cafe with your friend and played video games with her on the weekends. It was not exactly an exhilarating life. Would he even want an exhilarating life? Would you be boring?

You shoved your phone back into your pocket and took a centrepiece from the table to move behind the counter. As you were crouched down and organizing, the ring of the bell caught your attention.

“Oh, sorry but we are clo-” Your words faded away as you stood up to see Clint there. He was standing casually by the door. You soulmark began to itch you you clocked the situation immediately.

“He’s outside, isn’t he?” You asked. Your hands tapped the counter awkwardly as you tried not to sway on your feet.

“Yes,” Clint nodded, “He’ll come in if you want him to.”

“So, you’re still working as his little spy?” The comment felt harsh as it fell from your lips and you cringed slightly.

Clint sighed, “Look, if you could let him explain.”

You almost wanted to laugh, “How he sent someone to essentially spy on me? Tell me, what did you learn in your reconnaissance?” It felt odd, having been treated like a mission. You were made a target of which they needed to gather intel on. Not a person, not even his soulmate; a mission. Would that be your life with Pietro?

Clint only leaned against a table, “You know he almost died in Sokovia.” It was not a question, but a bold statement that almost knocked you from your feet. That you did not know and the thought of it…

“There was this kid I was trying to get out of there and, uh,” For the first time since meeting him, Clint got visibly uncomfortable and one of his hands lifted up to scratch the back of his head, “Pietro ran and took the bullets for us. By all accounts, he should have died but… he wished for us to find you if he didn’t. To take care of you.”

His words felt like a direct punch to your face. You had been so selfish, so terribly selfish because of your fear that you never thought about him. His life of danger, of possibly never meeting you.

“That kid is alive because of him. My kids still have their father because of him. All I’m asking is to give him a chance.” Clint finished his speech and waited for a response. You could not look at him, unable to reckon with it all.

As if on instinct, you quickly went to brewing coffee as you silently contemplated his words. While it brewed – and you were sure to regret it later as it had already been cleaned for the day – you grabbed tongs and picked out and bagged the last apple fritter; Clint’s favourite.

You placed it on the counter, along with the coffee you poured, and pushed it towards him. Clint made a move to reach into his pocket for his wallet, but you held out your hand.

“Dont. Just take it and,” You paused to breathe out, “You can send him in.”

Clint grabbed the items with a small smile on his face and gave you a nod. He made his way outside your shop and turned down the street and out of sight. You looked down at your hands as they shook with nerves. One of your hands fiddled with a ring on your other, turning it around and around as you waited with bated breath.

The familiar ding of the bell above the door caught your attention. Looking up, you spotted Pietro standing in your shop. He wore casual clothing this time, dark blue jeans with a gray hoodie. His hands were in his pockets and you could tell he was nervous too. Again, you found yourself paralyzed by his eyes.

“I feel I have to explain myself,” Pietro spoke. You crossed your arms and nodded, unable to speak.

“Clint was only doing me a favour. I was worried how you would feel about, well, me and my life, the Avengers…” He trailed off for a moment and took a few steps closer, “It can be overwhelming and dangerous at times, as I am now sure you know. Are you okay?”

“Only a few cuts. Nothing horrible. You?” You had managed to walk out from behind the counter, but for some reason found yourself unable to get closer.

“I’m fine. It was not supposed to be this way, I had planned on having some grand entrance. Sweep you off your feet. Not see you get hurt.” Pietro closed the distance. You noticed immediately how much taller he was. By now, the itch in your wrist has become intense.

Pietro slowly reached out and used his hands to grab your wrist. He carefully pulled up your sleeve and exposed the soulmark on your wrist. His name, in bold black elegant letters, was sprawled on your skin.

The moment his calloused fingers touched your skin, the itching ceased. Warmth pooled from the area and moved throughout our body. With your one free arm, you pulled up the sleeve of the hand that brushed over your mark and saw undeniable proof of your connection. Your name, sprawled in the same writing, was printed on his wrist. You touched it and you could feel him shudder under the sensation.

“I, uh, still can be. Be swept off my feet, I mean. If you want.” You could not help but stutter. His close proximity, the smell of fresh mint and lavender, overwhelmed you. It did not help that the two of you seemed unable to let one another go.

“That I can do.” Pietro smiled and turned over your hand, lifted it up, and brushed his lips across your knuckles without ever breaking eye contact. You could feel heat sweep across your face, which was no doubt red.

“Smooth. Should that make me worried?” You asked.

“Did you not say you wished to be swept off your feet?” Pietro answered. “Though I hate to ruin the immersion, I can’t help but ask, even if you are closed, if you happen to have any more of those raspberry tarts. Clint brought some this morning and, I have to say, you are good.”

You could not help but be reminded of words your grandmother always repeated; the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. If it were not for such a tender situation, you would have laughed.

You smiled at him, watching as he grinned back, “Well most of the food is made by my friend, but the tart is one of my recipes. We’re out but uh, we can make more right now if you want.” You were surprised by your own boldness. The experience you had with men was lacking, so your nerves on navigating uncharted waters ran high.

“That sounds good,” Pietro answered. He gently pulled on your arm, bringing you somehow closer. His hand left yours to tuck some hair behind your ear, “Would it be alright to kiss you?”

“Normally, yes, but I can let it slide.” You answered.

Pietro took your invitation as a go and leaned in. You closed your eyes and lost yourself in the feeling of his lips brushing against yours. His stubble ticked just lightly, but it felt comforting. The warmth from his body ran higher than normal and you suspected it was due to his abilities. Your hands moved to his chest as you gripped the fabric there.

Your heart was alight, buzzing with excitement as his lips moved against against yours. For the first time in your life, a thought burrowed itself into your mind.

Maybe soulmates aren’t so bad.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ It was so hard not to turn this into a 15-20k word long fic. istg it’s like fighting demons.

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myreadings · 5 months ago

Text

sycamore girl | sirius black

pairing: sirius black x reader

genre: fluff, fake-dating/relationships, the tiniest bit of angst, con artists sirius and reader sksks

word count: 12.3K

originally posted on my wattpad

"listen, i hate my father and i'm positively sure that he hates me too but he is filthy rich so i curated a-" he paused, considering his next words "-plan of sort."

"so you." he pointed to her.

"and i." he pointed to himself. "get married."

"we then inherit a trust fund that he and mother had set up for regulus and i when we were to be married and split." he finished explaining his plan."what do you say?”

“what do i say?" she repeated his words after a while. "no— you want to know what i think?"

at his nod she added, "i think that it's a stupid idea."

or two (one really) reluctant person chooses to marry the notorious sirius black for the price of many millions galleons.

"is this seat taken?" the voice caught her by surprise, raising her eyes to meet the asker's waiting ones.

"avril normally sits here," she replied, sparing a glance towards his usual seat; there sat lupin, potter and pettigrew bantering like they always did as they waited for the lesson to start. did they have a fight?

"well she's not here." he pointed out with a small smirk, making his way around the table to take a seat despite her words. "i'm sure she can find another spot."

she only bit her tongue, stopping herself from responding. black —whether he was purposely ignoring or genuinely failed to notice how irritated she seemed to be— cleared his throat, asking her a question that should've been expected from him, yet still managed to surprise her.

"are you seeing anyone?"

feeling as though something was stuck in her throat, she muttered quietly, "pardon?"

"you heard me," he said boldly, pulling his things out from his bag. "why is that any of your concerns?" black paused his actions, keeping his head low as he stared into his bag. "it's not," he admitted after a while, "i'm just curious."

she said nothing, watching as he continued rummaging his bag for his supplies. black lifted his head back up; quill in hand, his grey eyes meeting hers. "are you not going to answer my question sweetheart?"

"i'm not," she said eventually, turning towards the front of the class. "i'm not seeing anyone right now."

•••

it was late, she was tired; extremely tired but sleep didn't seem like it will be making its way to her anytime soon. lily had asked to meet her after class, when she asked why she couldn't just tell her more about the issue during their lunch break lily quickly told her that she had a prefects meeting to attend to (as if lupin eyes didn't grow wide, giving away that it was clearly a lie).

still, she went to the gryffindor's tower anyway, at the exact same place and time that lily had asked to meet her but the redhead wasn't there. instead there was potter, letting her into the common room and insisting that she wait on one of the couches instead of going up to the dorm to see her.

it wasn't until two minutes later when black showed up, sitting down besides her with a —somewhat— uncomfortable look (that didn't suit his handsome features at all) did she realize that this was another one of lily's lie.

"look," black started. helga, whatever did happen to hello, or how are you?, people really just skip to the point now these days. "i'm sure you're wondering why i'm here instead of evans and i will tell you that but i need you to hear everything first before you react, will you be able to do that?"

merlin, gryffindors are weird. "i'll try?"

"great, trying will do." he smiled charmingly, shuffling his weight so he could properly meet her eye to eye. "i have a..." he trailed off thinking to himself, "proposition?"

black licked his lips, mustering up his courage to continue on with his words. "listen, i hate my father and i'm positively sure that he hates me too but he is filthy rich so i curated a-" he paused, considering his next words "-plan of sort."

"so you." he pointed to her.

"and i." he pointed to himself. "get married."

"we then inherit a trust fund that he and mother had set up for regulus and i when we were to be married and split." he finished explaining his plan. "both the money and our relationship, you can go on your merry way and i on mine." he was searching her for a reaction, she knew that, she could feel his eyes roaming around for the most minuscule of movements that came from her. "what do you say?"

she was too stunned to speak; speechless at the shock of it all, it didn't help that his recap was half-assed. "what do i say?" she repeated his words after a while. "no— you want to know what i think?"

at his nod she added, "i think that it's a stupid idea."

black frowned at her words. "honestly, i think it's a solid plan, we just need to get married— we don't even need to be in love! just get married and you get money! it's that easy! it's not like i'm forcing you to join a cult-" to that she opened her mouth, trying to state that the noble house of black itself is a cult but sirius was quick to read her expression, shutting her up by continuing with his pleading, "-besides, i'm not bad looking and great company from what i've been told!"

"well if you're such great company why don't you go find someone else to be fake married to? i'm sure that they'll be plenty of girls lining up for the chance to be your fake wife."

"i don't want any of the other girls, i want you. you're not currently seeing anyone so no one will get hurt from this!" he replied, running a hand through his hair in a stressful manner. this was not how he had planned for it to go. "and i— i want it to be with someone i know and i just so happen to know you."

choosing to ignore how black both admitted that he wanted her for this specific purpose, or how the question that he had asked hours priors to this was in an ulterior motive, she exclaimed. "you also know dorcas. ask her! she's a great girl!" her voice was loud enough for the said girl to turn to her direction with a questioning look. "or marlene, she's extremely good looking."

"i can't," he retorted, sounding the slightest bit annoyed, "everyone and their mother knows marlene swings the other way."

"how are you sure i don't swing the other way then?"

"i don't— do you?" he asked with sudden interest. sirius shook his head, going back to the topic at hand when he stated, "the minimum that you'll get out of this is a million galleons, that's the minimum! i know there's more in that trust fund and i am willing to split it equally."

she thought about it for brief second before asking, "why me? and do not tell me because i'm someone you know because we barely know each other; i only came here to see lily but obviously i was tricked, so tell me why i should agree to this?"

black sighed, his voice growing grim when he answered, "you're the only girl i'm willing to invest in." he paused, maybe those weren't the smartest word choices but he was a flirt not a romantic and the difference had never been made clearer. "so won't you just... think about it, please."

•••

"are you going to do it?" lily asked, settling herself on the seat across from her. please lord, let her finish her essay in peace. "are you still mad at me? c'mon [name] i said i was sorry!"

and here she thought she would be safe in the library.

"i still have the rights to be mad about it," she retorted, keeping her head focused on finishing her work. "you made me sit through that god awful plan!"

"only because i thought you'd agree!" that grabbed her attention, making her turn to the person with an incredulous look. "you're extremely easy going so you could at least stand one another and it's a lot of money!"

"lily, you think i'd marry black for the money? i barely know the guy!"

"then think of it as an opportunity to get to know one another!" she exclaimed loud of enough to get the pair shushed by the librarian. "i mean i personally would for that kind of money."

"then you marry him!"

"no that's weird, i'm in love with his best friend!" she argued in return, a disgusted look on her face. "plus i can't stand him, i could barely talk to him for an hour without lecturing him let alone plan a whole wedding with him."

"i'm not going to marry a stranger."

"he isn't. think of it this way, by the time you finish all the planning he'd be a friend to you," she said, "or you know, something more than friends," she teased with a soft smile.

"lily, a divorce takes at least six months to be finalized. that's half of a year of my life being spent with someone i have no romantic feelings for." she replied, trying to get her friend to understand her reasonings. "not to mention the amount of paperwork i'd have to go through."

the head girl huffed, admitting to herself that she had made good points. she spoke again, this time a lot softer, drawing her into her, "black really needs this."

"he's been living at the potter's after leaving home and if he does get this; he and his brother could get a flat where they'd finally be free from that terrible place," she said slowly, "well at least i think that's why he's planning on doing this. he never told me why exactly, just that he wanted to scam his family."

"i don't think he'd ever tell me the real reason as to why he wants to do this but he doesn't owe me the truth." it was clear that she cared for him, lily's heart was too big for her own good.

"fine, i'll think about it," she muttered, defeated.

lily gave her look, one of disapproval. "you've been saying that ever since you found out about the plan. you don't expect me to believe you when you say it now do you?"

"okay, well i promise that i'd think about it for real this time, is that good for you?"

"it's more than good." she smiled happily.

it was a week later and she had kept her promise to lily, thinking over every possible outcome of what could be the results on the marriage would be:

1. they get married, everything goes according to plan, they get divorce, she becomes a millionaire.

or 2. they get married, the promise of money was fake, she was stuck with him for the rest of her life.

or 3. they get married, everything goes according to plan, she catches feelings for him, she becomes a millionaire with the desire of a man she cannot have.

but maybe that was her dwelling on the negative, not everything is always bad. right?

right?

her eyes scanned the corridor, looking between the crowds of students who were making their way back to their common room after a day of lessons for a group of four rowdy boys. after spotting them, she held onto her bag's strap, ensuring that they won't move when she made her way through the bustling crowd.

with a call of his name, black turned; halting his step as he waited for her to catch up. his friends stood beside him with a curious look. "i thought i'd never see you again," he said with a smile, "you've been ignoring me like the plague."

"you are the plague," she retorted, "if i stayed close to you for long enough you're narcissism will rub off on me." sirius only chuckled, knowing that her comment was light hearted. he looked down at her, meeting eye to eye; silently prompting her to talk about why she decided to call after him. "i thought about it."

to that his grey eyes lit up with recognition, now awaiting the answer that she'd give him whether it be bad or good. "and i thought why not? a million galleons to babysit a gryffindor is an easy pay."

sirius grinned. "great."

"great," she repeated awkwardly, "although i'd have to talk to my parents about it first. i wouldn't want to deal with them if they found out i had eloped."

"it's a good thing i already talked to them then," he said, his smile getting wider when her face dropped. "you what?"

"i knew that you'd need your parents approval so i reached out to them," he spoke while he started leading the way towards the great hall, "they like me."

"black when did you talk to them?" she asked him urgently, why hadn't anyone from her family reached out to her about this? were they planning on leaving her in the dark?

"when i asked you to think about it."

"after you left for your common room i wrote them a letter, your mother agreed to meet me and we talked it through," he added easily, "i of course told her it was because i'm in love with you and wanted nothing more than for you to be mine —keeping the lie going, you know? she told me to talk about it with you but i already did, i just needed an answer from you."

"and now that i've got it. i just need our parents to finalize our betrothal." he finished his words, meeting her gaze.

she shook her head, not believing him. "how did you even find out where they live? i've never once told you where i live."

"i just told the owl to find mister or missus [l/name], it was a simple as that." there was an air of obviousness to his tone, as if she should've figured it out by now but he still answered her anyways. "now can we have dinner? i'm starving."

•••

the words about sirius black and [f/name]'s engagement spread fast. hell, it has barely been three days before a fourth year approached her, asking her if the rumors were true before they sobbed at her answers. their nightmares was coming true.

sirius black was no longer single.

the rumors were okay for the most part, for it was true yet it brought her nothing but an unsettling feeling when she heard her name being whispered in the hallways. even now, as she was sitting at her house's table; barely paying attention to her friend's playful banter did the gossip follow her.

"have you selected a date yet?" avril asked, buttering her toast while she looked at her friend. "yup, his mother wanted a summer wedding, august to be specific. pure-blood accustoms or something," she replied with mild interest, stirring her tea. avril frowned. "it's your wedding, shouldn't you be the one making the decisions?"

"you'd think so," she retorted, lifting her mug to her lips, "but his mum's a nasty witch." she took a sip of her tea before placing it back down on the table. "we met her this weekend where she told us her plans for our wedding."

"she also gave me the black family's engagement ring," she added, lifting her left hand up. on the ring finger laid a dainty silver band that resembled a serpent of sort with a green diamond on top. it was no where near the traditional muggle engagement ring but it was beautiful in its own way. "it's an heirloom and to be completely honest i'm scared wearing it. what if i turned into you know who or something?"

avril laughed good-naturedly, amused by the situation. "honestly, a million galleons would not be enough for me to get involved with the blacks."

"well i've already bought the ticket and there's no turning back now." she shrugged, dropping her eyes to the table. "plus, sirius is actually a decent person to keep around."

"really?" she asked testingly, chewing on her toast.

"really." she nodded. "we have astronomy together and he's incredibly useful. black knows everything about it since his family are named after them. i think he's growing on me." she added. "although every time i remember i'm technically his investment, i second guess that idea."

"what do you mean you second guess that idea?," cut in eric, a ravenclaw who was dragged into their small friend group by avril. "who wouldn't want to marry a man who calls you an investment."

she opened her mouth, a sarcastic remark at the tip of her tongue when the owls flew into the great hall in one large flock; instantly heading towards their respective owner. she hadn't expected any mails today, she was all caught up with the wedding plans along with the letters from her family. so imagine her surprise when one of the many owls soared down, perching on the table in front of her, waiting with a wrapped parcel between its feet.

her eyes raised to meet her friend's curious ones, all of them wondering what's within the wrappings and most importantly who it was from. she hesitated, unsure whether she should take the package from the owl. with a prod from eric, she reached out; untying the parcel from the owl.

the owl flew away immediately, retreating to the crowd of birds. it didn't take long for her to realize what it was, "flowers."

"they're flowers," she repeated, holding up the arrangements for her friend to see, "they're really pretty." she added, biting back a smile. helga, it felt good getting flowers.

"who's it from?" avril asked excitedly.

she looked down, there was card tied to the strings of the bouquet, "black."

"oh," eric muttered, "of course he did, he's your fiancé after all."

"yeah, but it's not why he got it for me," she said, staring down at the card, "it's a thank you gift for dealing with his mother." she giggled, she separated the card from the strings before handing it over to her friend, "here look."

i know my mother is a bitch, thank you for talking to her. you made her tolerable.

- sirius black

now if she remembered correctly, the gryffindor table was seated to her right. with that knowledge in mind, she turned; wanting to thank black for his gift only to find him —coincidentally, sitting with his back to her. she poked at his shoulder, trying to steal his attention from his friend.

he turned reluctantly, looking (maybe more than) a tad bit annoyed only for his eyes to soften when he realized it was her. it took him another second to realize what she was holding before he said, "i see you've got the flowers."

"i did." she smiled, an action that he quickly copied. "i also got your message."

"i knew you would."

of course he would. "right." there was an air of awkwardness that she couldn't quite explain. "well thank you for this, it's lovely sirius."

his smile widened. she wasn't sure why it widened but she was incredibly grateful for it. how could one person's smile be so breathtaking?

"it's no problem. i'm glad you like it my love."

•••

"good evening." an unexpected greeting came, making me her jump from her spot. she looked up from her bed, only to find the source of the voice smirking down at her in amusement. "did i surprise you darling?"

it was pretty evident that his sudden presence startled her. "of course you did dumbass. who even let you in here? i could've been naked!"

"but you aren't," he quipped smugly.

"i could've been!"

"and yet you aren't."

"you're impossible," she grumbled, "are you going to tell me how you got here or not?"

"how i got into your dorm?" he asked, still standing by her bed.

"where else?!" she replied, sitting up and shuffling her blankets away. despite her hostile tone, she made space for him to sit down, patting it slightly to indicate that he could sit if he wanted to. sirius gladly accepted the offer, making himself comfortable while he thought of an answer. "well?"

"i just told the first years i was your fiancé." he shrugged, his smirk still prominent. "they didn't even think to hesitate."

"of course they won't, you're you," she retorted, looking into his eyes. "are you going to tell me why you're here then?"

"what? i can't just come to see you because i missed you? you're my bride to be after all," he teased playfully, holding her gaze.

"no," she smiled unkindly at him, "you can not. now will you tell me why you're really here?"

"alright," he huffed, for a brief second she thought she saw his shoulders deflate, but he was quick to recover, asking her, "you know tomorrow is a hogsmeade weekend don't you?"

at her nod, he continued, "well i wanted you to meet my brother."

"regulus?" she asked dumbfoundedly, brows furrowing together. "why?"

"i uhm-" he stuttered, seeming embarrassed? that was unlike him. "-i wanted you two to approve of each other."

"hmm?" she hummed to signal that she was listening while also simultaneously prompting him to go on.

"i wanted regulus to meet you, and like you and i also wanted you to meet him —and like him." he explained, breaking eye contact to stare at his hand sheepishly. "i want my brother to like you since we're going to get married and all that."

"sirius," she started attentively, "he doesn't need to like me, our marriage is fake remember? it'll be over in a blink of an eye, i'm just trying to help you out."

"yeah, i know that," he said frustratingly. "still, he's my brother, he is important to me; and despite him already knowing that our marriage is a false one, i want the two of you to like each other."

she considered his words. eric will throw a tantrum when he finds out about this. "alright, what time shall we meet?"

•••

maybe running down the stairs of the entrance hall at full speed wasn't the best idea but she was late and sometimes being late justify being a menace to everyone surrounding her. sometimes.

if that sometimes is being late to meet your soon to be husband's brother of course, one that you desperately needed approval from. one who has been waiting for your arrival with his brother for —atleast 15 minutes now. she felt incredibly sorry for making them wait but honestly, it wasn't her fault her hair decided not to cooperate with her this morning.

she wanted to look her best for them, first impressions matter after all. what would it say about her if she should up with frizzy hair that stuck out in every direction possible.

"there you are!" sirius exclaimed, approaching her the moment he spotted her, "c'mon the carriage's leaving, let's not be late."

listening to his words, she did what she was told, following him and his brother into an empty carriage. "i'm so sorry for making you wait, i didn't mean to, i was getting ready and before i knew it i lost track of time-"

"it's okay," regulus cut in, his eyes scanning her every expression. "we weren't waiting that long," he added, trying to reassure her, "the carriage was already planning on leaving when we got there so we technically only waited mere minutes."

fuck, he's charming. "i'm regulus black, you must be [name]?"

"i am, it's nice to finally meet you." she smiled, offering him her hand. she should've expected it, really she should've, with him being from an aristocratic family and all but regulus lifting her hand to press a gentle kiss on it still stunned her. she cleared her throat, "sirius has told me quite a lot about you."

"he has? and here i thought he was ashamed of me." he arched an eyebrow, whether he was teasing her or being genuine she could not tell.

"how could he possibly be ashamed of you, he's not even ashamed of himself." at that regulus chuckled, his smile no different from sirius'.

sirius rolled his eyes, watching their playful interaction with a small satisfied smile on his face. "i'm glad that the both of you can bond over bullying me," he said as the carriage pulled to a stop, "it's good to know that both my brother and fiancée thinks so highly of me."

sirius got out first, helping her get down from the carriage as best as he could. the three of them made their way to the three broomsticks, wanting a comfortable place where they could sit and chat their heads off.

seeing the black brothers in their natural habitat was entertaining. they were similar in many ways, from the way they talk to the way they carried themself and yet they were so different. sirius preferred to talk and make outward jokes while regulus listened, mumbling sarcastic remarks that had you smiling to yourself at how cheeky it was.

sirius had a habit —she was quick to note— of glancing down at regulus' left arm, a worried look always took place when he did so but he was swift in changing his expression. replacing it with a neutral one whenever he caught himself doing so.

regulus was as great company as his brother, charming, and fascinating to a certain extent.

they spent a large majority of their time talking. all of different topics ranging from quidditch to their favorite subject until regulus dropped his eyes to the table where her hand laid, playing with a napkin. "i see mother gave you her ring?"

"yes, she did," she said, her ring finger suddenly feeling heavy, "it's beautiful."

"it doesn't look very you," sirius joined in, pointing out the obvious. "it's still beautiful sirius, it doesn't need to be very me." his brow furrowed, countering, "but that's not good enough, it's your engagement ring after all."

"in case you've forgotten, i'm marrying you for your money, as of right now i'm the definition of a gold digger," she reminded him with a small smile, "an engagement ring being very me is the least of my concerns."

at that sirius frowned, dropping the topic. regulus stifled a laugh, the corners of his lips curving upwards. "has mother took you dress shopping yet?" he then asked with interest.

"no," she answered, "my mother wanted me to pick a dress of my own, your mother didn't like that idea very much. long story short i have the freedom to pick out whichever dress i want."

regulus pursed his lips, thinking. "i'm glad to hear that. i know mother is exhausting to deal with, i hope you find exactly what you're looking for."

"thank you regulus." the door bell rang to signify someone's entrance, the said boy turned, spotting a girl standing by the door before turning back towards his brother; pink creeping onto his cheeks. "is that her?"

he nodded sheepishly. "we'll leave you to it then," she said, standing up from their booth; she grabbed onto sirius wrist, smirking down at him in hopes that he knew of her plan. sirius got the memo, holding onto her hand before briskly bidding his brother goodbye. "do you think they'll end up getting married to scam your family like us?"

sirius laughed as the pair left the inn, walking down the streets that were so fond of. "probably not. i don't think he has it in he."

"i didn't think i had it in me to marry someone for his money at 17 either but here i am," she replied sarcastically, looking up at him. it was then did she realized that they were holding hands, she hesitated; not sure whether to pull away or to keep holding onto him. his hand was warm, it felt nice.

sirius, as if he had read her mind decided to squeeze it reassuringly. "can i take you somewhere?"

"hmm?"

"there's a shop around the corner," he said, maintaining eye contact, "can i get you something from there?"

"oh sirius you don't need to get me anything-"

"i know i don't need to," he cut in softly, "i want to. so i can please take you there?"

she thought about it briefly, knowing full well that her answer would be yes because who was she to deny him anything. "what is it that you wanted to get me?"

sirius broke into a smile, turning to lead the way. "do you remember how i said that the ring wasn't very you?"

"the thing you said barely 10 minutes ago? yes i do."

"good," he muttered, turning the corner, his grip on her hand never once faltering, "because i want to get you want that actually does feel like you."

"sirius i already told you it doesn't matter, you've already bought me flowers and that's more than i could ask for."

sirius paused for a split second, pursing his lips. "look, if i don't get this for you then how would people know you're mine? that ring is no where good enough for you," he questioned, leading them into the store. he held the door open, smiling at the shop's clerk who was ecstatic to see a customer. "just think of this as my thank you for marrying me gift."

"i don't think that's real thing sirius," she said, stilling besides him as he looked at the different rings the employee had put on show.

"it doesn't need to be real if it's what is needed in order for me to spoil you," he muttered in return, his full focus on studying the different rings. finally he picked out one he thought best resembled her. sirius took off his mother's ring, placing it in his pocket and slipped the new ring on her finger. "what do you think?"

"i think it's beautiful."

"i can't really take that as an answer love, you also said that about dear mother's ring."

"fine, i think it's magnificent. i love it sirius." she smiled, eyes glancing between him and ring.

"it's perfect then," he muttered, taking it off and handing it to the clerk for it to be sized. "that will be our engagement ring."

it was later on that night, with avril and eric passed out on her bed after discussing their outfit plans for her wedding did she opened up the box that contained the new ring.

she lifted it out, examining it when something caught her eyes. engraved into the back of the ring wrote: yours S.B

•••

avril loved throwing parties, she loved plying people with food and making sure they were enjoying their time, she loved gathering her friends round a circle to play silly games that captured the true essence of adolescent. avril loved everything that one could love about parties.

so when she told her friends that she wanted to throw one in the hufflepuff's common room it was in their nature to help out. it was sunday, dinner had just finished and the common room was empty, each person in their own respective dorms getting ready when eric and [name] made their journey out, heading towards the kitchens for as much snacks as they could gather.

facing the broad stone basement corridor, it brightly lit and decorated with food-themed paintings, she reached out to tickle the pear on the painting. the pear giggled, turning itself into a large green door handle that revealed the entrance. she took the first step, entering the kitchens with eric behind her.

"what are you doing here?"

her eyes widened, not expecting anyone besides herself and eric to be in the kitchens at this time. "i could ask you the same thing sirius."

"i asked you first."

she turned, briefly looking at eric for help but her effort was to no avail, the ravenclaw was as at a loss for words as she was. "i'm here to grab some snacks, we're throwing a party and it would a pretty shitty one without any food."

"oh," he muttered, "no wonder you look so pretty."

"you're wearing the ring," sirius pointed out after minute, gesturing towards her finger. was all conversations between two people who would be married to one another always this strained?

"i am," she said, looking down towards the ring, "how could i not? you bought it for me."

there was the silence again; her, eric, sirius and his friends all awkwardly glancing at one another. "oh! uhm- eric this is sirius, my fiancé and sirius this is eric, my friend."

"nice to meet you," sirius smiled, offering him a hand. eric hesitated, eyes drifting towards to her direction, she tilted her head slightly, an action he took as cue to accept sirius hand.

eric shooked it, smiling in return when he spoke, "i know she's marrying you for your money." sirius smiled dropped, slightly taken aback when eric added, "i'm sure potter knows it too, doesn't he?"

in truth potter did know, sensing by the way his shoulder tensed up at the pretense of him knowing. eric had a weird way of wording things, making everything seems hostile when it wasn't supposed to be. helga, why does men have to make everything so hard?

"eric you can grab the cheesecake?" she asked, making their attention shift to her, "i need to have a word with sirius about the wedding, then i'll grab the punch and meet you back outside."

"i'll see you in a bit." after she waved her friend off, she grabbed onto sirius' arm, pulling him towards a secluded spot where his friends wouldn't be able to eavesdrop on their conversation. she looked at him hesitatingly, studying his expression before asking, "are you mad at me?"

sirius frowned, furrowing his brows in concern. "no," he answered, "why would i be mad at you?"

"i dunno." he was taller than her, having to look down in order for their eyes to meet. "i just thought that maybe eric had said something to upset you."

"he's a bit... straight forward, no subtlety whatsoever," she added, "also a little untrusting at first but he's very kind, he's a great guy." the way his gaze hardened at her words, turning from attentive to resentful didn't go unnoticed by her. is he sure he's not mad at her?

"i'm not mad at you," sirius said softly, consoling her, "nor am i mad at your friend."

"then why do you seem so uneasy? especially when you're with your friends? you're never like that."

sirius pursed his lips, thinking. "because," he started, a smile tugging on his lips, "you look very pretty, and i just happen to not know how to act around pretty people."

she scoffed, rolling her eyes despite feeling her cheeks flush at his words. "right, of course."

"love, i'm being serious!"

"of course you are you're sirius!"

"hey! i'm being truthful here," he argued, chuckling slightly, seeing her flustered over a compliment had to be his new favorite thing. "you look as pretty as a picture."

she smiled, brushing it off. "that's sweet of you to say." noting how his eyes was lingering onto her every movement. "but you're still not welcomed to the party."

sirius laughed, throwing his head back at the lame joke she made. his words was never meant to be anything more than praise, wanting her to know just how breathtaking he thought she looked. "that's a shame, i was looking forward to get a taste of that cheesecake."

"better luck next time," she said, biting her lips. "i think i should go now."

"i think so too," he replied after composing himself, still smiling down at her due to their height differences. "it's unfair to keep my darling away from them for too long."

she watched as he took a calculated step forward, bringing the front of their shoes to contact. staring up at him, she felt her breath get caught in her throat.

leaning down abruptly, sirius pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead; her eyes fluttering shut at the warm contact. he stepped back then, he smiled once more, "invite me next time, won't you?"

•••

next time came in the form of a gryffindor party instead. it was james potter's birthday and it would be an understatement to say that the marauders went all out. despite the party being a "secret", the room of requirement was packed with students from every house that is cool enough to join an inter-house party.

upon arrival she was quick to spot regulus, introducing him to avril and eric who he both charmed his ways with them. eric and regulus, both cut-throat people bonded easily, making good natured jokes about how big of a mistake it was that she chose to marry sirius. eventually the slytherin led them to the life of the party.

"[name]!" james cheered excitedly, walking towards her with open arms, his face flushed. she returned his hug, turning towards his friend with a confused look only to receive chuckles from them. pulling away james grinned at her, slurring "i'm so happy you're here!"

right, he's drunk. "and i'm so happy to be here james," she replied, making him his smile stretch out even wider. "although i'm not too late am i? it seems like i missed out on the fun."

"oh no don't worry," lily shook her head, answering for him, "he just wanted to be that shit faced drunk person of every party."

"ah," she nodded in acknowledgment. "oh, uhm- i hope you don't mind, i brought some friends?"

"no it's okay, the more the merrier," lily smiled kindly, taking one look at them before noting, "eric from potions and avril from care of magical creatures."

"weird way to identify me but i've been called worse," avril said light-heartedly, earning smiles from their small group. "now, would you be kind enough to show me where the booze is?"

"it's just right around the corner, i can get some for you actually," lily offered, being the good host that she is, "[name], peter, would you mind helping me?"

"oh," she muttered not expecting herself to be mentioned. "no i don't," she smiled, taking the hand that lily offered and following off behind her.

"so," avril started, turning to sirius, "she looks great doesn't she?"

sirius nodded, not thinking much about his actions. she really did look beautiful tonight, although —if he really thought about it— there wasn't a day where he didn't think she wasn't good-looking.

"you like her don't you?"

remus, with his curiosity now piqued, dropped his head, leaning down to hear their conversation over the loud music. regulus doing the same, finding the topic of his brother's real love-life intriguing. "yeah pads," remus started tauntingly, "you fancy her don't you?"

"i hate you did you know that?"

"avoidance is not an answer black," eric commented with a small smirk, "if you fancy her just say it."

"i don't," sirius stated, his tone now on edge, "i mean it, i only care for her as a friend and nothing more."

it was the truth, as of right now he thought of her as a friend that just had some extra steps to it. she was kind and pretty but so was lily and regulus' new girlfriend but that didn't mean he was attracted to them. really, whether they want to believe it or not, sirius could be friends with a woman and not be in love with them.

"are you sure princess?" eric added, provoking him. sirius rolled his eyes, now used to the (for the lack of better words) asshole demeanor that eric had. "alright, i'll leave you to it," he said with a condescending smile, "but just so you know, [name] is the shit faced drunk at every party."

"and potter does not stand a chance at taking that position from her."

"speaking of the devil," avril murmured, breaking apart from their small group to welcome the two girls with open arms, refusing the spiked punch that lily offered for a shot of firewhisky that she immediately downed when her friend handed it to her. "you know me so well."

"i'm really the best aren't i?" she joked, turning towards sirius; she smiled up at him, an action that he copied and handed him a shot of firewhisky as well. sirius shook his head, opting on a butterbeer that peter handed him. "you're not drinking?"

"i'm not," he replied, taking a sip that resulted in foam being stuck on his upper lip. she frowned, disappointed, "why not? it's your best mate's birthday!" sirius only stuck with his decision, deciding to stay sober so he could take care of james whilst lily had her fun. "don't worry darling, i know how to have fun without getting drunk."

"what a shame, i brought these with me for nothing," she said, staring down at the three shot cups between her finger, "well i better not waste it then."

and with that she downed one, grimacing at the taste right after. she held another shot for remus who took it with a polite smile; the pair cheered, drinking the shots, for the party has officially started.

"pads," came james, pouting, "mate my throats dry," he complained, eyes going heavy. "will you be so kind to grab me a cup of water?"

from the corner of his eyes sirius spied lily talking to some of her friends, seeming just the slightest bit under the influence. "sod off prongs, go find your girlfriend."

at the other side of the room was [name]. the alcohol had hit her about an hour after her initial shots, drunkenly laughing at every joke that remus made as the two of them found themselves to be partners in drunken crime. remus chuckled, throwing his head back with a punch still in his hand, she sat besides him, listening to the story he was telling with a small smile.

"honestly, at one point during fourth year i had considered starting a hogwarts protection group from those two maniacs," the brunette said, incredulous by how stupid his fourteen year olds idea was. "i was part of the pranks too but still."

she only snorted, finding everything funny in her current inebriated state. as she opened her mouth, ready to tell him a funny story of her own sirius approached, a cup of water in hands. "hullo dear husband."

"hello," he greeted in return, handing her the cup of water, "i think you've had enough my love," he said patiently, ignoring the cringed looks that remus was sending him. "drink this so you won't feel so hung over tomorrow morning."

"sirius if i can handle getting married to you then i can handle being hung over on a tuesday." despite her comment, she drank the water anyways. alcohol sure does make your throat dry out. "you know you don't look like you're having too much fun."

"i don't?"

"you don't," she said, getting onto her feet to face him eye to eye. she placed a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, looking at him with an intoxicated gaze. pulling her hand away, she exclaimed enthusiastically, "anyways, me and remus are going to dance, have fun being sober!"

and with that she left, hand pulling at remus so the lanky boy would follow after her. sirius' eyes trailed after them, noting how they both were bad dancers and yet did not seem to be stopping anytime soon. it wasn't long until eric, tipsy enough to be nice to anyone other than avril and [name], dragged sirius onto the dance floor as well.

she found her way to him, smiling as she moved badly to the beat. she said something that she couldn't quite hear; sirius leaned down, his ear close to her mouth, ensuring that he could hear her over the loud music. with a drunken giggle, she told him, "you're so handsome."

he pulled back to his full height, looking at her with amusement. "thank you chérie, 'preciate it."

•••

"do you still think i'm handsome?"

"shut up," she scowled, ignoring the delighted look that sirius had from eliciting such response. "i don't want to deal with you right now."

"why not? you thought i was handsome last night and now you suddenly despise me?" he teased quietly, not wanting to distract other people with their conversation.

"sirius i'm too hungover for this right now," she said, trying to keep her eyes straight at the board. oh how she missed the days where avril was sat beside her. "and if you say something along the line of i told you so, i will hex you into oblivion."

sirius bit his lips, holding back his tongue from stating that he did warn her about this. instead he commented, "you know i think i like you a lot better when you're drunk."

"and i like you better when you don't speak but we both can't have what we want now can we?"

"actually," sirius said matter-of-factly, "i've already gotten what i wanted."

"and what's that?"

"you."

"not the drunk you but having you is good enough for me," he clarified, "but i can always count on avril to bring out my favorite version of you-"

sirius continued to talk, but no sounds came out. don't you just love the silencio charm? she patted his thigh, causing him to pause in order to look at her. she smiled at him kindly, her expression the direct opposite of her next words. "you are so annoying right now."

•••

"your mother picks the worst time for us to meet her," she said, not once bothering to greet him. maybe he was rubbing off on her. "i mean seriously, couldn't she have planned to see the venue on a hogsmeade weekend."

she closed the hufflepuff's door behind her, walking to his side. sirius shifted his weight off of the pillar he was waiting for her at and started leading the way, "i've just had a long day of school and now i have to be nice to her. no offense boys, but i hate your mother."

regulus let out a small laugh, smiling at her words. "no offense taken [name], we hate her too."

"good," she said cheekily, "i'm glad we have that in common."

they made their way up to the great hall, then up again towards their usual passage beneath the one-eyed witch statue by the stairs. sirius tapped the hump with his wand, muttering a quiet dissendium. the witch's hump open just wide enough for a person to slide down to the hidden passageway.

sirius went through first, pushing his way up into honey duke, regulus followed soon after, leaving her last. with help from sirius, she climbed up the ladder, shutting the trap door below her.

sirius helped her make her way out of honey dukes and into the streets of hogsmeade. after reaching their destination, a spot that allowed for them to apparate, he let go off her hand, knowing that she (like him) was legal and could apparate on their own while regulus on the other hand. their unofficial adopted child, could not.

regulus, now used to being babied whenever he traveled with the couple made his way between them, letting sirius throw his arm around his shoulder while [name] slipped her arm around his waist. with a flick of both their wands, their small group landed in a secluded alley way where their wedding venue would be held.

the pair let go off him, heading towards one another and —as of muscle memory— interlocked their fingers, holding hands like they always did when they were to fake their relationship. the three walked, pushing pass the grand door and quickly spotting both walburga and her mother.

it was the second week of june, the finals had passed, their NEWTs were completed. it was two weeks before the school year ended and roughly two months away from their wedding. it would be a lie if she said she wasn't nervous, she was, of course she was. marriage was a scary thing —especially when you're marrying into a family with old money who also simultaneously praises dark magic.

"mother," sirius said with a small bow, greeting her as politely as he could. "and missus [l/name], you look as gorgeous as ever."

her mother smiled, dismissing his compliment with a wave of her hand. "no need to flatter me, i've already approved of you sirius."

he smiled, feeling proud of himself for some reason he couldn't pin point. walburga coughed, causing the other four people to turn to her, giving them her full attention. by her side stood a short women with short blond hair, "shall we get started?"

the five followed her through a path that she had prepared, using magic to help visualize the venue the way both mothers wanted it. there was a hall that led into the main ballroom, its ceiling high with fancy chandeliers. her mum who had wanted a more natured feel to their wedding, asked if the person who was showing the venue, andria, could incorporate plants to the walls.

andria followed through her request, and within a flick of her wand the walls were lined up with vines, the ground spilling with purple flowers that made a satisfied smile find its way onto her mother's lips. andria then added a gate for a dramatic flair, making the hall seemed ethereal in its own way.

"this is nice," sirius murmured just loud enough for her to hear. she turned her eyes away from the various plants to him, finding him already looking back at her. "it is."

they then moved towards the ballroom, with it already being set up due to walburga's perfectionist personality; the couple stood in awe. this would've been the wedding of their dreams had they been actually in love.

looking down the isle, she found herself drifting off for a second, imagining her friends waiting by her side while her husband stood happily by his. softly she muttered, knowing that sirius could hear her despite how quiet her words was, "do you think you could cry when i walk down that isle?"

sirius watched her, considering her words for a moment, "do you want me to?"

"yeah..." she trailed off, tearing her eyes away from the isle to look at him. "i mean i bought a beautiful dress so you better cry, if not then i might just have to cancel the wedding right then and there."

sirius let out a small laugh, finding her request incredulous. "okay, i'll try then."

"thank you."

"it's no problem, i'll try anything for you."

•••

the school year ended, the pair passing the NEWTs with flying colors and now the only thing they had to worry about was the wedding.

during the first week after their graduation sirius had invited her to stay at his place, an offer that she was quick to decline. her mother was a pain to deal with on a monthly basis already, let alone having to live with her for as long as it took until their wedding came.

instead she agreed to come by his place, keep him company all the whilst plan out the final details of the wedding. after coming over for half of july she had grown quite used to his spacious room, with its many plastered posters and pictures that left only little of the walls' silvery-grey silk visible.

now she sat, kicked back on his bed while sirius stood ranting, filling her in on everything his mother had said when she was absent. she thought of anything and everything she could say to reassure him. after a while she stopped him, patting the empty spot besides her for him to take.

for a moment she remembered just how close they were now, not even a year ago she was denying him a seat at her table and now she sat comfortably on his bed as if it was of her own. "do you want me to fight her for you?"

"what?" sirius cracked out a smile.

"she's you know- she's the most unloving, conservative woman i've ever met," she confessed, "but i suppose being married to your cousin does that to you."

sirius chuckled, feeling slightly better by listening to her shit talk his mother. god he hated that woman. "[name], you're absolutely amazing but her being inbred was so unnecessary to bring up."

"like you have a say in this sirius." she gave him a look that he knew was her ridiculing him, causing him to grin. "you're a product of their work."

sirius cringed, feeling disgusted by her insinuation. he then cleared his throat, remembering why he had invited her over in the first place. turning serious, he said carefully, "there's something i've been wanting to ask you."

"what is it?" she prompted him, letting him know that she was listening and for him continue on with his words.

"can i kiss you?"

and before sirius knew it, he was rambling, "for when they announce us as man and wife i just- i wanted to know if you were okay with it before it's time and i kiss you without you being fine with it, i don't want to make you uncomfortable, you've already done so much for me-"

"you can." she cut him off with a small smile, one that brought him nothing but comfort. "it's okay sirius, you can kiss me."

"thank you for asking," she added after a minute.

sirius gazed at her, a small smile breaking onto his face. his eyes glancing down to her lips then back up to her eyes. he knew that she was watching him, watching how his eyes were lingering onto her lips like a tattoo kiss.

there was a cough by the door, making them both turn their attention to it. regulus stood awkwardly, shifting his weight; with his eyes wide, he spoke, "mother sent me."

"she wanted me to make sure that you guys weren't-" regulus let out another cough "-having sex."

•••

august seventh came sooner than she would've liked, maybe it was for the better, having it be over sooner. or maybe it was for the worse, not having been ready to see herself settle down yet. but she knew —despite her doubts— that the show must go on. keeping an even head she breathe in, feeling the air in her lungs before letting it go. it was time.

"are you ready?" eric asked, helping make last adjustments to her wedding dress. "no." she huffed honestly, hearing the orchestra music begin even behind the large door. eric smiled softly at her, letting her father come to her side, "well it's too late now."

she took a deep breath, the doors opening on its on accord in a dramatic manner. charmed rose petals pelted at her feet as she took her steps forward. she took a moment to look around at who was gathered, and where, but she barely recognized them. a large majority of the people were ones who came to honor the noble house of black name's while the other half were distant family and friends that her mother had invited.

down the isle sirius stood, james, regulus, remus, and peter by his side. watching her walk with clouded eyes, she beamed at him, playing with the bouquet in her hands. when she arrived in front of him she noticed his watery grey eyes. as quietly as she could, she commented, "you're crying."

"i am," he said, agreeing. "i told you i'd try anything for you."

the music cut out, the ceremony was starting. the pair shared cheeky smiles as they listened to the officiant drone on and on, following the normal wedding procedures until it was time for them to recite their vows.

"with this hand i will lift your sorrows. your cup will never be empty, for i will be your wine. with this candle, i will light your way into darkness. with this ring, i ask you to be mine."

sirius slipped a golden band around her finger first, her repeating his actions not long after. sirius stepped forward, his shoes touching her's. leaning down slightly, he pressed his lips onto her, his right arm finding its way on her waist and tugging her ever closer to him.

his cheeks were wet, presumably from the tears he had had. she kissed back, melting underneath his touch. sirius smiles into the kiss, a feeling that she knew she'd never forget. the kiss breaks: her pulling away from him, feeling flustered. and then it was official, they were married, this was just the beginning of the end.

•••

"where should we go for our honeymoon?" she asked suddenly, surprising sirius. they were once again in his room, this time alone, the door close with no regulus standing by to make sure they weren't up to something. "since we're married and all now, i think i deserve a break."

sirius thought for a second, laying down on the cold hard wood floor, a place that he somehow had found solace in. "we have a home in paris if you want to go."

"paris sounds nice," she mumbled. her gown was still on her, having come to his room immediately after the recessionals. she was to live with him now, husband and wife after all. staying with sirius, in his room, alone, for roughly a month, won't be so bad. will it?

"it does," he concurred, "do you want to go?"

"maybe," she said, unsure. "gosh this is awkward."

"what's awkward?" he asked, looking puzzled. from his position on the floor, his eyes searched for her. finding her on his bed, sat with her knees pressed to her chest, looking down at him.

"us right now." she answered, straightening out her legs. he frowned then, even more confused. "the people who attended probably thinks we're going at it right now but we're sat here talking about paris."

"we can go at it if you want," sirius said, sitting up. at the roll of her eyes, he smirked, "i'm not denying you anything, it seems as though i can not."

she threw a pillow at him, one that he expertly caught with one hand. she felt her neck heating up, whether it was from the drinks she had or his words she could not tell. "you're insufferable you know that?"

"i'm anything you want me to be my love."

"stop it or i'll punch you in the throat," she warned. watching as he stood up from his spot and made his way to the empty side of the bed, sirius laid down, inching himself closer to her every second. "are you... trying to seduce me right now?"

"maybe," he murmured, finally landing his head on her thighs, the tool of her dress providing him a sense of cushion. "is it working?"

"no," she answered, giving him a smile that was meant to ridicule him but all it did was make his smirk grow more narcissistic.

"why did you never join the quidditch team?" her hand found it's way into his hair, twisting round the onyx curls. "you were really good at it you know? i saw you sub in during james' practices."

sirius shut his eyes, leaning into her touch when her hand landed on his scalp, scratching it lightly. "i didn't want to compete."

"with who?"

"regulus," he answered softly, "we weren't on good terms when he joined the team and i could not bring myself to handle seeing him. especially not during a time where we were to compete for who would be greater."

"oh." her hands paused its movements on its own accord. "i never thought of it like that."

she thought about him?

"well i also never thought of us going at it until you mentioned it minutes ago," he retorted, earning himself a slap on the arm. good godric, he loved drunk [name]. "the offers still stands you know?"

"baby i wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on earth."

sirius cheeks grew pink at her choice of nickname, never once in their roughly eight months long relationship had she called him anything but sirius or black. she noticed it, smiling when she leaned down to face him. "you like being called baby don't you?"

and —for the first and last time ever, sirius told her to, "shut up."

•••

"the man has mummy issues, of course he likes being called baby," eric scoffed. avril laughed, joking at the expense of her friend's husband. "i wouldn't be surprised if he lets you boss him around in bed."

"alright that's enough," she stopped him, hiding a smile. "my lack of sex life should not be the topic of today's conversation. lily here is literally getting married."

"no, no," lily protested, dismissing the topic change, "i'm more fascinated about you and sirius than james' proposal to me."

"seriously?" she asked incredulously, her eyes moving to everyone around the table for at least one person to be on her side. "i feel like i've said this way too much but in case you've forgotten, i married sirius for his money, i don't like him that way and vice versa. me and sirius haven't slept together."

"but you want to," marlene pointed out, taking a sip of her wine. helga, how did a dinner celebrating lily's engagement turn into them trying to prove that she was in love with her husband. "i can see it in your eyes."

she sigh, defeated. they weren't going to believe her words so what's the point in trying to deny it any longer. lily, seeing her expression shifted the topic, telling them about how she had already made an appointment for herself to go dress shopping and that all the ladies were invited.

the rest of dinner went on smoothly, all of them catching up with one another. spending the night switching from topics to topics, eric's love life didn't escape their conversation, being the only man in the group and all. the former ravenclaw boy had found someone who was kind to him, and from his description, the complete opposite of him but then again, they do say opposite attracts.

after bidding goodbyes, they went on their separate ways. after walking to an empty alley way with avril, she hugged her goodbye before flicking her wand, apparating herself back into sirius' room.

sirius who heard the unmistakable crack, sat up straight, wiping his eyes with his sleeves just as she noticed him hunched over on their bed. her faced turn to one of concern, standing in front of him, cautiously she asked, "what's wrong?"

"nothing," sirius answered, smiling up at her.

she frowned, taking a seat besides him. "not to be a dick but you're a terrible liar."

sirius laughed watery, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "it's just walburga, you know?"

"she did something again?" she asked, clearly not surprised by the news.

at his nod she carefully wrapped her sirius in her embrace. it was weird, hugging him, the most they've ever done was kissed and that was under the pretense of marriage. she's seen him angry, sad, frustrated, and disappointed over walburga but had never once seen him crying. she did not know how to comfort him but she sure as hell will try.

"do you want to talk about it?" she felt his head shook, feeling his tears dampening up her shirt. instinctively, she leaned down, pressing a kiss on the crown of his head. her voice was soft, whispering reassuring words in an attempt to calm him down.

his breathe steadied enough for him to speak, sirius lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at her with embarrassment. "i'm sorry."

"it's okay," she said lightly, "it's what having a wife is for right?"

there was a small smile on his lips, feeling relieved to have her presence besides him. with a small laughed, he repeated, "i'm sorry you had to see that."

giggling slightly, feeling better about how the mood having been slightly lifted, she quipped, "i don't mind it, seeing a handsome guy cry had always been in my bucket list."

sirius paused, eyes bloodshot red, "you think i'm handsome?"

"are you still sad?" she asked slowly.

"yes?"

"i always thought you were," she answered, watching him lower his eyes awkwardly, a small smile finding its way to his lips.

"what if i said no?" he questioned timidly, his voice coarse.

"the i would've lied and said you're the most mediocre looking man i've ever seen."

•••

"you and sirius looks like a couple," regulus mumbled, pushing his brother's leg over to make room on the couch.

she turned to him, the heat of sirius' hand around her waist getting warmer and warmer as she thought about her brother's in law comment. "what kind of couple?"

sirius kept quiet for a moment, gazing at her seductively.

"why are you looking at me like that?"

"like what?" he said innocently, giving her his best doe eyes.

"like you're flirting with me."

"i'm flirting?" he muttered as if it was new information to him, "flirting with you?" he added, squeezing her waist, his thumb sneaking beneath her sweatshirt, pressing onto her skin. "please don't get me wrong."

"so you're not flirting with [name] right now?" lily asked from her spot on the arm chair, green eyes watching his hands placements.

"maybe i am, maybe i'm not. we're married after all, i need to keep sweeping my darling off of her feet or else she'll fall for someone else," he said smoothly, smirking at lily who then rolled her eyes at him.

over the course of the first month of their marriage, sirius had managed to open his own vault, transfer all his parents trust fund money, found a flat that deemed fit for him and his brother and found a lawyer to begin their divorce's process.

maybe it was all moving too fast but the whole situation had never been taken slowly in the first place. he had asked for her to move in with him and regulus, an offer that she didn't clearly thought through and had accepted. with the help of magic, moving was done within two days which james ended up calling for a celebration. a house party where everyone within their circle was to be invited.

"you shouldn't flirt with people that easily," she commented, stealing his attention back to her.

"and you shouldn't fall for people who flirts with you," he countered, keeping his eyes on her.

"well i didn't! i don't fall for people easily."

"you were just telling me not to flirt with you because you fell head over heels by my beauty when you saw me," he said smiling accusingly, his thumb drawing circles on her skin.

"i didn't tell you not to flirt with me."

"then what did you say?"

"don't flirt with people so easily."

sirius hummed in thoughts, his hand not once stopping it's movement. "so i can flirt with you but not other people. sounds pretty controlling." she looked at him warily, awaiting his next comments. "good thing i like a woman in charge."

"you're ridiculous," she scoffed. eric, who was sat on the floor opposing her, smirked, giving a look that she knew all too well. i was right. pushing herself up and off the couch, she gave him sirius one last look. "i'm filing for a divorce."

•••

the months went by fast, before they even knew it they were halfway through their divorce trial. sirius had filed a no-fault divorce, giving them both equal amounts of legal property. he had served her, and initiated the negotiation process. it seemed as if he was rushing to get rid of her and it would be a plain out lie if she said it didn't hurt her feelings.

"hey," sirius greeted, spotting her read on the couch the moment he entered their flat. "i got you something."

she lifted her head from her book, giving him a questioning look. an expression that sirius took as cue for him to continue.

he shrugged his jacket off, hanging it by the coat stand and dropping his keys in its pocket. he lifted the item in his hand, and made his way to sit besides her. she bookmarked her page, shutting it and giving him her full attention. "what is it?"

sirius only kept quiet, handing it to her, "open it."

she did as she was told, slowly unwrapping the package to reveal a small cake with the words happy anniversary written on it. she looked up him with surprise, smiling. "what is it for?"

"for our anniversary!" he exclaimed, pointing out the obvious.

"sirius our wedding anniversary isn't for another ten months."

"not that anniversary." he shook his head. "it's the anniversary of me sitting besides you despite you saying no."

"you remember that?" she asked with a small laugh.

"of course i remember!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his overgrown hair, "i was so nervous to talk to you."

"you were nervous to talk to me?" she followed up, settling the cake on their coffee table. "why?"

"because i thought you were cool, and i didn't know what to do since i had already asked evans for her help with the whole plan thing and i still hadn't talked to you nor was i certain you'd agree."

"you thought i was cool? and here i thought i was the only girl you were willing to invest in," she teased earning a pout from sirius. "fine fine i won't hurt your feelings today, thank you for this, sirius. i will definitely owl regulus and make fun of you about it later."

sirius lips jutted out even more, giving her his best doe eyes. "i feel like you love regulus more than you love me."

"how could i ever love regulus more than i love you," she said sarcastically. sirius faced turned to one that she could not read. curiously she asked, "what? is there something on my face?"

"no, nothing," he dismissed, still gazing at her.

"than what is it?"

"you said you can never love regulus more than you love me," he said slowly, his own grey eyes drifting between her lips and her eyes. she nodded cautiously, not wanting to overstep him. "prove it then."

"p-prove it?"

"prove it."

"prove what exactly," she said with a short lasting laugh, trying to take some of the tension off of herself.

"prove that you love me more than regulus."

she laughed, thinking that it was another one of his joke that she never fully understood but sirius remained —well, serious, keeping his eyes on her.

sirius was slow with his next action, giving her an out if she wanted it. he made sure to watch for her most minuscule movements, the last thing he wanted to do was mess this up and make her uncomfortable. sirius very casually —even though he felt as though his heart was to explode any second, leaned his head down, capturing her lips with his own.

why did he spent so long denying it when it felt so good to have her by his side he would never know. what he knew was that he liked the feel of her, liked that she was kissing him back, liked that she had seen the worst of him (and his sick family) and chose to stay, like that she was —in the most dysfunctional way possible— his.

when sirius pulled away, the first thing he noticed was how her eyes widened with fascination, which only made him fall deeper into the hole he dug for himself. "was that weird?"

she laughed, snapping out of her trance and shook her head. her hands moving on its own accord when the found its way to his cheeks, feeling weak after the chaste kiss. "no, no, it was fine. amazing even."

sirius smiled in return, feeling relieved that she seemed nowhere near mad at him. "it was okay then?"

"it was more than okay sirius," she reassured him, bringing his face forwards and pressing a kiss to his forehead before she even registered her gesture. sirius turned to the side, hiding his blushing face in her palm but his red ears was no help to his case.

sirius own hand reached up, covering her hand with his and pulled it away from his face. "we should call our lawyers."

"we should. they're not going to like this."

—from bee: i no longer support the artist i’ve chosen to name this fic after but that doesn’t change a thing,,, i still have a song for it hehe

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