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tldrthor · 6 months ago

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things we shouldn't have said | steve rogers

Summary: The Captain has a scathing outburst that puts their already rocky relationship six feet under for good. He reaps the consequences when she gets hurt while looking out for him.

Part one // She was watching my back, and I wasn't watching hers. // word count: 3k

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“I am sick and tired of you endangering yourself and others, (y/l/n)!” The shouting started from behind the frosted panes of the meeting room. Tony, sitting on one of the benches outside, wondered if he had considered that the meeting room wouldn’t be soundproofed enough to stop people hearing sensitive information, or, if you were Steve and (y/n), insanely loud arguments nearly every day. It seemed like a design flaw.

“You were the one who made the wrong call! They weren’t on the left wing, they were on the right, who knows what could’ve happened if I hadn’t followed my instincts?!”

“It doesn’t matter, you flung yourself headfirst into danger, and disobeyed a direct order.”

“I’m not your soldier, Rogers. And I told you exactly what was happening, you just didn’t listen!”

Natasha banged the back of her head repeatedly on the wall she leant on. “How long do we reckon this ones going to take? I need a shower.” She sighed, sniffing at her armpits and wincing a little at the result.

Tony looked at his watch, responding: “If I am correct in my estimation (y/n) will storm out right around …” The door to the meeting room burst open, and out barrelled a seething Agent (y/l/n). “Now.” Tony concluded, as the others laughed at his uncanny ability to predict how a Rogers-(y/l/n) fight went. He waved his hand and lowered his head in a fake bow.

“Do you think they’ll ever get along?” Young, innocent, naïve Peter asked. He had previously been fast asleep sitting upright in the uncomfortable waiting chairs. The sound of the door hitting the plasterboard on the wall had startled him awake.

Sam chuckled. “Kid, those two have been at each other’s throats since you were in middle school. It’s just what they do.”

Peter seemed to accept that answer, nodding slowly before covering a yawn with his hand. “That's classic enemies to lovers stuff.” He was nearly asleep again by the time the others had processed his statement enough to question what it meant.

The door opened again. “Come on, let’s debrief.” Cap pulled an anxious hand through his hair, clearly in turmoil. The Captain looked exhausted, his eyes nearly bloodshot. The bags under his eyes were some of the worst Tony had ever seen, and that was saying something. When his eyes landed on Peter, he shook his head, “Pete, head to bed. You’re beat.”

Peter nodded again, but fell asleep in the exact same position, approximately 0.3 seconds after the door closed behind the other Avengers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning." (Y/n) muttered, walking into the briefing room with a coffee in hand. It wasn’t like her to be late, especially not with coffee. Tony realised that lately, she had been more and more demoralised after every mission. Especially after every argument with Cap. He was worried there was more going on with her than they knew.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist a dig.

"Don't you hate it when someone turns up late to a meeting with Starbucks in hand?" Tony tilted his head and spoke with sarcasm coating nearly every word.

"Bite me, tin man." She joked with her mentor. It wasn’t her usual chipper humour, but rather much more subdued, more pointed. She looked more tired than usual as well, Tony noted. But he had a meeting to present, and an interview in an hour, so there wasn’t much time to mull it over.

Steve didn’t pick up on anything strange, blinded by his annoyance. He shook his head silently in the corner, jaw tensed, eyes sending daggers into her with every step she took.

"Young lady, you are in a terrible mood this morning. And, I'm about to make it worse." Tony flashed her a charming but sarcastic smile. "We've got a code red recon mission over in Europe, and only you and our dear fearless leader are available to man it."

Her face immediately fell, but she wasn't the first to find her voice.

"Nope. There's no way." Steve responded to the news. She sent him a foul look at his rude outburst, before chiming in with her own.

"Rude, Rogers. But agreed, you send us on that mission, one of us is coming back in a body bag." And it won't be me. She thought.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, his tense posture maintaining an intense gaze on Tony. His arms, crossed, shoulders raised nearly to his ears.

Tony rolled his eyes at their reactions. "You guys need to stop your middle school bullshit. We're the Avengers, and at the end of the day, we've got each other's backs."

She decided to bite her tongue, opting for a vicious look towards Tony instead. Sure, it would be awful, but she wouldn’t mind a chance to prove to Steve that she was a valuable member of the team, and shove it in his face that he was wrong about her.

She looked towards him, expecting him to have a similar disposition. Mr. Upstanding, the moral preacher. To her shock, he didn’t. And god, was he vocal about it.

“No, she’s a goddamn liability.” He turned to her with a withering, disdainful look. “She messes up every mission, and I’ve had enough. I’m not putting a code red in her hands, she doesn’t have the skills for it.” He immediately turned to face her, expecting her to fire back with the same passion.

He didn’t expect her neutral, almost – almost – hurt expression. She pressed her lips into a straight line, and his heart dropped when he thought maybe there were tears in her eyes. For just a second.

He might have gone too far. He didn’t think he would ever miss her rebuttals, her constant nitpicking, her endless talking back. But at this moment, he knew he would have preferred it.

She looked away from him, and back to Tony, who watched the outburst with an open mouth. It wasn’t very often he was rendered speechless, but it took a solid ten seconds for him to clear his throat, pick his jaw up off the floor and continue.

“Unfortunately, there is no other choice, um, so hopefully that will go smoothly. You will leave at 8am sharp tomorrow. Uh … onto other business…”

(Y/n) drowned the rest of Tony’s briefing out as she replayed the Captain’s outburst over and over again. Liability. Messes up every mission. Doesn’t have the skills. It was all of her worst fears come true, packaged up neatly coming from the mouth of someone she had always secretly admired. Not that she would ever tell him that.

She wasn't sure why, but his words had cut her to the core.

An excruciating thirty minutes later, Tony concluded his meeting. “Okay, everyone out. Except Cap, we have to talk about logistics for tomorrow.” He watched with eagle eyes as (y/n) ran out of the room, lowering her face and ignoring anyone who sent pitying looks her way.

He turned to the Captain, who covered a bright red face with his hands.

“Now what the hell was that?” He asked.

Cap groaned, “I messed up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8am. Sharp. She took a deep breath as she left her room, locking the door behind her. Her pack wasn’t too heavy, considering they were only supposed to be gone for a couple of nights max. Her chest felt tight, walking to the aircraft hangar, a pit of dread growing and growing with every step.

Before she met the hangar, she passed by Tony’s office. It was one of Tony’s off days, so she knew he wouldn’t be in. She slipped an envelope under the door, hoping he would only see it once she was long gone.

“See ya later.” She whispered to no-one.

Trudging to what felt like the executioner’s block, she was dismayed to see Steve already fully ready and waiting for her. She braced herself for the lecture, for the ��we said leave at 8am, not arrive.’ But it didn’t come.

“Good morning.” He spoke cordially, almost upbeat. Making up for something.

She could only manage a polite smile in return. He frowned at the lack of response, but she didn’t see it.

“All systems ready to go.” She said, once she had got a seat and checked all her listed items. Steve nodded, and made a call through the radio to air control. “Alpha base control, this is Eagle and Wunderkind, ready to take off.” She hated hearing him say her nickname from Tony, which had become her official callsign for all base activities.

Through the headset, she heard the confirmation from ATC, and watched as the Captain piloted the quinjet up and away from the base. God, it was going to be a long trip.

As soon as she could, she took off her harness and retreated back to the seats further away from him. She heard the gentle click and mechanical thrum of the auto-pilot being put on, and the movement of the leather seats as Steve moved away from the cockpit.

She felt his presence over her as she tried to focus on her kindle. She had been reading and re-reading the same page, over and over, desperately trying to take in the words. But it was futile.

“(y/n).” He sighed, knowing that she was purposefully ignoring him. “I want to apologise for my outburst at the meeting yesterday.”

She shrugged. He desperately searched for some kind of anger, some kind of white-hot hurt that she would respond with. It was what he deserved, after he had embarrassed her and doubted her in front of the whole team.

“You told me how you really feel. It’s okay.” She still didn’t look at him.

“That’s not –” He huffed. “That’s not what I think. I was out of line.” It seemed that the words he wanted eluded him. What do you say to someone after you’ve put out their spark? How do you ‘fix’ a quenched fire?

“It’s fine, Captain. Honestly.”

Rogers sighed and understood that he was being subtly asked to leave. He understood, really. But there was something about her dejected manner, her slumping posture and her big, sad eyes that made him feel like more of a villain than he already did. Like he had kicked a puppy, or stolen candy from a baby or…

Completely humiliated one of the newest Avengers in front of the whole team.

“I’m sorry.” He managed to stutter out, before turning and leaving to fiddle with some of the controls on the quinjet’s interface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the six hours were long. Painfully, achingly long. The tension in the atmosphere was only marginally cut by the quiet hum of the engine and the tap, tap, tap of the Captain getting some work done. The captain spent a longer time staring at his comrade than he would ever admit, watching as she frowned at her book. She turned one page approximately every five minutes, her eyes continually moving from the top to the bottom of the same page, over and over again. Her frustrated sighing the only sign of emotion coming from her.

He took a deep breath, trying to remove the suffocating guilt from his chest.

Standing, he waved a hand in her line of sight, interrupting her ‘reading’ session. She slid her headphones off, looking up at him expectantly. “We’re going down.” He spoke. “Thought you would like to get ready.”

The problem with recon missions was that a quinjet was a dead giveaway. So, they had to take their large, heavy packs, and camp out in the forest surrounding the castle. Why was it always a castle?

The hike was hard. The frost on the path made it difficult to get a proper grip on the near-vertical slope, and she realised quickly she had forgotten her gloves. The frost nipped at her hands, growing more painful with her step. She cursed Tony for sending them here in the dead of winter.

She threw her pack up a ledge, scrambling up behind it. While scrambling up the side, she made the mistake of grabbing on to a bundle of brambles. She hissed and retracted her hand, a line of crimson appearing straight across her palm, a precious droplet splashing down onto the snow.

“You good?” Steve turned to watch her as she folded and unfolded her palm. He reached a hand out to help her up, his eyes focusing on the blood drip, drip, dripping.

She wiped the wound on her trousers, and took his offered hand with her opposite one. “I’m good.” She seemed agitated, nervous. “Do you feel like something’s not right?”

When she said it out loud, just for a second, his heart rate raised. He had convinced himself through his inner dialogue that he was just being overly cautious, but as she said it, he realised that she was right. If there was one thing Steve had learned, a true philosophy of his, it was that one Avenger’s intuition can be wrong. But two Avenger’s instincts are always correct. The unique blend of pattern recognition and situational awareness made the Avengers the closest thing on earth to fortune tellers. Or, so he believed.

“I agree. Let’s hunker down for a minute.” They settled in some of the brush, making themselves as invisible as possible. She was thankful to have a rest, she couldn’t lie. The tossing and turning all night, and every night for weeks, had truly taken its toll.

“Do you think it's bad intel, or a set-up?” She asked, her heart beginning to race at the sight of Steve becoming more and more stressed. She realised that the forest was absolutely silent. No wind, no birds, nothing. She hated it.

He took a second to respond, “I’m not sure. I don’t think we should keep going.”

“What? Then we’ve come all this way for nothing?”

“I would rather us have come for nothing than die for nothing.” He spoke, trying desperately to manage his tone. How did this girl have such a way of getting under his skin?

She scowled. “Aye, aye, Captain.” A sarcastic salute followed.

With a futile deep breath, he snapped. He rolled his head in disbelief, incredulous that she would choose now to be obstinate. “Are you serious, (y/l/n)? You want to walk straight into something we have no idea about?” He gesticulated, hands flying wildly through the air.

Both of them were too annoyed to realise that they were on a recon mission while quite loudly arguing in a forest. The Captain, blood boiling, didn’t hear the snap of a distant twig.

“I didn’t even say anything, Rogers! Don’t pretend like you care about my opinion anyway.” She scoffed. “Let’s just fucking go back.” She grabbed her pack, hauling it onto her back, standing from their spot in the brush.

“Shit!” She exclaimed as a bullet past her ear by less than an inch, the sound startling her down. The Captain instantaneously jumped over her, pulling her into him and covering them both with the shield.

For the record, he smelt like cedarwood and rosemary.

“Came from the East.” He smouldered into the distance. If she hadn’t been so focused, she would have scoffed. He turned to her, his mouth mere centimetres from her ear, his warm whispers tickling her neck. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, no. Aside from the goosebumps, she had luckily been missed. The eye contact he made had something behind it… something she didn’t recognise. Something she had never noticed before.

The moment was shattered by more gunfire.

So, they did the avenging thing. He covered her, she shot as much as she could. Bullets sprayed in every direction, missing them both by the narrowest margins possible. They battled on and on, seemingly endless waves of agents appearing as soon as they thought they were almost through with it.

That’s when she saw it. The bullet heading straight for him.

“Steve!” She screamed. She didn’t know why she called him by his first name. They weren’t friends. Hell, soon, they wouldn’t even be colleagues.

He snapped to attention, spinning quickly to ricochet the bullet off of his shield. The bullet was so close to hitting him, he realised she had potentially just saved him from dying in the snow, 5,000 miles from home.

He looked to her to thank her and it all happened in slow motion. She screamed, a shrill, ear-splitting scream that turned his stomach. “No!” He shouted, still fighting through the hordes, sprinting to where the snow turned maroon.

His thrown shield thudded through the undergrowth, distant shouts of soldiers nearly split in half by the metallic disc. He grabbed the gun that had fallen from her hands, unleashing the last of its bullets on those who still dared to try him.

And the forest fell silent.

“(Y/n)!” He looked at her, her usually rosy face growing greater pallor by the second, her chest moving ever-so-slightly, and with growing effort. The black stain on her suit grew larger, and larger, and larger. Any and all medical training he had escaped him, as he realised that now, this moment, was where his regrets were fated to culminate. This was his punishment, his comeuppance.

He didn’t hate her. As he watched this hollow form of her, he realised he would give his own life to bring her back. He would bargain with anything and everything he could for this to be a nightmare that he would wake up from. He would fight with everything he had left to give to her.

Grabbing his pack from behind him, he tipped out its entire contents.

God, what had he learned on those courses? What was going to kill her first?

“(Y/n), if you can hear me, this is going to hurt. I don’t… I don’t have anything to stop the pain. You’re bleeding out.” He spoke into the void, using scissors to remove her outer layer, exposing the wound. He noticed the blood slowly trickle from her mouth and nose, only worsening his anxiety.

It was worse than he thought, in fact, too deep for him to even suture… He used an antiseptic wipe to clean the area, before packing it with cotton swabs. He swore to himself. They had left the quinjet so far away, and he didn’t know if she would make it all the way back to the compound.

He had to get her out of here. It was cold, and wet, and there could be even more enemy agents on their way there, right now.

“God, you’re going to have to hold on for just a little while longer, (y/l/n).” He whispered to her, picking her up bridal-style and running for the jet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other avengers weren’t expecting them to be back for a couple of days, so when Sam ran into the room with news that the quinjet was on the way back, they were pleasantly surprised. Each had finished their missions or meetings early it seemed. Which meant that just maybe they would be able to have some time as a team. Something they were in dire need of.

Tony smiled at his friends, but for a change wasn’t chatting. He sipped his coffee, and smoothed his hand over the handwritten note in his pocket. The note that he thought would never come.

Steve's voice over the intercom. “Mayday, mayday. Eagle to Alpha Base Control, we have a critical medical incident on board. Ready the medbay for severe blood loss and potential hypothermia. Wunderkind is compromised. Wheels down in 10.”

A panicked hush fell over the group.

“Okay, code red.” Sam jumped into the procedures they had all been trained on. “Bruce and I will go down to the hangar and help out. The rest of you stay here and we’ll keep you updated.” The four named avengers immediately ran to their stations, as the others tried to busy themselves doing other tasks that could be useful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quinjet came into land at a near-dangerous speed. Bruce and Sam burst open the door as the back door of the jet opened and Cap ran out with a limp (y/n) in his arms, jumping over the ramp before it had even reached the ground.

“What happened?” Sam shouted, running in front of the Captain up the stairs to the nearest Medbay, making sure the way was clear. FRIDAY has thankfully opened all doors in advance.

“Gunshot wound to the chest, severe haemorrhage. I’ve managed to pack it but not stalled the bleeding nearly enough, she needs help now.”

“Have you got vitals?” Bruce ran along, slightly behind them, not quite as fit.

“She’s still breathing on her own, weakly. Low pulse. Unconscious since the event.”

As they reached the medical room and Steve laid her down on the surgical table, it hit all of them how severe the situation was.

“Oh my god.” Whispered Sam, as he saw not only the extent of her wounds, but the volume of blood that covered every inch of the Captain. The colour of skin on his hands could not be seen from the crimson staining covering every inch of them, and his once-blue suit looked more like an inky black, even under the fluorescent lighting of the medical ward.

More than that, the expression on Steve’s face was something he could only recall seeing on him once. When they discovered that Bucky was alive. He was shell-shocked.

“You guys need to clear the room.” Commanded Dr. Cho, scrubbed in and ready to operate. “We’ll keep you updated.”

“We trust you, Doctor.” Bruce spoke, as he realised the others weren’t going to. Both men grabbed Steve’s shoulder, gently directing him back through the double doors. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away, as Dr. Cho made demands to the other members of her team, beginning surgery immediately.

“Come on, bud. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sam was trying not to treat him like a ticking time bomb. But he knew that the Captain was going to snap out of his stupor eventually, and the consequences could be disastrous.

Steve’s eyes didn’t move from her lifeless body on that cold, steel table until they were well past the doors. When Sam tried to lead him out of the medical wing in general, his feet stopped just short of the door.

“I can’t, I - I have to wait.” He turned back around. He looked to Sam, almost asking permission. “I can’t leave her.”

It wasn’t lost on Sam that Steve had to have been keeping her alive by himself for at least six hours, over the Atlantic. That’s not only an impressive feat, but a damn near miracle. It was beyond dedication, it was lunacy. And something like that will make a pretty strong bond between people.

There was something deeper at play here. And as the pieces started to click into place, he wondered how he had never seen it before. The reason Cap was so hard on (y/n), and had been since the beginning.

“Okay, okay.” He guided him to a seat, as an unspoken compromise. “Bruce, could you grab a wet towel?” He spoke softly.

Banner nodded, and wandered off to find ways to help Steve be a little more comfortable. When Bruce returned, Sam gently took his bloody friend’s hands and wiped away the crusted blood that stained them.

Cap watched the red as it left his hands. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling that with every smear of dark brown on the towel, she was slipping away.

Sam’s adrenaline could only abide the silence for so long. “Cap, you gotta talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“She saved me, that’s how she got shot.” He didn’t make eye contact, instead staring towards the doors, behind which she lay on death’s door.

“It’s not your fault.” Steve didn’t have to say anything for Sam to know that’s what’s running through his mind. A hazard of being an Avenger – the unending and relentless guilt.

“It is my fault. She was watching my back, but I wasn’t watching hers. And I had the damn audacity to call her a liability.” He scoffed, bitterly.

“It’s nobody’s fault, Steve. These things happen, it’s part of the job. She’s going to pull through.” Sam hadn’t even considered the fact that the last proper interaction they had had, was rather… vitriolic in nature. He didn’t dare ask if anything else had happened on the mission. Not for now, at least.

Steve felt like he was being crushed by his own ribs, like his own body was depriving him of oxygen he didn’t deserve. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare think, except to chastise and punish himself for what he had done.

And not once did he take his eyes off those doors.

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part two: promises we intend to keep

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cece693 · 26 days ago

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OPERATION TOTALLY (NOT) CHEATING

pairing: jasper whitlock x gender neutral reader synopsis: Planning a surprise for anybody is stressful—add that they're a vampire and can feel the anxiousness coming off you—it's impossible. Yet, you will not go down without trying; even if it does seem like you're cheating on your mate.

You’d never imagined that preparing a nice thing for your century-old mate could feel so much like plotting a felony.

Step one: secrecy. Step two: more secrecy. Step three: send every signal of infidelity imaginable—entirely by accident.

Carlisle’s dusty attic is not built for stealthy vampires. One creaky beam and the whole house knows your coordinates. Still, you ease open an ancient trunk, digging for the Civil-War-era Stetson Alice swore was up here. A perfect anniversary gift, you think—something Jasper hasn’t seen since 1863.

Downstairs, Jasper’s empathic radar pings like a sonar alarm. From his spot on the living-room sofa he feels:

you, vibrating with jittery excitement

you, radiating guilt

you, spiking whenever your phone lights up with a message from Emmett (“u find hat yet?”)

To Jasper it reads like: unfaithful lover + secret rendezvous + texting another behind his back. He drums ghostly fingers on his knee. “Probably nothing,” he mutters, then remembers the last time he said that—right before Bella almost leapt off a cliff. Never again.

A DAY LATER

You’ve commandeered Tony Stark levels of covert ops for phase two: refurbishing the Stetson. Rosalie agreed to steam and reshape the brim—on the condition that you never reveal she owns a vintage milliner’s kit. She works under fluorescent light, humming. You pace, texting, practicing your big reveal line.

Enter: Jasper, silent as fog.

He sees shapes through the half-open garage door—your silhouette, Rosalie’s blond head bent over…something. In the dim glow it almost looks like she’s nuzzling your neck. His dead heart drop-kicks his ribs. He retreats two steps, collides with a lawnmower, and the resulting clang is loud enough to wake Forks. You and Rosalie whip around; Jasper is gone before the brim stops quivering.

Rosalie side-eyes you. “Your cowboy’s about to spiral.”

You groan, fingers tunneling your hair. “I’m throwing him a surprise party, not committing adultery!”

“Then tell him before he reenacts the Charge of the Light Brigade.”

A FEW HOURS LATER

Your brilliant finale: a mock western duel staged in Charlie Swan’s clearing (borrowed by Alice after a vision of no hunters or hikers nearby). You’ve bribed Emmett with ten pints of mountain-lion blood to play outlaw, Esme to set the picnic tables, and Alice—reluctantly—to keep Jasper occupied until sundown.

Unfortunately, Alice’s definition of occupied is “take him shopping for new curtains,” which lasts exactly seven minutes before Jasper bails and heads home, storm cloud brewing.

He finds your shared bedroom empty except for a suspicious luggage tag that reads “Hotel el Granate—Volterra.” (You used the tag as decorative ribbon for the hatbox.) Jasper’s mind does the arithmetic: Volterra = Volturi. Volturi = danger. Also: why is there a hotel involved? And why does the tag smell faintly like Emmett?

Jealousy roars through him. Carpet fibers scorch under his boots as he bolts for the woods. If you’re fleeing to Italy with anyone, he’ll—

“Jazz!” Alice flashes into view, hands raised. “Turn around. Trust me.”

He seethes. “Tell me where they are.”

Alice sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. But try not to rip anyone’s limbs off in the next ten minutes, okay? It’s supposed to be romantic.”

Golden twilight filters through fir branches onto a scene out of an old dime novel: Emmett, dressed in a bandana and absurd leather chaps, pretends to menace a wooden crate marked High-Noon Fireworks. Esme fusses over gingham tablecloths while humming “Home on the Range.” You stand in the center, holding the carefully restored Stetson, anxiety bubbling like shaken cola.

Then Jasper stalks in, eyes black as an eclipse. The entire clearing freezes.

“Sugar,” you start, “I can explain—”

He notices Emmett brandishing a cap gun. He notices Rosalie lounging beside a phonograph. He notices the hat in your hands, burnished and perfect. Confusion slams the brakes on fury; his empathy floods with the singular taste of your love—pure, bright, unmistakable.

“Surprise,” you finish weakly.

Silence stretches. Then Emmett snickers. Rosalie chuckles. Jasper’s shoulders sag as realization paints him crimson with embarrassment.

“You thought I was cheating,” you tease, stepping closer.

“Well,” he coughs, smiling crookedly. “It felt like you were hiding something.”

“That’s literally the definition of a surprise, Major Paranoia.”

He laughs, breath hitching, and you place the Stetson on his head. It fits like memory itself. For a moment the soldier, the newborn, the centuries of guilt all fall away; he is just Jasper Whitlock, beloved, marveling that someone would rummage through dusty trunks and bribe siblings for him.

“I reckon I owe you an apology.” He pulls you in by the belt loops.

“You reckon?” You arch a brow. “I had to lie, sneak around, dodge your empathy—do you know how impossible it is to mask excitement and guilt simultaneously?”

He kisses you soft, then deeper, laughing against your lips. “I felt the guilt part loud and clear.”

From the sidelines, Emmett whistles. “Kiss ’em like you mean it, cowboy!”

Jasper flips Emmett the bird without breaking contact. Esme claps delightedly. Rosalie drops the needle on the phonograph, and an old swing tune crackles through the forest air. You finally pull back, eyes sparkling. “Happy 160th anniversary of your second turning.”

He tilts the hat brim up, gaze molten gold. “Best gift I’ve had in either lifetime.”

You grin. “Wait ’til you see the fireworks.”

Cue Emmett lighting a fuse that sends him screeching into a tree, Rosalie cursing about singed hair, Carlisle appearing with a fire extinguisher, and Alice recording everything on an antique camcorder “for posterity.” Jasper laughs until he can’t breathe—figuratively—and you realize the surprise was never the hat or the party; it was this moment, incandescent with shared immortality.

Later, as sparks rain like molten stars and the clearing smells of smoke and pine, Jasper wraps an arm around your waist. “Next time,” he murmurs, “maybe leave me a note?”

You smirk. “Next time you turn off the empath radar.”

“Deal.” He nudges the Stetson brim against your forehead. “Though for the record, jealousy isn’t my best look.”

“It is when it ends with you wearing nothing but that hat,” you whisper.

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secretidentie · 3 months ago

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I was just thinking about how Marvel exists in the DC universe and how funny it would be if Clark claimed Tony Stark was his fictional crush as his way of subtly telling Bruce he likes him without saying it but Bruce, blinded by his own "unrequited" pining for Clark, does not catch on at all whatsoever

Thats it, that's the thought.

Clark, very awkwardly trying to drop hints: i mean he's a billionaire who uses his money for good yk? He's just a normal guy risking his life for the greater good which is really hot. And he's basically a genius, who wouldn't want that?

Bruce snapping a pencil in half: yeah.... who wouldn't

Clark not being subtle at all: if only I knew anyone like that in real life, yk...

Bruce dying on the inside: yep, if only you did

Clark growing increasingly more desperate: like if i was with a guy like that right now i wouldn't be able to keep my eyes off him. *stares intensely at bruce*

Bruce, through gritted teeth, practically vibrating with rage, unable to make eye contact: .....IS. THAT. SO.

Clark feeling like his message was perfectly communicated: Mmhm, that would be the perfect guy for me.

Without another word bruce fights the urge to fling himself out of the watchtower into the cold vacuum of space and instead just goes to the cave to revisit cold cases for hours, now seething with jealousy for a fictional character. Two weeks later Bruce Wayne buys Marvel studios and let's just say Ironman isn't coming back to the MCU anytime soon.

#batman #bruce wayne #dc comics #worlds finest #clark kent #superbat #superman #bruce x clark #superbat fanfiction #superbat fic #marvel #tony stark #iron man

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lanaroff · 3 months ago

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House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 1

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Prologue.

Warning: Angst

The world felt different. The air had a strange heaviness to it, thick with time and the weight of years lost. The city had changed, not just in its physical structure but in the way its people moved—like everyone was trying to adjust to something they didn’t fully understand. It had been five years. Five years since the mission. Five years since the last kiss, the last touch, the last promise whispered between you and Wanda Maximoff.

You had never imagined that you wouldn’t return to her. The mission had been long, but the time away was always supposed to be temporary. You told yourself you’d be back. You had to be back. And now you were.

Stepping into the Avengers compound for the first time in half a decade, the familiar walls seemed foreign. The faces around you were different, older, their eyes holding more secrets than when you’d left. You nodded to a few familiar faces, but nothing felt the same. Not the same as it had been when you left, when everything was easier, when you were just… together.

It was supposed to be temporary. But nothing ever is.

You had been briefed, but the words they’d said to you didn’t truly hit you until now. “She’s about to marry Vision,” Fury had said as you arrived, like it was something casual, just a fact of life. But those words were like a punch to the gut.

Wanda. About to marry Vision.

The thought clung to you, echoing in your head, refusing to leave. Your heart pounded in your chest, a rhythmic reminder that the life you thought you were coming back to didn’t exist anymore.

It was like the floor had dropped out from under you.

Your breath hitched, your hands shaking as you tried to make sense of it. Five years. Five long years of separation, and she had moved on. That reality hadn’t hit you yet—not until this moment.

You wandered the halls of the compound like a ghost trying to find the briefing room, each step carrying you deeper into a nightmare you didn’t know you were walking toward. The old familiar places—the sparring rooms, the kitchen, the common areas—felt empty like they had all been forgotten. Even the air was different, colder, somehow.

And then you saw them.

Wanda was standing in the hallway, her hair flowing like fire in the low light, her posture elegant and composed. She was talking to Vision, her fingers gently touching his arm as she spoke. The sight should have been comforting, a sign of the life she had made for herself, but it wasn’t. The way Vision stood close to her, so casual in his affection, stung in a way you didn’t expect.

You should have been prepared for this moment. After all, the mission had been long. You knew the world didn’t stop spinning while you were gone. People changed. They moved on.

But seeing them together—seeing Wanda like that, about to marry him—it shattered you in a way you hadn’t been ready for.

But they didn't saw you, and you kept it that way.

Moments later, you entered the meeting room where Fury was briefing the remaining Avengers. The room went silent the moment you entered. Eyes locked onto you, faces frozen in disbelief. Five years of absence. Five years of presumed death. You could feel the weight of their stares—their shock, their confusion. Everyone was silent.

Except for Natasha.

"Where the hell have you been?" Natasha’s voice rang out, cutting through the silence with razor-sharp accusation. "Everyone thought you were dead. Do you have any idea what we’ve been through? What she has been through?" She was seething, every word laced with hurt and frustration.

You flinched but didn’t respond. Natasha was always the first to speak her mind, but there was no mistaking the anger in her eyes. She was angry at you for abandoning them. For abandoning Wanda. And maybe she had every right to be.

“Calm down, Natasha,” Tony’s voice was much quieter but still firm, as if sensing the tension in the room. He looked at you, his face softening. “It’s good to see you back. We didn’t know what happened to you. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

"Please," Steve added with a steady voice, though there was a lingering look of concern in his eyes. “We’re just glad you’re alive.”

But the truth was, none of them knew the real reason you were back. They had no idea what you’d been through in the past five years. None of them knew the story behind your disappearance—the Hydra supersoldiers you’d discovered, the brutal battles you fought. They didn’t know what you had sacrificed just to be standing here.

None of them knew about Wanda. About the promises you’d made.

As Fury began his briefing, you barely registered the words he said. Hydra was still a major threat, you had discovered three super-soldiers they’d brainwashed, and there was more work to be done. But none of it mattered. Not when your mind kept circling back to that image of Wanda, standing next to Vision.

What did she think of you now? What had happened to the woman you loved?

Then, without warning, Wanda walked into the room "Sorry we are late." She said as she entered the room with an apologetic look on her face. But soon that face turned into a completely different thing. She was seeing a ghost, and she was not sure if everyone was seeing the same thing. You were there. The person she loved. The person she thought she had lost forever. The person she had mourned night after night for 3 whole years.

"Wanda…" you breathed, a whisper escaping your lips before you could stop yourself. Your voice cracked, betraying the grief you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until now.

She was frozen, her eyes locking onto yours. For a split second, there was a flicker of recognition, of something unspoken. But then it faded, replaced by something else—something more distant. The familiar warmth that used to light her eyes whenever she saw you was gone.

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, her gaze shifted slightly, and she gave a small, almost apologetic smile. "You’re back," she said, her voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Relief? Guilt? Regret? She didn’t sound surprised, which only added to the pit in your stomach.

"Yeah," you replied hoarsely, trying to keep your voice steady. "I am."

There was a long silence between the two of you, an uncomfortable pause where neither of you knew how to bridge the gap that had formed. Vision stood next to her, stoic as ever, but you could see the tension in his posture. He knew. He had to know.

“Vision,” you said, turning to him with a forced smile. "It’s good to see you."

"Likewise," Vision replied with a polite nod, but you saw the way his eyes flickered toward Wanda. He didn’t say anything more, but the air between the three of you was thick with unspoken words.

Wanda’s gaze flickered back to you, and for a moment, you swore you saw something—something deep and familiar. But it was gone before you could register it fully. She smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile you give someone when you don’t want to hurt them but know that you already have.

"How’ve you been?" Wanda asked, her voice soft, though there was an edge to it. "We weren’t sure… I didn’t know when you’d be back."

"I’m still adjusting," you said, struggling to keep your emotions in check. "It’s been a long time. Five years is a long time."

Her expression faltered for a second, and you saw a flash of something—maybe guilt, maybe regret—pass through her eyes. But it was quickly masked. "I can’t imagine," she murmured. "But we all had to… adapt, didn’t we?"

You could hear the weight of those words, the implication hanging heavily in the air. We all had to adapt.

You wanted to ask her—did she miss you? Did she ever think about the life you had built together, or had she simply let go, buried you in the past like some forgotten dream? You wanted to scream at her, to demand answers. How could she just move on like this? How could she marry someone else when she had promised—

No. Don’t go there.

You shook your head slightly, the self-control slipping away.

Vision stepped forward then, his voice breaking through the tension. "Wanda, perhaps we should give her some space."

Wanda nodded softly, her eyes never leaving yours.

"Yeah, I think that’s a good idea," you said quietly. And with that, both Vision and Wanda left the room, leaving you standing there, trying to piece together the fragments of a life you had thought you could come back to. But that state of trance was broken by a harsh voice.

"What did you expect?" Natasha asked, her voice full of anger and sadness. She was happy to see you again, but a part of her felt betrayed that you were alive and you never told her. She needed to understand why you were gone for so long. Why you couldn't come back? Why this mission was so important that you kept yourself away from your family for 5 whole years? "She thought you were dead. We all did. And you just come back as if nothing had happened?"

"You have no idea what happened Nat." You said with a scared look on your face. A part of you was mad that things had not stayed as you left them. But was there really someone to blame other than you?

"Don't give me that bullshit Y/N!" She said as she grabbed her things with such fury that you swear that she could break them. "You should've stayed dead."

And with that, she left the room.

You didn’t know what you had expected to find when you returned, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. You couldn’t stomach the thought of facing Wanda, of seeing the woman who once meant everything to you standing by another man’s side. Or facing Natasha, who could even see you in the eye. From all the Avengers, you thought that maybe she could comprehend what you had done. The mission comes first, you were both taught. But, they were all hurt, and you were to blame.

"Ugh! That was hard to watch." Tony said, trying you lighten the mood. "Just give them time kid, I'm glad you are back."

Everyone left the room and you were left standing in the aftermath, wondering if there was any chance of finding your way back to your old life.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #reader #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff angst #y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wlw #y/n y/l/n

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aurumacadicus · 5 months ago

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The thing about Tony is that kindness toward him is a foreign concept. And I'm fluent in those.

"And what is the most surprising thing you've learned about dating Tony Stark?" Christine asks, and Tony can see the way she's seething behind her smile because Steve has expertly twisted out of every trap she's laid.

He hopes she doesn't think that he had the time to teach Steve any of this--Steve was doing interviews and selling war bonds before even he was a glint in Howard's eye, never mind Christine in her father's, and Steve has complained at length about how the media hasn't changed at all in the privacy of the tower. Between his "aw shucks" persona and his steel resolve, she hasn't been able to poke at any vulnerabilities he might have. Tony is actually sort of impressed. If he didn't know Steve squeaked when his feet were tickled, he'd think the man was made of stone.

"Oh," Steve says, shrugging, and leans back on the couch so he can throw his arm over Tony's shoulders. "Just that he hates surprises."

Tony blinks. Christine raises an eyebrow and opens her mouth, but Tony ignores her, turning to look up at Steve in confusion. "I love surprises though?"

"No, you don't," Steve answers flatly, slanting his gaze toward him. "They make you anxious. I was planning a night out on the town for our anniversary, and you noticed a change in how everyone was acting because they were helping to keep it a secret, and you panicked and thought we were all Skrulls."

Tony blinks again, brows furrowing together in confusion. "But I love when you bring me coffee and donuts when I'm not expecting them. Or! Sometimes you bring me souvenirs when you go on away missions without me!"

Steve sighs, that kind of 'I'd rather not do this here but you'll catastrophize if I don't set you straight now' sound he's developed specifically for Tony, and dutifully answers, "Tony, that's just me being a thoughtful and caring boyfriend who is showing that I think about you even when we're not near each other. I would be a bad boyfriend if I didn't do that. You do that kind of stuff for me all the time. It shouldn't be a surprise."

Tony stares at him for a long moment, then remembers exactly where they are--on a couch being interrogated interviewed by Christine Everhart. He darts his gaze back to her, feeling terrified for reasons he can't explain.

She's staring at him as if she's never seen him before. It terrifies him. He wishes Steve would have let him catastrophize just this once.

"Anyway," Steve says after a moment, slapping his hands against his knees and standing up. "The DOD will get back to you about what parts of the interview you're allowed to air."

Christine jerks her gaze to him, aghast. "What?!"

"I'm an icon of the United States military. They get final say about what airs with me in it," Steve answers, turning to help Tony to his feet. "It's in that contract you had to sign to be able to interview me. Well, bye."

"Bye," Tony adds belatedly as Steve casually directs him toward the door. He looks up at Steve once they're out of earshot, frowning. "But I am surprised when you do those things for me. I was surprised when Pepper did them, too."

"That's because we're the only truly good partners you've had, sweetheart," Steve sighs, shaking his head, and then, "I'll let you think on that for a few minutes on the drive home."

"I feel patronized," Tony declares, but then Steve gives him a pitying look, and he has to wonder if Steve might be right.

#ideas #stony #anyway that's why steve always comes out looking like a rose during interviews lmao

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lucky-bucky-boy · 2 years ago

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Changing Tides

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 6790

Summary: You and Bucky get paired together for undercover missions a lot because it works beautifully, despite the fact that you don't really even interact at home.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, limited use of Y/N, LOTS of pet names (pretty girl, baby, i think baby girl, my girl etc), praise kink, oral f. receiving, slight angst, reader is in denial for a good bit of this, angst if you squint, reader is a part of the team, this piece takes place in an AU where everyone lives together and everything is happy

A/N: Oh. My. God. I did NOT intend for this to be this long, at one point I thought I was going to have to make this a two-parter but I got it all in here. I really enjoyed writing this, please let me know what y'all think!! :)))

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!

Hues of velvety violet and radiant amber mixed, painting the evening sky like a scene out of a museum. The scent of warm sea salt was still palpable in the air, the crystal like water of the wide-expanding ocean reflected the light of the setting sun. Dancing specs of light could be seen in the darker shades of the sky, stars bright and clear against the inky color.

The cold metal of the hotel balcony pressed against your exposed skin, shirt having risen up as you leaned over it slightly. The view was beyond breathtaking, something you would argue belonged on a movie screen. It was serene, offering a moment of reprieve from the typical chaos you endured in a day, and a distraction from the man currently sitting in the hotel room behind you.

Hate didn’t describe the emotions you felt for the brunet. On a daily basis, there was an underlying disinterest but every now and then a seething annoyance would bubble at the mere thought of the former soldier. You couldn’t pin-point why. Bucky himself had never done anything to wrong you after his rehabilitation and reintroduction into society, and you could easily say nothing the Winter Soldier had done counted towards your feelings.

The odd part of it all is the Bucky and you worked well together, great even. More often than not, you found yourself partnered with Bucky on just about every mission the two of you had; from quick in and out missions to undercover operations like the one you were on now. The communication was great, the two of you easily fell into a rhythm and could read each other’s body language like you’ve known each other your whole life. It was easy to slip into a faux-domesticity with him, which was a stark contrast to the daily life you lived.

The day to day with Bucky involved a lack of any form of contact. You’d avoid the gym if he was in it, would eat in silence if the two of you happened to be in the kitchen at the same time, eye-contact was consistently avoided - Really, the only time the two of you were seen together at home was during group training sessions and team-building nights. You were sure to never make it awkward for the rest of the team, never bad mouth or be outwardly annoyed at Bucky’s presence, you just really couldn’t care less if he was there or not.

“Sweetheart,” his voice carried from the room, light and sweet, almost intoxicating with a feeling instantly having your gut turn and catch your skin aflame, “Did you want to go out for dinner tonight or just order room service?” His voice got nearer as he moved to join you on the balcony.The cool metal prosthetic wrapped around your waist as he stood next to you.

A soft hum left your lips, gaze moving from the horizon to the prosthetic then to Bucky’s face. He adorned a slight scruff, long hair pulled back into a low bun; His eyes nearly twinkled as they reflected the setting sky in the distance, he wore soft maroon button down and black chinos that truly made him look like a normal, well-off guy. Tony and Peter had finally managed to perfect the color needed to make Bucky prosthetic look like a normal arm which easily sealed the deal on assuring that there was nothing major that could be easily spotted to dox the two of you as agents.

The flight to Morocco was long and the next 10 days were easily going to be even longer, the last thing you wanted to do was be anywhere but a soft bed. “Room service,” you replied, matching the tone he had asked the question with. You leaned your head against his shoulder, moving your gaze back to the ocean, “Did you do a room check and get our things set up?”

He nodded, “Everything inside is clear and put away,” he squeezed your side softly when he said inside, a subtle emphasis to communicate where it was safe to not be in character. “I’ll go order the room service, you can go shower and get comfortable. I know how much you hate the airport.” He chuckled softly at the end, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline before making his way back inside.

You let out a soft sigh, making it inside as well and closing the balcony door behind you as you did. This really was going to be a long 10 days.

The bitter taste of the wine nearly made your mouth water, sitting somewhere between too intense and the perfect thing to take the edge off. The first full day had been smooth, an easy itinerary of walking and exploring the city. From the outside, the two of you easily looked like a love sick couple; matching clothes, a large diamond in your hand, Bucky always opening the door for you and your soft smile that just couldn't seem to leave you face; but in reality you had been mapping the city, learning the back alley ways and locating any ports that may be needed for a quick exit.

The small patio of the restaurant adorned a handful of tables, lanterns lighting the area in a soft romantic glow, lucious plants filling in any space, the open space allowed for ease of blending into the crowd while watching any passerby on the street. Bucky had taken up a game of footsie with you, chattering along about some of the shops you had passed along the way.

“Is there any shop you’d want to make your way back to?” Bucky took a sip of the wine in front of him, eyes fixed on you intently.

A soft hum left your lips, swaying your head back and forth softly as you thought. “Well, I wanna hit up the history and art museum, so maybe we could see if there’s any other cute shops there? If not, I’d definitely like to look at the jewelry store and bookstore we passed on the way here.”

“Mmm, I do think it’s time to get my pretty girl a new necklace,” the words fell off Bucky’s tongue like he sweet talked you on the daily.

There was that feeling again, the uneasiness that laid in the pit of your stomach and your skin heated up. Maybe this was why you couldn’t stand Bucky outside of missions, maybe you just didn’t want to deal with this feeling constantly. “You spoil me enough, ya know,” you offered a soft giggle, “I can assure you I don’t need any more jewelry, my love.”

Bucky smirked softly, cocking his eyebrows up at you with a knowing look on his face, “You may not need it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do it anyways.”

You shook your head, about to offer a rebuttal as the waiter set your food down in front of you, all thoughts being lost to the amazing sights and smells. “This is easily my favorite part of our trips,” you stated, the distraction of food keeping you from noticing the way Bucky’s gaze stayed on you and a soft smile lingered.

Six days of being enveloped in Bucky’s presence, and thankfully it was getting easier by the moment. It had been a smooth operation so far, the information being easy to locate and gather without raising suspicions. As a result, Tony had said to take a day to relax, lay low and assure no one was able to realize there was something more to you two.

Bucky had made a home on the balcony of your hotel, a book in hand and a coffee sat on the little table next to him.He been there since the early morning and it was easily almost noon, not that that you were bothering to check the clock. A day off meant a day of sleep and eating, nothing much more than that.

However, sleeping wasn't something your body wanted to do so you found yourself with a forgotten movie playing on the television, your gaze consistently going back to him. You weren't sure why, but you couldn't keep your eyes off him. You'd been sitting for the past God knows how long trying to figure out why you couldn't pull your eyes away from him. His hair was down, something he didn't do quite often, almost always finding it easier to have it pulled away from his face. From the angle he was sitting, you could see his light gray button down was still completely unbuttoned, his jean shorts a little too snug around his thighs. He occasionally sipped the coffee that was most likely cold at this point, turning the page of the thick novel occasionally. His lips would purse, eyebrows scrunch occasionally, or a small chuckle, or even a shake of his head as he reacted to the words on the page.

The wind picked up some, indicating a small rain storm that was destined to his later in the evening was starting to make it's way in. Bucky pulled a hair tie from his pocket, tying his hair into his typical low bun before picking his book back up. And it finally hit you; Fuck he's pretty.

The thought immediately made your body heat up and the instant feeling of something in between shame and excitement sat low in your belly. It was like a well known secret your subconscious kept for years finally made it over the wall of denial in your brain, immediately making your thoughts run wild; Fuck he's so pretty, more than pretty actually. What if this is why we've been weird for some many years? Wait. Why would that make it weird? Wait. Why is it weird? Why do we get along so well on missions and then act so differently at home? Oh My God… Has the team been trying to set us up?

Shaking your head, you jumped up, apparently too suddenly because Bucky broke his concentration on his book to glance over at you. You could feel he was watching you move around, the only thought in your head now was to get out for some fresh air as you deciphered the flood of thoughts. You grabbed some fresh clothes, slipping into the bathroom with a heavy sigh once the door was closed.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, attempting to ground yourself. Okay, what the hell is going on? The question kept repeating itself over and over in your head as you slipped into a summer dress, a sage flowy piece that Natasha and you bought for this trip specifically. It was cute, and Nat was right when she said it complimented your skin; definitely different than your normal attire but still comfortable.

Walking out of the bathroom, you were relieved to find Bucky still where he was when you entered. After slipping on some sandals, you moved towards him, immediately aware of every detail of your very being. "Hey," you kept your voice soft, waiting for him to pull him eyes from the book and look up at you. There was something about how brightly his eyes shone with the golden sun beating down on him, there was a sense of both innocence and mystique, and the instant feeling of safety just from holding his gaze. "I'm heading out to get some coffee, do you want a fresh one? You've been sipping at the same cup for hours now."

Bucky glanced down at the cup, then to his watch, eyes going wide for a moment before a soft chuckle left his lips. "I've been out here for 4 hours already, shit. Yeah, I'd love a fresh one, doll. Thank you." He offered you a soft smile, "Just get me a-"

"A latte with three honeys on the side," you said matter-of-factly, "I could order for you at just about anywhere at this point." It was a teasing joke, one Bucky laughed at, but you instantly cursed yourself for even saying it.

"We do spend quite a bit of time together," he hummed out, "Did you want to go out for dinner or get room service tonight?" He asked, picking his book back up as he prepared for your departure.

"Let me see how I feel after I get back. But if we go out, it's your turn to pick. I picked last night." You stated before leaning down to kiss his hairline, still needing to keep up the act just in case someone was managing to spy; or at least that's what you were telling yourself. "I'll see you inna bit."

After returning with the coffee, still finding Bucky to be where he was when he left him, it was an instant decision to find a way to give yourself more time a way from the man that had your mind absolutely scrambled. Grabbing a book of your own, you let him know you'd be down by the pool if he needed you, using a quick excuse about wanting some change in scenery before the rain came as you left.

You weren't entirely sure how long you'd been out there, it couldn't have been too long, but you we're aware you were reading the same page over and over again. The words seemed to mix together, jumbling about and not registering even in the slightest, your brain still attempting to make sense of what you were feeling.

You never denied that Bucky was attractive, that's admittedly part of what made undercover missions easy. You never denied that you two got along well on missions, but you couldn't explain or pinpoint why you didn't get along at home. Sure, you were never hostile or rude, but it was exactly friendly or outgoing either. No matter how much you thought and walked through your early memories of Bucky, you couldn't make sense of anything.

At this point, you knew pride was part of the issue. You knew the team would be able to walk you through, at the very least Nat or Pepper or maybe even Steve, but you could never admit to them what you were currently feeling or going through. The only thing you wanted to do, needed to do was to act normal until you got home. Then you could just hide away and go back to not having to interact with the man that was causing you turmoil.

"There's my pretty girl," Bucky's drawl quickly pulled you out of your thoughts, causing you to jump at the sudden push back to reality. Seeing you jump caused Bucky to chuckle, especially as you turned to glare at him and his bright smile, "It's getting late, baby. We should go get some food."

He moved to the lounge chair you had made home in, kneeling down next to you so he was eye-level. There was that feeling again, low in the pit of your stomach that had your skin warming. "There's apparently food trucks at a park about not too far. Why don't we head there and get some food to bring back and watch a movie?"

Instinctively, you reach to tuck a strand of loose hair behind his ear, offering a soft nod and a smile, "That sounds perfect."

You wanted nothing more than to kiss him, the thought immediately making your already warm skin heat up more, feeling flustered and like a school girl. It's not like you haven't kissed, it was just agreed upon that it was reserved for dire need situations. All other physical touchs; hand holding, forehead kissing, even smacking each others ass was okay to sell the facade that you were a happy couple.

Bucky picked up on the change, a look of slight worry on his face, "You okay, doll?"

The laugh that left you was slightly anxious, holding the book in your hand up as a quick white lie, "Yeah, you just came down at a particularly… intense scene."

He immediately laughed, kissing your forehead as he stood up. "You're so cute. Let's get going though."

The bustling crowds offered a great distraction - Bucky stood proudly by your side, fingers interlocked together and swinging your joined hands softly like a love sick couple. The both of you scanned the crowd, trying to figure out where to go and what to get.

The lines weren't too long, there were nearly a dozen trucks, and live music playing. The sun was finally setting, more clouds rolling in and bringing in a cooler breeze that allowed for a reprieve from the beach heat. There were benches with umbrellas set up, lantern lights adorning some posts and wires around the lot. It was cute, and if it wasn't for the mission you were still technically on, it would feel so wrong to be here with Bucky.

After a moment of thought, you looked at Bucky, lips slightly pursed in thought, "I have an idea." You stated matter-of-factly.

He cooked an eyebrows at you, intrigued and slightly amused with your tone, "Let's hear it then."

"Let's get a platter or some random menu item from every truck then go back to the room and eat there."

Bucky looked around and nodded, "Ya know what, doll, that sounds fantastic. Do you wanna divide and conquer or go one by one?"

It was then that you realized the clouds were darkening, and the rain was definitely going to happen sooner than later. "Let's divide and conquer before the rain comes."

With a nod of agreement the two of you split, heading to either end of the trucks and working your way to each other. With the lines being shorter, it didn't take too long to get through them all, the both of you holding multiple bags stacked full of food and tied tightly. Quick words were exchanged before you started heading back towards the hotel, hoping to make it back before the rain.

The effort was fruitless though, with just maybe a few hundred feet left before the hotel you were staying at, the cold rain begins to pour down, the dark sky opening up and letting go every ounce of water it was holding on to. With loud gasps from the both of you, and small playful shriek even, you two took off running into the lobby, screeching yourselves to a stop as you entered and stood on the mats in front of the door. You were breathing heavily, attempting to catch your breath; a quick glance to Bucky showed you he was doing the same.

After a few moments, the two of you made eye contact, bursting into immediate laughter. You were both soaked head to toe, the only thing saved was the food. His shoes make a sloshing sound and your feet slid around in your sandals, you clothes clinging to every inch of your bodies. You were easily a sight for sore eyes, but it couldn't have been funnier.

"Why didn't either of us think about the rain?" You managed to get out through your laughter.

"Who knows, but let's get upstairs so we can get dry." He managed to respond.

The elevator ride up felt like an eternity, the cold of the AC feeling more intense from your wet skin. Bucky opened the door for you, letting you in first. He set the foot down, immediately kicking off his shoes. "Go shower, get warm. I'll pull out a change of clothes for you and we can swap when you're done."

Something about the direction made you freeze momentarily, causing him to look up at you, "(Y/N), you're freezing. Go shower. I'm fine to wait." His voice was soft and caring and there was a part of you that wanted to tell him to shower with you.

In the dim light of the room and the soaking wet clothes made him look even more divine, like he was sculpted from the gods themselves. You nodded, handing him the bags before making your way towards the bathroom. You closed the door, then quickly opening it to call out but he cut you off, "You want an oversized shirt and a loose pair of shorts, gets your ass in the shower." His tone was demanding but still playful. You caught the look in his eyes, mischievous, playful, and a hint of something you didn't want to recognize.

You kept your shower quick, ready to be in comfortable clothes and a bed with good food. After quickly drying yourself as much as possible, you wrapped yourself in a towel, and stepped out into the bedroom. Bucky stood in only his boxers, his own clothes in one hand while he scrolled through the television with the other. It wasn't the first time you've seen him with this little clothing, but something about it now made your mouth dry and your skin heat up.

"All yours," you said, grabbing his attention as you moved to the bed where he laid your clothes out for you.

"Thanks, doll. I'll be quick. You can pick the movie," he tossed the remote onto the bed before disappearing into the bathroom himself.

You stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm yourself before slipping into the clean clothes. Bucky had already made work of getting creative. He pulled the ironing board from the closet and set the food up next to the bed, had fluffed the pillows up into a sitting position, and already gotten drinks for the two of you. By the time you had decided on a movie, Bucky was coming out of the bathroom.

Immediarely, you mind started short circuiting again. He looked soft. He had on a light blue shirt and a pair of light gray shorts, his hair was towel dried and brushed against his shoulders, a slight wave to the brown locks. He slid in bed next to you, getting himself situated and comfortable before handing over the massive spread of food for you to start digging into.

After about 20 minutes of eating and watching the movie in a comfortable silence, Bucky turned the volume down some, "Can I ask you a question?" The tone of his voice alone already told you how he was feeling. There was a sense of worry, anxiety almost to him.

"Of course, what's wrong?" You asked, sitting your food to the side so you could turn to look at him.

Bucky followed your lead, moving the food he had off the bed as well before taking a drink, trying to have a moment to articulate how he was going to ask what he wanted. Even though Bucky was sure the room wasn't bugged, he knew that there's was never a 100% chance of assuring that. The fact alone could make talking about things outside of the mission difficult, and this one one of those moments.

"How's the trip been for you? I know we haven't been on one in a while and I just want to make sure everything's okay, that we're okay." He had turned fully to look at you now, the worry in his voice making it to his eyes.

"Oh…" the response was immediate, and you regretted it instantly the second you so that worry on his face grow, "The trips been wonderful, and uh…" You sighed, toying with the blanket around you, "We're fine, yeah. I'm just… not here?" You said, sort of motioning to your head to get the point across.

Bucky cocked his head some, the worry turning to confusion. "Are we going to be okay when we go home?"

That was something you couldn't answer. What was okay. Was okay how you normally act? Was okay something different? Something better? Something worse?

"Uh… maybe?" You offered, immediately wincing at your own words. You sighed deeply, "I don't really know how to explain what I'm feeling."

"Okay," Bucky took a moment, letting you both sit in the uncomfortable silence that was the lull in the conversation. He was doing his best not to become frustrated, he knew there was most likely no easy way for you to communicate what you wanted to say or even what you were feeling, but he's been able to tell for the past couple of days that things, specifically that you, have been off. "What do you know?"

Your gaze met his again, taking a deep breath in to try to gather the courage to say what you needed. "Things feel… different?"

"Different?"

"Different."

Bucky stared at you for a moment, mind calculating and analyzing has he tried to decipher what you meant. In an instant it all clicked, and you didn't miss the way his lips curled into a quick smirk before his features soften. "Do things feel different when I call you my pretty girl?"

He watched as you immediately became flustered, averting your gaze and watching your chest rise and fall quicker. He thought he had sensed your heart rate quickening throughout the past couple of days, but he had honestly assumed it was anxiety from the mission. He had no reason to think it could be something else; Well, until now.

"(Y/N)," your name came as firm and demanding, causing you to look at him. The smirk on his face was more evident now, "We can continue this conversation now, or when we get home. But just remember, you're my favorite book to read."

You were instantly lost for words, mouth opening and closing as you processed what he just said to you. Waiting until you were home was going to be far too long, but talking about whatever this was now? Right now when you were flustered beyond belief, that flippant warm feeling filling every valley and curve of your body?

"Just say the word, doll, and I'll act like everything is normal. I'll go back to watching the movie and eating and ignoring the obivous."

A soft shake of your head was all you could muster as you search desperately for a will to stop the inevitable, or the courage to beg for it.

"Words, (Y/N). Use your words."

"I don't want normal." You swallowed, taking a shaky breath you continued, "I don't want this to go back to normal."

Buckys lips turned to a smile. "You don't want this to stop when we go home?"

You shook you head more feverishly, "No, I - Fuck, what have you done to me?" You groaned out.

"The same thing you've been doing to me for years, I suppose." His tone was matter-of-fact, cool and calm almost.

"What?" Your eyes had gone wide, mouth dry, and that God forsaken feeling low in your stomach was growing.

"You heard me. Obviously, we'll have some talking to do when we get home." He chuckled

Bucky moved as if he was going to grab the food, stopping once he heard, "No," come out of your mouth, "No. I want to talk about it now."

He looked back at you, eyebrows raising as to silently ask how.

"I want to…" You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief at yourself before leaning forward, cupping the back of his neck with your hand and pressing your lips to his.

This kiss was different; It was electricity filled, igniting every nerve in your body. You could feel the heat from your ears to your toes. It was intoxiting and addicting.

Bucky waisted no time in kissing you back, even letting out a small groan at your sudden assertiveness. His prosthetic hand held onto you waist, the other cupping your face as the two of you broke years worth of tension in one swift motion. Bucky pulled away first, taking in the plumpness of your kiss swollen lips, the sluttering of your lashes as your opened your eyes to look at him, and the darkness of your gaze that was stricken with last.

He looked just as enthralled, blue eyes dark as the night sky and hooded with desire, cheeks flushed slightly beneath his scruff. It finally clicked what the feeling you've been having all week was. Lust; pure, unadulterated lust for the man who was currently pretending to be your husband.

"Well damn, doll," he offered you a toothy grin, squeezing your waist, "Wasn't expecting that."

"Sorry-"

"Don't be." He bit his lip, studying your face for a moment, "Whatcha thinking, pretty girl?"

You couldn't help but get flustered, "That I want more. A lot fucking more." You hand moved up from his neck to card through his hair, his breath hitching some as you did. "Please, James, I need more." Your voice had a slight whine to it, something you hoped he wouldn't be able to resist.

"If I knew you sounded so pretty begging this would've happened years ago," he grumbled before kissing you again. This time though, he re-situated himself, helping you move to straddling him and doing his best to let you still have some semblance of control for now. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you from being able to move away from him.

One of your hands cupped his face, the other running down his clothed chest. You lips move in sink, a squeeze on your hips eliciting a small moan from you that he took advantage of, using your open mouth to slip his tongue in. You could feel the tent in his shorts growing, sitting hard against your core.

An experimental grind of your hips pulled a moan form the man beneath you; The sound was music to your ears, and enough encouragement to do it again.

Buckys hands moved, bracing you as he flipped you over to give himself more leverage and take control. Just as he begin to grind himself against you, he moved his lips from your to your neck. He kissed his way down to your pulse point, drinking in the sweet sounds you made. He sucked softly at the skin, moaned himself when you pulled at his hair.

Any rationale thought was gone at this point, any fears or anxieties you had pushed to the back of your mind as pure pleasure and desire took over the forefront of your thoughts. Once Bucky was sure he would be satisfied with the mark he left on you, he pulled back some to look you in the eye.

"Are you sure you want this?" He breathed out, offering you an out.

You nodded so quickly he couldn't help but laugh softly, "God, you look so fucking desperate, doll. You want me to fuck you?" He had a slight tease to his voice.

Another nod is all you could muster, but that wasn't good enough for him. "Uh uh, come on. Use your words. Need to hear you say it if you want me to do it."

You whined at his demand, pouting at him slightly, "Please."

"Please what?" His tone was more stern now, "If you want to continue, I need to know you actually want this."

His insistence to make sure you were consenting pulled at your heart strings. You nodded, "Yes, Bucky," you kept your voice soft before adding a slight whine and plea to it, "Please fuck me."

He smiled, kissing you much softer than had had before, "I'd do anything you asked me to." His words sounded like a promise that had you own emotions bubbling up.

Bucky leaned up for a moment, pulling off his shirt. He motioned for you to sit up and pulled yours off as well, groaning softly when he sat you skin. "Such a beautiful, pretty girl. Look at you," his hands ran up and down your sides and he took in your body before making eye contact with you again, "Most perfect thing I've ever seen, ya know that?"

He could feel your skin heat up at his comments, watching you squirm. "Take your shorts off, doll." Bucky moved off the bed, kneeling on the floor at the edge, "C'mere." He demanded.

You aren't going to deny him at this point, feeling yourself so tightly wrapped around his finger that you'd follow him into hell if it meant he kept talking to you like this. Once you were close enough, Bucky grabbed your thighs and pulled you to be perched on the edge on the bed, legs on his shoulders with his eyes level with your core.

"Look at this sweet little pussy," he squeezed your thighs tight, "You're fucking glistening, doll." He started pressing kisses to your thighs, avoiding the very apace you needed him at. "Smell fucking divine, I just know you're gonna taste even better."

Bucky watched as you already started fishing the sheets, squirming and biting you lip to hold back any noise. He already decided it was his job to make it impossible for you to hold back. Bucky moved his right hand to interlock with yours, taking his left arm and using it to put pressure on your waist, the cold feel of the prosthetic a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. Just as he squeezed your hand, Bucky licked a thick stripe from your core to your clit, genuinely moaning at the taste.

He wasted no time in drowning himself in your essence. Bucky licked and sucked, offering the occasional nibble, until you were grinding yourself in his face. Once soft gasps and moans were falling freely from you lips, he moved his left hand to your core, the cool digits of his forefinger and ringer figuring prodding your sopping hole. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly as he pushed two fingers in, relishing in the fact that your moans got loud.

Bucky pulled him mouth away, moving to you thighs and sucking hickies into the soft skin while his fingers worked magic. He already knew your body so well, years of working together on intimate missions allowed him to learn how to tell what you liked versus what you loved.

After leaving a few marks, he leaned his head against your thighs, looking up at you through his lashes and watching had your chest rose and fell and you head was thrown back in pure pleasure. "I was fucking right. Taste like honey, could drink you up all fucking day."

He licked a quick stripe again, from where his fingers were to the hilt inside you all the way to your clit. "So, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to continue eating your sweet little pussy until you cum all of face then I'm going to fuck you nice and deep so you feel my cock for days."

He chuckled when he felt your walls flutter around his fingers, "You like the sound of that, pretty girl?" He curled his fingers, hitting the spongy spot that had you gasping for air and eyes rolling into the back of your head. "Look, you're already so close to the edge. You better soak me, baby."

Bucky didn't fall short on his word, getting back to work on your clit with his mouth. His scruff added a nice sensation that bordered on pleasurable pain, fingers moving st the perfect pace and curving expertly, mouth switching between sucking and kitten licks. His right had squeezed your own hand, encouraging you to let go for him.

The pleasure was building quickly, it was intoxicating and inhibition destroying. You leaned up, using your free hand to grab hold of his hair and pull, giving you leverage to grind on his face. Bucky moaned against you, and truly giving you everything he was worth in his determination.

It didn't take much longer for you to fall over the edge, moaning loudly and body convulsing. Your legs squeezed his head as he continued to work you through your orgasm until you fell back, panting for breath.

Bucky pulled away, chuckling softly with a proud look in his face. From his nose down, he was absolutely glistening with your slick, "God you're fucking hot, using my face like that."

Bucky stood, pulling his shorts off, using them to wipe his face some, then tossing them to the side. "Can't wait to see your pretty face when I fill you up. Your gonna take me so good, aren't you?"

You nodded, already getting worked back up. You sat yourself up before he had the chance to grab you, leaning up and carding your hand through his hair again and guiding his lips to yours. You moaned at the taste of your own cum on his lips, reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock, jerking him slowly.

He pulled away from your lips, breathing in sharp. "Uh uh, doll, you can do that another time," he kissed your forehead, a sweet gesture that was a drastic difference to what was currently happening, "Right now, I wanna be buried inside you, making you cum all over me again. Cmon, lay back down for me."

You stole one more kiss before resuming your prior position. Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, pulling you back to the edge and holding your legs spread wide. "You can tell me to stop at any point," he said softly, "but unless you do that, I'm not stopping until you're thoroughly filled with me."

You nodded, offering a desperate, "Please, Bucky. Want all of you," and moving to hold your own legs up as the extra step to prove how much you wanted this.

"So fucking perfect," he groaned out. Bucky grabbed his length, teasing your slit a few times to get his thick tip left before finally pushing in. He was slow, listening to your gasp as he stretched you out so nicely.

Inch by inch, he pushed in until he was bent over you and all the way to the hilt, your lower bodies completely flushed. "You feel fucking amazing around me," he moaned out, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. Just as you were starting to whine, he pulled all the way out before slamming back in, causing you to moan out loudly when you felt him in the deepest parts of you.

Bucky set a brutal but rhythmic pace, changing it ever so slightly until he heard your moans and whines change to be deeper and louder. He moved one of your legs to his shoulder, which somehow allowed him to go even deeper, alternating between full thrusts and grinding against you.

He reached down between the two of you, rubbing circles in your clit with his thumb and watching as your whole body begin to shake with intense pleasure. "Look at you," he moaned out, "Better than my wildest dreams. You gonna cum again for me, already doll?"

He didn't need an answer at this point, he could tell from how your walls were squeezing him that you were close, and as much as he hated to admit it he wasn't far behind you. Bucky kept his movements consistent until he felt you fall over the edge again with a high pitch moan, his hips finally flattering as you squeezed him like a vice, quickly chasing his own high. A few erratic thrusts and he spilled into you with a moan of your name.

Bucky let your legs down, taking a few deep breaths before pulling out of you. He laughed lightly as you whined at the loss of him. He disappeared to the bathroom, cleaning himself up before bringing back a warm, damp wash cloth to wipe you down with. Bucky pressed softly kisses to yoh skin and he wiped you off, kissing your lips before tossing the cloth to the side and climbing into bed with you.

He helped you move back to laying normally in the bed, laughing once he noticed the credits of thie movie were rolling. He wrapped and arm around you, pulling you into his side and letting you get comfortable on him."How you feeling, doll?"

"Good, a little weird, but good." You said, voice drenched in exhaustion.

"Weird how?" He asked, rubbing his fingers up and down your back.

"Good weird. Happy things are gonna be different when we get home."

With how you were laying, you missed the way Bucky smiled down at you, "You don't understand how happy it makes me that I'll get to treat you like this all the time."

"Really?" You asked, already finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

"Doll, I've been yours since the moment I met you, someone was just too stubborn to notice her own feelings." He squeezed your side before going back to rubbing your back, "Get some sleep, we can talk in the morning."

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deliciousangelfestival · 8 months ago

Text

We're Not Okay - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x veterinarian!Female Reader

Summary: Two people, each carrying their own trauma, find themselves in a place where they can begin to heal their wounds and mend their hearts together.

Words Count: 3,400

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“This is the first time I’ve heard a fox's voice,” said your father, Toni, as he shivered, pulling his jacket suit tighter around himself. The cold air bit at both of you as snow threatened to fall. Toni, at 50 years old, stood taller than you, his grey hair contrasting against the bleak sky.

He kept close behind as you worked at the conservation center, his eyes darting downward to ensure his pristine Italian leather shoes avoided mud or puddles. Unlike him, you wore a rugged outdoor outfit, complete with sturdy boots, befitting your role as a veterinarian and co-owner of the conservation—a job you’d been committed to since leaving home at seventeen.

“You could have waited in the visitor’s room,” you said, glancing over your shoulder while examining the fox.

“I can’t,” he replied, his voice tinged with anxiousness.

You let out a long sigh, turning your attention back to the fox—a sleek creature with bright orange fur streaked with hints of white, its ears flicking nervously as you checked for injuries. Its amber eyes watched you warily, a mix of fear and exhaustion evident.

Once your work was done, you exited the cage with Toni following closely. Both of you headed toward the main house, the crunch of gravel underfoot breaking the tense silence.

Toni’s eyes caught something unusual. “Wow. What’s that?” He pointed toward a cage set apart from the rest.

“Wait…! Don’t go near—” you shouted, but it was too late. Toni had already stepped closer.

“AHH!” He fell to the ground, his face pale and eyes wide. He trembled as he stared at the creature inside.

The white wolf looked directly at him, its majestic fur glistening like freshly fallen snow. Though intimidating with its piercing blue eyes and muscular build, it limped, favoring one injured leg.

You rushed over and dragged your father away from the cage. “I can’t even get close to him,” you muttered, exasperated.

Toni stood, brushing the dirt from his customized jacket, his face a mixture of frustration and fear. “I’ve been spat on, peed on, and now nearly eaten by the animals here.”

“Why are you even here if you hate it so much?” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just like my two older brothers. They come here, disrupt my work, and complain.”

“Ew… this place stinks. How do you stand it?” your first brother had sneered on his last visit.

“This owl is interesting. Do you sell them? I know plenty of people who’d pay,” the second one had added.

“GET OUT!” you’d yelled, seething with fury.

All the men in your family despised the outdoors. City people, through and through, they were consumed with managing their nightclub empire—a world you had rejected wholeheartedly. That life, everything they represented, was what drove you away to this sanctuary of yours.

Toni shifted nervously, glancing at you with rare vulnerability. It was an odd sight—the formidable nightclub owner and fierce businessman, now reduced to unease in your presence.

“Here’s the thing. I need… No.” He shook his head and corrected himself, “We need your help.”

“Me?” You arched an eyebrow. “How?” The question dripped with skepticism. You, a conservationist and veterinarian, had severed ties with their business long ago.

“Because of COVID-19, many businesses have been hit hard, including ours,” Toni said, his shoulders sagging.

You crossed your arms tighter, a flicker of resentment surfacing. After you’d left home, you’d turned a blind eye to everything related to their business. “Well, good. I hope that place burns to the ground.”

Toni’s face fell. “I know you hate it, but it’s my livelihood.” He sighed deeply. “Business is bad. There’s a chance it’ll go bankrupt.”

“Then sell it,” you said with a dismissive wave. “Most men your age are enjoying retirement.”

“Bah! No. I’m still in my prime!” He straightened his back defensively.

“Get to the point. What do you want?” you demanded.

“There’s someone willing to invest. But… there’s a catch,” Toni admitted, his eyes pleading. “Do you know Barnes?”

“Hmm… Yeah. The family that donates a lot to wildlife causes, including this place.”

“That’s right.” Toni nodded eagerly.

“So Barnes wants to invest in your nightclub?” You were incredulous. “Why?”

“That’s how Barnes gets richer—diversifying. And they’ve chosen our business. But there’s a condition.” Toni’s expression grew grave.

A pit formed in your stomach. Whatever it was, you knew it couldn’t be good.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

“The Barneses want to send their oldest grandchild here,” said Toni, his voice low as if dreading your reaction.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly. “This isn’t a daycare or rehab facility for humans.”

“I know, I know.” He raised his hands defensively. “That’s what I’ve been telling them. But they won’t budge. If I don’t bring their grandchild here, they won’t invest in the nightclub.”

“Ridiculous!” you snapped, your eyes narrowing. “Why drag me into this? The animals here are victims, and this place is their sanctuary, not some personal favor zone.”

“I knew you’d hate it,” Toni said, shifting uncomfortably. “But I thought you might change your mind after hearing me out.”

You crossed your arms, skeptically raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m all ears. What kind of offer could possibly make me reconsider?”

“This… isn’t easy for me,” he admitted, swallowing hard. “But I’ll give you what you’ve wanted for a long time. I’ll remove you from the family registry.”

Your eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Wow. You must really need this investment.”

Toni nodded, his shoulders slumping, revealing the weight of his desperation. “But you don’t…” His voice faltered, as if hoping you’d ask for anything else instead of severing family ties completely.

“Fine.” The single word was delivered coolly as you turned on your heel, walking away without looking back. Toni’s face fell, his hope visibly deflated.

“Do you really hate me that much?” he called out, his voice cracking slightly. “That you want nothing to do with us?”

You stopped mid-step, your back still to him. “I do.” The words were blunt and final, hitting him like a physical blow.

A silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint rustling of the wind. “Because of you, I’m reminded of that incident,” you said quietly, more to yourself than him, before walking away, leaving him standing there, hurt and alone.

That night, sleep eluded you. Memories from your childhood swirled in your mind, refusing to let you rest. Growing up as the child of a nightclub owner was no fairytale. Your home was a chaotic tangle of bright lights and dark secrets. You’d seen things a child shouldn’t—dangerous deals, late-night arguments, drunken patrons—and it left scars.

The confusion was only magnified by two stepmothers and two stepbrothers. Making a family tree in school was always a nightmare. That business stole away what innocence you had left. That was why you fled, finding solace in the simplicity and quiet resilience of animals.

"Owooooooo," A wolf’s howl pierced the still night air, low and haunting.

The sound sent a chill down your spine but also pulled you from your thoughts. Grabbing your jacket, you decided to check on the white wolf.

The wolf’s enclosure was isolated from the others. Previously placed near the fox, it had made every nearby animal skittish and restless, so it was moved here. The wolf stood under the pale moonlight, its white fur glistening like freshly fallen snow, every movement tinged with raw strength despite the noticeable limp in its gait. It tilted its head back and howled again, a mournful, soul-stirring sound.

You stepped closer to the cage, your breath fogging in the cold air. The white wolf’s piercing blue eyes locked onto you, unblinking. When it first arrived, it had been painfully thin, its ribs visible under its fur, and its injured leg had been in dire condition. Despite its weakened state, it had always reacted with hostility—growling, baring its sharp teeth whenever you approached.

You stopped just outside the cage’s boundary. “Can’t sleep?” you asked softly. “Me neither.”

The wolf let out another long, mournful howl, as if acknowledging your words. Its gaze was intense, wary, but something flickered in its eyes—pain, maybe even recognition.

“You’ve been hurt a lot,” you murmured, your voice low and steady. The wolf’s ears twitched, a small but telling sign that it was listening, though its muscles remained taut, ready to spring at the first hint of danger. You leaned against the cold metal bars, feeling the chill seep through your jacket. The wolf’s intense gaze never wavered, its blue eyes seeming to pierce right through you, mirroring a pain you recognized all too well. This raw, unfiltered connection made the air feel heavier, the silence more profound.

This was why you worked here. It wasn’t just about caring for wounded animals; it was about caring for yourself. The conservation was a sanctuary, not only for those with fur and feathers but for a heart battered by memories of your past.

Every injured creature, every frightened animal you helped heal, was a step toward mending yourself. You’d left a life that was full of noise, chaos, and hollow family ties that never really felt like home. Here, there was simplicity in purpose and purity in your connection with these beings—no lies, no hidden motives, only survival, trust, and the instinctual drive to heal.

When you saw the wolf growl and lash out in fear or defiance, you understood. Its isolation mirrored your own self-imposed solitude. You, too, had learned to push others away to protect yourself. In mending its wounds, in helping it trust again, you hoped to do the same for yourself. Piece by piece. Scar by scar.

You sighed, your breath visible in the cold air. “It’s going to be okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than the wolf. It didn’t respond, of course, but its ears twitched again. You let yourself believe that, maybe, it understood on some level. Maybe, just like you, it wanted to believe that healing was possible—even after so much pain.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

The inside of the luxurious jeep exuded opulence—soft leather seats, dark wood paneling, and the faint scent of expensive cologne mingling with polished leather. In the spacious backseat sat two men.

One of them, Jimmy Barnes, carried himself with a commanding presence. His gray hair was impeccably styled, and lines of experience etched his face, giving him the aura of a leader used to control. Everything about him, from the sharp cut of his suit to his steely gaze, spoke of power and purpose.

Beside him, his eldest son, James Buchanan Barnes—known as Bucky—stared blankly out the window. The passing landscape rolled by, ignored and unremarked upon, as the silence between father and son stretched uncomfortably. The trip had already dragged on for four hours, and not a single word had passed between them.

Jimmy shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. He glanced at Bucky, his eyes softening momentarily before hardening again as he struggled to maintain composure. He drew a breath and spoke, his voice firm but tinged with an edge of weariness.

“Bucky.”

There was no response. Bucky’s gaze remained fixed on the blur of trees outside, as if he hadn’t heard anything at all.

Jimmy clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the cane resting against his knee. He let out a deep sigh, exhaling the frustration he’d been holding. “Bucky,” he repeated, more gently this time. Still nothing. Jimmy's shoulders sagged slightly, a rare crack in his usually impenetrable facade.

Bucky, his firstborn from his marriage to his late first wife, hadn’t spoken a word in years. As a child, something had happened—something that had stolen his voice and left scars too deep for therapists and experts to reach.

Every attempt to coax him out of his silence had met with failure. Over time, Bucky had also developed acute anxiety around people, making even the simplest social interactions a nightmare. Recently, though, they’d discovered a sliver of hope: Bucky seemed calmer, even a little more at ease, around animals.

Jimmy’s thoughts drifted back to his meeting with Toni. What had started as a business discussion quickly shifted when Toni mentioned his daughter—a veterinarian with her own conservation center. The idea had taken root then and there.

This might be what Bucky needed. It was a desperate measure, but Jimmy would go to any length to see his son improve—for Bucky’s sake, and for the sake of their family legacy.

Jimmy shifted again, leaning closer to Bucky, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “We’re going somewhere different today,” he said, trying to inject warmth into his tone. “You’ll like it. Animals, open air… it’s good.”

Bucky didn’t move, but a slight tension in his shoulders betrayed that he’d heard. The silence lingered heavily between them, but Jimmy took it as a small victory. He leaned back, looking out his own window, his expression hardening once more. He needed this to work. Bucky had to get better—for himself, for the company, and for the legacy he would one day inherit.

The jeep rolled on, carrying them both toward an uncertain future.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

When Jimmy and Bucky arrived, the scene was more than just a simple visit; it was practically an event. The luxurious jeep pulled up, its polished exterior gleaming even in the muted light. Two men stepped out, flanked by a small team of guards who maintained a cautious but respectful distance. You observed the scene with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Guards? It felt excessive.

Toni walked over with a strained smile, clearly trying to mask his nerves. He gestured toward the older man with an air of forced calm. “This is Jimmy Barnes,” Toni said, his voice firm but tinged with unease. “Jimmy, this is my daughter.”

You extended a hand politely, meeting Jimmy’s piercing gaze. His handshake was strong, controlled—a man used to holding power. “Pleasure to meet you,” you said, maintaining eye contact.

Jimmy nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Thank you for having us,” he replied. “I’ve heard good things.”

“Of course,” you said, feeling the weight of his words. There was a formality in his tone, but a glimmer of desperation lingered beneath. You turned your attention to the younger man beside him. “And you must be Bucky.” You spoke gently, but Bucky didn’t respond. He barely seemed to register your presence, his gaze fixed on the ground or wandering elsewhere.

Jimmy’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. He shifted his weight, a sign of his frustration, though he kept his voice even. “Bucky,” he said again, a touch softer this time. There was no answer. Only the quiet rustling of leaves in the wind.

You looked at Jimmy, feeling the tension simmering beneath the surface. “He can take his time,” you offered quietly, hoping to ease the pressure. “There’s no rush here.”

Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction. “Thank you,” he said, his tone softer now. “It’s… difficult. You understand.”

“I do,” you nodded, choosing your words carefully. “We all need space to find our way. Animals teach me that every day.”

Bucky, seemingly oblivious to the exchange, took a few hesitant steps toward the enclosures. You and Jimmy watched as he moved, his posture guarded but curious.

“He’s calmer around animals,” Jimmy said, almost to himself. There was a mix of hope and despair in his voice. “People make it… harder.”

You nodded, choosing to focus on Bucky. “I’ve seen it happen before,” you said quietly. “Sometimes, animals understand what we can’t.”

Jimmy studied you for a moment, as if weighing your words. “I hope you’re right,” he said finally, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his otherwise controlled exterior. “This has to work.”

“It’s a journey,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “There are no guarantees. But we’ll do our best.”

As Bucky moved closer to the enclosures, something strange happened—the animals turned their attention to him. Every single one of them stopped what they were doing and sat down, as if sensing something unseen. You blinked in surprise, feeling a chill run down your spine. This wasn’t normal behavior.

The white wolf, isolated from the rest due to its intimidating presence, suddenly stood. Its pristine fur gleamed in the sunlight as it limped toward Bucky. You held your breath, instinctively stepping forward in case something went wrong. But Bucky extended a hand, slow and gentle. The wolf hesitated for a brief moment before closing the distance, nudging Bucky’s hand with its nose. Your eyes widened. This was the first time the white wolf had willingly approached anyone. Even you—who spent countless hours caring for it—had never been received this way. It always kept its distance, aloof and wary.

Jimmy watched the scene unfold, his eyes brightening with a mix of hope and disbelief. He turned to you, his voice low but firm. “I have a feeling this place can help him.” There was a pause, heavy with meaning. “If it does, I’ll donate a substantial sum to support your work here.”

“Thank… thank you,” you managed, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. You inclined your head, feeling the weight of his words settle on your shoulders.

Jimmy nodded and began to walk back to the car, the guards moving in step with him. Toni lingered for a moment. He stepped closer, his expression softened as he took your hand. “Please,” he whispered, his grip warm but trembling slightly. “Help me this time.”

You bit your lip, uncertainty swirling within you. “I’m still not sure about this.”

Toni’s eyes met yours, a mixture of hope and desperation. “You can do this. You’ve always managed to handle things on your own.” He gave you a thumbs up, a strained but genuine smile on his lips, before turning to follow Jimmy.

You watched him go, your heart tightening. “No, I’m not,” you whispered to yourself, your shoulders sagging as the weight of the situation pressed down. Outwardly, you might appear strong and unshakable, but inside, the scars of the past left you vulnerable and weary. Every act of strength was a battle, every decision a reminder of what you had to protect.

When the car disappeared from view, you turned your attention back to Bucky.

🐺🐺🐺🐺

You and Bucky stood in awkward silence after the initial introductions. The air was heavy, almost stifling, as you struggled to find the right words. Bucky’s gaze remained fixed on a point somewhere past your shoulder, his expression distant and unreadable. Finally, you sighed softly, deciding to break the silence.

“Come on,” you said gently, gesturing for him to follow. “Let me show you your room.”

Bucky fell into step behind you, his movements quiet but tense. As you walked, you explained, “We keep things pretty simple around here. Meals are communal. Everyone—workers, volunteers—we all eat together.” You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “You don’t have to join if you’re not ready. No pressure.”

Bucky’s only response was a brief nod. It was mechanical, almost detached, but at least it was acknowledgment. You offered a small smile, even though he wasn’t looking at you. “There’s food available whenever you want it,” you continued softly. “And if you need anything, just let me know.”

He said nothing, his eyes wandering to the walls as if searching for an escape. You let out a quiet breath, your heart heavy. You knew this kind of pain—it mirrored the animals you cared for here. The ones who recoiled from touch, who couldn’t trust, who flinched at the slightest movement. Healing took time. It required patience, and you were prepared to give him both. You just hoped he’d let you.

When night fell, the dining room filled with the usual chatter of workers and volunteers unwinding from the day. You scanned the room but didn’t see Bucky. It wasn’t surprising—socializing with strangers was probably overwhelming for him. Silently, you prepared a tray of food and carried it to his room, setting it carefully in front of the door. You didn’t knock. You didn’t want to intrude. Instead, you walked away quietly, hoping he would eat when he was ready.

As you settled into your own bed later that night, a strange unease crept over you. The quiet felt oppressive—too quiet. Usually, the white wolf’s mournful howls punctuated the stillness, a sound you’d grown oddly comforted by. Tonight, there was nothing. It gnawed at you, pulling you from bed and urging you out into the night.

Your steps quickened as you made your way toward the white wolf’s enclosure. The moon cast pale light over the grounds, and there, standing face to face with the wolf, was Bucky.

Neither of them moved. They simply stared at each other, as if sharing an unspoken language that only they could understand. The wolf’s icy-blue eyes were locked onto Bucky, unblinking, while Bucky’s expression was raw, a mixture of pain and something else you couldn’t quite name—recognition, perhaps.

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. “Hi…” you said softly, taking slow, cautious steps forward. You didn’t want to startle either of them.

Bucky flinched at the sound of your voice, his head snapping toward you. His eyes widened in surprise, and for a split second, you saw fear flash across his face. He turned and bolted, his footsteps muffled by the grass. As he disappeared into the shadows, the white wolf turned its attention to you. It let out a low, warning growl, its body tense and protective.

'What was that?' You froze, raising your hands slowly in a gesture of peace. “It’s okay,” you murmured, though your pulse raced. The wolf’s eyes never left you, its growl deepening. You felt like an intruder—like you’d interrupted something sacred.

What had just happened? Why did it feel like you were the outsider, the third party in whatever silent connection Bucky and the wolf shared?

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #buckybarnes #bucky barnes angst #angst #drama #bucky fanfic #the winter soldier #winter soldier

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hattersrabbit · 1 month ago

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Hold up because yandere avengers x kryptonian! reader was so GOOD can we have a pt 2 please

(I'll actually go on knees for pt 2 but ofc if you don't want to make one that's up to you!)

BYE BYE, BABY BLUE

yandere avengers x kryptonian reader | sfw

CW! male reader, denial of reality, possessive behavior, blame of self, batman/Bruce wayne exists in this universe, jealous avengers, superbat (kinda, Bruce x Reader, more platonic tho),attempted murder

Summary! You've grown tired, and you've kept excusing that nothing is wrong with your team mates. It only gets worse when you meet someone who tells you what actually is going on

previous | next | series

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

It been so long since you've had time to yourself. Asking Peter to go back to New York until something actually important happens you would call him.

Thankfully the younger man was a lot more convincable than the others. Wanda and Tony he thinks most importantly weren't that convincable.

Just for now; you were alone with Kyrpto who refused to move away from you.

You would never let him be away from you. You two may be aliens but you had feelings and the tension with your team mates was horrible.

Suffocating.

As if you were something helpless. Too naive but you noticed it all but didn't know why. Why was this happening to you.

At least until he walked into your life. A man with black hair and the most piercing of blue eyes. A man named Bruce Wayne with his son, Dick Grayson.

Whilst dealing with the avengers any time you got time alone you would talk to Bruce. The man had come to own your place of employment. Any time he visited which was rare but when he did you two would always talk a storm.

So close that he figured out your identity, and you figured out the fact he was Batman. A cryptid and the Robin by his side. To his word; you were the only one he told.

Best of friends and the finest. You had started getting traction in Gotham and helping Batman and Robin. A token meta in the world of Gotham.

Gotham wasn't known for safety, and word travels fast.

And one time it got bad.

Tony was fussing over you being in Gotham. He felt irratible about the fact you were conversing with this Batman. He was begging you to stay with him at the tower with Pepper.

Steve was yelling at him.

Bucky was standing too close to you. Him and Steve seeming to hold some connection of what to do.

With you.

You didn't like it, and while it hurt you to do so your pushed the men off of you. Without a word you flew off frantically. With your super hearing you could hear Tony getting his suit on, and the calling of Thor and Wanda.

It was futile to make you stop. You pleaded for them all to stop but they never did. All in the place of love, and making sure you were okay. You were new to this, but they were wrong.

Lex Luthor was dead. You came to know that when Tony Stark took control of his company. It was alarming, and suddenly kryptonite disappeared.

You didn't understand why this was happening. It wasn't hard to see how Wanda's murderous aura became big when you would ask about Lex Luthor.

Peter would seeth out a response.

You confronted them. Steve was quick to deny it. To deny the too close of touch that he and Bucky tried to force onto you. The overall fact that you were stuck in a invisible cage.

Clint and Natasha seemingly trying to hide the bloodlust they had when another assailant came to have Kyrptonite. In horror watching how they became something worse.

Thor's hammer, just as it did for Thanos, blood was shed. You were in horror as the hammer crushed the green crystal.

No you couldn't stand Banner's excessive mother henning. No Tony, you can't take my blood and make my suit even bulkier. You could stand it anymore.

Suffocating.

The breeze rushing past feeling dark. Thor and Wanda most definitely on your tail.

You tucked your fear all the way back into your stomach. Your mind flashed with images of Bruce's face. That kind man always knowing what to say despite his reputation of being a playboy.

You could feel tears falling down your face as you sped off to Gotham; Bruce's home of address.

"B! It's [ ]!" Dick would shout from seeing you land on the balcony. True to Gotham weather it was raining. Your own tears mixing in with the rain.

And then Bruce was there.

The balcony doors opened and you found your way into Bruce's arms, careful not to break his mortal body. "I know you said no metas but I just-" You cried to him.

The normally stoic Bruce that you came to know comforted you better than anyone of the avengers. Even the likes of Peter who was above all sweet, but it wasn't Bruce.

"What happened?" He would ask you while holding you. His butler, Alfred and Dick watching with worried eyes.

"The avengers...I don't know why but they've just gotten so...overbearing..."

You were naive, sure, but you you knew better. You were sheltered but you knew off behavior. The same kind of eyes staring from your town. The weird farm boy that people didn't know when he got there.

For good reason your new parents protected you from the world. Afraid that everyone in that damn town would hurt you despite your strength and powers.

You shivered remembering Tony's stare at you. The way his voice went up at the notion of you in Gotham, and working with the Batman.

Pictures of you and Bruce at your place of work.

It hadn't been long since you revealed your identity and that you were exactly human.

Thinking your naive nature and thinking you don't know that Bruce was a playboy, when he wasn't. Coming to know the man he did it to mask the pain of his tragedy.

Recently he stopped do so, but still kept up his flirty personality.

"Words and actions. Always angry that I'm alone without them, or with you or in Gotham. As if I'm not a fucking hero! As if I'm not an alien with strength above them!"

Your chest hurt as you relayed all the repressed feelings you felt in your chest. Krypto who had yet to leave your side rubbed up against you. You barely noticed the contact.

Bruce simply rubbed circles into your back. Alfred and Dick came back with cookies and tea for you all.

Your eyes always flickering to the windows. Scared to see Wanda's flickering red eyes and misty powers. Her ability to mess with your brain. Despite all of Bruce's help in strengthening your mind she would always penetrate it.

Sometimes you felt like things were missing from your memory. Or you seem to black out and suddenly in your room.

"You're something better than what they are. Better than me."

"Bruce-"

"They want to keep that pureness. Goodness is what they want, and they aren't good. The avengers have done things and have gone to the dark side. The scarlet witch is one big one."

You shivered at the mention of her name.

"Oh, [ ]. She's scaring you." Dick whispered. He brought a cookie to your lips slowly. You smiled seeing the boy try to cheer you up.

"Miss Maximoff is quite the danger isn't she? She's messed with your head?" Alfred inquired.

"Yes, I believe so." You gripped your hair. They were pulled off by Dick.

"No doubt a planned to keep you under wraps. Always one of them keeping an eye on you ever since kryptonite came to the public eye." Bruce responded. His sharp eyes on the window.

"Do you think you were followed?"

"Yes. They'll find me. I- I don't want them to find me!" You collapsed into yourself. Dick's small body hugging you tightly.

"Robin will protect you! Both Batman and Robin!" That boyish smile and hopeful expression. Once you had that outlook but since then it's broken down. You couldn't find a reason to smile when you were being smothered.

"Remember your stronger than them, and i can craft something to stop the mind control."

"Master Bruce."

"Yes, you can always leave and...joina group we've been trying to get together since the recent events with the avengers and you. I noticed it but I wished for you come to me, which you did." He brushed hair away from your tear stricken face.

"Maybe if I hadn't left then maybe Lex Luthor may not have..."

"I see." Bruce's voice deepened at the notion of death.

"It's not your fault, [ ]. You're something want to preserve. To believe that they are truly good. This new team; the Justice League would never treat you like that. I promise. People who love you would never do this." He held you to his body. Dick clinging hard to you.

Alfred had left to retrieve his shotgun.

"They don't care for your wants, [ ]. Otherwise, they'd understand you can take care of yourself. You're a hero not some child. They know you aren't, but anything bad to happen that would taint you it must be stopped."

"If I hadn't crashed-"

"If you hadn't crashed here then Metropolis would certainly be worse. You gave this world hope better than anyone!" Dick insisted. His hands cupping your face.

"Dick is right. What you've felt and seen is the truth. Don't let them continue." A rare smile crossed Bruce's face.

You noted how Dick visibly brightened at it.

"Quit them, and join our group; Diana would be overjoyed to have you with us again. Dick would be happy to see you more."

"Yeah! Those avengers of yours are really icky and scary." Dick giggled, and fake gagged after finishing his words.

Bruce chuckled. You're heart warming after digesting after all you've heard. The reality finally realized that what was happening wasn't good. They were smothering you like some baby when you were.

A human being that was bound to become hardened but that was the life of a hero.

"Okay. You promise to to not be like them." You pleaded.

"Of course, and if they find you right now me and Dick will defeat them. Alfred will be there with the shotgun too." He smiled bigger.

"For you!" Dick raised his hands. Sharp eyes on the window. Bruce's own eyes at the window with that Batman glare.

You heard her, but the loud gunshot stopped time. Unexpected, even for her.

This time you and Bruce couldn't find the care to stop the butler. Dick continued to hug you as Bruce stood up.

Already a message sent out for the rest of an upcoming league. The monster in the window down below with a shot to her stomach.

You felt at peace for now.

Even if you could hear all of their heartbeats.

Even the witch's heart was still beating.

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caws5749 · 10 months ago

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Nat and reader getting into a heated argument about where they are in the relationship and reader breaks up with Nat, leaving Nat to decide what she wants (getting over her trauma etc) and coming back to reader

LOVING THE CRAZINESS ALREADY

A/N: THIS IS LATE BUT IM DRINKING A BEER AT 230AM AFTER WORK SO DOES IT COUNT AS DWN?????

Promoting: Nothing currently, I took a break this week from fanfic night as I am a tired soul

++++++

She wouldn't define it. Your relationship.

For a few months, you'd understood. Your lifestyles were beyond complicated and unpredictable. And making a relationship official could be dangerous in your line of work. But then you'd seen Steve with Sharon and Tony with Pepper and you couldn't understand why you had to be different.

And so you'd asked.

"Natasha, what are we?"

"We are in bed, detka, together. We care about each other. Isn't that enough?"

You'd valued her, loved her, so much that it was.

And maybe you should have been more forthcoming with what you wanted. But in all other aspects, she was unbelievably right for you.

Natasha Romanoff understood you better than anyone else on the planet, or the universe for that matter, including yourself. She knew what you wanted before you asked, what drove you mad, what you cared most about. She was protective of you, soothed you when you were anxious, and made you all around a better person. Except for that one little part about her not calling you hers.

Eight months in, you simply were unsure what to do. All you knew was that you couldn't keep doing this.

"What's the matter, lyubov moya?" Natasha's gentle voice asked, pulling you from your thoughts as you donned an earring at the vanity.

"Nothing," you replied, forcing a smile. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything. You weren't quite sure what she was thinking, and you were beginning to not care.

The two of you finished getting ready and headed out to dinner. It was a windy, stormy night in October- what normally would have elevated your mood. The restaurant was one of your favorites, but you were hardly hungry. It didn't matter that her hand was on your back, a move of protection and comfort you normally loved. It didn't matter that several people on the sidewalk had commented that you were a lovely couple. Because you weren't, not to Nat.

Upon entering, you weren't quite sure what had happened. You weren't sure what on earth prompted her to say it, or perhaps it was the universe's way of pushing you over the edge.

"My friend and I have a reserv-"

She didn't even get to finish her sentence, you were out the door, the feeling of her hand on your back simply a phantom sensation. The timing was perfect, really, thunder boomed loudly and lightning lit up the sky. You'd barely made it ten feet before it started pouring.

"Y/N!"

You kept walking. You couldn't stop, you wouldn't stop.

"Y/N, please- I-"

You turned, seething, hair plastered to your skin, dress clinging to you like a second skin. "You what?" you breathed, chest heaving.

"I- I didn't mean to-"

"Didn't mean to? Didn't mean to what- tell them we're not a couple? Because we certainly aren't, you have made that abundantly clear. Clear for the last eight goddamn months, Natasha! I won't do it anymore!"

You stopped for a breath, pure terror and regret on the woman's face standing across from you.

"Please," she begged quietly. You'd never heard her sound quite so... small. But whatever was holding her back from you, it wasn't enough.

"We're done. Whatever the hell we even are, whatever it is we've been doing, it's done."

++++++

You hadn't really seen her, funnily enough. Perhaps the timing of it all was another gift from the universe. Natasha had disappeared after the signing of the Accords and you had ended up breaking some of your teammates out of the Raft.

When she showed up at your door in the compound one evening, red hair redder than the last time you'd seen it, you weren't surprised. But you were certainly guarded.

"I love you. I'm not standing here to get you back, I wouldn't put you in that position," she began, eyes shining with truth, confidence, and adoration. "I was terrified of a relationship, of you. I thought I was weak, to want something so... human. I was scared to love you, scared of not being right for you, of being a danger to you. I could not have been more wrong. Tearing the Red Room down, facing my past, it made me realize that there is a strength t all of those things. I never stopped loving you. I never stopped wanting everything with you. And I am sorry." With that final declaration, she turned to leave.

And goddamn it, you simply couldn't let her.

"You are right for me," you said softly, stopping her in her tracks. You'd never associate her with anything other than graceful, yet the way she halted was almost too human for her. "You always were, Natasha."

She stood, staring at you in disbelief and confusion, mixed with a bit of hope.

"You can start by taking me out to dinner," you chuckled. She let that familiar perfect smirk grace her lips, before she grew serious.

"Even if we take it slow, know that you are mine. I have no intention of ever letting anyone believe otherwise."

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x femreader #natasha romanov x reader #black widow x reader #avengers x reader #mine #natasha romanoff imagine #requests

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scariusaquarius · 1 month ago

Text

rehab. 41.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

A/n: AHHHHHH DONT HATE ME PLEASEEEEE. also, tell me if you can spot the cowboy bebop reference LMAO Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. / rehab masterlist 2. chapter 38 / chapter 39 / chapter 40

The Avengers were all gathered once more in the conference room within the Citadel, the air tense. A forlorn look was on Shuri's face, Tony and Strange both quietly seething to themselves every time they looked at Fury, who was frowning heavily. Steve, Natasha, and Peter all look stressed in varying degrees, and Clint was sitting quietly with his arms crossed. Wanda, Vision, Thor, and Bruce were sitting quietly as well, neutral expressions on their faces.

Nobody spoke a word, simply sitting in silence as they all tried to think of what to do. A moment later, however, Strange's head turned to the doors, and the doors opened up to Bucky and (Y/n). Looks of surprise came over everyone's face when they realized what (Y/n) was wearing.

Donned in her Winter Soldier uniform, her mask was clutched tightly within her hand. She looked incredibly uncomfortable to be back in her Winter Soldier garb, her eyes downcast, and Bucky was standing next to her; shoulders squared and a tense look on his face.

The suit was a haunting echo of the infamous Winter Soldier's armor, but undeniably hers. Matte black tactical fabric hugged her frame like a second skin, broken up by smooth, armored plates that shimmered subtly in the light like oil on water. Every detail was crafted with purpose: sleek, efficient, and built for swift, brutal movement.

On her left shoulder was a red star, just like Bucky's old arm had adorned during his Winter Soldier days. Black combat boots were strapped tightly to her feet, and holsters were strapped to both of her thighs and her waist.

There were subtle silver elements throughout the suit, but they were almost unnoticeable unless a closer look was taken. Knives were strapped to her hip just above her waist holster, and though the gun holsters were empty, (Y/n) still carried an air of a killer shadow.

Just as she had been before.

Shuri stood from her seat in shock, and Strange's eyes softened just the slightest from the apprehensive look on (Y/n)'s face as she stood before the Avengers in all of her glory.

"Isithunzi...!"

All eyes within the room widened, and Steve shared a look with Bucky. (Y/n) seemed to close in on herself a bit, and Strange stepped forward, asking her.

"(Y/n), are you accepting this mission?"

(Y/n)'s eyes flicked up to Strange's, and she nodded quietly before murmuring softly, everyone giving her their undivided attention.

"Yes. I want to help."

Sam sat forward immediately, holding a hand up slightly as he spoke to (Y/n).

"(Y/n), are you sure that you want to do this? This is a huge deal, and you really don't have to do this if you're not ready."

(Y/n) looked embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot as she became anxious, and she replied.

"I want to do what's right....even if it's uncomfortable or...or scary. Bucky can't do it...and HYDRA....HYDRA will take me back with no question. If...If going back will save people, then...then I want to do it. I...I believe I can."

Tony's gaze didn't shift from his tense annoyance, and he sat up a bit, asking.

"Listen, kid, I get that you got something to prove, but you don't have to be a hero to prove yourself. You get that, right?"

(Y/n) bit her scarred lip before she whispered.

"But I have to...I don't want to run anymore."

(Y/n), although anxious, was firm with her words. Tony was quiet for a moment, contemplating her words, and Shuri shook her head slightly as she regained her composure. Bucky was looking at (Y/n) warmly, a look that Natasha nor Steve missed. Steve sat up straight, stating with a firm but encouraging look.

"Alright, then we'll support you if this is what you want to do. The choice has always been yours."

(Y/n) glanced at Steve and nodded slightly, and Shuri announced.

"I will begin to make preparations that you have everything that you need. Wakanda will see to it that you will succeed no matter what it takes."

(Y/n) glanced at Bucky before glancing back at Shuri, and she simply nodded. Tony ran a hand through his hair, muttering.

"You all know this is a horrible plan, right? I seriously can't be the only one with working braincells here. But, fuck, kid, If you're really in, then let's make HYDRA regret ever being a pain in the ass."

(Y/n) nodded before she became quiet, shifting within her position again before she stated.

"I...I know that...this is coming with risks...and truthfully, I don't...I don't know if I'm ready for this."

(Y/n) pursed her lips, furrowing her brows slightly as a face of confusion came over her. After a moment, her expression relaxed, and she looked at Tony.

"But I have to take accountability and make amends for...for what I've done. I don't want HYDRA to hurt anybody else."

Natasha smiled softly, a sense of pride coming over her, and Thor laughed loudly, making (Y/n) jolt from surprise as the boisterous man clapped his hands.

"Yes! To see this woman in battle will be a great sight to see! We shall cut this beast down once and for all!"

(Y/n) was taken back by the man's enthusiasm, and Bruce sighed heavily.

"Well, it's not the worst plan we've had to date. Right, Tony?"

Tony shot an offended look at Bruce, and Bruce just shrugged before shrinking back into his seat. Shuri then brought up the hologram of the globe back up, the red dots back, and (Y/n) instantly recognized the locations.

Washington D.C, Beijing, London, Moscow, Berlin, Geneva. They were all capitals and high-risk places that nobody could touch without setting off alarms and creating war with the World powers. Her lips curled into a thin line as Shuri brought up images of each location. Sam muttered, shaking his head as he crossed his arms.

"This is suicide. There's no way this is going to work."

Shuri frowned before she began to speak.

"HYDRA has embedded themselves into the highest levels—military brass, national security councils, even the UN. They don’t run secret bases anymore. They are the base, and we must be careful about the way that this is done."

Shuri glanced at (Y/n), murmuring.

"It will most likely be a very long and drawn-out process."

(Y/n) glanced at Shuri and numbly nodded, her fingers clutching her mask tighter, and Peter bit his lip to ask.

"So, how are we supposed to get Miss (Y/n) back there? Like, are we really sure this is a great idea because this doesn't seem very smart."

(Y/n) looked at Peter and stated, her eyes darting off to the globe when Peter's gaze became too intense for her.

"They will recognize me...and they will take me back with no questions. HYDRA cannot stand to lose and will do whatever it takes to succeed."

Clint then hummed, raising his brow as he questioned.

"Alright, so say they take you back. What are you going to do when they try to wipe you again? Are we sure that Strange can keep her safe?"

Strange gave Clint a narrowed gaze.

"That's Doctor Strange, and yes, I can. In the event of HYDRA attempting to scramble (Y/n)'s mind like breakfast, my wards can create a disconnect between her mind and the programming. The mental reinforcements will be there to ensure that her memories, her identity, and her resolve will not falter. However, I cannot say the same for the body itself."

Vision squinted with curiosity at Strange, asking the man.

"What are you implying, if I might ask?"

Strange glanced at Vision before sighing, rubbing his temple slightly as he explained.

"I can't keep (Y/n)'s body from dealing with the aftermath of a mindwipe. While I can protect her mind and make sure their programming doesn't touch it, I can't say the same for her physical body. Think of it like being possessed."

Steve frowned before asking.

"You mean like those demons on Supernatural?"

Strange looked perturbed, asking.

"W-What the hell is Supernatural? Actually, I don't want to know. Yes, in a way, it would be like a...demon...possessing her body. In the most-likely case, the programming will be more physical than it will be mental."

(Y/n) nodded before she pointed to Geneva, Switzerland.

"The best place to start would be there. HYDRA has established themselves in the World Security Council. If I arrive there, they will surely take the bait."

Fury then spoke, all eyes on him as he informed the Avengers.

"There’s a diplomatic summit in two days. Military leaders, U.N. officials, and private contractors—very hush-hush. The perfect place to blend in, or to disappear in."

Thor hummed, rubbing his chin as he squinted in thought.

"So, you are implying that we drop her off into the lion's den? That's very bold. I like it."

"They will be watching and will know that I am there immediately."

Bucky bit his lip before he became stressed, running a hand through his long hair before placing his hands on his hips.

"Okay, so what are the options that we have to ensure (Y/n)'s safety?"

Shuri then brought up another hologram of (Y/n)'s Winter Soldier armor, (Y/n)'s head tilting with curiosity as Shuri spoke.

"Kinetic sensors. If I can integrate them into her suit, we will be able to tell when her body reacts to trauma. For example, neurological shock, pain, even sedation-the suit will record it and send us a pulse."

Strange then nodded, adding with an inquisitive nod of his head.

"It would be wise for (Y/n) to wear an enchantment as well. I can activate it remotely if her vitals change, and it will be able to mask her neural signature, protect her against psychic intrusion....but it has to be minimal. If HYDRA detects too much magic, they'll get suspicious."

Peter's voice became small and concerned, wringing his hands in anxiety as (Y/n) glanced at him.

"But...even if something goes wrong, we won't be able to pull her out, can we? HYDRA will get the jump, and then it's going to be World War 3."

Both Steve and Bucky shared a look together, and Wanda shook her head with a frown.

"I'm not sure if I like this plan. There are too many cons to this. If we try to intervene at any point, then HYDRA will expose us....the political fallout will be astronomical."

(Y/n) swallowed thickly before saying softly.

"This will not fail. I will do what it takes to succeed."

Bucky pursed his lips before placing his hand on her arm, making (Y/n) look at him as he spoke softly.

"That's great an all, but don't sacrifice yourself for this. If you need out, then we'll find a way. I'm sure Doctor Strange could work something out...right? You're a...sorcerer, right?"

Strange gave Bucky a deadpan look.

"Sorcerer Supreme, but yes."

Tony snapped his fingers like he just got the brightest idea, stating.

"Then, if something goes wrong, you could just Vulcan Mind-Meld HYDRA. Problem-solved. Why don't we just do that instead?"

Strange shook his head. "if it were that simple, Stark, I would have already done it. However, HYDRA has plenty of magic shields in certain sectors that would be difficult to dismantle. We're talking about enchantments and magic placed by ancient HYDRA occultists that are older than any tech in the modern world."

Tony huffed, raising his brow skeptically.

"So, magical VPN's. Got it. Do we have an escape plan if shit hits the fan?"

(Y/n) shook her head, muttering.

"No. If something goes wrong...we must keep going despite it."

Fury hummed, Bucky subtly glaring at him as the man spoke.

"Alright, then it's settled. We'll ship (Y/n) out to Geneva, have her ghost around the city to make her presence known, and then plant her at the meeting. We should start the preparations immediately."

Although the air of the room was somber, (Y/n) was the only one who nodded. Slowly, the woman clasped her mask onto her face, and Bucky began to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Strange stepped forward, his eyes gentle as he asked her.

"Are you sure that you want to do this? Once I do this, there's no going back until the mission is done."

(Y/n) shared a long and silent look with Strange, and she muttered to him as her face became neutral.

"Готов соблюдать." (Ready to comply.)

Strange glanced at Bucky for a moment, a look of dread and understanding coming over the two of them, and Strange's hands lit up in orange as rings appeared around (Y/n)'s head.

The feeling of his magic implanting itself into her mind was like the feeling of a blanket covering her. It wasn't harsh nor intrusive like HYDRA's methods, and instead of filling her with fear and anxiety; a feeling of comfort came over her. Her eyes fluttered slightly, and Strange lowered his hands.

"Alright. It's done."

(Y/n) nodded, and Shuri stepped forward, her eyes soft and an expression of worry coming over her.

"You are being very brave for this, Isithunzi, and I am sorry we didn't tell you first."

(Y/n) didn't say anything, her eyes staying neutral, and Shuri pursed her lips before she began to integrate the kinetic sensors into (Y/n)'s suit. Then, Shuri gently adjusted the mask on (Y/n)'s face, stating.

"Return to us. Whole."

(Y/n) simply blinked, her eyes becoming tired, and she nodded once before the Avengers began to move. In no time, everything was set for (Y/n)'s arrival to Geneva, and Bucky pulled (Y/n) off to the side before she was to leave.

"(Y/n), can I talk to you for a moment?"

(Y/n) was quiet, nodding her head slightly, and Bucky couldn't help but to hate the dead look that was within her eyes and the mask that was obscuring her face from the nose and down.

"If you need anything...anything at all, please tell us. We're all going to be here with you the best that we can."

(Y/n) was surprised for a moment before she nodded, murmuring quietly.

"I know."

Bucky hated the finality of her words, and he stepped forward. (Y/n)'s body tensed from the proximity, and she was frozen in place when Bucky's arms came up around her to hug her tightly. Bucky's head was resting on top of her shoulder, and he whispered.

"Береги себя, куколка." (take care, doll)

The warmth of his body chased away the inching cold that came with the mask on her face, and (Y/n)'s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she allowed herself to feel comfortable within his arms. However, after a moment, the touch became too much; her senses starting to overload, and she slowly backed away and nodded.

"I will succeed."

Remember the sunlight.

As (Y/n) stepped into the aircraft that was waiting to drop her off in Geneva, Bucky couldn't help but to stand and watch with a saddened expression on his face. He watched her as she got settled into her seat, and Bucky felt his chest tighten as the doors closed and she looked at him one last time.

From beside him, Steve made his presence known, and Bucky swallowed thickly as he kept his hands in his pockets. Steve glanced at Bucky for a moment before he stated.

"She's gonna be okay. If not, we'll get her back."

Bucky shook his head, muttering with annoyance.

"That's not what I'm worried about mainly. Steve, you don't have any idea how fucking horrible HYDRA is. Even if Strange blocks her mind from their torture, her body is going to know. Hell, what do you expect her to do if she wakes up with bloody fucking legs again?"

The implications of his words had Steve feeling guilty and horrible, and he shook his head.

"I know-"

Bucky cut him off, his tone becoming defensive as he turned to face Steve with a frown.

"-No, Steve, you don't. I wish you all would stop trying to say that shit because you guys will never truly understand how fucking horrible it is to be used like that. To be touched and assaulted and all you can do is comply."

Steve's expression softened, unsure of what to say, and Bucky shook his head as he began to become angry.

"You won't ever understand what it's like to wake up in a cold cell, in pain and confused and scared because of what they've done. HYDRA owns every part of you, and they will make sure that you understand that before anything else."

Sighing heavily, Bucky finally muttered as he looked down at the ground with indignation.

"She's gonna carry that weight. She's gonna carry that weight for the rest of her life, and there's nothing that we can do about it."

Steve sighed heavily, and he murmured as the jet took off and Bucky stared off after it.

"You're right, Bucky, none of us will ever understand completely...but we can try to help bear that weight if you, and (Y/n), allow us to."

Bucky just shook his head before he ran a hand down his face.

"Raynor's gonna be so fucking pissed."

Steve winced before rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, if it helps...I can talk to her for you."

"You go right ahead. I don't want to be anywhere near that fucking demon when she goes nuclear about this."

Steve couldn't help but to chuckle, and Sam's voice made Bucky groan.

"Oh, yeah, that woman's gonna eat your ass alive."

Sam was wearing a smirk, but even Bucky could see the resignation in his eyes as the jet became a dot in the distance. Bucky shook his head, throwing a hand in the air.

"Don't you start with me either."

Bucky shook his head as Sam and Steve chuckled to themselves, and Steve joked quietly, bumping his hand against Bucky's arm and making the man glare at him.

"Wouldn't be the first time a woman had your work cut out for you."

"You're a real punk, you know that? Can we just start with our part of the mission? I'd like to get this done as fast as we possibly can."

Bucky walked away, shoving his hands into his pockets, and Sam came to stand beside Steve to watch the man walk away. Sam muttered after a moment.

"You know, Cap, I gotta agree with him on this. Sending (Y/n) out like this...she only just started to really stabilize. Are we sure that we want to go with Fury on this one?"

Steve hummed, crossing his arms.

"When Fury introduced me to Project Insight, I remember telling him that 'This isn't freedom. This is fear'."

Sam nodded before asking.

"What did he say back?"

Steve hummed, recalling with a frown.

"He said 'SHIELD takes the world as it is, not what we'd like it to be.'"

Sam whistled lowly, muttering.

"Seems a bit cold-hearted, but I hear what he's saying."

Steve was quiet before he looked at Sam, saying softly.

"Sometimes I wonder if we really left SHIELD behind...or if we just rebranded it to make it look prettier."

Sam looked at Steve for a long moment, his gaze holding a weight that Steve understood all too well, and Sam stated with conviction.

"Let's just make sure that we bring everyone home this time."

Steve nodded, and it felt as though the mission had officially begun.

-GENEVA-

In order to keep her identity on a down-low but obvious enough for HYDRA to know that it was her, Okoye had given her a large coat to wear over her uniform. The coat was a simple full-grain leather trench coat that was dyed a dark brown. Okoye had been quiet the whole ride, but when the jet landed close to the city, the woman turned to (Y/n) with a frown.

"We have arrived."

It seemed that there was something more that the woman wanted to say, so (Y/n) stayed quiet as she stared at the woman with anticipation as Okoye seemed to ponder her words. When she settled on her words, Okoye muttered to the woman.

"Do not give them more than you are willing to lose. You are no longer theirs...do not forget that."

(Y/n) was quiet for a moment, contemplating her words before she nodded, and Okoye frowned heavily before she sighed and open the doors. (Y/n) immediately stepped out, and the game was on.

Geneva held an air of cleanliness that most cities didn't have. Despite the heavy scents that carried through the air, street food, exhaust, lingering perfumes, and mysterious odors, it was a a cesspool that screamed business. On the way to the United Nations Conference Center, (Y/n) couldn't help but to feel out-of-place.

The city was crowded with people, tourists and locals alike, and (Y/n) couldn't help but to become guarded. Any of these people could be HYDRA, and she had to be careful and inconspicuous.

But it was hard to slip into the Winter Soldier mindset when she no longer felt comfortable being it.

A tickle in her mind made her shiver, and (Y/n) could hear the whisper of Doctor Strange's voice echo through her head.

'There is a version of yourself that knows this hunt better than you do. Don't fear her, but use her. All she needs is permission. Command her.'

(Y/n) was surprised to hear his voice, and she felt embarrassed trying to figure out how to respond. Instead of forcing her to reply, Doctor Strange simply stated.

'Close your eyes and envision that version of you coming to the light...like a moth to a flame. You are the light, and she is the moth. And (Y/n), if you think that you are losing yourself to her...Remember the sunlight.'

(Y/n) obeyed, closing her eyes, and she seemed to be transported into a strange mindscape as Strange's voice lulled her into a meditative state.

She was standing in front of a mirror that was hung against a cell wall. The environment was familiar; haunting and overwhelming. (Y/n) glanced around the room before catching a strange white coat covering her arms, and she looked down at her clothes to realize that she was wearing the same clothes that she was wearing in the picture she was given when she first arrived to Wakanda.

The same clothes that she wore when she was at the CIA. (Y/n) was perturbed, and when she looked up at the mirror, (Y/n) was startled and took a step back.

In the mirror was her, but as the Winter Soldier. Her eyes were dead, the mask digging into her scarred face, and she was standing with a slight hunch. Her breathing was almost nonexistent, a simple statue that followed her every move with those dead eyes, and (Y/n) was disturbed enough to take a step back.

However, the reflection took a step forward in response, and (Y/n) jolted at the sound of Strange's voice whispering into her mind.

'You are the gatekeeper. You are the one in control. She must listen to you.'

(Y/n) was anxious, and when she took a step towards the mirror again, the Winter Soldier did not move. Her eyes followed (Y/n), and (Y/n) slowly raised her hands towards the mirror. The Winter Soldier banged her hand against the glass, cracks appearing on the mirror from the force of the impact as desperation clinged to her dead eyes, and (Y/n) hesitated.

'You are not becoming her. You are inviting her to help. Wear her like a cloak, not a cage.'

(Y/n) bit her lip before she placed her hand on the glass, and she could feel the immeasurable cold of the soldier's hand make contact with hers. Their fingers interlocked, and the Winter Soldier began to phase through the mirror; grotesque in the way her body contorted and rippled as she came out of the mirror. (Y/n) became afraid, but in her mind, her own voice repeated.

'Remember the sunlight.'

The soldier began to mold herself against (Y/n), horrifically sensual in a way that screamed a need to please, and (Y/n) could see the neutral expression of the soldier much clearer; the mask digging in deep enough for blood to begin pearling over the mask as cracks appeared in her skin.

The presence was heavy; a cloak that was bearing too much weight for her to handle, and (Y/n) grit her teeth as the Soldier began to hold onto her too tightly; their skin almost bubbling together as it fused, and her breathing began to quicken as incoherent Russian echoed around her. Another crack on the mirror appeared, and (Y/n) whimpered at the sensation of the soldier finally molding into her.

Taking in huge gulps of air, (Y/n) doubled over, throwing up onto the ground before she glanced up, and she was taken over by surprise by the image in front of her.

She was wearing her Winter Soldier uniform, the mask on her face tightening with conviction, but she was still wearing her white lab coat like a light of defiance and stubbornness; a clear message that (Y/n) understood.

Her eyes were still expressive, wide with the surprise and fear, and there was a strange sensation of being hugged too tight. Her breathing was quick, but (Y/n) swallowed thickly before standing up straight. In the breast pocket, the corner of a picture poked out, and (Y/n) knew exactly what the image was.

Remember the sunlight.

When the woman opened her eyes, the soldier welcomed the state of calm. There was no more fear, no more anxiety: just a simple need to complete the mission. Strange's voice echoed into her mind one last time.

'This is reclamation. You hold the cards...make sure you know what you want to play, (Y/n).'

(Y/n) began to walk with purpose, her eyes darting around the environment and scanning for any potential threats. Her gait was sharp and light; steps almost completely inaudible, and (Y/n) could see the building of the Conference Center in front of her. Walking near the fountain, her steps paused as she looked up at the flagpoles.

There were cameras pointing at the flags, and (Y/n) looked into them for a moment. She stood long enough for any potential facial recognition program to clock her, and (Y/n) began to walk away. After a few moments of walking, she began to come up upon a street-crossing, and the hair on the back of her neck immediately stood up.

She was being watched.

Glancing around inconspicuously, (Y/n) spotted the shadow of a man standing on the adjacent street. He was wearing civilian clothes, a simple business suit and a briefcase in his hand. When the crossing became available to walk across, the both of them began to move, and (Y/n) recognized the gait of a military man within his steps.

HYDRA.

Baited.

The soldier kept her gaze in front, her hands deep in her pockets and clutching a knife, and (Y/n) ducked in between civilians as she moved towards a quieter part of the city. The man followed for a moment before pulling back suddenly, and (Y/n) made it a point to turn down a tight street.

Just a little bit down the street was a hotel, and (Y/n) walked inside and to the front desk. The host looked disturbed at the way she was dressed, and he nervously asked.

"H-Hallo, wie kann ich Ihnen helfen?" (hello, how can I help you?)

The German flowed from her tongue effortlessly, the soldier's eyes stern as she stared the man down intensely.

"Ich hätte gerne ein Zimmer für zwei Nächte." (I would like a room for two nights)

The clerk nervously typed into the computer, a bead of sweat beginning to fall down his temple, and the soldier narrowed her eyes at him with suspicion.

"Darf ich Ihren Namen erfahren?" (may i have your name?)

(Y/n) hummed, panicking for a moment before she stated.

"Doris Achilles."

The host swallowed thickly and typed for another moment before he asked her.

"Bist du für die Konferenz hier?" (are you here for the conference?)

The soldier's eyes narrowed, her fingers twitching slightly and foot pivoting as if she was getting ready for a fight, and she replied cryptically.

"So etwas in der Art." (something like that.)

The clerk seemed to sense the finality of her statement, handed her the keys, and was urgent to send her on her way. Walking down the hallways and stairs, she arrived to her room, and she entered silently. The room was perfect in a way that made her hackles rise; small and simple. The covers on the bed were beige and ironed; pillows fluffed and plentiful.

It smelled faintly antiseptic; as if it had been freshly cleaned, and the scent made the woman wrinkle her nose. There was a mirror in the corner of the room, and when she caught her reflection, she paused.

Within her eyes, she could see the anxiety swirling within her eyes, searching for a danger that (Y/n) knew was looming, but her face stayed neutral; indifferent and unrevealing. Turning away from the mirror quickly, (Y/n) glanced at the bland entertainment center that was across from the bed. Immediately, she noticed that the TV was unplugged and slightly skewed, and her eyes narrowed.

Looking down at the entertainment center, the dust was smeared from where the TV had sat and was moved, and she realized that the repositioning of the TV was recent.

Too recent.

The soldier's eyes darted around the room immediately, assessing the area, and she noticed a smudge of dirt behind the hotel's standard artwork. Taking a closer look, her fingers brushed beneath the painting to find a wire, and when she followed it, she found a small mic hidden behind the painting.

A listening device...which meant that HYDRA had been here. No wonder the clerk had seemed so nervous; they probably had threatened him to keep his mouth shut and to notify them of anybody that checked in for the conference.

Frowning deeply, the soldier crushed the mic before searching around the room, crushing whatever mics and spy cameras she found. After a while, she ducked beneath the bed to find a little box with an antenna on it.

The soldier rolled her eyes. It was a device that was used to intercept any inbound or outbound communication, and she yanked the box out from beneath the bed. Wires loosened with subtle pop, and she huffed slightly before she activated her communication link.

"Отчет миссии." (mission report.)

Natasha's voice came over the line, her Russian flowing easily like water.

"Каков ваш отчет?" (what is your report?)

The soldier hummed, glancing down at the broken tech within the room.

Здесь была ГИДРА. Пассивная установка наблюдения — микрофон за картиной, перехватчик сигнала под кроватью. Небрежная установка, слишком новая. Они кого-то ждут." (HYDRA was here. Passive surveillance setup - microphone behind the painting, signal interceptor under the bed. Sloppy setup, too new. They're waiting for someone.)

Natasha was quiet for a moment before she asked, switching to English.

"Do they know that it's you?"

The soldier replied, her voice neutral as she stared down at the signal interceptor.

"Пока нет. Они, должно быть, ждут кого-то другого... или нацелились на одного из докладчиков конференции." (Not yet. They must be waiting for someone else… or have their sights set on one of the conference speakers.)

The soldier glanced at the mirror, noticing the way her eyes were becoming deader by the minute, and (Y/n) whispered to herself within her mind.

'Remember the sunlight.'

Taking a deep breath, comfort came over her, and (Y/n)'s voice switched from neutral to small; English rolling off of her tongue easily.

"I can try to find out who they're looking for...but I don't think I can without causing an uproar...I think I should...go back into the city."

Natasha's voice was gentle, stating.

"Just be careful, Солдатик." (little soldier.)

(Y/n) nodded to herself, and the line went silent. Glancing around the room again, the woman grabbed a notepad from the end table and began to write. Letting the pen fall back to the table with a small crash, (Y/n) stood and made her way out the room.

Winter Soldier #08, Subject #2018.

The soldier closed the door silently, and she walked out of the hotel, the clerk staring at her the whole way. The sun was beginning to lower, and the soldier began to make her way towards the Conference Center once more. Walking around the building and ghosting around the area, (Y/n) could feel eyes on her.

The soldier's body tensed, and her head subtly looked to the right, eyes scanning the area. There were two men sitting at a table at a little cafe that was tucked away at the corner, and their eyes were watching her every move. Turning back to the front, her steps became deliberate; eyeing a fake destination.

When she turned the corner and got to the back of the building, there was another group of men who were hanging around the back; smoking cigarettes and whispering to themselves. Even with her heightened hearing, the soldier couldn't make out what was being said, but as she passed by, she noticed they stopped talking.

Good. She had HYDRA's attention now.

The soldier stopped for a moment, the wind brushing against her face and feeling cold. However, it wasn't from the wind but rather from the familiarity of the situation and the tension that came from potential threats.

Taking a deep breath, the soldier began to walk again, and she could feel her adrenaline beginning to pump through her veins. In the shadowed part of her mind, fear was bubbling beneath.

The thought of being captured was beginning to overshadow (Y/n)'s resolve; a pit beginning to open within her stomach, and she could feel the panic starting to claw at the back of her throat. Her steps were faltering, and suddenly, Strange's voice came to her.

'Breathe, (Y/n).'

Immediately, her body reacted to the command, her lungs filling with the crisp air. Over and over, she breathed, the clawing at her throat lessening to an itch, and (Y/n) closed her eyes for a moment. Her mind settled into an easy calm, and her steps regained their previous sharp gait.

Walking down a tight street connected to some alleyways, and that's when the soldier felt the sensation of being followed. They were starting to box her in, and a voice behind her made the woman pause.

"Ma'am?"

There was a soft accent to his voice and a tone that gave a false sense of security, and the woman turned to look at the man with a blank expression.

He was not alone. Two men were behind him, looming and stone-faced while too relaxed to be tourists. They stood with candor; almost as if they were ready for a fight, and her eyes squinted slightly.

The man who had spoken to her was tall; broad shoulders and slicked-back brown hair and black eyelashes that framed anticipatory green eyes. He was wearing a tailored suit, flashing a badge at her quickly before hiding it away into his pocket.

"We've been getting some reports of suspicious activity of a woman with a mask walking around L'Office des Nations Unies à Genève. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

(Y/n) knew instantly that this man was HYDRA. The way he was sweating, his anxious posture, and the way his eyes were darting around slightly gave him away so clearly that the soldier figured he must have been a rookie.

Or a blackmailed hostage.

It was irrelevant what he was. If this was her ticket into HYDRA, then the soldier would comply.

"Готов соблюдать." (ready to comply)

The men in the back shared a look with each other, and they shoved past the tall man, the man making a surprised noise from the suddenness of their moves, and one of the men ordered her.

"Пойдем с нами, Солдат." (come with us, soldier.)

Her body moved almost immediately, straightening her posture and staring in front of her. The three men led her to a black vehicle, practically shoving her into the backseat before they drove off; tires screeching. During the car ride to their location, the two men in the front were communicating to a man on the phone that she did not recognize.

"Sir, we've found the asset."

Her ears strained to hear the person on the phone reply, but the music that was coming through the radio was just loud enough that she couldn't make out anything that was coming through.

"She seems to be programmed still...yes, I understand. We will be arriving shortly."

The man cut the phone call, and his eyes darted to hers through the rearview mirror. However, her eyes were staring straight ahead; dead and stone-faced as the man beside her began to hyperventilate.

"Please, I did what you asked of me. Let me go!"

The man in the passenger seat laughed, shaking his head and holding a finger in the air.

"Ah, ah, we still have use for you. Sit quiet, or we will have Солдат make you." (soldier)

The man in the suit glanced at her with fear, and (Y/n)'s stomach constricted.

'I don't want to hurt anybody else.'

Always do the right thing even if it hurts.

Beneath her mask, her jaw clenched, but it was unnoticed as the men in the front focused on getting to their destination. When they arrived, the men were quick to escort the man and (Y/n) into a large mansion that seemed to be on the outskirts of Geneva.

The home was incredibly clean. The white marble floors sparkled with a freshly-waxed sheen that hurt the soldier's eyes; a strange scent of fresh linen that permeated the air grotesquely. Greek statues lined the foyer, a large staircase immediately in front, and there were hallways on either side of the staircase.

It was almost the kind of decor that a person would see from a movie, and it oozed arrogance and wealth. At the top of the stairs was a man, and (Y/n) flicked her eyes to him for a moment to observe him.

He was astoundingly tall, almost imposing even from his position at the top of the stairs, and his posture was domineering but collected. Brown hair was cropped short and combed neatly, shining with gel to keep it in place, and hazel eyes popped brightly due to his tan complexion.

He was lean; his build slightly hidden behind his dark olive-colored suit, a wedding band adorning his finger on his clasped hands, and there was a subtle but simple golden chain bracelet on his wrist.

The man seemed to be in his mid 40's, age lines just starting to appear, and even from the distance between the soldier and the man, she could see a sheen of chapstick on his lips. The man smiled widely, spanning his arms out as he spoke.

"Well, well. Our lost investment has found her way back home. Did you enjoy your vacation?"

Her eyes continued to stare in front of her; unyielding and mouth staying completely shut.

The soldier would not speak unless given permission.

The man's eyes darkened slightly, his smile easing into a smirk, and he began to walk down the steps.

"We've been waiting a long time for you. I must say, the little debacle the Avengers caused with that court trial was...problematic, to say in the least. You caused quite an uproar, you know."

The man was standing before her now, his frame towering over her.

"Losing Rollins and Holloway was a very big problem. They were integral parts of HYDRA, and you went and mucked it up like the insolent dog you are."

The soldier continued to say nothing, but (Y/n) was starting to become uncomfortable. The man just sighed and he muttered, pacing in front of her as his ears began to turn red.

"I am the Federal Councillor Lukas Meier. It is my duty to ensure the security of my country...but I can't do that if I have a walking Ungrueb that is dressed in honor it didn't earn." (something unpleasant/disgusting)

Suddenly, Lukas became upset and backhanded (Y/n) so hard that his ring cut into her cheek that her mask didn't cover, the woman slamming into the ground and biting her tongue hard enough that she began to taste blood.

"You screw up again, and I'll have you mopping blood off of the floor with your tongue-yours, just in case your scrambled mind can't understand even that."

The soldier slowly stood up, standing back at attention and waiting for his next action. Lukas was rubbing his hand, a look of disgust on his face as if he was appalled to have touched her, and Lukas' eyes strayed to the coerced civilian who was shaking within his shoes.

"I know, why don't you prove that you're still loyal...that you are willing to do what is right in the name of HYDRA."

Dread filled (Y/n) as Lukas produced a gun, his words ringing through her and a barrage of emotions starting to come over her. Her jaw clenched beneath the mask, and (Y/n) thought to herself over and over.

Remember the sunlight. Remember the sunlight. Remember the sunlight.

Her heartbeat was quickening, and Lukas pointed it right at her head; pressing the barrel to her skin as he stated.

"His life for honor...or yours for incompetence. Choose wisely."

Lukas maneuvered the gun to sit within his palm, and without hesitation, the soldier grabbed the gun and pointed it at the civilian. The man began to beg and cry, backing away, pleading, and just as she went to pull the trigger, everything suddenly went dark.

(Y/n) felt the sensation of being yanked backwards, and she was suddenly sitting on Aunt Mavis' front porch. The familiar warm breeze was back, ghosting along her skin, but (Y/n) was perturbed to find that instead of the landscape of Shelbyville, it was just space: splashes of colors that decorated galaxies and stars that were burning brightly enough and looking so close that (Y/n) was certain that she could touch them.

The sound of the door opening caught her attention, and (Y/n) shot her gaze towards it to find Doctor Strange coming out with a cup of coffee in his hand. His facial expression was almost haughty, taking a large sip as he stood next to her and looked around the front garden.

"So, this is where you'd rather be. Quite cozy...save for the horrendous lavender candle."

(Y/n) was disturbed, asking with confusion and a hint of anxiety as she cautiously stood up, gripping onto the porch railing as if she was afraid she would fall directly into space.

"What is this? Where am I?"

Strange took a sip of his coffee, making a face and staring down into the cup as he spoke.

"This is your main mental reinforcement. It is a mindscape; somewhere that you find comfort and consolation in enough that when something traumatic like blowing someone's brains out happens, you don't have to deal with it."

His words shocked her enough that (Y/n) shook her head a bit, and she murmured.

"I...I don't understand."

She watched as Strange plucked one of the stars from the ether and crumbled it between his fingers and straight into his coffee. (Y/n) was slack-jawed, and Strange gave her a look.

"I like sugar in my coffee. Besides, this isn't a significant memory anyway."

He took a sip, and Strange began to explain.

"This place is a filter, a delay mechanism. Your consciousness gets rerouted here so your psyche doesn’t fragment when something… unacceptable happens.”

"Is that what you meant by 'mental reinforcements'?"

Strange shrugged, staring out into the stars as he continued to drink his coffee.

"Partially, yes."

(Y/n) shook her head before she asked, a desperation clinging to her voice that made Strange look at her with a curious gaze.

"But then...what's happening outside? What am I doing?"

Strange was quiet before he stated bluntly.

"Cleaning up your mess."

(Y/n) didn't know how to react nor to respond. Her gaze shifted out into the stars and the galaxies, and she swallowed thickly. (Y/n) was unsure of what to make of any of it, holding her arms closely, and she whispered.

"I don't...understand why I'm here...at this house. I don't really remember it."

Strange hummed, stating.

"You can thank Bucky for that. He’s part of it. Like scaffolding. Bucky is the reason the whole thing holds.”

(Y/n) was surprised before she asked, her eyes wide and surprised.

"Is...Is Bucky here too?"

"He can be if he stops calling me Gandalf."

(Y/n) wasn't sure what the significance of the name was, and she suddenly began to feel tired. Placing a hand to her head, a headache began to form, and she voiced her discomfort.

"It's starting to hurt."

Strange was quiet for a pregnant pause, simply watching the woman as she winced in pain before he explained.

"That's because you're waking up."

And suddenly, the mindscape disappeared, and in front of her fluttering eyes was the cold, grey wall of a jailcell.

Sitting up from the ground slowly, (Y/n) rubbed her temple before becoming disturbed by the dried blood on her hands, and she quickly wiped her hands off on her uniform pants before glancing around. She wasn't sure how she got here; the cold seeping through her uniform and permeating through her bones, and (Y/n) couldn't help but to bring her knees to her chest and clutch onto them tightly.

While she couldn't remember exactly what had happened, (Y/n) knew that she had done something horrible, and the tears began to fill her eyes. Sniffling softly, she placed her forehead against her arms, trying to keep quiet.

A good soldier feels nothing but the need to complete the mission.

The tears almost instantly paused, her face becoming neutral as the winter soldier mindset took over, and the woman swallowed thickly; swallowing the sob that had been slowly rising up her throat like bile.

(Y/n) sniffled once more, her eyes staring at the floor as she whispered to herself.

"Remember the sunlight. Remember the sunlight. Remember the sunlight."

Remember the sunlight.

STORY NOTES: once again, this is 7.5k words, so no summary. Any chapter that's over 5k words probably won't have a summary ;-; i'm sorry, it's just a pain in the ass. I truly hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I know a lot of you were a bit resigned about this idea of having (y/n) return to HYDRA, but I hope that you guys continue to enjoy this arc and continue to stay with me<3 thank you so much for reading this chapter if you made it this far lolol

TAGGING: @mggslefttit @softpia @thebl00dwyrm @buckvoidsyy @chonkybonky @seemsxsketchy @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99 @bumblebeebutter @torntaltos @highhopes1008

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america #captain america x reader

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auroralwriting · 1 month ago

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illicit affairs chapter five

pairing: biker!bucky barnes x stark!reader

summary: retail therapy with the girls is always the way to solve family drama, especially after you might've just cut ties with tony once and for all

warnings: violence, language, small age gap (6~ years), angst, arguing, drinking, overall crime and gang stuff, sort of enemies to lovers

: ̗̀➛ series masterlist | masterlist

Dread. That was the one thing you felt deep in your soul the next morning. Of course Tony had found out what you had done. Why wouldn't he? It was a stupid decision on your part. Even if you paid The Guardians to be quiet, Tony would've doubled it to find out who paid them off.

Against your better judgement and Clint's warning, you found yourself walking into Tony's penthouse, fist clenched and jaw set. You knew what you were walking into. Tony had a nasty temper--just look at your healing hand.

Tony's voice bounced off the walls. He sounded angry, rightfully so. The moment you stepped into the room, Clint sent you a weary look. Vision looked almost nauseous, Bruce's eyes grew wide, and Rhodey and Tony looked as if they could have killed you right then and there. It was actually surprising you didn't already have a bullet hole straight through your skull.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!"

Clint shook his head. You could practically hear his thoughts: you shouldn't have come. Clint was usually right. No doubts he was about to be right again.

"Tony--" you tried, your voice calm, a hand out trying to coax him to be easy. Almost like you were walking up to an aggressive dog.

Tony’s glare cut through you like a blade, his dark eyes narrowing as he took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides. He was still in his suit from the night before, his tie pulled loose and his shirt rumpled, as if he hadn’t slept. His hair stuck up in a way that might have been comical if his face wasn’t twisted in such raw, seething anger.

“Don’t ‘Tony’ me,” he snarled, his voice crackling with fury. “You went behind my back. My back. Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could feel the weight of the others’ eyes on you – Clint’s silent, pleading stare, Bruce’s worried frown, Rhodey’s tight-lipped grimace. Vision looked like he was trying to calculate the best way to break up a potential fistfight without anyone getting seriously hurt.

“I did what I thought was best,” you replied, forcing your voice to stay steady even as your hands trembled. “I paid them off to avoid a bloodbath, to keep you from walking into a trap. I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Tony barked out a bitter, humorless laugh, his chest heaving. “You think you know better than me? You think you’re some kind of mastermind now, pulling strings behind my back like I’m some idiot who can’t handle his own business?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Tony cut you off, his voice rising with each word. “You just put a target on your back, do you understand that? You’ve shown your hand. You’ve proven to every goddamn person out there that they can manipulate you – that you’re the weak link. You’ve made us look like fools.”

He took another step toward you, his face mere inches from yours now, his breath coming out in short, angry bursts. You could see the wild, furious gleam in his eyes, the barely contained rage that had always lurked beneath his polished exterior.

“You don’t get to make these kinds of calls,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to play hero. That’s my job. That’s my fight.”

For a split second, you saw it – the fear behind his anger, the raw, unfiltered terror that had always driven Tony Stark. The fear of losing, of being outmaneuvered, of watching the people he cared about get hurt because he wasn’t good enough, smart enough, fast enough to save them.

“You're not a hero,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “None of us are heros.”

Tony’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to find a crack, a sign of weakness, a reason to keep tearing into you. But then he just let out a shaky breath, turning on his heel and raking a hand through his hair, his shoulders trembling with the effort of holding himself together.

“Get out,” he said, his voice rough, broken. “Just… get out. I can’t look at you right now.”

You felt a sharp, painful twist in your chest, the cold, cutting edge of rejection slicing through you. You glanced at Clint, who gave you a tiny, sympathetic nod, his eyes soft with unspoken understanding.

Without another word, you turned on your heel, your footsteps echoing off the cold marble floors as you made your way back to the elevator. You didn’t look back, even as the doors slid shut, cutting you off from the chaos and anger and hurt you’d left behind.

The ride down felt like an eternity, each second stretching into a painful, suffocating silence. As the elevator doors opened onto the lobby, you took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing yourself to stand a little straighter, to hold your head a little higher, even as the tears burned at the corners of your eyes.

You’d made your choice, and now you’d have to live with the consequences. But a part of you, the part that still remembered the sound of Tony’s laughter, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders, wondered if you’d just lost your brother for good.

Retail therapy – that’s what Clint had called it the last time you got into it with Tony, when you spent an absurd amount on a leather jacket you never ended up wearing. This time, you were determined to actually pick out something useful, something that felt like you, rather than a desperate attempt to fill the growing gap between you and your brother.

The mall was busy, even for a weekday. The steady hum of conversation, the clinking of dishes from the food court, and the distant, repetitive thrum of pop music over the speakers did little to distract you from the gnawing ache in your chest. You’d barely managed to make it out of the Tower without breaking down, and now, surrounded by strangers and the bright, bustling chaos of consumerism, you felt like you could finally breathe again.

You wandered into a high-end boutique, your fingers brushing over the racks of carefully arranged designer clothes, the soft, cool fabric a small, tactile comfort. You were lost in thought, your mind replaying Tony’s harsh words on a loop, when a familiar, sharp voice cut through your haze.

“Stark? That you?”

You whipped your head around to find Natasha and Wanda, both dressed casually but still somehow managing to look effortlessly badass. Natasha had her hair up in a messy bun, her sharp green eyes narrowing slightly as she took you in, while Wanda’s soft, curious smile was framed by loose waves of dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders.

“Oh,” you stammered, trying to force a smile. “Hey, guys.”

Wanda’s eyes flicked over you, her brow furrowing just slightly as she caught the tight, tense set of your shoulders, the way your hands were clenching and unclenching at your sides. “You okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with genuine concern.

Natasha’s gaze was a little harder to read, but you caught the way her head tilted slightly, her eyes sharp, like she was already piecing together the situation. She crossed her arms over her chest, one perfectly shaped brow arching. “You look like you’ve just gone ten rounds with Tony,” she remarked dryly, a hint of dark humor in her tone.

You let out a small, bitter laugh, running a shaky hand through your hair. “Close enough.”

Wanda stepped closer, her eyes still searching your face for cracks in the armor you were trying so hard to hold together. “What happened?”

For a split second, you considered brushing it off, making some lame excuse and slipping out the door before they could push you further. But then you remembered that these two women had probably seen more broken bones, bruised egos, and shattered friendships than anyone else you knew. If anyone could handle your mess, it was them.

"Tony found out," you sighed, rubbing a hand over your forehead. "About The Guardians. How I paid them off."

Wanda reached out, her fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, her eyes filled with a quiet, empathetic understanding. “Come on,” she said softly, tugging you toward the back of the store. “We’re getting you something nice. Consider it a distraction.”

Natasha smirked, already scanning the racks for something in your size. “Yeah, something sharp, something that says ‘I’m not taking anyone’s shit today.’”

For the first time in hours, you felt a small, genuine smile pull at the corners of your mouth. Maybe retail therapy wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

As the three of you shopped, you truly took in the presence of two women. It wasn't often you were surrounded by people other than the men in Tony's gang. Wanda and Natasha were lovely, truly. Even if they were Southside Avengers. They were funny, nice, and they truly seemed to give a shit about you--something you couldn't really say for your gang.

“Okay,” Wanda said, leaning against the full-length mirror in the fitting room with a mischievous grin. “You can’t just brush this off. What’s the deal with you and Bucky?”

You groaned, running your hands down the fabric of the jumpsuit, still processing the sudden rush of old memories. “There is no deal, Wanda. He barely looks at me, let alone talks to me. I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

Natasha’s sharp laugh cut through the air as she leaned on the other side of the mirror, arms crossed, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, please. I’ve seen the way he stares at you when you’re not looking. It’s not hate, Stark. Trust me, I know the difference.”

You felt your cheeks warm, and you turned back to the mirror, pretending to fix the strap of the jumpsuit. “He’s just… intense. It’s not the same.”

Wanda stepped closer, her gaze soft but curious, head tilted like she was trying to solve a particularly tricky puzzle. “So, what happened? Why are you two so… weird around each other?”

You hesitated, your fingers stilling against the silky fabric. You hadn’t talked to anyone about this, not even Clint, who knew almost every dark corner of your life. But something about the way Wanda’s eyes searched yours, gentle but unrelenting, made you feel like maybe you could trust her. And Natasha, despite her razor-sharp edges, had a loyalty that ran deeper than most people realized.

With a shaky sigh, you leaned back against the wall, the coolness of the mirror pressing against your bare shoulder. “It’s… complicated. He was there. The night my parents died.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her fingers tightening around the edge of the rack she leaned against. “You mean he was involved?”

“Not exactly,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Not like that. I think he was just… caught up in it. Wrong place, wrong time. But knowing he was there, that he saw it, maybe even could’ve stopped it… it’s hard to look at him and not think about that night because I honestly don't know. I don't know how involved he was or if he even...”

Wanda’s face softened, her hand reaching out to squeeze yours gently. “I had no idea. That must be so hard, to be around him.”

You gave a weak, bitter smile, your eyes drifting back to the mirror, catching the haunted look in your own reflection. “Yeah. And I think he knows it, too. It’s like we’re both just waiting for the other shoe to drop. For one of us to finally snap and say what’s really on our minds.”

Natasha leaned closer, her sharp eyes never leaving your face. “Maybe that’s what you need. Rip the band-aid off. Get it out in the open, and maybe you’ll both feel better.”

You huffed a dry, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, and maybe I’ll just make things even worse. I don’t exactly have a great track record with this stuff, you know?”

Wanda gave you a small, encouraging smile, her fingers still warm against yours. “You’re stronger than you think. And if Bucky can’t see that, then he’s the one missing out.”

Natasha straightened, a wicked grin spreading across her lips. “Or we just get him drunk enough that he can’t keep his mouth shut. I’ve got some very effective vodka stashed away for just this kind of situation.”

You couldn’t help the small, genuine laugh that escaped your lips, the tension in your chest easing just a little. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to finally confront Bucky – to stop letting the past keep its icy grip on you.

“Alright,” you said, pushing yourself off the wall and forcing a more confident smile. “Let’s get me out of this jumpsuit before I overthink this whole thing and run for the hills.”

Wanda and Natasha shared a quick, conspiratorial glance as you turned back to the fitting room, the echoes of their quiet giggles following you inside.

The three of you had just finished at the checkout, your arms weighed down with glossy shopping bags when Natasha suddenly slowed her pace, her sharp eyes locking onto a group lingering near the mall entrance. You followed her gaze, your heart skipping a beat as you recognized the familiar, towering figure of Steve Rogers. He was standing beside Sam, who had his phone out, and Bucky, whose face was partially hidden by the brim of his baseball cap, the dark fabric shadowing his sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes.

Wanda let out a small, delighted gasp, her arm brushing against yours. “Oh, look who it is,” she whispered, her voice dripping with playful mischief. “Talk about perfect timing.”

Natasha shot you a knowing smirk, adjusting the bags on her arm as she straightened up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t say I never do anything for you, Stark,” she murmured, her tone sly as a fox’s.

Before you could protest, Natasha raised her voice, calling out to the trio with a casual wave. “Hey, boys! Fancy running into you here.”

Steve’s head snapped up, his face breaking into a broad, welcoming grin as he spotted Natasha. Sam’s eyes lit up, and he quickly pocketed his phone, elbowing Bucky in the ribs as he straightened. Bucky’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced a small, polite nod in your direction, his eyes flicking over you briefly before returning to some distant, imaginary point on the polished mall floor.

“Hey, ladies,” Sam called, a wide, easy grin spreading across his face. “What’s with all the bags? You robbing this place or just single-handedly boosting the economy?”

Natasha smirked, shifting the bags on her arm. “A little of both. You know us.”

Steve stepped forward, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at you. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Stark. Nice to see you out and about.”

You forced a small, tight smile, suddenly very aware of the way your heart was racing, the slight, annoying tremble in your hands. “Yeah, figured a little retail therapy couldn’t hurt.”

Wanda, still practically glowing with excitement, leaned in closer to you, her eyes sparkling as she glanced between you and Bucky. “We found some really cute stuff. You should see what she picked out.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up for a split second, a muscle in his jaw jumping as his gaze darted to the bags in your hands before quickly dropping back to the floor. You felt your cheeks heat, and you silently cursed Wanda for putting you on the spot.

Sam, ever the instigator, waggled his eyebrows, clearly picking up on the strange, tense undercurrent passing between you and Bucky. “What, you didn’t pick anything up for the rest of us? I’m hurt, Stark.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning in closer to whisper in your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “Maybe you should buy Barnes something. Might get him to actually speak to you for once.”

You shot her a sharp look, your heart now thudding wildly in your chest, but before you could respond, Steve clapped his hands together, his bright, blue eyes sparkling with that boyish charm that always seemed to disarm everyone around him.

“You ladies heading out for drinks again tonight?” Steve asked, his gaze shifting briefly to you, a small, encouraging smile on his lips. “You should come by The Grove again. It’s on me this time.”

Wanda shot you a quick, excited glance, her arm tightening around yours. “Oh, we’re definitely in. Right, Stark?”

You opened your mouth to protest, to come up with some excuse, any excuse, but Natasha was already nodding, her eyes locked on Bucky with a wicked, satisfied grin. “Of course. We’ll see you there, boys.”

Steve’s smile widened, and he gave a small, approving nod. “Perfect. We’ll save you a seat.”

As the three of them turned to leave, Sam shot you a playful wink over his shoulder, while Bucky remained silent, his head dipped low as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. You caught the briefest flicker of his eyes in your direction, a ghost of something unreadable passing over his face before he turned away.

The moment they were out of earshot, you turned on Natasha, your heart still thundering in your chest. “What the hell was that?”

Natasha just smirked, tossing her hair back as she started walking again, her steps quick and confident. “That, Stark, was me doing you a favor. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Wanda giggled, her arm still looped through yours. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

You groaned, glancing down at the bags in your hands and already regretting everything. “This is a terrible idea.”

Natasha glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes glinting with the sharp, dangerous glee of a woman who lived for this kind of chaos. “No, sweetheart. This is a game-changer.”

#auroral writing #auroralwriting #james buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #sebastian stan x reader

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heli0s-writes · 11 months ago

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intricate rituals*

a/n: You know how kids pick on each other but it's actually because they like each other? It's like that. 4.7k words. I don't know why this one was so long. I wrote this as a companion piece to slow hands. warnings: fantasizing & masturbation, language, the usual helios sprinkle of angst because Steve. Please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

Judgmental red numbers gleamed from the alarm clock on your beside table. 2:50, it leered like a schoolyard bully, and you could only groan in reply, shoving your pillow over your face and muttering into it a string of unintelligible curse words.

The day stretched too long after you were hit—socked—square in the left orbital. Your skull ached and thrummed, congregating pain at the welt along your brow bone, and beneath all of it, your brain was at once empty and full of insistence.

And although you’d have to be vertical again in about three hours, your nerves were still uneasy, still roiling beneath your skin because adrenaline could be a bitch and a half like that.

You were floating aimlessly in limbo, trying to force-sink into the distance of sleep. Thoughts skated behind the back of your eyes and around your ears, restless fingers twitching beneath blankets. Each time you slipped off, the rug was pulled out beneath your feet and your body jerked awake, leaving your heart racing. Self-sabotage.

You were too tired to attempt a jog, not trusting your sore muscles to maneuver the compound’s wooded perimeter. The best option was the easy route: quick, simple, and only a little offensive. After all, imagination after a certain hour of the night was a dangerous thing but flirting with danger in private was worth it once you could rest after.

Besides, asking Tony for any strange white pill to put you to sleep was perilous at best and fatal at worst, and asking to be gently placed in a sleeper hold by a friend was a one-way ticket to seeing the on-call psychiatrist.

And, anyway, they’d think you were a masochist.

And, well, maybe you were. But that’s not their business.

Maybe you’d like it to be though. Maybe you’d like to see the flutter of interest, the reciprocity, admittance that they were also a little masochistic because who in this line of work isn’t?

Volunteering to get pummeled day in and day out must be diagnosable in the DSM-5 manual. Yeah. At least a few of your teammates are masochistic. You’d bet good money on it.

Bucky, for one. And—oh—wouldn’t his cheekbones look so good bright red? You could cut your palms on those.

Here was the danger with imagination past a certain hour of the night:

Co-ed dormitory style living with a gorgeous cast of characters—all deranged in their own right—but still gorgeous. Lovable despite their many, many flaws. Egregious, maddening flaws.

Some were shared, inhabited by every member like they decided to build homes inside of their neuroses. Martyrdom, obstinacy, the occasional withholding of all worldly pleasures when they thought they deserved deprival—when someone would fuck up unnoticeably on a mission and then self-flagellate inside their mind for days afterwards.

Bucky’s refusal to trust his own instincts sometimes; Tony’s incurable lust for sticking his foot in his mouth like he’s starving for the taste of dirt; Natasha’s quiet, catastrophic need to be useful whether it made her a teammate or an object.

Steve— the basket-case. A whole shitshow marathon of issues all crammed up in his bright blonde head, and it’d get so full it would rush out of him by way of seething rage, reflex reactions, his boot pressed against yours as he’d stare down. His hands curled into boulders, jaw working in slow, powerful movements as clenched and unclenched his teeth.

You couldn’t help but think of it now and again. Imagine him turning all that misplaced anger to good use.

One hand ventured to your thigh, the other crossing over your chest, rubbing up your bicep to your shoulder. There was a knot you couldn’t massage out, that Bucky couldn’t either despite his best efforts. His flesh hand first and then his other hand when he thought a temperature change would help. It whirred by your ear, the plates shifting like bee song.

You could hear yourself hum lightly at the memory. It felt nice—smooth, cool, heavy. The weight of his curled fist as he kneaded, the strength in his fingers he was always holding back, even more so as he worked over the delicate skin near your neck. You didn’t shudder then, but you began to.

He’d probably laugh if you did. Roll his eyes even though he’d be pleased about it.

And excuse you for being like everyone else in the world who’d ever seen Bucky Barnes and his arm in action.

You might just say, shut up, just touch me, and he would. Touch up your neck, thumb propped at the base of your skull, the rest of his fingers around your throat where he’d drum out the beat of an old 40’s song.

And then Steve began emerging from darkness along with a couch, cheek propped on his fist, watching lazily. It was indigo all around him. Just a lamp somewhere in the corner making the side of his pale face warm orange.

Guess three’s not a crowd in your book—

Shut up, Bucky.

His hand was still on your neck, but you’d gotten in his lap, thighs spread until your legs were on the outside of his. He’d lost his shirt and landed on the couch next to Steve, who asked, petulantly, I’m here to watch?

You weren’t sure. You didn’t expect your own half-awake mind trying to reason itself out of a sex fantasy. Not when Bucky was shirtless beneath you, slightly tanned skin displaying a scatter of freckles like the time he ventured to the tropics and came back with a grin lasting almost two weeks.

But Steve was expecting an answer and the critical eyebrow high on his forehead repeated the question: I’m here to watch?

Apropos of nothing except being 85% shut down, you replied with, you hit me today, and fell forward into Bucky’s arms. It was sullen and Bucky snickered, pressing his nose into the dip between your collarbones, a kiss somewhere nearby.

I didn’t mean to, Steve said cooly, still unamused.

Oh yes he did. Bucky touched you again, the webbing between thumb and forefinger beneath your breast for a second before he tweaked a nipple. Your toes curled slightly, chest jolting upward, and Bucky confirmed, masochist.

Steve perched his elbows on knees, leaning forward. One hand reached out, stroked the tapering edge of your eyebrow down to your cheekbone. His face was sweet, pleased, mischief cutting across his features. He pressed his finger down just a fraction, made your bruise sore with it, and the sweetness in his face glinted sharply.

Okay, he said, what else do you want?

He pressed down again and a handful of Steve’s flashed past as you exhaled. All those glimpses of him in various phases of his life, light-speed. There were suspenders and pressed white shirts too large for him. There was short hair and ballcaps and aviators. The way his shoulders hunched as he made himself invisible in a crowd. Captain suits in bright blue, then dark blue, and finally the deep night of the stealth number, material of tough neoprene and dull and sturdy across his chest. His hair was long flipped out at the ends. His beard grew and then shortened in length.

You couldn’t decide what else.

He was standing and then he was sitting. He leaned back on one elbow, sprawled like a Greek statue on a chaise lounge.

He was behind Bucky, arms coming to rest on either side of his neck, hands hanging limply forward, palm up, as if coaxing you closer, pressing Bucky tight in the middle until he huffed with discomfort.

Guess three is a crowd in your book.

Bucky disappeared and Steve came forward until he was flush against you.

In my dress uniform, really?

He sat with his thighs spread, contemplating your choice of Steve. His hair was slicked back, the high collar of his dress shirt starched and cupping his sharp, gorgeous jaw.

He was a garbled assemblage of an old photo in olive-green military wear. His blue eyes sparkled with attentiveness. He looked down his chest at the ribbons you were sure were incorrect, but they approximated something official. The jacket was starched and crisp, slacks well-pressed and fitted nicely.

You liked the idea of him young, hopeful, and—smiling.

He placed his hands on your biceps before moving to your waist, stretching his fingers as far as he could to snare you. The fabric of your white button-up crinkled between your body and his. Three top buttons were undone, your breasts spilling out.

Steve’s hair was a mess, like it’d been yanked at fiercely. His mouth was wet and red and he was pawing at your back, rolling his hips upward until your groins met. His voice was rumbling and stuttery, brows together and cheeks rosy.

He stopped moving, only looking up at you with enormous eyes like a dog waiting for a command— which he’d never, ever looked like before. Panting as he caught his breath, he took a labored gasp, pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and asked.

Ma’am?

Oh. God help you.

There he was in all his glory, one foot into martyrdom and the other still in boyhood. Before everything crashed and burned and he was still clumsy with it. Just a bright, beaming thing pleading for you to notice his light.

He began to fumble, hardly used to his body and so different than how you’ve seen him hurl himself through the air head-fucking-first because he was always ready to die on some hill or another.

He was shy, worrying his gorgeous mouth into a small line as he looked and looked. Over your face, down your neck, your chest, the mismatched set of underclothes you were still dressed in—and he stared at it entranced as if you were some kind of centerfold.

Like he ever would—but your brain was an electrified lump of meat, so dream-Steve could forgive it for irrationality.

But you were still sane enough to feel guilty about it because he was 24, and in a flash of genius engineering, he’d be weary beyond all his days.

Which hurt, which was stupid, which was really killing your whole endeavor.

You couldn’t do it with the thought of him careening into war at 20-something and couldn’t even worse with the thought of him, terrified and alone, the same giant, blue eyes searching the modern world for a sliver of recognition only 7 years later.

So your fingers halted between your legs, letting his nervous, boyish face shimmer away into the back of your mind.

Your eyes opened back up. The clock taunted 3:15, sizzling fuchsia.

You closed your eyes again.

The numbers shifted, rearranged until they were two curved lines and Steve’s mouth was there, hovering over yours, and he’d grown up some—you could see it in the pallid sheen of his skin, the creases in his face that were less from age and more from suffering. He waited, saying nothing.

There was supposed to be a lot you could do here. All manners of debauched acts to imagine— involving rope and whip and raking your nails down his back until your name burned in his throat, his considerable figure reduced to a tremble as he ached for you.

But you couldn’t, because suddenly the agony of not being able to sleep pivoted into a strange, new turn of events. From wanting to touch yourself to wanting nothing more than jumping into a lake to erase the turmoil his big, blue eyes roused in you, you struggled on a little longer, peeking around his haloed head of blonde, faint light behind him like a corona.

No? He drew one eyebrow up toward his hairline, his full pink lips quirking into a smirk. Not doing it for you? Why’s that?

You put a hand over his mouth, but dream logic was in no mood to be silenced, and Steve’s voice crept up in your ears anyway. No matter how much you wanted to shut him down, to push him away, he remained.

The truth, soldier. He tipped his head and looked at you past long, dark lashes. Give it to me straight.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was gravelly.

You rubbed your eyes, wincing. 4 A.M. approached while you were still caught in a loop in bed—drifting, then jerking awake, nauseated with each new scenario.

Finally, it had been enough. You couldn’t force a thing that wouldn’t arrive, and so you trudged to the training room with your water bottle and forgot shoes along the way.

“Just need to get my mind off things,” you replied, and swatted weakly at a punching bag.

Steve was still wrapping his knuckles because he would always have more foresight than you do and watched you from the corner of his eye. You tapped at the leather, jabbing one-two, one-two, until it began to sway marginally wider, the link chain holding the bag rattling like windchimes.

You wished he wasn’t in the gym. You could feel him in the corner of your mind, a presence that sensed you as much as you sensed it, that weighed heavily, waiting.

“You’ll split them open.”

You jumped in surprise and then it only took a few steps before he was in front of you, hand outstretched with the wrap.

“I’m fine,” you protested, but his mouth was a thin straight line that didn’t need to emit any words. He’d just nag until you gave up. Then he’d throw you onto the wrestling mat and call it a lesson.

Maybe you were cranky.

“I can do it myself,” you attempted, but he ignored it steadfastly, focused on pulling your fingers apart.

“Sure, you could.”

You shifted your weight, “You think I’d fuck it up or something.”

“I think you’d do it clumsy. Think it’d be a rush job.”

He secured the loop onto your thumb before tugging it over the back of your wrist. You watched his fingers, wrapped up skillfully, as they turned and twisted around yours. For all his calluses, he was handling you delicately, and it was all too strange.

Sweat beaded along his brow, his pink cheeks from an earlier warm-up were settling the longer he stood still. He wasn’t making eye contact even as you ducked to find his gaze. It felt like part of an apology.

Nothing passed but his breath and yours, both awkwardly out of their regular tempo. You knew why you were being so weird, but couldn’t guess a damn what reason he would have.

Suddenly, he said, “If I pulled my punches in practice, it would skew your perception in the field.”

You deliberated this information, and the way he offered it up. Like he was bringing you a precious relic you’d be grateful to receive. What an honor. The stinging aftermath of his bones against your bones.

“So this,” you tilted your face forward, showing him where his forearm landed this morning and the pulp of your skin that ice, for fifteen minutes after, did nothing for, “This is a favor?”

He frowned, something complicated skittering across his face.

After a minute, which was quite a long time for Steve to meditate when you were obviously baiting him, he said, “It’s a warning. Enemies won’t go easy on you. I can’t either, even if I wanted to. It’s my job to make sure you’re prepared for whatever is coming next. It’s my job to bring you back home.”

“That’s nice—"

He cut you off, firm. “That’s the truth.”

The truth.

You felt it with your entire chest as Steve stood there, attention fixed upon your hand, his own circling your wrist and palm and then between the sensitive webbing of your fingers with diligence.

A lock of hair fell over his forehead, obscured one eye, and when he looked up behind it in wait of your reply with that open, honest expression, you gulped.

The truth, he asked in your dream— that he seemed to be wanting now wordlessly. That you’d been punching down every morning and night because it was so simple, and excruciating.

The truth was, you were stupid for him. And just stupid, in general, because you could never tell him. Because he was Steven Grant Rogers, for fuck’s sake. He was stunning and tortured and you wanted to die sometimes, just looking at him because you didn’t know how else to express it.

Because there wasn’t a world where you could step up to Steve, stare down the magnum opus of his monumental hero’s journey and feel like you could be a contender for a single, sad crumb of his attention.

And yet you could never quite help yourself.

The truth:

Sometimes you’d do it to get his hands on you—to motivate him, to have him spare a single glance your way. Screw up the training exercise just so he’d spend an extra hour beating the drill into you.

Because outside of your private quarters and battered-tired imagination, when would he ever?

Because short of begging him to touch you, when would he ever?

The baiting. The backtalk. Challenging him at every turn. You were a spiraling addict, grabbing any high within your reach.

Hell, you were just as deranged as the rest of them. DSM-5, eat your heart out.

He dropped your hands, finished, and brought his thumb up to your temple where the welt throbbed under his pulse. “There,” he said. Almost silent, almost like you imagined it.

Then between one heartbeat and the next, his lips parted, bottom one pulled in almost imperceptibly— and— fuck, you didn’t understand a damn thing.

You made a noise like a fish out of water and he rubbed the back of his broad neck, craning his sight to the high ceiling. When he turned back down, he was soft at his edges, the tired years on his face placated.

“I know what you’re doing. You don’t think I know?”

You were nearly sure you were still in bed, and the fantasy was turning on its head, coming up absurdist and you were ready, nowpleasegod, to wake up.

��Pickin’ fights in alleyways since I could throw a punch. Why’d you think so?”

You sputtered, because you’re a ham-fisted, sleep-deprived, single-minded moron, “Because you’re a glutton for punishment?”

Steve snorted. “Like you are?”

You could feel the burn of agony twist its way up your neck, the way fact exposes itself when there’s no other cowardly avenue to run down. He watched, his sea-glass eyes stormy and insistent, and the lights of the compound gym were like stage spotlights now, white, and localized.

You found interest in your feet, because you were still missing shoes, and Steve followed the path and saw your toes curled up tight like hiding themselves.

“Jesus,” he huffed with dismay.

“I was tired. Am. Still tired.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“I tried. Why do you think I’m here? Have you ever seen me here?” You swept your arm out toward the abundance of equipment that have not yet been acquainted with even your shadow.

“Now that you mention it,” he replied.

“Not once—my god, Rogers, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“Hey,” he said, because you were doing that horrible, compulsive, nervous-tic conflict thing again, and this time he put his hand on your shoulder and it was warm.

Your skin crooned his name.

“What. Are you doing.” Your throat was bone dry.

He stepped closer—not a dream, he was real, he was there, he was breathing your hair and touching your shoulder—and he dipped his head down, in wait.

“Oh,” your mouth decided sentences were beyond its means. “O-oh.”

“That a yes? Or no.” He moved to step away, his serious expression fluttering into embarrassment, and then guilt, and then you were doing an aerobatic move between a hop and a hurdle to reach for his face.

Teeth clicked, and you winced. He didn’t seem to mind, only stabilizing you with one hand on your neck and the other at your hip. His lips were full, hot, like there was a pulse in his mouth that was trying to overcome yours. He towered, not just in height, but—you couldn’t describe it. Your head was swirling, dizzy.

“You haven’t had any water today,” he murmured—and what kind of psycho would say that during a kiss.

“Do you mind?” you grabbed at his hair, “I’m trying to—” You kissed him some more, your brain a fluttering, ecstatic mess. You shivered when he licked your tongue, fisted his collar when he made a huff—a moan—and then he was gone, a faint hiss between his teeth and his eyes burning darkly.

You wanted to fall down to the gym floor, take him tumbling with you, hands impatient and wild as you felt for each other. Up t-shirts and down waistbands, tongues sloppy and missing each other, leaving lines of spit along chins and necks.

It felt silly—stupid, reckless, fantastic—but it was damn good. Like two kids figuring out their bodies for the first time. So natural and luxurious that you could literally fall forward into him, let him do everything. Strip you naked in the damn gym, fold you in half atop some mats, over a bench, leave marks down your spine and up your throat. Curl himself so deep you could feel him in your mind for days after—you wanted it all.

He was laughing a little bit, the creases of his eyes lit with joy as he weaved left and right, getting all the right angles to mouth at you with. He pawed and squeezed and sighed as he touched you, feeling every inch. He was excited, and it kind of killed you to know—made your belly swelter and clench with pride.

You rolled your hips lazily into his, and he backed up until he found a bench to sit down on, pulling you by the hand, the wrap yanking open and unspooling onto the floor.

“This okay?” He asked.

You made a low, pained sound.

“Hey,” he said, and you blinked at how concerned he was. He steadied your shoulders, his long fingers comforting and heavy. “You okay?”

You yawned, and when you looked at him again, he was confused. And he was standing.

You couldn’t keep up. You looked down dumbly at your empty hands. He was just there.

Oh, gods.

Steve was standing—at the punching bag, not sitting on a bench with you between his thighs. And the wrap that had unspooled from your left hand was limply hanging from your right, the necessary supplies in a bag next to your foot.

You went ice cold.

You wobbled and caught yourself, because you were standing in the middle of the gym idly, realizing that you’d spent the last 10 minutes losing yourself in a fever dream about Steve.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” you said too quickly, recoiling when he side-stepped from his position to head toward you. Your knees trembled, the place between your thighs warm and clenching madly on nothing.

“You don’t look okay.”

“You’re… worried about me?”

Steve narrowed his eyes and said “yes”, like you were stupid. But then he breathed soft, and looked so much like that fantasy you’d conjured up a few seconds ago, that you turned and made ready to bolt.

He caught your wrist.

“I need to—” he began firmly. “You need to listen--”

But you didn’t. You licked your lips because he was so close and you were insane with want for him, and he stopped dead in his tracks for a split second, eyes tracking your mouth and the short, puffs of air that your chest was pushing out without you meaning it to. Just quick huffs as you bit down on your lip to make yourself quiet and small and unseen.

Steve swallowed. He said something almost silent and it sounded like sorry before he leaned forward and caught your mouth with his.

He sighed into it. Breathed into it. He placed one hand on the small of your back and pressed your entire body to him, and you moaned like he tore it out of you.

And this time, it was real. The two of you scrambled for each other, heaving and loud.

He took you to the floor, only took another few impatient, hotheaded licks of his tongue and then he was inside of your shirt, his mouth sucking round, wet brands up between your breasts.

You bucked up to get closer, and he sank down, licking and sucking and all ten of his fingers dug into your hips and waist.

“Shit,” he said.

“Uggnnn,” you replied eloquently before your better judgement pivoted and decided to swipe at reason. “What’s—“

“You make me fucking crazy.” Steve rushed out.

“Fair,” you gasped when he began rolling his hips against yours. “Feeling’s mutual—oh, what are you doing--”

He only answered with more of it, and harder, up and down, his forehead pressed to yours—his entire body, really, pressed like he wanted to swallow you whole.

It went on for eternity, it felt like, the two of you messy and starved, every second of contact a half-fight, half-resignation. Between the rushing blood in your head and the high-pitched ringing of excitement, there was a relief, like your skin was singing finally, oh god, finally.

Steve, above you, was smiling—was happy—almost as if he felt the same.

“Next time just say something,” you said, when you could finally breathe again.

“Like what?” He wiped his forehead. You did that to him.

You sputtered, the taste of his tongue still in your mouth, “Like—just don’t hit me so hard. And don’t say you have to.”

He opted to say nothing instead, only rolling his eyes, and you found the perfect opportunity to continue pestering. “Do you ever pull your punches? Could you maybe try?”

He only grinned with that wet, red mouth, and his eyes flicked down to you like a challenge. “I hold myself back more often than you think.”

“Name one time you held back from anything.”

His lips pressed together, a smile squirting out of the corners as he looked at his bare feet, toes flexed against the mat. His lashes were fluttering as he pondered, looking so shy and mischievous all at once.

“Just now.”

“Now?”

Beneath your collarbone, the bruise Steve sucked into your skin stung with embarrassment. The sound you made when he did it should be burned out from all memory. You had to beg him to stop, you could have cried.

“I had it all wrong. I thought you might have liked getting bossed around in bed, but you’re a sadist, Rogers.”

“No, no. You can boss me around.” He paused, “Maybe. You can try, go ahead.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, try.” And if you were to look up the definition of shit-eating, annoying, and contrary-bastard-even-more-so-than-yourself, you’d find his smug as sin picture.

“I need to go to sleep— team captain, my ass. Don’t you care about my well-being, Rogers? What even is your refractory period?”

“Don’t have one.”

Your brain was a watery 7-11 slushie, and instead of saying anything comprehensible back, you only babbled.

Just then, the gym doors slid open and both of you were on your feet like someone had been shooting them.

Natasha looked you up and down. From the crumpled bedclothes to the unruly hair and then to your mouth, which was slightly open and catching your breath. She narrowed her eyes, glanced over to where Steve stood leaned on the wall, shuffling his feet in an attempt to sort out his sweatpants.

She made to remark something else but then Bucky sidled up wearing nothing but basketball shorts and grey socks.

“It’s ass o’clock,” he complained loudly. “Why are any of you awake. Never mind, Steve you’re a degenerate. You wake up at 4. I was having a great dream, then Nat drags me up, then you’re already here? You fucking animals.”

“Hm, a dream?” Nat drawled, “Anyone I know?”

She flicked his chin already knowing entirely too fucking much.

“Can’t remember the details,” Bucky turned to you offhandedly before recognition lit in his eyes. “Oh,” he chirped, leering. “I remember now.” He wolf whistled, muttered, “Hello nurse,” and rubbed his palms together like he was warming them up.

You backed up, covering as much of your body as possible with two hands, and bumped your ass into Steve, dick-first, who cleared his throat loudly.

Nat only cackled.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #reader insert #marvel fanfiction

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