#anyway . after getting a long scolding from tony . the two are back on their grind !!!!

[spookythesillyfella]

The sisters say hi! I mean.. Lana does, LaLa just wants to eat you guys-

"Hm ? Did you say something ?"

"Huh !? Oh ... Nah ...."

"Oh . it must've been my imagination there . haha !! ........ Are you okay . though ? You look like you're sweating bullets ...."

"YEAH !! Yeah .... Of course I am ..... haahh ...."

[btswishes]

Love me for who I am now

Bucky x Reader ( Chapter 5)

Previous / Next (6)

Summary: You apply for the Stark internship and end up getting it, so now you have 5 months to make a good impression to continue working with the Avengers.

A/N:  I hope the chapters are not too long with no action. Lets see how it goes from now on. I have no idea how long this might end up being, presumably not past 20 chapters. Sorry for any mistakes made, hope you enjoy it even a tiny bit.

Tag list: @vicmc624  @yasminwashere​​

Word count:  4,076

Warmings: fights, harsh language, not part of the original MCU

Y/N- Your name                            

Y/L/N- Your Last Name                  

                                  ----------------------------

  Three moons shined over your new room one after the other, observing its slow but sure change. A white canvas starting to turn into a personal expression of ownership and personality. Working with Dr. Banner was quite enjoyable. It was you two at first till Tony joined in, showing you little tricks that increased your productivity by 50%. Amazing what one could do with an experienced teacher. You got used to the gym, going on your own at this point. Anxiety now a part of the past. The first week in the compound felt like more than a month. Cups and mugs, kitchen and rooms, you memorized it all by heart – a surprise even to some of the Avengers still struggling with it. Your brain but a sponge for all important information.

  Peeking inside your room, the sun gently warmed up your skin, awaking you to a missed call from Nea. Your fingers lazily, based on touch memory, rung her phone back.

“Why don’t you pick up when I call you?” she lectured you in the mic

“Because unlike your grand majesty vampire Nea, we mortals need sleep to function.” You murmured in a groggy tone “Maybe share your ambrosia with me next time.”

“They don’t offer super soldier serum energy drinks there?”

“No.” your voice sounded like two stones being grinded together. Palm rubbed over your eyes, leaning your body on that exact elbow seconds later “What do you want? It’s 6 fucking AM.”

“To have breakfast together grumpy.” Nea had a devilish tone, who knew what she was thinking in that pretty head of hers again.

“Now!?”

“No, no. At 9 maybe. Same place we usually go to.” It took a bit of convincing, but you ended up saying yes “See ya later sugar.” The beep following her voice made you throw the phone to the side and puff out, body falling back on the mattress. Your eyes shot open again a few cloud movements later, when you jumped off the bed and into the bathroom. Your gaze landed on the reflection, hair looking like you had an exciting night – wrong by a mile.

  6AM or not, you couldn’t fall asleep anymore, so what was the next best thing? Getting training over while everyone was hopefully still sleeping. Less embarrassment when you miss the punching bag and face plant in it – again.

  Workout clothes on your back, bag in hand and a big chug of water – off to the elevator for your exhausted self. Numbers appearing into the little screen one after the other, counting down the floors till you smelled that familiar cleaner. At this point it did the same job as a preworkout powder. Throwing the duffle bag on a bench, you dragged yourself around the gym - thrilled by the emptiness.

“Lovely.” Your voice rung out breathy with relieve. Some cardio later you began your usual workout program designed by yours truly the trio of demons - Nat, Steve and Bucky who in more than one way was the father of the shittiest things you had to do. What normal human being does upside-down crunches? 

  White chalk enveloped your fist in a cloud, as it made contact with the punching bag. The sheer force pushing back farther with each powerful blow. You huffed and puffed bearing the exhaustion starting to slowly drop and pile in your system. The little trickster in your head began hypnotizing you, making giving up or stopping now such a sweet idea, only one choice away. Yet if you didn’t finish up the daily routine you knew they would catch you and the penalty one was far from pleasant. Better the lesser evil than Satan himself.

“Glad to see you are not training your face for once.” The voice vibrated with an amused bass, conducted by the heavy boots shacking up the room with the same depth.

“Ha, ha.” Your skin made contact with the leather at the last word, taking the object off the chains in one clean swoop “Funny Sergeant. So much so I didn’t even laugh.” Fingers wrapped around your wrists as the punching-bag rested on the floor after its ceremonial thump, making sure there was no damage you could have missed with the lack of pain.

  His eyes enveloped your arm, running over your shoulder and to your face, no thought behind his blue eyes. Almost like a force of habit to check for something. Even if his body frame was big you could never noticed him moving, which was scary at first. Bucky could be anywhere at anytime with no sign at all.

“What got you up this early?” he grabbed a second punching bag and threw it on the hook, filling the huge gym hall with the sound of metal hitting metal “Night…terrors?” the sentence came out like a small whisper, hoping you didn’t catch it.

“Nope si-“

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” your words stuck on top of your tongue, just shaking your head “ Then why don’t you use my name the same way you call Steve and Natasha?” your eyes looked at him for a moment, before grabbing the weights from the side and tying them up to your waistline. His head turned to the side, somehow making him feel stupid for letting such a thing leave his lips. A coldblooded soldier, scared of a request.

“I actually had a goodnight sleep, that is until my best friend called me at 6am.” Your body pushed off the floor, chains singing out, tapping on your thighs.

“I see.”

  Palms firm on the bar, your neck crooked a bit to catch a glimpse of his sagging posture before refocusing in front.

“How did you sleep…- Bucky?” the blue color in his eyes twinkled with delight, maybe a hint of pleasure at how his name sounded coming out from your lips, with that sweet tone he seemed drawn to the past days. It felt almost like he longed to hear it again from decades ago.

“I slept.” His voice was colored with need to cover his lie with a coat of truth

“Doesn’t look-“ you pulled yourself up the bar “- like you did much of that. Trouble sleeping too?”

  Bucky’s fist kept hitting the bag at the same speed you were doing pull ups close by. Two sounds, hand in had married to a familiar rhythm intertwined by silence. His grunts sending a chill down your neck, convulsing it back a bit. It felt almost like his fingers were inches from touching you skin, the area blazing.

“Ugh.” You whined out, his ear twitching in your direction. The thud followed your body walking past him to your bag “I will go take a shower seeing how it is 8 already. Time sure passes fast with you Bucky.” A giggle rung out tugging on a smile. His lips parted, but he gave himself an unaffected façade, even if his heart was doing leaps.

“I don’t talk much.”

“Well maybe if you actually slept more, you would.” Scolding and serious about health issues with this man child, had become a daily occurrence. Seeing how he didn’t even try to lay down. “See ya later.” You waved the back of your hand at him, walking away.

  The showers in the compound were amazing. Everyone in the Avengers had their own one. Your shampoo and products were already resting inside waiting for you to jump in. It was a co-ed bathroom, but usually most of you guys had a different schedule so no encounters. Well maybe once or twice with Natasha, but it was fun aside from her teasing. The warm skin on your heel cooled down immediately after it made contact with the light navy tiles.

“Ohhh.” Your muscles made you spasm for a minute before adjusting to the temperature. Water running over your body, relaxing every bit of your strained figure, droplets gently massaging the pain from the inside out rhythmically. The stream pulled your hair down, elongating it with each pass over. You felt your arm lean onto the wall in front, just to enjoy the full effect of the radiating warmth, opening up your sinuses. Eyes slowly closing, taking you to a safe space, almost away from this world and back into another.

  After what felt like an eternity of alone time in the gym, Bucky had stopped working out just standing there. He had no more motivation. Fist draped with the soft material of the towel, he made his way to the shared showers before his body froze. Running water caught him off guard, but what laid the finishing blow was the delicious smell of flowers and fruits filling up his senses. Usually faint to people, but he was enhanced – a gift on missions, a knife to his chest when it came to things like these. He took a deep breath, trying to swallow the forming lump in his throat. Bucky didn’t know why this was so difficult for him. He had been in here with others before, but nothing made his blood flow faster than right now.

“Bucky?” your voice shook him out of his daze, nowhere to run anymore.

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t know you were still here.” Your face flushed red upon hearing him actually answer, for a second you thought it was just a random sound. His heavy footsteps echoed on purpose, almost like he wanted you to know where he was exactly, so you would feel less uncomfortable or frightened. Eyes shooting in the direction of your door, where he seemed to have stopped.

“Something wrong?” your voice pitched with his presence so close to your naked body

“My shower is next to Sam and Steve on the other end, but-“ he stopped opening the door to the one positioned right next to you. “ My name is right here.” It took you a minute to register what could have happened, before a forced laugh pushed out your throat

“Tony got bored I guess.” He always pulled stunts like this from what you saw and were told by others. Pepper made sure to warn you, but you didn’t think he would go this far. Then again, why were you nervous in the first place anyways? Who cares, right? You knew Bucky wouldn’t do anything, he was just a puppy with a scary outer shell. Or maybe you wanted something - a thought turning your eyes a bit dark, glazed over almost.

“I swear, he needs his ass beat.” Bucky growled which didn’t help your situation or thoughts “I will wait for you outside.” Pressing your lips together you held in a thought, that just couldn’t sit still. Its metaphorical fingers pried an escape open.

“It’s ok. I trust you, plus we are team mates Bucky. I don’t think it will always be a nice encounter for us if I started going on missions soon.”  

  Tense air, steam filling not only the room but also your mind. Damn it! You cursed at yourself, but that soon dissolved the moment you heard the click and water hitting the tiles. For a moment air couldn’t come out of you, only the humidity in the room running over both your bodies.

  Gathering yourself together, the memory of your breakfast plans harnessed you into action. Your finger flicked the lid of the bottle open, pouring some onto your sponge. Cutting the water flow, you began rubbing it all over your body, bubbles forming a thin fabric like veil over your figure. Taking in the ambiance of the situation, you could smell that familiar scent that usually came off Bucky – almost relaxing you out of instinct.

“That is a nice shampoo you have there.” You spoke up. Bucky wasn’t a stranger, plus small talk could ease your nerves more. In your mind you were the only one feeling weird – far from the truth.

“It’s a body wash.” He said “I use it for both.”

“You can’t do that!” and just like that anxiety flew out of the window like it wasn’t here, in your chest at all “ That will dry your hair out!”

“It does the job. I don’t mind.”

“Well you should. I know it’s probably too much work for you, but you gotta put some care in yourself too Bucky. This is a terrorist attack to your scalp!”

“You seem very enthusiastic about this subject.” He laughed out, catching you of guard. He was having too much fun and you weren’t having any of it. Bucky should be taking you seriously. Pursing out your lips, the little devil on your shoulder crawled to your ear and whispered with an alluring voice. The corners of your lips curled up in the same evil smirk, as your fingers silently grabbed your mango ice cream with essential oils, shampoo. Tiptoeing over to the wall dividing you, you reached over pouring some on top of his head, while Bucky was busy explaining how it is a waste of time for him. Palm over your lips grasping your jaw, you tried to not let out even the smallest peep, no matter how much you wanted to bust out laughing – he would find out. The sergeant’s big hands rubbed the product into his long hair, before bringing his fingers to his nose and catching your snickering from the other side. A new found confidence started filling your blood circulation with adrenalin.

  Bucky didn’t say anything, he used your lack of concentration to do exactly the same. It took you faster to figure it out, his shampoo already soaked up into your hair, roots and scalp.

“Barnes!” a hostile hiss parting your mouth, mad at his childish behavior even thought you were the one that started it in the first place.

“An eye for an eye doll.” You could practically feel him smirking. Switching the game on you, it wasn’t fun being on the receiving end.

“Did you peep on me!” he laughed out and denied , seeing how riled up you were – feeding his inner self 

“Don’t let yourself fall prey to your primal instincts James.” This was the first time you used his first, real name. You wanted to tease him, he always acted like a kid so pushing his buttons wouldn’t be something too difficult to achieve. On the other side, fire lit up in his chest, flowing like lava all over his body, skin radiating waves off heat. Bucky’s eyes shot up almost over the wall, dark.

“Oh trust me doll, this wall isn’t high enough or strong enough if I truly wanted to take your figure in.” His palm hit the top of the only barrier between you two, proving his point. The tiles almost cracked under his pressure “If I wanted to I easily could.” Showing just how tall and massive he actually was. The water almost not hitting the floor could give you a good idea about his posture. The image of his back flexing in that pose intoxicated your mind, but you weren’t ready to give up the crown now.

“Don’t be ashamed Bucky. You lack a few years of experience sleeping through them. Happens, no one will put it against you.” Hitting him right in the manhood, low blow even if he was 100+ years.

“Say that after you have experienced me doll. 40s James couldn’t do to you the things super soldier me can.” Your voice hitched upon that whole sentence, the confidence in this man. You heard Steve joking about this from time to time, but coming directly from Bucky was a whole other thing. The shower felt like ages, when you stepped out wrapping the towel around yourself as tight as possible. Not taking your chance with meeting him you dashed towards the door, almost slipping.

“Careful doll face.” his right hand holding you by the waist, chest pressed into you. He had only one towel around his hips dangerously close to sliding off his hips and thick thighs. The water from his hair dripping onto your chest, fixed hungry gaze onto you. “Cat got your tongue? You were so talkative with that wall between us.” A light push and you found yourself back onto your feet and scrambling to get out to the lockers and to your room.

  You didn’t want to give yourself a moment to process what happened, so you got dressed and ran off to your destination. Flying through the crowds almost, leaving the situation streets behind.

“Wow wow!” Nea’s hands flew up when your body jumped into the booth she saved for you two “What got you all riled up?”

“I am NOT!” strenuous notes hitting her right in the face.

“Ok…so not the case then. I already ordered your usual. Mind?” you shook your head, leaving your light green bag close to you, trying to calm down. “So.” Leaning onto the soft pads on her palms, Nea eyed you up and down feeling embarrassment oozing out “ Did you break something or someone?”

“No, No. Can you just, drop it?” mimicking her posture you threw your face in your hands, wishing to A) go back in time or B) just disappear from the face of the Earth.

“I was going to but...” pulling her body back, letting it lean on the chair, she scanned “Let me guess. You dressed up in less than 10min, ran here for the same amount of time AND.” Her nose found its way to your hair, making you jump back protectively “You smell like a man, not a boy. A man. Not to mention your red face.” Nea paused, letting you take in her wave of words “Grab a glass of water and let’s see if it will evaporate. Tssssss burning.”

“Your order.” A waitress rolled up with your food. Thanking her, you flashed a forced smile watching her walk away.

“Spill it! Who was it?” arrows were being shot at you. Nea was your best friend. If you didn’t tell her, who would you? After a lot of consideration you sighed, giving her the sign she needed to get ready for this.

An explanation later 

“You got cocky.” Her arm taking in her weight on the table minutes after the whole story “ What does the agent even look like? Is he taller? I mean do you have an upper hand or something.”

“It was….Bucky.” you hid your face, waiting for the explosion. Not hearing anything pulled your eyes to her wide ones, mouth hanging almost to the table. With a light motion you closed it back up for her.

“The….the…WINTER SOLDIER!?”

“SHHHHH!” your body flung up, pressing both your hands to her mouth, almost stopping her air. Nea pushed you off, oxygen meeting her lungs before silence again. “Don’t yell!”

“Well I mean WHO WOULDN’T .” She noticed how uncomfortable you were about explaining “At least he smells really good. Is he as beefy as they say? Who is thicker him or Steve? What about Thor, heard he had a nice body too!”

“Calm down. I don’t wanna talk about other people like that.”

“Fine! Keep it to yourself then….” She eyed you, her posture sideways “How is the tower treating you? ” The topic changed to your daily lives and some tea about mutual friends. Breakfast was nice, quite refreshing to meet the city bustle compared to the Zen state of the compound. Nea knew exactly how to calm you down and get you back into your natural rhythm. After paying, you two made your way out the restaurant and back into the ensemble of random sounds.

“Any plan?”

“Hm?” Nea was throwing you a worried stare “About?”

“The situation with the sergeant. You will meet him at some point in there. Gym, hall, common room. You can’t evade him forever. What if you end up being paired up on a mission? Y/N, you are not the type to let stuff like these effect your job.” She was right. There was no way to hide forever. Being bold was what got you in this situation and it could be the answer to it again.

“You are right. If we end up being in a place alone, I will talk it out with him. Probs apologies for making him uncomfortable.” Rubbing the back of your neck you paired the motion with an uneasy, maybe slightly painful laugh.

“ There you go again!” Nea crossed her arms in front of her chest scoffing, letting them fall forcefully. “Going in your head. To me it sounded like he liked it AND teased you back. Don’t force people away like you usually do just because you THINK they don’t like you.” Her smile was soft, sweet like that of a mother giving advice to her hurt child.

“OK!” balling your fingers in a fist you rose them to the level of your chin – aura filled with enthusiasm “I got this!”

“You do!” this girl could hype a crocodile to fly and actually do it.

“What is wrong?” you waved your hand in front of her concentrated face behind you, seeing as how your words weren’t registering anymore

“Better do what you promised me ok?” her hand pushed you back slightly, before you felt an arm as strong as a bolder grab onto you, lifting you off in one swift move.

“TAKE GOOD CARE OF HER!” your best friend’s voice being left further and further away. The disruptive winds were pulling your hair back with the speed the car was drifting with, drying out even the smallest water droplet left. In a moment’s notice you got smuggled in through the big window, finding yourself sitting in someone’s lap.

“Congratulations on your first mission kid.” Steve was holding onto the car’s wheel like there was no tomorrow, driving with speed close to seeing God.

“What is going on!?”you began moving around, confused, catching the city and your freetime in the distance. Bucky’s hands pushed you down onto his lap, trying to stop you from falling out the window

“Tony called. Something out of nowhere popped up and he needs us.”

“Us?” you gasped at the blonde man, trying to calm your heart from the contact with Bucky

“Yup.” His thumb pointed at the back seat “Bruce made sure to pack the stuff we need so just sit down and enjoy the ride. Bucky is pretty comfy.” He threw you a wink.

“Can I go to the back at least?”

“No can do doll. We can’t stop the car.” Your now seat explained

  Rage, confusion and who knows what else was stirring up in you, wanting to jab a punch in both the faces of the super soldiers. Tony too, he has been messing around a bit too much lately. Your back hit Bucky’s muscles when you leaned aggressively, pushing your arms to your chest as you blew a strand of hair out of your face. The whole situation pulled a light groan out of him, that didn’t go unnoticed to your shivering thighs.

“We will be there in a bit.” Steve grabbed the gearstick with the same aggression projected on the wheel, his knuckle turning white under the drip. There was no running away from this, first mission or not you at least wanted to know before hand, get briefed maybe. Your knee began jumping nervously. How bad could this actually be - sending 2 super soldiers and a bag of who knows what. If your metal dust was in there, shit was going to go down. Could you do it? Could you trust yourself enough to finish the job, not get yelled at….or die?

  Bucky’s vibranium arm ran over your uneasy leg and gently rubbed circles into the fabric of the pants. Head leaning down to your ear, fingers moving the hair to expose the shell.

“It’s ok, just relax. Nothing will happen promise baby girl.” Warm air over your skin, yet calming in a weird way “I have been told that my lap is pretty comfortable by ladies. Just enjoy it.”

“James! Buchanan! Barnes! How! Can! You! Be! Pervery! Right! NOW!!!” a hit to his chest between each word, send a vibration through his body, the laugh coming out distorted. Steve threw a look your way, but didn’t say anything, keeping his thoughts behind those serious eyes of his. As he let his best friend get beat up. Whatever it was, this mission was not just a field trip and Cap knew.

[marvelous-maximilian]

[AO3]

Tony not-so-subtly wrinkles his nose, and Howard can’t help but empathize. He, too, is beginning to lose his patience, and would quite literally do anything to get out of this conversation as quickly as possible. Their audience, however— a senator who knows just enough about rocket science to bullshit his way into looking like he knows what he’s talking about— isn’t really giving the Starks an opening to hightail it out of the interaction. 

Obadiah had been getting on Howard’s case, recently, for rather understandable reasons. He was the CEO of a multi-million dollar company, whose wife had recently died, and he had vanished from the public eye for months. The longer he stayed in isolation, the more people wanted a story, and many have already begun to weave conspiracy theories and outright slander. After a certain amount of months, the story that he was busy ‘grieving’ seemed too flimsy to the public, apparently. The board was getting restless, a point Obadiah kept making, and so Howard had no choice but to accept an invitation to a charity event. One that Maria would typically be the one to attend.

Of course, many had expected Howard to come alone, like he usually did when he went out to make connections. Instead, he had taken a leaf from his late wife’s book and brought along Tony, and went even further to bring along Peggy and an agent of hers by the name of Nick Fury. He can’t understand why people would be surprised by this. There’s no way in hell he’s letting his son out of his sight, not even for a single night. Besides, Tony was always seen at charity events alongside his mother. Howard may not be Maria, but he was still Tony’s parent, and there was nothing wrong with keeping this unofficial tradition of attending charities together alive.

Unfortunately, not everyone seemed to agree with that line of reasoning. While a good half of the attendees were charmed with Antonio, having met him before on many occasions and were quite used to his quick wit and abundant intelligence, the other half that Howard was more familiar with were... Condescending at best. At worst, they were downright insulting.

The amount of times the Starks had to endure blatantly false accusations of Howard buying Tony’s way through his schooling, from both business rivals and supposed partners, was enough to really get their blood boiling. Many were too caught up in their own egos to catch Tony’s displays of higher knowledge. Some even laughed and called him ‘cute’ when he attempted to open a discussion on artificial intelligence.

(Howard can already tell that Tony is going to take those personal insults and use it to fuel his ambitions. He doesn’t know where, exactly, his son got it into his head to pave the way for real, fully-functional artificial intelligence, but from the few comments the boy had made, Howard had no doubts that he will succeed. When Tony was focused, practically nothing could shake him out of it until he was finished with the job.)

This senator in particular seemed to be among the variety who wasn’t attempting to be insulting, but certainly came off that way. He spoke like he was the smartest man in the room— which, considering the amount of scientists in the room, he most definitely was not. He had continuously brushed away every attempt at conversation Tony made with a shake of the head, pointing a look towards Howard in a ‘kids these days, they think they know everything’ sort of expression.

As if Howard would agree. Christ, it really had him grinding his teeth.

Things really came to a head when the senator ruffled Tony’s hair. 

Let it be known that Antonio Edward Stark did not like being touched by people unless they were either family, or had explicit permission to do so. He didn’t like hugs from strangers, he didn’t like it when old ladies pinched his cheeks, and he very much did not like having his hair tousled by grown know-it-alls who can’t help talking down to people who are smarter than them.

“You should carry a plant around,” Tony said, fluttering his eyelashes in that all-too-innocent way he does before he says something that’s bound to make Howard lose his marbles. Big eyes paired with his now mildly messy hair, he looked like the picture of sweetness. 

As a businessman, Howard should probably make some attempt at stopping his son from insulting any of the other guests, regardless of how absolutely infuriating they are. Especially when they’re someone in such a high position of power. As a father, he’s rather looking forward to whatever his kid has to say, regardless of the many scrutinizing eyes on them.

Fatherhood wins out, so he stays quiet, letting the senator dig his grave as the man leans down and starts to talk like the patronizing imbecile he is.

“And why is that, young man?”

“To replace the oxygen you waste whenever you talk,” Tony replies, grinning back sharply. Beside Howard, Peggy chokes on a sip of apple cider, and starts coughing.

Around them, the noise of the other guests decrease in volume, many having overheard. The coughs seem to echo a bit in the silence, so Fury guides Peggy away from the center of attention, blending into the crowd, but keeping an eye on the Starks. Neither agents want to end up with their faces plastered in the tabloids, but they still have a job to do.

The click of a camera goes off.

“Tony,” Howard scolds, putting on the act of a disappointed father. “I’m so sorry for my son’s behavior, if you could excuse me for a moment—”

He picks Tony up and into his arms, then walks away, not bothering to wait around for Senator What's-his-name’s remarks. As soon as they’re far enough, out of earshot and away from the majority of the eyes that had witnessed the interaction, Howard leans towards his son’s ear.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispers, “Any idea, how difficult it was not to laugh?”

Tony giggles, and buries his face into his dad’s shoulder, body shaking in a way that, to those peering from the outside, made it look as though he were crying.

“Seriously. Fantastic performance, Tony,” he continues to whisper. “You’d do pretty good as an actor. I think you deserve a reward.”

“Make it something that looks like you’re trying to shut me up,” Tony suggests, mumbling into Howard’s coat.

“Great idea. Let’s go get you some juice, yeah? You’re probably thirsty, I bet.”

“Orange juice?”

“I don’t see any spread out, but I’ll ask one of the staff.”

They don’t have orange juice, but they do have banana milkshakes, for whatever reason, and although that isn’t what Tony was hoping for, he takes it anyways. A flute of champagne is also offered to Howard, which the man isn’t too happy about, but he still accepts it with a smile. It’s not like he has to drink any of it, right? 

Tony seems to have the same idea, because after a small sip of his milkshake, he clearly decides that he hates it. The boy doesn’t show it in his expression, but the carefully blank mask is just as much of a tell as scrunching up his face would be. 

“Don’t like bananas?”

“I do,” Tony assures, slightly turning his nose away from his glass. “I don’t think I like it mixed with milk though.”

Howard chuckles and pats his son’s head.

“You don’t have to drink it, then. C’mon, let’s go get Peggy and leave. We’ve been here long enough, and I’m sure we’ve got some orange juice at home.”

After abandoning the milkshake and champagne, they find Peggy and the younger agent, Nick, not too far, the two having been watching the Starks from the crowd. The journey home is not necessarily long— not even a full hour away, in fact— but it’s long enough that Tony ends up falling to sleep against his father’s side in the car. It’s not the first time Tony’s fallen asleep beside Howard, but the novelty of it never seems to wear off whenever it happens.

When they roll up into the driveway, rather than waking his son, Howard lifts him up and carries him towards his room, walking past SHIELD agents who aren’t all that great at pretending they’re not completely amused by how adorable a sight the father and son duo make. Or maybe they just think Tony is adorable, which would make sense considering they’re all wrapped around the kid’s finger.

Halfway towards the bedroom, Tony blinks himself awake, grumpily squinting up at his father. Howard gives him a fond smile, about to tell him to go back to sleep, when things suddenly go to shit.

Tony’s face twists up in pain, and he starts crying.

“Antonio?!”

Immediately, Howard kneels down and sets Tony onto the ground, and SHIELD agents begin to crowd in.

“Papá,” Tony groans, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “Papá, fa male.”

“Maybe it’s food poisoning,” one of the SHIELD agents suggests, which makes the universe decide to prove them wrong, evidently, because that’s the exact moment Tony turns on his side and starts vomiting blood. 

Howard freezes up, breath stuttering to a stop. He sees Maria and Tony’s faces side by side, and it’s like his world is crumbling around him. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if he can do anything, and the panic taking over him is drowning out the voices and chaos.

“Out of the way!”

Peggy pushes past the SHIELD agents, clapping a hand on Howard’s shoulder, forcefully turning him to look at her.

“Howard, pick him up. We’ve got to go.”

“What?”

“The hospital,” Peggy explains. “Pick him up, we’re getting back in the car and driving to the hospital. Now.”

Her instructions bulldozes through his panic and has him spurned to action. Not even a minute later, they’re speeding towards the nearest hospital.

[starkerparkerpony]

I Scold Because I Stan Pt.3

AU where Tony (44-45 y/o) meets an aged up (23-24 y/o) Peter after Civil War, Tony is broken up with Pepper and all kinds of sorry for himself. Peter is a ESU graduate and currently has an internship with Oscorp and is a photographer for the Daily Bugle he is also spiderman and therefore perpetually exhausted and has very little patience

Read part 1 & 2

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Two months of having Peter in his life and one thing became abundantly clear to Tony, he was not used to being adored like this. Because it was pure adoration with Peter. Maybe he was different with him than he'd been with Pepper but he couldn't be sure. He didn't know. He just really liked it.

They had not had sex yet. Hell they hadn't even properly kissed yet, Tony had had a long day dealing with goddamned Doombots because that's the kind of person Victor Von Doom became after he got dumped by his fiance, which was a complete and utter disgrace and men should learn how to cope with rejection better... like seriously... he's not the biggest fan of that stretchy-fuck Richards either and what the fuck kind of name is 'Reed' anyway? But it's still no excuse to become a supervillain... Tony used to like Victor for fuck's sake- Peter was waiting for Tony back at the tower.

And for some reason Tony prepared himself to get scolded... because that's what happened right? He manages to right what was wrong and comes back to a stressed and disappointed Pepper.

But that didn't happen.

"I saw you get hit." The young man hurried towards him and scanned Tony's entire being, very thoroughly for potential damage with a forrowed brow, Spiderman man was there too, Peter must've been there to get photos.

"I'm fine, the suit is going to require some tlc though," Tony tried to reassure him.

"You're sure?"

"You bet."

"Okay," Peter said, relaxed, and then pressed a quick kiss onto Tony's lips before enveloping him in a very tight and very comforting hug.

And that was it... no further lectures about priorities and personal wellbeing. Just comfort.

No, they hadn't had sex yet but Peter looked at Tony with such intensity sometimes, that he already felt too naked whenever he was with the younger guy... surprisingly enough, he liked this feeling too.

Pepper was an actual saint but it had required a very specific type of physical and mental effort, to maintain a relationship with her. But with Peter it was so effortless, that sometimes Tony felt like a cheat.

But he'd started to have that uncomfortable conversation with himself... the conversation about commitments and public announcements. Peter was mindful of dealing with the press that comes with rich people. So their "dates" had all been in the tower. Tony had asked about Peter's place but Peter refused because "Tony honey, you're not old enough to be exposed to the graphic images of poverty and squalor that come with a cheap New York studio apartment. And I'm not emotionally prepared to take down all my Iron Man posters, so that's not gonna' happen."

So they hung around the tower, they watched movies, they ate together, sometimes they even worked together. Peter always brought flowers. It was home.

Which was probably why Tony kinda forgot himself one such day. He had spent more that 42 hours in the lab, Peter showed up.

And Tony, because he was a little bit of an idiot, who wanted nothing more than to impress his new guy, asked Friday to tell him that he was more than welcome in the lab.

But Peter had never been down there before.

So after waiting more than half an hour, a very impatient Tony made his way into the living area of his tower, where Peter was watching CNN while munching on some of Tony's favorite cheese popcorn.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked indignant.

"Watching the news... waiting for you, ass," Peter answered, shooting him a teasing little glare "Oh, and I made popcorn! Want some?"

"I asked you to come downstairs," Tony had been waiting patiently downstairs to show the guy the new sensors he had been working on, for Rhodey.

"Er... I- I've never been... I thought you were just being courteous," Peter winced and mumbled, feeling awkward as hell.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Tony had already had a shitty day, Pepper had been yelling at him for not showing up for a government contractor lick-fest, Tony didn't need whatever it was that Peter was trying to do. He just wanted to show his boyfriend the cool things he made and be kissed.

"Tony... I don't know... I didn't think I had the clearance to be down there. I've never signed an NDA or anything for you," Peter half shrugged.

"Why would you need to sign an NDA to hang out with your boyfriend?" Tony realized very late that this was the first time he'd used the word 'boyfriend' in front of Peter and immediately started blushing like an idiot.

"Because I work for a rival company of yours and it would be very awkward for both me and my boyfriend if something you're working on was suddenly introduced by said rival company. Even if it was a coincidence. Also don't you have Avengers stuff down there? Like don't I need... I dunno security clearance to see it? By the way are we discussing the boyfriend thing now or later because I need to cry and scream from the rooftops about it at some point." Of course Peter wouldn't let that bit slip, which only made Tony blush harder.

"I'm not an idiot... anything you don't have clearance for, you won't see. And I trust you. Is this good screaming and crying or bad screaming and crying?" Might as well make sure.

Peter was already making his way closer to him, wrapping Tony in a warm embrace.

"The crying and screaming of pure joy."

"Sounds intense."

"It will be... there'll be snot involved."

"Sexy."

"I know."

"Wanna makeout?"

"Oh hell to the fuck yes."

And so Tony walked Peter back to the couch, planted himself in the younger man's lap and right as he was about to initiate the tonsil hockey game of a lifetime, Peter interrupted-

"You really trust me?" He asked.

"Do you think that I would currently be straddling you if I didn't?" Tony asked back, incredulous... and then his three leaked sextapes that still sometimes trend on certain 'hubs' on the internet came to mind. "Wait don't answer that."

Trust was a pretty weird thing for Peter... he absolutely adored Tony but he still hadn't told him about any alternate identities and maybe it was time to reciprocate that trust.

Soon.

"So You don't think I'm like a gold digger or something?" This was some quick thinking on Peter's part

The strange vulnerability in Peter's voice made Tony ask-

"Did someone say something to you?" Pepper and Rhodey hadn't yet met Peter but they knew about him. They wouldn't do something like this but maybe...

"Just a silly joke that MJ and the guys made... kinda kept niggling... no big deal," Peter was trying to brush it off because he wasn't ready to discuss the what was really on his mind when it came to trust and Tony but the older man still thought that if it didn't affect him he wouldn't have brought it up.

"Babe... I regret to inform you but you're really not kiss-y ass-y enough to be a gold digger. I don't think any gold digger has scolded their gold diggee(?) As much as you scold me." Tony pressed soft kisses along his jawline as he tried to reassure him.

"Hey I scold because I care you ass." Peter chuckled huskily.

"I know"

And then Peter was running his hands up and down Tony's back, and it made him wonder if he was in fact part cat, because humans don't really enjoy being petted as much as him, do they? Maybe it was just that Peter touched him so well.

Honestly Peter could be doing anything and Tony would enjoy it. He nibbled along his throat and Tony couldn't help but grind down on his lap. He brought his delightful hands up his back and into his hair, gently pulling him into a deep, sensual kiss and Tony was so utterly lost.

He gently licked into his mouth and of course he tasted of cola and popcorn and it was delectable.

Tony hadn't ever really been the dominant type but he'd also never quite felt so... safe as when he did when Peter was leading him.

When they broke apart for a breath, Tony couldn't help but cup Peter's beautiful face with both his hands and just stare into the beautiful boy's eyes, as if trying to figure out the reason why such a fantastic creature could ever choose a... mess like Tony.

"God Tony you have the most beautiful eyes," Peter breathed.

Which of course made Tony blush like an absolute fool. He always did this. Peter Parker had a habbit of breaking through Tony's moments of self doubt with pure adoration and he was utterly helpless to it.

Tony had to physically restrain himself from replying with 'I love you' because two months was probably too soon for saying it.

He'd say it the next time Peter scolded him.

Soon.

Not many words were spoken after that except for "scoot back" "shift up a little" "no that tickles" "wait not there" "oh yess that's nice" "keep going" "don't stop" "please stay".

Taglist- @spidey-nerd @areluctantsblog @briesb1tch @fleet-of-ships @darker-soft-starker @heybrotherpourthewine @buckybarnes-is-bae @starkerlovestony @nachtvuur @theginkosakata @plsstopgivingpetertrauma @highbloodprinz @supernaturalpadfoot @strkrmdnss @thewolffearsher @starkravingspiders @whenfandomscollide @starkerrifics @starkersenses @merwinist @this-starker-hoe @sad-princess28 @smidnite @mystarkershame @somethingihadtocarry @goodtimesstarker @lacechains @hermit-fangirl @colorofpearls @narutoyaoifans @ravens-starker-stuff @lover-starker @littlemonstercupcake @starkerkitty91x @tigger232 @mcusicals @cartorchdeath @sadbumblingmess @winter-starker @pixelizedgenocide @lurafita @yadds @starkerisendgame @peterscherry @tonyfuckingstarkismykink

[starship-squidlet]

The Green Fields of France: Chapter Two

Summary: We meet our speaker. He begins his quest.

Word count: 2,218

Disclaimer: The Green Fields of France Preface

Tag list: @the-cowbi @aggressive-bucky-barnes-stan (ask to be added/removed!)

A/N: Whoo, actual scenes in this one, not just Charlie monologuing 😅

Previous chapter: Chapter One

Next chapter: Chapter Three

I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Charlie O’Dell. I was one of only two children who lived in that tiny house in Harlem who could say they were related to Grandma Ellie—since that’s what almost everyone called her—by actual blood.

My mother, Robin Nickola, was born in late 1917. She and Grandma Ellie did not have a good relationship. She felt closer to the person she always referred to as her surrogate father.

Charlie Morris moved into the tiny house, which was often just called Starling Mission, in 1917, after Mush and Finch left. He was exempt from the draft due to lingering effects of a bout with polio when he was a child. Grandma Ellie, along with literally everyone else who ever knew him (whether they called him Charlie or Crutchie, the latter being more common due to the crutch he needed to move around for most of his life, not that he ever let it slow him down) described him as one of the kindest, gentlest people they’d ever known, and also as an impossibly strong person who would fight tooth and nail for the people he loved or who couldn’t fight for themselves. My mother was often one of them.

She spent most of her life—beginning when she was a teenager—fighting with her mother, rejecting any aid offered to her by Grandma Ellie, full of anger and impetuousness. While I know my grandmother loved my mother with all her heart, there were also times when she found Robin difficult to handle. When my mother left Starling Mission, entire years would pass where they never spoke. With Charlie, it was different. The only father that my mother ever knew, she loved Charlie dearly. There are few people in the world who I would rather have met than him, but he died before I was born, much to my mother’s sorrow. His death sent her into the spiral that would eventually take her life, when I was a little over two years old.

I know my mother loved me, but I wish that I could remember her. Her face is little more than a hazy image in my mind, preserved and occasionally refreshed by the handful of photographs Grandma Ellie has of her. I hardly remember JoJo either; he died when I was small—around six, I think—and was buried in the graveyard behind the cathedral he was raised and worked in, along with many of his friends who had passed at that point, including Charlie.

I was eighteen before I finally got the full story about what happened in 1917 particularly. Once again, it didn’t come so much from my grandmother but from her friends, Uncle Tony and Uncle Al, who had come to help her with Starling Mission after Charlie’s death, until it closed. For the next three years, until I graduated high school and left for college, it was just the four of us, even after Uncle Tony and Uncle Al moved out. They had raised me on stories of the newsies that they had known and grown up with themselves, including Finch, Mush, Charlie, and JoJo, as well as themselves. I idolized them all, and would have given anything to meet any one of them. The story of 1917 waited until I was eighteen because, during my first semester of college, I had a class assignment that drove me to ask questions I had never pressed for answers to before…

.*.*.*.*.*.

“Hello? Grandma, Tony, Al!” Charlie called, smiling as he pushed open the worn wooden door of the tiny Harlem house he had always called home. He heard a loud bark and a giant ball of fur came barrelling through the hall to slam into him, effectively knocking him onto his back. The dog weighed easily as much as the teenager, half of that in hair alone, and, despite being over a decade old, still had the same boundless energy he’d had when he was a puppy. Charlie laughed and tried to wiggle out from under the dog as it licked his face vigorously. “Bear, that’s enough—stop it!” he squealed.

“Bear, down!” Elaine scolded, hot on the dog’s heels. Her grey hair was swept back into a long French braid, and she shuffled along the battered wooden floor in a pair of handmade house slippers. When the dog finally climbed off of Charlie and he stood up and brushed the loose fur off of himself, Elaine stepped forward and wrapped the boy in a tight hug. He smiled into the top of her head. Charlie had outgrown his grandmother when he was eleven years old, and was nearly ten inches taller than her now. He had never looked much like her anyways; where Elaine had been all dark hair and pale skin and dark eyes, while Charlie was red-tinted blond curls and soft brown eyes, although he had the same smear of freckles across his pale cheeks. Elaine reached up and cupped his cheeks in her hands, giving them a pinch as she smiled up at him. “Welcome home, Charlie. We missed you.”

“I missed you too, Grandma. Are Uncle Tony and Uncle Al here?”

“They’ll be here a little later,” Elaine said over her shoulder. “Come have something to eat; you must be hungry after that train ride.”

The kitchen was warm and familiar, whitewashed cabinets and counters, worn appliances, a table full of dents and scratches and other marks, every one of which had a story behind it that Elaine would happily tell. Charlie sat down and ran his thumb over one of the deeper scratches, remembering what had caused it. “How have you been, Grandma?” he asked as Elaine joined him, carrying two plates of food.

“I’ve been fine, sweetheart,” she smiled. “How is school? Have you been getting enough to eat?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” Charlie laughed. “Although it’s not as good as Al’s cooking.”

“Not much is as good as Al’s cooking, my own food included,” Elaine laughed.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been calling much; we have final papers and projects due starting right when we get back from Thanksgiving break,” said Charlie. “I’ve been spending most of my time working on them.”

“I figured as much,” Elaine nodded.

“There’s one I haven’t started yet, though,” said Charlie. “I wanted to ask you for some help on it while I was home.”

“Of course,” Elaine perked up. “What can I do to help?”

“I was wondering… Would you mind telling me more about what happened to Mush and Finch? We’re doing a family history project, so I have to make a family tree and write a paper about a major event in my family’s history. I think I have the family tree pretty much sorted out; we only have to do immediate family, not go into extended, so I just did what I could with that, but I wanted to write the paper on what happened to them in World War One. I know you don’t like to talk about it, and I understand that, but I also think it’s time I know what happened. I’m eighteen now. It’s a part of my history, too. I just want to know.”

Elaine was uncharacteristically still and silent for a long moment. Finally, she forced a smile and looked at him, although her eyes were distant and full of sorrow. “Maybe… maybe another time, Charlie. Ask me again tomorrow.” She stood up, scraped the rest of her food into the trash can, set her dish in the sink, and wandered off, leaving Charlie alone in the kitchen.

.*.*.*.*.*.

A few hours later, Charlie answered the door—struggling to hold Bear back from leaping out of it—and let his adoptive uncles into the house. “Hi,” he laughed, dragging the dog away from the door as Albert closed it.

“Hey, kid!” Race beamed. As soon as Charlie released Bear and stood up, Race scooped him up in a massive hug. Despite the fact that he was nearing eighty, Race was still as strong as he had ever been, and easily lifted Charlie several inches off the floor in a back-cracking, bone-grinding, lung-crushing hug. Once-blond curls had faded to white streaked with sand, and had thinned over his temples, but blue eyes still sparkled with mischief above wrinkled cheeks. Albert, on the other hand, still had a full head of deep red hair, cut shorter than it had been when he was young, and hardly had any wrinkles—a few worry lines on his forehead, and deep laugh lines around his mouth and crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes—nor had he paled with age like Race had, cheeks still flushed red to match his hair. He waited until Race had set Charlie down and stepped away to lean in and wrap an arm around the boy’s shoulders in an informal hug, turning him towards the kitchen and starting down the hall.

“You’re going to tell us everything about school, right?” Albert teased.

“All the juicy details!” Race piped up from behind him.

“Met any cute girls?” Albert teased.

“Or boys!” Race added.

“No, nothing like that,” Charlie laughed. “I’ve been too busy with work and homework.”

“Good,” Albert nodded. “Focus on your studies.” He winked and leaned in to whisper: “But there’s no harm in having some fun every now and then.”

Charlie laughed. “Thanks for the advice, Uncle Al. Hey, I have a question for you two.”

“What’s that?” Race asked.

“Well… I asked my grandma for help with a school project; I have to write a paper about a major event in the history of my family, and I wanted to write about what happened to Mush and Finch, but when I asked her about it, she just sort of… left. She’s never talked about it. Do you two know why that is?”

Albert and Race traded glances. Race leaned against the kitchen counter and shrugged. “Probably has something to do with the fact that she doesn’t know what happened.”

“Anthony!”

“What? It’s the truth,” Race shrugged again and turned towards Charlie. “Elaine got a pair of notices informing her that they’d been killed in action, but was never able to find out any details. Not even where they were buried.”

Albert had taken a seat at the table and folded his hands, staring down at them with a grim look on his face. “We didn’t find out until we came back. Didn’t find out about them, or about any of the others who didn’t make it. And a lot of us didn’t make it… We tried to help where we could, looking for more information through contacts we had, but we could never find anything about Mush or Finch. All we were able to find out is that they deployed to France—we know that for sure—but not even where in France they went, except that it wasn’t where we were, or where Tommy and Spot were.”

“Eventually, we had to just give up,” Race’s voice was low. “There was nothing more to be done. It was like after they left New York they just disappeared. It broke our hearts to stop looking, but it was even harder on Elaine. Not that she ever said anything like that to us—she would never. But you could see it in her eyes after that. Something was gone. Some sort of light. It never really came back. It started to, a little, when you came to live here, but… Never fully.”

Charlie sat quietly. Bear came over and rested his head on Charlie’s leg, drooling a little onto his knee. Charlie petted his head absently, mind whirling. It had never really occurred to him that the reason Elaine had never told him anything was because she didn’t know herself. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and bit his lip. He didn’t know what to say.

“Thank you,” he croaked out finally. “For explaining. I’m sorry… I’m sorry to bring up those memories.”

Race walked over and rested a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “It’s alright, kiddo. You’re right; you deserve to know. They’re your family.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Grandma Elaine and I never spoke about Mush and Finch again—at least, not in that way; she still told me her stories of when they were young, but they always tapered off as they got closer to 1917. I didn’t press. It was clear how much the topic hurt her, and I didn’t want to cause her more pain. What I did, however, and without saying a word to her, was begin my own investigation into what had happened to Patrick Cortez and Nickolas Meyers.

For three years, my search bore no fruit. I wrote letters, sent requests for records, and did everything else I could think of. I even put ads in papers asking for information from anyone who was in France at that time, and reached out to anyone in France who would listen to me—in my broken French—to beg for their help in my search.

It wasn’t until 1968 that I began to have hope. I returned home from the day’s classes to a letter, stamped with several postmarks, from a young woman in France who thought that her grandfather’s journals and stories from the war may have the information I was searching for…

[songficsbyrissi]

Jealous (T’Challa x Reader) *alternate version*

A/N: I bet y’all thinking “Rissi, didn’t you already do a “Jealous” one shot? Girl what the fuck is you doing?” And to answer your thoughts, yes you’re right. I did do one with T’Challa being jealous (btw click here if you haven’t read it or you wanna reread before you read this) Anyways, I got to thinking. What if I wrote an alternate version where the READER gets jealous and how that would go down? Well let’s find out....btw I created my own avenger for this oneshot. Think of Nina as a hero like Black Widow but she’s not Black Widow. Make sure to click the bold word to see how she looks like ;)

************** “Who the hell is that?” You thought angrily. Your blazing eyes narrowed as you glared at that bitch that was holding a conversation with YOUR HUSBAND. She was getting flirtatious and it annoyed you. You were so invested in the scene before you it took the third try for your sister in law to finally get your attention. “Y/N?” You snapped out of it and gave her a fake smile. “Oh hello Shuri! What is the matter?” “I should be asking you that. You seem really upset seeing T’Challa converse with that Avenger. Do you not like Nina?” You didn’t hear her question over the grinding of your teeth. Shuri giggled into her hands. “Oh I get it! You don’t like her because you are jealous!” “I AM NOT JEALOUS OF THAT COLONIZER!” You roared staring at your sister in law with fire in your eyes and turned back to the sight of your husband and the avenger. You weren’t jealous. You just didn’t appreciate this white woman hogging your husband from his other guests and getting too touchy with him. You wanted to smack him for not noticing her advances but you remembered your poor husband is slow sometimes.

You walked up next to your husband and he immediately wrapped his arm around your waist which made you beam in content. You resisted giving her the “Suck it bitch. This is my man” face. “This is my wife, Queen Y/N.” “Oh so it is nice to meet you, my queen!” She took your hand, shaking it vigorously. “Your King is so wonderful. You have a nice taste in men, I see!” “Oh stop it.” T’Challa told her sheepishly and she kept looking him taking a sip of her wine. “King T’Challa, I’m just letting the queen know how lucky she is!” “I’m not lucky, Miss. I am blessed. Now if you would excuse us.” You took your husband’s firm hand leading him away from the woman. Tony Stark needed to speak with him so you let him go but continued to keep an eye on that Nina girl. You didn’t like her and you didn’t know why. “Tonight was fun, wasn’t it, my love?” T’Challa walked in the bedroom, fresh from his shower. On any normal occasion, you would’ve taken that shower with him but for some reason, you didn’t want him anywhere near you. You were beyond irritated with him for some reason, so you said nothing as you were removing your jewelry. “Baby?” “Yes?” You replied sharply. T’Challa came up behind you as you kept staring at your reflection in the mirror of your vanity. “Are you all right?” He questioned skeptically. “Yes I am fine, T’Challa.” He groaned dramatically, falling onto the bed. “Oh Bast, you called me by my real name! You are upset. What did I do?” You wanted to smile at his antics but you couldn’t. “Nothing.” “I thought we agree not to lie to each other.” T’Challa scolded turning you around to face him. “Come on. Tell me. I refuse to go to bed with a woman who’s upset with me because that is dangerous.” You sighed deeply trying to figure out a way to tell him how you feel without it coming out wrong. “I’m just not sure about you going on this mission with the avengers. I don’t trust them, especially that Nina. She just seems so....unprofessional and does not take her job seriously. I don’t trust her around you.” Your eyes widened at the last sentence so you corrected your self. “I don’t trust her around you to have your back in combat. I fear something will happen to you because she isn’t doing her job.” T’Challa seemed to buy it. “I know you are worried about me but I will be fine. I always come out fine. You trusting everyone else does not matter. As long you trust me on that, everything will be fine.” He kisses your forehead and you smiled in response. “Ok, my love. I trust you.” But you still didn’t trust that white bitch Nina and you were still going to watch her ass. “Ehhh T seems like the type to like snow bunnies.” Erik commented as you, him, and Shuri watched the avengers sparring. Of course your husband was paired up with the white girl which made your annoyance rise, along with Erik’s unwarranted commentary. Those two were getting awfully close and you couldn’t stand to watch. You walked away from the scene with the two following behind. Shuri rolled her eyes at her cousin. “Will you shut up? T’Challa has no interest in Nina. Stop trying to annoy Y/N.” “I’m just saying! Niggas back in America, they love white bitches! Some prefer them over black women. Mind you, there’s white women EVERYWHERE over there. Here, there’s none of that! She’s exotic to the men over here.” You hated to admit it but Erik was making sense. You didn’t want to believe he was right but a part of you was believing it. Once you three reached the gardens, Shuri turned to you. “Please don’t listen to him, sister. My brother loves you with all his heart. Now I have to return to the lab.” Shuri pulled you into a goodbye hug and went on her way. You gave her a small smile before she left. “You want my advice?” “No! I do not want your advice!” You snapped, hoping it’ll make Erik and the urge to listen to him go away. Erik held his hands in defense and backed away. “I was just trying to help but what do I know? I’m just a black man just like your husband and share the same blood as your husband so I wouldn’t know shit about how to handle this. Good luck, Y/N.” He began to walk away from you and you were wrestling with what your brain was urging you to do. He was annoying but convincing. What he saying is stupid, right? Unbelievable! It’s dumb! Completely dumb! “Wait!” You found yourself yelling after Erik and he turned around, failing to hide the smug look on his face. You sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of your nose. “What do you have in mind?” Erik rubbed his hands together. “Aight so all you gotta do is get ghetto on ‘em.” Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Ghetto? I’m not familiar with this term.” Erik smiled wickedly wrapping his arm around you. “Oh you will be.”

                    ------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, you tried to push Erik’s lesson in “ghetto” of your head. It was stupid and you were a queen, for bast’s sake! You couldn’t act the way Erik was telling you to act. It was completely preposterous. You were being ridiculous. You just needed to find your husband, spend time with him, and forget your foolish thoughts. When you made it to the training grounds, you didn’t find your husband or the rest of the avengers. You only found Nina on a phone call and you turned on your heel to find your man when your ears perked up at the mention of T’Challa and you hid behind a boulder. “You know I actually wouldn’t mind getting with King T’Challa though. He’s rich and black. That’s the jackpot right there. I wish his wife would just disappear and I would successfully snatch him up. Let’s just see how far I can get with her around.” Your blood got hot overhearing her words. So you were fucking right. This bitch was after your man and tried to make you look crazy. Now it’s time to take Erik’s advice. Get ghetto and whoop her ass. You popped from your hiding space and approached her quickly. She turned to you with a big fake smile on her pasty face. “My queen-“ “Nah! Nah! Save that fake shit, sis!” You shouted clapping your hands like Erik taught you to do. “Who the...uh... fuck do you think I am?! You got me fucked up!” You bent down turning your head with every word. She was stunned at your actions and completely speechless. “Your highness-“ “You got me....FUCKED....UP! BOO BOO! You aint messing with my man....BITCH! Now....” you went to remove your hoops like Erik told you to do but you weren’t wearing hoops so that was dumb as hell. You went to tie your hair in a ponytail but you already had it in a ponytail. Damn, you need to get it together. “Now I’M GONNA FUCK YOU UP, YOU COTTAGE CHEESE BITCH! BEAT THAT PRIVILEGE OUT OF YOUR CRACKER ASS!” You lunged at her tackling her to the ground and landing punches on her face. Oh yeah, you gotta say “bitch” every time you connect. “BITCH! BITCH! BITCH!” No surprise that the avenger managed to roll you over, getting on top and began choking you while banging your head. You two rolled over, kicking and scratching at each other until you felt yourself pulled away from her and she was being pulled away by a Dora. You were so focused on your anger you weren’t paying attention to who was pulling you back. “You ain’t snatching shit up, bitch! He’s my man, hoe!” You shouted as she got escorted to Wakanda prison and you pushed yourself off the person. You turned to see it was your husband. He was shooting daggers at you and you gulped nervously. “Have you lost your mind Y/N?!??!! What were you doing fighting her?!??!” He was pissed. “We were.....training?” You meant to say it as an answer but it came out as a question. T’Challa was still glaring at you so clearly your lie didn’t work. “I can’t even look at you right now.” T’Challa stormed off and you bowed your head in shame. Now that you looked back at it, it was one of the most idiotic things you’ve ever done. You’re a queen, for Bast’s sake! Queens don’t fight, especially out of jealousy. You retired to your chambers, thankful that the only people who witnessed the incident were the Dora’s. It felt like hours had passed before your husband finally made his way in your shared bedroom. You could see that the time apart gave him some time to cool down because he didn’t look angry anymore. He was more calm. You waited for him to speak first. “Why would you fight Nina? Did she insult you? Did she hit you? That is what we have the Dora’s for!” You resisted rolling your eyes and sighed instead. “No and T’Challa, I used to be a War Dog-“ He cut you off. “Yes I know that. I am reminded that multiple times. The key phrase is “used to”. You are no longer one anymore. You are a queen now. So why? Why were you fighting her?” “I overheard her saying she wanted to snatch you up because you were rich and black and I was just annoyed, really. Because she was getting so close to you and I just knew that colonizer whore wanted you. Once I heard her words......” You shrugged your shoulders sighing once again. “I just lost it.” “So.....you were jealous?” T’Challa questioned with some humor in his tone. Your eyes fell on his face and you saw his mouth was twitching in amusement. You cocked your head to the side. “T’Challa Udaku, are you amused by this?” He let a chuckle shaking his head as he took a seat next to you. “I am, just a little. I’m still mad but you being jealous makes me laugh. How are you jealous of Nina?” “She was getting so close to you and she’s a American white woman. Those women are exotic to men of this country. I don’t see why but they are. Erik was telling me he sees black men love white women back in America and prefer them and......I was never jealous of her. I just feared you would fall for her.” You confessed, feeling a weight off your chest and T’Challa placed his hands over yours staring in your eyes. “That is ridiculous, my love. I have no interest in white women. Never did and never will. I love my beautiful Wakandan queen.” He pecked your lips causing you to smile wide and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I was actually surprised you got jealous over me. I should be jealous over you. People keep telling me you are out of my league.” “Are “people” your sister and your cousin?” “For the most part.” You giggles which caused him to break into a little smile. “But other people think it too. Bast has blessed me with you.” You took his face in your hands and kissed him passionately. “Bast has blessed me with you, my handsome king and I would like to show you how thankful I am for my blessing.” You climbed on top of your husband, ready to get it on when he slightly pushed you off. “I really want to, sithandwa sam. But I have a combat meeting with the avengers.....which includes Nina.” You sighed dramatically. “I guess I should go apologize. Even though she deserved it.” T’Challa chuckled, sitting up and placing tender kisses on your neck. “Yes but the sooner it happens, the sooner I get you to myself.” You smirked seductively and exited your chambers holding hands with your husband. As you two walked the corridors, you ran into Erik and your content demeanor dropped. “Aww look at y’all. In love and cupcaking and shit! Hey Y/N! I heard you beat the white privilege out of shorty!” Erik cackled into his fist, jumping up and down in joy. “See? My advice works!” You stared at Erik with so much anger, clenching your fists tightly. T’Challa glanced at your expression and stepped back. “N’Jadaka.....stop talking. You upset her with your advice.” “Upset her??? That was solid advice!” “No it was not! It was stupid!” T’Challa hissed. “Now just apologize before she gives you what she gave Nina.” Erik let out an obnoxious laugh. “Nigga you think I’m scared of your little wife? Nigga, I’m the Golden Jaguar! I ain’t bitch made like the Black Panther! She can run up but she ain’t doing shi-“ He was interrupted from his shit talking by you tackling him to the ground and used one hand to choke him and the other to punch his face. His attempts to get up were unsuccessful. He underestimated your strength greatly. “T...help!” Erik managed to choke out through your attack. T’Challa shook his head, clicking his tongue. “I told you to just apologize, N’Jadaka. But I will help....my wife.” T’Challa went to join in and a few seconds later, Shuri appeared with her mother and they gazed at the scene in shock. Shuri began to giggle in excitement. “Yes! We are finally beating up Erik?!” She wiped a fake tear from her eye. “Dreams really do come true! Ahhh!” “Shuri, get out of there! T’Challa and Y/N, stop it! This is not right!” Ramonda reprimanded as she stood watching her son, her daughter and her daughter in law all attack her poor, annoying nephew. The Dora’s appeared almost immediately. “Queen Mother, shall we break this up?” Okoye questioned as she gestured towards the sight of T’Challa having Erik in a full Nelson on the ground, you delivering blows to his body, and Shuri kicking him in glee. Ramonda sighed shaking her head. “Just give them another 30 seconds....maybe a minute then break it up, please.”

Tags: @iamrheaspeaks @chaneajoyyy @oceanscorazon @marvelmaree @purple-apricots @brattywriters-anonymous @cancerianprincess @blowmymbackout @ljstraightnochaser @blackpinup22 @airis-paris14 @vibranium-chakra @sociallyawkward18 @chefjessypooh @mychemicalimagines @nerd-lovely @slimmiyagi @imasmille @ashanti-notthesinger @thehomierobbstark @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @quietstorm-73 @90sinspiredgirl @lewatigress @kaykay0829 @queennanayaa @mysticbrownie @holy-minseok @queenof-wakanda @destinio1 @raysunshine78 @amelatonin

[chibikinesis]

Another ModernAU short draft ♥ ♥ ♥ 1700-ish words.

Another fairly uneventful day was finally coming to a close. The clock signaled the arrival of the final quarter of Edward's shift, and he gazed longingly out the window and into the courtyard. Days like this made for easy money, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't rather be just about anywhere else on such a beautiful day.

"Don't worry, Ed. You're in the home stretch now." Daniel chuckled, making his way into the room with two mugs of coffee. He placed one of them on the desk near Edward's elbow, and sunk back into his chair with a grunt. "What, two more hours?"

"That'll probably feel like another eight." Edward sighed tiredly, lifting the ceramic to his lips and taking a sip.  "Thanks for fresh cup.”

"Hey, no problem." Daniel pulled an excess of creamer and sugar packets from his pocket, and Edward chuckled. It was far from the first time it'd happened, and he was sure it'd be far from the last either. "Y'know... whoever said cargo pants are useless was a goddamned fool."

"Solid point." Edward smirked. "I mean... what'd you manage to squeeze into all those pockets? Half the coffee bar?"

Dan laughed wickedly. "Smartass."

Edward sighed, a contented smile on his face as he looks around. His attention was seized by a figure drawing nearer to the window; a slender woman with a trendy blonde bob, his age or a little older, and wearing an outfit that he could pin as neither casual nor dressy. 

She took little notice of him; her gaze had immediately honed in on Daniel, who had just taken notice of the peculiar look on his coworker's face. When he heard a gentle tapping on the glass, he turned to greet this new guest.

"Hey, you old codger." She grinned, laughter in her voice. "Still working here?"

"Heeeyyyy, nice to see you, too." Daniel laughed that ornery laugh of his, rising to his feet and striding over to the window to greet her. "How the hell ya been, kid? Been a while!"

"Doing well, actually. Finally found a nice little place to settle into nearby."

"You back in town then?"

"Yep. Have been for a few months now, actually. Finding my footing, settling in, what-have-you. Finding a decent job, and don't even get me started on the moving process." She sighed, as if to recall just what a hassle it had all been. "What about you?"

"Still here. Can't complain." He smiled warmly. "Don't do any good even if I do, so..."

"Doesn't hurt to try, at any rate, does it?"

Edward watched the exchange in silent confusion, sipping at his coffee. Daniel certainly seemed familiar with the young woman, and that wasn't a terribly common thing to see. He was becoming more and more curious as to how she knew him.

"You're more optimistic than I am." Daniel grumbles. "But, hey, I doubt you're just here to shoot the shit with this old codger, right?"

"It's been nice, Dan, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't come here to see someone else."

"I figured as much. Lemme get 'im on the horn."

Daniel turned and walked a few paces to grab his radio, and the woman leaned in just a bit to survey the security room as she waited. Her wandering eyes stumble across Edward's pensive form and she does a double-take; it took her a moment to place it, but she was certain that this was the man she'd seen in Jack's company during a fair few of her shifts. She smiled warmly at the recollection, and offered a small wave, which he awkwardly returned.

"'Ey, Jack, you copy?"

"Daniel? What is it?"

"Ya' got a visitor down here."

"A visitor?"

"Yeah. Waitin' down here by the security office."

"Now who on Earth-"

Daniel quickly switched channels on his radio, knowing that Jack was about to barrage him with a slew of questions he didn't particularly feel like answering. Plus, he had no doubt the resulting anger would make the doctor's trip downstairs even more hasty. The old guard smirked confidently. "He'll be right down."

"That's one way to do it." The woman was impressed by just how bold Daniel had gotten since she last saw him. If she was being honest, she found that she quite enjoyed it.

As if on cue, they could hear the grinding of the staff elevator descending; with a loud ding, the doors slid open, and almost immediately, they could hear Jack's angry, nasally voice spilling out.

"Daniel, what have I told you about cutting me off like that?!" he spewed. "I can't always afford to come down here on such short noti-"

He came to an abrupt stop when the woman stepped into view, a calm smile on her face. "Hey, Jack."

"Em-..." He stopped dead in his tracks. It took him a full moment to digest it all; he looked as though he'd just seen a ghost, and seeing him that way left Edward feeling a little uneasy himself. "Emogene."

"Since you don't seem like you can be bothered to respond to any of my texts or calls," she spoke, a meaningful undertone in her voice. "- I thought it might just be easier to try stopping in to talk, one-on-one."

Jack sighed, guilt etched on his features as he nodded feebly in agreement. "Let's... follow me."

Daniel and Edward watched as the two walked out the nearby set of glass doors and into the courtyard outside. Daniel's gaze strayed, and he studied Edward's worried face for a moment before shifting his attention back outside, and back again. He smiled knowingly.

"Ed."

"Hm?"

"You can un-clench your buttcheeks now." Daniel chuckled. "Emogene is Jack's sister."

Edward tried to brush it off, but they both knew better. His cheeks darkened, and he waved his hand dismissively, both of them shifting their attention back to what was going on outside.

“Look, I know you’re on the clock right now, so I don’t want to keep you too long, I just...” Emogene drew a long breath and huffed a defeated sigh; or at least as defeated as she’d let herself sound. But Jack knew. “I miss you, Jack. I know I hurt you and mom when I took off back then, but I there were just some things I needed to do by myself, for myself. And I did, and I’ve grown... so much. I’m doing so much better now, Jack, and I’m trying to be a better sister, if you’d just give me that chance.”

“I told you, we could meet up some time-”

“Oh please, Jack, you’ve been making excuses and putting me on the back burner for three months now. You know, when you’re not outright ignoring me.” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “I see you having lunch all the time and you don’t even bother to say hello. “C’mon, if you can make time to have lunch with your guard in there like... three times a week, you can squeeze in some time for me-”

“Wha- how...” Her mouthfuls were loaded with accusations, none of which he found he could really refute, and her brother’s cheeks darkened in shame. The last one stung a bit more than he thought it might, though. He’d have stolen a glance back at Edward if he wasn’t concerned he’d be too obvious. “How did you...?”

“Because I’m the head event coordinator at the mall and I’m there just about every day. If you actually talked to me you might know that by now.” Her voice was scolding, but not excessively abrasive. Perhaps a sign of that personal growth she’d hinted to. “Look, I know that if you’re anything like you used to be... which, you probably are...”

Jack crinkled his nose at just how correct she was in her assumptions.

“ - that you’re probably just going straight home after work, and shutting yourself up in your study, and being a hermit for the rest of the night. Or entertaining mother’s whims.” Jack could detect a small bit of venom in her tone when she mentioned Wilhelmina, but she quickly recovered. “- I’ve got a pretty nice apartment now, and I’d love to have you over for dinner. I ... really wanna’ catch up. Hear what’s been going on with you. Maybe fill you in on what’s been up with me, if you give half a damn.”

The doctor’s stance softened, and his lips curled into a small smile. All this time and she could still read him like a book. But her idea was sounding... tolerable.

“I know a break from her did me good. Probably wouldn’t hurt you, either. I think we could finally act like... functional siblings for once if she’s not helicoptering over us and stirring the pot.”

Jack raised an eyebrow and cocked his head ever so slightly, and Emogene shrugged.

“... maybe. That might be asking too much. It’s worth a shot.” Her nose wrinkled at the thought, and she gave a playful shrug. “But if you come over and decide you still don’t really want to associate with me, I mean, I... guess that’s fine. At least you can say you gave it a shot.”

There was something a little heartbreaking in that last sentence, and it registered as a small ache in Jack’s chest. Had he really made her feel so alienated with his behavior?

“Just... give me that chance, Jack.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard more sincerity in her voice in his whole life; it wasn’t delivered without her signature Emogene Cynicism, of course, but it was definitely there and more tangible than ever. She was letting her walls down enough to let him in. She was taking the initiative to repair the bonds that had been broken. And he was dodging her like a plague.

Who’s really the bad sibling in this situation, when I really think about it? He pondered for a moment. He didn’t like the conclusion he drew, but it was one he needed to accept. You need to do better.

“Actually, Emogene, that sounds... great.” He smiled weakly at her. There was a lot more he wanted to say to her. He had a lot to apologize for, for starters, but he supposed that could wait until he visited her apartment later. He supposed the lapse would give him more time to mentally prepare and rehearse it all. Besides, he was still on the clock. “What time?”

“Seven... ish?” She gestured vaguely. “But, uh... don’t tell mom about me. I’m... not ready for her to know I’m back home yet.”

Jack nodded solemnly and understandingly at her, and she beamed him a genuine smile.

“I’ll text you my address, okay?”

“I’ll actually open it this time.” her brother chuckled.

“Cute.” She snarled. “Anyway, I’ll be holding you to that. You better be there tonight.”

“I promise.” 

[xfandomwritingsx]

Bad Girl Lately Part 1 – Bucky Barnes

(gif source)

Description: After a dirty dream, you can’t stop thinking about Bucky.

Warnings/Labels: Language, mentions of dirty stuff but no full smut yet, mentions of nightmares.

Approx. Word Count: 7,000 (this was originally going to be a one-shot but holy shit, that would have been the longest one-shot I’ve ever done, so it’s going to be a two-shot instead)

A/N: First time writing Bucky so cut me some slack. I also basically shoved what should have been a slow burn story into this two parter, so expect some glazing over of some details and some telling instead of showing. Inspiration for this came from the song You by Naomi August and THIS imagine, even though it doesn’t come in until the second part.

“C’mon, doll. What do you want?” his voice is low, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. The weight of his body presses you into the mattress and you can feel him grinding against you, your legs already wrapped around his waist. His teeth nip gently at your ear. “Need to hear you say it, doll.”

You open your mouth to answer him, to tell him exactly what you want him to do, but all that comes out is a strangled moan. You grip at his back, feel your nails rake down his skin before locking your ankles at his waist and pulling your bottom half up to rock against him.

You’re not entirely sure where either of your clothes have gone, but you’re wet and you slide easily along his hard cock. Your core is aching and all you want is to feel him fill you up. God, he feels so good.

“Please,” you beg, voice dry and cracking. He chuckles into your neck, shifting his hips so no matter how you try to angle yourself, he won’t slide into you.

“Please what?” he teases. Your hands slip up to his shoulders and into his hair.

“Please fuck me, Bucky.” He lifts his head up and it’s the first time you really see him, his lips smirking down at you, face red, and eyes lustful. Three things suddenly happen at once. His lips crash down onto yours, he thrusts into you, and you open your eyes.

You’re met with only darkness and the echo of your broken moan. You’re hot, body slick with sweat and hands gripping at your bedsheets. It takes you nearly thirty seconds for you to get your bearings and fully realize you had been dreaming. Your heart is thudding with leftover excitement and you can still feel that ache between your legs.

“What the hell?” you whisper to yourself, wiping a hand over your face. You twist your body in your bed, trying to shake it off. Your thin t-shirt sticks to your skin and when you roll over, the cold air hits you making you shiver.

It’s not like you haven’t had sexy dreams before. You’ve definitely had your fair share, but they hadn’t been that vivid before and more than that, they’ve never starred Bucky Barnes before. You try to stop thinking about it, the craving feeling of needing to be touched slowly fading from your body as you close your eyes and settle back into your bed comfortably.

When morning rolls around, your body is still buzzing, still excited, and there’s a distinct dissatisfaction filling you. You groan as you roll yourself out of bed. You push back all thoughts of your dream and slip some sweatpants on to leave your room and get yourself breakfast.

It’s still early. You tend to be one of the first one’s awake in the tower anymore. Something you can actually blame Bucky for. After Steve had moved him into the tower, you two had formed a friendship. It had been timid and fragile at first, only simple greetings and small conversations in common spaces. You were a little weary of him at first, as was most everyone else, but you tried to reserve judgement and got to know him little by little. He never said it, but you think he appreciated your welcome no matter how skeptical and he didn’t seem to mind the conversation and company.

There had been one night where you couldn’t sleep. You just had a lot on your mind and your body was restless, unable to settle down. So instead of tossing and turning, you chose to leave your room and wander the tower. It only slightly surprised you when you found Bucky in one of the upper sitting rooms staring out one of the floor to ceiling windows.

“Hey you,” you called out softly, careful not to startle him.

“Little late for you to be up, isn’t it?” He looked at you only briefly, but you saw the tiredness in his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you told him, plopping yourself down on one of the couches. You figured if he didn’t want the company, he’d leave himself or just tell you. “I take it you can’t sleep either?” He stiffened a little and you wondered if maybe you overstepped.

“More like I don’t want to,” he answered, not taking his gaze from the window. You were happy to leave it at that and move on or even just sit in silence, but he surprised you by speaking again. “Rather be awake than have the nightmares.” It was no secret that Bucky had bad nightmares, hell, most people in the tower had nightmares about one thing or another, but Bucky’s were a touchy subject. It was one of those things everyone knew about, but didn’t talk about.

“Do you have them every night?” You watched him carefully, waiting for any signs that your prying was not welcome or that he wasn’t going to answer. Instead though, he opened up to you that night.

He didn’t share much about what the nightmares consisted of, but he told you about their frequency and the things that made them just a little better. He ended up joining you on the couch and to lighten things up, you had thrown your legs over his lap. He raised an eyebrow at you, but didn’t show any displeasure.

“Does it help if someone wakes you up?” you asked, wiggling a little to get more comfortable.

“It would, but no one does.” He put his hands on your shins to still you. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, silently enjoying that Stark wasn’t there to scold him for it. “Probably for the better anyways. Who knows how I would react. With my luck, I’d hurt them.” You watched him tense his metal hand, crunch it into a fist and release it. You nudge him with your foot, taking his focus off of it.

“I kicked Tony in the stomach once when he woke me after a mission,” you shared, trying to keep the mood light, afraid he was going to suddenly withdraw and bolt otherwise. You both chuckled a little.

“He probably deserved it.” His metal hand settled back down on your leg and it was somewhere around then that your eyes got heavy again. The conversation wound down and both of you ended up falling asleep on the couch.

It was only a few nights later when you were walking past his room and heard him tossing. There were groans and cries and small ground out words that made it clear he was having a nightmare. You stood outside his door for a moment, contemplating what you wanted to do. You knew he was right, there was a good chance if you went to wake him up, he’d wake up swinging and attacking. But you quickly realized you couldn’t just let him keep going like that.

So, you entered slowly, for once making as much noise as you can, trying to alert him and wake him. It didn’t work though. You could see him in the dark, twisting underneath his sheets. There was a pillow at the end of his bed and you made a quick decision, picked it up, and threw it at his face. He startled awake, sitting straight up with his fists balled, throwing himself at an unseen threat.

“Bucky, it’s me,” you called to him from the edge of the bed. He was breathing heavy, sweat covering his face.

“Christ,” he cursed, squinting his eyes in the dark. “What are you doing?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you said it as though that explained everything. He ran his hands through his hair. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It was a lie and you both knew it. That night you sat with him on his bed, leaning back on the headboard, arms pressed against each other until you both fell asleep.

It became a pattern, your own little ritual. You’d wake him from his nightmares when you were awake yourself, usually by throwing pillows and keeping your distance. You’d stay up and talk to each other some before falling asleep in his bed. Your body adjusted to waking up in the middle of the night and it wasn’t long before you woke up out of habit and even if he wasn’t having a nightmare, you found yourself waking him and coming into his bed.

It was never anything more than platonic, two friends just taking comfort in each other. You both found you slept much better on the nights you were together. Bucky started waking up before the sun rose each morning, having slept so solidly with you next to him that he didn’t need to sleep any longer. He tried to be quiet and subtle, but you woke every time he got up.

Just like waking up in the night, your body adjusted to waking up early. Now, no matter what time you go to sleep, whether you’re in Bucky’s room or your own, you wake up earlier than normal people ever do.

---

You’ve managed to wash away most of your dream by the time you make it to the kitchen. If you didn’t think about it, you could feel the details of it fading from your memory like dreams usually do. You’ve cooked nearly half of your pancake batter when you hear someone walk in.

“Something smells good.” Bucky’s voice is hoarse, not quite fully awake yet. He sits himself down at the kitchen counter, rubbing his face. “Although I’m starting to think pancakes are the only thing you can make,” he teases. You throw a fake glare over your shoulder.

“Keep up that talk and you won’t get any.” You slip a few pancakes onto a plate you’ve already grabbed from the cabinet. “Maybe you should start making breakfast.” You spin around to hand him the plate and it feels like your breath has been taken from your chest.

He’s looking up at you no differently than he ever has, but your mind flashes back to the face from your dream and it’s all you can see. It’s so crystal clear that he might as well be looking at you like that right now; eyes staring at you with pure lust and heat, an animalist need reflected in his features, teasing and testing you, making your knees weak.

“You okay, doll?” he breaks your thoughts, the friendly term of endearment suddenly making you hot. You realize you’d stopped awkwardly, plate of pancakes hovering in your hand, your eyes simultaneously looking at him and staring at nothing but a picture in your mind.

“Yeah,” you shake your head. “Just not awake yet, I guess.” You finish handing him the plate before quickly turning back to the stove, partly to flip the pancakes and partly so you’d stop looking at him.

“Sleep alright?” he asks as he starts to eat. You nod, exaggerating the motion to make sure he sees it even with your back turned.

“Yeah. Had an… interesting dream, but slept well overall.” You put your spatula down and turn your head to look at him. “Did you sleep okay?” It isn’t unusual for you to spend a full night in your own room, but you always feel bad if he ends up with nightmares on those nights.

“Like a rock.” You can’t quite tell if he’s telling the truth or feeding you a white lie to spare you. He flashes you a smile and for the first time ever, you feel the beginning of a blush spread over your face.

Stop that. You scold yourself internally, turning once more back to the stove. This was silly. There was no reason for you to start going all soft and shy just because of a stupid sex dream. It’s just Bucky! Your friend!

You focus your attention on your cooking, the batch you’re working on threatening to burn if you keep letting your mind wander. You hear Bucky stand up and walk over to you, but you keep your eyes on the stove. It startles you when you feel him behind you.

He puts his metal hand on your shoulder, the coolness of it slipping through the fabric of your shirt and creeping into your skin. He presses himself against your back and your heart starts beating faster. You can feel his chest pushing against your other shoulder, can see his face in your peripheral vision coming closer to your cheek.

Parts of your body start to tingle; from your shoulder where his cold hand is still holding you, fingertips dipping towards your collarbone, from your stomach which suddenly feels like it has butterflies, from your face where that blush has come on in full burn. You repress a shiver and shift your eyes to watch him.

His other arm extends past you, reaching out to the bottle of syrup sitting next to the bowl of batter and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. If you didn’t feel stupid before, you sure did now. What the hell did you think he was doing? Seducing you?

You flash him a smile, trying to hide your embarrassment and hoping the red on your cheeks could be attributed to being over the hot plate. He returns the smile softly, but doesn’t move away just yet. Why is he so damn close?

“I take back what I said earlier,” he says, voice almost a whisper. You can feel his breath fan over you and suddenly you’re extremely self-conscious about your morning breath. Seriously, why is he so damn close?

“What’s that?” you didn’t mean to sound so breathless, but your throat is dry and you’re lucky you can even get words out. Your eyes are drawn to his and you miss the playful look in them, too preoccupied once again with imagining them a completely different way. His eyes dart down and for just a moment, you think he’s looking at your lips.

“Maybe you can’t cook pancakes.”

“What?” Completely dumbfounded, you realize he isn’t watching your mouth but the pancakes beneath you. Your eyes follow and notice them burning, a smoke just starting to rise up. “Shit!” He chuckles besides you, finally shifting back away from you after giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. You scramble to attempt to save them, but it’s too late.

“You sure you slept alright?” he laughs at you as he sits back down, syrup in hand, utterly amused by you.

“Oh, shut up,” you laugh back. You toss a dish towel at him and flip the hot plate off. He catches the towel easily and sets it next to his plate. “I’m going to go take a shower.” You don’t care that you haven’t even eaten yet, you need to get away from him, at least until your head is clear.

“Good idea, probably safer than you burning down the kitchen,” he calls after you.

“Ha, ha!” you reply dryly even though you’re still smiling at him. He shifts his attention down to his plate and you pause for a second before leaving the doorway. It’s not like you’d never noticed he was attractive. It’s just that… you never considered that he’s attractive to you. You bite your bottom lip and slip away before your mind goes to a darker, dirtier place.

---

The later it gets into the day, the easier it is to feel back to normal. The ghost of feelings your dreams left you fade off and with everyone else bustling around, there’s a lot more distraction and a lot less alone time with Bucky. Towards the early evening, you and Sam are sitting in front of the TV, Sam blindly flipping through the channels and driving you crazy doing so.

Bucky strolls in and you call out to him, waving your hand to beckon him closer.

“Barnes!” He raises an eyebrow, but follows your call. “Sit down and make Sam pick a damn channel already.”

“It’s not my fault there’s nothing on!” Sam complains, finger almost permanently pressing on the channel up button.

“There’s plenty on,” you argue. “You just don’t see it because it you’re already on the next channel before you can realize it.” Bucky sighs and rolls his eyes. He stalks over to the chair Sam’s seated in and rips the remote from his hand.

“Hey!” Sam cries in protest. Bucky ignores him, walking back over to you and the couch. He sits himself down next to you and flippantly hands you the remote. You happily pluck it from his hand, greatly satisfied with the huffs and grumbles coming out of Sam.

“Thank you!” You smile widely at Bucky who just shakes his head. As you find a show to watch, you can’t help but take notice of how close Bucky is again. You had been sitting on one end of a three-person couch and when he sat down, he didn’t sit on the other end but rather right next to you. You’re not touching, but you can feel his body heat radiating off of him. He leans over, bumping your shoulder with his.

“I’ll give you twenty bucks if you can annoy him enough to get him to leave,” he whispers to you. His breath is warm on your ear and you can feel a little burst of butterflies stir in your stomach. Why does he want Sam gone? Does he want to be alone with you? Knock it off!

“Well that wouldn’t be very nice now, would it?” Your reply is a little delayed, but at least it sounds normal. Bucky shifts away from you with a slight pout.

“You’re no fun,” he playfully chastises. You smile at him and poke your elbow into his side. He settles into the couch, obviously intending on staying for a while.

You hate how tuned in you are to him now, how every little movement and touch is getting over analyzed. When he relaxes and throws his arm on the back of the couch behind your shoulders, like he’s done dozens of times before, suddenly you’re acutely aware of the way his fingers brush your shirt. When you pull your legs up onto the couch to fold them comfortably underneath you, you feel awkward finding your knee resting on his hip even though he doesn’t seem to notice and you can’t count the number of times you’ve been pressed even closer to his side in his bed.

That god damn dream just won’t flutter away. It’s so easy to ignore when you’re not with him. When you were going about your day, you didn’t even give it a second thought. But now every time he touches you or gets close, all you can think about is how badly your body ached and the way he whispered in your ear.

You chock it up to embarrassment, to not wanting him to know about your dream. It’s a paranoia, like he’s going to be able to read your mind or something every time you think about it and since you keep thinking about it every time he touches you, it makes sense you’re getting nervous. It’s still stupid, but at least you have an excuse.

You decide to push past it. It’s not uncommon for dreams to stick with you for a day or even two. Usually it’s more along the lines of a deep pit of dread after a nightmare, but still, it will fade and things will go back to normal. You’re sure of it.

And it almost does. It’s almost a week later and you’re feeling like yourself again, no longer flashing back to the dream anytime Bucky comes near you. No more absurd questions about his intentions float up into your mind. All is going well. Until it’s suddenly very much not anymore.

---

When you creep into Bucky’s room, it’s very clear he’s having another nightmare. You grab the large pillow he now purposely keeps on a desk chair near the bed and throw it at his torso. For the first time ever, it doesn’t wake him. The feeling of anxiety that used to churn in your gut when you first started waking him suddenly comes back.

“Bucky,” you call out futilely. His fists are balled up in the sheet that’ve been twisted around his body, fleshed knuckles ghost white. Strands of hair are stuck to his face as it contorts in pain and anguish. He thrashes and lets out small, strangled cries. “Bucky!” you try again a little louder.

It pains you to see him like this and that pit of anxiety is making you move without thinking. Against any better judgement, you quickly step up to the side of the bed. You know he’s going to swing, you know he’s going to try to hurt you, but you can’t help it. You need to wake him.

You call out his name once more, much louder, and put your hand on his arm at the same time. His reaction is instantaneous. His eyes shoot open and hands move swiftly through the air to grab at you. You had been prepared for a fist, not for open palms slapping themselves on your shoulders and pulling you forward by your shirt. He uses his legs to help drag you onto the bed and flip you over, pinning your hands over your head with his metal hand and trapping you underneath him within a tangle of twisted sheets.

“Bucky, stop!” you cry out, shocked and slightly scared. His eyes look down on you in a haze, completely empty and seemingly looking through you. He’s breathing heavily, his weight resting on your thighs as he straddles you. He starts to raise his free hand up and ball it. “James!” You’ve never called him that before, but it slips out in a desperate attempt to reach him.

And it works. His fist hovers in the air as his eyes clear. The metal biting into your wrists loosens just a little. You let out a sigh of relief and relax underneath him.

“It’s me,” you whisper to him. “It’s just me.”

“Y/N?” he breathes out, eyes finally clearing of all confusion and really looking at you. “What…” he trails off, taking in the sight of you underneath him, the way one of his hands is holding your wrists and how the other is drawn back poised to strike. “Fuck.” He drops his fist instantly, putting it by your side and using it to lean on and take some of his weight off of you.

“It’s alright,” you tell him, already seeing the panic and the guilt start to fill him. “It’s alright.”

His body sinks down, his chest barely pressing against yours, his head dropping down to your shoulder. A strong string of Romanian curses slips from his mouth. He releases your wrists and goes to pull away, but you grasp at him with your right hand, needing to do something to show him you were okay. He interlocks his fingers with yours and drags it down to rest more comfortably next to your head instead of outstretched over it.

You both take a moment to breathe, to let the adrenaline come down. You grip his hand tightly and turn your head just enough to brush your cheek against the side of his head. He groans and turns so his lips are by your ear.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks. The fear in his voice practically breaks your heart.

“No,” you assure him. “I promise.” You can feel him take a deep breath, feel his chest expand and press down onto your own.

“What were you doing, doll?” His voice is coarse and broken. The hand by your side tentatively slips closer, pressing against the sheets bunched up at your hip.

“The pillow didn’t wake you,” you try to explain, throat suddenly dry. “It must have been bad.”

“Yeah.” He shifts slightly, his pelvis pressing into the tangle of thin fabric between you and his lips brushing your ear as he does, causing a tingling warmth to spread through your body suddenly. It all feels too reminiscent of your dream. “It was bad,” he confirms, making you shake the thoughts. “Real bad.”

“Then I’m glad I woke you.” He lifts his head, looking down at you seriously.

“Don’t do it again.” He means it as a warning, but it comes out as a desperate request. “I don’t want to end up hurting you.”

“I think it turned out pretty alright.” You raise the tone of your voice and throw him a smile to try to lighten the mood. “I mean, I bet there are plenty of girls who wish they could be me right now.” You shimmy your hips and wag your eyebrows at him in an exaggerated attempt to wipe that pain off of his face. He cocks his own eyebrow at you, still not sure he’s ready to joke right now. You decide to give one more push to clear the air. “Not exactly how I ever pictured being under you but…” You shrug and let out a small laugh. His face turns to one of surprise, but recovers quickly.

“Think about me pinning you down often?” he jokes back albeit a little dryly. It throws you off a bit. Sure, you started it, but you didn’t really know how to finish it. Especially when you don’t want to admit the thought had crossed your mind a little too often recently.

“Not… quite what I meant.” You know you’re not really making sense, seeing as how that’s exactly what you meant, but Bucky doesn’t seem to care. He’s watching you intently and his metal thumb is slowly running down the length of your own, your fingers still locked together.  

“Well do me a favor,” he says. You find yourself holding your breath when he leans down ever so slightly for a moment. “The next time you want to get under me, just ask instead.” He leans back, releasing your hand and sitting himself up on his knees. There’s a chill that replaces him and you miss his body heat on you.

“But this was so much more fun,” you tease as you start to stretch your body out. He’s still sitting on your thighs, but you can at least stretch out your upper half and release that tension that had built up in the last few minutes. In the midst of it, you almost miss the way Buck’s eyes watch your body and the way they sink a shade darker.

“Didn’t know you liked it rough, doll.” His voice is coarse and low and for a moment you wonder if you’re actually dreaming again. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, a nervous reaction to the feeling of not knowing what to do.

The silence only extends further and while normally your eyes would be jumping around the room, trying to look anywhere except at the man over you, instead you can’t look away. He’s never looked at you the way he’s looking at you right now and it’s making it hard to breathe.

“Alright,” you say, voice surprisingly clear. You take one of your hands and smack it against his thigh, trying to make it quick and playful enough that you don’t have time to think about the muscle under his skin and how it feels. “Get off of me you big lug.” He cracks a smile at you and the tension seems to break for the time being.

He chuckles as he starts to climb off of you. It takes a minute to detangle both of you from the sheets. It’s more effort than either of you thought it would be, twisting and untwisting, pulling and yanking, trying not to fall over when you stand but finding one of your feet still stuck. It helps things shift back to a normal ambiance.

You both settle back into his bed, leaning back against the head board with the laughs at your clumsiness fading out. You stay up talking for nearly an hour. You only talk briefly about his dream, but his reluctance to tell you much about it has you changing the subject quickly. You know he’ll open up when he’s ready and if he wants to. Until then, you don’t push.

As the night goes on, you notice you’re leaning against his right arm, head resting on his shoulder. You let out a wide yawn, the idea of sleep starting to have a comforting allure. Bucky lets out an amused huff.

“You better not be falling asleep there,” he teases, shaking his shoulder at you, making you lift your head just.

“You make a bad pillow anyways,” you joke, tilting your head back to look up at him. Soft eyes and a small smile look down at you, a lot closer to your own face than you expected. It sends a warmth through you, a heavy comfort that makes it hard to break the stare.

“So, what do you want to do?” he nearly whispers to you. You watch as his eyes sweep over your face and you have to convince yourself the look of admiration you see on him is just your mind playing tricks. “Are you staying here tonight?” There were some nights where after your little midnight visits you went back to your own room, but they were few and far between and he’s never asked you about it before. You think you hear a little bit of hope in his question, but that could just be your sleepy mind distorting reality.

“The long, cold walk to my room doesn’t really sound appealing right now,” you tell him with a smile. His right hand reaches out to rest on your thigh and give it a gentle squeeze. You resist giving into the way you suddenly want to lean and melt into him.

Words don’t need to be spoken as you both pull away from each other and resituate in the bed, crawling under the sheets after fanning them out. Bucky turns out the lights and sleep threatens to wash over you instantly. It only takes few moments to find a comfortable position; laying on your right side, back to Bucky, your arm strewn out underneath your pillow. The tiredness has just about won out when you feel heavy metal slipping along your torso. You startle, body stiffening and eyes opening to see Bucky pause the motion of wrapping his arm around you.

“This okay?” he whispers against your hair. You relax, this time allowing yourself to sink into him.

“Yeah,” you whisper back to him, not sure what else to say. It’s enough for him though and he presses his chest to your back, arm enveloping you and letting his fingers curl around your hip underneath you.

“G’night, doll.” His voice is groggy, sleep having come quickly to him as well. You don’t have to answer, simply let your arm fall over his and press it tighter around you.

---

After that night, everything changes. Your platonic relationship suddenly becomes extremely flirty and you can’t stop the butterflies and the dirty thoughts as much as you try. Bucky’s warm smiles slip into seductive smirks when no one is looking and every once in a while, you catch him staring at you with what you swear is desire.

The images of him in your mind start out tame, simple. You wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to have him lean down in the middle of the night when you’re already so close together and just press his lips to yours. But it’s not long before you’re imagining his hands on you, his body pressing you down into the mattress.

Simple kisses soon become the last thing you think about when he’s near. You think about him slinking up behind you in the kitchen again, but this time it ends with him bending you over the counter. You dream about pushing him down on the couch and riding him, making him come undone beneath you.

You have no idea if Bucky is having similar thoughts or if he’s just having fun. Rumor has it that back before his Winter Soldier days, he was quite the flirt. You tell yourself that he’s probably just letting that part of himself back out, that he’s just that kind of comfortable with you now. So, you follow his lead, never push him further, never say or do anything he doesn’t start first. And you try like hell not to notice that he keeps pushing the boundaries.

---

It’s a Friday night and everyone’s gathered in front of a large TV, a recent tradition for the occupants of the tower. People are peppered throughout the room on the furniture and floor, bowls of popcorn, snacks, and movie candy covering all surfaces available. You’re in the corner loveseat with Bucky, both of you curled up under a shared blanket.

It’s about halfway through whatever action movie the guys picked out for the night when your leg that’s folded up underneath you goes numb. You go readjust, putting your hands down on the couch to lift your body up, but your left hand lands high up on his thigh instead. You let out a short “oomph,” the feeling surprising you. Your arm collapses a little, bending at the elbow and bringing you closer to him.

“Easy there, doll,” he whispers as he grabs your arm to help steady you. “Could give a man the wrong idea.” After getting your legs unfolded, you remove your hand off of him and smirk.

“And what idea would that be?” you ask teasingly, keeping your voice down. He lifts his eyebrows and cocks his head.

“Well, I’ve actually got a couple of ideas.” He doesn’t sound like he’s done, but a loud explosion on the TV interrupts him as the crowd of people you’re in reacts. You lean back away from him as if someone’s going to notice how close you two got.

A few minutes later, you feel his hand under the blanket slowly glide over the middle of your thigh, fingers dipping down to the sensitive skin on your inner leg. You have to force your body not to shiver, his touch sending a fire through you. He feels you tense under his touch and starts to pull back, afraid he’s unwelcome.

Without even thinking about it, your hand darts out to him, halting his retreat. You purposely keep your gaze on the TV as you drag his hand back to your leg and place it just a little higher than he originally had. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him smirking and when he starts to make small circles with his thumb, you can’t help but smile.

He doesn’t move his hand other than to lightly squeeze your leg, but your mind wanders horribly. You keep thinking about him dipping his fingers further, about him sliding his hand up to the juncture of your pelvis and his fingertips gently playing with you. You can practically hear his husky voice whispering dirty words in your ear and you have to stop yourself from fidgeting. You can’t even close your legs and rub them together to give yourself some friction because you’d trap his fingers between your thighs and that would just make everything so much worse.

A blush rises up to your cheeks and you brush your hair off of your shoulders, trying to cool yourself down some. You chance a look at Bucky and the bastard is just staring at the TV, the ghost of his smirk still on his lips. He doesn’t miss you looking at him though and his hand inches higher.

God, was he trying to make you combust? You toy with the idea of pushing back at him. You could slip your own hand under the blanket, run it up his leg, maybe put it at just the right spot to brush against his cock. You can imagine his body tensing like he’s been making yours do, imagine being able to feel the twitch in his pants as he takes pleasure in your teasing.

“I’m going to get some more popcorn,” he tells you quietly, taking away the option to act on your musings. You nod a little too quickly and find yourself unable to form words. He removes his hand and tosses the blanket off of his lap. He takes the bowl from the end table, which is practically still full, and tosses a wink over his shoulder at you.

You barely wait for more than a minute before you think, fuck it, and follow him into the kitchen.

“Don’t trust me to use a microwave?” he teases when he sees you enter behind him.

“I wanted a drink,” you defend, immediately going to the fridge to find yourself a soda, pleased with yourself for finding an excuse so smoothly.

“I would have brought you one.” He reaches into a cabinet, finding a packet of popcorn. You briefly wonder how he intends on fitting it into the bowl.

“I didn’t think about it until you left.” You shrug and crack open the tab on the soda can. “And since neither of us are telepaths, I had to come get it myself.”  He starts the microwave as you take a drink and lean back against one of the counters. He crosses his arms over his chest and stays where he is, cocking out his hip and leaning against his own counter across the room.

“Enjoying the movie?” he asks. You give half a shrug.

“Not really paying much attention honestly.” The look on his face says that’s exactly the answer he was hoping for.

“You do seem a little distracted,” he admits, trying to sound sympathetic, but the satisfied and teasing tone wins out in his voice. “Got something on your mind?” You take another drink to buy yourself some time.

“No,” you squeak, mentally kicking yourself for losing that suaveness you had just a moment ago.

“No?” He pushes his hip off the counter and starts walking towards you. “You sure?” You find yourself continuing to drink from your soda, keeping it at chest height as if that’s going to keep him at bay. “I mean, like you said, I’m not a mind reader.” His advances continue, only pausing when he’s standing in front of you. “You have to tell me what you’re thinking.” He glances down at the soda in your hand and slowly reaches out, giving you plenty of time to swat him away if you want. He wraps his hand around yours and guides it to the counter behind you, letting you leave the can there and allowing him to step closer. “So, what are you thinking?” he whispers, his hands coming to your hips.

You wet your lips and open your mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. Your eyes are drawn to his lips, parted and upturned, amused. His fingers curl over your hipbones and it’s so hard not to just throw yourself onto him. Your skin is hot and that blush is burning onto your cheeks, body somewhere between paralyzed and fidgety. He leans down, face only inches away from yours.

“What do you want, doll?” You hold back a groan, the pet name sending a familiar ache right between your legs. Your stomach turns and drops, parts of your body starting to feel numb. He pushes his body forward, pressing it against yours and the pressure of him feeling absolutely enveloping. Your hands finally move, coming to grip at his shoulders. He hums at you, trying to get a response.

“James,” is the only thing you can manage to whisper out; his name slipping out accidentally, instinctively, and hotly. A low growl comes out of his throat and he drops his forehead down onto yours.

“Don’t call me that,” he tells you firmly, fingers digging into you. “Not unless you realize how much I like it.” He turns his hips into you and you let out the smallest gasp when you feel his cock rising against your leg. Your fingers twist in his shirt, the tension in your body needing to be let out somehow.

You’re about to pull him closer, to let this finally happen and succumb to every little feeling you’ve been having when the microwave goes off, beeping loudly into the kitchen. You’d ignore it, say to hell with it and pull Bucky down to you, but you know it won’t stop because the fucking thing is broken. It won’t stop yelling at you until someone opens the door and if you let it keep going, eventually one of the others will walk in.

Bucky’s eyes are dark and he turns his head to glare at the microwave like he wants nothing more than to shoot it. If he had a gun nearby, you might actually encourage it. Instead, you let go of his shirt and he’s gone in an instant to retrieve the popcorn he didn’t even need. You look down at the floor, rubbing at your neck in an attempt to hide your nerves.

“There you two are!” Sam exclaims, walking into the kitchen completely clueless to the tension in the air. “Is that more popcorn?” He approaches Bucky and takes the fresh popcorn from his hands, ignoring the glare he’s getting. “I’ll take that, thanks man.” He pops a couple of pieces in his mouth and gives an exaggerated grin to the man who looks like he wants to rip his head off. You bite your lip not sure if you’re equally frustrated or utterly amused.

“I hate you,” Bucky deadpans, only making Sam grin wider. You grab your soda off the counter, the can feeling extremely cold on your heated skin. You take a breath and make your way towards the door.

“Don’t kill each other, boys!” you throw over your shoulder before exiting.

Part Two

[surrounded-by-superheroes]

Leaf Piles (Sam Wilson)

Summary; The Avengers have been sent on a Fall retreat and while everyone splits up to do thier own thing, you run into Sam doing something...interesting. Despite weak objections, you get roped into messing with Sam’s favorite bestie, Bucky Barnes.

A/N; Sorry for the wait, I’ve been working on a big something. Not sure if I’ll post it on here, but yeah. That’s my lame excuse. Hope you’ve enjoyed the series! Check out the Masterlist and tell me if you want anyone else! Love to you!

Warnings; Uh, language? Too much fluff, hehe.

Words; 2,072

Fluffy Fall Masterlist

I take a deep breath of fresh, newly chilled air the minute I step out of the cabin. Miraculously there’s no threat big enough to call for the Avengers, so we’re on a retreat. Bonding, Tony says. It’s the third day and no one has murdered anyone yet, so I’d say things are going well. That might change soon though. As I walk down the long driveway a bit, I see Sam crouching behind one of the SUV’s that brought us here. I walk over with furrowed brows but the moment he sees me he snatches my hand and tugs me down and close to him.

“Sam, what the hell?” I ask with hot cheeks. His warm brown eyes are on our feet to make sure they’re behind the back wheel before he grins at me.

“Shh. Look.” He quiets me and peeks around the bumper. I follow suit to find a brunette super-soldier raking leaves.

“Does he know this retreat is for relaxing?” I ask quietly and Sam beams mischievously at me.

“That’s the sad part. This is relaxing for him.” Sam shakes his head and holds me a little tighter as we carefully stand. “I’m waiting until he’s finished with that big pile, then I’m going to tackle him into it.” Sam tells me with glee, then seems to remember I’m here. “You’re coming too.”

I shake my head with a small smile. “No, no, no. It’s one thing for you to do it, but I am not tagging along.” My objection is firm, but Wilson senses my laughter.

“Nah, you’re doing it. You’ll probably prevent him from killing me anyways. I’ll give you a kiss if we survive?” He suggests, that smile and bright eyes charming me to my core. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and blush as his eyes follow the movement.

“Okay. Better be a damn good kiss, Wilson.” I sass and he pecks my cheek.

“I don’t give any other kind, sweetheart.” He teases back and I roll my eyes before we both peek around the SUV again. My heart squeezes a little as I watch Bucky rake the leaves, whistling to himself every once and a while.

“Are you sure we should do this?” I whisper to Sam and feel his chest shake with silent laughter. We’re still pressed against one another, his chest to my back and my chest against the car.

“Yes. Asshole needs to take himself a little less seriously. You’ll see.” He tells me and I nod once, trusting him. As we wait Sam casually wraps his arms around my waist so we’re a more compact unit and easier to hide. My cheeks are hot and I smother a nervous laugh before it escapes.

“Sam, how long have you even been waiting here?” I murmur and feel him shrug.

“Thirty minutes, maybe.” He responds and I crane my neck to look at his face.

“You’ve been waiting to tackle Bucky for fucking thirty minutes? That’s sad.” I shake my head and turn back to the man just about finishing up combining the two little piles he’s made.

“If only you’d have found me sooner, sweetheart. Would’ve seemed like seconds with you in my arms, huh?” He pecks my hair and chuckles quietly to himself. I shake my head again but my smile comes easy.

“Watch it there, buddy. Flirting isn’t helping.” My voice is hushed to prevent Bucky from hearing, but if Sam keeps teasing me like this we’re going to be found out.

“It’s helping me just fine.” He says smoothly.

“God, would you two just fucking fuck already? Motherfucking hell.” We both flinch when Bucky yells over at us and reluctantly come out of our hiding places. He’s not even facing us, the smug bastard. Sam and I meet eyes before nodding and running towards Bucky anyways. When he hears our stomping feet, he turns just in time for his mouth to form a little o before we tackle him into the big pile of leaves. Sam and I’s laughter joins Bucky’s stream of creative cursing as leaves billow around us just to fall back onto the grass. Bucky shoves the two of us off him as our laughter dies down to just giggles. We lay there a moment and he sighs, the smallest of half-smiles on his face. “Times like these make me feel like I’m actually a hundred.”

“Because you want to yell at us to get off your yard like a scary old guy?” I ask and Sam guffaws. Bucky shoves a pile of leaves on my face.

“Because the two of you should be my age but you act fucking five.” He sasses and I punch his stomach in retaliation. He wheezes once before wrapping his arms around my waist and picking me up so I’m on his chest.

“No, Bucky! No! Put me down!” I laugh and he happily deposits me on Sam. “Oof!” My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh as he just so happens to put me down in the perfect position to straddle Sam’s lap. My hands land on his pecs to brace myself and when our surprised eyes meet I full body blush. Bucky glances between us before bursting into the most raucous laughter I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.

“Yeah, we’re five.” Sam shoots back at him and Bucky laughs a little harder.

“I’m so sorry.” I breathe and think about standing up, but there’s absolutely no way to do that without grinding down on Sam. Bucky stands and, while laughing, fishes his phone out of his pocket and snaps a couple pictures.

“You’re fine, sweetie. Asshole!” Sam scolds as Bucky walks back to the cabin laughing. Soothingly, and temptingly, Sam squeezes my hips.

“I’m uh, I’m going to try and stand?” I tell him, waiting for his okay. Those warm eyes meet mine and he relaxes back onto the leaves, hands sliding down my thighs as he does.

“Don’t mind if you linger a little.” Sam teases and winks at me. If possible, I turn even redder. My lips part slightly and my fingers unconsciously tap on his chest.

“I…well…you…” I shake my head to clear it a bit, “Well. You do owe me a kiss, don’t you?” Once the words leave my mouth I can’t take them back, but when Sam’s face lights up with a slow, sexy smile I’m not sorry.

“All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” He tells me and suddenly sits up. A little gasp falls from my lips as I slip further into his lap, but Sam doesn’t see a problem with this. Tenderly, his arms wrap around my waist as mine slip up to his dear-lord-save-me-from-my-sin damn fine shoulders. “You alright?” He asks affectionately and I nod. Our eyes meet and it feels like my heart pauses just to feel the butterflies swarming before he rocks slightly and brings our lips together. Soft, sweet, and emphasized by the solid feeling of his arms wrapped tightly around me, I feel safe. Nerves fade as he pulls away to give me an easy out but stays close enough that if we want to continue it’s up to me. Sam has always kept me steady while also keeping me on my toes. Our foreheads press together and our eyes open, eyelashes brushing together from our proximity.

“You alright?” I repeat his comment and he smiles.

“Little more than alright, sweetie.” He responds and presses his lips together for a moment. Those heart-melting brown eyes look into my soul before I decide. Fuck it. I press my lips back to his pouty ones and lock my arms around his neck. I guess I was too forceful because we fall back onto the leaf pile. Sam doesn’t seem to mind and neither do I, as long as our lips are still touching. This kiss is just as slow as the first but doesn’t lack heat. His lips against mine feels like magma; warm, slow, earth-changing. A little moan escapes my lips as his hands just barely slip underneath my sweater, exposing a strip of skin to the brisk air. Goosebumps raise all over me and the pads of Sam’s fingers run over them like braille. We pop apart when we hear shouting coming from the cabin. Turning to look, we find Bucky has dragged Steve out just to holler at us from the porch. I groan and look back at Sam. Chuckling, he stands and sets me onto my feet. He shakes his shoulders and arms to loosen up as I flip off the other two soldiers.

“You take Steve, I got the asshole,” Sam mutters and pecks my cheek before focusing back on Bucky.

“Deal.” I agree and brush leaves off my body, winking at Steve as the two look at us suspiciously.

“One.” Sam starts as we slowly turn to the cabin.

“Two.” I continue.

“Three!” We shout in unison and speed towards the two idiots. While Steve manages to catch me and simply embraces me in one of his bear hugs, Sam tackles Bucky to the ground with a hard thump. Steve and I stand to the side with his warm arm over my shoulders.

“Glad you two are giving somethin’ a try.” He tells me softly, blue eyes shining with amusement. I nod and look back to the rolling soldiers, slapping each other like children.

“Me too. Hopefully he’ll survive this horrible fight they’re having.” I droll and Steve laughs lightly in return.

“It’s good for them to get it out every once and a while.” Steve responds and we walk to the other side of the porch to sit on the swing. It only takes a few minutes for the two boys to finish their playing and Sam instantly looks for me.

“Trying to steal her away already, Steve?” Sam teases and sits in my lap, causing the chains holding us up to groan.

“Aw, Jesus Sam.” I curse as he spins to put his feet on Steve.

“Oh sorry, am I crushing you?” Sam jokes and wiggles on my lap which causes the swing to sway violently. I start laughing but stop when we hear a loud crack. Bucky backs up a little as we all look up at the chains in the roof. Not even a second passes before a link in each chain breaks and we collapse onto the porch, then backwards to smash through the porch rail. Bucky rushes over and after making sure we’re fine, bursts into laughter once again. We all begin laughing too at the sheer hilarity of it.

“What the fuck?” Tony asks when he comes out of the cabin along with everyone else to see what the commotion is about. I don’t even care. Sam quiets his booming laugh into a quiet chuckle as he climbs off me. A big hand reaches up and caresses my cheek.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” He asks sweetly.

“Fine, thanks.” Steve responds as he stands, clapping a hand on his shoulder before starting to clean up the little mess we made.

“I’m alright.” I giggle and accept a little peck on the lips. “Let’s clean this up.” He helps me to stand and we clean up while Tony mutters about people breaking his shit. It doesn’t take too long to pick up the shards of wood and the four of us are still grinning and chuckling as we do it. A couple hours later it’s time for our nightly snuggles around the fire. Steve and Bucky are fighting over the only blanket big enough to cover their behemoth frames, Tony is laying on the ground with his head in Natasha’s lap so she can play with his curls, Vision and Wanda are leaning back on a fallen tree, and Sam is sitting in the only chair since it’s his turn. Normally we’d sit with each other so I’m a little lost as to where to go when he suddenly pulls me down into his lap.

“Get comfortable.” He tells me and I shift slightly before he takes the blanket off the ground and drapes it over the two of us, then wraps his arms around my waist. “Good?” He questions and I sigh happily.

“Perfect.” My eyes rove over the firelit faces and I smile. It’s moments like this when I remember just how much I love Fall.

[tonystarktogo]

Here it is, my entry from the @winterironholidayexchange for Ehiel. This fic was supposed to be around 3k. Naturally I ended up writing another 7k in the last three days before the deadline *facepalm* I really hope you like it because, not to pressure anyone, but I might break down crying if you don’t. (Kidding. Well, mostly.) And don’t forget to check out the other works in the exchange!

Turning into a mindless killing machine isn’t what one might call a conventional reaction to a panic attack. It’s a good thing for Bucky then that Tony has never cared much for conventions anyways.

You can also read this on AO3.

The first time Tony Stark meets Bucky Barnes he is decidedly unimpressed.

Granted, Tony isn’t as caught up on the Hydra business as he’d like to be. But what little he’s read up on is more than the general public will ever know and the amount of time he’s spent revisiting security footage is bordering on obsessive.

Nevertheless Tony is intimately aware of the fact that this isn’t his fight, if only because he hasn’t been asked to join. It’s disheartening, just a bit, that Steve hasn’t thought to call him but contrary to popular opinion Tony is capable of minding his own business—or leaving the stalking up to JARVIS and playing obvious for as long as he dares to remain on the sidelines.

The mess is over and done with before it gets that far, the expected explosions and proprietary damage included, and Steve, Sam and Barnes drop off the grind before Tony has finished reaching for the phone. He considers searching for them half a dozen times, but the world is still standing—and in need of someone ensuring it stays that way—and Pepper only lets him flunk every third board meeting unless the apocalypse is involved, so.

A few weeks of radio silence later Natasha drops by. She lets him know everyone is alive and accounted for, does pointedly not apologise for exposing all of Hydra’s dirty secrets to the Internet without a single word of warning and disappears before Tony has a chance to needle her for the good answers.

Knowing when he is being told to back off without saying so, Tony decides to take the wait and see approach most people don’t believe him capable of. JARVIS keeps an eye out for unusual activities, impractical arrest orders especially, but except for a small incident in Turkey the lonesome trio does a good job of covering its tracks. Meanwhile Tony’s life goes on as it always does, weekly villain encounters and all.

Until Steve calls him three months later, asking for a place to stay and stumbling over every word in his shoddy attempt to explain the presence of a recently recovered friend. As though there is any way Tony—or anyone else for that matter—could have missed a god damn exploding helicarrier. As though Tony hasn’t gone beyond what humanity is supposed to be capable of to retrieve all accessible information on the Winter Soldier project and erase as many references to it as possible.

Honestly, Tony would be insulted by Steve’s obviousness if it wasn’t so damn endearing.

It takes seventeen hours and thirty six minutes after that phone call for Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and the officially still dead James Barnes to arrive at his Tower. And suddenly, for the first time ever—because comic books absolutely don’t count—Tony comes face to face with Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s most infamous side-kick.

Tony isn’t sure what exactly he expects when he finally lays eyes on the man but what he doesn’t expect is how, for lack of a better word, underwhelming the entire experience is.

Tony didn’t realise that he has already built an image of Barnes in his mind. Based on stories Howard used to tell on the occasional good day, memories Peggy shared with him while they were still there to be told, an off-handed comment Steve makes sometimes, most likely without noticing. At least Tony didn’t realise until he gets confronted with the real deal. One that doesn’t measure up to any of his expectations.

For one thing, Barnes is quiet. And it’s more than just the soundless movements you would expect from a feared assassin. It’s in the man’s very presence. Barnes’ posture is all hunched shoulders and bowed back, eyes fixated on the ground when they aren’t restlessly taking notes of his surrounding. He is- vacant. To a frankly unsettling degree. It makes Tony question whether there is anything left to save of the person Barnes used to be.

Because what Tony meets during that first encounter isn’t Steve’s best friend or Captain America’s most trusted companion, isn’t even the infamous Winter Soldier. It’s a shell wearing a familiar face, nothing more, and Tony can’t help wondering how Steve can stand looking into those lifeless eyes and not see anything look back at him.

Clearing his throat Tony nods into the man’s direction in acknowledgement. “Barnes,” he says and if his voice comes out a little more gruff than it should have nobody comments on it.

Blue eyes fixate themselves on him, empty of recognition but sharper than glass shards all the same. In that single moment Tony sees a cold-blooded killer appraising his next victim, sees an abandoned boy crying out desperately, sees a sniper taking aim, sees a fighter trapped in a war he can neither win nor loose.

“Stark,” Barnes rasps, void of any emotion, and after a long moment of uncomfortable silence Tony decides that’s all he is going to get.

“You two know where your rooms are,” Tony tells Sam and Steve, continues talking because that’s what he does best. “Barnes, there’s an empty floor right below Steve’s if you’ve seen enough of those two after the last few weeks, otherwise I’m sure Steve here is willing to share. Who knows, maybe you even get to sleep in the top bunk! Get yourselves situated, if you need anything tell JARVIS. And Wilson, if there’s a single bowl of Ben&Jerry’s missing when I get back, we’ll have words.”

Barnes doesn’t smile once during his tirade—Tony isn’t sure why he expects him too—and he makes his escape before he can think more deeply about it.

All in all meeting Barnes’ isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to Tony but it’s hardly under the top ten either. If anything it could be describe as rather anticlimactic.

In hindsight, Tony should have taken that as a warning.

*

The next time Tony sees Barnes is almost three weeks later. It’s impressive really, how successful the man avoids him. Even more so because Tony still isn’t sure if it’s him personally Barnes stays away from or just people in general.

To be fair, Tony has been out of town for most of the time, since apparently Stark Industries can’t run itself despite Pepper’s best efforts. There’s also the fact that JARVIS has labeled Barnes the biggest threat towards his creator within the Tower and has so far done an admirable job of preventing any accidental run-in’s between the two of them. Tony has had a few conversations with Sam and has slipped right back into his usual banter with Steve, but neither of them have made any comments in regards to Barnes. Which, Tony suspects, is a statement in itself.

All in all seeking out a mentally unstable, former Hydra assassin who doesn’t want to be found sounds like a stupid idea. Meaning that eventually Tony would have undoubtedly done so, but before he has the chance to do something drastic, Tony ends up stumbling upon his most elusive house guest on accident.

It’s somewhere between midnight and afternoon, as far as his internal clock can tell, and Tony is long past the point of knowing whether he suffers from a lack of coffee or a caffeine overdoes. Staggering his way to the kitchen—or his bedroom, knowing JARIVS’ secret identity as a badass mother hen—Tony enters the open living room area right when the AI’s urgent voice penetrates his foggy mind.

“Sir, I believe the elevator to your right to be-“ It never fails to impress Tony how well JARVIS manages to convey his rising worry, without ever dropping the posh tone he initially added to the program as a joke and the AI had taken an immediate liking to.

Had he been a little more aware Tony might have caught the implied warning before he literally stumbles over a shivering ball of miserable super soldier. As it is he doesn’t. In fact Tony doesn’t even realise what the unexpected obstacle in his way is until it lashes out, an arm—thankfully not the metal one, striking with lightening speed, causing him to loose his balance and topple over like a particularly ungraceful baby deer.

During the long seconds it takes Tony’s sleep-deprived mind to catch up with his body’s uncoordinated fall, all he does is lie on the ground, blinking. It will only be later that Tony will look back on this moment and realise how incredibly lucky he has been. Barnes on a mission is a challenge to begin with, had he truly attempted to kill him Tony would have been in no position to fight him off.

Thankfully by the time adrenaline finally does its job and kicks Tony’s mind back into business Barnes hasn’t moved from his position of sitting huddled together on the floor, slowly rocking back and forth.

Tony opens his mouth, though whether to pointlessly scold JARVIS or say something off-topic and very unhelpful to Barnes he doesn’t know, when Steve comes rushing around the corner, panicked expression and Sam hot on his heels.

“Tony!” Steve calls out and promptly winces when the sudden noise causes Barnes to curl into himself even more with a whimper. “I’m so sorry,” he continues, rushed but markedly softer than before, “today was a good day, I didn’t expect-“

“A full-blown panic attack in my living room?” Tony goes for dry sarcasm but the words come out more as mumbled mess.

Not that it matters. Tony has already lost the majority of Steve’s attention at that point. The man is too busy crouching in front of his friend, talking in soothing tones. Thankfully Steve doesn’t make any move to reach out and touch Barnes. Even with his limited understanding of Barnes’ mental health, Tony is sure it would be a very bad idea.

In Tony’s opinion—not that anyone has asked for it, mind you—it doesn’t sound like a good idea to crowd the almost hyperventilating man either. But Sam Wilson has previous experience with veterans suffering from PTSD and Steve is the guy’s closest friend and confidant. Or was, but semantics. More importantly, the two have spent the last two months in close quarters with Barnes and treat this like a common occurrence, so Tony figures they know what they’re doing.

Turns out they don’t know what they’re doing.

It happens too fast for Tony to see what exactly goes wrong. All he knows is that one moment Barnes is a ball of spiralling panic and the next he lets out what is either an inhumane sounding snarl or a very angrily spoken Russian curse. Then Barnes is on his feet, the movement almost too fast for human eyes and Tony freezes. He has always seen the Winter Soldier as more of a dramatic villain name chosen by Hydra and less like a separate identity but the current situation makes him reevaluate that assessment.

Because the man now positioning himself in front of Steve may wear Barnes’s face but he looks nothing like him. He’s standing tall and proud for one thing, his stance prominently displaying his metal arm—and dear lord, what Tony wouldn’t give to get a closer look at that beauty—instead of curling around it like he wants to hide it from the world. His entire posture conveys calm confidence instead of the usual worn-down guilt and his eyes are cold and emotionless as they assess their surroundings.

This, Tony knows with complete certainty, isn’t Bucky or Barnes, this is the weapon Hydra spent decades shaping and perfecting. This is the Winter Soldier. And even as a part of Tony recoils in disgust at the mere thought of the horrors Barnes must have suffered, there is another part that can’t help but applaud the fine job they have done.

Then Barnes moves, the suddenness of the motion catching Tony by surprise, and Steve lunges and it all goes downhill from there.

It is a small mercy that Tony doesn’t keep anything irreplaceable on this particular floor.

*

“It’s an instinctive response to highly stressful, emotionally taxing situations,” Sam explains once they have finally manoeuvred Barnes into the hulk containment room, much to Steve’s displeasure. “Slipping back into Hydra’s programming serves as a means to protect himself, emotionally and physically.”

“He doesn’t always attack,” Steve hurries to pacify. “Mostly he just stays in a corner and watches until he’s calmed down again but sometimes something startles him and that’s when he lashes out.”

“I need to sleep,” Tony says and that is the end of the discussion.

*

When Tony wakes up some twenty odd hours later, he isn’t sure what to expect. For Steve to guilty avoid eye contact for a few days probably and for Sam to not steal any of his bagels because neither of them has seen it fit to inform him of the highly efficient killing machine Barnes occasionally turns into.

Tony may or may not be a bit pissed about that.

Barnes on the other hand he expects to keep his distance even more than usual, if that is at all possible. Clearly the man is weighed down by his guilt, which, well. Tony certainly knows how that feels. He also knows how enticing the prospect to run away from it all is—and how well that usually works. You can’t blame a man for trying though.

What Tony doesn’t expect is for Barnes to approach him.

They are in the kitchen, which makes sense because now that Tony thinks about it Barnes doesn’t have access to his workshop. Barnes is definitely completely Barnes too, down to the lowered eyes, unhappy curve of his lips and hanging shoulders. He’s eluding such an aura of misery that makes Tony sort of want to grab a hold of his arms and shake him until he stops.

“Uhm. Stark.” It sounds like a question. Barnes clears his throat, fingers nervously playing with the hem of his shirt and Tony bites his bottom lip to keep quiet because this is physically painful to witness.

“I- I wanted to,” Barnes clearly struggles though Tony is unsure whether it’s because he struggles to remember how to use his words or because he simply doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” the man finally manages, voice raw and eyes wide and vulnerable.

It’s a look that feels like a punch in the gut, leaves Tony gasping for breath and close to speechless but he forces himself to answer anyways.

“It’s not a problem, Buckaroo,” Tony chirps, notes Barnes’ forehead crinkle in confusion at the nickname, “Pepper’s been wanting to remodel that floor for months anyway, says the colour pattern was off, which, ridiculous, right? You’ve seen the room, why would it look better in pastel and mint green?”

Barnes tilts his head and musters up the faintest of all shrugs but it quickly becomes apparent that he has used up his daily quota of spoken words for now. Tony doesn’t mind, fills the silence with his usual babbling as they both wait for the coffee maker to pour what essentially amounts to Tony’s life elixir into a cup.

When he finally turns around again Tony is alone, no sign of Barnes’ presence or where he might have gone. He could ask JARVIS of course but Tony doesn’t see the point.

“Keep an eye on him, buddy,” he mutters.

Tony swears the AI sighs in exasperation.

“Always, Sir.”

Perhaps there is more left of the original Bucky than Tony has initially expected after all.

*

When doors to the elevator open it takes Tony all but two seconds to take the entire situation in. Barnes is, once again, curled up in a corner, violently shaking his head while Steve is trying to talk him down, voice infused with as much calmness as possible. Sam is nowhere in sight. Considering the time he is probably out on a run.

“How long, J?” Tony asks reflexively, even as he slowly approaches the duo. The answered “Approximately seventeen minutes, Sir,” makes him suppress a sigh.

This is really not what he had in mind when he finally managed to escape Pepper’s sharp eyes. Tony isn’t a particularly empathetic person on a good day and today definitely hasn’t been one of those. Still, the last time he left this job to Steve he had to pay a couple of thousand dollars for proprietary damage. Although he can technically afford it, Tony prefers to keep his home intact for as long as possible. There are enough villains blowing it up when they feel like it already, he doesn’t need his own team to do it too.

“Alright then.”

Tony takes another few steps towards Barnes and pointedly sits down on the floor, trying very hard not to think about the disadvantages of this position, should his plan fail and the Winter Soldier lash out again. It won’t be pretty, that much he knows for sure, but Tony has never been good at following his common sense.

Tony is an inventor at heart, making leaps and taking chances is in his nature. It’s the only way to keep moving forward. That’s all he is doing right now, or so Tony tries to tell his pounding heart, and really, when has fear ever kept him from doing what needs to be done?

“Barnes!” Tony calls out, tone firm but free of any aggression. Unsurprisingly Barnes tenses anyways, eyes snapping towards the potential threat with lethal sharpness, but that’s to be expected. As long as he isn’t outright attacking, Tony is going to count it as a victory.

Steve doesn’t seem to share his assessment.

“Tony!”, he hisses, in equal parts confused and annoyed. “What do you think you’re-“

“Shut up, Cap,” Tony commands pleasantly, unwilling to risk alienating Barnes in his current state. He doesn’t have a death wish, thank you very much. Tony promptly proceeds to ignore the spluttering Captain America, who’s thankfully stumbled a couple of steps back and is no longer in Barnes’ direct line of sight. Instead Tony focuses on Barnes, forces himself to hold the man’s scarily intense gaze.

“Barnes,” he calls out again, as commanding as he dares, and Tony has never believed in all that windows of the soul bullshit but right now he swears he can see the ongoing fight in Barnes’ eyes, can read the desperation in the icy shade of blue. Or maybe Tony is hallucinating. He really should have eaten that sandwich JARVIS keeps nagging him about. “Tell me five things you see.”

“Five- Tony, what-“

“I said shut up, Rogers. Barnes!” Tony repeats beseechingly, voice hardening in spite of himself. “Tell me five things you see.”

Barnes blinks, brows furrowing. “I- you,” he forces the word out as though it causes him physical pain, breath heavy and chest heaving.

Tony nods in encouragement, holding up four fingers with his left hand and watching as Barnes’ gaze fixates itself on the digits for a moment before he visibly forces himself to glance around the room.

“Door,” Barnes continues slowly. The intonation sounds off, as though he only half remembers how to say the letters out loud. It makes Tony wonder if it’s easier for Barnes to recall his Russian vocabulary in his current state instead of the English one or if that would make the panic worse.

“Wall,” is Barnes’ next word. Tony’s only holding up two fingers now and it looks like they are on the right track after all. But then Barnes’ gaze flickers towards Steve and what little calm the distraction has managed to impair on him is swallowed up in a wave of pure fear.

Tony sees the exact moment it happens, the way the panic-stricken face slackens and wide eyes narrow in calculation, as easy as a switch that has been flipped. He’s scrambling backwards before he knows it, well-aware that he isn’t going to make it out of the room alive if the Winter Soldier so desires and frantically hoping he doesn’t, because Jesus Christ Pepper is going to be pissed if he leaves her alone with his mess of a company.

Thankfully Steve tackles the Winter Soldier to the ground before they get the chance to find out what assassins do when left unsupervised with fragile, human billionaires. Not so thankfully the Winter Soldier doesn’t take the attack lying down. Tony is getting sick real fast of renovating his living quarters because the modified members of the team lack the necessary control over their superior strength in a fight.

It’s time to take a more active approach to the Barnes Situation, Tony decides and watches with a wince as Barnes’ slams Steve’s head into—or through, it’s hard to tell from his current vantage point—the TV.

“JARVIS, initiate the Big Brother Protocol.”

*

A week of uncomfortably close observation of all the comings and goings and interactions in his Tower has taught Tony the following facts:

One, Steve is one hell of an amazing friend. The dedication the guy shows is honestly ridiculous and Tony wouldn’t have believed it could be found in real life if he hadn’t watched the evidence on tape. Multiple times.

Two, Barnes is all kinds of fucked in the head. Which isn’t surprising, never mind that it would be hypocritical of Tony of all people to demand sanity of his guests. Still. Tony has been informed about the seventy years of brainwashing part in the man’s CV but there is a difference between knowing it and seeing it.

Three, Steve is completely, utterly hopeless when it comes to dealing with Barnes’ panic attacks.

It is based on these three conclusions that Tony plans his next move.

*

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupts Tony’s recalculation of the maximum amount of storage he can put into his newest Starkphone mini, “Mr. Barnes is showing symptoms of high emotional distress identical to his usual behaviour patterns in the first stages of a panic attack.”

“Excellent!” Tony claps his hand because it’s been three weeks and he’s started to worry that Steve will never leave his BFF’s side long enough for the man to have an attack without Cap there to make it worse. Then he promptly winces, realising exactly how terrible that sounds. In Tony’s defence though, neither Barnes’ mental state nor Steve’s ability to calm the guy down have have shown any signs of improving.

“Have you notified Cap?”

“As per your request, I have refrained from doing so.” There is no mistaking the disapproval in the AI’s voice, though it has most likely less to do with locking Steve out and more with the rest of Tony’s plan.

“Right,” Tony is already at the door of the workshop and heading towards the elevator, far too used to ignoring JARVIS’ possibly very legitimate concern. “Let’s do this.”

“Sir, are you sure this is wise?”

“Probably not,” Tony admits with a shrug, “But when have I ever let that stop me? Now get me to our snow princess, J.”

*

There is one moment, right when he steps out of the elevator, where Tony honestly considers abandoning the plan and hiding in his workshop until Steve comes back. Barnes isn’t his problem after all.

Then Tony meets startled blue eyes from across the room and remembers that self-preservation has never been his strong suit for a reason. And really, what is life without a couple of near death experiences?

“You look like shit,” are the first words out of Tony’s mouth and something akin to a smirk withers away on Barnes’ lips before it has the chance to blossom into a full expression.

If anything the words are an understatement. Physically speaking Barnes is taller and broader than Tony but the way he’s currently sinking into himself makes him look brittle, like a harsh slap on the shoulder might break something worse than bones. Barnes’ lips are bitten raw to the point where Tony can make out smeared blood on rapidly healing skin. He is pale, to the point where his skin looks almost grey and his eyes are hazy and restless and so hunted.

Against his better knowledge Tony takes a step towards the curled up man. The motion causes Barnes’ head to snap around, body forced out of the vulnerable position so quickly Tony is sure he must have pulled a muscle or two, and suddenly prey is the last thing the man in front of him radiates. Tony freezes in his place, hands lifted reflexively. Barnes doesn’t attack though, for all that his eyes are void of humanity, and the faint tremor in his hands assures Tony that he hasn’t lost the man completely yet.

“Barnes,” Tony says, a statement and a question in one.

Barnes snarls, a terrible, biting sound and that’s it, Tony knows it, he’s done for. Only Barnes doesn’t close in on him, doesn’t attack. His hands are clenched so tightly by his side, they seem to vibrate with tension though.

“Leave,” Barnes forces the word out between gritted teeth, his focus on Tony slipping for a moment before it returns with the single-mindedness of a hunter narrowing in on its target.

Barnes still fighting the programming, the command is proof enough of that, but from the gasping breaths and sweat gathering on his forehead it’s easy to tell Barnes isn’t going to win this one.

Tony has no intention of letting it get that far.

“Tell me the first five things you can see,” he commands gently. It’s a tone he’s been practicing with a first aid instructor after the last time, supposed to be effective when dealing with people in shock. There’s no reason the same doesn’t apply for brainwashed, enhanced soldiers from the forties, or so Tony hopes.

Barnes’ eyes are flickering again, trying to take in everything at once as his body sags a little, looses some of the unnatural straightness to curl into itself again.

“You’re alright,” Tony continues, tries to keep his voice even and firm the way he has been taught. “You know what to do, you’ve done it before. Look around and tell me the first five things you see.”

For a long moment Barnes doesn’t respond. Doesn’t show any sign of having heard Tony in the first place. Then, Barnes tilts his head sideways, opens his mouth and speaks. It’s a single word, or at least Tony assumes it is, an unrecognisable, garbled mess of a sound.

It’s hard to tell if it’s some sort of wordless yell or Barnes’ attempt at doing as he’s told. But before Tony has the chance to make up his mind, Barnes’ intent gaze finally breaks away from him and this time, when Barnes says “Lamp,” it’s almost the actual, English word.

Tony could hug the man if it wasn’t for the high probability of getting his neck snapped.

“Window,” continues Barnes, the pronunciation audibly harsher compared to how he usually talks. It makes Tony wonder what he considers his native language nowadays. English? Russian? German? Whatever else Hydra’s come up with over the years?

The last two words, “Table,” and “Apple,” come a bit faster. It doesn’t escape Tony’s notice though that Barnes’ eyes flicker back to him in between every word, checking. Whether for signs of displeasure or threatening movements Tony doesn’t know.

“Good,” he says immediately, unwilling to allow Barnes to get lost further in his own head than he already is. “You’re doing great. Now tell me four things you can hear.”

“Voice,” is the immediate response. It catches Tony off-guard for a second, unsure whether Barnes means him or whether there are other voices he should be worrying about. Another question to file away for later.

“Bru-Breath,” comes next, the word catching on Barnes’ tongue before he manages to wrestle it into submission.

He manages the next two words with little trouble and Tony feels the first tendrils of relief rising from the bottom of his stomach. Panic is a complicated thing, Tony knows that better than most people. There are lots of coping mechanisms people have come up with over the years, some more effective than others.

Counting things in an effort to anchor yourself to reality is one of Tony’s favourites. People are different though, and he knows there are others who don’t deal well with an assigned task they don’t see themselves capable of completing. He has once met a guy who has driven himself even deeper into the panic because of the pressure of the countdown. In comparison Barnes appears to do fine, all things considered.

“Tell me three things you can touch,” Tony says, unable to keep his rising confidence from seeping into his tone.

There’s a moment between “Wood,” and “Wool,” where it’s touch and go. Barnes’ visibly looses his focus again, breath picking up until it turns into wheezing pants instead.

Tony clings to the calm confidence he’s started to build up but keeps his encouragement to a simple “Focus onto the cloth in your hand,”, worried that too much noise may do more harm than good.

Barnes hands clench and unclench again, perhaps a habit, perhaps an subconscious desire to reach for his weapons. He rips his sweatshirt beyond saving but manages a choked, “Carpet,” which is a decent trade as far as Tony is concerned.

Two things Barnes can smell end up being “Sweat,” and “Coffee beans.” Both are a fair assessment and Tony doesn’t succeed at hiding the proud smile that occupies his lips without permission at the fact that Barnes is starting to use longer words.

He leads Barnes through a small detour of “six red things in this room,” and “four blue ones,” just to be on the safe side. Only when the tension in Barnes’ shoulders abates, his body reflexively uncurling again and one of his answers ends up being “that fuckin’ lamp Sam never switches off,” does Tony deem it time to end the exercise with one last “Alright, now tell me one thing you can taste.”

Barnes winces at that one, a shadow flashing across the pale face that lets Tony know without doubt he’s made a mistake. The other man remains calm though, the white-knuckled fists by his side the only physical sign of his distress.

“Blood,” is all he says, blue eyes clear but filled with an anguish that is far too human, and Tony knows better than to ask if he means his own.

For a long moment after, the only sound to be heard in the room are their combined breaths. Tony is still standing right in front of the elevator, Barnes now more leant than curled against the wall he’s chosen to hide behind. The silence wraps itself around them like a heavy blanket, warm but stifling in a way that makes Tony’s skin itch.

Surprisingly it’s Barnes who breaks the quiet first.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, brows furrowing when Tony limits his response to a single question, accompanied by a pointed glance.

“Because you were doing just fine on your own?” The words are dripping with the kind of honeyed mockery Tony should know better than to direct at an enhanced assassin. They come as easy as breathing all the same.

“I could have killed you!” And there it is, a rare glimpse at the rage, the fury that has nothing to do with the savage survival instinct of the Winter Soldier. An emotion purely Barnes that is usually buried too deep under guilt and self-hatred for Barnes to recognise it as such.

“So could Pepper on a war path, those damn aliens or my own liver,” Tony snorts. “Get off your horse, snowflake, you’re not that special.”

“You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met!” Barnes growls. Honest to god growls.

“But you haven’t killed me yet,” Tony replies without thought and resolutely suppresses a wince when his words catch up with him. Maybe this is cruel but Tony has never been one to shy away from the truth just because it makes for an ugly picture. “I’ll take what I can get.”

*

Barnes stays out of sight the next day, but freshly brewed cups of coffee and a variety of Tony’s favourite snacks make it a habit to appear out of nowhere in the most convenient places.

It’s not a thank you exactly. As far as Tony is concerned, it’s better.

*

For all that Barnes is scarily talented at evading Tony, it takes less than three days for them to stumble into each other again.

It’s a coincidence, but considering Barnes is moments away from turning into a blood-thirsty nightmare and Steve is nowhere to be seen, it’s probably a good one. Tony certainly doesn’t hesitate kneeling down, just shy out of the man’s reach, to make himself useful once more.

It’s not as easy as the last time, if dealing with Barnes stuck between blind panic and ferocious aggression can be called easy at all. Barnes keeps rocking himself back and forth, muttering indiscernible words in Russian. He’s half-gone but still hitting the wall at random intervals, yelling out numbers and single words as though they will somehow give him the strength to endure the maelstrom of blackened feelings swirling behind frightened, blue eyes.

Truth is, Barnes is rapidly losing it. He knows it. Tony knows it. JARVIS probably knows it as well. Barnes keeps fighting though, not giving up an inch for free, and that, right there, is something Tony respects. Too bad it doesn’t change that he needs to get out of here right now, before he shares the fate of his last four TVs.

Despite that Tony hesitates. Because Tony doesn’t like the thought of giving up any more than Barnes does and it’s that reckless determination that drives him to impulsively answer Barnes’ mumbling with the only command he can think of which Barnes might actually recognise.

All of Barnes.

“Cтоп!” Tony calls out sharply and hopes, wills himself to believe this will work. And Barnes freezes, caught off-guard for the first time.

It still takes a lot of counting, Barnes breaking a table and punching three holes into the wall before they’re done, but by the end of it Tony is alive and Barnes is sane again. Or as close to sane as he ever is these days.

Just like the last time Barnes doesn’t thank Tony but neither does he lash out. Instead he closes his eyes and runs a shaky hand through his tangled hair, the picture of hopeless exhaustion.

“I didn’t know you speak Russian, Stark,” Barnes mutters eventually, voice pitched two degrees softer than when Tony has to talks him down. It’s the first time Barnes has used his name, so Tony decides to cut him some slack.

“That’s because I don’t, Barnes.”

Barnes blinks at him, lips twitching like they want to form a smile or a question but have forgotten how. In the end he doesn’t ask and Tony is content to simply sit on the ground and enjoy the feeling of his still beating heart. Besides it’s not even a lie. Four words—Stop and three much less polite ones—hardly make up a language.

Tony suspects it might be time to change that though.

*

It becomes a regular thing. Tony has JARVIS monitor Barnes for signs of distress, this time with the man’s knowledge and implied permission, and when possible does his best to help Barnes calm down. Sometimes he comes too late. Sometimes it works better than others. Sometimes Steve is there and Tony’s living room turns into a battlefield.

The problem with regular things is, you get used to them. Sure, Tony knows the danger every time he approaches Barnes but it’s less distinctive, becomes a familiar awareness instead. And with every time he watches Barnes slowly wrestle his escalating emotions back under control, Tony learns more.

He learns when Barnes needs verbal guidance and when it’s best to back off and hope for the best. He learns how to tell when Barnes is safe to touch and when he needs to add another round of questions just to be sure. Learns that Barnes appreciates cutting jokes and dark humour once the edge has been taken off. Learns that speaking Russian is fine as well, as long as Barnes has a clear sight of Tony when he does it.

And so maybe Tony doesn’t just get used to dealing with Barnes’ panic attacks. He also gets used to dealing with Barnes. Spending time with him. Being comfortable in his presence.

Things grow from there.

When he has the time to spare, Tony hangs around for a time, even after Barnes is back to himself again. To keep an eye on him, in the beginning at least. And maybe to get some dirt on the Capsicle too.

The point is, they talk. Not always. Certainly not a lot. Sometimes all Barnes does is stare at a wall, eyes so dead Tony wonders if he’s really doing the man a favour by keeping his murderous side at bay. But on other days, Barnes lets things slip. Or asks a question. Or listens.

It starts with a “What’s a LOL?” here and a “I don’t like people touching the arm,” there. Barnes isn’t a good talker by any means, but Tony knows how to fill unwelcome silences and keep up meaningless chatter when the situation calls for it. He rants about stakeholders, board members and politicians, and complains about Steve’s tendency to clean up after him even though Tony is an adult perfectly capable of looking after himself.

“Or hiring your own cleaning stuff,” Barnes interrupts his rant, with less scorn and more humour than one might expect. Tony can’t help but beam at the other man at that, because Barnes has just made his first joke in Tony’s presence and that’s progress. Admittedly, they’ll have to work on the smiling part, but baby steps.

“It still counts!” Tony cries indignantly instead, gratified when Barnes’ smile becomes a shade more genuine.

*

The inevitable happens eventually.

Of course it does. Counting shit, as Barnes likes to call it, can be a surprisingly effective distraction technique. Especially considering how simple it really is. It is not a miracle cure however and can only do so much to combat a decade-old drill response.

“Sir!” JARVIS calls out, a pointless warning for all that it is part of the emergency protocols.

One moment Barnes watches Tony working on his suit and the next his features blank out. Like a switch that has been flipped the man changes, eager curiosity turning into cool calculation.

The workshop goes into lockdown before Tony has fully processed what's happening. It’s part of the security protocols he has personally installed—because they have all agreed that the only thing worse than Barnes on a killing spree is him not being contained in the Tower whilst on it.

On the bright side, Tony is confident Barnes won’t be able to escape the workshop. With his more recent designs added, it takes far more than enhanced strength to break down his doors. Of course Tony has never planned to be locked in with the man, should he loose control like this.

Which has apparently been an oversight on his part.

Alarms must be ringing all over the Tower by now, but here, behind the thick, sound-proofed walls, the only sound to be heard are the comforting beeps of Tony's machines and whirrs of metal. Help won’t come, won’t even be let through. This time there won’t be a Cap to fight the Winter Soldier until Barnes comes back to himself.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, Tony slowly puts the hammer down onto the table. Then, against all instincts, he turns his back on the suit to faces Barnes instead. He hasn’t spent the last weeks coaching this man on how to handle his panic attacks to fight him to death now, dammit.

There must be something wrong with him to feel this anger instead of fear, Tony considers absently, then dismisses the irrelevant thought. Focusing on the Winter Soldier, who has by some miracle not yet moved, instead chooses to appraise Tony from a distance, seems far more important.

And honestly, Tony has forgotten how striking the differences between this guy and the Barnes he has come to know are. It’s in the way he stands, broad shoulders drawn back and spine straightened with steel. A posture built on pride and confidence, two things Barnes decidedly lacks. It’s in the tilt of his head, lowered but not bowed. A fortress not built so overwhelm as much as to endure whatever enemy it may face. And then here is the sharpness to the Soldier’s eyes that makes them appear lighter, almost colourless, in the brightly lit workshop, and all the more lethal for it.

Then the Winter Soldier speaks, gruff and throaty but still recognisable as Barnes' voice on its most fundamental level.

“Вы не укладчик.”

You are no handler.

It could be anything, from accusation to compliment. The Winter Soldier’s countenance is free of any cues and it’s this, the complete lack of aggression, that makes Tony answer honestly. He's suddenly very glad to have invested some time into improving his Russian.

“Верный,” Tony agrees. He wonders how much of Barnes’ knowledge the Soldier has access to. How much of it he is capable of understanding.

The Soldier’s gaze dances across the room almost lazily, but Tony doesn’t doubt that he’s memorising every little detail. The Soldier still hasn’t attacked though. Instead an eerily calm aura has settled around the man, a thin layer of pretence trying to cover the rumbling beast within, and just as reassuring. Tony has a hard time deciding whether or not he should worry about that.

“You create,” the Soldier comments, gaze sweeping over the half-dismantled armour. The words aren't phrased as a question and it's this certainty that steals a derisive laugh from Tony’s throat before he remembers himself.

“I don’t create,” Tony sneers, unprepared for how easily this man, who is and isn’t Barnes, gets under his skin, brings memories of missiles and drones and ashes alive, along with every emotion attached to them. “I burn.”

For a long moment the Winter Soldier stares at Tony, as if to measure his sincerity.

Then, he smiles.

It’s biting and feral and blood-thirsty, and in all likelihood the single most terrifying thing Tony has ever witnessed. It’s also the first time he has seen Barnes’ face smile at all and it’s beautiful.

“Good,” the Soldier states. He sounds like he means it.

Tony spends the next hours pondering those words, cursing all his life choices up to this point and eventually continuing his work whilst pretending he doesn’t share the room with a trigger-happy assassin. Glacial, blue eyes watch him silently.

*

After The Incident, as Tony likes to refer to his encounter with Winter Soldier, Barnes goes back to avoiding him again. Which, whatever. It’s not like Tony misses hanging out with the man or anything. They have barely spent any time together outside of their little pseudo therapy chats, it would be pathetic of him to consider Barnes a friend because of it.

Not that Tony doesn’t see Barnes because the other man stops by every once in a while. In a manner of speaking.

It seems that the Winter Soldier has decided stalking Tony is a rewarding way to spend his free time and he makes it a point to drop by whenever possible. And if Tony just happens to be in a highly secured room beyond the Soldier’s reach or someone stands in his way? Well. He makes his displeasure known. Loudly.

As it turns out, one is never too old for a temper tantrum.

The funny thing is, when he gets his way the Soldier doesn’t actually do anything. He just stays in the corner of the workshop that has unofficially been declared as his and watches Tony tirelessly, sometimes for hours to no end. When Tony leaves the ‘shop, the Soldier follows in his shadow, observes movies and dinners from the sidelines. He doesn't participate, doesn't interact with anyone, just stays in Tony's shadow like it's the most comfortable place to be.

The first time the Soldier dropped by he almost gave Tony a heart attack, the engineer having been caught up too far in his own head to notice JARVIS’ warnings, but by now he has gotten used to the constant presence looming at his back. More than is probably wise.

What is much harder to get used to is the way the Soldier becomes Barnes again, a change too subtle to pick up on until it has already been completed. Sometimes Tony is too distracted to notice and Barnes simply disappears in the background with remarkable similarity to his other self. On days like today though, Tony has the questionable pleasure of watching the process first hand. It starts with the slumping posture and drawn together eyebrows, the unhappy turn of the corners of Barnes’ mouth as he takes in his surroundings.

At least there is no more panic and shock over where he is. Barnes has probably gotten used to this as much as Tony has. But the way Barnes immediately turns on his heels is still a bitter pill to swallow. It’s stupid, but Tony is tired of seeing the other man walk away from him.

“Barnes,” he calls out, gratified when Barnes pauses, shoulders tense, one hand already stretched out towards the door handle. Barnes doesn’t turn around but when Tony forcefully clears his throat in the silence stretching between them, he finds himself thankful for not having to face the man.

“You’re welcome here,” Tony ends up saying, voice a fraction too raw to hit the casual note he has been aiming for. “All of you is.”

Tony doubts Barnes believes him but it needs to be said. There are a lot of things that need to be said and they have to start somewhere.

*

“’S not wearing off,” Barnes says out of the blue, breaking the comfortable quiet they’ve fallen into.

It’s been a less intense panic attack, as far as Tony can judge. Barnes had calmed down almost all on his own, by the time Tony joined him, but that hasn’t stopped Tony from slipping back into the familiar role of the coach without a thought to their recent difficulties.

Now that Barnes is sitting on the ground, back against the wall and palms pressed flatly against the ground, focusing on him is no longer appropriate and Tony, who never lacks the words to talk about nothing, finds himself floundering.

“What do you mean?” he asks in a low voice, wary of breaking the unspoken truce.

“The freak-outs,” Barnes shrugs, the motion so slight it’s barely there. “The programming.”

Here he sighs, the action carrying a resignation that stems from somewhere deep within his very soul and leaves Tony feeling strangely like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. Turning his head sideways and allowing it to rest against his shoulder, Barnes’ fixates his vacant stare on a blank spot on the wall to Tony’s left and just- sags.

“Him.”

Tony doesn’t need to ask whom Barnes is talking about. He wants to though, because then at least he would have something to say instead of scrambling for words that refuse to come. When exactly has anyone seen it fit to turn him into a psychologist for traumatised ex-prisoners of war?

“It might help if you’d stop running away from everything,” ends up being what he says and Tony doesn’t need to see Barnes’s face to know that this is not how you comfort people. It’s too late to take the words back now though, so Tony plunges on like he always does. “You’ve got Capsicle and Sam watching your back. You’ve got SI’s doctors and the best brainwashing experts money can find at your service any time you want.”

“Stop!” Barnes hisses but Tony refuses to listen now that he has gotten into the swing of it, glares right back instead.

“No, I won’t!” he snaps, frustration, helplessness and the arctic but still too warm eyes of the man everything boils down to pushing the words he’s been biting back since Steve has first dragged Barnes through his door months ago finally forward. “Those panic attacks you’ve been experiencing for months, they aren’t just magically gonna disappear. Maybe they never will but sitting around, worrying over the next one won’t do shit! You need to deal with it. Find your triggers, learn to work around them, figure out loopholes, sources of comfort, whatever it takes. But stop your fucking pity party and do something!”

By the end of his rant, Tony is left breathless by the force of his own emotions. His simmering anger though has nothing on Barnes, who jumps to his feet in one fluid motion, whirls around and slams his fists against the wall so hard Tony thinks he can hear the bones break.

“I can’t!” Barnes screams. Then, quieter, a wounded sound fuelled by an entangled mess of agony and fury, “I can’t.”

The defeated aura clinging to Barnes like a heavy cloak that drags his head deeper under water is unbearable.

“Nobody expects you to be fine,” Tony states eventually, unable to cling to his own anger in the face of such unconditional capitulation, yet equally unable to accept it. “You have been the longest prisoner of war ever recorded. You have been tortured, experimented on, brainwashed and frozen alive. You have been used and abused for decades. That would change anyone and the fact that it’s changed you is no mark against you, do you understand that? Because you know what, Barnes?”

Tony’s body moves almost against his own will, and it’s the first time Tony is glad for his comparatively unimpressive height. It allows him to duck under Barnes’ arms and force frosty eyes to meet his own.

“You survived. You went through an unspeakable hell and you made it out alive.” The words hold the unshakeable conviction of someone who has been there, someone who has been remade not in ice but fire, but remade all the same. “You were strong enough to make it through everything Hydra threw at you. That’s how I know you’re strong enough to pick up the pieces now that you’re free.”

“Barnes,” Tony grabs a hold of the man’s broad shoulders and is at the same time surprised and unsurprised when Barnes doesn’t pull away from his touch, “You don’t need us. You don’t need me. You don’t need Steve or Sam or a world-class psychiatrist. But we’re here and we’re willing to help if you want us to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve got a real reputation for seeking help, Stark,” Barnes scoffs.

He hasn’t pushed Tony away yet though, and that is something.

“I didn’t say you have to get help, I said it’s there if you want it,” Tony corrects, refusing to rise to the bait. “You’ve been running from everything since you got away from Hydra and I don’t blame you for that. No one would. But this can’t be all you’re doing for the rest of your life. You’re not with Hydra anymore, Barnes! There are no handlers, there are no orders, and if I’ve got anything to say about it there never will be. You’re free. You have options now, and you need to learn how to use them.”

Barnes averts his eyes but not before Tony notices the bright shine in them. He doesn’t comment on the way Barnes’ hands cling to his forearms strong enough to leave bruises either.

“I-“ Barnes voice trails off then and his grip tightens just a little, forcing Tony to press his lips shut to keep the pained hiss from escaping.

“I remember Bucky,” Barnes chokes out eventually and there is a kind of desperation etched into his expression that belies the oh so simple words. “But I don’t remember being him.” The confession is hesitant, soft almost, but there is no mistaking the shame, the hopelessness in Barnes’ eyes.

Tony swallows, his throat suddenly too dry and his eyes too wet, as though his body fluids have forgotten where they belong. He gets it then, the way Barnes’ shies away from Steve’s attempts to reconcile, the way he avoids anything referring to his life pre-Hydra.

Still.

“You don’t really need to remember him though, do you?” Tony’s question appears to startle Barnes but Tony doesn’t let that deter him. “I mean, who really remembers exactly what kind of person they were five years ago, never mind sixty. It’s who you are now that matters, who you’ll be tomorrow that you should focus on.”

Because when it comes down to it, Tony has and always will be a futurist.

“And how do you suggest I go on a fucking self-discovery trip that with the damn programming stuck in my head?” Barnes demands, anger at ready once again.

“Woah, calm down!” Tony raises his hands. “I know you hate the Soldier but have you ever considered that maybe he isn’t as Hydra as you think he is?”

Silence.

This is why I don’t usually play Dr. Phil, Tony thinks in resignation. He decidedly did not mean to say that particular thought out loud. It’s just a theory, a suspicion that has been growing ever since that first time Tony has faced the Winter Soldier and come out of it without a scratch.

Barnes stumbles backwards as if he’s been slapped, eyes wide and filled with horror. “What-“

“Alright, stop!” Tony interrupts hurriedly before Barnes can work himself into a full-blown rage. “That came out wrong. It’s just, we’ve all worked under the assumption that the Soldier is the programming. Hydra’s ultimate creation, if you will. But we’ve never found any files confirming that assumption and I don’t know about you but if my evil organisation invented a way to slip a second persona I can shape however I want into someone else’s mind, I definitely would have kept the data,” Tony rambles.

“What are you trying to say?” Going from the dread in Barnes’ voice he already knows.

Tony licks his lips, feeling suddenly nervous under Barnes’ intense stare, so eerily similar to the Winter Soldier’s behaviour. Of course if what Tony suspects is true that doesn’t come as a surprise.

“I think we should consider the possibility that the Hydra didn’t create the Soldier at all. You did.”

This time, when the Soldier surfaces, he is anything but docile.

*

Tony wakes up with a headache bad enough to justify the private hospital room he finds himself in. His thoughts are scattered and foggy, which is why it takes him almost two minutes to come up with a viable reason for the Disappointed Frown Steve is gracing him with from where he sits in the visitor chair.

Right. Barnes. The Soldier. Shit.

“I’m guessing you aren’t here to congratulate me for my continued survival, are you?” Tony jokes with a bleak grin, dimmed by pain and sadness.

“Tony.”

The exasperated disappointment a single word can convey is amazing.

“I take it Snow White pulled a disappearing act again.”

“Tony.”

“Thought so.”

Tony closes his eyes and tries to blend out the world around him to the best of his abilities. Sadly Steve is much too stubborn to give up that easily.

“JARVIS gave me a quick run down but he wouldn’t let us watch the footage. Tony, what did you say to Bucky?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” A smile that holds nothing but teeth hushes over Tony’s face. “Something he didn’t like to hear.”

*

Tony stares at the package on the table with something approaching deep resentment.

The package appears entirely unmoved.

It’s been delivered two hours ago, close to thirty-two hours after Barnes has knocked Tony out and dropped of the map, and Tony fights the urge to burn the damn thing like his pride demands. Because he knows exactly what he will find should he open it. Stress balls. Twenty-one, to be exact. In an assortment of different colours and materials, just to be save.

They are just an idea, like so many others. Like his damn theory. But it hasn’t escaped Tony’s notice that Barnes’ fingers continue to twitch every once in a while, like he needs to get a hold of something that is no longer there.

So. Stress balls.

It’s a silly idea, stupid really. Not that it matters anymore with Barnes gone, no thanks to Tony.

He kicks the package into a free corner of his workshop and tries to concentrate on the newest report from R&D instead.

*

It’s a little after two in the morning when Tony stumbles through his abandoned living area. Steve is hunting down a cold trail somewhere in Iowa and Sam has a weirdly regular sleeping schedule for a superhero, so it’s quiet.

Whatever. It’s not like Tony is in the mood for company.

He takes a sip from his glass of very expensive scotch instead, closes his eyes and allows the slight burn in the back of his throat to take off the edge of the stress the last few days have brought him.

“You can join me, you know,” Tony says without bothering to open his eyes. Then, as an afterthought, “You really need to stop running off like this. Breaks Cap’s heart every time.”

There is no response, no sound to be heard at all, but when he finally does look, Tony isn’t surprised to find Barnes sitting on the love seat across the table like he has never left in the first place.

A couple of minutes pass in companionable silence as Tony savours his drink and Barnes watches him with an unreadable expression. It’s only after Tony sets down the glass for the final time that he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Barnes blinks, clearly not having expected that but Tony isn’t finished yet.

“I don’t regret what I said but I should have handled it better, not just thrown all that baggage at you and especially not out of anger.” Tony holds Barnes’ gaze, wants him to realise how serious he is. Because he has had lots of time in the last week to replay their conversation and whatever the right way to broach a topic like that is, the way he did it wasn’t it. And Tony should have known that.

“I have a tendency to do things like this, push too far too fast.” And isn’t that the truth? “But it wasn’t fair of me to just load all this crap I’ve kept bottling up onto you.”

When Barnes just looks increasingly like a deer caught in the headlights, helpless in the face of an apology of all things, Tony decides to hand the poor guy an easy out. Before they repeat the abrupt end of their last talk, because Tony really, really doesn’t want to explain to Captain America how he lost his best friend again.

“Of course you knocked me out afterwards, so I figure we’re pretty much even now.”

That at least gets him something approaching a smile. It’s a tiny, flickering thing, gone mere seconds later, but it’s real.

For a moment Tony considers continuing their last conversation. The thought of having someone to share Bruce’s and his theories of the supersoldier serum with, of his ideas regarding the Soldier’s existence and all their implications, is certainly enticing. On a less logical level though Tony is well aware that Barnes may not be the best person to discuss these things with. Not yet at least.

Maybe some day.

“So,” Tony drawls, “You’re here to stay?”

It comes out a lot more like a question than he intends but when Barnes gives a short nod, Tony doesn’t find it in himself to care.

“Great!” he scrambles to his feet with more energy than Tony has felt in a while. “Follow me, I’ve got something for you.”

Tony does his best to hide it but when Barnes falls into step beside him, an uncomfortably tight knot in his chest finally eases.

That night Tony falls asleep with a gentle smile on his face as a shadow with glacial eyes watches over him.

*

The sad thing is that, for all his genius, Tony doesn’t notice the developing pattern that follows Barnes’ return at all. Oh, he notices the small things, the incidents and shared moments, but he’s too close to the situation, too involved, to take a step back and look at the entire picture. Or perhaps he is simply too obvious.

Steve and Sam aren’t.

For Steve’s heightened senses it’s hard not to pick up on the way Bucky keeps counting under his breath sometimes or begins to tap a rhythm on a nearby surface at random times. There is no apparent reason for those actions as far as Steve can tell, except that they somehow help Bucky calm down—and never fail to make Tony smile when he notices them.

It’s Sam who first notices that Tony has stopped calling Bucky ‘Barnes’ and instead seems to prefer a variety of nicknames ranging from snowflake, Snow White and Jimmy The Second all the way to sugar cake and rainbow-flavoured muffin heart. Ridiculous nicknames is something Tony is known for though, which is why Sam doesn’t think much of it.

The same can’t be said for the first time Bucky calls Tony sunshine.

In fact, once he processes it, Sam promptly chokes on Natasha’s favourite tea whilst Steve stares at his old friend like he has just revealed a magical cure to every sickness imaginable. Natasha raises a single eyebrow at them and asks what exactly they thought the term cолнышко the Winter Soldier prefers when referring to Tony means.

Sam wisely doesn’t point out that pet names have been the furthest thing on his mind where the Winter Soldier is concerned.

It is around that time that the touching starts. A light hand on Bucky’s arm to keep him calm and centred where Tony used to keep his physical distance. An excited half-hug after a scientific breakthrough and less than three hours sleep the previous night. It’s not overt exactly and Steve wouldn’t have thought all that much of it, if not for the fact that it doesn’t seem to make a difference whether it is Bucky or the Soldier who is in control. Not a difference for Tony at least, who reaches out to either one without hesitation. It is around that time that Steve starts researching a topic SHIELD’s modern day introduction has only briefly covered: the LGBT+ community. Clint, Sam and Natasha meanwhile continue placing their bets.

It’s the falling asleep that really stands out to Sam. Because Tony seems to put a lot of effort into always being as loud and energised as possible, and so of course everyone notices when their resident genius falls asleep at the dinner table or during movie night. That doesn’t mean it’s a common occurrence. But when it happens Tony always and without fail falls asleep on Bucky. Or curled around him. Or by his side.

And Bucky, Sam can’t help but grin, makes it his personal mission to ensure nobody disturbs Tony’s sleep. Clint has tried to play a prank on Tony one time and never again, and even Natasha makes it a point to stay out of their way.

When Bucky eventually joins them on missions, there is an unspoken rule not to mention how their enemies have a way of dying mysteriously and very violently when they come too close to Iron Man or the Winter Soldier. Not to forget the flirting over the comm lines, which, coming from Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes, is exactly as subtle as you would expect.

There are days where Sam wants to shake the two most stubborn, obvious men he has ever met—and that is saying something, considering he is friends with Steve Rogers—but then. Then he watches the Soldier squeeze a small stress ball in his hand with a focused expression that wouldn’t be out of place on a battle field. Observes Tony’s brilliant smile as he talks about improving the durability of the material. Sees Bucky whisper a quiet “Cпите мой пучик,” into the dozing engineer’s hair. And Sam can’t bring himself to say anything at all.

They’ll figure it out, he thinks with a surge of exasperated affection. Eventually.

It’s done. *lets out deep, relieved sigh* I hope you guys enjoyed it!