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aquaholicsanonymousworld · 2 months ago

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Everything’s Fine | Pairing: Thunderbolts x Reader x Robert Reynolds/Sentry/Void | Warnings: ED themes, Mental Spiral

They call again.

Your phone buzzes against the cracked kitchen counter, the screen flickering weakly like it’s as tired as you are. Another call — another name flashing. Bucky this time. Or maybe it’s Yelena. Maybe it’s Ava again. You’ve stopped checking.

You let it ring. You always do. Because everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. Bob just needs time.

Your reflection in the window says otherwise.

Hollow eyes. Skin tight against sharp bones. Bruises blooming dark and sickly along your arms, your ribs — marks of walls hit in your sleep, fists slammed against doors when you were trying not to scream.

Your hands shake as you clutch the phone. Don’t answer. Don’t let them come. Don’t let them hurt him.

Void is watching.

You feel him even now, a shadow curling at the edges of the room, a low thrum in your skull. His voice — deep and poisonous and soothing all at once — whispers: "They’ll take him from you. They’ll destroy what’s left. Only you can protect him. Only you understand."

You swallow hard. You haven’t eaten in days — not really. Nibbles here and there, just enough to stay on your feet during training. But your body is screaming now, muscles weak, stomach gnawing itself hollow.

And still, you whisper back: "I can do this. I can be strong. I can fix this. For Bob."

It’s been a week. A week since Robert vanished inside himself, swallowed by the Void. A week since you last saw the golden flicker of the Sentry in his eyes. A week since you locked the doors of the old Stark Tower and told the world outside that everything’s fine.

The Thunderbolts have been patient. Too patient. But today they stop waiting.

The knock at the door isn’t a knock — it’s a battering ram of authority.

You flinch so hard you drop your phone, heart slamming against your ribs.

Void growls in your ear: “They’re here to take him from you. Are you going to let them? Weak, pathetic little thing. You couldn’t even hold your own in training — always second-best, always failing. You’ll fail him too.”

Your hands clamp over your ears. “Stop. Stop—”

But the door crashes open before you can sink deeper.

They see you.

Ghost. Bucky. Walker. All of them — frozen in the doorway as they take in the wreck you’ve become.

The once-proud Siren, shining and strong, now gaunt and gray-skinned, trembling in too-big clothes, dark circles so deep they look like bruises. Your lips are cracked. Your cheeks are sunken.

And still you smile weakly at them, voice hoarse as you croak: "Everything's fine. Bob’s just… he just needs more time. Don’t fight. Don’t make this worse—"

But your body betrays you. Your knees buckle and Yelena lunges forward to catch you before you hit the ground. Your pulse is weak. Your skin is cold.

And when she pulls you close, she can feel the fine tremble of someone who’s been running on empty — no food, no sleep, just adrenaline and sheer willpower that’s finally running dry.

"Where is he?" Bucky’s voice is sharp and cold. His jaw ticks.

You try to answer, but the shame chokes you — thick and heavy.

Void curls around your spine, hissing: “Look at you. A disgrace. You call yourself a Siren? You’re nothing but bones and failure. Couldn’t even beat your class. Couldn’t keep him safe. Couldn’t save your own damn self.”

Your hands claw at your chest as the spiral starts — ugly and familiar: "You’re worthless. You let them down. You let Bob down. You let yourself rot away because you thought if you just got smaller if you just got better, it would fix everything—"

"Hey!" Yelena snaps, voice cracking through the storm. She grabs your face and forces your glassy eyes to meet hers. "Stop it. Come back. Don’t let him do this to you."

Somewhere in the shadows, Void snarls — the presence flaring so dark and cold it makes the lights in the room flicker.

"You don’t touch what’s mine," the Void rumbles, using Bob’s voice but twisted, guttural. "She belongs to me."

The team braces, weapons out. And you — shaking, crying, bones aching — still try to stand between them and the Void.

"Please… don’t fight… he just needs time… I can fix this—" But your body gives out.

You collapse into Yelena’s arms, sobbing, the weight of a week’s worth of starvation, bruises, failure, and love gone toxic finally crushing you down. And that’s when they know. This isn’t just about saving Bob anymore. It’s about saving you, too. Before the Void swallows you both whole.

"Don’t touch her." The Void’s voice slithers out from the darkened corners of the old Stark Tower, slick as oil and cold as space. Black tendrils pulse and writhe, the air humming with that low, oppressive static that makes your skin crawl.

Your body is deadweight in Yelena’s arms — but it’s not Yelena this time. It’s Ghost, Ava, her glitching form flickering as she crouches beside you, whispering sharp, fast words you can barely process.

"Focus. Breathe. He’s in your head. Fight back."

But you can’t. Your chest is tight. Your stomach is empty. Your throat is raw from nights spent sobbing into your own shaking hands while the Void crooned lies about love loyalty and sacrifice.

Above you, the Thunderbolts fan out like wolves.

Bucky’s metal arm flexes, gun already aimed dead center at the biggest tendril. His mouth is set in a hard, grim line — soldier mode. Zero tolerance.

Yelena flips her baton in her hand, eyes sharp as razors. She glances at you and flinches — just a little — at the sight of how wrecked you look.

Red Guardian cracks his knuckles, broad shoulders rolling back. "We take Void down, we take Bob back," he grunts. "Simple." But his eyes flicker toward you too, and there’s a flicker of something pained behind all that bravado.

And John Walker — US Agent — is already itching for a fight. "About damn time we shut this thing down," he snaps, shield slamming against his forearm. "Look at her. She’s falling apart. You let this thing keep her like some goddamn hostage? Not today."

"You’re weak." Void's voice spikes again, cruel and coiling, directed at you. “Couldn’t even finish your training. Couldn’t even keep food down. All that power they promised you — wasted. Useless. Not worth saving.”

Your breath hitches. Your fingernails dig into your palms, so hard you feel the sting of broken skin. Not worth saving. Not worth saving.

Yelena’s voice cuts through like a blade. "Get up."

You blink through tears. She’s standing over you now, her baton crackling with electricity, gaze locked on yours — sharp and merciless.

"I said, get up." she growls. "You are not dying here. You are not letting that thing keep you down. You are Siren, yeah? Then act like it."

Ghost’s hand clamps around your wrist, grounding you. "Breathe. In. Out. You know how. Come back."

Bucky’s voice, gruff but steady: "We’ve got Bob. You get you."

Void shrieks — the walls shudder. Black energy lashes out, slamming into Red Guardian, who grunts and stumbles back but stays standing.

"You can’t save her. She belongs to me."

John Walker’s had enough. He charges, shield-first, slamming into the tendrils with brute force. "Get the hell outta here, freak!" he snarls. "She’s not yours!"

And something breaks inside you.

Because for the first time in a week — after starving, breaking, crying yourself raw —you hear someone say it: You’re not his.

Your breath shudders in. Your hands flex weakly.

Yelena sees it. She crouches down, grabs your face roughly, cheeks hollow and bruised under her grip. "You hear me? You are not his. You are ours. Thunderbolt. Fighter. You get up now, or I swear to god I drag your bony ass up myself."

Above you, the Void roars. "Lies. Lies. She’s mine—"

Your voice cracks, hoarse and trembling but yours: "No… I’m not… I’m not yours—"

Bucky fires. The shot slices through a tendril, black mist hissing as it evaporates. Red Guardian wades in, fists swinging, bellowing curses in Russian. Walker slams his shield again and again, driving the Void back with sheer stubborn violence. Yelena doesn’t let go of you. Her fingers dig in harder. "Get. Up." she snarls.

You scream. A raw, broken, ugly sound — all your shame, all your failure, all the self-hate Void fed you — ripping out of your throat. And you push yourself up. Shaking. Crying. But standing.

"Bob—" you gasp. You can feel him now, buried deep under the Void’s storm, small and flickering like a dying ember. "Bob, come back—"

Void lashes out, enraged — but the Thunderbolts are already on him, battering down every inch of black with fists, batons, bullets, and shields.

Yelena shoves you forward. "Call him back. Now!"

Your voice breaks again as you scream through the static: "ROBERT REYNOLDS—COME BACK TO ME!"

For a heartbeat — everything stops.The Void freezes. The tendrils flicker. And then—gold light. Faint. Weak. But there. Behind the black.

"…Y/N?" His voice. Small. Cracked. But Bob.

You fall to your knees, sobbing, as the Thunderbolts keep fighting, buying you those precious seconds to reach him — to drag him back from the dark.

"Please, Bob—please—come back—"

Void howls — but you don’t hear it anymore. Because for the first time in a week, the gold light gets brighter.

The Void shrieks as it breaks apart. Like tar peeling off burning gold.

Your knees hit the floor hard — but you barely feel it. You’re too busy clawing through the dark with your voice, hoarse and cracked and desperate. "Bob—please—come back—"

And then—light. Not blinding, not golden, and godlike like he used to be. But soft. Flickering. Human.

Robert Reynolds collapses out of the storm like a broken angel. Face pale, sweat-soaked, trembling. Blonde hair matted and tangled, golden aura flickering weakly around him.

His eyes open — blue, dazed — and the second they land on you, they shatter.

"Y/N—" he croaks, voice breaking. And then louder, panicked, raw: "Y/N—oh my god—"

You flinch. Instinct. Too used to pain, too used to the Void’s voice crawling down your spine. Your body, thin and shaking, tries to curl in on itself like you can disappear.

But Bob is already scrambling toward you, crawling on his hands and knees like a man on fire.

"No—no—look at me—" His hands grab your face, gentle but shaking as if he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he squeezes too hard.

His eyes take you in, the sharp bones under your skin, the bruises blooming like wilted flowers, the way your lips are cracked and bleeding because you chewed them raw trying to stay silent.

"I didn’t know—" His voice breaks on a sob. "I didn’t know he was doing this to you—"

Behind you, the Thunderbolts stand down. Walker’s breathing hard, Yelena turns her back, giving you privacy. Bucky lowers his gun. Red Guardian mutters something soft and bitter in Russian, but even he looks away. They give you this. Because they know this is your moment.

"I’m sorry—" Bob sobs, pulling you into him. His body shakes so hard it rattles your ribs. "I let him—I let him get into your head—oh god, Y/N—"

You’re crying, too hot, messy, choking sobs that scrape your throat raw. Your hands clutch at his shirt, thin fingers knotting in the fabric like you’re drowning.

"You left—" you sob against his chest. "You left me alone—I—I didn’t know what to do—"

His arms crush you tighter, desperate. "I’m here—I’m here now—I’m sorry—I didn’t know—I swear—"

His fingers map over your battered body like he’s trying to count every bruise, every scar, every rib poking out from weeks of not eating.

His voice cracks again: "You’re so thin—what did he—god, what did I—"

Your knees give out completely. But he holds you up. Both of you shaking. Both of you crying. Both of you broken. But together.

You don’t even notice the others moving — Ghost pressing a protein bar into Bucky’s hand, and Bucky quietly, carefully, setting it down next to you.

Walker grunts. "We’ll handle clean-up. You two… fix this." Yelena just mutters: "Idiots." But her voice is rough. Emotional.

Bob cups your face again, and presses his forehead to yours, golden light flickering weakly between you like a dying flame trying to catch.

"You didn’t fail." His voice is soft but fierce now. "You didn’t fail me. You didn’t fail yourself. You fought. You stayed."

You hiccup through tears. "But I—I couldn’t eat—I couldn’t sleep—I thought if I just got smaller—if I just waited—"

His sob chokes out. "No—no, baby, no—you don’t have to do that—you never have to do that—"

His hands tremble as they cradle your head. "We get better now, okay? Together. I’m getting you help. I’m staying. No more Void. No more lies. No more hurting yourself for me. Please—"

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Your voice is barely a whisper: "Don’t leave me again."

His answer is instant. "Never."

He kisses your forehead, tears dripping onto your skin. "Never again."

Behind you, the Thunderbolts give you that space. They know the fight is over —and the healing begins now. Messy. Slow. Painful. But real. Because this time… you’re not doing it alone.

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yourkidinthedark · 27 days ago

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Happy Belated Birthday

Pairings: Bucky x y/n x platonic!thunderbolts

Warnings: alcohol consumption, reader is drunk, sexual jokes, swearing

Notes: This is my first fanfic let me know some constructive criticism! Also, please note I struggle with learning disabilities therefore this was grammar checked by the site ‘Goblin Tools’.

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You made it another year. In your line of work, this was more of a milestone than for the average civilian. You knew when you took on the role of a “New Avenger” that it wouldn't be easy, but Christ, what a year.

Checking your outfit diligently in the mirror, you smoothed down the black satin of your dress, which rested dangerously high on your thighs. Tonight, your friends were taking you to a new bar that had opened down the road. You had always wanted to go there, and what better way to celebrate your birthday, right? You tried hard not to mix work with your personal life, so you kept both completely separate. Your friends didn't know about your job as an Avenger, and the team didn't know about your small, rundown apartment and close circle of friends. You made it your personal mission to keep it that way, but a certain super soldier was making it increasingly hard.

Finishing up your makeup and spraying a generous amount of perfume, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to Bucky. You’ve had a crush on him for as long as you’ve known him. If he were here, would he notice the way the black stain hugged your body like a second skin? Would he carefully trace the seam down the side with feather-light fingers? Would his breath become uneven, fanning your neck as he unzipped your dress, letting it fall to the floor? Hands roaming every inch of exposed skin like a drunken person at a vineyard. Drinking in your touch and savoring the taste.

You felt guilty for even thinking about him in that way. Sure, you’ve had a long history together. Even before the Avengers, wherever you found yourself on a mission, he’d be there too on one of his own. But now, he was technically your superior—the leader of the New Avengers and the head protector of the city. Despite that, you were certain that he might have felt something towards you as well, but you couldn't be sure that he would ever act on it. You weren't oblivious to the way his eyes would linger on you for a bit longer than necessary or the way he used a softer tone of voice reserved just for you. Despite him being in a position of power, there was an immeasurable amount of chemistry between the two of you.

When you first joined the team, he treated you just like everyone else. He was cold and kept to himself most of the time, only ever really speaking when he had information to share. It started one night after a long and rough mission. You decided to crash at the Watchtower considering how exhausted you were. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't rest. The images from the mission haunted you as soon as you closed your eyes. You could hear the frantic screams of nearby civilians and Bucky barking orders through your comms. It was driving you mad. Quietly, you walked to the kitchen. You remembered Yelena had said the best way to occupy your mind was to have a snack. You were certain you could snag a protein bar from somewhere, and maybe the hunt would keep your mind occupied.

Sat at the kitchen counter, focused on an important-looking file; it was Bucky. Your heart caught in your throat seeing him wear a white tank top, his sculpted body visible through the fabric. The glint of his metal arm reflected the light like the sun on water. He looked up from his paperwork, and his eyes fell on you.

“Sorry to disturb you, I was just grabbing a snack,” you said sheepishly, opening random cupboards until you found one with food. You felt his eyes following your every move, as if they were locked on a target.

“Can't sleep?" he said after a moment, voice low and cautious. You sigh.

“No, not really. Yelena said a snack helps her, so I figured I'd give it a shot before I completely lose my mind.” You turned back to the cupboards and suddenly became very aware of your attire: a tight-fitting pair of workout shorts and a black tank top, both borrowed from Yelena. He eyed you behind his stack of mission reports, his gaze trailing over your figure subtly. You could see the hesitation in his stare before he eventually turned back to the papers.

“A cup of tea helps me,” he motioned to a black mug sporting a big silver “A” on the front. “Something my mom used to give me when I was a kid and had a nightmare. Guess the tradition stuck,” he said, his face softening at the mention of his mother.

You were surprised; you didn't think he ever shared anything personal about his life, at least not with you. You felt grateful that he was willing to open up a little. Little did you know that was the wave that broke the dam of silence.

“Well, do you mind if I join you, Barnes?” you asked as you grabbed a mug and a chamomile tea bag from the cupboard.

“Please,” he said, motioning to the empty breakfast bar stool beside him. You set your mug next to his and poured the water in. Sitting down, you toyed with the tea bag hanging from the side of the cup.

“So, you must have had a nightmare too?” you said cautiously, afraid that the sudden dive into a personal topic would scare him off.

“Every night,” he said, his gaze averting from the packet of papers.

You whistled. “Must go through a lot of tea then.”

He laughed. You studied the way his eyes crinkled slightly and the gentle bob of his throat. He looked so much like himself—not a trained assassin or the leader of the New Avengers, but just Bucky. Just a man whom you were rapidly developing a crush on.

He looked at you, his eyes carrying a lighter emotion. “Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

“There’s not really much to say. Just the typical stuff: loss, destruction. Usually, when I wake up, I can talk myself out of the doom spiral, but after today's mission, it was almost impossible. I just keep thinking, what if I was faster, or what if I went left when I went right? It's all just a little too loud this time.” You rubbed your eyes from exhaustion.

Bucky dropped the packet onto the table with a small thud. Hesitantly, he placed his flesh hand over yours. You looked into his cold blue eyes.

“You can always ask yourself the ‘what if’ questions. But dwelling on what you could have done differently will destroy you. Believe me; I've lived it. We do what we can on a mission, but there will always be some that don't go the way we plan.” He paused, as if he were holding back. “We wouldn’t have made it as far as we did today without you.”

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks, and you were certain he could see it, too. You squeezed his hand with trembling fingers.

“I guess you did learn a thing or two from those speechwriters back in Congress,” you laughed. “But seriously, thank you; I needed to hear that.” You offered him a gentle smile, which he returned, his thumb grazing over the back of your hand as he pulled away.

Every time since that night, whenever you both found yourselves at the tower, you shared a cup of tea, talking about everything under the sun: your fears, hopes, dreams, and aspirations. It was what you looked forward to the most when you were at the Watchtower. You even caught yourself spending more time there than at your apartment a few blocks over. After a few of these exchanges, you both began texting. At first, it was just simple messages, usually letting the other know if they would be around the tower after hours, but somewhere along the line, his name became the first thing you saw on your phone in the mornings. Whenever you were apart, you found yourself smiling at your phone. You grew fond of the way he wrote text messages like little letters, always signing his name at the end of each one.

Your friends became suspicious. They noticed how your schedule became more packed with “work events” and how you were giddy whenever the contact “Sgt. Barnes” popped up on your phone. They asked you about this mystery man on multiple occasions, but all you told them was, “he's just a guy from work.” You didn't know how they would react to your mystery man being the former Winter Soldier, and you were positive Bucky did not want a million questions thrown at him by your friends.

So, though it was your birthday and you picked out your dress with Bucky in mind, you didn't tell him it was your birthday. You were determined to keep work and life separate. Still, you couldn't help but wish he would be there tonight to celebrate your birthday with you. You let your mind daydream about him, wondering how he would wake you up on your birthday, if he would bring you breakfast in bed, or take you to the café down the street. Would he take you out on a special date or keep you all to himself behind closed doors? Would he give you a gift of jewelry or the gift of intimacy so pure and full of love it was next to worship?

With a sigh, you tugged on your boots, slung your purse over your shoulder, and left your apartment. The walk to the bar was pretty uneventful. Though your outfit was quite relieving, you weren't scared of walking at night alone. You had killed enough assassins and “bad guys” to know some random guy off the street wouldn’t be successful at harming you. If anything, they should be afraid of you walking the streets of New York. With the sound of loud bass booming in a crescendo, you walked into the bar and were mauled by your friends.

The night was a blur. You weren't sure how many shots deep you were, but God, were you ever drunk. You spent the night dancing and singing god-awful karaoke with your friends, dancing on tables with both hands occupied by random cocktails your friends kept shoving into your hands. The music was so loud you almost missed the alarm on your phone.

Setting the cocktails down, you grabbed your phone from your clutch. Your eyes, taking a moment to adjust to the text on your screen, widened in horror.

EMERGENCY DEBRIEF ALL ATTENDANCE REQUIRED

Shit. In a drunken haze, you shoved your phone back into your bag, searching for your friends. You gave them some half-hearted excuse about how you had to go and called an Uber to take you to the tower. You bid your goodbyes and stumbled into your ride. The driver gave you a funny look when you slurred out that you wanted to go to the Avengers Watchtower, but he obliged. Almost falling out of the car, you made your way to your second home.

The elevator opening startled you from almost drifting off. Before you, Yelena was grabbing a cup of coffee through half-closed eyes.

“So, you were summoned—Holy, I think you should wear that all the time.” Yelena wolf-whistled as you did a slight twirl, tripping at the end.

“S’special dress for someone special,” you slurred happily. Yelena raised her brow.

“Have you been drinking, little one?” she asked as you frowned at the nickname.

“S’hearsay, your honor, innocent until proven guilty.”

Yelena was quick to pick up on your crush on Bucky. She always noticed the small things, like the stolen glances and touches that lingered just a bit longer than normal. You remembered the day she cornered you in the training room about it. You were stretching, waking your muscles up before you were about to take out your emotions on a poor punching bag when you heard her voice in the shadows.

“How long did you think you could keep your little crush from me?”

“Jesus fuck, Yelena!” you yelled as the blonde emerged from the darkened corner of the room. “Are you trying to kill me? You can just ask me, you know; you don't have to wait in the shadows like a creep!” You yelled, and she looked sheepish.

“I’m sorry; I don't really know how to do the friend thing. I’m kind of working on it, but the question still stands.” Now it was your turn to play into the interrogation.

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” you said, feigning aloofness.

“No, don’t even try with me, Y/N. I've seen it all: the touching, the smiling at your phone, the little heart eyes. All you need is a naked baby to shoot you in the heart with an arrow. It’s disgusting, really. Why you want to date a super soldier is beyond me, but I’ve made it my mission to set you two up because I cannot sit and watch this puppy dog love anymore.” She said, amping up the dramatics.

“I could care less if Bucky is a super soldier, and I do not look at him with heart eyes!” you yelled, your cheeks turning an impossible shade of red. “I just find him…interesting.”

“You did not just say that you find him interesting,” Yelena rolled her eyes. “You look at him like he hung the moon. And not to mention the way he looks at you; he gets all soft looking and hangs onto every word you say like it’s gospel.”

You smiled softly. “Does he really?”

“Oh my God, yes! You are impossible. You have to do something about it. Tell him. Make him tell you; I don't really care, but you two need to get together so that I don't have to keep watching this,” Yelena said, pointing her finger at you.

“I can't tell him! Are you insane? He’s technically our boss, and I’d have to be absolutely hammered in order to work up the courage to even get close to confessing anything!” You let out a frustrated sigh. Yelena put her hand on her hip.

“This is not over. I will find a way to make you confess to him or him to you. You guys are my mission,” she said, heading for the door. You ran a frustrated hand through your hair and began training for what turned out to be a long night.

Currently, at the Watchtower, Yelena’s eyes were watching you as if calculating your moves. Realizing something, she grabbed you by your arm.

“Let’s not stand here all day; let’s get you into the briefing room. Come on, you saw the message. It's an emergency or something.”

Guiding you to the briefing room, she gave you a pat on the arm and opened the door. There, you found the rest of the Avengers gathered around the table. Tucked in the corner near the front of the room was Bucky, his hair tousled with frustration and exhaustion. Somehow, even in exhaustion, he still looked like a Greek god. With every ounce of your being, you tried to evade Bucky’s stare, but the pull was too strong. You glanced at him just as his eyes fell over the hem of your dress, lingering on your thighs. Your cheeks heated up, and you turned away as you heard Yelena chuckle under her breath.

“What strip joint did you just walk out of?” John asked, his leg propped up on the vacant chair beside him. He held that same smugness that one day you were going to wipe the floor with. Bucky cleared his throat, his eyes shooting murderous intent at John.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” you said, finishing the sentence with a small hiccup, which made you giggle.

“Jesus Christ, are you drunk?” John stared at you in disbelief.

“S’so what? I’m allowed to drink on my birthday.” You mumbled, pushing his feet off the chair with more force than you intended and sat down.

“You say birthday?!” Alexei boomed across the table. “Birthday, and we don't have cake or music? Why have you kept it to yourself?! We should sing!” His Russian accent was thick. Even in the middle of the night, he still looked excited to be here.

“If anyone starts singing, I will put a bullet in my brain,” you mumbled.

“It’s your birthday? Why didn't you tell me?” Yelena said, swatting your hand.

“S’just another day. My friends from home took me out to this new bar, though; you should have seen it.” You said, smiling at what little you could remember.

Bucky’s gaze pierced your skin like a dagger. It occurred to you that this was likely the first time he had seen you in this state and dressed for the bars. You couldn't tell if he was staring because he was going to fire you or for another reason—a more selfish, primal reason—and God, you hoped it was the latter.

The debrief was important; you would give them that. The details made you sober up a bit more, but you were definitely still tipsy. Mentions of bioterrorism had been whispered from an ex-OXE employee who had been reported by one of their spies. The team formed a quick plan that would need to be fine-tuned tomorrow before you left, which was lucky for you because you would likely forget everything in the morning.

As the meeting was coming to a close, you were jolted out of your sleepy state by Yelena slamming the table and standing up quickly.

“Well, this has been great, really, but I think it's time for all of us to go. Namely John and Alexei; gotta make sure you’re both rested for tomorrow. Sounds like a pretty serious mission, if you ask me.” She grabbed their arms and began dragging them to the door. She called over her shoulder, “Bucky, you should make sure Y/N doesn't eat shit or something.” And with that, she and the rest of the team were gone. You internally groaned. Right, we’re her mission, you thought. You stood up a little too fast, wobbling slightly, and you felt a metal hand grab your wrist, causing you to stumble over your own feet.

“Whoa, easy,” Bucky said as he helped you catch your balance, his flesh and metal hand holding you by the elbows.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have drank so much. In case, you know, you needed me.” You said, doe eyes finding his. His cheeks tinged pink, and he looked down.

“Is it really your birthday?” he asked, as if he were discussing a government secret. You gave him a shy nod. “I wish you would have told me; I would have gotten you something.” You blushed an impossible shade of red.

“S’just another day, and besides, just having you this close is a gift in itself,” you hummed. The soldier froze. Did he hear that right? She’s just drunk, he thought, still he couldn't help but relish in the words. He drank them in like lemonade on a hot day, intoxicated by the sweetness of you.

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck. He went rigid, as if he were replaced by a Roman statue, carefully chiseled to perfection.

“No, you’re drunk. This isn’t—”

“Relax, Soldier. Just shut up and dance with me.” Softly, you began to sway side to side, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Bucky laughed softly, ridding his body of the tension. His hands fell perfectly into the dips of your waist. You were sure you looked like a couple of kids sharing their first dance, but you didn't care.

Gaining a bit more confidence, Bucky grabbed one of your hands from his neck; the other stayed grounded at your waist. Still swaying, he pulled you out slowly and carefully spun you so your back was flush against his chest. Melting into the warmth, you sighed, your head falling back against the crook of his neck.

“I don't think I’ve danced like this since the ’40s, surely not with a girl this pretty either,” Bucky whispered, his breath hot against your ear. His words left goosebumps on your skin, and butterflies spread throughout your body. A permanent blush clung to your skin as you sank into his words.

“Keep saying stuff like that, and dancing is not the only thing we’ll be doing.” Bucky coughed, startled by your comment and your liquor-induced boldness. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

You slipped out of his hold to face him, your noses brushing. You didn't think; you rose to your tiptoes and kissed him.

Bucky froze. On instinct, he kissed you back. His metal hand rested on your upper back, and his flesh one brushed a few pieces of hair from your face. You tilted your head to the side, sighing into the kiss, hungrily nipping at his bottom lip. Gently, you felt his thumb brush over your lip. He broke the kiss, cupping your face.

“We can’t,” he said as if it physically pained him. “You’ve been drinking; it's not right. It’s not how I imagine kissing you.” You felt your cheeks heat in embarrassment at the slight rejection.

“I promise you, Bucky, I want this. I’ve just never had the courage to do it sober,” you said, your head falling against his chest at the confession. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug as his chin rested on top of your head.

“And you know that I want this too, but not when you may not remember it. Not when you might forget how good I’ll make you feel.”

If he couldn't hear your heartbeat before, he sure as hell could now. Your breath hitched, and you leaned back from his chest, your bodies still flush.

“What’s wrong?” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Cat got your tongue?”

You laughed breathlessly, looking at him through thick eyelashes. “Damn cat.”

“Will you let me make it up to you for missing your birthday?” His hand left your waist to cup your cheek.

“I think we could think of something to get up to,” you flashed him a grin.

You caught a glance at the time on the wall clock behind Bucky. “As much as I hate to say it, I should get going. If we're going to have a mission tomorrow, we will both need rest. After I just kissed you, I'm not willing to lose you to a mistake that could have been prevented by a little sleep,” you mumbled. You didn't want to leave him, but you knew it was for the best.

“You can't get rid of me that easily. Not when you kissed me while wearing a dress that I'm going to see every time I close my eyes,” he mused. “You’re staying at the tower, I hope?”

“Play your cards right, and maybe one day you can help me take it off,” you smirked, catching how his breath hitched over your words. “I’ll probably head home so I can grab a few things for the mission.” You said gently, pulling away from him.

“Then I'll walk you home.”

“I’ll be fine, Bucky, really—I’ve taken down multiple assassins at once,” you said, laughing and swatting his arm. “You need rest too, my dear.”

“I am not letting my girl walk alone in downtown New York, drunk in the middle of the night. I don’t care how many assassins you’ve taken down,” he said, grabbing his leather coat off the back of the discarded meeting chair.

Your knees threatened to give out at his words, the possessiveness behind them sending a blush across your skin.

“Your girl?” you repeated, liking the way the words tasted on your tongue. He smirked, guiding his hand to your lower back.

“Well, I'll submit a formal application once I take you on a proper date,” he said, guiding you through the meeting room doors.

In the elevator, you leaned against Bucky’s shoulder. His hand was securely around your waist, making sure you were upright.

“Mmm, you’re cozy,” you slurred from exhaustion, nuzzling into his left arm. Bucky gazed down at you with a lazy smile across his face.

“I’ll ask Wakanda if they will make you a pillow out of vibranium,” he joked.

The walk back to your apartment was shorter than you wished. In true gentleman fashion, somewhere along the trip, Bucky had slipped his leather jacket across your shoulders, protecting you from the bite of the late-night air. You both talked about the mission you had planned for tomorrow and discussed some strategies that might help it succeed. Before you knew it, you were standing at your apartment door.

“Well, this is my place,” you said, a bit embarrassed by the weather-worn exterior of the building.

“It’s charming,” Bucky said, flashing you a grin. “I always expected you lived around the Watchtower, but I never knew you were this close.”

“Yeah, I generally try to keep my personal life and work life separate. You’re the only one who's been here, apart from my friends.”

“I’m honored,” Bucky said, taking your hands in his.

“You're sure I can't ask you in?” you smiled, tilting your head toward the door. “I could make you a mean cup of tea.”

“As much as I’d love to, I should get going. But when we get back from that mission, I'll take you up on that offer,” Bucky said lowly. He raised your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles, sending goosebumps down your body.

“So, see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, my love.”

The next day, you woke up to the sunlight peeking in from behind your curtains. A headache sat between your eyes like a bullet lodged in your brain. Begrudgingly, you shuffled out of bed and to the medicine cabinet in search of Tylenol. Facing yourself in the mirror, the memories from the night before rushed in like a tidal wave—the bar, the meeting, Bucky—all of it. Heat rose up your body as you hid your face in your palms.

Softly, a knock echoed through your apartment. You cautiously made your way to your front door and slowly turned the knob. The sight that greeted you was nothing short of holy. Bucky Barnes was standing outside your door, wearing a fitted black tee and sunglasses, holding a bouquet of assorted flowers in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other.

“Happy belated birthday, beautiful.”

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Part 2

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