#ldamc

[jobean12-blog]

This is amazing! I was pulled right in and it all felt so magical!!! It had everything I hoped for and more!!! LOVE❤️😍

the forest > bucky barnes

|| pairing: bucky barnes x black!reader

|| word count: 11,557

|| warnings: language words, smut, sex, sex pollen kinda, animal transformation, grumpy bucky, angst/horror?, fae/faries, fairy tale vibes

|| challenge: @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge - Werewolf AU - You have been lost in the forest due to a curse that won’t let you leave.

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ SSB2020 I3: “This is not what it looks like”

|| square filled: @buckybarnesbingo​ K2: Survival in the wild

|| summary: You wake up in a strange, magical place. All alone, you start to walk and find that you aren’t the only one wandering the trees.

|| link: ao3

|| note: i don’t know why i’m nervous to post this, but i am! forgive me, my brain gets the best of me sometimes. i hope you guys enjoy this - despite the posting anxiety, i did enjoy weaving this little tale. i just hope it all makes sense :)

line dividers by writeyourmindaway!

Your feet are blistered and bloody. You’ve been walking for hours. Your throat is dry, your eyes puffy and swollen; watery. Your sundress is tattered and ripped and you don’t know why. You can’t remember. You don’t know where you are, why you’re here, or how you ended up in this place - but the fear sitting in your belly is the only thing keeping you moving.

It’s dense here. Thick, green, lush trees and shrubs line the dirt path that you walk on. Sun rays peek through the treetops, but because they’re so thick, the trees, it looks like a dark day; a muted day. You can hear birds chirping, little bugs buzzing around, even spot a butterfly or two. It’s beautiful - but ominous. Like there’s danger lurking just around the bend. 

You hear crackling in the distance - leaves being crunched, twigs being broken - and you freeze, snapping your head towards it. You swallow hard as you zero in on the noise, everything else going silent around you. You clutch the hem of your dress in your hand, as it’s the only tangible thing that makes any of this real, and just listen. Your heart beats loudly in your ears. A bead of sweat slips down the side of your face. Your breath is shallow.

Keep reading

[empyreanwritings]

Bloodlust

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader (Vampire AU)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: vampire things so mentions of blood, blood-sharing, language, hint of sexual themes, did i mention blood?

Summary: You are adjusting to life as a vampire. While everyone else wants to find a way to make you human again, Bucky is there to help you embrace being the princess of the night you are meant to be.

A/N: How did I manage to write 3k worth of words based on a one minute clip from the Vampire Diaries? I honestly have no idea, but I’m not going to question it! This is my entry for @littledarlinwrites​ Mystery AU writing challenge! I am sorry I am a few days late, but I’m finally catching up on all the challenges I signed up for, so I feel good :) My prompt will be bolded below! (Also, P.S. if y’all want a part 2, let me know bc I may be up to writing one!)

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated :) x

"Welcome to the party!" A drunk frat boy greeted you and Bucky as you stepped into the home. "Ladies drink free until the sun comes up!"

You nodded, and Bucky guided you towards the dance floor. It looked like a sea of bodies, all dancing and grinding to the beat of the music under the strobe lights. Everyone reeked of cheap booze and fake blood, but they were having the time of their lives - you could tell by the way they all smiled and screamed whenever there was a good beat drop.

"Halloween party filled with drunk frat boys and sorority girls?" Bucky hummed, his signature smirk spreading across his face. "It's a buffet just waiting for you to splurge."

You inhaled. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Steve thinks-"

"Steve is a stick in the mud." He quickly cut you off. "He thinks every vampire should go to church and feed on Bambi. You need to learn how to control yourself while enjoying all that being a vampire has to offer! You just have to trust me!"

Part of you didn't understand how Steve and Bucky managed to stay friends after centuries together. They lived two very different lifestyles, and yet, they needed each other. Steve always tried his best to steer Bucky on the "right path," and Bucky had to constantly remind him that there was no right path for a vampire. They fed. They indulged. And if things get too hard, they turn off their emotions and continue to indulge. While you weren't sure if you ever wanted to get to that level, you respected Bucky because he always seemed so in control of his bloodlust.

Unlike Steve, who constantly struggled with wanting to tear people's heads off.

Bucky noticed your slight hesitation and pulled you onto the dancefloor. He squeezed you towards the middle where everyone was too lost in their own world to notice what was going on.

You stood there for a moment, just watching how easily Bucky fell into the crowd. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, as he swayed to the music. Girls seemed to flock to him instantly - all craving some sort of attention from the hot new guy.

He focused on one, making sure all the others lost interest once they realized he wasn't going to give them the time of day. Once no one else was looking at him, he pulled the girl close to his body. They were completely in tune with each other, and you saw right away the moment that Bucky started to use his compulsion against her. Her eyes grew wide, but she wasn't scared or trying to fight him off. The smell of blood hit your nose the second his fangs her neck, and you couldn't stop yourself from joining in on the fun.

 A girl in a nurse costume stood by herself on the edge of the dance floor. She sipped her drink and watched the crowd as if she were waiting for someone to ask her to dance. You smiled; she was exactly the person you wanted to feed from first.

She was quick to join the crowd with you when you held out your hand for her. You could feel the warmth of her skin radiating off of her and the sweet smell of vodka on her breath. She practically purred when you stroked your hands down the side of her face. You weren't sure if it was just the alcohol talking, or if she was truly into you, but you had a feeling she was going to enjoy this moment for as long as she could remember it.

"Don't scream," you compelled her. "You won't remember this when you walk away."

You ran your fingers through her hair and gently tilted her head to the side, giving you complete access to her neck. You could see the way her pulse moved her skin, and you gave yourself a few moments just to admire how delicate she looked at your mercy. And whether it was the alcohol in her system or not, she tasted delicious. You almost didn't stop until you heard Bucky's voice in your head reminding you that today wasn't about killing, it was about feeding.

The rush of the blood and the beat of the music made your heart race. You had never felt so alive, even when you were human. The blood dribbled down from the corners of your mouth to your chest, and all you could think about was getting more.

You weren't sure how long you were on that dance floor, or how many bodies you and Bucky racked up, but you were lost in how good you were feeling, so it didn't matter much to you. Your chin and chest had streaks of blood running down them. Bucky's white shirt was drenched in red, but no one in the room knew or thought something was wrong because you were just like everyone else.

As the music started to pick up, Bucky danced his way to you. He looked at no one else but you as his hands found your hips and moved you to the beat of the music. You kept your chest pressed against his, trying your best to get as close to him as humanly possible.

When he felt your lips on his neck, lapping up every bit of extra blood that you could get, you felt his chest rumble in delight. He loved having you here in his arms, embracing every part of being a vampire that you should enjoy. No one thought you were going to make it as a vampire, but he knew you were just like him - ready to embrace every dark desire that was unlocked the second you came back to life. He knew your friends wouldn't approve, but he didn't care or even think about them at this moment. All he could think about was your lips on his neck, and the excitement coursing through his veins.

Every nerve in your body ignited as he ran his hands up your sides. You sucked in a breath when his hands lingered on the exposed parts longer than anything else. And you didn't resist him when he cupped your cheeks and forced you to look at him.

"Kiss me."

You smiled and slammed your lips against his. His grip moved to the back of your neck, and you fisted the front of his shirt in your hands. It was a greedy kiss. Full of passion, blood smearing over each other's faces. Neither of you wanted to pull away to catch your breath until you absolutely had to, and when you finally did, you rested your foreheads against each other, still trying to stay as close to each other as possible.

"You're trembling," he pointed out with a smile.

"I've never felt this good before!" You confessed. "I want more!"

"We have all night, princess. You'll get your fill, I promise."

---

You woke the next morning to arguing. You could hear several voices trying to talk over each other, and you knew right away that it was Steve, Bucky and Sam. Every now and then, you heard a quiet comment being made by Wanda, and you sighed. Either Bucky told them how your night went, or they already had an idea based on the blood-soaked clothes sitting in the laundry pile.

You quietly slipped out of your bed and made your way to the stairs. You tried your best to stay silent because you wanted to hear what they had to say when you weren't in the room. For the first few weeks of your transition, you could tell they looked at you differently. Now you could finally find out how they truly felt about it.

"She was fine!" Bucky yelled. "She didn't kill a single person last night, and I didn't have to step in and compel anyone for her. She's adjusting a lot quicker than you're giving her credit for!"

"Adjusting to what exactly? Being just like you?" Steve shouted back.

"She doesn't have to be like me, but she is a vampire, Stevie. I know you don't want her to be. I know that the second she embraces who she is, the perfect girl you've been pining for will be ripped from your imagination, but guess what? She is a vampire. You either love her for the new her, or you shut the hell up."

"I have not been pining over her! I just want her to be safe and happy. She never wanted this life, and you know it!"

"Will the two of you knock it off?" Sam snapped. "You're both acting like children."

Bucky laughed humorlessly. "You are so one to talk, Wilson. You've been glaring daggers at me since I walked into the room."

You shook your head and finally made your way down the steps. You hated that they were fighting over you, especially since they were all supposed to be friends, but you couldn't help but feel a little annoyed too. Bucky had a point - you weren't the same person anymore. You couldn't just wake up and pretend like you were still the woman you were before you died. Everything was different now. Everything you felt seemed different somehow.

The arguing stopped once you joined them, and you almost laughed at the terrified look on Steve's face. Almost. He knew right away that you heard everything he and Bucky said, and he couldn't tell how you felt about it based on your expression alone.

"No, no, please, keep talking about me like I'm not in the same house." You walked over to Sam and took the coffee out of his hands. He was surprised by your presence that he didn't fight you when you started to take a sip. "I want to see what else you all have to say. Let me guess, Steve, you were about to tell Bucky that I'm not meant to be a vampire because I'm too sweet. And Sam, you were going to agree with Steve and bring up for the thousandth time that you and Wanda are searching for a cure."

A smug smile flashed across Bucky's face, and he took a step back since he knew he wasn't the one you were upset with. He had no issue watching your wrath from the sidelines.

"I understand that this is not something any of us expected, but you all act like I'm some broken doll that is meant to be fixed. No one has even bothered to ask me how I'm feeling or doing," you said with a frown. "You all just assume based on how you think I should feel."

"Y/n-"

"No, Steve. I'm sorry if you feel that I'm different now because I'm a vampire, but it's not as if I chose to die! Last time I checked that was your fault." He flinched at your words, but he didn't argue because he knew you were right. "And I know Sam and Wanda are powerful, but they shouldn't be delving into dark magic just to change something that can't be reversed. The fact that Bucky has been the only one to accept me for who I am now hurts. Maybe me being a vampire isn't the problem. Maybe it's the three of you."

Wanda tried to say something as you walked out of the room, but you pushed right past her. She was just as guilty as Sam and Steve in your eyes. She treated you differently now that you were a vampire - constantly cancelling plans and trying to avoid you. You knew she hated vampires, but you didn't expect her to ever hate you.

But if none of them wanted to support you then you had to accept that. You had Bucky, and until you found a new group of friends who loved and supported you for who you were now, he was enough.

The thought of cutting them out of your life made your stomach twist, though. They were supposed to be your closest friends. You were supposed to grow old and share memories until you died. Just because part of that couldn't happen anymore didn't mean you had to stop loving each other. At least, that's what you believed.

Bucky said that when you become a vampire, all of your emotions and senses were heightened. You hadn't fully believed him until this very moment - when the sadness started to feel like a crushing weight on your chest. All you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry for a week. Maybe a month.

You slammed the door of your bedroom shut, making sure they could hear it downstairs. You hoped they'd change their minds about you eventually, but you weren't sure if they ever would.

And it broke your heart thinking about it.

---

You waited until the sun went down to finally come out of your room. You were lucky you had a secret stash of blood bags in your mini fridge because you weren't sure you would have made it through the day without them. Feeding on blood bags until the sadness went away wasn't exactly an ideal plan of yours, but they really left you no choice. You didn't want to hear what any of them had to say anymore.

Bucky was sitting on the couch when you walked down. A glass of whiskey was in his hands, and you noticed how he kept his eyes on it the entire time. His brows were furrowed; you had a feeling whatever was on his mind kept him from realizing you were in the room.

"Can I ask you something?" Your voice seemed to startle him, but he quickly composed himself before patting the spot next to him. You were quick to take his offer and sit down. "Do you like me better as a vampire?"

Bucky took a deep breath and shook his head. "Y/n, I liked you either way. I loved you either way. I don't like you better because you're a vampire, but I'm sure as hell not going to act like you were cursed the day you became one. We adjust, we move on."

"You've never told me you loved me before," you replied softly. "Why is that?"

"Because I thought you were in love with Steve. He is the perfect one after all."

"I don't believe that, you know. I think Steve is a good guy, but he's not perfect. He's just gotten too good at hiding all of the bad parts he doesn't want us to see."

"You got that right," Bucky chuckled. He leaned back against the sofa, nervously running his fingers through his hair as he tried to get comfortable.

His feelings for you were always obvious, but neither of you ever acted on them. A part of you was scared that he was going to break your heart and leave you behind to pick up all the pieces. But over the years of knowing him, you realized he was a big softy. He may have hated the world, but he loved you with all of his heart. He didn't need to be with anyone else as long as he had you. Breaking your heart was something he wasn't capable of.

As a human, it was easy to fight your feelings for him. You could lock all of your love for him in a tiny box and shove it in the deepest part of your brain. You could look at him and pretend he never made your heart ache for more than brief glances and warm smiles.

Becoming a vampire made that tiny box feel like a freight train. It opened right up and hit you with the overwhelming feeling of love before you could even catch your breath. Every time you looked at Bucky, you wanted to kiss him and tell him there was no one else you wanted to spend an eternity with. It was almost ridiculous how needy it made you when you were in his presence.

"Bucky?"

He hummed and lifted his head. His eyes grew wide when you straddled his lap, arms instinctively wrapping around your waist. He heard how fast your heart was beating in your chest, and he had a feeling you could hear his beating too. Being this close to each other felt different in the comfort of your home. You weren't riding a blood high or losing yourself to the vibe of a party. It was only the two of you now.

No interruptions. No excuses.

"I love you," you murmured.

Bucky sat up, his lips brushing yours as he tried to close the distance between you. He seemed nervous - terrified that he spoke those three words you would suddenly burst into flames and never see him again. He had lived through quite a bit of heartbreak in his lifetime but losing you would be enough to finally kill him. The thought alone terrified him, but there was no one else he ever wanted to share this moment with. You were it for him.

"I want to," he paused, trying to think of the right word, "Show you something."

You watched silently as he tilted his head to the side, completely exposing his neck to you. Blood-sharing was something you thought Steve made up when he told you about his first time with Peggy. How erotic he made it seemed felt like an exaggeration, but you hadn't even bit into Bucky's neck and you suddenly knew what Steve was talking about. Just the thought alone made you hot in all the right places; you couldn't begin to imagine what feeding from him would actually taste like.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "I'm positive."

He was too terrified to tell you he loved you, but this was enough for you. He never would have agreed to this if he didn't feel the same as you.

You brushed your lips against the hollow of his throat. The way he sucked in his breath made your stomach flutter with excitement. You enjoyed knowing you could make Bucky weak in the knees. Everyone thought he was the ladies' man; someone who bedded every man and woman he came across. Who would have thought he could easily be brought down by one woman and her love?

Feeding from him felt…euphoric. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on overdrive. Bucky's head rested back against the sofa, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as you continued to drink from him. His hands squeezed your waist; moans fell from his lips. You weren't sure if this act was considered sinful, but it sure wasn't pure. The thoughts running through your head were anything but, and you knew you wanted more from him.

More blood.

More him.

"Fuck," he hissed.

You whined when he ripped you away from him and flipped you onto your back. You tried to sit up and fight him, but his hand squeezed your throat, forcing you to stay on your back as he bared his fangs at you. It was a sight that would have intimidated anyone else but you. To you, it was the sexiest thing he could have done, and you were ready to spread your legs and let him have his way with you. You had absolutely no shame in feeling that way either.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but it's my turn now," he growled.

[astraeagreengrass]

French Press

Sam Wilson has a crush on two things: good coffee and you

Pairing: EMT!Sam Wilson x Nurse!Reader 

Word Count:1.981

Warnings: bad words, probably bad descriptions of medical professions and f l u f f

A/N: This is my submission to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ @littledarlinhavefaithinme​ "Little Darlin's Mystery AU Challenge". Thank you Clea for hosting this challenge! My prompt was EMT/paramedic featuring Sam Wilson. Many thanks to the only person lovelier than Captain America - Dani @xbuchananbarnes​ who kindly kept up with me rambling on and on about this for weeks. The banner picture was found here. I hope you like it ♡

Sam Wilson was having a really bad day.

He had slept in, having missed his alarm by well over forty minutes, and when his - goddamned, motherfucking, idiotic - roommate Bucky started banging on the door warning that they were going to be late, Sam rose in a flash, tripping on the strewn covers and stubbing his left pinky toe on the foot of the bed. Howling in pain, he half-entered, half-fell in the shower, scrubbing himself as fast as he could while muttering curses under the cold water.

The temperature was just warming up when he got out, only to realize he forgot to get a towel from the clean laundry basket. Trusting that drying himself off with a face towel was less humiliating than asking Bucky for a regular one - even if it meant going over his legs five times - Sam lost even more precious minutes, having to forgo his beloved french-pressed coffee in order to get to the hospital on time. Barnes could be a dick sometimes, but he was the best ambulance driver in the city, and, right now, Sam’s only hope.

Only they were not on the ambulance yet, and New York City's traffic didn't make way for Bucky's old Camaro - "It's vintage!" - the way it did for first responders. So when the tires screeched in front of Brooklyn General and the two friends rushed to the ER, they were greeted by the displeased face of their supervisor, Maria Rambeau.

"Please come in" she said in mock welcome. "I'm sure emergencies can wait for the princesses to get their beauty sleep."

And because anything in life that can go wrong will go wrong, you happened to pass by precisely as Sam was spilling out apology after apology. From the corner of his eye, he saw you stifling a laugh as you ducked behing Maria to get to the women’s rest room.

That was Monday.

Late evening blended into early morning and Sam found himself in the hospital cafeteria, upper body slumped on a chair and legs stretched in another. He always found it funny how healthcare professionals were usually the ones with the most unhealthy habits - like the irregular sleeping habits and the copious amount of bad coffee. Still, over and over again he took refuge on beige walls of the cafeteria, trying to find a modicum of rest between calls.

So far, the night had brought in an amateur archer with a cracked rib and a teenager with a allergic reaction to spiders. All in all, not a bad 24-hour shift.

Sunlight was just beginning to filter through the shutters when you walked in with Carol Danvers, another nurse. Your scrubs were rumpled and there was a dot of smudged mascara under your eyes. A thin line streamed your cheek from where the surgical mask sat and he was sure your hands were dry and scratchy from the latex gloves just like his were. Even so, to Sam, you were as beautiful as you did when you arrived yesterday morning, if only for the twinkled of mischief he could still catch in your gaze.

Next to him, Bucky snickered.

“You’re so whipped.”

That was Tuesday.

The first time you saw each other outside the hospital, it was a coincidence.

Sam turned left at the coffee aisle and there you were - almost unrecognizable in legging pants and a cap, bopping to a song he couldn’t hear on your earphones. You looked worlds away from the capable nurse he knew you were, staring absentmindedly at the rows of grains, weighing different options on each hand.

He couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the familiar white packaging on your right palm or the way the black pants hugged your calves and thighs in a soft curve your scrubs could never achieve. Somehow, finding you in the domestic setting of the local grocery store brought the words out of Sam’s lips, past lungs and vocal cords, toppling the insecurity that lived at the tip of his tongue.

“The Colombian one is great,” he blurted out.

Your removed an earbud, then the other. Your confused frown morphed into the most beautiful stretch of lips when you recognized the tall man at the end of the aisle.

“Hey,” you beamed. “I know you.”

I know you.

I know you.

I know you.

“From the hospital,” you quickly explained yourself, not knowing you didn’t have to. “You're Sam, right?”

On the inside, he was hyperventilating.

Oh my God, she knows me.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Sam Wilson.”

Two steps forward and he was close enough to extend his arm. The handshake was brief and polite, but thrilling. Sam sensed the gentle caress of your palm on every nerve ending of his body. He was wrong yesterday: your hands were so soft it felt as though you'd never once wore latex gloves.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said and damn it sounded so much better coming from your mouth rather than someone else’s. “Since you’re a friend, do you think you can help me understand this coffee?”

Friend. Friend. Cool. Helping a friend at the grocery store. He could do that. Friend. Get it together, Wilson.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Well, I use a French Press, so if that’s your thing I’d suggest a medium or dark roast. That one is one of my favorites,” he pointed to the small white bag you were still holding in the cradle of your elbow.

“Oh wow, you’re a pro,” you laughed. “I don’t think I can operate anything more complicated than a coffee bag.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“A coffee bag? Really? That’s like a crime against coffee!”

You giggled, carefree, melodious and slightly embarrassed, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, still shy and oblivious to her greatness.

“In my defense, I’ve been trying to get better,” you claimed. “I don’t think I can survive much longer with the cafeteria coffee as my standard.”

“You’re right about that,” Sam said. Then, in a push of his good luck, he added. “Hey, if you want you can borrow my book on coffee recipes. When’s your next shift?”

“Tomorrow morning,” you replied. “And thank you! Are you sure you won’t need your book?”

“Not at all!” he shook his head. “Besides, it would a crime to let you keep using those coffee bags.”

And there it was again, the laugh. He could keep hearing it forever.

There was a pause, then. That awkward silence in the middle of a sentence when someone wishes they could say more but they don't know how to. It's child's play all over again, from the itch at the tip of the fingers to the flutter in the stomach. In a few moments of quiet, everything is a lot - emotions are too intense, too noisy and too much, toppling over careful overthought expectations of an infatuated heart.

He saves the memory of your smile, willing it to be good fortune, read from coffee grounds sitting on a an empty cup.

“Ok, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam.”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

That was Wednesday.

He found you at the nurses’ station.

Standard green scrubs, hair out of your face, glasses on the bridge of your nose. There was a pink stain on your middle finger from the neon pen you used to highlight patient’s prontuary.

He’d never seen you in glasses before and something about them made his heart beat faster.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, fingers drumming the countertop in a nervous tick disguised as smooth greeting.

“Oh. Hey, Sam, ” you offered. Next to you, Carol Danvers looked like the cat that ate the canary. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” he nodded. “What about you? Committing any coffee sins recently?”

“I’ll let you know my coffee bags are safe and healthy, thank you very much,” you grinned and laughter bubbled from him in easy breaths of adoration.

“Here,” Sam slid a small rectangular to you. “The recipe book I promised you.”

You held it to your chest like a precious gift and he crumbled, tiny pieces of man falling apart in earth-shattering joy.

“Thank you so much,” you said. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Please,” Sam whispered, either to you or to himself, he wasn’t sure. “Please do.”

That was Thursday.

It took Bucky a lot of convincing, but he eventually let Sam take the Camaro.

"Never call her old again, ya hear me?" he complained. "Not when she's helping you get your girl."

Sam was going to call it something a lot worse if he didn’t manage to find a place to park soon.

On it’s defense, it was Friday night on Fulton Street. Chances of finding a parking space were little to none, even if you were a man with a crush and a nice car. So when he finally reaches you, looking pretty in a dress under the artificial light of a café, he’s just a little breathless from racing down three blocks.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed and you beamed, brighter than the signboard, or his headlights or the first twinkling star shining through the foggy city sky.

“Hey,” you said. “I thought you’d bailed on me.”

“Never,” he breathed out. “I just… Idrovemybestfriendscartoimpressyoubuttherewasnoparkingspace.”

“What?”

“I wanted to impress you, so I borrowed my friend’s car,” he admitted. “Only there was no parking space, so I had to go around the block a few times.”

Relief flooded from you and your shoulders visibly relaxed - but not enough.

The text came ungodly early, in an hour that most people would consider impolite, but not you and definitely not him. In your line of work, odd hours were just regular hours.

Hey Sam, it’s Y/N. Y/N L/N. I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from an EMT named Steve. He said he’s your friend. Anyway, there’s this café in Bed-Stuy that’s doing a “French Press Festival”. I don’t know what that means but I thought maybe you’d like to come. With me. Like friends, of course. To honor good coffee.

He said yes of course. Perhaps more than once.

“I have something to confess, too,” you said. “I thought you’d found out about it and that’s why you didn’t show.”

Sam froze.

“I’m not a coffee newbie,” you admitted. “I actually know a lot about it. But when we met at the supermarket you seemed so enthusiastic… And honestly, I’d tried to find so many excuses to talk to you at the hospital but I was embarrassed - you make me nervous!”

And nervous you were, fingers twisting each other in a painful, agitated grip.

“I didn’t want to ruin the first good opportunity I got by saying that I knew the Colombian coffee was awesome, and yes, coffee bags should be banned from the face of the planet.”

There are moments that define a boy's heart. Shape it like more than muscle and blood, with something akin to manhood. Sam Wilson was grown - long limbs, tall frame and brave heart - but something in your presence screamed schoolyard crush and teenage fever at him. Like a toddler learning to walk or a boy tasting love for the first time. Like an adult discovering that some things feel better when they speed through older veins.

Sam’s smile was an earthquake - shattering the ground and dismantling structures in its wake. It rattled the five feet keeping you apart, pushing your bodies forward finally.

“I must say I was a little disappointed when you mentioned coffee bags,” he stated. Then he opened the café door and mentioned you forward. “But not as disappointed as I’ll be if say you’ll prefer Chemex over French Presses.”

You grinned and maybe Sam’s fortune was read before the coffee was poured.

“I guess you’re in luck, Mr. Wilson.”

That was Friday.

That was the beginning.

[writing-mermaid]

Siren, part 1 : Do you think I'm stuck up 'cause I'm always picking fights?

Summary : Y/N is a mutant, a Siren, the last of her kind, with deadly dangerous powers and a hidden past. If most of the Avengers likes and get along with her, Steve doesn’t, and it’s getting worse when Y/N and Bucky become close. After all what can bring two broken souls together if it’s not a dark past.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings : Language maybe

Word Count : 1 479

Square Filled : @star-spangled-bingo : Nick Fury

@buckybarnesbingo : Free square

Author’s note : I have this story on my WIPs for a little time. I hope that you’ll like it. This story is also my entry for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan ‘s Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge, the prompt I chose is Siren AU. Don’t forget that feedback is appreciated and really important.

Song of the title : Can’t Pin Me Down - Marina and the Diamonds

Masterlist

Star Spangled Bingo masterlist

Bucky Barnes Bingo masterlist 

Siren masterlist

Buy me a ☕

“And this is the main entrance of the facility”, Fury states, showing the doors on the plan of the HYDRA base.

He presses a button and the plan disappears. He grabs two case files and make them slide on the table.

“Y/L/N, Barnes, the both of you are going”, he adds, sending the folders towards us, at each side of the desk.

I open mine, looking at the information printed on the white sheet and then, rise on my feet.

“This doesn’t look too complicated; I can do it by myself.”

“Same, I don’t need a partner, I can do it alone”, Bucky says, before standing up.

“The both of you sit down !”, the SHIELD’s director almost yells, “I’m the one giving the missions orders, the fact that the both of you are Avengers doesn’t change the fact that I’m the one in charge here.”

“Yes, sir”, I answer, sitting back on my chair, my blood boiling in my veins, Natasha watching me from aside, perfectly knowing that I rather work alone than with someone because of the abilities that made me a part of the Avengers.

Fury finishes his presentation while I am still angry at him for not letting me have a solo mission when I am totally able to do it by myself.

“You’re leaving in an hour”, he concludes.

Everyone around me pack their things and exit the room, Fury first. I am still sitting and move my chair from the right to the left and from the left to the right, sulking like a child. Yeah that’s really mature Y/N, congratulations…

“Y/N are you coming ?”, Nat asks, leaning on the door frame.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

I follow Natasha out of the meeting room, my file in one hand, the other balled into a fist. I have already proved myself during missions, and I take my suppressing medicine that inhibit my powers when I am around people. Yeah, I must take suppressors, or everyone around would probably jump on me. That is, maybe, the worst aspect of my powers, thing that appeared during my teenage years.

“So, you think that mission is going to be easy ?”, she questions, while we are heading to my bedroom where I need to take my pill of the day.

“It’s just a recognition mission, just have to look, enter and see what HYDRA is up to. Nothing too complicated. I don’t understand why Fury needs to pair me up with somebody else…”

“Maybe because it must be really dangerous.”

“Reconnaissance mission Nat, I’m not a child nor stupid !”

I enter the room, Natasha on my heels and open the drawer of my nightstand to take a little box with the medicine the Wakandan scientists made for me based on the ones Helen Cho gave me when I first arrived here a few years ago.

“I don’t understand why Fury wants Barnes to babysit me”, I put the pill inside my mouth and swallow it with the small bottle of water that stand on my night table. “Like I can’t do anything by myself”, I continue, angrily, closing the cap.

“You’re the newest here, one day he will let you do solo mission.”

“That’s not as if I am a newbie Nat, I have worked for the SHIELD for five years now, trained for a long time before. And with all that I endured before; I had the hopes that somebody would entrust me with a solo mission…”

“Oh sweetheart, that’s not about your capacities or anything”, she says, putting one of my Y/H/C strands behind my right ear. “Fury is just being extra-cautious with HYDRA. They played with us so many times. Besides, going on a mission with Barnes is not the worst thing in the world.”

“You’re right, the worse for me would have been to go on a mission with Steve. I still don’t know why he hates me…”, I sigh.

“I don’t think he does. He’s just being extra careful and protective.”

“Steve Rogers, mother hen.”

We both burst out laughing just before someone knocks on the door.

“Come in”, I yell, trying to catch my breath, while Natasha is still crying of laugh.

“I just wanted to see if you were ready”, Bucky says, after he opened the door. “Is she okay ?”, he asks when he sees my red-head friend trying to calm down.

“Yes, don’t worry. Give me five minutes and I’m all yours.”

“So, in five minutes you’re all his”, Nat says wiggling her eyebrows, when Bucky closes the door after him.

“Nat ! Stop misinterpreting what I’m saying”, I slap her arm saying this. “You know what I meant.”

“Oh, please Y/N, I’m kidding, stop taking everything literally. Maybe you should get laid, it would do you some good.”

“Sex is not the answer to everything Nat”, I sigh.

“No, but it would do you some good. When was the last time you had a good shag ?”

“Nat !”

“What ?! Maybe you should try with Barnes. It would do you real, real good.”

The door opens at the same time, revealing a blushing Bucky on the other side.

“I’m ready”, I tell him, nonchalantly, trying to hide my embarrassment because of what Nat just said and that he probably heard through the door. “Are you coming ?”, I ask him, going towards the changing room.

Natasha leaves us and in silence, we walk to the elevator. When we reach the equipment floor of the Avengers facility, Fury is waiting for us, with Steve and Tony.

“Come here darling, I improved your suit. The fabric is more flexible. Totally in match with your fighting skills and those powers of yours”, he says, smiling and handing me the new black fabric.

“Thanks Tony, I really appreciate !”

While I am looking at my new outfits, I can feel Steve’s gaze all over me, and what he’s saying to Bucky.

“Be careful Buck, we don’t know what’s going to be in that HYDRA facility and I don’t trust her”, I hear him.

“She’s an Avenger Steve, and she worked for the SHIELD before that. You should trust her.”

“I’d like to, but I can’t. There are some blank years in her files, Fury seems to be the only one knowing where she was and what happened to her during that time, but he didn’t tell me and said that it’s hers to say when she’ll be ready to reveal it. And I don’t like this.”

“Let her prove herself Steve, I’m sure everything is going to be okay.”

He pats Steve’s shoulder and walks to his locker from where he takes his uniform.

“Go now, little one”, Tony pushes me towards locker room, “I want to see you in my outfits.”

“Out of context, that sentence would sound really suspect. And I’m not sure that Pepper would appreciate that.”

Tony sticks out his tongue and pushes me in the booth. “Make it quick, I want to see if it fits.”

I roll my eyes and start to change my clothes to those Tony gave me. The suit perfectly hugs every of my curves. I lift my arms above my head, and the fabric is really light and moves with all my movements, according to Tony, it’s also waterproof and it comes with removing gloves. I really must thank him for that new outfit.

“Marvelous !”, the genius billionaire says, when I go out. “I’m really proud of myself !”, he adds, admiring his own work.

“Please Stark, if you’re done, I’d like to talk to Y/L/N and Barnes before they leave.”

Tony and Steve step back, and Fury approaches us.

“Don’t think that I send you there as a team, not because I don’t trust each of you as agent and that you’re not capable to deal with it by your side, but we don’t know what to expect in that warehouse, we don’t know how many men are in there, nor what they’re doing. Barnes, you are strong and fast, Y/L/N is fast too, she is lighter, and has some skills that can help you outside if things become out of control. Now do you understand ?” We both nod. The Quinjet noise is heard and he gestures towards it. “I think that’s your cue. Be careful.”

With that, he leaves and lets the both of us deal with each other.

“After you”, Bucky says, letting me pass first, with that very 1940’s gentleman thing he has.

“Thanks”, I answer, stepping into the plane, putting the first emergency bag down and taking place behind the control.

Bucky steps in right after me and takes the seat next to mine.

“Are you ready, partner ?”

“As ready as I think I can be.”

The hatch opens, and we pass through it to go to the HYDRA facility.

Taglist :

@the-geeky-engineer, @feelmyroarrrr, @amrita31199, @realgreglestrade, @hellomissmabel, @mandy19875, @howlingbarnes, @belleetlabeast, @theashhole, @sebbytrash, @crazychick010, @bionic-buckyb, @callamint, @just-another-fangirl777, @learisa, @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt, @mokacoconut, @marvelbase001-blog​, @thefiregypsy, @iamthemaskhewears, @snowyseba, @theycallmebucky, @buckysberrie, @speakcroissant, @fangirlwithasweettooth, @tequilavet, @iamwarrenspeace, @melconnor2007, @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​, @mrshopkirk​, @poealsobucky​, @maiden-of-gondor​, @jurassicbarnes​, @abovethesmokestacks​, @thisismysecrethappyplace​, @arawynn​, @sebbys-girl​, @captainrogerss​, @murdocksmartinis​, @supersoldierslover​, @clintbartxon, @totallynotashieldagent​, @crazy-little-thing-called-buck​, @4theluvofall​, @supernaturaldean67​, @prettyyoungtragedy​, @papi-chulo-bucky​, @just-a-kj-blog​, @lenavonschweetz​,  @forever-graphically-frozen​,  @buckysglow​, @winterscldicr​, @whothehellisbella​, @bethanystan​, @re2d2, @asirenscalling​, @after-avenging-hours​, @mrs-squirrel-chester, @winchester-with-wings​, @angryschnauzer​,  @callingmrsbarnes​, @suz-123​, @writingruna​, @sugardaddytonystark​, @angelicthor​, @thatawkwardtinyperson​, @themistsofmyavalon​, @redgillan​, @loricameback​, @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​, @bringpietrobacktolife, @farfromjustordinary​, @you-and-buckyb​, @bucky-made-me-do-it​, @lovelykhaleesiii​, @newmooneyfanfiction​, @lovely-geek​, @fanfictionjunkie1112​, @thefanficfaerie​, @littlemarvelfics​, @cordytriestowrite​, @firefly-in-darkness​, @caplanreads​, @my-emotional-self, @imaginingbarnes-deactivated2020​, @searchingforbuckyfavs​, @buckybabybaby​,

[jbbuckybarnes]

Shelter

Pairing: Bucky x Angel!Reader Prompt: Fallen Angel AU Prompt: Renegade - Niykee Heaton For: @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ challenge #ldamc A/N: This is about 100+ days too late and I don’t know if I like it, but oh well, I’m posting it anyway in case one of you likes it.

You‘d been on Earth for a while now, using the powers you still had against all the scum that existed down here. Just because you were a fallen angel didn‘t mean you would suddenly go on a rampage and kill innocent people. That‘s what others did, not you. You had gotten wind of a giant crime organization a while back and went through their quarters bit by bit. Thriving on the souls of bad people was definitely your way to go, they wouldn‘t run out. You had been destroying your third base of Hydra when you came across a cell that looked different from the others. The energy around it felt eerie. Like something good and kind was being masked by awful madness. The cell was opened within seconds and you were trying to free the person in it from the awful curse surrounding them. He looked big, strong, had a metallic arm and winced as he came to. „What did they do to you, earthling?“ You asked a little more angry than you had planned. „Please don‘t hurt me.“ He held his hands in front of his face as you notice that your wings had opened. You didn‘t know it out of anger or protection. „Who. Did. This?“ You asked again, impatient. „Z-Zola.“ With a growl you stomped off to kill anyone left in that base. That doctor was the person you were hunting after the most. He was awful, worse than some of the fallen angels you had gotten to know.

After the compound was littered in lifeless bodies and silence you made your way back to the shaken man you had found. „Hey, earthling. Earthling?“ More shaken than you had anticipated. They really had put him through it. Your hand extended to his shoulder and head and you channeled some of your healing energy into his body. He seemed to have been made addicted to something. „W-who are you?“ A weak voice asked, blue eyes staring up at you. „Doesn‘t matter, we need to get out of here.“ You answered a little softer.

Over the coming days and weeks you had him stay in your cabin in the middle of the Eastern European woods. You learned that his name was Bucky. He told you what they had done to him, what he had done to others. Then he talked about his family, friends, other soldiers. You still went out to hunt down the bases, but you had another project at home.

„Can fallen angels go back to heaven?“ He asked laying next to you on the bed. „Sure. If they do enough good and all that fun stuff.“ You shrugged indifferent. „I mean...you killed a lot of bad guys. Haven‘t you?“ He looked over at your face. „Yeah, but I‘m not about all that god stuff, you know? Some assholes use that to create chaos on the mortal plane and I just try to help the humans out a bit...but I‘m still killing them.“ „So you take me under your wing until none of them is searching for me anymore?“ With a monotone face you lifted a wing up above him, „You are an idiot.“ „You like it, darling.“ He chuckled and got a grumble back from you. Lean on me, like a shelter from the storm And pray for deliverance, oh-oh, Lord Lean on me, honey, I‘ll keep you warm While we wait for the knocking on the door. You came into the cabin with a loud grumble and blood on your cheek. You were so fucking close to finding that weird doctor, but everytime you found a new base he was already gone. „I made us food.“ You heard from the little kitchen nook of the cabin. He held out the plate with a big smile and your tension melted away. Why was he so sweet to you? Oh, right, you saved him from 20 more years of brainwashing. „Thank you, Bucky.“ You gave him a warm smile back and sat down on the bed to eat.

When you were gone to hunt down asshole people, he always made sure to clean up everything in the cabin, made food, chop wood and keep the cabin warm and cozy. You didn‘t know if he did it for his own comfort, but you weren‘t complaining. 

„Oh, your wings are all dirty.“ His face contorted as he saw the grime sticking to your wings. You shrugged it off and grabbed a bowl of soup he had just made for the both of you. „Should I clean them?“ He asked a little unsure, but sweet nonetheless. „Don‘t care.“ You mumbled with soup in your mouth, trying to put him off of doing it. A few seconds later you felt something comb through your dirtied up feathers and looked back. „What are you doing?“ You raised a brow. „I‘m cleaning you up.“ He mumbled concentrated on the oil being stuck in part of your feathers. „You do know this is a very, uh, intimate thing to do for a fallen angel?“ You both stopped in your tracks and stared at each other. „Should I stop?“ He retracted his hands back to himself. „No, I could really use someone grooming my wings.“ You sent a small lopsided smile before staring down at your bowl of soup to make this feel less awkward. He took well into midnight to clean up both of your wings, but after he was done you could feel how much the were weighing you down before. „Thank you, gentleman.“ You smiled at him before giving him a kiss on his cheek and going to sleep.

__

And then you finally got him. The doctor. The man that ruined the lives of many, but first and foremost the life of your human friend. You had him locked in the room with you and you made it slow and painful for him. „Nobody hurts my human friend.“ You growled as you heard a last breath beneath you. When you came home later you looked at Bucky and sent him a soft smile, „Nobody is searching for you anymore.“ His eyes went wide, „What?“ „Zola is dead.“ You shrugged before taking your food from the counter and walking past the shocked human man.

Did he want to be on his own after all of this?

[nonsensicalobsessions]

But You Are Mine

Prompt: Loki/OFC AU, nurse

Author’s Note: So, after an incredibly long hiatus, the Muse returned and left this story with me, so I could respond to the mystery prompt challenge as posed by Little Darlin’s AU Mystery Challenge. It was an interesting set up: I chose the pairing, and the prompt I wanted (song, dialogue prompt, or a nonverbal prompt, or AU) which would was then selected by Little Darlin.  I will let you, the reader, decide how well I fulfilled the prompt I chose and drew...

Tired. So unbelievably tired, I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer, nor could I come up with a reason to do so.

The bath water was warm, and deep, my head was so heavy, and my eyes burned...what was the point? Rest, a persuasive voice whispered inside my head. Just close your eyes for awhile, what harm will it do? You are finally warm, after feeling so cold and miserable.

The humidity felt so good in my aching throat and the scent of almonds and honey soothed me further as I allowed myself to drift off.

Come now, Little One. You need to shake this lethargy off, and sit up.

I need to do no such thing. This voice was new, and unwelcome, and it could piss off. 

Hearing voices in my head wasn’t nearly as upsetting as it might seem on the surface. They weren’t true auditory hallucinations...most of the time. I knew I had an active imagination. Usually it was a source of comfort for me and my solitary, sheltered existence. The more upsetting mono- or dialogues I had become disciplined enough to shut out. Therapy is a wonderful thing.

You most certainly do, or else the consequences will be most dire.

Oh? Such as?

Such as, I am the only thing keeping you from falling asleep, and as such slipping under the surface of the water and drowning.

The voice was quiet, and firm. Curiously enough, it was male. Huh. A lovely baritone, come to that. Most of my voices were either female, or asexual.

I somehow think my first inhalation of water would be sufficient to wake me up, but thank you for reinforcing your poor opinion of me, whoever you are. You may go now. Just...so tired...

You are tired because you haven’t eaten in three days, nor had anything to drink for two. And you are also tired because you are barely conscious. You are quite ill and in dire need of medical assistance. Does the thought of impending death not move you at all? 

Voice, who are you and why should I even care? Voices come and voices go. None of them speak truth, they simply tell stories or say what I want to hear. Just leave me to some god damned rest for a change.

No. This god will not let you have the rest of the damned.

Oh bullshit. There are no gods. And if there are, none of them speak to me, or care enough to make their presence known. I’ve tried.

Can you not hear me answer you?

I’m dreaming. That’s all this is. And I challenge you, Nameless God—who are you, and why would you come to me now anyway? Why can’t you just let me go in peace?

Because I have been watching over you, my dear. I’ve heard you calling out to me in joy, in mischievous laughter, in rage, in despair, but most delightfully in passion...and yet, your calls have dwindled, and your supplications grown smaller, and finally silent. I came to see about you, and find you on the verge of passing beyond even my reach...why? Why have you allowed yourself to fail so grievously ill?

I repeat—who are you?

Beautiful mortal. I’m your Loki. Open your eyes.

Struggling, I managed to force my eyelids to open. It was time to force myself out of this reverie that was bound to sink my soul deeper into the mire of depression should I continue. There would be no one there, because there was never anyone there.

Crouched besides my tub, was...someone. A male figure, in armor that was casually unfastened at his throat. His index finger lightly supported my chin, as my body had in fact slipped a lot lower than I realized. Careless of modesty, I struggled to sit up, but my head felt poorly supported by my neck, and I leaned it heavily against the side of the bath. I blearily realized perhaps I was sicker than I realized, as my imagination had now exploded into full blown delusions. Auditory, visual, tactile...whee, such fun...

“You do not seem overly distressed to find me here.”

“Begging your pardon, but I fear you are not. Clearly I am spiking a temperature and am delirious. I knew I was feeling ill beforehand but had no idea...”

“Oh, you skeptical woman. You are indeed sick, in fact I am still unsure what can be done for you, but none of my favored will slip away in a bath if I can give at least some assistance to aid their passage.” And with that, I found myself being lifted, and tenderly brought to my bed, instantly dry and clad in the loveliest nightdress I’d ever seen. Certainly finer than anything I had in my possession.

“What...?”

“Darling, you deserve something beautiful. But right now, I fear your body is shutting down. You should not have neglected yourself so sorely. Why have you?”

At this point, I decided to just go with it.

“Are you then, truly...”

“Yes, I am the same Loki you’ve called out to many, many times. Your very own.”

“Why do you say it like that? ‘My very own’? Surely there can only be one of you...?”

“Little One, have you no idea how many multiverses exist? For whatever reason, I have found you, and therefore I have claimed you as mine. I do not share easily, if at all. Should another incarnation of myself suddenly appear, he would have quite a fight on his hands. You are mine. I know everything about you...how you read well past your bedtime. The many, many hundreds of thousands of words you have written, but have never shared with anyone—why? You’ve created entire universes of your own, woven wondrous tapestries filled with richness and delight, but have locked them away in secret...composed anthologies of poems...” Long fingers played with my hair as I stared into his eyes, struck dumb by his revelations as he looked pointedly at my stacks of journals that were perched on my nightstand, leaned on shelves, and even sat on the floor.

His face was a confusion for me. He wasn’t as described in the eddas, nor was he the mirror image of the MCU character.

“Of course not,” he laughed, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “I am me, and no one else. Just as you are yourself.” Drat the man, he was even reading my mind now, or at least reading my expressions...

His eyes were almost a kaleidoscope of green and blue, and his hair a rich black waterfall of wavy locks, his lips neither thin nor thick, and his teeth...I had to shake myself from getting lost in his physical magnetism. 

“I don’t know what to say,” I murmured. “If you know so much, why are you asking me these questions, and why are you coming now, when everything has gotten so bad?”

“When I saw you last, things weren’t so dire, pet,” he confessed. “I wasn’t going to manifest myself unless I thought you truly needed me. You were content, I thought—you had your life with your friends, your activities...why should I upset everything? God of Chaos and Mischief I am, but I had no desire to destroy your life for no purpose. I adore mischief and pranks. I would bring pain to you.”

“Loki, everything is gone,” I whispered, trying to contain my grief. “Everything I was striving for...I’m never going to get better, you know, the physical therapists told me I’ve hit my maximum potential. The only thing I can do is have surgery, which will be expensive, painful, and risky with uncertain outcome. There will be no one to help me recuperate, to further complicate matters. My job is at risk because I can’t keep up any longer. I’ve worked so long to help everyone else, but...”

“Now you need help, and everyone has disappeared, aye,” he concluded sadly. “I am sorry. I know you have struggled with this for a long time.”

“I never felt like I wanted outlandish things. I wanted to have a family of my own. A husband who loved me, found me physically desirable...”

“You are incredibly desirable,” Loki growled fiercely. “By the Nine, I’ve watched you as you have lain in your narrow bed of nights, wondering what ails the men of this realm that you have had to take care of your needs alone. Your body in passion has inflamed me in ways I can barely tolerate without slipping through and ravishing you without so much as a by your leave...!”

“But you didn’t” I hotly interrupted. “For whatever reason, you didn’t. Whether I was too old, too disabled, too fragile, too mortal, too unattractive...you like every other male found your pleasures elsewhere, and...”

“Be very careful,” Loki hissed. “You are close to unleashing something you know nothing of...”

“Well of course I know nothing of it, I just want a family, babies, children, I just wanted to be loved, and yet you find me about to drown in my own bathtub! And come to it, why didn’t you just leave me be? At least the pain and the loneliness and the aching would be over! What is the point, or are you going to be just as distant as all the other gods in the pantheon...!”

I didn’t say anymore, because speech was no longer possible. Loki had swooped down, crushed my body to his, and was kissing me with a thoroughness I never dreamed possible.

What need for breath had I, when there were such kisses to be had? My head was spinning, my heart was pounding, and the edges of my vision were growing dark as I lost myself in him, my hands slowly then more confidently pressing him even closer to me, so I could feel his silky locks in my fingers, his chest rising and falling.

“I warned you,” he said at last, allowing me to greedily inhale at last. “You taunt me, showing me where I may have failed in the past, but I will refuse myself no longer. I thought by denying myself the pleasure of being in your company, I was doing what was best for you, but no more! You are mine, and I will be the one to give you all, whether you wish it or not. No mortal men for you, my darling. I will have Eir herself if necessary at your bedside, and what Eir cannot heal, I shall unleash my seidr upon, and what magic cannot improve, I swear I will fetch and carry and give to you whatever you need so you will be comfortable and happy. No healer will be as dedicated. No handmaiden as constant.”

I sat back. “You...really care? You care that much?”

“Sweetling? I may be your Loki...but you?”

He leaned forward and cradled my body against his, his voice husky and tantalizing, his breath barely brushing against my ear.

“...you are my Ástvinur. I cannot, will not be without you another moment. I refuse. Seeing you about to slip away...no. I have chosen you, and you are mine.”

@sourpatchkidsandacokecan @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @hopelessromanticspoonie @winterisakiller @redfoxwritesstuff @ciaodarknessmyheart @villainousshakespeare @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @vodka-and-some-sass @theheartofpenelope @sabine-leo @wegingerangelica @the-insomniac-cat2 @alexakeyloveloki @myoxisbroken @ladyfluff @toomanystoriessolittletime

[need-a-fugue]

Why Not? - Chapter One

Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not?

Author’s Note: Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge. Thanks to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ for triggering this… sprawling thing simply by supplying me with the prompt of Mechanic!AU for Bucky. It’s taken on a life of its own already… look at what you’ve done!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: Bit of angst, mostly fluff.

Chapter One

It’s late summer when the utterly recognizable Tony Stark first rolls up to the shop, driving in a blindingly white 1953 Corvette convertible… top down, rusty-red leather interior looking warm and lush bathed in the early morning sun. “Supposed to be one of the first off the line,” he tells Bucky, hopping out of the car and slamming the door just hard enough to make him flinch. “That’s what my dad said anyway. Pretty sure he loved the damn thing more than he loved me.”

Bucky’s jaw nearly hits the floor, breath catching in his chest as he steps outside the wide-open garage door to take a look. Drool practically drips from his lips onto the pristine white paint job, his eyes narrowing to slits at the glare off of the stainless trim. It is… perfect. Until he steps around to the passenger’s side and sees the damage. 

“Yeah,” Stark intones casually, not seeming at all embarrassed about the foot-long dent that runs the length of the door. “Minor parallel parking incident. You know how crazy things can get in upper Manhattan during rush hour.”

Bucky’s speechless. And a bit disgusted. And also unbelievably hesitant. “I… we’re not… I mean…” He lets his fingers gingerly press into the body to further inspect the damage, feeling the splintered paint, jagged, naked fiberglass beneath. “We do body work here, but… this is a different kind of beast altogether.”

The man simply stares at him, sunglass-cloaked eyes burrowing into him in an unsettling sort of assessment as his right foot – no doubt wearing a shoe that cost more than Bucky’s entire wardrobe – begins tapping out an impatient rhythm. “My assistant said I should come here. She said you could handle it.” He drops his glasses down just a bit, just enough to be able to peer over the tops of them at the still-reticent mechanic. He steps closer and leans in, reads the nametag standing out in bright white atop his pale blue shirt. “Bucky,” he reads aloud, rolling the name on his tongue. Then, one suspicious brow raised, “Bucky?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, jaw tensing, steeling himself for what’s to come. This wouldn’t be the first time some tool in a three-piece suit came in here and made fun of his name, talked down to him like he was nothing more than, well, some dumb mechanic.

The man’s shoulders draw up, pulling him into a proud stance, and he cocks his head again, this time in the other direction. Bucky feels the rest of his body tense up now too, certain that he’s somehow being… inspected by this stranger. Tony circles him slowly, stopping once he drops into the shade of the building. He takes a step back and leans into the brick façade, pulls his glasses off and wipes them clean with a freaking pocket square. “You married, Bucky?” he asks, staring down at his glasses.

Bucky barely moves, simply quirking a brow in the man’s direction. “Why? You proposing?”

He lets out a bright, high-pitched scoff. “You wish. I could give you everything you ever wanted and then some.”

“Because you have money? Didn’t anyone ever tell you money can’t buy happiness?”

Another scoff, this one deep and throaty and chased out by a dramatic roll of his eyes. “It certainly helps.” Tony’s gaze ticks over to Bucky’s left hand. “No ring,” he muses vaguely.

“Yeah, well, I got it caught in fan belt a few years back. Almost took off my whole damn hand.”

“Ah, so you are married,” he intones, the inflection revealing… is it relief? Or is it disappointment?

“Divorced,” he corrects, still caught up in this strange and sudden stare down. “Mr. Stark,” he tries finally, only to get shut down by a flippant hand waving through the air.

“Look, I got a lot going on today. I really don’t want to have to drive across town to some other garage. So…” He tosses the keys up into the air, landing them perfectly in Bucky’s open palm with a delicate clink. “Just… do what you can.”

He stands – stunned – for a long moment, unsure quite what to do as he watches the man retreat to the street and climb into a waiting limo. The entire interaction takes less than five minutes. Yet it feels… strange, certainly, but also somehow… weighty. Like meeting Tony Stark on this random August day, rolling these unfamiliar keys in his hand as he stands beneath the blaring hot sun means something.

He startles back to reality only once a heavy hand falls to his shoulder, Steve’s voice settling in his ear. “Was that…”

He nods, pulls in a deep and grounding breath – “Are all rich people… nuts?” – and turns to face his friend and business partner.

Steve simply shrugs. “Couldn’t tell ya… you’re the richest guy I know, and that’s just because you haven’t put in your half of the rent yet.”

                                                           000

They see a lot of Tony Stark over the next few weeks. At first, he stops by just to check in on the Vette, making it a point to slink into the garage first thing every morning until the job is finally done. Bucky assumes – once the ridiculously generous check is in his hand and the car is backed out of the shop – that they’ve seen the last of the man. But not two days later, he shows up with a 1932 Ford Roadster – nothing wrong with it, just thought they might like to see. And the following week he brings in his first Ferrari – a gift for his twenty-first birthday – to have the tires rotated.

Each and every time he stops in, Bucky gets the distinct feeling that he’s being somehow scrutinized by the man, dissected… thoroughly sussed out. He’s not quite sure why… perhaps it’s the barrage of – seemingly conversational – personal questions. Or maybe it’s the way he wanders around the garage, touching everything, inspecting everything. Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t ask anything of Steve the few times he pops out of the office to say hi, doesn’t interrogate him, nor really interact with him at all, his focus remaining wholly on Bucky.

It’s all very… odd. And unsettling. And if it weren’t for the fact that he lays down three times what the job is worth every time he brings in a car for some sort of unnecessary maintenance, Bucky would tell the man to take his creepy inquisition and hit the bricks.

But they’ve made almost five grand off of him in the last three weeks, and if he tells him to get lost, he’s pretty sure that Steve will castrate him with a zip saw. Truth be told, he’s on the verge of taking that chance, steeling himself to confront the eccentric billionaire when he sees the limo pull up yet again, cursing under his breath for a long moment before stepping outside to open up the garage doors.

Then he sees it, bright and gleaming in the burning hot sun as Stark whips around the corner and flies up into the bay, slamming on the parking brake before hopping out in a single deft move and leaning his hip onto the dark green door, smirk washing over his already rather smug face.

He gives him the basic backstory – upgraded rims and a new top, but otherwise an original… only 8,000 miles… one of just about thirty in existence.

But Bucky couldn’t care less about the words coming out of his mouth. And frankly, he doesn’t give a shit what kinds of questions or curious stares he’s about to receive from the grand inquisitor either. Maybe today they’ll get into his failed marriage, or that time he got arrested for assault. Or, hell, he’d even be willing to answer questions about his emo phase freshman year in high school. It’s all on the table. Stark can hang out and badger him all damn day if he wants, just as long as he lets him touch the spectacular specimen before him. He rounds the corner of the counter, certain that his jaw is dragging on the floor – and not giving a damn – and he steps forward towards the absolutely cherry 1965 Shelby Cobra 427. Un-be-livable. This… this is…

“This is a million-dollar car,” Bucky stutters out, his fingers lingering hesitantly over the hood, too nervous to even let them graze the body.

“More like 1.8 million,” he corrects with a shrug. “Could use a tune up.”

“A tune up? Are you crazy? Listen, there are people,” he starts, halting suddenly when a loud thump – followed quickly by a high-pitched squeal of laughter – sounds from the office in back. His head spins so fast, his neck cracks with the movement. But he quickly settles upon seeing Steve pop up into view on the other side of the plate glass window only to shoot him a swift thumbs up. Bucky shakes his head distractedly and turns back to Tony. “There are people way better equipped to handle this than me.”

Tony issues out a short psh, waving a dismissive hand through the air as he impatiently shifts from foot to foot. “You’ll be fine. I have faith in you.”

“I don’t know why,” he says with a snort, sneaking another lingering, sidelong glance at the car. He clears his throat harshly and turns back to Tony. “Mr. Stark, I don’t know that this shop even has enough insurance coverage to allow me to work on this car.”

“I could’ve sworn I told you to call me Tony,” he says, beginning his all-too-common practice of milling about the garage, absently touching things, picking up tools only to immediately drop them back into place. “Anyway,” he mutters, holding up a torque wrench and glaring at it as though the tool had personally insulted him. He throws it back onto the counter with a huff and faces Bucky once again. “I thought you were the owner,” he hisses out, words full of pure incredulity. “You and…” he waves a hand back at the blond man still lurking in the office. “Mr. Perfect back there.”

A look of utter bewilderment rolls across his face. “Well, yeah… but…”

“But nothing. Half the reason I own so many businesses,” he pauses for a beat, pursing his lips and looking down at the dark green beauty in front of him, “and things, is because I like doing what I like doing.” His eyes ping back up to meet Bucky’s, holding them tight in a sincere stare. “What do you like, Bucky?”

Silence. He says nothing, merely stares blankly at the man before him.

Tony rolls his eyes. “You like fixing million-dollar cars?”

Bucky shrugs. “Never really done it. That’s kind of my point.”

His deep brown eyes narrow suspiciously, head cocking to the side just the slightest bit. Then he drops a firm hand to Bucky’s shoulder and chuckles. “Nah, you like it.” He tosses him the keys – a very clear end of conversation – and turns to leave, his unofficial driver waiting out front in the limo. “Anyway, it’s… sticking a bit,” he says, waving his hand carelessly through the air as he walks backwards toward the garage door. “Just… take a look. And… I want you to know, I’m trusting you with something very important here. Don’t screw it up.” And with that, he turns and leaves.

Bucky stands painfully still, wide-eyed stare directed out the door long after Tony’s already begun his retreat back to his side of the city.

“Is that…?”

He spins on a heel, finding Steve bent over the Cobra, delicately grazing his fingers atop the windshield in much the same way Bucky had cautiously – reverently – done just moments ago. “Yeah,” he answers, not needing to hear the rest of the question, those words lost in the same stunned fog he feels himself still wading through.

“This isn’t a replica,” Steve hisses out, eyes blowing wide as he tosses a glance Bucky’s way. He’s met with a slow headshake, a rather disbelieving confirmation. “This is… it’s original?” A simple, slow nod. “Semi-Competition? This…” He straightens, pulling his shoulders back as he stands upright, letting out a long, low whistle. “I know everybody says he’s… eccentric. But…” He raises a brow, wide, crooked smile rolling over his features. “He’s really gonna trust you with this?”

Bucky reaches up and scratches at the back of his head, a rather confounded expression creeping over his face. “Seems like.”

The two men continue to stand, silently staring at the little convertible in front of them. A masterpiece. A legend. The wet dream of any car enthusiast. It’s amazing. Glorious. Perfect. And…

“No!” Bucky shouts, the sudden bellow pulling deep from his chest as he lunges forward just in time to stop the tiny, sticky, chocolate-covered tornado racing towards the work of art. Steve hops back as Bucky grabs the little girl, narrowly avoiding a tiny foot to the groin, when he swings her round and hauls her up into his arms. He spins her in his grip so that she’s facing him – wide-eyed smile and fat cheeks alight as raucous giggles spill out of her – and he raises a serious, commanding brow. “Do. Not. Touch.”

He adjusts the tyke on his hip, settling her into the crook of his left arm as he pulls a cloth from his pocket and begins roughly wiping at the melted streaks of chocolate on her face. She wiggles in his grip and pushes against his chest with a whiny groan, leaning away to see the car that Uncle Steve is so fondly caressing. “Pretty,” she croons, spitting messily around the cloth as he continues to drag it across her chin and lips.

“No more long johns for breakfast,” he declares, shifting to try and juggle her wiggly form with the rag so he can get at her hands.

“What’s a donut without chocolate icing?” Steve asks lightly, finally stepping over to help. He plucks a clean rag from the countertop and finishes wiping her down. “You are a mess.”

Bucky gives her a little bounce and looks at Steve with an almost chiding glare. “Yeah, well, you are a shitty babysitter.”

“Says the guy who just cursed in front of a four year old,” he counters with a smug smirk.

Bucky’s face hardens and sets into a scowl. “I’m not a babysitter. I’m her father. Different standard.”

“Shitty!” the little girl sings out gleefully, following it up with a wide-eyed, “Uh-oh,” upon seeing Bucky’s stare, his single, reprimanding brow raised high.

He shifts her to his other side, pulling away from Steve and sidestepping him to move over to the front of the Cobra. The austere set to his features quickly fades as dark curls bounce in his periphery and small hands clamp together behind his neck.

“What d’ya say, baby? Should we pop the hood?” he croons to the little girl in his grip, giving her a few swift bounces until her face splits with delight. “Yeah,” he mutters, swiping his fingers lazily over the front end of the car. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

[avintagekiss24]

the forest > bucky barnes

|| pairing: bucky barnes x black!reader

|| word count: 11,557

|| warnings: language words, smut, sex, sex pollen kinda, animal transformation, grumpy bucky, angst/horror?, fae/faries, fairy tale vibes

|| challenge: @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge - Werewolf AU - You have been lost in the forest due to a curse that won’t let you leave.

|| square filled: @star-spangled-bingo​ SSB2020 I3: “This is not what it looks like”

|| square filled: @buckybarnesbingo​ K2: Survival in the wild

|| summary: You wake up in a strange, magical place. All alone, you start to walk and find that you aren’t the only one wandering the trees.

|| link: ao3

|| note: i don’t know why i’m nervous to post this, but i am! forgive me, my brain gets the best of me sometimes. i hope you guys enjoy this - despite the posting anxiety, i did enjoy weaving this little tale. i just hope it all makes sense :)

line dividers by writeyourmindaway!

Your feet are blistered and bloody. You’ve been walking for hours. Your throat is dry, your eyes puffy and swollen; watery. Your sundress is tattered and ripped and you don’t know why. You can’t remember. You don’t know where you are, why you’re here, or how you ended up in this place - but the fear sitting in your belly is the only thing keeping you moving.

It’s dense here. Thick, green, lush trees and shrubs line the dirt path that you walk on. Sun rays peek through the treetops, but because they’re so thick, the trees, it looks like a dark day; a muted day. You can hear birds chirping, little bugs buzzing around, even spot a butterfly or two. It’s beautiful - but ominous. Like there’s danger lurking just around the bend. 

You hear crackling in the distance - leaves being crunched, twigs being broken - and you freeze, snapping your head towards it. You swallow hard as you zero in on the noise, everything else going silent around you. You clutch the hem of your dress in your hand, as it’s the only tangible thing that makes any of this real, and just listen. Your heart beats loudly in your ears. A bead of sweat slips down the side of your face. Your breath is shallow.

The crackling stops. You wait for a beat or two, blinking slowly, listening hard, and then you start moving again - trying to find something, someone… anything. You nervously continue to play with the hem of your dress as you pad through this still forest, the soft dirt squishing through your toes. The sound of water soon hits your ears, soft and rippling, and just at the end of the path, there’s a small bank leading to a quiet little river. 

You quicken your pace, stepping into the grass, and then the wet sand before you fall to your knees and dip your hands into the water. You splash your face, once, twice, three times, before dipping your hands back into the surprising cool liquid, cupping them to collect a small amount. You bring it to your lips to drink, slurping it in haste as your thirst overwhelms you. Handful after handful, you bring the small offering of water to your lips, barely finishing the gulp before thrusting your hands back in the water.

You’re so consumed with the cool liquid that you don’t even hear the crackling of the leaves behind you. You drop your hands back into the water as you lift your eyes to the other side of the bank slowly. Your breath goes shallow again as you blink rapidly, now acutely aware that you’re being watched by someone, or something. You swallow hard and let your lips part as you turn your head, peeking over your shoulder - and suddenly, you’re face to face with a large, white wolf. 

Your chin starts to tremble as fear paralyzes you. The animal’s eyes are a piercing blue as they stare back at you. Its head is low, ears laid back on its head. Its nose twitches as it sniffs at the air, but it never takes its eyes off of you. It lowers its head to the ground, sniffing at the footprints you left behind before it lifts its gaze to you again. 

It takes a step towards you, slowly, and then another, and another. You don’t move -  you can’t. You just start to tremble as it closes the distance between you, a single tear slipping down your cheek as your eyes cloud over with water. It gets nose to nose with you, blinking slowly as it starts to sniff you. You let out a sob as it pushes its nose into your hair, breathing you in. It lets out a hard breath, tossing your hair with it before it tilts its head towards the sky and howls loudly. 

You jump and gasp at the sudden burst of noise as it rocks through the forest. Birds flock from the trees as more howls from somewhere deep in the trees, making you snap your head towards the chorus, your chest now heaving. 

“You’re quick,” a deep voice sounds, making you snap your head back again, “Took me hours to track you.”

The wolf is suddenly gone, now replaced with a very tall, blonde, blue eyed, naked man. Your eyes go wide as you scramble back into the water. You blink furiously, pushing more hot tears down your face as your mind starts to race. You shake your head as your face breaks, finally giving into the confusion and fear that’s motivated you for most of the day. The man kneels and tilts his head as he watches you, his eyes still searching as if he isn’t quite sure of you.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, holding out his hand, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you cry openly, “I don’t - I don’t know where I am.”

“It’s okay, I’ll explain it to you on the way. Come.”

He wiggles his fingers, trying to coax you out of the water. You shake your head again frantically, dragging in a breath, nearly choking on it, “Please, I just, I want to go home. Please.”

“Come.” He says again, his voice still soft- still calm. 

“No, please let me go. Please.” You beg.

The man sighs, blinking back at you slowly, “You can’t go home. Come with me please, before something dangerous finds you.”

You stare at his hand, still outstretched towards you, before you cut your eyes back up to his. A deep growl sounds through the trees, followed by a series of menacing barks. You and the man both snap towards the noise. A black wolf moves through the trees on the opposite side of the stream, instantly sending chills down your spine. Its eyes are golden, but a darkness looms in them as it peers at you. It starts to growl again, lowering its head as it bares its teeth, barking loudly again.

“Cut it out,” the man behind you says sternly, “She’s already claimed, Rumlow.”

You gasp when the black wolf changes right in front of you. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, a dark haired man stands on the bank, “She hasn’t been marked yet,” he smirks, his eyes bouncing between yours and the man behind you, “So technically, she hasn’t been claimed, Rogers.”

“Back off. I’m warning you.”

“Ooooh,” Rumlow laughs, “Scary voice.”

You swallow and glance up at the man behind you, Rogers. He keeps his eyes across the stream, his hands balled at his sides, his chest swollen with possession, “Get behind me,” He hisses, “Now.”

You oblige - and fast. You scramble to your feet and step behind him, peering around his arm at the menacing Rumlow. He sneers at you, wiggling his fingers, trying to intimidate you. The golden eyed man takes a step into the water and Rogers transforms back to his four legged alter ego. He digs his paw into the wet sand and lowers his head as a deep growl rumbles in his throat. 

You skirt your eyes back to this Rumlow, watching as he turns, thick black hair and four legs returning to his frame. He barks at you and Rogers, saliva dripping from his mouth as he bares his teeth. 

They lunge at each other without so much as a warning, making you stumble back as you inhale sharply. The sounds of nails ripping through flesh, water splashing, loud barking and growling fill the air as you once again blink back tears. You stand in utter disbelief as these two half animal, half man creatures rip into each other - one, seemingly for your protection, the other for ownership. 

Rogers prevails. He pins the black wolf to the mud, his teeth biting into the others throat and neck, shaking his head back and forth. The black wolf whelps in pain as it kicks and scratches at the much larger, much stronger opponent. Rogers releases him, taking a few steps back but keeps his eyes on the other as it scrambles back up the bank. The golden eyes are back on you as he whips back around, growling lowly, but soon scampers off with a heavy limp.

Rogers watches the trees for a minute longer before he turns and moves slowly back to your side. He rubs his head against your hand, licking your fingers gently. You look down at him, his big blue eyes gazing back up into yours and you can’t help but pat the top of his head. He did just save you, after all.

“Thank you.” You offer softly.

He takes a few steps past you and then turns to look at you, waiting for you to join him. You really have nowhere else to go and knowing now what exactly lurks out in the trees, you’re too afraid to have him leave you. The two of you start to walk back in the direction that you first came. He stays in his wolf form, his heavy paws padding softly in the dirt next to you, his eyes wide and alert as you traipse through the forest. Your mind races with the silence, his words playing over and over again - you can’t go home. You can’t go home. You can’t go home. Your stomach starts to twist all over again. Why can’t you go home? What did you do to make it so? 

Maybe it’s a dream - maybe it’s just all one big, bad dream and you can’t wake yourself up. You start to pray, closing your eyes as you walk, pleading with God to just wake you up from all of this. But you don’t - wake up that is. 

You walk for hours. The heat beating down on you from the sun starts to wear on you, your throat going dry again as sweat beads on your forehead. Your feet ache as each footprint you leave behind starts to clump with blood. Your vision starts to blur and you stumble slightly, making Rogers snap his head towards you.

He circles your legs, barking a few times before he changes into his human form again. He grabs your elbow, his eyes searching yours intently before he brushes your messy hair away from your face. 

“We’re almost there, let me carry you.”

You pull away from him but stumble again, “I’m fine, I -”

Without another word, you’re lifted from your feet with ease. He curls you into his broad, hairy chest, wrapping an arm around your back and tucking the other underneath your knees. You’re too exhausted to fight him. You rest your head against his chest and let him carry you slowly the rest of the way, your eyes closing to slits. You’re barely conscious when Rogers steps through a wall of brush and shrubs and suddenly, you’ve stepped into a utopia. 

You blink furiously as you try and make sure that you are seeing what you are really seeing. The air smells sweeter. The trees and grass are alive with motion as a breeze whips over your body. You feel eyes on you as Rogers moves you through this new town-like place. You can see cottages placed randomly throughout the trees as people start to come out from them, watching. You tense, but Rogers is quick to quell your fear.

“It’s okay. Your scent is spreading, that’s all.”

“My scent? I smell bad?”

He smiles a little, keeping his eyes straight ahead, “Not bad, just new.”

“Where are we going?”

“To see Wanda. She’s our seer.”

He moves you through another set of trees and you’re standing at the edge of a large lake. The water level is low - a wispy waterfall to your left barely dribbles into the body of water. That’s when you spot her, a redheaded woman bathing in the water. Her back is to you, but she’s calm as she sweeps her hand over her outstretched arm, smoothing water over her skin. Rogers sits you on your feet but keeps his hand on the small of your back to help keep you steady. 

You glance over at him, where he meets your gaze, shaking his head gently as he taps his index finger against his lips, “Wait until she calls for you.�� He whispers. 

Another man pops up from underneath the water seconds later, scaring you slightly. He pushes the water away from his face with his hands before he sweeps them over the top of his head. He smiles at you, and you smile back without hesitation - he’s so beautiful. It’s a warm, gentle, friendly smile - the gap in his teeth and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes invite you to feel just a little more comfortable. The sun makes his brown skin glow, accentuating the drops of water that collect on his shoulders and chest.

“Steve?” You hear the woman say.

“Yes. I have her.”

“I know you do,” her voice is sweet, thick with comfort  and amusement, “Sam, can you bring her to me?”

She disappears under the water. You watch as the other man, Sam, swims towards you and glance nervously over at Rogers - no, Steve. He gives you a reassuring nod and a hint of a smile before you turn back just as the smooth skinned Sam emerges from the water. You quickly avert your eyes towards your feet, as he’s stark naked as well, but steal a glance or two. Water cascades down his rippled chest and stomach, glinting underneath the strong sun.

Sam outstretches his hand, a broad smile lighting up his face, “Hi, I’m Sam. Welcome.” 

When you hesitate, Steve steps a little closer, “She’s still a little foggy.”

“That’s okay, darlin’. We’re not going to hurt you. Promise.” Sam reassures, keeping his hand open and outstretched. 

You take it with trepidation, allowing him to slowly pull you into the cool water. It feels good on your achy, bloody feet, and sore limbs. Sam turns to you again, “It’s okay if you want to dip under. You’ll feel a whole lot better, I swear it.” 

You don’t even hesitate. You push your body underneath the water, closing your eyes as your hearing gets muffled by the liquid. You pop back up seconds later, pushing your hands over your hair as the sun warms you again. He’s right. You do feel a whole lot better - clean. 

Sam wraps his long fingers around your arm and places it over his shoulder, before doing the same with the other. Before you can question him, he starts to swim out deeper, pulling you with him. You let him carry you towards the mysterious woman, who is now wearing a bright smile as she wiggles her thin fingers at you as you approach. She swims underneath the waterfall and Sam follows, setting you on your feet before he exits.

“Hungry?” She asks, handing you a small bowl of assorted fruits, “I wish I could offer you more, but we’re going through a bit of a rough growing season. I had to walk for miles to find these as it was.”

“That’s okay,” You greedily take the bowl, stuffing the sweet berries into your mouth, “Thank you, I’m- starving. Thank you.”

“Eat up, baby. I know you’re exhausted.” She watches you as you eat, her eyes twinkling as she smiles. She closes her eyes after a few minutes and tilts her head upwards, nodding every now and again as if she’s listening to something - or someone. 

She moans softly as she sways her hands back and forth in the water, her fingertips just barely touching the surface. Then, suddenly, she pops her big eyes open and blinks at you, “My God,” she whispers, “It’s you.”

“M-me? I-” You stammer, glancing around nervously.

She smiles big as she grabs your hands in hers, “We’ve been waiting for you. Bucky, he’s… I promised him you’d come and here you are.”

You shake your head slowly as dread fills your stomach, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t- I don’t even remember how I got here and Steve says that I can’t go home. Please. I just- I want to go home.”

Wanda pulls you into her bare chest, hugging you tightly. She pulls away seconds later, her eyes bouncing between yours, “This is scary at first, it was for all of us, but you’ll come to love it here. You are going to rule this forest one day and drive out all of the evil. You, dear girl,” she smiles at you again, “You will finally bring us peace. Please, close your eyes.”

“Wanda, I don’t-”

“Shhh,” she coos, “Close your eyes.” 

You take a breath, letting your shoulders slump slightly but close your eyes. You feel Wanda braid her fingers with yours before she starts to speak again.

“Only the cursed inhabit this enchanted forest.” She says softly. Your lips part as fear flushes through you, “All of us, at different times found ourselves wandering through these trees, cursed to never be able to leave. Each one of us has gained an affliction over time, some sooner than others.”

“Affliction?” you whisper, your chest starting to heave.

“I’m a seer. I wasn’t at first, it came to me over time. I can see other’s afflictions before they manifest. I’m also known to have premonitions and visions of what’s to come. Steve and Sam, they are lycans, able to shift between wolf and human form. Bucky, whom you’ll meet soon enough, a werewolf. Unlucky for him, full moons come around every night. Clint, another shifter of an avian kind. Natasha and Carol, mermaids, unable to walk to the earth.” 

“Then what am I?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“We’ll get to that soon,” She answers. You feel the water shift as she moves around you. She drags her hands up your arms and shoulders softly, “Try and remember. Remember what brought you here.”

You focus your breathing, in through your nose, out through your mouth, as you force your brain to try and remember. You squeeze your eyes tight, but nothing forms - not a thought, not a memory… nothing. You shake your head as your chin starts to tremble, all of the fear and anxiety rising up in your throat. 

“I can’t,” you start to whimper, “I can’t remember, I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Wanda coos, hugging you from behind, “It’s okay. Relax, just try and remember. Feel the water and the warm sun, just let it carry you away. Focus on the waterfall, hear it.”

Tears stream down your cheeks but you push out a shaky breath as you digest her words. Feel the cool water. Hear the waterfall. Wanda grabs your hand, flipping it over before she presses her fingers into your palm, drawing gentle circles, “Just try and remember.”

A quick image flashes before your eyes - pink. Balloons, a congratulations banner… the clinking of champagne glasses. Then, there’s faces, happy ones - Shelia! Romero and Tammy are also there, all hugging you, wishing you luck. You’ve worked so hard for this! No one deserves this more than you!

“I got it,” you whisper, “I got the job. I was promoted to bank manager.”

“That’s it. Stay there, just remember.”

You see it now. They threw you a party during your lunch break - bought you a cake and everything. After the celebration, you walked back to your desk and there it was - one singular cupcake, topped with pink icing and white sprinkles. 

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand, “Oh my god.” 

Wanda sways you back and forth softly, resting her chin on your shoulder, walking you through it. You looked around, but saw no one paying you any attention. You sat in your chair, stuffed to the gills from the lunch and the cake - but you brought the small pastry to your nose anyway, inhaling the sweetness of it. You moaned as a smile spread on your face. You were always a sucker for a cupcake. 

You peeled away the wrapping and brought it to your face again, ready to take a bite, when you noticed a small slip of paper peeking out from underneath your keyboard. You pulled it out with the tips of your fingers and furrowed your brow as you read the unfamiliar handwriting. You deserve all that’s coming to you. 

More tears spill from your eyes as the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. 

You looked around one final time to see if anyone was watching, but found no one paying you any mind. You looked back down at the cupcake in your hand and shrugged before closing your eyes and taking a bite. You moaned again as the spongy cake exploded on your taste buds. It was the best cupcake you had ever had. You finished it quickly and tossed the wrapper and note, before waking up your computer and returning to your emails, not even noticing the little old woman slipping out through the front doors. 

“I didn’t give her the extension.” You whisper, your voice shaky, “She was months behind on her mortgage, we had already given her three. I couldn’t. My hands were tied. I couldn’t grant her another extension, I just couldn’t.”

“It’s okay, dear girl.”

“It’s not okay!” You shout, “She cursed me! She sent me here!”

“I told you it was going to be hard at first.”

You pull away from her, spinning around to face her again, “I want to leave! Now!”

“Honey -”

She reaches for you but you slap her hands from you as you back away, “I’m leaving. I’m not- I don’t know what you want, but I’m leaving!”

You move underneath the wispy waterfall and back out into the large lake as Wanda screams for you to stop. You swim hard, and fast towards the shore, feeling Sam and Steve’s eyes on you as they lounge underneath one of the large trees. They both stand, their eyes wide as you stumble up onto the bank, tripping over your own feet as you try and gain some traction. 

You run towards the trees, the weight of your wet dress not slowing you down in the least bit. You hear Wanda’s voice again, this time instructing Sam and Steve to let you go, “She’ll get lost out there.” Steve worries.

“She’ll be fine,” Wanda says, taking a breath as she wades in the water, “You’ll just have to find her again in the morning.”

You run for miles. You run until the sun is replaced by the moon and the sounds of the day have completely stilled. You hear nothing but your own footsteps and the chirp of a cricket that you never seem to find. It’s cooled down considerably, your body is racked with chills as a gust of wind whips around you. The only thing keeping you going is fear. You’re afraid to stop and rest, not knowing what or who is out in these woods in the dark. 

You push deeper, trying to use the moonlight as a guide but you have no idea what you’re looking for. Every time you think you’ve found a way out, that maybe you think you see a road or hear a car, you just move into a section of trees and shrubs and grass. This forest is never ending. Maybe they were right. Maybe you can’t -

You snap your head and gasp as a loud scream erupts from deep in the trees. It awakens the birds, making them all screech and fly out from their nests. The scream erupts again, this time louder, so loud you have to cover your ears. It sounds like a man being ripped apart from limb to limb. He screams again - a blood curdling one - and you cringe as it seems even louder, like he’s right behind you. 

You start running again. The screams continue but each one gets deeper, more animal-like, more painful. You freeze right in your tracks when a loud, long howl sounds through the sleepy forest - a bay at the large, white moon in the sky. Unlucky for him, full moons come every night. 

Soon, all you can hear is your own breathing. You cower behind a tree, hugging it tightly as you keep your eyes wide, your pupils surely blown. There’s a rustling in the trees and brush, twigs snapping, heavy, fast footsteps. Another howl, followed by random barks and then rushed footsteps again. Your eyes fill with water as your mind races, unsure of what to do, where to go. You don’t want to die out here. 

Smell? I smell bad?

Not bad, just new.

Fuck.

You snap your head over your shoulder, watching as the bushes in the distance start to shake as something moves through it. You push away from the tree and dart off to your left, ducking and dodging random limbs and vines as you try to flee. You keep turning around as you run - but you see nothing. You just hear it. Barking, growling, howling - the heavy footsteps pounding into the ground as it closes in on you. 

“Shit!” You cry as you push yourself as hard as you can, willing your feet to carry you faster. Your lungs and legs burn as you cut through the trees, ignoring the stinging cuts on your arms and feet from the branches whipping against you. You turn again, gasping you finally spot the beast chasing you emerging from the brush. 

Just as you do, your foot tangles in an exposed root, tripping you. You hit the ground hard, face first, screaming as pain rips through your ankle and lower leg. A shadow casts over you as a large mass jumps clear over your head. It lands on all fours, the ground shaking with its weight when it lands. You sit up quickly, trying to back away, dragging your now bum leg as your fingernails dig into the dirt underneath you.

You drag in a deep, shaky breath as instant tears flood your face. Your body shakes as your face completely breaks with emotion. You stare back into a pair of pitch black eyes. This beast is huge - larger than Steve and Rumlow combined. It howls again, making you scream as your eardrums nearly burst from the sound. It stands on its back legs as it bays again and you could swear it’s seven feet tall. It falls back to the earth with another heavy thud, then lowers its head as it zeros in on you again. 

It starts to growl, snarling its lip to show its sharp, white teeth. It barks and snaps at you, saliva dripping from its mouth as it takes a step towards you. You scamper backwards but your back slams into a tree. You try to stand but fall back to the ground as your leg just can’t carry you. It steps towards you again, still growling, still snapping. 

You push up against the tree as hard as you can, almost wanting it to swallow you whole. You shut your eyes as the heat from its breath washes over your face, the rush of air pushing from its nostrils tossing your hair. You squirm, whimpering when you feel its wiry hair on your legs, its whiskers grazing against your cheek. You turn your head as it sniffs at you loudly, pushing its long nose through your hair and down your neck.

It pushes out another forceful breath through its nose, making you jump. You blink your eyes, slowly opening them as you turn back to face it. You pull in deep, audible breaths as you stare back at this… thing, this affliction, as Wanda’s words come back to you. Bucky, he’s… I promised him you’d come and here you are… 

“Please,” you whisper quietly, so quietly you barely hear yourself, “Bucky, please.”

It tilts its head at the sound of the name - but not in the way you’d hoped. His eyes narrow as he snarls his lip again, that menacing growl rumbling through his chest and throat. His ears lay back on his head as he drops it, clearly threatened. He crouches down as he snaps at you again, dragging his front paw through the dirt as he readies himself to pounce. 

You start to sob loudly, holding your hands out as you plead and beg - screaming for your life. The adrenaline and anxiety coursing through your veins becomes ever present as your head starts to spin. Your palms get sweaty, your heart racing and thumping against your chest as your body shakes. You can’t catch your breath, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t fill your lungs with air. You’re hot and cold all at the same time. Your vision tunnels - your pupils shrinking to the size of the tip of a pin. 

Suddenly, everything goes black. 

Bucky glances down at the woman in his arms as he trudges through the trees. It’s early morning, the sky still orange and pink as the birds start to sing. He’s not sure who she is, he just remembers her smell - strong - calling to him in the dark of the night. It’s the most vivid scent he’s ever encountered. So pure, so heavy that he can remember it even after his change. She’s not the usual newcomer around here -  that he can tell. 

He pushes into his home surroundings, most of their small community still snuggled tight in their cottages - “Bucky! There you are.”

He snaps his head towards the approaching Wanda, eyeing her as she steps next to him, sweeping her hand over the passed out woman’s forehead, “You know this one?” He asks. 

She nods, “Just came to us yesterday. She’s -”

Bucky just nods, glancing out into the distance as he knows what she’s about to say, “She’s hurt. I think her ankle is broken. I might have - I think the gashes are from me.”

“No worries, I’ll get her fixed up. Do you mind taking her to your cottage?”

He sighs heavily, sending his eyes towards the small redhead, watching as she smiles softly, “Wanda,”

“You and Steve have more space,” she shrugs, her face filling with surprise as Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Sam and I just had a baby. This poor thing needs rest and looking after.”

“Well,” Bucky starts gruffly, “Steve can look after her then.”

Wanda throws her hands on her hips, giving him a stern look before she turns her attention to the shuffling coming from behind them, “Clint? Can you do me a favor?”

The short blonde approaches, nodding his head towards Bucky, “Of course. Who’s that?” He asks, pointing towards the unconscious woman in his hands.

Wanda smiles brightly, “She’s our Faery.”

Clint’s eyes widen as a smirk spreads on his face, “No shit, really?”

Wanda nods, and Bucky rolls his eyes again.

“What’s the favor?” Clint asks, chuckling softly.

“See if you can find Steve and Sam. They’re out looking for her. They couldn’t have gotten far.”

With another quick nod, Clint is now soaring towards the tops of the trees, his arms replaced by long, sleek wings as he transforms. He screeches, his bird call rippling through the forest as he flies out of sight. 

Bucky starts to move again, readjusting the woman in his arms as her legs bounce against his naked thigh. He moves into he and Steve’s shared cottage, Wanda right behind him as he moves into his room. He lays the unconscious woman down on his bed before walking back out of the room without a word. 

He collects a large bowl from the kitchen and fills it with warm water while grabbing clean towels and cotton swabs. He pads back into the room, sitting the supplies on the small table next to his bed before he pulls open the drawer, grabbing his stitch kit and tossing it on the bed.

“Where are you going?” Wanda questions from her spot on the bed, watching as he walks back towards his bedroom door.

Bucky doesn’t even turn around. He just holds up a bar of soap as he heads for the main door, “Bath.”

Bucky runs his hands through his short hair as he comes up from underneath the water. He’s still not really used to it, but he needed the haircut, and Steve actually did a good job on it. He keeps his eyes closed and his head tilted towards the sky as the sun beats down on him, warming him as he stands in the cool water. There is nothing better than a bath after a night of pillaging. 

His mind floats back to Wanda and the strange woman keeping him from collapsing into his bed. He scoffs at just the thought. He’s never bought into Wanda’s bullshit. She’s been blowing smoke up his ass for years, but it just goes into one ear and right out the other one. She’s coming Bucky, I can feel it. She’ll fix this place and she’ll love you forever, plus a day. He rolled his eyes then and he rolls his eyes now. She seems to forget this place is a literal curse. 

Who could love you? Bucky pops his eyes open as the thought floats through his mind. Who could actually love a monster like you? “Nobody,” he mumbles to himself, letting his eyes drop to the water. That’s why it’s all bullshit. 

He hears a rustling in the trees and turns his head and body to watch Sam, Steve, and Clint emerge. Sam lifts his hand towards him, which Bucky returns with a head nod, before he swims towards the bank to join the three men.

“Where did you find her?” Steve asks as soon as he’s on the bank.

Bucky shrugs, “Out pretty far. I came across her on my way home.”

“She’s hurt?” Steve questions again, his face and eyes full of concern.

“Broken ankle, some gashes and cuts, but she’ll live.”

“You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

Bucky grits his teeth as he narrows his eyes, “I don’t know, maybe. What’s with all the fucking questions?”

Clint slaps him on his arm, smirking all the while, “You know Steve and that bleeding heart of his.”

“She’s our faery, we’re all supposed to take care of her.” Steve says, pushing past Bucky.

“Jesus,” Bucky mumbles, dropping his head into his hands to rub his face, “I’m not in the mood for all of this.”

“When are you ever in the mood?” Sam quips, shaking his head, “Where’s my wife?”

“In my bedroom, tending to our fabulous faery.” Bucky huffs, “Fuck, I just want to sleep. I should have put her in Steve’s room.”

“I wouldn’t talk about your soulmate like that, Barnes. Women don’t like sarcasm.” Sam smiles, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t you start. She’s not my soulmate, she not gonna bring peace or whatever the fuck Wanda is always spouting off about. She’s just another cursed soul, just like the rest of us. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Sam and Clint glance at each other, shaking their heads at the cynical man before them, “Whatever, fuck off. I’m going to sleep.” Bucky grumbles, turning back towards his cottage.

“You can sleep at ours if you want,” Sam calls, “I'll bunk with Steve until the girl is back on her feet.”

“And have that sniffling, whiny little brat of yours waking me up every hour? No thanks.”

He ducks quickly as a rock whizzes by his head, “Don’t talk about my baby boy like that, Barnes!”

Bucky bounds inside his shared home and makes his way towards his bedroom, leaning against the door frame as he listens in on Wanda and Steve. The girl looks better already, the dried blood splattered on random parts of her body gone. Her tattered dress is also gone, replaced by one of Wanda’s hand sewn tunic’s. The deeper of her gashes are sewn together, her feet wrapped in leaves of the bountiful lamb ear. 

Her face is soft as she breathes in and out gently. Her hands are crossed over her chest as Wanda crushes up more herbs beside her, smoothing the goop over her flesh wounds. He turns away after a few minutes, as her scent starts to make him dizzy in this confined space. He wonders how Steve can handle being that close.

His heavy feet carry him into the living room, his eyes growing heavier and heavier with each step. He falls onto the old, lumpy hand sewn pillows that sit atop the nicked up couch that Steve fashioned with his bare hands, and grabs the blanket thrown over the back. He covers his entire body and head while burying his face in the cushions as he tries to drown out Wanda and Steve’s hushed voices. 

Bucky wakes with a start hours later. A loud pounding noise beats over the roof of the small cottage, making him spring up. He snaps his head towards the front door, finding it wide open. He stands quickly, peeking his head into his room, finding the woman still asleep on his bed but doesn’t find Wanda or Steve. He takes off towards the front door, but stops in his tracks when he realizes what the pounding is. 

Rain. 

He moves out onto the small porch, finding Steve sitting on the step, “How long has it been raining like this?”

“Hours,” Steve smiles up at him, “Started right after you fell asleep. Do you remember the last time it rained like this?”

Bucky shakes his head. They get showers here and there, just enough to keep the stream and the lake flowing but this? It’s been months since they’ve seen a steady, strong, purposeless rain. 

“Wanda had a premonition, a strong one. She had to go lay down.” Steve says gently, not taking his eyes off the rain, “She said this is just the beginning. This is because of her.”

“Steve, come on-”

“There’s not going to be a full moon tonight.” Steve says, cutting him off, “Wanda saw it, Buck.”

Bucky squares his jaw as an irrational anger flushes through him, “That’s not possible.”

“It is. She saw it, Bucky. Wanda is never wrong, you know that. She’s proved it time and time again.”

“I’ve been here for seventy years,” Bucky growls, his tone hard, “I’ve turned every night -  every single night there’s a full moon. That’s my affliction, it doesn’t just go away because some woman shows up one day.”

Steve drops his head, shaking it softly. He shrugs after a minute or two, not wanting to pick a fight, “Okay, Buck.”

“I don’t know why you fall for that shit.” 

“Maybe because I want to believe in something more, something bigger. I get it,” Steve retorts, “We fucked up in our old lives, but we were given a second chance.”

“A second chance?” Bucky asks incredulously, “You call this a second chance? Bound to a god forsaken forest and having to skulk around like an animal for the rest of eternity?”

Steve hangs his head, but smirks nonetheless, “It’s not that bad.” 

“For you,” Bucky reminds him, “Try having your limbs twist and break every night and get back to me about it being a second chance.”

Bucky pushes past him, off of the porch and into the rain. He lets it beat down on him, cleansing him of the anger building inside of his chest before he pushes his hands over his hair, “I’m going for a walk.”

Steve just nods in acknowledgement and returns his gaze towards the gray sky. 

You wake up slowly, fluttering your eyes as you stretch out your limbs. You rub your face as you groan slightly, rolling your head into the pillows beneath you. You sit up and let out a yawn before you glance around the unfamiliar room. It’s minimal, a table, a chair in the corner, and a bed. It’s cozy still, even with the scarce decor. 

You’ve never felt better in your life. All the aches and pains in your body are gone. There’s no anxiety or fear. Your eyes don’t burn, your throat isn’t dry. You feel so good.  You glance down, running your fingers over the hand stitched garment that covers your body. You then graze your fingers over the stitches in your leg, a purple and blue bruise surrounding it, but you feel no pain. You unwrap the leaves around your feet and wiggle your toes before you toss your legs over the side of the bed. 

You notice a small bowl of fruit and a homemade mug sitting on the small wooden table next to the bed. You pick up the bowl, popping what looks like a blueberry into your mouth before you moan in satisfaction, closing your eyes as you swallow. You stand, tucking the bowl into your chest and grabbing the mug before you head out of the bedroom. You glance around as you move slowly through the cottage, from room to room, finding it empty. As you pop a strawberry into your mouth, you move out of the second bedroom and back into the living room, where you peek out of the small window. 

A steady, hard rain pours from the gray sky. You stand and watch for a few minutes, bringing the mug to your lips and draining the cup of it’s sweet liquid. You sit the now empty cup and bowl down and walk out onto the porch, the defending sound of the rain now unmuted by the walls of the cottage. You reach your hand out, letting the fat drops plop against it as a smile spreads on your face. You’ve always loved the rain. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, breathing in the earth - the dirt and leaves and grass - letting it fill your lungs as they’re all nurtured by the water. Without thinking, you step off of the small porch, right into the rain, letting it wash over you. Your hair sticks to your head, your thin tunic becomes glued to the curves of your body, accentuating your hips and breasts as you start to walk aimlessly through the quiet, sleepy little community. 

You move into a field of tall grass and hold out your hands as you walk slowly, letting the blades graze your palms. You close your eyes again as your head starts to swim and a warmth starts to spread through your body, starting in your toes and moving all the way up to your head. You’re not sure what exactly has happened over the past twenty four hours but, now, with each passing minute, you start to feel like you’re home - almost as if this is what you’ve been searching for your whole life.

“What are you doing?” You jump at the sound of the deep, gruff voice. You pop your eyes open, spinning on your feet to come face to face with a dark haired man. His eyes are a crystal blue, his jaw square, his eyes crinkled in the corners as he squints at you, “You shouldn’t be out here.” 

“W-why not?” You ask softly.

“You’re ankle, it’s-” he drops his eyes to your feet, his lips parting as he finds them in perfect condition, “What did you do?” 

He moves towards you quickly, scaring you slightly as he lifts the thin material covering your body, “What did you do?” He asks again, his voice irritated, his eyes angry.

“N-nothing. Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Your ankle was broken. Wanda had to give you stitches in that leg.” He points.

You snatch the material of your tunic from his fingers, stepping back, “I still have the stitches,” you rebuff, glancing down at your leg, “See? They’re right -”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at your now healed leg. You shake your head, letting out a breath, “I just… the stitches were there, my leg was bruised, just… just right before I walked out here.”

You look up at the man standing before you, your eyes bouncing wildly between his as he stares back at you. You can’t read his expression, but the wheels in his head are definitely turning as he drops his eyes from yours. He turns his head to the side slightly and stares into the grass as he tries to work something out in his brain. 

“Do you know what’s happening to me?” You ask softly as you push your wet hair out of your face.

He turns back to face you as soon as the words leave your lips. His mouth falls open, but no words come out. He just stares at you as the rain beats on him, slipping down his neck and chest and abs before it hits the ground below.

“You haven’t spoken to Wanda?”

“Just a little,” you shrug, swallowing hard as you drop your head to look at your feet, “I didn’t really, um, give her a chance to explain it all. I was... scared.”

You feel his eyes roam over you as you twist the bottom of your tunic in your fingers, “You need to talk to Wanda. She’ll explain it to you.” He answers simply as he turns away.

You watch him as he walks away from you. His shoulders broad, the muscles in his back flexing as he moves. You bite your lip as your eyes fall to his behind, sculpted and hard, and his thighs, thick and sturdy. Your stomach clenches. The rain doesn’t help either - the water droplets cascading down his sinewy body, providing you with quick, fragmented images of your tongue licking each droplet away. 

You let out a breath, and then Wanda’s words float back to you again, stronger and louder this time. Bucky, he’s… I promised him you’d come and here you are.

“Are you, um,” you call out to him, “Are you Bucky?”

He stops, rolling his shoulders in irritation, “What about it?”

“You’re what attacked me last night?”

You watch as he drops his head, his back muscles tensing as your question reaches him. He turns to face you, his jaw tight, his eye narrowed, “You’re still breathing aren’t you?”

You glance around nervously, “Well, yeah, I-“

“Then I didn’t attack you, did I?”

You swallow. You’re not sure if it’s just you or if he’s always like this, but he’s trying really hard to intimidate you. It’s working… kind of, “You tried too.” You answer back quietly.

He scoffs at the notion, “If I had tried to attack you, I’d be digesting you right about now. I should’ve, I wouldn’t have to eat for a week. That would be a welcome change.”

You squint your eyes at the unnecessarily rude comment, “You’re an asshole.” You spit back angrily, your brow furrowing, “I’m just trying to-“

“I don’t care what you’re trying to do.” He shouts, “Keep outta my way and I’ll stay out of yours.” 

“No problem there, pal.” 

“Wonderful, darling.” He sneers, before turning and walking off again.

You scoff hard, crossing your arms over your chest in a huff. You cut your eyes back towards him as he moves through the grass and your stomach tightens again. A warmth spreads through you as your fingers start to itch - wanting to feel him. Your lips part as your breath starts to come a little faster - a little harder - and you’re not even sure why. Something is just drawing you to him. 

You don’t understand for the life of you what’s happening in this moment. Maybe it was the berries and fruit, or that drink that was left by the bedside, but you’re warm all over, your head is spinning and you want nothing more than to feel that man inside of you - even now after your tense exchange. Heat rises in your cheeks as your breath starts to rush. You twist the bottom of your tunic harder as you become acutely aware of the ache between your legs. A fire starts to rage in the pit of your stomach - you want him to put it out. 

Before you can stop yourself, you're running after him, your feet squishing in the mud as you move. You reach out for him once you’re close, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. He turns quickly, bringing to you a quick halt in front of him. He scrunches his face in utter confusion and maybe a little annoyance as he blinks down at you, “What? What do you want?”

You push up onto your tiptoes and kiss him hard. You moan into him as you rest a hand on his shoulder and push the other into his hair, pulling him closer. He pulls away seconds later, his lips parted and swollen, pure befuddlement playing in his eyes.

You blink back at him as your chest heaves. You open your mouth to speak, but you can’t find the words. Your mind is just - blank. You rest your hands on his shoulders again and drop your eyes to his chest as your fingers start to trace the light scars littered across his otherwise smooth skin. Some are old and white, some deep and purple, some raised, some smooth. They’re all beautiful - they make him beautiful. You drop your hands down to his stomach, just feeling him, his muscles, his masculinity, his strength. 

You bite your lip. 

You take a deep breath as you feel his arms wrap around you, his hands cupping your ass before he lifts you right off your feet. You stare back into his ice blue eyes as you push your hands into his dark hair again and wrap your legs around his waist. He kisses you - deeply. You accept his tongue into your mouth, letting it massage the roof of your mouth before it slides along yours. You push your chest into his as your lips smack against one another’s, both of your moans rising into the air around you.

The rain is still heavy as he lays you down in the grass. You tug at the wet garment covering your body, pulling it over your head to expose your nakedness to him. You’ve never been this forward in your life, but something is pulling you, filling you with confidence and power and awareness. You want to be one with him, with the earth, with the wind and the rain. You want to connect with everything around you. You let him grope your breast with his large, calloused hand. You let him drag his lips along your neck, his teeth nipping at your sensitive skin.

He pushes your legs open gruffly with his hand as he pulls away from you. You dig your feet into the wet, soft earth, the mud squishing between your toes as you feel his rough fingers sweep through your folds. He rubs at your clit quickly, not really for you, but for him - just to touch you - giving you the feeling that it’s been a while since he’s felt a woman. Pride swells in your chest. 

He then leans over, his lips hovering over yours, his fingers gripping the grass. Then - oh, and then - he starts pushing at your opening, breaking into your awaiting cunt. You gasp as your body inhales inch after inch of him until he’s buried to his hilt - his hips flush against yours. You whimper softly as your flesh stretches wider than ever before to hold him. It feels good. You let out the breath that you’ve been holding as Bucky settles into the feeling of you. His eyes flutter as his mouth hangs, the rain dripping off of his brow and the tip of his nose down onto you.

He bucks into you and you grunt, grabbing onto his forearms and digging your nails into his thick skin. He pushes again, and again, and again until he has a succinct, hard rhythm. Your body bounces with each thrust, your pussy gripping him harder and harder with each pass. The sky really opens up then. A flash of lightning streaks across the sky as a crack of thunder rips through the silence. Not that either one phases the two of you. 

You lean up and kiss him again, biting down on his lips as he fucks into you. You wrap an arm around his shoulders and neck, hanging on for dear life as you breathe him in - the raw, carnal scent of him filling your lungs. He thrusts into you suddenly, as hard as he can, and then just stays there, pressing against the deepest part of you. Another bolt of lightning slashes through the sky as you cry out - his name falling from your lips - the sound of it tripping off your tongue sending a shiver right down his spine. 

Your pussy starts to quiver as he moves again. His hips are quick and swift, his cock pushing, pushing, pushing until you’re writhing underneath him. Tears sting your eyes as the intensity of the past twenty four hours rolls through your body. Every synapse within you fires as the warm tears start to slip out of the corners of your eyes, the hard rain sweeping them away. 

You cry out again as a sharp pain travels through you, your sensitive nipple now between Bucky’s teeth. Thunder claps again. You push your chest into his wet mouth as his tongue swirls around your skin. He bites down again and your hips jerk up into his as you roll your head in the mud. You run your hands up and down his arms, gripping and groping as his weight pins you to the ground. You’re almost certain that as he drills his hips into yours, he’ll push you right into the ground, straight down to the earth’s core. 

The orgasm that’s been laying in wait, deep inside of your belly, starts to ripple through you. The sparks start to fly, soft as first but within minutes, the embers are now a full blown fire. You screech and wail as your body tenses and curls into his. The rain gets harder, the lightning spidering through the clouds, the thunder so loud it could burst your eardrums. Another push of his hips and you let out a long, deep growl as your release is finally set free. 

The air whips up around you as you come undone beneath him, shaking the leaves of the trees and the blades of grass. His hips still crash into yours as you claw at his back with your fingernails, but they grow more desperate as the seconds pass. A moan rumbles through his chest, then his breathing hitches - his eyes slam shut. You tense, squeezing your slick pussy around his cock as he starts to spill his seed. You want it all, every last drop - not an ounce to be wasted. 

You grab his face in your hands and press your forehead into his as you both ride out the waves of your orgasms. The warmth of his thick cum spreads through you as his hips jerk and his body shudders. His body slides against yours until he is totally spent, collapsing on top of you when he just can’t hold himself up any longer. You cradle his head with your hands as he tucks into the crook of your neck. You push your fingers through his wet, dark tresses, massaging his scalp slowly as you stare up into the sky. 

The rain slows - it’s still steady, but calmer than before. The lightning and thunder disappears, the wind dies away. You and Bucky stay connected as you drag your fingers up and down his spine. He leans back after a few minutes pass, and stares down at you, his eyes roaming your face as he tries and fails to figure you out. 

“Who are you?” He asks softly, slowly realizing the power you hold.

You breathe gently as you blink back at him, “I don’t know.”

You throw your head back as you pant loudly. Your hips roll against Bucky’s as you ride him on top of his bed. You lean forward slightly, pressing your palms into his broad chest, your fingers digging into his flesh. His strong hands are around your hips, helping you move, pushing you forward and then backwards, and then forwards again. 

A bead of sweat slips between your breasts but his tongue captures it before it can delve any further. He falls back onto the thin mattress that holds the two of you and lets his hands fall to your thighs, “God,” he pushes out between clenched teeth, “S’fuckin’ good, girl.”

You start to bounce on top of him, pushing more of your weight into the center of his chest. His hands leave your hips to grip your bouncing tits, massaging them hard before he takes each of your nipples between his rough fingers. He slips his hands around to your back, groping your flesh quickly before he grabs your long locs to pull them gently. You groan as a slight pain prickles at your scalp, but smile as you push your hands up to cup your breasts.

The rain picks up outside again as the familiar pull of an orgasm starts to tickle your insides. You work your hips, up and down, up and down, up and down on his cock until you’re quaking. Your clit jumps with convulsions as you come, your thin fingers stroking the aching flesh to exacerbate the feeling. Bucky isn’t far behind, just like the other four times the two of you have made love throughout the day and evening. 

He hisses and grunts as he lifts his hips into yours, fucking up into you as his spunk fills you to the brim before it slips back out and down his shaft. The thunder outside cracks again as you fuck him for all he’s worth, until you literally can’t sit up any longer. You fall onto his chest, your breath heavy and hard as you nuzzle into him. Your skin sticks to his as humidity fills the room but you hum happily.

You start to trace the scars on his chest with your index finger, your eyes growing heavy. You still don’t know what is drawing you to this man. One minute, you’re both seething with anger directed at one another, the next, you’re making love like it’s your last hours on earth. With each passing moment, you feel him seeping into your heart - your soul - and you don’t even know him. All you know is that you don’t ever want to leave this bed again.

“I have a question.” You whisper after several minutes.

“What’s that?” He slurs, half asleep.

“How long have you been here?”

He wraps his arms around your waist, holding your body tight to his, “Too long.”

“How long?” You press.

“Seventy years,” he says, letting out a breath, “Give or take a year or two. Go to sleep.”

You giggle but close your eyes anyway, “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“I’ve heard that a time or two. Now shut up, I mean it.”

“Steve said that I was already claimed. What does that mean?”

“You’ve asked your question, girl.”

“Come on,” you whine, “Please?”

He sighs heavily, turning his head into the pillow, keeping his eyes closed, “There’s evil out there in the woods. Not everybody is as nice as us.”

You sit up, flattening your palm to his chest as you blink at the side of his face, “Rumlow? He’s evil?”

“You saw Rumlow? When?” He asks, popping his eyes open as he turns to face you.

“Yesterday, when Steve found me.”

Bucky lets out another breath, his eyes calming, “He’s evil. It’s a good thing he didn’t find you first.” He reaches towards you, sliding his hand along your face before he cups your chin, “Now, I’m going to put you out if you don’t go to sleep.”

You smile softly and lay back down on his chest, nuzzling into him, “Sheesh, okay grumpy.”

He tightens his grip around your waist and just as you are slipping between consciousness and sleep, you swear you feel his lips on your forehead and hear a faint goodnight, girl. 

Bucky sits straight up as a jolt of fear flashes through him. He snaps his head towards the window as the sun peaks in behind the thin, white curtains that cover it. Daytime. It’s daytime and he’s still in his bed. How in the - 

Something shifts beside him and he jerks again, letting out a breath as an arm slinks over his chest. He eyes the small woman next to him, her leg slung over both of his, her face nuzzled into his bicep as she drags in deep, calm breaths. The previous day’s events flash through his mind - his lips on hers, her nails dug into his skin, her sweet gasps as he plunged into her over and over and over again.

She’s coming Bucky, I can feel it. She’ll fix this place and she’ll love you forever, plus a day. 

Wanda’s words play back through his mind. He huffs, letting out a breath before he lowers his head to his hands and rubs his face. He turns his head and peeks over at the sleeping woman next to him. It’s been a long time since he’s woken up to such a sight. Warm brown skin, long locs spidering across the stark white sheets, a gentle, soft face… it takes him back to the 40s. How it felt to wake up next to his girl everyday. God, he wonders where she is now, if she’s even still alive.

He blinks and reaches out slowly, placing his palm flat on her back. He watches as it rises and falls with each steady breath before he sweeps his fingers across her smooth skin. He cups the side of her face and rubs his thumb across her cheek… it’s been a long time… and it feels nice. She feels nice.

Movement outside of his door grabs his attention and then a soft knock spreads through the room. Steve pokes his head in, smiling softly as he eyes the sleeping girl.

“This is not what it looks like.” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face again.

“Of course it isn’t,” Steve shrugs, “Wanda’s here for you.”

“Wonderful,” Bucky titters, “Give me a minute.”

When Steve disappears, Bucky turns back towards the sleeping body next to him. He dips down and places his lips to her forehead, and then the side of her face, and then on the tip of her nose before he sits up straight. He watches as she smiles in her sleep, before she hums softly. He smiles back. He throws his feet over the edge of the bed and stands - what the fuck is happening to him? He couldn’t stand her twelve hours ago. 

“Wanda,” he starts as he moves into the living room, shutting his door, “What brings you here so early?”

She smirks, tossing her red hair over her shoulder as Steve hands her a mug, “You know why I’m here.”

“Do I?” He asks sarcastically - smirking as she levels a slap to his arm.

“How is she?” 

“Who?”

“Goddamn you, Barnes!” She laughs.

“She’s fine,” he shrugs, “Still sleeping.” 

“With you?” 

Bucky sends his eyes towards her, squinting them just a bit as she smiles back at him. Steve hands him a mug seconds later, which he accepts and sips before he answers, “Nosy ass.”

“You are awfully nonchalant about this whole thing,” Steve pipes up, “It rained like hell all day and well into the night, and then, more importantly, you didn’t turn. No full moon, and all we get from you is your usual sarcasm.” 

Bucky shrugs, “Yeah, that was nice.”

“That was nice?” Steve scoffs, “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky laughs lightly, “Okay, yes, some weird shit is going on, alright? I don’t have an answer for you.” 

“It’s not weird, it’s her.” Wanda says, sending her eyes to his closed door, “She is powerful.” 

Bucky rubs his face again, his brain turning, “It still doesn’t make any sense. You have to be cursed to end up here, right? So how does she have all of this power? Where is it coming from? Who fucking decides?”

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times,” Wanda says, tilting her head, “We may have been cursed, but even here, in this place, we all still have a destiny to fulfill. We were meant to adapt and survive for some reason or another. Our afflictions have shown that.”

Bucky casts his eyes to his feet as he runs his hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to bring up that within twenty four hours, her broken ankle is completely healed. That not one scratch is present on her body. That every time she came in his arms, the wind and the rain got stronger and harder. If he does, it’s real. Everything Wanda’s been telling them for years is actually coming true - and he’s found the love of his life. 

“What is it? What happened?” Wanda asks, eyeing him quietly, “What are you thinking?”

Bucky clicks his tongue, throwing her a look, “Nothing, damn.” 

“James Buchanan Barnes, so help me!”

He rolls his eyes, “She’s… her ankle, you remember? It was broken, clearly.”

“I remember.” 

“Well, it’s not, now,” he says slowly, shifting his eyes around the room, “It wasn’t yesterday when she was roaming around outside.” He snaps his eyes to Wanda when she gasps and covers her mouth with her fingers, “The gash on her leg, her feet, they’re all healed up. It’s like nothing even happened to her.”

Wanda’s eyes go wide as she glances off into space, her mind racing. She opens her mouth to speak, but a loud knock at the front door interrupts her, “Babe,” Sam starts as he pops his head inside, “You gotta come look at this.”

The three of them follow the excited Sam as he pulls them down towards the lake. The waterfall rushes with intensity, the water level of the lake higher than they’ve ever seen it. They rush up the hill just to the side of the lake and waterfall to the connecting stream above and stop in their tracks as they push through the trees. 

Fish, all sizes and colors, leap from the water and then dive back in as they swim along. Natasha pops her head up out of the water, her green-blue tail swishing behind her, “Do you see this?” She laughs, “This is incredible! We haven’t had fish like this in God only knows how long.”

“When did this start?” Bucky asks.

“Last night, but it was just a few. Carol and I just thought a few got separated from their school, but we woke up this morning to all of this.”

The water starts to ripple upstream as something cuts through it with ease. Once the shadow underneath reaches them, it circles Natasha before it bobs up in the water, Carol’s blue eyes and warm smile falling onto the group, “Go check the orchards. I’ve never seen them like this.” 

Apples, oranges, peaches, and lemons scatter the ground as Bucky, Sam, Wanda, and Steve move through the trees. They haven’t yielded in months and now they are so full, they can’t even hold their production. Wanda’s eyes fill with tears as she reaches towards a blueberry bush, plucking off a single berry. Sam wraps her up in his arms, kissing the side of her face as she smiles up at him through the emotion, “She’s going to save us, Sam. We’re going to be okay.” 

“I never lost faith, baby.” He whispers, swaying her gently back and forth, “Never for a minute.”

Steve picks a bright red apple from the sprawling tree above him and brings it to his mouth, sinking his teeth into it. He closes his eyes and hums in appreciation as the sweet taste explodes against his taste buds.

Bucky wipes at the corners of his mouth, wiping away the juices from the plumb he’s just inhaled. Wanda was right. He should have never doubted her. 

“Is everything okay?” A soft voice sounds behind them, making them all turn. You stand a few feet away, worry written all over your face, the bottom of your tunic bunched in your hand, “I woke up and everybody was gone.”

You cut your eyes to Bucky as he plucks a handful of blueberries from a small bush. He walks towards you, stepping right up to you before he brings one of the berries to your lips. Your eyes bounce back and forth between his, searching for an answer that you’re not sure he has. You’re almost shocked when he smiles back at you. You open your mouth and accept the small piece of fruit, chewing slowly before you swallow.

“Everything’s okay.” He answers, kissing your lips quickly - softly, “We’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you.” 

You turn your head towards Wanda as she advances, placing her hands on your shoulder, a smile on her face, “Come, baby. I have much to tell you about your journey.” 

[doubleshotofsomething]

Needy Masterlist

Summary: Sometimes, the love of your life and your soulmate are the same person. Sometimes, they’re not.

{Soulmate au inspired by the song “Needy” by Ariana Grande}

“Hope you’ll be safe in the arms of another, ‘cause I can’t take the weight of your love.”

Prologue One. Two. Three. Epilogue.

[writing-mermaid]

Siren, part 2 : Concentrating my moves, I'm on a mission

Summary : Y/N is a mutant, a Siren, the last of her kind, with deadly dangerous powers and a hidden past. If most of the Avengers likes and get along with her, Steve doesn’t, and it’s getting worse when Y/N and Bucky become close. After all what can bring two broken souls together if it’s not a dark past.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings : Fight, mention of injuries and blood. 

Word Count : 1 643

Square Filled : @buckybarnesbingo : Free square

Author’s note : Second part, I hope you guys will still like it. Thanks for the few responses I had for first part and I hope this will not disappoint you. This story my entry for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan ‘s Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge, the prompt I chose is Siren AU. I also made a library blog in case the tags don’t work, so feel free to follow @writing-mermaids-library and to turn the notifications to know when I post something new here. Don’t forget that feedback is appreciated and really important.

Song of the title : Bad Blood - Jess Glynne

Masterlist

Bucky Barnes Bingo masterlist

Siren masterlist

Buy me a ☕

A little more than an hour later, I make the plane land a few feet away from HYDRA's warehouse.

  “So, what's the plan ?”, Bucky asks, looking down at me.

“I don't really know”, I answer, tucking one of my blue strands, one of the results of my mutation, the only visible sign, behind my left ear. So, if you see a girl with Y/H/C hair scattered with blue hair, that's me. “Maybe we just get in, being careful that nobody sees us, take pictures and probably blow up whatever they're up to.”

“Sounds like a plan”, he answers, a half smile on his lips, pushing the button that opens the back of the Quinjet, before going outside, a gun in his hand.

  I grab my fight sticks, same kind as those as Natasha has, and follow him. It's a total wasteland. No sign of life except around the HYDRA facility. We silently move to the fence, once there, I take out of my belt a tiny scissor to cut it.

  “Lady's first”, Bucky whispers, holding it for me, and I lightly step through the opening I made.

  We slowly walk to one of the entries. Bucky slips behind one the guards and knocks him out, while I take care of the second guard, by poisoning him with my fingers with the sleeping poison I have in my body, just by wrapping my hand around his ankle. Well, I hope for him that it's the sleeping poison or in a few minutes, he’s going to be stone dead.

  “There are two locks for that door. They have to be open in sync.”

“And they need this”, I say, rising on my feet, with two opening cards in my hands.

“Well done, Siren”, he smirks at me.

“Please, don't call me that, Winter Soldier”, I answer, matching his facial expression.

  Siren, that’s the made-up name the Avengers, well Nat, gave me when I was recruited. And she’s right I’m a Siren, the literal definition, or almost. I literally can enchant men and women and kill them. I’m deadly dangerous, even if I look like an innocent and fragile thing, that’s why I have to take suppressors and why I don’t let anyone touch me. The only one that never were affected by my power were my parents and some members of my family, because we shared the same blood.

  “Ready ?”, he asks, and I nod, “one, two, three.”

  We slide the cards at the same time and the door opens. Bucky looks inside, before nodding towards me, a silent way to say that the pathway is clear. We both step inside and look around, Bucky with his assault gun between his hands, my glowing sticks in mine. We progress in the facility silently, trying to not get detected by HYDRA's henchmen. Bucky opens the path and I follow him, watching our back. We finally step into a huge room, full of alembics.

  “What the hell is that ?”, I hear Bucky whispering.

  We progress in the room, looking closer at the see-through containers. Some are full of a transparent liquid, the others of some kind of colored gaz.

  “I don't know”, I murmur back, “but I'm not really reassured by this.”

  A loud bang makes Bucky grab my arm and suddenly, I'm trapped between a wall and his toned, muscular body. I raise my head and my gaze crosses his bright blue eyes.

  “What...”

  He shushes me by putting a finger on his mouth, ordering me to stay silence. I hardly dare to breath.

  “Fuck, can't you be more careful with this ?”, a male voice yell.

“Sorry, it's heavier than I thought”, a second male voice answer. “Anyway, what's in that ? What's that gas ? Is it dangerous ?”

“I don't know, but look it's leaking, you might have unscrewed the plug”, the first one tells his comrade. “Seriously, we were just supposed to take this from point A to point B, but you had to drop it. Now put the cap back on and stop asking stupid question.”

  I breath heavily, afraid to be discovered, because, I'm less stealth than Bucky, when he's at least two or three times bigger than me. I can almost feel every muscles of his body against mine through my suit. Bucky must feel my panic because he takes one of my gloved hands in his, plunging his eyes into mine. The two HYDRA hands men finally leave, and he steps back.

  “It was a close call !”, he says.

“Yes, thanks.”

  I walk past him and try to see if something is written in front of the containers. I can hear Bucky sighing behind me.

  “This thing smells strange, don't you think ?”, he questions me.

“No, I don't think it smells weird”, I answer, trying to have a clue on what are the gas and liquid stocked here. “I don’t even smell anything, just HYDRA’s awful smell.”

  I continue to look around. There's no clue about anything. Suddenly, a pair of lips are attached to the nape of my neck.

  “What the hell are you doing Barnes ?!”

“You smell so good. You're intoxicating me”, he says, burying his nose in my hair.

“Let go of me”, I hiss, trying to unhook his arms that he snaked around me.

“Come on”, he adds, “I want it and I know you do too”, he slide his left hand to my arm in order to lift my sleeve to touch my skin.

“Stop it !”, I clench my teeth, knowing that I can’t get rid of the man who at least weight three or four times my own weight.

“You’re driving me crazy, that smell, of yours, I can’t resist it.”

  And it clicks in my head, the last time I heard this was before I had suppressors, before those who worked, a scientist said those exact words to me, and everything his clear. That gas is made of either my blood, either my cells. This has exactly the same power as I do, the one that makes everyone uncontrollably attracted to me. I try to make up a plan to get rid of Bucky without hurting, or worst, kill him. The dots of my brain connect quickly with an idea.

  “Actually”, I tell him, turning in his arms, “I think you have read my mind and you and I can have a little fun, don’t you think ?”, I wink at him seductively, sliding my hands on his strong arms. “So first, why don’t you kiss me”, I whisper, approaching my face to his, my lips grazing his.

  My left hand stays on his right arm while my left hand finds its way on the back of his neck. He leans towards me and I push a little on his nape to force him to lock his mouth to mine. His lips are soft against mine and I’m surprised about this, I never thought that Bucky Barnes would have such soft lips. His lips are moving against mine and as I did for the HYDRA hand man, I concentrate to make him sleep, or Steve Rogers will have one more reason to hate me. Well, I think that the fact that I put his best friend to sleep by a kiss during a mission might be one too. After a few seconds, I feel him stumble towards my body. I try my best to catch him before he falls flat on his face.

  “Sorry Barnes”, I murmur, “but you didn’t give me a choice.”

I manage to drag him behind one of the alembics, praying that no one will find him or that he will wake up too soon and try to jump on me again. I pull out of my pouches a few bombs and their detonators. I start to place them around the tanks, moving as fast as I can and program them. Five minutes should be enough for me to pull Bucky outside and go back to the Quinjet.

  “Ok, now let’s take care of you 1940’s man”, I state, turning to where I left Bucky before setting my bombs.

  I grab his metal arm and start to haul him to the Quinjet. He is heavy and I do this task as fast and as quietly as I can. I finally manage to go back to the fence and push the soldier through it. I take a look at the device connected to the bombs’ detonators, I have a few seconds now before the bombs explode. I go back to my burden and pull him again to the jet. I don’t see on the way back the two men we knocked out when we arrived, and to be honest, I don’t really have time to think about it. I don’t even reach the jet’s door when the warehouse explodes throwing me a few meters away from Bucky’s sleeping form. I land badly on my right hand felling it twist under my weight, and blood flowing from my left hand. Maybe I shouldn’t have put so many explosive blocs, but I wanted to be sure that everything would be destroyed. I can’t straggle, I have to put Bucky in the jet and leave that place before HYDRA’s men come after us. I go back on my feet and manage, clenching my teeth because of the pain, to pull the Winter Soldier again, the blood of my hand drenching his sleeve. I open the jet’s door with the button on my belt, bless Tony for that, and pull a little more my sleeping partner. I abandon him on the ramp, heavily panting while the door closes. I can’t even breathe for a second because I know that we have to leave now. I take back my place behind the commands and take off.

Taglist :

@the-geeky-engineer, @feelmyroarrrr, @winterschild999, @realgreglestrade, @hellomissmabel, @mandy19875, @howlingbarnes, @belleetlabeast, @theashhole, @sebbytrash, @crazychick010, @bionic-buckyb, @callamint, @just-another-fangirl777, @learisa, @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt, @mokacoconut, @marvelbase001-blog, @thefiregypsy, @snowyseba, @theycallmebucky, @buckysberrie, @speakcroissant, @fangirlwithasweettooth, @tequilavet, @iamwarrenspeace, @melconnor2007, @jamesbarnesappreciationclub, @mrshopkirk, @poealsobucky, @maiden-of-gondor, @jurassicbarnes, @abovethesmokestacks, @thisismysecrethappyplace, @arawynn, @sebbys-girl, @captainrogerss, @murdocksmartinis, @supersoldierslover, @totallynotashieldagent, @crazy-little-thing-called-buck, @4theluvofall, @supernaturaldean67, @prettyyoungtragedy, @papi-chulo-bucky, @just-a-kj-blog, @lenavonschweetz,  @forever-graphically-frozen,  @buckysglow, @winterscldicr, @whothehellisbella, @bethanystan​, @asirenscalling​, @after-avenging-hours​, @winchester-with-wings​, @angryschnauzer​,  @callingmrsbarnes​, @suz-123​, @writingruna​, @sugardaddytonystark​, @angelicthor​, @thatawkwardtinyperson​, @themistsofmyavalon​, @redgillan​, @loricameback​, @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​, @farfromjustordinary​, @you-and-buckyb​, @bucky-made-me-do-it​, @lovelykhaleesiii​, @newmooneyfanfiction​, @lovely-geek​, @fanfictionjunkie1112​, @thefanficfaerie​, @littlemarvelfics​, @cordytriestowrite​, @firefly-in-darkness​, @caplanreads​, @my-emotional-self​, @searchingforbuckyfavs​, @buckybabybaby​, @i-alyssa​,

[doubleshotofsomething]

Needy

[ This is my submission for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ ‘s Little Darlin’ Mystery AU challenge. It is a three part soulmate au inspired by the song ‘Needy’ by Ariana Grande, the prologue and epilogue do not count as part 1/3.]

There is nothing wrong with wanting more. You deserve the love you give to others. You deserve it more than anyone. 

Summary: The end is the beginning. The beginning is the end. You can still love someone and not want them in your life.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader

Warnings: angst...aNGST?? fluff ( i think its there, im not sure, but yes). Loki is alive here folks...and... everyone is learning to not be idiots?

Prompts: soulmate au. song prompt

---

series masterlist

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Epilogue

Born a King.

There are so many things Thor doesn't remember missing about home. The sound of his footsteps as he walked on the bridge, the glimmer of gold when light reflected on it, or the creatures that Earth could never have.

He still had Asgard, at every smile and every nod as he would walk past his people. At every meal and every feast with his people, every conversation with Valkyrie, and every disagreement with Loki. He still had home in them.

Born a King.

He doesn't remember missing the bruises of battles fought, or the stiff muscles of every war won. The anticipation before a fight, or the unpredictability of space. The adrenaline that came with every spark of lightening, the power that came with the energy coursing through his blood. He doesn't remember missing any of that about home.

He doesn't remember why he keeps getting coffee grains of that brand, or how Loki survived in space. He can't remember what colour the ceiling was in the throne room or why he keeps leaving Stormbreaker in the closet. He doesn't remember that being part of home.

Born a King.

He doesn't remember what it felt like when you walked in through the door, or how the look in your eyes made him feel every time you found him on the couch –  that too small for two couch –  waiting for you. He doesn't remember the way you would try and squirm your way out of his grip in the morning, trying to escape before he made you late again.

He doesn't remember hating the little jokes you would make, or the stupid way you stumbled over your words when he got you flustered. He doesn't remember getting annoyed at the sight of the missing toothbrush next to his, or the milk that he keeps getting and ends up getting spoiled because no one drinks it, or the coffee that's slowly filling up the cupboard. He doesn't remember hating the thought of you.

When the hell did you become home to him?

Born a fucking King.

Then why is the thought of you, sharing your jokes with someone else, making him feel so powerless?

Why is the possibility of another man in your bed, your sheets, poisoning his judgement?

He was born a king, powerful and strong. So, why... why did leaving you make him feel so weak?

Thor was made for a throne, a Kingdom. Not a woman, not a Midgardian woman.

But he doesn't remember yearning for something he cannot have when he was with you. He doesn't remember missing the land he was raised on when he was with you.

He doesn't remember missing home. Especially not when it was curled up on his lap, face buried in his neck as you fell asleep. Not when you smiled at him like that and kissed him like that and held onto him like... like... like you weren't made for anyone else but him.

It has been over a year, but you still failed to leave his mind.

It has been over a year and he still can't unlove you.

"I don't have anything left to give."

How much had your mate taken from you, for you to think that you had to give him something to stay?

How much had everyone taken before you became complacent enough to still give?

Even when you had nothing, you still tried to give him something to stay.

You must think the worst of him, right now. You offered yourself to him, ready to defy fate and nature, for him, and he still chose to leave you.

 Thor turned to look at Bucky. His arms were crossed over his chest as he faced Tony, nodding every so often as the man went on about mission strategy. To his right sat Wanda, his wife.

Thor could understand, if he tried to, why someone would not be with their soulmate. He could understand, if he listened, why he chose her. He could come to see reason, he didn't choose you either when the time came, but...

This was you.

Thor may not have chosen to stay, but he still couldn't move on. Not when every fibre of his being still knew what Saturday morning felt like with you.

Blue locks on blue, a colour that just won't seem to choose you.

"Thor..." Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, in question. "You good, buddy?"

He frowns at that. Because no, I'm not good and how could you still be okay? and how did you manage to forget the sound of her footsteps?

Thor shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing as he studies him. For the first time since they had met, he studies the man with another woman on his arm –  in his heart.

"You must be so hard to please." He finally says, leaning back against his chair as he scans Bucky one last time.

Thor didn't mean to find you; he was looking for Jane when your car hit him. He didn't mean to keep coming back, he just needed to make sure you were alright. He didn't want to love someone else, but he willingly fell for your fool's gold the second he saw you laugh.

You made him come back for more, until he decided he just wanted to have it all. You made him want things he didn't know he wanted and taught him things that he would have gone his entire existence without knowing. You taught him what love, selfless and unconditional, looked like – felt like... And he couldn't even think about wanting it from someone else.

How could your soulmate want it from someone else?

Bucky frowns at first, confused, then his face visibly hardens. "We're bonded, not matched—"

"Doesn't matter—" Thor stands, hand tightening around stormbreaker. "—I don't care. We're both wrong... But I learn from my failures."

  ---

 You were over it. Really.

A year later and you could walk into your apartment, look at everything and not cry yourself to sleep.

You could separate your own colours, and do your own dishes, and slice up your own peppers. You could roll over and not have to bump into another being in your bed, you could get out of bed and not be late for work.

You couldn't sleep in the dark anymore, but that's not something a bedside lamp can't fix.

The window was jammed again, and the caretaker had reverted to being difficult. Your neighbour woke up one morning and realised Nickelback was his spirit music – whatever that means – so he made sure you heard it too. The couch was still too big for just you and there was that empty space next to the milk, that you can't seem to fill...

But you don't cry whenever it rains and Bucky has stopped trying to reach you, so all in all... Progress.

Good.

Great.

"Jesus Christ—" You nearly jumped into your ceiling, pressing a hand on your chest and shutting your eyes.

Your groceries are scattered on the floor, and your heart is racing. You take a moment to catch your breath, before opening your eyes back up.

He's waiting for you. He has been waiting all day, sitting on the coffee table and staring down at the passage that lead to your door. You're home and he remembers how it felt.

He's waiting for you to calm down, to take a breath. He remembers how you never liked unannounced guests, but he couldn't risk you driving away the second you saw him in the parking lot.

You're looking at him now, finally looking at him after all this time. And he hates how your eyes narrow at him.

He can hear your heartbeat, and he's worried you might pass out if it doesn't slow down. He can feel your anger, from where he's sitting, and he can see it in your eyes –  in your stance, in the way you're not wearing that pendant he had made for you.

He left you and that warrants your anger.

He didn't stay when you needed him to, and that justifies your fury.

But his key still fits in the lock, and his fingerprint still deactivates the security alarm. So, surely you don't hate him that much, right?

He wants to say something, tries to say something, but he draws blank. What else does a man say to the woman he let go?

Sorry I didn't stay?

Sorry I didn't fight harder?

Sorry I was too weak to choose you?

"What do you want?"

You speak first though. Your tone harsh to his ears, but it's enough for him to remember why he should have listened to you.

"You."

He's serious. As serious as he was on the day he left, when he told you he couldn't stay – knowing what you were.

So, you don't believe him.

Why should you?

You put your heart on your sleeves, and let him in. Then, as soon as the going got tough, as soon as things got uncomfortable, he leaves.

You don't believe him. Not when you've spent the past year wondering which part of you keeps giving them a reason to leave.

You do not believe him. Because you're done being that idiot. Because you're not that desperate. Because you deserve better.

"I don't believe you." You tell him, glaring at him, at clear sky blues.

He doesn't argue, like you expect him to. He doesn't force it down your throat, like you expect him to. He doesn't demand, or yell, or break anything.

He just nods, slow and understanding.

You don't believe him, and you don't forgive him. And that's okay with him?

He can read the confusion so clearly on your face, it's almost as if he never left. Except he did, and now he has to learn.

"What do you need me to do?" He asks, leaning his elbows against his knees as he looks up at you. "What do you need me to do, to earn your forgiveness?"

What?

You blink at him. Because no. Because not today. Because you were just learning to live without him, and he pulls this stunt?

"I want you." He states, blue eyes unwavering as they stare back at you. "I want you. I want us. I have spent this past year trying to forget, trying to live—to exist— without you... I failed. I failed when I didn't stay, and I failed when I chose to listen to anyone but you.

"I see you everywhere. I feel you everywhere. In my thoughts, in my dreams, in my heart. And every time I think I can get through a task without thinking about you, I hear your voice. I hear your ridiculous laugh and I spend the rest of the day trying to find it, trying to find you—"

"That's not fair—"

"—it's not fair," he agrees, almost instantly, eyes glistening to match yours. "It's not fair. Because fate made you for someone else. But it feels like you were put in this world for me to find. It's not fair because I wasn't made for someone else... but I can't even function without you.

"It's not fair, for me to be here, and ask you to want me back. So I won't. I won't ask you to have me or to believe anything I say. You gave me your trust once and I broke it, and I know that. I failed you, and I'm willing to spend the rest of my life apologising for that— to make up for that... Tell me what you need me to do, is all I ask."

If you were mad before, then you were angry now. Furious, even.

Words. Words. Words.

That's all the whole lot of them have ever been good at. Promising things they can't give, telling you things they shouldn't, preaching and never practising.

Steve had words for you, promises of keeping Bucky away from dangerous missions. Suddenly, you're allowed on the compound because he got too injured to be treated at the Tower.

Wanda had words for you too, telling you all about how she would make sure he never tried to contact you again unless it's an emergency. You've seen him ten times in one week, and none of those were emergencies.

Bucky had the most words for you, though. Preaching about the happiness you deserve and the loneliness you don't, yapping about finding someone but ruining it the second you do. He tells you to move on, to be happy with someone else, but you can barely sleep at night with all his hovering. He smothers and lurks, talking about fixing things.

You tell him to go on less missions, he listens and nods but never agrees. Why would he listen when you’re not his wife?

He talks about forgiveness and promising to be a better mate and friend to you. You listen and nod, but you don’t forgive. Why should you when he’s not your husband?

And now, Thor. The last person you expected to see back in your life, is giving you words. Telling you things. Baseless words and empty promises.

Have you ever seen anything so hollow?

Tears blur your vision, and you don't need to look at your hands to know they're shaking. You're pissed, and hurt and tired of all this bullshit, and you've had just about enough.

"Haven't you people taken enough from me?" Your voice isn't as stable as you had wanted it to be, but it's still yours. "You lot show up, whenever you like, just to take. You don't care about what you leave behind or the shit I have to deal with, all you want to do is take. And take. And take. Even when there's nothing, you still take – what more do you want?"

Your words sit heavy on his chest, and his heart aches for you. He doesn't want to take, but he also didn't stay when you were the only offer on the table.

You struggle to speak past the lump in your throat. "I was ready, to choose you. I told you that I wanted you and you left—" you quickly wipe the tears just as they slide down your cheeks, "—you left, Thor. You can't do this, you can't just walk in here and talk that bullshit like I didn't—like I didn't crash and burn because of you."

"Do you want me to leave?" He hopes you say no. He hopes you ask him to stay and hold you, because he won't be able to walk passed you and leave.

He's hoping you don't break down in front of him, because then he can't leave. And he can't stay for the wrong reasons, he can't stay without your clear-headed say so.

The sound that comes out of you when he asks that, has his stomach cramping for even suggesting that. Because you're staring at him in utter disbelief for saying that, for putting it in the air, for making you even think about it.

"How dare you—"

"Y/N—"

"I never wanted you to leave—" he's getting up from the table and crossing the room to you, before you even finish, "—you did that all on your own."

He doesn't touch you, though. He lost that right a year ago, and he understands. He has a great deal to learn and a lot to amend... so, he'll only stare until you can stomach his touch.

He'll only stare, until he can learn from his mistakes.

He'll only stare, until he's earned the privilege to hold you...

Until he's earned your love, once again.

You deserve better, you know that now, and so does he.

So, he'll be better.

---

THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading this. Thank you so much for all your support and feedback. And thank you so very much for just being here.

Thank you to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ for letting me participate. Your challenge is amazing and so unique(it’s closes on the 20th incase anyone wants to join). Thank you

To anyone that related to this fic, I want you to know that I am so very sorry that someone made you feel that way. Please know that you are not needy or too much. You deserve the love that you give. You deserve selfless and unconditional love. You deserve better.

---

Tagging: @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ , @decadentsoulbiscuitgoth​

[writing-mermaid]

Siren, part 3 : Roundtable Rival

Summary : Y/N is a mutant, a Siren, the last of her kind, with deadly dangerous powers and a hidden past. If most of the Avengers likes and get along with her, Steve doesn’t, and it’s getting worse when Y/N and Bucky become close. After all what can bring two broken souls together if it’s not a dark past.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings : Language, mention of injuries, Steve is an asshole.

Word Count : 2 455 

Square Filled : @star-spangled-bingo : "He’s my friend”

@buckybarnesbingo : B5 - Language

Author’s note : I have this story on my WIPs for a little time. I hope that you’ll like it. This story is also my entry for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan ‘s Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge, the prompt I chose is Siren AU. Don’t forget that feedback is appreciated and really important.

Song of the title : Roundtable Rival - Lindsey Stirling

Masterlist

Star Spangled Bingo masterlist

Bucky Barnes Bingo masterlist

Siren masterlist

Buy me a ☕

Half-way to the compound, Bucky is still sleeping. I just hope that I didn’t poison him. Steve already hates me, he’s going to be mad when he’ll Bucky asleep on the ramp.

  “FRIDAY”, I ask the AI who is also connected the Quintets.

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N ?”, she questions.

“Can you please let Tony know that we will need Doctor Cho when I land back at the compound ?”

“Of course, Miss Y/L/N. Who is in need of medical assistance, you or Sergeant Barnes ?”

“Both of us”, I respond, looking at my bleeding left palm, despite the bandage I put around to stop the blood. I will definitely need stitches. My right wrist hurt too, and I probably have some scratches on my face. I hope it’s not broken.

  I feel tired and I’m relieved when I finally catch sight of the compound. It takes me a few more minutes to finally land in the basement. The Quinjet ramp opens to Doctor Cho, the medic team, the rest of the Avengers and of course, Fury.

  “What happened ?”, Steve asks angrily when he sees Bucky laying on the floor. “He better be still alive”, he adds, glaring at me, while checking for his best friend’s pulse.

“Of course, he’s alive”, I bite back. “I just had to put him to sleep.”

  The medic team rushes in the Quinjet, with a stretcher for Bucky. They lift him on it to take him to the med quarters, Steve on their heels.

  “What about you, Y/N ?”, Helen Cho asks me. “Are you alright ?”

“Maybe a few bruises, but I will need some stitches on my left hand, and I twisted my right wrist. I’m sore and tired, after all, I had to drag him from HYDRA’s warehouse to the jet”, I point to the direction where the rest of the med team took Bucky.

“I’ll check your wrist after I stitch you hand”, she says, looking at my left palm, “It’s a little dirty”, she adds, “you might have some debris in it too. Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute”, Steve states, putting himself between me and the pathway to the infirmary. “I want to know what happened first.”

“Let go of her Rogers, you can see she needs medical care”, Tony steps in. “She will tell you everything you want to know tomorrow morning.”

“No, I want to know what happened and I want to know it right now”, he nearly shout.

“With all my respect Captain, my patient here needs treatments. You can ask her what happened when she’s patch-up and had some rest, not before”, Helen glares at him. “Come on Y/N”, she says to me, before taking me to the med quarters.

“You saved me from his wrath”, I murmur to her, when we’re past Steve and the rest of the Avengers.

  After Helen stitched my hand and checked my wrist, which is not broken and put in a splint, she settles me on a bed next to Bucky, who’s still sleeping.

  “How is he ?”, I ask her.

“Fine”, she answers. “I don’t know what happened there, but you did what you had to do”, she adds, looking at me in the eyes.

“I hope so”, I say.

“I’ll let you rest now, you need it. There is a glass of water and paracetamol on the night table in case it hurts too much”, she explains before turning off the lights and going out of the room.

  I might have fallen asleep because my eyes shoot themselves open sometimes later, when I hear a growl in the bed next to mine.

  “Hey there, Sleeping Beauty, happy to see you awake and alive”, I say, raising from my own bed and approaching him.

“How are you doing ?”, he asks me, trying to sit up.

“I’m the one who should ask this to you”, I answer handing him a glass of water, “I sort off had to knock you off.”

“What happened ?”, he questions, drinking a mouthful of the plastic glass, “because to be honest, I absolutely have no clue about why I’m here and why I have been unconscious.”

“You really want to know ?”

“Please Y/N, I need to know if I’ve done something wrong or not.”

“Ok then. When we entered HYDRA’s facility, there were a lot of casks with a sort of gas inside of it, two HYDRA’S handymen came in with one and apparently, the plug was unplugged, diffusing some gas. I think that, because of the way you behaved with me, saying I was intoxicating and starting to touch and kiss me the way you did, and as I didn’t smell anything, I think that this could be something made out of Siren blood. It did exactly the same thing that my powers do when I don’t take my pills. You acted as if I haven’t taken my medicine. And just by breathing a very tiny quantity of that gas. I had to use one of my powers on you, and I kissed you to put you to sleep and I didn’t have the choice because, if I didn’t only god knows what would have happen.”

“You kissed me ?”, he looks at me, eyes wide open.

“Just to save my skin, Barnes, not for pleasure”, I say, trying not to blush, thinking about what Nat told me just before I left for the mission. “Anyway, Steve was pretty mad when I walked out of the Quinjet, he might have thought I killed you. That man really hates me…”, I add sighing.

  At the same moment, Doctor Cho enters the room, alongside Steve, who looks at me with a furious gaze.

  “Y/N”, she says, looking at me. “Glad to see you’re awake, and seem better, you can leave and sleep in your room”, she smiles at me.

“Thanks Helen”, I say to her, “just on time for my pill. Have a nice night.”

“You too”, she replies. “And you Sergeant Barnes…”, she starts.

“Y/N”, Bucky cuts her.

“Yes ?”, I turn toward him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, James”, I tell him. “Goodnight”, I add, crossing the threshold.

“Goodnight”, he whispers, and I can barely ear him, his voice almost covered by Steve’s who’s asking him how he is.

  When I finally reach my bedroom, I collapse on my bed, empty of all my energy, and fall asleep again.

  “Miss Y/L/N. Miss Y/L/N”, FRIDAY wakes me up.

“Hum”, I groan, “not now, let me sleep more.”

“Miss Y/L/N, your presence is required by Captain Rogers. He organized a debriefing about the mission you and Sergeant Barnes fulfilled yesterday. The meeting starts in 45 minutes.”

“What ?! 45 minutes”, I exclaim, raising from the bed, still dressed in my battle gear, in need of a hot shower and my stomach growling.

  I grab my pill box on my nightstand and take one before heading to the bathroom. The hot water relaxes my tense muscles and all the dirt from the mission goes in the siphon. Once clean, I take a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt in my wardrobe and put a pair of Vans on my feet, put back the splint on my wrist. My hair still wet, I go the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat before facing Steve Rogers’ wrath. I can’t help but think that Steve will hold me responsible for what happened in HYDRA’s facility.

  “Hi Y/N”, Wanda greets me when I enter the kitchen.

“Hi”, I answer back, opening the fridge, finding a bottle of watermelon juice.

“Rumor has it that you kissed Barnes”, Natasha says, also entering the kitchen, grabbing a banana in the fruit ball, and peeling it. “I knew you wanted to do it at some point”, she adds, biting in her yellow fruit.

“Haha, really funny Nat”, I tell her. “You know that I would never use my powers, and especially that one on anyone, and certainly not on one of my teammates.”

“I’m just kidding Y/N”, she puts her hand on my shoulder. “You obviously had a good reason to put Bucky to sleep, and we all know it.”

“All, except Steve”, I point. “He hates me. He might think I did that on purpose.”

“Avengers, assemble”, Tony says, passing his head through the door. “Captain’s orders, and he doesn’t seem very pleased, so you better be on time”, he adds, before walking away.

  I sigh, putting down the empty glass, but keeping the bottle of watermelon juice in my hand, going to the door.

  “What ?”, I ask Natasha, who rises one of her perfect eyebrows at me.

“Nothing, I think he’s already really pissed at you, he’ll be more to see you with juice.”

  I shrug my shoulder and walk to the briefing room. Steve is near the overhead projector, arms crossed on his chest, speaking with Tony. Clint and Scott are laughing at I don’t know what and I can spot Bucky, on his chair, a half smile on his lips. He pats the chair next to his. As I don’t move, Natasha pushes me from behind, whispering a “go” into my ear.

  “Hey”, I say, sitting down next to the long-haired soldier, putting my bottle of juice on the table in front of me. “How are you doing ?”

“Fine, thanks”, he answers. “You ?”

“I’m okay, a little tired but I think that with a few days off, I’ll feel better.”

“Good”, he says.

“Good”, I repeat awkwardly.

  A few minutes later, Nick Fury enters the room, looking at all of us with his unique eye. Silence falls at the second he walks to the front of the room, next to Steve. Tony moves at the other side, taking place next to Bruce.

  “So, I heard about what happened to Y/L/N and Barnes yesterday and I need some explanations.”

“I’d like to have some too”, Steve adds, looking at me aggressively. “I’d like to know what really happened there, as someone prevented me to question the Bucky and Y/N”, he says, and I know that he’s talking about Helen.

“So, who starts ?”, Tony asks.

“You probably remember more than I do”, Bucky looks at me.

“Ok”, I sigh. “When we land, we knocked out the first HYDRA henchmen we saw, we managed to go inside the warehouse. There were a lot of barrels some with colored gas, other with liquid. We heard a bang, so we hide, and two men were carrying a transparent keg containing the colored gas we saw before, one of them dropped it, and some of the gas escaped.”

  I stop, in order to breathe and drink some of my juice.

  “And then what happened ?”, Steve asks, impatient.

“Give the girl a minute”, Tony says, and I mouth a silent thank you to him.

“We were ready to leave our hiding place and stepped back into the warehouse when I felt Barnes’ lips on my nape and he tried to… to seduce me. Thinking quickly, I realized that that gas worked as one of my powers, my attraction one. As I couldn’t get rid of him, I kissed him to put him to sleep. I had no choice because only God knows what would have happen. When I was sure he was asleep, I just put the dynamite all around the warehouse and I pulled Bucky outside, before heading back to the Quinjet with his sleeping body and the dynamite exploded before I reached the jet, and I must have put a too big charge. I got injured and for the rest you know what happened.”

“So, you’re saying that you used your powers on one of your teammates”, Steve says, angrily.

“I had to”, I respond, getting up on my feet. “What you have happen if I didn’t ? We would have been captured or maybe worse, killed.”

“Don’t tell me what could have happen Y/N, you don’t know what would have happen.”

“I was there Rogers, you weren’t.”

“Please you two, stop”, Natasha rises from her chair. “You perfectly know it Steve that if Y/N used her powers, there was a good reason, she would never put in danger any members of the team. Plus, Barnes is a big guy, and you’re not his mother, so stop acting like a freaking mother hen around him.”

“He’s my friend”, Steve roars, turning back to me, “and you’re just…”

“I’m just what ?”, I bite back. “Another Avenger ? You’re just a fucking twat Steve, do you know that ?”

“You’re a fucking danger Y/N.”

“Language please”, Tony sighs from his spot.

“Enough”, Fury states, and I realize that I’ve never seen that man getting angry at anyone. “For now, I’m suspending Y/L/N and Barnes from missions for a few times, until I read their rapports and decide what to do. We’re finished here.”

“Tony, may I take the rest of my day if I’m not needed here, I have something to do”, I ask him, “and borrow one of the cars.”

“Yes, of course sweetheart, you can.”

“Thank you.”

“What ?”, Steve ask, eyes wide open as I defy his authority. “Tony’s not the one you should ask.”

“I ask who I want to and as Fury said, we’re finished here. You’ll have my rapport tomorrow morning”, I grab my bottle of juice and pass the doorstep.

“Well done Steve”, I can hear Bucky’s sigh when I lean against the nearest wall trying not to cry. “The poor girl is already feeling guilty of using her powers on me and you add to her guilt.”

  I can’t hear Steve’s answer as I rather leave before Steve tells Bucky what he really thinks about me. I go back to my room to change into a simple blue dress and a pair of black ballet flat, before going to the garage and take one of Tony’s cars, a simple black city car one of the less flashy. After half an hour of driving, I finally reach New York and the Queens, not far from Rockaway Beach, where I spent a lot of time during my childhood. I park in front of a white building.

  “Hello, miss Y/L/N”, the hostess greets me when I pass the door.

“Hello”, I smile at her. “How is he today ?”

“Fine, pretty calm”, she says. “Seems that you had a rough time”, she add, pointing at one of the bruises on my face.

“Yes, but don’t worry, nothing I can’t handle. May I go ?”

“Of course”, she smiles.

  I climb the steps to the room, to find a familiar figure, back to the door, looking through the window.

  “Hi, dad”, I quietly say, kissing his scrubby cheek.

Taglist :

@the-geeky-engineer, @feelmyroarrrr, @winterschild999, @realgreglestrade, @hellomissmabel, @howlingbarnes, @belleetlabeast, @theashhole, @sebbytrash, @crazychick010, @bionic-buckyb, @callamintwrites​, @just-another-fangirl777​, @learisa​, @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt​, @mokacoconut​, @marvelbase001-blog​, @thefiregypsy​, @snowyseba​, @theycallmebucky​, @buckysberrie​, @queenofhearts-muses​, @fangirlwithasweettooth​, @tequilavet​, @iamwarrenspeace​, @melconnor2007​, @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​, @mrshopkirk​, @poealsobucky​, @maiden-of-gondor​, @jurassicbarnes​, @abovethesmokestacks​, @thisismysecrethappyplace​, @arawynn​, @sebbys-girl​, @captainrogerss​, caplanbuckybarnes, supersoldierslover, totallynotashieldagent, @crazy-little-thing-called-buck​, @4theluvofall​, @supernaturaldean67​, @prettyyoungtragedy​, @papi-chulo-bucky​, @lenavonschweetz​,  @forever-graphically-frozen​,  @buckysglow​, @winterscldicr​,  @bethanystan​, @asirenscalling​, @after-avenging-hours​, @winchester-with-wings​, @angryschnauzer​,  @callingmrsbarnes​, @suz-123​, @writingruna​, @sugardaddytonystark​, @angelicthor​, @themistsofmyavalon​, @redgillan​, @loricameback​, @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​, @farfromjustordinary​, @you-and-buckyb​, @bucky-made-me-do-it​, @lovelykhaleesiii​, @newmooneyfanfiction​, @lovely-geek​, @fanfictionjunkie1112​, @thefanficfaerie​, @littlemarvelfics​, @cordytriestowrite​, @firefly-in-darkness​, @caplanreads​, @my-emotional-self​, @searchingforbuckyfavs​, @buckybabybaby​, @i-alyssa​, @5sos-xmalumx​, @ravennightingaleandavatempus​, @atlas-of-the-world​, @mizzezm​, @welovecaptainamericaass​, @superunnatural23​, @barnesjamcs​,

[need-a-fugue]

Why Not? - Chapter Six

Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not?

Author’s Note: Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge. Thanks to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​​ for triggering this… sprawling thing simply by supplying me with the prompt of Mechanic!AU for Bucky. It’s taken on a life of its own already… look at what you’ve done! 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: Bit of angst, mostly fluff. 

Chapter Six

The next morning passes in an odd – and oddly wonderful – whirlwind. 

Annie wakes with a jolt, landing face first on a foreign floor, some sort of Lego action figure stabbing into her palm when she tries to right herself. “Oooow,” she moans, languidly shoving away the offending toy and rolling over onto her back. She cracks a single eye open, squinting to see the edge of the overstuffed couch she only vaguely remembers snuggling back into after dinner – and several beers – the night before. Another small moan escapes her as she drops her forearm across her eyes to block out the early morning sun beaming in through the wide-open curtains across the room.

Light, plodding footsteps sound in her periphery, a rather amused, “Hey, doll,” rumbling through the still air of the room.

Her arm shifts and again she cracks open just one eye, sneering as the sun works to blind her. She cocks her head to the side and blinks repeatedly, anxious to solidify his bleary form, to confirm that the smug-as-hell smile she hears in his voice is in fact perched across Bucky’s lips as he looms at the end of the sofa.

“I though you said the couch was good,” he teases brightly, his tone far too cheery for so early in the morning. “Not sure why you chose the floor.”

She shifts and rolls, slowly – very slowly – pulling herself upright and leaning back against the couch. “I fell,” she mutters, rubbing her fists into her painfully dry eyes. She peels them away with a grimace, stares down at her hands with suspicion, as though they had somehow caused her the discomfort. “And I slept with my contacts in.”

His voice is a bit more distant, emanating from the other room perhaps – she honestly still can’t quite see – when he asks, “You wear contacts?”

“Yeah,” she sighs out, pulling herself up onto the cushions and gathering the blanket that he had handed her the night before, his hesitant offer replaying in soft echoes – You sure you don’t want to crash in my bed? I mean… and I’ll stay out here? Or you can take Lana’s… she’s got an army of stuffed animals to guard you all night… keep you safe – as she lazily crumples the cover and positions it beneath her cheek. Her face twists, brows knitting tightly together as she blinks heavily a few more times, trying to seat the contacts in place, hoping the burning will stop. “Is that a turn off for you?”

By the time she opens her now red and watery eyes, he’s magically by her side, two mugs of coffee in hand. She sits upright and he offers her one, a wicked little grin just barely hiding behind the lip of his own mug as he takes a single, steamy sip. “Contacts? No.” He shrugs. “That hair though? Well, if that doesn’t turn a guy off, nothing will.”

She pulls in a sharp breath, almost a squeak, and reaches up to feel the wildly tousled rat’s nest piled on the top of her head. “Shit,” drawls out of her, a long, regretful moan. She hands him back the mug of coffee and bolts up, making a beeline for the bathroom, harshly tugging at the deeply embedded ponytail holder as she goes.

“I’m only kidding, doll,” he calls after her, doing little to hide the gentle chuckles pulling from his chest. He follows her down the hall, leans lazily back against the wall – double fisting their coffees – and watches her through the open bathroom door as she studies herself in the mirror. Red eyes narrowed and rapidly blinking, she finally manages to pull out the rubber band and begin picking at one of the more gnarly knots left in its wake. “Can you even see what you’re doing?” he asks, cocking his head and watching with a mirth-filled gaze as she inclines closer to the mirror.

“No,” she despairs finally, dropping her hands and frowning at the blurry mess of a reflection.

Bucky lets out another little laugh and scoots into the small room behind her, delicately stepping over a felled towel. He sets down the mugs on the cluttered countertop and ticks his chin towards them. “I didn’t know how you like it,” he says, leaning over and grabbing a bottle of detangler from off the side of the tub. “But there’s milk and sugar, if you want.”

“Black’s fine,” she breathes out, reaching for one of the mugs. “Like my soul.”

“Sure,” he smirks, an utterly disbelieving expression showing in the mirror as he steps back behind her and begins to spray down her hair.

A single, luscious sip of the thick, dark liquid is all it takes for Annie’s senses to begin to waken, to register the heat permeating off the body at her back and the heavenly smell of the coffee in her hand, the delicate scent of the detangler spurting out behind her curling round it. Her red-rimmed eyes remain trained on the man in the mirror as he thoroughly wets down her wild locks in Johnson & Johnson spray. “You gonna comb it out for me too?” she asks, cocking a teasing eyebrow high.

He glances up at her in the mirror, wiggling his own brows in response as he holds up a bright pink brush, pressed-on Disney princess stickers peeling from its back. “I’ll have you know, I’m an expert at this. You’re damn lucky I’m here.”

She stifles a laugh – can’t quite hide the beaming smile, though – and takes another sip of her coffee before leaning back her head and letting him brush through her hair. “Just full of surprises,” she quips lightly as he makes quick work of the thick tangles.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he mutters behind her, his face set and stern as he focuses on the task at hand.

He’s not lying when he says he’s an expert at detangling. She barely feels a thing as he brushes through, firmly laying an open palm at the back of her skull as he runs down the length of her tresses. She finds herself wondering how bad Lana’s thick, curly hair must get that he’s managed to gain enough practice to perfect these moves. It’s sweet, she thinks to herself, her gently waking mind beginning to wander.

She hadn’t known that he was a father when her crush on Bucky first sprang to life a handful of months ago, didn’t realize that there was a little girl who sat at the very center of his world. But meeting Lana that day at the garage – and seeing the two of them together – very quickly made her realize that there was no him without her.

And she liked that.

Annie had never dated a single dad before, never sought one out… nor avoided them like the plague, unlike so many of her friends. Aside from the handful of failed attempts her father made at getting back into the scene, the only real experience she’d ever had with dating dads was when her college roommate found out that her boyfriend had a kid he’d never told her about. She’ll never forget sitting on the dingy dormitory floor with her, lamenting in tandem how awful it was that this man had effectively hidden the fact that he had a young son from her for months. It wasn’t even the lying and secrecy that troubled Annie so much – though her friend was pretty damn upset about that part. It was the fact that anyone could compartmentalize a child. The fact that he could so easily separate the two sides of himself – the father and the boyfriend, the caregiver and the lover – made her question his overall integrity… and his virtue as a human being.

The truth is, any man who’s able to so easily disentangle himself from his own kid – to swiftly abandon such responsibility and love – isn’t a man she’d care to get to know further. But Bucky? He’s been nothing but utterly transparent – not only about just having a daughter, but about the role she plays in his life… in who he is. And damn if that doesn’t set off a budding excitement deep down inside that makes her desperate to know more.

She glances back at his reflection in the mirror, sees his eyes narrowing in deep concentration as he works his way through the final, most unruly knot of all. Her still bleary eyes take in the thick wave to his own hair. And she bites down on her bottom lip to suppress the urge to reach back and run her hands through it.

It’s no more than a few minutes before he frees her, setting down the big, pink brush and offering an accomplished nod before picking his coffee back up and sidestepping out the door. “Better take out those contacts,” he tosses over his shoulder, never catching – thankfully – the hooded desire clouding her gaze.

She frowns suddenly, blinking around the fire in her eyes. “I don’t have another pair,” she mumbles blankly. “Or my glasses.”

He pops his head back into the bathroom, wide grin on his face as he says slyly, “Guess I’ll just have to drive you home in the Cobra myself, then. Wouldn’t want you wrecking such a beauty.”

000

He does drive the Cobra, in fact. Though not back to her place. By the time they’re ready to go – sugary cereal and another cup of coffee filling them both up – it’s late enough that she begs him to just take her straight into work.

He shakes his head in a sort of disappointed chide, no doubt wanting to reprimand her for spending too much time at work – at least, she assumes that’s the case, because his expression mirrors her sister’s perfectly when she confronts her over that heavily debated issue. But he agrees nonetheless, wide grin never leaving his face as he drives the perfect convertible deep into Manhattan, down to the Stark Industries tower at its heart.

Annie rushes off to her office to change – pulling her glasses from her desk too so she can finally see – and returns with an out-of-breath thank you, a bright and beaming smile, and a nervous, delicate kiss to his cheek. She arranges to have a town car take him back to the garage – “There are always snacks in the back,” she tells him sneakily. “Be sure to grab some cookies for Lana before you get out.” – and lingers out on the sidewalk, waving goodbye as it pulls away.

He texts – no more than thirty seconds later – asking if he can take her to dinner. Tonight… tomorrow… any damn night of the week.

She’s about to text him back – thumbs lingering over the phone, bottom lip pulled taut between her teeth, only barely staving off the wide smile tugging at her face – when an all too familiar voice sounds playfully – and a bit intrusively – from the doorway. “Whatcha doin’?” Tony asks, watching her with more than a hint of amusement as she perches with her hip atop her desk, staring longing down at the phone in her hand.

She lets out a small, surprised gasp, eyes shooting up to see him leaning lazily on the doorjamb, ankles and arms both casually crossed. “Tony,” she mutters by way of hello. Or perhaps by way of fuck off.

He unfolds his limbs and saunters into the small office. “Saw you come in on the security cam,” he says, idly raking a finger over the side of her desk as he approaches. He sidles up beside her, leans on the dark oak with his hip butting up next to hers, and reaches out to give a small tug at the gray suit jacket she only just put on. “Didn’t look like you were wearing this.” He raises a curious – and also rather knowing – brow. “Looked more like you were wearing the same thing you had on yesterday.”

She shifts to face him, narrowing her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Sri Lanka?”

He shrugs – “Left last night.” – and swipes at his palms in a gesture of finality. “Made the deal… moved on.”

She pulls away and circles the desk to drop down into the small office chair behind it. “These are the kinds of things you should keep me in the loop on, you know?” she mutters, entering in her password and quickly scrolling through the daily and weekly schedule on her computer. “Looks like you were supposed to have a nine o’clock with the CEO of – ”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupts blithely, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “I canceled it. It’s fine. No messes for you to clean up this time. I promise.” She raises a wary brow. “I promise.”

“Alright,” she capitulates, swiftly pushing the thick-rimmed glasses back up her nose. “In that case, you should probably check in with Pepper and see what she needs you to do.”

He lets out a loud psh. “She’s got it under control.”

Annie looks up at him from over the top of the glasses. “Tony, your wedding is in a month.”

“Six weeks,” he argues blandly. “Six and a half weeks.” He slides to the very corner of the desk, twisting further to face her as a sly expression takes over her face. “And don’t you try to distract me from your love life by citing my own. I’m not that easily swayed.”

Her head drops, eyes turning back to the computer screen before her as she lets out a warning, “Tony.”

“I checked on the Cobra first,” he goes on, unaffected by her lame threat. “Everything looks good.” He shrugs. “I didn’t notice any bodily fluids anywhere, but… should I get the blacklight?”

“Tony!” she shrieks, jolting upright in her chair. A bright blush shoots up her neck, causing him to almost giggle with delight.

“Is that a no?”

She releases a small, rather despondent-sounding grunt. “No. Of course you don’t need a… blacklight. God. Who do you think I am?”

He shrugs, absently fiddling with the pens kept in the Good Morning, Sunshine! mug at the corner of her desk. He frowns down at the far too jolly smiling sun on the cup and mutters, “I think you’re a woman who needs to get laid.”

She leans back with a huff. “Tony, we’ve had this discussion. You can’t say things like that to an employee.”

“One day I’m going to put you in charge of HR,” he says, his tone almost threatening.

She settles a stern stare on him and begins a slow, steady rock in her chair. “Maybe I’d like to head up HR.”

He waves a dismissive hand through the air. “Nah, you like people too much to be one of those soul crushers. You’re better than that.” He pushes off the desk and waggles a pointed finger at her. “You,” he intones deliberately. “I have plans for you.”

“Well,” she breathes out, pulling herself back up to her desk and shooting a quick glance at the chiming reminder on her computer. “I hope that someday you’ll tell me about them.” Her eyes fixate on the new emails – nothing of any import, but a decent distraction all the same – as something churns and whirs with anticipation deep down in her gut.

“Someday I will,” he announces. “But in the meantime, I want you to at least try to focus on your personal life. I mean… not so much that you’re not here for me every time I need you…”

“So, every minute of the day?” she chirps with a sardonic lilt.

“But… well, I think you should at least try to find someone worthwhile to bring to my wedding.”

She looks up at him, a bemused expression building as a small grin grows. “Are you saying I should ask Bucky to be my plus one?”

He rolls his eyes – “No.” – and then drops a languid sigh. “I don’t know, kid. Are you sure about this one?” Her brows tug together confusedly, sparking a slight chuckle from her boss. “I get that the whole mechanic thing is a turn on for you. And, sure… I’ve seen the guy…” His face pulls into a teasing smirk, brows wiggling wildly. “Hot to trot.”

“Tony,” she chokes out amid a soft, bubbling chortle.

“But,” he goes on, tone turning somber. “He’s got a kid. And an ex. And that’s a lot of baggage for someone your age.”

“I’m almost thirty,” she tells him pointedly.

“Which is young. Trust me.”

“Tony,” she starts, tone matter of fact. “I’m okay with the kid. And the ex… although, I haven’t actually met her yet.” She drops a quick shrug.

He stares at her for a long moment, pensive expression settling on his face. “You’ll never come first, you know,” he utters finally, a tenderness to his voice. “I think you deserve to come first.”

Her eyes shift away from his achingly sincere stare. And she shrugs again, a tightness in her shoulders anchoring the forced casual gesture as she lets his words seep into her. “We’ve only been on a couple of dates anyway,” she intones softly. “It’s not like… it’s not like I’m expecting anything. We’re just… having fun.”

He nods, lips pursing. “Fun is good. You deserve fun too.”

Her lips quirk into a crooked smirk. “I deserve so much,” she mocks lightly.

He raises a brow, gives her as stern a look as he can muster. “I’m just trying to look out for you, kid.”

“I know,” she capitulates easily. “But, like I said, right now… this isn’t anything… serious. It’s not like you need to start your security checks just yet.”

“Oh, I ran those weeks ago. He’s clean. Mostly. One arrest in his early twenties… drunken disorderly. But… who among us, am I right?” She raises a rather rebuking brow. “Yeah. No, not you, obviously. Which is kind of my point. You’re… good, Annie. And that means you deserve good. And I’m not saying that this Bucky isn’t good. I’m just saying that you need to make sure he’s… good for you. Before you let yourself get too charmed. I met him, remember?” He shrugs, that teasing glint returning to his eye. “I was charmed.”

“Okay, Tony. Thank you,” she says, rising from her seat and taking hold of his arm. “Thank you for your concern. And for your… wisdom.”

He spins as she ushers him to the door. “Thank you for seeing that I’m so wise.”

She gives him a small shove out into the hall, soft chuckle spilling from her lips as she says, “I promise to be careful. Okay?”

He snorts in response, tiniest grin pulling at his lips, and he cocks his chin toward the cell left abandoned on her desk. “Better go text him back,” he intones lightly. “Nothing kills a budding romance like ghosting a potential suitor right after spending the night with him.”

000

By the time Bucky makes it back to Brooklyn, it’s after nine, the shop already having been open for over an hour, though he has a hard time feeling guilty about being late after Steve’s blatant tardiness the day before. Until, that is, a long and drawn-out whine greets him the moment he steps through the door.

“Daddy,” Svetlana drones as she hops directly into his path. Her tiny hands are tightly fisted, resting on her hips as she stares him down with an overdone frown. “You’re late!”

He stops short and quickly bends over to sweep her up into his arms. “I know, baby doll,” he breathes out gently. “I’m sorry.” He gives her a little jostle – and a wide, wily smile – as he moves towards the counter where Steve stands, finishing up with a drop-off. He glances to the side and sees a giant donut box sitting open on the counter next to a half-empty bottle of apple juice, and he rolls his eyes at his friend’s utterly predicable attempt at breakfast.

Steve shoots Bucky a grin and tells the man in front of him – who looks way too damn old to be driving –  that his Caddy should be ready by four. Then, after nodding a thanks to the old man and turning his attention entirely to his friend, he cocks a teasing brow and asks, “Where were you?” The question comes out with more than a hint of innuendo, his bright blue eyes positively gleaming as he waits for a response.

Bucky merely shrugs, still too preoccupied with erasing the glum look from his little girl’s face. “Did you miss me that much?” he asks Lana, pressing his lips into her curls and breathing in the soft scent of lavender baby shampoo. She says nothing, simply nods and wraps her arms tight around his neck, curling in close. “You smell good,” he prattles into her hair. “You get a bath last night?”

“Yeah,” she sighs out, voice sounding oddly dejected. He gives her another light bounce and she lets go of his neck, pulls back from him a bit so she can look him in the eye when she declares, “I like it at mama’s because… ‘cause… I can be a fish. Or a turtle. Or… or…” She spins in his grip and looks to Steve for guidance.

“A mermaid,” he croons with a wide grin as he leans casually over the counter.

“Yeah.” She shoves her hair out of her eyes, a hint of frustration blooming in her still-sour face as she squints at the sun filtering in through the wall of windows. “But… but… she don’t have all the bubbles.”

He smiles to himself, thinking about the absolutely astounded look on his baby’s face when he brought home a bubble bath variety pack a few weeks back. “Well, we can’t all be perfect,” he mutters lightly as she curls into him once again, scrunching her face and shifting to bury herself deeper into his chest. She huffs out an irritated breath and he glances up at Steve, shooting him a questioning look.

He lets out a long sigh. “Somebody didn’t want to go to bed last night,” he explains, raising an accusatory brow as he ducks his head to peek at the well-hidden little girl. “Too excited to hang out with mommy.”

She lets out a small grunt and tucks herself further into Bucky, rubbing her face into his chest as she turns away from Steve with apparent disdain.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky mumbles, hiking her a bit higher with his left arm as his right hand winds into her dark hair. “And Natasha was too happy to be back home to tell her she had to go to bed.” Steve’s lips quirk down as he lets out a casual shrug. “And even though this baby is tired as can be, you filled her up on sugar,” he says, eyes ticking towards the mostly empty donut box on the counter. “Am I right?”

“Svetlana,” he utters, voice a low, conspiratorial whisper as he tries once again to reach her. “I think your dad is on to us.”

Bucky merely rolls his eyes as his hips begin a slow sway, the little girl’s body growing steadily heavier in his arms as he gently rocks her.

“Either that,” Steve starts again, teasing glint returning to his gaze, “or he’s just using you to avoid telling us where he was all morning.”

“I texted to tell you I’d be late,” he returns, the words spilling softly from his lips, just above the crown of Lana’s head.

“You did,” he hums with a nod. “But that still doesn’t answer the question… where were you? And who were you with?”

Another eyeroll, this one even deeper. Yet he can’t quite keep the small, crooked smile from splitting his face, even as he offers a short snort in response. He turns away from Steve and pulls back a bit, ducking his chin to look down at his little girl, her tired, glassy eyes still open and blinking up at him. “What else did you do last night, huh, baby?” he asks, eager to avoid the knowing smirk plastered across his friend’s face.

But of course, Steve’s not one to back down. Not ever. Hell, if he knew how to effectively shut that guy up, he’d have been able to save him from his fair share of ass beatings… probably would’ve been able to save himself from a few as well. “What did you do last night?” the blond counters cheekily, winking over at the pair.

Lana lets out a long yawn, ignores her uncle entirely, and tells Bucky, “We had spaghetti and meatballs. And then dinosaurs.”

“You had dinosaurs?” he asks, eyes widening as he gazes down at her. “Did Steve put ‘em on the grill for you, or did you have to eat ‘em raw?”

“No, daddy,” she says, leaning back in his grip again and slapping him dully in the chest. “They’re on TV.”

“We watched a movie,” Steve corrects with a soft laugh.  

He looks up at him with an accusatory note. “Please tell me it wasn’t Jurassic Park.”

He scoffs. “Are you nuts? She’s with us for the next three days. I’d only show her something that’ll give her nightmares on a night that you have her.”

“Littlefoot,” Lana murmurs softly before pressing her thumb into her mouth, tucking herself back into her father’s hold, and letting her eyes finally flutter shut.

Bucky huffs out a sigh, his hips still absently swaying in a soothing rhythm for the girl in his arms. “I hope you’re happy,” he whispers over the top of her head as she burrows deeper into his chest. “She’s not gonna nap this afternoon now.” He sets off for the back office, taking short, lazy steps along the way.

Steve follows hot on his heels. “S’fine,” he offers with a shrug, hopping in front of him to swing open the door. He turns and digs around in the corner, eager to find the fleece Cars blanket that lives here for just these occasions. “That’s pre-K’s problem.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky mutters, pacing slowly back and forth in the small space for a few minutes more. He coos gently to the baby in his arms, pressing his nose to her hair and giving her the occasional small bounce, a habit picked up from when she was so tiny and delicate – and also loud as fuck. He’d had no idea that a baby’s wails could reach that earsplitting decibel, nor that he would ever be so desperate to make a noise stop. Natasha’s presence seemed to calm her right away, back in those first days and weeks. But Bucky… he had to work for it, building different routines of pacing and swaying, rocking and bouncing, shushing and cooing until finally some combination of them all might get her to settle.

Steve waits until he can hear the small, telltale snores of sleep emanating from the little girl, and he steps back to let Bucky gently deposit her onto the sofa by the window. Then he drapes the blanket over her, tucking it loosely around her curled-up form. “I’m gonna have to call them and tell them she’ll be in late,” he mumbles to himself before pressing a quick kiss to her temple.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs distractedly as he waits for Steve to follow him out of the office so he can pull the door most of the way shut. They step back over to the counter at the front of the shop and he pats down his pockets, just now remembering the cookies he’d stashed from the town car. He pulls them out and drops them into the open box of donuts before plucking the last remaining blueberry cruller and biting into it.

“Uh,” Steve starts, staring blankly at the cookies. “Where did those come from?”

He swallows down the pastry and glares at his friend for a moment, seeming to think long and hard about just how much he really wants to share, unsure if it might come back to bite him. Ultimately, though… “Annie stayed the night and she slept with her contacts in… couldn’t really see in the morning, so I drove her to work and she sent me here in a town car. Which had snacks,” spills swiftly out of him. Then he shrugs, casual as can be, and shoves the rest of the donut into his mouth.

Steve stares, slack jawed and silent, the corners of his lips ever so slowly rising into a coy smile. “She stayed the night?” he asks, shoulders pulling back and face taking on an almost exhilarated glow.

“Relax, pal,” he tells him, scrubbing his sticky hands clean with a loose napkin and reaching around the counter for a bottle of water. “She slept on the couch.”

His brows curl together. “Okay… but before she hit the couch…”

Bucky can’t help the playful grin that graces his features, his head shaking back and forth as he watches his friend rock expectantly on the balls of his feet, excitedly fishing for gossip. “What, now that you’re all settled, you need to live vicariously through someone else?”

“I’ve always lived vicariously through you, Buck,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And besides, I’m not excited for me, I’m excited for you.”

“Really?” he asks, voice swimming in cynicism.

Steve pulls back a bit, face tightening, genuinely affronted. “Yeah, really.”

Bucky merely takes a long pull of the water, nodding absently but saying nothing in return.

“What, you think…” He shakes his head, confusion washing over his features. Confusion and… dismay. “I don’t get it,” he says softly. “I like Annie. I mean, I only just met her. But she seems great. And you… you deserve someone great.”

He gives him a bit of a snake-eyed glare, eyes narrowed incredulously. “Someone great or just someone?”

“What? Buck… what are you talking about?”

“C’mon,” he says, a bit of nonchalance slipping into his otherwise stilted tone. “You and Nat want me to find someone so you don’t have to keep feeling guilty.”

Steve’s eyes blow wide. “Uh, no. No, that’s not it at all.” He looks across the counter at his friend, solemnity clouding the piercing blue of his eyes. “We don’t feel guilty. Not anymore, anyway. I thought… I thought we were past that.”

Bucky swallows thickly, his breath stuttering in his chest. “I… we are… but…”

He shakes his head languidly, a bit of a frown tugging at his lips. “Buck, we just want you to be happy. And not because… because we feel guilty or, I don’t know, bad about anything that happened. Because the way things happened… You and Nat had been broken up for a long time.”

“I know that,” he interjects stiffly.

“We want you to be happy because we love you.”

His eyes shift away, gaze turning down towards the counter and focusing on each and every chip and scuff that mars its surface. “I know,” he admits, sounding all too regretful. He looks up after a moment, feeling Steve’s eyes boring into him the entire time. “I know,” he says again with a tight nod.

He raises a brow and offers a quick nod himself, a wordless, good, glad you get it. And he asks again, “So, what did you do last night?”

Bucky lets out a long, deflating sigh, shoulders drooping as he drops his elbows to the counter and leans heavily atop it. “We… I don’t know,” he mutters, almost sounding as though the whole thing is just too painful to talk about.

Steve groans. “You know, back in the day, you had no problem telling me all about your sexual escapades. Even when I – politely – asked you to shut the hell up about them.”

“First of all,” he intones, raising a brow at the man across from him, “I mostly did that because you told me to shut the hell up.” A small shit-eating grin tugs at his lips. “You’d blush so hard,” he teases with a short chuckle.

“Shaddup.”

“Second of all,” he announces, pulling himself upright, “there were no sexual escapades. Get your mind outta the gutter.”

He shrugs. “So what did you guys do? I wanna know. I gotta see how it stacks up to my night with spaghetti and mermaids and dinosaurs.” He cocks a brow and ticks a sly smile. “We also had a magical tea party before bath time. Can you beat that?”

He thinks about the princess dress – and the fairy wand that Annie found just after dinner and used on him, casting magical spells that resulted in a rather weird and kind of lame game of truth or dare – and he grins to himself, cradling the memory deep down inside. “No. Can’t quite beat that.”

“But… you said you drove the Cobra this morning?”

“Yeah,” he returns, a bright sort of enthusiasm washing over him. “And a little last night.” He gives a subtle shrug. “Annie was pretty tired after we stopped for ice cream, so she let me drive for a bit.”

“Back to your place?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yes, back to my place. Where we talked, ate Chinese food, and went to sleep. Then I helped get her to work this morning, and… that’s it.”

He lets out an almost surprised sounding, “Hm,” earning him little more than a questioning look from his friend, a rather impatient look, truth be told. “I don’t think you’ve mentioned talking to a girl in a long time,” he says then, expression thoughtful.

Bucky’s countenance cracks, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Well, it seems like every date you’ve been on over the last few years has either been a disaster or, you know… a one night stand. I don’t think I’ve heard you say that you’ve spent time actually talking to someone in a while.”

His eyes tick nervously away. “I guess.”

“And you liked it?”

“Talking to her? Yeah, sure. I told you, she’s nice.”

Steve nods, brilliant smile pulling across his face. “So you’re going to see her again? I mean, two dates filled with talking… this could be big.”

The expression on his face is so over-the-top excited that Bucky can’t help but laugh, even through the rather intense eyeroll. “Yeah, I’m gonna see her again,” he replies, corners of his mouth shifting and setting into a beaming grin. “I like her. Alright? Is that what you want me to say? You want me to admit that I like her?”

He laughs as well – bright and buoyant – nodding all the while. “Yeah, man. That’s exactly what I want you to say.”

[need-a-fugue]

Why Not? - Chapter Two

Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not?

Author’s Note: Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge. Thanks to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ for triggering this… sprawling thing simply by supplying me with the prompt of Mechanic!AU for Bucky. It’s taken on a life of its own already… look at what you’ve done!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: Bit of angst, mostly fluff.

Chapter Two

“We just want to check the throttle shafts,” Bucky murmurs, bent low and looming over her tiny shoulder, pointing at the carburetor. “See? Right here. See that groove in it?” He cocks his head to watch her as she closely investigates, bright blue eyes a mirror of his own as they narrow, searching for the divot. A hint of her bubblegum tongue peeks out from the corner of her mouth as she tries to find the elusive mark. He feels a sudden swell of warmth collect in his center – in his chest, where this precious little girl lives, forever entwined with his heart – and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a crooked grin.

She nods firmly, one single, definitive bob of her head. “Yep.”

He pulls upright, dropping a steadying hand to her back as she leans even closer to get a better look. “That is our problem.”

“Oooh,” she breathes out, tone utterly genuine.

He takes a step back and watches as she gingerly pokes at the carb, careful not press too hard with her perfectly pudgy forefinger. And again he smiles, crooked and wistful, as he thinks back to the very first thing his father ever taught him about cars – and damn was there a lot that the old man had taught him. It was how to clean the carburetor. He was nine, maybe ten years old. And since that time he’d cleaned out, rebuilt, and replaced hundreds of carbs.

Of course, most of today’s cars are different beasts altogether, fuel-injection engines taking over and all but eliminating the pleasant pastime of solving puzzles like this. Nowadays it seems like he barely gets to solve anything at all. With a million and a half electronic sensors over every inch of every vehicle, always spinning out error codes and warnings, most of his time at the shop is spent plugging in a computer to read an error and then ordering some ridiculously expensive new sensor for a pain-in-the-ass repair that should take little more than twenty minutes, yet somehow takes up the whole damn day because some genius engineer decided to bury the tiny damn sensor under a dozen other damn parts that are damn near impossible to remove!

If Bucky had a dollar – even just one measly little dollar – for every time he chucked a tool and stormed off in frustration when working on some Mercedes or Audi or other fancy piece-of-shit car, well, he’d be able to buy Steve out of his half of the garage.

He’s pulled suddenly from his wandering reverie by the steady tap-tap of hard-soled shoes on the concrete floor. He straightens quickly, tearing his eyes away from his little girl just long enough to catch a glimpse of the woman approaching.

A subtle, ahem falls from her lips, followed by an almost nervous sounding, “Oh, hi,” when she sees him peek out from behind the car. “Hi.”

Bucky recognizes the woman immediately, despite the form-fitted suit and classy looking heels she’s wearing in lieu of her more typical cutoff shorts and T-shirt. “Hey,” he says, wide grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Bronco, right?”

She nods, bright smile splitting her face and setting off the deep dimples that he – for some inexplicable reason – remembered resided on either side of that pretty, full-lipped mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, you remember me?”

“Course,” he says with a nod of his own, his hand falling down to the shoulder of the little girl beside him, tugging her back a bit as she pitches forward on her stool and nearly topples into the engine compartment. “’75 Bronco wagon,” he announces, casually righting the kid and holding her steady without ever taking his eyes off of the woman. “Don’t see many of those around. Especially in the city.”

Her expression falters just a bit at the realization that he remembers her car more so than her. But she recovers quickly, flipping her long dark hair over her shoulder and stating simply, “Yeah, that’s my baby.”

He frowns suddenly, quickly wiping down his hands and stepping around the car to approach her. “Something wrong? Everything looked good when we did the oil change a few weeks back.”

“Oh,” she nearly exclaims. “Yeah. No. I’m… I’m not here for…” She steps closer, her fingers lazily trailing along the side of the Cobra, eyes ticking down to her feet as her cheeks gain a peculiar rosy blush. “I’m Mr. Stark’s personal assistant.” She reaches out a hand as though prepared to shake – as though they hadn’t already met before… over a blown-out tire, some rusted paneling, a busted transmission, and an oil change that she damn well could’ve done herself. “Annie.”

His eyes linger on her outstretched hand for a long moment before finally accepting the greeting. “Annie, huh?” he asks, kicking himself for not knowing that already, for having somehow committed her face to memory – and her car – but not her name.

She sputters nervously for a beat, about to correct herself – Angela – mentally tearing herself a new one for using her childhood nickname instead of the adult moniker that a woman should go by, when a scuffle and a squeal sound from behind the hood of the car as the little girl awkwardly hops down from her stool, shouting at a rather piercing level, “I’m Lana!”

Bucky steps back and grabs her by the arms to steady her and settle her on the firm ground, nudging the wobbling stool to keep it from tipping. He shakes his head fondly as she scurries over to the woman, bouncing on her heels in front of her.

Annie’s face seems to light up, her bright green eyes going wide and crinkling at the corners as she drops down to the four year old’s level. “Lana, well it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, extending her hand for a shake.

The girl accepts, dark ringlets bouncing in time with the body-quaking handshake she offers. And the corners of Bucky’s lips inadvertently tick up.

“Lana,” Annie repeats languidly, letting the two syllables dance over her tongue. “What a beautiful name.” The little girl lets out another giggle and releases her hand, hopping away, back to her father’s side. Annie watches her go for a moment, still grinning sunnily, before rising and slinking around the car, lazily tracing a finger over the fenders until she gets to the front and peeks under the hood. “How’s she coming along?”

“Not bad,” Bucky breathes out as he leans back and wipes his hands on a rag. “Think we might need to replace the throttle shafts. Right, baby?” he asks, glancing down at the kid by his side and giving her a little bump with his hip.

She hops back to avoid the hip check and gives her father a pointed don’t do that glare, the look being almost identical to the one he’s received on countless occasions from her mother. He stifles a laugh and rolls his eyes, ticking his chin at her to indicate that he’s still waiting on a response. She heaves a giant sigh and gives a definitive nod, lips tightly pursed, brow slightly furrowed. “Yes,” she states, very matter-of-factly before returning her gaze to the woman now reaching into the engine compartment.

“It’ll probably just be another day or two,” he tells her. “We should have everything I need, but I still want to check out the turbo.” He bends down, dropping a knee to take a quick glance beneath the car. “And I’d like to get her up to take a look at the suspension.”

“As long as you can get her driving like she used to,” she says. She looks down at him for a brief moment before her eyes narrow and tick to the side, a rather mirthful glow filling them to the brim.

Before he can turn to catch a glimpse of what she’s looking at, tiny arms attack him from behind, his little girl throwing herself into his back – from a full run, he’s sure – and gripping tightly around his neck. He pitches forward, awkwardly catching himself with one hand while his other moves to loosen her fingers and free his windpipe. Maniacal giggles echo in his ear, but all he can see is the bright, gentle smile of the woman standing above him.

He clears his throat once Lana’s grip slackens and reaches around to hoist his baby higher on his back, standing effortlessly and letting out a single rich laugh when her giggles turn to a swift shriek of excitement. She lets out a small oof and settles her arms around his shoulders, curling her warm body around him. “Sorry,” he murmurs, a bit bashfully. “There was an incident at daycare. We don’t usually let little monsters run free around here.”

Annie bites back a laugh, actually chewing the corner of her mouth to do so, and says simply, “I wondered why we hadn’t met before.”

He cocks his head at the woman, only just now registering what she had said about the car a moment ago. “You drove this?” he asks her, his voice carrying a hint of surprise as he casually bounces in place to keep his monkey-girl amused.

She chuckles lightly as she watches the little girl’s face continue to shine. “Yeah,” she breathes out. “Got a soft spot in my heart for Mustangs. We’re a Ford family.” Her eyes flicker over to meet Bucky’s. “My dad had one… a ’67 Shelby GT.”

“Ooo,” he intones with a hiss. “Nice.”

“Yeah. We restored it together. He’s still got her, though she’s trapped in his garage,” she says with a frightful countenance as she looks over at Lana and successfully pulls a giggle.

Bucky gives his girl another bounce and cranes his neck to look behind him. “Wanna tell her what’s living out back in our garage right now?”

She shoots her head out from behind her father’s, giant toothy grin on her face as she states proudly, “Stingray. 19…” Her voice fades off as she gives a dismissive shrug.

“68,” he supplies.

“Wow,” Annie responds, drawing out the word and nodding appreciatively, never taking her eyes off of the little girl’s satisfied face. “You’re really lucky.”

“Well,” Bucky starts, self-deprecating smirk blooming, “it’s not exactly – ”

“Lana!” cuts him off mid-thought, the call tumbling in from the back bay. Bucky spins to see Peter hopping towards them, goofy smile on the disheveled teen’s face as he approaches. “Hey,” he says, locking onto the little girl’s eyes as she peeks out over her dad’s head. “It’s lunch time. I thought you were gonna eat with me.”

She twists and tugs in an attempt to scurry off her father’s back, and he grunts out a, “Wait,” as he awkwardly dips to lower her to the floor. “Pete,” he mutters, standing back up and glancing at the kid. “How’s the Mazda going?”

“Oh, fine, Mr. Barnes,” he declares simply, giving a small nod as Lana takes a firm hold of his hand.

“Pete-er,” she corrects haughtily. “There’s a er, Daddy.” She tugs and pulls at Peter until he relents and lets her drag him over to her new friend. “That’s Annie.”

“Hi, Annie,” he says with a grin and a wave.

“She’s Stark’s assistant,” Bucky mutters with a raised brow.

“Oh, wow,” he intones, countenance lost somewhere between shock and intrigue. “That must be… something.”

She shrugs. “Sometimes it’s hell. Sometimes… heaven.”

“Pete,” Bucky starts before staring his little girl down and tacking on the, “er… wants to work for your boss someday.”

“Well, I mean… yeah…” the kids stutters out. “You know… maybe… I mean…”

Bucky chuckles lightly, catching a glimpse of the boy’s bright pink cheeks from the corner of his eye. He rocks back on his heels, shit-eating grin on his face as he goes on to say, “It’s all he’s been talking about since he showed up here with that Vette a few weeks back.”

Annie’s eyes narrow. “He brought the Corvette here?” she asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Needed some body work. Passenger’s-side door, some paneling.”

The narrow gaze flips in an instant, eyes blowing wide. “He damaged the Corvette?” she asks, tone positively aghast.

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, looking down as Lana grabs hold of his wrist and gives a swift, firm tug. “Something about parking in the city. What, baby?” he asks distractedly.

“I’m hungry,” she whines, hanging off of him and leaning back so far that her hair almost touches the ground.

“Your lunch’s in the fridge. Peter’ll help,” he tells her, voice low and soft as he gives the teen a swift nod and hands her off, watches as the two head back to the office. He turns back around just in time to see the shock on Annie’s face finally begin to wane, utter bewilderment filling in behind it. He laughs despite himself, the twist of her features, subtle crinkle of her nose as the gears so obviously click and sputter and turn inside her head. “No clue, huh?”

Her eyes pop up to meet his, suddenly freed from their ruminating. “Sorry,” she sputters. “No.”

His own brow twists in confusion as he recalls something the cocky billionaire had mentioned on that first visit to the shop. “He said his assistant recommended us. Was that you?”

Her mouth gapes open, bobbing helplessly for a long, silent moment as a deep red blush begins creeping up her neck. “Well, I mean… yeah. I… I mentioned you… Because I use you. I mean… not use you. I mean…”

He feels a laugh bubble up his chest, his jaw suddenly aching from holding a smile so wide and stretched. “You okay there, doll?” he asks through the chuckle, for some reason absolutely delighting in her sudden discomfort.

“What?” she bleats. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously, though he’s not quite able to keep them from crinkling at the corners as amusement continues to wash over him. “What exactly did you mention to him?” he asks coyly, taking a single deliberate step forward. The blush blazes then, firing up her cheeks, extending to the very tips of her ears as her eyes dart frantically around the room.

“I don’t… what do you mean?”

It had been a long, long time since Bucky had made a girl blush, made her practically buzz with nervous yearning just from a look. Or at least it had been a long time since he’d taken notice of it. Natasha and Steve were always telling him, trying to point out to him the effect he has on women. She was totally flirting with you. That woman was eye-fucking your brains out. Stop being so dense. But, really, those two are more desperate to get him laid than he’d ever been himself. They’d say just about anything to get him to move on, move forward with his life. And let them live theirs.

And besides, he knew. Back in the day – the days before dirty diapers and marital strife and a struggling business – he hardly ever spent a Saturday night in his own bed. Or if he was in his own bed, there sure as shit wasn’t a cold, empty spot beside him.

But that was the old Bucky Barnes. It might’ve been a mere five or six years in calendar time, but to him it seemed like a lifetime ago.

And yet, when that old grin he used to wear – the cocky, teasing, suggestive crooked tilt – perks his lips in a familiar pull, it feels utterly natural. Just like muscle memory.

He takes another step closer, his eyes trailing down to Annie’s exposed clavicle, the part of her body where the blush tapers off to show subtly tanned flesh peeking out from beneath a pale pink silk blouse. “You said you mentioned me,” he reminds her, quirking an eyebrow as he locks onto her deep green eyes, the color eerily similar to the pristine paint job on the Cobra at their side. “To Stark… what’d you tell him?”

She clears her throat, blinking only once to collect her composure. The bright red remains splashed across her skin, but her eyes settle on his, her once agape mouth pulling into a tight, firm line, twisting up at the edges to show off the effort being put into biting back a smile. “I told him,” she starts, small, subtle lilt to her voice. “That you were great with the Bronco.” His brow lifts higher, a silent invitation for her to go on, and she cocks her own high to match. “And that you were cute. And that I might… I don’t know…” She shrugs, her gaze ticking away for just a fraction of a moment. “Be… interested.”

He nods slowly, appreciatively, and does his best to shift his face into an impassive mask. “You told Tony Stark I’m cute?”

She snorts out a laugh, loud and utterly undignified. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

His brows twist together, face pinching tightly in a sudden realization. “He was checking me out. Sizing me up,” he mutters vaguely, lips parting as he huffs out a quick, “Huh.”

“I didn’t tell him to,” she says abruptly, pitching forward onto her toes, seeming a little too enthusiastic with her denial. “I never asked… I mean…” She shakes her head and breathes out a laugh. “He gets sort of attached to his assistants. The ones that last anyway. He’s getting ready to marry one of them.”

Bucky’s mouth clamps shut, lips curling into a frown.

She laughs again. “I didn’t mean…that made him sound sort of creepy. No, it’s just… when you devote yourself to work all the time, the only real friends you make are, you know, at work.”

“So Tony Stark is your friend. And your boss. And your… matchmaker?”

“No,” she bleats out. Then, “Maybe,” amid a rather perplexed look. She shrugs. “He means well.”

“He put me through the fucking inquisition,” he mutters, feeling suddenly nervous. He brings an open palm to the back of his neck, scratches wildly at his scalp as his face twists. “Did he… did he tell you that? Or… tell you anything?” he asks, thinking back and trying to recall just how many bullshit answers he gave the man, how many irritated glares and fabricated stories.

A brilliant smile rolls over her face, one that somehow manages to immediately put him at ease, his fingers slowly slipping from his hair and back down to his side, casually tucking into his pocket. “He just told me that he gave me an in… and then said I should go check on the Cobra.”

“Ah,” he breathes out simply, rocking back on his heels.

“So,” she drawls out languidly before beginning to awkwardly pivot back and forth on the balls of her feet. Her hands clasp tightly behind her back, eyes nervously roaming the floor for a brief moment before rising to meet his. They seem to lighten two full shades as they lock onto his – admittedly – curious gaze. “Can I buy you dinner?”

[need-a-fugue]

Why Not? - Chapter Ten

Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not?

Author’s Note: Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge. Thanks to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ for triggering this… sprawling thing simply by supplying me with the prompt of Mechanic!AU for Bucky. It’s taken on a life of its own already… look at what you’ve done!

I'm so sorry it took so long to update... I got a little sucked into a different WIP that I've been obsessing a bit over. But here we are, the final chapter!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: Bit of angst, mostly fluff. Some bad language words…

“Come on,” Annie intones – practically whines – as both hands come up to wrap around his wrist. She gives a sharp tug, lets out a dramatic groan, and then plants her high heels and pulls on him with all her might.

But Bucky’s feet remain cemented firmly in place, his eyes still lingering on the throngs of well-dressed, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous people behind her as they casually saunter into the country club. The corner of his mouth ticks up ever so slightly, lopsided grin blooming as he watches her antics from his periphery, catching sight of the pretty pink chiffon of her dress blowing in the soft breeze as she leans heavily back and lets out another huff while continuing to manhandle him.

“Uh-uh,” he mutters, shaking his head slowly, methodically. “No way in hell am I going in there.”

She pulls herself upright and gives him a disappointed look, bottom lip protruding in an overdone pout. “You promised.”

He shrugs, twisting his hand easily in her grip to wrap his fingers around hers. “Changed my mind.”

There’s a cheekiness to his gaze – and a brilliant hue to his crystal blue eyes – that she recognizes immediately. It’s the same vague, teasing look he gives his daughter whilst telling her that dinosaurs used to keep sabretooth tigers at pets… and made wooly mammoths use their tusks to clean their litter boxes. Or when he insists that ice cream for breakfast is against the law, and he’s keeping her out of jail by giving her waffles instead.

It’s a look Annie’s had directed her way a time or two as well, the playful flash in his features doing more to set her ablaze than just about anything else – save maybe seeing him slide out from under a car, covered in grease and sweat. Those moments when he sneaks up behind her while she’s washing dishes, gives her a swift and startling slap on the ass that every time causes her to nearly jump out of her skin? There’s that glint burning in his gaze as she turns to coyly chide him. Or when she bemoans being tired after a long day and a late night, only to feel his fingers trail slowly up her thigh, setting her flesh to tingle and singe? Sure enough, when she rolls over in bed, it’s that look she’s met with, impish anticipation painting his features.

It’s a look that has already become adored and craved by her. And freely given by him. A gesture, an unspoken admittance of affection that – in just these few short months – has managed to work its way into a new, shared vernacular.

She steps closer to Bucky, the slowly setting sun beating harshly on her back as she presses herself to his chest. “What if I change my mind about coming home with you tonight?” she asks with a sly smile, eyes fluttering flirtatiously up at him. “I mean, if I go in there alone, chances are, I’ll find some handsome, rich man and go home with him instead. Let him whisk me away in his Ferrari.”

Her mere presence coupled with the unseasonably warm temperature causes sweat to build beneath his collar, and he reaches up with his free hand to tug at the suffocating tie. “If he’s got a Ferrari, I can’t blame you,” he breathes out casually. “Go for it.” He drops his palm down to her hip, taking in the cool silkiness of her dress. “But you’re not gonna find anyone in there more handsome than me.”

She pulls back with a sudden – utterly enchanting, he can’t help but think – laugh and slaps him in the chest. “Cocky much?”

He merely wiggles his brows at her, earning an eyeroll – amid a beautifully dimpled smile – in response.

“C’mon,” she breathes out then, spinning round and twining her fingers with his before setting off towards the celebration. “You’re my officially RSVPed plus one. There’s no backing out now. It’s the law.”

He bites back a short chuckle, lets out instead a rumbling growl, but easily relents just the same, this time allowing himself to be pulled forward towards the massive gardens ahead. “I don’t know any of these people,” he whines pathetically, plodding behind her with heavy feet.

“You know me. And Tony,” she supplies, forging on without casting a glance back at him.

He rolls his eyes restlessly. “Last time I saw your boss, he was practically dusting for prints in my garage.”

“So dramatic,” she mocks thickly, accepting a program from one of the ushers as they enter the sprawling garden. She stops short once inside, Bucky very nearly ramming into her from behind. “It looks amazing,” she lets out in a low, astonished tone, the very tenor of which shoots a wide grin across Bucky’s face. She spins to look at him, her eyes inadvertently ticking round to take in more details of their surroundings. The lush, green topiaries looming on all sides. The big, beautiful lilies and orchids encircling the seating area. The perfectly placed fairy lights streaming from the tall trees. The giant pergola up front where a terribly well-dressed justice of the peace is already stoically standing. “This is exactly like what Pepper requested,” she mutters delightedly. “She must be so happy!”

He tugs her off to the side – out of the way – as more people stream in. “Well, it is her day, right?”

Annie nods, small hum spilling from her lips as she turns and drags him off towards the pristine white chairs, marching ever closer to the pergola at the front. “Tony said that if I sit any further back than the third row, I’m fired,” she tells him when his heels begin to dig in yet again.

And again, he yields, a deep, rather comic frown pulling on his face as they lightly push their way through the other guests. “So Stark is the bridezilla,” he mutters, no question to his voice.

She leads him into the seats, across a few already sitting – oddly familiar-looking – people before plopping down with a huff. “Ugh,” she drones, completely ignoring his comment and instead straightening her skirt beneath her before letting out a long, weary sigh alongside the very simple utterance, “It is hot.”

“You’re hot?” He turns on her with wide eyes, tugging once more at his tie, trying – and failing – to slide the sleeves of his suit jacket up his forearms for just a little air. “If they say anything more than just I do, I might freakin’ melt out here.”

A soft, clever smile rolls across her face. “But you’ll look good while you do it,” she says, reaching up to flatten his lapel before giving a single, terse nod. “I like you in a suit.”

He lets out a small scoff. “Don’t get any ideas, doll.”

“Any ideas?” she intones, grin only growing. “We’re at a wedding, Buck. I’m getting all sorts of ideas.”

His eyes blow wide for the briefest of moments, mouth falling agape and head cocking towards her as an anxious trilling buzzes through his brain. But then he sees the teasing turn to her lips, the tightness in her jaw as she works to hold in a bout of laughter. And he releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as an exasperated, “Very funny,” slips from his lips.

The bright, airy chuckle she’d been holding so tightly to spills out, her fingers dropping to splay wide over his knee. “Relax. I promise I won’t propose to you at the end of the night.”

His face drops, and along with it, his voice. “Might not mind you proposing certain things,” he mutters with a shrug.

A quick bark of a laugh has his eyes veering automatically back up at her, locking onto her mirthful gaze. “Fine,” she eases out after the giggles begin to fade. “Maybe I’ll propose something.” Then she shifts in her seat, turning towards him, her face mere inches from his. Her eyes take on a somewhat solemn quality as she tells him, voice dropping nearly a full octave, “I’m not one of those super-sentimental, sappy girls who’s going to get all weepy just because we’re at a gorgeous wedding.” Her eyes tick over to the waiting pergola, a wistful air wrapping around her tone. “Or because I genuinely love the two people getting married. Or because,” she looks back at him, something clenching and burning deep in her core as she catches his bright blue eyes. “Because I love the fact that you actually came here with me.”

A tight breath hisses between his teeth. “Jesus, doll. You keep looking at me like that, you might just turn me into one of those super-sentimental, sappy girls,” he tells her before throwing an arm over her shoulder – despite the heat – and settling back with her body nestled close to his.

000

In the weeks following what had since been dubbed FLU: Revenge of the Toilet, Annie and Bucky had not only grown closer, but more… solid.

That rather rough Wednesday night – when everything seemed to go wrong and all of their insecurities were laid bare – had been a bit of a turning point in their relationship. Looking back, both of them would likely say that it was, in fact, the beginning of their relationship. Before that night, they were dating. They were two people who talked and laughed and hung out… and were – undeniably, categorically – attracted to one another. But after, they became so much more.

For Annie, the defining aspect of that evening – the thing that convinced her they were about to head down a new path together – was simply the fact that Bucky had pushed. He forced a conversation about whether or not she could handle his messy life, felt the need to because – I really like you – he was beginning to see a place for her in his future. That, coupled with the fact that he never asked her to leave, clearly never wanted her to leave, served to quiet Tony’s well-intentioned warning – You’ll never come first, you know – that always seemed to linger in the back of her mind.

Maybe that would still be true at times. Maybe it should be true, especially when the one she’d be competing against for that top spot was a four-year-old girl. But in that moment – that night – Bucky had made it abundantly clear that she was his priority.

Needless to say, she had stayed the night after all. After a rather intense and achingly long make out session that resulted in swollen lips, a bit of beard-burn, and a broken coffee maker; a quick everything’s good here check-in phone call from Steve and Natasha; and too much lukewarm Indian food, Annie ended up coiled around Bucky’s hulking form, breathless in his bed, sweaty sheets sticking to naked flesh as her exhausted body drifted off to sleep. It was blissful and hot, and above all else, it just felt… right.

The next morning, on the other hand, wound up being less than stellar. She woke cold and alone, sprawled atop an otherwise empty bed, pulled from her slumber by the muffled sounds of retching emanating from behind the closed bathroom door.

She cared for Bucky that day – much to his chagrin – helped him shower and dress, cleaned his toilet, even ran to the store to stock up on Gatorade and ginger ale. And she allowed him to care for her as well – to come and fetch her and take her home, clean her up and keep her hydrated – when she blew chunks all over her desk at work two days later.

And that is what became the defining moment for Bucky.

It had all been a somber sign of things to come. Sickness. Hardship. Going to bed on cloud nine and waking the next morning with a faceplant to the dirty ground. It was all the things that he’d been afraid might happen. Burdening Annie with the cumbersome task of caring for a stubborn patient – I see where Lana gets it now – and the painful domesticity it bore. Having to do the same for her, just looking at her pale skin and hooded eyes, wiping the sweat from her brow, all the while knowing she was sick because of him. Having to break plans – the first plans they managed to make that didn’t involve chicken soup and Netflix – when a rather green-looking Natasha brought Svetlana over two days early because Steve’s horrendous retching was making the little girl cry.

But they made it through just fine. It was oddly easy, in fact… easier than he ever expected it to be. Caring for one another. Wanting to care for one another. It had been too damn easy.

If he were to be completely, unabashedly honest, Bucky would have to admit that this degree of ease… of comfort and simplicity – because that’s really what it is, isn’t it? Just a bizarrely uncomplicated, effortless sensation? – was not something he’d ever had with any other woman before. Even with Nat – whom he’d loved long before Lana came along, though admittedly not in the way that allowed two people to forge a life together – it had never been easy. She was strong and independent and wholly her own person. Her strength reeled him in and turned him on. But it also terrified him. Still does. Showing any vulnerability in front of Natasha Romanov – despite her telling him repeatedly that she can see right through his cocky façade – is not a thing he has ever been willing or able to do.

And with other woman too, he’s only ever allowed a certain side of himself – or perhaps a select few sides – to be glimpsed. More often than not, he’s shown them the charming, self-assured smile, imbued every movement, every word with the seemingly subtle confidence that he could see turned them to mush. But never, that he can recall, had he shared with them his struggles. No, instead he’d wear that charm like armor, a beguiling indifference that got him laid while still keeping his heart safe. And after Lana was born, once he realized his heart had become even more precious – more full and seemingly fragile now that his baby girl lay inside – an utter air of detachment was added on as an extra, thicker layer of protection.

He’d tell women about himself – what he did for a living, where he grew up. He’d share with them that he loved cars, loved screwball comedies, loved his daughter more life itself. He’d let them into his home and his bed. But his heart – and most of what made him truly him – was simply off limits.

He never really realized how much of his time was spent walking on eggshells around the women in his life, cautiously selecting which pieces of information to reveal, which parts of himself – if any – to lay bare. He’d never realized quite how hard it had been to be himself… to be real and genuine and – God help him – vulnerable with women.

Until Annie came along and made things so damn easy.

000

The music is surprisingly… intense. For a wedding reception, at least. The not-so-subtle beats of AC/DC and Metallica permeating the air for a good hour or so before slowly tapering off into some more appropriate rock ballads. “Tony got to choose the tunes for the cocktail hour,” Annie whispers to him with a smirk. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.”

But for Bucky, the predetermined cocktail hour expands well into the post-dinner lull, his general wariness of large crowds and unease with small talk driving him to keep his hands and lips busy with drinks for as long as humanly possible. He gets it down to a science… sip easily at the watered-down drink in his hand to keep from having to say more than a few words to any of Annie’s overeager – borderline neurotic – coworkers. Then slip back over to the bar, taking his sweet-ass time to get a refill.

He’s on his fifth lap now, taking a break to sit at the far corner of the open bar. He watches from afar – head ducked, fleeting smile stifled – as Annie laughs and talks and mingles with a handful of work friends, her kind eyes ticking his way every few moments in quiet – easy – reassurance. And with each tender glance he feels a new wave of adoration wash over him, a steadily undulating current that both buoys him and threatens to drown him in the depths.

“You’re drinking the cheap shit,” he hears from over his shoulder. His hand grips the crystal tumbler of bourbon a little tighter as he slowly spins on the stool, raising a brow at the suspiciously unaccompanied center of attention. Tony ticks his chin toward his glass before calling the bartender over and saying simply, “Break out the Pappy Van Winkle.”

“The what?” Bucky asks, his eyes following the bartender’s cautious steps as he makes his way around to the back of the bar, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder as he goes.

Tony rolls his eyes and lets out a small grunt before dropping into the seat beside him. “Stupid name, wholeheartedly agree.” He tugs at his bowtie, unfurling it in one quick swipe and flinging it down atop the mahogany bar. “But it’s the best. Or…” he shrugs. “One of the best. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow – not unkindly, but certainly suspiciously – as he watches the bartender return with two tumblers and a bottle that his fingers curl around as though it were the freaking holy grail. “Shouldn’t you be out there mingling with all your high-society guests?” he asks once they’re left alone with their drinks.

Tony raises his glass, holding it high with an expectant sort of impatience. “C’mon,” he mutters fitfully. “I just married the love of my life. Toast me.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks up into an amused grin, a quick snort of a chuckle spilling out as he brings the bourbon up and clinks Tony’s glass. “Congratulations,” he deadpans, the smallest gleam in his eye revealing the depth of his sincerity.

“Thank you.” Tony pulls back and sips at his drink, a look of pure comfort spilling across his face as his Adam’s apple bobs.

Bucky brings the bourbon to his lips – slowly, cautiously – and lets the amber liquid slide inside, coating his tongue, his throat, his soul in the most delicious burn possible. “Damn,” he breathes out, staring wide-eyed at the drink in his hand. A delicate trace lingers as he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, head shaking slowly. “Damn.”

Tony chuckles under his breath. “Probably shouldn’t have introduced you to good ole Pappy,” he declares. “Like sending someone who’s only ever flown coach across the ocean on a private jet.”

“I’d settle for business class,” he smarts with a frown.

Tony nods, another small chortle spilling out of him. He takes another sip and cheats out on his stool, gazing across the large dancefloor in front of them until his eyes light on the tall strawberry blonde, dripping with white silk, a glass of champagne in her left hand that sets a sparkling backdrop for the platinum band clinking delicately against it. “Nah,” he mutters, grin growing as he watches his new wife throw her head back in a carefree, delightful bout of laughter. “Why settle when you can have the best?”

Bucky’s shoulders pull into a quick shrug, his gaze sweeping out to find the object of Tony’s attention before returning to settle on the drink in his hand. “Not everyone can afford the best,” he mutters a bit under his breath.

Tony turns to him with a disappointed glare. “You do realize I’m not actually talking about bourbon, right?” He lets out a long, exasperated sigh and settles in, placing his glass on the bar and leaning close to the man beside him. “She’s ruined you, hasn’t she? Annie,” he clarifies when Bucky’s brows curl in confusion. “Can’t go back to the cheap shit after getting a taste of her. Am I right?”

Something akin to a growl pulls from his chest, his jaw ticking tightly to the side. “Don’t talk about tasting my girlfriend.”

And Tony just laughs. Loudly. Haughtily. Slapping Bucky on the shoulder as he goes. “Relax, will ya?” he chokes out before swallowing down the snickers. He shakes his head with a fond sort of amusement. “Metaphor, Barnes.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, hint of agitation still in his voice as he brings the glass back to his lips and lets the liquor wash away the remnants of his irritation.

“I was watching you before,” he states simply, mirthful eyes still trained on the rather uncomfortable looking man before him. “The way you look at her, eyes following her around like a little puppy dog.”

Bucky’s lips press tightly together into a small snarl.

“I’m a genius, you know,” he lets out vapidly before giving a quick shrug and reaching up to pop open the top button of his starched, white collar. “Doesn’t take a genius to see what I saw, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky bites out, perhaps a bit harsher than intended. “What’s that?”

A smug smile, a stifled laugh, a short, incredulous snort… that’s all the answer he really needs. But Tony says it anyway, never one to pass up the opportunity to be heard. “You’re smitten. Intoxicated. You’ve had the Pappy and – you’ve gotta admit – nothing’s been sweeter, smoother… easier going down.”

He flashes him a stunned look, his stare reflecting something between confusion and accusation. And his lips part, jaw popping open to emit nothing but dumbfounded silence.

“Love’s a good thing,” Tony tells him, his voice light and airy, flitting atop a soft laugh. “Annie is a damn good… thing,” he finishes, frown forming as he realizes what he said. But he shakes it off, a look of you know what I mean flashing Bucky’s way. “She tell you about the promotion?” he asks, curiosity lacing his tone.

Bucky sputters a bit, the swift change in topic causing him to reel. “Uh,” he thinks. Promotion… promotion. “Yeah,” he utters finally, once his brain catches up. “Yeah. Something about… operations…” He shakes his head. “Or operational… something.”

Another snort of a laugh. “Operations manager for our new Innovative Tech Division.” He shakes his head with an almost annoyed air. “Up and comers are the worst. They all think they’re the hottest shit, each of their ideas the most… innovative. I find them… exhausting.” He narrows his eyes pensively. “Actually I find them to be the most irritating little shits on the planet.” He issues out a quick scoff and downs the rest of his drink before returning his gaze to Bucky. “Annie says they’re too much like me and that’s why I hate them. But I don’t buy that. I love me.” He shrugs. “Anyway… figured she could go unleash some of that insight on them. Help them all get their shit together and function like a team. Or, hell, I’d settle for just function.”

Bucky lets out a soft snicker, crooked smile blooming. “Want her to clean up more of your messes,” he muses thickly, taking another pull of bourbon.

Tony flattens him with an uncharacteristically serious stare. “It’s what makes us a good team.” He turns on his stool to bodily face the man before him, brows knitting tightly as a contemplative expression washes over his face. “I can only function in a world tempered with chaos… need it to be able to find the answers that just swirl around in the air. I make messes. It’s part of my process. Annie, she likes to… clean things up. Organize them. Fix them. She’s good at it too.”

Bucky’s lips pinch tightly together, his head slowly bobbing in a pensive nod as a sudden swell of doubt rises in his gut. “She likes order,” he says, almost to himself.

“Nah,” Tony mutters. “She just knows that sometimes order is what you need to make things more… palatable for others.” Bucky’s brows twist tightly together, utter befuddlement tugging at his features. Tony stifles a laugh as he catches the look. “What she likes is the mess. Because it gives her something to fix. She likes the challenge.”

“The challenge,” he repeats, his shoulders deflating, head drooping. “Great. Just what every guy wants to hear… I’m a challenge to be around,” he murmurs under his breath.

“Give her some credit,” Tony mutters drolly, pulling Bucky from his haze. “If she didn’t want to be challenged, she’d shack up with one of the boring-ass intellectuals down in accounting. Lord knows enough of them have tried. She saw your ramshackle little garage, saw you racing all over the place to fix things…”

“My garage isn’t ramshackle,” he interrupts with a frown.

“Every time I went in there the place was overbooked, you had some new project going on – ”

“You brought me those projects,” he defends a bit heatedly.

Tony merely shrugs. “Tools and grease everywhere,” he goes on. “A business partner who comes and goes as he pleases. Some teenager trying not to break shit in the back…”

“Hey, Peter’s a good kid.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard.” He stares Bucky down, his deep brown eyes holding a steely edge. “Barnes, I have heard everything about you. About how great you are with early model fuel-injection systems. How generous your are with your regulars… working out financing and payment plans and other nonsense that’s just gonna land you in the poorhouse. How patient you are with working around other people’s schedules. How wonderful you are with your kid,” he finishes with another overdone roll of his eyes. “Yeah, you got a little bit of chaos surrounding you,” he goes on with a tender note. “And she likes that.”

“You’re saying she likes me because my life’s a mess,” he mutters, only a hint of a question to his voice. “She wants something to fix.”

“Your skull really that thick?” he asks with a raised brow. “I know you’re not a genius like some people…” Bucky rolls his eyes and snorts, both actions being completely ignored by Tony as he goes on to say, “You fix cars. She fixes people. You clean up after a kid. She cleans up after me. You hold together a complicated little family unit, work to make it, well, work. She’s about to do the same with a group of arrogant young prodigies. She’s not trying to fix you. She’s not looking to be challenged by you. Barnes, you idiot… she wants to be challenged with you.”

000

As the party slows, the night growing long and stretching out towards its inevitable end, Bucky finally leaves the bar and returns to their table. The other Stark Industries’ workers that had been surrounding them before, smothering Bucky with their enthusiastic welcomes and long-winded inside jokes that drove him to the silent corner of the bar to begin with, had all filtered off to either take over the dancefloor or simply retire for the night. It’s only Annie now, a vision in pale pink, the loose curls around her face coiling tightly at her temples due the unseasonable humidity. She rests heavily in her seat at the empty table, head propped on her fist as her eyes trail along the smaller – yet still substantial – crowd before her. The sweetest smile rests on her lips as she placidly watches people dance, laugh, talk, and just be.

Bucky flops down in the chair beside her, scooting a plate piled high with two different types of cake and a heaping scoop of fruit covered in chocolate sauce – because apparently there had been a chocolate fountain sitting at yet another dessert buffet on the opposite side of the room all night – over between them. Her smile grows into an excited, toothy grin as she accepts the proffered fork and stabs through the mountain of sugar, trying to capture all of the sweet treats into a single bite.

“Finally get tired of keeping yourself sequestered?” she asks just before popping the fruit-laden cake into her mouth.

He lets out a small chuckle and spears a chocolatey strawberry with his own fork. “Kinda backfired on me,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue around some of the dripping chocolate. “Your boss found me.”

She laughs indelicately, almost snorting around the massive bite of dessert as she chews and effortfully swallows it down. “Yeah,” she says with a nod. “I saw.” Her fork returns for another serving, playfully batting his away to get at a plump blueberry sitting atop a mass of vanilla buttercream. “Could’ve been worse. Gary from accounting found his way over here.” Her head drops dramatically back, a mocking – and loud – snore pulling from somewhere deep in her chest alongside a theatrical moan. “Sooooo boring.”

Bucky can’t help but laugh at that, his wide smile settling into something fond and familiar as he watches her sigh and slouch forward and focus once again on the dessert, taking another too-large bite and leaving a smear of frosting along the corner of her mouth. “You tired?” he asks, reaching down and plucking a naked raspberry from the pile, raising it up to swipe along her lip, using it to clean her mess before he pops it into his mouth with a wink.

She cocks her head at him and grins, eyes crinkling at the edges as she finishes chewing. He reaches out with his thumb to clear off the remnants of icing and chocolate pocking her bottom lip, and she lets her eyes blink slowly shut, head drooping a bit once she swallows. Bucky unfurls his hand, palm opening to easily accept her flushed cheek as she nuzzles into him. “Is that a pickup line?” she asks, leaning over the edge of her seat, gradually fading into his warmth. “You want to put me to bed?”

He laughs – the sound light and airy and wonderfully melodic to her ears – and scoots his chair closer, wraps an arm around her and tugs her casually to his chest. “Maybe.”

Her eyes flit open and take in the twinkling fairy lights above, each tiny, haloed bulb melding masterfully in with the night sky. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, Buck,” she murmurs languidly as her head rolls back along his shoulder.

He lays a chaste kiss atop her head and pulls her a little closer with his left arm, his right hand still absently stabbing at fruit with his fork. “Any time, doll.”

She shifts beside him, turns her head just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of his face. Her eyes shine with something akin to mischief as she says, “I have a friend who’s getting married in December. We went to high school together so everyone I grew up with will be there.” Her eyebrows wiggle almost maniacally, the look equal parts terrifying and endearing.

“Great,” he deadpans, swallowing down a chortle. Then, “Ah, you know what?” oozes out of him in an easy cadence. “Yeah, I think I have Lana that night. Probably can’t make it.”

“I didn’t tell you the date,” she says, blank face just barely cracking as a sneaky smile threatens to tug at her lips.

“Yeah, well,” he breathes out. “I’m a busy guy, you know.”

She scoots a bit closer, her hip splitting his knees apart as she settles in and wraps her arms around his center. “You’re not that busy,” she intones, dropping her face to his chest and letting out a small yawn. “Or did you forget that I updated your calendar myself?”

No, he hadn’t forgotten. He actually – silently – thanks her daily. Every time he gets an alert on his phone… a reminder about swim lessons, soccer practice, a change of days with Lana. Or a notification – complete with embedded heart emoji – telling him exactly where to be and at what time for their date that evening. She had – now that he thinks about it – somehow managed to already calm the inherent chaos in his life, easing the strain of the everyday.

“Hm,” he hums out casually as his fingers weave into her hair. “You know, I’m pretty sure that calendar told me just the other day that Lana’s starting gymnastics next month…”

She pops up excitedly, coming to life in his arms as she presses her palms into his chest and pushes off of him. “I know!” she enthuses, turning a beaming smile his way. “I’m so excited for her!”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, soft chuckle spilling forth. “Well, that’s good, I guess,” he mutters cheerily, all the while shoving down the butterflies that so often burst to life in his gut when she’s around. She’s excited for my baby, he thinks, grin growing wider from just that one thought. “But I was trying to point out that I’m sure I’ll be way too busy for any more weddings.”

Her bottom lip pushes out into a pout, pensive look tugging at her features as her eyes narrow. “Nah,” she says after a moment of seeming contemplation. “We’ll make it work.”

“Oh, we will?” he questions amid a laugh.

She drops back into him, her head colliding with his collarbone and causing a harsh grunt to sound, cutting off his laughter. “Of course we will,” she mumbles into his chest, the sound of her voice muffled but the feel of it edging into him, vibrating through his chest and colliding with his heart.

He squeezes her a little bit tighter, his fingers trailing softly along the bare skin of her neck, swiping down over her shoulder in a delicate trace. He drops his lips to her hair once more, breathes in the now familiar scent of coconut shampoo… smiles when he gets a swift hit of Lana’s lavender detangler too.  

“I think,” he breathes out, low voice slowing trailing off. She curls deeper into him and gives a small hum by way of encouragement. But he doesn’t go on, can’t quite form the sudden, overwhelming thought into a coherent sentence. He releases a long, hot breath into her hair, the statement that had only just cracked forth and dropped through a chink somewhere in his armor now lodging in his throat.

I love you.

She pulls back and gives him a curious, almost worried look. “You want to go home?” she asks, her voice soft, achingly tender.

He offers a fond, closed-lip smile before tugging her back to his chest, nuzzling her close, and tucking her head beneath his chin. I love you. The words are now tickling the very tip of his tongue, smacking ceaselessly atop the roof of his mouth. I love you.

But… not yet. Not here. “Home,” he muses serenely, hums softly into her hair. A deep sigh spills from his lips, and along with it – carrying a note of practiced ease – he utters plainly, “Yeah, doll. Why not?”

[need-a-fugue]

Why Not? - Chapter Five

Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not?

Author’s Note: Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge. Thanks to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ for triggering this… sprawling thing simply by supplying me with the prompt of Mechanic!AU for Bucky. It’s taken on a life of its own already… look at what you’ve done!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: Bit of angst, mostly fluff.

Chapter Five

They end up driving around the city until the sun begins to set, stopping only once along the way to partake of some ice cream – double fudge for Annie and butter pecan for Bucky – which they end up swapping halfway through. A quick scrub down with loads of napkins and hand sanitizer – I should’ve just brought baby wipes, you’re as bad as Lana – and more than a few raucous laughs and self-deprecating smiles – You’re the one who wore strawberry jam to dinner – and they find themselves back on the road, heading in the direction of his place. 

It’s almost nine by the time they get there, Annie not paying any attention at all as she steps through the door, too focused on making sure the Chinese delivery order is correct before hitting accept on her phone. “You don’t have to do that,” he tells her, a genuine lilt to his voice. “I can just make us something.”

“Oh,” she mutters without looking up. “Like waffles?”

He stops short in the small entryway, spinning to face her with a serious stare. “Do not think you’re leaving here without at least a dozen to take home with you.”

She snorts out a giggle, but doesn’t bother looking up until he flips on the lights and ushers her all the way in, softly closing the door behind her. Then… her eyes widen in both shock and awe.

“I know,” he murmurs, sounding utterly dejected. “I told you, the place is a wreck.” He kicks aside a stuffed monkey, launching it into the air and sending it somewhere back behind the couch. “Lana was with me all week so I didn’t really get a chance to clean.” He leans down and gathers a handful of toys into his arms – another monkey, some sort of dog-like action figures, a doll with a missing head – and spins awkwardly in a circle before dumping them back behind a shelf in the corner.

She glances at her phone just long enough to send the delivery order through and sputters out a laugh, turning in a lazy circle herself to take in the sheer chaos of the place. Her mouth drops as a thick chuckle dies in her throat. “My God… you are a slob!”

He grinds to a halt, brow furrowing, face twisting in a wholly incredulous expression. “Hey, most of this stuff isn’t mine.”

She immediately points to the small kitchen table, half of it taken up with what looks to be a turbo sitting atop oil-pocked newspapers, and raises an accusatory brow.

“I’ll have you know, that’s for a friend’s bike. Like I said, almost all of this crap belongs to… someone else,” he finishes, lips puckering with confusion when his gaze lands on the head of the aforementioned doll, placed precariously atop a box of Froot Loops. He quickly swipes both items, chucking the head into the trash – and internally dreading the possibility of having to explain where it went later – and shoving the sugary cereal into the pantry.

“Oh, I see,” Annie intones teasingly, stepping carefully over a pile of storybooks collapsed in the center of the living room. “Yes. I suppose that Lana went out and bought all of these things herself, brought everything home and then… decorated the house with them. All on her own.” She cocks a sly brow at him along with closed-lip smirk.

“Yeah,” he replies coolly, running a hand through his hair and looking sheepishly around the room, taking everything in and seeming a bit… lost for what to do. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

She spurts out a laugh and makes her way to the sofa, collapsing back and reclining into the fuzzy purple throw pillow behind her. “Food should be here in about an hour,” she breathes out, snuggling in deep to make herself comfortable.

Bucky disappears into the small kitchen, heading for the fridge that she can just make out from over the top of the breakfast bar. Something shimmers in her periphery and she shifts to see what it is, sliding further down the couch and twisting to her right to settle her back against the armrest. Frowning curiously, she tugs at the bright yellow fabric, plucking a sparkly princess dress from between the cushions.

“You into Belle?” Bucky asks casually as he returns to the living room to find her gently fingering the tulle skirt. He’s got two beers in hand, leans over to offer her one before he rather indelicately flops down beside her. A sharp wince pulls from between his teeth and he twists around to pull a plastic toy screwdriver out from beneath his hip, small growl sounding as he tosses it aside.

“I love Belle.” She sets her beer onto the floor by the sofa, carefully lays the glittery dress out over her chest and beams up at him. “Do I look pretty?”

He nods simply – appreciatively – and bites back a chuckle as he takes a quick swig from his beer. “Yeah, doll,” he replies, twisting around to set the bottle on the side table. “You look real pretty.”

She hums out a small laugh and lets her eyes slowly blink shut. “Once I get some kung pow chicken in me, I’ll be revived enough to clean this place up for you.”

“The hell you will,” he mutters, reaching out and pulling her feet into his lap. “You’re a guest here.” He tugs at her boots, almost smacking himself in the face with one when it comes off too suddenly, and then actually dragging her further down the couch – bright, melodic giggles spilling out of her – as he struggles with the other. “Jesus,” he intones, flinging the other boot across the room once she’s finally free.

“I hope you know where that landed,” she muses, letting herself melt a little further into the overstuffed sofa as he begins gently massaging her feet. “I’m a little worried I might never find it in here.”

“I’ll buy you a new pair. It’ll probably be easier.”

Her eyes drift shut again, the long day finally catching up with her. She hadn’t been back home since yesterday afternoon, crashing on her sister’s couch after gabbing all night about her date – the first date she’d been on since moving to the city well over a year ago. And of course, her six-month-old nephew had her up by five, which really wasn’t that big of a deal anyway, considering she had to be at work by six thirty to get Tony prepped for an impromptu trip to Sri Lanka.

Annie worked long enough – and strange enough – hours at Stark Industries to necessitate an entire closet full of attire in her small first-floor office, so changing out of her sister’s proffered sweats was no big deal. But running all over town in the short skirt and ankle boots – admittedly chosen for their cute factor and not any sort of utilitarian measure – while helping Pepper out with wedding things had left her craving those sweats like nobody’s business.

She lets out an involuntary moan when Bucky hits just the right spot, his thumb pressing into her instep in a way both painful and magical. “Where did you learn to do this?” she asks with an almost astonished cadence.

“The internet,” he replies blithely. She opens her eyes and lifts herself onto her elbows to glare at him, earning little more than a sheepish shrug in response. “When Nat was pregnant,” he mutters, voice low, almost shy, “she was waiting tables for a while… on her feet all day… said they always hurt. So I hit up YouTube for some tips.”

A small, tender smile splits her face. “Lucky lady.”

He shrugs again, scoffs as well. “I don’t know about that. She got stuck with me. For a while anyway.”

Her brow furrows and she hauls herself up a little higher, awkwardly tucking the fluffy purple back pillow behind her. “Why do you say that?” she asks, voice aching with sincerity. “Why do you say it like that… stuck with you?”

Another shrug. “We never meant… I mean… we were just friends. We fooled around some. Then… boom. Baby.”

“Yeah, but… still. She married you. I can’t imagine she ever thought she was stuck with you.” She flops back a bit, lets her eyes linger on the stark white ceiling above. “Not when you give foot rubs like this.”

A shy, almost nervous-sounding laugh burbles out of him, one that he quickly tries to cover by changing the subject, emitting with a lilt, “Why the hell would you wear those shoes all day if they’re so uncomfortable anyway?”

She lets out a small hum. “You have got a lot to learn about women.”

“Not something I haven’t heard before.”

She pulls herself upright and looks at him with a crooked smile. “You’re doing alright right now, though,” she offers with a wink before falling back into the pillow again. “I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “I shouldn’t be this tired. It was just a looooong day.”

“Yeah? What’d you do?”

A short scoff spills from her lips. “You don’t want to know,” following it out along with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Bucky drops her foot and leans over to take hold of the flippant hand – along with her other wrist – hauling her up into a sitting position. She lets out a small squeak in protest and proceeds to collapse sideways into the rear cushions of the couch, remaining upright, though just barely. He stifles a laugh and gently swipes her mussed hair back behind her ear, fingers – admittedly – lingering longer than needed. “I want to know,” he says, voice slow and low, as his thumb drops to trace lazily down her neck before his hand finally falls away altogether, nervously coming back to rest on his thigh.

It takes her a moment to recover, the chill left behind from that single, slow touch sending a small shockwave through her that leaves her temporarily speechless. “Um,” she mutters amid a timid laugh. “Well… today, I mostly helped Pepper – Ms. Potts – out with some wedding arrangements.”

“That’s Stark’s fiancée?”

She nods.

“The one who used to have your job?” he asks with a teasing brow cocked.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, technically. But that was a long time ago. Now she’s the CEO of Stark Industries.”

His brows twist in confusion. “What the hell is Stark then?”

She shrugs – “Figurehead.” – then cracks a smile at her own joke. “He’s still on the board. Still has his hands in pretty much everything.” A long, languid sigh rolls out of her. “And he does a lot of charity stuff, believe it or not. You know, everyone thinks that he’s just this vapid, selfish billionaire. But he’s given away millions in scholarship funds and endowments. And when he isn’t actively looking for businesses – and people – to invest in, he’s doing his own fundraising, setting up new grants and projects.” Her eyes tick away, stare shifting almost dreamily off into the distance. “He’s a really good person. Sometimes you just have to… dig a little to find it.”

Bucky nods – slowly, appreciatively – as he watches her far-off gaze with a sort of distant fondness of his own. Then, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, he asks, “Are you one of his projects?”

Her head spins round in a flash, long hair flying and settling at her shoulders, revealing a look of absolute astonishment on her face. “What?”

He laughs – nervous, stilted. “No. No, I just meant… him trying to get you a date. Or…” His forehead furrows – the expression quickly becoming one of her favorite sights – as he finishes with, “Or deciding if I was… what? Good enough to go on a date with you?”

Her shoulders relax, tension quickly melting away. “Ah, that. Yeah, well… truthfully, he’s been trying to set me up for… well about as long as I’ve known him. All work and no play, he likes to say. Of course, he says that and then immediately sends me out on some impossible task that takes ‘til midnight to complete.” She shakes her head, ratcheting side to side to reset her thoughts and get back to the point. “I haven’t really dated anyone since moving to the city. And I think Tony views celibacy as some kind of personal affront. Or… sacrilege.”

“So sex is God?” he asks with a laugh.

“To Tony Stark? Yes. Sex, money, and power.”

“Yeah, he sounds like a real great guy,” he mocks. “How long have you been in the city?”

She drops her head, that beautiful blush blooming along her neck and cheeks as she utters shyly, “A little over a year. And I was commuting before that, which took up even more time. So, really… well, it’s been a while since I was… involved with anyone.”

He nods simply, lips pulling into a tight-lipped frown as he debates whether or not to tell her that, “I haven’t dated anyone in years. Haven’t gotten laid in a long-ass time either.” Then, snorting indelicately and dropping his head in a regretful shake, he mutters, “Shit. Why did I say that?”

A loud and boisterous chortle spills out of her. “I don’t know. But it made me feel better.”

“Yeah?” He looks over at her, crooked smile seeming cocky on the surface, but clearly covering a bundle of nerves as he gazes up at her, bright blue eyes glistening in the dim lamplight.

“Yeah,” she confirms lightly, turning away just a bit, that beautiful stare almost too much to take.

“So, where were you commuting from?” he asks then, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Please don’t say Long Island.”

Her mouth drops, gaping wide. “Why does everyone have such a problem with Long Island?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“And I suppose you’ve always been in Brooklyn?” she snipes in return.

“Born and raised. Steve and I grew up on this same block.”

“Wow,” she mutters, a teasing lilt to the word. “So you and Steve have known each other… forever then?”

“Pretty much,” he replies, his eyes shifting away as a sudden darkness rolls over them.

She rather quickly recalls the incident from earlier, the palpable tension rolling off of him when discussing Steve taking Lana home. “And he’s… with your ex now?” she asks, showing hardly any hesitation.

Admittedly, thinking before speaking has never been one of Annie’s strong suits. Oh, she knows when it’s not her place to say something. She knows when subjects are better left untouched. But all too often, that little voice inside that tells her to shut her damn mouth sounds after she’s already spilled. Hell, that’s how Tony found out about her little crush to begin with, when she couldn’t stop prattling on about the cute guy who fawned over her Bronco, not even thinking about who she was sharing all of this with.

Bucky hesitates, gnawing on the corner of his lip as he – presumably – thinks on what to say. And, for a moment, she fears that her big mouth may have gotten her into trouble once again. But when he does speak, he doesn’t sound angry at all, not irritated nor annoyed with her inquiry in the least. Rather he seems… earnest. Candid, even.

“He moved in with Nat a few months ago,” he starts, shifting beside her. “They’ve been dating a while.” A long, deflating sigh billows out of him and he reaches for his beer, takes a nice, long swig before going on. “Didn’t really bother me much when they started. They’re a hell of lot better matched than we ever were. But… moving in…”

Annie hikes her shoulders up a bit, sitting a little straighter, pulling herself a little closer to him before asking, “It’s just… weird?”

He nods, takes another pull, then crinkles his brow and shakes his head instead. “No. Actually it’s not. I think maybe that’s the problem. This thing with them… it’s real. And that means… I guess that means…” He lets out a short, sardonic laugh and slams the bottle back down onto the side table, runs his hands through his hair in an almost violent way. “I don’t know what it means.”

She licks her lips slowly, eyes still trained on his fractious face. But for once, she says nothing.

Bucky’s gaze falls to the floor as his elbows drop to his knees. “It means he gets it all,” he mutters softly, voice barely a whisper. He shrugs, lets out a long sigh. “He’ll be Svetlana’s…” he utters in an almost despondent tone. “I don’t know. More than Uncle Steve.”

She slowly shifts on the couch next to him, folding her legs up beneath her. “And that worries you?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes out, sitting back and shaking his head languidly before sinking into the cushions. He stretches casually, reaching an arm back behind her and wrapping it loosely over her shoulders, the gesture seeming utterly ordinary and natural.

Without thinking, she settles in, leans her head back onto his bicep. “You trust him with her?”

Wide eyes shoot her way. “Yeah, of course. He loves her like crazy. And he’s great with her.” He looks away, gaze turning a bit pensive, melancholy even. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…”

“He might get to spend more time with her than you?” she asks, already knowing the answer. He bites down on his bottom lip, clearly not wanting to offer any kind of confirmation. “You mentioned that when she starts school, she’ll probably spend more time at her mom’s,” she mentions casually.

He nods, lets his lip slowly pop free from the tightly clenched teeth. “Yeah.”

“But,” she starts, turning bodily to face him. “Does he make waffles like you do? Dozens at a time with every topping imaginable?”

The tiniest smile quirks on his face. “No. No, Steve can barely boil water. When he has to feed her breakfast it’s usually donuts.”

“And what about…” she reaches down and plucks the felled princess costume from the floor, smoothing it out across her lap. “Dress up… does he play princess dress up with her?”

He cocks his head to the side, single brow raised high. “I never said I play dress up with her.”

“Oh so you’ve never put on a tiara just because that little girl asked you to?” His lips press into a tight, firm line, only barely managing to hide the telling smile breaking underneath. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She gives a single, definitive nod. “And would he let her completely trash the place like this?” she asks with a smirk.

“Oh, Steve definitely would. But he lives with Natasha now and she runs a tight ship, so he’s shit outta luck there.”

She leans back again and snuggles close to him, gently running her cheek along the smooth fabric of his T-shirt as her head lazily drops to his shoulder, and then to his chest. “But could he ever be her dad?” she asks, feeling him stiffen beneath her for a long, agonizing moment before his muscles loosen and he lets out a sigh.

“No. No one else could be,” he says, a hint of doubt still lingering in the forlorn words.

“My sister’s on her second husband,” she blurts out then. “So I know… I mean, I can see how hard divorce is on people. Well, actually, my parents split when I was a kid too. So… yeah…” She twitches nervously and he brings his hand down off the side of the couch, lays a giant palm atop her upper arm and slowly, soothingly rakes his thumb along her shoulder.

“And you turned out okay?”

“Well, I know how to pick up after myself at least.”

He snorts out a small laugh. “Guess there’s something you can teach me then, huh?”

“Guess so,” she mutters, snuggling deeper into his chest and letting her lids lazily drift shut. The soft, slow rhythm of his heart beats steadily beneath her ear, his breath warm atop her head, and before she even has the chance to second guess what’s about to happen, she drifts off to sleep.

000

He wakes her when the food arrives, shrugging off her wholehearted embarrassment when she spies a line of drool pocking his T-shirt as they get set up at the kitchen table. “I spent almost two years of my life covered in drool,” he mutters, unpacking the takeout. “Frankly, it’s the least disgusting bodily fluid I’ve gotten on me.”

Her face pinches in repulsion, rosy blush still nipping at the tops of her ears. “It’s a little different when it’s your kid, though.”

He waits for her to drop into a seat before flopping down himself, holding out a fork with one hand and a set of chopsticks with the other. “Who said all of that was from my kid?”

She chuckles shyly and plucks the proffered fork from his hand. “Good choice,” he mutters, tossing the chopsticks aside and grabbing another fork to dig into some lo mien. “No need to show off for me.”

“Oh, believe me, I wouldn’t be showing off. I’d only be embarrassing myself more.” She shovels some broccoli onto her plate, waiting patiently with a small, crooked grin as he casually reaches over to dump some fried rice out for her as well. “I went with Tony to Shanghai last month and we got hot pot. Which I had never had before.” From the corner of her eye, she continues to watch as he fills in her plate, spooning on some chicken and an eggroll. “We were halfway through the meal, I’d managed to eat maybe two pieces of… whatever it was I could actually catch with the chopsticks, when the waiter came over and set down a fork beside me. Just me. No one else. Didn’t even say a word, just kind of looked at me in that way you look at a child who’s having trouble tying his shoes as you take over and do it for him. You know the way? Like, good try, sport, but let me help you out here.”

He lets out a hearty laugh and slumps back in his chair, finally serving himself a heaping helping of each and every dish. She continues to watch him, a soft twinkle in her eye, one that only grows when he glances up and catches her staring, his eyes shifting nervously as he asks, “What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, coy smile still pulling at the corner of her mouth. “It’s just… I don’t usually get served takeout.”

“Ah, yeah,” he breathes out self-consciously, setting down the final container and absently twirling his fork between his fingers. “I guess I’m just used to making up someone’s plate when sitting down to eat.”

“It’s cute,” she quips before popping a giant chunk of chicken into her mouth.

He quirks a side-eye at her as she struggles to chew around the bite. “You want me to cut it all up for you too? I’m pretty good at it.”

She snorts out a laugh, finally swallowing everything down and finishing it off with a quick swig of lukewarm beer. “I’m sure you are. Lots of practice, I imagine.”

His lips purse, head nodding purposively, and he points at her meal with his fork, single brow raised high. “You just let me know if you need more,” he says, mirthful expression cracking at the edges of his face. “But no fortune cookie ‘til you clean your plate.”

She hums out another laugh, scoops up another forkful of food. “Do you and Lana get Chinese a lot?”

He shrugs, swallows down his bite, and mutters. “Not too much. She’ll only eat white rice. And the cookies.”

“I went through a nothing-but-white-rice phase,” she says with a slow nod.

“Yeah? When you were a kid?”

“When I was 27.”

His brows curl together, pure amusement shining through the bewilderment. And he shakes his head fondly. “So, Stark took you to China,” he muses, swirling together some of the food on his plate. “You get to travel with him a lot?”

He catches her off guard, another too-large mouthful of food being slowly macerated. She smiles shyly, lips tightly closed as she struggles to finish chewing, to steadily swallow as he stares at her with an expression of mock impatience, his bright blue eyes positively swimming in a hypnotizing sort of joy. Finally, finally, she’s able to choke out, “Some. Not a lot. Just depends what he needs.”

Bucky nods, a long, languid bobbing of his head as he seems to think on her words. “You do whatever he needs? I mean… like you’re at his beckon call?”

Her forehead furrows a bit, eyes narrowing. “No, not really,” she offers with a shrug. “I mean… sometimes I work kind of crazy hours. And sometimes I’ll travel with him. But he’s pretty good about… understanding.”

He cocks his head. “Understanding what?”

She lets loose with a soft chortle. “Understanding what us real humans need. That man can go for days without a break. He doesn’t even need coffee to keep him going. If he’s on to something… some kind of great idea… he’ll run with it, forgoing sleep, food… making me cancel all of his appointments.” She looks back up at him, waving her empty fork absently through the air. “That’s actually the toughest part of my job… keeping track of all the excuses I’m forced to make on his behalf. Making sure no one catches us in a lie.”

He goes strangely silent for a long moment, eyes dropping to the still-full plate in front of him. “He makes you lie for him?”

The tenor of his voice makes it clear that he doesn’t like that one bit, the way his jaw stiffly sets and shifts when she chances a glance at him only confirming his disapproval. “No,” she says amid a nervous-sounding cough. “No, I mean… sometimes I have to make up excuses for him. But…” She shrugs then, realizing that, “It’s just part of the job.”

He looks up at her then, the blue of his eyes shifting in shade, making his gaze deep, bottomless, darkly profound. “Is that the job you want, Annie?” he asks, voice low and sincere.

Her mouth gapes, bobs open and closed for a moment before, “I… I don’t know,” spills out of her.

“You just… you don’t to seem to have a problem going after what you want,” he intones, dropping a short chuckle and a sly wink at the end.

She drops her head a bit, turning away to stave off the blush that she’s fairly certain would burn at any woman’s cheeks after encountering that sultry, blue-eyed wink. “Yeah, yeah,” she breathes out with a slight chuckle. “I don’t know why you even let me in here. I’m obviously stalker material.”

He shrugs, turns back to his food and absently twirls his fork through some lo mien. “I was afraid you’d find some other powerful billionaire to sic on me if I turned you down.”

“I really only know the one,” she says with a sigh. “Met others in passing, but I don’t think they’d commit like Tony did.”

He snorts out a quick laugh, taking a beat to stare absently down at his plate as he seems to mull something over in his head. “It’s just…” he mutters vaguely. “You just… seem like you should be the high-powered billionaire.” A swift, surprised laugh chokes out of her, causing his lips to unconsciously quirk upwards despite his gaze never leaving the pile of food before him. “Really, though. You seem like you could do more… so much more, than just clean up after some selfish – ”

“Careful,” she interrupts, a hint of sincerity to her otherwise light tone.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m very good at cleaning up after people,” she teases, slowly shoving aside a small wrench and absently rubbing at the grease smear it leaves behind on the table. “As you will see later.”

“I’m serious,” he declares, pulling his shoulders straight and tall to validate his statement. “You… you’re smart and driven… and sweet and funny. Patient.”

“Easy to talk to,” she interjects, repeating his comment from the other night, the one she immediately – and proudly – committed to memory.

He nods, rolling his eyes just a little. “Easy to talk to,” he affirms before falling silent for another long moment. “What do you want to do? I mean… I’m guessing you didn’t exactly dream of being a personal assistant when you were little?”

Her brows lift and drop in rapid succession, as she takes a second to reflect. “No,” she drawls out finally. “No, when I was little I dreamt of being a princess.” Her eyes positively gleam as she tosses a quick glance over her shoulder at the yellow dress draped over the couch in the other room.

He snorts a laugh, shaking his head tenderly as he digs up another forkful of fried rice. “I’m gonna have to take you and Svetlana to Disney World, aren’t I?”

Her breath catches in her chest at the seemingly blasé comment. Eyes widening despite every attempt to hide her surprise – and glee – as she looks over at him. He’s busy staring at his plate, still swirling the different dishes together into some sort of Chinese mélange. She gratefully accepts the brief moment of diversion to quell her stuttering heart, clearing her throat to gather her words. “I wish someone would,” she murmurs, aiming for joking but landing somewhere in the realm of positively wistful.

If he picks up on her surprise or excitement – or her pathetic attempt at covering them – it doesn’t show, a simple, “Really though,” falling from his lips amid a quick hiss after downing the rest of his beer. He quirks his head at her, holding up his empty bottle to wordlessly ask if she’d like another. She nods and he pushes up from the table, turning to reach into the fridge, his face buried behind the open door as he asks, “Once you realized that wasn’t gonna work out, what’d you want to do?”

She waits for him to sit back down, feels her face flush when he directs all of his attention – and those deep ocean eyes – her way. “Well, um,” she sputters. “Well, I went to school… I actually have a degree in organizational psychology.”

He pulls back, face twisting into a frown. “What’s that?”

“It’s basically just applying psychological principles to the workplace. I found it interesting. You know… figuring out how people operate, how best to communicate with them, how to determine if they fit into certain workplace dynamics.” She shrugs. “But I didn’t really give much thought to what I might do with it.”

“What can you do with it?”

She hums thoughtfully, dropping her chin to her open palm. “I could do something in human resources… maybe consulting. Could always go back and get my masters too, I guess.” She shrugs again before pulling upright and returning to her food. “I don’t know.”

He blows a long, slow breath out of his nose and leans back in his chair, his gaze still trained on her. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised about the psych part.” She raises an inquiring brow at him, forkful of rice halfway to her mouth. “You’ve obviously psychoanalyzed the shit outta Stark. You got me to talk about stuff that… that I don’t talk about.” He takes a quick swig of his beer and tips the bottle towards her. “You got a gift there, Annie.”

Her face remains slack and emotionless as her gut fills with an odd mix of pride and delight… and trepidation. It’s strange, talking about this side of herself… this part of her life that she’d made off limits with her family some time ago – quickly tiring of their inquiries about just what she planned to do with her life. But the truth is, this is something she’s been thinking about a lot lately, questioning ever since she made the decision to move out to the city and devote herself wholly to being Tony Stark’s aide. Because a part of her – a big part of her – took that leap in the hopes that working for the brilliant entrepreneur might somehow lead to something more.

The only problem is, she doesn’t have a clue what that more might be.

Bucky shifts in his seat, setting down his beer and picking back up his fork, shoving it indelicately into the kung pow chicken on his plate. “If you’re happy doing what you’re doing, just ignore me,” he says before taking a huge mouthful.

She watches him with a deep sort of interest, as though this veritable stranger might just be able to help her find her path in life. Maybe. Somehow. “When did you know you wanted to be a mechanic?” she asks simply.

He shrugs, swallows down his food. “I didn’t. I just… was. I mean, I like cars. I guess I’m good at it.” Another blithe shrug. “I worked at a garage for a while as a kid and then… I don’t know… Steve started talking about starting up our own. I guess I figured… why not?”

“Why not?” she repeats dully. “You chose a career, invested in a business… cemented your life in place, and you’re reasoning behind it was why not?”

He smiles slyly at her, the expression causing a pool of warmth to gather in her gut. “Sometimes that’s all there is to it, doll. You don’t have to overthink everything. Sometimes things happen – an offer on a garage or an unplanned baby or… what the hell ever – and you just gotta decide to either roll with it or… I don’t know, shut it all down.”

“And you rolled with it,” she mutters, more so to herself as she mulls over his words.

“Yeah,” he breathes out amid a soft laugh. “Sometimes that’s the way to go. So you don’t miss out on something… great. Sometimes you just gotta say to yourself, why the hell not?”