#~Hands Away Interpol~ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jupiterpilgrim · 5 months ago

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Drown With Me

Pt.2: Interpolation

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 7K

part 1 | part 3

A/n: Pt.2 and pt.3 were supposed to be a single chapter, but it was split in two because of the block limit.

I wish I could be everything you wanted.

—

Oh, here we are again. But this time we're going back in time. We journeyed into the past because some things must be witnessed. And I say 'witnessed,' not 'understood.' For understanding confines the subtleties of human connections to a singular perspective, and that restricts the strange language of the heart.

We're at a bar now, where a lot of stories start. This is one of those:

The lights are dim and amber, casting warm shadows over the polished countertops and the scratched wooden floor. It’s a quiet Tuesday night, a lull between the weekend rush and midweek regulars. You’ve been working here long enough to know the rhythm of it—the predictable ebb and flow of people looking for drinks to drown whatever piece of life was gnawing at them. But then, just as you’re stacking a row of freshly washed glasses, the door swings open, and in walks her again.

She hesitates in the doorway, framed by the cool, blue glow of the streetlights outside. The first thing that grabs you, as it did last night, are her eyes—huge, almond-shaped, and impossibly feline. The kind of eyes that make you forget what you were supposed to be doing. They dart nervously around the room before finally landing on you, and for a moment, she freezes.

“You again,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You lean casually against the bar, arms crossed, trying not to seem too eager.

She’s wearing a cropped, black leather jacket that clings to her slender frame, sharp and a little out of place against the pale softness of her features. Beneath it, a white tank top hints at the curve of her collarbone and the toned lines of her stomach. Her high-waisted jeans, faded and torn at the knees, hug her slim legs like they were stitched onto her body. The scuffed Doc Martens on her feet somehow make her look even more striking—an accidental runway model lost in a world of beer stains and neon signs.

Her broad shoulders, almost too strong for her petite height, square up as if she's trying to summon some hidden reserve of confidence. But it’s her shyness, that hint of hesitation in every movement, that makes her feel like a puzzle you want to solve. She brushes a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, her eyes darting away from yours as though the floor might swallow her whole if she stares for too long.

You tilt your head toward the bar, beckoning her closer. “Second night in a row, huh? You sure you’re not stalking me?”

Her lips part in a soft laugh, so quiet you almost miss it. “Hardly. My friend dragged me here yesterday. Tonight… I just needed some air.”

Her voice is as soft as her laugh, tinged with a slight huskiness that adds depth to her otherwise delicate demeanor. She approaches the bar slowly, her movements careful, like someone who’s always aware of the space she takes up.

“Well,” you say, pulling a coaster from under the counter and setting it down in front of her, “welcome back to the quietest bar in town. What can I get you?”

She perches on the stool, her knees pressed close together, hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket. “Um…just a Coke, actually.”

“Coke?”

She nods, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, only to dart away again. “I don’t drink much.”

“Second night in a row at a bar and no drinks? You’re full of surprises.” You grab a glass and pour the soda, sliding it toward her. “Not that I’m complaining. Makes my job easier.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit, you realize, but it only adds to the quiet allure of her presence. “You work here often?”

“Most nights.” You lean against the bar again, giving her your best casual smile. “And you? What’s your excuse for gracing us with your presence twice in a row?”

“I’m…” She hesitates, then shrugs. “I guess I just liked the vibe. It’s not like other places.”

“It’s not like most places because most places actually get customers,” you joke, gesturing to the mostly empty room. “But hey, if the vibe brought you back, I’m not going to argue.”

She smiles, faint but genuine. “It’s nice. Quiet. Less… intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” You raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

She fidgets with the straw in her glass, swirling the Coke absently. “Bars aren’t really my thing. Too loud, too crowded. I usually avoid them.” She glances up at you, almost shyly. “This one feels… different.”

You don’t miss the slight blush that creeps up her neck as she speaks, and something about it tugs at you. “Different’s good,” you say softly. “I like different.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The faint hum of the jukebox in the corner fills the silence, playing some slow, melancholic track that perfectly matches the mood. You watch as she takes a small sip of her drink, her lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.

“So,” you finally ask, breaking the quiet, “what’s your name? Or should I just keep calling you ‘Coke Girl’?”

Her lips twitch into a smile again, a little more confident this time. “Ning Yìzhuo. And you?”

“Coke Boy,” you deadpan, earning a small laugh from her. “Kidding. It’s—”

The door swings open again, cutting you off as a group of rowdy patrons stumbles in, disrupting the peaceful bubble you’d been sharing. Ningning’s shoulders tense immediately, her fingers tightening around her glass. You can tell she’s debating whether to stay or bolt.

You lean closer, your voice low. “Don’t worry. They’re harmless. Plus, I’ve got your back.”

She looks at you, her eyes searching your face for something—reassurance, maybe. And whatever she finds there seems to calm her, if only a little. She nods, taking another sip of her Coke.

You don’t know why, but you can already tell she’s going to stay with you longer than just tonight. Something about her feels significant, like a spark of lightning caught in a jar. Quiet, shy, and utterly captivating.

—

The weeks bleed into one another, and before you know it, Ning is a fixture at the bar. Not officially, of course. She doesn’t work here, doesn’t drink much, and always leaves by midnight like Cinderella with a self-imposed curfew. But she’s here. Three nights a week, like clockwork, perching on her usual stool and ordering her usual Coke, sometimes daring to live dangerously with a Sprite.

At first, you thought she came because it was quiet, because she needed a place to escape whatever stresses her life held. But it’s become increasingly clear that the bar’s charm isn’t the only thing pulling her back. It’s you. And you’re not mad about it.

Tonight, she’s dressed like she always is—effortlessly cool in her slightly oversized sweater, rolled-up jeans, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Her leather jacket is slung over the back of the stool, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like ink. She’s got her sketchbook with her tonight, the same one she’s been carrying for weeks. You’ve seen glimpses of the drawings—sketches of people, abstract swirls, the occasional cat—but she guards it like it contains state secrets, never letting you get a proper look.

“What are you working on this time?” you ask, leaning on the counter with the practiced nonchalance of a bartender-slash-business-student who definitely isn’t secretly invested in whatever she’s drawing.

She glances up from her page, cat-like eyes sparkling under the warm glow of the bar’s lights. “Nothing special. Just doodling.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you point out, reaching for a clean glass to wipe down. “And then you showed me that sketch of that old guy in the corner, and it looked like something out of a museum. You can admit it, Ning—you’re talented.”

She ducks her head, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not that good.”

“Sure,” you deadpan, “and I’m not the best bartender in this city.”

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that you’ve started to look forward to more than you’d like to admit. “You’re not even the best bartender in this bar.”

You feign offense, clutching your chest. “Ouch. And here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” she says, smiling up at you. “Which is why I’m honest with you.”

“Brutally honest,” you correct, smirking. “Fine. Tell me this: do all fine arts students have this much sass, or are you just special?”

“Special,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “And for the record, it’s not fine arts. It’s animation and visual effects. Totally different.”

You nod sagely, as if you know the first thing about animation or visual effects. “Ah, of course. Animation. You’re going to make the next Toy Story, right?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “Something like that. What about you, Mr. Future CEO? Made any spreadsheets cry lately?”

“Every day,” you reply solemnly. “It’s part of the curriculum in business administration. They don’t let you graduate until you’ve traumatized at least three Excel files.”

Her laugh comes easily, her shoulders relaxing as she sips her Coke. She looks comfortable here now, like this place—and you—have become a safe haven for her.

It’s nice.

She’s nice.

“You know,” you say, setting the glass down and leaning closer, “when you first started coming here, I thought you were just using the bar as a library with worse lighting.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I think you’re here because you can’t resist my charm.”

She snorts into her drink, nearly choking. “Your charm? Please.”

“Hey, admit it. I make this place bearable for you.”

She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You do make pretty good jokes.”

“High praise from the queen of sarcasm.”

Her smile softens slightly, the teasing edge in her voice fading. “I just like talking to you. You make things… lighter. Easier to deal with.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s rare for her to let her guard down like this, and you feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to keep it safe, to make sure she never regrets being vulnerable.

“Well,” you say, keeping your tone light, “as long as you keep coming back, I’ll keep telling terrible jokes. Deal?”

“Deal,” she says, holding out her hand like you’re signing a legally binding contract.

You shake her hand, her skin warm and soft against yours. There’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—where the noise of the bar fades away, and it’s just the two of you. Friends. Companions in this odd little corner of the world.

“By the way,” you add, breaking the moment, “if you ever need a businessperson in one of your animations, I know a guy.”

“Let me guess,” she says, smirking. “He’s incredibly charming and makes terrible jokes?”

“Exactly.”

She laughs again, and for the rest of the night, the bar feels a little brighter.

—

Ning sits cross-legged on her bed, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her sketchbook balanced on her knees. The room is bathed in soft, golden light from the desk lamp Minji insisted on buying, claiming it was better for productivity. Across the room, Minji herself sits at her desk, perfectly upright, fingers flying across the keyboard of her sleek laptop. She looks like a Vogue spread come to life, even in her oversized knit sweater and black leggings, her shiny, straight hair falling effortlessly over her shoulder.

Minji’s skin practically glows, the kind of flawless complexion that makes you wonder if she’s secretly Photoshopped in real life. Her glasses—a stylish, rectangular pair with gold rims—rest perfectly on the bridge of her pointy nose, framing dark, intelligent eyes that seem to miss nothing. Her lips, soft and plump, are painted a subtle pink, just enough to look effortlessly put together. She’s everything Ning isn’t: confident, composed, intimidatingly perfect.

Ning chews on her pencil, staring at her friend’s back. “Hey, Minji?”

“Hm?” Minji doesn’t look up from her screen. She’s probably working on some group project for her international business course. Even in her downtime, Minji is an efficiency machine.

“How do you, like…” Ning hesitates, fiddling with the corner of her sketchbook. “How do you get guys to notice you?”

That gets Minji’s attention. She swivels her chair around, fixing Ning with a look that’s equal parts amused and curious. “What kind of question is that?”

“You know what I mean,” Ning mumbles, heat rising to her cheeks. “You always have a line of guys chasing after you. It’s like… you just exist, and they’re obsessed with you.”

Minji raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not like I’m trying to get their attention.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Ning groans, flopping backward onto her bed. “You don’t even try, and they’re all over you. Meanwhile, I could walk into a room naked, and no one would notice.”

“First of all, don’t do that,” Minji says dryly, folding her arms. “Second, you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not,” Ning mutters, staring at the ceiling. “You’re like this goddess of elegance or whatever, and I’m just… me. How do you make people like you?”

Minji sighs, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose in that annoyingly perfect way she does. “It’s not about making people like you, Ning. You just have to be yourself.”

Ning sits up, frowning. “That’s so easy for you to say. You’re perfect. People like you without you even trying.”

“I’m not perfect,” Minji says, though the way she says it makes it clear she knows she’s pretty close.

Ning snorts. “Please. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re the only person I know who actually looks good in those glasses. And don’t get me started on your ‘I just woke up like this’ hair.”

Minji chuckles softly, a sound that somehow feels condescending and comforting at the same time. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have some good qualities. But seriously, Ning, if you want people to notice you, just… put yourself out there.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not shy,” Ning mutters, pulling her knees to her chest.

Minji leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Shy people are fine, but if you never let anyone see who you really are, how are they supposed to notice you?”

“What if who I really am is… shy?” Ning asks, her voice small.

“Then be the best version of shy,” Minji says simply. “Confidence doesn’t mean being loud or outgoing. It just means being comfortable with who you are. People are drawn to that.”

Ning stares at her, skeptical. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Minji admits, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “But if you don’t at least try, nothing’s going to change. And trust me, you don’t need to change who you are. You just need to stop hiding it.”

Ning chews on her lip, mulling that over. Minji makes it sound logical, like a formula to be solved. But Ning isn’t sure she can simply flip a switch and become “the best version” of herself.

“And if it doesn’t work?” she asks.

Minji shrugs, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Then it’s their loss.”

Ning laughs despite herself, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit. “You’re annoyingly good at this, you know that?”

Minji smirks, turning back to her laptop. “I know. Now stop overthinking and start being fabulous. You’ve got this, Ning.”

Ning watches her friend for a moment longer, a mixture of admiration and frustration swirling in her chest. If Minji says she can do it, maybe she can. But it still feels like an impossible climb.

“Hey, Minji?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Minji doesn’t turn around, but her voice is warm. “Anytime.”

—

The door to the bar swings open, and in walks Ning with a determined look in her cat-like eyes. She’s wearing a fitted white crop top that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, a plaid mini skirt, and her signature scuffed Doc Martens. Her hair is loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, and there’s a hint of pink gloss on her lips. Tonight, she’s decided, is the night.

No more shy, stammering Ning. Tonight, she’s confident, bold, maybe even flirty. She’s spent the past three days psyching herself up for this moment, replaying Minji’s advice in her head like a mantra. Put yourself out there. Be the best version of yourself. You’ve got this.

The bar is warm and dimly lit as always, the low hum of conversation filling the air. She spots you cleaning a table, laughing at something one of the regulars said, your easy charm on full display. You see Ning and wave to her with a smile. Her heart skips a beat, but she steels herself. You’ve got this, she repeats silently, striding toward the bar.

Or at least, she tries to.

What she doesn’t see, in her single-minded determination, is the bright yellow Wet Floor sign in the middle of the room. Her Doc Martens hit the slick patch of tiles, and suddenly, her confident stride turns into a cartoonish flail.

“Shit—!”

She feels herself going down, her arms pinwheeling as gravity takes over. But just before she hits the ground, a pair of strong hands catch her, one gripping her waist and the other cradling her back.

“You okay?” Your voice is close—too close—and when she blinks up at you, she realizes her face is just inches from yours.

Her heart is pounding, and not just from the near-death experience. Your eyes, warm and concerned, lock onto hers, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I—yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.” Her voice comes out quieter than she’d like, all the confidence she’d mustered evaporating on the spot.

You grin, helping her stand upright but keeping a hand on her arm to steady her. “That was a close one. You almost went full slapstick there.”

“Yeah, well, I like to keep things entertaining,” she mumbles, avoiding your gaze. Her ankle twinges as she shifts her weight, and she winces.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, noticing the way she’s favoring one foot.

“It’s just my ankle,” she admits. “I think I twisted it a little.”

“Let’s get you off your feet,” you say, guiding her to a booth in the corner. “Come on, sit down.”

“I’m fine, really,” she protests, but you’re already pulling out a chair for her.

Once she’s seated, you crouch down in front of her, gently taking her foot in your hands. “Let me check it out. I can’t have my best customer suing the bar.”

She snorts softly, despite herself. “It’s my fault for not seeing the sign.”

“Well, next time, try looking where you’re going,” you tease, flashing her a grin that makes her heart skip again.

You slide off her boot carefully, your fingers brushing against her ankle. She tries not to shiver at the touch, but it’s impossible. Your hands are warm and firm, and when you start to massage the sore spot, she has to bite her lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

“You’re really good at this,” she says, her voice coming out a little breathier than she intended.

“Comes with practice,” you reply, focused on her foot. “My ex used to come home from work with sore feet all the time, so I’d give her massages. Got pretty good at it after a while.”

Ning’s ears perk up at the mention of your ex. “Oh?” she says, trying to sound casual. “What happened there?”

“She was… complicated,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Kind of jealous. Possessive. A little manic, honestly.” You pause, then chuckle, shaking your head. “I guess I have a type. Crazy girls seem to find me.”

She swallows hard, caught off guard. “Is that why you’re single now?”

“Pretty much,” you admit, still massaging her ankle. “Taking a break from relationships for a while. Thought I’d give myself some peace and quiet, you know?”

Ning’s heart sinks, though she forces a smile. “Makes sense. Less drama.”

“Exactly,” you say, glancing up at her with a grin. “And besides, who needs a girlfriend when I’ve got customers like you to keep me company?”

She laughs softly, but it feels hollow in her chest. She watches as you go back to massaging her foot, completely unaware of the tiny heartbreak you’ve just caused. But she doesn’t say anything.

Because Minji’s words echo in her head: Be the best version of yourself. And tonight, the best version of herself is just a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

—

The dorm bathroom is small, humid, and filled with the faint scent of citrus-scented body wash. The door is open, so the fragrance invades the whole bedroom. The overhead light flickers faintly, casting a soft glow over the scene. Minji stands by the sink in nothing but a pale lavender bra and matching underwear, her skin luminous under the harsh fluorescent light. She’s methodically applying lotion to her arms, her long, straight hair pushed over one shoulder to avoid smearing it. Every movement she makes is precise, deliberate, like everything else about her.

Ning is by the closet, half-dressed, rifling through her limited wardrobe with a furrowed brow. She’s wearing an oversized graphic tee that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone and the straps of her bralette. Her plaid pajama shorts are crumpled, a stark contrast to Minji’s immaculate appearance.

“Can I ask you something?” Minji’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the room, soft but with that unmistakable edge of curiosity.

Ning freezes, her fingers lingering on the hem of a black skirt she’s debating on. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

Minji finishes with her arms and moves on to her legs, bending one knee and propping her foot up on the closed toilet lid. Her movements are unhurried, as if the question isn’t a big deal. “Where do you go every week? At night, I mean.”

She glances over her shoulder, her face warming under Minji’s unreadable gaze. “Nowhere. Just… out.”

“Nowhere?” Minji’s lips curve in a faint smile as she straightens up, tilting her head slightly. Her sharp, dark eyes scan Ning, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers fidget with the fabric of her skirt. “That doesn’t sound like nowhere.”

“I mean it’s not anywhere in particular,” Ning mumbles, turning back to the closet. She grabs a random top to busy her hands, hoping Minji will let it go.

But Minji doesn’t let things go. “Ning,” she says, her voice calm but insistent. “You’ve been going out at least twice a week for the past month. You get dressed up, come back late, and you never say where you’ve been. It’s weird, because it's not something you used to do.”

Ning turns around, clutching the top against her chest like a shield. “It’s not weird.”

Minji quirks an eyebrow, her lips twitching as if she’s holding back a laugh. “You don’t think so? Because to me, it looks like you’re sneaking off to see someone.”

“I’m not!” Ning’s voice rises slightly in protest, her face turning a deeper shade of pink. She tosses the top onto the bed and grabs her sketchbook from the desk. “Look, I take this with me, okay? How could I be seeing a boy if I’m bringing this?”

Minji’s eyes drop to the sketchbook, then lift back to Ning’s face, skeptical but intrigued. “I don’t know. Art students have strange habits. Maybe you’re sketching him while you’re there.”

Ning groans, plopping onto the bed and flipping the sketchbook open to a random page. “It’s not like that. There’s a bar I go to. It’s… quiet, and it helps with creativity.”

“Creativity,” Minji repeats, crossing her arms as she leans against the sink. Her hair falls perfectly over one shoulder, her glasses catching the light just enough to make her look like a chic librarian. “That’s your story?”

“Yes!” Ning huffs, holding up the sketchbook like it’s evidence in a trial. “See? Just sketches. No boys, no dates, nothing like that.”

Minji steps closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies Ning’s face. “So you’re telling me you sit at a bar all night, alone, with your sketchbook? That’s it?”

“Well…” Ning hesitates, her fingers gripping the edges of the book. “There’s this bartender I talk to sometimes. But he’s just a friend.”

“A friend.” Minji’s voice is flat, but there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes. “What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?” Ning mutters, ducking her head.

“Probably not,” Minji replies, her tone maddeningly casual. “But now everything is even more suspicious.”

Ning sighs, flipping the sketchbook closed. “Oh, whatever! He’s the bartender. We talk. That’s it.”

“And you’re just friends?”

“Yes.” Ning’s voice is firm, but her cheeks betray her with their telltale blush.

Minji watches her for a moment longer, then does something that catches Ning completely off guard. She smiles. Not her usual poised, mysterious smile, but something softer.

“Can I go too?”

Ning blinks, sure she’s misheard. “What?”

“To the bar,” Minji says, stepping closer until she’s standing right in front of Ning. “If it’s so great for creativity, I want to see it.”

“You want to go to the bar?” Ning asks, her voice incredulous. “The one I go to?”

“Why not?” Minji shrugs, grabbing her towel and tossing it into the laundry basket. “It’s not a date, right? If you’re just hanging out with a friend, I don’t see why I can’t come along.”

Ning stares at her, unsure whether to laugh or panic. “Are you serious?”

Minji leans down slightly, her glasses sliding down her nose as she meets Ning’s wide-eyed gaze. “Dead serious.”

“But…” Ning struggles to find a reason, any reason, why this is a terrible idea. “What about your coursework? You’re always busy.”

Minji straightens up, brushing her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease. “I can spare a night. Besides,” she adds, smirking, “I want to meet this ‘just a friend’ of yours.”

Minji’s calm confidence is both reassuring and terrifying. She knows Minji means well, but she also knows her friend. Minji doesn’t just show up. She observes.

Still, it’s hard to say no when Minji looks at her like that, her dark eyes steady and full of quiet determination.

“Okay,” Ning says finally. “You can come.”

Minji smiles, a triumphant glint in her eye. “Great. I’ll get ready.”

As Minji walks away, Ning flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. This was supposed to be simple. Just her, the bar, and a chance to take things slow with you.

Now?

She has no idea what’s about to happen.

—

The bar’s hum is steady but quiet tonight, soft music playing from the jukebox, mingling with the low murmur of scattered conversations. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and vaguely thinking about the economics lecture you skipped today when the door swings open.

You look up instinctively, and there she is—Ning. Except she’s not alone.

Ning walks in first, a bundle of energy in her casual but cool outfit: a cropped black sweater that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, paired with loose cargo pants that sit snug on her hips, and her ever-present Doc Martens. She looks great—like she always does—but it’s the girl walking in behind her that makes your breath catch.

Minji.

She’s dressed simply—an elegant cream blouse tucked into high-waisted, dark-wash jeans that make her legs look impossibly long. Her black hair falls in a sleek curtain down her back, and she’s wearing the kind of gold-rimmed glasses that make other people look like try-hards but somehow make her look even more stunning. There’s something about her presence—poised but approachable, with a quiet confidence that fills the room—that makes it hard to look away.

“Hey!” Ning’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts as she practically bounces over to the counter. She gestures enthusiastically toward her companion. “This is my best friend, Minji. You’ll love her.”

You recover quickly, setting the glass down and offering a smile. “Hey, Minji. Nice to meet you.”

Minji steps forward, her smile polite but warm. “Nice to meet you too. Ning comes here every week, I got curious and realized I needed to see it myself.”

You nod, trying not to seem too obvious as you take her in. “Well, welcome. Hope it lives up to the hype.”

Ning slides onto her usual stool, pulling out her sketchbook like it’s just another normal night. “He’s being modest. It’s the coolest place ever. And the bartender’s alright, I guess.”

You smirk at her teasing but find yourself glancing back at Minji. “What can I get you two?”

“The usual for me,” Ning says, flipping through the pages of her sketchbook.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Something light. I don’t drink much—health reasons.”

“Got it.” You start preparing the drinks, glancing at her again. “If you don’t mind me asking, health reasons?”

Ning's Coke is ready in moments, she takes a sip absentmindedly as she looks at her sketchbook.

“I have a heart condition,” she says casually, like she’s used to explaining it. “Nothing too serious, but I can’t really handle strong drinks.”

“Fair enough,” you say, sliding the glass across the counter toward her. “This should be light enough.”

She takes a sip, her lips curving into a small smile. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Ning, who’s been scribbling something in her sketchbook, looks up suddenly. “Minji has been really nosy lately, she wouldn't leave me alone until I brought her here, she's never done this before.”

“Oh yeah?” you say, raising an eyebrow at Minji. “Was she really that mysterious about it?”

Minji laughs softly, setting her drink down. “You have no idea. She’d leave without saying much, come back late, and when I’d ask where she was, she’d just shrug and say ‘out.’” She glances at Ning, her tone amused. “It was suspicious.”

Ning groans dramatically. “It wasn’t suspicious! I just didn’t feel like explaining.”

“Well, I’m glad you brought her along tonight,” you say, smiling at Minji. “It’s nice to meet one of Ning’s friends.”

“Best friend,” Ning corrects, nudging Minji with her elbow. “We’ve known each other forever.”

Minji chuckles. “She’s exaggerating. It’s only been a few years. But yeah, we’ve been through a lot together.”

You lean against the counter, genuinely curious. “How’d you two meet?”

“Orientation,” Minji says, glancing at Ning.

“At first I thought she was snobbish for being so serious."

“And I thought you looked like a troublemaker,” Minji counters, her eyes sparkling with humor.

You can’t help but laugh at their banter. “So, Minji, what are you studying?”

“International business,” she says, adjusting her glasses slightly. “What about you?”

“Business administration,” you reply, and her face lights up with interest.

“Oh, really? That’s great. What year are you in?”

“Third,” you say. “It’s not as glamorous as international business, but it keeps me busy.”

“It’s not glamorous,” Minji says with a small smile. “But it’s practical. And honestly, that’s more important.”

You nod, impressed by her straightforwardness. “So what made you choose international business?”

She takes another sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful. “I guess I like the idea of understanding how things work on a global scale. It’s a challenge, but I enjoy it.”

Ning, who’s been quiet for a moment, suddenly speaks up. “She’s being humble. She’s the smartest person I know. She even helps me figure out my art projects sometimes.”

Minji shrugs, clearly a little embarrassed. “I just give her feedback. She’s the real talent.”

You glance at Ning, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of feedback?”

“She helps me refine ideas,” Ning says, twirling her pencil. “Like, if I’m stuck on a concept, she’ll point out things I didn’t think of. It’s annoying how good she is at it.”

Minji rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of affection in her expression. “It’s not that hard. I just have an outside perspective.”

“Well, it sounds like you two make a good team,” you say, genuinely impressed by their dynamic.

Minji smiles, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than you expect. “We do. But I think I understand why Ning likes coming here now. It’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Ning chimes in, her voice a little softer. “It is.”

The three of you fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking and laughing like old friends. But every now and then, you catch yourself glancing at Minji, wondering what it is about her that feels so… magnetic.

—

The bar has never been livelier for you, not because of an influx of customers but because Ning and Minji have made it their unofficial hangout spot. At first, it was a bit surreal—Ning showing up with her best friend in tow, bright-eyed and eager to introduce her to her favorite bartender. But over the next few weeks, it becomes routine.

Monday Night

Ning and Minji arrive together, as they always do. Ning’s dressed in her usual casual style—cropped sweatshirt, ripped jeans, and her trusty Doc Martens—while Minji looks effortlessly polished in a tailored blazer over a white camisole and straight-leg pants.

“Usual?” you ask Ning, already reaching for the soda gun.

“Of course,” she says, hopping onto her usual stool.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

“I’ll take the same thing as last time,” she says, her smile easy. “That drink was great.”

You get to work, sliding the Coke over to Ning and preparing Minji’s light cocktail. “So, how’s the week been treating you two?”

“Terrible,” Ning groans dramatically, opening her sketchbook. “I’m behind on like, three projects.”

Minji snorts, glancing at Ning over the rim of her glass. “That’s because you spent the entire weekend rewatching Spirited Away instead of working.”

“It was research!” Ning protests, flipping through her sketches. “It’s a masterpiece!”

You chuckle, leaning on the bar. “She’s got a point. Spirited Away is definitely worth rewatching.”

Minji raises an eyebrow. “I don’t disagree. But maybe she could balance her research with her deadlines.”

The two of you share a laugh, and Ning pouts.

“You’re both nerds,” she mutters, earning a grin from you.

“Guilty as charged,” you say, raising a random glass in a mock toast.

Wednesday Night

Tonight, Minji’s in a soft blue sweater that matches her dark-rimmed glasses, her hair swept back in a loose braid. Ning looks a little tired, probably from pulling an all-nighter.

“You look like death,” Minji observes bluntly as they sit down.

“Gee, thanks,” Ning says, dropping onto the stool and slumping over the counter.

“You okay?” you ask, sliding her a Coke without waiting for her order.

“Just tired,” Ning mumbles, sipping her drink.

Minji tilts her head at you. “So, did you finish that econ paper you mentioned last time?”

You perk up, surprised she remembered. “Yeah, just barely. Turns out writing about financial markets at two in the morning isn’t fun.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Minji says, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I bet you still nailed it.”

Ning watches the exchange, feeling a pang of something she can’t quite name. She clears her throat. “Hey, can we talk about something not boring?”

“Sure,” you say, turning to her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Aliens,” Ning declares, grinning. “Do you think they exist?”

Minji sighs. “Oh god, not this again.”

You laugh, genuinely amused. “Honestly? I hope so. Would make the universe a lot more interesting.”

Ning beams, satisfied, while Minji shakes her head. “This is why she likes coming here,” Minji says dryly. “You encourage her nonsense.”

“Hey,” you protest, “it’s not nonsense. It’s curiosity.”

Minji chuckles, and Ning feels a little less out of place.

Friday Night

The bar is slightly busier, but the two of them still manage to snag their usual seats. Minji looks radiant in a sleek black blouse and gold hoop earrings, her makeup subtle but flawless. Ning, in her oversized hoodie and her Doc Martens looks comfortable but feels distinctly underdressed next to her friend.

“You look nice tonight,” you say to Minji as you hand her drink over.

“Thanks,” she replies, her voice calm and self-assured. “Ning practically dragged me out of the dorm, so I figured I’d make an effort.”

“You’re welcome,” Ning says with mock pride.

“So,” Minji says, turning to you, “tell me more about your business classes. Do you focus on entrepreneurship or management?”

“A little of both,” you reply, leaning on the counter. “Right now, we’re working on case studies about startups.”

“Oh, I love those,” Minji says, her eyes lighting up. “Which case studies are you doing?”

As you dive into the topic, Ning finds herself zoning out. The conversation is engaging—Minji is clearly knowledgeable, and you seem genuinely interested in what she has to say—but it’s not her world. She fiddles with her straw, feeling invisible as the two of you talk animatedly about market trends and business strategies.

Eventually, she clears her throat. “Hey, do you think they’d let me draw on the walls here?”

Both of you turn to her, surprised.

“I mean, this place could use some art,” she says, grinning.

“Go for it,” you say, laughing. “Just don’t tell my boss I approved it.”

Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly creative,” Ning corrects, feeling a little more grounded again.

Sunday Night

The bar is nearly empty, the quiet hum of the jukebox filling the space. Ning is doodling absently in her sketchbook, while Minji sips her drink and chats with you.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Minji asks, her tone light but genuinely curious.

“Work, mostly,” you admit. “But when I have time, I like hiking. Clears my head.”

“I didn’t peg you as the outdoorsy type,” she says, a hint of teasing in her voice.

You shrug. “Gotta balance all the business talk with something peaceful.”

Ning glances up from her sketchbook, watching the two of you. There’s something about the way Minji leans slightly forward when she talks to you, the way her smile lingers a little longer.

“Do you hike?” you ask Minji.

“Sometimes,” she says. “But only when Ning drags me along.”

“Hey, I make hiking fun,” Ning protests, jumping back into the conversation.

“You complain the whole time,” Minji points out, smirking.

“Because you always pick the hardest trails!”

You laugh, the sound warm and genuine. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us,” Minji says.

Ning blinks, caught off guard by the suggestion. She glances between you and Minji, unsure how to feel about the way this strange triangle is starting to form.

As the night winds down, the three of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, but Ning can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting—slowly, subtly, but undeniably.

—

The three of you have fallen into a strange, unspoken routine—meeting up not just at the bar but beyond it, like some evolving trio of mismatched energy. It feels natural, at least on the surface, even if Ning occasionally finds herself analyzing every interaction, dissecting every glance and laugh.

Tonight, you’re at the movies, sitting in a darkened theater. Ning insisted on watching the latest animated film, claiming it was "research" for her art, though the truth is she just really loves animated movies. You and Minji went along with it, no complaints. Ning sits between you and Minji, a giant bucket of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap.

Halfway through the movie, she notices how Minji leans slightly toward you, sharing whispered comments about the plot. Ning can’t quite hear what you’re saying, but the low rumble of your laugh makes her feel strangely uncomfortable.

“Pass the popcorn,” you murmur, your hand brushing Ning’s as you reach for the bucket.

She stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “Here. Don’t eat all the good pieces.”

“You’re weirdly protective of popcorn,” you tease, taking a handful.

“Popcorn hierarchy is a real thing,” she replies, smirking. But her voice sounds hollow to her own ears.

Minji chuckles, leaning closer. “She’s serious about it. She once bit my hand when I took the last caramel piece.”

“I did not bite you!” Ning protests, her cheeks flushing.

Minji glances at you, her smile lingering. “She absolutely did.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I believe it.”

The sound of your laugh sends a pang through Ning’s chest. She knows it’s stupid, knows she’s overthinking. But the way you and Minji interact—effortless, like equals—feels different.

Later That Week

The three of you are at a college basketball game, seated in the bleachers. It was your idea this time, a way to do something “normal and fun” after a week of classes. Ning, determined to feel confident, showed up in a cropped tank top and tight jeans, her makeup more pronounced than usual.

But as the game goes on, she notices the subtle ways you treat her. When she trips on the bleachers, you catch her arm, laughing softly. “Careful, kid. Don’t want you breaking something.”

“Kid?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I’m literally an adult.”

“Barely,” you tease, ruffling her hair in a way that makes her want to scream.

Meanwhile, when Minji leans over to ask you something, your tone shifts. It’s subtle, but Ning catches it. You’re attentive, leaning slightly closer, your voice quieter. When Minji laughs at something you say, it’s like the whole world fades out for a second, leaving just the two of you.

Ning fiddles with her phone, pretending not to notice.

At one point, Minji turns to her. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Ning says quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… not a huge basketball fan.”

Minji studies her for a moment but doesn’t press. She turns back to you, asking something about the game. Ning doesn’t bother listening.

The Bar, One Week Later

It’s a typical slow night, the kind you’ve come to expect when it’s not the weekend. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and occasionally glancing at the door out of habit. When it swings open, you look up, expecting to see Ning and Minji together as usual.

But it’s just Minji.

She steps inside, her presence as poised as ever. She’s wearing a fitted black turtleneck and a sleek gray coat, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. There’s a calm confidence in the way she walks, like she owns the space without even trying.

“Hey,” you say, smiling as she approaches the bar. “Where’s Ning?”

“She’s sick,” Minji replies, sliding onto one of the stools. “It’s just me tonight.”

There's a hint of excitement in her voice, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The absence of Ning—her usual energy, her playful remarks—feels strange. But Minji’s presence is undeniable, grounding.

“Just you,” you repeat, setting a glass on the counter. “Alright. What can I get you?”

Minji smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “Surprise me.”

part 3

#minji smut #kim minji #minji x reader #minji newjeans #Minji new jeans smut #ningning smut #ningning aespa #ning yizhuo smut #ningning x reader #aespa ningning smut #aespa ning yizhuo #newjeans minji #kpop m!reader #kpop male oc #kpop male reader #kpop smut #m!reader

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darkmatilda · 3 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer knew the statistics about long-distance relationships—you knew he did, after all, he’d mindlessly mentioned them to you so many times, never realizing that every time he did, it felt like twisting the knife. but despite the initial struggles and the first tough month apart, it started to seem like they really didn’t apply to the two of you.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: glasses reid x bau!female reader, long distance relationship&timezones, reader struggling with loneliness and sense of gloom, reader attending interpol training in another country (in netherlands tho it doesnt have much impact on the plot), queen elle being their relationship therapist for a whole one scene straight <33

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.8k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by @mggslover but i'd write it anyway cause i missed my og beloved cutest couple xx

Click.

The light switch gave a soft snap, and light spilled through your apartment, letting you hang up your coat and bag. Odd—it didn’t feel at all like the weight of either had been lifted from your body.

Click.

Even such a small sound felt loud in the silence of your apartment. Always silent. When you tried to cover it up with TV or music, the place seemed to push those sounds away. To reject them, to refuse to let them seep into the walls and thin out the loneliness that clung to them.

You turned the light back off—you were heading straight to the bedroom anyway, not even stopping by the bathroom. But then something came to mind, something that made you freeze for a second.

Click.

You knew your boyfriend would freak out if he even imagined you crawling into the bed you shared without at least washing your hands after a full day out—at work, in that bacteria trap known as public transport. Okay, maybe freak out was a bit of an exaggeration. It’s not like he’d kick you out of bed or crash on the couch. You knew, though, that he wouldn’t feel comfortable with it. And that knowledge alone was enough to make you slip under the covers only after changing into clean clothes.

Well, your boyfriend wasn’t there.

Still, you made yourself go through that small ritual—one that, in its silly little way, let you pretend things were different.

It had only been a month since you moved to a different country, a whole different continent, for a training program offered by Interpol. A program that was, honestly, a great opportunity to gain new knowledge and skills. One you’d come to…genuinely enjoy. More than that—it gave you more fulfillment than your time with the BAU ever had. Before it started, you hadn’t even realized a job could bring that kind of satisfaction.

You were thriving. But that didn’t mean you felt okay.

Every time you came back to the apartment, the motivation you’d had during the day seemed to vanish. You’d remember you were in a foreign country, that everyone you loved was an ocean away, and when you stripped it all down—you were completely, fucking alone.

So every day, you came back to your four walls, reached for your phone—the one thing that helped you feel a little better, though only for a moment. Once the call ended, everything came rushing back.

You knew things would’ve been different if you’d tried to engage more—make new friends, go out, do something. By isolating yourself like that, you were missing the chance to truly experience the culture, and only making your state of mind worse.

But it was the same as with every other vicious cycle. Hard to break, even when you know it’s leading nowhere. Or somewhere—but nowhere good.

Finally, in your bedroom, you let yourself sink into the mattress for a brief moment—as if testing whether it could still offer the same comfort it once did. Back when you used to wait for this exact moment after long, exhausting days at work: that soft collapse into the sheets, the burying of your face in the pillow, letting your body relax and your eyes close.

It hadn’t felt that way since you left.

Lately, you’d even fallen asleep in a stiff armchair and barely noticed the difference. The only thing that still brought you comfort—the one thing you actually looked forward to—was reaching for your phone.

You did just that. But before starting the call, you turned on the front camera, studying your expression closely. Trying to brighten your eyes a little, lift the corners of your mouth just enough. With a seven-hour time difference, you didn’t get many chances during the day to really talk. So you didn’t want to ruin this one with your gloom.

When you were sure you’d managed it, you curled up on your side in bed and began the phone call. Spencer picked up almost immediately, used to your special time—just the two of you. His face stretched across the screen, your cheek pressed into the pillow, the whole thing reflected in the lenses of his glasses.

“Hello, Handsome,” you greeted, laughing almost immediately at his reaction.

Though he had gotten used to the pretty boy nickname, handsome still made him blush just a little. You knew it was only a matter of time before he grew accustomed to it, and then you'd have to find something new. But for now, you decided not to worry about that.

Spencer was silent, patiently waiting for you to stop laughing, but there was nothing hurried in his gaze. On the contrary, he seemed to be listening intently to the sound, his head slightly tilted.

"Every day, the same," he sighed.

"That’s because you look handsome every day. I’m just stating a constant, unchanging fact. If I were hosting the news, I’d start with, Ladies and gentlemen, Spencer Reid looks incredible today, as always. Now, let’s move on to today’s events…"

Often, due to exhaustion, nothing you said made sense, but it never seemed to bother him.

"But when I tried to state a fact the other day and told you that you looked beautiful, you scoffed at me," he complained.

"That was after I came out of the shower, silly. I looked like a wet rat. There’s no universe where that could be a fact and not, I don’t know, something you said because you kind of like me," you replied.

Spencer’s eyebrows shot up.

"Kind of like you?"

"Slightly"

"So, according to your logic, I deeply hate everyone else around me?"

You shrugged lightly.

"Can’t read your mind, Spence."

For a moment, he was silent, and to your surprise, a genuinely worried, or at least thoughtful, expression appeared on his face.

"I hate that you think that," he confessed after a while, pressing his lips together for a moment before adding, "I mean, does that mean I’m telling you that you look beautiful just because you're my girlfriend, like it's some sort of obligation? In the universe I live in, I’d think you’re beautiful even if you were a wet rat."

Spencer Reid, the expert at giving compliments. After a moment, even he realized what he had just said and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Can…can we pretend I didn’t say that? I just called you beautiful, not mentioning anything about rats."

"Nope. I’m taking that compliment to the grave”

He sighed softly. You began to feel your eyelids growing heavy, and you almost had to force them open wider. Had you been talking for only ten minutes? You hadn’t even asked about him, realizing that you had spent that precious time, which you didn’t get to share much, talking about whether or not you were beautiful—and now, you felt a bit silly.

"So, how was your day?"

His voice only deepened your sleepiness, but not because what he was saying was boring. It never was. The whole problem was that listening to him with your eyes half-closed allowed you to imagine that you were truly close to each other, faces inches apart, in the same bed, not just on the cold phone screen. He couldn’t see it, nor could he feel it, of course, but your thumb gently traced a path across his forehead, cheek, lips—lips moving as he spoke.

You didn’t even notice when you had switched off. Spencer, however, did.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly said, pulling you out of your not-so-happy thoughts. “It’s late for you, you must be tired, and I’ve been rambling…”

“No, it’s fine,” you quickly reassured him, waking up. “I mean, we’ve only been talking for…”

“There’s no specific amount of time we have to talk. If you’re tired…”

“I’m not,” you stubbornly repeated, though it came out a little harsher than intended. If you were upset, it was only at yourself, for not having the energy to carry on a proper conversation with your boyfriend.

"Okay," he replied with a sigh that seemed to give way. "Alright, if that's what you say."

For a moment, silence settled, and you expected him to ask you something, to check on you. Ask about what he'd been talking about, if you had really been listening. But he wasn’t like that. He didn’t need to test your honesty.

You both started talking a little lighter, lazy chatter that, strangely, caused some pressure in your stomach. There were probably so many things he wanted to tell you, but he had held them back so as not to overwhelm you at this hour. If you were together, it would have been different. He could have told you at any time of day, whispered it in your ear while you were drifting to sleep, because you would be lying down at the same time.

Phone conversations have a way of letting you sense when they’re coming to an end. For you two, it always came with a moment of silence and that one simple, repeating assurance.

"I miss you," he said.

You stared at his face on the screen, feeling your throat close up. You couldn’t speak, not because you didn’t feel the same way. Of course, you did. It was just that feeling that stole your words; you were so tired of telling him how much you missed him.

"I miss you too," you replied after a long moment, softly, barely forcing your lips to move.

You might have felt bad, but you couldn’t imagine not answering him.

Before the conversation came to an end, Spencer looked at you for a moment longer, and you could see a faint, sad shadow in his eyes.

JJ laid her cards on the table, immediately raising both hands in a victory gesture.

Defeated, Morgan tossed his cards aside. Spencer, on the other hand, simply shook his head with a sigh, gathering all the cards to shuffle them for the next round. Although, he hadn’t decided yet if he even wanted to play. He’d lose anyway. He was too lost in his thoughts, worries, to focus.

“No offense, gentlemen, but beating you doesn’t give me any satisfaction,” JJ declared, pressing her back against the seat backrest on the jet. “None at all. Oh, at times like this, I really miss her. My only worthy opponent.”

At the sound of your name, Spencer almost let the cards slip from his hands. He had been thinking about you, and when it was spoken aloud, it caused that funny collision between reality and what was going on in his mind. And he had been thinking about you mostly because of your conversation the day before. During which, something had clearly been off, but he had no idea what. You seemed a bit down, but he didn’t know how to ask about it. At some point, he had rambled on too, which might have just seemed tiring to you.

"Elle, maybe you’ll join us?" JJ asked her teammate.

Spencer turned over his shoulder. Greenaway was sitting behind them, alone, with her laptop open, almost blocking her face.

"Hm?" She lifted her head, her brown eyes scanning their faces as she looked around thoughtfully. It took a moment for her to realize what the question was about. "Oh. No, sorry, but I'm busy with another game right now."

To prove her point, she turned her laptop around, showing them the chessboard on the screen.

"You're playing chess online?" Spencer asked, surprised.

He stood up from his seat to sit across from Elle. He hadn’t even known that was an option, but something about it immediately didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t imagine playing chess without sitting across from his opponent, analyzing their expression and the subtle, carefully hidden but still somehow slipping reactions.

"You know, I’d play with you if you asked."

Elle didn’t glance at him, fully focused on her virtual chess game. To his surprise, however, a mysterious smile appeared on her lips.

"Who said I wanted to play with you?" she asked. "But seriously, maybe next time. Right now, I have another opponent. You know her, by the way."

Spencer blinked in confusion, utterly unaware of what she was talking about. He’d never played chess online, so he had no idea who any of her internet opponents could be.

"I thought your girl would be much better. Maybe you could help her improve. Or maybe you’re not doing that on purpose so she doesn’t beat you?"

“You’re playing with…”

Elle nodded before he could finish. His mouth parted for a brief moment, in surprise. Okay, now it made sense. It also made sense why the chess opening on the screen seemed to tickle his memory, feeling strangely familiar.

For a while, Spencer just watched their game, imagining your lips pursed in concentration as you hesitated over what to do with your queen. But then he shook his head, pushing the vision away—it reminded him too much of how much he missed that sight. Missed your lips in general. Missed you.

A fleeting smile crossed his face when you beat Elle.

“Could I talk to you about something?” he asked once the game was over, lowering his voice slightly so the rest of the team wouldn’t hear.

It felt strange to bring this up even with her. He rarely reached out to anyone for relationship advice—both of you had always operated under the rule that there was no problem you couldn’t solve together, just the two of you. Then again, that rule hadn’t accounted for this many miles apart for this long.

Elle looked at him closely, immediately sensing something was up.

“Sure,” she said slowly. “What’s going on?”

Spencer took a deep breath.

“I’m a little worried about her,” he admitted. “And about our relationship, but mostly about her.”

“Why? Has she been acting strange?”

“A bit? I mean, we’re still talking, things are generally okay, but she seems kind of down. More withdrawn, and sometimes…sometimes I get the feeling she’s forcing herself to talk to me because she thinks she has to. I don’t know, maybe something happened that she doesn’t want to tell me about. And I know I shouldn’t be asking, you don’t have to say anything if it feels wrong…but has she mentioned anything to you?”

His friend stayed completely still and silent for a moment too long. Reid felt a strange tightness coil in his stomach, making it hard to breathe. The longer the silence dragged on, the more convinced he became that his theory might actually be right. And if that part was true, then so was what he was about to say next.

“We both agreed to this,” he continued quietly. “I mean, to being long distance. Not like we had much of a choice, but…you know what I mean. We could’ve just…ended it.”

Just saying that felt wrong in his mouth, like a sour taste. He didn’t want to imagine a world in which they’d chosen to let go.

“And…I just keep wondering if maybe she regrets it. Maybe this is harder for her than it is for me—because she’s in a completely new place, and maybe she’d rather focus on her life and her work there, instead of forcing herself to keep talking to me…”

“Spencer,” Elle interrupted him gently.

She rarely used his first name, and hearing it now carried a quiet kind of tenderness. Her lips pressed together for a moment as if she were carefully choosing her words. Eventually, she sighed.

“Spencer…first of all, I have to tell you—I don’t think I know anything you don’t. Let’s start there. And second…” she exhaled slowly, “we both know her. So you know how much she tends to keep to herself. Especially when it comes to things that worry or upset her—she doesn’t want anyone else to carry the weight. And usually, you can tell by watching her…but now? You can’t. You only have phone calls. So yeah, I’m guessing a lot is slipping through the cracks. And maybe she doesn’t want to tell you everything, not because she doesn’t trust you, but because—okay, I’m guessing here—you two probably don’t have much time to talk. So when you do, she’d rather spend it enjoying that moment with you, instead of unloading all the heavy stuff. You get that, right?”

Spencer didn’t nod, didn’t say anything at first—but he understood. He understood perfectly; everything Elle had just described fit her so well it almost hurt. And yet, it still didn’t answer the one question that had been gnawing at him the most.

“But what should I do?”

“Well, I doubt this’ll shock you, but…talk to her,” she replied with a small, quiet snort. “Like, really talk to her. Let her know it’s okay to talk about the hard stuff too. But Reid…I can’t speak for her, obviously, but I really don’t think she wants to end things.”

He studied her face, trying to see if she truly meant it—or if she was only saying what she thought he needed to hear, just to keep him from walking around miserable all day while they were supposed to be focused on the case.

“You really think so?” he asked softly, a note of hope creeping into his voice.

“What I think,” she said, “is that you two are actually made for each other. And you can handle a lot more than just some time apart. Seriously, Reid. Just…make sure you talk it through. For real.”

He was quiet for a moment, a small, grateful smile playing on his lips.

“Thank you, Elle.”

“Don’t mention it. And if that’s all, then stop bothering me. It’s time for a rematch with your girlfriend…”

“You know, I didn’t suggest it to you earlier,” you began, pausing as you settled more comfortably on the couch with your laptop on your knees. This time, you could only see your boyfriend’s face in a tiny window in the corner of the screen—the rest was taken up by the chessboard. “Because I didn’t think you’d like it. Considering the fact that you’re… well, you’re…oh, no offense, but you’re kind of a huge technophobe sometimes.”

He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, thinking over your words. Then, with a small, defeated nod, he conceded.

“You’re not wrong. But I’m starting to come around. To technology, I mean,” he clarified with a soft sigh. “For you.”

“Ah, that terrible girlfriend of yours, forcing you to adapt to the modern world,” you muttered, shaking your head in mock disapproval.

“Ah, that terrible yet absolutely amazing girlfriend of mine who always has a sarcastic comment ready and just can’t resist teasing me,” he shot back in the same tone, matching your expression perfectly—except for the soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You mirrored it when you noticed the subtle movement of his throat as he swallowed. “Before we start the game…can we talk for a bit? Just…talk?”

You frowned slightly at the clear note of request in his voice. You both had the day off, finally a chance to spend more time together, to really enjoy each other's company—and had naturally decided on a game (or a few) of chess. You’d been feeling unusually good that day, and it seemed like he had too. You were expecting a cozy afternoon, just the two of you, which is why his gentle question made a small knot of worry form in your chest.

“Sure,” you said, dragging the word out just a little. “Nothing’s wrong…right?”

"I don't know," Spencer admitted, to your surprise. "Is it?"

You shook your head slightly, brows furrowed, not quite understanding him. He suddenly sighed, adjusting his glasses on his nose in a nervous gesture.

"Sorry, that came out wrong. What I really meant to say…" he hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment. "You know you can talk to me about anything. Anytime you need to."

You blinked at that, not quite an admission, but more of a reminder.

"Yeah, I know that," you admitted, swallowing. "I’ve never...never felt any differently. Not with you."

To your surprise, again, he didn’t seem entirely convinced.

"I have a different feeling," he confessed after a moment of silence. You completely forgot you were supposed to be playing chess, your eyes fixed entirely on his face on the screen. "Something’s going on, and you don’t want to tell me because you don’t like when people worry about you. But what worries me more is that I don’t know what’s troubling you. I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s how it feels."

You suppressed a sigh, feeling, in a way, cornered.

"Nothing’s happening, Spencer. I just feel so lonely, that’s all. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to falling asleep alone, but it’s not something you can really fix right now, so I didn’t see the point in telling you."

You felt his gaze resting on you, and you lowered your eyes to the keyboard of your laptop, struggling to respond.

"You see?" you began, forcing yourself to shrug indifferently. "It’s really nothing serious. I’m probably overreacting. It’s only been a month, and I’ll get used to it soon. I probably shouldn’t even be telling you about this..."

"But I’m glad you did," he interrupted. You finally allowed yourself to look up at his face, immediately meeting the warmth in his eyes. You involuntarily felt a bit teary, causing you to blink more often. "It’s not overreacting. You have every right to feel lonely, lost, being there on your own. I just wish you would talk to me about these things. Now that I know, I can...I don’t know...try to reach out to you more often." He trailed off, as if both of you had thought of the same thing. No number of phone calls could replace the real contact of being with someone, standing face to face, and the touch. "I’m sorry I’m not there."

Something tightened in your chest, though a soft laugh escaped your lips.

"Spencer, you can't apologize for something like this."

He nodded slightly.

"I know. But...I think I have an idea on what to do to make you feel at least a little better. Well, at least in this one regard."

That night, you lay down in bed with your phone next to you, listening to his gentle voice. It only seemed like a conversation for a brief moment, as sleepiness soon overtook you and you stopped responding. However, the phone call remained uninterrupted, and his words stayed with you as you drifted off to sleep. Because, as you had realized once, with your eyes closed, you were capable of believing in a lot of things.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal mind #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you

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ginnsbaker · 2 months ago

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All Of Your Pieces (23 - The First Days of Spring)

Chapter Summary: You spotted them a few blocks from the orphanage, just past an alleyway, Steve’s visit still hanging over your head. Wanda stood stiffly, arms wrapped around herself, her chin tilted up as she talked to her ex-boyfriend. You thought it was just Steve who came to Scotland to talk to you—it didn’t occur to you that they would try to get Wanda back too.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5.1k+ | Chapter Tags: fluff and minor angst, mentions of child abuse

A/N: And just like that, we’re back in the real world, closer and closer to the conclusion of Part II. Everything from here rolls downhill fast. // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Spring was a slow hatchling, taking its time to crack through winter's brittle shell. Patches of green clawed stubbornly out of the thawing earth, and somewhere in the distance, birdsong threaded through the air. You’d almost forgotten about birds. The weeks had been muddy, and today, the sky hung heavy with the promise of rain. Still, you couldn’t help but look forward to sunlit picnics with Wanda—to making her little sandwiches, spreading out a blanket, and reading to her until the light faded into soft gold.

But Wanda didn’t care about the season or the idea of picnics in the park.

She cared about a certain kid.

It was the boy from the orphanage where she volunteered. The one with the hollowed-out eyes, bruises that never seemed to fade, and a never-ending string of “accidents” from the roughest home you could imagine. Wanda had seen his mother once, yelling in the parking lot, yanking his arm hard enough that his tiny sneakers skidded on the pavement.

And now the mother was yelling again, and the child was crying, his face streaked with dirt and tears, and the woman’s grip was so tight it was leaving red marks on the kid’s pale skin.

Somehow, Wanda had managed to track them to their home, a run-down shack on the edge of the woods, border of the city.

“Wanda!” you called, hurrying across the cracked asphalt. The second you saw her face that morning—heard her say she had something to take care of—you followed. “Hey! What’s going on?”

“She hit him,” Wanda said through gritted teeth, her voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “I saw it, Y/N. She—she grabbed him so hard he screamed.”

The boy hiccupped through his sobs, shrinking back against his mother’s hip.

“Wanda,” you tried again, taking a calculated step. “You need to breathe.”

The wind kicked up around you, whipping Wanda’s hair across her face. Her hand twitched, her fingers curling ever so slightly. You knew what that meant.

She was seconds away from doing something she wouldn’t be able to take back.

“Wanda, listen to me,” you said, stepping in front of her, blocking her line of sight to the house—of the mother. “You can’t do this. You know you can’t.”

Wanda’s eyes blazed red as she regarded you, your presence clearly not doing anything for her temper. “You want me to let her keep hurting him?” she spat. “Is that it?”

“No, of course not,” you said. “I’m saying we report her. We get someone involved who can actually do something about it.”

“You know we can’t go to the police, Y/N.”

That was true. Over a year had passed, yet your names still sat on Interpol's most-wanted list. If the authorities caught even a hint of your presence here in Scotland, it wouldn’t just be trouble for the two of you—it would put Steve and the entire group that followed him, at risk.

Time hadn’t dulled the relentless pressure of being hunted—it just gave you a breather.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said, voice lower now. “We’ve dealt with worse than this, Wanda.”

She closed her eyes, drawing in a sharp breath as her shoulders rose and fell with the effort to keep herself together. When she looked at you again, the glow in her had vanished, only to be replaced by something that broke your heart to see.

The woman clung to her child like she might never let go. Then, while you tried to calm Wanda, she seized the moment and quietly led her son away, both of them slipping off down the street, not daring to look back.

Wanda stayed rooted in place, but didn’t pull away when you stepped closer and rested your hands on her arms. “You don’t have to do this alone,” you told her quietly. “You can’t save everyone. Not like this.”

Her green eyes were glassy, her lips pressed into a tight line. “I just—he’s a kid, Y/N. He’s just… a kid.” She let herself collapse against you, her forehead pressing into your shoulder as her breathing slowed.

“I know,” you nodded, your thumbs brushing soothing circles against her arms.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against your shirt.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice soft. “You care, Wanda. That’s not a bad thing. But we have to be careful. We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll find a way to help.”

You felt her nod against your chest, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist as if she was afraid to let go.

The storm clouds broke overhead a few minutes later, the first raindrops pattering against the pavement as you stood there in the middle of the empty street, holding Wanda close.

The burner phone buzzed again in your pocket. Natasha had been calling for days, and you’d been ignoring every single one. You kept the phone on you anyway, unable to decide if you were ready to let go of this life with Wanda—or if you ever would be. But you weren’t about to answer now, not with Wanda falling apart in your arms.

—

The anonymous tip didn’t go the way you’d hoped.

You’d sent it carefully—no trace, no connection to you or Wanda. The police arrived at the address hours later, long after the mother and her boy had vanished. The shed was empty, save for a few discarded pieces of clothing and a broken chair. No neighbors spoke up. No one had seen anything, heard anything.

Without a witness, without evidence, the case was marked resolved. A polite way of saying nothing to see here.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Wanda. She would blame herself, spiral into guilt and anger for not acting when she had the chance.

The picnic was your way of distracting her, of giving her something to smile about. It was a Monday morning, your lunch break from the library unusually long thanks to a slow day and some traded shifts.

Wanda sat on the checkered blanket, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, her cheeks rosy from the brisk air. She was opening a container of sandwiches you’d packed when you slid closer to her, a sly grin spreading across your face.

“You know,” you started, leaning in just enough to make her glance at you, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look as good as you do holding a Tupperware lid.”

She rolled her eyes. “You might want to get your eyes checked,” she said, laughing softly as she placed the sandwiches between you.

“I’m serious,” you continued. “You look so hot doing everything and nothing.”

She shook her head, her smile growing as she pushed a sandwich toward you. “If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s working.”

You took the sandwich from her hands, but your appetite had waned. Wanda, bathed in sunlight, laughing softly as she brushed crumbs from her sweater—it was such a simple thing, so ordinary, yet it felt impossibly fragile. Like if you blinked too long, it would disappear.

But then Wanda looked at you, chewing thoughtfully as the corners of her mouth curled into a small smile, and you swore she looked like she belonged in a painting—like something precious and eternal that you didn’t deserve but somehow had anyway.

If you went back to your old lives—if Natasha’s calls meant what you thought they did—this fragile world you and Wanda had built could crumble. She was the one thing that made you feel whole, the only thing that mattered. And if that was ripped away...

“You know,” you said casually, as if you were discussing the weather, “I think we should get married.”

Wanda froze mid-chew, a tiny piece of lettuce still sticking out from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes widened, blinking rapidly as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard you correctly. She swallowed hard, her hand slowly setting the half-eaten sandwich down onto the Tupperware lid.

“What… what did you just say?”

You shrugged, your grin turning softer, more sincere. “I mean it. I love you, Wanda. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So, what do you say?”

She stared at you, her mouth opening and closing like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious,” you said, your hand finding hers on the blanket. “I didn’t bring a ring or anything. I guess I’m not that great at planning picnics. But I’m serious, Wanda.”

“You’re asking me this now? Here?” Wanda repeated, looking at you like you’d grown another three heads.

You shrugged, feigning cool but deep inside you were panicking. “Well, the sun’s out, you’re ridiculously beautiful, and I’ve… always wanted to.”

Wanda let out an unrestrained laugh, her head tipping downward as her hands came up to cover her mouth. Her shoulders trembled, and for a second, you worried she was upset—maybe even angry.

You worried she was going to say no.

“Did you even plan this?”

The truth was, you had a ring. It had been sitting inside one of your socks in the cabinet drawer for weeks. You’d tucked it away, thinking you’d wait a few years before getting down on one knee. But lately, patience had been wearing thin. You’d been catching yourself imagining that moment more and more often. Timing was never your strong suit, though—and asking? You were even worse at that.

Wanda took your face in her hands, her laughter fading as she looked into your eyes earnestly.

“Y/N, you realize we can’t even get a marriage license, right?” she began, “We’re living under false identities. We don’t exist on paper, at least not as the people we are now. And that’s just the start. We’d have to fake even more documents, find someone willing to look the other way, and don’t even get me started on what happens if someone decides to dig into our backgrounds—”

She paused to take a breath, but she wasn’t done. “It’s not like we can just waltz into city hall in our wedding gowns with flowers and sign our names on a certificate. I can’t risk that. We can’t risk that. And even if we tried, what happens when someone recognizes us? What happens when—”

“Wanda.”

You said her name softly, but it was enough to stop her in her tracks.

“What?” she asked impatiently, and you could see her conflicted thoughts still tumbling around in her head.

You took her hands that were cupping your face and put them on your lap, lacing your fingers with hers. “You haven’t actually said yes yet,” you murmured. “And I’m starting to think you’re looking for a way to say no.”

“Y/N—”

“I know we can’t go sign papers and flash rings in front of a government clerk, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” You swallowed hard, trying to keep the rising knot of disappointment out of your throat.

“I’m saying we don’t need them, Wanda. We don’t need papers or signatures or any of that. We don’t even need witnesses. We can just… do it. Now, or back at home, wherever you want. Say our vows—”

“You’ve written your vows?”

You could feel her eyes on you, but you were not brave enough to look back up. At least, until you’ve gotten everything out in the open.

“Uh, yeah. And I have a ring back at home,” you admitted nervously. “It’s not fancy, but if you want to make it feel more official, it’s there. But if you say ‘I do’ right now, Wanda…”

You let the words hang between you, your thumb brushing over her knuckles. “It’ll be real. For me.”

“You really are serious,” she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, and the blush on your cheeks deepened.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything.”

For a moment, you thought she might start another rant, might bring up all the reasons this wasn’t practical or why you should wait. But instead, she lifted your chin and put her face close to yours, her breath warm against your lips as she whispered, “Okay then. I do.”

You finally lifted your eyes to hers. “You do?” you said, your voice breaking on a laugh.

“I do,” she repeated, her smile so wide it looked like it might split her face.

The world didn’t stop, but it might as well have. You leaned in, slow and unsure, like it really was the first time. And in a way, it was. The first kiss as people who married themselves. Her lips were soft, a little chapped, and she tasted faintly of ketchup. But the kiss remained perfect in every way.

When you opened your eyes, Wanda’s were shining, watery, like she’d been standing too close to the edge of something and didn’t know how far she might fall.

You didn’t realize you were crying too until her thumb brushed just under your eye.

“So… are we married now?” she asked softly, her nose brushing against yours.

You grinned, your chest feeling impossibly light. “I mean, yeah. In the ways that matter most, yeah.”

“Good,” she whispered, pulling you into another kiss. “Although I still want that ring and vows once we get home.”

You grinned. “As you wish, Mrs. Maximoff.”

You were married. In every way that mattered.

—

The very next thing you did after marrying Wanda in private was buy a property—well, more of a gift, really, since Wanda had no idea you were planning it. You picked New Jersey because it was close to New York without actually being New York, and that felt perfect. It’s somewhere near enough to your roots while still granting you a buffer of peace. Scotland had been beautiful and perfect for your time away, but it wasn’t truly home. It was part of the identities you’d been using to stay off the radar. Home was where you could be Y/N, and Wanda could be Wanda.

So, the day after your spontaneous wedding, you made a call to Clint. He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, “What’s new?”

“For someone who’s on house arrest you sound happy.”

“I have everything I want here, kid. My family. A farm.”

“That sounds amazing, actually,” you said, into the receiver. “Anyway, I got married yesterday.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then a throaty laugh. “You never do anything halfway, do you?”

“It wasn’t anything formal. It was just between me and Wanda, but it’s—it’s real.”

“I’m happy for you, kid.”

You smiled, looking down at the ring on your finger, still feeling a little lightheaded from happiness. “Thanks. Listen, I need a favor, and you’re the only one I trust. I want to buy a piece of land in Jersey. Under my real name.”

“Hang on,” Clint said, voice turning serious. “Under your real name?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “This is for me and Wanda—for our future. No more fake names. I just want to make sure everything goes smoothly and nobody starts asking questions.”

He made a thoughtful sound, and you could practically hear him leaning back in his chair. “Alright. I’ll make a few calls and see what I can do.”

True to his word, Clint came through. Within two days, he sent you a secure link to sign electronic documents for the deed of sale and the lot map. You practically hovered over the laptop, heart pounding as you set your digital signature to something you hadn’t used in what felt like lifetimes: your real name.

It made you strangely emotional to see it there, crisp and official on the deed. A document that said, for better or worse, that you existed—and you were claiming a little piece of the world as your own.

You printed the deed and the lot map, carefully rolling them up. Then you unrolled the map again, pulled out a pen, and scrawled your message in neat handwriting along the side: Where Maximoff will torment me for the rest of my days.

Your heart gave a fond lurch at the thought. Wanda’s teasing, her jokes at your expense, the way she’d get that mischievous glint in her eye. You slipped the map into an envelope, pressing down the seal firmly.

You set the envelope aside, your mind already spinning with how you’d present it. If you made too big a deal out of it, Wanda might freeze, thinking about all the risks. But if you made it too unserious, she might not realize just how monumental this was for you. You wanted to show her you believed in a future that was truly yours. A future where you were Y/N, and she was Wanda Maximoff, and no one could take that away from you.

Taking a breath, you forced yourself to refocus. There was dinner to prepare, chores to do, excuses to be made for why you were holed up in the study all afternoon. But just for a moment, you stayed with the vision of a little house in New Jersey.

—

When Wanda brought up having kids, you were halfway through your second boba and nearly choked on a tapioca pearl. You recovered quickly, but Wanda studied you for a long moment, her gaze sharper than you were used to—like she was reading every micro-expression, searching for the truth behind your reflexive panic.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you said, but even you could hear how unconvincing you sounded.

She didn’t let it go. “Are you sure?”

You cursed yourself internally. If she could see through you this easily, what hope did you have for any real secrets?

“Yeah,” you repeated, mustering a small smile. “I’m fine, really.”

But she was already circling back to her question. “So… about having kids. Did you… want that?”

You blinked, heartbeat stuttering all over again. “Wait—do you mean, like, in general? Do I like kids? Or… did you mean…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, suddenly aware of how warm your face felt. “Like, us? Having kids. Together.”

There was a brief, awkward silence. You tried to gauge her expression, but she gave nothing away—her tone could have been light, or maybe it was serious.

“Kids in general,” Wanda said, finally, her face unreadable.

You hadn’t lied to Wanda in a long time, and it felt natural—automatic, even—to give her the truth the moment you had the chance.

So you told her, “Yeah, I like kids. And they seem to like me too.” Wanda gave you a good-natured smirk at that, like she wasn’t surprised at all.

“You’re good with them,” she said, and you could hear the warmth behind it. She was probably thinking about all those afternoons you spent volunteering at the orphanage back in New York, letting the kids braid your hair or climb all over you without hesitation.

You nodded, but after a second, your gaze drifted. “I mean, I think I am. But… I’m not sure if that’s the same as having my own.”

“What do you mean?”

“I grew up in a broken family, Wanda. I don’t really know what good parenting looks like. I don’t know if I’d even know how to raise a kid right, or if I’d be able to love them the way they deserve.”

Wanda smiled at you. “You love me properly.”

You grinned, quick and crooked. “Yeah, but you can be pretty childish sometimes.”

She shook her head, pretending to be offended, but her playful warning was ruined by the way she was already laughing.

The laughter tapered off, and then you met Wanda’s eyes again.

“So,” you asked after a beat, “why are you suddenly thinking about kids?”

She balked, rolling her straw between her fingers. “What if we adopted?” she said, almost ordinary—except her voice caught on the last syllable.

You went still. “Adopt?” A dozen thoughts went through your head before you arrived at a conclusion. “You’re thinking about that boy again, aren’t you?”

She looked away, then nodded. “Yeah.”

You reached for your words like they might keep the ground from tilting beneath you. “I don’t know, Wanda. It sounds like a beautiful idea, it really does, but… it scares me.”

The words seemed to catch her off guard—like she hadn’t expected you to be so direct, or maybe she hadn’t really considered a flat no was even possible from you.

She didn’t answer right away. And that silence was worse.

You felt yourself scramble to soften the blow, even though you knew you were just being honest. “It’s not a never. I want to have this conversation again. With you.”

Wanda nodded slowly, like she was reining something in. “Yeah. You’re right,” she murmured. “And… we’re still hiding. We’re not…” Her voice trailed off.

“Not exactly living normal lives,” you finished for her.

“Yeah,” she said again.

You didn’t regret your answer, but you hated how uncertain it made everything feel. Was she disappointed in you?

She stood a second later, the motion a little too brisk to be casual. “I, um… I should check the laundry. If I leave it too long it’ll start to smell like rain.”

You didn’t know if you’d just had your first fight, or a pre-fight, or maybe a warning shot of something more.

But whatever it was, it didn’t feel resolved.

—

You were halfway through a battered copy of East of Eden when Steve Rogers walked into the library. You weren’t supposed to be reading—not technically. Your job was to stand near the entrance, smile politely at patrons, and make sure no one smuggled an entire encyclopedia set under their coat. But slow days meant slow rules, and the library staff didn’t mind you leaning against the shelves, book in hand, as long as you did your job.

You were underlining a passage with your finger—“And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.”—when his footsteps reached your ears. You recognized those boots, that walk.

Your thumb caught on the corner of the paper and when you looked up, Steve was already walking toward you, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his brown leather jacket. And though you’d braced yourself for the day someone from that life might walk through those glass doors, you weren’t prepared for the beard.

It softened him somehow, made him look less like the man you’d followed into fire and more like someone who fixed motorcycles for fun on weekends. But it was still him. And you didn’t realize until now that you kind of missed him too.

“Steve,” you said, snapping the book shut and tucking it under your arm. “You know you could’ve just texted.”

“Would you have answered?” he asked.

Fair question.

“Come on,” you said, jerking your head toward the stacks. Somewhere private.

The two of you walked deeper into the stacks, where the tall shelves swallowed up the view from the front desk.

You stopped near the philosophy section, surrounded by musty-smelling pages and the faces of long-dead thinkers staring out from their book covers.

“So,” you said, leaning back against the shelf. “What’s the pitch?”

“It’s not a pitch,” Steve said.

“It’s always a pitch with you guys,” you said, your lips curling into a humorless smile.

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. Up close, you could see the way exhaustion had settled into his features. Just what had he been doing this past year? Most importantly, you really wanted to ask him about the beard.

“Natasha thought you’d take this more seriously if I came instead of her,” he said.

“That’s because Natasha knows I’d block her number before she finished the word ‘favor.’”

Steve almost smiled at that. Almost. You glanced down, staring at the cover of the book under your arm. East of Eden. A story about choices, consequences. How fitting.

“I can’t help you,” you said finally before he could say more.

“Y/N—”

“You know,” you started, crossing your arms over your chest, “you’re the one who told us to do this. You looked us all in the eye and said, Run. Find somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. Build a life. Be happy. And now you’re here, in my library, with that face—like you want to take it all back.”

“That was then,” he said quietly. “Things have changed.”

“What exactly changed?”

“We don’t have all the details, yet, but,” Steve sighed. “I wouldn’t be here if things weren’t… worse.”

You glanced away, frustration simmering. “You can’t just show up here and ask me to… what, suit up again? To leave her? To leave this life behind because the sky’s falling again?” Your voice cracked slightly, and you cursed yourself for letting him hear it.

Steve nodded empathically. You didn’t usually believe people when they said they got it—but with Steve, you knew he did. He’d been here before, more times than anyone should. He’d lost more, had things—people—ripped away from him in ways you couldn’t imagine.

You looked down at your feet, suddenly feeling guilty for saying no to him. “You gave us the order to be here, Steve. And now I’ve built something—something good, something real. I wake up next to her, and for the first time in my life, I’m happy. And you want me to trade that in?”

Steve stood there and took everything you had to give. “I don’t want you to trade anything,” he finally said after a few beats. “You’re right. I told you to run. Told all of you to find something better. You did what I asked. You did everything I asked.”

He put a hand on your shoulder. “It’s really good to see you, Y/N.”

You didn’t answer. You just stared at the books behind him, your eyes skimming the spines of books about dead men who’d all tried their best.

“And you and Wanda,” he continued, pulling his hand back slowly, like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch, “take care of each other.”

—

You spotted them a few blocks from the orphanage, just past an alleyway, Steve’s visit still hanging over your head. Wanda stood stiffly, arms wrapped around herself, her chin tilted up as she talked to her ex-boyfriend. You thought it was just Steve who came to Scotland to talk to you—it didn’t occur to you that they would try to get Wanda back too.

You were supposed to announce yourself. Step forward, call out her name, and break up the little reunion. But instead, you hung back, hovering just out of sight like some kind of coward.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Wanda—you did, completely. But Vision wasn’t just anyone. He was… well, he was almost in your place now. If the Accords hadn’t happened, maybe it’d be him married to Wanda. Maybe they’d be the ones in Scotland, sharing that little apartment.

You hid behind some bushes, trying to make out their conversation. You couldn’t hear every word, but you caught enough.

“...It’s always been your fight. Our fight. You know that.”

“Don’t do that, Vision. Don’t make it sound like I’m running.”

“You’re choosing to look away.”

“I’ve chosen to live. That’s what this is.”

“And what happens when living isn’t enough? When the people you love are in danger?”

“You don’t get to talk about the people I love.”

That’s when you decided to come out of hiding, startling Wanda. Vision didn’t seem surprised—if you had to guess, he already knew you were there, listening in on their conversation the entire time. He just didn’t care.

“Y/N,” she said, your name falling somewhere between a sigh and an apology.

But you were more focused on Vision. “That’s enough,” you said, glaring at him. “You can’t force Wanda into anything.”

Vision regarded you with an unreadable expression. Over the past year, without the constant presence of people around him, he’d grown more machine-like, more distant, than he’d ever been back at the compound.

“I’m not forcing her,” he said evenly. “I’m simply making my case. If it came off as otherwise, I apologize.”

Wanda pressed her lips together, torn. She looked at you, then at Vision, and you could practically see the conflicting emotions plastered across her face. You moved closer, sliding an arm around her waist, quite tempted to keep her behind you like a shield.

“So,” you said, letting out a shaky breath, “Steve dropped by. Tried to rope me back in.”

Vision dipped his head in a small nod. “Yes. And from what I understand, you refused.” His stare was polite, but the implication stung.

Your cheeks heated. He might as well have said you’re letting the world down for how it sounded. You swallowed, trying not to let the shame bleed into your voice. “I told him no. I have a life here. So does Wanda.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I had hoped you would be more open to our situation.”

Was he trying to guilt-trip you? Your lungs felt too small for the breath you were holding. “I—” you started, then let it go, tightening your grip on Wanda’s waist.

“I have faith in Wanda,” Vision continued. “Regardless of how the world has treated her—she can still do the right thing. I believe she will do the right thing.”

You felt Wanda stiffen in your arms. You gritted your teeth. Vision knew how to play his cards around Wanda. You hate that he still knew how, after all this time.

“Vision…” Wanda murmured.

You swallowed, turning to Wanda fully. “Do you… do you want to go back?”

Wanda sucked in a breath, her gaze softening as she looked at you. “I want to stay here,” she said quietly. “I want to be with you.”

She wasn’t lying. But Wanda could want two different things at the same time—and she did. She wanted to be with you, to continue this peaceful life, but she also wanted a shot at redemption. Though Wanda’s guilt had lessened during your time together, you knew she always wanted to do something to make up for what happened in Lagos.

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” you assured her, reaching out to gently take her hand. “You never have to worry about losing me. You’ll never lose me.”

Just then, a low rumble crawled across the sky.

At first, you thought it was thunder—an early storm rolling in over the rooftops. But storms never formed this quickly, or with this much spectacle.

Vision angled his head skyward, eyes reflecting the strange phenomenon. “They found us.”

208 notes · View notes

clementineinn · 1 month ago

Text

before you fade, 2.

abstract: a string of disappearances in a snowbound town pulls the BAU into a chilling case — one that hits too close when the next target is personal. chosen not for weakness, but for the strength that's been buried, hidden away in the depths of a person. as a team races against time, secrets resurface, and the line between subject and survivor begins to blur.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (some usage of Y/N)

genre: angst / fluff

word count: ~7.5k

note: i finally finished up the second part to this story! ill link the first part in case anyone wants to check it out as well :) thank you sosososo much to all of you who liked, commented, reblogged my previous post, it was so heartwarming to see!! thank you, you beautiful community who accepted me w open arms. KISSES tO ALL OF U MWAH!!!! enjoy! :)

She woke to cold metal beneath her skin.

It wasn’t the kind of cold from snow or air — it was worse. The sterile, dead cold of stainless steel. Her head throbbed in pulses, and her limbs wouldn’t move the way she wanted, the way her mind willed them to. Her hands were restrained — not roughly, but with precision. Cuffs attached to the bed. Her ankles were the same. She could flex her fingers, but her strength felt distant. Detached.

Lights burned overhead. Fluorescent. Harsh.

She blinked, once, twice, vision adjusting.

The room around her was wrong. Not a basement. Not a dungeon. Something worse. It was clean.

She was on a surgical table — straps across her torso, her legs, her arms. Her jacket was gone. So were her shoes. She wore a plain, gray hospital gown that didn’t belong to her.

The walls were white. Immaculate. To her left, she saw a counter lined with metal instruments, each laid out in careful rows — forceps, syringes, scalpels – tools that made her stomach flip. To her right, a tray with a notepad and pen. A recorder.

And against the far wall — cages.

Three of them. Stainless steel. Empty. Animal enclosures.

Her heart lurched.

Then she heard it.

Footsteps. Soft. Measured.

A figure emerged from the shadows beyond the door. A man — maybe late 30s, lean, gloved hands. No rage in his face. No glee. Just curiosity. Calm, clinical interest.

He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a doctor.

“Hello, Agent,” he said gently.

She didn’t speak.

He smiled a little. “I’m glad you’re awake. I didn’t expect to take you this soon. But… you fit.”

He approached slowly, his eyes scanning her face the way someone might scan a page in a textbook. She turned her head away, her jaw locked.

“I know you’re scared,” he continued, voice as smooth as glass. “But this isn’t about pain. I’m not interested in hurting you. I’m interested in understanding you.”

She didn’t respond.

“I’ve read your file,” he said. “Not the Bureau one — not the sanitized version they handed you when you joined the BAU. I mean the real one. The one Interpol tried to bury after Prague.”

Her stomach clenched.

He smiled, not cruel — but pleased. “That got your attention.”

“I know what happened to you there. The explosion. The agents you lost. The three weeks you spent in a burn unit. The trauma counseling. You were broken once — not just physically. Psychologically. But you survived.”

She glared at him now, eyes narrowing.

He leaned closer. “That’s what made you perfect. You know how to fracture and rebuild. That’s what fascinates me. Not weakness. Not fear. Reconstruction. I want to see what happens when all that strength… finally stops holding.”

“The team will find me,” she said, voice raw but firm. “And when he— they do—”

“I’m counting on it,” he replied brightly, his expression almost gleeful now. “I want them to see what happens to the unbreakable ones.”

Then he pressed record on the tape deck.

And turned off the lights.

Time didn’t exist in the white room. Not in any way that mattered.

There were no windows. No clocks. No day or night. Just the endless, sterile glare of fluorescent lights that never dimmed — a brightness so constant, it began to erode the edges of thought. Shadows didn’t shift here. Time didn’t pass. It hovered, oppressive and still.

The hum of electricity behind the walls was constant. Not loud, but invasive — a subtle, vibrating presence that crept under her skin and coiled in her skull. The air was dry, recycled, and carried the faint, inescapable scent of antiseptic and metal. It wasn’t cold enough to kill — he’d made sure of that — but it was cold enough to numb. Cold enough to make her body forget how warmth felt.

Everything in the room was curated. Precise. White walls. White floor. Stainless steel. The kind of blankness that invited madness. That erased identity.

She didn’t scream — that would’ve given him too much. She didn’t beg — that’s what he wanted. She didn’t cry — not because she didn’t want to, but because she wasn’t sure she could anymore. The tears had dried up somewhere between the restraints and the silence— and the bruises.

They covered her jaw, her ribs, the tender skin at her temple where his knuckles had struck hard and fast in the dark. He never hit her with rage. Never while yelling. No warning. Just methodical strikes — knuckles to cheekbone, heel of the hand to sternum — meant to test reflexes. To study how pain shifted the body’s defenses. How silence buckled under pressure. Every hour that passed was another test of will, another slow-motion sparring match with a man who didn’t want chaos — he wanted collapse.

And she had spent years learning how to outlive collapse.

She focused on the details. The click of the lock before he entered. The shuffle of paper. The faint scent of latex. She counted them like lifelines, cataloged them like patterns. Because patterns meant control. And control — even the illusion of it — could mean survival.

Ben Milburn entered the same way every time.

No wasted motion. Clipboard in hand. Gloves already on. A white coat worn not for warmth, but for theater.

He didn’t look at her like a person. He looked at her like a subject. His gaze was clinical, dispassionate — the kind of stare she’d seen in war footage, in documentaries, in predators. And when she didn’t respond, when her defiance lingered too long behind swollen eyes, he would lean close and, in that same gentle voice, say, “Let’s accelerate the variables.”

Then he’d strike.

One night, it was a fist to the temple — sudden and sharp — that left her dazed, blinking blood from her eyelashes. Another, he backhanded her hard enough to split her lip and knock her head sideways into the metal frame. When she coughed from smoke in her lungs, he struck low, right below the ribs, to hear how breath sounded when it shattered.

He watched her every time. And he wrote it all down.

“I notice your sleep cycle hasn’t reset,” he said after being gone for — she didn’t know. A day? Maybe less. The lights never changed. Time bent strangely here.

She didn’t know how long it had been since the last blackout — since he turned off the lights and struck from the dark, his fists meeting bone and skin in clinical rhythm.

“You’re still trying to control time. That’s interesting.”

She didn’t respond.

“You’re still regulating your breath rate, too,” he mused, circling the table. “That’s a primitive defense. Mind over body. But eventually, that’ll crack, too.” A wicked smile played on his lips, the corner of them twitching as if trying not to laugh, and his eyes looked far away, as if he was reliving a distant memory. “It always does.”

Her face throbbed. The skin under her left eye was tight and hot. A bruise swelling beneath it like a second heartbeat.

Still, she kept her eyes on him. Calm. Steady. She refused to give him the sound of pain.

“It’s fascinating,” he murmured, gaze drifting down her body like she was a medical scan. “I’ve read your file. Childhood trauma. Strict self-regulation. Authority issues. Emotional isolation. But still… you became someone. Highly functional. Brilliant, even. Your pain made you exceptional.”

He circled slowly, his steps soft on the tile. A man who lived in silence. Who fed on it.

Her lips curled — not into a smile, but something sharper.

“Yours,” she said, voice low and razor-thin, “just made you boring.”

He stilled.

Just for a moment.

His hand paused above the tray of instruments — a needle halfway to its case. He didn’t react violently. His expression didn’t twist with rage. That wasn’t his nature. But something shifted. A flicker in his gaze. The illusion of total control cracked.

It was the smallest tell. And Y/N saw it.

She filed it away like a weapon. Because she knew now — he wasn’t unshakable.

The injections were mild sedatives. Nothing paralyzing — just enough to loosen the mind, distort time, make fear crawl more easily under the skin. He was too careful for brute force. That wasn’t his style. He wanted surrender, not obedience. Collapse, not compliance.

But he underestimated her.

Every time she drifted under the haze, she forced her mind to focus — on Spencer’s voice, on the rhythm of profiling exercises, on the feel of her badge in her hand. Anchors. Things that tethered her to herself.

She noticed patterns. He entered every hour. Always from the left-hand door. He avoided the cages when she watched. There was something beneath the floor — once, when he left, she heard machinery start humming under the metal table.

This isn’t a basement. It’s something else. A lab? A clinic?

The third time he brought food, she noticed the smell: antiseptic, animal dander, faint but distinct.

Veterinary clinic.

Old. Repurposed. Out of sight.

She tucked the thought away like a blade in her pocket.

He sat in the corner that time, not looming or circling. Just sitting. Like they were having a late-night conversation in a quiet study. Like this was something intimate.

Y/N lay still on the table, one wrist still cuffed, the sedative fading from her bloodstream in slow pulses. Her mouth was dry. Her face throbbed. But her eyes — bloodshot, bruised — stayed locked on his.

“You know,” he began, his voice calm, “they’re searching. The way your team always does. Brilliant minds. Cracking timelines. Profiling patterns.”

He tapped the pen against the clipboard — rhythmic, idle.

“They found the old facility on Claremont Road. The one with the rotted subfloor and the leftover cages. I knew they would. That was intentional.”

Her breath hitched.

He smiled, small and patient. “They think that’s where I brought you. That’s where they’re focusing now. Grids. Maps. K-9 units.”

She clenched her jaw. “They’ll find this place. They always do.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Eventually, maybe. But this clinic isn’t in any current zoning records. No satellite imagery. No listed utilities. You don’t stumble on this one unless you already know it exists. It’ll probably take them days.”

He leaned forward now, eyes glittering in the light.

“Only locals know this land. People who were born here. People who remember the vet that used to run this place — back when it was a roadside barn before the county paved the forest around it.”

He said it almost wistfully, like he was recounting folklore.

“I used to come here with my father. We’d bring in raccoons, injured strays. I remember the smell of iodine. The way the walls would sweat in summer. It’s always been quiet here.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

“You planned all of this.”

“Of course I did,” he said, almost offended. “You don’t trap someone like you without planning every inch of it.”

Her pulse spiked. He glanced toward the monitor and smiled.

“You see, Agent, they’re close. But not here. And that’s what makes this perfect. You’ll still be alone… right up until the end.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.

But inside, her brain raced.

Claremont Road — that’s where they were. But this wasn’t Claremont. He’d led them there. On purpose.

And unless she found a way out, they wouldn’t find her in time.

Milburn entered in silence this time, no clipboard, no syringe. Just a chair in hand.

He placed it beside the table and sat like they were about to begin a therapy session. His gaze moved over her not with hunger, but reverence. The reverence of a man studying a masterpiece.

“You’re stubborn,” he said quietly. “It’s admirable. Most subjects began showing cracks by the first 10 hours.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She’d learned that silence provoked more than resistance.

“I imagine the team thinks they’re close,” he continued, almost conversational. “I left enough in the decoy site to suggest activity. Staged prints. Traces of sedatives. A broken monitor. The perfect crime scene for a partial timeline.”

He glanced at her, waiting for a reaction.

She blinked slowly. “The Claremont Road clinic.”

His smile widened, pleased that she knew. “Exactly.”

“You wanted them to find it,” she said.

He leaned in, tone soft and smug. “Of course. Letting them believe they’re closing in — that’s part of the breakdown. Hope, then disappointment. Over and over. The mind eventually lets go.”

She tilted her head, blood still dried on her lip. “You always this theatrical?”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I like design. I like when things fit.”

“And you’re sure they haven’t figured it out?”

He looked faintly insulted. “This property isn’t in any active database. The original veterinary license expired before digitization. No power grid, no plumbing registry, no road signs. Just a gravel trail locals used to know. They’d have to know this land the way I do.”

Y/N swallowed, keeping her expression neutral. “And you’re fine with dying here?”

“If it completes the study,” he said, voice low and even. “If it finishes the arc, yes.”

She let the silence stretch.

Then, with deliberate care, she said, “You know, I’ve profiled men like you. Not exactly like you — but close. The ones who claim they don’t need an audience… always want one most of all.”

His jaw tensed. Subtle. But there.

“I think,” she added, shifting slightly against the table, “you want them to see what you did. Not read about it in a case file. You want your final subject to be found. Otherwise, it’s just… wasted data.”

Milburn’s expression flickered. Not rage. But doubt.

And she smiled through the ache in her jaw.

“Maybe you’re not as certain as you pretend to be.”

He stood slowly.

He didn’t speak.

But he walked out without administering another dose.

And for the first time, she felt him slip.

The room was humming now. A different kind of hum — not the sterile buzz of lights or the faint static from the speaker, but a pulse. Mechanical. Deep.

Like something buried beneath the floor had woken up.

Y/N sat hunched on the edge of the table, one wrist still cuffed, lip split from the last blow, eyes locked on the glowing red light in the upper corner of the ceiling — the camera. Her breath was shallow. Her limbs were shaking. Not from fear, but from calculation.

She knew she’d only get one shot. Flashes of his previous victims flashed through her brain, grimace coming on her face as her lip quivered. Charred bodies, burnt all the way through, only recognizable through dental records.

The lights had dimmed, but she could still see — just enough. The tools were gone – in fact, it seemed like the room had been sterilized again. Everything reset. Everything perfect.

Except her.

The loop of her own voice still echoed overhead.

He watches them fall apart.

Over and over. Warped now, slowed like a vinyl melting.

She yanked again at the last cuff, teeth gritted, blood now wetting the strap from where she’d cut her wrist on the metal. Her hand limped to her side, strength quickly depleting, hopelessness starting to kick in every time she tried to take a breath through her nose only to be met with a clogged, bloody mess.

Then — a different sound.

A relay snapped. Mechanical. Below the floor.

And a low, rhythmic beeping began.

She froze. That wasn’t part of the sedation system.

Her eyes snapped to the vent in the corner — a faint plume of smoke, barely visible in the dim light. Chemical, not fire. But spreading.

The speaker cracked to life, the static sharp against the hum of failing vents.

Then his voice came through — calm, steady, disturbingly warm.

“I always knew I’d be caught.”

A pause. Just long enough to make her blood chill.

“People like me don’t get away with it forever. That’s a myth. The smart ones, the ones who study—they know there’s no such thing as forever. There’s only timing. There’s only design.”

His voice moved with a strange rhythm, like he wasn’t just speaking to her — like he was reading aloud from a thesis only he understood.

“I’ve seen how it ends for others. Reckless monsters with blood on their hands and panic in their veins. They get sloppy. They get loud. They get stupid. They burn out in chaos.”

He paused again, then continued, even more softly.

“But I… I never wanted chaos. I wanted clarity.”

Another relay snapped behind the walls.

“You weren’t supposed to die in rage or fire. That’s not what this was for. I brought you here because I believed you’d last. I believed you’d show me the precise moment where resilience fractures into surrender. I wanted to see you break — slowly. Completely. And maybe you would’ve. If I had more time.”

The smoke thickened in the corners. The beeping quickened.

“I always planned for this. Every subject was a step. Every cage, every dose, every silence — all of it leading to you. The perfect profile. The cleanest mind. You don’t scream. You calculate. And I thought, maybe... if I could break you, then I’d understand how it all ends.”

His tone shifted — brighter, almost breathless.

“And now it does end. Not because I lost. But because I chose it. I’ve seen what happens after they catch people like me. The cage. The headlines. The slow rot of purpose. No thank you.”

The beeping was constant now. Almost shrill.

“This way, the story stays mine.”

Then one final pause.

“And if you survive this, Y/N — if you crawl from the fire — then you’ll live knowing that I got inside your head. That I chose you as the last page. And that everything after this moment... belongs to me.”

The speaker went dead.

And the door unlatched.

The lock gave a soft, mechanical click — almost casual.

The kind of sound you could miss if you weren’t listening for it.

But she heard it.

And she moved.

Y/N surged upright, her world a blur of blood and smoke and failing light. Her legs nearly gave out as her bare feet hit the freezing tile. Her right wrist was still shackled — the torn flesh around it slippery with blood — but she didn’t hesitate. She gripped the metal base of the restraint with her free hand and ripped, screaming through clenched teeth as she tore the cuff off the rail with brute force and adrenaline.

The torn metal edge sliced deeper into her wrist, hot blood spurting down her forearm. But the pain didn’t register. Not really. It was just another noise in the growing cacophony.

The hallway outside the room was blinding white — too clean, too bright — but the air was already sour. Smoke poured from the vents in ribbons now, curling along the floor like fingers searching for skin.

Beep. Beep. BeepBeepBeep.

The emergency lighting strobed red overhead — a pulsing countdown that painted her body in flashes of panic.

She stumbled forward, one arm pressed to her chest, the other swinging wildly for balance as she bolted down the corridor. Each step burned. Her right thigh screamed with every movement — the wound he had carved there was now a deep, wet gash. Her lungs convulsed. Her skin felt like paper.

She slammed into the wall, rebounded – kept going.

Every door she passed was shut. Sealed. Designed not to open from the inside.

She reached a T-junction in the hallway — and for a second, she froze.

Left? Right? She turned right.

A gust of heat struck her — the fire had reached the lower floors. Somewhere in the building, structural integrity had begun to collapse. A ceiling tile fell behind her with a crash. Smoke turned black.

Then she saw it — the red glow of an EXIT sign through the haze.

A steel door. No lock. No keypad. Just a crash bar.

She sprinted, half-limping, half-collapsing with every step. Her ears were ringing. Her vision dimmed at the edges. The beeping was almost constant now — so fast it became one unbroken shriek.

She hit the door with her shoulder.

It didn’t budge.

She hit it again — harder. Her body screamed.

Then she threw herself at it with everything she had.

The latch gave. The door burst open.

And she flew forward — into snow.

She tumbled face-first into the ice, her breath wrenching from her lungs in a broken sob. Cold air shocked her lungs, crisp and clean and real. Finally real.

She scrambled up, hands sinking into the drift. Her legs collapsed again — but she crawled.

Three feet.

Five.

Ten.

Behind her, the clinic trembled.

And then — it erupted.

The explosion hit like a living thing.

The entire back wall of the building lifted first, bricks and steel shrapnel exploding outward in a wave of orange fire and debris. The shockwave followed — concussive and furious.

Y/N was thrown like a rag doll. The world tilted sideways.

She hit the ground hard — skidded across the ice, body twisting midair — then slammed into the base of a snowbank, the breath knocked out of her in one violent rush.

Everything went silent.

For a few seconds, she didn’t know if she was dead.

Ash began to fall like snow.

The sky flickered, flames roaring behind her. She blinked slowly, her left arm twisted under her. Her shoulder was dislocated. Her thigh oozed blood. Her face was burned — just barely — along the temple and jaw.

But she was alive.

The air was sharp and frozen and she breathed it.

The explosion had blown Milburn’s empire into dust.

And somehow, she had crawled out of it. His words replayed in her mind, foreboding and haunting: “And if you survive this, Y/N — if you crawl from the fire — then you’ll live knowing that I got inside your head. That I chose you as the last page. And that everything after this moment... belongs to me.”

The SUV skidded to a halt on the icy road, tires crunching through snow and ash.

The roar of the explosion still echoed in the trees. Flames licked at the sky from the collapsed roof of the old clinic, casting long, flickering shadows across the snow – as if trying to burn the stars out, setting the sky aflame. Debris crackled in the wind. The smell of scorched chemicals, wood, and something acrid hung thick in the air. Smoke bloomed up ahead like a black wound in the trees. The remains of the clinic glowed in the distance — not just burning, but obliterated. The structure was gone. Collapsed inward.

Spencer was out of the car before it fully stopped.

“Y/N!” he screamed, boots slipping as he tore across the snow.

Morgan followed fast, radio in hand. “We need medics now. Structure’s gone. Repeat — the clinic is gone. We’ve got fire and active ground collapse.”

They crested the ridge behind the ruins just as the wind shifted — and Spencer saw it.

A shape. Small. Slumped. Barely a shadow against the snow.

“There!” he shouted, voice cracking. “She’s there—Morgan, she’s there!”

He dropped to his knees beside her, sliding the last few feet. Her body was twisted at the edge of a snowbank, half-covered in soot, her skin streaked with blood and ash. Her right arm was limp. Her leg was slick with deep red. Her lips were cracked and blue, and one side of her face was bruised and blistered.

But her chest rose, even if barely.

“Y/N,” Spencer said, voice shaking as he leaned over her. “Hey—hey, it’s me. You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

Her eyelids fluttered just a little. Her lips parted — but no words came out. Just a sound. A raw, rasping breath.

Morgan slid in beside them, pulling off his jacket and pressing it over her. “She’s in shock. We’ve gotta stop the bleeding. Pulse is weak, but it’s there.”

“I’ve got you,” Spencer whispered, brushing damp hair back from her face. “We’re right here. You’re not alone.”

She blinked once — slow and painful — and focused on him. Recognition hit like a gasp of air underwater. She tried to speak. Her mouth moved.

He leaned in.

“I made it.”

It was nothing but breath. But he heard it.

And then she passed out.

Fifteen minutes later, the sirens pierced the silence.

A wall of red and white light cut through the trees as the first ambulance skidded onto the scene, tires fishtailing slightly on the packed snow. EMTs leapt out before the vehicle had fully stopped, rushing toward the figures crouched near the base of the ridge.

“She’s here!” Morgan called, waving them over with one hand while the other remained pressed firmly to Y/N’s thigh, trying to slow the bleeding. “She’s in shock, multiple lacerations, third-degree burns on her left side, possible dislocated shoulder—”

“Airway’s clear,” another medic confirmed, kneeling at her head. “Breathing is shallow but present. BP’s dropping.”

Spencer barely registered the shouts and movements around him. His focus never left her face.

She was unconscious now. Still. Her skin ghostly pale beneath the smears of ash and blood. Her hair was damp, matted to her temple. Her lashes were dusted with frost. Every rise and fall of her chest felt like a war waged by her body to keep going.

He held her hand in both of his — fingers cold and shaking — and kept whispering her name, over and over, like he could keep her tethered just by saying it.

“Y/N, stay with me. You’re almost there. Just a little longer, please—”

They moved fast.

An IV line was secured with shaking, practiced hands. The EMTs slid a mask over her nose and mouth, oxygen hissing softly into her lungs. A cervical collar was fixed around her neck. One of them wrapped her bleeding arm with quick, efficient pressure while the others readied the gurney.

“We need to move now. She’s crashing.”

Morgan helped them lift her.

Spencer didn’t let go.

Even when they strapped her in, even when they wheeled her toward the back of the ambulance, even when the medic had to gently tap his arm and say, “Sir—we need space.”

He only released her hand when the doors closed.

And still, he stood there, staring after her like he could follow her with just his breath.

Hotch came to stand beside him, silent.

The fire behind them had begun to collapse inward — a thunderous groan of bending metal and concrete giving way. Sparks cracked into the sky as another wall folded in on itself. The building was all but gone now — reduced to flame and ruin.

“She survived him,” Spencer said, his voice raw, barely audible.

Hotch didn’t look away from the wreckage. “No,” he said. “She beat him.”

And together, they watched the last of Ben Milburn’s empire dissolve in fire.

All that control. All that calculation.

Reduced to ash. Swallowed whole by the dark.

36 hours later, the world came back slowly.

First sound — a low, rhythmic beep. The quiet hiss of oxygen. Distant footsteps. The soft hum of fluorescent lights that didn’t buzz like the ones in the clinic.

Then feeling — heavy limbs, warm blankets, a dull ache in her leg, her arm wrapped in something stiff and unmoving. Dry lips. A throat that burned from breathing in smoke.

Then finally — light.

She blinked once. Twice.

Everything was white, but not like his white. This wasn’t sterile silence. This wasn’t a cage.

It was a hospital. Safe.

Her heart rate monitor chirped a little faster.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay.”

The voice was gentle. Familiar. Real.

She turned her head — slow, careful, her neck protesting, every nerve stiff — and found Spencer sitting beside her bed. His tie was askew. His hair a mess. There were faint smudges under his eyes — the kind you only got from worry and no sleep. His fingers were wrapped around hers, careful but unrelenting.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, voice frayed at the edges.

Her lips parted. It took her a second to find her voice, to summon the breath. “Spence,” she rasped, trying her voice for the first time by saying his name – her mantra that kept her alive through the cold, desolate clinic. “You stayed.”

“Of course I stayed,” he said quickly, as if the alternative had never occurred to him. His voice was quiet, but still, the end of his sentence cracked.

She closed her eyes briefly. A tear slipped down the side of her temple, vanishing into the pillow.

“It’s over.”

Spencer nodded, but his throat tightened. “You got out. You saved yourself.”

“I knew you guys would find me,” she whispered.

He leaned in slightly, his hand brushing hers on the blanket.

“There was a moment,” he said, his voice rough, “when we found the cruiser. Your phone was gone. The snow was already covering your tracks. I thought—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “I thought I was too late.”

Her fingers moved. Slow, trembling.

But they curled into his.

“You weren’t,” she murmured.

And they sat like that — hand in hand, hearts syncing in the quiet — not as agent and profiler, not even as survivors, but simply two people who had almost lost each other.

She was the first to speak again. “The others?”

“They’re okay,” he said. “Hotch and Rossi are working with local PD to clear the site. JJ’s been here every few hours. Garcia’s already set up a 24/7 alert on every case with a similar profile. And Morgan’s…” Spencer chuckled faintly. “Pacing holes into the floor of the waiting room.”

A weak smile tugged at her lips. “Tell him to stop. He’s going to hurt those precious muscles of his.”

Spencer laughed — hoarse, but real.

Then his expression shifted, suddenly, so fast even she couldn’t place exactly when it had happened. Darkened.

“He was going to kill you.”

“I know.”

“He wanted to take you with him. End it on his terms.”

“I know,” she repeated, more softly this time.

There was a pause. Then her fingers pressed a little tighter around his.

“But he didn’t,” she said. “And that matters.”

Spencer looked at her for a long time, and in that silence, she knew he saw it — all of it. The pain she hadn’t shared. The fight she’d endured. The scar tissue behind her voice.

And still, she wasn’t done.

“Before anyone else asks. Before someone digs it up. I know you guys are aware of my general backstory, but I haven’t told you guys everything.”

He straightened slightly, sensing the shift in her tone.

“I wasn’t just some profiler who fit the behavioral sketch,” she said. “He picked me for a reason.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” she said. “You deserve to know everything.”

Spencer stayed quiet. Open.

She took a breath that rattled. “Before Quantico… I worked with Interpol. Undercover intelligence. Blacklist operations. I was embedded for over a year with an Eastern European trafficking network. A weapons cell. It was brutal. I made it out during a final sting — barely. There was an explosion. Two agents died. I was inside when the roof collapsed.”

Her voice cracked, but she pushed through it.

“I crawled out over one of my partners’ bodies. Spent three weeks in a burn unit. Three months in trauma counseling. I was broken. Physically. Mentally. They sealed the records before I transferred to the BAU.”

Spencer said nothing, but his hand never left hers.

“He found them,” she continued. “The unsub. Milburn. He found pieces of the files — enough to know I’d already been through hell. That I’d survived it. He wasn’t just picking women who fit a profile. He was choosing survivors. Ones who wouldn’t go quietly. He wanted to see what happened when people who already crawled out of the fire… were pushed back into it.”

Spencer exhaled like he’d been holding it since the moment she started.

“You weren’t meant to break,” he said. “You were meant to end.”

“I think he wanted to study that moment,” she said. “Where strength breaks. Where pain rewrites people. And I was the perfect study.”

“But he failed,” Spencer said. “You didn’t breaks. You held on.”

She blinked slowly. “Only because I had something to hold on to.”

Their eyes locked.

“You,” she whispered. “You were my anchor.”

Spencer’s own eyes welled, but he didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.

“You’re not allowed to scare me like that again,” he said quietly, a shaky smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She let her eyes close, the weight of exhaustion finally overtaking her. But her grip on his hand didn’t loosen.

“I’ll try not to.”

They both knew it wasn’t a promise she could keep. Not in their line of work.

But for now — for this moment — it was enough.

She was alive.

And he was still holding on.

The elevator doors slid open on the sixth floor with a soft ding that echoed through the corridor like a memory.

Y/N stepped out slowly.

Her shoes met the polished tile with quiet, deliberate weight — not hesitant, but grounded. She wore her long coat, the collar turned up slightly, and her badge clipped at the chest, just where it used to be. Outwardly, she looked the same.

But something in her was different.

Not diminished. Not broken. Just heavier.

Each step down the hallway was familiar, but her body felt new inside it. Slightly off-axis. She could feel the line of scar tissue beneath her shirt tug with every movement of her shoulder, where pins and plates still held healing bone. Her left thigh ached subtly with each shift in weight — a dull reminder of shrapnel buried and removed. And in her chest, behind the steady rhythm of breath, lived a quieter wound: the memory of a room built for her to not survive.

And she had.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly. A printer churned somewhere in the bullpen. A phone rang twice and stopped. It was all so normal. So mundane.

And then—

“HEY!”

Garcia’s voice rang out like the sun breaking through clouds, full of warmth and sugar and uncontainable emotion.

Y/N barely had time to inhale before she was engulfed in a hug that smelled of citrus and lilac and safety. Garcia’s arms squeezed tight around her middle — careful not to jostle her shoulder — her voice a rush of words against Y/N’s temple.

“Oh my God, you’re actually here, I didn’t want to text because I didn’t want to push but I’ve been counting down the days and oh my God you’re really here—”

Y/N let out a breath that trembled at the edges, and her arms came up slowly to return the embrace. Her fingers clutched Garcia’s shoulder, a little tighter than she meant to.

JJ appeared next, quiet as always. She waited for Garcia to step aside before reaching out, pulling Y/N in with gentle arms. The hug was softer — but no less fierce. JJ’s hand pressed lightly against the back of her head like a mother with a child returned home.

Y/N didn’t realize she was holding her breath until JJ whispered, “It’s good to see you.”

Then it released. Just a little.

Morgan stepped up next, towering and warm, his expression unreadable for a moment.

Then he gave her a single clap on the back — light, but firm — and held her at arm’s length just long enough to look her in the eyes.

“Good to have you back, warrior.”

She offered him a faint smile. “I missed you guys.”

Morgan didn’t say anything else — but his jaw flexed. His eyes lingered on the fading bruise along her jawline. The slight wince when she moved her shoulder. He saw all of it.

Then he nodded and stepped aside.

Across the bullpen, Hotch stood in the doorway to his office. His arms were crossed, his expression as composed as ever — but even that cracked slightly when his eyes met hers.

“We cleared your desk,” he said. “You have full discretion over when — and how much — you take on.”

Y/N gave him a quiet, grateful half-smile.

“Thanks, Hotch.”

His gaze softened, just enough to register.

“Take the space you need,” he said. “But know that we missed you.”

She nodded.

Her throat tightened, but she held it down. She hadn’t cried in weeks. She wasn’t ready to start here.

Then, as the laughter and chatter faded around her, she glanced down the hall.

Her eyes searched, almost involuntarily.

But he wasn’t there yet.

And somehow, she already knew he would be.

She didn’t hear him at first.

The buzz of the bullpen had resumed — Garcia chattering excitedly about reorganizing the “entire sparkle-driven filing structure” of the case board, JJ subtly blocking Morgan from sneaking one of the cinnamon scones she’d brought back from her morning run. Everything was soft chaos. Familiar.

But Y/N felt it before she saw him.

That shift in air.

The way the sound around her dulled — not in volume, but in focus.

She turned — slowly.

And there he was.

Spencer stood just beyond the corner of the corridor, leaning ever so slightly into the threshold. He hadn’t said a word. He didn’t need to. His eyes said everything.

He looked different. Not in the way clothes or hair changed someone, but in the way grief and fear etched themselves into the quietest places of a person. His tie was loose. His curls slightly disheveled. And his eyes — those eyes — were full of so much relief, she had to look away before she drowned in it.

He stepped forward, cautiously, like he didn’t want to startle her.

“Hi,” he said softly.

She blinked. And smiled — tired but true.

“Hi.”

The distance between them was ten feet. But it felt thinner than breath.

He didn’t rush her. Didn’t reach out. He just stood there for a second, watching her like she might disappear again. Like the smoke and flame and snow might reclaim her.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said. “I just… needed to see you here. In this hallway. Alive.”

Her chest tightened.

“I wasn’t sure I’d ever walk it again,” she admitted.

Spencer nodded, his throat working around words he hadn’t yet found. “You did,” he said eventually. “And it’s different now. But that’s okay. You’re allowed to come back different.”

She looked at him.

Really looked at him.

And this time, the silence between them felt sacred. Not hollow. Not strained.

He stepped closer — just one step — and then hesitated.

Y/N met him there. Two more steps forward. Not quite touching, but almost.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, voice low.

His response was immediate. “I never left.”

Her breath hitched.

But instead of speaking, she reached for his hand — quietly, without a word — and he took it, like he’d been waiting every hour since the fire for that moment.

No theatrics.

No declarations.

Just presence.

And that was enough.

Rain whispered against the windows in soft, steady waves — the kind of rain that quieted the world, smoothed the edges of thought. It blanketed the city like a hush. Like the kind of silence that asked not to be filled, only felt.

Y/N stood at her kitchen sink, rinsing out her tea mug with one hand, the other resting lightly on the counter to ease the pressure from her still-healing leg. The ceramic clinked gently against the basin, hollow and distant. The candle on the table flickered, casting the living room in warm, golden light that painted soft shadows on the walls.

Her apartment was calm. Clean. Almost peaceful.

But inside her chest, something stirred.

Then— A knock.

Soft. Hesitant. Two beats. A pause.

Not the knock of someone making a delivery. Not a neighbor. It was careful. Intentional.

She already knew.

Y/N moved to the door, her heart beginning to beat a little faster beneath her ribs. She paused, just long enough to press one hand to the wall beside her — a grounding touch — then unlatched the deadbolt.

Spencer stood there.

His coat was damp from the rain, curls clinging in ringlets to his forehead. His glasses were slightly fogged. His cheeks were pink from the cold, but it was his eyes that stopped her. They were soft, tired, and filled with something he didn’t know how to name. Something quiet and aching.

He looked like a man who had walked through a storm he didn’t fully survive.

“Hi,” he said, voice low. Again.

She stepped aside, her voice matching his. “Hi.” Again.

He entered without a sound, toeing off his shoes as if even the sound of rubber on tile might shatter the fragile quiet between them. He stood just inside the entryway for a long second, fingers still buried in his coat pockets. He looked around slowly — the dim lamp, the steaming tea, the blanket folded over the edge of the couch. The evidence of her living. Surviving.

“You’re walking better,” he said quietly.

“You’re still worried,” she replied.

A soft smile tugged at his mouth. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if I should come. Or if it was too soon.”

“You’re always allowed to come here,” she said gently, her voice barely more than breath.

He took a shaky breath and stepped forward. “I wanted to tell you something.”

She turned to face him fully now, watching him carefully. “You kind of already did. In the hospital. In the snow.”

His gaze met hers.

“This is different.”

She didn’t move. She waited.

Spencer’s voice wavered, just slightly. “When we found the cruiser and your phone was gone… there was a moment when I thought we were too late. And all I could hear was this voice in my head screaming I never told her. Not really. Not the way I wanted to.”

He stepped closer. Not invading. Just near enough that she could feel the change in air between them.

“I’ve spent months—years, maybe—waiting. Telling myself it was too complicated. That work made it dangerous. That maybe you didn’t feel the same. So I stayed quiet. I watched you be brilliant and brave and haunted and I told myself I could live with loving you from a distance.”

She blinked slowly, breath caught in her throat.

“But I can’t,” he said. “Not anymore.”

His voice cracked at the edges now, the words spilling out like something that had built behind a dam too long.

“When we thought you were gone, something in me broke. Because I didn’t just lose you in theory. I felt it. I imagined every second I hadn’t said it out loud. Every smile I hadn’t kissed. Every moment I wasted thinking there’d be more time.”

He stepped forward again.

“I care about you. So deeply I don’t think I even know where the caring ends and the love begins. I think I’ve been in love with you longer than I’ve known how to admit it. And it scared me. But not saying it scares me more.”

Silence.

Then—

“I love you,” he said, a little louder now. “I love you, and I don’t want to spend another day pretending that I don’t.”

Tears welled in her eyes, sudden and unbidden. She didn’t try to stop them.

She reached for his hand.

Her fingers slid into his — warm, familiar, grounding.

“You didn’t wait,” she whispered. “You showed up. You always show up.”

He smiled — but this one was real. Open. Vulnerable.

And then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t urgent. It didn’t need to be. It was slow and trembling, the kind of kiss that was built from pieces — of fear and relief and every unsaid word that had finally found its way to the surface. His hand curled around her waist like he was afraid she might disappear, but she pulled him closer, breathless and solid and here.

When they finally parted, their foreheads pressed together, and she exhaled against his mouth.

“It’s okay now,” she said softly.

And it was.

It was raining again.

The steady kind — soft against the windows, more of a hush than a storm. The kind that wrapped the city in gray light and made the world feel a little slower, a little closer.

Spencer stood at her kitchen counter in socked feet, brow furrowed slightly as he read the instructions on the side of the French press. He’d made it perfectly for weeks now, but he still double-checked — out of habit, out of reverence.

Behind him, Y/N sat curled on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, a well-worn copy of The Secret History open in her lap. A fleece blanket draped over her shoulders. She wasn’t reading, though. Just holding the book. Listening to the rain. Watching him.

It had become a rhythm.

Sundays were slow. Their safe place. No work. No trauma. No unfinished case files or briefing folders or hospital check-ups. Just the two of them, in borrowed stillness.

“I think I used too much water,” Spencer muttered.

Y/N smiled softly. “You didn’t.”

“I always use too much water.”

“You also always say that. And it’s always fine.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes were tired but warm. The scar on her temple had faded into a thin, pale line. The gash on her thigh still ached on colder mornings, but the limp had almost vanished.

Emotionally, she was still healing. Some nights she still jolted awake at sounds no one else heard. Sometimes the quiet pressed in too close.

But she had found something steady in Spencer’s presence. Not safety, exactly — because she didn’t want to be protected. Just seen. And he did that, without asking her to hide anything.

He brought her coffee and crossword puzzles and hand-scrawled notes about obscure philosophers. He sat beside her when the nightmares left her breathless. He didn’t fill the silences — he just waited in them.

He walked with her. And never ahead of her.

Spencer poured two mugs and brought hers over, setting it on the table beside her book.

She looked up at him.

“I never thought I’d feel normal again,” she said softly, as if the words surprised her.

He didn’t sit immediately. Just studied her.

“You’re not normal,” he said. “You’re you. That’s better.”

She smiled. This one fuller.

He sat beside her, their knees brushing. She reached for her mug but didn’t drink it — just wrapped her hands around the warmth.

The rain kept falling.

Their fingers found each other again — naturally now, without ceremony — and neither of them spoke for a long time.

Because some love stories didn’t need declarations or dramatic moments.

Sometimes, they just needed two people who chose each other. Again and again.

Even after the worst had passed.

Especially then.

@maisyyyyyy @theredvelvetbitch @alexistexas21 @blackbirdbella

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer fic #reid fic #spencer reid fic #spencer x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

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pathologicalreid · 2 years ago

Note

If your down could u write an imagine where reader is new to the bau and Spencer is just coming back from jail and he makes reader nervous and when he notices he starts to mess with her nothing to wild but he teases her every now and again -🖤

drop | S.R.

in which reid seems to be there every time you drop something

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: fluff, lighthearted teasing, clumsiness, obliviousness, reader is mentioned to be shorter than 5'7" (sorry it just worked for the story)

word count: 1.1k

a/n: hey anon! thanks for requesting, i think i may have verged away from the request on accident. also this is the one i posted about earlier that had been deleted by word so i had to rewrite it and therefore it's not very thoroughly proofread. hope you enjoy.

It came as a shock, most people needed to apply to the BAU and even then, they spent years trying to get in. You had gotten a call four months ago and were told you were leaving IOD in the Hoover building and would be expected at the BAU the next morning.

Years ago, you had a run-in with Emily Prentiss while she was heading Interpol in London, but you didn’t think she remembered you – let alone wanted to work with you. She brought you on to the team to help catch Peter Lewis

Now, Peter Lewis was dead, and Spencer Reid had been exonerated. You thought your time with the team was done, but when Emily caught you packing up your things, she told you she had no intentions of sending you back to the International Operation Division.

So, you made yourself comfortable at your desk across from Luke’s, even adding a picture of your family, just to make it seem a little lived-in.

It was something you’d had drilled into your head by your father: if you’re not early, you’re late. That was the reason why you were usually the first to the BAU, only sometimes being beaten by Dr. Reid.

Penelope said he was harmless, but that didn’t change the fact that he made you nervous. Not nervous in the sense that you were scared of him, but nervous in the way that he was something of a legend in the FBI.

Even more so since his recent release from prison.

You felt a sort of disconnect from the team when it came to them trying to get Reid out of prison, whenever Nadie Ramos came up in conversation, you picked up your files on Mr. Scratch and distracted yourself. Of course, you helped where you were needed, but you didn’t know him like they did.

This particular morning, you had beaten him to the office, taking your spot at your desk and flipping through a file you had abandoned in the name of sleep last night. A slight crash made you jump so badly that you fumbled with the papers in an attempt to not drop them. You looked up to see Spencer had dropped his bag on his desk, “Good morning, Y/N.” He greeted you.

Blankly, you stare at him for a moment before giving him a half smile. “Good morning, Dr. Reid,” you responded.

“I told you that you could just call me Reid, or Spencer,” he said, sitting down at his own desk.

Nodding, you found yourself interested in your coffee cup. “Yes, you did,” you took a deep breath. “Good morning, Spencer,” you tried again, offering him a fuller smile.

That seemed to appease him for now because he flipped open his own files and started inspecting them.

As you were preparing for the 10 o’clock debrief, you found yourself in the office kitchenette, pouring a cup of coffee from the pot that had been brewed an indeterminate number of minutes ago. Vaguely aware of the person standing behind you, you turned around to find Spencer, holding his own mug in both hands. “Oh! Hey,” you said, mentally smacking the palm of your hand to your forehead.

You moved out of the way as you added cream to your mug, watching as Spencer poured his coffee and followed it up with an almost equal amount of sugar. As you were about to make your way to the round table room, Spencer spoke, “You know, before 1975 you wouldn’t even have been able to be an FBI agent.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped in your tracks and turned to face him, “Wait, what? Why?”

“Before 1975 people shorter than 5’7” couldn’t be FBI agents,” He responded plainly, but there was a bit of mischief in his eyes.

You looked at him curiously, warmth flooding your cheeks. You stammered something about being late and rushed to the roundtable room, taking your usual spot next to Luke, and watching what Garcia presented to you—pretending not to notice Spencer across the table from you.

The BAU had been asked to consult on a case, but there were no precincts that had asked the team to make a trip to them. You had finished the paperwork on a recently closed case and got up to bring it to Emily, stuffing the papers in a file folder, you turned around and ran into Spencer. “Sorry!” You squeaked out, dropping to the floor to pick up the papers. To your surprise, he crouched down next to you and helped to pick up the papers. “Oh, jeez, now they’re all out of order,” you moped, setting the papers back down on your desk.

“It was my fault,” Spencer said. The honesty in his voice made your shoulders slouch.

Shaking your head, you smiled at him, “It’s okay, Spencer. They’re just papers.”

He looked at you like there was something more he wanted to say, but he didn’t, he just turned from your desk and walked out of the bullpen, leaving you staring.

When you finally brought your papers to Emily, she asked you to close the door behind you. Patiently, you stood in her office while she added your file to the menacing pile she kept on her desk. “I’ve been meaning to ask how you’re doing. With the BAU, I mean,” she told you, leaning over her desk.

“Good, I think. I’ve gotten very few complaints so far,” you told her, unable to help the uneasiness you felt. Had someone said something?

Emily nodded, her dark hair shining with the movement, “Good, I haven’t heard anything negative about you at all. Which is actually uncommon for the BAU.”

You let the rest of the day pass, but as the team trickled out of the bullpen, only you, Emily, and Spencer were left.

At the sound of rustling, you looked over to see that Spencer was packing up his things and putting them into his familiar leather bag. Resting your cheek on your hand, you went back to your case file, marking thoughts in the margins.

Jumping when something hit your desk, making the metal rattle, you dropped your pen on the ground. Peering up to see Spencer giving you a lopsided smile before he bent down to pick up your pen, “Hey, at least you didn’t drop a bunch of papers again.”

You flushed as your eyes followed him out the glass doors of the BAU, turning around to see Emily watching on, leaning on the railing outside her office, looking between you and Spencer as if she knew something you didn’t.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fluff #emily prentiss #spencer reid imagine #written by margot #margot's asks #criminal minds request #spencer reid fanfiction #🖤 anon

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deliciousangelfestival · 29 days ago

Text

Love Was Never Part Of The Plan - 3

Summary: You are a jewel thief who’s semi-retired, but you agree to take one last job. However, there’s a catch: you have to steal the jewels from an auction where your former lover is now the head of security.

Character: Security!Bucky x Thief!Female Reader

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

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , -

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please leave a comment and reblog. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“How…”

You were stunned. Absolutely floored.

Your breath hitched when Bucky stepped closer, calm, measured, deadly. His hand moved behind your back, slow and deliberate. Your heartbeat stuttered. Then you felt his fingers curl up, stop just at the nape of your neck—right where your hair was twisted into a sleek bun.

He felt it.

A smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his fingers brushed the hidden compartment. His voice dropped, low and mocking.

“Cute hiding spot,” he murmured. “But sweetheart, you really thought I wouldn’t check the bun?”

Then—click.

You flinched, only now realizing he’d already slipped a pair of handcuffs onto your wrist, snapping the other end onto his.

“It’s time to tame you, my little devil,” Bucky whispered with a glint in his eye. “No more running.”

The way he said little devil… it sent a flush to your cheeks, which you hated, because dammit, not now. Not when you’re literally cuffed to the man you were trying to outsmart.

💎💎💎💎

In that moment, you sat on a cold metal chair in the small interrogation room beneath the gallery, arms crossed, ankle bouncing—not out of fear, but impatience. You weren’t scared. You’d been in tighter spots before. This wasn’t your first game of cat and mouse.

But guilt? That was new. Not because of the diamond. Not because of Interpol breathing down your neck.

Because Bucky had found out.

Because the one person you didn’t want to lie to anymore now knew exactly who you were. And that cut deeper than any set of cuffs ever could.

Joe, one of the senior security guards, watched you from behind the two-way mirror in another room with Bucky.

“Uh… shouldn’t we be calling the police? She’s one of Interpol’s most wanted. Keeping her here might look… shady.”

Bucky stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight, his body still humming with adrenaline.

“That would drag the gallery through a scandal. One break-in is enough. The diamond’s safe. That’s what matters.”

“Right…” Joe eyed him, then you, then back to Bucky. “Or maybe you just want to stare at your Peggy Sue a little longer before she’s gone?”

Bucky shot him a glare sharp enough to slice.

Joe held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying… But seriously—how’d you figure it out?”

They both went quiet when they heard you whistle from the speaker.

A soft whistle echoed through the basement. Just a casual tune on your lips—carefree, defiant.

“That,” Bucky said, eyes locked on you.

“That?” Joe was still confused.

Bucky didn’t explain. He didn’t need to. He just stared through the glass, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. But the silence said enough.

Yes. It was you.

It had been you all along.

The whistle had given you away. A simple, offhand tune—barely five seconds long—light and careless.

Thanks to today’s technology, they could hear the voice. It was brief, but Bucky remembered it—tormenting him and reminding him of his failures.

That exact sound had played on a grainy surveillance tape from the night the Queen Amélie rubies vanished. The cameras hadn’t caught a face, barely a silhouette. Just shadows.

He’d replayed it a hundred times. Not because it was evidence—but because it haunted him. Because it mocked him. Because the person behind it had vanished like smoke and left him with a gallery full of questions and a reputation cracked at the edges.

Then, days ago, you walked into his life again, whistling, like no time had passed. And there it was. That sound. That goddamn melody.

His gut twisted. He had wanted to be wrong. God, he had hoped he was wrong.

But his radar for trouble had never failed him before.

He wanted to prove himself wrong—that’s why he asked you out for coffee. In that moment, he just wanted to know where you’d been.

But as you spoke, all he heard were lies, one after another.

He had looked for you, pulled every connection he had, tried to trace your work… but no archaeological site, no records, nothing.

It was like your entire story had been fabricated from thin air.

But what gave you away again?

Your eyes. You have the look he used to have—a look with a mission. And you’ve got it. It wasn’t the look of someone excited to meet and share experiences.

The way they searched the table for his phone.

So, he baited you. Laid it right there. And just like he expected, you placed yours next to his—too close.

His device lit up with the silent ping of a data bridge.

Ooh, my little devil, he thought, it was you all along.

After that, he rewrote the entire security plan. Faked it. Let it leak. Made sure the decoy plans would lure you in.

Then he waited. He knew you’d go for the storage exit—predictable, classic you.

Right into his trap.

“She doesn’t look scared,” Joe muttered, arms crossed as he peered through the two-way mirror. “She doesn’t look guilty either.”

“That’s what you’re dealing with when it comes to kleptomaniacs,” came a voice from behind.

The security team turned to see a woman walk in—mid-thirties, sharp suit, dark lipstick, eyes that missed nothing. “Especially world-class ones,” she said, removing her sunglasses.

“Amy?” Bucky was surprised to see her here.

Amy shot a warm smile and walked closer to him. “Interpol sent me. Well—technically, I sent myself.” She moved to the glass and studied you calmly seated in the small basement interrogation room. “I’ll take it from here.”

Before anyone could respond, the door swung open again.

“Ah, ah, ah... you can’t interrogate her without me,” said a man in a dark tailored suit and round glasses, leather briefcase in one hand. He looked expensive—and smug.

Bucky’s brows knit together. “And you are?”

“David Rochefort,” the man said smoothly, extending a business card with a fake name that even sounded fake. “Legal counsel. She’s my client.”

Joe blinked. “How the hell did she manage to call you?”

Edward smiled, adjusting his glasses. “Good lawyers don’t wait for a call. Especially not when she’s involved.”

Bucky said nothing, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. The tension was subtle but undeniable—he didn’t like this guy. Especially since this lawyer spoke about you with an unexpected warmth.

Inside the room, you stood as Edward entered. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders like it was a long-awaited reunion.

“Why are you so late?” you whispered, voice low against his ear.

“I had to make my appearance believable. Can’t have you thinking I’m a getaway driver,” he murmured with a quick wink.

Across the glass, Bucky’s eyes narrowed before he looked away.

Amy caught the glance. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at Joe, who subtly mouthed something to her—“She’s the one. His ex.” That piece of information seemed to sharpen Amy’s temper.

Moments later, Amy and her partner entered the room. She tossed a file onto the table with a firm thud. “Let’s cut the act, shall we?” she said, leaning forward. “You broke into a highly secured international auction. You knew the camera angles, the power grid layout, the guard rotations. You timed everything perfectly. That’s not luck, sweetheart—that’s inside knowledge.”

You smiled politely. “Or a very good guess.”

Amy’s eyes darkened. “You think this is a game?”

“Only if I’m winning.” You smirked.

Edward placed a calming hand between you and the table. “My client isn’t obliged to respond to your tone or theatrics.”

“She’s toying with us,” Amy hissed.

You leaned toward Edward, eyes fixed on Amy. “Why do I feel like she wants to bite my head off?”

“Not just you,” Edward muttered.

Amy slammed her hand on the table, but the sound didn’t faze you. Not even a blink. Your confidence was bulletproof.

Edward calmly adjusted his cuffs, then leaned in, his tone even. “Let’s not get dramatic. My client didn’t steal anything. She temporarily borrowed an item—and now, the gallery has it back. No harm, no foul, right?”

Amy shot him a withering glare. “Is that really the argument you're going with?”

Edward gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m going with facts. You have the diamond. You have no solid evidence. And last I checked, attempted charm isn’t a criminal offense.”

The interrogation dragged on. They questioned your alibis, dug into your background, and analyzed every detail. But there was nothing solid. You were too careful. Too polished. Interpol left the room with clenched jaws and empty hands.

When Edward and you stepped into the harsh fluorescent hallway, the air felt too sharp.

Bucky stood there, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting for hours. His expression was unreadable as he looked at you.

“Give me your hand,” he said quietly.

You raised your wrist—the handcuffs still clinking softly.

He stepped forward, unlocking them with a soft click. “Don’t steal again.”

You held his gaze, lips curving into something wicked. “No promises.”

A flicker sparked in his eyes—like a match struck to dry kindling. He didn’t reach for you, didn’t say another word. But the electricity between you lingered, humming in the air like a live wire.

“So this is the side of you I never knew,” Bucky said quietly, eyes locked on yours.

You paused, the smallest twitch pulling at your lips. “It’s always been there,” you said, voice softer now, with the faintest edge of something raw. “I just hid it too well from you.”

He didn’t reply right away. The air between you felt like it might catch fire if one of you moved too fast.

You shifted your weight, heart doing something traitorous in your chest. “I never lied about how I felt about you,” you added, eyes searching his face. “Just… about who I am.”

Your voice barely wavered—but it cost you.

Bucky’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t look away. And for a second, you wished he’d yell. Or curse. Or laugh. Anything but this silent, smoldering restraint.

You stepped back, catching your breath like you’d been holding it the whole time. “Anyway,” you said with a wry smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “now you’ve seen it.”

Turning away, you walked toward Edward, your steps slow, weighted with something you couldn’t quite shake. Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed on your back, lingering longer than they should.

Edward opened the exit door with a flourish. “You’re free.”

But free from what? The cuffs were off, yet the guilt wrapped around your chest tighter than ever. Free only to face the ache of what was left unsaid—and the impossible space growing between you two.

💎💎💎💎

You and Edward slipped out of the gallery, the night air thick with the scent of rain and something electric between you both. You headed straight for your hideout, a dimly lit loft cluttered with scattered blueprints and stolen treasures.

“Fuck,” Edward muttered, tossing his jacket onto a chair. “We just lost seven million.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Was the client mad?”

Edward pulled out his phone, swiping to reveal an encrypted chat. “Yeah. The client who hired us—he dropped a million as a deposit, so he’s definitely pissed. I sent him the update: the diamond heist failed. His reply? Just one word. ‘Loser.’”

You exhaled, sinking onto the worn-out couch. “Well… we kinda deserved it.”

For a long moment, you just stared at the ceiling, your mind racing. Four years. Four years of silence, four years of running—until Bucky busted you and found out who you really were. That revelation still burned under your skin. A mixture of defeat, defiance, and something sharper—regret? No. Something else. A flicker of something complicated.

Before you could dig deeper, Edward’s voice cut through the silence.

“I found out why that Interpol cop hates you so much.”

You sat up, curiosity sharp. “Why?”

He smirked, pulling up another chat on his phone. “Turns out, Amy’s been on some arranged-date thing with Bucky.”

Your heart jolted. “WHAT?!” You sprang up from the couch and leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the screen.

The message thread showed a casual introduction:

Co-worker 1: “You should meet Amy. She’s sharp, good with cases.”

Bucky: “Fine.”

You frowned, a sudden heat kindling in your chest. “Wait… I don’t think Bucky’s interested. See? He just replied with ‘Fine’ and that’s it. No emojis. No follow-up.”

"And look at his message history—he barely mentions her. So the date didn’t go well!" you added, or maybe just trying to convince yourself.

Edward rolled his eyes, clearly amused. “Alright, Miss Delulu.”

You sighed dramatically, crossing your arms. “Aww shit. Why am I feeling this? Why do people like us always fail at romance?”

Edward shrugged with a grin. “Our teacher was a disaster at this stuff too. But hey—he did manage to steal the real Mona Lisa.” He paused, then shook his head. “Honestly, just give up. Besides, you two are on different sides. He’s the good guy. You’re… not.”

Your jaw tightened at the truth. The thought of Bucky and Amy together twisted your gut in ways you didn’t want to admit. You didn’t want to see them like that—like a pair.

Edward nudged you gently. “Stop thinking about it. Let him go.”

You stayed silent, staring off into the distance.

“Shit. I’m gonna need a hot shower,” Edward muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he headed toward the bathroom.

💎💎💎💎💎

Bucky lay on his bed, shirtless, wearing only his boxers. His eyes traced the cracks on the ceiling as memories of the day replayed relentlessly. The woman he’d fallen for—the one who’d haunted his thoughts—was the thief behind the ruby jewelry once owned by Queen Amélie of France.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. He hated it. Hated seeing you, so calm and untouchable, with that smug lawyer by your side. That smugness, the way he touched you—it stabbed deeper than any blade.

So, four years ago, while you both shared the same bed, you were secretly planning to steal the ruby, with him sleeping right beside you, completely unaware that you were using him to get the security details.

Suddenly, the window slid open with a soft creak. Bucky sat up, muscles tense. There you were—sneaking in like a shadow, casual but impossibly bold.

“Hi,” you said awkwardly, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared.

You stepped further inside, tossing a small box onto his bed. It landed with a soft thud. Bucky opened it, eyes narrowing as he saw the ruby necklace gleam in the dim light—the stolen jewel.

“What do you want after this?” His voice was low, rough. “You think this fixes everything?”

Bucky stood, tall and bare-chested, the faint moonlight tracing every line of his sculpted body. You swallowed hard, cheeks warming under his gaze—he’d clearly been working out more lately.

“You can’t just come back and fix things like this. I’m not your plaything,” he said, stepping closer until you could feel the heat radiating from him.

You looked down for a second. “I… I know.”

He crossed his arms, eyes sharp. “Then why are you here? You could have just returned this to the gallery.”

You hesitated, then took a step back toward the window, the cool night air brushing your skin.

“I’m here because I want to declare something.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, curiosity flickering behind his guarded stare.

You smiled—soft, genuine—because you saw the concern in his eyes, the way he still cared.

“I want to tell you... I’m going to steal your heart.”

His eyes widened, disbelief and something else flashing between them.

Before he could say a word, you leapt from the window frame, landing lightly on the pavement below.

Bucky sprinted to the window, heart pounding as he watched you speed away in a sleek convertible with no roof. The same lawyer sat confidently behind the wheel. His guess was right — that lawyer is your partner in crime too.

He stood frozen for a heartbeat, her words replaying in his mind—“I’m going to steal your heart.” A slow, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his usual guarded expression cracking just enough to let something raw and real slip through.

She’s a thief—always has been. But maybe this time, she’s trying to steal something that matters.

"Damn it,” he whispered, voice low and rough, “why does she have to be this good at breaking me?”

💎💎💎💎

Inside the speeding car, the wind whipped through your hair, but you barely noticed. Edward, a picture of calm amusement behind the wheel, glanced at you. "So... you just professed your love to him, huh? What are you going to do next, send him a dozen roses?"

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. The adrenaline from the heist and the escape was fading, replaced by a mortifying wave of embarrassment, shyness, and a dizzying mix of emotions. "I don't know!" you wailed, your voice muffled. "I just... I don't know!"

Author’s note: What will she do to get Bucky back? As an author, I also don't know. Lol 🤣

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moscatosin · 17 days ago

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🖤 lazy sundays. theodore nott 🖤 ex!theodore. lazy sundays. a little angst. a little reminiscing. vanilla thickshake.

Lazy Sunday afternoons have always been your favourite time of the week. A slither and slice of paradise slotted into a couple of hours of pure bliss. Life, once upon a time; was simple. That time however, was a long now while ago. There was a part of you, that would give anything to have that back. A part of you now though knew better to ponder over daydreams like you once had before.

The book you’ve been cradling in your hands for the last hour or so is nothing more than a decoy. The words shimmer into a blur before sharpening again as your fingers turn a page swiftly that you haven’t actually bothered to read. It’s a habit now – this fake reading saga. Flipping pages every so often to make it look like you’re invested in a story you’ve ready far too many times, but your focus; well, it has long since settled elsewhere.

That somewhere – on a boy. A boy resting comfortable between your legs with his head nestled against your stomach, soft and warm, like he belongs there. Theodore. Breathing evenly, slowly; deeply, his eyes shut although he is not asleep. Comfortable. Like he once was, and you wished he always would be. The gentle rise and fall of your chest every time you take a breath moves him with it, as if the two of you are tethered together in some miniscule, invisible kind of way.

You’re both silent. There’s no reason to talk. Neither of you talk much anymore. Company is all you’re both after and in reality – between the two of you there isn’t much left to say. Actually, there isn’t anything left to say. He hums softly. It’s enough to get you to look away from the page you’re pretending to read for a few seconds as he mumbles, almost inaudibly something about how the book you’re holding can’t be that interesting and you smile. Lips curling into a soft smirk that only just masks the chuckle you can feel building up in the back of your throat, not because Theodore is right. Which is he. No, because he knows, and it seems that Theodore, always, knows.

You don’t answer. Not with words. Instead, you let your fingers slip gently into his hair, twirling the strands lazily; having noticed how much longer it’s gotten – the way it has begun to curl at the ends. This allows the silence you’re both in to resettle. Thick. Thick around you both like one of those warm, feathery, fluffy blankets that in winter, you’re reluctant to ever want to shrug off.

Theo lets out a breath he doesn’t seem to realise that he has been holding, and you watch at the way the tension he’s been building up and letting stir within him leaves his jaw, his shoulders, his whole body. It softens; like a tired toddler, like he’s finally allowed to rest in this space that he’s comfortable in however shouldn’t really be his anymore. You’ve let him in however. Perhaps because the space you’re both in isn’t really yours either. It’s borrowed. Physical but temporary. The two of you just managing to exist within the margins of each other worlds – in interludes, in interpolations, in stolen clandestine moments that shouldn’t exist in the lives you’ve moved on to.

“How much longer do we have?”, your words are barely above that of a whisper. “Until it gets dark.” Theo’s response comes out with a sigh as the realisation that this afternoon has to end becomes reality.

You nod. You give him the same reaction you do every week like clockwork for that’s all that this has ever been. That slice of paradise that you were once privy to. A piece of him you no longer have all to yourself. Around you, sunlight and silence both pretend that you don’t have somewhere else to be. That he doesn’t have someone else to go back to. Someone who calls him by names you once did because she’s earned the privilege. One you haven’t lost but no longer feel obliged to use. You drop the book from your hands against your chest and sigh; pressing your lips together to swallow the ache that is brewing up uncomfortably inside.

Theo shifts; it is only slight, turning his face to rest against your hip now, draping an arm languidly over your waist. You feel the press of his mouth against bare skin where your shirt has risen from the waistband of your jeans; soft and familiar, but it isn’t a kiss, more of a brush before he continues to speak in a whisper.

“I miss this.” “I know Theodore. Me too.”

His words along with yours aren’t confessions. They’re just facts. Truths. Realities. A little like how the sun is starting to slowly set. How you both should be somewhere else but can’t pull away. Don’t want to.

Your hand brushing through his hair stills for a moment; a moment too long. A moment that is long enough it allows you to breathe. To exhale out and release all the pent up wants and wishes and not at all’s you’ve been letting lay dormant all afternoon, all week; for what you know will forever be a lifetime. Soft sunlight begins to filter through the curtains – shadows dancing within corners that are coming out to play. You both know exactly what this means. Time is up. Neither of you move.

For now – there’s a silent agreement between you both that the world can wait. For now, you both just want to stay. You’ll let him stay. You’ll cancel plans. You’ll convince yourself that what you both have isn’t problematic. That it’s harmless. Simplistic. Innocent. Safe. That although you’ve both moved on from each other, that with each other is where you feel like you most belong…

…wrapped in the arms of someone who stopped being yours a long time ago. Of someone who you’d give anything to be back in the day dreams of.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #hogwarts #hogwarts universe #moscatosin #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x self insert #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott drabble #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott angst #felt like something soft sorry if this isn't your thing

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mack-writersblock · 5 months ago

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Hello! I want Emily X reader.Rossi's sister arrives to help them with a case (she works at the CIA) and Emily begins to appreciate it both flirting and teasing each other and end up succumbing. ..

-Anges

More Than We Bargained For || E. Prentiss

Summary: The BAU get a case that reminds David of an old case of his sister. He called fem!reader in to help with the case, yet she leaves with more than just another solve case under her belt.

cw: one use of Y/N for introduction, reader goes by mother's maiden name, pet names, drinking, first kiss, barely edited.

Word count: 2286

First ask and first Emily fic here on Tumblr, hope you like it!

₊˚⊹⁠♡————— ⁠♡ —————♡⊹⁠˚₊

It wasn’t every day you got a call from your older brother. Sure, sure you two talked, but it was once a month at most. So when your phone rang, the last thing you would have guessed it was, was David Rossi asking you to consult on a case.

“As I live and breathe,” you answered the phone, “David Rossi calling his dear younger sister two days in a row,” you teased and excused yourself from your conversation with one of your coworkers.

“I’d love to say it’s because I missed you but I need your help,” David admitted and you gently shook your head.

“What can I help you with?” You asked, sitting down at your desk.

“We have a case, it reminds me of an old case of yours,” David admitted and you blew air out of your nose.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” you told him, standing up and collecting your things.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

You were in the elevator on the way up to David’s floor, you had reviewed the case information David had sent over in the car ride. The doors slid open and you saw David waiting on the other side of them, Aaron Hotchner standing with him.

“Dave,” you smiled, opting to gently push his shoulder instead of hugging him. You turned to look at Aaron. “Nice to meet you, Aaron. Dave talks about you,” you shook his hand before following the two into the bullpen and to the round table. Your eyes traveled the team before you, lingering on a brunette longer than they should have.

“This is my sister, Y/N Moretti,” David introduced you to the team, they went around in introductions before jumping into the case.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“Prentiss, I’ve heard about you,” you looked over the brunette, you two being stuck with stake-out duty. “Faking your death is a pretty ballsy move,” you told her, watching her take a drink of her coffee.

“Is that all Rossi told you?” Emily looked over at you.

“You think Dave calls me enough for me to ask about anything but if he’s ok?” You joked, tilting your head back with your soft laugh, missing the tender look Emily gave you. “I get all my information about you through the grapevine of people, it makes it back to us. Especially since Interpol,” you told her, looking back at the house.

“What do you know about me, Moretti?” The teasing lit in her voice making you smile.

“Well, Prentiss, not much. What can you tell me?” You teased back, making her smile. And that’s how you two spent the remainder of the time, talking about yourselves and watching the house.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“There was no movement in or out of the house,” Emily told everyone and you sat down, looking over the files again. Your team joined you once you had confirmed that you would be working on it and they had brought over the old files with them.

“If this is the same guy, there’s no way he would wait this long for another victim,” you mused, focusing on the case files in front of you.

“Why’s that?” Derek asked you and you looked up at him.

“He might be calculated, but he is compulsive. He was caught the first time because he couldn’t help but attack Sarah Winters when he saw her. He knew she was a cop and that her partner was a shout away, but she was his type. If this is him, there has to be another reason for him not striking again,” you told them.

“We find the reason we find him,” David said and you agreed. “What do you know about Jovan Orlov?” David and the team all sat as you started talking.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“Tell me, Prentiss, you got a boyfriend?” You paused a moment. “A girlfriend?” You heard her laugh, not bothering to turn to her.

“Why do you wanna know, Moretti?” She was looking at you but you were more focused on the papers in your hands.

“Just curious, darling,” you responded.

“No, I don’t,” she told you and you nodded. “Do you?”

“Not anymore,” you said in a sing-song-like manner.

“What happened?” You could feel her stare boring into the side of your head.

“Guys tend to think that just because I also like women, I’m automatically open to a threesome with some other women they are attracted to,” you shrugged.

“Are you?” It was a joke and you could hear it.

“Are you offering?” You finally looked at her but cringed back when you saw David standing behind her.

“Are you two working or flirting?” He had a smile on his face and you narrowed her eyes at him.

“Working and flirting,” you told him and he shook his head.

“I knew bringing you here would have odd consequences, just didn’t think you flirting with Prentiss would be one of them.”

“You brought me here and then made me do a stake-out with the one person here who would be my type, try again, David,” you watched him laugh.

“Just more working and less flirting,” he pointed at you.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

You and Emily ran after Jovan down an alleyway, you were slightly behind her as you started to run a little after she did. You rounded the corner right after her to see her standing over the unsub with her gun pointed down at him.

“Jovan Orlov, you’re under arrest for the murder of several women,” you walked over to pull him up and put the handcuffs on him. Your brother and the rest of his team rounded the corner and you handed Orlov off. You turned back to Emily as she walked up to you. “Good job, darling,” you told her, watching her smile and slightly turn away. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” You teased her.

“You wish,” she said back.

“You’re right, I do wish,” you responded, walking off as your team made it to the crime scene. Emily watched as you talked with your team, how you stood with your shoulders back and hands on your hips. You stood with confidence and it was obvious you were the person your team looked to for guidance. You glanced over your shoulder, smiling at Emily as you made eye contact before looking back at your team.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“So, how’d you like it?” David questioned and you looked at him.

“What?” You asked, confused.

“Did you like working here?” He clarified.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just asking,” he told you but you shook your head.

“Sure you are because this has nothing to do with the fact you’ve asked me to join the BAU since the beginning,” you raised an eyebrow.

“Well, at least now I have a better argument instead of just me working here.”

“And what’s that?”

“Emily Prentiss,” he said her name and you looked him in the eyes with an eyebrow raised.

“Hm, she is a compelling argument,” you smiled.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

You sat at the slightly sticky table of the bar watching Emily dance and have fun. You and your team joined the BAU for celebratory drinks after the case, mostly at the insistence of David. You had been slowly nursing the same drink the whole time, watching as everyone else slammed drink after drink. You made eye contact with Emily as she stopped at the bar to get another drink, you smiled at her before you looked away and down at your drink. You downed the last little bit of it before looking up to the roof.

“Here,” Emily placed a cup of water in front of you, making look at her.

“Thanks,” you took a sip of it. “You’re surprisingly coherent for someone who has been drinking all night,” you mused, watching her take a drink from her cup.

“I have a high tolerance,” she shrugged and you looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Had me fooled, you looked quite intoxicated,” you told her, watching her as she scooted closer and eventually put her hand on your thigh. “Darling, as much as I would love to see where this is going, try again when you’re sober,” you grabbed her hand and led it in yours.

“I am sober, babe,” she tried again but the hold on her hand stopped her from placing it on your thigh.

“You may not be drunk, but you have been drinking and that’s enough of a reason for me to think you aren’t thinking straight,” you placed your interlaced hands on the table as she just looked at you. “Do you want me to take you home?” You watched her nod. “Ok, wait here, I’ll go pay for both of our tabs then come back, ok, Tesoro?”

“Ok,” she downed the rest of her drink and on your way to the bar, you stopped by your brother.

“Hey, I’m taking Emily home per her request,” you told him.

“Ok,” he nodded and you smiled at him before continuing to the bar.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“You have a nice house,” Emily was standing in your walkway, she insisted you take her to your place and you agreed.

“Thanks, Tesoro, right through here,” you guided her to the kitchen, dimming the lights as you walked in. You grabbed one of the glasses from your cabinet and filled it with water, you handed it over to her. You could tell she was sobering up by the way she wasn’t slightly swaying. “When you asked to come over, did you plan on staying here or did you just not want to go home at that moment?”

“Can I stay?” She sounded hopeful and you nodded.

“I’ll let you wear some of my clothes to bed then,” you took the glass back and placed it in the dishwasher, you could feel her eyes on you. “Are you staring at me, Prentiss?” When you didn’t get an answer, you turned to her and found her leaning against the counter looking ready to pass out. You wordlessly grabbed her hand and led her to your bedroom, sitting her on the bed to grab some extra pajamas you had. “Here, the bathroom’s right there,” you directed her to the right door with a point, watching as she walked there.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

You could hear Emily get up from the kitchen, the soft padder of her feet making you look up. You smiled at her as you continued to make breakfast, she sat down at the island of your kitchen with a groan.

“Does your house have to be so bright?” She groaned in pain, shielding her eyes from the sun and the lights you had on.

“Sorry, darling, here,” you reached over to dim the lights with a small laugh before returning to making dinner.

“You have dimmers on all your lights?”

“Yeah, the house came with it,” you told her, placing a plate in front of her. “You watched her take it and the medicine you handed her moments later. “I called Dave, and he said that it was ok for you to be late,” you sat down on the chair next to her.

“What about you?” She looked over at you midbite.

“Oh, I don’t have to be in until 1 pm unless we are actively working on something,” you explained and she nodded.

“I’m jealous,” she went back to eating and you followed her.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

“Babe,” Emily called from your bedroom as she got ready, you told her you’d take her to work since she didn’t have her car at your house.

“Yeah, what’s up?” You stopped at the door, not wanting to open it just in case.

“Can you help me?” She asked and you opened the door to find her struggling with the buttons of the shirt.

“Oh, shit, yeah. Sorry I forgot to tell you that the buttons are slightly too big for the holes on that shirt, it always shrinks in the wash,” you walked over and pushed her hands out of the way. You did the buttons for her, ignoring how her gentle breaths blew across your face.

“How expensive is the outfit I’m wearing right now?”

“Not very, unlike my brother I did not write books and become rich, sure I have some money but I also don’t spend it on things like dress shirts,” you told her, removing your hands from the shirt you looked her in the eyes. You watched her eyes dart down to your lips and then back to your eyes.

“Am I sober enough now?” Emily asked and you sighed, looking over at the wall clock.

“After all my hard work, you’re going to have me unbutton this shirt again?” You joked, leaning closer to her. You brushed your lips against Emily’s before the two of you practically smooshed yourselves against each other.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it in today,” Emily told you and you laughed.

“Yeah, neither do I,” you reached up to her shirt, and ripped it open. Emily gasped at the action and you smiled extra wide. “I didn’t like the shirt that much anyway,” you shrugged, pulling her closer to you.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

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#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #criminal minds #im just a girl

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on-a-lucky-tide · 9 months ago

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teehee its my birthday buuuuuut i am here clawing for nikprice on the ground like a chicken. anyway i wonder how would a nikprice drunk confession go. i just love that trope to death lol

It's your birthday? Happy birthday, mate! A small gift...

Price gets a medal and then gets drunk at the after party. Nik is surprised to hear what he has to say. No one else - and I mean, no one else - is.

cw: alcohol, drunken kiss.

"I hate these bloody things," Price mumbled into his scotch, staring bleary-eyed at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. His speech had been short, concise, and he had spent the majority of it talking about the bravery and dedication of his Task Force. The rest of 'em had prattled on for ages about themselves, preening their egos with the new metal on their chests.

"It is a party in your honour, captain. You did a brave thing. And," Nik leaned back to pluck a canapé from the tray of a passing waitress, "there is free food." He pulled the honey-soaked sausage off the cocktail stick and chucked it in the air, catching it in his open mouth, much to the consternation of a gaggle of RAF officers nearby.

None of them were brave enough to let Nikolai see or hear what they thought of him, because they had all heard enough whispers of his service record to steer well clear. Even top brass were scared enough of him to overlook his multiple active Interpol arrest warrants so that he could attend.

Price smiled as Nik chewed, clearly pleased with his feat of dexterity, and then proceeded to slosh his scotch all over himself as he leaned his elbow against the bar... but missed said bar by about an inch and a half. "Bollocks," he growled, as expensive alcohol soaked into the equally expensive wool of his number one uniform.

Nik chuckled, snatching up a handful of serviettes from the bar. "I am starting to think you are a lightweight," he said, swivelling around in his bar stool so that his knees bracketed Price's, a folded serviette pressed to Price's chest to soak out some of the scotch.

"'M not," Price... slurred, fuck, maybe he was. "You wearin' cologne?"

"Da, number one majesté impériale."

"Sounds posh," Price said, lifting his scotch for another swig.

"Hm, it is $215,000 a bottle."

Price choked on his drink, spluttering it back into the glass. "You spent nearly four times my salary on some cologne?" He wheezed.

"It is a special occasion."

"Bloody fucking christ, Nik. It's a medal ceremony, not a bloody coronation."

"It is more important to me," Nik said, "because it is you."

Price felt his cheeks and ears warm. It didn't help that Nik's big hands were still on his chest, careful to pluck away the stray fibres of serviette from where it clung to the damp wool. This close, Price couldn't help but stare.

Fuck, he was so... handsome.

Nik had made an effort to look, and smell, his best. In his expensive tailored three-piece, no tie, because... well, who would be brave enough to tell Nikolai to put on a fuckin' tie? The open top button gave Price a really good view of his chest hair peeking through at the top. Oh, fuckin'... Hot, it was hot in here. Damn uniform.

"Careful, captain, you will fall," Nik said softly, palm pressed to the centre of Price's chest. Price had been leaning forward. Leering. Oh, this was embarrassing. He cleared his throat, shuffled back, and beckoned the barman over for a refill.

Two more glasses, one of vodka and another of scotch, and Price chanced a glance over at Nik again. "Thanks... for, uh, coming to this. The boys like the schmoozin', Simon doesn't stay longer than the talks, don't blame him, but, I, uh..."

"You find it hard to navigate the politics because you are honest and they," Nik waved his hand vaguely around the room, "are not."

Price smiled faintly. "Yeah, guess so. Full of compliments today, Nik. Man might get the wrong idea."

"Or... the right idea."

Price froze with the glass halfway up to his mouth. Even through the drunken dog, he managed to parse the meaning behind that. In payment, however, his brain had decided to bury his entire knowledge of the English language, so all he could do was make a small noise in the back of his throat, which he smothered with a large mouthful of scotch.

Nik hadn't turned in his stool, his knees still spread wide either side of Price's, and Price wanted to shuffle a little closer. He wanted those hands back on his chest, and he wanted... Christ, he just wanted. He had wanted for a long fuckin' time.

"Here," Nik said, sliding a plate of sausages over to Price. "It will absorb some of the scotch."

"Urf, naw, can't stomach that shit..."

"Then we shall go elsewhere."

"Wot?"

"Come, captain. The sergeants left for the clubs ten minutes ago."

"They did? Bastards..."

"Da. I will get your coat."

The fresh evening air hit Price like a sledge hammer to the face, and he was pretty sure he would have fallen in the gutter without Nikolai to lean on. He was intimately aware of the strong arm around his waist, one of his hands clinging onto Nik's expensive wool coat as they staggered into the local Maccy D's for a Big Mac and chicken nugget share box.

Nik paid for it, flashing his most charming smile at the young girl behind the counter as he collected the highly decorated SAS captain from where he was clinging onto a nearby condiments bench for support, takeaway bag in hand.

They ended up sat on a bench by the Thames, dressed to the nines, Nik smelling of thousand dollar cologne as he wolfed down over-salted MacDonald's chips at Price's side, and Price couldn't stop staring at him.

Nik could be anywhere else. Anywhere. He could be partying with the wealthiest men and women in the world, walking among the elite, and yet here he was sitting in London eating shitty fast food with a drunk soldier. He chose Price every time. Every time. Price felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. "Nikolai..."

"Da, captain."

"I think I love you."

Nik grinned, huffing a soft chuckle. "Mmhm."

"No, no," Price swiped his beret off, which had somehow managed to cling onto his head while they had staggered through the mean streets of Westminster. "I... I'm serious. I... I love you. Have for, uh," he hiccuped, fucking hiccuped, tried to recover by puffing into his clenched fist, "...have for a while," he squeaked. Oh, fuck, was that indigestion?

Nik put his box of chicken nuggets aside and turned, arm draped over the back of the bench. He slid a gloved hand under Price's chin and turned his head up. Seconds later, they were kissing. Fucking... Nik's fucking lips were on Price's and, and...

Price hiccuped again.

Nik chuckled into his mouth, before drawing away to smooth his thumb through Price's beard. "This is not how I imagined it, but it is... somehow, right."

Price's face was bright red, he could feel it burning, and his eyes were wide. "You, uh... You..."

"For many, many years, solnyshko."

"We've... that's a... a long time." Price said softly.

"I am a patient man. And you are worth waiting for."

After that, Price didn't really recall much. The MacDonald's hit the deck and Price climbed Nikolai like a bloody tree. They ended up in his hotel room, with Nik's expensive suit and Price's (honestly, perhaps slightly less) expensive uniform on the floor. It might have gone further than boyish fumbling if Price hadn't fallen asleep face down in the pillows after saying he didn't want to take advantage of Nik in his current state. Nik had chuckled at that and laid down next to him, stroking his hair.

Price woke up in the morning with a sore head and a dry mouth, and found Nik sitting by the open window in a hotel dressing gown. "Nik, did I..."

"Nyet, captain. You were an absolute gentleman." Nik put the newspaper aside and took his glasses off, delivering the waiting pint of water and aspirin to Prices hands. "Do you... remember what you said?"

Price's cheeks reddened. "Yeah, look, I'll understand if--"

He didn't get to finish. Nik kissed him squarely on his stupid mouth, stroking a big palm through his hair. When he drew back, he hummed softly. "Drink that and then we will go to breakfast," he said, walking away. Price couldn't help but stare as the dressing gown slid down his broad back, revealing a full arse framed in black boxers. "And brush your teeth."

Price downed the water and staggered from beneath the duvet. He was ready to head down within ten minutes, desperate for a strong coffee and a greasy sarnie. Unfortunately, the rest of his task force, Los Vaqueros, Chimera, Laswell and a handful of her agents happened to be in the dining room already.

"Eyy, there he is!" Gaz called, toasting his mug of coffee.

Soap looked round, glanced at Nik and then back at Price. "Fuckin' finally."

Laswell rested her chin on her palm. "Bagged your man then, Nik. Well done."

Price blinked, squinting in the bright morning light. "So you all--"

Simon walked past, his plate heaped with bacon and eggs, and shoved a coffee into his captain's hand before patting his shoulder. "Yeah. Everyone did 'cept you."

Price looked at Nik for help, only to receive a shrug and a quirked eyebrow before Nik wandered off to the buffet.

"Bloody bastards," Price muttered, glancing at each triumphant face, thumbs up and smirk, before slumping into a nearby chair. Bloody. Bastards

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #cod #call of duty

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em1i2a3 · 4 months ago

Text

My Desire

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Avengers!Fem!Reader(Ex-HYDRA)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI!, Mentions of Past Violence/Blood, Mentions of Stabbing (the reader has a scar from an incident involving Bucky/The Winter Soldier), Swearing, PTSD, Bucky kind of goes through some guilt in this, Enemies to Lovers, Fake Relationship Trope, BDSM Club Mission, Unintended Voyeurism, Mentions/References to Exhibitionism, Smut; fingering, oral sex (fem! Receiving), spitting, some nipple play, handjob, a bit of a praise kink if you squint, a little bit of a pain kink if you squint, P in V sex (unprotected, you know the drill though…Wrap it before going heels to Jesus), Shower Sex . Beefy Bucky is the current squeeeeeeeze if y’all know what I mean.

Author's Note: Wheew, I decided to take the trope of Enemies to Lovers and Fake Relationships to the next level. Ah, I love tropes, especially when you can throw everything and the kitchen sink at it. I did change some contextual stuff up a little bit just to suit the needs of the story. Hope y’all enjoy :) Sorry it took so long to get a new piece out btw, I’ve been studying for a licensing thing and that’s been literally consuming my time!

Word Count: 23,866

Next Part: Girls Like You

The air in the debriefing room was thick and suffocating when you walked in that morning. The night before you had received an urgent call from Maria Hill asking if you could attend a meeting for the next day, you were caught off guard by the request, but you were also curious as to what she was going to assign you, so you had taken the opportunity and agreed.

Maria stood at the front of the room, face flat, unreadable. You could sense there was someone else in the room, noticing one of the chairs was turned away from you, but out of the corner of your eye you could see the slight shine of the all-too-familiar metal arm, only now it was black, shiny, a new model. Your stomach dropped almost in an instant, a deep-seated regret immediately hitting you in the face. The chair turned, and you were met with the cold, desolate blue eyes, and scowl that you had seen on CCTV and up close. He was the shell of someone you once thought you knew.

Bucky Barnes.

He leaned back in his seat with his broad arms crossed over his chest, looking almost as irritated as you. He looked like he had gained a lot more muscle since the last time you saw him, and it was evident just by the way his biceps strained against the fabric of his t-shirt, and how he shifted uncomfortably in the chair he was in, his thighs spreading slightly to try and find a position he felt good in. He had trimmed his hair, it was not instantly noticeable, but when you replayed your last interaction in your head daily, it was easy to recognize the changes he physically made to himself.

“Just the person I wanted to see at 8 am.” He muttered, the words edging with sarcasm, casting a pointed look at Maria. You let out a slow, exaggerated exhale.

”Can’t believe you’re still fucking breathing.” You commented, watching him glance over his shoulder, tilting his head.

”Disappointed?” He asked mockingly.

”Absolutely devastated.” Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

”Yeah, guess we can’t all get what we want.” Your fingers twitched at your sides.

”Oh, I don’t know,” You mused, “Last time I checked, you got exactly what you wanted. A knife through my fucking chest, if I’m remembering correctly of course.” He groaned.

”Can’t believe you’re still going on about that. It’s been two years, sweetheart. Get over it.” You could feel your blood curdling beneath your skin, as you balled your hands into tight fists.

”Get over it? I was hospitalized for almost seven months.” He spun around on his chair to face you, one eyebrow raised.

”And? You’re still here are you not? You scoffed at him.

“Yeah, walking proof that you failed your fucking mission.” `He rolled his eyes.

”Not like I didn’t try to finish the job, remember?” Your jaw clenched at his comment, a phantom pain itching in the middle of your chest, radiating down to the center of your sternum, the exact spot his knife had pierced through, where he had twisted.

“Oh, I remember. Evidently, you do too. You must get off to it.” You spat back, watching as Bucky’s smirk vanished from his face. You could’ve sworn you heard the metal of his hand squeaking when he balled it up in a fist. You should’ve stopped there, but you couldn’t let this one go.

”You must really love replaying it,” You sneered, “The way I was pinned under you, screaming at you to let me go, the begging, and the way you took such fucking pleasure in driving that knife in slow-.” Bucky moved so fast you barely saw it coming. He was in your space in a split second, towering over you, his eyes burning holes through yours.

”You going to keep talking?” His voice was low and threatening, his eyes studying you, looking at the way you didn’t back down and recoil. He could see the fire in your eyes, the rage shaking behind them.

“Oh? Did I hit a nerve?” You said, feigning shock, poking the bear even more, watching his jaw clench.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” He growled, stepping closer, his hot breath now fanning over your face, once again you didn’t move back.

“You may have everyone else fooled with your ‘I was brainwashed by HYDRA, I had no control’ schtick, but you and I both know that’s just bullshit.” Bucky’s metal hand immediately launched out at you, grabbing onto the collar of your shirt, yet you remained still, your breath hitching in your throat. Maria jumped into action quickly, making her way over to the scene.

“HEY!” She yelled, putting herself between the both of you, one hand pressing against Bucky’s chest, while the other pushed against your shoulder, attempting to separate the impending fight before it started. Neither of you broke eye contact, as Maria continued to try to make additional space, “Let go of her Bucky.” She commanded, he didn’t flinch, his grip only tightened more, his ice-cold gaze staring at you.

“You want to start something?” Maria added, “Because I promise you, you will not like how it fucking ends. Now let. Go.” She demanded through clenched teeth. There is a beat of silence that comes up between the three of you, as he slowly unclenches his hand, releasing your shirt from his grasp. You shake yourself out a bit, adjusting your top which had now been stretched from how hard he pulled you, the neckline now hanging loosely on your chest. Maria spun around on her heel, looking at you.

“Do you have a fucking death wish?” She snapped.

“You’re the one that brought him here, what did you expect me to do? Give him a warm welcome?” She let out a frustrated sigh.

“No. I expect you to act like a professional.” She replied, taking a step closer, “But instead you’re playing chicken with someone who can snap your neck like a twig if he wanted to.” You felt your jaw clench at her words, seething at the tone she was taking.

“And what about him?! He’s the one that got physical first.” She shook her head.

“Yeah because you baited him for a reaction.” She shot back, “We have invested a lot of time and effort undoing what HYDRA did to him. But you can’t be surprised when he has a very human reaction when reminded of the things he’s done in the past.” You could practically feel your blood boiling at this point, hearing the condescending tone she was taking.

“Sure. Let’s just keep making excuses for poor little Bucky who’s trying to figure out how to be a person again.” He stiffened at your words, it wasn’t obvious, but you could see the slight shift.

“Well. At least HYDRA made me useful for something. What’s your excuse?” The second the words left his mouth you saw red.

“Okay. That’s enough!” Maria yelled before you could say anything back, before you could retaliate. Bucky watched you carefully, knowing he won that round. Maria dragged a hand down her face, already exhausted from this encounter, realizing it was only going to get worse once she gave a debrief on the mission she needed to assign them.

“Can we all just please…Sit the fuck down now so we can get on with this meeting?” She asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. You squinted at Bucky, seeing a smirk come up on his face, as he turned around and returned to his seat, the chair creaking under his weight. You huffed, biting into your cheek while you walked to the other side of the conference table, taking a seat opposite of him, avoiding his eyes which were now watching you.

“Alright…” Maria sighed, grabbing two manilla folders from the front cart near the television, sliding one toward you, and the other toward Bucky. You flipped open the file without hesitation, scanning the contents inside, glancing across from you to see that Bucky mirrored your actions, though you could sense he was not paying attention fully.

Timothy Orkolov was the target's name, aged 48, nationality Russian, known aliases; ‘Red Fang’. A high-resolution CCTV image of him was stapled to the corner of the first page. He was midstride, dressed in a long, navy blue, double-breasted overcoat, and black dress pants, with sunglasses pushed against his face, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His salt and pepper beard was trimmed with precision, and his dark brown hair was slicked back and shiny. He looked like a businessman, that was for sure.

"Orkolov has been on our radar for over two years," Maria began, tapping her fingers against the table, her gaze flickering from you to Bucky, "He isn’t just an arms dealer, he’s a facilitator. A broker of power. He’s connected to corrupt officials, private militias, and underground trade networks spanning across Europe. He doesn’t just sell weapons, he sells wars." You glance up at Bucky, watching his jaw tighten slightly at Maria's brief description.

“Great…So he’s a criminal. Why haven’t you guys sent out agents from your team, why do you need us?” You ask, pushing the file away and sitting back in your chair.

“Because we have already sent in our regular agents. Three times actually. They all ended up dead. Does that answer your question?” You glance over at Bucky, who is still flipping through the file, ignoring the conversation.

“So instead of sending one of your own, you decided it was a good idea to throw us at the problem instead? What are we? Expendables?”You questioned, Maria tapped her fingers against the table, feeling an argument beginning.

“No. You’re necessary. We were able to get both of you on his guest list at his club ‘The Velvet Fang’. That’s one step further than the other times we’ve attempted to get someone in.” There is a hint of familiarity that flashes in Bucky’s eyes, as he pushes the file away as well, you can see behind his stoic expression that the cogs in his head are turning.

“Did you use our real names?” He asked, his voice stern, almost like he knew the answer already.

“Yes…Yes, we gave them your real names.” Maria responded quietly, knowing that she had made a mistake. Bucky scoffs.

“No wonder we got on the list…” He ran his hand over his face, glancing over at you, seeing the confusion in your eyes.

“We needed to establish credibility,” Maria said, her voice choking up, a little on edge, not knowing what Bucky was going to do next.

“You needed credibility,” He repeated, the sharp tone of rage boiling beneath his words, “So you decided to hand our names to him on a silver platter? How could you think that was a good idea?” He questioned.

“We had no other ch-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Maria!” He snapped, turning his anger towards you now, “And how could you not be freaking out about this?!” You looked at him now, shrugging.

“Hey, it’s not a life-or-death situation for me. Unlike you, my name isn’t attached to war crimes, assassinations, and a century-long kill list.” He breathed in slowly, trying to compose himself, attempting to lower his anger.

“Just because you couldn’t stomach your orders and defected from HYDRA doesn’t mean anything. How do you think I tracked you down?” He shot back.

“That has no connection to this. Orkolov wouldn’t want anything to do with me because I’m not a fucking animal, an ex-HYDRA member with no hits is not a hot commodity for people like him.” Bucky sat back, his hands rubbing along his pants.

“Being a passive participant doesn’t stop an arms dealer from using you. It’ll be very easy to get you back into your old programming.” Maria looked over at you, watching as you dug your nails into your palm, your jaw clenching at his words.

“There is no old programming to go back to,” You bit out, “I never completed their training and I didn’t get the chair to try to erase who I was either, so you can stop fucking speaking.” You snapped.

“Okay guys, please…Before I start bleeding out of my ears, can we just get this meeting done?” Maria begged, with exhaustion lacing her voice, digging her fingers into her temples, massaging them slowly, “There’s one more thing I need to tell you.” You leaned on the table, letting out a humourless laugh.

“How much worse could it possibly get? Please. Enlighten us.” Bucky looked over at you out of the corner of his eye, then brought his gaze back to Maria’s, watching her shift nervously.

“You guys are going as a couple.” Silence. Dead, thick, suffocating silence. That’s all that hung in the room for the next couple of minutes. “It’s all in the file.” She added, looking down at her hands. The both of you immediately pulled your folders back to each other and flipped to the very last page, seeing the complete narrative that was devised for the both of you. Former HYDRA operatives. Defected together. Fell off the radar together. And now, resurfacing together.

“So that’s why you couldn’t send me with anyone else but him? You’re using our past as your little fucking token?” You questioned.

“I used it as an in. Orkolov doesn’t deal with outsiders. He doesn’t trust new faces. But a couple; one with a history, one with shared scars, one that understands the same darkness he does—that’s a story he’ll believe.” Bucky let out a sharp breath, the kind that sounded like he was seconds away from either punching a hole through the table or walking out of the room entirely. His jaw was tight, his fingers curling into a fist on his knee before he got up to start pacing.

“Your timelines together added up just right for this plan to even work, we couldn’t risk missing the opportunity.” She continued, as Bucky let out a laugh, shaking his head while he paced back and forth with his hands on his hips and his eyes locked onto the floor.

“Our timelines added up?” You repeated, incredulously, pushing the open file away from you once again, “You mean the years I spent trying to escape HYDRA? The fucking manhunt that followed me? The fact that he spent months trying to track me down and brought me to the edge of my fucking life?” You pointed at Bucky, who stopped pacing at the mention of the past, his body coiled tight, “That was just a nice little convenience for your little story huh?” Maria exhaled slowly.

”I know this is a lot-.”

“No,” Bucky cut her off, “A lot is being sent into a hostile situation. A lot is having our real names handed over to a man who probably wants us to reinstate our old HYDRA roles again.” He motioned between you and himself, his glare was all-encompassing, fury-filled, “But this? This is fucking insanity.” Maria nodded.

“I understand it is, and I’m sorry I didn’t run it by the both of you, but we are in a tight time crunch that you don’t seem to be seeing. A war is brewing, and we need intel to save lives, Bucky. You of all people should know what war does to someone.” The words came out of her without time to process what she was just about to say. You could see Bucky’s body go rigid, his breathing slowing down as if he were trying to calm himself. Maria had just thrown gasoline onto a blazing fire, and she knew it right away. You looked over at her, hoping, and waiting for her to backpedal, to apologize, but she held firm, staring at Bucky.

“You don’t get to use that against me.” Maria held his gaze.

“I won’t do it again…I just needed you to understand the direness of the situation.” He reached for the chair he had been sitting in, gripping the top of it, glancing over at you, trying to gauge what you were thinking, but at this point, you were unreadable, you were spaced out, looking at the table. You already realized there was no choice, and Maria wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

---—————-

“So let me get this straight. You and Bucky, the guy who literally almost gutted you like a fish, are going to fly to Vienna, so that you can attend a party and meet a guy who will probably end up either killing the both of you or recruiting you into his little ring of friends?” Natasha asked, her voice edging with something between amusement and disbelief. She lay sprawled out across your bed, watching you rummage through your closet, throwing shirts, jackets, and pants onto the ground as you attempted to find something that would make you blend into The Velvet Fang.

“That about sums it up.” You muttered, tossing another article of clothing to the side. Natasha let out a low whistle, flipping onto her stomach so she could rest her chin on her palm, a smirk plastered on her face. You looked over your shoulder, seeing her ice-blue eyes studying you.

“So…When’s the wedding?” She asked jokingly, trying to lighten the conversation. You rolled your eyes, stepping over the pile of clothes that surrounded you, and throwing yourself down on the bed with a loud thump.

“Please I am in no mood for your jokes.” You groaned, opening your eyes to stare up at the ceiling, your hands lying flat on your stomach. Natasha hummed.

“No jokes? Damn…This must really be killing you.” You shook your head.

“If it was anyone else I would be completely fine with it, but I can see he’s still unstable. You saw me when I defected from HYDRA, I was an absolute mess, it took me months to undo what they did, and I was only there for a year tops. Bucky had been their fucking plaything for decades, there’s no possible way he’s somehow reformed and completely fine.” You explained.

“So you’re scared he’s gonna snap and try and kill you again?” She asked softly, letting the question linger in the air, watching the way you shifted uncomfortably against the mattress.

“I’m not scared of him.” She arched her brow.

“Let’s not try to deflect the real question I just asked you Y/N.” You broke eye contact with her, not wanting to stare at her observant gaze. She knew you too well. She already had her answers. She just wanted to hear it from you.

“It’s not about him trying to kill me, Nat. We are coming face to face with someone who knows about our past with HYDRA. Who knows how long he has had to try and plan something against us. He knows we’re coming, we are on his list. What happens if Orkolov pushes the wrong buttons, and Bucky just loses it? Who do you think he’ll take out first? Hmm?” You asked, feeling the mattress shift, noticing Natasha getting up and walking over to the pile of clothes, shuffling through it to see if she could find something for you herself.

“If he wanted to, if he still had it in him…He would’ve done it when he saw you this morning. Even after you pushed his buttons he didn’t try to put in the kill shot. If it was Winter Soldier Bucky…You would’ve been a bloodstain on that conference room floor.” Natasha’s words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. You swallowed hard, shifting on the bed, your fingers idly tracing the seam of your sleeve. You wanted to argue, to push back against her calm logic, but you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew she was right. You sat up on your elbows, looking over at her pulling out a short black dress from the pile that you had overlooked, holding it up to herself for a brief moment before tossing it at you.

“This’ll work.” You eyed it skeptically.

“That thing barely has enough fabric to cover my ass…” She smirked.

“I’m pretty sure people at The Velvet Fang will appreciate it.” You ran your hand over the silky material, a defeated sigh escaping your throat.

“I can’t believe I’m putting myself out on display like this.” You muttered, lying down on the mattress again, a wave of nausea pouring up your stomach.

“You’re not. You’re just going to be a little bit of eye candy. Nobody is going to be hitting on you, especially if you’re with Bucky.” She pointed out. Her words were meant to be reassuring but they only made your stomach churn even more.

“Great…So now instead of kicking him out a window, I need to hide behind him to ignore any advances.” Natasha laughed, crossing her arms as she leaned against your dresser.

“I wish I could be there to see you play the doting little girlfriend, all wrapped up in her dangerous bad boy boyfriend. You’re gonna have to play nice.” You closed your eyes tightly.

“I’m going to throw myself out of the fucking plane while we’re in the air…That’s the only way I could get out of this.”

“C’mon. Now you’re just being dramatic. You should be taking this as an opportunity to let loose a little bit.” You groaned.

“If letting loose is code for committing manslaughter, I will happily let loose.” Natasha sighed.

“No manslaughter. Just try and have fun. You need to be convincing, if you’re looking miserable with someone who you’re supposed to love, Orkolov will immediately know. You’ll have to practice at least a bit so you two can loosen up and look natural.”

--—————————

Natasha’s words were running through your head the entire time you sat across from Bucky in the jet. The cabin was quiet, apart from the low hum of the engines and the occasional crackle of the intercom. You sat stiffly in your seat, looking at the glass of water on the table in front of you, watching the way it vibrated gently. You could hear him picking at the stitches of the leather seat, trying to distract himself, not wanting to say anything to you, but you could feel his presence, like an itch beneath your skin.

Without Maria, the both of you made an unspoken agreement to avoid having a conversation altogether. But now, halfway into the flight, the silence was starting to wear on you. You had avoided his eyes for the entire time, but when you leaned forward to reach for the glass you had been staring at you could hear the noise of his picking halt and his breath hitch. You looked up at him, seeing the way his jaw was clenched, and how he wasn’t staring at your face, but lower.

“What? What did I-” You looked down at yourself and paused, realizing that in the moment you had moved forward you loose zip up sweater did as well, exposing the top of his handy work. The top part was jagged, where he had twisted and applied pressure, almost like he wanted to break your chest open. You swallowed loudly, remembering the taste of blood that flooded your mouth in those moments before quickly straightening the fabric, bringing the zipper up all the way to your neck. The silence between the both of you stretched with fragility, you were expecting him to look away, but he couldn’t. He cleared his throat, and when he finally spoke he was quieter, his tone almost hollow.

”I didn’t…I didn’t realize it looked like that.” His words were uneven, shaky, and it made you pause. He wasn’t just shocked, he was horrified. You could see the way his fingers twitched, the way they dug into the fabric of his pants like he was trying to ground himself. It felt like someone had split his ribcage open and had begun to squeeze his lungs, wringing out all the air.

”Well…I don’t really go out showing it off to people.” You muttered, bringing your feet up to rest on the seat, so your knees were against your chest.

“I don’t remember…” He exhaled sharply, dragging his dark metal fingers through his hair, shaking his head, “I can’t remember doing it…” You hugged your knees closer to your chest, the weight of his words settling between you like a stone at the bottom of a lake. Bucky shook his head again as if he was trying to jog his memory so that he could rearrange the gaps.

”I remember tracking you.” You looked up at him, noticing the hint of frustration that glimmered in the dim lighting of the cabin. “I remember the order. I remember the fight, the way you used everything in your power to get me. You were…Trying to reach for your gun or a pager…Something, I don’t know.” You could feel your throat tighten, as you leaned forward to grab the glass of water, trying to wash down the lump that was forming, “Then I slammed you on the floor…But the moment it happened…It’s blank like someone ripped it out of my head. It’s a black hole.” You traced the rim of the glass. You didn’t know what was worse, the fact that he had done it or the fact that they wiped it from his memory.

“Lucky you I guess.” You whispered under your breath, taking another swig of water, feeling it cool your chest. His eyes narrowed.

”Can’t believe you would say something like that.” His voice was quiet.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You replied, settling the glass down on the table with a little more force than necessary, “You don’t carry it the way I have to.”

“I may not remember what I did to you, but do you really think I don’t wake up every fucking day knowing that there are pieces of me…Of the things that I’ve done…That I can’t even remember or be sorry for? I’d rather remember all of it than have these fucking gaps, where I have no idea who I was, what I did, or who I hurt.” His words sat on your chest. There was a part of you that wanted to lash out at him, to shove all the pain back at him with full force, to remind him that no matter how much he suffered you would never forgive him for what he did, that was just the honest truth. But then there was something under the surface, the haunting look in his eyes, the way he seemed like he wanted to crawl into himself and die…It tugged at the person you once were. That person would’ve seen the man in front of them for what he was now, not for what he had been then, but she was buried beneath the layers of anger, beneath everything HYDRA had done to you both. You ran a hand down your face.

”Look…Bucky.” He lifted his head slightly at you, brows knitting together, “I don’t know what you want me to say. That it’s fine? That I don’t think about it? I can’t lie to you about that.” He swallowed hard, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table, his hands clasping together.

”All I want is for you to know…That I’d take it back if I could, and that…I’m sorry.” The sincerity in his voice unsettled you. It was easier when he was cold, when he was just the Winter Soldier and not the man left in the aftermath. You wanted to hold onto your anger, to clutch it tight like it was your armour, but it was slipping through your fingers like sand. You exhaled slowly, staring down at your hands.

”I know…”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” He said, voice low, “I don’t even know if I’d want you to.” You looked at him, the both of you holding each other’s eyes.

”I don’t know if I can…But I know you mean it.” Bucky held your gaze for a moment longer, like he was searching for something in your face, something you weren’t sure you could give him. Then he nodded, a small, barely-there movement, and looked down at the table between you. You sighed, shifting in your seat.

”We still need to come up with a story that we are going to tell Orkolov if he asks us about our past.” Bucky rubbed the sweat off his palm.

”Yeah…Forgot about that.” He sat back in his seat, tilting his head against the headrest, eyes flicking toward the light above the both of you, “So, where do we start?” You shoved your hands into your sweater pocket.

”We can’t make it too perfect. If it’s too clean, he will know we rehearsed it, and that we’re lying.” He nodded, rolling his shoulders.

”Alright. So, we need just enough truth to give it that believability.” You nodded. He drummed his fingers against his knee.

”We start with HYDRA. Orkolov knows that we both left the place. I don’t know if he knows how much involvement you had in the place but we can keep it vague.”

”We can say I was assigned to intelligence. Data collection, infiltration? Something that didn’t leave much of a paper trail.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “That’ll also explain why my name doesn’t come up as often as yours, and I won’t have to explain why I really left.” Bucky hummed in agreement, rubbing his jaw as he thought it over.

”That works. They trained you but it was separate from the rest of us. They won’t suspect anything.” You gulped, pushing away the memories before they had a chance to settle into you.

”So how did we end up meeting then?” You questioned.

”When you defected, they sent me after you.” He responded simply, “It’ll explain the scar, and the reason why you’re not dead.” You shifted in your seat.

”Right…Because you hesitated.” A lie, but it was believable. Bucky nodded once.

”Something about you made me stop. I didn’t understand why, and I let you go.” You inhaled deeply.

”And HYDRA dragged you back in and wiped you again, tried to erase whatever it was that made you hesitate to finish the job.” He looked at you.

”But it didn’t stick, and then I found you again.” You swallowed, slowly nodding, glancing down at your hands as you traced the storyline in your mind, fitting the pieces together intricately, patching up whatever holes would be in the story.

”How?” Bucky shrugged.

”I don’t know, maybe I just started remembering things I wasn’t supposed to. Then I knew I needed to find you.” You took a steady breath.

”So you found me…And we made a pact to stick together, then somewhere along the way we got close. We had no one else, relied on each other, and just…Fell into it.” This was all just a cover, a fabrication designed to protect you both. But as you studied Bucky’s face, the way his fingers twitched slightly on the table, the way his throat bobbed with an unspoken thought, you realized just how convincing it sounded, even to yourselves. He cleared his throat, letting out a small cough.

”Yeah, I think that story is easy to sell.” You ran through it together once again, ironing out the little details, and making sure there were no weaknesses. Once you were finished there was only an hour left before you landed in Vienna, and thankfully things had cooled down a bit.

”Alright. So we stick to that story, no hesitations, no second guessing.” He nodded, his fingers tapping against the table.

”And what about the physical stuff?” He asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. You looked at him, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed against the table like he was trying to find a rhythm to keep himself grounded. He didn’t like the idea any more than you did, but you both knew it was necessary.

”It has to look and be natural.” You responded, “If we’re stiff or uncomfortable Orkolov will immediately see it. We don’t have to overdo it, but we can’t act like we are business partners either.” You added, taking another sip of your water.

”So, what’s the expectation here? Hand on your back? Arm around your waist? Holding hands? K-Kissing?” He stuttered on the last word, covering it up with a forced cough, his eyes flicking away from you. You could feel the nausea building in your stomach again, as you gulped down the rest of the water, trying to buy yourself time to cool yourself down.

“Touching needs to look natural, with no flinching or discomfort. We can’t force it. We take the opportunities when it feels like the right time.” You paused momentarily, “And kissing will happen only if necessary.” You clarified.

“Right,” He muttered, “Only if necessary.” You shifted again, absentmindedly scratching at the scar on your chest.

”If we don’t think about it so much, we will be fine.” Bucky nodded, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. He exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting in his seat before looking at you again.

“Maybe we should practice.” He suggested, his voice low. Your eyebrows raised at him, and he realized what he had said, “Not…not everything, obviously, it’s just to get used to it. If we go in cold, it’ll be obvious we don’t know how to act around each other.” You hated that he had a point, it would be obvious if the both of you were looking like you were being held at gunpoint by one another every time you touched, practice was a necessary evil unfortunately.

“Alright. What do you want to start with?” Bucky hesitated.

”Hand holding would be good I guess.” He exhaled, wiping his sweaty palm on his pants before bringing his right hand onto the table, facing it palm up. You shook your head.

”What?” He asked, looking at his hand, then back at you.

“I want the metal one.” He looked down at it.

“It’s vibranium.” He corrected quietly. You rolled your eyes.

”Okay. I want the vibranium one. Better?” He sighed, lifting his left hand up and placing it on the table between you. The dark material shined beneath the light, the small slivers of gold contrasting against the harsh black that lined the entire appendage. You reached out, wrapping your fingers around his. You expected the cool metal against your skin but got something different.

”Do you have a heater in this thing or something? Why is it so warm?” You asked, earning a small laugh from him, your thumb running over the palm of his hand, watching the slivers of gold pulsing when he moved his fingers slightly.

”I had it under my thigh when we were going over our little cover-up story.” He admitted. You raised a brow at him, your lips twitching upward.

”So what? You were preheating it for me?” He shook his head.

”Didn’t expect you to ask for the vibranium hand, so I guess it was just luck.” You hummed at his comment, trailing your fingers up his forearm, feeling the smooth, almost seamless transition between the plates. It was strange how human it felt, despite what it was.

“Can I ask what happened to the other one?” You could feel his fingertips twitch against your skin at the question, and for a moment he didn’t say anything, then he looked up at you.

“Stark blew it off…Back at a HYDRA facility in Siberia.” He responded, his voice flat, unaffected. You were surprised by this anecdote, and you were even more caught off guard that Steve never told you this, not that you ever asked about Bucky, he knew that subject was off limits.

“I didn’t know that.” He nodded.

“Yeah…I did attack him technically so it wasn’t unprovoked.” He admitted, breaking eye contact, “I’m pretty sure it also happened when you were in the hospital so that’s why you weren’t privy to what was going on.” You hadn’t considered that before, how much had happened in the world while you were recovering, piecing yourself back together in a sterile hospital room, drowning in silence while everything kept moving without you. He watched your fingers tracing the small patterns on his arm until you reached his hand again, hesitating for a moment before you laced your fingers between his. Neither of you spoke, you just sat, watching the way your hands fit together, squeezing slightly when adjusting your grips. His fingers closed around yours with a surprising amount of gentleness.

“This is…A little weird.” Bucky admitted.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Neither of you let go, though.

“You don’t have to keep holding it if it makes you uncomfortable.” He muttered, his eyes flickering up to yours.

“It’s not uncomfortable.” You responded, shaking your head. He went to say something, but before he could the pilot got on the intercom.

“We’re approaching Vienna,” The pilot announced, causing the both of you to look up, “Please fasten your seatbelts.” You looked back at him, and with slight reluctance, let his hand go. As the jet began its descent, the hum of the engines shifted, and the subtle change in angle caused your stomach to drop. You adjusted your seatbelt tightly against your stomach, glancing over at Bucky, who was relaxing in his spot, looking totally unbothered.

“Are you always this relaxed when the plane is landing?” You asked, a wave of nausea bubbling in your stomach as you adjusted your grip on the armrest.

“Yeah pretty much. Been on enough planes to know when to start panicking.” A groan escaped your throat, trying to ease the sickness.

“That’s really not helping right now.” Bucky smirked, adjusting himself in his seat.

“What? You want me to lie to you? Tell you we’re perfectly safe?” He mocked, as you groaned again at the turbulence.

“Yes,” You gritted your teeth, “A lie would be great.”

“Alright, alright.” He said, leaning forward slightly, “This is the smoothest landing I’ve ever been on. There’s nothing to worry about. The pilot is probably doing this with his eyes closed.” He whispered, holding back his laughter. You squinted at him.

“That didn’t help either.” You said, squeezing the armrest again. He sighed, reaching his vibranium hand out, and tapping his fingers against the table to get your attention.

“Instead of taking your anger out on the leather…And for practice, since I can tell you’re uncomfortable and a boyfriend would offer some form of comfort.” You let out a small laugh, “And considering you looked less miserable when you were holding it earlier…Thought it would be worth a shot.” Once again the jet moved and your stomach lurched.

“Okay okay!” You exclaimed, grabbing onto his hand, feeling his fingers wrap around yours instantly.

“Are you going to be sick?” You shook your head, closing your eyes tightly. Bucky’s grip was firm but not constricting, the warmth from his vibranium fingers grounding you as you exhaled through your nose.

"Are you sure?" He asked again, quieter this time. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, the small motion doing more to settle you than anything else had so far.

"Yeah, just-" You inhaled sharply as the wheels made contact with the runway, the force of the landing pressing you back against your seat. You squeezed his hand a little harder than you probably needed to, but he didn’t say anything, he just let you hold on as long as you needed to.

When the plane finally came to a halt, the pressure in your stomach eased. You opened your eyes, releasing a slow breath before blinking up at him, seeing his eyebrows were raised.

“You good now?” He asked, his thumb still absentmindedly brushing against your knuckles.

”Mhm…” You exhaled, loosening your grip from his, though you hesitated before fully letting go, “I think I can walk out of this thing without embarrassing myself too much.” He retracted his hand, unbuckling his seatbelt.

”Would’ve been great if you puked all over the runway though.” You shot him a glare.

”Real supportive there Bucky.” You replied, unbuckling your seatbelt as well, standing up from your spot.

”Hey, I held your hand.” He shrugged, a small laugh escaping his mouth.

”I’m going to put that on your fake boyfriend record…Decent under pressure, but D minus for aftercare.” He smirked.

”Duly noted, I’ll be sure to add something to your fake girlfriend record too.” You rolled your eyes, grabbing your duffle bag from under your seat, throwing it over your shoulder.

“Hey hey. No. Hand me the bag.” He protested, causing your gaze to snap to his.

”What?” You questioned, your eyebrows knitting together.

”We have no idea if they’re already watching, I might as well be seen as a gentleman, not a douchebag that lets his partner carry her alarmingly large bag on her own.” You sighed, rolling your eyes but handing over the duffle bag anyways.

”If you start complaining about how heavy it is, I’m taking it back.” Bucky scoffed, effortlessly slinging the bag over his shoulder alongside his own.

“I’ve carried bodies heavier than this.” He responded.

”Wow. How romantic.” You shot back sarcastically, while walking towards the exit of the jet.

”It’s just part of the charm, sweetheart.” You could feel your cheeks heat up slightly at the nickname, as the cold Vienna air washed over your face. The tarmac was quiet, save for the faint buzzing of the airport staff moving around in the distance. Once you had walked down the steps you waited for Bucky before proceeding to the sleek black car that idled at the curb, it’s glossy surface reflecting the warm glow of the nearby streetlights. A man leaned casually against the trunk, arms crossed over his chest. His attire is meticulous; a well-fitted suit, dark leather gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat casting a subtle shadow over his sharp features. He looked extremely professional, though his posture had an air of indifference, like he’d been standing there too long and was ready to be anywhere else. When he had seen the both of you approaching he immediately straightened out, a small smile coming up on his face.

”Mr. Barnes.” He greeted, giving him a nod, “Welcome to Vienna.”

”Thank you.” The driver’s gaze then flickered toward you, as he gave you a nod as well.

”It’s a pleasure to have you as well Mrs…?” Bucky didn’t hesitate.

”Hopefully Mrs. Barnes one day,” He said smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist, fingers resting very lightly at your hip. You were caught off guard by how effortlessly he delivered the line, but you held a casual smile. The driver’s eyebrows lifted slightly, smirking, clearly entertained by Bucky’s response.

”A man with a plan. I respect that.” You forced a laugh, leaning into the act as much as possible.

“Always so charming.” You commented, resting your hand on his rigid abdomen. The driver smiled.

”Well, let’s get you two lovebirds to the hotel then!” He exclaimed, clasping his hands together as he walked towards the drivers side of the car. Bucky’s grip on your waist tightened just enough to remind you of the role you were playing, as he let go, moving to the trunk to put your duffle bags into it. You slid into the backseat, with Bucky following close behind. The leather interior was soft against your back as the both of you settled in, relaxing on your respective sides.

The car eased away from the airport, quickly merging onto the quiet streets of Vienna. The city was bathed in the golden glow of streetlights, the architecture looked regal and timeless against the dark sky, if you weren’t here for a mission you would’ve loved to explore more. The hum of the engine filling the space between you and Bucky. The driver adjusted his rearview mirror so he could look at the both of you.

”So, are you guys celebrating something special?” He asked, his voice casual as he maneuvered the car through the empty city streets.

“Our one year anniversary actually.” Bucky answered without hesitation. The driver let out a whistle.

”Wow, one year huh? That’s always a big one. First anniversaries are always special.” The driver’s enthusiasm was palpable, his grin wide and toothy. “First year of a relationship can always be the hardest they say, what’s the secret to making it?” He asked, glancing back at the road.

”Patience, and knowing when to pick your battles.” Bucky responded. You let out a short laugh at his response.

”That’s very funny coming from you.” Bucky smirked, glancing at you.

”What? You disagree?” You tilted your head, pretending to mull it over.

”Let’s say you have a very selective definition of ‘picking your battles.’” The driver chuckled at the interaction.

”It sounds like the both of you keep each other on your toes.”

“You could say that,” You replied, a playful tone lacing your voice, as you shot Bucky a knowing look.

“That’s how you know it’s real though. You guys can argue, but at the end of the day, you still choose each other.” He paused, then added, “You two planning anything special while you’re here?” Bucky hummed, glancing over at you before responding.

”Haven’t locked anything down yet, but we had some ideas. Sightseeing, going to some top rated restaurants, maybe a little dancing.” The driver nodded.

“Well, if you’re looking for ideas, you picked a great city to celebrate in.” He gestured out the windshield as he made a turn. “Vienna’s got something for everyone. You into history? The Schönbrunn Palace is breathtaking. Art? You can’t miss the Belvedere Museum. Or maybe you want something more intimate, the sunset at the Danube Tower is unforgettable.” Bucky drummed his fingers lightly against his thigh.

”Oh you’ve definitely given us some great suggestions, it’s going to be hard to narrow it down.” You nodded, agreeing with him, the mission still looming in the back of your mind.

”You know…You two remind me of my wife and I when we first started going out.” Bucky raised a brow, glancing over at you.

”Yeah?”

”Definitely,” He responded, his hands steady on the wheel, “Always teasing, making little quips at each other, but at the end of the day there was never any doubt that we were solid.” He turned down another street, “That’s how you know it’s real. When you can drive each other absolutely crazy and you still wouldn’t trade them for the world.” Bucky let out a small chuckle, shaking his head, glancing over at you.

”Well, we’ve definitely got the ‘driving each other crazy’ part down…Don’t we doll?” You wanted to nudge him in the ribs, but you held yourself back.

”Oh yeah. Definitely.” The driver let out a hearty laugh, as the car slowed, approaching a grand hotel. Its entrance was illuminated by the soft glow of golden lanterns, the stairs leading up to the towering glass doors were lined with polished stones, where a doorman in a crisp uniform stood at attention, watching him coming down the steps as soon as the vehicle came to a stop.

”Well, lovebirds, here we are.” The driver announced with a grin as he shifted the car into park, “Welcome to the Imperial!” Bucky exhaled through his nose, glancing over at you, a look of relief washing over his face. He must’ve been itching to get out of the car right when the driver started asking questions. Bucky took his wallet out quickly, handing the man a tip.

“Thank you for the ride.” He said, wasting no time opening the door and stepping out, holding his hand out for you to grab, still trying to keep up appearances.

“Enjoy your stay! And remember, don’t sweat the small stuff.” Bucky leaned down to look at the man.

”We’ll keep it in mind. Thank you again.” He responded politely, closing the door behind him, as the doorman opened the trunk of the car.

“Welcome to the Imperial! I’ll bring your bags in for you, no need to wait for me, you can go and get yourselves checked in.” Bucky gave the doorman a quick nod. You could tell he was eager to get inside and escape the unnecessary small talk, just like you at this point. His hand pressed lightly against your lower back, as he gestured for you to head towards the entrance first.

The moment you stepped inside, the warmth of the hotel lobby enveloped you, a stark contrast to the bitter night air that was brewing outside. The Imperial exuded luxury in every detail; polished marble floors reflected the golden glow of crystal chandeliers overhead, and the faint scent of fresh lilies mingled with the rich aroma of tobacco, like someone had lit a cigar and left it out to marinate. Ornate columns framed the space, leading toward an opulent sitting area where a handful of late-night guests lingered over drinks, their laughter a quiet murmur beneath the soft classical music playing from hidden speakers. You both walked by, garnering their attention for a brief moment before they returned back to their conversations.

Behind the counter, a woman in her mid-thirties with sharp cheekbones, deep red lipstick, and perfectly slicked back brown hair stood, looking at her computer screen with an emotionless expression, nothing behind the eyes.. When she heard you approaching her gaze flicked up, lingering on Bucky for just a little longer than necessary before looking at you. You could see her straighten her back, almost to puff her chest out, and her expression shifted into something more warm and inviting.

”Good evening! Welcome to the Imperial,” She greeted smoothly, her voice like silk against the air, “Do you have a reservation with us this evening?” Bucky gave her a small nod, taking out his wallet.

”Uh…It should be under Barnes. James Barnes.” You glanced over at him, watching him pull out a credit card that had his name scrawled on the back of it, handing it over to her so she could compare the information. She glanced at the card then her screen, scrolling through the list of guests.

”Ah,” She murmured, tapping the enter key, “Here you are. A deluxe suite. What an excellent choice.” Her smile widened ever so slightly, as she handed Bucky’s card back, letting her fingers graze his. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, it was barely noticeable. He took his card back, clearing his throat slightly.

”The deluxe suite is one of our finest…It’s spacious, private…Perfect for an…” She let the words linger, tilting her head a bit, “Intimate getaway.” You were growing increasingly uncomfortable with the interaction, and you could tell by the way Bucky was fidgeting he was probably in the same boat. He gave her a polite nod, slipping his card back into his wallet.

”It sounds like we got lucky.” The receptionist's smile didn’t waver, if anything it grew even wider.

“Oh, I’d say you’re very lucky, Mr. Barnes.” Her voice dipped just enough into suggestiveness that it caused Bucky’s grip on his wallet to tighten, as her eyes roamed over him. She picked up a black folder, sliding it towards him with ease.

”All the details of your stay will be in here, your key card, the room service menu, spa packages…” She trailed off, her manicured nails tapping against the folders edge, “And of course, if you need anything extra, I’d be happy to personally ensure your stay is perfect.” Bucky nodded stiffly, shifting his weight into you a bit, desperate to wrap this interaction up.

”I appreciate it.” He responded, stepping back a bit, as you took the folder from the desk. Before the receptionist could say anything else, the doorman came in, carrying both of your bags with practiced ease.

”Here we are!” He announced, “Would you like me to bring them up to your suite for you?” Bucky shook his head, jumping at the chance to break free from the lingering tension.

”No need. I got it.” He held his hand out, grabbing both bags from the man, throwing them over his shoulder, his biceps flexing against his fitted long sleeve shirt. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the receptionist’s gaze flicking downward, taking in the ease of his actions, obviously enjoying the view. You let out a small exasperated sigh, as you leaned into Bucky a little more, dragging your hand up his torso, feeling his muscles flinch slightly.

”Baby, can we please go up to the room now? I’ve been dying for a bit of privacy since we got off the plane.” He looked over at you, his eyes widened a bit, taken off guard by your sudden change in tone, now slipping in to save him from being flirted with.

”Of course…Yeah. Where are the elevators?” The both of you turned your attention back to the receptionist, seeing that her expression of lust had faltered just a bit, her smiling tightening at the edges.

”They’re going to be down the hallway to your left. Enjoy your stay.” Bucky didn’t waste a second, moving away from the desk, slipping his hand to your lower back guiding you to the elevators.

As soon as the doors slid closed, the both of you quickly unravelled yourselves from each other, standing on different sides of the elevator.

”Jesus Christ.” Bucky muttered, staring up at the mirrored ceiling, “That was awful.” You smirked.

”She was just being nice.” Bucky’s head snapped down.

”Nice? She was acting like she was going to rip my clothes off in the middle of the lobby. I was about five seconds away from running for my life.” You laughed.

”Who knew the Winter Soldier would be afraid of a little flirting.” Bucky scoffed.

”I’ve seen flirting before. That was not flirting.” He insisted, “And you could’ve stepped in a little sooner y’know.” You let out a soft laugh.

”Well, maybe I wanted to watch you simmer a little bit. You’re the one that went off kilter with the anniversary thing with the driver, it was just pay back.” Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, shifting his stance a bit, feeling the elevator stop on your floor.

”Yeah…I guess you’re right.” A ding echoed through the small space, signalling your arrival, “Let’s just get inside the room before she comes chasing after us asking if I want a private spa service or something.” He wasted no time stepping out of the elevator, adjusting his grip on the bags, with you following him closely down the lavishly decorated hallway. The plush navy carpet absorbed your footsteps, it felt like you were walking on memory foam. You took the keycard out of the folder the receptionist gave, as you reached your suite, sliding it through with euro hesitation, hearing the door click open, pushing it open wide before slipping into the suite.

You step in first, taking in the expansive suite with its elegant decor. The soft yellow lighting illuminates the room, casting a warm glow all over the navy accents that were strewn about the room. There were floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the city, and from way up there you could see things were still buzzing. It was undeniably luxurious, and for a moment, you almost forgot why you were there in the first place. Your eyes continued to skim over the accommodations, as Bucky stepped in behind you, dropping the bags in front of the closet, a sigh escaping his lips.

“Damn…Pretty fancy.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he began to wander. You stepped towards the windows, wanting to get a better look at the view, crossing your arms over your stomach to hold yourself. Bucky moved toward the small kitchenette, his fingers drumming along the marble countertop.

“Mmm…At least we got a free bottle of champagne.” He announced, as you looked over your shoulder, seeing him turn the bottle towards you, a smirk on his lips, placing it back down on the counter, so that he could continue to explore the suite further, disappearing behind a partially opened door. You heard him hum in mild amusement before poking his head out.

”You’d be happy to know that the bed is massive. You’re gonna love it.” You stepped away from the window, making your way toward the bedroom. The room matched the accents of the main living area, the deep navy, the gold accents, the thick carpeting, with a bed so big that it could at least fit three people comfortably.

“It’s nice.” Bucky smirked, watching as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

”There’s just one issue.” Bucky raised a brow.

”What?” You motioned to the wall opposite of the bed.

”There’s no TV in here…” He glanced at the wall.

”Guess they think people coming in here don’t need distractions.” You let out a quiet sigh.

”I can’t sleep without background noise.” You murmured, seeing Bucky’s face fall a bit, now realizing you were being serious. You slipped out of the bedroom, hearing Bucky’s footsteps following close behind.

”Is that a you thing or…Is that a HYDRA thing?” He asked, watching as you went over to the counter that had the bottle of champagne on it, ripping off the black foil.

”I think you can take a guess,” You responded, twisting the metal that was holding the cork on the bottle. His jaw ticked, not needing to push you any further for details, as he moved towards you, leaning against the counter, his fingers idly tapping against his bicep.

”I get it.” You threw the curled metal onto the counter, putting your hand over the cork, turning it slowly.

”Sure.” The tone was a bit dismissive, and you didn’t mean for it to sound that way, all you wanted to do was avoid the conversation about HYDRA.

”I sleep on the floor, with the lights on, and even when those conditions are met I still can’t get a normal night's rest. So I do get it Y/N.” Your movements faltered for a moment, your grip on the cork tightening. The tension in Bucky’s voice wasn’t accusatory, but it wasn’t light either. You swallowed thickly, letting the words settle between the both of you until the cork popped with a soft thud. You reached for the two tubular glasses and poured the champagne into them slowly, being mindful of the bubbles that frothed at the surface. Bucky stayed where he was, as you handed him a full glass.

”If you need the background noise you can sleep out here, if you want.” You glanced up at him.

“What?” He motioned towards the couch in the living room area.

”You can take the couch since I won’t be using it, and I don’t mind background noise…I probably won’t be sleeping tonight anyways.” You hesitated for a moment, taking a small sip from the champagne glass, letting the sweet, and bitter flavour mingle on your tongue.

“Couch it is…I guess.” You responded. Bucky gave a tiny, satisfied nod before raising his glass slightly, not as a toast, just as a simple acknowledgment of the situation, with you mirroring the same gesture, the both of you downing the whole glass in one go. The fizzy liquid burned slightly on the way down, but it was far from it being unpleasant. If anything, it helped take the edge off, even if it was just a little. Your tongue swiped across your lips, chasing the lingering taste.

“Well, that’s definitely a way to settle in.” You huffed a quiet laugh.

”Could be worse, we could be stuck in some rundown motel with paper-thin walls.” Bucky smirked, setting his empty champagne glass down on the counter with a quiet clink.

”I actually think if we were in a rundown motel less eyes would be on us.” You placed your glass down as well.

”Yeah, but then we’d have to deal with the possibility of bedbugs, a busted heater, and a crappy television set.”

”Sounds like a real test of endurance.” He quipped, as he grabbed the countertop with his hands.

”Mmm, real elite training there Bucky. Maybe throw in some mystery stains on the carpet for a little bit of spice.” He snorted, shaking his head as he reached for one of the mini bottles of whisky that came with the mini bar.

”Speaking of challenges, we should probably get something to eat before we start drinking more.” You raised your eyebrows at him.

”Did we get different super serums or something? Because I could’ve sworn I don’t get drunk and I’ve really tried to override that.” He smirked, twisting off the small cap from the bottle, taking a sip.

”No, we definitely have similar versions if you don’t get drunk, but then again I haven’t really ran into anyone else like us to ask this question.” You hummed, handing him the room service menu.

”Well, if we ever do, I think that’ll be the first question I ask. Forget the whole ‘where are you from, what’s your story’, I’m leading with ‘can you go through multiple large bottles of alcohol and not absolutely destroy your liver?’” Bucky laughed.

”Yeah, it’s definitely an important question to ask, skip all the pleasantries, get straight to the essentials.” You smirked, watching as he flipped open the menu, his eyes skimming along the items.

”Alright, what are we thinking? Fries? Sliders? Mystery meat from the hotel’s five-star kitchen?” You shrugged, leaning against the counter.

”Honestly, just order anything. As long as it’s not snails or something that still has a face.” He nodded, reaching for the phone.

”Don’t worry, I have the same sentiment. No fine dining nightmares.” You listened as he placed the order, keeping it simple with fries, sliders, and a charcuterie board because he wanted something to pick at. He also made sure to add the large bottle of whisky onto the order just before hanging up.

”They said it’ll be here in about thirty minutes.” He said, stretching his arms above his head to crack his back and neck.

”Alright, I’m gonna hit the shower first then since it’s gonna be a bit of a wait.” Bucky nodded.

”Go for it, I’ll make sure they don’t slip something into our food.” You made your way over to your bag, grabbing the pajamas you brought before heading toward the bathroom.

”Ever the soldier, Barnes.”

”Hey, it comes with the territory.” He shot back, as you closed the door behind you. The space was sleek and modern, all marble and gold accents, the kind of luxury that made you hesitate for a second. It felt too pristine, too untouched. You shook off the thought and turned the shower on, letting the water heat up as steam filled the room. You peeled your clothes off, leaving them in a small pile on the floor, before stepping under the boiling water, sighing as the heat ran over your skin. You could feel the tension in your muscles melt away, and for the first time in the last few hours, you felt yourself truly relax beneath the stream.

You ran your hands over your arms, watching the droplets of water slide over your skin, reaching over to pump a bit of body wash into your hand. The lush scent of lavender tickled your nose, as you ran the soap along the planes of your body, taking time with yourself to just absorb the calm environment. It wasn’t often that you got to enjoy something as simple as a hot shower without rushing, nor without your mind racing. You lingered longer than usual, running your hands over your body, tracing the rivulets of water as they slid down your skin. It felt indulgent in a way—like taking your time was a luxury.

After a while, the heat began to weigh on you, and you reached to turn off the water, stepping out onto the plush bath mat. The mirror was fogged over, your reflection blurring at the edges as you wiped a hand across the glass

You grabbed a towel, running it over your arms and legs before wrapping it around yourself. The air was noticeably cooler now that you were out of the shower, a stark contrast to the warmth you’d just been under. You stood for a moment, looking at your reflection before grabbing your pajamas, and pulling them on, starting with your baggy tan t-shirt, then ending with your shorts that you could barely see due to the length of the top. You stopped to look at your reflection for a moment, turning to the side to look at the three deep scar tissue marks on your outer thigh, your fingertips running along them, letting out a frustrated sigh, before fixing the shirt over it. You hung the damp towel on the back of the door, stepping back out into the main area of the suite, pushing your hair out of your face. Bucky was sitting at the little coffee table, pouring himself another glass of whiskey, looking up when the floor creaked.

His blue eyes scanned over you quietly. You could see the way they roamed up your bare legs, the way he stared at the oversized shirt that silhouetted over your figure. Just for a second you caught a subtle shift in his expression, but he didn’t say anything, he glanced back down at his glass, running his thumb over the rim of the glass. You weren’t sure if his reaction made you feel awkward, but you tried not to notice it, as you made your way to the seat across from him, seeing the food had already arrived and he had waited for you. The charcuterie board was neatly arranged, the sliders looked perfectly cooked, and the fries were still warm, the smell of salt and crisped potatoes filling the air.

“I’m impressed you didn’t rip this entire plate apart.” You said, reaching for a fry, before plopping yourself down on the seat in front of him. Bucky brought his glass of whiskey to his lips.

”Figured it’d be rude if I didn’t wait.” He explained, taking a sip. You hummed in approval, popping the fry into your mouth.

“How thoughtful.” Bucky’s eyes rested on yours for a moment, as he settled his glass down.

”You want some?” He asked, gesturing to the bottle of whiskey. You nodded, grabbing the empty glass in front of you, holding it out for him to pour into. The amber liquid sloshed around slightly, just before he set the bottle back down on the table. You brought the drink up to your lips, taking a small sip, feeling the heat spreading in your mouth, then down your throat. Bucky cleared his throat, gaining your attention.

”I just…I just want to ask.” He hesitated, looking through the glass coffee table at the three scars on your outer thigh. You traced his eyesight, and looked down, “Did I…?” You blinked, caught off guard for a second. He looked like he was bracing himself, waiting to hear another thing he had done that he completely forgot about. You immediately shook your head.

”No,” You replied. “It wasn’t you.” His shoulders relaxed, but the tension didn’t fully leave his face.

”Alright,” He muttered, his eyes still lingering on them, because now he was thinking about who might’ve done it to you.

”Bucky,” You said gently, drawing his attention back up to you, “You don’t have to hold your breath every time you notice something. Trust me, you would’ve known if you caused this.” Bucky nodded slowly, his fingers toying with the rim of his glass again.

“Just wanted to check.” You exhaled softly.

”I get it.” And you really did. His mind was just jumping to the worst-case scenario, as if it was easier for him to believe he was the cause of all the violence you had experienced in your life, rather than realize, for once, he wasn’t to blame.

The two of you continued to pick at the food, trading quiet conversation between bites, until exhaustion started to creep in. You glanced over at the clock, seeing that it was almost 3 o’clock in the morning, groaning as you pushed yourself up from your seat.

“I’m gonna grab the duvet off the bed,” You said, heading towards the bedroom. Bucky watched you disappear before he stood as well, stretching his arms above his head. By the time you returned with the thick duvet and matching pillow bundled in your arms, he had already grabbed a folded blanket from the closet, and was tossing it down onto the floor near the couch. You shifted past him, letting the duvet unravel in your hands, dropping it over the couch, adjusting it as you threw the pillow down on top of it, before sliding beneath the covering, pulling it up to your neck, letting out a sigh at the warmth.

Bucky turned on the television, and left on one of the side table lamps that was closest to him, as he got himself comfortable on the floor beside the couch, shaking his blanket out and carefully lowering himself down with ease, making it clear that it wasn’t his first rodeo. He let out a small groan, turning onto his side so he was facing the muddied infomercials that were on the screen, shifting so he could get comfortable.

For a while, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the television. The infomercials blurred into background noise, a comforting, monotonous buzz against the silence that had settled between the two of you. You lay on the couch, your head sinking into the pillow, but your mind wasn’t quite ready to shut off yet. You glanced over the side of the couch, looking at Bucky who was now laying on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, while his vibranium fingers flexed against the fabric of his shirt.

“Bucky.” You whispered, he hummed, opening his eyes to look up at you.

”Yeah?” He asks, a hint of concern lacing his voice.

“What are you thinking about?” You hear him swallow at the question, watching him shift a bit.

”The usual things I think about. Sometimes I get these headaches, and I get these…Memories of things. I don’t know if it’s from all the mind wiping they did to me, but it’s like it fills in the gaps.” You could see the tension in his jaw, and the way he was running his vibranium hand along his shirt, like he was trying to soothe himself.

”What kind of memories?” You asked softly.

”Not the good ones…It’s always people I don’t recognize, but it’s usually safe to assume I’ve hurt them in some way.” He whispered, “It’s not clear enough to tell. It’s fragments. A voice, a place, a feeling. I don’t even know if they’re real or not, because I don’t remember things completely, you know what I mean?” You nodded slowly, your fingers curling into the edge of the duvet.

”I get it.” You replied, his eyes flickered toward you.

”Yeah?” You exhaled slowly, shifting on the couch so you were in his line of sight.

”Well, I didn’t go through what you did, but after I escaped and defected, I went through a period where I was constantly having nightmares. I was an absolute wreck. I still have moments where I remember things and it scares the shit out of me, because it feels like I’m back there.” Bucky let out a small laugh, but it wasn’t one of amusement.

”Seems like we have something in common, some nights I wake up and it’s like I’m back there being pinned against the new soldiers all over again, getting the crap beat out of me because HYDRA wanted to see if they were as strong as their first prototype.” You could feel a shiver creep up your bones as you moved back a bit.

”I escaped before they could pin me against you.” He let out a slow breath.

”I know…If I can remember anything about you from back then, it’s that HYDRA had a vendetta against you. That’s why when you escaped they sent me after you.” You nodded.

”Because I broke their precious programming.”

”Mmm, and it pissed them off.” He smirked, “They don’t like loose ends.” You laughed a bit.

”No, they don’t. I’m shocked they never found out that I lived through your attack.” You said, digging your nails into your palm.

“When I found out from Steve that you were still alive I thought he was joking, I had never failed a mission. I kept saying that to him too, and he kept telling me you were in the hospital. Still kicking. Recovering from what I did. He never went into detail about what I had done, probably to not add to the psychological torment.” You smirked.

”Yeah when he told me that he told you I was still alive I almost punched a hole through him.” Bucky let out a small laugh.

”Sounds about right…” He paused, still running his fingers over his top, “Can I be honest about something though?”

“Of course.” He sighed, sitting up so he was face to face with you.

”When he told me you were alive I was really relieved.” You studied him for a moment, seeing him push his hair out of his face, “And when he would come see me…I would ask how you were.” You leaned up on your arm, surprised by this admission, taken completely off guard by what he was saying, “He would tell me all the little updates, but he also told me to not show my face or else you would probably kill me.” You raised your eyebrows at him, remembering the times where Steve would casually ask the nurses if there was anything new going on with me, realizing that it wasn’t for him, it was for Bucky.

”Well he wasn’t wrong there…Even in the briefing room yesterday I was contemplating killing you.” You commented.

”Yeah, I could see it in your eyes when you saw me. I knew you weren’t going to be happy to see me, but my goodness I didn’t think you were going to go in so hard on me.” You scratched the back of your neck.

”Can’t really blame me there…I’m sorry for those things I said though, I got really nasty, and I hit below the belt, and Maria was right...I pushed your buttons.” He shook his head.

”It’s okay, I deserved it, and for what it’s worth…I’m also sorry for getting in your face during that whole thing. Should’ve just let you take your anger out on me, just like everyone used to.” For a long moment the two of you just stayed still, facing each other. The room felt like it had shrunk around you, but it wasn’t suffocating at all. Bucky’s eyes flickered over your face, trying to figure out what you were thinking, but he couldn’t find anything. The weight of everything that had just been spoken about beared down on the both of you, but it had softened some of the resentment you were still holding onto. He watched as you sat up, pushing the duvet off you, and before he could ask what you were doing, you wrapped your arms around him, bringing him in for a hug.

Immediately he stiffened, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. You felt so warm against him, that it took a moment to register what was happening, but when he finally pulled himself out of his racing thoughts, he released a quiet shudder, and wrapped his arms around you as well. You weren’t sure why you had done it. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the weight of everything between you two, pressing in from all sides. But as you held him, you could feel the tension in his body, the way his breathing had become uneven, shallow.

And then, you felt it.

A single shuddered breath against your shoulder. The quietest sniff—so small, so restrained, as if he was fighting against it with everything he had, and then a few warm droplets hitting the fabric of your shirt. Tears. You could feel his arms tighten around you ever so slightly, digging his face into your shoulder like he was shielding himself, or so you couldn’t move back to see him. You breathed in, catching the sweet minty scent of his clothes for a brief moment, as you ran a hand down his back to soothe him. He trembled against you, another sob escaping his throat, muffled by your shoulder.

“I-“ He tried to speak, but his voice was cut off by him breathing in.

”Shh…You don’t have to say anything Bucky…It’s okay.” You whispered, and for the rest of the time you sat there holding him, he didn’t say anything. He just held onto you as tightly as possible.

————

“Bucky. I need you to come in here and zip me up. I’m not flexible.” You yelled, looking at yourself in the mirror, adjusting the tight silk fabric of the dress, pulling it down as far as it could go. You could hear the sound of Bucky’s heavy steps approaching the washroom, before he pushed open the door, buttoning up the sleeves of his black dress shirt that fit snugly against his broad frame. You were surprised at how well he cleaned up, and how good he looked in just a black dress shirt and a pair of dark grey dress pants. It was so simple, yet so…Sophisticated. He glanced up from what he was doing, his eyebrows raising a little bit, a smirk appearing on his lips. You squinted at him.

”What’s that face all about? Hmm? Do you want to wear the dress?” Bucky laughed, shaking his head, stepping closer to you.

“I don’t think I’d fit into it, but I’d love to see you try to get me into one…Now turn around.” You rolled your eyes at his comment, but did as he said, turning your back to him and adjusting your hair so it wouldn’t possibly get in his way. He stepped towards you, his fingers finding the zipper, picking up where you left off. You could feel the fabric getting tighter against your body as he brought the zipper higher up your back, his vibranium hand absentmindedly settling on your waist to hold you still. He sighed, letting you go once he had fully zipped the dress up, catching the way his eyes roamed over your reflection, his teeth briefly biting his bottom lip.

”All set.” He announced, watching as you adjusted the fabric again, seeing his eyes flicking to the scar in the middle of your chest that was poking out from just above the neckline of the dress, his eyes softening.

“Something on your mind, Barnes?” You asked, gaining his attention, drawing him out of his trance.

”No…Just looking.” You raised an eyebrow at him, reaching for the thin gold chain you had placed on the countertop.

”And what exactly are you looking at?” Your tone was playful, trying to settle into the mood you would have to be in the whole night. Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, watching as you fastened the delicate chain around your neck, letting it settle gently on your skin.

”What do you think I’m looking at?” He responded, now leaning himself against the countertop, looking at the way you continued to adjust yourself.

“If I’m not mistaken…It seems like you’re enjoying the view.”You said, reaching for your earrings, tilting your head to glance over at him.

“You’re definitely not mistaken.” His voice was smooth, with an undeniable teasing tone lacing his words. You let out a small huff, fighting the heat that began to creep up onto your cheeks, as you clasped one of your earrings into place.

”You know Bucky, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are flirting with me.” He smirked, turning fully towards you, as his vibranium fingers tapped along the sink.

”And if I am?” He asked, his eyebrows raising, your gaze meeting his through the reflection, as you fastened the second earring.

”Then I’d say you’re laying it on pretty thick.” He laughed a bit, moving closer to you, your body turning to face him now. He looked down at you.

”You wound me, doll,” He murmured, feigning hurt, “Here I am, just trying to be a convincing partner for the night, and you’re saying I’m laying it on too thick.” You scoffed.

”Oh please.” Bucky’s eyes continue to roam over your face, looking at the way your skin glowed under the harsh lighting of the bathroom, the way your lashes framed your eyes when you looked up at him, the way you studied every expression that came up on his face. There was a beat of silence.

“All jokes aside though…You look great.” His compliment caught you off guard for a split second, as you cleared your throat.

”Well. You clean up pretty well yourself.” He hummed, looking at himself in the mirror.

”You really think so?” You gave him a once-over, using it as an excuse to really take in how form fitting the outfit was, tilting your head slightly, pretending to contemplate.

”Mmm, yeah, you look presentable enough.” Bucky let out a dramatic scoff.

”Presentable enough? That’s all I get huh?” His eyes narrowing with playful offense, drawing out a small beat of laughter from you. You reached for your cherry chapstick, not wanting to be too bold for the night, taking off the cap.

”Now, now, don’t be so dramatic, I’m sure there will still be plenty of eyes on you tonight regardless of what I say.” You said, swiping the sheer red colour over your bottom lip, then the top, repeating a few times.

“Is that so?” Bucky mused, watching you press your lips together, as you capped the tube, tossing it into your small bag.

”Let me see, the hostess, for one, probably all the women in the room, and even the men at this point.” You responded.

“I think you may have left someone out in that long list of yours.” You raised your eyebrows at him, adjusting the dress one more time.

”Oh yeah? And who might that be?” You asked.

”You.” He whispered, leaning in down a bit, getting into your space, his sweet, lavender scented cologne invading your senses. You held your ground though, refusing to crack under how smooth he was with his flirting.

”I didn’t know you wanted my attention so badly.” You replied back, leaning in as well, almost like you were challenging him, getting close enough that you were basically exchanging breaths with one another.

“Can you blame me?” He asked. You could feel your pulse gallop for a split second, as your lips parted, trying to find a witty remark to rebuttal with, only for you to stop short. His gaze flicked between your eyes, then to your lips, his blue irises glistening beneath the lighting. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.

”That depends…Are you going to be like this all night?” He hummed.

”Are you going to let me? Because I can do this all night sweetheart, won’t even break a sweat.” You could feel the heart crawling up your chest. He was testing you, waiting for you to crack, but you just couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

”That’s a bold claim. You sure you can back it up?” He wet his lips with his tongue, his gaze still locked onto yours.

”You know I can.” The tension between you felt electric, humming in the small space that was still between you, buzzing loudly. Neither of you were willing to step back.

”Is that right?”” You murmured, your voice smooth, testing.

”You want me to prove it?” You arched an eyebrow.

”Are you offering?” His vibranium tapped along the edge of the countertop, whilst his other hand brushed lightly over the fabric at the bottom of your dress, barely touching it as he toyed with the hem.

”Hmm. Yeah, I am.” You could feel his fingers trail up just a fraction higher before you grabbed his wrist. The air in the room shifted, an all encompassed heat raising to your cheeks. He smiled at you, seeing the way you broke eye contact, your eyelashes fluttering involuntarily.

“Too much?” He asked, teasing.

“No…We just have to get going.” You replied. He looked down at you for one more second, gently biting the inside of his lip, before pulling his hand away, lifting his hands in mock surrender.

”Right. Wouldn’t want to be late.” You turned away from him, grabbing your bag from off the counter, the warmth of his touch still lingering against your skin. He watched you closely, hearing the shakiness of your breathing that you tried to cover up by making additional noise, but he knew. He tucked his hands into his pockets, a restraint to hold himself back from touching you again.

“Come on…We got places to be.” You announced, walking past him, keeping your eyes off him.

—————

From the street, the neon-red glow of The Velvet Fang’s sign bathed the alleyway in an eerie, seductive light, casting long shadows against the damp pavement. The sign flickered slightly, a heartbeat of crimson against the darkness of the night, drawing attention like a whisper promising something sinful just beyond its threshold. Bucky’s arm was draped over your waist as the both of you made your way towards the security guard, the scent of rain lingering in the air around you, mixing with the distant aroma of cigar smoke coming from the people that lined the alleyway. There were faint looks of exhaustion printed on their aged faces, and small sweat marks staining their shirts. You were thankful you had dressed lightly, because evidently it seemed like it was going to be overwhelmingly warm in the club.

The security guard stationed by the entrance was tall, and broad shouldered, a mountain of a man, with a shaved head, and dark eyes that roamed over you. You and Bucky stepped towards him, and his hard expression barely shifted, he had a tablet in his hand, which shadowed his face harshly.

”Name?” He asked, only looking at Bucky.

”James Barnes.” He replied, his hand twitching against your waist slightly, almost as if he was giving a warning. The guard looked down at the screen, scrolling up for a moment, before clicking on something. He took a moment, and you could see his eyes scanning over something, glancing up at Bucky, then at you.

“Super soldiers hmm?” He had a hint of interest in his eyes, as he continued to scan over whatever he had been looking at moments ago. Of course they did their research, you could imagine what was on that tablet, all the information. You wouldn’t be surprised if they had been watching you since you stepped foot in Vienna. Bucky didn’t react beyond a tight-lipped smile.

”Is it an issue?” His voice was casual, smooth, and non-threatening. The security guard looked up from the screen, letting out a short, gruff chuckle.

”Not an issue, we get all kinds coming here. All we ask is that you don’t start any problems.” Bucky offered a slow nod, his fingers soothing against the fabric of your dress.

”Wouldn’t dream of it.” The guard studied him for a second longer, before his eyes trailed over to you, dragging over your frame in a way that made your skin crawl. Finally, he stepped aside, motioning towards the metal door, sliding it open.

”Enjoy yourselves.” The moment you stepped inside, the heavy metal door groaned shut behind you, sealing off the outside world. There was a dimly lit hallway leading towards a set of stairs, and the thrum of music vibrated through the floor, a slow seductive beat booming under your legs, almost making them turn to jelly. You could smell the distinct scent of musk in the air; sweat, smoky leather…It was as if it clung to every surface of the enclosed space. Bucky still held your waist, as he guided you towards the staircase. Just before you could step down, he pulled you to the side, into the shadows of a small corridor, leaning in to talk into the shell of your ear so you could hear him over the chest shaking bass that continued to grow in volume. One hand settled on your waist, while the vibranium one was pressed against the wall behind you.

“I need you to listen to me for a minute okay?” You tilted your chin up, nodding at him.

”If we get separated, you don’t come looking for me. You don’t wait around. You leave. Do you understand?” Bucky wasn’t just saying this as a precaution, he was saying it because he knew there was a real possibility of things going wrong, and you could hear the tinge of worry sprinkled in his voice, even though he tried to hold it back. You shook your head.

”That’s ridiculous Bucky. I’m not going to run, are you insane? You can’t ask that of me.” He pulled away from you.

“Why do you always have to argue with me Y/N. Just please for the love of god listen to me.” Your jaw tightened, the weight of his words pressed down on your chest.

”You’re asking me to abandon you, Bucky. Do you not hear yourself?” His fingers on your waist twitched.

”I do hear myself, and I need you to hear me too.” You looked up at him, your eyes glistening in the faint red light of the corridor.

”It’s not an option, Bucky. I’m not doing it.” You crossed your arms over your stomach.

”Do you really think I want to be saying this to you right now?” Your arms stayed locked around yourself, a weak shield against the way his words were sinking into you, as you looked away from him.

“I’m not doing it.” You repeated. Bucky exhaled sharply, his hand leaving your waist for a brief moment, before his calloused touch reached your face, his rough thumbs pressing against your cheekbones, tilting your head to look up at him again. It was gentle, yet firm all at the same time.

“Please.” His voice was stripped of its usual steadiness, “Please Y/N. If something happens, I need to know you’ll be safe. You need to just listen to me. Please.” You could feel his hot breath hitting against your face, the all too familiar scent of him wrapping around you, warming your body. You could feel your chest tighten, your pulse hammering away in your throat, as you reached up and wrapped your hands around his wrists.

”Bucky…” His forehead dipped dangerously close to yours, his breath becoming heavier against your skin.

“Please.” He begged again. His voice cracked, almost like how he sounded last night after he had stopped crying, after he apologized for your tear soaked shirt, after he laid back down and said goodnight. You wanted to scream at him, maybe it would make him understand that you didn’t work this way, but it wasn’t going to work…

”…Fine. I’ll do it…” You could feel his breath come out in a sigh, as he pulled back, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss between your brows. His breath came out shakily against your skin, as his thumbs traced over your cheekbones for a split second, before stopping. The action had caught you off guard, but you couldn’t even think, because by the time you had something to say his lips had left your skin.

”Thank you.” He whispered, pulling back from you, his hands leaving your face, his warmth parting from your body. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to recollect himself, his eyes flicking back to yours. You swallowed thickly.

”We should head in.” You said, breaking the silence. Bucky gave a slow nod, holding out his hand for you, guiding you toward the descending staircase, your eyes adjusting to the blood red walls that surrounded you.

The closer you got to the club area, the heavier the bass thumped through your chest, rattling through every bone in your body like a second heartbeat. The moment you stepped through the final set of doors, it was like you had crossed a threshold into a different world entirely. Now the smell of leather, sweat, and something much more heady settled in the back of your throat. It was dizzying.

The inside of the club was dark, you could barely see anything apart from the shadows that were cast from the strobe lights that were going in chaotic bursts, distorting the movement of the bodies that were tangling themselves into each other on the dance floor, but you could barely see. The music wasn’t just loud now, it was vibrating throughout your entire body, almost to the point where it made you nauseous. Your eyes took a while to adjust to the dimmed lighting, as you felt Bucky tense beside you, his hand tightening around yours. You looked over at him, seeing the way his face had dropped, like he was in shock, caught off guard in some way.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky yelled, but it sounded like a whisper over the deafening bass. Your eyes finally adjusted to the lighting, and now your gaze followed his, connecting the dots as to why he looked so tense.

The dance floor was a writhing mass of limbs, hands touching breasts, settling between thighs, exploring each other, mouths meeting in heated kisses, completely losing themselves in the pools of lust and desire. There were booths that lined the outer perimeter of the dance floor that were hardly private. Some had sheer curtains that barely concealed the occupants inside, while others remained entirely open so that the scenes within them were revealed to the rest of the patrons. A man sat back lazily on a plush seat, his fingers tangled in a woman’s hair as she knelt between his legs, while in another booth there was a trio wrapped up together, moving in intoxicating synchrony.

Bucky leaned in close, his lips hovering just beside your ear.

”I need a fucking drink.” You nodded in agreement, as he pulled you towards the bar on the side of the dance floor. You stayed close to him, your hand tightening around his to make sure the both of you didn’t separate in the chaos of it all.

As you reached the bar, the dim glow of the red light bathed the sleek obsidian bouncer top, reflecting against the rows of expensive liquor that was lined up behind it. The bartender, a tall man with slicked back hair tied into a bun, gave an amused smirk towards the both of you, watching as you sat down on one of the stools.

“What can I get you?” You glanced over at Bucky, motioning for him to order first.

”Whiskey…Neat please.” The bartender nodded, turning to you.

”And for the lady?” You hesitated for a second, as Bucky’s hand rested against your thigh, his thumb tracing along the warm skin.

”I’ll have a tequila pineapple. Thank you.” The bartender leaned in closer to you, a spicy cinnamon scent immediately hitting your nose.

”A single or double shot?” He asked, you glanced over at Bucky, then back towards him.

”Double please.” He smirked, moving back to collect the bottles needed for the drinks, and the glasses as well. The bartender moved with an ease only a professional with years of experience would have, pouring Bucky’s whiskey while he poured out the shots of tequila for your drink, then poured the pineapple juice as well. He slid both drinks towards you, and smiled, going to the other side of the bar to take other orders.

Neither of you spoke as you drank, it was as if you didn’t want to talk about what was going on throughout the club. You kept your eyes locked on the glass, taking generous gulps, letting the burn radiate through your chest. Bucky’s hand remained on your thigh, tracing up your exposed skin, as he surveyed the room, trying his best not to be obvious. You could feel the slight flex of his fingers, before he continued to rub gently, like he was trying to soothe himself, and you at the same time. You finished your drink, placing the glass back on the bar, as Bucky moved towards you, pushing your hair away from your ear.

“I think we need to move, if we keep sitting here it’s gonna draw attention.” Your skin prickled under the heat of his breath, and for a split second, you thought you felt his lips.

”Yeah. Okay.” You replied, as he pulled back, his fingers leaving your thigh, offering you help off your stool. He held your hand as he guided you away from the bar.

The moment Bucky pulled you onto the dance floor it was like you were swallowed up by the bodies, but the people around you ceased to exist. His hands found your waist first, as he kept you close to him, making sure you were practically flush against him. His chest pressed against yours, while you found your rhythm, attempting to match the beat, the friction between your bodies growing with every movement you made, while your hands ran over his dress shirt. His warmth seeped into your skin, and you could feel his hot, uneven breath fanning across your collarbone. You felt his hand slide lower, resting on your hip, his fingers curling into the silk, holding onto it for dear life, as his vibranium hand traced up the length of your back, the cool temperature contrasting against the heat of your body. You looked up at him, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth, seeing the starvation behind his gaze, the kind that pinned you in place, made your pulse pound against your throat like a drum. He shook his head at you, leaning to the side.

”You have no fucking idea what you’re doing to me.” He said against your ear, your stomach coiling, burning hot from the words he spoke. His lips ghosted over your jaw, not quite touching, just hovering, trying to tease you into making the first move. His breathing grew heavier the closer he got to your throat, when finally, he gave you a gentle kiss, as if he was seeing whether or not you were going to stop him. You tipped your head back, exposing more skin to him, silently giving him the invitation he needed to continue. His mouth opened against your skin, his teeth dragging over your pulse point, eliciting a gasp from you, his tongue flicking out to taste the saltiness of your sweat.

“Fuck…” He rasped against your throat, bringing his vibranium hand down to press against the small of your back, to bring you even closer to him. You could feel every muscle in his body coiling so tight that he was practically shaking against you trying to keep his composure. His lips trailed up, going past your jaw, and ghosting over the corner of your mouth. Teasing. Testing. Waiting for you to make the first move and break, but you couldn’t…Not yet.

His lips hovered over yours, he was so close that every breath you took became his, the both of you panting. His nose brushed against yours, his lips parting to let out a shaky breath. Through the strobe lights you could see his pupils were blown wide, the adrenaline of the anticipation eating away at him minute by minute.

You let the moment stretch, as your hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your fingers, before curling them into the hair at the nape of his neck, your nails dragging lightly against his scalp, earning a small shudder from him. Finally, you brought him down towards you, crashing your lips against his.

The second your mouths met, it was like a dam broke, flooding the both of you with such desperation it almost choked you. Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, as his hands reached up to cradle your face, anchoring himself to you. His lips were searing, moving against yours like he had been starving for this. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, sucking it gently, willing your mouth to open for him, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. You pulled on his hair, feeling one of his hands leaving your face to rest on your waist, as he pressed his hips forward into yours, a silent plea, and a wordless confession of how badly he wanted you. His lips broke away from yours, only to trail kisses down your jaw, his stubble scraping against your skin, creating a contrast to the softness of his lips as he bit, kissed, and licked a path down your throat.

“Bucky…” His name left your lips in a breathy moan, causing him to sink his teeth slightly into your skin, before sucking gently on it, hard enough that there would be evidence of his mark for the next few days. You pulled on his hair again, feeling his lips drag back up to reclaim yours in a kiss so deep that your chest was burning from the lack of air. His vibranium fingers slid beneath the hem of your dress, skinning the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He was seconds away from dragging you out from the dance floor, seconds away from losing control entirely….

And then you felt a new pair of hands on you, causing the both of you to pull away from one another in a frightened haste.

“Well, well,” A voice purred above the pulsing bass, “Please don’t stop on my account.” Timothy Orkolov said, a smile draped over his lips. His gaze flicked between the two of you, taking in your swollen lips, the way Bucky’s hands had now moved to be more in front of you, so you would be behind him. He chuckled at the sight, swirling his drink around in his glass.

“I must admit, I’ve always wanted to see if it was true that HYDRA soldiers could go all night in the bedroom.” He teased, watching Bucky’s fingers twitching against your waist.

”Careful,” He warned sharply. Orkolov held his hand up.

”Oh come on James. You and your lovely partner here come waltzing into my club, put on a little show, and then you expect me not to comment about it? Forgive me for being curious.” His gaze dragged over you, appraising, assessing, his eyes lingering briefly on the scar between your chest, his lips curling into a smirk, “It’s rare to see two super soldiers together in one room, let alone seeing them in love like this…It’s almost poetic.” Bucky exhaled through his nose.

”Do you have a point to make or are you here to run your mouth?” Orkolov took a lazy sip from his glass, before tilting his chin towards the velvet-curtained VIP section at the back of the club.

”Why don’t we have a chat in private? Clearly you two came for something, I’d hate to keep the anticipation building.” Bucky looked over at you, his eyes still glazed over from your heated interaction, giving a nod.

”Fine. Lead the way.” Orkolov gave a small toothy smile, as he motioned for you to follow him.

The VIP section was draped in velvet red walls, the seating areas had harsh lights above you, where you’d be able to see someone perfectly, but it made your eyes sting from the transition from the dark chasm of the club to this. Orkolov took the both of you to a more secluded area, attempting to find the most private area so you would all be able to hear each other. He gestured for the both of you to go inside first. The room was average, it had a bar, a table, some velvet seats that matched the aesthetic of the rest of the club, and of course it was accented with gold trim wherever it could be. Orkolov roamed over to the bar, humming softly, like he was just having a pleasant meeting between old friends.

”Whiskey? Vodka? Anything to drink for either of you?” He asked, motioning to the bottles of alcohol behind him. Neither of you answered, “Well, suit yourselves.” He added, refilling his glass with whiskey, taking a long sip before motioning to the seats.

”Please. Let’s sit.” You and Bucky hesitated, looking at each other, trying to see what the play was going to be, but you never went through the possibility of having a private meeting with Orkolov. So you took a seat first, watching as Bucky joined you, his body on high alert, sturdy and stiff beside you. Orkolov’s eyes swept over you, his gaze dragging down your body, drinking up the image in front of him, until they settled on the scar that disappeared beneath your neckline. He swirled his drink around in his glass, placing it down onto the table.

”You know,” He mused, “I’ve read so much about the experiments HYDRA did. The enhancements. The conditioning. But you…” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, “You’re a mystery to me.” You kept eye contact with him, not breaking, not looking away.

“It’s such a shame they never completed you…” Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you still refused to give him the reaction, “Because that would’ve never happened to you.” He pointed at the scar. You didn’t flinch, and you could see the joy in his face, as he wet his lips, turning his attention to Bucky.

”Tell me James…When you look at her do you see a failed mission? Or the woman you supposedly love? You ever get that itch in the back of your head when you’re laying in bed together at night to finish the job?” Bucky’s hands twitched against his thighs, his jaw locking so tightly that it looked like it was going to shatter. Orkolov sat back.

”I mean…It must be torture, having her so close all the time. Being reminded everyday that you failed your duties to HYDRA.” Bucky’s breath came out slow and measured, but you could feel the rage radiating off of him. You wanted to put your hand on his thigh, but you knew better than to do that at the moment, as he brought his attention to you.

”It must eat away at you sometimes hmm? That no matter how much you love him, no matter how much you may trust him, there will always be that part of him that was given the order to kill you…And that it lives inside him.” You swallowed.

”He wouldn’t do that.” You replied, trying to convince yourself that it was the truth. You wanted to believe it, but there was still the hesitation inside your chest. Orkolov exhaled, a sharp laugh escaping his lips.

”Let me give it to you straight…You can love a blade, you can hold it close, and call it yours, but at the end of the day…It’s always going to be forged to cut. Just like James over here, will always be The Winter Soldier. Plain, and simple.” He smirked, looking over at Bucky, seeing the way his eyes had darkened, “And what will you do…When he finally does what he was commanded to do? When that blade you’re sure of is yours turns in your hand and carves you up all over again?” The words barely had time to settle before your body reached.

Your fist cracked against Orkolov’s jaw, snapping his head to the side with a sickening force, knocking him out of his seat. Bucky didn’t flinch, he didn’t even move a muscle, no protests, no getting up to hold you back, he was blank, almost completely void of anything. The room rang with the sound of a tooth skidding across the floor, and him landing hard against the ground with a thud. For a second there was only silence, you couldn’t feel your hands, it was like you went numb, but you didn’t care. You stood up from your seat, going over to Orkolov who groaned loudly, turning himself over, pressing his hand against his bloodied mouth, a gap showing from where you had knocked his tooth out. He looked up at you, with satisfaction in his eyes, as he coughed, letting the little blood droplets huff out into the air.

“I knew you had it in you.” He sputtered out. You crouched down, wrapping your hand around his neck, pulling him up so he was eye to eye with you.

”If you keep talking I’m going to snap your fucking neck. You may think they never completed me, but I still have the same serum running through my veins, and it burns for the kill. Especially when people run their mouths.” He choked as your hand tightened around his throat, “Now. We came here for information, so keep your end of the bargain, or else I’ll knock the rest of your fucking teeth out of your face.” He wheezed loudly, coughing up blood, the droplets hitting your face, as he moved his head up and down. Your grip on his neck loosened, allowing him to take a breath.

”There’s…A shipment coming in, “ He started, turning his head to spit out some blood that flooded his mouth from where you had knocked out his tooth, “High level assets…The remaining soldiers from HYDRA.” Your hand tightened around his throat again.

”Don’t fucking lie to me.” You spat, feeling him squirm, his hand coming up to hold your wrist, his blood smearing on your skin.

”I’m…I’m not. There’s still…They still exist.” He squeaked out, “Just like you guys.”

”When is it arriving?” He coughed again, more blood splattering on you.

”T-Tomorrow, m-midnight. At the ports on the o-outskirts of the city.” Your grip loosed on his neck, feeling his fingers trembling against your wrists as he struggled to swallow. His jaw was starting to swell up and you could see a faint bruise beginning to form on the side where you had punched, but in his eyes, it still held amusement, that unsettling satisfaction that he had made you crack. It frightened you that you had let the rage come through you again, something that you had tried so hard to control. The serum had given you this innate bloodlust, and you had pushed it down for so long you thought it was gone, then this happened and it felt like you were back to square one. You forced yourself to breathe deeply, as you threw Orkolov back down onto the floor, releasing his neck and knocking the wind out of him in the process.

You turned your head towards Bucky, but he still hadn’t moved, it was like he wasn’t even breathing, his eyes staring off in the distance. You took a step towards him.

”Bucky?” Orkolov let out a hoarse chuckle.

”Look at him…Poor little James, trapped in that head of his. I must’ve gotten to him just like I got to you.” He commented. With your pulse still hammering in your ears, all you could feel was wrong, absolutely sick to your stomach, and you ignored what he had said. Not wanting to get sucked back into the violence that was wanting to come out again. You took another step towards Bucky, crouching down in front of him.

“Bucky…Hey.” Your voice was soft, trying to get his attention, his eyes glazed over, unfocused and locked elsewhere. He still hadn’t moved, nor breathed properly, and it was beginning to worry you. You reached out, your fingers grazing his knee.

”Bucky.” You tried again, making your voice firmer, hoping you could break through whatever fog he was trapped in. Slowly you moved just a bit closer, lifting your hand up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his stubble. His skin was burning hot, but there was no reaction to your cold hands pressing against him, no flicker of recognition in those ice blue eyes. This wasn’t shock or anger that was fueling him to be this way, it was as if he had completely shut down, turned himself off for the world like it was to save himself from doing something stupid.

“Come on…” You whispered, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Orkolov groaned.

”You think you’re gonna miraculously pull him out of this? It’s not up to him anymore.” You glanced over your shoulder at him, watching as he attempted to sit up.

”If you move a single muscle, or say another word…I’m gonna break every bone in your body. Do you understand?” You growled, turning your attention back to Bucky, sliding your fingers down to hold his wrists.

”You’re okay…You’re safe Bucky…I’m safe. You’re in control, Bucky. I know you are.” You could feel your throat tightening, seeing the absence behind his eyes. Your hands squeezed his wrists gently, forcing your presence into him, into whatever place he went to so that he could avoid the pain.

“I need you to hear me,” You whispered, desperation bleeding through your voice now, “You’re not there anymore, you’re not him…You’re Bucky Barnes, now come back to me for the love of god!” Finally, Bucky flinched. It was barely a movement at all, but you felt it against your hands, the slight twitch of his fingers on your skin.

“Come on…” You coxed, tightening your hands on his wrists a little bit more. Your heart was pounding, watching the way his expression slowly shifted, like he was trying to break through, then suddenly you heard it.

”…Y/N?” Your breath caught for a moment, your hands immediately meeting his face against, trembling against his overheated skin.

”Yes, yes it’s me. You’re okay.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, watching as his eyes began to dart around the room, taking in the environment around him, before settling on you again, seeing your skin splattered with blood.

”Jesus Christ what the hell happened?!” His hands came up to hold onto your wrists, pulling them away from him, seeing one of your hands stained with blood as well, “Are you hurt?!”

“It’s not mine, I’m okay Bucky.” His eyes snapped over toward Orkolov, who was crumpled on the floor, smirking through the pain.

”Missed quite the show…She’s got a hell of a right hook. Guess HYDRA really did do something right with her.” He commented, spitting out more blood. He looked back at you, surprised.

”I got what we needed. We have to get out of here though. I will tell you everything when we get someplace safe, okay?” He nodded, slowly getting up from his seat.

”Running away already? And here I was thinking we would have more time together.” Orkolov said, trying to push himself up onto his hands. Bucky stepped past you, moving towards him slowly, before standing above him.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll meet again, and next time, I don’t think you’re going to be getting out alive.”

——————-

When you arrived back at the hotel you didn’t know whether or not you wanted to shower first or call Maria to convey all the information to her. At this point you felt like every bone in your body was on fire, edging with this adrenaline you hadn’t experienced since HYDRA gave you the serum. It was almost mind numbing at this point, and you couldn’t imagine if this was what Bucky would experience when he was The Winter Soldier.

You took your phone out of your purse, dialing the only number that was in it. Hill picked up after the second ring.

”Tell me you have something.” You reached up to rub your face, feeling the crusted blood peeling off.

”There’s a shipment coming in tomorrow at midnight at the ports in the outskirts of the city. Orkolov said there are going to be HYDRA soldiers in it. The remaining ones…” There was a pause.

“Are you sure?” She asked, as you kicked off your shoes, glancing over at Backy who was standing at the kitchen counter, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“I’m positive. He was too scared to lie.” You commented, moving towards the bedroom, feeling Bucky’s eyes following, as you closed the door.

”That’s good. I’ll have a team en route to you guys by tomorrow evening.” Your grip tightened on the phone.

”Maria…I don’t think it’s a good idea that Bucky and I continue this mission. I don’t think it’s good if we come to the port for the shipment…Tonight wasn’t good for either of us, and with HYDRA being involved…I really don’t think we are in the right state to be there.” There was a long pause as you looked at your hand, seeing the dark crimson blood caked on it.

“You’re asking to pull out?” Her voice was even, but there was a hint of sharpness, maybe even disappointment in it. You pressed your fingers to your temple.

”We’re both compromised Maria…I almost killed Orkolov tonight…And Bucky basically dissociated because he got into his head. We can’t be there Maria…Please don’t send us there.” You begged, your voice cracking at the thought that you were both going to be faced with your past. Maria exhaled slowly.

”Okay…I’ll get you both out, but there is going to be a delay. Probably a day or two. Can you handle that?” You nodded.

”Yes, we can handle that, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Maria was quiet for a second.

”Just get some rest, and I’ll send you the information when everything is confirmed. Stay put and stay off the radar.”

“Understood.” Then she hung up without another word, leaving you in the silence of the bedroom. You dropped your phone onto the bed, before opening the door, seeing that Bucky was still at the counter, nursing his drink.

”Maria is going to pull us out.” You announced softly, coming out of the room. He looked over at you, his jaw tightening slightly.

”When?” You moved towards him.

”She said about a day or two, she’s going to text the information when she gets confirmation.” Bucky nodded, as he brought the glass of whiskey up to his lips, knocking back the rest of the drink in one go, putting it back down onto the counter.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, watching you closely, focusing on the little splatters of blood on your skin.

“Like I’m on fire…I haven’t had this much adrenaline going through me in a while.” You commented, moving closer to him, “How are you feeling?” He shook his head.

”Like my brain is swollen…I feel absolutely exhausted, all I want to do is shower, and try to sleep at this point.” You watched the tension in Bucky’s shoulders settle slightly, the adrenaline crash becoming inevitable.

“You can go first if you’d like. I can wait.” Bucky shook his head, a small laugh coming out of him.

”You should definitely go first…You’re the one that has the blood on you.” He pointed out, motioning to your face and body. In the light you saw the smudges on your arms from where Orkolov held, the remnants of the night clinging to you like a second skin.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You admitted, rubbing at your arms, as you turned on your heel, moving towards the bathroom, pausing for a moment just before you walked down the corridor, feeling Bucky’s eyes on you still. You glanced back at him.

“How about you come with me,” You murmured before you could think twice about it. His eyebrows raised, caught off guard by your offer, not sure if he was hearing you right.

”What did you just say?” He asked, his throat tightening on his words.

”Come with me,” You repeated, softer this time, tilting your head, “Unless you’d rather sit out here alone.” Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but the heat in his eyes told you he didn’t need any convincing. Wordlessly, he pushed himself off the counter and followed you down the corridor.

You turned on the bathroom light, motioning for Bucky to come in before closing the door behind you, turning to look at him. He stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets, looking down at you, letting his gaze run over the mess that you had become throughout the night. He sighed, bringing one hand up to rub his forehead.

”Should I turn on the hot water?” He asked, trying to break the silence up a little bit. You nodded, watching him slide open the glass door, and reach for the faucet, turning it counterclockwise. The sound of rushing water filled the space, steam already beginning to slowly rise, making the air in the room just a little bit heavier. He turned himself back towards you, glancing down at your dress briefly, as he brought his hands up to start working on the buttons of his dress shirt, the fabric parting inch by inch.

He was massive. Even after everything, even knowing the strength that came with the bulk of him, it still sent a shiver through you to really see him like this. The thick swell of his shoulders and arms, the defined cut of muscle beneath his skin, every inch of him carved from war and survival. His chest was wide, a few old scars slashing through the ridges of muscle, his vibranium arm gleaming under the bathroom light. His abs flexed with each breath, tight, strong, leading down to the deep v-cut at his hips. He pushed off the shirt completely, throwing it to the side, as he looked at you with anticipation burning behind his gleaming eyes. Slowly, you reached behind you, your fingers finding the zipper of your dress, bringing it down with an agonizing pace, feeling the fabric loosening around you. The dress slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You saw his fingers twitch at his side, as his gaze dragged over your body, trying to commit it all to memory. Your arms wrapped around your stomach, not out of embarrassment but from the weight of the way he was drinking in your body, the curvature of your breasts, the faint little scars that contrasted lightly against your skin, the way that your figure was just perfectly yours…It made his heart clench slightly, and suddenly he started to feel like he was overdressed.

His hands went to his belt buckle first, gently unlatching it, keeping his eyes on you as he did it. He slid the leather from the loops, dropping it to the tile with a clink. His fingers quickly returned to his pants to unbutton them, pushing the fabric off his hips and stepping out of it, leaving him in just his briefs. The both of you continued to look at each other, as you slowly closed the space, letting your nerves stir in your stomach.

You reached out, grazing the hard ridges of his stomach, barely touching, just lightly tracing the dense muscle there. You could feel him tense beneath your touch, his hand coming up to slide around your waist, bringing you just a little bit closer to him, the steam thickening around the room.

“…You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, bringing his vibranium hand up to trace down the jagged scar in the center of your chest, the coolness causing your skin to perk up against him, his touch didn’t linger there for long, as it moved off to your ribs, then up to the underside of your breast, cupping it gently, his thumb lightly brushing over your nipple, a soft gasp escaping your throat. A smirk tugged up onto his lips, leaning down so that his mouth was just above the mound of your breast, his hot breath clinging to your skin, savoring the moment before he finally took your nipple into his mouth. You gasped louder this time, your fingers pressing into the muscle of his torso, as his tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, his arm tightening around you to pull you closer to him, sucking gently, pulling his mouth off to blow against the wetness he had created.

”Jesus Bucky…” You moaned, as his mouth went to the opposite breast, wrapping around the perked nipple, nibbling slightly to elicit another gasp from you. Your fingers trailed down his abdomen, slipping under the waistband of his briefs for a moment, teasing him just like he was teasing you, as a groan radiated against your chest, and his fingers dug into your back. He took his mouth off your breast, trembling slightly, your hands trailing further beneath the waistband, his eyes looking up at you, seeing his pupils completely blown out from the tension, as you felt his erection against your palm. His lashes fluttered shut, and his cheeks turned a cherry red, tilting his head back as your hand wrapped around him, spreading his precum along his shaft as you began to slowly stroke.

“Oh fuck Y/N…” He gasped, bringing his hand to your chin, tilting your head up so he could crash his lips into yours. There was such a desperate intensity in the kiss, as he stole the air from your lungs, his tongue immediately tracing your bottom lip, begging for you to open for him, his hips rolling into your touch. You opened for him, feeling the hotness of his tongue against yours, as his hand slid off from your back, and slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, earning a moan from you, your legs parting slightly for him. You were already wet for him, as his fingers trailed over the slick arousal, teasing your dripping entrance before pushing two fingers in with ease. You almost screamed at the sensation that rocked through you, as his thick fingers stretched you out. He pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, his vibranium hand coming up to cup your face, as you started to stroke him faster, with him trying to catch up to your pace, his fingers curling inside you. You closed your eyes tightly, your mouth dropping open as you moaned.

“That’s it…” Bucky murmured, breathless, trying his best to remain dominant, his lips grazing your jaw, “Let me hear you.” He whispered, biting the skin just below your ear. You could feel your pace falter, getting distracted by your own pleasure, feeling this tension beginning to build in your stomach, coiling around every inch of your body, your hand tightening around him. He gasped, biting into the sensitive flesh of your neck, sucking gently on the mark to soothe the sting.

”If you keep doing that I’m not going to last.” He whispered, shuddering against you.

“Then we should…” You paused, feeling your legs shake beneath you from the pleasure that wrecked through your entire body, “We should move to the shower then.” You suggested, looking up at him, your eyes glazed over, just as lust filled as his. He nodded, slowly taking his fingers out of you, pushing your underwear down, with you doing the same to him. The undergarments pooled at both your feet as he wrapped an arm around your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, a surprised gasp leaving your lips, your legs wrapping around his waist, as he brought you to the shower.

The first thing you felt was the boiling water hitting your back, spreading down your skin as he pressed you slowly against the warm porcelain wall, reaching with one hand to close the shower door, the other one anchoring you against him.

His lips trailed down the column of your throat, peppering kisses along your collarbone. He was unrushed with his movements, savoring every inch he got to explore, as his hand caressed the curve of your hip. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with praise, almost like you were his religion, or the most sacred thing he had ever touched. His breath mixed with yours as he captured your mouth in another heated kiss, the both of you moaning in unison, your hands tangling into his damp hair. The taste of him made your head spin. The both of you felt as if you were drowning in each other, but neither of you came up for air, his hand coming up to hold the side of your face. He was the first to pull back, his lips brushing yours one more time before his thumb traced along your swollen bottom lip, as the steam curled around the both of you.

“Open,” He said softly. There was no dominance in his voice, it was just a quiet request, something that was optional, but you obeyed anyways, parting your lips for him. He held your jaw gently, as if afraid you’d pull away, but when you didn’t, he let the moment stretch, suspended in tension, in anticipation, before he let a delicate stream of saliva fall from his lips, into your mouth. The act felt like something sacred, something intimate, as his thumb brushed against your chin, his gaze never leaving yours, watching you swallow. The corner of his mouth quirked up, just barely, before he dipped his head, capturing your lips in another deep, slow kiss. His tongue traced your bottom lip, as if savoring the taste of you before he pulled back, his breath warm against your mouth.

“I need to taste you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his grip tightening around your thigh, guiding your leg off the side of his waist, helping you regain your balance. His eyes held yours for just a moment, a silent exchange of desire and want, before he leaned forward, kissing along your collarbone, licking the droplets that slid down your body, sucking gently on the skin right at the bottom of your neck. His hands settled on your hips, pressing his fingers into your damp skin, as he continued his journey, exploring every inch of skin he could reach, and you were at his mercy, not that you minded of course. When he got on his knees in front of you it nearly made you choke, his lips kissing along your hip bone, his hand sliding behind your thigh, squeezing it gently, coaxing you to open for him.

”You’re already shaking…” He commented, his lips finding their way to your inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin, wanting to mark you wherever he could so when he woke up in the morning he would know that this wasn’t just a dream. Your fingers threaded into his soaked hair, tugging just enough to cause shivers to rush down his body, silently pleading for him. His darkened eyes flickered up at you, his pupils completely blown out, not a speck of blue in sight, as he brought his lips up to your aching heat, placing a gentle kiss, before his tongue dragged along the entire area, your arousal coating his lips.

Your gasped echoed through the shower, feeling him press you against the wall so that you were secure with no possibility of falling, his mouth now completely consuming you whole. His tongue moved with such precision, tracing slow, sinful strokes along you, making sure he was paying attention to every spot that could earn him another moan, or hair pull from you. He groaned against you, his fingers digging into the backs of your thighs.

”Fuck…Y/N. You’re so goddamn perfect. So warm…So fucking sweet.” He whispered, his tongue dragging through your slickness again, “You’re wrecking me…” The vibration of his voice against you made you press your nails into his scalp, shuddering above him.

”Bucky…” You whimpered, pressing him closer, feeling the wet heat of his mouth driving you closer and closer to the breaking point, your hips rolling against his mouth, feeling the heat in your stomach beginning to boil.

“You taste so fucking good…I want to stay here forever.” You moaned at his words, heat flaring through your body, the sound of his desperation causing your heart to flutter, his tongue flicking against your clit.

“You like hearing how much I need you?” Your head fell back against the tile, pulling on his hair again.

”Yes.” You gasped, the pressure inside you mounting in a quickening excess “God, Bucky I love it.” He growled, sending another rush of pleasure through your body, his fingers digging into the backs of your thighs.

”You’re so wet for me…” He murmured, his breath hot against your core, “And I’m going to have every single drop.” One hand slipped from behind your thigh, reaching up to hold your breast, palming it gently, as he slipped his tongue inside you, moving it slowly. You felt like you were on the brink of collapse, all the sensations invading your entire body. He groaned, feeling you push against his mouth, his grip on your breast tightening just a little bit, as his thumb ran over your nipple. You unraveled one of your hands from his hair, bringing it up to hold the back of his.

“Bucky I’m…” You couldn’t manage to get your sentence out as you trembled against him, your breath hitching in your throat.

”I know…You going to come for me sweetheart?” He asked, his mouth now focusing directly on your clit, finding a pace that was so fast you could barely compose yourself before the pressure snapped inside you, your grip on his hand tightening, your nails digging into the skin as you cried out, the overstimulation ceasing your heart. Bucky wasn’t lying when he said he was going to have every single drop, his mouth moved against you like he was starved for it. Your body was trembling beneath him, as he pulled away slowly, looking up at you; his eyes wild…Worshipful even. You collapsed against the wall gasping for air, your eyes roaming over his face. His lips were swollen, covered in your arousal, his hair a mess from where you had pulled on it. He smiled at you, letting out a giddy laugh as he kissed the inside of your thigh, before bringing his forehead to your stomach, his hot breath cooling the droplets against your skin.

”Jesus Christ…” He muttered, half in disbelief, half in complete adoration, as he pressed kisses against every inch of skin he could reach, “You’re still shaking.” He commented, looking up again.

“You absolutely wrecked me.” You replied, your hands reaching down to cup his face, your thumbs running along his cheekbones as he leaned into your touch.

“Mission accomplished.” He joked, feeling your hands guiding him up so he could stand again. He raised from his kneeled position, his hands roaming your body, as he pulled you against him, so you could feel how hard he was for you.

“Bucky…I really need you right now.” You confessed, getting on your tiptoes to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips. He pulled back for a moment.

”Are you sure?” You nodded instantly, feeling his hands behind your thighs grip, and then effortlessly lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the tiled wall. His arms cradled your body like you were the most precious thing he had ever touched, and that wasn’t far off from the truth.

“I need to hear you say-.” You grabbed his face, forcing him to look in your eyes completely.

”I need you Bucky…Please.” That was all he needed to hear, as his hand left the small of your back, lining himself up with your entrance, your gaze falling on his reaction as he slowly pushed himself into you, his jaw slacking open at the warmth, his eyelids fluttering closed. He leaned forward, placing a kiss against your neck, continuing to push, the both of you savoring the sensation of going slow, taking in the feeling of being stretched.

“H-Holy fuck…” He let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head, “It’s like heaven.” He whispers, looking up at you with his pupils blown out, amazed by the sensation of you fluttering around him, his fingertips digging into your hip as he continued to push forward until he bottomed out in you, a satisfied sigh escaping into the air.

”You feel so good…I just wanna stay inside you like this.” His words sent a shiver up your spine, your nails lightly scraping against the broad muscles of his shoulders. His body was a furnace against yours, and the hot water that cascaded above the both of you made everything feel like it was on fire. His vibranium hand moved up your side, his thumb brushing over your ribcage, then moving up to cup your breast. His lips found their way to the curve of your jaw, brushing over your skin, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses wherever he could. He slowly pulled out just a little before rocking back into you, slowly picking up the pace, keeping his eyes locked onto yours, trying his best to keep the unhurried rhythm he had found. With every thrust it was like he pushed deeper, making sure you could feel every inch of him, your nails digging into his back, dragging down.

“Bucky, you feel so fucking good. “ You moaned, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his as he continued to roll his hips up into you, adjusting the angle a bit so that his cock was dragging across your g-spot, a mangled gasp coming out of your throat at the mind-numbing sensation that shot through you. Bucky felt everything, the way your body clenched around him, the heat of your ragged breath against his lips, the way your nails dug into his shoulders just a little more, and the way you closed your eyes tightly trying to focus on not getting overwhelmed with how he was making you feel.

“You like when I fuck you like this?” He asked, rutting back up into you with just a little more force than before.

”Yes!” You practically yelled, as one of your hands came off his shoulder and tangled it into his hair, “Don’t stop Bucky, please don’t fucking stop.” You begged, desperate for the snapping of his hips against yours to continue. He placed a soft kiss on your lips, pulling back.

”I wouldn’t think of it sweetheart.” He said, a dazed smile appearing on his puffy lips, glancing down at the way he was sliding in and out of you so perfectly, before returning his gaze back up to yours, “You’re so wet for me Y/N, I can’t believe how fucking good it feels…I think I’m gonna want you like this everyday now.” There was such need and longing in his voice that you felt yourself melting against him.

”Bucky, I…I fucking want it all. I want you to ruin me. Take me as your own. Please.”You cried out, as he thrusted hard at the words that fell from your mouth, the tip of his cock grazing your cervix.

“I can do that.” He whispered, his lips finding your neck, pressing you against the wall just a little more as he picked up his pace, kissing along your pulse, letting his teeth graze your skin before sinking in just enough to cause a jolt to shoot through you. You tilted your head back, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the bathroom as he grunted against your neck, his hand grabbing tightly on your thigh.

“God you’re making me lose my mind.” He moaned, breathless from the fast pace he was thrusting into you with, the coil in your stomach tightening, twisting, and burning with a fury of a thousand suns.

”I’m going to come again B-Bucky.” You could barely string that simple sentence together as your body arched into his.

”I know. I’m gonna ruin you just like you asked.” He whispered, his lips finding yours, as the both of you opened your mouths, his tongue teasing yours, his hips rolling at just the right angle so he could drag another moan out of you.

“Bucky…” His name left your lips like a prayer, your back slipping up the wall with each harsh thrust. There was no rhythm at this point, it was just mindless, and all consumed.

“I’ve got you baby. Be a good girl…Come for me.” It only took another deep, perfectly angled thrust before you shattered around him, your body clenching, trembling, lost in wave after wave of pleasure, your walls clenching tightly. Bucky followed right after, his unstable rhythm breaking as he groaned against your neck, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he let go, his grip on you digging into the sensitive flesh of your hips as he buried himself as deep as he could, filling you up with ropes of cum.

The only sounds left were ragged breaths between you, the hot shower water still falling over the both of you. Bucky didn’t move right away, he slowly took his teeth off your shoulder, observing the dark red marks that he had left, a satisfied smile pulling up on his lips, peppering soft, gentle kisses along the damage. You sighed as he leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

”You’re so fucking incredible.” He whispered, pecking your lips. You smiled at him, your fingers brushing over his shoulders, feeling his arms tightening around you.

“We should wash off…Then give the bed a test drive.” You suggested. He laughed.

”Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

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