berrys-hide-out

[berrys-hide-out]

Hello hello! ^^

Albeit this blog being relatively on and off anyway, I still had a nagging feeling I should Inform ya’ll who did come in new about something that’s been on my mind.

I’ve been around for awhile now, interacting anonymously and running around, dropping a few tickle-fics here and there. However I’ve come to a point where this simply doesn’t do it for me anymore.

I come online, I write, don’t feel as fulfilled anymore and log off. I want to start anew, talk openly with other people and find a community where I can stay and feel fulfilled with what I do.

I’m sorry to inform that I’ll partly abandon the blog soon to move on and try my hand on creating fan art, getting better at art, illustrations and overall story telling beside my job.

I wish those who stuck around a good time and I’ll see to somehow getting the last request out albeit my lack of commitment^^

Until then take care ~

P.S who knows, maybe I’ll repurpose the blog someday, however for now I simply know I won’t write tickle fics for much longer and work on my skillset ^^

[berrys-hide-out]

A quick heads up about the t-fic.

Im busy with work at the moment and it might take me longer, please continue to have patience with me as I’m slowly getting through🥹😅

[berrys-hide-out]

Could you please write an irondad tickle fic where Peter obviously doesn't try to stop Tony from tickling him and Tony teases him about how cue he is?

Pretty please? And thank you! 🩷

Your wish shall be granted! ✨😉

[berrys-hide-out]

WOHOHOAH! Now that’s a threat! 😂

This Means War

synopsis: When cabin fever reaches boiling point, your teammates' boredom turns into a test of your stamina. After a bit of tickling sends you crumbling to the mat during training, you're goaded into proving you wouldn't spill state secrets if an enemy found your weak spots... by subjecting yourself to the hands of the God of Mischief.

wc: ~5200

pairing: Loki x female reader (flirtatious). Bucky, Thor, Steve also included platonically.

cw: MINORS DNI, swearing, use of physical restraints, interrogation scenario, tickling (a lot of it. this is a tickle fic)

extra content warning: this story contains a faux-interrogation scene. the reader consented to it and has the ability to stop it at any moment. i do not usually allow the word "stop" to be ignored in a tickle fic - this fic is the exception because the reader has a safe word. The tickling in this feels a lot more intense (to me) than my previous fics so please be warned.

Your fate was sealed before it even started.

It happened too fast to control.

It started so innocuously. You were locked in a spar with Loki. Parrying high, pivoting low, flirting around that usual edge of real violence.

You had been sharp today - precise, clean, dangerous. Steve was nursing a bruise. Bucky’s jaw was red where you’d clocked him. Even Thor looked impressed, his cape torn at the hem where your blade had snagged it mid-spin.

But Loki always had a way of slipping past your guard.

You got the sense that he'd figured out the softest spots of you - mentally and otherwise - long ago. That he'd... catalogued them. That he took great delight in silently holding the knowledge of where to press. And how. He could get under your skin like no one else could. Burrowing deeper with heated looks at unpredictable moments, then ebbing back with pure professionalism at others.

It kept you humble when it came to facing him on the mats.

Usually.

Today... you didn't know what it was. Maybe the thrill of landing solid hits on two super soldiers and a Norse god. Maybe you got cocky.

Maybe the curl falling loose from the hair knotted low at his nape was just too distracting.

But you tried a move too risky, and he slipped past your guard. You caught his brow raising brow as he evaded your fist. The micro-second comment in the gesture went something like:

You really thought that would work?

Yes. It would've worked against a lesser fighter. The fact that you thought it might work against him... well, that was paramount to insult. Not something he'd let slide. Not when you made clear, time and time again, to all of these super-people: going easy on you wouldn't help be better.

So they didn't go easy - but that didn't mean they'd meet your mistake with a punch that could shatter your sternum. Usually, you'd just get pushed off balance, or pinned to the mat, or locked in some uncomfortable position until you could explain what you'd done wrong. Which was fine. It all helped.

Today, however, it seemed Loki wanted to teach you an extra little lesson.

His palm swept up, thumb hooking into the soft space under your arm. You slammed your bicep down on reflex, wincing, trapping his thumb as his fingers wrapped around and pressed into the sensitive muscle under your scapula.

His fingers didn't stop at pressing. A choked gasp was forced from your mouth, your body jolting before your mind realising that his fingers were wiggling, you were squirming, he was tickling you.

Your knees buckled, eyes wild and flying to his calculated stare.

He watch you as you slowly sunk lower, his head cocked, his smirk spreading when the first startled, hapless giggle bubbled over your lips.

Get away get away get away- every single base animal instinct flooded into flight. You pushed back on your heels, dislodging his hand from under your arm as your backside hit the floor. You were spluttering, panting, giggling - fucking giggling, of all things - and you felt yourself moving to scoot back, eyes fixed on the god standing above you.

He didn't press his advantage. He didn't have to. He just stood over you, that same brow arched, blue eyes glinting with something cold and curious and satisfied. "Well," he murmured. "That's new."

You clenched your jaw, regaining composure, forcing yourself back up to stand. "Dick," you grumbled, straightening your clothes as warmth crept up your neck.

"Fascinating, really," his smirk grew, eyes scanning over you. "Have you always been so-"

"Shut it," you warned, glare cutting to him.

"Oh no," he gave a single shake of his head. "You're not getting out of this one."

Not after what you just tried to pull, was the unspoken subtext.

Shit. You should've known better than to try such a cheap trick on a god with an ego the size of the fucking continental United States.

Loki locked his fingers behind his back, started pacing around you, appraising. “Battle-hardened Avenger felled by a few seconds of tickling…" He swung his gaze to the others. More specifically, Steve. "You didn't think to train this out of her?"

Steve had straightened, fists gripping the ends of the towel slung around his neck, eyebrows raised. "Train?"

Bucky tilted his head, watching you like a hawk. "Huh."

"Oh, come on," you started, rolling your eyes, hands on your hips, trying to brush it off. "This is not something that requires training."

“You squealed,” Bucky said, grin now forming.

“I did not.”

"You crumbled," Steve grimaced with a playful edge behind it.

“Like wet paper,” Loki added. "It was rather... adorable, actually."

"This could be a problem," Thor hummed in thought. "Could it not? If your enemies learn of this."

Your head snapped to him. Then your eyes back to the others.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

The team had been without mission for almost two weeks; the boys were bored. And you'd just handed them some free entertainment.

You took a measured breath through your nose, and assured Thor: "They won’t."

"But if they did..." Steve started, slowly.

You turned. He was looking at you - not mocking, not smug. Just… calculating. Thoughtful.

You frowned. "Then what?"

"They’d have leverage," Bucky said.

"I wear full body armour."

"Armour can be compromised."

You could feel the shift happening.

The slow, creeping change in the air.

Loki was already grinning again, full teeth. "Pressure point training, perhaps?"

You scoffed. "Absolutely not."

Thor crossed his arms, ducking his head as if weighing the option. "It may be wise."

You crossed your own, arguing, "There's no proven method of desensitisation; you can't train someone out of being ticklish, Loki's just stirring mischief."

But Steve was quiet, eyes shifting to Bucky. Bucky’s arms were crossed too now, mouth twitching, his eyes finding Steve's.

You clocked the exits.

Three of them. One closest, but Thor stood near. The second was by Steve, and Loki, in his pacing, had subtly moved to block the third.

Fucking shit.

"Let’s just say," Bucky started, shrugging one shoulder, "we’re in the field. You’re caught. Someone finds a sweet spot-"

"-and they want to know where some files are hidden," Steve adds.

Loki hums in agreement, faux-consideration painted across him. "Security codes... contingency plans..."

You shifted from one foot to the other, hackles raising. "This is not a realistic scenario. On what planet would I ever be tickled for information?"

"Several," Thor nodded thoughtfully, looking to Loki. "At least four in this universe alone."

"Hmm, yes," Loki confirmed. "And I do believe in some factions on Sakaar."

You rubbed your temples. "This is not happening," you said. Mostly to yourself.

"There’s no harm in proving you’d withstand it," Steve said, voice calm. It almost sounded reasonable.

Your eyes flicked to him. You scoffed again. "Don't use your Captain America voice on me like you actually-"

He met your gaze evenly. And you stopped talking.

Because suddenly... you knew.

He wasn’t joking.

He was serious.

Not cruel. Not cold. Just… decisive. Like an older brother about to teach you a hard lesson for your own good.

You felt the breath stick in your chest.

"Steve. C'mon."

He straightened up, slow.

Bucky’s grin widened.

Thor stretched his arms with a lazy flex.

Loki turned toward you, smirking.

Your stomach dropped clean through the floor. Bucky took a step forward and you flinched, body readying to bolt.

"Hey," Bucky said, lifting his hands like he was trying to ease the tension. "You don’t have to prove anything."

You glared. "That’s exactly what this is."

"No," he corrected, smile just shy of cruel. "This is about making sure you don’t give up state secrets just to make it stop."

Your face burned. "I would never-"

"Good," Loki cut in, eyes glittering. "You're confident. You'll have no issue proving it, then."

You blinked. "What?"

Steve’s voice was low. Final. "We should put it to the test."

And just like that, the temperature in the room dropped. Your heart slammed into your ribs.

You were boxed in. Outnumbered. Outplayed.

"Steve. You’re not seriously suggesting simulating an interrogation where I'm..." you winced at the mere thought - betraying your nerves.

He shrugged in that infuriatingly calm, Captain America way. “Look, I trust you. But you always say training should cover every angle. This is just... one of them.” He tried not to smile.

You hated how much they were enjoying this. Bucky wasn’t even hiding his grin. Thor was scratching his beard thoughtfully, nodding like this was all so fucking reasonable.

Your jaw hung slack, you glared at Steve. "You're seriously gonna make me do this?"

Steve's head went to the side in thought. "No. It's your choice."

Loki didn’t even pretend. His smirk stayed plastered across his face like he had been waiting its whole life for this moment. "Of course, we'd never force you to prove it..." Loki raised his hands in surrender. "Not if it would be too much for you."

Okay. Now your pride was involved.

Loki continued. "If you're afraid... you just can say so."

He knew exactly how to bait you. It was so obvious.

But it still fucking worked. And that was on you.

You sucked your teeth, arms still crossed, jaw tense, looking between the varying degrees of smug in your teammates.

And a thought passed over you. About Steve. His leadership, his honour, and the way you trusted him so intrinsically with your life you knew he'd never let something like this go too far. So your eyes met his.

“Well?” He asked, calm and expectant.

You let out a tense breath through your nose.

"I'll follow your orders, Cap," you said, dropping your arms, squaring your shoulders. "What'll it be?"

.

.

This was one of those freeze-frame record-scratch moments where the narrator says 'Yep - that’s me. You're probably wondering how I ended up in this position.'

You flexed your fingers before gripping the edge of the armrest. The cuffs were snug but not uncomfortable. The chair itself - fetched by Bucky while the terms of the test were set - wasn't too bad, either. Cushioned seat and back, padded cuffs securing the wrists to the armrests and ankles to the front legs. It wouldn't hold any of the men around you, but you didn't have lightening or serum in your veins.

One small test proved no give, no rattling, was enough for that little molten thread of helplessness to start curling down your spine. All part of the mind games.

Trying to relax into the chair, your eyes landed on Loki, who was approaching you with all the slow, deliberate lethality of a black panther.

Of course, he was the one chosen to... do this.

His hand reached out and tested one cuff. "You seem tense."

"Bite me."

He chuckled, beginning to circle the chair slowly, trying to get in your head. Trying to build tension. It was working.

"The objective is simple. Don't give up the code word." His eyes flicked to Steve and Bucky. "Have you decided on what that word will be?"

Bucky nodded once, calling out, "cucumber."

You groaned. "That is the stupidest-"

"Exactly," Steve said. "You won't say it by accident. You try to hold out. You say it - that's surrender."

You felt Loki's fingers rest against the back of the chair. "Do you understand the rules, agent?"

You sniffed, jaw tight. "Don’t say the fucking vegetable."

"You ready?" Steve crossed his arms, failing to hide his amused smile.

No one in this room was under the impression that this was anything other than an exercise in the folly of boredom and pride. But here you were, about to hit play on that that freeze-frame record-scratch moment, and you wondered why the hell you ever agreed to this.

You did have an out - whenever you wanted it, you could say the word - but that steady fire inside you was stoked. White hot. You'd be damned if Loki snuffed it.

You'd be damned if he won.

"Ready," you confirmed.

He began.

Loki's touch was feather-light at first. Deceptively gentle. Fingers trailing over your sides like whispers.

They wanted a show? You'd give them a show. You'd show them exactly what you'd do if this was an enemy situation.

You flinched. "What the fuck are you doing?" Your head swung around, wearing a mask of confusion, fear, and pure innocence.

Loki's eyes narrowed. Ah. He seemed to say. This is how you want to play.

His voice was ice. Frostbitten. Severe. "What's the code word, Agent?"

"Wha-" you jerked again, eyes darting down to see his fingers at your sides, pressing a little firmer. Seeking. "I don't- what are you doing?"

He didn’t fumble or poke randomly. No, he searched.

"I'm under strict orders to not leave a mark, Agent," Loki's cold voice sounded vaguely distracted. "You have a code word I need..."

Then he found a spot. Just under the lower edge of your ribs, to the side. Your breath caught. Muscles locked. He paused.

"And I think I've just found a way to get it from you."

He wasn't clumsy. Not even a little.

"What code word? What are you even talking about? What-"

You stopped, looked down, watched as his middle finger and ring finger readied. You felt his other palm flatten against the opposite side of your waist in preparation to keep you in place.

You opened your mouth to say something, but then his fingers moved.

Sensation exploded like a switch had been flipped. Your hips jolted in the chair, a strangled sound caught in your throat as he pressed into that cluster of nerves with terrifying precision. Not a scratch or a dig - no, he hooked and circled slowly, keeping a maddening pressure on just the right spot. You were squirming violently in seconds, laughter ripping out of you against your will.

"Shit- Loki, fuck-" you broke your character, gasping between fits of laughter, voice hoarse and breaking. You tried twisting away, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

"Code word," he demanded.

You scrambled to collect your thoughts. Okay - okay - you could work with this. Fortify your mind. Let your body react. You tried to get a grip. Tried to find his rhythm and tell your brain it was no grave threat.

But half a minute later and he hadn't eased off. And it was only tickling more with every passing second.

"Please!" You gasped out, shaking your head. "I don't know what you're-"

He doubled - the palm against your other side began mirroring the same pattern with eerie symmetry. Pinpoint accuracy into that soft spot. Every movement surgical. Like he’d done this a thousand times.

Somewhere in the haze you sense him leaning down, felt his breath hot against your ear. "I know you have what I'm looking for."

"I don't!" you squealed, head hitting back against his shoulder as you twisted helplessly, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. "Fuck- please stop!"

"I can't stop this. Only you can. Say the word," he said softly.

You whimpered through breathless giggles as you tried to collect yourself enough to respond. "I don't- fuck- I don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't believe you."

His pointer finger joined the fray and your body convulsed with laughter, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. He hadn’t even moved from that godforsaken spot on your ribs. And he hadn’t lost rhythm once.

"Fuck!" You thrashed, as much as the chair would let you. "I- this is- this is inhumane!"

A low hum by your other ear. The other devil on the other shoulder. "You're in control, Agent. You can make this stop any time."

He didn’t move fast. He didn’t need to. It was the control that was killing you. The way he’d learned your body in seconds. That single spot already made your arms jerk, your breath hitch, your laughter take on a desperate edge.

"Make no mistake," he murmured. "I'm going to win. You really think this is the worst it can be? Give me the word. Now."

"I don't have the fucking word!" you shrieked between wheezes, before falling into a new spout of laughter. You gave a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a sob, it was hard to tell. Loki’s wicked hands hadn't stopped.

"She's doin' good," Bucky observed, tilting his head. "Holding out. The denial is still convincing."

"Stubborn," Thor nodded with a proud smile. "Like a goat."

"She’s trembling," Loki noted, sounding pleased. You were - your thighs tensed, stomach quaking with every new ripple of sensation.

Without warning, he shot his hands downward.

You practically launched out of the chair when he reached the top of your hip, just above your belt line. Another pressure point. The nerves there sent shocks across your pelvis, up your spine. It was like your body didn’t belong to you anymore.

"No- no, no, no-!" you laughed, voice wild now, cracked from overuse.

"You’re strong," Loki said quietly, voice still near your ear, breath warm on your neck. "But not unbreakable. I’m going to find where you crack."

You turned your face away, blinking tears of mirth from your lashes. "I’m going to kill you when this is over."

"I look forward to it," he said, moving inward to the sliver of skin on your lower stomach, scratching with feather-light precision.

You jolted again, high-pitched laughter tearing out of your lungs, knees bucking instinctively as he zeroed in.

Cucumber. It was on the tip of your fucking tongue. So you bit down on it. Sealed your lips as best you could.

Loki leaned in. "What's this? Trying to keep quiet now?"

You swallowed it. Shook your head.

A particularly cruel and precise tickle along the dips of your hips pulled a shrieking laugh from the loud place in your throat, wrists pulling against the cuffs.

He chuckled, knowing he was closer to winning.

So he went back to your ribs.

Your laughter returned in full, broken and helpless, your face hot with fury and embarrassment.

But still, you didn’t say cucumber.

You'd be damned to let him win after all of this.

Loki’s voice dropped, barely audible now. "You’re going to lose," he whispered, "So be a good girl, and surrender. Just say the word."

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You shook your head violently.

Your pride was still stronger, even as your breath was now ragged, chest rising and falling as you jerked against the cuffs, muscles locked and twitching from the relentless tickling, even as your laughter had taken on a half-wheezing, half-growling edge.

Loki hadn’t let up for a second, his hands maddeningly precise, but then...

He stopped. Pulled his hands away.

You gulped air. Relished in the reprieve. Wondering if-

"Don't think for a second I'm done with you," his voice curled around the base of your neck. "Tell me the code word."

You panted, head lolling. It had only been a few minutes, you knew that, but it had felt like a fucking lifetime. Shit.

"You're not listening," you let defeat permeate your tone. "You got the wrong person. I don't... I don't have what you want." You gave a weak tug at the cuffs, acting the part.

"Oh, you're very good," Loki praised in a dark chuckle.

You felt him grip the back of your chair. And you knew what he was planning.

"Wait-"

He pulled. The chair tipped backward as he lowered it slowly, until the rear legs landed on the floor and you were laying on your back, head against the mat.

You thrashed instantly. "Wait. Wait- fuck," you winced.

He moved with a maddening slowness, shooting an amused glance to the chuckling onlookers.

"Don't you fucking dare."

But he stopped in front of where your ankles were cuffed, your boots perfectly level with where his hands naturally rested at his sides.

"Uh oh," Bucky laughed outright. You shot him a pissed off yet wary glance.

Steve laughed. "You can say the word," he reminded you, but there was a teasing note behind it.

That smugness nudged you to get back in the zone. To prove them all wrong. Make them all pay.

Loki tugged. The first boot came off with a soft pull. And then the second. The cold air hit your socked feet like a ominous wind, curling in the atmosphere like dread.

You winced again. You weren't prepared. You weren't prepared. Feet were always protected, armoured, out of reach. You can't remember the last time someone touched your feet, much less-

"I've seen that look before," Bucky clicked his tongue. You shot him a nervous glance. His eyes met yours but he spoke to the others: "That's the look of someone who knows they're in trouble."

You weren’t wearing thick standard-issue tactical socks. No, of course not. You’d thrown on some stupid breathable pair. They were thin - too thin.

You shot an indiscernible look to the Captain.

He shrugged. Giving you that gleam in his eye that said: You can make this stop any time you want. All it'll cost you is pride.

You licked your drying lips, turning back to Loki. His hands hadn't touched you yet. Still, he was studying your reactions.

You kicked, knees jolting, but your ankles didn't move. He smirked.

"You've gone quiet," he said, cool and detached. "Is that fear?"

"Fury," you seethed. "Pure. Fucking. F-fffrrmm-!"

You bit off the noise as his fingers barely stroked across the arch of your right foot. It was a featherlight graze, and it'd already sent pressure prickling behind your eyes. You swallowed a whimper, sealing your lips, squeezing your eyes shut.

He hummed. "Interesting."

Then he began in earnest.

His fingertips pressed into your arches with a kind of maddening detachment. Methodical. Exploring. Not scratching or scribbling like some fumbling kid; no, he pressed, kneaded lightly, then circled. You shrieked. His thumbs dragged slowly under the balls of your feet. Your entire body bucked against the restraints.

"NO!"

Laughter then burst out of you, unfiltered and broken. It was worse than your ribs - infinitely worse. You weren’t used to touch here, weren’t braced for it. It was raw, vulnerable. Your laughter turned desperate in seconds.

"NO! LOKI! PLEASE NOT THERE!"

But that wasn't the code word. So his hands didn’t stop. If anything, they moved slower. More precise. He was watching your face the entire time - his eyes locked onto every flicker of reaction, every twitch of your mouth or squint of your eyes.

"PLEASE! PLEASE - ANYWHERE ELSE!"

"Well, shit," Bucky snorted. "That worked way too fast."

"What’s the code word?" Loki asked, voice low and flat.

"Fuck YOU-AHH! NO- SHIT!"

His fingers slid to your toes, tracing beneath them with deliberate purpose. You howled with laughter, head flinging back, toes curling as if that could protect you. The nerves in your feet were shot. You couldn’t even pretend composure anymore. He’d hit a level of sensitivity that was obscene.

"Code word," Loki said again, unblinking.

You shook your head, thrashing wildly.

"Don’t know it!" you yelled, tears streaking down your cheeks from the force of it. "I swear - I don’t know it!"

"Oh?" Loki tilted his head. "I think you're lying to me, Agent. Do you know what happens to liars?" His thumbs returned to the spot right beneath your toes and began that horrible circular pressure again.

You screamed - an actual, ragged scream laced with helpless mirth. Your back arched, every muscle straining against the cuffs. Your following laughter was high and unrelenting, like bursting open a dam and letting everything flood out.

"PLEASE!" you cried, playing it up now, blending real helplessness with theatrics. "I don’t know anything! I swear! I’m just a grunt. I’m just a - I’m not fucking built for this!"

The bystanders erupted in laughter.

"Good use of the helpless act," Steve noted, chuckling. "Classic withholding tactic."

Loki paused his movement, fingers still poised. "Code word. Now."

"Lemme go. Please," you begged, shaking your head and bracing as his fingers resumed. Your laughter trembling as your whole body quaked with it. "I don't know what you want!"

Loki’s face didn’t change. Cool, unaffected. His fingers danced under your toes, targeting the very edge of skin at the base where nerves lit up like a live wire.

"You’re lying."

"No I'm not!"

"You are. And I’m going to get the truth out of you."

He found another pocket just under your toes and lingered.

Your laughter cracked apart. Your lungs burned.

"This is going to get much, much worse for you, Agent," Loki's cold voice dropped a weight in your stomach.

"I’ll- I’ll kill you I SWEAR-" you gasped, words broken by high-pitched giggles.

"Threats, now?" Loki's brow lifted. "How quaint."

Bucky whistled low. "You gotta hand it to her. She hasn't cracked."

"I like this training," Thor declared.

Loki ignored the audience, dragging his blunt nails along the length of your arches. Back and forth, up and down. Face calm and unbothered as you went silent, laughter trapped in your upper chest, body tensing and twitching as the energy built and built and... he... he wasn't stopping. Gods, he wasn't moving from that godforsaken spot.

It tickled so fucking much.

There were no words for it. It shouldn't be possible for such a simple action to trap the breath in your chest, to send buzzes of energy through your whole body, it tickled so. fucking. much.

But the worst part? You knew this was building. Priming you for some grande finale. Readying to decimate your willpower.

"Can she breathe?" Steve's voice floated across the edge of your clouded attention.

It must've been almost fifteen seconds since you last made a sound.

Back and forth. Up and down.

Pressure building and building and...

"Hey." Bucky's wary voice was in the mix.

"Wait for it..." Loki hushed them. Your eyes were shut but you could feel his gaze on you.

Back. Forth. Up. Down.

"Loki," Thor's stern voice came. "She's mortal."

"I know, almost there..." Loki cooed.

It was coming. Cucumber. You could feel it coming. Feel the scream coiling in your chest. Almost there...

And then-

The doors hissed open.

"FRIDAY alerted me to a potential HR violation in progress," came Tony’s dry voice as he entered the room

The moment froze like a frame in a cartoon. You, a wreck, cuffed to a tipped chair, flat on your back. Boots off. Loki with stilled hands at your feet. The rest of them standing around like this was some clinical procedure and not your personal nightmare.

Tony looked around. Blinked.

"Well," he said, "this is… deeply unsettling."

The trapped laughter whooshed out of you as air flooded your lungs in deep and gratifying breaths. Loki had paused. Assessing the atmosphere. And for that, you thanked every god in this universe and beyond. You had been so close to surrender.

"She agreed to it," Steve said, unbothered.

"She volunteered," Bucky added, nudging Thor, who nodded solemnly.

"Oh, yes. She may stop the trial at any moment," Thor assured. "She need only speak the sacred word."

Tony blinked again. "And the sacred word is...?"

"Cucumber," they all said in unison.

You wanted to die.

Tony stared at them, then at you - now breathless, sweat-slick, and still twitching from residual sensation. He sighed. "Y'alright, giggles?"

You attempted to speak. But it came out as several coughs, so you just gave a weak thumbs-up.

"Okay, okay," he said, waving a hand. "As much as I’d love to see where this is going - and I mean that purely as an academic curiosity - we cannot shackle an Avenger to a chair and administer tickle torture in our down time. It’s literally in the handbook. Somewhere. It must be."

Loki had the audacity to look disappointed.

But he sighed, then reach down with maddening ease, lifting your chair upright with one smooth motion - like it weighed nothing. You slumped against it, head tilted back still gasping for breath, socked feet twitching, toes curling, body still shaking with aftershocks of laughter, a thin sheen of sweat glowing your skin.

"I hate you," you croaked at Loki.

"How tragically untrue," he chuckled.

Then the cuffs popped open with a click.

You didn’t hesitate.

The second your hands were free, shaky legs be damned, you launched yourself at Steve.

"Rogers!"

He didn’t even flinch. Just accepted his fate.

Your weight hit him square in the chest, and he let himself fall back onto the mat with a loud whump, arms catching you automatically.

"You star-spangled shithead!" you growled, rising to straddle his waist and grab his collar, jolting some sense into him. "You sanctioned that shit!?"

“I did,” Steve said evenly.

"You let Loki-... you- I'm gonna- ugh!" You grabbed a fistful of his hair and mussed it like a feral cat, gritting your teeth and growling.

"Alright, alright!" He laughed, trying to block you. "I deserved that!"

"You’re damn right you do - fucking cucumber - I’m gonna shove one straight down your- hey!"

Bucky's hands wrapped around your waist and casually hauled you off Steve like a disobedient dog. "Alright. Down, girl." You kicked the air on the way up.

"Let me at 'em. I'm not done!"

"Oh, you’re done," Bucky set you on your feet while Steve still lay disheveled on the mat.

"I’m gonna get all of you," you vowed as you straightened your clothes. "You’re all complicit."

Tony raised a finger. "Um, I actually-"

"Obviously not you, Tony!"

"Hey. You could've said the word at any time," Bucky smirked, shrugging, pulling Steve to his feet by the metal hand he offered.

You glared murder at all of them. Until your eyes landed on Loki.

He hadn’t moved.

That’s when you saw it.

The glint behind the calm. A flicker of something low and heated, still burning from the intensity of before.

Your stomach turned when you realised; you never surrendered... so he never won.

He looked at you, head tilted, mouth curved ever-so-slightly at the corner. Not smug. No. This wasn’t arrogance.

It was unfinished business.

You glared, pointing a shaky finger. "There will be retribution."

He inclined his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. "I’ll be waiting."

You turned slowly to the rest of them, accusing finger sweeping.

"You’re all going down for this."

Bucky raised his hands. "Worth it."

Thor clapped a hand on your back that nearly knocked you over. "You lasted valiantly, dear friend."

You ignored him. "FRIDAY," you barked, steadying yourself. "Mark these bastards for revenge."

"Noted," she replied helpfully.

Tony rubbed his eyes, muttering, "You people have too much time on your hands. I should start charging rent."

But rest of them laughed at your threat. As if they weren't the slightest bit afraid.

You clenched your fists.

And then you smiled.

Sharp. Dangerous.

"You’re all gonna wish I’d said cucumber."

.

.

PART TWO (your revenge) coming soon

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[berrys-hide-out]

Captain blue

A/N: On request! @w1nt37 I hope this is to your Imagination! ;) I'm glad you sent in that request, I had a lot of fun playing with the characters! ^^ (not proofread.. if there's something do let me know!) and @w1nt37 if you think I didn’t do this fic the justice it deserved or you want a sequel no matter the outcome, do let me know!

Now have fun~! ^^

Info; This is a Tickle fic with Lee!Sam and Ler!Bucky, warnings: A Very low and barely brushed by form of racism, slight cursing (If you want to skip the part of Sam questioning everything skip to greenly markered "Finally they got to the docks")

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Sam sighed, Captain America, an idol everyone knew, a super soldier, blonde, perfect hair, huge build and not to mention used to be a kid from Brooklyn. Captain America, a legend who had been frozen in ice for decades and returned to lead the avengers into battle, may that have been against Hydra, aliens or other mighty threats.

Now it was the Falcons turn. Someone who got filtered by ‘race’, someone no one seemed to accept the name of. It was often “the black falcon this”, “the black falcon that”…

It was rarely just… The Falcon.. just Captain America.

Now the shield, which held a huge legacy and was handed down to him, laid in the grass in front of his feet. His thoughts shot through his head like fireworks, all past events seemed to happen in mere seconds in the backs of his eyes. Civil war, thanos, John walker…. The baron.. Now he, Sam Wilson, was the Captain America, and while he was respected by most by now, there was always that someone who hates his guts or had something to say about his position. The kind that made him rethink everything even though he knew he’d never give the shield up again that easily.

….. he didn’t only just wanted to prevent to retrieve it again from some nuts soldier, but Steve chose him. Steve Roger’s chose Sam Wilson to be the next Captain America, he had faith in him, unwavering. And his best friend made sure he remembered that.

Another heavy sigh escaped him. Bucky. He was an ally for himself. How would someone even describe him? Gloomy? Tough but nice? Sam shook his head. Bucky was more than that. He is the white wolf, an agent so strong he survived Hydra and went back to the field, this time on the right side.. and all that for… him. No, right? He went out for the shield.. but stayed because of his friend.

Sam growled and pushed the thoughts away, moving his hands over his face with a defeated sigh.

He stood, taking the shield as he went and walked inside, where he hid it from plain sight before wandering into the kitchen. Bucky who sat on the couch eyed him, “you good?“ he asked but his eyes didn’t move from the screen. Sam didn’t turn around to acknowledge him, instead he continued his trip to the fridge. “Yeah.” He hummed, the tone a lot lower and unsure then he would’ve liked to admit.

The awful tone didn’t go unnoticed by the super soldier which made him turn around and lay his metal arm on the backrest of the couch. His eyes scanned Sam, friend and partner in crime, rummaging through the small fridge. “don’t steal my water.” Sam raised an eyebrow and looked at the door, stifling a snort at the sight of the two tiny water bottles.

“Haven’t you had enough of cold water and ice?” Bucky huffed at the intended playful jab “what’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, his metal hand flexing as he growled slightly.

Sam grinned and looked over the fridge door. “I don’t know man. You were frozen for quite a long time.” He stated making Bucky raise an amused eyebrow “are you trying to get a rise out of me Wilson?” Sam scoffed at the question and shook his head as she grabbed the snack he was searching for. “No, you just can’t take a joke.” He stated as he opened the package and walked past Bucky again and towards the staircase that lead upstairs. Bucky frowned, Sam usually didn’t do such dry quips, usually they were a lot more playful and just then their eyes met once.. before he could comment Sam bested him to talking. “By the way, we’re meeting my sister later today.” He reminded before vanishing. Bucky hummed “okay.” He called after his friend and frowned, what was going on..?

Finally they got to the docks, water was running, children were running around and they? They were just sitting at the table with Sam being awfully far from home, just staring out at the water.

His sister and Bucky noticed rather quickly but neither said anything, rather focusing on trying to somehow get the man into their conversation, without any luck.

When Sam’s Phone vibrated on the bench the man didn’t look over either, Bucky however did, frowning at the article that had popped up. It was one of those that made the public question everyone and everything even if it were pure lies, made up stories used to create chaos.

Bucky eyed Sam, suddenly everything seemed to fall into place. The sour moods, the dry comebacks.. it only ever happened when things like these happened. He sent Sara a look. She understood immediately and looked for the kid, rushing off with a playful flurry of “I’ll catch you!”

Bucky looked at Sam who had finally parted his gaze from the ocean to the children and his sister. The super soldier nudged his side “how about we join them?” He offered. Sam merely huffed “not right now.” He murmured. His friend hummed and watched Sara catch one of the children, hysterical laughter rushing through the air all of a sudden.

Bucky smirked as the child tried escaping to the ground, trying to evade the tickles somehow. “Seems to be running in the family, huh?” He asked. Sam scoffed “what? Tickling? No, not really anyway, just some of the family is ticklish.” He said.

Bucky nodded slowly, was Sam telling the truth? His insinuation he wasn’t ticklish? Only one way to find out ey? His hands latched onto his sides and stomach, not gaining a reaction but he didn’t move anymore either.

It looked like Sam had just frozen in place. Then the man in question turned to him “go on, try.” He urged with a slightly smug expression. The change in demeanour threw Bucky off, but not enough to make him halt.

“Bet.”

Fingers dug around, scribbled and squeezed for any sign of ticklishness.

Sam didn’t move. In fact he froze.

Bucky noticed and kept a close eye on the man’s reactions, looking up with a menacing shine when Sam finally flinched ever so slgihtly „okay that’s enough-”

One second, two, then three seconds passed and the captain bolted. „HEY!“ Bucky exclaimed and raced after his friend, scrambling over the bench and after Sam.

„No-! You had your fun!“ Sam exclaimed with a smile and turned around, yelping when Bucky launched for him. The captain barely dodged and turned back around to run. The kids laughed as they watched the adults chase after each other with glee. The two men leaped over other benches and around other obstacles. „oh Sam~“ Bucky sang playfully. Sam‘s heart skipped a beat, his feet picking up the pace at the incoming, playful, threat. He headed towards the fields, there was slightly more space..

He turned around and jogged backwards „oh Bucky!“ he called back and a grin fought its way onto his face „you had your fun! Come on man!“ Bucky laughed and made another grab for the man „and we both know you need this.“ he growled playfully lowly, making Sam stare at his friend in shock and disbelief at what the man had just said.

With a thud both landed on the ground thanks to Sam tripping. "James N-gghk!" Sam tried complaining, only to tense and shut his yaw, head tilting back ever so slightly at the silly sensation. Bucky meanwhile smirked down at him, hands squeezing and scribbling over the mans sides. "ouh, first name, I must be in biiig trouble." he said with a tone so smug Sam wanted to just pounce at his friend and whipe that damned grin off his face, or retaliate..

retaliate..

Sam growled and wormed his fingers into Bucky's armpits, making the man stop and stare down at his partner in crime. The other froze as well, not because his friend had given no reaction but because of the calculating look in his eyes that made his stomach drop. "You done?" he asked, trying to sound bored and done while turning his head to look away into the distance. Bucky stared for a second longer before his hands swooped up into the Captains armpits. "BUCKEE!" came the surprised screech of his friend and it was like Sam promptly went from a plank on a house, to a fish out of water.

An airy chuckle left Bucky's lips at the image. "AhahaHaey Buhuhucky! Quihit it!" Sam growled through laughter, only to jump as a shock travelled up and down his spine. "HEhehey!" Bucky let his fingers travel around the armits, trying to find the spot that had made his friend jump.. "What was that Wilson?" he purred lowly, the smirk now all too present on his face. "AHahaaha fuhuck off Baharnes!" Bucky scoffed at how daring his friend was in such a peculiar position.. "I doubt you're in a position to say such things mister 'I'm-Not-Ticklish'" he reminded as his finger slowly reached around the armpits, towards the back. "Prehehtty sure I cAHAHAN! BUCKY!" he exclaimed with a highpitched note, hands coming up to grab at Bucky's arms to shove them away without luck.

The tickling may not have been weakening him much, but super soldier strength was already overly unfair!

"YOUhuHU're PLAHAhahayIng UHunfAHAir!" Sam voiced his complain to which Bucky tilted his head at "hows that?" he mused. "YOuHuHUr StrehehEngth!" Bucky sniggered and shook his head "Well alright then, complain to Hydra would ya?" he said and shook his head "Or of course try a little harder to shove me off, it's like you're not even fighting it"

Sam tried sending the male a heated glare, though for naught as he fell back into hysterical giggles and small cackles every now and again. Bucky looked down at his friend, the cackles made the frowns vanish, it seemed like Sam just completely forgot about his earlier issue.. his eyes fell to the mans thighs, with a knowing smirk he yanked one hand away from one of the armits and squeezed. Sam bucked with a surpised cackle "BUHUCKY!" he protested and kicked out "ThaHAhat's MIHINE!" he wheezed out through the deep hearted laughter that left his system with each squeez and scribble. Bucky smirked "I didn't say anything less." he mused. Sam patted the ground twice, making Bucky let up.

The younger gasped for air and sent the other a slightly smug glare "Oh sorry I thought you forgot which one was yours figuring how old you are you should be-HEHEY TIHIME OUHUT!" Sam exclaimed when Bucky went right back to tickling, sending goosebumps up his back and arms. "I thought I told you it wasn't wise to make such comments" bucky growled, awfully close to sams ear.

The younger giggled and leaned away, earning an amused laugh from Bucky who had only ever so rarely heard the latter giggle. "What was that?" he asked. Sam sniggered and squeezed his eyes shut. "THehe KIhids!" Bucky raised an amused eyebrow, was he blaming the children? One look over his shoulder told him yes, the kids were far off in the distance still playing with Sara.

Bucky smirked "Would be a shame if Sara knew aye?" Sam tried smaking the male, getting dodged with ease "YouHUhu Jeherk!" Bucky tased Sam's side, awfully close to the mans back "EHEHEY!" he laughed, turning towards the hand to block anymore firework like attacks. Bucky smirked and scribbled over the thin shirt on his now other side, the open back all too inviting. "AHahAHA NoooOOOhO!" The quick squeezes continued, first one side then the other, it was like the back and forth wouldn't end, and the more often it happened the more prominent those with electricy filled shocks got, and soon enough Bucky had his friend writhering and laughing his head off underneath him.

"AhAHAhahaLRIGHT! AHAHlright! YOuhuHUHU WIHIHIN!" Bucky sniggered and let up but didnt let Sam get up just yet. The supersoldier now sitting next to his friend, one leg over the mans hips. Sam sniggered and covered his slightly tinted cheeks, body relaxing into the ground "youhu suhuhuck..." Bucky chortled and looked towards the docks. "A lot better to have you laughing then sulking around and not talking." Sam looked up and the man, ever so slightly surpised by what the other just said. "Yeah well.." he huffed and looked at the leg and then Bucky, sending a daring glare "How about letting me up?"

Bucky smirked and leaned towards him, about to tell him no before Saras voice echoed over the field "FOODS READY!"

Right! The grill!

Bucky got up in an instant, brushing himself off and letting Sam, who was arguably still slightly wonky on his feet rise. "You good?" Bucky mused as he watched the male. Sam rolled his eyes and smirked back at him "Sure, you don't actually think you could take me down with a bit of tickling." Bucky grinned right back, so smugly Sam had to take a step back. "Right, and you're totally not ticklish."

The captain popped his lips and promptly left as nothing to say came to mind. Bucky laughed at the sight of his friend speed walking towards the grills. He started jogging, noticing Sam look back and send him a 'do not'. Bucky grinned and charged at his friend, earning a shriek as Sam turned around and dashed towards his sister and the kids, to safety from his teammate, friend and tickle monster.

"Uncle Sam! Uncle Bucky! Sara played totally unfair!" a child complained and Sam instantly jumped onto the topic, letting the kids lead the way to the table with food in hand. Bucky sent Sara a charming and victorious grin at which she laughed and smiled back with a shake of the head.

The afternoon went without hiccups, they chatted, played board games, normal games and all too soon the afternoon sun was setting.

Bucky and Sam bid their farwells to the families and left.

Bucky opened the front door to the house and grinned to himself "Just so you know, you're never living that down." A loud and highpitched groan came from behind him, letting him know his friends dismay.

They stepped in and as Bucky hung the keys, Sam sent him a look, it may have not been the cheer-up method he would've chosen, but he had to silently admit, it helped nonetheless. Plus, now he kinda knew where they stood, they were buddies, friends, someone he could count on even beyond the bettlefield. "How did you know about my armpits? Lucky guess?" he asked. Bucky hummed and turned to Sam "Usually people go for spots that work on themselves." he explained crutly, passing his friend and making a B line for the bathroom.

Sam hummed in understanding before freezing and looking after his friend "Wait so you're ticklish too?!" he called, not getting an answer as the door shut.

The Captain shook his head and switched his phone off. For once feeling more then just apprechiated.

[berrys-hide-out]

Update~! ^^

The Lee!Sam, Ler! Bucky fic will be out tomorrow!

[berrys-hide-out]

Tell me you‘re procrastinating without telling me you’re procrastinating…

[berrys-hide-out]

Why are the fics not out yet?

Just a heads up, I currently have visitors which makes it pretty impossible to work on them right now. I am writing a line or three every evening but it’s taking me a little longer then I had hoped.

~Berry

[berrys-hide-out]

Exam is over! Tmrw I’ll continue working on the promised fics 😉!

[berrys-hide-out]

Hii

Yep, commissions alert

Here the link for the Boosty also

[berrys-hide-out]

Too little to worry, too smart to handle

Part two of a Mcu series that I have no idea of where it’s headed!

A/N: Just have fun with this xD might be the calm before the storm.. we’ll see!

—-

School was a pain. This was probably something everyone could relate to. If it wasn't the teachers, it was the students, and if it weren't those bullies it was the subjects.

Lockers opened and closed in Midtowns halls as Students grabbed their things for the coming classes.... And Peter was in the middle of it all. Great. His issue with school? Bullies.

"Guess what?"

A mutter of a voice he knew all to well came from behind him, making him grin almost invoulentary as he grabbed his textbook. "What?" he mused, turning around to the male with black hair and a blue shirt on, the guys eyes shimmering with delight. "I got the new lego set!" he hissed. "Oh? how many pieces?" Peter asked, matching his friend's exitement as he leaned slightly forth to gauge Ned's reaction. Ned hummed "Guess." Peter huffed and closed his locker "That is like almost impossible to guess! They just brought out so many huge sets!" Ned sniggered at the theatrics his friend pulled by throwing his arms aroudn. He nudged his friends arm "Yeah, but they made a new Aveners set~" he sang lightly making Peter stare at him in disbelief "You got that?" he grinned, muttering through his glee as he rushed to join his friend who was already walking away.

Ned proudly placed his hands on his hips "Sure, who do you think I am?" he sniggered making Peter scoff and lean towards him "Oh I don't know Ned, my best friend?" Ned grinned "yeah, and a master collector" Peter rolled his eyes at the smugness his friend had responded with, yet the smile stayed glued to his face. "You're annoying!" Peter growled with a quick drill to his friends sides. Ned laughed at the playful gesture and put his hands up in silent defeat. Peter grinned and shook his head but nodded after anyways, signalling his best friend that he was indeed safe.

Ned hummed after a few seconds of silence as they passed the school information board. "Who do you think will win?" he muttered, refrencing to the tests they took which were rumored to be Stark internship tests. Peter shook his head, eyeing it "I don't know," it was the truth, the AcaDec team was full of bright minds.. he didn't want to say it aloud but he was slightly nervous about the final decision. Afterall, if it was true this was most likely not about to be just one round of tests. He was sure Mister Stark would take the three best ones and let them compete against one another. . . Peter got broken out of his thoughts when he bumped into someone, a soft thud was heard, signalling someone dropping something "Ah, Apologies!" he winced and crouched down to the female who had her brown-wavy hair open.

"Ah, Don't worry, I didn't look where i was going either." she said lightly and looked over at peter. His brown-doe eyes scanned the ground for anything else before handing the book and files to her. "thank you." she nodded and took a step back.

Peter nodded "No problem." he hummed, only now seeing that the girl was a seemingly young adult. She wore a dark green shirt and black trousers that reached to clean boots. Her face was adorned with a pair of small-rimmed golden glasses, not completely round, yet they didn't have real corners either. She could've been one of their seniors, yet he's never seen her around. Before he could profile her any longer the girl nodded "Take care- I kinda have to go" she nodded, pointing into the direction of the hallway and promptlyrushed off.

Ned raised an eyebrow "I've never seen her around." he muttered, joining Peters side. Peter hummed in thought "Me neither." Another girl with brown curly hair joned them "who was that?" Ned looked over at her "That's a good question." he shurgged. Peter hummed and shrugged it off as well. "Maybe the Seniors got a new student?" he guessed and turned to the hallway which lead to their class. "Let's get to class before Mister Harrington gets there."

Ned groaned "Yeah, lets.." MJ smirked at the bummed out male and lead the way.

Peter dropped his backpack by his seat and Ned placed his next to him. The class was already full, chatting loudly and through the bell. A specific boy sniggered and turned around, his group of three also looking Peters way. A low groan already bubbled up in his throat... Flash and his goons, his bully and the most annoying in the class. Before Flash could say anything however Harrington walked in "ALRIGHT EVERYONE SETTLE DOWN WE HAVE A LOT TO TALK ABOUT!" he yelled over the talking. The doors fell shut and classes started.

/ /

One video of the webslinger after the other played on the screen pressed up against the wall. From fan interactions to fighting criminals, and yet there was no hint to where he usually ran around, anything would be great at that point, yet nothing got them a connection to a place.

Clint eyed Natasha who was staring almost blankly at the collection of Spiderman clips. Not far was Bucky who was seated on the couch, by his side, Sam. Tony stood somewhere in the back. Truth was, it was a simple believe of theirs that Spiderman had been a teenager, but his voice in the clips said everything. He hadn't even completely gone through his voice change.. hell he was still voice-cracking every second video- thats how young he was! ....he was a lot younger then they had imagined.

The genius stared at the screen, Fury wanted the kid for, to them, unknown reasons. He knew S.H.I.E.L.D. would most likely take him into confinement if he didnt cooperate, like showing his face or tell them and show them everything that had changed on him. A soft groan fell from his lips and he held the bridge of his nose.

Clint hummed "Getting a headache?" Tony scoffed at the light hearted question "something along those lines." he grumbled.

Sam hummed and stretched, "Anyone want some snacks?" "Oooo good idea" Clint nodded and Natasha hummed "Just grab a bit of erverything please." Sam nodded and walked off.

Once out of the room Bucky eyed them "he's a child"

The statement hung in the room for quite awhile until Clint spoke up "Think we can win him over?" Natasha eyed him "Whats your plan?" Clint shurgged "You know Fury." he hummed and adjusted his position on the couch "He'll take the kid in and will want every little detail about him" he said, voicing Tony's worries. "If we have him here under supervision he'll drop it because he's part of the team, just how it was with Bucky" he explained, nodding at the man.

Natasha hummed "He was friends with Rodgers." "hm, maybe but what if the kid's our friend?" Tony muttered, making them look over at him. "We don't even know the kid's whereabouts" Natasha frowned "And we'll need to be very careful."

Tony snapped his fingers in thought, there had to be a way. Fury was as fierce as their enemies when it came down to it, not a place for a mere child to be. "I'll figure something out, until then not a word to Rodgers or Fury." the assassins raised their eyebrows, how loose-lipped did he think they were? "Yep." Natasha hummed lightly and turned back to the screen.

Just then Steve and Sam walked back in "So, anything?" he asked making the others shake their heads. "Reports, Sightings, all different places." Bucky soothened, "Nothing specific about the spider." Steve frowned but nodded "And that informant?" Bucky shook his head "nothing." Natasha stood and walked to Stark "It seems like she doesn't even exist." she hummed, looking at the screens, noticing something loading before Tony made the screen vanish.

Steve groaned "This is going to be so much harder then I thought.."

Tony sniggered "We are after people who have been on the field for awhile longer." he looked at the screens "They won't make such rookie mistakes nor make it easy for us." Steve hummed in agreement and stared at the Video clip "Let's study his attack patterns first, that might lead us somewhere, we'll get to the informant later." Thor hummed as he walked in "I have a feeling we will find her once we found the spider." the team hummed in acknowledgement. "Let's hope that'll be it..."

/ /

The Bell finally rang. Breaktime.

Peter and Ned walked out into the school ground, the sun shining brightly while a soft breeze cooled them down just enough. "So... hows your evening job working out?" Ned asked quietly. Peter shook his head, knownig his guy in the chair was talking about Spiderman. "Nothing unusual." he hummed, staring out to the basketball and soccer court. Ned nodded and looked out as well before focusing on his food. Usually Peter would feel slightly bad for keeping his guy in the chair in the dark, but his spider sense had gone nuts last night.. whoever had been following him around for awhile was good at hiding too.. maybe his spider sense backfired,,? No way..

MJ joined their side, in her hands a book and pen. The other held a small box. The boys silently aknowledged her with a nod which she sent back. "So, anything new?" she hummed as she adjusted her book in her lap. Ned shrugged "Not really. Flash mainly ignored us today." he said and leaned back. The female huffed "At least something." she stated, glaring out at the courtyard.

They watched the older and younger students play ball until Flash and his goons walked into it and started demanding and yelling about something.

"What do you think they're yelling about?" Ned muttered and turned to Peter, his eyes glued to their elders and Flash's group. Peter shook his head slightly. "I've got no idea." MJ frowned at the sight of all seniors suddenly tunring to Flash and a boy who walked towards him rather quickly. They got into each others faces before the first punch fell "OUH!" Ned yelped and stood "What do we do?!" he squeaked and his friends went to stand. "Get a teacher." MJ stated making Ned scramble inside.

MJ turned to look at Peter who was already speed walking to the fight. "Crap.. Peter!" she called and raced after him, joining him on half way before taking over and walking into the court. Flash was fighting the freshman while the others cowered away behind the seniors who tried interfering yet never succeeded. Mj growled "FLASH!" she screamed firmly over the yells.

The two fighters froze. Mj frowned, taking a step forth, the boy was weridly bloody and blue, a normal fight shouln't have created this much damage "Stop. A teacher's already been called. I'd recommend saving yourself the time." she stated firmly. Peter winced at the heated glare Flash sent her. He couldn't fight Flash with his powers, risking a fight might trigger his rather.. ‘unnatural’ instincts.

The crowd watched as Flash let go of the beat freshman who scrambled away into the crowd. Flash meanwhile turned to MJ. "What?" he smirked "Wanna take his place?" he snarled making MJ frown "No, You heard what I said." she growled. Flash hummed, smirking at her "What, standing up for a mere baby but can't fight yourself?" he scowled. The tingle that shot up Peters spine made him move, he grabbed Mj and turned them around, the harsh, metallic punch landing in the back of his ribs.

He heaved, the injuries on the boy suddenly made sense. Flash was wearing rings under the long sleeves.

"WHATS GOING ON OUT HERE?!"

Mj scowled and turned to Peter, holding him slightly upright "Flash was fighting a Freshman and now hit Peter in the ribs." she reported to the teacher who came running. He seemingly noticed the rings making his eyes bulge "Get them to the infirmary. Flash we need to talk." he stated darkly.

Flash scoffed but followed out "Little Tattletale." he snarled at MJ who ignored him and instead looked at Ned who raced to help her move Peter.

..

Once in the infirmary they saw the young woman from that morning.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the students "Set the kid down on the bench." she said urgently, pointing at the white 'table'. She frowned and motioned for MJ and Ned to set Peter down on another bench.

She rushed to the freshman, tending to his wounds and telling her colleage to call his parents. Another male colleage joined her side and took over the younger. The brown haired female, hair now tied, walked over to them and grabbed a small chart. "Could you please tell me your name?" she hummed. "Peter" Peter muttered "Peter Parker." he added, making her nod as she wrote hastily "Where were you hit?" she asked, setting it down and turning her attention to him. He sighed, “my back..” she nodded and motioned him to turn around so his back faced her.., “sorry, I’ll need to lift your shirt..” she warned and Peter hummed, lifting it slightly himself "It wasn't all that bad." he said, making her nod but wince at the blue purple spot. "Very well, I'm glad you still came in." she praised slightly, masking any sign of that it was in fact worse then ‘not that bad’ "Ouh" she muttered slightly to herself and walked to the freezer “did you two get injured?” She asked “no, Ned and I are fine.” MJ said. The nurse nodded "Cool it." she demanded and threw Peter the ice "it will definitely leave a bruise." she said, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper "If the pain doesn't let up in the next ten minutes come find me and i'll see to getting you some cream." she offered and Peter took the note gratefully "Thank you miss...?" "Just.. Nova is fine." she smiled and wrote something down on the small chart “if the pain doesn’t let up over the next few days get it checked by a doctor, I'll talk with your teachers about the fight, you're free to go for now... if theres nothing else.." she informed, looking up from the chart and seeing the teens shake their heads.

The female nodded and smiled "then enjoy the rest of your break." The three nodded in sync and left silently, Peter noticed the frown on the females features as she looked after them.

He frowned, he had to research those rings. It'd be bad if he accidentally gave himself away by over- or underplaying an injury. He was enhanced, he had all kinds of enhancements in, healing, hearing, reaction time, sligthly higher pain tolerance.. if he wasn't careful things could get complicated... a grimace fell onto his face as he walked with his friends.. complicated was the least he needed right now with his spider sense malfunctioning..

[berrys-hide-out]

Holiday feels

Summary; Peter is bored and feels left out. Holidays could be extremely draining sometimes..everyone was away, but did that really mean he was as alone as he thought? Characters; Lee!Peter Ler!Sam/Bucky

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A soft sigh left Peter as he laid over the table in the avengers lounge. Holidays were usually fun, playing with friends, texting, seeing new things.. but not this time. His eyes flickered to his phone. Two whole weeks had passed and he hadn’t heard of MJ or Ned. Both were on vacation, somewhere out in the world with their parents, and he was stuck in New York.. Aunt may was working overseas because of an emergency and if it couldn't get any worse.. His suit was hidden away, his aunt had forbade him to run around in it while she was gone.. a grimace fell onto his face.. and Tony? He was arguing with Steve about some weird incoming mission.

His eyes fell to the papers which he still had to finish for school. “Uuugh..” he bemoaned and melted even more over the table.

A yelp escaped him when fingers ran over his shoulder blades and his head snapped up. “Having issues kid?” Bucky asked with slight amusement at his reaction. Peter puffed his cheeks “No, not really.” He sighed and grabbed the pen again, twirling it between his fingers. Bucky raised an eyebrow and sat down at the corner by his side, “What’s the long face for champ?” He hummed, his amusement long gone. Peter shook his head but eyed his phone.

Bucky followed his gaze, “You waiting on someone?” Peter hummed, not meeting the soldiers gaze, rather staring back at his work. "Mj and Ned." he stated lowly. It was awfully rare that they were apart, specifically so that no one could muster up the time to talk to one another. It was like hell on earth,.. for a few days not a problem but so long…

A chime of the elevator announced a newcomer and ripped Peter out of his thoughts, Bucky looked up and exchanged a worried glance with Sam. The uncle of two frowned and walked to Peters side, opposite of Bucky. “You’re still sitting on those?” He asked lightly, raising an eyebrow. Peter sighed in annoyance and eyed him. Sam’s eyebrows raised at the stink eye he got before frowning “How about a break?” He offered “I was about to collect mister Grumpy over there anyways for a game marathon.” He offered with a playful grin as his thumb pointed at Bucky. Peter eyed the work sheets, hearing Bucky scoff before seeing him stand in the corner of his eyes.

The man hummed and promptly took the kid by the armpits “Decision time’s up, come on buddy.” He grinned. The sudden gravity change made Peter break into hysterical giggles in an instant, “HEY! Buhucky!” He gasped and kicked out, only for Sam snigger and squeeze the boy's knee in a playful manner. “Sahaham!” Peter giggled shrilly and kicked out at him, all sadness fogotten in a fracture of a second. Bucky chuckled and held him slightly higher “I think we might've found our first game” he commented as a smirk played on his features. Sam huffed, eyeing them both with a playful smile "And our first rule, no kicking the game master!" He growled playfully. Peter froze for a second at the lingering threat before his giggles returned tenfold and he shook his head, squirming over Bucky and out of his hold. Landing with a slight backflip and a low stance “N-Now hold on- I never agreed—“ Sam sniggered and formed claws, slowly advancing to the teen.

“Better run before this timer runs out as well.” Sam warned with a playful grin.

Peter frowned, hands in front of him “Sam- I don’t” “Pete..” Bucky purred making Peter’s half-growl falter and as soon as those words left the super soldier and he took a step back. Bucky smirked deviously “3….” Peter shook his head and lowered himself further with a nervous grin, getting ready for them to pounce. “2..” Sam grinned and took a step forward making the boy yelp and scatter out of the lounge. “OOH PETER!” Sam thaunted and dashed after him “BUCKYHYhe HAHASN’T COUNTED DOWN YEHEHEHET!” Peter yelped and giggled shilly when he barely side stepped Sam’s pounce, making the man slip over the freshly cleaned floor.

The boy laughed as he made it past the man, jumping over Sam who was looking at the wall down the hallway in disbelief. Bucky hot on Peters tail they continued the chase. “Careful! Ground’s slippery!” Sam called making both males up front cackle. Peter slowled slightly at the short distraction and Bucky caught up. The younger squeaked and let himself drop to the floor sliding along it before grabbing the doorway and shooting into the living room. He got up in a smooth fashion and with a rather proud expresion which was however short lived and he yelped when Bucky had followed his example, however undercalulated the force, making them crash into another. Peter let out a short scream as he got swept off his feet, barely having been warned by his spider sense. Bucky held onto him, both of them coming to a quick stop in what was almost the middle of the room.

The two sat there for a second, recollecting themselves. “Please ensure not to run on slippery ground Peter.” Friday suddenly chimed in making Peter growl at her yet before he could retaliate he felt the super solder breathing down his neck. “Buhucky!” He whined a giggle and scrunched up as he leaned away from the super soldier. The man grinned “What? I’m not doing anything!” Sam sniggered and walked over to join them. “Great catch Buck.” He smirked and loomed over the boy. “Anything you wanna say before the tickle monster takes over?”

Peter smirked back at him “You suck” “You little...” Sam growled and pounced. Peter squeaked and kicked his legs, practically pushing Bucky and him further away from Sam. Yet it was useless as hands dug into his sides and ribs "NaAhahAhao! SAhAham!"

The hands lifted in an instant at the hiccupy shriek. He met Sam's eyes which held uncontrolled mischief and surprise. "Did-" he smirked in glee and looked at Bucky "Did you hear that?!" he exclaimed. Peter flushed red with a soft groan but the low laugh behind him made him smile anew and giggle in anticipation. "I did." the smirk dripping heavily in bucky's voice. "Never heard him make that sound before." he sniggered making Peter groan yet again in utter embarrassment. "Will you- EhEhehehey!" he yelped and pushed at Bucky's hands which latched onto his sides, leaving him open. Sam filed that away for later with a grin as Peter's bouncy giggles filled the otherwise silent living room.

“Nahahaha! Cohome on!” He bemoaned playfully. Sam sniggered “‘Come on’ what Pete?” The male adjusted himself before squeezing Peter’s knee, making him kick out. “WAH-! NOhohoHohOhu!” The boy squeaked and reached for Sam’s wrist only for his arms to slam back down with a giggly shriek when Bucky scribbled along his higher ribs… threateningly close to his armpits.

“Buhuhuckyheheee!”

Sam huffed at the kicking limps and growled “Peter, what was rule number one?” He asked, yet not getting an answer aside form boyish giggles as Peter tried pushing himself up and away from Bucky’s silent threat. The male smirked, Peter had a soft blush on his cheeks which heated his ears, “Nohohoho! buhucky!” The kid warned through his giggles. Peter shook his head, oh he was doomed, these two weren’t going to let him get anywhere until they thought the game was over. A almost electric feeling raced over his whole nervous system, making him arch his back before leaning forth to his trapped leg. “SAM!” He squeaked out, reaching for the hand below his knee only for a very cold hand to slip under his shirt and scribble over his ribs “HeHEhEHEhy! BuHUHUhucky!” He laughed lightly, hands clasping back down in an X shape to protect his torso. Another flick up the back of his knee made him shriek and tug at it, getting it free with ease. Sam eyed the boy, their eyes locked and Peter felt a thrill rush through him at the silent threat, yet unable to get away from the Falcon who was yet again rushing after his leg, all he did was lean further into Bucky as if he could phase through the soldier somehow. Talking about the Soldier, Bucky was smirking down endaringly at the boy. Somehow he reminded him of Steve when they were younger, the captain would also be too ticklish for his own good, yet unlike Peters sensitivity, Steve's wasn't well known.

A dark chuckle left his lips and he explored his stomach a little, taking note of the hightened pitch in giggles and every reaction it sought from the spider. Peter meanwhile was loosing his little head as the two worked in an awful precision to make him flail and laugh back and forth. "Heh, poor kid. Too tickish for his own good" Bucky mused, Sam looked up at his friend with a hint of surprise, the guy wasn't always up for these kinds of games after all.

As quickly as the surpise had came it passed and a devious smirk played on his features. "yeah, poor Peter." he sighed dramatically as he yet again caught the limp and this time kept it in his lap. "I have to say, being that ticklish has to be maddening." he shook his head. Bucky hummed, his amusement leaking through as the two ignored the low giggly groan from the teen to "cut it out!" "Yeah, imagine.. I mean it would be a true shame if a villain would ever find out about this." he 'muttered'. "IHIhiHIhi'm RIhIHihight HEHERE!" Peter protested. Sam hummed "Did you hear something?" Bucky shook his head in feigened innocence. "No, must've been the wind." he said and smirked at his friend "getting so old you're already hearing nonesense?" he teased. Sam growled and his attack on the boys knee and occasional hip squeezes picked up.

Peter yelped and kicked Sam, only for his other leg to be caught as well. "What did we say about kicking?" Bucky growled onto his ear. "IHIHi DihIHIDn'T MEHEHAN TOAHAHA- BUHUCKY NAHA!" he cried out and squeezed his eyes shut, succumbing to the dreadful 'torture' that Bucky had unleashed on his armpits. Sam sniggered "thanks Buck." Bucky huffed in acknowledgement.

Peter laughed his heart out for awhile, the technique of scribbling and pinching around his armpit was driving him up the wall, where did Bucky learn this anyways?!

“AHAHA OHOHOKAY IHIHI’M SOHORRY!” He squeaked out between bouts of laughter and Bucky let up, feeling Peter relax into him.

Sam sniggered and gave the kid a second to catch his breath before he hummed innocently. “You know what we should do?” He asked making Bucky hum curiously. Peter also shook his head, slightly adjusting in Buckys hold to be a little more comfortable, maybe thinking they were already done yet Sam had a mischievious, almost evil plan... “Peter in biology you have the human organs right now, right?” Peter nodded “yeah..?” He murmured and raised an eyebrow “Why do you ask?”

Sam shrugged “do you know where the liver lies inside?” He asked and Peter opened his mouth to reply, his hand pointing at Sam's abdomen, then he pointed to his own and then he let it fall with a soft, concrentrated frown. It was easy on paper… “uh..” he murmured and Sam shook his head with a soft tut. “Here, see…” he said and moved his finger up between Peter and Bucky to Peter’s back and slowly moved down. Peter gasped softly and stiffed at the feeling. Sam slowly moved over his side to his front, feeling the muscles jump underneath. “And it goes along here…” he muttered his explanation and a grin fell onto Peters features, yet he held the giggles in.

Sam grinned. “And same here, it’s the other one, both go all the way over here.” He said, moving both his fingers around his back to his front. To his glee Peter let out a high pitched giggle and clamped his arms down.

Sam huffed “Pete you need to know this… Bucky help me out here would you?” “My pleasure.” Peter shuddered and anticipating giggles left his mouth, he tried swallowing them, only managing ever so slightly.

Sam smirked internally, once the kid figured out they were playing around he’d definitely kick their asses in combat training… or play one or two pranks but the soon to be realisation on his face was going to make all of this so worth it.

“You should show the kid the stomach too” Bucky chimed in making Sam hum in delight “you’re right..” he said and looked at Peter “know where it is?” Peter was about to answer, only for Sam to start tracing it “it goes from up here.. aaaaaaall the way over here and then back down heeere…” Peter giggled, playfully pushing at Sam’s hands “Stohohop!” He whined at the way too playful gesture “what why? Isn’t this important for your studies?” Sam smirked and Peter stared at him, his silly grin not leaving even when the realization was setting in “Noho!” He squeaked “We ohonly need to know it for the books!”.

Sam sniggered “well too bad!” He growled and latched onto his sides. Peter squealed and grabbed at man’s hands, wriggling in his hold with bubbly laughter. “Nahaha SAHahaham! Thihis iHIhisnt ahabout bihiologyhehee! Youhuhu Prihick!” He groaned the last part though it more so sounded like a whiny giggle.

Bucky sniggered and tased his hip, “Well come on then kid, show him!” He encouraged, making the boy finally wrangle with the two, turning sideways to fight off all found hands. Peter laughed as he wrestled with the two, giggling through and squeaking from time to time when one got through his defenses to squeeze or scribble. It was a silly display truly, it was fun to play around like that, but if you’d ask Peter about it, he’d never admit such a thing. "Naha, Cohohome on guhuys!" Peter sniggered as he pushed at Bucky’s hands again, “Saham called you old yesterday!” He squeaked out before Sam growled playfully and his back hit the ground, both men hovering above him with almost wicked smirks. Bucky then eyed Sam “Seriosuly?” He growled and Sam scoffed “No way!” Bucky’s eyes narrowed and Peter giggled “no he did!” He exclaimed. “No i didnt!” Sam growled down. “What? You calling me a LiHahahAHAHA!” Peter threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut when Sam dug into his armpits. “Yes.” Sam growled down at him, searching for the one spot that drew the teen up the wall. Bucky watched and shook his head, with a well placed squeeze to Sam’s hip the man yelped and threw his arms down to protect himself “EY!” He squeaked in outrage. Bucky smirked and shook his head “You seriously need to take lessons from Nat about lying.” He mused smugly and before Sam could say anything Bucky continued “And we’ll talk about your little comment later.” He warned and Peter smirked at Sam. The man eyed him and growled. Peter giggled and pushed himself up onto his arms “Told you you shouldn’t have said that.” He reminded and Sam scoffed, “You’re not safe yet don’t even start becoming a smart ass.” He warned and Peter pouted at that “Not a smart ass.” He growled back. Bucky shook his head at the two “we just had him smiling.” He complained to Sam who smirked “then let’s get that smile back.” Sam grinned and formed claws. “After all, No sulking around the tower” he warned before his hands went for Peter’s hips. “NO- SAHAAM!” The boy screeched and went to catch the hands, surprised when they suddenly turned course and went to his sides instead. Too baffled and occupied with Sam's sudden evasive maneuver he didn’t notice Bucky latch onto his hips.

The screech and belly laughter that followed made the two men laugh along with him. “NAHAHA COHOME OHON! IHIHI’M SMIHILING! GUHUYS!” He cried out through his laughter, head thrown back with messy hair and a soft blush along his cheeks and nose. Bucky sniggered adoringly at the boy and Sam sighed “finneeee, I guess we can let up.” He said ‘sadly’ but the smile on his features showed just how pleased he was with the work.

Bucky hummed and followed Sam’s lead, letting up on the kid.

Peter giggled and closed his eyes. They shot right back open when his shirt got lifted and he looked right at Bucky before- “NOHOHOAHAHAHA!” The boy squealed as the man placed a raspberry on his stomach. Bucky leaned back with a smirk and pat his tight. “That one was for good measure.” He stated making Peter send him a giggly middle finger.

“Woahahaha, careful, don’t let Steve see that.” Sam laughed. Which earned him a smack to the knee “youhu’re the worst!” He growled.

A knock interrupted them and they looked up. Steve and Tony. “Are you bullying my intern?” Tony huffed and Peter got up squeaking when Sam pinched his side. He barely side stepped and raced to the other two men. “Thehey’re being mean!” He said, practically hiding between them.

Tony sniggered and gave his trainee a soft neck tickle “mihister staahark!” He whined and ducked out of it “ehenough!”. Tony grinned and shook his head in adoration. Steve hummed “Leave the poor kid” he mused and patted Peter’s shoulder. “Go get a board game. I’ll join you in a second.” He said, his tone of voice however hinted mischief.

Peter raised an eyebrow and smiled, looking at the man curiously “okay…?” He nodded nonetheless as Steve turned to Bucky and Sam.

“So, which of you two bullies want to go first?” He growled and slowly inched forwards. Bucky and Sam’s grins turned to blank surprise and disbelief, Sam gasped when Bucky scrambled “Hey! Wait up!” He growled and raced after him “don’t you dare throw me under the bus now!” He called after him and Steve rushed after them.

Tony and Peter sniggered at the display, hearing the three yell about it being mighty unfair with two super soldiers and one soldier.

Tony smirked “how about we play a round until captain tickle monster joins us?” Peter flushed red at the name and rolled his eyes with a smile “yeah yeah, let’s go.” He huffed.

Tony smirked and poked his trainees back “bet I’m faster in the lounge then you?” Peter smirked at his mentor “bet I’m first?” Tony huffed “as if. On three”

1…..2……..3! And the two were off, racing down the still slightly slippery hallway, with one promptly overshooting the lounge while the other managed to slide in perfectly fine.

And the two who were getting chased around the compound? Let’s just say they’re still running. ;)

[berrys-hide-out]

The Lee!Peter fic will be out later today! The release is scheduled since I’m travelling today XD the last part was just a little rushed figuring I wasn’t alone this week but I hope you’ll enjoy nonetheless!

Edit; it's out! To get there click here or have a look at my blog <3

[berrys-hide-out]

Quick question; how do you ppl write the tickle fics or art when family is around? 😬

Because I am afraid to open my drafts or my blog in general since my pc is currently in the living room due to renovations in my room… How do I tackle this best?!! 😭

[berrys-hide-out]

AAA

I needa take notes holy jitters, kicking and screaming, why is this so good ✨😭

Real Pain

I received a prompt from a lovely anon who asked for a story in which the reader has a toxic dad and Bucky comforts her. This kind of snowballed into a long story and not entirely what I intended it to be, but I’m glad it turned out different than what I‘d planned. This was hard to write, so I hope the sweet anon and others out there find some comfort in the narrative 💜

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (platonic)

Word count: ~12,400

CWs: toxic dad, sexism, violence (fighting, knives, guns, blood, etc), death, bad family dynamics, swearing, injuries

Bucky Barnes was a liar.

Because as much as he said he wanted a nice, quiet life in the aftermath of decades laden with combat, he couldn’t stay away.

Sam knew that. Sam vocalised that, a lot, which only made Bucky feel pestered and annoyed. Now, though, after all they’d been through together Bucky begrudgingly trusted the new Cap’s judgement. That’s how he ended up in a very off-grid repurposed hanger, standing next to Nick Fury, looking out over a room alive with the hunger and grit of fresh young agents.

“You know what a side hustle is?” Fury tried his hand at engaging Barnes in some kind of modern wit, but the sergeant shook his head. “Well, this is like my special little project. SHIELD’s grown out of needing me to oversee it. Dare I say, it’s been watered down,” he clasped his hands behind his back as he watched two agents expertly avoid each other’s training knives. “Hence, I had to get a new thing going.”

They approached a small firing range where a slew of agents of all shapes and sizes demonstrated their expert precision. Fury kept talking as his guest observed.

“A smaller collection of agents. More elite. The best of the best. You can imagine my relief when you said you were open to more work in this field.”

“Open to it, yeah,” Bucky crossed his arms and watched a short red-haired male group his bullets impressively. “Depends what you’re asking for.”

“I’m asking for a contractor,” Fury answered perfectly. “Every mission is your choice- I will not tell you what you have to do,” he turned his head and Bucky met his one-eyed stare. “What’s more, I won’t even tell you how to do it. As long as it gets done.”

Bucky stuck his tongue against the inside of his cheek and pondered the scenario that sounded too good to be true. He knew he was an asset, a valuable one at that, so of course any potential job would come with perks. If he was being honest with himself, it’s not as if he could just go train to do something else. This - the fighting, the weapons, the reconnaissance - this was his life now. May as well live it on his own terms.

Sensing his further openness, Fury dropped the other shoe. “You’d need a partner.”

“Why?”

“Because a lot of work requires backup. You can always leave them at home if you don’t need them, but it’s better to have one you can stick to.”

“So that’s why we‘re here.”

“Why we’re here,” Fury nodded. “Take all the time you need. Pick whoever you want.”

Fury took a call and left Bucky to his observations. Surely he wouldn’t expect him to make a decision today, so Bucky decided he didn’t have to. Today, he could just get a lay of the land and scope out the recruits.

The training area was large, spanning multiple rooms with state-of-the-art equipment and technology. He watched a middle-aged Chinese man decimate a group of holographic attackers, before a beautiful olive-skinned person with a buzzcut climbed a rope with terrifying ease, hitting a button at the top and clock their time. A young girl, couldn’t be more than eighteen, wore her hair in two platinum blonde braids that whipped around her face as she threw the knives and hit four major arteries on her target dummy. There was a lot going on.

Anyone he’d seen would’ve made a great partner in the field but there was something intangible he needed to find, and something in him thought he might find it over at a boxing ring, alive with commotion, where several agents were watching on.

He subtly pushed past to watch the scene unfold between the fighters. There were two people in the ring: the one standing was a tall, slender brunette with striking green eyes and a poorly-concealed smirk. The one on her hands and knees, was you. He saw your chest heave, he saw blood trickling from your nose as you lifted your head and stood back up.

“Tap out,” the other girl clicked her tongue and looked at you with pity. “Know when you’re beat.”

You laughed sharply and raised your wrapped fists in front of your face. Without your stare leaving hers, you ducked your head to the side and took a deep breath in. “I could do this all day.”

Bucky then watched as she landed blow after blow against you, kicking you while you were down just to scoff when you’d get back up again. You managed a few good hits against her, and Bucky could see the precision you’d clearly honed. In fact, there was a mountain of untapped potential to marry with the power evident in your near-perfect stance, the accuracy of your aim and the tenacity cutting through your words and breath as you refused to give up. Then, when your opponent landed a harsh blow that drew winces from the crowd, you spun once and fell hard to the mat.

She called you crazy, declared the fight done, and stepped out of the ring. The other agents slowly dispersed while Bucky watched on. Now, beaten and bruised, you still got back to your feet and called after her to come back. She didn’t listen. She just gave you a wary look and walked away, so you dropped your fists and let yourself fall back down to sit and catch your breath more completely.

“You’re losing power in your stance,” Bucky took a few more steps forward and picked up a water bottle, then slid it across the mat to you.

“How so?” You nodded your thanks for the water and eyed him skeptically as he stepped up, between the ropes and into the ring. You stood before he had to motion for you to stand, and you tossed the bottle down. “This was how I was taught,” you explained, getting into that same fighting stance.

“Drop your shoulders.”

“But my neck-”

“You’re wasting muscle tension,” he took a step forwards and nodded at your shoulders, so you dropped them down. “Better. And the best way to protect your neck is to land blows first.”

“I have more of a defensive combat background,” you said. Bucky bumped his eyebrows then took a swing at you. Your arm whipped up to defend yourself and stopped his swipe in its tracks. He could see the difference in your block when his forearm crashed against yours. He could see the surprise in your eyes when you felt the extra strength you’d already unlocked by following his advice. You looked up at him, still with blood caked against your nose. You were hungry. Eager. You looked excited as you asked, “What else?”

“Of all the highly qualified people in this building you somehow seek out the least experienced agent,” Fury sighed as he and Bucky watched from a distance while you assessed your injuries from the fight before. “She’s been here a month. You can’t choose someone else?”

“No.”

“You super-people always giving me headaches.”

“Where’d you find her?”

“Top of her class at Quantico.”

“Why’d you recruit her?”

They watched on as someone else limped up and you immediately vacated the bench you were sitting on, then turned to pass them them a fresh bottle of water.

“I know who you see in her,” Fury spoke solemnly. “Maybe I did too. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s not trained.”

Bucky watched on as, even as you wiped the blood from your nose and lips, you practised your battle stance. The one he’d taught you. You weren’t wasting a second to improve. A smile pulled at one side of his lips. “Even better,” he said. “I’ll train her myself.”

At first it was hard to believe. Really hard, considering how inexperienced you were compared to all the other agents, but you didn’t dare question Fury or give Sergeant Barnes a reason to second guess his choice. It was the highest honour imaginable, that someone who fought alongside the greatest heroes in the universe had seen something in you that he wanted to foster. To work with.

Then again, you’d been the worst in the room by far, so maybe he just likes the little guy.

Even still, as you got to training you swore to yourself you’d never burden him with your self-doubt. Even on the days it took you an embarrassingly long time to get the hang of something, you didn’t vocalise your insecurity or seek out his validation. As the weeks and months passed, it became more clear why he’d chosen you.

One of the reasons had to be that he wanted to train his own partner, not attempt to re-train someone else. Your time at Quantico had made you physically fit and mentally tough, and you were just fresh enough in your career that some of the things you’d been taught could be erased and/or improved. New dog, new tricks and all that. Often when he’d be showing you a technique he’d allude to the way the Americans did it, or the British method of training special forces, then he’d show you the way he did it. And he’d been, mostly, trained by Germans and Russians. They had a different way of doing things, so Bucky did too.

By the first time you went into the field together, he’d taught you dozens of tactics and manoeuvres, holds and hits, codes and communications, and you felt confident. It was a success, and it felt almost too easy. You’d had half a mind to ask him if it had been a test, but the hard drive you delivered to Fury the following day and the relief on his face told you it had been real.

The paperwork was certainly real and you were the one of the pair who always got stuck filling out reports. But since that was the most buerocracy you’d have to deal with being partnered with Bucky Barnes, you decided to take it in stride and try to enjoy it. Over time, you learned little ways to turn it into a game. Like asking your partner if he’d describe his final blow to an enemy as a “strike” or a “smackdown” as you sat typing from your seat on the jet. He’d crack a smile, provide a much more exciting adjective, and then stare out the window.

It was a fine line, being around him, of not too much but not nothing. So you just tried your best and gave him lots of space.

Over even more time, more missions, more late night stakeouts and slapdash dinners in safe houses, something more genuine blossomed up between you two. You didn’t when or how it had happened. Maybe it had occurred between the moment you’d wordlessly handed him a coffee when he’d walk into the kitchen of a safe house in Beirut, and the moment he’d gotten up and started the fire when you‘d reached for another blanket at the house in Anchorage. There was a genuine desire to look out for one another, and not just in the field. You didn’t need to name it for it to be real, and you got the sense that trying to name it would just make both of you feel awkward. That’s the last thing you wanted because even after all this time, it had never felt awkward.

Even when you had to hold his hand or kiss him to keep cover, or had to share a bed when there was only one, or he had to rip your clothes off and lower you into a bathtub in your underwear because you’d been shot or stabbed and it was just cleaner that way.

Even during those times, when you felt light-headed from blood loss and pain seared through your skin as he went in search of the slugs embedded in your shoulder or your thigh, you still couldn’t bring yourself to vocalise your doubt. Be it in yourself, or his ability to stop the bleeding, you‘d make some lame one-liner and backseat drive his stitching skills until he was rolling his eyes and you could see the concern in him alleviate.

Then, the most incredible thing started happening. Whether in the field or the training room, on the jets or in the cars… Bucky started getting sarcastic with you. Sassy, almost. He’d always been a bit stoic and professional and guarded, but after months and months of the two of you spending far too much time together, working, cooking, eating, training, he finally opened up a bit more. Not in a pour-his-heart-out way, but in a way where maybe he felt confident enough in how well he’d trained you to give you a bit of a friendly ribbing now and then. And you… well, you took it and ran with it.

Not too far, of course. Never too far. But the banter became undeniably good and only served to deepen the connection which aided you so well on missions. Now, not only could you give him a glance from across the room and know he’d understand you were heading behind the bar to spike a mark’s drink, but you could also catch his eye and share his humour when something funny happened. You could laugh at how he’d roll his eyes when Sam Wilson was on TV and Bucky would call him a “clown,” but he wouldn’t change the channel and he’d watch the interview in full while he pretending like he wasn’t watching.

Before you knew it, it’d been over a year and you grew accustomed to your “days off” being interrupted by a call to your work phone.

There you were, reaching for the bag to measure the protein powder for your pre-workout shake, when that familiar subtle ringing brought your attention to one of the two phones on the kitchen bench. The tune told you it was Bucky, so you put the bag down and answered the phone. “Hey.”

“Ireland.”

When it was a mission, he always greeted you the same way - by telling you where you were going. It always made you smile, even after all this time, because it was just too much fun travelling the world in the pursuit of justice.

“Good morning to you too,” you chuckled. “What do I need?”

“Stealth pack. No disguises. Safe house is kitted with clothes so pack light. It’s a nice house. You’ll like it.”

“Flatscreen and a wine cellar?”

“Overlooking the ocean,” he confirmed with a smile in his voice. “I’ve picked up our weapons packs and I’m on my way to your apartment.

“ETA?”

“Ten minutes.”

“See you soon.”

Protein shake abandoned, you made haste to your closet to throw on your standard black flight clothes, throw the covers over your recently-left bed, slip into some sneakers and head over to the bookshelf on the wall. You ran your finger along the spines of the volumes until it landed on Ulysses and you pulled it to trigger the panel on the ground beside you, the one disguised as floorboards, to unlock and shift enough for you to slip your fingers under and lift up.

Looking between the different packs and cases of weapons, your eyes settled on the sleek black backpack with an piece of masking tape on it which said STEALTH. You ripped the tape off, stuck it to another pack for now, picked up the bag and shut the panel. Three minutes later, you were leaving your building and sliding straight into the backseat of a armoured car.

“You’re early,” you mentioned.

“By one minute.”

“Still early. What’s the brief?”

Bucky ran you through the details as you were driven to the airfield. Fairly simple objective: download the contents of a pharmacy executive’s computer. Why you two were called in, AKA the catch: it was in his private residence in Dublin, the guards were armed, the security was tight. It would be better to not be detected, but not the end of the world if you were.

The flight felt brief. You studied the floor plans, ate a nice protein-rich meal prepared by the private jet’s crew and made sure both you and Bucky had a device to copy the files and also a key to the getaway car that was marked on the map as being left on a nearby street. By the time you were descending over Ireland, you were testing your comms and making sure all your stealth gear was in place. You both wore sleek, black, fitted clothing with several concealed pockets for the various bits and pieces you needed, be it guns, comms, knives or other high-tech gadgets and gizmos. Today, you kept it light.

The mansion was located in a nice suburb just outside the city centre on the east coast of Ireland. You were breaking in just before two in the afternoon, which you’d usually never do unless under the cover of nightfall, but the intelligence brief stated the homeowner wouldn’t be home and security did their changeover at two, so it was the best time to attempt to be undetected.

The house was blocky and minimalist from the outside, covered in windows, dark greys contrasted it from the outside shrubbery and chrome accents glinted in the sun from the windowsills and various metal bits. It certainly gave the impression that someone was trying to make it look like a supervillain lair. Though, you were pretty sure, there was no secret cave underneath housing weapons of mass destruction. No, all that was here was a man who used legal pharmaceutical shipments to disguise trafficking dangerous and illegal drugs around the world. And the evidence, said a whistleblower who reached out to US Intelligence, was on his personal computer in his office at home.

Bucky signalled to you, and you two started making your way towards the fence. You eyed the cameras, then shot a small radio frequency at it which would freeze the picture in place on the other end - leaving whoever watching none the wiser that someone had passed through. The jamming only lasted fifteen seconds so they wouldn’t get suspicious. Once it was frozen, you two hopped the fence. Immediately freezing three other cameras, you and Bucky ducked behind a large garden statue, he looked at his watch, remembering the guard formations, then nodded. You ran towards a serviceperson door, freezing the camera there before running into its view. The door required an RFID tag, so Bucky held up his RFID descrambler. The lock clicked open. You slipped inside, Bucky right behind you.

There were far fewer cameras inside so you replaced the device in your pocket and listened out for footsteps. Memory told you this area was relatively free of guards. Perhaps a wayward gardener or housekeeper would stumble across you but they were easier to put to sleep and hide without much fuss. You crept down the hallway towards the main stairwell. Bucky’s hand met your shoulder. You stepped once to the side. He stepped in front with his gun raised; his spacial awareness was spiked with the serum so it made sense for him to be at the front when you didn’t know what you were approaching. You saw him flinch, and then step off course into a doorway. You followed, hiding yourself flat against the fibreglass door as a security guard walked past the end of the hallway you were on.

“Changeover,” you whispered. Bucky nodded. You waited. Two minutes went past, another guard, a different guard, walked the other way after they’d changed posts. You looked up at Bucky, he gave a single nod.

Seamlessly, expertly, you and your partner dodged people and cameras and wrong turns until you finally reached the private office of the homeowner. The biometric lock was state of the art, but nothing really stood a chance against the technology Fury had ordered to be developed. Less than five seconds after your descrambler was set to biometrics and held against the unit, the door slid open. You both shot inside, Bucky then hit the button to close the door. No way in hell would there be a camera in here.

Without wasting any time, you hurried over to the slick computer sitting at the desk and turned it on. Even as it was still booting up, you stuck the drive into the USB port and let the technology within the thumb-sized device work its magic, then you stepped out of view of the large window.

Whether it was two seconds too late or too early, you didn’t know, but a large-caliber bullet broke through the window right where you’d just been standing and embedded in the ceiling. You swore loudly as the glass splintered and fractured and then was completely busted open when another round entered it.

Someone outside, on the ground, had seen you.

You looked at Bucky. He was loading his gun so you did the same; they shot first using deadly force, so you’d have to respond in kind.

Just barely peeking out from behind the curtain, you aimed at who’d shot at you, pulled the trigger, and watched as the man dropped his rifle, clutched the shoulder of his shooting arm, and fell to his knees. It was all on.

A loud alarm sounded throughout the property and the lights all became that much brighter, not that it made much difference in the day, but you supposed they’d want to take away any shadows from night-time intruders.

Casting a glance to the drive in the machine, you saw the first of five tiny lights flick on, meaning the data was beginning to be copied. “Hunker down,” you nodded to the drive and saw Bucky’s jaw tense, then he loaded another gun and gave you a solemn look.

“There are more coming to take aim from outside. You take them, I’ll hold them off from coming in here.”

“Copy. How many mags you got?”

“Six.”

Knowing how many guards were on duty, you gave him a wry smile and a tilt of your head. “Don’t miss.”

Then, you two entered a flurry of firefight. Bullets splattered the ceiling through the now-vacant windowsill. These were clearly trigger-happy guards who didn’t get to use their toys much - not serious threats - and so you took your chance to make precise shots as they reloaded for another spray. Always preferring to maim rather than to take a life, you aimed for shoulders, knees, feet and hands, taking down guard after guard and they ran outside to join. Someone on the back perimeter of the fence looked to be calling for backup, so you looked to Bucky, but he’d since become distracted with guards trying to enter the room.

It had been a few minutes. Three out of five clicks on the drive.

With a grunt of discomfort, you reloaded your last magazine into your handgun and fired off three shots at two guards. One was a warning shot. They didn’t move. So the next two caught a quadricep and a bicep, respectively.

You looked back. Still three out of five clicks and only five bullets left in your supply. Stealing another glance at Bucky, you could see he was engaged less in firefight and was now trying to render his attackers unconscious. Or… maybe you were the attackers? No, these were the bad guys- four out of five clicks!

Not wanting to waste your bullets just in case, you slid the gun back into your ankle holster and fixed your focus on that lone guard by the back perimeter. You had several blades in a pocket on the back of your thigh, so you slid your hand in and took one between two of your fingers. Hesitating as you aimed, you held your breath and wondered if it was fair to distract him by throwing a knife at his shin, he only-

“Ughf!” You whipped your head around as you head the breath get knocked from Bucky’s chest and he stumbled backwards. The door opened more fully and a tall, brute-looking guard entered with a blade clutched tightly in a reverse grip. The second he lifted his arm to swipe at your partner, your arm had whipped around, your blade was in his ribcage, and your footsteps were pounding towards him. He growled in pain but used his other meaty hand to make a close-fisted hit towards you, which you ducked and then used the momentum of your upper body going down to brace one hand on the floor and connect your heel to the underside of his chin. He froze, then crumpled in unconsciousness.

“Nice one,” Bucky coughed and stood. “Where’s the data?”

“Almost done,” you panted, then felt around for your knife supply. “How many more are coming?”

“Two more I can hear,” he said after a brief listen, then a nervous look. “Get cover,” he whispered.

He pulled you both into a small nook close to door, so someone walking in would have their back to you for at least one or two seconds. It was a quick move you’d had to make, so you ended up pressed snugly front-to-front with Bucky. It was tight, and not entirely physically comfortable, but you didn’t dare complain as human silence shrouded the area. They‘d turned the alarm off. They were listening. Waiting.

You looked up at Bucky, who gave a somewhat nervous look which wasn’t exactly reassuring. He braved mouthing, “automatic weapons,” and bumped his eyebrows when you mouthed back, “fuck.” Automatic weapons were a different breed of killing machine. Squeeze the trigger once, hold it down, and spray your target with… for something hand-held, about three hundred bullets a minute. You were fast, Bucky was strong, but not impervious.

The steps outside came closer, slowly, intentionally. You could hear the shift and click of metal machinery, of rows of bullets clanking together. Daring to turn your head, you could see the drive had lit up five out of five clicks. The data was complete. They stepped into the room.

In a move you didn’t anticipate, Bucky‘s hand swiftly slid down the side of your hip and then around to the back of your thigh. You figured out rather quickly that he was going for your knives, but that didn’t stop the crazy ticklish feeling of his fingertips grazing down the back of your leg and worming into a pocket. Thankfully, the lights in the room were sparking and cracking from being shot at, so they covered most of the sound of a small breathy giggle bursting through your lips as your leg flinched away from his touch. The other thing that concealed your noise was Bucky’s free hand suddenly clamping over your mouth. He set his jaw and gave you a look that said, “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” A look that said, “This would be funny if we weren’t in so much danger right now.” You widened your eyes, then shut them tight when Bucky slipped two knives between two fingers out of your pocket and suddenly threw them with deadly precision.

Each blade hit a major artery in the two machine gun-wielding guards’ necks so fast, they didn’t have time to pull the trigger from instinct before their hands flew to the knives and they dropped to their knees, then one to his side and the other to his front. Bucky listened closely, then narrowed his eyes at you with his hand still stuck over your mouth.

“Keep your weapons somewhere else if you’re too ticklish,” he said with snark.

You scowled and shook his hand off your face, feeling yourself blush as he smirked. “How ‘bout you keep your hands off my knives. What happened to six mags?”

“They were coming too fast to reload,” he grunted and pulled you both out of the space. “Download complete. Let’s get out of here.”

You pulled the thumb drive from the computer and then opened some random files on the desktop to make it look like you’d been snooping or looking for something. While you were leaned over, you suddenly spluttered and an embarrassing squeak came out when Bucky’s hand was in and out of that back pocket in half a second. You whipped around just in time to see him hurl the knife across the lawn at that guard you’d seen lurking by the perimeter. This time he’d been aiming a gun at you, but Bucky’s throw caught him in the hip and his shot fired into the ground as he fell in pain.

Bucky gave you another look, more amused this time, and then pulled out the thin grappling wire from his belt. He shot the clamp towards the ground and winked, “We’ve really gotta work on that.” Then, he jumped backwards out the window. With a roll of your eyes, you pocketed the drive and followed suit.

Navigating out of the compound was relatively easy, which made the hair on the back of your neck stand up just a little bit. Still, you ran alongside Bucky, both of you remembering where the getaway car was parked. Only, you discovered when you got there, it wasn’t a car.

“I’m driving,” you chuckled, pulling out the key from the concealed pocket by your wrist.

“You know the rules,” Bucky plucked the key from your hand and smirked a grin as he strode over to the motorcycle. “You drove last time.”

“Why do you always get the cool rides,” you muttered as you settled on behind him. “Let’s just get out of here before they regroup and chase after us.”

He turned the engine on and revved it in agreement, so you tightened your grip around his waist and braced as he peeled off from the corner, leaving burnt rubber stuck to the road as your final trace on the scene.

As the wind whipped past and Bucky mazed through the streets of Dublin to lose any potential tail, you thought of that guard by the wall. You thought about the gun you didn’t see, the knife you didn’t throw. He’d just looked… you didn’t know, maybe young. Or scared. Which seemed a foolish assumption to make about someone who did private security for a man who furnished his guards with automatic weapons.

Bucky brought the bike to a stop behind a warehouse on the outskirts of town after nearly twenty minutes of evading. “I think we lost ‘em. What’s your read?”

“Me too,” you stretched for a second, then resettled. “How far to the safe house?”

“Two hours.”

“Can I drive?”

He chuckled and revved the engine again. You rolled your eyes. He took off, out of the city, and down the country roads.

You passed rolling fields of farmlands and livestock, humble abodes, cars, a school bus or two before you got too far out from the city. Making sure to analyse your surroundings, after about forty-five minutes of driving above the speed limit, you were sure you weren’t being followed. As you whipped past a scene of who you assumed to be a father and son throwing a ball beside their house, your mind returned to that guard. Maybe he had a family. A reason he was making money like that. Or maybe he liked it.

The data in your pocket felt heavier. Then, you remembered the report of gang violence borne from the narcotics the homeowner was trafficking, and the countless families and lives destroyed by the added ingredient which amplified addiction and fatality rates. Families like the father and son throwing a ball. Or the ones you’d seen in other country homes or small towns Bucky bypassed on the way to the other coast of Ireland. So you tried to relax and enjoy the fun of the ride.

Just as the sky began to turn golden, Bucky slowed the bike and turned up a long driveway. You could taste the sea salt in the air as it roared past your head, and once he reached the peak of the hill you caught your first glimpse of the beautiful coastline of towering stacked cliffs. A few houses were dotted here and there along near the edge, including one stunning building you were heading straight towards. It was a large one-story house, you could practically feel the high ceilings from the outside and from the glimpses in the windows. The architecture was modern and angular, polished wooden panels slatted together to create a sense of homeliness, yet elegance. In all honesty, your thoughts turned to how amazing the shower was going to feel as Bucky brought the bike to a full stop outside.

“It’s getting chilly,” you commented as you two walked to the front door and scanned in your biometrics. It clicked open with a welcoming chime and you stepped inside. It was warm and inviting, and your bags had been dropped in the entryway. When you two were fully inside, the door shut and locked itself. Based on past experiences in these houses, Fury would soon be notified that you’d checked in.

“Damn,” you whistled. You‘d switched on the lights and you two were met with a large open-plan kitchen and living area. “This place is nice.”

The ceiling-height windows, which were large because the ceiling was indeed quite high, were an unusual feature for a safe house but not unheard of. You saw straight through the wooden-floored area and right out over the grassy cliff and to the ocean. There was a hallway to your right which, you guessed, would lead to bedrooms and bathrooms. It was large, nicer than a lot of places you’d stayed before.

Eager to get something to eat, you immediately headed to the kitchen. Bucky followed you over while you shrugged off your jacket and draped it over one of the stools partially nestled beneath the marbled countertop. “Glad we made it here alive, considering we almost got shot because you can’t hold in a little laughter.”

“Are you still on that?” You gave him a look, then turned to open the fridge. It was stocked. You shut the door and turned back, placing your hands on the counter opposite him. He gave you an unimpressed glance, but you knew Bucky enough to know when he was actually annoyed. “It’s a normal human reaction. You shouldn’t give me shit for being ticklish. You wanna make pizza for dinner?”

“I’ll definitely be giving you shit for it. Are there olives?”

“I think so,” you turned around and cracked the fridge, then nodded. “Yeah, but they’re stuffed with something.” You looked over your shoulder. “And you can’t give me shit. That would make you a hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite?”

“You’re really gonna act like you’re not ticklish too?”

“I need to be able to rely on my partner,” he argued, ignoring your call-out, a smirk forming across his lips. “For anything. Including being able to supply me with weapons.”

“You can rely on me,” you argued back, shut the fridge and turned with your arms folded and your cheeks warming up as you mumbled “You just caught me off guard.”

“Really?”

“Really,” you set your jaw, then decided you had to try proving it. “Come, I’ll prove it. I have a knife in the other pocket,” you nodded to your left leg. “Take it.”

Bucky smirked wider and shrugged, taking steps to approach you. You rolled your eyes and turned around, then bit the side of your tongue and readied for his touch. He burst into a snarky chuckle. “I have never seen you so tense.” His hands met your shoulders to push them away from your ears and you growled in annoyance. “Very convincing.”

“Take the damn knife.”

“Fine,” he whispered loudly. You gritted your teeth and tried your hardest to not flinch when his fingers met the opening of the well-concealed pocket. He was being deliberately light and messy with his touch, but knowing that didn’t make it any less ticklish. Then, his fingers finally broke into the opening slit and all four scraped down the back of your fabric-covered leg in a motion that was far too sensitive to bear. Unprofessional giggles burst through your lips as you jump-shuffled away from him and then groaned.

“Okay, whatever!” You whipped around and glared at where he was laughing with his arms crossed. “What you want me to do about it, huh?” You challenged, taking steps towards him. “It’s not like you can hold it in. I’ll show y-”

You’d made a lunge to grab at his sides but hands were around your outstretched arms in an instant. He looked down at you with something dangerous and playful in his eyes. You met his gaze, your own eyes narrowed. One wrong move, and you’d start something that he’d probably be the one to finish. But Bucky was ticklish, and that was far too funny to ignore.

“Aww,” you pouted, then smirked. “Super-soldier afraid of a little tickling?”

He scoffed, and his smirk returned. “You’re gonna regret that,” he promised.

Bucky had trained you very well, specifically to work with him. Over the past year and a half you’d learned his moves and methods inside and out. The serum meant it could never be a fair fight, but Bucky’s instructions and your will to improve at all costs meant sometimes you could gain the upper hand. It would be hard, now, with your wrists already in his grasp, but you started grappling anyway.

Pulling your feet from underneath yourself, you let the surprise of your drop pull Bucky forward and off-balance enough to twist your wrist away from his metal fist. He’d always been afraid of accidentally crushing your bones, so he always had a weaker hold with the vibranium hand. Using the leverage of your downwards swing, you slotted around behind him and wrapped your legs around his ankles, sending him even further forward. He had to let go of your other wrist to break his fall without breaking your arm. He landed on his front with a grunt and you flew forwards, your digging fingers finding his ribs with terrifying speed. Because, hell, this was probably the only shot you’d get.

Much to your delight, Bucky jolted and fell more into the ground as his arms clamped against his sides and he failed to hide his breathy laughter. You giggled and jeered for the several seconds you managed to attack while he composed himself to fight. Then, his leg came up and knocked you sideways. A grunt of battle left your lips as you reached up to continue your torment, only barely squeezing at his hip before he barked out a laugh and pushed himself out of reach. You sat, partially propped up, and laughed in triumph as Bucky caught his breath and then turned to you with a menacing stare. It made your blood run cold but you couldn’t show him that. He’d taught you to never show fear to an opponent.

He laughed once, then twice, then chuckled as he brought himself to his hands and knees and looked at the floor, mustering the strength and energy he had to ready himself to take you down swiftly.

Maybe it was the nail in your own coffin to say it, but you gave it a shot: “So should I pre-heat the oven, or-” You cut yourself off with a suppressed gasp and a mighty shove backwards to slide along the smooth floor and out of reach of the swipe he’d made for you. You got to your feet and ran the only way you could - further into the living room, further trapping you. There were a few boxy minimalist couches that looked comfortable enough, and a very large sheepskin rug between them. You casted a glance up to the ceiling and saw the rafters looked especially nice for hanging from.

“That’s a stupid plan,” Bucky clicked his tongue. “You’ll never get up there in time.” He took a step forwards, you took one back.

“So what’s the play here?” You jutted out your chin, challenging him. “If you were in my shoes, how would you get out of this?”

“Brute strength.”

“If you didn’t have that,” you narrowed your eyes, stepping behind one of the couches as Bucky slowly advanced. “What would you do?”

He shrugged and then picked up his pace.

“You’d go for the rafters, you jerk,” you scoffed a laugh and darted out of his reach.

“No I wouldn’t.”

“Then wha-HAT would you do?” You repeated, narrowly avoiding him by side-stepping another swipe. It was futile, you knew that, so it came as no surprise when his hand finally closed around your upper arm and pulled you back against him.

You turned to fight but he swept your ankles, bringing you crashing down to your side on the sheepskin rug. Twisting and kicking did nothing as he expertly took your blows against his forearm, then used your own momentum to flip you firmly onto your front. Feeling your desperation mount with the reality of how screwed you were settling in, you tried pulling a leg up to crawl away. Bucky grabbed your ankles and yanked you backwards before straddling your knees, pinning your legs firmly to the floor. With a grunt, you tried to turn. Bucky had already started grabbing for your wrists. In less than five more seconds, he was hovered over you with your hands trapped in his metal fist, fixed to your lower back.

It was a very immobilising position, which made your breath pick up and a small whimper slip out. You turned and grimaced when you saw the backs of your thighs completely open and vulnerable to him.

“Who’s afraid now?” Bucky leered, metal fingers twitching around your wrists. You rolled your eyes and tried to stop your blush.

“Get it over with so we can make pizza.”

“Get what over with?”

You huffed. “Your payback.”

“This isn’t payback,” Bucky said. You flinched when his fingers once again met the pocket. “This is training.”

You pressed your lips together and squealed into your mouth, burst of air breaking through as his fingers worked their way into that same damn place. He stopped and pulled away. You let out your breath.

“Payback comes later,” he promised. “First, we’re gonna do this until you can control it.”

You felt your mouth go dry, your eyes widen, your cheeks go up in flames as you stared at the sheepskin inches from your face. “What?!” You tugged on the way he held you, finding it, of course, unwavering. “You can’t be serious.”

“Control it, and we’re done,” he said matter-of-factly. There was an infuriating smile in his voice.

“Oh, get on with it then!” You seethed and pressed your face into the soft wool. Your composure was short-lived because Bucky didn’t even try to be delicate next time he slotted his fingers into the pocket. Laughter burst out of you and your feet kicked as much as they could with his seat pinning your knees to the floor. You twisted for the few seconds it took for him to touch the handle of the small hidden blade, but then he retracted his hand once again. You caught your breath and turned your head to rest more comfortably against the carpet. “Cahan’t we just change where the pohocket is?”

“Again,” Bucky told you, ignoring your perfectly reasonable question.

But again, you immediately fell into hysterics and tugged on your wrists when his searching fingers wormed into the pocket. Part of you suspected he was making it unbearable on purpose, but you really didn’t have a way to defy him. He pulled away to reset and you giggled nervously, giving a whine. “We’re gonna be he-here all nihight,” you said, glancing up to see him far too amused.

He shrugged. “If that’s what it takes.”

“Mmmmno!” You whined once more but cut yourself off with a shriek when Bucky’s fingers wiggled more harshly against the back of your thigh, as if the space he was trying to enter was difficult and fortified. He was definitely doing this on purpose. “BUHUCK!” You jolted and thrashed once or twice before he stopped. You gasped for breath. His hand was still in the pocket.

“Wow,” he let out a low hum. “Is it really that bad?” He answered his own question when he ripped his hand away from inside your clothing and then lightly scratched at the back of your other leg. You exploded in squealing laughter, fighting hard against him as he scratched at the hyper-sensitive spot like one might lovingly scratch a pet’s furry coat. After you’d given a tiny scream, he pulled away completely.

“I’m huhungry!” You protested, slamming a foot against the ground. “Cut it out- this isn’t helping!”

“Fine, training’s over,” he released your wrists and you sighed in relief. It was short-lived, because you remembered what he’d said the second before he shot forward and straddled your hips. “Time for payback.”

“Nuh-no-NAHAHA!” You shrieked and squirmed when five squeezing fingers met each side of your rib cage. Bursting in ticklish helplessness, you tried whatever your panicked mind could muster the tactical reasoning to do.

Planting your feet against the floor to push didn’t help, neither did trying to squirm out from under his seat, and pushing at his hands was the worst idea of all because it gave him the opening to shoot his fingers up and slot them into the open spaces underneath your arms. “N-” was all you got out before falling into silent laughter with your arms clamped tight at your sides. The breath could barely leave your lungs, only in gasps, as Bucky chuckled over you and dug his fingers in even deeper. When he did, something broke and you let rip a long, loud, sustained scream.

Whether it was the shock or the sympathy, something made Bucky pull away and burst into his own laughter. He sat back and you saw him clutch his chest from the corner of your eye as you coughed, whined, and then laughed at the pure humour of how loud your scream was. As Bucky kept laughing, so did you, just at the hilarity of it all. It felt nice to laugh with him. It always did.

“You’ve got a problem,” he taunted, and pinched at one of your hips. You jumped again, which made him laugh. “It’s not safe to be this ticklish.” He then took to drilling his fingers at both of your hips, as if he had no idea it wouldn’t be immensely, horrifically, ticklish. Loud and deep laughter once again resounded through the living room as you grabbed at his hands and thrashed underneath him.

“BUCK PLEHEHEASE!” You shouted into the carpet, feet scrambling behind you, try to not kick him since that would only egg him on. Bucky just laughed, gave a fake menacing growl, and kneaded his fingers even faster. You shrieked and then flipped with all your might, trying to throw him off. Instead, he pushed himself up onto his knees as you violently turned and then settled back down to pin you again. You gasped and moved to fight but his hands were already clawing at your stomach, so all you could do was grab his wrists and press your head hard into the carpet as you erupted into giggles.

“We really shoulda put you through some training for this,” Bucky called to you over the noise of your laughter and your struggle. You kneed him hard in the back, which made him scoff a laugh and then hook his fingers around the sides of your lower ribs. There was nothing you could really do except lay there and take it, so you switched your focus to trying to block it out. Maybe he was onto something with the training f-

“AHH!”

Nope.

You screeched and sat up underneath him when his fingers found the place where your sides became your back, just below the centre of your ribcage. Knowing it was futile, you still shoved at his chest. He brought his hands up to grab yours but you evaded, landing a blow at his own ribs causing him to flinch. He narrowed his eyes and you gritted your teeth as you swiped and dodged and landed sharp but controlled blows to each other. After Bucky missed the chance to subdue you one too many times, he suddenly threw his weight forward and sent your upper body crashing back down to the carpet with his near full weight pinning you there.

Squirming and laughing nervously, you strained to pull your arms into your control to fight him off. Bucky’s face sat just above your shoulder, his eyes flitting up to catch yours and give you a provoking stare. He was challenging you to get out of this, to fight back, but he knew he’d win.

Distracting you with his look, he shot a hand out and wrangled your wrist into his hold before starting to drag it along the carpet up over your head. “You’re right,” he chuckled as he handled you with ease. “I would’ve taken the rafters.”

“Oh, you’re such a- ugh!” You gave a valiant effort pulling against him, but ultimately winced and tugged to no avail. Just as he went for your other hand, you heard it.

Your stomach dropped.

That specific ringtone resounded from the kitchen and you recognised it instantly. It was hard not to. It was loud and abrasive and one you’d chosen specifically for him because it was hard to ignore, and missing his calls always just lead to more drama.

Bucky saw your face go a bit grey in a stark contrast from the warm golden laughs he’d just pulled from you. He felt your wrist tense against his, and saw the way your tongue went a little heavy in your mouth.

“That’s my personal phone,” you said, not meeting his eye. “I need to get that.”

There was some hesitance in your tone, so he dug a little further. “Are you faking a call to get out of-”

“I-It’s my dad I need to pick up,” you fumbled out and lost all enjoyment in your eyes. He pushed himself off of you before you had to struggle again, and you quickly got to your feet to dash over and answer the phone. “Hey, Dad,” you sounded a little breathless as you held the phone to your ear and walked down the hallway. “Woah, hang on, can you please-” was all Bucky heard before he made a conscious effort to not listen in.

He brought himself to his feet and dusted some of the wool from the carpet off his knees as he wracked his brain and realised you’d never talked about your family. Or, families. Either of you. Which was strange because Bucky felt like you knew each other pretty well. He thought about it more as he opened the fridge and started pulling out the stuff to make pizzas.

You knew each other’s favourite sports teams, meals, genres of movies to watch. He knew you hated red wine and you knew he loved cherry pie but hated peach cobbler - which you insisted was weird because they were like “dessert cousins.” Yeah… you’d said something like that and he’d laughed and rolled his eyes and pushed the plate of cobbler over to you as you sat undercover in some filthy diner.

Maybe you’d never talked about your family because you didn’t want to make him feel like he needed to talk about his. Not that he’d mind, there wasn’t much to tell, but you‘d never been one to pry into his past. Forget the Winter Soldier eras - you’d never asked one question about his experiences with the Avengers, or in World War II, or in Wakanda. The most you’d asked about his past was seeing a news report of Wilson at a press conference and asking if he knew what Bucky was up to. Thinking about that time, the soldier couldn’t honestly recall that he’d reacted badly… no, he definitely didn’t do anything to ward you off asking questions. Still, he was quietly thankful that you always seemed far more interested in knowing Bucky now than Bucky then.

The kitchen was large but laid out and stocked with common sense. Bucky found cutting boards and knives with ease after taking out the relevant ingredients and splaying them across the counter. There was some champagne ham he thought would go rather nicely on his pizza, so he started slicing it into smaller pieces before getting to work on the rest of it.

Just before he’d finished prepping all the ingredients, he heard a door slam. Slinging the kitchen towel over his shoulder, he wiped the pineapple juice against it and called your name. You didn’t answer. He tossed the towel down and started walking towards the hallway. That’s when, from the corner of his eye, he saw you. Through the massive panes of glass which overlooked a small wooden deck, then the grassy embankment before the cliff dropped down to the rocks and the sea, he saw you looking out over the water with your arms wrapped around yourself. There must have been another door in a bedroom. He watched for a minute, then picked up your jacket and mustered the courage he knew he’d one day need; you couldn’t build a closeness like yours without the inevitability of an encounter like this.

He didn’t know when or how it had happened. Maybe it started when you’d traded your carrot cake for his berry tart at that cafe in Paris, knowing he’d like yours more. Maybe sometime from then, or maybe when he’d let you drive the JetSki in Bali for no other reason than he’d seen the way you looked at it, he’d decided that the inevitability of this kind of conversation was worth the friendship you could have. So he let you in. And you ran with it.

Still, this felt entirely unfamiliar. You were the partner who made sassy quips to hide the searing pain as he dug bullets from your skin, who joked about his lack of skill in administering stitches and said it would be his fault if a potential hook-up got put off by your jagged scars. Each time, he'd playfully glare and remind you that anyone deterred by such a thing certainly couldn't handle you.

This was different than those times. Or the times he'd place your beaten body in the safe-house bathtub and help you strip off the clothing, assessing your injuries as you made attempts at humour. He'd scoff a laugh every time, sometimes roll his eyes to distract you from the concern welling up in him each time you'd smile and he'd see some blood frame the insides of your lips.

He'd never seen you cry. Something, he was sure, you were proud of. After all, agents didn't cry over physical pain and that was the only kind of pain he'd ever seen you endure. Until now. There was a heaviness in your hunched shoulders that showed someone carrying the weight of an imploding world. He fidgeted his fingers around your jacket, and wondered if his presence would do more harm than good.

Since coming off the ice, there'd been countless times he'd felt out of his depth. The cultural differences were getting easier to navigate, as was the access to information, then the workings-through of everything he'd done as a bystander in his own body - it was obviously overwhelming at times. No one could blame him for that. For the hundreds of dead bodies - sure, if they wanted to. But not for feeling in over his head.

Back then, in his time, they didn't talk about feelings. Sometimes Steve could pull something from Bucky's heart, but the formerly-taller man liked to keep it light. With the war and everything, it was best to keep it light. Him and Steve talking about being overwhelmed, about coping, grief, guilt - those were conversations borne of the twenty-first century. Bucky hadn't had nearly enough of them before Steve left. It felt too hard now. But there you were, standing close to the edge, gazing into the churning sea, and a conversation needed to be had.

So he walked across the living room with your jacket in his hands, opened the sliding glass door, and stepped outside.

Bucky nearly held his breath as he approached. Your arms were still around yourself. You didn't look at him as he stood next to you, so he didn't look at you either. From his peripherals, it didn't seem like you'd been crying. He held out your jacket on the tip of one finger. You turned to him, looked at it, looked at him, and then took it.

"When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

The question surprised Bucky and he answered: "I don't remember." It wasn't a lie.

"I wanted to be a cop," you scoffed a laugh, settling the jacket and pulling your long sleeves out from where they’d bunched up inside. "Then, when I found out what a detective was, I wanted to be that. Solve crimes, take down bad guys." You paused, looked at your feet and then over at Bucky. "Do you think I'm suited to this life? Am I… good at the job?"

He looked at you with a stare which conveyed confusion; how on earth could you be asking him this question? "Uh, yeah," he nodded warily, you smiled a bit. "You're scarily good at the job." You laughed once or twice and turned back to the sea, giving a one-shouldered shrug.

"That's good to know. I've always felt drawn to the work, but that's good to know."

It fell silent again and Bucky didn't know how to respond. Should he put a hand on your shoulder? He stood by your right side so it would be the metal hand and that could be not super comforting, but maybe the gesture was enough and-

"I think I just got disowned."

That made Bucky almost scoff out loud. What? He turned his body to face yours but you stayed stone-faced towards the ocean. "What?"

“My father believes life should be done a certain way. You grow up, you get a job, you get married, if you’re a woman you stay home with the kids, you take them to church, you cook and clean and look after your family. That’s how it’s done.” Bucky saw the tears well up in your eyes, finally. “I’ve never wanted that,” you whispered. “But that’s the only thing he wants from me. Anything else is failure.”

Twenty-first century Bucky said something 1940’s Bucky would probably be shocked by.

“That’s bullshit.”

“I know,” you scoffed. “Just now on the phone he said there was a nice young man excited to meet me at my cousin’s wedding next month and I should remember to put some effort in.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of the jacket. “And I know what kind of man he’d want for me - someone just like him - so told him I wasn’t interested and it became this whole thing, I don’t know…” You trailed off. “At least I have this job. This is something.”

“This is good,” he said. It felt insufficient, and confused, but it was a lot of what he could muster through how his heart ached for you. “You’re making a difference.”

“They don’t care,” you smiled, clearly trying to hold back your tears in front of him. “He’s over it. He said “don’t come home until you quit” and apparently he means it this time. I thought after everything… he’d changed, he’d… whatever,” you whispered. “Fuck him. I don’t need him.”

Bucky opened his mouth, hoping something useful would come out, but a fear of saying the entirely wrong thing gripped his throat. Also the guilt, the shame, of a time when he felt the same way your father had about who did what, how lives should be lived. He couldn’t blame HYDRA for the way he used to think, back before the war. He could only blame his time, his lack of understanding, his era. He didn’t know what to say.

It wouldn’t be fair to you to insist your blood came first, because it shouldn’t. Not if it didn’t respect you, your autonomy, your life choices. Especially not choices as noble as yours. He also couldn’t give a “fuck him” of camaraderie, because he doubted stirring your anger would be useful right now. If there was something Bucky Barnes knew about the power of emotions, it’s that anger was a useful distraction from pain.

With the bravery of a humble foot soldier, he let his desire for eloquence fall to the wayside. “He’s wrong to not be proud of you,” he said, hoping the words that came out made sense in the way he wanted them to. “You don’t… owe him the life he wants you to live. You don’t owe him a big wedding, or grandkids in stupid matching outfits, or-or Christmas cards. And if he’s gonna kick you out until you comply, you don’t owe him a daughter.”

Bucky didn’t know if he said the wrong thing, or exactly the right thing but you sniffed harder, and started to cry.

The tears began to fall and you covered your face with your hands. Bucky took a step closer and instinctively put his hand on your forearm, pressing gently to guide you to the safety of the ground away from the ledge. You let him move you, taking a few steps backwards as you sniffed and spluttered. And before he gave himself room to doubt, Bucky's other hand met your shoulder and he stepped closer.

At first, you shook your head and pressed your elbows against him. When he stopped pulling on you, you didn't step away or tell him to piss off, you just kept breathing fast and heavy between coughs and stuttered cries. So he tried again, and you removed a hand to press at his chest. Your flattened palm shoved, then went still, then curled into a desperate grip around the fabric over his heart. Bravely, you looked up at him with tears spilling down your cheeks.

There was so much in your eyes that Bucky could feel tugging at his heart. He could see this internal storm brewing as you looked to the person who so often patched you up. Dark clouds fell across your glance as you let yourself accept Bucky could not fix this. This was no bullet wound, no busted lip, no cracked rib. This was real pain.

Bucky had to let himself accept that he couldn’t shelter you from the impending hurricane. He did, however, have the strength to weather it with you. He could only hope it would be enough, as his hand at your shoulder met the base of your neck, and again pulled you in. This time, you stepped into him, and buried your face against his chest as you cried.

The icy late afternoon wind pushed against him as he held you close, and he turned just a few inches so his back would bear the brunt of it. He held you against his warm body and rested his chin on top of your head. You cried hard, and would sometimes shake your head and half-heartedly push him away, but you’d always stop trying to leave his comfort the second you felt how his hold didn’t waver.

So there you stood with his arms around you, his right hand ever so often squeezing your shoulder where it had landed. You stopped fighting him when you were sure he wasn’t looking for any excuse to let you go. Still, it was hard to accept. He’d seen so much of you, your body, your mind and your desire for life, but he’d never seen you like this. No one had ever seen you like this. Any sort of emotional response was never tolerated in your house growing up. It was never beaten out of you, you were never yelled at to stop crying, but there would be comments. Snide remarks about how this is why women can’t be in charge, when you got teary over your family pet needing to be put down. Scoffs and sarcastic jokes when you were six years old and asked your dad how the game he was watching was played. If you had a clear memory of that specific time, you’d know it was the Super Bowl and you weren’t supposed to be in the room - you were supposed to be helping your mother in the kitchen and then sitting with the ladies outside. But you didn’t have a specific memory of that time, just how it all made you feel.

Bucky’s hand laced through the hair at the nape of your neck. His heartbeat was strong and steady. He sheltered you from the dusk wind.

Around the time you became a teenager your father’s over-protectiveness started manifesting in derogatory comments on the clothes you’d wear or the sports you’d played or the careers you expressed interest in. It was about this time, also, that you started going toe-to-toe with him. You refused to go to church, so he took your phone away. The phone you’d paid for with money you’d earned cleaning yards. You wouldn’t call him “sir,” so he took your bedroom door. You’d beg your mother to reason with him, but she’d chosen this life and she didn’t understand why you couldn’t just go along with it. She’d tell you that your father bought her anything she needed, and most of what she wanted, he was a provider, he’d provide for you too if you weren’t so hell-bent on defying him.

Bucky’s hand slid to your waist and pulled you in closer when a stronger gust hit. The icy wind nipped at your ears. He pulled your hood up, then held you tighter.

Around the time you were seventeen you moved out for good. You’d kept receipts of all the clothes you’d ever bought, which came in handy when your father stood in your doorway as you packed and snarked that you better not take anything he paid for. You pulled out the folder of the copies of the receipts, itemised with photos of the clothing next to it, threw it at his feet and told him you wouldn’t leave with any of his property. When you saw the look in his eye, you could tell he knew you chose the word “property” for a reason; you were leaving, so you were not his.

You felt your breath slow, the tears slow, your mind slow, as the gentle pressure of his hand in your hair pulled you to the present. Still you felt far away. Helpless. Bucky didn’t say anything, thank God for him.

Your father only started changing his tune when you hadn’t come home for two years and it made your mother cry to talk about you. Then, he started being kinder with his words. He asked you how your studies were going on family calls. You’d tell him you were top of your class, but you knew that didn’t matter because a degree in Political Science didn’t make you any more or less qualified to serve beer and hot wings on Super Bowl Sunday. You knew he talked to you for her. For your mother.

Then, you turned to dust.

When you reemerged into life it had been five years and you found out your mother had disintegrated too, and your brother. Your father was left with no one except his aging mother. Your grandmother passed away in those years between the universe being torn apart then stitched back together. She went quietly, in her sleep, and then your father was truly alone. He never told you how he felt, if he thought about moving on, if he had hope, all you knew is that when you drove fourteen hours straight and ran into their front door, everyone cried. All four of you. You stayed for a week and it had been perfect.

After he’d filled you in on what he could manage, there wasn’t a lot to catch up with. The world had changed and was still grieving but was about to change again so the past felt unimportant. So you laughed and baked pies with your mother and kicked a soccer ball with your little brother and talked to your father about the World War II book he was reading. He seemed pleasantly surprised by your engagement in the content, and you laughed and said you did an entire semester on it, it was fascinating. He’d gotten an e-reader while you were gone but was kind of useless at it, so you showed him how to navigate it and downloaded some books on the war you knew he’d love. It had been good. But that was nearly two years ago now and everyone was desperate for life to get back to normal.

You could’ve sworn your heartbeat fell into rhythm with his as you sensed the sky darken around you. Your eyes were still shut, but the night was strong and obvious and demanded to be seen. You started to feel guilty, for keeping Bucky out here with you. He must be hungry. He must think you were-

“Don’t you dare feel bad about this,” Bucky commanded in a low voice when he felt you start to wither away. “I’m here for you, you understand?”

There was no fight left in you but you didn’t need it - you had all the trust in the world to know you were safe here. So you nodded, and started pulling away. The night air hit your face which felt tight and puffy from crying. The tears had dried but your head ached with the pressure and the release of stress. Drowsiness pulled at your mind.

“C’mere,” he whispered, wrapped an arm around your shoulder and walked back to the house with you. It was nice from the back too. The wooden minimalist architecture shaped perfectly around the feature windows. You could see the ingredients on the kitchen counter and fought the urge to apologise for leaving him to prepare dinner by himself. Instead, you swore to yourself you’d do the dishes and not take no for an answer.

“I’m gonna just-” you motioned to your face and he understood, going back to the kitchen to turn on the oven.

After splashing some cold water on your face and not thinking too hard about your post-crying puffiness, you went in search of that wine cellar he’d mentioned on the phone. It wasn’t hidden, and you found a bottle of white you know you’d both enjoy, returning to find him at the kitchen island with the kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. You chuckled and set the bottle down.

“Domestic life suits you,” you half-grinned, then pulled two wine glasses from the glass-fronted cabinet.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever have a standard domestic life,” he smiled shyly back. “I’m not sure if I used to want that, or if it’s just what everyone did,” he offered up, popping an olive in his mouth before turning and putting the first pizza in the over. “After everything happened,” he started over his shoulder, then turned back. “I dunno, I guess it seemed… unimportant.”

“How so?”

“Well I’ve got this arm which, you’d be surprised to know, doesn’t exactly make women swoon.”

“Swoon?”

“Give me a break, I was born in 1917,” he held a hand up with a firm glare, then used it to sprinkle cheese on the second pizza. You grinned. “Yeah, you know, I was actually something of a playboy in the forties.”

“Oho, were you now?”

“As much as a guy can be while dragging their twerp of a friend along,” he muttered, and gave you a look. “I was an excellent wingman. Steve just always had his head somewhere else.”

You smiled at the mention of his best friend. “Where else?”

“With the world. With an urge to stand up and fight…” Bucky said. There was something else at the tip of his tongue, so you didn’t prod. Instead, you let him decide if he wanted to say it or not. Then, he did. After he turned and put a chopping board in the sink, he wiped his hands on the towel and slowly came back to face you. “You remind me of him. In a lot of ways. Sam, y’know, he’s Cap now and I don’t doubt him the way I used to. He’s the Captain America the world needs right now.” Bucky half-smiled at some distant fond memory, looking down at the bench. “But I realised a while ago that you don’t have to be Captain America to make a difference.” He looked back up. “The world will always need people like Steve Rogers. People like you.”

“And you.”

“I’m no hero,” Bucky smiled sincerely, a little sadly. “I thought I should keep away from everyone. Buy a little cabin in the woods in, catch up on books and music until I die, that sort of thing, but Steve… he, uh… he asked me to stay. To make sure the new Cap got settled in.”

Braving it, you asked, “Where is he now? Steve.” It was the first time you’d dared to ask a question about Steve Rogers and boy, was it a doozy.

Bucky didn’t seem phased, instead he smiled and slid the pizza on a tray to add to the one in the oven. “Did I ever tell you how they did it? How they brought everyone back?”

You shook your head and reached for the wine bottle, “I only know the official narrative. The same as the rest of the world.”

“You’re not stupid. You know there’s more to it.”

“Everyone does.”

“Well,” Bucky slid his glass over. “One bottle isn’t going to be nearly enough, but settle in,” he nodded with something serious in his eye, but something real and open. You smiled shyly before filling his glass, and then your own.

Say what you want about Bucky Barnes, what he’d done, how his life turned out, his choices now… whether or not you agree with his quasi-reintegration into modern society, there was one thing that wasn’t up for debate:

“Did you know raccoons can talk?”

He had a hell of a way to start a story.

[berrys-hide-out]

Helloooo!!! I came to check out your blog and it looks awesome if I must say‼️‼️

I just wanted to leave a request of Lee! Sam Wilson and ler! Bucky barnes and just some cheer up tickles :D

Hello there Winter! ✨

Haha thank you so much! 🤍

You shall get what you came here for :D cheer up tickles with Lee!sam and ler!bucky is on the list and in the works for ya! 😉

Nice day/evening! I’ll tag you on the fic once it’s out if you don’t mind. Take care until then! ✨