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viperbarnes · 2 years

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Fifty First Dates [1/3]

[40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader]

Summary: Bucky Barnes has found his perfect girl, the only trouble is, she can’t remember who he is. That’s alright though, if he has to wake up everyday and meet her for the ‘first’ time, he absolutely will.

Warnings: memory loss, the reader is named, likely nothing else

Notes: This is a 50 first dates AU, obvs! it’s also a post-war AU. please let me know if you’d like a tag when i upload part one!

Brooklyn, New York – 1948

Bucky Barnes groans in regret and displeasure. The cold air leaking out of his open refrigerator makes him shuffle his feet, the autumn morning already far too crisp for his sock-less toes. With another grumble of forlorn misery, purses his lips and pushes shut the door.

Neatly curled letters stare back at him accusingly from the shopping list his mother had written for him two days ago, somehow having made itself invisible to him until well after it’s use ran overdue.

Bucky scowls at the note, leaning one hand tiredly against his small kitchen bench as he chews on the insides of his cheeks.

Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, Howling Commando and Cap’s best friend. He could take a shot from a mile away and hit his target every time, but god forbid he need to remember the milk.

Or the bread.

Or the eggs.

His stomach growls then, as if rubbing in his current predicament, and Bucky sighs deeply, pushing off of the counter and checking the time on his watch. It was still before six, the schedule ingrained in him by the army well and truly outstaying it’s welcome in his civilian life. It would be one thing if Bucky even had a job to get up and get ready for, but as of right now, he was content living off his saved paychecks, relearning what it was like to be home again.

He ambles through a morning shower, and dresses smartly in a neat day-suit. Job or no-job, people often recognised him now, he couldn’t get around all scruffy-like, like when he’d been a street kid with Steve.

His stomach growls again as he closes and locks his apartment door behind him, placing his hat on his head. For a moment he considers going back inside and calling Steve up, asking if the punk wanted to meet to get breakfast, but he refrains.

A brief few flashes of domestic newlywed life between Steve and Peggy run through his mind, and Bucky decides quickly that he’d rather not disturb them.

The city has woken up some more since he’d first discovered his barren wasteland of a kitchen, and Bucky finds that despite his rather pressing hunger, he quite likes meandering slowly, people-watching and observing. He lived in a new neighbourhood now, only a couple of blocks away from his Ma, really, but he hadn’t grown up around these particular streets, and although they were still Brooklyn, they were new.

Bucky was still getting to know the layout of his new neighbourhood, where the stores were, and how long it took to walk from A to B… He isn’t surprised when he catches sight of a diner he doesn’t know, and hasn’t noticed before, but he’s well and truly starving now, and the joint looks cosy, so he slides inside to the chime of a tinkling bell.

Immediately Bucky feels the air change, the hustle and bustle of the street outside silenced and replaced by the quiet ambience of the restaurant. A radio competes with the sizzle of a stove in the kitchen, the sounds only just loud enough that Bucky can make out the replay of last night’s game, and a chef who paces in and out of view whistling jovially over both.

The diner is quiet, but he’s not surprised for the time, only a few patrons sat at either the bar or in booths along the wall, though they mostly seemed to be school kids catching a before-class meal. Bucky decides to go for the bar, passing several of the already-seated customers, and finding himself a spot for himself towards the back end of the place.

A waitress appears from the kitchens then, her eyes falling on Bucky right away, as though she were so used to the usual sights of her workplace that any deviation stuck out like a sore thumb.

“I’ll be with you in a sec, honey!” she assures him warmly, her accent buttery and definitely not New-Yorken. Southern, maybe, and he refrains from rolling his eyes at the cliche.

Bucky gives her a nod and tight lipped smile, watching for a moment as she passes by him, his eyes lingering on the tray in her hands and the plate of hotcakes that lay upon it. The smell of syrup and sugar makes him blink, and Bucky isn’t sure he can remember the last time he’d had honest to god breakfast food.

Not since the war, and certainly not for many years before it.

He watches as the waitress comes to a stop five or so seats away from him, delivering the plate to its intended customer, a pretty young woman who pauses writing just long enough to smile and thank the other woman before she returns to her book. His gaze lingers on the plump pout of her lips as she blindly brings a forkful of pancake to her mouth, syrup dripping provocatively over the plush skin before she can quickly catch it with her finger.

Bucky swallows and looks away, internally berating his own manners. Three years at war, and suddenly openly staring at a dame was alright? He shakes his head and plucks up the menu laid in front of him, eyes scanning the options.

“Coffee, hon?” The waitress appears back in front of him on the other side of the counter, pot in hand, though she hardly waits for his response before flipping over and filling up the mug in front of him.

“Yes, please,” he replies anyway, gesturing toward her with a nod.

“Cream?”

“No, thank you.”

The waitress smiles almost knowingly at him as she moves to place the coffee pot down, and pulls out a notepad and pencil.

“You don’t look like a cream kinda guy,” she tells him wrly, but before Bucky can process that, she dips her chin at the menu in his hands.

“Can I get you anything this morning?”

Bucky drags his eyes back to the words on the page, his eyes briefly flickering to his left, the smell of the hotcakes still tempting him, and he sighs, putting the menu down.

“The pancakes, please,” he asks, as if it were inevitable.

“Is that all, honey?” the waitress, he can see now her name tag reads ‘Carla’, asks. She doesn’t bother writing it down, simply pockets her pad and pencil.

“Yes ma’am.” He gives her a mock salute, which makes her smile widen just slightly.

“I’ll have Big Sal start workin’ on those right away,” she shakes her head a little as she moves away from him, and Bucky vaguely hears her shout back his order into the kitchen.

For the next half hour, Bucky slowly makes his way through his coffee and meal, flipping through the newspaper a previous customer had left behind. He’s just about to give up on deciphering whatever code the financial pages seemed to be written in and head home, when the students in the booth begin to file out. They call out their goodbye’s to Carla and Big Sal, one of the boys holding the door open for the rest.

As they finally leave, and the door begins falling closed once more, a strong gust of wind sends a chill through the diner like a wave, the bell above the door ringing loudly, followed by a startled gasp.

Bucky doesn’t have time to really see what's happening before several loose pages blow past him, scattering all around the diner before the door swings shut and the pages fall flat. His newspaper is ruffled violently, and he scrambles to contain it.

“Oh my gosh!” he hears a voice exclaim in panic, looking up just in time to spy you jumping up from your stool, frantically collecting up the nearest papers. On pure instinct alone Bucky stands too, carefully peeling pages off of the diner floor, glancing up when he senses you nearing.

“Thank you so much!” you say, rather frazzled upon seeing the papers in his hands.

“Of course,” Bucky smiles, dumbly staring back at you for a few seconds before he snaps out of it, and glances down at the sheets in his hands instead.

However, what he sees makes him blink, confusion colouring his features for a second as he takes in the images sketched all over the top page. Slowly, his eyes find yours again, understanding now why you were no less relaxed, even though your works had been rescued from the wind.

Your face is pained and clearly embarrassed, guilt written into your expression as you stare back at him sheepishly.

“I– I’m sorry! I was just practising and– well, you can only draw salt and pepper shakers so many times before you–!” you cut off your nervous rambling, and Bucky realises he still hasn’t said anything.

“You drew these? Just now?” it’s a dumb question, but it’s the frist thing that comes out of his mouth as he glances between you and the sketches. He would have thought they were photos if not for the pencil lines and smudge marks. Three sketches of him fill the page, all in various poses he must have taken up over the past half-hour. Bucky finds himself genuinely astonished by your ability, and how quickly you’d whipped up such incredibly detailed pieces, seemingly just for fun.

“I, uh… yes… I’m sorry...” you confess, sounding as though were preparing for him to be irritated by your focus on him.

“These are amazing,” he blinks back up at you, jerking when he realises he’s still just holding your things, and thrusts the small stack of pages toward you.

Clearly you didn’t mean to get caught, if your nerves were anything to go by, and he didn’t want to make you feel even more embarrassed.

At his compliments though, your nervousness dissipates completely, and you straighten up, beaming brightly at him as you accept the papers, tucking the lot under your arm.

“Thank you so much!” you gush, before ducking your head slightly again.

“But, I am real sorry about the spying… normally I’d ask folks first, but you looked very invested…” you explain, gesturing to the newspaper he’d left crumpled on the bar.

Bucky barely even glances back at it, already shaking his head as a smile curls his lips.

“If only all spying involved getting drawn by pretty girls,” it had been a hot minute since Bucky Barnes had flirted with a woman earnestly, innocently. Certainly not since the war, anyway. Since coming home Bucky had felt little like the man he’d been before, and had steered clear of dancing and dating in general, except for a few instances during the first year he’d been home, when he’d spent evenings propping up one end of a local bar, a quiet venue full of fellow veterans, where he’d met a few women who, just like him, hadn’t wanted to go home alone and be left with their thoughts.

None of those times had made him feel even a little bit like the skirt-chasing who’d been making every girl in Brooklyn swoon since he was sixteen.

Bucky’s heart speeds up in his chest.

What if that wasn’t the right thing to say? What if you thought he was strange? You really were lovely, and it wasn’t exactly as though he were looking for dates right now, but standing directly in front of you, Bucky felt a lot like this were life or death.

“It’s probably a lot more boring though,” you say slowly, your own smile growing shyly, like you were proud of your answer, and Bucky feels a shred of his self-doubt peel away. Your eyes flickered between his and the floor, a girlishness taking the place of any previous anxiety.

“I dunno, this comes with breakfast,” he shrugs, feeling his own trill of pride when you laugh, full and genuine, head ducking lower as you shake your head. He becomes aware suddenly, that you’re both standing awkwardly in front of the bar, away from your seats.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers, gesturing with his hand back to your seat, and somehow in the same movement, smoothly sweeping his own coffee several places up the bar so he’s able to seat closer to you. He leaves a stool between you, for propriety's sake, but even as you take your seat once more, tucking hair behind your ear, you turn in to face him.

“Effie,” you tell him. Bucky can’t help himself, he repeats it outloud, probably looking like a fool in the process, but he doesn’t care.

You talk with each other all morning, as if you’d known each other your whole life. He discovers you’re art teacher at the nearby community centre, that on every day off you’d come and have your breakfast at the diner, and that you lived with your father a few blocks away. Bucky is delighted to find you don’t recognise him, nor were you very familiar with his celebrity, and he tells you stories from the war, pride swelling his chest every time he makes you laugh.

Carla interrupts every often to ask about the status of your coffees, and Bucky isn’t enamoured so much that he misses the slight stink eye and coldness the waitress greets him with now, but he understands that you were a regular. Carla most definitely held a fondness for you, and this was his first ever time visiting the diner. He can’t blame the older woman for feeling protective, especially when you seemed to have an air of naivete.

Almost two hours pass before you catch sight of your watch, balking momentarily.

“Oh! The time!” you gasp, hurrying to gather your sketchpad and pencils. Bucky stands quickly as you do, pulls out your stool slightly, though you hardly seem to notice, too flustered now with packing up your things.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go before the markets close!” you explain, stuffing your things into a large folder that you tuck under your arm, before rifling around for your purse. Bucky quickly holds out his hand to still you, shaking his head with a small smile.

“Please, let me,” he pulls his wallet from inside his coat pocket and tucks a twenty into the handle of his coffee cup, just as Carla approaches quietly to collect the plates.

“Keep the change,” He winks in a friendly manner, but only receives a tight smile in response. It doesn’t sway him though. Not after the morning he’s had.

You call out your goodbye’s to your friends at the restaurant, and even Big Sal pokes his head out of the kitchen to wave to you. Bucky holds the door as you shrug into your coat, tuttering worriedly under your breath as you spill out onto the street at last.

“Thank you, for breakfast and for your company, Bucky,” you slow for a moment to face him and smile sweetly at him. Bucky is forced to clear his throat and blink several times, distracting himself by placing his hat on his head as he attempts to stifle the sudden rapid beating of his heart.

“Of course. Anytime you want it,” he refrains from calling you ‘sweetheart’ or ‘dollface’, not wanting to seem opportunistic.

He really had enjoyed talking to you.

“Any time?” you question sheepishly, cocking your head.

“You wouldn’t happen to be free again tomorrow morning for breakfast?”

Bucky’s heart does somersaults in his chest, and he rushes to nod and stammer out a response at the same time.

“Yes. definitely,” he confirms, still nodding, which makes you giggle.

“Same spot, same time?”

“Absolutely,” he’s still nodding, and you’re still giggling. He feels like he’s sixteen all over again.

“Okay, well… I’ll see you tomorrow, Bucky,” you reluctantly step back from him, beginning to walk away, but before you do, you turn and give him one last smile and wave, sending his heart spinning all over again.

It must take him several minutes to get a hold of his breathing again after you leave, and you’re long gone by the time he shakes his head and straightens up. He catches a glance inside the diner of Carla watching him sternly, and he can only shoot her one final friendly smile.

In time she’d realise there was nothing to worry about with him. Especially since Big Sal’s was his new favourite breakfast place.

---

As usual Bucky is up before the sun, but today is different.

He spends extra time in front of his mirror, taking his time shaving, making sure not to cut himself, he even bothers to style his hair for the first time in a long time, fussing over his parting and the volume. He doesn’t put on his best suit exactly, he didn’t want to look overly formal, but he does wear one of his nicest day suits, the pinstriped navy blue one that brought out his eyes.

It’s strange to Bucky, who’d been on probably a hundred dates in his life, that today fls so important, but somehow, he just does.

He had the same sort of feeling in his stomach that he’d had the day Steve and the rest of the 107th had marched back into camp back in ‘44. Bucky had watched Steve, now four times his previous size and jumped up on super soldier serum, and he’d known deep down in his soul that everything was about to change.

As Bucky prepares to enter Big Sal’s now, he feels the exact same way.

He takes a deep, calming breath and smooths his hands over the front of his suit. It wasn’t a bad feeling by any means, just significant. He pulls open the door and welcomes the tinkling bell overhead, but all of his senses are completely focused on searching for you.

He’d arrived earlier than agreed, hoping to beat you there, but he knew there was a chance he might lose. Still, when he spots you at the counter, sat on your stool, he doesn’t expect to be met with quite so-a-familiar sight.

For Bucky, today had felt monumentous, and yet, it seems for you to be a day like any other, perhaps. You weren’t looking out for him, or waiting, or even paying attention to your surroundings at all. In fact, you already had your plate of pancakes in front of you, your eyes trained on your sketchpad, one hand absently hovering over the fork beside you.

Bucky’s heart jumps and his stomach sinks, and he checks the time on his watch, a sick feeling building in his belly. Had he gotten the time wrong? Had you been waiting for him for who knows how long and had gotten tired?

Some of the confidence is knocked from his step, but he calms himself once again and squares his shoulders.

Yesterday you’d both already eaten by the time you’d gotten talking, maybe when you’d asked him for breakfast you’d just meant the same thing!

Bucky takes careful, slow strides towards you, waiting for you to maybe look up and notice him, but you don’t. Carla hovers at the far end of the bar, refilling some salt and pepper shakers, and he can’t even find comfort in her disapproving stare.

“Effie?” he keeps his voice from wavering as he finally comes within talking distance of you, ducking his head low as if to check if it were really you. Surprisingly when you look up at him it’s with a slightly startled gaze, and you blink rapidly as though you’re shocked to see him standing there.

“I’m sorry, sir, do I know you…?” your voice is hesitant and unsure, and Bucky can’t help the visible confusion that spreads across his features at your own unfamiliarity.

“I… yes, it’s Bucky… from yesterday…” Bucky swallows anxiously as your eyes search his face, puzzled.

“Yesterday? I’m sorry, I think you may have the wrong person…” you try to explain, pulling back from him slightly, and yet you speak with such conviction that if Bucky hadn’t been there, didn’t have the memories so clear in his mind, he would have believed you.

“Effie, I’m confused, we met yesterday morning here at breakfast, and you asked me to meet you again today,” Bucky tries to keep his head, tries to make calm, logical sense of the situation, despite his rising heartbeat and his quickling panicking mind. You shake your head again, and reel back even further from him, turning your body away as you frown deeply.

“That wasn’t me. Yesterday morning I was at work. I didn’t come for breakfast, I only do that--”

“--On your days off,” Bucky finishes your sentence, and you shut your mouth tight, staring at him in alarm.

He’s relieved when he sees Carla suddenly spot him, her eyes widening as they flicker between you and Bucky. Suddenly she’s darting around the counter, all but running toward the two of you.

You look back at the older woman, panic written across your features, even as she passes you by and grabs Bucky by the arm.

“Carla?!” Your voice wavers and your stool screeches on the floor as you hurriedly stand.

“Sal! Call Tom!” Carla calls over her shoulder to the man who had suddenly appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Bucky opens his mouth to ask just what the hell was going on, but Carla’s grip on his arm tightens, and she drags him away from you.

It’s not until the waitress has pushed him outside that Bucky snaps out of his shock, and he tugs his arm out of the shorter woman’s hold, and spins to face her.

“What the hell? What the hell is going on?” He tries to keep his voice low still, but gestures through the diner window where he can now see Big Sal escorting you into the kitchen, his arm comfortingly slung around your shoulders. His frustration falters when he gets a last glance at your face, genuine fear and panic etched into your features.

Carla looks flustered and she lets out a heavy sigh, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Look, you seem like a nice enough fella and all, but Effie’s not like other gals,” She tells him. Bucky shakes his head in confusion.

“What? What does that mean?” he implores, and Carla sighs again, before cursing under her breath.

“She was in an accident!” Carla relents at last, digging into the front of her apron and fishing out a pack of cigarettes and matches, quickly lighting up. Bucky straightens, blinking as he processes the information.

“Two years ago, after she came by for breakfast, she was hit by a car on her way to the morning markets. Must have hit her head or something’, they don’t know, but now she can’t make any new memories,” Carla reveals after letting out a puff of smoke.

Bucky’s mind reels.

“She wakes up every day, believing it's the twenty-fourth of June, 1946,”

“Wha– but– she’s an art teacher! She was telling me all about–”

“–She used to be an art teacher. The twenty-fourth was her day off, so she never actually has to take her class. She hasn’t taught since the accident,” Carla cuts him off, sounding solemn. Bucky can only continue to stare at her, and after a moment, she digs out her cigarettes and offers them to him. With little thought, Bucky takes one, and lights up for himself.

“How does she never figure it out? I mean, she has to realise, right?” he asks after he’s finally gotten a hold of himself again. Carla switches from foot to foot and taps off her cig.

“Her Father doesn’t like to upset her, so he plays along every day. She comes out for breakfast, wanders the morning markets for a while before she stops by the bakery and butchers on her way home. They all know about her condition and do their best to play along as well,” the waitress tells him, but Bucky just shakes his head again.

“But what about the things you can’t control? What about today?” his voice is soft enough that his words don’t sound accusatory, but Carla still frowns at him.

“She has her bad days, of course! She’ll be upset and confused but her father will explain everything to her. Then tonight she’ll go to sleep and in the morning she won’t remember a thing.”

Bucky stays quiet for a while, thinking everything over, chewing on his lip. Next to him, Carla puts out her cigarette under her shoe before turning to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Like I said, you seem like a decent fella, Bucky, but Effie’s not the girl for you,” she gives his arm a squeeze, before letting her hand drop. Bucky looks up at her mournful expression, and he gets the feeling that she really was sympathetic to his situation.

“I think it’d be for the best if you don’t come back here again, alright?”

—

“Wait, so… she wakes up everyday and does the same thing? Again and again?” Steve holds out his hand as he interrupts Bucky’s story, a deep frown knotting his brows together. Bucky sighs deeply, but nods as he takes a hefty swig from his beer.

The two men were currently standing surrounded by tools and various pieces of wood that apparently amounted to a baby’s crib, though so far they’d only managed to build half of it, before realising it was all wrong, and had to start again.

“I guess she had a plan for her morning, which makes things easier, I guess…” Bucky mumbles, sighing again.

“I dunno, I just can’t stop thinking about it,” he continues after a pause, pressing his finger to his temple.

“I mean, say it were me, and I had a bad day where you had to sit me down and explain how for the past two years, you’d play along every day, letting me do the same things and going nowhere,”

Steve looks up at him as he speaks, frowning again.

“I’d be angry that you, and everyone else, were keeping the truth from me. I’d be pissed off that you were all just lying to me,” Bucky shakes his head, and gestures widely with his free hand.

“Yeah, it isn’t the route I would take either,” Steve hums, folding his arms over his chest.

“But, Buck, it’s not your responsibility, and the waitress is probably right; maybe you should stay outta her way from now on…” the blond suggests, catching his friend’s eye, before both men take a sip of their drinks.

Bucky shifts in his place, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thinks everything over for the hundredth time since yesterday morning.

“If I could find a way to… to fit into her routine, is that wrong? I mean– I could talk to her Father about it all, I could–”

Steve cuts him off again.

“Buck, think about this. Everyday she’d have no idea who you are, and you’d start from scratch. For what? To what end, exactly? There’s no future there, Bucky.”

Bucky glares at his own hands. He shouldn’t be worrying about all of this still, he should have found it easy to forget all about the girl from the diner, as easily as she would forget him

But he can’t. He doesn’t want to.

“You know that I’ve struggled since coming home, Steve, but yesterday morning when I woke up thinking I was going to get to see her again… It was the first time in a long time it felt like I had something to live for,” Bucky tries not to let his voice shake when he speaks, and fixes his lifelong friend with the most serious expression he can muster. Steve shifts, uncrossing his arms and looking out the window for a second, before meeting his eye again.

“I– she made me feel like maybe I did survive for a reason… I don’t care if everyday I have to start again, I… I think she’s worth it, Steve,”

A hand lands on his shoulder, much like the previous day with Carla, but this time, Steve uses his hold on him to pull him in closer, embracing Bucky tightly.

“Just be careful, Buck. If things don’t work out, that doesn’t mean you didn’t still come home for a reason, alright? Make sure you do this for the right reasons,” Steve tells him gently. Bucky nods against his friend’s arm, and when Steve pulls away again, he keeps a hold on Bucky’s shoulders for a moment longer, before clearing his throat and stepping back. Scratching the back of his head as he focuses now on the mess of parts all around them, Steve hums nervously.

“Come on, we told Peg we’d have this done before she gets home,” Steve squares his shoulders and rolls his neck. Bucky also takes a look at the parts around them and shakes his head.

“I say we call in the Commandos for backup. There’s no way you and I are getting this done on our own.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you #bucky barnes/yn #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x ofc

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shellheadtm-a · 4 years

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@shieldslinger said ➔ wraps bodily around tony. arms, legs, he's holding on tight. no illuminati can happen if he never lets go

“Steve-” Not that he’s against a good cuddle, because he’s really not. It’s just that usually in this situation he’s the cuddle python and is not the one having the life squeezed out of him because it bears mentioning that while there’s only an inch or so in height difference, Steve is very big, and he is very strong, and Tony suddenly feels like a twig about to be snapped. In, you know, a good way.

Assuming being snapped like a twig can ever be in a good way.

It’s like being held against a solid brick wall, honestly. And he could wriggle, sure, try to get free, but it’s not like he doesn’t know that’s basically a fruitless endeavour. So he’s silent a moment, still, letting Steve take his cuddle, before he says, “I have to pee.”

#shieldslinger #protocol //: ( ic asks )#paradigm //: ( main )#bind //: ( shieldslinger :: there's that one you circle back to - for home )#// he is confusion #// also needs to tinkle please let him go steve #// he's not going to magically rejoin the illuminati from the bathroom #// i do not have an icon for this amazing

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quietmyfearswith · 4 years

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slipping into little space ; preferences

warnings — fluff?? mentions of nudity. hints a t sexy times

characters — andy barber, steve rogers, bucky barnes, lance tucker, syverson, august walker

a/n — THIS IS A DDLG FIC,, was inspired by this ask! to the anon who requested for it i hope you like it and tell me what you think!

their love language | with their little | when you’re insecure

masterlist

Though the Thanksgiving dinner she was preparing was only for her and Andy, Y/N couldn’t help but stress and fret over almost every single thing; she wanted their first celebration of the said holiday to be perfect. Hence why she has been cooped up in the kitchen for almost the whole day, even though the dinner was still tomorrow. She baked a cheesecake and it was now cooling up in the fridge, the vegetable she decided to cut today so come tomorrow all she had to do was cook them, and now as she was marinating the turkey she found herself getting whiny and irritable. Andy entered their home quietly and observed his girl for a little while; her constant texts provided him updates about how hard she was working to perfect their meal tomorrow. And by the looks of it she had been working too much that her entire system was already begging for a break. “You okay in there, baby?” Hearing his voice caused Y/N to look up at him, her eyes glossy and her mouth curled up in a semi-convincing smile. Hanging his jacket by the coat hanger, he also dropped his briefcase by the door and sat on the couch.

“Come on over here, baby,” He called for her and patted his lap. Y/N opened her mouth and was about to say no, but a stern look from Andy had her not continuing with that plan and instead she just removed her apron, leaving it on the counter, and plopping herself down on his lap. With her chest pressed against his, the lawyer then rubbed her back comfortingly, “I know you had a busy day; haven’t you, baby?” Hearing her mumble yes against his clothes, the man could only chuckle as he further coaxed her, “You can rest now, baby. You can stop being a big girl now; you can be my little missy again.” As if his words flipped a switch, she did find herself ridding of any remaining thoughts about their dinner and instead complied with his request — which was more like a demand. Peering up at him, her eyes were now wide but weren’t glossy, “Hi dada, I missed you.” Pleased with how his girl decided to let loose, Andy planted a deep kiss on her lips and after doing so he peppered kisses all over her face, “I missed you too, little missy. Now how ‘bout we both go take a bubble bath?”

One of August’s hobbies involved him fixing up his bike or adding whatever gadget he felt would look good on his bike. And since he was given a few weeks off, he took the time to get his hands oily and tinkle with his bike — but really the only reason why he was busying himself with the said vehicle was because his lovely girlfriend was busy with her own workload. Wiping his sweat with the shirt he had earlier discarded, August glanced at the clock and saw how it was already nearing the time they usually ate supper. Once entering the inside of their home, he headed straight for the office and was surprised to hear muffled cries coming from the room. Years of doing field work had allowed him to slip in easily without Y/N hearing him; he then listened closely to see if she had been talking to someone that made her cry, but after failing to hear her or someone else make a sound besides her sniffles, it was then that the CIA agent decided to intervene, “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

Her shoulders rose up and down in shock from her boyfriend’s sudden presence — by now she should have been used to his stealthily ways, but her crying lowered down her guard. She weakly pointed to her desk where pens, highlighters, papers, folders, and her laptop were scattered, “Work just got to me; it’s silly.” August, however, didn’t think of it that way and instead was worried his girl might have been overworking herself. Walking towards her, he grabbed both her hands so she could stand, “You’ve been such a good girl huh? Doing her work and working hard,” Part of Y/N was glowing from the praise and reveling in it; while the other part of her was going to complain to him how she still had more work to do. But just as she was going to do so, August lifted her chin so he could look at her, “How bout we eat dinner, hm? What would you like, little one? Some dino nuggies?” At the mention of her favorite food, she nodded her head up and down as she squealed, “Yes, daddy, I want some dino nuggies for supper!” Smiling he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leading her away from her cause of stress and into the kitchen, “Alright then, some dino nuggies for my little one only because she’s been such a good girl; perhaps a sippy cup as well and some ice cream sandwiches for desert.”

Bucky remembered how he needed some more hair ties for his long hair; Sam somehow thought it was a bright idea to involve his hair ties for one of his pranks wars with Scott. As he and Y/N were on the hair product aisle, he ordered her to stay put by the cart as he quickly grabbed what he was looking for. Though she wasn’t permitted to walk around, her eyes did the wandering and once she had set her sight on a My Little Pony shampoo. She was able to hold herself back from physically cooing at it; Bucky placed some of the hair tie packets on the cart and noticed how his girlfriend’s eyes were trained onto something. “You want that, sweetheart?” Shocked with how casually he offered it to her, she found herself nodding with excitement. Chuckling, the super soldier grabbed a few bottles into their cart and told her how they should get going to pay and go home already.

As they both had paid already for their grocery items and were now driving to their home. “Thank you for buying me that shampoo.” Bucky nodded as he began driving, placing a hand on her thigh, “You can let loose now, sweetie. We’re going home now,” And with that Y/N found herself playing with his hand, a telltale that she was beginning to let herself become little again. “I love you, tătic, I can’t wait for our bath time later.” As they were stopped by a relight, Bucky reached over and planted a kiss on her forehead, “Me too, sweetie; but don’t forget about our playtime alright?”

When Y/N found out that Steve volunteered to be the overall head for the Avengers’ Thanksgiving outreach program, she decided to help along and shoulder half of the responsibilities that had been put on the hero’s shoulder. Which led them to the current situation they were in — they both were sorting out the food that had been cooked by the other team members and agents. “Okay, turkey, veggies, pasta,” Y/N listed out as she put the food in the bag and laid out in front of Steve so that he could place a greeting card on the basket before wrapping it up. “This makes it the 100th basket we did,” Steve took note as he was preparing the next card.

The next few minutes were filled with hums from the two as a song played on the background while continuing on with their duties. Perhaps it was how repetitive the task got or tired Y/N was in overlooking the whole program, she was too far absent in her mind that she dropped some of the potatoes and made quite a mess. Looking over to Steve, she quickly apologized, “I’m sorry, Steve! I didn’t mean to drop it, I just got tired and was distracted.” Quickly putting down the cards he was holding, he made his way to over where she was and hugged her tight, “I know it was an accident, doll,” He felt his sweater dampen slightly with her tears, he didn’t want her to stop her crying but instead just let her cry out her frustrations. “I might have pushed you to work too much, doll.” She lifted her head up from where it rested on his chest and looked up at him, “You didn’t sir; I just wanted to help you.” Wiping the remainder of her tears, he was quick to counter, “And you were a big help, doll. But it’s time we both took a quick nap before continuing our work, okay? You’ve been such a good doll for me.”

Following Sy’s retirement from the army, he and Y/N decided to accomplish step one of their settling down plan and go buy a house. The move from their apartment to the detached bungalow they purchased had been a big one; but one they absolutely loved and looked forward to. Their new home had been filled with boxes — some were the things they brought from their old residence, while the others were newly purchased furnitures and appliances. “Hey Y/N are our clothes upstairs or in here?” Sy wondered after he walked through the first floor and didn’t catch a glimpse of the bag that contained their clothes. “Shit, hold on I’ll check,” She mumbled to herself and looked at the small notebook she had which contained the information about their move. Upon realizing that the mentioned bag would arrive tomorrow afternoon due to a mix up with the moving company, she could only groan out loud, “God, I’m such an idiot!”

Sy heard her from where she was currently sitting on the floor and pulling her hair out from the pantry, “What’s going on, baby girl?” There was an intention as to why the former Captain had dropped that pet name on her; he was already sensing how the whole move had overwhelmed Y/N and that she was reaching her limit of handling it. It was his way of allowing her to destress and engage in her comfort zone. “I’m sorry Captain, there was a mix up and the bag that had our clothes will be brought here tomorrow. The bags that are in the room are the linens for the bed,” She sobbed out and feared that he’d punish her for stupidity. But that wasn’t what was on the veteran’s mind as he crouched down in his knees and held his girl tight, “It’s okay baby girl, today was real stressful for the both of us,” Feeling her nod against him, he tried his best to reassure her that the day’s gone and it was time to rest, “Don’t worry about the clothes okay? At least they’ll be arriving tomorrow.” Kissing the top of her head, Y/N then asked softly, “What do we do now then?” Lifting her chin with a finger he smirked at her, “Well we can go put some linen and blankets in the bed; then we get to cuddle and sleep naked. How’s that sound, baby?”

When Lance brought up that he wanted to give little tokens of appreciation to his gymnasts for Thanksgiving, Y/N brought up that there were a lot of cute items that his students would love. They both were spending their afternoon on the couch; Lance was watching old performance videos of the gymnasts he was training as well as those of the competitors they were up against. While his girlfriend laid her head on his shoulder, scrolling through Etsy and bookmarking some gifts that stood out to her. There were also a few items that she saved that were things she liked — a stuffie, blanket, sippy cups or some pajamas. As she let out a whine about how cute the items were, the gymnastics coach paused the video he was watching and looked to his side, “What’s that all about?”

Pushing her phone to his sight, Y/N pouted, “I was looking at some gift ideas for your students but somehow I ended up looking at these little space items.” The man beside her chuckled as he took the phone and looked at some of the products she saved, “My angel wants some gifts too, huh?” Bashfully nodding her head, Y/N whispered, “Yes, papa, I do want some.” Swiping through some of the ideas she found he then declared, “And gifts you shall receive, since you’ve been a great help to me all the time, angel.” Y/N then shot up from where she was sitting and litter kisses on Lance’s face, repeatedly thanking him for generosity.

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themaskedwriter · 5 years

Text

Cutting it Close

Clues: I like to ‘do things’ ‘in the wild’, like surround myself with rainbow people! If I’m not writing I’m hosting yet another session of Dungeons and Dragons or taking care of My Drunk Roommate.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Platonic! Tony Stark x Reader, Platonic! Sam Wilson x Reader, Platonic! Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 6k Warnings: Fluff all the way through

Summary: When you moved out to New York to escape a relationship and humdrum life, you had planned on getting a job working at a salon or barber shop. What you hadn’t planned on was getting a job at a barber shop at the foot of Avengers Tower and becoming the go-to for most of the team. You also hadn’t expected to catch the attention of Captain America’s baby blue eyes.

It was hard proving yourself as anything in New York City, the sprawling metropolis acting as the East Coast’s version of Los Angeles. Actors working as waitresses during the night so they could audition at Broadway and smaller theatre companies during the day, fashion designers swamping Mood fabrics with a raw hope of running into Tim Gunn and a camera crew; script writers, models, business start ups, writers, everyone swarmed this city. That didn’t even count the people who had grown up in this bustling nonsense and didn’t have the common sense to leave.

“I just don’t know how anyone can even afford to live in Brooklyn,” I lamented to my client as I raked a comb through the top of his hair.

The pompadour was back in style, high and tight shave on the sides with long sweeping locks on top held in place with way too much pomade. The only problem was guys these days didn’t want to have to put too much effort into styling their hair like they did back in the forties and fifties, hyper masculinity creeping in from the sixties and seventies when all the men wore their hair short and sensible following Korea and Vietnam.

“Unless you grew up there and have rent lock, you don’t,” the man laughed flipping a page of the newspaper he was reading.

Getting a job even working as a barber had been hard, most stylist and barbers out here got their license and job through apprenticing under an established owner and then received their job security that way. But I had to get as far away from my asshole ex as possible and there was no easier place to get lost than in a city that already had far too many people. I had gone into a lot of salons before finally a barber who was getting up there in age and low on staff decided to take a risk on a girl from some backwoods state.

“So where did you find to stay?” He asked in the sense that he didn’t care, he had just run out of small talk as I drug the straight razor along his nape to sharpen his outline.

“Small place in Greenwich Village. It seems like a good neighborhood so far,” I responded cheerily. I didn’t mention how every appliance I had didn’t seem to work, including my radiator which was starting to be more of a concern as the temperatures dropped. He didn’t want to hear my problems and I didn’t want him to think I was fishing for a larger tip. “All set, Mr. Conroy.”

I moved the mirror around behind him so he could look at the large one in front of him and see the back of his head to affirm that the neckline looked good and his cowlick was manageable. Paying his forty dollars for his cut and leaving me a five, I still managed to sell him a puck of the pomade I used before wishing him a good rest of his day and turning to clean up my station.

It was just me today, the rest of the boys who worked here had stayed out late for the Superbowl celebrations, rooting against Tom Brady and then having to drink their disappointment away had taken a lot out of them. I didn’t look up as the bell above the door tinkled, focusing instead on trying to sweep all the hair shavings into the bin.

“Hi there, just a moment please!” I called out over my shoulder as I rushed to toss the dirty towels in the hamper and grab some clean ones.

“Take your time, ma’am,” came the polite response, something that was a rarity in the sprawling metropolis.

Finally turning I stopped dead in my tracks as I stared up at a shaggy, but beautiful Captain America. I was not prepared for this, people in New York saw The Avengers out and about all the time. Getting coffee, coming in and out of the tower down the street for meetings, grabbing lunch. I, however, was not prepared in the slightest. I assumed they had their own people for their personal upkeep.

“Do you have any openings for a shave and a cut?” the Captain asked hesitantly after I gawked at him for probably an inappropriate amount of time.

“Uh, yes! Yes, sir! Come on back with me,” I ushered to my barber chair and underneath the thick tawny beard I could detect a hint of a rosy flush.

“Steve is just fine, ma’am.” He insisted and I managed to flash a smile.

“Well, Y/N is just fine for me.”

Steve settled in and I flared a cape around his broad shoulders and clasped it behind his neck. I ran my finger between the neck of the cape and his skin, like standard and ignored the shiver that passed down his spine.

“Is this too tight?” I asked habitually and he shook his head.

“No,” he answered softly as I ran my fingers through his long golden locks, pulling them horizontally from the ridge of his head so I could get an accurate idea of how long it was.

“What are we thinking today, Steve?”

“Well, um, I have to do press related stuff again so I need to get rid of all of it. Tony gave me an electric razor, but it got caught,” Steve lifted his chin to show where underneath there was a patch of what started as a clean shear to then looking a little mangled.

I giggled and nodded trying not to freak out that Captain freaking America was talking to me so flippantly about who could only be Tony Stark. “Well, at least you started underneath. Do you style your hair at all when it’s short?” Grabbing my clippers I slip a half inch guard on it and start running it up the back of his head, tossing the shaved parts off to the side.

“Sometimes I’ll use a little grease to spike the front. Sam says it’ll help with ‘the ladies’, Buck says it stops me from twitching it out of my eyes all the time like I did as a kid when we couldn’t afford to cut it.”

It’s strange, the raw brutal honesty that people speak to their hairdressers with. It’s something I’ve long become accustom too. Women have said they’ve had easier times leaving their husband than their hairdresser, but the men are the most loyal. They’re in every four weeks like clockwork and I selfishly hoped that Steve wouldn’t be any different.

A comfortable silence fell over us as I worked, blending his sides into his top as my shears snipped inches of rough and damaged ends off onto the linoleum floor. When I finished with his haircut I held up my hand mirror behind him like I always do.

“How’s this feel?” I ask and his runs his large hands through his hair.

“Wow, it looks exactly like I used to have it cut back in the day,” Steve admired, now looking more hipster than hobo since I hadn’t gotten around to his scruffy beard.

“Well, I cheated and used a reference picture,” I snickered and pointed to the far wall where Steve, Tony, Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Bruce all stood for a photo op after saving New York from hordes of aliens.

“Oh, god, I forget how many places around here have that dumb article hanging on their walls,” Steve grumbled, sobering instantly.

I bit my lip and mixed up the shaving cream. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not from New York so I don’t think you’re all that impressive.” It was supposed to come across as teasing, but my tone fell flat and I instantly flushed hoping that I didn’t insult him.

Steve blinked his impossibly blue eyes at me a few times before breaking out into one of the most genuine, gut shaking, laughs I’ve ever heard. His right hand reached up to clutch at his heart, or grab his boob, I wasn’t really sure, and he doubled over in his seat. When he finally got control of himself he had to wipe a tear from his eye and he looked up at me with sparkling eyes and a wide smile.

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear that,” he wheezed and settled himself back into the chair so I could spread the shaving cream on his cheeks and chin.

I laughed softly and sucked my lips in, showing him to mimic, and when he did I spread the cream over his upper lip. Clipping the sharpening leather around my hip, I pulled out a worn leather pouch and flipped it open, the silver straight razors gleaming in the sunlight. Pulling one out I flipped it open, palming the ivory handle tightly as I drug the steel across his cheeks, scraping and sloughing off the coarse hair.

“I haven’t had this done since before the war,” Steve muttered carefully.

“Which one?” I asked, trying not to get overwhelmed by the spice of his cologne that was now assaulting me since I was so close.

“Oh, you know, just the big one,” he responded cheekily, letting me tilt his jaw up so I could carve around the sharp bone and down his throat.

“You’re awful trusting for someone who’s been in so many that they have big ones and little ones.”

“Yeah, well, if you see everyone as an enemy you wouldn’t get to meet pretty girls who told you weren’t all that impressive.”

I feel my cheeks burn and I can’t help the goofy smile on my face as I move to his chin, biting down on my bottom lip to get him to protrude the little baby beard under his plump bottom lip.

“Doc usually kicks out guys who try to woo me, you know,” I warn, the teasing tone of my voice working this time.

Steve tries to restrain the smile that wants to take over his face and crinkle the space I was shaving. “I’ll have to keep it to myself then when he’s around.”

By the time I finished shaving Steve and wiping the cream off his face with a warm towel he looked twenty years younger. Steve rubbed his large hand over his jaw as I removed the cape from around his neck.

“I feel like I lost ten pounds,” he joked and I looked down at the floor with all the hair at my feet.

“I could probably make a small dog out of that,” I joked back and immediately swept it into a dust bin. “I’m not going to come get mobbed for Captain America’s hair clippings, am I?”

Steve winced and pulled out his wallet. “God, I hope not.” He laughed and handed me a hundred dollar bill.

“I’ll get your change,” I commented and went over to the till.

“No, it’s all yours. You earned it,” Steve insisted.

“Steve, that’s like forty dollars for a tip,” I said in shock still holding out the bill.

“Thanks again, Y/N!” he beamed and threw on his jacket before backing out of the shop with a wave before I could make him take his money back.

It had been a few days since Steve had been in, the boys didn’t believe me at first so Doc had pulled up the security camera footage. They all bitched and moaned about how they missed speaking to Captain America and shaking his hand and bro-ing over whatever bros broed about before Doc erased the footage.

“Don’t trust them paparazzi sort. If the Captain wants to use us as his shop, we keep it to ourselves,” the old marine barked, causing the shop boys to quiet down and nod in agreement.

The day had been typical, a few fades, a shave or two, and the business man who came in once a week to see me for barely a trim just so he could have a girl wash his hair. He was lonely, but nice, and tipped well so I kept taking him.

Just as Doc was sending me home the door opened with it’s pleasant chime and the whole shop went quiet. I turned to look over my shoulder to see Tony Stark standing there, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt under his suit jacket and examining the humble little corner shop.

“Mister Stark,” Doc greeted walking forward to shake the man’s hand. “What a pleasure. How can I help you today?”

“I am actually looking for Y/N. Our resident star spangled man couldn’t stop talking about what a great job she did after my electric razor apparently nearly zapped his face off. Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about,” Tony explained looking passed the old owner and spotting me by my station.

“I can take you now if you’d like, Mister Stark,” I offered, slipping my jacket back off and hanging it on the hook, trying not to show how nervous I was.

I wasn’t nervous because it was Iron Man, Iron Man always had a mask on. Tony Stark, however, was on the front cover of most magazines, and headlining the evening news, and a prominent figure in the community. Tony Stark’s haircut and face were seen at least twenty times a day by very influential people and that was a very terrifying thought.

“Tony is fine, please,” he assured as he settled himself into my cracked leather chair after also handing me his own suit jacket which I hung up next to my own.

Flourishing the cape over him I performed the same routine; snap the cape, run my finger along the inside, ask if it’s too tight. Tony assured that the cape was fine and my fingers immediately went into his graying hair along his parietal ridge, pulling softly and feeling for texture and thickness.

“So you’re testing me, then?” I asked, hoping to come across nonchalant. “What’s your goal?”

“Oh, you know, just make me even more handsome if possible,” he responded, crossing his left leg over his right.

“Uncross your legs,” I demand immediately, lightly smacking his shoulder with my comb.

He startled slightly but uncrossed them hurriedly, Doc made a disapproving clucking noise from the register where he was watching his newest hire. I cast him a small look of irritation before focusing back at Tony in my mirror.

“Do you get your sides cut with clippers or shears?”

“You’re the professional,” Tony quipped with a bemused expression.

I chuckle softly and pick up my spray bottle, spritzing him down thoroughly before picking up a barber comb and my cutting shears.

“So, Tony, I’m sure you have someone you pay way more than us to make sure you’re coiffed all pretty. Steve couldn’t have talked me up all that much,” I teased as I started cutting.

“Hasn’t stopped talking you up, more like. I swear, he checks his hair every time he walks by a mirror to see if it’s grown enough yet.”

I paused and my eyes flicked to Tony’s in the mirror. “Was it too short?” I asked nervously.

Tony rolled his brown eyes. “No, he’s too anxious to come back.”

Feeling a different sort of nervousness creep into my stomach I went back to what I was doing. Making my way around the sides of his head I went to the top and then grabbed my thinning shears to blend the line.

“I’m not going to get a phone call from an angry, overpaid stylist, am I?” I joke as I move to mix up the shaving cream in a bowl.

Tony quirked an eyebrow at me as I snapped the leather to my hip and swiped my straight razor up and down the length.

“What makes you think my stylist is overpaid?” he asked curiously with a hint of challenge.

I laughed and swiped cream around his cheeks and down his chin. “All celebrity stylists are overpaid. It’s the hairdresser’s dream.”

“Including yours?”

“I dunno, it’s a lot of pressure doing celebrities.”

“Well, don’t worry, no pressure from my end,” Tony assured.

I shrug one shoulder lackadaisically. “I know, you’re not all that famous.”

“Yeah,” he drew the word out slowly. “Pepper likes to tell me that all the time too.”

The soft scrape of blade sloughing hair from his face was one of the most relaxing sounds in the world. Using the corner tip to make the hard corners of his signature goatee, the tips of my fingers resting lightly under his chin to lift it to the height I needed to not cut him.

“Get this close with all your clients?” he teased and I frowned, quickly pulling my hand away.

“I need you to not talk for like, five minutes, unless you want to lose your lip,” I admonish strictly and he smirked but complied easily enough to allow me to finish.

Swiping my blade clean on a towel, I grabbed a clean warm one and wiped the cream off his face before letting him examine himself in the mirror.

“Huh, yeah, not bad kid,” Tony praised as I snapped the cape off.

“Anything I can fix or change?” I asked before ditching it in the dirty laundry bin.

“No, looks great.”

Tossing the cape in the bin I pass him his suit jacket that I had hung up earlier.

“That’ll be sixty dollars, please, Tony. Can I interest you in any of the product? I used the Mitch Clean Cut on you today.”

“Easy there, Y/N,” Doc interrupted. “We’re just glad you decided to try us out, Mister Stark. Your service is on the house today.”

Tony furrowed his brows in confusion and looked between me and Doc. “Is she commission based?” he asked.

“No, sir, hourly,” Doc responded.

“Okay, well, I appreciate it. Tip for you, Y/N. You know, I hate to admit when the Cap is right, but, well, I’ll see you in four weeks,” Tony commented loftily, shaking my hand and leaving a bill in my hand with a wink. He was out the door before I could process the hundred he left behind in my palm or the promise of his return.

“Listen, all I’m saying is if you just even just trim the shagginess you wont look like some murderous caveman.”

The warm, teasing voice filled the reception area as the bell tinkled above the doorway to the shop. I looked up from the clipper cut I was quickly pushing through to see none other than Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes standing by the front counter. The guys had all taken off early for beers, leaving me to close on my own once again. Not that I minded, living in New York was way more expensive than my small town half way across the country. I would happily take all the clients they took for granted.

“There is nothing wrong with my goddamn hair,” Bucky grumbled angrily under his breath at his friend, his hands shoved deep into a leather jacket and a gray hood from his sweater under it pulled up over his head.

“Maybe not if you did anything with it. Like, wash it…or comb it…or ya know…anything really other than let it hang around your face or up in a manbun,” Sam sniped back with a friendly glare.

I smirked slightly. “I’ll be right with you, gentlemen, go ahead and have a seat.”

I finished the client in my seat to the sound of their playful bickering, paid him out and thanked him for coming in. “Alright, boys, who’s up first?”

“This man,” Sam said clapping his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and shoving him forward off the chair.

“What? I told you I wasn’t getting my haircut. I just came along because you promised me pizza after,” Bucky argued.

“Dude, I got my hair cut here earlier today. I’m still hurt you haven’t noticed,” Sam commented, his face looking exaggeratedly wounded before looking up at me. “I asked for you but they said you were closing then I felt too bad to tell the dude I didn’t want him to cut my hair.”

I cocked my head to the side and narrowed my eyes as I examined his fade. He instantly squirmed and rubbed at the back of his head. “Is it jacked up?”

“Joey did it, didn’t he?” I already knew Sam had been in earlier, Joey had been talking about his whole shift. The kid had been positively glowing by the time he left with the other guys.

“Yeah?” Sam’s eyes narrowed and he tried to move his body so he could see in a mirror as he continued to rub his fade self-consciously.

“Yeah. It looks good. I thought the blend was crooked but it’s just your ears, come on back guys. I’ll just sweep real quick.”

Behind me Bucky let out a bark of laughter and Sam scoffed telling him to shut the hell up.

“I guess your reputation proceeds you correctly,” Sam commented taking a seat at the station next to mine and turning the chair to face me.

I felt my cheeks heat up and frowned in confusion. “I don’t know how to take that.”

“Steve and Stark both said that you weren’t starstruck over the super famous superheroes,” Sam explained, waving away the notion that they had said anything bad.

“Oh,” I responded simply and patted my chair for Bucky. The man, while large and imposing, just shrunk further into his hoodie and looked at me warily.

“I don’t bite, dude, and I can hang up your jacket and zip up so they don’t get hair in them,” I offered, holding my hand out for his jackets.

“Um, can I…can I keep the sweater on?” he asked hesitantly, shrugging off the leather.

“Sure,” I shrug. “But you gotta flip the hood in.”

Bucky settled in while I hung up his jacket and pretended not to notice Sam mouthing at him to be cool. I’m not an idiot, I knew the story of Bucky Barnes and I figured he had plenty of shit he was working through and just being here was hard enough for him. Turning back I noticed he had stuffed his hood in so it was a giant lump behind his neck and I reached out slowly.

“I’m just gonna smooth this out, cool?”

He nodded and I carefully flattened out his hood under his collar before draping the cape over him. This time instead of snapping it closed first I held it at the clasp and looked at him in the mirror. He was avoiding looking into the reflective surface, his eyes cast down to where his hands were folded in his lap.

“Is this too tight?” I asked.

His eyes shot up to mine in the mirror briefly before looking away. “Can you go a bit looser?” he asked softly and I nodded, moving down one clasp and snapping it closed. He let out a noticeably shaky breath under my fingers.

“So I get the feeling that if I asked you what you wanted to do with your hair, you’d say leave it how it is,” I teased lightly as I grabbed a black comb from where it was resting on a clean towel and noticed the corners of his mouth twitch upward. I gently pulled a small subsection of his hair out with the comb, smoothed the shafts down and held it up towards the LED lights overhead. “But, you have about two inches of split ends that are just dead and not doing anything for you other than getting tangled and spreading to your healthy hair. If we cut all them off you should be good for another eight to ten weeks before needing another maintenance trim. Does that sound okay to you?”

Bucky swallowed the heavy lump in his throat before sending a glare to Sam who had been sitting quietly and letting me try to get Bucky settled before catching my eyes again. “Yeah,” he murmured huskily. “Sounds fine.”

“Great!” I was trying to stay light and chipper. Doc was an old marine veteran so I had seen my fair share of veterans with PTSD come through. Doc usually took them, but for all the older man’s brash and direct interactions he’d had with me; I’d learned a lot about to how to interact with a variety of people from him. It was fascinating watching Doc go from one client to the next, his personality changing to what the client in his chair needed.

“We’re gonna wash your hair first so I can cut it wet, okay?” I figured a step by step of what we were doing would be the easiest for him to handle. So he had the chance to say no to something if it made him uncomfortable.

I set my hand lightly across his shoulder, pulling back slightly when he flinched. “I need you to lean forward slightly so I can drop the back of your chair but not you.”

It was always unnerving doing your job under someone’s watchful eye. My first few weeks at the shop were rough with all the boys looking over my shoulder and Doc subtly checking over every one of my haircuts. But it was something else entirely to have Sam Wilson watch me with eagle eyes - well, Falcon eyes - as I handled his friend. He was making observations on me as a person, not a barber, and I had to fight the constant urge to squirm under his pointed gaze.

Gathering Bucky’s chestnut locks in one hand I guided him back down into the shampoo bowl slowly so he wouldn’t knock his head against the rim. “How do you like your water?” I ask, turning on the hose and sticking my fingers underneath as it warmed up.

“Hot as you can stand,” he responded, shifting so his neck would feel more comfortable against the acrylic tub.

“Want me to put a towel under your neck for some cushion?”

“It’s fine.”

Once the water was near scalding I started saturating his hair and looked up at Sam with a smile. “So, what smooth words did Joey use to get you in his chair?”

Sam smirked and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “He said you were stealing all the interesting clients. Had to throw the kid a bone.”

I smiled as I squirted some shampoo into my hands and started to gently work it through Bucky’s hair. “That was nice of you. He’s the biggest Falcon fan I have ever met. Please tell me he showed you his official hat?”

Joey was Doc’s apprentice, he was only seventeen and had tried to rob Doc with a water gun a few months back. Instead of calling the police, Doc offered him a job and the kid was a natural.

Sam looked extremely pleased with himself. “Yeah, I signed it for him.”

I hummed in approval as I applied gentle pressure around Bucky’s temples and the crown pressure point just above middle of his brows. “That was nice of you. He’ll be talking about it for weeks.” I deftly raked my fingers down the top of Bucky’s head to cup my hands just under his occipital bone and into the pressure points behind his ears where his jaw bone meets his skull. His eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out as he relaxed under my administrations.

I eased out of the massage so as not to shock him with sudden loss of contact as I started the hose up against. He startled slightly at the burst of water and I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from giggling. “Morning!” I chirped as I rinsed the shampoo from his hair and scalp.

“That was…really nice,” Bucky admitted taking another deep breath. “Was the shampoo supposed to tingle?”

“Yup,” I shut off the water and started applying conditioner to his long locks. “It has peppermint and tea tree extracts in it. Soothes and stimulates your scalp at the same time, but I just love the scent really.”

Rinsing the conditioner off I wrapped the towel around his hair and had him sit up so I could get his chair back in position. Tossing his towel in the soiled bin I start combing through his hair.

“Do you part off this front cowlick?” I ask, placing my comb on the spot just left of his center part.

“Sometimes.”

“Cool.” As I sectioned off his hair and started snipping all the dead ends off Bucky continued to relax more and more. “So what do you guys have planned for the rest of the night?”

“We were thinking of hitting Prince Street Pizza,” Sam said, having gone from watching me intently to scrolling on his phone.

“Oh, cool. I haven’t tried that one yet.”

“It’s the best pizza in Manhattan,” Bucky said with a face of total seriousness as he locked eyes with me.

Setting down my scissors and comb and flipping on the blow dryer and grabbing a boar bristle brush, I chuckled. “Well, then that will be the next pizza destination.”

“Wanna come with?” Sam asked nonchalantly.

I shook my head as I dried Bucky’s hair smooth. “I gotta call my mom tonight. If I don’t call her the same time and day every week she freaks out and thinks I got murdered.”

“You’re not from here,” Bucky observed, it was a statement and I nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, I moved here about a month ago.” I turned off the dryer and set it back in its cradle before removing the cape.

“How does it feel?” I asked Bucky, tossing the cape into the dirty bin.

Bucky actually looked at himself in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair, not coming across any tangles or snags. It was soft and shiny and looked so much healthier than when he came in.

“It’s nice,” Bucky said with a small grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, dude. I’m here every day except Tuesdays and Wednesdays.”

Leading them to the checkout, Bucky picked up a bottle of the shampoo I had used and like all the others left a more than substantial tip.

“So, eight to ten weeks Sergeant Barnes. Especially if you’re out saving the world and getting all battered. Also, switch from a regular elastic to a cotton tie, your hair is too fine for elastic, it’s breaking the cuticles of your hair.”

Bucky blinked at you a few times before nodding with a bashful smile, the tips of his ears a bright pink.

“I’d feel bad taking you from Joey, thanks again for doing all that Sam. And thanks for trusting me, Bucky,” I shook both men’s hands and Bucky chuckled softly.

“Well, we had to come see what actually got Steve and Stark to agree on something,” Bucky commented before both men departed with a friendly wave.

Looking up at the clock I noticed that it was a good half hour past closing so I locked the front door and started the closing chores, feeling good about what I had accomplished today.

The next day was Monday and I had been planning in my head all day what I was going to do with my middle of the week weekend. The last couple of days had been extra busy it seemed and I was looking forward to just lazing around the house and catching up on laundry and maybe do some prep cooking for the coming week. I had also been debating on getting a cat, so I would have someone to look forward to coming home to at the end of my shift.

“Captain Rogers! It’s good to see you again!” I heard Doc exclaim from the front where he had been showing Joey how to run some of the reports in the POS system.

My head whipped around so fast I almost slipped on the blend line on the client I was working on. Quickly going back to what I was doing so that no one could catch onto the small bit of bubbling anxiety that crept in. It had only been two weeks, there was no way he’d need his hair cut again so soon. Maybe a beard trim if he hadn’t been keeping up on it on his own. I peeked out to the lobby out of the corner of my eye and saw he was in fact still clean shaved so he must have been managing on his own and his hair cut was growing out just fine and didn’t need to be touched up quite yet.

He talked softly with Doc for a moment, shaking the older man’s hand and signing a quick autograph before taking a seat in the lobby, his hands folded in his lap as he patiently watched out the window into the Manhattan street.

The man in my chair impatiently cleared his throat and I mumbled a soft apology and continued his service. After finishing and checking the man out he looked up at me and then back at Steve still sitting in the chair. The man tossed a crumbled dollar bill at me. “Maybe next time pay more attention to what’s going on in front of you instead of getting star struck.”

I opened my mouth wordlessly, feeling the heat creep up on my cheeks as I fumbled with the bill he had thrown on the counter at me. Before I could defend myself the man was out the door into the cold New York air. Letting out a huff of hair and carding my fingers through my hair I shoved the dollar in my back pocket.

“What a jerk,” Steve admonished, looking behind himself at the door.

“Eh. It happens every once and a while.” I shrug and smile at him, leaning across the counter. “Thanks for sending me all your friends. I appreciate the referrals.”

“Well, you do a good job,” Steve said and then pink rose to his cheeks and tips of his ears. “Such a good job I was wondering if you’d like to grab a cup of coffee or something?”

I smiled so wide it made my cheeks ache. “I’d really like that Steve. I’m off in a couple of hours.”

“Go, take the rest of the day,” Doc hollered from across the shop, proving that he was most definitely not eavesdropping.

“You sure, Chief?” I ask over my shoulder, already reaching for my bag and jacket.

“Go on, before I change my mind and let Joey go with him instead.”

Steve held the door open for me as I threw my jacket on. As Steve smiled down at me and led me out into the loud and bustling streets of New York, I couldn’t help but think that this move was the right call after all.

#fic

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moonstruckbucky · 5 years

Text

Mind Games

Summary: Sometimes the mind can be a cruel thing.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Insecurity, a little jealousy, some angst, soft!Steve

Notes: This one’s gonna be heavy on the feels a little. Forewarning y’all. It’s also a fucking doozy.

Usually you like Tony’s parties. Usually you have a good time at them, spend the night dancing and laughing, but tonight is different. The room is swarming with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents—this party has been thrown for them, after all—but you’re standing alone by the windows, nursing a flute of champagne. Your date, meanwhile, is across the room, locked in a deep conversation with one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best agents.

Sharon.

She’s smiling and giving him her best bedroom eyes, hand on his arm while he eats it all up. She tosses her head back as she laughs, a pretty, tinkling sound that has him smiling that smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. It curdles something in your stomach, seeing him laugh like that, and you swallow down your tears with a gulp of champagne.

Someone steps up to you, pulls you into a dull conversation about the latest mission, and when that’s over and you’re left alone again, your eyes find him again, still chattering away with Sharon.

It shouldn’t surprise you, really. You know they dated for a little while, before the Accords happened and pulled them in different directions. But the spark is still there between them, it’s clear as day on Sharon’s face as she blinks up at him. Even though his back is to you, you imagine the same lovestruck expression on his face. It’s enough to make you nauseous.

You set down the champagne on the windowsill, gather your dress skirt and prepare to leave the penthouse. You’re about halfway there when a warm hand on your arm pulls you gently to a stop. You know it’s him by the cologne that surrounds you, and you have to close your eyes briefly to control your sudden urge to cry. Your features school into a fake smile and bright eyes, your mouth tight as you clench your teeth, and you turn to face him.

He’s smiling down at you, blue eyes bright against the crisp light grey dress shirt that’s stretched taut across his torso. He really does look handsome, and for a moment you forget your inner turmoil.

“Hey babe,” he says, “where are you off to?”

Your heart thuds painfully over the lie your mouth is conjuring, tone giving away nothing. “I was going to head upstairs. I’m getting pretty tired and my feet are sore.”

“I’ll come up with you then,” he says and moves to take a step forward to lead you to the elevators. You stop him with a hand on his chest.

“No, no, you don’t have to leave yet,” you implore. His eyebrows furrow in slight confusion. “You’re having a good time. You should stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind cutting out early,” he insists, picking your hand off his chest so he can cradle it between his. It’s distracting when his thumbs dance over your skin, drawing gooseflesh to the surface of your bare arms.

“I’m sure, Steve. I’ll see you when you come up.” The lie is bitter on your tongue. You haven’t slept in your own room in months, and yet there’s no place else you’d rather be right now. You turn your head just slightly when he leans down to kiss you so that his lips touch the corner of your mouth.

You don’t look at his face as you turn on your heel and make for the elevator, though you can feel his eyes burning holes in your back. You keep your back to him until the doors close, not wanting to see the questions you know will be there, the concern, the need to comfort. The elevator doors close, and you sniffle in the quiet space.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?” you call softly, knowing the AI will hear it regardless. Sure enough, not a second later:

“Yes, Ms. L/N?” Her voice is lilting, smooth, and carries a note of sympathy, as if she knows why you’re upset.

“Please deny Captain Rogers access to my room.”

It feels about as good as breaking a bone, but it’s necessary.

“Yes, Ms. L/N,” the AI replies.

The elevator slows to a stop on your floor. You’ve taken your heels off and they hang limply from your fingers, bare feet silent on the carpet as you walk down the hall to your bedroom. You type in your key code, push the heavy door open when it unlocks with a click. You sag against it when it closes, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. It’s fallen out of your updo, and as if it can read your mind, your scalp throbs.

With a dejected sigh, you begin pulling the style apart, tossing the bobby pins onto your nightstand. Your hair tumbles free over your shoulders, your fingers reaching up to soothe your scalp. You could use a shower, but you’re exhausted, so you settle for simply removing your makeup and brushing your teeth. The pretty dress you’d bought with Wanda pools at your feet, where it stays in a puddle of ruby fabric, to be replaced with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Until you realize it’s Steve’s shirt and it has fresh tears welling behind your eyes.

You replace it with one that belongs solely to you and climb into bed. While you lay awake, surrounded by pillows, your mind drifts off. You know it’s unfair to punish Steve when you haven’t spoken to him yet, when he still remains in the dark about your true feelings. But you suppose you need this time alone to gather your thoughts, sift through them and organize them so that when you do talk to Steve, because you know you have to, you won’t sound so much like an overbearing girlfriend prone to overthinking. With a sigh, you sit up but keep the blankets bunched in your lap, mind too full to even think about sleeping.

You sit in the quiet for a while, one leg folded under you as your eyes remain unfocused, mind racing. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt unsure in your relationship, the first time you’ve ever questioned Steve’s feelings for you. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth to think it, makes you feel even worse for having doubts in what has so far been an amazing, secure relationship.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice brings you back out of the clouds as she announces that Steve is looking for you. According to the AI, he’s getting off the elevator on your floor, no doubt having checked his bedroom, where you’d been spending most of your nights recently.

Sure enough, a set of knocks on your door pull your attention to it, but you remain seated. F.R.I.D.A.Y. quietly assures you that his access is still revoked. He quickly discovers this.

“Y/N? Are you in there? Can you let me in please?” he begs, and it makes you inhale sharply. It hurts to ignore him, hurts to resist the urge to throw open the door and beg his forgiveness for something your mind has convinced you of. “Baby?”

The petname curdles your stomach, brings more tears to the surface, and the desperation in his voice when he says, “Please let me in so we can talk” tips them over your ducts to spill down your cheeks. You cover your mouth with your hand, swallow back a quiet sob as Steve continues to beg for your attention.

The handle on your door twists but F.R.I.D.A.Y. has overridden his access code, and so the door remains locked. It sends Steve into a panic.

“Y/N, baby, please, whatever it is we can talk about it, can’t we? Please don't shut me out.” You hear a small thump and imagine Steve has pressed his forehead to your door, his face crumpling as he wills it to open. You imagine him closing his eyes as his jaw clenches, trying not to cry.

He’d never admit it out loud but you know Captain America is one emotional old man.

Knowing you’re causing him such agony sends another sharp pain into your chest that steals the breath from your lungs, and you gasp. A little too loudly if Steve’s sudden resumption of calling for you is anything to go by.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re there. Just...just tell me what I did so I can fix it. I’ll do anything to fix it.” His voice is thick, and now you know he’s crying.

It just makes you feel all the guiltier for continuing to ice him out.

Steve remains outside your door for a while, occasionally reassuring you that he’s there for you when you’re ready. You feel so stupid for putting both of you through this, but your mind has you convinced that you’re nothing but a burden holding him back from who he should really be with. Deep down, you know it’s not true, that if Steve didn't want to be with you he wouldn’t be, but the other half of you isn’t listening.

Somehow you fall asleep, you're able to shut off your brain for a while and huddle under your blankets. You assume Steve has left, given up when he realizes you aren’t backing down, and you can’t hear him in the hall anymore. It’s a fitful sleep, your body’s grown accustomed to sleeping with another by its side, and you’re awake when the sun begins to rise.

You rub the sleep from your eyes and climb out of bed, nearly tripping as the blankets catch around your legs. Catching yourself, you walk to your en suite bathroom, groaning at the sight that greets you in the mirror. Hair mussed, eyes crusty, red, and puffy from the night before, you look like you’ve gone through hell.

Mental hell, maybe, you muse as you lean down to brush your teeth.

Despite the desire to stay in bed and wallow all day, you manage to convince yourself to at least go to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee. You open your door and step into the hall and....

Promptly trip over your sleeping boyfriend.

Awkwardness settles in as he wakes, jumping to his feet in alarm until the sleepy haze in his eyes disappears. Those cerulean orbs then land on you, head bowed and shifting from foot to foot, and his posture relaxes. You tense as he reaches up to grasp your face in both hands, and you know he feels it. He can feel you withdrawing into yourself.

“Baby,” he whispers hesitantly, taking in the redness of your eyes and the shift in your mood. “Baby, look at me.”

You can’t, not without feeling incredibly guilty, so you shake your head quickly, and Steve sighs. His warm hands nudge your face upwards, but you still can’t look him in the eye, focusing instead on the top button of his button down. He’s still dressed in last night’s attire, confirming your suspicion that he’d spent the entire night outside your door.

You feel even worse.

“Sweetheart, I’m worried about you. Can you talk to me please? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on,” he implores. He sounds on the verge of tears again, and you swallow thickly.

“You can’t help me,” you mutter, mouth tilting downwards in a deep frown. It kills you to step back out of his grasp. “It’s my own issue. I’ll figure it out myself. You don’t have to worry about me.”

You know you need to be honest with him, but you also know you wouldn’t be able to handle it if he called you insecure, if he accused you of accusing him of something he hasn’t done. A small part of you knows that he won’t react that way, but you can’t help it.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see his posture change. Like flipping a light switch, his shoulders straighten and his hands clench at his sides. He’s shutting you out too and it’s your fault it’s happening. You know he can only take so much before he closes in on himself, and you realize your refusal to open up to him is either putting him through agony or it’s just really an inconvenience to him.

Your mind says it’s the latter.

Steve’s voice is stiff as he says, “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

He turns away from you and storms down the hall to the elevator and when you look up as it dings, Steve keeps his back to you. The doors close and so do your eyes, tightly, as Steve walking away from you hurts like nothing else. But it’s your fault he did in the first place.

Heaving a sigh and swallowing down tears, you resume your mission from coffee, taking the same elevator Steve had just walked into, only when it opens this time, it’s empty. You lean against the wall as the elevator descends two floors—past Bucky’s floor right below you until it stops on the common floor.

The kitchen is quiet when you walk out of the elevator, though you still pick up the sounds of murmured voices. Wanda, Natasha, and Sam are seated at the island, talking amongst themselves. They only pause their conversation to bid you a good morning, and you mumble a reply as you make your way to the coffee pot.

The others resume talking as you fix your coffee as you like it, turning to lean your back against the counter. While Wanda and Sam go back and forth, Natasha squints in your direction, her razor-sharp spy senses picking up on your mood. You meet her eyes briefly before looking down again, knowing the former assassin is excellent in reading body language. She quietly gets up from her stool and watches you as she sets her cup in the sink beside you.

“Wanna talk?” she asks softly, her voice gentle.

“Sure.”

As she takes a step towards the kitchen entrance, the familiar forms of Steve and Bucky walk by, both of them dressed in workout gear. Steve’s eyes find yours for a moment before he looks away, giving Bucky all of his attention again. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, shuffle your feet, as Natasha looks between you and Steve. She tugs on your sleeve and leads you in the opposite direction of the men.

She sits you down in the lounge, sitting next to you and crossing one leg over the other. Her arms fold over her chest.

“Okay, talk.” Her tone is firm, yet gentle still, and you can’t stop yourself from telling her everything.

By the end, she’s looking at you sympathetically and her hand has reached over for yours.

“I know I need to talk to him,” you whisper, holding back even more tears, “I just...I don’t want to be that girlfriend, you know?”

“I understand. But Y/N, you can’t help the way you feel anymore than he can. Steve will understand that.”

“I know. I just feel really stupid. Ow.” You glare at her, rubbing the back of your head where she’s just swatted you. “What the hell was that for?”

“You aren’t stupid, Y/N,” she says firmly. Then she throws out an arm and points down the hall. “Go talk to your boyfriend.”

With a small smile, you stand up. “Yes, ma’am.”

As you walk towards the elevator, you come to the decision to tell him exactly what you’d told Natasha. The ride up to his floor is spent bouncing your feet, crossing your arms and uncrossing them over your chest, and controlling your breathing. The doors open on Steve’s floor, and it takes a quiet reassurance from F.R.I.D.A.Y. to move you forward.

Stupid perceptive AI.

Your knock on his door is soft and hesitant, but you know his super soldier hearing will have no problem picking it up. Surely enough, the door opens seconds later. He’s just finished his workout but hasn’t changed just yet. His grey shirt is darkened with sweat and his hair is mussed. His expression is at first open, but when he takes you in, his eyes harden just a little.

“I’m ready to talk,” you say meekly, dropping your gaze as you shift from foot to foot. You look up at him from under your lashes and heave a small, silent sigh to see his gaze has softened.

Wordlessly, he steps aside and pulls the door open wider. Your bodies brush when you walk by him, and it makes your heart ache. God, you missed him despite the fact that it’s barely been a day. He smells like the gym, but you pay it no mind. You glance at the bed, convince yourself you don’t have the right to sit on it, and sink slowly instead into the chair at his desk.

Steve, meanwhile, sits at the end of his bed and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He waits patiently while you gather your thoughts, until his voice breaks you out of your head.

“Why are you all the way over there?” he murmurs. Then he pats the bed beside him, blue eyes pleading with you. Your heart clenches and you barely give yourself time to contemplate it before your feet move on their own volition.

The mattress sags as you sit down beside him, his thigh touching yours, and you have to bite your lip to not cry when he reaches for your hand. His thumb brushing along your knuckles is distracting.

“What’s going on?” he questions quietly.

“I saw you,” you begin, and Steve’s eyebrows come together in a confused frown. It takes great restrain not to smooth the creases between them. “With Sharon, at Tony’s party last night and I... Steve, are you sure I’m the one you want to be with?”

He drops your hand and sits up straight, pulling his shoulders back. You inhale sharply at the loss of contact and chance a glance up at his face. He’s looking at you like you just told him his mother died, mouth turned down and eyes swimming with sadness.

Your mouth begins speaking before you can think anything through. “It’s just...you looked so happy with her, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look at me like that. I mean, I can’t really blame you. Sharon’s amazing and beautiful and sweet and charming, and I’m just me. So I won’t blame you if you, you know, want her back or something. Here’s your chance for an out if you want it and—Steve?”

He’s gotten up from the bed and has begun pacing, his hands steepled in front of his mouth. The tension stretches between you, and you try to prepare your heart for the truth your mind has convinced you of. Just when you think his socks might set the carpet on fire, he turns abruptly and drops to his knees in front of you, his hands reaching for yours, pressing them to his chest where, beneath his shirt, his heart is pounding.

“I love you,” he starts, his voice so full of conviction that you really don’t have a choice to not believe him. “I love you, and only you. I wish you’d come to me with this, because I never want you to feel like you can’t talk to me. I never want you to feel so insecure in our relationship. What Sharon and I had is over, at least for me. I don’t quite frankly care about how she may or may not feel because all of my attention is on and will only ever be on you. I’m sorry that my actions made you feel like that. You shouldn’t have to feel that way, ever. And the way I look at you? Jesus, the way I look at you is comparable to how Sam looks at desserts—” You snort a little, and he smiles—“You are the only woman for me, Y/N. The only one. The only one who’s on my mind constantly, even when I’m in the same room as you.”

His hands move up to grasp your face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears that have slipped down your cheeks (When did that happen?).

“I love you so much,” he whispers, surging up on his knees to connect your mouths firmly. You melt against him, your hands holding tightly to his wrists.

You feel it, his love, as he pours himself into the kiss. His lips are soft yet demanding, giving you no choice but to surrender to him, to the love he’s trying to show you. It makes your heart swell and you wonder how you could ever second guess his feelings for you.

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sunlightdances · 5 years

Text

out of the blue, i fell for you

-- “Being a bank teller is my day job. What about you? Avenging by day, bar crawling by night?”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Words: 2,491 Rating: PG Author’s Note: Got the prompt “don’t look away from me” from this list.

Bucky is -- angry isn’t the right word. He actually feels strangely calm about the whole thing, even considering this was supposed to be his one day off before a mission with the team to Wakanda for a few weeks.

He’s frustrated, sure. Annoyed, definitely. But backing up Parker isn’t the worst job in the world. Especially when the kid nearly trips over his feet trying to apologize the minute Bucky shows up.

“Sergeant Barnes! I am so, so, so sorry. I was walking home, and I was going to do my homework because Mr. Stark said if I don’t get A’s I can’t go on the next mission, and so I was heading home, and--”

Bucky makes circular motions with his hands, “Can we speed this up to the part where you walked into a literal bank robbery?”

“Right. I was walking by and I heard a lot of shouting, so I came inside, and these guys,” he gestures to two large men sitting in office chairs with their hands tied behind their backs, “were in the middle of trying to rob the place.”

Bucky nods, assessing the room. There are a few customers milling about, all looking a bit shaken. “Look, no offense, but why am I here? It looks like you’ve got this under control. Landed a few punches too. Not really your style... ”

Peter looks sheepish. “Uh, yeah. Well-- see, the thing is, when I came inside, these guys were already like this.”

Bucky blinks. “What?”

“Yeah. I came in here, full Spidey, and this lady already pretty much had it taken care of. I tied them up before I called you, but the rest was all her. I’m pretty sure she broke her hand, though.”

Bucky looks past Peter to the counter where you’re sitting in a roller chair, cradling your left hand to your chest. You looks up briefly and make eye contact with him, and Bucky feels like he’s been punched in the chest. He sighs, “I’ll take care of this. Did you call NYPD about these guys?” He asks Peter, who nods. “We’ll hang out until they get here. Give me a minute.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, but instead heads over to where you’re looking equal parts defiant and sheepish. He kneels down in front of you and slowly reaches for your hand, silently asking permission to take a look.

“Taking out bank robbers is your day job, huh?” He asks quietly, turning your hand this way and that, watching as you wince and try not to look at two obviously broken fingers.

“Being a bank teller is my day job. What about you? Avenging by day, bar crawling by night?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t bar crawl. Just really go to the one.” He winks, satisfied when you’re clearly trying not to smile.

“Shit, that hurts.” You say, looking down at your hand. “Oh, that looks---” You slam your eyes shut and Bucky watches as you go a couple shades too pale. “Oh, no.”

“Hey.” Bucky tries to get your attention. “Hey, don’t look at it, don’t think about it. Just look at me.” He waits until you meet his eyes. “Don’t look away from me.”

Your tear-filled eyes meet his, and Bucky has never wished more in his life to be the hero everyone’s always trying to convince him he is. This isn’t life or death here, not today, but he feels the responsibility of making sure you trust him weigh on his shoulders. It’s more important to him than he wants to admit.

“Uh, Mr. Barnes-- Sergeant B--”

“Yeah, Parker.”

“The police need to talk to her. And you, probably. And me, also. But-- I don’t-- what do we say? We didn’t do anything…”

Bucky tries not to roll his eyes. You must see it, because he feels your uninjured hand snake in between you and him and pinch his side lightly. He’s got his tac gear on, but he feels it nonetheless.

“Then that’s what we tell them,” He says, straightening to his full height. To you, “Are you going to be okay here for a second?”

“Fine.”

“Do you know her or something?” Peter whispers as they walk away.

“Or something.” Bucky agrees.

He’s met you a few times. Nothing official. You barely know each other besides first names. There’s a bar in Brooklyn he likes to go to. He goes there when it gets to be too much… it’s comforting. It’s a place he vaguely remembers from his early twenties, before the war, before… everything.

You’re the bartender.

You never ask too many questions, never let on that you know who he is at all, until today. You let him sit there nursing a drink even though he can’t get drunk, and talk when he wants to talk.

He also thinks you’re probably the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen, but that’s neither here nor there.

Bucky is still not used to being a liason, or whatever, to the police. He doesn’t like talking to them if he can help it. He thinks it’s the way they look at him - like they’re still expecting him to go full Soldier on them if they say the wrong thing.

He does his job though, telling him he got the call from Peter, who thought he ran into something he might need help with. By the time Bucky got there, it was under control. No Avenging necessary.

Sitting out of the mission most of the rest of the team were on this weekend, Bucky was left with strict instructions to “not let the kid get in over his head”, and he has to admit he was only taking it semi-seriously until today. But really - it’s like he’s a magnet for trouble. Bucky tries to take it in stride. Peter sort of reminds him of Steve, anyway.

He watches, arms folded across his chest as the police get the statement they need from you, his eyes observing your body language for any sign that you’re too uncomfortable. You look a little shaken up, and definitely in pain, but otherwise seem almost confident as you describe how you managed to sneak up behind the guys, a few swift kicks to the backs of their knees sending them sprawling before getting a few left hooks in. That was when Peter showed up.

After the police get their statement and haul the two idiots off in cuffs, Bucky walks back over to you. He’s not sure where the confidence is coming from, but he’s talking before he can think about it. “If you wanna avoid the ER, I know a place.”

You smirk. “Some back alley nursing?”

Bucky chuckles, “Not quite. If you’d rather go to the hospital…”

You wave him off. “I hate hospitals. Let’s go.”

Bucky sends Peter home with a plea to please, please, just go straight there and do his homework before his aunt tries to murder Bucky for keeping him out too late. Bucky figures he can handle the paperwork for this brief rescue mission for the both of them.

“He looks up to you,” You say with a smile as you and Bucky start walking towards a large SUV parked near the curb.

Bucky blushes. He does not blush. “He’s a good kid,” he tells you as he opens the passenger side door for you. He helps you inside with a guiding hand on your elbow. “He just has a penchant for finding trouble.” He smiles at you before shutting the door, jogging around to the other side of the car.

When he gets in, you’re looking at him already, and he feels your gaze like a physical touch. He clears his throat and starts the car, looking for traffic before he pulls out onto the street.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think you could drive,” you admit.

Bucky smirks. “I was brainwashed for seventy years, not living under a rock.”

You make a noise like something’s stuck in your throat.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, “Sometimes it’s easier to joke about it.”

“Noted.”

The ride to Avengers Tower takes only a few minutes. Bucky parks in the underground garage, greeting F.R.I.D.A.Y cheerily when he gets out. “Let the Medbay know I’ve got a patient coming in. Broken hand and a possible dislocated wrist.”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes.” The AI replies, and you look at him, amused.

“Is this really necessary?”

“You’ll think so once you meet Dr. Cho. She’ll have you fixed up in minutes.”

“Why do I think you’re speaking from experience?”

Bucky winks. “Trust me.”

Helen keeps trying to needle out of you know you and Bucky know each other, but Bucky’s grateful you keep it pretty vague. Not that there’s much to tell. Still, Bucky’s grateful that the entire time isn’t here to interrogate him or you about this.

True to form, you’re patched up in a half hour. You can barely feel the pain.

“Not much I can do for those broken bones, but the wrist should be totally healed by morning.” Helen says, and you smile at her, a smile Bucky’s coming to realize he wants to see a lot more of.

“Thanks, Doc.” Bucky says quietly, and she sends him a knowing look over your shoulder.

“Anything for my favorite super soldier.”

Bucky chuckles. “You only say that when Steve isn’t around.”

She shrugs. “No one has to know.”

He laughs, and feels something warm bubbling up inside him when you sidle up next to him, looking up at him with intense, honey-brown eyes. He thinks he could get lost in them if he let himself. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

The two of you leave the Medbay and walk in silence for awhile. The entire tower is all sleek modern finishes, glass walls and floor to ceiling windows. It’s suitably impressive, and for once Bucky doesn’t feel lost inside the building.

You end up in the lounge on one of the middle floors, the open area where everyone usually ends up after dinner or after a mission.

“Thanks again, for this.” You say, gesturing to your arm that’s now in a sling and your fingers in splints. “Not sure how I’m going to do much work after this…”

“Didn’t think that through before you handed out some vigilante justice?” Bucky can’t help but tease you, loving the mock glare you send his way. “I should tell Steve about this. He’d probably try to recruit you.”

You laugh, the sound like tinkling bells. “Listen, those two dummies were the worst criminals in the world. I didn’t do much.”

Bucky leans his head on his hand, content to sit here and watch you talk all night if he gets the chance. “Still. It was very impressive.”

You roll your eyes, but mirror his position. “So if I’m not bartending for awhile, how am I supposed to know what you’re up to?”

It’s an invitation if Bucky’s ever heard one, and he’s not going to let this opportunity slip away from him while he has the chance. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be the cocksure man he was before the War, but he isn’t a total idiot. “I suppose we could exchange phone numbers…” He says, watching the light in your eyes dim just a bit. “I could also take you out to dinner.” He shrugs. “Just, you know, to keep in touch.”

“Oh, sure. Yeah.” You say, lips twitching as you fight off a smile. “That sounds…. Yeah. I’d like that.”

Bucky smiles. “Me too.”

Two months later, Bucky is waiting in line at a credit union. It’s honestly something he’s never really done before, and he feels like every eye in the room is on him.

When he gets to the window, he clears his throat. “Hi, I need to open a savings account, and I need one million dollars in singles.”

Your unamused eyes meet his. “Uh huh. I can give you fives, or tens…”

“That’ll work.”

Next to Bucky, Peter mumbles. “Is this how older people flirt?” He winces when Bucky gives him a warning glare.

“You know, I am busy.”

“Right. Well, lucky for you, we’re here on official business.”

“Is that so.”

“Peter needs a savings account. Now that he’s got a job, he needs to save for college.”

“I don’t see why I have to even go to college, if I’ve got enough money being--”

Bucky elbows him before he can tell the entire bank he’s Spiderman. “You’re going to college. You need to keep learning. It’s good for you.” He looks back at you, a million dollar smile on his face. “Can you do this, or do we need to--”

“I can help you, and for the record I think it’s really sweet that you’re doing this for him.”

Bucky blushes, and Peter makes a gagging noise. “Gross.”

“Watch it, Parker.” He looks back at you. “We still on for tonight?”

“Course.” You reply, blushing when you realize a coworker is definitely listening in. “Now get out of here, I need to do my job. I can take care of this with Peter.”

Bucky starts to lean in before remembering the bullet-proof glass. “Pick you up at seven.”

“Wow, can you please go before I puke?” Peter complains, ducking as Bucky tries to smack the back of his head.

“We’re training before dinner,” Bucky reminds the younger man, “Don’t forget and don’t be late.” His voice and temperament change entirely when he looks back at you. “And I’ll see you later, too.”

You smile, nodding. “Yeah, you will.”

“Don’t tie up any criminals while I’m gone,” Bucky calls before heading out the door, whistling as he goes.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine

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omgrachwrites · 5 years

Text

Ocean Avenue (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: When Darcie Baker - the daughter of a police officer - breaks her misfit friend’s heart at 16 she regrets it everyday even after she graduates though she knows she can’t go back and change what happened. Everything changes when over 10 years later she meets the gorgeous mechanic.

Warnings: fluff, angst, Peter being adorable

Words: 2124

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this next part, please let me know what you think, I love you all very much! xxx

Part Four

Darcie sighed in relief as it was finally time for her to have her first break; she was on call at the hospital tonight. Although she loved being at the hospital and she was definitely a workaholic she was relieved to have some time to herself. Darcie hadn’t been sleeping well since she had discovered that Bucky was back in town and he was working within walking distance from where she lived and worked.

She was still feeling guilty about what had happened between her and Bucky when they were teenagers but she was sure that she didn’t deserve the way he had treated her. Darcie passed her friend Peggy in the hallway and she grinned at her.

“Hey, I’m going on break now, do you want anything?” the English beauty chewed her red stained lip as she thought about it.

“I’d ask for a will to live but I don’t think that you can buy them at the grocery store,” she giggled, “I’ll just settle for that blonde mechanic’s number,” she blushed prettily as she fiddled with her fingers.

“I’m sure that Steve will be delighted to get your number, he’s such a great guy,” Darcie smiled, although that did mean that she’d have to go back to Bucky’s garage to grab Steve’s number.

“Hmm, Steve,” Peggy hummed almost as if she was seeing what his name would sound like rolling off of her tongue, “if you could make an introduction I’d be forever grateful. But, I’d best get back to work darling,” she kissed Darcie’s cheek before she was off down the corridor again.

The weather in the city was so warm and balmy, the air smelling of fresh fruits from the surrounding stalls. This sort of weather made Darcie long for a peaceful stroll on the beach – as cliché and sickening as that sounded – with a cone of ice cream. It was something that she and Bucky used to do sometimes with Bucky forever stealing her caramel swirl gelato. He had wanted to take her to Coney Island but Darcie had refused, scared that her dad or one of his colleagues would catch them together and then it would have all been over.

She regretted not going on that day trip with Bucky because everything had ended anyway, going to Coney Island might have ended their friendship sooner but they’d have had fun and maybe Bucky wouldn’t hate her now. Darcie shook painful memories of the past out of her head as she passed a milkshake stand, she grabbed a vanilla fudge one for herself and a white chocolate one for Peter, it was his favourite.

Darcie worked with a woman called May Parker – she was really good friends with her actually – May’s nephew Peter worked in the comic book store down the street from the hospital. He was also completing an internship with Tony Stark. May had always said that Peter’s boss in the comic book store was a jerk and he never helped Peter out.

Because of the fact that Peter’s boss was such a jerk Darcie liked to help out when she could, May helped out too and Peter’s boss of course, didn’t care. It was fairly quiet when she walked into the heavily air conditioned store, as the little bell tinkled Peter’s head raised up from where he was pricing up some new stock. He grinned when he saw who it was.

“Darcie, hey. I didn’t know that you were coming in today,” he chewed his bottom lip and he quietly spoke, “you don’t have to you know. Just because my boss is an ass it doesn’t mean that you should have to pick up his slack. I do appreciate it though,” he added quickly.

Darcie shrugged with a smile as she approached the till, “I don’t mind, you know how much of a workaholic I am,” she giggled and passed him his milkshake, “that’s for you by the way. White chocolate,” she smiled as Peter’s eyes lit up and he reached to take the cold drink.

He took a sip and made a satisfied noise, “god, that’s good, thank you! I’ve been sweltering in here, even with the air conditioning,” he chuckled, pushing his sweaty hair back off his forehead.

“No problem Pete, what can I do? Is there some stock that needs to go out? I know that you can’t leave the shop floor unattended,” Darcie smiled, throwing her thick, long hair into a bun to get it off his face. Peter fiddled with a pen at the till – something that he always did when he was thinking – as his eyes scanned the store.

“Yeah, I think we’ve got some more of the chocolate to go out,” he pointed over to the corner of the room where the shelf of overly priced chocolate sat, “and there are some new Game of Thrones figures but you don’t have to bother with them. I can do it when I close the shop tonight.”

Darcie smiled at him, he was such a sweet kid, “I honestly don’t mind Pete, it makes sense for me to do it while I’m here,” she told him, patting him on the cheek.

“Thanks Darcie,” he threw her an appreciative look, chuckling and rolling his eyes as she finger gunned him, “please don’t do that ever again, it’s really not cool.”

Darcie laughed and gave him the finger in response to his words before climbing the numerous flights of stairs to the warehouse. As she reached the top of the stairs she panted and ambled into the warehouse to take the boxes of chocolates and the figurines down to the shop floor. By the time she had finished filling the shelves May had gotten there, she was whispering to Peter as she gazed wistfully at the corner of the shop, her eyes alight with excitement.

“Hi May, what’s going on?” Darcie giggled at her expression as she joined May and Peter behind the counter. May sighed, biting her lip and she pointed in the direction that she was looking in.

“There’s that gorgeous new mechanic, have you met him yet?” Darcie looked to where May was pointing, the man had his back to them but Darcie knew that it was Bucky.

She chewed her lip as he turned to face them and Darcie tried to ignore how good that white t shirt looked stretched over his muscles and he had a smudge of grease on his nose, “yeah, I’ve met him before, he’s a jerk,” Darcie elaborated when May gave her a questioning look, “I went to high school with him.”

“Oh! But that was ages ago, I’m sure that he’s changed since then,” her grin was giddy as Bucky approached the till with some of the also overpriced energy drinks, “hi there,” May burst out and he offered her a charming smile, the same smile that used to make Darcie go weak in her knees.

“Hey beautiful,” he winked before his baby blue eyes flicked over in Darcie’s direction, “Darcie,” he inclined his head so slightly that if she had blinked she would have missed it.

“Hey Buck, how are you?” she asked as Bucky paid for his items, Bucky shrugged nonchalantly as he rubbed the side of his nose, depositing even more grease onto his skin as he did so.

“To be honest, I’m all the more worse for seeing you again,” he spoke so casually, it was as if they were merely talking about the weather, Darcie felt a sting in her heart as her insides squirmed unpleasantly and she was very aware of Peter and May’s eyes on her.

“Hope to see you never,” his gazed flickered back over to May, “but I will definitely see you later,” he smirked and Darcie saw Peter grimace at Bucky’s flirting. When he left the store May turned to Darcie.

“What in the hell are you doing? Go after him! You and that man gave got some serious chemistry going on!” Darcie somehow didn’t think so.

However, she sighed and abandoned all thought and went after him, thankfully Bucky was just standing outside the store on his phone, his handsome features were locked together in a frown. His eyebrow raised in slight surprise as his eyes met hers and he opened his mouth, presumably to ask her what the hell she was doing or spit out some new insult.

“Bucky! I’m sorry, though it’s really not fair that you’re still punishing me for one tiny thing that happened over ten years ago! Are you ever going to get past this? Will you ever forgive me?”

“Darcie,” he started, heaving out a sigh, “it wasn’t just some tiny thing but let me spell this out for you. I don’t want to see you unless I absolutely have to and I definitely don’t want to know you. So how about you do us all a favour and forget about it because I’m never going to forgive you. Not ever,” his words were so harsh and all she could do was watch him as he walked away.

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

“Hey, think fast!” Bucky chuckled as he launched one of the energy drinks at Steve when he arrived back at the garage. Steve caught it at the last minute and he threw Bucky a scathing look as he flipped open the can and took a generous sip of it.

“You look annoyed, what’s wrong?”

“I uh, saw Darcie in town, she still wants me to forgive her,” Bucky rolled his eyes and Steve bit his lip.

“Well, maybe you should forgive her and she’ll leave you alone,” Steve said reasonably, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “speaking of Darcie, can you drop her car back at her place when we close. You’ve kept it for long enough out of spite, I’ve written down her address and she’s assured me that she’ll be home to receive it, I called her before. You need to do it in person,” Steve dangled her car keys in front of Bucky

“I don’t understand why you can’t do it,” Bucky grumbled but took the keys anyway when Steve gave him a stern look.

When Steve and Bucky closed the garage Bucky took her flashy car and drove it to her equally flashy house, doctors must have an easy life judging by their obvious amount of wealth. Darcie even had a front garden with white roses planted in nearly every flower bed. Where there were no roses planted there was honeysuckle, Bucky could smell it as soon as he got out of the car, the sweet smell on the wind mingled well with the summer air.

Bucky sighed, preparing himself as he walked up the front path and took a moment before knocking on her door, he really didn’t want to be here but he knew she’d blab to Steve if he didn’t deliver. He really didn’t want to see Steve when he was angry; he’d seen a different side to his best friend ever since they had fought in the army together. After a couple of moments Darcie pulled the door open, still in her doctor’s scrubs. Bucky tried to ignore how pretty the colour of her hair looked in the evening sun and her skin almost looked like it was glowing, thankfully the sight of her didn’t induce the butterflies that it seeing her once did. He almost forgot how much he hated her.

“Come to insult me again? It was you that said that you never wanted to see me again wasn’t it?” she leaned against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow and it made Bucky remember exactly why he hated her and just how much.

“I’m not here on a social call,” he rolled his eyes, as he let her keys dangle off one finger; “your car is ready.”

She scowled as she snatched the keys from him, “can you give something to Steve for me?”

Bucky wanted to refuse but he had better not if it concerned his best friend, “fine, what?”

“Give me a second,” she said, closing the door slightly as she scribbled something down on a scrap of paper, “there you go, Steve will be happy with that.”

Bucky glanced down at it, saw that it was a phone number and sneered, “I thought Steve already had your number?”

Darcie smirked, folding her arms and spoke in a satisfied sort of voice, “oh, are you jealous Bucky?” she let out a laugh as she slammed the door in his face. Bucky glared at the door, almost kicking it and he walked back down the steps.

Upon closer the inspection of the number, Bucky saw that the name ‘Peggy’ was written right next to the digits.

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

@void-imaginations @marvelellie @theonelittleone @thesswintersoldier @dreamacoholic @harryngtonewithyourshit @iamariotgrrl @wavyjassy

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 6 years

Text

Only For A Moment Ch. 12

Master List | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Smoking (idk if anyone considers that a problem other than the obvious), mainly angsty fluff.

A/N: Look, we can all be insensitive fucks from time to time. That rings especially true when you’re dealing with your own issues. The most important thing is being able to self reflect and realize that we are focusing too hard on our own issues and trying to make things right. Supporting our fellow humans is a hard but worthy endeavor and I think that the journey to learning how to be a better partner, friend, advocate is a huge part of this story. As always I’m just immensely grateful for those of you who are reading and reaching out! Like I said before, reblogs are cool and all but tbh I just like engaging with my readers (so let’s chat) and y’all have totally done that. I love ya pumpkins! (Idk why, but this is one of my faves so far.)

Tags are open!

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree@woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @soulless-and-sarcastic

Now, you want a cigarette. The last 24 hours have been far too much and you’re done. Bucky wasn’t wrong, you weren’t necessarily a habitual smoker but you were a ‘when you want one you need one’ kind of smoker.

You walk to the newsstand across the street to snag a pack of cheap ones and a lighter. You cross back, tapping the pack against your left hand, the lighter held in your teeth.

That first drag is almost as good as the first sip of coffee. Annoyingly you have noticed, as with drinking and caffeine, it takes so much more for it to really do anything than it used to. But the motion is still soothing in its own way. You take a long pull and look up at the blue sky puffing perfect smoke rings.

The bell on the bookshop door tinkles and Bucky emerges. “If you’re going to tell me these will kill me I would really rather you keep it to yourself.”

“They will and I wasn’t,” he leans against the wall next to you, “I was going to ask for one.” You stare at him for a long second before proffering the pack. He takes one and before you can hand him the lighter he pulls a knock-off Zippo out and lights it.

He drags hard, letting the smoke escape from his nose. You stare up at him and he looks down at you through the cloud, “Yes?”

“Just wondering why you gave me shit for smoking earlier, since you obviously do too,” you turn away inhaling and looking across the street.

He snorts, twin plumes rise in your peripheral, “I gave you shit for smoking a pack a day or more when it’s clear you aren’t doing so because you need to.”

“So what you’re saying is,” you take a drag, “if I was an addict it would be fine.”

“No,” he drops his to the ground, stamps it with his boot, and picks up the butt, all with the last vestiges of smoke curling out of his nose. He looks right at you, “But you wouldn’t be doing it for the sole purpose of hoping it would kill you.” He turns and tosses it in the nearby trash can.

“Touche,” you tamp your cigarette against the brick wall and he gives you a half-hearted smile before heading back inside.

Was I always this defensive? You wonder as you head to the trash can. Why does he keep asking me questions? Doesn’t he realize I don’t want to fucking remembe- Then it hits you and you grab the edge of the trash can groaning.

You really have forgotten how to be a human. You don’t want to remember, you want to let the old versions of yourself, the battered child and the resilient woman, you want to let them both die in the pit of forgotten things and move on, void of a past. He does not. He cannot. He needs to remember, desperately needs to find that past version of himself. All his questions aren’t solely because he wants to know you, they’re also because he’s hoping you’ll ask back so he can get to know himself.

You think back to how he lit up last night when you asked about Totonno’s, how that led him to another memory, how this morning through talking to you he remembered escorting those women to protect them. You, Y/N, are a complete and total asshole.

Back inside you smile at Mr. Goldstein and head to the storeroom. He’s sitting in his place, two more boxes on the floor back to the door. Not wanting to startle him you gently rap on the frame. “You know I heard you the moment you walked in right?” You wince a bit at his cold tone but, honestly, it’s the least you deserve.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“The way you walk,” he sets the book he’s pulled out to the side, a collection of poetry in Romanian.

“You couldn’t see me?”

“I could hear it,” you walk around him to reclaim your own spot, he still hasn’t looked at you, “hear how you set your foot down. You don’t put your heel down hard, mainly carry yourself forward on the balls of your feet,” he sets a book in its alphabetical pile. “Dancers and people who wear heels a lot walk like that. Good for being quiet, and moving quickly, shit if you want to have a solid footing.”

“That’s some hearing for a fragile old man,” that gets you a bemused look. “I don’t walk that way from excess heel wearing, I always hated heels, and I’m no dancer,” you start sorting your own box, handing him an author beginning in B. “I got used to sneaking around a lot as a kid and I guess it just stuck.”

“Why?” He asks this like he doesn’t expect an answer.

“Mom had a series of assholes for boyfriends.” He looks at you, brows knitted. You shrug. “So, I learned to be quiet. I couldn’t always just float.”

“I figured.” You cock your head, “I just… I thought… they gave you this-“

“No,” you hover a book from the top of your box to your hands. “This has always been mine.” You spin the thick volume on your upturned palm. “It’s why they wanted me.” It falters and falls, “But they did make it… stronger? Or maybe just pushed me to use it more. Either way, I used to just be able to move medium-sized objects or use it to help move big ones. Came in handy moving a couch to a 4th-floor walk up.”

He snickers, “I bet.” The silence hangs.

“So, do you have a favorite Shakespeare piece?” He looks at you hard for a second and you smile, Please just know I’m sorry, I’m so tired of saying it.

“I don’t think so,” he blankly studies the cover of a book. “I don’t remember reading many of his plays, I did take a girl to see one about this woman who was,” his eyes squint into the middle distance, reaching for that memory. “A harlot? No…”

“Taming of The Shrew?”

“That’s it!” He pulls a little notepad from his back pocket and jots it down, you can’t help but smile. “I liked it.”

“I like that one too.”

“I thought you were a tragedies girl.”

You laugh, “Yeah but 10 Things I Hate About You is hands down my favorite romcom.”

“What?”

“Romcom. Romantic comedy.” He still looks confused. “Oh! It’s a movie, based on the play but set in a high school in the 90’s. I kind of hate most romance flicks but that one is an exception.” You realize he probably hasn’t seen many movies.

“I’ll have to watch that.”

“You should,” he hands you a stack of books for your piles, “It’s silly but good.”

He chuckles, “I like silly.”

“Yeah?”

“St- a friend and I would always go see Chaplin or the Marx brothers, stuff like that. We’d go to see pictures all the time, even if we had to sneak in,” he’s wearing that sad smile. He almost said a name, you aren’t sure if he’s worried it’s the wrong name or if he doesn’t want to share it… He laughs, eyes glassy, “Got caught sneaking into Duck Soup, we were 16 I think. We ran but he, my friend, fell behind, he had trouble breathing, so I had him get on my back,” his eyes crinkle. “God, we must have looked so ridiculous.”

“Did you get away?”

There’s that incredible smile. “We did. By hiding in a dumpster,” he shakes his head, “that was Steve’s-“ he comes up short smile vanishing, takes a shaky breath, “his idea.”

You smile, “Clever.”

“He always was.” He’s so far away. “And so goddamn stubborn.” He’d said you had reminded him of someone when you were pitted against one another at the facility. You’re scared to ask but you swallow hard and go for it.

“This friend, was he the one I reminded you of? When… when we…” He looks at you, smile so tender it makes your chest contract.

“Yeah,” his voice cracks a little and he clears his throat looking away. “He was… my best friend, my… family.” His left hand seizes into a fist, the metal whirrs in the silence and the glove strains to contain it’s secret. You reach over and lay a hand over the hard metal aching for his loss, too close to your own.

He jerks his hand back and for a moment you’re a little hurt, then you see Mr. Goldstein approaching. “You kids are making good progress.”

“Yessir,” Bucky responds, no sign of the previous emotions in his tone. He stands, grabbing his stacks. “Once we’ve finished these that’ll make six boxes.”

“Fantastic!” Mr. Goldstein claps his hands. Victor, the cat, lazily strolls in and rubs his face on Bucky’s legs. “Victor seems to approve too. I should have known you were good boys when he took to you, cats have a sense about people you know?”

You look at Victor, contentedly winding around Bucky’s feet, purring, “Yeah, they do.”

Mr. Goldstein nods. “Well once you two are done with those I’m closing up. Have afternoon Shabbat. Don’t forget to pick your books.” He turns and hobbles back to his perch in the front.

Victor is still making his circuit around Bucky. He sets one handful of books on the desk and bends down to scratch the cat's ears. “I think your senses may be a little busted, bud,” he whispers. Victor only purrs louder.

“Nope,” he looks up at you somewhat surprised, “Victor’s senses are just fine.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky imagine #bucky fic #fluff #soft bucky #only for a moment

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bonernas · 5 years

Text

A Song of Bobs and Berts

Part 1/7

Word Count: 2,370

Disclaimer: This is a crackfic about the different Bobsonas, based on actor Robert Downey Jr. and his questionable fashion sense. It also includes some hints on other people and things related to the MCU. For more info about the Bobsonas and their respectful creators, please check the link below!

Warnings: rated T, no Bobs were harmed in the making of this fic, mentions of (use of) drugs, swearing, I used the slur “frog eater” at one point, this is a mobster fic set in the noire genre so blood, weapons and violence might become a thing, skipped the typical homophobia and racism tho but a lot of people use roids and crystal

Summary: When Bobster Di Seta, one of Twunky Town's most feared mobsters, finds out that Boberto Laineux, brother of Bobster's arch enemy, Robert "The Bobfather" Laineux, was elected the city’s new mayor, he needs to put an end to the reign of the french mafia. To infiltrate the Laineux family and increase the sales of his own drugs, he orders his handsome underling, Steeb, to seduce the only heir of the Bobfather: Bobling Laineux, the doe-eyed billionare playboy. But just when Steeb discovers that there's more to the young mobster than good looks and sassy one-liners, their blooming romance is put to the test by a cold-blooded murder. Will the only unbribable cop of Twunky Town's police force solve this case before the city falls into war? Or will the rivalry of the two mobster clans turn everything into ashes?

A Story based on the RDJ spectrum

Chapter One - A Game of Bobs

Some people might say this is a love story. Some might call it a thriller. Most people would consider it a waste of ink and paper. To be completely honest with you, it’s probably a mix of all three. It’s the story of how I lost not only my job and my sanity, but also my glossy natural curls. It’s the story of my last case.

The year’s 1947. I was a young and ambitious detective at the Twunky Town Police Department, just recently promoted to work at vice. The two rivaling mobster clans, the Di Seta’s and the Laineux’, ruled the city with a firm grip, and the vice squad had their vision plastered with enough bribe to just clean up the aftermath of the drug wars. But not me. I was determined to not become some gangster’s puppet. I joined the TTPD to serve law and justice and not some french mafioso in a scarlet mink and a collection of ridiculous fedoras. But let’s begin with the day it all started going downhill.

The shattering of glass cut through the peaceful atmosphere, followed by a pressed “goddammit!”. Hay rustled when some of the alpacas shifted nervously, moving to the outskirts of the wide, luxurious stable and further away from the angry human and his spilled drink on the fenced patio.

“Mr. Di Seta? You need some help?” A young, blonde man appeared in the top half of one of the dutch doors, hesitant to enter.

Bobster Di Seta, head of the mobster clan, turned down the volume of his oversized mahogany radio and inhaled deeply, one time, two times. He resisted the urge to snap at his subordinate, took one last deep breath and turned around, calm and contained.

“Steeb. Yes, clean up this mess. Make sure to pick up all the shards. I can’t let anything happen to these fluffy little beasts. They cost me enough money already.”

Steeb didn’t bother to open the bottom half of the door and just casually hopped over it, his broad shoulders only one inch from getting stuck in the frame. Bobster caught himself staring a second too long at his employee carefully picking up the broken glass with long, slim fingers. The boy was as meaty and handsome as he was eager to please his boss, and Bobster had to admit that he’d like to give the boy a... promotion. For his good work of course.

“You need anything else, Sir?” The sound of Steebs voice retrieved Bobster from his daydreams, back into the barn with his whiskey spilled on the tiles and the radio silently humming in the background. He almost forgot what made him drop the glass in the first place. Bobster reached over to the small bistro table he usually took his lunch at and grabbed one of the empty crystal bowls, holding it out to Steeb and gestured him to drop the shards into it.

“Can’t have you cut your pretty fingers, right boy?”, he hummed as he placed the bowl back. Steeb, uncertain what to do with his now empty hands, shoved them into the pockets of his slacks, watching his boss strolling over to the railing that separated the patio from the rest of the stable, filled with the most exquisite alpacas in Twunky Town. He’d always wondered why someone would want to brunch in a barn filled with llamas, but he assumed you had to be somewhat extravagant to lead a mob.

Bobster let his eyes wander over the peaceful scenery, the sturdy little camelids cuddled up in heaps of hay, grooming each other or just enjoying the warm patches of winter sun that the broad windows casted on the floor. And that was when he came up with his plan.

“You heard the news already, Steeb?”, Bobster asked as he turned around and faced the nervous blonde after minutes of silence. Steeb frowned.

“Uhm... you mean the election results? Boberto Laineux won with absolute majority, right?”

“Damn right you are, boy. Boberto Laineux, new mayor of Twunky Town. No way this whole election wasn’t rigged. I’d bet half my alpacas his older brother Robert just killed all the voters he couldn’t buy. You heard of him?”

“The Bobfather? Sure did”, Steve blurted, but fell silent when Bobster inhaled sharply with a pained look.

“Don’t- don’t call him Bobfather. His ego is overfed already. Double-faced little bastard. None of my products could ever stand a chance against his Bonguettes and Crystal Crêpes, but did I blame him for that? No, I did my research, I ran tests, and put all my heart and money into a high-end designer steroid based on alpaca saliva. And what did that greedy little frog eater do? Flood the market with down-washed dumpster roids. Swoleabaisse... what kind of name is that even?!”

Steeb shifted nervously. He already heard that Alpacked, the high society’s new anabolic, didn’t sell as well as intended, the french mafia still having the upper hand in drug sales. With the Bobfather’s brother in the mayor’s office it would be even harder to compete against Swoleabaisse’s immense success. Steeb had been a part of the Di Seta clan for barely two years, but he felt like he owed them something for taking him in. A few weeks more on the streets and he’d probably been forced to sell his body for food and shelter. Seeing his boss fed up over these bad news made him quite desperate to help.

“So... what’re we gonna do about Boberto?” Steeb asked. Bobster raised a brow and flashed him a smirk.

“How considerate of you to ask what we are doing about this, Steeb”, he hummed. Slow and smooth he approached the taller man, came to a halt mere inches from his broad chest and looked up, tilting his head and savoring how the blonde’s cheeks flushed under his glare.

“Tell me, boy, if I’d ask you to help me put an end to the Laineux’ reign, would you help me?”

“O-of course, Sir!”

“And if I asked you to do so by infiltrating the french mafia and seducing Robert’s only child, would you still help me?”

Steeb frowned for a second. He had heard of the Bobfather’s heir, Bobling Laineux. Handsome, intelligent, but more interested in throwing parties and crashing venues at his father’s nightclubs than in running a mob. Steeb was well aware of his effect on other people, but he was sure that Laineux Junior was still way out of his league. “Well, I could try... I guess?”

Bobster threw his hands up so suddenly that some of the alpacas nearby startled and stared at him indignantly. “Then it’s settled. Go and meet with Maria, she’ll take care of.. well, whatever you might want to call this outfit. Get yourself dolled up and meet me for dinner at the manor for more details.” Bobster patted Steebs arm and couldn’t resist to give it a light squish. Then, before things could start to get awkward, he quickly strut over to the broad wooden stable door and slipped out into the chilly February afternoon, leaving Steeb with his thoughts and a herd of equally confused llamas.

I didn’t know it then, but young Steeb and I were at the very same venue that night. It was an open secret that Robert “The Bobfather” Laineux had every cop, starting from patrol way up to the chief, under his wing - and he made sure to keep it that way by pampering us every now and then.

And that’s how I found myself crammed between Twunky Town’s rich and famous, pompous chandeliers dangling over my head, faintly glistening in the smoke-filled air of the ballroom. With my colleagues gone the minute we entered and nothing to hold onto but my ideals and a scotch worth a months salary, I roamed through the maze of leather chairs and heavy brocade tablecloths. I found a seat at the very brink of the dance floor, slightly hidden by a huge bouquet of exotic flowers; perfect to sit all by myself and brood over my drink. At a corner table, several feet from my location, a certain young fella was about to make a move.

Steeb ran a hand through his hair for what must’ve been the hundredth time this night. Thank God Maria had used more pomade than he did all week - most of it was probably gone by now. He nipped on his drink and let his gaze drift through the ballroom again, stopping at the corner table like he did all evening.

There he sat, surrounded by a hoard of coquettishly giggling guys and gals, ruffling their opulent gowns and tinkling with heaps of colourful gems. But the young mobster didn’t need any of this. The creamy white suit, hugging his slim shape perfectly, made him stand out like a pearl in an ornament of glass beads. The colour of his dress shirt was the same deep scarlet tone as his château, and the teasing glare he shot over the brim was of the same chocolatey brown as his curls.

Goodness gracious, Steeb really was way out of his league.

But, he was here, he was all dressed up and he had a mission. Just as he decided to down the rest of his drink and finally make a move, his target excused himself and got up. While his admirers continued their chatter, he made a beeline for the bar Steeb was sitting at, casually leaning on the counter next to him.

“Hey, sailor. Don’t think I’ve seen you here before?”, Bobling Laineux hummed with a small nip from his wine, sizing him up cheekily. Steeb felt the mobster’s eyes trace every hint his navy blue suit gave away, and to be honest, it made him tingly. He shifted in his seat, signing for another drink before he faced the handsome mobster, flashing him what he hoped to be a playful smile.

“Nope, my first time here actually”, he answered. Bobling cocked an eyebrow, eyeing the tall blonde up and down a second time. Steeb felt his hands get sweaty. Damn, Bobster really set him up with the sharpest guy in town. Too bad it was all a scam.

“Well, I’d be thrilled to ask you for the first dance then”, Bobling smirked. He didn’t wait for a response, took Steebs hand and gently pulled him on the dance floor. A few other couples were already dancing around them, and they smoothly fit into the fast rhythm of the swing band.

Steeb wasn’t much of a dancer, but with Bobling, he forgot time and place. They twirled and twisted, only inches from the other guests but somehow miles away. Neither of them spoke much, small talk felt superfluous when each others company was more than enough. Long, intense glares, an occasional smirk and a hand lingering on the small of his back just a few more seconds than necessary, it didn’t take more to make Steeb feel all flustered after the third song.

The band paused and the lights dimmed slightly, a spotlight illuminating the center of the stage. Accompanied by cheers and applause, a lady dressed in emerald green joined the band. Steeb and Bobling mimicked the other couples drawing nearer, slowly swaying to the soft tunes of a ballad. Way closer than before now, Steeb caught a faint hint of Bobling’s exquisite cologne that sent shivers down his spine. He gave his beau a small twirl, and when he tucked Bobling back in, chests flush against each other and his stormy blue gaze meeting shimmering obsidian, it felt like there was no one but the two of them.

“Well, sailor. I don’t think you’ve told me your name yet.” Bobling sounded as suave and playful as always, but the soft pink that tinted his cheeks gave away his true feelings.

“Dorito. Steeb Dorito. A pleasure, Mr. Laineux.”

Oh Jesus, did his voice really sound that croaky? So much for playing it cool. Why didn’t he ask Bobling to leave bite marks on his neck straightaway? That would be way less obvious. Bobling just smiled and said nothing for a few more twirls. But when the song ended and all the other couples stopped for a round of applause, the mobster’s gaze remained on Steeb before he spoke.

“Tell me, darling, if you’d flutter with those long lashes of yours, would I feel a breeze on my skin?”

Steeb smirked. His hand gripped the younger man’s waist more tightly as he leaned in just a few inches, his voice dark and husky as he answered.

“Why don’t you come closer and find out yourself?”

Will Bobling continue to be a thirsty hoe for Steeb? Will Bobster’s evil plan succeed? Will the author get carried away by RDJs everlasting sexappeal again? Will the plot remain a wild mix of cringy crackfic and blooming romance? Will the alpacas ever overcome their trauma? Will there ever be a person, drug or location with a name not mutilated to the point where I should slap myself for writing it? Find out in the next chapter!

A/N: English is not my first language and this is actually the first piece of fiction I didn’t write in German. Therefore my punctuation and grammar might be a bit off sometimes but cc is highly appreciated!

Btw, you can also read this story on ao3!

#the rdj spectrum #bobsonas #rdj #young rdj #bobling #crack fic #a song of bobs and berts #asobab #a game of bobs #jfc will i ever stop editing this post i'm sorry guys #own post

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 7 years

Text

Another kinky wager

Summary: As he previously promised, Bucky helps you work out all those irritating little kinks in your pool game. Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: Absolutely NSFW. It’s all sex and pool tables folks, please walk away unless you’re over 18.

A/N: Decided to write a follow-up to ‘Pool balls and underpants’, because I just couldn’t move on without a smutty sequel. This can read as a stand-alone story, but it will make more sense why Bucky’s wearing Steve’s underwear if you read the first part. And besides, who doesn’t love reading sassy sexual innuendos from Bucky Barnes? Also, I meant this to be short, and once again my imagination spiralled out of control, and here we are. I regret nothing.

Pool balls and underpants MASTERLIST

He’s startled for a moment, before a sly smile stretches across his face, and he whips around to follow, white socks slipping and sliding on the smooth tiles as he chases after you.

You grin to yourself when you hear the hurried shuffling behind you, and a moment later, you feel cool metal fingers closing around your wrist. Spinning you around to face him, Bucky swiftly backs you against the wall, laying his palms flat on either side of your face. His expression is disturbingly mischievous, and you see his blue eyes darken when he touches your cheek with his nose, inhaling the scent of your skin.

Curling your hand behind his neck, you pull him in, closing your eyes before his lips meet yours.

But nothing happens. The sound of AI fills the hallway.

“Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers has just instructed me to tell you he needs you immediately.”

“Tell him no.” Bucky doesn’t move, eyes still closed, lips so close.

“I’m afraid I can’t. There’s an urgent brief that’s just arrived.”

“Tell him to fuck off.”

“I’m sorry sir, Captain Rogers is saying no. He’s also requested that I state, quote, don’t be a dick who starts something he can’t finish, especially when you’re wearing my underwear. End quote.”

Swearing under his breath, Bucky leans back to look at you, beyond frustrated at the interruption. “This isn’t over.”

Gently shooing him away, you give him a wink. “I certainly hope not.”

*****

It’s been three very long weeks. That little interaction in the hallway was enough to leave you weak in the knees, and the ridiculous thing was, nothing actually happened.

Searching for something to keep you occupied until the team returns, you’re wandering the vacant compound after hours, when you come across the little library on the top level. It’s beautiful, full of old books and dark leather chairs and crystal decanters brimming with expensive whiskey.

But the best part? The gorgeous hand-crafted pool table, just begging you to give it a try.

Delighted at the discovery, you grab a stick off the wall. A little practice never hurt anyone, right?

“So - are you in here to tempt me on purpose?”

His voice makes you jump, and you turn to find Bucky reclining against the doorframe. Hair still damp from a shower, arms are casually crossed, he stares intently.

Fighting an excited smile, you give a nonchalant shrug. “Fringe benefit. Besides, everyone needs a little practice now and then. Even me.”

He’s still watching closely, the lust obvious in his blue eyes.

“I’m here to officially petition for a rematch.”

“Are you now? I’m open to discussing. But first, can you do me a favour?”

“I can do you lots of favours sweetheart.”

Sighing patiently, you nod at him. “Could you please just call my cell phone? I can’t find it.”

It’s an odd request. He shoots you a wary look before pulling out his phone. There’s a moment of silence before you both hear the ring, or rather, the muted sounds of a Jay-Z song tinkling in the air.

“I’m a hustler baby! I just want you to know. It ain’t where I been, but where I’m ‘bout to go.”

Keeping your face impassive, you reach into your back pocket for the phone and silence it.

“Oh, by the way, I changed your ringtone. Seemed appropriate.”

Bucky’s nose twitches. He steps into the room, kicking the door shut behind him and giving you a dark smile as he flips the lock. His eyes run up and down your body, from your bare toes and old jeans, to the loose white t-shirt you wore.

“Look sweetheart, let’s not dance around the subject. You know this is inevitable, right? We’re gonna happen sooner or later.”

“Probably so,” you agree out loud. Good god, I hope so, you agree internally.

“So, let’s make it interesting, maybe a little wager on the terms. What do you say?”

Tilting your head, you consider. “I’m listening.”

“Here’s my proposal. Winner picks the time. Winner picks the place. And just to keep it kinky, winner gets to pick the only three words the loser can say when I’m fucking you.”

Summoning every ounce of poise, you struggle to maintain a bored expression, although you’re sure he can hear your heart thrumming in your chest.

“Alright. And when I win, I’ll be sure to come up with three impossible words, in the hope that you can shut your mouth for more than 10 minutes.”

Bucky bursts into laughter and all you can think right now is how stupidly adorable he looks when he laughs. God damn, that’s so annoying.

“Goal is to sink as many shots as possible in a single turn. Once you miss, the balls re-rack and the other person starts. You can do anything to screw with your opponent’s concentration, short of touching them or obstructing the shot. The filthier the better. Get creative.”

The two of you are slowly moving toward each other, tension crackling in the air.

Bucky inclines his head in agreement, and reaches into his pocket. “Flip a quarter to see who breaks first. You call it.”

You’re literally toe-to-toe with him. He holds the coin on his thumb, and smirks while he waits for your answer. Letting your tongue take a slow circle around your lips, you raise an eyebrow.

“I’m a sucker for heads.”

“Well that’s good sweetheart, because I love getting tails.”

With a flick of his finger, Bucky flips the quarter in the air and catches it on the back of his hand, giving you a smug look when it reveals tails.

��Guess I’m up.”

Sauntering to the table, he twirls the pool cue through his long fingers. Grabbing the other stick, you trail your fingers up and down the pole, throwing him your best seductive look.

“Speaking of getting up, you know I’ll be happy to help you with that.”

Glancing up from the table, he grins. “Oh, I’m counting on it sweetheart, but you’re gonna have to try harder.”

The balls break with a loud crack, two solid colours immediately falling in.

“Well look at that.” He straightens up, beaming at you. Strolling around the table, he finds another shot, nodding silently toward the far pocket.

You realise immediately, you’ll need to be proactive, before he gets too far. Snatching a glass of water from the side table, you make a game time decision.

And pour the liquid down the front of your shirt.

“Clumsy me. Look at this, I’m so…wet.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and bends into his shot, giving it his full concentration. Narrowing your eyes, you set the empty glass down and keep trying.

Stripping off your shirt, you let it drop to the floor with a plop.

Laying your hands on the table, you lean forward, squeezing your breasts together, giving him a clear view of your lace covered assets. Biting your bottom lip, you purr his name.

“Buck…”

He gives a cursory glance up at the sound, and does a comical double-take. The pool cue slips in his fingers, glancing off the ball, ruining the shot.

“God dammit,” he breathes, eyes still glued to your chest.

Laughing at the dazed look on his face, you curtsy.

“Guess you don’t quite have the stamina to finish the job. Would have been nice if you’d given me more of a challenge here, Barnes.”

Gathering the balls, you re-rack them and move everything into position.

Bucky chews his lip for a moment, contemplating his strategy. The idea arrives quickly and his face clears. Giving you a heated look, he fists a hand in the neck of his shirt, yanking it over his head. There’s a jingling click when he opens his belt buckle, and his eyes stay locked on you as he undoes the button of his jeans and slides down the zipper.

Rolling your eyes, you square your shoulders and attempt to ignore the wide view of solid muscle. Leaning forward, you concentrate on the shot, making damn sure he can see your breasts spilling over the cups of your bra.

And then you hear it.

A low, guttural moan rumbling from deep in his chest, and you can’t help looking up. Bucky has those shiny metal fingers pushed down the front of his jeans, his eyes locked on your breasts, breath coming in harsh pants, while he takes long, slow strokes of his cock.

The pool stick fumbles in your fingers. You miss the shot.

You miss the first fucking shot.

Oh shit.

There’s a moment of absolute silence, both of you frozen in surprise.

“So.” The triumph in his voice is unmistakable. He slowly pulls his hand from his jeans and stalks toward you. “That was unexpected.”

Fucking hell. How the fuck did this happen?

“You do know what this means? I. Fucking. Win.”

Oh god. He’s just never going to let this go.

“Can you remind me the terms of our wager please?” He’s standing in front of you now, deep voice smooth and polite.

“You know the terms, asshole.”

“No, I need you to recap them please. Considering the ideas in my head right now, I don't want any confusion.”

The quiet whine passes your lips before you can stop it, and at the sound, Bucky’s hands immediately grip your hips.

“Winner picks the time. Winner picks the place. Winner picks the three words.”

“And remind me, what does the loser do?”

You grit your teeth, infuriated you lost, but so unbelievably turned on at the husky sound of his voice.

“Everything.”

“Perfect. Well, I choose right now sweetheart, here on this pool table. And as for those three words?”

He lifts three fingers, ticking them off as he goes.

“One is Bucky. I really love when you say my name, you do this thing where you draw out the 'y' and it just...mmm yeah.”

“Two is harder. I'm sure you'll want to use that often.”

“Three...I'm throwing a wildcard in here. Three is hustle. That’s how we ended up here and I really wanna see what you do with that one. Feel free to moan and scream, I like those sounds too. And maybe let me hear that sexy little hum you do when you're concentrating.”

He really was going all out on this.

“Let’s get started, shall we? Turn around, hands in front of you.”

With a huff of lust-fueled annoyance, you slowly turn, gripping the edge of the table nice and tight.

He skims his hands down your rib-cage, sliding them to rest at the front of your jeans, and fiddles with the button before he undoes it and slowly slides the zipper down. Reaching both hands down the front, he keeps them outside your underwear, and you shiver at the combination of hot and cold, metal and flesh. Humming in your ear, he slides them back to grip a handful of your ass, digging his fingers into your flesh, and massaging the skin. Nuzzling the back of your neck, you can feel him drawing lazy little patterns with the tip of his tongue.

Hooking his thumbs in the waist of your jeans, he yanks them to your knees, before stepping forward and pushing down the fabric with his foot, where it pools around your ankles. You move to step out of them, but he keeps his foot in place, stopping you.

“Wait. Let’s see if you remember what we learned before you pulled that little stunt last time. I think the first thing was to get in position and spread your legs for me.”

At the reminder of his words, and the sound of his gravelly voice dropping lower, the air leaves your lungs in a rush. Moving your feet as far apart as the jeans will allow, you lean forward slightly.

Bucky reaches up to grip the back of your neck with his metal fingers, leaving his warm hand to trail down your back. When he lands at your waist, he finally slides his hand into the front of your underwear, fingers resting briefly on your clit.

When he feels how unbelievably wet you already are, he gives a little tut.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you like losing.” He slides his fingers lightly through your folds, gathering the slick feel on his hand and your hips jerk reflexively, craving more friction. “Is that it? You like losing sweetheart?”

There’s amusement in his voice, and he continues the delicate strokes, until you’re straining against him, desperately eager for more. When he leans into you, he rests his chin on your shoulder, and you watch his damp fingers as they drift up your stomach, following the line of your body, until you turn your face to meet his steady blue gaze. A groan falls from your lips when he sucks his fingers into his mouth.

“Bucky…” You never realised how frustrating it could be to hold back your words, curses and pleas laying tantalisingly on the tip of your tongue.

But at this point, everything about him is so deliciously filthy, maybe his name is the most appropriate expletive you could find anyway.

He smiles around his fingers, eyes bright as he watches you struggle. Pulling them from his lips, he reaches down to give your ass a quick smack, before moving your underwear to the side and shoving two fingers deep into your cunt.

“Bucky!” You hiss his name this time, the feel of his thick fingers finally easing the ache between your legs. Wiggling your hips, you urge him to move his hand, and he complies, but it’s too gentle, too shallow. Every time you buck back onto his hand, he draws it away, never giving you the pressure you need.

Slapping your hands against the pool table, you let out a frustrated growl.

“Bucky.”

“Yeah sweetheart? Something you want to say? Come on, use your words for me.”

He’s really making you earn it, but you know what he wants to hear.

“Harder, Bucky.”

With a low chuckle, Bucky immediately picks up the pace, pumping his fingers into you hard and fast, curling and twisting them, finally hitting that spot there, deep inside. His quick breaths are hot in your ear, and you shudder when you hear his soft grunts as he feels you clench around his fingers.

The orgasm is sudden and unexpected when it hits, and with a strangled gasp, your knees buckle as you slump forward. Bucky twines his metal arm tight around your chest, holding you upright, his fingers still moving as you writhe against him. His mouth burns where he tastes your skin, licking and nipping with his teeth, murmuring encouragements as you spiral from the high.

The aftermath tingles like electricity, and when you relax against his chest, you can feel the dark bristly hair rubbing against your skin. Peppering small kisses down your neck, his hand slows before finally pulling away from you, and in a swift move, he snags your underwear and pulls it completely down, helping you step out of everything before kicking the pile under the pool table.

Spinning you in his arms, you grin at the pride in his face, before he bends to capture your lips, his tongue sliding against your teeth. He moans quietly into your mouth when you take his face between your palms and tangle your tongue with his. When he breaks the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours and asks another question.

“Remember the second thing I taught you during our lesson? About making sure your grip is just right? Can’t be too tight or too loose.”

He guides your hand to the front of his boxers, and you rub you fingers against the hard outline you find. Humming your remembrance of the lesson, you slide your hand beneath his waistband, hearing his breath catch at the feel of your cool fingers on his flushed skin.

Eagerly pulling down his jeans and boxers in one motion, he kicks them into the pile of your clothes he’s collected. Now that he’s standing here completely naked, it’s difficult not to feel intimidated at the sight. His dark hair falls in a messy tangle, blue eyes electric as he stares; with every tiny move, his entire body ripples with muscle, across his shoulders and arms, down his chest, to his thick thighs. Everything is sharp and defined, simply mouth-watering.

Maybe...you’re not quite as disappointed about losing as you thought.

Swallowing hard, you drag your eyes back up to his, finding amusement in his face as he watches you ogling him. Moving closer, he reaches behind you and unhooks your bra, tugging it off and tossing it over his shoulder. Taking your hands in his, he weaves his fingers through yours and brings them to his mouth, dropping light kisses across your knuckles, before giving you an innocent look and placing your hands back on his cock. Shaking your head indulgently, you stroke up and down, mesmerised by the velvety feel of his skin.

Bucky sighs at the feeling, looking down between your bodies to watch your hands move on him. He’s absolutely in love with the sight, your dark purple nails against his skin, the way you rub your thumb over the tip of his cock, how soft your hands feel, it’s sexy as hell. When you give his balls a tug, he gasps, the feel of it loosening his tongue, his thoughts spilling from his lips.

“Fuck, I’ve been walking around with a constant fucking hard on since the moment I met you. And that day in the bar? Jesus Christ. Bending over the pool table with your skirt riding up, watching you wrap your lips around the whole god damn bottle when you drank your beer, fuck. I spent that entire night jacking off thinking about it.”

His words are insanely raw and filthy and you love it, because you’ve felt the same way since the moment you laid eyes on him. It’s nice to discover he’s been suffering as well.

Bracing his hands on the table behind you, he curves his neck down to your chest, catching a nipple between his teeth, swirling his tongue across the skin. When you begin to stroke him faster, he instinctively jolts in your hands, and sucks even harder.

“You know, we really should see how well your mouth can grip.” He whispers as he glides his tongue between your breasts, his beard scraping the delicate skin.

Humming your agreement, you sink to your knees in front of him, looking up to watch his face. His eyes are focused intently on you, and when you flick your tongue against the head of his cock, the reaction is immediate and satisfying.

So damn satisfying.

Bucky’s head drops back, and he closes his eyes with a sigh, relishing the hot, wet feel of your mouth, as you suck and lick up and down his length. Scratching your nails lightly down his thighs, you reach around and give his ass a teasing slap. His eyes pop open in surprise, and he looks down and gives you a wink.

Hands floating to the back of your head, he holds you gently in place while he presses his cock further. It’s clear what he wants, but he’s hesitant to push too hard, unsure how you’ll react. Releasing him, you lick your lips and look up.

“Harder, Bucky,” you demand.

He nearly swallows his tongue at the look on your face, and when you wrap your lips around him again and groan, the vibration tickles his cock, and he immediately slams his hips forward.

“Oh fuck, please fucking hell, again, do it again, please!”

If his cock wasn’t buried in your throat right now, you might start laughing. After all, hearing Bucky Barnes beg for anything is a small victory itself.

He groans when he feels the sound, the way your throat buzzes against his tip, and moments later, his entire body begins to shake, riding the edge so perfectly. But while he’s thoroughly enjoying the slick softness of your mouth, he’s having far too much fun to let himself finish just yet.

“Ah, stop, stop, stop.”

He steps back, pulling himself from your mouth and catching you under the chin. When you look up, his chest is heaving, and his blue eyes are dark and wild, a light sheen of sweat visible on his face. Running his index finger over your wet lips, he huffs when you suck his finger into your mouth, biting down to hold him in place.

“Come here,” he mutters, bending to lift you up, setting you on the edge of the table and chuckling when you squeak at the feel of the cold wood on your skin. Nudging your legs open, he steps between then and rubs his cock against your slick folds, covering his skin in your cum. Fingers reaching to tangle in his hair, you pull his face to yours, giving his bottom lip a sharp nip when he tries to pull back.

“Someone’s impatient,” he teases playfully. Pushing you gently back onto the green felt of the table, he pauses to admire his view, your breasts still wet from his mouth, your legs spread wide. Giving a low growl at the sight, he hooks your legs over his forearms and with a hard thrust, sinks himself into you.

“Oh god,” he breathes, resting his forehead against your knee. “Just – hang on, just give me a sec.”

Reaching to comb your fingers through his hair, he turns to press a quick kiss to your kneecap, before giving you a wicked grin. “Okay, yeah I’m good. Let’s go back to the last thing from our lesson? When we were focusing on your stroke.”

He pulls out, and very slowly pushes back in.

“Remember how important your stroke is, how it needs to be perfectly smooth.”

Again, he pulls out, lazily pushing back into you.

“Always make sure you take a few practice strokes.”

Slowly out, slowly in.

“Before you hit the balls.”

With a hard snap, he fucks into you, and your back arches with a groan when you feel his balls slap against your ass.

“Slow is good, I can feel everything. I like slow.” He whispers the words, sliding a hand up your chest, his calloused palm rubbing your nipples.

He’s driving you insane, you can feel the heavy ache growing, but it sits there, just out of reach.

“Harder, Bucky, harder.” He smiles happily when you use his word, tilting your hips up and pounding into you, going even deeper in your cunt. The way he grunts with every thrust makes your skin sizzle, the desire pooling in your belly. You love the depth, the way his cock hits every last nerve ending inside you, but it’s still too slow, you need him to move faster.

And in a flash, there it is, the most obvious way to ask.

“Hustle Bucky.” His rhythm stutters, mouth falling open in shock at the word, and when he starts laughing, you can’t help but giggle.

Pulling you up so your body is flush against his chest, you lock your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist to hold him in place. Bucky presses a soft kiss to your forehead before he begins to drive into you, the base of his cock grinding just right against your clit with every harsh thrust. The sound of his rough moans are music to your ears, and when he slides those cool metal fingers between you to stroke your clit, it only takes a few minutes and you’re shouting as you fall over the edge.

Bucky buries his face in your neck when he feels you lose control, your cunt gripping him so damn tight, and with a last fierce snap of his hips, he spills himself inside you, your stuttered name falling from his lips again and again.

Entwined together, you feel his heartbeat thumping against yours, as you both try to come back down.

Keeping you tight against his chest, your legs securely around his waist, Bucky palms the back of your head, holding you in place as he gazes down. Stretching to press your lips to his, he responds eagerly, with a warm, leisurely kiss.

Breaking away, you sigh blissfully and snuggle back into his strong arms, before whispering his name.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“I want a fucking rematch.”

TAGS: @buckyappreciationsociety @stentorian-lore-n @psingh97 @ihavemymomentsstill @badassbaker @justreadingfics @palaiasaurus64 @4theluvofall @interestedbystanderwrites

#bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut

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lazywriter7 · 6 years

Text

Blind date part 3

for @mega-mathi who inspired me to finally finish this, and @ishipallthings whose prompt it was originally based on: “you’re supposed to be on a blind date with someone but you sat down at the wrong table and i haven’t been able to get a word in edgewise to tell you that and it’s been thirty minutes” au

Read part one here

Read part two here

He caught her in an elevator.

Well, not quite. He was waiting on the ground floor, trying to remember how to whistle without his hands. It seemed like a whistling kind of moment. Or a whistling kind of day.

Tongue to the back of the throat, loosen the jaw… The elevator dinged quietly, steel doors opening with a swish. Steve did his best to straighten up whatever odd face he’d been pulling.

Judging from Natasha’s almost-expression, he didn’t quite succeed. She was in a dark green sweater that hung loosely on her frame, hair scooped on her neck in a side-bun. She was the loveliest, most generous angel to ever walk the face of this planet.

Oh Stevie.

They moved in synchrony, switching places smoothly as Steve stepped in and Natasha moved out. Steve turned around and shot what was probably the soppiest smile he’d ever sported in her direction. “Thanks. He was great.”

A tiny pause. “He.” Natasha repeated, with absolutely no inflection whatsoever.

The elevator doors closed.

(read more link below)

Any other person would have scrambled for the ‘open door’ button immediately. Steve had faster reflexes than most people.

He stood, motionless, staring at his discoloured reflection in the elevator doors as it began to rise.

Steady jazz started tinkling somewhere in the background – he remembered being…if not soothed, then touched by the thought the first time he’d taken the elevator in Avengers Tower.

“JARVIS, could you turn off the music please.”

The music subsided.

He watched it happen over seventy-one floors. Watched his expression waver, smile crumpling inwards, before his jaw took over and set itself – firm and brittle. Watched the thoughts and realisations track through his eyes, overcast blues turning leaden. It was a remarkable parallel of his thought processes down in the café, actually…before he’d sat down. Three minutes of mounting hope and epiphany, in exact reverse.

Tony Stark was in the café. Tony Stark owned the Tower the café was at, and even if he didn’t, was perfectly within his rights to be there. There was no logical explanation for Tony Stark to be hanging around at a sub-par café the afternoon of Steve’s date. Tony Stark had access to the common area feeds, and probably spied on Natasha persuading Steve into a blind date.

The data was all the same – Steve had just come to the utterly wrong conclusion. Because he was biased and blind. And stupid and lonely.

Tony Stark likes me and wants to date me.

– versus Tony Stark took an hour out of his extremely busy schedule to spy on Steve making a complete fool out of himself on a date with another woman.

Yeah. The winner was pretty clear on that one.

It was…funny, probably. That’s why Tony did it. It was funny, and Steve didn’t get it, because he didn’t get most jokes these days. Like those videos of men proposing to their da – girlfriends, and getting awkwardly rejected and people taping the whole thing and livestreaming and tweeting and whatever else they did these days, snarky commentary that got a thousand likes. He could hear it even now: here we can observe the dinosaur far removed from its natural habitat; a clumsy old drip tryna be smooth and thinking he’s got something to offer to a billionaire – except he couldn’t even fucking make fun of himself right because people in this century didn’t even say drip anymore.

The elevator dinged. The steel doors slid open, Steve staring beyond into the recesses of his darkened floor.

“Captain?” JARVIS prompted quietly.

Steve exited the elevator, moving on autopilot for a few paces before coming to a standstill. The entire place was ‘open plan’, nothing but shine and glass and a sense of uneasiness that burrowed itself deep into Steve’s spine. It had taken months upon months to get over, an inch of tension unscrewing with every day – until Steve had woken up to a sea of rose and gold one morning, a startlingly bright sunrise that seemed to bleach all the shadows away.

Now the sun had already dipped below the horizon, everything he could see tinted dusk-grey. Not that there was much to see – the whole point of this kind of design was to ‘declutter the space’, never mind that it just felt empty. He could…he could move towards the kitchenette, make himself a pot of tea; steam winding idly up, crockery clinking loudly in the silence. Or flip through channels on his television, or climb into bed and pull the covers over his head, staring at absolutely nothing.

His head was silent.

“Captain. Sir is requesting your presence in his workshop, if you would please.”

Fuck him, Steve thought, with absolutely no emotion left to muster. Except that didn’t…that wasn’t…

That wasn’t quite right.

Only to those who deserve it. And he’d been so sure about it too, felt it settle deep in his heart of cemented convictions. Yet it didn’t quite…line up with what Steve was feeling now: resentment broken apart, all raw and tender inside. It’s probably funny didn’t align with the phantom warmth of Tony’s hand for three hours straight, with his tiny, indrawn breath every time Steve called him by name.

It was hard. Hard to remember all the verbal blunders, the stammering, and not feel the sense of doomed certainty creeping on – it all just made so much sense, if it were a joke. If Steve was the butt of it all, the dope who got told ‘you just won a million dollars!’ and believed it while people snickered behind hidden cameras. If this was another rejection in a long line of rejections, for something Steve hadn’t even known he wanted until three hours ago.

Except…and this was the part he kept butting up against. The part where Steve was feeling absolutely miserable, and the idea that that had been Tony’s intention.

“Cap, I think there’s been a-”

“My fault entirely, shouldn’t have come here in the first place. You should probably look for the person you actually–”

“I vote both. Can we do both?”

“It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

When he breathed next, it came a little lighter – anxiety loosening its hold on his chest. Maybe he was wrong and it was all just an elaborate construction of ridicule; but damn if Steve was going to be cowardly enough not to find out for sure.

“Tell him I’ll be there.”

He hadn’t realised until now, how different Tony had looked in the café.

It was probably the lighting. Everything about Tony’s face was sharp, deeply angular: the lines of his beard and the jut of his chin, and the penetrating, fluorescent light that Steve always saw him under only enhanced this effect. Iron Man was the one who flourished under the sun – swooping across blue skies in a swirl of fiery colour, bright enough to blind.

In the café, he’d looked…mellower, the golden rays of afternoon gentling his lines and edges; yet oddly still compelling. It was the difference, perhaps, between felt tip and oil paint – less polish, more intensity. Now, he was Tony Stark again – industrial-white bulbs overhead lighting his cheekbones in straight, unbroken lines. He was in the same t-shirt, hoodie out of sight, and his eyes appeared black enough to match.

(And yet, out of the corner of his eye, Steve could glimpse maroon wool – the scarf looped round and round what appeared to be a robotic arm.)

“I’m glad you came.” Tony started, words falling quick and efficient. His gaze was fixed just slightly off of Steve’s face, at some point beside his right ear. “There is something that I should’ve…something I need to tell you before you–”

“I spoke to Natasha.”

Tony fell silent. He blinked, thrice in rapid succession; nothing like the languid movements that had captivated Steve so only a couple of hours ago. He looked like he was trying to re-centre himself.

“I didn’t deserve it.” Steve said. “Not this time.”

Studied stillness, like the kind that came only by actively holding back a flinch. Steve watched Tony very carefully not react. Not argue, only dip his head after a second and quietly voice, “I’m sorry.”

Defend yourself you idiot.

But that was okay. That was okay, because Steve was here and he might be the actual worst at first date conversation, but this. This he knew how to do.

There were no rules to bravery, no ways to judge, no way to fuck it up. Just to take the leap.

“Peggy always used to say that nuance was lost on me.” He didn’t stutter over her name, linger on its ending consonants with bitterness at the back of his throat. He just sounded fond. “She and Colonel Phillips used to have these long-drawn discussions about the changing state of international politics – countries and diplomacies and agendas. I listened in, and I appreciated it but…sometimes it just seemed a step removed from relevance.”

“In the field, I have to keep every possible factor in mind before making a call. But at some point, that means to stop thinking and start doing.” Despite his words, he was fidgeting with the base of his thumb. Steve stilled his hands, straightened his shoulders. His heartbeat was kicking up in his ears. “Sometimes it’s easier to…let the overwhelming complexity of it slide away, and simply make a choice.”

“I know that this isn’t that simple.” Except for how it also is. Steve lifted his chin, felt the pulse leap and skitter in his throat like something terrified and utterly free. “But to me, today was one of two things.”

“Either Tony Stark liked me,” Tony stared back at him, dark eyes and trembling mouth and absolutely no doubt whatsoever, “or he was an asshole. And we both know how I feel about the second option.”

Moments trailed away, ears ringing and veins flushed with adrenaline. No matter what happened next, Steve would never forget how this felt. Breathing and speaking and being, without the weight of anxiety bending his head.

Tony stalked across the workshop floor, movements so decisive that Steve almost took a step back. For a second he expected to be gripped around the collar, jerked down to Tony’s level – but Tony stopped scant inches away, breaths controlled and eyes on fire. When he spoke, it was as direct and non-tangential as Steve had ever heard him.

“I knew you were on a blind date and when I heard you were planning to meet at the Tower itself, I couldn’t help myself. I never intended to take over the date. Or to hurt you in any way.”

“I know–”

“You still need to hear it.” Tony cut through, bluntly succinct. He’d never sounded sincerer. “Also you’re goddamn incredible.”

It wasn’t a joke. And Steve had already known – but it was the difference between closing your eyes and leaping without a parachute, and the moment you were caught. It was staring into Tony’s eyes, breaths ramping up together; like they were seventy feet in the air and still flying, and never wanting to come down.

Tony leaned up.

Steve’s hands spasmed by his side – oh god oh god oh god oh look my anxiety’s back – fingers flexing in imagined, desperate sense-memory: the worn cotton of Tony’s t-shirt, the stubbled underside of his jaw, the thin skin of his eyelids, the spiky softness of his hair. So many places to reach out towards, to touch and stroke and hold, and Steve couldn’t seem to bring himself to–

And then it didn’t matter, because Tony’s lips were right there and Steve closed his eyes. A feather-light touch, a single point of contact. Dry heat and absolute stillness – like they were balanced, perfectly, on the edge and neither wanted to move and break the spell. God, Tony could probably feel Steve’s cheeks blazing with heat from this distance – and it didn’t matter because Steve could feel Tony’s and this was–

Perfect.

Tony pulled away slowly, settling down on the balls of his feet. He seemed a little out of it, tone faintly starstruck. “I feel like I just got kissed by Prince Charming.”

“Oh. Um.” This was far from Steve’s first kiss since the forties, though some people might call this barely a kiss. It didn’t matter. It was perfect. “Sorry?”

“No no, it’s fine.” Tony batted his hands distractedly, still a little wondrous. “I like Disney movies better than pornos anyway.”

“We don’t have to choose.” Steve replied on autopilot – and Tony froze in place for a second, before swaying forward until his forehead hit Steve’s shoulder, hiding his snickers in Steve’s plaid shirt. Because somehow Steve had found a man who appreciated both his deeply visceral awkwardness, as well as his out-of-body sass.

Tony breathed warm and damp against Steve’s chest before tilting his head sideways, bristly beard hairs scraping distractingly over thin cloth. His resting cheek rose and fell with Steve’s breaths, and he glanced up in a smile that could wreck millions. “Blue.”

Steve, who was expecting some kind of devastating comeback/come-on, wrinkled his brows in confusion. Tony’s small, answering laugh vibrated against his chest. “My favourite colour.”

Right, right. First date conversation. Steve wracked his, admittedly slow-functioning brain for an appropriate follow up. Sue him, he had a Tony Stark in his arms. “What shade?”

Tony’s lips curved into something dreamy, taffy-sweet. “Steve-blue.”

Steve stared back, more than a little light in the head. His mouth was moving outside his volition, “That’s not a–”

Tony stretched up on his toes, pecked him again – a soft murmur to punctuate the motion. “Is to me.”

Steve shut his eyes. Waited, for reality to kick back in, for sanity to kick him in the head. Speaking of which –

You’ve been quiet.

You had it handled. Bucky’s voice replied in his head, wry and proud. Now go back to life, hotshot.

When Steve opened his eyes, Tony was still there. He didn’t teach kindergarten by day, or work in puppy shelters by night, though Steve was pretty sure that Tony did more humanitarian work than all the NYC charities combined. He’d probably laugh himself silly at all of Steve’s creased Pocono Mountains brochures, and drag him kicking and screaming to Hawaii in summer. He was an Avenger, and a good man, and…

Always think of the brightest outcome possible before entering a situation.

“I don’t think I could’ve imagined you if I had tried.”

“Well then.” Tony smiled slowly, like the start of a new day and the morning sunrise. “Suppose it’s a good thing you don’t have to.”

~fin

#ao3 link coming soon #fanfic #stony #avengers 1 era #angst and fluff #steve rogers #tony stark #complete

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pegasusdragontiger · 7 years

Text

Cat’s are Evil!

Walking out of the lift and into the communal kitchen which everyone shared in the Tower, or as Tony would say his tower which he built for him (On Pepper hearing this said “really you told me last night in bed that you built it for me all 100% of it??) Tony gulping and running after Pepper saying “Huney, sweety, sugar bun, my Pepper, my killer hot Pep, it is!!”. Which Pepper went on to say that it was built for her and the Avengers out of the goodness of Tony’s heart. Walking closer to the kitchen hearing heavy music coming through the speakers loud, but the beat and the lyrics found a connection to him, they spoke to him like no other song had since he woke up from the ice.

Bucky got into the dinning room and could smell not just Garlic bread but bacon and sniffing again was that Lasagna? Mouth watering and tummy grumbling in anticipation bolted into the kitchen to see his super secrete crush, his light to his darkness, his Leia to his Han, his Arwen to his Aragorn. Seeing in wonderment and not noticing his glazing eyes.Even the other half of him the Winter Soldier part kept nudging him, poking him demanding he walk up to Darcy and confess all to her right then and there! Seeing Darcy dancing and seeing to the lyrics of the song while cooking, on the island bench where 7 Lasagna’s and 6 garlic breads. Darcy turning around with another lasagna in her hands fresh from the oven, jumped and squealed in shock. Quickly putting the new dish on the island bench with the others placing her hands to her chest and taking deep breathes slowly calming down and asking Jarvis to turn off the music. The Winter Soldier in his brain pushed forth and demanded he ask her out, or marry him and have his little winter soldier children. James scoffing and rolling his inner eyes opened his mouth and asked “ Who’s the song and band?”.

Darcy gazing at James in a daze and shock at seeing him there, well she knew he was quite, quieter than a mouse but still seeing his face, standing in front of her so tall and ruggedly homo handsomeness, That gorgeous sexy arm of death in it’s silver glory. Stop it Darcy he is a person not a thing, but what a thing he is the hair, the eyes, that mouth that was just sinful. No. no Darcy do not go down that road of drooling, dreamy times of the things they both could and would do. Shaking her head to shake out all those sexy dreamy thoughts “Uh, what song?” Bucky letting his trade mark smirk that never failed to hook the ladies back in the day (as Steve would say pantie dropping smirk) “They song that was just playing doll?”.

“Oh that!, Just a Linkin Park song my favourite band, their lead singer died today, So I was getting Jarvis to play non stop Linkin park songs. That one is called Burn it down.” Bucky still with glazed eyes looking straight at Darcy said “I loved it would you be able to send the song to me?”. “Um what!? uh yeah sure that and all their albums think you’d like them, Jarvis would you be able to?” “Of Course Miss Lewis, do you also want me to notify everyone lunch is ready?” “Yes please J-man! if you wouldn’t mind?” “It is no problem”. Bucky asking if she wanted help setting the table and as she told him yes. In setting the table with plates, knives and forks, glasses and drinks on the table. Looking up to check his work a Pair of glowing green cat eyes glare across the table at him, registering the eyes and taking in the grey/blue coat of the Russian blue cat and realising that it was Darcy’s cat Styxx. “Um Darcy why is your cat glaring at me?”.

Darcy turning from what she was doing looked at where Bucky/James/Sxy Assassin was and looking across from him and seeing her baby laughed and turned back to what she was doing saying “He isn’t glaring at you he likes you” With her saying this Both man and cat were in a stare off of the decade!! Winter soldier making it known to him there was no way this beast/pet of his future wife/lover of his future children will scare him off, both still silently glaring at each other eyes narrowing/ assessing each other. doing some super secrete challenge of who would win/loose the staring contest, some would say it didn’t count as it was between man and animal. Winter as James/Bucky would call him would scoff Man, Animal, Mammal it all counted, although he has never encounted an alien so that would be the only one that would not count in this contest. Not realising that some time had passed and the rest of the Avengers were making there way into the room all stopped in shock as they took note of the Winter Soldier/ James Bucky Barnes was frozen on the spot glaring narrow eyes at a cat who was also glaring narrow eyes back. Both not moving, blinking or twitching. It was a thing to be hold.

Clint and Tony in sync quietly ask Jarvis to record this silent battle between Man and Cat. Jarvis letting both know that he was. Focusing back on the battle at hand, Winter didn’t want to give in “I am the most deadly being in this building no man/ animal will ever defeat me, made his glare even more deadly and squinty at said cat. Both failed to notice the audience of Avengers nor did he notice his one and only future wife of said children placing the food on the table looking up She let out a sigh in frustration looking from her cat to Bucky. “See I told you he likes you, he only goes into stare mode when he meet’s his new servants!”.

Now noticing and hearing her voice. did not move him from his stance scoffing and not realising he said this out loud said to Styxx “ I’m no servant, nor will I bow to you. Nor will I loose”. The cat still not moving but glaring in anger or what appeared to be anger at this man he figured was deadly but, no that wasn’t why he was glaring finaly at what seemed as hrs but was only 4 minutes long, Yawned unblinkingly at Bucky and let out a yowl/meow and another. “Oh he must be hungry?”

“Doll I don’t think it’s hungry? I think it wants to murder/kill us all right now so he can rule he world!!”. “Nonsense he’s cat they don’t dream of taking over the world or world domination!”. “No!, yeah this one does!”, Sighing and a tinkle of food in a bowl was the next reply before the cat being bored by this stupid game moved on eyes blinking, took off like a shot for his food. Bucky/ Winter let out a cheer for victory!! Winter saying in pleased and honest way said to him “Of course we one, we are the best deadliest assassin and staring person ever we always ““Always”“ win!!. Darcy coming back into the room with freshly washed hands said to all lunch is ready. Everyone moved at once to take there seats, digging into the food and drink, Steve leaning over and whispering for Bucky’s ears alone said “when are you going to make a move, you don’t meet a woman like her every day? nor her cat?” Grunting in annoyance at his bff and concentrating more on the yummy food failed to notice his new enemy at his feet, until the claws pierced his black combat pants and the claws digging into his legs. Not letting any sound out from his mouth glanced down at his foe glaring at the cat in a no! Do that again and I will smite you, Styxx not caring but still glaring at this puny human let out a moew and started to rub on this legs and feet, then tumbled onto the floor and played attack to his shoes. Rolling his eyes went back to his food but as his fork made it’s way to his mouth.

The cat did something he wasn’t aware of jumping onto his lap and paw knocking his hand with the food away and pounced onto his fork and food with gusto! In slow mo letting out a “NO, NOT MY FOOD!!” Cat eating his food, licking his paws and lips from the tasty food looked up at said puny human in a look of revenge and raising it’s eyebrow as if to say I win human! Everyone stopped eating to look at Bucky. In shock “Styxx ate my food!!” “Styxx no bad cat!”. Styxx not caring simply closed his eyes and continued to clean is paws and claws non-caring once finished slowly walked away in his kingly way. Sitting back down after getting another fork said to Darcy “We are going to have a discussion about your cat? especially once we have kids?” Everyone again in shock at the dinning table looked at Darcy, wondering if they missed anything important, like them dating/ are they in a relationship, omg did he propose??? Darcy gaping like a fish and moving her mouth but no sound coming out at all. Leaning over and his pointer touching her jaw to close her mouth winked at her and said “don’t worry I am sure Styxx and I and come up with some sort of arrangement, besides I am very good with cats? Oh and are you free tomorrow night I would like to take you out! You know dancing and romancing you? If that’s alright with you?” All Darcy could say was “Take me, I’m yours! realising what she said with glazed eyes said yes! yes I’m free!” Sam, Rhodey, Tony and Clint all groaned in frustration, Steve, Nat, Jane and Thor and Bruce looked on with beaming smiles and grins as wide as the Cheshire Cat, looked at the men and said Pay up we one the bet!

And that my friend/s is how cat’s are evil, evil little shits, but are cute as buttons, that can and will rule the world!

@bolontiku @always-an-evans-addict @magellan-88 @senselesssamii @littleplebe @this-kitty-has-claws @mee2themoo @mcgregorswench

also RIP CHESTER BENNINGTON (If you need help or someone to talk to Australia call LIFELINE) Not sure the US helpline is?

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