#Bucky is a contract killer and it shows

[tonystarktogo]

(this could’ve been) a villain’s origin story 

part IV

For @shitistanstank who wanted to see Bucky’s reaction and @everything-is-applepie who asked for more [Warning: Bucky is an unrepenant killer and his mindset is dark(er) than Tony’s parts were]:

James hates mentals. Doesn’t matter if they can read your thoughts, break out illusions that have you question everything you believe, make you forget everything you are, everything you used to be or if their powers are even more insidious -- every single one of them is a manipulative fucker with a god-complex. 

Usually, James doesn’t generalise like that -- it leads to assumptions and assumptions lead to stupid mistakes that get you dead -- but in this case he’ll make an exception. It’s widely known that, as fussy as the Winter Soldier can be about his jobs, he always takes contracts involving mentals. Doesn’t matter how old they are, what gender, how powerful, what specific abilities.

Mentals are weapons in a way that physicals aren’t, can’t ever hope to be -- and it doesn’t matter what their intentions are, what fucking alignment they hold -- like alignment isn’t just a skewed personality test gone wrong -- or what laws they follow.

[Every supe uses their power. You can’t not. You can’t be less than you are, even if some like to pretend otherwise. Like to play at being human, idealising what they’ve lost and will never achieve again.

Even when you don’t want to, even when you train yourself mercilessly, grit your teeth against it-- a supe’s first instinct is to use their abilities to the fullest. To survive. To live. To make life more comfortable.

There’s better men than James out there who like to offer long lists of requirements, of all the people they refuse to kill. As though not killing children, women, supes, humans, whatever the fuck their line in the sand is, somehow absolves them from the fact that they kill others for money, power or pride. As though having rules -- morals, as they like to sneer pretentiously -- makes them better, when all they do is choose and find one life more worthy than another.

James doesn’t have a list. He takes a contract or he doesn’t, depending on whether he trusts the contractor to pay up and not stab him in the back while he’s at it.

Have you ever seen a five-year old in a temper-tantrum that can bend the minds of those around them to their will? Have you ever considered what a toddler with the ability to erase memories is, what they become? Do you really think it was morals that kept anyone under fourteen from being chosen?

Rules, after all, are rarely implemented before they’ve proven to be necessary.]

The problem with having a reputation for killing mentals is that mentals don’t take kindly to being killed. And it’s hard to be prepared for a threat you don’t know exists until it reveals itself and tries to twist your mind into hushquietobeybenothing.

Granted, that doesn’t stop most of the stupid ones who track him down from monologuing about their righteous revenge before they get on with it. So convinced that just because James didn’t see them coming means he won’t kill them anyway.

Arrogant fuckers, all of them.

He’ll make them regret that before he’s done.

At least the last set of attackers wasn’t stupid. Makes it more of a pain, but ultimately a more satisfying fight. And fuck, if he hadn’t been blind-sided by the witch, James would’ve gotten away clean. But Scarlet Witch [And what kind of bullshit name is that when everyone knows her powers are anything but magical?] has been a persistent pain in his ass for a while now.

She’s smart and powerful and embodies everything James despises in a mental. The only reason they haven’t gone to war so far is because Scarlet Witch couldn’t care less about mentals as a whole. The only thing she values is her brother -- and the guy is a physical. A physical James wouldn’t try to land a hit on unless he was 100 percent sure he could take out the witch as well.

And Quicksilvers is a hard man to hit.

They don’t have an understanding of any sort because James doesn’t do understandings with mentals. But The Captain does, which puts Scarlet Witch and James into an awkward position as far as battles go. That’s the only reason James assumes their last showdown was an accident -- and, also, presumably the only reason he wakes up at all.

James doesn’t wake up slowly. Hasn’t since they shoved the pills down his throat for the first time, back before they realized that injections were that much more effective.

[The doctors never did figure out why James activated at all from such a low dosis, why he survived at all when the pills turned out to be useless with the sole exception of him. Granted, James killed them roughly forty hours after the first test, which might have played a hand in that.]

He comes to from one moment to the next -- finally, finally free of the black nothingness the witch trapped him in [nothing like what she can do, or so the rumors go, but that doesn’t make him itch to see her brain splattered over a sidewalk any less] -- and is immediately aware of his body, his surroundings, himself.

He’s in an unfamiliar place. He’s half-naked. He’s in a negligible amount of pain. He’s unrestrained. He’s not alone.

James is up and moving before the observation fully sinks in. It doesn’t have to. He already has all the data. [Has pinpointed the steady breathing and puttering motions of one person, placed him to his left, four steps, notices his odd surroundings even as he moves. There’s a wrench in easy reach that James aimes before he even sees the person -- man, young, brown hair, a head smaller than him -- and throws before he’s finished taking stock of his surroundings.

It’s more reflex than cold-blooded murder, really, not there’s much of a difference between the two where it concerns James.

The man ducks, proving that he’s not quite as idiotic as James initially assumed for keeping him unrestrained in his direct vicinity. That or he has good instincts.

He’s not a mental though, James can tell. He can always tell. His killing intent goes down a solid 60 percent with that realisation, though that still leaves him with plenty to work with should his potential client [James has lived through weirder recruitment strategies, though not all those potential bosses have] and potential victim prove troublesome.

It’s not that James wants to kill every human he meets. It’s just that he prefers to plan for the eventuality of needing to kill them and how to accomplish it efficiently, rather than be caught off-guard when the inevitable happens.

[There’s something that never made it into any of the papers and articles about supes and it’s this: A supe’s life is insane. There’s no logic, no rationality, no clear reason why you can’t go to a public swimming pool without accidentally ending up in a lagoon filled with starving piranhas. The Captain once theorized that supes offend the natural order or balance and this is nature’s way of striking back, of wiping them out. That or their unnaturalness attracts similar insanity.

James thinks that’s bullshit, not that it matters. He still has to live with the painfully ridiculous situations he tends to get himself into, after all.]

As such it really is nothing personal that as soon as James finally gets a clear view on the man -- kid, really, can’t be a day over twenty -- who’s found him, he immediately plans the guy’s death. It’s not like he acts on it right then, James isn’t a total barbarian.

He even gives the kid time to regain his footing and stare at him in shocked surprise, mouth half-way open and holding a bag of marshmallows as though those will somehow soften the next blow.

James is not gonna lie, he totally expects the boy to pull a sonar death ray, explosives or something similar out of some hidden stash and start some tirade about James having killed his parents and how he’s been planning this moment for a long time, or something along those lines.

Not to offer him marshmallows.

James gives the innocuous bag the deeply suspicious look that offer deserves. 

[On an unrelated note, his respect for the boy rises a smidge. James doesn’t know many people with the foresight to keep something ans inconspicious as poisonous marshmallows within easy reach.]

“No.”

“Oh.” The boy looks disappointed.

A scientist eager to see his newest creation in action? James doesn’t frown, but it’s a near thing. He’s not fond of scientists. [They tend to end up dead in his vicinity, but most people do.]

“Can I offer you something to drink?”

James raises his eyebrows, but fairly obvious attempt to drug and or kill him aside, he’s never before wasted a chance to be a little shit and he’s not planning on starting to now. 

“You can.”

The kid blinks. Snorts. “Oh, I like you.”

James smirks. He can’t recall the last time anyone told him they felt that way, but he doesn’t recall very many things beyond how to hunt and make them bleed.

“You’re the exception of the rule then.”

The boy laughs and if James wasn’t what he was, he wouldn’t have heard the bitterness echoing it. If James looks closely, he can even see the fractures in that pretty, wide smile.

“Believe me, Goggle Eye, I’m the exception of every rule.”

[It’s a good hour later, after the kid -- call me Tony -- has recounted where he found James and needled him endlessly -- “Come on, there’s got to be something you need! If not food or clothes, what about information? The adresses of your attackers? Schemantics of the newest SI rifle? Clean papers? Give me something!” -- that it occurs to James. A stray thought that nonetheless leaves an impression: It’s a good thing he’s human.

Because there’s something broken underneath Tony’s easy words and open gestures, something sharp and jagged -- still bleeding -- that was crushed and never healed quite right. Because when it comes down to it, you can forget the pills and the injections and the endless treatments and experiments designed to push for moremoremore. Because all the miracles of modern technology can’t build a monster out of spite and thin air. The drugs only reveal the potential that’s always been there.

And there’s no doubt what Tony would have been, should he have found himself among the test subjects.

His mind is a weapon worth killing for already.]

James leaves Tony’s lair two hours later, armed Quicksilver’s current adress -- one can never have enough leverage --, detailed information on four potential targets and the knowledge that Tony is the kind of competent that is as useful as it is dangerous and has an agenda James doesn’t yet understand. 

He’s not yet sure what to do about the latter.

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Pitch for a MCU TV show:

The title:

“Marvel’s Tales of Suspense” (title is based on the comics)

The premise:

Marvel’s version of shows like “American Horror Story”, “The Twilight Zone”, or “Creepshow”. Each season features standalone episodes set in the Marvel universe, each one with a horror gimmick. Similar to how Uatu the Watcher is the host of “What If”, this show’s host is Nightmare, the rule of the Dream Dimension.

Hypothetical season 1:

1) Episode 1: Set after the events of “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings”, Ying Nan (Michelle Yeoh) and the villagers of Ta Lo launch an expedition into the cave of the Dweller-in-Darkness after a child in the village goes missing. What they discover in the caves is the stuff of...nightmares.

2) Episode 2: In 2009 during a mission in Afghanistan, a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents led by Brock Rumlow (Frank Grillo) are ambushed by the Ten Rings. As night falls, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and the Ten Rings realize they’re being stalked by an unknown force in the dark (later revealed to be the Deviants, making this a tie-in to “Eternals”). 

3) Episode 3: In 1997, Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan) is sent to assassinate an anti-HYDRA vigilante known as “Mr. Fear”, who uses a special toxin that can make people hallucinate their worst fears. The assassination goes awry when Bucky gets hit with the fear toxin, forcing him to find a way to reverse the effects (so this episode is more psychological horror).

4) Episode 4: Set after the events of “Hawkeye”, Kate Bishop (Hailee Steinfeld) and Clint Barton (Jeremy Renner) set out for Wyoming in order to continue Kate’s training. While training in the woods, the two Hawkeyes realize that there’s something...supernatural in the area. They later discover they’re being hunted by actual werewolves, forcing them to find silver-tipped arrows.

5) Episode 5: A group of Nova Corpsman are on their way back to Xandar when they receive a distress call that an infamous Skrull serial killer has stowed away onto their ship. What follows is a game of cat-and-mouse as the Nova Corpsman struggle to figure out who among them is the imposter (yes, I admit that this is just Among Us).

6) Episode 6: Bill Foster (Laurence Fishburne) and Ava Starr (Hannah John-Kamen) are invited to Pym Industries when they learn that a breakthrough has been made in Quantum Realm research. What was supposed to be a simple trip quickly goes wrong when the researchers contract the zombie virus from the Quantum Realm, resulting in a total lockdown of the area, trapping Bill and Ava inside with all the zombies.

[clementinesjourney]

Record Shop Funk - Pt. 1 Like real people do

A.N. : Hey guys, so i had this idea yesterday, and i really hope you'll like it. <3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Words: 1,9k

Pairing: camboy!Steve x Reader, roommate!Bucky x reader, Stucky x reader (as the story goes)

Warnings: nothing yet :)

Summary: Who knew that having a secret crush, then a hearbreak will end in such a sweet thing..

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You and Bucky shared an apartment above the recordshop you both worked in. Your aunt was the owner of both, so it was a fairly good payment, and a fairly good apartment for a cheap price. It was a bright and big apartment with two bedrooms, so your decided to rent it out, all while searching for a helper to the shop downstairs. When Bucky came in applying for the job, you asked out of joke if he needs a place to live since you had seen around 5 people already and none of them felt right. His eyes lit up as he said he is in fact looking for a place. Since he was fitting for a job, and looked like a decent guy, you congratulated him on his new job, and asked if he wants to see the place today. You still had one and a half hour to close, but after it you would gladly show him the apartment.

He had nothing better to do, so he agreed to it, feeling happy about having a job he might actually like and a coworker he might actually will get along with.

-Do you drink coffee? I was thinking of getting one in the meantime. My friend works close by, and they make the best coffee in town. - He asked.

-I could go for one thank you - you smiled at him - iced cold-brew, no sugar, i'm sweet enough.. - you said with a smile.

He couldn't help but smile back at the joke. When he arrived at the café, he saw his friend Steve flirting with a girl whom he could visibly see trembling just cause he talked to her. Steve always had his way with girls, ever since the serum of course. After he broke up with Peggy, it was mostly just hookups, never finding a girl worth keeping around. Not as if they werent kind, pretty or good to him, it just never felt right. Bucky smiled at his friend, Steve immediately shifted his gaze from the girl, to a very happy Bucky.

-Did you get the job?

-Better.. I got the job, and she has a room for rent which i'll see tonight.

-Wow Bucky, i didn't know you were even better then i am.. sooo how does she look? - asked Steve with a slight wiggle of his eyebrows. He wanted Bucky to get a girl since ages and hearing this, his mind immediately ventured there.

-5'7, ginger, green eyes, freckles, curvy just the right places. why?

-Nothing Buck.. nothing.. - Steve said smirking at his friend.. Bucky never realized when he liked a girl, so he never really acted on it. He last had a woman back in the 40's.

-Sooo i know you didn't come to have chat with me, one black coffee and.. ?

-ah, iced cold-brew, no sugar..

After paying for the coffee, he hurried back to the shop, hoping to get to know his coworker a little bit better.

You thanked him for the coffee, and when you tried to pay, he refused.

-Next round's mine then. - You smiled at him with your 1000 watt smile, which again he couldn't help but smile back at.

-So tell me about you Bucky, what do you do in your freetime?

-Nothing really, just reading, spending time with my friends, kind of thats it.. I have a boring life really. What about you?

-Well, i work here, then i go home and listen to music, cook, god i love to cook, thats a big pro for the apartment.. just saying. - you said with a playful wink. - besides that nothing much. Sometimes i go to a nearby bar with my friends maybe concerts and thats it.

-I like washing dishes if that helps with the application for the room. - he said with a shy laugh which made your heart skip a beat.

- It sure does.. Do you leave your stuff around?

-No i'm a tidy person.. thank you very much. - he said cockily (just for the sake of being funny really).

-Okay okay, if you like it you can have the room, just promise to tell if you bring up a girl so i can leave. The walls are kind of thin.

-It's okay, i don't really...

-Oh um i'm sorry, i didn't meant to intrude, it just something i would really like everyone to add to their rental contracts. - you chuckled embarassed.

-Noo no, it's okay, i'm not embarassed by it. I guess i don't want hook ups, if one day there's someone i'll tell in advance.

-yea me too, i promise. If you end up renting it anyway haha. on that note it's time to close so i can show the room in a min.

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

When you opened the door to the apartment Buckyquietly took in it all. It was really bright, white walls with paintings all over the walls, plants in every corner or shelf you can put one on, a comfy looking mustard couch, aztec-y rug under the coffeetable, and a wall fully shelved, filled with books and little trinkets, it looked like a home he never had a chance to have. The livingroom had an american kitchen on the side, island in the middle of the kitchen area, it was white, and blue which reminded him of greece, down the hallway you showed him the bathroom which of course had a lot of plants that liked the atmosphere of a bathroom, a shower in the corner and a bathtub under the window. You then showed the empty room he could rent out. It only had a shelf and a wardrobe, and a queen sized bed. No decorations, no signs of anybody ever living there. You then pointed to the room the opposit of what could possibly be Bucky's in the future, saying that is yours. You didn't show your room, he wasn't gonna go in there anyway, and showing your most private space on the first day didn't seem like a good idea either. You then invited him out to the balcony, watching the setting sun, smoking a cigarette.

-So thats about it, what do you think?

-I really like it, and i mean.. my workplace is pretty close so thats a plus, also you said something about cooking all the time.. sooo if it's alright with you i would love to rent it out.

-It's settled then roomie. I'll give you the keys, you can move in whenever you want to. Tomorrow we are closed, so maybe that would be ideal.

-Yea, then tomorrow it is then. I'll ask my friend to help, then we can maybe hang a bit if you're free.

-Sure, i have nothing planned, and it's good to know who i'll be living with. - you said with a smile.

Before closing the door, you said your goodbyes, and you realized what did you just do, after he wished you good night with a killer halfsmile that almost had your knees buckle. You just agreed to living together with possibly the most handsome man you've ever seen who is also your new coworker, so you will basically spend most of your time with him.. Guess we'll see how this goes you thought to yourself.

Morning came soon enough, you were sitting out on the balcony when you saw Bucky arrive with a very tall, just as handsome man, carrying boxes of books, and bags of clothing. Bucky looked up at the balcony, waving towards you, you waved back, then moved to open the front door before going back out to the balcony, resuming your coffee and smoke.

When they finished bringing all Bucky's stuff in, it was already midday, so you decided you'd order pizza for all of you, as in like a welcome present.

-Hey guys, i'm thinking of ordering pizza, what kind would you like?

-Oh (y/n) you don't have to. - said Bucky, earning a smirk from Steve as he looked back and forth between you two.

- Noo i insist, today won't be the day i'll start to slowly kill you with my cooking. - you said giggling a bit.

- Whatever's fine peach. - said Steve with a wink, that you decided was just out of friendlyness. You didn't veen knew his name, and he seemed like a lady's man anyways. Not really your type no matter how handsome and muscular he is.

- Steve, by the way, nice to meet you.

-(Y/n), likewise. - you shook his hand.

When the pizzas arrived you called them to the kitchen, listening to all their shared stories from their early years. They seemed like really close friends, and genuinely good people. You had a really great time. It was nearly 9 pm when Steve left, for saving a dame from dying cause of boredom he said. You and Bucky chuckled, then he let him out, closing the door, locking it for the night.

-I guess i have some packing to do, so.. good night (y/n).

-Good night Bucky, if you need anything just knock. - you said with a smile, and he couldn't help but smile back. He felt at peace. He had Steve, now he had a job, and a room to make a home of, and you as a new addition. You were so kind, so eager to help if he needed anything, he loved how the scent of raspberries and flowers lingered in the apartment mixed with coffee and cigarette smoke. It seemed to have a calming effect on him.

You heard a soft knock half an hour later. WHen you opened the door you saw a smiling Bucky, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

- Hey, um.. sorry. I forgot i didn't bring a blanket, could i borrow one until i get my own?

-Yea sure, i'll get one in a min. - You said, leaving the door open, letting him see a bit of "you" while you were searching for your spare blanket in your wardrobe. The room really was you. White, with mustardy curtains on the window, plants everywhere, books piled up here and there, a really comfy looking bed, pictures of you and your friends on the walls. And damn, your room smelled even more like you. If he wouldn't pay attention your scent would lure him into your room and never let him leave he thought.

-There you go. - you handed him the blanket smiling.

-Thank you very much.

Then he stood there for a moment drinking in the sight of you in front of him. You were wearing an oversized tshirt, that ended just around the middle of your thighs, hair in a messy bun, no makeup. He could swear he thought you were pretty before, but seeing you as you were made him fancy you even more.

With a small smile you told him goodnight again, then closed the door in his face.

You could hear his little laugh on the other side of the door, then his door closing. For the first time in months he didn't wake up in the middle of the night, and he didn't had a nightmare either. He was afraid he would, and then he would wake you up with his screaming, but looks like the blanket which smelled just like you calmed him enough.

After waking up because the rays of sunshine on his face, he smiled to himself guess i'll wait with getting my own blanket then...

[jamie-leah]

Traitor

Bucky x Reader

Oneshot

Summary: Everyone thinks you're a traitor but Bucky isn't convinced.

Word: 2592

Warnings: Swearing, action stuff, hints at abuse and violence at the end.

A/N: I had a half formed daydream that turned into this. Starts strong, ends weak, enjoy!

Oneshot Masterlist Series Masterlist

Steve throws your file on the desk in front of Bucky. Bucky just stares at your face on the front of the folder, pinned by a silver paper clip.

Silver was your favourite type of jewellery. Bucky remembered storing the information away for when he bought you a silver necklace for your birthday not long ago.

“I’m sorry, Buck, but we had an operative confirm everything I just told you. Y/N is a contract killer, an assassin and she was sent here to infiltrate and kill. Namely, all of us.”

Bucky hears the words coming from Steve’s mouth, but he can’t understand them. Images of you flash in his mind. You laughing at one of his lame jokes, you crying in his arms from a nightmare, you underneath him moaning his name as he kisses a trail down your neck.

Bucky shakes his head, “I don’t believe that Steve, I can’t. Who’s the source? How do you know they’re legit?”

Steve picks up a remote and points it at a screen in the room. It blinks to life on a still image of you in a restaurant, kissing the cheek of one of the most prominent mob bosses in the city and known Hydra agent.

Bucky stands so fast his chair cracks on the floor as he tears out of the office at full speed. He skips passed the elevator and takes the stairs, missing steps in his rush.

He keeps going and going until he hits the lowest level underneath the tower and storms passed all the guards. None of them challenge him, too afraid of the former Winter Soldier to get in his way.

As Bucky gets to the cells, he grabs an agent by the scruff and grinds out, “which cell?”

They all knew who he was talking about. Everyone would be talking about this for a while to come. The agent points into the open space of cells and stutters, “its, c-cell 203”.

Bucky drops the agent and stalks through the cells until he finally comes to 203. He steps into view with clenched fists and doesn’t pause before he asks, “why?”

You sit on the edge of the cot, elbows on knees, staring at the grey wall opposite. It takes you a moment to build up the courage to look at him. You never intended for this to happen. You never wanted to get feelings involved, but as you look at Bucky, you know it’s far too late for that now. Now you have a mess on your hands.

You debate how to play this. Do you keep up the contract killer façade or do you confess, tell him everything you’ve ever wanted to tell another human being before?

“Barnes, I should have known you would pay me a visit sooner rather than later.”

Bucky felt like you had struck him in the face with the way you addressed him, but he holds firm, “why?”

“Why what? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific”, you reply coolly as you stand to face him.

Bucky changes his question, “is it true? Are you a contract killer?”

It takes you a few moments to keep the mask in place, “yes”.

You watch the pain flash across his features for the briefest of moments before he locks it away to be felt in private. It breaks your heart, but you’re so used to the feeling it never shows on your face.

Bucky goes to turn from you, wanting to get away, the sight of you too much to bear. You throw a question out into the void between you before he can retreat, “are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

Bucky never turns back to look at you, but he whispers, “was any of it ever real?”

Despite knowing this was the question, despite hearing it from a few people across your lifetime, it was the first time it ever hit you in the gut with such force you had to take a silent gulp of air before choking out, “no”.

He leaves without another word.

You wait a few days. Working out the routine of the place before you wait for your next move.

You wait with your back to a small portion of the concrete wall next to the cell door. A blind spot. And when the guard brings your food and slides it under the metal bars, he looks up to find you missing.

Just as he steps closer to look, you strike. You shoot your arms between the bars and pull so hard his head bangs into the metal and he crumples, out cold.

You drag is body parallel to the door and you sweep his body for keys. You start to lose hope when your hand flits over cool metal and a little jingle rings out.

You wait fifteen minutes until lights out and the use the keys. You drag the guard into the cell, swapping your uniforms before closing the door and locking him in. You check all your hair is tucked until the cap before heading for the locked door between freedom and your prison.

You rap on the metal with your heart beating furiously against your ribcage. But the door opens without a problem and you have to stop yourself from sprinting down the hall and up the stairwell.

Once you make it up one flight of stairs with no alarms raised you start to sprint. Before you leave, you have to make it back to your room for your go bag. You can’t leave it when it has all the information you need for what started this all off.

You run and run and run. You run until your lungs burn with a fire that’s been flowing in your veins since you were born. You run until your legs scream at you to stop and just when you don’t think you can take any more flights of stairs, you make it to the top.

You stop. Your hand on the handle, taking a moment to get your breathing under control. You push the handle down slowly and open the door a crack to find the hallway in darkness.

You slip through and creep on the tiles without a sound as you make it to the first spare room in the hall.

You get into the room no problem and let out a breath when you realise no one knows you used this room to stash your information.

You waste no time in grabbing your go back from the closet, checking everything you need is in there before heading for the door again. Three steps from the exit and alarms scream out, waking everyone from their slumber. The alarm is followed by a female robotic voice, “alert, alert, prisoner escape. Alert, alert, prisoner escape.”

You swear under your breath as you rush out the door to see Bucky, Natasha and Sam at the end of the hall, near the stairway. Your only exit.

They spot you seconds after you spot them, and you take off running in the opposite direction. You can’t afford a hand to hand with all three of them. As confident as you are in your abilities they have just as much, and you don’t want to hurt them.

They shout in your direction, but you ignore them as you unzip your bag and rummage around for a miracle. You get to the living space when you finally feel it and a flimsy plan comes to mind.

You turn, gun in both hands as you drop the go bag. Bucky, Natasha and Sam all creep into the room, guns pointed in your direction as yours is in theirs.

“There’s nowhere else to go now, Y/N,” Sam says in his calm way.

You hold firm, the sofas keeping the four of you apart. You look in Bucky’s direction as you talk, “things are more complicated than they seem. And I’m sorry you were caught up in it. I’m not a good person and I’ll get what I deserve, but I have something I need to do first.”

“And what’s that? Kills us?”, Nat asks.

You shake your head, still looking at Bucky, “If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it three times over. You’re not my mission.”

“Then give yourself up and explain.” Sam tries to reason.

You lower your gun slowly, “it would take too long, and you may never believe me. I can’t afford that, and I’ll never get a chance like this again.”

Bucky remains silent throughout the whole exchange, but you study each other the entire time. You try to convey that you lied earlier before reaching up your arm with lightning speed.

Two shots and the chandelier that Stark insisted on installing for the living room crashes in front of the three as you turn and shoot the glass window. As the glass spiderwebs, you drop the gun and run at full speed. You have a moment to acknowledge that throwing yourself from the top of the tower is the dumbest move you’ve ever made as the air rushes to greet you.

You twist with a hand in your pocket and throw upwards, watching and praying for your miracle to work as the rope and hook catches and you plummet.

You fall down the building on the rope watching the ground and unclip at the last second, rolling with the momentum as the impact jars through your bones.

Bucky couldn’t believe you threw yourself out the window. He was the first to recover, leaping over the lights and the sofa to dive head first after you. He digs his metal hand into the concrete and slides down after you.

He sees you roll and run immediately like the pro that you are and wastes no time pursuing you.

You dart between traffic and glance behind to see him behind you. You growl in frustration at the stubborn solider, having to change your plans once again as you head for the roads.

You instinctively feel Bucky gaining on you with the serum pumping through his veins so when you spot a cargo truck coming on the road below. You don’t hesitate to jump off the road you’re on and slam into the truck underneath.

Your lungs scream for the third time that night as all the air leaves them, but you pay no attention as you look up to find Bucky staring after you.

You walk in the quiet of the night, looking down at the folded piece of paper. You check you have the right address when the empty warehouse finally comes into view. You slip in without any problems and head over to the machine where you stashed more stuff.

Just as you go to reach for the bag you hear the click of a gun. You freeze. You turn slowly, with your hands visible and find yourself staring into the face of Bucky and the barrel of his gun.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and sigh, “how did you find me?”

“Please, do you really think I don’t know you after all this time? After our talk in the cells, I checked all the spare rooms. Found your go bag and the addresses. This was the closest one to the tower”, Bucky replies with an easy shrug.

You nod your head, “but if you found them, why did you leave them there? Why didn’t you tell anyone else?”.

“Tell me what’s going on, Y/N”, Bucky dodges the question.

You knew there was no other way out of this now. You had to tell him if you ever had a hope of getting this done tonight.

“Look, can you put the gun down-“

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. I can’t trust you.”

You pretend like his words don’t hurt, though they’re warranted, “okay, okay. Look, most of it is true. I am a contract killer. Long story short, I was born into a mob family. Mum died giving birth to me and left me and my older sister with my piece of shit father, the “use you as an ashtray type father”. At least he did with my sister. She took the brunt of his shit…anyway, when I turned 13 and had my first period, he sold me to a man. That man? Was the mob boss I know you saw me with, Joe Selene. I’ll skip passed all the torture and right to the part where he trained me as a contract killer for him and bided my time. My father had gone underground and with my limited access to resources I couldn’t find him.”

Bucky lowers the gun as you go through your story, his features softening at your tale of tragedy.

“I swore to my sister that I would come for her but I needed to gain the trust of Selene so I could get the resources to find my father. That was when he got involved with Hydra and they asked him to take you out. I agreed, knowing that you would have all the resources I needed to find my father and my sister.”

Bucky shakes his head, “why didn’t you tell me, us, any of this? We could have helped you.”

You look away from him, “because about a week after I got to the tower, I read my sisters name in the obituary. All the people I had killed to get to my sister was for nothing. She died alone, waiting for a rescue that never came and I knew…I knew that I was going to kill that bastard for everything that happened. I also knew that none of you would let me. You would reason about justice and doing things the right way. But I know what’s right and that’s that bastard six feet under and in hell.”

You look back up at Bucky to find him already watching you. You square your shoulders and jut your chin as you say, “so, you’re either with me or against me and so help me God, if you try to stop me from leaving this building and killing that piece of shit, I will not hesitate to put you down. I told you that you’re not my mission, but I will damn make sure nothing gets in the way.”

Bucky nods, “I’m in.”

You turn back to your bag and pull out the knives to strap around your body. You hand a few to Bucky and he takes them without a word.

As he turns to head back out of the warehouse you throw the question out again, “are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

Bucky turns to look at you this time. He captures your eyes with his as he stares into your soul and whispers, “was any of it real?”

You reply without hesitation, “yes. Every single word.”

Bucky takes a few long strides before grabbing your face with his hands and crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. You return with the same ferocity, gripping his shirt in your fists to try and bring his body closer to yours.

When you can no longer breathe, you break the kiss. You both pant as Bucky brings his forehead down to meet yours. He whispers, “after we go drop a few bodies, what do you say we go take a trip. Just you and me?”

[aimmyarrowshigh]

Honestly I'm not a big fan of the MCU and I didn’t watch everything (and not anything since Endgame actually) but Endgame featured... terrible choices even from my point of view. Like killing Natasha already put me off so bad but Steve's ending?... Most of his arc was about getting Bucky back and then... he just... left him there by himself? This makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Killing off Natasha was the objective wrong choice, and then Black Widow (which is GREAT, actually, I highly recommend both Black Widow and Shang-Chi) just underscored that. Like, Black Widow ends with Natasha realizing that "my whole life, I thought I had no family... turns out I've got two." And then she gets killed off right when she'd reconciled and reconnected with her Russian family AND had the opportunity to help the Avengers reconcile after Civil War?? And after RUNNING THE WORLD, ALONE, for five years?? And so that CLINT could live, who, while Nat was running the world, was off being a serial killer?? I get that it was 1000% a decision borne of whose contracts were expiring and when, but like... killing off the two major women of the MCU (because to that point, the two women who were The Woman On Their Respective Teams were Natasha and Gamora) on the same goddamn planet in the same way and showing their dead bodies lying on the same slab was sure a Choice.

And yeah, Steve's literal entire character arc is "Bucky? BUCKY!" and then he leaves Bucky?? And we're NOT supposed to think, at the very least, that he's just stopping off for a quick dance and some puss before he SAVES BUCKY FROM 70 YEARS OF TORTURE? I'm supposed to sit here and think Steve is just chillin' in New Jersey, knowing that Bucky is being TORTURED FOR SEVENTY YEARS, ALSO IN NEW JERSEY, BY THE ORGANIZATION RUN BY STEVE'S STEPFORD WIFE? No. Nuh-uh. No.

No.

[3pirouette]

A Red, White, and Blue Christmas (8/?)

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They’re not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: White Christmas AU. Peggy is pulled from Project Rebirth, setting off a chain of events that leaves Steve and Bucky unharmed at the end of the War, but never having met. Until, that is, their paths cross as professional performers. Steggy Secret Santa gift for @roboticonography

Chapter 7: I Wish I Knew How To Break This Spell

Chapter Summary: Steve and Peggy share a late night moment.

Chapter A/N: If you’re looking forward to liverwurst sandwiches, they’re not here. I happen to think this is better.

Also, I suppose this chapter needs a trigger warning, but maybe not for what you think. One of the things I ALWAYS knew about this story was that I wanted to use Baby, It’s Cold Outside instead of one of the songs in the film. I love this song, and to me, the historical context of the woman needing to make excuses to society is important. It was written in 1944 as a cheeky call and response song that was meant to be risqué and flirty. However, I know some people are triggered by this song because in today’s context, it can sound like lack of consent and coercion. This song shows up in this chapter, and will pop up again in a future chapter (at least, that’s my plan as of now). I Hope that doesn’t turn anyone away, but again, please be warned. It’s kind of an important plot point.

~*~

“Just admit it,” Bucky started, flopping back on his bed. “You like her.”

“And what of it?” Steve asked, folding back his blanket and fluffing the pillow. “Technically, I’m her boss right now.”

“Technically,” Bucky whined the word out, shaking his head. “But I don’t quite get the feeling she really minds that.”

“I got a lot on my mind with this show, Buck.” He slipped under the blankets and started tucking himself in. “If this doesn’t help Phillips…”

“It’s gonna help.” Bucky turned on his side and tossed his pillow at him, landing it square on Steve’s chest. “Hell, we could sell tickets just on the finale, alone.”

Steve patted Bucky’s pillow a few times then shoved it behind his own head, trying to change the subject. “You know how Ana’s getting along with the costumes?”

“That woman is a miracle worker.” Bucky stood, pulling his pillow out from behind Steve, letting his friend fall back on the bed. “If we didn’t have seamstress…”

“If we didn’t have a lot of things,” Steve mused.

The silence hung heavy as Bucky bustled around, brushing his teeth and sliding around laundry and costumes to settle in for the night. He stopped, toothbrush still hanging from his foamy lips. “Out with it. I can hear those gears of yours turning.”

“We have seven minutes in the second act.” Steve said it plainly, but very clearly there was another thought to follow that he wasn’t sharing.

“And?” Bucky prodded, turning to spit in the sink.

“And…” He paused, sighing. “And those girls are too good to only get seven minutes. If we’re gonna add ‘em into the show…”

“They sure as hell need more than seven minutes.” Bucky agreed, slipping back into his own bed and turning the lamp next to him off. “Angie’s killer in the Mandy number, and Peggy….” Bucky whistled low.

“They’re both better than half of what we’ve got now.” Steve sighed heavy. “We could replace at least six ensemble with just the two of them.”

Bucky propped on his elbow, looking over. “Steve, I know that tone.” Steve tuned his head towards him, but then looked back up at the ceiling. Bucky shook his head and sat back up, clicking on the lamp. “You can’t get all sappy about business just because you like people. Hell, you don’t even like a lot of those people I know you’re thinking we could replace.

“I do—"

“No, you don’t.” Bucky shook his head, tossing the words out harshly. “Just last week you were stomping around, wishing we could replace Doris because she can’t help but go sharp.”

Steve didn’t even look at him, just kept staring up at the ceiling. “They have contracts.”

“Contracts that say they need to be in the show, not what parts they need to have.” Bucky sighed, sliding back down in his bed and turning the lamp back off. “Don’t get all mushy on me now, Steve.”

It was only a few seconds before Bucky heard Steve up and rumbling. “Where you going?”

“Gotta think,” Steve mumbled back, throwing his robe over his pajamas. “I think Jarvis said he left snacks in the lodge.”

“An hour, Steve!” Bucky called as Steve left. “I just need you to stop thinking and making me think and let me sleep for an hour!” Bucky fired his pillow at his friend again, bouncing it off the door as Steve clicked it shut behind him.

“What was I thinking?” Bucky mumbled to the ceiling, rubbing his eyes. “Dumb kid is never gonna let me have a moment of peace for the rest of my life, never mind two full hours.”

~*~

Peggy picked out slow, quiet notes, gently pressing the ivory keys as she hummed along, trying to find the exact tones. Her fingers stumbled clumsily along, her focus shifting from the sheet music to the piano every so often to make sure she was hitting the right key.

“For someone who can sing so beautifully, I would have guessed you’d played before,” Steve’s voice, though quiet, still startled her.

Peggy jumped, tugging at the edges of her robe before settling and blushing at being caught. She turned back to the sheet music as Steve padded softly into the room, his slippers making no noise on the wood floor. “What are you… How long have you been there?” Peggy asked, pretending to be engrossed in the sheet music again.

“Came for a snack.” Steve leaned against the piano, a soft smile on his face. “And not long, but long enough to know you can’t tell your sharps from your flats.”

Peggy sucked at her teeth, a tiny sound coming out as she shook her head, looking up at him. “Oh, I know them, the piano’s just not my instrument.”

“You’re a singer and the piano’s…” He trailed off, still surprised by her. “Ok, what is your instrument?”

“Violin.” Peggy turned back to the piano, playing gently and more securely this time. “Mother said it was what all the women in my family learned to play, plus we already had a fairly good one and a piano would have been too costly.”

Steve tilted his head, silently asking if he could sit next to her on the bench. He took her slipping over as a yes and sat down gently, keeping as much space between them as he could between them. “The piano at the church was free,” he started, eyes going to the sheet music but the focus on a faraway memory.  “So was the organ, though, and I never quite managed to get a hang of that.”

Steve spread his fingers out over the keys, playing a quiet but grand sound, tickling away to reveal the melody of a hymn Peggy could remember from her childhood. “I wasn’t well as a kid. Couldn’t play sports or go running around, and sitting there watching everyone else get to do it was just so…” Steve didn’t have the right words for what came next, so he just played a forlorn cord. “By default, I ended up in the rectory a lot. Sister Mary Ava taught me the piano. It was simple, and didn’t get me out of breath, and I found peace in it.” His fingers started picking out joyous sounds. “Eventually she figured out I could sing, too, and even though I couldn’t belt, well…”

“Catholic choir boy?” Peggy smiled, entranced by his fingers. She looked up to his face as the melody slowed. “Somehow the red, white, and blue and the robes don’t seem to go together.”

“I was different then,” Steve replied softly, looking down at his hands as he picked out a slow melody with one finger. “I used to get into fights. I hated bullies, and I’d go up against ‘em every chance I got. I’d come home, broken nose or black eye, my Ma would clean me up, and then send me right down to Mary Ava who had me scrubbing floors in the church for penance.” He laughed at the memory, looking at his hands. “I felt small. Unseen. I was trying to figure out how I could make a difference in the world like that.”

“I know a bit of what that’s like,” Peggy whispered, his eyes meeting hers. “Everyone sees you when there’s a spotlight on, but before? Before Phillips and the SSR?” She cleared her throat, turning away to hide the emotion. “Let’s just say that even though I’ve had a hand in saving the world, my mother’s still cross that I’m not a merry wife in the house next to her.”  

Steve’s voice was heavy and serious. “The war changed a lot of things.”

“I wouldn’t go back,” Peggy whispered, “but… sometimes I wonder if this was how I was meant to go forward.”

Steve turned his head just a bit, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. “Keep being a spy?”

Peggy nodded. She let her hands rest on the keys, but didn’t play a note. “Would you have liked to keep being a soldier?”

“Some days, I think it might have been the better bet.” Steve looked up, turning back to the beginning of the sheet music to give him something to do with his hands. “Some days, I know it would have broken me to be stuck taking orders from someone that was in charge of me for no other reason than a political promotion or a lucky election. I fought with Phillips so many times, and went AWOL a few times, too, but that man always had my back, always respected me in the end. They won’t all do that.”

“They put me behind a desk when Phillips retired.” She mumbled, playing with the tie of her robe. “I’d spent years in the field, gathering the most important intelligence of the war, and I was relegated to picking up lunches and pouring coffee and answering the phones.” She sighed sadly. “I couldn’t do that anymore.”

Peggy turned, looking at him. She really looked at him, and saw the hurt in his eyes reflected back at her. The sparkling blue depths she’d come to expect from photos and marquis were more than just a pretty color, they were filled with a history, and a story, that seemed to call to her.

“Well,” he smiled brightly, pushing away the negative thoughts, “we’re here now, and we might as well move forward, right?” He lifted his right hand to the keys, looking over the sheet music. “This is the song Bucky picked for us?”

“Um hum,” Peggy hummed her response, sitting herself up next to Steve. “I’ve heard it a few times but I’ve never sung it.”

Steve slipped his fingers over the keys, sight reading quickly to pick out the melody. “Seems pretty repetitive, I think I can pick it up.”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Seems a bit scandalous.”

Steve looked at her, a twinkle in his eye, before turning back to keep playing along. “Seems a spy with the SSR shouldn’t be too worried about what an audience might think of a song.”

Peggy waited, then caught up with the melody, her voice low like honey as she tried to prove her point. “Say, what’s in this drink?” Steve chuckled, missing his cue, but then lifted his other hand, playing the song in earnest as she continued. “I wish I knew how…”

Steve spoke the line in time instead of singing, “Your eyes are like starlight now.”

“To break this spell,” Peggy continued, eyes on the sheet music as she shifted closer.

“I'll take your hat,” Steve lifted his right hand off the keys to flick it through a curl of her hair, pressing it back almost immediately, a bright red blush taking over his face, “your hair looks swell.”

Peggy blushed, looking back at the lyrics. “I ought to say no, no, no sir.” She didn’t even pretend not to like it when he slid closer to her on his next line. “At least I'm gonna say that I tried.”

Steve paused on the next cord, fingers slowing. “What's the sense of hurting my pride?”

“I really can't stay…” Peggy started, turning and realizing just how close she was to him as the cords of the piano fell away to silence. His eyes were bright and his lips moist and pink, so close she could feel the air puffing from them on her cheek. She wasn’t sure what it was about him, the sense that he was a good man, or the sense that despite his trappings, he understood struggle, but she felt close to him. She felt like she could get to know him.

She felt like she was falling in love with him.

She took the chance, leaning forward ever so slightly in the silence.

His lips met hers softly as her eyes fluttered closed. He tasted like minty toothpaste and she’d never loved the flavor more. The gentle touching of their lips suddenly seemed far too little to her. She reached out, taking his shoulders in her hands, trying to press closer to him on the impossibly small bench.

She sighed against his mouth as his hands wrapped around her waist, lifting and pulling her closer with the ease of a superhero until she was on his lap, their lips never having parted.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as he melted under her, holding her like fine china but with a strength she knew had turned the tide of an entire war. Steve tilted his head, kissing down her neck and she didn’t understand how this seemed so different, how his kiss, his touch was so much more than that that had come from other men.

She felt revered. She felt seen.

She felt cared for in a way she wasn’t sure she understood.

It was intoxicating.

She lifted his chin with her hand, meeting his lips in a hard kiss that sent her just off balance. Though he didn’t let her topple more than an inch, it was enough to bring her back right up against the keys of the piano, letting out a cacophonous sound the echoed through the quiet room.

It tore them apart, both huffing to catch their breath. Peggy’s lips were red and swollen, Steve’s wet and shining bright against the flush in his cheek.

They both watched each other for a long second, the sounds of the notes dying out. It was very possible anyone could walk right in and see them tangled up on the piano bench, and that reminded Peggy just why this was a very, very bad idea.

She scrambled from his lap, pulling her robe tightly around her. “I… I should go.”

“Peggy—” Steve sat numbly, slow to react to the loss of her weight in his lap.

“No, I…” She stopped, looking him over and smiled just a little. “Suppose Angie or Bucky or Phillips came in?”

“I don’t…” He shook his head, forcing himself to focus as he stood. “I don’t want to hide this.”

“And I don’t want to rush this,” she whispered. Peggy took a long, slow breath to try to stop the pounding of her heart in her chest. “I spent the war pretending I was someone else, pretending I was feeling things for men to get information.” She stepped towards him, straightening the collar of his robe. “Even my act with Angie is a lie, so all the joy I get out of it is tempered by the fact that I’m not her sister.” Peggy sighed, looking up as Steve’s arms melted around her. “It’s been so long since I felt something as myself. I need to know I’m feeling what I’m really feeling. I want to revel in it. I want to…” She looked up, brown depths filled with a mix of sadness and hope as she took a steadying breath. “I want to really feel it.”

Steve pulled her tight, hugging her close as he kissed her forehead. “I think I can understand that.”

Peggy leaned back, letting her lips brush against his softly before pushing from his arms. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“In the morning,” he parroted back, still a little dumbfounded at the entire situation. He watched her walk away before he sat back down on the piano bench, hands automatically going to the sheet music. It was only a few minutes before he stood, muttering to himself and leaving for his own cabin. “What the hell just happened, Rogers?”

[ruckystarnes]

Title: You're Not Alone

Author: RuckyStarnes

Card: B018

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Yelena Belova

Warnings: hospital, injury, unconscious

Words: 920

Rating: Teen

Written for: @agonyapril2022 | @buckybarnesbingo | @badthingshappenbingo

Event: Agony April | Bucky Barnes Bingo | Bad Things Happen Bingo

Prompt/Square: Day 21: Hosptial | B1: Blankets | O1: Grief/Mourning

Summary:

Type: Moodboard | Fic

Bucky looked down at the figure in the bed, the monitors beeping in the background at a steady rhythm. He sighed and set down the bouquet of flowers on the bedside table before rounding the bed to sit in the chair. It was uncomfortable but he didn’t complain, just leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he hung his head. He made a promise to Natasha years ago that if anything would happen to her, he would look out for Yelena. And that promise, to him, was broken the night before.

He wasn’t expecting for Yelena to show up in the middle of his mission. He wasn’t expecting to see her being a contract killer for the opposing side, either. It wasn’t like he knew it was her when he saw the dark figure on the other end of the hallway, goggles glowing green in the dim light. He let his guard down for a second, assuming that the figure was just another one of Valentina’s lackeys and never took in the fact that the figure was far from being built like a man. It was when he was about to land a punch with his vibranium arm that he finally realized that the ‘enemy’ was, in fact, Yelena, but it was too late. His fist came in contact with her chest, sending her into the wall twenty feet back. His heart dropped, stomach in his throat as he rushed forward to one of the few people he thought of as family. When he took off the goggles and mask as he moved to hold her. Blood was coming from her ears and mouth and wasn’t responding to his words.

So now she was hooked up to monitors and tubes, asleep still. The doctors said she will come-to eventually, but it was on her terms. Every second her eyes were closed, the more he begged silently with an unseen force to switch their positions. He had brought the blanket that Natasha made her, laying it over Yelena’s unmoving form. He wanted her surrounded by the things that he knew would be comforting to her if, no, when she woke up.

He had to stop thinking of it as being an if, not a when. She was going to wake up, and he will do everything in his power to make it happen. He ran his hands over his face and sighed heavily. The doctor was optimistic that she would come out of it, but that did little to ease the guilt he had. They only lost Natasha months ago, and both of them took it hard. Now he was the reason why Yelena was in this position.

“Did I ever tell you that frowning isn’t becoming of you?” a raspy voice sounded.

Bucky’s head snapped up, his blue eyes meeting the half closed ones of Yelena’s. She gave him a weak smile as he stood, taking her one hand in his metal one.

“Seriously, your forehead is going to be fixed in that position if you keep frowning like that,” she teased, the side of her mouth tilting slightly in a smirk. Her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply, groaning slightly as she shifted.

“Careful, solntsey, you have a few broken ribs and a concussion,” he whispered, his flesh hand moving to smooth over her hair.

“Yeah, you always knew how to punch,” she smiled, eyes still closed. She squeezed his hand and looked at him through slits. “Why were you there?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” he countered, “who sent you?”

“Brat, you know I cannot discuss that.”

“Bull shit, I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Solntsey–”

“Don’t solntsey me, James. I’m serious, I can’t tell you. For a very good reason too.” Yelena coughed slightly, swearing some in Russian before she sighed. “I know Na’sha made you promise to take care of me, but I am a former Widow. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Yet you walked right into a place where the Winter Solider was,” he grumbled.

“I thought you said that Soldat was dead,” she replied, the teasing tone back in her voice. “Thought you went by White Wolf now.”

Bucky shook his head and smiled, letting go of her hand to gently scoot her over so he could lie down next to her. He was careful of the tubes and wires coming from her as he laid down next to her, adjusting the blanket from Natasha around her.

“I promised her to take care of you solntsey, and I will spend the next month making this up to you.” Yelena fell quiet, her head resting on his shoulder. Words did not have to be said to know that the small comments about Natasha was enough to open the deep wounds of her being dead.

Yelena pulled her head back slowly to look at him. “She would have kicked your ass for hurting me, knowingly or not.” She gave him a sad smile, one that he couldn’t return.

“I miss her too, solntsey,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple and letting her rest her head against him again. They remained quiet for a few moments before Yelena broke the silence.

“You know, you can get me a hot fudge sundae with peanuts if you are serious about making this up to me.” The teasing tone was back and she slightly slapped his hand. The slight playfulness in her voice brought a small smile to his lips and he chuckled.

[slothspaghettiwrites]

so for your serial killer! stucky au - what do the boys do? like what are their jobs and lives like outside of killing (mostly steve since bucky seems like he has no life other than stalking his victims lol)?

Oooooooooh!!!!! Yesss let's talk about what they are moon lighting (day lighting?) as when they aren't serial killers. 😂

Bucky - IT Contractor/Consultant

So the reason Bucky has so much time on his hands? He works odd hours and contract work for companies who want their IT/Data/Cyber security tested. Which is a job that Bucky can easily do from a phone once he knows what needs doing. He can run just about any scripts or protocols from his phone if he's out or he pops on to some public WiFi if need be.

He got into this work before he started killing. He's always been a bit sensitive, a softy with a very breakable heart. Before he met Steve, he used to work in an actual office with people. It was a huge multinational conglomerate and Bucky was just happy to have a job right out of college. He was just a cog in the machine, until the CTO took an interest him. Alexander Pierce manipulates and uses him, forms a toxic relationship with him, that leads to Pierce being Bucky's first kill a few years later. It's after that, when he is drowning in grief that he meets Steve.

Steve - Art Therapist/Teacher

Steve is an adjunct professor of art, and when he doesn't have a class, he works with the local government outreach center doing an art therapy course. Neither jobs pays super well, but combined it's enough for him to get by with and he really does enjoy the work. He loves getting to use his skills and be hands on with his students. They always say he could be showing his own art, which are these intense life drawing depicting grotesque and beautiful aspects of the human, in galleries. That people would eat it up. He could be famous. Steve just laughs good natured-ly at these comments. It's not about being famous, he's just hear to express himself and help others.

Bucky wears his red Henley to the first class.

Both of them are struck with this... Primal desire in an instance. Bucky was terrified of killing again, of getting caught, but something about Steve makes him want start all over again. Steve, well he's kind of a simple guy, Bucky's a young, gorgeous brunette who looks killer in red. His hands itch to know what they'd feel like around Bucky's neck. He wants to see the life drain from his eyes.

But both them hold back, thinking it would be sensible to wait until the course was over. It would be less suspicious that way. Except as they learn more about each other, bond and connect, the urge to kill each other lessens while lust and passion and love take over. The urge to kill is what brings them together and it's what holds them together.

[rebelbyrdie]

Capitan Carter Ficlet

Title:  If Then

Summary:  Peggy Carter is trying to adapt to her new circumstances after re-appearing after seventy years.  When Hawkeye mentions that there was a movie about her life, she has to see it.  Unfortunately, the movie took some very creative liberties, but the experience may not be a total loss.

Notes:  Not very edited because I am lazy.

Peggy Carter sat still in the slightly too narrow, too firm and too sticky seat.  The house lights were on and the film was over.  Names scrolled down the screen.  She pulled a small notebook and pen from her purse.  She flicked through the pages and drew a line through the word “Film?”.

Of everything she’d seen and learned, this so-called film made her the angriest.  “Crikey O’Riley.”  Peggy muttered under her breath.  She gathered her empty popcorn bag and paper soda cup and went to the exit.  

Mr. Barton had advised her that the film had “gotten a few things wrong”.  

A few things?  She would laugh if she didn’t think it would trigger a crying jag.  These filmmakers had warped the story of their lives into something almost unrecognizable.  It had, according to the poster at the front of the cinema, won eleven Academy awards.  She would like to meet with the film studio and tell them exactly where they could put those shiny statues.

She clenched her hands into fist and headed to the ladie’s room.  She needed a moment to calm down before she did something she’d regret, like punch a hole in the wall or rip a door off it’s hinges.

She flicked the cold tap on and let it run over her wrists.  She caught her reflection in the mirror.  She hadn’t quite caught up with current fashion.  SHIELD, or more specifically Maria Hill, had provided her with clothes.  She was thankful that the serviceable trousers, shirt and jacket lacked the logo that most of the agents wore on their uniforms.  

She looked nothing like the woman from the movie.  Even before her transformation, Peggy had never been a petite waif with big green eyes and waif-like proportions.  

Steve had never been a lantern-jawed and muscle-bound playboy.  

Bucky hadn’t been a hardened killer who had betrayed anyone.

Howard had not flirted with her every time they’d spoken.  She’d cured him of that habit with one hard elbow to the ribs the second time they’d met.  

It was all wrong.  Everything was wrong.  She glared at her own reflection and then lashed out.  She punched the mirror and it shattered instantly.  The shards of mirror didn’t even scratch her knuckles.  There was no pain, just guilt, shame, and the ache of seventy years between her and her loved ones.

“Wow.”  A voice sounded from the door.  “I haven’t seen anyone that mad about the Carter movie since the premiere when Howard Stark punched out the director.”

Peggy twisted around.  A woman in the theatre’s uniform smiled at her. She was beautiful, like the movie star from the movie.   “Your hand okay?”

Peggy blushed.  “I am terribly sorry.  I can pay to replace the mirror.”

Well, she could ask SHIELD for a small loan to do so.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, English.  The owner doesn’t like the movie much either.”

Peggy blinked, thrown off by the remark.  “Oh?  Then why show it?”

The woman (an usher of some sort?) hopped up onto th counter beside the sink.  “Contracts.  See the director wanted the movie to premiere in Brooklyn since the real Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were from the neighborhood.  To be that theatre they had to agree to show the film every year.  After he saw it, the Old Man about popped his pacemaker.  He knew ‘em, English.  Said he was glad they both passed before they made it.”

It was surreal.  To hear someone else talk about Steve and Bucky like this.  To her they were still twenty-somethings fighting a war.  To this-

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

The woman grinned and buffed her nails over the small name plate on her vet.  “Angela Martinelli, but you can call me Agnie, all my friends do.”

Martinelli, as in the Martinelli Theatre?  

Peggy felt another flush coming on.  This girl was related to the owner.  

“And your name, or should I just keep calling you English?”

Her smile was infectious, and for the first time since she’d arrived, Peggy felt normal.

“Margaret, but you can call me Peggy.  All my friends do.”  Well, they had.

“Oh, like Capitan Carter?  You named after her or something?”

Or something.

“Hell, with a punch like that you could be her.”

Peggy smiled, she couldn’t help it.  “I really do apologize about that.”

Angie shrugged.  “I’ll get one of my knuckle-dragging brothers to fix it.  That’s all they’re good for anyway.  My shift is almost over.  I know this really great diner where we could get a bite to eat and talk?”

She should get back to SHIELD.  She should figure out how to use the pocket-phone she’d been given.  She should read about the seventy years worth of events she’d missed.  She should visit Steve and Bucky’s graves.

“I would be delighted.”

[newmemoria]

So I remember seeing something in an article about them not really knowing where to go as far as conflict between Bucky and Sam after tfatws. But reading the comics it’s like are you kidding dude-there’s so much baggage it’s insane. Bucky still has ptsd and a lot of that affects his behavior and his relationships.

(Side note: Can we also talk about how Sam refers to Bucky who’s over 100 years old as a kid on multiple occasions?? It just kind of shows how he views Bucky tbh. Bucky is built up to be a big bad soldier type/lethal assassin and Sam’s like-he’s a kid lol)

This is a really good comic Cap America (2004-2011) issues 606/607 that kind of dives into Bucky’s struggle with identity a lot^

Where in this instance Bucky has been acting as Cap for a while and his character is just taking in the name of Cap America and struggling with if he deserves it and the people around him (Falcon lol) notice!

Bucky is like partly self destructive definitely self hating to a degree and has some intense self worth issues. Not only in this comic either. In the most recent one he assumes that he’s meant to be a killer (after being contracted by the OFU to assassinate once again as part of his pardon*something that would be really interesting if they decided to add later)and that’s a thought that he keeps bringing back up in most of the series that he’s in. A major point for Buckys character is his struggle with “Am I a good person who helps people, or am I a tool of destruction? “

To which Sam usually interjects with something along the lines of that’s up to you to decide.(I love it’s always Sam btw )

So while it might not be a major conflict to the storyline I could definitely see this being a recurring issue between them in future projects since it is an integral part of Bucky’s character. I could also see Bucky’s conditions of his pardon exploiting him in the future and regressing his development back to a winter soldier adjacent state if they chose to go that way.

[occasionalstorytelling]

Summary: After catching Zemo trying to force Bucky to be the Winter Soldier again, Sharon kills him. Sam doesn't like her methods, and decides to continue his search for the Flag Smashers elsewhere, but Bucky decides to stay when Sharon offers him a paying job. Sharon takes Bucky to the party she's hosting, and Bucky discovers he likes taking her orders. Sequel to Pet Psychopath.

Word Count: 2603

Tags: Light BDSM, Light Dom/Sub dynamics, Bucky’s Got a Praise Kink, Touch Starved Bucky

Read it here:

“There we go,” Sharon smiled, handing Bucky his copy of the paperwork. “You’re officially on my payroll.”

“Huh,” Bucky said, flipping through the pages. “Uh, I don’t have anywhere to put this—”

“Put it in the spare room. It’s your room now,” Sharon shrugged. “Per the contract, I’m providing room and board.”

“It’s…weird,” Bucky admitted.

“What do you mean?” Sharon asked. “I’m so sorry, of course you don’t have to live here if you don’t want to—”

“No, that’s not it,” Bucky shook his head. “I’m just…you’re actually paying me.”

“That’s what the paperwork says, doesn’t it?” Sharon smiled.

“Yeah. It’s just weird that… I think you’re the first one to give me a paycheck since the 40s,” Bucky said, crumpling up the papers and shoving them into a pocket.

“If you’re a free agent now, you have to start acting like one,” Sharon said. “Even if you weren’t working for me, which by the way I’m very glad that you are, you’d need to advocate for yourself. Were you doing assassinations or bodyguard work in New York?”

“Uh, no,” Bucky said. “I had inheritance money from Steve. And, um…” He paused for a moment, considering how to describe beating up Hydra agents to Sharon. “I had hobbies,” Bucky finally said.

“A lot of the time, you have to force people to pay you,” Sharon said with a dark look in her eye. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it if you ever strike out on your own.”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled agreement. Striking out on his own? Not likely. He’d missed the simplicity of taking orders from someone he trusted. He’d followed Steve into countless battles, and it had felt right. Following Steve felt like the only thing he really knew how to do. He was going to give following Sharon a try, though. Steve had trusted her, and Bucky would too.

“Anyway, I’m having a party tonight,” Sharon said. “I’m hosting clients. They’ll be here in an hour.”

“I saw the Monet downstairs,” Bucky said. “You’re good at what you do.”

“I have to be,” Sharon shrugged. “Want to come?”

“What, to the party?” Bucky asked.

“Well, you’d have to change,” Sharon said, glancing at Bucky’s outfit. He still had Zemo’s blood stained across his chest.

“You know what, sure,” Bucky said. “Might as well enjoy myself.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sharon said. “Now remember, it’s my party, so—”

“I know, I know,” Bucky sighed. “Don’t kill anyone, don’t hurt anyone.”

“Are you kidding?” Sharon raised an eyebrow at him. “I was going to say the opposite. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, do whatever you want to them.”

“Really?” Bucky blinked at her, confused. “But—”

“But what?” Sharon scoffed. “You’re on my payroll, which means you’re mine. If someone is messing with you at my party, it’s my business. Feel free to handle it. Unless you’d rather call me over, I’d be happy to kill a fucker for you.”

“Uh, no, I could handle it,” Bucky frowned. “But…really? I used to be the Winter Soldier. Everyone’s going to stare at me.”

“Use your discretion who gets hurt and who doesn’t, then,” Sharon said, like it was obvious. “Probably after you take down the first thug, nobody else will have anything to say to you.”

“So I should probably change into something sleeveless, then,” Bucky said, looking down at his metal hand.

“Buck,” Sharon sighed. “Can I call you that?”

“Uh, that’s fine,” Bucky said, surprising himself that he actually was fine with it.

“Buck, wear whatever you want, so long as it doesn’t have blood on it when the party starts. Hurt or kill whoever you want. I do not care,” Sharon said.

“But…everyone else does,” Bucky said, hating how pathetically it came out.

“Do I look like everyone else?” Sharon said. “You and I both know what it’s like to be on the run. I’m finally in a position with some power, and I’m paying you to back up that power. And, I trust you—do what you want.”

“Uh, okay,” Bucky said awkwardly. They stared at each other for a moment then, as Bucky tried to figure out how to organize his next words.

“Is there a problem?” Sharon asked. “I didn’t mean to imply you have to come to the party. Nobody’ll force you.”

“Uh, what should I wear?” Bucky asked.

“Pick whatever you want,” Sharon said, leading him to a clothing rack. “I’ve got plenty of stuff.”

Bucky sifted through the clothes. They all seemed so different, so fancy, so…weird. “Can you pick something for me?” he asked.

“Why?” Sharon asked, stepping just slightly closer to him, a hint of a smile on her face.

“Uh, I don’t know what’s good,” Bucky said, face flushing just slightly red, but he wasn’t sure why.

“Okay,” Sharon said. She reached past him, hand just brushing against the blood stain on his chest. “Wear this.” She pulled out a loose black jacket, with fully covered sleeves. It had a black pattern of stars embossed into it in gentle, sloping lines.

Bucky took the jacket, and took a step away from Sharon. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Sharon said, cocking her head sideways. There was still just a hint of a suggestion of a smile on her face. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, why?” Bucky swallowed, throat suddenly feeling dry.

“You’re on my payroll. Which means you’re mine,” Sharon repeated. She took a step closer to Bucky, closing the distance again. “How does that make you feel?” She all but breathed the words, making Bucky shiver.

“I guess…it’s nice?” Bucky said.

“Go on,” Sharon said.

“I’m the one who came up with the plan to work with Zemo,” Bucky said, looking at the floor. “It was stupid, and I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Hey, shh, shhh,” Sharon said, rubbing his shoulder gently. “It’s not your fault. You’re not stupid.”

“It’s just nice that I’m not the one calling the shots anymore,” Bucky blurted, all in a rush.

“I get it,” Sharon smiled, and stepped away from him, giving him a little space. “Steve makes a big shadow. It’s easy to stand in it and follow orders. Steve’s got that kind of a presence.”

“Maybe I’m just the kind of person who follows orders,” Bucky said quietly. “I don’t know if I was like that before Hydra…but either way, I am now, so.” He took deep breaths, trying to stay focused.

“So you like that I’m your boss now,” Sharon grinned. “It’s okay. I like that you’re my employee.”

“Well, good,” Bucky said, sounding like a little kid.

“I want to give you as much freedom as you want,” Sharon said. “You’re not the Winter Soldier, you don’t have to suffer silently. You have to tell me when there’s something happening that you don’t like.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky said, then coughed trying to cover it up. It had just slipped out. He hadn’t meant it.

“At ease,” Sharon winked. Then her tone became brisk and commanding. “Wear the jacket I gave you. Meet me downstairs in 45 minutes exactly.”

“Yes,” Bucky said, stifling the "sir" that almost followed it out. Sharon marched off deeper into the apartment. Bucky went to the spare room—his room—to change. It was nice to get out of the bloodstained uniform, the one with the sleeve torn off. He’d worn it to the bar, to play the character of being the Winter Soldier again…people always wanted to see the Soldier’s arm, like it was some kind of toy. Bucky had thought Sharon would want people to see it. Wasn’t that why she’d hired him, so he could be her muscle? But the jacket she gave him flowed in all the right places. When he put it on properly, it moved the same over both arms. To him, it felt more like armor than a bulletproof vest. He smiled, seeing it in the mirror. When he went to the bathroom, Zemo’s corpse had already been cleaned up and removed. This was Bucky’s space now. It felt good. He went down to the party to meet Sharon, at just the time she’d told him.

“You’re right on time,” Sharon smiled. “Good boy,” she said.

Bucky shivered, hearing her say it. That felt good, too.

“Are you okay?” Sharon asked, concerned.

“Great,” Bucky nodded. “Sir.”

Sharon’s smile returned, matched with a hungry look in her eye. “Enjoy the party. Try to stay out of trouble, but if trouble finds you, remember what I said.”

“Yes sir,” Bucky said, and once it came out he felt so embarrassed, he’d said it twice in a row and she’d think it was weird and she wouldn’t want him—but Sharon just smiled, like she genuinely wanted him there, and rewarded him with a quick ruffling of his hair before she disappeared back into the depths of the party, leaving Bucky alone.

Bucky went to the bar, even though he knew he couldn’t get drunk. He wasn’t sure what else to do, where else to be. He didn’t exactly like mingling, or talking to new people. Why had he even agreed to come? On some level, he was only here because Sharon told him to be.

<Quite a show in Low Town,> someone said in Russian. Bucky turned. There was a man approaching the bar, one Bucky was pretty sure he recognized from the Low Town bar. Wonderful. Bucky hoped he wasn’t here because Bucky had injured one of his friends. That would be a guaranteed fight.

The man was about the same height as Bucky, but he had blonde hair, tied up into a braid behind his head. <Ready to comply, Solider?> he asked.

<I’m not the Winter Solider anymore,> Bucky responded with a sigh. <My name is James Bucky Barnes.> He’d said the phrase so many times, it was almost automatic. Almost.

<That wasn’t what I saw last night,> the man grinned. <I saw a killer. A predator.>

Bucky turned back to the bar and ordered a drink, trying to signal that the conversation was over.

<I’m talking to you, Soldier,> the man shoved Bucky in the human arm and stood between him and the bar. <Where’s your master?>

“You know what, man? Shut up,” Bucky scowled. He really didn’t want to deal with this. The party was a bad idea.

“Make me,” the man said, pulling a knife. Bucky raised both hands instinctively in surrender, even though he could have taken the knife away in a heart beat.

“I don’t want trouble,” Bucky said. “Go back to the party.”

“Oh, now you don’t want trouble,” the man laughed. “You're going to be my new henchman.”

“You’re going to get out of my party, Artemiy,” Sharon said. She’d appeared from nowhere, and pressed her gun to the man’s ribcage.

“We’re just having a talk,” Artemiy said. “The pet’s here. Where’s the master? Where’s Zemo?”

“Zemo is dead. I killed him,” Sharon said coldly, but her friendly smile never dropping. “You’re next if you don’t stop talking to my newest employee.”

“The Winter Soldier works for you?” Artemiy went pale.

“His name is Bucky,” Sharon said, forcing the gun against Artemiy’s ribs a little more forcefully. “Anyone who’s got a problem with that can talk to me.”

“Sharon, you don’t have to kill him,” Bucky said, more out of a sense of obligation than any real feeling on the subject. “He’s just an idiot.”

“You’re right,” Sharon said. She drew her gun under Artemiy’s chin before putting it away. “There will be other idiots to make an example of.”

They’d drawn a small crowd. Sharon put her hands on her hips and stared them down. “This man is mine. The next person who forgets that is dead. Am I clear?”

There were furtive nods and sounds of agreement from the crowd.

“Good,” Sharon smiled. “Then let’s get back to enjoying the party, why don’t we!” The crowd dispersed, and Artemiy slipped away quick as a snake.

“It was a mistake to come to this,” Bucky mumbled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sharon said. “It's my fault. I shouldn’t have left you. Just stick next to me for the rest of the night, okay?”

Bucky nodded.

It felt familiar, following Sharon around the party. He stayed just a step behind her, keeping close enough to participate in her conversations but far enough away that it wasn’t rude when he didn’t. He remembered bodyguard duty as the Winter Soldier, he’d done it hundreds of times. It was an easy role to slip into, and looking the way he did was half of the work. It was different, here. The jacket concealed the metal arm, making him feel more like a person, and less like a mechanical toy. Sharon would reach out and touch him every so often, fixing his hair, or adjusting his collar…no one from Hydra ever did that. They were all scared of the Winter Soldier. Sharon wasn’t scared at all. She was a very touchy kind of person. She acted like she liked touching him, and the last person who would’ve agreed with her was Steve. It had been a while since anyone had offered Bucky even so much as a friendly pat on the shoulder. He found that he liked it. He wished she’d do it more.

“You’re quiet,” Sharon said, nudging him in the shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Just thinking,” Bucky said.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sharon asked.

“You could fix my collar more often, if you wanted to,” Bucky said awkwardly.

“Like this?” Sharon smiled and took his shirt collar in both hands.

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky said, feeling his face begin to heat up.

“Or maybe like this,” Sharon said, pulling him close.

“Yes,” Bucky whispered.

“I could kiss you right now,” Sharon said, lips just centimeters from his cheek. “Then everybody would see that you’re mine. That you belong to me.”

That she wanted him. He didn’t just belong to her, she had picked him. He liked it.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Sharon said, “if that’s okay.”

Bucky blinked. He hadn’t even realized he hadn’t responded, and now Sharon was looking at him like she was worried she’d made a mistake, like she’d accidentally triggered him or given him a flashback. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. He nodded, as much as he could manage. He felt overwhelmed. She really wanted him? She really cared?

Sharon pulled on his collar and pulled him close to her, kissing him. He closed his eyes and kissed back. His enhanced hearing told him the people around them were ceasing their conversations to watch, but he didn’t care. Sharon kissed him until she was done, then released his collar, smoothed it back into place, and eyed him up and down, hungrily. “Mine,” Sharon said.

Bucky’s heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest, it was pumping so fast. “Yes, sir,” was his only response, and for a moment he worried people would think he was just the Winter Solider obeying a master’s orders, but he soon realized he didn’t care. Sharon could have told him to drop to his knees right there, and he would’ve done it. He’d done much worse as the Winter Soldier, and this time the memory almost made him smile. It couldn’t hurt him anymore. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier, he was Bucky. He was Sharon’s Bucky. It felt really good.

Sharon took Bucky’s elbow in one arm. “I’ve got more people to talk to. Coming?”

“Anywhere,” Bucky breathed, and she led him deeper into the party.

[tisfan]

Turn Down for What

Title Turn Down for What Collaborator(s) @tisfan​ / @27dragons​ @monobuu​ Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/23545609 Square Filled Tisfan: U2: Bucky/Tony / 27dragons: K4 - I Regret Nothing / monobuu - just wanted an excuse to draw Bucky in pink speedos Ship/Main Pairing Bucky/Tony Rating - Mature Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings: Meet cute, sexy dancing, revealing clothing Summary Tony’s driving down an unfamiliar road after a very frustrating day when he sees something... unusual. After that, things look up considerably. Word Count 1573

for @buckybarnesbingo​

It had been an utterly lousy day. The new alloy he’d been working on had turned out to be roughly as brittle as an eggshell, rendering it utterly useless. He’d gotten dragged into R&D to baby Team Four through trying to hold their own cocks. He’d rounded a corner too quickly and collided with a messenger hurrying in the opposite direction, which had resulted in him spilling his lunch all over his new suit. Curry stained, damn it.

And to top it all off, the new body armor contract that he’d been working for... had been awarded to fucking Hammertech.

So yeah, he had taken out one of his cars and cranked the music to eleven and was cruising the streets singing along at the top of his lungs, because the only other alternative was to scream in frustration.

On the plus side, he'd been working out of the upstate facility, otherwise he might well be sitting in traffic and screaming. 

Instead, he'd managed to find a nice bit of back road where he could dial everything up to eleven.

Which is why he was pretty sure he hadn't seen what he thought he saw.

A blur of pink and skin and lime green… he wasn't entirely sure that person wasn't entirely naked on the side of the road...

Startled -- apparently there were surprises still to be found on New York’s streets -- he slowed down a little. Enough to try to get a look.

Not naked. But all but. And emphases on the butt part of that sentence, since what Tony was seeing was someone's butt. Wearing a hot pink pair of Speedos. Lime green running shoes, and thick brown hair tied up in a half bun. 

Speedo jogged across the street and then did some very flexible stretches, holding on to a light pole.

He seemed in very good shape. Very bendy.

Tony couldn’t quite help himself; he got to the next intersection and made a U-turn, because Speedo was worth a second look.

And a third, and possibly fourth look as well. He was just coming out of his stretch when Tony got back around. Beautiful, really, with sharp cheekbones and a full mouth and a cleft chin. 

He glanced at the car, squinted, then grinned, dropped his hips and executed a -- perfectly in rhythm with Tony's music -- a Beyonce video worthy pop and swing, arms moving to show off biceps, hips jutting to show off everything else.

Okay, yeah, there was no way Tony was driving on by with that kind of show. He pulled to a stop and rolled the window down, the better to share the music, and let himself ogle. No man dressed like that could possibly not want to be stared at, right?

Speedo gave him a quick look, then continued to dance, lithesome and seductive and absolutely beat perfect. Muscles gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, lined with sweat. He danced all the way around Tony's car, shaking his hips, and ended up back in front.

Where he backed up that ass and treated Tony to an enthusiastic twerk. The music wound down and the dancer gave Tony a little wave with two fingers before jogging off down a side street, backside jiggling the whole way.

For half a second, Tony debated following him, but that would be creepy, right? Even allowing for the fact that the guy was running around public streets with the ugliest shoes Tony had seen since the 80s and a neon banana hammock.

At least his mood had brightened some and the day had not entirely sucked.

He hit the horn twice as he drove by the side street and headed for home.

 The next day was better. And yet, Tony found himself climbing into the car and heading toward that back road.

He told himself that the drive had cleared his thoughts and let him focus better.

He told himself that the cars needed to be driven to keep them in good working order.

He told himself that it was too pretty a day to stay inside.

But he couldn’t deny, as he turned down the street, that he was watching the side of the road for a flash of neon and skin.

The line green shoes were the same, but this time he was wearing some sort of tiger striped compression shorts and a black mesh shirt. When Tony pulled up behind him, he came to an abrupt halt, putting one hand to his ear. Turn down for what?

Tony laughed and cranked his music up, letting the bass thump through his bones like a massage.

The dancer was no less enthused than the day before. Given that he was dancing in running shoes, he still resembled a reject-from-the-80's ballet dancer, his core muscles obvious even through the mesh. He'd produced a pair of sunglasses from somewhere and was using them as a prop. Those bedroom eyes were something else, and the way he could dance without taking his gaze off Tony's face...

Tony was breathing harder, just watching him.

Tony couldn’t resist rolling his window down as the song ended. “You dance like that for all the boys?”

"You were playin' my song," he said, panting for breath. "Yesterday, I mean."

“Yeah? And what about today?”

He shrugged one shoulder, which made his body move enticingly. “You came back for a repeat performance. Wouldn’t want t’ cheat ya.”

“You knew it was me again?” Tony tipped his head, studying the guy. “Not too creepy?”

“I knew it was you,” the man said. “You’re driving a Zenvo ST1. All the horsepower goes to the rear wheels, which makes for a real distinctive engine purr. I could hear ya almost a block away. And that’s not to mention the music.” He winked. “Not too creepy. You start throwing one dollar bills out the window on th’ way by, that might be creepy.”

Tony scoffed. “If I start throwing bills, they’ll be better than ones. Especially for someone as talented as you.”

“Yeah? I’ll tell the troop leader you said so. Recommended, move Barnes out of the chorus line and into a lead role, according to--” He waved a hand at Tony as if for an introduction.

“Tony.” He offered a hand through the window.

“Nice to meet you, Tony,” he said, taking Tony’s hand. “James Barnes, although my friends call me Bucky.”

“Should I ask why they call you that?” Tony wondered. Bucky had a nice hand, firm and not too smooth. A little sweaty, but Tony had interrupted his workout.

“Probably, but not today,” Bucky said. He took a step back, gave Tony that sassy little wave again. “See ya!” 

And there he went again; man, hate it when you leave, love to watch you go.

 Bucky had practically dared Tony to come back. Tony had never been one to back down from a dare. He could hardly pay attention to the last meeting of the day, wondering if he’d see Bucky again. What Bucky would be wearing with those ridiculous lime shoes. Whatever it was, it was sure to be mouthwatering.

Tony all but flung himself into the car and sped through the streets, slowing down only when he reached that same road.

Bucky pushed away from the wall as soon as Tony drove up. He didn’t look like he’d been out running that day, wearing a set of short denim overalls with black boots and a tank top. He also had knee pads on, and when Tony pulled up, the music cranking, it was obvious why.

His dance moves for that day were exceptionally athletic, involving splits and twists, which weren’t exactly designed for use on a crummy backstreet sidewalk. He had brought out a folding chair for a prop, his legs moving over the back, twisting, and flipping over it like a circus show.

A very sexy, adult circus show, Tony noted.

Tony leaned heavily on his open window frame. “If you’re trying to impress me, then job well done.”

“Technically, I don’t jog on Thursdays, it’s weights day,” Bucky said, sitting backward in his chair and crossing his arms over the back. “But I thought you might be back. An’... I kinda thought if you were. You might want to go grab a coffee or somethin’?”

“Hot as fuck dance moves, an impressive knowledge of cars, and coffee? Be still my heart.” Tony grinned and jerked a thumb at the passenger seat. “Want to hop in?”

Bucky chewed his lip for a moment, then, “Yeah. I mean, I’m not gonna regret this, you don’t… look like a serial killer.” But he was smirking the whole time, so Tony could take it as a joke. 

Tony chuckled. “Neither do you. Come on, let’s grab a coffee. I promise I’ll have you home by curfew.”

Bucky folded up his chair and slid it into the very narrow gap behind the seats. “There’s a good place, two down, three to the left.”

“Two down, three left,” Tony repeated. “My treat, since you were kind enough to provide entertainment?”

“You got it, Baby Driver,” Bucky said, buckling his belt. “Although this is a sweet ride, an’ I feel like I ought to pay you for the privilege.”

“For five blocks? You want a ride, we can go for a ride after we get our coffee. You know, assuming you haven’t decided to regret this.”

“I regret nothing!”  

[slimeyslimeyballsack]

The Mix Up Part Three

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x OFC (Adrien Bravo)

Warnings: violence, swearing, they’re not in love yet because they just met ya nasties, Bucky and Adrien flirting, mentions of sex but it’s not like- nobody is doing any sex, oh and she’s still tied up so also not good, shirtless bucky i was going to make her and bucky buddies but she bonded with thor in this one somehow, warning section lowkey just turning into my footnotes, 

Taglist: @kayteewritessteve @wxstedhexrt @caps-lockdown @scuzmunkie @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines @champagnesugamama @weepingwillow2233 @ellystone

Part One Part Two

_

“James, you never cease to amaze me.”

Steve finally tore his gaze away from Adrien, and she had to admit she was a little relieved. He intimidated her, and that took a lot, granted he was a feared crime lord so maybe it was in the job description: be scary to look at. Check. 

“Uh oh. Pulling out the first name.” Sam leaned into Bucky’s, (James’?) side and whispered. Well, it wasn’t really a whisper but he tried. 

“Don’t think you’re off the hook Wilson.” 

“Uh oh. Pulling out the last name.” Bucky mocked. 

Adrien let out a huff of laughter. Because, holy shit she was about to be killed by guys with the IQ of drunk puppies, and maybe the personalities as well. 

“Excuse me, sir,” Suddenly they were all looking at her and they all had the stare. Jesus Christ. “are you going to kill me?” 

Steve cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. There was that stare again. Why did it give her shivers? He chuckled before settling on an amused grin. 

"No, dear, I'm not going to kill you." 

Thank god. At least she could relax a little. She could acknowledge her surroundings in a manner that wasn’t looking at what she thought was the last place she’ll see. She could look at the men who stood before her and holy shit, were they this hot the whole time? Of course, now that she wasn’t worried about imminent death the tight hold she had on her tongue went in the trash to the dump into the incinerator. 

“Well that’s a fucking relief, my ass hurts, so maybe if I’m not gonna die, one of you hunks could show me to a more comfortable seat.” 

She clasped her hand over her mouth. If she wasn’t going to be murdered before she certainly was now. Sam and Bucky exchanged wide-eyed glances, jaws slack before looking at Steve. Her whole life depended on his facial expression. Would his perfectly smooth skin be wrinkled in anger? Okay, he’s a criminal, maybe picturing how scary his gorgeous blue eyes would be when angry isn’t a good idea. Yeah let’s file that away and put it in the drawer that we never think about along with our eating habits, the fact that the Zodiac Killer was never caught, and our creepypasta phase. 

She finally opened her eyes that had, sometime in her fear and embarrassment had screwed shut. He looked amused. Thank god. He has a sense of humor. 

“Of course, how rude of me. Come along Miss Bravo.” 

Again, her mouth betrayed her. “How am I supposed to follow you when I’m tied up like I’m about to have kinky sex. Which, not going to lie, would really bring up my mood right now.” 

So long to her dignity. Steve chuckled and signaled to Bucky to untie the ropes.

“You have quite the mouth on you don’t you?”

“Yeah and I’m pretty good with it too.” 

“I’m going to get the lady situated, you two wait, we’re going to have a chat afterward.” 

Steve gripped her arm firmly but not so much as to hurt her. That seemed to be a tendency with these guys. Weren’t they supposed to be like monsters? You know, brutal, cold-blooded criminals? Steve was silent the whole walk. He kept his eyes forward and so did Adrien she didn’t even kind of trail behind to maybe check out his ass. She didn’t. 

They came to a lovely room filled with lounge chairs and leather couches. Another handsome man stood by the door. Was it a requirement that you had to be hot to be in the mob or something? He was big and bearded and had long blond hair and also a criminal. 

“Thor, I need you to watch Miss Bravo here while I attend to some things. I’d rather she be in the office as she’s not exactly mobbed up.” 

He turned to face her. “There are food and drinks, just ask Thor. He can get you anything you like. Nobody will bother you in the office, and I will be back to address our situation.:” He said a few hushed words to Thor before exiting.

“Thor, huh?” 

He raised an eyebrow at her. Okay, yeah he was a criminal, but like a little flirting never hurt anybody, did it? 

“Like the Norse god?” 

“Miss Bravo,” 

“Call me Adrien.” 

“Adrien, I was born during a lightning storm. The storm started when my mother was first having contractions and ended as soon as I stopped crying. Or so my mother said.” 

“Well, Thor, I can say with certainty that that is actually very badass”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you here Miss Bravo?” 

“Adrien. And that, my friend, is a long-ass story.” 

By the end of that long ass story, which took forever to get through because of Thor adding his input and Adrien getting sidetracked, the two were laughing like hooligans. Like absolute madmen. Like nutzos. Like, they were laughing really hard. Every time they would calm down Thor would let out a breathless wheeze causing Adrien to burst into another fit of giggles. If they were being honest neither of them knew why they were laughing anymore. Not entirely. Every now and then Adrien would let out a loud, “Another!” before dissolving into more laughter. 

Then the door opened. Adrien once again found herself meeting the intense gaze of Steve. The two tried to hush their laughter. Adrien mumbled out a ‘sorry sir’. Adrien shrugged and made a face at Thor, who let out a boisterous laugh. 

“I like this one Boss.” 

“Thank you, Thor. I would like to speak with Miss Bravo now. Tell Bucky that he can count the cash now if he would.” 

Thor mouthed a ‘good luck’ before exiting the room. Leaving Adrien alone. With Steve. He gestured for her to sit before taking his place behind the desk. “Miss Bravo, I am Steve Rogers. I run this establishment. Now you understand, Miss Bravo, that I can’t just let you walk away from this. It’s a liability.” 

“So you are going to kill me.” 

“Of course not. We will just need to take measures to ensure our friends at the police station don’t hear about this incident. You understand.”

“Hey boss man, I’ve got bad news.” 

Bucky burst into the room. He had tried to appear laid back, but his eyes displayed panic. He threw down a duffel filled with hundred-dollar-bills. 

“Buck, we are trying to let Miss Bravo out of here relatively scot-free. How are we supposed to do that when you come running in her with garbage business dealings. Do you want us to have to kill her?” Steve looked thoroughly annoyed. 

“No, no, no. I would never want such a lovely lady to die.” 

Adrien winked. “Oh, I’m sure you could keep me alive.”

She eyed the bills again. She had never seen so much money in her life, not even on a bank statement. Money like that could pay for braces. Money like that could pay for a lot of things. 

“That’s a fat fucking stash of cash.” 

“Yes, and it’s all fake. The cash from Rumlow’s payment, it’s all counterfeit.”

Anger flooded Steve’s eyes. It was only for a second, but she never wanted to see it again, let alone be on the receiving end of it. She almost felt bad for this Rumlow guy. 

“Could you two, if it isn’t too difficult for you, fetch Rumlow for me. I need to speak with him” 

Bucky quickly hurried off.

“Mr. Rogers sir if you don’t mind me asking, do you make that kind of money regularly?” 

It was hard not to notice the expensive clothes and lavish furniture. Clearly, somebody had money, and Adrien needed money. Adrien wasn’t averse to breaking the law when it came to providing for her two boys. They were her sons and they were going to get the best damn life they could live. 

“That kind of money, when actually paid, is a small portion of the money that we earn. Employees are paid based on time commitment, loyalty, and type of job. But to answer your question, yes, that kind of money is made regularly.” 

“So, if someone were to be interested, hypothetically, in a job offer, how would they go about that?”

For a vicious criminal, Steve had a very expressive face. Weren’t these guys supposed to be stoic? Was everything in the godfather wrong? Or perhaps she was just more perceptive than most people?

“I’m an excellent worker with flexible morals and a strong will, and I can fight, and I need the money for my brothers, sir.” 

“Well, that’s admirable Miss Bravo but it’s a little more complicated than just signing up. We’ll have to do a background check, we’ll do an interview, a skill assessment. This would of course take several weeks. Here, I have some paperwork you can fill out.” 

“Okay, thank you for your consideration, sir. I really have to head home now. I have to take the boys to school in the morning.” 

“I’ll call you a car. Perfect timing. Bucky, can you drive Miss Bravo back to her residence? I’ll deal with Rumlow. We’ll be in touch, Miss Bravo.”

He left and Bucky led Adrien to a car similar to the one she was in earlier. It was all very silent as they got in. There was a tension in the air. 

“Wow, it’s nice to sit in the front this time.” she tried. 

Bucky gave her half a smile. They rode in silence until they reached her house. “Hey, you should put some ice on that.”

She pointed to the blooming black eye he was sporting. There were also several cuts on his face and hands. He probably had several bruises on his torso as well. 

“I’ll be fine-”

“Absolutely not. You come inside. I’ll get you fixed up right now.”

She walked around and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the car and into her apartment. 

“Shirt off and sit.” 

“Well, at least take me out to dinner first Miss Bravo.” 

He still did as she asked, sitting on the island and removing his shirt, confirming her suspicions of further injuries. She grabbed the first aid kit and an ice pack before coming up to him to assess his injuries.

“Adrien. And I might just take you up on that offer Bucky.” 

She gave him the ice pack to place on his eye. After cleaning the blood off of his face and stomach it was clear that the only actual issue was a split lip and eye. She was able to apply some Neosporin and butterfly bandages. She kissed the top of his forehead before freezing. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m just used to fixing up the boys and, and, and I-” 

“It’s quite alright. I should be heading out though.”

“Well, I’ll be seeing you.”

Bucky gave a sly grin before shutting the door on himself. 

“You bet your ass you will.”

[nikki-writes-stuff]

While You’re In the World - Part One

Summary: The year is 1980, and when you come home to find a man on your doorstep, beaten and bloody and on the brink of dying, you patch him up and let him stay with you while he heals. But there’s something strange about this stranger with the metal arm, and it will take a while before either of you know who he really is. 

Read Part Two Here! 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Hello! I hope you guys like this story! I suspect that there will be three parts to it, and I’m so excited about this story idea. Please please please let me know what you think!!! 

The pavement was slick, the lights of streetlamps, neon signs, and apartment windows creating a kaleidoscope of colors against the rain-wet concrete. The air was still humid from the heavy spring shower that had just subsided, and your footsteps pitter pattered as you made your way towards the rickety stairs that led to your apartment. As you walked further down the alleyway, the sounds of cars flying by on the street stated to fade into the background, slowly being replaced by a boombox sitting right by one of your neighbor’s open windows. The sweet strains of Brandy by Looking Glass floated down to you, and you started humming along as you searched through your purse for your keys.

“Brandy,” you sang under your breath, “you’re a fine girl, what a good-“

Your voice cut off abruptly just as you were about to start climbing the stairs; a dark form was directly at their base, one that you hadn’t even noticed in the dim, late-evening light. You froze when you saw it shift slightly, its chest rising and falling in slow, wheezing breaths.

“…U-um… Hello?” you asked cautiously, fingers closing around the pepper spray you kept with you at all times.

The figure’s head popped up, revealing pale, sweaty skin framed by dark, chin-length hair. You squinted, trying to make out their features, but they were unclear; you could only make out that they had stubble. So, it was a man. You gripped your pepper spray tighter.

“Excuse me, sir, but… I need to get past you.” You shifted on your feet when he remained sitting there, not showing any inclination towards moving. “Sir, please, I live here. I don’t want any-“

He groaned, his left hand shooting out to grip the stair’s railway. He was wearing leather gloves despite the warmth of the spring evening, and he let out another grunt as he staggered to his feet. As soon as he was standing, though, he sank right back down, his right arm coming up to clutch his abdomen.

“Sir…” You stepped forward, hesitantly reaching out a hand. “Are you okay…?”

You tried to touch his right hand, but you flinched away as soon as you felt the dark, warm liquid that was seeping out from between his fingers. Blood.

“Oh, my god,” you gasped, suddenly gripping his arm. You only got to notice how unnaturally hard it was before he was pulling away, trying to distance himself from you.

“Trebuie să raportez pentru misiunea mea,” he whispered, sounding desperate. You frowned, holding your hands out in a placating gesture.

“I don’t know what that means. Do you speak English?”

His breathing was picking up, and you could see his head moving as he looked all around you, as if searching for something.

“…Need… Need to get…back,” he eventually muttered, trying once more to pull himself to his feet. “Report…”

“Listen, you can’t go anywhere in this state,” you asserted. “If you let me past, I can go inside and call the hospital-“

“No!”

All of a sudden, you felt his left hand clamp down on your wrist, and you let out a yelp at his bruising grip. You tried to yank your arm away, but that only added to your pain; you gave up your struggle quickly.

“No…” he said again, his breathing becoming more and more labored with each word. “No…hospital…”

You gulped, looking down at the hand on your wrist, and your eyes widened as you saw his sleeve ride up just enough for you to catch a glance of his forearm. Or, rather, the metal that it was made up of; shiny silver gleamed in the low light, its bands flexing and contracting with his movements. He must have noticed you staring, because just as suddenly as it had gotten there, his hand was drawn away, moving to rest against his bleeding stomach.

For a moment, you considered pushing past him, fleeing up your flight of stairs and locking yourself away until he left. He was a complete stranger – bigger than you, stronger than you, with what appeared to be a metal arm. And someone had either stabbed or shot him – who’s to say he didn’t deserve it?

But then he let out a soft moan of pain, falling back against your stairs weakly. He was still breathing, but you could see the amount of blood he was dripping onto the pavement; at this rate, he wouldn’t keep breathing for long.

With a sigh, you pushed aside your better judgement and reached down, ignoring his weak protests in that foreign language as you gripped his flesh arm with both hands. You dug your heels into the concrete and pulled with all your might, steadying him to the best of your ability once he was on his feet.

“C’mon,” you mumbled. “If you can climb the stairs, I have a first aid kit inside.”

At first, he didn’t move, and you were afraid that he was going to pass out. But then he lifted one shaky foot up, lowering it down onto the second step, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, deliberately, you led him up the stairs, guiding him up to the landing. You only pulled away to fit your key into the lock, but as soon as your door was open, you once more gripped him and led him inside.

“The kit if in the bathroom. If you can just follow me-“

The second you turned away, you heard a loud bang as he fell to his knees. He was still babbling words that you didn’t understand, English finding its way every now and then into his mutterings.

“Report…. mission….find…”

You let out a huff and knelt beside him, flipping him over onto his back. He was as solid as a brick house, and it took several seconds of huffing and puffing before you were able to move him over. Once he was positioned the way you wanted, you flicked on the lights and ran to retrieve the first aid kit.

As you once more knelt beside him, you shooed away your cat as it started walking towards the man, sniffing at his flesh hand cautiously.

“Not now, baby,” you sighed, shooing it away.

The man’s eyes were closed when your gaze drifted up to his face, but you had to do a double-take once you took his features in. Now that you could see him in the light, he was…hot. Weirdly hot. Like, more hot than actual people were supposed to be in real life. Strong jaw, long lashes, full lips… You nearly got carried away with just looking at him.

But the blood stain was growing ever larger on your hardwood, and with a curse you got back to work. It appeared that he was wearing some kind of body armor; you struggled with the various clasps and zippers before finally pulling it open. Underneath it was a long-sleeved gray shirt; or, rather, it had once been gray, but now most of it was stained red.

Using the tiny pair of scissors from the kit, you cut away the fabric, eyes going wide when you saw the scene beneath it. Several lacerations were scattered across his torso; his body armor had been thick, but despite its coverage someone had been able to stab him through it. You counted four knife wounds, but they didn’t seem to go too terribly deep. What worried you was the bullet holes; there were only two, but they were bleeding the most profusely.

You couldn’t remember if you were supposed to take bullets out of bullet wounds in emergency situations, but you figured that if he could survive having a metal arm, maybe he could survive with a few bullets knocking around inside of him. Besides, he had lost enough blood already without you digging through his torn flesh.

With shaky hands, you pulled out a surgical needle from the kit, thanking the heavens that it came pre-threaded. You held your breath as you moved to the first bullet hole, and despite the fact that the man’s face held no trace of pain, you still winced as you pierced his flesh. You’d never actually done this before; you had only ever seen people stitch up wounds in movies, and you’d read about how to do it in an encyclopedia once for your research. You tried to recall and emulate those motions now as you treated the man beneath you.

“Shoulda just left him sitting there,” you mumbled to yourself. “Shoulda just called the damn hospital when you had the chance; now you have a bloody floor and a potential serial killer sleeping in your apartment. How you gonna explain that to the landlord?”

You worked as quickly as possible, and when you were done stitching all six of his injuries, you sat back on your heels, admiring your work for one moment. All things considered, you thought you did pretty good.

After that, you used some rubbing alcohol to clean him up before taping layer after layer of gauze over his wounds. Your own eyes were starting to grow heavy as you finished up, but you knew that there was still work to be done.

You didn’t even try to lift or drag him from his spot on the floor; you were exhausted, and he was probably over 200 pounds of pure muscle. So you cleaned around him, sopping up most of the blood with an old towel before washing your hands and retrieving a pillow from your bed. You yawned as you lifted his head, sliding the cushion underneath his skull before going back to get him a blanket.

You felt foolish as you tucked him in, but you’d already gone so far as to dress his wounds; you figured you might as well make him as comfortable as possible. After making sure that he was still breathing, you shuffled over to your couch, limbs heavy and sore from being so tense. As soon as you let your head fall back, you started to feel sleep overtake you; you barely registered the weight of your cat curling up on your belly as you drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep despite the stranger laying six feet away.

_________

The grunting was what woke you up. Somewhere close by, you could hear the shuffling of fabric and barely-suppressed curses, and your eyes immediately flew open. You ignored the aching in your neck as you sat up, looking over to see the stranger from the night before trying (and failing) to sit up.

“Hey!”

His head snapped towards you, a pair of confused blue eyes glaring into yours.

“Where am I?” he whispered, voice still sluggish from sleep. “Who are you? How did I get here?”

“Woah, there. Calm down.” You stood up, taking a slow step towards him. “I’m not gonna hurt you; I found you on my stairs all bloody last night, and I-“

The man was glancing all around your apartment, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stand up. You let out a huff, seeing a small red stain bloom over the white gauze still secured to his skin.

“Woah, stop!” you tried to protest. “You’re tearing your stitches. Just calm down-“

“I have,” he struggled, starting to sway on his feet, “a mission. I need-“

“Listen, I don’t care what this ‘mission’ is,” you huffed. “You won’t be able to do anything if you bleed out. Just… Would you just sit down for one moment? You’re not going to get very far if you leave like this.”

For a long moment, the man simply looked at you, weighing your words even as more blood leaked through his bandages. You arched an eyebrow at him, setting your hands on your hips. Eventually, after a pregnant pause, he looked down and nodded his head, doing a double-take when he saw the growing crimson stain on the gauze. You winced and stepped forward, ignoring the way his muscles tensed up as you approached.

“C’mon, you can lay down on the sofa.” You held out a hand, ready to support his weight like you had last night. But he silently turned, bypassing your outstretched arm as he walked over to the couch.

He sat down with a quiet sigh, leaning back against the throw pillows as he carefully peeled back the bandages.

“Be careful with those stitches,” you instructed him, bending over to scoop up the first-aid kit.

He didn’t seem to hear you as he started analyzing his wounds, eyes scanning them clinically with nothing more than a small frown on his lips. You rolled your eyes and sat on the coffee table across from him, your knees grazing his as you opened the kit once more.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you scoffed. “You know, for saving your life?”

He arched an eyebrow, and his eyes darted up to look at you, but he still said nothing. All he did was reach forward and grab another surgical needle, biting his lip as he moved to start stitching himself up.

“Woah, hold on a second,” you exclaimed. You gripped his wrist and tried to pull his arm away, but he didn’t budge. “I can-“

“One of the stitches broke,” he finally mumbled. Your eyes flickered down to see that he had, indeed, pulled one of the stitches in his biggest knife wound.

“I can see that,” you said. “But you don’t have to, like… I mean, I can stitch it for you.”

“Why do you want to stitch me up?”

You paused at that question.

“…Because you’re bleeding?”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, and he shook your hand off of his wrist once more.

“Not what I meant.”

“Well, why don’t you want me to help you?” you countered, watching as he steadily pulled the needle through his skin.

“Because you did a shitty job with the rest of them.” He gestured to the rest of his injuries, causing your jaw to drop.

“Fucking… I didn’t have to help you, you know,” you groused. “And considering the situation you were in, I would think that you’d be grateful that I even-“

The man was, evidently, tuning you out as he dug around the kit for the medical scissors, and with a sigh you stopped talking and handed them to him. He grunted as he accepted them from you; maybe that was his way of saying thanks?

You watched as he continued to patch himself up, replacing the stitches he’d pulled that morning and redoing some of your more sloppy ones from before. At first, you watched him work in silence, but after a while you started to get antsy, a thousand questions running through your mind to ask him.

“So… What happened last night?” you finally asked. “Did you get into a fight?”

His face remained stone cold, and you realized he wasn’t going to answer you.

“Okay, then,” you muttered. “Um… Are you from here? I thought I heard you say something in another language last night.”

Again, nothing. You huffed and watched as he finished tying off the last stitch, clipping it neatly before rooting around for more gauze.

“Do you have a name?” you eventually said.

He paused at that question, his face tilting up to yours. He blinked a few times, as if confused by the question, before starting to bandage his wound once again. He mumbled something under his breath, and you leaned closer, frowning.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear-“

“I said I don’t know,” he murmured. You shook your head, puzzled.

“What do you mean? You must know what your name is.”

He didn’t say anything more as he kept taping gauze over his abdomen, and you stood up, planting your hands on your hips.

“If you don’t wanna tell me your name, you don’t have to,” you grumbled. “But you don’t have to make something up about not knowing it.”

He glanced at you one more time before standing up, and you stumbled back in surprise when he moved towards your front door.

“Hey, wait! Where are you going?”

“I need to report for my-“

“Yeah, yeah, your mission,” you interrupted. “You kept babbling about it last night. But listen, man, if you go anywhere right now, you’re just going to pull your stitches again; you’ll bleed out before you can report to whoever it is you’re trying to get back to. You need to just lay down for a little while and focus on healing, or you’ll be in the same situation you were in last night real fast.”

He turned back to you, his hand already resting on the doorknob, and you could see the confusion written all across his face. His eyes ran along your features, as if trying to figure you out, before he finally spoke.

“Why do you care what happens to me?”

You were taken aback by his question, but you found that, when you answered him, you meant every word you said.

“Why do I need a reason to? You’re a human being like me, and you needed help.”

His eyes widened, and for a second all he did was look at you. You forced yourself to stare right back at him, watching those blue eyes as they came to the realization that you were being honest. Slowly, hesitantly, he let his hand fall off of the doorknob, and you smiled.

“Thank you. Now come lay down, and try not to pull too much on your stitches.”

Mechanically, he did as you said, stiffly laying down on the sofa. He had to bend his legs to fit on it, but he seemed comfortable enough as he settled back into the cushions. You nodded and moved to put away the first aid kit, but his hand darted out, settling on your wrist. He didn’t grip it like he had last night, and you thought you saw him wince when he saw the bruises his metal hand had left behind on your flesh.

“I… really don’t think I have a name,” he spoke quietly. “But they’ve always called me Soldier.”

You frowned at that, immediately wanting to ask who “they” were, but you already knew that he wasn’t going to tell you. So you just nodded, letting your other hand rest over his for a short second before starting to clean up once more.

“Ok, Soldier,” you breathed, tucking the kit under your arm. “Well… I’m going to make breakfast for myself. You ok with oatmeal?”

He nodded distractedly, looking away, and you turned on your heel to go do that. As you were cooking, you couldn’t help but ponder over the enigma that was currently laying on your sofa. You didn’t even know his name, just that he was supposedly a Soldier. Did he have amnesia? Maybe he’d been hit on the head or something in whatever fight he’d gotten into.

Whatever the case was, you knew for sure that you were in some kind of trouble. You didn’t know what kind just yet, but you had a bad feeling about it.

___________

He was most quiet on that first day. After your meager breakfast, you’d sat in the corner and typed away at your typewriter, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye every now and then. For hours on end, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, looking to be deep in thought. The only times he moved were to get up and go to the bathroom, and he didn’t say a word until that afternoon.

At around 3 or so, your cat had jumped up onto the couch, rubbing against Soldier’s legs. He’d jolted at the sudden appearance of the feline, and his eyes were comically wide as he stared down at your pet. You laughed at the sight, causing him to glance over at you.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a cat before,” you’d chuckled.

“I’ve seen ‘em before, it’s just…” He’d watched as it started kneading at his thigh, his eyebrows deeply furrowed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been…touched by one before.”

You smiled as the cat settled down, laying in his lap and starting to purr.

“Well, Obi certainly seems to like you,” you’d remarked. “He loves it when people pet him.”

Cautiously, Soldier lifted his flesh arm and gently drew it over the cat’s back. Obi purred even harder and arched into the touch, closing his eyes as he leaned into the stranger’s hand. Soldier kept petting him, getting more sure in his movements, and you felt something warm bloom in your chest when you saw a tiny smile come over his lips.

“See? Looks like you’ve made a friend.”

That night, you’d slept in your bed, fully expecting to wake up the next morning in an empty house; you’d said goodnight to Soldier, telling him to wake you up if he needed anything, and he’d just nodded silently before turning his attention back to the ceiling. He’d seemed so dedicated to his mission that morning that, when you walked in the next day to see him snoring on the sofa, you’d been shocked.

Padding over to him quietly, you’d taken in his features while he slept; he looked so different when he was asleep. He didn’t have that perpetual frown on his face, and there were no worried lines on his forehead. You smiled a little, wondering why, indeed, you cared so much about his guy. Maybe it was because he was so clearly confused by every simple kindness you gave him; maybe it was how helpless he’d been when you first found him. But whatever the case was, you knew that you wanted to know more about the mysterious life he lived.

You’d sat your hand down on his shoulder, ready to ask him if he wanted any coffee, but his eyes had flown open at your touch. He’d flinched away, pressing his body into the sofa cushions as far as he could, swinging his left hand out towards your throat. With a yelp, you backed away before the metallic fingers could close around your flesh, but your heart was still beating a mile a minute.

For a second, he just stared at you, catching his breath, and you didn’t know what to say. Your brain was filled with things – you’re okay, it’s only me, I don’t want to hurt you. But you couldn’t articulate them as he watched you.

“I’m….sorry,” he eventually breathed. Slowly, he retracted his hand and let it fall into his lap, his head bowed as he looked down. One by one, he let his muscles relax, but you were still as tense as a bowstring.

After letting out a deep sigh, he turned to you, regret settling deep in his eyes.

“Did I…” He paused, as if trying to form the right words. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head shakily, but you still weren’t able to utter even a single word before you turned and fled to the kitchen. You turned on the sink and splashed water over your face, realizing two horrible truths at the same time.

The first one was that you still knew nothing about this man, except that he was dangerous. You’d known it from the beginning; you’d seen the scars littering his body when you’d dressed his wounds. He could kill you without any effort whatsoever, and he could probably get away with it, too.

But that fact wasn’t enough to overshadow the second truth. The second truth was what moved you to pour him a cup of black coffee and bring it to him with a bowl of cereal. The second truth was what made you offer to let him use your shower. The second truth is what motivated you to root through your dresser until you found a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that were big enough to fit him.

And that second truth was this: he had been hurt before. You’d seen it in his eyes, in his knee-jerk reaction to being touched. You’d been reading it in his confusion, in his suspicion. You were beginning to think that he really didn’t know what his name was, but you didn’t need to know his name to know that he was being abused by someone or something.

So when he came out of the bathroom in your shirt and sweatpants, his hair dripping as he slicked it back against his head, you smiled at him and helped him back onto your couch before settling back down at your typewriter.

_________

“What are you writing?”

He didn’t know what prompted him to ask you. He’d been content to spend the past three days staring at the wall, petting Obi whenever he jumped onto the sofa, demanding his attention. He knew that he should have already left; he healed quickly – abnormally quickly. But something was keeping him here even after his wounds closed, with the strange girl who’d helped him for some unknown, foreign reason. He couldn’t stop himself from studying you, watching as you went about your quiet routine.

You blinked now, looking up at him from behind a stray piece of hair that had fallen over your eye. You blew it away, shoving it behind your ear, and he was almost tempted to smile when, a few seconds later, it fell right back into place. Almost.

“Um… I’m working on a book,” you replied, seeming just as surprised as he was at his question. “I’m a writer. Not a great one, by any means. But it manages to pay the bills.”

“What is your book about?”

“Well… it’s complicated,” you smiled. You leaned back, setting your hands on the floor behind you as you spoke to him. “I guess it’s a love story, but it takes place during the 1940’s.”

Something in his mind flickered at that, something dangerously close to being a memory. He couldn’t remember very far back; the only solid memories he had were of cold, concrete buildings, of receiving orders to do things that he never questioned, no matter what they were. He remembered pain, searing pain, ripping through his skull when he didn’t do as he was commanded, but the pain was somehow still there even when he did. There was no name, no humanity inside of him, and until you’d reminded him that he was, despite it all, still a person, he’d never even wondered why.

But now, he could feel something digging at the back of his mind, scratching at him as you kept talking about your book.

“It’s about a nurse who falls in love with a soldier she’s treating in France,” you kept on. “The problem, though, is that the soldier is married. But there’s also a point in the story where she gets roped into going across enemy lines to go undercover in a German camp, and the married soldier has to pose as her husband for their assignment.”

He nodded, tuning you out as he tried to follow that thought deep within him. It was there, right there, but he just couldn’t-

“Anyways, I’m almost done with my first draft,” you continued on. “But I can’t remember what year World War II ended; was it 1945? Or-“

He jolted, pulling himself upright as it came flooding back to him.

He was…smiling, actually smiling. There was a man standing with him in a red, white, and blue uniform, and he was laughing at something Bucky had said. Bucky…. Bucky Barnes. Sergeant Barnes. James Buchanan…

“Whatever,” the man was saying, his blonde hair glinting in the candlelight. They were in a bar somewhere, and people all around them were drinking and singing. Some were even dancing. “I had him on the ropes.”

“What you had,” he teased, clapping the man on his shoulder, “was a serious lack of judgement. Which you still have, by the way. The only reason you still have a head on your shoulders is cuz o’ me, punk.”

“Jerk. Now c’mon; we gotta plan tomorrow’s attack.”

“C’mon, Stevie, what’s the point in winning a battle if you’re not gonna celebrate afterwards?”

When Bucky came out of the memory, you were standing over him, a hand on his shoulder as you looked over his face.

“Soldier? Are you ok? What just happened?”

He gasped, trying not to hyperventilate as the memory played over and over again in his head. He had a name. He had a name. He’d had a name all these years…

“Bucky,” he rasped. You frowned and shook your head, watching as he stood up and started to pace.

“What? Soldier, what are you-“

“Not Soldier,” he grunted, turning on his heel to face you. He gulped, looking down at his hands, clenching the one made of metal as he listened to its gears turn.

“Not Soldier,” he repeated. “Bucky. My name…my name is Bucky.”

_________

After that day, you never called him Soldier again. He didn’t tell you what had spurred on the sudden memory, but he seemed even more quiet than usual over the next day. Whatever he’d remembered, he seemed to be conflicted by it; you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had to have been feeling.

You tried to give him space, though, electing to go out that afternoon. You’d thrown on a pair of red shorts with a white Nasa t-shirt tucked into them, pulling on your Chuck Taylors before walking back out to Sol- Bucky. He was still pacing, running his hands through his hair agitatedly, but he stopped when you cleared your throat.

“Bucky? I’m going to go out, ok? I’ll be back soon.”

He’d frowned, glancing you up and down.

“Where are you going?”

“Just to the thrift shop. And maybe the grocery store. I figured I would try and shop for more clothes for you; I don’t think you’ll fit into any of my other t-shirts.”

He’d nodded, seeming satisfied, but his voice made you stop once more as you moved to open the door.

“And you’re coming back?”

You’d turned around, surprised at how…nervous he’d sounded while asking you.

“Bucky… Of course, I’ll be back,” you assured him. He visibly relaxed at that, and you gave him one last smile before walking out.

When you eventually got back to your apartment, you were loaded down with several plastic bags, and Bucky immediately stood up from his seat on the couch as you entered.

“You’re back,” he said, but it sounded like he was assuring himself more than you. Your heart broke a little at that, but you just smiled and nodded, setting the bags down on the dining room table.

“Yeah, sorry it took so long,” you told him. “It took me a while to pick out clothes that I thought would fit you. But I think you’ll be happy with them. I got you some more sweatpants, a pair of jeans, a few t-shirts, a windbreaker… Oh, and some sunglasses just cuz.”

You smiled and handed him the bag, watching as he curiously started to sort through it. He wrinkled his nose a little at the windbreaker, making you laugh a bit. You’d thought it was fashionable; you’d read in an article recently that they were gonna be the next big thing.

“What’s this?”

You looked up from the groceries you were unpacking to see him holding a cassette tape, and you walked over to take it from him.

“It’s a tape,” you explained. “You know, like a music tape? You put it into a radio?” You knew from the blank look on his face that he had no idea what you were talking about. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

You’d gestured for him to follow you over to the boombox you had sitting by your sofa, and you popped it open to slide the cassette into.

“You put it in like this,” you started, “and then you close it again. Then you press play, and…”

Elton John’s voice filled the room, belting out the lyrics to Your Song, and the frown on Bucky’s face slowly melted away. You grinned, watching him as he listened to the lyrics. That same old tiny smile came over his face, and you felt as if you were going to melt at the sight.

“Pretty cool, right?”

Bucky nodded, finally glancing back over to you. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he turned away, seeming to think better of it.

“No, don’t do that,” you said gently. “What were you gonna say?”

He turned back to you and hesitated again, but finally he did as you said and spoke.

“I’m really… I don’t know what to think anymore,” he stammered, seeming to have trouble voicing the words. “But I do know that I’m grateful to you… For helping me, for letting me stay here. I… I don’t really know what to do, where I should go.” He looked down at his hands, blinking rapidly. “I don’t even know who I am.”

You bit your lip, reaching over to place your hand over his, its cold metal smooth against your fingertips.

“Whoever you were, Bucky… Whoever you’ve been, it doesn’t really matter. The memories will come back to you; we’ll make sure they do. But what really matters is who you’re gonna be. Who do you want to be?”

He looked up to you, his eyes growing watery.

“I…don’t know.”

“Then now is the time for you to figure it out. And while you do, you’re welcome to stay with me. I’ll try to do my best to help.”

He shook his head, turning your hand over in his.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing all of this,” he murmured.

You smiled a little, ducking your head until he was meeting your eyes again.

“Because this is who I want to be,” you assured him. “Someone who helps.”

The two of you sat there until the song was over, its final words echoing in the space between you. I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words…how wonderful life is while you’re in the world…

[need-a-fugue]

We Grow Together (7)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

Warning(s): some angst, some emotional and mental turmoil… some bad language words… much fluff

Chapter Summary: After getting mind-fucked by by Ultron’s little friend, the team comes face to face with a secret that somehow Tessa had been privy to... And then they head out to go, you know, save the world.

“We could really use you,” he’d said. “I know how you feel about… fighting. But –”

“Steve,” she’d responded simply, throwing up a silencing hand. “Let’s go to find the crazy killer robot.”

What a mistake that was. It’s not like she turned out to be particularly useful. Just like the others, she got mind-fucked by that science experiment in a dress. In fact, she was the first to go down after making the mistake of thinking that she could take the girl out on her own. In her defense, she probably could have if the other freak hadn’t flown in at a million miles a minute and knocked her silly.

None of them were prepared. Not even a little bit.

And that… that… mind-fuck. What the fuck was that? Clint had called it mind control, but that didn’t quite seem to fit. They weren’t made to actually do anything. It’s not as though she had turned them into her puppets. They were just… mentally incapacitated.

It felt a lot like when Professor X would reach into her mind to help settle her – only this, of course, was anything but settling. But the feeling was the same, an odd sort of tickle at the back of her skull, a push and a pull deep in her center. What she saw… it was a dream, but it was also reality. A vision? Sure, that’s a better term, she supposed. But weren’t visions supposed to tell you something? Weren’t they supposed to warn you of something to come, or remind you of something you needed to remember? There was no portending… at least not for her. This vision just seemed to… hurt.

No one had said a word about what they experienced in their visions. Actually, most of them had said very few words at all since arriving at the safe house. And they all knew that it was only partially because an angry robot was hellbent on destroying the world.

“Hey,” pulls her out of her reverie and she turns to see Steve looming beside her. “Are you gonna eat?” She looks confused for a moment, but when he sits down next to her on the porch – Clint Barton’s porch, if you can believe that – she notices that he has a plate of sandwiches in his hand. He extends the platter out to her, and she shakes her head no.

“Get all that wood chopped?” she asks him with a put on grin.

He shrugs. “Most of it.”

“Can you believe this is all Clint’s?” she mutters, staring out into the open space in front of them. The sun was just beginning to set, the sky taking on a full array of pastel colors as it butted up against the trees in the distance.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?”

She turns and sees him looking at her with a knowing smirk. “I knew he had a family. I never knew where.”

Steve nods his head. “You didn’t really seem too surprised when we got here. And Laura, she acted like she knew you.”

She pulls her hair over her shoulder and begins picking at the edges of the long, thick braid. “We met once. Had dinner in Rome.”

“Rome?”

“A second honeymoon,” she says with a smile. “Laura always wanted to go.” She lets out a long sigh. “I was in Milan. Clint set me up with a contract position with someone who worked in SHIELD’s biomedical department. He said he wanted me to meet her. Laura, that is.” She looks at him, squinting a bit at the setting sun behind him. “She’s great, right?”

His lips quirk into a smile and he nods. Then they both turn to silently stare off into the distance. “Why did he tell you?” he asks after a few minutes.

“When we were in Minsk… he saw what I could do.” She drops her head to frown down at her hands, begins pulling at her fingers, bending and working them in an uncomfortable way. “I begged him not to tell anyone. But I figured he would. SHIELD had starting keeping tabs on me as soon as I went into the system. Monitoring potential threats, they called it. Me, my family, my friends and classmates. All of us who were… different. We were all potential threats.” She pulls her fingers apart and actually sits on her hands, knowing it’s the only way to keep from messing with them. “Anyway, Clint pulled me aside and showed me a picture of his family… his wife and kids. And he said, We all have secrets, Doc.”

Steve looks at her assessingly. “And you never told his.”

“Of course not.”

“And he never told yours.”

She shrugs. “You think SHIELD would’ve trusted a mutant to do any kind of work for them? Think they would’ve asked one to treat Captain America?” she asks with a twinkle in her eye.

“But,” Steve starts, suddenly confused. “Fury knows. He didn’t know then?”

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t until he asked me to come in to help you that they actually did a complete check – fingerprints, facial recognition, all that. That’s when Nat found out too. Fury told her to keep an eye on me. When she told Clint, well, he almost blew a gasket. Told me that they knew. Told Fury that I was cool, I guess. Told Nat that he trusted me…” She sighs. “He felt bad… terrible. He was the one who recommended me to Fury.”

“Clint was?” he asks, surprised.

She turns to him with a crooked smile. “Yeah. You didn’t know that?” He shakes his head. “He knew I was interested in the effects of the serum – from a strictly research-oriented perspective, not, you know, to replicate or anything.”

Steve laughs lightly. “Yeah, I know.”

She looks off into the distance again, watches as the sky grows darker by the minute. “He told Fury that he trusted me. He thought that’d be enough. That’s what he said… when he apologized.” A small chuckle escapes her. “He looked so guilty. And Natasha… I remember her saying something like, I don’t care if you turn out to be a shapeshifting polar bear. If Clint says you’re good, you’re good.”

“A polar bear?”

“Something like that,” she says with an amused grin.

“And you said they weren’t your friends,” he teases, bumping her with his shoulder.

She gives him a small smile. “Yeah, well… I still don’t trust Fury,” she says, tossing a glare over her shoulder and towards the farmhouse that the former director himself walked into less than an hour ago.

“Few people do,” he counters. “Come on,” he says, rising with a groan. “Let’s go hear what the old man has to say.”

She slowly rises to follow, wobbling when she gets to her feet. “Are you allowed to call people old?” she asks, leaning her hip against the porch railing for balance.

He reaches down and grabs a sandwich off the plate he’d been holding. “Eat,” he orders as he hands her the sandwich and opens the screen door. “And technically, the man you’re dating is four months older than me, so maybe you shouldn’t age shame.”

Three hours later and she can honestly say that she regrets eating that sandwich. Or maybe it was the two that followed. No one understands needing energy to function better than her – well, maybe understand isn’t the right word, as there’s so much about her odd mutation that truly perplexes her. But as a doctor, at the least, she gets that you need to eat to survive. But if the jet hits one more air pocket, she’s going to hurl into her lap. “And Tony just had this suit cleaned,” she murmurs to herself, rubbing lines into the leathery fabric on her thighs.

“What?” Bucky asks from across the aisle.

She looks up and sees him staring at her with a furrowed brow. He’s been tense since Africa. Well, they’ve all been tense. But his shoulders have yet to relax, and on his face lay a seemingly permanent frown. “Nothing,” she replies, shaking her head and dropping her gaze down. She takes a deep, steadying breath in through her nostrils, closes her eyes, and tries to think of anything other than the way her stomach feels. “I might throw up.”

He moves seats so that he’s next to her, runs his right hand in soothing circles along her back as she rests her elbows on her knees. “Probably shouldn’t have gotten so drunk the other night,” he mutters.

Was that only two days ago? “Probably not.”

“And you haven’t slept since then.”

“No one has.”

“And I bet almost everyone here feels like they might puke too.” She turns to look at him and he offers a small, reassuring smile. His hand snakes up to the base of her neck and she leans back into his touch as he gently kneads the muscles there.

“I can’t believe we just let Helen go back to Seoul,” she breathes out.

“We were supposed to know what was going to happen?”

“No.” She pauses, twisting her head to roll out the muscles he’s massaging. “But she’s not like us, you know? She hasn’t been through things like this before.”

“Things like the end of the world?”

She snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, things like the end of the world. Or killer robots. Or alien attacks. Or Hydra, or SHIELD, or anti-human mutant conspiracies. Or anti-mutant human conspiracies.”

“Those last two are new to me too,” he says with a grin.

She twists in her seat so that she can face him. “Did you see her face on Sunday morning? Before she left to go back home? She was terrified. Traumatized.” She shakes her head a bit, still maintaining eye contact with him. “He’s coming for her. For the cradle.”

“When you say she’s not like us, you mean she’s just a person, right?” His hand drops from the back of her neck onto her shoulder. “She’s what? Normal?” Tessa doesn’t answer, she just drops her gaze as if in thought. He moves his fingers to her temple and plays with the loose curls that sprung up after escaping her tight braid. “She’s smart,” he tells her, voice deep and firm. “She might not have powers, but that doesn’t mean she can’t handle whatever it is that comes her way.”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

He watches her closely, sees her forehead wrinkle, her brows scrunch together. “You gonna tell me what else is going on up here?” he asks with a small tap on her temple. She looks up, her eyes lost in confusion. “What are you thinking about?”

She twists around and then leans back into him. His right arm drapes around her and she takes his hand in hers and begins playing with his fingers. “It’s the thing Bruce said… about Ultron. He wants us to evolve.”

“Yeah?”

She scoots further back and he instinctively wraps his other arm around her, holding her close. She can feel his chin on her shoulder, his breath in her hair as she says, “We have evolved. Some of us.” She stares down at Bucky’s fingers, rubs firm lines into the calloused skin. “I think he’s right. It’s right.” She shakes her head. “Does that make me an asshole?”

His chest rumbles with a soft chuckle. “No, I don’t think it makes you an asshole.”

“To be clear, I do not agree with his methods.”

He laughs a bit more. “That’s good.”

She lets out a long sigh. “People… humanity… everyone’s so afraid of change, of what bad things it might bring. They forget about the good. Instead of embracing the possibility of something better, they shun what’s different, cling to what they know.”

“Fear is a powerful motivator.”

“And everyone’s more afraid than ever. Especially since New York, since the invasion. Even Hydra and SHIELD… fear. That’s what Project Insight was really about.” She feels him tense at the mention of the project. “How much worse is that going to be now?”

He lets out a tight breath and nuzzles her hair. “I don’t know, baby,” he whispers to her.

“It’s true, though,” she says, folding his fingers into a fist. “He’s right. If we don’t evolve, we die.”

[the--sad--hatter]

Phantom Pain (27)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - Bucky X Reader

WARNINGS - Bad Habits and Rough Sex, Angsty and Dark AF.

DESCRIPTION - Everybody in the world knew of you, but not who you really were. Some called you a vigilante, some called you a criminal and some called you a hero but all of them called you The Phantom.

Only two people knew your real identity and they swore to never tell anyone but when The Avengers need to infiltrate a high-security facility, Bruce Banner deduces that you’re the only one who can pull it off. That decision puts you and Bucky Barnes on a path you can’t turn back from, even if neither of like where it’s leading.

Series Masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Killer 

You were dangerously close to being late for work as you hurriedly rushed down the stairs, your hair still slightly damp as you hurriedly buttoned your blouse.

 Bucky had found the gym equipment you had set up where the pews had been in the original church and was making use of it. You blindly wandered towards the makeshift kitchen you’d set up, eyes transfixed on the way his abs were clenching and contacting as he did one armed pull ups on the metal bars.

Thoughts of lateness were brushed aside as you reached for the coffee pot, your fingers brushing across the hot coffee cup you had assumed was his but you didn’t take your coffee the same way and judging by the colour of the coffee, this was yours. It was such a tiny little act, almost insignificant in the grand scheme of things but the easy domesticity and thoughtfulness of it made your heart pitter pat in your chest.

 You picked it up and smiled over at him, seeing that you were looking he winked and picked up the pace, showing off.

 The sound of your laughter drifted over to him and the sight of you standing there, barefoot and bathed in golden light as you smiled brightly and held the coffee he’d made for you filled his chest with warmth. For so long his life had been about fighting, seventy years of conflict, pain, torture, redemption and loss. And now there was you, a woman he thought was beautiful inside and out who’d fought through your own issues just to give him a chance and you were smiling at him.

 “I’m going to be late.” You said, but you weren’t moving.

 “I’ll get my stuff so you can lock up your secret base behind us. Eat something, I’ll shower.” He said, dropping easily to the floor.

 “You can lock up. You’re already in the system, you have the same clearance here as you do at the compound.” You told him.

 He looked at you in surprise.

 “Stark set this place up? Do we all have access?” He asked.

 “He did, and no. It was just Bruce and Snark until a few days ago when I asked him to add you into the security system matrix or whatever it’s called.” You laughed.

 “I can’t believe you ever fooled us into thinking you were a hacker.” He laughed, trying to get a handle on the growing emotions flowing through him at the knowledge you’d accepted him into your life so thoroughly.

 “I’m a good liar. You should maybe, if you wanted that is, you could move some stuff here. Weapons and things I mean. It’s a good base and you might need to use it at some point.” You stammered nervously.

 It was the straw that broke the camels back for Bucky. He strutted towards you like a man on a mission and you barely had time to put your coffee down safely before he descended on you, sweeping you into his arms and kissing you like his life depended on it. Ignoring the fact he was sweaty and you were freshly showered you threw your arms around him and kissed him back with as much passion as he was showing.

 “I’m really really going to be late.” You said but instead of pulling away, you tightened your grip on him.

 “Then you should go.” He said, not moving at all.

 “Hmm.” You agreed.

 Your phone started ringing obnoxiously and your groaned, headbutting his shoulder gently and he chuckled and pulled it out of your pocket and handed it to you.

 “Yes Matt?” You answered drily.

 “Your penthouse sold for the asking price, do you want me to straight ahead and transfer those funds into the Hercules Foundation?” He said without preamble.

 “It’s been on the market for like five days, how did it sell…. Oh. Snark. Hold off on that for now.” You instructed.

 “Ok, I also have the contracts for the new science division drawn up for you to look over and Foggy wants to go over the terminations of the government contracts with you.” He said.

 “I’m on my way into the office, send Foggy over.” You sighed.

 “I’ll tell him to bring a lot of coffee with him.” Matt remarked and hung up on you.

 “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.” Bucky noted.

 “Yeah… I really do. Who knew dismantling a company and rebuilding it as a charity foundation would be so difficult?” You joked.

 “You did, but you did it anyway. You knew it would be difficult and you decided to take it on without hesitating and you invested your personal fortune into it.” He said, not even trying to hide the admiration in his voice.

 You blushed and started searching for your shoes that you knew were somewhere around. Bucky coughed to get your attention and held them out to you. You grinned and kissed him on the cheek as you grabbed them and slipped them on.

 “Have a good day at work Domniţă.” He told you, chuckling as you tried to get out of the door while Frank, who’d jumped down from the rafters bit at your heels.

 “I’ll see you at home tonight, take this asshole back to the compound with you?” You asked and he nodded at you.

 You finally made your escape and ran for the car that was parked in an old shed, reminding yourself with every step that Foggy was heading towards your office and you couldn’t turn around.

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

As soon as you stepped out of the elevator you knew something was wrong. Foggy had unsurprisingly beaten you there and was stood in front of your office door, whispering into his phone, stress and concern pouring off of him.

 “She’s here, gotta go.” He whispered and hung up the phone.

 “Good morning!” He greeted you, a little too loud and a little too cheerfully.

 “What’s wrong?” You asked suspiciously.

 “What? Nothing. Just need to go over these contracts with you.” He said.

 You narrowed your eyes at him and shook your head at his odd behaviour, reaching past him to open your office door. He pushed your hand away quickly and stood in front of the handle, blocking it.

 “Foggy.” You warned.

 “Let’s go get breakfast? Have you had any? Lets get a second breakfast, you know, like Hobbits? A business breakfast.” He rambled, sweating nervously.

 You lost your patience and gently but firmly pushed past him and into your office. You gasped at the sight as soon as you did. The office was exactly as you had left it. Almost.

 Along the wall, behind your desk there was a message.

 KILLER. Written in what you hoped was red paint, above large picture of you. You saw that your eyes had been scratched out and the same red paint had been used to draw a line across your throat.

 “It was here when I arrived. I called Matt, he’s on his way.” Foggy said apologetically.

 “Tell him not to come.” You whispered.

 Bile rose up your throat and you felt light headed. Someone had been in here, bypassing the first class security system and leaving a clear threat for you. You felt violated and though you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, there were the first stirrings of fear in your gut.

 You didn’t want Bucky to find out about this, or any of The Avengers to be honest but especially Bucky. You knew with absolute certainty that he would worry, he would act over-protective and probably hunt down whoever had done this and dispose of them. You didn’t want to put him through this. You didn’t want him to feel the way you did right now.

 But if you didn’t tell Bucky and he found out, he’d feel betrayed. And he’d want to be able to help you with this, you knew that. Besides, there was nobody you trusted more. So you did the smart thing and you called him.

 One hour and forty minutes later one of the admins stepped out of the elevator with a pile of papers she needed you to look over and frowned.

 “Miss King? Is everything alright?” She asked.

 You and Foggy looked up from where you were working in the reception area of your office.

 “Everything’s fine. I just have some decorators in my office at the moment.” You lied easily, holding out your hands for the papers.

 As soon as the elevator doors closed with the admin inside again Bucky stepped out of your office with a stony expression.

 “It’s not paint.” He said and you gulped.

 “Blood?” You asked, knowing what the answer would be and he nodded.

 “Do you have any idea who might have a grudge against you?” He asked, clenching his jaw.

 “Plenty of people.” You said coldly.

 “No, they have grudges against your father not you.” Foggy corrected.

 “Well, he’s dead and I’m not.” You pointed out.

 “Fear not Princess, whoever the scum was who did this we shall find and destroy them for you.” Thor boomed from the office.

 “Thanks Thor.” You called.

 Thor had tagged along when Bucky had asked Loki to come. Whoever it was had snuck into a highly secure building unseen and entered a locked office without leaving a trace. The God Of Mischief was someone that Bucky wanted working this with him.

 The elevator dinged again and Bucky sighed and stepped back into the office.

 “Miss King, The Washington Post are calling again, so is The New Yorker.” The front desk secretary said, the poor woman looking frazzled.

 “Just, tell them… I don’t know, tell them I’ll call them back tomorrow to arrange something. Tell anyone who calls the same thing and make a note and email me.” You said, sighing heavily.

 “Yes Miss King.” She said and scampered back into the elevator.

 “You need an assistant.” Foggy remarked as Bucky came back out of the office.

 Bucky had said the same thing last night. You needed your own Pepper Potts.

 “That’s it, all other business is being pushed back until I can find an assistant. Or three.” You remarked, thinking about just how much work you had to get through.

 “Princess! If you require assistance I know of someone who can help you!” Thor yelled, practically bounding out of the office.

 “You? You know someone?” You asked in befuddlement.

 “A dear friend of mine who is experienced in assisting other with such matters and she recently told me she wants to move back to New York now that Jane has a new job in Germany. She is most trustworthy.” Thor assured.

 “Sure, what the hell. She’s hired.” You shrugged throwing your hands up in exasperation.  

 “As your lawyer I advise that you should probably get her name and do an Interview.” Foggy said nervously, unable to take his eyes off of Thor.

 “It’s fine, I trust Thor.” You said.

 “A horrible decision.” Loki called from inside the office.

 Thor smiled brightly and took your hand in his much larger one.

 “I believe you and Lady Darcy will get along, she is a woman of the same calibre as yourself.” Thor assured.

 “So she’s a manipulative, sassy genius? I love her already.” You decided.

 “I can find no signs of magical tampering.” Loki announced, joining the rest of you in the reception.

 “I combed through the security footage, there was nothing out of the ordinary. There was no signs of a break in on the office door or windows.” Bucky told you, looking put out and more than a little furious.

 “So whoever it was just walked through the wall?” You asked, sighing heavily.

 “It would appear so.” Loki said, looking at you curiously.

 “I need to talk to you.” You said to Bucky and he nodded, looking around for somewhere other than the office to take you.

 “Come on.” You said, stomping into the office.

 You were not going to be chased out of your own space by whoever it was.

 “What is it?” He asked, closing the door behind him.

 You didn’t answer right away, too busy staring at the mutilated picture of yourself until Bucky stood in front of it with a growl of anger.

 “My fa… Alexander King… the fake… I’m just going to refer to him as The Imposter. The Imposter didn’t know I was the Phantom Bucky. He was surprised by it. I think there’s another Phantom and I think they were hunting him and now that he’s dead, they’ve moved onto me.” You admitted.

 “Another Phantom?”

 “Yes. I don’t think I was the first person to go into that Chamber.” You said.

 He pulled something from under his shirt and handed it to you. It was the same Vibranium Knife that The Imposter had tried to kill you with.

 “You don’t go anywhere without this.” Bucky instructed as you tentatively took it from him.

 You reluctantly nodded.

 “There’s something else, something I have to tell you.” Bucky said.

 “God, what now?” You asked in trepidation.

 He smirked and yanked you forward, into his chest.

 “I made us dinner reservations for tonight. That is, if you’ll agree to go on a date with me Domniţă?”

 You smiled up at him as he tried to mask the nervous look in his eyes behind a charming grin.

 “Bucky… every reason I had for closing myself off turned out to be fake. My whole life has been one big conspiracy. It’s all secrets and lies. Except you. You’re the only thing that’s safe and the only things that’s certain.” You told him, reaching up onto your tiptoes to kiss him.

 “Is that a yes?” He checked.

“That’s an absolutely, of course, I would love nothing more.” You promised.

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

 You guys still with me? I haven't driven you away with mushy romance or plot twists?

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