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3pirouette · 2 years

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Fic: In the Bleak Midwinter (1/1)

Title: In the Bleak Midwinter By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: takes place during CA: TFA, but can be considered AU. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Read it on AO3

Story Summary: @steggyfanevents Secret Santa gift for thesokovianaccords. A quiet moment in the snow with Steve and Peggy. Set mid- CA: TFA.

A/N: For the Amazing @thesokovianaccords! I hope this meets your expectations. I got the compass, some dramatics, some mid-mission events, and some good old Steggy snuggling in there… I’m not really sure why it turned so bittersweet, but I hope there’s enough sweet that it makes you feel good. I had hoped to come up with a good Rom Com idea, but I’m just not a Rom Com writer sometimes…

Title is from the poem “In the Bleak Midwinter” by Christina Rossetti.

Please forgive any typos- I'll go back and re-edit, but for now I've looked over it obsessively and can't look at it any more!

~*~

“You should have let them take you in the transport.”

Peggy snuggled closer to Steve. Normally he gave off quite a bit more body heat, but considering the small shed they’d managed to find had little the way in insulation and even less in the way of glass in the windows, he had little to share at the moment. “What, and miss this?”

He clicked his teeth, and she felt more than heard his groan as a rumble in his chest. “Peggy—”

She leaned back, brushing the stray hairs that escaped her chignon out of her face. “I was not, under any circumstances, going to endure a two-hour, bumpy as hell ride sitting on laps.” She shook her head and snuggled back down into him. “And you know as well as I do that the back of that jeep would have been as cold, if not colder, than our current accommodations.”

Steve gently pushed her to the side, standing. “We’re lucky we found these accommodations and you know it.” He started wandering around the small shed that held only the remnants of farm equipment, ticking off a mental list of their current supplies. “You should have—”

“Say that one more time and you know I’ll start walking back on my own,” Peggy threatened, sitting tall against the small divider wall they’d huddled themselves against. The remnants of a bale of hay behind it had made it the least chilled structure in the small shack and more than inviting for a rest compared to the howling winds outside as the sun set low.

Steve looked over his shoulder at her, scowling, but went right back to his search. “Oh, don’t I know.” He shook his head as he dug through a pile in the corner. “You know those guys wouldn’t have tried anything and they—”

“That’s not what I was thinking and you know it!” Peggy stood, righteous in her anger. “It would have been cold and uncomfortable, to start.” She stepped up next to him and started helping sort through the pile of odds and ends. “Of course, Bucky and Dugan and Morita would have been pure gentlemen.” She grimaced, pulling out a mess of what looked like animal leads and leashes. “It was the Hydra men tied up next to them that would have been making lewd comments the whole way back that I wasn’t looking forward to.” Steve opened his mouth to rebut, but closed it quickly when he saw her eyes. “Those German soldiers do have the filthiest of mouths,” she muttered, sliding a shovel out of the way.

“I understand,” Steve said quietly, sorting through a bucket of screws and nails.

She sighed at the tension she’d unwittingly created, but knew it was more the adrenaline of the mission and the firefight and the anxiety about making it back to base in the morning more than anything else. She looked over at him from under her lashes, voice carefully even, “You could have sat on laps, you know.”

He laughed, a single bark of lightness in the dark and cold shed. “Yeah, Buck and Dugan would have loved that.” He shifted the bucket back against the wall and finally unstrapped his helmet, his hair standing on edge, sweaty and dry in patches, as he pulled it off. “What? And leave you to have all the fun here?”

She chuckled lightly, pulling her fingers deftly away from something she was sure had once been a pile of manure. “We both passed the same outdoor survival training and you know it.” She pivoted in her squat, turning towards him. She ran her fingers through his hair, settling it to something that was almost tame. “It also didn’t escape my mind that I haven’t seen you for more than five minutes in the last month and after this mission debrief it is quite possible it will stay that way for the next few months, as well.”

He gently pulled her hand from his hair, holding it in his, eyes darkening. “Yeah, there is that.”

“Oh, don’t go all sappy now.” She took her hand back and turned to the pile. “We can have dramatic declarations of love once we get a fire going.” She carefully set what looked to be a broken saw blade aside. “A cold and bumpy ride in a jeep followed by a cold and lonely night on base worrying about you is much less desirable than our current situation.”

Steve shrugged, turning back to the task at hand with just a hint of a smile enough to let her know that he saw their situation in the same light. “I think there’s enough cracks in the ceiling and broken windows that the smoke won’t be a problem…”

“But?” she asked when he trailed off.

He shrugged. “Even if I can get a fire pit dug through that,” he tipped his head to the crumbling concrete that made up the floor of the shed, “I don’t know that we’ll have enough kindling to keep it lit through the night.”

Peggy stood, kicking the dust on the floor. She took a few steps, humming as she looked at the hay remnants in the corner. She looked at him, but his only reply to her unspoken question was a raised eyebrow. She smiled back suggestively, licking her lips. “If it were colder…” She let the sentence fall away.

“It’s worth it to keep to sleep in,” he supplied quickly, ignoring her innuendo. “It’ll keep us insulated from the floor, at least.”

“A roll in the hay?” She chuckled at his eye roll, kicking through the bottom edge of the hay. “Could you be slightly less than stoic for a moment?”

He lifted the shovel and took a few quick steps over to her, dropping a quick kiss on her cheek. “Sorry,” he moved back to the center of the small room and started kicking debris away from the center of the floor, “I still feel like we’re not alone.”

“We’re never alone,” she grumbled, watching as he sized up the hole. “You get started on the pit,” she pushed off the small wall and moved to the door, “I’ll see what I can find in the way of kindling outside.”

Peggy slipped out of the shack into the chilled night to the sounds of Steve setting the shovel against the concrete. He could have used his shield, and she figured if it didn’t start crumbling under the shovel quickly, he would, but she wasn’t going to make a fuss. He was still on edge, as was she, about how the night had gone. A slim win was still a win, but the casualties still stung. She just wanted to spend the few hours they had together, however they’d managed them, in relative peace. The sun had completely set and the moon was rising high in the sky, making it was easy for her to start picking small twigs and long blades of dry grass from around the abandoned shed.

She stopped for a moment, looking up, and wondered if she should take her chances in the bombed out remains of the house just a few hundred yards away. She’d made a good argument for it, but Steve had looked at her with such a haunted look she knew there was a reason he told her no. She set back to picking up small sticks, her arms soon filled. She knew he saw things. They both had. The longer the war went on, the more desperate each day got, the more gruesome the scenes, the more violent and angry the men, the more desensitized the got to the losses and death. She prayed for an end to it every day, and knew Steve did, too.

She wasn’t sure what would happen to them when there wasn’t a war on, but they never quite looked to that tomorrow too closely when one wrong bullet or bomb could change all of their plans.

She slipped back into the shed, arms laden. “How’s it going?”

He didn’t look up from his work, on his hands and knees, forming a bowl in the dirt of the ditch he’d dug. “Fell apart pretty easily. How’d you do?”

“Should be enough for a bit, and there’s plenty more out there.” She set her small pile down next to him and went to her pack, digging around for her waterproof matches as he started arranging the sticks. “I can go—”

“No,” he was quiet and firm, and didn’t even look up from where he was precariously balancing some of the larger sticks into a cone. “I’ll go out if we need more, but we should be okay for a while.”

Peggy squatted down next to him, holding out her tin of matches. “Care to share why you are melancholy at turns?” The words were sharp, but her tone soft. “I’m getting a bit of whiplash here.”

He held her hand for just a second as he took the tin of matches, then went back to getting the fire going.

His silence was more than enough for Peggy. “It’s been a bad month, hasn’t it?” He paused at her words, but didn’t say anything as he resumed settling the kindling against the small flame as the match caught the twigs around it. “I suppose I could read the reports,” she started gently, settling down cross-legged next to him, “but you very well know I’ve seen the same things you have.” She waited for some kind of reaction, and finally reached out and stopped his hands from playing with the fire that was no longer in need of such tending. “Stop being dramatic and talk.”

He slumped back, keeping her hand in his. “it’s just…” He took a slow deep breath. “It’s just starting to get to me. The death, the destruction, the innocent people…”

“Not what you signed up for?” she asked gently, sliding closer so she could meet his eyes.

“No,” he nearly laughed out. “No, I don’t think this was what any of us signed up for, do you?”

She let their beaths sync, let the quiet crackling of the growing fire calm their anxious minds. It was always too much: there was always another mission, another communique, another secret to uncover, another battle to be fought. They were living in harrowing times, in a constant state of kill or be killed, and neither one of them often got to express just how tiresome, how stressful, it could be: there were too many people counting on them, too many people looking towards their leadership, to show signs of fatigue.

She had two choices: she could push and try to get him to open up, or she could move past it, let it get buried, and maybe one day they’d talk about it or maybe they wouldn’t. He was usually good about opening up on his own, and when she’d pushed in the past, he had clammed up further. It was an easy decision to make.

She smiled, standing. “Well, I know none of us signed up for K-Rations.” His chuckle, somewhere between surprised and amused, was enough sign to her that she’d made the right choice. She dug through her pack and held up the two cans. “Can I interest you in ham and cheese or ham and cheese?” She held them both out, posing like she was presenting them on the USO show stage with a smile.

A tiny glint lit up his eyes as he pretended to weigh his options. “I think I’ll take…the ham and cheese.”

She gave a brief curtsey as she handed him the tin he’d pointed towards. “Excellent choice, sir!” She turned back, rooting in her bag for the two tiny spoons she kept in there, and grabbed the little box of crackers. She handed hers over to him to open as she sat next to him, the fire finally something big enough to start radiating warmth towards them.

Steve popped the top off her can quickly and handed it back. “Bucky’s mom makes the best ham,” he mused, opening his own can and staring at the contents, “Christmas Eve we would all sit and watch as dish after dish came out of that kitchen. There wasn’t enough room on your plate for all of it.” He paused; cracker stopped in mid-air on its way to the tin. “Is it… what day is it?”

Peggy laughed around her spoon, swallowing before speaking. “You’re not that far out of touch, darling. Christmas isn’t until next week yet.”

He shook his head with a self-deprecating smile and resumed dipping his cracker into his tin of meat and cheese. “Sometimes days feel like years…”

“And sometimes they feel like minutes,” Peggy finished. She scraped at the edges of her tin. “Did you always do Christmas with the Barnes family?”

“Mostly,” he shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “Buck and I have been friends since we were little.” He looked down at his tin and scooped another mouthful with a cracker. “She was the kind of person who cooked for the whole neighborhood, everyone was always invited in.” He smiled. “The house was crazy, kids all over, running and playing and if it was snowing out—” he laughed at the memory, “there would be snowballs outside and inside. Pure pandemonium in the best way. We got there in the early afternoon and didn’t leave until it was time for midnight mass. Ma and I always went home with big plates of leftovers and cookies and cake.” He bumped her shoulder, warmed by the memory. “How about you?”

Peggy set down her emptied can and picked up a cracker, running her nail along the jagged edge, eyes wandering into the past as she spoke. “Oh, Christmas was always quite the formal affair. We’d get dressed in our Sunday best, then we were paraded in front of grandparents and Aunts and Uncles. Michael and I were expected to be quiet and dutiful during formal dinners.”

Steve smirked, raising his eyebrows. “How’d that go?”

She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow. “About as well as you’d expect.” Peggy was searching for a story to tell when Steve’s voice surprised her.

“When we get home,” his voice was soft, using a phrase she’d never heard him use before, “I’m sure Mama B is gonna have the biggest Christmas dinner ever.”

Peggy stilled, watching his eyes glaze over as he spoke. She reached out, covering his hand with hers as he talked.

“Bucky will insist you come, you know. And she’ll have invited half the neighborhood, like usual. There will be at least two hams, and whole tables of gravy and mashed potatoes and the greens and sweet potatoes…” He closed his eyes, a soft smile taking over his lips. “I can almost smell it. And the pies!” His shoulders sagged. “Rebecca, his sister, makes the best pecan pie.”

“Tell me more,” Peggy whispered quietly.

His eyes opened, almost like he’d forgotten where he was, and he smiled. He slipped the two empty tins to the side and slid himself around Peggy, wrapping her in his arms and resting his chin on her shoulder. “Well, to start with, their house is small: a little brownstone around the corner from my apartment. But inside? You can’t imagine how many people they fit in there.” He chuckled as she melted back into him. “She starts cooking the day before, Bucky’s Aunts and cousins all come over, and they try like hell to keep all those kids out of the kitchen. I remember each year running these little… missions… I guess you could call ‘em, with Bucky and Rebecca and all of us just trying to steal little morsels out from under her nose and she never got mad just chased us back out while we laughed until our stomachs hurt, you know?”

“Sounds delightful,” she whispered, watching as the lightness of the memory melted the heaviness of the war and years away from his face.

“So, I’m sure there will be kids running around, and everywhere you look there’s just chairs shoved here and there so people can sit and eat and laugh. And it’s hot… it’s always hot no matter how cold it is outside.”

“From the ovens or the people?” She asked, running her hand through his hair.

“Both,” he chuckled, taking her hand and holding it in his. He snuggled closer to her, wrapping her in a tight hug. “By the time we were older Buck and I always had jobs- setting up extra tables, making sure the decorations were just-so, running errands for last minute ingredients.” He laughed, a memory bright in his tone. “Didn’t mean we stopped trying to steal bites, or that she ran us out of the kitchen any less.” He buried his nose in her neck, dropping a soft kiss there before turning serious. “The Barnes’ are the only family I have left. I can’t wait for you to meet Mama B.”

“I would be honored to meet her,” She replied gently, tucking her head under his chin. It was almost cozy now, by the fire in their small shed, the cracks in the roof pulling the smoke up and away while they were still able to take advantage of the warmth of the fire. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say next: they didn’t often talk about the future, so instead, she said nothing and threaded her fingers through his, holding his hand tight.

“You were right,” he said softly before he kissed her hair, “We needed this. I needed this.”

“Can’t ever be alone on a base.”

“It’s never quiet on base.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this comfortable on base.”

He looked down at he, teasing, “Well, I’d hope not.”

She laughed, pulling from his arms and reaching over past him, setting a few more sticks into their fire. “You think it’ll make it through the night?” She settled on her knees, looking over their dwindling pile and the small flickering flames.

He sat up, scratching his head. “Probably not. I can—”

“You keep it going,” she kissed him quickly before he could stop her. “I know exactly where I’ve picked over and where there will be more kindling. I’ll be back in half a mo.” She stood and was out the door before he could object.

She wasn’t sure what it was about the way they were bouncing through emotions, about the heaviness that seemed to settle over them tonight, but she needed a break from it. It was suffocating in both the best and the worst ways. The idea that there was going to be a Christmas where she was laughing with the mysterious Mama B and Bucky and his houseful of friends and family… it seemed like a promise and a curse. She didn’t make plans, not during this war. It seemed as soon as anyone she knew made plans, there wasn’t any life left for them to live them. She bundled the sticks in her arms, hurrying around until she couldn’t balance another on her pile, before struggling her way back into the shed.

“Goodness,” she shivered, shuffling over to the fire. “It’s quite biting out there. This fire’s doing its job.” She settled her pile carefully before crouching down and rubbing her hands together, holding them out to the flames. “We did get very lucky.”

Steve’s reply took just a second longer than she was expecting, and it had a hint of honey in it that made her turn to him. “Very lucky.”

He was sitting against the wall, elbows on his knees, rolling his compass over and over in one hand, eyes warm and drowsy. She sat into one hip, smiling. “What are you on about?” She chuckled, standing and closing the distance to sit next to him, “Because I know it’s not this shack.”

“We got lucky,” he repeated softly, taking her hand in his and draping them over his knee. He squeezed it gently for a second before flipping his compass open.

Peggy shook her head, looking away. “You still have my picture in there?”

“Take it everywhere I go,” he replied proudly. He smiled and tipped his head on hers just for a second at her blush. “What? It embarrasses you?”

“I just,” she twittered lightly, looking for the words, cheeks still a bit red, “I just never imagined myself the kind of woman a man would keep a photograph of… I’m nothing special, Steve.”

He leaned back, surprised. “Nothing special?”

“I’m not a pinup,” she rebutted, slightly incensed she had to explain, not wanting to say how her former fiancé had never carried her picture around and she’d been prepared to spend the rest of her life with him.

“No,” he carefully trod, “You’re ten times any of those girls. Beautiful. Smart. Sharp. Way more than just a pretty face, Peg.” He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to him. “You know why I keep you in my compass?”

“Because you haven’t a pocket for a billfold in those pants?”

He laughed at her surprising joke. “Uh, no, I guess I don’t. But, that’s not the reason.”

She snuggled down against him, turning her body into his side. “Well, then?”

“My dad left me this compass.” He turned it in his hand, showing her the well-worn age. “I never met him, he died in the war before I was born. When I was a kid, I was so mystified by how it would point North no matter where I went. When I was a boy scout, I learned how to use it to find out where I was going, how to chart places…” He sighed with the memory, his words falling away.

“Useful, that,” Peggy encouraged.

“I made a few… wrong decisions,” he started cautiously.

“You? Never!”

He leaned into her playfully. “Not just impulsive like I tend to be now, but downright wrong. I was letting other kids influence me. I wanted to be seen, wanted to be bigger than I was.”

“We all do,” she whispered gently, laying her hand on his arm.

“So, my Ma, she sat me down and made me put the compass on the table. She knew how much it meant to me.” He set it on the floor and gently spun it. “She told me… she told me that a compass will always tell you which way is North,” he paused, watching the compass spin in the dim firelight, “but it cannot tell you what is right.”

She watched as he set the compass back to him, her picture staring up at them. “That’s pretty profound.”

“Yeah,” he smirked, lifting the compass back into his hand. “She took it from me for the night and made me think about what she’d said. The next morning, I had to apologize and she gave it back.”

“That explains why you have it on you all the time, but not why my picture is in there.”

Steve shifted, tucking the compass in his belt before he reached for her hips, setting her straddle over his knees. He pushed back a few stray hairs, eyes thin blue rings in the dark light. “Doesn’t it, thought?”

She shook her head, a small smile on her lips as she leaned forward, kissing him gently.

He nudged his nose against hers, wrapping his arms softly around her waist. “Sure, it does. My compass tells me what’s North. You tell me what’s right.”

She pulled back, surprised. Her chin quivered with the tightness that suddenly took over her chest. “Steve—” she barely whispered out.

His voice was soft as he met her eyes. “You know I love you, Peggy.”

“And I love you,” she replied quickly, still trying to find a way out of her shock at his words. “You’ve always been a good man,” she whispered, running her hand down his cheek. “You don’t need me to tell you your course.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied firmly. “Every day it gets harder to do what’s right, to remember what’s right. Every day out here there’s another thing that I don’t want to see, another horrific reminder of the darkest pieces of humanity,” he closed his eyes tight together, shaking his head before looking back up at her. “I need something to look at every once in a while, to remind me that there are things worth fighting for, that the easy thing to do isn’t always the right thing, that…” He took a deep breath, softening. “To remind me that there are family Christmas Eves back home still happening that I’m going to take you to after all this is over.”

Peggy stopped his rant with her finger pressed gently to his lips. “I’m honored that I can do that for you,” she whispered, “but you mustn’t put me on a pedestal quite that high. I’m liable to fall.”

He moved forward, kissing her gently. “Never,” he whispered against her lips.

She kissed him for long minutes, finding solace in the warmth of him, of the feeling of being so close they were almost the same being. His lips soothed the raw edges his words had left. He always managed to surprise her in how he saw her, and while she knew her value, so rarely did she ever think she was worth that kind of praise or worship. Tonight, she wasn’t going to argue with him.

She pulled back, swinging one leg over so she could sit across his lap, settling against him better. At his look, she shrugged. “Cement was hurting my knees.” She stopped him before the apology in his throat could leave his lips with just a look.

“You know,” she started lightly, playing with the strap across his chest, “I’ve often thought about keeping your picture with me.”

“Have you?”

She smiled at the way he tried to keep the interest out of his voice. “But it wouldn’t do for a spy to be caught with her boyfriend’s picture in her pocket.” She felt his disappointment when he hummed in agreement under her. “But the thing is, I don’t need to.”

“’Cause you remember my face?” Steve asked, only half joking.

“Because I see it everywhere,” Peggy replied, sincere. “Captain America is a bastion for all that is good in the War. I see you on posters and in newspapers.” She took a deep breath, readying her confession. “My last assignment, I was so lonely, I kept a paper for weeks and weeks just so I could look at your picture at night. If anyone noticed it, I was going to say I kept it to help start the stove in the little flat I was in.” She shrugged. “You’re right. It’s hard to remember some days.”

He held her tighter, tucking her under his chin. “Every day we get closer to an end.”

“Do you really believe that?” She asked, eyes focusing on the flickering of the fire beyond them.

“I have to,” he whispered, “I have to.”

She was comfortable in his arms, as comfortable as she’d been in months watching their small fire flicker away. The fire was keeping the chill at bay, enough for her to forget they had a long slog on foot in the cold back to base as soon as the sun came up. She could almost imagine they were in a little house, on the floor of the living room, a couch at their backs and a hardwood floor underneath them, fire flicking away in their fireplace. She didn’t often fantasize about the future, found it too painful to hope for things she couldn’t control, but her eyes started to droop as she indulged in imagining that scene. A yawn escaped her lips, and before she could hide it, he cradled her closer.

“Tired?”

“I suppose,” she deflected, “But I’ll manage a watch.”

“Sleep,” he whispered, brushing his hand over her head before kissing her temple.

Her words were still heavy with fatigue. “I can—”

“I know you can,” he gently stopped her, his voice calm and warm like honey. “I know you can.” He rubbed his hand up and down over her shoulder, soothing her closer and closer to sleep. “You’re comfortable, and I won’t sleep either way.”

“I should fight you on this,” she mumbled, cuddling closer to his chest.

“Shure you should,” his voice seemed so far away now. “But you won’t.”

The fire light faded to black as her eyes closed, the chill of the shack fading away in the comfort of Steve’s arms.

~*~

“Peg?”

She hummed at the sound of his voice, trying to turn away from his hand that was smoothing her hair down, the other rubbing over her leg, wishing desperately she could stay like this for just a few moments longer.

“Peggy?”

“I didn’t mean to sleep all night,” she croaked out, slipping from his arms and sliding to the cold floor next to him. The sky was lighter outside of the windows, and the fire was dwindling to almost nothing.

“I wanted you to.” He smiled softly, stealing a quick kiss. “I know how much trouble you have sleeping at base.”

“And off base, and on missions.” Peggy stood up, brushing the dirt off her pants and reaching out for him. “If there’s one fault of mine, it’s surely that while I can manage nearly any condition you can throw at me, I much prefer a warm soft bed and the peace of the indoors any day.”

He smiled, pushing off the ground to stand next to her, watching as she leaned back with her thumbs against her spine until he heard a satisfying pop. “Wanting comfort isn’t a fault, Peggy. Especially after all we’ve slept on.” He moved over to the fire, fanning it and adding a few more sticks to attempt to make some coffee. “I thought you were a tomboy?”

She smiled, bringing over an armful of supplies to sit next to him. “I was. I could rough and tumble with my brother and the boys without a problem. Didn’t mind playing in the dirt or climbing trees or getting messy- much to my mother’s chagrin, mind you.” She set out the two tin cups and starting pouring the water from their canteens in. “But no matter how much I begged, she never let me go camping or stay out to sleep under the stars. There was a routine every night, and there were some things my mother suffered, but me not having a lady’s toilette every night was not one of them.”

Steve laughed, “I can only imagine.”

“Oh, very often there was kicking and screaming involved, at least when I was little.” Peggy smiled, poring the instant coffee powder in and stirring. “But it’s ingrained that so fully now, it feels wrong to go without it.” She met his downturned lips with a bright shake of her head. “Last night was much better, I assure you.”

Steve took the two cups and set them next to the fire, as close as he could manage. “I’m sure I’m not nearly as comfortable as a bed would be.”

She waggled her eyebrows, sitting cross-legged next to him. “I was more than comfortable,” she was interrupted by a yawn, but continued, “and you are much more enticing than any old bed.”

He shrugged shyly, and just like so many other times, she could see that skinny man he once was, the man whose confidence bloomed just as much as his muscles did when he stepped in that machine. “I still find that hard to believe sometimes,” he muttered, sticking his pinky in one of the cups to test the temperature of the water.

“You shouldn’t,” she replied, sliding over a fruit bar ration. “You’ll be tired of hearing it from me eventually, I suspect.”

Instead of the ration, he took her hand and slipped her into is arms. “Never,” he whispered, kissing her fervently.

It was easy to melt into his arms, to fall into the kiss and wrap herself around him. They didn’t do it often enough. It was still a novelty, still something that was new and exciting and somewhat taboo because if they were every found out by the wrong person, well… she wasn’t sure what the repercussions would be. They were in Allied territory, they were warm, they were safe and they were alone. She wrapped her arms tight around him, trying to eliminate any space she could.

It was the snap and pop of the fire, their coffee sputtering over as it boiled that separated them. Steve heard it first, his sensitive ears tuned to the fact that something was wrong. He pulled away, grabbing what was left of their coffee from the fire, sputtering and cursing at the searing hot cups.

Peggy wiped at her lips as she sat back, expecting there to be lipstick on her fingers before she remembered she’d last applied it over a day ago. They were tingling and swollen, something she hadn’t felt in so long.

It made her want more, but there wasn’t time for that now.

She wasn’t sure how long they’d been lost in one another, but it was long enough for the sun to be creating rays through the cracks of the boards in the walls. She was sure they’d be granted some grace period, but neither wanted to push Phillips’ temper, or gamble with the thought that neither one was needed somewhere.

Seemed they were always needed somewhere for something.

Steve passed her a cup, somewhat cooled, and dug into his fruit bar. Peggy could imagine he was thinking the same things she was. It seemed almost wrong, forbidden, like they were teenagers afraid of getting caught snogging in the movies.

“You think it’ll ever feel alright?” She asked, eyes set on the boiled remains of her coffee.

He smiled up at her, a silly joke on his lips, before he stopped and turned serious. “I hope it will. One day.”

She looked over, nodding. “Yes. One day.” Without preamble, she drank her coffee like a shot and grabbed her still-wrapped fruit bar. “Come along, soldier.” Peggy stood, moving over to her pack. “Best get it over with, yes?”

He threw the rest of the bar in his mouth and crumbled the wrapper in his fist as he stood. Without a word he set about shoving the pile of dirt he’d pulled out of the hole right back in, smothering the fire. He was at her side, picking up his shield and handing her the other tin cup to stow by the time she’d repacked her things.

She stood, shouldering her pack as he set his shield on his back. With a soft smile she reached up on her toes and let her lips meet his. It was soft and swift, but it was enough. “Ready?” She asked, a brave smile pasted on her face to belay the emotions swirling in her stomach.

He nodded, his own mask of emotions something she was far too familiar with. “Ready.”

Without a look back, they left the small shed, Peggy following as Steve pulled out his compass and set them on course back to the base.

~*~ End Notes: Steve’s line is inspired by this post: https://at.tumblr.com/suallenparker/the-compass-will-also-not-tell-you-to-buy-my-book/vfai6twhq7tp

#steggyfanevents #thesokovianaccords #Steggy Fic #3P's Fic #Steggy Secret Santa #I'm sorry it's taken so long #and my eyes are crossing from trying to edit #but here it is!

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tonystarktogo · 4 years

Text

(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.

#ReRe writes #a villain's origin story 'verse #Bucky Barnes #Winter Soldier #Tony Stark #first meeting #dark #dark Bucky #dubious morality #literally everyone in this fic has dubious morals #consider yourself warned #fic #Tony is ridiculous #but we already knew that #Bucky is as chill as can be under the circumstances #oh wait nope he isn't #Bucky is a contract killer and it shows #Bucky also doesn't know how to deal with Tony and it shows #murderous meet cute

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jadedvibes · 2 years

Text

Happy When It Rains

Summary: After finding yourself stuck in heavy rain without an umbrella, you accept some help from a kind stranger. What comes after changes your life and outlook on love for the better.

Pairing: tfatws!Bucky x reader

Warnings: 18+ only, mentions of smut, extreme fluff with so many feels, very minor angst, brief mention of past bad relationships, a little dancing, and lots of love.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: This fic is my submission for @musingsinmoonlight's Any Way You Want It writing challenge! Inspired by the prompt near the end 🖤

Like, comment, and/or reblog to put a giant smile on my face ♡

He showed up when you least expected it, a cold and dreary morning derailed by heavy rainfall. You cursed the sky, the unexpected downpour coming in with no warning. Normally, you’d keep a mini umbrella in your purse, but that day you planned to run a few quick errands without your big bag.

You stood under the awning of a coffee shop, planning your next move. Trying to see if you could outrun the rain, you held out your hand to test it, leaving it completely drenched in seconds. This kind of shower rarely happened, if ever. And as you dawdled in hopes of it letting up, the door to the shop behind you jingled. Crap, I can’t stay here forever.

Stepping aside to allow the man to exit, you observed him as he fiddled with his umbrella. The dark-haired man was smart, prepared. You wished you had that same foresight. Had you known, you would’ve come ready for whatever weather so that you could complete all your tasks.

As you unconsciously continued to eye him, lost in your own thoughts, his voice broke your trance.

“Nice weather we’re having today, huh?” he looked at you with an easy smirk on his face.

Exhaling a heavy breath, you playfully rolled your eyes. “The best.”

He smiled, bright and wide, and it felt like warm sunshine on your skin. It made you forget about your temporarily bleak situation – you couldn’t help but smile back.

After a solid shake, he finally got his umbrella to open. Holding it over his head, he took a cautious step towards you, letting it cover you as well. “Can I walk you somewhere?”

You bit your lip, thinking. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve quickly declined the stranger's offer. But you were in a bind, and the rain made no sign of letting up, so you figured a quick walk to a convenience store with him couldn’t hurt. “Think you can help me find a store that sells umbrellas?” you let out a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, I think I can handle that. I’m Bucky,” he grinned, holding out a gloved hand.

“Y/N,” you smiled before reaching out and shaking his hand. Whatever apprehension you held melted away when his stunning blue eyes gazed deeply into yours.

He motioned his head towards the sidewalk, “Well, Y/N, let’s get you that umbrella.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you followed him closely, stealing glances at him as he shielded you from the rain and helped you move forward with your day. Perhaps chivalry wasn’t dead.

After the first shop you stepped into was sold out of umbrellas, and the store next to it as well, Bucky offered to give you his.

“What? No, it’s still pouring!” you exclaimed dramatically.

Bucky let out a laugh, “I’ll manage, at least I’ll know you’re okay. I was going to give you mine once I walked you wherever you needed to go anyways.”

Despite the chill in the air, you felt heat rush to your cheeks. Shaking your head, “If I’m not keeping you, can we check one more store? I know of one around the corner that should have it.”

“Of course.”

The third stop had what you needed, and you offered to buy Bucky a drink or lunch to thank him for going out of his way. He politely declined and told you that you didn’t owe him anything, but if you ever caught yourself without an umbrella, you could always give him a call.

Bucky was so charming and endearing, you exchanged phone numbers before parting ways.

All too quickly the kind stranger became a friend.

┈┈┈┈┈・・

Rain pattered against your windows as the warm crooning of Bing Crosby quietly echoed throughout the walls of your cozy kitchen. You’d slipped out of bed for a snack, finding it difficult to fall back asleep once the loud thunderstorm commenced.

Quietly, you sashayed towards your cupboard and retrieved a bowl, hoping not to wake your boyfriend that was sleeping in the other room. Just as the microwave was about to start beeping to indicate that your popcorn was done, you pushed the release button and grabbed the hot bag.

Sure, Bucky had enhanced hearing, but you felt confident that the weather was loud enough to cover your actions. Pouring out your snack, you slowly moved your hips to the rhythm of the soft music. Ever since Bucky came into your life, your taste in music changed a bit – hell, you changed a bit. He opened you up to many new things that you’d never experienced before; adventurous food, soulful music, dating a kind-hearted and loyal man.

As a partner, he was unlike any you’d ever even heard of before. He was strong yet soft when it mattered, holding your heart with a gentle tenderness and delicateness that you thought was reserved for only fairytales. At first his sweet disposition made you skeptical — but that didn’t last very long.

Similarly, you weren’t the only one to feel nervousness. Bucky had walls held up high too, covered with a thin veil of grumpiness, however they all fell down when he was with you.

You broke every barricade, shattered every barrier that he’d built throughout his tumultuous life.

And he didn’t mean to, not when he first met you, he never intended to fall for a woman so completely. Like jumping out of a plane without a parachute, Bucky leaped and held on to faith that you would catch him. He held onto the belief that you, the gorgeous girl caught in the rain, would save him.

Vulnerability was never his strong suit, with the exception of his friendship with Steve and Sam, all Bucky knew was how to live with his guard up. He’d never stopped to enjoy the little things that made life worth living – but that all changed thanks to one fateful day.

The day that you unknowingly freed him from the only life he knew, that day when his heart told him there was more, so much more to encounter. Unconsciously, you breathed new life into Bucky.

Now his days consisted of sunshine, adventures, tender kisses, and love, so much love. Every insecurity he felt, be it about his past, or his present state that he felt self conscious about melted away in your warm embrace. You cared for him in ways he’d never known. And though you initially tried to hide it, when he looked into your eyes all he saw was complete adoration and acceptance.

Bucky thought it was cute, the way you attempted to act indifferent about your relationship, and failed miserably when he called you out on it. He knew you had walls too, or as you liked to call them, sandbags, to keep things different. You shared how the weight of the past pulled you down as you dragged around remnants of the pain caused by untrustworthy lovers and friends. You told him you were afraid to love and be loved by him.

To any other person it’d be irrational, simply crazy to open up when they knew how evasive and afraid their partner was of commitment. But Bucky received it as a special invitation to show you just how much you meant to him. If you could be open enough to tell him your truth, he could take it a step further and make you feel safe with his actions.

Because all he wanted was you, any and every version of you.

You’d never anticipated finding a love like this, but ever since that day you were always happy when it rained, it reminded you of how far you both had come in your journey.

As you peacefully munched on your popcorn and moved around to the soft beat, Bucky’s voice broke your reverie.

“What are you doing up, my love?”

Turning around to face him, you smiled as you took in his messy hair and sleepy state; tired eyes with his white shirt askew and gray sweatpants slung low on his waist. Trailing behind him was your equally tired fluffy best friend, Alpine.

You and Bucky adopted him shortly after moving in together; the little guy was brought to the shelter after being found on the side of the road in a box one stormy night. After one look in his bright blue eyes, you both knew that you’d found the newest member of the family. The furball fit in perfectly with you two, and you adored the way he often followed Bucky around, sometimes even perching on his shoulders to stay close to his dad.

Alpine rubbed his whiskers on your legs before mozying over to curl up in his bed in the living room, still close by, but prioritizing his beauty rest too. Bucky lazily wrapped his arms around your waist, before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“I got hungry,” you shrugged, grabbing a couple kernels to pop in your mouth, only to look up and see Bucky’s mouth open and asking for some. You giggled, gently placing a few in his mouth before reaching back and getting more. You snacked and playfully fed him, until you both had your fill.

“Looks like someones really gotten into my kind of music,” he smirked, gesturing towards your phone that was still playing songs on the countertop. You bit your lip, nodding your head. Maybe in the past you’d deny the ways your sweetheart affected you, but those days were long gone. You were all in with him, and there was no point in downplaying it now.

Bucky pulled your hand, gently tugging you away from the counter and towards the middle of the kitchen. He’d do this sometimes, whenever the song was right, whenever the mood struck, he’d spontaneously pull you away for a dance.

In the past, you were reluctant to agree, afraid of making a fool of yourself, but he changed that quickly.

You vividly remembered how he simply held out his hand and asked you to trust him. “I don’t know if you know this, but I was a pretty decent dancer back in my day,” he stated confidently.

You nervously placed a hand in his and the other on his shoulder, mentally preparing yourself for embarrassment, but soon discovering that Bucky sure could dance.

He danced so well, and led you so smoothly, you realized your apprehension was for nothing. In his arms, swinging and turning in time with the music came easily. He guided you so effortlessly, and the joyful look on his face when he did was the most adorable sight. When he danced with you he was carefree, and the way he’d lead you varied each time.

Tonight he’d decided on a slow dance, where he simply held you close, taking his time and spending it focused on you. His sparkling blue gaze held yours, no longer tired, but fully present. You cherished these moments, the way he looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in the world. He’d remind you often that you were.

"Let Me Call You Sweetheart," softly played in the back as Bucky held you tight, swaying to the light ballad. The sound was ever so slightly muffled as rain pounded against the building. You turned to look at the window, clouded by darkness and blurred by the heavy drenching downpour. It triggered a memory, looking back at Bucky, “Do you remember the first day that we met?”

He grinned down at you, gently moving along to the beat. “How could I forget that, my love?”

Smiling softly, “It’s been well over a year,” you shrugged, averting your gaze. Of course he remembered, he always remembered the moments that mattered most. Sometimes your past insecurities creeped up, but he dispelled them just as quickly.

Bucky tilted your chin up so that he could look into your eyes when he let you in on the little secret he’d been holding onto. “I saw this beautiful girl, looking so upset as she hid out from the rain. All I wanted was to make her smile, and maybe get her home safely too.”

Your breath hitched and eyes widened as you took in his words. “You saw me before you came out?”

He nodded his head, “I was sitting in front of the window, you’re the reason I left.”

You halted his movements, forgetting the music still playing. Learning that he came out just for you filled your mind with an influx of emotions, leaving you thunderstruck. “I... I didn’t know that.”

He brushed his thumb along your cheekbone, “Are you upset? Maybe, I should’ve told you sooner. I –”

Shaking your head, your hands found their way to the back of his neck, “No Bucky, I’m surprised,” you grinned softly, starting to sway a bit again. “I guess more than anything, I’m just grateful that you were there that day, I really was upset and I had so many things to do,” you giggled before pecking his lips. “Your assistance led me here, so of course I’m not upset, baby.”

It wasn’t much of a secret, if anything it showed Bucky was sweet on you from the moment he saw you, even in your frazzled state. You didn’t know it was possible to love him more, but he always found ways to amaze you with his deep affection.

Bucky exhaled a breath, shaking his head with a relieved smile. “You know –” his lips brushed over yours. “I never thought I'd have someone to sway with me in the kitchen…” he whispered against your lips. “I'm glad I was wrong,” he mumbled as his lips trailed along your jawline.

“Bucky,” you whispered breathlessly.

“Yes, my love?” he asked, placing feather light kisses under your ear and down your neck.

“I’m glad too,” you redirected his lips to yours, tangling your fingers in his soft brown locks.

The dance was over, but something just as lovely was beginning. Bucky wordlessly scooped you up, carrying you back to the bedroom you shared. There you rode out the storm as you made love, deep and slow, wrapped up tight in each other’s arms.

Rain or shine, you were with Bucky for the long haul – and considering the ring he’d purchased that day, you’d soon know even more than you already did, if that were possible, that he truly was too.

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bowdownbucky · 3 years

Text

𝐁𝐀𝐃, 𝐁𝐀𝐃, 𝐁𝐀𝐃 !

part 2 <3

summary: you have an encounter with your best friend’s brother bucky!

pairing: innocent! reader x college! bucky

warnings: cursing, asshole! steve rogers, kissing, drug use, oral (female receiving) fingering.

your heart began to beat heavily, bucky didn’t care that his sister was outside of the door but you started to feel guilty. this was so wrong of you and you didn’t even want to look at yourself. “you better answer her sweethear, she’s not gonna leave.” bucky taunts you, he hand trails your stomach, groping your breasts hard. “uh-im almost finished, i h-had to ohhh.” you slap you hand over your mouth, bucky smirks as he pinches you nipple again.

“what?” rebecca moved closer to the door. “are you okay? i’m coming in.” your eyes widens, you pushed bucky away and slowly cracked the door. “i’m f-fine, the um…pizza! the pizza went down the wrong hatch.” you lie. rebecca’s face screws up. “ew i did not need to know that y/n” you watch as she walks into her room. you close the door, leaning your head back onto the wooden frame.

you closed your eyes and hoped that this was all a dream, that you didn’t actually kiss your best friends brother. you slowly open your eyes only to meet a pair of blue eyes, bucky laughs at you. “went down the wrong hatch? seriously?” you cross your arms in front of your chest. “well what was i supposed to say, sorry can’t talk now i’m making out with your brother. she’s kill me!” you exclaim, you ran your hands down your face in an irrational manner. this was too much for you and bucky didn’t see anything wrong with it.

“would you chill out? here take a hit, it will make you feel better.” bucky offers the small bud once more, you smack it out of his hand. “do you always solve your problems with weed!” you hiss. his eyes were low, he watched as the joint flew onto the ground. you hitch your breath realizing what you did, you see his tongue rub his lower lip. you almost melt at the sight.

“your gonna regret the doll.” he seethes into your ear. he pushes you against the door, you let out a yelp but he covers your mouth. “i know a way you can make it up to me, and you are gonna make it up to me. you know why baby?” you shake your head. “because you don’t want to get on my bad side. i would hate to ruin that innocence of yours.” he whisperers, he hands managed to find their way to you ass, giving it a light squeeze before letting you go.

you move from the door and he exits the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts. you could barely comprehend what happened let along what he meant by his bad side. you grabbed the nail polish remover and walk back to rebecca room. “finally! you took forever.” you mumble a small sorry and sat on her bed, she lends you her hand and you get to work on her nails, she chose a peach color and wanted you to add a french tip, such a classic.

as you continue painting her nails she squeals making you mess up the curved line. “becca! your nails!” you groan. “i don’t care! why didn’t you tell me?” you tilt your head confusingly. “you and steve hooked up and you didn’t tel me?!” you eyes go wide. “what! no! where did you get that from?” you ask her. she huffs. “no, no, no, no don’t try to act all innocent! you and chris did it and there is evidence on your neck. i rest my case.” you rush off the bed and check your neck, you internally face palm seeing dark purple marks all over your neck.

“i had no idea steve was like that. i guess i have to stop making fun of him now.” she chuckles. “just taking me home my ass! so how was it? was he big? why arent you giving me details.” rebecca whines, kicking her feet in her bed. you ignored her and attempted to kneed out the hickies. as you run the marks you notice bucky staring at you from his room door, you could practically feel his smirk as you watched his reflection go back to his room. you heart raced as you tried to come up with an excuse.

“it’s no big deal i just burnt myself with a straightener.” you curse to yourself knowing she wouldn’t fall for that. “fine don’t tell me! i’m going to sleep, all this secrecy has made me tired.” rebecca yawns, you hoped she wouldn��t ask you about the hickey again because lying was never your forte. you lie in the large bed, clouded in your own thoughts.

did he like you? was he just messing with you? you had so many assumptions of why he kissed you, what bothered you the most was that you had steve. steve was a jock and you were an outcast, you didn’t know how it would work. even though you and steve hadn’t officially said you were together, you still respected him and wanted to be faithful.

the next morning at school, you kept your head down and didn’t talk to anyone for the most part. no one really seems to notice because you were kind of a nobody. you sat in your forensics class, jotting down notes here and there. you stop writing when you feel a hand creep up your thigh. you turn your head toward steve, he kept a straight face and didn’t acknowledge how unamused you were.

“what are you doing?” you whisper. steve’s hand tries to travel up your skirt but you close your legs firmly. “steve!” he turns to you. “we’re in the middle of class.” you point out. “i’m sorry you know i can’t resist you baby. let me make it up to you but taking you out after homecoming.” you hault yourself as you almost roll your eyes at him. steve could be pushy sometimes especially when it came to losing your virginity to him. you hated that rebecca told him that, now he wouldn’t leave you alone.

“oh really.” you say pretending to be intrigued. “the guys and i bought hotel rooms for tonight and we get to bring a special girl along. and you know since your my favorite girl, i thought we could go together and have fun. go swimming, watch movies, kiss, cuddle, the whole nine and maybe some other stuff if you want.” you remove his hand from your thigh and continue writing notes. “i told you steve i’m not ready for that stuff yet.”

steve huffs, returning back to the lesson. your virginity wasn’t something that you kept sacred but you wanted you first time to be meaningful and steve hadn’t even asked you to be his girlfriend yet so your answer would always be no if he asked. when school ended you took the bus home, you quickly packed a bag full of makeup, hair supplies and your clothes for homecoming. you checked the time, almost cursing yourself seeing how you were going to be late to rebecca’s house.

you ran as fast as you could to the barnes’ house, you could practically feel the lecture rebecca was going to give you. luckily, you live a few blocks down from the barnes so it wouldn’t be too long of a walk/run. when you arrived at the barnes’ you quickly rang the doorbell. the door opens’ revealing a shirtless bucky who looked like he just got out of the shower. “can i help you?” he smirks looking down on you.

“becca t-told m-me to come, for homecoming.” you gulped attempting to maintain eye contact. his couldn’t help but peek at his glistened abs, you really hoped he didn’t catch on to you checking him out. before he could let out a snarky comment rebecca came gritting down the stairs with curlers in her hair. “there you are! y/n your late and we only have three hours to get ready.” you pushed pass bucky and ran up the stairs.

bucky watched at how nervous you were, it was like the fuel he ran on. rebecca closed her door and pushes you onto her vanity chair. “please tell me i have creative freedom tonight!” rebecca pleads with her big blue eyes staring at you. you sigh and nod. she kisses your forehead before beginning your makeup.

after a few hours of prodding, poking, blending, and brushing, rebecca finally finished your makeup and hair. normally you wouldn’t wear makeup because you didn’t know how to do it very well but when you did have it on you truly looked like a princess. “now carefully get into your dress y/n, i swear to god if you mess up an eyelash i will kill you.” she threatens you with her high pitched voice. you removed your jeans and shirt revealing your body, you quickly unzipped the dress as you start to compare your body to rebecca’s. becca was tall and slim while you were a little curvy. you had a small tummy with stretchmarks and she had a flat tummy with a slender waist. your best friend was beautiful and you didn’t want to see mom jealous, so you put up a front and delt with it.

you and rebecca were finally dressed, rebecca looked stunning in her white and pink dress. with the help of rebecca and mrs.barnes, you had pick a pale green dress, the curve of the dress fit you like a glove. the creases on the dress made you look more mature and sexier. you were never use to being sexy so the look on your face made rebecca freak out. “you totally hate it, i knew we should’ve gone with the black dress.” you shake your head. “n-no! it looks…great. thank you becks.” the door opens, your heart quickens when you meet a pair of bright eyes. you noticed bucky had put on a shirt, a part of you were bummed out. “would it kill you to knock! we’re girls who need privacy!” rebecca yells. bucky didn’t give his sister the time of day, his eyes were fixated on you. you felt self conscious as he stared at you long and hard. “mom and dad are going to a banquet dinner in manhattan. they won’t be back until tomorrow.” he tells rebecca. she crossed her arms in confusion. “what? no! i was supposed to have the car tonight. how the hell are we supposed to get to hoco?” rebecca flings her arms up dramatically.

bucky chuckles at his sister’s agony. “wait!” you spoke up as bucky was about to walk away. “c-can y-ou drive us?” you ask quietly. rebecca pulled your arm. “are you crazy? do you know what people say if we shows up to homecoming in a pickup truck?” rebecca vocalized. you couldn’t care less what people had to say, you just wanted and excuse to be see bucky. “becca this is important to you and even you said yourself we had to be there under any circumstances.”

rebecca whines. “fine but you’re dropping us off a block away. i need to retouch my hair, you’ve made me stress away the curls.” you watched as she pushes past bucky, leaving the two of you. you stare at him for a second then turn around, attempting to act uninterested. “you know you should skip this whole homecoming thing altogether.” bucky told you. “what! no, this is important to becca and i promised her i’d be there.” you felt his presence behind you, your back was pressed to his front. “come on doll, you never seemed like the type to be into this stuff anyway. i have a few places we could go instead. wouldn’t that be way more fun.” he was baiting you and hell, you were falling for it very hard. he pushed your hair to the side, laying a kiss on your shoulder. his hand cupped your waist, pulling you as close as you could get.

his pressed more kisses up your neck, he liked testing you, he would make you beg for it if you gave him the chance. “c’mom dollface, don’t you wanna have fun with me?” you almost gave him a nod but refrained. “i should go help rebecca, see you in a few james.” you walk away smiling to yourself, you won this round of the game but best believe, bucky was going to win the next level.

you sat in between bucky and rebecca once more, y’all were currently picking up nathan and steve, your dates for the evening. “you look beautiful beck.” nathan smiles at his girlfriend. rebecca left you in the front with bucky so she could kiss her boyfriend more. steve walks to the front car door but bucky locks him out. “hey man, open the door.” steve groans. the two had seem to have history and now you were going to be in between it. “you know the rules big guy, no douches in the front seat.” bucky smirks. “then why are you sitting up here asshole?” steve sarcastically jokes. rebecca huffed from the back, leaning in the front of the seat. “hey dickheads, we don’t have time for this, have your cat fight after hoco. let’s go!” she demands. steve huffs, taking a seat next to the couple who had no problem with pda.

the ride to the school was pretty silent except for the rock music playing from the radio. you stared out of the window, you could tell bucky was mad because of how tight he was holding the steering wheel, his knuckles were almost white from the tight grip. suddenly, his hand was on your thigh. your eyes widened, you quickly look back to make sure no one saw what was happening. “what are you doing?” you whisper. he doesn’t say anything to you, his hand stays on your thigh and his eyes stay on the road but you could still see the smirk on his face. you tried to push his his hand away but he only moves it higher, almost touching your core. you didn’t want to play games anymore, you were never built for them, you open your legs up more, instead of doing what you wanted, he removed his hand. “alright guys, have a good night.” rebecca and nathan were the first ones to leave the truck. steve exits the truck and stands by youre window. “you coming?” you nod to him. “i’ll be out in a second.” steve walks away from the window, bucky bursts out into laughter.

you throw a punch at his arm but he doesn’t flinch at you. “thats not funny! you’re so mean.” you pout. “no what’s funny is you actually going out with steve.” you eye him in confusion. steve was a good guy, he could be a little pushy but that was just high school boys. “he’s nice and he asked me to go with him. i really don’t see what’s funny bucky.”

“you think just because the guy asked you to a dance, he suddenly changes his player ways. i think you forgot i use to be one of those guys. guys like that don’t fal for girls like you” he pauses. “all he wants is to get you under him and then he’s gonna hop to the next willing participant. god you’re so naive.” you crossed your arms. “you’re such a jerk james! at least he has the decency to not play with my feelings! you’re sister was right! you’re nothing but a-an…asshole.” you yell, leaving the truck with a slam of the door. you surprised yourself at how you went off on him, what did he know about steve. you knew being involved with bucky was bad but now you officially got your sign to stay away from him.

you walked into the school looking for steve. you pushed pass people grinding and dancing on each other. when you find steve you see he’s not alone, he was dancing with lila miller. the two were close together, you turn you back in disgust once you catch the two of them share a very tongue-filled kiss. you sit at the table in annoyance. of course bucky would be right about steve, you hated the fact that he was right.

it took an hour and a half for steve to find you sitting at the table, watching everyone have fun. “hey y/n sorry i was waiting for you but then the guys wanted to go take some shots in the bathroom.” steve leans over to kiss your lips but you dodge him. he looks at you with a confused face. “come on let’s go dance.” he offers you his hand, you play with the fork that was covered in strawberry cake. “i’m good, maybe you should go dance with lila instead.” you say. steve sits back down in the chair, he cleared his throat. “you saw that? i didn’t think you’d be mad, it’s not like we’re together or anything.”

you roll your eyes, pushing your plate away from you. you get up and begin walking to the double doors. as you enters the hallways you ignore steve calling your name. “y/n! can you just wait a minute!” he yells, pulling your arm back causing you to hault. “it was just a dance, i was being nice. you can’t just get mad at me like that, i asked you to be my girlfriend more than once and you said no.”

“because all you want from me is sex which is not ready to give to you. you don’t think i hear about you hooking up with girls in the gym closet. i don’t want to be the next dumb girl who becomes a play thing for you.” you snap on him. “oh come on, sex is just sex, why do you make such a bug deal over this?” he groans.

“it’s not just sex steve, i want it to be meaningful and memorable. i’m sorry if i don’t want to hook up in a sleezy hotel.” you yell, your faces were extremely close. “and you think barnes is gonna make it special? god you’re so naive.” you furrow your brows, what did bucky have to do with this situation. “he has nothing to do with this steve! you asked me to come to this dance with you only for you to dance with another girl and make me look dumb sitting there waiting for you. you can’t take your hotel invite and shove it up your ass.” you walk away from steve, this time he didn’t bother calling your name. after he heard you curse at him he knew you guys were not going to work this out

you sit on the stairs of the school, tears slowly slid from your eyes. you felt so stupid and used, you knew steve was right but it still hurt. you two weren’t together and if he wanted to take another girl to the hotel he could because you weren’t together. you cringe at how bucky was right about steve, you wanted to be angry at him but he did warn you.

you decide to head home, walking alone the lonesome streets of brooklynn. you were wet due to the copious amount of rain fall, you shiver once more and continue to walk to your house. you noticed a familiar truck driving beside you. bucky rolls down his window. “get in.” he tells you. you continue walking, deciding to ignore the older boy. “come on doll it’s raining. a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be walking alone.” you couldn’t believe he as trying to flirt with you right now. you were hurt by his words and you were standing your ground, well that was until you heard a loud crack of lightning. you quickly rushed into the truck, slamming the door behind you.

before bucky could speak you began to talk. “just because i’m sitting in here with you, doesn’t mean i forgive you.” you seethed. bucky nods at you. “okay.” you angrily slap his arm. “okay? are you serious right now? how about a sorry for being a jerk!” you yell at him. bucky doesn’t acknowledge you, he starts looking for something in his truck. “god! boys are stupid! all you do is crave sex and hurt girls!” you rant, arms crossed over your chest. once you finished your rant you peek over at bucky holding two blunts. “wanna get high?”

you later found yourself in bucky’s room, high as a kite. you didn’t know what effect he had on you but you gave into his temptation. you sat on his bed, letting him shotgun smoke onto your mouth. “god you’re so hot.” bucky kisses your right shoulder. you softly hum in response, he trails his kisses to your exposed neck. you knew this was wrong on so many level but it felt so right.

“kiss me.” you whisper against him. the drugs in your system had your hormones at an all time high, you needed him to touch you. bucky locks his lips with yours, tongue roaming each other’s mouth in such a sensual way. bucky’s hand roams your body, cupping your breasts then your neck. you moan as he applies pressure to your throat.

he slides down you dress straps, with every kiss and touch you felt your dress being pulled lower and lower. bucky lifts you up on his lap, helping you out of the green champagne dress. you were fully exposed to him, his large hands grope your ass. he slaps the soft skin sending your lower half to grind against his tight jeans. bucky groans, pulling you closer to his bottom half. you felt the jean material rub against your clothes clit, your body shakes at the new feeling. “god you have no idea what you do to me princess.” he moans into your neck. his right hand unhooks your bra, you let the bra fall off of you. bucky eyes your bare chest, his blue eyes darken filling with lust.

he pulls your breast into his mouth, twirling his tongue around your swollen nipple. you grip onto his shirt, when moves your ass back and forth on his pants. “p-please bucky.” you whine, your body was aching for him to touch you. “what do you want doll?” you grab his, guiding him to your clothed cunt. you slip his hand under you, allowing his to grope your pussy. your mouth gapes open when bucky slowly rubs your clit back and forth.

when he notices you like the feeling of him touching you, it sends him into a deep lustful trance. he flips you over, bucky’ dog tags dangle over you. he kisses between your breast, trailing down to your stomach then he comes in contact with your laced white panties.

you can feel his breath on your wet core. he inhales you, moaning as if your cunt was the drug he was addicted to. he removed your panties from your body, bucky’s cock hardens once he caught a look at your pussy, your cunt was glistening from how wet it was, it took everything in bucky not to dive right in. “your so wet for me baby, and i haven’t even touched you yet. your pussy is begging for me to devour it.” bucky taunts. he slips one finger in your folds, your back arches at the finger passes your clit.

“bucky…please. i’ll do anything.” you beg. bucky perks an eyebrow at you. “anything?” you nod vigorously. “you’re going to cum for me three times. understand?” you nod your head. bucky licks a stride up your cunt. he moans at the taste of you. bucky wraps his pink lips around your clit, your legs spread wide as you beg for him to devour you. your back arches more, his hands pin your waist down to keep you steady, you screw your eyes shut as he sucks your clit into his mouth softly.

you moan out in pleasure, letting your hands grip his soft brown hair. you tug on his roots, attempting to push him closer to you. bucky pulls away earring a whine from you, he slips his middle finger into your core. at first his movements were slowly, he was preparing before adding his ring finger. you rode his fingers, moaning as he pumped you. you watch as he spits on your core, watching his saliva mix in with your cunt. you felt your stomach tighten, bucky felt your pussy clench around his fingers, imagining you around his cock.

he wastes no time, diving into your pussy. his tongue rapidly worked your clit, his fingers pumping you at a fast pace. your body was overwhelmed by all the stimulation. “bucky!” you scream at the top of your lungs. you were now grinding against his face, he didn’t tease you anymore, now he was on a mission to give you your orgasm. your legs shake, you cry out for bucky, your toes curled and your back arches to its full extent. bucky slows his movements as you come down from your high.

you collapse on his bed, you shiver as you feel bucky remove his hand from your pussy. you try to catch your breath, bucky hovers over you. “who knew my babydoll had that in you.”

#bucky barnes headcanon #marvel imagines #winter solider imagine #best friend!bucky #bucky barnes drabble #dad! bucky barnes #bucky barnes #avengers endgame #bad boy! bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #college! bucky barnes #bestfriendsbrother! bucky barnes

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h2obased · 2 years

Text

Another Word For Surveillance - Part 9

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. How do you move on? You don't. Notes & Warnings:

DNI if under 18 | Fluff, swearing, canon typical violence, some angst, lotsa pining, sexual content

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Word Count: 4K+

Series Chapters || Masterlist

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Nine

Sometimes there’s a chill, nothing unusual, this being New York after all. Steve’s birthday would come in a few weeks and it would still be too warm to wear anything thicker than a three-year old hoodie, but Bucky welcomed the icy air at night.

He retreated to the balcony, stepping out into the night barefoot, with only sweatpants on, messy hair down because he managed to lose another hair tie. From somewhere in the apartment, Steve wondered aloud if they were finally getting old, because Bucky ventured out half-naked and Steve’s knees registered the drop in the temperature.

Bucky ignored his friend’s rambling. He would stand outside until the chill tickled. It traveled from the center of his forehead, crossing his skull to the base of his neck, making the hair on his arm stand.

His chest tightened. The cold triggered a eerily similar response to being strapped to a chair while a handful of weary strangers, staring down at Bucky with a detached, almost empty look. They had as much life in them as Bucky’s left arm. They entered the room in single file before surrounding him to start the procedure. Adrenaline kicked in. Bucky was ready to fight, without knowing why.

He didn’t remember how long it took to shock a man’s brain into forgetting days and weeks of killing sprees, but Bucky had seen HYDRA footage of the procedure. That’s how he knew spaghetti boiled faster than a mad scientist can fiddle with someone’s memories. His head always felt like an overcooked noodle after the procedure. Mushed.

Bucky remembered the icy pulse that started between his eyes, just behind the sockets, he supposed. How far deep into his skull didn’t matter, it went deep enough to cause short term memory loss didn’t it? The slow pulse grew into a wave washing over his cranium, crashing into the base of his neck, where the head and spine connected.

These days he could summon the sensation with little effort when it was cold enough. He stood in the balcony with clenched fists, hanging on to the feeling as long as possible.

Not because he relished his time as a robot, a wooden puppet on invisible strings, but one that could hurt and bleed. By some strange circumstance, or maybe it’s his body finally forgiving him - the chill that used to trigger his fight or flight response felt the same as the rush he felt when you touched him.

And this time, he didn’t want to escape it.

He sought it out. He sought you out.

So even when he was supposed to be the compound’s designated cranky senior citizen, the sullen new arrival, Steve’s dark shadow - Bucky let you bully him into tasting the rubbery monstrosity called Gummy Bears the day you met. He dressed up for silly work events because you asked him to. He cleaned up the language on his reports because “we get it, Steve’s an overripe grape with a deathwish, but the feds - they don’t appreciate poetry like you and I do.”

You weren’t supposed to make him feel a little light-headed, borderline giddy, whenever you gave him a puzzled smile.

Bucky didn’t do “life goals,” at least not like most people. He was content with not being a prisoner of war.

He can’t remember wanting something so bad that he didn’t know what to do about it and now he found himself in the most fortunate position of liking a person so much, he couldn’t really think straight. It made him bungle opportunities and worse - made you doubt your place at the top of his priorities.

He’s lived long enough to know life wasn’t meant to be black and white. Nothing was guaranteed. But lately he wondered with increasing frequency, maybe - you were it.

It’s a truth lodged in his throat whenever he saw you, and sometimes he could only manage a quiet nod because he’s awe-struck by you, by the gravity of his feelings, and if he could only manage to put these thoughts and feelings into words, maybe he wouldn’t be in so much trouble. And misery.

The tragedy was that the simplest of things are often the hardest to explain.

Bucky exhaled into the night, his breath coming up as silvery clouds before his eyes. The faint whirring sounds from his metal hand comforted him. He looked at the dark sky and wondered if it was better to take the bike instead of a car tonight.

“Steve!” The carpet warmed his feet the second he stepped back in. Bucky slid the balcony doors shut, sensing the cold air vanish instantly. “I’m going out!”

“You’re gonna be late.” Steve looked up from a three by three grid of post-its on the dining room table. He stood over his laptop with crossed arms. “Maybe throw a shirt on too?”

“I’ll take the bike.”

“And I hear shoes do a good job of covering feet,” Steve’s attention returned to his notes. “Still gonna be late,” he mumbled as an afterthought.

“Not if I don’t drive like you,” Bucky hollered over his shoulder, laughing at Steve flipping him off.

The mid-week VA meetings rarely gathered over six people, which was why Bucky preferred going on Wednesdays instead of Saturdays. The large crowds didn’t bother him anymore but the interactions seemed more relaxed with only a few people huddled around him.

Nothing extraordinary happened apart from the majestic nature of the sun rising and setting weeks in a row or maybe he was just more inclined to be forthcoming in warmer weather, but Bucky started opening up about his nightmares after a handful of sessions. He skipped the really scary details (these would be classified information anyway), focusing on feelings and outcomes instead. No one else would have a story about waking up with a Soviet Union-era metal arm, but fighting cold sweats, becoming short tempered, and lashing out at the people who least deserve it because fear and anger had to go somewhere - that was a fairly common experience not only with vets but people in general, Bucky discovered.

But mostly, he liked listening. Sandy once suffered a panic attack in the middle of his eight-year old’s ballet recital. PJ decided to learn Farsi. Eddie Elbow dreaded his upcoming surgery, his third this year.

As for Bucky - he used to have really bad dreams.

About botched surgeries. Attaching the metal prosthetic took multiple operations by doctors who didn’t necessarily have experience soldering metal into flesh.

About feeling someone’s pulse racing before plummeting into a half-beat against his thumb and in his dreams the Winter Soldier never let go until that half-beat lulls into nothing. When the Soldier finally released the neck, the body folded onto the floor without ceremony, and never neatly.

He got used to these dreams over time.

Then he met someone amazing. Of course his nightmares became rare but worse. Bucky woke with a bitter gut, like he had a hole in his stomach. He’s had a few of those, but once he reached the hospital, internal bleeding was someone else’s problem. When he dreamt about feral HYDRA agents locking you up in a bunker overseas, Bucky carried the toxic fear around until he’s ready to let it go.

And in his dreams he always seemed powerless to save you.

Bucky’s acid reflux only got worse.

The VA gang wasn’t troubled by this. Eddie Elbow said everyone had nightmares involving friends and family. He kept his eyes on his wonky limb as he spoke. “You worry about someone. Congratulations for being a decent human being.”

The group grunted in agreement.

Bucky was never going to be a smooth talker - not now, not after a hundred of these meetings - but he was learning how a three-minute anecdote about having to leave the house for the first time in days because the milk had gone bad was part of the healing process.

It’s not about the action, Sam told him. Action and follow through are important. But so is introspection and sharing. “You’re not a machine. We just like calling you Cyborg Man.”

So Bucky talked when he felt like it. And he listened in solidarity.

The evening group session concluded, and he enjoyed the brisk walk around the back of the building, thankful for the crisp air. His nose felt the chill as he tugged on his sleeves.

Your name flashed on the screen seconds after he took his phone off airplane mode and Bucky swiped before he remembered that texting back within seconds was needy.

Haha didn’t quite convey the pitter-pattering in his chest but Bucky replied to the cat meme anyway.

Since your teary-eyed confession the night he sneaked out of the hospital, Bucky knew he had to work against the clock. Not because you could suddenly just decide to walk away, or that you could run into someone who was slightly more capable of telling you things like, you smelled nice (Bucky’s favorite scents rolled into one person, and when you rest your head against him, he could breathe you in and nothing else mattered that moment.)

He had to move fast because you didn’t deserve it. The self-doubt. The sorrow. The loneliness, maybe, that came with Bucky’s half-assed excuses.

It’s not like he wasn’t sure about his feelings for you. He risked infection, not to mention Steve’s wrath when he walked out of a secure hospital wing and dragged his semi-drugged self to your apartment just to see you.

You were his entire guest list. He scrawled your name on a form quickly, before he lost his nerve, and handed it back to the security personnel arranging access to their residence. You could come to his room at night without setting off Stark’s million-dollar security system and set Bucky’s books on fire.

(He also had opinions about better things for you to do if you ever decided you wanted to slip into his room.)

Yeah, he was serious about you. Winter Soldier dead serious, and even Steve wasn’t going to laugh at that analogy.

Making you believe this without a shred of doubt was Bucky’s mission.

Importing limited screen edition chocolate from halfway around the world was child’s play. He saw your browser from across the table during a meeting and it only took him one call to find someone who can ship a month’s supply to New York.

A couple of days ago, he convinced Sam, Wanda, and Scott to join the business contingency exercise you were running this year before you even had to request help to round up volunteers.

“Sam’s not pulling my leg right?” You doubled-back when you ran into Bucky outside the office. He was on his way out, and you followed him to the sidewalk.

“Pardon me?” He scratched his head for effect.

“Remember the thing I was doing, the BCP drill for staff? You have to practically pay people to do it but slots filled up after Sam and Wanda signed up.” You tapped his left forearm and even the Vibranium sensors knew how much of a thrill that was. “Hey - you want to volunteer too?”

“Uh, it’s probably not my thing.” He replied slowly. “The talking to people, you know. So I-“ Bucky shook his head.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t just reveal he got his friends to help you. God forbid it made Bucky sound like a nice guy. Someone who cared. Deeply. Probably too much for his own good. About you.

“There has to be something else I can help with,” he recovered quickly.

When your face brightened up, he knew he was about to be roped into doing you a favor. “We could get coffee and donuts for the volunteers?”

Bucky was pretty sure Steve needed him to comb through a stack of files and hours of footage that weekend. “You got it.”

“Perfect.” You reached for his jacket sleeve and swung it back and forth absent-mindedly.

Bucky couldn’t bring himself to look away from your joyful eyes, or mention that this was an outright breach of the no-contact rule - you haven’t spoken about it for days but he assumed it was still very much in effect.

He was late for a meeting with Stark, but he’d endure an entire afternoon of snide remarks about punctuality for a few more minutes of this, standing next to you, wearing a goofy grin because you looked at him like nothing else existed.

He was crest-fallen when you dropped his arm though.

“It was you.” Realization settled on your face, Bucky felt somewhat smug about being able to read your expressions.

He raised his brows.

“You bribed Sam to volunteer.”

“I can’t make that man do anything he doesn’t want to.”

You crossed your arms but the curl around your lips was encouraging. “You’re up to something.”

Bucky exhaled. “Am I?” He crossed his arms, mimicking your position.

You shifted your gaze back to his face, determined not to be distracted. You cleared your throat. “That doesn’t- I don’t- Bucky…” Your voice trailed as you thought you lost control of the situation.

“Hmmm?” He took a couple of steps back, giving you another nod before turning around.

“Nothing!” You replied as he began to walk away.

Bucky chuckled. You’d demand a straight answer from him when you were ready and able to believe he was not going anywhere. Until then, he’d happily wait and do the things that left you momentarily speechless or mutter “You didn’t have to Bucky.” The smile you fought to contain told him he absolutely would be doing these small gestures for you again and again.

Things were going well to a large extent but Bucky was all too aware about the parts of him that were not as ecstatic about your renewed friendship characterized by emotional vulnerability from a distance of too damn far for a kiss.

Sam called it Bucky’s Labors, not because he studied English literature in college but because he had better manners than Steve who called the distinct lack of action Bucky’s Blue Balls.

Bucky wasn’t going to admit his suffering, but all this time apart - physically - only seemed to make him more attuned to your presence.

Just the other day, he instinctively turned to the grassy area on the way to the hangars.

“Who’s that?” Sam squinted across the field. He clocked the pout Bucky thought he was not doing.

The running path connecting Grids 3 and 4 offered a view of your favorite bench. You paced around it, gesturing wildly, phone on one hand, bowl of Skittles on the other.

Sam stopped walking and glanced at Bucky. “Are we coming ‘round to say hi?”

“No.” Bucky was being petulant, he’d admit to that. He could practically hear you start to speak, edit your thoughts mid-sentence, and keep rambling until you figured out what you wanted to say to whoever it was on the other line.

He watched you from the other side of the field torn between taking up Sam’s suggestion and Bucky’s wounded ego.

Why weren’t your senses telling you that Bucky, the love of your life, or so he hoped, stood right here?

“No.” He repeated more for his benefit than Sam’s.

“Man are you two still pretending the other idiot has playground cooties?”

Bucky wasn’t even going to acknowledge that.

It’s been over a month since you returned from DC and since then Bucky had been in such physical agony, he couldn’t even remember who thought keeping a respectable distance from each other would be a good idea.

It amused both of you for a few days - having to sit across each other during meetings and making sure you were never alone with each other. Not in a meeting room. Not in an elevator. Not even in the hallway. Bucky couldn’t even completely guarantee he won’t make a move if he found you alone in the parking lot at high noon.

Technically he could give you a hug but then he’d want to kiss the top of your head, and it drove him crazy because you cooed into him, right on his collarbone, a sound so hushed and muffled maybe you weren’t even aware you did it, but it happened often enough in the past for Bucky to be quite certain you liked forehead kisses very much.

And he was happy to oblige. Always. Except he couldn't stop at the forehead. He would not.

Which brought him to this. No kissing. No touching. These were rules he must follow. Rules he had to abide by if he wanted to keep his promise to you.

Bucky was dying and this was worse than when he got shot all those 78 other times. And he didn’t just need the release - as a male of his species in peak physical condition, he had no trouble dealing with base urges in the privacy of the apartment or during a hot shower at the gym.

He felt empty and his dick hated him.

But when you gave him a lingering, intrigued look whenever he did something for you or generally made an effort at work, that made you smile and it was all he needed to survive and keep going.

There was that time he swung by your desk to let you know he’s going on a two-day mission to the Mediterranean. He didn’t mean to sound like he needed your permission to go, but as previously established, he was never going on another op again if things weren’t fine between the two of you - anyway, his focus is sharper when he can picture you peering up at him with mischievous eyes that he’d like to think was only for him.

Bucky cleared his throat. He promised to text you while he was away. You gave him assorted bite-sized chocolate snacks in a zip lock baggie the next day.

Steve made quick work of the candy but your cheerful albeit lopsided grin as you waved Bucky away with his bag of sweets stayed with him. It kept him warm in the Quinjet and it kept him cool when he was tempted to drive his fist through someone’s face.

He texted you up until the crew had to go radio silent and by the time he could message again, Bucky had a dozen of photos and messages to send you.

He assumed he’d run out of things to tell you eventually. He didn’t. There was always something suspicious happening in Florida and Steve would predictably get into trouble for being himself. Now and then Bucky had a nightmare. He spared you the details but you would ask a second time - never more than that - with a patient look, and he found himself telling you anyway. Broad strokes - you didn’t need minute details. You just wanted him to get it off his chest.

It’s fascinating, this perpetual mental hard on for you. Bucky was dying and feeling very much alive at the same time.

Admittedly he may have been thinking with Not His Brain when he tailed you to the First Resort one evening. Forty-two days since he brought the new screen to your apartment and left with his brain congratulating him for heading out the moment things became a little too intense, and his lower half threatening to kick his ass for heading out the moment things became a little too intense.

He would never stalk you. Not like this. But when he ran into you at work - Bucky had to grab you by the arms to stop you from slamming into him, much as he’d love that - you only blinked at him like you didn’t recall that Bucky knew where to touch if he wanted your absolute full cooperation.

That would not do. Bucky casually glanced at the stretch of hallway behind you, in case of any masked assassins in pursuit. “What’s the rush Sweets?”

More blinking. A few more seconds, and then the color returned to your cheeks, the happy tiny smile reserved for Bucky appeared.

“What happened to the no-touching rule?”

Answering a question with a question. Now that’s classic Sweets. His Sweets. Maybe.

He raised both hands in surrender. It didn’t seem like the best time to make idle chat, not while Claire openly watched from twenty feet away. Bucky never had a lot of willpower when it came to physical contact with you. “Can I shoot whoever came up with that? Just on the foot.”

Your laughter was music.

“I’m serious.”

“Surely not about shooting yourself on the foot.”

“I’m serious,” Bucky insisted.

You both knew it wasn’t about anybody’s foot. A frown replaced the amused twinkle and your mind was off to another universe again and Bucky did not presume he could follow.

He exhaled slowly. “You ok?” There was a wayward strand on your forehead he warned himself to ignore.

You nodded but your gaze was already on Claire. “I have to ah - CC’s evil eye is like - so I should… but I’ll come find you? We’re probably due one of those talks huh?” Your eyes flicked back to Bucky and when your knuckle grazed his sleeve, Bucky’s heart stopped. At that moment you were back with him.

He gulped and nodded once.

With smiling eyes, you turned and walked over to your friend.

“You ok?” He asked again. You weren’t the only one who got to ask a second time.

You gave him a thumbs up instead.

He watched Claire guide you back to your seat. How was he not going to be interested in whatever it was you didn’t want to tell him?

So yeah. He got on the bike and followed you to the bar when he caught you leaving the building alone half an hour after running into each other.

You took your usual seat by the window, right by the neon lights that would always remind him about his biggest regret - choking the first time you asked him out. You spun the bottle clockwise instead of drinking from it. Bucky waited to see if you were meeting someone but after a while, he got bored of watching you stare through your beer.

He entered from the back of the bar, making a mental note to talk to Happy about the ease with which he was able to breeze through the staff entrance.

“Hi.”

You looked up with wide eyes. “Uh - hey.” Then you gave him that smile. The one meant for him. “So you-“

“I followed you, yeah.” Bucky looked around the bar. “Are you expecting company?”

“Not really.”

The knot in his shoulders relaxed. “Can I - can I sit?”

You gave him a funny look. “You gonna buy me a beer Buck? Doesn’t that violate Chapter Four Section Three of the Field Surveillance Handbook? What’s the book called?”

Bucky wanted to wipe the sarcasm off your face using his face. “You don’t seem to want beer right now.” He nodded at your barely touched drink. “And you’re not under surv-“

“You just admitted you followed me here.”

“Can’t a guy walk into a bar and pretend to run into you?”

You drummed your fingers. After a few seconds, you took a long drink, never taking your eyes off him.

Bucky was transfixed.

“Not James Barnes, no,” you replied, setting the bottle down to punctuate your statement.

“No?” He raised a brow. Bucky thought about how he had all the time in the world to rehearse what to say before slipping in through the back of the bar and plopping himself across you like your entire non-relationship with him did not start with him refusing to get a beer with you.

Now he couldn’t quite figure out how to inform you that yes, he ditched a security briefing with a four-star general because he wanted to know if you were ok.

And he missed you.

And he liked you. Fucking idiot.

You finished your beer without breaking eye contact. In the back of his mind, Bucky knew this silly back and forth only fanned flames and what he should be doing was keep things steady, and give you as much time you needed to come around and see he wasn’t playing around.

“Let me get the next round.” He slipped out of the booth before you could protest.

Your mood seemed to improve by the time he returned with a couple of beers. You asked about his day and why the Grid 2 fields were overrun with weeds. Bucky launched into the details of the larger blade he installed on the mower and how he convinced the landscaping team to leave the grass alone for a couple of weeks so he could test the design.

”You stopped making sense at… three-blade motor… something.” Your expression was deadpan but you continued to ask about the prototype.

He asked about your childhood, fishing for happy memories and watching your eyes darken momentarily at the thought of your brother, before lighting up as you recalled childhood pranks and family trips that made you think fondly of road trips and the smell of sunscreen and saltwater.

Two rounds became three, and quickly four after you knocked over your bottle while laughing at Bucky’s terribly accurate Steve Rogers impersonation. Whatever it was that had you worried, Bucky could tell from the carefree toss of your hair and how you angled your body toward him the entire time, you had set it aside to focus on the present.

You nudged the empty bottle to the middle of the table. “It’s late.”

Bucky nodded. He finished his beer and set the bottle down, almost clinking against yours, but not quite.

Both of you remained seated.

He hummed over the gentle clicking of his metal wrist. You watched him flex his arm and then blushed when he caught you staring with unabashed interest.

“I know where we can grab a decent slice at this hour.” The words tumbled out. Bucky held his breath.

From his peripheral view, he saw you lean closer to him. “Yeah?”

Your curious tone encouraged him. “You can’t tell anyone else.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, daring you to come with him, to make the night last a little longer.

He stood up without waiting for your reply, more out of jitters than confidence. Is it working, he wondered.

Or has the past few weeks been for nothing?

Bucky didn’t get a response but he heard you scramble out of the booth and in a couple of seconds you were right behind him. He felt the movement from a foot away, your boots creating a muffled squeak.

Hope stirred in his core.

Find the other parts here.

Masterlist

Taglist

@enchantedbarnes; @justab-eautifulmess; @eclecticwitchtrash; @uther-pendragon-is-an-ass; @hawsx3; @anth0ny-stark; @ghostpepper21; @kawaii-origime

#BUCKY BARNES X READER #BUCKY BARNES X YOU #BUCKY BARNES IMAGINE #BUCKY BARNES X Y/N #H2OBASEDFICS #BUCKY BARNES FANFICTION #ANOTHER WORD FOR SURVEILLANCE #BUCKY BARNES #BUCKY BARNES FIC #MARVEL FIC #MCU FIC

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cat-induced-fever-dream · 3 years

Text

Acquaintances

Pairing: Wanda x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Description: Wanda meets someone who doesn’t treat her like a villain, but she doesn’t know who you really are.

Notes: I promise it’s fluff and not a trap. Also sorry about my hiatus, I’m just super unmotivated to do anything. So here’s my feeble offering to try and get back into writing.

- - -

Wanda groaned at the sight of a man with a camera. All she wanted was to pop down to the shops, buy some paprika, but alas, even a shopping trip was gold for the paparazzi. Maybe if she hid behind an aisle he would leave. But she heard the door open behind her. Ducking quickly behind a stack of tuna cans, she scanned the rows for the precious package.

She knew she wasn’t the favourite of the public, and the guilt of what she’d done ate her alive every night, but she was sick of being blamed. All she did was try her best, but this was the kind of thanks she got.

She frowned a little when she saw the man round the corner. She steeled herself, not wanting the tears to spring to her eyes. Turning around to face him, she- There was a person talking to him. You had a shopping bag in your hand, so you must have been another customer. Dressed smartly with a blazer, but paired with jeans and sneakers, you looked friendly, but the cold look you gave the man said otherwise. You exchanged words quietly with the reporter, and he seemed to refuse you, turning back to look at her. Realising that this was the perfect stall to get out of the store, she resumed her search. Cumin, Ginger, Paprika! Quickly glancing back to see how long she had, she saw you hand the man a business card as he hurriedly shuffled away.

“Sorry about that,” you turned to her, looking genuinely apologetic.

“Why?” she asked, it coming out harsher than she meant for it to. “It wasn’t even your fault.”

You shrugged. “You don’t deserve it.”

Wanda frowned again at this. She didn’t even know you, but you helped her out, so the least she could do was be polite. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you smiled. The two of you started to walk towards to counter. More like she did and you kind of happened to as well. “What are you cooking with the paprika?”

Sliding the bag to the cashier, she turned to face you properly. “I was making a traditional Sokovian dish.”

“I’m a big fan of trying different cuisines,” you replied, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “That sounds delicious.”

Wanda’s not really sure why you’re trying to make conversation, but you didn’t seem to have an agenda, so she indulged you with a response as the two of you walked out of the store. “It is, my mum always had the best recipe.”

“Ah well, my parents weren’t around much, so I can’t say the same,” you laughed, throwing your shopping in the back of what must have been your car.

Wanda hadn’t even realised she had walked with you to your car. That was embarrassing. “Well, it was nice to meet you, but I should be going now,” backing away as quickly as she could without making a fool of herself.

“Wait,” you called, “do you need a lift back?”

“You’re a stranger.”

“Well I know your name is Wanda,” you grinned cheekily, opening the passenger door. “And my name is Y/N. Guess we’re not strangers anymore. So, what do you say? It’s the least I could do, with that man bothering you.”

She’s not sure what compelled her to agree, but she found herself sitting in a plush leather seat as you adjusted the rear view mirror. Tapping the dashboard screen, you pulled up a map to Avengers Tower and backed out of the parking lot.

You didn’t seem to mind that she didn’t make conversation, bopping your head gently to whatever pop song was on the radio. Instead she spent the time trying to figure out who you were and why you were being so nice. “It’s rude to stare, you know?” you winked at her.

Wanda felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “Wha- No, sorry,” she mumbled. She’d done it again, made herself look dumb. You giggle, returning your eyes to the road. Trying not to stare at you this time, she observed the fancy watch adorning your wrist, and the sleek interior of the car. You must be a businesswoman of some sort, since this clearly wasn’t your average suburban car. But you were wearing jeans. Maybe a lower level employee than?

She sat there musing, until the door suddenly opened. “We’re here,” you smiled, gesturing at the grand tower that was now her home.

Why couldn’t she stop being so awkward? This was the third time. Unbuckling the seatbelt, she stumbled out, clutching the paprika to her chest. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime, Wanda.” And with a small wave, you hopped back into your car and drove off.

- - -

Heading straight to her room, Wanda abandoned her plans for paprikash. The whole interaction was quite frankly, baffling. No one was ever nice to her, except for the Avengers. But you clearly knew who she was, driving her back to the tower without an address. Tossing her jacket on her bed, she sighed. It’s not like she’d ever see you again. That’s when she noticed the card peeking out from the pocket. There was a phone number printed neatly on it, and a cursive scrawl underneath. “I am actually interested in the dish though. Could I have the name of it?”

She hadn’t exactly interacted with anyone else, so it must’ve been you. Running her thumb over the ink, she was hit with a renewed sense of energy. Grabbing the paprika, she dashed back down the stairs.

- - -

You’re spinning around in your office chair when your phone goes off. Clicking on the message, a small smile makes its way into your face.

Unknown Number: this is the dish i was talking about

Unknown Number: *image*

Unknown Number: it’s paprikash

- - -

“Hey Wanda,” Tony called, a carefully wrapped package in his arms, “this came for you.”

One look at the scarlet wrapping paper, and she knew who it was from. “Thanks Tony,” she said, grabbing it and running to her room.

Setting the package gently on her bed, she untied the ribbon and unfolded the wrapping paper. Nestled in the middle, a box of cookies.

She grinned to herself. Wanda’s been texting you for a couple of months now, and now she could really say that you’re not strangers. She knows that you can’t cook, but you can bake. You’re a businesswoman “of sorts” you say, and that you’re a pretty busy person. But regardless, you hang out with her, chilling in the local coffee shop, going shopping, even just a stroll around the park. She also knows that this happiness she gets when she sees you is definitely not platonic.

Opening the lid, the chocolate aroma wafts into her room. Her favourite of your baked goods. There’s a note tucked into the side of the box, and she delicately pulls it out. “Be my girlfriend?” she read, the handwriting obviously yours. Wait. Be my girlfriend? She sat there dumbly for a couple of seconds before it hit her. You’re asking her to be your girlfriend. Wanda scrambled for her phone, snapping a picture to send to you.

Y/N: those cookies look delicious, who sent them?

The witch rolled eyes at your antics, but played along.

Wanda: idk, but i just got asked out

Y/N: whoaaaa, did you say yes?

Wanda: yes you dumbass

Y/N: okay, under other circumstances that would’ve hurt, but i’m too excited to care right now <3

Wanda: ...

Wanda: did you try to bribe me with cookies?

Y/N: it worked, didn’t it?

Wanda: i can’t believe i actually like you

Y/N: honestly, me too

Y/N: sorry it’s a busy day, but you wanna come over for dinner?

Wanda: sounds good <3

Y/N: i’ll come pick you up, see you then girlfriend

She didn’t want bugs in her room, so Wanda grabbed the box to put in her kitchen cupboard. Balancing a cookie in her mouth, she was about to close the lid, when a hand pinched one. Eyes immediately glowing red, she locked onto Sam as he backed away, half eaten cookie and hands up in surrender.

“Do that again and I will give you nightmares.”

The Falcon whistled lowly. “Okay. Protective over cookies. Got it.”

“There’s cookies?” Bucky asked, strolling in.

“No.”

“Oh okay.”

- - -

The heroes were sprawled on the couches playing a game of UNO when Wanda came down the stairs.

“What are you doing with that hoodie?” Tony asked sharply.

Wanda furrowed her eyebrows. “This.. hoodie?” she replied, tugging on the drawstrings of the soft item of company clothing she was wearing.

“Yes! That’s my enemy’s!”

She didn’t really want to get into whatever nonsense the genius was spouting again. “My friend lent it to me.”

“You have friends?” joked Sam.

Steve gave the man a warning look. “It’s good that you’re adjusting to life here.”

“I think the important question here,” Natasha said from her spot, “is where are you going?”

“Dinner,” she replied, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. She tried to fight the silly smile that crept into her face whenever she thought about you, but she mustn’t have hid it well enough, since the red headed spy gave her a sickeningly sweet smile.

I hate you, she projected.

Nat winked back.

“Based on the way Miss Maximoff keeps anxiously glancing at the door, there is likely to be someone waiting for her,” Vision piped up. “I have searched the Internet databases, and from what I have gathered, your casual outfit means that you are going with someone you are familiar with. The sharing of clothes is usually reserved for close friends or romantic partners only.”

Of course the android had to get involved.

“Your heart rate seems to be speeding up Miss Maximoff. Are you okay?”

“Wanda Maximoff,” Tony asked slowly, “do you have a boyfriend?”

That’s when all hell broke loose.

“Who is he?”

“Is he hot?”

“Where did you meet?”

“How did you even get a boyfriend?”

“Can we meet him?”

“What-“

“Okay,” she groaned. Well it was bound to happen eventually. She just wished she could’ve gotten even a few months without the teasing. “I have a girlfriend, yes she’s hot, yes I’m going to have dinner with her, and I’ll ask about meeting. I’m going to go now.” With that, she stepped into the elevator.

“Don’t think this conversation is over witchy,” called Tony, as the doors slid shut.

- - -

“Hey,” you smiled as she slid into the car. “What took you so long?”

“The Avengers found out.”

You chuckled at that. “What, did they interrogate you or something?”

“Something like that.” She paused. “They want to meet you.”

“Are you sure?”

“They’re my family, and they’ll love you as much as I do.”

“Cute,” you grinned, “but I don’t know about Tony.”

“Trust me, they’re a mess a lot of the time, but they’re good people.”

You checked through your phone. “I haven’t got anything on around lunch tomorrow. I can come by then, how does that sound?”

“So you’ll come?”

“Anything for my girlfriend.”

- - -

Her green eyes locked onto you amongst the bustle of suits in the lobby.

“Hey.”

You adjusted the grey fabric of your pantsuit. “Hey yourself.”

“Did you wear the suit to impress me?” Wanda asked, delicately tugging on your tie.

“Actually, I’ve got a meeting with the investors later. Gotta make an impression, you know?”

“Well consider me impressed,” she whispered against your ear.

Blushing, you allowed Wanda to lead you to the elevator.

- - -

Clint wasn’t sure what to expect with you. But if Wanda liked you, you were sure to be one of the good sorts. So maybe like a cute girl she met at the cafe or something. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting the confident girl dressed in a suit to step out of the elevator.

All of them were lined up in the common room and he’s pretty sure any normal person would have been intimidated by the sheer amount of Avengers in front of them, but you stepped up to them absolutely unfazed.

“Mr Rogers,” you offered your hand to shake, “a pleasure to meet you.”

Steve was expecting to have to take the lead with introductions, but here you seemed to be handling yourself fine. “Likewise.”

“Is Mr Stark here today?” you asked him.

“He’s a bit busy at the mo-“

Clattering and a string of curses interrupted him. And of course, the man himself stepped into the room, Iron Man debris in his wake.

“Tony,” Steve scolded.

“What? Did you think I’d miss meeting the girl who stole the heart of our cold antisocial emo?”

Wanda tossed a couch pillow at him, but he brushed it off.

“Tony Stark,” he declared.

You shook his hand politely. “I know who you are Mr Stark.”

“And you are...?”

“Y/N L/N.”

The genius might have been singed from his armour, but the moment that name fell from your lips, he yanked his hand away, as if he was burned.

“L/N. As in L/N Corporations?”

“That’s me.”

Abruptly he turned to Wanda. “Do you know who this is?” he hissed. “The greatest rival to Stark Industries. I thought you were introducing your girlfriend.”

You gave him a winning smile. “I am her girlfriend Mr Stark. And you may have made me your rival, but I can assure you that you are not mine.”

Sam snorted.

“What are you doing here then? Are you here to try and steal data? You can’t...”

You paid him no mind as you winked at Sam. Spotting the metal arm, your eyes widened. “You must be Bucky, right? Princess Shuri told me she’d been working on some vibranium projects. I’d love to take a closer look some other day if you don’t mind?”

“How do you know Shuri?” Stark spluttered.

“You think that she only talks to rich boys who need her help? Sorry to burst your bubble.”

Nat couldn’t help but smirk at this.

“Oh and I’ve actually been working on some prototype Widow Bites as a bit of a free time project,” you added. “If you’re interested, your opinion on usage would really help me to refine them.”

“Of course.”

“Traitor,” Tony glared.

It’s at this point your phone began to ring. Glancing down, you offered a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I’ve really got to take this.” You turned to face the wall as your friendly tone turned professional.

The Avengers huddled together as your call went on.

“Is she using you for information?” Tony scowled.

Wanda scowled back. “She’s my girlfriend Stark. Not everything is about you.”

He looked as if he was going to say more, but Steve interrupted.

“Look Tony, she seemed like a perfectly lovely girl.”

“Yeah I like her,” added Sam. “She can keep your ego in check.”

“If Wanda likes her, I’m fine with it too.” Clint said.

Wanda gave him a thankful look.

A cough came awkwardly behind them.

“I really hate to cut this short everyone, but something’s come up back at the office. Investors are a pain.”

“Yeah go on back to your investors then,” spat Tony.

“Wow” you drawled, heading back to the elevator, “is the rich card the only thing you can play Stark?”

The light on the wall indicated that the cab had arrived, and you stepped inside the carriage which would take you back down, as Peter stepped out.

“Oh hey Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I was just leaving Pete, but swing by later, alright?”

“You know it.”

“Oh and I heard you liked the hoodie I gave Wanda, Mr Stark,” you called. “I can grab you one as well, since it’s my company. But I really do gotta run now. Nice to meet you all!” The metal doors slid shut on your grinning face.

There was a silence, before Tony turned on his protégée. “How the hell are you on a first name business with her?”

“We’re friends?” Peter offered.

“Friends?”

“She went to college with me. She was super smart and we hung out and stuff. You know, what friends usually do.”

Squirming under his mentor’s gaze, he continued. “She was too smart for college though, so she dropped out and started her company. It didn’t mean we stopped being friends though.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Underoos?”

“She figured you might overreact, especially with the web sho-“ The boy’s eyes widened, and he made a mad dash for the stairs.

But Tony grabbed his wrist. “What were you saying?”

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “She helped me out with my web shooters in college, and since then, she’s been developing them with me.”

“What?”

“She knows I’m Spider-Man and I work with her on my tech,” he said slowly.

The man surveyed his teammates, making deliberate eye contact with each and every one of them. “Traitors, the lot of you,” he huffed.

“I mean you gotta admit it,” laughed Sam. “She’s college age, and built an empire to rival you. Not to mention that she’s pretty, smart, has better PR and actual time management skills-“

“Okay I get it,” the genius cut him off.

“Don’t be upset,” Clint smirked, “you can’t lose if you’re not her competition.”

Tony stomped off.

“Don’t worry about him, he’ll come around,” Steve said gently, nodding at Wanda who was fiddling anxiously with her rings.

“She was cool,” added Nat. “Tony can be a pain in the ass, but he knows she’s a good person.”

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

<3: i’d say that went pretty well

Wanda: cannot believe you didn’t tell me

<3: i’m really sorry babe, please don’t hate me

Wanda: i could never

<3: just didn’t want him to stop you from fraternising with the enemy or whatever

Wanda: i’d break the rules for you any day

<3: how romantic

<3: so miss rebel, you coming over tonight?

Wanda: depends if you’re still wearing the suit

<3: anything for you ;)

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch #marvel #mcu

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highdramas · 4 years

Note

headcannon for Bucky being jealous

bucky barnes hates bars. he complains about the loud music and asks how you can hear anything over the sound of everyone else talking. you all too fondly call him an old man and press your lips to his stubbly cheek.

a loud bar, he could handle. for you, he would deal with it. but it was what came later that really did it for him.

bucky knows that you are a naturally charming person. hell, he likes to think that he can resist charm, but even he wasn’t immune to your powers. so he’s not sure why the way that the bartender looks at you sinks so deeply into his skin. the bartender is a kid, in bucky’s eyes-- no older than twenty five and looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. you’re thinking nothing of it, obviously-- he always teases you about that.

the thing about bucky is that he sits in his jealousy quietly, until he is pushed to do otherwise. he will shrink in on himself, he will sip on his beer and lean his forearms on the bar top and watch as you talk to him and honestly, he doesn’t even blame the kid. if he was twenty five and looking at you washed in purple light for the first time, he’d fall in love with you, too. he’d fall in love with you under any circumstances.

but when he finally leans in and bucky can tell, he can just tell what’s coming-- he clears his throat. he finally puts his arm around you and he gets this little smirk on his face, will all of the confidence in the world. “look, kid,” bucky’s voice comes out low and raspy, and your eyes widen as you look over at him and he swears that there is a hint of lust in your eyes. “move along already.”

and that’s exactly what he does. he scrambles and he stumbles on his words, he apologizes and then he’s gone. and then you turn and you’re looking at bucky as if he is the one who hung the stars in your sky. “you are insufferable,” you murmur, but your smile deceives you.

bucky shrugs his shoulders. he pulls you in closer. “i didn’t do shit.”

the sound of your laughter sends chills up his arms, and he tilts his head to the side and looks at you with an adoration that sits deep in your belly. “he was being friendly.”

a large hand presses to your thigh. a large hand made entirely of vibranium. “i can be friendly too, doll. real friendly.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #thanks for sending this!!#drabble #my writing #Anonymous

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babygirl-diaz · 3 years

Text

Samtember 23: Happy Birthday

2193 Words | Rated G | For @samwilsonfest

Sam felt like he was missing something when he woke up this morning. But he shrugged it off, thinking that if it was important, it would come to him eventually. So he went on his usual run, came back home to shower, make himself coffee before heading out to the base to train Joaquin. All the while, he kept getting the sense that he was forgetting something important.

As he flew up in the air with Joaquin behind him, he heard the younger man's voice in his ear...

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Sam. Happy birthday to you," he sang. "Sam, get to the ground, I want to show you something."

"Show me what?" Sam asked.

"Can't tell you, man. It's a surprise."

Sam rolled his eyes behind his goggles and dove towards the ground. When he got to his feet, he looked around and found a couple of guys from the air force standing around, looking up at the sky. Curious, Sam looked up too, and his eyes widened. Joaquin had written "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAM," in the sky.

"Happy birthday, Sam."

"Happy birthday, Cap."

The air force guys wished him.

When Joaquin got back to the ground, he gave Sam a broad smile and pulled him into a hug, much to Sam's surprise. "Happy birthday, Cap!"

"Thanks, man," Sam awkwardly pat him on the back.

"Wanna get lunch? My treat," said Joaquin.

Sam contemplated the offer. He didn't have to do anything for the rest of the day and he was far from home, so it would be nice not to spend his birthday alone.

"Okay."

They ended up at a bar, although it was only 1 PM. After a cheeseburger, a couple of beers, and a great conversation with Joaquin, Sam was a happy camper. Once they finished lunch, Joaquin headed to the bathroom, giving Sam time to finally look at his phone.

"Shit," he hissed when he realized he had 20 missed calls from Sarah as well as 5 messages asking him to call her back.

Figuring that Sarah must want to wish him on his birthday, he called her back.

"Sam! Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you all morning!"

"Hello to you too, sis," Sam chuckled. "Sorry, I was a little busy--"

"Sam, I need you to come home."

Sam sat up straight, the buzz of the beer immediately wearing off when he heard the worry in his sister's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Can't tell you that over the phone. Could you please just come back today?"

"I- I can't drive. I've been drinking."

"It's only 2 PM there! Can't you catch a flight? I'll pick you up from New Orleans."

"Okay," Sam replied. "Yeah, okay, I'll be there. Whatever this is, can't it wait till tomorrow?"

"No, it's really urgent, Sam. I'm kinda in a whole lotta trouble."

"Shit, Sarah. What did you do?" Sam rubbed his forehead.

"Just get here!" Sarah said before hanging up.

"Everything okay?"

Sam looked up to find Joaquin giving him a concerned look.

"It's my sister. She's in some kinda trouble. She needs me home right away."

"Damn," said Joaquin. "What you gonna do now?"

"Head home." Sam sighed as he looked up flights on Google.

"You driving?" Joaquin asked.

"Been drinking, Joaquin. Can't drive," Sam replied, although he felt much sober now.

"I could drive you! A road trip will be nice!"

"You've been drinking too, buddy," Sam reminded him. Joaquin looked visibly disappointed, but he nodded. Sam booked the flight and got up from his seat. "Thanks for lunch, man. This was great. Let's catch up when I get back."

With that, he gave Joaquin a quick hug before heading back to his apartment to pack.

***

On the plane, Sam tried to relax but he couldn’t.

“You alright there?” Sam’s neighbor asked.

Sam tried not to groan. So the person beside him was a talker. “Yeah, I’m good,” Sam replied and finally looked over at the person. He had to do a double-take because the guy looked so much like Steve. But that wasn’t all. Sam had actually seen him somewhere before.

“Wait… Don’t I know you?” Both the guy and Sam asked at the same time. The guy laughed and shook his head.

“I’m Toby,” he introduced himself.

“You’re the guy that plays Steve Rogers on the Broadway show…” Sam trailed off. Sam felt a pang in his heart as he continued to watch the guy.

“Yeah and you’re the real Captain America,” the guy -Toby- said, giving him a smile. “Sorry, this must be really weird,” he continued.

“You have no idea.” Sam laughed humorlessly and shook his head.

“Can I ask you something?” Toby asked.

“No, he was a terrible singer,” Sam replied.

Toby looked confused for a second before he burst out laughing. “You a mind reader too, huh? Is that your superpower?”

“I wish,” Sam scoffed. “No, but really, what was your question?”

“Is he on the moon?” A smirk spread across Toby’s lips.

“Yeah, he’s totally on the moon. Just chilling up there. I actually fly up there every uh-- Monday and Thursday and we hang out.” Sam rolled his eyes.

That made Toby laugh even more. “Man, you’re hilarious,” as his laughter died down, a serious look spread across his face, “Can I make this even weirder?” He asked.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t reply.

“Happy birthday,” said Toby.

“How did you--”

“I follow you. Quite extensively,” Toby replied, visibly cringing. “I am kind of a huge fanboy.”

Sam blinked at him and tried to find the right words. He was flattered… but also weirded out.

“And now you look like you’re looking for an escape route.” Toby awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “And that wasn’t even the weird part.”

“There’s more?” Sam asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I was going to ask if you would like to go out with me sometime?”

“Oh…” Sam mumbled. “Look, I’m flattered but…”

“But it’s weird. Dating your potentially dead best friend’s look alike?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Sam laughed awkwardly. “I wish the circumstances were different cause you’re a very good-looking guy. Besides, I live in D.C. and you live in New York… it wouldn’t work.” Speaking of New York, Sam looked down at his phone and realized he had no calls or messages from Bucky. He felt another pang in his heart. Did Bucky forget it was Sam’s birthday? Sam could forgive Sarah for forgetting since she was stressed out, but Bucky had no excuse.

“Hello?” Toby brought Sam out of his thoughts and Sam looked over at him to find the guy giving him a curious look. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. And sorry again.”

“Oh, don’t sweat it. Can I have your phone?” Toby asked.

Sam looked at him suspiciously, but then he unlocked his phone and gave it to the actor.

“That’s my number. If you ever wanna watch the show, just hit me up and I’ll leave you the tickets. Or if you ever just wanna hang out, lemme know.” The guy gave him a charming smile that resembled Steve’s before handing over his phone.

They landed soon and Toby wished Sam a happy birthday once again before they parted ways.

Sam’s phone rang as he made his way to the exit and he quickly took it out, only to find it was Sharon. He tried not to sound disappointed as he answered the phone, “Hey Sharon.”

“Happy birthday, Sam,” she said, making Sam smile.

“Thanks,” Sam replied.

“Where are you? I was hoping to take you out to dinner tonight. Figured you wouldn’t want to be on your own on your birthday.”

“I’m in Louisiana,” Sam replied. “Just landed here.”

“Oh wow. That wasn’t in your plan until yesterday.”

“Plans changed,” Sam replied, shrugging, although she couldn’t see him.

“Well, I owe you dinner then,” said Sharon. “Catch up with me when you get back?”

“Will do.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up by the time Sam got to the exit. Sam then called up Sarah. “Where are you?” He asked.

“I’m almost there,” Sarah replied.

Sarah was there 5 minutes later and when Sam opened the passenger door to get in, he heard part of the conversation she was having on the phone. “I’m on my way,” she said to someone. “I swear Bu-- Bonnie, if you mess this up--”

Sam frowned at that. He was so sure Sarah was about to say Bucky.

“What, you too old to give your sister a hug now?” Sarah asked after she hung up.

Sam rolled his eyes at her dramatics and reached over to hug her. “How you doing?” He asked.

“I could be better,” Sarah replied.

Sam pulled apart and gave her a sympathetic look. “You wanna tell me what’s going on now?” He asked as she pulled out of the loading zone.

“When we get home,” Sarah replied. “Can we talk about something else for now?”

“Okay,” Sam sighed and let it go. For now.

They talked about Sam’s Cap job. Sarah seemed proud of him. She even said so multiple times, which made Sam smile throughout their ride to Delacroix.

“So who’s Bonnie and why were you threatening her?” Sam asked as they pulled up in the driveway.

“Oh, she’s just one of the moms in PTA. We have a fundraiser coming up but it’s hard to leave her in charge of things.” Sarah replied as she typed away on her phone.

“Then why do you?” Sam asked as he got out of the car and grabbed his backpack.

“I ask myself the same question,” Sarah mumbled under her breath, but Sam still heard it.

The house was eerily quiet when Sam and Sarah got inside. “Where are the boys?” Sam asked. But then he heard noises in the backyard and immediately became alert. “Is there someone back there?” Sam asked.

“Why don’t you go check it out?” Sarah suggested.

Her nonchalance took Sam aback but he said nothing as he made his way towards the backdoor.

“SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAM!”

“Shit!” Sam almost fell back when a group of about 30 people greeted him in the backyard. “What is happening?” Sam asked, dumbfounded.

“Your birthday, that’s what, Uncle Sam!” AJ laughed as he and Cass came over and hugged him. “Happy birthday, Uncle Sam,” both kids wished him at the same time.

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to see Sarah smiling broadly at him. “Happy birthday, Sam,” she wished him but couldn’t give him a hug as she was holding his birthday cake. So Sam gave her a side hug instead.

“Is Bucky here too?” He asked when he noticed the Oreo cake Sarah was holding.

“Yeah, he’s in the back there, trying but failing to grill,” she laughed. “Go get him while I get the cake set up.”

Sam nodded and made his way through the crowd, greeting and talking to pretty much everyone.

“So this is why I didn’t get any calls or messages from you,” Sam said when he finally got to Bucky.

Bucky turned around and smirked at him. “Had I known you were waiting for my call, Wilson--”

“I wasn’t!” Sam answered a little quicker than necessary.

“Right…” Bucky trailed off. “Well, get over here so I can wish you!”

“Alright, bossy,” Sam shook his head before walking over to Bucky and giving him a tight hug.

“Happy birthday, Sam,” Bucky said, hugging him back.

They pulled apart but stayed close together, Sam’s eyes briefly trailing down to Bucky’s lips.

“You gonna kiss me?” Bucky asked.

Sam immediately looked up at him. “What? No!”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it if you did,” Bucky replied.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Sam laughed and moved away from him. “So you and Sarah plan this?”

“The boys came up with the idea. Sarah called me up last week and asked if I was in. Of course, I was.”

“You came all the way from New York, just to prepare for my surprise birthday party?” Sam asked, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Don’t look too happy. I did it for Sarah and the boys.”

“Right…” Sam trailed off, rolling his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Nothing does. You’re kinda in my thoughts all the time.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times but no words came out.

“I’m as the kids say ‘a simp for you’” Bucky snickered at his own terrible joke.

Sam put his hand behind Bucky’s head and pulled him in to kiss him. Bucky seemed surprised at first but then he kissed him back.

When they pulled apart, Sam smiled at Bucky. “Now come on. Time for my terrible Oreo cake.”

“Hey! It’s the best cake out there!” Bucky protested. “And this time I made it myself.” He added, much to Sam’s surprise.

“I didn’t have a death wish on my birthday,” Sam joked.

“Haha hilarious,” Bucky said with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m a grade-A comedian!” Sam winked at him.

#Samtember 2021 #Samtember #Submission #Sam Wilson #Captain America #Joaquin Torres #Sarah Wilson #Bucky Barnes #sambucky

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

scopaesthesia 👁️ chapter 1

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, mentions of death, murder, violence, stalking, paranoia and other warnings to be added

This is dark!Bucky Barnes with a likelihood off dark!Steve Rogers as well and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Someone’s watching you.

Note: This one’s gonna be a bit creepy as it features a serial killer and stalking and all sorts of creepery. It’ll be about two or three parts!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The bleak headline glared across your screen as bleaker weather fogged the glass of your window.

'Grisly murder suspected to be connected to previous incident'.

You shivered as the steam rose from your mug and the smell of roasted bean filled your nose. The city was on edge. Death was not unfamiliar but killings so methodical were. There was a pattern that no one could deny, even if the media left out certain bloody details.

You tapped the porcelain and turned to look at the misty cityscape beyond your building. The city had a pulse; the car horns, the puffing manholes, the endless parade of footsteps on the pavement. The immortal metropolitan was unaffected by its mortal occupants.

You closed the window on your phone as you turned back. You couldn’t finish the article. To think that any human could do that to another; that any should suffer at the hands of another… One could never truly be immune to the helpless despair. It was a chance that set one in the hands of a monster, as much chance kept one from the same fate.

You finished your coffee and ate a bagel before you readied for another day lost in the sea of people below. Another day at your desk answering phones and staring at a screen between greeting many who acknowledge your existence with impatient disdain.

The same daily ritual in the mirror; another department store blouse, another grey skirt, another pair of low pumps. You grabbed your pea coat and your leather tote and hurried out to catch your train. Twenty minutes with your favourite podcast before you pulled the cord and ran off into the concrete jungle.

Another coffee at your desk; the watery fare from the staff room machine. You sat and began your work. Fake smiles and a sickly sweet voice for every caller and visitor to the small office. Log this, change this, email that. The mindless toil bearable only for the promise of your box-like apartment and its tiny comforts.

You never stayed in the office for lunch. Not anymore. It made the days suffocating, even on rainy or snowy days. You went to the park to eat, although sometimes you weren’t hungry. You watched the ducks or the shedding trees or the teens playing hooky and puffing none so subtly near the bushes.

When you returned, you felt at least that your break hadn’t been wasted even if it had only been more sitting. Ring, ring, click, click, tap, tap, cough, cough. The hours wore on in monotony. Nothing unexpected, nothing more than tedium. The most exciting part was when the clock bid you to leave.

You were almost so lost in the endless banality that you didn’t notice the man behind you until you boarded the train. Until you sat and took out your phone. You pretended to be enraptured by the screen as you scrolled through unread emails and peeked up at him. He stood by the door. His eyes avoided yours.

When you stood at your stop, he did not move. Not until the door began to close and you were near the turnstiles. His shadow was a fleck at the edge of your vision. He was definitely following you. You thought of the article, and its precursor the week before; the suggestion that the murderer had already amassed half a dozen victims. You shrugged away the paranoia and climbed the old filthy steps to ground level.

As you turned the corner onto your street you stopped and waited. The man nearly passed you as he came around the bend and you cleared your throat. You gripped your keys in your fist, ready to stab the man with the largest one.

“You following me?” You asked as pedestrians bumped into him and passed by.

He moved out of their path and stood beside you against the wall. He smiled to himself and scoffed. His blue eyes ran you up and down and you felt as if you’d seen him before. As if you knew him from somewhere. You just couldn’t place it.

“I am.” He confessed. “You’re very… observant.”

“You’re not very subtle,” you countered.

He lifted his head and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Capitals ran across the top; S.H.I.E.L.D. and below a name and picture; James Buchanan Barnes. You sighed and crossed your arms. Your spine went rigid. What on earth could he want from you?

“So…” You pushed yourself away from the brick wall, “How exactly can I help a government operative?”

He glanced around and tucked away his wallet. “Is there anywhere private we can talk? You live around here?”

“Private? At least tell me what’s going on?” You huffed.

“For both our safety, you need to wait for that answer,” he hook his thumb in his jean pocket. “But if you don’t give a shit, I can leave you be and see what happens.”

You frowned. You were confused and slightly afraid. You couldn’t guess at what could have brought him to you. A man you’d only ever seen on a screen.

“Fine,” you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, “Across the street.”

He followed you to the curb as the blood swelled in your ears. Your cheeks were hot and a chill gripped your neck. You crossed between the flooded New York traffic, aware of his shadow at your shoulder. His boots barely made a noise on the pavement as your short heels clicked noisily.

You led him into your lobby and fumbled with your keys. You shoved them into the slot and the door clicked open. He grabbed it before you could and waved you inside. You remembered him now. You rarely saw him without another. In your mind, the man didn’t exist exclusive to his old pal, Steve Rogers.

You stopped just inside the door and kept yourself from hitting the elevator button.

“Mr., er, Agent Barnes--” You began.

“Bucky is fine.” He corrected

“How do you even know who I am?” You asked suddenly. “I’m… nobody.”

“As I said, I’d prefer somewhere private,” he urged, “It’s protocol for this type of circumstance.”

“And which type is that?” You challenged as he stepped around you and hit the button.

“The type where you should stop worrying so much about me and more about yourself,” he said as the doors slid open, “Come on.” He stepped inside and turned, “What floor.”

“Third.” You answered as you entered the small box, “I’m in danger?”

He was quiet and his left hand balled into a fist then released as he stared at the numbers. You could hear the strain in the leather glove.

When the doors opened again, he let you off first and kept a step behind you as you led him down the hall to your door. You paused and looked back at him as you picked out the right key. He was impossible to figure out; stone-faced and staunch. You opened your door and welcomed him in with a flutter of fingers.

He shut the door and locked it behind him. You dropped your bag on the shoe rack and kicked your shoes beneath it. Your arches were sore as you backed up and watched him. He looked at his boots and back at you. You shrugged off your jacket and he sighed before he did the same. He reluctantly knelt to unknot the laces of his boots.

“Should I… get you something? Coffee?”

“This isn’t exactly social,” he uttered, “Can we sit? There’s a lot to… explain.”

“Sure,” you led him to the couch and sat. He lowered himself on the other cushion, on the edge as he kept an eye on you.

“Okay, so you’re first question, how do I know who you are?”

He leaned against the arm and dug out his phone. He unlocked it and flicked through its content. He turned it towards you and you frowned at the picture of yourself. You behind your desk, the phone to your ear, as you scribbled on your notepad. He dragged it over and another appeared; you at the grocery store. A third, you at the front door of your building.

“What--”

“These were found at a crime scene.” He interjected. He flipped his phone and searched through the images, “Do you know this woman?”

He showed you the screen again and you shook your head. Whoever she was, she was a stranger to you, although you couldn’t say she didn’t look familiar.

“Her?” He brought up another photo and got the same answer. Three more times as the hair stood on your arms. You didn’t know any of them but they all looked alike. They all looked like you.

“What’s going on?” You asked in a brittle voice.

“You read the news?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’ve heard about the murders? Of the women?”

You nodded and gulped. Your eyes rounded as you trembled in disbelief and fear. “Why are you here though? Why not the cops?”

“They are doing their part and we’re doing ours. You see, we found more than just the photos. Due to security protocols and to protect both of all, I can’t divulge all the evidence I can only say that it brings it under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction.”

His thumb slid across the screen and revealed another picture. One of the women with a welt across her neck and sloppily down make-up on her face. You blanched and he looked down. He cleared his throat and blackened the screen.

“Sorry,” he put his phone back in his pocket. “You shouldn’t… Look, I know it’s a lot to digest but it’s better you know.”

“But why are you here? I don’t understand… why did he have my picture?”

“From what we can tell, who it is has been following you. These killings seem to be steps on his path to you. He didn’t have anything about the other women. No photos, no writings--”

“Writings?” You gasped.

“Take a breath. Be calm.” He said. “I’m here now. To protect you.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Well, I guess that’s the real bad news.” He said. “I’m gonna be your shadow. Now, since we nearly got this guy and have all his stuff, we know he’s scrambling right now. He’s hiding, waiting to come back to you but we know he’s not dumb enough to do it yet. Which is why I am here at this very moment. When he does return, when he’s watching you, I’ll be watching him.”

“You can’t-- You can’t move me?”

“Scaring him away won’t do anything. You’re safer if we can catch this guy. We can’t let him know that anything’s changed.” Bucky said.

“So… I’m bait?”

“You’re safe.” He insisted. “You’ll have my number, you can call me anytime. And I won’t be far. Not really. And I don’t work alone. You’ll be protected.”

“Why are you telling me then if you’re just going to let him keep following me?”

“Well, we waited until it was crucial to let you know,” he said, “And given his desperate circumstance, we think you should now.”

“Do you know how long--”

“Months, years, we’re still combing through the evidence. We only know he won’t stop.” He shifted on the couch. “And I’m telling you because there’s a few things I need from you.”

“Like what?” You scoffed.

“A key to this place. Just in case. And we’ll need to keep a close eye on you. That means, you’ll have to wear a bug and we’ll be tracking your location.”

“What?” You shook your head. “That’s… a lot.”

“We need to know if anything happens immediately and we need to be able to get to you. If you do this, it will help us get him sooner and hopefully, that means that you won’t have to do it for long.”

“I’ll have to have the key made,” you said quietly.

“I can take care of that,” he stood and you watched him cross the room.

He went to the coat rack and reached into your jacket pocket. He took your keys and set his phone on the small round table just beside the shoes. He placed one key on his screen and it made a chirping noise, he turned it over before doing the second key. He dropped them back into your pocket and grabbed his phone.

“This,” he stirred around in his own jacket, “Has a mic and tracker.” He held up the golden chain with the small pink rose ornament. “Wear this and that’s it. That’s all we need. If you take it off, hang it somewhere it won’t be obstructed.”

“Okay,” you got up slowly and took the necklace from him, “Um, thank you, I guess.”

“Look, I know it’s all a bit fucked up but it’s to keep you safe.” He said. “And you are safe, okay? I’ve dealt with much worse than this creep.”

👁️

There was rarely a morning when you were eager to be awake but that morning came crashing down on you with a sense of doom. You rolled over and opened your eyes. The golden necklace hung from your bedside lamp, dangling, calling to you, reminding you of the man who had stalked you back to your apartment. And the other man who loomed in the shadows. A stranger who apparently knew you well.

You sat up and clipped the necklace around your neck so you wouldn’t forget. Was it Bucky listening to you? Was he even listening so early? You stood and ambled across the room with a yawn. Today, the rain left a sheet of frost on the window. Was it winter so soon?

You drank your coffee without tasting it and chewed on a piece of buttered toast. Your phone buzzed. Private number was all it said but you knew who it was.

‘What time do you leave?’ Bucky asked. You typed in the number and nothing more. He already knew which train you took.

You dressed as you did every day. You pulled the necklace over the collar of your shirt and sighed. You felt awkward as if you were living in a simulation; a facsimile of your meek existence.

Ready to face the day and the unknown, you set out as you flicked away another message; ‘You have a break? What time?’ You’d answer him after you got to work. You couldn’t be staring at your phone knowing that someone was undoubtedly watching you.

You stood on the train, too antsy to sit. You waited by the door, ready to bolt off at the slightest sign of trouble. You played with the rose charm without thinking. Your phone buzzed and you quickly drew your fingers away.

Another message from your private caller. 'There's disturbance on the mic. Stop touching.' You almost laughed. It was comical. You'd be an awful spy but you weren't anything close. You were prey.

What would have happened if those pictures had not been discovered? You hated to even think of it. So you pushed away the thought and got off the train.

The streets felt darker even as the grey sky paled. Pedestrians were villains, each one sinister and plotting. When you got to work, you were out of breath as you had nearly broken into a sprint.

You sat and clocked in. You took out your phone and responded to the texts but got nothing back. You hung your jacket on the rack in the corner and went about your usual routine but nothing felt usual. The incessant ringing of the phone and the chatter of the office added to the chaos of your mind. You tried to distract yourself with your work but found yourself fidgety and anxious. Every unfamiliar face that walked through the doors was a potential suspect.

When you took your lunch, you stayed in the office. The break room was empty as you sat and your phone vibed in your blazer pocket. You answered the private number and unwrapped your granola bar.

“You on lunch?” Bucky asked, you confirmed with a mumble. “Are you okay?”

“Am I? What’s going on? Anything?” You stilled the crinkling of the wrapper, suddenly sick to your stomach.

“It’s not going to be that easy or fast. Right now, he’s waiting for us to look away but he could also be in a panic which means he could do something impulsive.” Bucky explained.

“Impulsive? What does that mean?”

“Look, you don’t need to be afraid. I got this. This is nothing compared to what I usually--”

“Nothing?! Well maybe you’re used to this but I’m just a secretary, okay? I don’t know what I’m doing or what to do!” Your voice was shrill as you crushed the granola bar in your hand.

“Take a breath,” he said firmly. “Calm down and proceed as usual. I’m here. I’m watching.”

You sniffed and struggled not to hyperventilate. When you finally got your breathing under control you nodded into the phone and murmured a pathetic ‘okay’.

“Hey, you don’t need to be afraid, okay? Not with me around. So far you’ve been lucky. We figured it out before he got to you and now we’re way ahead of him and he doesn’t even know it.” Bucky coaxed.

“Yeah, I guess,” you deflated and stood from the table; restless.

You went to the kettle and flicked it on. Shaena was always offering you peppermint tea; you’d take her up on that. Maybe it would help calm you down.

“How about tonight I’ll come buy with a pizza and we can go over protocol?” He offered. “And it’ll be good for you not to be alone.”

“Pizza?” You frowned.

“Well, you know, I’m sitting on surveillance all day, I don’t exactly get to relax,” he explained. “...you can say no but it’d be my treat.”

“I’m sorry I’m panicking. I’m just… scared. I didn’t sleep-- I--” You choked on your voice. “You don’t mind?”

“Do you?” He returned.

You sighed and opened the cupboard to grab a mug. You tapped your fingers on the countertop.

“This must be really boring for you,” you said. “You don’t have to--”

“If I’m being honest with you, it’s supposed to be freezing tonight and I don’t exactly get to hang around in a five star suite. You’d be doing me a favour and have the extra security of some goon with a metal arm.” He chuckled.

“Alright,” you threw your hand up. “But I don’t like pepperoni.”

“Damn…” he uttered, “Well, I guess we all have to make sacrifices.”

👁️

You were slightly less frantic when you left work. Bucky texted you to assure you he was there… somewhere. You took your usual route. He explained it was best not to change your routine. You didn’t want to tip off the creep.

The train ride was slow and jittery. The frigid air of the looming New York winter crept in between the door and you shivered as you got off at your stop. Your heels clicked around you as you gripped your bag and the phone in your pocket. You struggled not to look around and try to search out your stalker.

You unlocked your door and dropped your bag beside the shoe rack. You kicked off your heels and rubbed your legs together to warm up. You hung your jacket and took your phone out as you began to pace your apartment.

How close was Bucky? How close was the killer?

You kept checking your messages and then slammed your phone on the coffee table. Stop! You were driving yourself crazy. You made yourself sit and flipped on the television. You put on an old sitcom and tried to settle in. You squirmed on the couch and found it difficult to follow the episode.

Your phone lit up suddenly and made you flinch. The sky was already dark through the window as your ringer blared over the television. You reached for your cell; Private Number. You answered clumsily and pressed it to your ear.

“Hello?” You rasped.

Silence. You blinked and repeated your greeting. Still, the line was quiet. You shook your head and hung up. Before you could toss your phone, it shook again and cried out a melody. You answered again.

This time heavy breathing greeted you. It got louder as you listened and a trickle of ice rolled over your spine. You ended the call and stared at your phone. A third call. You slowly hit the green icon and then turned the phone to speaker.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me.” A man snarled in a crackly voice, “Ever.”

“Who… who is this?”

“Shhh, baby girl, I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.” He said, “That’s all I want.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” You gulped.

Another silence. This one long and exaggerated, pierced only by a metallic whisper. “...You,” he purred darkly, “I want you, baby girl. I want your blood, I want your screams.” You shook as you dropped the phone, his voice muffled but his words clear, “I want that precious little cunt.”

You sobbed and bent to grab the phone again. Your thumb hovered over the red button.

“Baby girl, I told you about hanging up on me. I hope that’s not what you’re thinking of now.”

You said nothing as your eyes burned with frightened tears and you looked down at your necklace. Could Bucky hear? Where was he?

“Soon, I promise, we can be together,” the stranger cooed, “You and me. All alone.” He took a deep breath, “All mine.”

“Please, leave me--”

The line clicked and went dead. You stared at your phone and jumped at the sudden knock on the door. Your fingers curled around your cell and you stood. You crossed to the door. You peeked through the peephole. Bucky stood with a pizza box. You opened the door sharply.

“Where were you?” You snapped.

“What?”

“He just called!” You nearly shouted.

“Keep it down,” he warned as he stepped inside and you retreated. He closed the door and locked it. “He called?”

He went to the kitchen and set the pizza down. “Just now?”

“I thought you were listening? I had him on speaker.”

“I… I’ll have to play it back. I was on my way, I didn’t--”

“You-- you-- The things he said,” you croaked, “You can’t imagine and, and… how did he get my number? You said he would be hiding!”

“Well, these things aren’t exactly cookie cutter--”

“What if he’s watching me right now? Looking in through my window and--” Your voice was shrill as you rung your hands and brushed by Bucky. He followed you to the window as you twisted the blinds shut. “He’s going to kill me like he did all those girls. He’s going to--”

“Come on,” Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the window, “Just breathe.” He turned you to him and placed his hands on your arms. He rubbed them through your blouse. “In, out…” He began to guide you, “On my count; one, in, two, out…”

Your eyes rounded and you struggled to calm yourself. You were shaking but managed to measure your breaths in time with his voice.

“That’s it,” his hands framed your face as he leaned in to look you in the face, “I’m here now and if you need me to, I’ll stay all night.”

You nodded dumbly and grabbed his forearms. His metal thumb stroked your cheek and you slowly pulled his hands away.

“Bucky…” You whispered as he slowly dropped his hands. “Thank you.”

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Nine

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 9 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: strong language; use of a derogatory slur/racist language (not said by any main character); mentions of blood and injuries; angst!

Word Count: 11,200+

A/N: One more chapter after this - I should really stop labeling this as a mini-series considering it’s already over 100,000 total words lmao. Thank you for staying with me this long! I love you guys soooo much!!!

Utah Merry Hotel, January 2025, 2:09pm

“I’m being an ol’ sport, why can’t you?” You whine, stomping your feet as you trudged up the stairs to the hotel roof. “It’s our first serious stakeout in forever! I’m pretty sure Wanda shaved her legs for this.”

Steve shoots a flustered and unsettled look over his shoulder. He’s lugging the rifles and extra equipment on both his shoulders so you know he’s truly baffled because to even attempt a look over… well, that required real effort. He doesn’t answer, however; he continues upward.

Bucky and Clint are following close behind. They’re tired, huffing every few steps and grunting while doing so. Finally, Bucky whines and throws himself against the wall dramatically. “Remind me why we couldn’t just get Wanda and Sam to lift us up there?”

Steve readjusts one of the rifle straps while he replies, “Buck, I told you not to skip leg day.”

“I skip ‘everything’ day. I’m just now employed as a superhero, thank you very much. The serum should be enough.”

“Are we even close?” Clint asks and passes Bucky on a few steps. Bucky takes that as a challenge though and hoists himself more steps before giving up again.

You just watch in pure amusement. Makes you really proud that your thighs are stronger than theirs. “Just a few more flights.”

They both groan in unison. Steve has already rounded the next flight, no longer waiting on the three of you. It takes several more minutes until you kick open the roof door Steve had left slightly ajar. It’s cold outside, wind howling with icy droplets whipping through your hair. It’s only fifty stories up but it’s pretty high - you can see the tops of the trees, or branches really. It’s winter in Utah and most of the trees are naked and covered in snow. You hope Bucky and Clint, the dynamic duo no one saw coming, still have good aim in this wind after a year of vacation.

“Alright. Buck - Clint, set up over there. Y/N, you’re over there.”

“Aye Aye, Captain.”

You set up where Steve instructed. You’ve got a simple magnifier and some binoculars - you won’t have to do any shooting today, thank the Gods. Clint’s got his arrows and Bucky’s got his sniper. Steve’s waiting for a signal from Sam if need be - he won’t need to shoot today either.

“Wanda and Sam will let us know when the cars pass the barrier. The tech cannot, under any circumstances, pass through the gate right over there.” Steve points to the giant, black coated metal gate. There’s no one on duty. You made sure to evacuate the area and any staff before. The tech these goons are bringing in is all stolen Stark Tech. And according to Happy, strict instructions are to ‘blow it to Hell’.

“And if it does?” Bucky asks, grinning mischievously at Steve’s pointed look.

“What’d I just say?”

Bucky laughs and puts his hands up in surrender. “Damn, Stevie. Calm thyne tits.” He goes back to fiddling with his rifle. “Blow the tires before they reach the gates but after they pass the barrier. Got it.”

“Peter, you in position?” Steve asks and adjusts his earpiece.

You can hear Peter over your own mic. “Seatbelts look easy enough to break. I’m in position, I can easily pull them from the trucks.”

“Five minutes then.”

You all settle in. The cold has passed through the leather of your boots and your toes are paying the price. It makes you miss the rain of spring and the sprinkles of fall, when everything is drenched rather than frozen and your toes still have mobility. Your jacket is big enough but it scratches your neck every time you lean down to look through the magnifier. As the minutes tick by, you brave the cold and take it off. You’d rather conduct your part efficiently and without the constant distraction.

“It’s almost forty degrees out,” Steve mumbles beside you. He’s looking over the roof balcony and into the trees. He’s squints and refuses your offer of binoculars.

“So I get a sore throat.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Tony put a heater in all our suits. You should have worn yours.”

“My suit is half nano. It’s excessive for a stakeout.”

He huffs but you ignore him, choosing to look through the rejected binoculars instead. He shuffles, and then there’s a warm weight enveloping your shoulders. It’s his sweater, cotton and baby blue, and he lifts the hood to cover your cheeks and ears. Your stomach flip-flops.

“Uh, thank you,” you say and zip it closed.

Steve shrugs lightly, “Don’t mention it.”

So you don’t. He doesn’t look cold besides or he’s just really good at masking it. It’s quiet now; you can’t really hear the quiet mutters of Clint and Bucky enough to join in and to not mention the jacket is eating at you. You opt for a casual conversation instead while you wait.

“Soooo… how’d your date go last week?”

Steve clears his throat and turns to you, a forced grin on his face. “They, uh, they were sweet.”

“Sweet,” you repeat, nodding at nothing and cursing yourself for creating such an awkward moment. “Going on a second one?”

He sighs and his expression actually turns truthful. “No, don’t see that happening.”

For a second, you’re appalled. Who wouldn’t give Steve a second date? He’s an absolute catch and being a famous superhero wasn’t exactly a dealbreaker for many. Or maybe it was and Steve was blaming his alias once again for no fairytale ending. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t want you?”

The words leave your mouth too quickly to reel them back in. Steve’s cheeks turn pinker, both from your words and the chill, and he ducks his head low as he answers. “It’s my fault, really. They were sweet but I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Mm, on your phone? Daydreaming? Were they a bore?”

Steve chuckles, “I pulled out my phone, like, once to answer a text but I was a proper gentleman!”

The tension is slowly melting and there’s a soft twinkle in his eye as he laughs. It’s been so long since he’s looked at you this way: on his own accord and not on order. “Bucky said they were, and I quote,” you lower your voice and look over at Bucky to make sure he’s distracted. “‘Cute as hell’.”

Steve gives Bucky a warm look. “Eh, it’s fine. Wasn’t the one.”

“The one,” you mock in a deep voice. “Who texted you that it was so important to ignore someone cute as hell?”

Steve hesitates and looks over the balcony as if wishing for an interruption. But the trucks aren’t near yet and Sam hasn’t given the signal. “Uh, it was Peter.”

“Oh, don’t tell him that. He’ll feel incredibly guilty if he ruined your chances at getting laid.”

Steve shoves your shoulder a bit harder than he intended and it makes you stumble back. He quickly catches you by the arm and holds you still, a sheepish smile painting his pink face. He mumbles a quick ‘sorry’, and goes back to lean over the railing. “It’s cool, he knew.”

You fake a surprised gasp, “Even worse!”

“He needed me to stop by the compound and I did. Really, it’s okay,” Steve assures and he’s speaking a little quicker. He fidgets with his thumbs and it looks like he wants to wrap up that portion of the conversation. But he looks over at you and sighs deeply, and he rolls his eyes as his upper lip tilts upward. “Ask.”

“What’d he want?” It makes your belly all warm to know he expects this enthusiasm from you.

“Wanted me around. Buck and Wanda were out getting dinner.”

“Yeah, but like, what for?”

He gives you a knowing smile, like you walked right into that trap. “You made dinner but Peter was too nice to say he didn’t enjoy it, so he texted me knowing I would like it. Knowing I had it before. He didn’t want there to be leftovers because then you’d be sad.”

You step back and shake your head like there’s a fly swarming around. It startles you. “You left your date… during dinner… to come to the compound to eat the dinner I made instead?”

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“How not?”

It’s five minutes when Sam calls it in. You groan in frustration and give Steve a look that says the conversation isn’t over.

There are four armored vehicles and the magnifier illuminates three bodies per car. The targets will be hit starting from the last to keep the explosions out of each driver’s line of sight.

“Target acquired,” Bucky mumbles and clicks off his safety. He closes one eye and settles comfortably as he awaits Steve’s signal.

Clint tugs back an arrow, “Same here, Cap.”

“Wanda, you ready?” Steve’s voice is lower when he’s focused. He looks over at you, your hand up with an index finger raised, and waits. Wanda answers that she’s ready and Sam counts it down. The first truck crosses the barrier, then the next, next, and finally the fourth and you drop your hand in a fast swipe.

“Fire! Go Parker!”

Bucky shoots the back tires of all four vehicles and Clint shoots his arrows to penetrate through the passenger doors. Peter works fast, webs slinging from side to side grabbing one passenger right after the other. Once the trucks are empty, Clint activates the arrows and you all prepare for the explosions. The fourth car catches flame first and Wanda contains the explosion perfectly, balling it up into a weak bundle of light and string. She does the same to the third and second, bundles extinguishing just as quickly as they burst. But the first car swings out of control on manual and the explosion is delayed.

“Clint?”

Clint leans over the balcony and squints, as if it would help. “I don’t know. It’s not going off.” He’s clicking the detonator repeatedly, holding it up for all of you to see.

“Wanda, the truck! The truck! Sam!” You scream as the truck crashes through the gate and hurls closer to the hotel. The commotion is enough for Bucky to pop out from his cover and the four of you watch in horror as the truck still doesn’t stop. Clint has stopped clicking the button, but it’s no use. The truck finally explodes in an outbreak of debris and electricity. The Stark Tech reacts poorly to the strain, electric gusts of smoke fire left and right and rattle the building. It feels like an earthquake, shaking the already weak foundations and old brick. Wanda catches the bottom to better contain it and tries desperately to smother it. But the shaking doesn’t stop and the corners of the roof are collapsing.

Steve leaps to grab and pull you away and just as quickly to catch Clint’s leg before he falls over the edge. Clint is thrown back rather harshly but Steve isn’t thinking about the abuse of strength right now - no, not while Bucky slips and hangs on to a rogue pipe. Steve crawls and latches onto his hand before the pipe gives way. He yells as he tugs Bucky up with only one arm, the other having to hold onto undisturbed brick. He won't let Bucky fall. Not again.

Bucky throws his leg up and over solid ground, and you go to help Steve pull him up. Bucky’s heavy and his metal hand pinches your skin bad but he’s safe. Wanda struggles to contain the electricity but she’s succeeding. The rumbling slows until nothing moves anymore. You collapse back in exhaustion.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Bucky gasps as he rubs his face.

“Is Wanda okay?” You mumble more to yourself and struggle to pull yourself back up. But the sudden weight of your body proves too much for the edge and in a horrible wave, you’re falling through. You practically file your nails as you try to latch onto falling brick.

“No!” You feel the scratch of someone’s fingers along your forearm and soon they’re digging into your skin, and it hurts but you figure it’s better than splitting your skull open. Pebbles of concrete are falling down onto your face and the smoke from the explosion is clogging your nostrils. You hang for a few seconds, like the person can’t believe they actually caught you. Then they begin pulling you up, lifting you to safety, and you claw the rest of the way only to tumble into Steve’s chest, shaking.

He pulls you into his arms but they’re restless, roaming over your shoulders and through your knotted hair clumsily. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice wavers and he’s on the verge of tears, it seems. His waterline is glossy and his lips are quivering. “Answer me.”

“I’m fine, hey. Steve? I’m good.”

He pulls away and his hands hover you like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I’m sorry. I should have kept you close. I-” His voice cracks and he swallows hard. “You sure you’re okay?”

Disregarding his words is difficult, especially when you feel a second meaning to them, but you force yourself to do so. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen him like this. And each time you have, it was never because of anything good. “Y-yeah. I’m good, Rogers.”

Bucky and Clint look at each other, they look at Steve, to you, and back to each other. Finally, Clint breaks the silence and huffs a light chuckle. “Are we really THAT rusty?”

Present Day, 2025, 11:45pm

The Montana skies are clear and free of passenger planes, allowing the Quinjet to swift easily on autopilot. You could never drive this thing and the building anxiety of that reality bubbles each time it makes an unsteady bounce.

Steve’s laying in the makeshift medical wing and though it’s against protocol, he’s on a secure line with Dr. Cho. She takes her time, albeit working as fast as possible too, and her light voice is fairly calm. It settles you to hear her speak this way.

‘I need you to use this disinfectant, Captain Rogers. Do not pour it on all at once… Good, now dig through gently and make sure the pliers are sanitized.’

Steve digs out the bullets himself and bites down on a clean towel. He’s biting down hard enough that his teeth make a squeaking sound against it. It takes every ounce of your willpower to not do it for him. The Montana skies are beautiful, at least. It’s a good distraction.

Steve gives a rather painful yell as he finally plucks the second bullet, cursing as a stream of blood drips onto the table. He’s got such tough skin - miracle or serum - that the bullets didn’t pass all the way through. Dr. Cho moves on to how to properly bandage the wound but Steve begins to tune her out.

Two years mucking through mud and bodies and getting patched up every other day has prepared him for whatever life may throw during this new century. Not much has changed, it seems.

When the line disconnects, Steve can finally just relax. He focuses on the soft rumble of the engine and your steady breaths.

You hold your breath as you settle the Quinjet on the open field, only half of you actually trusting automatic tech. Steve coaches you the whole time too, the little shit, and promises you’ll never be doing that again.

Steve stumbles and teeters and falls on the porch steps with a low groan. You let him fall because you know you’d only fall with him. He catches himself with the hand he’s been pressing over the bandage while the other still holds on to you. You fight the urge to crash down with him and bite your lip as you look up to the night sky.

“C’mon, Rogers,” you swallow down the increasing worry, “We’re almost inside.”

Steve huffs a pained laugh and nods. He grabs your arm again and with his remaining strength, pulls himself up,

The inside of the cabin looks comfier than the outside. You help Steve to the couch closest to the unlit fireplace before going out back to turn on the power. There’s a thin layer of ice in the grass so just in case, you scope out the garage and make sure there are snow supplies. Not that you really know what the hell snow supplies actually look like, but there’s a shovel and you figure that’s as much as your brain is going to piece together.

When you get back inside, Steve’s fumbling with the coffee maker and leaving tiny fingerprints of blood over every surface he touches. You don’t comment on them, just step back and discreetly wipe the counters each time he passes.

“Figured you’d like a pot,” Steve says.

It damn near breaks your heart how small his voice sounds. The fact he’s stumbling around the cabin making sure you’ve got your coffee fix while he’s nursing two bullet wounds damn near snaps it in two.

“Thank you,” you respond and go to lead him back to the couch. He moans quietly when he sits and again as you lay him down. “I hope you don’t think I’m sleeping here,” Steve laughs and tries to hide his wince due the uncomfortable rumble.

You smile and touch your hand to his hot cheek. His body is working overtime fighting off infection and regenerating tissue. His cheeks are a lovely scarlet red and so is the beautiful bulb of his crooked nose. He’s a little shiny, like varnish over light paint strokes, and taking the fever like a champ. “I’ll help you to the bed in a little bit. Let’s get that fever down first.”

Steve sighs, defeated, but nods. He lays his head back on the pillow and once he shuts his eyes, you get to work. The bathroom is stocked with the simple necessities: aloe vera, vapor rub, heating and cold pads, dozens of towels, and painkillers. You pop two painkillers yourself before gathering everything and dropping it on a nearby table in the kitchen. The coffee is about done brewing so you fill up a mug with bottled water and set it in the microwave for two minutes. You dip a chamomile tea bag a few times once the water is heated. There’s no teapot - you’ll apologize to Steve later.

Once Steve’s happily sipping his tea, you start on the medicine. You wet the small towels and lay them over his forehead and bare chest. You rub aloe vera on the other cuts he obtained from hand-to-hand and finally rub the vapor rub in the dip of his neck and just below his nose. Steve gives you this funny smile as you do so, scrunching his nose and wiggling it back and forth.

“Vicks,” you say as you show him the small container. “Heal you right up.”

“I bet,” he laughs. “Stuff smells like what I think liquid morphine would taste.” A laugh bursts from your chest, your first real instance of calm during these last few hours. You ignore his protests and smother more across his chest.

Steve settles deeper into the couch and returns to his tea. He’s got less sweat on his skin now but he’s still red. You go to pour yourself that coffee and return to his side. The nanotech is growing stiffer and scratching your skin but you refuse to get comfortable until Steve’s fever breaks. You’re still covered in Ernesto’s blood, the red now a hellish brown, and you try not to move your face much for risk of feeling the dry pull of it.

“Steve,” you try, but Steve shakes his head and makes sure to meet your gaze before he speaks.

“No. The less I know the better.”

It surprises you, makes you feel more guilty, but you understand. Not telling him the full truth would be beneficial in the long run. Still, your hands hug the mug closer to your chest. “Do you think I did something bad?”

His upper lip tugs upward, “Do you think you did something bad?”

You don’t think for long. There’s not much need to. “No.”

He nods, “But you care what I think?”

“Of course I do. You’re not just my Captain anymore - you’re my friend. I care even when I’m asking you if my eggs need more salt.”

“You trust me enough to correct your cooking?” He teases, but it’s a question disguised as another.

“I trust you enough to tell me if I need more salt. You’re not correcting it.” He laughs and dips deeper into the couch. The bandage is bleeding through, only slightly, so you move to find the first-aid kit.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll stop bleeding soon.”

You hum your disagreement. “I’m gonna keep it clean until you’re strong enough to shower.”

“You can always help me shower,” he mumbles into his tea.

Rolling your eyes, you gently nudge his shoulder as you sit back down with the kit. “If you fall, I can’t catch you, you big lug. We’d have to tell everyone we screwed in there because you falling on top of me, injured, is somehow more embarrassing.”

He allows you to remove the soiled bandage and dab around the healing wounds. He’s bruising around the sides, multiple shades of green and yellow already, and the holes are stitched rather poorly. It makes you feel a little better about your own criss-cross work - even Steve sucks at it.

“I’m sorry I had to go and get myself shot,” Steve apologizes and sucks in a deep breath when the towel drags a little too roughly.

“Yeah, what the hell happened there?”

He almost mimics you in the way he shrugs his shoulders and lifts his arms in that ‘well, fuck if I know’ position, pursing his lips and expelling a chuckle. “Had my gun trained on Ernesto. Ernesto had his own on Ramirez. Then Seda came in and Ernesto ordered Ramirez to hand his over to Seda. Played right into Seda’s hands.”

You process the explanation slowly and dab his wound a few more times before unwrapping the clean bandage. “And the damn shield?”

Steve’s embarrassed by that small detail, he’ll admit it, because he truly was blindsided by Seda’s appearance. You were supposed to be holding him down after all. “In my defense! When it’s shrunk down and in your pocket rather than latched onto one’s arm, it’s easily forgettable.”

You clean around the wound softly before placing and taping the new bandage. The conversation settles and you’re both quiet for a long, long minute. He thanks you for cleaning him up by rubbing sweet circles into the knuckles of your right hand. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. It’s like a wave of irrefutable worry and rage, all bunched together with each emotion trying to outweigh the other. That goddamn riptide, sucking you in and keeping your head below water just for the hell of it. Breathing in harshly, you fail to keep yourself from stuttering over your words. “I’m sorry.”

Steve bites back a groan of pain as he leans over to take your cheeks in his palms. The brush of his fingertips lets you know that you’ve already started crying. You don’t much care about the facade anymore. “Doll, listen to me. Listen.”

“I never meant to leave you alone.”

“You never did.”

You bark out a wet laugh, sarcastic. “I should have run faster. I should have killed him all those years ago. I should have never brought you into this.”

“You did what you had to do,” he says, fiercely. He forgets his own strength for a second, only slightly diminished from the healing process, and loosens his tight grip against your cheeks. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

“I wanted to hate you,” you admit. Your bottom lip is trembling and your hands clench together over your thighs. “I wanted to hate you so much. If I did, then you getting hurt or killed on this mission wouldn’t hurt so bad. I hated you for what you did. Because it made me realize that I could never hate you at all.”

“Hey,” he tries, hands now lowering to clutch at your own. “Stop apologizing for having a heart. Stop thinking you’re not worthy of even having one.”

Your face crumbles and Steve realizes for the first time in a long time just how much you’ve been holding in. “Why didn’t you use the stones?”

Steve’s heart clenches at the sound of the crack in your voice. He hasn’t heard that crack since Clint fell to his knees without Natasha by his side. He holds onto you tighter and prepares himself for an admission he never thought he would ever have to give. “Because Peggy told me not to.”

Something confusing happens in the middle of your chest. It clenches with anger but understanding. The answer to your question was always this simple but it looks like it’s tearing Steve apart from the inside-out.

She’s as beautiful as the day he went into the ice. All he has to do is whisper her name so sweetly, delicately, and she turns her head like she’s answering the prayer. First her knees buckle, eyes watering and blotching her vision, and she collapses on the soft grass of her backyard. Steve’s holding her the very next second, repeating that he’s real, he’s here.

“Steve,” Peggy gasps, hands shaking as she brings them to his wet cheeks. She grips and pokes and does everything so comically that Steve laughs a wet laugh when she starts smacking him. “What is going on?”

And he tells her. Everything he can remember: the good, the bad, the wretched. He spills everything, and he spills the most delicate information of their time: he’s alive, just frozen; Bucky’s alive, just hurt; the world is saved, just broken. Whether she believes it or not Steve’s not sure, but he’s so goddamn happy to see her again that he chokes every other word.

“And you? You’re happy?”

His eyebrows come together and he looks at Peggy like she’s speaking another language. She’s got the same red lipstick, same curl in her hair even if it’s longer now, and she’s filling out her dresses more. “Pegs, don’t ask me that.”

She detaches herself slowly from his arms, pausing their dance as she speaks. “Why not? You can’t expect me to accept that you stopped by to see me all willy-nilly after saving the universe.” Her lips twitch into a knowing smile and Steve melts. Her voice is sending him into a spiral, a world he never thought he would see again, and he realizes just how much he loves accents on women - especially this woman.

“I just,” he chokes out, and brushes his index finger down her cheek. “I had to see you again.”

“I get that,” Peggy says and pays no mind that the record player has stopped; she still sways gently with Steve. “But you’ve just mentioned a whole other world you’ve been a part of. You’ve got your best guy back, that Wilson fellow sounds like the life of the party, and this Agent Y/N certainly sounds like she’s been by your side through it all.”

Steve stutters in his step and holds her closer. Her stomach presses against his, and he stops abruptly. He looks down between them and runs his hand from her shoulder, down, to lay across her growing belly. “Pegs.”

She gives him the same wide and proud smile she gave him when he returned with the 107th. She lays her hand over his. “I know.” She laughs and tilts her head lovingly. “I’m happy, too.”

Steve bites his lip to keep from sobbing. He was so stupid for coming to this timeline, for ruining Peggy’s chance at happiness, for interrupting the life he already knew she created for herself. He inputted the wrong year, he suddenly realizes, and steps back arms-length from her. “I’m sorry, I was stupid to come here. I just wanted to see you and then I did, and I… I still love you, Pegs.”

“Oh,” Peggy gasps, bottom lip trembling. “Darling, do not mistake yourself, even for a second, into thinking that I do not love you too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for having a heart.”

He wants to argue, say he’s stupid a million more times, but he finds himself listening to her gentle words. It’s Peggy, Steve thinks. She’s always been right.

“In this world you live in, you have James?” He nods. She continues, “In this world you live in, you just lost two of your most loved friends?” He nods again. He wipes his face from forehead to chin. “In this world you live in, you have met a woman who has the same stubbornness as you; has the same self-sacrificing streak, who has your heart in such shambles that you dare call her one of your best friends?”

Steve thinks of you and how broken your smile was as you waved him goodbye, hand clenching Sam’s as Steve gathered the stones and Mjolnir. He thinks of the times you’d leap onto his back and demand a ride; the times he’s saved your ass in a firefight; how his sleep has definitely improved ever since he started calming you from nightmares - he hasn’t slept so well since before the war. He nods again.

Her eyes go soft. “Steve,” she starts and Steve knows. He doesn’t want to know. “Don’t abandon the world you’ve built for yourself. Surround yourself with the people you love. Do this for me.”

“There’s so much hate and blood waiting for me when I get back, Pegs. I don’t want to-”

“There is a difference between you not wanting to and you having to.” He drops his head and focuses on the floor. Peggy isn’t done grilling him, however, and he looks back up to grant her the respect. “You must not abandon the world you helped create. I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m saying this because I know you don’t want to.”

“Pegs.”

“I see right through you, Steve. We marched together through mud and blood before. We’ve got two years of fighting side by side under our belts. I’ve seen you at your worst, and you I. I know that face anywhere.”

“I missed you, Pegs,” Steve breathes. She cups his face with her hands and draws their foreheads together.

“The stars weren’t written in our favor. But to know that you’re alive, and that you make it, and that you actually get to live,” she bites back a sob. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“It isn’t my world to begin with.”

“No, you’re a man out of time. But so is James. You won’t abandon him now, will you?”

He chuckles low and their noses touch. “Stop making me feel guilty for wanting to find you, Peggy.”

She presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth and finally breaks away. “And you won’t abandon that sweet girl who has put up with your nonsense for the last five years, you say?”

Steve shakes his head and meets Peggy’s gaze. “I’m just tired.”

“They are too, I bet.” He turns to the door and to Peggy, and she figures it’s almost time for him to leave. “You have been the archer and the brave, Steve. I’m absolutely certain you’ve been more. You will be more.”

Steve says his final goodbyes and stops to remember the fine details of Peggy’s face. The fifties are treating her well. Steve expected nothing less. Bright lights flash around him and he’s back to the world he wanted to leave, to hide from, and he sees you - and your mouth parts in shock.

“And you listened to her?” you ask.

Steve smiles, although it’s hard for him to remember that conversation. “I came back. I didn’t listen to her when she said to surround myself with people who love me, and who I love in return.”

“No, you made damn sure of that.”

“Hey,” Steve chuckles. “Don’t take smacks at me when you’re down.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, it’s just too easy sometimes.” Laughing about the two years of missed chances and spoiled friendship was not on your bingo card for this week.

“I don’t know how this is going to play out,” you admit. Steve looks so young with a somber expression: his eyebrow creases gently without wrinkling the rest of his forehead, the side of his mouth tilts downward, and his eyelashes kiss the pink of cheeks. “I decided in the moment. So I’m fuck all out of ideas on how to proceed.”

He nods in understanding. “Guess we just have to look over our shoulders three times instead of two now.”

“Simple like that?” You scrub a hand over your face and curse inwardly when you smudge your lipstick down to your chin. You ignore it. “I know we’re Avengers, but.”

“No buts,” Steve says and moves to sit up. You help him by pushing his shoulders and he accepts your help as you struggle to the bathroom. “You helped the guy and his daughter. I’m sure he’s going to be watching our backs from now on.”

You help Steve strip from his dress pants and shoes and finally remove your suit as well. The graze on your arm is covered in brown, dried blood but the wound isn’t deep. It’ll sting like a sunburn, you know that, but it’s better than being shot through. You watch Steve enter the shower and leave the curtain drawn. His bandage is soaked again but thankfully it’s from the water and not more blood. You grab a spare towel and soak it with water and soap, and rub it across your lips and chin.

“Let me do that,” Steve calls. You strip bare and bring the towel with you into the shower. Steve takes it and scrubs over your face, gently but more rough as he gets to your eyes. It’s an innocent moment of ‘ouch, scrub softer!’ and ‘surprised I didn’t take all your lashes off’. He helps clean your wound as well and once you’re both clean, he bandages you up and you him.

The master bedroom is the only room without electricity so you gather some candles. It’s like the two of you won’t admit you’re currently afraid of the dark or what may lie in it. They illuminate the room in a delicate orange and it’s such a peaceful color to briefly see before falling asleep, head tucked into Steve’s chest and his heartbeat thrumming gently with your breath.

It’s a wonder what a night’s sleep can do. Steve’s wounds are sealed and his fever is gone, but there’s a signature left behind. A pink and white patch of skin as tender as a newborn’s, a memory. Steve pours your coffee and his tea while you trace your fingers over it.

Two hours after eating a small breakfast and securing the perimeter, a soft ding startles you from the random book you’re reading. Steve’s phone shines with a message from Sam. It simply reads: ‘Clear’. Grabbing the phone and walking out onto the porch, you find Steve sitting on one of the steps he tripped over just yesterday. He’s sketching the sky and the trees, taking his time on the lines of the branches, the strokes of the leaves, and the frost over them. He looks up, studies his surroundings, and looks back down to add a detail he previously missed. He sniffs, rubs his nose, and finally notices you leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” he says, soft. “Any news?”

You hold up his phone and nod. “Sam says we’re clear to fly in.”

Steve looks back to his drawing. You hesitate before speaking, knowing damn well an all clear means get your ass back as soon as possible. “Finish your drawing. I’ll pack whatever we need to.” Steve’s mouth parts but he shuts it just as quickly. Slowly, he nods.

There isn’t much to pack since you brought nothing but the clothes on your backs. Everything at the hotel was collected before the wedding and should have flown back with Scott and the others. It feels awkward stealing bottled water and processed foods to hoard on the quinjet, but it’s a necessity. Steve meets you at the quinjet doors, shows you his drawing, and volunteers to take the wheel.

“You’re not volunteering. You’re ordering.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “No license, no drive.”

“What are you? A cop?”

“Don’t think for one second I won’t actually hand the wheels over and happily crash while screaming ‘I told you so’.”

Steve steers for the duration of your flight. The next few hours are spent just enjoying each other’s company, speaking of all things and simply catching up. It’s amazing how much you two missed from one another’s lives those two years.

The landing base is clear and it’s Sam who’s waiting for you as the Quinjet manually lands itself. He shoots you a gap-toothed smile and extends his arms, pulling the two of you in at the same time for a strong hug. He’s talking a mile a minute about how successful the mission was, how Fury is over the moon that it’s finally over, how the DEA is thinking of congratulating everyone one by one. It’s enough to distract Steve, who’s just happy to see his best friend again, but it isn’t enough for you. The large metal doors sealing the storage facility from the rest of the compound are thrown open. Bucky stumbles through and practically sprints over to the three of you.

“Get back on the jet,” he orders, already pulling you by the arm. You all look at one another like he’s gone mad but that’s impossible. Bucky’s paranoia isn’t something to take lightly; he’s right nine out of ten times.

“Buck, what-?”

“Rhodes couldn’t hold them. They have warrants, Steve.”

Steve hauls Sam onto the jet as well. “Warrants for who?”

“Get down from the jet without a fight and this will all go smoothly.”

There are about twenty uniformed officers surrounding the jet. They spread out in case anyone decides to run but it seems pointless to even try. Secretary Ross points his gun directly at you, proud and tall and looking just the same as you remember him. Last time you saw him was at Tony’s funeral.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you bite, and raise your hands in cooperation. Ross shakes his head and his expression contorts into one of disgust. There are red beams coming from each gun but your friends are clean - the beams are only pointed at you.

“Agent Y/N Y/LN, you’re under arrest for multiple charges of drug smuggling, trafficking of illegal goods, the murder of Ernesto Vega and Daniel Seda, aiding and abetting drug-lord Omar Ramirez, and for conspiracy against the United States of America. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a federal court of law...”

You drone out half way through. Ross finishes up the speech but no one is listening. Sam is already yelling over your Miranda Rights and Bucky’s frozen in place. Steve’s fighting his way through to Ross, pushing through the muscle until he’s face to face with him. But Ross isn’t fazed. There’s nothing left to do but exit the jet.

Immediately there are handcuffs slapped to your wrists. Two men drag you over to the containment car that’s enforced with so much indestructible material it’s almost insulting. You weren’t enhanced - they were doing this for fun.

“You’ve got it all wrong! Y/N! Y/N!”

You don’t fight. Conspiracy… you’re surprised they didn’t just shoot you dead. Steve’s still yelling, begging to be heard, but you try to block him out. It’s not your first time being arrested but it is your first time being charged with something you didn’t do. As funny as that sounds, it’s terrifying.

“Steve,” you say, and Steve breaks through some more hired muscle so he’s within earshot. “It’s okay.”

His face pulls up in pain, “No, you didn’t do this! They’re not listening!”

One of the officers pushes your head down roughly and tries to shove you in the backseat. You’re still looking at Steve. And those eyes, wounded and vulnerable, haunt him even after the door shuts and the car drives away.

There’s a privilege attached to the mantle of Captain America. Perhaps he was too blind to see it during the war or just too proud he was finally being heard and respected, but now he sees it for what it really is. It’s a mantle this country has never truly associated with the person but with the purpose. Steve was manufactured to help protect this country under government orders and when he defied that purpose, he disgraced the mantle. Seems like some people idolize the role a little too much.

But he’s still Captain America. This reality has continued to clear his name from stunts he pulls and laws he breaks. And once Steve is able to walk away without so much as a scratch, he leaves bodies behind.

Sharon. Sam. Bucky. Wanda. And now you. All people who fought his fight and weren’t granted the quick privilege of that perceived pureness and holiness. He was always ready for combat, he was built for it, but he didn’t really want it.

Did he?

Ripping that star off his chest was one thing. Accepting his new shield cemented his continual legacy as the Star-Spangled Man. He deserved to be in that cell with you. But if he learned anything about how the world works, it’s that cruelty doesn’t just win in the movies. All of his enemies started out friends and if he had to bet, he’d bet the reason they’re labeled as such is partially because of him.

So he sits and listens to everyone’s ideas and plans, vetoing and dismissing one right after the other, his mind doing jumping jacks. He’s both there and not, drowning in the fact that he made it home and you didn’t. He doesn’t know how to sleep without the sound of your snoring anymore.

He sits and listens.

The cell isn’t one you would expect for someone who has been charged for betraying her country. It’s modestly furnished: a black cot in the far right corner with a mini table beside it, a desk with some paper, and a door that leads to the private bathroom. All in all, the room’s size is that of a child’s bedroom; there’s no actual pens and pencils for risk of violent behavior and there’s a bulb camera that moves when you move.

You’ve been trapped in worse.

Countless detectives and investigators have visited already. They all ask the same questions: Why did you do it? Did Captain Rogers know? Who are you, really?

You give the same answers: I didn’t do it. Of course, every single person knows. Who do you think I am?

Every time they leave more discouraged than the one before them, refusing to compare notes with one another in case they were in possession of gold. They all ignore you when you try to ask for Steve and his wellbeing. Their faces contort, they whisper to their partners, and they shake their heads in disappointment. One even goes as far as to threaten you, warning you to keep Captain Roger’s name out of your wetback mouth or else, until he’s escorted from the cell. Not that it really matters - the manipulated ideals of these people will always blur their search for the truth. And when the truth fails to satisfy such greedy manipulations, they choose to create their own.

There is one agent who peaks your interest. He offers you gum when he settles in the chair near the door. His name badge reads ‘Kavert’; it glares in the bright lights overhead and he makes no other attempt at small talk once he gets comfortable and opens his little notepad.

That goddamn notepad, you think. Every single person before has prided themselves over it, scribbling little notes about your tone of voice, body movement, and vague answers. You never give much, Natasha had taught you better, so they always end up writing less than two bullet points before giving up.

But Agent Kavert surprises you by opening up to a blank page, spitting his chewed gum in the middle, and then he shuts it closed. He offers you a real smile, one that doesn’t look practiced or forced. It lets you study him without being so guarded or uncomfortable. He seems young, not really a rookie but it’s obvious he’s spent more time behind a desk than out in the field. His dark hair is short, sprinkled grays near his temples, and his attire screams upper level. His build is lean, his gun is in the holster on his right hip, and a part of you knows he’d put up a hell of a fight if you tried to escape.

“I was gonna comment on what lovely weather we’re having, but I don’t think you get out much.”

You’re startled into a real laugh. Satisfaction washes over his face.

“I think you’re wasting your time, Agent Kavert.”

He grins and moves to proudly pull at his jacket and present his badge. He sets the notebook to the side and leans forward to cup his hands together on his knees.

You squint at him. There’s nothing interesting about you right now: back against the wall as you sit criss-crossed on the cot, sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, hair brushed but a little greasy. Your last shower was two days ago and you figure they’ll let you have one tonight.

“Yeah, you’re right. There’s no point in hoping you’ll tell me anything you haven’t shared yet.”

“Nope.”

He hums low in his throat and tilts his head to the left. Now, he squints at you. “I just don’t get it. How did you do it? Not show up on our radar, I mean?”

It doesn’t seem like he’s calling you guilty or innocent. Already he’s one-hundred percent different from the other agents. “I wasn’t exactly hiding.”

He sits up to lean back in the chair, “Different last name, government and Avenger protection, covering your tracks so carefully even the DEA missed you.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“Yes, but,” he starts. He acts like he’s having a normal conversation on his front porch. “It still doesn’t make sense. How could Nick Fury miss this? Tony Stark? After the whole Obadiah situation, I expected him to-”

“It’s simple, really. Do you want to know or do you want to keep making assumptions?”

He’s watched the other agents leave by this point. Some couldn’t even make you talk. So he shuts up and waves his hand for you to continue.

“Cool,” you breathe out. “First of all, I’m literally only telling you this because I’ve already been refused a lawyer or some crap like that and I highly doubt this is going to actual court. The publicity would be horrible.”

He bites his lip but you catch the little smile forming. You continue, “And I have nothing to hide. I’m sure my Captain, my teammates, and Fury himself have given their sides. Am I right?”

Agent Kavert adjusts himself in the seat and nods in response. He doesn’t dare interrupt you now.

“Good, then I’ll keep it sweet. They knew who I was. I was recruited to be an inside source, a double agent, and this wedding was the perfect chance to corner those men,” you declare, turning your hands palm up and shrugging your shoulders. “There, happy?”

“Double agent.” Agent Kavert chews over the words, rolling them around on his tongue a few more times. He’s squinting harder and you can see his brain working. The next sound to leave his lips is a heavy sigh and a feeling of immense irritation washes over you. It wasn’t enough. “Are we going to be truthful yet, Agent?”

Chuckling lightly, you rest the back of your skull on the wall. It was wrong to assume he’d be any different from the others. “Of course you don’t believe me. You want more, they all do. I don’t suppose I have anything better to do.”

He claps his hands on his thighs and leans forward again, loud and restless. “Then let’s get started, really: Did you or did you not let Omar Ramirez, Mexican drug-lord involved with Ernesto Vega, your father... imagine that, run away from a crime scene, evade arrest, and possibly leave the country?”

“You expect me to follow all those questions?”

“It’s not the time to be funny.”

“You were enjoying it just a second ago,” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows, still waiting for an answer. “Then let me put it simply: no, I did not.”

“Did you or did you not assassinate Ernesto Vega?”

“I would have remembered such a brilliant kill if it came from my gun.”

“So that’s a no… Daniel Seda?”

“His gun was pointed at my Captain. Yes.”

“Against orders, then?”

Confusion is written all over your face and you make sure the camera knows it too. There are only so many times you can repeat yourself. “Don’t you have Steve’s report? Scott’s?”

“We have to hear the story from you, Agent.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You don’t believe me.”

He shrugs and quickly scans you up and down. Even if he doesn’t have the tangible notepad in his hands, he’s getting away with making mental notes. “The story just isn’t piecing together the way it should be. Why would Daniel Seda murder his greatest ally and friend?”

“Our mics have already transcribed that answer for you, sir. I’m sure of it. And I’ve got sources outside of the DEA and Avengers-”

“Like Maribel Rodrigo? Another smuggler who has operated inside the cartel, HYDRA, Madripoor…”

You cut him off, angry. “Not the full story.”

Tone of voice: defensive.

“Then that leads me to my next question.”

“Oh, fun.”

Tone of voice: sarcastic.

He speaks with a tinge of astonishment hidden in every syllable. “Why didn’t you do it? Kill Ernesto, I mean.”

“I was disarmed at the time. The Captain and I both were,” you answer, growing more impatient by the second.

He uses his hands to speak now, finger pointing along an invisible timeline detailing the order of events. “So you admit you were going to kill him if you had your weapon.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Body movement: rigid.

“Or maybe you weren’t. Maybe my boss is right, maybe the FBI is right in thinking that you are a double agent leaning more towards your roots than our boys in blue.” He says this like its scripture; like it’s some holy conspiracy he’s just found evidence for. He wants you to plant words in your mouth and in this discussion so he can pluck the evidence from the ground and water it with fire.

You scoff hard, “I hardly ever wear blue when doing your job for you.”

“Was letting Omar Ramirez escape our job or just yours?”

Telling him the truth would mean losing all credibility, all titles, all trust in your work. You know what you’ve done and you don’t regret it. Ramirez was never the biggest fish and if you spun this right, then he was simply a fish who got his meal and promptly swam away. “You assume I let him go. What evidence tells you that?”

He ignores the question and instead asks another of his. “Why were your relations kept hidden from SHIELD and the FBI?”

“That’s a question for you know who.”

He shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“I bet I am. But this is not some precinct where you can get my team to turn on me so easily. And this is not a situation in which they’re lying for me. I trust that whatever the Captain has said is the answer to all your questions.”

“We’re gonna unravel this case. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of sleepiness. These past two weeks have been exhausting even if you haven’t moved more than five feet from wall to wall. Having to repeat yourself to people who have already written the story for themselves is tiring. “I don’t know why you guys can’t just believe the words of myself and everyone vouching for me. We got you all the evidence. We have given you more names and connections that you’ll ever know what to do with. You don’t need to unravel anything; it’s all there! But because we weren’t able to arrest the one person you wanted, that being Ernesto, you go after me. You have White but I guess he’s not talking. And you’ll believe what you want to believe.”

“I trust my gut.”

“As simple as that, huh?” You sigh deeply and cross your arms over your chest. “You know, there’s a saying the late Agent Carter used to tell all SHIELD agents when they first started out and when they came back from missions. When she retired, it was Fury who then eased our minds.”

Agent Kavert has a harsh line creasing through the middle of his forehead and he looks deeply interested.

“There are three sides to every story,” you recite. “Your side, my side, and the truth.” A gentle shrug of the shoulders feels like all you’re allowed to give him. “I’m not lying to you but I’m not telling you the full truth either. Just my side.”

Agent Kavert shuts his eyes and bounces his left leg. He looks conflicted and unable to formulate a response at all. He’s shaking like he’s at war with himself or with the suits on the other side of the door, but no one has come knocking yet. “Let’s say I believe you. Just for a second.”

You nod.

“Daniel Seda murders Vega at his own daughter’s wedding. We managed to catch Marcus White and because of fault entirely, Omar Ramirez gets away. Because from what I heard, Ramirez was working with you.” He paints the picture rather mundane, but you shoot him a smile that tells him he’s on the right track. “And you and all the other Avengers were blindsided by Ramirez. You gathered all the evidence you were told to gather, worked together and played your cards right, infiltrated one of the most secure estates in the country, and fucked up so badly that you managed to let two of your biggest giants die?”

“I really think you got it spot on.”

He laughs dryly, “But it still doesn’t make sense. Once Vega was gone and Seda survived, where would you have fallen in this tree?”

He wants to retract his question the moment he sees your face fall with such a sincerity he wasn’t ready for. “That’s just it, Agent Kavert. I would have fallen.”

“And the other two? How would business work? Would Daniel Seda have been the head of it now?”

“Your answers are in the evidence we gathered. I know you guys aren’t touching it because you think I’m compromised.”

He stands from the chair and dusts off his jacket. “Your side, my side, and the truth,” he repeats. He goes to open the door but you speak quickly before he can leave.

“They think I infiltrated SHIELD, the Avengers, and am in bed with HYDRA because they’ve been helping Ernesto’s vision all along.” Agent Kavert stops and turns back to you. “I am a double agent whose identity was kept secret to aid this country and not raise suspicions from your part. I have seen a lot of things, have done things I’m not proud of, but I’ve done it all for a reason.”

Agent Kavert looks almost ashamed. Tone of voice: sincere.

“Me and my Captain saved lives, our own as well, and we stopped three of the most notorious drug-lords who have been at large since the eighties. We got your giants for you. And the truth is, I have discovered: through all my pain and experience... that it’s excellent to have a giant’s strength; but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.”

Agent Kavert doesn’t know if you’re talking about Ernesto, the U.S Government, yourself, or him. His eyebrows pinch together and he slowly moves to leave the room.

It’s another week before you’re visited by someone who isn’t bringing you food or extra toilet paper. You’re picking at your cuticles when the vents above your cell begin rattling with the obvious weight of a human being. You sit dumbly on the bed, straining your ears and trying hard not to laugh as each rattle is returned with a muffled curse. The vent on the ceiling right outside your cell drops to the concrete floor.

Ernesto’s men wouldn’t go through all that trouble to kill you James Bond style. They would have just bribed a guard. So it’s a treat when the door swings open quickly and in comes a staggering Clint, keys in one hand and his phone in the other. The screen is illuminated, showcasing what looks to be blueprints. He’s got a bandaid over his left eyebrow and dust all over his clothes.

Your upper lip twitches into a silly smile. “You’re ridiculous if you thought you wouldn’t be heard in those damn vents.”

Clint makes a noise that sounds like he’s saying ‘maaaf’ and he plops down beside you on the cot. It’s absolutely hilarious he traveled in the vents and that the team approved this when in reality, they could have just sent Scott. “Just had to get past the first line of security. Plus, the blueprints said they were wider... I figure we’ve got a good three minutes before they check the cameras.”

It’s not the first time you sit in a cell with a time crunch.

The Raft is nothing special. They have you all separated by rank, meaning you were in the same vicinity as Clint, Sam, and Scott. Wanda was moved to a more secure location and you haven’t seen her since they brought you in.

There isn’t much to do in a place like this. You tried counting how many strands of hair you had but gave up once you counted two hundred; you tried seeing if the others could hear you when you yelled out to them but the cells were soundproof; you even tried filing your nails against the uneven paint on the wall. It’s like they made life in these cells purposefully horrible - like you didn’t save the world a couple times over, c’mon.

The camera fidgets over your head where you’re laying down and after a few seconds, it stops. The red light slowly fades and turns a bright yellow. You move to stand on the bed and reach for it, but a voice startles you from doing so.

“Don’t mess with my magic!”

You topple over the single pillow you were given and fall flat on the bed, scrambling to shield yourself from whoever intruded. “Jesus!”

“Oh, I met him. Strange lad, didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

There’s a moment where you think you must be dreaming. His hair is longer and hits his shoulders and he’s added some blue and yellow to his usual attire. But other than that, he’s alive. Truly, brilliantly, really alive.

“Loki, what the fuck?”

“Right!” Loki claps his hands and extends them outwards, smiling. “Ta-da!”

A few beats pass. You blink a few times just in case you’re hallucinating. Barely a week in containment…

“I’m sorry… I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re still alive!”

He scoffs low and goes to sit at the edge of the bed. “A God never truly dies, darling.”

“Well in Greek mythology-”

“Greek mythology and I have this unsettled beef that’s been going on for about five hundred years. Do not mention Greek mythology to me.”

“Excuse me, right, I should have known that was a sensitive topic.”

Loki swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and expels a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your restraint is gone and you lunge forward to envelope him in the tightest hug you’ve ever given anyone. He returns it, sighing into your shoulder and holding you close. You pull away just to stare at him, watching his features as they move ever so slightly. It’s really him.

“I-” Loki tries but stutters. He’s studying you too and he almost looks sad. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Does Thor know?” Loki shakes his head at your question and winces when you smack his shoulder. “Loki, Thor has been grieving you for months!”

“I’m planning on it!” You don’t believe him. He goes to rub his shoulder. “Gods, I forgot you had excellent aim.”

You look back at the camera and find that the yellow light is still glowing, dim. Loki’s magic is blocking footage out or putting footage in, you really don’t know. But it’s allowing you a few moments with the man you thought you’d never see again. “Spontaneous reincarnation aside, what are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?”

“I’m on this planet for five-FIVE minutes, and the television has all these reports about you and everyone fighting each other?”

“Mm, right, right.”

Loki stares at you, amused. “... Care to explain?”

Your face contorts into a hundred different expressions until you finally settle on one of gentle guilt. “The person we were after was a friend of a friend. I made a judgement call and let him go.”

“You went against orders?”

“I went against the law.”

“Even better.”

With an eyebrow cocked, you give him a judging look. “Loki.”

His eyes crinkle from the intensity of his smile and you’ve missed him, you missed him so much. “That’s what I love about you. Barely starting out as an Avenger and you’re already realizing you can do more good in your own way.”

You groan quietly and rest your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I mainly did it for Steve. Wasn’t like it was a big ‘fuck you’ to one-hundred and seventeen nations for the hell of it.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Spoken like a true anti-hero.”

“You comparing me to yourself?”

Loki chuckles and runs his fingers through the strands of hair closest to your cheek. “Darling, I’m a God. No one comes close.” He sighs, serious again. “All I’m saying is that it’s refreshing to see the young break the rules.”

“I missed you,” you softly say. You can feel the nudge of his cheek turning upward against your head.

“Always nice to hear.”

Rolling your eyes, you move to meet his gaze. “So, no reason why you came to visit me specifically?”

Loki takes one cautious look at the camera, to outside your cell, and back to you. “I too do things for your lovely Captain.” His smile grows wider.

“What?”

He winks and tilts his head over to the giant metal doors that are starting to pry open. “See you in a minute.”

The alarms begin blazing; there is fog filling the room, and Steve emerges from that fog with a winning smirk.

You look over at Clint, half selfishly wishing he was Loki on another one of his midnight visits, and quickly do away with the thought. “So how’s life without me?”

“Oh, it’s great! The flowers are in bloom, the kitchen isn’t always a mess, and my bow and arrow aren’t misplaced because you wanted to have some fun with it,” he jokes, stretching far enough that his feet dig into your thigh like he’s trying to make more room for himself.

“Not like it’s your only bow and arrow.”

He chuckles and sits up. He does a once over of the room and adjusts the frequency on his hearing aid. “They read you your rights at least?”

You wait to respond until he finishes fixing it. You speak and sign the words slowly, “I don’t think any lawyer in America will want to take this case anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s a career killer.”

Trying to refrain from smiling around Clint was nearly impossible. You look to the door quickly, “Two minutes?”

He shoots up straighter as he watches your hands, “Right! So we’re currently tracking down your sister-”

“My sister?”

“Steve thinks she’s our only hope at clearing your name.”

“Why is that? I told her to get as far away as possible.”

Clint sighs and scratches the skin just above the bandaid. “She stayed in Mexico all those years you were gone. By all accounts, Ernesto adored her. Because of that, her influence might clear your name.”

“But she stayed. All the more reason to believe she was involved as well,” you say, shaking your head.

“She’s barely out of her teens. Everything that happened, happened when she was a minor. She has a first hand account of the abuse Ernesto caused you. And Steve thinks that the Julian fellow might even come clean and admit to the arranged marriage. Shows a pattern of abuse by Ernesto to his own children. Could spin it to make it seem like you had no other choice but to follow his orders.”

You follow his hands slowly, some signs difficult to read but you latch onto the gist of his argument. You groan and lean your head back on the wall with a small thump. “They go against Ernesto and they have targets on their backs. Even my other siblings who are still involved with all of this won’t let it go.”

“Y/N… Ernesto’s dead. You know that.”

“His influence isn’t.”

There’s minimal commotion a few doors down. Clint realizes it’s time to leave. “It might never be. But we don’t get to live in the future.” He stands with another small groan and stretches as he prepares to lift himself back into the vent. “We’re living now, and it’s all any of us can do.”

“Clint?” You also stand and have to wave in his peripheral to get his attention. He turns and knows what you’re about to say even without the hand gestures. “They won’t answer me when I ask.”

His lips pull into a perceptive smile, “He’s okay. Doing what he does best - blaming himself.”

“Oh, okay, good.”

He’s had enough practice reading your lips to notice the sarcasm that drips from them. He hurries to lift himself up. “We’ve got about a million tricks up our sleeve. If Jackeline’s word or the evidence isn’t enough, we’ve always got Fury and his blackmail.”

“Yeah, half the guys who interviewed me look like they cheat on their wives, so.”

He genuinely laughs and jumps high, muttering more to himself than to you. “Up we go…”

The team locates Jackeline just a few days after your run-in with Clint. The building saw a triple rise in security but even then it didn’t prevent undercover agents passing all the checkpoints and sliding notes with your meals. They’d leave the tray, tip their hats, and smile like they knew the cameras wouldn’t suspect a thing.

The first note is from Bucky, with the simple message of ‘I watched a few episodes of The Crown without you… I’m sorry.’

The second comes on the same day at dinner time, this one from Wanda. ‘I think Peter is trying to flirt with your sister.’

The third isn’t slipped through with any meal, but rather through the tiny opening beneath the door. ‘Surprised we did this the legal way this time! See you soon! - Rhodey’

The final one is actually hand delivered when several guards come in to tell you you’re free to go. They’re mumbling amongst themselves, cursing the system and the privileges Avengers always get, when the smallest of the five turns to you and hands you the note. ‘I owe you one. You owe me one. Who’s counting anymore? - Joaquin’

Jackeline had been able to track down Maribel and the two of them, with such accuracy in their stories and their timelines, constructed your defense perfectly. They showed them phone records, all of the recordings from that week, had proof that you never signed a thing, and made several special deals. Jackeline promised to reveal where bodies were buried, where business was dealt with, who else was involved with Ernesto and Seda. Maribel managed to get a message to them from Ramirez, which basically cleared you from the crime they were trying to stick. Ramirez was a damn good liar, you’ll give him that, and it made you the tiniest bit sad that you’d probably never see him again.

The tipping point was when Steve turned himself in. There was no evidence that you did anything, never signed anything, never conspired behind your teammates backs. Fury made sure not to keep a paper or electronic trail. But there was evidence that implicated Steve - the contract. No matter how badly the FBI and CIA tried to make it go away, to absolve Steve from it, he didn’t back down. It was like the story they originally wanted toppled in on itself and it was actually Steve who forced you into all of this - playing your connections and forcing your hand. The contract hadn’t been voided, still hasn’t, and they really couldn’t risk another SHIELD fiasco. So it was destroyed to protect the Stars and Stripes, and in return they promised to let you go if you didn’t tell a soul. The image you’d come to despise, that tacky red, white and blue, is starting to grow on you.

‘Let me think about that and get back to you,’ you had joked. You think they let you go sooner because they feared the truth in your joke.

But there wasn’t anything to think about, ever, still isn’t. Steve pulled another sacrifice play and you wanted to get out as soon as possible to kick his ass.

You leave the prison with the same clothes you had on when you entered. They smell washed and you’re thankful they allowed you to shower before you left. You ignore the looks guards and prisoners aim at you, each trying to somehow get their hits in without actually pulling their punches. This would be a media disaster either way, didn’t matter the outcome of a supposed trial, and PR was most likely struggling to prepare their defense.

You resist the embarrassing urge to run into his arms. He’s standing right outside the gates, leaning back on the passenger side of his rusty old blue pickup, positively glowing underneath the blazing sun. You’re blinded by it, skin thanking the dangerous rays for its first touch in weeks, but it only takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. He still hasn’t shaved and his hair is getting longer, and instead of his usual tucked-in dress shirt, he’s wearing a brown leather jacket over a faded graphic tee that reads AC/DC. It was Tony’s.

You’ve only got the broken burner phone and a hair tie in your possession; it’s what was on you when you were arrested. You drop the burner in a nearby trashcan and head on over to the truck. Steve’s wide smile buckles your knees and it damn near breaks your heart. Even when the two of you weren’t on speaking terms, you still saw each other at least twice a week. Going two weeks without seeing him feels like a lifetime.

Once you're a few feet away, you stop in front of him. There are no immediate words you know to say, so you simply shrug your shoulders and give him a look that asks ‘What now?’

“Home.”

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

#captainsimagines #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel masterlist #marvel fanfiction #mob fanfic #reader insert #trigger warnings listed #you x steve rogers

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darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years

Text

The Dark Team (part 4)

<<Previous part Masterlist Next part>> Join the taglist in here

The cold chains immobilizing your whole body were the thing you first noticed once you woke up. When your eyes finally opened, you observed your surroundings carefully, silently. Barely opening your eyes, just in case. Your teammates were equally tied up by your sides, and Bucky was unconscious. Loki, on the other hand, was looking around less confused than he should have.

“Oh, you did this”, you spat suddenly, realizing what was going on. Of course he would betray the team; it was all you knew about him, and history did not disappoint.

“What?” he asked, now confused. “I certainly did not. I’m trying to figure out where we are”.

“Yeah, and you want me to blindly trust you on this one? What did you do to Tony? A dumb potion or…”.

“He doesn’t need me and my magic to act idiotic, he manages that himself”, he said. Once he actually got to talk, he wouldn't stop, would he? “But if you need me to, I can try to make him even dumber, then he would have some idea to form a Dark Team. Oh, wait”, said sarcastically.

“Be free to give us your input on the crew, come on, don’t be shy”.

While you two argued, Bucky was gaining consciousness again.

“Look who decided to get up from his nappy”.

“Shut up”, he managed to say, looking around. He quickly realized where you were. “Fuck. I know this place”.

“Do enlighten us”.

“Loki, I swear to God, shut up or I’m gonna shove my metal arm through your…”.

“Where are we, Buck?”, you interrupted impatiently.

“This is a Hydra base”.

“Oh fuck”.

“Great”.

You started making escape plans in your head in record time, but then you realized; maybe you shouldn’t escape. Maybe you should arrange some plan to make the mission done from the inside. The chances of the stick being there were bigger than somewhere else.

“That’s a better idea”, resonates Loki’s voice in your head. You screamed, not expecting his magic. So he has telepathy, you thought. You looked at him amazed, and he smiled smugly. You realized, if he can access your head, then he could’ve heard…

“Oh yes, I’ve heard it all, dear. But don’t worry, I’m used to it. Many people find me... how did you say? Extremely attractive?”.

You blushed and looked uncomfortably to the roof, trying to get the plan straight, ignoring his mockery. But he kept going.

“Comparing me to a british mortal man, though… I don’t appreciate it. A Nordic God is way better in every sense”.

Your blush turned to bright red paint all over your face, and he chuckled. Bucky was observing the interaction fascinated. For him, you were two idiots who looked at each other weirdly and reacted to that. But as much as you tried to avoid him, he kept talking in your head.

“It’s alright, darling. I like to be praised, even at the strangest moments. Can’t believe you went for a plain ‘hot’, though. I think I’d be worth at least a ‘so hot my brain is melting at his only sight…”.

“Oh my God, shut up!” you shouted, interrupting his egocentric rant.

“What the… he didn’t say anything” said Bucky, even more confused than before. You were quite a pair.

“Yes, y/n, I didn’t say anything. Are you hallucinating? Did they poison you?”.

“I’m gonna choke you with those chains as soon as I get my hands free”.

“I would love to see you trying”, he challenged.

“Guys, can you pleeeeaaassseee focus?”, said Bucky, losing his patience.

“I’m trying to focus on making a plan,” you whispered. “It would be much easier if you two shut up for the love of God”.

“How could you not predict our ship would get hijacked? Aren’t you the brainy of the team?”.

“James, don’t make me spit on your face”.

“I’d suggest whatever ‘plan’ you’re thinking that would get us out of here, do it faster, because I don’t think they’d leave us here alone much more time”, said Loki.

“What? You afraid of some little mortal kidnappers? I thought, for a God, it wouldn’t be so hard to take them down. Unless you’re full of crap. You know, once in my life I finally think I’d be alright being on charge of the mission, you two had to be here, ready to ruin...”.

“Are you still planning on choking me? Because that would do wonders to my ears, to finally stop listening to you”.

“Can you two stop flirting?”, interrupted Bucky. “I didn’t think the worst thing about getting kidnapped by Hydra would be not being alone".

"But here we are”.

Bucky ripped the chains off him and freed you too, leaving Loki tied. The God didn't complain, and instead made the chains dissolve with a spell. You looked around again. A plan started to form in your head and you followed your instinct through it, knowing it’d lead somewhere good at some point. After a few minutes of complete silence, you finally have it all figured out.

“Tiny genius has an idea”, announced Loki, who apparently was reading your mind the whole time. You looked at Bucky and he nodded, as he made his way through the room, destroying every camera and microphone he was able to find.

“We’re listening now”.

“Alright. Look”. You took out of your pocket a whiteboard marker and started scribbling nonsense on the tiles of the wall. Loki and Bucky shared a concerned look. You explained the whole plan, head to toes. It included explosions, illusions of dead bodies and infiltrations of high risk throughout the building. But they didn’t seem fazed at the difficulty of the idea. “Any questions?”.

“Yeah. Do you always carry a whiteboard marker or just on very dangerous missions?”, asked Bucky.

“Oh. No, always. Anyways, what do you think of the plan?”.

“I think you’re nuts”, said Bucky. Loki was paying very little attention and you doubted he even heard your plan. You sighed.

“Look, Barnes. My poor self preservation instincts are what got me in this Stark internship in the first place, so if you’re gonna insult my nuttery consider how far it got me”, you answered, pointing at him with the marker. “And you, did you even hear it? What do you think?”.

“Oh, yes. I think you’re out of your mind”.

“Are you kidding me, Loki? You did worse things”.

“But I support your idea. It 's madness. It’ll work”, he added, and you smirked.

“Well, it’s better than the alternative, at least”, accepted Bucky. “So, we have an escape plan, but we don’t have an actual plan to get the mission done, you realize that?”.

“We can figure it out once we’re out of sight from the Hydra toys”.

“You know, I don’t know what is it with you, Steve and Sam, but you guys never have plans, and it gets on my nerves”.

“I have a plan, I always have a plan, Buck. That’s my part of the job. Just… trust me, okay?”, you asked.

“You’re getting kinda hard to trust”, he said crossing his arms.

“I trust you”, added Loki after long seconds of painful silence. You felt the need to ask him why on Earth would he trust you, when not even your best friend trusted you on this one. But he looked at you with a glimmer of certainty in his eyes, and you didn’t want to push it, or make it vanish.

When everything was already set, Loki made the highly realistic illusions of your dead bodies (it even gave you chills, but you wouldn’t admit that, of course not). Bucky ran his hand through the pavement floor at the same time that you threw your watch against it, causing an explosion. You three flew away from the impact. You realized you haven’t thought this part very thoroughly, since they could obviously take the impact (a God and a supersoldier, why wouldn’t they?), but you were a mere human mortal with no superpowers or super suits.

You couldn’t look around as you fell from the building, since the remains of the room were falling apart, and the smoke and fire from the explosion were overwhelmingly close to your eyes, but you could sense you still had enough time to find the button on your suit to get the parachute on. You just had to find the damn button, that it was…

Loki grabbed you instantly, covering you with his whole body before the impact, making sure you didn’t even get a scratch. Then you realized you maybe didn’t have the parachute back-up plan under control, after all.

“Well, that was bigger than I had anticipated”, you said, getting up from Loki’s tired body and brushing off some ashes. He stayed there and sighed. “Now we know where we were. 5th floor, apparently”.

“And now we’re not even inside the building, as we needed. Great. Smart”.

“You know, I’d say this is a win. We’re not being held hostage now, and we have enough time to recalculate the plan from the outside. Less risk of getting…”. But you were interrupted by the cocking guns of the seven guards surrounding you.

“No, please, let them finish their sentence”, said Loki sarcastically, still laying on the smashed floor. “getting caught, were you gonna say?”.

“Well, yes. But I think, given the current circumstances, that you’d differ”.

“What could possibly make you think that?”.

“Not the time, guys”, cut Bucky, getting up and knocking down two guards. You fought with one of them. Loki didn’t even bother in body-to-body combat, and casted them away, fading their bodies into thin air.

“Where did you take them?”, asked Bucky.

“The explosion”.

“Are you stupid? They’ll notice the bodies are fake!”.

“No, not the past explosion. The current explosion”, he explained, and behind him you heard a building collapsing in the distance. You didn’t even ask. What for. Honestly.

After a while of walking around and not really getting anything from it, Bucky finally asked:

“So, the watch. Is it normal for you to keep explosive reactive components in there, or was that just part of a very premeditated plan we weren’t aware of?”.

“Oh, it was just a precaution I have. In case of emergencies”, you explained. They decided it would be better to not ask you why and how could you possibly keep pulling weirdly necessary things in the strangest moments. Why would they bother. Honestly.

You touched your earbud, trying to communicate with Stark. He was supposed to be in the line at some time around that, but, well, you didn’t have your watch with you anymore. Gladly, he answered. He said he was getting the coordinates to a hotel room, and he’d take you three to a different place than the anticipated, far away from that Hydra base. You needed time to establish, refill energy and make a better plan. Better than blowing things up. You had some time to spare now that you were temporarily presumed death.

#loki #loki x reader #loki headcanon #loki x gender neutral reader #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki laufeyson #mcu loki #loki odinson #loki x y/n

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imjustshelbywrites · 3 years

Text

Caring For Him

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x gn!reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't get sick, so when the super soldier wakes up one morning with a migraine from hell, you're on hand to take care of him.

Word Count: 581

Warnings: Migraines, fluff, comforting!reader, gn reader.

Author's Notes: Hello! This is my first fic on my new sideblog, I'm excited to share it with you! I've read so many fics wherein Bucky takes care of the reader when they become sick, I thought it might be fun to turn the tables.

Super soldiers don't get sick, this is something both Bucky and Steve have always told you. On the contrary, it was a statement that was true. They could spend a month in Siberia, trudging through knee-deep snow, they could even stand in the rain for hours and not once did they catch a chill or worse; a winter flu.

Which was why it was a shock to both you and Bucky when he woke up with a blinding headache one morning. The array of sunlight filtering through his parted curtains was enough to make the old man groan in discomfort and hide his face under the blanket. His enhanced hearing meant he could hear the tiniest of noises over the side of the compound, he could hear people talking as though they were standing right next to his bed and none of this was helping.

With a hot cup of tea in one hand and medication in the other, you very quietly tiptoed your way into Bucky's room. In other circumstances, you would have made fun of him for his smug remark about not getting sick or headaches, but you understood how painful migraines were to deal with.

"Buck?" You whispered, setting the tea and medication down on his little bedside table. "I have some tea and medication here for you, to help you feel better." You told him as you sat down on the edge of his bed.

He begrudgingly removed the covers and sighed. "Super soldiers don't get sick." He huffed, shaking his head which he immediately regretted.

"Well, it definitely seems like you have a migraine." You frowned, noticing the beads of sweat that had gathered on his chest from when he had submerged himself under his duvet covers.

"Mhm, well thank you doctor Y/N. It's very kind of you to take care o'me." His sweet chuckle that you loved to hear turned into a pained groan. You reached for the tea that had cooled down slightly and urged him to take a sip to lubricate his throat.

"It'll help you to swallow the meds better." You told him, as you put two pills into the palm of your hand. "These usually help me with my migraines." Bucky nods, taking the pills into his mouth and swallowed, taking another long generous sip and sighing.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." He smiles, closing his eyes.

"No problem, soldier! You just need some peace and quiet while the medication works its magic."

"Yes ma'am." Bucky lifts the duvet cover up and pats the empty space next to him. "Since I have this migraine, could I request a cuddle?"

The grin that spread across your face would have been similar to the Cheshire cat. Because Bucky has never been sick, you've never actually seen him become this needy little puppy who needed cuddles. It's only fair, Bucky has always been there for you when you've been unlucky enough to wake up with a migraine.

"Of course you can, but if you fall asleep I hope you don't snore." You snort, climbing under the duvets and snuggling up to Bucky. His body heat immediately sends you into a sweat, he's like a furnace and you're pretty sure it might even lull you to sleep in no time.

"I don't snore." He defends, letting out a breathy laugh as he relaxes into your embrace.

"Sure… sure." You slur, your own eyes closing as you and Bucky fall asleep in each other's arms.

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duuhrayliegh · 4 years

Text

watch your six - part three

go check out watch your six on my profile! *in the process of making a m.list*

pairing: eventual bucky x reader (its a slow burn babes)

warnings: trigger warning of sedation? it’s not a there for long though, also language and some creepy activity by gomez, i think that’s it, lmk if i missed something :)

a/n: heeeyy babes… ik i promised this a way long time ago, but it’s here now! i got way behind with my classwork and the freaking texas freeze week didn’t help at allll, it’s fine, i’m fine, it’s on fire but it’s fine.

p.s.: our darling buck makes come in next upload :) stick with me, i promise i’m getting there.

series m.list

ray’s m.list

**************************

“Alright ladies, listen up.” A tall woman with a short brunette bob commanded. “Our target is one Louis Richardson.” A picture flashed on a screen behind the tall woman. “Richardson is a prominent leader in the Svengali. He’s one of the higher ups so we cannot mess this up, girls.” There was a click and then another picture floated onto the screen.

“He’s going to be attending a gala next week. Our intel leads us to believe that the Svengali is going to conduct a trade of information from Richardson to a carrier.” She moved from one side of the room to the other, catching all of our eyes. I glanced around the room, searching for something familiar.

“Hey, you alright?” The girl to my left whispered to me. “Libra, stop drifting.” My head snapped to the girl. Gemini? Isn’t she dead? Wait, where am I?

“Gemini! Libra! Have something you would like to share with the group?” The tall women challenged, we looked at each other and shook our heads, remaining quiet. “Alright, so we’re going to be sending quite a few of you in on this one. Leo, Virgo, and Scorpio you’re going to be on the gala floor. Mingling with guests and keeping the public under control. We don’t want this breaking out into a whole scandal, do we?” The heads of the women in front of me bobbed back and forth as a response of no. The tall woman proceeded to give out tasks.

“Libra, Gemini, Cancer, Taurus and Aries. You are Plan B. If this should go south, we have intelligence that gives us an idea on where one of the Svengali safe houses is located. The five of you will be laying in wait. Your mission, should it be needed, is strictly reconnaissance. You are under no circumstances to engage the target in anyway, do you understand?” We nodded and then the room was silent. The tall woman took a deep breath, leaned forward against one of the desks at the front.

“This is a very sensitive mission that they are trusting us to handle. We will do so much better than anyone else could.” She stood to her full height, “You all have your assignments, this is all going down next week. Be ready, ladies.” She bobbed her head and sent us on our way. Picking up the folder in front of me, I turned to Gemini.

“Can you believe that they gave us this assignment, Gem?” My mouth moved, but I had no control over it. What the hell is happening? Gemini laughed at me and clutched her own folder to her chest.

“Will you chill out, Libra? It’s just recon. It’s really not that big of a deal.” I stopped and gawked at her then heaved out a cackle. She walked ahead of me, shaking her head at my reaction.

“Not that big of a deal for you maybe.” I puffed out my chest, “It’s my first mission, remember?” My chest deflated and anxiety began to set in. “Oh my god, it’s my first mission.” Gemini turned to look at me with raised brows.

“Yeah, so?” She breathed a laugh, “You’re making a big deal out of nothing, Libby.” She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me along to our shared quarters. “Just remember to stay out of your head and get it done. You’ll be fine.” She giggled as she released her hold on me and plopped onto her bed. “Everything’s going to be a-okay, Libby.” I smiled at the nickname.

“You’re right, Gem. Let’s crush this mission.” I walked over to her bed and swatted her side, “Scoot over, you cow!” I grunted as I shoved her. She gasped, then after relenting she laughed as I landed face first into the mattress. We both melted into puddles of laughter and I felt a slow smile spread across my face.

“She’s smiling. Why is she doing that?” A rougher voice left Gemini’s mouth. I giggled and looked over at her.

“What did you say?”

“Gomez, if she’s smiling that means she’s happy.” Gemini’s mouth moved, but yet again it wasn’t her voice. I know that voice, where do I know that voice from? I lurched from my spot on the bed and glared at Gemini.

“What did you shove me off the bed for?” I questioned Gemini incredulously. Another jolt of energy bounced me on the ground. What is happening? My head hit the side of something hard, something that allowed enough spring that my head rebounded back into it again. I released a groan of pain and went to clutch the area. When I tried to raise one arm, but they were clasped together behind my back. Opening my eyes, blurry images roamed in front of me.

“Oh, she’s waking up.”

“Yes, that is right on time.”

“Waking up? We haven’t gotten to the rendezvous point yet.”

“Well with the dosage I administered, she should be coming out of it right about now.”

“Then up the dosage, Doc. I’m not about to deal with another whiner for the rest of this trip.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You what?” There was a run of indistinct murmurs exchanged between the two voices. My vision began to clear up. I cleared my throat, wincing at the pain when I coughed. Blinking rapidly, I tried to get my bearings. I was sat in the middle of the Doctor and Gomez, shoulders making contact with the both of them. My eyes roaming still, I landed on Gomez’s now bandaged cheek. I smirked and then huffed a laugh.

He glared at me, “You laughing at something, little girl?” I leaned away from him.

“Honestly, laughing at the fact that I was able to hurt you.” Speaking through the gag in my mouth. The speech was so muffled but the effect was there. Gomez didn’t break eye contact with me as he leaned in.

“Better watch what you say around me.” He threatened, “Someone might think you aren’t just a scared puppy.” I glared at the man, nostrils flaring in anger. I should head-butt him. Contemplating my next move, my eyes flicked across his face. He intimidated me, but I couldn’t let him know that.

“Gomez, what the hell are you doing?” Suits asked from the front passenger seat. Gomez’s eyeline never left mine as he answered.

“Just letting the little girl know her place.” Mass scoffed from the driver’s seat and my gaze darted to the rearview mirror. Waiting with bated breath as to what he was going to say. Nothing, he said nothing. Although Mass didn’t really need to say anything. He looked at Gomez with disgust and then rolled his eyes.

“You got a problem, big guy?” Gomez pushed. Suits grumbled, turning to look at Gomez.

“Just shut up, Gomez. You can use your immature intimidation tactics there. Just not in the car. You’re annoying the rest of us.” I had to stifle a laugh, which isn’t hard when you’re gagged. “Give the girl another dose, Doc.”

“Already on it.” Not having been paying attention to the doctor was a mistake. In the time that I was dealing with Gomez, the Doc began assembling and filling another syringe. The prick in my neck alerted me that it was too late. I slumped in my seat, lids drooping again. “It’ll be quicker this time, but the effect will last for a longer time.” I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to Suits. It didn’t matter at that point, I was gone.

Cold, brisk air glazed over my skin, snapping me to attention. The quick jerking motion caused an ache in my stiff, restrained muscles. I groaned which slowly morphed into a scream. “Help! Someone help me!” I screamed until my throat sore again. Raspy shouts left my vocal chords, but that didn’t stop me. Wobbling around in the chair in an attempt to loosen the binds around my body. “Let me out of here! You have no right to shut me in here!” I didn't sound like myself, my voice was so gravelly. I jumped away from the right side of the room when a rush of air burst into the room.

Suits walked in and tossed a manila folder onto the stainless countertop. He pulled the chair out from the other side of the table and sat with a sigh. As he relaxed back into the chair, he stared at my face before flipping open the folder. Thumbing through the pages, he glanced up at me every now and again. What the hell is he doing? What’s in that folder?

“Did you bring me here to kill me?” I inquired cautiously. There was a pause as my question hung in the air and then a short snort of a laugh.

“Now, why would I want that?” My nostrils flared and my pulse quickened. Suits smirked at me and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table in front of him. He glanced back down to the open folder before him. “How many missions did you participate in?” My heart stopped, what the hell is he talking about? Does he know about my dreams?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice wavered, it wasn’t a lie necessarily.

“I think you do and I don’t take too kindly to people who lie to me.”

“Well then we don’t have a problem because I’m not lying.” I wasn’t really, at least I don’t think it was. Suits chuckled, it was humorless, almost sarcastic.

“I’ll ask you one more time. How many missions did they send you on?” There was anger layering his words.

“I already told you,” I said exasperated. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Now let me go.” Suits snickered.

“Alright, fine then.” Suits left the room. The LED lights illuminating the room cut out as soon as the door closed. I shivered in anticipation, trying to figure out what was happening. The temperature seemed to drop as my anxiety increased. My head fell forwards to rest my chin against my chest, deep breaths causing my whole body to rise and fall in time. I don’t know how long they left me there. Time seemed to crawl, mocking me as it slunked by on its wheel. I desperately wanted to rack my fingers through my hair and pull until this whole situation made sense. My brain felt fried and I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Lifting my head I became aware of the sore crick at the base of it. I sighed heavily, how am I going to get out of this one? As far back as I can remember, I haven’t done anything to anyone. No instances came to mind that would give someone, much less the government, to come kidnap me and chain me to a chair.

The door swung open and banged against the white wall. A surly, imposing man stared at me with an intimidating expression on his face. The lower half of his face was covered in a layer of stubble, thick, sculpted eyebrows gave way to deep honey eyes. Who the hell is this guy? He stalked around the table and the chair that I was confined to. My head jerked to follow his movements, I didn’t catch a good vibe from this one. Have I gotten a good vibe from anyone recently, though? I mean Suits wasn’t terrible, but he did kidnap me. I was rushed back to reality by the brush of the man’s hand through my hair, sweeping it off my shoulder. Without moving, I glared at the man through my lashes.

“What the hell do you think that you’re doing?”

“I’m here to ask you a couple questions.” He announced, his voice filling the room. My shoulders drooped, this is going to be a long day.

*********************

#bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #watch your six #bucky x you #eventual bucky x reader #female reader insert #Sebastian Stan #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n

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orionwhispers · 4 years

Text

Feels Like Home // Bucky Barnes 🍂

(a/n- ok holy shit ive finally finished my first bucky oneshot. its long as fuck but im so so happy with it. pls let me know what you think. i have lots of requests and peaky stuff coming up as well. love you guys SO much) probs loads of mistakes but its 12k words and im exhausted lol. (also this is inspired by the song feels like home by bea miller and jessie reyez. highly recommend)

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, HEAVILY implied smut, so much fluff your dentist will kill me, angst and canon level violence.

Bucky Barnes had thought a lot about death.

He thought about it often during the war. Wondering if perhaps a bullet would pass through his gut as he ran through the trenches, or a bomb would explode under his feet as he walked across the battlefield. It was everywhere he looked, his fellow comrades bandaged and bloody, the nurses in the infirmary tent smelling of saline and strong, sweet, copper.

He thought about it more than anything with Hydra. Wishing that the torture would send him over the edge, pleading for the sweet release that death would give him. Thinking that what was waiting for him on the other side surely couldn’t be worse than what he was already dealing with.

Even when he moved into the tower, and into a routine with people who understood and trusted him, death had followed him for so long that it was like a friend.

He always thought his death would be something violent; something carnal and savage, almost poetic for him to die the same way that he had lived.

But who would have thought his demise would have been at the hands of the sleepy eyed, honey lipped, gentle girl that made him coffee and brought him raspberry donuts?

You turned his world upside down on a Thursday. He remembers it well, and thinks back to that autumn morning like it’s a picture he keeps in his wallet or a well thumbed book next to his bed. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are - he could be in battle, bloody and bruised, or five thousand miles away from you on a mission in the depths of some town he doesn’t know the name of, feeling himself start to crumble - and the thought of you is enough to steady him, your light luring him back to rationality, his girl.

His sweet girl.

He owed it all to you, and the way you changed his life on that rainy, dreary day and made him realise that home wasn’t a place, it was a person.

The compound was quiet. The Avengers all in a state of limbo; exhausted from hours of travelling, the ghost of bruises and cuts on their knuckles and blood under their fingernails. But more powerful than anything: the red hot relief to finally be back in the tower after two weeks.

The rest of the group fell into their own routines, their own little grooves that they had mastered over the however many years they had been saving the world. The showers were turned onto the highest setting, the smell of Sam’s ridiculously expensive mango shower gel and Nat’s deep, woody body scrub lingering across the floor. Comfort food was made in the kitchen, the throaty sound of laughter and bare feet on the tiles as popcorn sizzled and snapped on the stove. Blankets were draped across the sofas, mugs of hot chocolate and cans of sweet, dry beer passed around and over tangled limbs.

It was something they needed - something they craved. That comforting, warm feeling of family, something so trivial and domestic that it was enough to dull whatever they had been faced with, that for the evening they could think of terrible rom coms and laughter and teasing, rather than civilians dying and the smell of blood and the sound of gunshots. For those stolen moments of happiness after days of heart ache and exhaustion - it was enough.

Well, it was enough for almost everyone.

Whilst the others were arguing over the remote and whether peanut M&Ms were better than chocolate, Bucky was in his room with the lock bolted, methodically cleaning his weapons with surgical precision. He had been at the compound for almost six months, and despite the amenities and luxuries that came with his new home, he felt anything but comfortable.

He liked the people he lived and worked with - and most of them liked him too, but that didn’t do anything to dull the ache in his skull and the uncertainty deep in his gut. After so many years of not being in control of his own mind and body, of having his thoughts and feelings altered by people who saw him as nothing more than a weapon, he was struggling to adjust to his new life.

Amongst all of the chaos though, he had Steve.

The familiar sunshine haired boy that helped ease the storm. His best friend, his brother. The once scrawny teenager that he would follow to the end of the world, all guns blazing, no questions asked. Deep down, he knew that the golden boy was perhaps the only reason he was still at the tower, blending in with all the rest of the wonderful, shining eyed superhero’s around him, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

He knew they thought he could change, but he wasn’t so sure. Sometimes - like the times when he found himself grinning at something Clint said in the back of the jet, or when Nat patted his shoulder in thanks when he covered her in battle, or when he sat on the roof with Steve, talking about faded memories of pin up girls and Coney Island, he felt like perhaps he could be the man Steve thought he was. But then he caught sight of himself in the reflected surfaces of his bathroom, or felt the ricochet of his gun against his shoulder or the blood coating his hands and dripping down into his boots - and he remembered that sometimes people just don’t change.

He listened to the rain as he folded away his weapons that day. Listened to the way the patter of the water muffled the noises of laughter and playfulness coming from the lounge and dissolved into silence. It was too early to retire into bed, and besides, after a mission like the one they had come from sleep wouldn’t be on his mind for a while, his body was still racing with adrenaline.

Then, amongst the patter of raindrops and mingle of voices, he heard something.

A commotion in the hall. His body was finely tuned to pick up anything out of the ordinary, and he could hear the magnetic whir and clang of the elevator as it reached their floor. Everybody was crowded in the living room, which meant it would be somebody from outside the inner circle, and usually that would send cold chills down to his spine, but for some reason this time it didn’t.

Ghosts. Premonitions. Fortune telling. All a load of horse shit to him. He might have been to space and been frozen in time and met some really, really, bizarre people - but there were some things he just didn’t believe in.

Until that rainy day.

It was like a magnetic pull inside of him, when he wanted to lock himself away and not speak to anyone, something inside of him made him want to get up and join the rest of the crew in meeting the stranger.

Even before he saw your face you had him, hook, line and sinker.

So he begrudgingly got to his feet and stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame, metal arm out of sight. Steve glanced at him quickly with his eyebrows raised but he ignored him, focusing his eyes on the elevator as it slowly started to open.

Tony looked up suddenly as the doors opened , furrowing his brow at the semi circle of avengers watching him intently. Rather then question it he rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly and stepping forward, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Gather round, gather round, circus freaks. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Because Tony’s personality took up almost the entire room by himself, he had to step to the side for everyone to even get a glimpse of who he was talking about. They waited patiently, with crossed arms and gentle smiles as you stepped out of the shadows.

Bucky felt himself freeze.

You looked so... scared. Not in the traditional sense, not like you were terrified of them or fearing for your life, but the kind of alarm that always trudged through his blood, the feeling of unease and instability, as though you didn’t really belong.

Everybody fell into their roles the way he knew they would. You were young, probably not much older than the Parker kid, and that was why Nat and Steve stepped forward instantly, very protective of you before they even knew your name.

Your hair was mused and loose, eyes wide and lips puffy, as if you had just woken up. You were dressed all in black, baggy clothes and no makeup, your fingers interlocked, your rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

And for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Tony said, one arm resting gently on your shoulders, pushing you forward.

Bucky had to stop himself from saying your name aloud, wondering why he wanted to taste it on his tongue.

As everybody spoke, introducing themselves with just enough reservation to make you feel comfortable, your eyes met, and his heart stopped. Your eyes were more white than not, a little glossy and swimming with uncertainty, and he felt the urge to do something, anything, to make you feel even a little bit calmer.

The feeling was so foreign that he stepped back, tearing his gaze away from you, suddenly unnerved. He didn’t miss the way you exhaled, and he pretended not to notice the way his body seemed to pine for the warmth he had felt when your eyes met.

Bucky heard him whisper to Nat, his usually sardonic voice dripping with genuine concern. “Keep an eye on her, for me, please.”

And although he knew Tony would never ask that of him, he knew that without a doubt, he would.

—————————————————————-

Those next few days, you stayed hidden in your room - which just so happened to be opposite his own.

Despite that, he never saw you. Not even once.

You weren’t at any team meetings or debriefings, you were never nestled in one of the chairs in the lounge, never sat on the balcony watching the sunrise or slicing up strawberries and grapes in the nook in the kitchen.If it wasn’t for the small, barely there noises you made every so often, he would have thought you had left.

Through the vents he could occasionally hear the whine of your door and the gentle sound of your footsteps at midnight darting to the kitchen. Sometimes he heard Wanda speaking softly to you, so kind and gentle that he could even hear the anxiety leave your voice for a little while. He’d hear Tony’s loud and obnoxious knock in the middle of the night, the two of you leaving for the lab under the cover of darkness.

Bucky hardly slept. It had never come smoothly to him, slipped through his fingers too easily like grains of sand. He used to train to block out the noise, attacking a punching bag until all he could hear was the steady thump, thump, thump of his knuckles. Steve had taken him running whenever the nights got too long or too loud, sweating out the frustration he felt as they darted through the streets at midnight, but now he found another way to pass those hours in the dead of night.

There was something oddly comforting to him about laying upright in his bed, reading whatever novel somebody had leant him and told him was a classic, listening out for the shuffle of your footsteps from the other side of the hall. He remembered what it had been like for him when he first moved into the tower. He knew how hard it was, moving into a space that wasn’t your own.

So now he found solace under the breeze of his ceiling fan and the slow drip of that one leaky tap that he still hadn’t fixed and the low hum of whatever sitcom you were watching vibrating through the walls.

He liked to make sure that you were safe. You were obviously scared of something, or someone, and it made him feel better that he was keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary. He told himself that it was for the benefit of the whole tower, but that didn’t explain the ease he felt in his chest when he finally heard the quiet, even snores coming from your room, and the way that it made his own eyes start to close.

The next time he saw you in the flesh was almost a month after you had moved in.

He was in the lounge with the rest of the avengers that had slept most of the morning away, Sam nursing a cup of vanilla coffee and Steve watching the news as he made some kind of bizarre and disgusting protein shake. Bucky sat on the sofa with his back ramrod straight as he did the daily crossword, something about filling out the empty boxes comforting him.

It was a rare free day and he had slept in a little longer than usual, only falling asleep after he had heard the squeak of your bed frame and the whir of your fan flittering in his ears. When he had woken up your room was still, and he assumed you were still asleep as he headed out for his run, but by the sound of your voice in the stairwell you had obviously slipped out unnoticed, and he couldn’t help feeling impressed.

He perked up instantly when he heard you. He listened to the soft way you spoke against the sharp click of Pepper’s heels against the floor, his eyes darting to the doorway as he heard you approach. He saw the girls first, the three of them flanking you like a security detail. Wanda and Natasha at your sides, Pepper walking slightly ahead; gesturing with her jewellery clad hands as she spoke to you.

You faltered as you stepped forward, eyes widening like a deer in headlights as you noticed the boys watching you from the other side of the room. Sam awkwardly removed his hand from where he had shoved it down a cereal box, waving kindly with lucky charm marshmallows stuck to his fingers. Steve - ever the gentleman - gave you his classic golden retriever smile, greeting you as though you were an old friend.

You relaxed a little at that, and Bucky felt himself deflate. He would never be the most warm and welcoming person, not anymore, and he wondered why that bothered him so much when it came to you.

Pepper gently placed a hand on your shoulder, and you leaned into her touch like a cat. “Boys. You remember (Y/N).”

You looked up, waving a hand that was hidden by your oversized sweater sleeves. “Hello again.”

A shy smile. Big eyes. A voice like melted chocolate. Bucky felt fourteen again.

He wanted to say something to you, but he couldn’t get any words out. Pepper was on a mission though, perching her hand motherly on your shoulder and escorting you forward. “Right. The lab. This way!”

Bucky’s gaze followed you all the way down the hall, not stopping even when you faded into nothingness. He turned slowly, feeling Steve and Nat watching with matching smirks on their faces, their eyes flickering with childish glee.

He scoffed.

“Shut up.”

———————————————————

As the weeks passed, Bucky hardly caught a glimpse of you. He didn’t even realise he was searching for you, his eyes just flitting over the empty chair at meal times or trailing through the gym, wondering if he might make out the bounce of your hair or the curve of your lips.

Not that he had been thinking about your lips. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about your lips.

You had piqued his interest though. He thought of the way he had been when he first moved into the tower, and knew that the first few weeks were always the hardest. You spent the majority of the time in your room, occasionally leaving for Tony’s floor or the lab, but always hiding in the night and the shadows, falling just out of reach before he got lucky enough to see you.

Fortunately, there were enough recon missions to fill his days. He found distraction in snow capped mountains and dry, dusty deserts, searching for old HYDRA bases or intel that might have been missed. His mind was filled with coordinates and strategy plans, and that worked for a little while. Until the jet landed and he found himself wondering if you would be there with the rest of the team welcoming him back, and every time he was left feeling a quick, pang of disappointment when you weren’t.

Eventually though, things started to look up.

At three in the morning, like clockwork, he began hearing your door squeal as you opened it, and then the sound of sock clad feet padding through the hallways. The first time it happened his heart leapt and he jolted upright, convinced that something bad had happened. He didn’t relax until he heard Natasha speak, voice crystal clear despite the early hour.

“You ready?”

He soon discovered that Natasha had taken you under her wing, and was helping you spar at the times you felt the most comfortable - when the rest of the building was asleep. He knew he wasn’t the only person who was curious about you, wanting to know if you had any powers, and Nat had stopped Steve from asking a million different questions about you.

He didn’t want to make you retreat once again, so he left it alone.

Eventually, you started sleeping in, getting more comfortable and leaving your bed much later than before. The others still kept their distance, entering the gym just as you were leaving, drenched in sweat and smiling. The first time that Bucky saw you smile like that was after a run with Sam, and he swore his knees almost buckled at the sight of you, wide eyed and sparkling like a diamond, sucker punching the air right out of his gut.

It was just about dawn when he next saw you, the sun barely risen, the compound bathed in a golden, ethereal light. No matter how many early mornings they had had, the kitchen still smelt like triple shot espresso and cans of red bull every day, sleepy eyed avengers mumbling and grumbling as they fought over who got to use the coffee machine first. Bucky smiled smugly across his mug of instant grounds that Sam had so tastefully called, “disgusting cheap crap,” as his $3 coffee capsule got crushed once again.

Steve made some quick joke as he towelled off his hair from his shower, but his words crumbled into TV static when Bucky saw you coming off the elevator. You were limping, just a little, but enough to make his heart thunder in his chest. You were smiling though, wide and happily. As bright as the full sun, and Bucky wanted to stay in your warmth for a little bit longer. Natasha held onto you as though you weighed less than a newborn baby, and the two of you stumbled towards your room. Before you disappeared you shot a small and hesitant smile at the boys, one that pierced through Bucky like a steel bullet.

He wanted to keep quiet but he couldn’t. Not after he had seen you.

“You don’t think Natasha is being to hard on her?” He said finally, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Why do you care?” Sam had asked, halfway through a breakfast burrito that was dropping more food on his shirt than into his mouth.

“Camaraderie.” He quipped.

“Camaraderie my ass. Remember that time I almost broke my leg sparring with you? You made me walk myself to the clinic.”

“That’s because you were being whiney and dramatic.”

“Oh? Well I’ll tell you what I think. I think that Mr Barnes here is - ”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Steve said finally, cutting the conversation short, knowing exactly where Sam was going with his thoughts and not wanting to put his best friend through any embarrassment about his... interest in you.

Sam gave him a glare that said that the conversation was definitely not over, but Bucky ignored him, his eyes trailing the hallway you had walked through, his belly aching and flipping from the way that you had looked at him, filling him with a warmth that didn’t dim even long after he had fallen asleep that night.

——————————————————————-

Things really started to change at midnight. When the sky went black and turned into a blanket of obsidian and twinkling stars, that was when both of you came alive.

The nightmares were back, and they were bad. Blood. Metal. Rust. The pain that felt as though his bones were snapping one by one. Gasping for air. Sweat. Fists. Gunshots. No longer could he stay asleep listening out for you, his body didn’t want him to feel comfortable, safe, whatever the way you made him feel. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of something as sweet as you. He was not a man that deserved good things, and he knew he certainly didn’t deserve you.

The compound was so big and he felt so small in his bed. Sometimes he swore he could feel the walls closing in, even though he knew his quarters were more than triple the size of some of the hellholes he had been trapped in. He needed space. He needed air. And that was what led him to wander the hallways like some kind of spectre as the city roared and thundered and thrived below him.

The rooftop had always been his favourite spot. Tony loved using it for parties, setting up a bar and filling the hot tub with champagne and hiring some idiot to blast stupid music that made Bucky want to smash his head against a brick wall. But it was often just used by the team, swimming laps in the pool and laughing under the summer sun, strawberries and wine in the spring and late night swims in the rain in the winter, making Clint jump in the frozen water naked after he lost a round of poker.

It was one of the rare places that Bucky felt truly safe. Out in the open air, watching the water sparkle teal under the stars, the city so big and beautiful, lights flickering and horns blaring. He came up when things went bad, losing himself in the noise and the ice cold air. He often pulled a chair out to the edge, drinking a beer that had no effect on him but somehow made him feel a little bit lighter, just watching the world go by.

He hadn’t been up there in a while. The nightmares had stopped for a while, incidentally the same time you arrived, but recently they had started to trickle back in, like rain at the end of summer.

He was in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a henley with far too many holes in, cradling a mug of cocoa with a shot of dark rum as he stepped off the elevator, stopping suddenly when he noticed the outdoor lights shining brightly. He knew that everybody else was asleep, and his field instincts kicked in quickly, until he noticed the soft lilac hue of your satin pyjamas glistening under the moon.

Perhaps he should have left. He knew that you liked to keep your distance and God, did he understand that, but his feet seemed to stay cemented to the floor. You were luring him like a ship to a lighthouse, beckoning him to follow you, and who was he to resist?

You were bent over a row of plants and flowers, watering them from a buttercup yellow can, your fingers stained with mud. You moved gently, tentatively fondling the leaves and petals and clipping away any stray stems and weeds. He watched you with curious eyes, amazed at how something so simple could show so much about your character. After so long of not seeing you he felt lucky to catch a glimpse, and he didn’t want to do anything to scare you off.

That was, until his foot caught the edge of one of the sun loungers.

For a trained assassin, he could really be a dumbass sometimes.

You looked up quickly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, your face just starting to flush. He held up his free hand, all the air leaving his lungs like a balloon. He stepped back to leave you in peace, but then he heard you softly say:

“Wait.”

So he did.

You looked nervous but enchanting, with your mussed hair and fluffy slippers and long eyelashes. You smiled timidly, but warmly, and looked at him. Really looked at him. And something about that made him feel truly seen, for the first time in a long time.

“Bucky, right?” A pause lingered in the air, he was suddenly face to face with you and somehow all of his words dissolved into the night air. You mistook his turmoil for something else, and straightened up, the trowel in your hand spilling dirt onto the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry. Do you prefer James? Or...”

“Bucky!” He said, almost shouting, and then calmed himself down. He could feel a blush rising up his throat from his outburst, but if it meant you would look at him the way that you were, then he would happily embarrass himself forever.

A moment passed, the stars overhead round and full despite all of the pollution in the city air, and for once Bucky didn’t find them the most beautiful thing he had seen.

“What are you doing?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh, um.” You were a little flustered, the apples of your cheeks rounding and your lips twitching up, like you were laughing at a joke he so desperately wanted to be a part of. It was infectious. You were infectious, and the ice cold assassin felt the frost around his heart start to thaw.

“Tony got them for me.” You said, barely meeting his gaze. “After everything.” You stopped awkwardly and cleared your throat. His interest was piqued but he knew better than to probe you, instead letting you ramble. “He thought it would be good for me to have something to take care of. Something to look after, you know?”

He nodded.

“It’s not much, but sometimes coming up here and watering them just takes my mind off of things, you know?” You said, somewhat absentmindedly. He watched as you stroked the petals, pushing your finger into a droplet of water on the leaves. He wasn’t much of a gardener but he recognised a few of the potted plants. Forget me nots, African violets, buttery yellow primrose and icy purple orchids. You had other things too, sweet mint and thyme and rosemary, and budding stems of strawberries and blackberries and tomatoes.

It was amazing how much life you had grown along the usually industrial looking balcony. It was rare to see something thrive amongst the smoke of the city,

“I like it up here too, it’s peaceful.” He said, looking out at the skyline and smelling the crisp, cool air.

You mistook his honesty for an annoyance at breaching his personal space, and held your hands up apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You were about to make excuses and leave, not wanting to upset the very handsome man who had occupied far too much of your brain anymore, but he stepped forward and said quickly:

“No! In fact, I er - I think I like it much more now.”

You smiled, and oh boy, did Bucky know he was done for.

———————————————————-

Bucky started to like the nights.

After the first midnight meeting it somehow became unspoken for the two of you to meet up on the rooftop. Bucky never wanted to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see you again in the privacy of the twilight, the moonlight casting gold flecks into your eyes.

It should have been awkward. An ex HYDRA puppet and a girl with a blurry past that had just joined the biggest crime fighting organisation in the world should have found it hard to open up to one another, but somehow that didn’t happen.

You both kept the conversation light, the silences were warm and comfortable, and everything felt bizarrely natural. You’d often be preening your plants and Bucky would be sat on a lounge chair, reading a book and sneaking glances at you. You talked about the city, he told you how much it had changed since the 40’s, and you told him about the crappy apartment with no heating and a nest of owls you lived in before Tony took you in.

Family never came up, it was a subject you danced around and Bucky respected your privacy. He told you about his though, it slipped out accidentally when he saw you preening foxgloves the colour of ripe and juicy plums - and how they reminded him of the ones his mother once had in the window box of their kitchen. Somehow the memory hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and you expertly swerved the conversation onto something else. It lingered in his mind for the rest of the night, only dimming when he came home from a workout the following morning and saw a little vase filled with purple petals and a book titled “Caring For Foxgloves” left outside of his door.

His smile didn’t fade the whole rest of the day, even through Sam’s relentless teasing.

He remembered you talking about your favourite cafe off campus, and the white hot chocolate and raspberry donuts you would kill for, and took an hour detour from his running route to pick them up for you both to share later that night.

It was amazing, how this girl he only knew through the sounds from his wall was now sitting with him in the early hours of the morning, talking to him like he was a real person and not just some shitty science experiment. You exchanged books, giving him ones that you thought he would enjoy, and he devoured them in less than a week, finding traces of you between the pages.

The two of you never sat right beside one another. You knew his past and you were cautious not to overwhelm him, always leaving generous inches and metres between you both. For the first time in a long time Bucky didn’t want somebody to give him space, he craved those moments when your fingertips would brush as he helped you pot a plant, when your thighs would touch as you leant over him to watch the stars, when he could feel your warmth orbiting him like a planet.

He used to loathe the night time, but now, he spent the whole day aching for the sun to set so he could be with you.

Eventually, as you grew closer with him, you also grew closer with the team, and soon you were joining them sporadically for movie nights and “Friends” marathons and training. You mainly stayed with Wanda and Nat, the two girls sparring with you and showing you the ropes and coming from a place you could understand the best, but you always ended up back next to Bucky - and he loved it.

The rest of the team noticed too. The way that you brought Bucky out of his shell and he helped you to feel grounded. Steve instantly saw that the smile on his best friends face was wider than it had been in fifty years, and he enjoyed watching the two of you together, happy his best friend was happy.

Bucky felt his own change, too. He was no longer a blushing, stuttering mess around you, (well, not completely. He was still a wreck when you smiled at him, or laughed, or did basically anything) but he had found a comfortable middle ground in your friendship, the two of you able to tease and joke with each other like old friends. Finding ways to talk the whole night and day away, watching the sky turn from obsidian to sweet purple and then milky blue, both of you wondering how you had managed to once again miss an entire night quicker than a snap of fingers.

He knew that he was in deep when you got cleared for your first mission.

He remembered waking up, running with Steve, drinking coffee and making eggs, all whilst pretending he wasn’t looking over his shoulder waiting for you every few seconds. Sam came in with a smug smile and stole a slice of toast, buttering it until it was dripping and eating it in seconds, his brow furrowing a little as he watched Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, shooting him a curious glance.

“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your girl?”

“She not ‘my girl’.” Bucky said through a mouthful of coffee, hating how the words made him feel.

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s not like the two of you don’t spend every second of every day and every night together, and it’s not like you’re totally head over heels -”

Bucky decided it would be easier to just cut him off, taking his frustration out on the eggs he was now whisking a little too hard. “Why would I say goodbye to her?”

“You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling a million tiny needles prickle his skin.

“Bruce signed her off. She’s heading to Madrid with Nat.”

“She’s what?”

That was all it took for him to leave, Sam watching him closely and smirking to himself. Not noticing until it was too late that the pan had started smoking, and the smell of burnt eggs wafted through the air, and Sam was left alone to grab the fire extinguisher and coat the meal in clouds of white foam.

Bucky stormed through the halls, he wasn’t quite sure what his plan was, his mind felt like a bowl of alphabet soup and he couldn’t quite place his anger or frustration, but that didn’t stop him from tearing through the rooms with a face like thunder. He found Tony in the conference room, finalising the mission plans and murmuring under his breath. Bucky feet moved him forward before he could even compute it.

“You signed her off?”

Tony exhaled loudly, and with obvious frustration spun round on his three hundred thousand dollar shoes.

“I was wondering when you would pitch in your two cents.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

“Yes I do.”

“What if -? What if something happens? What if something goes wrong? What if - ”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Look, Barnes. I know you and (Y/N) have been getting on well, and I know that she’s opened up a lot because of you -” He paused, mulling over the distaste in his mouth. “... As much as that might irritate me. But you don’t know what she’s like on the field, she’s brilliant.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second, but his blood was as cold as ice. Missions went wrong all of the time, even a simple recon with Clint ended up with them both littered in bullets, and the mere thought of that made his head spin. He had no real reason to be so overprotective of you, but he truly couldn’t help it, everything in him was screaming at him to keep you safe.

“Are you even sure that...”

“Bucky?” He felt like a scarecrow shoved in a pool of mud, stuck straight and stiff as you said his name and rendered him totally tongue tied. He wondered how much you had heard, and he felt like there was an ice cube trailing down his spine.

“Aha! There she is! Superwoman!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, always knowing how to diffuse the tension.

He turned around and felt his heart jack hammer in his chest. He could see Nat, but his eyes totally passed over her, because you were there: your hair tied up and back from your face, subtle makeup with long eyelashes and syrupy lips, a black and powder pink tactical suit that fit and hugged every curve and bow of your body. His brain totally let him down, short circuiting at the mere sight of you. You looked so happy and healthy and glowing, and also like you could knock him out with a single punch - and good god would he let you.

“Bucky I was erm, I was looking for you. I wanted to say goodbye.” You clasped your hands together, appearing so sweet and shy, a total contrast to the femme fatale you portrayed.

“Natalia!” Tony said quickly, and for once Bucky was grateful for his interruption. “Come and look at this strange bird with me.”

All of you knew it was quite possibly the worst fake distraction ever but you ignored it. Nat just rolled her eyes and followed Tony to the balcony, but not before wiggling her eyebrows at Bucky.

You moved forward tentatively. “I wanted to tell you this morning but I couldn’t find you.” You weren’t quite sure why you were so cautious and apprehensive, desperate to speak to him. You had been travelling and fighting for as long as you could remember, you had spent many years alone and entered the battlefield countless times - and yet, that morning as Bruce gave you the all clear, the only person you wanted to see or speak to was Bucky.

“I was running, I’m sorry.”

You smiled, and it made him smile. “Well I’ve found you now.” You stepped forward, Bucky inhaled air so sharply it almost sliced the back of this throat. “I wanted to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you soon.” You paused, then blinked up at him almost cheekily. “Would you do me a favour? If you have time? Could you water the plants for me?”

He grinned, toothy and white. “Already on it.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, and he swore he could feel you melt into his touch, or maybe that was his knees buckling at his stupidity and the way that you were looking up at him. He wanted to say a million things, but instead he settled for: “Goodbye, (Y/N). Be safe, okay?”

“Of course.”

He watched as you packed your things and headed to the jet, the rest of the crew coming out to say their farewells and wish them luck. His eyes were trained on you as you spoke to Tony, nodding your head as you listened to him. He felt Natasha sidle up next to him, her hair shining copper in the sun.

“She’ll be alright, Barnes.”

“I know. But - ”

“I’ll take care of her. Promise.”

“Thank you, Nat. Good luck.”

“Don’t need it!”

Three hours later and he was in the gym, punching out his excess energy. The bag was splitting at the seams, and sand trailed sadly onto the floor. Bucky ignored it, his hits getting harder and faster, his blood pounding in his ears. Since you had left he had taken to pacing the floor and biting his nails down to the wick, hovering over Steve as he spoke to Nat through her wire. He only left when he realised that he was driving everybody else crazy with his obsessive twitching and marching, taking out his frustration on whatever he could rip apart with his fingers.

“Tony’s going to kill you if you break anymore punching bags.” Steve said from behind him, his voice echoing around the dark room.

“Hmph.”

He couldn’t stop. His hands were red raw and his knuckles were scraped but they would heal soon, and he’d go back to tearing them up all over again, anything to get rid of the adrenaline and nausea that had been swimming in him since the morning.

A minute passed. And then two. And then three. He exhaled, pausing, his hands midway in the air. He was about to say what he had always known, right from the second your eyes met that crisp autumn day, and Steve was the only one he could confide in.

“I think I’m falling in love with her.”

Steve hardly even blinked, just clapped a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, his brother.

“I know.”

Because of course he did. He knew it from the way Bucky smiled, the way he was lighter, brighter, like you had made him switch on and appreciate the little things around him. He had seen Bucky doe eyed and loopy over hundreds of girls back in the day, he knew how he got, but this... this was something bigger, magnetic, the clash of two electric people.

There wasn’t much Steve could say, he was great at saving people but not so good at the more personal side of things, he still turned into a puddle when Sharon looked at him. Instead he laughed, his teeth white as snow and his eyes playful and teasing. “You got it bad, dude.”

Despite everything Bucky smiled. Because yeah, he did.

————————— ————————————

You came back from the mission unharmed and euphoric.

And the second. And the third. And the fourth.

Bucky still tracked mud across all of the carpets and tapped his feet mindlessly for the entirety you were gone, but he was getting better. Steve had even bought him a joke present of a pear shaped and scented stress ball, but Bucky had ripped it in half when there was gunfire in the background of your coms, followed by an apologetic “Sorry!” from Sam. Bucky had then poured all of the tiny fruit smelling beads under the duvet in Sams bed, and then put all of his toilet paper on the holder backwards, knowing how annoyed he got about it.

Every time you came back you were exhausted and elated and beaming, and after having a nap and a shower you spent the rest of the day with the team, but the nights were reserved just for him. You grew even closer together. Steve had watched from the rooftop doorway gobsmacked one evening when he had left his phone up there, watching the way you two interacted, the way that he curled into your touch, never away from it. You got electric shocks when your fingers touched, you would blush when his knee playfully nudged yours at something stupid somebody had said at dinner, and you found yourself falling asleep to the image of chestnut hair and ocean eyes. You had crushes before, but this was all consuming, the kind of thing that made your stomach erupt in butterflies and your eyes turn into hearts.

You were worried that it might be one sided, but Bucky was totally, completely, smitten.

He watched you. Noticed the way that you smiled and laughed and tucked your hair behind your ear. He thought of the girls in the forties, with their painted lips and curled hair and immaculate clothes, and how you blew all of them out of the water, even in just your flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers. The coil in his belly when he looked at you reminded him of being sixteen and holding hands at the pictures, but that had just been a flicker, and this was a forest fire.

The first mission with the rest of the crew was when things went sour.

He got to see how you acted first hand. The way that you were quiet in the jet, but smiling strawberry red, taking in all of the orders that Steve meticulously laid out, your eyes wide and eager. He watched you as he helped Nat set up the guns and stock the ammo, the way that you toyed with the knife in your boot, the gears in your head turning and working on something he was desperate to discover.

He hadn’t been on a mission with you, not only because they way you looked in your suit and the way that you grinned would have led to him inadvertently getting a bullet in his head, but because from what he had heard, your fighting styles were totally different. Your powers and your skills were a mystery to him, one that he badly wanted to solve, but you kept that side of you hidden and guarded with barbed wire, and he respected that.

You were paired off with Sam. Nat with Clint. Bucky with Steve. Wanda with Vision. It was a simple mission, there was some intel locked in a safe of a seemingly abandoned factory in the south of Russia. Tony had discovered the place crawling with hidden members of a gang that specialised in human trafficking and organ farming, and he needed what was hidden below to help blow it out of the water.

It was going to take a lot of skill. There was no doubt that the enemies would be heavily armed, possibly even with illegally manufactured weapons, and all of you had to keep your heads straight the entire time. He had wanted desperately to be paired with you, to keep his eye on you, (not that you needed it) but he knew it was out of the question. Instead, as you all split up a few miles away in the woods, he grabbed your hand quickly and rubbed his finger across your knuckles, looking at you intently, his eyes swimming with sincerity.

“Be careful.” He said, his gaze locked on yours.

You smiled. “Always.”

He stuck his middle finger up at Steve’s smug face as they headed towards the factory.

Things were going well. As well as they could be when they were covered in blood and sweat and surrounded by the sound of gunfire and cracking bones. Nobody had been hurt so far, the coms quiet as the pairings cleared their sectors and worked their way down to the basement. Bucky had just pushed the last man over the railing and onto the concrete floor below when he heard the crackle of panicked voices in his ear, his eyes darting to Steve.

“Shit! Fuck!”

“Sam?”

“It’s (Y/N)! Fuck! One of them took her!”

“What?” Steve said instantly, switching straight from solider to captain, immediately alert.

“There was too many, it was an ambush!”

“Sam just stay there and - ” Steve tried to keep his voice steady and level, but it seemed as though the walls were closing in. To make matters worse, he saw a blur of black in his eye line, and watched helplessly as his best friend tore down the stairwell, his footsteps a clap of thunder. “Fuck! Bucky!”

Bucky knew that he was going to get one hell of a lecture and probably some six week course in impulse in the force, but all that he could think about was you, his blood was ice cold, his body numb and his brain conjuring up a million different pictures of you that made him feel sick to his stomach. He leapt over the bannister and landed haphazardly on the floor, his gun cocked and ready. His eyes were nothing but jet black pupils, scanning for your face through the halls.

He knew that you and Sam had been working through what used to be the laboratory, and that was on the other side of the building. His legs and arms moved almost mechanically, determined to get to you as quickly as possible, taking out anybody that stood in his way. He could hear Steve calling from behind him, and the sputter of the others in his earpiece, but his focus was on one thing. You.

The men were big and brawny and mean. Tattooed arms and shaved heads and gold teeth. Bucky shredded through them like they wore nothing. He flung them over tables, threw them through doorways and dragged them up by the roots of their hair. They were strong though, laughing at him through coffee stained teeth, loving his anger and desperation.

“Where is she?” He snarled at one particularly vicious thug brandishing two assault rifles.

“Who? Your whore? Dead.”

He snapped his neck like it was nothing but a twig.

He ran from room to room, his boots squealing across blood and stray bullets, his breath as ragged and sharp as glass. Everywhere was empty. Rows of vials and big glass cylinders and cages for animal testing, there was nothing, the place completely ransacked and bare. He hissed, getting ready to fight his way through another floor until he heard exasperated grunts and the clash of metal from a small room off to the side.

He skidded into the doorway with his rifle up at his shoulder, his finger right on the trigger, ready to shoot somebody’s fucking head off. Instead he paused, his mouth agape and his hands lowering, the whole room standing still. There was a freezer. Probably for samples and test tubes and whatever crazy fucking thing they kept in a place like this, but they had used it as a cage, the handles tied with thick copper chains and padlocks. Sam was using the butt of his gun to smash his way through, and they were old and rusty and starting to crumble easily, and Bucky watched helplessly as he finally busted in, clouds of ice puffing around him.

Bucky didn’t know why he couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. But his feet were as heavy as cinder blocks, and his heart was thundering in his ears. There was a small squeal, broken and half hearted, void of anything other than exhaustion, and then the smell of tears and blood, followed by sweet mint and wildflowers. Unmistakably you.

He wanted to run forward and scoop you in his arms, press your head against the crook of his neck and get you far, far away from this place, but he couldn’t move, and so he watched as Sam tugged you into him, running his fingers through your hair, cradling you like a child, soothing you as you cried hot, wet tears into his suit. And Bucky wished with everything in him that it was him instead.

He stayed back as you flew home with Sam. He kept away when you were in the hospital with Bruce, lurked in his room when you went over everything with Tony, locked himself away when you confided in Steve. He felt as though he had failed you, no matter what the others said. He felt as though he had let you down, and the noise you had made when Sam tugged you from the depths of that tiny little box, it played in his head like a warped record, haunting him and his dreams.

For a week he kept to himself. For a week he ran a different route and trained at a gym down by the water. For a week he took his motorbike out to a shitty diner in the bad part of town and ate soggy pancakes instead of having dinner with the team, for a week he did everything he could to not see you, thinking that would ease what you had been through, but instead it left you feeling torn and hurt and completely alone.

Tony made him come in to test out a new reloading system and so he reluctantly snuck down to the figuring range under the cover of darkness. He allowed himself to get lost in the sounds of carnage and the smell of metal, until he heard soft footsteps from behind him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You seemed so sad, and that made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Silence. That had never been awkward between the two of you, ever, and yet now it was so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

You wrung your hands together, your eyes flitting around the room, never quite landing on his face. That hurt. After a moment you cleared your throat, using the toe of your sneaker to kick up dust from the floor. “Do you - do you know? I mean, has anybody said anything to you? About me?”

He shook his head. “No.” There had been a million times when it was on the tip of his tongue to pry the truth from Nat or Steve, but his respect for you was stronger than his need for answers.

He felt his stomach flip when you finally blinked up at him. You looked as though you hadn’t slept and he knew he looked worse. You were still so beautiful though, looking so young and angelic under the harsh lights and surrounded by all the weaponry. Like a powder pink rose amongst giant, violent thorns.

Unable to stop himself, he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“Not for avoiding you. For letting you - For not being there for you.”

Your mouth was open, brows furrowed as you took in what he said. “What?”

“I should have helped you.” There was desperation in his voice, and he turned to face the targets rather than look at you, not wanting you to see him so weak.

You were silent for quite a while. It was difficult for you to digest his words, like swallowing glass. You had been under the impression that seeing you tearful and cowering and broken had scared him off, had made him look at you differently, but now you knew that he blamed himself. “Bucky...” You said, biting back emotion. “Its not your fault.” Your tone was definite. Strong. You wouldn’t let him feel guilty for something he had no control over.

He brushed you off, shifting his weight, turning playful. “Yeah I know. It was Sam’s.”

You rolled your eyes.

He clicked his tongue. He set the gun down on the table and turned to face you fully, his eyes solid and unwavering. “I am so sorry you got hurt.”

“I wasn’t - I.”Finding the right words was hard. You had so much you wanted to tell him but no idea how to, the sentences sticking to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. “It was just...Can we? Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” You smiled, and Bucky swore even the strongest industrial lights couldn’t even match your spark. “The roof.”

Under the stars and above the city as the cars raced and the sirens blared, you told him everything. Growing up as a lab rat, twisted and moulded by scientists and pumped full of chemicals. You told him of finding your powers and being forced to use them for vile things you couldn’t even repeat, and when he heard the tremor of your voice and saw the gloss on your eyes his whole body vibrated and turned a shade of red that it was almost black. You told him how the people that created you had wanted you back, and how Tony had saved you from being taken again, how you owed him your life.

He wasn’t good with comfort. He wasn’t good with words. He was good at tearing people apart limb from limb and shooting them from distances and breaking their bones like they were toothpicks, but for you, he would try. In a move so unlike him that it felt as though he might have been brainwashed once again, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

You froze at first, but eventually thawed and melted into him, grateful for his touch. You had wanted to be close to him since the first time you met but you held back, and now everything felt right, like the missing piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he gave someone a bear hug, his nose buried in your hair, his fingers locked around you, desperate to keep you safe. Perhaps it was way back then, a time of uniforms and alleyways and candy floss and city smog, a time he used to long for with everything in him.

But now the memories of the past didn’t even compare to what he felt when he held you.

———————————————————

Everything came to a head on the first mission you had alone together.

Two months passed. Two months of subtle touches and shared smiles and inside jokes. Two months of rooftop laughter and midnight meetings and eating ice cream straight from the tub as you sat under the stars. Two months of utter, dreadful, aching, slow burning, and it was driving everybody else crazy.

Mostly Sam.

“I’m just saying,” Sam had murmured to Steve over chocolate eclairs one morning as they watched you teach a wide eyed, love struck Bucky how to play Mario Kart. “Can’t we just lock them in a room? Force them to kiss?”

“No.”

“It’s just so gross.”

Wanda flicked a grape at him, smiling cheekily as it bounced off his nose. “It’s sweet.”

He cocked a brow and tilted his head, his eyes filled with mild disgust. “Is it?”

Steve flicked through the files in his hand and licked whipped cream from his fingers. “He’s happy. Leave him be.”

“He’s a dumbass.”

“They both are.” Natasha interjected from behind them, wiping sweat from her brow and pulling off her boxing gloves. She was monotone and her face was straight, but even the black widow couldn’t bite back the smile she had as she watched the girl she now thought of as a sister and the once murderous, unbeatable assassin arguing about blue shells on the sofa.

The first mission you had been assigned together was in a small town in the Midwest somewhere. There had been unusual sightings in an airfield in the middle of nowhere, and a fugitive from Germany had been spotted in the bars that bordered the little village. Tony didn’t want to send too many people and blow the cover, just your powers of manipulation and telekinesis to apprehend the subject, and Bucky for added strength and precision.

Initially Tony was hesitant on pairing the two of you together, but there was no denying that you both worked brilliantly together. You understood one another on a level that nobody else did.

Bucky didn’t get nervous before a mission. In fact, he hardly felt anything. He spent the hours in the jet preparing himself and his weapons, going over maps and plans until they were drilled in his brain. But as the two of you took off, you with your rose blossom lips and eye watering suit and soft laughter, Bucky felt a warmth coiling in his stomach.

Apprehension.

You were staying at a cheap hotel a few blocks from the airfield. Tony had thought of everything and booked the two of you in rooms the opposite end of the hall from each other. Three floors apart. Bucky had slipped the receptionist a twenty for the room next to yours. For protection, of course.

Working undercover could be mind numbingly boring. Hours sat in a parked car in the dead of night, freezing to the bone as you watched an apartment from the bushes, trailing a suspect for days on end - but any time with you was a blessing for Bucky, even if it was sat behind the wheel of a cheap car with painful seats and broken heating.

The mission was a quiet one at first, you’d spotted the subject and had been following him, but all he seemed to do was eat crappy diner food and watch hours of cartoons. You both remained a safe distance but you managed to eventually bug his apartment when he spent the evening at a strip club. Tony and Steve updated you often, they had intercepted his phone calls and learnt that he was sending out a shipment late one night, and the two of you needed to stop it before it reached the air.

The rain was torrential when the two of you left the hotel. You smiled secretly to yourself as you walked through the slick streets, noticing how Bucky always made sure you were on the side away from the road, and how he moved so that you never got your feet in puddles. You were in the middle of nowhere following a criminal who spent far too much time eating potato chips and watching Rick and Morty, and yet you struggled to think of a time when you had been more content.

It meant everything to you.

Staying up late to listen into his apartment, Bucky buying practically the entire vending machine, the two of you pigging out and talking about nothing. You had breakfast at diners and communicated at night through knocks on the wall. Whenever you were out and the air was ice cold, Bucky would always move in close to you, his arm brushing against yours, his body your own personal heater. He wanted nothing more in those moments then to pull you into him and warm you up some other way, but instead he kept his eyes fixed forward, and bit the inside of his cheek until it bled.

You arrived at the airfield at midnight. The moon was high and the sky was dark and you both had to crouch low to be avoided by the overhead lights. You saw the suspect speaking to someone on his phone, and not long after a large white van pulled up towards him, the driver getting out and opening the boot.

“That’s it.” Bucky said pointing at the wooden crates. His voice was right by your ear, and you tried to ignore the way you shivered.“You ready?”

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Always.”

What happened next was mostly a blur. The two of you kept your heads down and your hands on your weapons, the pounding of the rain disguising your footsteps. You made it across the tarmac with Bucky covering you, his eyes alert and prepared for any imposing danger. You lifted your hands, ready to snap your fingers and apprehend the man rooting around the boxes, but before you could even feel the warm buzz of your powers through your veins, six men leapt out from the back of the van, guns raised and smoking.

“Fuck. Fuck! It’s a set up.”

Without even a second thought, Bucky pushed you aside. His body totally covered your own, and he hissed and swore, firing back at the bullets rapidly charging at you. You swung your hands and fought back, sending out flickers of fire and air, setting one of them alight and watching as he howled in pain. Bucky shot at everyone he could, sharp pierces right in the skull, always one hundred percent accurate, but his brain was whirring a mile a minute. He was trying his best to keep his eyes on you, his only goal was to make sure you were safe.

It wasn’t like he thought you were weak - far from it. He had seen you out on the field, been knocked on his ass from the aftershock of your powers more times than he could count, and he knew he had no real reason to be so worried but that did nothing to stop the prickling feeling across his skin like a million tiny little flames at the thought of you getting hurt.

You were determined to keep him safe as well though.You tossed back bullets and threw your knife through the air, smiling as it slashed through on of them, leaving him crumpled and crying on the floor. The two of you worked well together, playing off of each other’s attacks and combining your skills to get as many of them down as you could. Right when the last man hit the floor, you exhaled, and Bucky allowed himself a soft smile, looking beautiful and bruised in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Are you alright?” You heard him say, but his voice faded into static in your ears. Behind him one of them had struggled to his feet, blood spurting out from his neck, his face filled with nothing but venom, his eyes wild and vicious. You didn’t even blink, thrusting your hands forward and sending a wave of power through the air.

But it was too late.

He had already lifted his gun, a ripple of bullets flying towards you both. You leapt in front of Bucky, pushing his head down and trying to soften the impact, but his hands curled painfully around your waist, dragging you onto the floor and under him. The bullets missed the two of you by centimetres, piercing into the airplane behind you both. Your surge of power had knocked the man back and he was down once again, his body now pale and lifeless. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and Bucky’s. He was fully on top of you, warm and solid and absolutely seething, his chest rising and falling above your own.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Bucky...” You inhaled, trying to get him to calm down and look at you but he merely shook his head, his body vibrating blood red.

“No. We’re leaving. Now.”

———————————————————-

After the ambush, it was too risky to return to the hotel, and so Steve sent out coordinates for a safe house an hour away. The ride there was completely silent. You didn’t even try to speak or diffuse the tension, you could practically feel Bucky’s anger, and the steering wheel had even started to bend from his grip.

The safe house was a small cottage. The only heat was from a tiny wood burner in the lounge, and the only food on the shelves were tinned peaches and cans of custard. Everything was oddly cosy. Pink knitted throws and round plush cushions and mismatched sofas, dried lavender tied to the wall and exposed brick and white, ceramic milk jugs. In any other circumstance you would have been happy to spend the night, but Bucky’s sour mood was quick to dim your spark.

You sighed as he threw his duffel bag onto the table, angrily heading to the sink and twisting the tab, exhaling loudly at the thin dribble of water that came out.

“Bucky.” You started to say, but he held his hand up as a warning.

“No.”

“Yes!” You snapped, needing him to understand you. “You have to listen to me.”

He dismissed you, too overcome with annoyance to even process your words. You could have died tonight, and you were acting as though it didn’t matter. “You were a goddamn idiot out there.”

“No I wasn’t!”

He slapped his hand on the wooden counter, a slap ringing through the small room.“You jumped in front of a bullet -“

“You almost got shot Bucky!”

“You almost got shot.”

“It was what was best for the mission.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the mission! I only care about you.”

“What?” Your voice was soft. A whisper. You could hear everything around you, feel him before he even stepped forward. Your breathing was shaky, adrenaline spiking through your body. The man you were in love with looking at you desperately and longingly, as though there was a physical ache inside of him.

He shrugged, because what else was there to say? He was looking deep into your own eyes, wanting to drown in them. His face was stern and hard and he was pissed, and yet, strangely, none of what had happened seemed to matter. He stepped towards you, his gaze running across your figure, looking for any cuts or bruises one of those fuckers might have left on you.

“Are you hurt?” He said finally, his face millimetres from your own.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed you. His hands went up and into your hair, his chest pressed against yours, his lips were warm and soft and hungry, ready to devour the one thing he had wanted since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You melted into his touch and he smiled. The kiss got more intense, teeth clashing and hands under sweaters and his body rolling against yours. You moaned in his mouth and he bit your lip and your pulses synced and raced and leapt. This was six months of pure longing and frustration and the need to portray everything that had gone unsaid for far too long.

It wasn’t long before you ended up on the floor. You were both too greedy and touch starved to even stop or make your way upstairs, you both needed the other like air, like addicts desperate for another hit. His lips were all over every bit of skin he could find, you lasted like sweat and cinnamon and vanilla and he swore he would give up everything he had if he got to feel you like this, whining and writhing and grabbing him, tugging him closer and kissing him like an angelic little devil.

He had once been a Casanova. He had once made ladies swoon and mothers blush and fathers clench their fists. Then he had been shattered, rebuilt in a way that wasn’t quite right, his body used for torture rather than pleasure. And yet, with you, the rain pelting the windows and your bodies intertwined and your lips tasting like summer strawberries and everything that he had ever dreamed of - he felt whole, for the first time in a long time. The noises you made were sinful, and his thoughts were nothing but you,you,you, the girl he had fallen in love with through the sounds in the wall and with the flowers on the roof, the girl that occupied his brain more than anything else.

Everything was too much and not enough, his head was buried in your neck, your legs were around his waist, pulling him tighter, urging him to go deeper. He had dreamt of this moment for a long time. He had imagined a candle lit dinner and red roses and awkward touches and itchy dress shirts, he wanted everything to be perfect, because you deserved the world. But in the living room of a safe house in the middle of nowhere, covered in sweat and blood and surrounded by thunder and clashing furniture seemed oddly magical for a couple with roots like yours.

After, you were cradled in the crook of his arm, with your hair splayed across his bare chest. Bucky was having a hard time controlling his rapid pulse and heavy breathing because holy shit he had just slept with the girl of his dreams, but one look at you under the moonlight looking ethereal and exhausted and everything else just dissolved into wisps or smoke.

He wanted to tell you in a better way, but he just couldn’t keep it in any longer. His brain was fizzled with pleasure and dizzy with euphoria, and he just wanted, needed you to know everything.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since I first saw you.”

You froze. After a beat, you buried your face into the flesh of his chest, your soft laughter tickling his abdomen, his fingers trailing loosely across your spine. You smiled like a child, looking up at him with big eyes and heart shaped lips.

“God. We’re both idiots. I’m so in love with you too, Buck.”

He grinned, and he felt like his heart might tear in two.

—————————————————————-

You arrived back at the compound with interlocked fingers and matching grins and Sam nearly collapsed with relief. Tony almost went into cardiac arrest.

For the first time in fifty years, happiness followed Bucky wherever he went. Things were easy, light. You were his. You crawled into his arms at the end of a bad day and you laughed into his shoulder and you held his hand and kissed him and killed him and resurrected him all at the same time. He had never felt home in this modern world, and now he looked forward to each day and whatever strange and inane adventure the two of you would end up on. The anvil that had been crushing his heart for so long had started to lighten, and he owed it all to you.

Still, there were hard days. When he woke up slick with sweat with eyes wider than the moon and an urge to wrap his hands around something, or when you thought of the past and became consumed by the memories, tears falling down your face before you could stop them. He got jealous, and he had multiple stern talks with Steve about “not threatening the interns just because they speak to your girlfriend,” you could be stubborn, take on more than you needed, return from a mission with a limp you tried to hide, one that eventually led to an argument about your reckless choices. But nothing ever lasted more than a day. You were always there for one another, with open arms and gentle smiles and the unconditional love that people would kill for.

He had been in a million different situations where he felt like he was drowning. Like something was pulling him under the depths, crushing his lungs and shattering his oesophagus. But nothing compared to how he felt around you. Nothing could match the way you consumed him completely. the electricity that coursed through his veins when your fingers brushed against his, there was nothing quite like the way his heartbeat would slow when you were around, the way that he suddenly felt warm and full whenever you laughed.

He had spent so long alone. He had spent so many years fighting a war he never signed up for, and he was exhausted. He was starved of attention but terrified of exposing himself, and he lived with a chain link fence around his heart. Your soft voice so soothing, the sweetness in your eyes and the innocent bat of your lashes disarmed him better than any soldier ever could. There was something about you - something magnetic, magical.

Your sweetness went straight to his brain. One look at you and his mind dizzied, a sugar rush that only you gave him.

Whenever somebody asked where he was from, he thought partly of Brooklyn, of his mother and Steve, of cobbled streets and dog tags and ink stained newspapers. He thought of darkness. Of being moulded and reshaped deep down in the depths of bad places, of iron and rust and metal, his hands coated in blood.

But mostly, he thought of you. Safe and warm and sweet and so good. How expensive mattresses and dim candles and hot chocolate didn’t make him feel half the way that you did. How you grounded him, calmed him, made everything feel light and coated in sunshine when he had spent so goddamn long being frozen.

So when somebody asked where he was from, he thought of you, because you were home.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel imagine #bucky barnes x reader #marvel oneshot #sebastian stan imagine #orionwrites

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wkemeup · 5 years

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By Any Other Name (4)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.4k warnings: fluff, so much fluff, cuties making heart eyes at each other, someone play slow burn by kacey musgraves 🌹series masterlist 🌹

Six months.

Six months of ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’, of holding back his tongue and clenching his hands into fists, of putting on the best acting performance of his life every time he was forced to stand in the same room as Brock Rumlow and didn’t tear the man’s goddamn jugular out.

Sure, maybe some of that resentment was rooted in more than his status as the head of Hydra and the orders he’d personally given for the execution of men and the pushing of drugs onto the streets, but deep down, where Bucky knew better than to look, he knew his anger towards Rumlow had more to do with his treatment of you than anything else.

He started spending most of his Sundays at your side. He’d meet with Steve and Sam at the café, old friends just catching up as far as you were concerned, and he’d run into you down by the bridge where you’d usually end up with Peter.

The first time had truly been an accident, but then Sam suggested he use it to his advantage.

The second time, he orchestrated quite literally running into you and Peter on his afternoon jog. He was dripping in sweat because Sam insisted it had to be believable and made him run an extra two miles just to be an asshole about it.

He spotted you from down the block, walking alongside your cousin Peter and laughing so hard you had to grip onto the kid’s shoulder for support. Bucky fought he urge to smile as he kept his head down, hair falling into his face the closer he approached before he nearly sent you spiraling to the ground when his shoulder collided into yours.

The cup in your hand slipped from your fingers and suddenly the sweet smell of apple and caramel filtered through the cold breeze as your tea spilled down onto the concrete.

Bucky's hands reached out and gripped to your arms to keep you from falling over completely and Peter was about ready to throw some hands himself at the thoughtless idiot who dared to knock you off your feet, but as you shook the hair from your eyes, looking up to him and realizing exactly who was holding onto you, you started to laugh.

“James!” you grinned, clearly surprised and lips brimming with that smile that left crinkles up by your eyes.

Bucky stepped back and let you brush out the wrinkles he left in your jacket, eyeing Peter as he folded his arms and observed from a careful distance, a smirk on his face.

You exhaled a breath, shaking your head. “What are—What are you doing in Brooklyn again?”

“Well, I live here for one. You’re treading on my territory now,” Bucky teased, sending a wink to Peter who he knew lived in Queens from your brief encounter the previous week. Peter’s smile fell and he narrowing his eyes, sending Bucky a mostly playful glare. The rivalry ran deep.

“You live here?” you repeated, surprised, and Bucky decided he really enjoyed the way your lips parted ever so slightly, your eyes boring into his, and the rapid blinking of your lashes.

“Did you think I just slept in a car down the block from your place?” Bucky smirked, nudging your arm and earning a light hearted scoff in return. “I do spend a lot of time there. It wouldn’t be an unreasonable thought.”

“Sometimes it’s easy to forget you have a life outside of Hyd--” you froze, swallowing down your words as you glanced over to Peter. He didn’t seem to notice your slip because his nose was in his phone, grinning at a recent text message as he typed furiously away at the screen.

“Outside of the club,” you corrected yourself. Bucky nodded in understanding.

“Wasn’t always a ‘bouncer’, you know,” Bucky said lightly and your expression quickly softened.

“Really? What did you do before?”

“Let me replace that tea I just spilled all over the sidewalk and maybe I’ll tell you,” he proposed, letting himself fall back into the charming, flirty routine he’d learned to convey exceptionally well in his years undercover. Though, for some reason now, it didn’t feel like a charade.

“That’s my cue to leave,” Peter smirked, pointing a thumb back in the direction of Queens. You raised an eyebrow at him as he started to back away. “I’ve got... uh... homework to do.”

“Homework?” you scoffed and Peter nodded enthusiastically, eyes flickering between you and Bucky. “Peter, you’re a notorious procrastinator.”

“Maybe I’ve had a change of heart, huh?” he shrugged, feigning offense. “Better get going then. Have fun!”

Your jaw was clenched tightly as Peter sprinted down the sidewalk, leaving you alone with Bucky. Lips pursed, arms crossed over your chest, a shake in your head; you were exceptionally adorable.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Bucky offered with a slight chuckle. He shouldn’t be giving you an out like that and he was certain Sam would have given him a few choice words in his ear if he’d been mic’d, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted you to want to spend time with him, not because he’d set up the perfect circumstances to convince you.

“I know,” you said as you turned back to him with a softened smile.

There was something different in your eyes, a flicker of something like appreciation and he wondered when the last time Brock gave you a choice with something like that.

He pushed the thought away as quickly as it came.

***

On the third Sunday, Bucky had been walking out of a bodega with a sub in hand, given the cue to step away from the door and into the sidewalk at the exact right time from Steve who was sitting with a baseball cap and sunglasses at a coffee joint across the street.

You were mid conversation and Peter spotted him before you did, a wild grin growing on his face as he nudged you hard in the side and pointed over to Bucky as he started opening his sub, acting oblivious to your proximity.

“James?” you called, laughing, with your arms outstretched to the side in question, in disbelief. “You following me or something?”

“You’re in my part of town, Y/n,” Bucky reminded you with a teasing grin. “You sure you’re not following me?”

It went on for a while like that. The back and forth. The flirtatious comments that had your cheeks flushed in heat as you laughed off shyness and pleasant discomfort under the soft gaze of his eyes. Peter was more than thrilled to watch the interactions, the humor between you and the less than subtle attempts at hiding your obvious enjoyment of each other.

Bucky couldn’t quite remember what Peter’s excuse was this time, but he knew it was bullshit judging from the enormous smirk on the kid’s face. He was a good kid and he understood why you worked so tirelessly to keep Rumlow away from him.

Once Peter was halfway down the block and you were alone again, you nudging at Bucky’s shoulder with a grin.

“Got any plans?”

“Whatever you’re doing, I suppose,” Bucky said simply. He winked at you and you started to giggle, muffling it back with the edge of your scarf and it might have been the prettiest sound he’d ever heard. He had to stop and remind himself that Steve was watching from across the street before he overstepped a line.

He followed you around Brooklyn, just accompanying you on various errands. You had to check in with the art café where you’d purchased the painting a few weeks back because you had requested the contact information of the artist in hopes of commissioning another for your library.

The moment you stepped foot into the café, a young woman with long, almond colored hair stood up from a table at the center of the room, all nerves and hands wringing at one another, but your smile was enough to calm the poor girl.

Bucky stood off in the corner, just watching from a distance as she showed you images of her other works on her computer. You nodded, taking the time to point out the specific things you liked about each one; the colors, the brush strokes, the simplicity, the complexity, the creativity. The girl– Wanda, he believed— was smiling so wide, he was sure her cheeks must have been aching by the time you were finished.

After you shook her hand and made you way back over to Bucky, he asked you what you requested for her to paint. Your library was so sacred to you, he wondered how detailed you were in your request and what kinds of subtle designs you liked most.

“I gave her free reign, actually,” you said with a shrug.

You turned and waved at her as she exited the café, her eyes lighting up as she waved back. There was a slight tremor in her hands, an excitement, and Bucky wasn’t at all surprised you had that kind of effect on just about everyone you met.

“That can be dangerous,” he replied, taking the last bite of his sub and tossing the wrapper in the bin.

You pursed your lips, unbothered. “She’s wonderful at what she does. It’s different when you can tell how much passion and care goes into art instead of some mindless shapes I could have printed off of a computer. I have no doubt I’ll love whatever she creates.”

Bucky nodded. “You tell her how much you’re willing to pay for it yet?”

You grinned at that. “Thought I’d tell her next time. She was so excited just to get a commission, she completely forgot to ask for compensation. It’ll be a fun surprise, don’t you think?”

“After how much you paid for the one in your spare room, I think she might start doing cartwheels or something,” Bucky laughed, holding open the door for you as you stepped back out into the chill of the winter air.

You were smiling so wide, not even the brim of your scarf could hide it.

***

Neither of you ever purposely proposed the idea of meeting up around 3pm on Sundays down near the bridge but by the fourth Sunday, Bucky noticed you started to look for him around the few blocks he’d been running into you. You expected to see him now and he found himself waiting patiently down by steps overlooking the water for when you’d show up with Peter at your side.

There was still some nervous chatter, of asking if he wanted to voyage into Queens or run around Brooklyn with you, and Peter making up some lame excuses to leave the two of you alone. It took until the sixth Sunday, of Bucky waiting down by the bridge as you walked directly up to him without a second thought for it to become cemented.

There was no side stepping around it anymore. Peter would say his goodbyes, knowing this was the new routine and judging by the grin on his face and he glanced between you and Bucky, he had no problems with it.

For another six Sundays, you led Bucky around Brooklyn, sometimes back into Queens, and he’d simply follow you on your errands. You’d talk about mundane things most days; the weather, the Yankees, the latest book you were reading, or the new hipster lunch spot that opened just down the street from your favorite hole-in-the-wall sub shop that you were thoroughly aggravated about.

But eventually, these conversations had become deeper.

Without thinking much of it, he told you about Sam and Steve, leaving out important identifying details and their occupations, of course, but he told you about the most important friendships in his life; how Steve had been a scrawny kid with a fiery reflex for picking fights and how Sam was a huge pain, but he was loyal unlike anyone else. He told you about his Ma and his sister, and that he didn’t so much mind having a small family when Sam’s mouth was just so damn loud, it made up for his lack of cousins and aunts at non-existent family reunions.

You told him all about the published works you’d done at Columbia and how you had dreamed of giving Ted Talks and speaking in conferences and attending conventions all over the world for your work. You’d been invited several times, even in the years since your early retirement. You’d seen the envelopes on the table for only a brief moment, before your husband would ‘misplace’ it or give you an excuse as to why you couldn’t attend, though you knew it was a reconstructed way of warning you not to cross him. You didn’t tell Bucky that, but he could sense your resentment in your voice, could hear it between the lines of your words.

He supposed after nearly twelve Sunday afternoons together walking through Brooklyn and the small moments of catching the other’s eye across the room back at the mansion and him sneaking away for a moment to find you down in your library nursing a cup a tea, only for you to grin widely upon seeing him, you started to trust him.

He wondered what did it.

He’d never told Rumlow about Peter or about seeing you on Sundays, which seemed to be what you were most concerned about when he first started meeting you outside the mansion. Nothing about his time with you was scripted or forced in the way he used to be on undercover assignments. Steve and Sam had stopped following him and orchestrating run-ins months ago. He didn’t have to act like he was interested or force out smiles or grit his teeth and flirt, because he meant everything he said.

When he was with you, on Sunday afternoons, he was himself. He was Bucky Barnes.

Only, you didn’t quite know that, did you?

***

Bucky kept his hands tucked into his pockets as he stood at the edge of the dock. It was nearly midnight and the latest shipment of Cerberus was just rolling in. Bucky paused as a crewman forced open the lid off a crate for him to inspect. Inside was several dozens of bricks worth of Hydra’s elite street drug.

Bright red in color and with the ability to enhance the user’s adrenaline, it’s high made the user feel indestructible, gave them the ability to punch through walls without feeling any pain and sprint faster than they’d ever been able to before. It failed to mentioned the drain of the crash afterwards and the casualties that usually came along with it.

A guy by the name of Zola was still working on the final touches. There were too many fatalities associated with the current brand and that wasn’t good for business. This batch was the latest upgrade in the chemical makeup.

“Looks good,” Bucky said to the crewman, a burly looking man with a scar down his jawline and a dark purple bruise on his eye named Markovich. He nodded, sealing the lid again and calling over for another guy to help him carry it down to the trucks.

Down by the pier, overlooking the crates being hulled to the dock from the boat, was Lenny Jacobs. He was one of the guys Bucky had come to knew well since he started.

A middle-aged father of three and owner of a laundromat that had nearly gone bankrupt before Rumlow bailed him out, Lenny had been working nights for Hydra in the years since, trying to pay off his debts. He was a decent man, one of the unfortunate ones blackmailed into this work and Bucky made sure to take note of that for Natasha. She was keeping a running list of men like Lenny. Bucky had no interest in bringing the same charges to Lenny as he did to a man like Markovich who was here on his own volition and greed.

“Hey Lenny, how’s it goin’ tonight?” Bucky asked, stepping up behind him.

Lenny startled a bit, hand clenched to his chest. Red nose and cheeks from the cold, a white straggling beard, and a heavy cable knit sweater that looked like he might have owned for decades, the poor guy was incredibly out of place amongst the stocky, tattooed men with gold teeth and years' worth of battle scars. He didn’t belong down here, that Bucky was certain of.

“Sorry, Mr. Karpov,” Lenny said quickly, head down. He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his palm, wincing slightly. “I was just taking a break. See, I’ve got heart troubles and my wife is real worried about me doing strenuous activity and—”

“It’s no problem, man,” Bucky said quietly. He knew that his cover demanded a cruelty and disregard for men like Lenny, and maybe if he hadn’t met you, he would have succumbed to this character like he’d done all the rest, but instead, he put a hand on Lenny’s shoulder. “Take the night off. Get some rest and be ready for tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Lenny asked nervously, glancing back at the crew who didn’t seem to notice their conversation.

“Scram before I change my mind,” Bucky ordered, though he offered a short smile and a nod before Lenny sighed of relief. He thanked him profusely and quickly walked back to his car.

Bucky watched him as he disappeared into the cover of darkness, only small blips of his figure illuminated by street lamps every few paces. There was a slight limp in his walk and Bucky cursed under his breath as he turned back to observe the rest of the crew, wondering how Rumlow got off enlisting men like Lenny into the world of Hydra.

***

It was late when Bucky got back to the Rumlow estate, nearing on three in the morning, but he had been given strict orders to deliver a sample of the Cerberus drug straight to Rumlow’s office when the crew was finished. He dug the package out of his pocket, careful to keep the second one he’d swiped from the crate in the inner fold of his jacket to bring back to Director Fury at the next meeting.

He stared at it for a moment, studying the red power as it seemed to give off an illuminating shine under the dim reflection of the light. With a heavy sigh, he curled the dime bag into his palm and set his way to the office.

It gave him a good opportunity to look around for a bit, maybe get some pictures, at least. Six months was the longest he’d gone on an undercover assignment without obtaining a significant piece of significant evidence, though he had to admit that Hydra was unlike any other assignment he’d had before.

The door to Rumlow’s office didn’t so much as even squeak as the hinges pulled it open. It smelled of dark woods and cigars as Bucky stepped inside and he brushed his coat jacket over his nose as the lingering smoke wafted through the air.

He placed the Cerberus sample on the desk and slowly pulled his phone from his back pocket. This was something he’d done dozens of times before, so he knew the places to look. Rumlow was a paranoid man and trusted very little of his own men, so Bucky knew he wouldn’t find important documents lying around on top of the desk.

In his pocket, sat a key Sam had copied for him off of the one he’d found lying on the floor under Rumlow’s desk one late night after the boss had gone to sleep. It fit into the drawer to the left of the bar cart without a hitch and Bucky grinned as the drawer slid open. Inside, were dozens of folders worth of files, tabs listed along the top, cleaning organized evidence. Maybe Sam was good for something, after all.

But then, Bucky heard footsteps patterning down the hall and he quickly closed the drawer reflexively. Heart pounding in his chest, only to remind himself he had permission to be in this room, he brushed off the collar of his jacket before he retreated from the file cabinet. He’d have to come back to that another day.

Bucky stepped back into the hallway, only to crash directly into a figure attempting to rush past him. A slight yelp and a hiss of a burning sound as hot water splashed up over a mug and Bucky grabbed onto you, stilling your hand before more of the boiling water touched your skin.

Folds of pillow creases in your cheeks, your hair thrown up messily away from your face despite the few strands poking out the ends and a solid chunk you’d missed completely running down the nape of your neck, you somehow managed to make his heart flutter just a little harder. You were too endearing, too sweet, and it was going to kill him, he was sure of it.

You were panting, eyes wide and clearly surprised to find him in your home so late. “James! What are—what are you doing here?”

Eyes rapidly raking over him, heart clearly pounding through your chest, he nearly scared you straight to the floor if not for his hands carefully keeping your knees from buckling under you.

Bucky let out a heavy breath, a slight chuckle as he started to pull his hands away from you now that you were steady. He brushed out the shoulder of your t-shirt that had bunched up your arm, settling it back along the softness of your skin. You shivered, watching his every movement.

“I’m just dropping off something for the boss.”

You nodded quickly, stepping back from him. Bucky couldn’t help but notice your stare trailing down by his feet. You seemed to focus on the white salt lining the edges of his boots.

“Is your hand alright?” Bucky asked softly, gesturing to the red patch on the back of your hand where the hot water had singed your skin.

You licked at your lips, nodding absentmindedly, almost in a dream-like state. You stood still for a minute, your stare moving up and gluing to the center of his chest as he watched you. There was a slight tear in his jacket from a crate he’d lifted from the shipment. He wondered if you could smell the salt water on his skin, too.

The small reminders of what he did for your husband neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

“Y/n?” he tried to gather your attention again, tilting his head down to find your eyes. Taking a risk, he reached out and gently pried the tea from your hand. You let it go easily and he set it on the table.

As he looked over the red mark, you winced, though your eyes stayed trained to the buttons of his shirt. The redness was already starting to go down and it didn’t seem to leave any serious burns behind, but he pressed his palm gingerly over the redness. His hands always ran like ice anyway and it seemed like they could finally be put to decent use.

The cold of his hands on yours seemed to wake you up at least, because you sucked in a harsh breath, blinked a few times, and finally met his eye again. He released your hand as your stare trailed down to where he was carefully holding it within his own and took a step back, giving you space if you needed it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, yawning. “I’m a little out of it, I guess.”

“You’re allowed to be,” Bucky chuckled nervously. “I did just run right into you at three in the mornin’ in your own home. You had no reason to suspect I’d be lurking around.”

You smiled a bit, the curve of the corner of your lips bringing him a slight ease. You reached for the mug on the counter and carefully blew on the steam. Chewing on the edge of your lips, you started to try and brush back the stray wisps in your hair, realizing that you had just rolled out of bed. Bucky didn’t mind though. The innocence of it, the simplicity, somehow made his heart swell even more.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked and you shrugged, a slight nod following. It seemed to be a usual occurrence for you, to sneak down to the kitchen to make tea in the early hours of the morning when the stars were still blanketed in the sky and the darkness blended to the shadows, when your husband was fast asleep.

Bucky was no stranger to sleepless nights either. Seemed to be another thing you had in common.

“You busy?” you asked casually, a lightness returning to you and Bucky didn’t mind you changing the subject. He didn’t much like to talk about his own issues with sleep either.

“Might be able to clear my schedule,” he shrugged with a teasing smile.

You nodded towards the hallway and Bucky knew where you were leading him without having to ask.

He’d been down this hall more times than he could count in the last six months. You’d been handing him new books to read like a revolving door, and even though Sam mocked him mercilessly for the first edition copies sitting in his bag or on the seat of his car and he’d brush it off as if it was only part of the assignment, but the truth was, he liked reading whatever you placed in his hands. He liked seeing how bright you’d smile when he told you what he thought when he was finished even more.

You pushed open the doors to the library and quickly found your place in the side of the couch closest to the window. You curled up against the arm rest, hulling blankets over your lap and settling into the cushions. Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he watched you. He took a seat on the opposite end of the couch and crossed one leg over the other.

It was quiet for a minute as you sipped your tea, but Bucky didn’t mind the silence much. It was something that used to bother him before you. Now, it felt more like a comfort. It was in the silence where often where he found you.

“When’s the last time you read To Kill a Mockingbird?” you asked.

Bucky glanced over at you with a smile. He knew there was more on your mind at this hour than the classic literature he may or may not have skimmed his way through in his school days, but he wasn’t interested in pushing you to tell him more than you offered willingly.

In another life, under another name, he might have asked more questions, might have dug around for the reasons why you spent so many sleepless nights on your own and away from your husband, why you seemed to change the subject whenever he asked about Rumlow, but he didn’t. As much as he wanted to destroy Hydra and Rumlow and everything they stood for, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you in the process.

So he pushed aside his better judgement.

“Probably too long ago for your standards,” he replied, earning that smiles of yours in return that made his stomach twist.

You jumped up from the couch, setting the tea back on the coffee table and adding another watermark to the collection. By the time you returned, you were carrying two copies in your hand and you tossed one into Bucky’s lap.

“Why do you have two of the same book?” he laughed, brushing his hand over the cover to clean away the small dust particles.

“One is a special edition and also,” you scrunched your nose, “because I can.”

You grinned at him before you plopped back down on the couch, this time more noticeably closer to him than the time before, though neither of you said anything about it. Your thigh was only inches from his, your shoulders pressed back to the same cushion; so close he could feel the warmth of you radiating in the space between.

Bucky chuckled, watching as you curled up under the blankets and turned over the cover to begin reading. He watched you for a moment, just observing the way the edges of your lips curved as you scanned the pages, a contentment coming just from the privilege of reading something so precious to you.

Telling himself he was only staying to build the trust Fury ordered he earn, Bucky settled in and turned over the first page. He disregarded the ease with which he relaxed next to you, the comfort of the silence, save for the few turns of pages every so often, and the gentle thumping of his heart every time your eyes glanced up at him over the top of your book.

Forty minutes later and three chapters in, his lids starting to fall heavy from the warmth of your blankets and the sweet smell of orange and ginger from your tea sitting on the end of the coffee table, when he felt a slight pressure on his arm.

Bucky’s breath hitched in his chest as he looked down to find your book held limply in your hands, the binding resting in your lap, and your eyes closed as you curled into his side. Your hands snaked around his right arm in your sleep, tugging him tight to your chest and holding onto his arm like a stuffed animal. A soft sigh left your lips as you nuzzled against him, resting your cheek to his shoulder, content.

Bucky glanced over to the clock hung high on the wall to find it was nearing four in the morning. He was supposed to meet Natasha downtown in an hour to give her an update on the shipment logs, but you were so warm, so soft against him, he wondered for a moment if he could come up with an excuse that could evade even an ex-KGB agent. But while he was clearly foolish enough to let himself fall into the fantasy of it for even a moment, he wasn’t stupid.

With a sigh, he placed his copy of To Kill a Mockingbird on the table, mindful of the watermarks left behind by your tea, and slowly began to pry your fingers from around his bicep. You were warm to the touch, a furnace next to him, and you only seemed to hold on tighter the more he tried to get you to release him.

A soft chuckle breaking through the silence, save for your even breaths, Bucky carefully slipped out from under your blanket and off the side of the couch. He gently laid your head against a pillow he propped up, brushing the hair from your eyes. You released his arm and nestled into the new position, still fast asleep.

Bucky sat back on the coffee table for a moment, just watching the way your nose scrunched in your sleep; how you tucked your hand under the pillow and shifted just enough for the blanket to fall from the couch.

Bucky bent down, grabbed the soft fabric in his hands and gingerly draped it over you. He let the edge fall just above your shoulders and you curled your fingers into the cushion of it and tugging it up under your neck.

Bucky smiled, brushing a hand over his mouth. He knew he had to leave, that he was already treading on thin ice around you, but he could have stayed there for hours to watch you sleep. It was the first time in years, since he’d been home from his deployment, that he wanted to sleep, too, instead of evading it as he did most nights.

He wondered what it would be like to lay by your side, to let you curl against him as you had and to let himself hold you. To feel the heat of your body and the soft breaths on his neck as you tucked your chilled nose to his collarbone.

They were dangerous thoughts and they were getting harder and harder to push away.

Reluctantly, Bucky stood to his feet. His fingers trailed over your hairline, tucking a bit of fallen wisps behind your ear. You smiled at the feeling and though Bucky knew it was reflexive, he couldn’t seem to stop the swell in his chest.

Not even as he left the room, gently closing the door behind him.

Not even as he got in his car and drove down to mid-town.

Not even as he stepped into a Starbucks at five in the morning on a weekday.

Natasha was waiting for him in the far corner of the room. She wasn’t the only one inside, not with the couple standing at the counter with a set of luggage at their feet, the college student huddled over a stack of binders and textbooks, and the middle-aged woman sleeping soundly at a booth away from the windows.

Natasha was wearing an old university t-shirt, large over-the-ear headphones, and typing away at her computer, very clearly ignoring the stares of a still drunk man in his early-twenties who must have stumbled into the Starbucks on accident.

“I wouldn't if I were you,” Bucky said as he came up behind the man, nudging his shoulder when he didn’t tear his eyes away from Natasha.

He groaned, grumbling under his breath as he dramatically stumbled out the door and back into the streets. Bucky brushed at his nose, the stale smell of alcohol still present even as the man left.

“I had it handled,” Nat said as Bucky took a seat opposite her. She didn’t look up from the screen.

“Yeah, I know.” Bucky shrugged, glancing back over his shoulder to check for eavesdroppers. Natasha was more than capable of dealing with a semi-drunk frat boy without Bucky’s intervention, but that didn’t mean she had to.

“What do you got for me?” she asked, green eyes flickering up to his.

Bucky sighed, settling into the chair and pulled a few files from his coat pocket and placed them on the table. “Got a few more names of guys working the shipyards, ones who are there willingly and the ones who seem to be blackmailed. I’ve got a sample of the product too, but it’s in the safe in my car until I can get it to Fury.”

“Good,” Natasha nodded, scanning over the papers Bucky brought for her.

“I tried to use the key Sam copied for me,” Bucky continued, “but I couldn’t get in.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Every muscle in Bucky’s body went rigid. Natasha pursed her lips as she scanned over the folders on the table. She was always so calm about these things, even as Bucky’s heart rate skyrocketed.

He forgot about the bugs he planted at the mansion in his first week in Hydra. Sure, he hadn’t done enough to give Natasha proof that he was overstepping on his assignment, that he was doing more than just following orders from Fury to get close to you, but Natasha was perceptive.

He bit on his tongue and he was certain Nat picked up on his sudden tension. She picked up on everything.

“You should be more careful around her,” Nat said quietly, though she didn’t tear her eyes away from the documents. For that, Bucky was thankful, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to meet her eye. “I’m the only one with access to the mics and I’m sure, right now, I might be one of only three people who would be able to tell that the way you talk to Y/n and how you treat her is hell of a lot more like how Bucky Barnes would than James Karpov, but you need to watch yourself.”

Bucky nodded quickly. She was right and she didn’t even have ears on his Sunday meetups with you. Fury might not be able to pick up on the difference between his acting on previous assignments and how he was with you, but she sure as hell could, and he would bet Steve and Sam would, too.

“I get that she’s not like other targets,” Nat sighed, turning to look at Bucky. He wished she wouldn’t. He felt like fire under her gaze. “She’s not the bad guy here and that makes it harder to separate yourself from your cover. You want to rescue her.”

“What? N-No, I--” Bucky tried to argue but Natasha didn’t buy it for a second.

“She’s trapped,” Natasha said apologetically. “She’s trapped in a criminal world she clearly doesn’t belong in, trapped in a marriage to a monster she doesn’t love.”

Bucky gritted his teeth. He knew your relationship with Rumlow was strained, it was messy and complicated, but to hear it aloud was something entirely different. There was a reason he disliked leaving you alone in that house when he left after his shifts, a reason why you avoided talking about your husband on your Sunday errands together, and why Bucky – or James – became the person you sought out in every room you walked into.

Natasha set her hand on Bucky’s forearm, squeezing it gently. She had enormous capacity for empathy and kindness few were privileged to see. Bucky swallowed back the bile in his throat.

“You’re a guy who likes to save people, Bucky,” she said slowly, gently and it somehow still managed to tear through him like ice. “I just don’t know if you can this time. Not without compromising the entire investigation. We can’t let this one fall through the cracks. We can’t. There’s too much riding on this case.”

He knew. It was why he had been pushing his feelings to the side, screaming at himself from the back of his head every time he found his eyes drifting towards you as you passed by the living room, when he started walking down to your library every moment he could steal a second away, his feet carrying him of their own volition, when he felt the nerves twist in his stomach when you’d smile at him, or when you’d wave him down from across the street in Brooklyn with your cousin Peter at your side.

He knew he was falling too deep and he couldn’t catch himself. There was nothing to grab onto to keep him from diving into a dark and messy abyss. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x you

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