#Bucky's social skills leave something to be desired

[tonystarktogo]

An Unwise Murder (An Inconvenient Survival)

Summary: “Someone within SHIELD sold out an Avenger. That was their first mistake.” When Avenger Steve Rogers is declared killed in action, everyone expects his best friend and fellow agent Bucky Barnes to go on a rampage. It’s the quirky mechanic with a sharp tongue and a secret talent for less-than-legal hacking that throws the whole agency for a loop. Featuring: A dead Steve (but when is Steve ever dead), a very pissed off, fucked-up secret agent Bucky (so basically your usual Bucky), and a very civilian Tony (who is exactly as harmless as you’d expect Tony Stark to be).

Read on AO3

Here is, as promised, the first part of the Double-0-Bucky/Hacker-Tony fic! To most of you, this part will probably be familiar already, but we have to start at the beginning *shrugs* and don’t worry, the next part will follow soon. Enjoy!

Part I 

Funerals aren’t meant to be a pleasant event, so Bucky doesn’t bother to put on a show.

His face could be carved in stone for all the emotion it conveys, and his muscles are tense, coiled, trembling faintly with the desire to grab his gun and pull the damn trigger.

Bucky isn’t sure if he’d stop shooting once he starts though. Not with how many tempting targets currently surround him. Not with how it would finally shut Pierce the fuck up. People tend to talk a lot less after you’ve emptied a magazine or two into them  — and Bucky has always been a man who appreciates silence.

Fuck, Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s here for. He doesn’t attend mandatory events. It simply isn’t done. The few weeks of the year that Bucky spends in his own country, he wastes drinking and sleeping around, often both at the same time. What’s to stop him from walking straight out of this impersonally sterile room filled with people he doesn’t trust, and go back to his favourite rundown bar to knock back vodka until he can’t feel the cold on his skin anymore?

Oh right. His best friend just got himself killed in action. The lucky bastard.

On a fucking nightmare of a mission in France of all places. If it had been Russia or Iran or North Korea or even just Sokovia (and really, it takes skill to be wanted by all four sides of the conflict), Bucky could have dealt with it.

But France? Bucky takes that as a personal offence.

Avengers don’t get killed in France. Avengers get killed the way they kill: brutal and messy, with no one left behind who’d bother to avenge them. Because justice is a fairy tale, and every act of peace is built on the actions of someone smart enough to wash the blood off their hands before they step in front of a camera.

At least the acknowledgements are short and free of false sentimentality. A whole lot of bullshit, sure, but it’s not like there is another choice. Not when the truth amounts to Steve Rogers died on a mission we weren’t authorised to give, in a country he wasn’t supposed to be in, over intel that we won’t admit exist.

Bucky doesn’t laugh. Barely huffs a a breath, but the people on both sides of him twitch tellingly.

Like all Avengers, Bucky has sought out the back of the room, where he can keep his back to the wall at all times, has a clear view on all available exists and a good excuse to keep an eye on the crowd of mourners.

The thought that one of them — multiple ones, possibly — are faking their sorrow makes Bucky clench his fingers against the urge to start an interrogation right now, Avenger style.

“Don’t kill anyone you might need to sign you off on field work again,” Barton mutters to his left, the words barely audible.

Bucky forces the tense muscles in his shoulders to relax, adopts an at-ease position that won’t fool the other Avengers, but at least won’t traumatise the attending techies and lawyers. The psych department always makes such a fuss when you break their precious, civilian employees.

There’s no point in fooling his colleagues though — if the Avengers can even be called that. It’s not like he meets them for brunch or goes out drinking with them in his downtime. They’re the elite of a internationally operating spy organisation for a reason, and it’s certainly not their ability to play well with others.

Just hours after having one of their own killed in a SHIELD-issued safehouse, all the Avengers are on edge. More so than usual. That the entire op smells like foul play all the way across the Atlantic does about as much to deescalate the situation as throwing a hand grenade into a room filled with weaponized uranium.

Someone inside SHIELD sold out an Avenger.

That was their first mistake. Their second was taking Steve out without killing Bucky as well.

There’s a shift in Bucky’s peripheral vision. Natasha Romanoff, codenamed Black Widow, looks as affected of recent events as she always does: not at all.

Is she the traitor? Bucky wonders as he tilts his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. The rivalry between Black Widow and Steve is no secret. It isn’t a friendly one either, not that any of the Avengers are the sort of person one might associate the word “friendly” with. She betrayed the Red Room at eighteen. What offer would it take for her to turn on a fellow agent? An Avenger at that? Is she tense because she expects me to do this country a favour by killing Pierce or is she afraid to be found out?

The service lasts barely twenty minutes — unsurprising, considering how much isn’t said, can’t be said, because living within the specter of the highest security clearance makes for a shoddy eulogy — but to Bucky it feels like forever.

It doesn’t help that half the people around him are waiting for him to fly off the handle in either grief or blind rage. Blind rage admittedly being the more likely outcome.

It doesn’t help that the other half undoubtedly suspects him to be the traitor — who better to kill Steve Rogers than his best friend, after all? Especially when Avengers so clearly don’t have best friends — though Bucky can’t fault them for the sensible assumption.

He’d suspect himself too. The black hole that is four years of being held as a POW on his résumé hasn’t left him with what one might call a solid standing within the agency. Or a stable life in general.

Bucky has simply been lucky that Avengers don’t have much use for stability as it is. (Also, Steve was planning a revolt, should they stop attempting to recover Bucky. Not that anyone likes to acknowledge that. Pierce’s secretary still pales every time she catches sight of one of them.)

He’s been lucky that he’s too useful to be killed.

That might change now — Steve Rogers’ death changes a lot of things — but if it comes to that, Bucky will make damn sure to take the traitor with him. Another outcome isn’t acceptable.

And Bucky is very, very good at getting what he wants.

But first, he needs to find someone clean — meaning unaffiliated with SHIELD in any way — who can take a look at the USB flash drive he’s found in one of his dead drops two days after Pierce declared Steve KIA.

Fuck, but the first thing Bucky is gonna do when he sees Steve again is punch him in the fucking face.

*

Tony has always had an interesting way of making friends.

For example, Tony meets his best friend Pepper during a hostage situation when he’s sixteen. He’s never before seen a girl throw high heels at a guy’s head with such a deadly accuracy. Suffice to say Tony likes her immediately — and promises to buy her all the shoes she needs to knock stupid people down, naturally.

They keep in touch afterwards, and it’s the start of something great.

He meets his brother in all but blood much the same way, only Tony barely remembers that one because those kidnappers were smart enough to drug him before trying anything funny. Luckily, Tony has Rhodey for the straight thinking part — or at least he does after that episode.

On another, memorable occasion, Tony befriended one of his kidnappers.

In his defence: they were some pretty alright people, for being criminals holding him for ransom. No unnecessary threats or bodily harm, and they actually gave him drug-free food too. Also, you have no idea how mind-numbingly boring being kidnapped is. Well, not the getting kidnapped part but the staying-kidnapped-whilst-your-kidnappers-fail-to-get-their-money part.

Sadly, some people still believe that Stark Industries will pay for the disowned heir Tony Stark’s safe return. And usually they don’t react too well to being proven wrong. That time being one of those rare exceptions. In no small part thanks to a certain member of the crew whose identity Tony will protect until the day he dies. Or something.

Never mind.

The point is, Tony is used to meeting cool people under very hazardous, extraordinary circumstances.

Which is why — as he will later explain to a very exasperated Rhodey and an even more distrustful Pepper — when Tony locks up his garage at 7.40 pm after a long day of changing oils and busted tires, only to suddenly find himself face to face with a hooded stranger — after he’s already locked the doors, though he won’t share that part with his friends — he doesn’t panic.

He greets the guy — there’s a twenty percent chance Tony knows him, okay, hiding their faces as they track him down isn’t exactly a rarity — like a civilised person instead.

“Hi there,” Tony says with his best customer smile. “How may I help you?”

The guy — who definitely has more upper body strength than Tony, not that he notices or anything — doesn’t so much as twitch. He just stands there, body turned towards Tony, face shadowed by his hood. Tony really should have switched out the broken light bulb ages ago, maybe then he wouldn’t have to squint at his visitor like a sceptical squirrel, trying to make out the guy’s features.

“Anthony Stark?” the guy asks after a moment, voice low and rumbling, like gathering clouds on the far end of the horizon, as a violent storm approaches.

It’s that specific, unfairly nice sound that decides it: Tony definitely doesn’t know this guy. There’s no way he would have forgotten a voice like that.

Tony lets his smile brighten a little because if he’s about to be kidnapped — is it that time of the month already? Tony wouldn’t know, his last calendar sorta had a small accident involving a fire and DUM-E using up all the fire extinguisher on Tony rather than the actual fire. It was a pretty sweet, protective gesture, actually. Tony may or may not have teared up, just a little, but that didn’t change that half his equipment had to be replaced — then he’d like to start their working relationship on a good note. The kidnapping attempts tend to have less violent endings that way.

Additionally, Tony really doesn’t want to start a fight in his garage. This is his work place — which is basically holy, ask anyone. His cars are in here. They are not acceptable collateral damage, no matter what Pepper says.

“Do you know a Steve Rogers?” is mystery guy’s next question.

Which is a damn shame because it takes all of Tony’s not inconsiderable self-control to not tense at that particular inquiry. Steve Rogers.

God fucking damn it.

Tony forces the memories, the reflexive questions — a bloodied, broken body, screams of pain, narrowed, blue eyes glaring at him even as strong hands push him out of the line of fire — down immediately, takes care to keep his expression calm and clueless instead. He’s got lots of practice doing that. It’s just like being confronted with an obnoxious reporter who won’t stop bothering him with stupid questions about why he denies his father’s legacy. Bloodthirsty reporters, bloodthirsty assassins, it’s really just more of the same.

Tony has been handling shit like this since he was nine. If mystery guy expects him to trip up and give up even a single piece of information the easy way, he’s got another thing coming. Tony Stark doesn’t do easy.

Especially not when it concerns people he almost considers tolerable. Those gems are hard enough to find as it is — well, among the boring, totally legal working crowd at least — Tony will protect them with all he has. Not that he wouldn’t do the same for people he doesn’t like, he just wouldn’t be as happy about it.

Mystery guy is in for a surprise.

“Rogers?�� Tony furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “That doesn’t ring a bell.” Close enough to the truth to count.

Then, the grin slides completely off Tony’s face and his eyes narrow in open suspicion. “Not that it matters. I don’t make a habit of handing out contact information to strangers who can’t be bothered to introduce themselves. Client privileges, I’m sure you understand.”

And yeah, some sarcasm may slip into those words, but can you blame Tony? He’s been working for almost ten hours in that special place reserved in hell for customer service, and, frankly, Tony is done with the world for the day. That he’s most likely dealing with what’s either a very diligent mercenary or a very strange kidnapper does little to lighten his mood.

Both options are far less appealing than mystery guy’s sexy voice initially indicated. Tony feels a little cheated.

“Oh, I understand,” mystery guy murmurs ominously.

When Tony squints, he can literally see the shadows behind the guy blacken. On an unrelated note, he really needs to stop binge-watching those horror flicks. Clearly it’s messing with his mind.

Not that this keeps Tony from bristling at Mystery Guy’s threatening tone — if anything, it has Tony reflexively square his shoulders because he does not fold.

Mystery guy snorts, and Tony has the fleeting impression that the stranger has the gall to be amused by him. He kind of wants to deck the guy just for that.

“I can see why he liked you.”

Something in those words freezes Tony into place long before his brain has puzzled through their meaning. By the time his mind catches up to the past tense that refers to a person it should absolutely not refer to, mystery guy has already taken a few steps towards the only functioning light bulb in Tony’s garage and slips his hoodie back.

The bleak light reveals a pale, handsome face with a strong jaw and icy, blue eyes. Absently, Tony approves of the way the hoodie has messed up Mystery Guy’s wild hair into something untameable and unfairly attractive, but it’s kind of hard to melt into a puddle of appreciative goo when you’ve just learned of the death of a friend.

Or well, acquaintance maybe. Rhodey always reminds Tony that he can’t just go around, adopting friends left and right just because he wants to. And with Steve it’s hard to say. The guy is almost impossible to read.

Still, it’s Steve they’re talking about. And whatever mess he’s gotten himself involved in, Tony doesn’t doubt for a moment that Steve thought he was doing it for the right reasons. He’s annoyingly self-righteous like that. It sucks even more when you listen to him rant and realize he’s got a point, not that Tony will ever admit such a thing to his face.

Which will be hard to do if Steve is actually—

Tony presses his lips together and defiantly stares up at Mystery Guy. Who is, in fact, taller than him. There really is no justice in the world.

“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want?” is what Tony settles on to summarize the maelstrom of confusing emotions wrecking chaos inside him.

The man takes a threatening step closer. Of course, it’s not that hard to come across as threatening when you’re half a head taller and made of muscles and steel. Still. The guy could at least try to keep his looming on the downlow.

Not that Tony does him the courtesy of giving up an inch. This is his garage, damn it. No one makes Tony feel afraid in his own home.

Mystery Guy growls and there is a lethal coldness in his eyes that Tony doesn’t think a human should be able to portray.

“I was Steve’s best friend. And you’re going to find the people who killed him so that I can return the favor.”

Thoughts? 

[skyebirdie]

Sam: Look, tone is everything, man!

Bucky: I’ve been talking to a cinder block wall for the past ten years. I’m sorry if my social skills leave something to be desired.

Sam: That- is a really good explanation.

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

A New Year’s Truth

Characters: Loki x Empath Avenger Reader

Summary: Reader is stuck at Stark Tower with Loki after the December holidays are finished. But each glancing touch with Loki speaks a truth that he doesn’t seem willing to face. Will the New Year change that?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This is only loosely edited, as I’m still very very ill. I will go back and further edit it once I’m better, but I wanted to get this out to y’all before the New Year. I hope you enjoy!

The time between the various winter holidays and the New Year was always a weird one.

It was as if the world was stuck in a holding pattern, waiting with bated breath for a new year with new expectations to begin. When was the right time to take down all the festive decorations? How long was socially acceptable to do absolutely nothing on the couch but watch cheesy movies from your childhood and pig out on chocolate-covered treats? All the stress and excitement died down to leave everyone in a trance-like state, shuffling in pajamas from the couch to the kitchen to bed and back again. For some it was a relief, to finally have the stress and familial obligations lifted from their weary shoulders. For others, that had never been a concern, and one day just melted into the next.

It was the fourth day that you’d worked on permanently etching a likeness of your backside into the couch while you binged Bake Off and ate your weight in the last of the cookies you had made for Christmas. They were left behind, as were you, after your teammates had all split off to spend the last of the year with their respective families - even Steve and Bucky had gone with Nat and Sam to relax with Clint’s family.

You wiped a stray crumb from your shirt when Loki strolled in from the direction of the kitchen. He was the only other inhabitant in the tower, choosing to stay rather than to go to New Asgard with Thor and play diplomat for a people lukewarm to him at the best of times. You didn’t blame him. He cast a critical eye at your disheveled appearance before folding himself gracefully into the comfortable leather chair he preferred, pulling a book from his pocket dimension to read while he sipped at the steaming mug in his hand.

You could practically feel the judgment pouring off of him in waves without looking at him. Groaning at your ruined relaxation, you rolled your head around to stare at him, quirking a brow. “Out with it.”

He mirrored your expression, although with much more disdain and arrogance than you could ever muster. “I beg your pardon.”

“I don’t need to go over there and touch you to know that you’re judging me. Spill it,” you muttered, sitting up and stretching, arching your back into it with a sigh you felt all the way down to your toes. You tugged your hoodie back down from where it had exposed just a sliver of the skin of your stomach, and Loki’s eyes quickly flitted from it back up to your face. Interesting.

“If you must know,” he closed his book, leaving it to rest on his lap, “I am honestly astonished that one could descend so far into a vegetative state without going comatose. I do not believe you have moved from that spot but to sleep or gather food in days.”

You stood, brushing cookie crumbs from your sweatpants absentmindedly. “And?”

“It is almost impressive, were it not such a waste. There is much to be done, and yet you are perfectly content to waste away watching others live their lives.”

As if he was one to talk, sitting there drinking his tea without a care in the world. “And what is there to be done exactly?”

“To begin, the decorations from Christmas and Hanukkah remain on display, and the kitchen is almost out of provisions,” he rattled off with a shrug.

Well, that second one certainly would need tending to. Normally the groceries were delivered twice a week from a food order that everyone contributed to, but you had forgotten about it when it hadn’t been brought to your attention. Perhaps a bit of fresh air would do you some good. You left the room without another word, quickly dressing and making yourself presentable to the public before coming back out into the living room with Loki’s wool pea coat draped over your arms.

“C’mon, Muscles. You can help me carry the groceries.” You held up his coat for him in invitation, shaking it lightly.

He rose, smoothing his hands down his white button-up shirt to come to a stop on his hips. There weren’t any wrinkles to be found on his outfit, but you would touch that body at any opportunity if given the chance, so who could blame him? “You expect me to accompany you to the market?”

You popped up a hip and mocked his rich, velvet accent that admittedly sent shivers of pleasure down your spine. “You expect to eat, don’t you?”

~

The once pristine glittering snow had morphed into a grey sludge that sucked at your feet with each step back from the store. Your hands were thrust out from your sides to maintain your tenuous balance as you trudged along behind Loki, who had taken the reusable bags full of food from you without protest excluding a well-executed roll of his dark eyes. His towering figure cut a path through the crowded New York City pedestrians who watched him with unabashed curiosity and trepidation as he passed. You were afforded mostly confusion as you inelegantly followed in his footsteps.

Until your foot slipped on a hidden patch of ice beneath the slurry, and a squeak of shock came from your throat as your hands flailed out wildly for something to grab onto. Concern rushed through you, strong and overwhelming, as Loki’s hands grasped yours to keep you from falling. When you looked up to him in grateful shock, and your eyes locked, tendrils of desire snaked out from his heart to wrap around yours and squeeze with the barest of heat. There wasn’t any mistaking the feelings he had at that moment, no matter how fleeting, and you both knew it.

“Thanks,” you murmured, awestruck in the face of such intense emotions that Loki worked to keep hidden.

He jerked back from you as if you had burned him, picking up the bags he had forgotten in his haste to help you. “Do not mention it. Come. I’m famished and you obviously are not suited for this weather.”

~

“Is this absolutely necessary?”

You looked up from where you kneaded the flour-covered dough against the countertop, jaw set in determination as you leaned into your work. “It tastes better when you make it from scratch. I figured someone with your impressive knife skills wouldn’t find it challenging to chop a bit of garlic and tomatoes for a simple pasta sauce. If I’m mistaken…”

Loki bristled, his eyes tightening as he made quick work of unbuttoning his sleeves before rolling them up the pale expanse of his arms. “I am quite capable of performing such a menial task.”

You dropped your gaze to the exposed skin, delighting silently in the flex of his forearms as he set to work doing as you had asked. It was quiet, calming, to work together in the kitchen. The rhythmic sound of his knife hitting the wooden cutting board timed with your rolling and kneading the pasta dough was almost musical, working with the pulse pounding in your ears at such a domestic scene to keep you very alert.

Not too alert, apparently, as when you began to cut the long floured noodles from your rolled sheet of dough, you managed to slice the pad of your index finger.

“Shit!” you cursed, dropping the knife and pulling the bleeding digit into your mouth. You quickly checked to make sure you hadn’t ruined the dough, eyes darting around the room for something to staunch the bleeding.

“Let me see,” Loki commanded quietly from behind you.

You turned to him to see his hands held out for yours, exasperation written into the firm set of his mouth. “You don’t have to touch me. It’s okay.”

“Let me see,” he repeated, gently encircling your wrist with his long, elegant fingers, pulling your finger from in between your lips.

There was that concern again, warm and soft as it wrapped around you like a blanket from where his hands deftly worked at cleaning and wrapping your hand in a band-aid. You weren’t used to people touching you, not of their own accord, not once they knew that you could feel their every emotion through the connection. It was an invasion of privacy, and more than that, it was opening them up to the possibility of you pushing certain feelings onto them - an aspect of your powers that you never used unless in dire situations on missions.

You would never do that to Loki, even with the desire that unfurled deep within your belly as you watched his calculated emerald eyes admire his handiwork. Anything that he felt, you wanted it to be authentic and coming only from him. Which was why the affection that teased just at the edges of your awareness made your breath catch in your throat, and your gaze drop to his lips as he wetted them with a flick of his tongue.

“Loki, I-”

“Perhaps I should finish the rest of the meal, so you do not risk ruining the pasta with your blood,” he commented dryly, leaving you empty as he released you from his hold.

You cradled your hand to your chest as if you could still feel the affection he had unwittingly shared on the stinging skin. “Of course. Just do what I was doing, without the stabbing part.”

~

You should’ve worn gloves for the party. Or perhaps a dress with sleeves.

The combination of so many bodies jostling around you, leaving you with just flashes of humor, lust, frustration, anger, sadness, and so many more emotions that you couldn’t name but could taste on your tongue, was too much. Tony had gone all out with the guest list for the New Year’s Eve party, and you felt positively ill at so many sensations washing over you in time with the pounding music and conflicting colognes and perfumes invading your nose.

The frigid wind on the balcony was a welcome breather, whipping around you and electrifying your senses to remove the lasting negative effects of the others from your person. Until you were just you again, as conflicted and frustrated as ever as you thought about Loki and Thor chatting amiably with amiably inside. The countdown was due to begin soon, and you didn’t want to see who the dark god paired off with to welcome in the new year with a kiss. That was one mental image you were perfectly content not to have engraved in your brain for the foreseeable future.

“The party not to your liking?”

Your chin lifted from where it had settled on your chest to watch the crowds below, all packed together and shouting their revelry into the abyss that climbed up the tower windows to reach your cold-reddened ears. “I didn’t realize it would be that crowded, and I’m not wearing sleeves.”

A coat, woolen and heavy and scented with cedarwood and spice settled over your shoulders to block the worst of the cutting wind. Your arms unraveled from around your waist to grip onto the lapels, holding Loki’s coat tighter to you. Loki stepped into your line of sight, regarding you with an unreadable expression as he leaned against the safety rail as if he wasn’t several hundred feet in the air. “That was poor planning on your part.”

“Yeah, but I look good in this dress,” you replied with a humorless laugh, swinging your hips back and forth as it to prove the point.

“You do,” was his warm reply, matching the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth as his eyes trailed down the length of your body slowly.

What you wouldn’t give to know the feelings behind that look, but you wouldn’t ever invade his privacy in that way. Not without permission. Thankfully, the cold air already turned the tip of your nose red and flushed your cheeks, otherwise the effect his searching gaze and thoughtful gesture would be much more clear. “Thanks for the coat. You always seem to be stepping up to help me, lately.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he replied in that crushed velvet voice that had just a hint of roughness to it as he took one step closer to you.

The crowd down below began counting down. You could barely hear the numbers over the roar of the wind in your ears and the pounding of your heart as Loki shielded your body from the cold with his own. His hands came up to settle over your upper arms, rubbing the soft satin lining of his coat into your skin.

And your eyes fluttered closed just before his lips brushed against yours at the last second. Love unlike anything you’d ever felt before matched the caress of his smooth lips over yours, catching in your heart and coaxing out a warm glow of happiness that you weren’t sure began or ended with the man cradling you in his arms. It was untainted by darkness, driven from the purest sense of adoration and affection that you had experienced from another soul.

His forehead rested against yours once he allowed you a moment to breathe, quite kind of him after having stolen the very breath from your lungs. Hope, sharp and bright, teased out from him and into you to make your fingers curl into his black suit jacket. “I am not one to easily speak my emotions freely with others. But you must know…”

You nudged your nose along his, your heart soaring at the physical contact and the shared joy that danced between you to the tune of your drumming heartbeats. “I do. You can’t exactly hide that from me.”

He gathered you into the warmth of his embrace, tucking your forehead beneath his chin with a relieved sigh. It was safety and contentment and promise and a love so new and bright that you hoped to never find its shadow. “No more hiding. Not in this new year.”

~~~

Little Bit o’ Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @lots-of-loki @otakumultimuseoc @ms-cellanies @rosierossette

Whole Shebang taglist: @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @blah666 @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @claritastantrum @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @lovesmesomehiddles​ @peterman-spideyparker​ @wegingerangelica​ @bluefrenchfries604​ @catsladen @silverswordthekilljoy​

[avengersmusings]

FULL NAME: Natalia Alianova Romanova MEANING: Christmas Day NICKNAME: Natasha, Nat, Tash, Tasha MEANING: Natasha is the name she usually goes by to distance herself from the Red Room, Nat’s just a shortened form of her name, and Clint calls her Tash/Tasha when they’re alone thanks. AGE APPEARANCE: Appears 30, is actually 36 BIRTHDAY: April 22nd, 1984 ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Taurus SPECIES: Enhanced Human GENDER: Cis female ALLERGIES: None SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Pansexual THEME SONG(S): Praying by Kesha, Black Widow by Iggy Azela & Rita Ora, I Did Something Bad by Taylor Swift, and Alone Together by Fall Out Boy

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOR:  Red HAIR STYLE AND LENGTH: Shoulder length, usually either wavy or straight. She’ll wear it up in a bun if she’s lounging around. EYES COLOR: Green EYESIGHT: 20/20, the serum she was injected with corrected any and all imperfections. HEIGHT: 5″7′ WEIGHT: 145 lbs OUTFIT/CLOTHING STYLE: On missions it’s whatever SHIELD makes her wear but when she’s alone it’s usually leggings and someone else’s shirt or sweats and Clint’s shirt. Flat shoes are a must and jeans are only worn if they’re going out in public (and they’re tight as can be). ABNORMALITIES: None. DISTINGUISHING MARKS(SCARS,MOLES): Various knife/bullet wounds that have scarred over; a long bullet wound along right hip; small scattering of freckles along upper back, shoulders, and face. SELF CARE(MAKE UP): Nat always looks well kept and put together. The Red Room forced her to. FIRST IMPRESSION ON PEOPLE: People usually think she’s a bitch and unapproachable. SKIN COLOR: Latina/White mixed BODY TYPE/BUILD: Slim, lean, and muscular. DEFAULT EXPRESSION: Resting bitch face x1000. POSTURE: Nat always has perfect posture, her body tense like a dancer’s.  MEASUREMENTS(FEMALE ONLY): Waist: size 12; Bust: size 34D PIERCINGS: Multiple piercings on ears, bellybutton piercing. DESCRIBE THEIR VOICE: As the Black Widow, there’s no distinguishable accent but when Nat is alone her natural accent comes out.

RELATIONS:

MOM: Anika Romanova HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Natasha’s mother died when she was young, but hse does have a fond memory of her mother singing to her. DAD: Ivan Petrovitch (Adopted); birth father is unknown. HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: Before she was kidnapped by the Red Room, their relationship was very good. He took her in after her mother’s death and the Red Room told her that he was dead. SIBLINGS: Mayna Romanova HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: For the longest time, Natasha had no idea that Mayna was even still alive. They went through the Red Room together but it wasn’t until Nat dropped all of SHIELD’s files to the public that she found out her sister was still alive. CHILDREN: N/A HOW WELL DO THEY GET ALONG: N/A OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS: N/A PAST LOVER(S): Alexi Shostakov (Ex-Husband), James Barnes (Ex-Fling) CURRENT LOVER: Clint Barton REACTION TO MEETING SOMEONE NEW: Nat keeps quiet and analyzes them until she gets a good read of them. ABILITY TO WORK WITH OTHERS: Usually, Nat can work with anyone. Her training forces her to want to work with others, even if she doesn’t agree with them. However, it takes her a while to fully trust her teammates. HOW SOCIABLE(LONER,ETC): Mildly social, but only to those she trusts and cares about.  FRIENDS: The Avengers team, Elise Burke, Wanda Maximoff, Carol Danvers, Pepper Potts PETS: Liho, a 3 year old black male cat.  LEAST FAVORITE TYPE OF PERSON: Overbearing men, cocky people, men who don’t take her seriously because she’s a woman. PARENTAL TYPE(PROTECTIVE,ETC): Protective, Carefree. FAVORITE PEOPLE: Clint, Elise, Bucky, Wanda, and Pepper are her top five favorite people. LEAST FAVORITE PEOPLE: Clint, anyone Hydra or Red Room affiliated, people who are rude to women.

PERSONALITY:

..WHEN YOU FIRST MEET THEM: ? Cautious, closed off, cold. ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY LIKE YOU): Affectionate, Loyal, Playful. ..AS YOU KNOW THEM BETTER(AND THEY DISLIKE YOU): Cold, Mean, Sarcastic. FAVORITE COLOR: Red. FAVORITE FOOD: Russian Pelmeni, pizza, anything chocolate. FAVORITE ANIMAL: Cats FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Flute FAVORITE ELEMENT: Fire LEAST FAVORITE COLOR: White LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Lemons, Cabbage Rolls, beans LEAST FAVORITE ANIMAL: None really. LEAST FAVORITE INSTRUMENT: Deep bass and drums LEAST FAVORITE ELEMENT: Earth HOBBIES: Ballet dancing, listening to calming music, eating cereal with Clint at 3am. USUAL MOOD: Calm, collected, but usually in a good mood.

DRINK/SMOKE/DRUGS: Drinks socially. DARK VERSION OF SELF: Cunning, ruthless, a trained assassin that will kill without hesitation. LIGHT VERSION OF SELF: Loyal, willing to make the sacrifice play, intelligent. HOW SERIOUS ARE THEY: Nat is usually pretty serious, but does have a playful side. BELIEVE IN GHOSTS: Ghost are real and they haunt her at night. (IN)DEPENDANT: Independent, though tends to be dependent on people she really cares about. SOFT SPOT/VULNERABILITY: Talking about her pre-SHIELD past, Clint, orphaned children. OPINION ON SWEARING: She doesn’t do it unless the occasion calls for it, but isn’t against it. DAREDEVIL VS CAUTIOUS: It depends on the situation. MUSIC TYPE: She prefers classical or calming music and cannot stand rap or hip hop. MOVIE TYPE: Action, Horror, dumb comedies Clint makes her watch BOOK TYPE: Nat’s read all the classics but her favorites are those trashy romance novels and she pretends she doesn’t read them. GAME TYPE: Anything, she’s been trained to know how to read to win them all. COMFORTABLE TEMPERATURE: Nat likes being comfortable, meaning not too hot or too cold. SLEEPING PATTERN: Nat’s usually up at all hours, but likes to try to keep a sleeping schedule. It doesn’t really work out. CLEANLINESS/NEATNESS: Nat’s okay with a little bit of disarray in her living areas, a light clutter to show a home is lived in isn’t bad. But she can’t super messy environments. DESIRED PET: Cats HOW DO THEY PASS TIME: Nat’s free time is either spent training or with Clint. BIGGEST SECRET: There isn’t much Nat keeps secret anymore, between the SHIELD leak and her desire to let her teammates know everything. HERO/WHO THEY LOOK UP TO: Peggy Carter. WHAT ANIMAL WOULD THEY BE: A lioness. FEARS: Becoming Natalia again and hurting one of her coworkers, Clint leaving her, failing to save someone. COMFORTS: Warm baths, Clint drapping himself around her, Liho purring on her chest.

HOW DO THEY ACT WHEN THEY ARE:

SAD: Nat has two sad modes: run away or shut it down. When she’s sad she either shuts down her negative emotion until she can’t hold it back anymore or runs away to deal with them on her own. HAPPY: Playful, joking around, wanting to be around as many people as possible. ANGRY: Depending on who/what made her angry: fighting, harsh words, or poking at known weaknesses are her usual go tos. AFRAID: Nat isn’t usually afraid, but when she is her body shuts down and goes into fight or flight mode. LOVE SOMEONE: Steals their clothing, wants to be around them all the time, becomes over protective. HATE SOMEONE: Nat either avoids them or makes their life a living hell. WANT SOMETHING: Nat will go after it, she’s not the one to beat around the bush. CONFUSED: Nat doesn’t get confused often but if she does end up confused she works it out until she understands it.

HOW DO THEY REACT TO:

DANGER: Nat’s fight or flight response kicks in and she tries to protect her teammates from whatever danger is present. SOMEONE THEY HATE WHO HAS A CRUSH ON THEM: Nat murders them, no she just lets them know she’s not interested. PROPOSAL TO MARRY: At first, she thinks Clint is joking because he’s him. But when she eventually realizes he’s being legit, she’d accept and they’d spent at least a day celebrating. DEATH OF LOVED ONE: After so much loss, Nat’s almost immune to it. She gets sad and wants to be alone for a little bit and then wants Clint to just hold her. DIFFICULT GAME/MATH/ETC: Nat will not rest until she works it out okay. INJURY: If someone else is hurt, Nat hides it and pretends she’s okay. She’s also been injured so many times that she doesn’t realize she’s hurt half the time so. SOMETHING IRRESISTABLY CUTE: Nat pretends it’s annoying while secretly dying on the inside. LOSS OF HOURS OF WORK: I dare SHIELD to try to cut her out of something. I dare them.

Knowledge:

LANGUAGES: English, Russian, German, Latin, ASL. SCHOOLING LEVEL: Whatever the Red Room was FAVORITE SUBJECT (S): Dance, Combat INTERESTED CAREERS: None really.   EXPERTISE: Combat, Weapons Mastery, Hacking, Seduction & Manipulation PUZZLES: Puzzles aren’t that hard for her. CHEMISTRY: The science subject? Not so much. Human chemistry? She’s an expert. MATH: Math wasn’t that hard for her to understand. ENGLISH: She can speak it but reading something and finding hidden meanings? Not so much. GEOGRAPHY: SHIELD gave her some training so she has basic understandings of map reading. POLITICS/LAW: Nat has a basic understanding of the law, but she doesn’t really pay attention to politics. She knows how to play people to get what she wants.  ECONOMY/ACCOUNTING: This is probably the one section Nat doesn’t care about. COOKING: Nat can cook basic things and enjoys doing it. SEWING: She’s really good at it, especially if it’s medical sewing. MECHANICS: Nat knows the basics of car owning but that’s about it. BOTANY (FLOWERS): Yeah no.  MYTHOLOGY: Nat took an interest in Norse Mythology after meeting Thor but that’s about it. DRAMATICS(ACTING,SINGING): Nat’s skill set deals with acting so. READING LEVEL: Proficient. HOW GOOD ARE THEY AT PLANNING AHEAD: It depends on what she’s planning. Missions, she’s great. But everything else? Not so much.

ROMANCE:

DO THEY TAKE INITIATIVE: ALL THE TIME. Nat’s constantly pulling Clint in for kisses or cuddles or into empty rooms. HOW DO THEY ACT(SHY,ETC): It depends on her mood and what she wants, but usually she’s pretty forward and confident in what she wants. GENTLEMAN/LADYLIKE VS KLUTZY: Nat’s smooth, but Clint tends to make her nervous. She’s never felt like this for someone before. GO SLOW VS JUMP INTO: Nat’s romantic life was to jump into things quickly and she took her time with Clint. PROTECTIVE: FUCK YES. ACT LIKE FRIENDS OR LOVERS: Honestly, both. WHAT KIND OF PRESENTS DO THEY BUY: Who needs presents when you can just give them sex? It’s probably a new toy or something they can use in the bedroom. TYPE OF KISSER: It depends on her mood, sometimes she wants soft kisses and some times she wants it rough. DO THEY WANT KIDS: No, but also yes? DO THEY WANT TO MARRY: Only if it’s Clint. MAKE GOOD OR BAD DECISIONS: Both. She has a self-destruction tendency when it comes to love/romance. ARE THEY ROMANTIC: Yes. HOW ARE THEY IN BED: One of her skill sets is being good in bed okay.  GET JEALOUS EASY: Yes and no. She knows Clint is it for her, and her for him, but at the same time she doesn’t like people touching her man. WIFE/HUBBY BEATER: No. Nope. No. Never. MARRY FOR MONEY: Nope. Maybe for the laughs to Tony, but not really. FAVORITE POSITION: Nat likes being on top. She really enjoys being on top during oral and just CRUSHING Clint between her thighs okay. WHAT WOULD HAPPEN ON THEIR DREAM DATE: Oh god, staying in and just hanging out and cuddling on the couch followed by great sex. OPINION ON SEX: Sex used to be something she just did because she was expected to, but now it means so much more to her. It’s one of her favorite things to do with Clint.

[memescomicswriting]

In the Pursuit of Happiness Ch. 1

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Reader x Bucky, Reader x Steve

Warnings/genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Singer!Avenger. Raised by Sheild since the age of ten, Y/N grew up without everyday examples. She only saw how to be an agent. Though as a grown woman she has surpassed that mindset, she still faces challenges from her upbringing- like how to handle feelings, unrequited love, and interpersonal challenges. Set after similar plot points in Civil War, Y/N must face returning home after leaving during an uncomfortable time in her life and facing the consequences

A/N: This is my first series in the Marvel fandom. I hope you enjoy it. I always welcome feedback. It is appreciated. This story does not follow the traditional Marvel timeline. I mess with it to make the story work, so roll with me.

Story Masterlist

---

It was the tenth official Stark party this year. It was in honor of Steve, and he requested any donations from the charity ball portions of the evening be donated to the Stark Veterans Project. The project was created to honor those who sacrificed their lives for their country by supporting their families- whether sending their kids to college, funding counseling, replacing income, or helping with funeral arrangments. It also worked to provide the best resources available for those coming home with casualties.

This party felt different, lighter, and cheerful. Steve was entertaining a group of Sam's veteran buddies while Sam poured them all drinks. Tony, with the assistance of Nat's intimidating skillset,  kept scoring large donations for the cause. Thor and Clint were off somewhere playing darts to determine who had the best accuracy. Wanda, with Vision's attempt at helping, was trying to relax Peter. He was here as a 'Stark Intern.' He and Banner both appeared apprehensive at the large gathering of people.

That left Bucky, who had shrugged Steve off insisting he was fine, nursing an Asgardian lased whiskey in a lonely corner of the bar. He wanted to talk to people, honestly, he did, but he wouldn't know where to begin. Being a brainwashed Hydra assassin for the past seventy years left him short of topics to discuss and rusty social skills. He'd stay until the charity part was over, as an Avenger. Though it wasn't like many people recognized him, and those who did were apprehensive at best. He planned on moving to the couch by the exit to the living quarters soon.

Then a shockingly gorgeous woman emerged from the crowd like Venus from the sea. Eyes followed her, lingered, but no one followed as if they were frozen in shock. She sauntered up to the bar counter, a seat away from Bucky. This bar was less populated than the others. Probably because no noticeable Avengers hung off it.

"Can I have a gin and tonic please." Her voice was smoother than velvet and sweater than molten chocolate dripping off a strawberry. Bucky was commanded, without intention, to notice the woman within an arm's distance. She was drinking gin, an old fashioned drink Bucky rarely heard ordered before.

The bartender gulped, assuming it was due to the beautiful woman leaning over the bar. "Yes Ms. Y/L/N."

She was dressed in something so unique. It was a black jumpsuit with a large V for a top, cascading to a cinched waist in gleaming chiffon fabric. The pants of the outfit were well fitted, highlighting long legs and the curves of her hips. She stood out from all the others in the room. With hair perfectly curled and pinned into a loose bun; strands dripped from their place to create a beautifully disheveled look. Then there were those cherry red lips- so well defined they were sinful. 

So yeah, Bucky had to notice her, and by his luck, she noticed him too. Maybe it was the intensity of his stare or the muffled choke of his rapid inhale, but she turned to him with eyes so bright they could have been stars. He died right there on the spot and he must have looked like a complete creep.

"Sorry if I bothered your peace and quiet." Her voice was light like a melody, not harsh, or apologetic, or disturbed, but friendly. "But I needed some of it too." Her lips upturned in the smallest of smiles, but it struck Bucky like a bolt of lightning. 

The bartender placed her gin and tonic on a napkin and reluctantly moved to the guests on the other side of the bar. In what felt like an eternity, she took a sip of her drink and analyzed Bucky. There was no scrutiny in the way she glanced him over, but a light concentration like she was looking for something. He died again, her gaze and her presence were so much to take in. As if she sensed his animal instinct to bolt, she placed her hand on the bar ledge close to his. "Oh please don't go! I haven't had the chance to talk to you yet."

"Talk to me?" It was a quick utterance of disbelief. No one wanted to talk to him. Steve, Nat, and Sam would because they were his friends, the other Avengers would, but no stranger had yet to go out of their way to talk to him.

She chuckled long and slow like thick molasses. "Yes, you Bucky. Who wouldn't want to talk to you?" 

It was rhetorical, but Bucky mentally answered it- everyone, everyone but you, it seems. "I-I...who are you?" It was gruff and possibly rude, but he was almost proud that the talked this much already.

"A friend of Steve and Tony's, and the whole team really." Her smile never faltered. "They mentioned you came tonight and I wanted to see for myself." 

"Oh..." Bucky scolded himself for his anxiety and lack of manners. "Well, I'm not staying long." Again. he criticized his actions. He wasn't the ladies man from his past, but he wasn't the cold solder either. He was lost in a new identity.

"No!" It wasn't a shout, but there was a forceful need behind her voice. "You should stay till the end of the charity portion at least! I promise you it'll be worth it."

"Well, I don't know..." He trailed off.

Pleading took over her features. "Oh promise me you will? For me?"

She had to know the effect she had on him, the command and the enticing desire to try. His desire to resist the feeling to bolt, and to participate. "Okay, I will." He hesitantly agreed.

"Oh, that makes me so happy!" She spoke to him, but her head whipped to the direction of Tony's voice over the speaker. "I uh have to go, but I hope to see you again Bucky." Quickly, she grabbed her drink and shot Bucky another knee-buckling smile as she walked back into the crowd she appeared from.

Tony spoke over the speaker for a bit. He thanked all the guests for coming and for their donations. He spoke about the worthiness of the cause and how there were still more chances to give. A singer was about to come on, and there were five slots for a purchaser to fill with the song of their choosing. On top of that, the singer donated a few extra songs for free- ten in total. Bids went up, and they sold in the thousands. Many were songs Bucky didn't know, but the voice caught him.

Despite the chorus' Bucky didn't know and didn't like, that voice struck him for the second time that night. There was that girl, half raping, half-singing some song. Bucky stood from his stool caught by her voice. She went through the five purchased songs Bucky was not familiar with, then she switched to a setlist which she performed with ease. First, "I'll be Seeing You" by Billie Holiday- probably for Steve. A song about landslides, another beautifully slow and captivating song repeating Hallelujah, something about waterfalls, and lastly the song that drew Bucky through the crowd despite himself.

Her voice ripped through the crowd and into him. Her previous composure had been thrown to the wind for a defiant, screw you, attitude. "I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know" She called out. "Everything that shines ain't always going to be gold." Slews of cursed were in the song too, but Bucky found them refreshing in the way they were delivered. He was held captive by the divinely sultry yet earthy gravel of her voice.

"Tell me what you know about dream'n. You don't really know nothing." The crowd around was bouncing to the song, some singing along, others simply moving with it. Bucky pushed to the front and his eyes marveled up at the stage. "Tell me what you know about night terrors every night, waking up five a.m. cold sweats, waking up to the sky." He was struck. That was him, he did that and he pushed people away for not understanding. That was him and the most beautiful girl he had ever seen was singing his experience from a point of knowing. She knew what it was like and she knew him. He was infatuated.

The song came to a roaring end, the crowd screaming, but she wasn't out of breath. Bucky was. She looked down off the stage and saw him. She winked and there was no oxygen left to fill his lungs. "I'm Y/S/N and I hope you had a great time tonight. I certainly did. Remember, there are more opportunities to bid on, on your way out. Keep donating for those who have served!"

She exited the boxed off back of the stage, down a hallway to the Avenger's personal lounge; where the friends only after party was set to happen. Tony replaced her on stage thanking the guests for coming and rattling off the usual. 

Bucky scanned the room, pushing through crowds. He needed Steve and he needed him now, but he already left. Those staying for the private afterparty used the end of the mini-concert to slip unnoticed down to the common area. Bucky did one more look over before deciding to make an exit himself.

***

The easiest ways to the common area were cut off due to the high traffic of exiting guests, so Bucky had to go up a floor and cut through some of the living quarters to reach his destination. He walked at almost a jogging pace down the opposite flight of stairs and the back section of the floor he needed to be on. It included the apartment he shared with Steve. However, he was caught in an abrupt halt when the very person he was running to find answers about swung out of the apartment across from his. The spider kid used it on occasion, but otherwise, it was empty. 

She had changed and let her hair down. Now in a pair of black leggings and SHEILD pull over, she still looked like perfection. Bucky was shocked to see her, and she was the same. She hadn't expected him to be here. She thought he'd attach himself to Steve.

She recovered quicker than him. "You stayed as promised." 

Her lips curved again and after recovering from their sting, Bucky gained enough control to talk. “Yah...” Bucky’s Brooklyn accent emerged through his foggy grip on words. “You shouldn’t be back here.” 

 Civilians, unless escorted or previously approved were not permitted back into the private sector of the compound. Here was a goddess of civilian women- like a muse or Aphrodite, outside of Bucky’s apartment.

A low chuckle escaped her lips. It drew Bucky in to box her into the door frame. “You don’t know. They didn’t tell you, did they?”

Bucky bit his bottom lip, making it flush with color. He didn’t realize he had boxed her in until he was starring down at her. It was a close distance that made his heart race with riddles of anxiety. The position was unnerving. “Who are you really? How do you do that?”

Her eyebrow quipped in an extended arch. Maybe it was in challenge or amusement. Despite Bucky’s height advantage, he suddenly felt small.

“And what exactly do I do? Because I see your skillset is more of the twenty questions sort.” She stepped forward and Bucky stepped back.

Bucky inhaled sharply to give a sheepish reply about how she needed to leave the private sector of the compound. Then he heard a familiar male voice call out. “There you go, kid. Everything back to the way it was.” Clint appeared around a door frame. “Oh, hey there Sarg. Did you need something?”

She spoke up before Bucky. “It seems four months away and everyone forgets the I was ever an avenger” Clint wasn’t picking up what she was hinting at until she tilted her head in Bucky’s direction. 

“Uh... oh. Right, you’ve been away for the recent changes.” Clint slowly turned from her to Bucky with a serious look of contemplation. “I guess Cap is losing his memory in his old age.” He shrugged and the seriousness released from his shoulders. Jovially, he clapped Bucky’s back. “Come on old-timer. Help me escort the lady to Steve for some answers.”

The avenger’s personal lounge was significantly more relaxed than the party. There was still some partygoers, but all personal friends. Tony played makeshift bartender; mixing drinks for anyone near the bar. Others just walked behind the bar themselves. Music played over the speaker system in the background. Games like pool and air hockey still going strong.

Bucky easily spotted Steve. He was standing with Natasha by the couches. His voice echoed the room as he was barreling laughs.

Gaining some sense of clarity, Bucky leads the pack to Steve. “Hey, pal.” Steve greeted between laughs.

“Yeah, pal.” His voice was low and reserved as usual. “You um, supposedly forgot to let me in on something.”

Just then, she stepped out from behind Bucky. “Hello, Steve.” Her voice was as thick and rich as a fine whiskey.

Steve, flushed with alcohol sobered up in actions. “Y/N.” He breathed out in an enchanted tone. Natasha was scarce to be seen. Clint wanted to follow her.

“Right...” Clint peeked his eyes from Clint to Y/N. “Now that we’re all where we need to be, I’m gonna go find Nat. Let me know if you find anything else kid.”

Y/N nodded to Clint with a smile different than any she had shown before. “Seems you forgot to inform the newcomer of my arrival.” Her full attention was on Steve. Despite her almost lovingly soft expression, Steve reacted as if she was emitting the intensity of the sun's summer rays. 

Bucky knew Steve. Hydra, brainwashing, and time couldn't replace his second-nature understanding of Steve. He knew Steve was in a star stricken gaze. Bucky almost smirked at the punk.

"Well, I..." Steve bashfully rubbed the nape of his neck. He had to look away from the dazzling Y/N to gain the ability to think straight. "I'm sorry. It slipped by."

Disappointment clouded her previously radiant being. "I understand it's been busy lately. I've been busy as well. Missions and all else."

Tension and unspoken thoughts lingered in the air between them. Anyone could see it, and everyone did. Bucky understood why Natasha and Clint disappeared. The awkwardness seeped into everyone around the pair. At least, Steve's disarray was penetrating. Y/N maintained an unwavering decorum. 

"Buck," Steve spoke up, barely dragging himself through an ashamed fog. "This is Y/F/N. A good teammate, great agent, and an incredible friend. I can't find the right words to adequately sum how amazing she is, and I know you'll get along swell."

Y/N craked her lips, desperately wanting to say something she just couldn't get out. Steve motioned to Bucky with his eyes, and in a shock of remembrance, Y/N turned to meet Bucky's fresh gaze. Her radiant persona emerged, but not to the extent it was at earlier that evening. "And now you know who I am, really am." She dared to take Bucky's hand in hers. The nearest hand to her was the one she took, his metal hand. She did not flinch, drop it, or indicate any realization that it was more than just a hand. "I'm not just the civilian entertainment. I'm a teammate as well."

She was shaking Bucky's hand in the delicate grip of both hers. He wanted to know what that would feel like with his flesh hand. "I'm not sure I'll ever know all of who you are." It was a dry comment without much thought of recourse behind it.

Shock raptured into a beautifully honest smile.  "Then I hope you enjoy mysteries." She kept that smile as she turned to Steve, despite his previous disappointing words. She removed her hands from Bucky's growing grip to grasp Steve's shoulder. "I hope you'll spare some time for us to chat."

It was a statement but said with the tone of a question. Steve took a hard gulp. "I- of course, I will. Anything for you."

Y/N's smile became warmer; if that was even possible. "Thank you." She glanced over the rest of the party. She spotted an awkward-looking Petter blushing at Tony's bosting of the boy. She chuckled lightly shaking her head. "I'll leave you boys to talk. I think I have a spider to rescue." 

Y/N patted Steve's shoulder and dropped her hand. She turned back to Bucky once more. "It was a pleasure to meet you, James."

With a curt but breathless nod, Bucky managed to reply. "Nice to meet you too."

Bucky waited until Y/N disappeared in all the guests to address Steve. He became lighter with her exit. "What the hell was that?" He swatted at Steve.

"That," Steve sighed exasperated, but with love-struck longing. "Was Y/N"

And it dawned on Bucky. That was Steve’s girl.

---

A/N: Chapter one done! Let me know what you think! Reblog if you liked it! How awkward was that seen in the hallway? Comment below if you think Y/N should have introduced herself right away. 

[annarosewriting]

Why The Hell Do You Like Bucky Barnes So Much?

We’re good friends at this point, we’ve had a few laughs, shed a few tears, I think it’s time to talk about what’s really important and that is Bucky Barnes. 

You’re probably all aware of the fact that Bucky Barnes is my pride and joy. What you’re probably still confused about (other than everything about me) is why.

He’s a secondary character! He’s said a total of maybe 50 words in all four movies he’s been in! He killed Tony Stark’s parents! His eyeliner skills leave something to be desired! Anna, why is this the one character that you’ve laid your loyalties down for? 

Because Bucky is the sad, tired boy of my dreams.  

Just kidding, it goes deeper than that. 

The Oscar-Nominated Film, Captain America: The Winter Soldier (CA:TWS) is The Best Marvel movie in my own professional opinion. Marvel could not have chosen a better movie to introduce their Second Phase. The Second Phase of Marvel movies focused less on origin story and more on character development and growth. And CA:TWS gives us a chance to strip away the “Star-Spangled Man with a Plan” facade and to see Steve for what he really is. A good man who wants to do right. 

CA:TWS changed the entire tone of the MCU as well. It humanized the Avengers, let us see the friendships that had formed between them. We got to experience the inside jokes, the day-to-day minutia that we don’t get to see when they’re busy saving the world. It was so different than anything Marvel had done up to this point that I wanted the Russo Brothers to be in charge of every Marvel movie for forever. 

And then I saw Infinity War and I took that that wish right back. The Russo Brothers will be receiving my therapist bills for the emotional damage they caused to my person after having to see my favs turn to dust in front of my own TWO SEEING EYES. 

But I digress, we have other things to talk about. For those of you who haven’t seen CA:TWS, go watch it right now and don’t come back until you’ve finished it. But for a quick recap, CA:TWS is about how someone is trying to take out Directory Fury and dismantle SHIELD. It’s up to Steve and Friends to figure out who’s behind this and take them down. 

In one of the biggest plot twists of all time, it turns out that the individual behind all of this is, SPOILER, Bucky Barnes. Captain America’s BFF. We got a bit of Bucky in the first Captain America movie, enough to know that Bucky went to science fairs for fun and that Steve would cross into Nazi occupied territory for him. (Which, honestly? Same.) 

People liked Bucky in the first movie, I was a big fan from the moment I saw him in that goddamn uniform, but it wasn’t anything like this. TWS was everywhere. My social media feed was consumed with pictures, fanart, and gifs about TWS.

And it just didn’t make sense! Bucky’s not Bucky in this movie! He’s a highly trained assassin! He’s dangerous! He’s got a sick metal arm! He’s armed to the teeth and only cares about killing! He’s got the best smoky eye I’ve ever seen! It’s wild! 

So why was I (and lots of other women) tagging our posts with TWS with tags like “my poor sweet bby”? 

It’s because after Bucky failed to take out Steve, Hydra’s briefing him. Alexander Pierce is slapping him around and yelling. After a few minutes of this they force Bucky back into submission and wipe his memory. 

They’ve been doing this to Bucky since they captured him in the 40′s. Bucky hasn’t had any autonomy over his body, his mind and essentially himself for the last 70 odd years. 

So did women just feel sympathetic because of our “mothering tendencies”? Nah. We were sympathetic because we related to him. 

We know what it’s like to not have agency over our bodies. What it’s like to be told what to do by men in power and not have a choice. What it’s like to have our minds and memories tampered with. 

We knew this pain, not to the same level Bucky has experienced it, but to a certain degree, we recognized it. We understood it and we wanted to treat it like how we treated our own pain. 

So we gave Bucky the care and love he deserved. Whether it was through art, (I’ve seen so many drawings of Bucky in a blanket and drinking tea) writing, (the amount of stories of Steve and Bucky having the heartfelt reunion they deserve warms my cold dead heart) or, if you’re me, you just yell at anyone who listens how Bucky deserves a NAP FOR GODS SAKE. But there was all of this and more as we tried to give this victim the recovery he deserves. 

Here’s the thing, it’s hard for me to explain in a non-heartbreaking way why I love Bucky as much as I do but I’ll do my best. 

To me, Bucky represents hope. Hope that I can come out of the other side of the trauma I’ve experienced with loyal friends, soft luscious hair and all of Wakanda backing me up. 

I’ve had to deal with my own emotional trauma, I’ve had to rebuild my life from the ground up. I’ve had to grapple with some regrettable actions from my past and learn how to forgive myself for those actions. Granted, these actions are more me having been an asshole and not so much MURDERING people but still, we’re working with what we’ve got. 

I sympathize with Bucky’s story and how he works so hard to overcome his past. I mean, I wish I didn’t relate to him in the “oh we both have pretty rough mental trauma’s we’re trying to come to terms with and deal with” and that we related more in the “we both have long beautiful hair and Steve Rogers would start a civil war for us” but again, we’re just working with what we have. 

It makes me hopeful when I see Bucky get the chance to grow, to get a second chance, to have friends like Sam and Steve, to have Shuri help him and to probably show him Vine compilation videos, to have T’Challa recognize that he’s a victim not a villain (AS IT SHOULD ALWAYS BE). 

Bucky helped me realize that your past does not define you, it shapes you, but it’s what you do moving forward that really counts. 

So next time someone asks why I like Bucky so much, instead of giving them the thoughtful, emotional answer I gave you, I think I’ll just look them dead in the eye, say “who the hell is Bucky” and then disappear in a cloud of smoke. It’s what Bucky would want. 

[sebbytrash]

желание - Part Five

Longing: A yielding desire

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings - swearing, extreme sexual tension, slight nsfw, drinking, possessiveness, jealous!bucky

A/N: REPOSTING BECAUSE OF BLOG MOVE

желание Masterlist

The aftermath is chaotic. People are bustling around, bodies being carried away like litter and a faint buzzing in your head. You're sitting on a bunk in the infirmary while one of the med techs checks you over. You can see her glance at you every few seconds, the dazed look on your face causing concern but you can't bring yourself to put her at ease. You're in overload, the past few hours have done a number on you. At this point, you're not even sure your body can even produce adrenaline anymore. You’d like to say your unaffected by the whole gun-to-your-head thing but honestly, it was playing on a loop in your mind. That, and Bucky’s fist flying at your face, face void of any emotion.  

Gun-Bucky-Click-Thump-Gun-Bucky

Heart still driving headlong out of your chest, doing loops around your body and leaving ritchey echos in your skull.

Achy pain seeps through the daze, your body is starting to feel the effects of the fight and the sharp tight pain in your hairline reminds you that the Hydra asshole almost yanked your hair out. Your knuckles are bloody, but not broken. One of your fingers dislocated when you threw that punch, and she had to set it back once the painkillers took effect. That’s going to be a bitch.

Despite it all, your lips were still tingling from that kiss. God, it had been good. No-one-will-ever-compare good. Which begs the question of how, really? Bucky wasn't exactly a social butterfly, and he sure as hell wasn't off brushing up his kissing skills whilst he was The Winter Soldier. You assume, anyway.

A heavy sigh escapes you, remembering the panic that had engulfed him when he came back to himself. Dropping contact with you like you had scalded him, he had quickly disappeared from the gym, Steve gave you an apologetic glance before racing after him. Last you heard, they were locked away with Tony and Bruce, working on a failsafe incase it ever happened again.   

You think back to what he said before shit hit the fan. He wanted you, that much was clear. You’d had no idea of the internal struggle he faced with it though, but it made sense now. He had spent so long under Hydra's control---his mind and body just another tool for them to use--- you’d never considered that his attraction to you might feel the same to him. His body responding in ways he can’t control, you could see why his first instinct was to fight it. Doesn't mean you have to be happy about it though.

“Miss Y/N?” A hesitant voice broke through the fog in your mind.

“Oh, um y-yeah?”

“I need to set your finger now…”

“Oh, sure.” You hesitantly place your hand into her outstretched ones, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. No use pretending this wasn't gonna hurt.

The med tech -Kelly?- gives you a small grimacesmile as she wraps her fingers round your offending finger, then a quick 1-2-3 and a god awful popping and it’s back home.

Air escapes between your teeth in a sharp hiss. God that fucking hurt. You refuse the wrap she wants to give you, knowing you would get annoyed with its restrictions any way.

Debriefing is long. You go over every detail with Fury, even the one you’d rather leave out. Only Steve knew about your kiss with Bucky and you’d rather keep it that way but it’s not like Fury will tell anyone. He’s nothing if not professional. He waves you off, satisfied he has everything he needs, before telling you to get some rest. You head to your room, aching and weary, and ready to put today behind you. Showering away the evidence of today; the blood, sweat and fear that was still clinging to your skin. Once dry and dressed, you climb into bed and sleep quickly pulls at you taking only a few short moments before you succumb.

Sleep is fitful, you wake several times through the night taking note of only one thing; your bed is empty. You can’t help the hollow pit feeling you get in your stomach each time you wake and Bucky still hasn't climbed in beside you. Forcing yourself to believe that it’s because he’s still working with Tony and Bruce is the only way you can find a way to go back to sleep at all.

Peeling your eyes open in the morning, a pang of something shudders through you as your eyes land on the still empty side of the bed. Feeling the cold sheets with your palm, it's obvious no one has slept here. The heat from Bucky lingers hours after he’s gone. You tell yourself that you didn't sleep well because of the injuries, and the fight hangover. Ha!

Three days. Three long ass days pass and you see nothing of Bucky. Since the day of the Hydra invasion, everything has been on hold. No training, no missions, no nothing. You’ve been hiding out in your room, only surfacing to scour food from the kitchen or to do laundry.

The fourth day finds you staring at your reflection in the mirror. Weary, tired eyes stare back at you. The lack of sleep clearly taking its tole, your eyes are puffy and rimmed with dark circles, your hair's slicked back in a messy not-the-cute-kind bun and your skin is adopting a slight grey tone. God, you really needed a decent night's sleep. Damn him, James Barnes, for making it impossible to sleep without him next to you. You were just fine before he started creeping into your bed every night. Now you were half a person without him, just all safety pins and duct tape holding your guts together.

Ridiculous.

One kiss, a few scattered conversations and some spooning. Okay a lot of spooning but still, hardly the basis for such intense pouting which is essentially what you're doing.

At any point you could have easily sought him out but you didn't. Stubborn and just a bit afraid. The last look he gave you in the gym before darting out the door, horror and regret, had kept you from doing it. Sure, 30 mins prior to that he had threatened to fuck you against a wall but that didn't mean he planned on actually doing it. Or wanted to; just because his body did doesn't mean his mind agreed.

Dragging a hand over your face you give yourself a mental shake. No more pouting. Time to get past this.

A shower, clean hair and freshly shaved legs later, you’re making your way through the compound. Mind made up, you know what you want, and who is going to give it to you. Finding the door you want, a quick knock has the door swinging open.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“Nat. I want to go dancing. Tonight. You in?” She arches that perfect fucking eyebrow at you.

“Always. Team night out?” You can tell she’s already mentally planning this. Nat’s the best at this kind of thing, other than Tony. Surprisingly, she loves to party. And she’s the best wingwoman you could ask for.

“Sure. Whatever. I just need out of here. I’m suffocating.” Even you can hear the whine in your voice.

“Still needing that itch scratched huh?” She releases a breathy laugh at the bitch face you throw her way, already turning on your heels and heading back towards your room.

Crossing the kitchen, you stop to grab and quick Coke from the fridge. Lost in your thoughts as your turn the corner out of the kitchen, you notice someone too late to prevent yourself from colliding with them. Bouncing off the wall of chest and shoulders, you stumble back before two large hands grip your elbows and quickly right you.

“S-Shit, sorry. Wasn’ paying attention…” Your voice trails off as your eyes meet the haunting grey eyes of one James Buchanan Barnes. Eyes flashing, he said nothing and simply stared at you. Into you. You notice the dark circles cupping his eyes and the crinkles at the corners seem deeper than usual. It's’ clear he hasn't been getting much sleep either, and your heart does a little leap at the thought of that immediately followed by a pang of guilt.

Really? Celebrating the fact that the man hasn't slept. A new low.

Brushing past him without another word, you head to your room to get ready for tonight. You were gonna have fun and forget about Bucky even if only for a little while.

The deep base of the music vibrated through you. The warm buzz of alcohol seeped into your bones, filling you will false bravado and loosening up all those tense muscles. You and Nat are in the centre of the dancefloor, hips moving to the beat and voices scratchy as you shout long with the music.

This is what you needed; to let go, relax.

Sweat makes your dress stick to you as you move, the throng of dancing bodies pulsing like a living breathing thing. Nat taps you on your arm, signalling for a drink. You nod and you both push your way through the bodies until you reach the bar. Steve is there, smiling at you both, his back to the bar as he surveys the room. Ever the soldier. You lean over the bar to give the bartender your order, and feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Spinning, your eyes scan for the source of you unease and finally fall on the looming figure beside you.

Bucky. Bucky is here. He eyes and travelling over your body and leisurely pace, taking in all your curves as your dress clings to you. When his eyes finally meet yours they are dark and hungry. A involuntary shiver runs through through you as you watch his fists clench at his sides. Your gazed is locked with his, magnetized there. The henley he's sporting is pulled tight over his chest as it rises and falls with his fast uneven breaths. His lips part as his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, stare never faltering.

“Y/N, let's go!” Nat’s yell breaks the spell as she tugs you forward towards the dancefloor.

When you look back Bucky is turned towards Steve, moment already forgotten. Anger blooms in your chest. He cannot keep fucking with you. This was not the plan. You take the drink from Nat, which you now realize she must have bought since you got distracted, and down it in one go. The drink was mostly alcohol and it burns a path down your throat and into your stomach. You relish the burn, and quickly lose yourself in the music again.

Songs merge together as you dance, submerging yourself into the heart of the crowd. Large hands grip your waist and a body presses against you, molding to your curves and swaying in time with your hips. You turn your head and glimpse a cute blonde haired guy giving you a wide smile and questioning eyes. You lean back into him, determined to chase Bucky from your thoughts. Somewhere in the back of your mind a tiny voice is screaming that it's just the alcohol and you should walk away. Only it was too late for that.

The music pulses, bodies push and grind all around you. You raise your hand and reach back to cup the back of cute-guys neck, pulling him closer and you sway your hips. His hands tighten, and lips meet the side of your neck trailing down to your shoulder. PDA’s of this nature aren't usually your style but between the music and alcohol you're getting carried away.

“Get your fucking hands off her.” Bucky growls as he looms over you, staring cute-guy right in the eyes. Cute-guy drops his hands from you instantly, and backs away with his hands raised in a ‘I’m innocent’ kinda way. The angry is rolling off Bucky in waves and fuck if it doesn't push all your buttons. You don't even have it in you to be mad at him for chasing away cute-guy.

His eyes land on yours, all fire and rage. Cold fingers clamp down on your wrist as he pulls you through the mass of bodies.

As you surface from the crowd, hands spin you and you back meets the hard wall before you even register you've moved. Bucky's eyes are wild as he closes the gap between you, pressing his body against the length of you, arms boxing you in.

“You. Are. Mine.” He growls low, and fuck if that isn't the hottest thing you've ever heard. You open your mouth to say exactly that and he uses it as his opportunity to capture your lips in a toe curling kiss. His mouth invades yours, taking his fill. No doubt about it, this was a claiming kiss. His tongue danced with yours as his hand moved to grip the back of your head, tilting so that he could deepen the kiss. Your hands fist in his shirt, using him to anchor you as the ground moves beneath your feet. Heat blooms and spreads from your lips to your chest and lower. Spreading right out until you're shaking with it, fingertips tingling in anticipation. His lips burn a path down your neck and small needy gasps escape your mouth. A thick muscled thigh pushes between your legs and the delicious pressure of it right there cuts through the last sliver of self-control you had been grasping. You grind down on him, revelling in the bursts of pleasurepain it sends ricocheting through your body. Bucky sucks hard on the skin at your collarbone, a low moan erupts from you.

“Shit. Shit.” His forehead meets yours, eyes blazing. He squeezes them shut and pulls in a shaky breath through his nose before releasing it. “Not here. Not like this.”  

He opens his eyes, pleading with you. Begging you to understand he isn't rejecting you. You nod, not trusting your voice. “Let’s get out of here?” He gruff voice sounds hesitant, like he isn't sure you’ll say yes.

Is he kidding? Your entire body is aching for him, every cell in you is straining towards him.

“Fuck yes.” You smirk before pulling him towards to exit, desperate to get this sexy bastard of a man alone before he changes his mind.

Well the taxi ride home is sure to be...interesting.

[tonystarktogo]

Listen, Harry Potter AU. Like third year or fourth with Tony and Bucky? Something happens and they meet and they get together? Up to you what houses, though Tony could easily be Ravenclaw, or slytherin, and Bucky could be Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor? Thanks!

Here’s the thing: I have been waiting my entire life for this AU!! (I’m exaggerating. Mostly because I’ve been in the HP fandom a lot longer than in the MCU…) Also I can picture almost every character, and especially Tony, in EVERY house which makes this choice very difficult. Full discloser, I’m going with tiny Slytherin!Tony and bulky Hufflepuff!Bucky purely for my own amusement. Please enjoy!

Also tagging @briefpaperexpert because we were talking about HP/MCU Xovers not too long ago. Not what I had in mind back then, but still :)

Warning: Bullying. Inter-house-animosities. Howard’s A+ Parenting.

The problem with Tony–well, one of the problems with Tony, if you asked Howard, which you really shouldn’t do–isn’t that he’s a Slytherin, it’s that he is tiny.

Actually, because we all know you’ll ask Howard anyways, being a Slytherin is also a problem. As far as that man’s concerned, nobody who isn’t a proud Ravenclaw is ever going to accomplish anything in his life. Unless you’re a reckless Gryffindor named Steve Rogers, then you can do no wrong. Which is not cool at all. Seriously, the guy has vanished one Dark Lord, it’s not like he’s Merlin’s secret heir or something. Everyone really needs to chill out.

But the point is, you can’t be a tiny Slytherin with fluffy hair you aren’t allowed to cut–lest your beloved mother gives you the Eyes of Disappointment–and a serious case of social awkwardness in a post Dark Lord world. It’s like getting a ‘Bully me please, I’m too small to hit back’ stamp on your forehead. That he’s a year younger than everyone else probably doesn’t help his case either.

Not fun. Not fun at all.

Tony is a Stark though, he’s not going to let a couple of petty children drag him down. At least that has been Howard’s advice on the situation–if you can call it advice at all. It’s definitely not helpful advice, though Tony knows better than to point that out.

He also knows better than to complain about his transfiguration essay being ripped to pieces by that asshole Rumlow, who thinks anyone not Gryffindor is scum he’s allowed and supposed to spit on as often as possible. That doesn’t stop him from opening his big mouth, because Tony’s never been good at taking things while lying down. Unless he’s been stunned beforehand. Which has happened alarmingly often.

By the time he makes it into class, he’s five minutes late, has no homework to show for and no explanation to give either. (Like everybody doesn’t know what’s going on, but does that stop his fellow Slytherins from blaming him for the 10 points Professor Hill docks him? Of course it doesn’t. Common sense isn’t as common as you’d think around here, Tony thinks bitterly, even as he accepts his detention without complaint.)

Detention isn’t so bad anyways. Keeps him occupied at least, considering that most of the homework is a joke–genius here, and hopefully the only thing he’s inherited from his father–and he doesn’t have a lot of friends to spend his free time with. If you can count the scary librarian Miss Potts a friend, that is.

Tony kind of likes detention actually. Sharing a dorm with four other guys–who’s only common interest seems to be their dislike of the ‘Stark kid’–means that cleaning the trophy room at night is a rare opportunity for some quiet, far away from other people. 

Only when Tony gets to the trophy at 8pm sharp–his mother has never tolerated tardiness–he isn’t alone. And he’s not- he’s not easily scared, alright, but the guy standing besides Professor Hill is a head taller than him and anything can happen once they’re left alone and Tony’s just tired, wasn’t prepared for this, can feel his heart racing painfully fast.

He barely hears a word of Professor Hill’s usual speech, has been on the receiving end often enough to be able to recite it by heart anyways, too busy staring at the Hufflepuff student with the bruise on his cheek and the stubborn glare. He’s clearly not happy to be here and Tony has a hard time to keep the sudden wave of dizzying panic at bay.

Things don’t tend to end well for him, when the people around him are upset.

When Professor Hill leaves them to it and the Hufflepuff finally–already–turns his attention to Tony, he’s confident he blacks out for a second.

“-you want?” the Hufflepuff–alright, fine, Bucky Barnes, let’s not pretend Tony doesn’t know exactly who he’s dealing with here–asks.

It takes Tony’s brain a couple of seconds to catch up and realise he’s supposed to answer.

“What?” he blurts, a little confused and a lot worried.

“Which side do you want?” Barnes repeats, a furrow between his eyebrows.

“Uh, left?” Tony points hesitantly.

Barnes stares. “That’s right.”

“I knew that!”

Merlin, this is mortifying. Barnes is chuckling now at least, which is good, probably. Better than anger at least.

They get to work then, Tony on the left–the right one this time–and Barnes on the right side of the room. It’s quiet for a bit, and Tony easily slips into the routine of the movements, lets his mind wander while he polishes trophy after trophy.

Barnes breaks the comfortable silence eventually, and not with a push or a shove like Tony’s half expecting him to, but with a simple question. In retrospect, he should have seen it for the trap it was.

“What did you do to get detention anyways?” Barnes asks.

And because Tony is an inexcusable idiot, is distracted and not really thinking about it, he is honest. He really needs to learn to work on that, he’s a Slytherin for Merlin’s sake! Where’s the fakeness and the amazing lying skills he’s been promised?

“I lost my essay to Rumlow’s pathetic desire to feel better about his sad little life by ruining mine.”

It’s only after the words are already out that Tony’s mind catches up with his mouth and he freezes. Shit. This was definitely not what he is supposed to say. Despite the different houses Rumlow and Barnes are in the same social circle–that circle being the all-amazing Steve Rogers’ fan club–and this can only end ugly.

Slowly Tony pirouettes on his heels until he’s facing Barnes who’s staring at him with a strange expression on his face.

“What are you talking about?”

Well, in for a sickle, in  for a galleon and all that. “He thought it would be funny to rip my essay to pieces,” Tony shrugs like it’s no biggie, like he hasn’t worked for three hours on that paper because for once the topic was actually interesting, “Professor Hill didn’t agree.”

Barnes is looking more and more outraged causing Tony to sink more and more into himself. Why did he have to open his big mouth anyways? They were doing fine, he might have made it through this detention without-

“Rumlow is an asshole,” Barnes growls–wait, what? “I didn’t know he was that kind of asshole though.”

He doesn’t ask why Tony didn’t tell on Rumlow, at least, which he is thankful for. Just shakes his head, grumbles something under his breath that Tony doesn’t quite catch.

Whatever. “It’s fine,” Tony shrugs.

“It’s not,” Barnes fires back with an intense conviction that catches Tony by surprise. “And I sure hope you know that.”

Tony blinks. “I guess?”

For some inexplicable reason that causes Barnes to roll his eyes and mutter, “Dear Merlin, not another one. Why is it always me?” which Tony should probably be upset about.

It’s hard though, when Barnes spends the rest of the evening entertaining both of them with fun stories about the things he’s done to get in trouble, which leads them to the impossibly righteous punk that’s Rogers–according to Bar-Bucky, he’s allowed Tony to call him Bucky–which leads to an intense discussion about the merit of pumpkin juice.

Privately, Tony wonders if this is what having friends feels like.

The really strange thing though, is that it doesn’t end there. Things don’t go back to normal after their detention ends. Suddenly Bucky is greeting Tony in the halls, walking with him when they head the same way, invites him into his study group–which, as Tony quickly learns, is not actually a group that studies–and it’s really weird. In a nice-kind-of-great way.

Bucky’s friends are a freakish mixture of scary and sweet, and Tony isn’t sure if they actually like him or just have accepted him as the stray puppy Bucky’s picked up one day–but he doesn’t mind terribly much. They smile at him and share their sweets with him and let him go on about how the latest potion recipe is actually not the most efficient one.

Also Bucky keeps spending time with him, even when his friends aren’t around. Tony isn’t even going to pretend he doesn’t soak up the attention of the other boy because that would just be a waste of time and energy.

Because Bucky is great. He’s even greater when he takes the ribbing for ‘hanging out with the undersized snake’ with a deceptively friendly smile and a mean Bat-Bogey Hex. Not that Tony needs someone to defend him, but that doesn’t keep the sappy warmth in his chest away when someone does.

All is well. Better than well even.

Until Bucky asks Tony to the Yule Ball and Tony startles so badly, he spills ink all over his parchment–and really, why does it always have to be his transfiguration essay?

Tony doesn’t say yes exactly, but it’s strongly implied in the blushing, stuttering, wide-eyed mess the question has turned him into.