#buckysknifecollectionchallenge

[whateveriwant]

Oopsy Daisy

College AU

Summary: In order to keep the animal shelter from closing, your sorority holds a car wash as a fundraiser. Besides cleaning cars all day, you have another goal in mind involving a certain football-playing frat member.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: ~12.0k (I'm so sorry)

Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, slight angst, size kink-ish, Captain kink (is that a thing? well, it is now), SMUT 18+ (vaginal sex, public sex)

Prompt: "You've been teasing me all day and I've had it!"

A/N: Hello! So, let me just say, I know the premise of this fic is a little silly and sounds like an early 2000's rom-com, but, in my defense, all of my knowledge about sororities comes from movies. So, can you blame me? Anyway, this was written for @buckysknifecollection​'s 3k Followers Writing Challenge! I'm so sorry that my submission is late, Ellie, but congrats on your followers! My prompt is listed above and appears in bold in the fic. To any and everyone who reads this, I hope you enjoy! Gif from Google.

“I’m really starting to second guess this idea, Nat,” you mutter, already feeling sweat start to prickle your neck.

Natasha scoffs, “Sorry, pumpkin, but it’s too late to back out now.” She gestures at the parking lot – all of your sisters similarly ready for the busy day ahead.

Several weeks ago, your sorority discovered that your local animal shelter was facing closure – their donations nearly bled through, and not having enough funds to keep running long-term. As an animal-lover and the president of your chapter, Natasha decided to organize a fundraiser for the shelter – hopefully raising enough to see them through the next several months. During a back and forth discussion over what said fundraiser should be, the idea of a car wash was proposed.

“A car wash? What about a… bake sale or something?” You asked, not necessarily pleased with the idea of being drenched in sweat and car soap for an entire day.

“We’re not trying to poison half the campus with Wanda’s blondies,” Natasha chided.

“Hey,” Wanda frowned, “I said I was sorry.”

"I know, I know," Natasha pet her arm in a reassuring manner before turning back to face you. "But c’mon, it's a great idea! Scantily clad college girls plus horny college guys… we’ll raise enough money in the first hour."

You chewed your lip, still hesitant to agree. “I don’t know, Nat. What about–”

“All in favor of a car wash, say ‘aye’,” Natasha put her hand up, being met with a resounding chorus of ‘ayes’ from your sisters. She faced you once more, a smirk curling the corners of her mouth. “Car wash it is.”

Thus, why you’re going to spend your Saturday scrubbing cars in this off-campus parking lot.

“Besides,” Natasha snorts, “you didn’t have to volunteer. Other than wanting to save the puppies, we both know you had ulterior motives for coming today.” As she talks, a brigade of familiar vehicles pull up into the parking lot, parking in the designated section for volunteers. “And speak of the devil.”

Your heartbeat quickens as Steve steps out of his black sedan, Sam similarly exiting from the passenger's side of the car. Not only did Natasha convince most of your sisters to help out today, but the smooth-talking redhead also managed to recruit volunteers from outside of your sorority – getting a handful of professors and members of the fraternity to also participate.

Steve and his brothers make their way over to where you and the rest of the volunteers wait, still setting up before the first patrons arrive. You eye him as he gets closer, admiring the way his shorts hang from his hips and t-shirt clings to his chest.

Okay… so maybe Natasha has a point in saying you had ulterior motives for showing up today. You didn't have to volunteer, nor did you have to wear those jean shorts that show off your ass and that tank top that plunges lower than is necessary. And yet… that's exactly what you did. But can anyone blame you? If you're knowingly going to be in the same vicinity as Steve Rogers, of course you're going to dress up a little.

Or, in this case, dress down.

You continue to eye Steve as the group of men slowly approaches, seeing his eyes similarly rake down your body. You smirk at the observation. Yeah, you knew this outfit was a good idea. 

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen each other – school work and football practice taking up yours and his time respectively. But, after years of casual flirting turned lingering glances turned full-on eye-fucking whenever you’re around each other, your and Steve’s relationship came to a head several weeks ago, making for a very memorable night.

Well… as memorable as a drunken makeout at a frat party can be.

Unfortunately, the night didn’t progress past a sloppy makeout and fully clothed grind on that disgusting living room couch – both of you too shit-faced to be able to take things any further. Despite your inebriated state, you somehow had the wherewithal to not have the first time you fucked Steve be when you were nearly blackout drunk. No. You’d want to remember every detail of that.

You lick your lips as Steve approaches closer and closer, practically drooling over the way his broad shoulders strain against his crew neck. Being the head quarterback definitely has its perks on Steve’s physique – a fact no one’s going to find you complaining about anytime soon. 

You remember the feeling of those shoulders as you gripped them – your fingers digging into hard, unyielding muscles as you sat on Steve’s lap. And you’ll never forget how his lips felt against yours – the hot breath and warm tongues that made hungry passes into each other’s mouth. But the pièce de résistance was when you grinded against him – how the heat pooled in your belly as you felt the bulge underneath you grow and stiffen and–

“Ready for a busy day, ladies?” 

Your wandering thoughts are suddenly interrupted by Dr. Banner’s question. He looks between you and Natasha, standing before you in his own t-shirt and shorts. It's the most skin you've ever seen on him as it’s the most dressed down he's ever been. It’s… weird. It feels like you’re seeing something forbidden – something you were never meant to see. The sight is almost unsettling if you're being honest.

“Yep,” Natasha answers – her eyes snapping up from his legs to his face. She looks over to you, waiting for your response. At your silence, she nudges you slightly with her elbow.

“Um, y-yeah. Uh-huh. Sure am,” you mumble, finally dragging your attention away from the sight of his bare shins. That’s an image that will forever be burned into your memory, unfortunately.

“Me too,” Dr. Banner grins, vigorously rubbing his hands together. "Prepare for a busy day, girls, because I think this is going to be a big success."

“Well, I sure hope so. It’s for a good cause after all," Natasha smiles.

Just as he goes to say something else, another student calls Dr. Banner's name, grabbing his attention. "Excuse me for a moment, ladies," he says, jogging over to the student.

Once he leaves, you and Natasha give each other knowing looks – both of you referring to Dr. Banner’s choice of clothing.

“Weird.”

“Gross.”

You speak in unison, making you both fall into a fit of laughter. “Hey, I wasn’t the one that extended an invitation to him,” you chortle.

“Yeah, well, not all of my ideas are brilliant, pumpkin. I get things wrong sometimes. Not frequently, but sometimes,” she shrugs, looking over her shoulder at the professor.

As you chuckle and turn away from her to look at the fraternity members, you see Steve pulling away from Sam’s ear, frowning as he looks in the direction Dr. Banner just disappeared to. 

Sam lets out a bellowing laugh and claps Steve on the shoulder. “Yeah, good luck with that,” he says just as they come into hearing distance.

“Good luck with what?” Bucky asks as he falls in step with them, coming to a stop as the group finally reaches you and Natasha. “Hey, wait,” Bucky’s brow furrows deeply. Quickly, he spins in a circle, looking over all of his brothers. “Why are you guys dressed like that? Tasha, I thought you said to wear tank tops and short shorts,” he looks to Natasha, gesturing at his outfit.

She chuckles and shakes her head. “I said I was gonna wear a tank top and booty shorts, not that you had to."

Bucky’s face falls. “But… but before we left, I told Peter to….” He points at Peter beside him, similarly dressed in a shirt and shorts much too small for him. Bucky sighs, pinching his eyes shut. “Dang it,” he mutters.

Sam lets out another guffaw as he takes in Bucky and Peter’s attire. “Well, at the very least, you’ll give the customers a show,” he says, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

A deep frown settles on Bucky's face, prompting Natasha to run a soothing hand along his bicep. “It’s okay, babe. You look… cute. Sexy,” she tries to sound convincing.

He huffs. “Maybe ‘sexy’ for you two,” he looks between you and Natasha, “but not so much for Parker and I,” he points between them.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sam jab Steve with his elbow, making him step out of arm’s reach. 

That’s odd. You wonder what that’s about.

After Natasha reassures Bucky that he doesn’t look stupid, she starts doling out directions to the rest of the men, telling them the plan she related to your sisters earlier this morning. “We’re gonna work in groups of four or five to handle each car. It looks like most of the groups are already around that size, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind adding another person if you asked.”

“What about you two?” Peter asks, indicating you and Natasha.

“It’s just us as of now,” Natasha tells him, then looks at the group. “So, if anyone wants to join us, we’d be more than happy to take you on.”

“Right here!” Sam immediately pipes up. “Steve and I are your guys.”

“Dude,” Steve hisses at him, giving him an exasperated look.

Sam simply shrugs in response. While the action is casual – perhaps even innocent – at first glance, that sentiment is counteracted by the wicked grin pulling at his lips.

Well, there’s definitely something going on there. But what? And why?

“Fine by me. Pumpkin?” Natasha turns to you, smirking. If Steve’s joining you, she knows damn well you’re fine with it without having to ask.

“Mhmm,” you hum, trying to play down how excited you are. Given how well your last interaction went with Steve, you’re looking forward to what an entire day beside him entails. You look over at him, expecting to see that heated gaze you’ve come to predict whenever you two lock eyes.

Instead, you're met by a mix of trepidation and reluctance on Steve's face – his brows drawn together and mouth pulled into a thin line. After only a moment of your eyes meeting, Steve quickly breaks the connection, flitting his gaze down to the asphalt. 

Okay, what the hell? What has gotten into him today?

"Any other questions before we get started?" Natasha addresses the group.

“Yeah...," Bucky speaks slowly, voice with an edge of wariness. "Do… uh… volunteers get a free wash?"

You look towards where his truck is parked, seeing the once cherry red Chevy now half red/half brown as it's caked end-to-end in mud. You can't help the grimace that instantly overtakes your face. God help you if you have to wash that thing.

Bucky cringes as he sees your and Natasha's revolted reactions to his truck. "Or how 'bout a discount?" He suggests.

"Ugh, a discount maybe," Natasha supplies, face still twisted in disgust. "But that reminds me: we're not doing deep, full service cleanings today; exteriors of vehicles only. God, I don't even wanna know what's crawling around your dash, Bucky," she nearly gags at the thought.

"No, you don't," Peter says numbly, staring off into the distance. After a moment, a shudder runs up his spine – a memory flashing behind his eyes.

Okay, make that two people that don't want to know what's crawling around Bucky’s truck. You'd rather chew your own arm off than have to get inside that man's car. So thankfully, that won't be happening today.

"Alright, well, I think that's everything, guys," Natasha snaps out of her repulsion. "Thanks for coming to help out today. It really means a lot to me, my sisters, and the shelter. Now, let's get to work!" She announces, clapping her hands together.

With that, the men disperse, leaving Sam and Steve behind. As the heads of the campus’ Greek life, Natasha and Sam start discussing future fundraisers the sorority and fraternity are planning. You, on the other hand, don’t really care to be part of their conversation – not when your thoughts are preoccupied by a certain captain of the football team standing a few feet thataway.

You walk over to Steve, secluding you two from everyone else in the parking lot. Though Steve’s been acting a little weird this morning, you’ll be damned if that’s going to stop you from trying to flirt the pants off of him. Literally.

“Hey, Steve. It’s been a while. How ya been, Captain?” You ask, using his title turned pet name. While it started out as a teasing jibe, Steve eventually grew fond of the nickname. And, if the way he reacted when you moaned it is anything to go by, he seems to quite enjoy it when you call him ‘Captain’.

Steve coughs at your question. His eyes quickly flit around the parking lot, searching for something – or, someone – in particular. After seemingly finding what he’s looking for, he lets out a relieved breath and looks back to you. “I’ve been good. How about you?”

“Good, good,” you say somewhat unenthusiastically. Enough with the small talk already. You’re not estranged cousins getting together on Thanksgiving. It's time to get this show on the road and pick up where you left off at the party. “You’re looking good, Steve. Really good. I can see practice has been paying off,” you say, letting your eyes shamelessly ogle his pecs and arms.

Steve chuckles, albeit slightly awkwardly. “Thanks. You, uh…,” his eyes trail down your body, briefly wetting his lips with his tongue, “...you look good, too.” After a few seconds of his gaze lingering on your form, he suddenly blinks, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “Um, but yeah. Practice… p-practice has been good. Mhmm, super good. Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

Okay. That’s… great? You don’t actually care that much about football. And normally, he doesn’t either when he’s around you. Seriously, what has gotten into him today? Maybe he’s having an off day and so you need to take the reins in this conversation.

You reach out, giving a light squeeze to his bicep – the solid muscle not giving any way under your grip. “Wow, yeah, no kidding practice has been super good on you. You’re so strong. You could probably just lift me like I weigh nothing, you know? Really just throw me around if you wanted.” You peer up at him through your lashes, dropping your voice to a purr, “Hmm, that sounds kinda… fun. What do you think, Captain?”

Steve swallows thickly – Adam’s apple bobbing at the force of his gulp. “U-um… I th-think...,” he stammers, letting his eyes quickly scan over the parking lot. His breath hitches when he sees something, rapidly redirecting his gaze to you.

You give his bicep one more squeeze before letting your hand trail down his arm, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of your fingers. “Would you wanna… find out if you can? Maybe put that theory to the test, if you know what I mean?” You bat your eyes at him, gently biting your lower lip.

You're laying it on a bit thick, but it's honestly not that different from what you've been doing the past several months. And, given what you can remember of the filth you drunkenly slurred at the frat party, this brazenness shouldn’t come out of left field on him.

Steve swallows once more, his eyes darting to and lingering on a specific spot in the crowd of volunteers. You follow his line of sight, believing his attention to be focused on Sam, Natasha, and Dr. Banner who joined them at some point – the trio only a few yards away.

Ever so slightly, Steve takes a step back, putting some distance between you two. “Uh, I-I think we should stop talking about this,” he speaks softly but with a sense of urgency. “Now.”

Never mind Steve being surprised by your boldness, you’re completely caught off guard by what he just said. He’s usually more than willing to do this back and forth with you, so why is he so against it right now?

“O-okay? Sure. If you think so…,” you say slowly, brows pinching together in confusion.

“Yes, I do,” he rushes the words. “I think we should just focus on washing cars today. That’s it,” he all but grits, his eyes once more flicking to the group beside you.

Okay, what is this? What’s going on? Steve’s never been this reserved or, dare you say, frigid around you. Are you coming on too strong? Is he just not feeling it today? Or is it something else? Something you're not seeing?

Your brain runs through a million and one explanations in the blink of an eye, thinking over what might’ve changed since you last saw each other. Each new theory you come up with is more depressing than the last – your mind beginning to spiral down a somber rabbit hole.

Maybe… he regrets what happened at the party. Maybe he woke up the next day and wanted to forget all about that night – forget everything that happened. Maybe that's why he's being so distant right now. It’s his way of letting you know he’s no longer interested. 

If that’s the case, that would just about crush you.

Before you let yourself fall too far into a pit of despair, you decide to question Steve, seeing if he’ll offer an explanation for his aloofness. While his answer might confirm your concerns – something you pray won’t happen – there is a chance it could dispel them. You’d rather know definitively one way or the other than be left in the dark.

“Steve, are you okay? Is something a matter? Did… did I do something wrong?” You ask cautiously, voice petering out at the end.

“No! No, not at all,” Steve tells you, taking a step forward to close the space between you again. “God no. You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just… it’s more… well, it’s…,” he trails off, his face contorting as he thinks.

You scoff. He doesn’t even need to finish that sentence for you to know what he was going to say. “‘It’s not you, it’s me’, right? Give me a break, Steve,” you spit. If he wants to break things off with you – even though they never really began in the first place – he can do better than that tired, old cliché. You deserve better than that.

“What?” Steve’s brow furrows. “N-no, that’s not what I was getting at.”

“Then, what? What were you gonna say?” You set your jaw, not quite believing him.

“Well… honestly,” he sighs, “it does have to do with… you,” he cringes as he admits, “but it’s not what you think.”

Your brows shoot up in disbelief, your lips parting slightly. In your periphery, you see Dr. Banner start making his way over to you and Steve. Steve notices as well, his body quickly turning rigid.

“Wow… Really?” You ask rhetorically. So he’s not even going to bother with the cliché and pretend he’s the one at fault? He’s just going to come out and say something’s wrong with you? Seriously? What an asshole.

Steve puts his hands up in defense, rushing to speak again. “Like I said, it-it’s not what you thi–”

You cut Steve off with a hand just as Dr. Banner reaches you two. “Ugh, don’t even bother, Rogers. I don’t want to hear it.” Better to just end this conversation here and now before you work yourself up more. You turn to look at the professor now beside you. “Excuse me, Dr. Banner,” you say, quickly leaving the men.

Your mind reels as you retreat. What a waste of the past three years of your life. Steve may be a member of the fraternity, a jock, and quite the hard-ass sometimes, but you’d never seen him be a straight up asshole before.

Well, first time for everything, you suppose.

At least you discovered this side of Steve before you let him get into your pants. It would’ve been the letdown of the century if you would’ve had to drop him after he rocked your world. But still… what a waste of your time and energy. As you re-approach Sam – Natasha having scurried elsewhere in the meantime – you kick an empty bucket at your feet, needing to take your frustration out on something.

“Whoa there. What's that bucket ever done to you?” Sam asks, raising a brow at your actions.

You huff. Your mood is still soured from your conversation with Steve, so you don't feel like entertaining Sam's jokes.

Sam gives you a questioning look. “You okay, sweetness? Something bothering you? Wanna tell Sammy what’s on your mind?” He offers.

While you and Sam are close, you don’t necessarily want to rant about what a dickhead his best friend is; you’ll save that for later for when you can vent to Natasha. Instead, you’ll leave it up to Steve to chew Sam’s ear off.

“Ask Rogers,” you say tersely, crossing your arms over your chest.

“‘Rogers’? Aren’t you two on a first name basis by now?” Sam cocks a brow, one corner of his mouth turning up into a grin. “And if my eyes and ears didn’t deceive me at the party the other week, I think you’re far beyond even first names.”

You scoff, dropping your arms back down by your sides. “Yeah, well, I thought so too. Guess we were both wrong.”

Sam’s eyes narrow at your words. “You sure about that? ‘Cause last I checked, that dude is crazy about you.”

You go to deny Sam’s claims, opening your mouth to speak, when his sudden boisterous laugh cuts you off before you even begin.

“I mean, the dude nearly popped a boner the second he saw you,” he snorts.

Your mouth snaps shut. What? What did he just say? You blink dumbly for a few seconds before shaking your head, bringing yourself back to the moment. “Umm… what?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, “the moment he stepped out of the car and saw you in those shorts, my man was sporting a pretty solid half chub.”

You frown partially out of disgust and partially out of disbelief. If that’s the case – and, based on Sam’s smirk, you believe it is – then why is Steve acting so cold towards you? 

“So then what’s his deal? Why is ‘your man’ acting like he doesn’t want anything to do with me if he’s supposedly into me?” You ask, exasperation seeping into your voice.

“Something about being on ‘thin ice as it is’ with Banner," Sam uses air quotes to repeat Steve's words.

What? How the hell does that answer your question? That just raises more questions. You furrow your brows, cocking your head to the side.

Sam shrugs before elaborating on his statement. "Dude got this crazy idea in his head that if Dr. Banner sees him get a stiffy, he’ll fail him on the spot. And with his football scholarship and whatnot, Steve can’t afford for that to happen. So his dumb ass thinks the only way to prevent that is to not touch, look, or think about you the entire day or else he might… you know…," he trails off, rolling his eyes.

You blink slowly once, twice, three times as you register Sam's words. "That… is so stupid," you deadpan. "That might be the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and that's saying something since I've known Bucky for years."

“I know, right?” Sam chortles. “And I tried to tell him that, but, ehh… what can I say? Dude sometimes thinks with his muscles and his meat before his mind.” At the word ‘meat’, Sam nods downwards, indicating exactly what he means. "But that's why I gave him shit for it and volunteered us to help you and Nat. I want to make it a challenge for him. Up it from easy to hard mode, you know?" Sam says, giving you a devilish, toothy grin.

You can't help but snort at his innuendo. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean."

So that's why things were a little off between Sam and Steve this morning. Sam's been scheming this whole time, and Steve was obviously displeased about that. It also explains why Steve’s been acting weird towards you and, more importantly, what he meant when he inverted the "it's not you, it's me" cliché. It really is you. Or, if you're going to be specific, it's your Daisy Dukes that have Steve acting up. 

Whoops. You didn’t think they’d be that effective.

However, before you start pointing the finger at yourself for anything, you take a moment to think. Then again… is any of this really your fault? If Steve had just been up front from the get-go, this little squabble between you would've never happened. While you would've laughed at first at his confession, eventually you would've come to empathize with him. Probably. The fact that he was cryptic and vague is what caused you to think the worst and get snippy with him, unintentionally creating a rift in your relationship. 

So really, it’s his fault. Certainly, it’s not your fault your ass looks so good in those shorts or that it gets a rise out of Steve.

‘A rise out of Steve’. A sudden idea springs to mind.

"I'm in," you say resolutely.

"'In'?” Sam gives you a puzzled look. “In what? What ‘in’? There's no 'in'."

You roll your eyes. "Count me in on giving Steve shit."

If Sam can give Steve a hard time, why can’t you also have a little harmless fun at his expense? It’s not like Dr. Banner is actually going to fail Steve if he sees him get hard in his pants. At best, Dr. Banner wouldn’t even notice, and at worst, Steve just has a difficult time keeping eye contact the rest of the semester. It’s not the end of the world or the end of Steve’s college career.

Sam raises a teasing brow. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for it, but… are you sure you're up for the challenge, sweetness? You know once Stevie boy has his mind set, he's hard to persuade out of anything. He’s a tough nut to crack.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you smirk, “I can get him to nut. Crack! I can get him to crack,” you jokingly smack your head at your faux Freudian slip.

Sam splutters, bending over at the waist before raising his hand for you to high-five. “Hell yeah! Ah, poor dude is fucked.”

~~~~~

“Steve, can you hand me that sponge?”

Right after you decided to join in on the mischief, the first customers of the day started arriving. The various groups of volunteers began working and, soon enough, the parking lot was bustling with activity. 

As your group began the day's work, it was obvious Steve was trying his best to implement his pledge to avoid you. If you were cleaning the hood, he was at the trunk. If you were on the right, he was on the left. If he needed something on the other side of the car, he’d tell Sam to get it instead of walking over to where you were. Steve was taking his promise very seriously and you let him get away with it.

That is, until now.

For the first couple of cars, you worked without engaging in any antics – washing and drying in silence to let Steve think you were still simmering from your fight. But now, on the third car, you decided it was finally time to begin the shenanigans.

Steve stiffens at the sound of your voice. He’d been so invested in scrubbing the tires, he didn’t notice you and Sam switch places. Peeking through the windows of the SUV, Steve sees Sam and Natasha working on the opposite side of the car – leaving you and Steve to deal with this side. Sam catches his eye and smiles, making Steve clench his jaw.

“Steve? Hello? The sponge, please,” you point at the object in question located a few feet away.

After a few more seconds of glaring at Sam, Steve leans over and grabs the sponge, not looking at you as he extends it towards you.

“Thank you, Captain,” you say, grazing your fingers over his palm as you take it from him.

Steve closes his eyes and releases a slow breath. “No problem,” he sighs, going back to what he was doing.

Oh, poor, foolish boy. If he thinks a few breathing exercises are going to protect him, he’s got another thing coming. You have a whole slew of shit in your arsenal ready to toss Steve’s way. And with Dr. Banner conveniently in the group directly beside yours, Steve will have to be awfully diligent if he doesn’t want the professor to get an eyeful.

As you begin lathering the car, you see Steve aggressively scrubbing the wheel well. Before you even get a chance to dunk your sponge for another pass, Steve’s already hosing off the tire, moving at a brisk pace.

“Whoa, slow down there, Fast and Furious. It’s not a competition,” you chuckle, earning you an unamused side eye from Steve. “Oh, Steve, look. You missed a spot,” you click your tongue, dropping your sponge and taking the brush from his hand.

He didn’t really – the chrome shining sparkling clean back at you – but it’s all part of the process. You bend at the waist, deliberately sticking your ass out. While you see Steve shift out of the corner of your eye, he makes no move to leave – instead, watching on as you dunk the brush in the soap. Bringing the brush up to the tire, you stick it through one of the spokes, slowly moving your hand back and forth to watch the bristles enter and exit the small metal opening.

“You gotta really get in there. I know these brushes are big, but they can squeeze into tight spaces. Really tight. It might not look like it at first glance, but you can make it fit. Trust me,” you say, continuing to scrub as you look at Steve.

He stares dumbly back at you, simply watching the way you rock your arm. You smile to yourself and suddenly drop into a squat, switching your grip on the brush handle so that your thumb is on the underside. Increasing your speed, you start twisting your wrist with each stroke, nearly jostling your whole body with the force of your movements.

“Gosh, it’s so dirty in here. Don’t be afraid to take your time, Steve. You don’t want the customer to leave feeling unsatisfied, now do you?” You quirk a brow.

Steve swallows before shaking his head, completely hypnotized and hardly blinking. With a few more strokes, you withdraw the brush and stand, holding it out to him.

“Think you can handle it? Or do you want me to show you some more, Captain?”

Without realizing it, Steve lets out a low groan at the sound of the nickname again. His unintentional slip makes you chuckle. Not only is it amusing, but it’s almost pitiable how easily you’re already chipping away at his resolve. He really doesn’t stand a chance.

Your laughter makes Steve suddenly snap from his daze. Quickly, he looks over to Dr. Banner who – lucky for Steve – seems to be none the wiser to the situation.

“I-I can do it,” Steve grunts, shakily taking the brush from your hand. 

You go back to washing the body of the vehicle, working in tandem with Steve. Soon enough, the entirety of the SUV is washed and dried, leaving only a quick waxing the customer paid extra for.

“I think we should let Stevie handle it,” Sam offers. “He’s an expert on waxing after all.”

Steve sighs heavily. “It was one time, Sam. And it was a bet that you gave me,” he huffs, putting his hands on his hips.

Natasha snorts, covering her mouth with her hand. “Hey, at least it was only your chest, Steve. Not everyone was so lucky.” She nods over her shoulder, directing your gaze to Bucky who's bending over way too low in those shorts.

“How was that by the way?” Sam questions. “Was it like–”

“It looked like a naked mole-rat,” Natasha says, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing.

Sam, on the other hand, lets out a roaring cackle, drawing the attention of everyone in the nearby vicinity. “Ah, goddamn, that’s good. That’s too good,” he says between breaths. “With teeth and everything?”

Natasha shakes her head. “No comment.”

Sam laughs again as Steve lets out an exasperated sigh. “Since you two seem to be enjoying this conversation, why don’t you continue it while you wax? I’m gonna go empty out the buckets,” Steve says, stooping to grab a pail in each hand.

“I’ll go with you!” You all but shout in your haste, quickly reaching for and retrieving one before Steve has a chance to grab it. You start walking in the direction of the dirt and rocks at the edge of the parking lot to dump the soiled water. When you don’t hear Steve following, you turn back, seeing him still waiting by the SUV, bucket in hand. “Are you coming, Steve? Or do you just wanna stand there and watch?”

Steve draws his mouth into a thin line before taking a tentative step in your direction. You go back to walking and – knowing Steve is a few feet behind you – make sure to emphasize the sway of your hips with every step. His footsteps speed up until he’s directly beside you, growling in your ear.

“I know what you’re doing,” Steve grits through clenched teeth.

“What do you mean? I’m just emptying this bucket, Steve,” you bat your eyes at him innocently.

He scoffs. “Please. Based off of the shit-eating grin he gave me, I know Sam told you what I told him when we first got here. So don’t even try it. I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” You raise a brow, egging him on. 

Now that you’ve wandered away from everyone else, Steve seems to have dropped the timid, innocent façade he’s had on all day. But if he's going to accuse you of something nefarious – even if he's right – then you want to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. None of this pussyfooting around the topic. You want to hear Steve admit he’s fighting to not get a boner in the middle of the parking lot.

Steve narrows his eyes and purses his lips, not taking the bait. “You’re playing a dangerous game here, dollface. I’m not sure I’d keep it up if I were you.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff as you reach the dirt, pouring the bucket over the landscaping. “Is that supposed to scare me? Ooh, so scary,” you say in a mocking voice, turning to Steve after your bucket is empty. “That’s not gonna deter me, Rogers, because did you ever stop to think…,” you step closer to him, trailing your free hand across his chest, “...maybe I like a little danger?”

Dropping your hand, you saunter back to your group, chuckling silently to yourself. Oh, it’s on; your will against his. You’re not going to lose this game. You have this in the bag.

~~~~~

Okay. Maybe you don’t have this in the bag.

With the next several cars that passed through your group, no matter what you threw his way – countless suggestive poses, looks, and even jokes – Steve seemed impervious to your antics. Even when Dr. Banner nearly slipped on the slick asphalt before joking, "We should put up a caution sign to let everyone know the ground’s wet", Steve didn't so much as blink when you whispered, "It's not just the ground."

He may be doing a good job so far, but there’s no way he’s going to win. You simply won’t allow it. It’s not even about trying to embarrass him anymore. Now, it’s for posterity’s sake – to prove to yourself that you can get Steve to crack.

You sponge the hood of the Jeep, staring intently at Steve who cleans the passenger’s side door. While he’s been decent at avoiding your gaze the past few hours, every now and then, you’ll catch his eye – something you hope will happen in the next few minutes as the driver is distracted by their phone. Luckily, that’s exactly what happens.

Steve must feel the weight of your stare as he suddenly looks over at you. The moment his eyes connect with yours, you bend lower over the hood – your breasts nearly spilling out of your top as you vigorously scrub the metal. While his eyes widen marginally, Steve otherwise remains stoic – quickly flicking his gaze back to his task and muttering something under his breath.

You huff. While you’re not about to run out of ideas just yet, you’re annoyed it’s taking so long to break through Steve’s stony exterior. It’s already well into the afternoon and Steve seems no closer to cracking than he was an hour ago or the hour before that.

As you go back to paying full attention to the vehicle, you let out an involuntary groan when you extend your arm, trying to reach the top edge of the hood. Steve’s head rapidly snaps in your direction, his own task seemingly forgotten as he stares at you. You give him a curious look as you stretch farther, groaning again as you get up on your tiptoes to get more leverage. Steve’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at the throaty noise coming from your mouth.

Oh… oh, this is good. Now you’re getting somewhere.

You continue making near-lewd noises as you scrub, scrunching your brows and pouting your lips all while maintaining eye contact with Steve. It’s like you can see him coming apart at the seams right before your very eyes – his jaw slowly descending while his brows carefully rise. This must be it. You figure just a few more moments of groaning and gawking until the blood rushes right to his–

“Are you alright?” Dr. Banner asks, concern lacing his voice. “You almost sound like you’re in pain,” he gives you a brief once-over, looking for any potential injuries.

Your and Steve’s attention are suddenly pulled from each other and directed to the professor. “Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, I’m alright,” you chuckle awkwardly. Steve’s the one that’s supposed to get caught doing something embarrassing, not you. “It’s just… kind of a long reach for me,” you try explaining.

Dr. Banner tuts. “Rogers,” he gestures at Steve and then at you, “be a gentleman and help the lady out.”

You grin. Oh, this is perfect. Thank you, Dr. Banner. “Yeah, Rogers, I could use a hand.”

For a moment, Steve stays rooted to his spot, having some sort of internal debate you can only attempt to guess the topic of. But, eventually, one option seems to outweigh the other and he hesitantly approaches you at the hood of the Jeep. 

"Thank you, Steve," you say in a sweet voice as he sidles up to you. 

"Mhmm," he grumbles, clearly not over the moon about his current predicament.

Steve's not dumb. He knows you're about to crank the shenanigans up to a 12. And boy are you.

As you both start scrubbing the vehicle, knocking elbows now and again, you can’t help but let a few other parts of your body graze Steve’s. A lingering press of your hip to his, a slight brush of your breast against his bicep, even a gentle sweep of your fingers over his knuckles. With each and every touch, you hear Steve hold his breath until the moment passes – releasing it several seconds later while mumbling something unintelligible.

“How’re you doing, Steve? You alright? Is the sun getting to ya?” You throw blame at the beaming mid-day sun, pretending you don't know the real cause for Steve’s behavior. 

He offers no response to your questions, simply clenching his jaw as he continues to scrub. 

You shrug, “Well, hopefully not. We wouldn’t want you to overheat…,” you stretch across the hood, purposefully moaning the final word, "...Captain.”

Steve growls and quickly leans down beside you. “You need to stop,” he hisses.

“Stop?” You give him a feigned look of incredulity. “I can’t just stop. I’m in the middle of cleaning this nice customer’s vehicle,” you state matter-of-factly. Steve goes to angrily whisper something else, but before he can, you gasp, “Oh no, Steve! You missed another spot.”

Before he can react, you slide between him and the Jeep, brushing the entirety of your backside against his crotch. He steps back, but not before you lean down so that your ass is firmly pressed against him for a second or two.

Steve's breath hitches and his whispered mumblings become more and more coherent as he struggles to remain composed. “Nak… ndma, ...ked grand…, Naked gran….”

You try not to laugh as you clean the car, hearing Steve's torment behind you. After a few beats, you stand back up. "There we go. C'mon, Steve, it's like I told you earlier: don't be afraid to take your time." With the car entirely scrubbed, you grab the hose and begin rinsing the suds away. "I mean… I'm all for hard and fast, don't get me wrong, but sometimes slow and steady is the way to go."

"Stop,” Steve huffs. “You… just… please stop," he begs, pinching his eyes shut, willing himself out of this moment far away to some peaceful, happy place.

"...Okay."

Steve's eyes fly open. "Okay?" He looks at you skeptically.

"Yeah, I'll stop," you nod. "It's time to start drying anyway. The car's all clean." You drop the hose and grab a towel, bending back over the hood.

Steve groans, "No, no, no. That's not what I meant."

You look over your shoulder at him, quirking a brow. "Oh? What did you mean, Steve?"

His lips move erratically as several words half-form before dying on his tongue – a series of strangled noises escaping his mouth. After a few moments of nonsense babbling, Steve finally gives up and drops his head, sighing heavily in defeat.

The sight almost makes you frown. Steve’s usually so strong and commanding – nothing like this feeble, tongue-tied figure before you. You can’t help feeling a little bad knowing you’re the one to blame for his current state, especially since it’s just over some dumb challenge you’ve placed upon yourself. In order to ease your conscience ever so slightly, you decide to take a little pity on the man. 

"Do you want to dry?" You offer, extending the towel to him.

Steve's head pops back up. "Yes! Yeah, I'll do that." He gladly accepts the cloth from you and takes your place at the hood.

"Okay, cool. My back was starting to cramp up anyway," you lie.

You step away to give him a moment of respite. Doing a series of stretches, you bring your arms in front, above, and behind you, inadvertently pushing your breasts together and then jutting them forward. Even though Steve is busy drying the Jeep, you can’t help but notice him slowly drag his attention from the car over to you, peeping at you from the corner of his eye.

Alright, the pity party is now over. You weren’t even actively trying to grab Steve’s attention and he still checked you out. Might as well just go all in and win this game.

"I owe you one, Steve." You walk over to one of the full buckets – the water inside looking clean and recently changed.

"No, no, it's fine,” Steve tries brushing you off, watching as you bend down.

"I insist,” you say as you grab the pail, grunting slightly as you pretend to struggle with it. “You lent me a hand, so now I owe you one," you groan louder as you slowly lift it, almost whimpering as you take an extended amount of time to reach your full height again.

Steve chokes on his spit and suddenly drops the towel in his hand, rapidly walking over to you. “Uh, let me help you with that,” he puts one hand on the side of the bucket, encouraging you to hand it over to him.

You grip it even tighter. You know he’s not offering to carry it out of a sense of chivalry, but rather, to get you to shut up and stop making those noises that affect him.

“I’m okay,” you try pulling the bucket out of his hold – a few droplets riding up over the rim.

“Whoa, careful,” Steve warns, keeping his hand on the pail.

"I’ve got it. But like I said, if you ever need a hand, Captain…,” you grunt as you try to pry to bucket from him once more – the sound of his nickname making Steve involuntarily groan in turn. 

Excellent.

“Or… if you ever need a mouth.” 

Steve’s brows shoot up to his hairline. Your smirk conveys the unspoken meaning behind your words, seeing the understanding flash in his eyes. Renewing his determination to take it from you, Steve’s hand tightens on the bucket, tugging it harder. You tug right back, the water beginning to slosh over the sides in the struggle between you two. 

Scrunching your brows as if in a sense of pleasure, you moan, “Or maybe a nice, warm, tight, little pu–"

“Wait! You’re gonna–”

Steve’s caution goes unsaid as the bucket tips, spilling all of its contents down your front, completely drenching your torso and making you gasp at the chill. The bucket drops from your hands in a loud thud, grabbing the attention of several people around you.

Your tank top immediately soaks and sticks to your skin. Despite the temperature of the air, the water is freezing – your nipples pebbling and becoming easily visible through your bra and shirt.

Steve goes into a state of alarm. His eyes widen and jaw drops as he takes in your clothes and body. He looks wildly around the parking lot, counting how many sets of eyes are directed at you two. Unfortunately for him, Dr. Banner’s are one of those sets. 

Steve’s head snaps back to you – a panic burning in his eyes. His expression and the way his muscles tense tell you everything you need to know: it’s about to happen. The moment you’ve been building up to has finally arrived. He knows it. You know it. And pretty soon, several other people are going to know it, too.

You can’t help but chuckle at the situation. Sure, you had to embarrass yourself a little bit, but it’s worth it in getting to see that sweet, sweet expression on Steve’s face. Just as you go to offer an insincere apology for the growing bulge you can see in his pants, Steve does something you would’ve never predicted.

He reaches for one of the other buckets, and – before you can stop him – dumps it over his head, drenching his entire body in the water. The temperature makes him shout and twist his face up in discomfort – the cold more than doing the job he wanted it to do, much to your chagrin.

Steve drops the bucket and shakes his head, rogue droplets flinging every which way. As he pants heavily – the cold having shocked his system and stolen his breath – he stares you down, displeasure obviously written on his face.

“Is everything alright?” Dr. Banner’s voice startles you. He stands right beside you, looking curiously at you both.

Steve eyes quickly flit between you and Dr. Banner as he struggles to come up with an answer. “Uh, y-yeah. I was just… hot,” he finally responds.

“Rogers,” Dr. Banner puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, instantly regretting it as he withdraws the hand to wipe it off on his own shirt, “while the enthusiasm was commendable, maybe next time… just try drinking a bottle of water,” he sighs. He gives him a small smile and reassuring nod before walking away.

Steve looks back at you – his face somehow even more displeased than before. As he goes to say something, he’s cut off by Sam.

“I didn’t know this car wash also doubled as a wet t-shirt contest,” he jokes. “I’m sorry to say, but I think you’re both losing,” he points at Bucky who apparently discarded his shirt at some point – now wearing only his shoes and those incredibly tiny shorts. As Bucky bends over to pick up a brush, Sam grimaces. “Ugh, on second thought, I think we’re all losing,” he walks towards Bucky, yelling at him to put his shirt back on.

You turn back to Steve, seeing him absolutely fuming as he stares you down. “Well… that was fun. Wasn’t it?” You ask, a deceptively innocent smile on your face.

Steve juts out his lower lip to blow the water off of his face – his hair unmoving as it sticks to his forehead. Without a word, he turns and stalks away, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him.

“Or… not.”

~~~~~

Dusk has arrived by the time the final customer pulls out of the parking lot, leaving the handful of remaining volunteers to finish cleaning up. After the long day, your entire body is sore, sticky, and sweaty. And yet, you’re feeling pretty great. The fundraiser was an incredible success – the car wash raising nearly triple the amount your sorority was hoping for.

As you collect various items strewn about the lot, you can’t help but think back on the events of the day, especially the ones that involved Steve. After ‘The Incident’, your shenanigans came to a full stop. Even though – much to your surprise – you and Steve continued to work together the rest of the afternoon, you left him well enough alone after the bucket fiasco. You’d felt like you’d tortured him enough for one day.

And, instead of telling you off like you expected him to do, Steve simply gave you the silent treatment after he returned from drying himself off, making for an incredibly awkward silence the last half of the day.

Honestly… you might’ve preferred getting yelled at.

As you bend down to grab the final sponge, you unintentionally get eye-level with a pair of passerby shins. You cringe. Even in the dim parking lot lighting, you can tell Dr. Banner’s once paper-white legs are now the same color as Bucky’s freshly washed truck – both an ungodly shade of crimson. Ouch. Poor man must’ve forgotten to apply sunblock this morning. Hopefully, he has a bottle or three of Aloe vera at home. He's going to need it.

Walking over to Natasha’s Beetle, you load the last of your items into her trunk and wait for her to join you. Just as she gives her thanks to the final volunteers and starts making her way to you, a voice sounds from behind.

"Hey," Steve greets you.

You nod in acknowledgement, "Hey."

"Can we talk?"

"Uh… sure?" You respond carefully. Even though you two have been radio silent the past several hours, you have a feeling you know what he's going to say. "What's up?"

"I’d like to talk about what happened today," he says, steely eyes boring into you.

Yep. Just as you suspected. Not only had 'The Incident' been replaying non-stop in your mind, but it most likely was in Steve’s as well. Thus, he's come to finally air his grievances with you. While you might've hoped to wait until tomorrow when you're less exhausted, you figure the least you can do is yield to his wishes. You owe him that much after what you put him through today.

"I’m sorry, Steve. I got a little too carried away earlier and I didn’t think you’d–”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Steve interjects, “but I was hoping we could have this conversation somewhere a little more private.”

You blink in confusion. Vaguely, you register the sound of Natasha dispensing items in her trunk, but you’re too stunned to acknowledge her presence. You were apologizing to Steve – trying to act mature rather than petty – and he cut you off. Seriously?

“Um… okay. Yeah, we can step away for a second. But Nat’s my ride, so I gotta–”

"I can take you back to campus," Steve offers, an eagerness present in his tone.

“You sure?” On any other day, you’d happily accept a ride from Steve. But today, right after you’re going to get chewed out for acting like a fool and humiliating him, the prospect doesn’t sound very appealing.

“Please. It’d be my pleasure,” he smiles gently.

Despite how awkward you know it’s going to be, since you’re trying to make up for your behavior today, you accept his offer, figuring you'll do anything to appease him to maybe make him go easy on you.

You turn to Natasha and shrug. "Looks like I’m gonna get a ride back with Steve. I'll see you at the house."

A mischievous grin settles on her face. "Fine with me. Drive safe,” she says. As you start to walk with Steve to his car, she calls, “Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

What? That can’t mean what you think it means, right? 

Looking back at her, you see her wink before getting into her car, immediately driving away. Okay, so you can assume you know what she was thinking – her having a boatload of optimism for how your night is going to end – but you know she’s wrong. Steve’s about to chastise you. Nothing more.

When you reach his sedan, you turn to him and begin your apology again. “Like I said, I’m sorry about–”

“How dare you,” he accuses.

Your face heats, embarrassment quickly washing over your body. “S-Steve, I’m so sorry. Look, I know I took it a little too far and–”

“A ‘little’?” He asks incredulously. “No, I think you’re mistaken, dollface. A ‘little’ would’ve been stopping even before I warned you to. A ‘lot’ was all the stuff you did after my first warning. But that last stunt you pulled? The bucket? That was leagues passed ‘too far’.”

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m trying to apologize,” you release a heavy breath. When Steve doesn’t move to speak, you continue. “I’m truly sorry. I know it’s no excuse, but I was just being stupid and childish and I thought it would be funny to try to… rile you up a little. So, I teased you here and there–”

“‘Here and there’?” He scoffs. “No, no, no, dollface. Not just ‘here and there’. Try: constant; relentless; over and over and over again. You've been teasing me all day and I've had it! I’m so fucking sick of it!”

You drop your chin and stare at the center of his chest, unable to hold his eye as he berates you. “I understand. I do,” you tell him. He has every right to be mad, but part of you feels like he’s being unnecessarily harsh. “If I could just–”

“You know,” he cuts you off, and you can’t help but sigh for being interrupted again, “I might’ve been willing to let it slide if it was just a little thing now and then – one or two jokes the whole day. But it wasn't like that, was it?" He asks, venom dripping from his tone.

“You’re right. It wasn’t,” you say rigidly, trying not to grit your teeth. Is he going to let you get a word in or not? You’re trying to make peace, but it’s hard when he’s being so combative. Taking a few calming breaths, you try to compose yourself before you blow up and escalate the situation. "Like I’ve said, I’m sorr–"

"You're damn right I'm right!” His voice bellows. “You couldn’t just let it go! No, you had to keep pushing and pushing and pushing until I–”

“Oh, would you just shut up so I can apologize?!” You shout, finally reaching your breaking point. You snap your eyes up to his face, expecting to see anger and hostility written all over his expression. 

Instead, you’re met with a heated gaze, a fire burning in his eyes – pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed. It’s not a look of anger, or exasperation, or anything of the sort.

It’s lust. Pure, carnal desire.

Steve’s lips curl into a devilish smirk. He leans into you, looking directly into your eyes. “Now look who’s the one that’s all riled up.”

You blanch, making his lip curl even more. You take a moment to process everything that just happened. The yelling, the interrupting, the overall pushing of your buttons. Was… all of that on purpose? Is he not actually mad at you, but rather, he just wanted to see you crack under some pressure? Kind of like what you were trying to do to him all day?

“Were you just… trying to get a reaction out of me? Giving me a taste of my own medicine so to speak?" You squint, not so much angry as you are annoyed that you fell into his trap.

“Maybe…,” he shrugs, still grinning mischievously. “The thought might've crossed my mind." He leans in further, lowering his voice to a stage whisper, “It doesn’t feel very good, does it?”

You chuckle and drop your head, shaking it slightly. “No. No, it doesn’t. But I guess I kinda deserved that. Well… props, Rogers. You got me good. Really got me worked up,” you say as you look back up at him.

His eyes still blaze with the fire from earlier – a passion lingering in those icy pools. Despite yourself, with the way Steve’s looking at you – that hungry gaze you’ve missed seeing the past few weeks – you feel your heart start to pound, the adrenaline from your altercation still pumping through your veins. You lick your lips and swallow thickly, feeling an excitement start to stir in your belly. 

Maybe he worked you up in more ways than one.

Steve must see it on your face as he slowly cocks his head to the side, grinning once more. He steps closer, finding no resistance as he backs you up, pressing you between him and the car door. Despite the day's work and the impromptu shower you both took, his scent surrounds you, warming your insides and heating you to the core. Suddenly, it feels like the night is too hot and all of the air is drawn from your lungs.

“I gotta say…,” he speaks slowly, eyes raking over your body, “...this…,” he gestures at you, “...it’s not a bad look on you, dollface.” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, drawing your attention to the shiny, plump pout.

Your heart beats a little faster, making you feel even more breathless than before. “Oh yeah?” You ask sweetly, trying not to show just how overworked you feel. "And… what is that, exactly?"

Steve smirks, seeing right through your ruse. He leans in, pushing your bodies closer together, caging you against the car. "Out of breath, a sheen to your skin, a wild, desperate look in your eyes. Kinda… makes me think about other situations where you might look like this," he purrs, the deep timbre sending a shiver down your spine.

Slowly, you bring your hands up between your bodies, resting them on his chest. “I… I'm not sure I know what you mean,” you lie through your teeth as you curl your fingers in his shirt, lightly grabbing two fistfuls of the material.

Steve places his hands on your waist. The heat of his palms seeps through your shirt and into your skin, warming you up even more. He presses his fingers into your hips, gripping firmly onto your flesh, grounding you to him. 

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Staring into his eyes, you see the want swirl and expand and ignite with each passing second, knowing he probably sees the same thing in you. The tension between you builds and builds as silence fills the space between you – neither of you daring to move, both waiting for the other to break first.

In the end, it's you who caves.

You snap and tug Steve towards you. You want his lips to bruise yours as you crash together in a heated kiss; feel his breath warm you from the inside out; have your tongues lave at one another as you share the taste and smell and feel of each other.

Unfortunately, you don't get the chance.

"Uh… what's goin' on, y'all?" Sam's voice comes from nowhere, making you pause just as your mouth is millimeters from Steve's.

You and Steve quickly release each other, backing up to put some distance between yourselves. You cough, uncomfortable with the sudden, intruding third party. "We're, uh, we're kinda busy here, Sam. Do you… need something?" You ask, the annoyance obvious in your tone. 

You were so close. Why did he have to show up now?

"I can see that," Sam smirks, taking in both of your forms. "But yeah, what I need is to go back to my room so I can sleep for the next 36 hours straight. So, if you don't mind moving out of the way so I can–"

"Bucky's still here," you point over Sam's shoulder, noticing the truck several yards away. "He can take you back." 

You're not about to put another pause on moving things along with Steve. No way. Not for Sam, or Bucky, or even God Himself if He tried to stop you.

"Are you kidding me?" Sam's eyes go wide. "Nuh-uh, I'm not doing that. No way in hell am I getting in that nasty ass, unvacuumed, month-old takeout-filled–"

"Hey Bucky!" You yell.

"Yeah?!"

"Can Sam ride with you guys?!"

"Of course! We've got space!" Bucky gives a big swoop of his hand. "C'mon, Wilson, the more the merrier!"

Sam's mouth falls open in disbelief as he looks at you. "Wh– are y– are you trying to give me tetanus?"

You shrug, giving him a sympathetic look that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Bucky calls for Sam again, urging him to get a move on.

Sam turns to Steve. "C'mon, man, don't make me ride in that disease-riddled hunk of metal. I… I'll… I’ll let you wax my chest as payback," he offers, desperately trying to get Steve on his side.

Steve and you both just stare at him – neither willing to change your mind. 

At seeing your resolve, Sam frowns deeply, glaring at you. "Man, fuck you guys! You can suck my ass," he waves a dismissive hand at you, turning and trudging towards Bucky's truck. Just as he slides inside, you hear him say, “If anything crawls on me, I’m taking you both out with me,” before the door closes, the vehicle taking off moments later.

Once Bucky's truck leaves, it's just you and Steve left in the parking lot. 

Perfect.

You grab Steve by the shirt again and pull him to you, finally breaking the tension with the seal of your lips. It's just like you’d hoped for: bruising lips, heated breath, and hungry tongues. Your makeout at the frat party doesn’t even come close to rivaling the kiss you share now – both of you completely sober, drunk only on the feeling of each other.

"Get in the car," Steve pants against your lips, trying to minimize the time you two spend apart. 

You whine into his mouth as you can't find the will to separate from him – just wanting to stay locked in this moment. 

He pulls back from you and gives you an intense, dark look. "Get in the car so I can fuck the shit out of you," he growls.

Well… he doesn't have to twist your arm.

Quickly, you wrench open the backseat and slide in – Steve clambering in behind you and slamming the door shut. He pulls you onto his lap and sits you directly on his crotch, letting you feel how hot and hard he is already. You start to grind down on him as you kiss him again, feeling his length rub against you, pushing the seam of your shorts into your slit. The pressure is good, but it’s not enough. Not even close.

"God, Steve, I need you to fuck me. I need your cock in me right now," you whimper, the heat in your belly becoming almost painful as the arousal pools between your thighs, soaking through your panties.

Steve nods and lifts you off of him, depositing you on the seat beside him as he reaches for his wallet. In the cramped space, you clumsily unbutton your shorts and slip them and your panties down your legs. The items get caught on your sneakers, making you rip them off and toss them away in your irritation. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Steve slip his shorts and boxers down to his knees, tearing a foil packet open before rolling on a condom. Before you can get a good look at the size of him, Steve pulls you onto his lap again – his cock bobbing against your inner thigh, brushing your folds as he attacks your mouth with his.

"Are you ready?" He pants as he pulls away to ask. He brings a hand up to your pussy, swirling his fingers through the wetness coating your lips. "Oh yeah, you're fucking ready," he grins.

"Please, Steve, just get on with it," you beg, squirming as the ache of being empty gets more and more unbearable.

"You're lucky you worked me up by teasing me all day," he says as he grabs hold of his cock, lining himself up with you. "Otherwise, I might’ve been inclined to return the favor."

Just as you feel the head slip into you, you whisper the promise, “Next time.” 

You slowly sink down on him and gasp – your hands flying to his shoulders to fist his shirt, holding on for dear life as you take every throbbing inch of him.

"Fuck," you hiss as he bottoms out. You’ve never felt so full in your life – so stretched, so stuffed, and so satisfied that the empty ache has disappeared. But you need more. Much more.

You start rocking back and forth as Steve settles his hands on your hips, carefully working you against him. After a few beats, you try speeding up, needing to chase after that blissful feeling already blooming in your core.

"More. Harder. Faster," you pant, only being able to do so much as you straddle him.

"What happened to 'slow and steady'?" He smirks, repeating your words from earlier in the day.

You snarl, "Rogers, I swear if you don't–"

Steve's hands slip down to the backs of your thighs. He begins to rapidly lift you up and down his cock, bouncing you on his lap.

"Ah!" You cry out at the change in sensation, wrapping an arm around the back of his shoulders to better stabilize yourself.

The sounds of your pleasure fills the air, ringing through the tight confines of Steve's car. Even if it weren't for the lewd noises playing in your ears, you'd be able to tell how wet you are from the feeling alone – the arousal dripping from your body, completely drenching his cock.

"God, you are making a fucking mess, dollface," Steve chuckles, confirming what you already knew. He picks up the pace even more, manhandling you as he pounds into you from below.

Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you whine, feeling your body already hurtling towards the finish line – the edge of release just within reach.

"Say it for me," Steve pants against your ear – voice shaky and teetering on desperate. "Say it," he repeats when no words come from your mouth.

You don't know what he's talking about, your mind too fuzzy from the euphoria that's just past your fingertips. Pulling away from his neck slightly, you look up at him, furrowing your brows in confusion. "Wh-what? I don't underst–"

"Captain," Steve chokes out, his movements never faltering as he bounces you on him. "Call me Captain. God, please, please say it," he begs as his face scrunches up in pleasure, his own end rapidly approaching.

"Captain," you purr, being met with an obscene groan from Steve. You smile and tuck your face back into his neck. "It's so good, Captain. It feels so fucking good. I'm gonna - fuck - I’m gonna cum all over your cock, Captain," you moan against the column of his throat, squealing when he growls and drives into you even harder.

Through your mutterings, the coil in your belly tightens and tightens – ready to snap at any second. You just need a little more, just a little something else. Something to give you that extra push to make you fall over the edge and–

"Do it," Steve breathes. "Cum. Fucking soak my cock."

That's all you need.

Your orgasm crashes over you, making your body tense as wave after wave of ecstasy floods your veins. You nearly scream as you gush around him, feeling as if a bolt of lightning is sent down your spine, warming you head to toe. Through your bliss, you’re barely able to register Steve finding his own rapture – his hips stuttering underneath you, groaning as he hits that crest at the same time as you.

The moment you come down from your high, you slump against his chest, feeling absolutely bone-tired and ready to pass out. If you weren't already exhausted from working all day, then you're definitely spent now.

Steve rubs a gentle hand across your back as you catch your breath – the warmth nearly lulling you to sleep despite the aftershocks that shake your body. After a minute or two of rest, Steve shifts slightly – his length no longer hard but still buried inside of you. You whine as you feel him move.

"Shit, sorry,” he says quietly, continuing to rub your back. When he shifts again a few moments later – drawing another whine from you – he sighs. “Look, I know you're tired, dollface, but you have to get off me now. I gotta take us back." 

You grumble but don't move a muscle. You’re too tired to even keep your eyes open let alone get off of him and re-dress. As far as you’re concerned, you’re content to spend the rest of the night interlocked in this parking lot.

"Guess I gotta do everything, huh?" Steve chuckles. Carefully, he lifts you from his lap – trying to minimize your discomfort as he slips out of you – and places you on the seat beside him. You hear him shift for a second before snorting, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. "Wow, good thing we didn’t clean interiors today, because I think we would've just ruined all of that work.”

Peeling an eye open, you look over at Steve. The leather seat below him shines back at you, flooded in your arousal. You stare for a few seconds before a tired giggle falls from your lips. Damn. You knew you were making a mess, but you didn’t think it was that big.

Steve chuckles again, shaking his head in faux admonishment. "Do you have anything you’d like to say, young lady? Maybe ‘sorry for ruining your seat, Steve’ or ‘let me pay to get that cleaned for you, Steve’? Hmm? Anything?” He teases.

Mustering up all of the energy you have left, you crane your neck to look him dead in the eye. After a moment, you shrug indifferently, making Steve laugh once more. Only one word comes to mind as your eyes flutter closed again – the single syllable a whisper on your lips.

"Oops?"

__________

A/N: Fucking oops, amirite? If you made it to the end of this entirely too long fic, I’d love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @donutloverxo​

[wkemeup]

Little Lion Man

summary: Sent on an assignment back to 1943, you encounter a drastically different version of the man you know pairing: bucky x reader warnings: time travel, a charming af 40s!bucky 😉, a sad af present!bucky 😔 a/n: I used the time travel logic from Endgame except fixed points exist. This was also written for @buckysknifecollection​‘s 1k challenge! I had the song prompt of Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons! Congrats on 1k hun!!

Weep little lion man, You're not as brave as you were at the start

You found blue eyes lighting up across the crowded courtyard, beaming smile touched on the dirt freckled glow of his face, and it startled you; stilled you right in your tracks and set a stone deep into your chest, made it hard to breathe, because that wasn’t the man you knew.

No—he wore a weightlessness about him, even as he stepped away from the crowd erupting in celebration and shied to the outskirts of the commotion, he was smiling. It wrinkled up by his eyes, left behind dimples in his cheeks, a slight shake of his head as small wisps of hair fell down to his forehead. 

He didn’t seem to be counting each moment of joy on his fingers, calculating how much relief he allowed for himself before the shadows came rushing back in to take it away. He was... happy.

Dark army green was torn like rags as his shirt barely hung off his shoulder, exposing the blood and grime covering his skin beneath. Silver dog tags hung at his sternum; muted in their color, lacking the shine they once possessed, though they chimed against one another with each of his steps. He settled outside the Colonel’s tent and as he slouched to the wooden post, they fell behind his shirt. The last remaining tie to his identity nestled by his heart.

You could spot the trail of blood from his left ear, a light scruff covering his cheeks and jawline, bruising under his eyes from a lack of sleep and over exhaustion, but it was his hair that drew your attention; short, swept over his forehead and parted to the right. Its messy strands that did nothing to cover his eyes even as he dropped his chin to his chest and lit the cigarette he’d nestled between his lips.

You knew who he was, heard stories from Steve and read the articles hung in the Smithsonian; stories of what he was like in his youth, before the fall, before Hydra twisted and warped his mind and mutilated his body. And yet, none of it prepared for the laugh that echoed through the courtyard as he waved at an old friend at the center of the crowd surrounded by men who once mocked him, now lifting him on their shoulders for bringing hundreds of their men home alive.

It was him, and it wasn't.

Your Bucky.

You almost forgot why you were standing on a military base in a newly Allied Italian war front in 1943 as Bucky shook the hand of a soldier as he passed by. You recognized him from the drawings on Steve’s desk and the old faded photo album shoved into Bucky’s nightstand drawer.

Dum Dum Dugan.

He was taller than you pictured, rougher around the edges too, but he had a kind smile and a laughter that bolstered through the camp.

It was like a scene from the film clips they used to show you in school; ones of soldiers huddled around campfires in the middle of a war zone, reminding you how incredibly human these men were, that they weren’t just numbers in a fatalities list. They were real and significant in their entirety. They had hopes and dreams, fears and families.

Focus! This isn’t a field trip, you reminded yourself sharply, the words of Director Fury echoing in your head.

There was a file located in the Colonel’s office, the contents of which well above your clearance level, though it wasn’t your business to know what it contained or why Fury decided to risk sending an agent back to a war two of the Avengers’ current members barely survived. You were a part of SHIELD long before you were an Avenger, so you knew how to follow the chain of command. You didn’t ask questions.

Get the file. Get the hell home.

But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bucky.

He was laughing again, taking another drag of a cigarette you’d never once seen him smoke in your time as he talked with another one of the Commandos. Jim Morita, you thought. He seemed happy, relieved even, and as Jim made his way to the nurses’ tent, Bucky pushed the lighter into his pocket, pulled the cigarette from his lips with a puff of smoke, and paused.

He narrowed his eyes in your direction, a slight tilt of his head, and you realized your mistake when ocean blue caught you staring from across the open green. A smile slowly curved up broken lips and your stomach plummeted because suddenly he was jogging towards you, dog tags bouncing against his chest with every step he took and there was nowhere for you to escape.

You shoved your gun to the waistband of your pencil skirt and draped the back of your jacket to conceal it. It wouldn’t be surprising for you to be carrying a weapon, not with the uniform you wore indicating you were on rank with the likes of Peggy Carter, but it wasn’t a gun Bucky would recognize. It was from your time, one you did not ever travel without, and the technological advancements wouldn’t be easy to explain.

When Bucky reached you, he pulled to a slow stop and casually ran his fingers through the short mess of hair, pushing it back to expose his eyes, the dirt lining the creases in his forehead, and the bruising above his brow. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he looked you over, eyes trailing down to your shoes before returning to your face, a heavy sigh on his breath and he leaned on the wall beside you.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around, doll,” he said and even the tone of his voice seemed different from the man you knew. Lighter, maybe. Confident. Flirtatious.

He smirked, a whistle on his tongue and he seemed a little winded as he shook his head. You wondered if he felt your connection to him, knew the depths of your care for one another before he’d even met you, but you pushed the thought aside quickly.

Wistful thinking.

“Don’t think you’ve been around for a while, Sergeant,” you replied steadily, because even though your heart was racing and your stomach was twisted to knots, you were still an agent and you knew how to manage your emotions and keep your panic hidden behind the surface.  

“I guess you saw the welcome wagon, huh?” he chuckled, turning back to the crowd as they continued to gather around Steve.

It was almost as strange to see Steve from this time as it was Bucky. He had the same kind of innocence that the Bucky standing before you carried now. He hadn’t lost his best friend yet, hadn’t made the decision to trade his life for the people of New York and bury himself in the Atlantic, hadn’t missed out on a lifetime with a woman he cared so deeply for, could even grow to love.

Bucky faced you again and you saw it in his eyes, too.

It was hope, you realized. They were still holding onto it.

“Just glad you made it home safe, Sergeant Barnes,” you said evenly, trying not to focus on his left hand as it raked it through his hair. There was a scar on his palm that ran along his lifeline, red and angry and in need of treatment. There was dirt caked under his nails, in his knuckles, dried blood on his wrist, and you resisted every urge to reach out and grab it just to feel the pulse of his heart in his fingertips or maybe even the warmth of his skin.

You were used to cold and metal and you let yourself wonder what it would be like to be held by these hands, hands that were completely and entirely Bucky’s, hands that he didn’t despise and held away from you like it was something outside of himself, like it could act of its own accord and hurt the woman he wanted so desperately to touch with nothing but a tenderness he hadn’t known in decades.

“Please doll, it’s Bucky,” he requested cheekily. He waited for a response, though when he didn’t get one, he was unbothered by the silence.

He twisted the cigarette in his hand, twirling it like a baton and you were mesmerized by the way it danced through the fingertips of his left hand. It dropped ash as it flipped between his middle and index finger.

“So...” he drawled, amused by your trance, “do I have the honor of your name as well?”

You snapped your eyes away from his hand to find that smirk across his face again. It was one that felt strange to you, foreign almost, from the Bucky you knew. It was confident, charming, but there wasn’t a trace of arrogance or presumption. It was the smirk of a man who could still manage to flirt with a woman moments after returning to a camp he was captured from weeks prior. He was quite proud of himself and it read on his face.

“Y/n,” you finally admitted, watching him carefully as he repeated your name, testing it on his lips, and it still sounded like honey and silk. It seemed to be one of the few things that felt constant between these versions of Bucky; your name on his lips, in his voice, as he smiled at you. It was still as sweet.

“Y/n is a lovely name,” he said, “suiting for a lovely woman.”

Steve had mentioned this Bucky was a charmer in stories of their youth. Each time it was brought up, your Bucky would shake his head, roll his eyes, maybe even blush a little as he sank down into the couch as Steve recounted the dates he used to go on, the women he’d bring to Coney Island, the dance moves that could make any woman swoon.

You’d ask him about it, tease him as to why he didn’t take you dancing and win you comically large stuffed animals with his unparalleled marksmanship. He’d brush it off and say it was all luck of the draw but you know better than that. He was a flirt in these days and as handsome as ever, even with blood dripping from his ear and scars on his face. You couldn’t imagine a woman who would turn down a man as charming and beautiful as he was.

You wondered how much Bucky remembered of these days, if he could still recall the one-liners and the flirty comments, or if it felt distant, like he was watching something outside of himself, standing behind a glass wall and simply observing.

He was sweet with you, teased you behind closed doors and made your heart soar, but you couldn’t imagine a world where he would seek you out amongst a crowd, not knowing your name or face and flirt so openly like this.

Your Bucky retreated to corners of crowded rooms with a drink in his hand that did little to relieve him from the anxiety in his veins. He nursed a bourbon as he sought out open spaces away from the overstimulation of music, chatter, glasses on bar tops. 

He was quiet, reserved, and favored whispering jokes in your ear that would have you rolling with laughter over saying them aloud for the room to hear. There was an intimacy in it and you were thankful for every glimpse he gave you past the demons who had come to obstruct his heart.

But this, this Bucky, the light-hearted charmer with a world of pain ahead of him, was not a man you ever expected to encounter firsthand.

Over his shoulder, a group of men called his name. He rolled his eyes, trying to wave them off but they only yelled louder, hollering and whistling as he tried to shield you from their teasing.

“I suppose I’m being summoned,” he grunted reluctantly.

You glanced back to his friends, Dugan, Jim, and Steve among them as they waved frantically at him. A smile etched to your cheeks, knowing that this was his element, beside Steve when he didn’t have the shadows cast over him and he could live in a moment where he just might see himself as one of the good guys.

“Yes, I suppose you are,” you smiled at him, enjoying the way his brows pinched together as he shot a glare back over in his friends’ direction before he turned back to you and let his features soften again.

“Will I see you around?” he asked, hopeful and eager, and it took you by surprise.

You didn’t know what else to say so you nodded, eyes glancing to the Colonel’s office. You had a mission to complete. It was the reason you were sent back to this timeline in the first place. It had caused enough problems when Fury assigned you; Steve arguing as to the necessity of it, Bucky leaving the room abruptly without another word. You hadn’t even been able to track him down before you left and you’d never once gone on a mission without saying goodbye to him.

You supposed that for him it may only be a few seconds, but you didn’t know how long you’d be stuck in 1943. You missed him terribly, even when he was standing right in front of you.

“I’ll find you again, then,” he said with a wink. He put the cigarette between his lips again, thought he didn’t light it, and jogged back to his friends. He paused halfway, turned back to you with a simple salute, a shake of his head like he was surprised you’d gone along with his flirting, and then, his back was to you.

Tears burned in your eyes before you felt the lump in your throat.

For a moment, it was easy to forget that he was just coming off of weeks behind enemy lines, that he already had the serum running like toxins in his veins; the same Hydra concoction that would save his life when he fell from the train a few weeks later and would allow him to survive long enough to endure decades of torture.

You knew this Bucky carried demons, that he wore a mask the way everyone else did. You knew that there were times that he smiled just long enough for someone to notice before they turned away and his eyes fell downcast to the floor. You knew that he joked and flirted and laughed because how else was a man drafted to a war he never signed up for supposed to cope with the blood on his hands.

They were different masks than the ones the Bucky you knew carried, but they still shielded the pain underneath. The masks you were familiar with were overflowing and demons seeped through the cracks and broke into his soft moments of relief. They were weathered and breaking in your time but he still tried to wear them, still tried to put on a brave face despite the monsters in his dreams and swarming in his past.

This Bucky could still hide his demons.

This Bucky, who smiled so easily, was almost nothing like the man you knew.

But he will be.

Your heart broke for the time in between.

***

Seventy-two hours. That’s how long Fury said you’d need to obtain the file. Seventy-two hours maximum. A load of bullshit that turned out to be because two weeks later you were still trapped in the heart of a world war.

You’d managed to avoid Bucky as much as possible, though that proved rather easy as he’d gone off with Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos liberating Europe and punching Nazis. But the times in between, when they returned home and regrouped for a day or two, he’d spend his first hour at camp seeking you out while the rest of his team was catching up on sleep.

He was persistent, you’d give him that, but he was never forceful. He’d simply talk with you as you tended to the tasks assigned to the cover you were portraying. He’d lounge out on the grass while you cleaned weapons or follow you through the bunker as you alphabetized personnel files, asking you questions about your day, trying to convince you to get dinner with him at the mess hall, telling you dramatically inflated stories of his heroism on the battlefield that made your stomach ache with laughter.

You understood why Steve was so determined to help Bucky get back to how he was before Hydra. He was incredibly endearing, outgoing, witty. Your Bucky still had those things but they were in pieces, strung together with scotch tape and staples. They were muted a little, but they were still there, scratching at the surface.

It had been a few days since you saw Bucky last and you found him again as you walked right into the square of his chest on your way out of the Colonel’s office, file absent in your hand because yet another day had gone by without any sign of the document.

Hands quickly dart out to grab onto your forearms and he chuckled lightly under his breath, steadying you on heels you were entirely not used to wearing; an era appropriate necessity, Tony told you. You would have like to throw one at his head right about then.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Bucky grinned, stepping back to give you space. 

He had a few new scrapes and marks on his face, but otherwise he looked unharmed. His smile was enough to tell you he hadn’t been injured enough to require medical attention. There wasn’t a pinch in his brow indicating pain, at least.

He brushed his hands off on the thighs of his pants and judging by the mud on his boots and the rifle draped over his shoulder, he hadn’t even made it back to his tent before he came in search of you.

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes,” you replied and despite the way he was smiling so sweetly at you, teeth biting down on his lip, you swerved around him towards your own tent.

“Call me Bucky,” he reminded you, stepping aside for you to pass, though he followed your pace.

“Well, Bucky,” you said, clenching your hands, “it’s good to see you safe. You should get to the med tent, don’t you think?”

“Later,” he shrugged, waving you off, cheesy smile on his lips. “I wanted to see my best girl first.”

It punctured right to your chest and though you knew he was teasing, that he was flirting innocently and smiling when he could be giving into the harsh realities of war, it hurt. It hurt because you saw pieces of your own Bucky in him and knives embedded and broken through skin with every laugh, every smile, every word he said, because you knew how quickly it will be taken away, how hard it will be just for him to find small pieces of this and let his guard down long enough to let even Steve in again, let alone you.

There was a guilt that festered and boiled deep in your stomach, that physically ached and burned. You knew too much about his future, about the things that will happen to him that would rip that sweet smile from his face and turn him inside out, until it took decades just to find the will to live again. You could hardly look at him without tears springing to your eyes.

You thought about telling him, about warning him of what would come and maybe create a new timeline where he was free from Hydra, where he might go home from the war and see his mother and sister again, maybe meet a woman he could love and have a few kids. But then you remembered Tony’s warning, that certain events were fixed and what happened to Bucky that day on the train, would never be changed. There was too much history riding on it.

Your sweet Bucky was fated to Hydra from the start.

"There’s a dance tonight, you know.”

Your heels dug into the grass and brought you to an abrupt stop, balance wavering somewhat as you held your arms out to the side. Bucky chuckled, that smile of his so bright it was almost blinding and he quickly jogged back to you. He offered a hand and you took it just long enough to pry your heels from the dirt.

You tried not to focus on the feel of it; the callouses on his palms or the grip of his fingers, the warmth in his hand or the fact that it was made of flesh and not solid metal. You let go as soon as you were able, though he didn’t seem to take any offense.

“Just a few of the guys are going,” he continued to say, pushing his hands into his pockets. He seemed nervous as he swayed in his stance and brushed his hand through his hair. “Thought it could be fun and, well, don’t know the next time I’ll get the chance to ask a pretty girl to dance with me.”

A pink rose in his cheeks, light and flushed, and it surprised you.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sergeant Barnes,” you said slowly, voice almost a whisper and his smile didn’t falter for even a moment.

“Bucky,” he reminded you again. So persistently charming.

“Bucky,” you repeated, “I don’t think it’s--”

“When was the last time you did somethin’ for fun, doll?” Bucky whined playfully, slumping his shoulders until you swatted him on the arm. He rubbed at it with a laugh in his voice. “I promise it’ll be a good time. You have my word.”

“I have work to attend to,” you argued, though your resolve was fading quickly. You never liked saying no to Bucky, even from your time, but it was the innocence, the hope, intertwined in shades of blue that made it that much harder.

“Come on, darlin’,” Bucky smiled sweetly at you, a crack in his lips and a bruising on his cheekbones, still as beautiful as he’s always been, “we’re shipping out to the Alps tomorrow and I don’t know when I’ll see you next. Just one dance, doll, and I swear I won’t ask you for anything else in my life.”

Your heart skipped. “The alps?”

Bucky nodded, pursing his lips. He lost his playful smile for only a minute as it melded into the solemn, determined expression of the soldier you’d seen memorials painted of alongside brick buildings in Brooklyn.

“We were able to confirm Zola’s on a Schnellzug traveling along the Danube River,” he said, quite proud. “We’re gonna bring the bastard in and put an end to this war.”

Your throat was dry, like sandpaper and dust, stones filling your chest, and you kept your features as blank as you could manage but everything inside you was on fire. He seemed so pleased, eager almost, and you felt your stomach lurch.

“Whaddya say?” he asked, a slight tremor in his voice for the first time and you turned to find him nervously chewing on his lip. “Fulfill a soldier’s dying wish?”

“Okay,” you blurted out hastily, biting down on the inside of your cheek because he didn’t know the gravity of what he just asked. You clenched your hands to fists at your side, nails digging into your palms until it stung, but you were well trained and you hid it from him before he could notice.

“I’ll pick you up at eight?” he asked, slowly backing up to his tent with the widest smile you’d ever seen on his face. It wrinkled up by his eyes and stretched into his cheeks. So light, so unburdened from horrors that had not yet warped and twisted their way through his mind and body.

“Okay,” you replied again, unable to say much of anything else for the lump in your throat was starting to choke you.

Bucky disappeared into the camp and you were left standing in the open; tears burning in your eyes, slipping down past your lashes and over your cheekbones, knowing that by this time the following day, he’d be in the hands of Hydra.

***

You located the file an hour before Bucky was meant to pick you up. It sat on the edge of your cot, watching you, because you weren’t signaling Tony that it was time for you to come home. No—you were adorning rouge to your lips and curling your hair the way you’d seen in the movies Bucky liked from his youth, the transmitter hidden in your bag under the mattress.

An emerald dress swung at your hips, one that you’d borrowed from one of the exceptionally kind nurses. She seemed to be the only one who wasn’t glaring at you from across the room for daring to take the attention of the famed Sergeant Barnes and insisted you wear it since she was on shift for the evening anyway.

You slipped into the heels, brushing down the skirt of the dress and caught one last look in the mirror. The sleeves hung off your shoulders, exposing collarbone and a faded scar along your clavicle from a mission in Brussels six months prior. Bouncing curls pinned up from your neck and bright red upon your lips, you looked like a painted model in the posters hanging in the bar hall.

You wondered how your Bucky would feel to see you like this, if it would make him happy to be reminded of his youth, or if it would bring back memories too painful to let stir to the surface.

A knock rang on the post outside and you quickly pushed the file into your bag at the end of your bed. Out of sight and out of mind, at least for the next few hours.

“You ready, doll?” Bucky called from outside the tent as you started to make your way to the exit. “Steve’s been breaking my back all day saying you weren’t gonna show and I really need to prove him wro— oh wow.”

You stepped out from behind the flap of the tent, ducking under the low hanging ceiling and Bucky’s words seemed to die on his tongue. He pulled a lip between his teeth and eyes glanced down over you; not with a hunger, but instead with a genuine kind of awe. His smile was aching on his cheeks as he tried to bite it back.

“You look stunning,” he exhaled, shaking his head. “You’ll be the envy of every dame at the dance.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Sergeant,” you replied.

He wore his dress greens; dark olive overcoat with golden buttons down the center, two pockets at the breast, two at his hips, golden tie around his neck and a series of military badges in bright, vibrant colors along the right side of his chest. He looked like the images you’d seen in the Smithsonian; the man he tried so desperately to emulate; the one with honor and dignity, he said.  

Bucky offered you his arm, and you took it graciously. Your hand slipped around the crook of his elbow, holding onto muscle where you once only know metal, and he guided you down to the jeep at the edge of camp. There, Steve, Dugan, Morita, and a few of the other Commandos were there waiting.

Steve stood against the door of the jeep, a woman you easily recognized in a dark red dress at his side; Peggy Carter. Steve seemed surprised to see you on Bucky’s arm, but when he hung his head, he was smiling, like maybe he was pleased to lose his own bet.  

Bucky grinned, nudging your side before he turned to his friend. “Pay up Rogers!”

***

People were laughing, smiling, amongst the backdrop of a war that would almost certainly take the lives of half the men in this room. It was something of beauty to witness until it started to break your heart.

You’d spent nearly an hour on the dance floor with Bucky; letting him spin you around, lead you through dances you should have known if you had grown up in this era, though he paid it no mind. He liked teaching you, liked it when you stepped on his toes and grimaced apologetically at him. He liked seeing you flustered because you were not a woman who easily blushed. He enjoyed the twinge of embarrassment in your ears when you’d bump into a couple beside you and he’d quickly yank you back to his arms in a protective cage, the light rumble of his laugh in vibrations through his chest.

“I tried to tell you I’m no good at this, Bucky,” you said after a young couple on your left sent another glare in your direction for turning the wrong way in the middle of a Charleston Stroll.

“I don’t need you to be a good dancer, doll,” he smirked, pulling you impossibly close so that your chest was flush against his, the slow sway of your bodies in contrast to the fast-paced jives surrounding you. “All I wanted was an excuse to hold you like this.”

The music faded into long, melodic notes as your breath stilled in your lungs. The chaos around you fell into gentle motions as couples hung off of one another and the world seemed to come to a stop. You expected to find a teasing grin on his face, maybe even a hint of laughter, but there was sincerity in the blue of his eyes, a slight trace of longing because he knew what he was facing the next day on a train running through the ravines of a snowy mountain.

He smiled sweetly at you, carefully slipping your hand into his and guiding your other up to his shoulder. He set his right hand at the base of your back, fingers pressing into the soft curves like the keys of a piano, just feeling, and it reminded you of how your Bucky grounded himself in the worst of his nightmares; how he’d hold onto you, grip you so tightly he’d leave marks by the mornings that would ultimately add to his guilt, though they were colors on your skin you cherished. A physical symbol of his fight towards recovery.

You found yourself doing the same as you clasped at his left hand. With every dip of the beat and every sway of his body to yours, you squeezed at his hand; feeling for the slight give in the muscle, the warmth of flesh, the hard callouses on his palm. It was so real, so him, so tangible right in front of you and you felt tears prickle in your eyes.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he asked quietly, noticing the trail of your gaze on his hand and the glossiness consuming your eyes.

You shook your head, brushing away the wetness on your cheeks and setting your hand back to his shoulder, though this time you curled up closer to him, focusing on the steady beat of his heart under his fingertips. “Nothing, honey.”

“’Honey’?” he repeated, chuckling a little under his breath. “You getting sweet on me, doll?”

You smiled, letting your head rest onto his shoulder, cheek brushing his collarbone. His hand started to run in smooth circles on your back, his nails traces shivering into your spine. It was something your Bucky did for you, to help ease the tension from your muscles.

“’Course not,” you replied in a breathy sigh, “I’ve got a fella, you know.”

"You don’t dance with me like you’ve got a man waiting on you,” Bucky retorted cheekily, though there was no jealousy in his voice, no resentment. He didn’t seem surprised, but he didn’t pull away either. He sighed, a heat of his breath brushing over your exposed neckline. “Tell me about him?”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, just long enough to caught sight of the tenderness with which he watched you. The corners of his lips curved up, only a little, before they fell again.

On some level, you wondered if he knew that he would never find even a semblance of normalcy in returning home from war, that he’d never settle down in the time that he knew and grow old and have children running around at his feet; that instead of showing up on his mother’s doorstep with bags in hand and a smile of relief, it would be two men dressed in uniform even he didn’t know, carrying an envelope that would break his mother’s heart.

You squeezed his left hand again, letting your right trace up along his jawline and cup the side of his face. He sighed, leaning into the touch. Clean shaven and smooth on his cheeks, decades younger.

“He’s a good man, even on his worst days,” you said tenderly. “He’s been through... so much, things that no one should ever have to experience. Anyone else might have crumbled under all that pain, but he’s still kind, still loving and impossibly sweet. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me though he argues against that most days.”

Bucky nodded, listening quietly as you continued.

“He’s handsome, like you, though his hair is longer, his shoulders a little broader with muscle,” you teased lightly and Bucky scoffed, feigning an offense, though he was smiling. “He’s quiet, different than he used to be, and there are always setbacks, always days where the pain outweighs all the good in his life, but doesn’t give into it. He’s a fighter, a survivor. He’s my best friend.”

“He take you dancing?” Bucky asked with a grin and you shook your head.

“No, not like this. Crowds aren’t easy for him.”

“He one of ours?”

A military man. He knew exactly what you were alluding to, so you nodded.

“Parts of him never came back from the war,” you confirmed, a frown pushing at your lips, “but he’s not broken. He’ll dance with me in the living room if I ask, let me hold him like this even when he feels like a stranger in his own skin. He tries, he heals. I know how hard it is for him to open up and I’m grateful for every moment he can let his walls down, if even for a second, and he shows me pieces of who he used to be, pieces of who he still is.”

A silence passed over the two of you, the music and the sight shuffling of feet around you taking over as you curled into Bucky’s side.

Bucky, but not your Bucky.

“You love him?”

Your relationship with Bucky was messy and complicated. You slept in the same bed most nights, pressed against one another to fight off the demons in his sleep, but you’d never touched him intimately, never so much as kissed his lips no matter how many times you’d wanted to. You met him in the ring and sparred until you were both aching and sweating, until you collapsed to the mat and talked for hours just staring up at the rafters. You were the first person he sought out when returning from a mission and it was his name you shouted for when you were surrounded behind enemy lines.

But there were darker forces between you; ones that kept him from letting himself open up completely, that kept him on the edge from you because Hydra was still in his mind, still convincing him he wasn’t worth the good in his life and he didn’t deserve to be treated with the affection and care with which you showed him.

Even when he kept you at a distance, he still held pieces of your heart, exposed and vulnerable in the palm of his hand.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes darting to the collar of his shirt because you couldn’t dare to look him in the eye. You felt him squeeze at your hand, patterns on your back, and he pressed you closer to his chest; so perceptive of the heartache in your voice.

“Sounds like you might want to get home to him, huh?”

You shook your head, feeling embarrassed. “What? No, of course not. I’m-- I’m here to dance with you, right? You’re shipping out tomorrow for the alps and I—I owe you a dance, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled. “Sweetheart, we’ve been dancing for hours. Look around, everyone’s practically gone home for the night.”

You narrowed your eyes, surprised, until you scanned the room to find that he was right; the dance floor was near empty and the staff had already begun cleaning up the refreshments table. Only the pianist remained on the stage, playing gentle melodies while his bandmates placed their instruments in their cases. He smiled at you, a short wink before he turned back to the pages of his sheet music.

Steve and Peggy were sitting by the bar, talking quietly with one another, unbothered by the lateness or the lack of party guests and the absence of alcohol beside them. Jim and Dum Dum must have hitched their own rides home because they were nowhere in sight, though a few stray men swaying on unbalances legs stumbled by the door.

“I’d say this was a pretty nice last go of it all,” Bucky sighed, a genuine smile on his face. “Zola’s not a threat physically. Can’t imagine we’ll have too much trouble bringing him in, but you never know, right? I couldn’t pass up an excuse to bring a beautiful woman to a dance.”

You bit down on your cheek until blood pooled in your mouth. You swallowed it back, tasting of copper and it burned on the way down.

“Certainly can’t blame you for that,” you replied, forcing your voice as steady as you could manage.

The pianist slowly brought the song to an end, chiming on the high end of the keys before closing the lid and stepping away. Bucky sighed, a nod the indicated that the magic of the night had ended and he moved to step away, but your hands darted out to the sides of his face.

“You’ll get through this,” you said sternly, adamantly, because he needed to hear it. The confusion read on his face though he didn’t question you. “You’re strong, Bucky. You’re brave. Please remember that.”

He narrowed his eyes, brow furrowed, though he nodded slowly.

You stepped back suddenly, letting your hands fall away from his face. It was a gesture too intimate for the man standing in front of you, one you’d done countless times for the man he’d ultimately become, and while he didn’t flinch at the touch, it surprised him. Perhaps it was the heartbreak on your face, the guilt, that confused him most.

“I--I should go,” you said quietly. “Thank you for the dance, Sergeant Barnes.”

“The pleasure was all mine, doll,” he replied, a soft smile etching up onto his features.

He was so young, so untouched by the damages that would be inflicted upon him; even after he’d already been captured and held by the same men who would break him from the inside out, he still carried a hope about him. He was different at the start of it all.

You loaded into the back of the jeep and Bucky slid in beside you. He kept his hand at his side, didn’t try to push into your space because, after all, you had someone waiting on you, but you could see the twinge in his fingertips, how he ached to hold your hand. It broke your heart.

At the end of the night, he walked you back to your tent. Hands shoved deep into his pockets and a tight smile on his face, he asked, “will I see you again?”

You thought again about telling him the truth, warning him that he wouldn’t find his way home for nearly seven decades and when he did, he’d be a changed man in a time he didn’t know. It wouldn’t change anything. Your Bucky had always gone through the horrors of what Hydra inflicted on him and what you did in this time wouldn’t affect that.

“Of course,” you replied with a smile light on your lips though you forced it into your cheeks. He sighed of relief. “I’ll be here waiting when you get back.”

“What about your man?” he inquired, a teasing grin and a raise of his eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in friendship, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Whatever you’ll give me, sweetheart,” he replied, smiling so wide it much have ached, and you tried to memorize the way it wrinkled up by the blue of his eyes. You wondered if you’d ever see him smile like that again, like the very act of it didn’t rip him to pieces.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, light and short, a feather’s touch, and you watched as a light pink flushed his face. A thumb brushed along his cheekbone to rid him of the lipstick staining on his skin, but he gently pushed your hand away.

“Let me brag a little to the guys, won’t you?” he laughed. It was a sound so sweet it threatened to tear you in two.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you said slowly, stepping back to the tent.

He sighed, shaking his head as he took one final look at you, the last one he’d know for nearly seventy years. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

***

There were still tears in your eyes as you were pulled from between the cracks of space and time to land on the platform of the Avengers’ hanger in update New York.

Tony was down on your left, adjusting the buttons and levers on a massive computer board, slamming his hand against a faulty monitor until it shifted from a grainy static to a sharp input of bright green data. Steve was rushing up to you, already starting to remove the gear from your back and help you out of the suit. The file had slipped easily from your hand into Natasha’s and she was gone from the room before you even noticed, racing it off to Fury.

"Where is he?” you choked out, lump burning in your throat.

Steve paused for a moment, eyes flickering down to the floor because he must have seen the tears in your eyes. There was no need to specify. Steve knew exactly who you were looking for.

"The training room, I think.”

“Training room?” you repeated, surprised, eyes narrowed as Steve helped you slip your arm from the sleeve of the suit.

"He’s, um, he’s not coming, Y/n.”

“He always comes,” you insisted, peering up and over Steve’s shoulder to get a better look at the door, but they were still closed shut. There wasn’t a time since you’d joined the Avengers that Bucky wasn’t the last person you saw before you left and the first person you ran to when you came home.

Steve swallowed, continuing to work on your suit. “Y/n, the—the idea of you going back there, it wasn’t easy for him. You saw how he stormed out of the debriefing when Fury assigned you to this mission."

“He’s never not been here, Steve. Why would he--”

“Well for one,” Tony piped up, eyes still glued to the computer board, “he wasn’t entirely keen on shipping you back to the time where he was walking around with a brain that had yet to be thrown in a blender and a personality with a range wider than a pet rock."

You gritted your teeth, hands clenched to fists. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Tony shrugged, powering down the platform as Steve removed the last remaining panel from your suit, “just means that he’s probably sulking somewhere because only that idiot could be jealous of his own damn self.”

You looked to Steve who only bowed his head, lips pressed to an apologetic line, and suddenly, you took off running; sprinting across the room and shoulder shoved to the double doors at the exit. Neither Tony nor Steve were foolish enough to call after you, to believe that you’d stop for anything when it was Bucky you were running towards.

You passed by Sam in the living room, who pointed a finger to the gym, not even lifting his head from his cereal bowl. Clint waved from the couch, cheesy grin and all, before Wanda threw a pillow at him, hushing him as he tried to ask you how the mission went. It was all noise; nothing that you could hear when your focus was on Bucky.

When you made it to the gym, you found it to be empty, save for the distinct grunts in the far back corner, the slamming of fists against a sandbag, the labored breaths of a man in pain. 

Bucky stood with his back to you, muscles evident under the thin layer of his navy t-shirt, sweat soaking through the fabric and clinging against him. His whole body utilized in every punch and you stood back and watched until he ultimately hit it too hard and the bag dislodged from the ceiling, falling to the ground and rolling next to two of the same. Sand poured from the hole he’d created.

Bucky groaned, brushing his hand over his forehead to rinse the sweat from his eyes. As he turned around to hang another bag, his eyes landed on you, a flinch flexing throughout his body, a catch in his breath, because it wasn’t often you could sneak up on him. He swallowed, trying to find his bearings.

“You forget something?” he asked, voice low, tired. He didn’t realize you’d already gone and come back.

“No,” you replied, trying to mask your hurt though it did little use, “did you?”

He clenched his jaw, eyes darting down to the floor as he bent to grab another sandbag from the line. There was guilt etched into his features as he hung the bag on the chain as if it weighed nothing. It was then you noticed his bare hand, how it was beaten raw and bloodied.

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, reaching out for his hand and for the first time in nearly a year, he pulled away from you. He held his hands close to his chest, crossing his arms when he’d realized what he’d done, having seen the hurt on your face. You stepped forward to comfort him, but he flinched away.

“Talk to me,” you pleaded, tears in your eyes because you’d just left him to face 70 years in hell and all you wanted was to hold him again. Your agony for him ached deep in your bones, but he was keeping you at a distance, walls up, protecting himself from a threat you couldn’t see. “Did I—Did I do something?”

“No,” he said quickly, sternly, because it was one of the few things he was absolutely certain of. “No, sweetheart. It’s never you. It’s never anything you’ve done.”

“Then what is it?” You took in a shaky breath, one that barely took in air for the stone lodged in your throat. He glanced up at you and winced at the tears burning in your eyes.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” he asked slowly. He swallowed. “Me. You saw—me.”

“Yes.”

“But is wasn’t me,” he said, almost in a question. “It was some parallel version of me, right? That’s why I don’t remember... not because of what Hydra did to my head?”

You nodded, taking a cautious step forward. When he didn’t retreat from you, you took another. He kept his stare on the ground by your feet; appearing small, as if he didn’t tower over you, as if the strength of his body couldn’t snap a cement brick in half. Your hands slipped into his and you felt his whole body sigh of relief as you brought them closer to you.

Even the cold metal of his left hand was a familiar comfort for you; cool and solid, tangible. It was a piece of the man you knew. His right hand was swollen, skin broken at the knuckles, raw and bleeding. You winced as you quietly examined the wounds, carefully turning his hand in yours to get a better look.

“Will you let me wrap this?” you asked gently and after a few moments, he nodded. 

You led him carefully to the edge of the ring and sat him down on the raised edges; a kiss to his forehead as you backed away and you quickly grabbed the first aid kit from the latch under the ring.

Box in hand, you sat down beside him and pulled out the bandages, disinfectant wipes, and soothing gel. You set the kit on the floor and gestured for his right hand. It was quiet as you worked, applying the disinfectant and cleaning the damage he’d inflicted. You felt his gaze on you, studying you as a crease furrowed in your brow in concentration.

Several moments of silence passed before he spoke again.

“Do you see it now?”

You narrowed your eyes, confused by his sudden question. It was something he did often, let his mind wonder and spin until finally something stumbled out, whether it made much sense or not, but you were exceptionally patient with him. You sighed, gently easing the cooling gel onto his knuckles. He hissed at the sting of it.

“See what, honey?”

“Why you shouldn’t be with me.”

You closed your eyes, jaw aching from how tightly you clenched it. You could feel your lower lip trembling, tears burning in your eyes when you looked at him again.

He was better than he was when you’d first met. He didn’t wear the dark circles under his eyes in permeant stains anymore, didn’t leave grease caked into his roots, or wasted away closed off in his room without food for days at a time. But he still carried guilt in his eyes, still hung a heavy shame over his shoulders, still found himself unworthy and irredeemable, even on his best days, no matter how hard he tried to believe you otherwise.

“Bucky,” you sighed, his name aching in your voice, “why would you say such a thing?”

“You know now,” he replied flatly, like it was what he’d been waiting for, like he was so sure that his worst nightmares were already true, “you know what I was like then and how—and how broken I am now. I can’t be him, Y/n. I won’t ever be like that again and I-- I can’t give you the things he could. I won't be enou--”

“Stop, please,” you whispered, holding tightly to his hand as you wrapped the bandages. A tear slipped past your nose and fell to the white fabric along his knuckles, soaking into the cloth. “It broke my heart to see who you used to be, what you were like before Hydra, before all the pain they’d inflicted on you. You were... light and sweet and so impossibly charming.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes to the ground ahead of him as he listened, nodding along. You could tell he was preparing for the worst, like you might tell him that he was right, that this past version of himself opened your eyes to how empty he’d become, how weak and burdensome, how he was only a shell of the man he used to be and he’d never be enough for you.

His hands were shaking in your own and you swiftly lifted them to your lips and kissed at his knuckles, first upon flesh and then to the cold metal of his left. It pulled a gasp from him, an involuntary sigh of relief.

“I saw pieces of you in him, Buck. In the way he’d watch from a careful distance, how he smiled to himself when he thought no one was watching, the kindness in his eyes, the way he said my name,” you continued, letting his left hand sit on your leg so you could reach up to cup the side of his face, gently drawing his attention back to you. His eyes were red, strained, and you smiled sweetly at him. “It’s the same way I see pieces of him in you. You still tease and joke, even if it’s quieter, more intimate. You still make me feel like my hearts going to beat out of my chest when you look at me. You’re still impossibly charming, Buck. You are to me, anyway.”

He shook his head, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Sweetheart, you’re not broken,” you soothed, sweeping your thumb along his cheekbone. You grazed bristles of hair along his face, scruff from a few days without a razor. “You’re not less than who you were then. Just different. The things that happened to you changed you, Bucky. They’d change anyone. I don’t ever expect you to be the man you were before the fall.”

Bucky took in a shaken breath. “I thought—I thought you might prefer him. The way Steve does.”

“Oh honey,” you exhaled, pulling him into your arms, his head resting on your collar and you stroked your hand along his back to ease the tremors away as he clung to you, “Steve doesn’t--”

“He wants me to be how I was,” Bucky mumbled, his lips muffled by the sleeve of your shirt. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling himself closer. “He doesn't think I can see the disappointment on his face, but I can. I know he misses how things were.”

“Steve just worries about you, Buck,” you said gently, rubbing circles along his back. “He just wants you to be happy. He wants you to be okay.”

It was like he didn’t even hear you, so caught up in the rush of consuming thoughts in his mind, threatening to do him in.

“I’m scared you’re going to start looking at me like that.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, though you willed your voice as steady as you could manage. “Like what, sweetheart?”

“Like I’ve disappointed you,” he admitted simply, like he’d thought about it a dozen times over. “I always thought I had nowhere to go but up with you. You’d only seen me at my worst but… but now you’ve seen me then and—and I don’t know if I can take you wishin’ I was him, doll, because I’ve tried and I—I can’t and I don’t want to lose you because I think it might ki—”

“Look at me,” you requested sternly, pulling him from your embrace and guiding his eyes to you. His cheeks were red, ocean blue of his eyes wet with tears as the words died on his tongue. “I will never ask you be someone you’re not. I would never want you to.”

He shook his head against your hands. “But I’m—”

“You are the man I’ve always known you to be,” you insisted. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, one that you felt his breath leave him as you pulled away. His eyes were glossy but they were vibrant blue as they met yours. “You are the man I fell in love with, Bucky. You, as you are right now. Not some idealized version of who you think you should be. Not the man you were in the forties. You.”

His entire body was rigid in your arms; solid, like stone and steel, and when he finally pulled back, there was an ocean of disbelief in his eyes. Lips slightly parted, brows pinched at the center and a flush of red in his cheeks. An imprint of your sleeve was prominent along his temple as his eyes searched yours, seeking out a deception he would never find.

“You love me?” he whispered, voice barely audible, but you watched as his lips mimed the words; the way he licked at the dryness and tried to swallow back the sandpaper in his throat.

“With everything I have, honey.”

When he finally did let himself exhale again, the breath carried a world of relief in its release. A smile hung on his lips, curving up into his cheeks, and wrinkled into his eyes. A vision of a man decades younger, lighter, where the blue was brighter and the stones were lifted from his shoulders.

“You love me,” he said again, though this time it wasn’t a question but simply a statement of fact. He repeated it again, like he was engraving it into his mind, into his memories where Hydra couldn’t touch it, where it would be protected and entirely his.

“I do,” you giggled, playing with the ends of his hair. “Any chance you might--”

Lips were suddenly on yours, melded and perfectly warm, soft, eager, and you wondered why you ever thought he was any different from the man he used to be. His hands snaked up into your hair, curling delicately into your scalp as a sigh left his breath and touched your cheek. He kissed at your jawline, your cheekbones, the tip of your nose, and returned to your lips where he was wanted most.

When he finally pulled back, you let him go reluctantly, and he set his forehead to yours; the brightest smile on his face you’d ever witnessed and you were almost certain it must have ached in his cheeks from lack of use, but god, was he beautiful.

“I love you, too.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[empyreanwritings]

A Different Side to You

Pairing: Angel!Sam Wilson x Demon!Reader

Word Count: 7k (yall this is my longest fic that isn’t a series, i’m crying)

Warnings: definitely some blasphemous talk, blood and gore, mentions of sacrifices, language

Summary: You like to get under Sam’s skin because he makes it easy, but he doesn’t realize just how far you’ll really go to make sure he’s safe.

A/N: Hello friends! This is my submission for @buckysknifecollection​ writing challenge, congrats again on reaching 3k bby cause you deserve every follower and more! My prompt was Flirting in Inappropriate Places, and I tried to be as interesting with it as I could asdlkfjd ! Please let me know what y’all think! I crave attention xx

Divider by @whimsicalrogers​ - check them out bc their edits are amazing x

"Do you pray, or is that kind of redundant given your direct line to the big man?"

Sam refused to look over at the intruder. It was bad enough you felt the need to bother him with your presence again but to do it in a church? He feared if he looked over at you, he'd throw the hymnal straight at your thick skull. That kind of behavior was unbecoming for God's favorite, and he knew better than to test his father's patience - even if you tested his own daily.

You sighed dramatically, and he heard the familiar click of your heels as you walked down the center aisle. You traced your finger against the armrest of the pews; your nails dipped in black paint occasionally leaving a small scratch on them. The wood was old and soft, it was easy to leave marks behind, and it made you smile knowing they wouldn't be able to buff it out without ruining the wood altogether. A church marked by a demon. How sad.

For the last year, you brought it upon yourself to cause trouble to Sam. Nat told you not to bother with him; she knew her father would protect him at all costs, but you couldn't stop yourself. There was something about Sam that made every part of your body feel hot - and not in the Hellfire kind of way. Maybe it was his strong will or those arms. Either way, you enjoyed bugging him because you knew you'd make him crack eventually.

It was too hard to resist you, ask any man or woman who was allowed to live after a nightly encounter with you.

"I have to say," you leaned against the pew directly in front of Sam and crossed your arms over your chest, "Orange really is your color, Sammy. I don't think I've ever seen you look so delicious before."

"Can you not flirt with me in a house of worship? It's bad enough that you are here," he hissed. "Do not disrespect my father by flirting with me as well."

"Touchy, touchy. I can see I've struck a nerve, so I'll tell you why I'm here."

Sam's brows raised, and for once, he seemed intrigued by what you had to say. "Oh? It's not to bother me?"

Part of your visit was to bother him, you couldn't deny that, but it was mostly a professional visit. Nat needed to return to Hell and deal with a few demons who were stirring up trouble. The longer Nat stayed on Earth, the more restless they became down below. Some of them even went as far as to say Nat was no longer their queen and wanted to overthrow her. And, of course, she couldn't let that happen, so she left you in charge of any earthly factions trying to rise up while she went down to control the chaos. You hated being left behind, but the company wasn't terrible.

The only way you could really get the demons on Earth under control was if you had Lilith's knife. It was the only knife capable of truly killing a demon, not just send them back to Hell to crawl their way out again. After the war between the angels and demons, the angels took the knife and hid it so no being could ever wield its power again, and you knew Sam was there when Steve hid it.

You suggested a trade: Sam loaned you Lilith's knife in exchange for one of your Souls. No one would ever be willing to give up a soul they took in a deal, but if it meant you'd get your hands on the knife, you would do it.

"Are you out of your mind?" Sam roared, his cool exterior finally cracking at your audacity to ask something of him. "You really think I am going to hand over Lilith's knife to you? You know very well that knife doesn't just kill demons, Y/N."

"I would never use it on you, you drama queen." You paused, and a wicked smile spread across your face. "Unless you asked me to, of course."

He scoffed. You felt the disgust rolling off him, and you tried not to be annoyed that the sheer thought of being with you made him feel sick. You weren't looking for him to love you, or anything like that, but he didn't have to act like sleeping with you was so terrible. It wasn't as if you could get any sort of disease - perks of being a demon, after all.

"I am not giving you the knife, so you might as well leave."

"I can wait," you purred and left your spot on the pew to explore the sanctuary. You knew it would bother Sam if you stayed any longer, so you were going to milk your time there.

The church was one of the oldest in the city. You never fully understood the separate denominations of the church, but you noticed Baptists put less work into their churches than others. The pews were old, the fabric on them was a faded green that was torn in some spots. The white walls were slightly yellowed and peeling in the corners, but you only noticed if you focused long enough. It helped that the lights, which you could see dust hanging from the top of them, were dimmed. The blue carpet on the stage was the only thing that seemed new, and even that didn't seem to be in the best condition.

You walked over to the podium, and from the corner of your eye, you could see Sam tense up. You smirked and continued on. A worn bible sat on top of it; there were tabs sticking out the side, marking several pages for future sermons, you assumed. You grabbed the end of one and flipped it to the marked page, running your fingers across the lines.

You opened your mouth to start reading, but Sam appeared in front of you almost instantly. He slammed the bible closed, barely giving you time to yank your hand back. He knew exactly what you were doing, and he refused to let you speak the words of his father.

Touchy, touchy, you thought.

Sam grabbed your elbow to escort you out, but you whirled around and faced him head on. You pressed your chest against his; you were so close, your nose brushed the tip of his. He hated being this close to you, but he made no sign of backing down. God's favorite was one of the proudest as well. A deadly sin, you chose to remind him.

He watched your eyes flick down to his lips and back to his eyes in a matter of seconds. It happened so quickly, he thought he imagined it, but he knew better. You were shameless.

"I guess I'll get going now, Sammy," you hummed as you trailed your finger down his chest. "Please wear this sweater the next time I see you. Like I said, orange is your color."

You disappeared without another word, and the breath escaped Sam's lips in a cough. Well, it was less of a cough, and more of a strangled gasp. You really had a way of getting under his skin, and he hated admitting that to himself.

He knew one thing was certain, he couldn't let you get Lilith's knife. No matter your intentions.

"What are they doing?"

You jumped at the sound of Sam's voice, thinking you were caught by one of the people you spied on, but instantly relaxed when you saw him standing behind you. You glanced back at the scene in front of you - an altar with fake skulls the group probably bought at Michael's, red fabric thrown carelessly around everything, and three men in black cloaks mumbling to themselves about Lucifer. A woman was tied to the table directly in the middle. She squirmed and screamed for someone to help her, but no one was around these parts for miles, and the group knew it. It was why they picked this spot in the first place.

"Virgin sacrifice," you grumbled. "I could smell the stench of goat's blood miles away, so I popped in to see what they were doing."

"You can't just let them-"

"Relax, Sammy. I'm going to stop them. I actually hate human sacrifices." You turned around and smiled wide when you looked over at Sam. His brows furrowed, confused by your sudden change in mood, but when your eyes looked down at his shirt, he knew what you were about to say. "You're wearing orange."

He rolled his eyes. "I had nothing else to wear."

"You're wearing orange because I said you looked good in it, aren't you? Don't be embarrassed, Sammy, you look absolutely-"

"Don't you have a virgin sacrifice to interrupt?"

Your mouth formed an 'o' as if you just remembered why you were here. You told him to wait one moment before you disappeared behind the red fabric.

Screams filled the abandoned warehouse, but they didn't belong to the woman. The stench of blood and mutilated flesh hung in the air around Sam. It was a smell he was sure you were used to, but he almost lost his lunch thanks to it. When the screaming stopped, Sam thought the worst of it was over until he heard one of the boys beg for their lives. A wretched sob and a plea to be better interrupted by the sound of him choking on his own blood.

You escorted the woman out quietly. The poor thing trembled in your arms, yet it seemed you weren't the thing she was terrified of. You may have been a demon, but the monsters were the men willing to sacrifice her in the name of someone who didn't want human sacrifices to begin with. Well, Nat only liked sacrifices if the one dying was wicked, but that was another story.

The woman thanked you, tears and snot streaming down her face as she clutched onto your torso. You grimaced but did not pull away. Human comfort wasn’t something you fully understood, but you knew she needed a good hug right now, so you let it slide.

"Is there anything I can do to repay you?" She sobbed.

Sam shook his head. He knew what you were about to say - she could offer her soul in exchange for helping her. Demons were all the same. They acted like what they did was for the benefit of others, but it always came at a price. A price the humans could barely afford. And just when he started to believe you did this out of whatever goodness you had in your heart, you were going to prove to him that you were just like every other demon.

"You owe me nothing." He sucked in a sharp breath. That wasn't what he was expecting at all. "Except…maybe don't go on dates with people you meet in cemeteries. This is New Orleans, you can meet better men at the bars."

She nodded and made her way out of the warehouse. You weren't worried about her spreading the tale of what happened today because she could be accused of murder if she did. No one would ever buy the tale that a demon swooped in and killed everyone just to save her. The witches of the French Quarter might, but they weren't lawyers who could bust her out of jail.

You noticed Sam staring at you and huffed. "What? Do you not approve of me killing those bastards?"

"No, I…" He trailed off for a moment, eyes wandering over every inch of your blood covered body.  He wasn't looking at you but trying to look through you and understand why you would do something like spare that woman's soul. "I don't understand why you didn't make a deal with that woman."

You shrugged. You felt no need to explain yourself to him.

"Wait, when you offered to exchange a soul for Lilith's knife, did you even have a soul to offer?"

"Several."

"Ones that aren't centuries old."

"Why does it matter how old they are? A soul is a soul, right?"

It hit Sam that you probably haven't made a deal since you first became a demon. There was a time where Nat required every demon to make deals with people, but even she grew bored of the lifestyle. Many demons continued making deals and ruining people's lives, but Sam wondered when you stopped - and why. You spent most of your days following him around just to bother him, which meant you didn't have much time to harvest souls of the innocent. So, why? Why did you stop, and why did you make it seem like it wasn't a big deal?

You turned away to avoid any questions he was inevitably going to throw at you. You walked around the body parts and looked through the trinkets they gathered for the sacrifice. It was a long shot, but you wanted to see if they got their hands on Lilith's knife. A small bubble of excitement burst in you when you saw a black dagger resting on the table, but you knew it wasn't the right one as soon as you touched it. No magic, no power. Just a boring kitchen knife dipped in paint.

He watched you look around in disappointment. Questions bombarded his mind, made him wonder what else he didn't know about you - what else he might have gotten wrong. You were still a demon, though, and he would never be able to look past that.

When your search turned up empty, you focused right back on Sam and the dark orange V-neck he wore. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he wore that shirt for you. And you knew it.

"So," you began with a smile, "I find it adorable that you are wearing more orange for me. Very fall…very romantic, if you ask me."

"I didn't wear it for you," he quipped. "I told you, I had nothing else to wear."

"Mhm, so you said. Well, if you don't like it, you could always just take it off. I wouldn't mind." You ran your finger along his exposed collarbone, and he quickly swatted at your hand.

"There is nothing sexy about you asking me to take off my shirt when it smells like blood."

You giggled, something that should have been adorable yet somehow sounded evil coming from your lips. "You'll get used to it after a while, but I'll let you change the subject for now. I know it's probably not good for God's favorite to be aroused at the idea of taking me on a sacrificial altar."

Sam deadpanned, and you practically howled out a laugh. He made it far too easy to get under his skin. As much as you would have liked for him to ravish you then and there, you were perfectly satisfied knowing you managed to annoy him. It was the second greatest pleasure in your life, next to torturing evil assholes who thought the world belonged to them.

You tried to turn the conversation back to Lilith's knife. You hoped that your display of mercy would make him willing to give up its location, but he stood his ground. He vowed to never let you see the knife, even if you did swear not to use it on the angels. The knife's power was too much for one to handle; he couldn't guarantee that after you used it on the rowdy demon faction, you wouldn't just turn around and use it on him or his brothers. Once the knife got a taste for blood, it always wanted more.

No matter what you told him about the threats of war in Hell and on Earth, he refused you. His stubbornness made your jaw clench, but you knew when to pick your battles. When the precious humans were in danger, he would be willing to give it up. Despite not wanting for it to get that bad, you knew it was the only way.

So, you'd wait, and until then, you'd drive him crazy with your flirtatious comments.

The next few days were…off, to say the least. You spent a lot of your time trying to get a feel for Sam's godly aura - something that had a distinct smell and feel to it most angels didn't even realize - but there was nothing. Every corner you turned, every chapel you visited, was hollow. Cold and empty, much like the feeling in your chest the longer you didn't see him. You knew it was possible he was just avoiding you, but you couldn't help but feel a little dreadful.

If something happened to Sam, you'd unleash Hell on earth. You would rip through every being you had to in order to get to him. The heavens haven't seen true bloodshed until you've put your mind to it, especially if you were going to avenge your non-existent lover.

But as you sat in one of Sam's favorite sanctuaries, you wondered if he had finally grown tired of your games. He was an angel after all, and you were nothing but a demon. Scum of the earth; knight of darkness and destruction. A small voice in the back of your head reminded you that you would never be any more to him. You looked around and realized, he might not have been missing at all, he may have just decided you were no longer worthy of his presence. You weren't sure which idea hurt more, and you didn't really want to take time to analyze it.

The funny thing about sadness is that it eats you from the inside. The harder you try to push it down, the more power you seem to give it. Even as you sat there, staring at the ethereal paintings on the ceiling, you couldn't stop the sadness from burning a hole into your heart. You closed your eyes and exhaled, feeling the heat from all the Bibles burning around you. And you smiled - not fully, but enough to push down the sadness once more.

"Where is my brother?" You opened your eyes and looked over at Steve, who went to work trying to put out the small fires you set. "For the love of dad, did you really have to burn the Bibles? You could have gone for the hymnals, at least!"

You hummed disinterestedly. "Why are you asking me about Sammy? I figured he went back to Heaven by now."

"He hasn't been home in months, but he usually checked in with me. I haven't heard from him in days now."

Okay, so maybe he was missing, and maybe you were too quick to start throwing yourself a pity party, but could anyone blame you? No one had to know you were willing to burn down a church simply because you thought Sam abandoned you.

"The last I saw Sam he was alive and well, I can promise you," you purred just to get under Steve's skin. "If I'm being honest, though, I haven't seen him since then. He usually pops up to scold me when I start trouble, and I did everything I could to get his attention! I even kicked a toddler, and he never came. I should have realized he could never get bored with me; obviously someone has taken him."

Steve blinked several times, trying his best to process your words. He didn't know where to start - the fact that you both tend to end up in each other's company willingly or that you would go so far as to kick a toddler to see him. He shook his head. How Sam managed to put up with your antics was beyond Steve. He always told his brother that a demon like you wasn't worth watching over, but Sam always had one excuse or another. Lately, he claimed it was to make sure you didn't find Lilith's knife, but even that excuse was flimsy at best.

He wanted to be in your company, and it baffled Steve most of all.

"I'm not going to touch any of that," he quickly shook his head and tried to push the disturbing thoughts out of his head. "Nat said there was rebellion going on in Hell. Do you think demons might have taken him to get under her skin?"

"I wouldn't put it past them, but I honestly think if the demon faction on Earth kidnapped him it's because they want Lilith's knife."

"And let me guess you want me to give it to you."

You nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "If demons are behind Sammy's disappearance, they need to be taken out. Lilith's knife can do that, and you know it!"

"You think I'm foolish enough to give a blade that can kill demons and angels to a psychotic demon with stabbing tendencies?" Steve scoffed. "You're off your rocker even more than usual."

A moment passed, and your passive façade finally cracked. You kicked Steve, full force against his abdomen, and sent him flying towards the altar. He caught himself before he landed on the podium, but he didn't have enough time to block your next blow to his side. You knew it was enough to knock the air from his lungs and catch him off guard, so you quickly grabbed his throat and forced him to his knees. His angel strength usually made him an even match, but your rage was the one thing fueling you. It was too much for him to fight off.

You squeezed until he was gasping for air and slapping at your hands. His eyes grew wide when he looked up at you and realized you were in full demon form - eyes black, teeth pointed behind your sinister snarl, and your skin slowly flaking off and turning to ash. He had never seen you like this, and for once, he feared his life despite knowing you couldn't really kill him.

You leaned in close, letting him get a good whiff of the rotted flesh and brimstone. "Let me make something very clear, Michael, you will give me that knife because the longer you wait, the more danger my Sammy may be in. And if he gets hurt, I will tear the world apart until it rains blood for eternity. You and your daddy will have nothing to protect anymore, do you understand me?"

Steve shuddered as you dropped him to the floor. The use of his real name never brought a chill down his spine until it came from your lips. He knew, somewhere deep inside of him, that you no longer wanted the knife for yourself; you wanted it to end those who dared to take Sam away from you.

Realization dawned on him in that moment. You loved him. It was something he never knew a demon could be capable of, but your protectiveness…your anger…it all made sense now. You wouldn't let anything happen to Sam, and he knew giving you the knife wouldn't be the worst idea. The other angels might frown upon it, but they wouldn't question Steve's judgement. He'd make them understand why he had to, and why you were somehow the most trustworthy person to take it.

"I'll get you the knife," he gasped. "You find out where my brother is, and I will meet you there with the knife."

You slowly turned back into your "presentable" self at his words. The relief that you wouldn't have to torture the information out of Steve flooded you. Sam would be incredibly unhappy if he knew you hurt his family, even if it was a little deserved.

"I can find out within the hour, I have someone who owes me a few favors," you replied. "Keep an eye out for my text. I'll give you the coordinates on where to find me once I know."

Without another word, you disappeared, off to cause trouble wherever you needed to. Steve stood there, hands dropped at his side and a deep sigh escaping his lips. There was one problem to your plan: he didn't have a phone.

The moon just started to rise when you stepped through the dilapidated gates of the cemetery. Fog clung to the ground, making everything damp and humid. Bits of leaves stuck to the bottom of your boots as you walked, but you didn't care. You just wanted to get to Sam.

You felt in your element, oddly enough. Surrounded by darkness, Lilith's knife grasped tightly in your hand. You knew the night would end in a blood bath. The demons weren't going to let Sam go willingly, and you mentally prepared yourself for what he was about to witness. If you lost control, even for a split second, your true form would come out again. You knew he would never love you anyways, but once he got a real look at you, whatever tiny amount of hope you clung onto would be squashed.

None of it mattered, though. You only cared for Sam's safety.

The faction waited for you in one of the larger mausoleums. They almost seemed too relaxed as you walked in, as if the party couldn't start until you arrived. You glanced over and saw Sam bound, gagged, and tossed in the corner. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and not let the rage consume you over the sight of him.

Mystique, the leader of the faction, casually hopped down from the top of the stone casket and made her way to you. Her movements reminded you of a lioness, calm and in control as she stalked closer to her prey. She wasn't scared of you, and that was the one thing you were hoping for; you wanted her to underestimate just how cruel you could be.

She walked around you in circles, taking in your presence with a hungry grin on her face. Her eyes lingered on Lilith's knife longer than anywhere else, but she made no advances to take it from you.

"I see you brought the knife," she practically purred in delight. "I'm surprised the angels were so willing to hand it over, but I see kidnapping one of their own was the best way to get their attention."

"You weren't just trying to get their attention," you replied calmly. "You were trying to get mine as well."

"Well, I did have a feeling taking your lover boy would get you here."

You refused to look back at Sam, even though you wanted to. You had to lie your way out of her trap, and you wouldn't be able to contain yourself if you made eye contact with him in this moment. And you wouldn't be able to hide any of your emotions from Mystique.

"He means nothing to me. He was just a means to get Lilith's knife."

As the words left your mouth, your chest started to ache. You silently prayed - something you never thought you could bring yourself to do - that Sam wouldn't believe your words. Whether he ever planned on loving you back or not, you didn't want him to think you only saw him as a means to an end. If he never gave you the knife, you wouldn't have cared because you got to spend time with him. That was more than enough for you.

"For a demon, you're a terrible liar," Mystique sneered. "I've been watching you two. I know the truth, and honestly? I feel a little sad for you, Y/N."

Your lips formed a tight line, and you took a slow breath through your nose. "Why is that?"

"Because you're dumb enough to think he'll fall for you one day. Do you not see the heartbreak you're setting yourself up for? An angel will never see you as anything but the perverted failure of his father, and you are dumb enough to think he could ever see you as anything else." Her words cut into you, and you had nothing to retort. She was right; you came to terms with this before you ever step foot into his life. You weren't meant to fall for him and yet…you did. You tricked yourself. "Even Nat believes she is better than us, it's why we needed to take action! Can't you see? We're your family. We're able to give you what these angels never could - power and belonging. I know you crave both despite all your past protests."

She wrapped her arm around your shoulders and forced you to look at Sam. Her lips were next to your ear, and though you couldn't see it, you knew she was smirking. "All you have to do is kill him. Kill Gabriel and we'll accept you into our group. I can be a fair better leader than Nat ever could."

Sam's eyes grew wide as you stalked towards him. Mystique's words ran through your mind on a constant loop. He would never see you as anything other than a demon; he would never be able to love you the way you so desperately desired. The longer you stared at him, the easier it was to come to terms with that. But it didn't mean he deserved to die.

"There is one thing I think you are forgetting in all of this," you finally said, turning your back on Sam to face Mystique.

"And what is that, my dear?"

You shoved the knife through her throat, ignoring the spray of blood hitting your face. The other demons stood, ready to attack, but they faltered when they realized no one was going to give them an order. Mystique was too busy choking on her own blood.

Just before the light faded from her eyes, you leaned in close and whispered, "You get on my last fucking nerve."

You pulled the knife out and let her body drop to the ground. She was gone for good this time. Wherever the beings went when they were killed with Lilith's knife, you knew it wasn't Hell; she would never be able to crawl her way back to Earth and cause more trouble.

The other demons stood in shock as you stepped over her body. They didn't want to fight in you in fear of losing their own lives, but as you flipped the knife in your hand, they knew they had no choice. You weren't going to let any of them walk out of there alive. They started too much trouble for you and for Nat. This was your way of tying up loose ends.

You gave them props for putting up a good enough fight. They weren't coordinated without Mystique telling them what to do, but they tried their best. Even when bodies started to drop, and the smell of blood lingered heavily in the air, they fought tooth and nail to get away from you. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Not a single demon stepped through the mausoleum doors alive. Well, besides you of course, but that was kind of obvious.

Once everyone was taken care of, you made your way over to Sam. You looked him over several times, and a pout began to form on your lips.

"You're not wearing orange today!" You whined as you pulled the rag from his mouth. "I thought we agreed you'd wear orange the rest of your life for me."

He let out an exasperated breath. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Well I heard-"

"If quote Alice in Wonderland and tell me all the best people are crazy, I'm going to shoot you," Sam grumbled, kicking away the ropes from his ankles in a hurry.

You beamed over at him. It was the kind of smile that made you look unhinged, and the blood spattered on your cheeks didn't help. "Ooh, gunplay? Sounds kinky, I'm in! But I'm pretty sure you don't even know how to work a gun, so I'll have to teach you."

"Please don't."

Sam took your hand and allowed you to help him stand. He had been tied up for days, and he caught himself using the wall to keep himself from tipping over again as the blood started to rush to his limbs again. He noticed how you stayed close enough to catch him if he fell over but kept your distance to give him some space. You assumed he needed a break from being surrounded by demons, and you weren't entirely wrong. He just didn't include you in the list of demons he wanted to stay away from.

You quietly let him pull himself together and got to work on piling the demons' bodies on top of each other. Not many groundskeepers entered mausoleums, but you didn't want to risk anyone finding them. You made a mental note to return with some lighter fluid and take care of the remains before the sun rose. It wouldn't please Nat to know you left bodies out in the open for anyone to find.

Sam tried to shift his weight onto one foot, and he grunted in surprise when a sharp pain shot through his ankle. You were by his side instantly, using your shoulder support most of his weight.

"Are you okay?" You asked, searching his face for any signs of discomfort.

He nodded. "I'm not sure how, but I think they might have broken my ankle. It should heal soon, though."

"Let's get you to a safe place to rest. I need to get the knife back to Steve, and we don't really need any other demons stumbling on your injured self."

"You're actually giving the knife back?" His surprise made you wince. You told him the only thing you needed the knife for was the get the demon faction under control, but he never believed you.

Because you're a demon, your thoughts reminded you.

"I told you I only needed the knife for one thing Sammy," you huffed and helped him step out into the cemetery. "I would never lie to you."

Sam said nothing, but he quietly examined the side of your face as you walked together. He wasn't sure what he felt in that moment besides confusion. Deep down, he already knew you weren't one to lie to him, but he didn't understand why. Why you went to great lengths just to save him. Why you hated virgin sacrifices and didn't take souls. Why you spent most of your time around him when you could have been doing anything else. You were supposed to be a typical demon consumed by a lust for blood, sex, and souls, yet you had proven time and time again that you were far from his expectation.

He wondered if Mystique had been right - were you in love in with him? The thought of you being in love with him made him question everything he thought he already knew.

He couldn't bring himself to understand why he liked the way you flirted him, or why he wore orange just to see you smile. He easily could have gone back to Heaven by now, but he always found an excuse to stay. To see you.

As you escorted him through the gates and far away from the stench of blood, he sucked in a sharp breath. Perhaps Mystique wasn't right about everything. She claimed Sam could never see you as anything but a demon, but as he looked up at you now, that was the last thing on his mind. All he saw was the woman he finally admitted to himself he was in love with.

You slipped into the pew beside Sam, who had fully recovered from last night's incident. You were exhausted after spending your night burning bodies and tracking down Steve to return the knife. Even he seemed surprised you gave it up willingly, but you didn't bother to banter with him about it. You were tired of the angels always thinking the worst of you.

You leaned your head against Sam's shoulder, half-expecting him to pull away in disgust, but he didn't. He sat there in silence as you closed your eyes and let yourself relax for a few moments.

The silence between you two wasn't uncomfortable. Both of you felt like you had been to Hell and back, and not much needed to be said about that. You were still covered in blood, and your clothes reeked of burnt flesh. Sam, who was fully healed, rubbed at his wrists to try and get the phantom feeling of the rope away. You almost made a joke about how a fucked up demon sat next to an equally fucked up angel, but the humor died on your tongue before you could get it out. It was just too much effort.

Sam sighed and pressed his cheek against the top of your head. "She was wrong, you know."

"About what?" You murmured so softly, you weren't sure you spoke out loud.

"About my feelings for you."

You sat up and groaned, feeling all of your muscles groan along with you. "Don't tease me, Sam. It actually hurts my feeling for you to lie to me like this."

"I'm not lying!"

"Sure, you're not."

He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. The sincerity in his eyes made your stomach churn. You knew how this played out because he wasn't supposed to love you; he wasn't supposed to see you as anything but a demon. Not a single celestial being would ever approve of him falling in love with you, and you would never be able to find peace.

"Listen to me," he began with a small, hopeful smile, "I love you. Do I fully understand it? Absolutely not. You're crazy, and I'm pretty sure you kill pedophiles for breakfast. You also willingly kick toddlers, which I don't approve but…I love you."

"No one will approve us being together, you know," you whispered as if someone was already listening in on you. "Not God, not Nat, not Steve. They'll always have something to say about us."

"Then let's get out of here for a bit."

"Where?"

"Anywhere you want to go." You quickly glanced to the side, and he rolled his eyes. "If you make another comment about that confessional booth, I will lose my mind."

You softly laughed and leaned in ever so slightly. You were officially invading his space, but you weren't making the first move yet. You wanted to give him one last chance to change his mind, to come to his senses or whatever it was he needed to do, before he turned his back on everything he knew just to be with you. Would it hurt? Absolutely. But you needed to know that this was going to last between you two. You weren't sure if you could live with the heartbreak of losing Sam.

"I think you've already lost your mind, Sammy," you teased. "You want to be with a demon after all."

He cupped your cheek in his hand, gently stroking your bottom lip with his thumb. It was an act so intimate, it almost caught you off guard. He stared at you silently before his lips finally met yours, and you nearly collapsed into his arms with how ecstatic you were to finally get a taste of him.

The kiss was hungry - full of teeth and breathless groans. You were exploring every inch of each other that you possibly could without tearing each other's clothes off. Sam practically came to life underneath you as his hands roamed up your side. Your name died on his lips - a prayer only you could hear. You thought about pulling back and reminding him that you were in the house of his father, but that would require you to stop kissing him, and you had no intention of stopping any time soon.

When he finally pulled away from, your chests were heaving, and you smiled over at him. He appreciated how gentle your smile seemed now. Even with the dried blood on your skin, there was a warmth in your eye that made your smile fill his chest with joy. A lot less unhinged, he would say.

"So," you pushed his back against the pew and crawled onto his lap, your knees straddling either side of his thighs, "You said we could go anywhere in the world, right?"

"Besides the confessional booth," he retorted with a smile as he caressed the side of your face.

You paused, trying to get used to him looking at you like you were the only woman in the universe. It felt odd but not entirely in a bad way. You spent most of your time denying he could ever look at you this way, and here he was, proving your doubts wrong. You weren't sure if it made you want to cry or kiss him until he caved and pulled you right into the confessional.

He claimed you wouldn't convince him, but you'd get him to crack one day.

"Besides the confessional booth," you laughed. "I spent a lot of time here, pestering you and scaring children in the cemetery. I think it'd be nice to get out of the country, explore the world a little bit."

"You haven't done that already?"

You shook your head. "I spent a lot of time staying close to Nat. She needed a strong right-hand woman, and I was the one who wanted to fill the job. I mean, Maria is great, but she's better at handling souls and all their pesky little contracts."  

"Where do you want to go then? We can go anywhere you want, and we can get there for free thanks to my wings."

"Can I convince you to give the confessional booth a whirl?"

Sam sighed dramatically, not in annoyance but enough to make you laugh. "Absolutely not."

"Fine," you pouted. "I guess we can start with Greece, as long as you agree to wear your orange v-neck again."

[kashimos-hajime]

buried in your bones | b.b.

summary: “Promise you’ll love me always.”

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, blood, violence, swearing, drinking, magic and therefore magic haters pairing: king!bucky x queen!reader word count: 11.1k

a/n: inspired by hurricane by fleurie. i recommend listening to it for proper vibes :) written for @serpienten​​​​ and @buckysknifecollection​​​​. i had the prompt king/queen au and a dialogue prompt that is bolded. sorry this took so long! am still working through some killer writer’s block :( but enjoy!

James can taste nothing but blood in his mouth as he plunges his sword through chainmail. His ears are ringing from the sound of metal singing with every slice, every clash of his sword against his opponents and his foot catches on a dead knight’s arm as he whirls around.

All around him, dirt is flying and there is the smell of smoke as he twirls out of the way of a horse with no rider. Sweat dripping through his armour, he spots a soldier pinned down and charges, running the attacker through his sword and kicking him off the tip.

The smell of shit fills his mouth as he sucks in a wet gasp, helping the soldier get up. Clapping his shoulder, James can barely hear himself over the clamour of battle raging around him.

“Are we winning?” Steve asks harshly, shrugging off his king’s hand, and James feels cold ice spear up his limb at the bitter glare his knight commander pins him down with. Steve has lost his helmet, his golden hair dark with mud and blood but his eyes burn bright. “Is this worth it for you?”

“Volley!”

The word pierces through the haze and the two men collapse to their knees, ducking their heads as arrows stab into the dirt around them, the inflamed tips snuffing out as soon as they sink into wet mud.

“I want nothing more than to retreat, but they attacked first,” is his reply. He knows it’s pathetic.

He knows he’s at war because his people crave what they think is justice, because his people hate what they don’t understand.

He had been the same once.

Straightening, James jerks back as a sword tries to cleave him in two, and Steve is lost to him in the furious chaos of battle. Parrying another blow, he shoves his shoulder into his opponent’s gut and knocks him off his feet, dark hair flying into his face as he shoves the metal through the man’s stomach. The strangled scream echoes in his ears as he pulls it out with a wet schluck.

Stumbling back, James looks up to see more of his men clad in their refined red and gold armour storming down the hill, and he whips around, watching as more soldiers in gold and white fall. He can barely discern who is on his side, who is on Asgard’s.

“Well, if it isn’t the King of Kings!”

The voice, even to this day, harsh and rich with arrogance that only comes from believing their purpose is righteous, causes a fire in James to ignite.

Turning around slowly, he sees the gleaming dark armour, the stained black leather, the stench of death following his wake. Lord Rumlow scrapes the blood off one short sword with the other and James swears he can see someone’s brains along his knuckles drenched in blood as he raises his own sword.

“Rumlow.”

“How are you, m’lord?” he drawls, that knifepoint smirk digging into his cheeks as he raises one of his swords, the tip pointing for James’ eyes. Scarlet drips from the edge and James swallows the knot in his throat. He has no illusions that if given the chance, the man will stab him through the throat slowly, sinking that blade through his flesh as he watched the light die from James’ eyes and relish in it, but he is a dog.

A dog with a master.

“Where is she?” James asks, the words tearing out of his throat as he sweeps his gaze through the dying battle. The ground is littered with the fallen and he can taste death on his tongue—bitter and cold and vile. “Where is she?”

Lord Rumlow merely laughs, harsh and sharp and poisonous. He circles James like a predator circles cornered prey, slowly making his way within sword range, and James watches those dark eyes narrow in bloody glee. “As if she’d come here for you.”

“I know she is.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s dark with fury as Lord Rumlow merely cocks his head, intrigued. “I saw her on the rise.” Hair sticks to his skin and his heart is nothing more than threads barely holding together. “Please, we can end this—”

“You still love her.” It is nothing but cold, brutal truth and James flinches as soon as he hears it. It exhausts him to hear those words, to know that someone like Lord Rumlow knows what he had refused to believe, to know that he’d been the fool for years.

Lord Rumlow lunges forward, bringing his short sword down upon James’ shoulder. Blocking the blow, the king falls onto his back. Metal sings in his bones as their swords drag against each other.

James manages to drive the sword into the dirt, his lungs heaving for air as he jerks his head away from the tip. A wild glint falls into the dog’s eyes as his lips curl into a vicious snarl as James tries to throw the man off. His skin is slick with mud and blood and sweat, and James can feel the heat kiss him at all sides. It’s suffocating in his armour, clouds of hot air gathering in his back, under his arms, on his face.

Brock wrenches his bassinet off and James barely has time to prepare himself for the punch before it hits. His head snaps back into the mud, nose blooming in pain as his eyes squeeze shut to prepare for another strike, but hands merely wrap around his throat.

“How dare you claim to love her? How dare you say that after what you’ve done? You’re not even fit to say her name!”

Fingers dig deeper into his throat and James gasps for air, blood slipping down his cheeks from his nostrils. Mouth gaping, he wraps his hands around Lord Rumlow’s sleeves. The cacophony falls away, the sound of everything fading as James forces his eyes open, staring into the pits of his strangler’s eyes, and his feet kick, slip through mud.

“You. It was always you,” Rumlow murmurs. “Even after all these years, she chose you time and time again with nothing to show for it. She should’ve killed you when she had the chance.”

“What did you just say to me?” James chokes out and Rumlow laughs, sharp and his teeth are bared in a sadistic grin. 

“You’re in no position to threaten me, m’lord.”

“No, what— what do you mean?” Another fist to the cheek, James’ world spins as his head jerks sideways. He can hear his blood gurgling in his head, in his throat, as he digs his fingers deeper into Rumlow’s gloved hands.

“All these years and you still don’t know.”

Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy, Rumlow’s voice chants in James’ head.

It is all he can hear.

Black dots impede his vision as the strength drains from his body.

“She never trusted you. She could never trust you. And how could she? Your family ruined her life!”

What?

“Please, don’t—” That voice from so long ago, scratched and aching with its plea for mercy, echoes in his ears and his eyes flutter shut.

“And why would she? You won’t even fight for her honour,” Rumlow derides, a cruel laugh mutilating his words. “You don’t deserve her love. You deserve nothing!”

There’s a snap.

“Get off of him!” a voice snaps, dark with power, and the weight lifts from his chest, but it is too late.

James doesn’t recall falling into the abyss, but he knows he falls when everything goes silent.

.

“Prince James, let me introduce my daughter.”

That is how it starts, when he is nothing more than thirteen, reading in the garden’s hedge maze. The sun is golden, the wind smells like sugar and sweet fruits, and the sky is bluer than sapphires as he closes his book and looks up at the approaching man.

When he thinks on it years later, he thinks it is just as how all the fairytales, all fables, start.

He recognizes the man—a diplomat, lord of some powerful house.

The girl behind him, however, he doesn’t.

You’re wearing a dark red dress, your hair pulled elegantly away from your face, and you’ve the warmest eyes he’s ever seen. A fire ignites inside him, smoldering him from the inside out as you curtsy and he stands, his chair grating harshly against marble.

You smile at his flustered expression and he finds it beautiful.

“Your Highness.”

“My lady.”

“Your hedge maze was no challenge for me,” you proclaim and James laughs, tucking his book underneath his arm.

“And you’re good at puzzles?”

“The best.”

His heart no longer beats in his chest as your father explains that you’re simply here to shadow him in his diplomatic duties.

He had never worried about marrying a woman he didn’t know the name of, but now, as you cock your head and your smile grows sly at his shy grin, he knows you’ve stolen his heart the instant he laid eyes on you.

Any betrothal in his future will be for nothing because all he wants is to marry you.

.

It’s his seventeenth birthday and he’d spent the night before drinking smuggled whiskey and smoking rum with his friends. His head pounds now, with regret, as he tries to keep himself from falling asleep. His feast is going full swing, and he can’t quite recall ever feeling the effects of irresponsible drinking so strongly than tonight.

“Your Highness.”

You’re helping him in that regard.

“You can’t doze off, can you?”

He blinks, head jerking to you, and you smile.

“It wouldn’t be fit for a king to sleep at his own birthday feast.” Extending a hand over the table, you cock your head. “Dance with me. Perhaps then you’ll stay awake long enough to see the night to its end.” Standing, James feels blood rush through his body and he grins, placing his hand and yours and walking around the table. You tug him playfully into the center of the dance floor, the circlet gleaming in your hair.

The melodies of the band sink into his bones as he places a hand on your waist, the other interlacing with yours as he steps with the music.

“I apologize, my lady.”

“Oh, as you should.” You smile although your tone betrays it as he spins you around. Your dress floats, flares gracefully from your waist in dark green flames, matching the emerald on your sternum. A gift of his for your last birthday. “Illicit drinking without me? Honestly, it’s a crime.”

“Steve wanted to keep it a secret,” James protests as he dips you in one hand.

“Funnily enough, Lord Rogers said it was your idea.” Hoisting you back up, you send him a berating glare. “Honestly, you’ve never kept a secret from me. What’s going on, now? You’ve been ignoring me for days.”

“Nothing, bluebird,” he soothes as your hand settles on his shoulder, and a heat blossoms from your palm, through him. He could melt into your heat, the effortless hearth that stems from your very soul. His eyes settle on your confused expression, and he pulls you close, forehead knocking into yours. “I promise you. There is no secret.”

“You’re lying,” you murmur, eyes searching his. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“As are you.”

You scoff, drawing back and their noses brush as you narrow your gaze in a challenge. “You’d be surprised.” You twirl out of his reach with a parting glare, another lady taking your place and he’s surprised to see Lady Natasha smirking up at him. Taking her hand in his, he steps back into a bow while she curtsies. The music stalls for a moment as he kisses the redhead’s knuckles before it picks back up again.

“My lady.”

“She’s not very pleased, is she?” the redhead points out and James groans. “You invited her all this way and then chose to exclude her on the pre-celebration ritual.”

“Don’t tell me you’re the one who told her,” he complains, nearly stepping on Natasha’s toes but the lady quickly steps out from underneath his boot. “I’m trying to keep it all a secret. You know that.”

“I think you’re doing a terrible job of it. If you’re going to propose to her, it might be best not to act like she has the plague.”

“I haven’t!”

“Yes, you have. Don’t play the fool.” Natasha narrows her gaze, squeezing his hand painfully, and James winces. “You’ve never went a single week in the four years you’ve known her without sending her a letter and suddenly, the moment we get here, I have to listen to her complain about how you refuse to even look her in the eye and how you don’t spend any time on her, excusing it with flimsy reasons.” Shaking her head, Natasha pretends to accidentally step on James’ foot as they waltz around each other. “You’re lucky she loves you. She suspects something is wrong with you, and she’ll get it out.”

“And you didn’t tell her, did you?” James adds nervously, causing Natasha to sigh heavily, rolling her eyes. Her whole body seems to cave in with the stupidity James is apparently exuding as she sucks in a breath and tries to formulate a response not too rude for him.

“Of course not. Why would I ruin something like this for her, Your Highness?” With the last, biting word, Natasha is whisked away by a blond man with flushed cheeks and way too many drinks to be anything but a stuttering mess. James follows the redhead as she pulls Steve off the floor and sighs dejectedly, collapsing into the chair beside his best friend.

“Your birthday not all you wanted, my lord?” Steve crows as Natasha brings a goblet of wine to her mouth to hide her smile. James, with a glum smile, leans his cheek against his fist and watches you dance with another lord. He’s a bit older, one of the lords of your house, and handsome in a roguish sort of way.

Lord Rumlow, your sworn shield.

James does his best to bite his tongue when you toss your head back in a laugh and the knight grins, his obsidian eyes soft only for you.

The three friends exchange glances as you cup the knight’s cheek before slipping into the crowd just as the music ends, and James stands abruptly without a farewell to his companions. Pushing himself through the crowd, he mutters his pardons, your dress slipping between noble lords and ladies.

Breaking into the hall outside the ballroom, he doesn’t see a trace of you.

As if you’ve disappeared.

Sighing, he walks to the gardens. These halls are ones he knows well, ones he’s run through since he was nothing but a princeling escaping his nursemaid’s supposedly evil clutches. Then, as a boy after tutoring or a day out riding, and now…

He had walked you through these halls a dozen times and he still thinks you haven’t seen everything.

One place you do know, however, is the palace gardens.

The leaves are silver in the moonlight, a gentle wind rustling through the hedges as he makes his way through the hedge maze. Crickets chirp and some bird croons as he sucks in a warm summer breath. It smells heavenly, of flowers and sweet sugar, of light and clean water. He can hear the faint music from the palace, still, but the smell of hearty meats and smoke have faded to something softer, something warmer.

“James?”

Your voice pierces through the night air as he finds himself in the centre of the maze. You turn around on one of the benches to look at him, and he’s surprised by the morose expression printed onto your face.

“Are you alright?” Stepping to the bench, he sits down beside you with a frown. “Did something happen?”

“Brock was simply saying how I had to rest up tomorrow. We depart at dusk tomorrow to avoid the rebels.” You turn to him, a glumness to your face he’s not used to seeing and he takes your hands gently in his. “I’m sorry I have to leave so early. We were supposed to have the week together.”

“If the rebels are threatening the roads, it’s best you go before you can’t any longer,” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing his lips to your brow. You inhale shakily at his touch, leaning into him. “I’m sorry I can’t fix this.”

“You can’t fix everything, Bucky,” you mumble, your nose brushing against his as you pull back. James wrinkles his nose and you cup his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eye. “I just don’t think this is a war we need to fight.”

.”These magic users are dangerous—”

“Those magic users are people,” you reply hotly, pulling back and standing. You turn away from him and James’ eyebrows knit together as he stands as well. He doesn’t reach out for you, and you wrap your arms around yourself. “They’re people who’ve been treated like beasts.” Approaching you slowly, he gently sets his hands along your shoulders and you whirl around in his grasp. Your eyes search his, and he feels something in him soften at the bleeding heart he can see in your chest.

“You know I can’t change my mother’s policies. Not after how Father died.” His throat cinches shut at the mention of the father he never knew and he turns away from your palm, looking up at the summer sky. A dark indigo canvas speckled with diamonds, it’s so vast and endless, James can’t help but wonder if his father is watching down on him.

“What happened with your father, with Steve’s father, it was one incident that somehow made everyone see people with magic like freaks. One incident was all it took.” Looking down at you again, James brushes his knuckles down your cheek. “We haven’t exactly prosecuted all of mankind for one man going on a murder spree with a knife he stole from the butcher’s shop,” you say, voice snapping like a whip as you pull away. Again, you turn away from him and James feels at a loss. Every time you turn away, he feels as if he’s splitting in two and he sighs, letting his hand fall back to his side.

“We put murderers, criminals, in jail.”

“And we’ve persecuted a whole people for the same thing.” Your shoulders fall as you let out a tremendous breath, and an emptiness in James widens at the desolate aura emanating from your very being. “I should go.”

You move towards the hedges but James walks after you. “Wait! I don’t want us to depart on these terms. I have no wish for you to leave angry at me.”

You turn slowly, your dress twisting and brushing against the dirt as you shake your head, a gentle smile upon your face.

“I’m not angry at you, James,” you assure quietly, and he believes you by the earnest glint in your eyes.

“Then, may I walk you to your room, my lady?”

You dip your head, and extend a hand for him to take. Your fingers slide easily between his, and he pauses, simply admiring your face bathed in silver light. His other hand reaches to brush against your jaw and your smile grows as you cup his jaw and pull him down.

The kiss is quiet, tender, and his eyes slide shut as your hand runs through his hair, pulling back just enough to breathe.

“Promise you’ll love me,” you whisper, words as soft as silk against his lips as he presses his brow to yours. Your eyes are still closed but his flutter open, soaking in your face as if he’ll never have enough time to memorize it. You cup his face with both hands, open your eyes and stare into his soul. A wounded ache festers in your gaze and he nods. “Promise you’ll love me always.”

Drawing back, he feels your hands tremble and brings them in his own to his lips. Mouth against your fingers, he nods again. “I promise I will always love you.” Kissing your knuckles, he does not break his gaze away as your lips curl into a tender smile. Squeezing his hands, you look younger, as if a burden has been lifted off your shoulders, and in that moment, James swears he has never seen something quite so divine.

He falls to one knee, and reaffirms his grasp on your hands before digging through his trouser pocket for the ring.

“Bucky…” you begin, bemused at his antics, but then you catch sight of the ring and your breath hitches. Eyes widening, your fingers wrap tighter around his as he brings the ring up to the moonlight. In lunar rays, it glows effervescently, winking and stunning in its shallow grooves, smooth gold, and intricately shaped hands linked together. The metal bends, caves where the fingers interlace and you let out a whispering sigh as he looks up at you.

A heat rises in his cheeks and he swallows the nerves biting at his throat. He should’ve had a drink before he came out here, but then again, he hadn’t realized this would be where—

He should’ve. This is, after all, where he first fell in love with you.

“Marry me,” he says although it’s more of a question, a request, an ask for a blessing, and your smile is brilliant as you say nothing. “It is why I have been so distant lately. I’ve been trying to find the perfect execution, but it seems my own heart has betrayed me. I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you, and although I am your prince, to be your king… Do me this honour, Y/N, and be my queen.”

“Well…” Your grin digs into your cheeks as he looks up at you, and a flood of relief fills his body as you tilt your head, just as you did the first day you met him. “No more drinking without me, then I’ll marry you,” you proclaim and he laughs as you tug him onto his feet. “Promise me that.”

Sliding the ring onto your finger, he presses a warm, bruising kiss against your lips before pulling back just far enough to whisper, “You have my word.”

And then he kisses you again.

.

If, four years ago, James knew marriage would be so exhausting, he would still do it again in a heartbeat.

Your laughter, after all, is the song he wakes up to every morning.

That, or the squirming body of his son trying to get between James and you.

You laugh as his son bounces between your legs, desperate for the horse to go faster than the easy walk he paces at, and James watches as you wrap an arm around his son’s waist.

“Your stallion is ready, my king.” Turning to the stable hand, he nods his thanks and mounts easily atop the white steed, gently nudging his sides into a trot to join his family at the edge of the woods. Alpine nickers his greetings to your mare as you tug on the reins with your one hand.

“A fine afternoon,” he comments, glancing over at you as Stellan wraps his chubby hands around the handle of the saddle specifically crafted for riding with a child.

“Indeed it is, your Grace,” you tease, brushing your hair out of your face. “A fine day for riding.” Your mare bumps noses with his stallion as Stellan notices his father, clapping his hands. “The prince wants his father.” Hoisting his son out from the space between your lap, you hand him over to James with a grin.

“Papa!”

Kissing his son’s cheek, James grins when his son latches onto him, arms wrapped around his father’s neck as they start their ride into the woods. James keeps a hand on Stellan, careful not to let him fall or squirm too much.

His twenty-first year has been blessed with peace, and James can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. The rebels have been squashed into their hiding holes, and the kingdom prospers with long summers and short winters.

And his family…

He looks at you and something inside him melts. Your lips are puckered in a whistle and you repeat the bird songs chirping through the trees while the guard rides behind you, and he glances back to see Steve talking to Lady Natasha.

What joke did she tell him this time? He wonders, amused when Steve blushes at whatever Natasha said. Always flustered by whatever the bold redhead says. I hope nothing too under the skirts.

“Eyes forward, my king,” you call and he turns forward again to see you up ahead, head tilted to look over your shoulder. “We do have a clearing to reach before midday.”

“Mama?” Squirming in his arms, Stellan wriggles his way back between his father’s thighs and grabs the wooden handle of the saddle. Bouncing excitedly, the boy leans forward. “Go!” James nudges Alpine into a trot to catch up to his wife as his guard splits apart in the woods, no doubt interested in a day off simply relaxing without any drills on a sunny day like this. He’s sure some would head off to the lake for a swim while others participated in a hunt.

“Are you coming, Rogers?” a voice crows within the trees, and James grins when he hears Anthony’s squire, Peter, exclaim in pain when he hits his head on a low-hanging tree branch. “Your lady can come, too!”

“She’s not my lady, Tony!” Steve calls back as James catches up to where you’ve stopped and he pulls his reins lightly to stall as well. Glimpsing Steve’s red face, James smirks when the blond turns to Natasha. “I mean, you are my lady, my lady.”

“Aren’t you the charmer?” Natasha says dryly as the two approach the royals. Their steeds’ ears twitch and Natasha scratches her horse’s ear as you grin. “My king. My queen.”

“You do realize you are free to take the day off. We haven’t had the time to do so in ages,” you tell them kindly, your eyes darting from the lady to the lord. “Not since James has been crowned king, I feel.” Steve cocks his head when Stellan tries to reach over to him and he picks up the prince, bouncing him in his arms. “Not since this one was born for certain. You ought to take it, the both of you.”

“Spoken like a true queen,” Natasha teases. “But I agree. Diplomacy is an exhausting sport.”

“Sport? I’m sure Rhodes wouldn’t be so inclined to call it so.”

“Rhodes needs to stop and learn to relax. It’s not that complicated.”

“He knows how to relax,” James quips. “He just doesn’t take his job so lightly unlike you, Lady Natasha.”

Natasha grins, rolling her eyes before tugging the reins of her steed towards a parting in the trees. “Well, unlike Rhodes who is no doubt racing Tony to the lake, I will take a long, leisurely stroll there. Lord Rogers, if you would accompany me?”

“Of course, my lady.” Steve transfers Stellan from his arms back into his father’s, picking up his reins before dipping his head to you. “My queen.” Always with the formalities, James muses as he grabs Steve’s hand in a hearty shake farewell. “I won’t be too far away.”

“I’m counting on it,” James replies before the blond rides after the redhead, and the royals look at each other before bursting out into laughter. “God, I wonder when he’ll ever have the courage to properly ask for her hand in marriage.”

“Knowing them both, she’ll ask first,” you reply with a wrinkle of your nose and the two of you ride off into the woods.

The destination is a clearing upon a small hill, sparkling with morning dew just beginning to dry and flowers blooming in the branches. The trees part perfectly in a path down the hill to the lake and the sun casts golden shafts through the branches, the entire clearing glimmering in its blessing. The smell of fresh wind and sweet nectar fills James’ nose as you dismount beside him, lowering Stellan gently onto the grass. You unpack your saddlebag, revealing blankets and food.

James dismounts as well, patting Alpine firmly along his neck as he grabs the flagon of wine and more food from his own saddlepack while you lay the blanket gently over the grass. Feeding an apple to Alpine, he gently rubs his steed’s nose before joining his wife and son underneath the shade of a tree.

Unbuckling his belt, he rests his sword against the trunk before sinking to his knees beside you. You’re already leaning back on an arm, watching as Stellan chases a butterfly across the huge clearing and James kisses your temple, easing against the tree. You immediately lean against him, your head against his chest, and he tilts his head back to feel the breeze along his neck.

“This is wonderful,” you sigh, your hand on his chest. “Four years of nothing but non-stop madness and now we have a day to simply breathe..”

“Three years of being king, four of being a father. I don’t think I’ve ever been so exhausted,” he agrees. “Father always made it seem so effortless.”

“Well, that’s how fathers are,” you tease, glancing up at him. He looks down with a slight frown and you reach up to tap his nose. “You’ve been nothing but a perfect father to Stellan. You ought to slip before he thinks you’re some god.”

“Would that be too bad?” His nose wrinkles and you chuckle, pecking his lips before sitting upright. Stellan wanders back towards his parents, his chubby fist holding blades of grass and he tosses it at James before crawling into his mother’s lap. “He seems to be his mother’s son, anyway.”

“As he should,” you fire back, lifting Stellan up in your hands and throwing him up a few times. His high-pitched giggles cause James to smile as he leans down, brushes hair away from your forehead and kisses your brow. Tilting your chin up to snag his lips into another brief kiss, you settle your son against your chest and roll over.

“Mama, walk,” Stellan orders, and you look down at your son. “Go walk.”

“Your son’s already giving me orders,” you comment pointedly, sitting up as Stellan gets to his feet and James smirks, beginning to unpack the food.

“I think he’s more like you in that regard,” James fires back mischievously and you lightly smack his shoulder as their son grabs your hand and tugs you away. Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, you allow yourself to be lead into the forest while James carefully sets up the wine, the food. Taking a bite out of a bit of cheese, he heads to the horses who’ve been roaming the clearing and sighs.

He must cherish this day. Tomorrow, it’ll be nothing but more meetings with diplomats, advisors, and other engagements regarding the bandits along their border.

Magic still spikes fear in the hearts of his people, despite how hard you’ve tried to dissuade the notion that magic is dangerous. It’s been your one goal since you’ve been crowned his queen, a movement that has made you…

Made you controversial, to say the least.

It has definitely put you into disfavour with his mother, but James doesn’t care.

He knows your heart is in the right place, even if he himself is still afraid. There is that bravery with you, that makes him want to be brave, too, but his father...

He will never forget the sight of his dead father.

Stroking Alpine’s snout, he feels the stallion lip at his pockets, searching for treats as your mare nickers, coming over with ears perked up in interest. Turning to the mare, he grins when she snorts against his cheek.

Grinning, he simply lets the horses nudge him every which way, threads his fingers through their manes. With a deep breath, he lets the day wash over him. He closes his eyes and presses his brow against Alpine’s.

In the distance, he can hear Natasha shouting at Anthony, Steve’s loud, bright laughter.

No matter what happens, he wouldn’t change being a king for anything if it meant ruling with these people beside him.

“Wolf! Wolf! It’s the White Wolf!”

Peter’s petrified warning shout echoes through the forest and James jerks towards his voice, eyes widening. The White Wolf?

His blood freezes in his veins. The White Wolf had been lurking through their woods for the past years, a white beast larger than horses and hungrier than ten wolves that only came out at night. With blood red eyes and claws that could eviscerate through steel armour, the White Wolf is nothing short of a monster.

Never has he heard of it roaming during the day.

Until now.

“Peter!”

“Where’s the king?”

Alpine lets out a loud neigh, stomping his foot against the soft dirt as the sound of swords and steel clashing and James grabs his belt from the tree, cinching it tight around his waist as Steve appears in the parting of the trees. His thoughts immediately race towards you and Stellan, alone in the woods, and his heart leaps to his throat as he turns to Steve.

“She went out with Stellan for a walk,” James barks, brushing past Steve roughly. Behind him is the rest of his guard, stumbling up the hills in various states of undress, but they stop as soon as they catch sight of him. Ice seeps into his veins and he ignores the thought of you mauled to pieces, a tiny body beside yours. “Find your queen!”

“Yes, my king!”

Drawing their swords, the knights split off in coordinated groups, disappearing in seconds. Steve and James pair off and sprint into the woods. His blood is racing through his body, his feet flying through the grass as he hears the loud roar of the bear.

Shouting your name, shouting Stellan’s, his lungs feel like they’re about to burst as the crashing river comes into view. The sound of the white rapids, thunderous as waves crash against rock, echoes in James’ skull as he sweeps his eyes for a glimpse of you.

There’s the dark brown of wood everywhere, the same shade as Stellan’s leather vest, and his vocal cords burn as he screams over the sounds of the rapids.

“James?” He can hear his name in the distance and then there is a flash of white smudged with green and he can see Stellan bursting through the bushes on the other side of the river, followed by you. Steve raises his hand as you scoop up your son, and James rushes to the chaotic riverside. Frigid water splashes at his boots and a chill shoots up his spine. “What is it?”

“We need to head back. The Wolf is awake.”

Eyes widening, you disappear back into the woods after a quick nod, and James turns to Steve with a grimace before they start to sprint down the river. 

The only place to cross is by the lake where the river is calmer.

All he wants is to hold you in his arms.

The river calms as the trees begin to thin out once they reach the crystalline lake and Steve breaks through first just as something bursts through the bushes. Stellan’s cheeks are streaked with tears and as soon as he catches sight of his father, he runs towards you, and you tear out after him, your clothes stained with dirt and leaves, your hair a mess.

What follows is a massive beast, lunging out of the trees for you. It’s nothing but a flash of white fur and red eyes, claws gleaming in the sunlight. Drawing his sword, Steve runs into its path, bowled over with a painful clash just as James unsheathes his sword. You pick up Stellan and run up the hill, and as soon as James makes sure you’re on your way to safety, he joins Steve in the battle. The Wolf drags its claws through steel, and Steve lets out a scream, struggling to wrench its paw off of him just as James charges at the thing, running his blade through the pelt but it seems to glance off easily.

No mark stains the pelt and it swipes out a ferocious paw, knocking James aside as Steve struggles weakly, blood beginning to seep into the soil beneath. Scarlet rivulets gleam in the sunlight as James blinks his vision clear, digging his sword tip in an attempt to stand again. Terror tries to lock his limbs, but he tries to fight the swelling in his chest as he reaffirms his grip on the sword and runs at the beast once again.

The Wolf’s lips pulled back in a snarl, it leaves Steve motionless just as James tries to stab at its shoulder and it pulls back, tail thrashing. Blood drips from its maw and as James stares into the eyes of death, he wonders what he’ll see on the other side.

Hopefully, nothing.

Realistically, this will not be a painless death.

He raises his sword, and steadies his breath, sweat gathering in the hollow of his back, the seam that has stitched itself into his ribs just beginning to heal. Lungs heaving for air, he feels light-headed, near dizzy with adrenaline.

The Wolf lunges and James tries to jump out of the way too late. It catches him by the waist, drags him through the mud and his sword goes flying as teeth sink into his thigh. Grunting, he smashes his fist into the mutt’s muzzle to no avail, desperate to contain the scream trying to rip through his chest.

Black dots swarm his vision and his whole body is in flames as he raises his other leg, kicking the Wolf in the eye but it is not phased.

At least, not until something blasts it off of him.

Gasping for air, he pushes himself up and away from the Wolf that lies in a crumpled heap by the lake shore and then there is another pulse of energy, a cage of gold forming around the beast before hands hoist him up underneath his arms and drag him away.

“Are you alright?” He can hear your voice, sharp in his ear, and he turns to see you, eyes focused on the Wolf struggling to escape its prison. His whole body is aching buried deep in his bones and blooming like flowers in summer, and blood soaks through his trousers as you pull him behind a rock, dropping into a crouch beside him. “James?”

“What was that?” he whispers harshly, hand wrapping around your wrist, and your gaze jerks towards him jarringly. There is a light he does not recognize, focused, precised, glimmering in your eyes. You pull your wrist out of his grasp, turning to his oozing wound. Grabbing his hands, you push it atop the puncture, and James’ breath hitches at the warm, tingling sensation festering in his leg.

“I need to pull Steve to safety. Put pressure on that and do not move. You’ll only bleed more.” Without another word, you turn and make a lifting gesture with your hands. James cranes his head to watch a warm, golden corona surround Steve’s body and he is dragged towards them, leaving a trail of blood-soaked grass. The Wolf growls, lunges and bites, the sizzling of its energy cage filling the silence along with the clanking of Steve’s armour just as the blond is caught in your hands.

Pulling him around the rock cover, you hoist Steve up against the stone and run a glowing hand across the hemorrhaging body. Your fingers, tense and locked, seem to tremble as the blood stops flowing, and James’ eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he watches the eviscerated remains of his best friend begin to stitch together.

Turning to his own leg, he lifts his blood-red palms to see it already nearly closed, and his heart constricts as he covers it again and lets his head fall back to the stone.

Magic.

There’s the sound of branches breaking and James’ eyes snap open. Sweat pours at your brow just as he turns to look at you, and you barely flash him a smile before something snaps again and your attention is torn away.

Immediately, the stitching effect disappears and James cradles Steve’s head in his, brushes blood away from his cheek as a sharp howl pierces the air. The summer heat is thick against his cheeks as you trade blow for blow with the Wolf.

He wants nothing more than to step in beside you, but with every flash of gold, every bright burst of energy, he feels the fear he felt when he was nothing more than a child locking his legs, paralyzing his body.

Magic.

Pure, powerful magic lights up the air and he can smell it, smoke and starlight, on his tongue.

The Wolf lunges and you toss it into the lake. You send a shockwave rippling towards the hound and it merely jumps over and pins you to the ground. Its claw gouges into your chest and your scream is earth-shattering as you kick it off of you with a powerful blast from your legs. Rolling onto your hands and knees, James can see blood drip slowly down your chest, into the grass as your tattered dress blows in the gentle wind.

You seem to stare into death’s jaws, and then…

You smile.

The Wolf’s claws dig into the dirt, and then it is sprinting at you in full force just as you force yourself onto your feet.

Your name tears through his chest just as the Wolf tackles you into the lake and there is a small flash before a loud crash of water and he turns to Steve to make sure he’s still alive before stumbling to his feet to watch, and in the lake, two beasts thrash in the cold water. Jaws snap, claws drag through flesh, and he watches as a magnificent bird beats its wings, sending a rippling gale of wind through the lake. The water recedes onto the shore as fire flares and the Wolf whines in pain as talons sink into its back.

An awe fills his entire body as the gorgeous phoenix flaps its wings and takes flight, dropping the Wolf onto the shore once again and landing with delicate precision. It warbles, a gentle sound, and shakes out its feathers, droplets of silky water flying everywhere. Each quill is red-orange, near golden, and its talons glimmer with golden scales.

James’ mouth drops open as it croons at the Wolf who merely cowers in its presence. Another whimper escapes the white dog, its red eyes fading to brown and James, entranced, watches as the phoenix, wings extended, begins to sing.

A sense of melancholy seeps into his soul as the Wolf lowers its chin to its paws and the phoenix coos, the crest on its head swaying and catching the true sunlight. They shine like cut amber as its golden eyes narrow.

Then, there is another, softer glow as the phoenix buries its beak in the fur of the Wolf, and James turns away, shielding his eyes from what seems like the sun. Falling beside Steve, he looks at his best friend.

“Steve?” he murmurs, and murky blue eyes meet his just as you appear again. Magic still oozes around you like oil in the sea, and he can smell magic again, but warmer this time—like a hearth burns inside his soul. Around your shoulders is an arm attached to a young woman he doesn’t recognize in a white dress.

“Are you alright?” you ask, slowly lowering the woman to the ground as well. Reaching, you cup Steve’s face that is beginning to regain its colour, and James watches gold light up the blood beneath his skin where you touch.

Don’t touch him, he wants to say, but Steve only wakes up at the contact, eyes widening ever more so slightly.

“Y/N,” Steve rasps and your hand retreats just as you turn to the woman that’s barely stirring. James watches as you lay a hand carefully on her arm, and she raises her head groggily. Her eyes are muddy, dazed, but then they roll back and she slumps forward and Steve jerks away from the hair brushing against his hand, shuffling back against James who wraps an arm around Steve. “I thought death held me for certain.”

“It almost did, old friend,” James replies, eyes wandering to you. “And the Wolf?”

“She needs time to recover,” you reply, delicately brushing hair away from the girl’s face and James’ eyebrows rise in shock.

His whole body is wracked with fatigue, but his mouth drops open when he gets a glimpse of the necklace hanging around the girl’s neck. “I remember her. Seven years ago, House Starr reported their daughter was missing to Mother. They never found her.”

“At least not until now. I need to bring her to healers,” you say, standing and lifting the girl with surprising ease. James struggles to his feet, pulling Steve up, and your eyes soften at him as you try to smile, but the blood, the still-fading glint in your eyes, sends chills through his body.

Magic…

“We’ll need to speak later.” You dip your head in farewell before walking to the lakeshore, and Steve groans, his entire body deadweight against James’ shoulder and the king grunts, doing his best to keep him standing.

“Bluebird, wait—”

You glance at him over his shoulder, and there is a sorrowful sweetness resting in your face, a tenderness in your smile, a grief in your gaze.

Then, a golden sparks carve a line into the air, sizzling against the grass as it carves a portal into this reality. You turn forward and walk through.

It closes before he can follow.

.

His mind is cluttered, his ears full of beeswax, and he doesn’t know what is real.

Steve had been rushed to the hospital wing to be swarmed by doctors, the other knights anxious yet relieved to see both the king and their knight commander alive and safe.

He doesn’t miss the fact that Rumlow is not among those men.

In fact, he is missing, and not a single soul has heard from him.

Buried in his bones is an ache James cannot ignore. His chest feels like it’s splitting open, his ribs snapped, and as he stares at his reflection in the cheval mirror, he swallows the hard lump in his throat.

The teeth marks are already closed, scarring over yet there’s still a residual pulse of pain when he prods at it.

He doesn’t know whether or not to be enraged, relieved.

All he knows is emptiness.

“Are you alright?” Startled, James drops his pant leg and turns around to see you standing there, eyes wide and a tentative smile upon your lips. His breath catches in your throat and his eyes immediately go to his hands that you clasp before you. “James?”

“What are you doing here?” he asks, feather soft and you walk closer, your footsteps light. “Where is the Wolf?”

“Lady Ava is fine. I’ve brought her to some healers on the border of Asgard and Midgard. It was some curse inflicted upon her as a child. Parental mishap, it seems but she’ll be fine with time,” you inform quietly, your gaze dipping to your hands as you twist the ring, the ring he had given you, around your finger. “Is Steve…”

“He’s alive,” he replies stiffly, brushing past you and you turn around with him, lips twisted into a worried frown. “Thank you,” he adds quietly, genuinely. His mind is a whirlwind, his heart racing in his ears, and he can’t help the sensation that seizes his chest, the awareness of where your hands move. “Without you, he would’ve died.”

“Steve is family.” Walking up behind him, James can feel you come close. His entire body tenses, and he faces the wall, eyes slip shut. Bright blasts of gold ignite in his mind, followed by a ravaged village he had seen on his tour of his kingdom. At the hands of magic.

Hands of your kind.

He forces the next words out between gritted teeth, the words coming out flat, stoic.

“Go, before someone tells the truth about you.”

“James, you can’t possibly—” You touch his shoulder and James flinches away, whirling around to face you. Your eyes widen at the reaction, and you withdraw your hand back, stumbling to the wall. “You’re afraid of me.”

“You’re magic,” he whispers, voice wavering and you swallow audibly. Your hand shakes through the air as you retract it to your chest, and he watches the pulsing wound along your collarbone slowly stitch itself together, the flesh leaving no mark. Magic. “Of course I’m afraid of you.”

“James—”

“And Stellan,” he cuts you off cleanly, trying his best not to shake when your eyes widen, wet with tears. You blink and they fall, crystalline in the low light. You’re shaking, your entire body trembling as the two of you stand on opposite sides of the small room. “Is he…”

“Magic?” you finish for him and your voice is void of life, defeated. Your hands drop to your sides and you seem to stand straighter under his gaze as you stare at him. “After all this time, you’re still afraid of magic. You won’t even let me explain.” Your expression crumbles and you turn your face away, rubbing at the tears tracking down your face. An incredulous, sharp exhale fills the silence and James feels something inside him split open.

“Would you? Explain, that is.”

His heart wilts, his lungs collapse. His ribs seem to ache as you wipe at your face, the soft sounds of your uneven breathing filling the silence. He can feel your gaze, hot and desolate and aching against his cheek as he closes his eyes.

All he can see is his father’s splayed body, the blood soaking through the mud.

“You keep this secret from me, and expect me to trust you with the truth?”

“James…” you whisper softly, and his gaze jerks to yours jarringly. Your glassy eyes seem to stare right through him and he swallows through the bruising in his throat as he tries to hold back his own tears. “Please—”

“How could you not tell me?” he croaks, and you inhale, a shuddering, sharp thing. His chest is cracked open, his limbs are numb yet every bone in his body is solid lead. “How could you keep this from me?”

“Because I know you.” 

Your words are empty in the summer air.

There is a moment of silence as everything James knows shatters around him. If he listens close enough, he can hear the shards of it colliding with the stone beneath his feet, breaking into uncountable pieces.

“Go,” he says softly, and he can’t bear to look at the devastation his words cause. “I’ll say you died in the attack, so you have enough time to leave the kingdom. Take Stellan and do not return.”

“James, no. He’s your son. Please, don’t—”

“I said, go!” The loudness of his voice shocks him and he flinches back into the wall at the eerie quiet that follows.

There is the only sound of uneven breathing, the cacophony of hearts breaking, and you step forward, the fabric of your tattered dress brushing against the floor. He can see your shadow in the candlelight, reaching for him, before you jerk back and he closes his eyes, burning tears dripping down his cheeks.

The door groans when you push it open, as if the castle is reluctant to let you leave, but then it opens and you slip out.

The door closes shut with a soft, yet thunderous boom.

.

“The King is awake!”

James’ head blisters with pain, and it only intensifies at the voice as he blinks his eyes open. The ceiling of his room is not unfamiliar, neither is the mattress he’s beginning to wear uneven beneath his back.

All these years and he never could sleep on your side of the bed.

“James!” Doors open and hands rush to help him sit up, and he groans, eyes squeezing shut when his head sways. His whole world slants and the taste of vomit burns at his throat as he slowly opens his eyes again, and he catches sight of Natasha’s red hair. The bright light streaming into his room makes his head pulse and he turns away, hand rising like it’s dragging through molasses.

“The light,” he rasps, and Natasha, who holds him by the elbows, turns to whomever is with her.

Darkness falls in his room.

“James.” Steve. “Are you alright?”

“What… how am I here?” His tongue is thick in his mouth, dry and raw, and his vocal cords twinge at his voice.

“Rumlow almost killed you,” Steve begins quietly as more people enter the room. “We lost men, but won the battle once they surrendered.”

“Surrendered?” Frowning, James’ brow wrinkles and he feels something split open with a stinging sensation digging into his skull. He hisses out, reaching to touch it but Natasha guides his hand away. “Fuck. Where—”

“In the dungeons. Waiting for you whenever you’re ready.” Natasha’s voice is soothing to the thumping in his skull.

“Help me stand.”

“Wait. Give yourself a few moments to regain your bearings,” Steve murmurs but James shakes his head despite how terribly it increases the agony chipping into his head.

“No—”

“James.”

“If she’s there, I need to see her.” Letting go of Natasha’s hand, he swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, hands clutching onto the edge of his bed.

“James.”

“What?” he barks, head snapping to Steve and Natasha who look at each other with an apprehension. “Steve…” Something drags at his gut and his eyes widen in fear. Ice sluices through his chest. The silence becomes suffocating and with every passing second, he feels the world darken in on him.

No. No, no, no, no—

“She’s not there.”

“Where is she?”

“James, sit down.”

The ice melts into magma, and he thrashes off Natasha’s gentle hand. 

“Where is she?”

.

Peter’s cabin is small, but warmly furbished for a squire. He lets them in before excusing himself to the castle, and James feels like he’s chained to a solid steel ball by the ankle. His limbs are wrought with bruises, and his head sways with every step as Natasha and Steve help him in.

He can see you through the open door to Peter’s room, and his breath stops in his chest.

Your body is hunched over a bed, a blanket draped over your shoulders as the sun washes over your body. You don’t stir at the entrance of the trio and James lets out the breath, the string lancing through his body snipped when you don’t immediately move. You’re dressed in oversized clothes, trousers and a linen shirt hanging off your shoulders. Your hair is slick with oil, and he can smell the poultices that must’ve been slathered onto any wounds from where he walks slowly deeper into the room, his fingers deep in Natasha’s and Steve’s arms.

“Steve,” Natasha murmurs, and she brings James’ hand to Steve before approaching the bed slowly. Steve leads James to a couch by the small hearth but James’ eyes don’t stray from Natasha as the redhead approaches your sleeping form. He cranes his head to watch through the doorway, and his blood rushes to his head, dizzying.

“Why is she here?” James whispers, voice fleeting just as Natasha lays a hand on your shoulder and you jerk up, a soft blue corona flaring around your being and Natasha raises her hands, walking around the bed. Narrowing his gaze, James tries to decipher who lays there as you stand on unsteady feet, rub at your face.

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask quietly and the sound of your voice, deeper, mature, strikes James, pulls him apart at the seams. Standing on unsteady feet, his legs knock into a table as he rushes towards the bedroom despite Steve’s attempts to grab him, and he stumbles to the door frame, his head spinning.

His vision blurs, and his head feels like it’s bashed in, but he doesn’t miss the colour of your eyes, the way your head turns to look over your shoulder.

Lightning strikes his core when your gaze fixes on his. There’s so much about you that is the same since the last time he’s seen you. Thirteen years and you’ve only grown more beautiful, more graceful. The little wrinkle in your brow as you look at him, the tightness in your lips as you frown.

“James.”

Even the way you say his name is the same.

What isn’t, though, is the fear.

He knows what fear looks like on your face, the way it floods your eyes, the way it can’t show on the rest of you because you are a queen and untouchable, but for it to be directed at him…

His head is heavier than bricks on his shoulders as you back up until your legs touch the bed, and your arms are spread.

Is this how he looked at you all those years ago? As if he holds a knife to his throat and digs the blade deeper with every second?

“What is he doing here?” you ask, scratchy and you clear your throat, not tearing your gaze away from him for a second. James stays by the door, a cold hand wrapped around his ankle, keeping him there no matter how much he wants to move.

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Oh, you’ve done plenty.” Your voice, pure fire, sears through his chest as you narrow your gaze. “Go.”

“Y/N—”

“I said, leave.” Although no magic flares at your fingertips, there is a shift in the way the light plays in your eyes and James’ throat closes up at the way your eyes glisten. “Don’t you think your family has done enough?”

“You’re my family.”

“No, I wasn’t,” you whisper. Natasha’s head is bowed, but her eyes still watch the scene with an uncanny glint. Even if she is your friend, she will no doubt step between you and him. Catching the woman’s gaze, James tilts his head towards the door. Eyes widening, the red lady dips her head and slowly makes her way between them, her gaze slowly dragging across James’ expression but he remains solely focused on you.

Your eyes do not stray from him either.

Walking in slowly, he closes the door behind him and his eyes flicker to the figure in the bed. Their face is cloaked in shadow, but he can see dark hair illuminated by the candle. Eyes narrowing, he tries to discern who it is.

Perhaps it is Rumlow, and he has made a tremendous error.

“Why are you here?” you whisper tightly between clenched teeth, and his eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been thirteen years and you’ve fixed nothing.”

“I didn’t know Asgard was ruled by you,” he begins. “I didn’t know until I saw you on the rise. If I had known—”

“What? Would you have attempted peace? Or would you have tried to conquer us again like your father did?” Your expression is wracked with agony as he steps closer, and you inhale softly, shakily. “Stay away from me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stay away—”

“Bluebird—”

“Do not think me so soft that I will listen to you because you call me that.” Your words become thin, choked. “I gave you my terms, and you didn’t choose peace, just as your father did.”

“Your people are hostile.”

“And yours murdered mine. King Thor died two moons ago and the only suspect is a Midgardian” Her words hang coldly before him and he pauses in the middle of the room. “As his successor, it was only natural to want justice.”

“Why you? Why not anyone else in his court?”

“Because I was not just Midgard’s queen,” you say, finally pulling your gaze away to sit down on the edge of the mattress and turning to the figure on the bed. You touch their face, but do not tilt them to the light. “Your father tried to conquer Asgard when I was young, four or five. I was playing with my brother in the streets, my mother watching over us. I didn’t know what was happening until we heard the screams.”

James hears the tiny, trembling breath in your throat as you run your hand down the figure’s cheek.

“It was too late before we knew to run. My mother took my brother and ran, and I did my best to follow, but they just kept running after us until we separated.” Your voice goes quieter, glass-like. “I found their bodies, my mother’s hunched over Loki’s as she tried to protect him. I can still see their blood, taste it in my mouth. It felt like the entire city burned before allied Jotunheim forces arrived and chased your people out of our land.”

“Y/N—”

Your gaze finally turns to him, and he does not recognize the pitifully small girl in them, the shivering, broken girl in the rain and smoke staring back at him. “They ran through the streets like rats. I could hear them shouting in fear as they froze to death, and I thought I was going to die, too, until Brock found me. He was… he was the knight commander’s squire, and he told me I had to run.”

“So he knew all this time.”

“Of course he did. He was sworn to protect me,” you murmur, and the way your voice flips makes James’ eyebrows rise.

“He loved you, you know?”

“I know he wanted revenge. I know he wanted me to kill you at every turn. I don’t know if he could have ever picked me over the other,” you whisper, eyes drifting and finding his again. Your eyes have softened with an unspoken agony, and the candlelight plays with your face, making you simultaneously younger and older all at once. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Your silence is his answer and, this time, when he comes closer, his hand against the wall, you don’t protest.

“I’m sorry.” He cranes to catch a glimpse of the face, and sees a younger face, at rest yet ashen with death. Eyebrows knitting together, he looks to you again and it’s breathtaking the way you gaze at him. Effortlessly in anguish, terrible in your grace. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“James—”

“Forgive me.” Pushing off the wall, he falls to his knees before you and bows his head, heat rushing to his face. Head submerged in his own shame, he can feel his shoulders shake before the tears come and his throat clots as he plants his hands into the ground. “Forgive me.” A worm in his gut wriggles its way up his throat and he feels sick to his stomach as he keens over, presses his brow to the wood. “I never meant this. I don’t know—where? How did we get here, bluebird? How?”

“James.” Your voice, strong yet tender, commands you to look up at him, and his face is kissed by cold wind as he wipes at his tears. “Come sit beside me.” Raising to unsteady feet, he collapses beside you and your arm immediately wraps around his shoulders, your other hand brushing hair away from his slick cheeks, his tear-stained eyes. “You know how we got here.” Your thumb brushes over his lip and a sense of warmth fills his hollow being. Thirteen years without your warmth, and now, he drowns in it.

Your hand flattens against his cheek and guides your gaze as you twist to reveal the face on the bed. With your free hand, you tilt the boy’s face towards him.

His entire body freezes as the boy murmurs, eyebrows knitting together and turning away.

“Stellan…” Standing, he rushes around to the other side of the bed to get a better look of him, and reaches with trembling hands toward his son’s face. A large cut is drawn into his stem and disappears beneath his shirt, and a rage fills his soul. He’ll kill the man who tried to kill his son. “My son—”

Who looks just like him in nature, the same jaw and nose. 

“—has grown into a man,” you say, and James wrenches his gaze to you. A sweet sorrow resides in your face as you smile. Holding Stellan’s face in his hands, James entire body alights with energy, with a breathless wonder. “And knows his father enough to save his life.” You thumb over Stellan’s cheek, your fingers barely brushing James’, golden magic spiralling beneath your hand like branching ivy, and the boy mumbles under his breath, turns to the warmth. He fights the instinct to flinch, and simply lets your magic caress his knuckles. It tickles, then melts like warm chocolate against him. “And he got a sword stem to stern for it.”

“He killed Rumlow?” James looks to you, his hands drawing away from his son’s face, and the warmth is chased away.

“It was instant. Brock felt no pain. It was all I could do to save Stellan,” you say, struggling to keep your voice even. “I don’t want us to fight, anymore, James. Bucky,” you correct yourself with a small smile, and his heart pangs as you reach for his hand across the bed. No one has called him that in years. “But if this is what happens when our people mingle, perhaps it’s best we stay apart.”

“I don’t want that,” he whispers, taking your hand and you study him with knitted eyebrows. “I don’t want to be apart from you for another moment.”

“Then, promise me you’ll fix this.” Your voice, barely a whisper and shaking, is strung with a strength he knows you have, and he looks to you, a queen all on your own.

You have never needed him, but he needs you. Your hand in his tells him as much as you weave your fingers carefully with his, and he wants to hold you tight, hold his son again.

Thirteen years have left him cold, nothing more than a skeleton in a flesh prison.

“I promise.”

At his words, your expression seems to ease, and then a shyer, girlish smile curls at your lips.

“And promise you’ll love me always.”

“I promise.”

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Carnival of Hearts (Part 1/6) ~ Bucky x Reader  College!AU

A/N: Hello my lovelies! I hope you’re all doing well and staying safe. I’m here with a new series because I have no self control. If you’ve been here for a while then you know this is my typical behavior but if you’re new my apologies. Good news, I do have specific plans on what I’m tackling, so hopefully things will happen soon. But I do have a lot of (good thankfully) things going on in my family life so it’s a bit chaotic. 

This is my entry for @buckysknifecollection ‘s 3k Follower Challenge. Congrats on the milestone lovely! Go check out the blog. Personal fave is Hush (a must read if you’re into soft!Biker!Bucky) 

Prompt: Our friends set us up on this carnival date but we’re both pining after someone else and this a bit awkward

Summary: When you’re set up on a carnival date with Bucky Barnes NOTHING turns out the way you expected. 

Rating: T 

Warnings: Language 

Word count: 1074

“I have found you the perfect guy,” Nat announced as she flounced into your room.

“Oh joy, oh happy day. I shan’t die unwed,” you deadpanned without looking up from your book.

You squawked indignantly when she flicked your ear and yanked your book away from you.

“What the hell? I was reading.”

“I’m serious,” she huffed. “I had lunch with Wanda today and she mentioned that she has a friend she thinks would be perfect for you, and after scoping him out I have to agree.”

“Wonderful. Can I have my book back now?”

“His name is Bucky,”

“Someone actually named their kid Bucky?”

“It’s a nickname. And he’s a sweetheart,” she continued, ignoring you. “He’s a linguistics major. Minor in creative writing. You’re really gonna like him.”

“I’m sure I would if I were actually going to go out with him.”

“Oh come on. You haven’t been on a date in over a year.”

“Which should have been your first clue that I didn’t want to get set up. I’m enjoying single life. Thanks ever so much.”

You plucked the book from her hands and rolled over onto your back, trying to find your page.

“Sitting here pining over your best friend is not enjoying single life.”

“Number one, I’m lying down. And number two, I’m not pining over you. Though you certainly are a sight for sore eyes.”

You batted your eyelashes at her flirtatiously. She rolled her eyes and took your book again only to swat you with it.

“Cute. You know that’s not which best friend I’m talking about.”

You sighed and sat up, moving back against the headboard, slightly out of reach.

“I’m not pining over Steve either.”

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest weren’t very convincing.

“Y/n, you know I love you and I just want what’s best for you, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then just trust me and go on a date with Bucky. He’s exactly what you need.”

You sighed.

“You’re not going to let this go. Are you?”

Her smile was triumphant.

“Nope. And I’ve made it as easy as possible for you. He’s going to be your date to the carnival.”

“But Steve and I are going to the carnival together.”

It was tradition. It was not a date.

Unfortunately.  

“Not until after Steve finishes volunteering. This is the deal. You, me, Wanda, and Bucky all meet. If you hate him immediately I’ll let you bail. But otherwise you hang out for a few hours; we’ll all meet up for lunch. And then you can spend the rest of the night with Steve. Deal?”

You mulled it over. It wasn’t the worst deal. Your date would have a set end point if it wasn’t going well. And if it did go well you had a buddy to go on rides with while Steve was working.

“And I promise not to set you up again for a month,” she added.

“For the semester,” you countered.

“Fine. Deal.”

“Deal.”

You shook on it.

“Excellent. I’ll tell Wanda to give him your number.” 

“Buck, you home?” Wanda called as she let herself into the apartment.

“In my room,” he shouted back.

Picking up a few stray papers, Wanda stacked them neatly on the coffee table before heading down the hall towards Bucky’s room. He was hunched over, scrawling in a notebook.

“Academic or inspired?” she mused.

“A little of both. I really liked the flash fiction prompt we got in class today.”

“What was it?”

“Everyday romance.”

“What’s your story about?”

She smiled fondly at the shy excitement blossoming on his face.

“It’s kinda weird.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“It’s a series of descriptions of everyday items, but the descriptions are the way it’s special. Like: coffee in a novelty mug purchased at gift shop in Hawaii. The brew was set seven minutes ago with two teaspoons of sugar. Just the way he liked it,” he read aloud.  

“That’s really sweet. You really do have a way with words.”

Bucky beamed.

“Thanks. So what brings you over?”

She perched on his desk, legs swinging back and forth.

“I have found the perfect girl for you.”

He rolled his eyes before she finished speaking.

“Wanda, I don’t need you to set me up.”

“Buck, you should be out experiencing love instead of only writing about it.”

“I’m just not looking for someone right now.”

“Then how come you went on a shitty date with Dot last weekend?”

“It wasn’t a date. We just went to dinner.”

“On a Saturday night in Little Italy.”

“She just wanted to thank me for my help with her paper.”

She leveled him with her stare.

“You don’t actually believe that do you?”

He silently met her gaze before crumpling.

“Okay, no. So it was a date, but it was enough of a failure for me to not want to do it again any time soon.”

“Or you can go out with the very sweet girl I’ve picked out for you.”

“How do you even know her?”

Wanda smirked, knowing that if he was asking he would likely agree to it.

“I don’t personally. She’s Nat’s best friend.”

Bucky’s brow disappeared into his hairline.

“Mainlines vodka and coffee and still has a 4.0 Nat?”

“Yup. That’s the one.”

“Not exactly my type.”

“Well, she’s the opposite of Nat so that works perfectly.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Why are you forcing this, Wan?”

“Because you deserve to be happy and I can’t watch you go on another shitty date. Although that’s a lot better than pining I suppose.”

“Fine,” he conceded, not wanting to argue that particular point.

He never won that argument.

“Give me her number. I’ll set something up.”

She plucked a card from the front pocket of her purse and handed it to him.

“Here you go. But the date’s already set up. You two are going to the carnival together.”

“That’s in two days.”

“Do you need more time to fix your hair?”

“Wanda,” he growled.

“I’m teasing. Relax. We were going anyway. Look, it’s super low pressure this way. You meet her in the afternoon and if it doesn’t work out, you say goodbye when we meet up for lunch. I will give you a built in out.”

“Promise?”

She smiled warmly at his innocent pout.

“Cross my heart.”

“Alright. Fine.”

“Great. You’re gonna love her. I promise she’s exactly what you need.”

A/N: This one is gonna be fun. Hoping to finish and have it queued to post regularly soon, but wanted to get this part out there. I hope you enjoyed! 

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[alyxkbrl]

A Little Accident

Summary: What starts like a great day is disrupted by one mistake, making you feel like all is lost. But you’re saved by your own personal hero.

Warnings: slightly suggestive content / a bit of angst / mostly fluff

Word count:  901

A/N: This is my entry to @buckysknifecollection 3k writing challenge. Congratulations Ellie!  My prompt was your red (piece of clothing) tinted all of my white clothes pink.  It went in an AU kind of direction, but nothing is defined. If you think some of it feels vague, that’s on purpose.

My thank you and all my love to my beta and bestie @constip8merm8​ 💜 What would I do without you?

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Sam’s Halloween party ended late.

Still, Bucky insisted on walking home. He held your hand all the way back, only slowing down two or three times to sniff your hair or kiss your temple.

As soon as your front door was locked, his lips found yours in the darkness and his hands roamed all over your costume trying to find a way to get it off of you.

“Where’s the zipper in this thing?” he mumbled against the skin of your neck.

Laughing at his eagerness, you pulled him by the tie of his mobster costume and led him to the bedroom.

“Wake up baby girl.”

You felt the heaviness of reality drag you away from your dream. The sweetness and warmth of the apple pie lingered on your tongue. His words halted the spoon, halfway to your mouth, full of decadent ice cream. 

He was unstoppable, even on Sundays.

The harsh rays of sunlight hit your eyes from the window he unapologetically opened.

Squinting, you picked his pillow and threw at him.

“Hey, I let you sleep until ten. Time to be productive.” he said, crawling over to plant a kiss on your lips.

“You have to remember that you kept me awake until the wee hours of the morning. It would have been criminal not to give me some extra time in bed.” 

His minty breath hit your cheeks as he laughed.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Good. So you’ll get up and take care of the chores today, right? I made those breakfast quesadillas you like. And there’s fresh coffee.”

“My hero!” you cooed, but your smile waned as you considered what he said. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Couldn’t. Got that recipe in my head and I think your idea of adding spices will make it even better. I’ll be in the workshop trying to get it right. Don’t expect me for lunch, I’ll figure something out.”

“I hate it when you do that.”

“I know. But the sooner I get it right, the sooner I’ll actually sleep.” he said, getting up.

“You know, you’ve been on and on about this pie, I actually dreamed I was eating it. With that ice cream you made for Steve’s birthday that was super smooth...”

“I’m not sure those flavors would go very well together. I used coconut milk to make that one.”

“Oh.” you pouted.

“You’re a freak.” he said, walking out of the room.

“Says the man who loses sleep over apple pie!”

“Get up and get workin’!” he yelled from the kitchen, on his way to his “workshop”.

After a whole day of dusting, mopping, cleaning Alpine’s litter box, leaving your kitchen as shiny as you liked and your windows as transparent as you could, the only thing left to do was to put the clothes forgotten in the washing machine to dry.

Frowning as you approached the machine, you wondered if you had forgotten to wash the whites too. A pink piece of fabric glared at you from the little glass door while on top of the dryer lay a basket with all of the colored clothes ready to be folded.

Slowly you sank to your knees, pulling an empty basket close.

Taking a deep breath you opened the door of the washing machine and started pulling clothes out.

One by one you shook them before adding them to the pile of pink which used to be white.

As you pulled the last blouse, you found the culprit.

Bucky’s red tie, a cheap, ugly, last minute thing to complete his mobster costume.

You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or if you wanted to cry.

“Babe?” came his voice from somewhere in the house. 

His steps fast approaching halted completely as he reached the laundry room.

Your eyes met his and that’s when the first tear fell.

“I ruined them!!!”

He darted to your side and sat next to you.

“What happened?” he said quietly, taking the tie from your hands and bringing you over to his lap.

“I didn’t pay attention. Now they’re all ruined.” you whispered. “Your red tie tinted all of my white clothes pink.”

He was quiet for a minute.

“They’re just clothes, okay? We can make a date out of shopping for new ones. Whatcha think?” he said, holding one of your hands.

“You hate shopping.”

“But I love spending time with you.”

He brought your chin up so you’d look him in the eye then cupped your cheek, drying the tear there.

“Now, will you come upstairs with me? I have a new creation to be taste-tested and I need my best girl to try it for me.”

“You did it?”

“Yeah. And after you give me your verdict, there’s a new coconut ice cream you inspired me to make.” he smiled and shook his head at the weird combination.

“And then we’ll have pizza for dinner. I really don’t feel like cooking.” you said, deflating a little.

“Sam really wants to try a piece of the pie so he’s bringing dinner. Is that okay with you?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

“Bucky! That’s more than okay!!”

“You sure? There’s going to be a lonely can of pineapple and ham at the pizzaria, waiting for your call.”

“Stop it. You know I hate it.” you complained, smacking his chest playfully. “I love you Bucky Barnes.”

He was still smiling wide when he replied: “I love you too baby girl.”

[captain-kelli]

Healing Through Music

Title: Healing Through Music

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Type: Challenge // One-Shot

Word Count: 958

Summary: After the Battle of New York, you perform at a fundraising benefit hosted at the newly dubbed Avengers Tower where you meet Steve Rogers for the first time.

Warnings: grief

A/N:  This outrageously late one-shot is for @buckysknifecollection​‘s writing challenge! Again, I am so sorry this due date slipped my mind. Congratulations on the followers and I hope you enjoy it! 

Prompt: Walk Me Home by Pink

The city almost glitters on nights like this. Across the horizon, the twinkling lights of skyscrapers replace the stars in the sky. The view from the balcony reminds you, even after all that has happened, New York can still take your breath away.

The venue is a far cry from your usual haunts in the East Village. Dive bars and jazz clubs are far more comfortable, familiar. Yet here you are at Avengers Tower performing at a fundraising benefit in front of hundreds of people anyway. Because it was the one thing you could do to honor the city you called home.

Joining the band on the stage, you cradle the microphone in your hands as your eyes flutter shut. Forcing images of the Chitauri ravaging all of Manhattan out of your mind, you listen to the drums and count the beats. It’s a simple thing, but the meditation has kept you sane these past few months.

In truth, this will be the first time you have performed since the attack. It felt indelicate to do it before and you weren’t entirely sure you could have done it without crying, but now… you’re just happy to drown out the wails of the sirens with a song.

With the battered skyline at your back, you summon every ounce of strength you have to entertain the audience before you.

When you open your eyes to sing the first verse, they’re met with a pair of blue ones in the back of the crowd. Unlike the smile on the man’s face, they hold a certain melancholy. A misery known by victory that still comes with loss. It’s a kindred kind of pain that all New Yorkers seem to share these days. 

You give him a knowing nod and continue on with your number. As the melodies dance throughout the flock of people, your gaze keeps finding its way back to him. You’ve seen him before, of course. Anyone who watched the news had.

The hometown hero who came back from the dead to save his city. 

His stare along with the beat of the drums are physical anchors in an emotional fog. The guilt of surviving and the grief for those gone are held at bay long enough for you to weave lyrics together in an effort to heal yourself and the people standing before you. To heal him. 

The way you heard it, the serum injected in his veins all those years ago will mend any injury he sustains. It explains the lack of visible proof of the battle on his body - no bruises or scars. No broken limbs. 

But you suspect he’s hurting all the same.

Your voice carries across the night sky and you manage to hold it together through a few more songs. After your set, with an invitation from Tony Stark himself, your bandmates decide to stick around at the party. It’s a nice gesture, but you gently decline. With a tight-lipped smile, you bow out of the evening.

No one argues. No one protests. They all understand. Parties like this, even for a good cause, give the guise of normality when you feel anything but normal. Performing? No problem. But small talk? Smiling? That’s asking too much. 

Walking to the train station, you examine the carnage still littering the street. Officials are cleaning it up as fast as they can, but while it’s here, it’s a reminder. You’re lost in thoughts of aliens and shattered glass when you hear jogging footsteps behind you.

“That last song was a new one, wasn’t it?”

He slows his pace to meet yours when he catches up to you. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his voice is a bit low. In a moment, the shared sadness connects you, tethering you together. 

“Yeah. How’d you know?” Your steps slow, your sights firmly set on the pavement below you. The song was written for a fallen friend, collateral damage in an intergalactic fight that was never hers. Not that he needed to know.

“Hadn’t heard it before.”

At this, you allow yourself to glance his way. The blue in his eyes is even more piercing up close and it stuns you along with his response. When had the good captain listened to your music?

“Didn’t know you were a fan.”

A laugh. It’s quick, quiet. Almost under his breath. Surrounded by tragedy, it’s proof that things can still be good. That happiness can exist amongst all of this sorrow. 

“Are you kiddin’ me? Tony plays your stuff nonstop. He says it helps with… everything.”

An unbelieving smile creeps across your face as you arrive in front of Grand Central Station. It’s in shambles, but the trains are still functioning because nothing can hold New York down. 

And here, in the middle of the city you love, you learn the songs you sing are helping someone. Tony Stark, of all people.

“I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers.”  He sticks out a hand for you to shake and you do. In its grasp, you don’t feel quite so alone. 

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Steve.”

Rocking on your heels, you wait for what happens next. You could get on your train, head back to the village to sit in an empty apartment. Wrestle with the grief and the memories and the pain. Or…

“Any chance you’re hungry? There’s a Greek place a block up that I know is open late.”

Another smile. This time, the joy reaches his eyes and it’s electric. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The rest of the walk is quiet, peaceful in a way. It isn’t until you reach the restaurant’s doors that Steve speaks up again.

“Just so you know, your music helps me, too.”

[megthemewlingquim]

S. T. A. Y

Summary: You and Bucky have a quiet, sensual moment. With his length still inside of you.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Prompt: "cockwarming"

Warnings: cockwarming, the endings (and beginnings) of sexy times, smut, one use of the S-H word, two references to Interstellar, one of them being the title

A/N: This is for @buckysknifecollection 's Writing Challenge! Thank you for letting me join, baby! I meant for this to be a shorter one.

For a while, all you do is breathe.

Breathe in each other's air as you lay there in the sweaty sheets.

Breathe in the smell of sex.

Breathe in, and out, as the warmth in your nether regions fades.

A sigh, then, from James. A breathless sigh as he moves to lay with you, wrapping his muscular arms around your torso. "Sweetheart," he whispers, letting your head fall into the space between his neck and shoulder, kissing your forehead with a barely—there kiss.

The praise and the gentle actions make your chest warm with love, and you smile as he moves to completely smother you with his own body, dragging his leg to rest over your waist.

And these are the times you love the most; the ones where all you can do is accept the love that he gives you. It seems a little selfish in your mind, but you know that Bucky doesn't mind.

It's dark in the room, and yet you can still see your lover as he gazes down at you with the utmost admiration and adoration...

His eyes flick downwards to your privates, and your breath hitches as you feel his length teasing your folds again.

"Shh," he breathes, "it's alright. Can — can I do this?"

You give him the ghost of a nod, and he slides inside of you easily. The feeling is familiar, but it still knocks the wind out of you. And then he just stays there, letting his held breath out of his parted lips. Even that breath oozes with wonder and awe, all for you.

"Shit, honey," he gasps. "Oh..."

"You like that?" you whisper. The thought and action of him inside you and just staying there makes you melt in his embrace again.

He nods. "Let's just... let's just stay here for a little."

"OK."

And you do. You stay in Bucky's warm and tight embrace, and his length stays inside of you — it's still hard, you notice — , and you keep feeling each other's breaths in your ears. It's peaceful and it is quiet. A little piece of Heaven.

"I love you," you say suddenly. "I love you, James."

It's not a rare statement, obviously. You like to say it to each other both in random, normal moments and ones like these, where you are so close you can feel each other's breaths on your lips, even if your lips are not connected.

You'll never get tired of seeing Bucky's reactions to hearing that. At first he looks awed, stunned, fully incapable of accepting the love that you give him. When you say it a second time, with his real name at the end, that reminder of his purity and a past life that he very much can go back to, his gaze softens and he smiles. Maybe even he sniffs as he holds back some tears.

"I don't deserve you," he mutters. "I really don't."

"Yes," you say. "Yes, you do."

He says nothing. His eyes flick all over you, and he kisses you, his lips so gentle on yours. It's a thank you.

"I love you forever," he says. He thrusts, gently, then, and you gasp, your own body still sensitive from earlier. He holds you tighter, locking your entire body in an embrace as he rocks into you. "I love you forever, you k—know that?"

Your gasps and whimpers are his answers, as well as what your fingers do; they clutch to his back and tighten, scratching him lightly.

Oh. He loves hearing those sounds, and he loves feeling those scratches on his back. Those things are forsure signs that you are liking this.

"So mu— much for cockwarming," you laugh breathlessly.

"You can't blame me, doll. I can't go five minutes without wanting to...make love to you. It gets all the ha—harder when I'm inside you."

His thrusts are overlapping with your breathy sighs now. As you whisper, "I love you" into his ears, his own breaths become more and more stuttered.

You continue on, and do not stop until he has come.

[talk-geek-to-me]

Betrayal

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader. eventual Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Anxiety. depression, abandonment, hella angst man, fluff, second-hand embarrassment, swearing, some violence, but it’s super mild. I think that’s about it.

Word Count:4,359 (I’m so not sorry)

Disclaimer: I’m so sorry this took so long for me to get out!! Life’s kinda really crazy rn. I’m moving across the country and I’m trying to keep up with school. It’s a super busy life rn. But I really hope you guys enjoy it!! It’s probably not as good as I hyped it up to be. There is totally enough room for me to make a part 2 but, Idk. With how I left it, I think it doesn’t need it. But I hope you guys love it as much as I do!! @buckysknifecollection​ prompt is in bold.

*** = time has passed

~~~= same day. different perspective 

"I'll be back, I promise" Steve caressed your cheek, lips quickly brushing against yours, pulling away just as fast as they came. He staggered away from you, getting one last look.

Your brows pulled together in confusion, eyes searching his blue ones, only finding determination instead of love and care that was there a few days ago. You watched him hug Bucky and head towards the Quantum Tunnel.

Once Steve was in place, he glanced at you, heartbreaking at your confused stare. He knew if he had given you a real kiss, he wouldn't find it in him to go back. He knew he wouldn't be able to provide the answers to your questions you'll be cursed with.

"Gonna miss you buddy" Bucky stood next to you, hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

"It's gonna be ok Buck" your gaze snapped between the super soldiers.

"What?" You stepped away from Bucky, looking at Sam for an answer, only for him to meet your gaze with an equally confused look.

"Going Quantum in 5...4...3..2..1" Bruce counted.

"Wait-" You stepped towards the machine. You felt a cold hand wrap around your wrist, gently tugging you back. You snapped your head to Bucky, finding his baby blue eyes are filled with sadness and guilt. You stopped struggling.

"Bringing him back in 5..4..3..2..1" Bruce pushed a series of buttons before looking up at the platform to find it empty.

"Where is he?" Sam barked, eyes flicking to you before going to Bruce.

"I don't know, he must've blown past his time" panicking, Bruce began typing different combinations in hopes it would do something.

A few seconds passed, but to you, it felt like hours before your hope vanished and was replaced with pain. Your heart breaking when you realized that Steve left you for her.

Tears pricked your eyes, compromising your vision. A ringing filled your ears, muffling the conversation around you.

Turning on your heel, you quickly made your way towards the cabin, tears now spilling into hot streams down your cheeks. You yanked own the screen door just to slam it shut behind you. The echo of it made Sam and Bucky turn towards where you had disappeared.

"How long do you think she'll be upset?" Bucky sighed, the guilt in his eyes traveling to his heart.

"I don't know man, I don't know.. She'll need us though. C'mon, we gotta catch her before she leaves us here" Sam made his way towards the cabin, stopping to put the shield by the door.

Stepping inside, Sam found you scrambling around, grabbing your jacket, bag and the car keys that had been discarded on the coffee table before you had ventured to the platform.

"Y/N" Sam stepped in front of you, hands up, showing he meant no harm. His voice soft. "You're not suitable to drive, please let me."

You glanced at him before your eyes landed on the Brunette leaning against the car. He immediately opened his arms for you. 

Lips quivering, you placed the keys in Sam's hand and bounded down the stairs and straight into Bucky's arms. Safely in his arms, your shoulders began to shake, and sobs broke out of your throat. His hand cradled the back of your head, keeping you close. Tears formed in his eyes, making him hide his face in your hair. He didn’t feel the same pain you felt, but he did know how you were feeling. Steve didn’t just leave you, he left him, Sam, his friends, the family he created here. 

Sam had made his way to you two when you felt another pair of arms wrap around you. It was going to be hard, but you can get through this... Together.

***

Due to the compound getting rebuilt and thanks to Sam’s good heart, he took you and Bucky to his DC home. Even when you reassured him that you’d be fine and find your own place to stay, but he insisted you stay with him.

Inevitably, you locked yourself in the room Sam had given you. Bucky had tried to get you to come out, but each try left him with silence. Eventually, he’d leave a tray of food out your door, checking every few hours to see if you’d eaten any. At first, you didn’t. Soon enough, he’d found the plate had been picked at.

It was weeks, 3 to be exact, before you decided to venture out of your room. 

Sam was the first person to greet you one Friday morning. He handed you a cup of coffee and wrapped an arm around you in a side hug.

“How are you holding up?” He ruffled your hair before he moved back to the other side of the counter.

“I’m okay, been sleeping a lot, crying... Ya know, depression stuff” Bringing the cup to your lips, reveling in the warmth the coffee provided as it coursed through your body before it settled in your stomach. You scanned the house, looking for a certain Super Soldier. “Where’s Bucky?”

“Dimwit went on a milk run. We were running out of ideas of bringing you out of that room.” He places a small bowl of yogurt Parfait in front of you.

“Dimwit?” You giggled over a mouthful of berries and yogurt.

“He’s been getting on my nerves.” 

As if on queue, Bucky steps through the front door, drawing all attention to him. His eyes met yours, and a smile blessed his lips.

“Oh my god," He quickly set the bags down, the sound of plastic bags and cans hitting the table filled the room before he quickly made his way to you. Engulfing you in a hug, he lifted you off the barstool and twirled around earning giggles to escape your lips. “When did you come out of your room?” He sat you back on the stool, stealing your coffee in the process.

“Actually, just about 20 minutes ago.” He glanced at Sam, who confirmed your statement with a nod.

“Good! I bought movies and junk food. So, go” He pulled you off your chair “Go shower and change”

“Please!” Sam laughed as Bucky pushed you in the direction of the bathroom.

“Do I really smell that bad?” You pulled your shirt to your nose, crinkling it. You did smell that bad.

“Sweetheart, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you reek.” Bucky opened the door and lightly pushed you into the entryway.

“Wait, I don’t have any clothes” You turned to make your way back to your room, but the Assassin was in your way.

“Don’t. I’ll do it. Just shower” He pressed his lips to your forehead, and quickly padded off to your room.

You turned towards the mirror, your brows were slightly raised, mouth turned in a slight smile, and cheeks faintly dusted with pink. “What the fuck just happened?” you questioned. Sighing when you got no answer, you turned on the shower and waited for it to warm.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, slowly coming to the realization of how bad you looked. Bags under your eyes from lack of sleep and crying too much, skin pale and greasy, lips insanely chapped that no amount of chapstick would fix. You didn’t look or feel like yourself. Depression turned you into a different person, and you didn’t like her.

Fog crept its way across the mirror, eventually covering your reflection. Letting out a sigh you turned away from the mirror and began undressing.

You were about to step into the shower when a knock came at the door. Quickly wrapping a towel around yourself, you opened the door enough for you to see who it was.

“Um, I brought clothes” Bucky mumbled, eyes looking everywhere but you, a light blush cascading across his cheeks.

“Easy there Sarge, don’t get too excited” You giggled, taking the neatly folded clothes. Fingers brushing against his, sending another shade of red up his neck. “Thank you, Bucky”

“Yea, of course, um..I’m just gonna” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder indicating he was going to leave.

Nodding, you closed the door and laid out the clothes. Noticing that he didn’t bring you jeans but had brought you your favorite joggers and a tank top, made you smile. One that reached your eyes.

“He cares”

***

Stepping into the living room, you found the boys dressed the same; sweatpants and t-shirts. They were standing in the middle of the living room, yelling at each other. Movies scattered on the coffee table, food placed in the middle. 

Giggling, you moved around Sam and plopped down on a couch and scanned through the selection. 

You popped it in the DVD player and let the opening scene stop the bickering behind you.

"The Mummy?" Sam question

"Yes, because you two wouldn't shut up. So please, sit down and enjoy the beauty of Brendan Fraiser." 

It went on like this for weeks. Watching movies, arguing who got to pick the movie.

Soon enough, you started feeling better, well enough that you started jogging with the boys in the morning. 

***

It was 5 am when Wanda called you, pulling you from a blissful sleep.

"Maximoff, I swear, if you're not dying, I'll kill you." You huffed, moving towards the heat source in your bed.

Laughing at your empty threat, you could hear Strange tell her to calm down even though he was chuckling himself. "The compound is finished, you guys can move in today"

"You couldn't wait till a decent hour to tell me this?" You groaned. Feeling an arm wrap around your middle, you looked up finding confused baby blue eyes locked onto your features. 

"Wanda" You mouthed earning a nod from the super-soldier. His arm slide up your back and cold metal hand under the strap of your tank top.

"Well, I had just gotten off the phone with Pepper and-" She was still talking but Bucky had plucked the phone out of your hand and pressed it to his ear.

"We'll be there later Wanda, goodnight," Bucky said. You could hear her gasp and begin to talk, only to be cut off by Bucky hanging up.

"Bucky" you lightly scolded as he pulled you closer to him after throwing your phone to the other side of your bed. 

"Sweetheart, its 5 am and I plan on” He moved to hover over you, fitting between your legs, hips resting against yours, forearms supporting him. “Spending a bit more time with you before the sun rises.” 

Smiling at his comment, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hands falling into his hair. “Well Sarge, the sun is beginning to rise and Sam will want to know.”

Bucky scanned your face as he brushed stray hair away from your face, smiling softly when you leaned into his touch. “I know. Are you feeling better?

You nodded, pulling him closer to you. “I feel” you brushed his nose with yours “So much better, thank you” 

“My pleasure” He closed the small gap between you with a kiss.

A couple of hours later, you had packed your things and were packing the car when the boys came out of the house, bickering about who's driving. 

"I'm not letting you drive, Grandma, and little miss speedster over there will kill us!" Sam shouted, taking the keys out of Bucky's hand. His head snapped towards you, feigning a hurt expression.

“I’m an assassin!” Bucky exclaimed

"You stole my steering wheel and that makes you an assassin?" Sam joked

"Boys! Listen, you both drive super slow, so I'm driving" Snatching the keys out of Sam's hand, you slide into the driver's seating. 

The drive to the compound was a long one. You may drive fast, but with Sam and Bucky arguing over the music, it felt longer. On many occasions during the drive, you had slapped Sam’s hand away from the radio and asked the boys to stop arguing.

Arriving at the new compound was like arriving at Disneyland. The boys had stopped arguing and stared in awe as you pulled up. It was bigger, more windows, a pool. Everything the old one had, this one had too. It was just bigger.

Parking the car, your door was immediately ripped opened and you were being pulled out into the crisp October air, and into a certain witch’s arms. 

“I missed you so much!” Wanda squealed, tightening her grip on you.

“Wanda, I missed you too. But I think I’m going to miss breathing if you don’t let me go” You wheezed as she released her hold on you. She looped her arm through yours, pulling you away from the car. But not before she shot a glance at Bucky, wiggling her eyebrows as if she knew what had happened the night before.

“What the hell happened last night?” Wanda questioned as she leads you to the compound.

~~~

“Hey,” Sam tossed Bucky his bag “Is she ok?”

“Yea, she was in one of those depression moods that I used to get” He watched you and Wanda interact with each other before Strange came up to the two of you.

“You stayed the night in her room, man. What was that about?”

“She asked me to stay. I wasn’t going to leave her alone with her thoughts” Leaning against the car, Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Sam.

“I see you two getting close,” a smirk was forming on the new Captain’s lips “I saw the kiss before we packed the car” Sam wiggled his eyebrows at the Sergeant. 

“Oh, c’mon man! You weren’t supposed to see that!” exclaimed Bucky as he hit his shoulder, making Sam laugh.

“Ohoho! Then don’t do it in the middle of the living room!” Sam's smirk turned to a wicked grin "And when you kissed her hand in the car, or the time you held her while she made dinner! Or-!" He was cut off when Bucky threw his sweatshirt at him. 

“C’mon man!” Bucky laughed, a light pink dusted his cheeks.

“Or! the shower incident” Sam faked a gasp, a smile broke across his face as the former Winter Soldier turned a bright red.

~~~

“That’s all that happened last night” You explained to Wanda, who didn’t believe you despite what you confirmed.

“Yea? Then why is he turning into a tomato over there” Strange pointed towards the car. 

Turning towards the car, you saw and could hear Sam howling with laughter, and Bucky? Well, Strange was right. Bucky’s face was, in fact, turning into a tomato. 

“I-I don’t know. Sam likes to pick on him sometimes.” You mumbled, brows furrowed together as you watched Sam lean against the car for support and Bucky hide his smile behind his hand.

***

It was around midnight when you decided to sit in the living room, music softly floating through the tv speakers. Footsteps drew closer, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Ya know, it’s not polite to play music without someone who was alive when it came out” Bucky’s voice came closer until you feel the couch dip with his weight, signifying he was sitting next to you.

"I thought you were asleep" You countered, shifting to lean on him, back to his side, your head laid on his shoulder. Bucky had moved his arm around you and had begun tracing designs on your arm.

"I don't sleep when you're not next to me" He mumbled into your hair. Your heart skipping a beat, a blush crept across your cheeks, and you began to relax more against him.

Sitting in comfortable silence, you two were enjoying Frank Sinatra’s Come Fly With Me play when Bucky cleared his throat.

“Wanna dance?” 

You looked up at him, seeing a smirk playing on his lips, making you smile.

“You gonna dance with me as you did with those girls in the 40’s Sarge?” You watched him stand and hold out his hand. “Cause I wouldn’t say no”

“Come here then,” Placing your hand in his, he pulled you to your feet. Sliding his hand around your waist, it rested it on your lower back. His gaze shifted to the distance between you two, and back to your eyes. “We’re gonna have to get a lot closer than this, Sweetheart.” Feeling his grip tighten on your waist, you sucked in a breath when he pulled you closer. Chest pressed against his.

“Now we dance,” Bucky began swaying, his eyes never leaving yours. He led you in a classic waltz, occasionally spinning you, earning giggles to escape your lips.

Pulling you tight against him, you rested your head on his shoulder, your hand falling on his shoulder, savoring the moment. 

“I need to tell you something” Bucky whispered in your ear.

“Of course Buck, what’s wrong?” Worry laced your voice

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I just need to get something off my chest” Breaking apart from you, he ran his hands nervously through his hair.

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You took a step towards him.

“ty oblegchayesh' zhizn' kazhdyy den', ty vyyavlyayesh' luchsheye vo mne. Ya snova nachinayu chuvstvovat' sebya staroy. ya vlyublyayus' v tebya” Bucky panicked, eyes searching yours.

“Bucky, you’re speaking Russian” Bucky has never seen a more confused face than yours at this moment.

“I panicked!” He exclaimed

“If your plan was to throw me off, then it worked!” You laughed, stepping closer to him, you placed your hands on his shoulders. “James, tell me what you said”

Hearing his first name roll off your tongue, made his worry disappear. He wrapped his arms around your waist, rubbing little circles in your back.

“I said,” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before looking you in the eyes. “You make living every day easier, you bring out the best in me, Sam’s noticed it. I’m starting to fall in love with you Sweetheart. I know it’s not the right time, but I wanted to tell you”

“Bucky-”

“No, I need to tell you. I need you to know and if you don’t feel the same then-”

“Bucky!”

“It’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I totally get it” He rambled. Realizing he wasn’t going to give you a chance to talk, you crashed your lips to his. 

You two have kissed many times before, but this is different. You don’t know when you realized you had feelings for him, but you do know that he’s always been there for you. He’s made everything easier. Easier to breathe, to get over you know who, to adjust. Somewhere in there, you’ve grown feelings for him.

Pulling away, you rested your forehead against his. “I feel the same way”

“Really?” Bucky’s face nearly tore in two when the words filled his ears.

“Really” You agreed.

~~~

A crashing noise pulled Sam out of sleep. He poked his head out his door, finding yours and Bucky’s door opened and music coming from the living room. Sam decided that he didn’t want to know what it was, so he headed back to bed, but a light outside his window caught his attention. Ripping the shades opened, he saw a familiar figure standing on the Quantum Tunnel platform. Doubt filled him, there was no way he was back... Right?

Watching the figure look around, Sam ran out of his room, as quietly as he could, down the back staircase and out to the backyard

“Sam?” The figure called.

"Steve? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in the 40's" Sam questioned.

"I know. Peggy and I.. We didn't work out. It wasn't right. Peggy wasn't-" Steve began, his mind racing.

"Wasn't what Steve?"

"She wasn't y/n" Steve sighed. He knew Peggy wasn't you the second he got to her house. He knew you two are very different, but everything she did, he found himself silently comparing her to you. She was a spy, and you were an Avenger. When she spared it was quick, but when you spared it turned into a competition. Everything Peggy did, Steve found himself missing the things you did. There was a hole in his life and only you could feel it.

"Steve-"

"I need to see her" Steve interrupted, making his way towards the door Sam came out of.

"What? No, Steve. Don't" Sam followed the former Captain, trying to catch up with how fast he was walking. When did he walk so fast?

"Sam, I messed up. I left her when I shouldn't have, I have to make it right" Steve called from the stairs. Sam ran up the stairs behind him and grabbed his arm when he caught up to Steve.

"You don't understand. She's changed, she's not the same girl who loved you. She's.." He hesitated "She's moved on Steve."

"I need to see her" Steve persisted, pulling his arm out of Sam's grip and headed down the hall towards the living room. Dread filled Sam, slowly following the First Avenger.

~~~

“We should probably go to bed” Bucky mumbled into your neck. You two had found your way back to the couch after your confession. 

“Or we could stay and sleep here. We’re already laying down” You raked your fingers through his hair, grabbing a few strands and began braiding the brown locks. A door being slammed open pulled you two apart. 

“It’s the middle of the night, who the hell is slamming doors?” Bucky reached behind the couch for the handgun he had hidden there. You were already on your feet, gun at the ready and heading towards the sound of intrusion.

“Wait! They might be asleep!” You heard Sam’s desperate pleas come down the hall.

“Sam? What’s wrong?” You lowered your gun, hearing two pairs of footsteps advance quickly towards you. Quickly raising your gun, you loaded the chamber and took aim. 

“What the hell” Bucky said from behind you, drawing your attention to him. Bucky’s eyes never left the intruder, confusion overcame you, and you looked at the intruder. Finding the person who you never thought you’d see again. Steve stepped closer to you, and you stepped away from him.

“Baby?” His voice was soft, too soft, foreign. Shaking your head, you stepped closer to Bucky.

“You don’t get to call me that” You hissed through gritted teeth. The confusion was replaced with anger. It took over you, your hands and voice shook. 

“Please let me explain, baby” Steve took a few more steps towards you, hands coming up to cup your face. He lowered his face to yours, hope-filled his entire being. 

“Steve” Bucky placed a hand on his shoulder “Don’t do that” The warning in his voice made Steve stand straighter.

“This is my girlfriend” Steve argued.

You let out a laugh that startled both boys. You continued to laugh until tears were evident in your eyes.

“That’s fucking hilarious Rogers, you think I’m your girlfriend?” Shaking your head, you stepped closer to Steve. He was taller than you by a foot, making him stare down at you. But by the way, he felt, you were staring down at him. Your eyes bore into his, rage radiating off you, and Steve could feel every ounce of it. “I haven’t been your girlfriend since the moment you decided to fucking leave. You don’t get to call me that. Don’t ever call me that, again” You pushed past him, shoulder hitting his arm hard enough to make him lose his balance.

“Baby, wait” He caught your arm. Twisting your arm out of his grip, you reeled around and connected your fist to his jaw. 

Hearing the crack, Bucky and Sam flinched, thinking that you broke Steve’s jaw with how fast you reacted and how fast his head snapped to the side.

“Damn” Sam mumbled, looking at Bucky “That’s your girl man”

Pride filled his body, Bucky stood a little taller “I know”

“Get it through your head, Rogers! I’m not your girlfriend! I’m not yours! Don’t touch me” You hissed. Turning on your heel, you stormed down the hall towards your room, slamming the door shut when you were inside.

Steve rubbed his jaw, feeling the serum begin to heal his jaw, looking at his friends before his eyes landed on the Brunette, “Looks like your hair is getting a bit long.. Operation Haircut?”

“When you decided you’re done with Operation Jackass, then I’ll consider Operation Haircut” Bucky scoffed, following the trail of rage to your bedroom, entering it without knocking.

Slowly closing the door to your room, Bucky found you sitting on your bed, eyes closed and taking deep breaths. 

“Sweetheart?” He whispered, fearing the nickname might make you snap. But it only brought you comfort.

“Bucky” Your voice shook, opening your eyes, they landed on his form, kneeling next to your bed. He took your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Why is he back?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“I don’t know sweetheart,” He paused, searching for the right thing to say before deciding on distracting you, “You know, that was a really good punch. It looked like you nearly broke his neck with how hard you hit him”

The burden of heartbreak left your chest and in its place, laughter made its home. “I had someone teach me how to throw a punch hard enough to break a jaw” You gripped his hand tighter, referencing to him.

“Yea? He did a damn good job” Lifting himself, Bucky sat on your bed, pulling you against him.

“Yea. He did” Relaxing against the Former Hand of Hydra, you finally begin to feel at peace with yourself. You made the decision right there that it was always Bucky. He was your rock before and after Steve left, he was the light in a dark room. He knew that you could take care of yourself, but when you need it, he’s there for you. You, too, had begun to fall in love with him. People would be against it, due to him being the Winter Soldier, but you didn’t care. He didn’t think he was a hero, but you? He was your hero.

Tagging: @parkerpuff​ @blameitonthecauseway​ @chocolate-cutting​ @jeremyrennermakesmesmile​ @sebastian-i-stan​ @intense-sneezing​ @welcome-to-my-broken-sanctuary​ @siren-queen03​ @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​ @teamcap4bucky​ @buckysknifecollection​ @neglectedleo​ @dyanna-corona​ @crist1216​ @delicatecapnerd​ @twilight-crescendo​ @weebid​ @lucaslikestojinglebells​ @wxntersoldiers​ @breakmebucky​ @lecoindenox​

[ladybugsfanfics]

A Cacoethes For Doing Stupid Things | Steve Rogers

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Style: One Shot

WC: 4.1k+

Warnings: mutal pining, some angst, dumbasses, maybe some swear words

Summary: This is for @buckysknifecollection​‘s writing challenge, which is due today so I’m right on time, huh? My prompt was “That’s not a real word.” and it will be bolded in the story. 

A/N: i know im not too active currently and im kinda sorry, but ive been sick for the last week and im tired and struggling to write, but im doing my best and hopefully i have more coming soon! Thanks for sticking with me anyways ^_^

“It’s easy.” Sharon stands at the head of the table, blocking the previous shown pictures of the male the team’s supposed to gather information on. “Well, except the getting into the location part.”

Natasha reads through the guest list for the event; a gala on New Year’s Eve in Paris. Her gaze flickers up from the papers to you for the split second of a moment, then they go back down into the paper. And then she does it again, but instead of going back to the paper, they land on Sharon. “I have an idea.” 

“Shoot.” 

“Steve is on the guest list.” She turns the paper around and slides it across the table towards you. “Someone could be his plus one.”

You shake your head. “He’s retired. Why would he agree to be a part of a mission?” 

“He won’t be part of it,” replies Nat, “he’ll just be the gateway inside.”

“For one person. What about the rest of us?” You cock a brow. 

Nat smiles, or rather smirks. “You’re the one going in. And if you do your little tech thing and hitch yourself up to his phone, we’ll get more information than we could ask for.”

You don’t hide the sigh that travels through your body. “Why me?” 

Sharon and Nat share a look you don’t like. And you know their next words before they leave Sharon’s mouth. “You got a little history. The world already knows, plus, the world doesn’t know you’re a SHIELD agent, they know Natasha is.”

“Dammit,” you whisper under your breath. “Have you asked Steve? I’m not doing that part.” 

“Considering we just thought of it, no, but don’t worry. He’ll say yes.” Nat winks your way as she stands and walks out of the room, phone already in hand and pressed to her ear before she’s out the door. 

You let out another sigh, give Sharon your patented displeased look, and follow Nat out of the briefing room. Steve saying yes wasn’t exactly the part of the plan you were worried about. 

---

“The plan is simple. You go to Paris, act like a couple, get into the gala, find the target, plant the device on his phone, have a good time, act like a couple, mission done.”

Sharon’s words haunt you during the car ride to the airport. There is just something so annoying about having to spend this much time with the person you thought was the love of your life but then went on and broke your heart instead (and then tried to get it back but you weren’t having it). 

Because of Steve’s retirement, you have to take a commercial flight to Paris. He’d also booked a room for three nights; the night you get there, the night before the gala, and the night of the gala. 

And the best part is that you have to spend all three nights with him there to keep up the appearance and not alert that this is a mission. That’s not the easiest thing when you haven’t talked to someone for well over half a year. 

Bucky helps get your luggage out of the car (a suitcase each), and he gives Steve a hug and a pat on the back before he moves to you. He pulls you in for an embrace and you relax into his touch. “Give him hell,” he whispers. 

You scoff. “Kidnap me instead.” 

“Sorry, no can do.” Bucky pulls out of the hug and you shake your head in disappointment. “Don’t do anything stupid. Either of you.” 

Steve nods and you try for a smile. “We won’t,” says Steve. The two of you watch as Bucky drives away, and then you head inside. 

Neither of you say anything during the check-in, nor anything during the security control. First as you’re waiting by the gate, and the silence settles as awkward because (despite you pulling out a book) neither of you have anything to do or occupy yourself with, does Steve say something. 

“I’m sorry you have to come along like this.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t think about asking Tony for a private jet, but I’m also a tiny bit happy about it because that means less emissions.” You shake your head and try to read the words on the page in front of you. It doesn’t work. They swirl around like a bowl of alphabet soup, but you’re not gonna show that because you really don’t want to talk to Steve unless you have to. 

Thankfully Steve doesn’t push it, and it’s not long before they announce that boarding can start. You both get up, grabbing your carry-ons and walking to the line already made up. It’s now the problem really starts; now you can’t even have a book as an excuse not to talk to him. 

Act like a couple .

God, Sharon’s voice is a pain in the ass. You’re supposed to make the appearance that you’re a couple, but you can’t even have a normal conversation. You’re also standing with too much space for that to seem true. 

Your heart hammers inside your chest, but you still make the move to grab Steve’s hand and intertwining your fingers. He looks down at you, wide-eyed, but in a moment, he’s trying to suppress a smile. You can see the contours of it on his face, and you wish you could wipe it off. 

You also wish you didn’t enjoy it so much yourself. 

But you get to let go as you get onto the plane, and you don’t make a move to hold it again on the move there and to your seats. You do slightly enjoy how Steve’s shoulder touches yours as you sit, the space not big enough for your comfort zone but perfect for accidental touching. 

(Honestly, Steve, you’re rich. Why didn’t you get first class on a six hour flight? Like, come on!)

“Do you need more space?” he asks, though, as you settle in and practically press yourself to the window. 

You shake your head. “Gonna sleep anyways, so I’m good.” 

“Sleep? Won’t you struggle sleeping tonight? You’ll sleep through the day.” He cocks a brow. 

“Relax, old man. I like sleeping, I don’t get a lot of it, watch me make the best of it. I slept like two hours tonight so sleeping now shouldn’t say anything.” You roll your eyes at him and use the scarf that was around your neck as a blanket. The wall is hard, but better than nothing as a pillow. (If you know yourself right―and you do―you’ll end up using Steve as a pillow anyways. Hopefully, that’s not the better part of the flight.)

---

“Hey, sweetheart, we’ve landed.” Steve’s voice is barely audible. He nudges you slightly, and you blink yourself awake. It takes about two seconds to realise you used Steve as a pillow, and you’d thought it’d be his shoulder, but, no, your head is in his lap. 

And that’s all it takes for you to shoot up. That’s all it takes for you to become wide awake. (The sweetheart part did also do something, because that’s what really had your heart beating so fast, but you don’t want to acknowledge that.)

You busy yourself with taking off your seatbelt and grabbing your backpack (the carry-on). In your head, you’re trying to figure out how you could end up in his lap. There’s an armrest between the seats, and you didn’t pull it up, meaning Steve did. 

Think about something else, god, please think about something else . 

You will yourself to divert your attention over to what you dreamt about instead. But it was short lived and nothing exciting, so you’re quickly lost back to your mind running around about Steve. 

Who’s the one to grab your suitcases off the baggage claim (and help some other girl that struggled with hers―and yes, your gut felt stabbed and your heart ached when she tiptoed to kiss his cheek to thank him for his help). 

However, you’re not really one to say anything about… that, so when he comes back, you keep your mouth shut and take the suitcase he offers you. In your free hand, you go back to intertwining your hand in his. Act like a couple . If it didn’t feel like you burned your hand off at Steve’s touch it would be easier, but alas, his touch is scorching. 

And you enjoy it all too much. In fact, you’ve missed it. 

It’s all you can think about when you let go of his hand to get a cab into the city, and it’s all you can think about as the silence settles over the cab ride. You barely listen as Steve checks into the hotel, and you only gain back your consciousness when his hand grazes yours (bringing back the scorching heat) as he gives you your own key to the room. 

You’re brought back to a deep crushing reality you hadn’t expected when you unlock the door to your room and walk inside. 

It’s rather big; a desk by the floor-to-ceiling window, a chair below it and an armchair in the corner with a lamp (nice reading spot). The door to the bathroom opens into a rather big one with both a tub and a shower, and there’s a little wardrobe in the entry-way with a safe. 

The thing that has your heart hammering in your chest and the feeling of impending sweat making its way down your back, is the fact that there’s only one bed. It’s big, or more than big enough for two people, but you know that―no matter what kind of wall you build between you two―you’ll end up sleeping pretty close to Steve. You let out a sigh, and when you turn to Steve (who places his suitcase on the suitcase holder) he smiles apologetically at you. 

“I’m sorry, I… Didn’t think about the fact that there’s only one bed.” His hand goes up to scratch his neck. 

You shake your head. “Whatever. I’ll be building a wall, and I guess it would be a little weird with two beds seeing as the hotel workers are supposed to think we’re a couple too.” You’ll just have to make the best of it. 

“Okay then. You hungry? You didn’t eat anything on the plane and it’s already nine.” 

“Yeah, food sounds good.” Even though the last thing you want is to go out and eat; you’ll have to act like a couple, which means touching him. You don’t think you can survive the beating of your heart and the way your skin burns at his touch. 

But you can’t survive without food either. And it’s nice practice for what tomorrow brings. A day in Paris going sightseeing with Steve Rogers, and in public you have to play his girlfriend. 

Can this mission be over yet?

---

Sleep comes late. When you and Steve got back from eating, you were tired, yes (despite the long nap on the plane), but you couldn’t bear falling asleep in the same bed as Steve. The excuse to read some (and sit in that cozy chair with the lamp) comes so easy that even Steve doesn’t know how to reply. 

He shrugs and makes his way to the bathroom as you get out a book and sit down in the chair. 

It is as cozy as it looked, and you’re quick to kick off your shoes and tuck your legs underneath you. The book, on the other hand, is not that enticing. Instead your gaze goes to the view outside. 

Night lies over Paris, yet there’s a thousand lights in every direction. An orange hue comes off them, and a quiet, romantic feeling sets in you. It aches, knowing that it’s pretend. It aches knowing that you and Steve haven’t really talked. 

Even during dinner, it was rather quiet. Only a few words were exchanged. A few questions about the retired life, about how it is working for SHIELD. Nothing much. Nothing more than a few dozen stolen glances, from you at least. 

The handle of the bathroom rattles as the door opens. To make sure Steve doesn’t say anything about going to bed, you open the book and let your eyes run over the page. You hear him walk around, rummage through his suitcase a little, and then the bed creaks as he settles into it. 

You lift your eyes, stealing another glance at the man. Your heart leaps to your throat seeing that he’s sleeping in only boxers. He’s leaning against the headrest, cover only pulled up to his hips and you have to chide yourself for not looking away. 

If he catches you, you’re not sure whether you’ll live to go through with the mission. After all, the hardest part of it isn’t gathering intel and placing the device on the target’s phone. No, the hardest part is being so close to Steve Rogers and having your heart ache at the sight of him. 

“Are you gonna stay up long?”

At the sound of his voice, you lift your gaze fully to look at him. Your throat feels awfully dry, but you swallow and shake your head. “No, I don’t think so. Just like reading a bit before going to bed.” 

He nods. “Okay. Did you want to build a wall?” His voice is small, so gentle, and the ache in your heart grows bigger. 

“I don’t think we need it. Just keep to your side of the bed, okay?” You try for a small smile, and when he nods and gives one back, you relax slightly. 

The book is no easier to read now than when you were waiting to board the plane. It’s a lot harder, actually, and you don’t think Steve’s fallen asleep when you put it away and make it to the bathroom. You grab a big t-shirt that you usually sleep in and your toiletries on your way, and try to make as little sound as possible. 

Maybe you spend more time there than you need, but you need to psych yourself up. You’re not ready to be this close to Steve, not ready to maybe, possibly, have that talk. But eventually, you get out, turn off the lights and crawl into bed. 

Steve’s body heat comes off him, radiates to your side of the bed. It’s cold at first, but with the cover drawn and the closeness of Steve, it feels like you’re sweating. Your thoughts won’t die down. Your mind won’t rest. Even if your eyes feel heavy and you let them close. 

Sleep comes after what feels like an eternity. Only, sleep brings images you don’t want. Images of blood and fire, of hurt and screams echoing in the distance, of yelling and shouting, of orders not followed, of gunfire. It’s what every night has consisted of lately, what every night brings, and why you rarely sleep. 

As the gunfire comes to its highest, and the screams penetrate your mind, and the red color shades every scene that plays before you, something lulls at the edge of your mind. The images ceases, almost instantly, and a deep slumber finally consumes you. A dreamless sleep that’s the best you’ve had in a long time. 

---

Warm. 

That’s how you feel when you wake up. Not scorching, like when you touch Steve. But warm, a deep sense of warmth that seems to lull your mind and that carries with it something safe, something… something you can’t pinpoint. 

Your eyes open slowly. Opens enough to see the light cascading through the blinds. Opens enough to see the slight hint of skin of your own arm, and the hint of skin of someone else’s arm. It’s draped over your torso, and the head of whoever it belongs to is nuzzled into your neck as you can feel the breath fanning your back. The toned chest of the man behind you is easily felt as you stiffen. 

And you know instantly why you felt so safe. 

You try to wiggle out of Steve’s grip, but the sleeping man easily tightens it and drags you back into him. He mumbles something, but can’t make it out. You feel torn. Torn between lying there, so close to him that adrenaline rushes through your veins, and leaving, where the world feels much less safe, but your heart won’t threaten to leave your ribcage. 

There’s a million reasons why you shouldn’t indulge, why you shouldn’t let it continue. But there’s also the one reason why you want to lie there forever. 

You lift your left arm slightly, just to check the clock. Ten AM . That’s not bad. That means you got about seven hours of sleep. That’s more than three times your usual amount. And the reason behind it is the most annoying one there could ever be. 

“Steve,” you say. Your voice is gentle, trying to wake him slowly and to make sure that when he does, and he notices that you’re spooning, he won’t immediately freak out and retreat. 

But the man doesn’t respond to your voice, only nuzzles further into your hair. God, be strong . 

“Steve,” you repeat, voice louder and sterner, but with no more than what you deem necessary to actually wake him. 

“Huh?” you hear, which prompts a sigh of relief. The breath fanning your neck pulls away, and first when you hear a slight grunt does the arm around your torso retreat and the warmth of the man it belongs to leaves your back. 

You turn around to see him, perfect (or as perfect as you can) poker face coloring your face. He doesn’t need to know you enjoyed it, or that you needed it. However, the scared look on his face doesn’t help. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…” 

You wave it away. “Don’t worry. It’s okay.” Even with the small smile you give him, the small reassurance that it is in fact okay (more than okay), Steve presses his lips together and looks so very apologetic. 

“Let’s just get up. Get some breakfast and start sightseeing?” 

That helps with the look on Steve’s face. He relaxes, but there’s still some lingering of sadness in his eyes and remorse coloring his features. He nods, shoots you another small apologetic look, and gets out of the bed. Immediately, he disappears into the bathroom. 

The day goes by faster than you expected. You see the Eiffel tower (annoy yourself by thinking how it’s supposed to be romantic―and you’re supposed to act like a couple―and how that’s not happening), you visit the Louvre, and you take a walk past the Notre Dame Cathedral, and (after a lot of begging from your side―and pulling some strings) you visit the catacombs. 

Because you keep having something to do, your mind doesn’t go to the place it has been the last twenty-four hours. You have to act like a couple (something that is currently not happening due to Steve’s guilt from this morning), and the thought was agonizing when Sharon first told you, but then you did it a little and the more you did the more you enjoyed it and the more it just became an excuse. 

Only, that excuse doesn’t help so much when Steve won’t even look at you without the look of a kicked puppy, only said puppy knows he was in the wrong. It’s excruciating. And all you want is to just thread your fingers through his and feel your mind slither away underneath his touch. 

Can’t always have what you want. 

---

“The plan is easy. We go in, we find the target, I chit-chat with him, some flirting, fish his phone from his pocket in a pretend fall and place the chip in it. Easy.” You recount the plan to Steve for the n th time. He’s annoyed, because you’re not letting go of the part about him not doing anything . 

He’s about to open his mouth again, but you shush him before he can. “No! You retired Steve, you withdrew from it. Tonight, you’re a tool that is going to act madly in love with me and not do anything else. You are, of course, welcome to save me from a bullet and die yourself.” A slight part of you wants to laugh. Even as you try to joke about it, you do want him to be madly in love with you. And, despite the bittersweet feelings about him (and the play of hate), you don’t actually want him to die. You don’t even want him to be hurt. 

But Steve just nods. That he’s okay with. The fact that he’s not supposed to help because, technically, he’s a civilian, that he doesn’t grasp. 

Doesn’t matter anyways because the car pulls up to the place of the event. You sigh before letting Steve help you out, linking your hand with his arm before you walk up the red carpet that lines the entrance. (Gosh, this is even fancier than you expected). 

At the door, a man dressed in a black tux eyes the two of you. “Name?” he says, and just by how he says it, you feel like you don’t belong. This is way too fancy for your taste.

“Rogers,” replies Steve, completely unfazed by the male’s posh… everything . “Steve Rogers.”

The man scans a list and then looks up at Steve with a fake smile. “Good evening, mister Rogers. The hosts are expecting you. Please walk down the hall and the first to the left to relieve your coats.”

Shortly after the two of you find your table, which (if by purpose or by accident, you don’t know) turns out to be shared with your target. A flirty smile and introduction goes a long way to make the man look happy about the seating. It also goes a long way to make Steve actually show his true feelings, as after you sit, he pulls your chair a little closer to his own. 

You can’t say you mind.

---

The mission itself goes well. Since you didn’t have that much to do, it only took some light flirting to attach a chip to your targets phone and keep on with your night. Unfortunately, that’s not too easy when Steve insists on following said target as he suspiciously sneaks his way through the crowd and towards rooms clearly marked off limits. 

“Steve, why are we doing this?” 

Steve’s dragging you along with him, quickly checking side to side before going through the same door as your target and yanking your arm so that you follow. “Because that little tech thing you did is probably not enough.”

You roll your eyes. “God, you got a real cacoethes for running straight into danger, huh?”

“A what now?” Steve stops, squinting at you with confusion written all over his face. 

“Cacoethes.”

“ That’s not a real word. ” 

You scoff. “‘Course it is. Means to have an uncontrollable urge or desire for doing   inadvisable things, like smoking or drinking too much or running head first into danger as a civilian .” At the last part you poke him in the chest and mutter through clenched teeth. 

Steve bites his lips and rubs his neck. “Oh,” he lets out. “I still don’t know if it’s a real word, but sure. But we should―”

Before he can finish, you hear footsteps coming down the hallway. You look for a spot to hide, and not finding one, your mind thinks quick of a cover up should you actually be caught. 

As you press your lips to Steve’s, you can’t help but think that maybe you have a cacoethes yourself. Because the press of his lips against yours has your heart ache and beat at the same time. It’s soft, yet it’s rough. It’s passionate yet hasty. 

And it’s so full of desire, it makes your knees go weak. 

A cough to your side makes the two of you pull away from each other, faces flushed and a kind of embarrassing smile on your face. 

“Excuse me, but the two of you are not allowed back here.” It’s a security guard, but he doesn’t look as mad as you thought he would be. 

Rubbing your neck and smiling sheepishly, you let out an awkward laugh. “So sorry, sir. We… uh, we just… were looking for somewhere, you know, private.” You lean a little into Steve’s chest at that to give some more to the role. 

“Just leave the party, then, miss. I’m sure no one would miss you.” The security guard winks. “I’ll show you a quick way out back if you don’t want to be spotted.”

You press your lips together and intertwine your hand with Steve’s. “That would be great, thank you.”

And when Steve doesn’t complain or mention anything about having something to do, you both follow him out.

That night, neither of you think anything about sleeping in the same bed, or sleeping close together. Or about the fact that you’re both naked. 

Maybe things are looking good after all. 

permanent:  @devilbat​ @adefectivedetective​ @gamillian​ @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic​ @heartislubbingdubbing​ @wiczer​ @chillcan​ @geeksareunique​ @fandom-imagines1​ @murdermornings​

steve: @melannie77​

[buckyshenley16]

I’ve been staring at buckys new arm for like ten minutes cause there’s apparently a wolf on it aND I CANT SEE IT AND IVE PUT MY GLASSES ON AND EVERYTHING

[levi-inthesun]

3 am

This is for @buckysknifecollection​ writing challenge, with the prompt “I can’t sleep”, prompt is bolded.

Warnings: nightmares, sleep deprivation, swearing, not taking care of yourself? I think thats it?

Loki x reader

Tags: @buckysmischief​ @dungeons-and-awkwarddragons​

You sat on the cold marble counter while you waited for the toaster to pop, legs gently swaying. You looked out the large, floor to ceiling windows and focused on the stars hovering just above the outline of pine trees that bordered the edge of the compound’s grounds. Some song stuck in your head that you quietly hum - better that than allow the thoughts and images that plague your nightmares to run rampant. 

“I don’t want to frighten you, Y/N by not announcing myself, so,” Loki clears his throat before bowing. “It is I, Loki, the god of mischief.” 

You look up to see the handsome god approach you from the dark hallway, now illuminated by the moon and stars through the large windows. “Hey, Loki,” you said with a light chuckle. “I appreciate the announcement, heaven knows how much longer I would have lasted from you sneaking up on me.”

Loki finished his approach and glanced at the toaster to your left. “I believe those have to be plugged in for it to do its job properly, yes?”

“Goddamn,” you muttered, reaching to plug the toaster in and pushing the lever down. 

“What are you doing awake, my dear?” he asked, tucking some hair that had come out of the messy bun behind your ear.

You shrugged, eyes on your bare toes. “Can’t sleep.”

A slim finger is placed under your chin, and blue eyes meet your now misty eyes.

“And what, my love, is plaguing you?” 

Loki had a tendency to call you pet names and overtly flirt with you, however, you were absolutely positive it was just because it was Loki. He flirted with everyone. 

You sighed before jumping out of your skin as the toaster popped. “Shit!” 

Loki chuckled as you quickly grabbed your food, setting them down on a paper towel you had on the counter. Once you thought it had cooled down enough you picked up one and held the other out to Loki.

“Have you ever had a poptart?” you asked, as he took it from you.

Loki shook his head as he took a bite, “What in the nine realms is this?” Loki asked, a confused look on his face.

“It’s a poptart,” you replied simply.

“This is not tart, although I do understand where the pop comes from,” nodding his head towards the toaster. 

You just shrug and watch as he tentatively takes another bite now that he knows what to expect. 

“You did not answer my question, darling,” Loki said after another moment.

You nodded, and Loki watched as your shoulders slumped.

“I keep having nightmares,” you replied after repeating the answer in your mind a few times, pushing yourself to answer him. “Thanos,” you say, assuming his next question.

“Ah, I see,” he replies, setting the poptart on the paper towel. 

“I should be fine though,” you say, hopping off the counter. “I think I’m gonna go try to sleep some more.”

“Y/N,” he calls after you’ve successfully forced yourself to take a few steps towards your room. “Should you find you are not ‘fine’ after all, I could help if you’d like.”

Your eyes find your bare toes again and you bite your lip, “Thanks, Loki.” 

You continue to cross paths with Loki throughout the day and you knew that he knew you hadn’t been successful, so you avoid giving him the opportunity to bring it up. This is how the next few days continued and Loki could see you visibly deteriorating due to lack of sleep, yet you kept pushing yourself forward. 

Loki had had enough during training one day. 

You were sparring with Steve who had a tendency to push you past what you believed to be your limit and oftentimes, good things came out of it. This was not one of those times.

“Come on, Y/N!” Steve yelled, “Get back up! Get on your feet!”

You drag your hands underneath your body and struggle to push yourself off of the mat. 

“Steve,” Loki’s voice was low and dangerous. “You are pushing too hard.”

Steve ignored Loki’s warning and you used it to fuel yourself back up to your feet just to prove him wrong. 

You sway, trying to keep your balance and raise your fists, squaring up. Steve does the same and throws a punch but it’s like things are moving in slow motion before his eyes. He looks to your face and finally sees the dark circles under your eyes and the dead weight in your eyes, but then his fist is making contact and he does his best to pull back but it isn’t enough. 

You wake up in your bed, body sweating, mind racing, and your body is in pain. You struggle to move to a sitting position and notice the man sitting beside your bed.

“Please don’t say-”

Loki cuts you off, “Darling, I wouldn’t dare say anything to make you feel worse about your situation than you already feel. I am, however incredibly worried about you.”

You let the weight of Loki’s words rest on your chest before turning your face towards him and nod. 

“That’s all I have to do?” you ask Loki. “I thought this was going to be more complicated.”

“This is in fact, it,” he says as he runs his fingers through your hair soothingly. “You rest and I will be in here with you,” he taps your forehead. 

Loki does something to make it easier for you to fall asleep and you begin to see the cursed images form before your eyes. 

Thanos has his large hand wrapped around your neck while simultaneously forcing you to watch all of your teammates die. You are sobbing, desperately trying to breathe and your heart keeps breaking as they all die over and over and over and ov-

“Y/N,” You hear Loki’s voice and you follow with your eyes to where he is standing off to the side. “This is just a dream and it cannot hurt you.” 

As the words leave his lips Thanos’s hand is no longer cutting off your airway. One by one you stop Thanos from torturing and murdering your family and soon you are standing in the sun with Loki brushing tears from your cheeks.

“Loki,” you whisper, “Can we just, stay here a little longer?” 

“Of course, love. We can stay here as long as you’d like,” Loki mumbles as he tucks some hair behind your ears. 

When you wake up you find yourself in Loki’s arms, his nose nuzzling your hair. 

“Good morning, pet,” he greets you, a smile threatening to slip onto his lips.

“Thank you, Loki,” you whisper, tilting your face up and brushing your lips against his.

[nekoannie-chan]

Memories

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word count: 863 words.

Summary: Steve can't stop remembering every moment together after the Snap.

Warnings: Angst, very sad.

A/N: This is my entry to the @jbbarnesandnoble ‘s Rae’s 600 Follower Space theme Writing Challenge with the dialogue prompt #10:

“She was my sun, I was her moon”.

Also my entry to the @buckysknifecollection ‘s 3K Followers Writing Challenge with the prompt #28:

“You’re blasting your music and singing alone, terribly and it’s kinda cute but I’m really tired and I need sleep”.

Here Civil War didn’t happened, but the Snap does, also Pietro is alive.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @navybrat817​​ @sinceimetyou​​ @angrythingstarlight​ @saiyanprincessswanie​

After they proved that Ross had assembled the Thunderbolts, a group of villains to justify the need for the Accords, the United Nations decided not to carry them out.  

You were going to be able to continue to protect the world, although of course, you had to warn before any intrusion you would do more, you didn't have to wait for permission.  

You stretched out after the movie was over, you were supposed to be alone, Tony was giving a lecture at some university, and Natasha was with Clint's family on the farm, Bruce at a conference of something you hadn't understood, Sam and Bucky at veterans meeting while Steve was somewhere.

You put the music on TV at full volume and started screaming as you danced. Steve opened his eyes when he heard the music, when he arrived he saw you so entertaining that he didn't want to interrupt you and went straight to the room to sleep, the next day he was going to be very busy.  

He got up, at first he thought it was Pietro or maybe Tony trying to annoy until he walked into the room and saw you, he couldn't help but smile, he didn't want to interrupt you either, but he had to rest, he came up and paused the music, you immediately turned to see what had happened.  

"Steve... were you here?” You questioned a little confused.

“You’re blasting your music and singing alone, terribly and it’s kinda cute but I’m really tired and I need sleep”.

"I thought you were with Bucky and Sam or someone," you answered.  

"I just went for a walk, doll, I need to sleep, tomorrow I have a meeting with the United Nations to give you the reports of our activities and talk about the following plans.” 

"Can I come with you?”  

"Of course, we can also talk about mutants, I think you're the perfect representative," Steve replied. 

"My moon! Wanda, Nat and I are having a lot of fun here, the sea is very beautiful, especially at sunset, last night we made a campfire, I almost forgot I ate a lot of coconuts," you said excitedly. Behind Wanda called you, you turned around and beckoned her to wait for you for a moment. “Well I have to go, we're going to go to a show, I love you so much, I'll bring you a lot of souvenirs.”

Steve took his mobile phone and re-played the video you sent him from that vacation. He hugged your pillow tightly still had your smell and squeezed tightly the engagement ring, which you avoided taking to the missions for fear that it would break or lose it, things weren't supposed to be so, they were supposed to defeat Thanos, which next month was going to be his wedding, he wiped tears with the back of his hand, he couldn't stop watching all the videos he had of you, he needed to listen to you, see you, be there by his side.   

When he finished the video, he put another one, it was the one he had recorded the day he asked you to marry, he had lost count of the videos and hours he had spent watching them; he bit his lip trying to hold back the tears again, he just couldn't go on like this, it hurt too much, he would give anything for you to come back, even was able to give up the serum if you came back to it.

"Steve? Are you okay?” Natasha asked from the door frame, her gaze went through the room, which was a disaster, there were things of yours on the floor, in bed the photos were widespread.

“She was my sun, I was her moon”.

"I know, I miss her too, but you can't go on like this, we have to find a way to get back to everyone...” 

"She could easily achieve it, it's my fault that this would have happened, if she hadn't been distracted by me, T/N would have ended up with Thanos, now, for the first time in my life, I don't know what's right or what we should do, ironically, right, the leader of this team, which is no longer a team, doesn't have the answers or a plan," Steve replied with a notorious disappointment in his voice.  

"Steve, we have to do an emergency meeting with everyone...," Natasha's voice faltered “... all that remains, Clint and I found near the van where Fury and Hill were travelling an object, it looks like a beeper or a communicator, we don't know where the other is, but we infer that they managed to send a message before... Well, you know.”

Steve jumped up practically if they found the receiver, maybe they could fix everything, maybe whoever got the message had the solution.  

If they could return to everyone, the next day or that same day they would get married, not even care that it wasn't what they had planned, he didn't plan on losing a single minute without you again. He wouldn't care what he had to do.  

He was going to get you back, whatever it takes.

[stuckonjbbarnes]

Only For a Minute {EPILOGUE}

This is for everyone that wanted a “Happier” ending.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Nothing to see here

Word Count: 1290

A/N: I wrote a few sentences and then I couldn’t stop. I’m not sorry about it. Enjoy :)

                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~2 years later-ish~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"OH MY GOD! Erik?!" You spot him a little ways away, turning from your tour group. They're all looking at the ruined statues anyway.

"Hello Miss Y/L/N." He gives you a mega-watt grin, wrapping you in a friendly if not lingering hug.

"You know you can call me Y/N. My last name is so stuffy." You pull back, smoothing the hem of your shirt. "What are you doing here?"

"A little bird told me it was your last day of the residency! I figured the least I could do, would be to stop by and offer to take you to lunch."

"Oh that's so sweet of you! I have to finish this tour first but afterwards I can totally take my lunch break." You gesture to the group now flocking you, waiting for more history quips.

"Yeah, absolutely. Mind if I?" He gestures to the group and falls to the back, listening to the rest of the tour.

You ramble off the memorized script adding  in some jokes. I could've been a goddess. Before long the group has dispersed and you're left with Dr. Thorne. Heading by the reception area, you check out for lunch and make your way back into the city. You lead the way to your favorite restaurant, smelling the food from a block away.

"It seems like the two years here really did you some good." Erik smiles at you, as the waiter leaves to get your drinks. "You look livelier than I've ever seen you."

"Well you did teach a lot of 8AMS." You joke, glancing over the menu. "Athens is exactly what I needed. These are some of the friendliest and most caring people, I've ever come across. The city took me in as if I was one of its own and not a tourist."

"Ahhh, the magic of Greece." He agrees before attempting to order in Greek.

The server asks if you're having your usual and you give a quick nod. You can't help but to wonder why Erik is really here. There's no new events happening at the museum and it's a little hard to believe he'd come visit just to buy you lunch before you go back to the States. Hell, he could've bought you lunch, in the States.

"You look gorgeous, Y/N." Oh...that's uncomfortable. You freeze a little, taking a gulp of water.

"What?"

"I've always wondered what it'd be like to wine and dine you." You're gonna puke.

This guy is more than ten years older than you and is not your type. You laugh nervously and attempt to make an exit strategy. You feign having to use the restroom and make your way towards the server station in the back. Your server spots you and asks politely what's wrong. Without a second thought you ask to have your meal wrapped up and delivered to the museum. You pay for what you ordered and slip into the bathroom, steadying yourself at the sink.

"OH GOD." You splash some water on your face and take out your phone. Luckily the museum director actually needed you back. You're a terrible liar, even now.

"Sorry to cut this short but I have to get back...the Acropolis needs me." You explain as soon as you get back to the table. "I hope you enjoy the food! This place is the best. Have a safe flight back!"

You don't wait for a response as you practically sprint back to the museum. That was the last thing you had expected or wanted to happen. Luckily, the museum was short on staff and you were needed on a few more tours. Ignoring the garbling in your stomach, you put on a happy smile and begin pointing out the excavated sitting under the museum. In the back of your mind, you wondered if Thorne would dare to come back.

At the end of the second tour, you head to the service desk just as your food arrives. The director thanks you again for taking a later lunch and you assure her its no problem. You're about to go outside for a picnic when you see something. Not something...someone. His hair had grown out to around his shoulders.

But you would recognize Bucky Barnes even if he were wearing a wig. Repositioning the to go containers, you stand just behind him. He's looking out the large windows and up to the Pantheon. You realize he has no idea you're behind him and is laser focused on the Acropolis.

"They say Athena herself, came down and blessed the Acropolis." You try to keep your tone even, doing your best 'I'm-a-tour-guide' voice. He jumps a little and turns, his blue eyes pierce into your soul. Dammit he looks amazing.

"Y/N.." A small smile lights up his face.

"Hi Bucky." You return the smile and stand with him in silence for bit. "Are you hungry?"

He tenses and you can see him trying to work something out in his head. You never finish your food and you figured you might as well catch up. He finally nods and the two of you walk out of the museum and up the hill. You flash your pass at the ticket attendants and the two of you continue up. Restoration had stopped for the winter and you shoot Bucky a look. Daring him to go inside the Pantheon.

"We'll get in trouble." Is his only response.

"That's what the last day is for Barnes." You smile and grab his hand, pulling him inside the ruins, away from prying eyes.

In the cool dirt, you set out the containers and the rich smells of the food hit you. Bucky sits down nearly across from you and the two of you start eating. It's nearly silent, aside from the people milling around to look at the ancient buildings.

"You were right Y/N." Bucky finally speaks, hardly more than a whisper. "We needed time apart. I learned a lot about myself and how I treated you. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too. Living in another country really opens your eyes Buck." The two of you share what you'd been doing for the last couple of years; taking breaks only to eat more.

"I really missed you." He says, helping you clean up the containers. "You look amazing. So much happier than when you left. You've got this glow...like nothing can bring you down. You look genuinely at peace."

"I am and I missed you too." You smile, watching his face carefully. "You don't look so bad yourself. More muscles, longer hair, laugh lines by your eyes. Are you happier Bucky?"

"I'm getting there, more and more, every day." He helps you out of the dirt, both of your brushing off and slipping back out of the Pantheon, into the crowd. You notice the weight of his arm over your shoulder but make no move to push him off.

"I'm glad."

Bucky walks you back to the museum, throwing out your trash. Then suddenly he takes both of your hands and pulls you a little bit closer to him.

"Y/N, I know we've been a part for a while. But I never stopped loving you. I want to wake up to your face everyday. I want to watch the sun rise and set with you. You're strong and brave and confident. You're the only person for me and when you get back to Brooklyn–"

"Don't you dare propose to me!" You cut him off, pulling your hands away. What he told you 2 years ago is replaying in your head, I'm gonna marry you. "I'm not ready for marriage, Bucky."

"Marry you?" He scoffs and your heart drops a little. "Y/n, I'm just trying to date you."

                                    ~~~~~~ THE END~~~~~

OFAM taglist: @sunstarskyhappiness​ @stibbsx​

Permanent taglist: @mermaidxatxheart​

[seapandora]

Sky High

Part 1

Summary: Y/N, an angel of the Lady. She is beauty, she is grace, but she will punch a demon in its face. 

A/N: A part of the writing challenge @buckysknifecollection made. It is going to be a series, and I´d love to hear from you guys on what you´d like me to change and what not. I really hope this will be a good one, I love the prompt and I just had a lot of fun writing this even if it probably doesn’t make any sense XD. Anyways, enjoy guys!

Warnings: Swearing (I swear a lot, okay), sexual innuendos (later chapters), alcohol, mentions of death/killing, mentions of religion(s), angst (future chapters), fluff (future chapters)

Steve x fem!reader

Words: 1778

Prompt: Angel/Demon AU

Y/N: Your Name

Y/Ns week had been awful, more so than usual. She hadn´t been able to be around her favorite humanoids and she had been away on mission after mission to species who didn’t appreciate her help and in the end didn’t pray to or for her, meaning her grace was draining slightly. It made her grouchy and really not very pleasant to be around. Natasha had already pointed that out to her, but Y/N had just grumbled and asked for another whiskey. It was the only way she would be able to get through the week in her own head.

Monday

Everyone hates Mondays, why should this one had been any different? It really wasn´t. It all started with Y/N getting her mission. A population of Welmus. An aggressive species who had no beliefs and were therefor hard to control. Welmus weren´t large, but they were many, reproduced faster than regular humans and could be a real pain in the ass unless controlled. Normally the younger angels would handle them, in more or less good ways. But in the past few months they had had a bit of an upproar which ended in the entire population having to be wiped out. Y/N didn’t like the work, but she didn’t want someone like Tony to have to do it. He took it more personal than Y/N did. She just did the job, she didn’t want to loose her wings. It seemed to be painful. So yes, she had commited mass-murder, in the name of Maria. In the words of sir Ian McKellen, in the Da Vinci-code, as long as there´s been one true god there has been killing in his name. Maria was god now. So while the Welmus-species wasn’t huge, standing at a height of 50 cm, they were very very aggressive and didn´t go down with a fight. Y/N had earned quite a few scars from that battle. In the end she had did what needed to be done though and she had wished for no more mission for the day, but as per usual, she never got what she wanted. Maria had given her another mission, this one to sort up another rebellion. She wouldn’t need to take anyone out, but she was supposed to take those responsible, into custody to let them stand in the court of holy law to have their fates determined. What a Monday it had been.

Tuesday - Thursday

Tuesday she had gotten her third mission of the week. To get to earth and make believers pray and atone for their sins. Yay, her favorite. Oh how she hated humans. They were ungreatful, needy, whiny, cruel, and disrespectful. They didn’t appreciate her help and didn’t pray for her after she left. All angels had a specific area they took care of Y/Ns was peace and she had visited earth with the mission to calm people down. The least they could do was to pray for peace no matter what religion they belonged to. Anyways, she had been busy trying to keep forces separated and her mind had been working non-stop to convince the leaders of the two forces to retreat and squash the dispute. What good was it being the good guy if she couldn’t use her powers. The whole ordeal had just taken so much energy out of her and Thursday night she just cured up under the stars and let herself regenerate a bit of Grace. It was exhausting to end fights and make sure everyone behaved, humans were particularly hard to deal with. And would you know, Friday would be even worse.

Friday

Whats worse than having adult humans not believe in peace? Having a child believe in peace but have to take them out because their future shows them to be horrible humans. The world didn’t need a new dictator. Her day had hence started with just studying the child, and eventually talking to the child and lastly taking the childs hand and guide him to Maria. Yes that meant the child moved on to the after-life. Yeah, Y/N job really wasn’t glamourous or fun sometimes. Her Friday didn’t end with that though. Maria sent her to collect three angels from hell, or the underworld rather. It was the same place for all religions who believed in a hell-like world where you were punished for your sins. Y/N liked the underworld, well she didn’t mind the dark and silence down there. Unlike heaven she never felt crowded while she was down there. The angels had all been captured by demons but had now been traded for demons that were kept in heaven. Y/N didn’t really know why they had all been captured, she didn’t really care, she just did her job. The angels had been returned safe and sound and Y/Ns week had finally been over. Well work for her was never over, but she took the weekend away from her boss, so close enough.

Angels and Demons, good and bad, light and dark, blah blah blah… Y/N had heard it all by now. She was the good, light, gracious and angelic. She was beautiful as few and carried her aura with pride. Well according to what most people thought anyways. She hated it, every second of it. Being an angel wasn’t something she had chosen. She had died, it was quite dramatic and all, but she had long forgotten how she died. Someone had seen into her sould and whipped up some hefty spell. And she oop… was an angel. Yeah yeah, it wasn’t that simple, but she didn’t know the process, just that she went through it. A few years into her… holiness… angelness… angelship, she got a wessel. She was to do the Lords work on earth. Y/N hadn´t been a believer before she died, doing the Lords work felt hypocritical to her and she had rebelled in a sense. Her rebellion had led to the exchange of theLord into a very lovey lady, Maria. Okay, she wasn’t lovely but, Y/N disliked any kind of authority. She did her duties as she got them in exchange for not being disturbed inbetween her missions. Her reach stretched beyond Earth, more than the human species believed in a power, and she was one of a number to make the higher powers work. Y/Ns favorite species to help were the Sofwas. They are small humanoid creatures, about 2 inches tall and despite that they’ve got quite the vocal range and Y/N always felt humbled by them. They were vocal, but kind, mostly. Y/N would often volonteer to help the Sofwas and she was respected and prayed to by the creatures. It was important to be that respected by at least one species. If she wasn’t she would fade, her wessel would devour all of her grace and she´d become a mere shell walking across the worlds praying on angels. Now lets not confuse a corrupted angel with a demon. A demone was a completely different thing, as unpleasant and disgusting of course, well almost all demons were awful.

Natasha wasn’t awful. She was a demon Y/N had worked with a few times by now. Angels and demons didn’t always have opposing goals. Most demons knew who Y/N was, they knew her story with heaven and often thought they could ger her to join their cause, or side, or whatever youd want to call it. Those attempt only pissed Y/N off, they were futile. She didn’t want to be on anyones bad side. She had, first hand, had to rip angels wings off because of their disobediance and failure to hide it, or make up for it. She had, first hand, had to kill demons, as they strayed too far off their path. All she really wanted was some peace and quiet. She had no interest in the disputes between angels and demons. She just didn’t want to be bossed around. That was her problem. If she refused orders she´d be discarded, she´d be killed. She was stuck in her situation really. Now back to Natasha, she ran a bar Y/N often visited. They had the more potent stuff that would get angels and demons alike, a good buzz. Y/N was a frequent visitor. Her work was hard and in the bar she didn’t have to think. A few of her collegues came with her occasionally, Tony mostly, but also Rhodey, and T´Challa. They usually met up in the bar to discuss their latest missions. The other three however werent as keen on demons as Y/N was. They were all technically younger than her and had a lot of faith in their boss Maria. Of course they knew about Y/Ns rebellion, but they hadn´t been around for it. At the bar they could talk freely, while there Maria couldn’t summon them. Natasha had made sure that the bar was a free haven.

The bar wasn’t only for them though, no no no, Natasha would never have been able to put up with them alone, there had to be at least two demons in the bar to balance it out. This didn’t always fall well with Tony and Rhodey. T´Challa was more relaxed around the demons even if he didn’t trust them or wanted to talk to them. There was however one demon neither of them wanted to talk to and Y/N wasn´t too fond of him either. He went by The Captain or The Nomad Captain, and he was the leader of the demons. He was the, so called, devils right hand. No one really knew his real name, well of course Y/N knew it. She knew a lot. She got around enough to understand who he was. The captain had a few friends Y/N actually spent some time with every now and then. It was mostly at the bar, but occasionally out in the real world as well. A demon Y/N really enjoyed spending time with was Sam. He was fun, and didn’t judge Y/N for being an angel. Unfortunately Sam spent most of his time with The Captain and his other associate. Y/N wanted to say the two were friends, but she didn’t know if demons could even have friends. Hell, she wasn’t sure she had or could have friends. Yes she had her collegues but they weren´t her friends. Currently the bar was empty apart from herself, Natasha, Natashas friend Wanda, and The Captain and the person Y/N had realized was closest to him, James. It was weird being the only angel in the establishment, but Y/N didn’t care too much. As long as The Captain and James didn’t pick a fight she would be fine. 

[the-omni-princess]

The-omni-princess Bucky Barnes Masterlist

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes

Updated: 4/12/20

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Newest works on top * is smut (18+ only) and + is a fan favorite

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Series ——-

Winter Storm (OC Story, Demigod!AU) (Coming Eventually) *

Series Summary:

Yakovlevna Anastasia Volkov grew up in the better streets of Brooklyn, dancing along to her father’s music, knowing she was different. The Daughter of Aphrodite, with uncontrollable powers over ice, and a pension for trouble. When she meets a cute Brunett and his skinny blonde friend in 1935 outside her ballet studio, her life gets tossed into a series of fortunate events, until things take a dark turn in 1945.

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Blood Bound (Vampire!Bucky x Witch!Reader, Supernatural AU!)

(On Hiatus)*

Series Summary: Vampires and witches have been known enemies since the dark ages. Backstabbing, secrets, and magic turned supernatural brethren again each other. As a natural-born witch, you grew up on these stories, your own monsters under your bed. What happens when one of those sworn enemies claims that you are his blood mate, the vampire equivalent of a true mate? Will you give in to this man out of time? Or destroy him for the sake of your Coven?

*(Smut chapters are clearly marked)

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Tangled Up (College Social Media AU!) (Complete) +

Series Summary: You and Bucky show up to the same costume party accidentally wearing a couple’s costume. The problem? People think you came together.

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Frozen Heart  (Modern Royalty!AU) (Complete) *+

Series Summary: After the war against Hydra, King Bucky comes home to take what has been promised to him since he was young, you. But he is not the same person as the young boy that you grew up with. Can she break through his tough shell and bring back the young man she once fell in love with? Or will she be forced to marry the monster everyone thinks he’s become?

*(Smut Chapters are clearly marked)

Overall Word Count: 55.8K

——- One Shots ——-

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Something Wild Calls You Home (Fae King!Bucky x reader) 

Summary: For @buckysknifecollection ‘s #buckysknifecollectionchallenge and @brooklyn-boy ‘s #Floriographywritingchallenge

When you meet the Fae King he makes a deal with you as you uncover secrets of your childhood.

Based partially off of this song Something Wild by Lindsey Sterling

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Spiced Cinnamon (Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader) (Smutty but not full on smut)*+

Summary: For Asadmarveltrashbag ‘s #sarahs3kWC

Bucky accidentally triggers your heat

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Wait for Me (I’m coming) (Winter Soldier!Reader)

Summary: For sunmoonandbucky’s #5kconstellationswc

One last mission. One more death.

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Guarded Crown (Knight!Bucky x Princess!reader)

Summary: For bucky-smiles‘s Secret Santa 2019

Your knight tries to protect you

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Fleece Navidad (Doctor AU)

Summary: For mypassionsarenysins‘s 1k Writing Challenge, a Doctor!Latina!Reader x Biker!Bucky

Your residential frequent flyer has a good reason for wanting to stop by to see you – again.

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Beauty and the Beast (Soulmate!AU) (Sequel to Sleeping Beauty)

Summary: For bitchassbucky ‘s #abitchassholiday writing challenge

You wake up the day after drunkenly meeting your soulmate.

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Sleeping Beauty (Soulmate!AU) +

Summary: For @geosaurusrrex ‘s 2k milestone writing challenge

No one can wake up Bucky from Cryo… well, except theoretically his Soulmate.

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All Yours

Summary: For @writingsoftheloser ’s  1.5K Flowers Writing Challenge

It’s simple really. You have a secret, and there’s an infamous Stark party. What could go wrong?

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Burnt (Firefighter!AU) +

Summary: For @sunmoonandbucky‘s 1.5K writing challenge

Another late night at the firehouse is interrupted when dispatch calls out a very familiar address.

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My Sargent *

Summary: Bucky comes home after a mission with weeks of having no contact with you. (18+ Only)

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Electric Touch *

Summary: With everyone else in the compound gone on a mission, it’s up to you to help Bucky wake up from a nightmare. (18+ Only)

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Silver and Gold (Soulmate!AU) 

Summary: The first words spoken to you by your soulmate are written on your wrist. What happens when two super soldiers say the same thing at the same time?

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Inked Wrists (Soulmate!AU)

Summary: For @buckygrantbarnes ‘s writing challenge

In a world where the first words spoken to you by your soulmate are written on your wrist, what are you supposed to do when yours simply says “hey?”

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Ambushed

Summary:  For @buckygrantbarnes ‘s writing challenge

When a mission turns sour, you almost sacrifice your life to save Bucky. Both of you soon realize that you both might have feelings for each other.

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Toys and Flowers

Summary: For @sunmoonandbucky‘s 1.5K writing challenge

Insecurities and some badly written jokes can hurt, especially when they come from family. (Intrusive thoughts TW) (Angst with a fluffy ending)

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Hunted

Summary: For Selene’s 1K writing challenge

“I think I like you.” “Couldn’t you say this before you shot me?”

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Drabbles:

(that I remembered to add)

Small Reader w/Drunk Bucky

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Wakanda!Bucky/Reader w/Goats

 For notyetneedcoffee​ ‘s #NeedCoffees2k

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Accidental Morning Confessions

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Find me on Ao3!