#he looks miserable when Buck tells him natalia sees him

[watchyourbuck]

please let Eddie Diaz be gay 2024 year resolution

[angstysebfan]

Was It A Mistake? Part 1

Pairings: Bucky x Nat, Bucky x reader (previously)

Summary: You and Bucky used to date, but decided you were better off as friends. Now Bucky is interested in Natasha, your best friend. Was it a mistake to break up?

You punch the punching bag in a series of combinations. Sweat dripping from your head and y/h/c hair, thats up in a messy bun. You’re the only one in the gym right now, but you knew that would change. You had a standing sparing appointment with your favorite super soldier.

Everyone in the tower thought it was weird that you and Bucky remained such good friends. You both dated for 3 years, and were hot and heavy. You realized the last 6 months that Bucky was pulling away from you. You started to distance yourself also. Finally you both decided to end your relationship and just be friends.

You were nervous that it would be awkward, but it wasn’t. You were just happy he was in your life. You know you loved him, but sometimes it’s not enough. You shake your thoughts from your head as you heard the gym doors close behind you.

“Tiring yourself out before I even get a chance to beat you fairly, doll?” You turned around and saw Bucky walking over the the bench to place his water and towel down. He was wearing navy blue basketball shorts that hung perfectly low on his hips, and as usual, no shirt. You couldn’t help admire the beautiful specimen in front of you.

“Ha, just warming up Buck. Don’t worry, I still have enough energy to kick your ass!” You yell, while pulling the tape off your hands. You grab your towel and water and walk over to him, drinking and wiping your sweat. He laughed, “Whatever you say. Shall we?” He asked walking toward the sparring mats.

After 30 minutes, and Bucky taking you out for the 5th time, you gave up. He offered his hand to help you get up. “One day... I’ll get you down... mark my words.” You say through your panted breath. Bucky laughed. “Can’t wait.”

You both walk over the bench to grab a drink. You wipe your face with your towel when you hear the doors to the gym. Nat walks over to you both. “Hey guys!” She says smiling. “Hey Nat, you still up for shopping later?”

“Absolutely! Meet me in the common room at 1?” She asks. You nod as you take a drink. You start walking out of the gym when you notice Nat and Bucky give each other knowing smirk. You try to shake off the gut wrenching feeling you have as you leave.

--

Later that day, you and Nat are shopping at the local mall. You sit outside the changing room as Nat tries on a new red dress. She comes out and looks in the 3 way mirror. You can’t help but notice how gorgeous she is. The dress fits her curves perfectly. “Oh Nat, you definitely need to get that!” You say with a smile.

“Yeah, I think I will. It’s perfect.” She said as she turns and looks over the shoulder to see how it looks. “Perfect for what?” You ask. Nat looks at you through the mirror. You can see she looks... nervous? She turns toward you and gives you a small smile. “Bucky asked me out on a date. We have been hanging out a lot lately, and we wanted to try dating.”

Your jaw dropped. You feel the tears forming, but you internally yell at yourself to keep it together. You broke up with him! Of course he is going to move on! You are better as friends. He started distancing himself. You ended it to save your heart! You take a deep breath and close your eyes for a moment. When you open you see Nat still looking at you, waiting for your reaction.

“Oh, wow! I.... I didn’t know you guys... were...were talking.” You cringe at your shaking voice. Nat looks at you with sympathy in her eyes, which pisses you off. She knew you still loved him. She knew why you ended it with him, and now she is going after him?

“It wasn’t a planned thing. I swear, and I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I know should have, but I’m...” She trails off, looking down at her hands. You have never seen her look so nervous. “You’re what, Natalia?” You say slowly standing. She looks at you. “I’m falling for him, hard. And he told me that he is falling for me too.”

She might as well had slapped you in the face. You grab your bags without saying another word and left. You ignore her calls for you. You finally let the tears come down your face as you head out to grab a cab to head back to the tower. 

You try to control yourself as you ride the elevator up to the residential floors of the tower. As soon as you walk out, you see him. He has a concerned look on his face. You knew Nat called him and told him what happened. You couldn’t deal with it. Just looking at him caused the tears to come down. You quickly turn and head to your room.

“Y/N, please. Don’t run away from me.” You hear him call. You try and outrun him, but he was so much faster. Before you even got a chance to close the door, he pushed his way into your room.

“Get out!” You scream. He looks devastated. You never yelled at him, even when you guys fought when you were together. “Y/N, please. Talk to me.” He begs, tears coming to his eyes. He was so confused by your reaction. You broke his heart. He was ready to marry you and then he was told that you wanted to end things with him. It crushed him, so he distanced himself, hoping to ease the pain. You eventually did end it, as asked to be friends. He didn’t fight it because he was hoping you would change your mind.

He has been miserable for months, pretending to be friends with you, when all he wanted is to be with you. Nat helped him by listening to him. He opened up to her, and he couldn’t help but start developing feelings. Nat was the only one who knew how he felt about you, but is willing to try with him.

“Please....” he whispered, on the verge of tears. A sob escapes your lips. “Buck... why? Why Nat? Why my best friend?” You knew it didn’t matter who he was dating, but you needed to know why her. He shook his head, sniffing. “When you broke up with me, I was miserable. I didn’t know what to do. Nat was there, and she let me confide my feelings to her. As time went on, I started to develop feelings. I.... I didn’t think you would care. You didn’t want to be with me, you wanted to be friends. I’m sorry.”

You were confused as you took in what he said. He was miserable? He didn’t think you wanted to be with him? Him and Nat talked about this? You look at him in shock. He was confused bu your reaction. 

“I... I don’t understand. You became distant, which is why I broke up with you. I thought you didn’t want me anymore. I thought us being friends was better than losing you at all.” You said. Bucky stares at you confused. “Nat... Nat talked to you about us?” You asked, and Bucky silently nodded. 

Betrayed. That was the word that went through your mind. Your so-called best friend knew that both you and Bucky still loved each other, but kept it quiet so she could take him. You couldn’t believe it! Bucky obviously didn’t realize what was happening either.

“I.... I need to think.” Bucky said, leaving you alone in your room. You couldn’t move. All you kept thinking what that there was miscommunication (why didn’t you ask first? stupid!!) somewhere between you and Bucky, and neither of you wanted to break up. Nat knew this, but kept it quiet and made a move on Bucky. 

Now you don’t know what is going to happen. Will you lose Bucky forever? You know you will never forgive Nat for backstabbing you. Maybe you should just leave. Make it easier. 

--

Part 2

[yikeswtfmate]

Saccharine

Summary: Bucky is trying to cook again and Y/N is afraid he will starve to death one of these days. Surely, no one can eat something that smells this horrifying? 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you

Warnings: swearing; a small sexual innuendo?; alcohol consumption; that’s it?

A/N: Based on the prompt My neighbour’s at my door, asking if everything’s alright, because it smells like something is burning, and I was only trying to cook for once and this is embarrassing but they decide to help me fix this mess although I’ve changed it a bit

Feels a bit rushed to the end imo, but this is what happens when I’m getting super excited about another idea and I can’t think about anything else

masterlist

There’s a distinct smell of burnt onions in the kitchen. I can smell it even from my place on the sofa, distracting me from my phone enough to raise my nose into the air and take a lungful of what now seems to be…rotten eggs? I wouldn’t be so confused if it weren’t for the fact that no one is currently cooking in my kitchen but as I make my way to the open window, I can bet good money that my neighbour is trying to cook again. It’s the third time this week that I’m wondering whether that long-haired handsome man is actually a vulture, coyote or freak of nature because how can someone eat something that smells so vile? His only redemption is that I know thanks to the impossibly thin walls of the building that these cooking endeavours inevitably end up in him ordering takeout after a couple of hours of cursing and what must only be whatever he’s been trying to make dumped into the bin.

This is it, I think. There is literally no possibility that a human being can survive on takeout alone. I go to the bathroom and make myself presentable, because let’s face it, I’m not going to face that pretty man looking like I’ve just hibernated for a week (which I have, but he doesn’t need to know that), put on a pair of slippers and with a long inhale get out of my apartment. In front of his door, I shift my weight from one foot to the other, now my exasperation at his culinary inabilities suddenly vanishing in the face of uncertainty. What if he’ll think I’m rude? What if he has someone over and I’m interrupting? What if he’ll think I’m weird? We’ve never spoken before after all, with the exception of the nods of acknowledgement in the mornings when we would occasionally meet.

As I ponder my decision, there are more curses flowing over the sound of sizzling. Fuck it, this man needs my help or he’ll starve. I knock on his door, waiting for a few seconds after I hear a shouted “coming.” The door flies open and my neighbour, this beautiful specimen of a man, is surrounded by steam and the smell of…does he have a wet dog inside the house? His hair must have been tied at the back, but now long strands are stuck to his sweaty forehead. He brings a hand to his face, wiping away at a red streak, only to be replaced by a black smudge. The kitchen towel he’s holding is dripping with something orange and the sleeve on his other arm is scorched. Has he been trying to cook an armchair?

“Hi. I know this might sound weird, but are you trying to cook?”

“Uh…Yeah. I’m failing miserably, as you can see.” He says with a frown, moving away from the door so I can look inside his apartment, which is now starting to fill with smoke.

“Uh – I think you might want to take off whatever you have on the stove now or the fire alarm will start going off soon.” I advise and with bulging eyes, he just turns around and runs toward the kitchen.

He leaves the door open so I take that as an invitation to come in and close it, just so I can spare the rest of our neighbours from the appalling smell. Following him, I inspect the damage and I can say hand on my heart that I have never in my entire life seen such damage. I let him take the pan off the stove and into the sink, although I should warn him that it’s probably not a good idea to pour cold water onto boiling oil, but I’m not even sure that is oil. I find some paper towels and wipe the cracked eggs off the counter and into a bowl that is full of skinned…peppers? I throw that away after I locate the bin, take a wet washcloth and clean the kitchen island, which is full of burnt meat, I’ll presume. As I inspect a purple sphere surrounded by slices of cucumber on a plate, there’s a grunt in front of me on the other side of the island and I look up with a consoling smile.

“This looks worse than it actually is.” He says.

“Well, it certainly looks better than it smells.”

“That bad, huh?” He scratches the back of his neck and extends a hand after he wipes it on his jeans that are actually covered in flour. “I’m Bucky by the way. I’ve never had the chance to introduce myself.”

“Y/N.” I shake his hand, noticing the rough skin – definitely not a cook then. At least I’ve established he’s not poisoning anyone else. “What were you trying to make anyway?”

“My friend Natalia gave me this Russian recipe for pirozhki, but I’ve just realised that she’s a worse cook than me so I should’ve never trusted her.”

He takes a sit with a grunt and a shake of his head. He offers me the chair next to him, reaching over an opened bottle of wine that was sitting on the island, next to a few mismatched glasses. I grab two, letting him fill them to the brim. It’s one of those nights, apparently.

“I’m pretty sure pirozhki are made with cabbage not…is that hummous?” I frown at yet another plate with an unnamed content that has started to get a green tint.

“It’s alright, I’m used to the cheap noodles by now.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.

“Tell you what.” I say, now more emboldened by the wine. “I’ll whip up some pasta so you can enjoy some homemade food tonight and I can have some company on this fine Friday evening. What do you say?”

Bucky shifts in his chair to look at me with a confused expression that slowly turns into a soft smile. It suits him so well, rough edges becoming sweet, his eyes suddenly my only focus. It cuts the air out of my lungs, and if I were younger, I would’ve blushed to the roots of my hair. It still manages to make me tighten my grip on the tall glass I am holding.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

“I don’t have any spaghetti though.” He says, still smiling, still looking directly into my eyes.

“Oh, I’m not going to cook in here, honey. This whole kitchen needs to be decontaminated, sterilised and cleansed with holy water.”

He laughs, which would have knocked me off my feet if I were standing. It seems this man can be very unhealthy for my state of mind, legs and lungs. With a chuckle he asks me to lead the way, bottle of wine in his hand and we’re now in my kitchen, a place I would have never seen him in in a million years. Maybe in some scattered fantasies, fleeting moments when I remember the broad line of his shoulders right before I fall asleep or the shape of his thighs in that particular pair of jeans he sometimes wears when he’s downstairs checking for his post.

“In my defence, I never had to cook for myself. After I moved to college, Steve would be the one cooking all the time and let me tell you, he did not like it if people meddled with his sauces.” He tells me two hours later after we’ve finished our bowls of pasta and we’re now sitting on the sofa, legs stretched on the coffee table and the tv turned on just for background noise.

“I don’t know, Buck. It’s kind of embarrassing not knowing how to at least make an omelette.” I laugh as he pours what is probably my third glass of wine.

“Now listen here, missy. I ain’t French and I do know how to do one thing.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I know how to pour milk over my cereal.” He says with a serious face. I burst out laughing, dropping the spoon I was holding directly on my t-shirt.

“I’ll tell you something though.” He offers me a napkin from the table, and I try to focus on wiping the chocolate cream off, but I’m suddenly seeing double and everything is ten times funnier, although to be fair, Bucky turned out to be the best company I’ve had in a long time. “I’ve never eaten so well in a whole ass time. But don’t tell Steve that or he’ll rip one of my arms out.”

“I’m sure everything is better than boiled leather, Bucky.” I smile.

“Nuh-uh. The pasta was divine. And this cake…Y/N, I’ll have to marry you just so I can eat this for the rest of my life.”

I bump my shoulder with his, but there is a feeling that I’m not sure I want to ignore. He’s been sweet all night, complimenting the food, which to be fair, in my eyes is not only the way to a man’s heart, but to mine as well. He’s making my heart sticky, a syrup running through veins with viscous sugar and honey, and he’s candy-coated, teeth-rotting saccharine.

*

Bucky knocks on my door the next day, a lazy Saturday that I’ve spent baking cookies and reading a novel that’s been twisting my gut with want. When my eyes meet his, my legs involuntarily twitch, scenes replaying in my head, but the smile I offer in return is nothing but genuine.

“I smell something delicious.” He says instead of a greeting.

I let him in, pouring him a bowl of soup after he reluctantly admits he only ate an apple the whole day. He protests at first, claiming that he only wanted a cookie, but ends up asking for seconds and finishing an entire batch of raspberry filled cookies.

Three hours later, I’m somehow curled up into his side, watching The Office because he committed the heinous crime of never having watched it. He absently curls a strand of my hair around his finger and I’m drifting asleep, wrapped in a cocoon of powdered sugar.

*

“You’re making me fat.” He says, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“Excuse you, James. You’re making me an alcoholic.” I retaliate, raising yet another glass of wine.

Bucky is sitting in my kitchen, eating my food, as he’s been doing for nearly every evening for the last four months. We’ve fallen into a strange routine, where he’s just drop by, claiming he smelled “something delicious” on his way in after work and I’d just learned to cook dinner for two without questions. I got so used to spending this time with him, that whenever he’d text he won’t be joining me, it would feel off, somehow unbalanced without him on the other side of the table.

I watch him as he moves around the kitchen with ease, putting the empty dishes in the sink, cutting two slices of cheesecake, pouring me another glass of wine. It felt strange having him in my apartment at first, but now it’s just normal, easy, sweet. He takes the plates with the dessert to the coffee table, and I join him in the living room. He’s already dug into his slice, unholy moans escaping his lips, and I just purse mine. Sometimes I wonder if he does it on purpose.

“Stop judging me, this is heavenly.”

“I’m not judging you, I think you’re an idiot.” I laugh. “It’s just a cheesecake. And I’ve made this before.”

“It’s not just a cheesecake. It is the most marvellous thing ever. It is transcendental.”

“Ok, I think you’ve had enough wine.”

We settle into comfortable silence as I turn on the tv and look through the selection of films that seems pretty slim at the moment, considering the amount of Netflix we’ve been consuming lately. Bucky shifts on the sofa next to me, clears his throat, closes his mouth after opening it to say something, rubs the back of his neck, picks at a piece of strawberry on his plate, turns to me, takes his hair out of its bun, fiddles with the band.

“Spit it out already.” I say, without even sparing him a glance. He does this sometimes, this little dance of his when he locks himself up and is unsure of how to voice whatever’s on his mind. I continue to look through the list of unwatched films, but I have a feeling I’ll just introduce him to Parks and Recreation tonight, because this man has apparently been living under a rock for the past century.

“My birthday’s coming up soon. I was wondering if you’d like to come? I’m not throwing a huge party, just a little get together with some friends over at my place. I’ll just buy some beer and order pizza, but I’d like you to be there as well.”

He’s looking at me expectantly, uncertainty clear in his voice, which is stupid because he could ask me anything and I’d do it without second thoughts by this point.

“Of course, you moron.” I say with a roll of my eyes. “I’ll be expecting my formal invitation in the mail though.”

*

It’s two weeks later and I am running so late. My mother insisted to have a girls’ day out, which I’ve tried getting out of, considering that a) I know my mother too well not to be aware that even dinners with her usually take decades to end, b) my very cute neighbour is expecting me to make an appearance at his birthday party, and most importantly, c) I haven’t seen him for three days already and I miss his smile more than anything. As the hours have been progressing, my fidgeting became worse, to the point that mum had enough of it and finally released me of my captivity, two hours later than I promised I’ll be there.

“That boy better be worth it.” She laughed, holding me in a hug as we were parting. “I hope you’re feeding him well.”

I am now faced with his closed door, voices and laughter interlacing in the apartment before me, and I suddenly feel very nervous, a reminder of the first time I knocked at Bucky’s door. I hope his friends like me, not only because I have been programmed since birth to need to be loved by everyone, but also because I gathered from all my conversations with Bucky that he holds his friends’ opinions in high regard. I better not fuck this up, I think and with a deep breath, I knock on the door.

Someone shouts after Bucky, and I can distinctly hear a commotion set into motion, that makes me wary. There are yells, a loud line of cursing, and the clatter of what must only be a shattered glass on the hard tile of the kitchen. The door opens and I’m greeted by a man who’s holding a bottle of beer and looks as if he’d just stepped out of a Fourth of July commercial.

“You must be Y/N. Come in.” Mister America says and lets me step in.

The first thing I see is Bucky being held in a headlock by another man who seems too happy to be sober or sorry that his friend can’t breathe at the moment. Bucky looks like he’s trying to fight against an eagle, flailing around like an overexcited puppy. I am standing in the middle of the hallway, trying to stifle the burst of laughter that is taking hold of me.

“Come on, Barnes, don’t be rude. Your girlfriend’s here and you won’t even say hi to her? Where are your manners? I thought you couldn’t wait to see her after you’ve been worried all night she won’t show up.” Bird Boy says.

I raise my eyebrows, but Stars and Stripes is the only one that can notice my reaction. “That’s Sam.” He says nodding to his wrestling friends. “You probably already know that their relationship is…intense. I’m Steve, by the way. We’ve all heard a lot about you.”

A hand slams onto Steve’s shoulder before I try to pry information out of him. Bucky seems to have broken free, Sam closely following him, and I’m now faced with three broad-shouldered men that could easily pass for the planet’s bodyguards. I extend the cake tin to Bucky and he takes it, looking at me with those huge eyes that would be more fit for a cartoon character.

“Did you bake something for me?” He asks incredulous.

“Figured you’re too much of a dumbass to order a cake, so…” I shrug.

Bucky gives Steve the tin, without even opening it, as I would have expected him to do. I worry at my bottom lip, thinking maybe I overstepped or that a bottle of wine would’ve been more fitting, when he literally swipes me off my feet in a hard embrace. He snuggles his face into my neck, tickling my cheek with strands of his hair, and I can clearly smell the alcohol on him. He’s drunk, I realise, which can only mean that he’s past the point of being funny, now he’s just going to downright say whatever’s on his mind.

“Easy there, tiger. You’re gonna break her spine.” I can hear a woman passing by saying, but it’s too muffled by Bucky’s entire display of affection to figure out whether that’s Natalia or not.

“You didn’t have to bake me a cake.” Bucky murmurs. “You are enough.”

“I wanted to, Buck. Happy birthday, honey.” I say when he finally lets go off me and I can stand on my own two feet again. He brushes his thumb over my cheek and looks at me for a long moment, until he takes my hand in his and drags me into the living room, where there are more people sitting on the sofa, on the armchairs, and even on the floor.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She saved me from starvation, she is the love of my life, she has the softest hair that I’ve ever touched in my entire existence and if anyone lies a finger on her, they’ll be dead within the minute, just so you all jackasses know, so don’t try anything, Thor!” Bucky announces with a flourish of his hand.

There’s no time to process what he just said, as his guests start yelling their hellos and introduce themselves. I try to shake as many hands as possible, and even give hugs back when they’re offered, and I’m surprised to notice that it seems as if I already know all these people from Bucky’s stories.

A few hours later, I’m sitting next to Bucky on the floor of the living room, after being lured into playing a variation of Truth or Dare, that would make no sense for a sober person. There’s yelling, popcorn flying over heads when a dare is not deigned to be fulfilled, empty bottles scattered around the floor, and too many paper plates to count. I wonder fleetingly how much all of this will take to clean tomorrow morning and I make a mental note to offer my help, before a hand rests on my knee. I turn to look at Bucky, who seems unaware of his actions, his vision clearly hazy with alcohol, but I’ve also consumed enough to just enjoy it and not read too much into it. I lean my chin on his shoulder, which makes him cut his shout short and direct his attention to me. Our faces are a few inches away from each other, alcohol mixing from our breaths, pupils dilating in the dim light, and we sit there, looking at each other before a cushion comes flying right to our heads.

“Get a room!” Someone shouts and there’s an eruption of laughter, but no one else pays any attention to us anymore.

Bucky stands up and holds his hand out to me. I take it and follow him through the apartment without a word. He leads me to the fire escape, climbing out the window into the fresh cold air. With a shiver, I take the space between his legs, leaning my back on his chest and letting him warm me up with his arms. He’s the one to rest his chin on my shoulder now, and I play with his thumb, suddenly more sober than I was in the heated apartment, but I have to know, before my ounce of bravery is gone.

“Did you mean it?” I whisper, half wondering whether he’s too drunk to understand what I’m saying.

“What?”

“Back there. When you introduced me.”

“That you saved me from starvation? Well, yeah, did you forget I am completely useless in the kitchen?” He laughs.

“Not that.” But I really don’t want to give him any more clarifications.

“That you have the softest hair?” He murmurs into my ear, kissing my temple. “You do. That I’ll kill anyone who would even look wrong at you?” He kisses my cheek. “That you are the love of my life? I’m not a hundred percent sure about that, but I’m more than certain that I’ve never loved anyone the way that I already do you. And I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

The angle is strange, him towering over me although he’s only sitting a step above me, his arm wrapped around mine, while his other hand makes its way around my face, pulling it towards his. Strands of his hair fall over his eyes, but I can see the gentleness in them in the light pouring out from the kitchen. His nose brushes over my brow, breath ghosting over my skin until I close my eyes and his lips are like honey, melting like butter in a hot summer day. I feel syrup pouring over my soul, coating it in cotton candy, that leaves my insides sticky with sugar.

“Now I’m certain.” He whispers and I smile. I kiss his nose and snuggle closer into his arms. We stay like that for some time, that could have been either hours or mere minutes, the party dying down slowly inside the house. The sky is still dark, and I’m slowly drifting to sleep, but from Bucky’s shiver I know we should be going back, although he won’t admit it.

“You wanna know a secret?” He asks.

“Yeah?” I really don’t want to move

“My only saving grace is that compared to the kitchen, I’m amazing in the bedroom.”

I groan and bump my shoulder into his chest. This man will be the death of me. I climb my way back inside, closely followed by Bucky who is laughing behind me. He grabs my wrist and turns me around, loosely resting his arms on my hips and looking down at me through clear eyes. At least he’s sober now.

“Thank you for making my birthday wish come true.”

“You wished for a birthday cake?” I snort with a raised eyebrow.

He kisses my forehead and murmurs sugar-coated word into my skin. “I wished for you.”

***

Taglist:

@imma-new-soul

[winterhawkkisses]

688.

For @lissadiane, who prompted me with space pirates and accidental baby acquisition. 

"What in the gorram hell," Bucky muttered, striding across the cargo hold to where the small crate lay. The inside of it was packed tight with a purple sweater that Steve had knitted for Clint after the job on one of the rim planets, when Clint had damn near frozen to death. Lying on top of that -

"What in the gorram hell," Bucky shouted, "is a baby doing on the ship?"

The tiny thing startled, shaking awake, and its tiny fists clenched and its tiny mouth opened, a noise like one of Tony's sirens filling the cavernous room. Bucky took an automatic step backwards, flinching at the loud hark back to engine failures and hull damage and that time a mutated rat had got into the ducts.

"Ah yes, good work," Wanda snapped, emerging from behind the crates with a nutrient pouch in one hand and a mug of steaming water in the other. "Of course you are left alone with him for one minute and you make him cry. Hold these." Barely pausing to make sure Bucky had a grip, she bent to pick up the baby, crooning at it softly and gently stroking its back. "Yes," she said, "yes, it's okay, his face is scary for all of us."

"Did you -" Bruce walked through the hatch, tripping on his way through and then turning, startled, as though the layout of the ship was still a surprise to him. He was carrying a large syringe without a needle and something that might've been a stuffed animal, once upon a time. "Oh, he's awake. Good." He walked over to Bucky and took the nutrient pouch, crumbling the block into the steaming mug and swirling it around with the end of the syringe.

"What in the go tsao de -"

"Language," Steve snapped, and great, the whole damned gang was here.

"What in," Bucky said, slowly, and carefully, and perfectly articulated, "the actual fuck is going on here, cap?"

"Barton brought him aboard," Steve said. "We were out in the black before I found out about it, and if you think I'm gonna risk the little guy's health by dumping him on some -" he paused, then reached forward and carefully cupped his hands over the baby's ears. "Some shee-niou space station -"

Bruce took the mug, carefully loading up the syringe with the nutrient-rich sludge, and Bucky took the opportunity to throw his hands up at the lot of them and stalk off to one of the staircases up to the metal catwalk, thundering across to the hatch to the bridge. Clint - who had his feet up on the dash, and was attempting to balance an arrow on his nose - flinched himself upright at his crashing entrance.

"I didn't do it," he said, automatically, and Bucky glowered, folding his arms across his chest.

"You didn't bring the baby on board."

"Oh that. Yeah, I did that," Clint said, breaking eye contact and turning to fiddle with something that Bucky was pretty sure didn't require any fiddling.

"Why," Bucky asked, "what were you talking about?"

"The... baby?" Clint said, and tried for an innocent grin, but he didn't have the kind of face that wore innocent so well, and he still wasn't meeting Bucky's eyes.

Bucky shook his head, decided to deal with one problem at a time. They could deal with whatever the hell else Clint had messed up later.

"Wanna tell me why we've got a gorram baby aboard a futzin' pirate ship?"

Clint's smile settled a little more firmly into reality, at that, 'cos he'd been trying to get them to call it a pirate ship for months but Steve had refused to let it catch on.

"It didn't like that planet," Clint said, a little defiant. "It said the food was terrible."

"Clint -"

Clint shrugged off the hand Bucky rested on his shoulder, looking at nothing particular real intently.

"They were sellin' him, Buck," he snapped. "I hadta -" His voice frayed to nothing against the sharp words.

"Shit," Bucky said.

Trafficking was big on the worlds on the rim. There was never enough labour, never enough cheap sex, never enough - if the inner planets' news holos were to be believed - meat. Never enough contraception and too many mouths to feed...

The lucky ones, like Natalia, ended up trained as Companions. Bucky would never, not ever call her experience lucky to her face.

The unlucky ones -

Clint'd been sold by his brother. He didn't like to talk about it.

Bucky approached carefully. Got into his eyeline, 'cos his aids weren't so good with ambient sounds and Bucky'd always walked soft.

"I had to," Clint said miserably, and Bucky crouched down in front of him, didn't touch until Clint signed that it was okay. Wasn't more'n a second, then, before they were standing and Clint was wrapped up tight in his arms - he insisted on sleeping that way, too, called it a comfort. Bucky suspected he liked the reassurance that Bucky would never let him go, and hell if anyone was ever gonna pry his metal arm loose.

"Intrigued to know how the hell you figure we're gonna look after a baby on a damn smuggling boat," Bucky said, rocking Clint back and forth a little, breathing warm against his hair. "We got sharp edges, we got unprotected gorram drops, we got Tony -"

"Tony's good with kids!" Clint protested, and Bucky snorted.

"Tony is a gorram kid. Not sure if we've got an actual adult on this whole ship, unless you count Natalia, and I'd like to see you ask her to look after a baby." Clint tensed a little in Bucky's arms, and a horrible suspicion crept into his mind. "I mean," he said, slow and careful, "what kinda space-brained idiot would agree to look after a baby that ain't even their own kin?"

"Yeah," Clint said, picking at the buttons on Bucky's jacket fretfully, "about that..."

[whatscallion]

I'm sick and miserable, so can I have a prompt where Wanda is sick and Bucky elects himself to be the one to take care of her because he can't get sick and then they bond? Or something like that, idk man. I trust your writing.

//- ABIIII. I hope i did okay with this!! It’s also your reward for finishing off the semester yaaaay!!! Congrats!!

Pairing: Bucky x Wanda

The noise coming from the living room didn’t sound like it was coming from a human. If James had to be perfectly honest, he’d admit that there was a chance a dying goat was in the living room. While he’d say that to anyone who asked, he wouldn’t say it to the person who was making such a noise, if only because there was a fear she’d scratch out his eyes while he slept. His Ma raised him better than to say rude things to pretty girls, anyways. Sadly, that couldn’t be said for the rest of their friend circle.

Natalia, who lived with Wanda, opted to stay “innocently” in the Barnes / Rogers / Wilson bachelor pad. Steve and Sam both protested helping with excuses bordering pathetic, citing an important exam two days from now, or a blind date. Whatever. It wasn’t as if Buck wasn’t clueless when it came to taking care of others - a childhood friend of Steve “contract everything under the sun” Rogers with a nurse mother tended to educate - so this could be easy. It was just a head cold. He’d been under the impression that stereotypically, women weren’t as pitiful as men when it came to any kind of illness, but wow, he was mistaken.

Wanda was absolutely pitiful as she remained hidden beneath three blankets, only able to see the television through a hole she made … somewhere in the pile. It was cute. James could admit that much. It was pretty cute.

Maybe that’s why he’d offer to help her out. The other excuses were to pacify the curious few who figured James had ulterior motives. It wasn’t at all like that. While he could further admit that when Wanda was in good health, she was absolutely drop dead gorgeous, he knew when a girl was out of his league. Smart, funny, legs for days - they were all his weaknesses, bundled up in one Romany woman.

She wore red fairly often, and he couldn’t help but notice. He found it was his favorite color recently, though it wasn’t something he’d tell anyone for fear of brutal teasing.

“Wandz,” he started as he sat down next to the sentient blanket burrito, setting the two bowls of chicken noodle soup before them. “I know you’re awake.”

All he got in a reply was a sniff, muffled from deep within the cocoon. All the boy could think of was how adorable that was. Quick on the heels of that thought was a very blatant one: she’s going to be the death of him one day, whether she knew it or not.

“Come on, hun. You gotta sit up and eat some soup. It’ll help you feel better.” He couldn’t help but wince as the dying goat noises started up again. “I know, I know. You don’t feel well. I know. But you need to eat something. And probably drink your tea.” He looked over at the mug with a subtle frown. “You really haven’t moved, have you?”

“No.” There was finally an actual reply from her, and if the odd noises didn’t make him feel pity for her before, actually hearing her voice like that pulled at every single heartstring he had. “I’m dying.”“You’re not dying, babe.” These terms of endearment had really been slipping off his tongue more than just recently. It felt all too natural to refer to her as something more than just who she was. To him, she was ( at the risk of sounding absolutely cliche ) everything. Besides, she didn’t seem to mind being called something other than her name. In fact, James was pretty sure he saw her smile a bit wider when he did. He hoped there was a smile under those blankets. “Come on. Sit up. You can lean on me.”

That seemed to work as the huge blanket worm began to move. And just like he promised, she was able to lean on him, but he was still a bit bewildered as to how she was going to eat still wrapped up in fleece and down. So, he took it upon himself to basically unwrap the top part of the mess, revealing a very sick, very disheveled Wanda who still made him look at her a bit too long. Even with her curls messy, even with her nose stuffy, even with her smile pouty - he still stared at her like she was nothing but pure sunshine.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty.” Was he laying it on too thick? Probably, but considering how down she was about being sick, she might need it. “Or afternoon. I’m pretty sure you’ve slept for two days straight.”

“I’m dying, Bucky.” The way she said his lifelong nickname sounded more like “Booky”, and he wasn’t about to make her stop saying that. Instead, he gave her a very sympathetic smile and put an arm around her. Wanda immediately put her head on his shoulder, not caring if any hair went in his face. He wouldn’t complain. He never did. “I’m dying at the tender age of 23.”

“How many times do I have to tell you you’re not dying? Come on. This is Ma’s recipe. It’ll warm you up. You need food.” Reaching out, he took the bowl off the coffee table and held it out for her. Thank god she was receptive, finding a way to get both her hands out of the blankets to hold the bowl on her own. “Theeere you go.”

For a bit, they sat in silence with only the dialogue of ‘Friends’ sifting through between them. In order for Buck to eat, he had to actually pry his arm off Wanda, which was just saddening in his mind. When else would he be able to do that?

“I think I’m Monica.” It was an abrupt distraction from the show, which was fully exploring the neurosis that enveloped the arguably smallest of the Friends cast. It was enough to make James shake his head.

“If anyone, you’re like … Phoebe. Easily a Rachel.” Maybe he was laying it on too thick, but compliments were good for the heart when she was, as she claimed, dying.

“No, no. Definitely Monica. I’m annoying and bossy and controlling.” Just when he thought she couldn’t sound any more pitiful, she went and sniffled while looking down at her bowl of soup.

“If you’re Monica, I’m definitely Chandler. You can’t change my mind.” To be fair, Buck had always thought he related far more to Chandler while everyone thought he was a full-blooded Joey. But the truth got her to smile a bit - just a little lopsided as she brought her eyes up to him. Honey colored eyes looked as glazed as a Krispy Kreme donut, and that was when he figured it was probably time to get her some NyQuil.

“You’re Mister Bing? I always thought Joey for sure.” Wanda actually sounded lucid, which made him feel better about how she was doing.

“Everyone does, babe. I like to let them think I’m all about ladies and food, but … I don’t know. I feel more like that guy. And no, my dad wasn’t a drag queen.” That was enough to make her hum a chuckle, which made the center of his chest warm.

“You’re my Chandler,” she murmured, looking back at the television.

“And you’re definitely my Monica,” he stated, very matter of factly.

[jrubalcaba]

Can’t Help Falling In Love - Ch. 7

Can't Help Falling In Love Chapter 7 - A Steve x OFC fanfiction

author: jrubalcaba

featuring: OFC Evelyn “Evie” Collins x Steve Rogers

word count: 1722 words

rating: PG 13

warnings: Quite a bit of cussing

A/N: @celeb-fess gets another shoutout for her beta work.

This chapter will switch between Evie and Steve’s POV.

Steve’s P.O.V.

It's only been a week, and Evie is still on my mind. I sat on the bed, thinking about her lips and how they felt against mine. I groaned internally when I remembered how soft her hand felt as it wrapped around my dick while she came on my thigh.

Everything changed a few weeks ago when Nat accidentally outed Evie. I couldn't believe my luck, that the one woman that has made my soul come alive for the first time in 70 years, actually returned my feelings. Yeah, a part of me will always love Peggy, but Evie is just...so much more.

I looked over at Bucky. The time we’ve been on the mission, he’s not been himself. Quieter than usual, distant. I was kinda worried. I walked over and knocked his shoulder with mine.

“You okay Buck?” He looked at me, worry and fear evident in his eyes.

“Alice.” I quirked an eyebrow at him. He huffed before explaining. “It’s our first time apart since…” Ah. That explains it.

“Gotcha. She’s not alone ya know.” He shot me a disbelieving look as he snorted. “Don’t look at me like that. You know Evie will keep her out of trouble. Or at least try to.” He turned to look at me straight on.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. Those two could be dangerous together. We don’t come home in a decent amount of time, and you know those two idiots will mount their own search and rescue party, getting themselves hurt in the process.”

Shit.

“You’ve got a point there. Especially now after what’s happened with me and Evie.” I exhaled loudly. “Well, that’s just more motivation to get this mission done so we can go back home to our women.” We shared a grim smile before there was a knock on the door as Scott and Sam came in with food. Clint, Simon, Buck and I surrounded the table, grabbing what we could to throw on our plates.

“Geez Wilson, did you get lost? We were almost skin and bone before you got here,” Buck teased. Sam flipped him off before fixing his own plate. We all dug in and sat in silence, too hungry to waste time talking. When we were finally full, we all sat back, miserable. 

“I'm thinking of growing a beard. What do you guys think?” Scott asked suddenly. We all looked around in surprise before weighing in.

“Why’d ya wanna do that?” Sam asked, Bucky nodding in agreement. Scott shrugged before blushing the teeniest bit.

“Well, Hope likes them, so I thought I'd try it out.” Buck chuckled before looking over at me.

“Evie likes beards too. She's into that ‘lumberjack look’. You know,” he went on, “beards, plaid shirts, chopping wood for a fire, being all rugged. Yeah, she's nuts for it.” I was a bit shocked by that. Clint nudged Bucky with his elbow.

“How do you know that?” Clint asked.

“Oh, I heard her, Alice, Wanda, Pepper, Natalia, and Maria talking about it during one of their ‘ladies night’ things.” He pulled out his phone and started to type ‘lumberjack looks’ into the search engine. “Here. Take a look.” I grabbed the phone and began to scroll. These men were decked out in plaid shirts, impressive beards, and had tattoos galore. How could I compete with them?

“There's this actor that Evie was fawning over. It's Chris something. Hemsworth? Pine? Pratt? I can't think of it.” Buck took his phone back, typing in the search engine again. “She pulled up his picture to show the girls and she was fanning herself. ‘Oh my god. He is so dreamy. Look at that beard!’” He did a poor impression of Evie before going “Aha! It's Chris Evans. Fucking hell, Steve. He could pass as your twin!”

We all crowded around the phone, looking at the actor on the screen. “Yeah Cap, he could be your twin, if you could grow a beard as nice as that,” Clint mused. He did look an awful lot like me, except his hair was much darker than mine and he had tattoos. Evie likes this?

“Yeah, Steve couldn't grow anything that majestic.” Sam agreed with Clint. I was a little upset that they didn't think I could do it.

“Thanks, guys. I'm a bit offended that you don't have faith in me. To prove a point, I'm not shaving for the rest of this mission.” I got up and walked to my bag, grabbing the razor and cream before stopping. “Let's make this interesting. I dare you guys to grow one too. $100 says you guys can't grow one better than me.” They all looked at each other before nodding. “And, when we get back, we let the girls vote. We won't tell them that it's a bet, and after they pick the winner, we pay him. Sound good? Shake on it if it does.” We all shook hands before throwing out our shaving supplies.

“Barnes, I think, no I know, that I’ll be able to grow one better than yours,” Simon bragged. Bucky stared him down, his mouth set in a snarl.

Ah crap, here we go. 

When we were heading out on this mission, Simon and Maggie happened to show up at the Tower. Simon was eager to go out and ‘hang with us blokes’, so we let him come along, seeing as it wouldn’t hurt to have another set of eyes and ears. Bucky and he still don’t see eye to eye, so while having Simon’s help has been nice, they tend to butt heads every so often. 

“$100 in a side bet that I kick your ass at growing a beard, Travers,” Buck snapped, holding his left hand out to shake. Simon shook, before a look of pain came over his face as Bucky squeezed with more force than necessary.

“You’re on,” he agreed, trying not to show how much his hand hurt when they let go. 

This was going to be interesting. Oh well, the things you do for the one you love.

                                                   ********************

Evie’s P.O.V.

It's now been three weeks since the guys left for their mission, and I haven't heard from Steve once. Since I was consistently in the Tower 99% of the time, I was the designated contact for the team. But there was nothing but radio silence. None of the guys had called, and I was getting worried. Nat kept trying to calm me down, but until I heard from them, I just couldn't.

Didn’t help that Alice was doing everything she could to distract herself so I couldn’t go to her with our shared anguish.

#

Five weeks have gone by, and still no word from the guys. I'd taken to sleeping in Steve's room in the last week. It helped me somewhat relax, being surrounded by his things and the scent that was all Steve. I was curled up in his bed, almost asleep when my phone rang. Steve's face popped up on the caller ID, so I hurriedly answered it.

“Steve? Is that you?” I mumbled sleepily.

“Yeah, it is.” Oh, thank god he's alright.

“Are you all ok? We've been getting so worried since we haven't heard from you at all.” I could hear people talking in the background, and suddenly I was on edge. Was he safe?

“We’re fine. We ran into a bit of trouble and long story short, we had to go underground for a bit. I'm sorry baby.” The affection packed into that one word made my heart sing. “We finished our mission, but we're having trouble coming home. We're staying at a safe house until we get a go ahead.” I heard Bucky talking to him, and I caught the word girlfriend, which made me smile.

“Well, at least you're safe. That's all that matters to me. I just wish you were here instead of wherever there is. I...I miss you,” I admitted. I heard him suck in a breath before replying.

“I miss you too. Wish I was laying in bed with you right now. Sharing a bed with Bucky the past few weeks have sucked,” Steve laughed, earning a big ‘Fuck you, Rogers’ from his best friend. “Tell Alice that I’m keeping her man warm for her,” he added, Bucky shouting something indistinct in the background. I giggled before I told him where I was.

“I'm actually in your bed right now. I've been sleeping here for the past week. Could really use some warmth right about now, though.” I was actually kinda cold, so it wasn't a complete lie. He whistled before I heard ‘fuck me’ come out of his mouth. “Trust me, I've been looking forward to doing just that when you get home,” I threatened. I heard Bucky cackling in the background, so the look on Steve's face must have been a sight to see.

“Just you wait, Evie. Just you wait.” His voice was husky, full of promise of all the things to come.

“Whatever you say, Captain. So, do you think you'll be home in time for Stark’s charity ball? I was hoping to have a date,” I said matter-of-factly. He chuckled before sighing.

“I hope so. I'd love to be able to walk in with the most beautiful woman in the world on my arm.” Fucking sweet talker. I yawned before I could think up a comeback.

“I'm keeping you up huh? We're all fine so you can go back to bed. Sorry for waking you. Get some sleep, ok baby?” I smiled before yawning again.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Captain Rogers. I am going to go back to sleep though. Night Steve. Love you.” Whoops. That was not supposed to come out of my mouth. I hoped he hadn't heard it, but that was unlikely.

“Love you too baby. Night. Keep my bed warm for me ok?” Just before the call disconnected, I heard Sam, Scott, Clint, and Bucky all go ‘OooooOooooh!’ to which Steve replied, “Go to hell”. I laughed before sending out a group text to the members who were still here:

ROGERS, BARNES, LANG, BARTON, AND WILSON ARE ALL SAFE AND ACCOUNTED FOR. CURRENTLY IN SAFE HOUSE UNTIL SAFE PASSAGE HOME IS OBTAINED. MISSION COMPLETED.

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