#i like that bucky's fingers have some force that you can see the indents in steve's vest

[nev3rfound]

someone i once knew : b.b

bucky is left alone in the compound whilst the rest of the avengers are sent on a mission. yet, to bucky’s surprise he isn’t alone as he’s about to meet tony’s new assistant and someone from his past. (3.4k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX

“You sure you’ll manage on your own?” Steve asks as he walks alongside Bucky.

Bucky quirks a brow at his oldest friend. “What, you don’t trust me?” He quips back, hearing Sam let out a dry laugh from the quinjet as he helps load the last of the supplies. “He doesn’t get an opinion.” Bucky adds, and Steve chuckles under his breath.

“I do trust you, Buck. But I just wanna make sure you’re okay being on your own here.” Steve explains, crossing his arms as Bucky buries his hands into his jacket pockets.

It was going to be Bucky’s first time being completely alone in the compound. Everyone else was required for a mission, and Bucky simply wasn’t needed this time. Initially, it stung a little- that Sam was going over him, but some downtime never hurt anyone, right?

“I’ll be alright, Steve.” Bucky states as Tony emerges from the elevator, huffing loudly as he looks at his phone.

“Oh, tin man? Do me a favour and don’t scare my new assistant,” Tony calls out, and Bucky looks to Steve who simply shrugs his shoulders.

“Since when did you hire an assistant?” Steve asks, and Tony stops beside them, locking his phone as he puts it into his pocket.

“Since I lost the last one,” Tony retorts.

“You married your old assistant, Tony.” Bucky comments and Tony simply rolls his eyes.

“Just, don’t scare her off, she has potential.” Tony remarks before carrying on toward the Quinjet, leaving Steve to bid farewell to Bucky.

Stepping back, Bucky rolls on his heels. “Guess I won’t be completely alone after all.” Bucky huffs. It is one thing to be alone in the compound with one of the other Avengers, but someone he hasn’t even met yet, that’s a level of confidence and comfortability he has yet to reach.

“Hey,” Steve pats Bucky’s shoulder. “you’ll be fine, just be your charming self.”

“I think he died back in the forties, pal.” Bucky mutters as he shrugs it off, it’s only for a few weeks at most.

“Just, don’t do anything stupid till I get back.” Steve says softly as he steps back from Bucky, turning around toward the Quinjet.

Shuffling on the spot, Bucky watches as they leave. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Bucky mumbles to himself as he walks back into the compound, wandering whereabouts his company for the next few weeks is hiding out.

*

It had been a quiet few days and Bucky had still yet to meet the newest addition to Starks team and started to wonder if Tony was messing with him for the fun of it.

At least, he thought as much until he was training in the gym when the faint sound of the piano caught his attention.

Pausing his work out, Bucky couldn’t stop his curiosity from getting the better of him as he exits the gym, hearing a familiar melody clearly coming from the shared living space in the compound.

As stealthily as possible, Bucky enters the open space and can make out a figure sat at the usually absent grand piano. Tony purchased it a year ago to fill the space, even though no one could play, it did work in making the compound look somewhat homely.

Stepping further into the room, Bucky knew the song, his Mother always played it on her radio and witnessed her and his Father dancing to it.

Humming the tune, you remain oblivious to the company creeping into the room as you remain concealed by the bonnet of the piano.

“Wake and dream medley?” Bucky speaks up, and you jump in your seat, hitting the keys of the piano causing an awful blunt sound to echo in the open space. “Sorry,” Bucky adds, now retreating into himself as you remain hidden. “I, I could hear you from the gym, I love, loved that song.”

“No need to apologise,” You chuckle, and Bucky tenses upon hearing your voice.

It sounds so familiar, too familiar for his liking.

Rising to your feet, you rub your hands together before closing the bonnet of the piano, now in full view to Bucky who can feel his whole body shutting down.

Bucky steps back in disbelief, clinging onto the sofa behind him with all his might as you hesitantly step forward. “I’m sorry for not introducing myself sooner, Mr Stark had me doing a fair bit of paperwork so I’ve been holed up in my suite for the past few days.” You explain, but Bucky can’t seem to meet your gaze. “I’m Y/n,”

You extend your arm, holding your hand out to Bucky who stares in disbelief.

“Is this some kinda cruel joke?” Bucky questions, slowly looking up at your confused expression. “Y/n, is it really you?” He stares at you, but your confusion only deepens as you lower your arm back to your side.

“Are you alright?” You ask, but Bucky continues to eye you with evident shock. “Have we met before?”

A dry laugh leaves Bucky’s lips as he straightens himself up. “Do you not know me?” His voice is breaking as you shake your head, and Bucky can feel the moment of relief in his heartbreak once again.

“I’m sorry, you must have me mistaken with someone else?” You nervously laugh, trying to ease the tension in the room.

Bucky simply nods and straightens himself up. “I’m Bucky, Bucky Barnes. And I do apologise for that, you just remind me of an old friend.” Bucky brushes it off, knowing it’s not possible, it just can’t be.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Bucky,” You tell him with a smile, one that Bucky once knew and loved, but he forces himself to remove that thought, it isn’t her. “the song I, I guess it was from your time?” You ask, moving back over to the piano and opening the bonnet.

“Yeah,” Bucky walks over, leaning against it as you take a seat, resuming the melody as if you had never paused. “I remember it growing up. How come you know it?”

Your fingers glide over the keys effortlessly and your eyes close for a moment. Whilst they’re closed, Bucky takes the chance to look at you properly, noting your distinct features, identical to the girl he once knew.

“I’m not sure,” You admit, lifting your fingers from the keys as you glance up at Bucky. “I, I just do.” Your brows furrow together, and Bucky notes how you look back at the piano.

“Well, it’s a nice song, so thank you for playing it.” Bucky speaks up. “I’ll be around, so I’ll be seeing you.” He mutters before exiting the room and rushes back to the gym, barely hearing you saying goodbye.

Once Bucky is gone, you look back at the piano. There’s no sheet music, but you knew the song, you knew the exact keys to play and the words as you hummed along.

There was something about Bucky, something amicable and undeniably so. You could feel it in the back of your mind, a nagging sensation to remember, remember something, anything. Yet, as always nothing follows through.

*

You and Bucky had been living in the compound for an entire week, and you had only come across him three times in total. The first at the piano, the second was after an attempted run; Bucky watched as you reentered the compound soaking from head to toe after being caught in a rainstorm. You tried to make a joke, but Bucky merely grumbled and walked off in the opposite direction. And the third well, that was this morning.

The smell of burnt toast woke you up, and you rushed from your suite to the shared floor where the kitchen is located.

“Stupid toaster,” Bucky groans under his breath as he throws the toast into the bin, slamming the lid shut with his metal hand, nearly leaving an indent.

“You alright there?” Your voice is so soft, and Bucky can feel the tension between his shoulders ease.

Lifting his metal arm up, Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I just got distracted.” He shrugs as he turns around to look at you in your pyjamas, just a t-shirt and joggers. A lot more casual than the girl he remembers in the forties.

“Happens to the best of us,” You joke, moving past him to grab a mug. “want one?” You hold a second mug up, and Bucky nods.

He remains quiet as you pour him a cup and slide it across the counter to him. “Look alive!” You call out, and he grasps it firmly.

Silence falls between you both as you look over your shoulder to see Bucky holding the mug in his metal fingers, a distant gaze over his eyes. “Real smooth, Y/n.” Bucky eventually speaks up, followed by a short laugh as he raises the mug to his lips.

“I’ve never done that before,” You admit, now leaning against the counter.

Laughter fills the bar as soldiers pass through with open arms and cheers for a new day. “Hey, look alive!” You yell as you slide across a bottle of beer to the brunette soldier.

“Thanks, Y/n.” His bright blue eyes focus on yours as he winks before patting his blond friend on the shoulder and walks closer toward you, yet the closer he gets, the more blurred he becomes. “Y-”

“Y/n?” Bucky calls out, snapping you from your thoughts. “You in there?”

“Sorry,” You look up from your mug, forcing a small smile. “got a bit lost in my head for a moment.” You mutter. “I, I’m going to go get ready.” You sip at your coffee and head out from the kitchen, leaving Bucky perplexed as he hears you running and swearing from in the hallway towards the elevator.

So, your encounters with Bucky haven’t exactly been the best. Yet, there’s something about him that you’re drawn to but scared of. His cool exterior doesn’t intimidate you, you know his history, you know all of the Avengers’ history. However there is a part of you that feels like you know Bucky somehow on a deeper level than what you've read in his files.

Rushing through your suite, you gather the necessary files before heading out to the elevator. You knew you shouldn’t have left it to the last minute to get the meeting scheduled.

As the metal doors open, Bucky steps aside, his blue eyes focused on his feet. “Which floor?” He asks.

“Two, please.” You respond, and silence ensues over you both.

It was becoming harder and harder for Bucky to not see the Y/n he once knew in you, this version of her or a copy. You twitched your nose the same way when you laughed, your hair smells like vanilla and you add small quirks to the same words.

“Y/n, do you ever have the feeling that you’ve met someone, in a previous life?” Bucky asks out of the blue, taking you by surprise.

“I, er,” You stumble over your words as you reach level two. “I’ll get back to you on that one, Bucky.” You tell him before exiting the elevator and carry on rushing to the conference room for your meeting with Pepper.

“Thought as such.” Bucky sighs as the doors close, leaving him alone with his memories of you once more.

*

“What’re you doing up here? You’ll freeze!” You laugh giddily as you wrap your arms around yourself, seeing Bucky sat with a blanket draped over his shoulders despite the early spring chill.

“I’ve endured worse, doll.” It rolls off his tongue before he can stop it, his treasured nickname for his girl.

Yet, you smile at the nickname, swearing you’ve heard it before. You contemplate a response, but leave it and walk closer, sitting beside Bucky.

“So, what are you doing up here? Am I that bad?” You nudge him playfully and without a second thought, Bucky lifts the blanket up, allowing you to curl into the soft fabric for much-needed warmth.

“You never could be, Y/n, trust me.” Bucky sighs sadly as he looks up to the stars, aware of you studying him closely, your eyes burning into each of his features. “I’m sorry if I’ve acted a little off this past week, I, I’m still adjusting to well, everything.” Bucky tries to ease his growing nerves as you scoot closer, the fragrance of your perfume encroaching into his nostrils like old times.

“You’ve been just fine, Bucky.” You reassure him as a faint smile forms on his lips.

“I’d know if you’re lyin’ to me, doll.” Bucky turns to face you, kneeling down as you cross your arms playfully, refusing to speak up. “Well, I guess you leave me no choice.” He mutters, and before you can react his hands grab your hips and he starts tickling you senselessly.

“Calm down, soldier!” You laugh happily. “Will you stop?!” You breathe out as his hands rise further up from your waist, pausing as he holds your face, smiling smugly to you, knowing you were truly hooked.

“So, I was just fine then, doll?” Bucky raises a brow as you nod, his hands bringing you closer as he breathes out a sigh into your lips. “Well, I guess I’ve got a few things to work on.”

“That you do mister.” You mutter before kissing him, wrapping your arms around his neck as hollers from across the road sound, and the faint call of your name interrupts you once more.

“Y/n?” Bucky nudges you, and you look up at him with wide eyes. “Are you okay? You went all quiet on me for a minute.” He half laughs, seeing tears forming in your eyes as you shake your head.

“I, I’m not.” You admit, letting the tears fall. “I, you asked me earlier about feeling as if you’ve met someone in another life,” You trail off, seeing Bucky nod.

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, feeling the remaining strings attached to his heart hoist it up, hoping they won’t fray at this final attempt. “it was dumb, I know.” He brushes it off.

“No, it’s not.” You tell him defiantly. “I, I keep having these memories of sorts, but I can’t make out any faces.” You rub your eyes. “Every day there’s this nagging sensation to remember something, to recognise someone I believe I knew, like there's this guy and I think he's someone I’m meant to know.” You explain, and Bucky can feel the restraints in his heart tightening, the cogs in your brain now turning.

“I know the feeling,” Bucky comments. “when HYDRA had me, they wiped my mind of everything, any memories of my life before and brainwashed me into their weapon. It’s kinda funny really, it was all still in there, and it slowly started to come back.”

“How did you know which memories were real?” Your voice softens as you home in on his blue eyes, watching as they twitch under your gaze. “Like, which weren’t misconstrued.”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know, I just, I do.” He murmurs. “So, this guy, what’s he like?” Bucky changes the subject as a smile forms on his lips as you laugh lightly.

“I wish I knew,” A light shiver crosses your body, and Bucky pulls the blanket off of him, wrapping it around you. “he’s just, this amazing guy who, who is funny, and caring. I have these snippets of what I believe was our life together, but it doesn’t make any sense.” You ramble, trying your best to comprehend everything.

“Take your time.” Bucky reassures you.

“These ‘memories’ I’m having, they take place in the past- that much I know. But I know my life, I know the year I was born, I have memories of my childhood and I know my family.” You explain, feeling your eyes welling up with tears as your frustration and confusion increases. “How can I have memories of a life I’ve never lived?”

"Maybe you can." Whistling into the breeze, Bucky shuffles and turns to face you. “Try and focus on one detail, okay? Do you trust me?”

You search his eyes for any uncertainty, and you nod in response.

“Close your eyes.” Bucky whispers, and you oblige. “Think of him, think about any details that you have relived, any conversations or scenery you noticed.” Bucky suggests, trying his hardest to not reach out and take your hand in his.

Keeping your eyes closed, you try to focus on his face, hear his voice, but it’s all too much of a blur. “It’s no use.” You sigh, burying your face in your hands. “I just, I know if I ever saw him again or met him somehow, I’d know who he was.” You mumble into your palms, unaware of Bucky tearing his eyes from you, the ropes pulling his heart snapping for good, now beyond repair.

“You’ll find him, Y/n.” Bucky pats your back, hearing you sniffle.

“You think?” You ask, lifting your head back up as you half-smile to Bucky who nods.

“I’m sure of it.” He forces a smile, but you can tell it’s not reaching his eyes.

“Thanks, Bucky." Silence falls between you both, stifling the cool air. "I, I better go in before I catch a cold.” You rise to your feet, removing the blanket and hand it back to him. “Can’t have Mr Stark complaining about me coughing senselessly on a conference call.” A light laugh escapes your lips as you wave to Bucky before heading back inside.

As the door closes behind you, Bucky blankly stares out at the sky. “Oh, doll.” Bucky pleads to the stars. “Please remember.”

Now back on your floor, tears freely cascade down your cheeks as you sob into your hand, barely able to reach your door before you fall to the ground. “Come on,” You cry, feeling snippets of memories colliding together of the childhood you knew versus one you don’t recall, two boys by your side at all times.

Forcing yourself to your feet, you shut the door to your suite behind you, hearing laughter echo in your mind.

“Steve! Stop, I need to keep my dress clean!” You plead, looking down at the splashes of mud coating the hem of your dress.

“I warned you, punk.” Bucky sighs, hitting Steve over the back of the head with the newspaper. “You still look beautiful, Y/n.” Bucky winks to you, watching as you roll your eyes in response.

“Thanks, James.” You mutter, ignoring the burning of your cheeks as you reach your front steps. “I’ll see you boys later, seven still good?” You ask, looking between the pair as they nod. “Okay, well, don’t get in too much trouble without me.” You chuckle before turning on your heels and head up the front steps, unlocking your front door as the radio plays faintly.

“James?” You whisper to yourself, rushing over to the nearest mirror. “My name is Y/n Y/l/n. I am twenty-four years old. This is my home. My parents are Y/M/N and Y/D/N.” You recite, staring at yourself in the mirror. “This is who you are.”

Running your fingers through your hair, you step away from your mirror and fall into your bed.

“Ms Y/l/n?” FRIDAY calls out, and you quickly sit upright.

“Yes, FRIDAY?”

“Tony is calling you, would you like to answer?” The AI asks, and you groan into your pillow, it’s not like you couldn’t answer your employer.

“Sure, FRIDAY.” You reply, reaching over for your phone and answer the call from Tony. “Hey Mr Stark, how’s the mission going?” You feign positivity as you force a bright smile. Even if Tony cannot see you, the walls have eyes.

“Hey, Y/n, I told you before, call me Tony. We’re on our way back now, I just wanted to make sure the tin man hasn’t been causing you any trouble.” Tony asks, moving away from other voices in the background.

Your eyes rise to your closed door, picturing Bucky mere minutes ago by your side, trying to help you remember him, James Buchanan Barnes, your James.

“Jam-” You cut yourself off and move the phone away from your ear, allowing a moment to compose yourself for your boss. “Bucky’s been fine, I promise Mr, sorry, Tony.” You chuckle uneasily, but Tony doesn’t question it.

“Well good to hear, listen we’ll be back in an hour, and you can meet the rest of the team in the morning. Get some rest, Y/n.” Tony tells you and hangs up before you can respond, leaving you alone once more with the impending thoughts weighing heavy in your mind.

“This is who you are.” You repeat like a mantra as you lie back down in your bed, wishing tomorrow would never come.

P A R T  T W O 

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[lovelybarnes]

for the one-shot

tired eyes , bucky

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, mentions of shuri warnings: mentions of cryo and death (but no actual descriptions) about: tired eyes a/n: i'm so sorry this took so long to post! i got so busy and i had a really bad day and didn't have any time to edit. i hope you enjoy this either way!

“...in other news, a baby penguin was born at the national zoo yesterday, and the subway goats that i told you about were captured, so that’s good for everyone really,” you laugh, skimming through the rest of the words printed on the newspaper you’re holding. the fingers holding it begin to rub at the edges subconsciously, pressing indents into the typed letters while you flip the page once you’re satisfied that the contents of that one were already summarized. “okay, these are comics and crosswords, so i’ll wait for you on these,” you say, eyes catching on the colored squares, chuckling at the images of snoopy. “i think you’ll like snoopy. you probably haven’t gotten to read much on him since he was created in the fifties, so i’ll save all the snoopy bits for you if you’d like.”

no answer, which you were expecting, but the longing for his voice grows either way, exhaling softly and closing the newspaper you were reading from, bold letters forming the date. you look at the books piled next to your chair, reminding yourself to replace the ones you’ve already read. “so, shuri says she’s close to figuring this out. she thinks you’ll be out of cryo this month, so that’s exciting!”

your smile struggles to stay as a thick silence falls on you and you swallow, looking down at your lap, “um, i-” you clear your throat, forcing your eyes to meet the frozen man. “i don’t know if you can even hear me,” you admit, a small watery laugh falling from your lips. “i can’t really bring myself to ask shuri, because i really hope you can and i don’t know how i’ll do if i find out you can’t. i hope you know how much i love you, and-” you sniffle, squeezing your eyes shut, “and how much i miss you. and how much i know you’ll be okay.”

you smile tearfully, wiping away tears that escape your eyes, watching them soak your sleeve. you run your finger over the fabric, bringing it up to your nose and shutting your eyes shut when you realize the red henley doesn’t smell like bucky anymore. although the rational part of your mind reminds you it's been two years and you’ve been wearing the piece of clothing for most of it. the rest of his clothes also lack his smell, worn so much by you that your perfume seems embedded with the cotton.

“you know how much i miss your eyes?” you ask suddenly, the image of them engraved in the caves of your happiest memories. “you have such pretty eyes- i know i tell you that a lot, but it’s true.” echoes of the azure colors lucky enough to reside in bucky’s irises flood the darkness of your closed eyelids. “they were the first thing i noticed when i met you,” you sniffle, “so blue. it looked like they were glowing in the sun. i completely forgot about the plums i accidentally stole from you.”

“do you remember that?” you question, opening your eyes to see the same image from last time. “i just gave you the plums and stuttered like an idiot. then, when i tried to leave because i was so mortified, you stopped me. i got a really good look at you that time. so handsome,” you pause. “but so tired.”

his image is vivid in your mind, clear enough to combat the actual photographs of him that lay everywhere in your apartment. “you looked so tired, bucky,” you admit, “and i didn’t even know what happened yet- what you had gone through- and all i wanted to do from that point was kiss all that pain away. let you rest until the exhaustion wasn’t clouding the color of your eyes.” your fingers twitch, itching to tangle with his own- desperate to hold him after so long.

physical touch was something bucky struggled with when you both met. his skin was unused to gentle touches, always expecting the worst when your fingertips came in contact with any of him; you showed him gentle touches, tender fingers dragging on his jaw in the morning, careful kisses pressed to his nose to wake him up.

“let me do that when you’re out of there, yeah?” you request, playing with your hands to distract from their want to hold his. “you deserve to just... be, bucky. you deserve to be happy, and i swear i’ll make sure it’s the only thing you’ll ever feel again.” you go silent, picking apart your tangled thoughts and attempting to make sentences of them.

“y/n.”

it takes you a while to notice the voice, its echo reaching you, prying your attention away from bucky. “shuri,” you realize, mouth moving faster than your brain as it falls behind to realize what exactly shuri might be doing here. “it’s ready- he can come out today.”

your eyebrows furrow, the words foggy as your brain decides to take them in late, examining them for their meaning too many seconds after silence has been hanging in the air, waiting for you to break its delicate thread. “what?” you finally say after a moment, not looking for an answer while you jump from your seat, ignoring the items you’d handpicked as they fall to the floor, clatters ignored while you bounce to shuri, “really? he can- it’s really ready?”

shuri nods, beaming smile as the reaction she was hoping for bounds out of you, albeit a bit later than she’d expected. you’ve turned, eyes on bucky now as your anticipation grows, arms motioning towards him gently, “well, then… please- please,” you beg, unable to finish the plead that shuri already knows.

-

your fingernails are in between your teeth from the waiting- a nasty habit bucky had helped you break thanks to his wrapped hands around yours- foot tapping incessantly on the floor beneath you. you have absolute trust in shuri and wakanda’s technology, but the worry grows when you stare at the chamber bucky was once in, bright cerulean of his eyes hidden from yours.

every cell of your body is screaming for him, and it might be embarrassing how much you miss him if it were a different situation, a different man with different eyes.

ayo is with him, observing him while the wretched words are said, and every passing second makes your fear grow worse- that he would go back into cryo, that he wouldn’t ever touch you again, too afraid he’d hurt you with the same stained hands with which he’d hurt others.

you shut your eyes again and took a deep breath, feeling your lungs expand and focusing on that.

“y/n,” he interrupts, the cracked word bringing the air you had been missing for so long, eyes opening as quickly as they could and a sob falling from your throat when you stand. “bucky,” you snivel, foot already stepping closer to him before you can instruct it to. you pause for a second to make sure bucky is okay with it, against the will of every voice in your mind and muscle in your body. the man nods, stepping towards you instead and immediately warming you with his embrace. you reciprocate immediately, winding your arms around him while his flesh arm pulls you as close as he can.

“bucky,” you weep, pushing your face into the crook of his neck and crying harder when your nose touches his warm skin and the soft strands of his hair. bucky only pulls away for a moment to look at you, gentle thumb brushing away your tears. you cradle his face in your hand, scanning every feature continuously until you reach his eyes and your breath catches at the brilliant color, realizing the dark sheen of exhaustion was gone, his tired eyes were no longer as tired, offering solid possibility that at some point, they wouldn’t be at all.

[thefanbasewhore]

The Weeping.

Prompt no. 4 from @wkemeup 's 9k challenge! - Character A is being held hostage. Character B offers to trade themselves in A's place.

master list || tag list

Summary || After you're taken from a mission, Bucky offers himself in order to insure your safety.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word count || 1,660

Warnings || abduction (kidnapping??), violence, gun-fire, mentions dead bodies and blood, angst.

Side note || clear eyes is Bucky and yours way of saying everything is okay and this is shorter then I intended it to be, I didn't have a lot of time to write it, so if it seems rushed, I'm sorry.

The mission was supposed to be simple - a quick in and out, retrieve the information and burn that place to the ground but even that seemed unattainable at the moment.

Bullets whiz through the air, penetrating the barrier of sound that make Bucky's ears ring. To anyone else it is frightening, usually follows screams of terror but it's something he lives for, the only familiar sound to stay with him constantly through the years. Adrenaline makes his body visibly tremble, chest conforming to laboring breath in order to stay quiet. Those crystal blue orbs narrowing, fine wrinkles bunch on the skin of his forehead as he nods towards you, on the opposite side of the room but still in his peripheral vision.

He nods once more - just to ensure that the hallway is clear. His heart is thumping against his chest right along with your own, fingers clenched the butt of your to bring it closer to your chest, raising it as Bucky moves in front of you with his own. The walls are splattered with red, fresh blood as you maneuver through the corpses' that lifelessly scatter the floors and the dark hallway seems almost endless, except the flickering light at the end of it. With every muffled gunshot it turns into darkness only to be unexpectedly brought to life again. "Stay low.." Bucky whispers as he follows your stance - back against the wall and a free hand reaching for the spare knife hidden in both of your boots but not before he extends his arm and fingers grasp the buckle across your chest with a gentle but meaningful pull, "Clear eyes?" "Clear eyes." Bucky nods softly as the cool vibranium finger sculpts the structure of your jaw with twinkling eyes. "Be careful in there, okay? You need anything --." He taps the shell of his ear with two fingers, and you nod in understanding. With one last glance Bucky turns towards the double doors, a hand pressing against the handle as he uses his body weight to push it open with ease and the moment he does more gunfire echoes the walls of the room. A sudden blur of motion catches his attention as his breath hitches as his arms wrap around you as bullets whiz through the air, only inches away from piercing your skin. Bucky uses the other door as cover as metal bullets ricochet. Smaller fingers clench into his flesh arm, forming indentations of small crescent moons as a means to seek cover. Bucky's arms wrap around you pulling you into his chest to shield you from any stray bullets but the heavy door behind his back is a strong enough metal to take the blunt force of the bullets without breaking through. His soothing hands find your hair, breathing heavily as he angles your face to meet his eyes. "Are you okay?" Your throat tightens at his worried expression but nods to confirm you were not hit. Bucky nods back, eyes setting in a hard line as he keeps you between his legs but peers over the threshold of the floor but a warning short from around the corner bounces off the walls. "Fuck." Bucky whispers as he reaches into the pocket of his tactical pants, but you don't need to look to see what he's got. "I'll go up the stairs, you go to the right." He pulls the pin out, rolling it into the room and waits until a thick, white cloud of smoke fills the hall, with one last nod he pulls his glasses down, fingers tapping the side as they click to life. You follow behind, gun raised in the air as you follow through sweeping the rather large room. The smoke is thick - suffocating, throat closing due to the inadequate amounts of oxygen, but you swallow the ball in the back of your throat while trying to maneuver through it, the glasses didn't help much. Footsteps cause you to jump, turning in every direction but the cloud is too thick and they near closer following along with your frantic motions to protect yourself with a mixture of anxiety and fear coarse through your veins. Something is mumbled to your right but it's too late, two rather large hands roughly grab at your hair, pulling it into a tight fist as another set of hands catch your leg - pulling into your fall onto the ground, hitting your head hard enough that dark, round dots cloud your vision. Before you could even manage to move - the cool surface of a blade touches your neck and your raise your hands in surrender as the weight of the man moves to crush your chest, face still veiled behind the white smoke. Without a word he turns you around, pressing your cheek against the floor with a rough hand as he pats down your suit, pulling the knives out with a snarl as his friend picks up your gun. 'Sweetheart, where are you?' Bucky's voice is muffled from the fact that the man's hand presses against it, but it vibrates his skin and it's yanked from your ear and crushed between two fingers. When the smoke dissipates the man brings you

to your knees, hands wrapped around your wrists with an unforgiving knee digging into your spine. "If you want her alive, come out now." A thick, foreign accent bounces off the walls of the room as the hand tightens, the other goon on your right holds your gun up as a blur moves in the corner of your eyes. Bucky's eyes meet yours in a panic as he rounds the corner, raising his gun to the man that holds your hair which only causes him to say something in a foreign language, digging the knife into your throat until it stings with pain. Every ragged breath the sharpened blade nicks the thickest column of your neck. "Let her go." Bucky hisses through clenched teeth, jaw clenching as seafoam eyes darken like the night sky. The man smiles evilly, a sick grin that reaches his eyes, makes Bucky's stomach drop inside his stomach as he twirls the knife around a dirty, unmanicured finger. "Didn't think we'd recognize you with that haircut, Soldat?" The skin of your neck burns as a yelp of pain fills the room, blood smears his fingers and invades your senses and the words make Bucky's eyes narrow, squeezing them shut at the words. The smell of smoke, gunfire and metallic make your head spin as Bucky lowers the gun to the ground, hands raised in the air. "Take me, let her go." "What use do we have for you now, Soldat? You are no longer our winter soldier; they have rid you of that." The man's sick chuckle causes him to shake his head, eyes wild with paralyzing fear. "That's not true - I feel him, he's still in here." He pauses, guilty eyes flicker to your own and back up the to man's, "Just let her go, don't hurt her." "No, no." You manage to mumble, tears stinging the waterline of your eyes as you grit your teeth in pain, he never lets the pressure of the knife go as you try to suppress a shiver. Bucky lowers his head with shame, in complete defeat as he lowers to his knees and moves the gun further away. "He's still in here. You can get him out. Take me instead of her, please." "Stop, no!" Eyes of guilt refuse to meet your own, the secret you have known all along and Bucky's urge to smother the winter solider completely blinded him from the fact that this could happen someday. It's been years since he's been so called 'freed' but some roots are so deep they can't be removed, the inside of his brain still tainted with the dark soldier who refuses to stop haunting him after all this time. "Bucky don't you fucking do it!" Bucky ignores the calls, squeezing his eyes shut with emotion. It's not fair, all those years spent brainwashed, tucked away inside his own brain just to end up there again. He barely survived the trauma then but now - he would never be able to, not without Steve, without the Wakandian's again. "Walk towards me, slowly." The other man commands as Bucky nods an understanding to stand on his feet but pauses as the knife presses into your skin more, "Let her go first." The instant the knife is gone is relief, hand reaching up to rub the burning skin and smear blood against your gloved hand and along your neck. Roughly the knee against your back pushes you from the position of on your knees to leaning against the man for support as his arm crosses against your chest, hand crushing the windpipe of your neck. "I will count to three and you both will walk, you towards me, her out the door. Got it?" With every number your heart pounds inside your chest, face turning red due to the harsh grasp at the surface of jaw as a cough follows suit, chest greedy for oxygen as he releases. Bucky takes the first step forward, edging you closer with his eyes that leave little room for argument. Close, slow steps until both yours and his arm brush against each other The fat of your bottom lip quivers as he leans forwards, hands still raise obediently in the air to press his forehead against your own. "Buck -." "Promise me, you won't come look for me." It is rushed as the men in front of him yell but inaudible as you shake your head as tears push past eyelashes. "I mean it, forget about me, they'll never stop. Okay? No

matter how much I try, they will never leave me alone." "How could you say -." There's a rough tug on his hand, pushing him forward but he uses the last second, he can spare to press one more heartbreaking kiss against your lips and before you could comprehend what coming next - a burning, red-hot pain radiates at the base of your skull and numbing darkness consumes you.

tags: @sugarpunch-princess, @old-enough-to-know-better73, @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals, @Fajitasandfics, @devilswaldorf, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123, @grubler, @SodDy030, @agent-catfish-kenobi,@scarletglowss, @abitchforbarnes, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @jewishdelis, @klorpski, @kaitieskidmore1, @peterpstuff, @akaaaaashiiii, @angelsandsorcery, @moony-is-bae, @yliumy, @watermelonsponge, @stolenxkissess, @peakascum, @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme, @crvecem, @likealadygodiva, @harrysthiccthighss, @burnerbitchh, @sergeantjamesbbarnes, @amelia-song-pond

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian - ch. 3

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Chapters: 3/3

Read chapters one and two on Tumblr.

Chapter three summary: Sam and Bucky take a breather from Sharon’s party in High Town.

Sam walks back into the room from before. The one that could be a high-end boutique, or the lobby of a shady but untouchable law firm, or the backdrop for a photoshoot featuring an Avenger who wanted their surroundings to exude enviable elegance and expensiveness without at all detracting from their presence. Not to name names, or speak disdainfully of the dead.

Shrugging off the brown leather jacket Sharon leant him, Sam tosses it at the couch. Yeah, technically it’s on a collision course with the back of Bucky’s head, but since Bucky dodges without turning to look, he figures he can claim poor aim. Which Sam would normally never do, especially to Bucky, but he has downed a few drinks tonight. Sharon wanted them to blend in at the party; Sam couldn’t see an easier way to blend than by doing his bit to deplete the contents of the event’s bar. He sure as hell wasn’t going to stand there pumping his arm to the beat like that motherfucker Zemo. Sam doesn’t know exactly what to blame for the Baron’s excruciating dance moves, he’s just glad he got away. Being near enough to Zemo for people to assume they were acquainted? Come on. That’s just insult on top of injury.

Bucky’s head swivels to follow him once Sam tracks into his line of sight.

“Where’s Zemo?” is the first thing he says.

Sam avoids his gaze until he’s good and comfortable on the couch at his side. It’s closer than he meant to be, since the damn thing has a curve to it, but the chairs don’t look comfortable. Unless, he supposes, you’re a percher, like Sharon. Sam doesn’t perch.

To cover for the fact that he picked his seat without thorough reconnaissance and is, with his inhibitions a little lower than usual, both far too nervous and not nearly nervous enough, Sam spreads his knees to take up even more of the couch, draping his arms along the back. Finally, he glances at Bucky.

“Sharon’s doing her shift as babysitter,” Sam says.

“Hasn’t she done enough?”

“You wanna go back down there and spell her, be my guest.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, “I think I’m good.”

Bucky’s jacket is gone too, Sam notes, moving his own from where it landed to the chair opposite. Briefly, he lets himself be curious. Why does Sharon have a wardrobe of men’s clothes in enough sizes and styles to reasonably clad himself, Bucky, and Zemo for the evening? Are these things expensive? Are they valuable, like the Monet he saw on the way in? Maybe the clothes on his back belonged to some celebrity and are set to be sold off to the highest bidder. If that weren’t a selling point before, it could be now—everything itemized and tagged as having been worn by Sam Wilson, the Falcon, the Man Who Wouldn’t Be Captain America.

In the short silence, Sam feels himself beginning to frown, but he’s just the right side of buzzed to prevent those thoughts from dragging him down. He’s a cheerful drunk. Always has been. A hugger, a giggler, a piggyback ride-giver in his younger years.

“Do you think she’s doing alright?” Bucky asks, forever ready to be morose. “Sharon?” Sam wants to stick his finger in the indentation between Bucky’s eyebrows and wiggle it until the seriousness drops from his face. He wants to smooth his thumb over Bucky’s chin, wipe out the memory of Zemo’s touch when he offered Bucky to Selby like a thing instead of a human being. “I know she took your deal, a favour for a favour, but I’ve been trying to work out what my debt to her is. My notebook—”

“There’s no math for it, Buck,” Sam says. Though his tone is lazy, his words are certain. “Who owes what to who. We just have to make it right.” Mildly annoyed that he’s been drawn back into a heavy conversation, he sighs and slings his foot up to rest his ankle on his opposite knee. The movement bumps Bucky’s thigh momentarily. “Think I might owe Sharon a little less now that she made me wear a turtleneck to that party.”

Bucky snorts a laugh. Sam turns his head and gives him the finger, though he’s also smiling.

“I’m laughing at what you said,” Bucky claims, “not the shirt. You coulda picked something else.”

“It’s black and doesn’t have a pattern. After that Smiling Tiger getup, I felt like being inconspicuous, ok?”

“Ok. You don’t need my approval.”

“You’re damn right I don’t,” Sam agrees, still grinning.

“Suits you,” Bucky half-mumbles.

Sam huffs from his nose, all his laughter in that puff of air as he faces forward again, then tips his head back to check out Sharon’s high ceiling. With nothing but night through the tall windows and the room under-illuminated by the two lamps either left on by their host or switched on by Bucky, the ceiling’s dark grey instead of white. Shadowy. Unlike the menacing shadows that seemed to stretch after them on the streets of Low Town, sending an unpleasant tickle up the back of Sam’s neck, these are soft. It’s a surprisingly peaceful end to the day, considering what the past 24 hours have encompassed. Suddenly, Sam feels as though he’s been awake a long, long time. Doesn’t mean he’s ready to sleep yet.

“So,” he says, “downstairs. Why’d you leave? Most date-like thing we’ve done yet and I tear my eyes away from the trainwreck of Zemo’s dancing to find you gone.”

“The noise, the crowd, Zemo,” Bucky emphasizes, “like you said.”

“You brought him.”

“I know, I just…” Bucky slumps forward and hangs his head, hands clasped between his knees. He turns pained eyes on Sam and Sam moves his hand from the back of the couch to Bucky’s shoulder. From there to his upper back. From a grounding pressure to a gentle rub. Just a couple times, but he doesn’t pull away, perennially touchy when less than sober. “I don’t want him to control me.”

“He doesn’t,” Sam says firmly. “You were yourself at Selby’s.”

“His version of me. I don’t like the reminder. I don’t want to find out if I’d do it again, in that crowd of people, attack someone just because he told me to.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. I’m trusting you not to.”

“Is that smart?” Bucky asks, expression raw. Sam can feel the heat of his back through his shirt.

“It’s not totally smart. Can’t be, with you involved.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and smiles and Sam wants to cheer.

“I don’t know about that date,” Bucky says lightly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leans back into the couch once more. It was a t-shirt under that jacket of his and Sam’s gaze slides to his arms, trying to look without looking. Only because the Vibranium one isn’t on display a lot. That’s all.

“Oh, here we go.”

Sam’s amazed at how his complaint sounds in this room, in this light, on this couch. Like the ceiling, it’s soft.

“It was too loud.”

“The last thing you called a date was a fight on the top of a truck speeding down a highway. Wasn’t exactly quiet.”

“Well,” Bucky tries again, “there were too many people.”

“Again, extra people weren’t a problem last time. Half a dozen Flag-Smashers, as I recall.”

“That was fun and all—”

“Which part?” Sam asks, smiling. “The part where you got hurled into a windshield by the woman you’d assumed was a hostage? Yeah, that part was fun for me too.”

“Can it.”

Bucky accompanies the words with a look that Sam could pick out a mile away as fake-grumpy. It cracks him up and he lifts his hand from Bucky’s back to shove his arm as he laughs.

“You called tonight a date,” Bucky says suddenly.

“No, I said… I said…” Sam squints at nothing as he retrieves his words in his mind. “Date-like.”

“Zemo got in my head and I got in yours.”

Instead of saying this miserably, Bucky looks quietly smug at his joke. Sam needs to set him straight; of course he didn’t think tonight was a date. With a massive bounty on their heads at the other end of Madripoor? With Zemo the third wheel always only an arm’s length away? And the current circumstances are beside the point because, fundamentally, Sam doesn’t know whether or not Bucky’s been joking from the start. Intentionally wrong-footing him, messing with him, like they’ve been doing as long as they’ve known each other.

“You’ve definitely done something,” Sam volunteers.

It’s his fourth drink talking, or maybe the fucking pickled snake organ he forced himself to swallow earlier. His jaw clenches fleetingly at the memory. Sarah’s gonna laugh her ass off when he tells her. Should be enough to balance out whatever ire she’ll be sending his way for that dumb shit he said about laundering money. Although she’ll get that he only said it to avoid getting shot (he won’t tell her how narrow that success was), she still won’t be thrilled that he made himself out to be a criminal. It’s the furthest thing from the kind of people the Wilsons are. He could always point a finger at how Bucky behaved—dropping everyone who ran at him with icily efficient twists and kicks—but he knows how Sarah would look at him, what she’d be thinking. That he and Bucky aren’t held to the same standard, externally or internally. That he talks about Bucky too often, so often that if he let his sister in on this stupid running joke they have about their ops being dates, she’d take it all wrong, think this was something serious and inevitable.

Sam swallows and laces his fingers together in his lap so he won’t reach out for Bucky again.

“I know I should’ve let you in on the plan to spring Zemo from prison,” Bucky says. Oh, he thinks Sam’s words were a subtle criticism, not an admission. That’s… good.

“But?”

“No excuses,” Bucky promises, stretching his neck from side to side. “I shoulda told you. Once I explained it, you would’ve seen that I was right and agreed with me.”

Sam gives the side of Bucky’s head a hard stare until he catches the smirk hiking his lips up on one side.

“Wow,” Sam says dryly, “that was almost you taking responsibility.”

“I take responsibility all the time.”

“The notebook, right?”

“Yeah. Can’t believe Zemo put his fuckin’ hands on something so private, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I get that it’s private,” Sam assures him, “but you can tell me shit. If you want.”

Bucky’s folded arms loosen and he shoots Sam a sideways glance that scans all over his face, measuring, cataloguing, computing with that cyborg brain Sam teases him about. Sam blinks back. He means it, and he meant it before when he said he’s trusting Bucky.

“Feels a little one-sided,” Bucky says.

“That’s because you won’t come home with me to meet Sarah and the boys. You already got your invitation into my personal life, you just haven’t used it.”

“We’ve been a little busy, Sam.”

Sam sighs loudly and pushes his sleeves up his arms against the warmth of the room.

“You can make time. Once we’re not on Zemo’s schedule.”

“He was supposed to be on ours,” Bucky mutters. “I don’t know how that happened.”

“It happened because you’re an idiot who didn’t tell me the plan.”

“It’s my fault we keep getting shot at.”

Sam ignores that, the happy looseness surging up inside him battling the gravity of Bucky’s self-pity.

“It’s your fault if you didn’t like the date,” he counters. “You got Zemo out of Germany, Zemo brought us to Madripoor. Low Town, Selby, Sharon—all that happened as a consequence. You didn’t like tonight’s date? That’s on you.”

“Date-like,” Bucky corrects with a sly smile. “The noise and the fighting last time were fine—”

“Were they?!”

“—I just thought the next date should be different.”

Sam laughs softly because this isn’t the first time Bucky’s made this sound like more than a joke, but it is the first time he’s done this at night. And without Sam’s sister and nephews in the next room, or the potential for anybody to drive past them on a country road that runs alongside untidy fields, but when they’re truly alone.

“How so?” Sam asks, heart pumping like the bass in the basement, where the party’s carrying on without the two of them.

Bucky loosens his arms even more, until his forearms rest on his thighs, until—when he rocks to the side, repositioning to face Sam—he can rest one on the back of the couch where Sam’s used to be. His hand hangs down and his fingers skim Sam’s shoulder.

“More private,” Bucky confesses.

“I didn’t know that’s what you wanted,” Sam says with an easy laugh because Bucky’s face is still a little too stern, but that could be self-consciousness. “Tell me how to get more than four stars, man.”

“And you’ll do it?”

“Depends. Try me,” he blurts.

He watches Bucky’s face pinch in then relax, going especially slack at the mouth, which gets closer when Bucky angles into his space. Sam’s fingers release and his back straightens as he shifts to square his body to Bucky’s. They’ve done something like this before, locked into stubborn, confrontational posture when Bucky makes Sam’s life difficult by refusing to go along with what he says, but not this. Not this exactly.

Sam doesn’t stiffen or jerk away, so Bucky keeps coming.

“Are you…?” Bucky asks, eyelashes fluttering as his lids raise and lower, looking from Sam’s eyes to his lips. “Is this…?”

Always talking.

Tilting his head and closing his eyes, Sam stamps his mouth to Bucky’s. He goes to break away after a few stunned seconds, but then Bucky’s hand lands on the back of his neck—warm; not the metal one—to hold them together. Sam meets Bucky’s seeking tongue with his own and feels scruff against his face as their mouths test and react to each other. Reflexively, Sam grips the front of Bucky’s tight, black t-shirt. The kiss is quick and feverish and, when Bucky’s fingers untense on his neck, Sam rests his face against Bucky’s.

He wouldn’t say he’s scared to move, but he’s wary. He can’t tell if they’ve fucked up their whole dynamic or taken it, at last, to a level it was always going to reach. Raising a hand to pat the side of his head and check that his goggles are in place, Sam stops, remembering he won’t feel the strap because he’s not in the air. It’s been a while since he felt lightheaded on the ground.

He clears his throat and draws back. Bucky starts to remove his hand from Sam’s neck, but Sam reaches up to keep it there. He juts his chin out challengingly as he holds Bucky’s eyes, thinking, for a second, of their joint session with Dr. Raynor.

“What’s the verdict?” Sam demands.

Bucky stares back solemnly.

“Four and a half.”

“I’m leaving you here in Madripoor,” Sam declares, pointing a finger down at Bucky’s abruptly and broadly grinning face as he pushes up from the couch.

He strides over to Sharon’s crystal decanters, laughing to himself and looking for water. There isn’t any, but she does have an insulated canister of dissolving ice cubes. Sam scoops a few into a tumbler and turns back to look silently at Bucky. He cups the base of the glass in his hot palm. Slowly, the ice starts to melt.

[blushing-starker]

don't expect that line I previously mentioned because I'm chaotic and forgot about @starkerfestivals amazing omegaverse week since it goes hand in hand with finals and my brain only fit one of these events in my mental planner

Today's theme is heat/rut and it's slightly nff, has some sexual teasing but nothing too explicit. I'd rate this teen, is all I'm saying. I apologize for any writing mistakes, I'm finishing this at 11pm before collapsing in my bed.

Tagging @vaguekiwi cuz I mentioned this to her today

Needy little alpha

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

Tony wakes up to a purring alpha throwing himself on top of his defenseless body with the force of a freight train driven by a drunk man on drugs. Peter's been told a thousand times before how yes, he may be as heavy as a goddamn feather, but it still aches when that super strength plops down and refuses to let the victim's lungs function adequately. But his boyfriend is a sadist who loves cuddles and making Tony suffer.

"No."

"You love my cuddles," it's true, they bring him pain and purple bruises everywhere but there's nothing quite as soothing as a content alpha kneading like a kitten at his chest, " and you know it. "

"Uh, that's false. Never said I love cuddles. I tolerate your octopus habits, there's a difference." Peter leans back with a pout and teary eyes, wobbles that God forsaken bottom lip like he always does whenever Tony denies the kid something and presents a challenge.

Nimble fingers slide up into, unfortunately, silver hair and nonononono that's unfair. He snarls, tries to infuse the air with as many displeased pheromones as possible so Peter can take a hint when nails scratch right above his nape and Tony's done. Unravels at this hobgoblin's feet and he's half way sure his soul goes out in a huff as little circles are pressed into the exact spot that causes him so much neck pain.

Peter unashamedly preens when Tony melts into their bed and starts pawing at him for more cuddles. "Say you love my cuddles and I won't leave the bed for an hour. Throw in a kiss and I'll rub your back."

He hates(loves) this kid. Hates(loves) how he sing songs as soon as the situation doesn't favour the actually responsible adult in the relationship. Hates(loves) the way Peter never misses the places that leave him sinking into fluffy pillows. Hates how, oh that's nice.

There are tiny kisses littered on a chest glowing blue, small indentations from teasing lips pressed into spread arms and cold hands.

"Ruts gotten you needy, huh, little alpha?" Not that this one was any different from all the other ruts they've shared since dating. Tony secretly adores Peter like this, extra affectionate the minute his shyness and fear of outside criticism is washed away, replaced with the need to shower his omega in love and attention. Yes, Peter has his heart 365 days of the year. Yes, he'd die for his tiny spiderling no matter what.

But this is just really nice, ok? Previous lovers were rarely alphas so this ritual of gluing their bodies together when rut came was an added benefit to being with Peter. That and the hormones he let out while happy soothed Tony to no end.

Peter nips at his finger, still a bit too early on for him to accept the nicknames. He blushes though, a pale pink highlighting a face much more lovely than the cherubs painted on the cathedrals of Rome. Jesus, he's whipped and all they've done is cuddle.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I love your cuddles. Cherish them. Want them every day for the rest of my life. But I love you, my needy little alpha with a fantastic," there's a pillow smashed against his face.

"If you say dick, I'm climbing down to wrestle Bucky and I won't let Karen record it for your spank bank. " Oh, that's a low blow.

He relaxes, let's Peter sink into him with a startled yelp, rolls them over, sits on the kid's lap and clamps his knees around a trim waist. Peter may be Spider-Man, but he's Tony Stark and Tony Stark doesn't lose in bed.

Well. Not unless he wants to.

"You do that and you can say hello to your toy, the one I know is stashed in your old room under the bed in a comic book box, because that'll be the only thing helping you out when the rut really hits." Will Tony suffer immensely if that happens? Yes. He's a sucker for a needy Peter being ridiculously horny and possessive. Thing is, you don't threaten a man's spank bank. No sir. Everything else is fair play. His carefully organized folders of viewing material are not to be messed with.

Peter's blush is on full blast, spreads over a long neck and absolutely delicious, no. Be strong, Tony.

"You know about the toy?" It's a squeak, normal voice rocketing upwards thanks to the position Tony's ass is in and the knowledge that his secret is out. Which wasn't even a secret to begin with anyway because Tony is in love with the only genius not smart enough to erase his browser history in the lab's computer. Which Tony uses. Routinely. Every day.

"Know about it? I've seen it. You left it out once, all used up on your bed while you were showering. You remember that, don't you? We had sex in the bathroom that day. Bruised my back and everything?"

Peter furrows his brow, works a plush lip and no, look away, Tony, look away. The kid is sin and indulgence and heaven and no.

"Oh. Oh." Whenever he thinks his boy can't go any redder, Peter busts out a new shade of pink.

"Yup. So. I'm pretty sure this is what you wanted in the first place. Maybe it wasn't your intention," he stresses when Peter's already launching up and nearly throwing him off in an attempt to reassure Tony that wasn't his purpose with the cuddles, "but you certainly wouldn't have minded this outcome. And by this outcome I mean my incredible ass on top of that fantastic dick."

Peter tries to suffocate with a pillow held over his face.

"You've got two choices, kid. You threatened the spank bank. The teasing is fine, you know I love when my pretty kitty shows his claws," a hand slaps his arm, makes him grin, " But threatening such an integral part of my mental stability? Wrong move, Queens. You aren't getting any until tonight, not even so much as a French kiss will be given. Unless you let me bite a mark on that amazing neck and don't push me away when I nuzzle you in front of the team. "

Well. Now he's definitely being thrown off of Peter's lap.

He lands on the other side of the bed with a groan, is assaulted by a whining Peter intent on receiving something to further postpone the urge for sex that's sure to hit him soon enough.

An alpha, Tony's learned, will usually be very cuddly and affectionate the first few days of a rut week. Then the possessive, protective side will slowly emerge. Nests of pillows, couch cushions, blankets and favorite pieces of clothing appear on the fourth sunrise. The next morning comes with the need for relief, for intimacy and a marathon of sex that'll leave any supersoldier exhausted by the end of it. The resulting days offer comfort, an aftercare of sorts, where the alpha and their partner show a soft affection similar to the beginning. Nests are utilized and bodies soothed. It lasts, at most, a week and the majority of the population only has to take slightly increased portions of food.

That's for people without the metabolism of four grown men.

Peter needs sex, as much as possible, so the itch for urgent intimacy doesn't result in Tony tackled to the floor of the lab in the middle of an experiment every day of the week. It's like giving him nicotine patches instead of a cigarette.

So now he's whimpering, tugging on Tony's clothes just a little too hard if the ripping sound is any indication.

"...sorry, Tony..."

"It's fine, I've got more. I'm not letting this go though. The teams' seen us fuck against a wall, their opinion and respect, your worth, didn't change. So come on. Just one little mark. One. And Bucky nuzzles Steve and Sam all the time. Hell, Pepper sometimes nuzzles me when I'm stressed out. Please, baby? "

There it was; Tony's secret weapon. Peter blushed like a virgin on a wedding night whenever he used pet names, but the genius knows his boyfriend enjoys the familiarity and subtle intimacy. Felt reassured that they were a romantic couple and not a mentor fucking his protege.

The kid nibbles at his neck, wraps gangly limbs around a body that's always been his to take comfort in. "Just one mark? And light, I mean it, Tony, light nuzzling in front of the team. For today. Then I can get what I want?"

He snorts, can't fully comprehend how the universe paired him up with someone so intent on making Tony's joints ache and creak. "Yeah, we can have sex later, Mr Charming. Subtle as brick, that Spider-Man. Let's go get you cleaned up, make sure that rut has a hard time getting my boy under the weather."

He goes to get up. He leans forward. He cannot, in fact, leave the bed.

Peter bites with a bit more pressure, drops his hips down harder and Jesus Christ, they're never seeing the light of the kitchen if his boyfriend can't wait til it's dark.

"Or..."

"I'm an old man, I need protein before you go jumping tired bones that have to spend two hours updating your suit." Ok, so maybe he's slightly bitter and annoyed at not having enough stamina (or refractory period, for that matter) to keep up with a repressed teenage superhuman. It's not his fault Pepper keeps bringing Krispy Kreme donuts to the office meetings.

It'd be rude not to eat with the others anyway.

"You don't have to do anything." Ah, it's one of those ruts.

Tony softens, smoothes a hand down a back that could hold a plank under a five story building with ease, kisses a heated cheek.

"Needy little alpha." It's his turn to whisper and nuzzle against soft skin.

"Kind, not so little omega?" Tony laughs, presses their lips together so Peter can see what's it like to taste a smile radiating with joy and love. Slowly clicks the button on the nearest nightstand; unless someone is dying , it'll just be the two of them in the room.

(There was an incident once. Groot may have been traumatized by a situation involving superstrength, webs and the Ironette costume Tony only adored when it adorned Peter's body.)

"I do so love my needy little alpha needing me, don't I?"

His boyfriend blinks, grins at Tony as if he's just hung the moon and stars for his spiderling and ok, a little sex early in the morning isn't that bad.

"You love my cuddles too."

"Shut up and kiss me, Queens. I'm not getting any-"

They don't talk about anything too important after that.

----------

A little sex early in the morning actually is that bad when you miss a meeting with the U.N and show up smelling like sex, infatuation and, oddly enough, strawberry.

Rocket doesn't stop teasing for months.

[thinkingaboutitalittle]

ｔｉｇｈｔｒｏｐｅ

summary: “It’s capital, this tightrope that the two of you walk between harsh discipline and sweet indulgence.” 

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: mentions of violence, red room, implied age gap-ish, it’s a little angsty?  kinda hurt comfort but there’s plot 

a/n: hi again! I really like the concept of this one! I hope you like it too, feedback is definitely welcome 

word count: 2.2k ish 

When he’d first met you, you were the antithesis to what he’d expected. Prepped with the information that you were a recruit found in one of the last scattered branches of HYDRA’S Red Room and trained to have the strength and endurance of a skilled olympian, when you’d been introduced all wide-eyed and with a bright smile that had a smear of peanut butter at its corner, Bucky was floored. Fresh from Wakanda and losing his best friend, he didn’t think it’d work, the two of you running together. 

And at first he was right, things were rough. Technically, you were and still are his apprentice, obligated to attend general training and conditioning sessions with him as your guide. You’d had an impeccable persistence and the skill set that HYDRA engraved into your physicality was more than enough to get you through, but Bucky had the experience. You were strong and good at taking direction, but HYDRA had trained the instinct and critical thinking out of you, and the process of finding your footing with your newfound freedom was difficult. 

There were arguments over the ungodly hours that he’d chosen scheduled for sparring sessions (“Are you shitting me Barnes? You want me to wake up at five in the morning to get decked in the face?”), about whether or not certain techniques were viable in fighting situations (“Biting into someones arm while they’ve got you in a headlock isn’t reliable option doll, especially if the arm is made out of vibranium”), and when the two of you were extra frustrated, eating habits were also up for debate (“You cannot only eat pop tarts the week before a mission!” “I’ll stop eating pop tarts the day you give Sam a compliment,”).

But eventually, when the two of you’d finally realized that your distaste for each other may have stemmed for a repressed attraction towards one another, you made it work. You Learn to fight without actually aiming to hurt the other person and you manage to communicate with one another with the exclusion of screaming matches and elongated lectures. (You also learn how to sneak into each others rooms without waking up other shield officers on your shared floor in the middle of the night, but that’s something neither of you care to define)

The two of you are sparring together late this afternoon after you’d convinced him of the fact that you’re far better suited to give him your focus after you’d fully awakened and consumed a healthy portion of your daily allotment of junk food.

“I already told you your elbows are too loose, don’t give me that shit again,”

You tighten your stance against the previously acclaimed Winter Soldier, and throw another, albeit cleaner, punch. A grunt of approval from Bucky and your movements continue to present themselves with precise stability.

“Christ, Barnes you’re stricter than my babysitters at camp HYDRA,” He smirks, appreciates the value of making light of a shitty situation, and then retorts, 

“I’m prettier to look at though, huh?”

It’s capital, this tightrope that the two of you walk between harsh discipline and sweet indulgence.

You square your shoulders and dip your head in an attempt to seem more menacing, “Only in the dark, baby. I’m gonna kick your ass,”

Again he responds with a practiced snort, “Good fighters don’t reveal their strategy before they’ve done it, keep that chin up or I’m going to knock it next time you come near me,”

Somehow, amongst all the near misses and successful jabs to the stomach, a small smirk manages its way onto your face. Before you’d started to train with Bucky, fighting was a commitment you had no choice in deciding. You’d go through endless hours of getting beaten down, only to be forced back onto your feet and beaten again; bulldozed into compliance. Training with Bucky is different; dares you to test the boundaries and willingly push yourself to your limit, not because you have to but because you want to.

You solidify your strategy in your head before moving to deliver a swift kick to Bucky’s ankles. He dodges it, as expected, and plants himself on top of you, restraining your legs between his own and digging his enormous forearms into your biceps.

“I already told you, this shit won’t fly on anyone bigger than you, princess, you’re going to have to tap,” and boy, if only you’d had a body camera to record the way that his face slackens when you retaliate with, “C’mon Buck, you’re telling me it doesn’t get you off to be on top of a dame like me?”

It’s a low blow to use your unspecified status outside of the gym to your advantage, but what was it that he’d told you in your first training session? Ah yes, use whatever advantage you have to your benefit.

You were only following directions.

Quickly, you move his practically limp limbs from your body and force yourself onto his front, resting your knees atop his flesh and alloyed forearms (because goodness knows you wouldn’t be able to hold them down with your hands) and the rest of your weight on his torso. And he looks so helplessly confused in this position you can’t help yourself from speaking through a smug smile, “Never took you for a bottom, princess.”

Buckys going to crack your head like a walnut. He jerks upward to catch your head between his fists, but a sudden rush of alarms stops him in his tracks. All of the sudden, the shield compound is doused in red lights and an automated voice is eerily repeating there has been a breach in the compound, agents follow evacuation protocol. However, the warning comes late because only a few seconds after you and Bucky have detangled yourselves from each other, the doors to the training hall are bursting open with what has to be a group of wanna-be HYDRA affiliates demanding information and files about some secret mission that neither of you were a part of.

Regardless, Bucky is on his feet immediately and ushering you to stand behind his immense form, his tone gritting out a stiff, “Y/N. Behind me. Now.”. Though your developing sense of instinct is telling you that this situation is one that Bucky shouldn’t be handling alone, your feet move before your brain can catch up, eager to comply with his demands instead of challenging them.

The infiltrators are small in number but waste no time zeroing in on Bucky as soon as they realize his presence as the Winter Soldier. He pushes you into a locker, spitting out something about staying there until he handles them and direct orders, agent but you can’t help but crack the door open, fearing Bucky’s well being.

Surprising no one, Bucky can mostly handle himself against a group of middle-aged men who are scarcely trained and even more scarcely armed. However, in his struggle with one of the larger men in the group, Bucky fails to notice that one of the other Hydra members has managed to snatch a particularly large knife from his belt loop and is getting ready to dig it into his back in an attempt to save his comrade.

Emerging from the locker, you move to kick the knife out of the enemy’s hand, knocking it somewhere across the gym, and landing yourself in the middle of the brawl. In your haste, the agent swings a punch to your jaw, but you recover quickly. You knock the agent twice and before you can move to disable him further, Bucky finds his way to you and heaves the man a generous amount of yards away. 

Before either of the chance to say anything to each other, the room is rushed by Shield agents searching to apprehend the HYDRA men and to find out any information regarding the infiltration.

-

It’s a couple of hours before you get to see Bucky again.

Between all of the shield officers asking painfully specific questions and their obnoxious insistence that things like this never happen, by the time Barnes finds you sitting in the compound kitchen, legs dangling from the center island and fingers wrapped around a lukewarm cup of tea, you’ve both had enough time to sit with previous events.

You’re ambivalent, a tricky mixture of guilt and pride making a home in the form of a lump in your throat. Part of you knows what you did was the right thing; if you’d have let Bucky get hurt, the other offender would have used the advantage to gang up on him and you’d’ve had to take on the both of them instead of just one. But there’s still a lingering part of you that feels an immense sense of shame for not wholly complying.

Maybe it’s just leftover conditioning from your time with HYDRA, the remaining indents from the ideals they’d ingrained into your mentality, but disobeying direct orders, no matter how irrelevant they may have proven themselves to be, left you with a bitter taste in your mouth and frustrating tears in your eyes. Even after training with Bucky for so long and recognizing the difference between appropriate and inappropriate times to act on your own volition, you still maneuver on a fine line between overwhelming shame and practiced action.

He moves in front of you, between your legs, and when he notices your refusal to look him in the eyes, Buck slips his thumb and forefinger under your chin lifting your misty eyes to his worried gaze. There’s a rush of bile rising in your throat that you know can only be remedied by a salve of words, “Bucky I- I’m so sorry I didn’t l-listen to y-,”

“If you finish that apology, I’m going to give you another shiner, princess,”

He stills you, maneuvering the hand that’s not holding your face to shift the tea out of your hands and then to rest on your bicep. Save for a handful of your sniffles and the soft noises Bucky makes in the back of his throat when his eyes focus on a particularly darkened or swollen segment of skin, the two of you maintain a quietness as he looks you over.

And - no matter how long he’s been fighting with you by his side and no matter how many times he’s scolded himself for feeling self-pity when others, you are in pain - this part never get easier; swallowing his pride and accepting the fact that not everyone can make it out unscathed.

He moves away from you to fish an icepack from the door of the fridge, holding it in his hand for a few seconds before setting it back in its spot and pressing his now cool metal palm to the side of your face. You sigh in relief, starting to come down from your thoughts, leaning into Bucky.

Finally, he speaks, “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you suck in a breath and he knows you’re preparing to refute his claim, so he cuts you off swiftly, “I know you think you fucked it up because that’s what they want you to think, but you acted on your instinct doll, you did good.”

Your breathing slows back down to its normal pace, and his thumb moves to wipe the tears off of your cheeks. It’s almost laughable how easily he gets you calm; how he’s managed to keep you from falling off of the tightrope and now  rests on it with you, an unspoken in equilibrium.  He nudges his nose to yours and smoothes a kiss to your lips, a final attempt at calming whatever stray nerves remain.

When he pulls away, you can’t help but chuckle. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Recovering with a weak smile you respond, “I get knocked twice for your ass and all I get is a little kiss?”

His smirk is cheeky as he presses another to your lips, this time deeper and more intentional, “You’re telling me this isn’t enough to get you off, princess?”

[arrow-guy]

Broken Flock (7/??)

Summary: It’s been two years since you uprooted your life and left to figure out who you really are, leaving behind Bucky and Clint with little more than a note as a warning. Now, New York is calling your name and it’s time to go home. How will Clint and Bucky react to your return, and how will the time have affected your relationship?

A/N: Again, this chapter is dealing with really heavy themes that could potentially trigger some readers. Please read at your own discretion.

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong​

Word Count: 2.8k

Pairing: WinterhawkxReader

Warnings: Kidnapping, panic attack, mentions of sedation, needles

Part 6

Clint and Bucky don’t get home till nearly four in the morning. They stumble up the stairs, exhausted and on the verge of collapsing. They’re determined to make it up to (Y/N)’s apartment before they fall asleep.

They bundle into the apartment and are surprised to find only the stove light on. (Y/N) usually leaves, at least, a couple of lamps left on in the living room and a lamp on in the bedroom. Bucky looks up at Clint, concern evident on his face and Clint squeezes his arm in an attempt to reassure him. Clint moves further into the apartment to check the bedroom, while Bucky investigates the kitchen.

It only takes Clint a moment to flick on the bedroom light before he calls out to Bucky and joins him in the kitchen. He stops short when he sees Bucky hunch in on himself and cover his mouth with his hand.

"What is it?" Clint asks.

Bucky holds up a slip of paper. "Something's wrong."

"What?" Clint turns on the rest of the kitchen lights and takes the paper from him. "She left a note?"

Bucky nods silently and Clint gently pulls him to his chest with one arm. He runs his hand up and down Bucky's back, hoping to keep him calm, while he reads the note.

Hey guys!

I don't know if you'll be back before me, but in case you are, I'm heading out to stretch my wings. After last week I think I need a little break, haha. It's 8:45 right now, but I'll stop by Clint's place to feed Lucky before I head out for the day. I'll have my phone with me if you need to get in contact.

See you when you get home!

(Y/N)

P.S.: I'm not running away again. I promise.

The note falls from Clint's hand and he wraps his arms fully around Bucky. It slowly sinks in that (Y/N)'s been gone for well over twelve hours and Clint begins to panic.

"Maybe she decided to camp out for the night," Clint offers. "She hates being cooped up for too long."

"No, she would've texted or called or something." Bucky takes a deep, shaking breath. "Something's wrong, and you don’t want to admit it."

“Of course I don’t wanna admit it, Buck. She’s-” Tears form in his eyes and he wraps Bucky tighter in his arms. “She’s our girl.”

“We gotta get her back.”

“We will.”

Bucky shakes his head and pulls away. “I can’t do this again. I can’t lose her.”

Clint wipes away Bucky’s tears and then his own. “I know. And we’ll find her. I’m gonna call Steve and Nat and Sam. We’re gonna get every single pair of eyes we can on this.”

Bucky covers his face with his hands and Clint tucks him under his chin. They stand silently in the kitchen until they’re able to speak again. Bucky takes a seat on the couch and texts Steve while Clint immediately calls Natasha. He can hear Bucky sniffle and has to force himself to stay where he is.

Natasha is not in a good mood when she picks up.

“It’s four in the morning.”

“I don’t give a shit, (Y/N)’s gone.”

“What do you mean she’s ‘gone’?”

“Bucky ‘n I just got home and she wasn’t here.”

“She probably ran off again. I know you don’t want to hear this, but she’s done it once, she’d probably do it again.”

“The fuck she would, she’s settled here, Nat. She wouldn’t just leave without telling us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Clint’s tempted to break something. “Nat, I’m telling you, she wouldn’t fucking do that. She wouldn’t do that to us. Not again.” His breath catches in his throat and he does his best to hold back his tears. “Please, Nat. We need your help.”

Natasha sighs. “Fine, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Clint sighs, relieved. “Thank you. Would you bring Steve with you? Buck’s getting in contact with him, but we need his help on this.”

“I’ll let him know.” She pauses. “Anyone else you want on this?”

“Sam,” Clint says. “He’s good at this kind of stuff. And I’m gonna call Tony and see if he can help at all. I don’t want him physically looking for her though. We’re already impatient enough as is without adding his stress to the mix.”

“Okay. See you soon.” She hangs up before Clint can say goodbye.

Clint sits on the coffee table in front of Bucky and takes hold of his shaking hands. “Nat’s on her way over with Steve and Sam.”

Bucky nods, but it’s clear that he’s still trying to process what’s happening. “Okay.”

“I’m gonna see if I can get Tony to help us track her phone.”

“Okay.”

“We’re gonna find her, Buck,” Clint murmurs. He kisses Bucky’s knuckles. “I promise.”

“You’re sure she didn’t just leave again?” Natasha asks.

“I’ve already fuckin’ told you, she didn’t just leave,” Clint growls.

“She left a note,” Bucky says. His voice is rough and makes Natasha do a double-take. When she sees his red-rimmed eyes, she realizes how serious this is.

“Can I read it?”

Bucky nods and points to the kitchen counter. Steve picks up the slip of paper and scans over it before handing it to Natasha. Her frown grows deeper the further she reads into the note. She opens her mouth to speak and Clint holds up one hand to stop her.

“We know she’s missing. Her laptop is still here and so is the rest of her stuff.” He wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and sighs. “Like I said. She wouldn’t do this to us.”

“No, Clint I get that. Do you know where she would’ve gone?”

“North,” Bucky croaks out. “We were up there a couple weeks ago. She likes flying up there.”

“Did Stark manage to find her phone?” Steve asks.

Clint shrugs and checks his phone. “I think he’s still working on it. I’ll call him again-”

“No,” Steve says. “It’s alright, I’ll do it.”

Clint absentmindedly rubs circles against Bucky’s shoulder, trying to calm himself more than Bucky at this point. For all of his optimism, Clint knows how much he’s lost throughout his life. He’s lost his brother to the Swordsman, his childhood to abuse and the circus, his mother to his father… Hell, even his shitbrick of a father dying was a loss. But losing (Y/N) a second time overshadows all of that. There’s no time to mourn or process, just an overwhelming need to go, find, rescue. The urge to protect Bucky is there, too, but he knows that Bucky would never fall into his arms like a damsel in distress, even if there’s a tiny part of him that wishes he would. Wishes Bucky would let him take care of him. But he knows that taking care of Bucky means finding (Y/N) first.

Steve interrupts his thoughts, letting them know that Stark’s found the location, and Clint coaxes Bucky to his feet. He grabs his spare bow and quiver from his apartment before they leave the building.

Dawn breaks and brings even more anxiety with it.

They find her phone in the middle of the field Bucky had taken her to not even a month ago. Bucky's heart drops to his feet and he would walk away from all of this if it weren't for Clint's hand on his shoulder.

Bucky crouches down and picks up the phone. The screen is freshly cracked and the battery is nearly dead. He pockets the device and scans the surrounding area for any other sign of human life. He's about to say something when he notices that the top of a nearby tree has been snapped off. He reaches out to Clint and takes off as soon as he's got a hold of his hand.

"What is it?" Clint asks breathlessly.

"Something."

Clint knows better than to try and get anything more out of him when he's like this.

Bucky drags Clint to a clearing littered with crushed leaves, broken branches, and feathers that are too big to have come from any kind of bird. Both men freeze at the sight in front of them and Clint feels nauseous when he notices the dark, tar-like substance stuck to the majority of the feathers.

"I-I saw the broken off trees and I…" Bucky trails off and drops to his knees. "Oh, God."

Clint glances up from the carnage to see Sam hovering in front of a particular tree. He grabs something before he drops to the grass and walks over to Steve. Clint sees him say something about a bag and "Caught on a branch." His stomach clenches and he manages to force himself to walk over and investigate.

Sam turns as Clint approaches and holds out a tattered pack.

“I’m sorry, man,” he says. “This is all I could find.”

Clint reaches out with shaking hands and takes the bag. His breathing stutters. “Shit.”

“Is it hers?”

Clint nods. “Yeah. It’s hers.” He looks around the clearing. “The feathers are hers too, and they’re every-fucking-where.”

Clint watches Natasha prod at a clump of feathers. She frowns when she touches the tar-like goop and a string of it pulls away with her fingers. She scowls and walks away, making a note on her phone. Bucky’s wandered over to the one clear space in the middle of the grass and Clint joins him. He takes Bucky’s hand in his and hopes it’s at least a little comforting.

“She fell here,” Bucky murmurs, tracing a vague indentation in the grass. “And then it's like she just disappeared.”

Clint shakes his head. “She didn’t disappear, Buck. She was here. We’ll find her.”

He kisses the side of Bucky’s head and wraps him in a tight hug. Bucky hesitates, but slowly wraps his arms around Clint’s middle and presses his nose to his chest. Clint notices Natasha speaking with Steve and his brows pull together when she glances back at him before talking to Steve again. He sees her say “shot down” and “kidnapped” and the hopelessness starts to settle in again.

There’s something wrong with my left wrist. Probably a sprain. Both of my wings are sore from tip to shoulder, but I think I twisted my right wing on the way down to the ground. My ribs are probably fractured after snapping so many branches, and it’s hard to breathe. Secondary to all of that, every inch of exposed skin stings with little tiny scrapes and cuts.

I have to take my time in sitting up and wince when my wings stretch a little too far. There’s something that’s stopping my feathers from fanning out to the point that any kind of movement slowly becomes painful. I slowly extend my left wing, hoping to investigate whatever's stuck to my feathers and stare in confusion at the mess of black goo covering the majority of my secondaries. Cautiously, I reach out and try to remove some of it, and I only succeed in pulling a feather loose. I swear and flick the goo that came away on my fingers to the floor.

I sigh and try to fold my legs underneath myself, but my motions are inhibited by a pair of shackles around my ankles. A long length of chain tethers the shackles to the floor. With that, in combination with the crippling soreness that's starting to settle deep into my bones, I realize that I'm not getting out of here any time soon. Wherever here is.

I shuffle back until my back hits the wall and my eyes slowly begin to adjust to the low light in the room. It looks like I’m being held in a small barn. Little slivers of light creep through cracks in the walls and fall across my hands, revealing every little cut and scrape. I sigh and angle myself so that I can reach the goop on my left wing. I lick the pads of my fingers and try to work some of the stuff from my feathers. It’s slow going, but I manage to avoid pulling out any more feathers.

Eventually, I can’t keep up with cleaning myself, and exhaustion settles in every inch of my body. I curl into myself and doze off.

“An excellent specimen, Doctor.”

I don’t recognize this voice. The sounds of conversation slowly creep in at the edges of my consciousness. I keep my head down and just listen.

“As it should be, I made the serum!”

“When was she made?”

“I can’t be sure. It was not a procedure that I performed. I believe she was an accident.”

“Ah, well, you know what Bob Ross says.”

The second voice laughs. “I think you’re onto something, there, my friend.”

It takes a moment for it to register that these people are the reason I have my wings. And they’re just talking about me like I’m some kind of animal. An experiment.

One of them begins to pace in front of me. “It appears that she’s been sleeping for nearly twelve hours. Should we be concerned?”

“No, the serum imparts a sort of healing factor. The fastest way for her to heal is to sleep.” The shift and their shoes scrape along the concrete floor. “That being said, I don’t know the extend of her injuries. And her breathing has changed since we started speaking.”

The one pacing stops mid-stride. “She’s listening.”

“Precisely.”

Their footsteps approach and I panic. Fingers sink into my hair and wrench my hair back. I’m forced to look up at the woman who had previously been referred to as the Doctor. Out of the corner of my eye, I can just barely see the wiry young man that holds my head back.

“What should we do with her?” the young man asks. “Do you think she’s ready for tests.”

“Please,” my voice comes out scratchy. “Please, don’t.”

“I’m not sure,” the woman says. She begins to pace. “On the one hand, I’ve been waiting for weeks to capture her. Her strength and speed are unlike any of our previous subjects. I’m curious to see what makes her different from the others.”

“But?”

“But she’s been very clearly hurt.”

The man’s hold on my hair tightens and I whimper. He just tugs harder and I force my hands to stay where they are in my lap.

“We’ve been very careful in the past,” he says slowly. “We’ll sedate her. Keep her limbs still. She won’t feel a thing.”

“That is true…” I catch the wicked glint on her eyes and my stomach churns.

The young man laughs in my ear. “Excellent.”

“We’ll have to trim the tar from her feathers.” The doctor shakes her head. “Shame. They’re so beautiful.”

“Don’t touch my wings,” I plead. “Please.”

They just carry on as if I’ve said nothing. I watch the man grin, his eyes crazed. The doctor gestures towards the door and several large figures bundle into the barn. They all stalk over, arms outstretched and ready to grab me. I try to shrink away, but the man holding my head is stronger than he looks, and I can’t move an inch.

Hands latch onto my wrists, ankles, and wings, and I cry out in pain. I go limp in an attempt to make myself too heavy to carry, but they just twist my wings back to fold them. I bite down on my tongue to keep every whimper, groan, and sob from surfacing. My wrist and right wing scream out white-hot pain and, each time they jostle me around, a new jolt of pain lances through my body.

The three men dump me face down onto a metal table and roughly strap my arms and legs down. I beg them to leave me. To let me go. To just let me go. Nothing I say seems to reach their ears and tears streak down my cheeks by the time they wench my wings down to the table. Two large clamps descend from the ceiling and pin my wings to the table. I’m stuck and in pain.

The doctor appears at the edge of the room and she slowly approaches me. She seemed hesitant earlier. Maybe there’s some way I can reason with her?

“Please, don’t do this,” I plead. “You don’t have to do this. Please.”

She grabs my face and turns it from side to side. I whimper and pull against my restraints when she twists my head a little too sharply.

“You don’t understand,” she says. She presses my cheek to the table and my entire body seizes up as I feel someone slowly inserting a needle into my neck. “I want to.”

Her manic grin is the last thing I see as the world goes black. The hum of electricity fills my ears and my body goes completely limp.

-------

Part 8

So that was a ROUGH chapter, but I promise that there will be a happy ending I just need you guys to trust me on this.

If you’d like to yell at me, absolutely comment, reblog, and/or shoot me an ask.

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[barnesandco]

Nikah: June

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of guns. Angst. Captivity.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. I’ll be honest, I don’t really know how to feel about this chapter. Please let me know what you think.

For the first time in nearly eighty years, Bucky wants to be a soldier. Wants to bark orders, organize his troops, pull the goddamn trigger, because this isn’t working. The troops are in disarray, another off-the-clock meeting in the living room going nowhere. The area is dark, their handwritten notes illuminated by Peter’s floating lights. Like enlarged fireflies, they hover above them, casting soft shadows across the contraband paperwork, but do nothing to soothe Bucky. It’s going to take more than that to take his mind off his missing wife. 

He’s busy counting. It has been 13 days, 11 hours, and 34 minutes since she walked out the door. She never came back. Every moment since has been only disaster, catastrophe. A complete blur. He tries to put together the jagged shards of the course of events that lays splintered in his mind, recaps the case like a private eye in a noir film, but the storyline is overwhelming. He can only remember the noise. The television static that was the police station he reported her missing in the morning after the fallout. The mind-numbing white noise of the press, of the investigators, his concerned teammates. They’re still concerned, naturally, watching him pace behind the sofa, mind clearly in another dimension. 

Peter himself is absent. Has refused to show up to meetings, says he’s taking a break. As if they don’t know that he spends his free time patrolling as much of the city as possible, looking for her. A few amongst them would again suggest that she has run away, if it wasn’t for the notes.

Whoever took her has been sending cruel, little messages, in varying unpredictable fashions. On social media, in the mail, a temporary web domain. All made impossible to track and each more infuriating than the next. No ransom demand, no explanation, just taunts.

Forensic specialists have nothing, behavioral analysts are at a total loss, and Bucky’s at the center of the circus that this investigation has become. He is at the eye of the storm, although currently, he feels like the storm itself, even while it surrounds him, raging and powerful, it threatens to drown him, but he cannot afford that. Not when someone else’s life is at stake.

“Man, that’s enough. Get some rest and we’ll get back to it tomorrow.” Tired and weary, and above all else, worried, Sam decides to call it a night. Bucky doesn’t have the heart to argue. As they file out, Sam stays behind, looking at Bucky, still standing with a manila folder in his hands. The captain comes up to him and takes it away gently. “You’re going to collapse, Barnes. No good to her like this. Sleep,” He says, pointing the folder like a scolding finger at him on his way out, and Bucky sighs. Knows he will not obey this order.

The night is temperate, a gentle blanket smelling of grass and gun-cleaner around him as he steps onto the balcony outside his room. They must have cut the lawns today. It’s a beautiful evening, and he’d appreciate it if there was room for any such thing in his heart. At present, the cavity in his chest is overflowing with fear. He hasn’t been this scared since he was a 20-something soldier in Azzano, Zola’s wicked face above him on the operating table. The intensity of this fear frightens him further. How is he this scared, for someone else? When did the cold metal Hydra poured into him to forge their sword melt into the lava bubbling ferociously with rage and hurt inside him? He has spent his whole life, scorning the cold, and now he is being burnt from the inside out, the fury in his veins sparking a fire in his belly.

Taking a deep breath, he reminds himself to calm down. Remembers that the magma can and will pour into his lungs if he lets it, will stifle his air supply until he is as helpless as his wife probably is, wherever she is. Sleep is not on the cards, so he comes back into his room and picks up the Glock under his pillow. Sits to clean it again tracing the indentations and following the lines.

“Sign here, sir,” The official’s baritone voice requests, pointing to the dotted line on their accepted marriage license. The black fountain pen is cold in his hands, and he hurries to sign. Their witnesses - another married couple that were waiting in line for their ceremony - shuffle impatiently. The document is slid over to her, and she does the same. Bucky doesn’t know whether his sigh of relief is releasing the burden of anticipation from his shoulders, or making room for the burden of a false marriage on them. The formalities are discussed in short time, prenuptial agreement non-existent, and the man congratulates them professionally behind half-moon glasses.

She nods, smiling, and they get up to thank the witnesses as their own file in, along with their few guests. Courthouse marriages are popular, Bucky notes, buttoning his jacket. They leave the building, walking a few blocks to grab a taxi, silent and cold. Night falls by the time they get home, the elevator ride feeling like weeks instead of minutes. The keys jingle as he turns the lock, and he and his bride step over the threshold of his house. Not their home, not yet.

Sam’s frantic knocking rouses him from his uncomfortable sleep, his back against the side of his bed and legs splayed out in front of him, gun still in his hands. He thanks God the safety’s on, and goes to open up.

“What?” He says shortly to the man who is breathless and alert, bursting with something to say. Sam holds up a key.

“The agent who gets sent to check your mail in Brooklyn just got back with this,” He says, giving it to Bucky. He looks over it, the silver glinting and reflecting off the metal of his arm. It’s vaguely familiar, and he thinks he should recognize it, but he does not. Not until he reads the number, and his heart drops to his knees, last night’s scarce dinner threatening to resurface.

“The storage unit,” He murmurs, tracing the number on the plastic keychain attached to the key. 3-8-4. 

“What?” It’s Sam’s turn to ask as he takes in his friend’s expression, knowing this means something.

“We rented a storage unit to put her stuff in when she moved in with me,” Bucky explains, rotating the key in his hands, as if there is a hidden clue in it. “This is the key to that unit.”

“Then we should go,” Sam determines, throwing a call to suit up over his shoulder at him, and ordering Friday to gather the others.

Two hours later sees them at the storage facility, heavy red gate imposing in front of them. They can hear the ambulance on standby outside, the buzz of media attracted by the movement of armed forces inside the city. The SWATs nod for him to open the gate, rifles on their shoulders, and Bucky sarcastically thinks this might be one hell of an anticlimax, until the gate slides up with an unholy groan to reveal his wife.

The smell of sweat and stench and human waste, along with those curse MREs slaps him across the face harshly, but he needs to get to her. This is nothing, compared to the hell of the past few weeks without her. 

Finally, here she is now- his bruised, tired, but very much alive wife. Her bloodshot eyes widen at the sight of them all, black-clad special ops and a team of Avengers, him still at the side of the entryway. They all lower their weapons, but she scrambles back, gag in her mouth biting at the corner of her lips when she gasps, frightened. Then she sees Bucky, and it’s like an ocean wave washes over her. She is clad, well-covered, yet he slides his combat jacket off, approaches slowly and drapes it around her shaking form before doing anything else.

Maintains eye contact while cutting the ropes the bind her hands and feet and pulls off the gag. For a painful moment, she stares at him, frozen in time, and then the dam breaks, and she collapses. Falls into his arms, great, gasping sobs erupting from a chest he didn’t know could hold that much sorrow as she cries against him. Her sanctuary is ripped away when the medics arrive, as they ask for her to be taken to the hospital, she needs to go, Mr. Barnes, but she clings to him. Screams hoarsely until they stop insisting and give them space. 

Bucky nods to them - telling them he’ll bring her to the ambulance - over the top of her unwashed head, the tiny jhumkas from the iftaari still in her ears, one blood-stained, digging into his shoulder as she tries to hide in him. Tries to bury herself in his body, tries to make herself disappear. Again. Sam’s calling for everyone to back up, and Bucky’s grips grows tighter. He’s going to bend down to pick her up bridal style when she passes out, dead weight in his arms. The medics rush forward again, but he waves them off, carrying her back himself.

She wakes up in the ambulance on the way back, fraught like a tense rope, but doesn’t open her eyes. His only indication of her consciousness is how she squeezes his hand feebly, and he squeezes back, thinking: it isn’t fair.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer @redhairedfeistynerd​ @geeksareunique @samingtonwilson @alyxkbrl​

[delusionland]

@fcrtunefavcred [ bucky & ares ]

Forget what you’ve read in comic books. A dream born of trauma is not a guided meditation through your most terrible memories. No, there’s certainly a gun in The Winter Soldier’s hands, and his finger is certainly on the trigger, and it shakes, the whole dream shakes like its reality is falling apart as it blurs and his sleeping eyes strain to see dull, shapeless colors---but he doesn’t spend every minute of sleep floating through a camera roll of videos. 

Instead, he feels sensations. Faces warp together, heads splitting in eight directions, conjoined on Coney Island corkboards, smiling as if completely unaware what he’s doing, targets surround him, spiraling into themselves in a dark frozen world, eyes and mouths swirling into layers on top of each other that he can just barely recognize as belonging to so many different people he’s hurt all at once. 

There’s laughter, of children, Steve’s little asmathatic cough through his tears, his Dad’s hearty bowl-over, he spots his sister’s too-young-for-lipstick-but-still-wearing-it-anywy smile in one of those pinwheel-faces, rotating around him with carnival-like clicks and gear whirs, but more than anything in this phantom space, this pocket of his mind without doors or windows, or air to breathe, there’s ice, frozen ice up to his kneecaps, there’s the pinching of his skin.

It starts in his arm, the feeling an injection that hardens it, makes it useless, no longer his own. His fingers shift---first a tan pink, then pale, criminally white as he flexes them around the gun, then black as frostbite, he loses all sensation---all feeling---like he’s falling in this dream but just his arm in one singular direction and he cannot wake up---and then his fingers go completely stiff and numb and begin to move of their own merit. 

The creeping, numbing frost moves up his arm, his clothes fall away, left bare except for stars and stripes and cold metal. His fingers on the gun begin to click, the faces continue to smile, to laugh, but louder, now, there’s a scream that rushes through the darkness like an overhead light, of a person he does not remember, who he cannot name or throw a face to, and his body continues to harden, numb, cold, frozen. 

He does not wake up. 

He cannot wake up.  

He touches his face with his other hand, finds his touch echoes like a tap against steel, tries desperately to throw the gun down---to stop the blood and bullet marks on all those terrifying, monsterous faces---they don’t deserve that---they’re people---they’re people---they’re people! But his arm is too strong, he can’t collapse, can’t move, he’s iced into the snow bank, he smells his own sweat and feels the hotness in his throat of tears and screams that match the echoing darkness that could last forever, that could go on forever, and has before---

But the snow on the ground rises. With a great stamp of heat, the snow and the faces dissipate like the flakes and fragments they are---like steam, and the ground is left barren, warm, red, not red like blood, but like clay, nothing as Earthly and calming. A parting of a dull sea of feelings, into red.

A figure stands before him. When did Bucky start kneeling? When in his struggle was he allowed to move?---Bucky notices the indentation of his thick, intimidating spear into the red clay ground, a mark of strength & power. His gaze is intense. Still, the man in the impressive armor calms him, makes him feel whole, despite the scent of his own metal and oil, makes him feel like everything in his life has served a purpose beyond himself---that his suffering has meant something---that the war in his heart has been called to a standstill by a force outside himself.

The man’s chiseled, handsome face moves as if in slow motion as he murmurs something calm and collected. Bucky can’t tell if it’s out of pity or malice, but he remembers, and all he remembers---is that it makes him so fucking mad he can’t THINK straight.

And then he wakes up. Sweaty, irritated. Things that Bucky often is, but now moreso than most times.

“What the fuck.”

The events of Bucky’s morning are rather boring. He’s trying self-care, he goes to therapy and tells his therapist absolutely nothing, he ignores Sam’s texts, but still takes pictures of pigeons in the park to send to him anyway. He eats a sandwich from the same deli he used to eat at with Steve back when they were kids, and it tastes completely differently than it used to, but it’s still pretty good, and he’s just glad it hasn’t been replaced by a stupid ass Subways. (He HATES Subways.) He’s still got crumbs in his stubble when he finds himself just walking through Manhattan---taking pictures for Steve, gazing at all the things that his therapist says are meant to ground him and make him feel at home in the future---but that really just make him feel more out of place. James “Bucky” Buchannon Barnes. Reduced to little less than tourism. In New York.

Then he spots him.

He’s not wearing armor. But Bucky could tell that handsome face anywhere. He doesn’t drop his phone---the thing’s expensive---but he barrels across traffic, not even giving his usual ‘I’m wawkin’ heyah’ send-off to the taxi cabs and ubers that he tactically manuevers over. He takes the man’s unbuttoned shirt by its collar and holds his hand close to his neck as he pushes him fast and hard to the side of the building. People stare. People take pictures. Bucky becomes quickly aware what he just did was crazy. But dreams have meanings.. right?

Bucky drops him, dusts himself off. “I... Uh. Who the hell are you?” He tries his best to sound serious, to sound like this interaction has meaning. But he’s starting to think he probably should have told his therapist about his nightmare before hassling some extremely handsome man off the side of the street.

What would Sam think?

[all1e23]

Swallow [Pt.5]

Chapter: Never Enough

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary:  Clint & Y/n learn the truth

Warnings:  Protective Clint. Angst. Soft, sad Bucky. Angsty. 

A/N:   I know this has taken forever. I’m sorry. My muse has left the building I guess. I’m somewhat sick, so I probably missed a few things while editing. Send me love because I’m needy.  

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

With Bucky out of the garage, Peter was able to have the radio on whatever station he wanted, and no one was going to throw screwdrivers at him or threaten to rip his voicebox if he decided to add another voice to the chorus -- loudly. In Peter’s defense, about the singing? Everything is really loud at the clubhouse, and it’s not like motorcycles known for being quiet! There are clients, club members, and wives dropping by all day. It’s noisy. If he doesn’t sing loud how will he know he’s hitting the right notes? It was nice to have a bit of peace in the garage though. He forgot what it was like to work in a place where everyone wasn’t grumpy. 

“Peter!” Clint shouted through the garage startling the poor kid enough to cause him to smack his head on the hood of Y/n’s jeep. It was too good to be true. He shouldn't have even thought it!

Clint pushed right by Tony and completely ignored Sam -- who was attempting to block his path to Peter. “Where is my sister?” asked Clint, stepping between Sam and Peter. “Buck’s bike is gone. Where did he take her? You were here when they left, right?”

Peter rubbed the back of his head where a bump was already beginning to form and nervously glanced at Sam and then Tony. “I-- um.” He dropped his hand and fiddled with the broken belt in his hand doing everything he could to avoid eye contact with Clint. “You see, I-- I am not really sure what I am supposed to say here. Because technically Bucky is in charge, but the way you’re glaring at me right now is making me feel a little sick if I'm honest.”

Sam sighed and stepped around Clint grabbing the teen by the shoulders and ushering him away from the jeep and Clint. 

“Go get the replacement belt, Pete,” Sam pressed, gently, turning back to face Clint. He shook his head and grabbed the dirty rag hanging off the propped-up hood cleaning his hands the best he could with just the thin cloth. The tension between the two men steadily rising through the silence and most of it was pouring off of Clint.

“What are you doing Clint?” Sam eventually asked, disapproval ringing loudly in his voice. “He’s a kid. You know she’s with Buck. She’s not seventeen anymore. She can make her own decisions.”  

Because Y/n’s decisions making skills when it came to Bucky always worked out in her favor. Was Clint the only one that thought this wasn’t a good idea? Because it was starting to feel that way.

Clint crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Sam, he wasn’t in the mood for games today. He didn’t care who was in charge and not in charge. Everyone was so wrapped up in worrying over Bucky and what would happen to him if Y/n left town again, but no one was worried about what would happen to Y/n if Bucky made her leave again. Clint wasn’t a dummy -- regardless of what his sister says after one too many beers. After everything Y/n told him last week, he knew whatever happened the first time around was Bucky’s fault. Y/n was the only family Clint had, besides Nat and the boys, and he wasn’t going to let her walk away again.

“I’m just protecting my sister,” Clint said, harshly, starring Sam down. “Where is she at? They go to the lake?”

“You think she needs protecting from Bucky?” Sam challenged, his frown deepening as Clint’s unspoken accusation filled the already tense air around them. Ringing loud and clear for everyone to hear, Clint didn’t trust Bucky with Y/n. “You really think he would do anything that would put her in harm's way? After everything he has done to keep her safe, you think he would hurt her?”

“Yeah, I do.” He replied, coldly, his eye darkened with anger. “I don’t know if you noticed, but when it comes to each other they don’t think clearly, and she’s always the one that ends up hurt in the end.”

“Buck was hurt--”

“Don’t,” Clint growled cutting him off before he even attempted that pathetic defense. The same shit excuse he has heard for years, and he was done listening to it. “Don’t try that bullshit with me. Buck hid away for a few months and drank himself into a coma. I didn’t get to see my sister for five years because of what he did to her.  Where. The fuck. Are they Sam?”

“Clint.” Steve beckoned, the sharp edge to his voice putting an end to the fight that was about to break out in broad daylight, in the middle of their only source of legal income. That wasn’t something they needed at the moment. 

“Bucky took Y/n on a ride about thirty minutes ago. I told her it would be a good idea if they took some time to talk in private and it looks like she took my advice.”

Clint spun around to face Steve, “Why the hell would you do that? They don’t need any help forcing whatever the hell they are.”

“No one is forcing anything. We all knew Bucky, and Y/n would end up here, and they both need this. They both need to clear the air, and I think it’s time you and I do the same.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Steve stepped out of the doorway that led into the clubhouse and nodded towards his office -- the office that once belonged to Bucky. Clint glanced around the garage at Sam and Tony, two men he considered family was all avoiding meeting his eyes, and he didn’t like that one bit. What did they all know what he didn’t and how long have they kept it from him?

“You should know everything that happened the night they broke up. You should know the truth, Clint.”

--------

There was a natural calm that came with being on the back of Bucky’s bike. It hasn’t always been like that. The first time he took you on a ride you had squeezed your eyes shut, refused to open them and held on so tight your bracelet left an indent on his ribs -- you apologized profusely for that. It didn’t take long for that fear to fade with every ride after that. Everything slipped away the moment you wrapped your arms around him. It was just you, Buck and the road and you realized how easy it would be to slip back into your old life. Bucky was just waiting for you. 

Everyone knew that, including you.

Your hand made its way up to his chest and rested over his heart atop his leather, it was automatic, and you hadn’t noticed you had done it. It was the same way you always rode, hand over his heart and chin resting on his shoulder. In the past, you would have nuzzled his neck, placed random gentle kisses to that spot right behind his ear, and whispered sweet things at stoplights. It would be so easy to let him take your heart and run with it again. It would be simple to go back to the way things were before you left, without ever missing a beat. Bucky’s hand came up over yours, and it gave it a tender squeeze, firmly pressing it against his chest.

Who were you trying to fool? There was no letting him take your heart. He never gave it back, to begin with.   

When you recognized your street, you felt a sharp blow to your chest. Bucky was just driving you home -- the long way, but he was still just taking you back from the shop, and it made you ache. You don’t know where you expected him to bring you, but you didn’t think it would be back to your house. Part of you had hoped the lake or somewhere the two of you could just be Bucky and Y/n for a little while longer. It didn’t look like he was ready to take that leap with you yet. His motorcycle slowed to a stop in your driveway, and Bucky killed the engine setting both feet on the ground as he did.

You weren’t ready to go back to reality, but you didn’t have much choice in the matter.  

Bucky grinned when he felt your arms tighten around him and he could have sworn his heart sparked when he heard the soft ‘shoot’ you breathed out before forcing yourself off the back. You tried not to look too disappointed when you moved towards the front of his motorcycle, but you couldn't look him in the eye. It was too much all at once. You slipped your helmet off to hang on the handlebars. Bucky shook his head and held his hands up.

“Keep it. It’s yours after all.”

“I don’t know how much use I’ll get out of it,” You mumbled, clutching the fiberglass helmet to your chest like you needed it to keep breathing. It was the only lifeline you had left.

“I have a feeling you’ll be getting plenty of use out of it baby.” He smirked at the way your eyes widened and nodded towards the old wooden swing nestled in the shade of your front porch. 

“I kinda wanna talk if you’ve got a few minutes.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded practically running to the porch steps. The faster you sat down, the sooner this was all over and you could both move on.  You hated the way that sounded, it left a cold empty pit in the middle of your chest. Bucky’s boots weren’t far behind you by the snap of several twigs hitting your ears, you dropped your helmet on the post at the top of the stairs and twisted around to face him.  

“C’ mere. Please?” 

He held out his hand, and you didn’t hesitate to take it this time around.  Holding his hand didn’t seem like that big of a deal after spending forty minutes with your arms wrapped around his waist. The gentle tug to your hand urged you forward, and you sank down onto the swing, Bucky following your lead.

“I forgot how much I like having you on the back of my bike. It’s been a long time since...” His voice trailed off as he tried to find the right words to describe what he was feeling. He didn’t really know, but he did know his fingers were aching to touch more than just your hand. He knew he couldn’t and shit, Bucky despised being kept from you like this, hated the distance he put between the two of you and Bucky really disliked how tense you were to be sitting this close to him. That hurt more than the morning Clint told him you skipped town without even a goodbye.

“It’s just been a long time is all, and I missed you. When I heard you were home -- I knew you would find your way back to me eventually,” Bucky whispered, feeling your tension fading with every gentle caress of his thumb. Your eyes fell to your intertwined hands, and you watched his thumb drawing small circles over your skin. How could something so little have such an effect on you?

Bucky’s always had that hold on your heart. You shouldn’t be surprised. 

“I missed you, too,” You admitted, reluctantly, still staring at your fingers laced together, unable to meet his eyes. “I wasn’t sure it was okay to come back, so I stayed away, and the longer I stayed away, the easier it was to pretend I didn’t care about everything that happened. About you.”

Bucky sighed and draped his right arm over your shoulders closing the tiny space between you. His left hand tightened on yours until you glanced up to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry about everything I said that night. I never wanted you to leave. I was mixed up with what I thought I had to do for-- We, uh, should probably talk about that night.”

“Okay, let’s talk.” You muttered ramming down the overwhelming desire to run as fast as you can.

“That night--” He blew out a breath and shook his head, annoyed with himself. He barely said anything, and it already sounded like an excuse. A bad one at that, but he had to get it off his chest. Honesty, Peggy had told him. Be honest with her, and she will come around. 

“The club was getting back into trouble you didn’t want me in, trouble you made clear you wanted me to stay away from, and I was trying to find a way to keep you out of it. After I proposed your dad got into that accident and we went to see him in the hospital. Remember that?”

You nodded not trusting yourself to speak and hold your tears back. That had been one of the longest months of your life. You lost your father and the love of your life in one swoop and in turn, lost a part of yourself when you fled.

“Y/n,” He sighed, tightening his arm around you. He had a feeling you weren’t going to like what he said next. “I know what Steve said to you. He told me everything.”

“W-what?” you stammered already attempting to push him away, but he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, silently asking you to hear him out. 

“He told me about a month or so after you left and he was right. I would have never let you go. I wasn’t strong enough to let you go, and I made your dad a promise.”

“I’m sorry. Wait--” You stopped him with a squeeze to his hand, trying to clarify what bullcrap just came out of his mouth as you forced Bucky's arm off your shoulders and turned to face him. There was no way you heard that right. There was no way he broke your heart all because of some stupid foolhardy commitment he made to your father. 

“You did what now? Because it kind of sounds like you broke my heart and left me for some bullshit vow, you made to a dying man that was so loaded on pain pills he couldn't even remember his daughter’s name?” Bucky tightened his arms around you to keep you from jumping off the swing and bolting away from him. He knew you better than anyone, and he knew when things got tough, your first instinct was to run and to run fast. 

“For once, stop running from me,” Bucky begged, urgently, fear building in his eyes. “Since we were kids I’ve been chasing after you. Just stop running and hear me out?”

You didn’t have some snappy comeback or crude jab. Bucky was right. Your whole lives he’s been chasing you, waiting for you to come around. Every time he got close and thought you were within reach a new wind would blow in and you’d be ten miles ahead and out of his grasps again. You sank against the back of the swing letting Bucky pull you a few inches closer to him, he needed it and truthfully so did you.  

“I promised your dad I would keep your safe even if that meant letting you go. I’d burn this whole damn town down to keep you safe and you know that. I never thought it would be somethin’ we needed to deal with. Once I got to thinkin’ about it, I got pissed. What right did he have to tell me I’m not good for you? As if he wasn’t doing the same damn things at my age.” Bucky blew out a long breath to steady his voice and gain the courage to say what he needed to say next. “Then the vote came down, and everyone agreed the only way to handle Red Skulls was to take down the charter. Clean house. And to do that we needed to make some deals with some... questionable people.”

You didn’t need a further explanation. You knew what it all meant. Take down the charter meant bloodshed. Questionable people was code for illegal trades to handle the 'clean house.'

“What was the vote?”

“Y/n--”

“You wanted to talk. I want the truth for once. What was the vote Bucky?”

Be honest with her thick head.

“It was unanimous.”

You let out a half-suppressed laugh, jerking and untangling yourself from Bucky’s hold -- He didn’t even try to stop you this time. You paced up and down the small porch before finally standing in front of the man you once loved, leaning on the porch rail behind you because you weren’t sure your knees could hold you on their own. 

“My brother?” You asked, cold and detached. “Clint agreed?”

“Yes. Red Skulls-- Clint had his reasons.”

“And you?” You spat pushing yourself off the railing and storming towards the house, intent slamming the door in his face, packing your things and never looking back. 

“You knew I didn’t want you getting involved in any of that and you still voted yes? So much for doing everything you could to keep me out of trouble. Just more James Barnes bullshit--”

“They threatened you!” He shouted, stopping you in your tracks your hand frozen on the doorknob. You didn’t make a move or prompt him for more. Just waited until you could feel him standing behind you and you sagged back against his chest listening to his strained whispers, “They threatened you and Peggy and Pepper. It was an easy call to make. I’d vote the same damn way today.  No one threatens your life and gets away with it.”

His hands settled on your shoulders giving you a soothing squeeze while you considered everything he just dumped on you. The question that fell from your lips next was one he expected. He would have been disappointed if you hadn’t asked him. 

“It’s been five years, and they are still around. Why?”

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, nervously chewing at it. He was dangerously close to saying too much, saying things he wasn’t allowed to talk about outside of club walls. Things that could put you in danger and he promised himself he would never put club business before your life again, but if Bucky continued to hold back, he was terrified that would push you so far away he would never get you back.

“We’ve had some complications is all. We’ve got some eyes on us right now. Just being cautious, being smart.” He nervously drums his fingers against your shoulder letting his hands fall down to your wrists, encircling your wrist in his hand. He could feel your need to run, that want to get away from him. After everything you’ve been through together you didn’t trust that he just wanted to keep you safe?

That stung. 

You wiggled your wrists out of his hold and stepped towards the front door. All the times you played this very moment over in your head, all the excuses you thought he would use and all the bullshit he would give you about ‘being an MC girl’ not one of those moments played out like this and you just needed a minute to process all of this. 

“So that’s it?” Bucky asked, hurt filling his voice. You didn’t have to see his face to know the look the anguish he was wearing. In fact, it would be better if you didn’t see it. It would just make this harder. 

“You’re just gonna walk away again? Yeah, I messed up, but runnin’ wasn’t the answer back then and it’s not now. We are meant to be together, pretty girl.”

“I need some time, Bucky.” Your voice cracked as you forced the words out .“I need some time to understand all of this and what it means. I got laid off at the hospital did you know that? I thought it was a sign to come back home and figure things out and now…” 

You shook your head as you pulled your keys out of the front zipper of your purse and unlocked the door with trembling fingers. Bucky didn’t have much left, but he had one last hand left. 

“I love you, Y/n,” Bucky choked out. “I love you, and I know you love me. Did you really forget everything we were to each other? There was a time when that was all you needed. Me lovin’ you isn’t enough anymore? Are we that lost?”

“Yeah,” You whispered softly, “I think we are, Buck.”

Previous // Next

[nev3rfound]

who we once were : chapter two

before steve found bucky in bucharest, there was a girl who will never be known by anyone besides bucky; for she is his greatest and most secret pleasure during some of his darkest days.

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

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CHAPTER ONE / TWO

April, 2016

“So, this article,” Your boss paces around his office as you sit in silence before him, tugging the edges of your shirt as the threads become loose. “I mean, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever read.” He chuckles before looking to see you remaining silent. “Y/n,” He returns to his seat behind his desk. 

“Yeah?” You mutter, slowly lifting your head up with tired eyes. 

“How did you get the inspiration for this? I mean, it’s brilliant.” He scoffs playfully, turning through the pages as some photos are included of the sights you saw, but none of him. 

You knew you couldn’t tell him the truth about your inspiration, it was a story you’d never be able to share with the world. No one will know about your relationship with Bucky Barnes, it’s a secret you’ll take to the grave.

“Just from those I saw around the city.” You shrug your shoulders, playing it off as you lean back in your chair, twirling the silver ring on your index finger.

November, 2015

Something Bucky had not anticipated waking up to was the weight of someone’s head against his shoulder, nor the kitten looking up at him with those big blue eyes.

Unable to help himself, Bucky glances down at you fast asleep. Your eyes remain tightly closed whilst your mouth remains ajar, light snores leaving your lips as you keep your arms close to your chest. The blanket you draped around the three of you has been discarded, left on the floor whilst your feet hang over the edge of the two-seater sofa.

You didn’t exactly look comfortable, but Bucky knew you felt safe and that is all that mattered.

Bucky couldn’t stop his mind from wandering, thinking back to his past life. This scenario, the three of you together in the early morning as the sun is rising is something he would’ve loved. He would slip from beneath you and make you breakfast, giving Alpine something along the way whilst he hums a song. You would wake up from your slumber with a tired smile and wrap your arms around him as you would sway to the soft music playing from the radio.

But that was his old life. It isn’t who he is anymore. Bucky knows he’s become someone who isn’t worthy and does not deserve the niceties in life.

So Bucky does what he knows best; he slips away carefully, holding your head as he places it back onto the sofa. Alpine looks up at him, remaining silent as he places a finger to his lips.

Picking up Alpine, Bucky walks to the front door and walks out, shutting it quietly behind him until he hears it click and wanders into his own personal bubble, somewhere he can control what he’s doing.

“Mmmh.” You mumble as you lift your hand up to your eyes, rubbing them as your vision remains blurry. “Sorry, I must’ve fallen asl-” Pausing, you look up to see your neighbour, James, is gone.

Forcing yourself upright, you look around to see him nor Alpine nowhere in sight. “Oh.” You run your fingers through your hair, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as you rise from the sofa, seeing an indent where he once was.

Evidence from last night still cluttered your apartment; your clothes still strawn out and the bloodied cloth on the floor behind the sofa. As you begin to tidy up, you hear three knocks on your front door.

Tensing up momentarily, you walk over, picking up your umbrella along the way.

“Hello?” You call out, still keeping the door closed as one hand rests on the doorknob whilst the other firmly grips the umbrella.

“Y/n, dear? It’s me, Madeline.” You listen to the gentle voice and a sigh of relief escapes your lips.

Dropping the umbrella, you open the door to see her smiling up at you. “Hi, sorry ‘bout that.” You say with a half-smile, noticing her wandering gaze as you stand with the door open. “I erm, my place was broken into last night.” You explain, and Madeline’s smile disappears as horror crosses her expression.

Madeline reaches out, her hand resting on yours. “Oh dear, I am awfully sorry. I sleep like the dead, that’s what my Adrian always told me.” She jokes, and you laugh lightly, wishing you could possess such a skill.

“Well, unfortunately for me, I’m a light sleeper, and someone who can’t ignore a kitten crying in the middle of the night.” You try to joke, shrugging a shoulder as Madeline simply nods. “Did you need something, sorry?”

“Oh, yes!” Madeline snaps out of her thoughts, returning her attention to you. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for some cake this week? With Christmas coming up, I’ve got a small tree and some decorations hidden in the apartment. Would you mind helping me decorate?” She asks and notices the immediate look of glee in your eyes.

Clutching your chest, you nod. “I’d love nothing more. Do you have any family visiting for the holidays?” You question, and Madeline shakes her head.

“I’m afraid not.” She says with a quiet sigh. “ My children are back in Birmingham, visiting the grandchildren. I can’t make a flight home in time to join.” Madeline explains before raising her eyebrows to you. “And you, dear?”

“Oh, no, not this year.” You tell her as you lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms as your eyes wander to the closed-door beside you. “I’m only here ‘til April. No point going home for Christmas if I’ll be back in a few months. My family won’t miss me that much.” You chuckle, but Madeline shakes her head.

“I’m sure they will, family is family at the end of the day.” She says softly, and at that moment you watch as the door to your right opens up.

Bucky slips out from the door with his baseball cap on and a large rucksack on one shoulder. “Good morning, James,” Madeline calls out, and Bucky glances over his shoulder, briefly smiling to her as his eyes avoid yours.

Without another word being said, Bucky quickly walks down the stairs, disappearing out of sight once more.

“Do you know much about him, Madeline?” You can’t help but question him, the mysterious neighbour who singlehandedly took down three men in the middle of the night without causing any kind of alarm from others on the floor.

Madeline shakes her head. “There isn’t much to be said about James.” She states. “He keeps to himself, doesn’t talk much.” She adds, looking as your eyes are trained on the stairs, nodding along to her response. “He’s certainly caught your attention, hasn’t he?” She chuckles, noting you scoffing lightly as you uncross your arms.

“What? No.” You tell her quickly. “He, he just saved me last night from being robbed. That’s all.” You brush it off as if it were nothing, but the look on your face betrays you as Madeline smiles to herself, knowing that look all too well. 

“Well, how about Saturday, first of the month? If you’re free that is to help?” Madeline changes the subject, but something in her eyes tells you her thoughts are lingering on you and James. 

Nodding in response, you straighten up. “I, that’d be great.” You stumble over your words as Madeline shrugs her shoulders happily. 

“Lovely, I’ll head into town and get some bits now. Have a good day, Y/n.” Madeline waves as she slowly walks toward the stairs, heading down with difficulty as she grips the railing.

“Do, do you need any help?” You call out as a wave of guilt crosses you, seeing her peak her head over to see you stood. 

Madeline laughs lightly. “It’s no problem, dear. James usually hears me and helps bring my shopping in when I get back.” She tells you before her the top of her head disappears from your view, leaving you with a slither of information about your neighbour. 

“Huh.” You mumble before turning back inside and begin the task of clearing up and investing in a new lock for your door. 

*

December, 2015

“-and so I told him, ‘put me down or I’ll scream!’“ Madeline chuckles as you laugh heartfully, listening to her stories of how she met her late husband.

Sitting in front of her with a series of baubles displayed before you, your fascination remains on her words. “So what did he do?” You question, seeing her raise an eyebrow. 

“He just carried me out, and as I started to scream he sang over it.” She shakes her head, passing over a slice of cake as she slowly sits down in a dusty pink armchair. “Adrian was always full of life, the light of a party whereas I was in the shadows.” Madeline pauses, looking down at one of the baubles before taking a hold of it. 

Lifting it up before her eyes, you can see the wrinkles around her eyes tightening before she lowers it to her lap. 

“This was from our first wedding anniversary,” Madeline sighs happily. “we couldn’t afford much, barely even a Christmas Tree. But we had a small plant in our garden, and Adrian got a set of baubles from an old friend who personalised them for us.” 

“It’s beautiful.” You comment as you sip your tea, seeing Madeline's eyes gaze off into another memory. “How long were you married?” 

“Almost fifty years.” She lowers her gaze, running her thumb over the bauble before a knock on the door interrupts. “Mmh, I’m not expecting anyone.” Madeline mutters, and before she rises you hold your hand out. 

“I can get it, don’t worry.” You tell her as you near the front door, opening it with a smile that falters as James stands before you. “Hi?” You wished you could say something else, question his absense from that morning, but you stand to one side silently.

James clears his throat, tugging on his baseball cap as his dark hair is slicked back into a low ponytail today, but he continues to wear long sleeves and gloves. 

“Is that James, dear?” Madeline calls out, smiling to herself. “James, come on in.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.” James comments, barely looking at you as you move behind the door, hoping to blend into the shadows. 

“Nonsense, more the merrier.” Madeline waves her hand as she stands up, James still hovering in the doorway. “Come on in love.” She ushers him over whilst she busies herself in the kitchen. 

Apprehensively, you take your original seat back whilst James stands, looking down at the decorations laid out. “How’ve you been?” You decide to speak up, sipping your tea as a temporary distraction. 

“Busy.” Bucky mumbles, tugging on his jacket. 

“How’s Alpine?” You try again, ignoring the growing anxieties slowly taking over your system. 

Bucky seems to notice as he sits down on the vacant chair, not fully relaxing as he perches on the edge, hands bound together. “Settled.” He tells you, this time glancing up to see your face, forgetting how beautiful you actually are. 

A slither of a smile crosses your lips as you nod. “I’m glad, Alpine deserves a good home.” You comment, but Bucky tries his best to hold back a laugh. 

If only you knew, he thought to himself. 

“Would you mind helping me, James? I can’t quite reach the ladder to the cupboard with the tree.” Madeline smiles gently to James who nods, rising to his feet and follows her to the back room. 

Leaning back in your chair, you let out a long sigh, hoping you can control your heartbeat. 

Bucky returns with Madeline hot on his tail as he places the tree in the middle of the room, glancing over to see the excitement in your eyes. 

“What are your plans for Christmas, James?” Madeline glances up at him, ignoring the stoic expression on his face. 

“Nothing. I don’t do holidays.” James comments, but Madeline scoffs. 

“Everyone does holidays, James.” Madeline pats his arm left arm, missing the look in his eyes before she turns back to face you. “How about we start decorating this tree, love?”

Rising to your feet, you begin to pick up the tinsel, humming a Christmas song your Mom always sang when you decorated back home growing up. 

“What’s that song?” James suddenly asks, catching you off guard. 

Lowering a piece of tinsel, you lean against the back of the armchair. “It’s a song my Mom used to play, one her Mother sang to her.” You explain, seeing James simply nod. “Why, do you know it?” You question, but James shakes his head.

“Just sounded familiar.” He mutters before passing you a bauble, his gloved hand gliding over yours. “I better go,” Bucky backs away from you, noting the disappointment crossing your gaze as you avert your attention back to the tree. 

“Must you go so soon, James?” Madeline sighs, resting her hands on her hips.

You swear you can hear a laugh leaving James’ lips, but as you focus on him his lips remain in a straight line. “Another time, Madeline.” He states and departs without another word being said.

“Mmh.” Madeline huffs under her breath, causing you to chuckle. “He’ll open up eventually, dear.” 

“What’d you mean?” You question, seeing Madeline glance back to her closed door and to you. 

“I may be old, but I’m not stupid, Y/n.” She states. “Now, may you pass me more baubles?” 

*

Tapping your pen against your table, you focus on the blank document in front of you. It may be almost midnight on Christmas, but you can’t take your eyes from the screen. 

You watch as the cursor flashes painfully across your page, waiting for words to be typed. 

“God.” You mutter, running your fingers through your hair. 

After almost a month of being in the city, you’re still struggling for a concept for your article. All you need is a single idea, something that’ll catch your bosses attention, all you need is that inspiration. If only it were that simple. 

Leaning back in your chair, you look through your notebook at your scribbled ideas and notes. Most of them aren’t strong enough ideas, things that have been done before or are too boring. But then you pause on his name written down multiple times and you hum before focusing on your screen and typing out a potential title. 

The Mystery of People in Bucharest. 

Once you begin drafting the article, there’s no stopping you. A smile spreads across your lips as you’re a thousand words in, referring to your notes about James, about the men who broke into your apartment and those you’ve met at the market. 

Your writing is briefly paused as you hear your phone ringing from the bedroom. Quickly saving the document, you wander through to see the call from your Mom, one you’ve been waiting for.

“Hello?” You answer, hiding a yawn as you listen to the faint sound of music playing throughout the house.

“Honey, hi! Merry Christmas!” Your Mom giddily yells down the line, causing you to smile before sitting on your bed, curling up under a blanket. 

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” You snicker, hearing your Dad yelling from another room. “How is everyone, enjoying themselves?” 

You can hear your Mom exhale deeply. “It’s not the same without you, Y/n.” She admits sadly, wiping her eyes on the other end of the line as she dabs them away with tissues, not wanting you to hear her get upset. “But we know you’ll be home in a few months.” She reminds you. 

“Yeah, I know.” You mumble, bringing your legs close to your chest as tears line your eyes. “But I’m doing okay.” You reassure her as you look through your empty apartment, lacking in any sign of life or decoration. 

“We know, and we’re proud of you, honey.” You can hear her voice crack slightly and a tear rolls down your cheek as you rest your chin on top of your knees. “And we love you.” She quickly adds. “I better go, I just wanted to wish you well, your Dad is about to cut the Turkey- wish me luck!” She exclaims before hanging up, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

Sighing, you wipe away your tears as you wander back to the dining room table, saving your work and shutting down your laptop for the night. 

As you turn back to the kitchen, you focus on the door with the new secured lock in place. Outside, you can see a figure hovering by your door, their shadow casting beneath the wood. 

Stepping closer, you take a hold of a knife before walking toward it. Ignoring the voice in your head screaming for you to hide you unlock the door, forcing your knife forward only to see no one there. 

“What?” You mumble under your breath, peering your head out to see no one around. 

Satisfied that you’re safe, you step back inside only to look down to see a small box with a silk pink bow on top. Picking it up, you lock your door behind you before sitting back at the dining room table. 

You eye up the box carefully as you pull on the silk bow, watching as the fabric falls to the side and the white box begs to be opened. 

A small note is the first thing you notice as you lift the lid off of the box. 

‘Merry Christmas, Y/n. From, Alpine.’ 

Focusing on the scribbled note, you can’t help but feel a rush of heat course through your body as a smile crosses your lips, refusing to budge. As you place the note to one side, a delicate silver ring is perched inside of the box with three sapphires embedded in the silver. 

Placing the ring on your index finger, you look out at the streets below you, hearing the happiness of those celebrating the holiday with loved ones. 

“Merry Christmas, James.” You mumble to yourself before closing your curtains, wondering when you’ll have a chance to thank him.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Taglist: @florencxs @introvertatitsfinest

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Like A Switch

Fandom: Marvel (Truck Driver AU - The Usual Stop Universe)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Reader

As requested by anonymous: Would you be willing to write something with chubby!Bucky where he discovers he really likes being called “sir”? + Ooh I love chubby Bucky so much! Enjoy your holiday!!!! May I request something where chubby!Buck seems a little shy in bed at first and maybe self conscious and you say something that kinda flips a switch and he’s totally dominant and confident? Like maybe saying “sir” or something? +  @feelmyroarrrr ‘s request:  Bucky takes her on a weekend away And the 3nd up doing hardly any sightseeing as the hotel bedroom is just too inviting

Warning: smut

A/N: Read “The Usual Stop” here! 

“A vacation?” you look at Bucky curiously as you’re laying on the bed of a motel off the road in Oregon. 

Bucky nodded. He sat up against the headboard, with a shirt and his boxers. He set a hand on your arm, “You okay with that? Going on a vacation? With me?” Bucky loved you, there was no doubt about that. But because of his job and the way he looked, people didn’t see him as important or attractive. You’ve made it very clear with him that you loved him just as much, but Bucky was always afraid that you’d figure out this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t what you want.

You sat up on the bed and crawled over to Bucky, straddling his lap and resting your hands on his shoulders, “Of course I’m okay with it, Buck. I told you, I’m not going anywhere. Wherever you are, I wanna be. Whether it’s on the road or some beach in Florida. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.”

Bucky smiled at you with that same fondness in his eyes that you always see. He tapped his lips with his fingers, “Gimme some love, baby.”

You giggled, “Yes, sir,” and closed the distance by pressing your lips to his.

Bucky grabs a hold of your waist, pulling you in closer, deepening the kiss. You began to grind down onto his crotch and he could feel himself getting hard, but he had to stop. He needed to stop.

He pulled away with a sad sigh, “I’m sorry, Y/N.” this has happened before. When things were starting to get hot and heavy, Bucky halted everything. He wanted to have sex with you, he really did. He was just afraid. He was afraid that you’d look at his stomach and see how he’s not a guy you should be with and you’d leave him. He explained this the first time it happened and since then, your response is always, “Don’t be. Whenever you’re ready.” 

It made him feel even more like crap because you’d get all riled up just to end up being disappointed. Bucky wasn’t a virgin or anything. He’s had his fair share of one night stands and the likes. But this was different. He loved you so much and the thought of you leaving him because of how he looked...he couldn’t take it.

You pressed a gentle to kiss to his lips, “Don’t be sorry, Buck. I’m the one who should be sorry. I got excited,” you have a little chuckle and then climbed off his lap, “Let’s get some sleep, ya? All that needs to be done tomorrow is drop off the trailer and we’re home bound.”

You shimmied yourself under the blankets after turning off the bedside light, “Goodnight, babe. I love you.”

Bucky sighed as he slid into bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you, “Goodnight, I love you too.”

___________________

The hotel Bucky chose sat right before a beach. The sea breeze blowing through the balcony door. It wasn’t fancy or anything, but it sure beat the small motels that you were both used to staying at. 

You stood on the balcony, soaking up the sun. Your eyes closed and the sunlight beaming down on you. You looked like a goddess. 

You hear a familiar click and the sound of a photo developing. You turned around to see Bucky with his polaroid camera in hand, already shaking the photo to develop.

He gave a shrug of the shoulders, a smile painted on his lips, “You just looked like the most beautiful sight ever, I had to take a picture of ya.”

You giggled and sauntered over to him, your hands resting on his chest and you kissed his nose, “Can I see?” he handed it to you and slowly the color was coming to the picture. It was definitely a pretty picture. The way that the sun shined down on you gave a glowing effect, “I really like this one.”

Bucky hummed, “Put in your album then.”

You nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” You’ve been saying that phrase a lot lately, Bucky’s noticed. He’s also noticed that every time you’ve said, his pants suddenly get a bit tight around the crotch area. 

No surprise, he looked down and saw a prominent bulge in his pants. He silently cursed because of how much you and your words affect him, even without you knowing it. 

“Buck, I’m gonna take a shower. Get all the roadtrip sweat off me.”

He nodded, “Y-Yeah, sweetheart, you go ahead. I’ll just get a comfortable.” he waited until you went into the bathroom and heard the shower turn on. He then quickly undressed himself, laying on top of the bed in just his boxers. He freed his cock and fuck was he hard. 

He gripped his shaft, letting out a hiss of pleasure from the feeling. He closed his eyes and began to imagine you naked, straddling his lap. You looked so beautiful as you rode him. Your y/e/c eyes baring down at him, your lips red from the biting and kissing, your neck covered in his love bites. 

“You feel so good, Bucky. You fill me up so good,” you’d whimper.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Ride me harder, I know you want more. Take it all, sweet girl.” you’d smirk at the notion and move your hips faster, rocking on his cock hard and rough. His hands gripping at your waist, so hard you’d probably have nail indents on your skin. But you didn’t care.

“My naughty little girl, aren’t ya? You my naughty girl, Y/N?”

You’d nod and moan out a “Yes, I’m your naughty girl.” Just the image of your face filled with absolute, pleasurable bliss was bringing Bucky to the edge. His hand quickly pumping his cock. He could feel the pleasure building up and-

“Need some help?” his eyes shot open and there you were standing in front of the bed, clad in your bra and panties, hair still dripping from your shower.

“Y/N, I-uh,” he quickly grabbed his shirt and covered his crotch, “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t-”

“Bucky,” you crawled onto the bed and towards him, causing him to gulp, “It’s okay. I’ll admit, I’ve rubbed one off in the shower thinking about you too many times to count.” 

He groaned, “Why you gotta tell me that?” his cock twitching under his shirt.

You giggled, “Buck, I don’t wanna rush you or force you into anything, but aren’t you tired of pulling away whenever things get heated between us?”

“Yes, God, yes. I am it’s just..I just...it’s been a while since I’ve had sex and I really love you and all, but I’m not, ya know, the best lookin’, sweetheart.”

You snorted, “Bucky, watching you lay here completely naked and jerking yourself off was probably one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. And honestly, I’ve been aching for you so much. I want you, Bucky, all of you. Heart, body, and soul.”

“But my-”

“James Buchanan Barnes, you listen to me right now: you are the sexiest man I’ve ever met. Okay? And more often than not I think about riding the hell outta you.”

Bucky choked on his own spit when you said that, “You-wha-I-” he pauses and take a breath, “Straddle my lap, baby girl,” his voice going down an octave, his eyes now hard and looking right into yours. 

You smile excitedly as you pull his shirt from his crotch, throwing it over your shoulder, and crawling onto his lap. Already, you begin to find some friction, rubbing your pussy against his hard cock, which earned you a slap to the ass.

“Did I say you could do that, princess?”

You bit your lip as you shook your head, “No, sir.”

His jaw clenched and he licked his lips, “You do exactly what I say, got it?”

You nodded, “Yes, sir.”

Bucky growled as he wrapped one arm around you, pulling you closer, “Atta girl. Now, play with yourself. Get that pussy nice and wet for me.”

You whimpered as your hand slid to your pussy, rubbing against that sensitive nub. You could feel your walls slicken with your arousal. Bucky’s hand wrapped around his cock again, pumping it to a pace that matches your own. 

“Fuck, honey, you look so goddamn pretty like this. ‘M sorry it took me so long to do this.”

You shook your head and leaned in, pressing a reassuring kiss to his lips, “Stop apologizing. I love you and I’d wait days, months, or years for you.”

Bucky moans as you start to jut your hips forward, letting your clit drag along his hard cock, “I think that’s enough teasing now, don’t you, sugar?”

“Please, sir, fuck me? I’m ready and aching for you.”

Bucky grabbed your hips and rolled you onto your back. He took your wrists pinning them to both sides of your face, “You keep your hands right there, sweetness. Don’t you dare move ‘em, you hear me?”

You nod, “Yes, sir.” God, Bucky doesn’t think he could get tired of hearing that.

He takes his hardened length into his hand, and starts to rub his tip along your slit and down your slick, his pre-cum colliding with your own juices. He glides himself up and down, teasing your entrance a little bit more, “You ready for me, baby girl?”

“Pleas, sir. Ready for you.”

With ease, he slides into you causing you to gasp and him grunt in satisfaction. He wasn’t all the way in yet and you already felt so snug around him, “Fucking hell, Y/N.”

“C’mon, Bucky,” your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer and pushing him further into you, “More.” And with a quick thrust, he filled you whole. 

He stayed there for a moment, allowing yourself to adjust to him, “Lemme know when you’re ready, sweetness.”

You nodded, “I’m good.”

And without hesitation, Bucky thrust into you again. His arms had him propped up, his round stomach pressing against your pubic with every snap of his hips. You always found Bucky attractive, but right now, in this moment as he loses himself in the pleasure, he looks the most attractive he’s ever been. Naked and bare for you taking what he wants, taking what you haven given to him so willingly with so much trust and love. 

“God, baby! You feel like absolute Heaven!” he groans. 

Your fists clench beside you as you so desperately want to touch Bucky, to hold him. But your hands remain there because, you gotta admit, this more dominant side of him is really fucking hot.

One of his hands leaves your side as it runs down your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and to your pussy. His thumb rubbing circles around your clit to the pace of his thrusts. You were feeling hot then, now, you’re on fire. 

You let out the most sinful moan that Bucky’s ever heard and he loves it. He loves that you’re falling apart because of him. So he continues. He fucks you and he stimulates your clit all the while he’s getting off himself. And on top of that, he’s admiring you, taking in every perfection and flaw to your face. Watching you with hooded eyes as you stare up at him, lips red and puckered from the kissing and biting. A sheen of sweat starting to shroud your body. You’re a mess, but you’re his mess, his beautiful, wonderful, loving, sexy, mess.

“Sir, let me touch you, please. Wanna touch you.”

Bucky grits his teeth as he feels your walls clench onto him. He gives a nod, “Alright, baby. You can touch me.”

Your hands immediately fly forward, pulling Bucky down for a searing kiss, one that he moans into. His thrusts never falter. He removes his hand from your clit and leans forward more, deepening the kiss and pushing himself further into you. He grabs onto the pillow underneath you, gripping it hard. He feels himself coming closer to the edge. He thinks you might be too, but he’s too clouded by the pleasure. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he murmurs against your lips, “Gonna-” he pulls out just in time for his seed to shoot onto your mound and stomach with a loud animalistic groan, his hand stroking himself fast and hard for every last drop. He’s panting heavy and he wants to lie down, but not before you’ve had yours. 

His fingers replace his cock, pumping two into you while his other hands works at your nub.

You hold onto the sheets beneath you for dear life as you cry out for Bucky, begging him to make you cum on his fingers, “Baby! Oh fuck, sir! Please, please, please! Right there! Shit!” you cry out one last time as your orgasm hits you full blown. Your back arches off the bed and your eyes are shut tight. Your mouth is open, a high shrill of pleasure emitting from it as Bucky’s fingers continue to help you ride through your climax. He finally relents when your body collapses back onto the bed looking limp and completely exhausted.

With a proud smile, Bucky lays on his side next to you. His arm propping up his head as he looks at you, “Can’t believe I’ve been missing out on that sight for this long.”

Through your post-orgasmic haze, you giggled, “I think it was worth it though.”

He hums in agreement, “I think so too.” 

You then slowly roll out of bed, walking around confidently, naked as the day you was born, “We should shower and get dressed. You said you wanted to check out that restaurant a couple blocks away, right?” 

Bucky immediately sits up, “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t think we’re leaving this room at all.”

You look at him confusedly, “What do you-”

“Now that I got a taste of ya, I don’t think I ever wanna stop.” you see that lustful gaze in him again and you see that he’s starting to get hard once more. 

You smirked, arms crossed over your chest, “I think I may have turned you into a sex fiend, Barnes.”

“Well, maybe you should c’mere and find out,” he says with a mischievous grin. And in no time, you’re going for round two because now Bucky just can’t seem to get enough of you.

[sebbytrash]

Through His Eyes - Part Thirteen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings - Angst (Is there every not?), flashbacks, nightmares, sexual content

A/N -  Sorry its been forever, again. Pregnancy has kicked my ass. This may be a tiny bit self indulgent, I’m sure you wont mind.  Feedback loved and appreciated.

Through His Eyes Masterlist

It’s quiet when you get back, the day turned into night somewhere along those streets as you sped past, taking the time to quietly pack away your feelings from the day. Getting your house in order before you can face anyone. Bucky stays silent, even after the bike is safely stowed and your walking the corridors back to your room. He hovers close by though, like he expects your legs to stop working at any point. (You’re OK with that.)

Steve is on the couch, takes one look at you both and opens his mouth to ask, his back instantly tight but you interrupt before he can. Quickly and quietly explain where you were and he just looks for a few seconds, eyes flicking between you and Bucky close behind you, says nothing except stretches out an arm and lets you curl up beside him. Bucky follows, that invisible rope that ties him to you pulled tight and sinks in beside you, sinks heavy like the moments of the day are strung from him like boulders. He pulls a blanket from somewhere and tucks it over you. Warm, safe.

You stay like that for a long time, watching episode after episode of Brooklyn Nine Nine because Steve knows it’ your favorite letting the rough edges of the day get forcibly smoothed by the laughter and lightness. The others join after a while, not knowing what’s wrong but knowing enough and knowing that company cures like nothing else. Sat here on this couch, surrounded by your friends, your family, you couldn’t feel further from that girl in the room. Their smiles, their hugs, their love… and even those fingers that grip yours under the blanket like he might disappear without them, they all remind you of how far you’ve come. It’s with your fingers still gripped in his that you wake some time later, head tucked against him with the blanket under your chin. The T.V is off and the room is empty, the air still enough that you know the others have been gone for a while, no doubt unwilling to disturb you, knowing how precious sleep is to you, to him. You stay there for minutes, longer, just listening to his breathing, in, out, deep, steady.

It’s wonderful.

It’s terrifying.

You feel as much as you hear the shift in his breathing when he wakes, the stillness that sweeps from those fingertips to his toes like he is all too aware of how close his face is to yours. You know he hears the shift in your own breathing when his fingers twitch against yours, grip just a little tighter before relaxing again, the only betrayal of thought or feeling. Perhaps it’s intentional, given his usual mastery over his reactions, his expressions. Showing only what he’s willing, an offered glimpse between his fingers.

That familiar tightness arrives, the sharp edged wire pushing at your skin. Pleading.

Even though today (yesterday?) was cleansing, healing, it was still painful and you were still so raw, exposed. Emotions laid bare, heightened, and so it’s that knowledge that forces you to fake a yawn and a stretch, a cartoon version of yourself waking up even though you know he knows you were awake the whole time. He lets you play it out unchallenged, accepts your smile with one of his own, his face shows no trace of whatever passed between those fingertips. Just that quiet, easy smile.

There are words poised on your tongue, waiting and willing to be said. It takes a lions worth of will to master it and let loose only those you choose to.

“I didn’t say it earlier, but thank you Bucky. For coming to get me.” He does a half sort of shrug like its no big deal and that action alone makes you want to clarify that you know, that you understand what it must have cost him, “I know it wouldn’t have been easy for you either.”

He stills at that, swallows loudly, or maybe just swallows but the sound reverberates into the silence of the room.

“I wasn’t afraid to go back there,” He says, and then adds “I’ve been back there.” The admission doesn't surprise you the way it should. Of course he has, hell bent on punishing himself for actions he was an unwilling party to. You wonder how many other places he’s forced himself to relive. How many wounds he has picked at.

His jaw twitches and he glances away like he’s unsure or working up the nerve, “I was afraid... that when I got there, you would hate me again.”

The ground shifts as the words cleave you in two, shower those pieces in such conflicting emotions that you feel both weighted and weightless. You cling desperately to those fractured pieces, having already lost too much of you and so unwilling to lose anymore.

You stand, probably too quickly to be casual and force yourself to look back to him. “I won’t,” you say, so that he knows and then thoughtlessly add, “I can’t.” Not even if I wanted to, the unsaid words hang in the air. You leave him there, between one blink and the next.

Copper. Salt. Dirt.

I’m sorry

I’m so sorry

Please

Please wake up

The dream voice stays long after you gasp awake, the desperation follows you as you shift and turn and try to find sleep again. The haunting echo that you know originates from deep inside a suppressed memory rather than something conjured by your sleep deprived brain. It’s minutes, hours later and it still won’t leave. That desperate plea, like nails on the already worn chalkboard of your skull.

You pace. And pace some more.

It won’t leave. He won’t leave. Your skin vibrates with all that tension from the last few days, rolls like the feeling is alive and you might see the waves across it, scattering and crashing against each other down your arms and across your chest. You drag your fingers down your arms, wishing, hoping that it might ease it.

It doesn’t.

The tension morphs and fights, coils down your gut like you absorbed all the energy of the sun and now its fighting its way out, demanding a release. Like you might boil alive with the effort to contain it. You bow over with it, the force of that energy, feel the blood rush and then finally, you unleash and throw your fist into the wall with a sickening thud. The pain lances through your knuckles, pieces of wall falling away as your free them and the familiar warmth of blood drips down your fingers. The energy roars its victory, like a Lion offered a pound of flesh to sate its hunger. It’s barely taken the edge off, barely scratched the surface.

You know then what you have to do, what it’s going to take to release all the energy, feeling.

A mountain of force.

Your feet move without thought, carrying you swiftly down halls and past doors until you reach it. The other door that altered your life irrevocably. A small part of you urges, begs you not to do this. Begs you to walk away, that this is not the answer.

The lion prowls, barely contained enough for you to knock on the door and to wait those two precious seconds it takes for him to open it. He’s not surprised to see you there, you can tell in his eyes he expected it. There’s no wariness in him, nothing tentative like something has changed, shifted between you. He’s not afraid.

He should be.

You consider briefly what you must look like to him, standing in a tank top and shorts, chest heaving like you’ve run the length of the earth to get there, fist clenched and still dripping blood, that ferocious energy burning you from inside out.

He eyes that fist, clenched so hard your nails were making half-moon indents in your palm, the skin threatening to break  and takes a step forward, then another until his chest was touching yours. The energy absorbs him, swallows him up until your both thrumming with it. Slowly, so slowly, he reaches out and wraps his hand around your fist, brings it up so he can see as he smoothes out your fingers and runs his own across those indents. He watches you, not your joined hands, as he brings broken knuckles to his mouth and places the softest kiss across them, eyes burning like frozen flames.

Its fire, and fury, and everything you know it shouldn't be for something so tame and yet more intimate than anything else before. You silence the voice in your head and let go of that wire you carefully walk, consequences be damned.

A step, yours or his or maybe both, and then his lips find yours and the hard edges start to blurr. Your palms meet his chest and spread whilst you kiss him with a fervor you have no right to feel. He kisses you back with a twin intensity that terrifies you and yet thrills you. You urge him backward just as his fingers pull you forward, the door to his room shut swiftly behind as you clear the threshold. His fingers dance under the hem of your tank, betraying his struggle for control as they dig and release into your skin. His mouth, his skin, it chases everything else away, there’s only this feeling and nothing else. Its intoxicating. Except this time, you ignore the voice that says stop, you throw yourself into that feeling entirely and let your fingers slip up his neck and into his hair, search and find that low groan you’ve wondered about ever since that night in the gym. Marvel at how it sounds even better than before, at how the sound itself pulls a matching one of your own.

You slip a hand down and give a gentle tug on the collar of his t-shirt, unwilling to break contact to convey your meaning. He hesitates for a second and you wonder if he’s going to be the one who stops this when he pulls back but only so he can pull the t-shirt off and let it drop to the floor. When you meet his eyes, you see the quiet apprehension and you realise the reason for his hesitation, that you’ll see him, that’ll you’ll see what they did to him.

Without pause, you bridge the space between you and kiss him again, softer this time but with no less intensity and let your fingertips glide down his neck, smooth along the hard scar tissue across his shoulder and then let your lips follow the same path. Slowly, you kiss the worst of the scars, Bucky’s breath hitching with each one and the, bring your lips back to his only to find him eagerly waiting, his mouth on yours with such force that you sway backwards with the movement but he catches you, uses that momentum to lift you at the same time he backs you both towards his bed. He sits with you, letting your thighs tuck tight against his as his hands slide up your back. You wonder if it’s deliberate, how you are seated, if somehow he’s giving you control even when you don’t need it. You ignore the pang in your heart at that thought and throw yourself further into the feeling, hips grinding down as Bucky kisses and nips his way down your neck.

His hand climbs your back and gently push the strap of your tank to the side, the metal fingers hot against your already heated skin and his lips like a brand as they follow those same fingers. You head tips back and a soft moan escapes as his teeth graze along your collarbone, he hums in agreement, his other fingers sliding up your ribcage till his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. It’s too much and yet still not enough, you grip his head and tilt him back to you so you can press your lips to his again, biting down on his lip just enough to have his fingers inch higher, press and circle and pull low, aching moans from you. You get lost in the feel of him, his hands and lips, the tank stripped from you in one fluid motion that you would never have managed on your own, his mouth working your skin as your own fingers grip his hair and neck. Holding on as this broken man makes you feel like his lips and tongue might be the thing that puts you back together after they take you apart completely.

Its minutes, hours, seconds later and he grips you and turns, placing you with more care than he should on the bed and settling his weight over you, eyes searching yours for the fear you don’t own anymore, looking at you in a way that has you pulling him down to you so you don’t have to think about it, urging him with your hips and relishing the way he shudders with each roll. He tugs you with him as he moves to the side, hiking you leg up over his hip and gripping your ass under those shorts, moaning his appreciation into your mouth. Those fingers move closer and suddenly still, a tenseness in him that has you pulling back to look at him, a question in your eyes that your afraid to voice.

He presses his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, swallows once before whispering, “Maybe I should...change sides.”

It takes a second to understand his meaning, that he was once again worried about you, about how you might react to him and the fact that it's his metal hand inched under your shorts. You ache at his fear, that you put it there, that he put yours there too. Ache for what they took from you both. In answer, you cup his jaw and watch as his eyes open, hesitant but steady, ready to do whatever to make you comfortable, “Your right where I want you to be.”

His eyes dart between yours and whatever he sees is the confirmation he needs, the fire back in his veins as he kisses you with that force again, fingers reaching under and moving against you in a way that has you wondering if it had ever felt this good, if anyone had ever known exactly how to touch you. You let your hands wander over his chest, losing minutes in the feel of that solid, gritty muscle under your fingertips, your nails. He brings you higher, tongue and teeth and those ever proficient fingers, pushing you to places where shadows didn’t exist and demons have no power. The world tilts as you break, nails digging in like you might lose gravity and float off on the feeling alone. Forehead touches and nose nudges, lips hovering and taking, the world realligning underneath you. He looks at you that way again and your pretty sure you are looking back just the same.

It’s no more than a minute before the heady feeling has your hands wandering, urging him to rid himself of the sweatpants he’s still wearing and following the movement with your eyes, taking all his lines and solidness, the ache coiling down your spine with the way you want him, need him. He makes quick work of your own shorts, settling over you and gathering up your hips and thighs with such care at the odds with the way he nuzzles into your neck, teeth grazing and owning. He gathers himself up onto his forearms till he’s eye level and watches as he pushes into you, groans when your breath hitches and watches you fight against the urge to close your eyes and revel in the feeling. He rolls forward and up, taking all thoughts with him, carries the same momentum into a rhythm that matches the hunger in his eyes. He forces low, greedy sounds from your throat, seals his mouth over your like he’s trying to keep them, breathing turned harsh in the shared space between. This. This is the feeling you needed, the leftover energy disappearing with each delicious roll of his hips, with each nip of his teeth and growl from between. His flesh hand is swallowed up by your hair, his metal one sliding up your arm till his fingers are linked with yours, pressing your joined hands into the mattress above your head. Your free hand grips his waist as your hips match his, pushing together to work that fire over your body and into your bones, any resemblance of control slipping away beneath the sweat on your skin. Your legs begin to tremble as you near that edge, you feel his hips falter in response and then grind deeper, following that feeling like he's desperate, like you are too. The edge crumbles beneath you, falling further than you thought was possible, consumed by it, the fire, letting it take your harshness and your fury with it. It takes only a look from you before Bucky is tumbling down after you, shoulders hunching up close to your head as you feel every bit of him melt, feel his muscles settle against yours like thats where they’re meant to be.

He leans his forehead against yours, again, and you try not to notice how good it feels, trying to reclaim some of that control you so freely gave up. He kisses you, soft, enduring, the kind that has your heart beating erratically in your chest but still, you let him. Let him tuck you into his side and draw lazy circles on your back, let him place a kiss to your forehead with an intimacy you have no right sharing. You know you shouldn’t, but you let him anyway, because maybe, just maybe, you need it too.

The thought terrifies you. It thrills you.

Forever Tags:  @manawhaat @captainrogerss  @theashhole @a-little-hell-to-raise  @peculiar-persephone  @captain-rogers-beard @chrisevansnco @howlingbarnes @poealsobucky @samingtonwilson @vintagevalentinexx @abovethesmokestacks @imhereforbvcky @buckthegrump @avengerofyourheart  @carriefish-er @stormy-thomas @danijimenezv   @angelicthor   @betheboo55 @palaiasaurus64 @raxacoricofallapatoriuspotter @johnmurphys-sass @katbird787    @sexyvixen7 @jobean12-blog  @justreadingfics @justareader @smoothdogsgirl @theliarone @aikibriarrose @timeladylaurel @badassbakers @earinafae @crushed-pink-petals @tardis-is-mine @httpmcrvel @bucky2-0 @mocking-rain @sociallyimpairedme @jezzula @bless-my-demons @ign-is @indominusregina @-supernatural-coffee-llama @alwayshave-faith @itsonlysarah @superwholocknda @shifutheshihtzu @mizzzpink @yknott81 @haven-in-writing @xtina2191 @reniescarlett @notsoprettykitty @wickedwerewolf @ayeputita @tori-medusa-belongs-to-bucky  @tatalopes23 @pineapplebooboo @mizzezm @thefridgeismybestie @memory-of-a-goldfish @supernatural-girl97 @standing-onthe-edge @ruinerofcheese @rosescentedblood @mysweetcookie99

[anagentinwriting]

Subscribe - Part 4

Summary: (Modern AU) Peter was your college sweetheart until a certain event led to your break up. Seven years later another event brings you two back together, but this time a little girl is in the picture. Will listening to your podcasts be the reason you two get back together or be another reason to keep you apart?

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Word Count: 2577

Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Subscribe Masterlist / Main Masterlist

AN: Don’t want this to get confusing, but the podcast is in italics and the flashback is indented and in italics. I am hoping the indention works on all platforms. Fingers crossed!

_____

Today was the day Peter was dreading; it was the first day he wasn’t going to see Meredith since he found out. Gamora had the day off and admitted she missed hanging out with the little girl. Peter agreed, realizing this would be the only way he would get work done. 

Between switching tasks, Peter decided to take a short break and listen to another episode of Everyday's a Monday. He laid on the couch in his and Bucky’s office slipping on his headphones and clicked on episode #12 of 129. He has been trying to listen to them when he had time, but he wanted to hang with Meredith as much as he could. He hasn’t heard anything about himself yet like Meredith mentioned, and he still couldn’t remember the nickname you gave him. You haven’t even talked yet, but Wanda has talked an awful lot about you. He closed his eyes as Wanda began the introductions.

"Hey, beautiful people, today's guest on the show is Dr. Helen Cho, our favorite OBGYN. And you won’t believe it, but YN agreed to join us at the end and tell us a bit about her adorable baby girl, Meredith. Que the intro.”

Dr. Cho spoke about the baby forming, c-sections, and menstrual cycles. Like how the sex of a baby can be better determined at twelve weeks after conception. During c-sections, mothers are awake. Menstrual cycles take a while to come back especially if the mother is breastfeeding. It was a lot of information about women’s bodies Peter never thought about. 

“I want to thank Dr. Helen Cho for coming in and speaking with us.  I hope our listeners enjoyed the conversation and learned a thing or two. Unfortunately, she had to rush off to deliver more beautiful babies into the world, and I hope she will stop by again. Anywho, it’s time for our next part of the podcast talking with my good friend and producer of this show, YN.”

“Thanks for blackmailing me to come on my own show.”

“Ignore her. I would never do such a thing,” Wanda tittered. “With us talking about pregnancy and birthing today, YN does have an interesting story of how she came into the world. Would you mind sharing?”

“Of course not, I mean it fits the topic of the week. My mom suffered from ovarian cysts, and most of the time they got so bad she needed surgery to remove them. My parents started debating if it was even worth to keep trying to get pregnant if my mother continued to suffer from this. Then a few days before surgery to remove them, the doctors were performing an ultrasound, and ‘tada’ found me. They delayed the surgery until after I was born. Then a year or two later, my family decided to adopt, and that’s when Gamora and Nebula came into my life. We might not be sisters by blood, but we did become a family.”

“You’re sisters are the best. Her sister, Nebula, travels the world as a photographer and always brings back the best gifts. Gamora is a badass lawyer who works at Coulson & Associates.  Then you’re the hotshot producer, and you’re doing it all while raising your 5-year-old daughter, Meredith. How do you handle being a single mother?”

“It can be hard, but I’m fortunate to have my parents and sisters willing to help me if I need it. I remember the first year being the hardest, especially the nights I was alone, but somehow I managed to pull through. At the time, I was living with my sisters because all the money I made went to paying for daycare. Most weekends my sisters helped, and forced me to get out, but I would only be gone for a few hours before I had to connect myself to the milk machine, again,” you chuckled. “I don't miss that at all. Around six months, things got easier because she got on a schedule.”

“Schedules are nice. I know with my twins, Me and Vis struggled, and to this day we still don’t know how we did it.”  

“Oh yes, I bet it was like a daze for the first few months.”

“You have no idea. Does the dad know about Meredith?”

“No,” you sighed. “I know it's wrong, but when I tried to tell him I was pregnant it never felt like a good time? The one time it felt right something came up, and I waited which lead to more waiting and more waiting until I never got the chance to tell him.”

“Does she know about her dad? Or ask about him?”

“Yes, I tell her everything she wants to know. I promised I wouldn't keep anything about her dad from her. She deserves to know him, and when I find the courage, I will tell him.”

“At least you’re not keeping her in the dark about him.  Some mothers don’t even share the details with their children because it’s too painful to talk about.” 

“It’s hard, but I’m not going to keep the side of her, that is her father, from her. If that makes sense? Anyways, I make sure to tell her the good stuff about him and keep it simple. Like when I first met him or our first date,” you chuckled. “At least I didn’t think it was a date to start with at least.”  

“Oh, I hear a story coming. Story…story…story,” Wanda chanted.

“Okay, I will share my first not a date date with…him......

There was a knock at your door, pulling you out of your dream. You leaned up, stretching your neck out, and realized you had fallen asleep on your computer. You rubbed your eyes as they adjusted to the soft glow coming from the desk lamp in your dark dorm room. Someone knocked on the door again as you stood up to answer it. When you pulled open the door, you squinted your eyes to try and shield them from the harsh hallway lights.  

“Wow! You look like you’ve seen better days,” he chuckled.

“Thanks, man,” you sighed, leaving the door open for him to enter.

“Oh my god, did a twister come through here? Why are their papers everywhere?” 

“I’m writing a paper, and it’s due in like 25 hours, and I haven't even started.”

He stared at your computer screen. “According to this, you have 537 pages. Is this for a music class?”

“What? Why would you ask that?” You shoved past him to see the screen.

“Because it says aaaaaaaaaaaallllllllll909. It's like you’re testing your vocal cords, but what's with the numbers?”

“Shut up---” you pushed on his chest “-- so I fell asleep.”

“Explains the keyboard marks on your face,” he snorted, making you roll your eyes. He scrolled up to the first page to see the title. “Insert fucking title. Wow, great title for your essay.”

“Shut up. I can't think of what to write about,” you confessed, running your hands down your face.

“I think you need a new perspective,” he said as you shot him an annoyed look. “Maria told me you've been locked in here since Friday. It’s not healthy, YN. She also told me she would like her bed back.”

“What are you---oh my god, I’m a terrible roommate! No wonder why she left last night and didn't stay. I can’t even see her bed.” You stared wide-eyed at Maria’s bed, running your hands through your hair.

“Hey, how about we clean this mess up, and I’ll get you out of here for a few hours.”

“But it's 11 pm.”

“On a Sunday! Come with me, I got a plan.”

He convinced you to leave your paper behind and drove you out of the city. You watched out the window as the city disappeared behind you. “Where are we going?” 

“We’ll be there in about ten minutes or so?”

You sat in silence, staring out into the darkness. He always came up with the best plans, so what could he have planned on such short notice? You knew he wasn’t going to give you any details, so you turned the radio to your favorite station to fill the silence. All of a sudden one of your favorite songs started playing, and you belted out the lyrics. He laughed at you before he started singing along, too. He turned onto a gravel road and into what looked like a parking lot. He turned off the car and told you to follow him. Turning on his flashlight, he led the way. 

“Dude, wait up, I can’t see shit without a flashlight.”

“Shit, sorry.” He grabbed your hand, and you felt a sensation you couldn’t explain. 

He led you up to a small hill to clearing right over a cliff. The sight before you took your breath away. You could see all the stars in the sky and hear the crickets chirping nearby. The moon reflected off the flowing river in the distance as the city lights were shining on the horizon. The slight breeze sent a shiver down your spine and goosebumps to your skin.

“It’s beautiful.”

“This place has always helped me clear my head. I don’t know if it’s the stars in the sky or the fresh air, but I thought it would help you, too.” He squeezed your hand. “And you can blow off steam here, too.”

“Care to demonstrate, Star-Lord.”

“Haha, you’re hilarious. Listen to this--” he let go of your hand and put them around his mouth and shouted “--PROFESSOR FURY OR FURRY, HOWEVER, YOU SAY IT, YOU’RE A REAL A-HOLE.” He smiled, turning back to you. “See now I feel better.”

“Do you really?”

“Yes. Give it a shot.”

You repeated his position and shouted. "WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO WRITE ABOUT FOR THIS FUCKING PAPER? THIS CLASS IS A FUCKING JOKE?” You put your hands back at your sides and chuckled. “I do feel better for some strange reason. Thanks, I needed this.”

“I know,” he winked, making you scoff. He reached for your hand as you continued to stare out at the view. His fingers intertwined with yours, sending a warm and tingling feeling coursing through your body. 

You glanced over at him, catching him staring at you. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Care to dance?”

“There’s no music,” you commented as he hit play on his Walkman around his waist; you never understood why he always carried it around with him wherever he went. Music started to play over his headphones. “Smart ass!”

He takes his free hand and places it on your waist, sending a spark shooting up your back. He pulls you closer to him as your breath quickens. He raises your conjoined hands in the air, forcing you to roll your eyes. He tilted his head at your arm dangling beside you before tilting it to his shoulder. You obliged and placed your hand on his shoulder. You shake your head at him, trying to hide the smile from appearing on your face. Both of you started to move to the slow quiet music playing through his headphones. When you glanced back up at him, he was gazing at you with this boyish smirk on his face. 

“Is this the trick you pull to get all the girls?” You asked with a shy smile on your face. 

“No, I don't usually need tricks. Most of the time, all I have to do is smile, and girls fall at my feet.”

You scoffed, slapping him on his chest. “They do not.”

“No, they don't,” He confirmed with a quick snicker. “You’re the first and only girl I brought to this place. I knew you were the only one who would appreciate it and see the beauty in it.”

“I do,” you grinned, staring at his chest, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. 

“If you had the chance to do something you always wanted to do, but you would be risking everything. Would you take the chance, or would you not and regret for the rest of your life?”

Your head snapped up to him, and you could see something in his eyes you have never seen before. He stared at your lips as his eyes drifted back up to yours. He started to lean in but stopped short right before his lips could touch yours. 

“That's a risk I am willing to take,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him. 

“Wow! Is it hot in here or is it just me? Woo! Damn, Star-lord sure knows how to plan a great date, or in this case, not a date date. How did you two meet?”

“Second semester of my sophomore year of college. I was sitting in class half paying attention and half not. I had one earbud in and was doodling all over my notes. I think it was an economics class with one of those monotone professors. You know the type, where you stare at the clock and wish time went by faster.”

“I hated those professors!”

“Anyways, I was listening to my music and doodling when someone nudged the back of my chair. I ignored it, and then all the sudden I felt a piece of paper slide down my shoulder. I opened it up and it said something like, ‘Enjoying the tunes. Why am I not listening to music instead of this boring professor?' I peeked over my shoulder, and I'm sure I had the look like ‘what the fuck’ on my face. Oh crap, I’ll have to bleep that out later,” you chuckled. “As I said, I turned around, and he smiled and nodded at me. I acknowledged him and went back to doing what I was doing. When class ended, I was walking, and he came up next to me and introduced himself.  He had this boyish smile that drew me in and made him look so carefree. It wasn’t even a full on grin, but it was a little sexy smirk thing he did that drove me crazy. Anyways, we ended up forming this great friendship, which morphed into something more."

“Awwww cute. How long did you two date?”

“A little over two years.”

“Star-Lord seems like the guy who knew how to romance a lady”

“Sometimes,” you breathed a chuckled. “Other times he failed miserably, but he’s a great guy.” 

“When was the last time you spoke to him, if I may ask?” Wanda questioned with curiosity in her voice.

“About 5 years ago,” you stated without hesitation.

“Wow, a dramatic yet romantic way to end this week’s episode. If you like this podcast, please rate, comment, and subscribe to us wherever you get your podcasts. Until next time, from all of us here at Everyday’s a Monday, have a great rest of your week.”

Peter zoned out as the episode ended and stared up at the ceiling. Star-Lord. Star-Lord, how did he forgot the nickname you gave him? That night was one of his favorite moments with you, and he even documented it was an out of focus photo taken on his flip phone. It was the same photo Meredith found in the shoebox under your bed; the one with you smiling and laughing at the camera as he gazed at you. It was one of his favorite not a date dates, and he hated to admit it, but that night he knew you were the girl he wanted to marry.

_____

AN: How about that? What did you think about Wanda being the host for Everyday’s a Monday? I think she's got potential, I mean it is only episode #12. You learned a few tidbits about the readers past, but there is still a lot left to uncover. What did you think about their first not a date date or about how they met?  Comments always encourage and as always thanks for reading!

[barnes-and-noble]

Bucky x Reader

2K Words AN || I know this blog isn't for this stuff but - mood - I'm not feeling that well and so this is what happened. & i will be getting some sleep now and get to replies in the morning - sorry friends.

You were sick, exhausted, the life force was being sucked out of you. You could say you felt like you've been run over by a semi but more realistically you felt like Glenn in season 7 of The Walking Dead. Between the fever making you sweat, leading to the chills that made you bundle up just to sweat some more - the migraine that you were sure was going to split your skull and of course your boss down your throat… You were in a constant state of miserable but deadlines needed to be met and missing work wasn't an option at this point in the year. You worked hard to get this far in Journalism and this death virus wasn't going to stop you - maybe hinder a little bit with the way your stomach felt when you stood up too quick though.

You also didn't have your bionic boyfriend around, he was on a mission with the Avengers - it felt beyond cliche saying that and even thinking it but this is what your life consisted of. The worries never left when he did, you knew the risks even when he tried his best to convince you otherwise. You trusted him and the entire team, knowing they would work together and do their absolute best to all come home safe and in one piece but - there was always a but. If you didn't stay busy and hyper focused on work that thought only grew until it consumed you into panic attacks and frankly you were sure your nervous system couldn't handle something like that right now.

__--__--__

Bucky wasn't supposed to be home for another three days and that was just the scheduled date, usually it took a little longer or things here and there on their way home. He called, still learning how to text, when he could but it wasn't often when saving the world, or other worlds. However it worked out you still had to carry on with your life while he was away and you did, just with a few more gray hairs.

You stopped for a can of soup on your wait home, your baby hairs glued to your temple from the constant hot and cold war, your eyes glossed over and every step felt like walking through quick sand, actually sighing and catching your breath like you ran a marathon once you got back in your car. Home wasn't too far and you hugged yourself tight as you made your way up the steps to your apartment. Small, one bedroom but it was home and had a bath that you so desperately wanted to fill will boiling water. If you didn't have a brain slicing migraine you might of noticed the soft light from outside reflecting off some metal on the couch but instead you kept the lights off with small whimpers as you had to untuck your arms from around yourself to set your things down. Your body may have been indecisive about being hot or cold but your pants were coming off right in front of the door, your shoes still in the leg holes as you slid them off with.

“Baby…” Your energy so low you didn't even jump, a small flinch and your heart picked up to hummingbird speed but you just stepped back. Bucky had said something about protecting yourself but none of those lessons were coming back from memory. He flipped on the switch and relief washed over every inch of you seeing him, he was home. He was safe and still had only one metal arm. Your migraine on the other hand only let you get a glimpse go him before your eyes were screwed shut. You rushed into him even though it was more of a fall, his arms wrapping around you to catch you as he whispered your name a few times, “Whats wrong?” His voice full of genuine concern as you slouched against his chest. He smelled nice - like soap and some residue gunpowder, his hands were nice, the hard pressure of the metal one and the soft stroke of the other. Nuzzling into him with a whine was your answer. You never realized how much you missed him till he was standing in front of you again. Figuring yourself to be some kind of Miss. Independent, which you were but sick mode made you needy, not something you were used to but beyond grateful he was here for you.

His right hand feeling your forehead was enough of an answer. Picking up your somewhat limp body against him and taking you the few steps to the bedroom, “You should of stayed home…” Laying you on the bed, the coolness of his metal hand had you pressing into it as he pushed your hair out of your face and you curled up into the fetal position. “Stay put.” You couldn't argue if you wanted, not now that you were laying down. You couldn't even express how happy you were to see him in this state. You heard the water running though and it made your lips pull into a smile. Once that exterior layer, yeah like an onion, was peeled away he was soft. Bucky was the most caring person when it came to those he was close to, seeing him and Steve was proof of that. He would do anything for him and honestly it was obvious Steve would do the same. They only had each other for so long and with what Bucky went through… You were surprised you were where you were with him. Talk of his arm and Hydra were still off limits but the night terrors on occasion let you know they were still in his mind and you would wait till he was ready for that.

Your eyes were on the bathroom, unmoved from when he left and that little smile that only showed the top half of his teeth made you feel like it was more butterflies than nausea. “Come on, baby…” He was gentle, your whines in protest faded out when he pulled you out of the fetal position, unzipping your jacket and pulling each arm through leaving it flat on the bed, breathing hot breath on his hand before moving it under your shirt and against your stomach to pull your shirt over your head, helping each arm slide out. “Have you eaten? Had any water? I know you like to live like your the Sahara.” That smile again and he scoops you up off the bed, the warmth from him, even under his clothes is nice but it doesn't last long enough. He sets you down on your feet, his hand on yours placing it on his shoulder as he bends down, your cheeks hot as he pulls the fabric of your panties down. Its not sexual and its not like he hasn't seen you naked before but - its something else but it still makes you burn hot. His hands moving up the sides of your hips and waist going to your back to unhook your bra and letting it fall down your arms, his hand on your back and holding your arm helping you step in. Bubbles built up past the top of the tub and they sway as you step in, Bucky lowering to his knees as you lower in and finally settle. His right hand pushing your hair back and you manage a soft smile with your eyes closed, “Im gone for a week and you're withering away. Makes me think I should retire.” He laughs and you could swear it warmed you from the inside out more than this bath.

“You say retire and it makes me think you're the sick one.” You reach up and grab his hand giving it a tug, he knows exactly what you're insinuating and he breathes out the soft laugh this time, when he moves away you cant help but peek. Stripping his shirt off, a new soon to be scar on his back, his hair damp from his shower he must have taken earlier as it falls around his face. He looks back at you and you quickly close your eyes tight and bite your lip. “Perv.” He laughs again, soft and short, and you cant help the small giggle that escapes you. You let him undress and you open your eyes again when he's pulling your arm to turn you to have your back against his chest and theres no fight to it, your head laying against his right shoulder, his metal hand submerged and on your thigh while he kisses your temple and pets your hair back on the top of your head, “You work too hard, it wont kill you to take a day off.”

You ignore him, “Wont it rust?” You move your hand over the metal one, its hard and you can feel each indentation of the layers but theres not even a dent on it, “Or electrocute?” You look up at him, his dark lashes making his eyes look like a dark ocean wave. He just rolls his eyes at you though and giving you that weak in the knees smile and giving you a soft ‘Shh’. You usually would be all on him about what he did, what happened, who happened, rambling on about the not even in comparison journalism you had been doing but still going on about it as if it was. This was different, you being quiet when he got home, “I love when you ask a million questions but you need to rest, body and mind.” Another kiss to the temple and you nodded your head, nuzzling against his neck. He had never experience sick you, usually more upbeat, full of quips and anything else that came to your mind but he was right and you were too worn out to argue it, because even if he was right you would usually argue it.

__--__--__

You don't know how much time had passed but when you opened your eyes again you were in bed, in one of his sweatshirts and a pair of socks and a pair of his boxers. Bucky right next to you, his hand on your arm as he slept as if you moved it from him he'd wake up. Instead of testing the theory you moved closer, your knee draped over his thigh and your head on his chest, you can see the pull of the smile on his lips in the dim lights that come from the streetlights outside your window. 
“Thank you.” Your voice soft, kissing his jaw a few times to trail it up to his ear, his hand coming and squeezing your waist tight, “Sleep, baby girl.” His voice gravely and stern, and slumping against him with a pout, his hand relaxes, “I’ll make it up to you in the morning.” 
His metal hand coming and resting in your calf over his thigh, fingers curling around it holding it there as his other hand kept you close around your waist.

Your bed is much easier to sleep in with him, your home feeling more like one when he's in it and you realize how in just a few short months he has become your home. Nothing feels more comfortable and more at ease than when you're with him, the thought of him actually retiring cross your mind. You could have this all the time - but that was a selfish thought and you would never think of bringing that conversation up. You may need him but the entire universe needed him, his team and he needed them as well. You were sure its what helped level him from everything he had been through, knowing they were still there for him, with him. “Im happy to be home.” your voice a whisper against his skin, moving your hand up his bare chest, your fingers find his dog tags and with those in your hand you sleep.

[cchellacat]

I Just Fucking Love You

Love All The Marvel Ships Challenge 

Day Four ~ On A Date

"C'mon Doll, we gotta run."  He held her hand, pulling her along as they bolted.  Darcy wasn't sure how she kept up, only knew that if they stopped, they were dead, so she forced herself to move.  She stifled the shriek she felt as he hoisted her into the air and up onto a metal platform.  She felt sick from running and took deep lungfuls of the cold night air, forcing the nausea down, then biting her lip till it almost bled.

It had all started out really well.  There had been flowers when he picked her up at the door, he had offered his arm and escorted her to the car.  They’d had dinner in a wonderful restaurant and she had been looking forward to the dancing all night, her feet tapping under the table until he’d caught her feet between his legs and started playing footsie, that part had been fun.

Things had went downhill on the way to dance club.  The sudden appearance of a red dot on his chest had her yelp as she tried to get him to move.

Bucky had been fast after that, getting them both out of sight line, that was when they’d noticed the van’s drawing up and the armed men being disgorged from the dark depths.

Then all they had done was run.   Up one street, down an alley, over a fence…  if she ever had to run for her life again she was wearing sneakers.  She’d lost both heels along the way and her stockings were torn and the soles of her feet ached.

Currently they were half way up a fire escape, waiting to see if their pursuers would give them up for lost.

He was holding her close, both his arms around her as they pressed deep into the shadows.  She could feel herself shaking, desperately trying to catch her breath from the near panic attack that was threatening.  If they got out of this alive she was never leaving the tower again without a security escort and a taser.  She could feel the cold seeping into her from where she stood on the metal grating.  One of his hands cradled the back of her neck, his thumb gently stroking behind her ear as she buried her face in his jumper.  The beat of her heart echoed loudly in her ears as she clenched her teeth tightly, willing the shaking and chattering to stop.

“Darcy…  They’re not gonna stop till they have me.  There’s too many of them, sweetheart.  I’m putting you in danger like this.”

His harsh whisper was full of apologetic agony.  What was he saying?

“No… no, don’t you dare…  what if they find me anyway?  You can’t just give yourself up.”  Her fists clenched in the soft wool as she hissed her denial.

“I’m sorry, Doll.  Now listen to me okay?”

“No…  you can’t…Bucky..”

“Please sweetheart, please just do what I say…  I couldn’t live with it if I got you killed, it would destroy me Darcy.”  He pled, pressing  kisses into the crown of her head.

“But….”

“Please, Darcy”

Darcy felt the tears welling in her eyes as she finally accepted what was happening.  No, no it was so unfair, why now?  Things were good, they were good.  They had clicked with each other right away.  As soon as they had met over a year ago, it had been as though her life suddenly just fitted into place, a place right beside him.  They’d only been dating officially for a few months, but it was really working between them.  He was so much better than he had been, he’d made so much progress after the shit he’s been through…  she rested her head on his chest and nodded reluctantly.

“Okay…  okay, what’s the plan?”  she breathed out as he relaxed a little in relief.

“I’m gonna lead them off, you stay here, you don’t move, don’t make a sound.  Stay as long as you can, then I want you to get back on the street and duck into the first store you find and call the emergency number.  Don’t give your name, just your security number and hang up.   Find the bathroom and wait for someone you know to pick you up, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good, now repeat it back, what are you gonna do?”

“Wait as long as I can, go back to the street, find the first shop, call the emergency number and give my security code and hang up.  Wait in the bathroom for someone I know to come get me.”

“Good girl, you’re gonna be fine.  I promise...”

“Bucky…  I…. “  her voice broke as she tried to say something, anything to him, anything but goodbye.

“I’m so sorry Doll, you have no idea…  Darcy… Sweetheart…  I…  Just stay safe alright? Follow the plan.”

“Promise me….  Promise me you won’t let them kill you.  You don’t go out there and get dead, do you hear me Bucky Barnes?  You come back to me.”  She choked out her words, tiny fists thumping against his chest.

He kissed her then, it was swift and hard and full of longing and begging forgiveness.  She kissed him back just as passionately, willing the kiss to gentle, to let him know she could forgive him anything so long as he came back to her.

His hands cradled her jaw gently as he broke the kiss, her lips, suddenly bare and empty of him, had her fingers digging into his wrists fiercely, unable to let him go.

“I love you, Darcy.”  His raw honesty stole her breath, left her unable to breath.  Before she could speak he let go of her, vaulting over the railing and landing hard in the alley below.

She stood there, mouth open, staring into the darkness as she listened to him draw their pursuers away.

No, no, no, no, just no.  He did not just do that to her.  She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.  How could he say that to her and leave?  She didn’t even say it back…  he was just gone.

Sitting on the fire escape till her feet were almost numb, thinking of his parting words had her by turns furious and overwhelmed with love.  He loved her.  He told her he loved her, and then he left her here, like some big damn hero in some sappy romance.  She would have said it back if he’d just waited a moment.  Because she did love him, loved him so much is made her heart hurt.  The worst part, the worst fucking part was she knew he meant it as goodbye…  because he hadn’t promised he’d come back.  He went out there thinking he wouldn’t be able to.  She wiped her eyes angrily on her sleeve, trying to stem the constant stream of tears.  Eventually she shimmied down the fire-escape and made her way to safety.  Within twenty minutes of calling in her number in, Clint had turned up to bring her back to the tower.  There was an escort and a military grade SUV to pick her up.

She’s still shaking when she reaches the Tower, she’s whisked off to medical and her feet are cleaned and wrapped and the cut on her heel needed stitches.  Other than that, and a mild case of shock, she’s fine.  Fine, she’s fine…  except she’s not fine, she’s so far from fine she’s crossed borders, she’s currently residing in the Republic of Freaking the Fuck Out.  No one will talk to her or tell her what’s going on.  Jane is tight lipped when she appears and tries to get Darcy to rest, but the thought of sleeping is so far out of the realms of possibility right now that it’s a joke.

She can’t get the last image of his eyes out of her mind, he was scared for her, not him, and he looked so damn sorry as he told her he loved her.   Darcy glares angrily at her hands where her nails are digging into her palms, sharp and hard and white in the beds.  She forces her hands to uncurl and hisses at the sting and the angry purple half moons left indented in her skin.

What if he didn’t come back?  What if this was it, the end, before they even got to start?

Eventually Darcy convinced Jane she couldn’t stay in bed, she was just too wired and stressed to sleep and they went to the common room.  The room was quiet, no Mario Kart on the big screen, no Tony and Steve bickering at the island in the kitchen, no Sam and Clint making wise cracks and sniping each other with popcorn.  They were all out looking for Bucky.

Jane finally fell asleep just before the sun started to rise.  Darcy got up and found a blanket to put over her friend before moving about the room, straightening pillows, and throws, then over to the open plan kitchen to empty the dishwasher.  There were half empty cups strewn on the counter and two plates sat with a meal untouched.  All indications of the abrupt scramble that must have took place when Darcy called in.  It was as though life had just been put on pause, a reminder that although she wanted nothing more than to go back to that moment and say something, she couldn’t.  She busied herself with all the small chores as the sun’s light continued to fill the room.  The counter tops were gleaming when she was done, she was putting away the cloth when the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

Darcy spun round to see who was there and nearly fell over in relief.  She flew across the room as he staggered out of the lift.  He was mess.  His face was bruised, his shirt torn in places and there was blood everywhere.  He caught her when she launched herself into his arms, her name ripped out of him in a choked sob.

She whispered his name over and over again as he rocked her against him. So thankful that he was here, alive.

A sudden fury filled her when she realised he wasn’t about to keel over and die and she stepped back from him.

The crack of her palm against his cheek echoed violently through the room. She was wide-eyed and gaping at her own action.  He didn't look shocked at what she had done though, just resigned.

“What the hell did you do that for?  You can’t just tell me you love me and then leave me!  That is not how this works.  You don’t just confess your love and run off to die.”

At her words he relaxes a fraction, as though he were almost happy to hear her chastisement.

“Darcy, babydoll…”

It's his placating, voice, the one he tries to use when she's worked herself up into a into an apoplexy.  Usually she's happy to let him cajole her into a better mood but right now she wants to shout and scream and stamp her foot is she feels like it.  He owes her that at least, after what he put her through.

“Don’t you Babydoll me James Barnes, you are going to stand there and listen.”

“Darcy, I’m sorry…”  she cuts him off, she's going to say her piece no matter how sorry or sincere he is.

“No.. uhuh…  You are unbelievable, you know that?  I asked you to promise me you’d come back and instead you say those words like they were some sort of ending.  Like you weren’t coming back."  Her hands are waving in the air as she grasps to articulate herself  "You didn’t even wait for me to say anything, you just jumped.  Do you know how scared I was, how fucking terrified? "  She sucks in a breath, even as she feels more words bubbling up, but it's less angry now, accusation is winding through her tone.  "It felt like you were saying goodbye, Bucky, I thought you were dead.  You tore out my heart.  Don’t you get it?  How much you mean to me?"  Darcy squeezed her eyes shut and let out a involantary sob is frustration.  "I can’t breath, I can’t sleep, I can’t fucking live without you.  You got so far under my skin I can’t scrub you out.  There is no world for me without you in it, do you understand?  I love you, I love you….   I love you so much I don’t know who I am without you anymore… and you just left….  I love you, I want to hate you right now, but I just. Fucking. Love you.”  She stood panting, shuddering in the wake of the soul wringing words she had vomited out and then she burst into tears.

She felt the ground fall away as he lifted her into his arms and then they were on the couch as he settled her into his lap while she let all the fright and bottled up emotion of the last twelve hours wash away.  He didn’t say anything, just held her until she finally stopped, tiny hiccups escaping her as she lay against him.

“Better?”  he asked her quietly, his hand rubbing soothing circles into her skin just above her hip.

She nodded her head and blinked stupidly as he produced an immaculate handkerchief from somewhere for her to wipe her face with.

“I know it wasn’t the right time to say it for the first time, I... but…  I didn’t know what was going to happen Doll.  But I knew I couldn’t go, not without saying it at least once.  I’m sorry you thought it was goodbye, that’s not what I meant, but I couldn’t make a promise to you if I didn’t know I could keep it.”  He reached up and cupped her face, his palm pressing into the line of her jaw until she met his eyes.  “You gotta know…  Darcy, you changed everything for me.  Everything you just said, it’s the same for me.  You’re in me Darce, in my blood and bones, a part of my I don’t ever want to live without.  When we were out there last night, all I wanted was for you to be safe, I knew your best chance was without me.  I love you sweetheart, I love you so much that if anything happened to you… if you died…  I’d be right behind you babydoll, cause you’re all the good that’s left in my world.  I can’t promise not to do it again, not if it means keeping you safe.  I can promise that I’ll fight for you, to come back to you.  I can promise I’ll never stop loving you.  I can promise that as long as I live there will never be a time when I won’t do everything in my power to make you happy. Because darling, I just fucking love you too.”  He looked as wrecked as she felt, his voice strong and adamant in his declaration.

His words echo in her mind and she felt such a swell and rush of emotion she thought she might burst into tears again.  Instead she pressed her lips to his.  It wasn’t like before, there was no desperation in this kiss, it just was.  It was slow and steady, their lips telling a story to each other, making silent promises, finding peace.  She felt the knowledge of what they were settle into her soul, it was clarity and a profound sense of rightness, as though where once she had thought she was whole, she found that wholeness to now be complete.  They come through something life changing, something that realigned the world for them both.  It was a paradigm shift.  The kiss drew out, and she moaned softly as he pulled back, resting his head to hers, their eyes holding each other, unable to look away.

Darcy sniffed and nodded as he stroked her cheek, wiping away the last of her tears.

“Okay… Can we go home now?”  She felt exhausted, all she wanted was her bed and Bucky.  Her eyes were drooping as she tucked her head back into his neck, breathing in his scent.

“Anything you want Doll.”  She closed her eyes and melted into the sway as he stood, safe in his arms. She was only partially aware of the movement as he carried her, caught the murmur of voices as they passed through the hall and felt his chest rumble in response as he answered whoever was speaking.

She was floating in a sea of emotion as he helped her into bed, the panic when he left her side was abrupt, but he whispered her fear away and went to shower before finally joining her in bed.  When he did, he tangled himself around her and she could finally relax.  He loved her.  He really loved her and she almost didn’t want to sleep while she held those words in her head.

“Sleep Darcy. I’m right here, m’not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She finally let sleep claim her, the last thought…  It hadn’t been the worst date she’d ever had, but it had had the best ending, a happy one.

NEXT

@captain-rogers-beard