#i’m just saying. steve left him. maybe he’d go back to his handler if he had a chance

[eggbreadboi]

the devil you know//cold comfort

[dothwrites]

13 and 20

13. and 20.--Detective AU and Teacher AU

---

Castiel represses a sigh as he stands up straight. His spine pops as he subtly stretches out the kinks in his aching body.

He'd thought that he was a reasonably fit man, but bending over and scrubbing at filthy floors and tables every day is playing hell with his lower back.

The bell rings, and Castiel curses under his breath as he moves back against the wall. Less than thirty seconds later, all of the doors near him burst open and a flood of teenagers courses into the hallway.

Castiel's had a lot of unpleasant assignments in his life, but going undercover at Carver Edlund High School is among the worst. He thought that he'd seen some of the worst that humanity had to offer: murderers who cared nothing for the pain of their victims, kidnappers who plunged families into turmoil for years, robbers who were willing to kill just in order to get a few quick bucks. But upon seeing the horror show of the cafeteria after a group of freshmen finished lunch, Castiel has to start reevaluating his list of atrocities.

The tardy bell rings, and Castiel sighs as he steps out in the hall. He rolls his eyes at the debris that the students have left behind and grabs his push broom to start clearing it away.

Going undercover at Carver Edlund wasn't Castiel's first choice of assignments, but with several students ending up in the hospital due to drug overdoses, something drastic had to be done. Castiel's job is simple: gather as much intelligence as he can about where the drugs are coming from. If possible, he's to find the dealer and shut the whole production down.

In theory, it's a good assignment. Success here would mean a potential commendation, maybe a promotion if the operation is big enough. But the reality of the situation is much different. Castiel's been masquerading as a member of the maintenance team for a little over a week, and he's no closer to finding the source of the drugs than he was when he started.

His captain had ultimately decided to send him in as a member of the janitorial staff for access reasons: as a janitor, he has keys to every door. Not even lockers are safe from him. There's no place in the school off-limits to him. Unfortunately, it also means that his opportunities for questioning potential suspects are limited: no high school student wants to have long conversations with the janitor. He's reduced to sweeping around gaggles of kids, hoping that they'll just so happen to let something slip.

His plan hasn't worked. So far, he's learned about the latest TikTok challenge, who's rumored to have slept with who, and who on the football team is getting suspended, but drugs? Either these kids are savvier than he gives them credit for, or they don't know anything.

"Oh, sorry, 'scue me... Oh. Hi, Steve."

It takes Castiel just a second too long to respond to the name. Part of that is because he's still not used to answering to his cover name, and part of that is because he's still not sure how to act around Dean Smith.

He braces himself before he turns around, but that still doesn't prepare him for the sight of Dean Smith leaning against the wall. Looking at him is like looking into the sun, if the sun was in a dingy hallway with flickering florescent lights and questionable stains on the floor. Even with those inauspicious surroundings, however, Dean Smith, with his sandy hair, vibrant eyes, freckles, and bright, crooked grin, stands out.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel allows the hint of a smile to cross his face. He'd called Dean 'Mr. Smith' exactly once before Dean had put a stop to it.

"Oh, no," he said, grimacing in distaste, "I get enough of that from the kids. Just Dean, man." Castiel hadn't argued, and the slightly stuffy Mr. Smith became Dean.

"Another beautiful day cleaning up the debris of the world?" Dean gestures towards the small pile of dirt and dust that Castiel has managed to collect.

"It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it," Castiel answers.

No doubt his superiors would be screaming if they could see him right now. Zachariah, his Captain, would sneer, You're there to catch drug dealers, Novak, not to play nice with pretty boy teachers, but Zachariah isn't here right now. Plus, it's not like Castiel's making any headway on the drug dealers, so he might as well indulge his crush with a guy who's miles out of his league.

Dean is the kind of good-looking that gets noticed by modeling companies in the line at the cafe. Castiel has found himself wondering, more than once, what a guy like him is doing substitute teaching. It's obvious that Dean is smart, and he doesn't doubt that he could have a job doing whatever he wanted. Still, Dean's being a substitute teacher works out well for him, so he doesn't complain. Not if it means that he can be just a little closer to him.

Maybe if Castiel wasn't undercover and wearing an unflattering jumpsuit with the name 'Steve' stitched across the front pocket. Maybe if he were dressed in his customary suit and had a badge and gun to flash around. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"Don't talk to me about dirty jobs," Dean says, his voice entirely too low and insinuating for the circumstances. Heat blooms underneath Castiel's collar.

"Well, I'm not sure what else to talk to you about," he confesses. He resents the broom handle in his hands.

Dean shrugs. His smile is still carefree, but there's something else in his eyes when he says, "What about any books that you've read lately? TV shows that you've watched?" His eyes flash to Castiel's, and his tongue flirts with his lower lip as he asks, "Restaurants that you'd like to go to?"

Castiel's heart stutters. For a second, it sounded like... But that can't be right. Dean can't be inviting him out. Guys like Castiel don't go out with guys like Dean. That's just the way the world works. Maybe if he was Detective Castiel Novak, but now when he's Janitor Steve.

He takes a second too long to answer. By the time that he's managed to figure out that Dean is serious, Dean's expression has shuttered. He flashes a painfully fake smile at Castiel. "Hey, man, don't worry about it. I'll catch you later, okay?"

He's turning to go, and fear grabs at Castiel. He knows that if he lets Dean walk away, then everything will change between them. No more jokes, no more stolen conversations in the hallways. They'll become nothing more than vague, uneasy colleagues, at least until Castiel's assignment ends and he disappears forever from Dean's life.

The indignity of his assignment and the frustration of his ineptitude rises in Castiel, and bursts out of him in a quick call. "Dean!"

Dean turns around. Hope flickers in his eyes before he hides it. "Yeah?" he asks. The carefully blank tone in his voice is like a knife twisting in Castiel's chest.

"I like Italian food," Castiel answers. He offers a hesitant smile towards Dean, hoping against hope that Dean will accept his overture.

After a second, Dean's smile spreads slowly across his face, as bright as the sunrise. "Yeah," he says, nodding slowly, "yeah, I think we could do that."

---

Dean's heart dances in his chest as he walks away from Steve.

He did it. After weeks of ogling and tentatively flirting, he finally asked out the hot janitor.

Steve is a lot more than a pair of pretty blue eyes and a five o'clock shadow that makes Dean's lip yearn for stubble burn, though. (Though Steve does fill out a jumpsuit better than anyone Dean's ever seen. One day, he was lifting a desk onto the dolly so that it could be moved, and Dean thought his eyes were about to pop out of his skull. Between the thick thighs attempting to pop the seams on his pants, and the biceps rippling, Dean hadn't known where to look.) Steve has a wicked sense of humor, an innate sense of kindness, and he's caught every single one of Dean's literary references (the pop culture ones, not so much. Seriously, who's never seen Indiana Jones?). There's more to Steve than meets the eye, and Dean's itching to peel back the dozens of layers.

He ignores the tiny voice in the back of his head (which sounds like an alarming mix of Sam and Bobby) saying Don't get too involved. This is a temporary thing. Dean frowns and tries to tell the voice to shut the fuck up.

He's only here for as long as it takes him to figure out who's bringing drugs into the school. At the first viable lead, he'll be yanked out, and Dean Smith, substitute teacher, will die, to be replaced by Agent Dean Winchester of the DEA.

Because of the environment, there are multiple law enforcement agencies working on this case. There's state police, the DEA, and maybe even a few FBI agents sniffing around. It's naive to believe that there aren't other agents working in the school, but he hasn't come across any yet that he knows of. He's not entirely sure; he lets Bobby deal with all of the inter-agency bullshit. He has his mission and his cover, and Bobby, as his handler, can navigate every other pitfall.

Beyond small talk and leading conversations, Dean hasn't tried to get close with anyone. Every smiling face could conceal an undercover agent or a dealer. With suspicion everywhere, it's best not to succumb to temptation.

Which makes his attraction to Steve all the more intriguing.

Just thinking of the other man sets off a series of fireworks in the pit of Dean's belly.

This is probably a terrible idea, doomed to failure, but Dean is going to enjoy the ride while it lasts.

Whistling, he goes back to the classroom and prepares for his next class.

[the-iceni-bitch]

No Scrubs

Well a scrub checkin' me, but his game is kinda weak

And I know that he cannot approach me

'Cause I'm looking like class and he's looking like trash

Can't get wit' a deadbeat ass

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Words: 3.1k

Summary: You try to keep Steve from dying of boredom at an Avengers charity gala.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, squirting, public sex), little bit of a fight, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!!

A/N: My official entry for @cockslut-padalecki’s “Not My Ninth” challenge!! My prompt was No Scrubs by TLC and Charity Gala. I picked our boy Steve for this one, but like post Avengers pre Winter Soldier Steve. Also, is Thor the best wingman? I feel like I’ve been using him in this role a lot. Happy 9K babe!

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!

Steve had never felt so uncomfortable in his life.

He hated talking about himself normally, and having to parade around in front of a bunch of rich people was a special kind of torture. But Tony was insistent that the whole team had to be there, and it was for a good cause so he couldn’t say no without being a complete asshole.

He downed the rest of his champagne as some other billionaire asked him the same damn question about how different things were for him now, how much he must miss the 40s, like the war was some golden age of Americana. He just smiled and gave the same polite answers he’d been giving all night, wishing he was able to get drunk. Maybe Thor had snuck in some mead, that could usually do the trick.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Captain Rogers, but Mr. Stark sent me to come find you. Something about the silent auction.”

Steve felt his face relax as he turned to look at you, his breath coming out in a deep sigh. You looked amazing in your silver gown, all shimmery and gauzy.

“Sorry folks, duty calls.” He said with a shrug as he followed you away from the stuffed suits. “What does Tony want? I don’t have anything to do with the auction.”

“Yeah, I know, but your jaw was clenched so hard I was worried you were gonna snap something, so I figured I’d come rescue you.” You said, grinning over your shoulder at him.

“God, you’re the best.” He sighed, following you to the bar and leaning against it as you ordered yourself a cocktail.

“I know, right? You want anything?”

“Not unless Thor snuck anything in. It’s only been an hour and I’m this close to ramming my head through a wall.”

“Sorry Cap, I hate these things too but it comes with the territory.” You said with a shrug, sipping on your Manhattan as you turned to face him. “Now, lets go find our Asgardian friend. As your handler, I can’t have you destroying property out of boredom, and I’m pretty sure I saw that giant sipping from a contraband flask a little earlier.”

He grinned as he moved to follow you, weaving through the crowd as you expertly turned away the whales that kept trying to approach him. You were his fifth handler since the battle of New York, and the only one that had lasted longer than a week. Mostly because you didn’t actually try to handle him, just let him be Steve and deal with any PR fallout that came with that. It helped that you had an easygoing nature that he found endearing, and you could always make him laugh. The fight you’d gotten into with Tony about changing his suit had really done it for him though, he hadn’t seen anyone make Stark back down so fast.

“Odinson!” You shouted, beaming once you found the massive blonde. He’d been cornered by a group of old blue hairs who were tittering and trying to touch his biceps. “Sorry ladies, the god of thunder is needed elsewhere, auction business.”

They all made sounds of disappointment as you extracted the relieved looking god from the group of old biddies, pulling him away towards one of the empty corners of the ballroom.

“What is this auction you speak of?” Thor asked once the three of you were separated from the crowd.

“A clever ruse, my good friend.” You said with a smirk. “You’re welcome by the way. The Captain here is on the verge of committing violent acts out of boredom, and expressed a desire to get drunk.”

“Yes, thank you Y/N.” He said with a grin. “I don’t think I can help the Captain with his problem though, maybe he should head to the bar.”

“Oh, you can’t help?” You said cocking your eyebrow at him before shoving your hand inside his tux jacket and pulling out a silver flask. “What’s this then?”

Steve chuckled as Thor tried to stammer out a reply as you just shook your head and tutted at him, handing Steve the flask.

“Listen, just be a good boy and share. Now, I need to go to the ladies room but if any of these rich assholes tries to come bother you again, just start talking about the horrors of war, and get graphic. They hate that shit.”

Steve handed Thor back the flask after taking a sip, already staring to feel a bit of a tingle in his fingers.

“That woman is not to be trifled with.” Thor said appreciatively as he took a swig, handing it back to Steve. “Have you slept with her yet?”

Steve choked on the mead, his eyes bugging out of his head as he tried to cough up a lung and Thor clapped him on the back, scolding him for wasting good liquor.

“Jesus, Thor! What are you talking about? I don’t want to sleep with Y/N!”

“Oh my god, you midgardians and your hang ups. Your hormones spike every time your around her, it’s very distracting.”

“What?!?! How do you know that?” Steve loosened his tie a bit as he felt himself starting to warm up, telling himself it was just from the booze.

“I’m not just the god of thunder, I’m a fertility god.” He said with a grin. “And every time you two are near each other, it’s like being around a couple of rabbits in the spring.”

“Oh god, please stop.” Steve said as he ran his hand over his face in embarrassment.

“No you stop. We’re in a hotel, just get a room and , what’s the phrase I’m looking for ‘fuck her brains out’.”

“Jesus Christ, who taught you that? Never mind, I know it was Tony.” He said, waving a dismissive hand at Thor as he gave him a wicked grin.

“Oh no.” Thor said suddenly, looking over Steve’s shoulder towards the ballroom.

“What now?” Steve said with a heavy sigh, turning to follow his line of sight to where you were standing, talking to an unsteady looking man in a sloppy tux. “Rumlow.”

“Yes, apparently your STRIKE team leader has been sniffing after your handler for months.” Thor narrated, leaning against one of the columns and taking another pull from the flask. “She’s always rebuffed him, though. I don’t think he’s ever tried when he’s drunk before. Wait, Rogers!”

Steve ignored him as he strode towards you, growling under his breath and loosening his tie even more as he watched Rumlow wrap his hand around your bicep and yank you towards him. Steve was close enough to see you roll your eyes, but couldn’t hear what you said to the man as he wrapped his other arm around your waist and smashed his mouth against yours.

“Hey!” Steve shouted, his brow furrowed as Brock pulled his face away from yours to see what the interruption was about.

You took your chance and head butted him, a curse leaving his mouth in a hiss as he released you. You gripped his left wrist around his thumb and drew it back hard, smirking when you felt a snap at the same time you drove you fist into his ribs.

Steve had to pull you off him as you started beating him with your clutch, opening it up at the same time to search for your brass knuckles.

“You don’t fucking touch me, you goddamn sloppy deadbeat motherfucker!” You screamed as Steve carried you away from the main floor, your limbs flailing as you tried to charge back at Rumlow. “Learn to tie a fucking tie you cocksucking son of a bitch.”

Steve did his best not to crack up at the shocked looks the blue bloods were giving you, a chorus of offended gasps following the two of you as you released a steady stream of profanity. He pushed open the doors to the balcony with one hand as he kept his other hand wrapped tightly around your waist as you were still trying to squirm free.

“Damn it, put me down Rogers! I’ll kick your ass too!” You hissed, turning to swat at his chest.

“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ!” He said as you started to kick him, catching him in the shins a couple of times. “Ow.”

“You’re fine.” You said with a shrug, taking a couple deep breaths to calm down.

“Yeah, well Rumlow definitely isn’t. Who gave you brass knuckles?” He said, pulling the weapon out of your clutch.

“Nat did. And it’s not like I even got to use them on that asshole.”

“Yeah but you would’ve.” He said, shaking his head as he handed them back to you. “He didn’t hurt you did he?”

You just snorted as you shoved the knuckles back into your clutch, leaning your back against the railing.

“Good.” He mumbled, suddenly not knowing what to say to you.

You somehow looked even better after your altercation. Your hair was a wild tangle now, loose strands blowing in the breeze. Your lips were swollen from the unwanted kiss, and Steve could feel the heat coming off you as your chest heaved with deep breaths. He hissed through his teeth when he noticed the torn skin on your knuckles.

“Shit, Y/N, you’re bleeding.” He growled, grabbing your hand to inspect the damage.

“Huh, guess so.” You said, watching him through your lashes as he brought your hand closer to his face.

You felt your breath hitch as he ran his thumb over the back of your hand softly, his brow still furrowed with worry. Maybe it was just the adrenaline from the fight, but all you could think about just then was sucking on his thick fingers.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You must have zoned out for a second.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“I’m great.” You said, your voice a little squeakier than you would’ve liked.

He took a step closer to you and you gasped, suddenly feeling very light headed as you felt a rush of slick flood your panties. His hand left yours and moved to cup your cheek, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip where you had it pressed between your teeth.

“I think I’m gonna kiss you now.” He muttered, his eyes boring into yours, pupils blown wide with lust.

“Good.” You whispered.

His mouth devoured yours, his teeth pulling your lips open so he could slip his tongue inside, curling it against yours as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed you against him. You moaned as you felt his cock hardening against your abdomen, your pussy throbbing with need as he ground himself into you.

He started to sink to his knees and you followed him, your mouth still pressed to his desperately. His hand moved from your waist to dig under your skirt and he let out a growl when he brushed his fingers against your core, pressing them against the soaked silk of your panties.

“Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.” He grumbled, his lips still pressed to yours. “Wanna see if you taste as good as you smell.”

“Oh god, Steve.” You moaned as he hooked his fingers through the side of your panties and ripped them off you, the elastic snapping against your skin and a shove going up your spine as the night air cooled the wetness between your thighs. “Do it.”

He grinned and gave you a quick peck on the lips before he started to move his mouth down your throat. His hand between your legs started rubbing you in big slow circles as he laid you down, putting just enough pressure on you that you were quickly turning into a wriggling mess.

“Hold still, honey.” He ordered, pulling the sleeves of your dress down just enough that your breasts could pop out, your nipples pebbling in the chilly air. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

“Fuck.” You moaned as he dragged his tongue over your nipple in a heavy stripe before flicking it softly. Your hands dug in his hair as he sucked and licked at it, just barely brushing it with his teeth until it was raised to an overly sensitive peak before he moved to the other nipple and repeated the process, making you whine.

Once he was satisfied with his work, he pressed a soft kiss to each breast before moving his face between your legs. His hand was making soft wet sounds now as he kept rubbing your sex, and he groaned when he removed it to take a good look at you.

“Fuck if that ain’t the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmured as his lips brushed over your inner thigh.

Your cunt was pulsing with need under his gaze, your plump folds swollen and flushed with heat as he watched you clench around nothing. Everything between your legs was coated in a thick layer of your arousal, and he bit his lip as he watched even more leak out of you.

“I bet I could make you cum with almost nothing, sweetheart.” He teased as he nipped at the soft skin of your inner thighs, inching closer to your pussy before moving away again.

“Steve, please!” You whined, trying to arch your back into his face as you tugged on his hair.

He just grinned before pressing his tongue over your pussy and swirling it through your folds. He had to press his palms down on your hips to keep your body from curling back on itself as he ran his tongue over your sex, lapping at your pussy like his was the first meal he’d had in weeks.

“God you taste so good.” He murmured as he gazed at you through his lashes. “Like fucking peaches.”

You sobbed as he thrust his tongue inside you at the same time his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, making you come immediately. He curled his tongue inside you as your release flowed into his mouth, moaning into your pussy as you spasmed against his face.

Your breath was coming in ragged gasps as you came down, your muscles still twitching randomly as aftershocks shook through your abdomen. He grinned as he sat up over you, undoing his tie before moving to take off his belt as you writhed underneath his gaze. Your brain finally reset and you sat up between Steve’s legs, nuzzling yourself into his neck as you worked to unbutton his shirt.

“You back, honey?” He chuckled as you ran your teeth over his collarbone, dipping your hands under his shirt to press against his chest. “I was a little worried.”

“You’ll find I’m extremely resilient, Steve.” You murmured before sinking your teeth into his pec as you started to undo his fly.

“Shit, good to know.” He groaned as you drew his cock out of his pants and gave it a squeeze.

He gripped your chin and drew your face up to his, raising you up to your knees as he gave you a soft kiss. You moved his cock in your hand to line him up with your entrance, teasing his tip against your folds. Steve wrapped his hands around your waist and lifted you a bit higher before slowly drawing you down onto his length.

You let out a thin keen as he stretched you open, relishing the sting as your cunt fluttered around him, adjusting to his girth. He rested his forehead against yours as he started moving his hips at a languorous pace.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He muttered against your lips before moving to bury his face in your shoulder. “So tight and warm and soft.”

You gripped the hair at the base of his neck tightly as his hips started moving faster, slapping against yours. You felt yourself clench around him as he ground against your clit, making you gasp.

“Shit, Steve! Right there!”

“Jesus, already?” He murmured, running his lips over your throat.

“Just... fuck, you’re so big, Steve. Oh my god, I’m cumming.”

He hooked a hand under your ass to keep you from collapsing as your entire body arched violently, almost bending backwards on itself as you swallowed a scream. Your cunt fluttered and spasmed around him as he lifted you to wrap around him, his breath hot against your neck.

“Holy shit honey.” He muttered as he pulled you down against him, making you whimper. “You ok?”

“I’m great. Don’t you fucking stop.” You said, tilting his head back so you could press your mouth to his.

He grinned against your lips as he fucked his hips up into you, keeping his eyes locked on yours as his cock dragged over every inch of you, nudging against your cervix and making your breath hitch.

“Right there?” He asked as you dug your nails into his scalp and bit at his lips.

“Fuck, oh goddamn it, Steve.”

You shrieked into his mouth as you came apart, your muscles seizing as your pussy strangled his cock. His hips stuttered and you were suddenly flooded with warmth, his spend sitting into you and coating your canal in thick white ropes. He sat back on his heels and pulled out of you, and you shuddered as your release squirted all over the front of his pants.

“Shit, did you just squirt honey?” He asked, giving you an appreciative glance as he started to tuck himself back in and button his shirt up.

“I think so. Fuck, that’s never happened before.” You said with a shrug.

“Well, damn baby.” He said as he stood up, offering you a hand to help you to your feet.

“Shit, we’ve gotta go back in there.” You said, running your hand over your face. “Oh my god, Stark is going to kill us. Hold on and give me a second to think.”

Steve just leaned back on the railing and gave a satisfied smile as he watched you pace back and forth, wringing your hands.

“Ok I think I’ve got it, just one second.”

You went to the door and opened it a crack, popping your head through, jumping when you found Thor leaning against the wall right there.

“Hey, Thor. What’s up buddy?”

“Just keeping the other guests from wandering out and seeing you and the Captain humping like rabbits.”

“Appreciate it. We need a distraction though, cuz we’re both a little messy, and I don’t really feel like explaining that to everyone.”

“Got it, what if I blow out the lights in that chandelier?”

“I think that’ll probably work.” You said, giving him a nod before turning back to Steve. “Alright Rogers, we’re making a run for the elevator. Thor, blow it.”

Tags!!!

@buckysnumberonegirl

@slothspaghettiwrites

@captain-asguard

@starlightcrystalline

@harrysthiccthighss

@quxxnxfhxll

@bonkywobble

@macgruberrr

@chrisevanscardigan

@chubbybuckydumpling

@Dslap65

@StanAllStarks

@dacreswhoree

@quxxnxfhxll

@slytherinandoutasgard

@blackestpinkworld

@egcdeath

@wanderinglunarnights

@wandering-spiritash

@Cavilsgirltaurus

@bval-1

@chris-butt

@beck07990

@badbleep88

@muzzyandbusy

@sizzie9

@slytherin2002

@isysen

@babyb3ar

@WanderingAlice00

@kaylamontaniz

@whxre4cevans

@harrysthiccthighss

@kaleeelizabeth58

@tlcwrites

@angrybirdcr

@unsaltedalmonds

@amerikakapitanyy

@lizette50

@patzammit

@dwights-new-plague

@tenaciousperfectionunknown

@daughterofthenight117

@obsessivereaderchick

@before-we-get-started

@missmintyross

@mariaenchanted

@drabblewithfrannybarnes

@stargazingfangirl18

@starlightcrystalline

@jack-skellingtons-stuff

@chrissquares

@msmarvelwrites

@sweeterthanthis

@gotnofucks

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 38

  PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst, smut (18+), oral (male receiving), handjob, slight innocence kink 

A/N: not me still not fully recovered from the “you wanna see what i can do with leverage” moment. oof, still gets me heated up. anyway, this smut was mostly inspired by my pinterest board showing me this and this which i feel would be something y/n would wear for bucky. enjoy xx 

NEXT CHAPTER

She didn’t know she was running, but she was. She ran off that room before he could catch up to her but through the middle of her thoughts she could hear him yell out for her and run after her. Maybe it was an adrenaline rush, the thought of getting severely hurt or any other thing but she had managed to outrun him, running into the main corridor where everyone was awaiting for the judge to announce the results. As Mr. Hawthorn screaming her name registered in her brain, she rushed to Bucky, taking him by surprise. Out of instinct he wrapped his arms around her, looking down to see her hiding her face in his chest. 

As Bucky started to wonder why she had suddenly appeared and even why she had left in the first place, Mr. Hawthorne made his way down the hall yelling out her name made it all the much clearer. Bucky held her slightly behind his back, hand tightly holding hers as the man made his way to them. Bucky held out his metal arm in front of him, stopping Hawthorne from getting any closer to her. 

     - Give me that phone, Y/N. Now. - he wasn’t yelling, his tone was constant as he starred both Bucky and Y/N down. She moved her phone behind her back, typing while maintaining eye contact with the agency director. - I said ...

      - Back off, man. - Bucky tried to remain calm, he knew having a major fight or even yelling at the man in front of him wouldn’t put him in a good spot. However, he’d be caught dead if he allowed that man to even dare to touch his wife.

      - C’mon, Y/N. You wanna play with leverage? At least step away from your guard dog and confront me or are you already too comfortable with being a housewife? 

      - You wanna see what I can do with leverage? - Bucky pushed him slightly backwards but Y/N stopped him before he could do anything else, squeezing his hand and handing out the man in front of the two of them her phone. Before Bucky could even complain about getting her phone back, Mr. Hawthorne left the two of them in a fast pace. - What the fuck was that? What did he do? Why did you give him your phone? 

      - Trust me, okay? - she cupped his face, leaning her forehead against his when she wasn’t even sure if what she did was going to work. Her eyes darted slightly across the hall, seeing Chuck with the lawyer but quickly returned to Bucky. - I love you. 

      - What’s wrong, princess?  Hm? What did he do to you?

      - I love you too would’ve been nice, Buck. - she teased.

      - You know I love you too that’s not the point. You’re trying to distract me. Don’t shut me out. 

      - I am not shutting you out, Bucky. Nothing happened, it’s fine ... he’s just ... upset at me. 

      - Why is he upset at you? 

      - I ...

      - Mr. Barnes. - the lawyer approached the two of them, interrupting her just  as she was about to start her sentence. - The judge has called everyone in, let’s go. 

      - Has the jury made a decision? - Y/N’s grip on Bucky’s hand tightened and she was almost frozen on the spot as he started to walk to back to the court room, but she didn’t move. 

      - Hey, it’s just us, princess. Just us. - Bucky smiled at her, kissing the top of her head but she could barely register things.

She couldn’t hear anything as the two of them walked to the court room’s door where they were separated again with Sharon, Steve, Sam and Chuck accompanying her to the bench while Bucky took off with the lawyer. She sat down on the harsh, cold wood, her heart beating fast as she tried to read Chuck’s face yet she couldn’t. The jury and judge arrived, and suddenly everyone was on their feet, waiting for whatever decision the jury had taken; however, the jury looked confused, almost puzzled by the fact they were back into the court room. 

      - It has come to my attention that further evidence as been found. As such, bailiff, take the witness Mr. Hawthorne into custody where he will be charged for the harassment and stalking of Y/N Barnes as well as obscuring justice. In the matter of The People vs James Buchanan Barnes, this case is dismissed. Mr. Barnes, you are free to go. 

A few oh my gods erupted into the court room which went into complete frenzy as the bailiff took Mr. Hawthorne into custody who merely stared her down and shouted out in disbelief. She turned over to Chuck who took his phone off his pocket and played the exact same audio which she had played to Hawthorne just a few minutes ago.

     - I could kiss you. - she hugged her friend, a big smile on her face.

     - Please, don’t. I am still largely afraid of your husband, he would crush me like a soda can. Do you want me to die such a painful death? After I had to somehow understand your typo filled text with the worse recorded audio I have heard. Sincerely, Y/N, Bucky would’ve done a better job and he is what? As old as dinosaurs?

     - You’re the best. - she kissed her friends cheek before going over to Bucky who was being swarmed by both his friends that had come to congratulate him, his lawyer and some reporters.

She smiled at him, standing in the back of the crowd and catching his eye despite everyone surrounding him. Bucky couldn’t care less about those people surrounding him, congratulating him and even some complaining that he once again had avoided paying for his mistakes. All she cared was catching her eye in the middle of the crowd, as if a spotlight shone onto her. 

     - I hope you enjoy being being out of a job for 10 years. - Mrs. Olson said as she passed by to probably be with Hawthorne but Y/N didn’t say anything. 

She knew what was on the line but she would throw it away for Bucky. If it came between Bucky being free or her career, she would always pick the first option. However, it didn’t sting any less.  Yet, this was not about her, not today. Today was Bucky’s day. The day where he got rid of the problem that she had brought upon the two of them and while it was now gone, it still occupied a tiny spot of her mind which screamed at her about her own guilt in this whole situation. The flashes were bright and she kept being pulled to the back as more journalists and reporters tried to get some time with the former Winter Soldier but he avoided them, breaking through the crowd to be with the only person he actually wanted to celebrate this with. 

    - What did you do, princess? - he wrapped his arms around her, turning to exit the court room and leave all this experience behind. - And don’t say it wasn’t you, the lawyer told me it was you.

    - He could be lying. 

    - You could’ve gotten hurt. Why didn’t you tell me? 

    - It was just a guess ... I didn’t want to raise your hopes over a guess. I’m sorry. - she leaned her head against his covered arm. - It’s my fault this whole thing happened and I thought if I fixed it, I’d feel better.

    - It’s not your fault this happened. You could’ve gotten hurt, he could’ve hurt you and then what?

   - He was not going to hurt me. - she scratched her neck. She knew it was a lie, everyone is capable of everything in her business. - I had to do something for you. I am ... I am so tired of being weak. 

    - You’re not weak, what are you talking about?

    - Weren’t you in this trial? They talked about you as if you were some cold blooded murderer and me as if I were the weakest person ever. As if I wasn’t standing in that room and hearing to it. If I could defend myself, if I had put my foot down none of this would’ve happened. 

Bucky’s heart broke as he heard her talk, tears pooling in her eyes as what she had been feeling for the past weeks of meeting, court days and witness speeches seemed to finally explode, breaking free from the pressure she had been putting on it so it didn’t show, so she didn’t feel weak. He had never felt weak before, helpless maybe but never weak. Even as the Winter Soldier he could easily overpower his handlers if he wanted to, he could overpower new recruits and pretty much everyone who he was presented with. He’d never felt weak, he’d never know what it was like to feel weak and he had never even considered she felt weak because he just did not see her as weak. She was soft but not weak, she had strength in her softness, in her kindness. She’d done things he couldn’t see himself doing in his mid twenties. 

     - Hey ... - he flushed her close to him, drawing invisible circles on her back and kissing her temple. - Do you wanna get cheesy chips?

     - I need to go say goodbye ...

     - It’s fine. - he combed her hair away from her face to kiss her forehead. - I don’t want you to get caught up in a mess with photographers. 

     - I’m ridiculous. - she cuddled against his side as he led her out the back of the court where he had parked his car. - I should be comforting you, not the other way around.

     - You’re not ridiculous. This was as bad for me as it was for you. - he opened the car door for her. - Besides, I love comforting you. 

     - Really? Because from what I know, you were the one in danger of being in prison for at least 5 years. The only danger for me was trying to get naked during spousal visits. 

     - Aw, princess. You were willing to get naked in prison, for me?

     - You’re ridiculous, Barnes. 

     - So are you, Mrs. Barnes. - he smirked. - You are not weak and you are not ridiculous. Are we clear? 

     - Don’t use your sergeant voice on me.

Bucky chuckled, putting the key onto the engine and turning it on as the car started to roar up. She leaned her head against his shoulder, mindlessly listening to the song on the radio, probably one of Bucky’s favourites. On that moment, she didn’t care her career was on hold for the next 10 years because he was here and he was free like he deserved. As he pulled in front of the chippy shop nearby his flat, she perked her head up to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

    - Can we do takeaway? I wanna go home. - she cuddled against his shoulder once more. 

    - Sure, princess. Stay in the car and I’ll be right back, yeah?

    - Yeah. 

He left the car, loosening his tie as he entered the shop, leaving Y/N in the car. She rose her hand up, looking at the wedding band on her finger. It had barely registered in her that she was married, she of all people. She knew she wasn’t attention’s sweet centre and she knew she definitely did not deserve a guy like Bucky. God, in her wildest dreams she’d never thought she’d even end up with a man as caring and thoughtful as he is. It was almost surreal she’d even gotten married without having to fight her agency, at least too much. Her lips stretched in a smile as her husband came out of the shop, a toothy, childish grin on his lip as he waved the brown paper bag on his way to the car door.

He drove the two of them back to the flat and once they were inside, her shoes were thrown to one side as well as his tie and jacket and the couple made themselves comfortable on the couch. Y/N sat on Bucky’s lap, takeaway on her lap while he held his on his hand with the other searched for something to watch on TV, eventually landing on The Honeymooners.

    - I need to take you on a honeymoon. 

    - I don’t need a honeymoon. 

    - Bullshit. - he held her close by, hearing her giggle through the small digs onto the plastic container. - Where do you wanna go? C’mon, entertain me. 

    - Hm ... - she looked up, nose slightly scrunched. - Italy. 

    - I was stationed in Italy for a while. Nice place, great food. Where about?

    - There’s this movie called Letters to Juliet, it’s in Verona, and I always thought it looked so romantic. 

    - Okay, princess. Whenever you want, I’ll take you to Verona and we will have a nice month long honeymoon. 

    - Month long? 

    - Yeah. If we go any less, we won’t have time to do any sight seeing. 

    - Why is that?

    - Because I do intend to have sex with you in every part of the hotel we stay in. - he kissed the crook of her neck, taking the takeaway container away from her and placing it on the coffee table. - Maybe even try it in those tiny Italian balconies.

    - You just escaped five years of prison and you’re thinking of vouyerism already?

    - You shouldn’t look so pretty, then. - he hooked his finger under her chin and turned her face towards him, giving her a long drawn out kiss. His hand climbed up from her thigh up to her dress, pushing the sleeve down to expose her shoulder. His stubble rubbed against her soft kiss as he laid a kiss on the subtle skin of her shoulder.

   - Mhm, Buck ... - her hand pushed his shoulder back and he immediately pouted. - I have to shower. I smell like the dusty, mouldy court room and I’d like that smell off me. 

    - Mind if I join? - he pulled the sleeve off her other shoulder but she held her dress against her chest before it could fall down. - I can give you a massage.

   - If I allow you with me in the shower, there will be no showering. - she got off his lap, pushing her dress up. - I’ll be back. Try to keep the pouting to the minimum until I’m back. 

   - Just so you know, you’ll need another shower after you’re back. 

Y/N rolled her eyes, before padding into the bathroom, leaving Bucky on his own in the living room shuffling through various channels. The shower on the background was running until it was running for too long, Bucky turned his head around, looking at the door that led to the bathroom.

    - Princess, everything ok? - he prepared to get up and check on her but was. interrupted by her opening the door.

She stood against the door wedge with her typical shyness which made her so endearing to anyone who met her, yet, this time, it was something other than endearment that Bucky was feeling when looking at her. She was dressed in a white corset and knickers with a small floral print and small pink ruffles at the edge of her underwear. The corset was also adorned with a blue ribbon and small blue bow, everything covered in with one of her many short satin robes that she normally used over her pyjamas or over one of Bucky’s shirt which always looked like a dress on her. 

    - Were you wearing that ... - he cleared his throat, trying not to stare at her perky chest. - Were you wearing that today? 

    - No, I bought this one in case you won. - she closed the door of the bathroom behind her, padding barefoot over to the couch, standing in front of him, her robe slightly slipping of her shoulder. - Do you like it? 

    - Fucking hell, princess. - he leaned forward, hands wrapping around her waist to pull her close to him. 

    - It looks silly, doesn’t it? I don’t know, I just thought I’d wear something nice and do so ... - Bucky interrupted her rambling by kissing her, his hands pushing the robe fully off her and throwing it somewhere in the living room. His hands massaged her thighs and upper body until they were cupping her face, kissing her as if he hadn’t seen in her in ages. 

Her hands rest upon his shoulder, lips melded against his in a long, drawn out kiss. She whined as Bucky moved his lips from hers to her jaw and slightly under it, sucking the subtle and sensitive skin he found there. She allowed herself to get lost in the feeling of his slight stubble against her sensitive skin, drawing kisses and leaving hickeys with slightly rough lips. His hands scouted her corset for the square brackets, loosening the garment and pulling it over her head before leaning to kiss her again. She smiled against the kiss, breaking it to look at him which greatly annoyed Bucky, who tried to kiss her again. 

    - No... - she pushed him back against the couch as he tried to kiss her collarbones. Her hands toyed with the fabric of his shirt, fingers trailing up and down his chest. - Let me do something for you.

    - Princess ... - she ignored his pleas and attempts to pull her in and distribute more kisses all over her body.

Instead she climbed off his lap, standing on her knees in front of him, eyes looking up to him with a devious like innocence which was intoxicating to him. Her hands ran up his thighs, nails racking over the fabric of his trousers until they reached his belt. She bite her lip, unbuckling the accessory and tossing it aside before pushing his trousers down along with his underwear. She gripped his cock in her hand, her finger swiping the pre-cum off his tip before he started to move her hand slowly up and down.

    - Oh fuck ... - Bucky groaned, throwing his head back with his eyes shut. She smirked at this reaction, continuing to move her hand up and down in a painfully slow motion. 

Bucky groaned and moaned, head pressed against the headrest of the couch, eyes closed and lips opened. Her confidence grew at the sight of her completely blissed out husband and she stopped her motions. Before Bucky could whine about it, she kitten licked his tip before licking a broad stripe up his cock eliciting a low grumble from him. He looked down at his wife through half closed eyes, locking eye contact with her. Y/N gave him an innocent smile with innocent eyes before taking him in her mouth. Bucky breathed out, high gasp as his hand gripped onto the couch cushions. He moved his hips forward unconsciously, his cock hitting the back of her throat. She breathe through her nose as she bobbed her head up and down his cock slowly, cheeks hollowed out as she made it upon the spot. 

   - Fuck, princess. Fuck, you’re so good, fucking hell. - Bucky breath harshly as she picked up the pace, her movements almost matching up with his breathing tempo until she started to vigorously suck his tip, getting him almost shaking before returning to take him inside her mouth once more. - Fuck, stop. Stop. 

  - Did I do something wrong? - she pushed her hair behind her ears.

  - Come here. - Bucky helped her up and on top of his lap, pushing her underwear down her legs before he did so. She held herself up by holding onto his shoulders, staying slightly taller than him as he holstered her up. 

She looked down as he looked up, his eyes gazing onto hers as he lowered her down onto his hard cock, silencing her whimpers with a consuming kiss. Her skin seemed to flush hot and cold at the same time as he filled her to a halt. Bucky let her accommodate to his size, kissing down from her lips to her collarbones.

    - Fuck, you’re pretty. - he panted, moving to kiss her neck while his hands held her still. - So fucking pretty, princess.

    - Bucky, please ... move. - she hide her head in the space between his shoulder and neck, a hot flush settling in her cheeks. 

    - I’m not gonna ... fuck ... I’m not gonna move if you hide, princess. - he spoke through moans, voice strained due to the grip of her walls around him, pulsating. - Look at me, look at me when I’m fucking you. Let me see your pretty face. 

Y/N whined, moving to look at him as he flushed her chest against his. She probably looked a mess yet had no time to worry about that once he started to push her hips up and down on him, eventually leading her into riding him. Her hand slide from his shoulder to his chest as she bounced on top of him, the sound of skin slapping against each other along with the moans and groans of both of them as they chased their high. She felt her own walls pulsating with each thrust, her lower belly coiling up as she continued to move up and down his cock as if she were going to die if she stopped. She gasped and whined, continuing with her movements as the coil continued to tighten up and her movements sped up. 

   - That’s it, princess. Such a good girl. - he moaned against her ear, silencing some of her moans with messy, wet kisses. - You wanna cum on my cock, hm? I know you want to.

   - Buck ... - her gasp was high as her walls spasmed and her body tensed. The grip on his dick led him over the edge just a few seconds later and he pulled her completely flush against him, feeling him cum fill her up and leak onto both hers and his thighs. She hide her head on the crook of his neck, mewling while she regained her breathe. 

Bucky chuckled through his breathlessness before slipping out of her which caused her to let out a small whine before he laid her down on the couch, arms wrapped around her. 

   - Make that a 3 month long honeymoon. - he cuddled her against his chest. 

   - How much of that will be sex? - she looked up, completely blissed out.

   - You’ll get a week of sightseeing if you keep pulling this on me.  

   - Right. - she rolled her eyes. - I forget that you are old and cannot take this much excitement. 

   - Are you teasing me, Mrs. Barnes?

   - Maybe. - there it was, the little playful smirk he loved so much. 

   - Oh, princess ... - he lifted her up as he got up from the couch, walking towards their bedroom. - You’re gonna regret that. 

taglist: @disasterbi @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @oh-nohoney @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir @niki-is-a-thing @cynic-spirit @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @buckyswillow​

[viltrumitesuperboy]

A Promise (Bucky Barnes x Male Reader)

Not so much angst as I would have liked, and the reader learns to live outside of HYDRA by himself. This feels more like an origin story than anything.

Requested by: anon Can I request a Bucky Barnes x Male reader? Maybe starts out angsty but becomes fluffy? Reader could be tasked by HYDRA to kill Bucky but remembers him from when Bucky worked for HYDRA and that he loved Bucky, and Bucky helps him get used to life outside of HYDRA?

Word count: 4105

The few times you were placed under cryostasis, your last thought was always "I will not forget..." Then you'd wake up, only with the memories of being placed under and that final thought. You remembered when you mentioned it once to one of the people in your group, and they said it was just a memory hiccup. A defect. Because as far as you knew, you were a weapon for HYDRA and had always been one. Then you were back in the chair that made you want to fight more than anything. You never repeated the same mistake again.

You weren't allowed to make mistakes on missions either, and that was how you learned. To never do anything wrong if you were on a mission. There were no feelings involved in killing, as taking a life was merely a necessity, according to your handlers.

You did, however, have some feeling for one of your fellow soldiers. The difference was that he was the Winter Soldier. You usually worked on missions together, and rarely spoke, but when you did, something about you felt less like the soldier you were trained to be. He seemed to feel the same way, if the softening of his features was anything to go by. The few moments you had with each other weren't always erased, but sometimes you'd open your eyes and find yourself remembering the tiniest mischievous grin on the Soldier's lips.

You met a young girl with fiery hair with such potential, and her skills were beyond anyone her age. It took years to get to where she was. When you found out the Winter Soldier had been training her, you felt a sense of pride, and maybe something too much for the Soldier. That was not acceptable.

Little Natalia seemed to fight differently. Unlike you and the Soldier, she felt. She was more human than you both would ever be. You realised she was fighting for her survival. She didn't want to die. Her peers would not make it if she was the one to excel, because they were the weak ones. She did not fight with passion, but she fought for something else. But her heart while fighting was just as cold as yours.

"I hope I'm the first to be dismissed from training tomorrow. I hurt myself but I couldn't tell anyone," she said once.

Hope. Perhaps that was what she was fighting for. Your train of thought broke as you saw her shifting her arm. You took Natalia to a room that wasn't being used and sat her down on a chair. As you moved to inspect the misplaced bone, the Soldier opened the door to the room.

"Soldier. I heard something in this room. Report," he said.

Damn his serum. Yours wasn't as powerful.

"Natalia is wounded."

He looked behind him into the hallway and shut the door behind him, taking long strides to where you both were. He wasn't wearing his usual clothing, but a sweater over a shirt and more comfortable pants instead. He pulled his sweater over his head and bundled it up, putting it in front of Natalia's face.

"Bite into it," he ordered.

"It's fine, my pain tolerance is high," she said.

"You're a child. You can grab my arm if needed."

He held it up to her face, and she grumbled as she did as he told. You held her arm, looking to at the Soldier for approval. When he nodded, you pushed her arm back into place. As expected, Natalia screamed into the Soldier's sweater and held tight onto his metal arm with her other hand. It took a few moments for her to calm down after he pulled his sweater away.

"Natalia, how is it now?" you asked.

"The truth," the Soldier added.

"It's a bit sore but nothing sleep can't fix," she promised.

You held your arm out for her to grab and pulled her up from her seated position. The Soldier's metal arm pulled away from Natalia's grip and the other arm pressed into her shoulder to check it.

"We're counting on you. Survive," the Soldier said, and left.

Of course you were both hoping for Natalia to make it. The fact that he knew what you were thinking almost threw you off, but you were a trained soldier, and surprise was not supposed to be something you experienced. The smallest bit of compassion from the Soldier made you wonder if there was more of that from him. He was the only person consistent to your life, and he was the one thing you could rely on to be there even when you forgot things. The next wipe couldn't erase the memory of helping Natalia with the Winter Soldier. At least that was something you remembered.

The new century brought more radical ideas. HYDRA hated them, claiming that they were the supreme leaders of the world, and no one should be thinking such ideas. You only understood that it was your duty to follow. The Winter Soldier started to behave unpredictably, escaping from his handlers during missions and sometimes taking you with him. He'd have moments of muttering to himself and headaches where he just clutched his head and whispered to himself. It wasn't unlike your own, where you would constantly ask, "What did I forget? How could I forget?" You once overheard someone dressed in a lab coat say that it was the result of wiping memories. It was normal.

On one mission, he asked, "Who the hell is Bucky?" You had no answer. That was the last time you saw him in HYDRA.

Your handlers told you that HYDRA was destroyed by the Avengers. They'd have to build again, but now without any foundation. They said that the Asset was their greatest weapon, and, if their enemies had him, there would be no more HYDRA. So they gave you a mission that gave you only one chance: kill the Winter Soldier.

You were a good soldier. You had trained for years and you had trained with him. No matter what you went through over the years with the Soldier, you had to complete your mission. His death did not matter to you. Or, at least, it shouldn't have.

You kept track of him for a long time. One of his first actions was going to a museum that held a memorial for one of the Avengers. You went inside yourself one day, finding a man from the 1940's who looked just like him alongside the Avenger. He looked more carefree in the older photos, and looked less haunted like the Soldier did now. It was a handsome face, and one that you could not care for.

Every time you were on a rooftop pointing a sniper straight at his head, you found yourself unable to pull the trigger. After two weeks, HYDRA pulled you back, saying he was too well-known, and HYDRA did not have the resources to hide a death like his. Everyone was looking for him, and if he died by HYDRA's hands, it would no longer exist.

It took more than a year for the next time he was mentioned again. He had made contact with Captain America, both of whom were now refugees on the run from the nation itself. You wondered if you would have been like one of them if HYDRA had been truly destroyed.

Its foundations were weak and constantly falling apart. Someone was always dying, and no one knew who was doing the killing. You suspected Natalia had been doing it, but said nothing. After all, she was a grown woman now. Somewhere deep down, you were impressed that she had made such a big name for herself but still managed to kill under the radar. The Soldier likely would have thought the same.

At this point, him being a refugee was the perfect time for him to die, according to HYDRA. Giving the world control over these "superheroes" would align with HYDRA's ideas. For once, some of the Avengers were in agreement. Removing the Captain's main driving factor, his "James Buchanan Barnes," would further push the Sokovia Accords. You returned to your previous unfinished mission.

It was another few weeks of following the Soldier. He seemed less like you. He was different from the Soldier you knew, and emotions tore him apart sometimes. You saw him having more of his fits, but he had Steve Rogers to depend on. They were frequently close together, and you were angry seeing them like that. You were once on the Soldier's side, the person he was meant to depend on. What changed? Why did you have to kill him now?

When you had your first chance, you finally pulled the trigger. Dread suddenly took over part of you, but a metal arm flung up to stop the bullet, and the Soldier glared through the hole in the glass. You knew he could probably see your silhouette, but you were too far to catch. He knew you were trying to kill him now. Leaving now meant that he could escape, and maybe even far enough that you couldn't follow. You supposed you'd have to meet him in the middle. A packed sniper on your back and running across the roofs of the European city had you facing him, your gun pointed at his head and his metal arm at the ready.

"Look, we don't need to fight. Whoever sent you to kill me, tell them I won't kill another innocent again," he pleaded.

"I think that's the problem," you muttered, and a shot rang out.

Something else knocked the bullet off course this time, the accuracy and strength too much to be human.

"Steve Rogers," you stated. "This is not your fight."

"No, this is no one's fight," the Soldier said. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

Your mask was similar to his before he escaped HYDRA. You reached up with the hand not holding the gun and pulled it off. His eyes widened in recognition.

"They said you need to die. I'm supposed to be the one to do it," you said.

Your gun was no longer useful, so you dropped it and charged at the Captain, knocking him off balance so you could get to the Soldier. You threw punches and your entire torso into it, but the Soldier was on the defensive and blocked every single thing you threw at him.

"(Y/N)!" the Captain shouted behind you.

You whipped around glaring at him.

"Who the hell is (Y/N)?" you asked.

You felt a throbbing in your head and dropped to your knees as you clutched your temples.

Who the hell is Bucky?

"Who... who is Bucky?!" you growled, then turned on the Soldier. "You are a traitor! You need to die!"

"(Y/N), I'm Bucky. I'm your friend. We did missions together but we were forced to. You're being brainwashed by HYDRA. It's not you," the Soldier said.

His words sounded like a promise. It felt like you sat there for an hour, his hand on your back in comfort. Your head was still throbbing, but you managed to open your mouth again.

"I wasn't in the museum," you said.

"No, you weren't," Bucky quietly replied. "Do you know why?"

"We had to hide, right? There was something I felt, right here, whenever we were together, before you left."

Your hand patted your chest, and you looked up at him through watery eyes.

"Who am I?"

———

The Second World War

Bucky was dead.

That was what they told his family. You had to hear from his mother, who was the only one who knew about your relationship. You bonded with the rest of his family, mourning together when they learned that you both had loved each other. Then Captain America died, and everything got worse. Two of your closest friends had died in close succession, and one was a supersoldier. He wasn't supposed to die. You vowed to take down those who had killed them.

You sent a letter to Dr. Erskine, who Bucky once mentioned in one of his letters. You asked to help him in the war, telling him that both heroes who died were your friends and you would take their place in fighting for the war effort. Instead, Margaret Carter responded, telling you that Dr. Erskine had been in an accident a few months prior, and sent someone to bring you to a bunker where she was currently working.

Together you found places where HYDRA was hiding, different areas all around the world. You quickly learned the strategies needed to fight them on the battlefield and behind the scenes out of necessity. The first time you were on the field, you had no idea it would be your last. The rest of your group had been killed. You were captured and brought down deep into the quieter, darker confines of the bunker. Because you were already wounded, fighting would have done little for your situation. It was clear they wanted you alive.

"So nice to finally meet you. Your... friend has spoken of you," said the stranger you were placed in front of. "We have heard that you are the best in strategy. Hopefully your removal will prevent more of our branches being taken apart. You work for us now."

"What friend?"

"Your boyfriend."

His tone was hateful and goading you to become angry. You said nothing. They wouldn't give you information. If he was alive and in HYDRA's hands, you couldn't save him anymore.

"You will be moved soon for... recalibration. Take our newest recruit to experimentation."

You fought, but to no avail.

———

You found yourself in the room that you had just shot a bullet into. The sun was already up, and the Captain and the Winter Soldier stood next to each other in the very small kitchen area. The Soldier leaned with his back to the wall as he spoke with the Captain quietly, though it sounded like a disagreement.

"So are we supposed to go to Wakanda now? If they have anything to help me, how do we know if (Y/N) wants that help too?"

"All I'm saying is that it's our best chance. And if he doesn't want the help, at least we're here if he needs us. And I know how much he meant to you before... everything. I know he still means something to you now."

They looked over as you sat up, leaning against the wall behind you. The Soldier walked over and held out a hand to steady you. You nodded to give him permission.

"You're burning up. I don't think your body is agreeing with remembering things. It wasn't as bad for me but I think the serum did more for me than you."

"Just like alcohol," you muttered. "Watered down."

The Captain smiled, "Glad to see you still have a sense of humour. And it's just as bad."

You were too weak to stand up, much less throw a punch at his stupid insulting face. The Soldier laid you back down.

"We're leaving soon. You'll be resting the whole way, but we'll keep an eye on you."

It sounded like a promise, and you believed him.

When you woke again, it was in a small jet. Bucky sat next to you, his hand grasping yours. Your first instinct was to fight, but Bucky's hand seemed to ground you.

"Take it easy. We're in the quinjet and flying to Wakanda. It was a hidden society in Africa with technology beyond anything else in the world. We're hoping they can help Bucky from reacting to the trigger words that HYDRA brainwashed him with," Steve said. "Same with you."

He helped you sit up when you didn't seem to want to fight anymore. For the first time, you felt like you were relaxed. No handlers were keeping an eye on you, and you were alone with two people you could barely remember, but they just seemed like people you didn't need to fight for once.

"I'm Bucky, and that's Steve. We were born decades ago, and the world war separated us all from each other. You and I were controlled by Nazis, and Steve was found a few years ago. You weren't supposed to be in the war."

He looked solemn, and Steve gave him a reassuring smile. You watched both of them carefully.

"Keep talking, Buck. Is there anything else you remember?" Steve asked.

"When we were seeing Stark's demonstration of his flying car, I took you and (Y/N) with me. We'd gone with some girls, and two were a couple, so we could all be on a date without getting in trouble for it. Well, except for you. No offence, Steve. Didn't mean to make you a third wheel."

"None taken. I don't think any of us were really third wheels. We were best friends, and you and (Y/N) were together. And I became friends with him after."

"Aw, we're not best friends anymore?"

"You'll always be my best friend, Buck. 'Till the end of the line."

"End of the line."

You muttered, "That's so cheesy."

"Yeah, and you know what weird thing you'd say with Bucky?" Steve teased.

"I'd punch a Nazi before admitting that I love you," you recited.

"And you've punched ten," Bucky said with a fond smile. "Probably more by now."

"I'm not the same person I was before, Bucky," you said. "You're not either, but you've remembered more than I have. I don't feel like a blank slate, but I don't feel like I need to... kill you. And I don't want to."

"Everything feels like it's closing in on you all the time, right?" Bucky asked. "Like you don't know where to go, and the people you think you can trust are going to be your next enemy?"

You nodded.

"That's how I felt, too. But you trusted me before HYDRA, and you trusted me during it. If we both can get through that together, we can get through this too."

You lightly squeezed his hand.

"Yeah, maybe."

———

They couldn't help, so Bucky wanted to go under cryostasis. He felt that it was dangerous for him to be conscious. You almost thought that it was a good idea for yourself too, but you took one look at the goat currently nibbling at your shirt and felt that you still needed some time to yourself being out of HYDRA's control. Bucky gave you a hug before he stepped into the chamber, and you stayed in each other's embrace for a long time. It was the safest you remembered feeling. Steve looked at the chamber, troubled. He turned away when Bucky was inside, and you placed your hand on his shoulder in understanding. Steve didn't like the cold, and seeing his friend in the same position was painful.

The Wakandans provided for you. You worked on a farm in near solitude, the occasional patrol guards making sure that you were safe and the goats giving you a friendship you didn't know existed. Shuri worked hard on finding a cure for the both of you, and she and her brother came to see you a few times. They were both good friends to you, but T'Challa liked the goats more than Shuri did. She was too busy talking about her new inventions to spend too much time with the goats. She'd come to you with ideas about Bucky's new metal arm, asking about your own experience with the serum to get an idea of his strength and abilities.

Their technology was groundbreaking, and they managed to find a way to remove the effects of brainwashing from the mind. By the time Bucky was out of cryostasis, they'd already finished the procedure on you. You had offered to be their first in case they made a mistake, hoping that if you didn't make it, Bucky would. As all things in Wakanda worked, it was flawless. Bucky found out about what you had said when Shuri had mentioned it in passing. He was angry at first, but cooled down once he saw you. He said that it was so much like you to do something like that for the people you cared most about.

You didn't feel much different from before, but you were remembering things with less effort. Your experience in HYDRA, though terrifying, was one that you saw from your own eyes. It felt like somebody else's. Shuri assured you that it was not you, and everything that you could do under your own control was who you were. You stayed by Bucky's side until he needed to have the procedure as well. He came back to you looking relaxed, even without an arm, as if the world was revolving around him. Then you spent about an hour listening to Shuri rant about her technology, which T'Challa had to cut in to explain issues regarding the nations outside of Wakanda and the politics surrounding your situation. He finished with letting you both know that Wakanda was always open to you.

Shuri said that she still had a "broken white boy's arm" to fix, and that if either of you left, she'd hunt you down herself.

For the first time since Bucky was out of the chamber, he spoke: "Do you remember Natalia? She's Natasha now."

"Yes, and I think she's grown up well. When we fixed her arm, that was when I knew that you were just a little bit human."

He was quiet for a bit, and his hand reached out for yours. You met in the middle.

"I think we need to learn about each other again," he said, his hand clenching yours.

"Well, I think you should meet the goats first."

He loved the goats.

He loved the farm you worked on. It was big, but worked for you as someone with super serum. Bucky enjoyed working on it too, saying it was a good way to get out his energy. But mostly he played with the goats.

Bucky was better now than how you remembered him in the past. He was understanding of what you both had gone through and it was easy to communicate with him, even when neither of you wanted to speak. There was no disconnect from the Bucky then and Bucky now. It was just him. He was exactly what you needed in the past and he was what you needed in the present.

You finished pulling out weeds from the last area of the farm, checking for any diseased plants as you went. You looked up, and found Bucky feeding some of the weeds to the goats that had run up to him. They nibbled at his fingers, and he laughed as he sat on the ground to pet every single one of their heads. His hair was pulled back in a bun and the cloth he wore was saturated in the sun's glare. You picked up the weeds you had pulled, which weren't many because you worked on the farm all the time, and headed over to him. He smiled as you pulled him up from the pile of goats.

"Are we going to the market now?" he asked.

"I think I'm ready to admit that I love you," you said.

Bucky's eyebrows furrowed, then his face lit into a bright smile.

"How many Nazis have you punched?" he joked.

"Depends on how many we meet," you replied. "Did you know there are people called 'neo-Nazis'? For every single one of them we meet that I don't punch is a day that I don't love you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Of course."

"Then I promise that I'll always love you. And I'll tell you for as long as you need me to."

You both headed to the road that led into the more populated towns, hand in hand as you walked up the hill.

"I never believed in soulmates," Bucky began as he shifted to intertwine his fingers with yours, "but I think this is the closest I'll ever find. We've been there for each other when we needed each other most, and I want our future to be the same."

You didn't answer, stopping to pull him into a kiss instead. He returned it with just as much enthusiasm. When you were called to fight a world-threatening event, you were finally ready, and you did it together.

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Devil’s Backbone

Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 1

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ 

Warnings: Smut, violence, flashbacks of past sexual assault, descriptions of torture and racial slurs

This story will contain spoilers for FATWS, and a few spoilers about Black Widow. This is not a Tony Stark friendly story.

I hope everyone enjoys the story :)

Pairings: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, Clint/Laura, and Sam/Sharon. Tony/Pepper, (mentioned only).

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a mystery woman, he starts to realize maybe his past isn't too far behind him. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14

The Novosibirsk HYDRA base had been abandoned for at least a few years, but it had been in use recently. The rooms were vacant of any dust, something that James Buchanan Barnes noticed as he surveyed the building that had once been his former home as the Winter Soldier. He couldn't help but feel a sense of closure. He had insisted that the bodies of the five Winter Soldiers be given a burial. Plenty of the Avengers had backed him up when Tony had refused to do so. Anything that was of use had been taken away as evidence against HYDRA, seeing as they had been rebuilding their empire. Bucky couldn't help but remember Zola's words. "Cut off one head, two more shall take its place," the recording of Zola had said gleefully. Bucky had shot the machine to pieces in case the AI had planned on blowing them up. He was just about to leave when he found a file disregarded in one of the rooms that were used for medical use. It was mostly written in a mixture of Russian, Belarusian and Ukrainian. Before he could really take a look at it, though, a voice called out. "Bucky, you ready to go?" Sam asked quietly. He nodded and put the file in his backpack, before leaving the room. They joined the others, who were also ready to leave, and made their way to the quinjet.

The young woman's dark hazel eyes snapped open as she was awakened from her sleep. She looked around the room wearily, wondering where her handlers were and if they had fled? It had been so long… She couldn't remember for how long she had been, however…but the last thing she recalled was being taken away to have her mind wiped. If that was the case, then it had been 2016. What had happened since then? Suddenly, she heard a quinjet starting up above the base. She needed to board that plane, before HYDRA returned. That was her way out. That had to be. Quickly, she started running up the stairs, shielding her eyes from the blizzard, and shivered slightly. However, not even the cold could stop her from climbing onto this machine somehow. She found a back door hatchet in the quinjet, before climbing inside and locking the hatch. She made her way to the lower deck, before seeing a flash of red hair. Her eyes narrowed as she hid, but flashes of her mind came back to her. She knew that hair colour, but she couldn't remember who had it. Damn it. She sighed, before settling down, and prepared to get to her next destination.

Bucky sighed in relief when they landed at the Avengers Facility, but grimaced at the weather forecast. The news reporter said that it would be the coldest March on record and advised people to stay at home until the storm passed. He intended on going to his apartment, have a much needed warm shower and then watch the baseball game with Steve, Sam and Clint tonight. He was going to spoil Alpine. He loved the white fluffy cat that he'd rescued from the streets. He went downstairs to get his backpack when he noticed that it hadn't been where he had put it. He frowned, looking around and shrugged. It wasn't like there was anything important in there from before, but maybe he had left it at the base? No, that didn't make any sense. He lets out a soft sigh and glances away, turning back towards the facility. "Hey," he hears from before, feeling himself smile as Steve emerged, his brow raised. "What's going on? We got a whole pizza in here for you." Bucky snorts. "I don't need that much food." "Debatable," Steve states, chuckling lightly. "But you, okay? You look like you've seen a ghost?" "Eh…think I'm just seeing things." Bucky nods towards the base. "Come on. I'll take a slice and then we head back. We gotta get shelter before this storm hits." Steve nods, pushing him forward gently. "Now that sounds like a plan."

The young woman waits until everyone was gone and the voices had stopped, and only then did she allow herself to emerge from the cargo section of the quinjet, moving as quickly as possible. Jesus Christ, it was cold here too. Why couldn't they have flown to somewhere warm. She glances up at the giant "A" that sat atop this building, and with a start, she realizes that it was an Avengers base. Out of every damn place she could have flown to… You know what? It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting some form of clothing and getting clean. She quickly heads in, taking quick glances around to make sure no one was there. Strangely, there was no one around. But she had a feeling it was most likely because they were in a meeting of some sorts. Great. That gave her the perfect timing. The young woman moves as fast as she could through the halls, looking around, trying to pinpoint out the one spot that she so desperately wanted. And there, near the end, it was. A door with the label 'shower rooms.' She practically groans in pleasure before racing inside, locking the door behind her so she could be alone. While she would like to enjoy this shower as long as possible, she knew her time was limited. So today, it would only be for the basics. As soon as the water had turned warm, she stripped herself of her clothes and stepped in. She always had a regimen, even something she could remember with her fuddled head. Hair, face, body. Those three steps to get it done as soon as possible. And that was exactly what she did, watching as the dirt and grime began to roll of her body in waves. By the end of the shower, the drain was clogged. But hey, it wasn't her problem. And now she smelt of lilacs, so it was even better. She steps out and grabs a towel, unlocking the door and glancing out. There had to be rooms or something here with clothes of some sort. Maybe something she could change into. She had stolen a backpack from someone – maybe that could work. Quickly now, she runs across the hallways to what seemed to be bedrooms, cursing the ones that were locked and then finally finding a few that were open. As she steps inside, she pillages the drawers, finding some jeans, shirts, pajamas, underwear – the whole nine yards. Yes, this was a goldmine. The next couple of rooms seem to have the same amount of clothing, which she steals from as well. Usually, she was never one to just take people's belongings. That was always her caretaker’s orders. If she put one toe out of line, well…that was that. It was the end. But now, her caretakers weren't here. She could do whatever she wanted. And that meant this. As soon as she had changed into some clothes and stuffed several other pieces in the backpack she took, she grabbed some shoes and put them on, heading towards the hallway once more and then racing out. Thank God that this meeting was going on long enough. When she exited the building, she did see plenty of vehicles, waiting to be used. Maybe she could hot-wire a car of some sorts? But as she walked up to a motorcycle, she feels herself smile. Whoever had driven this left the keys in it. "Dumb fuck," she mutters, before getting on and straddling it as quickly as possible. She gives a mock salute to the base before taking off, leaving this area behind.

"What exactly did you find at the base?" Fury asks, his brow furrowed. "All I see here are some old techs that don't quite work anymore. You said this meeting was for something important." "It is, sir," Sam says. "Bucky found this." He brings over the folder that Bucky had found. "He didn't have the time to read it while in the quinjet, but I did, and what's in there is…real fucked up. I don't know if this is going on anymore but…. just read it." Fury takes the file with interest, putting it under a projector so they all could see what was inside.

The file detailed a program called the Black Widow Ops Program that began in the 1950's. It took orphaned young girls as young as five years old to be trained at the Red Room Academy, which was located in the Maryina Horka Forest in Belarus. "The Red Room has ties to an agency called Leviathan. Leviathan is a Soviet deep science and espionage agency. S.H.I.E.L.D had a run in with one of their operatives - a woman called Dottie Underwood. The Leviathan program was shut down in 1963 but the Red Room was already functioning," Steve explained quietly, his voice grim. Fury flipped through the file, his face turning grave at every turn of the file. Everyone at the table was given a copy. Most of the names were crossed out, having died during missions or from training. Bucky glanced at the names, recognizing a few of them. Polina, Irina, Viktoriya, Zorya, Natasha and Yelena. There was another name, but it had been redacted. "All of the people on this list are dead aside from me, Melina, Yelena and Alexei. We shut down the Red Room once and for all after Taskmaster, along with Lukin, restarted the program in 2016. We destroyed the building, and all the girls were killed or had died," Natasha said firmly, her face giving away nothing. He knew better though. She and Yelena were hiding something. "How can you be so sure, Romanoff?" Tony asked snidely, glaring over at her from where he sat next to Bruce and Rhodey. He had been acting like an ass since the Decimation had been reversed. "Because we killed all of them, Stark. They were too dangerous to be allowed to live. Something that the Soldat would know," Yelena answered coldly, her brown eyes flicking briefly towards Bucky. "Don't you dare bring her up, Yelena! You don't have the right to mention her and neither do you Natalia!" Bucky said dangerously. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the room. Steve gave Yelena a look of disappointment while Sam ignored her, and both went to check on Bucky. Wanda followed shortly after, with Billy Russo and Grant Ward leaving as well. "We'll continue this meeting in the morning, everyone. Next time, Yelena, I suggest keeping your mouth shut," Fury said warningly, before leaving with his leather coat billowing behind him as he walked out the door. Bruce, Clint, Natasha, Tony, Kate and Yelena were the only ones left in the conference room. An uncomfortable silence hung over them. Clint was the first to say what Bruce and Kate were thinking. "Did you really have to bring up Bucky's past, Yelena? For Christ's sake, he's been through enough. I get that you're mad at him for beating Alexei, but it's not his fault that Alexei got sent to prison!" Clint said angrily, before leaving. Kate left with him. Bruce shook his head. He liked Bucky and didn't understand why Natasha and Yelena harbored so much distrust towards him. Tony hated the man and refused to let him stay at the facility.

Bucky had gone to the garage to get his bike. He just wanted to get away from this place. He knew he wasn't welcome at the compound, but neither was Steve, Sam, Clint, or Wanda for still agreeing with Steve on the accords to an extent. No matter how hard he tried, people were still afraid of him. Some even said on Twitter that Tony should have killed him in Siberia when his arm had been blown off. He sighed heavily, before starting up the engine and drove out of the garage, making his way home. It doesn't take long, thankfully, since they were so close to the city. He parked outside his apartment, heading up the stairs before opening the door and being greeted by Alpine. The fluffy white cat purred at seeing him. He crouched down to stroke him tenderly behind the ear. The cat purred loudly before he locked the door and went to wash his bowl. After finishing that, he gave Alpine fresh water and fresh food and biscuits. He smiled as he watched Alpine eat happily, before turning on the TV and started cooking dinner. "You don't deserve to be an Avenger, you murderer!" Tony had snarled at him when Fury announced Bucky was being added to the team. All he could did now was prove all of them that he did deserve to be an Avenger. It was all he could do. He made sure to text Sam and Stave that he was alright. He didn't want to burden Steve and Sam, or Clint and Wanda. They were good to him, along with Yori and Leah, even though Yori knew it was him that had killed his son.

Anastasia had dumped the bike at the nearest garage before going to a long-abandoned HYDRA safe house in the Upper West Side. She checked to see if anyone had been there lately, but luckily, no one had ever checked the place out. She took off the black leather jacket before checking the office and logged into the computer. She typed in the password, relieved when it was correct and was greeted with a very large amount of money. "You were a bastard, Pierce. I fucking hated you, but at least you didn't lose the money after all this time," she remarked coldly, before deciding to make her way to Madripoor, converting the money to cash just as quickly through the machine. It was probably the safest place for her, considering that the Avengers would soon find out that the HYDRA safe house had been slept in and the money was gone. She counted the notes carefully, stunned that she had over 4.29 million dollars in cash. She intended on donating some of the money though to a few charities that she genuinely liked. The Red Room and HYDRA had always hated how she was still soft despite the brutal training they put her through. Not to mention the days of starvation and having broken bones from sparring sessions.

Natasha had gone to her room to have a shower and get changed into more comfortable clothing, only to realize that some of her clothes were missing. Namely one of her black leather jackets was missing along with a pair of her size seven black combat boots. Did Yelena or Wanda take her clothes? Her brow furrows before she moves outside. "Wanda?" She calls out as she sees the Avenger pass her. She looks up as she does. "Did you take any of my clothes?" Wanda's brow furrows before she shakes her head. "No, not at all. Is your stuff missing?" "Stuff from me is missing too," Yelena says, emerging from her room. "Couple of my shirts." "Huh," Natasha mutters before turning to Wanda. "Sorry for bothering you. Think we might have just misplaced stuff." Wanda smiles a bit. "We all do that sometimes." She waves bye to her as she heads back towards her room, but as soon as she had moved around the other side of the hallway, Natasha pulls Yelena into her room, before closing the door behind her. Instantly, Yelena's eyes turn to her. "What's going on?" "You and I both know what I'm thinking," she says lowly. "Why do we think that our clothes are missing?" "Could just be some kid who broke in." "Come on, some kid can't break into an Avenger's base," Natasha chastises. "Barely anyone knows where this place is unless told…it had to be someone who had tailed us back all the way from…you know where." Yelena's eyes widen a bit. "You don't think-" "We didn't see anyone there but…but what if? There might have been someone who has escaped the HYDRA base when we left and is now just…roaming around New York City. How else would our clothes be missing? They must have stolen them to get clean and then taken off." Yelena bites her lip and then nods her head slowly. "It does make sense." "Fury," she says quietly, bringing Yelena's attention back to her. "There are hidden cameras in the hallways. We could ask him for security access to see who it was." "Fury isn't really in my good graces right now," Yelena mutters.

"It doesn't matter. If the safety of our organization is at stake, he will let you go through his cameras. He'll go down for SHIELD, you know this." She glances towards the door. "We need to try and take care of this. As soon as possible." Yelena nods, sighing. "I know…I know."

She had to admit that New York City was nice. It had been years since she had been to this place, only with the intention of missions, and even then, she could hardly remember what it was like. But with the money she did have now, she might as well buy a few things before she was on her way to Madripoor. As she walks into a tiny coffee shop that seemed to be below an apartment building, she asks quietly for a cup of coffee black and two cookies – might as well get some good stuff in her prior to a long flight. "What's the name?" The barista asks politely. For a moment, she froze. Her name brought back so many painful memories. So many that she wanted to forget. She hated even thinking of her time in that spiteful, horrible prison. So, she makes a change, right here and now. "Ana," she says softly. "It's Ana." The barista nods, writing her name down on a cup. There, a refreshing new start. She was no longer Anastasia. She was Ana. Fair and square, no ifs ands or buts. She wasn't going to be HYDRA's puppet anymore…even if her memory wasn't the same. She moves to take a seat over in the corner, waiting patiently for her food and drink to be done. In the meantime, she saw someone else come in, a man that looked to be slightly older than her but not by much. He had a jacket and gloves covering his hands. She had to admit he was quite handsome, but the last thing on her mind was to get infatuated with a random stranger. Quietly, she listens to his order, what seemed to be a sweeter coffee with a cookie as well, but then he reaches into his wallet and is unable to produce the money for the second item. He sighs and only pays for the coffee, going to sit down. She glances over at him as she hears her name called. "Ana!" Quickly she gets up, grabbing her hot coffee before looking over at the man, quietly glancing down at his phone. If she wanted to start new, she'd start new. She heads over to where he sits, and he looks up at her in surprise. "I…know you don't know me, but I overheard you and-I'm not good with this, just here." Ana gently lowers the cookie onto the table, and a kind smile comes over his lips before he looks up at her. "You didn't have to do that." Ana shrugs lightly. "I heard about the storm that's going to be happening soon…we all gotta look out for each other, right?" She asks. He chuckles a bit and nods. "Indeed, we do…wish others saw it that way." He looks back up at her, his brow furrowed. She tilts her head. "I'm sorry, you…you just look familiar." "Strange…quite sure I've never met you," she chuckles a bit, rubbing the back of her head. "I must sound so weird," he states, shaking his head. "It's okay," she responds lightly, but she had to admit inwardly the stranger did have a nice smile. A part of her wanted to sit down and talk with him more but she knew she had a flight to catch. "But enjoy the cookie, stranger. I have to get out of here. Stay warm." He offers another smile to her. "You too." Ana smiles at him before heading out the door, holding onto her bag tightly and her coffee in the other hand. For a second, she pauses, glancing back at the coffee shop. Strange…he felt familiar too. But that was impossible. The only person she ever knew was long gone…or at least she thought he was. Maybe she was just crazy. Yeah, she was crazy. Ana shakes her head and quickly heads back towards the street, whistling out for a cab. It was time she got out of this town.

"It's nine at night," Wanda mutters, angrily coming into the briefing room with the other Avengers. "What is it that you all could need at this hour? We're supposed to be resting for the upcoming mission." Fury sighs as everyone takes a seat. "We got a big problem – wait, where's Barnes?" "Who cares?" Tony mutters. Steve glares at him before sighing at Fury. "Bucky went home after the incident this afternoon." "Goddammit – get his ass back here. We can start then. And Yelena – keep your mouth shut!" Yelena rolls her eyes but nods, crossing her arms against her chest. Steve grabs his phone, quickly making the call to Bucky. And hopefully, he wouldn't face the wrath of the Winter Soldier when he returned back here. Thankfully, the snow hadn't started yet but soon enough they'd be snowed in.

"Really?" Bucky asks as he comes in, his brow furrowed. "I literally just settled down to relax." "Sit your whiny ass down," Fury states, gesturing to the spot next to Steve, which he does. "Now that everyone is here, I didn't want to wake you all up or bring you in for nothing. We've had an issue here at the compound. Something that all of you need to be aware of." At that moment, he pulls up what seems to be security came footage, and there in the hallways was a girl.

tag list: @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @sapphirescrolls , @americasass81​ @marvelfansworld , @connie326 , @joannaliceevans-fanficblog , @queenoftheunderdark @navybrat817 and @threeminutesoflife , @lex-the-flex, @world-of-aus, @avintagekiss24 and @the-soulofdevil, @gogolucky13 and @kenzieam and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​

[chika-the-terrible]

Revelations

They’d found nothing. In all that rubble and ruin, all they found was Leon’s path of destruction. Nothing else. No body, no evidence, nothing to show what had happened to the agent. Chris didn’t want to tell Hunnigan that they hadn’t found a thing, but there wasn’t much he could do. For all they knew, Leon could’ve been vaporized by the explosion. Not a good thing to hear but it was completely possible. Chris sighed. He messed with his communicator, debating on calling Hunnigan. He and his team were sitting in the plane that held all the evidence they’d found while cleaning up. It wasn’t much and Chris had expected that. He just wished there was something to tell them what happened to Leon. If anything, he was more saddened about telling Claire the news.

Ever since what happened on Rockford Island and the ensuing events, Claire had been somewhat clingy to the friends she had left. Whatever had happened between her and that Steve guy, it had certainly left an impression. And it didn’t help that, out of all her friends, Leon had been the closest to her. They had survived the same disaster together, after all, and had even begun co-raising a kid before Leon and said kid went off the radar. Chris had been there when Claire reacted, and it hadn’t been pretty. Leon and the kid, Sherry, did manage to keep in touch after that, but they were more distant than before. Chris had no idea why but had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with Leon’s job.

In the little time that they’d known each other, Chris knew the agent didn’t have a lot of friends. And apparently being estranged from his family didn’t help matters. Then Leon and Sherry were forced away, maybe into hiding. It was like the agent was destined to have no one in his corner. Chris could tell Leon wanted none of this from the few interactions they had and Claire’s descriptions of him during Raccoon City. Leon had been incredibly happy to be in Claire’s presence when they happened to meet up and the way they took care of Sherry spoke volumes. He had been a bright-eyed young man even after his first apocalypse. But after Leon and Sherry disappeared and came back, the agent was different. He was quieter, less lively. He certainly didn’t smile as often. And Chris could just tell something was wrong. Yet what could he say? Leon always tried to deflect the conversation when the prospect of his job came up or outright lied about it. Chris wondered if he could get more details from Hunnigan somehow, if just to learn the truth about Leon, but decided that was for another time. Claire deserved to know what happened to her best friend and, now that he thought about it, so did Sherry.

“Hunnigan?” Chris made the call. He saw some of the other men turn away, like trying to respect the privacy of this communicator call.

“Agent Redfield.” Hunnigan greeted, “Tell me you have news?”

“Yeah, but none of it’s good. There was no sign of Leon, nothing to say about what happened to him. Couldn’t even find his dogtags.” That, in and of itself, was a real shame. Having no dogtags usually meant the worst of situations had happened. Hunnigan took a long breath.

“I see.” she said at last, a sorrowful sigh, “I wasn’t hoping for much, but...” She could only shake her head.

“At least it’s all over.” Chris said, “We have Sera’s notes on the parasite and even the remains of that radiation chair that got rid of Ms. Graham’s parasite. If anything like this crops up again, we’ll be ready.”

“Yes, we will.” Hunnigan agreed, “Thank you for doing this, Redfield. Goodbye.” Chris wasn’t offended about the clean cut of the end of the conversation. He knew that handlers weren’t supposed to care about their agents, but Hunnigan had cared enough to know what happened to Leon when he had no one else looking after him. She had to be hurting from this turn of events. Chris didn’t know if he would speak to her again after this but he wished he could’ve given her, among others, some closure over Leon. Instead of dwelling on that, though, he switched frequencies on the communicator.

“Hey, Claire? You there?”

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

“What’s up?” Claire gave him a concerned look as Chris puttered about the kitchenette. As soon as he’d asked her to come see him for important news, Chris knew she would be waiting for him at his apartment. She had a key here, after all, and they’d made a promise to keep in touch after Rockford. She knew he’d gone to Spain to help the cleanup operations but the call right after would’ve left her with anxiety. Chris knew it was going to get worse with the news.

“How’s Leon been, lately?” Chris couldn’t help but try to deflect.

“Uh, good. Haven’t heard from him since he went to Spain.” Claire glared suspiciously, “Did you see him?”

“No. Wish I did, but I didn’t.”

“Did...something happen?” Chris paused in pouring some coffee. Claire had made it, knowing he’d be dead tired when he got back but he still had things to do. She even had a cup herself. He saw her grip tighten on the handle, “What about Leon?”

“He’s...We think he was made KIA in Spain.” Chris finally said, “His handler, Hunnigan, she asked me to look and see if I could find anything about what might’ve happened to him. We couldn’t even find his dogtags.” There was silence. He glanced over to see Claire staring into her cup. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was crying.

“...And Sherry? Does she know?”

“No. But I’ll call her soon.”

“Let me do that.” Claire said. She lifted her head, showing off a saddened expression, “I know you were the one there looking, but it might help if I was the one who told her.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find anything.” Chris said, “The island was rocked by an explosion. For all we know, anything could’ve happened.”

“Including getting vaporized.” Claire added, “Probably would’ve been painless, at least.” Chris laid a hand on her arm.

“Whatever happened to him, he’s probably in a happier place now. He doesn’t have to deal with living nightmares anymore.”

“I hope so.” They stood together in the quiet of his apartment, “Thanks for telling this to me in person.”

“Knew it would be best for you. I know you two were close.”

“Yeah. And at least he didn’t die without being remembered.” At least. Chris couldn’t imagine a life alone like the one Leon had apparently lived before Raccoon City. And even after it, Leon had been a loner in several ways. But it didn’t have to stay like that. Giving her shoulder a pat, Chris left his sister alone. She still needed to process this and he knew she knew she was welcome to spend the night if she wanted. As for himself, he had reports to write up. Lovely.

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

Previous Drabble

Next Drabble

First Drabble

[wienerbarnes]

Necessary Evil

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 1,816

Warnings: nothing crazy, typical canon violence type stuff, special character appearance👀

A/N: so sorry for not posting this like two days ago when i said i was going to🥴 ive had a ton going on and ive been a busy bee but hopefully ill get myself organized for next week :) question for yall! should i keep the friday posting schedule or do thursdays instead bc of fatws on fridays? lmk!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

It’s been a confusing couple of weeks. You’ve been placed on a temporary leave while you finish your recovery after the last mission.

You’ve been trying to learn as much about your new powers as you can, not really understanding what they are or how they work considering that most of the time they’ve shown themselves it’s been accidental.

Making Bucky drop food, slamming doors shut, sending stuff flying across the room. At this point you’ll tape your hands at your sides if it means you’ll stop making such a mess everywhere.

Everything has been put on halt. You don’t cook, in fear of starting a fire or making a mess in your kitchen, you don’t spar with anyone or workout unless it’s in a closed off and sealed training room used for when the Hulk was at the tower, in fear of hurting people around you, and unfortunately, you haven’t let Bucky be around you much in fear of hurting him.

He tells you that you’re not going to hurt him and that even if you did he wouldn’t take it personally, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. The two of you got into a heated argument a few days ago when he offered to let you use him as a practice dummy for your new powers.

“How dare you suggest something like that to me?!”

“Well, I just meant that -”

“Meant what? How would you feel if I asked you to slap me around like a ragdoll with your metal arm? Make you go Winter Soldier on me?”

“That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it though?”

It wasn’t pretty.

It also didn’t help that Bucky was sent on a solo mission recently. He couldn’t tell you much about it, and you didn’t push it, knowing the two of you were still a bit rocky with each other, and knowing that it would only put more stress on you constantly thinking about his mission.

Boy, did you miss him though. You’re glad you put aside your pride to hug and kiss him goodbye, taking in his warmth, his love, his smell, savoring his arms around you and his lips on yours before he left. With the way he held and kissed you, you think he felt the same.

That was two days ago. Alpine has been the one to keep you the most company. She’s gotten big, and it’s a lot more fun to play around with her now. You trail a feather attached to the end of a string around the ground while she tries to pounce after it. A knock at the door doesn’t even pull her attention away from the toy as you let her win and catch it, standing up from your sitting position on the floor.

You open it to reveal Sam in more casual clothes than his regular tactical pants and shirt, and you return the smile he gives you.

“You busy?” He asks.

You look over your shoulder to see Alpine still pawing at the feather on the ground.

“No, I’m not busy, what’s up?”

“Just wanted to hang out, we both got the day off, figured I’d show you the best danishes in New York.”

You’re not sure if Bucky put him up to this or if this is a way to keep you from going batshit being stuck in your room not being able to do anything, but you accept the offer anyway. It’ll be nice to get some air.

“Do you, uhm,” You begin, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“What’s up?” Sam asks, the guy from the VA coming out, encouraging you to tell him.

“Do you know if Bucky’s okay? I haven’t heard from him, is all.” You ask, slipping on some shoes and heading back out into the hallway with Sam.

“I mean, I’m sure he’s fine, why wouldn’t he be?”

“Just that I know these solo missions can be anywhere and he could be doing anything, but I still worry. I didn’t know if you knew where he was or anything.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t know, because Bucky told him Steve asked him for a few favors and he needed some off time for a couple of days. He thought Bucky was in rural New York. There’s no mission. But he supposes he’s not supposed to tell you that.

“Yeah, I don’t know much about it. Fury’s probably the one behind it.” Fury’s in Florida for his niece’s sixth birthday. He doesn’t tell you that either.

Luckily you accept it and enter the elevator to leave the private floor and go to the common area, able to leave out the backway of the tower.

“Avenger in the building, Captain.”

Sam doesn’t understand. Avenger? Who’s even around anymore?

“Uh, huh? Bucky?”

“No, Captain.”

“Clint?”

“No.”

“Who’s here?”

“Underoos.”

Underoos? Where has he heard that? Isn’t that -

The elevator doors open to the common room, a teenage boy stands with his back towards the two of you. His head whips around in typical teenage fashion and your eyebrows shoot up, unaware that the Avengers recruited teenagers.

“Is that a fucking kid?”

“Peter?” Sam asks, clearly surprised at the boy being in front of him. He hasn’t seen him in years. He wasn’t even sure where he was all this time, assuming he was in school, with his Aunt, but now he’s here.

“Sam! And his lady... friend. How are you?!”

“The lady friend has a name.” You chirp.

“What are you doing here?”

You and Sam speak at the same time. Peter addresses you first, “And your name is…?”

“Uh, Agent 51.” You didn’t think that through.

“Weird name, but alright.”

“Peter.” Sam brings his attention back to his question.

“Who is this guy?” You ask, clearly lost on who this person is and how he’s an Avenger.

“This is Spider-Man.” Sam tells you nonchalantly.

“Uh- Sam?!” Peter exclaims.

“What, she works with us, now. She doesn’t have anyone to tell anyway.”

“Sam?!” You elbow him.

“Why are you here, Peter.” Sam asks again.

“Well, you know, I was in school, doing some stuff here and there for Hill and Fury, and I figured I’d stop by.” He smiles.

You and Sam stare in silent confusion.

“Okay, look. I feel… lost. Like I feel like I’ve come to terms with Tony dying and stuff, but, I don’t know...” Peter finally cuts to the point.

You know very little about Spider-Man. You definitely didn’t know he was a kid, but you also didn’t know that he had some sort of a close relationship with Tony Stark. You’re becoming more and more like Bucky everyday; not knowing who any of these people are, not remembering seemingly important events, hell, not even knowing have these things happened because you were under Hydra.

“Peter, we don’t -”

“I’m not asking for help. More so asking if you have anything for me to do, or something.” His smile falls. You’re definitely confused, but you feel for the guy. You remember feeling lost as a teenager, losing the people you looked up to. And that lost feeling landed you in the Marines and the Marines landed you with a terrorist organization. We should help him, you immediately think.

“I’m sorry, man.” Sam offers. He wants to help Peter, as annoying as he finds him. Being a teenager is hard, and being Spider-Man is harder. But, Sam can’t forget that he’s still a kid in school with only his aunt and a few friends around him. He doesn’t want to put a person like that in the immense danger they throw themselves into, even if he knows he can handle it.

“No worries, I’ll be on my way, then.” Peter nervously scratches at his eyebrow.

“Sure you don’t want to stick around here for a bit? I know the Avengers aren’t much of a thing anymore, but, you always got a room here; a place to stay.” Sam tells him, assuming Peter’s on the verge of having a sort of coming-of-age moment.

“No, no, I need to be with May. I’ll see if I can, uh, maybe stop by more often. Maybe. If that’s alright. Nice to meet you, uh, Miss 51!” He bids farewell before walking away awkwardly, leaving Sam with a sort of sullen look on his face and you still very confused.

“What was that whole thing about?” You finally break the silence as you two make your way towards the private garage elevators.

“I’ll tell you over danishes.”

Bucky plants his fist into the HYDRA soldier’s face for the sixth time, the sound of metal hitting flesh making a slushy sound with little clanks, signifying teeth hitting the floor.

“This is the last time I ask you before I kill you. Where is Bychkov, Morozov, and that fuck with metal arms?” He pants beneath the black mask and goggles, an outfit he hadn’t dawned in so long.

Your list is heavy in his pocket, he thinks about the names he’s already crossed off and few he has left. He’s not going to stop until he finds the handlers that captured you and the supposed soldier with metal arms that shot you, details you only mentioned to him once after a nightmare that he refused to ever forget.

“They… went back… to base… in Kiev. Just… north of it.” He struggles out.

One step closer. Bucky stands taller, letting the man slump on the ground, and he reaches for the knife at his thigh.

“Wait! I - I told you… where they went!”

“I was going to kill you whether you told me or not, you Nazi fuck.” Is all he says before he slashes the knife, ending the bastard’s life.

Leaving the man’s home, he rounds a corner into the night and replaces his knife, taking out a pen in one of his many pockets as well as your list.

He crosses off Antonov, looking down at the four remaining names, two of which were the men that did this to you.

He takes a breath, the layers of leather and kevlar straining over his muscles as he sighs. He never thought he’d be hunting people down like this, Nazi or not. He never thought he’d have this black mask and these goggles over his eyes. But he also never thought HYDRA would touch the love of his life the way they did; never thought they’d put you in that chair.

So, now, he’s only getting revenge. It’s the least he can do after this organization has stolen his life, kept him from seeing his family forever, took his arm, gave him PTSD, gave his girlfriend PTSD and injected her with who knows what only to put her in that goddamn chair.

While he never thought he’d be in this position, they asked for it, and he’s not sorry.

On to the next name.

[siberianoverture]

Don’t You Know - 8

previous: CHAPTER 7

You're asleep when the plane touches down in Wakanda, but wake when the door opens. Bucky watches you open your eyes and assess the surroundings again, seemingly afraid of Hydra agents jumping out of shadows and taking you away. Peter's gone in an instant and Sam makes himself scarce.

"We're in Wakanda, I have friends here that are going to help you," Bucky says waiting for you to untangle yourself from around his arm. "Help me?" you stand up and stretch your limbs. "Get rid of Hydra in your brain." "Oh," you nod, "makes sense," looking back at him you ask "is T'challa king yet?" and Bucky is baffled how in the world you even know about Wakanda, let alone about its former crown prince. He doesn't have time to question you because Shuri steps onto the jet. "Ah, I was wondering when I'm going to see you again. It's a small world after all," Shuri exclaims ignoring Bucky and he thinks he's going to explode if someone doesn’t explain something soon. Shuri ignores him though and shakes your extended hand. "It's good to see you too, Princess." Before he can say anything Shuri is leading you away and he's left standing in the middle of the plane with a sudden headache. * "I can't believe he's the one you've been waiting for. He was brought by Steve years ago and never mentioned you," Shuri talks dragging you to where you suppose her lab is, "I mean he got out in what? 2014? And he only brought you out now? I have half a mind to take his arm away..." Shuri stops rambling when you stop in the middle of the corridor frozen in your step. "What do you mean? What year is it now?" Shuri looks at you like you're crazy, but you probably are. "2024." "So, you're telling me he left me there for ten years?" "I know, right?" Shuri resumes walking and you automatically trail behind her, "I mean he was snapped away for five of them so you can't really blame him for those but with how adamant you were about going back to Hydra for him one would think he'd be back for you guns blazing the moment he got at least some of the memories back." You hear Shuri rambling, but you can't focus anymore on her words. You had the opportunity to get out of Hydra time and time again, chance to run away or even to get help and asylum from Wakandans but you went back for him again and again. To your soldier, to the blue eyes that in rare moments of humanity gained back had so much life in them you could drown. And he came back for you, got you out, but after what? Ten years? How many lives did you take thinking that you were waiting for him, preparing for a mission together so you could run away to the life you created in the moments of clarity, and he was already out? He was out, building a life for himself, and you were still playing a monster waiting for him. You let yourself be guided through the weird procedure with even weirder machines, not finding in yourself to care anymore and trusting the Princess not to damage you permanently. You lay on an uncomfortable table with millions of wires all around you and let your mind wander until you finally fall asleep listening to Shuri humming a song you're pretty sure you heard somewhere before. The boy from earlier, you learned his name is Peter, is there too and you should be warier of falling asleep with a stranger in the same room but at this point, you really don’t care. * "I think, I'm not sure, she's not loyal to Hydra, only to me. Or her handler," Bucky stops for a moment and thinks about your behavior, "Or maybe to me, as soon as the director dropped his order, she went back to me. She's programmed differently." Sam nods. "Are you okay? I know we fought Hydra before, but this was different." Bucky doesn't have an answer, adrenaline still in his veins and feelings and thoughts messy inside his head. There's some history he can't hope to understand without speaking to you or Shuri or T'challa and he can't shake the feeling he won’t like what he's going to learn. Or at least hopes to learn. He's not sure Wakandans are still eager to trust him. Sam leads him to the seats in front of the labs and sits him down. "Peter's with Shuri, we can talk if you want to," Sam offers. Bucky just leans his head on his friend's shoulder and stays silent for a while. "It's just, I have this feeling that it wasn’t the Soldier that trained her, not the same one that was sent after Fury, it was the rest of

humanity that was left in him. I feared my handlers, she trusts me, and instead of being relieved for herself first, she was relieved I was free and thankful I came for her." Sam is quiet. "I think that she's not like me, that they didn't erase her as well as they did my brain for some reason." "That's good, maybe she won't be as difficult as you, not so brooding." "When Shuri is done with her she will remember everything she's done, what Hydra's done," he trails away, "what I've done, what I've taken from her." "Hydra took from her. From what I gather, you assured she survived." "Thank you for being here." Sam hums in reply, too tired to speak, and Bucky continues. "I felt so awful knowing I made her life hell, but when I look at her, how she reacts, what she says, I think I didn't make it as bad as mine was. Maybe The Soldier protected her somehow. Maybe I was there too, taking care of her." "Whatever happens, remember you pulled her out of there." Bucky can hear Sam's breathing become shallower and more even and after a while both of them are sleeping, in uncomfortable seats, waiting for Shuri to step out of the lab. * It's early morning when the doors finally open. "She's awake," Shuri says and Bucky almost hugs her. Almost, because Shuri doesn't seem to be as happy as he is. "What's wrong?" he asks and feels Sam’s hand on his shoulder, keeping him grounded. "Maybe you two shouldn’t speak just yet." Bucky's brows furrow and he looks over to Sam and back to Shuri. "What do you mean, is she still under Hydra's influence?" "I removed all that, but if you hope to learn about her time before that she doesn't want to remember. And she doesn't like what she is remembering from Hydra." "That's okay, I didn’t like that either," Bucky mumbles and pushes past the Princess. "You really should give her some time," Shuri tries to stop him, but he steps into the lab before any of his friends have a chance to protest. You're sitting on a table he remembers laying on during his procedure, Peter by your side, your hands in his on your lap, talking quietly about something. You look up when you hear doors slam shut and jump a little and Bucky immediately regrets not closing them gentler. You slide down from the table and he can see the storm of emotions raging in your head on your face. The sadness is expected and he wants to assure you everything’s going to be okay, but then decides it's stupid, and before he can decide what else to say you're angry. You march closer to him, and he swears you look like you want to punch him. He'd let you. "You left me there," is the first thing you say, almost whispering, and Bucky's breath hitches, "You left me there, with those monsters and you've run away to build yourself a new life," you're still whispering but your voice sounds like a scream in the silent lab. There's so much hurt in your voice he'd rather you punched him. "I didn't remember you," he interrupts, and you laugh at him. "She's given you your memories back too!" Angry tears cloud your vision, but you don't care to wipe them off, "And you only came after all these years!" "Do you even know what they made you?" Bucky snaps back and of all the things you expected to hear from him, this wasn't one of them, and Bucky sees it. It's clear to him you don't know but he can't stop his anger now, even if it’s not directed at you, "They made you forgettable! You didn't exist for me until a few days ago." You blink, your tears falling as you look for a hint of lie at his face, but under all the anger, you see he is honest. It suddenly starts making sense. How he always seemed to get to know you all over again. How he promised to keep you safe every time you met. You always thought he wanted to remind you, show you he cared. That that was the kind of person your soldier was before Hydra. When you noticed he forgot something you always thought Hydra took his memories, that they were doing something wrong because you always remembered him. After all, you needed to remember him, he was your partner, and you were his. They didn't take his memories;

he didn't have any in the first place. You put your faith in someone who forgot about you the moment he was out the door. The realization hit you like a wave of saltwater, trying to push you under until you drown. Even now, he didn't remember you. Even with Shuri's machines, he doesn’t remember the moments of light stolen from your captors. You see his lips moving but you can't hear anything as you crumble to the floor. You know you're screaming but only because your throat hurts. There's no sound, you're underwater. You feel his hands on your shoulders, one cold and one warm, but someone is pulling him back and Peter's face appears in front of you. The sound comes back with a pop, and you cling to Peter as you cry for the man you lost.

next: CHAPTER 9

taglist: @lozzybowe

[agreeablesenseofthemacabre]

Lifting the Sea

“Where’s Cas?” 

Dean does a full comedic rotation before spotting the Angel— his husband— whatever, scowling at his phone near a landmark. 

He shrugs, “Catching those little monster dudes probably. Apparently they’re all over the place here.”

Sam’s brow furls, he looks over at Eileen who shrugs. 

“What?”

“You know that fuckin’ app that everybody was obsessed with like... 5 years ago? Pocket something something”

Sam frowns for a split second then it hits him.

“Pokémon go?”

“Yeah that shit.” Dean shrugs again, his green eyes still fixed on the man in question. “I knew it was a mistake getting a smartphone” but he doesn’t sound nearly as bothered as he claims. He glares upward. “It’s fucking hot” 

Sam’s also dart up. “I mean. It’s the beach Dean.” He stares pointedly at his brother’s attire. “Would it kill you to buy some shorts maybe a tshirt?” 

Dean pulls a face, but doesn’t argue, Cas is waving happily- just now noticing how far they’ve walked away from him. He points excitedly to his phone and says something. 

“Can’t hear—” Dean sighs, “CAN’T HEAR YA CAS, you’re too far” he yells, smiling softly. “Asshole.” 

Dean points at the nearby shop, waving to get Sam’s attention, a couple kids are clustered around Cas chattering to him animatedly. 

“Sam. Can you keep an eye on him? I’ll be right back” 

~~~

When Dean walks back out into the sunshine Cas has finally decided to join them. He’s signing to Eileen and going intensely through the alphabet. Probably more about that damn Pokémon game. 

Sam whistles, “I’m blind” he laughs. “Your legs, they’re reflecting the sun”

Dean flips him off.

“No, but for real Dean, have your thighs ever been exposed to light? Are you sure it’s safe?”

“HA, HA, fuck you”

Cas turns at his voice, eyes glowing happily, and how in the hell did Dean Winchester get so lucky. 

“I caught a Charizard in the wild Dean, none of the other players were able to capture him” He informs proudly, phone still out, finger flipping with precision, “You have very nice legs” he adds. “The sunlight will cause you to have more freckles, plus the added health benefits of vitamin D”

Dean winks, “Any nude beaches out here? I could benefit from your vitamin d”

Sam retches, seizing the umbrella from Dean and heading toward the beach. “You two are disgusting” 

Dean waves cheerily before turning back to his boyfriend— husband. 

“So What’s a charred—“

“Charizard.” Cas corrects, “dragon fire type”

“Uh-huh” Dean reaches for Cas’ hand, it takes him a second to get used to flicking with his thumb, but he manages, Dean lets Cas lead. “Did you bully those kids out of their dragon? Dragons suck dude.”

“It is very rare to catch in the wild, Edwin told me, he is one of the top players in this region, he is 12, and though he is Team Valor, and I am team Instinct, I decided to trust him.”

“Whatever you say babe.”

“I think you might enjoy this game Dean, it combines hunting and tracking with less bloodshed and all of the monsters seem kind.” Cas squints suddenly, yanking them out of the flow of traffic and down onto the beach. “I see combees.”

~~

“Handsome and artistic, you’ve gotta be a serial killer right?”

Dean raises his head, shielding his eyes in the sun. She’s tall, and curvy with sparkling eyes and a near perfect smile. 

“I don’t know about artistic, but I never murder and tell”

She throws out a hand. 

“I’m Clarice” 

“Dean.”

She notices the lift of his expression and rolls her eyes good naturally, “Yeah like Silence of the Lambs”

“Put the lotion in the basket” he intones with a mock accent. 

“Yeah that never gets old” 

He laughs and she smiles and takes a seat on the beach chair beside him.

“What brings you out here into the sunshine?” 

“Celebratin’.” His eyes turn back to his sketchbook, thumb smudging a carefully drawn mop of black hair.

“Oh, that’s fun, how old are you?” She doesn’t seem bothered by his in attention, sips her drink and watches him sketch. 

“Ah um” He shifts and does the mental math. “Forty-three I think...”

“Looking good” she says appreciatively. He’s too focused on the lines, eyes occasionally darting to the ocean, quite obviously only half listening. She’s not put off yet- no ring on his finger, only a necklace with two silver circles and that could mean anything.

“So uh, a couple of my friends are headed down into the—“

“DEAN!” 

His attention is immediately diverted, a man waist-deep in the frigid surf is pointing excitedly at something, he’s still wearing his snorkel mask. He pulls something free of the water- revealing a long, lean wriggling shape.  

“Is that a fucking shark?” Dean mutters in disbelief, then much louder “CAS is that a fucking shark?”

A giant man with longer hair stops splashing the woman with him, turns and starts cackling. The shark handler pulls his mask off, beaming. “Jack would love this!”

Clarice shades her eyes and takes a good look at the man with the shark and then at the drawing Dean’s been working on. 

“Who’s that?” She asks, his distraction giving her a better chance seeing what’s in his sketchbook. 

A lovingly rendered drawing of what looks like the man with the shark. But in the sketch it’s in a much different position, hair ruffled in detail over his brow. Blankets pooled around his barely covered hipbones. His eyes burn with inner heat despite the fact that they’re merely pencil on paper. His subject had clearly been in love with whomever he’d been looking at. 

“That is my boyfriend, he’s gonna get his nipple bit off if he’s not careful.” Dean’s smiling cause Sam is trying to talk Cas into releasing the shark and is clearly failing. “Oh hell, I guess husband now.”

She stands, “I am so sorry, I didn’t realize. I gotta—“

“Nice to meet you Clarice” he says, honestly surprised by her quick exit. “Yo STEVE IRWIN. put the shark down and come up here— time to reapply sunblock”

~~

“Who was that woman?” Cas asks, shaking like a dog and stirring a loud swearing session out of Dean as he shields his sketchbook from the saltwater.

“What woman?”

“The one speaking to you earlier? When I caught the shark?”

Dean looks completely vacant before remembering. “Oh shit, yeah! Clarice or something. Nice lady.”

Cas nods, waiting patiently while Dean starts applying sunscreen to his back. 

“Did she need something?”

Dean shrugs, “just being friendly I guess, lean close. I gotta get your nose”

Cas hums and obliges, he grins suddenly and rips open a Velcro pocket in his trunks revealing his prize to Dean. 

“Is that a goddamn crab Castiel?”

The angel nods happily. “We should find out if Claire can FaceTime. She would love to see.”

~~

Claire and Kaia lean close, Dean’s got the camera aimed so that it’s mostly sky and their foreheads. Cas is smushed against his cheek waving. 

“Jesus.” Claire hisses. “Hold the damn camera still. Dean— look, YOU’RE the square in the corner.”

Kaia hasn’t stopped giggling since they connected.

“How is Kansas?” Cas asks. “Are you well?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “You’ve been gone two days. It’s the same Cas— house burned down and a ghoul attack—“

The camera reels, two deep gruff voices start speaking rapidly. 

“She’s joking!” Kaia intervenes. “Castiel, Dean. She’s joking. We’re fine and safe, worst thing that happened is we ran out of coffee.”

He nods seriously— the left side of Dean’s face is unamused.

“Tell them not to put damn Walmart coffee in my coffee machine—“

Cas lifts a blurry item into view. “I caught a crab today,”

She freezes only for a moment, crabs had been her thing in 1st grade. Her dad had shared some of his favorite memories with Cas; she was realizing that he did it because he trusted the angel. The crab thing was a new one— he seems proud though, pleased that he remembered. 

“He also caught a fucking shark with his bare hands.” Dean adds, taking the phone back, view now up his nostrils. They’re both sunburned and nearly glowing with happiness. “Almost lost a nipple”

“I did not.” It’s Cas’ turn to roll his eyes. “I will send you photographs via messaging after the call.”

“When are you guys headed back?” Claire asks, cause she’s pleased about the pictures and doesn’t know how to admit it. 

Dean turns the camera again. This time slightly more centered. 

“Sam and Eileen are heading home tomorrow, but Cas says he has more surprises for me and “undomesticated equine could not drag the secrets from him’”

Dean and Claire snort simultaneously. 

“I was being funny.” Cas interjects, Dean laughs at something off camera and grabs his face, kissing Cas’ cheek. “I know the saying.”

“Gotta go.” Dean says, with a wink. “Gotta get our vitamin D for the day, right Sunshine?”

The camera tips; Cas is frowning in confusion and they can barely see the top of Dean’s now suggestively wagging eyebrows.

“Oh. Uh. Yes.” Cas looks guiltily at the phone and shakes his head at Dean. “Vitamins.”

Kaia starts wheezing with laughter. It dawns on Claire moments later.

“That’s fucking gross.”

Cas shrugs apologetically, Dean’s laughter fills the background.

“We appear to be having connection issues.” Cas mutters, They watch Cas fumble with the phone as he frantically tries to hang up before Dean does anything scandalous.

“See you in a week!” Dean shouts. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Bye...” the screen goes dark and Claire is left with her and Kaia’s amused reflections. “Dads.”

~~ 

If you liked this it’s connected to my ao3 vibesandwonders. Come say hey here and see the rest of the series

[3pirouette]

Fic: Of All the People... (1/1)

Title: Of All The People… By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER EPISODE 2 “The Star-Spangled Man” Rating: Teen for language Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 1278 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Bucky didn’t often hallucinate Peggy Carter, but when he did, he knew he was in for it.

A/N: Look. I KNOW that FATWS is about more than just Bucky, but that line broke my heart, ok? YOU KNOW WHAT LINE. This happens post episode, it assumes they separate for the night between the end of episode two and wherever episode three picks up since that’s isn’t out yet. Also, I’m trying to get better at writing Bucky. This is my first step. Steggy is implied. Steggy Bingo Bash Sentence Prompt C: “Why are you in my apartment?”

~*~

“Why are you in my apartment?”

He knew he asked it out loud, and had no expectation that the answering voice was anywhere but his head as he tossed his keys on the floor, turning away to avoid the cold eyes staring at him.

Especially because she still looked all of 20 years old, hair done up in Victory Rolls, red lipstick, and all.

Bucky didn’t often hallucinate Peggy Carter, but when he did, he knew he was in for it.

He must have been more tired than he thought, or that jump from the plane knocked a synapse loose, or something, because he hadn’t had one of these since before Wakanda.

She didn’t fidget, didn’t flinch, just watched him as he moved past her to the kitchen, filling a glass of water for himself and gulping it down. “Shit,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth and refilling the glass again. “I guess Sam has a point about the staring.”

“It is quite unnerving,” she finally said, her annoyingly perfect accent clipping the t’s.

She was always harsher in his head than she was in real life, but only by a little.

Bucky leaned back against the counter, looking her over. Just like on base, in a middle of a damned war, every little thing was in place. It always infuriated him that this was what his brain decided to use to reprimand him. Phillips he could take, one of his Handlers from Hydra maybe… but no, his damn fucked up brain decided that Peggy Fucking Carter was the way to get him to straighten up and fly right. “I repeat, why are you here?”

She looked around the room, her mouth tight and disapproving. It made his stomach clench. “You could get a couch, you know. Even if you continue to sleep on the floor, no reason to constantly punish yourself. Or guests. If you one day have them.”

He rolled his eyes, looking away. “That’s not what this is about.”

The apparition took a step closer. She always had to show up in that damned perfect pressed SSR outfit. Never in the business suits with the grey hair like he’d seen when he survailed her as the Winter Soldier. And sure as fuck never in that red dress she’d only ever put on for Steve.

Even his own brain wouldn’t let him think about his best friend’s girl like that.

No, it was always prim and proper and pressed and ready to dress him down until he felt like the smallest thing there ever was. She only ever did it once in real life, when he made a mistake that almost cost a whole platoon their lives, and he never, ever wanted to make Peggy Carter upset after that. Even Phillips’ yelling hadn’t made him feel as bad and as upset as Peggy’s had.

Steve had good taste, that much was true.

“No,” she continued, moving closer still. “What this is about is how you’ve been behaving.”

He laughed out loud, knowing he would have sounded insane if anyone had been listening to his single sided conversation. “You can’t possibly be talking about—”

“I am.”

He wanted to smack those red lips right off her. He wanted to punch her and fight her and take out all the rage he’d built up for decades on her. Instead, he just shook his head. “That piece of shit isn’t Steve and he has to stop trying to be.”

Sometimes… just sometimes… he thought maybe this wasn’t his head, but that it was the real, honest to god ghost of Peggy Carter because the way she sighed and smiled just at the corner of her mouth and tipped her head… well, he didn’t think he could have imagined quite that expression of love and frustration and loss if he tried. “No, Barnes. He isn’t. And he never will be.” Her lips pressed together tight and she stared him down, arms crossed over her chest, “But you and I both know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He didn’t blink. “You know, if Doctor Raynor knew about you…” he laughed, rubbing his eyes. “I mean, she’d fucking commit me is what would happen. But she could learn a thing or two.”

Peggy sighed, and he swore he could feel the breath move past him. “This isn’t what he wanted for you.”

“He should tell me that himself,” Bucky bit out.

She cocked her head. “How can he when you ignore his calls?”

He turned away, anger flaring up within him.

“You won’t talk to him, you won’t talk to Sam, you won’t talk to your therapist and then—”

She stopped when his metal hand crushed the glass he was holding, the sounds of the glass shattering around him hidden as he roared in frustration. “Then what?” He punched the counter with his flesh hand, red pinpricks starting as glass embedded itself in his skin, but he didn’t even acknowledge it. He spun and looked at her. “Then what? Say it.”

She started him down, just the way she would on base when she disapproved of an off-color joke he spouted and it stoked the fires more.

“Fucking say it, Peg!” he roared.

She just blinked at him as the blood ran down his hand and the anger left him as suddenly as it came. He felt empty and hollow and broken, just like he did so very, very often.

She uncrossed her arms as he slumped down the counter to the floor, cradling his injured hand against his body, the skin pressing out the slivers of glass and healing as quickly as it had been injured. She bent, following his descent to the floor. He couldn’t even say for sure she was a hallucination when he watched her kneel in the broken glass because fucking Peggy Carter never flinched when she was injured or shot or hurt and he knew the damn woman would kneel in glass just to make a point.

“He wasn’t wrong about you, James.”

Her voice was soft, and calming, and fuck if he didn’t wish she was actually there right now because of all the people, all the fucking people who might have a chance, a chance at making him understand this… she was it.

Steve chose her, too.

Steve didn’t just choose anyone to care about. He didn’t just make friends and have a huge circle.

Steve picked and chose.

Steve had many, many acquaintances. Many people he liked and who liked him back.

But friends?

Those were few and far between, and when Steve said ‘till the end of the line he really, really fucking meant it.

He didn’t even pretend to not feel the tears. Real or not, Peggy Carter knew.

He hated his fucking brain. He hated it so fucking much.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and he didn’t want to open them when he thought he felt her hand on his cheek. He didn’t want to know that he was losing it even more because he thought he could feel her now.

“Steve wasn’t wrong, Barnes. Not about you, and not about Sam.”

When he opened his eyes, she was gone. He was alone, covered in tears and blood and sitting in a circle of broken glass.

“Fuck!” He howled, throwing his left arm out to the side, shattering the wood of the cabinet door next to him.

She was right.

He hated when that happened.

He needed to get his shit together and figure out what the hell they were going to do. It needed to be fixed, and he and Sam were the only people who could do that.

~*~

Post A/N: 1. I am ALL IN that Steve is still alive somewhere. 2. I love FATWS and I love what they’re doing for both of these amazing characters. 3. I’m hoping to work on both my Bucky and my Sam. 4. I am in no way a mental health professional or trying to make any kind of commentary on mental health. What I do know is that it has been implied if not outright stated that Bucky couldn’t trust his own mind at some points, and this is just an idea for a fic. 5. Hallucination or angel or multi-verse Peggy… you decide.

[buckybarnabus]

The Dance of These Things

Summary: Dawn and Bucky go to a gala.

Warnings: Some cursing. Moderate alcohol use. A broken wrist? Mostly fluff

Word Count: 5.4k oops

A/N: Next part of my Snapshots series involving Bucky Barnes and OFC Dawn. I can’t for the life of me write a whole multi-chaptered story, so this will be a series of one shots in no particular order that may or may not develop into something coherent over time. You can also read on AO3 if you want. Thank you!

“Tell me again why we’re here?” Bucky grumbled as they walked through the parking lot. Dawn shot him a look.

“Because Sam is our friend and he asked us to come,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“He’s your friend. Not mine,” he said, sounding much like a petulant child.

“He spent like two years of his life looking for you under every leaf and pebble he could find. ‘Not friends’ my ass. I actually think that might even qualify as bestie material,” she teased. Bucky tossed a scowl at her.

“As what material?” he asked. “You know what, no. I don’t care. He only went looking for me because Steve needed help. That doesn’t make us friends.”

“Right, because that makes sense. You’re only friends when he’s not asking you to go to a gala in commemoration of saving the universe,” Dawn drawled. Bucky huffed.

“Yeah, not exactly the place for someone like me,” he muttered. That made Dawn pause. She looked at him as they walked, and it hit her, way later than it should have. She should have known better. Bucky felt like he had no right to be there. All of the extra grumpiness made sense, suddenly, and she could see it then in the furrow of his brow, the clench of his jaw. He wasn’t mad, or pouting about having to go to some fancy party. He was nervous. Maybe a little scared.

“Hey,” she said, grabbing his wrist and planting her feet. She stumbled just a little in her heels as Bucky’s momentum kept him going for a couple steps. She felt him stiffen up at her touch, but she ignored it. He’d gotten better about contact, after that night she cut his hair, but it still wasn’t exactly easy for him. One step at a time.

He heaved a heavy sigh as she tugged him to a halt, and he looked over her head, exasperation in his face. “Look at me,” she said. He acquiesced after a stubborn moment.

“What?” he snipped. She stared at him. There were a million cliché things she wanted to wax poetic about, but she found herself at a loss. If she said any of it, she knew it would just work him up even more. Calling him a hero would probably send him into hysterics.

“I don’t know,” she said dumbly. She chewed at her lip briefly, forgetting for a moment that she was wearing lipstick. It claimed to be smudge proof. She was, apparently, going to test the claim whether she meant to or not. She sighed and fixed him with what she hoped was a meaningful look. “I get it, okay? My track record isn’t all that pretty either. It’s just one night. Just a few hours. People are here to celebrate being alive and throw obnoxious amounts of money at foundations. You know, if nothing else, we can just sit at the losers table together, and you can watch me get drunk,” she said, offering a sly little grin and a squeeze to his wrist.

Bucky looked at Dawn for a moment, didn’t say anything, his jaw still working overtime with his stress. But a certain softness worked its way into the edges of his eyes as he took her in, and it made a certain little shiver run up her spine. She felt almost exposed under his gaze. A tiny little grin made its way onto his face, and he gently slipped his wrist out of her grip to carry on walking.

“Well, don’t get too drunk. I’m not carrying you through the parking lot if you can’t walk straight,” he said over his shoulder.

He was tense as they walked up to the entrance of the building, people loitering outside, one or two of them staring from the sidelines. Dawn couldn’t be sure if Bucky noticed, but he paid it no mind regardless. She managed to weasel her way in front of him, giving the name to the bouncer at the door. They found Sam not five minutes after going in, and a wide smile spread over Sam’s face when he spotted them.

Dawn let out a low whistle as Sam flounced up to them, giving him an exaggerated once over. “Look at you, Wilson, Jesus,” she exclaimed. “You’re gonna piss a lot of married men off tonight, looking like you do.”

“Please,” he scoffed, giving her a hug and a light kiss on the cheek in greeting before holding her at arms length to get a good look at her. “Have you seen yourself? I think I just fell in love with you a little,” he said. Then, genuinely, “Dawn, you look beautiful.”

“If you two are just going to fawn over each other all night, I’m going home right now,” Bucky drawled. Sam smiled upon seeing Bucky.

“Look at you, man. A haircut, no tactical gear. If it wasn’t for the staring thing, I never would have thought it was you. Didn’t even think you owned a suit,” Sam said by way of greeting.

“I didn’t,” Bucky said flatly. Dawn tried to hide her smile. She had all but dragged Bucky, kicking and screaming, to the suit store a few days prior, when he was still adamantly refusing to to go the gala. Sam chuckled and smacked him on the shoulder.

“You look good, Buck. I’m glad to see you came,” Sam said.

“I can change your mind, real quick,” Bucky said. Despite the grouchiness, there was still a little lilt of jest in his voice, and Dawn was going to count that as a success. Not a minute later, someone else was calling for Sam’s attention, and they parted ways with promises to catch up later. Dawn spun on her heel to face Bucky.

“I think it’s time for a drink,” she chirped. Bucky gestured toward the bar.

“Agreed. Lead the way,” he said, a tight smile on his face.

To his credit, Bucky was doing just fine, making small talk with those who approached him, whether it be by Sam’s introduction, a familiar face, or the occasional stranger.

The pair had actually ended up getting separated after a little while, though Dawn made certain to keep him in her sights. A trio of old men had apparently decided to adopt Bucky while Dawn was just a little caught up letting some rich older lady talk her ear off about the donation she was making. Which was fine. The woman could flaunt her money all she wanted for all Dawn cared, so long as she was doing something useful with it.

But alas, that conversation came to an end when the woman suddenly saw someone she knew across the way and promptly forgot about Dawn, gliding across the room as she hollered and waved. Dawn blinked a few times before looking briefly over toward where Bucky sat, to find him already looking at her. She rose a brow at him in question. He gave a little grin and a nod, and she smiled brightly before wandering off back toward the bar for another drink.

She ordered one for herself, and another for Bucky with every intention of meeting back up with him and his old men soon, and leaned patiently against the bar top as she waited. There was a man standing near her- nondescript, a little sweaty- sipping on a beer. She didn’t pay him much mind as she waited, simply offering a polite grin when they briefly locked eyes.

“Hey,” the man said, giving her a weird grin as he pointed at her. “I think I know you.” Dawn immediately had a bad feeling about it.

“I think you don’t,” she responded, clipped, but trying to remain at least a little polite.

“No, I see it now. I definitely know you,” he said, scooting a tad closer. “Can you guess how?” Dawn took half a step away.

“I don’t really do guessing games,” she said, haunches quickly rising.

“You’re an assassin. You kill people,” the man said, and she caught the look in his eye. He was either very drunk, or way too excited to talk about things she didn’t want to talk about. Seemed like a little bit of both.

“That’s a bold accusation to put on someone who potentially kills people,” Dawn said, eyes flitting around for a possible escape.

“It’s true. You’re the Serval, I know it. I saw you in the S.H.I.E.L.D. files when they were leaked,” the man continued, Dawn’s attitude going right over his head. She gave him an incredulous smile.

“Oh, you’re one of those deep diving types, huh? Must’ve dug pretty far into those, the Serval wasn’t very high up in the ranks,” she said, giving the bartender a light thanks as she dropped the drinks off.

“I can prove it. The Serval’s got the brand of the Handler, right on the back of her neck,” the man said, eyes darting to the back of Dawn’s head. At the mention of the Handler, Dawn was suddenly in full fight or flight mode. She was just trying to have a nice night.

“You sound a little obsessed there, buddy,” she said, voice flat. “I wouldn’t test that theory if I were you. Excuse me,” she said, making to pick the drinks up and escape the situation. His hand was wrapped around her wrist, then, strikingly quick for a drunk man. It took every ounce of willpower Dawn had not to drop him right then and there.

“Let me go,” she said, surprising herself at how calm she sounded.

“Come on, just let me see it,” he said, other hand moving toward the back of her head. Dawn was a hairs breadth away from kicking the mans knee out when a familiar whir of metal was swiftly followed by the hand it belonged to. Bucky had the mans floating arm caught in his left fist, twisting the wrist sharply and painfully down and out of Dawn’s face. It happened so quickly, so subtly, no one around them even seemed to notice.

“This ain’t a game you want to play, man,” Bucky growled at the man who’s face was contorted in pain. “You’re gonna leave, and hope neither of us finds you later. You know, especially with her being a potential assassin and all.”

With that, Bucky released the mans arm, and the pair watched him crumple before stumbling off in a hurry, tail between his legs. Dawn didn’t bother questioning how he heard the exchange. They’d been through it before. He heard it all, so he said.

“Were you a drama major in your past life? Because that was pretty dramatic,” Dawn teased, hiding what definitely felt like a stiff smile behind her glass as she took a hefty swallow. Bucky looked her over quickly, assessing her body language for unease.

“A little theatrics can go a long way,” he said when he seemed satisfied that Dawn was mostly fine. “You think it scared him?”

“Maybe a little. That, or the broken wrist,” she shrugged, picking up the drink she’d gotten for him. “Got you a refill,” she said. He huffed a breath of laughter and took the glass.

“You went through all that trouble just for me? You’re a peach,” he teased.

“What can I say, I’m a hell of a date. I know how to treat ‘em,” she shrugged.

“I’m sure you do, Donnie,” he said. They fell into an amicable silence after that, but before either one could decide to start talking again, the crowds attention was drawn to the head of the hall, where the presenters of the gala were starting some big speech.

It really was a nice speech, all things considered. Well spoken, hopeful. Bittersweet, but overall optimistic about the world trying to get back on track. As galas went, full of rich, slightly sheltered people who didn’t really understand that things were still going to be rough for a long time, Dawn supposed it could have been a worse crowd. They had hope that things could be good, given the right resources. It made sense that Sam was so eager for them to go.

Sam had reappeared out of seemingly nowhere not long after the speech had ended, and the music had started back up.

“Dawn, you mind if I steal you from your date for a little while? I’m dying to dance with someone under sixty,” he requested, earning a giggle from Dawn.

“Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time? Wooing all the old ladies?” she asked.

“I’ve been drowning in Chanel Number Five for like an hour. Please, I need a break,” he whined, coaxing a proper laugh out of her. She turned to Bucky, then, the silent question on her face.

“Go ahead. I’ve got a conversation to get back to,” Bucky said, gesturing toward the table of old men he’d been talking to previously.

So Sam offered Dawn his arm and led her out onto the dance floor. They fell into form easily, and began moving with the music.

“So Bucky made some friends, huh?” Sam asked, raising a brow in amusement. Dawn smiled.

“Yeah. A bunch of old men, naturally. They’re probably just swapping war stories or something, I don’t know. Whatever old men talk about,” she said.

“Of course he’d fall in with them, cranky old bastard,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “At least nobody’s giving him any trouble.” Dawn shrugged a shoulder.

“He’s already broken a wrist tonight, I think he’s filled his quota for the time being,” she said.

“He what?” Sam baulked. Dawn laughed lightly.

“Don’t worry, it was very subtle. We’re staying out of trouble, I swear.”

“No, no. You aren’t getting out of this so easily. Why the hell is Bucky stealth breaking people’s wrists?” Sam prodded.

“The guy had it coming, honestly. He grabbed me. Trust me, I would’ve made a bigger scene if Bucky hadn’t stepped in,” she said.

“You two are going to be the death of me, I swear to God. Can’t stay out of trouble for one damn night, can you?” he said, giving her a little spin.

“Gala’s can’t stop a couple of wild animals, Wilson,” Dawn winked.

“And yet here you are, schmoozing with the best of ‘em,” he said, shaking his head fondly.

“I mean, I look sort of nice tonight. Might as well play the part, you know?” she said, earning a chuckle. They bantered easily for a bit before falling into quiet and letting the music guide them.

“You know,” Sam started after a few stanzas. “I don’t think Bucky’s danced since the forties. Steve said he used to go dancing all the time,” he said, pointed. Dawn snorted.

“What, you think he’d go for that now? No way. It was enough work just to get him to come here,” she retorted.

“You should ask him to dance. Since, apparently, he can deny you nothing,” Sam said, still with the stupid pointed look. Dawn was willfully ignoring it.

“I think he’d sooner rip his other arm off. You know how he is about touching,” she said.

“I don’t know about that. I don’t think you’re seeing what I’m seeing, Donnie,” Sam said.

“Oh? And what’s that?” she prodded.

“Right now, I see Sir Grumpalot sitting over there looking like a kicked puppy because someone else is dancing with his girl. Seriously, the dude is straight up pouting.” Dawn shot him a glare.

“I’m not his- he always looks like a kicked puppy, that’s just his face.” Sam smiled at her, a soft, warm thing. She felt small under it.

“To you, maybe. That man is an immovable object when he wants to be. Unless it comes to you. Then, sad little puppy, always ready to please.” She huffed at him as the song ended, and reached up to pat his cheek.

“Alright, Samwise, keep telling yourself that. I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. Thanks for the dance. Back to the cougars with you,” she said, removing herself from his grip.

“Dawn, baby, don’t do this to me!” he crowed. She shot him a wide smile as she backed away.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You know my heart burns for you. But I think I’ve got a puppy I need to get back to,” she called.

Bucky was scowling at her once she arrived back at the table he sat at with his three old men. “Was Sam calling me a puppy?” he asked, throwing a glare in Sam’s direction.

“You heard that?” she asked, taking a seat next to him. He slid a glass across the table toward her, a refill of her drink. She smiled in thanks.

“I heard you say it. Which means he said it,” Bucky said, clearly grumpy.

“Don’t worry, Buck, you’re not a puppy,” she said, poking her foot into his shin under the table. “You’re a big, bad wolf, huffing and puffing as much as you do,” she said.

“I hope you don’t ever get into comedy. It’s really not your calling,” Bucky grumbled, and Dawn let out a bright peal of laughter.

And then, apparently, Dawn was dancing with one of Bucky’s three old men, because her feet weren’t killing her enough already. She could run around all day and night on missions, but on those, she typically had boots. A few hours gallivanting around in high heels, though? That was definitely another story.

By the time Dawn had managed to slip away from the dance floor, Bucky was looking spacey, tired, and ready to leave. He’d been a good sport over the course of the evening, and broke a drunk guys wrist for her. He’d earned the relief of leaving the gala.

They slipped out into the refreshing night air, after Dawn’s insistence that they at least say goodbye to Sam, and Dawn felt the relief instantly. She’d been riled up all evening, trying to be social and gracious. It was nice to breathe and let the tension go. But with her relief, the pain in her feet and ankles became her main focus. Heels were a curse to womankind, she decided. And Bucky was already a good few yards away.

“You always walk that fast, or are you just that sick of me?” she called out, irrationally grumpy at the pain in her feet. Bucky stopped and turned, looking just a little surprised that she was so far behind. He watched her for a moment as she tried to pick up the pace, and she scowled when she saw the amusement written all over his face.

“You look like a baby deer,” he teased.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You try wearing heels for hours at a time, see how you do,” she said, embarrassed as she hobbled up to him.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to wear them,” he said, raising his hands in defense.

“I’ve got a knife under this dress, somewhere. Don’t make me use it,” she grumbled.

“You brought a knife?” he asked, surprised. She scoffed.

“Oh, like you don’t have at least ten stuffed in your slacks,” she retorted.

“That’s fair,” he said, then looked back down at her in consideration. “Alright. Come on,” he said, stepping into her space.

“What-“ Dawn was cut off by a yelp as she was suddenly airborne, and she found herself scrambling for a good grip around his neck. Bucky hiked her up higher and started walking, carrying her bridal style through the lot like it was nothing. Dawn took a moment to gather herself again before speaking.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to carry me through the parking lot,” she said quietly, amused. She was also trying not to think about how warm he was, and if she was talking, that helped to distract her.

“That was if you were drunk. Which I’m pretty sure you’re not,” he said, giving her a suspicious glance. She smiled.

“Nah. I can hold my liquor. Maybe even drink you under the table,” she said.

“Right. We are never testing that theory.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“I’m not. You’d die.”

-

She let Bucky drive her car, not trusting her feet to cooperate with the pedals. It was a long, quiet drive back to Bucky’s apartment. They’d spent the drive sort of winding down from the evening, and Dawn was about to bid him goodnight upon parking, but Bucky beat her to it.

“You’ve been drinking. I can’t, in good conscience, let you drive home,” he said flatly. She rose a brow at him, unable to help the grin.

“I thought you said I wasn’t drunk,” she said. He didn’t look at her as he pocketed her keys and started walking.

“Three drinks? Maybe four? Yeah, you’re not driving,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Don’t know where your keys went, anyway.” Dawn smiled softly at his back and followed. She liked when fragments of his boyish nature of years past shone through all the grey he surrounded himself with. It was nice.

He let her borrow some clothes, let her use his shower, and she eventually emerged, clean and warm and comfy. She dropped herself onto the couch and let out a relieved sigh, leaning her head back and shutting her eyes with a grin.

“Feel better?” Bucky asked from the kitchen around a mouthful of food. His stomach had growled angrily the entire drive home. Dawn had tried to get him to eat at the gala, but he just wouldn’t. He moved back into the front room and placed a plated sandwich in Dawn’s lap. She was, admittedly, also very hungry.

“You have no idea,” she said, tucking into the offered sandwich. She watched TV while Bucky took his own shower. It was a familiar routine after sharing many a hotel room. They existed pretty easily around each other, for the most part. It was comfortable. Something safe, easy.

“Did you have to use all the hot water?” he griped without venom upon exiting the bathroom and flopping onto the couch.

“You should have thought of that before you met me. Long, hot showers are kind of my favorite thing,” she said, shoving at his shoulder.

“Right, because I definitely could have predicted some ex assassin, hot water leech was going to prance her way into my apartment one day just for the amenities,” he shot back. She could practically hear him rolling his eyes at her.

“Constant vigilance, Sarge. You can never be too ready,” she said, curling into her corner of the couch as Bucky started flipping through the channels. Dawn’s mind wandered as she stared at the television. The air between them was easy, comfortable. Quiet and content. She found herself continuously looping back to Sam’s words at the gala, couldn’t quite seem to get them out of her head. Bucky liked to dance, once upon a time. She could imagine it, the bright smile on his face as he twirled a pretty girl around the room, the innocence of it all.

“Sam said you haven’t danced since the forties,” she blurted before she could stop herself. She could see him turn his head toward her in her peripheral vision, but he said nothing. “Well. I guess Steve said it, really. Steve told Sam, Sam told me,” she rambled, picking at the borrowed sweatpants.

“Well. It’s a little hard to get some dancing in between brainwashing, bouncing from fight to fight. Turning to dust,” Bucky said, slowly, clearly trying to figure out her reasoning.

“You could’ve tonight. At the gala,” she said, chancing a quick glance at him. He was giving her a look, something carefully neutral and just a little suspicious.

“Don’t be so sure about that,” he said.

“You could’ve,” she repeated. “I’m sure anyone would’ve danced with you.”

“Not really my scene these days, Donnie,” he said. She chewed on her lip, ignoring the feeling of her heart hammering in her chest.

“What about here?” she asked.

“What about it?”

Dawn gestured around them. “Is this more your scene?” He furrowed his brows at her. Her stomach dropped into her feet.

“This is my living room?” he said, clearly confused. She was going to fucking throw up.

“Dance with me, Bucky,” she said. Maybe she would just die, dissolve into the couch and cease to be.

“What?” he asked, almost a whisper. She squared her shoulders and turned to him.

“Dance with me,” she said. He just kind of sat there for a moment, looking bewildered and caught off guard. It took him a minute to find his words again.

“I haven’t danced since ‘43,” he said, sounding a little breathless. She nodded slowly.

“Yes. We’ve been over this. It’ll be fine,” she said, standing up and crossing the room toward his stereo.

“I’m not any good,“ he argued weakly.

“Who cares? No one’s watching and I won’t know any better,” she said, hooking up her phone and pulling up a proper playlist. She pressed the play button and put the phone down before drifting back to Bucky as the grainy, old music started playing. She quickly muted the television and outstretched her hands expectantly. She made a grabby motion when he still just stared up at her.

“Come on. Just a few songs. It’ll be fun,” she said. He pressed his lips together and sighed heavily, not being overly helpful as he took her hands and let her pull him up. She pulled him away from the couch and they stared at each other for a moment. Bucky’s brows were furrowed, but she couldn’t tell what he was feeling. She could barely hear the music over the blood rushing in her ears.

He still didn’t say anything. Just hesitantly tapped her arm up, looking resigned, a silent order to place her hand on his shoulder. His left hand fell lightly onto her waist, and his right gently scooped up her other hand to hold up in the air. She gave him an encouraging smile, and then they we’re moving.

She let him lead, and it was a shy thing at first, stiff. “See? It’s not so bad,” she said. He huffed a tense breath of laughter.

“This is stupid,” he said. She clicked her tongue.

“No, this is nice,” she argued, giving his shoulder a gentle pinch. She moved with him as easily as he would let her, but he was still uncertain, almost awkward. She found it endearing. It took some time for Bucky to warm up to the idea.

Dawn could almost pinpoint the moment he got comfortable. He tugged her hand, twisted her out for a little spin, and pulled her back into him. She giggled as he spun her, almost losing her footing on the return. His left hand landed on the small of her back when she bumped back into him, and they were suddenly much closer. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, the coolness of his metal hand against her spine. She looked back up at him, and she caught a glimpse of that boyish charm he once probably wore so easily.

“I guess it’s not so bad,” he muttered as they continued swaying to the music.

“And you think you’re not any good,” she tutted. They moved around in a little circle for a while. Then, Bucky got brave and started putting some foot work into it. Dawn’s heart was absolutely soaring, and she could tell Bucky was legitimately having a good time, if the softness in his features was anything to go by.

“You looked beautiful, tonight,” Bucky said out of the blue, quiet, like he didn’t want to break the little bubble they found themselves in. “I should have said it before.” Dawn bit her lip against the shy smile threatening to rise. She could only manage a whispered thanks as she felt her cheeks heat up.

“You know. Baby deer ankles and all,” he teased, earning a scandalized gasp out of Dawn. She went to smack him in the arm, but instead, he stopped the motion by gripping her hand tighter and pulling her even closer, flush against his body. Any and all fight Dawn had in her left in a rush. “I’m kidding, Doll,” he said, the words rumbling against her chest. Dawn couldn’t find any words to say, so she rested her head against his chest instead, opting to feel his warmth and let the music guide them.

They danced around the apartment for more than the promised few songs, swaying and spinning and stepping. Dawn only stepped on his toes a few times. And Bucky seemed happy. The tension he usually held in his shoulders was nonexistent, and everything about him just seemed soft and sweet, and Dawn was almost jealous of all the girls he must have taken dancing back in his day, jealous that they got to see that side of him so freely. And she was sad for Bucky, that he’d been through so much, had no choice but to shut himself down. But at that moment in time, the pair of them floating around his apartment, things were good. Everything was okay. There was no mission. No nightmare. No Handler. No greater goal. Just Dawn and Bucky. Just music. Just a little bit of peace.

The song was nearing its end. The crescendo came, the last big chorus, and Bucky spun Dawn around once more before catching her against his chest. He smoothly transferred his weight, held her snug as he got a steady hold of her and dipped her with all the grace in the world. She found herself giggling at the feeling, and then he pulled her back up. He pulled her back up, and she was proud of not messing it up for all of a second before her mind blanked entirely.

They were close. Very close. Both of his hands were pressed into her spine, one warm, one cold, steadying her frame. Her hands landed on either side of his neck. Their noses brushed. They were so close. Dawn felt his breath against her lips, a quick, surprised little puff, and she almost could have sworn her heart stopped beating, that she would die right then and there. Hair had landed in her face with the momentum, and she couldn’t see much of anything, but she felt it all.

Her breath hitched and she froze as Bucky’s nose just brushed her cheek, an almost mindless nuzzle against her skin. She could feel the heat of his lips so, so close to hers. She would barely have to move an inch to meet them. She was pretty sure she was dead.

But, almost as soon as it had happened, it was over. Bucky took a step back, releasing Dawn completely.

“It’s, um,” he cleared his throat, looked somewhere over her shoulder. “It’s late. I’m sure you’re tired. You should get some sleep,” he said. It took Dawn an embarrassingly long moment to collect herself.

“Oh. Right, um. Yeah. It was a long day, wasn’t it,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as spaced out as she felt. She moved on stiff legs to grab her phone and shut the music off. Bucky was standing awkwardly off to the side, arms crossed tight over his chest.

“You can take the bed,” he said with a stiff gesture, voice rough. She nodded dumbly and pulled her lips between her teeth before shuffling down the short hallway. She was about to shut the door behind her, hand on the doorknob for a moment. She swung it back open a little.

“Bucky?” she called out hesitantly.

“Yeah?” his voice echoed, quick and a little shrill. Her words got stuck. She cleared her throat.

“Thank you. For coming. I had a nice night. I hope you did, too,” she called out, awkward, unable to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. She didn’t get a response for a minute, and she was about to shut the door.

“Yeah. I did. Goodnight, Donnie.”

Neither one of them knew it, but they both spent a long time staring at the ceiling that night, too wired, too deep in thoughts of What the hell is going on to fall asleep. And when they did, their sleep was as turbulent as whatever it was that they were trying not to feel.

[winters-blue-children]

A WinterBaron Fic. Part of this series that I like to call WinterBaron Trash.

Despite his better judgment, Bucky wants the arrogant prick of a Baron. And he knows Zemo wants him too. Unfortunately, Bucky also wants to keep the upper hand.

He starts with a warning in his tone. “We told you not to step out of line. We told you not to make a move without our permission.”

Bucky’s voice is low. His body is buzzing, itching for… not a fight exactly, he’d had enough of that for the day. But perhaps, a confrontation maybe. So that’s why he left Sam in the main area of the plane where he’s still speaking to Torres and sought out Zemo. And now here they are.

Bucky grinds his teeth when Zemo doesn’t even bother to look up from what he’s doing. Nor does the other man seem at all worried by the icy steel menace in his voice.

Bucky watches as Zemo continues to prepare his small plates of biscuits as if he hadn’t spoken. Unclenching his jaw, he asks, “You really want to shorten your little vacation from prison?”

Finally, Zemo lifts his head to glance at him, looking annoyingly nonchalant. “I did everything you asked, James,” he says gently. And when he turns his body to face him, tilts his head in that frustrating knowing way that he does, Bucky almost regrets his decision to seek out the other man.

“You wanted a lead and I gave you one,” Zemo continues, his voice still too casual. He smirks, knowing that Bucky can’t even argue the point, because he’s the one who helped him break out of prison—despite what Bucky tells himself and what he keeps insisting to Sam.

“I knew where to start and I got us to where we needed to be. Dare I say, James,” Zemo raises an eyebrow. “You might have even enjoyed my company.”

Bucky flushes red at the memory of the previous night and what they did at Sharon’s. He recalls soft lips and a warm, wet mouth. His spine tingles, unsure if he’s found himself here because he wants more. He hopes not.

Bucky’s eyes darken and he exhales roughly. “You killed Nagel,” he growls.

Zemo nods. His eyes harden as well. “What did you think was going to happen? We’d sit him down for a nice cup of tea?”

Bucky scoffs and looks away. Of course, he’d known. But he can’t help the echo of Dr. Raynor’s rules in his head. Do not do anything illegal. Do not hurt anyone. Even as he breaks those rules, again and again, when he needs to—he still hesitates, every single time. Maybe it’s because he likes Raynor and knows that she’s good for him. Or maybe it’s because he thinks of how Steve would be so disappointed that Bucky isn’t able to stick to the straight and narrow without him. That his ‘recovery’ isn’t everything it was supposed to be in his absence.

Zemo lets the pause linger between them before speaking again, as if he were carefully reading the conflict across Bucky’s face. “You would have done the same,” he says quietly. “You wanted to do the same. I did what you could not.”

Bucky closes his eyes. His jaw tightens as he speaks, “Stop speaking like you know me, Zemo.”

Zemo, ever so confident, gives him a wry grin. “I know that you are constantly holding yourself back. At Selby’s?” He raises an elegant eyebrow and gives a single shake of his head. “Even when you are playing the soldier, you fear what you could unleash if you were to truly let yourself go.”

Of course, Zemo is right. A punch to the gut would have felt worse. But Bucky stubbornly bites his tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“I understand, you know,” Zemo continues in a low voice, as he takes a step closer. Bucky freezes, not sure if he wants the other man any closer. But then Zemo says quietly, “And I get it. You don’t have to do that around me.”

Bucky’s spine freezes. He heaves a heavy sigh and swallows.

Bastard. After everything he’s done, after Berlin, after Siberia— it was nothing personal— bullshit, Bucky thinks. He knows better than anyone that actions speak a lot louder than the intentions behind them.

But the thing that really grates on his nerves is the way Zemo shows no fear around him. Instead, he’s calm, confident, and collected. Something there reminds him of the Winter Soldier’s many handlers. Bucky shudders at the reminder.

“You don’t know me,” he repeats through gritted teeth. “You piece of shit, you don’t know a goddamn thing about me. Everything that you read in that book, everything you think you know, that’s not me.”

Zemo blinks. Goddamnit, maybe he was slightly off base because something changes in the air and Zemo suddenly looks genuinely sad as he considers him with those warm bambi-brown eyes.

“Oh James… I’m sorry that’s what you think of me.” Zemo tilts his head to the other side, a small wry smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “When I look at you, I don’t see the Winter Soldier. I don’t see the weapon, the asset, or the fist of HYDRA. I see the man.”

His tone is genuine, not at all condescending. And it makes Bucky want to believe him.

“You don’t see shit.”

“It’s the truth,” Zemo says quietly. He watches him with heavy-lidded eyes and takes another step closer, and then, “I see that man. And I want that man.”

The sweat on Bucky’s back goes cold. “What?” He snaps. And then softer, he asks, “Why?”

Zemo chuckles, though his lips barely twitch. He bows his head and looks to the side. The sudden facade of bashful and timid makes Bucky want to scream.

“You’re a beautiful man, James.” Zemo smirks and tilts his head. “I can’t be faulted for noticing.”

And then Bucky sees red. He’s fuming as he rushes to close the few feet of space between them. His face burns with heat as he grabs the smaller man by the lapels of his stupid purple sweater. His teeth clench against the sting of indignation and anger.

“You son of a bitch,” he grits out and he slams Zemo painfully against the counter behind him. Zemo spares him another small, sly smile. To add insult to injury, Bucky’s stupid cock is once again finding an interest in the closeness of their bodies.

Zemo breathes. His tongue peeks out to swipe against his bottom lip.

Fucking asshole. Bucky trembles, struggling to keep a clear head. He doesn’t know whether he wants to hit Zemo or kiss him. It’s an oddly refreshing predicament to be in really, partially because the other man is no match for him physically. Bucky has made it clear that he could snap his neck like a twig. But the problem with Zemo is that he likes to fuck with his head.

Bucky’s hands tighten their grip against Zemo’s collarbones. He leans closer, dwarfing the other man with his larger stature.

“You’re just aching for it, aren’t ya?” He keeps his tone light and condescending, some faint amusement buried not so deep underneath. “You want me to fuck you?” He growls, a hair’s breadth away from Zemo’s lips.

A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth at the way Zemo’s eyes widen in shock. Or maybe lust. He holds the vibranium hand against Zemo’s throat, while the other slowly drifts down between the other man’s legs. His cock is already stiff, so he curls his fingers around his balls instead. He squeezes—not too hard, but enough to feel Zemo swallow against him in discomfort.

“You want me to fuck you so hard, until your knees give out and you can’t even say your own name?”

“Yes.”

No other word has sounded so good to Bucky’s ears. “Say it again,” he bites out. His grip inadvertently tightens.

“James,” Zemo rasps, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re hurting me.”

Bucky blinks slowly, watching the other man with dark, hooded eyes. And then, “You like it.”

It isn’t meant to be some revelation. Yet Bucky feels something akin to begin struck dumb at the way Zemo nods, his cheeks flushed red.

Bucky typically runs hot from the super-soldier serum coursing through his veins. Added to the warmth that spreads from Zemo’s skin through his fingers and limbs to his groin, and the heat is suddenly almost too hot to bear.

“You really want it?” Bucky asks curiously. Do you really want me?

“Yes, James, please.”

Now this is something he could get used to. Zemo begging him, pleading for him. Bucky bites down on his tongue as he thinks of Zemo on his knees again, taking him into his mouth and swallowing him into his throat. Maybe this time, he could turn him around and take him from behind. He would fuck that tight ass rough and hard, drawing broken gasps from his lips, and refusing to let him come until he’s begging him like a whore.

It’s a nice thought. Almost good enough to make him do it.

“James?”

At the sound of the small voice, Bucky averts his eyes and takes a slow smooth breath. Zemo is aching for his cock. Desperate for it, really, if the way he shudders and trembles, seeking friction against him is any indication.

He needs this to be over. He needs his head clear again—Zemo is too much of a distraction over anything else.

He needs to see Zemo crushed and humiliated. The other man still writhes helplessly against him, whining to bring attention to his needs. That helps.

Bucky has the upper hand here. He knows this now. He chuckles softly to himself. A smug sneer graces his face as he carefully loosens his grip. He takes a resolute step back and revels in the dumbfounded, speechless look on Zemo’s face.

Zemo stares at him, staggered, jaw dropped in shock, as he continues to step away.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Bucky says lightly before he turns on his heel. A second later, a Sokovian curse bites out like music to his ears.

Bucky smirks to himself as he retreats. So petty and stubborn, he thinks Steve might actually be impressed with him.

[fallinfromasnowytrain]

Bucky Barnes Loves Dogs

Summary: following Bucky throughout life as he wants a dog.

For: @falcon-chill​. It’s been simply lovely to talk with you over anon, and I loved writing this. I’m excited to chat off anon now and get to know you better! Much thanks to @nottodaylogic​ who helped me with writing this and @metalbvcky​ who set this all up! A very happy holidays to you all!

-

Bucky Barnes had always wanted a pet. 

A PET was the first thing written on every birthday list, right before toy soldiers or gum or whatever new thing he wanted that year. 

Once for Halloween, he got a baby sister. He didn’t know you were supposed to get presents at Halloween. 

Around his seventh birthday, he asked his dad why he never got a pet. Pa had ruffled his hair and laughed. 

“You’ve got enough brothers and sisters, Jamie. Isn’t that good, bud?”

He’d just mumble “sure”, not wanting to upset his Ma who’d made his brothers and sisters. 

-

When he lived with Steve in their own little apartment, he still wanted a pet. 

Both of them knew it was impossible. With rent, food, and Steve’s frequent doctor visits, there just wasn’t the money. 

Even though Bucky still couldn’t have a pet of his own, he enjoyed petting the stray dogs in the street or the dogs of rich ladies who lived near his parents.

-

Once the United States joined World War Two, Bucky got sent to Camp McCoy to train for the army. He heard that some folks were training dogs to assist the soldiers. He immediately wrote home to Steve.

Stevie, you’ll never believe it!

Dogs are being trained to assist soldiers!

You know I’m being trained as a sniper, but I wish I could be a dog handler.

Maybe when I come home a war hero we can get a dog and a big house with a big lawn for the dog to run in.

How are you? How’s home? Are you staying out of fights? I miss you lots. Sometimes it gets real cold in the barracks, and I miss our home and the blankets your ma made. 

Anyway, I’m doing pretty well.

All my best, Buck

-

The base in Italy was wet, cold, and terrifying. Bucky had never been out of the States before, and now he was in enemy territory with Axis soldiers trying to kill him.

Bucky was scared any time had to leave his barracks (even though he knew a roof wasn’t going to do much against bombs).

The only part of the camp that resembled something normal was the mess hall. The food was rarely any good, but mealtimes brought all the soldiers together like battles didn’t. Sure, you trusted your brothers in arms during battle, but meals were different. Battles brought out fear and anxiety, while meals brought out laughter and stories of back home.

“What I miss the most is the ocean. Big blue waves crashing on the sand. And the sun! Fellas, it felt so good to just lay on the warm sand with the sun in the sky over ya’.”

“Aw, shut up, Frankie, we’ve heard enough about the sun,” Bucky said, laughing.

“Well, alright, Barnes, what’s somethin’ you miss?” Frankie shot back.

Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck. He missed his family, and he missed his bed and home-cooked meals. He missed working at the docks and going to dance halls when he could scrounge up enough change. Most of all though, he missed Steve. 

But the soldiers didn’t want to hear about Steve. 

“I—I miss seeing the dogs that the rich ladies have. Those ladies walk ‘round all near my parents’ place with their silk coats and pearl necklaces, and the dogs are sometimes looking nicer than my brothers! What with their fur all neat and those bright shining collars. I know it’s real over the top, but I wish I could have a dog to spoil like that.”

He did want a dog, that wasn’t a lie.

But what he wanted most was to be at home, curled up with Steve in their bed. 

-

Strapped to a cold metal table and experimented on somewhere in Austria, Bucky had frequent fever-dreams.

Usually, he’d dream about Steve. Even though in reality Steve got into fights all the time, that was a rare occurrence in his dreams. Most of the time he’d dream about coming home from a long day of work to a warm supper on the stove made by a Steve who was healthy. Other times, he’d dream about the house always being warm and sitting and listening to the radio with Steve.

Occasionally, he’d dream about having a puppy. Steve would always be present in the dreams with a puppy. Steve and Bucky would take their soft golden puppy on walks at night. Sometimes when it was warm they’d stop at Coney Island for some ice cream, and they’d let their dog splash in the waves.  

But no matter how much he dreamed, it never came true. No puppy, and certainly no Steve. 

-

Once again, Bucky was being shaken awake. 

Even though he despised his alarm clock from back in Brooklyn, he found himself longing for it now. Getting shaken awake got old fast. 

He groggily opened his eyes, expecting to see the bald German scientist hovering over him. 

He did not see the bald German scientist. 

He saw a man who looked just like Steve, only taller and with more muscle.

He must be hallucinating. 

The man shook him again. “Buck, c’mon, wake up.”

That voice was Steve’s voice. Bucky would bet his life on it.

“Stevie,” he mumbled, tired from days of experiments and dozing on the metal table.

“Yeah, it’s me, pal.” Steve pressed a large, cold hand to Bucky’s cheek. “I thought you were dead, Buck.”

“I thought you were smaller.”

Steve laughed, a loud, real laugh in the middle of a war. “Let’s get out of here.”

-

Back at base, Steve and Bucky were rushed to the medical tent.

A nurse bandaged Steve’s scrapes, put some ointment on his burns, and declared that other than a few minor injuries, he was fine. 

Bucky, on the other hand… Well, no one was quite sure what had happened to Bucky. Aside from a few burns from the fire, he had no visible wounds, but his head pounded something terrible, and his muscles felt achy. A nurse gave Bucky some water and placed a cool rag on his forehead and then left with a promise to return soon.

She returned with Colonel Phillips, and Steve paced beside Bucky’s cot as the nurse and the colonel discussed something quietly.

Bucky fell asleep.

When he woke, Steve was sitting in a chair beside his cot, hand clasped together, head bowed.

“Ste—Steve,” Bucky muttered out.

Steve’s head jerked up. “Oh, you’re awake. Here, let me get you some water.”

“No.” Bucky reached out, fingers grasping the sleeve of Steve’s shirt. “Stay.”

“Alright.”

Bucky turned his face towards his friend. “Are they sending me home?”

“They’re sending all of us to London.” Steve’s lips lifted, however slightly. “Giving us a break from duty for now.”

“You too? You’re gonna come with?” Bucky pulled at a thread in the blanket. What if they sent him away from Steve? What if Steve wasn’t coming too? HE wouldn’t be able to handle that. 

Steve placed his hand over Bucky’s restless one. “Of course me too. Think I’d let them send me somewhere without you?”

“Y’know what?”

“Huh?”

“I want a dog, Stevie.”

“Go back to sleep, jerk.”

-

The streets of London were loud, though to Bucky, everything was loud. The pounding in his head had never really gone away.

Even though the sounds made his head hurt, Bucky didn’t mind the noise all that much.

It was nice to be able to walk outside without the fear of being attacked by enemy troops—or at least, less fear of being attacked by enemy troops.

He liked being able to spend time with Steve. They would walk all around the city together. Brooklyn would always be home for Bucky, but he couldn’t deny that London was beautiful too.

One day while out walking with Steve, Bucky had seen a fluffy brown dog running in the grass and catching a ball thrown by a young boy.

Desperately wanting to pet the dog, Bucky approached the young boy with much less confidence than he would have before the war.

“Can I pet your dog?” Bucky asked.

The boy smiled. “Sure. Her name is Teacup.”

“Thank you.” Bucky knelt down, scratching behind Teacup’s ears. “Such a good doggy.”

-

All Bucky wanted was for the new year to bring about the end of the war. He wanted to go home and see his ma and pa and siblings and go to work and dance halls and live with Steve in their little apartment.

Bucky never seemed to get what he wanted.

Instead of home, the new year brought the Howlies boarding an enemy train—in a terrible snowstorm no less.

Granted, they were doing this to capture Arnim Zola, the man who had experimented on Bucky.

So no, Bucky would not mind capturing him, and he would not mind his death, either. He would just prefer to go home instead.

Steve and Bucky landed on the train as planned, but when they entered the car, armed soldiers were ready for them.

Bucky shot at a soldier while Steve slammed his shield into another’s head. Two more soldiers came in. Bucky shot one and was aiming at the other when suddenly he was blasted backwards.

Wind was whipping around him, and the deep ravine was below him, and how did he even get here in the first place when he just wanted to go home?

He saw Steve leaning over the side of the train, reaching a hand out to him. “Hold on! Hold on, Bucky. Grab my hand!”

Bucky stretched, trying to grab hold of Steve’s hand, but there was a crack, and the rail he was holding onto broke.

And he was falling through the sky, down, down, down.

And he saw Steve’s heart break into a million pieces.

And he landed hard on the ground. So hard that it rattled his teeth and his bones.

He couldn’t feel his left arm. He couldn’t really feel anything at all.

It was cold.

He wanted to go home.

-

Once again, Bucky found himself strapped to a cold metal table.

His arm was gone. His head hurt.

In the beginning, he had tried to fight the HYDRA bastards who captured him but soon learned that fighting just got him punched and denied food.

Sometimes he’d hear Steve’s voice, and Bucky would bolt upright, looking everywhere for the source of it.

The agents would laugh at him.

“Captain America isn’t coming for you, Sergeant,” they’d say, mocking.

Bucky was so tired.

He wanted to be home. He wanted to curl up in bed with Steve, and he wanted to go on evening walks with a dog, and he wanted to go home.

Soon enough, he lost track of how long it had been.

-

The Soldier couldn’t remember anything.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. 

The Soldier could remember blue eyes, but the handlers said he was imagining things.

-

The Soldier was instructed to take out Captain Rogers.

Captain Rogers was a good fighter.

Captain Rogers threw the Soldier in the air, and when the Soldier hit the ground, his face shield fell off.

The Soldier got to his feet, glaring at Captain Rogers.

“Bucky?” Captain Rogers said, mouth open in shock.

What was a Bucky? No, Captain Rogers was addressing someone. Captain Rogers was addressing the Soldier. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

-

The Soldier—no, James. 

James found his own little apartment.

He went out now and then but mostly tried to stay out of the way of everybody. 

He didn’t want to be noticed. 

James would cook himself meals in his apartment. He would water the plant that sat next to his bed.

Some days he would forget to water the plant.

Some days he would forget to eat.

Some days he would have a hard time, memories swarming in from all directions, and confusion overtaking his mind.

Some days, though, he wouldn’t have a hard time. Those days he would go for a run, maybe pick up a book from a small bookstore near his apartment.

He slowly started to remember things. He liked science. 

He liked to look out the window and see dogs passing by on the street. 

He wanted a dog. 

-

James just wanted to buy some fruit, when all of a sudden he was accused of killing the cat man’s father.

He did not kill the cat man’s father.

He didn’t do that anymore.

But he still found himself in Siberia after fighting the cat man, two flying robots, and a spider kid.

It turned out one of the flying robots was actually Tony Stark.

Howard Stark’s son.

He didn’t mean to kill Howard Stark, but that didn’t seem to matter to Tony. 

His arm was gone, his arm was gone.

He had just wanted to buy some fruit, go home, and water his plant.

-

Things were getting better. 

James was living in an apartment at the Avengers compound with Steve.

James was going to therapy. 

James was starting to remember things.  Steve was his friend. Steve liked to draw. James liked to listen to music. James liked to read and do puzzles.

James had gotten a dog, a golden retriever. Both Sam and his therapist had suggested it.

Pluto was a good doggie. James and Steve would go for walks with Pluto. When James was having a hard time, Pluto would snuggle against him, grounding him. 

And Steve? Steve was a good friend to James. Steve helped him to remember; Steve helped when he had a hard time.

Steve was special to James.

-

Bucky had been reading on the internet. There was a lot to learn.

He always knew that he liked more than just girls.

Now, there was a word for it. 

Pansexual, he figured, fit him. 

He told Steve, saying, “I’m pansexual. Means I like girls and boys and other people, too. If you want me to leave, just say.”

Steve broke out in a smile. “I like boys and girls, too, Bucky. Bisexual.”

“Oh.”

“And I… Bucky, I like you. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Bucky must’ve been quick for a little too long as Steve said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

“No!” Bucky said. “I just… there’s a lot of things going on. There’s a lot of things that have happened. But… I think I loved you before, and I like you a lot now.”

Steve just stared at him.

“Could I miss you, Steve?”

And Steve just leaned in, and Bucky put a hand to his cheek and kissed his lips softly, and it was nice nice nice.

“Would you like to go to Pride?” Steve whispered.

“I’d like that, Steve.” And he kissed him gently.

-

“Hop in, buddy,” Bucky said to Pluto, who was wearing a sign that said: PLUTO LOVES YOU.

Bucky himself was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, with pan flags painted on his cheeks.

“Ready, Buck?”

Bucky slid into the passenger seat of the car. Steve, wearing a bi flag tied around his neck, smiled at him. 

“It will be good,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s hand.

“It will be,” Steve agreed.

They kissed.

It was good.

[themusicplayedherlife]

Your Type

pairing: bucky barnes x reader characters: bucky barnes, reader, steve rogers, natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff, OC: lori jang word count: 4k+ warnings: angst, talks about abuse, talks about manipulation, 18+ situations summary: you might be an empath, but sometimes, even your powers fail you.

part of sleepover prompt w/ @forevans​: dancing with a whimsical pride go and read her masterpiece and say hello

“You’re a fucking asshole,” are hard words to tune out. Not because they’re crude or hurtful, but because of how childish they sounded coming from your mouth. They were words spouted out before storming off, nose flaring and eyes flashing with anger because you didn’t get your way. Anger, that after hours of thinking and reflecting, you realize was uncalled for. 

He had said some hurtful things. They were words that friends shouldn’t be allowed to say to each other, but you two have never been just friends. There was a thin line that you two walked on, occasionally leaning too far right or too far left as you tried to balance the nature of your relationship. And you were angry that he wasn’t willing to acknowledge that maybe the love he had for you was more than just the friendly kind.

You peek at your hands, the ones he would hold in his larger ones, fingers tracing the small scars on the back of it, close to your knuckles, gently. Slowly. Lovingly.

Would a man who didn’t love you touch you the way he would?

“You should sleep,” Steve suddenly speaks up, shooting you a worried glance from the pilot seat. “You’ve barely slept since we started this mission—”

You press the palm of your hand on your knee to stop it from bouncing. “I’m fine.”

Your two day mission had turned into a month and a half mission with scarce contact with the rest of the Avengers and only ever filtering through Natasha if deemed urgent and important. In a hurry, you managed to create hasty undercover identities as you mentally thanked Tony and Natasha for making sure the jet was stocked with Nano Masks for emergencies such as yours.

After managing to get your hands on intel and copies of incriminating weapon schematics, and spending most of your stored energy on fighting off bad guys, you’re finally on your way back, mind full of scenarios and words that could possibly mend or break your relationship with Bucky.

The jet’s console hums continuously and it’s as loud as Steve’s breathing. He keeps tapping his fingers on the armrest of his seat and your leg continues to bounce in place—you were still hours away from the compound, but with every minute you get closer it sends waves of anxiety through your body. 

His eyes bore into your profile unnervingly, and finally, in that stern, caring voice of his he says, “I’m here for you if you want to talk.”

“I’m fine,” you repeat harshly, and the way his eyes drop to the console has you swimming in guilt. “I’m sorry,” you follow softly and his eyes meet yours. 

“It’s okay,” he assures you, eyes gentle and caring. “Whatever happened between you and Bucky must’ve been—“

You bristle, hands clenching tightly press down on the fabric of your barely worn jeans—new civvies you had picked up to support your new identities—as you look away. “What did he tell you?”

He winces under the weight of your loaded voice. “Nothing, but he was... acting strangely—wired. When I asked what was wrong, he ignored me. I just assumed something happened, I’m sorry if I—“

Disappointment weighs in your stomach, the sick twisting and turning adding itself to loaded regrets. What had you hoped he would tell Steve? That he regretted it? That he was going to miss you? That you were right? You don’t know. “Well, you’ve assumed right.”

His eyebrows furrow, lips pursing, debating something in his head, until finally, he unsurprisingly asks, “What happened?”

You suck in a shaky breath, unsure if laying your feelings bare once more is a smart move, especially to Steve who cares a lot about Bucky. But his earnest eyes manage to coax it out of you. You trace an ugly, faint scar on your upper arm, ignoring the phantom of pain you coax out of it. “I told him... I love him and… and that I knew he loved me too.”

“You’re delusional,” he had said to your confession.

Maybe you were; but at that moment, you didn’t want to believe you could be. “I’m not. I know what I see, Bucky.”

His face was rigid, like the Winter Soldier, not like the soft and healing Bucky you have come to know. “And what’s that, sweetheart? What exactly do you see?”

He was challenging you, hoping you’d back down, but you wouldn’t. He should’ve known better. “It’s in the way you talk, the way your voice lowers an octave when you say my name; the way you look at me.” It was all true, but for some reason, with every observation you uttered, his expression kept growing darker, hurt, pained. “If you didn’t love me, you wouldn’t get all soft, wouldn’t pout your lips every time you want to kiss me, your fingers wouldn’t twitch when you want to touch me. You wouldn’t look after me—search for me just because you want to see me.”

He closed the distance between you, nose flaring, eyes harsh and cold. “You and I—we’re just friends. Just because we have a good fuck every once in a while doesn’t mean that there are feelings involved. You need to understand that I could never love you.” Yet, as he said those words something in his eyes changed, a spark that always made your heart melt appeared and with it your heated words were drained from you—he saw. And that warmth was gone as soon as it appeared. 

“Bucky—“

Anger boiled from deep within, harsh heat radiated from his large body and hit you wave after wave, but you stood your ground. You knew what you saw, you felt it, the love he had for you—more than just a friend would. So why? Why was he fighting it? Fighting you? “You think you know everything about me? About my feelings?” he asked, voice low in a growl. “You don’t know shit. I’ve had enough people tell me what to do and what to think. I don’t need you of all people telling me what to feel, either.”

Did he—he did, didn't he?

The chest plate of your tactical gear was practically pressed against his as you questioned in offense and disbelief, heart desperately trying to keep calm under the crushing weight of his words, his feelings no longer overpowering yours. “Are you seriously comparing me to them?”

“I am,” he said without pause, never flinching, not even when you winced.

How? How could he—“You’re full of shit, Barnes.”

He sneered. “And you’re a manipulative bitch.”

A manipulative bitch.

That’s what he called you.

It was a slap to the face, and it stung—more than you ever thought words could hurt. Not only had he compared you to his handlers, those awful people that hurt and took everything away from individuals, but he called you manipulative. The one thing you always feared being. And if he said it, then he must have been right, right? He doesn’t waste words, choosing them carefully and putting all of his emotions into them.

It took all of your strength—every single ounce of it to meet his gaze without crying, without wavering to say, “And I was wrong about you. You’re not the man I thought you were, the man Steve says you are. You’re a fucking asshole, James Barnes.”

That night, for the first time since Bucky joined the Avengers, you left on a mission without saying goodbye to him and it honestly felt like the world was burning at your feet.

Steve sucks in a breath of his own, surprise coloring his face. He’s quick to shove it down and adapt a more sympathetic expression, one that has you reeling in embarrassment. “He’s not ready yet,” Steve says, gentle and concerned like a parent. “He shouldn’t have said what he did, and I’m going to have a talk with him about it, but he’s not ready yet.”

You picture soft, blue eyes staring at you as if you’ve hung the moon and the stars for him. His gentleness when it came to touching you, even though you could hold your own against the best of them. His attentiveness—spoiling you shitless with your favorite foods, movies, and activities after coming back from a mission he wasn’t on.

“Careful, doll. I’ll get it for you,” he’d say, standing up to get whatever it is you wanted.

“Sweetheart, want some of this?” he’d ask, offering you whatever it was he thought you’d might like.

“I know,” you lie. That’s not the reason why he doesn’t want to be with you.

“He’s come a long way. A lot of it because of you, you know?”

You purse your lips, running a hand through your hair. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he whispers. “He was happy in Wakanda, more at ease, and I… I removed him from that space.” He pauses, jaw clenching and fingers closing into a tight fist, sorrow lacing his words. You want to reach out and reassure him, give him strength. But you can’t. “The compound was new, unfamiliar, had him on edge again as if he were running—he hid and isolated himself away from everyone. But you…” He trails off softly, grip loosening and eyes smiling at you with such a deep rooted warmth and admiration that you don’t deserve. “You showed him kindness when all he saw was doubt and suspicion from others. You lent him a warm hand and helped him out of it.”

“You’re just saying that.” Your voice cracks, and you hate the knot forming in your throat.

He reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m not. I know I never thanked you for it, but you’ve been the reason he smiles more often, why he’s more open—you have been the catalyst for greater things.”

“Then why—why would he—“

“Because I don’t think he understands how he feels. After Hydra, he’s finally the one choosing how to think and feel for himself, has someone who cares and loves him as deeply as you do, and with your powers… well, it confuses him, more than he probably lets on, doll.”

I’ve had enough people tell me what to do and what to think, and I don’t need you of all people telling me what to feel, either. 

Old wounds throb—flashes of whips and anger lashing at you as myriad of images and voice merge together into one mess—change, change it! Feel! Monster! Good for nothing! Can’t do anything right! I want him to love me. Can you do that? Hate. Fear. No. No! NO!

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

You started it, didn’t you? You were the one that approached him first, tricked him to have some kind of feelings for you—treated him like a wounded animal and you, it’s tamer. You took advantage of his vulnerability, not helped him. 

It started with a hand on the shoulder to holding hands. A slight caress of the cheek to cupping his jaw. A brief hug to warm, tight hugs that lasted minutes. A kiss on the cheek to a kiss on the lips.

You did this.

Steve calls your name, fingers slide to your wrist, tugging, trying to ground you—you, emotionally unstable you. You, who feels what others can not; you, who feels more than they can; who hides a part of yourself because you’re too afraid of what it can do—you.

You pull your hand from Steve’s grasp, his soft touch and eyes suddenly burning you. You don’t deserve his sympathy. “No, he’s right, Steve. I manipulated him,” you say with a wince, fingers digging into your scar.

You did.

He traced the faint scar on your hip slowly and firmly, and you jerked away from him. “Don’t,” you whispered into the low lit bedroom, refusing to meet his curious gaze. “Why not?” “I don’t like them. They remind me too much of my time with—“ you choked, voice faltering at the reminder of your parents. It was proper discipline, they would say, striking you with anything they could get their hands on any time you displeased one of their guests. When you wouldn’t follow their demands. The fingers that were tracing your scar trailed to your neck, slipping under your chin to lift your gaze. His gaze hard, wrecked, and his lips pressed against your eye—you were crying. “With who, baby?” he coaxed, thumb swiping to wipe away stray tears rolling down your cheek. “My parents,” you admitted weakly.

His gaze was lit, fire in those molten jewels of his, with an anger you had never seen in him before. “They hurt you?” His fingers traced another scar, just below your jawline, easily hidden, but welted enough to feel.

“I didn’t have a regular childhood,” you admitted, shuddering when the tip of his thumbs grazed your perk nipples, following another scar. “They made me believe that what they were doing was normal, that me being paraded to their friends, killing innocent people for them, them hitting me, their ugly words, what they believed in—all of it—was gospel. “It took Clint and Natasha, ah, forcibly removing me away from them to realize it was all manipulation,” you managed to say between sweet moans, his velvet lips trailing the large crossed gashes on your rib cage— tears pricked and you didn’t even know if it was because of him or the emotions taking over. “I don’t—I don’t want to be like them, Bucky. I don’t want to be a monster.” His fingers, warm and harsh, found their way between your legs, twisting and plunging at a slow, steady pace to make you cry for him, to have you writhing with want and need under his touch. “Sh, baby. You’re not them. You’re nothing like them. You’re sweeter, kinder—wonderful. The best damn thing in this world.” He licked away stray tears as you panted and whimpered, meeting his fingers with every thrust of your hips. “Come for me, darlin’. Let me prove to you how beautiful you are.”

Your chest swelled and an overwhelming sensation took over you. Stars burst and ruptured and realigned, fingers curled into flesh and soft lips pressed against yours—love. Undeniable love formed and cocooned itself around your space, floating and caressing until you came down from your high. It felt all too real, and all too much.

His hands traveled upward, fingers grazing every mark and bump on your body. His own body hovered over yours and in the slowest and sweetest motion, he entered you, filling you up with every piece of him and love.

But you were just projecting, weren’t you? Manipulating his feelings to feel what you felt. To love you like you love him. To deny you the truth you knew all along—

“I am a monster,” you say with a gasp, clenching your fists tight.

Steve is quick to detach himself from his seat, kneeling beside you and cradling your body against his, and you melt into him, sobbing into his flimsy, white shirt. “That’s not true. That’s not true at all. You are anything but a monster, you hear? You’re kind, sweet, and wonderful. Don’t let his words sprouted from anger get to you, because I’m sure right now he’s kicking himself over saying such hurtful things to you. Give him time, and he’ll come ‘round, I promise.”

His words, reminiscent of Bucky’s only manage to make you feel worse. You stuff your face into the crook of his neck, willing the pain to go away, and cling onto the small hope that Steve Rogers wouldn’t lie to you.

Steve helps you out of the quinjet, taking your hand in his in case you fall. With your energy drained after not getting any sleep and using most of your reserve for the mission, Steve is right to worry that you might faint if he doesn’t keep a hold on you. 

Natasha is waiting for you both at the bottom of the ramp and greets you with a witty remark on your appearance. You don’t respond with your usual exuberance, and it has her sneaking a glance, that you catch, at Steve. He doesn’t say anything either, just shakes his head and instead debriefs her on your mission on the way up to the shared living quarters reserved for the Avengers, keeping the details to a minimum until you all reconvene later for the official debriefing.

The doors part, and for a moment you brace yourself to find Bucky sitting on one of the couches decorating the lounge, only to relax when it’s Wanda you see occupying one of them. But an unfamiliar voice has you back on edge.

Wanda’s lips are pulled into a tight smile, eyes drifting everywhere and hardly paying attention to the brunette sitting across from her and talking her ear off. Her eyes land on you and she stands up, effectively cutting off the brunette in her rambling. She calls your name and Steve’s, and the brunette whips around to look at you. “You’re home! Welcome back!”

“Thanks, Wanda,” Steve says, blue eyes on the pretty brunette with gray eyes scrambling to her feet and patting her skirt down to seem presentable. “And this is…?”

“Lori!” she sputters out in awe. “My name is Lori Jang.”

“New recruit?” you ask and she smiles sweetly—it’s too sweet and it makes your stomach churn—as she shakes her head.

“Hey, doll, I’m ready—”

You pause, eyes snapping from Lori to Bucky and your breath hitches, a smile spreading onto your face at the sight of him. He’s wearing a familiar light blue pantsuit, the white button up shirt underneath having the first few buttons undone. His hair is slicked back into a low bun and his once gruff beard is trimmed. He looks beautiful. You knew he would. The moment you saw that suit, you knew you had to get it for Bucky, and with butterflies in your stomach you had handed the cashier your card, hoping that the first time he wore it would be for you.

How did he know you were returning today?

A swarm of nerves and delight build up inside of you, taking you off guard—its strong and naive. No. Innocent. It’s innocent. And it’s not yours, it’s not Steve’s or the girls, then—

A squeal breaks you out of your thoughts, flowing yellow and a deep, dark orange blurring passed you to get to Bucky—Lori. 

Hers. It’s hers.

His blue eyes don’t blink, they stay on you, even when her small body collides against him to wrap her arms around him. She’s none the wiser, tightening her hold on him even as he stares at you. Only you. There’s an unreadable expression on his face, covering the small smile he had worn when he first entered the room—it’s the same expression from that day.

Your smile slips, crashing to the floor with a harsh resounding sound as she cups his jaw in her petite hands and kisses him—it’s quick, but it happens slow enough for it to continuously loop in your mind. Oh. Fuck. Fuck. No. No. You need to leave. You need to get out, now! You need air—you need—you need—fuck!

“Sestra?” Natasha whispers at the same time a firm touch lands on your back for a brief moment before a large frame is blocking your view of him and her.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice echoes in the quiet room, demanding and firm.

Wanda is by your side and Natasha is holding your hand and you still need to leave. You need to get out. This isn’t—this wasn’t supposed to happen—not yet—he wasn't—he couldn’t! Oh my god. You really are delusional. He had been right. You were so stupid. So damn stupid!

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is unsure, hesitant. “Did you just get in?”

Confusion. Fear. Who?

“Yes. What is—what’s going on?” He asks at the same time Wanda tries to make you budge, but you can’t move. You’re frozen in place.

“Right. I, uh, this is Lori, my girlfriend. Lori, this is Steve, my best friend.”

Excitement. Dread. Who damn it?!

“Bucky has told me so much about you, Captain! Thank you so much for your service.”

There’s a twitch in his back muscles. “Thank you.”

Anger. Pain. It’s coming from everywhere.

Bucky says your name, and it sends a wedge in your heart, because it’s devoid of any affection. There’s no tenderness, or joy in his voice, just flatness. You did this, a voice reminds you. I did. I did do this.

“Yeah?” You say at the same time Natasha pulls your arm and you shake her off, stepping out from behind Steve.

Hesitance. Jealousy. 

“Lori, this is…” he trails off, once more hesitant and unsure, and it’s the only emotion he’s shown towards you, and it’s probably the only you’ll ever get for the dumb mistakes you’ve made, and the assumptions you allowed to take over your mind. This is your fault.

Can you even say you’re his friend? When he obviously doesn’t even know if he should call you that—a friend? 

“His friend,” you answer for him anyway, willing to keep your voice leveled. “I’m his friend,” you say with a smile that’s been shattered and glued back together hastily. 

Relief. Anxiousness.

She smiles sweetly again, and it hurts. It’s pure and untainted, so unaffected by the monsters under the bed, and you already know she’s perfect for him. She’s nothing like you, nothing like this world you live in. She’s small and tiny, no battle scars on her petite body, confident enough to wear cute, yellow mini skirts and orange halter tops with thin straps. She doesn’t have to hide marks like you, or Natasha, or Wanda, or Sharon. She’s unmarred, and she will always remain that way—unlike you. It’s too late for you.

Emotions. Emotions. Emotions!

Too much. Too much!

Pain. Pain. Pain!

They swarm, hitting you from every angle. It doesn’t stop! Make it stop!—worry, suspicion, anger, sympathy, pity, and… and love. It’s too much and too suffocating, and you need to leave. You need to get the hell out of there and escape!

Steve calls your name softly, hands warm and steadying you. Natasha and Wanda say something, to her, to him, to you? You don’t know. You don’t know anymore. 

Something tugs at your brain, fingers caressing and energy flowing—red. An exclaim leaves Wanda’s mouth and your heart stops when all you manage to feel is sympathy; she’s in your mind. Pulling, tugging, stringing until she’s draining it all away, sucking every emotion hitting you and you can finally breathe. But she can’t mend your broken heart.

And that, that is what has you steadying on wobbly feet as your desire to leave remains.

“Please excuse me, I—I need to rest for a bit,” you tell them, smile unwavering but wanting to wilt away. “Have fun on your date.” You don’t give them a chance to answer, moving passed them to head into the hallway and away from them—away from him.

Love.

It’s strong, and rosy, and you try not to focus on it as it follows after you, tries to weave into the crevices of your mind because you don’t know where it belongs, to who it belongs to. And you don’t want to know.

Not anymore.

You throw yourself into your room, closing the door behind you. Leaning against it, you slide down and allow the first sob to escape your lips. Eyes stinging, you wrap your arms around yourself, head banging harshly against the wooden material.

“I’m an idiot,” you whisper to yourself.

You were never the type of girl for him. You were too rough and pushy, manipulative at times—a monster. You weren’t going to pretend any more, Bucky could never fall in love with you. You were only ever meant to be a stepping stone to something better, and now that he’s found better, you will force yourself to push your feelings away for his and your sake. 

Gathering your resolve, you pull out your phone and bring up your message log with Bucky and type out a quick message before allowing yourself to cry loudly and mourn a love that could never be.

Just friends. You promise. I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.

But you two will never be just friends.

Love.

[enkelimagnus]

Hardwood

Bucky Barnes Gen, 2393 words, rated T

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 5 Truth

Bucky decides to make his Brooklyn house a little more of a home for him, to his taste. A worried neighbor comes a-knocking.

TW: mention of murder of children (brief)

Read on AO3

Part 35 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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

Three days after he comes home from Delacroix, Bucky grabs a frayed edge of carpet from his bedroom floor and pulls. It comes off with a loud tearing sound, but he just keeps pulling, effortlessly baring the hardwood underneath.

He doesn’t really know why he does it. He just sees the edge and pulls and he’s halfway down the room when he realizes the furniture is definitely on the way, and if he wants to do this, he’s going to have to plan it out. You don’t just redecorate this easily.

At least as far as he knows.

He’s never done this before. His parents’ home had stayed the same through his entire life, as far as he knew. Furniture was moved once a year before Passover, when they cleaned the place from top to bottom. And after that, he’d been through many safehouses, but his handlers had never had sudden desires to redecorate.

He doesn’t really know where to start. He knows he can’t remove the entire carpeting without taking out the furniture of the bedroom. He knows the color of the walls is horrible and he wants to change that. He knows that, by himself, it’s going to be an ordeal. But he doesn’t really know who to ask for help.

Miriam is way too old, he doesn’t have that good of a relationship with Charlie, and there is no way in hell he’s letting any of his coworkers remotely close to his personal life. So he’s going to do it by himself. One room by one room, probably.

Still, he uses his left arm to pull the bed off of the ground and the other one to pull the carpeting off from under it.

He guesses being a supersoldier has some advantages in this sort of situation.

It doesn’t take long for the entire hardwood floor of the bedroom to be bare, for the loud ripping noises that came with his hard, powerful pulls. The carpet won’t be usable anymore but he doesn’t care. He’ll throw it in the trash anyway.

Nothing Hydra touched should be given to someone else. It all deserves to burn.

He’s tired of this house feeling so much like a safehouse. He wants to change things, he wants it to be his house, not Hydra’s, on more levels than just legal. He wants to truly live here. It’s his, and he can do whatever he wants with it. He could have it bulldozed if he felt like it, but he doesn’t. He wants a home.

He’s halfway through ripping off the first guest room’s carpet when the doorbell rings.

It startles him. No one ever rings his doorbell. No one comes to see him. He’s lived there for a couple months now, and not once has that bell rang. He forgets for a brief instant that he’s holding the entire bed up with one hand.

Somehow, he manages to catch the heavy bed frame before it crashes into the floor and damages it.

Despite the surprise someone is ringing, Bucky takes the time to pull on his gloves. He’s already wearing a long-sleeved tshirt, and with the gloves on, no one can see the arm. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be fully comfortable in the open, in the daylight, with the arm out, even if it isn’t Hydra’s anymore.

He should probably get used to people knowing who he is. Anonymity isn’t something he’s allowed. Not after Berlin, not after the war with Thanos, not after Riga. Before all of that, no one would have recognized him. Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s right hand, was supposed to be long dead. The only Howling Commando to lose his life in the service of his country.

Now, if no one sees the arm, he can still pass for just another white man with a vague resemblance to someone that was one tv a couple of times. That’s all he can really have.

There’s no use in raging against it. The past couple of decades of the rise of social media has made it impossible for him to be erased. Zemo knew what he was doing in Vienna.

The person behind the door is breathing steadily. They don’t seem to be filled with adrenaline, not with that relatively calm heartbeat. There is no telltale sign of aggression or preparation for violence. Bucky swallows, takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Behind the wooden panel is his neighbor. They’re tall, relatively thin, with hair so short it’s more like a five o’clock shadow spreading over their skull. They smile at him. Bucky stares. He doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen his neighbor in the daylight.

“Hi there, I’m your neighbor,” they say, pointing towards their door, as if Bucky hasn’t recognized the one person that knows when he goes running from his nightmares. “I heard some strange noise, everything’s okay?”

Bucky keeps staring for a moment. He didn’t think the ripping of the carpeting would be loud enough to attract attention. But he was wrong. He didn’t imagine it would sound stranger than his occasional nightly shouts of terror or pain.

He quickly gets back to reality as the neighbor in front of him stares back with a smile.

“Hi,” he ends up saying. “Hm, I was… I was pulling the carpeting off of my bedroom floor. Nothing to worry about.”

It’s strange, having neighbors that seem to care whether you’re dying a strange horribly, ripping death. Or maybe they’re worried he’s killing someone, or doing some other horrible thing he would have done as the Winter Soldier.

Either way, this person’s presence in front of him right now is peculiar. It makes him think of Mrs Naumescu, his parents’ left neighbor, who would come knocking whenever she heard something that worried her.

There had been a couple of nights where Bucky had snuck back in, sometimes with Steve, sometimes after dropping Steve off at his own place, where she had heard him come in and come knocking to warn his parents of an intruder, or scare away said intruder. She’d had a baseball bat in her hand - her son’s.

Hopefully this neighbor won’t be as worried for his safety.

“Do you need help?” they ask, and Bucky stares at them again, bewildered. He wasn’t expecting to be asked such a thing. He wasn’t expecting anyone to want to help.

“I’m pretty strong…” He starts, and then stops.

He can do it alone. But he could also take the offered help, for once. There’s an outstretched hand. What horrible thing can they do to him that hasn’t already been done? He knows better than to dismiss them as just a neighbor - after all, he knows plenty of very common and innocent-looking spies. But what harm can actually be done to him?

“You know anything about hardwood floors?”

For the rest of the morning, Bucky keeps the gloves on. There are only a couple of instances of him displaying strength that is just on the edge of unusual, but they don’t comment on it. They do exchange names and - to Bucky’s surprise - pronouns.

The neighbor’s name is Olly and they use they/them pronouns. To his own shame, he has to be given an explanation on what that means. He’s so deeply out of touch with that part of the world. A part of the world that he supposedly belongs in, according to today’s definitions. Because Steve was a man, and even if he’s the only man Bucky ever willingly wanted, it still counts.

It should have been a fluke, a one-off. It shouldn’t have counted if it was only Steve. But it does, supposedly. Bucky doesn’t know much about that.

They work fast, get the carpeting out of the two other guest rooms as well as the corridor. Turns out, Olly knows how to take care of hardwood floors. They know a lot of stuff about remodeling and house work. They end up establishing together a list of items needed to properly finish the job, and do what Bucky actually wants for his home.

Bucky makes them sandwiches for lunch, with pastrami, mustard and pickles. It’s a cliché perhaps, but it’s delicious. There are a couple of beers in his fridge.

“You’re good at all of this,” Bucky says, swallowing a mouthful of pastrami. It’s a little too dry. He misses the butcher he went to as a kid. His pastrami was amazing. He hasn’t been able to find one that compares with his memories yet. “Is it what you do for a living? House renovation?"

They chuckle, shaking their head. "Oh wow, no, not at all. I’m a social worker,” they explain. Social worker. Bucky remembers those people growing up. They were trying to fix problems, especially with the crash. “When my partner, our friends and I renovated the house,” they continue, pointing towards the wall between their two houses. “We learned a few things. What do you do?"

It takes a moment for Bucky to figure out actually how to phrase it. "Military contractor."

That’s the closest he can think. He’s contracted by the military, somewhat. They did make him sign a contract, to regulate what had already been outlined by his pardon agreement.

"Like an engineer?"

Of course they’re polite and curious. Bucky would be as well. He could just come out and say it. I’m the Winter Soldier and one of the reasons I walk free is that I work to clean up Hydra’s messes. He doesn’t know how public the conditions of his pardon are.

Once again, he struggles to explain what it is he does without saying it out right.

“I guess I provide intelligence? And experience."

Phrased that way, it sounds nice. That’s what he does though, it’s not a lie. It feels… almost pleasant to be able to say it that way. He provides information on how Hydra works, experience on how the safehouses are set up… A fist too. When they break into a safehouse, he’s always first. He’s hard to kill, after all.

And maybe… just maybe, some of his higher-ups wouldn’t mind if he died on a mission. They’d tell the place he went out trying to fix what he’d done.

Sometimes, that phrasing ‘fixing what he’d done’ chokes him up. It’s the way Lieutenant General Henricksen talks about the work he makes him do. Henricksen believes it was his fault. Of course he does.

It makes sense. People have no idea what it is like to be brainwashed. They have seen movies and video games and read books about it. They have no idea what it is actually like. They have no idea how it feels.

He remembers all of it, and he remembers pulling the trigger. Sometimes because he was directly ordered to by a handler - something that was impossible for him to resist doing. Sometimes because it was what was required to complete the mission - like with the son and daughter of the Algerian FLN commander that were sleeping in their beds.

He could have disobeyed all the orders in the second category. He never did. Not until Steve.

He must have zoned out thinking about the horrible things he’s done, because Olly clears their throat.

“And if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get this house? It’s been empty for years, we always wondered what was going on with it.”

That’s, again, a really hard question to answer without saying the truth. Bucky’s not even supposed to tell the truth about his work. That’s not his job. He doesn’t work on communication.

“Inheritance?” It comes out more like a question than anything else.

So much about his life is… unexplainable. It’s like all he has to share with the world is a heavily redacted file.

Most of it is of his own doing, he realizes. He’s the one who doesn’t want people to know exactly who he is, what he’s done. The only things he is actually forbidden to talk about are the specifics of his high-profile, governmental kills, as well as his ongoing missions with the army. The rest…

He could just say that this is an ex-Hydra safehouse and he got it through work. He could just say he’s working with the army to break into Hydra properties and recover what they took from the government while they were hiding behind the SHIELD insignia.

There would be questions, of course. What of the non-governmental resources they took? That goes to various archive buildings all over the U.S., to be tagged, processed and gather dust until their rightful owners pipe up. There are a lot of items waiting for people who don’t know they’re missing something.

Olly seems to accept Bucky’s cryptic and hesitant answer. Thank G-d. Bucky doesn’t know what he would have said if they kept prying. He guesses it’s selfish. He knows he can’t finish the job by himself, and telling Olly the truth would surely make them run out of the house.

They finish lunch and Bucky makes a pot of coffee. It’s when he turns back to face Olly that his eyes catch the picture he framed on the wall when he got there.

The picture of Steve and him on the front lines, in Europe. The postcard from the Smithsonian. Both of their faces, smiling wide. As far as Bucky knows, there aren’t any images of Steve smiling that way, wide and open and carefree even in the middle of the war, from after he was unfrozen in 2012.

Perhaps because he just didn’t have time to smile like this anymore. Perhaps because this was his Bucky smile. The smile Bucky knew he only smiled for him, and because of him. The best, most beautiful smile in the world.

In any case, there is no way Olly didn’t see the picture. There is no way they don’t know who he is now, even without seeing the arm. They haven’t said anything.

Bucky reaches over and pulls his right glove off, revealing skin. It takes all the strength in his mind and body to take off the other one, revealing vibranium.

He usually never takes the gloves off in front of someone when he isn’t playing soldier. But he is in his home. He shouldn’t have to hide himself here.