#it's second week of pride yall know what this means :sunglasses:

[newtstommy]

to invent a language by tommyglued; newtmas, 67k, complete, M {read chapter two on ao3}

Two best friends, inseparable since the day they met, return from their road trip on different days. One moves out of town with his sister immediately, the other locks himself inside the house as soon as he arrives. The town in question is called Haven and, staying true to its small town workings, erupts in gossip.

A decade and a half later, it's an ordinary day of tending to plants and navigating workshops for Newt. Quite ordinary, indeed, until the Garden's doorbell chimes and an unexpected guest voices his presence.

Thomas always had a knack for turning Newt's world upside down, after all.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

[sincerelyreidburke]

Omg can I please have a fic where Quinn (possibly backed by all of SMH) absolutely throws down N*te. And then maybe comforts a Sad Nando bc nando is Soft and needles all the cuddles and support

Okay, this has been in popular demand for quite some time now. It may be 1:31 AM, but I’m counting this as a little birthday present for Nando.

Set during Quinn’s summer in Arizona. :D

//

One of the first steps of taking your boyfriend home for the summer is showing him around.

For the past six days, that’s what Nando has taken it upon himself to do. He can’t believe, actually, that he and Quinn have been home from school for an entire week already— well, a week tomorrow, but still— and yet here they are, arrived at the last day of Nando’s extensive tour of the Phoenix metro area. They’ve spaced it out— something one day, something another— like dinner at Tio’s one night, an afternoon meeting his best friends from home, showing Quinn his childhood rink.

He’s satisfied with his own performance as a tour guide, but tomorrow means his first shift at Tio’s restaurant, which means that summer job season is really beginning. Which, like, obviously he and Quinn can still hang out— they’re living under the same roof; and if it’s not Mama or one of the girls, Quinn is the first person he sees every morning. It’s just that once he has a summer job schedule, their days won’t be entirely their own anymore.

For Quinn, he knows, that might be a little weird, at least for these first three weeks until Gabi and Rosa get out of school. Once they’re done, the summer theatre stuff starts up, and Quinn is getting paid to do that, so he’ll have something to do.

In the meantime, though, Nando knows he brought things with him. Like his knitting stuff. And a few books. And his camera.

And until tomorrow, the time is still theirs.

“Okay, my love,” Quinn says, at the kitchen table, over his toast and eggs. The morning is all theirs; Mama is at work, so once they got the twins out the door and onto the bus, Nando made him breakfast. “What’s on the agenda today?”

Nando grins at him. “Oh, you’re curious?”

He shrugs. “In a way.” He’s wearing a baggy KMH shirt tucked into his pajama bottoms, and he hasn’t even done his hair yet. Nando lives for seeing him like this— his obsessively proper boyfriend, who won’t be caught dead in jeans outside of a party, in his pajamas in his family’s kitchen.

It has been six days, and having Quinn at home has given him enough fuel for domestic daydreaming to last a lifetime.

It’s going to be a good summer.

“Well, I saved a good thing for last,” Nando tells him, reaching for his hand across the table. “We’re going to the beach.”

Quinn raises his eyebrows, skeptical. “In Arizona.”

“Yes,” he chirps back, because two can play at this game. “I’m driving you eight hours south to the ocean. Do you have your passport?” Quinn laughs a little, and he adds, “No, baby, the beach by the river. There’s a little park there. We can sit by the water in the sun.”

“Ooh.” Quinn smiles. “That sounds lovely.”

“But first,” he adds, squeezing his hand. “I’m taking you to my favorite Starbucks.”

Quinn cocks his head, with amusement in his smile now. “You have a favorite Starbucks?”

“You don’t have a favorite Starbucks?” he replies.

“I…” He trails off a little. “I can’t say I do, actually.”

“Well, I’ll educate you.” He brings his hand to his face, kisses it, and says, “Maybe this one will become your favorite.”

Quinn’s smile is the cutest shit he has ever seen. “Maybe so.”

*

In the truck, on the way there, Quinn is watching out the window. “So why is it your favorite?”

“Huh?”

“The Starbucks.” He looks to him across the console. “Why is it your favorite?”

“Oh.” Nando grins. “Well, okay. It’s, like, classic Arizona architecture, and—”

“Wait, you like it because of the architecture?” Quinn chuckles a little. “Are you Ben?”

“Jesus, baby, are you chirping me?” Nando jostles his arm, and Quinn laughs. “You’re a regular KMH member. I’m impressed.”

Quinn shrugs. “I suppose you’re finally rubbing off on me.”

“Wow.” Nando loves his boyfriend. “I’m honored. But FYI, I was only starting with the reasons I liked it.”

“Okay, continue, then.”

“Okay, so it has a lot of really nice outdoor seating.” Nando pauses. “It’s, like, near a shopping center, but it’s separate from the rest of the stores, so it’s not just some ugly spot. They always have the good cake pops, and plus, the manager is cool. They have blue hair and they wear a bunch of pride pins on their apron.”

“Okay.” Quinn nods, as Nando watches him process. Or at least sort of watches him, because he is, technically, still driving a vehicle, cute as the boy in the passenger’s seat may be. “That does sound like a good Starbucks.” He pauses. “What do you mean by the good cake pops?”

“Lemon ones,” he replies. “And chocolate. And, during Pride month, rainbow.”

“Oh my goodness.” Quinn closes his eyes, like he’s having a moment. “Now I’m craving a cake pop.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re on our way there,” Nando replies, and he laughs.

It only takes a few more minutes to arrive. The parking lot is sort of crowded, but it doesn’t look like a mob scene, which is nice. Nando sees an empty table for two under a palm tree on the patio that has their name on it.

“Here we are,” he remarks, parking the truck across the lot from the door. “Our cake pops await.”

Quinn puts on his sunglasses. Their lenses are rose-gold and circular, and he looks criminally adorable in them. And also kind of super hot. That’s the thing about Quinn. He’s the cutest thing in the world and he’s also the source of literally all of Nando’s thirst. And he can turn on a dime. “I’m ready,” he tells him, combing back his hair. Already, with the past week in the sun, it’s gone a little lighter blond on the top. “I’ll have you know, my expectations are extremely high.”

“Oh, this won’t disappoint you,” Nando assures him. “I promise.”

They walk hand-in-hand across the parking lot, and Nando grabs the door for him. Inside is sweet air-conditioned bliss, and it smells like fresh-roasted coffee beans and the bakery case. Nando hasn’t been in here since Christmas break, and it’s been too long.

There’s a small line, but it won’t take more than a few minutes to get to the register. He tries to see who’s working, in case it’s Shai, but he can’t get a good look at the cashier, and there’s no sign of their blue mohawk among the baristas making the drinks.

Shai is actually, like, thirty, and possibly married, but they memorized his drink order in high school and always complimented him on his pride shirts, so they’re one of those older queer people Nando has just imprinted on. And, okay, yeah. He was totally excited to bring his boyfriend in here to meet them. It’s the little things.

Going around town with Quinn is like showing him off, and he has never been happier.

As they get in line, Quinn wraps his hand around his elbow, leaning into him. “It smells good in here,” he hums, with his head against his shoulder.

“I told you,” Nando replies, kissing his temple. “This is a magical place.”

He checks his phone, briefly, while they wait in line; he hasn’t actually looked at it since he woke up this morning. He has a few Snapchats in the cricket group chat, plus one from Nursey (he and Dex just got engaged, which, !!!!!!), and a separate text from Rhodey (it looks like he sent him a TikTok; Rhodey is obsessed with TikTok). He opens the cricket group, turns his front camera on, and snaps a selfie. Quinn is smiling with his cheek against his shoulder, and he himself looks like a little bit of a meme, but Quinn looks cute, so he saves it before he types the caption (coffee run y’all want anything) and sends it through.

In exactly twenty seconds, Rhodey replies. It’s a picture of himself in his work uniform— he delivers pizzas in Providence— and he’s flashing a peace sign at the camera. His hair is in a pink, blue, and yellow striped scrunchie. ya get me an americano. also yall are gay

Quinn snickers. “Well, I would sure hope so, Ben.”

Nando pockets his phone and hooks his arm around his neck. “Super gay.”

Quinn leans into his shoulder. “Mm.” He nods. “The gayest.”

They move forward a spot in line, then another. In fact, they move forward three entire spots without incident. Quinn is humming some showtune— it’s from Spring Awakening; he recognizes it— and Nando is keeping his eyes peeled for Shai, or at least someone he knows. Look at me! I’m in love and I’m happy.

But then God says, be careful what you wish for.

Because as they move into the spot where they’re up next to order, he catches the sound of the cashier’s voice. “... and can I get a name for the order?”

All of the life leaves Nando’s body.

“Holly? Great.” The voice is nasally, and a little artificially cheerful. He hasn’t heard it— outside of a few drunk voicemails— in over two years, but it evokes a visceral reaction in him. He feels sick, all of a sudden. “That’ll be right up.”

He must be tense all of a sudden, because Quinn peers up at him. “Sebastián?” he asks, and what a difference between two voices. “Are you alright?”

He tries to take a deep breath. “I, um.” He pauses. “I think we have to leave.”

“Next customer, please?”

“Leave?” Quinn squints. “But we’re next!”

The people in front of them step to the side counter, and Nando sputters too long. “We, uh—”

But when the way is clear, it’s too late. “Sebby!”

Nando wants to die.

“Holy shit!” Nate has a different haircut, and a Starbucks apron, but otherwise he’s the same— the same pasty pale skin, the same bony stature, the same face so easily twisted into a scowl. Right now, though, he’s smiling, which, honestly, is an expression that looks alien on him, based on Nando’s memory. “You didn’t tell me you were home from school!”

What he wants to say is, Nate, why the fuck would I tell you I was home from school, but what he does say is, “Uh, hi.”

He is going to cringe himself to death. He’s been home for no less than six days, and he is already running into his ex with his boyfriend.

When did he start working here?

“It’s been forever!” As Nate keeps on this weirdly cordial tangent, Nando feels Quinn still next to him. Quinn knows vaguely what Nate looks like, but what he knows better is the way he used to act, and the fact that he used to call him Sebby. Also, he’s wearing a nametag. And Nando feels as stiff as a board. “How’ve you been?”

Very carefully, Quinn unwinds his arm from his, and takes a firm, obvious grip on his hand.

“Jeez, I keep trying to reach out to you,” Nate continues, like they’re old friends running into each other, and not exes with a toxic history. “We really should catch up sometime, now that you’re in town.”

Nando takes a long breath, like it’ll fix the tension in his chest. He squeezes at Quinn’s hand, which helps a little. Quinn leads when they step up to the counter, and he inhales like he wants to order, but Nate is still fucking going. “Who’s your friend?” he asks.

“Boyfriend,” Quinn blurts, in his I’m pissed and I mean business voice, which, thank God for this boy. “I’m his boyfriend.”

Nate raises his eyebrows a little, looking at Quinn like he’s a five-year-old having a tantrum. “Oh,” he says, shrugging. “My bad. Although, I should’ve known.” Nate’s eyes dart to him for a second, and Nando wants to scrub himself clean of that gaze. “He tends to go for the little guys,” Nate continues, to Quinn, gesturing between the two of them like he’s comparing their heights. Then he shrugs again. “Gotta balance it out, y’know?”

Nando’s stomach turns. It stings, so much, and as soon as this is out of Nate’s mouth he feels Quinn squeeze his hand so hard it’s like he intends to break bones. He squeezes right back, and God, he knows it’s cruel and unnecessary and shouldn’t bother him, and it’s been almost three fucking years since he had to deal with Nate, but it still hurts. It hurts just as much as every comment like that did from him. It sends him back to memories of hating and second-guessing himself, and he just. He feels so fucking humiliated.

Quinn takes a very long breath, his eyes on Nate, while he digests this, and then he says, “Can I get a peach green tea, please.” He pauses, still squeezing the circulation out of his hand, and it is the only thing keeping Nando from tearing up. Which is pathetic. But he’s just. It hurts. “And he’ll have a—”

“Mocha frappe. Yeah. I know.” Nate chuckles a little, already grabbing a cup. “Extra whip, right?”

Quinn bristles, face flushing, and finally, Nando finds his voice. “Actually,” he says, “no.” Because even though that was what he was going to order, he doesn’t want to give Nate the satisfaction of thinking he still knows him that well. His Starbucks order may be the same, but there’s so much about him that’s changed since Nate knew him. So much about him that’s better now. Without him. He orders his second favorite. “An iced vanilla latte.” And then, because even though he really doesn’t feel like being polite to him, he feels like Mama might manifest in this Starbucks and kick his ass if he doesn’t say it, he adds, “Please.”

“Hm, my mistake,” Nate says, with a shrug, as he’s writing on the two cups. “I guess you’re a new man, Sebby. We really should catch up.” Quinn’s death grip intensifies, because he knows how much Nando cannot stand being called that. He brings his other hand back to wrap around his elbow, too, like he’s being protective, and Nando has never been more grateful for him.

“Anyway, that’ll be right up.” Nate looks so unbothered, just the way he always did, years ago, when he’d make a comment that left Nando’s self-esteem reeling for days afterward. “I guess I don’t really need your name for the order, huh?”

He’s writing on the cup, and Nando can’t see— or just doesn’t want to— but Quinn must be able to, because he says, “His name is Sebastián.”

Nate raises his eyebrows. “Ooh, feisty.” And of course Quinn sounds mad— but Nate making fun of him will do nothing but add more fuel to the fire. Nate looks to him, past Quinn entirely, and adds, “Does he speak for you all the time like this, or—?”

Nando wants to melt into the floor. “Just give us our total, Nate,” he says, because the faster they can get out of here, the better. Quinn is bristling next to him, but stays quiet. 

Nate sighs, shrugs a little, and punches into the cash register. “If you say so,” he says, then announces, “6.23.”

And he thinks that’s going to be the end, but then, as he’s handing over his card, Nate keeps fucking talking. “Oh!” he says, still all faux-fake. “Sebby, you should take him to the lake. Remember, when we’d go down there in high school?”

Quinn’s grip on him tightens. This transaction cannot process fast enough. “We had a lot of fun,” Nate says, like he’s reminiscing. “Always did. It’s a shame; I feel like we never really had closure.”

Finally, finally, after what feels like a million years, he hands his card back, and Nando pockets it in a hurry. “C’mon,” he says to Quinn, because he cannot stand here for one more second, and as they walk away, Nate calls after them.

“Hey, give me a shout sometime!” He’s doing the fake-smile thing again. “We should really hang out, now that you’re in town again.”

Nando squeezes his eyes shut and takes a tight breath; he didn’t realize it before, but it’s hard to breathe. He feels sick and humiliated and awful, and when they’re far enough away to be out of earshot, he looks to Quinn and whispers, “Baby, I am so sorry.”

Quinn is surprisingly calm, at least in comparison to his clear irritation at the register. He shakes his head and rubs his arm with the free hand that’s not holding his. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I just—” He wants to melt. “I had no idea he started working here; I haven’t even seen him since before freshman year, and it just— like, it figures, right—”

“Sebastián,” Quinn says, and his even voice pulls Nando out of his head. “I’m going to get our drinks, and then we can get out of here, okay?”

Nando lets all his breath out at once, then nods. “I— yeah. Okay. That’s— perfect. I’m sorry, baby.”

“Do not be sorry.” Quinn rises on tiptoe and kisses his cheek. “None of that was your fault.”

Quinn seems surprisingly collected for someone who was just ignored and insulted a minute ago, and Nando has this feeling, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he’s planning something, some kind of revenge— but what could he do, with Nate just working?

They station themselves against the wall by the pick-up counter, and it isn’t lost on Nando how touchy Quinn is being— not that they’d hold back in public for any reason in general, but he’s definitely going the extra mile right now, rubbing the inside of his elbow and leaning his head on his shoulder and holding his hand all at once. Not only is the touch grounding; Nando is also fully aware that Quinn is trying to rub it in Nate’s face should he glance over from his spot behind the counter.

Which, good. Let him fucking stare if he wants to. Nando hasn’t felt that humiliated in a long time.

And he hates that he let it hurt him, that one stupid comment— but it was such a reminder of worse times, times when he’d have to process things like that from the person who was supposed to be his partner all the time, and it was just. It was always hard, and it was always awful, and being with Quinn has helped him work so much on all of that. Quinn taught him, so early on, that he deserved better. Everything with Quinn is better.

He just focuses on holding Quinn’s hand for a minute, until Nate puts their drinks out at the pick-up counter. “Stay here, honey,” Quinn tells him, squeezing his hand before he unwinds his fingers from it. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Nando replies, and watches him go.

Quinn squares his shoulders, takes a short breath, and walks to the counter. Nando is suddenly very aware that something might be about to happen. He leans against the wall and listens in, as he watches Quinn take the two drinks from across the counter.

He’s right. Quinn looks Nate dead in the eye and says, “Hi, could I just remind you of something?”

Oh my God. Nando widens his eyes. Is Quinn about to chew him out?

Nate says nothing, but looks unamused, and Quinn continues. “You broke up with him,” Nando hears him say. “After you cheated on him, by the way. Just in case you forgot.” Nate raises his eyebrows, but stays silent. Quinn is reeling now, and there’s no stopping him. “And I happen to know an awful lot about the way you treated him, and how much that hurt him, so don’t you dare try to act so friendly, like you didn’t break him.” Nando is frozen in place, as Quinn picks up both of the drinks. “He owes you nothing. He clearly does not want to reconnect with you, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to do that either with someone who did nothing but make me feel awful about myself for two years.” Quinn isn’t even making a scene— the only reason Nando can hear what he’s saying is because he’s not standing that far away— but Jesus Christ, if this isn’t the most satisfying thing to witness in the world. Nate is red in the face and absolutely silent, and Quinn is staring daggers at him; if looks could kill, he’d be dead on sight. “If you wanted to be his friend, maybe you shouldn’t have stomped all over his heart.”

Nando cannot believe his ears.

“And,” Quinn adds, like it’s the end of a big monologue, “I’m going to need two straws.”

Nando is so in love with this boy.

He watches, trying not to smile or even laugh, as Nate fumbles into the thing of straws and shoves two in Quinn’s direction. Quinn takes them, flashes a big, stage smile, and says, “Thank you!” before he turns and walks back in Nando’s direction.

The fake smile turns self-satisfied in a second flat, as he meets Nando’s eyes again. Nando is still kind of frozen, but he wants to kiss him, right in the middle of Starbucks.

All he can say is, “Baby.”

Quinn is all smiles. He looks the way he does when he comes out of the stage door after a great show. “Ready to go, honey?”

“Am I ever,” Nando says, and they join hands again as they head for the door. He’s not sure if Quinn knows that he heard what he said. “That… was kind of the most satisfying thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.”

“Oh,” Quinn replies as he sticks his straw into his iced tea, “trust me, Sebastián. It’s the most satisfying thing I’ve done as long as I can remember.” He pauses, as he takes a sip, and then adds, “I’ve been wanting to do that for longer than I can even say.”

“It was hot,” he says, because, well, it was. “And just… jeez, I— maybe something good did come out of this situation.”

“Of course it did,” Quinn replies. His smile is kind of maniacal, and Nando is into it. “I got to have the confrontation of my dreams, and I got an iced tea.” He holds up his drink. “Cheers!”

Nando bumps his vanilla coffee against it and laughs. “Cheers, baby.”

Quinn squeezes his hand. They walk back outside into the summer day, and Nando doesn’t look back.

Not even a glance.

[wiener-soldiers]

operation omega - recon (iv)

summary: years after the avengers dismantle HYDRA, the group remerges more dangerous than ever. their modus operandi? infiltrating foreign governments, stealing and reproducing their weapons, and selling them to terrorist groups. when the us government approaches the avengers for help on a secret operation with a secret asset, they are reluctant to agree. it isn’t until their quinjet almost gets shot down in the middle of nowhere when the understand that omega means business.

pairing: bucky barnes x SEAL!reader

words: 3.7k

warnings: swearing, recounting of violence/morally ambiguous acts, slight angst

a/n: italics are flashbacks (but yall alrdy knew that) and it kinda gets intense. and i barely edited this ha.

taglist: add yourself here!

OPERATION OMEGA MASTERLIST

Bucky’s been on hundreds of missions before, but for some reason, he’s nervous about this one.

Logically, he knows he has no real reason to be: Omega was the most skilled people the world had. If the Avengers didn’t have enhanced individuals, he knows that Omega would be running circles around them.

But from where he sat in the hot, dusty market, he could feel is heart thump in his throats as he listened to Y/N give orders through the comms. Every time she spoke, Bucky could feel his throat tighten. He knows it was his own fault that he wasn’t helping Natasha and Dr. Marge break into the suspected HYDRA factory. Instead, he sat at an outdoor patio in a chair that was way too small for him.

---

“You’re late,” Y/N says in full Captain mode as Tony scurries inside the command room.

“Semantics,” he said weakly before her stern glare quickly shut him up.

“I know we’re friends,” Y/N started as she paced around the front of the command room, “but on the field, I am your Captain. If I give an order, you will follow it. I don’t tolerate people going off and shooting the shit. This isn’t just your reputation on the line, it’s ours too. Do I make myself clear?”

She gets a chorus of affirmative responses.

“Chain of command is me, then Steve, then Jack, then Abigail. If Abigail loses the chain of command, you make an emergency abort, clear?”

Another chorus of affirmative replies.

Y/N’s lips crook upwards. “Good.”

---

Steve sat across from him, sipping tea and pretending not to look suspicious. Hordes of people were walking through the market—if they only knew how many deadly soldiers were in the market with them.

Or, of course, that the factory mass producing high-tech weapons smack dab in the middle of the market.

Steve’s disguise was more elaborate than Bucky’s; while Bucky was relatively unknown compared to the other Avengers, Steve was an international symbol of American patriotism. Y/N had almost forced him to sit the mission out and take a tactical role as opposed to an operational role. Steve only convinced her to let him on the ground just in case there were enhanced guarding the building.

Y/N only barely agreed.

Bucky wore a loose linen blouse—light enough for him not to fry under the blistering sun, but loose enough to easily hide an ultra-thin, Vibranium tactical vest and an array of small firearms and combat knives. His hair was tied up in a half-up bun with tendrils falling to hide any distinctive facial features. Steve, however, had to wear a cloaking mask, similar to one Natasha used when she infiltrated Alexander Pierce’s office. His face was barely recognizable, and his tunic was extra baggy to hide any muscle. What made Steve especially uncomfortable was that he didn’t have his shield.

“Everyone in position?” Y/N finally asks through the comms.

“Nat and I are in position,” Marge says quietly, trying to stay hidden from any possible guards.

“I got eyes on I have visual on Stark and Wilson. Oversight is in position,” Dom says from the jet silently hovering above them with cloaking on.

“I’m clear,” John says from the other side of the market. Bucky can see the tint of his reflective sunglasses from the corner of his eye.

“Abi and I are clear,” John says from a rooftop on overlooking the market.

“Bucky and I are clear,” Steve says from across the table.

“Good,” Y/N says. “It’s fourteen-hundred hours. Nat and Marge, you’re clear to enter the building. And for the rest of you,” she pauses, “if you fuck this up, I’ll kill you myself.”

Bucky gulps and give Steve a wary glance.

“You okay, Buck?”

“Peachy.”

--

“Our mission is to infiltrate this building,” Y/N calls out as the projection of the map in the command room zooms into a satellite photo of a market. “A couple months ago, Omega gathered intel confirmed by the BND that this is HYDRA’s main manufacturing plant.”

“It’s small,” Sam comments.

“It’s efficient,” Y/N corrects. “It’s smack dab in the middle of a market, so it’s easy for their parts suppliers to make deliveries disguised as legitimate businesses. They only assemble the weapons here; they get their parts elsewhere.”

“What’s the point storming the building if they can just send their parts to a new facility,” Tony asks the obvious.

“Because HYDRA loves efficiency, meaning this is most likely the place where they have information on all their suppliers, who they’re delivering the weapons to, and who their assets are.”

“Assets?” Bruce asks.

Y/N nods, “Moles within every global superpower, we suspect.”

“Jesus…” an Omega team member whistles.

“So, what’s the play?” Steve asks from his spot beside Bucky.

With a swipe on her phone, the collage of information on the large screen changes to show a map of the area surround the factory, as well as blueprints of the building itself. Y/N crosses the room as she speaks, “Natasha and Marge have the most experience gathering intel and getting in and out of a building undetected as fast as possible. I want you two to get inside that building and copy every single piece of information you think is useful. Make sure not to take anything with you; I want it to look like we were never there in the first place.

“Stark, Wilson, Barton, you guys will handle the aerial surveillance. Barton, I want you stationed on the roof across from the factory. You’re the extra set of eyes and ears on the inside. Stark, Wilson, I want you suited up in stealth mode and surveying a five-block perimeter. If anything, suspicious comes anywhere close to the factory, I want to know. Dom will be hovering the Quinjet in stealth over us, but aerial support is an emergency level plan. The minute we expose the Quinjet, it’s game over for Omega.

“The rest of us are going to be on the ground in different areas of the market with me running point from a hotel room guarded by Jack. We’re there for backup support only if necessary. We only make ourselves known if Nat or Marge’s tracker goes down.”

“Wait,” Bucky cuts her off, shifting his weight off the desk behind him to his feet. “You’re telling me that if something goes south in there, we can’t go get Natasha or Marge?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but her gaze tenses on Bucky’s face for a second. Why are you challenging my authority? she wants to say. Bucky had been nothing but kind and was great company. But he’s stupid to think that Y/N would tolerate this level of subordination.

“Do you realize what happens if we expose ourselves?” Y/N quips snarkily instead. “It’ll take seconds before the international community realizes that foreign military is deployed in a country outside our jurisdiction, which might I add is hostile towards almost every country in the UN. Then amidst all the political chaos, HYDRA goes back into hiding and we’re back to square one. We’re treading on thin fucking ice, Barnes.”

Bucky admits that she makes a good point, but he doesn’t fully trust her. Not yet, at least. “So, hypothetically let’s say Nat or Marge gets caught, tortured, and possibly brought to a secondary location; we can’t get them?”

“As long as their trackers are live, we don’t engage.”

“But what if—”

“If what Barnes!?” Y/N shouts, her steely stare piercing through his skull. “You’ve been here a couple of fucking weeks, so as much as you think you’re fitting in, you don’t know how we run missions here. Nat and Marge will have cams, and Clint is our extra eyes just in case. God forbid things go south, we proceed with our emergency extraction protocols to make it look like we just happen to be the regular military rescuing hostages and not secret operatives! If they ever get brought to a secondary location, we follow their trackers through satellite and jet until the moment they go down, but by then we probably have satellite tagging on them anyways!”

Bucky knows she’s made her point and that it was premature for him to publicly question her authority. But he let his pride get away and his mouth run faster than his common sense, “You could have told us all that in the first place.”

Y/N is livid. She slowly struts towards Bucky, the people in her way slowly moving to the side like Moses parting the Red Sea. She stands far closer to Bucky than she’s comfortable with, but the quick flash of fear in Bucky’s eyes at her body language is enough to make it worth it.

“No, I didn’t,” Y/N says, eerily quiet. “Do you know why, Barnes? Because as long as you are on my fucking base, I am your Captain and I will not tolerate your blatant fucking disrespect. Your orders are to not engage unless Nat or Marge’s trackers are down, do I make myself clear Sergeant?”

Bucky gulps, “Crystal.”

Y/N smirks slightly before turning on the heel of her boot and continuing the briefing.

--

“Marge, Nat, you’re clear to enter the building,” Y/N says into the comm. She’s in a hotel room facing the market with Jack. While Jack is assuming another surveillance position, Y/N is seated at a desk with a laptop which monitors Marge and Nat’s video feed.

“Copy,” Marge says quietly, “We’re entering the building. We’re limiting verbal contact…now.”

“Ya know,” Jack says from his spot at the window. He has a sniper scope trained through a window of the building in case something goes wrong inside. “You didn’t have to go so hard on Barnes during briefing.”

“Yes, I did,” Y/N mumbles, attention still focused on the video feed in front of her.

Jack chuckles slightly. “He’s an Avenger,” he says, “not a SEAL. He may not know how we do things.”

“He was army,” Y/N says, sending him an annoyed glance.

“Like…90 years ago. And wasn’t the whole ‘Howling Commandos’ thing to liberate POWs and shit? Seems like a field where you would question orders to me,” he retorts.

Y/N turns to look at him with an exasperated. “Who’s fucking side are you on, anyways?” she bites back. Jack only chuckles.

Y/N returns her attention back on the screen. Though she’s trying to concentrate on the video feed, her mind wanders back to Bucky. She gnaws at her lip; Was I too hard on him? she thinks.

No, she eventually decides. But deep down, Y/N feels a sense of hurt. She liked Bucky—he was kind, a good listener, and very understanding. She didn’t let just anyone join her on her morning run. Worst of all, Y/N thought that Bucky respected her. Clearly, Y/N decided, he did not. Why else would Bucky question her authority and her orders not only in front of the world-famous Avengers, but also her own teammates?

Stop being distracted, you’re working, Y/N quickly tells herself. She takes a deep breath before glancing at her watch. Marge and Wanda have been inside the building for five minutes, meaning they have five minutes remaining before extraction.

“Status report on all teams?” Y/N asks into the comms.

Bucky barely hears her voice in his ear. He barely registers each team reporting their status. Instead, he focuses on the man sitting a few tables away from him. The man, most probably a local, is staring straight at Bucky’s face while quickly talking to someone on the phone. Bucky’s instincts begin to kick in.

In the middle of Clint’s status report, Bucky nudges Steve with his foot. “I think we’ve been made,” he says, trying not to look panicked.

Bucky watches a flash of panic flash across Steve’s eyes before he says, “What?”

Bucky turns his head slowly in the direction of the man, “The man at that table has been staring straight at me and is on a phone call like his life depended on it.”

Steve purposefully knocks a teaspoon off the table so he can bend down and properly look at the suspicious man. Sure enough, the man was talking on the phone erratically while staring in Bucky’s direction. Steve frowns and looks slightly past Bucky at another table. At that table, a woman and a man are seated, presumably on a date. The woman appears to be having the time of her life while the man, Steve notices, is giving knowing smirks to the man on the phone.

Steve sighs, “Buck, I think that guy is just jealous of the date going on at the table behind you.”

“Are you sure, because I swear—”

“Rogers, Barnes, status report?” Y/N’s voice through the comms finally cuts them off.

Steve gave Bucky a look as if telling him to drop the subject before speaking into the comms, “We’re clear—”

“Negative. We’re not clear. I think we’ve been made,” Bucky cuts him off.

“What!?” Y/N screeches into the comm, “Jack, Clint, I want eyes on Barnes and Rogers!”

“Who am I looking for?” Clint replies.

“Guy in the green tunic a couple tables down, north of the patio. He’s talking on the phone,” Bucky says, shifting in his seat slightly.

The line is silent for a few seconds before Jack says, “Barnes, I think you’re clear.”

Bucky seemingly ignores his update and asks again, “Clint, you got a visual?”

Steve gives him a confused look, as if asking him what the hell he’s doing. Bucky ignores him.

“I don’t have a visual,” Clint replies, “but I’d go with what Jack said.”

“I have a visual,” Wanda suddenly cut in. She was at a fruit stand across the street, pretending to be shopping. “You’re clear, Barnes.”

Bucky looks across the street and catches Wanda’s gaze. Can’t you read his mind or some shit and figure out if he’s made me? he thinks to her.

Wanda rolls her eyes before tapping her head twice, No.

Of course, it doesn’t work that way, Bucky thinks.

“I’m sorry but you guys can’t see the way this guy is looking at me,” he says stubbornly, “I’m taking this guy out.”

Bucky goes to stand up and Steve reaches his arm to stop him when Y/N voice rips through the comms again. “No!” she shouts and Bucky grimaces.

“If we’re made, backup is going to be here any minute now, and Marge and Nat are still in there!” Bucky hisses.

“We have intel that the people in this village aren’t aware of what’s going on in that factory, Bucky! There’s no backup that this prick can even call! And I’m not letting you kill an innocent fucking civilian,” Y/N yells back at him.

“Well fuck your intel, I’m going after this guy—”

“I am your commanding officer and you will stand down!” Y/N finally shouts, sounding more like a drill sergeant than the girl he goes on morning runs with. “That’s a fucking order, Sergeant. Do you copy Barnes?”

Bucky is silent. Instead he clenches his jaw so hard he’s afraid his teeth might shatter.

“Do you copy, Sergeant?” Y/N repeats again, eerily quiet and deadly serious.

Bucky’s nostrils flare up in anger, but he resettles himself back on the seat.

“He copies,” Steve finally says into the comm.

The rest of the mission goes off without a hitch. Bucky was wrong about the man on the phone. As Marge and Natasha exited the factory, unharmed and undetected, the man on the phone got up and in a jealous rage, stormed over to the happy couple behind him.

He tried his best to prepare himself for the berating he was going to get from Captain Y/N later, but nothing could prepare him for the treatment he was getting now.

Y/N was silent the entire flight back to the Omega compound. Instead of yelling at him like there was no tomorrow, she quietly prepared the intel to be sent over to her commander. When they landed back at the base, he got sympathetic pats from his teammates as they unloaded the Quinjet. ‘You’re in for it, Barnes’ and ‘Tell me if you make it without crying,’ the Omega team members told him seriously.

As he unloaded the last crate of equipment, Y/N briskly walked past him and said with deadly fierceness, “Command room. Now.”

After everything that happened earlier in the day, he didn’t need to be told twice.

Bucky slowly opens the metal door towards the command room and has to shut his eyes tight for a few seconds to allow his pupils to adjust to how especially dark the room was. As Bucky wandered inside, he noticed the only light source was from Y/N’s desk on the loft overlooking the rest of the command room. Her voice stops him dead in his tracks.

“Your paranoia is going to get us killed,” Y/N says, her voice echoing through the room.

“Y/N—”

“No, you don’t get to talk yet,” she cuts him off once again. He watches her silhouette stand from the desk and walk down the stairs to stop in front of him. He can barely see her face but can make out some features.

“When I was in the SEALs, I was Jack’s unit commander,” Y/N tells him, her voice getting softer, “We were in a remote fishing village off the coast of South America rescuing high profile hostages. There was a fiesta that night and the entire town gathered on the beach for a party. It was the perfect time to rescue the hostages because we were disguised by the music and the lack of civilians in town. While I was on a base somewhere, hundreds of miles away, Jack sends a panicked message to mission control over the comms. There’s a group of people close to the site where the hostages were being held. It was too dark for them to make anything out, but that group of people started shooting at them. Not close enough to hit them, but I was paranoid that they might get hit even though they were wearing full body armour. Jack asked if he had permission to engage because taking them out was against the rules of engagement for that mission—they were only supposed to shoot at adult individuals that they could clearly identify. As the commanding officer of that mission, it was my call. And I gave Jack the go ahead to take the shot.”

Y/N stops to take a shaky breath, and he swears he hears a sob. “They were just kids, Bucky, no older than fifteen. They were used by the captors as easily dispensable firepower who were just doing that to make a few extra dollars to take home to their families. We could’ve easily averted them and tied them up. But I was the one who gave them the permission to take the shot.”

Bucky reaches for her, but he can’t find her arms. He sighs, “That’s not your fault, Y/N. You know that. You were worried for the safety of your team.”

“Then why have a felt haunted by it ever since?” she cries.

Instead of gently trying to search for her arms, Bucky quickly steps forward with his arms open. Bucky rams Y/N into his chest and her arms immediately wraps themselves around his waist. Bucky holds her closely while she sobs choked tears into his chest.

A tear escapes Bucky’s eye as well before he has the heart to ask her, “Is that why you left the Navy?”

Y/N lets out an ironic scoff. “No,” she retorts, “it’s because they awarded me the Navy fucking Cross. And I know I don’t deserve it.”

“I know what I say won’t change what you’ve done and how you feel about it,” Bucky tells her honestly, “But those SEALs are alive because of you. Jack is alive because of you. They got to see their families because of you. I know we don’t trade lives or value someone’s life after another, but your orders were to first and foremost bring those SEALs home safely. And you did that.”

They stay like that for another ten minutes—Y/N burying herself into Bucky’s torso and Bucky resting his nose in the crook of her neck.

“My paranoia is what kept me safe from HYDRA,” Bucky says honestly, murmuring into her neck. “After I escaped from HYDRA, I didn’t trust anyone. I didn’t trust Steve, the rest of the Avengers, or myself. When I was in HYDRA, the longer I trusted my own fucked up brain that what I was doing was right, the more unspeakable shit I did. When I started fighting the brainwashing, I started being paranoid of everything and look where that got me? I’m alive because of it.”

“No,” she whispers, “you’re alive because you learned to how to trust again. You’re alive because you know that even though trusting is scary, it’s better than living in constant fear. You’re alive because you’ve found things that are worth trusting.”

Bucky’s speechless. He pulls away slightly, glancing down at her. He still can’t fully make out her facial features, but he can tell she’s staring at him with a sternness that reminded him of his mother.

“Do you respect me?” Y/N whispers.

“Of course,” he replies without hesitation.

“Do you trust me?” Y/N asks again.

Bucky’s voice catches in his throat. He feels his Adam’s apple bob and his heart pound against his ribcage. Yes, he wants to say so badly. But he can’t and he can’t say why, and he’s embarrassed for it.

But Y/N offers him a small, gentle smile. She reaches up in the dark to cup his face, but her hand lands on his neck instead. “You don’t have to trust me,” she tells him, “I’d like it if you could trust me, but you don’t have to. But I need you to respect me in the field and in front of our teams. I’m still your CO, Barnes. And as much as I like you, I’d really hate to have to yell at you again.”

Bucky chuckles softly, “Is that an order, Captain?”

“It is, Sergeant. Do I make myself clear?” she says in a light tone, grinning at him.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replies, lazily grinning back.

FIVE: YES MA’AM

---

tags:

operation omega: @marvelsangels​​ @1-800-schmacked​​

marvel: @milea​​ @marvelsangels​​ @thecurlsofgod​​ @schnapped​​

bucky barnes: @emilielskov​​