#source: bucky-plums-barnes

[paperpocalypse]

case 254.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 1. There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader Word Count: 1,591 words Warnings: Swearing, violence

You are, by all accounts, married to your work.

And you are a loyal lover. The briefcase is your certificate, the bullets your vows. You keep them close wherever you go. Twenty-four years in the Commission is nothing to sneeze at, and you have never – not once – been unfaithful.

… Not in action, at least. Recent thoughts of retirement have begun tempting you to the point of an emotional affair.

(You’d get married, maybe. To a person, not a job. Live in a one-story home with a pond in the backyard and not too far from the nearest Walmart, adopt a little dog that you and your spouse spoil to bits. You’d die peacefully in your sleep instead of bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere.)

“Shit.”

Coughing, you spit and wipe your mouth with the cuff of your sleeve. Damn Arnie made you bite your own tongue.

“The police will be here any minute!” he yells through the walls, and something clatters to the ground. “You can’t make me go back!”

“I’m not making you go back, Arn,” you call back, exasperated. “I got an order to kill you.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

You chuckle and stumble back to your feet.

Arnold had been a loyal employee of the Temps Commission for twenty years. He specializes in 18th century weaponry, his kill count is in the hundreds, and he relies on cigarettes in the same way you rely on coffee. He is also a friend of yours – or the closest thing a Temps assassin can have to a friend – and that’s probably why the Board sent you to kill him.

They had given you two days. You had promised one.

It’s been three.

“You shouldn’t have tried to sell your briefcase to the military, Arnie!”

Arnie doesn’t reply. The squeal and slam of a door grates on your ears, and you swear aloud, rushing to the bathroom.

You break the door open and don’t hesitate to fire in quick succession, just barely missing a shoe slipping from the windowsill.

Clicking your tongue, you pause.

“Dammit.”

Something small and cylindrical is lobbed through the window, bouncing and rolling to a stop at your feet.

“Dammit!”

You book it out of the bathroom, rounding a corner and diving to the ground just as the grenade explodes. The floor shivers. You cover your ears and hold your breath.

If people had ignored the ruckus beforehand, they certainly can’t now.

Panting, you scrape yourself off the floor, reaching back to pull your Glock out and heading back to the bathroom. “Son of a bitch …”

Smoke and burst pipes and rubble are all that remains of the bathroom. Your heart drops to your stomach when you recognize the guts of your Commission briefcase among the rubble. This has got to be the second-worst fumble of your career; you should’ve thrown the briefcase out first and then run out. Your rifle is a lost cause too.

Shaking your head, you approach the gaping hole in the wall and slowly clamber down the side of the building. Arnold couldn’t have gotten far, not with a concussion and the bullet in his leg. Thank goodness. You don’t have as much stamina for high-speed chases as you used to.

The same moment that you land on a patch of broken bricks and dirt, the sound of a gunshot resonates behind you.

You immediately whip around, firing a shot into Case 254’s head before you can even register that his back had been facing you.

Arnold collapses, dead, onto the ground a few meters away from you. Your lips part. You quickly look back up and keep your gun poised.

A man points his rifle back at you.

“Got him before you did,” he tells you, voice low and gruff.

There’s a briefcase at his feet.

“Did the Board think I couldn’t handle this one?” you ask, aiming between the man’s eyes. You like the way he speaks, even though it pisses you off. He’s confident. “Or do they think I defected too?”

“Did you?” he challenges.

Not in ways they can punish. “If I did, Arnie wouldn’t have tried to blow me up with an MK3.”

“… Humph.”

Sirens are getting ever louder. The two of you lower your weapons; you’re no longer wary of this fellow assassin, but the glare he’s fixing you with makes you want to rile him up.

“Tell me your name, hotshot,” you say, walking over to Arnold and rummaging through his clothes.

He grunts sourly. “Why would I tell you anything?”

“To make conversation.” You find some loose change and a coupon for a tanning salon – alright – but what you’re really interested in is the copy of the briefcase’s blueprints. You pocket everything. “It stimulates the mind. I think you might need that in your old age.”

When you face the man fully again, he rolls his eyes.

Then he literally disappears into thin air.

You blink. The dots connect as quickly as the flaring lights of police cars shine around the corners of the building, and a frenzied laugh escapes your lips.

“What a gentleman.”

Guess the rumors were right – the Commission’s new darling, Five, is a genius as well as an asshole.

On the other side of the apartment complex, the detective tells officers to surround the building. You quickly put your gun away and take off before they reach the back.

“I heard someone running! Over here!”

You run until you reach a chain-link fence, locating a spot where the mesh had peeled away from the post and slipping through with gritted teeth. The air inside your mask weighs on your skin, hot and thick from your heavy breathing. Your feet already hurt. You should’ve invested in those gel insoles Arnold told you about before he decided to defect.

“Stop! This is the police!”

You hold back a groan. You’re getting too old for this shit.

But you keep going anyways. You keep running, turn a corner and cut through back alleys, knock out the few people you pass who are unlucky enough to be out at two in the morning. And for some reason, they keep pursuing you, getting closer and closer –

You hear something like a muffled pop of air. A hand grips your arm and drags you into an alley.

You scramble for your Glock, but as soon as your fingers brush its handle, it disappears. Five pushes you down behind a dumpster and shoves a hand up your mask to cover your mouth. It takes everything in you to keep from gagging when you land on a trash bag way too wet-sounding for your liking.

“Quiet.”

You huff, tearing his hand away. Your arm is pinned against his sternum, your head much too close to his. His breathing is quiet, measured, and slow.

(He’s used to this. Used to running, used to hiding, just like you.)

Five runs warm. You like it in the same way that you like the way he speaks.

Footsteps hurry past your hiding place, then fade into the distance.

After waiting about ten more minutes, you let your head knock back against the wall. “Shit.” You chuckle. “I owe you one, Mr. Five.”

Five doesn’t acknowledge your gratitude. Instead, he pushes himself away from you and drops your Glock into your lap, then grabs his briefcase and stands up. Though you resent the loss of heat, you join him with a more appropriate amount of space between the two of you.

“I’ll take you back to headquarters,” Five states, sounding as if his teeth are about to be pulled.

“Thank you kindly,” you reply. “It must be my lucky day, getting my hide saved and escorted by the Commission’s rising star.”

“I’m sure.” His tone is dry.

Sirens wail as you tell him your name.

“I know,” Five mutters, unclipping the briefcase. “You were mentioned in the kill order for your pal back there.”

Ah. You nod, smiling a bit tightly, and put your hands on the briefcase as well. “Of course.”

A flash, and you’re both back in 1955, the sun too bright and the air too stale. You feel the beginnings of a headache.

“Still hate time travel after twenty plus years,” you comment, letting go. “Did using your powers have the same effect?”

Five regards you silently, lips pursed. “Hard to recall,” he finally says, snapping the briefcase shut.

“The lab’s developing some meds for the side effects. Apparently, they’re doing trial runs soon.”

“That so.”

“Yes.” You squint up at HQ, brush off your suit, and exhale loudly. “Anyway, I better get going. See you later, Mr. Five.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Just Five is fine.”

“See you later, Five,” you emphasize with a grin. “Maybe we’ll be able to team up in the future.”

All he does is cast you an unimpressed glance before disappearing through one of his teleportation portal things.

You stare at the now empty space and sigh, putting your hands on your hips. Well, the apocalypse doesn’t exactly make one a good conversationalist. (Either that, or he finds you insufferable.)

As you stroll into the Commission building to turn in the briefcase blueprint and procure another briefcase, you think of your life so far. You think of your marriage to your work, of the sleepless honeymoon stage and the bitter taste of the past ten years. You think of that dark alley, of that moment of companionship, one-sided though it was.

And maybe you find yourself just a little more unfaithful.

[incorrectstevebucky]

Bucky: There is absolutely nothing that can dent our impenetrable bond!

Steve: I ate the last slice of the plum cake.

Bucky: You're dead to me.

[adamisstillinhellthankstoyou]

You can write thing and the more specific you’re with the thing… You’re putting it out in the world and it’ll come back to you.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Plum Cobbler

Steve x Barnes!reader, Bucky x platonic!reader

Summary: What happens when Steve confronts the woman who's been sitting outside the compound every Saturday for a month?

Warnings: mentions parental death, some cursing

Word Count: 6315

a/n: This really took on a mind of its own. I was going to make it a series, but I feel like this is the whole story.

Masterlist

Nervous didn't even begin to describe how you were feeling. Sitting in your car, just outside of the entrance gate to the Avenger's compound was never somewhere you thought you'd be. Not until two months ago, when you found your grandmas old scrapbooks.

Of course, you don't know how to get inside. Honestly, you should have seen this coming. Why would just anyone be able to walk up to their door?

"Who are you?" The sudden question startled you, causing you to jump and hit your head on the roof of your car. You turned to look at the source of the voice, shrinking under her watchful gaze.

The one and only Natasha Romanoff was standing outside your car, glaring at you as if she was ready to drop everything to take you out.

"Oh, um. My name is Y/N L/N. I just wanted to talk to Bucky..." Her glare only grew stronger as you revealed why you were there.

"Barnes doesn't talk to strangers." Before you could explain why, she was gone. You watched her walk into the compound until she wasn't in your view anymore.

"Well, that went horribly." You mumbled to yourself. Now what? Should you just sit there until someone else comes out? Will anyone come out?

-

"So who is she?" Clint asked as soon as Nat got back inside.

"Why is she here?" Sam added on.

"Said her name is Y/N L/N, and she wants to talk to Bucky." Nat rolled her eyes.

"Friday, run a background check on F/N L/N." Tony asked of the AI. "What? You can never be too careful, and people shouldn't know how to get here." He explained given the questioning looks from the rest of the group.

"Y/N L/N, 27, daughter of the deceased Kathleen and Grant L/N. She owns a bookstore in Brooklyn, passed down through her family. No criminal record." Friday responded quickly.

"Sounds normal enough, probably a fan?" Tony suggested, looking around the room.

"A persistent one. She's been here for hours." Steve looked out the window, still seeing your car just outside the gate. "How did she find the entrance?"

Everyone shared similar looks, unsure how a seemingly normal civilian found the gate.

"Excellent question, Capsicle. Friday, got any ideas?" Tony, as usual, turned to the AI for answers.

"Based on GPS data from her car, she drove around upstate New York for eight hours every Saturday for the last 6 weeks until she came across the side road leading to the compound."

"Either she's really good at looking normal, or she's just normal." Nat added on, still slightly suspicious.

"Well, she just left. I guess we're not getting any answers today." Steve said from his position still looking out the window.

-

You came back every Saturday for a month. You didn't know if anything would come of it, but you'd be damned if you didn't try. After your parent's deaths, you thought you had no family left. Finding out you were related to Bucky gave you a lifeline. Something to cling to when you felt alone.

So far, nobody else had come to talk to you. You didn't even know if Bucky knew you were there for him.

The fifth Saturday, you pulled your car up to the gate at 9 am, sticking to your makeshift schedule of waiting outside for the entire day. They had to at least be curious as to why you kept coming back.

Unfortunately for you, the weather upstate today was not the same as the weather in Brooklyn.

Around 10:30, it started to rain. Just a sprinkling, nothing you couldn't handle.

You listened to music, read, ate the lunch you packed, played games on your phone, anything to pass the time. You weren't going to force your way inside, but you were definitely going to show that you were interested.

Typically, you would leave at 5:30. It gave you enough time to drive home and heat up dinner, plus you had to check in on your cat.

Today, however, was a different story. Around 5:15, it started pouring. Sheets of water were coming down around you, completely cutting off any visibility through the windshield.

You figured you'd just wait out the rain, but when it didn't let up by 6, you were getting nervous.

-

"She's still here." Steve walked into the kitchen, announcing his news to the room.

"I'm not surprised. It's not exactly peak driving conditions out there." Sam easily responded, glancing out the window.

"Aren't you the least bit curious as to why?" Steve asked again, pushing the same conversation as always.

Nearly everyone in the room rolled their eyes, sick of repeating the same things.

"Look, we figured if we ignored her, she'd eventually stop. Clearly, that might not be working. If you're so curious, feel free to go ask her." Tony gave in, eager to move on from the discussion of you.

Steve contemplated his choices for all of 2 seconds before grabbing an umbrella and walking down the driveway.

-

You had your head leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed, listening to the rain. Of course you would get stuck here. Why didn't you ever check the weather?

You shrieked when a knock sounded on your passenger side window, not having expected anyone, especially in the rain.

Mr. America himself pointed to the door, gesturing for you to unlock it. You sat up quickly, rushing to hit the unlock button.

He quickly opened the door, shutting his umbrella and lowering himself into the small car.

You were utterly speechless. After your brief encounter with Natasha, you didn't really expect anyone to come talk to you.

Sure, you came back every week, but it was more so to fill the lonely hours you would have normally spent with your parents at the bookstore.

You had other employees to run the shop on Saturdays, allowing you to come here instead.

"Why are you here?" He sounded more curious than anything. Clearly he didn't perceive you as a threat, which was good because you had zero fighting experience.

"To talk to Bucky." Your voice was quiet, unsure how much you should share.

"I know that. Why?" He had fully turned in his seat to look at you, his large frame filling nearly the entire car.

"Well, I found something a few months ago that I thought he should know." You stuttered through your response, mildly intimidated by the man in front of you.

"And that something is?" He questioned further, genuinely curious as to what you want to tell his best friend.

You hesitated, eyes flitting around the car, looking at anything but him. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair before speaking again.

"Look, if you ever want to actually talk to him, you should tell me. Buck's been through hell, he won't just talk to anyone. Especially if he has no reason to."

During your conversation, the rain finally let up. You decided to take that as a sign.

"Can I show you something?" You finally looked him in the eye, nearly forgetting why you were even here at the sight of his bright blue eyes.

"Is it the reason you've been out here every Saturday for over a month?" He joked with you, helping to calm your nerves.

You nodded in response, unsure if you could even speak while still looking into his eyes.

"Then please."

You tore your eyes from his face, throwing the car into reverse and backing out of the spot you've claimed as your own. You turned around, heading back to your apartment in Brooklyn.

"Wha- where are we going?" He's clearly surprised by your actions, but he doesn't seem worried.

"I'm going to show you what I found, and hopefully you'll let me talk to Bucky." You paused for a minute, thinking. "Although, really I guess it should be his choice. Maybe you can just give him a message for me, and if he doesn't want to talk I'll leave you all alone."

The idea of never getting to know Bucky, you're only remaining family, hurts, but it's got to be his decision.

Steve just nods in response, still slightly wary of your reasons for wanting to talk to Bucky.

When you're a few minutes away from your apartment, you decide to give him some context.

"You probably already know a lot about me, but let me explain a few things." He silently nods, encouraging you to continue.

"My parents died three and a half months ago." You immediately felt like crying, but did your best to hold it in. Of course, Steve didn't miss the break in your voice. "It was a car accident. The weather was bad. They lost control of the car. They were both pronounced dead on the scene." You parked the car, turning slightly to look at him.

"They were the only family I've ever had, and the were both just gone." You turned and opened the car door, taking a moment to wipe the tears from your eyes. You gestured for him to follow you, locking the car and heading inside your apartment building.

"We were really close. I spent every Saturday at the bookstore with them." You wiped the tears again as the elevator doors closed.

You didn't chance looking at Steve, knowing you would break down at the look of pity.

"I had to go through the stuff at their house. You know, decide what to bring here, what to put in storage, what to get rid of. I found some old scrapbooks, I think from my great grandma."

You lead him into your apartment, locking the door and immediately heading to the kitchen to feed your cat. After you set down the food, you moved to the couch. You had the scrapbooks on the coffee table, having taken every opportunity to look through them.

"I never knew her. My parents didn't talk about her either, I'm not sure if they knew who she was. Her name was Rebecca." You waited a beat, to see if he would understand. When he remained quiet, you handed him one of the books, open to a page with a picture of Steve, Bucky, and Rebecca. "Rebecca Barnes."

You waited again, letting the information sink in for him. After a few minutes he smiled.

"I remember this day." He looked at you, a wide smile on his face. "It was a few days before Bucky was enrolled. We had a picnic." He continued to reminisce, looking through the other pictures in the scrapbook.

"Maybe it's selfish, maybe he won't want to know me, but when I found out I had more family, I wanted to find him." Again, tears pooled in your eyes. "I, I just don't want to be alone."

Steve's smile faltered as he realized what you've been going through, and how you've been doing it alone.

"Hey, I'm sure he'll want to talk to you." He reached out to place a hand on your arm, trying to comfort you.

"Really?" Your eyes were still watery, but a small smile grew on your face.

"I think so. Bucky was really close with his sister when we were young." This time, Steve's eyes grew watery, memories of his youth playing through his mind.

You couldn't take the sight of him being sad, so you pulled him into a hug. He came willingly, letting you bury your face in his chest. He lowered his head so it was overtop of yours, relishing in the comfort of your hug.

You pulled away a few minutes later, not wanting to overstep, but the feeling of his arms around your waist didn't let you go far.

"Thank you for coming out to my car." You laughed, trying to lighten the mood. His face was so close to yours, you could make out the individual shades of blue in his eyes.

"Thank you for sharing your story with me." He whispered back, not wanting to break the moment.

You're not sure how long you would've stayed like that, but a loud crack of thunder jolted you apart.

"What the-" You mumbled, walking over to the window to look outside. Steve followed close behind you, also curious about the weather.

It was now pouring, lightning and thunder cracking overhead.

"I guess the storm followed us to Brooklyn." He joked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I guess so." You looked at the clock, taking in the late hour.

Steve must've followed your line of sight, because he spoke up. "It's getting late, I should probably go."

You immediately shook your head, your fear of travelling in bad weather shining through. "I can't let you leave when it's like this. It's not safe. You, um, you can stay here tonight. You can sleep in my room. I'll sleep on the couch." You grew more confident as you kept talking.

"I couldn't impose like that." Steve shook his head, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"Steve, it's not safe to travel when it's raining like that. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you." Your voice grew tighter, trying not to flashback to the day your parents died.

Steve seemed to realize why you were so worried about the weather, ultimately deciding to agree to stay so you wouldn't worry about him.

"Okay, okay. I'll stay here, but you sleep in your bed. I'll be fine on the couch." He refused your offer, not wanting to force you to spend a night on the couch.

"First of all, thank you. Second of all, you are sleeping in the bed. You're like two feet taller than me." You exaggerated your height difference, but you were trying to make a point. "You won't even be able to lay down on the couch. I take naps here all the time, it's super comfortable." You argued back, unwilling to allow Captain America himself sleep on your tiny ass couch.

"You know, I should've expected you to be this stubborn. You spent five weeks waiting outside the compound with no contact. Plus you're related to Bucky" He laughed to himself, slightly shaking his head. "Fine, I'll sleep in the bed."

You smiled victoriously, jumping up from the couch. "Yay! Do you need anything? I have spare toothbrushes under the sink, and I can probably find you some clothes to sleep in. There's some snacks in the kitchen if you get hungry. Oh! And Carrot might try to lay in the bed with you, but I'll try to keep her out here." You rambled, trying to make sure he was comfortable.

"Carrot?" He smiled at your rambling, finding it adorable.

"Yes! Carrot is my cat. She's a cuddler, so consider yourself warned." You paused, eyes growing wide. "You're not allergic to cats are you? I think there's probably cat fur all over my room."

He laughed again. "No, I don't think the super soldier serum left any room for allergies." He quipped.

You smacked a hand to your forehead. "Duh! Anyway, do you need anything?" You asked again, trying to calm your beating heart.

"Some clothes would be great, thank you." The way he smiled at you did nothing to soothe your nerves.

"Okay." You breathed out, finally taking a deep breath. "I'll go grab some, the bathroom is right here if you need it." You pointed it out on your way to your room. "I'm just gonna get changed real quick, and then I'll be back with your clothes."

He nodded again, watching as you turned and walked into what must be your room.

You quickly changed into a t-shirt and sleep shorts. It took a few minutes of searching through boxes, but eventually you found an old pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt for Steve to sleep in.

You made your way out of the bedroom, handing him the clothes.

"Here ya go. Like I said, there are extra toothbrushes under the sink in the bathroom, and don't hesitate to grab anything you need from the kitchen."

He eyed the clothes in his hands, wondering where they came from, but not wanting to ask.

Luckily for him, you could tell what he was wondering. "They were my dad's." A sad smile graced your face. "I- I sleep in them sometimes when I really wish I could talk to him."

"Thank you." Steve turned to go to bed, but changed his mind last minute. He set the clothes down on the couch, pulling you into another hug. "You know, I can tell your related to Buck. He always looks out for people too."

You blushed at the compliment, grateful he couldn't see your face. "Thank you, that really means a lot." You stayed like that until Steve pulled back to talk to you again.

"I can take you back to the compound tomorrow, if you want. Maybe introduce you to Bucky."

"Really?! You don't want to talk to him first? Or double check anything I told you?" You were shocked at how willing he was to introduce you to Bucky.

"I trust you. Plus, I think you should be the one to tell him." Steve didn't say it out loud, but he also thought you and Bucky would be good for each other.

Bucky had Steve to connect his past and present, but another person for him to rely on wouldn't hurt. And you clearly were looking for a family connection.

"I would love to. Thank you!" You hugged him again, although quicker this time. You jumped back, excited to collect everything you wanted to show him. "I have to find all the scrapbooks to show him!"

When you turned to start collecting things, Steve put a hand on your shoulder, essentially preventing you from moving.

"Why don't we get everything together in the morning? It's getting late and you should get some sleep." He understood how emotionally and physically draining it could be to relive a loss like yours.

"You're right. I should sleep." You tried to slow your mind down, but the prospect of meeting Bucky tomorrow filled you with a mix of excitement and nerves. You gathered your extra blankets and pillows, setting up a bed for yourself on the couch while he went into the bathroom.

You were snuggled in bed, ready to sleep when he came back out.

"Goodnight, Steve."

His heart contracted at how adorable you looked buried in blankets on the couch, but he did his best to ignore it. He'd only just met you after all.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

-

The next morning Steve woke up at 5, per usual. He didn't want to wake you up though, so, despite his natural tendencies to run 10 miles every Sunday morning, he stayed in bed.

That is, until he heard you shuffling around the apartment.

He poked his head out of the room first, trying to verify that you were indeed awake. When he saw you in the kitchen, he fully emerged intent on helping you with whatever you were doing.

"Good morning, you're an early riser?" His question was completely ignored. Granted you couldn't see him yet, but he didn't know why you would be ignoring him.

He made his way closer to you, tapping you on the shoulder to try and get you to interact with him.

You, in a mixture of surprise and fear, turned and threw an egg at him.

He looked at you in shock, while you stared in horror at what you had just done.

You took headphones out of your ears, explaining why you hadn't heard his question.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" You reached toward him with a dish towel, trying to wipe the egg off his (your dad's) shirt. "You just surprised me! I can get you another shirt!"

"It's fine, don't worry-" You ran out of the room anyway, grabbing another shirt of your dad's from the box in your room.

He couldn't help but laugh, oddly relieved that you weren't ignoring him.

When you reentered the kitchen, a shirtless Steve Rogers was washing your dad's shirt in the sink. You froze, taking in the sight of the man before you.

When he turned back around, your eyes took on a mind of their own, soaking in his toned chest and arms. You cleared your throat, shaking yourself out of your stupor to hand him the other shirt.

"Thanks." He smirked, but still blushed slightly before he put it on, ringing out the other shirt before handing it to you. "I didn't want the egg to stick to it since it was your dads, so i rinsed it off..." he trailed off, unsure if it was the right thing to say.

"That's really sweet, thank you. Especially because it was my fault there was even egg on it in the first place." You laughed, trying not to blush with embarrassment.

"Don't worry about it, really. I shouldn't have snuck up on you." He laughed as well, clearing any lingering tension. He took a look around the kitchen, taking in just how much stuff you had out.

"What are you making?" He smiled when you blushed again.

"Oh, I was making plum cobbler... I just, I read online that Bucky likes plums, so I thought I would bring him a cobbler." You blushed again, embarrassed by the admission.

"He does." Steve smiled, completely enamoured with your personality. "Did you want some help?"

"Actually, the cobblers are in the oven already. I was going to make breakfast next, though, so you can help with that." You smiled, noting how easy it was to spend time with him.

"Cobblers? I know Bucky's a super soldier, but one would have been plenty." He joked with you, moving to help scramble some eggs.

"Well, yeah. One is for him, but then I thought the other Avengers might be there and I didn't want to not have enough so I made three."

"You're too cute." The words slipped out before he could even think about what he was saying.

You blushed again, a frequent occurrence it seems when you're with Steve.

You uttered a quick thanks, trying to change the subject. "Do you always get up this early?"

He chuckled again. "Yeah, typically I don't need much sleep. I usually run in the mornings, try to clear my head."

The two of you fell into easy conversation, moving around each other effortlessly to make eggs, sausage, toast, and smoothies for breakfast.

When you finished eating, you collected the scrapbooks Bucky might want to see. You added his mom's wedding ring, the one your mom wore as well, to the box.

"What's that?" Steve pointed to the box, unsure if his assumption was correct.

You pulled out two scrapbooks, pointing to the near identical pictures of Bucky's mom and your mom after having been proposed to.

"My mom always told me her engagement ring was a family heirloom. I think it was his mom's ring too. I thought he might like to have it. As something to remember her by, ya know?"

You got teary eyed again. Thinking about how much he must miss his family combined with how much you miss your own parents was too much to handle.

You finished gathering everything, putting it all in a box to make for easier transportation. You took the cobblers out of the oven, packing them as well.

With a deep breath, you followed Steve back out to your car, ready to talk to Bucky.

-

"Where the hell is Steve?" Bucky nearly stormed into the kitchen.

"Whoa, calm down tinman. What's up?" Sam replied casually, pouring cereal into a bowl.

"Where is Steve? I was supposed to run with him this morning, but he wasn't in his room when I went to find him. I don't even like running this early. I literally only do it because it's what he prefers."

Sam laughed, enjoying anything that annoys Bucky. "Dude, chill. He probably just forgot you were going with him."

Tony walked into the kitchen as well, trying to tune out the whines coming from Bucky, but failing.

"That's what I though, but he's always back by now." Bucky huffed, annoyed with Sam for laughing.

"Who?" Tony asked, now slightly intrigued.

"Steve. I haven't seen him since yesterday." Bucky replied as he angrily ate an apple.

"Really?" Tony sounded mildly concerned, immediately alerting Sam and confusing Bucky.

"You don't think?" Sam asked, ignoring Bucky for the time being.

"I don't know!" Tony looked bewildered. "Friday, where is Capsicle?"

"Captain Rogers left yesterday evening with Y/N L/N." The AI easily replied.

"Who?" Bucky questioned the room, never having learned your name.

"You know the woman who's been sitting outside every Saturday?" Bucky nodded to Sam, unsure why he was bringing it up. "Well, Steve went to ask her why she was here last night."

"Nat told me she was just some fan, wanted to see you all." Bucky furrowed his brow, thinking over the new information on Steve's wearabouts.

"Well, yeah that's what we thought. Look, she said she wanted to talk to you specifically." Sam explained, ignoring the pointed glare from Tony.

"What? Why didn't you tell me?" Bucky rose from his chair, annoyed at everyone now. "Now she's got Steve?"

"Relax, Steve can handle himself. She cleared her background check. We really don't have any reason to believe he's in danger." Tony's words were more to convince himself than anyone else. He's the one who said Cap should go check it out if he was so curious.

"Steve's too trusting. What if it was a trap?" Bucky questioned, glaring daggers at the other two men.

Before they could respond, Friday chimed in with more information.

"Captain Rogers just entered the elevator from the parking garage."

"See, he's fine." Tony glared back at Bucky, secretly relieved that Steve was fine.

Bucky just rolled his eyes before leaving, heading for the elevators to yell at Steve for ditching him this morning.

When the elevator doors opened, however, Steve was not alone.

"Hey, punk, why'd you ditch me- Oh. Who are you?" Bucky eyed you suspiciously, looking between you and Steve.

Before Bucky interrupted, Steve was trying to reassure you that everything would work out. He had a hand on your back, rubbing up and down to soothe your nerves.

His other arm was occupied by the box of scrapbooks, or else he probably would have hugged you again.

You were holding a large sheet pan, three pie dishes sitting on top.

Steve was blushing, a surefire sign Bucky had seen something he wasn't supposed to.

"Oh, um. Hi. My name is Y/N L/N." You froze, not thinking you would have to see him so soon. You could see the family resemblance between him, your great grandma, and your mom.

"The car girl." He nodded, trying to piece together the events of last night.

"Yep, that's me." You laughed nervously, unsure of what he already knew.

"Buck, do me a favor? Let us out of the elevator." Steve eyed him, mildly annoyed with the ambush.

Bucky moved to the side, allowing you and Steve to exit the elevator. You followed Steve down the hall to the kitchen, where you put the cobblers on the counter.

Sam and Tony were still there, eating various foods.

"Well, hello there." Tony greeted when he spotted you, intrigued by the development. He looked at Steve for an explanation.

"Y/N made plum cobbler." Steve said instead, moving his hand back to the small of your back.

Bucky's eyes lit up at the mention of plums, enough to momentarily distract him from Steve's actions.

"Oh, right!" You took a cobbler out of the dish, moving toward Bucky. "This one's for you, because I read that you liked plums." You handed him the dish, quickly moving back to the others. "I also made a peach and an apple for everyone else." You smiled at Tony and Sam, unknowingly leaning slightly into Steve.

"Why does he get a special cobbler?" Sam whined, eagerly reaching for the other dishes.

Suddenly, all eyes were on you. Well, except Sam's who were on the peach cobbler.

"Oh, um, well, I was hoping I could talk to you." You looked at Bucky nervously, unsure of how he would respond.

"Anyone who bakes me a plum cobbler can talk to me, Doll." Natasha chose that exact moment to enter the room.

"Who made plum cobbler?" She looked around the room, eyes narrowing in your direction. "How did you get in here?"

"I brought her." Steve smiled at you before walking over to Natasha. He whispered in her ear, just loud enough for her to hear, but nobody else. "She's not a threat to your relationship, trust me."

Nat nodded her head, trusting Steve, although not for the reasons he thought. She could clearly see the blonde's affinity for you.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Bucky asked between bites of cobbler.

"It's really a private conversation." Steve answered for you, seeing how unsure of yourself you were.

"Then why do you know, punk?" Bucky countered.

"Well, I had to tell someone so I could finally talk to you. Steve's the one who asked." You smiled at Steve again, trying to convey how grateful you were with just a look.

Steve smiled back at you, while everyone in else just shared a knowing look.

Eventually, Steve cleared his throat. "Buck, can you just come with us?"

Bucky nodded, moving to follow Steve while still eating the cobbler. You followed the two of them as well, growing more nervous with each step.

Steve lead you to his room, placing the box of scrapbooks on the bed.

"Do you want me to stay?" Steve looked to you for an answer.

You took a deep breath, in all honestly you would love for him to stay, but you think you should probably just talk to Bucky first.

"No, that's okay. Come back in like, 30 minutes?" You scrunched up your face, unsure if 30 minutes was long enough, but knowing you would need the deadline if you were ever going to explain it all to Bucky.

Steve nodded, squeezing your shoulder as he passed you to leave the room.

"Um," you turned to Bucky, trying to think of where to start. "I don't know what you already know about me, but-"

"Nothing really. Except that you make a delicious plum cobbler." He smiled, helping to ease your nerves. Food really was the way to this man's heart.

"Oh, I guess I'll start where I started when I told Steve." You smiled at the mention of his name, unaware of your own actions. But Bucky noticed.

"My parents died a few months ago." Bucky's eyes went wide, trying to think of what this could have to do with him. "Um, it was a car accident. They both died on the scene." You took a deep breath, trying to push through the sad parts.

"I had to clean out their house, and I found some scrapbooks that lead me to you." You shifted closer to the bed, looking through the scrapbooks you brought.

You pulled out the one with the first picture you showed Steve, opening it and gesturing for Bucky to take it.

He set the cobbler on Steve's nightstand, cautiously reaching for the book. He looked at the picture for a long time before saying anything. And when he did talk, it was a whispered "Becca..."

He ran his fingers over the picture slowly, just staring. A few minutes later, he eagerly flipped the page. He spent a good 10 minutes just looking through all the books you handed him.

"Where did you get these?" He questioned, although not accusingly.

"I found them in my parents house. They were with a bunch of my grandma's stuff that she had from her mom." You wanted to ease him into it.

"So your great grandma..." He trailed off, disbelief clear across his face.

"Was Rebecca Barnes." You finished the sentence for him, nerves clear in your voice.

You weren't sure what to say next, so you waited for him to make the next move.

"So you're my... great-grand niece?" You nodded at his question, still unsure if he was happy with the news. "God, that makes me feel old."

You nearly cackled, surprised by the joke. He smiled when you laughed, glad to have cleared some of the tension.

"Why did you want to find me?" He questioned, the mood turning more serious again.

"Well, I was really close to my parents. They were the only family I had. When I found out you are family too, I just... I knew I needed to at least tell you." You shrugged at the end, unsure if you really answered his question.

"You wanted to tell me so badly that you sat outside the compound every Saturday for five weeks even after being ignored?" He was in shock that anyone would spend that much time and effort just to talk to him. You started panicking immediately.

"I'm so sorry if you didn't want to know! It was selfish of me to force this on you. I can go, if you want. You don't have to talk to me." You started questioning everything. You moved to put the books back in the box when he stopped you.

"Oh, um. I'm sorry, you can keep those. If you want!" Tears were threatening to fall down your cheeks when you remembered the ring. You froze with your hand in the box, not knowing if you'd want to part with it knowing you'd never see Bucky again.

"Y/N..." Something in the way he said your name made you look at him. "I- I'm glad you told me. Really glad. I, uh, I never thought I would have family, well besides Steve. You know what I mean." He ran a hand through his hair, and you noticed the tears in his eyes.

"I don't want you to go. It's just hard for me..." he paused, trying to figure out his emotions. "It's hard to believe that someone would care about me that much."

"Bucky, I don't know you." He frowned at your statement. "But, I would love to get to know you." You smiled at him, trying to be reassuring.

"I'm not so sure you would." His face was hard, staring at the ground.

"Bucky, you aren't a bad person. I mean, sure you've done bad things, but it wasn't your choice. You were forced to do those things. You can't let yourself be defined by them. You're here aren't you?"

"Here?" He questioned.

"Working with the Avengers, I mean. You go on missions to help save people. That's your choice. That's who you are. I would be honored to get to know that person."

You smiled, waiting for him to say something.

"Are you sure?" He still looked unsure.

"God, maybe I get my stubbornness from you." You both laughed at that. "I am 100% sure."

"Wow." He shook his head, still in shock.

A knock sounded on the door before Steve came back in. "Is now a good time?" He asked, still standing in the doorway.

You nodded appreciatively. "Thank you." You pulled him into a hug, needing the emotional support.

"Of course. I'm happy I could help." He rubbed your back, reciprocating the hug. "Did you give him the ring yet?" He asked when you took a step back.

You shook your head, reaching into the box for the last item. "I, um, I thought you might want this." You handed him the box, nerves peaking through again.

He opened it, a soft smile on his face when he recognized it. "My mom's engagement ring."

You smiled, happy that he recognized it. "It was my mom's as well."

The two of you stared a the ring for awhile, reminiscing on time spent with your parents.

Eventually, Bucky picked the cobbler back up, not wanting to let it go to waste.

Steve couldn't help but roll his eyes at his friend. "Wow, jerk. You're just gonna go back to eating."

"Yes, punk. My great-grand niece made me a plum cobbler, and I tend to fully enjoy it."

"Great-grand niece. Ha, that makes you sound so old."

It was fun for you to see the two interacting like this, especially after the emotional hurdles you just ran.

"It's fine, Stevie. Let him enjoy the cobbler." Your face went red, not having meant to use the nickname.

"Yeah Stevie, let me enjoy the cobbler." Bucky couldn't help but poke fun, knowing there was an unspoken attraction between the two of you.

Somehow your face got even redder. Steve just rolled his eyes.

"Fine, eat your cobbler. Only because I had some of the apple one and it was delicious. It would be a shame to waste any."

You smiled at the compliment, embarrassment subsiding a bit. Steve sat down on the bed between you and Bucky, eager to ask his friend about some of the pictures. Steve put his arm around you, squeezing your shoulder as he spoke to Bucky.

You felt your eyes growing heavy, exhausted since your nerves kept you up most of the night. You rested your head on Steve's shoulder, soaking in his warmth as you cuddled closer.

Steve just rubbed your arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bucky narrowed his eyes at the interaction, realization dawning on his face.

"Oh my god. My best friend likes my great-grand niece. And she likes him." He said it so matter of fact, the two of you didn't bother denying it. You just smiled, and cuddled closer together.

[cherrycheolcoups]

a surprising source | a. h

39. Having a bad day and the other noticing

a/n: hey guys! this is my first official fic on tumblr. i was using the prompt from the post i reblogged from @bucky-plums-barnes. it’s a little short. i hope you guys enjoy!

pairing: aaron hotchner x male!reader

warnings: none; just some fluff and sad hotch

———————————————————-

It had been one of the toughest cases that the team had worked, in Hotch’s opinion. The case lasted a few months, and most of the victim’s weren’t abled to be saved, unfortunately. Realistically, Hotch knew that there were bad cases and good cases. That you couldn’t win them all and save everyone. It still hurt every time, though. He blamed himself for not being able to save those children. It was a habit of his, not even realizing he had been doing it.

When Hotch was like this, the team knew better than to bother him, or so he thought. A water bottle was standing in front of him that wasn’t there before. Who had snuck in and managed to put it on his desk without his noticing? Someone on the team actually cared enough to leave him a bottle of water? Yes, deep down he knew they all cared for him in their own way. But when he was in these moods, it was very easy for his brain to convince him that the BAU would be better off without the Unit Chief who couldn’t save people.

Sighing, Hotch finally decided to drink some of the water. After taking a sip, he set the bottle back down and went back to burying his nose in the report he was supposed to be writing again. Strauss had been breathing down his neck lately so he really needed this to be done, but all his thoughts kept going back to the children they were too late to save. Aaron rubbed his face before holding his head in his hands. He didn’t even bother looking up when he heard his office door opening, and the sound of a plate being set on his desk.

This made Hotch look up. And when he did, he saw (Y/N). So he must’ve been behind the water. “You didn’t have to,” Hotch whispered, not trusting his voice to stay calm at the time being. The younger male just gave Aaron a lopsided grin, coupled with a sheepish shrug. “I know. But I wanted to. You can’t just keep running yourself ragged like this. When was the last time you ate, huh? The report can wait for a bit.”

Hotch shook his head, just wanting to be done with it. “No, no. I have to finish it, (Y/N). I have to,” the Unit Chief responded, furrowing his eyebrows, grabbing his pen. (Y/N) sighed and grabbed the pen out of Hotch’s hand, setting it back down. “I understand that, but your health is important, Hotch. Come on, let’s sit on the couch for a bit,” he said, grasping Aaron’s hand and guiding him over to the couch, the plate in the male’s other hand. Reluctantly, Hotch followed and begrudgingly ate the food that was on the plate for him. It was just a simple sandwich, but it showed Hotch that someone cared.

When Aaron finished his sandwich, he was maneuvered to where he was laying his head down on (Y/N)’s lap, the younger male’s fingers carding through his hair. He wouldn’t admit it, but this was something he didn’t know he needed, but was thankful someone cared to do this for him, to make sure he was okay. Hotch laid there with his eyes closed, relishing in the caring touch of (Y/N). “You did everything you could’ve, Aaron. Please don’t put all the blame on yourself,” Hotch heard the male say to him. He simply huffed and nuzzled further in (Y/N)’s lap.

(Y/N) was a surprising source for comfort, though Hotch was thankful regardless. And just like that, Hotch realized and remembered how great it felt to let someone else take the comforting role every once in a while. It was exhausting being the leader who everyone looked to for everything all the time. Case after case, he had to be strong for them. He loved his team. They couldn’t see him weak, ever.

What went from a terrible few months, quickly changed to a rather blissful day with just someone offering him a shoulder. A part of him worried about someone barging in and seeing them, but the other half of him was too far gone to care. And that side had won. Hotch ended up falling asleep as his hair was played with.

[writemarvelousthings]

Blood Ties

PAIRING: Reader x Bucky Vampire/WerewolfAU

WORD COUNT: 1164k

WARNINGS: Talks of blood, violence, supernatural themes.

Hello everyone, it's been a hot minute since I've written/ posted anything and you can all thank me binge-watching Underworld all day yesterday when this little idea came into my head. I'd like to explore this narrative more if anyone is interested in reading it!

GIF NOT MINE

The cloud-filled night was the ideal coverage, you perched atop the old abandoned building. It offered you the perfect advantage point to stalk your prey. Others of your kind liked to drink their fill from wine glasses or blood bags. You were old-fashioned, liking your blood hot and straight from the source. Natasha calls you feral sipping from her seventeenth-century goblet, you would merely grin at your red-headed coven mate. Your eyes scanned the crowds, drunken groups of men and women laughing and falling over themselves. You cringed, alcohol made the blood taste sour. Not something you were willing to overlook tonight, you were almost resigned to leaving this slum part of town only for a lone figure to catch your eye. You smiled, pointed teeth glinting in the neon sign above as you drop down into the street below.

The man walked with purpose, almost stalking a different kind of prey. A young woman hurrying in the slowly falling rain, you could hear her pulse quicken. The man's footsteps matching her pace but not for long, gripping the back of his coat you hurtle him down the alleyway. Baring your teeth you could feel your senses heighten, the fear in your prey's eyes made the hunt all the sweeter.

“What kind of man takes pleasure in hunting down young women. In my time such a crime was rewarded by a whipping” with a fatal hiss you plunged your teeth into his neck and drank. The man gurgles beneath you, clawing desperately at your skin but gaining no purchase. The draining took mere seconds, so absorbed in the hot sweet taste of your kill you failed to detect an onlooker to your slaughter.

“I remember the first time I ever saw you do that” the voice shocks you, dumping the carcass at your feet you grasp your gun pointing it into the shadows.

“Now now sweetheart, would you shoot an old friend?” The figure manifests into the light, bathing him in a dark blue glow.

“Depends on your definition of friend Barnes” James Barnes, son of the most feared Lycan in history and a constant thorn in your side for almost five hundred years grins at you.

“I forgot how freaky your eyes get when you go full vampire. I do prefer your natural ones” you click the safety of your gun as a warning. Your molten silver eyes shone in the moonlight.

"What do you want James?” The Lycan smirks, stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket.

“I came so you could deliver a message, your leader should know his new enemy” his admission makes you pause. George Barnes was to your knowledge the leader of the eastern Lycans, if James was in charge now that was somewhat of a problem for your coven.

“You’re the Alpha now? What, grew tired of being in Daddy's shadow for the last half a century?” The low growl vibrated the ground under your feet.

“You don’t want to pull on that thread Princess”, red flashed through your vision and you lunged. Slamming into James you sent him flying through the air, the fresh human blood giving you an edge over your opponent. The full black leather outfit covered you in the darkness as you flipped yourself over James, gripping him in a headlock with one arm you point the gun under his sharp jawline. One that was quickly elongating into a more canine feature. White fur sprouting from his skin as his teeth tried to snap at your arm locking him into place.

“Don’t call me that, and don’t even think about shifting. Silver bullets remember… Bucky” you spat out the nickname. The name he first gave you, when you were young and naive. A silly human who was desperate for love. Bucky chuckles shifting down to his human form.

“I love how sexy you sound when you call me that. Stirs up all kinds of memories” you hiss, squeezing tighter on his throat.

“What the fuck do you want” you didn’t have time to react to him snapping his head back. Pain blossomed in your vision as you stumbled backward releasing him from your tight grasp. You had seconds to right yourself before your weapon was ripped from your grasp and a blinding light burned at your skin. Hissing you retreated back into the shadows as James held up the UV touch.

“Bastard” seething you feel your skin reforming across your cheekbone.

“You really expected me to come unarmed. I just wanted you to know that my pack is done hiding. This city is ours, and we’re going to take it from you. From all of your kind”

“You would start a war with my coven, over a stinking city overrun by humans” you watched as James lowered the light, something passed over his eyes as he looked at you hard.

“I’d do anything for my family.” And then he was gone, you stared at the spot he once stood in for half a second before you were hurtling down the streets. Not stopping or looking back as the rain pelted down on you. Images flashed through your mind you thought were long forgotten. A time when you weren’t surrendered to the darkness, where you could walk freely into the sun. A meadow filled with yellow wildflowers, the ringing of steel on steel clashing together. Stolen kisses in candlelight corridors. Stormcloud eyes looking down at you lay on a bed of silk and cloth. A time when you were human and fell in love with a werewolf.

You burst through the doors of your coven, wet and eyes filled with rage. Natasha was at your side in an instant. Her sister Yelena a step behind her as Wanda and Loki quickly descend the manor steps. Natasha murmurs your name drawing your attention to her.

“The Lycans have a new leader” your chest heaves as your coven gasps, the heavy footsteps of your clan leader cause others to scurry out of the way. The looming figure of your most ancient vampire comes into view, the man who turned all of you immortal.

“Who is it?” His voice cracks like thunder making you all tremble slightly.

“James Buchanan Barnes my lord, he intends to start a war” you pull yourself up to your full height. In all your five hundred years of living as a vampire no other threat to your coven had shaken you to your core than Bucky’s promise. Perhaps it was your history together, or it was a simple knowledge that your leader had never once lost a fight. It was your leaders' next words that sealed all of your fates together.

“Well if it’s a war the white wolf wants, it’s a war he will get” Thor’s teeth longer and more prominent than yours gleam in the low light. Peace was about to break across the city, and both sides would be bathed in blood.

Tagging those who might be interested!

@lostinthoughtsandfeelings @bucky-plums-barnes @abovethesmokestacks @fvckingavengers @shreddedparchment @mindingmyownbusiness @annadier @avengerscompound

[buckybarnesbingo]

3 Prompt Summaries

fantasy creature,  ice cream,  jail - suggested by @liquidlightz

@rebelmeg - so, this is what bucky gets for taking his pet dragon out for ice cream.  jail.  it's really inconsiderate, actually, he didn't even get to finish his ice cream cone.

@wolfnprey - No one said anything about mermaids having a sweet tooth. No one said they get possessive either. After watching Bucky's exploration of the human world end with him cramming a gallon of cotton candy ice cream down his throat, the last thing Steve expected was to wind up paying a bond to get said merman out of jail all because Bucky did not take kindly to the ice cream server offering Steve free samples.

@caiti-creative-corner - Bucky just wanted to pick up some ice cream for his partner.  Now, thanks to a mistaken identity, he's got to get out of jail before sunrise. Or the cops were in for one very big surprise.

@polizwrites - When he ordered a unicorn sundae from the brand new (and extremely sparkly) ice cream parlor down the street, the last thing Bucky actually expected was to have an actual-factual unicorn show up as well.  To be fair, it seemed as surprised as he was, and more than a bit of chaos ensued.  It nearly stabbed the Animal Control officer before Bucky was able to calm it (no, him - DEFINITELY a him) down and now he sat with the magnificent creature  in the largest enclosure at the shelter, wondering what in the hell to do next.

@somesortofitalianroast - Bucky wasn’t really sure why there was a unicorn in the ice cream parlor on the boardwalk. He was even less sure how he ended up arrested for the trafficking in supernatural creatures. All he wanted was a banana split and to sit on a bench and watch the ocean.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Bucky glares at the - unfortunately familiar - wall of the holding cell. It's not his fault that the anti-collision auto-correct on his teleportation periodically deposits him on the wrong side of a security door. But the guards who found him this time are new, so it always takes a little while for the higher-ups to convince them that 'no, he wasn't breaking and entering', 'yes, it was an accident' and 'yes, magic is a thing that happens - specifically to one James "Bucky" Barnes'. Of course, he could just teleport out of this cell. But they know who he is and have started the paperwork, and it is really a whole less hassle all round if he just sits tight for another hour or so and waits for this whole mess to get sorted out. However bored he is. Except... he can't leave, but that doesn't mean he can't bring something in... A few seconds  later, the cameras show him lounging back on the bench, taking a large bite out of a triple-serve ice cream.

@liquidlightz - merge this fumbling magician Bucky with Poliz' one and you get a unicorn appearing in the holding cell :unicorn:  so much more paperwork !

@huntress79 - If Bucky had to choose one thing that the serum, no matter what version, made better, he probably would have named the ability to eat almost obscene amounts of ice cream without any side effects. In the first few months after showing up at the tower, he and Natasha spent many a night tasting almost every ice cream flavor available in the greater New York area. But then, a certain God of Mischief chose Bucky as his latest "victim", taking him from the line at the ice cream parlor two blocks down from the Tower directly on a trip to a realm filled with dragons, and faes, and whatnot else (sure, Bucky had read the Tolkien books, but come on, Smaug had nothing on that magnificent, golden-red giant they encountered on their first day). And of course, Loki had to make it even worse, and go and try to steal some of the dragon's hoard. Everyone knows that it only ends bad! Well, it did, at least for Bucky - who ended up in a dark, smelly cell in the king's underground jail, while Loki was nowhere to be found. Was it too much to ask to get the largest bubble waffle filled with pistachio, vanilla and lemon sorbet without getting interrupted or kidnapped? Jeez...

More under the cut!

Chicken, Tall, Pearl - suggested by @ariasfandom

@rebelmeg - bucky loved going to his grandma's farmhouse as a kid.  it was full of adventures and things to see and animals to play with.  well.  all except for pearl.  pearl was mean.  and pearl, the biggest, tallest, crankiest chicken that bucky had ever seen, seemed to harbor a real and visceral hatred for bucky himself.

@wolfnprey - It was Sam's insistence that led Bucky to visit Clint on his family farm. It was Sam's dare that got Bucky pecked by a bunch of overprotective hens when he tried to help collect eggs. Again, Sam's fault that Bucky wound up stuck in a tall ass tree because the asshole scared Clint's dog and somehow the dog wound up in the tree.  So when Bucky wound up finding a lizard that Clint's daughter called Pearl cuddling up to his face in the morning, he knew it was Sam's fucking fault then, too.

@liquidlightz - Bucky loved to trade pearls with his new found friend.  He'd search the ocean floor and gather a few to bring to Steve, who in turn would bring him what he called chicken.  It tasted so different from fish and Bucky was hooked.  The taller the chicken the more pearls Bucky would give Steve.  In his world these had value, but Steve was planning to give them right back one day, he was just designing the perfect necklace to make out of them for Bucky.  In the meanwhile, he could do with eating veg and potatoes so he could give Bucky all his chicken.

@huntress79 - Like in so many other things, the animals of Wakanda were just as unique as the country itself. The rhinos were scary at first, but once you knew the trick, you could turn them into giant balls of fluff in no time. The goats, though just as stubborn as those Bucky remembered from childhood summers spend with relatives in Indiana, were the biggest source of entertainment in the village, hands down. But truth be told, the biggest surprise were the chicken. Sure enough, they could work up a cacophony of sounds in a heartbeat like any other chicken on this planet, but for some reason, Wakandan chicken were way taller, with legs as long as some supermodel, and the shells of their eggs almost resembled pearls, so sparkly.

@somesortofitalianroast​ - a chicken on a tall dresser with mother of pearl drawer knobs....

@ribbonsflyingoutthewindow​ - There's a whole comedic fic in there somewhere.

@bookdragon13​ Bucky trying to wrangle up a chicken on Clint’s farm and it ends up on the dresser somehow? Somehow I can also see Bucky buying a tall chicken statue made out of pearl kinda like the dog statue Joey bought in Friends

paintball, drive-in, cherry chapstick - suggested by @wolfnprey

@rebelmeg - bucky's first date with the love of his life was... perfect.  it was everything a first date should be.  they played paintball like kids, no-holds-barred and laughing like hyenas.  then the drive-in movie, a double feature while they ate popcorn and blushed while they held hands.  and the kiss at the end of the night... bucky could still taste the cherry chapstick on his lips, and he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.

@liquidlightz - Bucky loved and hated paintball in equal measure.  He loved getting to run wild and show off his skills, not just shooting, but agility and camouflage. The darn helmet these venues required you to wear played havoc with his hair though, and the cold wind and dust from crawling around made his lips dry and there was no way he was showing up to his date later this evening with chapped lips.  Steve was taking him to a modern drive-in, reminiscent of the old days, and that was just going to end  in hours of making out, at least.  He paused out of sight behind a tree and pulled out his plum-flavoured chapstick from one of his many pockets, which may have also been housing a comb, mini conditioning spray, and whatnots.  Re-applying every 20mins should hopefully do the trick.  Putting it away again, he checked the charges left in his rifle.

@huntress79 - Tony Stark was, despite his repeated protests, a lot like his father Howard, at least to Bucky. It was most obvious with the things he invented, but apparently, the same brain was also good with coming up with new, crazy ideas for team bonding events. Like taking a whole lot of individuals trained on various weapons to a paintball area. After some discussion, Bucky, Wanda, Clint and Scott ended up on Steve's team, while Nat, Rhodey, Peter and Maria Hill made up Tony's team. And holy moly, everyone, except for Peter, treated it like an actual mission. Within moments after splitting up, Steve was dispersing tactics, Clint was checking the wind, and Scott was trying to get the ants in the floor to cooperate. Wanda was watching the whole shindig with a fond smile, while reapplying her cherry-flavored chapstick. And Bucky? His mind was already on his evening plans - a nice date with Sam, consisting of dinner at a small seafood restaurant near Battery Park, a movie at the summer drive-in and tied off with (hopefully) some adult action in either of their apartments at the Tower. He only hoped he would survive these crazy "war games" first.

@somesortofitalianroast - Bucky wasn’t really sure why they were playing paintball. Well, “play” paintball. With him, Clint, Nat, and Tony all with exceptional marksmanship skills, it made no sense. It made even less sense for them to have the paintball “game” at an abandoned drive-in movie theatre, which just so happened to be located on a lot that included several acres of woods and lake with a dock. Until Steve mentioned that he had a tube of cherry chapstick and Bucky could taste it. But only if he won.

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (3/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack in Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 2020. Square filled: “Bucky’s Safehouse”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of wounds and accidents. A couple of uses of the word “shit”.

A/N: This chapter’s a little slower, but bear with me (and my terrible dialogue writing).

She’s pacing. Has been for half an hour, fists clenched at her sides as she tries her darnedest to wear a hole into the shaggy rug in front of the sofa he’s sitting on. All the windows are shut and bolted, every curtain drawn, midday light filtering feebly into the room just enough that none of them crash into furniture when making their way around the small space. Not that there’s much furniture to speak of: a small, handmade table in the corner that also houses the kitchenette, a sofa, and a bed against the wall opposite to where he is seated.

His knee bounces up and down, so fast it’s almost vibrating, and he clenches his gloved, metal hand around it to make it stop. Getting worked up isn’t going to get either of them anywhere, or so he tells himself, trying to work up the courage to say the same to her. Anything to make her quit pacing, because her movement is making his head spin. Her shock seems to have faded away, but his body is starting to catch up to the crash, a pounding headache settling in his skull. 

It had taken almost an hour to get here, and he’s now just as eager to leave as he was to arrive. They’re sitting ducks. Safer, sitting ducks, relatively speaking, but easy targets nonetheless, and they need to keep moving. The repercussions of the car crash, still aching in their rattled bodies, make that impossible, for the time being. 

After pinching the bridge of his nose, he reopens his eyes to find her staring at him with unabashed concern. An impatient tap to her toe, and he wonders if she’s waiting for something, or worse, someone.

Following his gaze to her feet, she immediately stops. Drags a chair from the dining table to sit down on it heavily, hands on her knees, the turmoil evident in the depths of his eyes such a contrast to the shield that has glazed his own over, no emotions escaping for her to interpret and misuse. Opening her mouth, she seems to think better of whatever she was about to say, and she shuts it again, pressing her lips together tightly. Bucky thinks that if she is a spy, she’s shit at hiding her emotions. He can read her like a book, he just doesn’t know what to make of what is written on the pages of her behavior.

“How long do you think we can stay?” She asks eventually, nervously, a tremor in the rapid breath she exhaled her question in, the content of it echoing his own thoughts from moments prior. 

“Not long. Rest tonight, but we should pack up some of the supplies here and leave early tomorrow.” He says, folding his hands together, rubbing at his knuckles harshly. They still smell of antiseptic.

His wound has healed completely, and hers are bleeding less, so he’d wager that there is little to be concerned about in the way of physical repercussions of the accident, but they’ll need their strength. Apparently, she agrees, nodding towards the bed as she gets up. “I’ll take first watch,” she says, and Bucky stands, watches her retrieve her map from her bag, unfolding it apparently to do some planning, before going to the bed. If she wanted to have him killed, he’d be dead already, he tells himself, turning to the wall, trying to relax in the presence of another person for the first time in his memory. 

---

He’s awoken by the scent of hot chocolate filling the cabin, its sweet, heavy scent covering everything in a damp layer of soft goodness so rich he’s dizzy by it. Sitting up, he can see her standing by the small stove in the kitchenette in the corner, stirring the concoction that is intoxicating his every sense. He can’t remember the last time he tasted chocolate, but the joy that comes with it is an association even he would be hard-pressed to forget. 

The domesticity of the scene, misplaced as it is with him having slept with his boots on, and her backpack ready and waiting by the door, strikes him with an unfamiliar pang in his chest. Even by moonlight, with her face turned away from him, her presence is magnetic. Shaking these impractical feelings out of himself, he gets up to go to the bathroom.

When he emerges, she’s sat at the small table. Rather, on the table, as there is only one chair, which she has graciously left for him, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of his spot. She watches him cautiously, eyes boring into his with a curious intensity, and that wit that indicates that she’s too clever to get relaxed around. The sleep did him good, and he tells himself he’s ready for whatever the rest of the night holds for him. 

“I’ve been looking at some possible routes, and I thought we could discuss what to do next,” she tells him, tracing the rim of her mug with the casualness of discussing the weather. After having seen her take the first sip, he drinks his, too, relishing the hotness pouring over his tongue and down his throat.

On the table is an outspread map and an open notebook, that he rises from his seat to look at more closely. Lines in blue ballpoints have been traced outwards from there location and there’s a red line -- in marker -- from Bulgaria, to Turkey, to-- “You want to go south,” he notes, following this highlighted route through the Arabian Sea and to the eastern coast of--

“Africa,” is her answer, and it’s all he can do to only raise an eyebrow in surprise, rather than let his jaw drop the way he wants to. She sighs. “Look, I considered Russia first,” -- he did, too, for the guarantee of not being extradited -- “but that’s where they’ll expect us to go and they’re monitoring the situation north too closely--”

“How do you know that?” He cuts in, standing up straighter now. Ordinarily, survival instincts and awareness such as hers would be a great tool, but it’s the source of said awareness that worries him. She’s a farmer, not a soldier, not a spy, so why is she so good at running away?

Deflection is a response that does not work with him, but he watches her make an attempt at it anyways. “It’s what I would do if I was them.” Impressive, her layman’s response, but Bucky isn’t fooled. 

He's staring her down, piercing gaze interrupted by a strand of hair that falls in front of his face. Somehow darker than the blackout curtains behind him. Pushing it back impatiently, he waits, still. Hopes for an explanation, something to alleviate even an iota of the anxiety that vibrates in his skin when he’s around her, his epidermis tingling with something he doesn’t understand. 

Surprised to find not only frustration and stubbornness in the blue of his ocean-irises, but also desperation and fear, she falters. “I’m not a farmer,” she says, as if Bucky doesn’t know that already. However, he is taken aback by her ability to voice his thoughts exactly; she can extract them from the depths of his broken mind and put them into the world. Her words are suspended in the air like dust particles in sunlight, a state of stalemate, between the light and the dark, words that neither of them are sure what to make of. So the memory of humor, embedded into the muscle of his tongue makes its appearance, inopportunely. 

“Yeah, no shit, sweetheart.” She laughs. Well, she starts to laugh, and is only able to stifle the sound into a short giggle that is as sweet in his ears as the hot chocolate starting to go cold on the table next to him. At his bemused gaze that comes across as confused, she loses it. Closes her eyes and shakes her head, hand -- with deep purple nail polish starting to peel off -- desperately pressed over her mouth to stop.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, regaining her breath, eyes shimmering. “I know it’s not funny, it’s just--” A sigh, and another exhale of a laugh. “This situation is just ridiculous, and I can’t tell you who I am, not yet, but I will.” Her tone turns serious, voice lowering now to convey sincerity, and Bucky watches her pick at the skin around her nails. A nervous habit, something to look at besides him and his questions. “I promise, I will.”

“You know that’s not good enough,” he answers, watching her raise her eyes to him, seconds, minutes, what feels like hours, after she’s spoken. “Give me a reason to trust you.”

“I don’t know if I can, James.”

“Try.” Try like your life depends on it, because it just might.

“I can tell you I’m a journalist.” Bucky wants to tell her that that doesn’t make him want to trust her any more. Reporters are just as dangerous to him as the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre that is surely still on their tail. “I was injured while working in the field last year and decided to go on sabbatical, to take some time for myself. Starting staying in Romania with my grandfather, who owns the plum farm I was selling for,” she says. “I recognized you the moment I saw you, but I didn’t feel the need to report you, and when the attack happened, I knew you had to leave, and I could help.”

It’s quite the story, he’ll admit, and he believes part of it. But there are a lot of moving pieces to this puzzle that she is, and he doesn’t have time to put it all together. For now, he has enough to stay. To follow and hope for a good thing, for the first time he can remember. She picks up on his hesitation, which colors the air in spite of the efforts he has been making -- and is tired of making -- and attempts to talk straight through his tensions.

"I'm sorry. I really am. The person who killed all those people at the UN is still out there, and he's trying to get away with it by framing you. If they catch you, he wins. We need to get you somewhere that can't happen, so we can work on finding him." When she speaks again, it's a low whisper, and he can tell that she regrets it. Hates that she sounds like a poacher trying to entrap its prey, when in fact, her purpose is quite the opposite. She's trying to keep him away from the poachers. Little does she know that he's shocked. Frozen again, for a different reason. He thinks this is the first time he's heard compassion. It's petal-soft and hits him in the gut. He reels from the impact of the honey-slow drip of her voice flowing through his ears. Gentle throughout their journey thus far, it is now vulnerable. And that's new. 

She breaks him out of his reverie with a murmur of his first name, and that’s when he realizes he never asked for hers. Winter Soldier though he may have been, he’s losing his touch. Maybe he does need a partner to get him out of this mess, this time. If that’s what she is, and the jury’s still out on that one. “Why do you care so much?” Bucky asks, watching her closely.

“I can’t help it. I just can’t watch them take you away,” she answers, and oh, how Bucky wishes he could believe her, and that honest-to-goodness smile, although now she seems to be neither. How he wishes the world was as black-and-white as she’s making it appear, that the swirling enigma he has been sucked into would stop, just long enough for him to see the clear picture, but alas. His world is a carousel, where the circus music is loud, blaring sirens, that she leaps to her feet at the sound of, and that has him reaching for his backpack.

[holylulusworld]

No one gets to see my weak side

Request: Would you please write for Bucky & reader, wherein he's in love with Natasha but is forced to marry reader, he's never home ignores her even when she tries hard. She even must work as a waitress for money, one-night Brock tries to rape her, Steve arrives just in time and saves her. They become good friends. It's on you if you want her to stay with Bucky or get married to Steve. It could be an au where they are not Avengers.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Mobster!Reader, Mobster!Steve x Mobster!Reader

Warnings: angst, feisty reader, language, smut, unprotected sex, polyamory, betrayal

Consolation Bride Masterlist

Three months later…

“Just like that, taking me so good, doll.” Steve bites your neck as his hands hold yours pinned to the bed. “I love fucking you in the morning after you wake up.”

Purring against your throat the tall mobster drive into you with full force, enjoying you cry out with every thrust.

“Fuck, Stevie.” Sweat is dripping down your back and you hear Steve pant heavily on top of you, but you don’t care at all.

Everyone passing your bedroom by will know you are fucking your husband’s best friend and you care even less as Steve brings you to the edge of an orgasm in no time.

“Let go, Baby. Come all over me and cry out my name…” Steve slams into you, stilling as he can feel your pussy contort around him. “I love the way you moan my name…”

Laughing you enjoy the way Steve kisses you after the rough sex. He was more than needy after not seeing you for over four weeks but now he’s gentle, caring and you lean into his touch.

“Steve, hmm…feels good. We need to talk about something.” Steve shifts his weight off you, gently pulling and you roll onto your back, grabbing the blanket to cover your sweaty body. “I think we have a problem.”

“Is it Bucky? Does he want us to stop rolling in the hay?” Smirking Steve watches you snuggle into his chest. 

“I think Bucky finally accepted I want you too, Steve. I’m concerned about someone I thought I can trust but lately, I got the feeling, she’s playing me.” Sitting up you wrap your arms around your body, loving Steve gently kisses your shoulder.

“Who is playing you, Y/N? I don’t understand.”

“Do you remember the girls we saved? Especially Gamora and her sister?” Steve nods, now listening closely as you keep on talking.

“I thought I found a friend, Steve. After I lost Wanda…” Sniffling you wipe a few tears away. “Wanda was my only friend and losing her was hard. It felt as if I lost a sister. Gamora, she needed my help and over the last months we became friends.” Slamming your fist into the mattress you laugh about your stupidity.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Baby.” Steve’s hands slide over your back, gently caressing your skin to calm you.

“Bucky will hate me for sure, if not at least laugh about me…” Sighing you turn around to crawl onto Steve’s lap, resting your head against his shoulder. “I told her about Brock, how Bucky treated me, Steve…”

“I get it, Y/N.” Rubbing your back your lover listens to your silent sobs.

“I thought I can trust her, Stevie. She got abused and treated badly by men, I experienced Brock and James's rejection. I wanted someone to talk to and it felt good to tell someone else than you or Bucky.” Falling silent you look up at Steve.

“That’s no crime, Y/N. I assume there’s more?” Cocking a brow Steve waits for you to tell him what’s bugging you.

“The problem is Steve, I let Thor run a background check about the club, the girls and all. Every girl has a sob story. Abuse, kidnapping, some were victims of human trafficking…” Grabbing your phone from the nightstand you show Steve the files.

“Gamora has one too…no problem.” Steve swipes through the documents, not knowing why you believe your friend could be a traitor.

“Steve, look at her life. Every girl has months or even years in which they disappeared. Gamora is different. We have information for all her years in life, that’s fishy. Even I disappeared for a few months after my mom’s death.” Steve looks at your data once again, wrinkling his forehead.

“Shit, you think she’s a fed?” 

“I think so, Steve. Lately, she started asking me questions about you, Bucky and Tony. Before she was just listening or telling me stuff about her life, what happened in that club, but I talked to the other girls. Gamora arrived a few weeks before we burned the club down.” 

Blanket wrapped around your body you get off the bed to walk toward the showers. “I’ll have a shower and then we should talk to Thor and Bucky, maybe even call Tony. If the feds are after us, they need to know, and I’ll have to play Gamora.”

----

“That’s not funny.” Bucky paces around the room, blinking a few times to let your information sink in. “You told her about me and our marriage?”

“I needed a friend and…” Jumping up you point toward Bucky. “I missed Wanda, okay. We always talked about everything going on and now I have no one left.”

Balling his leather-gloved hands into fists Bucky rolls his shoulders. His eyes darken as he can see the hurting all over your face. “She betrayed you, Y/N. I’ll kill her.”

“NO!” Walking toward your husband you move your hands over his black leather jacket, feeling the rough fabric. “If we kill her, the feds will know we are behind her death, Bucky. We need to be smart.”

“Y/N is right. As much as I want to kill that bitch, we need to be careful. After the disaster with your arm and all…” Steve leans against your desk, sighing as Bucky looks at his friend, murder in his eyes.

“She hurt my wife and betrayed her. I don’t care…” Your lips silence Bucky and you fist his jacket to not let him protest.

“Bucky calm down. I’m angry too, disappointed, to say the least, but Gamora got nothing to use against us. I only told her about your infidelity and that someone attacked me one night. I lied and said he escaped.”

“Good. We need to make sure she believes that all is under control and we do not know she’s a fucking traitor.” Bucky’s hands cover yours, squeezing them tightly as you nod, blinking the tears away.

“We should feed her with false information. Maybe let her know some unimportant facts about our business. Nothing she can use against Steve, and us. We should inform Tony too. He’s mostly busy with his technique crap, still, his business ain’t that legal.” Bucky wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back as Steve did before.

“I’ll do anything to bring her down. She faked to be my friend, betrayed me after I was close to show her my weak side. I will not let her get away with that.” Bucky laughs into your neck, kissing it softly.

“Okay. We need to find something to make her believe you are a reliable source for information about our business. If she believes her source died she might strike. Steve and I need time to talk to Tony.” 

“Do you want to do it in Chicago style?” Smirking Bucky nods. 

“I’ll talk to Tony and make sure he will fake some nice information about our new favorite federal agent. After we are done with her she’ll need to find a new job. Maybe she can dance for us…” Laughing you walk back toward your desk, sitting onto your chair you dial Gamora’s number.

“Hey, Gam. How about we have a lady’s night tomorrow night? Steve and Bucky have better things to do so I’ll be free.” You lie while Steve dials Tony’s number to make sure the genius among the mobsters will be able to create a construct of lies to bring Gamora down…

----

“So…Tony faked transactions to her bank account. Faked pictures of her with Brock’s best buddies. We will bring her down in no time. Tomorrow you’ll give her the false information and her boss will not be amused if the mission fails.”

Smirking Bucky massages your shoulders, groaning as you moan when he presses his thumbs into your muscles.

“Did you ever dream of being someone else?” Closing your eyes, you feel Bucky’s lips travel along your shoulder, nipping at your skin as his hands raise your butt to press into you. “God, James…”

“I only dream of you and feeling you around me…” Sliding slowly in and out of you Bucky moans into your neck. “If you want to run away with me…”

“I think it’s too late…fuck…harder…for running away, Bucky.” Your hands fist the cushions as Bucky starts to slam into you. “Before we could’ve…”

“We still can just drop everything and run.” His hands cover yours, gripping them tightly as he angles his cock to hit your sweet spot. “That’s it, Baby. Come for me…”

“Bucky…” Your voice hoarse, desperate you cry out his name, hating you can’t stay away from James. “I want to bring her down and run my father’s business…”

“You sure…?” Nodding you fall onto the pillow just taking his hard thrusts to feel him fill you moments later.

“I am sure, Bucky. Not as someone forced me, not out of responsibility. I want to do it as this is the life I choose…”

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 Stucky Masterlist

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[paperpocalypse]

da capo al coda.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 47. “I’ve been in love with you for years”

Pairing: Ben Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 4,806 words

Warnings: Swearing, severe awkwardness

Ben Hargreeves is fifteen years old when he first lays eyes on you.

The black leather jacket that his siblings had gotten for him is still new, with that nice new-leather smell still running through the seams, and it makes him feel older and cooler as he slinks into the Icarus Theater with Vanya and Allison.

The Amphion Symphony Orchestra is performing tonight. Vanya had all but begged them to go with her; Five had always accompanied her before he left, and it’s been a long time since she had last been to a concert. Ben is glad that he’d finally agreed to go. The guilt would’ve eaten at him if he had refused again.

Besides, since Dad is away on a trip for the weekend and Pogo and Mom tend to let things slide whenever he’s gone, Ben figures he could risk it.

“I heard a rumor that you already checked our tickets,” Allison whispers to the woman at the ticket table, and the three siblings proceed down to the auditorium after grabbing some programs.

Vanya selects the middle-left section of seats five rows from the front. Ben sits down between her and Allison, getting comfortable on the squeaky cushion, and opens his program with mild interest. His eyes catch onto the first two pieces.

“I love that Sibelius concerto,” Vanya murmurs excitedly as the lights dim, signaling the start of the concert. “I’m going to play it someday.”

“Cool,” Ben says. Allison agrees, already transfixed by the stage.

The welcome and tunings come and go, and Helen Cho walks onto the stage to perform her concerto first. And she’s good. Like, really good, and the way she carries herself reminds Ben of Allison – confident, smiling, with deliberate, practiced movements. The roaring applause at the end is only expected. Ben glances over at Vanya, wondering what she thinks of her, and he sees both awe and envy in her eyes.

“That was good,” he offers by way of a review. Vanya just nods.

… Okay. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he turns back to the stage just in time to see you walk onto it.

And he stares.

He has no idea why. Is it your stride? The dark blue accents of your clothes? Your smile, which seems brighter than the stage lights themselves? Just – you?

Ben swallows, utterly and completely baffled. He fumbles with the program in the darkness and searches desperately for your name again.

A sound like thunder rolls through the auditorium, and you begin to play.

It’s proud and loud and soft and beautiful. Your fingers fly across the keys, pushing and pulling with the orchestra, timings crisp and precise. The chords ring in his ears like he needs to be woken up from a dream. Your solo is practically flawless. It’s obvious that you’re in your element, and Ben is drawn into it faster than he could ever run.

When you press into the last chord, notes soon drowned out by the belting brass, he takes in a deep breath.

“That was –”

“Amazing,” he murmurs, watching you bow.

He only remembers to clap when Allison nudges him. You stand up, bow courteously, and make your exit.

The rest of the concert passes by in a blur.

—

Ben thinks about you often over the next two weeks. Allison and Klaus are the only ones who seem to catch onto his new mood; correctly guessing that someone is on his mind, they send him no small number of sly grins and stupid nudges whenever he starts to daydream behind his books.

Then one day, in a spin of precious luck, something amazing happens.

The Umbrella Academy has another mission. It’s a local one this time, and Ben’s gut writhes horrendously the entire morning, like it always does when bloodshed is on the horizon. He suits up and trails after his siblings to the mall, does his job after the usual persuasions, and walks back out feeling even more miserable than he was going in.

Once most of the news reporters have left, Ben breaks away from the group and starts towards the car. He keeps his head down as he walks, a poor attempt to make himself as invisible as possible, and ignores the few people brave enough to try to get his attention. The blood and gore between his fingers and in his hair have almost dried. He hates the way it feels.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the person hurrying the opposite way until the two of you collide.

“Oof –”

“Sorry,” Ben mumbles as he rights himself.

His mask is askew, so he pulls it off – it was uncomfortable, anyway – and squints in the bright sunlight, then looks up.

You stare back. It’s like a lightning bolt strikes him right where he stands.

Oh, god.

Mouth dry, Ben glances down. Oh, god, he thinks again, with dawning horror this time – he got blood all over your shirt.

“Shit,” he breathes, then reddens at the thought that you might not like swearing. “I-I mean, sorry, um – uh …”

You blink, then shake your head while he flounders. “It’s okay,” you say, and your voice is soft like his. “Sorry – I wasn’t paying attention –”

“I got blood all over your shirt –”

“It’s okay; it’ll wash out, I think –”

You quickly untie the hoodie around your waist and slip it on as if to say, See? All good, but Ben’s face burns hot underneath dried sweat and grime anyway. He desperately hopes that he isn’t blushing too hard.

“I saw you at the concert two weeks ago,” he rushes out. “Playing the piano. You were great.”

You stop fiddling with the edge of your shirt. To his surprise, you seem bashful. “Really? Wow, um, thanks.”

He nods, shuffling his feet. This is a disaster. Why did he have to meet you like this? He’ll take it, but – keep talking, you moron!

“I’m Ben,” he offers dumbly.

“I know,” you say, then wince. “I mean, nice to meet you. Sorry. I’m [Y/n].”

“I know.”

He grins a little. Thankfully, you understand the humor and smile back.

“Right. Yeah.” You pull the strap of your tote bag over your shoulder, eyes flicking over to the smoldering corner of the strip mall. “So, did you … just finish a mission?”

The thudding in his chest makes room for a twinge of disappointment. “Oh. Yeah,” he replies, gripping his mask and keeping the small smile plastered onto his face. “Just finished.”

“Must be exciting. More than piano, at least.”

“I’d rather play piano,” he mumbles without thinking.

Your eyes brighten. “You would? Do you play?” you ask eagerly. “Or have time to – uh, maybe that was rude to ask …”

Ben can only shake his head and laugh a little, embarrassed.

“No. Well, my sister plays the violin”—(shit, he’s not supposed to talk about Vanya)—“but I don’t really. Play anything.” Out of the corner of his eye, he spots his siblings approaching and hastily continues, “Are you doing another concert soon? I mean, you’re really good and I – uh, I don’t get to hear the piano in person a lot, so.”

“Well, I’m having a recital three weeks from now. I’m actually –” You gasp and hit your forehead. “Oh, shit!”

“What?”

“I was walking to my lesson. I’m gonna be late …”

He’s taking up your time. Ben grimaces. “Oh. Sorry.”

“No, you don’t have to say sorry.” The back-and-forth is painfully familiar as you pat your bag absently. Leaning forward on your toes, you glance over his shoulder and then tell him, “Anyway, um, on April seventh, I’m having a recital at two o’clock. It’s at the Eastside Church on Ashland Street. Near Murphy Park.”

Ben commits the locations and times to memory. Never before has he been so grateful to learn every nook and cranny of the City. “I’ll be there,” he promises.

Your lips form an honest-to-god grin. You nod. “Okay.”

And that’s that. With a brief, hurried goodbye, you walk past him, almost tripping over your feet on the way to the corner of the street. Ben turns around and watches your figure get smaller and smaller, not daring to blink lest you suddenly disappear.

That wasn’t his imagination just now, right? You were just there, talking to him. And he’s going to see you again soon. On April seventh.

Ben fights down a smile. He’s actually going to make a friend.

—

“Psst! Ben!”

Ben’s stomach lurches eagerly, and he immediately stuffs down the Horror as he pushes Klaus’s hands off his shoulders. “Stop it, Klaus,” he complains, only to wake up fully when Diego throws off the covers. “What the f –”

“Get up. We’re going out.”

“I don’t feel like it.” Still, Ben kicks Diego away and sits up by himself, rubbing his eyes. He squints at the clock illuminated by the weak moonlight. It’s fifteen till midnight.

“You never feel like doing anything fun,” Klaus whispers. “Just come on, Benny.”

In the darkness, his siblings wait impatiently as Ben gets dressed and puts on his shoes.

As expected, they head to Griddy’s like they have so many times before. Ben reluctantly mumbles out his donut order, mood still sour at first; as time goes by, however, it steadily lifts. It usually does when he goes out like this. His siblings bicker and steal each other’s pastries, and Allison hugs him randomly, and Diego messes up his hair with sticky fingers, and eventually, Ben’s eating and chattering happily at the counter. No rules exist here, and it helps him forget how miserable he’d been feeling.

“– Why, what would you even take in college?” Luther asks as they leave the shop, high on sugar and lifted spirits.

“Literature.”

“Ha. Fuckin’ nerd.”

“Fuck you, man –”

“Look out!”

On instinct, Ben staggers back, catching himself on a lamppost with a soft grunt as a bike rushes past.

“Watch where you’re going!” an irritated Allison calls out. She brushes herself off and sighs roughly. “Geez …”

The bike swiftly comes to a stop. Curious, Ben strains his eyes to make out the form of the rider, bracing himself as they slip off their seat and start to walk their bike back to where he and his siblings are. He hopes that they’re not in a bad mood. It was shitty enough trying to be perfect around Dad today.

As the person gets closer, he feels a prickling familiarity.

“Crap, I’m so sorry!”

… No. Way.

He utters your name, probably a little louder than he should’ve. Your eyes widen underneath the dull streetlight when they meet his.

“Ben?”

Allison seems to recognize you and steps forward. Ben hopes she doesn’t tell you off for almost running her over, but then she tilts her head and he knows that all is well. “You’re that pianist from the concert, aren’t you?” she asks.

You shift your feet and nod. “Yeah.”

“You’re really good,” Vanya pipes up next.

Klaus narrows his eyes and hums, sliding over even closer to you than Allison. His voice is bright. “Hey … you were also there after that mission at the mall, weren’t you? Talking to our dear brother here.” Ben stiffens as Klaus jabs a thumb at him.

Nodding once more, you look between him and Ben.

“I’m really sorry for missing the recital,” Ben blurts.

(He fails to notice the way his siblings collectively make eye contact with each other, as if finally understanding something.)

“It’s okay,” you say.

“But I promised.” Hands clenching in his jacket pockets, Ben meets your gaze firmly. “So it’s – it’s not okay.”

“Please just forgive him,” Klaus says. “He’s been beating himself up about it all day.”

Your brow furrows. “Really?”

Ben shoots his sibling a poisonous glare. Klaus raises his hands and seals his lips together, but the damage is already done. Way to make me sound like total loser, he thinks, looking back at you, ears burning. You’re supposed to want to hang out with him – not befriend him out of pity.

“Well,” you speak up again, scratching the back of your neck, “I guess I’ll forgive you, if you want it?”

He nods. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“No, no, i-it’s seriously okay –”

“Jesus Christ,” Diego mutters, suddenly pushing Ben forward. “He can walk you to your house or apartment or whatever. How ‘bout that?”

“Dude!” Ben protests as he nearly stumbles into you. He looks at you awkwardly, despite wanting very much to walk you home. “I mean, only if you’re okay with it?”

You seem to consider it. A tentative smile lifts the corners of your mouth.

“Sure. Okay.”

Ben smiles back.

—

He walks you back home that night. And next Tuesday, and the following weekend too after snagging some donuts at Griddy’s. Ben worries that you’re only hanging out with him out of obligation, but that doubt fades away as your smiles get bigger and your conversations get longer.

You start sending each other letters. There’s a phone out in the hallway near his bedroom, but it’s linked to the one in Dad’s room, so he gathers up a stack of paper and envelopes for his desk and sends out a little something whenever he’s too busy to meet up. You always reply. Ben learns to recognize your handwriting at a glance, plain and slanted and piled underneath the daily fan mail and packages. Each letter is quickly taken and carefully stashed underneath his mattress.

You’re just … wonderful. You’re patient and smart and funny and kind. You’re his very first friend from the outside, and when he finally comes to terms with it a year later, his first crush.

Ben Hargreeves is sixteen years old when he asks you out on a date. You say yes.

He wears his leather jacket and the nicest pants he can find other than those stupid shorts, and you meet at Griddy’s for a snack before going to the movie theater to watch Chicken Little. The seats are rough and the popcorn is soaked with butter and salt. Ben spends the first half of the movie thinking about holding your hand, but he doesn’t want to distract you by asking as much; after an hour, though, he finally does. You carefully hold hands over the armrest for the rest of the time.

God, it’s so awkward. But it’s also nice, and when he drops you off near your place you tell him you had a good time and hug him. The warmth of your arms around him lingers until he wakes up the next morning.

While dating you, he honestly doesn’t recall a time when he was happier – not to say that dating isn’t hard, because it is. The time you get to spend together is brief and often late at night. But it’s worth every bit of tiredness the next day, because Ben gets to be with you. He gets to listen to you talk about your day and hug you and, yes, even kiss you. Everything they say about the rose-colored glasses is true.

His siblings find out about your relationship two months in, despite his pains to keep it private, because they run into you at Griddy’s and he puts his arm around you out of habit. It’s one of the few times that his brothers and sisters are jealous of him.

He starts to think about what it might be like to live in a home with you.

Then Ben Hargreeves turns seventeen, and everything starts to fall apart.

It’s the same year that you start attending a conservatory across the country, the same year Allison starts keeping a packed bag in her closet like Diego, and the same year he thinks about doing the same. Dad’s missions are longer and bloodier. Pogo’s comforting words feel emptier. Mom’s undying cheeriness makes him snappish. And his stomach aches are getting worse.

None of this is your fault. But both of you are so busy, and every time he talks to you, all he can think about is two thousand miles and tapering letters.

The day Ben and you break up is a cold Sunday in January. He’s too exhausted to cry about it when he hangs up the payphone.

—

Two weeks later, Dad sends them on a mission to Bangkok. It goes sideways. He can’t remember much more than that.  

—

Ben is twenty-five when he sees an ad for piano lessons in the paper.

Be it fate, chance, or whatever, it’s incredible that he comes across the ad at all. It’s small, squeezed into a corner by a much bolder ad for guitar lessons, and despairingly vague. Your name and your phone number are at the bottom.

He makes what is possibly the stupidest decision of his life.

“Hello?”

Hang up hang up hang up. His throat almost closes up at the sound of your voice, older and maybe tireder but still the same somehow, god, still the same – “Hello. I saw your ad for piano lessons and wanted to sign up?” Dammit.

“Oh, of course! Are you a beginner, intermediate, or advanced?”

“Uh, beginner.”

“Alright, that’s great! So … we’ll have to schedule an interview sometime so we can talk about what the lessons will be like. What days work for you?” He tells you after a moment of scrambling to remember his schedule, brain all stupidly fuzzy, and before he knows it, he’s agreeing with you on an open slot. “Okay, great. All set. Oh – I’m so sorry, what’s your name?”

For a split second, he considers lying. But that is even stupider than calling you in the first place, so Ben swallows and, with his eyes shut tight, breathes his name out.

Silence on the other line.

Shit.

He knows you haven’t hung up, because he can hear your breathing resume seconds after you hear his response. His telephone cord is a mass of tangles around his fingers. God, why is he doing this? He can hardly scrape together enough money for piano lessons.

Silence.

More silence.

“Oh.” He holds his breath as you click and unclick your pen near the receiver. “Ben.” His name leaves your lips in a croak, like it’ll shatter if you say it too loud. “You’re … are you sure you want lessons from me?”

No, he’s not sure at all.

“Depends on if you’ll teach me,” Ben eventually replies, and he’s boggled by how smooth that sounds. “And if the place where you teach is, y’know, wheelchair accessible.”

“It is. And – and yeah. Sure. We can do it.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

Ben writes down the interview on his calendar.

—

The building that houses your studio is wheelchair accessible, thank god.

Your door is open, and he’s halfway there, taking advantage of his extra five minutes by going as slow as possible. He can’t chicken out now. Staring ahead at the light spilling from your room onto the hallway floor, Ben runs through his introduction for the seventh time and wonders if he should shake your hand or not.

When he finally turns into the room and spots you, it’s like he’s fifteen all over again.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he says.

Chest suddenly tight, he says nothing more as the two of you look at each other. Then you smile hesitantly and gesture to one of the pianos; Ben blinks, wheeling over to the instrument while you go and sit at the one next to it.

“How … how’ve you been?” you ask.

His lips part for a generic Good, how about you?, but it feels wrong, so he settles on, “I’ve been okay. Busy. What about you?”

“Busy, too.” You fold your hands, fingers drumming the knuckles of your opposite hand – you still do that, even after all this time. Shit, he forgot to shake your hand – “I just moved back a few weeks ago, so everything’s been kind of hectic.”

“Oh. Well, I’m … I’m glad you’re back.”

He means it. Your expression becomes a bit brighter.

“Yeah, me too.” You squeeze your hands together and then glance at the piano, clearing your throat. “So, I guess I’ll start by asking you some questions …”

The next half hour goes by as you conduct the interview, and it’s honestly surreal. You tell him about your teaching philosophy and your focus on classical pieces. He tells you how much practice he can put in (or rather, awkwardly tells you that it’ll probably vary based on his work schedule, and also that he’ll need to actually buy a keyboard for his apartment). The two of you talk about assistive devices for pedaling and types of pieces that don’t need the sustain pedal at all. Then there’s some rhythm exercises and a basic scale that you taught him once, years ago, and it takes everything in him not to blush whenever he fucks up.

At the end of the thing, you look at him carefully.

“Will you be honest with me?”

Ben furrows his brow. “Yeah, of course,” he says.

“You’re not really interested in regular piano lessons, are you?”

The plainness of your tone makes him cough. “W-Well”—he doesn’t have enough time to craft a proper response—“not exactly.”

You nod, gaze moving away to the books stacked onto the nearby bookshelf.

“But I am interested,” Ben says quickly, before cringing. “In piano. Interested in piano. I mean, I’ve always liked it, and it was a pretty big part of your life. I just wanted to try it again.”

To his surprise, you crack a small smile. “I do need some actual students, you know.”

“… Yeah. I’m, uh, sorry about taking up a slot.”

“Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Huh?”

You take in a deep breath. “Coffee,” you say with a small, unsure shrug. “You could pay for it, and, um, then we could go here, and I’ll give you an informal lesson. Whenever we’re both free?”

Are you asking him out?

“Okay,” he murmurs, dazed. “Yeah. Sure. That’d be great.”

His answer seems to take you aback. Your hands twitch, then you nod after a second and quickly reach for a stack of sticky notes and a pen. There’s something in the way that you write his number down, something raw and intimate and young, and the goodbyes that you share afterwards are not so much goodbyes as they are see-you-laters.

—

Ben learns that you drink your coffee with cream and brown sugar. The two of you sit outside for the first date (meet-up? Exchange of goods and services?), neither one quite sure what to say or how to say it at first, but then he asks you if your favorite composer is still Shostakovich and you laugh.

“Yes, of course,” you say. “How about you? You still a fan of Chekov?”

He grins. “Of course.”

And with that brief exchange, the ice melts. You talk about work and bitch about your landlords and order one blueberry muffin to split because you’re both cheap, not because sharing is romantic, not at all. He gives a ten-minute review-slash-rant about the book he’s been reading. You gush about your recent discovery of Saygun. The familiarity of it all, in spite of the ways that both of you have changed, relieves him more than he’d like to admit.

After downing the rest of your lukewarm coffee, you head to your studio and refresh him on the basics. Right hand, left hand. C-D-E-F-G-A-B-C. The chords to a John Legend song. Ben gets it pretty quickly this time around, and near the end of the hour, you ask him when he’ll be free to meet up again. He smiles and tells you.

—

There’s a second not-date. And a third. And a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth. Some of them don’t even involve coffee or a piano lesson.

By the tenth meet-up, Ben has the courage to ask you out on a real date. You say yes.

The Amphion Symphony Orchestra is performing tonight, and he’s bought the tickets this time. He dresses up in business casual, no need for a leather jacket since the night is thick and summery, and fusses with his hair for about ten minutes. When he picks you up, he stumbles out some compliment about your appearance as you buckle yourself into the passenger seat. The bashful sound of your laugh and returning flattery drowns out the music on the radio.

The two of you arrive at the theater extra early so that the parking and crowds are less of a pain. To kill time before the performance, he asks you about the pieces they’re going to play, and you gladly tell him about the era and the composers and which ones you think he’ll like – though by the way you talk about them, Ben thinks that the music could make his ears bleed and he’d still listen to the whole thing.

Your eyes gleam underneath the lights as your fingers curl around your program. He stares for as long as you’re distracted.

When the concert starts, Ben shares a small smile with you in the darkness and settles back.

And he thoroughly enjoys himself. The conductor is funny and the orchestra glides through each piece with knife-like precision, drums booming, violins weeping, French horns swooning. Despite being a pop music kind of guy, the swells and dips of strings and brass and winds are something quite special, warming him to the core. It’s been a while since the last time he’d gone to a concert like this. He had missed it.

(Or had he simply missed the company?)

After the performance, which ends with thunderous applause, he maneuvers his way out of the theater with you and starts the drive back to your apartment.

A few minutes in, however, you begin to fidget. “Ben?”

“Hm?”

“Is it okay if we stop at the park for a little bit? Near my apartment?”

He glances over at you for a moment. “Sure.”

You give Ben the directions – the park in question is just one turn away from the usual route – and eventually, the two of you stop near the entrance, underneath a streetlamp. He parks carefully and turns the radio off. This area is pretty good, safety-wise, but the looming sunset still makes him wary, so the doors remain locked.

“So,” he says lightly, “what’s up?”

It doesn’t help when a strange laugh leaves your mouth. You look ahead at the lengthening shadows down the street as he frowns, bewildered.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” you say.

“How so?” Though he tries to ignore them, his thoughts instinctively flick to the wheelchair disassembled in the backseat anyway.

“I mean, dating again after all this time.” You gesture vaguely with your hands. “It just feels so strange. Everything’s changed, but nothing’s changed at all.”

“I don’t mind the change,” Ben says softly.

“I’m not saying it’s bad,” you quickly say. “It’s not. This is … it’s just that tonight was so great. Really great. And sitting there in that theater, with you, it felt like we never even –” Your voice trips over itself, and you wet your lips. “I dunno. I’ve been thinking about it all day and I just … I don’t want to go home and lose sleep over it again.” You meet his gaze. “What are we doing, Ben?”

What are we doing?

Rekindling a childhood romance is what first comes to Ben’s mind. Trying to reach back into the past and fix what he didn’t know would be broken so easily back then. Apologizing through sheet music and books and coffee, sorry for the letters never sent, sorry for the payphone breakup, the fucking academy, the eight years of radio silence because he was afraid that the headlines would change the way you looked at him. Starting over. Growing up.

Maybe you’re just trying to love each other properly now.

“We’re doing,” Ben says, after a long stretch of silence, “whatever we want to do.”

You repeat his answer quietly. Then you lean back in your seat, nodding.

“Okay,” you mutter, the barest hint of a smile on your lips. Your eyes are a little wet. “Cool.”

Ben smiles back. He starts the engine again and resumes the journey to your apartment, hands just a little unsteady. You turn the radio back on.

When he turns onto your street, he hears you whisper, “I think I’m in love with you again.”

The sky is orange and pink as he replies.

“I’ve been in love with you for years.”

[crushedbyhyperbole]

On Paper

A/N:  Written for @sunmoonandbucky​‘s 5k writing challenge and filling the prompt: She thinks I’m old, from the Daddy Long Legs musical.  Congratulations again on your epic milestone, you’re awesome and deserve all the love of we 5k and more.  Sorry, I should have had this posted a couple of hours ago, it almost didn’t get completed at all (I’ve been so busy with work stuff) but we got there in the end. Phew!

Summary:  You’re an artist who runs a creative therapy class for veterans, he’s a world war 2 vet who looks after goats.  When Sam asks you to be a sponsor for the veterans pen pal program you never dreamed it would end where it does.

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count:  4.5k

Warnings:  PTSD - Bucky recovering, bit of angst, bit of fluff.

Deep violet and Prussian blue softened to lavender with a sliver of peach in the cleft between two mountains. The eastern call of the coming day no longer filled Bucky with dread, instead it filled him with a tempered kind of peace.  Not the seeping relaxation of the soul that he longed to feel inching over his shoulders and down his spine, but the kind that subtly softened the pensive nature of his broken pieces and told him ‘today might not be so hard’.  As the sun rose on his final day in Wakanda, Bucky set about his daily chores.  The mundane tasks his body performed while his mind clamoured for completion.

Up well before the Sun, he preferred to work before the heat of the day peaked.  Those pre-dawn moments before the others of his community rose were his own; time to wallow in his own self-pity without the sad looks of those around him.  But now he had something to look forward to, someone to look forward to.  Y/n.  His pen pal. The woman he had fallen inexorably in love with over the past two years, your souls laid out on paper.

Bucky tossed bales of straw onto a small cart.  Already his goats were snickering and tittering in their pen, soon they’d be around his legs getting in the way as he cleaned out their muck for the last time. He would miss the company of his goats, they had personality but couldn’t judge, and when they watched him struggle one-handed with rakes and pitchforks they couldn’t pity him his missing arm.

The arm.

For a long time it had been the source of much of his pain, a reminder of what was done to him and what he’d done.  Without the arm he could easily believe he was just another soldier who lost a limb in battle, he could gloss over the decades of murder and torture in favour of his memories of Brooklyn and of the 107th.  But without it he was stunted, an invalid, weak.  It would have been better for everyone if he’d just died falling from that train, but Bucky was tenacious.  Even in his darkest hour he always fought for survival, his instinct to live so strong he’d lasted almost 100 years of war, and war was exactly what it was.  All those years as the Fist of Hydra, The Winter Soldier, soldat.  All that death.  Hydra were at war and he was their weapon.

Now he had a different desire, a different purpose.  He was going home to New York, going home to a place he no longer knew, filled with people who most likely despised him.  And what for?  A woman who knew him only as war veteran James.  A woman who knew so much about him yet so little.  What would you say when you finally met him and realised your charming old-world friend was the murderous Winter Soldier?  No.  You wouldn’t discard him like that, you’d done so much for each other over the years. Your bond was strong.  Wasn’t it?

Fully risen now, the sun crested the lower slopes of the eastern mountain, bringing colour to the world around him.  Vibrant greens of the forest reaching up until the stone peaks could no longer support their life, pastures and plantations, fields of grain not yet yellowed and ready for harvest, and an orchard where Bucky had been allowed to plant a few trees of his own; plums and damsons, that’s what he grew.

It was in the orchard at the cusp of midday, with sweat making rats tails of his hair and sticking his sleeveless plaid shirt to his skin, and with a basket of fruit picked for the village that he caught the silhouette of a figure he seldom saw outside of Wakanda’s labs; Princess Shuri.

“The white wolf has become a puppy, if the rumours of your village are true.”  She stepped forward, her full-length white dress trailed in the dried red dirt, tainting the hem like rust.

Bucky smiled dryly.  Shuri always liked to tease him.

“Come,” she smiled, “it is time.”

Since the end of the Infinity War and Steve’s decision to leave, Bucky had come back to Wakanda to find himself but had only gotten more lost.  He was comfortable, with his supported solitude and his goats; The Winter Soldier had been locked away, forgotten but never truly gone.  That had been almost three years ago.

The veteran's pen pal program had changed all of that for him.  It had been Sam’s idea, to help soldiers who had problems connecting.  A buffered step towards communicating and getting to know new people again, an opening through which to learn the world again.

Bucky had been hesitant at first. The first letter came and it took him weeks to pluck up the courage to reply, but reply he did and never looked back. Now he was getting on a jet back to New York, where you lived.  He would be in the same city, walking the same streets, breathing the same air but would he ever be brave enough to announce himself after all this time?  Would you feel lied to, that he hadn’t owned up to who he was in the two years you’d been writing to each other?

The jet doors closed on one part of his life and he stared out of the window as the metal bird carried him into the next.  Scared but resolved to become whole again, Bucky closed his eyes and thought of you.

+++++++

Pride, that’s what you felt, pure unadulterated pride.  Looking out across the room at the men and women in your class at the VA hospital. Hands grey and mottled with clay, aprons smeared with slip, but there’s a kind of peace in that chatter-filled room that these people never got while sat sombrely at their support meetings. It was hard to open up when the question on everyone else’s mind is “what happened to you, then?”

“So… week four and the clay was a win?”  Sam Wilson spoke from the doorway, shoulder braced against the wood as he leaned, watching the group sculpt things from the clay you’d given them.

It had been a bit of a slow start, triggering their imagination was key.  Some were making pots and cups from coiled clay snakes, something functional because that’s what they needed, to create something useful instead of all the useless hurt and emotion they were filled with.  Some were making plaques, embossed words like ‘home sweet home’, ‘you can do this’, and ‘be the change you want to see’, motivational sentiments designed as gifts perhaps but were more an instruction to themselves. A few were freestyling, just pouring their emotions out into the wet clay, seeing what came out.  But they were talking, just inane chatter about this and that, small talk that helped them coalesce as a group, allowing them to open up gradually.  You would have this same group for a total of twelve weeks of creative therapy before the cycle would start again and you’d get a new group.

“Yeah.”  You sighed, moving to the door so as not to disturb the class. “Creating something gives their brains something to focus on so they’re not fully submerged in their trauma.  I’m not a therapist, but you can see how the artistic process helps them.  Not everyone responds but most do.  It’s nice to see.”

Sam smiled, eyes twinkling. He was proud of them too.  Some of these people were part of the support group he hosted and seeing them like this really filled his soul with joy.

“You work wonders with these guys.”  He looked a little bashful when he met your gaze.  “Definitely underrated.”

“You’re not just here for a social visit are you, Sam?”  You crossed your arms over your chest and pinned him with a knowing glare.

“That obvious, huh?”

“It is when you’re trying to butter me up.”  You arched a brow.  “What do you need?”

“I like a girl who isn’t afraid to get down to business.”  He smirked. Sam always was on the flirty side but you were immune to his charm, so he found a playful little plateau where you were both happy to remain.

“How very goal-orientated of you.” You sassed back, praying he was not about to ask you to go on a date with his cousin or something equally cringy. “Spill.”

“A letter came for you today.” He proffered a large white envelope that was burdened with its contents; hardly a letter, it was more of a package. The U.S. Government stamp glared up at you accusingly.  “Might be that extra funding you asked for.”  Sam shrugged casually, trying to reassure you with good thoughts.

“It might also be a severance package.”  You quipped glumly.

It wasn’t a secret that you’d had some severe issues with supporting yourself lately.  Since hosting the centre’s creative therapy sessions you had little time for your own work let alone selling it.  Money was tight and you were already in danger of having to relocate your studio to your garage at home.

Your jaw fell slack as you read the letter, not bothering to wait for the privacy of your car or home.  “I don’t understand.”

The letter was notification that you were the sole beneficiary of a military pension.  All but the monetary details had been redacted, swathes of black stripes blotting out pages and pages of information that could allude to the identity of the person whose pension you were mysteriously the recipient of.

“There has to be some sort of mistake.”  You had no family who had been in the military, no chance of long-lost uncles, siblings or grandparents, and no spouse from which this could have come.

It wasn’t an obscene amount of money but for a military pension it was incredibly generous; the years of service that would have had to have been put in was longer than some people lived. There was only one person you knew who could have gifted you such a thing.

James.

Your heart stopped.

“Wait a sec.”  The papers stilled in your hands.  “Don’t these things get bequeathed upon death?”  Eyes stinging, you searched Sam’s face.  There was both sadness and confusion there in the crinkle of his brow.

“Y/n…” he comforted.  The sympathetic shake of his head sent your emotions spiralling and your vision swam with tears.

“He can’t be dead,” you sobbed quietly into your sweater sleeve, “he just can’t be.” You handed Sam the papers, shuffling a small locus in front of the door as you chewed your fingernails. The burn of panic in your chest became oppressive.

It didn’t take him long to scan through the unredacted text and for pity to taint his body language.

“He was so vibrant and full of life.”  You couldn’t stop the tears now that they were flowing down your cheeks.  “I had no idea he was even sick.”  You started to hyperventilate and Sam moved to comfort you.

“It might not be what you think,” he soothed.

“And I’ve been too busy with trying to find extra work to reply to his last letter.”  You gasped as guilt clashed with the panic already crippling your heart.

That sickening plummeting feeling only grew stronger the more you thought about James, and how he’d been your rock for the past few years.  A distant rock on a peaceful shore you could slip away to when things got too much for you, he was a perfect confidant and everything you were to him as his pen pal sponsor; he was a voice of reason, supportive, kind, caring, funny and oh some of the stories he’d tell from his army days.  He never specified when or where but you could tell from the way he wrote and the things he said that he fought in the second world war.

You’d grown extremely fond of James over the years.  If two souls were meant to be together it was you two, only the distance and money had stopped you from going to visit him where he lived in East Africa.  For James it was his commitment to his goats and his solitary way of life.  You only knew a little about where he lived and about who he was.  Even after all this time, you both sent your letters to the pen pal liaison who sent them on to the correct addresses; this was to protect the participants and you both respected that.

James had only ever spoke of friends that were no longer around and you’d wondered if he had anyone else in his life so you’d asked; there was no one save a few people who lived nearby who were in essence his care-takers or people who looked out for him.  So, you were it…  You were all he had.

A fresh wave of tears pushed past your already soaked lashes, retracing the wet tracks of previous tears only to be swiped away by your sweater-covered hands.  The thought that James had died alone broke your heart.  And what about his goats?

“Y/n?”  Sam’s concerned voice brought you back from your spiralling thoughts.

Your breathing was already ragged as you struggled to control your grief.  Sam’s furtive glance over your shoulder had you following his gaze. Brilliant blue eyes, so full of emotion, connected with yours and held on.  One of the men from your class had left his table as if to help comfort you but Sam’s firm head shake aborted his gesture, leaving him looking forlorn. Those eyes held on to you though, mirroring your grief, boring into your soul.  So blue, and all the more piercing because of the glassy redness of withheld tears.  A stranger’s empathy wasn’t what you needed right then, you needed some air.

You stumbled as Sam guided you outside into the corridor where your class couldn’t see your distress. He pulled you in and held you tight as you slumped in his arms, overcome with grief.

Hours later, over a coffee in the staff canteen, you told him all about your kindred spirit – James, and how the veteran’s pen pal program had changed both if your lives.

+++++++

“You’re worse than Steve, you know that?”  Sam griped as he pushed past Bucky into his room at the compound.  Bucky had been staying there since his return from Wakanda, six weeks earlier.

“Don’t compare me to him.” Bucky quipped as he paced the floor. His hands, still stained with clay dust, were fisted on his hips.  “I didn’t break all my promises like he did.”

“No, but you continue to lie to a woman you’ve loved for years.”  Sam scoffed as he rummaged in Bucky’s chiller.  “Do you even keep anything other than condiments in here?”

“The beer is in the freezer.” At Sam’s questioning look, Bucky rolled his eyes.  “They were warm when I got them home.  I took the scenic route on foot - what?  I needed time to think.”

“Look,” Sam handed over a perfectly chilled beer, “you need to talk to her.”

“But-”

“It’s what you came back for isn’t it?”  Sam didn’t need a reply, he and Bucky had discussed this at length.  “She deserves to know.”

“But she thinks I’m old, man.” Bucky flopped down on his sofa.

“Yeah, well, now she thinks you’re a corpse.”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve been dead.”  Bucky sighed, shoulders slumping.  “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“How did you even manage to transfer your pension?”  Sam took a long swig.  “And why?”

“Fury pulled some strings.” Bucky gripped the bottle tighter as if to ground himself.  “I don’t want the government’s guilt money.  All those years of suffering and they’re acting like it was my duty, part of my service to my country,” he twisted the bottle until the glass creaked, “I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“So you thought you’d give it to y/n?”

“It might as well do some good.” Bucky nodded solemnly.  “I didn’t think she’d put the pieces together or that she’d be so upset if she did.”

“Don’t insult her, man.” Sam chided.

“I’d never…”

“She’s grown so attached to you she thinks of you like a soulmate, just born at the wrong times.”

Bucky sighed heavily.  “How can I fix this?  How can I tell her she’s been talking to the Winter Soldier for years? It’s going to break her heart when she finds out what I’ve done.”

“Her heart is breaking now that she thinks you died alone in a hut in Africa.”  Sam knew just how much James meant to you, and he didn’t sugar-coat his disappointment.  “She’s even worried about your damn goats for Christ’s sake.”

“I can’t just walk up to her and say ‘hey, I know I’ve been in your class for the last few weeks but I’m James, your pen pal’,” he wrung the bottle harder until the neck began to crack from the strain.

“You’re going to have to find a way, man,” Sam clapped him on the shoulder, “you’re my friend but you’re an asshat and if you don’t tell her then I will.”  Ultimatum delivered; Sam drained his beer.

Bucky nodded glumly.  He knew Sam had his best interests at heart, but he was firm and wouldn’t baby him.  Bucky had to do this, he had to tell you the truth.

“Why don’t you finish this thing the way it started,” Sam said as he opened Bucky’s door, “with a letter?”

+++++++

Your life had been a blur of numbness in the week following the discovery of James’s death.  You’d read and re-read his most recent letter, the one you never responded to, feeling guilty and ashamed for your neglect. There had been nothing that lead you to believe James had been sick.  Yes, he was elderly, but he never seemed frail.  On the contrary, he seemed very active and fit for someone who’d fought in the second world war.  It was all such a shock.

The veteran’s creative therapy class had rolled around again and the whole class had been a little subdued; they’d seen your distress the previous week and were gentle with you. There was only one joke about Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore at the pottery wheel which caused a titter of laughter and you’d smiled but they could see you weren’t yourself, though you did your best to hide it.

Clean-up had been almost solemn and as the vets left the class, they offered kind words or gestures, but they were all just a part of the numb blur you were lost in.

Packing away your tools you noticed some things that had been left behind by one of the class; a red ceramic rose with a twisted metal stem – Bucky’s piece from the previous week, and a familiar ivory envelope with your name written on it in even more familiar handwriting.

In your chest your heart flipped, sending a nauseous wave into your throat.  Panic struck again for the second time in as many weeks and you frantically snatched up the letter, tearing it open with just enough care so as not to tear through what was inside.

Tears were already flowing as your heart broke all over again.  And then you began to read.

Dearest Y/n,

Perhaps I should start by introducing myself.  I am James Buchannan Barnes of the 107th Infantry and of The Howling Commandos. I’m sure you know me as the man formerly known as The Winter Soldier, but I hope you would know me better as just James.  And now you also know me as Bucky.

I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you who I was.  At first it didn’t seem like it mattered, and the level of detachment afforded by the pen pal program was like a safety blanket – I could be myself without all of the horror that came with my past.  But then as time went on, we grew more and more fond of one another and I couldn’t ruin what we shared by telling you the truth.  I am so very sorry.  I can’t say that enough.

I moved back to New York a few weeks ago from Wakanda, where I have been staying for the duration of my recovery.  You already know so much about that without any of the details that would allow you the full story, but it’s something I’m willing to tell you if you want to hear it?

When I came back, the plan was to meet you and tell you everything, but apparently I’ve become a coward during all those years spent tending goats, who are fine by the way. They are being well looked after and though I will miss them, I came here for something I would miss more if it were to suddenly vanish.  That something is you.  Perhaps that’s why I kept my truth from you, because I was scared I’d lose the thing I cherished most in this new life I found myself in.

There’s no excuse good enough for what I’ve done but I hope you can forgive me in time.

If by some miracle you still want to talk to me, I’ll be waiting in the little café (Charlotte’s) on the corner by the VA center, until it closes.  I’m ready to tell you everything, y/n, but I understand if you don’t want to know me.  I’ve left my cell number on the back too in case you’re not ready to talk in person and I promise if I don’t hear from you I’ll stay away, but I really hope I do.

The rose is yours to do with as you see fit.  I made it so it tinkles just like the wind chime I had in Wakanda when you wave it gently. If I’m to never see you again please know that I would sooner lose my right arm than hurt you.  You’re the one thing I cherish most.  You touched my life so profoundly and changed it for the better.  It’s a debt I can never repay but I will if you’ll let me try.

Yours, with love,

James.

Tears spilled down your cheeks and you snatched up the rose as you swung your bag over your shoulder in a hurry towards the door.  Your flat shoes slapped and squeaked on the polished linoleum floor as you ran the length of the corridor and slammed through fire doors that would take you to Charlotte’s the quickest.

Chest heaving and gasping for breath you stopped dead outside the cozy little café.  The failing light outside made the warm glow inside much more appealing, and there, on the other side of the glass, was the impossibly youthful James Buchannan Barnes.  His long hair was tucked behind his ears as he poured over the pages in his hands - your letters.

You’d taken note of him in your class, not just because he was attractive but because he was very attentive; his focus followed you around the room while you instructed the class and he listened like your voice was his favourite song.  Now it all made sense.  The way he gravitated to you wasn’t because you were an instructor or an authority figure, it was because he knew you.  Those furtive glances weren’t because he had trouble with eye contact, it was because he was afraid you’d see through his act.  And the subtle smiles when you spoke weren’t because he thought you were funny, he did, but they were because he was hearing for the first time words and phrases you’d laid down on paper.

Lifting his eyes as he sipped his coffee he glanced around, coming to rest on the street outside, and onto you.  There was fear in his eyes.  Momentary doubt before an affectionate smile graced his lips.  The twinkle in his eyes was the same one you’d imagined many times before, even if the face that bore them was less worn.

Now that you truly saw him, you couldn’t believe that you hadn’t recognised The Winter Soldier in your class. His beard and long hair did a lot to mask his features but you should have noticed his infamous arm.  In his letters James had told you he lost his arm in the war but he never told you he had a metal replacement.

The longer you stared, the more his smile faltered, until he was on his feet and moving towards the door. Without thought you moved towards him and met him as he stepped out onto the street.  The air between you was charged with awkward tension that continued to build as you searched his face, taking him in, adding together all the knowledge of who he really was.  He was your James, but he was also something more.

You felt like you could both slap him and kiss him.  All the heartache he’d put you through in the last week, all the hurt.  But he was alive and safe and right there in front of you, impossibly young and irrevocably real.

“Sweetheart?”  His voice cracked as he reached for your hand but he never got that far before you threw yourself at him, arms wrapped around his neck as you buried your face into his chest.

The breath you’d been holding came out as a sob and he cradled you to him like a precious porcelain doll, rubbing gentle circles over your back as you let your tears of relief flow freely. He didn’t care that you were soaking his shirt, you were there and you were in his arms, and it was more than he could ever have hoped for.

“I’m so sorry.”  He murmured into your crown.  “I never meant to lie to you.”

You laughed, watery and shaky. “You best believe you’re going to make it up to me.”  You stepped back, swiping the tears from your cheeks.  “I don’t care that you’re almost one hundred years old.”  You poked him in the stomach, earning you a grunt and a chuckle.

“Careful sweetheart,” James gripped your hand gently to stave off any further assault, “that ship sailed already.”  He gave you a cheeky wink, confidence building now that he knew you didn’t hate him. “I’ll officially be one hundred and eleven next week.”

“Well that’s fabulous news,” you simpered, “I never thought I’d ever get to plan an eleventy-first birthday celebration but I suspect it will be an event of special magnificence.”

As he led you inside and pulled out a chair for you to sit, you couldn’t help but think that even though life was full of pain and sorrow, sometimes it paid you back in happiness. And for two souls discovered on paper and made real, miracles were still possible.

[adamisstillinhellthankstoyou]

I remember when we did our scene…

[dontcare77ghj]

Burning

Natasha x reader x Bucky

“Bucky, I swear to God I will throw out the plums if you don’t move.” Natasha threatened half-heartedly. She had sat on the couch only for Bucky to trap her to the seat by laying on her lap.

“But Nat.” Bucky whined, burrowing his head into her stomach. “I’m comfy.”

“I don’t care. My legs are asleep.” She complained attempting to push him off again. You let out a giggle at the sight of what the worlds greatest two ex-assassins were doing. Both their heads snapped to you standing in the doorway.

“What are you laughing at pretty girl?” Bucky asked with a smile. He raised himself up on his arms slightly to look at you.

“The worlds greatest assassins.” You said with a smirk, as you took a few steps closer. Big mistake. Bucky snatched at your hand and pulled you on top of him. You landed with an oomph and he wrapped his arms around you.

“Ex-assassins.” Natasha corrected, running her hand up your arm. You looked up at the red head with a smile. She gave her own soft smile and captured your lips in a similar fashion.

“Where were you doll?” Bucky asked into your neck. You pulled away from Natasha, reluctantly, and looked down at the long-haired man.

“With Bruce and Wanda.” You said. “They were trying to figure out why I’m late.” You explained.

“You still haven’t burned?” Nat asked with furrowed brows. You shook your head minutely with a frown.

You were another one of Struckers’ prize pupils. Having been brought in around the same time as the twins you had formed a kinship with the two and when your powers had begun to come in the three of you all helped each other the best you could. During your years there the three of you had become like siblings and other than you no-one knew your powers as well as Wanda.

Long story short, after the battle with Ultron and the death of Pietro, you had joined the avengers with Wanda. You became very close to Natasha during your time and began dating just before Bucky arrived. You and Natasha had volunteered to help Steve readjust Bucky to the modern world and over the months both you and Natasha had realized you both had fallen for him. An awkward conversation with Bucky later, the three of you agreed to enter a relationship.

Seven months later the three of you were very happy.

Two months ago, you missed your first ever burning day. You thought it’d come within the next week but two months later, still nothing.

“Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” Bucky half-teased half-asked.  You wacked him in the arm and rolled your eyes, fondly.

“It’s not a period Buck. It means nothing towards that.” You said exasperated.

While Pietro got super speed and Wanda her Psionics, you were given something different. You had taken on the characteristics of a Phoenix. The only downside to your fiery gifts was the day a month where you burnt to death and then came back to life a few hours later.

“Don’t worry about it too much пламя.” Natasha said tracing shapes onto your arm. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Yeah. I hope so.” You said with a soft smile.

“Hey now.” Buck started. “No more worrying. There’s too much worry this room. It’s suffocating.” He finished, his tone turned teasing by the end.

“No what’s suffocating is your still on my bloody legs.” Natasha stated flicking Bucky in the forehead. You smiled as he started to whine again, and Nat looked at the two of you fondly. Nat’s right, there’s nothing to worry about.

The next night

You shot up with a gasp. You looked around frantically as you tried to find the source of your discomfort. Looking down you realized your skin was glowing a deep red and knew it was time. Kicking at the sheets frantically you rolled out of the bed and moved as fast as you could to the special room Tony had built exactly for burning.

Quietly slamming the door behind you, you attempted to take deep breaths. The burning feeling was growing but it felt like her airways had closed over. You fell against the cool tiles and choked on the minimal air you could breathe.

“– calm down. Breath in with me. Just breath in with me.” A soothing voice spoke over your choked gasps. Opening your eyes, you could make out through blurry vision a mop of red hair. Natasha.

“Nat. I ca-. I can-. I can’t breathe.” You stammered pushing at your chest, trying to relieve the tension.

“I know. I know дорога́я.” Natasha soothed pulling you against her chest. You heard a soft hiss escape her at the difference in temperature. Your eyes widened as you realized you were hurting her.

“N, No. Let-. Let me go.” You cried pushing away from her chest. She unraveled her arms from you and allowed you to move back. You moved your head into your hands and could feel your skin getting hotter and your airway feeling smaller.

Natasha was talking frantically, but you couldn’t understand a word she was saying.

Cool water began to fall from the ceiling onto your figure, you could feel a cool hand ran your back. Bucky.

“It’s okay doll. Just let it go. We’re right here.”

“It hurts.” You cried letting out a strangled sob. You could hear your two lovers shhing you gently.

“We know.” Bucky responded softly. “But it’s going to hurt worse if you don’t let it out.” He reasoned.

“Let it go. Everything’s going to be ok.” Natasha added, her voice equally as soft.

“I can’t. I can’t.” You stammered gasping by the end of your short sentence.

“Yes, you can пламя.” Natasha soothed. “Just let it happen.”

“I’ll hurt you.” You cried out doubling over in pain as the burning increased.

“No, you won’t.” Bucky assured. “We’ll be fine, but right now you gotta let this happen.” He finished staring into your eyes. Taking in a deep breath you watched the two moves back slightly. They both gave you small nods and you focused on the pain. The scalding, suffocating, horrendous pain. And you let it take over.

The last thing you could focus on was the sounds of your sizzling flesh and the smell f burnt meat, as your skin ignited, and you died.

Hours later

“I’ve never seen her like that.” The soft whispers drew you to the land of the living. You couldn’t move your eyes, but you could feel the sheets of your bed, smell the sweet lavender that coated your pillows and hear the quiet whispers of your two lovers.

“I know.” Natasha murmured from next you, her nails delicately trailing down your still healing skin.

“It scared me.” Bucky continued. “Y/N has always been so strong when it comes to this stuff. But she looked so terrified, I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know, Buck.” Natasha repeated, you felt her over hand reach over you to, what you presumed, grab Bucky’s hand. “When saw her in that room, looking so small, I froze for a second. She’s always been so light and easy going that seeing her scared, I don’t know, shocked me? I’ve never seen her like that and I froze.”

“It’s not your fault, Nat. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I could’ve helped her quicker. I could’ve done something sooner.”

“But in the end, you did help. You kept her breathing and you tried your best that’s all she’d ask from you in that situation.”

“I love you Buck. I love Y/N too. I love you both, so, so much.”

“I love you both too Nat.”

“Same here.” You croaked finally opening your eyes. You blinked at the light filling your bedroom and shielded your face into Natasha’s chest.

“Not even alive for ten minutes and your already making moves on Nat.” Bucky chuckled pressing his lips gently on the top of your head. “How you feel doll?”

“Just peachy Barnes.” You said, voice still muffled by Natasha’s chest, lifting your hand slightly and giving him a thumbs up.

“You scared us пламя.” Natasha said softly, leaving kisses down the side of your face.

“I heard.” You replied lifting your face up to look at your boyfriend and girlfriend. “I’m sorry.” You added kissing Bucky, first, softly and then repeating the action to Natasha.

“Nothing to be sorry about doll.” Bucky assured pulling you backwards closer to his chest, Nat quickly moved towards you leaving you surrounded by the warmth of the two you loved.

You gave a hum of response burrowing in closer to the warmth as your eyes began to droop.

“Go to sleep пламя. We’ll look after you.” Natasha cooed into your ear.

“I love you two.” You mumbled moving in closer to Bucky’s chest.

“We love you too.” They both replied and the three of you soon drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

Show your support and leave feedback or head over to my Ko-Fi page! Feedback much appreciated.

[writemarvelousthings]

Let It Snow.

PAIRING: Reader x Bucky

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

WARNINGS: A little tiny bit of angst if you squint but mostly fluff, and Bucy hating the cold. 

A/N: This is for @arawynn​ ‘s Festive Winter Wonderland Writing Challenge!  There are still lots of prompts and scenarios left if anyone is interested you should defiantly check it out! My prompt was “Everything is ready for an afternoon in front of the fireplace”  And a big thank you to @bucky-plums-barnes​ and @abovethesmokestacks​ for beta reading and pointing out things I missed! Would be lost without those girls! I hope you all enjoy and it puts you in the Christmas mood x 

Gif, not mine. 

The cold seeps in slow and undetectable at first, the falling leaves are the first clue. Crunching crisp leaves turn into sludge. One wrong misstep could send your ankle rolling unnaturally and your heart rate skyrocketing. The cold nips at your nose and cheeks, it makes you shudder stepping out into the elements, large coats and woollen hats appear in the streets as people move more quickly, desperate to find a place of warmth. Then suddenly, all at once. The snows arrive and the world is bathed in a pristine white glow that brings the promise of YuleTide and once again Bucky is reminded how much he hates the cold.

Sam rips into him, howling at how such an imposing man could look like a petulant child swaddled in jumpers and scarves that cover the bottom half of his face his ice blue eyes rivalling the icicles that shine in the low morning sunlight. He tries to hide his discomfort from you, but you can see right through him.

You notice the way he favours his left shoulder in the mornings, the cold stabbing at the torn and reassembled muscle to steel. Not even Shuri’s genius with vibranium can fix seventy years of damaging scar tissue, you know it will be something Bucky will carry with him always. Just like how the cold brings back flashes of old memories, a fast-moving train. Steve screaming, cold sterilised rooms Hydra kept him in during his years of “service”. The memories don't keep him awake at night like they used to, but the cold always brings them back, how ironic that the Winter Soldier despises the very season he’s named after.

On this particular day morning arrives as usual, sunrise bathing the room in soft pink and orange hues. It catches the dust particles floating through the air before disappearing into the shadows, you smile softly, snuggling into the large heat source next to you. Tilting your chin upwards, you watch the sleeping man. There was a time you’d be the one waking up to him looking down at you, ice blue eyes crinkling at the edges as he gives you a soft smile only reserved for you. It’s a smile that sends a thousand fireflies bursting in your chest.

He’s on his back, one arm curled around your waist, the black vibranium tucked under his pillow beneath his head. His plump lips opened slightly, he’s relaxed. Open and vulnerable in your presence, it makes you reach out to trace the curve of his nose. The light touch makes him follow you, turning his head towards your smiling face.

“Good morning handsome.”

“Morning, sugar.”

Soft kisses press against your palm and wrist, sleeping snuffling noises akin to a puppy fall from his lips make you chuckle.

“You got that meeting in an hour.” you remind him gently, your fingers finding home against his skull. You scratch against it lightly as Bucky starts purring in earnest.

“But it’s nice and warm here, don’t wanna get up. Too cold.” To prove a point he tucks his toes behind your calves. The freezing offending toes in question make you squeak, donkey kicking back in retaliation you try and wiggle your way out of his grip. Bucky pouts grabbing at you gently.

“Why are you running from me, pretty girl, you wanna break this old man’s heart?”

You roll your eyes shifting quickly to straddle his waist, leaning down to kiss him soundly on the lips. “I’d never dream of it, but Sam might break something if you’re late again. You’re debriefing Peter and Carol remember,” you try not to grin at Bucky's expense as he groans pulling a pillow over his face.

“Come on, the sooner you get up, the sooner you can come back to the fun activity I’ve got planned for us.” You watch as the pillow is flung off his head, hands instantly on your hips as he gazes up at you through thick black lashes.

“Pretty sure we already did a fun activity last night… twice.” Despite fully remembering said fun activity, his words still manage to make you blush as you slap his hands off your hips springing off him with as much grace you can muster at eight in the morning.

“Up and at 'em, Sarge, the day is dawning.” You wander into the bathroom away from Bucky's soft groaning, the cold already settling in his bones.

~~

Bucky often wonders what his life would have been like if he never fell off that damn train. If he made it back home after the war if Steve never crashed the plane into the glacier. Would they have settled back in Brooklyn, would he have found a pretty dame that could have handled all the trauma he had gone through. Probably not, he doesn’t like to think about that too much. Because that world didn’t have you, or the small apartment you both shared in Brooklyn (at least the idea of settling in Brooklyn still stuck, just like the damn snow under his boots) The white offensive substance crunched merrily underfoot as he stomped up the steps to the apartment building. The cold he felt this morning still clung to his insides like frost, he still didn’t feel any warmer as he trundled into the lobby of the building. Stomping and shaking the snow off him like a dog, hair hanging limply against his cheeks, he really needed to start wearing that beanie you got him last week. Going through the mundane checklist of opening the mailbox, he relishes in the normality. Especially after reprimanding two superhumans about how-

“Just because you’re indestructible and can shoot webs out of god knows where you can not Instagram live a mission.”

With a handful of what he assumes is more Christmas cards, he thumps heavily up the stairs, no doubt to the irritation of Ms Jenkins on the second floor. Miserable woman, Bucky couldn’t recall a time where he has seen her smile.  

“I'm home,” he calls through the familiar space as he shoulder opens the door, instant warmth floods through his damp coat, his skin tingling sharply.

Shrugging off the offending damn coat, he hangs it by your bright red one, the woollen material a bright contrast to his black. He smiles as he recalls your comment as you pull it out from the depths of your wardrobe.

“Red is such a festive colour! Everyone should have a Christmas coat, James, it should be the law.”

“I swear that’s the last time I’m letting Sam put Danvers and the Parker kid on missions again. They cause more havoc than they stop, I swear to…”

The words die on his throat faster than the Central Park lake freezing over in January. The living room, which had looked relatively normal this morning, was now what can only be described as an explosion of Christmas. Fairy lights strung along each wall and shelving. Small ornaments stood proud on the mantle, the familiar sight of the pine tree towered in the corner of the room like a festive sentinel standing guard looking over the room, but what makes Bucky's heart simultaneously melt and expand is the pile of pillows and blankets in the middle of the room. His eyes gaze around the room till he finds you, stood by the tree, fuzzy socks on your feet as you push the sleeves of his grey hoodie up your arms.

“Help a girl will you, Sarge?” The grin that spreads across your lips is slow and sweet like molasses. Innocently holding out the glistening star towards him, Bucky toes off his boots and strides towards you, curling the black and gold arm around you as he takes the star gently out of your hand.

“You going to let me do the honours, sweetheart?”

“Wouldn’t feel like Christmas if you didn’t.”

He feels your wrap your arms around his waist as he leans upwards to place the twinkling star atop the tree, warm hands slide under his shirt, leaving a burning trail against his skin that shoots down to the very nucleus of his cells.

“Perfect,” you whisper into his shoulder as you both stand back looking at the tree, your hands rub small circles on his lower back as you feel him drop his lips to the top of your head.

“You really are.”

“I was talking about the tree, you old sap.” You poke his side for good measure only to be pulled back into his embrace.

“Well, everything’s ready for an afternoon in front of the fireplace. Go get changed then meet me back here.” You give his ass a light tap as you push him gently towards your bedroom.

“Alright, alright, woman, can’t a man enjoy holding his sweetheart in his arms for a few moments?”

You knew his words were empty, especially with the bright grin radiating from him. With a spring in his step, he makes quick work of changing into the soft grey sweatpants and red sweatshirt laid out on the bed. Eager to be back in your arms and under the soft blankets, the cold winds whipping against the windows, but Bucky can’t find a reason to pay them any mind. Not when you’re sitting pretty in front of the fire, two steaming cups in each hand, no doubt with It’s A Wonderful Life queued up on the tv. He doesn’t think of the seventy years spent cold, alone and in pain. He’d walk through the worst blizzard till his toes were purple and his nose frostbitten to hell if it meant you would be at the end waiting for him, with all the warmth in the world to thaw him out, calling him back home.

[lothirielswanmarvel]

Imagine: the Avengers Taking Care of You When You’re Sick

Tony Stark: Tony may not have marital instincts or a working liver, but he will constantly worry over you. Be prepared to be pampered with buckets of cough medicine, stakeouts on the couch with your favorite movie marathons, and J.A.R.V.I.S./F.R.I.D.A.Y. bugging you every five minutes to ask if you need something.

Tony: I love you, but I’m also wearing the suit while we cuddle. As a safety measure, of course. Not from you—supervillains know my address, remember. I’m not scared of germs, Y/N...have you seen the Lysol can around?

Steve Rogers: Steve isn’t exactly an expert on the world of modern medicine, but you will be confined to the couch, under custody of Mama Steve. He’ll try old-world remedies like making chicken soup and enforcing plenty of rest. 

Steve: Y/N, we’re out of clean dishes...maybe I could serve the soup in my shield...wait, where is my shield?

Clint Barton: Clint is a messy person by nature, so when flu season comes around, chances are, he’s stuck on the couch with you. But you will be his first priority—he’ll call in sick to S.H.I.E.L.D. just to take care of you. 

Clint: Y/N! Here’s a giant bowl of soup...come on, it’s not Cap’s shield. That must be the fever—you’re hallucinating. Like that time you saw me take the last slice of pizza.

Natasha Romanoff: The Bodyguard. No one is going within ten feet of you with Natasha nearby. You will rest undisturbed under Natasha’s watch. This woman has seen gore galore: no amount of snot, vomit, or other disgusting things left unnamed can scare this woman. She will stay by your side permanently until you are fully healed...also be prepared to be drugged unknowingly. 

Clint: Nat? Why is this soup crunchy? Are you hiding vitamins in my food again—?

Natasha: Shh. No one has to know. 

Thor: Thor has no fear of snot or possible sickness (come on: he’s lived with Loki for 1000 years. He’s seen worse). He will sit with you and keep you warm. He may not know the human practices of fighting illness, but he won’t leave your side and will ignore all boundaries of personal space. Thor may even try Asgardian remedies to nurse you back to health (do NOT put any of it in your mouth).

Thor: My mother was a witch, Y/N, and so was my brother: I will nurse you back to full health, myself. Here, I made this broth for you.

Bruce: Is...is that an eyeball in the soup?

Bruce Banner: He’ll make a pillow fort in the lab and sit with you. Bruce has no problem making quick runs to the drug store and whipping up some herbal tea for you. He will be understanding and completely selfless as your caregiver.

Bruce: Are you sleeping...? Does this mean I can watch Professor Proton? Oh, you’re awake. Sorry. 

James Rhodes: He’s been taking care of Tony for years: compared to him, you’re a leisurely walk in the park. Rhodey will spend the day in with you, watch some movies, take naps. 

Rhodey on the couch: What the hell... *pulls out a bag of Tony’s hidden blueberries* ...are these Barnes’ plums? Damn, he really is a raccoon.

Wanda Maximoff: She’ll be an expert at getting anything you need with her powers. Wanda is also the Compound’s Tea Guru, so she’ll keep you hydrated. Wanda won’t worry as much as the others, but she does still worry: she knows how strong you are. You’ll pull through. 

Wanda: *picking up used tissues with her magic and putting them in the trash* I love you, Y/N. I also love my manicure, and I’m not sacrificing it to the snot monsters. 

Vision: Vision is new to eating and sleeping and normal human things, but how he feels about you is probably the core to his humanity. Vis will be very by-the-book, attempting to make chicken soup (then caving and asking Wanda to do it), offering you different brands of cough medicine, and basically reiterating everything off Wikihow. Vis will also be your personal thermometer. 

Vision touches Y/N’s forehead: I advise staying in today, Y/N. Your fever is spiking up to 102.456 degrees Fahrenheit. 

Peter Parker & Shuri: :o 

Scott: Okay, that’s just weird...can you tell me how hot my coffee is right now?

Sam Wilson: He is Mama Steve 2.0: even Steve comes to Sam in distress. You couldn’t be in better hands: Sam knows how to build people up, and will be your personal life coach during this sickness. Sam will let you wear his jogging sweats if you get cold, and he’ll play pranks on Bucky for your entertainment.

Bucky: WHERE ARE MY PLUMS

Tony: WHERE ARE MY BLUEBERRIES I WAS STORING THEM FOR THE WINTER

Sam sitting with you and a bowl of fruit: You wanna smoothie, Y/N? 

Bucky Barnes: The worst chance at survival (but in a heartfelt, adorable way). If your health teeters, even if it’s something like a simple cold, this man will freak out. You are Bucky’s world, and you’re usually the one taking care of him: he will feel obligated to get you through this. Being gentle with someone is...not something he’s familiar with, but it will be evident that Bucky’s trying: even if he almost burns down the Compound just to make you soup. Plus, his metal arm feels great against feverish skin. 

T’Challa: The best chance at survival. T’Challa will steal you away to Wakanda to spoil you. Enjoy the luxury of the palace while trying out high-tech massagers (and the equally-relaxing purr of T’Challa’s voice ;) and snuggling with bullet-proof silky vibranium blankets. You get to hide away from your responsibilities, and T’Challa will make sure you have everything you need. You will always be on his mind until you recover. 

Peter Parker: Aunt May raised this boy right. Chicken soup? On the stove. Back massage? In progress. Peter is harnessing his own Mama Steve, and he won’t leave your side. But don’t let Peter do everything—because he will try, and Aunt May doesn’t want to call the fire department again. 

Scott Lang: The other worst chance at survival (but an entertaining one). He will try his best to keep your spirits up—that means doing every magic trick known to the geek community. It pains him to see you upset, so you may have to muster a fake laugh just to soothe him. Scott is still a father, so he does know a thing or two about taking care of someone. He’ll camp out with you on the couch, and you can expect your roles to be reversed two weeks later, when your sickness carries on to him.

Scott: You’re right, that’s snot funny. . .I’m sorry, that was a sick joke. 

BONUS EDITION:

Loki: He will nurse you back to health himself: he knows potions and remedies to do so. But he will almost seem solemn or detached as he does so. Loki loves you more than anything in the world, but sickness is a reminder of your mortality, and it’s a harsh reminder for him. Loki’s skin feels cool and refreshing against feverish skin. He will press soft, tender kisses on your forehead, and stare at you silently as you rest. 

Nick Fury: Sickness will tremble before this man. Fury know’s you’re strong enough to beat this illness, and he will put you under house arrest just to make sure you are getting the proper rest you need. He will also send Agent Coulson to be your personal maid/caretaker. 

Stephen Strange: The chances of survival here are pretty high. Nothing scares Stephen away, after being a doctor for years and fighting beings from different dimensions. He’ll make sure you have everything you need, speaking in a soft voice as he occasionally smoothes out your hair. Stephen has a spell to combat every sickness defect from coughing to sore throat, and he can make portals so you can spy on people while you recover. His cloak is very fond of you, too, and will choose you over him in your feverish state. 

Carol Danvers: She’s pretty much immune to everything, so Carol won’t hesitate to sit with you and have a sick day on the couch. She’ll try to stay upbeat and positive, but seeing you less than 100% worries her. Carol will stick around earth for a few days until you’re back on your feet. Plus, with her powers, Carol’s a gorgeous source of heat to keep you warm. 

Carol: You got this, champ. I know you’ll get through this, cause you’re my hero. 

A/N: Hia Awesome Adventurers! I hope you enjoyed this, school is back on this winter and I hope all of you are staying healthy. Stay tuned for the Guardians of the Galaxy, the X-Men, and Wakandans taking care of you when you’re sick! Love, fortune and glory to you!!

[kenzieam]

Not Happening, Doll - Chapter Four (Bucky X Lev)

Rating: M (language, violence, eventual smut, angst, slow burn)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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Levi and Bucky cannot stand each other (or rather, the former Winter Soldier cannot stand to be around the Avenger’s newest member and, like the ass he is, he won’t divulge why) and of course, they get teamed up for a new mission. It’s deep cover this time and not only do they have to work together, they have to pretend they’re MARRIED.

Heaven help them….

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Things finally come to a head, but do Bucky and Levi finally have a breakthrough, or a breakdown??

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The next weeks were tense and silent. Both Levi and Bucky deserved Academy Awards for their performances; when they were forced to appear as a couple anywhere, they acted just like they were in love, casual little touches and glances, pecks on the cheek or full-on kisses, and nobody except the two main players themselves ever saw the deception; the hardening in their gazes, the set to their jaws, the increase in their heartbeats that had nothing to do with excitement. Once alone in their home it was like two completely different people inhabited their skins; they were silent around each other unless absolutely necessary and when they did interact, it was tense and biting, to-the-point and little more.

Levi was miserable and what was worse, she couldn’t seem to put a finger on what exactly was bothering her. She didn’t want attention from Bucky, right? She didn’t want to associate with such a complete asshole, someone who’d gone out of his way to make her feel like an unwelcome outsider from the very first moment she joined the team. He hated this assignment, that was perfectly obvious; and she did too, so why did she feel so rotten sometimes? Why did there seem to be something missing inside her? She was homesick, that had to be it. She wanted the team; she pined for their friendship, the sense of family and belonging they gave her. Bucky had never been a source of that, and she yearned for it; yes, that was it.

Soon, she told herself, every day it seemed; soon we’ll be done. We’ll find that smoking gun or Tony will pull us because we’re not needed here anymore, and we can go back to hating each other privately, ignoring and avoiding because Jesus, the Compound was big enough for that, big enough that, if she was careful, Levi could go whole days without even a glimpse of the Winter Soldier.

Levi glanced up under her eyelashes at Bucky, seated across the table from her. They’d agreed, somewhat stiffly, to continue to dine together at the table like a real couple, because it seemed like their Stepford neighbors had no sense of schedules and would come knocking at the door even during meal times, and it was infinitely more convincing that they were a couple if there was dishes scattered on the table, signs that they surely tolerated each other enough to share supper together.

He was silent, picking at his stir-fry, broad shoulders slumped, and Levi took a moment to study him unobserved. Damn, too bad he was such a dick, because he sure was easy on the eyes; and when he was performing for the neighbors, acting like a charming and carefree husband, he was downright irresistible. So why did he always seem so trounced around Levi, so defensive and annoyed and why, for that matter, did she with him? She was capable of charisma, she caught the Stepford husbands eyeing her appreciatively all the time, sensed their interest in their bright gazes, their cocky grins and wandering hands (hands she tolerated with gritted teeth because she had to play the part); so why did Bucky seem so put-off by her? It was a mystery; one Levi didn’t have the energy to either examine further or attempt to solve right now. Her mind seized on something concrete, something immediately fixable, something she could pick apart about Bucky, although the prospect of that no longer interested her the way it used to.

“Your roots are showing.”

Bucky glanced up, a flicker of irritation in his hypnotically blue eyes before he dropped his gaze again. “So?” He replied petulantly.

“So, we can’t have you looking so obviously like you’re in disguise.”

“So, Jackson dyes his hair, he’s choosing to let it grow out now.”

“Don’t be a dick. I’ve got another box of dye, let’s fix it.”

“No.”

“What are you scared of?” Levi challenged. “Think I’ll suffocate you with the plastic gloves? Turn your hair green? Burn it right off your pointed head?”

Bucky raised his eyes without raising his head, glaring at Levi from under his heavy brow and she felt both a chill and a thrill at the mix of emotions that swirled there. He reminded her of a bull, pawing the ground, warning her to be careful while another part of him seemed to be pleading for mercy, for this game to end, a truce to be called. Some other shadow in his gaze was too dark and deep to contemplate, looked too much like attraction and unfulfilled desire but it surely couldn’t be that; just like it wasn’t a simple longing to touch him, to run her hands through his baby-soft stands as she stood in front of him, feeling the warmth and strength of his massive body that compelled her to pursue this, even with Bucky acting so recalcitrant about it.

“Fine.” He growled, dropping his fork with a clatter and standing; he stormed down the hallway, yanking his shirt off with harsh, jerky movements.

Swallowing hard, what had she just unleashed? Levi followed, plucking the box of dye from the shelf as she entered the bathroom. Bucky perched on the closed toilet seat, ridiculously large and bull-like in the room; although the bathroom was wide and spacious, he dwarfed it all the same, his muscular ass barely balancing on the precarious porcelain. He glowered at her under his brow, jaw clenched and set like a five-year-old pouting; his fists, one metal and one flesh, curled into the tight denim of his jean-clad thighs.

Levi busied herself with the dye; she’d not helped before; she and Bucky had been even more hostile following a fresh spat and he’d locked himself in the bathroom and done it himself the last time. Bucky watched her silently, like a toad on a rock and Levi became awkwardly aware of his proximity, the raw heat his body seemed to be giving off.

“Okay,” Levi began, scouring the instructions. “We have to wet your hair first; do you have any product in it?”

Bucky shook his head and moved silently to the tub, dropping to his knees and leaning his head forward over the basin, his hands grabbing the edge of the tub for balance. Levi hesitated before moving to his side, reaching forwards for the detachable showerhead and turning on the water; she tested it for temperature then began wetting Bucky’s hair, tentatively poking at it like it was going to leap off and bite her at some point. Bucky remained quiet; eyes focused on the bottom of the basin.

Levi’s hand slipped on the edge of the tub as she reached to turn the water off and she jolted, bumping heavily against Bucky, knocking him down onto the rim. The water splashed, hitting her in the chest and face, making her squawk in surprise and Bucky grumble under his breath. Levi scrambled back upright, face going red, her skin goose bumping from the shock of the water and her sudden contact with Bucky.

“Smooth,” Bucky grunted, sitting up and ignoring the water that streamed down his back. Standing and launching himself away from Levi like she smelled rotten he snagged a towel to wrap around his head, scrubbing irritably at his wet locks, eyes fixed on the floor.

Levi stood awkwardly, contemplating her next move; did she go change or just leave Bucky to finish dyeing his hair by himself? Did she double-down and continue with a wet shirt? Challenge and taunt him by not leaving him alone when he obviously wanted her to?

Whatever.

Let him squirm. Twisting her hem, Levi squeezed out the majority of the water in her tank top, wishing that she’d worn any other color today than white. Bucky had moved back to the toilet, resuming his glower as Levi prepared the dye, pulled on the plastic gloves and stepped in front of him, between his knees further than either one of them probably wanted and began.

As she worked, arms raised and forced to lean forwards to see what she was doing, Levi became painfully aware of the fact that her shirt, her white shirt, was now see-through and what’s more, her favorite fuchsia colored bra was easily visible to anyone, not only a man with enhanced eye sight. Levi’s cheeks began to heat, feeling Bucky’s proximity to her; unless he was keeping his eyes closed, her breasts were right in his face to stare at and Levi realized she’d pushed this too far. Whatever she’d been trying to prove tonight, and she wasn’t even sure what that was, she was now waving a red flag at a bull.

Even though Bucky didn’t like her, he was nonetheless a red-blooded male and unless he was fucking Stepford wives while Levi was at work, he probably hadn’t had an outlet for any sexual tension or frustration since they’d started this job. Levi certainly hadn’t invited him to her bed and, now that it was literally right in front of her, she remembered on more than one occasion hearing Bucky while he showered. Without her enhanced senses, she probably would have had no idea, but with them she caught the sporadic faint grunt or low groan, sometimes on the nights they’d had some sort of blow-out, some kind of angry, harsh words for each other, but also when they’d completely ignored each other, going so far as to not even exchange the simplest words or conversation. Levi hadn’t thought much about it before but when she glanced down and saw her nemesis eying her assets with something other than his usual scorn, it suddenly became front and center; when he was in the shower and she could hear him, he was rubbing one out.

Was he thinking of her while he did?

Clenching her jaw, Levi rushed through the dye job, focusing solely on finishing it as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Once he realized she’d spotted him, Bucky dropped his gaze crossly, glaring smoking holes into his knees, where his fists still clenched the denim. Tension and something else more raw, much deeper, crackled in the air between them, thick as smoke.

Relief that felt strangely like disappointment hit Levi as she finished, rubbing the towel through Bucky’s freshly redyed hair; as she was about to pull away, step out from between Bucky’s spread thighs she suddenly jolted in surprise as Bucky’s flesh hand almost convulsively unclenched from his knee and reached up, brushing all too briefly at her hip before he dropped it again.

“Levi,” he murmured and there was something in his voice that made her instantly afraid.

“What?” She hardly could breathe the sound.

“I’m tired.”

“Okay, I’ll get out of your way-“ Levi, feeling a strange pang of disappointment, moved to take a step back, freezing when Bucky’s hand came up again, clamping on her hip this time. His thumb stroked cautiously at the small sliver of exposed skin between her leggings and tank top, as if he thought she was going to slap his hand away but just couldn’t help himself.

“No,” he whispered, and for the briefest instant, the obstinance in his voice dropped and Levi heard abject despair in its wake. “No, I’m tired of this… this non-stop fight we have going on.” His eyes flicked up to hers for the briefest instant and she was shocked to see wetness there, the beginning of miserable tears. “I don’t want to do it anymore, I don’t-“ he broke off, looking to the side, his thumb still caressing her.

“You never really gave me a chance,” Levi whispered cautiously. “As soon as I joined the team, you- “

Bucky nodded, looking back up at her again. “I know, I’ve been a complete asshole and I’m sorry, but…” he stopped, rubbing his metal hand roughly across his face. Without rancor he pushed suddenly at Levi’s hip, moving her out of his way and stood, rushing from the room.

Levi watched him go, puzzled. Usually, when he stomped away from her, she sensed anger, or irritation, rage even; but not now, now all she picked up was misery, sorrow, frustration and even shame.

What the hell?

“Bucky,” Levi called, trailing after him, his wide back going rigid as he continued into the living room. He turned to face her, scrubbing a hand over his face again before putting his hands on his hips and dropping his head, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here in this room at this moment.

Cautiously, Levi stood at the edge of the living room, eyeing Bucky as he started to pace. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, raking his metal hand through his hair, clenching and unclenching his jaw. His other hand was white knuckled in a fist, his strides almost violent. Levi just stared at him, shocked; she’d not expected such a reaction, such an explosive response. He was acting like Levi was deep under his skin, like he’d been fighting himself over his feelings for her for some time now and was losing the battle.

“Bucky?” She tried again, because his struggling was starting to drag her under too; his visceral and violent emotions were opening up a Pandora’s Box deep inside her, letting out feelings she’d tried with all her strength this last year, shit, since the day she’d joined the team, to repress and bury.

He stopped, chest heaving and lips parted. A wild look was flooding his eyes, a devil-may-care, fuck-the-consequences, I-can’t-fight-this-anymore kind of expression. “Levi,” he whispered and there was such suffering in his voice it broke her heart; his calling of her name a desperate plea to deliver him from his pain, a benediction to his savior.

“Buck…” Levi trailed off, not sure what to say. Her body was awakening to his, new sensations flooding her limbs; it was like he’d opened a dam inside her and she was being helplessly swept along in the rapids. Bucky strode towards her, like a bull charging. Levi took an instinctive step back, felt the wall press into her shoulder blades. She wasn’t scared of Bucky; well, not physically scared, but internally, emotionally… she was terrified. A tsunami was rising in her, an answer to the tempest roiling in him and she wondered dimly how they’d managed to fight this off for so long.

Bucky stopped in front of her, his heaving chest almost touching hers with each gasping breath and his eyes dropped to her soaked shirt, to her fuchsia-clad breasts rising and falling with each pant. He raised his gaze, the raw hunger in his eyes making heat pool low in her belly. He looked ready to devour her and Levi could see in his eyes, feel in the tension in his limbs that this wasn’t a generic hunger for a woman’s body, but a desperate craving for her and her alone. A starving man set before the banquet he’d been drooling over for far too long and his eyes bored into hers, searching for permission to finally partake.

He saw what he needed to see in her eyes and attacked.

His lips crashed to hers, hungry and hot and demanding, stealing her breath in a heated rush. His hand came up, cupping her jaw as he kissed her, angled her head to deepen it as he slicked his tongue inside her mouth. A low groan rumbled in his chest as Levi all but sagged in his arms, giving into him with a moan of pure want. He pressed his body to hers, caging her in his arms, trapping her between him and the wall and Levi surged forwards, reaching up and clasping his face in her hands, rasping against his stubble, fingers digging into his skin. His low growl in answer flared the heat in her belly and he pressed harder into her, his cock a hard ridge against her thigh.

He broke the kiss, panting harshly, tipping her head back so he could look deep into her eyes. “I want-” He growled, low and deep. “Fuck, I need you.”

“Yes…” Levi breathed. She barely able to form the words, desire swimming so thickly in her veins she could feel nothing else. “Yes, Bucky.”

He groaned, a deep and visceral sound of relief and release. His thumb traced a gentle circle on her cheek in a brief moment of tenderness, but his desire for Levi was too strong to be placid and mellow right now. Holding her gaze he dropped suddenly to his knees, teeth bared in a predator smile, hands raking down her body. Her sleep pants ripped in his desperate hands and he groaned when he saw the thin scrap of lace that lay beneath, now soaked with arousal. He looked back up at Levi, eyes begging permission and she curled her fingers in his wet locks as she nodded, nearly sobbing with relief when he lunged forwards hungrily, pressing his mouth to her. His tongue lapped at the fabric and Levi’s hips bucked involuntarily, pressing his tongue deeper.

Bucky pulled back with a snarl of lust and Levi’s panties tore easily away; he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her to him and dove in, attacking her like ravenous beast. His tongue and teeth were everywhere at once, licking and sucking and laving at her and he ate her out like it was the only thing he’d been thinking about for months, like the fantasy had consumed him body and soul and he was finally, finally able to experience it.

Levi felt her orgasm rising hot and fast, spurred on by the fever of Bucky’s attack and devastating skill. His finger stroked her, pushed inside as he sucked at her and she barely held back a scream, fingers clawing through his hair, yanking harshly and making him growl in answering need. A second finger pushed inside, spreading her and curling against her walls, right at the sweet spot.

“Fuck,” Bucky growled against her, face buried deep. “I fucking dreamed about this, eating this fucking beautiful pussy ‘till you screamed for me-“ a third finger, and he started to fuck them inside her, his dirty words pushing her over the edge as Levi climaxed hard, screaming incoherently as wave after wave of incandescent pleasure crashed over her.

Bucky groaned, burrowing his face into her, reveling and glorying in her orgasm, lapping and drinking her in like he was starving, his fingers still working inside her. His teeth clamped lightly on her clit and fresh waves of ecstasy pulled her under as Bucky had to grip under her ass to hold her up now, for her knees had completely given out under his onslaught.

As the pulses of her violent climax began to wane, Bucky’s fevered motions slowed and he guided her gently through the rest of her ecstasy, his tongue laving and capturing every drop of her essence.

Levi panted harshly, spots dancing in her eyes. She’d never been eaten out with this level of skill or enthusiasm before and her head spun, hardly able to wrap itself around what had just happened. Bucky pressed heated, hungry little kisses to the insides of her quivering thighs before gently slinging her thigh off his shoulder and standing, capturing Levi’s mouth in a passionate kiss. She tasted herself on his lips and tongue and her pussy clenched again, fresh arousal coating her thighs.

Not wasting any more time, Bucky clawed at his jeans, his belt clanking and zipper rasping. He managed to push his jeans down his hips enough to free his throbbing cock with one hand and pull Levi’s shirt up and off with the other at the same time. His shaft pressed against her folds and he grabbed her ass, lifting her to wrap her legs around his waist and pressing her hard against the wall behind them. Her fuchsia bra protested with the faint sound of tortured stitching as Bucky yanked the cups down, his mouth latching on her peaked nipple.

Gripping himself, Bucky lined up and drove inside Levi in one relentless thrust, filling her completely, stretching her deliciously and then he began to thrust, groaning against her breast. He switched sides, moving his mouth to her other nipple while his hand cupped her breast, thumb caressing the delicate skin. The sweet drag and friction of his cock spiraled Levi rapidly higher and higher and she grabbed at his ass, desperately pulling him closer and deeper, her legs wrapped tightly around him, heels digging into the back of thighs.

“Fuck!” He growled, an animal mimicking speech as he slammed into her harder, his heavy balls slapping against her with each thrust and Levi let go a second time, arching against his chest and crying out. Bucky groaned as her walls fluttered around him and his thrusts grew sloppy and frantic as he chased his own release and then he was there, roaring as he came; his cock throbbing deep inside, spilling his seed in thick ropes against her womb until it filled her and seeped back out, coating their joined bodies.

Bucky shuddered violently, hips slamming into her once more before holding steady, pressed hard against her as the pulses of his orgasm finally began to fade, his muscles trembling with aftershocks. He dropped his head into the crook of her neck, panting harshly. Still holding her up with one arm, he reached up with the other and cupped her face, turning it and guiding her mouth to his. His kiss was hot and desperate, panting against her mouth with a hunger that had been temporarily sated but by no means satisfied.

“Fuck, baby.” He groaned hoarsely, sounding like he’d just sprinted a marathon. Still inside her, Bucky rolled his hips again, driving into her and Levi gasped as she felt him hard and throbbing again, reminding her of his enhanced stamina.

Fortunately for Levi, she too was enhanced, and her blood flared, a delicious shiver shooting through her limbs. She rolled her hips in answer and Bucky groaned again, a wrecked sound.

“More,” Levi breathed, trailing sucking kisses along his pulse point and the tender skin beneath his ear.

Bucky growled, a rough, animal sound of pure want. Grabbing her ass with both hands he stepped back from the wall and whirled, stumbling as he hurried to the master bedroom. Dropping her down onto the king-sized mattress, Bucky dropped down with her, stretching above her, still viscerally connected. His kisses became ravenous again, claiming marks as his hands roamed and Levi clawed back, as desperate to brand him as he was with her. His hips rolled, driving balls-deep inside Levi and she whimpered in overwhelming bliss.

Bucky pressed his forehead to hers as he slammed inside her, curses and groans falling from his kiss-swollen lips, the adoration in his eyes making them blaze like bottled suns. Levi gripped his hips in sudden inspiration and hooked her leg around his hips, twisting her body sideways. Bucky moved with her as she rolled them, his hands dropping to her hips as Levi reared upright.

“Yeah,” his voice was guttural, thick with desire. “Fuck, yeah baby. Ride me, just like that-“

His filthy mouth only stoked her fire and Levi arched her spine sharply, rocking herself down, completely swallowing his cock within her body. Bucky’s fingers left bruises on her skin as he held her, rolling her body on his, helping her drive him deeper and deeper inside. Levi raked her nails down his chest and his pornographic moan made her clench around his cock and his eyes rolled back in his head as he gasped before he raised his head again, eyes locking on where their bodies joined, watching her body take him, consuming his shaft, wet with her arousal. He stared avidly, a man lost in the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen, biting his bottom lip until Levi cupped his cheek and tipped his head up, forcing his attention back on her face.

The hunger in his eyes took her breath away, the desire and…. worship. Shit, if that wasn’t love she saw blazing in his bottomless blues then it was damn close, and Levi felt a thrill dart up her spine. How had she missed this? How had Bucky hidden this abyss within himself?

By being an asshole, that’s how. By keeping her at arm’s length and constantly on guard. And she’d reciprocated, injured and defensive; burying her own attraction under a layer of indignance and wounded words, anger designed to protect her and bite back at the cause of her pain.

Bucky arched his hips up to meet her rocking, dragging her back to the present. His hand cupped her face and he pressed his thumb onto her bottom lip, hissing when she pulled it in and sucked hard. Fire blazed in his eyes as he pulled his thumb gently away, trailing his hand down to wrap around her throat. His grip tightened just enough and Levi, who’d never experienced such a primal and possessive act before, dropped her head back with a moan, reaching her hands up to grip his straining forearm.

“More,” she growled, looking back down at him, teeth bared.

“Baby- “ Bucky groaned brokenly, sounding wrecked. His hand tightened on her throat and he hissed as she tightened around his shaft.

“Yes, yes, yes, Bucky!” Levi chanted, her climax crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her spine arched, nails digging into Bucky’s chest and he watched her with wide, worshiping eyes before his face contorted in sweet pain and he followed her, his release nearly pulling him under, spots dancing in his eyes. His metal hand held Levi’s body down on his as he pulsed inside her, his cock throbbing almost painfully, milked by her spasming walls. Finally, his body no longer felt under his control, weakened and overwhelmed by the power of his orgasm and his arms dropped to the bed, his groan a long and low sound of pure ecstasy.

Levi bounced on him, still caught in her climax for a few more moments before she too was struck by lassitude, dropping beside him, her head landing on the pillow, her breath panting, tickling his skin.

For a long time, Bucky could only lay there, gasping, trying to recover from what could possibly be the most intense encounter of his long life. At the risk of sounding corny, he felt like a piece of his soul had just left him, joining with the woman who’d just given him such an experience. Never in his wildest dreams, and he’d had more that a few wild ones, laying on his bed or in the shower back at the Compound, hand fisted around his straining cock as he pictured Levi bouncing on it, had he ever imagined such paradise. He didn’t even think he’d be able to muster the energy to react if an enemy burst into the room, if HYDRA itself suddenly attacked. He’d just lay there like a lump, a completely sated and blissed-out lump.

Still breathing hard, he rallied his lethargic body and rolled to face Levi as she lay beside him, looking as exhausted as he felt, her eyes closed, hair spilled out across the pillow. A beautiful glow flushed her skin and she’d never looked more captivating to him.

His fingers shook slightly as he reached up and traced them gently along her cheek and she smiled, eyes still closed, humming in contentment. After a moment, she opened them, gazing at Bucky with her hypnotizing amethyst eyes, dark like bruises with utter satisfaction. He rested his palm on her cheek, thumb caressing her cheekbone, waiting for his heart to slow down, his body to recover enough that he could move more than just his hand.

“I wanted you,” he whispered, compelled by the allure of pillow talk to spill his heart. “I always have.”

“They why did you act like that?” There was only faint confusion in her voice, her brow furrowing. Her hand reached up to cover his.

Shame made his heart heavy and he worked hard to answer her. “Because I don’t deserve you.”