#steve and tony are still trying to find that balance between work and family

[miraeth]

Is bb!Petey too attached to Tony that’s why when Tony leaves all hell breaks lose on Steve? LOL

LMAO i’d say peter’s chill with either parent since he gets passed around a lot. two busy parents with a world that needs constant saving and a business to co-run. currently, he’s just a big ball of energy that steve’s gotta work out solo XD

[wicked-mind]

I'm Broken, Too.

Summary: Steve goes back in time to put the infinity stones back where they belong in time. Although he doesn’t return, leaving his twin sister Y/N and best friend Bucky behind.

Word Count: 3.5

Warnings: Implications of smut. Spoilers if you haven’t seen all the movies or series.

Notes: I may add onto this later. Who knows? Not beta’d. Just quickly wrote this so any/all mistakes and confusions are my own.

All Writings Masterlist

*gifs not mine

Flash-Back

“Bucky! What if someone catches us?” Y/N giggled out breathlessly from behind one of the cargo trucks, kisses being trailed down her neck as she tilts her head backwards. It had been a few days since Steve and herself came and rescued Bucky from the prisoner camp and she was ecstatic to have Bucky back in her grasp.

“If you stay quiet then they won’t, sweetheart.” Bucky chuckles out against her neck as he left soft kisses. It had started to rain, soaking his short brown hair and clothes as well as Y/N. His hands trailed down to her waist, hoisting her up so her legs wrapped around his waist as he pushed her back up against the side of the truck. They were each other’s little secret. Kept from everybody, even Steve. Granted it was a lot harder to sneak around a military base than it was in Brooklyn but that didn’t stop them from stealing little moments together, “Not too quiet though…” He pulled back and grinned at her, moving one hand to stroke her cheek before his thumb gently traces her bottom lip, pulling it down slightly, “I like the sounds those pretty lips make for me.”

Y/N smiles at him, running her fingers through his dark hair and tilts her head at him, “Sergeant Barnes, I am not having sex with you in the middle of a military camp in the rain! Especially at the military camp where my brother is lurking around somewhere.” She chuckles to him, leaning forward and kissing his lips softly, “I’m still a lady.”

Bucky grins at her, licking his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth for a soft bite and a wrinkle of his nose, “You keep calling me Sergeant Barnes and I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off of you, sweetheart.”

If Steve Rogers was the shield, his twin sister Y/N was the sword. She had taken the super serum with Steve- it was the only way she would allow her brother to go through the tests plus the scientists were curious about how it would affect twins. While Steve became Captain America with his shield, Y/N became Lady Patriot with dual blades. Together they rescued their friend Bucky from a prisoner camp and created the Howling Cammandos. It was extremely controversial to have a woman fighting in the war but she didn’t let anybody stand in her way. While Steve was more gentle and refined, Y/N was wild and head-strong. She never let anybody, let alone a man with high ranks, stand in her way. Steve had to stop her physically from going and looking for Bucky’s body after he fell from the train and after that, Y/N sacrificed herself with Steve when he put the jet in the ocean with the tesseract.

After Steve and Y/N found out Bucky was alive, they did everything in their power to try and protect him. Figure out what happened and how he became the Winter Soldier. He had recognized Y/N first before Steve but he was not the same man that had stared into her eyes as he fell from the train in the Alps.

Y/N stood beside Steve and the Avengers during the events with Thanos, her heart breaking for a second time when she watched Bucky turn into dust before she could reach him. This was the third time she had lost him. The first time was when he became a prisoner of war, second time when he fell from the train, and third time when he was blipped away from existence. But what remained of the Avengers never gave up. She helped them go back in time to collect the stones and was there when Thanos came back from the past to exterminate them again. Though this time didn’t go like the first time they fought Thanos five years ago. They won, bringing everybody back, and all that was left for Steve to return the stones to their proper time.

“Wait Buck, we gotta talk.”

“You’re not coming back are you?”

“No. It’s Peggy, Buck... this is my chance.”

Bucky just nods in understanding.

“Do me a favor though. Take care of Y/N. She isn’t going to handle this well.”

“You don’t even need to ask, Steve. I got her.”

Y/N stood beside Bruce, helping him set up the technology that would send her twin brother back in time to place all the infinity stones in time where they belonged. She looked over to see Steve and Bucky talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying even with her amplified hearing. She smiled as they approached, passing the brief case to her brother, “Remember, you have to return the stones to exactly where they were taken from or you’re going to open up a lot of nasty alternate realities.”

Steve smiled gently at his sister, taking the brief case that contained the stones from her, “Don’t worry, Y/N. I got it. Clip all the branches.” He told her before stepping onto the platform with the brief case in one hand and Mjolnir in the other.

“Ready?” Bruce asks, standing beside Y/N at the table to activate the technology that would allow Steve to go back in time to return the stones.

“You bet.” Steve said, taking one last look at Bucky and Sam before looking to his sister. He gave another small smile before his helmet clicked around his head.

Y/N tilted her head slightly at his smile. It seemed almost sad which made a bubble of worry enter her stomach, “Okay… Going quantum in three… two… one.” She watched Bruce hit the button and Steve disappear from the platform.

“And returning in five… four… three… two… one.” Bruce said and clicked the switch that would bring Steve back. The two paused when he didn’t return, looking over the screens and tech.

“What happened?!” Y/N asks Bruce, “Bring him back, now!”

Sam was about to interject to tell Bruce what Y/N had already told him but Bucky placed a hand on his shoulder, “Sam.” He said, looking over to a figure in the distance of a grey haired man sitting on the bench. Bucky watched Sam approach the elderly man that Bucky already knew was Steve.

Y/N looked up to see what Bucky and Sam were looking at and then she saw Steve. But it wasn’t the Steve she knew. He was older and sitting quietly on a bench alone. She took in a deep, sharp breath realizing what her twin brother had done. He had stayed back in time to be with Peggy. She shook her head, stepping away from Bruce about to make her way over to her brother to chew him out when Bucky grabbed onto her wrist, pulling her to a stop, “Let me go, Bucky!” She hissed out at him.

Bucky watched her with a tinge of sadness in his eyes, “Y/N, stop. He needs to talk to Sam first.” He said gently, his eyes scanning her face. He had known her since the day he brought Steve home the first time after getting beat up. They served in the Howlin’ Cammandos together and she had watched him fall from the train. She was there when he was the Winter Soldier. He had dragged her and Steve from the river after stopping the Helicarrier’s launch. She was there when Civil War happened between the avengers, helping to protect him from Tony while trying to take out the other Winter Soldiers. Y/N had stayed with him in Wakanda, helping him find some sort of peace before he was blipped out of existence by Thanos and she was there waiting when he returned. She had always been a constant in his life. Y/N was his home since the first time he kissed her and, god, he longed for that feeling again but didn’t feel worthy of it anymore.

Y/N turned to glare at Bucky, pulling her wrist out of his grasp, “You knew.” She said, “You knew he was going to do this, didn’t you?”

Bucky sighs and nods slowly, “I did… He told me. He deserves this, sweetheart.” He said softly, reaching out to brush his flesh fingers along her cheek softly. It had been five years since he last saw her before he was snapped away by Thanos and he still felt everything for her.

Y/N looked over at her now elderly brother before back to Bucky, pushing his hand away from her face, “You two have always been quite the pair, James.” She spat out at him before pushing past him. She could hear him calling her name, telling her to wait but she just kept walking.

That was the one of the last times Bucky had seen Y/N as she was. He couldn’t go after her yet though- he had his own shit to work out from his past as the Winter Soldier. He was offered a deal by the federal government where he would be pardoned for the actions as the Winter Soldier as long as he attended court-mandated therapy and psych-evaluations. He couldn’t go after her until he had dealt with all this bullshit. Then the Flag Smashers came to light, causing him and Sam to jump into action to deal with the new super soldiers.

The next time Bucky saw Y/N was in Madripoor at the Princess Bar. He was forced by Zemo to pretend to be the Winter Soldier and couldn’t let down his act. He saw her in the corner watching with her angry eyes locked on Zemo, ready to attack him. Luckily, Sam had noticed her too and got in her path, “Hey, Y/N, don’t.” Sam warned, placing his hands on her arms to get between the fight that Bucky was putting on, “We need Zemo. There’s shit going on you don’t know about. The Flag Smashers and new super-soldiers.”

Y/N glared at Sam, pushing him away from her, “Get off of me.” She hissed out at him before promptly exiting the bar. She had noticed Bucky give her a softened look from the corner of his eyes as he had a man slammed against the bar but even after all this time she was still upset at her brother for leaving her and Bucky for not telling her.

After everything with the Flag Smashers was settled and Sam took the new roll as Captain America, Bucky attended the community cookout with Sam’s family and friends. It was the only place besides Wakanda he felt peace. He play fought with AJ and Cass while balancing the cake he brought. It was the first time in a long time he had actually felt at peace, happy. But there was still something missing and he knew exactly what it was- Y/N. After the cookout, Bucky stood with Sam and watched the sun go down. Bucky looked at Sam with a half smile.

“You’re going to go after her, aren’t you?” Sam asks knowingly. He always had a sort os sixth sense when it came to reading people.

Bucky nodded, “I have to.” He replied with the same half-smile, “I promised Steve I would take care of her. Now that everything is right again, I have to find her.”

Sam placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “I think we both know that it’s about more than just a promise to Steve. Let me know if you need help. A lot of people think of her a deserter after she disappeared but you two will always have a place here.” He said with a smile before returning to be with his sister and nephews.

It took Bucky a long time to find clues of Y/N’s whereabouts. Even with Sharon pardoned and trying to help, she informed him Y/N had left Madripoor after her interaction with Sam. The last trace of her was somewhere in Alaska so that was where he went. He held up pictures of her face, asking if anybody had seen her. He eventually got lucky when an old lady smiled and said, “Oh, that’s Y/N! She lived here in Fairbanks for a few months but said she was moving to Selawik.” And with that information, Bucky made his way to Selawik. He wasn’t lead right to Y/N though. Selawik was a small town that had people scattered deep into the mountains. Bucky trekked through the arctic and eventually found traces of Y/N from katana marks on tree trunks as if she had still been training and using them for targets. When he came to a small cabin where loud 80’s rock music was blasting from, he knew he had found her. He started up the steps when a katana came flying from behind him and stuck into the wooden door. He looked at the katana, recognizing the colors of the handle immediately and turning to see Y/N standing behind him with her other katana in her hand, “Y/N.”

Y/N tilted her head at him, her features emotionless from under her hood. She walks up and pulls her katana from the door beside him, “What are you doing here, James?” She asks in a harsh tone before opening the door and walking into the cabin.

Bucky follows her, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “I’ve been looking for you.” He said simply, watching as she went to turn the music off leaving them in silence. He watched her place her katanas on a table before she pulled off her jacket and snow pants, leaving her in blue jeans with a black sweater. He couldn’t lie- her calling him James after Tony’s funeral and now hurt his heart. She always called him Bucky so affectionately since he had introduced himself to her.

After stripping her layers, Y/N turned to look at Bucky, “I know.” She replied, “I saw everything with the Flag Smashers. You and Sam did good. Steve would be proud of the new Captain America. And he would be proud of you.”

Bucky nodded, slowly shimming off his own layers and placed them beside her’s leaving him in black jeans with a light blue long sleeved shirt, “Yeah… Thanks.” He muttered back before meeting her gaze, “What you saw in Madripoor… We needed Zemo’s help. He’s back in prison now.”

“Six feet under would’ve been better.” Y/N replied, folding her arms across her chest as she watched Bucky, “So what are you doing here now? Shouldn’t you be enjoying life as a hero? A new man?”

Bucky frowned a little at her words, “I promised Steve I would help you. I don’t break my promises. I think he kind of caught on about us…” He replied, crossing the space between them and placing his right hand on her arm, “You can come back to Louisiana with me. You would love it there.”

Y/N scanned her eyes across his features. Dammit. He still looked as good as he did the day she met him just a little more aged with those bits of brokenness behind his features, “He already knew about us. After you fell from the train I told him everything.” She informed before sighing at his request, “Is that what you want? Someone to play house with?”

Bucky dropped his hand from her arm and backed away a little at her words, running his fingers through his dark hair with a huff. Of course that’s what he wanted. He had always wanted her. He didn’t want this life for them. He wanted to come back from the military and settle down with Y/N, ask Steve if he could marry her but everything was so different now. They both weren’t the same people they were in the forties, “Look, I know we aren’t the same people we were before and I understand that you don’t care for me the same way anymore, but I still feel everything for you. And I promised Steve I would help you… So if you do end up in need of any help, I’ll be with Sam and whenever you need me, I’ll be there.” He told her before turning to shrug his jacket back on.

Y/N sighs and looks around her cabin slowly, “You can’t leave. There’s a storm rolling in and you won’t make it two miles before you’re frozen.” She said, walking over to the kitchen and pulling out two beers, holding one out to him, “Might as well stay here until it dies down.”

Bucky watched her move to the couch before putting his jacket back where it was and taking the beer from her, “Thank you.” He said, opening the bottle and taking a seat at the small kitchen table she had.

Y/N sat across from him at the table, opening her own beer and taking a small sip before placing in in front of her on the table, “You’re wrong, you know?” She asks, watching as Bucky gave her a confused look, “I still care about you in the same way. It’s just everything we’ve been through,” She looks down to the table, “It’s different. I watched you fall from the train thinking you had died. Then decades later you come back not as yourself. I was there in Wakanda with you, helping you get back pieces of you and I still loved you. But then you were gone again because of the snap. I lost you again.” She shook her head slightly, looking up at the ceiling, “Then everything with Steve…”

Bucky listened to her, staring at her intently. His hand gripped the beer bottle roughly at her saying she still felt the same way towards him, “I know… You and I have been through more than anybody should have to.” He said before swallowing hard, “Steve loved you, Y/N. It was what he wanted. He deserved to live a life more than just trading a different war for another.”

“What about what I deserve? Or you?” Y/N asks, looking over at him. There was pain in her eyes and she wrinkled her nose as if to stop herself from crying, “I would’ve gone back with him if he asked but instead he left us here to figure the world out on our own, to figure out who we are when we aren’t not trying to save the world and I don’t know who that is, Bucky.”

Bucky nods, knowing the feeling all too well. They were lost in time, stuck in the present where neither felt like they belonged. Being thrown into situations where they had to save others instead of saving themselves, “I know how you feel.” He replied, looking at his beer bottle in his hands, “Sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore. Even with the Winter Soldier gone it’s like somewhere inside me… He’s still there.” He sighs before looking across the table at the girl he still loved and has never stopped loving, “The only time I feel like myself… The only time I feel like I’m Bucky is when I’m with you. You knew me as I was, who I was and when I look at you it feels like you’re my only hope of getting back to myself.”

Y/N listened to him, biting her bottom lip as she kept her gaze on him for a moment. The way those blue eyes looked at her, even if they were saddened, were the same blue eyes that were filled with love towards her. She sighs and stood up from the table, moving over to the fireplace that was crackling with a large flame, “I’m not the same person though.” She said softly, knowing he would hear her with his enhanced hearing, “I’m not the same girl. I'm not the girl that would jump into your arms and leave kisses all over your face, Bucky. I’m broken too.”

Bucky watched her move across the room as if to retreat from her feelings. The way she had stared into his eyes… He knew she still loved him just as much as he still loved her. He stood, crossing the room over to stand beside her. He gently took her hand in his, looking down at her as she turned her face to look up at him, “You’re not the same girl. And I’m not the same man. But you are still the person I love.” He told her, turning his body to face her’s and gently moved his other hand to sweep some hair from her face before gently pressing his lips to her forehead, “We can be broken together.”

__________________________________________________________

Permanent Taglist: @buckypops @stcrryslibrary @bibliophilewednesday @redhairedfeistynerd

[novamirmirsblog]

FwB minor safe

THIS IS SAFE FOR MINORS. and by minors I mean 15+ cause there's still some kissy kissy and implied sex. AND SWEARING. Seriously tho, no under 15s reading this.

When you had first met Natasha, she hated you. Or at least that’s what it seemed like. She ignored you, refused to train with you, and when she did train with you, you always ended up in the medical bay, and she always, always had something to say when you came back from a mission. You had really hoped to at least had a friendly acquaintance with the other woman on the team. You always had Wanda but she was often pining after a certain red synthezoid. You only realised Natasha wanted to be friends when Clint let it slip that she was like a cat. He was clearly sick and tired of the two of you constantly fighting and wanted it to end. Or perhaps it was Steve who finally wanted it to stop. It didn’t really matter who because now you had a way in.

Your friend’s grandmother used to rescue stray cats and while Natasha certainly wasn’t a cat, you figured the same rules applied. First, you would make extra food when you knew she would be there, telling her there were leftovers if she wanted them but never pressuring her into eating with you. Then, you slowly began just sitting in the same room as her, always a distance away from her so as to not make her uncomfortable. Eventually she began to warm up to you, even going as far as letting you sit on the same sofa as her.

Things all changed one night when Natasha came back from a mission gone wrong. She had been given bad information and the data she was supposed to collect wasn’t there. She was pissed. Steve called you into the lounge and told you to stay out of her way if you valued your life. It made you slightly nervous. The two of you were friends but you weren’t that close. Not close enough to know for sure whether or not she would hurt you. Everyone retreated to their rooms and locked their doors, not wanting to be in the way of an angry Black Widow. Because that’s who was coming back. Black Widow, not Natasha Romanoff.

You couldn’t sleep that night so when you saw a figure enter your room, it scared you shitless. You grabbed the gun from under your pillow and pointed it at the figure.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“That’s kinky babe and maybe we should revisit that idea but right now I want to fuck you senseless.” Natasha - no the Black Widow’s voice spoke out in the dark. It was that kind of muffled sound that you only heard in the depths of the night when no one else was awake.

You lowered your gun but didn’t take the safety off. Just in case.

“There’s no need to be nervous darling. I’ve seen the way you act around me.” Natasha walked towards where you were on the bed, leaning down and lifting you by your chin up to her lips. “Just tell me to stop and I will.”

You moaned as Natasha’s lips connected to your neck, roughly sucking and biting her way to your collarbones. She leaned you back and wrapped a hand around your neck as she looked at you. Even in the darkness, you could see how black her pupils were and feel how heavy her breathing was.

“I need you to understand that this doesn’t change anything. We are still just friends.”

"I understand." You leant up to kiss her but she just laughed as she pushed you down and kissed you harder, leaving you alone once she had finished playing with you.

Nights like that became routine between the two of you. If either of you had a bad mission, or were just feeling lonely, you would end up in your bed. It was never Natasha's bed and most of the time Natasha was in control. Occasionally however, if you had a particularly bad mission or Natasha had seen unspeakable things, she would relinquish control and you would savour every minute of it. Perhaps if the two of you were dating, you would be able to have control more- no you couldn't think like that. It was a dark hole that you couldn't go down.

Somewhere between the rough nights and the friendly movie nights the two of you had, you had fallen for the fiery woman. Natasha made sure that you always remembered that it was just a 'friends with benefits' arrangement by never sleeping in your bed. It was a tricky balance for her though because she would cuddle you all the time during the day. It was almost as if she regretted sleeping with you.

The friendly flirting between the two of you drove the team absolutely crazy. It was like everyone except you two could see how perfect you were for each other. You just fit together. Yet whenever they asked either of you about it, you both denied it vehemently with a sad look in your eyes. The team had had enough. They were done with the two of you fucking, flirting and then crying yourselves to sleep when you both realised you didn't have the relationship you wanted.

It was Wanda's brilliant idea to have a game night. She had watched a sitcom where the characters played truth or dare and confessed their love for each other.

"I'm not so sure that will work witchy." Tony said after Wanda had finished explaining her plan. "Maybe we should play 7 minutes in heaven or spin the bottle."

"Why? How is that better than my plan? All they do is suck each other's faces off. We need them to admit their feelings for each other." Wanda stood up, slightly defensive over her plan.

"I...I think I have a better idea." Steve spoke up and everyone turned to look at him. "How about we kidnap Y/n? Y/n wont believe us if we tell her Natasha loves her and Natasha isn't going to admit it over a game of truth or dare. If we kidnap Y/n and stress Natasha out a little, then she might finally admit she loves Y/n."

The room was silent. "Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you" Clint muttered, causing the rest of the room to break out into a slightly nervous laughter.

"When's Y/n's next mission?"

~~~~~

You were sent out on a routine solo mission. It was something a lower level agent could have easily done but you were happy to get out and away from the compound for a bit. You loved your family but their constant questions about Natasha were getting too much. It was a constant reminder that you guys weren't in a relationship at all. The more you thought about it, the more you tried to convince yourself that a relationship wasn't even what you wanted. You had been on a few dates since your arrangement with Natasha had begun, mostly to throw her off the scent of your growing crush. However, when you returned from your failed date (because they always failed), Natasha was always there to fuck you hard and rough. Sure, she would leave it a few days, distancing herself as much as possible, sometimes completely ignoring you, but she would always come back. The mission was complete and you were making your way back to the Quinjet, too distracted in your thoughts of Natasha to realise someone was creeping up behind you. You were knocked out cold.

When you came to, you were in an abandoned warehouse, tied to a chair. It was all very James Bond like. You tried to look around, but everything seemed blurry.

"I can't believe you hit her so damn hard!" You heard a voice ring out.

"I didn't mean to! Oh my god she's going to kill me." A deeper voice, probably male, spoke.

The voices sounded kind of familiar but you couldn't work out where from.

"Natasha, we found her!" that was the last thing you heard before passing out again.

"I am going to murder whoever did this to you Y/n." Natasha told you as she carried you to medical. She refused to let anyone else touch you and didn't let you out of her sight for one second.

The usually fearless avengers all froze and turned slightly pale. They were 100% going to blame this all on Steve. If anyone had a chance of surviving the Black Widow, it was a super soldier and besides, it was Steve who had knocked you out. Bucky had told him not to use his shield to do it.

You awoke to find yourself in a hospital bed with a very concerned Natasha holding your hand. You gave it a little squeeze and smiled at her.

"Never ever ever do that again. Do you understand me? I thought I lost you..."

"It's okay Tash, I'm fine." In that moment it was so hard to remember that the two of you were just friends, that you would never be anything more than friends.

"Date me."

"What?" You were stunned and not completely sure you hadn't just hallucinated.

"I can't do this friends with benefits thing anymore. I know I was the one who said it was nothing more but I think I'm falling for you Y/n. Do you know why I was so distant with you to begin with?"

"Because you're a cat?"

Natasha smiled, she couldn't even bring herself to laugh she was so nervous. "No Y/n. It was because I really liked you. You walk into the compound all happy and beautiful and I dont know what to do. We would spar and I would get weird tingly feelings wherever you were touching me and it made me confused. I tried so hard to stay away from you but then you started leaving me food, or sitting with me, or trying to make jokes and I just couldn't stay away. When you didn't come back to me on time, I was so scared. I thought you were dead. When we found you..." She ran her hand through her hair, her other hand never letting go of yours. "The relief I felt nearly made me fall to my knees. I understand if this ruins our friendship but I really can't continue on just being your friend. I think... I think I love you." Natasha whispered that last part so quietly you almost missed it.

"I would love nothing more than to date you Natasha. I was so worried that I was reading too much into things and that my feelings were wrong and would ruin everything. It's why I dated other people for a bit."

"Well good. How about we-" Natasha was cut off by an announcement from F.R.I.D.A.Y.

"Considering agent y/l/n is up, Mr Stark request's both your presence in the lounge."

When the two of you made it to the lounge, hand in hand, they all clapped. Natasha scowled and held on tighter to your hand and you just laughed.

"Why did you call us here?" You asked

"Well, the thing is, we don't want to be murdered so we're really hoping you'll stop Natasha from doing anything drastic."

"What did you do." Natasha let out lowly, she knew you shouldn't be up and about, that it was better for you to rest until you were feeling completely better again so she wanted this over as quickly as possible.

"Well...-"

"IT WAS STEVE'S IDEA!" Wanda blurted out. "I just wanted to play truth or dare but nooo. Stars and Stripes over here wanted to make things all dramatic." Wanda waved her hands in the air.

"What was Steve's idea?" You asked, still a little slow on the uptake. Natasha wasn't though. You could feel her becoming tense and you held her hand a little tighter.

"...The kidnaping..." The team hung their heads in shame, trying to simultaneously look at their shoes and keep an eye on Natasha.

The room was completely silent before you burst out laughing. "You're kidding me? You actually kidnaped me just so Natasha would admit her feelings for me? Guys I'm dying." You wheezed as you tried to catch your breath from laughing so hard.

Natasha however, didn't find it nearly as funny.

"Natty, darling, it's fine. They did it because they care." You whispered into her ear, leading her out the room before someone could get easily injured. Getting blood out of carpets was a pain.

"Your days are numbered Super Soldier. I'm coming for you." she said, watching as Steve's face turned completely white before turning and leaving the room with you.

[the-bau-quinjet]

A Song For You

Steve Rogers x Singer!Reader

Summary: Snippets of Steve and Reader's life together as she sings a song she wrote for him.

Warnings: mention of car accident, parents dying, mostly just fluff though

Word Count: 6413

a/n: this is a mess, but I'm happy with it. It's basically a series of blurbs that are not in chronological order so I could follow the song. It's inspired by Like My Father by Jax. :) Sorry if it's confusing, hopefully it all makes sense at the end

Masterlist

Steve had been gone for months on a mission. It wasn’t often his missions lasted that long, so of course one of the few times it happened Y/N needed to tell him something important.

She shook off the annoyance as she got ready for Tony’s gala. He wanted to celebrate the successful mission as soon as Steve and Bucky came home. Of course, everyone tried to reason with him that waiting would be better so that the two super soldiers wouldn’t be exhausted, but Tony refused to listen to logic.

“Nonsense. We’re having the party as soon as they arrive.” He stated matter-of-factly before turning to Y/N. “And you, my dear, are going to sing.”

“Tony, maybe you could at least pretend to phrase it as a question?” Pepper scolded, eyeing the woman in question apologetically.

“Sorry. Will you sing at my party?” He grinned, knowing Y/N would say yes since Tony probably already told everyone she would be performing.

“Tony, you’re a menace.” She eyed him before nodding.

“I am, and you’re wonderful!” He exclaimed. “I happen to know you’ve been working on a new song. Care to sing it for Steve at the party?” He grinned.

“I don’t know how you know about that song, but fine. I think he would like it. Avengers only though! I’ll sing something else for all the guests.”

She rolled her eyes at the memory as she finished getting ready. Luckily she was ready early because Tony came running into the room in a panic.

“He’s here!” Tony’s smile widened as he thought about the nights events. “Let’s go!” He practically pulled her from the room, far too eager to share news that wasn’t his.

Tony had Y/N set up on stage right in time for Bucky and Steve to arrive. She sat behind a piano, ready and waiting for Tony’s cue.

As the guests of honor entered the main ballroom, Tony stepped up to the microphone. Steve stared at Y/N with questioning eyes while ignoring Tony’s speech. She smiled lightly, shaking her head at Tony in an effort to explain.

Steve laughed to himself, wishing for nothing more than to hold her after a long 5 months away.

“Give it up for Y/N L/N!” Tony’s introduction came to a close, signaling for her to start playing. It really was over the top considering he was only introducing her to the people who have become family to her, but she let him do his thing.

“Thanks, Tony.” She smiled fondly at Steve before introducing the song. “I wrote this song for someone special. As you all know, my parents died in a car accident a few years ago. Don’t worry, the song’s not that sad.” She earned a few laughs from her friends before she continued. “Ever since I was little, I wanted a love like theirs. It seemed so magical. Well, I found that love.” She smiled at Steve again.

“This one is called Like My Father.” With the name of the song announce, she started singing. Her eyes never left Steve’s.

I wanna come home to roses

Today had been the day from hell for Y/N. First, she woke up late due to accidentally setting her alarm for 6 pm instead of 6 am. She rushed to get out of the tower on time, only for the subway line she was supposed to take to be closed for repairs, making rushing a complete waste since she was going to be late anyway.

In her haste to leave on time, she forwent breakfast which only made her more irritable. By the time she made it to the studio, she had missed her morning meeting and had to play catchup.

The day only got worse from there. Something went wrong with every song she was meant to work on. Sometimes it was a small thing, like a guitar being out of tune. Other times, the song just didn’t feel right. No matter how many different ideas she tried to work on, she just kept running in circles.

By lunch, she was ready to give up and just go home. Unfortunately, her label was having a meeting to discuss progress for the next album’s lead single. So instead, she tried to cheer herself up with her favorite lunch. Just when she was sitting down to eat, someone bumped into her and spilled the entire meal onto the floor.

Suffice to say, by the end of the day, she was ready to collapse into her boyfriend’s arms and sleep the weekend away. However, her boyfriend was currently on a mission out saving the world, so not even he would be able to lift her spirits this time.

She trudged down the hall toward their shared apartment, eager to take a shower and lay down. It wouldn’t be as comforting without Steve, but it was still better than nothing. Finally reaching the door, she turned the key and shoved her way inside. Instantly, she stopped in her tracks.

The scent of tomato sauce filled the air. The soft sounds of Steve’s old music floated through the air, further adding to the welcoming atmosphere. She stood frozen, eyes filling with tears when Steve noticed her. He smiled, too far away to notice the tears, before turning around to get something from the counter. He held whatever it was in both hands behind his back as he walked up to her, a frown slowly forming as he noticed her expression.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned, hands instantly moving around his body to hold her only to be impaired by a beautiful bouquet of white and peach colored roses. Her tears fell despite her smile. She eagerly took the flowers, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

“I’m so happy you’re home.” She took a few deep breaths, calming herself before leaning back to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Steve replied easily. “Do you want to talk about it?” Despite not knowing exactly what happened, Steve could tell she had a bad day.

She shook her head, her small smile growing as she inhaled the scent of the roses. “No, I just want to be with you.” She leaned further into the embrace, relishing in the comfort Steve always provided.

“That can be arranged.” Steve smiled, carrying her to the couch to eat.

And dirty little notes on post-its

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Steve left for his mission and Y/N was still finding his notes around their shared apartment. Every time she added a newly found note to the box, she read through all the previous notes as well. It never failed to cheer her up.

Most of them were simple comments about how much he loved her. Little sayings like “I love you to the moon and back” or “My love for you is as endless as space.” Despite the cheesiness, she couldn’t help but smile with each new note found.

But this newest note was… different. The 21 words scrawled on a bright blue post-it had her flushing instantly.

“I miss the way you feel pressed up against me, can’t wait to come home and pin you against the wall”

Suffice to say, Steve couldn’t come home soon enough.

And when my hair starts turning gray, he’ll say I’m like a fine wine better with age.

“Oh my god.” Her voice was flat as she emerged from their shared bedroom dressed for another one of Tony’s galas. Steve turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.

“What? You look amazing.” He smirked when she blushed.

“Steve. I just found a gray hair.” She pouted, holding the offending piece of hair between her thumb and pointer. “Is this what it feels like to be old?”

“You’re not old.” He chuckled at her dramatics. “And even when all of your hair is gray, I’ll love you even more. Like cheese…” He paused, trying to think of a better comparison. “And wine, you just get better with age.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She rolled her eyes before moving to throw the hair away.

“I mean it. I’m going to love you for the rest of our lives.” He smiled, a familiar fondness in his eyes. She moved closer to embrace him.

“I love you too.”

I guess I learned it from my parents, that true love starts with friendship.

She was nearly running down the street, doing her best to slow down the dog pulling her forward.

“Hudson! Stop!” She tried to speak calmly like her manager- the dog’s owner- instructed, but it was no use. Hudson would not stop running, no matter how hard she tried to make him. “Hudson!” She yelled his name again, surprised when he actually halted.

So surprised in fact, that she was still hurtling forwards, tripping over the now stationary animal. She braced herself for impact, eyes squeezing shut and hands sticking out to catch herself, only for the impact to never come. Instead, two warms hands caught her mid-fall.

Her eyes shot open, heart racing and breathing labored. The man who caught her helped her steady herself on her feet before letting go, smiling sheepishly.

“Thank you.” She breathed out, still taken aback by the turn of events.

“You’re welcome.” He replied kindly. “You’re dog’s pretty strong.” His grimace at his own awkwardness went unnoticed by her as she looked at the dog in question.

“My friends’ dog actually. I’m dog sitting this week.” She smiled, relieved to shift the topic of conversation from her to the dog. “He normally listens really well, but I guess he really wanted to get to the park. I’m Y/N, and this here is Hudson.”

“Nice to meet you both, I’m Steve.” He shook her hand, blushing slightly from the contact. Before she could reply, Hudson leaped at a squirrel, pulling her off balance again. Steve reached out to steady her again.

“Here, let me help.” He shifted the leash from her hand to his own, having a much easier time resisting Hudson’s pulling.

“Thank you… again.” She smiled.

The two walked around the park with Hudson every day that week, becoming fast friends. She wasn’t offended when he didn’t recognize her as one of the biggest names in music, just as he wasn’t offended it took three walks for her to realize he was that Steve Rogers.

They understood each other, despite the wild differences in occupation. Steve could easily relate to Y/N’s aversion to the media. Y/N knew what it felt like to have a team of people relying on you. The two just clicked, and thus a beautiful friendship was formed.

A kiss on the forehead. A date night.

“Hey Steve.” She greeted him warmly when they met up for their weekly coffee. He smiled, but didn’t verbally respond.

The two got their coffee, sitting at a table hidden towards the back. Steve’s replies were short, as if he was thinking of something else during their conversation. By the fifth comment of hers that he merely nodded his head or hummed in response too, Y/N decided to address it. “Are you okay?”

“Go out with me.” He replied quickly, eyes going wide when he realized what he said. Her own eyes widened in response, taken by surprise. “Sorry! I just, I mean- let me start over.” He pleaded, relief filling him when she nodded.

“We’ve been friends for a while now…” She nodded along, eyes still wide. “But, I want more. Let me take you to dinner. And not like we’ve been doing. Let me take you on a date?” He smiled nervously, hands fidgeting with the lid of his coffee cup.

“I’d like that.” She replied simply, unable to form a more complicated sentence due to the butterflies in her stomach.

“Yeah?” He released his breath, unaware he had been holding it. When she nodded, a wide smile appeared on his face. “Good. I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow night.”

“You mean I have to wait?” She pouted playfully as they both stood up to leave. He laughed, moving his arm around her shoulders to guide her out of the cafe.

“Just until tomorrow.” He smiled fondly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before helping her into her car.

“Tomorrow then.” She smiled. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Fake an apology after a fight

“Y/N?” Steve questioned as he entered their apartment. He looked around, unsurprised to see her covered in blankets on the couch. “I’m sorry.” He tried for a small smile, knowing it was of no real use.

“No you’re not.” She pouted, rolling her eyes. “But I forgive you anyway.” She gestured for him to join her on the couch. He jumped at the chance, quickly moving to hold her close to him.

“I am sorry we fought.” He spoke up after a few minutes, still trying to clear the air.

“Me too. It was stupid.” She shook her head, cuddling closer to him. “I just don’t understand why you like it.” She made a face, grimacing at just the thought.

“It’s good! Pizza has really taken on a whole new life since the 30s.” Steve quipped, smiling when you laughed.

“That doesn’t mean pineapple is an okay topping.” She could fell herself getting worked up again, but ultimately the two burst into a fit of giggles. What a stupid fight.

I wanna road trip in the summers

“Steve! You were supposed to turn there!” Y/N laughed as Steve grumbled about the GPS and his preference for maps. “This is why you should’ve let me drive.”

“Nope, because then I couldn’t surprise you.” He smirked, briefly looking at her in the passenger seat.

“What surprise?” She smiled fondly, knowing he wouldn’t tell her.

“You’ll see. Now turn off the GPS, we’re not actually going home.”

Steve drove for the next few hours until the two arrived at a small house just off the beach in Maine. He pulled into the driveway, turning to find Y/N asleep with her head pressed against the window.

“Y/N, we’re here.” He smiled at her groggy state, laughing when her eyes lit up.

“Are we in Maine?” Her eyes filled with tears, a combination of nostalgia, Steve’s surprise, and residual sleepiness the cause.

“We are. As close as I could find to where you used to come when you were little.” He responded, a shy smile on his face. Despite how long they’d been together, Steve was always nervous about surprising her. “I talked to your manager, and you’ve got the weekend off. We’re going to just relax on the beach for three days.”

“It’s perfect.” She gave him a watery smile, pulling him from the back of his neck until her lips met his. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, just-“ Y/N cut him off with another kiss. It was passionate and heated despite the limited area for movement in the car.

“I love you.” She breathed out the words quickly, but meant it with her whole being. “I love you so much. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” Tears still burned in her eyes, but the overwhelming happiness she felt made it worth it.

Steve looked shocked at her proclamation, but quickly recovered. “I love you too. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.” Y/N knew exactly what he meant with those words, and it filled her with so much happiness she thought she might combust. He kissed her again, and again, and again.

They shared a few more quick pecks before finally getting out of the car.

I wanna make fun of each other

Meeting Steve’s friends was nerve wracking for a multitude of reasons.

Steve was the only person Y/N had outside of her career. All of her friends were somehow tied to her music, except Steve. Her parents died a few years ago, and she didn’t have any other family. If things went poorly with Steve’s friends, would he leave too?

Plus, all of his friends are superheroes. That’s an intimidating group of people to meet even if you aren’t trying to win them over so you can keep dating their friend.

“Just relax, they’re going to love you.” Steve whispered into her ear as the two rode the elevator up to the main residential floor. Steve did what he could to keep the event simple. It was just drinks with his friends, who happened to be Avengers.

“If you say so.” She smiled nervously, laughing to herself. Before Steve could reply with more words of encouragement, the elevator doors were opening. Steve lead her down the hall to a room that resembled a lounge in a fancy hotel. Bars lined two of the walls, a mixture of blue and white furniture sprinkled throughout the room.

“Ahh, here they are!” Tony Stark quickly rose from his seat, ready to meet the woman stealing away all of the Captain’s time.

“Tony, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is-”

“Tony Stark, I know.” She quipped. In her stress to meet all of Steve’s friends, she forgot to mention that she had already met the billionaire. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Again?” Steve questioned a the same time Tony recognized you. His jaw dropped as he turned back to Steve.

“We met at a fundraiser a few years ago-“ Tony jumped in before you could finish the explanation.

“You’re dating Y/N L/N? The Y/N L/N? Famous singer-songwriter, been topping the charts for years, Y/N L/N?” He balked, eyes rapidly flicking between Steve and Y/N.

“Um… yes?” Steve questioned Tony’s reaction, unsure why he was so surprised. “I told you her name already…” He shook his head, waiting for the teasing he knew was incoming.

“You didn’t mention it was actually her! I just thought it was someone with the same name!” Tony nearly yelled, still thrown off by the surprise.

“What’s going on over here?” Natasha walked up to the trio, one eyebrow lifted at all the noise.

“Y/N L/N!” Tony gestured to her. She nervously waved to Natasha, sticking her hand out in greeting.

“Nice to meet you.” She mumbled, one hand still holding Steve’s in a death grip.

“You too, I’m Natasha.” The two women shook hands, giving Tony time to finally find his words.

“I have to know, did Capsicle recognize you when you met?” Tony lead everyone back to the couches, foregoing the rest of the introductions to start pestering you with questions.

“I think he’s a bit outside of my target audience age wise. I don’t hold it against him.” Y/N replied, laughing when Steve rolled his eyes.

“Oh snap, she just called you old.” Sam chimed in, reaching out a hand to introduce himself. “Sam Wilson.”

You smiled at him, introducing yourself as you shook his hand.

“Here’s the real question. Did you recognize him?” Bucky questioned, already knowing the answer. Steve introduced Y/N to Bucky early on in their friendship when Bucky followed him to one of their weekly coffee dates.

“Bucky, you already know the answer to that.” Y/N deadpanned, not eager to share her lack of knowledge on world events. Steve cut in to answer before Bucky could reply.

“She did not. Told me the name sounded so familiar, but she couldn’t place it.” Steve laughed as he teased you.

“You make me sound so stupid! I knew who Captain America was, I just didn’t realize it was you.” She huffed, annoyed with how quickly the tables turned.

Steve changed the topic by moving to introduce her to the rest of the avengers in attendance; Wanda, Vision, Thor, Clint, Bruce, and Peter.

Y/N continued to share stories with the group, laughing and joking at both her and Steve’s expense. Steve smiled fondly as he watched her interact with his friends, getting along just as well as he knew she would.

I wanna rock out to Billy Joel

“Stupid. All of these ideas are stupid. How am I supposed to put out another album when I can’t even write one decent song.” Y/N huffed to herself, unaware of Steve’s presence in the room.

He moved silently through the room as she continued writing down and crossing out ideas. Suddenly, the sound of Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire filled the room.

“Steve?” She jumped at the noise, smiling when she found him next to the record player. “Billy Joel?’ She questioned.

“You played me this song after a bad mission. Told me to think about it whenever I needed a reminder that the world’s problems aren’t my fault. Thought it might help.” He shrugged, a small smile on his face.

“I love you.” She got up from the couch, eager to pull him into a bone crushing hug.

“I love you too.” He returned her hug, careful not to actually crush her bones.

The two of them spent the next few hours playing Billy Joel, dancing and singing around the apartment.

And flip our kids off when they call us old

“Okay, grandpa.” Sam chuckled.

“Hey! I’m the only one allowed to make fun of how old he is.” Y/N playfully glared at Sam, enjoying their newfound friendship. “Plus, he’s younger than Bucky.”

“Rude.” Bucky called from the other couch, mostly ignoring Sam and Y/N’s bickering. It was a bit weird for him to hear someone else yelling at Sam, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

“Everyone calls him old.” Sam narrowed his eyes, confusion playing across his face.

“Yeah, but when it’s not me I have to defend him. Like when Pepper defends Tony from Morgan.” She easily compared her and Steve’s relationship to the couple, not realizing the weight of the moment.

“You see your relationship like Tony and Pepper?” Bucky questioned, now completely focused on Y/N.

She shrugged casually, unaware of the tension she created. “I mean, yeah. I think that’s where we headed.” She would be the first to admit she loved Steve more than she’s ever loved a boyfriend before. She likes to think Steve feels the same. “Why do you ask?”

Bucky shook his head, trying his best to seem casual. “Just curious is all.” He waited a few minutes before leaving, allowing Sam and Y/N to start up their conversation again. As soon as he was out of the room, he asked Friday for Steve’s location.

He had news to report.

He’ll accidentally burn our dinner

“Honey, I’m home!” Y/N called as she walked through the door. She was in a surprisingly good mood after a mediocre day.

“You seem happy.” Steve greeted as he walked into the living room from the kitchen. He pulled her close, kissing her before resting his chin on top of her head.

“I am happy. You’re here, what’s there to be mad about?” She squeezed him tighter, enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped around her.

“You make me happy too.” He pulled her onto the couch, eagerly kissing her after the day apart. He had returned from a mission just before she left for work, and seeing each other in passing was not enough.

“I missed you.” He mumbled against her mouth.

“I missed you too- is something burning?” She leaned away from him, sniffing the air.

“Shit!” He jumped from the couch, running into the kitchen as you laughed at his antics.

“Steve, language!” She called out in mock shock, laughing harder as he whined about burnt pizza.

And let me be the Scrabble winner

“Steve, sucks at Scrabble? Since when?” Wanda questioned as she ate brunch with Y/N and Nat.

“Um, always?” Y/N replied as if it was obvious.

“I have never seen Steve lose a game of Scrabble.” Nat chimed in, smirking as if she already knew what was going on (and lets face it, she probably did).

“Well, I always beat him.” She shrugged. Wanda smirked, clearly forming a plan.

“Well, you’ll just have to play Scrabble tonight and Nat and I will check if he can play better words or not!” Nat nodded along having seen this plan coming.

“Fine.” Y/N agreed, knowing there was no way of talking them out of this.

-

“Steve! Let’s play Scrabble!” Y/N smiled knowing Steve would give her anything she asked for. He walked into the living room with the box, a grin on his face.

The two of them set up the game and drew letters, immediately jumping into the game. After a few turns, Y/N texted Nat and Wanda to come into the living room to enact their plan. She watched from the corner of her eye as the two women watched Steve rearrange his letters.

When he played CAT for 7 points, Wanda gasped. Steve jumped slightly, turning around to investigate the noise.

“Oh my god.” Y/N’s jaw dropped as she realized Steve’s been letting her win.

“He was all set to play ADEQUATE, for probably a billion points, and he played CAT instead!” Wanda pointed accusingly at Steve while Nat just grinned.

“You’ve been letting me win this whole time?” Y/N threw a pillow at him, upset with the confirmation.

“Not every time! Sometimes I have bad letters.” He rubbed the back of his neck shyly. “You just look so happy when you win.”

A small smile took over Y/N’s frown. How could she be annoyed when he was just trying to make her happy.

“I love you.” She rolled her eyes at his puppy dog look. “But don’t go easy on me this time!”

“I love you too.” Steve smirked knowingly and suddenly Y/N was rethinking everything.

And when my body changes shapes, he’ll say ‘oh my god you look hot today’

“I look fat.” Y/N huffed as she plopped down on the couch, still trying to find a dress to wear out with Steve tonight.

“You’re beautiful.” Steve commented from the kitchen, causing her to shriek.

“You’re not supposed to be home yet!” She placed her hand on her heart, feeling the rapid beating from Steve scaring her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. But you do look beautiful.” He smirked as he walked closer, easily lifting her from the couch. “You look hot everyday.”

He kissed her passionately to convey just how much he believed what he was saying.

I need a man who’s patient and kind

“Steve, I need a few more minutes!” She called as she ran into their bedroom from the office. The two of them were meant to be leaving for dinner 45 minutes ago, but Y/N’s manager forced her into a last minute meeting with a potential collaborator.

“That’s fine.” He called back, a smile on his face. “Take your time, love.”

“How are you so patient.” Y/N huffed as she quickly changed clothes, annoyed with herself for delaying their plans.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her to him. “It happens. I’ve missed dates for mission before.”

“Yeah, but that’s important.” Y/N replied, leaning into his embrace.

“So is your work.” He chuckled as she rolled her eyes.

“Not so important it couldn’t wait a day.” She closed her eyes, taking a moment to just breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Steve questioned, genuinely confused.

“For being so kind and understanding. For never making me feel like my job is less important than yours, even though it totally is. For being you.” She replied, easily listing things she’s thankful for.

“Thank you for being you.” He replied casually, still holding her to him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She smiled before wiggling from his arms to finish getting ready.

Gets out of the car and holds the door

“I’m finally ready. Let’s go!” Y/N called, fully letting go of her annoyance at her manager for delaying her dinner plans.

“Perfect.” Steve grabbed his keys before turning to look at her. He sucked in a breath, eyes slowing gazing over her body. “You’re perfect.���

She blushed, kissing him on the cheek in response. Steve lead her to the car, opening the door for her, pressing a kiss to her lips before jogging around to the driver’s side.

“Where are we going?” She questioned, eager to finally be able to focus on him.

“Dinner.” He replied, a cheeky grin forming.

“Fine, don’t tell me.” She deadpanned, smiling as he laughed.

They discussed anything and everything they could think of as Steve drove to the restaurant, topics ranging from new songs they both liked to what a T-Rex would have for breakfast if it could cook like a person.

Eventually, the car pulled to a stop outside of a small, family owned Italian place. The lights were on, but there was nobody seated at any of the tables.

“Are you sure they’re open?” Y/N questioned, confused by his smile.

“They’re open… just for us.” He smiled shyly. “I wanted you to have a peaceful dinner, so Tony helped me find a place I could book for us for the night. No Y/N L/N or Captain America fans to interrupt.”

“Steve…” She trailed off, unable to form words. She hadn’t even gotten out of the car yet and she was speechless. He walked back around the car, opening the door and guiding her inside. She let him lead her all the way through the building until they reached the outdoor seating.

A string of tapered lightbulbs was strung across the patio, lighting up a single table in the middle. A few candles littered the area, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled, leaning in to kiss him before sitting down. Before she could say anything else, a familiar face greeted her.

“My name is Sam, and I’ll be serving you this evening. Can I get you started with something to drink?” Sam smiled at your shocked expression.

“Sam? What are you doing here?” She laughed, confused and overwhelmed with joy.

“I told you, nobody to interrupt us tonight.” Steve smiled, glaring at Sam for playing around. “Sam, I already told you what to bring out.”

“Couldn’t resist.” Sam winked, quickly returning with the drinks Steve requested. Y/N and Steve thanked him before returning to their conversation.

“You didn’t have to go to this much trouble.” Y/N spoke softly, still blown away by the effort and planning Steve must have put into this.

“I know. But I wanted to. You deserve it.” He smiled, taking her hadn’t across the table. “Now, I’ll bet you’re hungry since we were supposed to eat an hour ago.” As if on cue, Sam returned with Bucky, both carrying plates of food. “Let’s eat.”

The two of them continued their conversation from the car as they ate, topics again roaming all over the place. Before she knew it, Y/N had finished eating and Sam was back with dessert.

She looked down at the peach cobbler, laughing to herself. “You know me so well.” She smiled, grinning even more when he offered to share his chocolate cake. “The best of both worlds.”

When she finished eating and looked back up at Steve he was missing from his spot across the table. Instead of sitting in his chair, he was kneeling on the patio beside the table, a velvet box in his hand.

Her eyes widened as she took in the sight before her. Suddenly everything made sense. The lack of rushing, the completely private restaurant, not even having servers in the building. He wanted this to be a private moment.

“Y/N, the day I met you changed my life. I’ll have to thank Hudson for dragging you into the park that day, because I’ve never met anyone as special as you. Every moment with you is like a gift, and I want to spend the rest of my days experiencing life with you. Will you marry me?”

She nodded for a few seconds before finally finding her voice. “Yes.” It was barely above a whisper, but it was enough for Steve to delicately place the ring on her finger. “I love you so much.” She smiled, throwing herself into his arms the second he stood up.

“I love you too.” He replied, framing her face with his hands before kissing her.

I wanna slow dance in the living room like we’re 18 at senior prom

The ride home from dinner was filled with hand holding, giddy squeals, and hundreds of “I love you’s” from both Steve and Y/N. They eagerly ran back to their apartment, giggling like teenagers, high on love.

Steve quickly pulled her into the living room, kissing her over and over. She reciprocated, eager to share her happiness.

“Steve?” She questioned between kisses, waiting for him to hum in response. “Will you dance with me?” She smiled at him. Surprisingly, the two had never really danced together before. The only opportunity would have been at one of Tony’s parties, but they’re always so busy mingling with everyone.

“I’d love to.” He replied, that same fond smile on his face that she’d grown to love more than anything. She clapped, running over to the record player. She chose the first love song she could find, Cheek to Cheek by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.

As the music played, the two swayed together, feeling more in love than ever before. Steve quietly sung the words in her ear, expressing all the raw emotion he’d been feeling since she said yes.

“Heaven, I’m in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak.” Y/N joined him, singing along to convey her own happiness as well.

“And I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we’re out together, dancing cheek to cheek.”

They danced around the living room for a few songs, letting the record play through. It wasn’t until the music stopped that they even realized the song changed, too lost in the feeling of being together.

And grow old with someone who makes me feel young

I need a man who loves me like, my father loves my mom

“We’re getting married tomorrow.” Y/N floated through the halls, humming Cheek to Cheek again. After dancing to it the night of their engagement, the couple decided it would be their first dance song. Steve walked up behind her, picking her up and spinning around until they reached the kitchen.

“We are.” He replied, just as elated as her. She giggled playfully, smiling wider than ever before. She was just about to say something when Nat and Wanda bust into the room.

“C’mon. It’s time to go!” Wanda called, gathering Y/N’s belongings.

“Where?” The woman questioned, still wrapping in Steve’s arms.

“You’re getting married tomorrow. It’s bad luck to see each other before the wedding.” Wanda spoke as if it was obvious.

“Nat?” Y/N questioned, hoping someone would understand it was just a superstition. Nat just shrugged, helping Wanda as she pulled you out of the room.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” Steve called after her, a smile on his lips as he thought about seeing you again.

-

Standing at the altar, looking into Steve’s eyes, everything she prepared to say dissolved from her mind. She got lost in his blue eyes, listening to him recite his vows. All the love she felt exploded in one quick statement.

“You make me feel young.” She blurted out the words without thinking.

“Is that another old man joke?” He crinkled his eyebrows, confused by the exclamation. The onlookers chuckled.

“No! That’s not what I meant at all.” She laughed, burying her face in his chest. “I just mean, we’re grown adults.” He nodded, still confused. “But when I’m with you, I feel like a kid again. Like all my problems go away and I can just be in love with you. Like my parents were.” Tears formed in her eyes as she thought about the gravity of her statement.

Steve knew how much her parents love influenced her life. She had multiple songs inspired by their relationship and happiness.

“Oh, sweetheart. You make me feel young too. Like how I should have felt as a kid.” He decided against further explanation, not wanting to weigh down the ceremony with talk of war and his sickly youth.

“I just, I never thought I’d actually find a love like theirs, despite how much I wanted to. I think they would’ve loved you.” Steve wiped her tears as they rolled down her cheeks. He pressed his forehead to hers just feeling the need to be close.

“My ma would’ve loved you too.” He replied, his own throat getting tight. They cried as they finally said “I do”, no place they’d rather be.

And if he lives up to my father, maybe he can teach our daughter

Y/N rose from the piano as she sang the last line, exposing her growing belly to the group of Avengers, but more specifically to Steve.

What it takes to love a queen, she should know she’s royalty.

Everyone cheered for her performance, but her eyes were only on Steve’s. His jaw hung open, tears pooling in his eyes. She made her way to him, everyone moving out of her way.

As soon as she reached Steve, he pulled her into a gentle hug, eagerly kissing her.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, holding her close.

“I love you too.” She replied, just as emotional as he was.

“Are you really pregnant?” He leaned back, chuckling at the “duh” look on her face. She wiped his tears as they fell.

“I found out just after you left.” She smiled, leaning into him as he lowered his forehead to hers.

“We’re going to have a daughter.” He sounded breathless, overwhelmed with the news.

“I would’ve told you in private, but Tony insisted on having this party.” She laughed when he rolled his eyes at Tony’s antics.

“You wrote me a song.” He smiled, still holding her close.

“Oh, baby. I’ve written you dozens of songs.” She laughed when he leaned back in confusion. “They’re not all good. I wanted to finish the album before I played it for you. This was the last song.” She smiled, still overwhelmingly in love with the man in front of her.

“I love you. So much.” They spoke at the same time, swaying together as Tony invited all the remaining guests into the ballroom. They missed the song, but it was clear to everyone the room how much the two loved each other.

permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

marvel taglist:

@leyannrae

@livstilinski

@oceaniamaddness

@justreadingficsdontmindme

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 136

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,000ish

Summary: The pregnancy continues. Y/N spends time with Steve. (Read the note at the end of the chapter.)

Warning: car accident

Week 22 was full of compliments from Tony about how Y/N had never looked more beautiful. Her stomach began to get dry and irritated. This led to Tony spending a lot of time rubbing lotion on the baby bump while talking to Morgan.

Week 23 came with worsening symptoms: leg cramps, pregnancy brain, backaches, constipation, and headaches. Y/N was very grateful that Tony was a constant and so very caring. She honestly didn’t know what she would have done without him.

Weeks 24 and 25: Y/N’s sex drive had died, which disappointed the both of them. Tony knew and respected Y/N to know not to push. Her hands also began tingling, which apparently was normal.

Week 26: sleep was definitely not Y/N’s friend. Leg cramps, frequent urination, anxiety, and Morgan’s kicking made it nearly impossible. Tony felt awful, unable to find anyway for Y/N to get rest. A few times, late night drives worked or Tony taking to the bump, but that was few and far between. This left Y/N exhausted and crabby.

Week 27 began with an exhausted Y/N and an intensely worried Tony. They were in the city for Tony to go to a few Stark Industry meetings and so that Y/N could spend some time with Steve.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay down here alone until Rogers comes and picks you up?” Tony was worrying over Y/N. But he was also worried that, if he was any later to the meeting, Pepper would literally murder him.

“I’ll be fine,” Y/N replied, swatting away Tony from the chair she was in. “I love you. Now go.”

Tony pecked her lips. “Love you girls too.” He started hurrying away. “Make sure to take it easy! Let me know if you need anything!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N muttered, waving at Tony.

As Y/N tried to find a comfortable position in the chair, she could feel something was off. Looking around, no one appeared off. She checked around a few more times before just chalking it up to that half the world had disappeared. Steve arrived lot long later and went inside to meet her.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he greeted with a smile. “Wow.” He checked her over. “That baby’s really growing.”

“She is,” Y/N responded, smiling softly as she rubbed her belly. “Somedays I can’t believe it and others I just want her out.”

Steve reached his hands out to help his sister out of the chair. She put her hands in his. “My favorite niece giving my sister trouble?”

“Your favorite niece doesn’t let me sleep.” Steve pulled her up, keeping a hold of her while she tried to balance. “It’s kind of getting on my nerves.”

“Maybe her uncle can talk some sense into her today.”

“Please, she’s stopped listening to her father.”

Steve led her out and helped her into the car. Getting in himself, he began the drive to Brooklyn.

“So, I was thinking that we could eat lunch at this diner that’s opened back up in Brooklyn,” Steve suggested. “Then maybe visit the cemetery, visit the parents and AJ?”

“That all sounds wonderful, Stevie,” Y/N responded. “Morgan makes me hungry all the time, so sorry if I spend all your money.”

“Whatever makes my niece, and my sister, happy.”

~~~

Y/N was so picky yet ordered most of the menu. Steve ordered one small thing, thinking to himself that he’d finish up whatever Y/N didn’t. As they waited for their food, Y/N couldn’t help  but feel something was off again. She looked around again. Y/N could tell that the other people in there were trying not to stare at the former Avengers, trying not to glare. Studying her surroundings like she was taught, her fingers were anxiously tapping against the table.

“Hey,” Steve called out to her. “You okay?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N said, swallowing. “It’s just… People hate us. And I don’t blame them. We didn’t protect them like we always sworn to do.”

“Y/N,” Steve reached across and grabbed her hand. “We can’t control them and their thoughts and actions. Only our own.”

“And if they don’t move on?”

Steve sighed. “Then we don’t either.”

~~~

“So, how’s wedding planning coming?” Steve asked once the food arrived.

“Currently, it’s not moving much,” Y/N answered. “I just am exhausted all the time and I can’t even think about trying on a dress right now. I’ve mainly just created several Pinterest boards and such.”

“Well, you two are not in any rush, especially since you’re waiting for little Mo to come.”

“Little Mo?” Y/N giggled. “Is that what you’re going to call her?”

“I figured that, as the uncle, I needed a nickname for my niece.”

“You and Tony can’t just wait for her to come?”

“But it’s still too long of a wait. Like, how many more weeks?”

“I’m week 27 currently, so… I think I technically have 15 more weeks. Ugh, that’s too long! Don’t get me wrong, I have loved growing my daughter inside of me, but I’m tired of it and just want her here.”

“She’ll be here so enough and causing all sorts of problems then too.”

“I guess you’re right… She’s not going to let me sleep for years.”

“Good thing you won’t be doing this alone. You have Tony, Happy, Rhodey, Nat, Pepper, and, like always, you’ll have me.”

“Thanks Stevie. Means a lot.”

~~~

“I bought some flowers, they’re at my place,” Steve stated as they drove away from the diner. “Can we stop there and I can run in and grab them?”

“Of course, Stevie,” Y/N answered. “You mind if I just stay in the car? I’m getting tired.”

“It’s no problem. I’ll be quick.”

“It’s too bad though. I’ve never seen your new place.”

“And I haven’t seen yours.”

“I’ll convince Tony and we’ll have you over soon. Or I’ll convince him to leave and sneak you over. That probably won’t happen until Morgan’s here though. He barely let me do this.”

“He’s just scared and he cares. It’s who Tony is.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s one of the reasons why I love him.”

“I am happy for you. Even after all that’s happened.”

“Thanks, Stevie. I hope that one day you can find something that makes you happy as well.”

Steve shot a tight-lipped smile at his sister before pulling off to the side and parking. He rolled down the windows a bit, pulled out his keys, and opened his door.

“I won’t be long,” he said, heading out the door.

“And I’ll just me here,” Y/N responded.

She sighed, leaning back the seat. Taking off her seatbelt, Y/N closed her eyes and rubbed her baby bump. She was so tired and just wanted to rest, though nothing was allowing her to. Then again, Y/N felt like something was off. Her eyes opened and she began to scan the area. Something was not right, and hadn’t been all day. Sitting up straighter, as much as she could, her breath started quickening. Not able to see anything in front of her, Y/N checked the review mirror. She gasped just before a black suv came barreling into Steve’s car. 

Y/N was thrown into the dashboard, causing her to cry out. Steve’s car crashed into the car in front of it. The black suv backed up slightly before ramming into Steve’s car again. This time Y/N’s head it the windshield, cracking it. She screamed.

“P-Pl-Please!” She screamed. “My baby!”

As the black suv backed up again, another one barreled in from the side. This crashed Steve’s car into a lamppost. The window next to Y/N shattered all over her. Her vision was fuzzy from her head’s impact with the windshield and she could tell she had begun bleeding in placed because of the shattered windows.

“Because of you, my family is gone!” She heard someone shout from outside the car. “Because of you have the world is gone!”

“Please! Stop!” Y/N screamed. “Please! I’m pregnant!”

“I’m sure others were as well when they turned to ash!”

Tears were soaking Y/N’s cheeks as she tired to get out of the car. But her door was crushed into the lamppost. Her heart and head were pounding as both cars came at her again. She screamed in agony as something impaled her leg. 

“More of you should have died after failing to protect us!” The voice outside the car continued.

The black suv to her side rammed into Steve’s car again, effectively knocking her out cold.

~~~

Steve was whistling as he hurried down the stairs with the flowers. There were two boutiques, one for his parents and one for his nephew. As he exited his building, he froze. His car was totaled and two black suv’s were speeding away.

“Y/N,” he gasped. “Y/N!”

He ran to the car. Y/N was clearly unconscious, leaning against her crushed door. Steve quickly looked over her. She was bleeding, everywhere. Which was terrifying him. Looking for a way to get his sister out, he realized her door was crushed shut and stuck because of the lamppost.

“Y/N, Y/N,” Steve called. “Please answer me. Wake up and answer me.”

When he didn’t get a response, he began to tear things off the car. He needed to get to Y/N, needed to get her out of there before it was too late.

“Mr. Rogers!” An old woman came rushing out of no where. “I’ve called 911! They’re on their way.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He ripped away the back door, finally.

“They said to wait for them to get her out.”

“Can’t do that. She’s my sister and she’s pregnant.” The sirens were then heard coming towards them.

“Please, Mr. Rogers, they’re almost here. You don’t know what damage you can cause.”

Huffing Steve reached through the shattered window to touch Y/N’s skin. “Stay with me, Y/N. Stay with me.”

~~~

“Where is Y/N?! WHERE IS SHE?!” Steve was sure that Tony’s panic could be heard throughout the whole city. Steve was sitting in the waiting room, head in his hands, as Tony, Happy, and Pepper came running in. “Rogers! Where is Y/N?”

Steve looked up, revealing his puffy red eyes and tear stained cheeks. “She’s—Y/N’s in surgery,” he replied, voice breaking.

“What?! How is she? How’s the baby?”

“She’s— they— I’m so sorry, Tony…”

“Rogers,” Tony growled. “Tell me what—“

“Mr. Stark,” a man called, coming out in scrubs. “I was told you’d arrived. I’m one of the doctors on your fiancé’s case.”

“How is she?” Tony turned to the doctor. “How’s the baby?”

“I’m afraid Miss Rogers was brought in with serious injuries. She was bleeding, quite a lot, and had a serious head injury. The baby was also in clear distress.”

“Clear distress?”

“We had to do an emergency c-section to deliver your baby. She’s currently in surgery as well.” Tony stumbled back, Happy steadying him. “They’re both in critical condition and still have quite a few hours of surgery ahead of us. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thank you,” Pepper said, as the doctor left.

“Tony, let’s sit you down,” Happy said, guiding Tony down into a seat across from Steve.

“What… happened…?” Tony panted. “I thought you were with her?”

“I needed to grab something, Tony,” Steve responded, clearly feeling all the guilt. “I didn’t think that it would be an issue… I came down from my apartment to see my car completely wrecked against the car in front of it and the lamppost beside it… two black suv’s were speeding away. I didn’t get a good look at them.”

“I can’t— I can’t lose them…”

“I know.”

“If I do… I’m blaming you.”

“Don’t worry, Tony. I’m already blaming myself.”

next chapter >

I leave for Disney World this week. It is the last big family vacation that I will be on for a while. Because of that, I will not be on tumblr March 19th through March 24th. I will actually be deleting the app so that it’s not a distraction.

Most likely, nothing will be posted during that time. If something is, it will have been queued up. Things that are posted while I’m out of town will not have tag lists attached. I will put this note in all the fic posts until then.

So do not come at me for spending time with my family instead of including the tag list. (I say that knowing that people won’t care and still come at me…. be respectful and get over yourself.)

Check out the 2 ending chapter titles and possible banners here.

Also, I will be taking all of April off for job hunting and such. Please be kind and understanding. This is important to me.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[marvel-movies-bucky-barnes]

Moving Forward

Summary: You are Tony’s sister and in love with Bucky, but Tony still doesn’t trust Bucky post-Winter Soldier

Pairing: Bucky x Laela (reader)

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Thor Odinson, Wanda Maximoff,

Warnings: Fluff, some kissing, light spoilers up until Captain America: Civil War, angst, self-doubts, mentions of brainwashing, comforting

Word count: 3,346

Author’s note: This is really my first fic I’ve ever written and posted. Please be kind and enjoy! I am in the process of going through the Marvel movies chronologically for the first time, so I HAVE NOT FINISHED THE MOVIES YET! Please don’t comment spoilers past Spiderman: Homecoming in Marvel’s chronology! I appreciate reposts and comments!

Requests: OPEN

*NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNER*

You would think that a man who had nothing left to lose would be ready to throw himself to the fire. You would think that a simple retrieval mission would be as routine as putting on your shoes before you walk out the door. You would think that spending ten years living under the protection of a hotheaded brother with an egocentric mind would warrant the basic privilege of a release from the iron-fisted grip on your whereabouts.  

According to Natasha, all this thinking is what gets me into trouble with Tony in the first place.

“I don’t understand.” Grabbing Tony’s arm, halfway lifted to the coffee mug balancing precariously on the edge of the counter, I spun him toward me. I knew full well that he could have dug his feet in his tracks if he had wanted to, yet he yielded. “Why will you take me and not him?”

“You know why. And if you weren’t so naïve, maybe you would wake up from this daydream you’re living in and realize that I’m right.” A shadow must have crossed my face—one all too familiar to the team who was lounging against pristine furniture a room over, feigning ignorance to our conversation. As I glanced over my shoulder, a dozen pairs of eyes darted around, immediately finding innate fascination in the stitching of the carpet and the chandelier gently swinging above the banister.  

“Laela—,” Avoiding eye contact, he slid his fingers into the iron hand of his suit, hissing when the cold metal bit into his skin. As if he hadn’t worn it enough times to have the basic instinct of turning on the heater first. Cool granite hit my skin as I hoisted myself up onto the counter. The silence was deafening, or maybe it was the blood roaring through my ears—hot-headed, the only way the Stark family knows—until he finally dropped his head in defeat. “One.”

One pin drop could be heard; one collective breath was held by the rest of the team; one last nerve of his that I was getting on? The possibilities were endless. Biting my tongue, I waited as patiently as could be expected as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he pinched the bridge of his nose.  

“One mission,” he relented, swearing lightly as if he were battling against conscious. “You have one hour to get him ready. Starting now.”

I saw those dozen pairs of eyes burning holes in the back of Tony’s head, mouths hung open like fish out of water. When I glanced past Tony and made eye contact with Steve, his eyebrows shot to his hairline and he motioned me quickly toward the door before Tony could change his mind.  

“One hour!” Tony hollered after me as I backpedaled out of the room, tripping over the leg of Thor’s chair on the way.  

My feet had a mind of their own as they carried me up two flights of stairs and three different hallways before I knocked gently on the heavy oak door next to my own. I had originally picked my room at the far end of the mansion for the view of the coast, the endless stretch of ocean providing a comforting hum of white noise while I slept.  

I like to think Bucky had picked his for the sounds of the ocean as well, though I imagine the rush of the waves works to calm more than his insomnia.

When he didn’t answer, I let myself in. I was shocked, in the beginning, at the stark contrast between his room and the other bedrooms in the house. The walls—completely bare save for the navy paint coating—were shockingly distinct from my own, which were covered in photos and haphazardly hung posters. Walking into his room now, I see how calming the blankness of the walls can be for Bucky, especially if it mirrors what he’d like to feel inside his own mind. A clean slate in his room; peaceful, blank walls. Stillness. The hope that these can be replicated onto himself.  

I can’t help but think back to one of the first nights we shared in this room.  

I had woken up in the middle of the night to a cold bed. Frantically grabbing at the sheets for the familiar touch of a warm hand or even the cold bite of the metal on his arm was futile, and I shot up ramrod straight in our bed to see him leaning against the railing of the balcony, fingers digging into the wood and unclenching, repeatedly.  

It was a sight I had come to be familiar with.  

As it was happening in this moment, I had done nothing more than walk over to him and lean my elbows against the railing and watch the waves, knowing that this was something that I couldn’t fix—something that he hadn’t wanted me to fix. I had made it clear that there was nothing in him that needed to be fixed, but I gave him the space to work through the storm clouds surrounding his head.  

That was all the other needed at times, I believe; someone there to ground us as we battled against our own demons clawing at our heads.  

Tonight, Bucky’s elbows leaned into the railing, the metal biting into the splintering wood. He didn’t seem to notice. His shoulders eased a fraction of an inch as he heard me approach, something that had taken him months to be able to do around anyone.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“HYDRA. Winter Soldier Operative.” A short, clipped response. Unspoken words hung heavy in the balance; thoughts I knew he wouldn’t breach right now. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence—it never was with me and him. Though a hundred questions came bubbling to the surface, I held back. Sparing him a sidelong glance, he shook his head lightly.  

He didn’t want to talk about it. And that was all right.

“I was thinking,” I mused, reaching over to take Bucky’s arm in my hand and tracing the grooves of the metal. “Wouldn’t it be nice to get away? Somewhere the Winter Soldier won’t follow?”

It was naïve thinking, I realized almost immediately. Just as Tony had said (not that I would ever admit to this truth). Naïve to believe that we could escape the mission, if only for a few moments; naïve to believe that Bucky could take himself out of world he had formed through escapism.

“I can’t change the past, doll.” He focused on one point across the ocean while I centered on the dips and divots of the vibranium.  

“No one’s asking you to. But you don’t need to let it define you.” Reaching up, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. It had been blowing in his face for God knows how long; I knew he wouldn’t have bothered to fix it himself any time soon.  

“The Winter Soldier is in the past. HYDRA can’t get to you anymore. This Bucky,” tapping my finger against his heart, I looked up at him, “this James—he’s the man I fell in love with.”

His withering stare finally softened as his shoulders relaxed all the way. Something clicked in him when he heard James—something he only hears from me.

“You’re here because Tony finally released his grip on you, is that it?” he quipped, softening his words by pressing his lips to the top of my head. “I could hear Tony yelling from downstairs, so I had asked JARVIS for the mission update before you came up.”  

“You don’t have to go. You know that; no one would hold it against you.” As he opened his mouth to protest (most likely about how Tony would hold it against him if he had so much as buttered his toast wrong), I gently cut him off with a squeeze of his hand. “I do think it might help get things back on track with Tony, though, Buck.”

“He still doesn’t trust me.” Bucky’s eyes hardened, turning back toward the ocean.

“Prove him wrong.”  

His silence held more than he knew, and he seemed to realize this as he gave a brisk nod and pressed a chaste kiss to my cheek before turning to change into his gear.  

_______________________________________________________________________

On the plane, as luck would have it, I had scored the seat between Bucky and Tony, Bucky being across the aisle from Steve, Bruce and Sam as well. He kept up quiet, polite conversation with Bruce and Sam on the way, his hand resting on my knee and his voice soft. While he was distracted, I took the opportunity to nudge Tony in the right direction.

“Talk to him,” I encouraged, pressing on when Tony narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know the first thing about him.”

At his bark of indignation, I cut him a look sharp as glass.  

“You have misjudged him since the moment you met him,” I snapped, fingers curling into a fist. “We are a team. You want me, you get him, too. That’s how this works.”  

Though I had pitched my voice low to avoid the others overhearing, Tony stiffened, and I could sense Wanda attempting to shift the energy of the plane as the rest of the team began stumbling over their words to affect cluelessness about the situation. Five metal fingers tightened lightly over my knee and I laid my hand atop his without breaking eye contact with Tony.  

“Bucky didn’t kill our parents.” A sharp intake—whether from Bucky or from Wanda, I couldn’t be sure—sounded throughout the aircraft. “The Winter Soldier did. HYDRA did. Since coming back, Bucky’s done nothing but try to beg for your forgiveness, your understanding, and you’ve been a brick wall—to him, to Steve, to me. And deep down, I think you’re just scared to admit that you could have been wrong about something.”

My breathing rattled in my lungs.

The metal of Bucky’s fingers clicked together as they pressed into my knee.

A quiet rustle of Thor’s cloak and Natasha spinning a dagger between gloved fingers.

The soft tap of Steve’s shield against the seat of the plane.

One

Two

Three beats of  

A b s o l u t e l y   n o t h i n g.

As I turned back toward Bucky, his metal fingers tapping lightly into the fabric of my jeans, one-two-three, one-two—a grounding tactic he told me he once used at HYDRA’s base—I shook my head, willing to accept that there was nothing I could do for Tony to put his ego aside and take in what I was saying when—

“You’re right.” Tony let out a breath I knew he had probably been holding around Bucky since the Winter Soldier operative. Low enough for only me and Bucky to hear—though he directed his words at me—two words I never thought Bucky would hear from him (whether indirectly or not) fell past his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“James is—Bucky’s —not the Winter Soldier. He’s not the man you’ve painted him out to be. I love him for who he is, not what he has or hasn’t done. He’s done more for this team and for me than you care to notice. Maybe if you’d put your enormous ego aside and have a conversation with him, you would see that.”

Tony’s eyes darted between mine for five—six—seven beats, his lips pressed into a fine line. Five metal fingers continued tapping a pattern onto my thigh. One breath.

“I know you love him.”  

A dozen pairs of eyes bore through Tony with a steel gaze, unabashedly pinning him in place with a single look.  

“Let’s see what he’s got.”

_______________________________________________________________________

I’d normally call a successful mission any time our team made it out alive, though I knew Tony didn’t see it the same way. Today was different—while half the team victory was winning the battle against a terrorist organization set to infiltrate the city, I would say that Bucky and I found our own victory in our small interaction with Tony on the plane.

“I’ve been thinking, Laela,” Bucky murmured from where we lazed across the chair on the veranda. I waited for him to continue and looked up at him, but his gaze wasn’t on me—it was trained on the ocean once more. I knew he was sifting through his thoughts, tangled in a knot from the last twenty-four hours—likely from before then, even. “I’ve been thinking about 1942.”

“The war?” I twisted a strand of his hair that had fallen into his eyes, not wanting to press too much on a sensitive subject. Tucking the strand behind his ear, I met his eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Laying my head back down on his chest, I counted five heartbeats before he finally let out a breath.

“Yes. But not now.” His plated fingers brushed against my knee. His fingers tapped a rhythm against my knee—one-two-three, one-two. Grounding himself in reality. “I remember everything detail. About the war, about the HYDRA operative. Going under. Every moment.”

I knew as much, though he rarely talked about it openly like this.  

“Tony stopped me when we came home from the mission.” The tension in his arms wrapped around me vanished on that word—home. “After you had gone up to bed, and I told you I would meet you up there. We started talking—one of the first real conversations I think we’ve ever had. He asked me—”

I waited for him to finish, knowing that whatever he had to say must have been as difficult then as it was now.  

“He asked me about HYDRA. About the Winter Soldier.” As my body tried to jerk toward his, he gently pushed my shoulders back to lay against his chest. “It’s fine. I told him I didn’t want to talk about it, and he didn’t press—shocking as that is.”  

“Did he ask about anything else?”

“He asked about you,” he admitted. At my baffled expression, he snorted and added, “Relax. He didn’t threaten to murder me and hide my body, if that’s what you’re wondering. He asked about what you said on the plane.”

Racking my brain, I remembered how heated I was toward Tony in the moment.  

“You hadn’t told him that before, had you? That you loved me.”

It wasn’t an accusation, just a question. A statement, really. Still, I felt a flush creep up my neck as I tried to find a point on the horizon to focus on. Bucky knew that I loved him but didn’t always understand why. I hadn’t heard the same from him, and it was fine—honestly.  

I would break off pieces of my own soul to give him, bit by bit, if it would give him some peace, just to let him know how loved he is.  

“Have I ever told you the first memory I have of you? At the HYDRA base, when you and Steve had come to break me out?” Without waiting for an answer, a shaky laugh fell past his lips as he lifted his hand from my shoulder to comb his hair back.  

“You had barreled through the door, right on Steve’s heels. HYDRA had been poking around in my brain, and I didn’t have control of what I was doing. But I was aware of what was going on around me.” His eyes met mine then, and my breath caught in my throat. “Tony was screaming from the sidelines for you to get the hell out of there when those HYDRA agents were about to storm the base. But you grabbed my hand and insisted that you wouldn’t leave me behind.”

His eyes glazed over, shifting his reality to that moment. My fingers tightened against his hands, both flesh and vibranium, letting him know that I wouldn’t leave him behind in this moment, either. Showing what I couldn’t put into words.  

“I hadn’t done anything to prove to you that I could be trusted, and you were willing to lay your life on the line for me. You were the first one to speak to me after returning to the house. Other than Steve, you were the first one to make any effort to get to know me—the real me. James, not Bucky or The Winter Soldier.” His lips curved up in a genuine smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and scrunched his nose and brought a pinch of color to his cheeks. Something that he didn’t show a lot. “You were the first one to call me out on my shit. Everyone else was too scared to even approach me.”  

The room was silent now, but a comforting silence, one that wrapped itself around us as we gazed out toward the ocean.

“I know I have a lot to make up for. Not just to Tony and the team, but to you.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he silenced me by pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this kind of love before I met you. The team—I've noticed most of them coming around, too. The other week, Clint was going on a supply run, and he asked me to come with him. I don’t think he had spoken to me more than a handful of times before that.”

“That was all you, Buck. The others are finally starting to see who you are in here,” I brought his vibranium hand in mine to tap against his heart. “Something they should have begun to do a long time ago.”

He settled into the chair on the veranda and pulled me tighter against his chest, his hair brushing against my cheek. I didn’t push it away. We sat like that, wound together in a comfortable silence, until the ocean breeze started to send a chill up my arm.  

“It’s nice,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “Feeling like I’m starting to belong somewhere. Like I have something to live for. Everyone from my past live, back in 1942—they're gone. Aside from Steve. I felt lost, for such a long time. Now it feels like the pieces are starting to fit together again—like I have people who love me in this life. Like I have a family.”

“You do have a family. We will always be there for you, whether you see it or not. And, though they may not say it, they love you. Almost as much as I do.” Laying my hand against his cheek, I gently turned his face to look at me, to recognize my words. I tapped against his heart—one-two-three, one-two. Grounding ourselves.  “I love you, James. For what’s in here. I always will.”

I take it he hadn’t heard those words enough; his eyes lit up, brighter than I had ever seen, and a soft smile slowly spread across his lips.  

“I love you, Laela.”

I’m not sure how long we laid in that chair, watching the tide crash against the rocks, my fingers tracing the grooves of his hand. All I remember is two arms, one flesh, one metal, hook under my legs and back and walk us back to the bed. I remember those same arms encircling me just moments later. I remember Bucky’s breathing slowing to a gentle brush against my neck as his snores softly echoed throughout the room.

I remember waking up before him the next morning and studying every line of his face, every divot of his vibranium arm, taking in every snore that escaped past his lips. I remember feeling love—his for me, and mine for him—all-encompassing in the quiet moments we had shared together.

Looking at him, finally comfortable in his own skin, relaxed in a way I knew he had never felt before, I knew I wouldn’t trade this for the world.

[elindae-writes]

I do wonder a little. If in your fic skyfire had lived through his crash and had a scenerio similar to them unearthing him like in g1 and found him well alive, what things will occur from it?

I’ve debated having this happen in Unburied. I think I might have him get unburied (hA) but I could change my mind on that. Just assume that the scenario I’ve outlined below could potentially appear in the story, so think of this all as potential spoilers!

The Decepticons would find him first. It’s just snazzier that way. I’m going for Maximum Shuttle Angst. They discover him and they of course instantly know who he is because Megatron and Soundwave did some sleuthing work on Starscream and discovered that he was falsely accused of murdering this guy.

They’d use him to do labwork and energon refinement work. When the Autobots find out about him and are like “give him over” Megatron would then use him as leverage. The ‘Cons would threaten to hurt him if the Autobots don’t let them do whatever they want.

Skyfire would at first have no clue Starscream is even still alive and would just be told “hey, there’s a war, the ‘Bots are evil, you should totally live with us ‘Cons on the totally cool not-crashed warship that is absolutely meant to be on the bottom of the Atlantic ;).” Skyfire would join but would also sense that Something Is Up and would be unsure if his anxiety is over being displaced in time or due to there being something actually wrong.

I think I’d make his personality like that of Steve Roger’s. They both get stuck in ice for an extremely long amount of time, both experience culture shock, and are also both goody-two-shoes who gasp in horror at swear words. (Which begs the question--who would be Tony? Probably Knock Out.)

Knock Out: I'm a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous raging cargo plane monster.

Skyfire: ...You’re a racecar covered in polish. Take that off, what are you?

Knock Out: Still quite sexy.

(Would Skyfire actually say that? Maybe not. He’d probably just silently stand there all flustered and confused and wonder where his favorite jet is. I have only seen Cap in his first debut movie and in the 2012 Avengers so that’s the version of him Skyfire would be based off of)

Skyfire would refuse to be a 50-foot tall shuttle damsel in distress and try to escape.

They would decide to get him an Earth alt-mode. Knock Out and Breakdown would break into a museum and have him scan a space shuttle. They’ve broken into museums before in this show. Fowler would march into the Autobot base angrily pointing at grainy security footage of KO and BD polishing a space shuttle as a giant partially visible mech scans it.

Perhaps Skyfire would be visible in the footage or maybe not at all. Either way the Autobots would soon realize that the Decepticons have a new massive bot on their servos and the Autobots would get really anxious. If Skyfire is in the camera frame, even partially, Starscream would recognize him in just nanoseconds.

Fowler: Prime! The ‘Cons have a new recruit. We can only see the new guy’s kneecaps in this footage due to his big size. Who’s this chonker?

Optimus: This is a dark time for us. The Decepticons are expanding their ranks and we must be prepared to face a new large physically powerful foe in battle--

Starscream: *sobbing* THAT’S MY 50-FOOT TALL BABY SHUTTLE WHO I LOST IN THE SNOW

Megatron is upset he isn’t the tallest bot around anymore. He seems like the kind of person to be needlessly smug about being tall. I bet he made fun of Starscream for being short (even though he’s the one who fragging MADE Starscream short by giving him a new frame!)

Breakdown and Knock Out would glomp onto Skyfire (if they haven’t already joined the Autobots that is). Picture two gay guys adopting a space shuttle.

Knock Out: This is our son :)

Skyfire: Oh, uh, thanks! But... I’m older than you?

Megatron: He looks nothing like you two charlatans.

Knock Out: STOP TRYING TO TEAR THIS FAMILY APART

The meeting between Skyfire and Bulkhead would be... interesting. Skyfire knows diddly squat about Bulkhead but Bulkhead on the other servo probably knows more about Skyfire than Skyfire knows about himself. Bulkhead would awkwardly explain to Skyfire the fate of the data cylinder he launched towards Earth.

Bulkhead: So, uh, you know those... logs you made?

Skyfire: You discovered my data cylinder?!

Bulkhead: Eh, yeah. It caused a skoosh of a problem.

Skyfire: A ‘skoosh’ of a problem?

Bulkhead: It maybe kinda sorta overwrote my memories?

Skyfire: ...wHAT--

Bulkhead: Eh, it wasn’t your fault, y’know? Ahhh, we all make mistakes. I once sneezed on Miko. I once drove into a tree and got stuck. You accidentally created a device that erased my personality. Just another roadbump in the road of life hahaaa ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Skyfire: *panicked shuttle noises*

The public would be perplexed by him. Trending headlines would read “WHY WAS SPACE SHUTTLE ENDEAVOUR SIGHTED OVER A CITY?” and the government would have to scramble to explain why.

I need to keep a good ratio of good guys vs villains. Knock Out, Breakdown, Soundwave, and obviously Skyfire are good guys. Dreadwing will become an ally of the Autobots so he’ll slot into the good guy category as well. Megatron, M.E.C.H., Shockwave, and Airachnid will all continue to be villains. As for Predaking, I really don’t know. Then Darksteel and Skylynx come in and it’s just a lot of bots and a lot of potential villains and good guys. If Skyfire is introduced I’d make at least one of the members of the Predacon Trio a really big villain in order to balance things out. I’ll most likely pick Predaking because he could be a foil for Skyfire due to their massive sizes.

[ladydarklord]

The Mighty Boosh on the business of being silly

The Times, November 15 2008

What began as a cult cocktail of daft poems, surreal characters and fantastical storylines has turned into the comedy juggernaut that is the Mighty Boosh. Janice Turner hangs out with creators Noel Fielding, Julian Barratt and the extended Boosh family to discuss the serious business of being silly

In the thin drizzle of a Monday night in Sheffield, a crowd of young women are waiting for the Mighty Boosh or, more precisely, one half of it. Big-boned Yorkshire lasses, jacketless and unshivering despite the autumn nip, they look ready to devour the object of their desire, the fey, androgynous Noel Fielding, if he puts a lamé boot outside the stage door. “Ooh, I do love a man in eyeliner,” sighs Natalie from Rotherham. She’ll be throwing sickies at work to see the Boosh show 13 times on their tour, plus attend the Boosh after-show parties and Boosh book signings. “My life is dead dull without them,” she says.

Nearby, mobiles primed, a pair of sixth-formers trade favourite Boosh lines. “What is your name?” asks Jessica. “I go by many names, sir,” Victoria replies portentously. A prison warden called Davena survives long days with high-security villains intoning, “It’s an outrage!” in the gravelly voice of Boosh character Tony Harrison, a being whose head is a testicle.

Apart from Fielding, what they all love most about the Boosh is that half their mates don’t get it. They see a bloke in a gorilla suit, a shaman called Naboo, silly rhymes about soup, stories involving shipwrecked men seducing coconuts “and they’re like, ‘This is bloody rubbish,’” says Jessica. “So you feel special because you do get it. You’re part of a club.”

Except the Mighty Boosh club is now more like a movement. What began as an Edinburgh fringe show starring Fielding and his partner Julian Barratt and later became an obscure BBC3 series has grown into a box-set flogging, mega-merchandising, 80-date touring Boosh inc. There was a Boosh festival last summer, now talk of a Boosh movie and Boosh in America. An impasse seems to have been reached: either the Boosh will expand globally or, like other mass comedy cults before it – Vic and Bob, Newman and Baddiel – slowly begin to deflate.

But for the moment, the fans still wait in the rain for heroes who’ve already left the building. I find the Boosh gang gathered in their hotel bar, high on post-gig adrenalin. Barratt, blokishly handsome with his ring-master moustache, if a tad paunchy these days, blends in with the crew. But Fielding is never truly “off”. All day he has been channelling A Clockwork Orange in thick black eyeliner (now smudged into panda rings) and a bowler hat, which he wears with polka-dot leggings, gold boots and a long, neon-green fur-collared PVC trenchcoat. He has, as those women outside put it, “something about him”: a carefully-wrought rock-god danger mixed with an amiable sweetness. Sexy yet approachable. Which is why, perched on a barstool, is a great slab of security called Danny.

“He stops people getting in our faces,” says Fielding. “He does massive stars like P. Diddy and Madonna and he says that considering how we’re viewed in the media as a cult phenomenon, we get much more attention in the street than, say, Girls Aloud. Danny says we’re on the same level as Russell Brand, who can’t walk from the door to the car without ten people speaking to him.”

This barometer of fame appears to fascinate and thrill Fielding. Although he complains he can’t eat dinner with his girlfriend (Dee Plume from the band Robots in Disguise) unmolested, he parties hard and publicly with paparazzi-magnets like Courtney Love and Amy Winehouse. He claims he’s tried wearing a baseball cap but fans still recognise him. Hearing this, Julian Barratt smiles wryly: “Noel is never going to dress down.”

It is clear on meeting them that their Boosh characters Vince Noir (Fielding), the narcissistic extrovert, and Howard Moon (Barratt), the serious, socially awkward jazz obsessive, are comic exaggerations of their own personalities. At the afternoon photo shoot, Fielding breaks free of the hair and make-up lady, sprays most of a can of Elnett on to his Bolan feather-cut and teases it to his satisfaction. Very Vince. “It is an art-life crossover,” says Barratt.

At 40, five years older than Fielding, Barratt exhibits the profound weariness of a man trying to balance a five-month national tour with new-fatherhood. After every Saturday night show he returns home to his 18-month-old twins, Arthur and Walter, and his partner Julia Davis (the creator-star of Nighty Night) and today he was up at 5am pushing a pram on Hampstead Heath before taking the train north to rejoin the Boosh. “I go back so the boys remember who I am. But it’s harder to leave them every time,” he says. “It is totally schizophrenic, totally opposite mental states: all this self-obsession and then them.”

About two nights a week on tour, Fielding doesn’t go to bed, parties through the night and performs the next evening having not slept at all. Barratt often retreats to his room to plough through box sets of The Wire. “It’s a bit gritty, but that is in itself an escape, because what we do is so fantastical.”

But mostly it is hard to resist the instant party provided by a large cast, crew and band. Indeed, drinking with them, it appears Fielding and Barratt are but the most famous members of a close collective of artists, musicians and old mates. Fielding’s brother Michael, who previously worked in a bowling alley, plays Naboo the shaman. “He is late every single day,” complains Noel. “He’s mad and useless, but I’m quite protective of him, quite parental.” Michael is always arguing with Bollo the gorilla, aka Fielding’s best mate, Dave Brown, a graphic artist relieved to remove his costume – “It’s so hot in there I fear I may never father children” – to design the Boosh book. One of the lighting crew worked as male nanny to Barratt’s twins and was in Michael’s class at school: “The first time I met you,” he says to Noel, “you gave me a dead arm.” “You were 9,” Fielding replies. “And you were messing with my stuff.”

This gang aren’t hangers-on but the wellspring of the Boosh’s originality and its strange, homespun, degree-show aesthetic: a character called Mr Susan is made out of chamois leathers, the Hitcher has a giant Polo Mint for an eye. When they need a tour poster they ignore the promoter’s suggestions and call in their old mate, Nige.

Fielding and Barratt met ten years ago at a comedy night in a North London pub. The former had just left Croydon Art College, the latter had dropped out of an American Studies degree at Reading to try stand-up, although he was so terrified at his first gig that he ran off stage and had to be dragged back by the compere.

While superficially different, their childhoods have a common theme: both had artistic, bohemian parents who exercised benign neglect. Fielding’s folks were only 17 when he was born: “They were just kids really. Hippies. Though more into Black Sabbath and Led Zep. There were lots of parties and crazy times. They loved dressing up. And there was a big gap between me and my brother – about nine years – so I was an only child for a long time, hanging out with them, lots of weird stuff going on.

“The great thing about my mum and dad is they let me do anything I wanted as a kid as long as I wasn’t misbehaving. I could eat and go to bed when I liked. I used to spend a lot of time drawing and painting and reading. In my own world, I guess.”

Growing up in Mitcham, South London, his father was a postmaster, while his mother now works for the Home Office. Work was merely the means to fund a good time. “When your dad is into David Bowie, how do you rebel against that? You can’t really. They come to all the gigs. They’ve been in America for the past three weeks. I’m ringing my mum really excited because we’re hanging out with Jim Sheridan, who directed In the Name of the Father, and the Edge from U2, and she said, ‘We’re hanging with Jack White,’ whom they met through a friend of mine. Trumped again!”

Barratt’s father was a Leeds art teacher, his mother an artist later turned businesswoman. “Dad was a bit more strict and academic. Mum would let me do anything I wanted, didn’t mind whether I went to school.” Through his father he became obsessed with Monty Python, went to jazz and Spike Milligan gigs, learnt about sex from his dad’s leatherbound volumes of Penthouse.

Barratt joined bands and assumed he would become a musician (he does all the Boosh’s musical arrangements); Fielding hoped to become an artist (he designed the Boosh book cover and throughout our interview sketches obsessively). Instead they threw their talents into comedy. Barratt: “It is a great means of getting your ideas over instantly.” Fielding: “Yes, it is quite punk in that way.”

Their 1998 Edinburgh Fringe show called The Mighty Boosh was named, obscurely, after a friend’s description of Michael Fielding’s huge childhood Afro: “A mighty bush.” While their double-act banter has an old-fashioned dynamic, redolent of Morecambe and Wise, the show threw in weird characters and a fantasy storyline in which they played a pair of zookeepers. They are very serious about their influences. “Magritte, Rousseau...” says Fielding. “I like Rousseau’s made-up worlds: his jungle has all the things you’d want in a jungle, even though he’d never been in one so it was an imaginary place.”

Eclectic, weird and, crucially, unprepared to compromise their aesthetic sensibilities, it was 2004 before, championed by Steve Coogan’s Baby Cow production company, their first series aired on BBC3. Through repeats and DVD sales the second series, in which the pair have left the zoo and are living above Naboo’s shop, found a bigger audience. Last year the first episode of series three had one million viewers. But perhaps the Boosh’s true breakthrough into mainstream came in June when George Bush visited Belfast and a child presented him with a plant labelled “The Mighty Bush”. Assuming it was a tribute to his greatness, the president proudly displayed it for the cameras, while the rest of Britain tittered.

A Boosh audience these days is quite a mix. In Sheffield the front row is rammed with teenage indie girls, heavy on the eyeliner, who fancy Fielding. But there are children, too: my own sons can recite whole “crimps” (the Boosh’s silly, very English version of rap) word for word. And there are older, respectable types who, when I interview them, all apologise for having such boring jobs. They’re accountants, IT workers, human resources officers and civil servants. But probe deeper and you find ten years ago they excelled at art A level or played in a band, and now puzzle how their lives turned out so square. For them, the Boosh embody their former dreams. And their DIY comedy, shambolic air, the slightly crap costumes, the melding of fantasy with the everyday, feels like something they could still knock up at home.

Indeed, many fans come to gigs in costume. At the Mighty Boosh Festival 15,000 people came dressed up to watch bands and absurdity in a Kent field. And in Sheffield I meet a father-and-son combo dressed as Howard Moon and Bob Fossil – general manager of the zoo – plus a gang of thirty-something parents elaborately attired as Crack Fox, Spirit of Jazz, a granny called Nanageddon, and Amy Housemouse. “I love the Boosh because it’s total escapism,” says Laura Hargreaves, an employment manager dressed as an Electro Fairy. “It’s not all perfect and people these days worry too much that things aren’t perfect. It’s just pure fun.”

But how to retain that appealingly amateur art-school quality now that the Boosh is a mega comedy brand? Noel Fielding is adamant that they haven’t grown cynical, that The Mighty Book of Boosh was a long-term project, not a money-spinner chucked out for Christmas: “There is a lot of heart in what we do,” he says. Barratt adds: “It’s been hard this year to do everything we’ve wanted, to a standard we’re proud of... Which is why we’re worn to shreds.”

Comedy is most powerful in intimate spaces, but the Boosh show, with its huge set, requires major venues. “We’ve lost money every day on the tour,” says Fielding. “The crew and the props and what it costs to take them on the road – it’s ridiculous. Small gigs would lose millions of pounds.”

The live show is a kind of Mighty Boosh panto, with old favourites – Bob Fossil, Bollo, Tony Harrison, etc – coming on to cheers of recognition. But it lacks the escapism to the perfectly conceived world of the TV show. They have told the BBC they don’t want a fourth series: they want a movie. They would also, as with Little Britain USA, like a crack at the States, where they run on BBC America. Clearly the Boosh needs to keep evolving or it will die.

Already other artists are telling Fielding and Barratt to make their money now: “They say this is our time, which is quite frightening.” I recall Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer, who dominated the Nineties with Big Night Out and Shooting Stars. “Yes, they were massive,” says Fielding. “A number one record...” And now Reeves presents Brainiac. “If you have longer-term goals, it’s not scary,” says Barratt. “To me, I’m heading somewhere else – to direct, make films, write stuff – and at the moment it’s all gone mental. I’m sort of enjoying this as an outsider. It was Noel who had this desire to reach more people.”

Indeed, the old cliché that comedy is the new rock’n’roll is closest to being realised in Noel Fielding. Watching him perform the thrash metal numbers in the Boosh live show, he is half ironic comic performer, half frustrated rock god. His heroes weren’t comics but androgynous musicians: Jagger, Bowie, Syd Barrett. (Although he liked Peter Cook’s style and looks.)

“I like clothes and make-up, I like the transformation,” he says. Does it puzzle him that women find this so sexually attractive? “I was reading a book the other day about the New York Dolls and David Johansen was saying that none of them were gay or even bisexual, and that when they started dressing in stilettos and leather pants, women got it straight away with no explanation. But a lot of men had problems. It’s one of those strange things. A man will go, ‘You f***ing queer.’ And you just think, ‘Well, your girlfriend fancies me.’”

The Boosh stopped signing autographs outside stage doors when it started taking two hours a night. At recent book signings up to 1,500 people have shown up, some sleeping overnight in the queue. And on this tour, the Boosh took control of the after-show parties, once run as money-spinners by the promoters, and now show up in person to do DJ slots. I ask if they like to meet their fans, and they laugh nervously.

Fielding: “We have to be behind a fence.”

Barratt: “They try to rip your clothes off your body.”

Fielding: “The other day my girlfriend gave me this ring. And, doing the rock numbers at the end, I held out my hands and the crowd just ripped it off.”

Barratt: “I see it as a thing which is going to go away. A moment when people are really excited about you. And it can’t last.”

He recalls a man in York grabbing him for a photo, saying, “I’d love to be you, it must be so amazing.” And Barratt says he thought, “Yes, it is. But all the while I was trying to duck into this doorway to avoid the next person.” He’s trying to enjoy the Boosh’s moment, knows it will pass, but all the same?

In the hotel bar, a young woman fan has dodged past Danny and comes brazenly over to Fielding. Head cocked attentively like a glossy bird, he chats, signs various items, submits to photos, speaks to her mate on her phone. The rest of the Boosh crew eye her steelily. They know how it will end. “You have five minutes then you go,” hisses one. “I feel really stupid now,” says the girl. It is hard not to squirm at the awful obeisance of fandom. But still she milks the encounter, demands Fielding come outside to meet her friend. When he demurs she is outraged, and Danny intercedes. Fielding returns to his seat slightly unsettled. “What more does she want?” he mutters, reaching for his wine glass. “A skin sample?”

[peachyteabuck]

come water me ☂

summary: after years of depending on science to give you a child, you think giving a magic a shot isn’t a half-bad idea (a commission for @myhoneybeeheart) 

pairing: steve rogers x thor odinson x reader (established steve rogers x reader)

words: 3,538

trigger warnings: infertility, MMF threesomes, creampies, praise kink, breeding kink, cuckolding, angst if you squint but like REALLY squint. REALLY REALLY squint. 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

You and Steve had both done every test known to every male and female fertility specialist in the United States, along with several European countries, Japan, China, and Australia. Every single one, for each of you, pointed to the same thing – infertility.

Persistent infertility. As in, the both of you are not only infertile, but will continue to be infertile despite any type of treatments any type of doctor wants to put you through. Steve doesn’t qualify for experimental treatments, and you’ve tried at least five to no avail.

Long story short, neither of you can have biological children.

The problem is, you both really want biological children. But, according to biology, it just isn’t going to happen.

“Science says so,” the last doctor had told you, voice full of apology. “I’m so sorry.”

That particularly heartbreaking appointment was in the late afternoon, but the battery of tests meant you and your husband were stuck in the shitty doctor’s office until long past when the sun had set. You were grateful how dark it was when you left, terrified some Captain America stan or paparazzi would get a high definition picture of both you with puffy faces along with snot and stray tears still running down your face. It was late when you got back to your secluded high rise, neither of you hungry nor willing to feign it enough to order something. You didn’t know about Steve, but the sadness had somehow overwhelmed every single one of your senses – making your taste buds pointless and limbs numb. Silently, the both of you got ready for bed and held each other as emotional exhaustion acted as a second weighted blanket and lulled you both to sleep.

It was the next morning when you thought of what you had dubbed “the plan.” You had gotten up before Steve (unusual, as you’d been together long enough that wallowing in self pity was a shared activity) and sat at the kitchen table with unbrushed teeth, messy hair, and the sort of determination that comes with a self-reflexive ultimatum: if “the plan” didn’t work, you’d stop trying. You’d tell Steve that you’ve come to terms with your inability to conceive and continue your journey to start from the assumption that there was nothing either of you could do to make it happen. It’s a heartbreaking reality, but it was one you were willing to accept.

It took a few days to work up the courage, to find the right time to broach the idea with the man you chose to spend the rest of your life with. The perfect moment ended up being when you were both eating dinner, Steve telling a story about something ridiculous Peter had done on a mission (turns out, flirting with a fellow agent undercover as a full service sex worker is not a good idea). You were both happy, incredibly so, and you knew whenever your husband talked about the kid it ignited the special light inside of him that wanted to be a father.

It was the tail end of the story, he was two beers down (a special mix Tony had concocted that balanced with Steve’s serum-induced metabolism), and he was happy. So with a deep inhale and sustained eye contact, you rambled with your prepared speech that covered a few of concerns you knew Steve would have and informed him of your personal deal.

You finished quickly – words tumbling out of your mouth before you knew they were being spoken. Your heart beat loudly in your chest, blood rushed to your ears. You were terrified.

That was, until Steve gave his reply a few hours later.

(He asked if he could table the conversation for a little while, wanting to “think it over.” Of course you told him it was okay, especially since you knew there was dessert still waiting to be eaten in the fridge, and you were still very hungry.)

You imagined a lot of responses from your husband, the worst of which sounded like the beginning of a particularly sad Shonda Rhimes television show:

“You want to what?” Steve nearly screams. “You want to invite Thor Odinson in our marriage bed so that we can have a child!? No! I won’t allow it!”

You fall to the ground, sobbing, clutching your phone as you scream back. “I want what’s best for us! For our family! For our future child!”

Steve storms out of the bedroom, turning back to your crumbled figure just before stomping out. “I’m calling a divorce lawyer. I want you out by Monday.”

You expected you’d have to convince him, would have to coax his clenched jaw towards your face so he’d know how serious you are from the look in your eyes. Maybe you’d have to wait days, weeks, months before he’d agree, would have to have long conversations with him and his colleague about negotiations and boundaries and whatever else.  

What you didn’t expect was for Steve to agree not only immediately, but enthusiastically.

“T-that’s it?” you asked. You both were in bed, reading separate books before you’d each turn off the lights and go to sleep. He was reading something about battle tactics during Vietnam while you were thumbing through a book about the history of swearing.

Steve did not look up from his novel. “You want to have a threesome with Thor in the hopes it’ll give us a baby?”

You looked to him, brow furrowed. “Yeah?”

Now he puts the book down and turns to you. “The worst thing that happens is we have sex with a literal deity?”

At first you think he’s joking but, nope. He’s serious.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply again.

Steve shrugs before going back to his book. “Then yeah, but you have to call him.”

You blink a few times – shocked. Pleasantly shocked, but still shocked. “That’s…a deal. Yeah. I can, I’ll talk to him.”

Steve smiles, turning back to you once more and giving you a peck on the cheek. “Sounds good, babe. Let me know what he says.”

You nod, still a little surprised. “O-of course.”

With that, the conversation ends, and you need to figure out how to contact the man in question.

The next morning, you learn from the detailed calendar Tony’s assistant keeps that Thor’s on Migard for the rest of the month, doing…whatever. Honestly, you have no idea what he’s doing, and – even more honestly – you don’t care. Short of saving an entire population from destruction, you’re sure he can make time for you.

Luckily you find him easily, watching some reality show about weird white people in the living room of a common floor. You take deep breaths for stepping into eyeshot, asking if you can sit next to him (he says yes) before you start what is likely the most uncomfortable conversation of your life.

Somehow, though, Thor beats you to it. “If you want me to help you and Steve conceive, just tell me the date and time you want me in your bed.”

Even more so than when Steve accepted your recent proposal, you’re surprised by Thor’s forwardness. “Um-“

Thor smiles, putting a comforting arm around your shoulders before pulling you close against him. “Listen, I’ve done this with many families on many planets. I’ve never done it on Earth, but I’m willing to give it a try for you two. You deserve a child, and I’d be happy to help with that.”

You wipe a stray tear before allowing yourself to be enveloped into Thor’s massive arms. “Thank you,” you tell him after your heart had stopped beating at your ribs as if they were boxers going for the championship title. “Thank you so much.”

You feel Thor smile against the side of your head. “Of course, anything for you.”

You return to Steve with your findings, who agrees to set it up for the next night. The few hours before the mythical man is scheduled to arrive are an otherworldly combination, as if you had put giddy excitement, gut-wrenching fear, and determined optimism in a Nutribullet with bananas and strawberries and vanilla Greek yogurt and served it with-

“Honey, he said we both have to eat before,” Steve pulls the breaks on your train of thought, nudging your plate of food towards you with a small smile.  “I’ve known you for long enough to know what you overthinking and forgetting to eat looks like.”

You nod and sigh, biting into the seasoned steamed vegetables. “Sorry, I-“

Steve shakes his head, swallowing whatever from his plate he was chewing. “I’ve also known you long enough to not need you to explain. Just eat.”

He’s right, you think as you clear your plate. You’ve known Steve for over a decade, dating for nine of them and married for seven. He met you through Natasha, who knew you from your work as a professor studying the differing effects of veterans and civilians (how she found you is still a mystery) and invited you to a conference that Stark was funding and therefore required the Avengers to make an appearance. He knew everything about you, and you knew everything about him.

For the first time in a long time, you wonder whether that’s a good thing, or a bad one.

When Thor arrives, he directs the two of you with ease, accepting a glass of expensive red wine as he follows you to the expansive bedroom.

He makes you strip first, tells you to lay in the center of the bed with your legs spread over the end and arms at your side. Steve’s next, already half-hard as he takes his position by your head, on his knees so he can watch the show in front of you. He’s naked, erection hard against his chiseled stomach.

“You’re so beautiful,” you tell him, blissed out before anything had ever begun.

He smiles down at you, same look in his eye the same day you got married. “You, too babe.”

Thor lets you have the moment as he undresses himself, letting you wrap a hand around Steve’s cock as he slots himself between your legs.

“Mm,” Thor hums, tracking your every move with a precise eye. “What a pretty cunt you have…”

A deep moan from you cuts him off as he kneels and licks a wide stripe up your dripping center, his large hands moving under your knees to bend your legs to your chest.

“Oh!” you cry, one of your hands moving to clutch his long blonde hair. “Oh that feels so good!”

You can feel Thor smiling into your folds as one of his perfectly calloused fingers slowly enters you, reveling in your now-mindless acceptance of pleasure. “So tight,” he moans. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

It doesn’t take long for your brain to fry, losing your ability to do anything but moan and sloppily jerk off your husband as Thor begins to fuck two fingers in and out of you at a bruising pace.

Steve watches you intensely, takes over jerking his own dick when you lose control of the muscles in your hands.

Thor scoffs, rolling his eyes you pout when his lips leave you.

“C’mon, love,” he murmurs into your inner thigh. “Don’t neglect the man.”

Nearly panting, you wrap your lips around Steve’s cock while Thor continues eating you out.

“Fuck you’re so good at this,” Steve hisses as you start to gag on him, running your tongue on the underside of his cock.

You do your best to smile as one hand moves to play with his balls, eyes screwing shut as you turn all your attention onto your husband’s cock.

“That feel good?” Thor asks, hand around the base of his cock. He grunts when Steve nods, his head thrown back in ecstasy. “C’mon, Stevie. Tell me how good your wife’s mouth feels on your dick.”

Steve swallows what little spit is left in his mouth before trying to remember how to speak. “It f-feels so good,” he’s breathless, chest straining as he tries not to come. “Wet and t-tight, the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

Thor grunts deep in his chest, as if he’s restraining himself. “Keeping going – and tell me when you’re about to cum.”

Steve moans when he hits the back of your throat, both hands now tangled in your hair. “F-feels so good, like she’s sucking the life out of me through my fucking dick- Oh fuck!”

You’re deep throating him now, breathing through your nose as you gag.

“T-Thor,” he moans, voice strained. “I-I think I’m-“

“Stop,” the man at the end of the bed commands as he continues fucking his fingers in and out of you. Reluctantly, you do as you’re told, ceasing all actions and giving Steve the most pitiful look you can muster.

“C’mere pretty girl,” Thor murmurs, leaving one last kiss at the most sensitive part of you. “It’s time for me to fuck you.”

You and Steve both moan deeply as he lifts himself to his feet and aligns himself with your center – hardened cock bobbing against his stomach. The sight is enough to make your center tighten, skin on fire as you wait for him to gift you reprieve.

“Such a perfect little pussy,” Thor mumbles to no one but himself, grinning wide as he enters you.

Little words are exchanged after that, Thor focusing on the feeling of your cunt instead of talking.

“Oh Thor-“ you moan, pulling away from Steve to throw your head back once more. “Oh shit holy-“

Thor just laughs, leaning down so he can kiss you. He places one hand next to your head for balance, the other moving to jerk Steve’s cock for you. His whole body works like a perfectly build machine, hips and hand working in tandem to get all three of you off. His movements are languid and purposeful, as if each muscle contraction and release was planned long, long ago in some expert fashion.

As Steve moans once again that he’s close, you remember what Thor had told you the day previous – that he had done this for other people attempting to build their families. In an instant, you were struck with the fear that this was somehow mechanical for him, something he was doing out of some sense of duty with half his brain focused on what he was going to have for dinner or what fruit was in season – something mundane and minutely distracting so he could phone it in and take the credit when the pregnancy test came back positive.  

Thor notices you’re drifting away, grabs you with one hand and coaxes your eyes to meet his. “Don’t worry about anything, baby,” he tells you, voice low in his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

It’s comforting – you can’t describe why, don’t even understand why; but even if you could, Steve’s begging cuts your train of thought short.

“Fuck please,” his voice is high and desperate, anything left of his precious Captain America façade torn to shreds by the possibility of denial. “Please let me come!”

Thor just shakes his head and smiles, putting him through the same torture as he did before but continuing fucking you – ignoring Steve’s cries as he rubs at your clit.

“Ignore him, baby,” he murmurs to you, “C’mon, focus on how good it’s gonna feel when I make you come.”

That’s all it takes for you to lose yourself, to throw your head back and buck your hips up and scream as loud as your exhausted lung will allow. At the last second before you reach your peak Thor moves away from you to grab the back of Steve’s head, pulling the man into a deep kiss.

“Fuck,” Thor groans against Steve’s lips. “Fuck you’re both so gorgeous I’m, fuck, I’m gonna-“

Thor releases himself inside of you with a deafening shout, moaning into Steve’s mouth as his come spills out of you. You’re speechless, watching them kiss above you while you pant.

For a moment there’s silence – the thick scent of sex and the wet sounds of their mouths and your pussy being the only things that fill the air. The only thing that cuts through it is Thor’s gruff voice instructing Steve to take his place between your legs.

The shuffling is awkward but gives you a minute to breathe, the clouds in your brain clearing with a few seconds of being left alone. Unlike Steve, Thor lays next to you on his side, one hand framing your jaw as he kisses you deeply.

Steve takes a moment to admire Thor’s cum dripping out of your pussy, resisting the urge to kneel down and lay his tongue there and drink it all down.

He swallows what little spit is left in his mouth as he enters you, body trembling as his eyes roll to the back of his head. The feeling of your pussy – though familiar – is sublime; mixed with the feeling of Thor’s cum inside of you makes him want to cry from the overwhelming pleasure.

He doesn’t, though, he somehow gets his brain and cock to reconnect so that he can fuck you despite his entire body screaming. You’re sensitive – if Steve couldn’t read your body language, your screaming moans and eyes screwed shut would tell him. It’s a precious thing to see you in such a feral state, to see you fucked out and desperate and begging to be pushed over the cliff again and again and again. You’re normally a very professional woman – always put together and well-spoken and knowledgeable in any subject necessary.  To see you incoherent, lost to the pleasure – it’s something special Steve is determined to remember for the rest of his days.

“Such a good boy,” Thor tells him when he notices Steve’s concentration fading. “You fuck your wife so well for me,” he turns to you, leaving a kiss at the corner of your panting mouth. “Doesn’t your husband fuck you so good?”

“Y-yes,” you reply after you take a second to process what he’s asking of you. “Steve’s so good at fucking a baby into me, makes me feel so good I, oh!”

Something in Steve snaps as he listens to Thor, elicits something primal that makes him dig his fingers into the pit of your pushed-up knees as he pounds into you without mercy.

“Gonna-“ Steve moans. “Gonna fuck our baby into you, gonna make sure everyone knows how good I fuck you, fuck!”

Thor just smiles all big and toothy, looking between your face and Steve’s. Just as confident as before, he trails the same hand as before between your breasts and down your stomach, rubbing at your sensitive nub once more.

“You can do it, baby,” he whispers to you, coaxing another orgasm out of you with skilled fingers. “You’re so beautiful, I want to watch you come again. You can do that, right? You can come again for me?”

You shake your head, too overwhelmed to form coherent sentences. “I, I- “

“Shh,” he trails his thumb – still soaked with your slick and his precum – “It’s okay, my little dove. You can do it once more for me and Steve. C’mon, you can do it with him, right?”

You don’t speak, don’t move, don’t do anything – too focused on the feeling of Thor next to you and Steve on top of you and Thor rubbing at your clit and Steve fucking your pussy and the warmed sheets between your fingers and the sweat pooling between your breasts and-

“Fuck!” Steve’s screams mirror your own internal monologue. “Fuck I’m-“

Thor uses the thumb that was just under your lip to grab Steve’s jaw, forcing their eyes to meet just as he had done many times before. “Come for me.”

You and Steve’s orgasms come at the same time, the both of you twitching as you fall slowly, deliriously, from the shared delicious high.

When the French coined folie a duex, you’d always assumed it was about some madness that happened to manifest in two people. But what is defined as “madness?” Could it be the sweet satisfaction that flows through each of your veins like gold? Could it be the vacant contentment behind Steve’s eyes? Could it be the vacant content behind yours?

Somehow, Thor maneuvers the two of you so that all three of you can lay there, out of breath and sweaty all over as each of you stares at separate spots on the ceiling.

You’re the one to break the silence, stuck between the two men in the center of the large bed. “Do you think it worked?”

Steve turns towards you, leaning on one arm while the other spreads itself over your stomach. “I think so.”

Thor turns over next, mirroring Steve’s position. Free hand, though, goes to cup your face, pulling you in for a quick peck on the lips before guiding you to Steve for a much deeper kiss.

“I think so, too,” the large man says eventually, watching as you and Steve remain locked together. He doesn’t think either of you can hear him, but he smiles at the softness on both of your faces nonetheless.

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 14

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 3494

Warnings:  Pregnancy, Smut (Bisexual orgy, oral sex, vaginal sex, fingering, hand jobs, light d/s, rough sex, come play)

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 14: Steve’s Game

Things were relaxed for a few weeks.  Natasha and Wanda’s morning sickness had all but ended by the last ultrasound, so it was just me struggling in the morning and aside from the usual work things were stress-free.  The major thing going on was the twins were about to start preschool and everyone was this mix of excited and panicked about it.  Each of us a different blend of each.

We also couldn’t quite decide who of us should take them and pick them up on their first day.  We would all agree to everyone going because we were all their parents and people should know that.  Then someone would start worrying about them being teased or bullied about it and so we’d agree that it would just be the same two or four of us doing the pickups and drop-offs.  Or it would be some in-between to that, five for drop off, five for pick up.  Which of us should go would change when it wasn’t all of us at once.  Sometimes we’d think it would be best if it was the biological parents because then it would be easier for people to accept.  Other times we thought it best if it wasn't because they were our kids and biology didn't matter.  We thought Steve should be there because he was the one we all turned to for the big decision making.  Then we thought he absolutely shouldn't because of the attention he’d attract.  Natasha was adamant that she go so she could cloak them on drop off and pick up.

Eventually, we decided that the first day was important.  There were teachers to meet and while the class might be full with all ten of us walking around in it, they'd have to deal with it because we ten people were those two kids' parents and this was an important first for them.  None of us wanted to miss it.

“Alright, my little ones,” Natasha said. It was the night before their first day of preschool and we’d been playing Candy Land with them in teams as we all sat by the large window that looked out over midtown.  It was getting late for the kids and they were going to have a big day tomorrow.  “You both start school tomorrow, so you need to go and get ready for bed.  Who do you want to give you your bath?”

They looked at each other and scrunched up their noses.  “Ummm… Daj?”  Pietro said.

“Yeah, Daj,” Riley agreed.  “You do da bubbews, Daj?”

Wanda laughed softly.  “Yeah, I can do the bubbles.”

“And who should read you your stories?”  Natasha asked.

“Umm…” Pietro said again, looking at Riley.  “I wand… daddy Bwuce.”

“How about, daddy Steeb?”  Riley suggested.

Pietro whined and stuck out his bottom lip.  “Daddy Steeb don do da voices.”

“Damn, Daddy Steve,” Tony teased. “What kind of second rate act are you running?”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve laughed.  “I’ll try harder from now on.”

“What if I read one and then Daddy Steve reads one?”  Bruce suggested.  “As a special treat?”

“Yeah!”  Pietro said, bouncing in his seat.

“Alright then, come on monsters,”  Wanda said, getting up.  “Let’s go have a bath.”

They chased after her and I started packing up the board game.

“Can’t believe they’re starting school,” Sam said.  “Gonna have to put bricks on their heads to stop them from growing.”

“Aww, no,” Clint said.  “It’s cool seeing them become little people.”

“And we shall have four new little ones soon enough,” Thor added.

“We’re going to be drowning in dirty diapers,” Bucky said.  “We’ll be thanking the universe they’re out of diapers.”

“I’m already thanking it for that,” Tony joked.

“How are you doing there, mama bear,” Sam asked, leaning down and rubbing my back as he kissing the side of my neck.

“I’m alright. Nervous but excited,” I said, reaching behind me and running my fingers down the back of his neck.  “I’m gonna get some chocolate.”

He sat back with a chuckle. “It’s always sugar and carbs with you, huh?”

“I’m growing a human, I’m allowed,” I said getting up.  I went and put away the board game and headed into the kitchen.  It was sparkling clean and empty when I went in thanks to our private cook, and I beelined straight to the pantry looking for something sweet.  I found a bag of peanut m&ms and when I brought them back out I was greeted by Steve with his arms folded over his chest and leaning in the doorway.

“Uh oh,” I said, pouring myself a handful of the colorful candy.  “Dad’s here.  Where did I do?”

“El,” he said sternly.

“What?  What’s wrong?”  I asked.

“I’m just worried about you, sweetheart,” he said coming over and putting his hands on my hips.  “You seem a little tired and distant.”

I looked up into his eyes and held a red m&m to his lips.  He opened his mouth, letting me drop the candy in, and nipped at my finger.  “I’m fine,” I assured him.  “I am tired.  But the morning sickness has been kicking my ass.  And the stress about tomorrow isn’t helping with it.”

“Why are you so stressed out?”  He asked.

I shook my head.  “We’ve been sheltering them so much.  They don’t have a lot of experience with other kids and none their age.  I worry they won’t know how to deal with being with a bunch of strangers.  And then on top of that coming from us.  Ten parents.  Nine of them are probably the most famous people on the planet.  There’s going to be kids there with Iron Man backpacks and Captain America t-shirts.  That’s a lot for two little kids to carry on their shoulders.  I’m just worried and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to relax enough to sleep properly.”

“Did you change your mind?”  Steve asked.  “Do you want to try homeschooling instead?  We do have some of the smartest minds on the planet available.”

I shook my head.  “I know.  I’m not worried about them not being educated.  They’re going to be fine when it comes to that.  I’m worried about them not having friends or being able to socialize with their peers.  I know what we have is good.  They are loved and doted on.  But they need to experience the real world too.”

“Tell you what,” Steve said, pulling my hips flush to his.  “If they don’t like it, or it’s not working for whatever reason, we pull them out.  Find a homeschooling group that likes the idea of having big field-trips funded for them and that’s where they can get their social from. So either way, they’ll get the balance.”

I smiled and wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his chest.  “You’re so smart.”

“Thank you,” Steve said and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“Why couldn’t my parents be more like you?” I asked.

He rubbed my back and pulled back, looking into my eyes.  “We’ll make sure all our kids get the childhoods we wished we could have had.  Okay?”

I nodded and he leaned down and kissed me deeply.  My hand went to his jaw and his slid down to my thighs and he lifted me, placing me on the kitchen cabinet.  His lips traveled along my jaw and he sucked softly just below my ear.  “How about you go up and take a shower, get nice and clean.  Then after I’ve read to the kids I can get you nice and dirty again.”

“Mm… Steve, your dirty talk is getting so good,” I teased and he spanked my thigh.

“Go on,” he said, letting me down off the counter.  “You can decide if you’ve been bad or good.”

I started laughing and he raised an eyebrow at me.  “Sorry,” I said, patting his ass.  “You made me think of Santa.”

Steve wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me against him.  “You do not make it easy sometimes.”

“I know,” I said, bumping him with my shoulder.  “I’m a very bad girl.”

He spanked my ass again and I laughed as I headed upstairs, eating the m&ms.  I poked my head into the bathroom on my way down to the master bedroom.

“Mommy!”  Riley said, splashing the water when I came in.  Pink bubbles were floating around their heads as Wanda wriggled her fingers, creating them from nothing, and both the kids had bubbles on their heads and chins.

“Hey, kiddos.  You having fun?”  I asked.

“Yeah, mommy,” Pietro said.  “Daj maded de bubbews.”

“I can see,” I said, sitting down on the edge of the tub.  “Daj is so clever isn’t she?”

“Yeah!”  They said at once, bouncing in the tub.

“Well, I’m going to go to bed now, honey bunnies,” I said.  “So I’m going to say goodnight to you now.  I’ll see you both in the morning for school.”

“Otay, mommy,” Pietro said, standing up in the tub.  I smiled and gave him a kiss goodnight and then kissed Riley too.

“Sweet dreams, kiddos,” I said.

“Sweet dweams, mommy,” they both said together.

I got back up and Wanda took my hand.  “I’ll be down when I’m done with them,” she said.

“Okay, beautiful.  See you in a bit,” I said.

I went and took a shower, washing my hair, and taking the time to let the hot water relax my muscles.  When I was done I dried off and put on lotion before dressing in a sheer blue cami and thong.

Wanda was undressing when I came into the bedroom from the wardrobe and she smiled at me.

“They in bed?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, tossing her skirt into the laundry hamper.  “Bruce and Steve are in with them now.”

“Steve’s going to meet me in here,” I said, climbing into the swing bed.

She smirked and climbed up onto the mattress and began to crawl over to me.  She was still dressed in her matching black lace panties and bra and knee-high black socks.  The swell of her stomach doing nothing at all to detract from how sexy she was.  “He won’t be the only one.”

She brought her lips to mine, and we kissed slowly and passionately, our lips caressing against each other and our tongues dancing together.  I tangled my legs with hers and my stomach pressed against her baby bump.  There was no frantic rush to proceed.  We were just killing time, kissing, and touching each other.

My cunt flooded.  My arousal soaked through my panties and smeared on her bare thigh.  The door opened and I looked up, expecting to see Steve but finding Clint instead.

“Well, well,” he teased, closing the door behind him.  “What do we have here?”

“Nothing much,” I hummed, running my fingers up Wanda’s side.  “Just killing time.

“Well, I was gonna have a shower,” Clint said, taking off his shirt as he sauntered over to the bed.  “But this looks like much more fun.”

He unfastened his pants and pushed them down, tripping as he tried to step out of the legs and landing sprawled on the mattress and making the bed rock back-and-forth wildly.

Wanda and I started laughing.  “Nice one, Clint,” I teased.

“Hush,” he said as he crawled up behind me.  He leaned over me and began to kiss Wanda as he rutted slowly against my ass and massaged my sensitive breasts.  His cock started hardening against my ass and I moaned loudly and rocked my hips between them.

The door opened again and this time when I looked up there were three people silhouetted in the doorway.  Steve was standing at the front of Bucky and Sam with his arms folded over his chest.  The three men surveyed us, I could see Sam smirking as Bucky shifted on his feet.

“Elise,” Steve scolded.  “I don’t remember saying you could start without me.”

I sat up quickly and pulled my legs up against me.  Wanda and Clint sat up too.  Clint bouncing with excitement while Wanda tilted her head and looked at Steve with an expression telling me they were having a silent conversation.  I assumed it was about what was about to happen.  I was excited too.  Wanda wasn’t super into any level of BDSM, but she did seem to have fun being on the side of it while other people were doing something mild.  It was almost like she liked the roleplaying aspect but not the physical side.  Bucky on the other hand I’d never known to participate at all in this kind of thing.  It was going to be fun to see what Steve had in his head that had made him want to bring both Sam and Bucky along with him.

“We’re playing a Steve game?  I didn’t know we were playing a Steve game,” Clint said excitedly.

Wanda gave a little nod and Steve stepped into the room properly.  He walked around the side of the bed and turned the levers so the bed would be held firmly in place.  Sam closed the door behind them as Steve sat on the edge of the bed.  Wanda quickly moved so she was sitting in Steve’s lap.  “So it seems to me,” Steve said as he unhooked Wanda’s bra.  “We have one very good girl and one very bad girl and they both need a seeing to.”

Wanda giggled and tossed her bra aside as Steve leaned down and sucked on her breast.  Bucky and Sam began to undress as they watched on as Wanda moaned and let her head fall back and her hands tangle in Steve’s hair.  My eyes kept flicking from Steve and Wanda to Bucky and Sam as I sat buzzing with anticipation.  Steve pulled back and gently massaged Wanda’s breasts.  “There’s four of us though, so I think we should be able to take care of them,” he guided Wanda to her feet and pulled her panties down.  “Who’d like to start with our very good girl?”

“Sounds like fun,” Bucky said, stepping forward as he stroked his cock.  “What do you say, Wan?  You gonna be good for me?”

“I’d like that, Bucky,” she said, guiding him back onto the bed and straddling his waist.

Steve grabbed my ankle and dragged me over to him.  I squealed and he pulled me up into his lap.  “Our bad girl is going to need a firmer hand I think,” Steve said and tore my camisole straight down the front.  I squeaked and he wrapped his arm around me and began to palm my cunt.  “She’s going to need to be shown who’s in charge.  Who’s up for that?”

Sam stepped up.  “I think I’m up for that,” Sam teased, pumping his cock.  “If you know what I mean.”

“Oh my god,” Clint cackled.  “That was the perviest dad joke ever!”

Steve pushed me to my feet and ripped my thong at the waistband, so both it and my cami fell to the floor.  Sam stepped close and grabbed my wrist, spinning me around so my back was pressed against his chest.  His finger slipped between my folds and he rubbed my clit roughly as he nipped at the shell of your ear.  “You’re already so wet and ready for my cock, princess,” he whispered against my ear.  “How about you bend over the bed for me, princess?”

“How about you make me?” I taunted, grinding my ass back against his dick.

Sam shoved me forward so I was bent over the bed facing Wanda and Bucky, and spanked my ass hard.  I gasped and wriggled a little on my feet.

“What are we doing?”  Clint asked, moving over to Steve.

Steve pulled him close and began to palm Clint’s cock.  “We’re going to be patient, enjoy the show and when Sam and Bucky are done we’ll have our turn.”

I watched as Wanda slowly rolled her hips as she rode Bucky.  He leaned up pulling one of her nipples into his mouth and making her mewl and throw her head back.  While I watched, Sam lined himself up with my entrance and thrust hard in.  It pushed me forward on the mattress and made the bed sway slightly even though it had been tethered down.  “Fuck, Sam,” I moaned loudly.

He spanked my ass and wrapped his hand in my hair.  “None of that talk,” he growled.

“Fuck you,” I mewled.

He spanked me again and began to just rail into me.  He pulled my hair, yanking my head back while at the same time he pressed down in the middle of my back.  “No, princess,” Sam said.  “It’s you that is going to get fucked.”

Clint started laughing again.  “Sam!  Seriously!  You can’t do dad jokes during sex.”

I started laughing and Sam spanked me hard again, making me yelp and jerk under him.  “Do something about the mouthy bird will you, Cap?”

Steve grabbed Clint’s hair and whispered into Clint’s ear.  “Yes, sir,” Clint mewled, letting Steve hold him with his head yanked back.

I turned my focus to Wanda.  She was panting heavily and Bucky was fucking up into her as he suckled on her breast.  I could see how close she was and there was something about seeing him much more tame and gentle sex happening in front of me made the way Sam was pounding into feel even more intense.  I started moaning and trying to hold myself up.  Sam wrapped his arm around my waist and rubbed my clit hard as he leaned right over me, so he was pressed down on me.  “You wanna come, princess?”

“Yes, please, Sam,” I begged.  “Please.”

He pinched my clit and picked up his pace and I came, screaming out.  Sam groaned, grabbing my hips and thrusting hard into me as his orgasm hit and he emptied inside me.

Our orgasms seemed to drag Wanda over and she threw her head back and moaned loudly as it shuddered through her.  “Alright, Clint,” Steve said, patting his thigh.  “Your turn with Wanda.”

“Hey, wait a second.  I’m not done yet,” Bucky complained.

“You’re gonna help me with El,” Steve said moving over to me as Sam slipped from within me.  He picked me up and flipped me over, putting me back on the bed so my head was hanging over the edge.  Wanda rolled off Bucky, onto her back and Clint crawled up between her legs, kissing the insides of her thighs.

Steve pushed my knees up and tapped the head of his cock on my clit as Bucky teased my lips with his cock.  I tilted my head back, opening my throat up and letting Bucky push his cock into my mouth as Steve thrust into my cunt.  Bucky went slow but deep, testing my limit and blocking my airway as he pushed his cock down my throat.  His cock was soaked in Wanda’s juices and I hungrily sucked her tart fluids from him.  Steve on the other was relentless.  He pounded into me, pushing me further down onto Bucky’s cock with each thrust.  I went to grab Bucky’s hips, but Steve grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the mattress.  I was vaguely aware of Clint and Wanda beside us, but only in an abstract way.  All my focus was on Steve and Bucky and my impending orgasm.  Sam began to rub my clit and an orgasm crashed down on my immediately, I mewled into Bucky’s cock as I shuddered around Steve, but neither man eased up, they both just kept fucking me even harder than before.  Steve guided one of my hands up and it touched on Sam’s cock.  I started to jerk him off.  The men would kiss and whisper things to each other above me but what they were saying, I couldn’t tell.

Another orgasm hit and then a third.  I could barely hold myself together.  Wanda had moved up close to me and when a fourth hit both Bucky and Steve pulled out at once.  I choked and arched my back, my whole body quaking with my orgasm.  Wanda put her head on my shoulder and cupped my jaw, pulling me into a kiss, and around me, Steve, Bucky, and Sam jerked their cocks.  As Wanda and I kissed, Steve, Bucky, and Sam came, painting the two of us in hot white ropes.

“Fuck,” Clint groaned and reached over, and ran his fingers through the mess.  “You both look so fucking hot.”

“And you are such a dirty bird,” Sam teased and spanked his ass.

“Alright, you two,” Steve said, scooping me up as Bucky picked up Wanda.  “Let’s get you cleaned off and get you into bed.  Big day tomorrow.”

I hummed and curled up in his arms not at all concerned about sleep at all.

// NEXT

[babybatscreationsv2]

A King on a Leash ch3

Marvel | Starker

Tony Stark is a powerful man with a beautiful husband and a loyal crime  family, but it looks like he didn't keep his husband on a short enough  leash. After turning Peter lose on a Cuban gang leader, Peter's life is  in danger. The real trouble is that Tony now realizes that Peter is the  only thing in this world that he cares about and he never meant for that  to happen.  

Rating: Explicit

Full Fic

A Doll on a String

Warnings under the cut*

Warnings this chapter: mentions of violence and murder

Tony at sat at the dining table and stared at the far wall caught between a daydream and a serious self-flogging. He was the fucking Boss of a motherfucking crime family and here he was pouting and daydreaming about his husband. Peter had only been gone a few hours. He'd given him a kiss and then ran off to the theater for practice. Maybe he should start going to Peter's meetings. No... no Peter deserved the time and the privacy with his friends.

Tony took a deep breath and he caught scent of Peter's skin still clinging to him. He had scratches on his back from his manicured nails. Tony could hear the echoes of his cries as he'd clung to him, near sobbing in pain and pleasure. Tony licked his lips. Fuck, the way his angel had slaughtered that whole boat for his sake. God, he was hard.

He could call him and Peter would come running home. He could grab him, strip him down, lick every inch of his skin.

He couldn't do that though. They had the trust that they did because neither of them pulled stupid shit like that. He couldn't interrupt something important because he was needy and Peter's dancing was important to him.

Tony groaned. He slapped his own face. "Get it together, Stark. There's work to do."

He pulled himself up from his chair and went to take a shower. He indulged himself a little more, thinking about Peter waiting for him in a lounge chair, splattered with their enemy's blood. He got himself off then he washed away Peter's scent from his skin. No more distractions.

Dressed in his suit, all black to balance Peter's taste for pure while, he finally went to take care of business.

He drove himself, followed loosely by a guard. They made their way into the city and down to the warehouse. Tony stepped out of the car and smoothed the lapels of his suit. He let the guard enter first to check the room before he stepped inside. The day's product was being packaged. There were the gold bars that Peter had recovered, whatever drugs Bucky was peddling, not a lot going out of the warehouse today, but that wasn't really where the money was at anyway. The money was in the casinos, Sam Wilson's jewelry shop, Steve's cafe. Legitimate businesses, until you went into the back. The casinos were rigged, Sam sold illegal and precious jewels, and Steve had his girls. That was the funny thing about Steve. He was so straight laced and caring, but he made his money in prostitutes. He treated them well though. Well enough that even Natasha never bothered him about it.

Tony strode his way into the back, ignoring the greetings of the associates on the floor. He preferred them to fear him. If they thought he was friendly, then they would be inclined to betray him. They would expect mercy where they would find none.

Rhodey was waiting for him outside the office.

"You gotta put that boy on a leash, Tony," he said, not for the first time.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Who did he kill now?" He pushed open the door and Rhodey followed him inside.

"I'm talking about Suarez."

Tony turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "That second rate gang banger?"

Rhodey closed the door and stepped further into the room. "His men are going wild trying to track Peter down. They're not stupid. They know Peter was on that boat, they know he was an outsider, and they know that their boss never came home."

"So they haven't found his body yet?" Tony sat at his desk and picked up his book. Yinsen must have been too busy to stick around this morning. Sometimes he just dropped it off.

"They will. They have divers going down there this afternoon. From the story that's circulating the boys, it's gonna be pretty damn obvious what happened."

Tony asked, pointedly ignoring him. "Did Fisk get his diamonds back?"

Rhodey stared.

Tony sighed. "What's the big deal? They don't even know Peter's last name and there's a million Peters in New York. They'll never find him. They won't come after us. And if they do, I'm sure it'll be no big deal to sweep them off the board."

"You don't get it, Tony. Your boy goes and fucks with powerful people and then we all get fucked. When they find out who did it and then come looking for trouble we're gonna lose good people. I know you don't give a damn about our soldiers, but what happens when it's one of your Capos? The people you do give a shit about? What the fuck kind of family doesn't take care of their own?"

"You're going too fucking far, Rhodes," Tony snapped. He ground his teeth. He didn't want to fight with Rhodey, not him. He was the only one that ever made sense. Only now he wasn't.

"You stay the fuck out of my husband's business. Capiche?"

Rhodey took a step back. "Right. Got it?"

"Now, did Fisk get his diamonds?"

"Yeah, he got the fucking diamonds. Sent a fucking convoy to deliver them late last night. Didn't figure he'd wanna wait until morning."

"That's a good call. He'll appreciate that."

Rhodey sighed. "Why are you trying to win his favor anyway? He's a piece of shit. Word is he's still trafficking. Kids even."

Tony hardened himself, refused to hear the truth in it, refused to let it bother him. "I need someone to back me up at the meeting this weekend."

"What's going on?"

"Toomes keeps prodding at the whole Octavius bullshit."

"What do you mean?"

"He thinks Peter should pay for killing him, despite what happened."

Rhodey gave him a very 'I told you so look'.

"What? I'm supposed to throw him to the wolves? If it hadn't been him, it would have been you and you I can't protect."

"I'm not convinced you would try."

Tony ignored that too. He had enough to deal with. "He keeps trying to cast doubts on. Make him seem disloyal. I'm inclined to cut out his tongue for how many times he's put Peter's name in his mouth."

"You can't keep killing Bosses, Tony."

"I know that. But Toomes needs to be put in his place. He's getting too bold. Having Fisk on my side helps. Everyone respects him, or fears him at least."

Rhodey didn't say what Tony knew he was thinking. 'They used to respect you.' Maybe he did need to reign Peter in a little. At least make sure he doesn't murder anymore gang leaders. Let him keep pruning the weeds among the associates. Profits had been up since Peter joined the family. Plus it made his angel happy. It gave him a way to feel like he was protecting Tony without being in harm's way. Which meant that it was exactly what he needed to be doing. And he couldn't say he didn't like watching his baby go to town on some snitch... He had to stop thinking about Peter if he was going to get the books done.

Rhodey left him alone, though he left with a grim expression on his face. Tony cleared his mind and returned to his work.

Yinsen kept detailed records of every penny that came and went. He kept up with what each Capo was doing every day and made sure that proper records were kept of money and of behavior. Any suspicious activity from any Capo or soldier was reported to Tony twice per week. Unless of course, it were more serious. That's what the book was for. Yinsen insisted on keep paper records only. Things that could be destroyed at a moment's notice and could not be simply hacked into for information. It was occasionally inconvenient, but Tony understood his reasoning. Besides, Yinsen was one of the only people Tony had genuine trust for. After all, he'd been tortured near to death for Tony's sake. That had been Obediah's doing.

The books looked fairly clean. Money was flowing exactly as it should, but Yinsen had caught wind of a solider belonging to Steve who was misbehaving. Steve had already put him in check once. That meant it was Tony's turn and if Tony couldn't get him to fall in line, then Tony would let Peter have him.

It was a good system. One that Rhodey had no business questioning. He could be so soft sometimes.

Tony tucked the book away in his safe and stepped out of the office. His guards followed behind. They drove on down the road to park in the back of Steve's cafe 'Patriot Brew'. The name drew a handful of white supremacists who Steve was quick to take out back and deal with. The thing that amused Tony was that he hadn't picked the name as a sort of trap for domestic terrorists, he was just the sort who genuinely believed in his country. If Tony admired anything about the states, it was how easy it was for organized crime to thrive, but he didn't give a fuck about patriotism.

He knocked on the backdoor and was let in after a moment. He allowed one of his guards to enter first. Steve was in the kitchen, pulling cookies out of the oven. Tony leaned against counter and plucked up a cookie that was already cooled.

"Nice mitts, soldier boy." Tony pulled a piece off of his cookie and chewed it.

Steve set down his tray and each of his star-spangled oven mitts. "Do we really have to do it like this? Mark's a good guy?"

"You couldn't get him in line so now I have to," Tony said with a mouthful of cookie.

His shoulders sagged. "Would it really be so bad if he opened his own business?"

"Do I really have to answer that?" Tony took another bite of his cookie. "We both know he's not looking to open a bakery. And with him trying to go behind your back like that? How did you punish him anyway? Make him mop the floors?"

Steve stared. It was a look that conveyed both 'I'm not going to answer that' and 'You wouldn't like the answer' yet with Steve these things were not necessarily mutually inclusive.

"If a soldier wants to open a business you make him lick your boots first and then cut you thirty percent. Keep being soft on your boys and you'll wake up with a knife in your back."

"I encourage my people to be successful and on their own terms."

"They ask permission and they pay their dues. We have a system for a reason. What happens when your boy opens up a shop across the street? Who's gonna come here when there's something hot and new nearby? We don't create competition within the family. He could have had a place where he could have gotten all ambitious, but he lied and he went behind your back. He's lucky to be getting another chance."

Steve folded his arms across his chest. "If Peter had it his way, he wouldn't get another chance."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Why is everyone so soft today? We're the fucking mob, get used to it. Now where's your boy? Mark, was it?"

Steven sighed. "Make it clear I'm not allowing him to have his own girls, I don't trust anyone else with that."

"Why couldn't you tell him yourself, Rogers? Anyone else would have had this handled."

"So, I'm soft on my guys, alright? Does that make you happy? They're all the family I have."

"Family," Tony grumbled. "We're all a family. And sometimes moms and dads have to discipline the children."

"And who disciplines us?"

"God?" Tony shrugged. He walked past the man. "Box up some cookies for Peter. He likes the blue sprinkles."

He heard Steve huff when he left the room. If he didn't know how much his men liked Peter, he would worry about the way they talked. Maybe they thought he was a little wild, but they would let themselves get caught holding the knife to protect him. If he thought otherwise, he would kill every last one of them.

[poormeowmeowcollector]

The perfect Christmas Tree

Relationship: Loki/short!reader

Summary: You want to make the Christmas season something more livid within the tower, but you can't find a good tree. Until Loki offers his help.

Notes: part of the 'Tis The Season Challenge of @the-emo-asgardian and a twisted form of 10. Finding the perfect Christmas tree. But, in my defense, it didn't say who is the perfect Christmas tree ans it's 3am.

Read On AO3

You always loved Christmas. It is the time of the year when your family is a little less annoying and you are a bit more tolerant of listening to "All I Want For Christmas Is You” (as long as it's the My Chemical Romance version) and the food is just a huge plus.

The Avengers don't have the best memories around Christmas—maybe with the exception of Sam, Steve and Bucky—and you can't blame them. Hell, Thor, Loki and Wanda aren't even Christians, but Thor enjoys the food and Loki just goes around saying that this is a celebration stolen from pagans and then capitalism stole it from Christians. And he does celebrate Yule but you caught him at 4am raiding the cookies Wanda had baked for Hanukkah.

And, since Christmas is the happiest season for winter, you decided to make the perfect Christmas celebration the tower has ever seen. And you are so close to it. There are cookies and movies and songs and decorations and Wanda and Thor helped you include Hanukkah and Yule to the party—since Loki, the actual witch, is too busy with seasonal depression to help—but something is missing.

And that something is the damned tree.

You tried to find the best tree but it was pointless. Both Thor and Loki are extremely sensitive to earthly plants, so an actual tree is out of the list, and all the fake ones look too fake. And you want something special for the tree, but you don't know what.

So, you are now just sitting in the living room, staring at the empty corner with the decorations from the three religions beside you and trying to think of what to do.

"Still thinking about that tree, huh?" Loki's voice interrupts the silence. You hide a flinch and turn to face him with a smile. He smiles back, walking closer and leaving the hot cup of chocolate on the table.

"That obvious…" You sigh. He has seen better days, that's sure. The dark circles from the attack have returned, making his pale green eyes glow, his hair looks like a mess and he's in some dark green Æsir pyjamas. But he's still pretty.

Or your crush is still going strong.

"Why don't you just give up. This thing won't work and you know it," He asks and you frown, staring at him as you search for an answer.

He turns away to take a sip of his chocolate, and your eyes are still on him. On his hair. They look like they used to during the attack, like a sinister Christmas tree.

He sees you smiling like you just lost your mind as your brain clicks everything together.

"Stand up," You demand, and he gives you the raised eyebrow.

"What?"

"Please, stand up, I have an idea!" You repeat. He still doesn't get it but obeys.

"Great. Now go to that corner," You instruct as you smile. Loki gives you a look but does what you say. And you grab the green garland and tangle his body with it, careful not to tie his hands.

"What are you doing?" He asks, way too clearly than needed. He always does that when he's angry.

"You'll be the Christmas tree!" You smile. And he glares at you, not believing what you say.

"Forget it," He snaps and tries to walk away but you put a hand on his chest.

"Please, it'll be fun. For me, please…" You beg, deploying the puppy eyes. For the last months on the team, Loki had suggested a lot of crazy things and you will not make him take your turn to madness. He sighs and closes his eyes.

"I will regret it but… fine," He hums, walking back to his place as you pass the red garland around him.

"You will look so pretty!" You exhale, grinning like a sunbeam.

"I haven't slept for a week, haven't showered in three days and I'm running lower on will to live than your laptop on battery. How will I be pretty?" He disagrees, and you suppress a frown. You always hate it when he doesn't feel good, he doesn't deserve it.

"Don't you trust me?" You ask, blinking at him. He sighs, again.

"I do, dear…" He tries to make a small smile, but he looks like he doesn't remember how.

"Then, trust me when I say that you will look perfect," You respond, making his smile widen.

He stands still as you tangle him with the lights. You are too focused on not risking him getting electrocuted to speak and he stays silent as well. But when you are done with this, he says one word "cocoa,". You nod and grab the cup from the table, standing in your tiptoes as you place it on his lips and let him sip—he can't move his hands without ruining something.

"Thank you, dear," He smiles and allows you to place the cup back before you can start placing the balls and decorations you made with Thor and Wanda, or tangle the little ropes with the garlands and lights in order to sit there.

And then, you hang two pieces in his ears, glad to find out that they sit perfectly and that Loki doesn't give you the murder glare.

"But why are you so eager to make this thing?" He asks, watching as you try to tangle a homemade star of David on his shoulder.

"Because this is a season when we can just have something together and be less miserable," You respond without a second thought. Loki makes a low sound from the back of his throat.

"Why have you decided to hate it so much?" You ask, staring at him.

"It doesn't feel right," He mutters, almost ashamed of his answer. You tilt your head, asking for elaboration. "It's all about family and being with people you love and all those things and… I haven't lived it… It's like it's mocking me, you know," He looks away, the shame getting stronger. It was about Asgard, like always…

You cup his hand, he was inhumanly cold as always, searching for his eyes. "That's why I'm making this thing. You're not the only one with bad or no memories about this season, and you deserve some happy memories…" You speak softly, hoping you don't make things worse.

He turns back to you, his eyes glowing with tears he tries to hold and a slight smile on his lips. He mouths a thank you, not having the voice to speak it up. And you reply with a smile, squeezing his hand before you release it, a small whine echoing.

"I just have to place the star and you're ready," You announce, digging into the bag for the golden star. You laugh as you take it out and stand on your tiptoes to reach Loki's head.

"Do you want me to duck?" He asks, seeing your struggle. To be fair, you are not exactly gifted with inches and he is the third tallest avenger, after Thor and Steve.

"No, I'm fine. I just gotta…" You sigh between your teeth, trying to reach him.

A green light appears beneath you and lifts you up several inches, reversing the high deference. "Thank you, sweetie," You smile. He tries to hide a blush.

Damn, he looks so cute from up here!

You place the star and balance it on his head, secretly thanking him for his good posture. You lower yourself to have eye contact. "Now you look like a pretty Christmas tree," You smile and kiss the tip of his nose.

His magical platform vanishes, and two glowing hands that tickle when they touch you bring you closer to him. At first, he just brushes his forehead to yours. But then, you pull him to a kiss.

He tastes so nice, like snow and mint and chocolate. And you can smell the aftershave in his face, feel the small grin before he kisses back, the magic hands holding you softer, closer.

"Alright, what's going on?" Tony asks, or yells, from the door. The magic hands vanish and you stare at him.

"I'm kissing our Christmas tree," You blink, as if this isn't the weirdest thing you ever said.

"I love it too…" You hum, bringing him close to a hug.

"Ok, you're high. Loki, let's suppose you are the one with a decent state of mind. Why are you covered in Christmas decoration?" Tony sighs. You can see Loki grinning, his cheeks flushed.

"Oh, I'm the Christmas tree," He answers, again, as if this isn't on his top ten of weirdest things he ever said. Tony groans.

"Why did I wake up today?" He asks himself, rubbing his eye bridge.

"And, can you call the others? We're about to light him up, people should watch." You ask, smiling at Tony. He sighs and nods, speaking to JARVIS as he settles on the sofa.

"Cocoa, my love?" Loki asks. You nod and grab the cup, bringing it to his lips and letting him take a long sip. When he's over, you place it back and steal a small kiss, tasting the chocolate again.

"You really know how to make a hot cocoa," You smile at him. He bites his lip and tries to hide his blushing.

And then, people start arriving. And they all stare at Loki like he's naked. Some ask what is happening and you inform them with a smile. When everyone is settled down, you plug in the lights and walk back to admire your work.

Loki grins and raises his hands like he's asking for a hug, watching as people start smiling at the sheer ridiculousness of the view. And he doesn't give a care.

Sam takes his phone out and snaps a shot, grinning. Everyone but Steve, Bucky and Thor mimic him, snickering echoing.

"You won't post something, right?" He asks, hiding his worry. Loki has been trying to fix his public image since he became an Avenger, and this is certainly not what he means by this.

"I promise nothing," Sam smiles.

Loki tries to walk to where Sam is, but the sound of plugs getting pulled and decorations breaking stops him.

"Don't post. It's private. We'll pick up the mess," You snap. Sam nods and leaves, everyone following his steps until you are alone with Loki again.

"Come on, lets get those things off you," You mutter and untie the decorations before you get the garlands and lights off him. As you put them back to the bag, he kneels down and makes all the pieces of broken balls and hammers disappear.

"You know…" Loki trails off, now sitting on the clean ground. You already know what he's about to say.

"This was ridiculous and embarrassing, I know. I'm sorry," You don't get the courage to stare at him. But he does let his hand cup yours, bringing you down to him.

"It was fun. You know, I love it when you let me be goofy and have fun… Not a lot of people did in the past," He smiles, brushing his cold fingers against your hand.

~~~

"You get used to it, actually," Loki hums, staring at the tree.

Well, the "tree" is a hologram of Loki yesterday, his hands raised and a self proud smile on his face.

You hum, shifting to get more comfortable in his shoulder. He smiles and turns to you.

"Well, you make a good tree," You shrug. He traces his fingers on your cheek, giving you another sweet kiss.

[sxveme-2]

strawberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

SEQUEL TO BLUEBERRY PANCAKES

DESCRIPTION: Lily Osborne and Bucky Barnes were never blessed with an easy relationship. Whether it be emotional trauma, or Lily's parents trying to be evil scientists. But they somehow made it work, after coming together once again after the birth of Lily's nephew. They were smooth sailing for a while. He proposed, they got engaged, but have yet to marry. While also juggling raising a teenager together as Hunter reaches the age of 16 now. All the while struggling with adjusting to their new lives in Long Island, balancing careers. Meanwhile, Lily struggles with the new found fame of being the fiancé of The White Wolf; and handling the tabloids critiques on her life and gossip columns digging up any information they can on her. While trying to maintain a low profile; and handle her life as it is. And becoming parents. Lily for the second time, while Bucky, well, this is his first attempt at a biological child. All the while a new threat from their past rises up once again, blind siding the family. Bringing forward old hatchets that had been buried, and putting their relationship at risk once more.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

STATUS: Unedited

NOTES: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Three: The One With Their Marriage

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2923

    “Don’t start this right now Lily,” Bucky sighed, running his hands down his face, “It’s been a long day.”

“Been a long two years,” she muttered, staring at the ring on her finger, fiddling with it, “You know in a month it’ll be two years since you proposed?”

“Yes I know,” he grunted, readjusting in the bed to face the blonde, “We’ve both been so busy.”

Sure, they had been busy. With both working full-time, raising Stella, and handling teenage mood swings from Hunter, there wasn’t a whole lot of time left in the day for them to plan a wedding. But it’s not like they had no time at all, it had been two years since Bucky had dropped down on one knee and asked Lily to marry him. Two years later, she went by his last name, mothered his child, and lived her life with him. But he was always the one to push the marriage portion of their relationship aside. He never wanted to talk about it or even consider planning something.

“Steve and Nat are busy,” Lily retorted, turning to look at the brunette as he readjusted the reading glasses on his face, “But they’re getting married next week, Bucky.”

Lily longed for the security of a marriage. Many people thought that because of her traumatic experience with being married in the past, she wouldn’t want to go through that again. But in reality, she wanted it more than ever with Bucky. She knew he loved her and vice versa, but having an official concrete answer is something she longed for. They’d already had a kid, she’d taken his last name, they had done everything that traditionally happens after marriage. But then again, their relationship was anything but traditional.

“Steve’s retired,” Bucky countered, dropping his book down onto the bed with a sigh, “Where is this coming from? I thought we’d agreed on this.”

“First of all, no, we didn’t agree on anything,” Lily chuckled, rolling her eyes, “You got frustrated and walked away. And I don’t know...the comments people make are just…”

Groaning, Bucky flopped back down onto his back, “You’re shitting me? That’s what’s causing this? God, Lily.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Lily scoffed back, looking at the man, “When all I see are rumours about why you won’t marry your child’s mother and your own damn fiance!”

One thing about Bucky and Lily’s relationship is the fact that it was something so human, that both of them were shocked by it most of the time. Neither had experienced much normalcy in their love lives throughout their time but brought it to each other at such a domestic level that it freaked them out. Specifically Bucky. He had always dreamed of something as simple and organic as what he had with Lily, but after becoming the Winter Soldier, he was never sure he’d be able to have it.

But the small arguments and squabbles between them reminded Bucky that he had achieved something great. He had beat his demons and found love with someone who didn’t see him as an Avenger, or ex HYDRA agent, but as Bucky. He wasn’t Steve Rogers’s best friend or Sam Wilson’s partner in crime. He was just Bucky. Lover, fiance, father. Whenever they visited his sister in Manhattan, he would always pull the man aside and tell him just how lucky he had been to score someone like Lily.

-----

“Hunter, why don’t we go see how the chicken’s doing in the kitchen while Auntie Rebecca talks with Bucky?” Lily whispered, leading the young boy out of the room with a knowing nod to her boyfriend’s sister.

Bucky sat just adjacent to his sister, sipping on a glass of water. He watched Lily walk out with Hunter, admiring the wait her hair moved gently across her back as she moved. Every day he saw her, he fell deeper in love with the blonde. She was everything Bucky longed for in life and so much more. From the moment she handed him his wallet in the cafe a year ago, he knew she was the one for him. Just the way her eyes looked at him. Through the facade and through the public’s interpretation of him.

“I’ve never seen that look on your face before,” Rebecca commented, crossing her legs and lowering her gaze at her brother, “It’s something I only ever see when you’re looking at Lily.”

“I can’t help it,” he whispered, voice trailing off as he admired her in the kitchen, watching as her hands traced patterns on her already swollen stomach, “I didn’t think I’d be able to get someone like her to love me.”

“You didn’t get her to do anything,” Rebecca scoffed, “She fell in love with you willingly...Even after all of these years, you’re still so dramatic.”

“We’re talking about me legally adopting Hunter,” Bucky trailed off, eyes going soft as he met his sisters matching ones, “Becoming a proper family.”

The man’s younger sister rolled her eyes, tucking a piece of her white hair behind her ear, “You became a real family the moment you realized you were in love with her.”

-----

They had never officially filed the adoption paperwork, despite having Scott’s signature. It sat in Lily’s office in a drawer alone, waiting for them to make Hunter an official Barnes. But something always held them back, not necessarily in a bad way. It wasn’t something that really solidified anything for the family. As far as they were all concerned, Hunter was already Bucky’s son. Not by blood, but through the soul. The two were similar in ways Lily found hard to believe sometimes. She wondered if in some freak accident it was really Bucky’s son. She chalked it up to the two merely being kindred spirits.

However, Bucky knew Lily’s insecurities. How she kept every small comment made by the public about their private lives. Whether it be what she wore at an event, or when they were out as a family. Lily had grown more confident in herself but Bucky still saw that scared single mom living in Manhattan he had met all those years ago. Still healing from a broken marriage with an emotionally manipulative husband.

Sighing, the brunette rolled over and caged the blonde underneath him. She stared at him with confused eyes, looking up at the man on top of her with her eyebrows furrowed. He sat there for a second, staring at her face. He already had everything about her memorized, but sometimes, she just took his breath away. How he had managed to fall in love with someone as perfect as Lily was in his eyes...he didn’t have any words for it.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Lily questioned, lifting an eyebrow.

“Do you know how in love with you I am?” He whispered, lifting his flesh hand and brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.

Lowering her amber eyes at him, the blonde shook her head, “Don’t think this is getting you out of this conversation, Barnes.”

Bending down, Bucky placed a soft peck to his girl’s forehead before pushing himself onto his back again, “We’ll start planning tomorrow.”

This time, it was Lily rolling on top of the man, a bright smile on her face as she pressed a passionate and powerful kiss to his lips. He chuckled and laid his hands on her waist, running small patterns into her hips as she continued the assault on his lips. Both of their eyes fluttered shut as they revelled in one another’s touch and presence. The two had found each other in a cafe and became the other half to each other’s hearts that same day. When the blonde pulled back, Bucky chuckled, raising his eyebrow.

“What was that for exactly?” He chuckled, removing his glasses.

“A little sneak peek for what you get tonight,” she cooed, hand reaching down to the hem of his shirt, earning a chuckle from Bucky.

“That’s my girl.”

----

A week later, Lily found herself fussing at her computer as she attempted to find a place to book a wedding dress appointment. Everywhere she had tried was either booked or too far away for her to drive. She didn’t exactly feel like leaving her state to go and find a wedding dress. She had spent her entire day off on the phone with various stores, trying to get an appointment within the next month.

A task that had proven itself to be impossible.

“Whatchu doin’ mom?” Stella hummed as she pushed open the door to Lily’s office, making her way over to the desk.

Glancing down, Lily smiled gently at her daughter, “Trying to find a wedding dress store. Wanna help?” the blonde asked, chuckling as her daughter tried to see over the desk.

Stella nodded, climbing into her mom’s lap as the blonde continued to scroll through a website before the young girl chimed in, “Where?”

Lily sighed as she stroked the brunette’s hair, “Well that’s the problem. Mama can’t seem to find a place. Nowhere I’ve looked has any bookings or any dresses that I like.”

“Where’d you get your first?” she asked, looking up at her mother.

Lily pursed her lips as she looked at her daughter. The memory of her first wedding was something Lily tended to block out of her mind. It was the first night she felt fear that Scott was going to physically harm her. Years after, she had hidden her wedding dress away in a box that now sat in a storage cellar that they had. Stella knew that her mother had been married before and that it was to the man that had helped create Hunter, but nothing more than that. She had seen Scott a few times when he came to give Hunter his birthday or Christmas presents, but that was it. Even then, Stella wouldn’t be able to pick out her mom’s ex-husband in a crowd.

“Well your Uncle had taken me somewhere we had found, but it closed a few years back, bub,” she cooed, tucking a dark strand of hair behind Stella’s ear.

“Will I ever meet him?” She asked, bright blue eyes staring right through Lily, “Uncle Cedar?”

Lily’s heart sunk. She knew that it probably wasn’t the best idea to tell Stella about her Uncle, but she couldn’t just pretend Cedar didn’t exist. He was still Lily’s brother, despite the terrible things he and her parents had done. Bucky and Lily told Stella that her uncle lived in a place they couldn’t go and that it was too far away. But she knew that in a few years, when Stella was older, that she’d find out the truth.

“I don’t think so, darling,” Lily hummed, pressing a kiss to the girl’s temple, “But, why don’t you help mommy get ready for Uncle Steve and Aunt Nat’s dinner tonight?”

“Okay!”

-----

"It's so nice of you guys to come." Nat cooed as she pressed a kiss to Lily's cheek, beckoning her and the man that accompanied her further into the room, "But you're so early!"

"I wanted to make sure we weren't late." Lily hummed.

"We're an hour early, doll." He whispered into her ear, pressing a kiss to the shell of it as he pulled away.

"Well someone wanted to do something else," Lily laughed, her lips tight as she nudged him in the ribs, "But I figured we could help out too if we came a bit earlier."

"There's an empty room in the back if he can't contain himself." Steve laughed as he approached, nodding his head at the couple, "Nice to see my best man show up early though."

"Don't get all emotional on me, punk." Bucky chuckled as he removed his arm from Lily's waist, walking forward and wrapping his arms around Steve's shoulders.

"C'mon Lily, let's let these two have their moment to gaze into each other's eyes," Nat chuckled, lacing her arm with the blondes and tugging her away, "Okay what was the real reason you came so early."

"It's true, I was worried that we'd be late." Lily chuckled, taking a seat at a table with the redhead.

It was true. The dinner didn't start until 7:30, and it was only 6:30. But Lily was a punctual person, the last thing she wanted to do was be late for two of her close friend’s rehearsal dinner. Plus, they lived an hour away from Brooklyn, all the way on the coast of Long Island. Lily's hometown. The two were lucky to find the home of their dreams mere weeks after their own engagement and packed up from Lily's suburban colonial in Manhattan to a beautiful beach house on the lake.

The Avengers paid well.

Lily had switched positions to a superhuman consultant at an Avengers-funded hospital in Long Island. She mainly handled child mutants who were developing abilities and helping them through the changes in their body. Bucky on the other hand ran a therapy/group session for veterans, and those who served alongside the Avengers in various battles. It was the perfect outcome for the two, allowing them to work alongside each other in the same building, in opposite wings though. Of course, the two didn't really interact during the day unless a patient was attending a session across the way.

But it also meant that Lily was in direct contact with Tony Stark so often that she wanted to throttle him.

"Look who decided to crash the party!" Tony's voice rang out as he entered the room, a tight smile stretching across Lily's lips.

"Always a pleasure, Stark," Lily sighed, glancing up from her drink and tilting her head as the man walked over, "What brings you here so early?"

"Well I'm the stand-in father of the bride, can't miss my daughter's rehearsal dinner now can I?" Stark chuckled, taking a seat next to Nat, "You look lovely tonight Lily."

Glancing down, Lily assessed her outfit for the night. A flowy dress that reached down to just at her mid-shin. It had slight ruffles at the top along the neckline and near the bottom of the dress and was a lighter shade of black with small red rose decals covering it. It was a nice dress, she had to admit. Rose had brought it over the week before when she visited with Leo.

"You clean up well too, Stark," Lily quipped back, smiling softly when Bucky brought her over a vodka-cranberry, "And I had to look nice, couldn't let robocop over here outshine me."

A light-hearted conversation ensued, allowing Lily to relax a bit more. Bucky kept his hand resting gently on her knee the entire time, rubbing small patterns whenever her words became jumbled or cheek heated up. Small tells that let him know that her mind was racing at a million miles a minute. It was something the two had developed over the last few years of their relationship. It worked vice versa as well, though typically Lily just escorted Bucky away from the conversation.

The two worked together with one another in tandem. Both levelling out what the other was lacking. He reminded her just how loved and beautiful she was, and that he wouldn't change anything about her. While she reminded him that he was not a monster, and what happened was not his own doing. Each was the other's safety net in the crazy lives they lived. But it worked well for them, for four years now.

"Now when are you two going to figure it out and start planning your own wedding," Steve asked as everyone mingled after dinner was finished, "It's been two years since Buck popped the question."

"Oh come on now Steve," Sam chuckled, walking over towards the group, "Let's not raz these two. You'll only make them push it back further."

"In Bucky and Lily's defence, they did have a few unexpected events pop up along the way." Nat chuckled, leaning her head on Steve's shoulder.

Lily shook her head, sipping her water. In all honesty, she was wondering herself when the two were going to officially tie the knot. Bucky had proposed on their two-year anniversary, and here they were four years strong with no official marriage certificate in their name. Lily had naturally begun to start going by Dr. Barnes, and no one really questioned it. Hunter even said that multiple kids at school asked if Bucky was his real father. It would only make sense for the two to make it legally official soon.

She worried sometimes, that he was regretting his decision about proposing to her. That he changed his mind and wanted to leave it so the breakup wasn't a messy legal battle. Despite the fact, it would be because of outside factors like the house and other influences. But their conversation the other night created a sense of ease in Lily, especially since they had found a venue they both loved.

"We’ve actually just started our planning," Bucky stated simply, sipping his old-fashioned and squeezing Lily's waist gently.

"Yeah so bugger off Steve." Lily teased tensley, pursing her lips. This earned a barked laugh from the former Avenger, prompting his response.

“That’s awesome, about time,” Steve chuckled, clapping his best friend on the shoulder.

The following half an hour continued on like that, people wondering things about Bucky and Lily’s wedding. But honestly, Lily could barely keep her own excitement about it to herself. But she contained it, knowing that this was a night about Natasha and Steve. After tomorrow, she’d be able to be a bit more excited about things.

She hoped, at least.

[elizabear]

my home is your body, how can I stay away?

I WROTE MY FIRST FIC. And I was brave enough to post it. So, if you want to read a fake-friends-to-real-lovers Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes post-Endgame AU where we pretend that Steve and Natasha are still alive and well in the 21st century, you can check it out below or read it on AO3.

Title: my home is your body, how can i stay away?

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes (background Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff)

Additional tags: it’s like fake/pretend relationship, but it’s actually fake best friendship, fake friends to real lovers, post-Avengers Endgame, Epilogue What Epilogue, Natasha Romanoff Lives, Steve Rogers Stays, is everyone bi?, ambiguous barbershop quarter, bisexual Sam Wilson, bisexual Bucky Barnes, bisexual Steve Rogers, bisexual Natasha Romanoff, Captain America Sam Wilson

Words: 30,367

Link to AO3 here

Summary: "Anyway, I think if we team up, we can convince Steve that we’re best friends now. Then he’ll get jealous and remember how much more important we are to him than Natalia.”

Sam considers this carefully. He’s never been pressed so close to Bucky before, their faces only inches away from one another. From this distance Sam can see how long and thick Bucky’s eyelashes are. He can smell the pleasant scents of Bucky’s clean sweat and spicy aftershave. 

He wants to press his thumb into the cleft in Bucky’s chin.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Sam hears himself say.

“Great!”

After they save the world, after Steve leaves and returns again with a smiling Natasha tucked tenderly underneath his arm, after all the happy and tearful reunions, after Tony Stark’s funeral, Sam Wilson takes a minute to sit his ass underneath a tree and freak the fuck out about the fact that he’s just been dead for the last five years.

He’s listening to a robot tell him for the fifth time that his mother’s number is “no longer in service,” his hand shaking as he presses redial on Steve’s borrowed cell phone. He wants to call his sister, wants to find out what happened to his niece, but he can’t remember his sister’s number and the only thing he can think of to do is just to keep calling his mom over and over again. He’s starting to really settle into the panic attack, gulping for air as his heart pounds wildly in his chest, when Bucky Barnes squats down beside him, perfectly balanced on those lean and powerful thighs.

“You OK?” Bucky asks quietly. Sam shakes his head silently, too overwhelmed to even begin to answer that question.

Like people are just OK after waking up five years in the future. Like people are just OK after turning to ash and then reforming into a human being. What is he even made of right now? Is he made of the same atoms and cells he was made of before he turned to dust? Is he even the same person? Did Sam Wilson die? Is he just a new Sam Wilson that Bruce Banner created out of thin air, a brand new body with the same memories as the first Sam Wilson? God, what is this Ship of Theseus nonsense, everything about this is so fucked up—

“OK, I need you to breathe,” Bucky says gently, interrupting Sam’s spiral into actual fucking madness. Bucky grabs Sam’s hand and pulls it to his chest. “Can you feel my chest moving? Feel me breathing in and out? Stop thinking, close your eyes, and match your breaths to mine.”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the feel of Bucky’s chest rising and falling underneath his hand. Bucky’s sternum is flat and bony underneath Sam’s palm, but he can feel the gentle rise of Bucky’s strong pectoral muscles underneath his fingers. Bucky’s skin is warm through his shirt, and Sam focuses on the solid feel of him as he follows Bucky’s slow and deep breathing. Bucky’s thumb presses firmly against the inside of Sam’s wrist. There’s an anxious tingling all over Sam’s skin, washing over him from head to toe, making Sam afraid that he’s going to buzz right out of his skin.

But Bucky is breathing deep and slow, and Sam lets himself relax into it, feels himself fall in sync with this not-quite-stranger, his best friend’s best friend, who is very considerately trying to keep Sam from falling apart.

“You’re doing great, Sam,” Bucky praises gently. “Just keep breathing, you’re doing great.”

“I hate this,” Sam mutters.

Bucky strokes his thumb over the sensitive skin of Sam’s wrist and leans closer, hesitating briefly before resting his forehead against Sam’s.

“Just breathe, Sam. You’re doing so good,” he murmurs softly.

Sam feels a warmth uncurling deep in his belly, reacting to Bucky’s closeness and his quiet praise. Is Bucky the most instinctually effective peer counselor in the world or is he actually seducing Sam right out of a panic attack? Sam absolutely cannot think about this now, he needs to focus on the original source of his practical and existential terror.

“I hate every part of this,” Sam admits, frustrated. “I hate that I can’t get in touch with my mom. I hate that I don’t know if my niece is OK. Bucky, who has been taking care of my niece?”

“Hey, it’s OK, Sam.” Bucky says, his tone gentle and reassuring. “We’ll find your niece. If she survived the Snap, Steve and Natalia would have kept track of her. They wouldn’t have just let her disappear into the system. You have friends.”

“Right,” Sam says, feeling that glacier sitting atop his chest begin to recede a little. “OK. Friends. Steve and Natasha will know how to find Michelle. I just need to ask Steve and Natasha how to find Sarah and Michelle.”

“Great! See, you have a plan now and everything,” Bucky says encouragingly. “Everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine, Sam.” Bucky leans back onto his heels, and Sam breathes a little deeper as the world comes into sharper focus.

Sam nods. This is all going to be fine. He’s alive, he’s breathing, and he has his hand on Bucky Barnes’s warm, firm chest. Bucky’s eyes are kind, and Sam can almost understand, maybe for the first time, why Steve cared so much about bringing Bucky home. Maybe Bucky isn’t so bad. Maybe everything is going to be fine. Sam can just about manage, now, to stuff all this panic inside his chest where it can’t hurt him. If he just stuffs it in there forever, he will never have to deal with it.

Sam takes a moment to congratulate himself on his healthy coping strategies.

“You’re not too bad at this, man,” Sam says. “Where did you learn to handle a panic attack like that?”

“Well, I mean, I had a lot of them after realizing that I was responsible for literally dozens of grisly murders,” Bucky replies dryly. “But also I spent like fifteen years obsessing over the state of Steve Rogers’s lungs and trying to keep him from dying of asthma so he could grow up and be Captain America.”

Right. Captain America. That’s the other thing he’s panicking about.

“Hey, what just happened?” Bucky asks gently. Bucky strokes his thumb over Sam’s wrist. “Your blood pressure just shot way up again.”

“Tell me you’re not some kind of human sphygmomanometer,” Sam says. “I don’t have the patience for that level of weird right now. Stop monitoring my blood pressure. That’s creepy.”

“OK,” Bucky says slowly. “Sorry. What’s going on?”

“Steve asked me to be Captain America. Says he’s not retiring, but he’s needed off-world for a while, and he thinks I should be the one to carry the shield.”

Suddenly, just like that, the strange, tentative peace between them shatters. Bucky’s face turns white, then flushes a deep red.

“Steve asked you to be Captain America,” Bucky repeats coldly. All traces of warmth are gone from Bucky’s face, and Bucky’s mouth settles into a grim line. “Excuse me a moment.”

Sam sighs as Bucky stalks off in Steve’s general direction.

Bucky returns a few moments later, Steve in tow, the two of them having some kind of whisper fight that Sam can’t really hear.

“Can’t believe you would do this—”

“—you know he’s a good choice—”

“—supposed to be your best friend—”

“—c’mon, Buck, you know I wouldn’t—”

Bucky yanks on Steve’s wrist as they approach Sam.

“OK, first of all, Steve, where the fuck is Sam’s family?” Bucky demands.

Steve pales, then looks genuinely contrite. “Oh, God, Sam, I’m sorry. I should have told you right away. Sarah and Michelle, they survived. They both survived the Snap. They’re living in your mom’s apartment in New York.” Steve hesitates for a moment, then adds, “Your mom was one of the ones who disappeared. She was at home watching Michelle when it happened. She should be safe. We’ll get a phone to her right away.”

Sam feels his stomach plunge at the knowledge that Michelle is five years older. He already missed two years of her life on the run with Steve after the Accords. Would she even remember him?

“Nat has your old phone stashed away. It should still have all your contacts in it. Natasha—she paid the bill. Every month you were gone. She never gave up hope we’d get you back,” Steve says, looking proud and a little teary-eyed.

While Sam works on processing the fact that his six-year-old niece is now his eleven-year-old niece, Steve rambles on about Natasha, and how brave she was, and what a rock she was, and how she kept everyone together, and how she sacrificed her life to save everyone, for kind of a while. Sam’s honestly kind of surprised. Steve and Natasha have always been close, but Sam’s never seen Steve as openly effusive about anyone other than James Buchanan Barnes Before The War, Steve’s most favorite person ever.

“OK, that’s great, Steve,” Bucky interrupts in a frosty tone. “But what’s this about Sam being the new Captain America?”

“Oh! Carol wants Natasha and me to go with her to a couple of planets that are struggling to organize after their populations suddenly doubled. Actually, I thought maybe you could come with us, Buck?” Steve offers. “I know how much you love space and—”

“No, Steve, I think I’ll stay here with Sam,” Bucky says stonily, glaring at Steve. Sam is a little stunned.

“What? Why?” Steve asks. He looks a bit like a confused golden retriever. “I thought you’d jump at this opportunity, Bucky, you really—”

“I really think I should stay here. Since I’m Captain America’s right hand man and all. And since Sam is Captain America now.”

Sam doesn’t really know what to do with all of this, because it seems like there’s really a lot going on here between Steve and Bucky that he doesn’t want to get involved with. And honestly, he’s not one hundred percent sold on the idea of working with Bucky at all, since they hardly even know each other. Today is the first time they’ve really interacted in a way that isn’t hostile or at the very least kind of pissy, and to be honest the uncomfortable sexual tension Sam felt earlier wasn’t exactly welcome.

But then a thought occurs to him, and Sam is instantly filled with delight. “So wait. What you’re saying is that you’re going to be my sidekick!”

“What, no, I’m not going to be your sidekick, I’m going to be your partner,” Bucky argues.

“Nuh uh, nope. It’s right there in the comics. Bucky Barnes was Captain America’s sidekick,” Sam says with a smirk. “Are you gonna wear the outfit?”

“What outfit?” asks Bucky, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh! The outfit with the little booty shorts?” Steve asks.

“I’m not wearing an outfit with little booty shorts,” Bucky says scornfully. “I’ll wear my regular outfit.”

“Leather bondage gear it is, then!” Sam replies. He feels more cheerful already.

***

“So what else did we miss?” Sam asks later, when they’re all settled in at one of the cabins on Tony’s property.

Steve and Natasha are tangled up together on the sofa, Natasha’s legs slung over Steve’s lap and her head resting against his chest. Steve and Nat have been trading inside jokes and finishing each other’s sentences all night, and it kind of seems like Sam and Bucky must have really missed a lot, because Sam doesn’t remember Steve and Nat being so telepathically linked before he got dusted.

Bucky is sitting alone, tense and uncomfortable-looking, in a chair near the fire. He must still be pretty pissed at Steve for choosing Sam over him as the next Captain America, because he keeps shooting murder glares at Steve through narrowed eyes. When Steve’s not gazing adoringly at Natasha, he’s busy having a silent argument with Bucky through a complicated series of expressions that include rolled eyes, pleading looks, clenched jaws, and prissy, pursed lips. Sam is honestly feeling pretty left out right now, because there’s a lot of unspoken communication going on here between basically everyone but him.

Steve heaves a frustrated sigh, tears his gaze away from Bucky, and responds, “Well, they built a giant wall between the United States and Mexico. It was a pretty big deal, lots of people were really unhappy.”

“Seriously? Half of the entire United States population disappears, and Americans are still freaking out about immigration from Mexico?” Sam asks incredulously.

“Oh, no, we didn’t build the wall. Mexico actually built the wall,” Natasha says. The wicked look in her eye suggests that this is going to be a good story.

“Wait, what? That stupid promise actually came true?” Bucky asks.

“Well, kind of?” Natasha says, giving a little so-so motion with her hand. “Mexico didn’t actually build the wall because of illegal immigration, though. They built it after a bunch of riots and border skirmishes in late 2020.”

“So, what? Gang violence? Drug cartels?” Sam asks.

“Nope. It was the season finale of a television show on the CW called Supernatural,” Steve explains, as if this doesn’t make the whole thing somehow even more confusing.

“You’re telling me that we were gone for five years and now CW shows are a source of tension between the United States and Mexico and they built an entire wall about it,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows.

Sam is dubious as hell about this new foolishness—he’s starting to feel a lot more sympathetic towards Steve’s frustration with all the impenetrable pop culture references people expected him to grasp—but Bucky visibly perks up at the mention of Supernatural. “Oh, how did that go? Is Destiel canon yet?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve responds at the same time that Natasha replies, “Si.” Then they both cackle wildly, as if this is some seriously comedic shit, and honestly, Sam’s getting a little annoyed with all their inside jokes. He sneaks a look over at Bucky to see how he’s responding to all this, and Sam is relieved to feel slightly less like an asshole when he sees that Bucky doesn’t look any more charmed by Steve and Natasha’s Abbott and Costello routine than Sam feels.

“OK,” Sam says slowly, really drawing the word out. “So I guess if I want to understand all of that”—here, Sam gestures broadly at Steve and Natasha, attempting to convey his incredulity at their unnecessary dramatics—“that you just did, and apparently also current U.S. foreign policy, I’m going to have to watch a TV show on the CW.”

“It’s fifteen seasons, it makes for great depression watching,” says Natasha, shrugging. Bucky nods in agreement. “And Steve was pretty genuinely moved by the relationship between the two brothers.”

Steve confirms this with a solemn nod. “They were brothers, but they were also best friends.”

“Anyway it was better than a lot of the junk we watched while you were gone,” Natasha continues. “Half the time Steve and I spent in bed together we were just binge watching trash tv and getting overly invested in the love lives of twenty-five year olds pretending to be teenagers pretending to be detectives.”

Bucky shoots Sam a significant glance at this, somehow communicating half the time they spent in bed together? with the tense raising of his eyebrows alone, and says, “Sam and I will watch Supernatural together. I’ll get him caught up.”

And yeah, maybe fifteen seasons sounds like an awful lot of time to commit to spite-watching a television show with Bucky just to handle how weird he feels about Steve and Natasha’s whole new bed sharing thing together, but then Bucky stretches his arms over his head and reveals a pale sliver of belly, little trail of hair drawing Sam’s eyes pleasingly downward.

“Yeah, all right,” Sam says. After all, this Supernatural show does sound pretty important to this sketchy new future Sam didn’t ask to find himself in.

Bucky turns to Steve. “So when do you and Natalia have to head out?”

“Probably in a week or two. We want to make sure everything’s settled here before we head out.”

“A week or two, Steve, really? You think Sam’s going to be ready to be Captain America in a week or two,” Bucky says flatly.

Sam thinks Bucky sort of has a point, but out of loyalty to Steve and his own sense of competence he keeps his mouth shut.

Steve’s shoulders hunch defensively. “It’s going to be fine, you’re going to do a great job supporting Sam.”

“I shouldn’t have to support Sam, Steve—”

“Bucky, c’mon, you know I wouldn’t have—”

“Not even a supersoldier, Steve—”

“Sam doesn’t have to be—”

Natasha is listening to this argument with a fond look on her face, like she actually missed this shit while they were gone.

“OK, listen,” Sam interrupts before Steve and Bucky get too distracted by their bullshit. “The Captain America thing is huge, yeah. But I feel like maybe we also need to be concerned about the world’s population suddenly doubling instantaneously? That’s kind of a big deal.”

“Oh!” Steve lights up. “Natasha’s had a plan set up for that since like a week after you guys disappeared. She’s spent the last five years preparing for every contingency, basically every scientific or magical possibility that might bring you guys back. In fact, phase one has already started, getting lines of communication open to reconnect families and arranging emergency housing.”

Steve beams down at Natasha, and then—Sam can’t even fucking believe this—Natasha actually blushes in response. Steve and Natasha are, respectively, the most repressed and tightly controlled people Sam knows, and now they’re acting like emotionally healthy people who express their feelings in front of other people? Sam is suspicious as hell, and when he looks over at Bucky, Bucky is bug-eyed, looking frantically and significantly at Sam with that unmistakable are you seeing this too, what the fuck expression on his face. Sam hates the fact that things are so weird now that he’s bonding with Bucky over this.

“Pepper Potts is coordinating everything through the Avengers Foundation,” Natasha says. “She needs something to do right now, and she’s basically the most frighteningly efficient person I know, so. Your only job right now is figuring out how to work together without killing each other.”

Natasha eyes them both a bit skeptically, and Sam is instantly offended at this implied slight to his professionalism.

“Bucky and I are going to do great,” Sam says. “We are definitely going to be absolutely fine at working together.” He shoots Bucky a hard look, daring him to disagree.

“Absolutely fine,” Bucky repeats dutifully, then hesitates. “You’re sure, though, right, Sam? You really want to do the Captain America thing?”

“Definitely,” Sam confirms. Bucky searches his eyes for a moment, then nods, apparently satisfied with whatever he finds.

“Great!” Natasha says with a pleased smile, and shares a satisfied look with Steve.

“Anyway,” Sam says, changing the subject, before they can figure out Sam has no fucking clue how to be Captain America and definitely doesn’t feel certain about working with Bucky Barnes. “What else did we miss while we were gone? How did Brexit go?”

“Oh, God,” Steve says.

***

The next morning, Sam walks down to the cabin’s kitchen for breakfast and finds a disaster.

“Is this a murder board?” he asks, aghast.

The wall next to the kitchen table is absolutely covered in papers that have been hastily pinned up, and there are at least eleven different colors of string stretched together in a complicated web over top of them, forming a bizarre rainbow of crazy. Where did Bucky even find that many different colors of string in the middle of the night? Did he break into a Joann Fabrics?

The kitchen table is littered with papers as well, and Sam counts six different green tea bags sitting on a napkin next to Bucky’s mug. “Have you been up all night?”

“No! And yes!” Bucky answers, his eyes red rimmed and wild, looking simultaneously exhausted and absolutely frantic with energy. He cards his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Do you know how much money Stark was spending on the Avengers Initiative after you guys blew up SHIELD? The litigation team! The insurance premiums! The property damage settlements! Weapons and technology! Research and development! Sam, the cost was astronomical!”

“Wait, this is all financial stuff? I thought this was more of, like, a traditional murder board situation here.” Sam pauses, then struck with sudden uncertainty, he asks, “Is financial stuff part of Captain America stuff?”

“Well, I mean, kind of, yeah,” Bucky responds. He stands up and restlessly paces the tiny kitchen. “You didn’t think you were going to just run off with the shield and, like, live off the kindness of strangers or something, did you?”

“Obviously, no,” Sam says, offended. Actually, though—not that Sam is going to admit it—Sam hasn’t had a real job in so long that he sort of forgot that this was going to be an issue. “Wait, did you get all this stuff by hacking Stark Industries?”

“Well, yeah,” says Bucky, defensive now. “I didn’t want to be rude and ask Ms. Potts in the middle of the night. Also I killed her daughter’s grandparents.”

Sam considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “Yeah, that’s fair,” he says. “So what about the funding we had before? Is that gone?”

“It’s not gone, but there’s no way the money in Steve’s and my bank account will be enough.”

“Wait, you and Steve share a bank account?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.

Bucky’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Well, yeah, of course. Why would Steve and I need separate bank accounts?” he asks, looking puzzled.

“Why would you...” Sam repeats faintly. “OK. Moving on from that codependent nonsense, you and Steve were the ones funding us while we were on the run? Steve never said.”

“Well, I mean, I did steal a bunch of money from HYDRA, and Steve had some backpay saved up. But there’s no way Steve and I have Captain America money. Stark barely had Captain America money. Sam, he was spending down his entire fortune on the Avengers Initiative. Did you guys know he was doing that?”

Sam closes his eyes, shaking off the waves of guilt and grief he felt at the mention of Tony’s generosity. “No, I didn’t,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Bucky says grimly. “It’s bad. Like, really, really bad. You aren’t an international fugitive anymore. If you want to be Captain America, you won’t be able to just save people, destroy a few buildings, then dash off to the next country before the police catch up to you. You have to actually deal with the fallout afterward. And, most importantly, and I cannot stress this enough, you need actual income. Was Stark seriously the only one of you with a real job?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Of course he was,” Bucky says, deflating and leaning back against the counter with a thud. “God, you’re all idiots. I went off to war in the 1940s and I left one Steve back at home. Then I fell off a train, woke up seventy years later, and found out that Steve managed to find an entire team full of Steves, and each one of you is just as beautiful and heroic and stupid and utterly impractical as he is.” Bucky raises his metal hand to massage his temples, apparently fighting a headache so powerful that even his serum-enhanced regular arm isn’t strong enough to deal with it.

Sam carefully ignores Bucky’s insinuation that he finds Sam beautiful and heroic. Instead he pours Bucky a glass of water and slides it over to him. “OK, so what do we do?”

“Well, you’re not going to like it.”

“I’m not, huh? Just tell me.”

“We have to rebuild SHIELD,” Bucky states firmly. “We have to get in touch with Nick Fury.”

“Absolutely not,” Sam says.

“Sam, it’s the only reasonable choice. We can’t afford to privately fund your career as a superhero, OK? I mean, the insurance? The legal team? I’ve drafted fifteen different budgets and there’s no way we can get this off the ground. But if we rebuild SHIELD, there’ll be funding and qualified immunity. You won’t even have to work directly for SHIELD. You could be an independent contractor.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I know. But it’s the only way.”

“Is Fury even going to listen to us, though?” Sam asks skeptically. “Like, will he even hire you? You shot him, like, five times.”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, that wasn’t great. But listen, the man’s probably been waiting for this moment for years. If he can get Steve and Natalia’s public support behind SHIELD 2.0? He’ll seize the chance.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

***

When Steve and Natasha come downstairs, sleepy and happy looking, casually emerging from the same bedroom that Sam knows only has one queen size bed, like bed sharing is just a regular part of their regular lives now, Bucky introduces them to the financial murder board.

“So if you really want to do this, if you want Sam to be Captain America, we need to rebuild SHIELD,” Bucky concludes.

“SHIELD?” Natasha perks up. “We’re getting the old gang back together?”

“Natasha, like, 40% of the old gang were secret Nazis,” Steve says reproachfully. “And more importantly, Nick Fury didn’t notice they were secret Nazis.”

“He definitely started to suspect something was wrong near the end there, though,” says Natasha.

“Well, he’s our best shot at getting government funding, so unless you want to ask Tony Stark’s grieving widow for money, I think this is the best we can do.” Bucky turns to Natasha. “Natalia, you know how to get in touch with him, right?” he asks.

“I do. Pepper sent out working satellite phones via courier last night. They should have arrived by this morning. I’ll give him a call,” Natasha says. “He’s going to love this.”

“Your mom should have gotten a phone too, Sam,” Steve says. “I’ll text you her number so you can give her a call.”

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, relieved. While Steve works on sending Sam his mom’s contact info—does Steve’s phone have a holographic display? Does Old Man Steve know how to work a phone with a holographic display?—Sam asks Bucky, “How did you even pull all these records together, by the way? Are you like a secret accountant?”

“Bucky worked as an actuary before the war,” Steve responds absently, thumbing at some buttons on his phone screen. “He was getting his degree in mathematics before he dropped out to enlist.”

“An actuary?” Natasha asks thoughtfully. “I can see that. That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“It paid the bills,” Bucky allows.

When Sam receives Steve’s text with his mom’s contact info, he steps outside for a bit of privacy. Sam watches Steve and Natasha leaning together through the sliding glass window as he waits for his mom to answer the phone. Sam feels a pit growing deep in his belly, a black hole that’s been sucking in everything Sam could have lived and built and experienced in the past five years, leaving him empty and lonely and lost, missing parts of himself that he should have been gaining. Inside, Bucky is standing alone in front of murder board, his shoulders tense, while Steve and Natasha talk and smile and touch each other’s forearms.

“Sam? Sam, baby, are you OK?”

“Mom!” Sam exclaims. “Mom, I’m OK. I’m OK.”

“Thank God,” she says in relief. “We’re OK too. Sarah and Michelle, they’ve been living in my apartment. Michelle’s eleven years old now, Sam. We missed five years of her life. How did this happen?”

And Sam tells her how it happened. He tells her about the battle, and then the second battle, and then realizing that he had died and was resurrected by magical stones. He tells her about Bucky Barnes, standing there in disgruntled disbelief when Steve and Natasha explained that they’d woken up five years into the future, his only reaction to state flatly, “I was told that this wouldn’t happen to me again.”

When he tells her that Steve’s asked him to be the new Captain America, Sam’s mom gasps in surprise. “Captain America? Sam, are you sure?”

“Yeah, Mom. I am sure. I think I could really do some good,” Sam says softly.

“Do you have good people around you? Do you have people who will take care of you?”

Sam thinks of Steve and Natasha leaving for space in a few weeks, moving on to bigger and more complicated catastrophes, superheroes who’ve grown so powerful and competent and amazing that they’re needed elsewhere, on worlds larger than their own. And then he thinks of Bucky Barnes staying up all night to do superhero math so Sam can be Captain America, even though Bucky is apparently pissed that Steve chose Sam for the honor instead of him.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I have people who will take care of me.”

***

That evening, Sam and Bucky sit at the table and watch Steve and Natasha put together the most disgusting struggle dinner Sam has ever seen. Steve is piling gross stacks of bologna onto bread and seems to think condiments are optional, while Natasha has dumped a bag of iceberg lettuce into a bowl and poured an entire bottle of ranch dressing on top of it. This, she insists, is a “salad.” Steve and Natasha move expertly around each other in the kitchen like they’re performing a choreographed dance, casually touching each other’s shoulders and hips as they slide past each other. Obviously they’ve created this sort of repulsive dinner situation more than once. What have these two been eating for the last five years? Sam can’t resist glancing up at Bucky to catch a look of horror on Bucky’s face, his nose scrunched up in disgust.

When Steve sets their plates of dry bologna sandwiches and the soggy bowl of lettuce onto the table onto the table, Bucky suddenly announces that he’s vegan.

“You are?” Steve asks suspiciously. “Since when?”

Sensing an opportunity, Sam rushes to support Bucky’s desperate ploy to avoid this dinner. “Bucky and I are both vegan, actually. It’s new.”

“Really,” Natasha says. “You and Bucky do stuff together now. Stuff like going vegan.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says staunchly.

The best way to handle Natasha is just to brazen it out. She’ll suspect that you’re lying, but she won’t actually say anything until she has proof. Unfortunately, she’ll stoop to any and all means—however invasive or conniving—to catch you out. Sam guesses he and Bucky are both vegan forever now.

“Go ahead and eat your dinner,” Bucky says. “I’ll just make Sam and me something while you guys eat.”

While Steve and Natasha eat and trade inside jokes and talk about a bunch of political events Sam does not understand—did Michigan actually successfully secede from the Union?—Sam watches in astonishment as Bucky prepares the most incredible looking burrito bowls Sam’s ever seen in his life. In like twenty minutes, the dude whips up some chipotle lime black beans, diced tomatoes, corn, fajita veggies, and quinoa, then proceeds to make pineapple mango salsa from scratch using a mortar and pestle. Where did Bucky even get these ingredients? The last time Sam checked, the fridge was almost empty.

Bucky looks relaxed and capable, and Sam watches the muscles in Bucky’s back shift and move as he chops and grinds and sautés. Bucky’s got a kitchen towel slung casually over his shoulder, and a few strands of hair at his temples curl a bit in the steam coming off the stove top.

“So what else did y’all get up to in the last five years?” Sam asks.

“Oh! Should we tell them about the—” Natasha begins, her eyes lighting up.

“You mean the dude with the—”

“With the plastic fangs!” Natasha finishes, wheezing with laughter. “What was that guy’s name? Oh, God—”

“—Baron Blood!” they exclaim in unison, cackling.

Sam can’t help but feel a little annoyed by how easily Steve and Natasha finish each other’s sentences. Sam knows, intellectually, that Steve and Natasha lived each one of the five years that went by in seconds for him and Bucky. He knows that Steve and Natasha have always been close and that it makes sense for them to, like, trauma bond after everything they’ve gone through together. But he’s never felt so left out by his own best friends before. He looks over at Bucky, relieved when he sees his own feelings of frustration and isolation mirrored on Bucky’s face.

“Wait, you fought the Bloody Baron from Harry Potter?” Bucky asks.

“No, it was Baron Blood, not the Bloody Baron.”

“Was the guy an actual baron, or were his parents just rich and tacky? Was his first name Baron?” Sam asks, fascinated despite himself.

“I think it was, like, a self-appointed title?” Natasha says. “I don’t think he was a real baron. Anyway, Steve decapitated him with his shield.”

“He was a Nazi vampire,” Steve explains.

“Like an actual vampire? Are we fighting actual vampires now?” Sam asks.

“I think so,” Natasha says doubtfully. “Steve had to soak his shield in holy water blessed by the pope first. It was a whole thing.”

“Wait, are you guys talking about Todd?” Bucky asks. “Brown hair, red eyes, ranted a lot about what an important superpower echolocation was?”

“Yes! Did you know this guy?” Steve asks.

“Eh, we weren’t close or anything. But there were some weird ass HYDRA experiments in the eighties and nineties. Most people these days think the Satanic Panic was a myth, but actually HYDRA really did have agents trying to indoctrinate daycare kids into supernatural cults. Todd was one of the evil brainwashed HYDRA daycare kids, volunteered to get some really hinky stuff done to him to try to create a master race of genetically pure vampires. Oh, and he was super obsessed with you, Steve.”

“Oh, God, was he ever,” Natasha says. “Let me tell you what he did when he got Steve tied up in his gross dungeon—”

***

While Natasha says goodbye to Bucky, squeezing Bucky and muttering something in Russian in Bucky’s ear, Sam is startled to feel Steve grab him tightly and pull him into an aggressive hug. Sam takes a minute to breathe in Steve’s familiar, comforting smell—still wearing Bay Rum even after all this time—and rests his chin on Steve’s strong shoulder.

“We love you,” Steve says, then hands him off to Natasha.

Natasha gives him a sweet kiss on the mouth. “We’ll miss you,” she says.

When Steve and Natasha disappear into the distance, Sam looks over at Bucky. “We, we, we,” Bucky says wryly.

***

Six weeks later, Sam and Bucky have formed a pretty solid partnership. They’re still living in one of the cabins on Tony Stark’s property in upstate New York for now, but they’re scheduled to report for duty at the new SHIELD headquarters in New York City on Monday.

Steve and Natasha are coming back to Earth this evening, scheduled for security briefings and press events promoting the resurrection of SHIELD, promising the public that Sam is going to make a great Captain America and that there definitely aren’t any more secret Nazis in the upper echelons of power at SHIELD.

As far as Sam can tell, Bucky’s still pretty pissed at Steve for asking Sam to be Captain America instead of him, but fortunately that grudge doesn’t seem to be carrying over to Sam. Instead, Bucky is perfectly pleasant and helpful as hell, which is pretty terrific considering the fact that Sam could use all the help he can get right now. Learning how to use the shield—especially while flying—is complicated as fuck and Sam probably would have lost patience pretty quickly without Bucky reassuring him that Steve was shit at math and definitely was not doing trigonometric calculations in his head while he fought.

“Does Steve seem like the kind of guy who’s doing a lot of thinking while he’s fighting? No, this is all practice and muscle memory,” says Bucky, clapping Sam’s shoulder. “C’mon, Steve and Natalia are scheduled to get here in like an hour. Let’s take showers and get ready to meet them for dinner.”

It’s humid as fuck outside and Bucky’s shirt is drenched in sweat, clinging so tightly to his skin that Sam can count each one of his abdominal muscles individually. Bucky raises a water bottle to his mouth and takes a long pull. Sam watches a drip of sweat slide down Bucky’s throat.

“Yeah, good plan,” Sam says. A cool shower sounds really refreshing right now.

***

When they meet Steve and Natasha for dinner, Sam nearly forgets that he and Bucky are pretending to be vegan until Bucky orders a wheatberry salad and then kicks Sam underneath the table. Sam grimaces and reaches down to rub his shin, looking regretfully at the shiny picture of the giant burger and fries that Steve ordered on his menu.

“I’ll have the wheatberry salad too,” Sam says, trying not to sound too sad about it.

Steve and Natasha are bursting with stories about space. They’re happy and full of excitement, and if anything, they’re somehow even closer than when they left. They have very strong feelings about Kree politics, and they tell a lot of stories about famous people from space that Sam does not know. They touch each other constantly.

The wheatberry salad is amazing.

“So what else happened while we were gone?” Bucky asks, mercifully changing the subject from the boring Kree legislative process. “How did the last season of Game of Thrones go?”

“Oh, it was incredible,” Natasha raves, her eyes lighting up. “David Benioff and D. B. Weiss were taken in the Snap, so they had to hire this fantasy author named Brandon Sanderson to write it. Everyone was really skeptical about how it would go—especially with half of the cast gone—but he did an amazing job. It’s now considered one of the strongest finales of any show in history.”

“You know, I never could get into Game of Thrones,” Sam remarks. “All those big-budget fantasy dynastic political dramas are just so unrealistic.”

“See, that’s what Shuri said when I told her I was watching it to research living in a monarchy after I moved to Wakanda,” Bucky says. “But then her secret illegitimate cousin traveled from across the sea to claim her brother’s throne in a trial by combat. And then her supposedly slain brother dramatically returned from the dead with the help of a magical herb in order to defeat the usurper in battle, so.” Bucky lifts his shoulders and raises his hands in a sort of smug, so who turned out to be right there? kind of shrug.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam concedes, tipping his head to acknowledge the point.

“It’s crazy that we’ll never know how much better it could have been with Benioff and Weiss at the helm, though,” Steve says, and Sam’s stomach drops a bit as he’s hit by another wave of wrongness, that same ears-ringing, tunnel-vision-forming wrongness he’s been feeling since he dramatically returned from the dead. Because what’s the deal with Steve being so literate in pop culture that he not only watches hit prestige dramas but actually knows the names of the writers? To Sam, it was just a few weeks ago that Steve declared Star Trek: The Next Generation “a bit too flashy” for his taste.

“Hey, did George R. R. Martin ever finish the books?” Bucky asks hopefully.

“No, he died,” Steve says.

***

Later that night, after Steve and Natasha have conspicuously gone to bed together, Bucky grabs Sam’s hand, puts a finger to his lips, quirks an eyebrow, and leads Sam silently into a small closet on the first floor of the house. The closet is full of thick winter coats that push Sam and Bucky right up against a wall, their bodies pressed tightly together. Bucky turns on the flashlight app from his phone to give them some light.

“What are we doing in here?” Sam whispers.

“It’s the only place in the house where Steve won’t be able to hear us. Just keep your voice down,” Bucky explains.

“Oh, shit. We’re not plotting to overthrow SHIELD again, are we?”

“No!” Bucky says. “It’s been like six weeks. HYDRA won’t have a secret majority interest in SHIELD for another twenty years at least. Look, have you noticed how Steve and Natalia are, like, obsessed with each other now?”

“Yes! What is with that? I thought I was Steve’s best friend!” Sam hisses.

“Well, you and Steve are definitely close friends,” Bucky says skeptically. “But best friendship is an exclusive relationship. It’s the closest and most intimate connection you can have with someone. And you can only have one of them. Your best friend is someone you would kill for, someone that you would die for, someone you would come back from seventy years of brainwashing for. Someone you would drop the very symbol of everything you believe in for. So, I think we can all agree that I was Steve’s best friend.”

Bucky looks pretty self-satisfied after that whole speech.

“I don’t think we can all agree that you were Steve’s best friend,” Sam says, tilting his head skeptically.

“Well, I was, but the point is that I don’t think I am anymore. I think Natalia might be Steve’s best friend now,” Bucky whispers, irritated.

“I know! I hate it,” Sam confesses. “Steve and Nat and I used to all be best friends. Now they have all these inside jokes and I feel left out all the time.”

“Again, Sam, you can’t have two best friends,” Bucky corrects. “Anyway, I know we haven’t always gotten along in the past, and maybe some of us have made mistakes like kicking people off helicarriers or wrecking their cars, but I think if we want Steve back, we might be able to work together on this.”

“I’m listening,” Sam says.

“OK, so I think we need to try to make them jealous.”

“I don’t think Nat gets jealous. Does Steve get jealous?” Sam says doubtfully.

“Oh, Steve gets jealous,” Bucky confirms. “Did you know that like five seconds after I admitted that I remembered growing up with Steve, he immediately started getting passive aggressive about some redhead named Dot that I spent three dollars on back in 1937? It was like the very first thing he brought up.”

“Oh, God, was Dot short for Dolores?” Sam asks. “Steve complained about her all the time while we were out searching for you.”

“That was her!” Bucky says. “Steve was so jealous of Dolores. Anyway, I think if we team up, we can convince Steve that we’re best friends now. Then he’ll get jealous and remember how much more important we are to him than Natalia.”

Sam considers this carefully. He’s never been pressed so close to Bucky before, their faces only inches away from one another. From this distance Sam can see how long and thick Bucky’s eyelashes are. He can smell the pleasant scents of Bucky’s clean sweat and spicy aftershave.

He wants to press his thumb into the cleft in Bucky’s chin.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Sam hears himself say.

“Great!”

***

The next day, while Steve and Natasha are busy in meetings with Rhodey and Fury, Sam moves into his new apartment in Brooklyn. It’s not actually so much his new apartment so much as it is Steve’s old apartment, but apparently Steve doesn’t need it anymore since he’s spending so much time out in space with Natasha and he “can always just stay with Nat while I’m in town, it’s no trouble, Sam, Natasha and I are used to bunking together.”

Sam actually has a lot of questions about how used to bunking together Steve and Natasha are.

Sam’s unpacking his clothes when he hears the doorbell ring. His spine stiffens and his fingers twitch for a weapon. Steve and Natasha are both scheduled to be out for hours still, and Steve’s a pretty private guy. Sam doubts many people know about his apartment.

He grabs a gun from his safe, loads it, and walks silently toward the front door.

“Sam, I know you’re in there.”

The muffled voice on the other side of the door is thankfully familiar. Sam feels the tension in his chest release and he lowers his gun. It’s just Bucky.

Unfortunately, all that tension in Sam’s chest immediately returns when Sam opens the door to discover that Bucky is, for some reason, carrying a duffel bag and surrounded by cardboard boxes. Sam’s stomach sinks.

“What the fuck, Sam?” Bucky complains, shoving past him into the entryway and setting down his bag. “You didn’t even look through the peephole to make sure no one was holding me at gunpoint? If we’re going to live together you’re going to have to be a lot more careful about security. I have a lot of enemies.”

“I’m sorry, if we’re going to live together?” Sam repeats, horrified. He puts the safety back on his gun and sets it down onto the counter.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Um, yes? Remember our whole fake-best-friends plan? You literally just agreed to it last night. Here, help me with these boxes.”

Bucky goes back into the hallway, where he bends over to lift a box labeled “pots and pans,” his skinny jeans stretching obscenely over his ass and thighs.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says, and follows him out into the hallway.

***

“OK, so, explain this to me again: why does being fake best friends mean that we have to be actual roommates?” Sam asks later, passing Bucky a beer.

They’re sitting on Sam’s couch now, surrounded by fifteen boxes labeled, variously: “favorite grenade launchers,” “crossbows,” “guns (1 of 10),” “scopes and silencers,” “marijuana,” and “warm sweaters.”

“Is this beer vegan?” Bucky asks, checking the label. “Hold on, I’m gonna need to look this up.”

“Wait, are you actually vegan?” Sam asks, watching in astonishment as Bucky pulls up an app on his phone, types in the name of the beer Steve left in the fridge, frowns, and then gets up to put the beer back into the fridge. “I thought we were just pretending to be vegan to avoid Steve’s bologna sandwiches and that gross salad.”

“We were! But then I looked it up afterward to make sure I could pull this off in front of Natalia and I actually read a lot of really harrowing and kind of horrifying stuff about animal agriculture,” Bucky says, grimacing. “Anyway, if we want Steve and Natalia to believe that we’re best friends, we’re going to have to live together. Steve and I always lived together, and Steve moved in with you like five seconds after he met you.”

“To be fair to Steve, he did make it two very sad years living alone in the most depressing apartment I have ever seen, and he didn’t move in with me until you shot a man through his walls,” Sam says.

“That was just an excuse,” Bucky says, waving his hand airily. “Steve and I spent the entire winter of 1937 living in an uninsulated attic apartment with a broken window. If Steve didn’t want to live with you, he would have just slapped some duct tape over those bullet holes and gotten an extra blanket.”

Sam considers this and then reluctantly concedes the point. He’s seen Steve look unnervingly comfortable in some pretty horrific living situations over the past couple of years.

“All right, fine. But do we really need every gun ever made in our living room? I feel like surrounding yourself with this amount of weaponry has got to be an unhealthy coping strategy.”

Sam feels pretty confident about this—he’d been like three-quarters of the way through his Master’s coursework to become a licensed professional counselor when Steve Rogers bulldozed his way into his life.

“And what are we going to do if we need to take down SHIELD again, Sam?” Bucky demands. “How much do we really trust Nick Fury? Anyway, we aren’t storing these in the living room, Sam, that would be tacky.”

“Uh huh,” Sam says, his stomach sinking. “And where are we storing them?” He has a bad feeling about this.

“In the spare bedroom, of course.”

“What spare bedroom.”

“The spare bedroom-slash-armory! We only really need one bedroom, Sam. Steve and I always shared a bedroom.”

“Did you,” Sam says. “And I suppose you shared a bed too.”

“Of course we did. Why would Steve and I need separate beds? We were best friends.”

Bucky gives Sam an odd look, like he thinks Sam in the one being strange about this. As if indefinitely sharing a bed is just normal best friend stuff. Sam wants to believe that this is some kind of Depression era, growing-up-in-poverty sort of thing, but honestly Steve and Bucky are just so intensely weird about each other that Sam is pretty sure that it’s actually a Steve-and-Bucky thing.

Sam thinks about sharing a bed with Bucky every night. He wonders if Bucky wears a shirt to bed, or if Bucky slides into bed bare-chested, wearing only a pair of shorts or maybe even just some tightly fitted boxer briefs.

“All right,” Sam says, sighing.

***

Later that night, when they’re lying in bed catching up on Supernatural—he has got to know how this show somehow became relevant to international geopolitics—Bucky leans over to pull a huge bag of weed out of the nightstand. Then he slowly, carefully rolls the fattest joint Sam has ever seen. It’s somehow absolutely massive but still structurally sound and perfectly balanced. Sam puts the show on pause because he has a lot of questions about this.

“Where did you learn how to do that? Does marijuana even work on you?” Sam asks. “Did you learn how to do this as part of that whole Eat Pray Love thing you did while Steve and I were looking for you?”

“What? No. Steve taught me how to do this back in the thirties.”

“Excuse me, Steve Rogers taught you how to roll a joint in the thirties? Steve ‘Captain America’ Rogers knows how to roll a joint?” Sam asks, scandalized.

“Yes? I didn’t have any other friends named Steve—actually, Steve was always my only friend,” Bucky says offhandedly. “Anyway, Stevie started rolling his own asthma cigarettes when he was like twelve, had those perfect long-fingered artist hands even when he was little. Then when he started art school he started bringing home marijuana after class. He’d roll us a joint and we’d sit out on the fire escape and smoke before bed every night.”

“Steve Rogers,” Sam says, wonderingly. “What a little punk.”

“Right? I’m always saying that but no one ever believes me. Here,” Bucky says, passing the joint over to Sam. Sam hesitates for a moment—he hasn’t smoked pot since before he joined the Air Force—but then he gives a mental shrug, figuring that SHIELD probably isn’t going to drug test him. Yeah, Nick Fury is kind of a dick, but Sam doubts that he’d give a shit about a little recreational marijuana use.

Sam feels a little thrill when he raises Bucky’s joint to his lips, the paper still slightly damp from Bucky’s saliva. He seals his mouth around the end of the joint and sucks in deeply, sharing this wet vicarious kiss with Bucky, who watches Sam’s mouth with interest. Sam feels the sharp burn in his lungs as he holds in the smoke, then coughs violently when he exhales, passing the joint back to Bucky.

“Damn,” he says. “This stuff still works for you?”

“Yep,” Bucky says. “HYDRA wanted to make sure they’d still be able to drug the shit out of me when they were experimenting with their own version of the serum, so unlike some reckless assholes who actually volunteered to get the bona fide serum, I can still get stoned. Which is I guess some small consolation for spending seventy years on some pretty intense amphetamines and weird psychosis-inducing experimental drug cocktails.”

“Yikes. Well, that makes sense, I guess,” Sam says. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky pauses. “Well, it’s not fine fine. But I’m fine. Now.”

“I’m glad,” Sam says, and he realizes he means it.

***

The first time Sam fucks up as Captain America, he finds out the answer to a great personal mystery: why Steve Rogers was considered “the greatest tactician in American military history.”

It’s not because Steve is actually a great tactician—in fact, Steve is an instinctive fighter, brash and brave and most of all impulsive.

Apparently, the real reason Steve was considered the greatest tactician in American military history is because Peggy Carter was the greatest tactician in American military history, and Bucky Barnes was the greatest bullshitter in American military history.

When Maria Hill orders them to Fury’s office for debriefing after that disastrous mission, Bucky grabs Sam’s arm and digs his nails into the tender skin on the underside of Sam’s forearm.

“Whatever you do, do not say anything,” Bucky hisses. “Just shut the fuck up, and let me handle this. I mean it.”

“I need to take responsibility for this, Bucky. Steve would take responsibility for this.”

“Steve would absolutely not take responsibility for this,” Bucky states firmly. “Trust me, I’ve been bailing that little punk out of trouble for one hundred years. Do not say anything.”

When they get to Fury’s office, Sam witnesses an actual miracle. Fury begins by asking them a series of terse questions in a clipped tone that slowly grows more and more agreeable as Bucky’s answers—calm, thoughtful, and pleasant—make Sam’s actions sound both necessary and entirely reasonable. The tone shifts from an interrogation to a more customary debrief, and by the end Fury’s countenance is less thunderous and more just his sort of standard expression of grim disapproval.

The truly bewildering part is that Bucky’s explanations for Sam’s behavior are so convincing that Sam himself is now questioning whether he even fucked up at all. Nothing Bucky says is a lie, and Sam’s not even sure he would characterize anything as misleading, but nevertheless Sam slowly moves from the distinct impression that both he and Fury considered the mission a failure, to the cautious notion that maybe he’d actually made the best of a bad job after all.

When Fury dismisses them, he offers them a gruff, “Excellent work, gentlemen,” and then he actually claps Sam on the shoulder as Sam walks out the door.

What the fuck.

***

“Excuse me, are you some kind of hypnotist or sorcerer?” Sam hisses when they return to their office. “What the fuck was all that?”

“Should we get Thai food for lunch? I’m thinking pad see ew,” Bucky muses, scrolling through the menu on his phone. “What about you?”

“Get me the tofu pad thai,” Sam says. It turns out Bucky wasn’t wrong about the environmental impact of animal agriculture—that’s actually some deeply sobering shit, and Sam feels like he should probably try to be a good role model now that he’s Captain America. “Seriously, though, I did fuck up that mission, right? I wasn’t imagining that?”

Bucky sighs. “Sam, you made the right call. Maybe Fury wouldn’t have agreed immediately, but I didn’t spend my entire life justifying Steve’s aggressive self-sacrificing bullshit to people in positions of authority for no reason. Steve knew when to step up and do what was right, sure, but he also knew when to shut up and let me do the talking afterward.”

Everything about Steve’s career in the Army makes so much more sense now.

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, awkwardly. He hesitates a moment, then asks, “You really think Steve would have made the same decision today?”

Bucky gives Sam a long, considering look. His gaze is solemn and sympathetic, and his lips press together in a sad smile. “Sam, you’ve got to stop comparing yourself to Steve.”

***

Sam misses a lot about Steve, but he very specifically does not miss running with Steve. That’s because Steve is an asshole, and while Sam may enjoy the view from behind when Steve laps him for the fiftieth time, he definitely does not feel like Steve deserves to act as smug about it as he does when Steve is quite famously the recipient of performance enhancing drugs.

Sam and Bucky are running their usual route in Prospect Park, feet pounding together in rhythm as they listen to the dope ass Carly Rae Jepsen playlist Bucky made for them on their headphones. It turns out that Sam’s been putting up with a lot of shit from Steve that wasn’t actually necessary, because despite being a full year older than Steve—or is it four years younger, now, after the Snap?—Bucky has managed to develop some pretty cool taste in music. More importantly, Bucky seems mercifully content to run at a speed that is completely normal for unenhanced people who are still in fantastic shape and also have great legs.

Speaking of great legs, Sam’s having kind of a hard time handling the length of Bucky’s running shorts today. Bucky’s legs are long and strong, lightly muscled and flexing attractively as his steady stride eats up the pavement, and his thighs—

“So how come Steve won’t run like a regular person?” Sam asks, reluctantly dragging his gaze away from those lean, golden thighs.

“Did he try to give you some shit about how he has to run that fast to stay in shape as a supersoldier?” scoffs Bucky. “No, Steve runs that fast because Steve has anger issues and a high sex drive. Otherwise he’d be starting fights and jerking off four times a day.”

Sam’s breath catches a bit in his chest and he tries very hard not to stumble at that. “Oh?” Sam asks, trying to sound casual. “And you? You’re not jerking off four times a day?”

“Living with you, sweetheart?” Bucky says with a wink. “Of course I am.”

***

This isn’t actually Sam’s first time living with a Russian assassin, because he spent two years on the run with Natasha, so he’s used to a lot of weird ass habits. But one thing that confounds the shit out of him is why Bucky insists on navigating Brooklyn solely through a maze of gross alleyways that smell absolutely foul.

Steve and Natasha are finally home from their peacekeeping or worldbuilding or diplomatic journey through the stars—whatever the hell they’ve been doing for the past few months—and Sam and Bucky are on their way to meet them at a café for lunch.

“Man, are you sure we’re not going in circles? I could swear we’ve passed that blue dumpster at least twice already. Is this some kind of spy thing where we’re doubling back to lose a tail or something?” Sam asks.

“No. And this blue dumpster is the blue dumpster behind the hipster café with the oat milk latte that you hate, the one with too much cinnamon,” Bucky explains patiently. “The other two blue dumpsters are behind the artisanal pickle shop and the thrift store where the secondhand clothes actually cost more than they do when you buy them new.”

“Right,” Sam says with a heavy sigh. Then he perks up when he sees their favorite stray cat. “Oh, hey, it’s Steve the cat!”

“Aw! Hi, Steve!” Bucky coos. He reaches into his pocket to toss a few treats toward the skinny, ill-tempered cat, who eyes them suspiciously before hissing viciously, his scraggly hackles raising. Steve the cat ignores their treats, presumably offended by their insulting attempts at charity, and Sam and Bucky positively melt at this pointless and self-destructive display of spitefulness.

“He’s so cute!” Bucky says.

“I love him so much,” Sam agrees. “C’mon, let’s leave the treats here and keep going. Maybe he’ll eat them after we leave.”

“We should stop at the pet store on the way home and pick up a different brand. Maybe Steve has allergies,” Bucky suggests.

“Good idea,” Sam says, nodding.

As they head toward their lunch with Steve and Natasha, Sam’s surprised to realize that he feels pretty relaxed and confident about their whole fake-best-friends plan. Usually he’d be having some kind of heart palpitations at the thought of trying to pull one over on Natasha, an actual spy who actually lied to the actual God of Lies and actually succeeded at it, but instead Sam thinks that he and Bucky might really get away with this whole fake-best-friends thing. It helps that Bucky looks so cool and self-assured walking beside him, hips loose and easy and confident as those long legs lead them toward their whole best friends debut.

Eventually they weave their way out of Bucky’s trash labyrinth and make it to the café, where Steve and Natasha are waiting at a table along the sidewalk. Steve and Nat look happy, laughing and chatting animatedly, their body language intimate and relaxed. Sam feels a brief moment of apprehension, but Steve smiles broadly when he sees Sam and Bucky approach, and Steve and Nat both stand to offer hugs and kisses in greeting.

“We’re so glad to be home,” Natasha says, sitting back down with a sigh. “Do you know that after spending the past few months trying to navigate alien bureaucracy, I’ve actually missed filling out post-mission paperwork at SHIELD? Do not repeat that to Fury.”

“Fury’s already trying to convince Natasha to train as his replacement when he retires,” Steve brags, putting his arm around Natasha’s shoulders. The flash of envy Sam feels at Steve’s obvious pride in Natasha is swiftly overwhelmed by Sam’s genuine happiness for her. He can’t think of anyone he’d trust more than Natasha to be the next Director of SHIELD. Probably she wouldn’t let in any secret Nazis or mad scientist artificial intelligences at all.

“That’s great, Natalia,” Bucky says warmly. “How soon can you start? I already hate working for Fury.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure Fury has like three decoy replacements lined up and at least another decade of weird mind games in him before he’ll seriously consider retirement,” Natasha says, nodding her head approvingly. “And to be fair to Fury, he’s probably still pretty pissed about that time you nearly killed him.”

“Actually, Fury really likes Bucky,” says Sam defensively. “Just last week Fury even thanked him for giving him the chance to fake his own death—said he’d been looking for just the right opportunity for years.”

Bucky smirks and nudges his knee against Sam’s underneath the table. Sam deliberately doesn’t move his leg away, warmth spreading through him from the point of contact.

“I feel like I should be surprised that Bucky won Fury over that quickly, but honestly it makes sense. The nuns loved Bucky,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

“Fury does have kind of a weird nun energy, doesn’t he,” Natasha says thoughtfully. “I’ve never really thought about it before but now I’m kind of obsessed with the idea.”

When they’ve finished ordering—bacon cheeseburgers for Steve and Natasha, falafel salads for Sam and Bucky—Natasha asks them how they’re enjoying their new vegan lifestyle.

“Have you been eating a lot of aquafaba?” Natasha asks, too innocent by half.

A surge of triumph wells up in Sam’s chest. He knows that Natasha is testing them, and he knows that they’re going to pass this test.

“Aquafaba’s actually more of a baking thing, sort of an egg white replacement,” Sam explains, biting his lip to resist shooting Bucky a smug grin. “And Bucky doesn’t eat anything with added sugar, so we don’t do a whole lot of baking.”

“And since when is Bucky such a healthy eater?” Steve asks incredulously.

“Some of us got hasty Nazi knockoff serums, Steve,” Bucky replies. “I’m like a hundred years old. How do I know if I can just eat whatever I want and still have perfect blood pressure and cholesterol like you? Also, do you know how much we’ve learned about nutrition since you and I were in school? When was the last time you even got a physical, Steve? Natalia ought to be making sure you take better care of yourself. I make sure Sam exercises and eats a sensible diet.”

“I stay fit,” Sam agrees.

Bucky smirks and lets his eyes travel along Sam’s biceps and shoulders. “Yeah, you do, sweetheart.”

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to get a physical, OK? But my primary care physician was taken in the Snap,” Steve says defensively. “I didn’t have time to find a new one. I’ve been very busy.”

“I’m actually finding this all very interesting,” Natasha says, her chin propped on her hand and her voice low and amused. “Has Bucky always been this fussy and meddlesome?”

“Only when it comes to my best friend,” Bucky explains with great apparent sincerity.

Steve chokes on his soda, coughing and sputtering violently, and Sam looks up from his salad to grin and catch Bucky’s eye. Natasha gives Steve a few strong thumps on the back.

When Steve recovers from his coughing fit, he narrows his eyes in disbelief. “I’m sorry, your best friend? Is Sam your best friend? Because I thought Sam was more like your best friend’s best friend.”

“We’ve gotten really close since we moved in together,” Sam says earnestly, slinging a friendly arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

It’s not even a lie, really. They’ve got a pretty great routine going, and Bucky’s an easy roommate. They wake up every morning and drag themselves out of their shared bed, sleepy and warm, and head out for an early run, letting Bucky’s bomb ass running playlist and the exertion of their run build up the physical and emotional energy they need for the day. They take Bucky’s weird secret assassin route through the alleys to and from the subway every day, and when they come home in the evenings they catch up on all the movies and music and weird political news they’ve missed in the past five years. They smoke a joint together in bed every night before they go to sleep, and they laugh and swap stories and usually make fun of Steve. It’s all very comfortable and cozy. It’s actually, Sam is startled to realize, the closest thing to home he’s felt in the past two-slash-seven years.

“So you moved in together,” Steve says, his voice awkward and high pitched. “That’s—so great!”

“Speaking of moving in together,” Bucky says innocently. “Have you guys decided where you’re going to live? We can move the weapons out of the spare room at our place if you want to move in with us.”

“I’m sorry, the spare room? It’s only a two bedroom apartment, Bucky!”

***

Sam is happy to be back in the field with Steve and Natasha, but he can’t shake the slight uneasiness that comes from thinking he’ll be able to predict their actions, that he’ll be able follow the rhythm of their fight together, only for the two of them to do something totally different than what he expects at the worst possible moment. It turns out that five years was just long enough for Steve and Natasha to fall perfectly in sync with one another and out of sync with Sam.

It’s Sam and Bucky’s first official SHIELD mission with Steve and Natasha, and everything is going mostly fine except for the fact that instead of turning into nice, clean piles of dust like in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, these gross ass vampires are exploding like giant bags of blood every time you slay them. It’s super nasty and definitely unhygienic.

The vampires are feral, mostly mindless leech-like creatures that don’t seem to have a lot going on in their probably decaying brains. So on top of dying in a rather revolting sort of fashion, they’re not even sexy or sophisticated or even European the way pop culture has promised him. The whole experience is a real letdown, and it isn’t even really dangerous so much as it is messy and tedious.

“Last one!” Bucky calls out, firing his crossbow straight into the heart of a vampire standing in front of Steve. The vampire explodes in a disgusting spray of borrowed blood, drenching Steve from head to toe in its recycled bodily fluids. Sam stifles a laugh.

“God damn it, Bucky,” Steve complains, his face twisting in distaste. “Just for that I’m taking first shower on the Quinjet.”

Sam gives Bucky a discreet fist bump when they climb aboard, whispering, “Nice shot, man.” Bucky snickers.

Steve is always so funny when he gets all prim and fussy, like some kind of stuffy Victorian schoolmarm. It’s kind of adorable.

In order to fit a full decontamination chamber and shower into the Quinjet, there’s only one of them, so they have to take turns showering. Sam and Bucky have a sort of medium amount of blood on them, while Natasha has somehow managed to escape the whole gory ordeal without a single drop of blood—or even sweat? Literally how is she so pristine?—anywhere on her. Since they’re only in New Jersey, not too far from home, Natasha decides she can wait until they get back to SHIELD headquarters to shower.

“So what’s the deal with all the vampires?” Sam asks. “I thought you and Steve killed that Bloody Baron guy.”

“We did,” Natasha replies, frowning. “It must have been a nest he left behind. Usually new vampires are too stupid or underdeveloped to feed themselves—they’re sort of like human babies that way—but I guess after their vampire dad guy died they must have gotten hungry enough to try to find something to eat on their own. I would have thought that they’d have all starved to death by now, though.”

When Steve finally exits the shower a thousand years later, he shoots them a smug smile. “Good luck fighting over who goes next, guys,” Steve taunts, in an irritating, self-satisfied sort of way. “There’s probably not enough hot water left for both of you.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Bucky says casually. “Sam and I always shower together anyway. We can share. C’mon, Sam.”

Bucky grabs Sam’s wrist and tugs him along toward the shower, and Sam uses every ounce of energy he has left in his body to keep his facial muscles firmly under control, refusing to offer any kind of reaction whatsoever to that frankly shocking claim. What the fuck, Bucky? On the plus side, though, Sam has the pleasure of watching Steve’s eyes widen and his stupid smirk fade as horror slowly sets in.

Natasha’s face, of course, lights up in surprise and then sheer fucking delight at this unexpected turn of events, because Natasha loves drama.

“What,” Steve says weakly.

“Yeah, it’s no big,” Sam says, nonchalant as hell. “We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Steve and Natasha whisper furiously at each other as Bucky pulls him out of the room.

When Bucky shuts the door to the decontamination chamber behind them, Sam falls back against it, running an open hand down his face and groaning. “Bucky, man, what are you doing?”

“What?” Bucky asks, eyes wide and guileless. He’s unbuckling the chest fasteners on his uniform, and Sam decides to take a moment to indulge his purely intellectual curiosity about how exactly Bucky straps himself into all that tactical fetish gear.

“Steve and I always used to take baths together,” Bucky says. “Do you know how long it took to heat up buckets full of water on the stove just to take one bath? And by the time one person was finished, the bath water would be dirty and cold! And Stevie was so little, it was just easier to bathe together so we’d both stay warm, especially in the winter—”

While Bucky prattles on about Depression-era plumbing, filthy shared tenement showers, cold water apartments, the potential dangers of cold baths for people with weak lungs, and how extremely normal it is for best friends to shower together, Sam watches Bucky methodically strip down to bare, sweaty skin.

“Do you need help, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, amusement in his voice.

“What,” Sam says absently. His eyes are intently following the path of a bead of sweat that’s sliding slowly down the hills and valleys of Bucky’s well-defined abs.

“You’re still dressed.”

“Oh! Right. Yes. I mean no! I don’t need help.”

As Bucky turns on the water and adjusts the temperature, Sam undresses hurriedly, tossing his bloody uniform into the laundry container marked “BIOHAZARD” and stepping into the shower with Bucky.

“Now, Sam, I just want to say: it’s OK if you get hard,” Bucky says sincerely, clearly trying but then utterly failing to hold back a grin. He looks directly into Sam’s eyes and claps him on the shoulder. “You know, Steve and I always—”

“Don’t say it,” Sam interrupts. “Do not say it or I will kill you, I swear to God.” Literally the last thing Sam needs, as he desperately tries to redirect the flow of blood running to his cock, is to think about Steve and Bucky showering together with erections. Jesus Christ. Sam is not made of fucking stone.

“I’m just saying, it’s perfectly normal—”

“I will kill you, Barnes,” Sam warns.

“It’s the beauty of nature!” Bucky proclaims with a shit-eating grin, then easily dodges Sam’s half-hearted blow to the face. “And if it makes you feel better, I will be making literally no effort to avoid ogling you, so.”

Sam rolls his eyes and suppresses a smile. “Whatever, man. Help me wash my back.”

***

After they shower together on the Quinjet, Bucky apparently decides that there’s no reason for them to stop showering together now that they’ve started. So every morning when they finish their run, Bucky follows Sam into the bathroom, stripping off his sweaty clothes and just stepping right into the shower, waiting for Sam to join him. And at this point it feels like maybe it would be weird if Sam said something, like maybe he should have said something the first time Bucky decided they were the kind of friends who took showers together, but quite frankly the first time Sam was so distracted by the shift and pull of Bucky’s muscles as he tugged off his shirt that Sam didn’t think to protest.

So now they shower together every morning, and they share the same body wash and shampoo too, because Bucky says that they already smell just like each other from spending so much time together that it doesn’t really make sense for them to use different products. Plus, Bucky explains, with two full grown men in the shower at the same time, there’s just not enough room to clutter up the space with a bunch of different bottles.

Sam is pretty sure that Bucky just likes it that Sam smells like him, though. Bucky’s weirdly possessive that way, and it turns out that maybe Steve is too, because every time Sam gets up close in Steve’s space during training, Steve’s nostrils flare, the briefest look of jealousy crossing his face.

So, on the plus side, their plan is definitely working.

On the down side, however, Sam has exactly zero opportunities to jerk off now, and he’s about to spontaneously fucking combust out of what is probably fatal sexual tension. Because every morning, Sam wakes up to a soft, sleepy Bucky pressed against his back, hips grinding gently against Sam’s ass. And every morning, Sam watches Bucky get sweaty and breathless on their run, thin t-shirt growing slowly more transparent, clinging to those perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles. And then, after all that, Sam has to actually get naked and shower with the guy, who is not at all shy about the way his erection springs up out of his running shorts as he pulls them down his hips.

And all of this—this whole fucking blue balls-inducing, brain-melting, sexually frustrating journey into madness—happens before Sam can even get a goddamn cup of coffee. It is eight in the fucking morning and Sam is about to die from his boner.

“Hey, Sam?” Bucky asks, giving himself a critical look in the bathroom mirror. “Can you cut my hair?”

“Do I look like a barber,” Sam replies flatly.

“No, but I feel like if we’re going to your mom’s today, I should probably look sharp, right? And I just don’t feel like the long hair goes with a suit.” Bucky frowns. “There are probably plenty of videos about hair cutting on Youtube, right? I’ll bet you could figure it out.”

Sam does not remember inviting Bucky to his mom’s house with him today, and he has no idea why Bucky is planning on wearing a suit, but he does remember how Bucky Barnes had looked in those old photos, with that classic haircut highlighting his sharp cheekbones and that perfect fucking jawline. He’d looked like an old movie actor, like Cary Grant or Gregory Peck, and Sam has always had a weakness for handsome men who look like they could take you to church and then take you straight to bed so you’ll have something to confess about next week.

“Yeah, all right,” Sam agrees.

It turns out there are actually a bunch of tutorials on how to cut hair on Youtube—apparently there was a whole thing that happened in 2020 where everyone had to cut their own hair for a while?—and after two or three videos Sam feels reasonably prepared for this potential disaster.

He sits Bucky down on a chair in the kitchen, because Bucky’s hair is thick and long, and Sam wants to make sure he can sweep everything up nice and easy when they’re done. When Sam runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair to start trimming the length, Bucky groans softly, his eyelids fluttering closed.

“Forgot how much I like having my hair touched,” Bucky murmurs.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam says, biting his lip. He wonders if Bucky also likes to have his hair pulled, and for a moment he regrets ever letting Bucky talk him into this hair cut, because he thinks he’d like to see Bucky’s long hair twisted around his fist as he guides Bucky’s mouth down onto his cock.

“I never had a professional haircut before the Army,” Bucky confesses. “My mom always cut it for me when I was a kid, and then when I moved in with Steve we’d do it for each other. We always needed money back then, couldn’t afford a barber.”

“Hold still for a moment,” Sam says, touching Bucky’s jaw and gently guiding his head into the right position. He runs the clippers over the back of Bucky’s neck, fingers pressing lightly against Bucky’s temples to move him where he needs him. Heat blooms deep in Sam’s belly at the way Bucky shivers under his touch. When Sam finishes trimming the sides and back of Bucky’s head, he leans down to softly blow the excess hair off the nape of Bucky’s neck. Bucky moans quietly, biting his lip and arching his back almost imperceptibly. Pretty little goosebumps rise on the back of his neck.

“Take a look,” Sam says quietly, handing Bucky a mirror.

Bucky turns his head left and right, preening a bit as he admires the tidy cut Sam gave him. He looks gorgeous, hair neatly trimmed in a way that draws focus to that devastating bone structure.

“Not too bad for your first try, sweetheart,” Bucky says, grinning. “Think your mom will like it?”

“Oh, I think she will.”

***

When Sam’s mom opens her door to see that Sam has brought a friend to visit, she looks delighted at this unexpected turn of events.

“Sam, baby! It’s so good to see you! Come in, come in!” she exclaims, pulling Sam in for a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek before leading them into the living room. “And who is this handsome young man?”

“This is Bucky,” Sam replies, shooting his mom a warning glare. Do not embarrass me, he communicates silently. She widens her eyes in response, giving Sam an overly innocent look and covering her heart a touch dramatically with her hands. Moi? her body language says. Sam is not fooled. “Bucky is my co-worker. And my roommate. And my friend.”

“Hello, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says, smiling like a goddamn choir boy. “It’s so nice to meet you. I hope you don’t mind that Sam invited me along today.”

Sam most definitely did not invite Bucky along today, but he feels like it would be rude to point that out in front of his mom, who looks very impressed by Bucky’s whole general existence. She looks even more impressed when Bucky presents her with the vase of lilacs he insisted upon buying along the way.

“These are lovely, Bucky! I’m always happy to meet one of Sam’s co-workers slash roommates slash friends,” she says teasingly. “And don’t you look nice! Sam, doesn’t he look nice?”

“You didn’t have to wear a suit to meet my mom,” Sam says with a sigh, rolling his eyes.

They already had this whole argument before they left, but Bucky was adamant about wearing the suit, and honestly Sam didn’t work that hard to try to talk him out of it. Sam didn’t even know that Bucky owned a suit, let alone one that was so perfectly tailored to those shoulders and those slim hips and those long legs. Once Bucky actually put on the suit, Sam suddenly felt like all of his objections were a bit trivial and unnecessary. So now, like an idiot, Sam is also dressed up, wearing a button-down shirt and a navy blue blazer to visit his own mother.

“It’s a Sunday, Sam,” Bucky says reprovingly, in a tone that suggests that the day of the week is somehow relevant to his sartorial choices. Sam’s mom nods approvingly at this, so maybe it’s some kind of weird older generation thing that Sam is too young to understand.

Sam feels a bit ill at the unwelcome realization that Bucky is technically older than Sam’s mother.

Sam’s mom serves them tea and cookies while they catch up, and Bucky is unfailingly polite, charming in a sincere sort of way that Sam should have expected from all of Steve’s stories about growing up together in the neighborhood. It occurs to Sam that Bucky probably developed this skill as a self-defense mechanism against the inevitable havoc that Steve wreaked in their lives, using it to keep the two of them out of trouble with mothers and teachers and, eventually, commanding officers.

When the subject of Captain America comes up, Sam’s mother frowns disapprovingly and says, “I just don’t know why that boy asked you to take on this kind of burden. Is he even retired? Why couldn’t he be Captain America?”

Sam’s mother always refers to Steve as that boy.

“That’s what I said!” Bucky exclaims. “I was furious when Steve said he wanted to pass the shield on to Sam. Why did Sam need to be Captain America? Sam was already a superhero. I mean, he was the Falcon! He could actually fly. How cool is that? Steve could never fly—Steve just fell, usually without a parachute. Being Captain America just meant doing the same thing Sam was already doing, but with an unfamiliar weapon and a lot more attention from bad guys. It seemed so risky and unnecessary.”

Sam is a little stunned at this revelation. He thought the reason Bucky was mad at Steve about the whole Captain America thing was because Steve hadn’t chosen him to be Captain America, not because Bucky was worried about Sam.

Sam’s heart thumps a bit in his chest, warmth flowing through his veins to thaw out a part of him that he hadn’t even realized had been just a tiny bit frozen, an icy chunk he’s been carrying around inside of him ever since he’d accepted Steve’s offer to be the new Captain America. Bucky looks soft and sincere, and Sam didn’t know how much he needed to hear that someone believed in him just as he was—that there was someone who didn’t just think that he’d make a good Captain America but that he was already a pretty great superhero all on his own.

Sam’s mom nods enthusiastically. “Exactly,” she says, then turns to Sam. “I like this one, Sam. He seems so much more sensible than that other boy. That one was always getting you into trouble.”

Bucky chuckles. “Oh, Steve is good at getting people into trouble. But the thing about Steve is that Steve attracts people who are just like him, people who are good and brave and ready to stand up for what’s right no matter what the cost. Sam was fighting for what he believed in long before Steve ever came along. You raised a good man, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says, smiling softly at Sam.

And Sam’s heart breaks a little in his chest at this, because he doesn’t think that Bucky realizes that Bucky is the very first person Steve attracted who shared his innate goodness and integrity, because Bucky doesn’t think he’s a hero like Steve and Sam.

Sam’s mom is clearly pleased by Bucky’s compliment, and she looks proudly over at Sam. “Sam is the best man I know,” she says, her voice strong, full of conviction. “I’m glad he has a partner who understands that his heart is just as valuable as his training.”

“Sam’s heart is exactly why Steve chose him as Captain America,” Bucky says. And then he tells her stories about Sam’s new job, stories that are carefully edited to minimize the danger they had faced and to maximize Sam’s capability and competence in dispatching various minor villains. He tells her about all of the countries they’ve traveled to, all the little boys and girls who’ve looked at Sam with stars in their eyes. Bucky makes sure to include Steve in these stories too, subtly but effectively touting Steve’s unflagging loyalty and care and dependability.

Sam remembers Steve telling him that Bucky was the first to shout “Let’s hear it for Captain America!” when they returned from Kreischberg, successfully distracting Colonel Phillips from any disciplinary action he might have been contemplating against Steve for going MIA. It’s hard to throw the book at someone who’s actively being celebrated by hundreds of grateful, cheering soldiers.

Bucky, Sam is beginning to realize, is the greatest hype man Sam has ever seen.

“Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says with a kind smile. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Come back next weekend!” Sam’s mom replies enthusiastically, giving Bucky a warm hug. “You can meet Sam’s sister Sarah and his niece Michelle. They’ll be sorry they missed you this week. Sam, dear, come give your mother a hug.”

When Sam pulls his mother in for a hug, she whispers, “I’m so proud of you” in his ear. Sam flushes a bit, feeling awkward and self-conscious.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says.

***

That night when they’re lying in bed, passing a joint back and forth, Sam makes a long overdue confession.

“I was mad at you, you know,” Sam says apologetically. “When you ran away. And when you didn’t come back after Peggy died. I thought you weren’t being a good friend to Steve. I don’t think—I don’t think I was being very fair to you. And I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Steve had told Sam a lot of stories about Bucky, about how charming and funny Bucky was, what a good friend he was, what a good sergeant he was. In Steve’s stories, Bucky was a giant, a larger-than-life sort of figure, a man who never gave up and never let anyone down.

And maybe Sam bought into all of that mythologizing, because when Bucky didn’t come back to Steve, Sam felt betrayed on Steve’s behalf. And he realizes now, with a sharp pang of regret, that this reaction was deeply unfair to Bucky, based on the legend of Bucky Barnes rather than the man. Because Bucky was supposed to be the loyal Howling Commando from Steve’s stories, Captain America’s Sergeant and Steve Rogers’s Best Friend, the hero who always rescued Steve when he needed it, even when Steve didn’t think he needed rescuing.

And Steve had so desperately, desperately needed rescuing, especially after Peggy’s death. Sam would never forget the sight of Steve Rogers, Captain America, tired and small and so very fragile, dipping under the weight of Peggy’s coffin as he carried her down the aisle.

When Bucky turns to face Sam, there are lines of grief in the corners of his eyes. “I was sorry about Peggy,” Bucky says quietly. “She was my friend too.”

Sam reaches out to brush his thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone, cupping Bucky’s face in his hand. Bucky raises his hand to cover Sam’s, cool metal against Sam’s skin, and Bucky shivers a little under his touch.

“You’re a good friend, Bucky. I’m sorry I thought you weren’t.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Bucky says with a tired smile.

***

When Steve knocks on their open office door, he looks with surprise at the sign on the doorway. “Sam Wilson and James Barnes?” Steve reads aloud, looking concerned. “Sam, they didn’t give you your own office? I feel like Captain America should get his own office. Do you want me to talk to Fury? Because you shouldn’t have to share with Bucky.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Sam says casually. “Fury gave us two offices, but we just figured it was easier to share since we’re always together anyway. Bucky’s office is our murder board room.”

Steve looks disconcerted by this. “OK,” he says, frowning. “Well, I just came by to let you know that Nat picked up another HYDRA facility on her radar, right near where we found those vampires in New Jersey. She sent you an e-mail with the details.”

Sam doesn’t know why Steve needs to stop by to tell him something that Natasha already sent him in an e-mail, but whatever. There’s something a little bit hesitant in Steve’s expression, a little bit lonely, and maybe Steve just came by because he wanted an excuse to see them.

“Thanks,” Sam says, with a warm smile. “C’mon, let’s go over to the spare office to tell Bucky to put it on our murder board. Make sure you tell him how great it looks, by the way. We spent like thirty minutes at Joann Fabrics picking out just the right shades of yarn to tie everything together. He actually has a whole color-coded system for it, with a key in an Excel spreadsheet and everything.”

While they walk down to go see the murder board, Steve tells Sam all about Bucky’s job as an actuary before the war. Apparently all those years doing informal risk assessment calculations to try to keep Steve from killing himself while they were growing up led to an actual career. “He was actually in college for mathematics when he dropped out to enlist.”

“I wonder if he put that on his resume when he applied for the job,” Sam says. “Actually now that I’m thinking about it I wonder how Bucky fit like 80 years of experience as an actuary, a commando, a brainwashed assassin, an international fugitive, and then a goat farmer on a one-page resume.”

“Wait, Fury actually made you two submit resumes?” Steve raises his eyebrows.

“Nah, just Bucky,” Sam replies, grinning. “I think Fury just wanted to give him a bit of a hard time after he shot him. Bucky actually wrote one up for him too. Wouldn’t let me see it, but if Natasha just so happens to find it anywhere on SHIELD’s servers at some point…”

“I’ll let you know,” Steve says, chuckling.

When they get to the spare office and see Bucky tacking up some new papers on the vampire murder board, Steve’s laughter catches abruptly in his throat. Bucky’s newly short hair is styled today in an appealing combination of his old, neatly parted look and a more modern fashion.

“Bucky?” Steve says breathlessly, his voice thick with emotion.

“Oh, hey, Steve,” Bucky replies awkwardly, raising his hand to his newly cut hair a bit self-consciously. “How does it look?”

“Great!” Steve says fervently, eyes shining. “You look—God, you look so great, Bucky.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, biting his lip shyly. “Sam cut it for me. Had to look respectable if I was going to meet his mom.”

Steve looks unexpectedly stricken for a moment, but then recovers quickly. “Well, it looks great,” he says. “And you met Sam’s mom! That’s—great. That’s also great.”

“She loved him, of course,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “He wore a suit. And he brought her flowers.”

“Bucky always did bring my mom a flower when he came to visit, even if he had to steal it from someone else,” Steve says wistfully. “That’s—that’s so great that he still does that.” Steve looks dreadfully, deeply jealous right now, although Sam honestly can’t tell if Steve is jealous of him, jealous of Bucky, or jealous of Sam’s mom. Probably a weird combination of all three.

“Well, it turns out Bucky is great with moms. Even put in a good word for your sorry ass while he was there,” Sam says cheerfully.

“Wow! Good! That’s—that’s so good,” Steve says, his voice a little weak now. “Wait, does your mom not like me? Actually never mind. We can talk about it later. I’ll just—I’ll just be going now. I can see that you two have a lot of work to do, so I’ll just—go.”

When Steve leaves, Bucky raises an eyebrow at Sam. “You think maybe the whole make-Steve-jealous plan is actually working?” Bucky says wryly, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a crooked smile.

Sam stifles a laugh. “Yeah, just a bit.”

***

Sam and Bucky are just getting out of the shower after their run on Saturday when they hear an unexpected knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Sam says, pulling on a t-shirt and a hoodie. Bucky’s still standing in front of the closet, clad only in a gratifyingly small towel as he takes his time deciding what to wear today.

When Sam gets to the door and opens it, he’s surprised to find Steve and Natasha standing in front of him. Steve looks a bit sheepish, but Natasha appears utterly relaxed, at ease in the way that she always is no matter what’s going on or how weird Steve is.

“Surprise!” Steve says awkwardly. He raises his hands briefly like he might be attempting some sort of jazz hands or something, then clearly thinks better of it and sticks his hands in his pockets where they can’t get him into trouble. “We’re here to take you guys out!”

“Sam, sweetheart, where’s our blue sweater?” Bucky calls out from the bedroom.

“Sweetheart?” Steve repeats thinly.

“Our blue sweater?” Natasha repeats gleefully.

Bucky emerges from the bedroom, hands smoothing out a few wrinkles in the aforementioned sweater as he tugs it into place. “Never mind, I found it,” Bucky announces. “Hey, guys.”

“Well, hello, Bucky. So you two share clothes now,” Natasha observes, the corner of her mouth curving blithely upward. “Isn’t that interesting?”

What’s particularly interesting, Sam thinks, is that he is ninety-nine percent certain that he saw Steve wearing that same white t-shirt Natasha has tied neatly at her waist just the other day.

“Of course we share clothes. Why would Sam and I need separate clothes? We wear basically the same size, even if Sam’s shoulders are a bit nicer than mine,” Bucky says, winking at Sam.

“Your waist is trimmer, though. You’ve got that nice lean look going on, it’s really working for you.”

“OK!” Steve interrupts, sounding a bit frantic. He and Natasha trade a few weird, indecipherable looks back and forth and Natasha rolls her eyes. “So we were thinking we would take you guys out this morning, have some best friend time.” Steve says this last part with particular emphasis.

“Great, where are we going?” Bucky asks.

“Actually,” Steve says, “we were thinking about splitting up. Sam, how do you feel about going to a ball game with me?”

“Sure,” Sam says, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “What are Natasha and Bucky going to do?”

Natasha and Bucky have a brief conversation in Russian, gesturing back and forth a bit before Natasha flatly states, “Bucky and I are gonna go to yoga and then get mani pedis.”

“OK,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. Honestly he probably doesn’t want to know whatever it is they’re really planning to do, if only for the sake of plausible deniability. Sam wonders if he and Bucky should think about getting married at some point so they don’t ever have to testify against each other. He should bring it up later, probably not in front of Steve.

***

Steve and Sam are sitting in the sun, relaxing at a Mets game, and Sam has missed this so much. It’s spring, still a bit chilly, but the sun is out and the day’s warming up quickly. Steve looks happy and relaxed, golden hair shining in the sunlight and a little bit of pink on his cheeks and forehead that will fade away before they’re even home from the game tonight.

“So you and Bucky are getting along well,” Steve says, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eyes.

Sam hums noncommittally, taking a sip of his water. He’d checked the app on his phone to see if any of the beers they had on tap were vegan, but unfortunately none of them were. Which is fine, really, because Bucky’s been nagging him to drink more water lately. In fact Bucky’ll probably ask Sam about it when he gets home, so now Sam will be able to tell Bucky yes, he had a bottle of water today, he’s staying hydrated.

“You don’t think Bucky’s a bit—much?” Steve asks uncertainly. “Some people used to think he was a bit overbearing.”

“Nah, he’s cool,” Sam says mildly, then hesitates. “But, well, he doesn’t have much use for privacy, does he? I mean, he’s always so—around. And so attractive! And sometimes a man needs some time to himself, for personal, intimate things. You know what I’m saying?”

“You’re dying of sexual frustration, aren’t you.” Steve smirks, with a knowing little glint in his eye.

“God, yes.”

“Old Bucky Barnacle. So that’s still his move, huh?” Steve says, his voice wry. “Well, good luck with that. If history repeats itself, I’m sure the situation will eventually come to a head one way or another.”

Sam doesn’t know what to do with that ominous remark, but since it’s such a nice day he decides to let it slide.

“Bucky did say something to me once, kind of struck me as odd. He said that you were his only friend growing up. Which—that’s not true, right? I mean, he’s so handsome and charming and—surprisingly sweet. I feel like a guy like that would have a lot of friends.”

Steve laughs ruefully. “You’d think so, right? But Bucky never really seemed to want other friends, and honestly a lot of people thought there was something a bit—funny, about him. And about me.”

“Funny like maybe you two were a little too close?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking a little flustered. “Yeah, maybe,” he admits. “We were always together. God, Bucky used to get so jealous when I’d make other friends. But he loved me, wanted me to be happy. I think he was happiest when we were a part of the Howling Commandos. He just wanted me to be around people who valued me and appreciated me, I think.”

“He liked Peggy a lot,” Sam says mildly, carefully.

“He talked to you about Peggy?” Steve’s eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“We talk,” Sam says, careful to keep his tone guarded. Sam doesn’t know how much Steve and Bucky have really had a chance to connect after Bucky came back from Wakanda, doesn’t know how much Bucky is comfortable with Sam revealing. He gets the feeling that Steve and Bucky have been dancing around a lot of things for about eighty-five years now. “He likes Natasha too.”

“Does he,” Steve says, with a small, speculative smile.

***

They’re sitting on the sofa, catching up on Riverdale, and Sam can’t believe how much better the show has gotten since the Decimation forced them to write out Archie Andrews. They’ve just finished the episode where Betty Cooper reveals that the murdered Jason Blossom was actually just a clone of the real Jason Blossom—who apparently was in the witness protection program the whole time—when Bucky suddenly announces, “I think we should practice kissing.”

“Yes, absolutely, one hundred percent,” Sam agrees immediately, then pauses. “Wait, why?”

“Well, Steve and I used to practice kissing all the time, so it’s obviously a pretty normal best friend thing to do,” Bucky reasons, gazing earnestly at Sam with wide, too-innocent eyes. “I feel like it would be suspicious if Steve found out I haven’t kissed anyone in almost eighty years and my so-called best friend didn’t help me get back into practice.”

Then Bucky pulls his right arm across his chest, casually stretching the strong muscle in his shoulder, the thin material of his t-shirt straining over his firm bicep. And wow, Bucky really should have been a lawyer or a politician or something, because Sam always finds his arguments extremely convincing. He’s honestly the most persuasive guy Sam has ever met.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says. “C’mere.”

Bucky leans toward him, hand coming up to touch Sam’s face gently. Bucky’s so close that Sam can feel Bucky’s soft breath against his mouth, and Sam leans forward to rest his forehead against Bucky’s.

“OK?” Bucky murmurs.

Sam hums in response, leaning forward to touch his lips softly to Bucky’s. Bucky’s hand trembles a little on Sam’s face, nerves or anticipation, but then Bucky’s grip tightens and he pulls Sam closer, opening his mouth to capture Sam’s lips between his.

The kiss starts out soft and sweet, tentative, and then slowly grows more passionate. Sam gasps when Bucky’s teeth pull gently at his bottom lip, tugging his mouth open so Bucky can slip his tongue inside. Sam moans and strokes his tongue against Bucky’s, heating burning through his veins as their tongues slide wetly against each other. Sam can feel Bucky’s heart beating right against his own, through their shirts and their skin and their sternums, a pounding, frantic rhythm that matches the pulse of blood traveling directly to Sam’s cock.

Sam tangles his fingers in Bucky’s hair, gripping the short strands in his fist and tugging gently, pulling Bucky’s head right where he needs him. Bucky pitches forward a bit, off-balance, bracing his hands on Sam’s thighs before climbing eagerly up onto Sam’s lap. Bucky is making sweet, urgent little sounds that send a shiver of want down Sam’s spine, and Sam has to pull back for a moment, take a minute to breathe and let his racing heart settle in his chest.

“Sam,” Bucky says, pupils dilated and dark. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, panting and fighting to keep his hips still, trying to keep from shifting them up against Bucky’s. “That was—.”

“Good?” Bucky asks, lips curving into a crooked, cocky grin.

“It was all right,” Sam replies casually, feigning nonchalance. “I think you still need more practice. C’mere.”

***

They practice kissing a lot after that, which is great, and also lucky, because when Bucky hisses “kiss me” to Sam in the middle of a HYDRA raid, Sam doesn’t even hesitate.

They’re sneaking into that New Jersey HYDRA facility Natasha found near the gross vampire lair, and Steve and Nat are breaking into one end of the facility while Sam and Bucky creep through the other. They’re trying to be quiet, don’t want to be caught before Steve and Natasha have a chance to get the data off HYDRA’s servers, so when a HYDRA goon stumbles into the hallway with them, Bucky hauls Sam right up against him and kisses him fiercely.

The HYDRA goon makes a noise of surprise and confusion, clearly baffled by the two heavily armed men making out in the middle of a research facility, but Sam’s having a hard time paying attention to him over the feel of Bucky’s lips, which are spit-slick and firm and insistent against Sam’s. When Bucky starts grinding his hips against him—wow, Bucky is really selling this—Sam lets out a low moan that Steve and Natasha will almost certainly hear over the comms.

“What’s going on here? You’re not supposed to be here!” the goon says.

Bucky releases Sam’s lower lip from between his teeth with a loud pop. “Huh? Oh, sorry, guess we got carried away,” Bucky says sheepishly.

“That’s OK, just—hey, wait! You’re the Winter Soldier!” the goon exclaims, apparently catching sight of Bucky’s metal arm.

Steve and Natasha burst into the hallway at that moment, and when the goon turns back around to face them Sam pulls his shield from its harness and throws it at the man, who falls to the floor like a sack of bricks. Sam catches the rebound.

“Oh, hey, guys,” Bucky says with a grin, casually reaching down to readjust the lines of his uniform from where Sam’s fists had wrinkled it during their makeout session. “You didn’t have to come help out. We had everything under control here.”

“Had everything under control here,” Steve repeats. “We saw you on the security cams necking right in front of a guard!”

“Well, sure, but the guy caught us red-handed sneaking down the corridors. Thank God Bucky’s such a quick thinker or that guard would have thought something was suspicious going on,” Sam says, shooting Bucky a grateful smile. Bucky grins back at him. “Using the old pretend-to-be-a-couple-making-out scam was a great call.”

“A great call?” Natasha says, raising her eyebrows. “You’re dressed as Captain America and the Winter Soldier and you’re right in the middle of their facility. In what way did you appear to be two passionate lovers out for an innocent stroll?”

“To be fair, that guard would have no idea if Captain America and the Winter Soldier had a more than professional relationship,” Bucky points out.

“And are you questioning Bucky’s professional judgment as a master of covert operations, Natasha?” Sam says reproachfully, shaking his head in disappointment. “Bucky was a ghost for over fifty years. I think the man knows how to keep from blowing a cover.”

Steve sighs heavily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “Look, let’s just do a quick sweep through the basement, OK? It’s the only place left that we haven’t checked out.”

When they make it down to the basement, Sam is surprised to find that the whole thing has a very distinct incel-with-a-sex-dungeon vibe to it. Which is not really an aesthetic that he thought HYDRA would be embracing, but he’s learned to roll with it when it comes to the weird shit that HYDRA gets up to. The room looks moldy and kind of wet, with a clammy cement wall that has an actual, albeit cheap-looking, coffin propped up against it, right next to some rusted metal chains that look like a serious tetanus hazard. There’s also a microwave and a pretty expensive gaming PC down here, screen turned on to one of those gryphons and gargoyles MMORPGs.

“Is someone living down here?” Bucky asks, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Or, even worse, is someone living in that coffin?”

There’s only one way to find out. Steve walks over to the coffin and yanks it open, jumping back in horror when a man wearing a neck brace and plastic fangs pops out and cries, “Steve! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming back for me and my vampire babies. And you’ve found my new dungeon!”

His creepy red eyes are on fire with ecstasy.

“Ew, it’s Todd,” Bucky says, making a sour face. “I thought you killed that guy.”

“Yeah, me too,” Steve says with a frown.

“My name isn’t Todd,” Todd says peevishly. “It’s Baron Blood. How would you like it if everyone called you Bucky instead of the Winter Soldier?”

“Everyone does call me Bucky.”

When Todd has the nerve to look judgmental at this, Sam narrows his eyes and snaps, “Bucky is a great nickname.”

“It’s very cute,” Natasha agrees.

“I gave it to him,” Steve says, nodding proudly.

“Did you,” Todd says, eyes widening in alarm. “I didn’t mean to imply that Bucky was a bad nickname! Not at all! In fact, I love it. I was just—pointing out that it might be a tad unprofessional to use someone’s regular name in this kind of formal confrontation between a superhero and his archnemesis. I mean, this is really more like a work meeting, so I think it’s best if we just stick to titles, right, Captain America?”

“You called him Steve, earlier,” Natasha says.

“Well, the relationship between a superhero and his archnemesis really is such an intimate connection,” Todd purrs.

“Gross,” Bucky says.

“Anyway,” Steve says loudly, “Sam is Captain America now, I’m just a regular SHIELD agent. And I’m actually kind of in between call signs right now, so you can just—just call me Steve, I guess.” Steve looks a bit queasy at this.

“Wonderful, Steve,” Todd says smugly, his smile sharp and unnerving underneath those plastic fangs. Then he turns to Sam, looking him critically up and down before disdainfully stating, “I certainly won’t be calling him Captain America, though.”

“Why not? That’s pretty rude, Todd. We’re having a work meeting.” Natasha’s tone is disapproving.

“Well, for one, I’m racist,” Todd explains. “But also there will only ever be one Captain America, and that’s Steve Rogers. This guy’s just the Falcon.”

He says it scornfully, and Sam honestly might have felt a little insulted, but instead he remembers what Bucky said to his mother, that the Falcon was cool, that he could fly, that Sam was a superhero before he ever met Steve Rogers. And so Sam stands tall, raises his head high, and does his fucking job because he is a hero and a professional.

“Whatever, Todd,” Sam says. “I’m going to have to arrest you now.”

Unfortunately, Todd chooses this moment to reveal that he has the ability to transform into a swarm of bats, each of them wearing a tiny neck brace and plastic fangs as they form a small cluster and fly right out of the room and presumably away into the night.

Sam sighs in frustration. “You’re out there somewhere, Blood Baron, and I’ll find you!” he calls out after Todd.

“No, you won’t!” Todd shouts from a distance.

Sam puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes. “Yes, I will.”

“Nope!”

Bucky looks around the room, sighing in disgust as he takes in the mess and chaos from dozens of vampire bats flying about, leaving bat fur and guano everywhere.

“Great, now we’re all going to have to get rabies shots,” Bucky complains.

 ***

Sam and Bucky’s whole fake-best-friends plan is working phenomenally well, because ever since that Saturday Steve and Natasha had showed up unexpectedly to take them out, they’ve been regularly scheduling what Steve insists upon calling “best friend dates.” So long as they’re all in the same city, every Saturday they get together in pairs or as a foursome so that no one ever feels left out and everybody gets some quality time with each other.

When Steve and Sam hang out, they usually go to a game or to the gym—not to do any serious training, just to spar, getting sweaty and screwing around trying out new moves on each other. The best part is that for whatever reason the other SHIELD agents seem super reluctant to work out at the same time as them, so Sam and Steve always have plenty of room to wrestle and grapple around on the mats, pinning and taunting each other until someone gets frustrated enough to really slam the other one around a bit.

Sam has no idea what Bucky and Natasha do on their mysterious outings—they claim they’re going to drag brunches or yoga or spin class, but Sam can only guess what kind of sketchy shit a pair of formerly Russian former assassins might get up to together. Thankfully they’re always careful to mastermind their operations in Russian, presumably so that Sam will never be forced to reveal anything incriminating about them if he’s questioned. Bucky takes care of him like that.

Sam’s dates with Natasha are always super weird and fun—they usually end up going to see some kind of crazy conceptual art exhibit or avant-garde foreign film, then get coffee afterward and pretend to be fancy art critics. Or they’ll wander around old flea markets and antique stores and look for insensitive gifts for Steve and Bucky.

Sam is pretty sure that Steve spends his dates with Bucky doing something really homoerotic and intense like drawing semi-nude portraits of Bucky in 1940s military uniforms.

Actually, if they’re not already doing that, Sam should suggest it. He could probably try to pass it off as “healing” or “cathartic” or something, and maybe Steve will even show him the drawings afterward now that Sam has so much experience critiquing art with Natasha.

Today Sam and Natasha had planned on going to an outdoor art fair for their best friend date, because it’s funny to buy Steve tacky cat art and then watch him fumble for an appropriately gracious response, but this morning dawned with the sound of thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. By noon it’s pouring rain, a thick wall of icy water erupting from angry gray clouds, and Natasha is soaking wet when Sam answers the door.

“Jesus, Nat!” Sam says, ushering her into the apartment. “Let me grab you a towel for your hair. Do you want a change of clothes?”

“Sure, but don’t worry about the towel,” Natasha says with a careless wave of her hand. She opens the duffel bag she’s brought with her to reveal a barber’s cape and a pair of shears. “You’re going to cut my hair!”

“Oh, I’m going to cut your hair,” Sam grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Why does everyone seem to think I’m a barber?”

Sam leads Natasha into the kitchen and pulls out a chair for her before heading into the bedroom to try to find a pair of sweats that might fit. Natasha’s tiny, petite even when she wears heels, and it’s easy to forget that about her when she always stands so tall and confident. Sam wonders sometimes if that’s how Steve looked before he got the serum, all tiny and full of courage and swagger. Sam definitely does not think about how he and Bucky might have a type, and instead he grabs a t-shirt and the smallest pair of joggers they own, the ones that pull nice and tight over Bucky’s thighs and ass, before heading back into the kitchen.

Instead of waiting in the chair, Natasha’s standing in the nude, unselfconscious, wringing her clothes out over the sink. Her skin is pale and damp, glistening even in the dim, stormy light of the kitchen. Sam swallows and allows his eyes to trace the path of a drop of water sliding down the side of her neck only until it hits her collarbone, then looks away.

Sam clears his throat and tosses her the bundle of clothes. “Here, put these on,” he says, keeping his gaze averted while he grabs her wet clothes out of the sink. “I’ll put yours in the dryer.”

“Leave the bra out! If you put it in the dryer you’ll ruin it!” Natasha calls after him.

Sam rolls his eyes. “I have a sister, you know!”

Sam hangs Natasha’s bra up above the dryer, and damn, he can see why she doesn’t want him to ruin it. It’s gorgeous, black and lacy and expensive-looking—sexier than the three no-nonsense cotton bras that Natasha rotated between during those two years on the run. Sam smiles as he fingers the lace along the band, a gentle wave of happiness cresting over him at the thought of Natasha finally allowing herself to wear something beautiful.

When Sam returns to the kitchen, Natasha’s dressed, cozy and comfortable in Sam’s favorite t-shirt, joggers rolled up around her waist in an attempt to keep them from hanging onto the floor. Sam tries very hard not to feel any sort of way about how Natasha looks in Sam and Bucky’s clothing.

“So what am I doing here?” Sam asks. He flicks on the light and wraps the barber’s cape around Natasha, snapping it carefully at the back of her neck. Natasha’s hair is already damp, and Sam combs it straight, parting it just above her left eyebrow the way she likes. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s watched her straighten and style her hair this way over the years. “Do you want to keep any of the blonde?”

Natasha shrugs. “Nope, just lop it all off.”

“You’re lucky Bucky’s hair was long enough that I had to watch a bunch of videos on how to cut women’s hair too,” Sam says. He uses the comb to pull her hair taut and then trims off the bleached ends. “Actually, you’re lucky you’re beautiful enough that you can pull off an at-home hair cut from a dude with exactly one professional reference.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and reaches back to pinch Sam’s leg in response.

“Careful!” Sam warns, jerking back to dodge her unnecessarily strong fingers. “If I slip with these scissors, you’re gonna end up with the same haircut I gave Bucky. Do you want to be matching Russian murder twins? Steve and I won’t even be able to tell you two apart anymore.”

Natasha gives him a sly look from beneath her lashes. “Are you saying you and Steve would mind if Bucky and I switched places on you once in a while?”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek and ignores the massive trap Natasha has laid for him, all giant wooden spikes sticking out of a hole in the ground that Natasha’s barely even bothered to camouflage with leaves.

“You and Steve are nasty,” Sam says. “Don’t get me and Bucky involved in your business.”

“Sam,” Natasha teases in a sing-song voice.

Sam ignores her and focuses on trimming her hair, watching the blonde strands drift down to the tile floor. The kitchen is silent around them, quiet enough that Sam can hear the hum of the refrigerator over the soft sounds of the rain pitter-pattering outside, finally beginning to slow.

“Sam, ” Natasha says.

“I’m almost done,” Sam interrupts. He trims one last stray hair that’s escaped from the rest. “You like it just below your shoulders here? If you part it in the middle you’ll look just like you did when I met you.”

“Sam—”

“Here, take a look,” Sam says, handing over the mirror.

He unsnaps Natasha’s cape and busies himself with cleaning up, bringing Natasha’s scissors over to the sink to wash them. Sam soaps up the scissors and watches the storm move off into the distance through the kitchen window. There’s a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds off to the west, just beginning to hint at the promise of a pretty day ahead.

When he’s done cleaning the scissors, he turns back to face Natasha and catches her smiling at herself in the mirror. “Sam!” she says, her eyes bright and sparkling. “I do look just like I did when you met me.”

“Yeah, Nat, you do,” Sam says with a fond smile, tugging on a lock of Natasha’s hair. “You look just like yourself again.”

The corner of Natasha’s lips tugs up in a wicked grin. “You think I’ve still got what it takes to bring down an entire secret government agency?”

“Nat, you don’t need to bring down an entire secret government agency. You’re gonna run one someday.”

***

The next Saturday Sam and Bucky are making their way through the alleys of Brooklyn on their way to lunch with Steve and Nat, and Sam can’t honestly say that the smell of dumpsters is really doing a lot for his appetite. He’s hopeful that they might run into Steve the cat, but otherwise it would really be nice to just go the regular way for once.

“Man, I don’t think we’re being followed,” Sam says. “Do we really have to go through the whole trash maze today? Can’t we just walk on the streets like regular people?”

Bucky looks concerned. “Wait, what do you mean being followed? Do you think we’re being followed?” Bucky’s spine stiffens and he looks alert, eyes darting back and forth to check the alley entrances for suspicious characters.

“No? But isn’t that why we walk through all these alleys every time we go somewhere?”

Bucky looks shifty for a moment, then embarrassed. “No? It’s really more like—OK, so the truth is—I don’t actually know my way around Brooklyn through the streets,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry, you just said what now,” Sam says flatly. “Bucky, you grew up here.”

“I know, OK?” Bucky lifts his arm to scratch the back of his neck self-consciously. “But do you know how many fights Steve got into in these alleys? We didn’t have cell phones back then, Sam! The only way to make sure Steve was safe was just to take the alleys everywhere and hope I’d run across him before he got himself killed.”

“Oh my God, you really are the world’s best best friend,” Sam marvels. “No wonder Steve wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes and trying to hide a pleased grin. “All right, sweetheart, show me how to get there the fancy way. Lead on.”

So Sam leads Bucky out of his weird little warren full of dumpsters and feral cats and into the sunny streets of Brooklyn. Their shoulders and hands bump a bit as they walk along, and Sam’s heart beats a little faster when Bucky briefly tangles their pinky fingers together and gives him a little squeeze.

When they get to the restaurant they find Steve and Nat sitting close together, grinning and laughing and looking fondly at one another, and Sam is surprised to find that he doesn’t feel even the slightest burn of envy at their casual display of intimacy. Instead his heart swells with affection for them, his best friends, and Sam feels thankful that whatever trauma and heartache they’ve suffered over the last five years, at least they’ve finally learned how to express all those emotions they’d been keeping locked so tightly inside of them.

Steve and Nat seem lighter, happier, quicker to offer smiles and physical affection and verbal assurances of love. It’s kind of sweet really, Sam thinks.

Steve and Natasha look happy when they see Sam and Bucky arrive, standing up to give them big hugs and quick kisses on the cheek or the lips. The four of them chat for a while about what else Sam and Bucky have missed over the last five years—they’re still catching up, working their way now through the four legendary albums Taylor Swift released after her boyfriend was lost in the Decimation. She dropped all four albums at the same time, received massive public and critical acclaim, then disappeared for the next four years. Sam is profoundly unsurprised by the revelation that he and Bucky share an appreciation for hot, artistic blonds.

When the subject turns to work and thus to Todd, Sam groans. “So what’s the deal with that guy anyway? I thought you literally beheaded him.”

“I did,” Steve says with a grimace. “But he had that whole neck brace situation going on? So I guess he’s using it to just sort of—hold everything together.” Steve looks a little nauseated at the idea.

“Todd is so gross,” Bucky complains.

“You soaked the shield in holy water blessed by the pope, though, right?” Sam asks, frowning. “Todd’s Catholic, so it should have worked.”

“We did,” Natasha confirms. “Steve took a trip to Rome and went to a special mass and everything.”

Steve turns to Bucky, looking displeased. “Oh! Did you know that they do the mass with the priest facing you now? So now he can see if you’re goofing off in church. And they don’t do it in Latin anymore, so they expect you to actually listen too.”

“Remember when Father O’Connell caught us sneaking comic books into our hymnals and Ma wouldn’t let me see you for a month?” Bucky says, shaking his head and letting out a low whistle. “She always did think you were a bad influence.”

“I honestly thought you were going to die every single night when you snuck up that death trap of a fire escape to my bedroom in the pitch darkness.”

“Well, c’mon, like I was really going to go an entire month without seeing my best friend?” Bucky says, scoffing. “Plus that was like the same month we discovered masturbation so forgive me for being willing to risk death to come see you every night.”

Natasha snorts a little at that, and Sam makes sure to look directly in front of him at Steve so that he does not catch Natasha’s eye.

“Anyway,” Natasha says loudly, clearing her throat. “I think our mistake was in getting holy water blessed by the wrong pope.”

“The wrong pope?” Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “There’s only one pope, Natalia.”

“Not anymore!” Natasha says cheerfully. “After the Snap, there was a huge schism in the Catholic Church between the ‘faithful’ and a group of people who thought that what we actually experienced was the Rapture. There was this whole conspiracy theory that the old pope and a group of cardinals—who were all taken in the Decimation—deliberately suppressed information about the Rapture because it conflicted with Catholic teachings. So the remaining ‘faithful’ cardinals elected one pope, but then another group of cardinals broke off and elected a different pope.”

“What,” Sam says.

“Yup!” Natasha says, eyes alight with amusement. “So the schismatics moved their Holy See back to Avignon in France, but before they did, they—get this—collected the old pope’s ashes and put them on trial.”

“What,” Sam repeats, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

“It was the most batshit insane Medieval farce of a trial I have ever seen, and I grew up in the Soviet Union.” Natasha tips her head in reluctant approval at this lunacy. “So anyway, now there are two popes, and they’ve each ex-communicated the other.”

“So if Todd is a follower of the schismatic pope, then I guess we need to go get some holy water blessed by that guy instead?” Sam says.

“Natasha and I can go,” Steve offers.

Bucky narrows his eyes at this and bumps Sam’s knee under the table. “Nah, Sam and I can go. The last time I was in Avignon, I was in the infantry and it was being bombed by the Germans,” Bucky laments. He knows how guilty Steve feels about the horrors Bucky witnessed in the war before Steve rescued him from Kreischberg. “Plus Avignon is really beautiful this time of year.”

“It will be a healing trip,” Sam says earnestly.

***

One of Bucky’s many mysterious superpowers is that no matter where they are in the world, no matter what part of any city, no matter what language everybody is speaking and whether Bucky can speak it too, Bucky can disappear for fifteen minutes and magically return with the best weed Sam has ever smoked.

They’re at their hotel in Avignon, relaxing after a pretty tense dinner with Pope Stephen X—known apparently to “regular” Catholics as the Antipope of Avignon—and his loony band of schismatics. Sam has already expended the majority of today’s allotted emotional energy pretending that everything this guy did wasn’t deeply weird.

“Do you think he’s actually going to release a papal bull against Destiel?” Bucky asks. He sucks on the end of their joint, cheeks hollowing out attractively as he inhales, before he exhales and passes it back over to Sam.

They’re on the roof of the hotel, where they’re probably not technically allowed to be, but Sam used his wings to get them up here anyway and he’s sure they have some sort of diplomatic immunity or something, right? Probably. They have a gorgeous view of the Rhone, painted dark purple in the setting sun, and the Palais des Papes looks Gothic and romantic as hell surrounded by Medieval ramparts.

“I don’t know, man,” Sam says, shrugging. He feels warm and lazy. “I tried to tell him it’d be political or religious suicide or whatever if he did. Like 40% of the world’s Catholics live in Latin America and they’re all Destiel believers down there.”

They lapse into silence for a moment, and then Bucky says, “Hey, Sam? Do you ever think about submarines?”

“I mean, occasionally, I guess,” Sam says thoughtfully. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Bucky replies, leaning back and looking up at the sky. “It’s just so funny thinking about all the submarines floating out there, hiding from each other. Like, what a ridiculous thing we all decided to do. We just send people out for months at a time and tell them to find other submarines but not to let other submarines find them. And like every major superpower does this, and it costs billions of dollars.”

“That’s a good point, but also you’re high as fuck,” Sam replies, stifling a grin. “Where did you even get this weed?”

“French Mafia,” Bucky responds blithely.

Sam shakes his head in disbelief, wondering when that became a thing. He pours another glass of wine from the picnic basket they brought up with them and takes a sip. “This is a nice ass spread, by the way. You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

Bucky grins in response, and oh, Sam knows that grin.

“C’mere, baby,” Sam says. “Let’s make out.”

***

It takes a while for Natasha to track Todd to his new lair, but eventually she finds it in the Free State of Michigan. Like everything else about the world after the Snap, everything about that situation is confusing as hell too, because when Michigan seceded from the Union, the Upper and Lower Peninsulas actually split apart from each other. It wasn’t even because one peninsula wanted to leave and the other wanted to stay either—they both wanted to leave, but the Lower Peninsula refused to let the Upper Peninsula tag along with them, arguing that they didn’t contribute enough to their tax base.

So now the Lower Peninsula is an independent country known as the Free State of Michigan, while the Upper Peninsula is still a part of the United States of America and is known simply as Michigan. They fought a lot over which peninsula got to keep the name Michigan, and the Upper Peninsula only narrowly won that battle after Ohio got its trashy ass involved.

Finally, after the Battle of Toledo and the total shit show that was the Second Michigan-Ohio War, the United States government finally agreed to let the Free State of Michigan leave so long as they got to keep the Upper Peninsula and call it Michigan. So now the Lower Peninsula is a libertarian hellhole called the Free State of Michigan and Sam has to use his passport to get there.

“Do you even need a passport?” Bucky asks. They’re in the middle of fighting Todd, who’s not actually that good at fighting but is very good at exploding into a group of bats every time they try to land a punch. “You’re Captain America. I feel like this is a situation like the Queen of England, where she doesn’t need a passport because all passports are issued by her.”

“I don’t think that all American passports are issued by me,” Sam says doubtfully. He should probably check with Nick Fury or maybe the President about that, though.

Todd re-forms back into a person just to be a dick and tell Sam he’ll never be the real Captain America.

“You’re an asshole, Todd,” Sam informs him. Then, before Todd can become bats again, Sam slings his shield, already coated in holy water blessed by the Antipope of Avignon, directly at Todd’s neck, busting through his brace and re-severing his head.

 “Nice hit,” Bucky says, whistling in admiration.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to do the trick, because Todd just stands up, gropes blindly for his head, and once he finds it, he poofs into a swarm of bats, each one cradling its little head in its right wing, flying off into the night at a distinctly wonky angle.

“Damn it, Todd!” Sam calls after him. “What the fuck do you even believe in, man?”

***

They don’t stay at a hotel in the Free State of Michigan because it’s a dystopian nightmare where every hotel room is a smoking room and Sam is genuinely concerned about being hunted for sport, so they take the Quinjet back to New York.

They get in late, showering perfunctorily and climbing into bed nude together, too tired to bother pulling on pajamas. When Sam wakes up in the morning, he can see that it’s really more like mid-afternoon, the sun streaming in through their curtains, filling the bedroom with soft, diffused light. Bucky is pressed up against his back, too hot and just a tiny bit sweaty, his hard cock nestled up against Sam’s ass.

When Sam shifts a bit against him, reluctantly considering the prospect of getting up and starting the day, Bucky makes a discontented little noise and wraps his arm around Sam’s chest to pull him back.

“No, come back here,” Bucky mumbles, voice rough with sleep. He throws his leg over Sam’s, trapping him into place, and drops a warm kiss onto the back of Sam’s neck. Sam shivers at the feel of Bucky’s lips against the sensitive skin at his nape, and Bucky’s hand wanders down Sam’s chest and along his flank as he subtly grinds his cock into Sam’s ass.

Sam lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, that’s what you want?” he asks with amusement.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky breathes. “That’s what I want.”

Sam turns over to face him, capturing Bucky’s lips in a slow and dirty kiss. Bucky moans softly, and his hand slides down to blatantly grope Sam’s ass, fingers kneading into the hard muscle. Bucky’s cock is pressed against his, and Sam can’t resist grinding a bit against him.

When Sam pulls back from the kiss, he asks, “You sure about this? Sex changes things.”

“Sure I’m sure,” Bucky says, grinning. “I mean, it’s been awhile, but Steve and I always—”

“Do not tell me you and Steve used to fuck back in the day.” Sam groans, willing his brain not to indulge those mental images.

“Wait, did you and Steve not—”

“No!” Sam says defensively. “Steve and I were best friends, not boyfriends.”

“Sam, first of all, it’s totally normal to fuck your best friend, it’s called friends with benefits. I looked it up, and it’s a thing.” Bucky sounds placid, relaxed, his tone entirely too reasonable, his expression even and unbothered. “And second of all, you and I are only pretending to be best friends, so it’ll be even more fine for us.”

Bucky shifts his hips against Sam again, and Sam stifles a low moan. Sam is absolutely going to go along with this nonsense. God, all of his relationships with all of his friends have gotten so deeply weird ever since Steve came into his life. Steve’s boundary issues with Bucky are infecting the entire rest of the team.

“Yeah, OK,” Sam agrees, then gasps as Bucky leans down to lick and then gently bite Sam’s nipple. The sensation goes straight to Sam’s cock and he can’t resist thrusting his pelvis up against Bucky’s hard abs. “Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky says, licking his way down Sam’s chest, mouthing and sucking at the skin on Sam’s lower belly and thighs, soft and gentle and careful, like maybe he doesn’t want to leave any bruises. Sam wonders if that’s a leftover habit from fucking Steve, if Bucky hadn’t wanted to leave marks on Steve’s pale, delicate skin, still so quick to bloom purple even now that his bruises fade in a matter of hours. As Sam pictures Bucky’s mouth on Steve, licking and sucking at him the same way that he’s torturing Sam now, heat spreads through his entire body, his skin on fire.

Bucky spends an excruciatingly long time just teasing and kissing around Sam’s cock before he finally, finally runs his tongue slowly up Sam’s hard length.

“Fuck,” Sam curses, fighting to keep his hips still. Bucky looks up at him from beneath those long lashes, and Sam feels a sharp tug in his lower belly at the sight of those gorgeous gray eyes. “Fuck, please.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Bucky says soothingly.

He presses a soft kiss to the tip of Sam’s cock and then wraps his pretty lips around him and slides down, maintaining eye contact as he takes Sam deep into his mouth. Sam gasps at all that wet heat surrounding him, shocked by the fire racing down his spine as he feels Bucky swallow him down.

“Bucky,” Sam says helplessly, reaching down to put his hands in Bucky’s thick hair, soft and still messy from sleep.

Sam shifts restlessly, trying not to fuck Bucky’s mouth as Bucky leisurely drags his mouth up and down Sam’s cock, his pace maddeningly, frustratingly slow. When Bucky slides all the way down to the base of Sam’s cock, taking his entire length into his mouth, Sam’s hips jerk involuntarily and his fists clench in Bucky’s hair.

“Fuck, baby, I need—I need—”

Bucky pulls his mouth off Sam’s cock and Sam moans at the loss of that tight heat. Bucky’s eyes are knowing, his lips spit-slick and pink, so pretty and swollen.

“I know what you need, sweetheart,” Bucky says sympathetically, wickedly, his voice rough from Sam’s cock down his throat. “You gonna let me fuck you, Sam?”

“Yeah, God, yeah,” Sam says. Sam’s pulse leaps at the thought, and he takes a deep breath to try to force his racing heart to calm down, to steady his shaking hands.

Bucky kisses his way back up Sam’s chest, leaning over Sam to whisper in his ear, “So gorgeous, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good, Sam.”

Bucky reaches into the top drawer of the nightstand to pull out a condom and a bottle of lube. Sam starts to turn over, to bring himself up onto all fours, when Bucky stops him and says, “No, stay there, sweetheart. I wanna see you while I fuck you.”

Bucky grabs a pillow and slides it under Sam’s ass, pulling Sam’s knees up and spreading his legs apart so he can look at him. Sam trembles under Bucky’s gaze, his skin prickling as Bucky’s eyes roam greedily over Sam’s body.

“Fuck, Sam,” Bucky says reverently. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Sam gasps, arching his back when he feels the slick press of Bucky’s finger at his hole.

He tries not to clench up, tries to relax his muscles as Bucky slides a finger smoothly inside him. Bucky is sweet and soothing, praising Sam as he works his finger in and out of him, telling Sam how beautiful he is, how good he feels, how much Bucky can’t wait to be inside of him. Sam’s poor, neglected cock is dripping precome onto his lower belly, and Sam reaches down to take himself in hand, giving his cock a gentle stroke.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Bucky says, his eyes hot and admiring as they watch Sam’s fist moving over his cock.

Sam keeps at it, leisurely jerking himself off while Bucky works a second and then a third finger into him. Bucky’s eyes are dark and hungry, and Sam feels aroused and exposed and needy, desperate for more, ready for Bucky’s cock to fuck him open and fill him up. He’s panting and gasping, chanting, “Please, please, please” as Bucky’s fingers stretch and pull at his loosening rim.

“You want it?” Bucky says, ripping open the condom package, pulling out the condom and sliding it down the thick, flushed length of his cock.

“Please, yes, I need it,” Sam begs.

And Sam’s embarrassed by his eagerness, how desperate he is for it, but the humiliation only makes him more aroused, his cock hardening further under his hand. He’s always so quick to say yes to Bucky, so quick to be tempted even against his own common sense, and Jesus fuck is he grateful for that now because that is Bucky’s cock sliding into him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle at Sam’s entrance and filling him up.

Bucky grabs Sam’s legs and hitches them up around his waist, sliding another inch of his thick cock deep inside Sam, who’s gasping and panting beneath him. Sam’s knees tighten around Bucky’s sides, gripping him tight and using his leverage to pull Bucky deeper into him. Sweat begins to form at the small of Sam’s back and behind his knees, prickling at his overheated skin.

“Sam,” Bucky moans. “God, Sam, you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Bucky bends down to steal a wet, filthy kiss as he slides his cock deeper, pushing that last, final inch all the way into Sam. Bucky’s hips are flush against him, and Sam feels so connected to Bucky, with Bucky’s tongue sliding slickly into Sam’s mouth and Bucky’s cock thrusting deep into Sam’s ass, and Sam swears Bucky’s heart is beating in time with his, twin rhythms pounding faster and faster until Sam feels like they’ll both burst into flames.

“C’mon,” Sam urges. “I need it. Please, baby.”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, leaning down to give Sam one last kiss before he braces himself on his arms and starts moving, slow and deep and dirty, into Sam. Sam’s head falls back as his back arches, and Bucky’s teeth nip gently at the exposed skin of Sam’s neck. Sam reaches down to grab Bucky’s ass, and Bucky inhales sharply when Sam pulls him, hard, so far inside him that Sam feels like he’ll choke on Bucky’s cock.

“Sam—Sam, you—”

“Yeah, baby, please—”

“God, Sam—”

Bucky fucks him so slowly, so sweetly, that Sam feels like he’s going to float off into space, lost in the feel of Bucky’s cock hitting that sensitive spot before dragging back out against his tender rim. Sam moans every time Bucky hits his prostate, feeling his balls begin to tighten and draw up against his body. Bucky’s pace slowly shifts from controlled and relentless to wild and irregular.

“Sam, Sam, look at me,” Bucky groans. Sam opens his eyes to find Bucky looking wrecked, his lips swollen, eyes dark and dazed, looking beautiful and so utterly focused on Sam. Their eyes meet and Bucky holds the contact, biting his lip and moaning. “Sam, Sam, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, c’mon, do it—”

Bucky comes with a choked cry, shuddering and thrusting his hips erratically against Sam. His body shakes and shivers, breath coming in heavy gasps against Sam’s mouth.

Sam groans and focuses his attention back to stroking his cock, his hand moving faster and faster as Bucky pants and recovers above him. Sam’s almost there, so close, when Bucky leans down to kiss him, teeth biting gently at Sam’s bottom lip, and stars explode behind Sam’s eyes as he spills over his fist.

Bucky is slow to pull out of Sam, kissing him lazily before removing the condom and then collapsing on top of him. Sam wraps his arms around Bucky as they breathe and let their hearts settle, pressed tightly against one another.

“God, Sam,” Bucky says, voice muffled by Sam’s neck, sounding happy and exhausted and overwhelmed.

Sam lets Bucky rest on top of him for a while until he begins to feel suffocated by the weight of an entire supersoldier resting on him. He nudges Bucky to the side a little, and Bucky rolls onto his back, pulling Sam over to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

Sam wonders if Bucky understands that “friends with benefits” usually don’t make love to each other the way that Bucky just made love to him.

“Good, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.

“Yeah.” The corner of Sam’s mouth turns up in a grin. “You did all right.”

“You were pretty good yourself,” Bucky says appreciatively. “Thought I was going to die when I got inside you. Christ, sweetheart.”

They lapse into blissful silence for a moment, and Bucky reaches over to grab Sam’s hand and pull it onto his chest. He plays with Sam’s fingers idly, intertwining their fingers and then pulling back to stroke his thumb over Sam’s palm. Bucky seems utterly relaxed and content, and Sam hates to break the comfortable silence but he just has to ask.

“So,” Sam says casually, “is that always how you fuck? All slow and romantic and full of eye contact?”

“Well, I mean, I’ve only ever had sex with Steve, so I guess so?” Bucky says, frowning. Sam is a little stunned at this revelation, eyebrows shooting upward in shock, because Bucky is one of the most attractive men Sam has ever met and Sam now knows for a fact that Bucky knows how to seduce someone if he wants it. “I guess I’m not really sure how I’d fuck someone other than you or Steve. I mean, maybe Natalia—”

Sam decides to interrupt Bucky before he finishes that interesting thought. “Rumor has it that you were a real smooth operator back in the day, though, taking ladies out on the town and double dating with Steve and going out dancing all night. You’re saying you never seriously tried it on with anybody else?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Well, I mean, there were girls,” Bucky says slowly. “But I sorta got the feeling that they didn’t really take me seriously? Like, they were happy to go dancing with me, and they’d give me a sweet kiss at the end of the night, but if I tried for anything more they’d just pat me on the cheek and tell me to say hi to Steve for them and I really should take out their friend Betty next week.”

Bucky shrugs, obviously baffled by this behavior, but Sam suddenly understands exactly why Bucky wasn’t very successful with the ladies, and Sam really should have been way less surprised by the fact that even the sheltered Catholic girls of 1940s Brooklyn could tell that Bucky and Steve were deeply weird about each other and Bucky wasn’t exactly available.

“Did you ever want to get married and have a family?”

“Sure, someday,” Bucky says carelessly. “But Steve and I were still young when the war hit. I thought we’d have more time together. And then we didn’t, and Steve met Peggy, and you know how everything went after that.”

“It didn’t bother you when Steve found Peggy?”

“No, of course not,” Bucky says, his eyes shining and earnest. “Peggy was a doll. And I’ve been in love with Steve my whole life. I knew we’d always be best friends. It never even occurred to me that I could ever really lose Steve, not in a way that mattered. After all, who can ever really come between someone and their best friend?”

And that—explains a lot about Bucky’s near fanatical devotion to the very concept of best friendship. Sam shakes his head at this, knowing that there’s probably no point in trying to shake Steve and Bucky out of the wacky coping mechanisms they’ve developed for 1940s homophobia. After over a hundred years that shit has got to be way too deeply entrenched in their psyches.

Sam resigns himself to embracing their crazy on this particular issue. At least Bucky is hot.

***

Sam and Bucky are visiting Sam’s mom, and Sam doesn’t know how his mom knows, but somehow she definitely does know that something is different between Sam and Bucky, and boy does she look thrilled about it.

“Thank you so much for the lovely flowers, Bucky!” Sam’s mom gushes. “And you thought to bring a dish for dinner! Sam never used to bring a dish with him to dinner.” She beams at Bucky, so clearly approving of all of the changes Bucky has brought to Sam’s life, then looks meaningfully over at Sarah and Michelle. “And don’t they look handsome!”

Michelle simply nods obediently at this, because she’s eleven and not particularly impressed by Sam’s too-formal attire, but Sarah gives him a quick once over and then raises her eyebrows in mild surprise at his tailored blazer.

Sam and Sarah have a quick conversation through facial expressions, communicating “What’s all this then, Sam?” and “Don’t make a big thing about it, Sarah,” and “Is he your boyfriend?” and “Shut up, Sarah!” through a series of suggestively waggled eyebrows and narrowed eyes and teasing smirks.

“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you to plan a meal without meat, Mrs. Wilson,” Bucky says with concern. “If it’s too much or you don’t want the hassle of meal planning, you’re all more than welcome to come to our apartment for dinner on Sunday nights.”

And the thing is, Bucky’s not being smarmy or insincere about it at all. He would be genuinely happy to have Sam’s family over for dinner every Sunday night, because Bucky likes cooking and he likes Sam and he likes families, and maybe Sam’s starting to feel some kind of way about all of Bucky’s effortless charm and openhanded generosity and muscular thighs.

“So you and Sam are living together,” Sarah says with interest. Even Michelle perks up at this, finally glancing up from her phone, where she’s been texting rapidly or possibly live tweeting this entire embarrassing conversation.

Bucky puts a casual arm around Sam’s shoulders, and come on, Bucky has to know how this looks to Sam’s family, right? “Yep, for probably around six months now, right, sweetheart?” Bucky says, smiling at Sam.

And suddenly Sam realizes that maybe Bucky doesn’t know how this looks to Sam’s family, because Bucky has such an extreme lack of awareness regarding normal friendship boundaries, and also because they’re so far deep into this whole fake-best-friends thing that this is just the way that the two of them act now, all the time.

And, really, Sam has to blame Steve and Natasha for this too, because the two of them are only encouraging this madness with all the “best friends dates” and the excessive physical affection and their own overly invested relationship. Literally no one in Bucky’s life is modeling basic relationship boundaries for him, no wonder he slipped through the cracks of normal human friendship behavior.

And Sam must be crazy too, because he just smiles back at Bucky and says, “Yep, that sounds about right, baby.” Because Sam isn’t really all that concerned about normal human friendship behavior when Bucky looks at him like that, gray eyes all warm and soft and pleased, like Sam’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

Sam’s heart beats a little faster in his chest, warmth traveling through his veins, and oh, this is a thing.

“You know, when you and Steve were living together, he never invited us over to your place,” Sam’s mother points out. Thanks to all of Bucky’s hard work rehabbing Steve’s tarnished image in Sam’s mother’s eyes, Steve has been upgraded from that boy to Steve, always stated with a faint moue of distaste.

“Steve and I were international fugitives, Mom,” Sam replies, his tone patient. “We didn’t have a stable place to invite you to.”

“And whose fault was that!” Sam’s mom says triumphantly.

“Mom, I made my own choices when it came to the Accords.”

“Sam’s not a follower,” Bucky agrees, and it’s sweet that Bucky thinks so but Sam realizes now that that is a complete lie, because Sam has done nothing but follow Bucky along in this foolishness ever since he felt Bucky’s body pressed up against him in a closet. “And if anything it’s probably my fault how everything went down. I was the one they blamed for that bombing—Steve and Sam were just trying to help me. They really are the best friends I could ever ask for, and I’m still not sure I was worth everything they went through for it.’”

And maybe it’s just a fluke of the phrasing, maybe Bucky didn’t really mean it, but Sam can’t help but notice that this is the first time Bucky has ever used the plural form of the term best friend.

“Oh, dear, that wasn’t your fault!” Sam’s mother protests. “You were framed for that bombing!”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t Steve’s fault either, Mom.”

Sam’s mother sniffs. “Well, I still think Steve could have made more of an effort to get to know your family.”

“I’m still friends with Steve, Mom,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “Our friendship is not past tense, we’re not, like, broken up or something.”

“Then why isn’t Steve here for Sunday dinner with the rest of the family?” Sam’s mother gestures around the table at the five of them, and Sam’s heart skips a beat as he realizes that his mother is including Bucky in the family.

Sarah and Michelle are observing this conversation with ill-concealed glee, unabashedly enjoying Sam’s friendship-slash-relationship-slash-familial drama. Bucky’s arm is still wrapped around Sam, his thumb rubbing absent little circles on Sam’s shoulder, and Michelle is tapping away on her phone as she watches. Sam doesn’t have high hopes for this staying off the internet when he catches Michelle snapping a surreptitious photo of Sam tucked in snugly under Bucky’s arm.

It’s Bucky’s metal arm, too, so no chance of passing Bucky off as some random dude.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, Sam thinks. He leans over and gives Bucky a soft kiss on the mouth right in front of his family.

***

Sam and Bucky are fooling around on the sofa after finishing season one of The Mandalorian—apparently Pedro Pascal’s bedroom voice really does it for both of them—and Sam is finally getting the chance to trace Bucky’s abs with his tongue the way he imagined every single time he jerked off in the shower back before Bucky started taking showers with him.

Sam shifts down to suck a bruise into the sharp jut of Bucky’s hip bone, and Bucky moans underneath him. Bruises don’t last any longer on Bucky than they do on Steve, but Sam still likes seeing Bucky’s fair skin mottled with fresh marks, likes the possessive little thrill it sends through him to see Bucky’s perfect flesh marred by Sam’s mouth and teeth.

“Sam, please, suck me, sweetheart,” Bucky begs.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, pulling Bucky’s boxer-briefs down his hips and watching in satisfaction when Bucky’s hard cock springs forward, flushed and thick and perfect. Sam is impatient tonight, wants Bucky’s cock in his mouth now, and he leans forward to swallow Bucky down in one long, slick slide.

“Fuck, Sam,” Bucky moans.

Sam grabs Bucky’s hips as he bobs his head up and down, fingers digging in tight, bruising, to keep Bucky from thrusting into Sam’s mouth. Bucky is strong enough that he could easily break Sam’s hold but he doesn’t, squirming restlessly underneath Sam, frustrated and needy and desperate.

Sam pulls off Bucky’s cock long enough to take in a big gulp of air before he slides back down, taking Bucky as far back into his throat as he can, and Bucky moans brokenly when Sam tightens his mouth and lips around him. Sam sets a steady rhythm, swirling his tongue around the head of Bucky’s cock and then sucking him back down again, spit slicking up the way. Sam reaches up to roll Bucky’s balls between his fingers, squeezing and tugging gently, admiring the heft of them in his hand.

“God, Sam, Sam,” Bucky chants, hands fisting in the sheets to keep from grabbing Sam’s head and fucking his face. “Sam, sweetheart, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

Sam moans around Bucky’s cock, and Bucky cries out, tapping Sam’s shoulder in a desperate warning before he breaks Sam’s hold on his hips and thrusts forward, flooding Sam’s mouth with come. Sam swallows him down, bitter and salty, and then leans forward to rest his head against Bucky’s pelvis and catch his breath.

“God, Sam,” Bucky says, panting. He looks flushed and beautiful, and Sam’s heart feels like it’s going to explode in his chest.

“I love you too,” Sam says helplessly.

Bucky looks awestruck for a moment, then says, “C’mere,” in a rough voice.

He pulls Sam up and gives him a quick, hard kiss, then reaches down to unbutton Sam’s jeans and slide his hand around Sam’s cock. He strokes Sam firmly, a brutal pace that drives Sam half out of his mind. Sam’s already so hard from sucking Bucky’s cock, can still taste Bucky’s come in his mouth, and he won’t need much to get there.

“Baby, please, I need—”

“I know what you need, sweetheart,” Bucky says comfortingly. He buries his head in Sam’s neck, biting down on the thick cord of muscle that leads to Sam’s shoulder, and Sam’s back arches in pleasure. Bucky strokes him just a little faster, almost enough, thumb rubbing at that sensitive spot right beneath Sam’s glans. “C’mon, sweetheart, come for me.”

And Sam does, come splattering over his lower belly, mind going blissfully blank and toes curling in pleasure. While Sam comes down from his high, Bucky reaches up to cup Sam’s face in his hand, stroking his thumb tenderly over Sam’s cheek. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Sam leans forward to kiss him, losing himself in the warm heat of Bucky’s mouth, their lips moving in a slow, gentle slide against each other. They make out lazily for a while, hands roaming appreciatively over each other’s bodies, until Sam reluctantly pulls away to clean up.

When Sam returns to the living room, Bucky is sitting in the dim light of the television, chewing anxiously at his lower lip. Sam plops down next to him, turning on his side to face him and putting his feet in Bucky’s lap.

“Did you mean it?” Bucky asks uncertainly. “It wasn’t just, like, a heat of the moment thing?”

“I did,” Sam confirms, his voice sure and steady. “Did you mean it?”

“God, yes, Sam. I love you.”

They look at each other dopily for a while, then Bucky tugs at Sam’s legs to urge him further down the sofa, closer to Bucky. They curl up together and enjoy the comfortable silence until Bucky says, “Tell me something you’ve never told Steve.”

Sam thinks for a moment, then groans. He covers his face with his hands, peeking embarrassedly through his fingers, and says, “OK, so I went through a phase, when I first got out of high school, where I told everybody to call me Snap Wilson.”

Bucky laughs incredulously, then claps a hand over his mouth to stifle it, mostly unsuccessfully. “I’m sorry, you told them to call you what now?” he asks gleefully.

“I told them to call me Snap Wilson,” Sam grits out. He is already regretting this, but Bucky looks so fucking elated that Sam can’t bring himself to care too much about the inevitable teasing he’s going to receive. And it’s Bucky, not Steve or Natasha, so Sam knows that the ribbing won’t be too savage.

Bucky is already trying to suppress his wild grin, pressing his lips together until they turn almost white. “So was this like a rough time you were going through, like trouble at home or something, or did you just think Snap Wilson sounded cool?” His voice is a mixture of genuine concern and barely concealed amusement.

“I just thought it sounded cool,” Sam confesses.

Bucky laughs in delight, and Sam gives him a sour look, poking him in the side. “Yeah, yeah, your turn now, buddy,” Sam says. “Tell me something you’ve never told Steve.”

Bucky sobers up, clears his throat and says, “I didn’t enlist in the Army.”

“What?”

“I let Steve think that I enlisted, because I didn’t want him to know that I had to drop out of college to pay for his medical bills when he got sick the winter of ’41. Got called up shortly after, told him that I enlisted.”

Sam’s heart breaks a little at that, for Bucky, because he would have done anything to take care of Steve, and for Steve, who never would have forgiven himself if Bucky had gotten drafted and sent home in a body bag on his account. To this day Steve still feels guilty about leaving Bucky behind in that ravine, even though he had no reason to believe that Bucky could have survived the fall, and anyway Steve drove a plane straight into the Arctic like a week later and couldn’t have rescued Bucky anyway.

“So wait, how does Steve think you paid for his medical bills?”

“I told him I got paid to pose for some dirty pictures,” Bucky says with a saucy grin. “Then he asked to see them and I had to beg one of his photographer friends to take some for me to try to sell the whole embarrassing lie. Honestly I was a little flattered that Steve had exactly zero questions about the whole thing, like of course someone would pay to see me jerking off wearing a pair of women’s stockings.”

Sam raises his eyebrows at that. “Any chance those pictures are still around somewhere?”

“I’m pretty sure Steve burned them all before he headed out on the bond circuit,” Bucky says with regret, then brightens. “But on the plus side, I think I just came up with a great idea for the erotic portrait series Steve’s been working on during all of our best friend dates.”

Sam grins cheerfully at this. “Nice.”

***

A month later, they’re in Eastern Washington with Steve and Natasha, fighting off a horde of formerly human white nationalist cult members who are now a group of largely mindless but probably still racist vampires.

The vampires aren’t much of a threat, but there are a bunch of them and they’re good at causing enough chaos that it’s hard to get close to Todd, who’s in a neck brace again and back on his bullshit.

Sam’s done a ton of research on Catholicism since the last time they met and he’s still not sure how to finally kill this guy. The holy water blessed by the Roman pope didn’t work, and the holy or possibly unholy water blessed by the Antipope of Avignon didn’t work, and Sam’s pretty much run out of popes to get holy water from. Out of a commitment to preparedness Sam’s brought along vials of leftover holy water from each pope, but he’s honestly not sure if they’ll be much help to them if neither of them even works.

Sam, Bucky, and Steve are all covered in blood from the vampires they’ve slain so far, but as usual Natasha still looks perfectly pristine as she lectures Todd on his many sins and hypocrisies. God, she even had the audacity to wear a white uniform to this. Sam’s heart swells with affection for her.

“I thought you were supposed to be Catholic, Todd. It’s not very pro-life of you to create all these vampires,” Natasha says, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I’m just trying to make humanity great again,” Todd snaps defensively through his ridiculous plastic fangs. “Society works best when there are a few strong leaders and many weak, dependent followers. HYDRA believes in order. The Catholic Church used to believe in order too—it used to understand the value of an authoritarian system of governing its followers.”

And just like that, Sam understands Todd’s belief system. “He’s a Sedevacant!” Sam announces, pointing a finger in triumph.

“What?” Bucky asks, firing a crossbow into a vampire trying to latch its fangs into Steve’s calf. The vampire explodes in a shower of red, and Steve wrinkles his nose in disgust but keeps fighting. At this point there’s not very much of Steve that isn’t covered in blood, and Sam hopes they aren’t all going to have to worry about bloodborne diseases from this whole gross situation.

“Remember all those changes in the Catholic Church since you and Steve were kids? Those all came about after the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s. Sedevacants believe that the church lost its way and fell into heresy when it embraced modernism. So according to them there is no valid pope—the seat of the pope is actually vacant,” Sam explains, tossing his shield off to behead a vampire looming over Bucky.

“Thanks, sweetheart!” Bucky calls, blowing him a kiss.

“Great,” Natasha says, irritated. “And how are we supposed to get holy water blessed by no one? Wouldn’t that just be regular water?”

Sam frowns in dismay at this terrible, zany loophole Todd has apparently discovered.

Todd cackles triumphantly. “You can’t! You’ll never be able to kill me—there’s no holy water on earth that’s been blessed by no one,” Todd boasts. “I’m invincible!”

“Not so fast,” Bucky says, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Sam, do you still have both vials of holy water?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Mix them together!” Bucky says. “Holy water blessed by the pope plus holy water blessed by the antipope will cancel each other out.”

Todd’s eyes widen in horror. “No, that won’t work!”

“It’s simple math, Todd,” Bucky says smugly. “Sam, do it, I’ll cover you!”

Sam’s hands are steady as he unscrews the tops of the bottles, sure in the knowledge that Bucky will have his back if any vampires try to latch onto him while he’s busy. He coats the shield in holy water from each of the vials, making sure to cover every square inch. Then, with a mighty throw, he launches the shield toward Todd, nailing him directly in the throat.

When Todd’s head is blown back off his body, he explodes into a bloody, disgusting mess.

“Gross,” Steve says.

The baby vampires stumble around, confused and lost without their leader, and it only takes about twenty minutes for Sam and the others to slay the rest of them now that Todd’s dead.

 Sam makes a mental note to use all of his influence as Captain America to get Bucky an honorary doctorate in mathematics from Harvard or Yale or something after all this.

***

Sam and Bucky spend forty-five long minutes showering off all the blood after their showdown with Todd and his racist vampire gang, the last fifteen of which are spent with Bucky pressed up against the shower wall with Sam’s tongue in his ass.

“Fuck, sweetheart, please,” Bucky begs. He’s trembling and squirming, spreading his legs shamelessly for Sam. “Fuck me, Sam, please.”

Sam reaches down to squeeze the base of his cock, liquid heat pooling in his belly at the thought of sliding his cock into that tight hole he’s been eagerly, methodically loosening. Bucky’s hands are pulling at his own ass, spreading his cheeks so sweetly, so obediently for Sam’s mouth. Sam traces a finger around Bucky’s wet rim, poking in just a bit to test him out, and Bucky’s thighs twitch and shake around Sam’s face.

“You think you can take it standing up?” Sam asks, giving Bucky an assessing look.

Bucky bites his lip and sobs a bit, panting and gasping, his face pressed up against the shower wall. Bucky looks wrecked already, so pretty, and Sam decides to take pity on him.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go to the bedroom,” Sam says, standing up and shutting off the shower.

He wraps Bucky in a towel and leads him to the hotel bedroom, and Bucky shivers prettily in the cool air, goosebumps rising on his clean, damp skin. Sam crowds Bucky against the mattress to warm him up, leaning his head down to dip into the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth, sliding his tongue against Bucky’s in a dirty kiss that leaves them both moaning.

Sam grabs the lube and Bucky spreads his legs eagerly, obscenely, and the sight is so erotic that Sam feels like he’s been punched in the gut, breathless with desire and desperate to plunge his cock into all that tight, willing heat. His hands shake a bit as he fumbles with the lube, and he coats his fingers until they’re nice and slick, ready to slide right in with just the slightest amount of pressure.

Bucky gasps when Sam slips one long finger into him, biting his lip and arching his back. “Sam, more—I need—”

“I got you, baby,” Sam says, sliding another finger in next to the first. Bucky’s mouth gapes open, his throat emitting a choked off little cry, and Sam’s cock is achingly hard at the sound, weeping messily against Sam’s belly, dripping little trails of precome. Bucky’s a quivering mess underneath him, and Sam presses wet kisses between Bucky’s thighs as he ruthlessly opens him up. “God, look at you, baby.”

Sam gives him another finger, and Bucky takes it, keening and begging. “More—please—Sam, I want your cock.”

“Oh, you think you’re ready for it, baby?”

“Yes, please, Sam,” Bucky whines, and Sam reluctantly removes his fingers, climbing up to settle his body over Bucky’s, letting gravity pull him down so they’re pressed tightly together. Bucky may be sweet and pliant underneath him now, but Sam knows how strong he really is, how easily he can bear Sam’s weight.

When Sam starts pushing his cock inside of him, Bucky gasps, mouth opening in a small o of pleasure. Sam fucks Bucky shallowly until he grows impatient, needs to go deeper, grabbing Bucky’s thighs to pull them up so he can bend Bucky in half underneath him. Bucky’s limbs are long and flexible, moving easily as Sam moves him right where he needs him. Sam bites his own lip, hard, as Bucky’s hole pulls him in, clutching greedily at Sam’s throbbing cock.

When Sam slides all the way home, Bucky gasps and says, “Sam, Sam, wait—”

Sam pauses, his cock buried fully inside Bucky, panting harshly at the effort of keeping his hips still.

“Yeah, baby,” Sam says, voice straining. “What do you need?”

“Sam,” Bucky says, and he sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes and visibly working to control himself. “Sam, I need to tell you something.”

Sam looks down at Bucky and waits, letting Bucky take the time he needs to settle. Sam’s hips are flush against Bucky’s ass, his cock seated fully inside of him, and he feels so connected to Bucky, like they’re two parts of the same whole.

Bucky pants raggedly for a few moments, squirming and restless under Sam, until he calms again, opening his eyes to look at Sam. Bucky’s lashes are long and gorgeous and damp, his pupils dark and dilated.

“Sam, I have to tell you,” Bucky says, flushing prettily, his wide eyes so earnest and sweet. “I—somewhere along the way, I want you to know, everything became real for me. You—you really are my best friend.”

Sam closes his eyes, heart so achingly full in his chest.

“You’re my best friend too,” Sam says softly, seriously, because he knows this is important to Bucky. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Bucky’s eyes are wet and shining.

Sam grinds his hips against Bucky’s ass, his lips curving up in a dirty grin. “You gonna let me fuck you now?” Sam asks. Bucky gasps, hands coming up to grip Sam’s back, fingers digging in bruisingly hard.

“Yeah, Sam, yeah, fuck me,” Bucky breathes.

Sam pulls out and then slams his hips back into Bucky, who gasps in surprise, spine arching in pleasure. Sam sets a hard and deep rhythm, letting loose all of the leftover tension and stress from the fight earlier, taking all that frustrated energy out on Bucky’s willing body. When Sam nails Bucky’s prostate, Bucky’s hands scrabble over Sam’s back, clutching and pulling at him frantically. “Yes, there, there,” Bucky says, voice desperate and breathy.

Sam drives his cock into Bucky faster, pounding harder as he feels his balls tighten and heat race up his spine. He’s close, so close, and he leans down to brace himself on one elbow so he can reach down to grab Bucky’s hard cock. He can tell from the noises Bucky’s making, those sweet, high whimpers, that Bucky isn’t far behind him. When he strokes Bucky hard, his fist sliding brutally up and down Bucky’s cock, Bucky arches his back and comes, spilling all over his sweaty chest.

The sight of Bucky’s come, pearly and glistening over his taut abs, sends Sam over the edge. Sam’s hips jerk and stutter, his thrusts erratic, shuddering as he feels his balls empty into Bucky’s tight hole. He wants to collapse, wants to let go and fall onto Bucky, let Bucky catch him and hold him, but instead he pulls out. Bucky whines quietly at the loss, and Sam can’t resist reaching down to rub his fingers against Bucky’s wet, puffy hole, admiring the slow trickle of Sam’s come dripping out of him. Bucky shivers at the touch of Sam’s fingers to his abused hole, probably raw and oversensitive, and Sam reluctantly drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he says, kissing Bucky’s knee in apology.

“S’ok,” Bucky slurs. “Like it when you get all vulgar and possessive on me.”

“Speaking of possessive,” Sam says, heaving out a heavy sigh and collapsing back onto the bed next to Bucky, hooking his ankle over Bucky’s. “Can we talk about the whole fake-best-friends thing? Like, where are we with that and what was our endgame there?”

“Well, I guess I was wrong about only having one best friend,” Bucky admits, looking at Sam out of the corner of his eye and grinning bashfully. “And I guess the plan was just—make Steve jealous.”

“And?” Sam prompts.

“And—I think that was it? I’m not really sure where I saw it all working out,” Bucky confesses.

“I feel like maybe you’re not all that great at planning without a murder board.”

“I’m a visual planner,” Bucky says defensively. “And it seemed kind of disrespectful to make a murder board about Steve given the fact that I did, in fact, try to murder him several times as the Winter Soldier.”

“That’s fair,” Sam concedes, tipping his head to acknowledge the point. “But we’re good now, right? I mean, we’re best friends with each other, we’re best friends with Steve and Natasha, Steve and Natasha are also best friends—and I’m kind of crazy in love with you.”

“What I’m hearing you say here is that my crazy plan worked.”

“Yeah, OK,” Sam says, hiding a smile. “Maybe it did.”

***

It’s a Saturday, and Sam and Steve are on their best friend date, and Steve is kicking Sam’s ass in the gym. Sam knows, intellectually, that he’s in fantastic shape and that there’s no shame in being beaten by a scientifically enhanced human being. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt his pride—and his back, motherfucker—when Steve manages to take him down hard without even having the decency to break a sweat.

“I think that’s about enough for today. I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job wearing you out,” Steve says, smirking like an asshole, because he is an asshole. “Let’s hit the showers.”

When they get to the SHIELD locker room, it’s nearly empty, the way it usually is on Saturdays. There are still a few particularly dedicated SHIELD employees roaming about, mostly new guys. For whatever reason most of the seasoned employees stay away from the gym locker room on Saturday afternoons when Sam and Steve work out. Today, when people catch sight of Sam and Steve walking in, they blanch and immediately speed up with whatever they’re doing, hustling out of the locker room like it’s on fire or something. In under two minutes, Sam and Steve are the only ones left.

“It’s weird how everybody always leaves when they see us coming in to shower together,” Sam remarks, stripping off his sweaty shirt and tossing it in his locker.

“I wonder if they’re intimidated by us,” Steve muses, then takes a moment to admire Sam’s bare chest. Steve’s eyes are hot and appreciative as they travel lazily up and down Sam’s torso.

Sam shrugs in response, then winces as he feels a muscle tighten up in his back. “Ouch,” Sam hisses. “Man, I know I’m not twenty-five anymore, but damn, I really don’t need the reminder, you know?”

Steve’s brow furrows in concern. “Here, let me take a look at that when we get in the shower.”

They finish undressing and then get into the shower together. They share a stall, because Steve read an article about water conservation that he apparently found very inspiring, and also because sometimes it’s nice having a buddy with you. Sam lathers himself up, and then out of habit he reaches over to spin Steve around so he can wash Steve’s back too.

“God, that feels good,” Steve moans, the sound of it echoing in the strangely empty locker room. Sam spends a good few minutes really working Steve over as he scrubs Steve’s back, groping and kneading at Steve’s lats and traps while Steve moans and arches his back in pleasure.

When Sam finishes, he gives Steve a little pat and says, “OK, you do me.” Obligingly, Steve turns around to rub Sam’s back, massaging the tight muscles, his hands sliding easily over Sam’s skin with the slick of Sam’s body wash.

“This where it hurts?” Steve murmurs, digging his fingers into Sam’s lower back. “God, you’re really tight here.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, groaning at the pleasure-pain of Steve working at the sore point in his lower back. He huffs a frustrated, petulant sigh. “You know, sometimes I feel like the more I lift, the tighter I get.”

“Maybe you should start going to yoga with Bucky and Natasha,” Steve suggests. “Actually, they’re starting a class in about twenty minutes. If we hurry up in here, we could probably meet them there if you want.”

“Wait, Bucky and Natasha are at yoga today?” Sam asks in disbelief. “You’re telling me that Bucky and Natasha go to yoga? That’s what they’re doing on their best friend dates?”

Suddenly, Steve looks very anxious and very guilty.

“Wait,” Steve says slowly, apprehensively, “Bucky does tell you what he does on his best friend dates, right? He—I mean, you do know—”

“Yeah, Steve, I know,” Sam says, his tone dry. “I just thought yoga was, like, a cover for something. I didn’t think they were actually going to yoga.”

“Oh!” Steve brightens. “Yeah, it’s doing some really amazing things for Bucky’s flexibility. And for Natasha’s ass.”

Sam shrugs. “All right, then, let’s head over.”

Sam and Steve finish up in the shower, moving more quickly than their usual leisurely Saturday afternoon locker room shower pace. Sam’s skin is still a bit damp under his fresh gym clothes, but the air outside is warm, and he’ll be sweating again soon anyway once he starts working out in the humid yoga studio.

When Bucky and Natasha see Sam and Steve, their faces light up with big smiles.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Bucky says, coming over to give Sam a hug and a kiss while Natasha does the same to Steve. “You and Steve are done earlier than usual.”

“Yeah, he whooped my ass,” Sam admits, scratching his jaw.

Sam and Steve switch hugging partners, and Nat’s body feels small and strong in Sam’s arms when she goes up onto her tiptoes to give him a warm hug and a kiss on the lips. And when Sam sneaks a look downward, he notices that Steve was not lying about all the great things yoga’s been doing for Natasha’s ass.

Sam lets go of Natasha and turns back to Bucky. “So you and Nat really do yoga,” Sam says, shaking his head ruefully. “You know, all this time, I thought you two were doing some secret spy shit that you were trying to keep me from having to answer questions about? I was half-convinced that we should be thinking about getting married just so we wouldn’t have to testify against each other.”

Steve and Natasha raise their eyebrows in surprise, but Bucky looks pleased at that. “Well,” Bucky says, lips curving up in a crooked grin, “let’s not take that marriage idea off the table just yet.”

Natasha clearly aims for a sober expression, but the corner of her lip twitches and her eyes sparkle with mirth. “You know, I can’t say that we’ll definitely never get up to any secret spy shit, Sam. Maybe it’s not a bad idea to keep that in your back pocket.”

Steve raises an eyebrow and nods thoughtfully. “Plus, do we even know if Bucky’s still considered an American citizen?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Bucky admits. “But being married to Captain American should grant me automatic citizenship, probably.”

Sam shrugs placidly and slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

After all, Sam’s mom always did say that happiness was being married to your best friend.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Escape

Summary: The Red Room haunts you, from the moment you stepped foot inside to long after you’ve left. Truth is, you don’t think there is any escaping it.

Warnings: 18+ Violence, Depression, Mentions of Death, Smut

Chapter 12

****** 

A lab. A safehouse. A barn. A warehouse. Hell you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d ended up in a empty field. But a diner? You didn’t expect to be here. 

Scott, Steve, and Natasha seemed more interested in the Doctor. 

You can’t say you’re shocked. After the very obvious complications he was having before, you figured he’d end up fixing it. Seeing the Hulk so, human, was different but not surprising.

“Come on, I feel like I'm the only one eating.” He nudges the plate towards you and Natasha,“ try some of that. Have some eggs.” 

You raise an eyebrow at the people at the table before looking at the plate. With a shrug, you grab a fork and eat some eggs. Finding that they taste pretty good, you eat some more.

Natasha smiles a little at you, shaking her head and then looking at Bruce.

“I’m so confused.” Scott is the first to speak.

Bruce nods,“ these are confusing times.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean.”

With a sigh, Bruce says,“ no, I get it. I'm kidding! I know. It's crazy. I'm wearing shirts now.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that. Of all the confusing things that’s going on with the man, wearing clothes isn’t that big a deal. 

“Yeah!” Scott exclaims,“ wh- How? Why?” He frowns.

A somber expression takes over Bruce’s face,“ five years ago, we got our asses beaten. Except it was worse for me. Because I lost twice. First, Hulk lost, then Banner lost. Then, we all lost.”

There’s no part of you that could one hundred percent understand what Bruce had felt during all of that. Still, if it hurt you to lose to Thanos, you know it’s so much worse for him.

“No one blamed you, Bruce.” Your wife tries reassuring him.

Still, he shakes his head,“ I did.” He explains his acceptance of the hulk, briefly mentions the process of doing so, and expresses his pride of becoming this better version of himself. 

You have to admit that it is nice to see that he’s doing better. 

Conversation stops at the presence of three little kids. They take a picture with Bruce and then get into a small spat with Scott before leaving. 

Eventually Steve directs the conversation back to the important topic. Only for Bruce to point out that’s a little above his paygrade. 

“You managed to pull this off. I remember a time where this seemed pretty impossible too.” Natasha encourages. 

Bruce’s eyes watch her, trusting the emotion in her eyes. With one look around the table, taking in Scott and Steve’s hopeful expressions, he agrees to come back to the compound to try. 

Still you all don’t leave until Bruce is finished eating. You’d helped put away some of the food, eating some more eggs and a couple sausages but steering clear of the overly large pancakes.

Minutes later you’re all climbing into the Quinjet. Natasha and Steve both head to the pilots seats leaving you, Bruce, and Scott behind. 

You’re already sitting and paging through a book noncommittally when Bruce decides to join you. He sits in the two chairs beside, resting back on the chair and the wall.

“Sup Doc.” You greet, shutting the book and looking up at him.

“Hey Y/N, how you been?” 

A thoughtful expression passes your face,“ truthfully better than ever.”

“That’s great.” He nods, looking over at Natasha,“ I’m guessing married life is treating you well.”

Your eyes fall over to your wife as well,“ it has it’s ups and downs. But I couldn’t be happier.”

While there use to be a longing look on his face you can now see how he’s simply happy that Natasha is happy. 

Conversation between you two shifts from Natasha to the “time heist” as Scott calls it.

“Be honest, do you think this’ll work?” You ask him quietly. 

A frustrated hand runs up his face and through his hair,“ there’s a chance.”

“Bruce. There’s a ‘chance’ to fix climate change. There’s a ‘chance’ to solve poverty. I’m gonna need this to be a little more than a chance for me to trust this plan.”

“Sorry Y/N, that’s all I can give you.” 

Shaking your head, you slouch in your seat.

Thoughts race through your mind, all of them connected to one single thought. You don’t want Natasha to get hurt again. 

Losing the first time shook her, nearly destroyed her and you’d struggled to pick up the pieces it left her in. At times you knew that even though she took comfort in your presence and she appreciated you being there, it wasn’t enough. And as much as you hate to admit it, you still aren’t enough. 

Natasha loves you and you’d never deny or doubt that but you’d never be able to replace or even fill the gap of the family she’d lost. Brothers and sisters, her friends and partners. 

You see the hope filling her and the last thing you want is for her to be let down. Essentially having to lose all over again. 

By the time you get to the compound the sun is setting. 

With the sky painted in shades of yellow and red, you decide to go to the roof. A slight breeze makes it just barely chilly so you continue on, sitting yourself on the roof’s ledge and looking out over the lake.

Taking a deep breath, you sort through your thoughts.

Admittedly you start to feel bad, almost upset with yourself. It’s so incredibly selfish of you to prioritize Natasha over the rest of the universe. You’re not wishing that the world stay this way but you’ve managed to have more than you could’ve ever wanted and the prospect of an even better future with Natasha hangs in the balance of this plan. 

You can’t help but think that you’ve gone from one extreme to the other. In the past you’d completely disregarded your desires, so much so that you allowed yourself to be used by HYDRA and the KGB. And now you’re so sure of what you want that you’re borderline willing to leave things the way they are. 

In truth, all you need is assurance. You need a guarantee that this will work with little to no consequences. Natasha needs to be safe from any possible downfalls. Your new found friends and family can’t be in harms way at all. It’d be ideal to save yourself. 

Part of you knows that if you have to sacrifice yourself to ensure Natasha gets everything she could ever want, you will. Insane really, since your point is to not lose her, but if it meant her happiness it’d be worth it. 

Lost in thought, you don’t pay attention to the door that opens and shuts. Nor do you anticipate the presence of the blonde behind you.

“I have to say, I’m surprised you’ve been so quiet about all of this.”

Turning around, your eyes trail over Steve’s tall and muscular form. You sigh and face forward again.

Steve moves to sit beside you,“ I didn’t miss what you said at Tony’s. And I don’t know much of anything about your past, still I assume you’ve gone through a lot so risking what you have now with Natasha isn’t ideal.”

You scoff,“ ideal? No Steve, it’s not an option. Don’t get me wrong, I want to help bring everyone back, I lost people too, but we don’t even know if this will work. Tony had a point, multiple ones but mainly, what if we screw everything up even worse than it already is.”

“We can’t focus on the negative side of this-”

“You won’t even consider the negative side. Optimism is nice but not blind optimism. If you expect me to even begin to trust this plan I need you to be realistic.” 

His crystal blue eyes follow you as you stand and step away from the ledge. He follows, crossing his arms as he stands in front of you. 

“Be real with me and yourself, right here, right now. How confident are you that this works?”

Instead of an instant reply, Steve takes a deep breath, his shoulders moving as he releases it. You don’t miss the way his fingers rapidly tap against his arm.

Finally he speaks,“ I can’t promise that things won’t change. I can’t promise that there won’t be risks. All I know is that we have to try, if we don’t we’re no better than every bad guy I’ve crossed.” 

A moment of silence. You process his words, observe the honesty in them and even the slight bit of hesitation that displays in his eyes before he looks away. 

“Look, Steve, you’re a good guy and you’re a hero through and through. I’m sure there’s no shortage of sacrifices you’d make to save the world, but,” running a hand through your hair, you take the smallest of steps forward,“ if there’s even the slightest chance that something happens to Natasha I’m out.”

He looks up at you, not expecting what’s been implied by you. 

Yes, you’re willing to try. No, you didn’t expect to cave to quickly. You blame those steely blue eyes.

A breath of relief leaves him and he nods. With that established between you two, you leave the roof. 

Inside the compound you go your separate ways, your destination being the lab. 

Surprisingly, you don’t find Bruce there, which you’re partly grateful for. Being left with your thoughts now isn’t so bad, in fact it helps you work better. 

Your current project is a new suit for Natasha. 

It’s inspired by Tony’s suit. The nanotech sits in the Black Widow symbol of her belt and is activated with a simple touch. You made sure to keep it as form fitting as possible so it doesn’t hinder her speed or agility. 

Instead of repulsor beams like Tony’s suit, it shoots electricity, mimicking the voltage of her widow’s bites. You maintained the same durability, adaptability, and power that Tony’s suit has. Not being as clever as Tony the A.I. you created was simply named Assist and doesn’t stand for anything.

Lastly ensuring that it’s fitted with Natasha’s go to weapons: a staff/batons and the standard pistols. 

You’re in the lab well into the early hours of the next morning and the lack of your presence isn’t unnoticed by Natasha.

Despite having been in deep conversation with Bruce and Scott about the upcoming time travel test, she went to search for you.

She hadn’t realized how much she actually missed your presence until she started looking for you. When she finally gets to your lab there are tears in her eyes. 

Her sniffle grabs your attention. You’re instantly on alert, completely disregarding your work to focus all your attention on your girl.

“What’s wrong love?” You reach for her hands, slowly just in case physical comfort isn’t what she wants.

Instead she steps into your body, wrapping her arms around you and pressing her face against your chest.

“I miss you.” 

You just barely catch her words but your heart tugs at the sad tone of her voice. 

“I didn’t mean to be away from you so long Tash, I’m sorry.” Stroking her hair, you glance at the clock that reads three eleven.“ How about we get to bed yeah?”

She nods against you,“ can we get ice cream first?”

With a chuckle you agree to it.

A couple hours later, after ice cream and a much needed sleep, you regroup in the empty hangar of the compound. 

You clutch a cup of coffee in your hands, standing behind Natasha and away from the equipment. The sun pours light through the floor to ceiling windows, agitating your groggy state, as the coffee has not taken full effect yet.

Your forehead rests on your wife’s shoulder as she taps away on the tablet in her hands, simultaneously speaking with Scott and Bruce about the plan. 

Eventually they’re ready, running a check of all operations. For some reason you feel like they’re missing something but your brain isn’t functioning at full speed just yet.

Who’s idea was it to do this at seven in the morning?

“Okay, here we go.” Bruce speaks up, causing you to stand up straight and sip your coffee.“ Time travel test number one. Scott, fire up the uhhh, the van thing.” 

Taking a quick second to gather yourself, you roll your shoulders, and move to stand beside Natasha just before Steve comes back in, letting you all know that he’s set the breakers and back up generators.

“Good. 'Cause if we blow the grid, I don't wanna lose Tiny here in the 1950's.”

A laugh falls from you before you can stop it but you instantly shut up as Natasha levels you with a look. Then she, Steve, and Scott look at Bruce concerned.

“Excuse me?” Scott ceases to adjust his suit.

Natasha shakes her head,“ he's kidding. You can't say things like that!” She tries to give a reassuring smile to Scott.

“Jus- it was a bad joke.” Bruce fumbles, obviously having meant it.

“You were kidding, right?” Natasha asks after Scott turns away.

“I have no idea. We're talking about time travel here. Either it's all a joke, or none of it is.” The green man whispers before looking to Clint,“ we're good! Get your helmet on, Scott. I'm gonna send you back a week, let you walk around for an hour, then bring you back in 10 seconds. Makes sense?”

Safe to say Scott is confused by that, but a little bit of encouragement from Steve has him ready to go. 

With wide eyes, you watch the failure of a time travel test. Scott went in, only to come back as a child, an old man, and then a baby. Natasha and Steve look on in shock, before panicking and telling Bruce to bring adult Scott back.

“Y/N when I say so, kill the power.”

Nodding, you head over to the lever. Bruce presses some buttons then shouts now. You flip it and normal Scott reappears.

“Time travel!” Bruce exclaims, arms wide.

Everyone looks at him.

Shaking your head, you start to walk away,“ I need more coffee.”

Natasha starts to follow after you as Steve leaves to get air. 

Once the two of you are in the kitchen and you’ve refilled your coffee, you turn to Natasha.

Her emerald eyes look incredibly tired and she’s slouching. You’d thought this new found plan would ease her stress but she seems to be fairing exactly as she had in the past weeks.

You set your cup down, walking closer to her, and sliding your hands over her hips.

“I feel stupid for asking but, how are you?”

She leans into you,“ I don’t want to think what’ll happen if this doesn’t work.”

You nod, pressing a kiss to the top of her head,“ then don’t. There’s no reason to give up hope just yet.”

It’s quiet for mere seconds, and then-

“Well aren’t you two the perfect picture of love.”

Tony’s voice never ceases to make you roll your eyes. If you didn’t already like him you’re sure you’d have punched his cheeky ass a long time ago.

“Of course we are.” You look over at him,“ what’re you doing here?’

“Just sticking around so I can take all the credit when we save the universe.” He smirks.

Natasha perks up at that, suspecting that the genius has figured it out. His seemingly permanent knowing and cocky smirk tells you that he did.

******

Taglist: @thelastavenger-3000 @aaron-despair @messuhp@izalesbean @bvb-bk @username23345 @sighsam@confusinggemini612 @natasha-danvers @rileigh519@higherfurther-romanova  @dynnealberto

[anika-ann]

The Best Mistake of My Life - Pt.7

Troublemakers

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 3970

Summary: A soulmate AU. They say having a soulmate is a blessing. Who wouldn’t love the idea of star-crossed lovers, right?

Steve with his soulmate explore their relationship and test boundaries. The Avengers really try to make you feel like a part of their family already, both in the best and worst ways.

Warnings: swearing, FLUFF, Steve’s friends being Steve’s friends… go figure, attempt at humour, some makeout session, we’re pushing the mature rating for a bit, nothing extra...but be aware

A/N: Please, see the end notes.

Story masterlist

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Both Natasha and Steve ended up in a need of a shower, getting hit twice. You were glad Clint had used yellow paint and not red; you had less visual for nightmares that would now probably hunt you from time to time, though you had no doubt your mind would supply the missing images to summon a perfect horror.

��Hey, I’m really sorry about what Clint said…“ Steve started softly as you entered his room and you sighed, cutting him off before he could finish the sentence, cupping his still sweaty cheek.

Seeing his mood down plucked up your own courage. He needed reassurance and you were willing to give it.

“It’s reality, Steve. I can’t just live in a fairy tale, no matter how good you are at making me feel like living in one,” you comforted him, taking his face to both hands. “You warned me the very first day. And it’s okay. I have to get used to it.”

“Have to?” he echoed weakly, his brilliant eyes reflecting his inner struggle.

You charmed a smile for him, rising to your toes to plant a light kiss on his lips.

“I do if I want to keep you, don’t I?”

He was searching you face for a long time before speaking up.

“Do you?”

“…want to keep you?” you guessed what he was asking, your voice holding your disbelief at his sudden insecurity. You didn’t even wait for confirmation, you knew your hunch was right and it made your chest ache. “Duh! Don’t go stupid on me now, Rogers.”

“It’s just-“

You shifted your hands, one of them gripping on his nape and shut him up by smacking your mouths together.

Stupid, stupid worries you both had! Fuck fear and insecurities! You were great together so far!

Steve froze under you for a fraction of second before his arm sneaked around your waist, pulling you to him and holding you steady, helping you to tiptoe. He ducked his head too, allowing you to deepen the kiss, lips salty due to his previous activities. You pressed closer to him, enjoying the warmth and firmness, indulging in the sigh he let out when you licked into his mouth with no regards. His fingers flexed on you, his hand plunging into your hair to tilt your head for better access as he started dominating the kiss.

And then you lost the firm ground under your feet. Literally. He lifted you from the floor as if you weighted nothing, balancing you with only one arm around you, spinning you and taking several tiny steps until you found yourself sandwiched between his body and a wall. He easily swallowed your yelp of surprise, the hand on your back sneaking to your hip instead, as yours had moved to grip his shoulders.

Sweet baby Jesus, that was new. Also, hello, what a great sensation to your hands, feeling his deltoids. And biceps… triceps… whatever muscles made his shoulders and arms so freaking huge. And god, his body against yours…. When he eased the pressure, nibbling on your lower lip instead and giving you room to breathe in properly, you couldn’t remember how to do that.

You panted, surrounded and intoxicated by all that was him, letting out an inhuman noise when he peppered softer kisses along your jaw, finding a spot behind your ear you hadn’t even known about.

It was that little sound that made him stop, release a whine on his own, but causing his lips to curl up in a smile against your skin. He eased his hold on you, putting you down and pecking your cheek tenderly in the process.

“Sorry. That was… out of line,” he breathed out and for the first time, you noticed you weren’t the only affected by your make-out session.

His breathing was as raged as yours and it definitely wasn’t just his muscles that had been pressing against your body, which you only realized when he put some distance between you. Still, he didn’t stop touching you, his dark eyes boring into yours.

“You- you hear me complaining?” you stuttered, licking the taste of salt and something distinctively Steve off of your lips. His gaze flickered back to your mouth at that tiny motion, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“No.”

“Take a hint then. Also, I started it, so it’s on-- well, technically, your silly talk started it, I mean… ugh,” you huffed and the corners of Steve’s lips rose in a smile at your babbling. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? And this was… really nice.”

The sorrow and doubts were long gone; a twinkle of something mischievous flickered in his eyes.

“Noted. I’ll talk silly more often, Madam.”

You giggled, running your hands over his shoulders to preserve sensation for later. “And you called me trouble.”

“That’s ‘cause you are. Now we’re both drenching in yellow,” he announced, cheeky.

Oh shit! He was right! The paint wasn’t soaking through your dress as it was through his t-shirt, but the stains were definitely there.

“Crap! Is it washable? Is Natasha gonna be mad?”

Steve snickered, dropping a kiss to your forehead before taking a step back. You were wrapped in cold again, not liking it in the slightest. “I’ll wash it for her. She’ll probably pat my back or something if she learns how that happened… or yours.”

You laughed before you settled on a simple smile. “I’m glad you have such encouraging friends… no, seriously. I like them. Thank you for today.”

“They like you too in case you haven’t noticed. And today’s not over, you know? Movie night ahead. Tony picks,” he grimaced at that. “Mind if I take a shower first? You can ask Jarvis to ask Natasha for… more clothes.”

You smirked. “Why would I do that? I’ll be fresh from shower. I’ll just take my yesterday’s pyjama,” you teased, watching Steve’s lips part.

“Trouble. You are trouble…” he exclaimed, making his way to the shower, looking like he was trying to stop himself from doing something stupid. You kinda liked certain kind of stupid on him, you decided. Like… the make-out session. That was a very pleasant kind of stupid. And it showed you that he might be as crazy about you as you were about him.

“You like it!” you called after him, feeling confident and giddy.

“I do!”

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Movie night was a very organized event at the Avengers Tower as you found out.

At seven o’clock, Jarvis asked which meal from the restaurant Bruce had picked (because it was his turn) each of you wanted. Twenty-five minutes later, everyone gathered in the living room, Bruce bringing the take-out, Tony asking Jarvis to put on a movie of his choice – because it was his turn.

“Look at you…. Any reason you took a shower?” Clint sing-sang, taking his box from Bruce’s hands.

You rolled your eyes while Steve replied. “I was working out and someone shot paint arrows at me. You were there if I recall correctly.”

“That explains you, not her. Nice outfit, by the way,” Tony hummed, seating himself on the couch next to Clint; what a pair of menaces to society and more specifically to you.

“Thanks,” you grinned at him, obviously taking him by surprise when not snarling at him.

“Cap helped you to get sweaty too?”

“Hush, Clint. The movie’s about to start. What happens behind the closed door is none of our business. Though if you got paint on my dress, I’ll skin you,” Natasha turned to you, threatening.

All blood drained from your face.

“Oh-hoooo, busted. You know, for future reference, you might wanna take off your clothes first.”

“Oh fuck you, Tony!” you cried out, curling in Steve’s arms, burying your red face in the crook of his neck. He embraced you protectively.

“Stop torturing her. She told me she liked you, you know,” he growled lowly, stroking your hair in attempt on comfort.

“Really? You sure it was us she met?”

“What Barton said.”

“I thought you told her better than that.”

“You know I was kidding about the dress, right? I just wanted to see how you’d react. Totally worth it.”

You peeked out from your hideout, squinting at each of them as they had innocence written all over their faces.

“I can’t believe I thought you were nice…” you murmured. Feeling better though, you stuck your tongue out before returning to the safety of Steve’s chest, which was now shaking with hushed laughter.

“Gee, Cap. How did you end up with such a brat for a soulmate?” Clint questioned, laughing. “You’re perfect for each other.”

“Looks like it,” Natasha confirmed. “Movie. Now. Get your food.”

You obediently took your box, readjusting your position at Steve’s side so you could eat, watch the movie and still bask in the warmth his body was radiating.

“Thanks, I guess. What are we watching?” As if on cue, the movie started, revealing the answer. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. Now shhh,” Tony hushed you and Jarvis dimmed the lights pleasantly, enough for you to enjoy the movie and see that you were eating at the same time.

You shook your head at Tony’s choice and focused on the screen. Guess there was nothing wrong at watching Kung-Fu Panda again. After all, it was fun.

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Clearly, you weren’t the only one who had seen the movie before. Clint was saying some lines along with the characters, which made you giggle. Steve’s fingers always twitched on your hip when you did. Once you earned a curious glance and a light kiss to your damp hair when you muttered alongside with Clint, unable to resist.

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it’s called the present.”

The movie was over before you knew it. Jarvis turned up the lights again and the team of Earth’s mightiest heroes started to shuffle away. You couldn’t help but tilt your head in confusion when they didn’t bother cleaning up after themselves.

“Come on, guys…” Steve complained, half-annoyed, half-resigned.

“Having a guest doesn’t provide you an out, pal. You’re still on the cleaning duty, fair is fair,” Clint threw over his shoulder, leaning to Natasha’s ear; whatever he said to her, it made her chuckle.

Steve muttered something incomprehensible under his breath and manipulated himself from your embrace to clean up after his teammates’ – also known as children – mess. That thought made you smile as you got up to help him to pick up the empty boxes and cans.

“You don’t have to do that. You’re a guest here,” he noted kindly, sighing when you shook your head, continuing your extremely hard work.

“Please. So, you even invented a clean-up duty, huh?”

That made him chuckle. “Yeah. It was Natasha’s idea. It was usually her and me and she got fed up with playing housekeeper.”

“I do not envy her at all. Living with four guys, occasionally five if Thor is staying? Not exactly a walk in the park, I imagine. No offence,” you remarked, following him to the kitchen.

You weren’t lying – you heard enough horror stories about living with too many brothers under one roof.

“Well, Pepper’s around sometimes. Believe me, when she teams up with Natasha, I’m not sure it’s them who are outnumbered,” he exclaimed with a smirk that said it all. You laughed at the mental picture of the two famous women ordering the Avengers around. “Though… they might appreciate your help, the more frequent the better.”

You let the lid of rubbish bin close shut, looking up at Steve. His smile was bashful now, displaying the same sheepishness you heard in his voice.

You heart sang at the sweet suggestion. He wanted you around, the more frequent the better. You were at loss of words and he bit the inside of his cheek, the light in his eyes dimmed a bit at the lack of your reaction.

“So you’re saying they would enjoy me helping them to keep you guys in check…” you said slowly, earning a raised eyebrow as you took a step closer to him. “Or are you saying you’d like having me around?”

This time both of his eyebrows jumped shortly, his smile turning self-depreciating. Still, you hoped he knew you were teasing. “Something tells me you know which I meant.”          

“I’m hopeful,” you wrinkled your nose and washed your hands, drying them with a paper towel.

Steve went to stand by your side and like a magnet, you couldn’t resist and faced him.

“They were right, you know?”

“About?” you asked. You somehow suspected what he was referring to, the idea making your chest full of the lightest feeling. Yet, still in a high spirit, you teased him more. ”Are we talking shedding clothes or us being perfect for each other?”

He chuckled, the tips of his ears red. “I meant the latter, mostly.”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling in your ribcage with the faintest excitement at the visual of the first suggestion. Crossing the last distance, you kissed him shortly on his lips. His hands fell on your hips in a gentle touch.

“I agree.”

“You do?” he whispered, gazing into your eyes, searching for the subtlest hint of doubt.

Joke was on him; he wouldn’t find any. Maybe it was just him being perfect, but hey, whatever, potato, potahto; the bottom-line was that you were being over the moon when with him and he didn’t seem any different.

“Uh-um,” you hummed in agreement, unable to hold back the smile attacking your lips. Clearly, Steve failed at the same, mirroring your expression.

His arm sneaked around your waist then, his thumb caressing your cheek tenderly. The way he was looking at you… it took your breath away and after a long time, you felt the need to lower your gaze, dangerous words on the tip of your tongue.

You couldn’t say you loved him. Not yet, right? That wasn’t possible, was it? It was too soon. Even if it was somehow possible to feel like that, you couldn’t tell him. You would spook the poor man. You couldn’t have that.

Then again, you had to give him something.

“It’s just… sometimes it’s hard to navigate through a relationship. You know what I mean, right?” you whispered, biting your lip when his fingertips slid under your chin, urging you to look up.

Wonder and curiosity changed his expression, no doubt thinking of where this led to, but he didn’t press, waiting for you to gather your thoughts. You shied away again under the intensity of his gaze.

“The constant weighting of what is acceptable to do at the moment, how to grasp it. Is it time to kiss? Is he ready to see me without make-up? Should I take things further? Should I ask him about it? Are we going too fast? Is it time to meet friends and family?”

The words suddenly spilled from your mouth and you found yourself unable to stop the waterfall, finally finding courage to meet his eyes properly. His brows were furrowed together now, only for a bit.

“But not with you. It’s just… it seems so natural. Easy, right. Am I… am I crazy for feeling like that…?” you trailed off nervously, rewarded by the softest of smiles.

“Maybe. But then it makes two of us,” he confessed lowly, his thumb running over your lips this time, striking something in you, making your insides burn and yet, you were ready to fall into his embrace and just cuddle him for eternity. You couldn’t decide which you wanted more. Him or him.

You inhaled and exhaled slowly, preparing to confide to him with the final admission.

“I never felt like this. Not so fast, not so… much.”

He breathed in shakily, bowing his head only to stop a half an inch from your lips.

Why would he stop for god’s sake? The anticipation built up in you within a second. Thrill and concern. He wouldn’t reject you, would he?

“Me neither.”

You didn’t have time to process his words and bask in the light of his confession. He erased the last distance and what you expected to be a sweet kiss to emphasize his words turned out to be a hungry thing very fast.

You had no trouble readjusting to the new situation, breathlessly letting him nibble on your lips, meet your tongue and press you flush against him. Your right arm went around his neck to get impossibly closer while your left gripped his hip. For the second time that day you found yourself trapped between his body and a hard place as he moved you with ease, your backside bumping the kitchen counter.

He tilted your head, his lips leaving yours in favour to draw a torturously slow path down the side of your neck.

“This okay?” he breathed out and your knees buckled when his hot exhale ghosted over the sensitive skin.

Deliberately, your fingers slipped under the hem of his t-shirt, feeling his bare waist. He jumped a little and the sensation of having the same power over him that he had over you filled your veins with ecstasy.

“Is this?”

“So much trouble,” he murmured to the crook of your neck. You nearly went to a cardiac arrest when his fingers hooked in the neckline of the shirt you borrowed, tugging it aside just enough to reveal your words, his lips brushing each curve of his handwriting. You shuddered at the sensation, your palm going flat on his torso.

“Steve…”

You felt the subtlest graze of his teeth on your collarbone then and your heart positively stopped.

Lord have mercy.

You tugged at his t-shirt, pulling his mouth back to yours, pouring everything he made you feel into the kiss. When he obeyed, you let go with one hand only to prop yourself up onto the counter and sit on it, spreading your knees just enough for him to slip in between. He stumbled, moving a hesitant step forward when you wordlessly asked him to do so.

“Doll…”

The roughness of his voice sent a jolt of electricity down your spine, warmth pooling in your core despite the simple word sounding more like a question. A plea? A warning? Either was sizzling hot.

Your fingertips caressed the skin of his waist before making their way up under the fabric, resting curiously over his racing heart, feeling and praising the way it hammered against his ribcage in perfect imitation of your own.

Not the only one affected, sounded sweetly in your head and you moved your hand just a bit higher, only to let your fingers run down with the tinniest trace of nails, stopping an inch from the waistband of Steve’s sweats.

“Christ,” he choked out, his hands sliding dangerously close to your bottom, drawing you to him in one swift movement, forcing your legs spread wider and your core meet his crotch.

The hot shock of the contact sent your head spinning. God, you wanted him. How much you wanted him… You needed his mouth, his hands, his everything.

As if he was reading your thoughts, one of his hands went to explore even lower, cupping your bottom, while the other sunk into your hair, pulling you in for a passionate kiss. When your tongues met and his hips bucked forward in the aftermath, you moaned into his mouth, your fingers gripping anything in reach. He groaned at the sound, his lips getting sloppy, soon moving away.

His forehead fell on your shoulder, his hands twitching and you recognized that the heat was over, leaving you shivering and wanting. It almost made you whine. Almost.

You fought to catch your breath, to slow down your rapidly beating heart, to chase rational thoughts. Needless to say that after something like this, it was pretty difficult. Your body acted on instinct though. Your fingers threaded in his soft locks, caressing his scalp soothingly.

You felt it too now, though, what stopped him.

It was still too soon. Hell, you kissed for the first time only yesterday and you weren’t exactly the type to jump into bed after three dates. Steve wasn’t either – hell, he was born in an era where officially, sex before marriage was bordering with scandalous. Neither of you was one to put out easily, and while for some people it may looked like you were taking things way too slowly, this wasn’t the right time. You couldn’t put your finger on why, but it just wasn’t.

You kissed the top of his head then, gently pulling on his hair to face him, ignoring the way he… ugh, put some distance between your lower parts.

His pupils were blown huge, little wild and little bewildered in perfect harmony with his voice. “You’re not mad I stopped?”

Your eyebrow shot up and you couldn’t help pointing at your face. “I know you haven’t seen me mad yet, but this looks like my mad face?”

“No,” he answered truthfully, still short of breath, “but still, I’m sorry. I can’t, not yet, I-“

Your hand slid from his hair to cradle his cheek. He leaned into your palm, his eyes fluttering shut when he recognized you truly were alright with not continuing what he had started.

“I get it, Steve… somehow, I get it,” you assured him in a whisper and he pressed a tender kiss to your palm, his own fingers fixing your no doubt messy hair.

“Thank you.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “That’s not something you should thank for, Steve.”

“It really is.”

“Oh yeah, you definitely need to thank me for not being mad that we didn’t get on it on the kitchen counter where anyone could just walk in any second…”

“Oh my god-“ he groaned, stepping back and freeing you of his touch completely. “You are so much trouble.”

You jumped down the counter with a grin, surprised at just how wobbly your legs were. It was totally on him. “Steve, you literally turned by legs into a jello. I’m not sure I’m gonna make it to your room to change, let alone home.”

You didn’t want to go home, but sacrifices had to be made. Getting you both hot and bothered and then sleep in the same bed might be a very bad idea if you truly wanted to keep your hands off each other.

“Why would you go home?!” he cried out. His expression screamed shock and fright. Fright?

“I mean… I understand if, uhm… you know. Don’t want me anywhere around your bed tonight. For… reasons.”

“No way. I want to sleep with you!”

You bit your lip to hold back your laughter at such statement. Yeah, you had noticed. You had felt it.

“You know what I mean!” he blurted out exasperatedly when he spotted the expression on your face.

“Okay, okay… it’s on you. Whatever you’re comfortable with,” you offered, smiling up at him, trying your best not to look hopeful. You weren’t ready to say goodbye to him yet, but you also understood that while for you it could be difficult to fall asleep when wired for… certain kind of activities, it must have been even harder for him; no pun intended.

“I want you here,” he reassured you softly, kissing your forehead. “Now come on. Time to go to b— time to hit the hay.”

Your lips twitched when he quickly corrected himself to avoid more teasing.

“ ’kay.”

Few minutes later, you were falling asleep facing each other, his hand covering yours from a respectable and safe distance. It was ridiculous, it was sweet and considerate and it made you feel the farthest from cheap and easy.

It was the right decision.

You felt loved and cherished and if you were watching Steve long after he seemed to drift off and you even mouthed ‘I love you’, no one needed to know. For now, it would be your little incredible secret. Tomorrow might be different. Or the day after. When the time would come. You knew you fell in love with Steve Rogers and that was enough.

You closed your eyes contentedly and let Steve’s slow periodic breathing lull you into a sleep full of the sweetest dreams.

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S.R. masterlist 

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Tags: @cxptain​ @mermaidxatxheart @smilexcaptainx , @murdermornings​@irepostthingsiwanttoseelater , @polarcrystall​ @eliza5616​, @rayofdawnworld @victor-criss-bish​ @skychild29​  @elysianecho​ @simmisblog​ @scentedsongrebel​ @orions-nebula​, @sergeantrosabellaswan​ @songofcosplay​, @ilovesupersoldiers​ @wxstedhexrt @silver-winter-wolf @nova3312​  @guardian-tn @janieavalos​ (some just don’t seem to work whatever I do :( )

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NOTE: We’re at the end, folks :)) But not really. We have a three-shot ahead and longer crossover with-- nope, wait for it, but it’s not Marvel. And you might hate me. Anyway.

If you are on a taglist for this fic, I’ll be hella presumptuous and leave you on it for the upcoming parts. If you want out, shoot me a message or an ask - I promise I don’t bite and I won’t be mad or something. If you aren’t there and you want to be, let me know either via msg or via ask again (don’t use comments for that, please, the notification on those are about as reliable as I am with doing adult stuff on time).

Thank you for reading!