#winter’sgemswritingchallenge

[beckzorz]

Dressed to Kill: Killer Shoes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Words: 9852 Summary: Ever since Bucky found you on that island beach, you’ve been each others’ best-kept secret. So why are you looking at him like he’s a stranger when you’re supposed to be miles away? Warnings: NSFW (language, smut), 18+ A/N: Sequel to Dressed to Kill, one of my favorite things I’ve ever written, for @jewelofwinter‘s 1.5k writing challenge! Congrats to my dear Jessica on this awesome milestone! My prompt was booze. Hope you enjoy!!!

Sidestepping a tipsy woman’s flailing arm, Bucky snags a fingernail-sized quiche off a passing waiter’s tray. He pops it whole in his mouth, ignoring the snort of derision from the comm device hidden by his ear.

“Jesus, Barnes, you’re supposed to be the classy one.”

“Shoulda sent Wilson,” Bucky mutters as he dabs the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

Hill just chuckles. “Yeah, probably. If only he wasn’t the most recognizable superhero in America.”

How he manages to keep from rolling his eyes is a mystery. Thankfully, Hill doesn’t say anything else, even when Bucky makes the mistake of licking his fingers after eating a tiny, glistening slider.

For some reason, the cocktail party spirit is evading him tonight. Hill doesn’t know why, but she sure as hell knows he’s not on top of his game. If Sam were here, he’d be giving Bucky even more bullshit than Hill.

Well, Bucky knows the reason if no one else does. No one else had better know.

You’re his secret.

He’d be doing better if he didn’t know you were in town. He might have smuggled you a ticket, finagled your help, done something more fun than this private eye bullshit somewhere private—but no, you’re working too.

A different place, different mission, different target.

Presumably a different end goal, too. Well, whatever. Hill might judge, Wilson definitely would, but Bucky’s done too much murdering of his own to give a fuck if you’re off murdering someone who deserves it tonight.

He assumes they deserve it. You might have unconventional methods of making the world a better place, but that’s what you’re doing.

What he’s doing, too, even if tonight is the biggest pain in his ass since that long mission posing as security in Ukraine. If only you weren’t working. God, how nice that would’ve been. Bad table manners aside, he’s done his job. There’s loads of nooks and crannies in this place that’d be perfect for—

Bucky chokes on his champagne.

A woman just walked in. Black dress, deep lipstick, killer heels. Under all that, a face and body to die for.

It’s you.

Bucky turns away, face hot. He wipes his mouth as daintily as he can to disguise the utter bafflement he feels. Is the room warmer than before? He can’t tell. All he knows is that the mingling crowd is too much. Last time he’d seen you in a crowd…

He surreptitiously adjusts his pants. Best not to think about that now.

What the hell are you doing here? Did you finish your mission? How the hell did you even get a ticket?

He traces the outline of his phone in his breast pocket. It’s quiet. Can he sneak it out for a look, or is that too rude?

No, fuck that, he doesn’t need to look. If you’d called, or even texted, his phone would’ve vibrated.

Why didn’t you call?

Hell, why aren’t you looking at him? Talking to him? Running your hand down his lapel…

Bucky chances it. He turns around, but you’re leaning against the bar, eyes resolutely elsewhere. Mission be damned; the assignment can wait a few minutes. He makes his way through the crowd, silk dresses whooshing against his suit as he squeezes between clusters of the rich and ambitious.

He’s not the only one stunned by you. You’re smiling coyly at the bartender, whose eyes keep drifting back to you as he mixes a drink and slides it your way.

Huh. Bucky’s never seen you drink a martini before.

You stir the olive through your drink, eyes drifting down the bar and passing over Bucky with no more feeling than if you were looking at a stranger.

A chill runs down his spine.

You’re good at your job, damn good, but there’s never been a single moment that you haven’t reacted to the sight of him. For the first time, Bucky looks closer. The curve of your neck, the size of your breasts…

Ah.

Quite.

He orders a whiskey from the bartender, props himself on the bar with his elbows, and tugs his phone out of his pocket. Clicks off his comm device. Dials a number. Waits. His lips curl into a smirk when someone picks up.

“Hey, darlin’.”

—

You cross one leg over the other and lean back in your chair, lips pressed tight together as you adjust your phone against your ear. The man across from you watches with a sympathetic grimace as he cuts his steak.

“Ballsy of you to call after all this time,” you say stonily.

A pause, then a low chuckle that makes you glad you’re wearing closed shoes—Nicholas can’t see the way that sound curls your toes.

“Well, better late than never, right?”

“No, I think never would have been better.”

Nicholas nods approvingly. You reach over and slide your hand into his, mind a million—or more accurately, a quarter dozen—miles away.

“If you have something to say, say it,” you continue. “Otherwise—”

“I can see you when I close my eyes.”

You can hear the smirk in Bucky’s voice, but the next words come out sounding less sultry.

Less sultry, more ominous.

“Sometimes, like right now, I don’t even need to close ‘em.”

What?

Questions swirl in your brain. What the hell does he mean? He can see you? But you’re miles away, in some rich loser’s eat-in open-concept kitchen—

You swallow, set your jaw, and squeeze Nicholas’ hand. His eyes are blue, but they’re the wrong shade, the wrong shape.

Wrong everything.

“That’s very sweet,” you drawl. “But you can stop wasting your time. Go use those cheap lines on someone else.”

You hang up and groan, burying your face in your hands to disguise your racing pulse.

“Just block his number,” Nicholas says. He takes a sip of his wine.

“I will,” you lie. A few deep breaths help settle your nerves, but your mind is reeling. A sniff for good measure as you recreate some semblance of composure. “God, I can’t believe I let him get under my skin.” You rub your arms and shiver. “You think you know a person…”

“People can be awful,” Nicholas says. He sets down his fork and pats his knee. “C’mere, you.”

You glance at him from under your eyelashes as you set your napkin on the table and sidle around to drop on his knee. You loop your arms around his neck and press your cheek to his shoulder.

Nicholas settles his hands on your hips, his thumbs tracing circles low on your belly as he murmurs placating nonsense in your ear. You’re not listening. You’re busy unsticking a patch from the inside of your wide bangle.

“—and you know you can always trust me,” Nicholas says.

You cup his neck in your hands, the finger-sized patch latching seamlessly onto his skin and already starting to dissolve.

“I know,” you murmur.

You lean in slowly, but Nicholas blanches. He lurches to his feet, sending you sprawling to the floor.

“Nicholas?!”

“I—I’m sorry—I think I ate—”

He darts to the bathroom, and within seconds you can hear him retching.

Finally.

You climb to your feet and grab your phone, mind racing back to the Bucky problem now that Nicholas is out of the way.

What the hell did he mean, he can see you? How can he? Does he mean he’s watching a video feed? But there aren’t any here. You turn your phone in your fingers and bite your lip. Bucky’s working tonight, same as you—well, sort of. It would be silly to call him back before you’ve even thought his riddle through. Not to mention while Nicholas is still on his feet. You don’t know how much that patch will affect him.

How can Bucky be seeing you if he’s miles away? It’s impossible.

Unless…

Unless—

“Oh shit,” you mutter.

Someone is impersonating you at the party.

Someone.

Is impersonating you.

At the party.

Well that just takes the cake.

You slip your phone back into your purse and go knock on the bathroom door.

“Nicholas? Are you alright?”

A groan.

“I’m coming in,” you tell him. A beat, and then you push the door open with as concerned an expression as you can manage.

Nicholas is back on his feet, but he’s pale and shaky. Perfect.

“Oh, love!” you gasp. You rush over and steady him. “Let me help you.”

“You’re a godsend,” Nicholas says weakly. He leads the way to his bedroom—his apartment is sprawling; how the hell does he manage? Who needs this kind of space?—and lets you tuck him in.

“Shouldn’t have had that steak,” he says. “You did warn me it looked a little off…”

“Oh please,” you tell him. You press a kiss to his brow to conceal your scowl. Can’t he just go to sleep and stop talking? You’d only warned him about the steak in case of emergency. You hadn’t expected to need to pull off that trick… “Rest, dear. I'll come by tomorrow to check up on you, alright?”

“You’re an angel,” Nicholas mumbles. He smiles, finally letting go of your hand.

Angel?

You pull back as fast as you reasonably can, a little queasy yourself now. No one calls you an angel but Bucky. It’s wrong, sickening, to hear it from this dumb jerk.

It’s a disgrace. How dare he.

You’re out of Nicholas’ place before you even have time to consider your own mission. So much for his bank accounts, his trust funds, his shady offshore properties…

Well, screw that. It can wait. You’ll be back tomorrow.

—

Easy enough to catch a cab, easy enough to namedrop the most upscale venue in the city. Easy enough to hook into the video feeds you’d had Kasie hack into back when you didn’t think you’d be going.

You call Bucky as the driver peels away from the curb. He answers in a ring and a half.

“Didn’t know if you’d call,” he says.

“Is she wearing a black dress?”

“Uh… yeah. How’d you—”

“Feeds are fuzzy. Can’t tell for sure if that’s her,” you say curtly.

“Don’t be like that,” he says.

You bristle as you fix a fresh patch to the inside of your bracelet. Just in case. “Like what?”

“Like you aren’t glad I called.”

You close your eyes, tip your head back. “I’m a little preoccupied,” you murmur. “Not every day I find out my cover’s blown.”

“We’ll figure it out, darlin’.”

Bucky’s voice wraps around you, almost as comforting as if he was holding you in his arms. You'd had to hide your delight before, at Nicholas’ place, but no one’s looking at you this time.

This time, you let yourself smile.

—

The first time you’d met Bucky, you’d swept from the street up marble steps not unlike these. Of course, back then the whole point had been to distract him.

You smooth down your skirt as you wait for Bucky to let you in. This time, you’re distracted even before you walk in the door. Bucky’s nowhere in view and you’re already a bundle of nerves. Of course, Bucky’s not the one making you nervous.

He really should be, you decide. You’ve never not gotten a swoop in your stomach from catching sight of him, whether through a rifle scope on a rooftop or from the bottom of a carpeted staircase. Or from a bed. And he’d looked so good in the feeds, blurriness aside… No man had ever looked better in a suit.

If nothing else, thinking about Bucky is doing wonders to distract you from the more pressing problem. Who has time to consider the implications of someone posing as your double when in just a few moments, you’ll be able to run your hand down his velvet lapel?

A sigh escapes your lips. You lean against a column by the door, gazing down at the street. Cars start and stop as they ease by, the occasional bike or scooter weaving between traffic. Black taxis reflect the last pink stripes in the sky, the white streetlamps, the red-yellow-green of the traffic lights. Pretty, but your focus is still caught up with the man coming to fetch you.

It’s been too long since you’ve seen him, touched him… You’ve been in the same city for a few days, but his team is too perceptive for him to have snuck away. Every meeting with him has been snatched, secret. Your hands curl, fingernails digging into your plans.

What you wouldn’t give to have the freedom to have him whenever you want.

The desperation, the need tugging at you makes you feel like an addict, but god if Bucky Barnes isn’t the best drug there is.

“There y’are.”

You flinch, pulse racing under your skin, as that smooth voice washes over you. A swallow, and you press your eyes closed just for a moment before looking at him.

It’s the same exact rush you’ve gotten every single time you’ve seen him. The swoop in your belly, the clench of your thighs, the way your mouth goes dry when his lips quirk into their customary smirk. And gosh, that suit looks even better in person. It’s black, with sharp lines that mirror the sharp line of his jaw, and a velvet lapel that you just know won’t be nearly as soft as his lips. All your frustration melts away.

Finally.

“Hi,” you breathe.

Bucky offers you his arm, his blue eyes dark as they drink you in. A new dress, a black dress, the perfect match. The style he likes, with a fitted bodice and draping skirt. You hook your arm through his elbow, trying to hide your relief at finally being with him. Not to mention the absolute thrill of having his strong, solid arm under your hand…

Bucky flashes his ticket—and a SHIELD badge—at the doorman, who lets you both in with an inquisitive frown. Did he see your doppelganger earlier? No matter.

“Nice of you to join the party,” Bucky teases.

You snort. “I’d thank you for the invite if I wasn’t so damn aggravated.”

Bucky drops a kiss against your hair as you study your surroundings. A gilded lobby, just shy of ostentatious, with a a row of polished wooden doors leading into the function hall. Two concierges at the long counter by the doors, glassy-eyed and bored until they notice you looking, at which point they turn on megawatt smiles. You bite your tongue as you smile back. Ah, nothing like customer service.

That’s at least fifty percent of your own job, really. All that simpering at Nicholas…

You shudder.

Bucky pauses mere feet from the door—you can already hear the lounge singer crooning away—and frowns down at you.

“Y’alright?”

“Sure, sure.” You adjust your hold on his arm, then step back. Time to get back in the game. You rub your temples. “Is there a plan? Or are you just winging it?”

Bucky scratches his cheek, brow pinched. “She seems to be focused on one guy in particular, but I don’t know if it’s about murdering him or what.”

“And you just left her in there?!” you gasp. He rolls his eyes.

“Calm down, darlin’, no need to blow a gasket. Got my backup to come in, keep him busy. But not so busy the other you suspects.”

You let out a stream of air between your teeth. Fine. That works.

“Anyway, if you’re done accusing me of not knowing how to do my job—” he shoots you a sardonic look bordering on a glare— “I figured we’d just corner her, get her out, get her talking.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

You brush past Bucky, eyes ahead, and push the doors open before he can stop you. Enough talking. Time to take this bitch—whoever she is—down.

—

Unlike the first—and only—time you’d been dressed to the nines together, you’re geared up. These are your killer shoes, with the blades hidden in the soles and a needle inside the right heel. There are two holsters hidden under your skirts, and false pockets granting easy access to your pearl-handled pistols. Your necklace hides a garrote, your bangle a drugged patch.

And you’ve got murder on your mind.

No one, not once in your entire career—or maybe even life—has ever pretended to be you. No catfishers, no copycats…

Well, not that you have a style that enables copycats. You’re an assassin, not a serial killer.

There’s a difference.

Right now, though, you feel the self-righteous pull of a worthy target more than ever. How dare she steal your face.

Barely anyone glances your way when you enter into the function hall. High ceilings, sparkling chandeliers, bubbling champagne passing by on a waiter’s tray. You snag a glass, but Bucky nabs it out of your grip before you can so much as take a sip. You scowl at him, but his eyes are twinkling as he drinks.

“Thanks,” he says. He offers the half-empty flute back to you, but you ignore it.

“Where?” you demand. “Where is she?”

Bucky tilts his head, and you turn to follow his gaze. There, at the bar, a woman in a black dress. Thicker straps than yours has, a fuller skirt… But it’s a close enough match.

A chill runs up your spine. Is that what you look like, in the flesh, from the outside? Are those your shoulders, your ears? Is that the curve of your cheek?

How?

You turn back to Bucky, heart pounding, a million questions on your lips. He touches your elbow and leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“She’s nothing to you.”

A shiver runs through you at the low timber of his voice. You pull back and meet his eyes. They’re burning, bright with determination and dark with—you can’t tell. Murder? Desire? Both?

He nods once, squeezes your hand, and melts into the crowd. You press your hand to your pounding heart. A few people glance at you, but you deftly avoid their gazes. A waiter passes with a tray of hors d’oeuvres; you take a tartlet, bat your eyelashes at the waiter, and trail after Bucky, caviar bursting in your mouth.

You don’t have any problems spotting him. He’s leaning against the bar now, chatting you—her up. Her shoulders are tense; you can see her back, and you have a suspicion she’s not quite able to meet his eyes.

Bucky calls the bartender over and orders her a drink; you can just make out the coaxing smile in his voice as he asks, “What’s your poison, doll?”

“Is booze poison to you?” your double asks. She shakes her head. God, even her voice sounds like yours. Eugh. “A martini, please.”

You slip between two men and slide onto the barstool right next to her. She’s still facing Bucky, and she doesn’t turn her head quite far enough to realize she’s been cornered.

“You know,” you drawl, calm as day, “what I really prefer is champagne.”

The woman freezes. Bucky slides his half-full flute of champagne past her to you, and you take a long, slow sip, gaze fixed on Bucky. His face is serious, but there’s a thrill behind his eyes.

Your double shifts back on her stool, twisting to face Bucky even more, sliding out of her seat. You stand up too, your breasts nearly pressed against her back. From here, you can see the differences. Her skin tone is a little darker, shoulders a little broader… The hair at the nape of her neck isn’t quite the right shape either.

You fiddle with your bangle as you wait for something, anything to happen. Should you play your cards and drug her? Chase her to the bathroom, corner her there? Or let Bucky lead her away, keeping her head unmuddled for easy interrogation?

It’s a choice you don’t get to make.

The woman spins, and the sight of your own face snarling has you reeling, breath catching and eyes going wide. It’s you, but it’s wrong, backwards, wrong wrong wrong—

A harsh shove sends you careening back, and then she darts off. You knock a stocky woman halfway over, barely managing to catch yourself on some man’s sleeve, but your eyes are latched onto her.

Did she really think she could run away from the Winter Soldier?

Your double only makes it a few quick steps before Bucky’s hand clamps onto her shoulder, spinning her back to face him, his SHIELD badge tucked in his fingers, a thin, dark-haired woman rushing forward to assist.

The man whose sleeve you're holding helps right you, and you shoot a sorry to the woman you’d nearly knocked over. She’s too busy gaping between you and your doppelgänger, her eyes round as dinner plates.

Now that your double’s being led away, your fury dissipates. She failed, she’s got her head slumped, and she doesn’t look anywhere near as good as you. A giggle escapes your lips, and the stocky woman stares.

“Evil twins, am I right?” you say.

The woman blinks, too shocked to answer, and then you dart after Bucky and the others, a bounce in your step and every single wrong thing turned right.

You weave between hobnobs as they slowly sink back into their sedate ignorance. How strange. How could anyone go back to their dull party when there’s something like this going on?

Bucky opens a door, and his associate drags your double through. You step ahead to follow, but he catches your eye and shakes his head just before he vanishes.

You freeze. Right. Of course. You can’t just run after him. He’s working. Your relationship, if you can call it that, is a secret. He’s an Avenger. And you’re just…

You’re…

Someone puts a hand on your back. You stiffen.

“Jeez, Mal, what the hell happened while I was in the bathroom?” a low voice mutters.

What the hell…?

You turn and take in the bland face of the middle-aged white man frowning around. Your heart skips a beat, and you let out a slow breath between your teeth. You know that face.

“Some woman got dragged off by the feds,” you whisper, linking your arm in his and angling him away from the bulk of the crowd.

His eyes widen as he looks around, more scared than confused this time. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” you say curtly. “Come on.”

Your grip is solid on his arm, but he puts up no resistance as you lead the way to a door, not the one Bucky dragged your double out of. Mal? Is that her name? Is it short for something? Mallory, Malia?

No. Malinda.

The name rings a bell, but for the life of you, you can’t place it quite yet. You push your guesswork aside as you lead the man—his name is Christian Havemeyer, old money, shady enough to get him onto your radar—down one carpeted hallway and then another to an out-of-the-way powder room.

Your radar.

Oh, of course. Havemeyer was connected to Rex Carston, your target back when you’d first met Bucky. And Carston’s date that fateful night had been Malinda.

Is the woman who’s stolen your face the pretty woman who’d been on Rex Carston’s arm the night he died?

Well, Bucky will find out. Right now, you’ve got your own job to do.

Havemeyer is pacing, hand clutching his dyed hair—there’s no way a man with so many wrinkles on his neck has hair that black—as you lock and lean against the door. You slide your hands into your pockets, watching Havemeyer carefully. He doesn’t seem armed. Better than that, he doesn’t seem the least bit suspicious.

Well, that’s about to change.

“Got any ideas?” you ask. He whirls on you, face red.

“What the hell do you think? You said this event was clear!”

“Well, clearly I missed something,” you say evenly. “That doesn’t mean we can’t still follow through.”

“Follow th—follow through?” Havemeyer gapes, then narrows his eyes. He looks you up and down, realization dawning in his face. He steps back, glances around. “Wait. You—”

“Hmm?” you drawl. You push away the lacy strap holding one of your pistols in place and curl your fingers around the grip. No point turning off the safety; you could take this guy barehanded.

Well, probably. It better not come to that.

Havemeyer’s face shifts from fear and confusion to stern determination. He steps towards you, puffing up his chest and balling his hands into fists.

“Where is she?” he hisses.

You raise your eyebrows, impressed despite yourself. Well, to be fair, he doesn’t know you’re armed to the teeth.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

“You’re not Malinda,” he snaps. He takes another step.

A little too close for comfort.

You draw your pistol and press the barrel against his gut faster than he can blink. “Down, boy,” you say coolly. “You should know better.”

Havemeyer slowly puts his hands in the air. You push your gun against him, and he steps back one, two, three times before you’re satisfied. You click off the safety, just for added measure.

“Now,” you say, “let’s talk.”

He swallows. “Maybe you can put down the gun first.”

You tap your chin. Consider.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Behind you, the doorknob rattles.

Well, fuck.

You keep your eyes on Havemeyer as you turn your head towards the door, trying to listen over his ragged breathing and your own. Not that your breathing is ragged.

“Mr. Havemeyer?”

A deep male voice, one you don’t recognize. Havemeyer’s face lights up as your stomach drops.

“Help!” he calls.

“Bad call,” you snarl.

A vicious crack—they’re shooting the door open. You shoot Havemeyer in the kneecap, his howl music to your ears. He collapses like a wet rag. You kick him low in the gut, further immobilizing him, and swing the chair at the counter around to wedge it under the doorknob.

You drop into a crouch and whip out the knife from your left shoe. Havemeyer is curled around his knee, whimpering.

Suits him, the bastard.

You dig your fingers into his jaw, the knife scraping against his clean-shaven cheek, and dig the barrel of your pistol into his wound. He sobs, scrambling, but you don’t give in.

“Talk.”

You’ve got a minute, maybe, before his goon opens the door. But it’s enough.

Havemeyer doesn’t just talk.

He sings.

—

A swift kick to the head knocks him out. Kind of you not to kick him in the knee; the pain would’ve done the trick, but meh. You’re not really here for him. It’s just a nice little bonus, learning things.

Anyway, better not to get blood on your shoes.

You wipe the barrel of your gun, bloody from being jabbed against Havemeyer’s knee, on his suit jacket. It’s been seventy-five seconds since you told him to talk. You really are good at your job.

Of course, you still have to deal with whatever’s waiting behind the door. It’s been quiet. Have they gone for help?

The powder room had no other exits, not even a window. Well, whatever’s waiting outside can’t be worse than things you’ve faced in the past.

Hell, you’re the woman who faced down the Winter Soldier and came out on top—well, not literally on top, but…

Eh, maybe later. Hopefully later.

You press an ear to the door, listening, not daring to breathe. It’s silent in the hall.

Worth the risk. You’re a professional, after all. If some rich man’s security is good enough to get you, you probably deserve to get caught.

You step back and whisk the chair out of the way.

The second you do, the door bursts open.

Oh, bother.

Tall, broad, bulky—you’re nearly pinned by his long arms, but you manage to duck aside. Still, he knocks your pistol out of your hands. You tighten your grip on your knife as you whirl to retaliate, but he jumps back. Your knife grazes his open jacket, cutting a neat slice in the thick material. You don’t have time to admire the clean cut because he’s lunging again.

And he’s got a knife too.

Oh, bother.

You kick the chair in his way, scrambling at the inside of your bangle. He throws the chair at you. It hits; you stumble back, but there’s just enough time as he tosses the chair aside. You hurl yourself at him, latching the patch from your bangle onto his neck with one hand while you drive your knife into his thigh with the other.

He grunts—more pain tolerance than his boss, apparently—and aims his knife at you. But with the patch administered, you’ve got a hand free.

He’s got no chance at all.

Well, let’s be fair. He never had a chance.

A knee to the groin, an expert twist of your hand, and his wrist cracks. This time, he does howl. He stumbles back, away from your knife, back through the open door into the hall. You stalk after him, a feral grin on your face as he slumps against the wall.

“That’ll teach you to pick on girls,” you tell him.

“Who are you?” he whimpers.

“None of your goddamn business.”

Your knife is still bloody. You hike up your dress and carefully wipe the blade clean on the inside of your skirt, still watching the bodyguard carefully.

A low whistle echoes down the hall.

You pause, a smile edging onto your face as you tilt your head. You don’t take your eyes away from the bodyguard, but your whole body lights up. You can sense Bucky from meters away.

“See something you like?” you call.

The bodyguard blanches.

You don’t blame him, really. It takes a really dumb criminal to be delighted to see the Winter Soldier.

What does that make you?

A lovestruck idiot, probably.

Bucky saunters down the hall, smirking. A pair of handcuffs dangle from his right hand; his left hand is tucked neatly in his pocket. “I might.”

Havemeyer’s bodyguard shifts a few inches down the wall as he holds out his trembling hands, one at an unnatural angle. Bucky spins him to face the wall and cuffs his hands behind his back. You slide your knife back into its slot in your shoe as Bucky shuts the bodyguard into the powder room.

“This yours?” Bucky asks.

You turn, still smiling, and reach for your pistol. But Bucky holds it out of your reach, the pearl handle clinking against his metal hand. You stick your hands on your hips and raise your eyebrows.

“That’s mine,” you tell him.

“No time for that now.” He loops his arm through yours and drags you down the hall. “Hill’s on her way over.”

Hill? Is that his associate?

Her?

You press your lips together as you run alongside him. Envy coils unpleasant and heavy in your chest.

Her?

You’re not jealous. You know Bucky well enough now to know he’s got no eyes for anyone else.

But… someone he can work with? Someone he can be in public with? Someone he can see without subterfuge, without shame…

You don’t have regrets about your career. None whatsoever. You’re talented, you’re passionate about it… Some people think murder is wrong, but the world is far better off without certain people in it.

But Bucky—he’s from another world.

A world where you’re not welcome. Not you, not your team, not your delight in a perfectly executed kill. He can ravish you all he wants—all you want, if you’re being honest—but at the end of the day, you’re just a dirty little secret.

It’s never bothered you before. Right now, though?

You hate it.

Bucky drags you down a back staircase, gripping your hand tight. You burst outside into a back alley, the fresh air cool against your clammy skin. A high fence shuts out the rest of the world, but when you look up, you can see the hazy sky, stars barely visible past the light of the city.

“That went well,” Bucky says cheerfully.

“Mm,” you answer, feigning cheer. “Can I have my gun back?”

“Oh this?” He dangles the pistol in front of your face, smirking. You stare stonily, not taking his bait.

Bucky’s smirk drops as you stand there. He passes the gun to you; you check the safety and slide it back into its holster, refastening the snap with a muffled click.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice low.

“I—” You draw your lower lip between your teeth and start to pace. A glance at Bucky; he’s confused, worried, his playfulness fading fast.

But the right words don’t come out.

“What did Malinda say?”

His face screws up, adorably confused. Even as you’re metaphorically kicking yourself in the foot, you’re half breathless by how much you love to look at him.

“Huh?”

“Malinda,” you say again. “The woman impersonating me.”

“Ohhh.” Bucky nods, his face smoothing. “She didn’t give her name, though I assume Hill is on it. Without her mask, it shouldn’t be hard.”

Your eyes bug out. “Didn’t you recognize her?!”

He frowns. Tips his head back. Then his head falls forward, chin nearly brushing his chest.

“Well, shit,” he says. “She was there when we met, wasn’t she?”

Oh my god.

“More than that,” you snap. “She knows who I am! She was Rex Carston’s dinner date the night we—”

You clap your hands to your mouth, but Bucky’s caught on. He steps closer; you step back, until your back is against the wall. He’s boxing you in, face stern.

“What’s this really about?” he says, voice low.

You lower your hands. They’re trembling. “She knows me, Bucky. She has to know me. How else…”

What else is there to say? If she’s in SHIELD custody, and she knows you, she’ll talk. She’ll talk, and you’ll be on their radar.

And then Bucky really will be in bed with the enemy.

“I hate being your dirty little secret,” you mumble, eyes fixed on his lapel. “I don’t want to have to be your enemy too.”

“No,” Bucky says firmly. He grips your face and tilts it up towards his. “You’ll never be that.”

“I'm basically that already!” You knock his hands away, shove him back. “Bucky, I’m tired of sneaking around! It was fun, but I’m tired of it! You don’t care, but I’ll never be good enough for your moralistic friends, and I’m tired of it.”

He blinks.

“But they like what you do,” he says. “I mean, the ones that matter.”

Thank god you’re leaning against the wall, because you’re pretty sure you just fainted.

“Excuse me?”

“They don’t know about us,” Bucky says slowly, “and they don���t know what all of you look like—at least they didn’t—but your team is on SHIELD’s list of outfits not to bother. An unofficial list, but it still counts.”

You’re a fish. A gaping fish. Bucky scratches the back of his head.

“Assuming you don’t take a sharp left turn in the evil direction, I mean,” he adds.

He peers up at you from under his eyelashes, hands stuffed in his pockets. Even with the sharp-as-knives suit and cheekbones, he looks more adorable than ever.

With Bucky clearly nervous, you find your voice.

“So all this time,” you say slowly, “there hasn’t been a reason to be all—” you gesture vaguely— “secretive?”

Bucky’s lips quirk up. “Well, I mean, there’s fun in intrigue. At least…” His tiny smile fades. “I think so.”

“Well shit, I think so too!” You snort. One step away from the wall, towards him. “I’m not in my line of work because I don’t like intrigue. But my god, Bucky, I could have been your date all night! You’re telling me I’ve been missing out on you for no good reason?”

“I figured you had good reason,” he retorts. He steps towards you now, his hands light on your waist. You melt into his touch, warmth spreading from his hands so close to your skin. His face softens. “I never wanted you to think… Shit, angel, I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.” You brush a hand across his face, thumb tracing his sharp cheekbone with a new kind of reverence. He’s close, his darkening eyes fixed on your face, your barely parted lips.

The world is wide open now, isn’t it?

You lean in, his breath on your lips before he stops you. His eyes dart over your heads, by the door—a surveillance camera, red light holding steady.

The very thing you’ve avoided.

The very thing you’re done with.

“Fuck that,” you murmur.

You grab his chin and kiss him, rough and hard and without mercy. He gasps into your mouth, and you bite his lower lip before drawing back. No blood, but his lip’s already swollen, dark pink and even more plump than usual. He’s the one gaping now. You drag your thumb across his mouth, admiring it.

“Fuck that,” you repeat. “Let them see.”

He stares. “Seriously?”

“Am I a liar, Mr. Barnes?”

“Not in the usual way,” he says, lips twitching.

“I’m serious. Now kiss me before I change my mind.”

Bucky crushes his lips to yours. You knew it was coming, but his intensity still tears a cry from your throat as he slams you back against the concrete wall. His hands knead your hips; his teeth nip at your lip just as you’d done to his.

Well, fair’s fair.

Heat thrums though you. You thread your hands in his hair and tug hard enough to break the kiss. His head falls back and you waste no time in leaving a mark against his neck, frantically unbuttoning his jacket, his shirt. He hisses into the open air as your teeth press just deep enough against his throat to hurt. Your lips follow your hands, kissing across that sculpted chest, fingers stealing touches of his skin as his hands skate up your sides.

When you reach the last button on his shirt, you snake your hand straight down his pants and take his hardening cock in hand. His hands squeeze painfully tight on your waist, but you revel in it.

“Fuck,” he groans.

You draw back, lick your lips. Smirk coyly at him from under your eyelashes as you stroke him lightly, one hand still tracing his chest.

“Something the matter?”

Bucky shakes his head and leans one arm against the wall. He’s panting, but he manages a grin all the same. “You and your mouth.”

“Oh, you want my mouth?”

You fall to your knees, cement biting into your knees through your dress, but you don’t care. You tug his zipper down with your teeth and pull his cock free. A fresh wave of want surges through you.

Damn if he doesn’t look like the best snack in the world.

One hand around his base, the other cupping his balls, you draw him into your mouth with a hungry moan. Hot, heavy, perfect; god, there’s that delicious stretch you’d been missing, the taste of him, of Bucky, heady on your tongue.

It’s like your first time together. You on your knees, his hand in your hair, him singing your praises, your mouth around him and your hand cupping your own sex, touching yourself through your dress, desperate for release but too busy tasting him to beg him for more.

It’s like then, but it’s not. Because right now, you’re not lying to him. You’re not fooling him, distracting him. No ulterior motive beyond letting the whole world know how much you want him.

How much he wants you.

No more hiding, no more sneaking, no more looking over your shoulder—it’s all you and him, him and you, the two of you together—

Bucky’s hips are rocking now, seeking you out. Lipstick stains his cock dark in the shadows, but you can’t take your eyes from his face. That beautiful face, a flush across his cheeks and a pinch between his brows. Those beautiful eyes, so dark and full of that thing that neither of you have to hide anymore. His panting echoes in the alley, sweet sounds falling like the first spring rain. Beautiful, vital relief. Your skin prickles, pressure building as you struggle to breathe.

You squeeze the base of his cock as you relax your throat, drawing more of him into your mouth. You hum around him, the vibrations pulling a fresh stream of whimpers from his pretty mouth that makes a fresh rush of want pool between your legs. God, it’s filthy how he’s moaning your name, leaking in your mouth…

“Fuck, yes, f—fuck!” he rasps.

A swirl of your tongue around his head, suction so strong it makes your cheeks hurt, and the lightest squeeze of his balls. Then your hand dances back, teasing his rim, and Bucky shouts his release, spilling down your throat as you swallow hungrily.

You pull back and lick your lips clean, smirking up at him as you lightly graze your clothed breasts. Just a pause, to let him come back to himself. And to bask in his afterglow. Looking at him like he is now, flushed down to his chest and his eyes squeezed shut in bliss, is like looking at God.

It’s not long before Bucky’s eyes open. He tugs you up. His breathing is heavy, but he catches it enough to kiss you long and tender, one hand still buried in your hair. You moan into his mouth, breasts tight against his chest. Can he taste himself on your lips?

You break the kiss with a gasp as Bucky pushes you against the wall. He smirks and starts bunching your dress up around your waist, his body still pressed against yours. The air is cool on your legs, all the more so when your thighs are bared.

Bucky leans his forehead against yours, both of you panting as he grips your thigh, toying with the lace of your holster. He shifts his wrist, his eyes blacker than the hazy sky. His touch between your legs buckles your knees; you’re held up by his chest on yours and his other hand on your waist. His hand slips under your panties.

The merest brush of your clit and the world shudders, all your focus zooming in on that tender touch. You’ve been on the precipice for what feels like hours, and his touch, Bucky’s touch…

It’s everything.

You clutch his arms, chin trembling as you try to hold on. His fingers dip between your folds, circle wet and slick against your clit.

“Let go,” he murmurs. He nuzzles your neck, teeth scraping against your collarbone as he works his magic. His left hand holds you steady against the wall, the concrete scraping your shoulders. “Let go for me.”

He curls one hot finger inside you, and it’s enough to tip you over the edge. A cry tears from your throat as you quake in his hold, sparks shooting through you. He coaxes you through, sweet sounds—full words, perhaps, but you’re too overwhelmed to make them out—falling from his lips as he slows his ministrations.

You ease down from your high as Bucky takes his hand away. He’s gentle, his eyes dark but so damn sweet. They’re the first thing you see when you resurface.

He sucks his fingers clean, smiling all the while, as you steady your breathing. He smooths your skirt back over your legs, zips his fly, buttons his shirt. Your face screws up.

“What, is that all?” you manage.

Bucky’s laugh echoes loud and clear in the alley. He slings his arm around you, squeezing your bum fondly as he leads you away. “Not a chance.”

—

The city twinkles outside of the wide windows of your hotel room. Warm lighting, a queen-size bed that might be a bit snug for Bucky—well, it’s upscale, not platinum; you have a budget, after all—and his suit jacket already hung in the closet. Bucky’s standing in his shirt by the window, on the phone with Hill. Maria Hill, Nick Fury’s right-hand man.

“I ran into an old associate,” he tells her for the third time. His voice is steady, though you can see in the reflection his lips pursing. He’s being just vague enough to keep her suspicious. He’s quiet for a moment as you fill a cup in the bathroom sink.

You wander back into the bedroom, nerves humming. The whole cab ride over, Bucky’s hands had been all over you, light and teasing and just enough to keep you right on edge. And the elevator ride up to the seventh floor had him rutting against you like a dog in heat.

Now he’s putting your patience to the test with his drawn-out call when all you want to do is scream his name. You clench your thighs as you swallow, waiting for him to finish. But he’s still got the phone to his ear.

This won’t do.

You finish your water and lick your lips dry, the taste of your lipstick heavy on your tongue. Is his cock still stained with it? You’re dying to find out. The cup clinks against the dresser, abandoned. Bucky’s eyes meet yours in the window reflection as you wander over to him and lean against his back, circling your arms around his waist to start unbuttoning his shirt for the second time tonight. His lips twitch.

“Hill, listen, I gotta—”

“Not until you explain yourself, Barnes.”

You sink your teeth into his shoulder as you slide your hand inside his pants. He jerks, nearly dropping his phone.

“Fu—Hill, it’s fine, just—”

You palm his cock through his boxer briefs.

“Fuck!” he gasps. He slams his fist against the window, but there’s no swallowing back what’s just come out of his mouth.

Hill’s silent for a moment. Then she laughs. “Oh, I get it. Have fun, James. Don’t forget your paperwork!”

Click.

Bucky twists in your arms with a growl. His phone thumps against the floor as he forces his mouth on yours, bruising. He grips your upper arms and pushes you back until your knees hit the bed. A shove, and you’re falling, lips parted from his onslaught as you bounce on the mattress.

“You little devil.”

The low tenor of his voice sends a shiver through you. Bucky crawls over you, his open shirt brushing your arms as you push it down his shoulders.

“Thought I was your angel,” you murmur.

Bucky sits on his haunches and shrugs off his shirt. You lick your lips as you feast on him with your eyes alone, your fingers light on your breasts. Bucky’s eyes fix on your hands. He sucks in a breath as you squirm, nipples hardening under your dress.

“Whatever you are, you’re divine.”

Bucky stands for just long enough to push his pants and briefs off, barely giving you a chance to see how hard he is. But you see well enough: cock jutting out, thick and heavy. And yes, still painted with traces of your lipstick.

He pushes you further up the bed until your head’s on the pillow, then settles back between your legs. His hands knead your thighs, spread them apart. It’s his turn to lick his lips.

“And I’m going to worship the hell outta you tonight.”

Bucky glides his hands down your skirt. You twist your hands in the blankets, breathing shallow as you watch him. He lifts your leg and presses a kiss to the inside of your ankle, fingers dancing along your shoe.

“Killer shoes, huh?”

You laugh breathlessly, but you can’t answer because he’s kissing his way up the inside of your leg, his hands sliding up your skirt so smoothly that you’re a mess before he’s even reached your thigh holster. Fuck grabbing the blankets; you bury your hands in his hair and pull.

You half expect him to resist, but no, he lets you pull him between your legs, pushing your dress up over your waist. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the crotch of your panties, his tongue flicking against your clit. You cry out; your hips buck against his face, but he only chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. He peels your panties away, shifting so he can toss them away with the rest of his clothes. You reach for the satin bows on your holsters, but he grabs your hands.

“Safety’s on, leave ‘em,” he says, eyes glinting.

Your eyebrows fly up. “Really?”

He shrugs and tucks his hair behind his ear. “What can I say, watching you at work earlier was a turn-on.” You giggle and run your foot against his side.

“Let me guess, you want me to keep my shoes on too.”

“If it’s comfy.” He winks. “Think you’ll accidentally kill me if I drive you too crazy?”

You nudge at him with the toe of your shoe until he falls back onto you, his cock nestled between you. You twine your arms around his neck and kiss him til you’re out of breath.

“Kill you? Never.” You bump his nose with yours. “Now eat me out, or I might start charging you for my time.”

Bucky laughs out loud. Music to your ears. Then he dives back between your legs, pulling your thighs over his shoulders and settling on his elbows. One last wicked look, and then he latches his mouth to your clit, sucking and flicking and oh god you’re ruined, you’re wrecked. He’s pulling your soul out with his lips. Your hips buck up again, but he stills you with a single warm hand. Sounds fill the room, sounds you barely register as your own moaning.

He’s insatiable. His tongue dipping inside you, fucking you, his metal thumb circling smooth as silk against your clit. His other arm holding you in place so he can devour you, all your whimpers and cries and moans be damned. Your legs are shaking, thighs squeezing his head so tight you’re sure he’s suffocating, but no, he’s just lapping you up, humming, every vibration building you into a tighter frenzy. Sweat beads on your brow, on your chest—you grab hold of his hair, your breasts, the blankets, anything to ground you, but it’s impossible because he’s there, right there, his hips thrusting against the bed as yours strain towards his mouth.

More, more, more; it’s a chant in your mind, on your lips, back arching off the bed as his soaked metal fingers vibrate—

The throes of your orgasm are enough to wake the dead. Bucky lifts his head to watch you come undone, his hand still working on your clit. He lifts his arm from your hips, but by now you’re no more than a pile of mush on the bed, your silky dress sweaty and tight on your body, too much against your sensitive breasts. You twist bonelessly and reach for the zipper.

“Let me,” Bucky murmurs. He slides the zipper down slowly, careful not to let it catch on your skin. Peels the dress down until your arms are free, your breasts free in the open air. A few gentle tugs, and it’s gone, and you’re bare beside him.

Bucky doesn’t touch you, not yet. He hovers next to you, his hands reaching and falling back every second until you look at him and smile.

“C’mere, you,” you mumble. He settles in your open arms, propped on his elbow, his torso stretched across your chest. You brush back his hair and let your eyes drift across his body. Your gaze lands predictably on his cock, still red and hard and lipstick-stained, a bead of precum just at the tip. You take him in hand tenderly, reveling in his quiet hiss. “Poor Bucky. So much time worshipping me he hasn’t had a moment for himself.”

“I mean, you did—fuck, darlin’, just like that—you did suck me off earlier,” he says breathlessly.

You keep stroking him, your hands gentle, rubbing the lipstick stains into new shapes on his skin. Bucky’s tense, every muscle from his neck to his abs to his thick thighs in stark definition as you work along his length.

Bucky tugs your hand away all too soon. He settles between your legs; they’re spread wantonly, heels and lacy holsters an added bonus. His cock is scorching between your legs, sliding slick between your damp folds as he teases you.

“Fun as that is,” he rasps, “I just wanna be inside you already.”

A thrill shoots through you. Bucky rocks his hips gently, teasing, not fast or hard enough to provide relief. You tilt your hips, moaning, anything to spur him on. This dragging out the inevitable is torture.

“Fuck, what are you waiting for?” you gasp.

No warning, no caution—Bucky slams his cock home. Your body arches off the bed as you cry out, tears springing to your squeezed-shut eyes as he sinks deep, so deep it’s just shy of painful. But god, there’s no pleasure in the world better than this. His thick cock in you, his pelvis putting pressure on your clit, stars once again bursting behind your eyes.

Bucky doesn’t give you any time to adjust. His thrusts are fast, long, deep. Your feet scramble for purchase, heels catching on the blanket. A harsh rip as the comforter shreds, but it barely registers.

He notices. He growls, pulling your leg up, still pistoning in and out, pounding you into the bed. With your knee against his chest, he’s hitting all kinds of spots inside you, the ones you’d barely known of before him. Your walls flutter around him, a wail tumbling from your lips—

“Oh god, fuck, Bucky!”

Bucky litters your chest with kisses, alternating between tweaking your nipples and teasing your hypersensitive clit until tears run down your face and all you can do is beg.

“It’s ‘kay, darlin’,” he pants. His pace slows, the long drag of his head tugging at you, pulling fresh sobs from your throat. “Fuck. Look. Look how pretty y’are,” he urges.

You force your eyes open and stare between you. His cock, red and shining from your arousal and his, sliding in and out, your cunt stretched tight around him. You clench the muscles there as he sinks in once more, his prolonged groan enough to make you laugh triumphantly until he rolls you over, his hands strong on your waist as he sits you up, the movement shifting his cock inside you. You hiss and steady yourself with a hand on his chest.

“You seriously expect me to hold myself up? I’ve had two orgasms tonight and you’ve had none,” you tease.

Bucky’s eyes glitter. He rocks his hips up. You can’t move.

“You’re the one who was desperate for more,” he quips. “Prove it.”

“Ugh, fine.”

But you smile as you plant your hands more solidly on his chest, one finger just close enough to trace the scars at his left shoulder. You circle your hips, moving slow and small until he’s clenching his jaw. But he doesn’t beg for more. He just watches you, his hands still on your waist and his eyes black with lust.

The little movements prove your undoing before his, every roll of your hips providing fresh pressure on your clit. You mewl with pleasure as you start to bounce more solidly on his cock, chasing the building pleasure. Every slam has you both gasping. Your nails scrape against his skin, digging in, leaving marks. His hands shift to your breasts, just holding them, rubbing his palms back and forth across your painfully hard nipples. Every shift of his hands, every drop of your hips, every thrust of his send a shower of sparks through you until your whole body is fireworks, starbursts behind your eyes, fire in your blood—

One hard thrust of his hips when you’re not expecting it, one intense burst, and you seize up, shudders racking through you as he holds you up by your chest, walls milking him, eyes unseeing, all of you focused on the pleasure between your legs and the twitching of his cock inside you until he too explodes. He spills inside you, your name falling from his lips, offered up to you like a never-ending prayer as you fall forward to kiss him because you have to, you must.

“Bucky,” you murmur into his mouth. “Bucky.”

Every inch of skin is hot, damp with sweat, but you couldn’t move if the world was on fire. He’s wrapped around you, in more ways than one, and you never want to let him go.

And for the first time, he doesn’t have to go. Whatever his people think of him, they’re leaving him alone. Let the Winter Soldier blow off some steam, they must be thinking, and he’ll be our perfect operative when he gets home.

You smile into the crook of his neck as he strokes your back, your neck, your hair. He is perfect, isn’t he.

It’s a while before either of you have the strength to move. Bucky rolls you off him.

“Stay,” he murmurs. He drops a kiss on your forehead, and you watch his bum as he heads to the bathroom. Your eyes slide shut as you listen to him run the tap, splash water on his face. You don’t hear him come back, but you blink your eyes open again when he settles next to you. He cleans you up with a damp washcloth, tugging your shoes and holsters off as he works.

“There,” he says. He tosses it all off the bed—well, he puts the holstered guns gently on the nightstand—and lies down, pulling you into his arms. You wiggle your toes, stretching out your feet as you snuggle into his side.

Bucky’s quiet, oddly so. Usually he at least says how much he enjoyed himself. He’s never been shy with his words before.

Nerves gnaw at your stomach. What’s the matter with him? You’re not sure how to break the silence, so you let it settle, and wait.

It takes time, but eventually Bucky sighs and kisses your hair.

“It’s real fuckin’ nice that I can stay,” he says quietly.

You nod.

“And…” He swallows. “Were you serious earlier?”

You look up at him with a frown. “About what? I say a lot of stuff, y’know.” He chuckles, but sobers quickly.

“Were you serious about wanting to… be my date?”

The words tumble out of his mouth.

You sit up, heart pounding, and lean over him. His face is cupped in your hands, your eyes are fixed on his, and the whole world is in his hopeful smile. You kiss him, chaste and heartfelt as a ingenue.

“Am I a liar, Mr. Barnes?”

“Not in the usual way,” he answers.

“There we go,” you murmur. You push the damp hair off his forehead. He’s gazing up at you with something past liking, past wonder, past fondness in his eyes. It’s mirrored in yours, whether you acknowledge it or not. Either way, here you are, with him, with everywhere to go. “There we go.”

[the-canary]

The Times Are Changin’ - B.B (Prologue)

Summary: The war was over and things were changing at a rapid pace. The two of you had done some of that as well in your years apart. (40′s!Reader/Bucky Barnes) 

Prompt: Fuddy-duddy = old-fashioned person

A/N: this is for @jewelofwinter ‘s writing challenge. 

1945.

You weren’t sure why Rebecca Barnes was running down the block after such a grueling schedule. Like you, the young woman helped in the Navy Yard not that far from your little apartment building by scrapping metals and building parts for ships, as they were hauled away to different parts of the war where American soldiers were fighting in Europe and the Pacific. 

Your older brother had been one of those guys, like Rebecca’s brother, that had gone to fight. It might have made your father proud if he was still alive, but all it did was make your mother sick with worry and it made you the sole family provider. 

Your heavy and tired legs lead you to where all five Barnes women are standing in front of the shabby apartment building next to yours. Rebecca, in her red bandana and blue jumper, is holding and crying her mother as the younger sisters stand around them.

It could only mean one of two things. You think of James Barnes -- a boy who was almost a year older and with bright blue eyes and someone who had the world at his oyster in both smarts and looks. Outside of that, there was nothing much else for you personally. 

You were about to find out that it was a completely different story on the other side of the coin. 

[xuxibelle]

Dizzy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2,894

Warnings:  fluff, mild cursing

Requested: No. This was for @evanstanwrites’s writing challenge where I had the prompt “Why is James spelled with “s”? Why is it plural? More than one Jame. How many James?” & @jewelofwinter’s writing challenge where I had the prompt “We’ll figure this out. But first, let me take care of you.” Prompts are in bold below

Summary: A former assassin now reformed, what do you do when your first double mission goes askew? 

This wasn’t your first mission. You had been on plenty of missions in your past, both before and now with the Avengers. Your missions before you met the Avengers were more dark and sinister than your current quests. There’s not a day that goes by that you’re not thankful for Wanda saving you during your last “dark” mission. You were about to fail your mission when you realized what had happened. You’d been sent to assassinate some small country’s King, but they had been tipped off and were well prepared for you. Turns out one of the men in your company was one of their spies. She found you lying in a curled up ball in a cell under the main floor of the castle. They’d beaten and tortured you after you’d been captured. You felt a hand on your shoulder and flinched at the touch, thinking they were coming back for more.

“It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you…” a female voice told you softly. You turned towards the voice to see a woman about the same size as you with red hair. “Can you tell me your name?” You look at the floor as you think before looking back up at her, holding back the tears. How could you not know your name. “It’s okay… Do you know where we are?” You shake your head no. “Can you walk?” You nod your head slightly. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. We’ll get you some help. My name is Wanda,” she tells you as she helps you up and you walk out of the cell and up the stairs. You’re still recovering random memories to this day and learning how to deal with those when they pop up, but if it wasn’t for Wanda, you wouldn’t have gotten out of that life, let alone be alive. You felt like you would have died in that castle. It took you awhile to start warming up to everyone at the tower, aside from Wanda. Things had been getting rough for you at night lately, having nightmares about your past. You thought about one particularly rough night, you walked to the kitchen and made a cup of hot tea to help you relax. You nearly jumped off the couch when you heard the deep voice behind you.

“How long have you been here?” you hear Bucky ask you. You slowly turn to face him.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you state as you look at him wide eyed, making him laugh.

“You’re supposed to be some badass assassin and you didn’t hear me coming?” he asked you with a raised eyebrow as he walked over to the counter and grabs an apple before sitting beside you on the couch. “You never answered my question,” he says as he looks at you, waiting for your answer as he bites into his apple. You swallow as you watch as he bites and chews, trying to hide your nerves. You’d never been alone with anyone in the tower other than Wanda. 

“U-uhm, about 20 minutes,” you tell him as you watch him take another bite of the apple and chuckle at you, shaking his head.

“I meant here at the tower,” he clarifies.

“Oh! Of course you did… Uh… about 3 months I think?” you tell him.

“And I’ve never ran into you in here?” he asks. You shrug your shoulders at him. That was the night you met Bucky Barnes, and you wouldn’t soon forget it. Since then, you had become very close to one another. Both knowing the other had trouble sleeping, you moved your room closer to his so that it would be easier to help one another, or quicker to get to the other if they were having a nightmare. More often than not, you both ended up in the other’s bed cuddled up to each other, sleeping peacefully. You were currently sitting at your post, waiting for your mark to make his presence known. It was your first solo mission with Bucky, and to say your nerves were on edge was an understatement. You could see the red light from his scope from where you were positioned, so you knew where he was, and everytime you heard his voice in your ear, it sent a shiver down your spine.You had been catching feelings for Bucky since that first night in the kitchen, but you were avoiding it as long as you could. Nothing good ever came from getting in these situations for you, so you would fight it as long as you could. You didn’t want to lose Bucky as a friend. He was too important to you. Wanda was the only one that knew about your feelings, and that was only because she got in your head. She tried to talk you into telling him, but of course, you refused. You jump slightly when you hear Bucky in your ear again.

“Y/N is that him?” he asks you. You look down and see a man walking around the corner facing you.

“Yea. That’s him. We follow him now, right?” you ask.

“Right. Follow him and find the kid,” Bucky tells you. This man had been taking children and selling them as slaves. It was going to stop tonight. He had a new one to sell, but you weren’t going to let it go that far. Once you found out where he was keeping the children when he got them, you were going to get in touch with him and pose as someone interested in buying said child. 

“Let’s go,” you tell him. You both follow the man and see the child first hand before you go back to your hotel to contact the man out of sight. Bucky stays within sight of the man to make sure everything goes smoothly on his end. You text him when you are done and let him know that he can come back to the hotel. “He wants to meet in an hour,” you tell Bucky when he gets back. He nods. 

“We can do that. Go get ready,” he tells you. You both change into ‘normal’ clothes and you put on minimal makeup to make yourself look more presentable. You and Bucky were going to pose as a couple looking for a child. You come out in a blue dress and black flats. You hated wearing heels and only did so when Wanda was around to make you. “Well don’t you clean up nice,” you hear Bucky say as you walk out from the bathroom. 

“So do you,” you say as you look up and notice he’s changed into a three-piece suit. After parking the car, Bucky takes your hand in his and you look up at him.

“Gotta look the part, right?” he reminds you. You nod your head slightly and continue walking towards the door. Next thing you know, you’re meeting the mark and discussing the child in question.

“I’m glad to see your interest. I think you’ll be very happy with this child. She is 7 years old, blonde hair, blue eyes. She’s very beautiful,” the mark tells you.

“Could we see her?” you ask as you look from Bucky to the mark, holding on to Bucky’s arm.

“Of course,” he tells you before he nods at a man behind you. After a minute, the door behind you opens and two more people walk in with the man that had left. You notice that there were no child’s footsteps and you realize that you’ve been found out. You squeeze Bucky’s arm to let him know you’re worried. He gives you a side glance, letting you know that he knows. He nods his head and lets go of your hand just as he begins to lunge towards the man in front of you. You immediately go for the men behind you, now coming towards you. One man gets past you, so now it’s two against you and two against Bucky. At least you’re even, right… That’s what you thought. Until you took your attention off the second guy after you thought you had knocked him out. While you were fighting your other guy, he got back up and drove a knife into your stomach. You clutch your hand around the knife as you look down at it. You’d been stabbed before, of course, but this felt different. Previous times when you were hurt, you kept fighting until either your mission was complete or you passed out. This time, you felt like you were paralyzed and all you could think about was Bucky. He’d heard your gasp when the knife went in and he’d started fighting harder. He was down to one man left, the mark. He currently had him in a headlock, trying to find something to tie him up with. He saw a roll of duct tape sitting on top of a duffel bag not too far from him, so he walked the man over and taped his wrists together. Then Bucky sat him on the floor and taped his feet together before rushing over to you.

“Y/N,” he says softly as he looks at you, hesitantly reaching out, not sure if he should touch you yet. Between the time that Bucky had been fighting the men to get to you and the time that he did get to you, you ended up lying on your back.

“Buck… I think I need help,” you half laugh as you look up at him with tears in your eyes.

“How are you always so calm when people get hurt?” he laughs back. You shake your head.

“No idea,” you laugh again. “The girl, Buck…”

“No, you need help. I can come back,” he tries to tell you.

“No, Bucky… They’ll move her. I know they will,” you tell him with pleading eyes. “Please,” you beg. He bites his lip looking down at you.

“Okay… But if anything changes, you call me immediately,” he tells you sternly. You nod quickly.

“Thank you,” you smile. He leans down and presses a kiss to you forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you before he leaves the room to get the girl. You side eye the man across the room, making sure he couldn’t move after Bucky leaves and hoping he wouldn’t take long.

“He likes you, you know,” the man tells you.

“What? What are you talking about?” you ask him. “You don’t even know us.”

“Doesn’t matter… Anyone could pick up on you two. You both like each other and the other has no clue,” he tells you.

“Shut up,” you tell him. 

“Look, all I’m saying is obviously life is short… Look where you are right now… Would you rather die not knowing?” he tells you. “Now I’ll be quiet.” Just after he stops talking, the door opens and Bucky walks back in carrying the little blonde girl.

“Oh thank God!” you say quietly.

“I’ve called for local police to finish with this. They’ll be here soon and then we can leave,” he says as he sat next to you. You feel your eyes start to droop as you look up at him. “Y/N… you ok?” he asks as you nod your head slightly. You close your eyes as you feel like you’re going to sleep. “Y/N…” you barely hear Bucky call again. “Honey, I’m gonna sit you down for a minute, ok? I’m not going anywhere. I just need to check on my friend,” he tells the little girl as he sits her beside him and leaned down over you. He could still feel your breath so you were still breathing, you had just passed out. That gave him a little relief, but that also meant that you probably lost too much blood. While you were out, he called a friend close by that works with the police and had them come sit with the man and little girl until they got there and things were taken care of. Bucky picks you up and carries you out to the car, driving to another friend’s clinic. No questions were asked, you were just taken care of. Bucky did explain what happened, he felt obligated and he felt it was best his friend knew what went on to help you as well. Once you were stitched up and hooked up to an IV, all there was left to do was wait. It was a couple hours before you finally began to stir. When you finally opened your eyes, Bucky was sitting beside the bed you were in, his head lying on the side of your bed. You smile down at the sight and bite your lip as you look at him. 

“He cares a lot for you,” you hear a male voice tell you quietly as you turn your head towards it. “He wouldn’t have brought you here if he didn’t. He doesn’t bring anyone here. Ever,” he explains.

“No one?” you ask as the man shakes his head. He walks over to you and begins to check your vitals to be sure you’re okay. 

“Looks like things are returning to normal,” he tells you. “Take this for the pain.” He holds out a tablet and you take it willingly, knowing you’ll soon be in a lot of pain if you don’t. You feel Bucky start to move after you take the pill. You run your hand over his hair before he moves too much and see him smile as he begins to pick his head up.

“Good to see you awake again,” he tells you.

“Sorry about that,” you tell him with a shy smile. He takes your hand in his as he shakes his head.

“As long as you’re still here, it’s okay. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” he confesses. You hear the other man leave the room, giving you two privacy.

“You’d find another friend,” you laugh. He shakes his head again, looking down at your hands as he weaves his fingers with yours before he looks back up at you.

“There is no one else, Y/N,” Bucky tells you quietly. You blink as you feel like your head is getting dizzy.

“What… are you talking about?” you ask as you feel your heart rate pick up just a little at his words. 

“You’re it, Y/N,” he tells you. “Since that first night in the kitchen… I haven’t been able to say anything because… well, because I didn’t feel like I deserve anything good in my life after everything that I’d done… and when I came to terms with thinking that maybe I did deserve something good, I didn’t think anyone, let alone you of all people, would want someone like me, that had done all those kinds of things… so I just kept it all shut up inside and didn’t say anything,” he rambles as he watches your expression changing. “Are you okay?” You nod your head.

“Yea… I uh… first night… uh, same thing…” you say quietly as you lift a hand and hold it to your forehead.

“Are you sure your okay?” Bucky asks you again.

“Bit dizzy,” you tell him.

“Do I need to go get my friend again?” he asks.

“No… I think it’s just the medicine he gave me. He gave me a pain pill,” you explain.

“Oh, then yea,” Bucky laughs. “That would be why.”

“Buck…” you begin.

“Yea?” he answers you.

“Your name is James, right?” you ask him.

“Yea, my first name is James. Why?” he asks you in return as he smiles at the confused look on your face.

“Why is James spelled with an “s”? Why is it plural? More than one Jame. How many James?” you ask him as you look up and meet his eyes with a dead-pan, serious look. He bites his lip to try and keep from laughing, but it doesn’t help and he ends up laughing anyway. “Why are you laughing? It’s a real question?” you tell him as he shakes his head.

“Y/N… you need to close your eyes and rest,” he tells you.

“But I’m not tired…” you pouted at him, making him smile.

“Y/N… please,” he begs you.

“Ugh… fine,” you groan as you roll your eyes. “You’re no fun.” He laughs again before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Close your eyes,” he tells you. You close your eyes and try to sleep. After a minute, you peek one eye open and Bucky laughs at you. “That wasn’t even a good attempt at trying to sleep.”

“I don’t wanna sleep. I wanna talk to you,” you tell him, making him laugh again and shakes his head.

“That medicine is something else…” he says as he takes a breath. “Look, I promise, We’ll figure this out. But first, let me take care of you,” he begs you.

“You’re gonna leave,” you tell him.

“What?” he asks you.

“You’ll leave when I go to sleep,” you explain.

“No,” Bucky shakes his head. “I promise, I won’t leave. You have hold of my hand… How am I gonna leave?” he laughs. You eyed him suspiciously before giving in.

“Okay…” you tell him. He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll never leave you,” he says quietly as you drift off to sleep.

@summernykole / @nerdraging4point0 /  @bringmethehorizonandpizza  /  @sunshine112 /  @empressdreams / @inlovewith3 / @scarshurts / @sebbystanlover-vk / @justasmisunderstoodasloki / @bisexual-sk8r /  @devildisguiseasangel / @fanficparker / @thejemersoninferno / @tephi101 / @yanii-the-hippie / @fortheloveofjbbarnes /  @wazzupmrstark / @eurynome827 / @cchellacat /  @justkeepdreaminganddreaming /  @bearsbeetsbarnes / @marvelownsmyentireass

[the-canary]

Summary: The war was over and things were changing at a rapid pace. The two of you had done some of that as well in your years apart. 

Pairing: 40′s!Reader/Bucky Barnes

Status: Ongoing

Prologue 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6