dolcezzasfantasy

[dolcezzasfantasy]

it's all a nightmare

summary | bucky betrays you.

pairing | bucky barnes x reader

word count | 4.5k

warnings | underage drinking, reader gets cheated on, angst, swearing, bucky is a bit of a douchebag (NAY A VERY MAJOR DOUCHEBAG), smidge of allusions to smut, characters are aged 18 in present tense of this fic

notes | based on the betty-august-cardigan love triangle from taylor swift's folklore ; not necessary to listen to the songs before reading but it might enhance the experience <33

links to the songs because i am extra |

betty youtube / spotify

august youtube / spotify

cardigan youtube / spotify

‘i hate to be the one to tell you,’ natasha says, ‘but i feel like i would want to know. were i in your place.’

‘what is it?’ you say, an uneasy feeling growing in your gut. the two of you are sitting on a bench in a park.

natasha feigns a smile for the lady who passes by with a stroller. she doesn’t get one in return.

‘i was riding my bike last week, and—’ the rest of the words you drone out, as you zone out into silence. all the feeling in your body escapes, and you can hear your heart throb loud. your ears are suddenly white hot, and the hairs on your neck were rising.

you start feeling nauseous as all the memories you had once shared with him come flooding back.

‘jesus christ, slow down!’ you giggle, grasping on to your seatbelt.

‘i’m following the speed limit,’ bucky yells over the loud swish of the wind that sounds through the open windows.

‘no, you’re not!’

a lot of rules were broken that day, you recall.

‘right, we’ll take two of those,’ bucky says, pointing to a can of beer resting on the shelf behind the counter.

the bartender seems distracted. ‘okay, yeah.’ he pulls out two of the cans and places them in front of the two of you.

bucky gives you a look, almost as though to say that he didn’t think it’d actually work.

‘great, thank you.’

once the bartender leaves to cater the other customers at the bar, you whisper loudly, ‘don’t drink that!’

‘doll, we’ve come this far, i think we owe it to the universe.’

there’s a smirk on his face. cocky bastard.

‘i can’t believe you, james buchanan,’ you scoff, using his first and middle name. he hates that.

‘what are you, my mom?’ he laughs. ‘it’s just a bit of harmless fun. it’s fine.’

‘fine. but i’m not drinking mine.’

‘of course not. i wouldn’t pressure you into doing anything.’

‘good.’

and then you had to get out before anyone noticed.

‘close call,’ bucky says, chuckling.

‘we’re never doing that again,’ you assert.

‘oh, come on,’ he says, placing his hands on your waist.

the streetlight above the two of you flickers, adding some sort of broken illumination to the dark streets, otherwise painted by the neon sign of the bar.

‘it was fun.’

‘for you, maybe.’

‘you know, if i’m being honest, beer kinda sucks.’

you chuckle. ‘why’d you drink it all in one go, then?’

‘i don’t know.’

the two of you stare at each other for a minute.

he pulls you in for a kiss. you can taste the alcohol on his lips and tongue. it doesn’t faze you much. it’s more of a reminder than anything.

reluctantly, you pull apart. ‘you’re drunk.’

‘maybe. but,’ he says, following you as you head to the car. he stumbles on his feet slightly. ‘i know i love you. and there is no drunkness to that,’ he says, like it’s supposed to make sense.

‘we’re going home. come on,’ you say, gesturing to the passenger’s seat of his car.

he groans. ‘my folks are gonna kill me.’

‘just keep your head down, stay silent, and it’ll be fine.’

as he gets in the car, he places a sloppy kiss on the edge of your lips. ‘i missed a little.’

‘yeah, you did,’ you chuckle.

the next day he had a hangover.

‘fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he whines, burrowing his face into his pillow. ‘i hate this so much.’

‘it’ll pass,’ you say. ‘you shouldn’t have drunk.’

‘now is not the time for lectures,’ he huffs. his voice sounds strained and muffled.

‘all i’m saying is that if you had listened to me—’ you chuckle, before he cuts you off with an aggressive shake of his hand.

he flips over onto his back, and eyes the green drink in your hands. ‘what the hell is that?’

‘it’s a hangover elixir,’ you say, managing to keep a straight face.

‘it looks gross.’

‘do you want the headache to stop?’

‘yes,’ he says, in a small voice.

‘then you’re gonna have to drink it.’ you help him sit up on his bed, and as he takes the glass from you, he makes a scowl. ‘pinch your nose, and bottoms up.’

‘you hate me.’

‘i’m doing this for you,’ you laugh, nudging him to hurry up.

he places his fingers on his nose, presses his eyelids shut. he mutters something inaudible under his breath — almost like a pep talk of some sort. and then he downs the tall glass.

after he’s done, he coughs. ‘that was disgusting. i hated that.’

‘i’m sorry.’

‘my head still hurts.’

‘it’ll get better,’ you say, patting his hair.

he slides back down his bed, and curls up. he pulls his weighted blanket over him.

you start to get up, but you feel his hand grip your wrist. ‘stay.’

‘dramatic much?’ you laugh.

‘please,’ he croaks out, in a hoarse voice.

‘alright.’ you position your self next to him on his bed. he pulls your arm from behind over him.

‘y/n?’ natasha says. her gentle touch on your shoulder makes you snap back to reality. rather unfortunately. you wish you could live in those memories forever. the reality you have to face is cruel. ‘are you okay?’

‘yeah,’ you say, with a shaky voice. it’s not very convincing.

‘alright…’

you were mad at her. how dare she not let you live in ignorant bliss? stupid. you can’t be mad at her. you can’t be mad at anyone, not even bucky. because it must have been your fault.

‘y/n—’

‘i need to get home.’

‘are you okay?’

‘yep. i just,’ you try to think of an excuse, ‘have chores to do.’

‘okay, then. good bye.’

you run out of the park, the shattered pieces of your heart wrapped in the cardigan bundled up in your hands — not even your favourite one. everything is wrong. everything is out of place. it’s all a bungled up dream.

‘call me if you want!’ you hear natasha call out after you.

you don’t turn around. you keep running until you’re out of your breath, and even then you continue running. you feel nauseous.

you stop right in front of your house. you lied, of course. there were no chores. you did them all in the morning. and maybe natasha knew that.

you sit down on the curb, not caring for how the rough tar grazes your thighs. you’ve suffered — are suffering — worse.

you fish out your phones and immediately open up your messages app. you type out in the bar below bucky’s name.

| it’s over.

it seems straightforward, comprehensive. but what if that wasn’t a suitable ending to your story?

you press the delete key until you’re back to a white space with a blinking cursor.

| did i deserve it?

too much.

| why did you do it? what did i do wrong?

too much, yet again.

| i thought you loved me.

out of context.

| it’s over between us

your thumb hovers over the send button. and then you feel that nausea again. you press it.

it doesn’t take long for the delivered to show below the bubble of the message. you feel worse.

it doesn’t take long for the read to show up either.

you wait for the response to come. a typing bubble shows up, but it disappears.

suddenly, your phone rings. you see his name across it. bucky, with a few heart emojis following. there’s a picture of him with you, standing with an obnoxious t-shirt in coney island. the two of you are grinning wide, and he’s hugging you tightly.

you remember that day in vivid detail.

‘it’s rigged, it doesn’t matter,’ you chuckle.

‘it’s valentine’s day. and i’m gonna win this for you.’

‘bucky, it’s fine,’ you say, trying to nudge him away from the shoot-to-win-a-stuffed-animal counter. it was a money grab; a violent one at that.

‘okay, give me three tries,’ he negotiates, ‘and if i don’t win anything after that, we’ll leave. deal?’

you sigh. ‘okay, i suppose.’

as he picks up the gun and loads it with three bullets, you pat him on the back.

‘if you don’t hit the target, it’s not a mark on your merit, alright? these games are rigged.’

the man behind the counter gives you a side eye.

you hear the shot fire off. he misses.

he makes a tsk sound. ‘it’s alright, two more tries ought to do it,’ he assures you.

you fold your arms, and smile knowingly. you don’t know why he’s taking this so seriously.

one more shot. surprisingly enough, he hits.

the man behind the counter seems to be just as shocked as you are. bucky, on the other hand, is so happy he looks like he might break out in a song of victory.

‘that’s not— how the hell did you do that?’ the man stutters.

bucky shrugs and keeps the gun down. ‘anything for my girl,’ he says, cheekily.

your mouth parts apart in awe. you didn’t think he’d actually do it.

the man reluctantly hands him the comically large teddy, scowling as he does it.

‘you’re gonna hold that, i hope,’ you chuckle. you loop your arm under his, and the two of you start walking.

‘oh, so, i win it,’ he teases, ‘and i hold it, too? seems kinda unfair.’

you laugh. ‘nobody asked you to win something that big.’

‘it’s representing my love.’ he lifts the bear’s hands up.

‘so childish,’ you chuckle.

you tap on the pick up option.

‘y/n,’ he says, in a small voice. he knows.

you wait for him to say something.

nothing.

‘what did i do wrong? what did she do right, bucky?’ you ask, on the verge of tears, it seems like.

he stays silent.

you nod slowly. ‘you should be ashamed of yourself.’

‘i am,’ he says, quietly.

maybe some part of you was hoping he’d deny it, at least. maybe it wasn’t true. maybe natasha didn’t see what she think she saw.

you pull your phone from the ear, and press the red button. it’s the end, you suppose.

bucky steps out of the car, and faces the same old white building. only this time, there’s an unpleasant feeling brewing in his gut.

part of him selfishly hopes you’ll stay absent for some reason today. but he knows you better than that. you wouldn’t miss a day of this godforsaken school for anything.

he walks, burying his fists in his jacket pockets. he hopes no one else has found out. but he doesn’t know what’s worse: being publicly mocked for betraying someone who didn’t deserve it, or being put up on a pedestal by people who don’t know how terrible of a person he is.

as he’s walking through the school parking lot, he notices you. you’re coming out of natasha’s car. of course. you would usually ride in with him.

he puts his hood on, but he knows it won’t do much. you’ve probably already spotted him in the mostly empty parking lot. even if you have, you don’t make any effort of showing it. you keep walking, conversing with natasha like it’s another normal, boring day of school.

he heads to his home room. boring, old mr. fury. as he reaches to open the door, he notices that you’ve gone ahead, walking with natasha.

you can’t be going to your locker; it’s in the opposite direction. why were you not coming to home room?

he goes inside, and sets his bag down on his usual seat: right in the middle of the class.

he slinks down, and waits for the monotonous deadpan of fury’s voice to begin the morning announcements.

well, at least he isn’t going to give them some crap about staying positive like the other teachers at the place would.

‘alright.’ the rest of his voice drones out for bucky as he picks at the chipping paint on his desk; it’s not that important anyway. every year, it’s the same speech: you can’t change locker numbers, you can’t switch assigned seating — blah, blah, blah.

‘okay, any questions?’

no one puts their hand up.

‘you sure? i’m not gonna ask again.’

bucky puts his hand up. you haven’t entered the classroom for all of the thirty minutes of this stupid session, and it certainly can’t hurt to ask.

‘yes, mr. barnes?’

‘do you know where y/n is?’

fury sounds one of those infamous sarcastic chuckles of his.

‘uh, i think she switched home rooms.’

bucky wants to throw himself off of a cliff.

‘and i meant questions related to the school,’ adds fury.

fifteen excruciating, nauseating, guilt ridden minutes later, bucky walks out of the class. there’s this restraint on his breathing, the same kind he had had when he had first committed the act. he remembers how it all started.

‘i promise it’ll be fun,’ you say. it’s the night before the end of the year prom.

‘i hate crowds, you know that,’ bucky says, fiddling away with his skateboard.

‘i’m gonna be there with you.’

‘i know, but,’ he tries to level with you. it’s not that he doesn’t want to go with you, it’s just that he doesn’t want to go. at all. ‘i’m sorry.’

you clench your jaw, and your smile falters for a fraction of a second. ‘alright. i don’t wanna pressure you into doing anything.’

‘thank you. if you want, i’ll take you out to that fancy ramen place that just opened up.’ there’s a cheesy smile on his face.

‘no, it’s alright.’

bucky thinks he sees a bit of hurt pass through your features. he wants to stab himself.

‘look, if you want me to come, i’ll do it.’

‘bucky, it’s fine, i promise. i’ll be there with my friends, anyway,’ you chuckle.

‘okay. if you’re sure.’

‘yep. i should probably head out. i have to, uh, get dressed.’

‘right.’

‘good night.’

‘night.’

with that, you head out.

all he had to do was come with you.

later that evening, he’s standing in front of his closet mirror, looking at himself in that suit. god, it’s so cheesy.

he contemplates taking the blazer off, and just leaving the shirt and trousers on.

but then he checks the time, and it looks like it’s about to have been an hour since the prom started. he needs to hurry.

he gallops down the stairs, skateboard tucked under his arm safely. he can hear the rickety sounds of the wheels bouncing.

he sets one foot down on the board, and skates toward the school.

he sees the lights coming out of the windows. there’s a lot of cars parked in the lot, even more than on school days. he can hear the faint music carry through.

he tries to imagine what he’ll say to you.

‘hey, so, uh, i decided on coming after all.’ maybe accompanied with a shrug, perhaps?

as he thinks about it, he walks in the gym, and keeps the skateboard near the door.

he scans the room for you, and immediately he wishes he didn’t.

you’re smiling radiantly, skin positively glowing even in the dark room only illuminated by the mirrorball at the centre of the ceiling. you’re dancing with his best friend. steve.

bucky wants to punch his face in.

‘hey,’ a girl named dolores — a friend of yours, bucky assumes — says, tapping him on his shoulder.

he tries his best not to flinch at the sudden contact. ‘hi. uh, i was just leaving.’ he swallows rather painfully.

‘oh, that’s a shame.’ her hand lingers on his shoulder for a moment too long before bucky gives her a side eye. she turns to face you and steve, who seem to still be blissfully unaware of bucky’s presence, and draws in a sharp breath through her teeth. ‘that’s your girlfriend and best friend, isn’t it?’ as though rubbing salt in his open and bleeding wound wasn’t the last thing he needed right now. ‘gah, i’m sorry about that.’ he doesn’t like the way she looks at him.

‘i’m sure it’s nothing. i wasn’t supposed to be here anyway.’ with that, he heads out towards the door.

as he walks out in the cold, his fists getting firmer with each step, wheels bouncing noisily, he hears the familiar voice call out his name behind in.

‘bucky!’

as dolores catches up to him, he turns around.

‘james.’

‘what?’

‘it’s james.’

‘oh, but i just thought—’

‘my name is james.’ he clenched his jaw. bucky was reserved for you.

‘oh. okay. well, i just came here to tell you that if you, uh,’ bucky squints at her stuttering self, ‘wanted to grab some food?’

‘what?’ bucky wants to go home. his face stings from the cold, which is something that shouldn’t be happening because it was a may night. he hated this place and its irregular climate.

‘there’s this ramen place i know about, right ahead on the street—’

‘are you asking me out?’ bucky doesn’t want to be rude, but he’s losing his patience. he wants to go home, and wake up, and realise that the image of you dancing with his best friend was just a nightmare.

‘i, uh,’ she points to the school building, ‘the party’s a bust, anyway. if you wanna call it a date, i’m okay with that.’

bucky doesn’t know what she’s trying to say. does she think you’ve broken up with him? have you?

‘i… alright. okay. i like ramen.’

‘good,’ she chuckles, ‘good.’

bucky wishes he hadn’t gone.

he woke up the next day, in her bed. he wasn’t wearing his shirt.

there was a fire on his body, and he felt disgusting. he turned over to look at her, peacefully sleeping — almost as though she was unaware of what she had helped him do.

he wanted to run, fly away from here, as far away as possible; but there was the unwelcome anvil of shame and guilt that anchored him to her bed sheets. as he remembered the image of you and steve dancing the previous night, he slowly slunk down back into the blanket. he pressed his eyelids shut, and hoped all of it — every single part of last night and this morning — would be a nightmare he’d wake up to in a second.

he gets out of bed, the cloud of what he had done hanging over him. he puts on his clothes rather shamefully, and doesn’t say another word to dolores.

he picks up his skateboard, and skates on back home.

he forgot your house was on the way.

when he passes it, the single second glance is like someone choking him — he starts hyperventilating.

as he’s nearing his home, the rapid breathing increases; he loses his balance and falls on the pavement.

for a moment, the ringing in his ears is so loud that he can’t tell how much pain is coming from the gashes on his knees and elbows.

that day he’d tried to bandage himself up; all by himself. it was a delusion he’d lulled himself into — you’d patch up all of his skateboarding wounds, but now here he was, doing it all by himself.

every single time he’d do it, he’d fumble and his hands would shake uncontrollably. he always imagined the ghost of your shadow lingering above him, guiding his hands to steadiness, teaching him your tricks.

his phone buzzes.

he hasn’t checked his phone since last night.

i’m a little tired, so i won’t be able to come to your place tonight, a text of yours read. how about breakfast at that ramen place you were talking about earlier?

after that, you’d left him three voice mails.

he played the first one, sent last night.

‘hey,’ came your voice. your sweet, sweet, fragile voice. ‘you probably went to sleep already. i don’t know why i’m calling you. just wanted you to know i had a good night, but also kinda wished you were there? i don’t know. i miss you.’ a soft chuckle. ‘i’m sorry for storming off. shouldn’t have done that.’ he hates himself. ‘um, okay, then. goodnight.’

the next voicemail plays.

‘hey! i think i woke up a little late today. it’s, uh…’ — he can visualise you checking your clock — ‘nine am. strange. i could have sworn i set an alarm for earlier. anyway. you still haven’t responded to my texts, i see. and you’re not picking this call up, either. maybe you’re sleeping.’ he wants to rip his hair out. ‘or maybe you’re still mad at me? look, i’m really sorry. i don’t know what got into me. maybe it was dot saying that prom wouldn’t be prom if i didn’t go with my boyfriend. think she got into my head.’ what? ‘anyway. i’m sorry. think i’m running out of time for this message, so i—’ the message cuts off with a beep.

he plays the next one. the last one.

‘yep. i was right. the message cut off. anyway, i was saying that if you receive these, go ahead and give me a call. please? we’ll go to the ramen place. i’ll pay and everything. we can go to the mall if you want, too.’ a pause. ‘i know i was wrong for storming off. i’m sorry.’ he hears the faint sound of your mom yelling something. he can’t make out what exactly. ‘okay, uh, i have some chores to do, so this’ll probably be the last voice mail i can leave. hopefully, the next time i call, you’ll actually pick up.’ a small laugh leaves your lips, and then an inhale. ‘okay. bye.’

he puts his phone down. he wants to call you right now, more than anything, but he can’t. he can’t face you after what he’s done.

bucky walks to his next class. chemistry. he shares that class with you.

he doesn’t think you’d miss the class.

and he’s right. there you are, sitting on the table that the two of you had shared for the past year.

he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do — he stand there, lurking in the middle for eh entrance, occasionally being nudged aside so the others can move.

banner, the teacher, looks at him for a second.

‘mr. barnes? would you mind taking a seat, please?’

‘i—’

‘right next to ms. y/l/n, please, hurry.’

bucky looks at you, but you refuse to make eye contact.

he walks over, and gingerly sits down. there’s a huge gap between the two of you, so big another person could fit there comfortably — a stark contrast to last year, which had you and him sitting next to each other, practically glued at the hip.

your gaze is fixed on the board. you don’t so much as make an effort to talk to him.

it’s like a knife pressing into his heart.

he doesn’t know why he let it extend. it should’ve stayed at one night. it was bad enough that way.

but the nights turned into days, and suddenly he found himself in empty parking lots and at the back of malls, still feeding into the fury he had coddled since the night of the prom.

bucky stands in front of his mirror. he’s wearing the same t-shirt and jacket he was the last time he saw you before it.

he picks his skateboard up, and gives the wheels a little spin.

he’s been planning this for a week now.

he picks up the crumpled up sheet of paper lying on his desk, and starts reading from the scrawl.

it’ll be easy. can’t be hard.

he walks down the stairs, jumpier than usual.

he skateboards slowly towards your house, and he can see it. the flickering lights, the silhouettes dancing, the cars parked.

he puts down his skateboard a few feet away from the pavement across your home, and tip toes, hoping to not be too noticeable.

he ruffles his hair a little bit, and stops in front of the huge reflective mirrors on the road. it’s a warbled reflection, but it’ll do. he pats down his t-shirt.

he walks to your house, and stands on the porch, under the flickering front light. he can hear his heart threaten to thump right out of his chest.

he murmurs the words he’s practiced — i’m sorry, it was just a summer thing, a mistake, misunderstanding — and he wishes he’d practiced more.

he hesitantly presses the doorbell, and waits for you to open the door. you’re hosting the homecoming party, and the entire grades invited. even dolores was invited. but he wasn’t.

you open the door, the ghost of a laugh lingering on your expression. whatever’s left of it disappears when you realise he’s at the door.

you don’t say anything for a second.

bucky’s gaze drops to your dress. it has a floral print, and it’s relatively simple; but dear lord if you don’t look absolutely gorgeous in it.

you’re holding a red plastic cup in your hands.

‘is that beer?’

‘what?’ you’re caught off guard.

‘beer. is that what you’re drinking?’ why did he have to lead with that?

‘uh, no. it’s just fruit juice.’

‘oh.’

‘why are you here?’

‘i—’

‘dot’s left already.’

‘what? no, that’s not why—’

you close the door behind you. your expression is stoic, almost as if to say hurry up.

‘i’m here because i want to say sorry,’ he says, in a small voice.

‘that’s not going to fix anything.’

‘just hear me out, okay?’

‘what’s left to say?’

‘you were dancing with him!’ he blurts out. he hates himself the moment he hears it.

‘what?’

‘at the prom. i came. for a minute, anyway. i saw you dance with steve.’

‘that was harmless!’

‘were you going to tell me about it?’

your mouth parts open. your silence is deafening.

‘i’m not the only one at fault here,’ bucky says, quietly.

‘you’re not the only— you cheated on me for an entire month! how is what i did equal to that?’

bucky can feel his cheeks on fire. he shouldn’t have said that. he shouldn’t have said anything. he shouldn’t have come here. all he’s doing is messing everything up.

‘what did you expect i would say to that, bucky?’

he doesn’t say anything.

‘did you expect me to fall into your arms again? like some lovesick fool? do you think i have no dignity?’

‘i said i’m sorry—’ why does he keep talking?

‘and i said that’s not enough!’ he’s never seen you this mad. ‘i’m done with staying quiet, and being civil about all of this. i’m under absolutely no obligation to be the bigger person here. you can’t mess up and expect me to be the mature person!’

he doesn’t know what to say. he knows you’re right.

‘i don’t know why you did what you did. maybe it’s because dot’s prettier than me, maybe it’s because you don’t love anymore.’

‘but i do—’

‘but what i do know,’ you say, cutting him off, tersely, ‘is that there is no way in hell i am accepting your shitty apology. or lack thereof.’

with that, you head back inside.

bucky kicks the stone next to his foot. he just had to go and mess something this perfect up.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

thank you so much for reading! feedback is so, so appreciated! <3 please do not repost my work on any platform. reblogs are fine!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine

[dolcezzasfantasy]

it's been a long, long time

summary | endgame fix it in which bucky gets to go and live a life with his old flame <3

pairing | bucky barnes x reader

word count | 3k

warnings | fluff !! there is absolutely nothing heavy in this fic <333

notes | fuck time travel rules haha if the russos didn't follow it neither do i 😎😎😎 also i imagine header bucky going back but w civil war bucky's haircut - that's not important to the story but i feel like it's something u guys should know

hi ! i don’t write on this blog anymore, but it won’t be deleted. however, i’ve moved to @katebishopsheart ! if u like my writing, it would be awesome if u checked out this blog <3

james bucky barnes hadn’t been the top of his class in school for nothing.

given, he hasn’t had a chance to use some of that intellect in a while now, but his mind is still as nimble as ever, even at the not-so-tender age of 107.

when he first heard that conversation — god bless sam wilson for bringing him to that room — he was overjoyed because he knew exactly what he was going to do.

and he knew for certain it was going to work.

‘so, cap is gonna go in the machine, with two pym particles. one just in case something goes wrong, which it won’t,’ the last part is a hasty addition by scott when he notices the skeptical side eye steve gives him, ‘obviously. you go back in time, place the stones beach where they all were, and come back.’

‘couldn’t have said it better myself,’ says the green man whose name bucky can’t quite place even though he’s just fought a space war with a purple giant.

why did so many people have colours other than normal skin colors?

‘good. we’ll reconvene to do this in an hour, then?’ steve says.

‘sounds good,’ says scott.

bucky knows exactly what he has to do now. launch mission, he thinks to himself.

as steve exits the room, he follows.

steve and bucky are now in another room.

‘hey, bud,’ steve says, without turning around. enhanced hearing.

‘listen, can we talk?’

‘yeah. what’s going on?’

‘about the time travelling thing. i think i should go.’

‘what?’

‘yeah. it’ll be great. i don’t think the world can afford to lose you, were something to happen. but me? i’m just a semi stable 100 year old man. no one’s gonna miss me,’ bucky says this, but his tone is teetering on the verge of cheery. he can only hope that steve doesn’t pick up on that.

‘bucky,’ steve sounds concerned, ‘i’d miss you.’

‘nothing will happen. i’m gonna be back,’ he says. 1.

bucky knows exactly what he’s going to do. and it’s not coming back.

‘buck, are you sure?’

‘steve,’ bucky walks up to him, and places his hand on his padded shoulder, ‘of course i am.’

steve sighs. 'fine. but you better come back.'

bucky laughs. it's almost like steve knows. but he can't have, right?

'of course, i will, punk,' he says, with a smile on his face. 'how much time do i have?'

'an hour, maybe.'

'great.'

steve furrows his brows in confusion, but bucky's already walking out the door.

bucky enters the smithsonian museum, hiding in his baseball cap and cardigan. he hopes no one notices him — but he knows it'd be unlikely because after all, he is taller than most people. and the whole metal arm thing he has going on.

he walks through the world war II floor. there's a huge display of steve on there, looking heroic as always. there's a lot of words written underneath him, and bucky would read them if he had the patience. he walks over to the other display: the howling commandos. he's standing there, all scruffy and his eyes are gleaming with happiness. the things he'd give to be back in that time.

there's a display dedicated to solely him: sergeant james buchanan barnes. if he's being honest, he doesn't exactly remember when he slipped out of that identity.

he walks into the theatre, where a short film is playing. he sits down in the dark, soft cushioned seat, and leans back. he's got no better way to spend his day, so this'll have to do.

'and now, over to the woman who captured sergeant barnes' heart during the war,' he hears the announcer say on screen. he's been zoned out ever since the film started, but when he hears that, he snaps out of his trance.

'this is miss y/n y/l/n,' the man says.

and there you are. bucky almost forgets to breathe for a second. he doesn't remember the last time he saw you. but the moment his eyes land on you sitting on a chair there, on the screen, albeit in black and white, all of his memories come rushing back to him in a second.

you were the woman that had unknowingly brought him out of his womanizing ways. back then, he'd give up time with everyone and anyone just to hear your voice over the phone. and he'd do it again now.

he's almost bracing himself; he's not entirely sure what'll happen to him when he hears your voice.

'it's actually agent,' you say. a wide grin comes on bucky's face.

'pardon?'

'you said miss. it's agent. agent y/l/n.'

'right. sorry. this is agent y/l/n, working with the strategic scientific reserve. now, ma'am, could you tell us something about sergeant barnes?'

you clear your throat, and your eyes dart to your lap. 'he was a noble man.'

'right. anything other than that?'

'he was a brave soldier, a noble man, and a good person. he was a martyr to this country's freedom from the war. his sacrifice,' you draw in a breath, almost as though it's hard for you to say something like that, 'saved many soldiers, including my brother. he will always go on to live in my and i'm sure, many others' memories. i am forever indebted to him.'

bucky slinks back in his seat. he remembers you so vividly. he's still taking it all in. he never forgot you, it's just that he's not had much time to think about you.

and then, on that same day, he found out that you had passed a year ago.

bucky remembers wanting to rip his hair out for not trying to reach out sooner. he remembers wanting to yell, to at least tell someone about you, but he couldn't. steve had always been busy with things, and he didn't know the others very well.

bucky still remembers everything he used to do with you. he'd play with your hair, he'd pick flowers from missions and bring them back to you, and he'd bake with you. the two of you had only known each other for a couple of years, but bucky misses you. so much, it hurts.

he still remembers the day he left — the day he didn't have the privilege of coming back from.

'well,' he says, taking your hand in his, 'this isn't goodbye. we don't have to act like it is.'

you chuckle. even though you're trying to play it off as something that doesn't bother you in the least, your voice is shaky and your eyes are glassy. 'i'm not acting like it is. you better come back, sarge.'

bucky laughs heartily. 'of course i will. you trust me, don't you, doll?'

the smile on your face falters a little as you look him in the eye. 'i mean it. you owe me a dance.'

'and you're gonna get that dance.'

'i better.'

the two of you get up.

'bucky!' he hears steve call out. 'we're getting late.'

'just one minute!'

he clenches his jaw.

you look around, and then place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

he's now smiling like an idiot.

'okay, fine. you can go, james,' you scoff.

'i love you,' he says.

'i love you, too.'

he cups your face, and kisses you full on the mouth.

'bucky!' he hears steve yell.

he parts from you only because of that.

'see ya soon,' he says, walking towards where steve is.

you wave him goodbye.

if only he'd said goodbye.

he walks into his room, and picks up the notebook he's kept since he got out of hydra's shackles.

he flips through the pages until he finds what he needs: you. a picture of you, that is. it's not enough, but that could be fixed very soon.

he slowly runs his finger over your smiling features. a wistful smile echoes onto his face, too.

he keeps the book down, and heads to the compound. he finds sam.

'hey, do you know where wanda is?'

'uh,' sam looks around, 'i think she's in one of the rooms upstairs.'

'okay, thank you.' he rushes past him and almost runs up the stairs.

he's opened a grand total of three doors to empty rooms before he finds wanda.

wanda is startled at the sudden intrusion. 'yes?'

'hey, um, i was wondering if you could do me a bit of a favour?'

she tilts her head slightly. 'sure... what is it?'

'i, uh, kinda wanted to cut my hair?'

'oh.' she seems to think it over for a second. 'okay. why?'

'i don't know. with all that's happened, i think it might be good to just,' he demonstrates a scissor cutting his hair with his hand, 'get a change or something.'

'right. okay. sit down in the chair, i'll grab my scissor.'

bucky complies. he doesn't know how long it's been since he's gotten a haircut. as he looks at himself in the mirror, his greasy and unkempt hair and growing beard definitely prove that it's been an inordinately long amount of time.

wanda walks over to him. 'how short do you want it?'

'uh,' bucky doesn't know. 'maybe the way i had it before all of this?'

'okay...' wanda didn't know him before all this, but she has an idea of what he's talking about. she hold up her hand to the bottom of his scalp. 'this short?'

'yeah.'

'okay. don't move, stay as still as possible.'

she brings a cloth, and drapes it over his front.

bucky can hear the snipping start. he already feels lighter.

'so...' she says, quietly, 'you wanna tell me the real reason for this?'

'what?'

'i can read minds, barnes.'

'what? no, you can't,' he says, turning around.

she turns his head around aggressively. 'stop moving.'

'christ's sake. i'd be surprised if you didn't break my neck.'

'tell me, then.'

he sighs. 'no one's on the floor?'

'nope.'

'wait a minute. if you can read minds, don't you already know—'

'shut up and get story telling,' she snaps, with a laugh in her voice.

'fine,' he huffs. 'there's a girl.'

'where?'

'i convinced steve to let me keep the stones back in place instead of him.'

'right...'

'there's an extra pym particle. i think i'm gonna use that to go back in time and live a normal life.'

the snipping sounds stop. 'does steve know about this? does anyone know about this?'

'wha— is it a bad idea?'

'no, not really, not bad per se. i think steve might miss you. he might need a warning of sorts,' she says.

'steve has a lot of people here. he'd miss me, probably, but he'll get over it. he'll understand, i think.'

'is the girl special?'

'very much so,' he says.

'well, then. i suppose you deserve it.'

'thank you,' he says, quietly. 'you're not gonna tell, steve, are you?'

'funny, i was just about to ask you the same thing.'

'he can't know.'

'fine. i won't.'

'good.'

'why did you ask me to cut your hair?'

'what?'

'you could've asked anyone. hell, you could've done it yourself. why me?'

bucky remembers how his sister, rebecca, would cut his hair for him when they were young. wanda had a brother, too, so he thought that maybe she'd know. 'i don't know. you were the first person that came to mind, i guess.'

'right...'

it takes ten more minutes, and wanda's done.

'look good?'

'yeah, i think so,' bucky says, softly chuckling. it's not exactly the cut he had back in the forties: it's a little longer, but it stops at his jaw. he runs his hand over his overgrown beard. 'hey, do you have a razor?'

'nope. i don't think so.'

he sighs. 'i'll do it myself.'

'goodbye, barnes.'

'goodbye.'

'i hope you get that life you want.'

'i hope so, too.'

'got a haircut, bucky?' steve says.

'yeah. impulse decision.'

'good for you.'

'okay, you're all suited up,' the green man — what was his name again? — says from behind the counter. 'you'll be back in five seconds. take as much time as you need.'

'i will,' bucky mutters underneath his breath. he sees a look of confusion pass steve's face, but steve brushes it off.

'okay, two pym particles. be safe,' steve says.

'yep.'

a zap echoes, and bucky closes his eyes. he's in new york. he hurries with placing the stones back as they were, because he is physically incapable of containing his excitement.

once he's done, he steps into an abandoned alley. he taps the tip of the second pym particle, and another zap sounds. he presses his eyes shut once again, and there’s a wide smile on his face.

he opens them to see that he's in brooklyn, and people are moving about. they're staring and pointing at him, which is understandable because he's wearing a white suit.

he doesn't care.

he walks up to a random person passing by.

‘hey, uh, do you know where i might find a certain agent y/l/n?’

‘wha— oh, my god. you’re james buchanan barnes!’ shrieked the woman.

‘hey, shh shh. i am not him, contrary to popular belief. i get that a lot.’

she’s about to say something in protest, but he cuts her short before she can.

‘look, i need you to answer my question.’

‘uh, y/n. right, she’s probably at the office.’

‘this late?’

‘i don’t know.’

he groans. ‘fine. thank you.’

‘no problem, sarge!’

he doesn’t bother correcting her. she was right, but he’d prefer for his identity to be a secret for now.

he runs to the familiar building. even in the forties, it’s just as majestic from the outside as it is in the future.

he quickly runs inside. empty.

he zips himself out of the white suit, leaving him in a shirt and pants. he finds a glass window into the interrogation room, and tries his best to see his reflection in it. he looks recognisable.

there’s a calendar lying on one of the desks there. he picks it up. 17th january, 1945. perfect. it’s one week after his accident.

he moves towards your office. even almost eight decades later, the route to your office is ingrained fresh as ever in his mind. he remembers all the times he’s kissed you here, all the times he’s hugged you here, and all the times he’s just been here to watch you work because you’re his girl.

his breath catches, and he stills in his footsteps when he reaches in front of your door. agent y/l/n, it reads on a bronze plaque. the door has a sheer window through it, and he can see your silhouette move around.

he can hear your faint voice carry through the cloth blocking him and you in door.

‘yeah, yeah, please get on that,’ the rest of your voice is illegible chatter, even with his enhanced hearing.

he’s known what to do so far. but now that he’s actually here, he doesn’t know what’s next. does he knock? does he just storm inside? does he wait outside? does he go back?

‘okay.’ your silhouette stills. ‘okay. got it. good night.’ he hears the click of the telephone, and hears your footsteps start towards the door.

and right then, bucky freezes. he has no idea what to do. so he just… stops.

you open the door, and there your face is again. god, it’s so much better than just a black and white image.

your chest starts heaving slightly. your lips part open.

before you say anything, your hands dart out to touch his shoulders. to make sure that this is real, and not just another oddly surreal dream you’ve been having since the night he didn’t come back.

‘hi,’ he says, in a small voice. hi? you come back after 80 years — one week of torture, for you — and you say hi?

your hand moves to touch his stubble. it’s rough, but you like it. your palm runs over it, trying to absorb as much of this as you can before it’s taken away.

bucky touches your wrist gently. ‘y/n,’ he whispers.

and that’s all it takes for you to fling yourself on him. you’re kissing him with all the desperation and longing and wanting and remorse you’ve held for the past week. bucky can taste coffee on your lips.

then, you part. your eyes are coated with a glassy shield of water.

‘i— i didn’t— they told me you were dead.’ you run your hand over the cool feeling under his left shirt sleeve. ‘what’s this?’ you roll up the sleeve, and softly gasp. ‘what?’

‘i, uh,’ he rubs the nape of his neck. ‘it’s a bit of a complicated story.’

‘what? what does that mean?’

‘how much time do you have?’ he says, with a small smile.

you rub your eyes. ‘all the time in the world.’

‘alright, then.’

bucky thinks you’re going to start moving into your office, but instead, you just stand there. a grin is growing on your face.

‘what?’ he chuckles.

you cup his face, and for a moment, bucky thinks you’re going to kiss him again. not that he minds.

but instead, you go in for a hug. a tight, warm, hug.

‘i missed you,’ you say, burying your face in the collar of his shirt. your voice is surprisingly steady, but bucky can feel your tears on his neck.

‘i missed you, too, doll.’

‘okay, five, four, three,’ counts bruce, ‘two, one,’ he checks the watch on his wrist, ‘and he should be here.’

bucky isn’t in the capsule.

‘where is he?’ steve asks.

‘he’ll, uh, be here. he should’ve been here.’

‘what do you mean?’

‘i—’

‘steve,’ nudges sam. there’s a man sitting on the bench. bucky.

steve jogs over to the bench.

bucky is sitting there, staring right at the lake ahead. his hair has gone gray, but he still looks good.

‘bucky.’

‘oh, hey,’ he deadpans, with a smile.

steve sits down.

‘i didn’t think you were actually gonna do it.’

‘well,’ bucky chuckles. ‘never underestimate me.’

steve laughs. ‘same girl?’

‘same girl,’ bucky nods.

‘was she really that good?’

bucky chuckles. ‘better believe it.’

‘you got a picture to show?’

‘sure do.’ he fishes out a photo from his jacket’s pocket. ‘that’s her,’ he says, pointing at you. ‘that’s the kids. they’ve grown up now, but should give you an idea,’ he smiles.

‘good for you, pal.’

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

thank you so much for reading! feedback is so, so appreciated! <3 please do not repost my work on any platform. reblogs are fine!

#woo hoo look whos writing fluff after god knows how long :) #i gotta be honest w u guys i wrote this in less than a day so if u wanna know what i am like rn mentally ....... yeah this should be the #answer #anyway #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you

[dolcezzasfantasy]

wait I kinda wanna know how reader and Howard got together though 👀 could you do like a hc for them or something?

ok i added a bit of crushing on bucky in this too because i think that was a significant point in their relationship

hope u like it !!

set in the lost and found universe ; catch up on the rest of the series here <3

you were friends with howard in middle school, because the two of you were equally smart and thus intellectual rivals (think ben and devi from never have i ever)

of course, in high school, everyone started dating and it was kind of expected of you to start going out with howard since the two of you were practically best friends

he did ask you out, and you said yes because you weren't particularly opposed to the idea

as a teenager, all you wanted was to fit in, and you knew getting a boyfriend would help

you enjoyed howard's company, but soon you realised the feelings the two of you had towards each other were very different

you couldn't break up with him, though, you just couldn't -- he was your best friend, after all

you couldn't risk losing him

so you convinced yourself you'd teach yourself to love him

how hard could it be?

didn't take more than a month for you to realise that learning quantum physics was miles easier than learning to have romantic feelings for someone you see only in a platonic sense

you soldiered along somehow until junior year in high school, when you started failing your geography class

it was a strange thing, even your teacher had been surprised

turned out you simply didn't study the subjects you didn't care about, and that wouldn't do anymore

so your teacher assigned you for tuitions to the one and only, james buchanan barnes, a.k.a. bucky.

bucky barnes was the most sought after lad in your high school

all of your friends were very, very, jealous of you for snagging private tutoring from such a dreamboat

you had shrugged it off -- you never really fangirled over the fellow, anyway. you thought it wasn't such a big deal, and most of his popularity was because of the raging hormones in teenage girls

but, sweet mother of god, all be damned if you weren't one of the teenage girls with raging hormones

he absolutely did live up to the hype -- for as far as you could tell anyway -- and if he knew how popular he was, he certainly didn't show it

he definitely flirted a lot, but that was just part of his charm

and his eyes

oh my god, his eyes

so pretty that you'd much, much rather study them than the pictures of rocks in your textbook

all you wanted to do was kiss him

really, it was all you could think about in and out of your first few sessions

eventually, the crush eased

you'd even flirt back now

soon enough, that became the best part of your day

bucky would wink at you in between classes at school whenever he'd find you

it'd always make you go a little red

and of course, it didn't slip the attention of your friends

they'd relentlessly tease you about it

but you didn't mind it, because at least you had an excuse to think about him

every night, after coming home from school, you'd flop onto your bed with a smile on your face, and a sure blush coating the apples of your cheeks

maybe that was what it was like to have romantic feelings.

#i dont rly know what to tag this as because technically it isnt bucky barnes fanfiction #but as a whole it is? #ok yeah ill give it a few tags just so ppl can read the series DKHF #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barnes imagine #lost and found #gotta tag everything w that <3 #cant believe this series is over guys #we did it joe we did it #ask #anon

[dolcezzasfantasy]

thank u so much for including me w these wonderful writers !! <33

| September 2021 recs Masterlist | part 1

Hello my loves! Here’s the first part of recs for September ! PLEASE support the writers as they put a lot of work into their fics! Reblog and like their posts please! Comment any recs for me to check out and add! Thank you, happy reading :) [ any mistakes/missing “*” lmk! ]

[ * = marked 18+ by the writer, minors DNI ]

Part 2

Bucky Barnes x reader unless stated otherwise

One-shots

What are friends for * @gogolucky13

A bit of excitement * @storiesforallfandoms

Rehab @mymoonagedaydream

Payday loan * @thewritingdoll

All bark and no bite @/mymoonagedaydream

Bucky with a S/O that swears * @starshipsofstarlord

First date @/mymoonagedaydream

On my way * @buckyownsmylife

Buchanan @barnesmurdock

Misunderstanding * @/emmanexelle

Idiot (s.s) @time-for-a-lullaby

Cozy and clingy @purple-babygirl

Mornings with Bucky @cottage-pie

Unrequited @bccky

No harm done @idy-ll-ique

GIF + ask * @angrythingstarlight

Show me * @classylo

Oversized @like-what-the-fuck-scoob

I don’t hate you @gentlybarnes

Family matters @monarcascension

Tell me I’m pretty * @noceurous

Ocean eyes * @/noceurous

Cause you are you are @sunmoonandbucky

It’s not my cup of tea * @malum-forev

Stuck @/classylo

Selcouth @dolcezzasfantasy

Nothing burns like the cold * @suitk0via

Im not like that * @/classylo

The institute * @msruchita

One more try @treasureswordsgirl55

Empty * @/purple-babygirl

Come as you are * @metalbuckaroo

I trust you * @strwbrrybucky

Ever since * @/syntheticavenger

You found me * @sweetlyscared

Finally (s.s) @youlightmeupfinn

Distance (s.s) @/youlightmeupfinn

Into you @sleepypanda27

Drowning @/cottage-pie

Just you * @/classylo

Really Sargent? * @alittlegiraffe

Truth or dare? @soap-bubble-nebula

I missed you, Doll @marvelslut16

Wasn’t supposed to end like this * @starbuckie

Keeping me warm @/starbuckie

Multi-parts

Take my breath * | Close to heaven * @buckycuddlebuddy

Biker bar | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv @cxddlyash

Sneak peek * | Part ii * @literate-lamb

What a nerd | Part ii @rebeccccccaaa

Understanding | Savior @nomadstucky

A fatal misunderstanding | Part ii @itssleepingprincess

Series

Battle Scarred : Aftermath @darke15

Missing piece @likeahorribledream

Heart and soul * @/all1e23

Little joy AU @bentobarnes

Blink twice @simmerandwrite

Domestic bliss @/mymoonagedaydream

Ladykiller * @/mymoonagedaydream

Witness protection * @/mymoonagedaydream

It’s a deal * @justreadingfics

Sixth sense * @chouettedubois

Mais charmante @/sunmoonandbucky

Freak (like me) * @artisancowbells

Flour girl @avengerofyourheart

Unstandable * @/emmanexelle

Astrophile @all1e23

Right + click + save @syntheticavenger

The new recruit * @angstysebfan

The past can break you @/angstysebfan

#fic rec

[dolcezzasfantasy]

stop this is the nicest thing i've ever heard about my writing 😭 thank u sm for reading !!!!!

no expectations

prompt | “I come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is and always will be...yours.” - for @bemine-bucky 's writing challenge for 1k (congrats!!)

pairing | bucky barnes x reader, bodyguard!au

word count | 13.6k (this got away from me. blame my overactive imagination)

warnings | innuendoes, cursing, wounds, gun violence (briefly), yearning (you guys i am NOT KIDDING when i say there is yearning in this. think kanej from six of crows level), fluff

notes | i had a very fun time writing this, and i definitely got very carried away <3 i hope u enjoy!!

‘yeah, i know,’ bucky says into his phone. ‘steve, you’ve told me this before.’

‘i know,’ comes steve’s voice, ‘i just thought that maybe you’d forget.’

‘how could i forget something as important as that?’

‘cheque cashing dates aren’t that important to you, but okay,’ steve says, with a sigh. ‘also, we have that conference today.’

‘oh, yeah,’ bucky says, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘the one with all the companies?’

‘the big ones, anyway,’ steve says. bucky knows steve well enough — they’re childhood best friends, after all — to know that he is smiling on the other end of the phone.

‘sir, he’s ready for you now,’ says the new secretary as he approaches bucky by the shoulder. bucky’s dad told him he wants to talk, but didn’t say anything more than that.

‘steve, i gotta go. we’ll talk later, yeah?’

‘okay, then.’

with that, bucky hangs up and walks towards his father’s office.

he pushes open the door, and he sees a woman sitting in one of the chairs in front of his father. he can’t see the woman’s face.

‘bucky,’ his dad says, beckoning him to sit next to the mystery woman. ‘y/n, this is my son.’

as bucky takes the seat that’s vacant next to you, he catches a glimpse of your face. by god, are you beautiful. he wonders why you’re in the office. you’re dressed far too formally to be an employee here.

you extend your hand to shake bucky’s. bucky takes a second before registering that he actually has to do something other than stare into your pretty eyes.

‘right, hi,’ he says, rather flustered.

‘bucky, this is y/n.’

‘right…’ bucky says. ‘pleasure to meet you, y/n.’

you smile at him, and turn to face his dad once again.

‘she’s the new head of your security detail,’ his father says.

bucky is still smiling for a moment, because he isn’t sure he’s heard his father right. the smile slowly eases itself out of his face as the new piece of information sinks in. ‘what?’ he says, finally.

‘the new head of your security detail,’ his father repeats.

bucky narrows his eyes at mr. barnes. ‘really?’

‘yep.’

he turns to look at you, and your gaze is on your lap. there is a knowing smile playing on your mouth. he wonders if you know he’s already got a little crush.

‘wow. when did this happen?’ he asks. his previous and first bodyguard had quit a couple of weeks ago, and since then he’d thought his father would pick out someone from the existing team to lead. turns out, he was blissfully wrong.

‘she’s fresh out of quantico training,’ his father beamed.

‘the base for fbi agents?’ bucky didn’t want to put a price on his life, but he wasn’t sure he was worth an fbi agent’s protection.

‘yeah,’ his father says. ‘anyway, i should get going. i’ll leave you two to talk.’ with that, his father exits the office.

‘hi,’ he says, in an awkward attempt to make conversation. ‘so, why aren’t you an fbi agent?’

‘i need to work here for a couple of months for the job experience.’

‘oh. interesting. so… you’ll leave? after a few months?’

‘yeah.’

bucky feels an unwelcome and sudden pang of hurt in his chest. he doesn’t know why — he just feels drawn to you. other than the fact that you’re drop-dead gorgeous, there’s something to you; like an essence. he can’t quite explain it.

‘i, uh, have a meeting in some time.’

‘sounds good.’

‘yeah.’

he doesn’t know why he told you that. maybe he should just stand up, and walk out of the office before he embarrasses himself any further.

‘we could walk to my office. it’s cleaner,’ he suggests.

you let out a soft chuckle. ‘alright, then.’

the soft smile on your face brings a smile to his. again, he can’t quite explain what it is about you that is so endearing. he’s known about your existence for less than an hour now, and he already knows he likes you very much.

as the two of you stand in the elevator heading to the floor of his office, you speak up. ‘why did your last head of security quit?’

‘oh,’ bucky lets out a cough, ‘he didn’t wanna do the whole bodyguard thing anymore.’

‘why not?’

‘he didn’t say.’ but bucky wanted to give you a better answer than that. he didn’t want you to quit the job out of fear. ‘but i have a sneaking suspicion he did it because he wanted to go live in rome with his lover.’

‘that’s…’ you chuckle once again, and bucky feels butterflies flutter in his stomach, ‘…very romantic.’

‘really? you think so?’

‘yeah. it’s the stuff of fairytales, i think.’

‘wow,’ bucky says, running his hand through his hair. he likes the way you think. it’s as though nothing in this cruel world can taint it.

the elevator dings open. he extends his hand, beckoning you to go ahead, in a gentlemanly manner.

‘i’m the bodyguard, mr. barnes. step on out,’ you say, with a laugh lingering on your tongue.

‘right. of course,’ bucky says, walking out first.

he leads you to his office.

‘it is cleaner, isn’t it?’ he says, as he watches you observe his shelves.

‘there���s not a very discernible difference, not as far as i can tell.’

‘ouch,’ he says, pretending to be offended.

‘you read stephen king?’ you say, as you pick up the copy of 11/22/63 resting on one of his shelves.

‘love him.’

he watches you as you flip through the pages of the novel. ‘you’ve got good taste.’

‘thank you.’

suddenly, you turn to look at him. ‘why were you so surprised when your dad introduced us?’

‘what?’

‘you were a little taken aback. i’d like to know why.’

bucky racks his brain, pretending to remember why. ‘um, i don’t know. was i taken aback?’

‘yeah. is it because you don’t feel completely safe with a woman responsible?’

‘what?’

‘it’s just an assumption. god knows many others don’t feel comfortable with it.’

‘did i, uh, say something to imply that?’

‘no, not really.’

‘well, then, i don’t know. maybe i was just surprised about how fast my father found a replacement.’

you hum in response.

bucky knows he’s lying. he wasn’t taken aback because he was surprised his father had hired a woman to protect him; that would be crazy. he was taken aback because his father had hired a woman to protect him.

he still remembers how painstaking it was to convince his father to promote the most proficient salesperson in a branch. his father had been adamant on not doing so, simply because the candidate in question was a female. it was repulsive — bucky would’ve never imagined his father thinking this way in a million years. and it hadn’t gotten better since then.

so when he realised that his father had hired a woman to protect him, he was understandably surprised about the fact that his misogynistic father trusted a woman enough to protect his son.

but he was glad his father improved.

just as bucky is about to say something to you, his phone rings, louder than what he would have liked. he fishes out from his jacket’s pocket. it’s steve.

he presses the phone to his ear.

‘yellow,’ he greets.

‘you— what?’

‘it’s a pun. it was in modern family.’

‘okay…’ he can almost hear steve shake his head disapprovingly. ‘the conference, bucky.’

‘ah, fuck.’ he looks up at you. ‘give me a few minutes, i’ll be there.’

‘after all the reminders—’ bucky hangs up before steve can continue his sermon.

‘remember that meeting i was telling you about?’ bucky tells you.

‘yeah…?’

‘it’s now. bye!’ he picks up a file resting on his desk and jogs out the door.

he’s very close to exiting the building when he feels someone touch his shoulder. ‘wha—’ it’s you.

‘i’m supposed to tag along.’

‘really?’

‘yep.’

this was strange. his previous bodyguard never tagged along to conferences.

‘um, okay. that’s fine.’

he walks out to the car parked in front of the building. before he can hold the metal handle of the car door, your grip falls on it and the door is pulled open.

he didn’t expect that to happen. ‘thank you.’

‘you’re welcome.’

he sits inside, and you walk over to the passenger seat.

very soon, the car pulls up to stark industries, where the meeting is taking place. bucky almost runs up to the entrance, and he can hear the soft clatter of your footsteps not too far behind him.

once he reaches the conference room, and pushes the door open, everyone’s heads snap around to him. he was panting.

‘hello,’ he musters out. ‘i apologise for being late.’

‘it’s no problem— who’s that?’ steve says.

bucky turns around to see you standing behind him, completely calm and collected, like you hadn’t just run up four flights of stairs.

‘i have to accompany you everywhere,’ you whisper.

bucky doesn’t have time to argue. ‘the new head of my security detail.’

‘why do you need a babysitter?’ says natasha romanov, the ceo of the widow’s web, the most popular internet service provider in the state, nation even.

‘she’s not a babysitter,’ bucky says, as he takes a seat next to her. ‘tell her you’re not a babysitter,’ bucky pleads to you. you’re standing with a stoic, expressionless face against the wall behind him, hands joined at your front.

‘i’m not a babysitter,’ you deadpan.

‘can’t trust her,’ jokes yelena belova, natasha’s sister and chief operative officer of her company.

‘can we please get on with the meeting?’ says loki laufeyson, one of the ceos of asgard, a real estate firm.

bucky shoots natasha and yelena — or as they’re commonly referred to in the city, the widows — a dirty look, and then turns his head to look at the whiteboard tony stark is standing at, the ceo of stark industries, the biggest weapons supplier in the country.

‘okay,’ tony says, ‘is it absolutely necessary to have her here?’ his gaze is on you.

there is an unfalteringly solemn look on your face. ‘it’s mr. barnes’ orders.’

‘just let her,’ bucky says.

‘okay…’ tony picks up the marker. ‘so this is what we’re gonna discuss today.’

the rest of the meeting is a hazy blur in your mind. you weren’t really paying attention, if you’re being completely honest with yourself. you don’t think you were expected to pay attention to a boring sales meeting. or whatever they were talking about. you have earpieces nestled in both of your ears, and you’re playing some music in there. it’s at a lower volume than you’re used to, so it’ll be easier to listen to people talk over it.

it was proving to be very hard to not bop your head along to the music, especially when your favourite artist, the arctic monkeys, came on the player.

you think it’s been an hour since the meeting first started. as you look around, you see some more of the people who didn’t react to your presence as visibly and audibly as the others did.

you notice thor odinson, the blonde man who you know is loki laufeyson’s brother, and another ceo at asgard. he’s an attractive man, you can’t deny — just not your type. when your friends had been fan-girling over him, you were simply listening, and occasionally letting them know how concerning it was that they would, in their own words, let him do whatever he wished to them.

you recognise bruce banner, the scientist who owns banner and sons, a top notch research facility. you remember how happy your niece had been when he’d donated an entire lab to her university. but then again, that was what he was known for. a generous philanthropist.

you see clint barton, the ceo of hawk’s eye, the biggest sports goods retailer in the state. you haven’t heard much about him, except that he’s one for keeping his life private and away from the spotlight. good for him.

‘okay, we’re done,’ you hear tony stark say. you quickly tap your earpiece, so it will stop playing the music.

‘okay, let’s go,’ bucky says, getting up.

‘uh-uh, not so fast, barnes,’ loki says. he extends his hand out to you. ‘nice to meet you. i’m loki.’

‘y/n,’ you say, in response. he has an english accent. nice.

‘did it hurt?’ he asks, suddenly. bucky knows exactly what’s coming next. he just prays you don’t ask the question.

‘what?’ you asked the question. bucky wants to roll his eyes back into his head.

‘when you fell from heaven, i mean.’

you chuckle. the joke is so lame, it’s actually kind of funny.

‘you know,’ he leans it, ‘not to sound cheesy or anything, but your smile really lights up the room.’

‘oh, my god,’ bucky says under his breath.

‘um, thank you,’ you say. how is it that you’re just now realising how handsome loki is?

‘you should know that i’m trying very hard not to kiss you right now,’ loki said, with a smile.

your lips part in amusement.

‘jesus christ, loki, leave the poor girl alone,’ steve chuckles.

‘we should probably get going,’ bucky tells you.

‘yeah.’

just as you’re heading out, loki taps you on your arm, and hands you his business card. ‘call me,’ he says with a playful smirk.

you stuff the card into your pocket — just in case — and walk out into the hallway with bucky, softly chuckling to yourself.

‘don’t mind loki,’ he tells you. ‘he’s a little insane.’

‘i can tell,’ you say.

‘you know, you don’t have to accompany me everywhere.’

‘getting tired of me already, are you?’

‘no, no, no. it’s just that it can get a little inconvenient.’

‘well, i’m just following your dad’s orders.’

‘did he really ask you to do that?’

you nod.

‘huh.’

as soon as bucky reaches the building of his office, he rushes to his dad’s cabin. he asks you to wait outside because he wants to talk about something personal to his father. you comply.

outside of his office, you pull out your phone, and press the play button on spotify. a smile grows on your face when the song arabella plays. god, you love that song.

when bucky enters the office, it’s empty. he plops down in one of the chairs in front of his father’s desk, tapping his foot on the floor restlessly.

bucky thinks it’s been fifteen minutes before his father steps into the office. he doesn’t bother getting up; he’s far too tired for that. ‘where have you been?’

‘hello to you too,’ his father says, as he walks to sit in his chair.

‘did you ask y/n to follow me everywhere?’

‘what?’

‘yeah, you did!’

‘it’s for your safety.’

‘you’re treating me like a child!’

‘son—’

‘nothing’s gonna happen to me! i’m gonna be fine.’

‘she’s still gonna accompany you everywhere.’

bucky scoffs. ‘there was no point in coming here.’ he gets up and storms away.

when he walks outside, he sees you bopping your head to something. you don’t seem to have noticed that he’s out.

‘y/n,’ he says, placing a hand on your shoulder.

you jolt away from the touch in shock. ‘uh, sorry.’ you pull the earpiece out.

‘what were you listening to there?’

‘a true crime podcast,’ you lie.

‘you were head rocking to a true crime podcast?’

‘maybe.’

‘just tell me.’

‘the arctic monkeys,’ you say in a small voice.

‘ooh, what song?’

‘r u mine.’

‘oh, that’s a good one. arguably their best.’

‘i know, right? personally, i like arabella and suck it and see more, but r u mine is definitely up there.’

‘hey, are you going to their concert?’

‘the one that’s in a month?’

‘yep,’ bucky says.

you chuckle. ‘yeah, probably not.’

‘oh, no! why not?’

‘well, i don’t have a ticket, and i certainly don’t have the time.’

‘that’s a shame.’

‘well, nothing i can do. it’s alright, though.’

‘just so you know, i’ll be there. which means… you’re gonna have to accompany, no matter what.’

‘oh, god, i really can’t—’

‘shh. we wanna keep me safe, don’t we?’ he smiles.

you give him a small smile. you hadn’t known this man for a long time, but there was something incredibly endearing about him. other than the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous, of course. he was charming. and as you just realised, rather kind.

🥀 ❤️‍🩹 🌊 🪐 🍷

you turn off the radio in the car as you pull up to the barnes mansion. you have been working for him for a week now, and this is the first time you are visiting his home. his grand, very luxurious home.

as you walk inside, you wonder how they manage to keep it clean. the marble floors are so tidy that you can see your undistorted reflection in them.

you approach the butler the moment you see him.

‘where can i find mr. barnes?’

the butler coughed. ‘he’s, uh, in his room. upstairs, on the left,’ he says, pointing to which staircase you have to take.

‘okay, then. thank you. have a great day.’

the butler bows and walks past you.

you walk over to the staircase, running your hands over the smooth railings. you wonder why the butler seemed so… hesitant to tell you something as simple as someone being in their room.

it’s easy to locate which of the countless, monotonous and repetitive door shapes belong to mr. barnes. most of the doors are open, and there are two that are closed. one of the closed ones has a tie around the doorknob. you sigh in frustration. the butler’s hesitancy seems as though it was well founded, much to your dismay.

you walk over to it, face scrunching up in discomfort. this wasn’t part of your job description. your heart hammers in your chest as you hope you don’t walk in on something… obscene, for a lack of a better word.

you gingerly knock on the door. nothing. it’s dead silent. you press your eyelids shut for a moment, and knock on the door harder. nothing. you decide to take a leap of faith. there aren’t any sounds, so what’s the worst thing you could walk in on?

you wrap your fingers around the cold, metal doorknob slowly, not knowing whether you want it to be unlocked or locked. either way, it’s a loss and a win both. you decide it’s a waste of time to think about something this trivial so much, so you twist it open.

the door creaks as you open it up slowly. a sigh of relief escapes your nostrils. nothing too bad. you can see mr. barnes dozing off on his bed diagonally, fully clothed. surprisingly, he’s wearing a tie. there’s a man sleeping at the foot of his bed, lightly snoring. also fully clothed and wearing a tie.

you thank the heavens.

you clear your throat. you see mr. barnes flinch, and his hands go up to rub his eyes. he groans.

you clear your throat once again, and decide to talk. ‘sir, you have a meeting in an hour.’

his eyes open. he blinks a few times, probably to get rid of the morning bleariness. ‘right,’ he says, in a gravelly voice.

as he sits up, you notice that he’s wearing his shirt from last night. his pants are off — only boxers on. it’s a strange fashion choice, but you’re certainly not one to judge. you can’t recall the last time you went shopping for clothes.

bucky wonders why you look so rattled, and then he sees the tie hung around the doorknob. you probably have ideas. he sighs. he probably forgot to take it down from a past… encounter. well, there’s not much he can do about it now.

‘peter,’ he says.

the man on the floor jerks up. ‘yes, sir.’

‘this is peter, an intern. he had a few questions about how to start and we got a little carried away.’

there’s an imprint of a file on peter’s cheek. you notice that peter doesn’t look very old. he couldn’t be more than twenty years of age.

you nod. ‘should i go wait downstairs?’

‘uh,’ he says, still trying to register that he’s awake, ‘okay. yes. do that.’

‘okay.’ with that, you head out.

once you reach downstairs, you notice that his breakfast is already laid out. waffles, and orange juice. childish, you think. but maybe waffles transcend age.

you see that there are two more plates of waffles and two more glasses of juice laid out. just as you’re about to make a guess at who it’s for, mr. barnes walks downstairs.

he’s wearing a suit. nothing out of the ordinary — but something flutters inside you. not that you show it, but something definitely flutters inside you. he doesn’t look bad.

if you could, you would slap yourself. you’re not supposed to be thinking this way about your client. revolting. you take your eyes off of him, and redirect them back to the waffles. in some weird way, both the waffles and mr. barnes make you feel the same way — fluttery and careless. like you’d abandon everything important to enjoy it.

‘i know, i look really good,’ mr. barnes smirks. you didn’t even notice that you were staring.

‘you look okay.’

he chuckles. ‘so, slight problem.’

‘what?’

‘banner canceled on our meeting. he said he had other affairs to attend to.’

‘oh.’

‘yeah. so, i was thinking, we could go out.’ he leans on the chair in front of you.

‘do you have somewhere you need to be?’

‘not really, but— wait. will you come along if i say i do?’ there’s a hopeful smile on bucky’s face.

‘i have to tag along with you.’

‘yes, you do.’ he’s grinning wide.

you bit on your tongue to stop from smiling. he wanted to spend time with you. slap. but he wanted to spent time with you, and he was willing to make excuses for it. slap.

‘where do you have to go?’ you say, playing along. not because of your stupid crush, but because it’s your job. yeah, you think to yourself, you tell yourself that.

‘i was thinking the new cafe that’s opened up in town. what’s the name?’ he thinks about it for a second. ‘interstellar, i think. sounds great, and i’ve heard great things about it.’

‘okay, then.’ you head towards the door, but when mr. barnes doesn’t follow you, you stop and turn around. ‘what?’

‘wait, i have to go and tell jarvis to save these waffles. they look too good to be left here.’

‘okay…’ and you wait. very soon, he comes jogging back.

‘okay, let’s go.’

the two of you are sitting in the car.

‘how far away is this place?’ you ask. it’s been at least fifteen minutes, and you are certain he said the cafe was nearby.

‘uh, i really don’t know. it says here it’s ten more minutes away.’

‘you said it was close.’

‘twenty five minutes isn’t that long,’ he said. ‘unless…’ he looks at you with a smirk.

when you catch on to what he’s implying, you scoff. ‘you are a child.’

‘well, to my knowledge, children don’t make such good jokes.’

‘what makes you think it was a good joke?’

‘judging by the way you smiled.’

oh. maybe you had smiled. but you know for certain it wasn’t because the joke was funny.

‘okay,’ he says, upon you staying silent, ‘i’m sorry.’ he’s holding in laughter.

‘the context is very important, barnes. all sex jokes fall flat if you bring up context.’

‘which is precisely why you don’t,’ he winks at you in the rearview mirror.

you roll your eyes.

throughout the ride, bucky keeps stealing a few glances at you. he enjoys you like this, witty and sarcastic. he likes having someone challenge him. but he likes you equally in the times you’re more quiet. he doesn’t know if it’s whether you’re shy, or if you simply don’t like talking. to anyone but him, he thinks, rather jokingly. you probably see him as all the other men in corporate — misogynistic, racist, and just straight up rude. it wasn’t a particularly flattering stereotype.

but he sees you as something beautiful; the glow of the full moon on a beach at nighttime, the sight of the sun awakening at the crack of dawn, and the sound of the thunder silencing everything around it on a stormy night. everything at once.

he hasn’t known you for a long time. but he wants to have. he wants to know everything about you: ranging from your birthday to something as trivial as your favourite flower. because it wouldn’t be trivial. not if it was your favourite flower.

he can’t quite explain it. he thought it was just a silly little crush; the likes of which you have on strangers at the airport, but forget about once you’ve boarded your flight. but this is different — wildly different. if anything, his crush had magnified. it isn’t love — maybe — but it’s enough to keep him thinking about you.

he’d often occupy his mind with memories of small things you’d do during the day. he’d think about how you’d manage to water the plants in his office twice a day, without fail. he’d think about how your breath would hitch with excitement every single time you saw something pretty: a painting, an album cover, doodles on a ripped out page. he’d think about how you’d mindlessly scribble words in your albeit messy handwriting in your notepad when he was busy typing away on a computer. he’d think about how strands of hair from behind your ear would keep falling in front of your face, and how sometimes when you got tired of having to constantly push it back over and over again, you'd simply try to push it back with an aggressive puff of breath.

‘what?’ you chuckle. he realises that he’s been staring for a second too long.

he redirects his gaze back to the road. ‘nothing,’ he says, with a cough. subtle, he mocks himself.

you nod, and return back to staring at the clouds from the car window. he finds it mesmerising that you find something that overlooked so interesting.

and he finds it terribly clichéd that he keeps thinking about you.

he knows he can’t be with you. it’s obvious. even if he wants to — which he does, with each part of his aching soul — you won’t let it happen. so he spares you the responsibility of breaking his heart. knowingly, that is. it’s not like you aren’t breaking his heart every second he’s reminded you’re his bodyguard.

as the gps had so aptly predicted, the two of you reach the cafe in ten minutes, give or take a few seconds.

bucky beckons over the waiter there, and asks for a table for two.

‘of course,’ the waiter — adam — says, and leads you to a booth in the far end of the cafe, right next to the jukebox.

‘well, isn’t this just cozy?’ he remarks, looking around the mostly empty but very aesthetically decorated interior of the place.

‘yeah, it’s pretty good.’

he picks up the menu, and you do too.

‘what are you gonna order?’ he asks, peeking out from behind the card.

‘uh,’ you say, head intently buried in the food names, ‘maybe some ice cream.’

‘ice cream for breakfast? rebellious.’

you laugh. he thinks it’s the sweetest song ever — much better than anything the arctic monkeys have ever written. and that’s saying a lot.

‘i already had my breakfast.’

‘well, i’ll take some pancakes.’

you hum in response.

as you look at mr. barnes, you think about how different your life would’ve been, had you not taken up this job. you wouldn’t have met him, which means you wouldn’t have been plagued by the pain of not being able to kiss his stupid smiles and grins off of his face everyday. but maybe it was a good kind of pain.

he probably doesn’t see you as anything more than a bodyguard. and that was probably for the best. he flirts with you, says a small, eager voice in your head. you push it away. he probably does with everyone. as much as you wanted to believe the slightest possibility that he liked you as more than just hovering company, the chances were slim and it was bad. and unprofessional.

when the food the two of you have ordered comes, you immediately focus your eyes on it. it was becoming increasingly hard to not stare at him — especially in his suit — and maybe having something to focus on would help.

you take a stab at the ice cream in front of you. it’s surprisingly firm. you continue to work your fork into it.

when bucky gets his pancakes, he immediately cuts into it with his spoon. there’s a lot of honey on it. perfect.

as he’s eating his first bite, he’s reminded of a particular scene in the series bridgerton. he feels the urge to keel over thinking about the show. he was forced to watch it by his sister, rebecca. she had come over for winter break last year from london, and she had chosen to make him watch bridgerton. he had been foolish to think that his sister loved him.

but anyway, the quality of the show wasn’t the point. the point was that there was a scene in one of the episodes, a move made by a character, that seemed to have attracted one of the other characters. for the life of him, he can’t remember their names. nevertheless, he decides to try it out.

he licks his tongue seductively — sloppily, more like — over the curve of his spoon, but you don’t notice. your head is turned around, and it seems that you’re observing the general atmosphere of the cafe. he clears his throat. still nothing. he furrows his brows in confusion.

in a lousy attempt to get your attention once again, he kicks the stand of the table. ‘gah,’ he grunts in pain. his toes hurt.

‘jesus christ,’ you say, turning around. ‘what the hell was that?’

‘i don’t know,’ he musters out, in a shaky voice.

‘okay…’ you say, narrowing your eyes at him.

he decides to seize his chance. he licks the other side of his spoon, even sloppier this time. he doesn’t know how they did it that gracefully in the show. he’s sure it isn’t a seductive sight.

‘what are you doing?’ you ask.

‘…savouring… the nectar.’ wow. he considers kicking the table stand again.

your eyes widen, and there’s a hint of a teasing smile playing on your lips. ‘wow. um, okay. good for you.’

that went splendidly, he thinks to himself, rather spitefully. where had all of his charm gone?

🥀 ❤️‍🩹 🌊 🪐 🍷

the next month passes by like a breeze. it was a good month.

you remember bucky taking you to the arctic monkeys concert. well, he didn’t take you, he just went and you were supposed to accompany him. but maybe you could live with that.

he’d also invited you over for a lot of movie nights at his place. the first time he’d asked, you had denied, no matter how much you wanted to do the opposite. but somehow he had talked you into going with him. and you didn’t regret it one bit.

‘oh, yeah, he’s definitely gay,’ he says, crunching down on the chips.

‘right?’ you say, your posture a little stiff from trying not to fall into his arms. ‘they’re adorable together.’

you’re watching dead poet’s society, and talking about neil and todd.

‘sucks to have this queer-baiting thing, man.’

before you have a chance to respond, your phone dings. you hum as you check what it says.

‘who is it?’

‘oh, my mom.’

| Where are you?

you hastily key in the response.

| slwepiver ay friends plsce

| I have no idea what you just typed.

you groan.

| sleepover at friends place

sometimes, you hate technology.

| Oh, okay.

you put the phone down.

‘what was she saying?’ bucky asks.

‘asking where i was. nothing too much. just mom stuff.’

‘what did you say?’

‘just said i was at a friends’.’

he smiles. ‘you think of me as a friend?’ it isn’t the ideal term he’d like you to associate him with, but it’ll do for now. he’ll take whatever he can get.

‘it would’ve been really hard to explain why and what i’m doing at my boss’s house, don’t you think?’ you say. you don’t think of him as a friend. well, maybe. but really, you think of him as more than just that. he radiates sunshine, you think. you love hi— you love his company. that is all there is to it.

‘okay, then.’

soon enough, the movie ends.

‘hey, are you ticklish?’ bucky asks, with a smirk playing on his features.

‘no,’ you say, stoically.

‘well,’ bucky says, inching closer to you. ‘guess i’ll have to be the judge of that, won’t i?’

you look at him, almost daring him to. he wouldn’t. he couldn’t.

but he does.

and so his fingers are all over the sides of your torso, and you’re giggling uncontrollably. there are tears forming at your eyes simply because you don’t remember the last time you laughed this hard.

‘okay, that’s enough!’ you say, laughing.

but there’s one problem. you’re almost lying flat on the couch, and judging by the position the two of you are in right now, it would be a safe bet to make that he pinned you down for purposes other than a platonic tickle fight.

his face is so, so, close to yours. painfully, breathtakingly close. you can feel his warm breath on your lips.

‘i guess you are ticklish, then.’

‘yeah, maybe i am.’

‘that settles that,’ he chuckles.

for a moment, your gaze flickers to his lips, almost innately. your chest is rising with your heavy inhales. the room is silent.

your lips part to say something — anything — but nothing will come out. all you want is for him to kiss the words out of you.

‘i—’ bucky starts. he doesn’t know what to say. this has been a harmless — yet, all consuming for him — crush on a coworker. now that he’s so close to you, he doesn’t know what to do. he’s afraid he’ll mess up either way.

your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip; again, innately. this is the kind of stuff you’ve daydreamed about, but now that it’s here, so surreal, you don’t know why it’s so hard to just grab him by his perfect hair and plant your lips on his.

maybe you don’t want it, bucky thinks. maybe you genuinely don’t see him as anything more than your boss. but you’re not moving from under him, either. and your eyes are on his lips. maybe he should take that as a green flag and just move. he doesn’t know what’s stopping him. all he has ever wanted to do was kiss those perfect lips of yours, until he can’t breathe anymore. until he doesn’t want to breathe anymore.

suddenly, a sharp ringing cuts through the room. it’s bucky’s phone.

he jumps off of you in surprise. you sit up and straighten your hair.

‘shit, i—’

‘i’m gonna, uh, get some water,’ you say, getting up and heading towards the door.

‘y/n—’

‘my throat is parched,’ you joke. the jokes were doing absolutely nothing to heal your broken heart; they were like wet, non-sticking bandaids. pointless. redundant.

he should just get up and tell you. tell you how much the thoughts of you devour him every waking moment of his life. how you have singlehandedly managed to make him the happiest he thinks he’s ever been. how you’ve managed to make him forget about all of his responsibilities, and how he wants you to keep doing that. how he wants you to stay in his life, but this time as more than just someone you meet at work. and all of this in such a short time.

you should just walk over and kiss him. kiss him so passionately that you forget about how unprofessional this is. kiss him so chastely that you don’t forget how delicate the situation is. kiss him so desperately that he knows just how much you’ve been waiting for this moment. kiss him so expertly that he knows just how much you’ve dreamed and thought about this moment. you want him to know you, but not just as someone he meets at work. and all of it in such a short time.

‘i should go home. it’s getting late,’ you say, instead. you want to slap yourself for ever letting yourself believe that you could have this.

‘oh, yeah. probably. get home safe. goodnight,’ he rambles. he wants to slap himself for ever letting himself believe that he could have this.

and with that, you had left. the next day, you had come in and everything had returned to normal. the same witty — and possibly flirty — conversations filled with double entendres, and occasionally, a tender moment.

bucky had thought that after that, he would’ve stopped liking you as much as he did. he was wrong, of course. his feelings had grown stronger, if anything.

and now here you are, sitting in bucky’s office, waiting for him. you’re fidgeting with a rubik’s cube in your hand, and restlessly tapping your foot on the carpet of his office.

suddenly, bucky enters the room with the loud swing of the door.

before you have a chance to stand up, he taps your shoulders from behind. ‘do you have any plans for these three days?’

‘what?’

he walks over to stand in front of you. ‘you don’t have any plans for today, tomorrow and overmorrow, right?’

‘overmorrow?’ you chuckle. ‘um, no, i don’t think so. why?’

‘we have a flight to catch, baby!’ he says, doing finger guns at you.

‘what?’

‘a flight to the one and only, berlin.’

‘in germany?’ you say, a little ruffled.

‘yep.’

‘why? why so last minute?’

‘there’s a press conference, and i’m invited.’

‘don’t you have any meetings?’

‘none as important as this one.’

‘wow.’ you take a deep breath.

‘so, pack your bags! i’ll pick you up in an hour, if that’s okay?’

‘uh, okay, i guess.’ you’re still registering the fact that you have to fly to berlin for three days, on such short notice. not that you’re complaining, though.

🁡🁡🁡

somehow, you’re boarding the flight. it seems like it’s only been a minute since he told you about the news, and now you’re boarding the flight. maybe time really is a social construct.

you’re eyeing everyone around you rather nervously. you don’t remember the last time you were on a flight. everywhere you go, you always try to take an alternative means of transport.

‘okay, here’s our seat,’ he says. you’re in the first class section. jesus christ, sometimes you forget that he’s a ceo and very, very rich. he certainly doesn’t make so much as an effort to remind you of it.

‘um, okay.’

there are two seats that are together, and two screens in front of them. there’s a divider that you think is supposed to cover the two of you. this was made for a couple, you think. and whatever the two of you are, it’s definitely not a couple.

he sits down, and talks to waitress about something. you don’t really hear it too much. your breathing and the illegible clamour of the crowd is too loud.

‘hey,’ he says, tapping your forearm. ‘are you okay?’

‘yeah,’ you say, sitting down, rather slowly. ‘yeah, of course.’

‘okay. if you need anything, you can just ask the stewardess, okay?’

you nod, and release a shaky breath as you look around.

bucky eyes you from the top of the magazine he’s pulled out. you’re acting strange.

suddenly, an announcement carries through the noisy environment.

‘ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard flight 4b7 with service from new york to berlin. we are currently third in line for take-off and are expected to be in the air in approximately seven minutes time. we ask that you please fasten your seatbelts at this time and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments. we also ask that your seats and table trays are in the upright position for take-off. smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. thank you for choosing lufthansa airlines. enjoy your flight.’

there is a giddy smile on bucky’s face, and when he turns to look at you, anticipating the same excitement, he doesn’t get it. instead, he sees you fiddling with the zipper on your bag, and taking deep breaths. your other hand is tightly gripping the arm of the seat.

‘hey, hey, are you alright?’ he says, in a hushed voice so as to not startle you.

‘mhm,’ you nod, unconvincingly.

the stewardess walks up to your seats.

‘we’re taking off in five minutes,’ she smiles.

bucky nods at her.

you release a shaky breath.

‘y/n,’ he says, concerned. ‘you don’t seem okay to me.’

‘it’s nothing, it’s just a stupid little phobia.’

‘what?’

‘i’ve never really liked airplanes,’ you say, with a quiver in the laugh that follows.

‘why didn’t you tell me?’

‘it’s not that important.’

‘y/n… we’re about to take off in some time. are you sure you’re alright?’

‘yes!’ you say, in a high pitched voice. ‘that came out higher than i meant it to. but i’m gonna be fine.’

‘okay…’

but you know that you’re not going to be fine. planes are scary, and people do strange things when they’re scared. you just hope you don’t do anything too crazy.

suddenly, the plane starts moving.

‘oh, god,’ you exhale, looking up at the ceiling in an effort to calm yourself. your hands are tightly gripping the arm supports.

your knuckles are turning white as the plane keeps moving. you stay rigid, almost as though if you move the plane will crash. knock on wood, you think, praying that it’ll be enough because you know you can’t physically knock on wood.

and then the plane starts taking off.

bucky feels hands grip his arm. he looks up from his magazine, and your eyes are pressed shut, lips pursed tight, and white knuckles are gripping his shirt.

his lips part in an effort to say something, but nothing comes out. instead, he flings his free arm over your body, trying to huddle you closer.

‘deep breaths,’ he whispers.

he feels your chest rise and fall against his body.

‘good, just keep going like that, okay? do you want to listen to some music? will that help?’

you whimper softly, and nod.

he’s never seen you like this: vulnerable, and weak. he didn’t think you’d ever be scared of anything. you’re the fiery woman that doesn’t let anyone walk over her. and you still are. but everyone is scared of something, he guesses. and maybe this is your phobia.

he grabs his phone, and takes the earphones and gently presses it into your ear. he taps play on she’s thunderstorms, by the arctic monkeys.

‘does this help?’ he asks.

your breathing gets a little calmer, a stark contrast to the frantic desperation it was. your eyes are still pressed shut, but less tightly then before. your grip on his t-shirt isn’t that firm anymore.

he takes it as a yes.

very soon, your breathing gets more even, and bucky realises that you’ve fallen asleep. the poetry of it all isn’t lost on him.

slowly and quietly, he pulls his phone out from his pocket, and opens his notes app. he starts writing something, but immediately puts it down, because he’ll find time to work on it later. for now, he wants to enjoy the domesticity of the moment.

and the entire nine hour duration of the flight is spent like that: you in his arms, your head tucked underneath his chin, and the soft hum of songs playing in the earphones.

‘ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tagel airport. local time is seven in the evening and the temperature is seventeen degree celsius, or sixty three degrees fahrenheit. for your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the captain turns off the fasten seat belt sign.’ the rest of the announcement is a blur as bucky wakes up to find you asleep in his arms.

he doesn’t want to wake you up. your mouth is slightly parted, and your eyebrows are a little furrowed.

a lazy smile makes its way onto his face. maybe he doesn’t need to remember that he can’t be with you. not right now.

‘y/n,’ he whispers, reluctantly.

you softly grunt.

he chuckles. ‘y/n. we’ve landed.’

your eyes slowly open. and there you are again. bucky didn’t quite realise just how close your faces are.

he’s lost in your eyes. for a moment, all the mindless chatter and opening of overhead cabins, and rustling of feet, is a noisy blur. it’s all drowned out as he stares into your gaze.

in his peripheral, there’s a messy haze of colours. he can’t see anything but you.

he’s been here once before, but it still feels like too many times. yet, he never learns. no one told him how to just… go for it. but he wants to. he really does. no one would care if the two of you share a tender kiss right about now. no one would care.

you look at him. you’re still in a bit of a daze, although it’s almost evening and you shouldn’t be feeling as tired as you do. you’ve probably had the best sleep in god knows how many nights — weeks, months, even — and the two of you hadn’t even reclined the seats into a bed. his embrace is warm, and you don’t want to leave it. it feels like home. the earphones have fallen out of both of your ears, and you can hear the faint buzz of music.

his eyes are very blue. it’s not the first time you’re noticing them, but it feels like it is. but then again, every time you’re this close to him, it feels like the first time.

you want to kiss him. you want to kiss him so much, until your lips are swollen and bruised. you want a kiss like they describe in books and movies. you want a kiss like the ones teenagers dream of having with their crushes.

but that’s all fiction.

‘on behalf of lufthansa airlines and the entire crew, i’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. have a nice evening!’

you clear your throat, and unwillingly move away from him. you know that the more time you spend that close to him and not actually kiss him, the more your heart will shatter.

he understands why you move away. it’s unprofessional. but it still hurts.

he pats down his jacket and moves out of the seat. you’re already pulling open the overhead cabin and dragging out the one suitcase.

the car ride to the hotel is awkward. you are trying your best to avert your gaze from him, even though all you want to do is tell him you’re sorry. you’re sorry that you can’t let yourself be with him.

bucky is playing with the frayed ends of his shirt sleeves; frayed like the ends of his heart. he’s consumed by you, all the time, and this happening twice is too big a hurt. but he, like an idiot, cannot let you go. not until you tell him yourself. and until you do, maybe he can let himself believe that the only thing stopping the two of you from being together is professionalism.

bucky can hear the cameras click and the reporters inaudibly chatter as they near the hotel.

‘how are we gonna go?’ he asks no one in particular.

‘don’t worry about it,’ you respond, gaze fixed on the window.

he clenches his jaw. he wants to say something, but he knows whatever will come out is sure to be disastrous. fuel to the already burning fire.

the car pulls up in front of the hotel.

‘think you should be safe to get off here,’ the chauffeur says.

‘okay. thank you. have a nice day,’ you tell him, as you get out of the car. bucky gets out of the car from the other side.

he sees you walk towards him. your poster is rigid as you stand beside him, almost as though if you moved you would melt and just trip into his embrace. wouldn’t be so bad.

‘hey, maybe we should talk—’

‘later,’ you say, tersely.

bucky nods. he doesn’t know what the two of you would talk about anyway. not like there was much to say.

he pictures himself saying something like, hey, i have a crush on you.

and you would probably say, that’s definitely not reciprocated. because it almost certainly isn’t.

he walks with you through the grassy path leading up to the hotel. it’s fancy: there’s an arched glass ceiling on top, and the soft orange glow of lanterns illuminates the borders of the pathway.

now that he thinks about it, it’s actually kind of romantic. if he could, he’d intertwine his fingers with yours and stroll along the pathways, conversing about the most meaningless things. all a dream.

crash. he doesn’t even process it in time. before he realises that something has happened, you’re clutching your shoulder, the people — who’s existence he had forgotten about until now — walking behind and ahead of the two of you are running helter-skelter, and the glass above them is shattered.

‘we have to go. now,’ you say, in a rushed breath. you grab his arm and pull him along. he moves at your command, but wary of the glass pieces underneath him.

🁡🁡🁡

‘jesus fucking christ,’ he swears the moment the two of you reach the hotel room. ‘what the fuck was that?’ he’s been told his swearing is a telltale sign of his nervousness in situations.

you’re still clutching your shoulder.

‘are you okay?’ he says, walking closer to you.

‘yeah, i’m fine.’ your words are punctuated by pants.

‘oh, my god,’ he says. his eyes widen as he sees the slightest drop of blood fall from under your hand.

‘it’s nothing to worry about—’

‘did you get shot?’

‘no, i think it’s just a bit of a graze wound.’

‘jesus christ!’ he runs his fingers through his hair. ‘i’m gonna call 911!’

‘911 doesn’t work here, bucky.’

‘i— i’ll google the alternative,’ he says, fishing his phone out from his back pocket.

‘no, don’t. they have more important cases to tend to. i’ll fix this up.’

‘what?’ he couldn’t believe what he was hearing right now.

‘bucky, it’s fine. i’m fine.’

‘you’re bleeding!’

‘i know, but it’s fine. nothing some plaster can’t fix.’

‘let me help you, at least.’

you look at him for a minute. releasing an exasperated sigh, you say, ‘okay.’

you move into the bathroom, and he follows.

‘okay, what do i need to do?’ he says, as you sit up on the counter.

‘uh, stop the bleeding first,’ you say, racking your brain for the course you had taken in first aid during training.

‘okay, how do i do that?’

‘is there a towel or something around here?’

bucky looks around, frantically. ‘no, i don’t think so,’ he says, in a small voice.

‘okay, um, give me a minute.’ you try to unbutton your shirt with your elbow. unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work.

‘what are you doing?’ bucky says, the concern rising in his voice.

‘trying to take off the shirt. it’s clean and dry. except the blood stained sleeve, i guess.’

‘do you need help?’

‘yeah.’

‘okay…’ he goes over to you. his hands gingerly reach for the first button, and he looks up to you, as if he’s asking for permission.

you nod slightly. ‘make it fast.’

and he does. he unbuttons the shirt. his fingers are shaking, and that definitely doesn’t help his pace. he’s fussily trying to get the buttons out of the slits of the shirt.

‘bucky, i’m the one that’s wounded. calm down,’ you say, trying to lighten the mood.

bucky’s too tensed up to laugh. he makes his way over to the very last button, and surprisingly, it comes apart easily.

slowly, you release the hand that has been gripping the injury. you release a soft hiss through your teeth.

‘dear lord,’ he mutters.

‘can you help?’ you say. your torso hurts too much to slip out of the shirt.

‘yeah, yeah, of course.’

he slowly and gently slides the shirt off of your shoulders until all you’re left in is a sports bra. bucky tries his best not to look for too long.

‘okay, now what?’ he says, his gaze fixed on you.

‘wrap the clean part of the shirt on the wound, and press firmly.’

‘okay.’ he’s scared, because he doesn’t want to wrap it too tight and cut off the blood supply or something.

he fists up the blood-free sleeve of the shirt, and places it around the blood smeared part of forearm.

‘your hands were clean, right?’

‘yeah, i think.’

he doesn’t think he’s touched anything that could be deemed infectious in the past 24 hours.

‘okay, good.’

‘now what?’

‘we wait until the bleeding is stopped.’

‘how long will that take?’

‘should take ten minutes of pressure at most.’

‘okay. should i just wait, or…?’

you want to tell him to stay. you really do. the wound doesn’t hurt terribly, most of your arm’s gone numb. but you still want him to stay. if pretending you’re in pain is what it’ll take, you’ll do it.

but your wound will get infected if you don’t have gauze.

‘maybe you could run down to the hotel and ask for some dressing? i’m sure they’ll have it.’

‘yeah, okay, i’ll do that. give me a minute.’

and you sit there, as he rushes out in a hurry. you don’t know why you hadn’t talked to him. granted, it’s only been a few hours at most, but it seems like eternity. you didn’t like silence, especially the kind that was forming between the two of you.

it’s complicated, and you know that. you want to rip your hair out in frustration every time you think about it. you’re consumed with guilt.

you try to keep your mind off of it, but then the only other thing left to focus on is your wound. and that’s a boring thing.

you start humming love is a laserquest under your breath to keep yourself distracted. when you reach the second bridge, the door unlocks and you stop. you know it’s probably bucky, but one can never be too safe.

you still in your breath, but release it once bucky comes through the door of the bathroom.

he holds up the roll of gauze he found. ‘this will work, right?’

‘yeah.’

‘okay.’ he starts unrolling it.

‘wait, wait.’

he immediately stops. ‘what?’

‘do as i say first.’ he nods. ‘okay, first wash and dry your hands.’

he places the roll near the sink, and runs the tap. after he’s washed the soap off, he pulls out the paper towels from the dispenser. he wipes his hands.

‘now?’

‘is there any container or something around here?’

‘uh, jesus, i— oh, wait.’ he runs over to the bathtub, and there’s a holder for the soap there. ‘will this work?’

‘does it have holes?’

‘nope,’ he says, examining it, ‘nope.’

‘okay, good. fill that up with some water, and pour it over the wound.’

‘okay…’ he fills the container with water, and gently pours it over the wound. you release a soft hiss through your teeth, and he immediately stops.

‘no, no, keep going,’ you say.

and he complies. he’s pouring the water down slowly until the container empties out. your eyes are pressed shut because you don’t want to think about the singe.

‘okay, that’s done, right?’ he says.

you nod.

‘hey, hey, are you alright? we can still call the ambulance if you want,’ he says, placing his palm on your uninjured forearm.

‘yeah, no, i’m fine. now, we need a clean towel or something.’

‘we don’t have any towels. this goddamn room—’ he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration.

‘hey,’ you say, trying to get him to focus. ‘it’s fine. just grab the bathing robe.’

‘okay.’ he disappears into the room to find the closet which the bathrobe could be in, and returns promptly. ‘this will do?’

‘yep. pat the wound dry with it.’

‘okay.’ he takes the sleeve of the surprisingly heavy robe and dabs it on the wound. you hum in a high pitch momentarily. he looks up at you, concern heavy in his eyes.

‘no, no, keep going.’

‘okay.’ bucky is scared. he’s afraid his heart is going to beat out of his chest, or he’s going to do something wrong. his hands are still shaking. he’s doing his best to keep them steady, but apparently his best is not enough.

‘okay, it should be dry now, i think,’ you say. ‘now, wrap the dressing around it.’

his hand grabs the roll of dressing, and the pair of scissors he brought along. he gently wraps it along your arm, and when he’s done the first wrap, he looks up.

‘is this too tight?’

‘no, it’s great. keep going.’

and so he does, until you can barely see the colour of your skin through the dressing.

he releases a shaky sigh. ‘what the hell was that?’

‘i don’t know. i just know that you can’t stay for the press conference anymore.’

‘no, i know. yeah.’

a moment of silence passes.

‘i’m sorry,’ you say, sheepishly.

he looks up at you. bucky knows exactly what you’re talking about, but he doesn’t quite know why you’re sorry. if anything, he should be the one apologising.

‘you have no reason to be.’

‘no, i’m not sorry about the wound or whatever—’

‘i know.’ he looks down.

you clench your jaw. ‘it just can’t happen, bucky.’

he starts fiddling with his fingers. ‘we’ll find a way to make it work.’

‘it’s a terrible idea.’

‘i don’t care,’ he says, looking up at you. ‘look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want it.’

your lips part, and you gulp. of course you want it. but you can’t have it.

‘it’s highly unprof—’

‘is that the only reason? because if so, it shouldn’t be the one keeping us apart.’

you bite the inner part of your cheek. ‘i don’t know, bucky.’

before he gets a chance to respond, your phone rings. you pull it out of your pocket.

‘hello?’ you say. ‘mm. okay. that’s good.’ a pause, and you look at bucky. ‘yeah, he’s fine. with me, yeah.’ another pause, and you look at the gauze wrapped around your arm. ‘a little wound, nothing too bad. no, i’ll be fine. i fixed it up. yeah. okay. keep me updated.’ with that, you hang up on whoever had called you.

‘who was it?’ bucky asks.

‘one of the other guards back in new york.’

‘have they heard about it yet?’

‘news travels faster than you’d think,’ you say, with a small smile.

bucky wants to continue the conversation the two of you were having before the call, but he knows it wont result in anything good. you’re far too good at your job for that.

‘okay, you should get some rest. i’ll go sleep in another room.’

‘what?’ you say.

‘yeah. good night, y/n.’

there’s a hurt look on your features. bucky wants to erase the memory of that from his head forever.

‘good night, i guess,’ you say, in a voice that is barely a whisper. it’s hoarse, because you feel like crying.

the moment bucky is out the door, you limp out of the bathroom, and head towards the bed. you pull out your phone, and open the email app.

dear mr. barnes, you start. due to certain… you don’t know what to type. …unforeseen events that have taken place over the short course of my job… you don’t want to type it, but you know you have to. you broke the most important and easiest part of the job: don’t fraternise with the client. with a grimace, you type, i believe the best next step would be for me to resign of my own volition.

you read the email several times. your finger hovers over the send button for longer than you’d like to admit. instead, you click on the dropdown option, and choose to save as draft. you weren’t ready for this yet.

🁡🁡🁡

you walk up to bucky’s door the next morning. maybe some part of you was hoping that the path from your room to his would be never-ending, like your dread.

you don’t know what to make of the situation. you hadn’t rejected or accepted anything. mostly rejected, if one had to pick a side, but it’s still ambiguous. in your opinion, at least.

hopefully, bucky thinks the same.

he was right: the only thing keeping you from ruffling his perfect hair and bruising his perfect lips with the most desperate of kisses was your job. and that really shouldn’t be the only reason keeping you. so why is it?

maybe because the first time you’d gotten hurt was enough decidedly. it wasn’t even job-related, but you think this would be worse somehow.

you still remember how your boyfriend in high school had cheated on you and made fun of you behind your back simply because he thought you were too… weird. which, in any case, isn’t a bad thing, but men and their fragile masculinities. you had promised yourself you weren’t going to let yourself be hurt by something as stupid as that, but you failed.

it hurt, and it stuck. maybe you just think that bucky could do better than you. and maybe you weren’t meant to lead a life where you find the one.

your hand knocks on the door, almost as though it did of its own accord, as though to say: if you won’t step up, i’ll do it myself.

you knock thrice, and wait for a minute before the door opens. bucky is dressed neatly, but his hair says otherwise. it’s all ruffled and blown up, and it looks like he hasn’t gotten a single ounce of sleep either.

bucky spent the entire night laying on his bed, shifting and turning his position so he could sleep, but he couldn’t. his eyes were wide awake the entire time, and they were either on the ceiling, or the tables at the sides of the bed.

he was up all night thinking about you, and occasionally there’d be a smile on his face. but mostly, he would think about the hurt look on your face, and it would consume him with guilt.

‘had a good sleep?’ he asks you. selfishly enough, he hopes the answer is no.

the answer is no. but in order to avoid any more of whatever it was that happened last night, you say, ‘yes.’

bucky suspects you’re lying, but he’s fine with it. he knows that the two of you are a lost cause. he never really believed in the whole right person, wrong time thing, but now, he thinks he does. because he truly believed that you were wonderful, and he couldn’t see anything that would drive a wedge between the two of you other than your job. and he couldn’t blame you for that.

🁡🁡🁡

a long, quiet and awkward walk to the car parked ahead of the hotel is followed by another quiet and awkward session in the car.

the chauffeur seems to think something is up too, because both you and bucky are facing the windows on your respective sides. every now and then, he’ll catch a glimpse of the two of you in the rear-view mirror.

‘your fathers called for extra protection,’ you say, briefly.

‘what does that entail?’ bucky’s neck hurts from looking out the window.

‘i won’t be the only one tagging along now.’

some part of bucky wants to believe this was all his father’s decision, and that his father didn’t leave room for your opinion.

you know you will miss spending all that time with him alone, but maybe this is for the best.

‘fine,’ bucky says, quietly, in the hopes to quell his sadness.

🥀 ❤️‍🩹 🌊 🪐 🍷

it’s been a painfully long and awkward week of you and bucky trying not to talk to each other. thankfully, there haven’t been too many moments where the two of you were alone for more than a minute.

bucky wants to talk to you, but every single time he tries, someone or the other seems to want to interrupt. like the universe itself doesn’t want him to be with you.

of course, he doesn’t care. he’ll defeat the universe himself if he has to, so help him god.

‘okay, bye,’ he waves to one of his colleagues exiting his office.

you are sitting near the door, head bent.

bucky sighs. it’s been a long day.

he misses talking to you. he misses your soft laughs, he misses your smiles, and most importantly, he misses the very essence of you. ever since that night in berlin, it’s almost as though you’ve been containing all of the good parts of you in a tub and storing it, hoping it doesn’t spill out and poison bucky with affection.

bucky is still mad about you, of course. you still occupy his mind almost every waking moment of the day. and he’s still caught staring at you through the glass windows of his office during meetings.

and truth be told, you’re still mad about him. it was hard not to be, because even though you were able to resign into the false demeanour of this expressionless, stone faced security guard, bucky was still expected to be as charming as ever. and it was hard to fall out of love with that.

you furrow your brows in confusion. how dare your mind trick you into admitting that; how dare your train of thought lead you into confessing something that huge to yourself?

bucky tugs at his tie, loosening it until it finally comes off his neck. he pulls open the drawer at his desk, and takes out a bottle of red wine he’s been saving.

he also pulls out two wine glasses safely tucked away at the back of the same drawer.

this is the time to have a full conversation with you, in what seems like years; when in reality it’s been only a week.

‘do you want some?’ he says, cautiously.

your eyes snap up to his desk, but not yet his eyes. ‘um, okay.’ what’s the worst that could happen?

he pours the wine quarter-way in both your glasses. once he’s done with yours, he pushes it ahead on his desk.

you stand up and walk towards the chair in front of his desk. you sit down and take a sip from the glass.

he gives his glass a single swirl, and takes a rather hefty sip.

he sees you slightly pucker.

‘is it not good?’

‘no, it’s great. i just haven’t had wine in a long time.’

he hums in response.

the two of you finish your glasses at almost the same time.

bucky pours himself some more wine, and gestures to you. ‘do you want some?’

‘yeah, okay,’ you push your glass ahead. it’s been a long day, and the wine could probably help.

bucky slowly rises from his seat, and stretches out his limbs. he’s been sitting in his chair for a god-awful amount of time.

you keep your eyes on the red liquid in your glass.

‘do you want some music?’ bucky says.

‘uh, yeah. that’s fine.’

he walks over to the speaker in his office, switches it on, and presses the play button. something unfamiliar plays on it.

‘ah,’ bucky says, with a small smile on his face, ‘this.’

‘what is it?’

‘a song from the forties, i think.’

‘wow.’

he walks over to you and places his glass on the desk. ‘would you wanna… maybe… dance?’

‘what?’ you finally look up at him, at his eyes.

a smile grows on his face. ‘dance. with me.’

nothing makes sense in the world, and it’s pointless to try to make any sense out of it, so why not?

‘mm, okay,’ you say, easily.

he lends his hand, and you take it. as you rise from your seat, he pulls you into the centre of his office, where he intertwines his finger between your hand, and places his free arm at your waist.

you place your arm on his shoulder, and look at the windows behind him. the office is mostly empty.

‘nobody’s here,’ he lulls.

you redirect your gaze back at his eyes. it’s been an eternity since you last saw them — since you last really saw them. and you were cherishing every moment of it right now, ingraining every last detail into your head.

‘this is wrong,’ you say, with no intentions of walking out of his embrace and stop swaying softly to the music.

‘i know,’ he says, with a soft smile.

you slowly release your hand from where it’s intertwined with bucky, and place it around his neck. he places that arm around your waist.

‘this is comfortable,’ he says.

‘yeah,’ you whisper.

the two of you are staring into each other’s eyes, and it’s been a while since the two of you have blinked. you want to, but you’re afraid if you do, everything will vanish, as if this tenderness was simply a dream that you couldn’t avail.

‘i know we can’t be together,’ bucky says, quietly.

boldly, you bury your face in the crook of his neck. it’s comfortable, very much so; almost as if it was made for your face.

‘so why are we dancing right now?’ your tone wasn’t accusatory, and there was still a soft smile on your face.

‘i don’t know.’

you slowly come back up from his neck and look him in the eyes.

and right then, bucky could swear the entire world stopped. it was simply you, and him. your hands wrapped around his neck, and his wrapped around your waists modestly, never dipping an inch below.

everything is made up, everything is fake. except for you. and finally, finally, he thinks to himself, fuck it.

he slowly moves towards your face, and his lips touch yours. it’s soft, feathery, and he can barely feel it, but at the same time, it’s enough to send him into a daze. the sensation of your mouth against his is one that makes him more intoxicated than any wine.

you can barely feel his lips on yours, and even though it’s nice, you need more. your hands burrow into his hair, and you press on his lips a little more.

it’s heaven. bucky’s holding on to you gently, but he’s doing it with desperation. he is certain he will fall if he lets go.

the kiss is chaste, tender, and slow. neither of you are in a rush, because you know this moment won’t show up as often as you’d like it to.

and suddenly, it’s like bucky can’t breathe. he’s breathless, but in a good way. he wants more, but at the same time, he wants to let you go briefly, and open his eyes, look at the woman he’s so obviously in love with, and kiss you once again. he thinks he wants to do nothing more for the rest of his life.

and that’s when he makes his mistake. the two of you part, and the lazy, beautiful smile on your face, passages into a parted, horrified look. it’s like you’ve made a mistake.

and you have.

immediately, but reluctantly, you let go of his embrace. ‘this was a mistake.’

bucky knew what you were thinking, but to hear it this loud and clear was like twisting a knife into his abdomen.

you lick your lips instinctively, and walk out of his office.

bucky stands there, wallowing in his defeat. a drunken mistake. that’s all it was, and that was the most it’d ever be.

he walks over to his desk, to put away the glasses. as he’s putting the bottle of wine away, he spots something written on the label in bronze foil: zero; 0.0% vol.; non alcoholic.

he sighs. so maybe it wasn’t a drunken mistake. somehow, that hurt more.

🁡🁡🁡

you reach home after a fast, reckless drive. the firs thing you do is rush to your bedroom, and pull open your laptop. you open up the mail app, rummage through your sea of drafts, and finally find it.

dear mr. barnes,

due to certain unforeseen events that have taken place over the short course of my job, i believe the best next step would be for me to resign of my own volition.

sincerely,

y/n y/l/n,

former head of security detail at barnes and co., assigned to mr. james buchanan barnes.

your lower lip trembles as your cursor hovers over the send button. it was all wrong; a drunken mistake. you think about how good the kiss was, how good he felt, how good you felt, and that is all it takes for you to click on your mousepad before the email is lost to mr. barnes, and out of your reach.

the next few days go by pretty fast. you slept a whole lot, and kept away from all social media. you switched your phone off, so you wouldn’t feel guilty about not returning anyone’s calls or texts.

it had been two days spent in sulking and the same old pyjamas when your childhood best friend and fellow peer in training wanda decided enough was enough.

you weren’t returning her calls or her texts, so she decided to swing by.

you have never regretted giving her a spare key to your apartment more than you do in this moment.

‘oh, don’t look at me like that,’ she says in response to your cold glare.

‘go away,’ you say, turning away from her.

‘y/n, look at you. those…’ she plucks at your old, baggy t-shirt, ‘…tacky pjs, such a crime. now are you gonna tell me what happened?’

‘nothing happened,’ you snap. ‘i’m fine.’

‘i’m trying to help you, y/n. no calls or texts, no nothing, you’ve just cut yourself off from the world! do you think that’s healthy?’

you don’t respond.

‘y/n… you don’t have to tell me what happened. but just promise me you’ll change out of that, and try to move on.’

‘there’s nothing to move on from.’

‘this is about a guy, isn’t it?’

‘what?’ you say, feigning surprise. ‘what makes you think that?’

‘the last time you had gone into total shut down mode was when you broke up with that high school scumbag. that motherfuc—’

‘okay,’ you say, stopping her before she airs out a string of curses. ‘maybe it's about a guy.’ you slink down on your couch.

wanda sits beside you, and places her hand on your shoulder. ‘oh, honey. i didn’t know you were dating anyone.’

‘i’m not— that’s… that’s the thing. i can’t date him.’

wanda tilts her head in confusion. ‘what?’

‘it’s complicated. and it doesn’t matter.’

‘y/n, if this man caused you, an adult, the same hurt that a cheating and lying teenage boy in high school did, it definitely does matter.’

she isn’t wrong. ‘he didn’t hurt me. i think i hurt him. and myself, consequently.’

‘oh,’ wanda says, her lips parted. she still doesn’t quite understand what you’re talking about, but she doesn’t need to. ‘go tell him, then.’

‘what? tell him what?’

‘that you still like him.’

you laugh mirthlessly. ‘it’s more complicated than that.’

‘what’s stopping you?’

you’re about to say something like it’s not professional, or i have a duty to uphold, but suddenly, you realise, you gave up on that. you let go of that.

wanda seems to have recognised your silence, for a smile appears on her face.

‘go, then! what are you waiting for?’

‘my car doesn’t have any gas,’ you say, sheepishly.

‘i’ll drive you,’ wanda says, standing up.

‘i don’t know, wanda—’

‘y/n, you’ve always planned your life out. don’t you wanna do something spontaneous for once?’

🁡🁡🁡

bucky has no clue where you’ve been for the past two days. he’s growing more upset with each second, because he thinks he genuinely upset you and that he’s lost you forever.

he’s impatiently tapping his foot in the conference room, as he’s been doing ever since that day. he’s clicking his pen constantly.

‘and that’s what— hey, barnes, could you not?’ clint says, from where he’s standing at the whiteboard.

‘what?’

‘the pen clicking, bucky,’ yelena says from across the table.

‘it’s pretty bothersome,’ banner agrees.

bucky looks down at his almost red thumb. he hasn’t even noticed he was doing this. ‘right, sorry.’

then, suddenly, the door swings open to reveal a secretary. ‘mr. barnes? there’s someone waiting for you in your office.’

‘tell them to wait,’ bucky tells him.

‘she says it’s important.’

bucky’s ears prick up at the pronoun. ‘did she say her name?’

‘uh,’ the secretary checks his palm, ‘y/n.’

bucky immediately rises from his seat, dropping his pen from his hand. he hears tony groan, but he’s out the door before he can hear any snarky comments.

the walk to his office is excruciatingly long, and when he’s halfway there, bucky’s power walk evolves into a sprint.

he pushes open the door, and there you are, sitting in the same position you had been the first time he had seen you.

upon hearing the door open, you immediately stand up and turn around to face him.

you’re wearing a salmon coloured t-shirt that says serial chiller, and plaid pants. a goofy smile grows on his face.

‘hi,’ he says.

‘hello.’

he can’t do anything but grin like a fool. a fool in love.

‘i should’ve dressed better,’ you chuckle. ‘you’re wearing a suit and i’m… wearing this days old outfit.’

‘i think you look splendid,’ he says. it’s very true.

you laugh. ‘you flatter me.’

‘so, uh, where’ve you been?’

‘i… uh, quit.’

‘what?’

your brows furrow in confusion. ‘didn’t your father tell you?’

‘no… no, he’s on a business trip in shanghai.’

‘oh. well, i did.’

his expression hardens. ‘i’m sorry.’

‘not your fault. well, kinda,’ you say, cheekily.

he laughs. ‘i’ve missed you.’

‘i missed you, too.’

‘uh, hold up, i have to show you something,’ he runs to his desk, and pulls out a notebook. he immediately opens it and starts surfing through the pages, frantically searching for something.

‘okay…’ you stand, your hands hanging at your sides rather awkwardly.

‘found it,’ he says. ‘okay… you have to promise not to laugh.’

‘what? why would i do that?’

‘i might’ve… tried my hand at poetry,’ he says, quietly.

you softly gasp. ‘i wouldn’t ever laugh.’

‘promise?’

‘yes. pinky promise.’

he smiles, and narrows his eyes at you. ‘okay… here goes nothing, i guess.’ he clears his throat, and your eyes widen in anticipation. ‘i come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that i am at liberty to do so,’ he looks up at you briefly, but immediately looks back down, ‘that my heart is and always will be… yours.’

‘oh my god.’

‘okay, i know it’s a little dorky, but—’

‘it’s beautiful. you wrote that? you wrote that… for me, i’m presuming,’ you say, cautiously.

‘yeah. it’s all for you,’ he smiles, putting down the notebook.

‘very romantic, barnes,’ you say, walking closer towards him. ‘i didn’t know you were such a poet.’

‘ah, well, you know,’ he says, looking into your eyes, ‘i’m full of surprises.’

‘bet i could do you one better, though,’ you tease, your fingers gently grabbing his tie.

‘really?’ he says, leaning into your face, and nudging his nose against yours.

‘mm,’ you say, pulling your lips onto his with ease.

bucky was expecting it, but he was still a little taken aback. your fingers run through his hair, messing it up, but he doesn’t think he cares. all he cares about is that you’re kissing him, and he was being kissed by you.

you were soaring. you were drowning in his lips. they tasted like honey, you thought.

the kiss wasn’t chaste and tender anymore, it was passionate, sloppy, and full of desperation. it was almost as though the two of you were trying to make up for lost time. and it might’ve been working.

suddenly, you pull away.

‘i love you,’ you say, against his lips.

a small breath escapes bucky’s mouth. ‘i love you, too. god, i love you so fucking much, you have no idea.’

‘absence really does make the heart grow fonder, huh?’ you smile and draw him into another kiss.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

thank you so much for reading! feedback is so, so appreciated! <3 please do not repost my work on any platform. reblogs are fine!

#the way i tried my best to make this fic cinematic w the parallels and to have someone notice this ................. im not crying u are #comment reblog #no expectations #carrotfantasimp

[dolcezzasfantasy]

better start biding our time with the fluff while we have it jsdkhf

Delicate Edges (2)

series summary: Trapped under a mountain of debt to the Hydra club, it is only in moments when Bucky walks into your flower shop that you forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. But a war is brewing. And Bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe. (Biker!AU) pairing: Bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.4k chapter warnings: meet the gang!, Bucky is a charming little shit, fluff city baby!!, (no legitimate warnings this chapter) a/n: Thank you so much for all the love and support on part 1!! Please enjoy some complementary fluff as a little treat 😘

series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky leaned over the edge of the bar, swirling his last sip of bottom shelf whiskey around the glass. He watched as the amber liquid slid up along the sides, chasing its own shape in an endless loop as a few droplets coaxed over the edge and touched his fingers. Slowly, he stilled his hand and the whiskey sank back to the bottom. Alcohol was usually a pretty efficient method to take his mind from his troubles. The comfort of a warm burn down the back of his throat and through his chest, the lingering buzz in his head as he swallowed the last drops.

Only this time, his troubles came in the form of a woman. Stronger than you’d given yourself credit for, the ability to smile and laugh even with the ghosted imprint of a hand on your wrist. Charming and lovely and certainly the opposite of the sort of trouble Bucky was used to.

Perhaps, that was the problem. Because Bucky couldn’t get you off his mind.

He knew the flower shop you lived above. His mother was once a frequent patron of May Flowers back when Bucky was a kid. Every Sunday like clockwork, she’d take him by the hand and lead him inside the shop. He’d tug and twist at the suit she’d dressed him in because no eight-year-old kid wanted to be constricted by that much fabric, but it was important to show respect, she’d told him. He distinctly remembered thinking that where they were going, no one was going to notice or care whether he was in a suit or basketball shorts. Cemetaries were quiet that like.

Regardless of what Bucky wanted, he showed up with his mother and stood in the corner of the shop staring at the rows of poppies until she finished chatting with the owners. They were a nice sort of people, Bucky remembered. Always kind enough to ask how he was doing and smile in his direction when most adults barely acknowledged the kid shuffling behind his mother’s legs. The woman gave him a hard candy most Sundays and that was usually enough to shut him up about the suit.

Those must have been your parents. He remembered seeing a little girl running around behind the counter, picking up stray petals and imperfect flowers to make a bouquet of her own. Red bow in her hair and the echo of giggling carrying over the low hum of Simon & Garfunkel on the radio.

He didn’t remember exactly when he stopped going around. It happened slow, over time. Sometimes things came up on a Sunday here and there, and soon they were going once a month, until they weren’t going at all.

It was harder for his mother to see the headstone, Bucky realized years later when he found her crying quietly to herself over a picture she’d found tucked away in a drawer. He hadn’t known his father well, having spent most of Bucky’s life stationed overseas, so he didn’t know what to feel when the man passed. His mother did her best, but she crumbled every so often. Bucky didn’t mind helping her pick up the pieces when she did.

As a teenager, he’d often swing by May Flowers to bring his mother a bouquet of lilies on the days he knew would be harder for her.

His father’s birthday. Their wedding anniversary. The day the men in suits showed up at the front door and made his mother cry.

He offered polite smiles to the kind woman behind the counter and the man huddled in the back making new arrangements for the windows. You, then a teenager yourself, were laid upon the floor, making a flower crown of the discarded stems your father tossed aside.

After Bucky enlisted in his early twenties, he had a standing order with the shop to keep up his usual deliveries for his mother. Every so often, he’d ask they have some sent to the cemetery for his father. He never told his mother that he did that, but he knew it would make her happy. Even from the desert, that flower shop still kept a hold on him.

May Flowers had been such a significant piece of his life for so long, he wasn’t sure what to make of its return. Part of him longed to walk by again, see the rows of blue flowers along the curb and the scent of florals in the air as he stepped inside. He even wondered if perhaps he might see you behind the counter – the little girl with stray petals and unwanted stems now running the business herself.

But Bucky knew better than to risk stepping foot into the west side.

He brushed his hand over the tattoo on his bicep, tracing over the lines hidden between the delicate art, folded carefully along the design; the name he’d given his chosen family – this rough, lost group of people who found themselves drawn into the ragged old bar he’d called the Centenarian and never had the good sense about them to leave.

The 107.

Named after his grandfather’s infantry in the second world war – the men who had been taken prisoner behind enemy lines and had the gull to survive. His mother once told him that his father had the numbers tattooed over his heart in roman numerals. Perhaps giving the number to the name of his club was a way of keeping both of them alive. The 107 lived on through the mess of strangers in a bar with a trail of bikes out on the street that had become something more than family.

“You’re looking awfully pensive.”

Bucky looked up from his empty glass to find Steve pulling up a chair on his left. He wore a line etched above his brow that made it evident he knew something was on Bucky’s mind – something more than the drunk he’d chased down the previous night and locked up in county jail. The cops were useless and barley said a word as Bucky escorted the man into the cell himself and threw the keys in the donut box on the front desk on his way out.

Steve knew Bucky better than most. Growing up fighting in alleys together would do that to a pair of kids. Especially if one had a painfully stupid habit of provoking fights he couldn’t win in the name of moral superiority. Steve wasn’t always the wide shouldered, All-American Adonis he was now. He used to be a hell of a lot smaller. And sicker. And less of a nosy asshole.

“You’re thinking of crossing the border, aren’t you?” the low, sultry voice of Natasha Romanoff carried from across the bar. She was watching from her place in the corner, nursing a glass of vodka neat as she raised a single eyebrow in his direction.

The thing about Natasha was that she noticed everything; including the moment he’d spotted two shadowed figures under a streetlamp from the window of the bar and sprinted out the front door in the middle of a Billy Joel chorus. She hadn’t said a word, but she’d noticed how his keys were a little lighter when he returned, how his cheeks had been flushed, and a lingering smile tugged at his lips.

He wondered how it was possible she noticed such things about him. Hell – part of him wondered if she had developed some way to read minds. He wouldn’t put it past her, considering she was entirely correct in her assumption. Bucky couldn’t shake the thought of someone crossing your path after you disappeared from view. He knew exactly where May Flowers was set up – only a few blocks past the border.

The 107 and Hydra were barred from crossing into the other’s territory, but that didn’t always stop them. It often came with trouble. And it seemed as though Bucky was already contemplating risking a bit of that trouble to see you again.

“No way in hell Barnes is that stupid,” Sam rolled his eyes as he stepped up from behind the bar. A towel was draped over his shoulder, a clean glass in his hand as he stocked it back on the shelf. It was his shift to run the bar and he wasn’t entirely thrilled with it as he refilled Bucky’s glass an ounce short. Bucky reached over the bar and swiped the bottle from Sam’s hand, giving him a look as if to say ‘watch yourself’ as he tapped off his glass.

Sam Wilson was a grade A pain in Bucky’s ass but Steve had been the one to vouch for him early on. They were buddies from their time at the VA, apparently. Bucky had yet to see any of this supposed empathetic counselor shit Sam preached, but perhaps it was because the two of them butted heads constantly. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t take a beating for the guy. He’d just hold it over his head for an eternity after the fact.

Peter Parker jumped up to the bar next, a tray of empty glasses sliding onto the counter. The kid was the last one to come around, barely old enough himself to drink but he was eager for community after he lost his uncle to a Hydra mugging and ended up with the family bike. Sam thought getting Peter to work as the bus boy in the bar would be a fun initiation prank, but it turned out the kid didn’t mind it at all. His apron was usually filled with fries from the kitchen and he liked to talk to himself while he worked. Seemed he just like being around, even if his handle on the throttle was sporadic on the best of days.

“Wait--” Peter leaned on the counter. “What’s so important on the west side anyway?”

“Nothing worth getting stabbed over,” Sam huffed, setting down the glass a little harder than needed for the sake of dramatic emphasis. “Right, Barnes?”

Bucky’s silence must have lingered too long because Natasha lips curved into a knowing smirk. Sam threw his arms in the air. He looked as though he were a disgruntled parent attempting to scold a rebellious teenager – a comparison he would certainly not find as entertaining as Bucky did.

“Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you—”

“No, I’m well aware. Thank you, Sam,” Bucky bit back roughly. Any trace of amusement wiped from his features. He could still feel the dull ache between his ribs where a blade had once pierced his skin, how quick the blood as spilled down the side of his stomach and soaked into his shirt. The rush of adrenaline barely masking the desolation, the betrayal, the—

“Oh,” Peter nodded, feigning understanding. “This is about the Dot thing, right?”

The glass might have shattered under Bucky’s grip if he had the strength. Even Sam had enough sense about him to not mention that woman’s name around Bucky, but Peter – Peter was a kid and he’d only started coming around in the last few months. He was just getting a hang of riding the damn bike, he shouldn’t be expected to know the whole history of the 107 and the part Dot played in it.

Thankfully, Barton finally sauntered over from his perch in the corner of the room and set a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “A word of advice, kid. Don’t say that name again unless you want to be on bathroom duty for the foreseeable future.”

Peter swallowed, his gaze awkwardly shifting to Bucky. “But...I’m already on bathroom duty.”

A laugh echoed from where Tony had been sitting at a table in the left side of the bar; lounging back with his legs propped up on the table, a tray of fries on his lap and a full beer in his right hand. It was enough to break the tension, and soon, even Bucky cracked a smile as laughter touched every spare inch of the wood. Frames and floorboards he’d once hammered in with his own bare hands. The place deserved a little laughter every once in a while.

Bucky threw back the rest of his bourbon and set the empty glass on the counter. “I’m heading out. I’ll see you guys later.”

Natasha gave him a pointed look from across the room, one that warned him to resist the allure of a woman on the west side he barely knew. It wasn’t worth the risk – you weren’t worth the risk. You were a stranger to him and he had family he had to take care of, people to protect – and he damn well couldn’t do that if Brock Rumlow and his goons caught him in their territory.

But Bucky reasoned he knew better. He could keep a low enough profile, keep his head down. Hydra had no reason to suspect he’d dare show face on the west side after what happened the last time he’d been lured across the border. Theoretically, he wouldn’t be that stupid. Or reckless. He was the damn leader of the only club who managed to stand up to Hydra’s schemes and keep their rotten ass out of his side of town.

Yes, Natasha was right – you were a stranger and it was a foolish risk to take, but he couldn’t get you off his mind. Not with the way you had looked at him under the glow of the streetlamp behind you, the starlight gently coaxing down over your skin and touching against the full rise of your chest where your labored breathes swelled. Breaths that slowly eased, fear subsiding almost instantly in his presence. He wasn’t used to that these days.

He'd heard the rumors of the 107 and to be looked at as a place of safety, of security – he'd almost forgotten what that felt like. It took time most days to remind himself he was not the monster the children of this town told stories of; especially when they scattered in the streets, leaving behind footballs in their haste when they heard the low purr of an engine approaching.

But you – you'd made him feel like he could be more than the head of a biker club half the town feared. You'd made him feel human. And Bucky wasn’t sure he’d be able to let that go just yet.

He pushed his way outside, taking a final glance over his shoulder to the Centenarian. His home in more ways than one. Tony was at the jukebox again, swiping through the songs as if he were considering anything different than his usual selection of AC/DC top hits. Sam and Steve were laughing at the bar, seemingly teasing Natasha as she glared back at them, only for the guys to promptly shut their mouths and pretend to busy themselves with the dust on the counter. Peter and Barton were huddled in the corner, sharing the fries the kid had nabbed from the kitchen.

Bucky smiled, hanging his head.

The feared biker club of the east.

He stepped outside into the afternoon sun. His bike was parted near the sidewalk, but he knew better than to drive the thing into the west. It would be a dead giveaway – not to mention the few ounces of bourbon in his system. He’d walk it off by the time he made it to May Flowers. Hell, he barely felt it the effects of the alcohol after years of tolerance, but his mother had drilled it early enough in his head to not even swing a leg over the side of his bike with a single drop of the stuff in him. Even years after she moved out of the town that carried too many painful memories, her words never left him.

The damn thing was dangerous enough as it was, she’d tell him. With only a helmet protecting him from collision, he was giving her a damn heart attack every time she heard the engine buzzing from down the street. He’d made a promise to her to never cross that line and he was intent on keeping it. Made sure the rest of his club followed the same, too.

Bucky turned to the west side of the sidewalk; hands shoved down into his pockets. Just over the hill on the crest of the horizon, he spotted Jay's diner as it sat on the edge of the border. The same place where Sam had gotten jumped by Hydra a few years back. There had been casualties on both sides – with the interior of the diner taking the brunt of it. Bullet holes in the walls and knife marks on the upholstery. These days a closed sign turned in the window any time a bike approaching in the distance.

Bucky tugged his cap lower over his eyes, stilling himself behind the red X marked on the sidewalk. He’d sworn he would never set foot in the west again after what happened – the ache in his side an unpleasant reminder of his own foolish trust in a woman who did not deserve it.

Was he about to make the same mistake now? Was he walking straight into a trap in search of a woman he’d only met the night before – with relief in her eyes and the sweetest damn smile he’d ever seen? Was he a damn fool for thinking he could seek out even a resemblance of normalcy – to believe he might be able to chase the burning feeling inside his chest and know what it was like to truly be wanted?

He supposed he’d find out.

***

You pricked your finger on a thorn as you attempted to squeeze the stubborn rose into the bouquet. Once it was secured, you sank back into your chair and pushed against the desk. The wheels swiveled unevenly as it carried you a few feet back to get a better look at the flowers. It was always easier to see their shape from a distance – how the colors blended and interspaced together. Pinks and reds and oranges gently peppered with Baby’s Breath and Bells of Ireland.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, waiting for an ounce of satisfaction to ease the churning anxiety in your stomach, but it never came. The shop had been empty all day and you’d hoped making new arrangements to hang in the windows might attract some customers or at least keep you busy enough to avoid checking the register to find you hadn’t magically gained enough to make a full payment the next time Hydra showed up.

But no such luck. It seemed the universe was not as keen with you today.

The low rumble of your phone began buzzing inside the desk. You groaned, sliding your chair back across the tile until you slammed rather harshly into the drawers. When you pulled your phone from its hiding space, Wanda’s image appeared bright against the screen – nose scrunched up as she looked at the camera, lips pursed. Face paint from the summer festival bright upon her skin.

You tapped the green button and held the phone to your ear.

“Are you alright?” Wanda’s voice demanded through the speaker before you could so much as take in a breath. Her accent was usually thicker when she was worked up, her words blurring into one, and it was unusually heavy on her tongue.

“Hello to you, too, Wanda,” you chuckled, spinning in your chair as you stared up at the ceiling.

“Pietro heard you were accosted last night,” Wanda pressed and the smile fell from your face. You sat up on the edge of the chair. Damn Pietro and his neighborhood gossip.

“Accosted is a strong word...” you replied cautiously, wincing when you heard Wanda scoff in return. “It was nothing, Wan. Just some drunk moron. He was too out of it to actually do anything, honestly.”

Wanda huffed. “Well, Pietro heard that some random man wandered into county lock up dragging around a drunk by his collar and tossed him into the cell himself! Cops didn’t say a word, of course – bunch of useless fools. Know anything about that?”

You shook your head, stunned. You hadn’t seen where the drunk had run off to after Blue-eyes chased him away. Hell – you couldn’t remember much of anything else after you saw Blue-eyes. A fireworks display could have been set off behind the Centenarian and you wouldn’t have noticed.

“No, I— A man helped me. I don’t even know his name but he sort of came to my rescue... I guess.” The keychain was sitting in the drawer where your phone had been; the black plastic shiny under the reflection on the overhanging lights. You slid a finger down the side, a smile twitching at the edge of your mouth.

“But the drunk... you're sure he wasn’t Hydra?” Wanda asked warily.

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to remember the man’s face. “Yes, I’m certain. Besides, I thought you were the one who said they wouldn’t cross the border.”

“It’s dangerous for them to do so – reckless, really – but it doesn’t mean they won’t,” Wanda warned, her voice low. You could vaguely make out Pietro’s voice as he called the order of a customer in the background. “There are consequences if they’re caught. I’m sure you remember the fight that nearly took out the diner by the border. Sent a bunch of guys on each side to the hospital. There’s a reason those men have so many scars, Y/n. You’ve seen Rumlow’s face.”

You swallowed. The vivid image of the mountains and craters on the side of his face drawing shivers down your spine. It was the same face that haunted you at night, peering in through the window amongst the shadows – taunting you. You ran your fingers over the glass face of your father’s watch, drawing on its stability to ground you.

“They don’t do it often,” she tried to ease you, “but it happens. The 107 have restricted the east to their control so Hydra can’t go around extorting people over here the way they did your dad. But... unless the 107 catches them... I imagine they could do as they pleased.”

You hadn’t considered that before. You’d always considered the east side to be a safe haven from Hydra. The 107 – despite the rumors of their violence on par with what Rumlow was capable of – scared you less than Hydra did. They didn’t show up in your shop the first Tuesday of every month and threaten you in your own home. It was like picking the worse of two evils. You’d rather chose the devil you didn’t know because the one lingering over your shoulder was vile enough.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Wanda said softly. “I just want you to be safe. The Hydra club is dangerous, Y/n. They already think they can control you; I’m just scared of what else they feel entitled to.”

You didn’t tell her the words sinking like metal into your stomach – that Hydra did control you, that they held your dignity and your life within the palm of their leather gloved hands. You owed them a debt and until it was paid, they owned you. But Wanda was only trying to help and there was no sense worrying her over what she could not change.

“I’ll be all right,” you said, absentmindedly picking up the keychain in your grip and the anxiety began to melt from your chest. “I can handle the Hydra club. I’ve done it for long enough. As long as I keep making payments, they’re not going to do anything. Wouldn’t make a very good business model of they did.”

You tried to laugh, but it was humorless and forced. Wanda didn’t so much as make an attempt. Business had been slow lately and you both knew it. The twins put all of their money into their tea shop and still – they never failed to offer you help, but you couldn’t take it. You couldn’t drag them into this with you. You'd figure it out. Your father had always prided himself on your instincts – you'd find a way through this. You didn’t have much else of a choice.

The bell rang at the front of the shop.

“Sorry Wan, I have to go,” you mumbled into the phone and hung up before she could reply. You’d text her later, let her know that you were doing okay even if you weren’t. Sometimes pretending made it a little easier. It allowed you to believe for just a moment that it was true.

You shoved the keys and your phone back into the drawer. The shop hadn’t had a single customer all morning so you brushed a hand down the front of your wrinkled apron and attempted to fix the flyaway strands in your hair. You rushed back up to the front, pressing on a smile though it felt unnatural against your cheeks.

“Welcome to May Flowers! Please let me know if there’s anything I can—”

You froze, watching the man stroll around the shop. His footsteps impossibly quiet, his fingertips gently touching the ends of open petals with a whispered smile. Hidden under a layered jacket and a baseball cap, it took a moment before you recognized him.

Blue-eyes.

***

“What did you call me?” Bucky chuckled as you appeared behind the counter. You must not have realized you’d said the name aloud as your gaze quicky dropped nervously to the floor, an anxious smile peering up on your lips.

There were flowers on your dress. Tiny, little printed bouquets of blue and purple flowing along the soft cream fabric; like you couldn’t get enough of the things when they surrounded you in this shop, you had to have them on your sundresses, too. Bucky felt his gaze trailing over every single one; at the ends of the seams by your thighs, along your hips, the fluttering sleeves on your shoulder. He only tore his gaze away before it could linger over your chest in a desperate attempt at chivalry.

“Sorry, I didn’t-- You never told me your name,” you replied, slightly flustered, and damn – if it wasn’t the most endearing thing Bucky had ever seen. Hiding behind whisps of fallen hair and the curve of your palm against your cheeks as if you could disappear from him entirely.

You were just as he’d remembered from the night before. Just as lovely and as beautiful – though this time, he could see you in the full light of the shop, surrounded by flowers and greenery. Ethereal, if he had to put a name to it, and he most certainly did. He’d never seen someone so full of light and levity and he wondered if you could bring life to everything you touched. From the smallest of rose buds to the heart beating frantically inside his chest.

He could already feel it beating a bit faster as you smiled nervously at him.

Bucky tried not to take stock in the fact that you’d been thinking about him enough to give him a name of your own – a nickname given from the color of his eyes— but it was damn near impossible to ignore the jolt fluttering in his chest at the thought.

You'd been thinking about him.

“My name’s Bucky,” he offered, slowly making his way up to the counter. He picked up a loose stem of a lily from the floor that had fallen from its display and slipped it behind his back. He twisted it between his fingers, waiting until he was close enough and then slowly, he extended the flower to you.

Your eyes jumped to the lily, your lips parting slightly as if you couldn’t quite control the small gasp that pulled in your lungs. Slowly, your lips curved brightly into a smile as you pinched your fingers around the delicate stem, your fingers grazing his touch for only a moment, but it was enough to send jolts of electricity through his body.

It was a simple gesture, one that barely required any effort at all, and Bucky was suddenly desperate to do something more – something the required planning and effort and time, just to see what you’d do, to see if your smile could grow any wider. Anything to make you smile like that again.

He'd pick you a garden worth of lilies if you wanted. He’d plant you a garden if you’d smile for him once more and he didn’t even know your name.

“Y/n,” you finally replied, bringing up the lily to your nose and taking in a full breath. The petals touched your cheeks, delicate and fragile. The smile pressed higher on your face and it left Bucky’s stomach in knots.

“It is a pleasure, Y/n,” Bucky said, leaning his elbows against the counter. He tasted the syllables of your name on his tongue, let them slide over his lips, tremble in his voice. He quite liked the way it felt, how you seemed to shiver under its tone.

You slid the lily in a vase with a neck small enough to accompany only a single stem. Then, you set it on the counter beside the register, adjusting the petals until they laid how you liked them. You took such tender care with it – such a fragile, breakable thing. He studied your movements, the gingered touch of your fingertips over the leaves, feathered light as if you’d barely made contact at all.

Was he a fool for wishing you might touch him the same way? Possibly. Almost definitely. The 107 would have his head for thinking such thoughts of a woman on the west side, but damn if he couldn’t help the ache instead his chest at the very thought.

“I’m a little surprised to see you here, Bucky.”

He shrugged, taking a step back and pretended as though he hadn’t been trying to get you off his mind for the last eighteen hours. “Wanted to make sure you got home safe. And clearly...”

Bucky gestured to the shop and the evidence that you were alive and well as you stood before him in your floral printed dress, the ends flowing against your thighs, obstructed only by the white apron draped over your front. Hand stitched embroidery of the shop’s name, May Flowers, was woven into the pocket. The apron looked a few decades old – with fraying edges and stains on the front, but it fit you perfectly. It must have held meaning for you given the way your hand brushed over the stitching in the pocket in comforting traces along the lettering.

Suddenly, you perked up and rushed back to the desk in the corner of the shop without a single word. Bucky grinned, watching from the distance as you dug your hand into the drawers, pushing aside papers and old condiment packets, muttering under your breath, until you pulled out your keyring. On the end, was the self-defense keychain Bucky had given you the night before.

Sam had given it to him as a gag gift a few years back – making some joke about how Bucky couldn’t swing hard enough to bring down an opponent and needed the extra help. Didn’t matter whether it was true or whether Bucky’s fingers could even fit through the loops, but he kept it anyway. He was glad he did as you held it up in your hand, closing your fist around the grip. You made your way back to him, still holding the keyring, admiring the sharp edges of the plastic.

“I didn’t end up seeing anyone else last night but I felt safer holding this. Reminded me I’m not as defenseless as I feel sometimes... so... thank you, again.” Your voice was quieter, almost reserved. Your gaze shifted to the register as you ran a finer along the sharpest edge of the keychain, thought pondering through your mind you did not give words to. It pressed a frown onto your lips and Bucky felt something terrible lurch in his stomach.

“I hope you never have to use it,” Bucky said, gently breaking through the silence.

You looked up at him, a heavy weight on your shoulders as you nodded. “Me, too."

Just as quickly as the storm clouds had rolled in over the horizon, you pushed them away with the soft brush of a smile – albeit momentarily forced – but soon enough it began to touch your eyes as you set the keys on the counter. It seemed as though you might have had practice with engineering your own emotions into something kinder.

“I’m glad you came by, Bucky,” you said quietly, as if the words were ones you’d intended to keep hidden inside your thoughts, the evident relief aching within your voice.

Something inside his chest swelled as you smiled at him and Bucky was determined to chase that feeling until he was suffocated under it.

#I CAN ALMOST FEEL THE ANGST COMING #fic rec

[dolcezzasfantasy]

Hi! So, for the lost and found drabble request thing, could you do one for the reader and Bucky's relationship?? No pressure xx

my imagination ran pretty wild for this one KDSJHFK i hope this lives up !!

set in the lost and found universe ; catch up on the rest of the series here <3

you and bucky had a really long run the two of you dated for five years before you got engaged but even before that, bucky would constantly talk about your future, like marriage was inevitable

'you know, doll, our children are gonna be so pretty,' he'd say

'really? what makes you think that?' you'd say, amused

'look at their mother,' he'd chuckle in response

you never got used to him constantly complimenting you, in front of his friends, family, or even when the two of you were alone

'isn't she the best?' he'd constantly say to his friends, and you'd never stop blushing, because how could you?

bucky would always buy you flowers -- anytime he saw a flower, he'd quickly nick it and bring it back home to you

daisies, sunflowers, hibiscuses, and so many more flowers filled your garden and your hair

back to showing you off -- bucky would love to bring you over to his family

he grew up with three younger sisters and a mother, so them liking you was something very important to him

the first time his mother had invited you over for dinner, you were very visibly nervous

bucky was also nervous, but he didn't show it

he knew they were going to like you -- because how could they not? how could anyone not fall head over heels in love with you like he had? it was something beyond his comprehension -- but he was still nervous

everything went well, though

you and his sisters had a lot of fun talking (about him, he suspected) and his mother really loved you

living with bucky was a very laid back experience

he'd cook a lot, especially during your years at university, and he'd do the chores a lot

he didn't care about what all the other guys his age said about how 'the woman should be doing the household work'

he didn't really believe in gender roles (so ahead of his time T-T) and he'd do whatever he could so that you could pursue your dreams

he'd be so proud of you, and when you graduated, his whistles and cheers were the loudest

'that's my girl!' he'd whooped at the end of the ceremony

you'd often give guest lectures at colleges, and sometimes he'd sneak in because everyone thought he looked young enough to be a college student

he'd marvel at you in all your glory, up on the stage talking so passionately about what you love, and sometimes he'd lean in to the person sitting beside him and whisper, 'i'm her boyfriend,' with the cheesiest grin on his face

sometimes you'd catch him out of the corner of your eye and stumble over your words briefly, and he'd wink in your direction

when the two of you had first moved in together, bucky couldn't keep his hands off of you and under your shirt

he hadn't changed one bit since

and it didn't look like he ever would

but how could you ever say no to him?

after your *ahem* sessions, he'd take care of you, and wipe your inner thighs with a soft, warm towel

he'd pepper you with kisses and tell you over and over again that he loved you, almost as though he thought it'd never be enough

the two of you had a very tender relationship, and somehow bucky would always have be touching you, one way or another, as though to let you know that he was there for you, always

either on your shoulder, in your hand or around your arm

sometimes, late at night, when the two of you didn't want to sleep, you'd go down to the kitchen, pour some red wine into a couple of glasses and turn on some music to dance to

the lights would be switched off, and you and bucky would sway around. your face would be buried in the crook of his neck, hands around his neck, glass in one hand. his arm would be around your waist, and he'd press soft kisses to your crown

the two of you would stay in those small moments forever, if you could

thanks for the ask !!

#i have one more request queued up after this djhkf i really wasnt expecting ppl to send asks 😭❤️‍🩹 #ask #anon #lost and found #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff

[dolcezzasfantasy]

jdfkhs thank u sm 😭😭

no expectations

prompt | “I come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is and always will be...yours.” - for @bemine-bucky 's writing challenge for 1k (congrats!!)

pairing | bucky barnes x reader, bodyguard!au

word count | 13.6k (this got away from me. blame my overactive imagination)

warnings | innuendoes, cursing, wounds, gun violence (briefly), yearning (you guys i am NOT KIDDING when i say there is yearning in this. think kanej from six of crows level), fluff

notes | i had a very fun time writing this, and i definitely got very carried away <3 i hope u enjoy!!

‘yeah, i know,’ bucky says into his phone. ‘steve, you’ve told me this before.’

‘i know,’ comes steve’s voice, ‘i just thought that maybe you’d forget.’

‘how could i forget something as important as that?’

‘cheque cashing dates aren’t that important to you, but okay,’ steve says, with a sigh. ‘also, we have that conference today.’

‘oh, yeah,’ bucky says, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘the one with all the companies?’

‘the big ones, anyway,’ steve says. bucky knows steve well enough — they’re childhood best friends, after all — to know that he is smiling on the other end of the phone.

‘sir, he’s ready for you now,’ says the new secretary as he approaches bucky by the shoulder. bucky’s dad told him he wants to talk, but didn’t say anything more than that.

‘steve, i gotta go. we’ll talk later, yeah?’

‘okay, then.’

with that, bucky hangs up and walks towards his father’s office.

he pushes open the door, and he sees a woman sitting in one of the chairs in front of his father. he can’t see the woman’s face.

‘bucky,’ his dad says, beckoning him to sit next to the mystery woman. ‘y/n, this is my son.’

as bucky takes the seat that’s vacant next to you, he catches a glimpse of your face. by god, are you beautiful. he wonders why you’re in the office. you’re dressed far too formally to be an employee here.

you extend your hand to shake bucky’s. bucky takes a second before registering that he actually has to do something other than stare into your pretty eyes.

‘right, hi,’ he says, rather flustered.

‘bucky, this is y/n.’

‘right…’ bucky says. ‘pleasure to meet you, y/n.’

you smile at him, and turn to face his dad once again.

‘she’s the new head of your security detail,’ his father says.

bucky is still smiling for a moment, because he isn’t sure he’s heard his father right. the smile slowly eases itself out of his face as the new piece of information sinks in. ‘what?’ he says, finally.

‘the new head of your security detail,’ his father repeats.

bucky narrows his eyes at mr. barnes. ‘really?’

‘yep.’

he turns to look at you, and your gaze is on your lap. there is a knowing smile playing on your mouth. he wonders if you know he’s already got a little crush.

‘wow. when did this happen?’ he asks. his previous and first bodyguard had quit a couple of weeks ago, and since then he’d thought his father would pick out someone from the existing team to lead. turns out, he was blissfully wrong.

‘she’s fresh out of quantico training,’ his father beamed.

‘the base for fbi agents?’ bucky didn’t want to put a price on his life, but he wasn’t sure he was worth an fbi agent’s protection.

‘yeah,’ his father says. ‘anyway, i should get going. i’ll leave you two to talk.’ with that, his father exits the office.

‘hi,’ he says, in an awkward attempt to make conversation. ‘so, why aren’t you an fbi agent?’

‘i need to work here for a couple of months for the job experience.’

‘oh. interesting. so… you’ll leave? after a few months?’

‘yeah.’

bucky feels an unwelcome and sudden pang of hurt in his chest. he doesn’t know why — he just feels drawn to you. other than the fact that you’re drop-dead gorgeous, there’s something to you; like an essence. he can’t quite explain it.

‘i, uh, have a meeting in some time.’

‘sounds good.’

‘yeah.’

he doesn’t know why he told you that. maybe he should just stand up, and walk out of the office before he embarrasses himself any further.

‘we could walk to my office. it’s cleaner,’ he suggests.

you let out a soft chuckle. ‘alright, then.’

the soft smile on your face brings a smile to his. again, he can’t quite explain what it is about you that is so endearing. he’s known about your existence for less than an hour now, and he already knows he likes you very much.

as the two of you stand in the elevator heading to the floor of his office, you speak up. ‘why did your last head of security quit?’

‘oh,’ bucky lets out a cough, ‘he didn’t wanna do the whole bodyguard thing anymore.’

‘why not?’

‘he didn’t say.’ but bucky wanted to give you a better answer than that. he didn’t want you to quit the job out of fear. ‘but i have a sneaking suspicion he did it because he wanted to go live in rome with his lover.’

‘that’s…’ you chuckle once again, and bucky feels butterflies flutter in his stomach, ‘…very romantic.’

‘really? you think so?’

‘yeah. it’s the stuff of fairytales, i think.’

‘wow,’ bucky says, running his hand through his hair. he likes the way you think. it’s as though nothing in this cruel world can taint it.

the elevator dings open. he extends his hand, beckoning you to go ahead, in a gentlemanly manner.

‘i’m the bodyguard, mr. barnes. step on out,’ you say, with a laugh lingering on your tongue.

‘right. of course,’ bucky says, walking out first.

he leads you to his office.

‘it is cleaner, isn’t it?’ he says, as he watches you observe his shelves.

‘there’s not a very discernible difference, not as far as i can tell.’

‘ouch,’ he says, pretending to be offended.

‘you read stephen king?’ you say, as you pick up the copy of 11/22/63 resting on one of his shelves.

‘love him.’

he watches you as you flip through the pages of the novel. ‘you’ve got good taste.’

‘thank you.’

suddenly, you turn to look at him. ‘why were you so surprised when your dad introduced us?’

‘what?’

‘you were a little taken aback. i’d like to know why.’

bucky racks his brain, pretending to remember why. ‘um, i don’t know. was i taken aback?’

‘yeah. is it because you don’t feel completely safe with a woman responsible?’

‘what?’

‘it’s just an assumption. god knows many others don’t feel comfortable with it.’

‘did i, uh, say something to imply that?’

‘no, not really.’

‘well, then, i don’t know. maybe i was just surprised about how fast my father found a replacement.’

you hum in response.

bucky knows he’s lying. he wasn’t taken aback because he was surprised his father had hired a woman to protect him; that would be crazy. he was taken aback because his father had hired a woman to protect him.

he still remembers how painstaking it was to convince his father to promote the most proficient salesperson in a branch. his father had been adamant on not doing so, simply because the candidate in question was a female. it was repulsive — bucky would’ve never imagined his father thinking this way in a million years. and it hadn’t gotten better since then.

so when he realised that his father had hired a woman to protect him, he was understandably surprised about the fact that his misogynistic father trusted a woman enough to protect his son.

but he was glad his father improved.

just as bucky is about to say something to you, his phone rings, louder than what he would have liked. he fishes out from his jacket’s pocket. it’s steve.

he presses the phone to his ear.

‘yellow,’ he greets.

‘you— what?’

‘it’s a pun. it was in modern family.’

‘okay…’ he can almost hear steve shake his head disapprovingly. ‘the conference, bucky.’

‘ah, fuck.’ he looks up at you. ‘give me a few minutes, i’ll be there.’

‘after all the reminders—’ bucky hangs up before steve can continue his sermon.

‘remember that meeting i was telling you about?’ bucky tells you.

‘yeah…?’

‘it’s now. bye!’ he picks up a file resting on his desk and jogs out the door.

he’s very close to exiting the building when he feels someone touch his shoulder. ‘wha—’ it’s you.

‘i’m supposed to tag along.’

‘really?’

‘yep.’

this was strange. his previous bodyguard never tagged along to conferences.

‘um, okay. that’s fine.’

he walks out to the car parked in front of the building. before he can hold the metal handle of the car door, your grip falls on it and the door is pulled open.

he didn’t expect that to happen. ‘thank you.’

‘you’re welcome.’

he sits inside, and you walk over to the passenger seat.

very soon, the car pulls up to stark industries, where the meeting is taking place. bucky almost runs up to the entrance, and he can hear the soft clatter of your footsteps not too far behind him.

once he reaches the conference room, and pushes the door open, everyone’s heads snap around to him. he was panting.

‘hello,’ he musters out. ‘i apologise for being late.’

‘it’s no problem— who’s that?’ steve says.

bucky turns around to see you standing behind him, completely calm and collected, like you hadn’t just run up four flights of stairs.

‘i have to accompany you everywhere,’ you whisper.

bucky doesn’t have time to argue. ‘the new head of my security detail.’

‘why do you need a babysitter?’ says natasha romanov, the ceo of the widow’s web, the most popular internet service provider in the state, nation even.

‘she’s not a babysitter,’ bucky says, as he takes a seat next to her. ‘tell her you’re not a babysitter,’ bucky pleads to you. you’re standing with a stoic, expressionless face against the wall behind him, hands joined at your front.

‘i’m not a babysitter,’ you deadpan.

‘can’t trust her,’ jokes yelena belova, natasha’s sister and chief operative officer of her company.

‘can we please get on with the meeting?’ says loki laufeyson, one of the ceos of asgard, a real estate firm.

bucky shoots natasha and yelena — or as they’re commonly referred to in the city, the widows — a dirty look, and then turns his head to look at the whiteboard tony stark is standing at, the ceo of stark industries, the biggest weapons supplier in the country.

‘okay,’ tony says, ‘is it absolutely necessary to have her here?’ his gaze is on you.

there is an unfalteringly solemn look on your face. ‘it’s mr. barnes’ orders.’

‘just let her,’ bucky says.

‘okay…’ tony picks up the marker. ‘so this is what we’re gonna discuss today.’

the rest of the meeting is a hazy blur in your mind. you weren’t really paying attention, if you’re being completely honest with yourself. you don’t think you were expected to pay attention to a boring sales meeting. or whatever they were talking about. you have earpieces nestled in both of your ears, and you’re playing some music in there. it’s at a lower volume than you’re used to, so it’ll be easier to listen to people talk over it.

it was proving to be very hard to not bop your head along to the music, especially when your favourite artist, the arctic monkeys, came on the player.

you think it’s been an hour since the meeting first started. as you look around, you see some more of the people who didn’t react to your presence as visibly and audibly as the others did.

you notice thor odinson, the blonde man who you know is loki laufeyson’s brother, and another ceo at asgard. he’s an attractive man, you can’t deny — just not your type. when your friends had been fan-girling over him, you were simply listening, and occasionally letting them know how concerning it was that they would, in their own words, let him do whatever he wished to them.

you recognise bruce banner, the scientist who owns banner and sons, a top notch research facility. you remember how happy your niece had been when he’d donated an entire lab to her university. but then again, that was what he was known for. a generous philanthropist.

you see clint barton, the ceo of hawk’s eye, the biggest sports goods retailer in the state. you haven’t heard much about him, except that he’s one for keeping his life private and away from the spotlight. good for him.

‘okay, we’re done,’ you hear tony stark say. you quickly tap your earpiece, so it will stop playing the music.

‘okay, let’s go,’ bucky says, getting up.

‘uh-uh, not so fast, barnes,’ loki says. he extends his hand out to you. ‘nice to meet you. i’m loki.’

‘y/n,’ you say, in response. he has an english accent. nice.

‘did it hurt?’ he asks, suddenly. bucky knows exactly what’s coming next. he just prays you don’t ask the question.

‘what?’ you asked the question. bucky wants to roll his eyes back into his head.

‘when you fell from heaven, i mean.’

you chuckle. the joke is so lame, it’s actually kind of funny.

‘you know,’ he leans it, ‘not to sound cheesy or anything, but your smile really lights up the room.’

‘oh, my god,’ bucky says under his breath.

‘um, thank you,’ you say. how is it that you’re just now realising how handsome loki is?

‘you should know that i’m trying very hard not to kiss you right now,’ loki said, with a smile.

your lips part in amusement.

‘jesus christ, loki, leave the poor girl alone,’ steve chuckles.

‘we should probably get going,’ bucky tells you.

‘yeah.’

just as you’re heading out, loki taps you on your arm, and hands you his business card. ‘call me,’ he says with a playful smirk.

you stuff the card into your pocket — just in case — and walk out into the hallway with bucky, softly chuckling to yourself.

‘don’t mind loki,’ he tells you. ‘he’s a little insane.’

‘i can tell,’ you say.

‘you know, you don’t have to accompany me everywhere.’

‘getting tired of me already, are you?’

‘no, no, no. it’s just that it can get a little inconvenient.’

‘well, i’m just following your dad’s orders.’

‘did he really ask you to do that?’

you nod.

‘huh.’

as soon as bucky reaches the building of his office, he rushes to his dad’s cabin. he asks you to wait outside because he wants to talk about something personal to his father. you comply.

outside of his office, you pull out your phone, and press the play button on spotify. a smile grows on your face when the song arabella plays. god, you love that song.

when bucky enters the office, it’s empty. he plops down in one of the chairs in front of his father’s desk, tapping his foot on the floor restlessly.

bucky thinks it’s been fifteen minutes before his father steps into the office. he doesn’t bother getting up; he’s far too tired for that. ‘where have you been?’

‘hello to you too,’ his father says, as he walks to sit in his chair.

‘did you ask y/n to follow me everywhere?’

‘what?’

‘yeah, you did!’

‘it’s for your safety.’

‘you’re treating me like a child!’

‘son—’

‘nothing’s gonna happen to me! i’m gonna be fine.’

‘she’s still gonna accompany you everywhere.’

bucky scoffs. ‘there was no point in coming here.’ he gets up and storms away.

when he walks outside, he sees you bopping your head to something. you don’t seem to have noticed that he’s out.

‘y/n,’ he says, placing a hand on your shoulder.

you jolt away from the touch in shock. ‘uh, sorry.’ you pull the earpiece out.

‘what were you listening to there?’

‘a true crime podcast,’ you lie.

‘you were head rocking to a true crime podcast?’

‘maybe.’

‘just tell me.’

‘the arctic monkeys,’ you say in a small voice.

‘ooh, what song?’

‘r u mine.’

‘oh, that’s a good one. arguably their best.’

‘i know, right? personally, i like arabella and suck it and see more, but r u mine is definitely up there.’

‘hey, are you going to their concert?’

‘the one that’s in a month?’

‘yep,’ bucky says.

you chuckle. ‘yeah, probably not.’

‘oh, no! why not?’

‘well, i don’t have a ticket, and i certainly don’t have the time.’

‘that’s a shame.’

‘well, nothing i can do. it’s alright, though.’

‘just so you know, i’ll be there. which means… you’re gonna have to accompany, no matter what.’

‘oh, god, i really can’t—’

‘shh. we wanna keep me safe, don’t we?’ he smiles.

you give him a small smile. you hadn’t known this man for a long time, but there was something incredibly endearing about him. other than the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous, of course. he was charming. and as you just realised, rather kind.

🥀 ❤️‍🩹 🌊 🪐 🍷

you turn off the radio in the car as you pull up to the barnes mansion. you have been working for him for a week now, and this is the first time you are visiting his home. his grand, very luxurious home.

as you walk inside, you wonder how they manage to keep it clean. the marble floors are so tidy that you can see your undistorted reflection in them.

you approach the butler the moment you see him.

‘where can i find mr. barnes?’

the butler coughed. ‘he’s, uh, in his room. upstairs, on the left,’ he says, pointing to which staircase you have to take.

‘okay, then. thank you. have a great day.’

the butler bows and walks past you.

you walk over to the staircase, running your hands over the smooth railings. you wonder why the butler seemed so… hesitant to tell you something as simple as someone being in their room.

it’s easy to locate which of the countless, monotonous and repetitive door shapes belong to mr. barnes. most of the doors are open, and there are two that are closed. one of the closed ones has a tie around the doorknob. you sigh in frustration. the butler’s hesitancy seems as though it was well founded, much to your dismay.

you walk over to it, face scrunching up in discomfort. this wasn’t part of your job description. your heart hammers in your chest as you hope you don’t walk in on something… obscene, for a lack of a better word.

you gingerly knock on the door. nothing. it’s dead silent. you press your eyelids shut for a moment, and knock on the door harder. nothing. you decide to take a leap of faith. there aren’t any sounds, so what’s the worst thing you could walk in on?

you wrap your fingers around the cold, metal doorknob slowly, not knowing whether you want it to be unlocked or locked. either way, it’s a loss and a win both. you decide it’s a waste of time to think about something this trivial so much, so you twist it open.

the door creaks as you open it up slowly. a sigh of relief escapes your nostrils. nothing too bad. you can see mr. barnes dozing off on his bed diagonally, fully clothed. surprisingly, he’s wearing a tie. there’s a man sleeping at the foot of his bed, lightly snoring. also fully clothed and wearing a tie.

you thank the heavens.

you clear your throat. you see mr. barnes flinch, and his hands go up to rub his eyes. he groans.

you clear your throat once again, and decide to talk. ‘sir, you have a meeting in an hour.’

his eyes open. he blinks a few times, probably to get rid of the morning bleariness. ‘right,’ he says, in a gravelly voice.

as he sits up, you notice that he’s wearing his shirt from last night. his pants are off — only boxers on. it’s a strange fashion choice, but you’re certainly not one to judge. you can’t recall the last time you went shopping for clothes.

bucky wonders why you look so rattled, and then he sees the tie hung around the doorknob. you probably have ideas. he sighs. he probably forgot to take it down from a past… encounter. well, there’s not much he can do about it now.

‘peter,’ he says.

the man on the floor jerks up. ‘yes, sir.’

‘this is peter, an intern. he had a few questions about how to start and we got a little carried away.’

there’s an imprint of a file on peter’s cheek. you notice that peter doesn’t look very old. he couldn’t be more than twenty years of age.

you nod. ‘should i go wait downstairs?’

‘uh,’ he says, still trying to register that he’s awake, ‘okay. yes. do that.’

‘okay.’ with that, you head out.

once you reach downstairs, you notice that his breakfast is already laid out. waffles, and orange juice. childish, you think. but maybe waffles transcend age.

you see that there are two more plates of waffles and two more glasses of juice laid out. just as you’re about to make a guess at who it’s for, mr. barnes walks downstairs.

he’s wearing a suit. nothing out of the ordinary — but something flutters inside you. not that you show it, but something definitely flutters inside you. he doesn’t look bad.

if you could, you would slap yourself. you’re not supposed to be thinking this way about your client. revolting. you take your eyes off of him, and redirect them back to the waffles. in some weird way, both the waffles and mr. barnes make you feel the same way — fluttery and careless. like you’d abandon everything important to enjoy it.

‘i know, i look really good,’ mr. barnes smirks. you didn’t even notice that you were staring.

‘you look okay.’

he chuckles. ‘so, slight problem.’

‘what?’

‘banner canceled on our meeting. he said he had other affairs to attend to.’

‘oh.’

‘yeah. so, i was thinking, we could go out.’ he leans on the chair in front of you.

‘do you have somewhere you need to be?’

‘not really, but— wait. will you come along if i say i do?’ there’s a hopeful smile on bucky’s face.

‘i have to tag along with you.’

‘yes, you do.’ he’s grinning wide.

you bit on your tongue to stop from smiling. he wanted to spend time with you. slap. but he wanted to spent time with you, and he was willing to make excuses for it. slap.

‘where do you have to go?’ you say, playing along. not because of your stupid crush, but because it’s your job. yeah, you think to yourself, you tell yourself that.

‘i was thinking the new cafe that’s opened up in town. what’s the name?’ he thinks about it for a second. ‘interstellar, i think. sounds great, and i’ve heard great things about it.’

‘okay, then.’ you head towards the door, but when mr. barnes doesn’t follow you, you stop and turn around. ‘what?’

‘wait, i have to go and tell jarvis to save these waffles. they look too good to be left here.’

‘okay…’ and you wait. very soon, he comes jogging back.

‘okay, let’s go.’

the two of you are sitting in the car.

‘how far away is this place?’ you ask. it’s been at least fifteen minutes, and you are certain he said the cafe was nearby.

‘uh, i really don’t know. it says here it’s ten more minutes away.’

‘you said it was close.’

‘twenty five minutes isn’t that long,’ he said. ‘unless…’ he looks at you with a smirk.

when you catch on to what he’s implying, you scoff. ‘you are a child.’

‘well, to my knowledge, children don’t make such good jokes.’

‘what makes you think it was a good joke?’

‘judging by the way you smiled.’

oh. maybe you had smiled. but you know for certain it wasn’t because the joke was funny.

‘okay,’ he says, upon you staying silent, ‘i’m sorry.’ he’s holding in laughter.

‘the context is very important, barnes. all sex jokes fall flat if you bring up context.’

‘which is precisely why you don’t,’ he winks at you in the rearview mirror.

you roll your eyes.

throughout the ride, bucky keeps stealing a few glances at you. he enjoys you like this, witty and sarcastic. he likes having someone challenge him. but he likes you equally in the times you’re more quiet. he doesn’t know if it’s whether you’re shy, or if you simply don’t like talking. to anyone but him, he thinks, rather jokingly. you probably see him as all the other men in corporate — misogynistic, racist, and just straight up rude. it wasn’t a particularly flattering stereotype.

but he sees you as something beautiful; the glow of the full moon on a beach at nighttime, the sight of the sun awakening at the crack of dawn, and the sound of the thunder silencing everything around it on a stormy night. everything at once.

he hasn’t known you for a long time. but he wants to have. he wants to know everything about you: ranging from your birthday to something as trivial as your favourite flower. because it wouldn’t be trivial. not if it was your favourite flower.

he can’t quite explain it. he thought it was just a silly little crush; the likes of which you have on strangers at the airport, but forget about once you’ve boarded your flight. but this is different — wildly different. if anything, his crush had magnified. it isn’t love — maybe — but it’s enough to keep him thinking about you.

he’d often occupy his mind with memories of small things you’d do during the day. he’d think about how you’d manage to water the plants in his office twice a day, without fail. he’d think about how your breath would hitch with excitement every single time you saw something pretty: a painting, an album cover, doodles on a ripped out page. he’d think about how you’d mindlessly scribble words in your albeit messy handwriting in your notepad when he was busy typing away on a computer. he’d think about how strands of hair from behind your ear would keep falling in front of your face, and how sometimes when you got tired of having to constantly push it back over and over again, you'd simply try to push it back with an aggressive puff of breath.

‘what?’ you chuckle. he realises that he’s been staring for a second too long.

he redirects his gaze back to the road. ‘nothing,’ he says, with a cough. subtle, he mocks himself.

you nod, and return back to staring at the clouds from the car window. he finds it mesmerising that you find something that overlooked so interesting.

and he finds it terribly clichéd that he keeps thinking about you.

he knows he can’t be with you. it’s obvious. even if he wants to — which he does, with each part of his aching soul — you won’t let it happen. so he spares you the responsibility of breaking his heart. knowingly, that is. it’s not like you aren’t breaking his heart every second he’s reminded you’re his bodyguard.

as the gps had so aptly predicted, the two of you reach the cafe in ten minutes, give or take a few seconds.

bucky beckons over the waiter there, and asks for a table for two.

‘of course,’ the waiter — adam — says, and leads you to a booth in the far end of the cafe, right next to the jukebox.

‘well, isn’t this just cozy?’ he remarks, looking around the mostly empty but very aesthetically decorated interior of the place.

‘yeah, it’s pretty good.’

he picks up the menu, and you do too.

‘what are you gonna order?’ he asks, peeking out from behind the card.

‘uh,’ you say, head intently buried in the food names, ‘maybe some ice cream.’

‘ice cream for breakfast? rebellious.’

you laugh. he thinks it’s the sweetest song ever — much better than anything the arctic monkeys have ever written. and that’s saying a lot.

‘i already had my breakfast.’

‘well, i’ll take some pancakes.’

you hum in response.

as you look at mr. barnes, you think about how different your life would’ve been, had you not taken up this job. you wouldn’t have met him, which means you wouldn’t have been plagued by the pain of not being able to kiss his stupid smiles and grins off of his face everyday. but maybe it was a good kind of pain.

he probably doesn’t see you as anything more than a bodyguard. and that was probably for the best. he flirts with you, says a small, eager voice in your head. you push it away. he probably does with everyone. as much as you wanted to believe the slightest possibility that he liked you as more than just hovering company, the chances were slim and it was bad. and unprofessional.

when the food the two of you have ordered comes, you immediately focus your eyes on it. it was becoming increasingly hard to not stare at him — especially in his suit — and maybe having something to focus on would help.

you take a stab at the ice cream in front of you. it’s surprisingly firm. you continue to work your fork into it.

when bucky gets his pancakes, he immediately cuts into it with his spoon. there’s a lot of honey on it. perfect.

as he’s eating his first bite, he’s reminded of a particular scene in the series bridgerton. he feels the urge to keel over thinking about the show. he was forced to watch it by his sister, rebecca. she had come over for winter break last year from london, and she had chosen to make him watch bridgerton. he had been foolish to think that his sister loved him.

but anyway, the quality of the show wasn’t the point. the point was that there was a scene in one of the episodes, a move made by a character, that seemed to have attracted one of the other characters. for the life of him, he can’t remember their names. nevertheless, he decides to try it out.

he licks his tongue seductively — sloppily, more like — over the curve of his spoon, but you don’t notice. your head is turned around, and it seems that you’re observing the general atmosphere of the cafe. he clears his throat. still nothing. he furrows his brows in confusion.

in a lousy attempt to get your attention once again, he kicks the stand of the table. ‘gah,’ he grunts in pain. his toes hurt.

‘jesus christ,’ you say, turning around. ‘what the hell was that?’

‘i don’t know,’ he musters out, in a shaky voice.

‘okay…’ you say, narrowing your eyes at him.

he decides to seize his chance. he licks the other side of his spoon, even sloppier this time. he doesn’t know how they did it that gracefully in the show. he’s sure it isn’t a seductive sight.

‘what are you doing?’ you ask.

‘…savouring… the nectar.’ wow. he considers kicking the table stand again.

your eyes widen, and there’s a hint of a teasing smile playing on your lips. ‘wow. um, okay. good for you.’

that went splendidly, he thinks to himself, rather spitefully. where had all of his charm gone?

🥀 ❤️‍🩹 🌊 🪐 🍷

the next month passes by like a breeze. it was a good month.

you remember bucky taking you to the arctic monkeys concert. well, he didn’t take you, he just went and you were supposed to accompany him. but maybe you could live with that.

he’d also invited you over for a lot of movie nights at his place. the first time he’d asked, you had denied, no matter how much you wanted to do the opposite. but somehow he had talked you into going with him. and you didn’t regret it one bit.

‘oh, yeah, he’s definitely gay,’ he says, crunching down on the chips.

‘right?’ you say, your posture a little stiff from trying not to fall into his arms. ‘they’re adorable together.’

you’re watching dead poet’s society, and talking about neil and todd.

‘sucks to have this queer-baiting thing, man.’

before you have a chance to respond, your phone dings. you hum as you check what it says.

‘who is it?’

‘oh, my mom.’

| Where are you?

you hastily key in the response.

| slwepiver ay friends plsce

| I have no idea what you just typed.

you groan.

| sleepover at friends place

sometimes, you hate technology.

| Oh, okay.

you put the phone down.

‘what was she saying?’ bucky asks.

‘asking where i was. nothing too much. just mom stuff.’

‘what did you say?’

‘just said i was at a friends’.’

he smiles. ‘you think of me as a friend?’ it isn’t the ideal term he’d like you to associate him with, but it’ll do for now. he’ll take whatever he can get.

‘it would’ve been really hard to explain why and what i’m doing at my boss’s house, don’t you think?’ you say. you don’t think of him as a friend. well, maybe. but really, you think of him as more than just that. he radiates sunshine, you think. you love hi— you love his company. that is all there is to it.

‘okay, then.’

soon enough, the movie ends.

‘hey, are you ticklish?’ bucky asks, with a smirk playing on his features.

‘no,’ you say, stoically.

‘well,’ bucky says, inching closer to you. ‘guess i’ll have to be the judge of that, won’t i?’

you look at him, almost daring him to. he wouldn’t. he couldn’t.

but he does.

and so his fingers are all over the sides of your torso, and you’re giggling uncontrollably. there are tears forming at your eyes simply because you don’t remember the last time you laughed this hard.

‘okay, that’s enough!’ you say, laughing.

but there’s one problem. you’re almost lying flat on the couch, and judging by the position the two of you are in right now, it would be a safe bet to make that he pinned you down for purposes other than a platonic tickle fight.

his face is so, so, close to yours. painfully, breathtakingly close. you can feel his warm breath on your lips.

‘i guess you are ticklish, then.’

‘yeah, maybe i am.’

‘that settles that,’ he chuckles.

for a moment, your gaze flickers to his lips, almost innately. your chest is rising with your heavy inhales. the room is silent.

your lips part to say something — anything — but nothing will come out. all you want is for him to kiss the words out of you.

‘i—’ bucky starts. he doesn’t know what to say. this has been a harmless — yet, all consuming for him — crush on a coworker. now that he’s so close to you, he doesn’t know what to do. he’s afraid he’ll mess up either way.

your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip; again, innately. this is the kind of stuff you’ve daydreamed about, but now that it’s here, so surreal, you don’t know why it’s so hard to just grab him by his perfect hair and plant your lips on his.

maybe you don’t want it, bucky thinks. maybe you genuinely don’t see him as anything more than your boss. but you’re not moving from under him, either. and your eyes are on his lips. maybe he should take that as a green flag and just move. he doesn’t know what’s stopping him. all he has ever wanted to do was kiss those perfect lips of yours, until he can’t breathe anymore. until he doesn’t want to breathe anymore.

suddenly, a sharp ringing cuts through the room. it’s bucky’s phone.

he jumps off of you in surprise. you sit up and straighten your hair.

‘shit, i—’

‘i’m gonna, uh, get some water,’ you say, getting up and heading towards the door.

‘y/n—’

‘my throat is parched,’ you joke. the jokes were doing absolutely nothing to heal your broken heart; they were like wet, non-sticking bandaids. pointless. redundant.

he should just get up and tell you. tell you how much the thoughts of you devour him every waking moment of his life. how you have singlehandedly managed to make him the happiest he thinks he’s ever been. how you’ve managed to make him forget about all of his responsibilities, and how he wants you to keep doing that. how he wants you to stay in his life, but this time as more than just someone you meet at work. and all of this in such a short time.

you should just walk over and kiss him. kiss him so passionately that you forget about how unprofessional this is. kiss him so chastely that you don’t forget how delicate the situation is. kiss him so desperately that he knows just how much you’ve been waiting for this moment. kiss him so expertly that he knows just how much you’ve dreamed and thought about this moment. you want him to know you, but not just as someone he meets at work. and all of it in such a short time.

‘i should go home. it’s getting late,’ you say, instead. you want to slap yourself for ever letting yourself believe that you could have this.

‘oh, yeah. probably. get home safe. goodnight,’ he rambles. he wants to slap himself for ever letting himself believe that he could have this.

and with that, you had left. the next day, you had come in and everything had returned to normal. the same witty — and possibly flirty — conversations filled with double entendres, and occasionally, a tender moment.

bucky had thought that after that, he would’ve stopped liking you as much as he did. he was wrong, of course. his feelings had grown stronger, if anything.

and now here you are, sitting in bucky’s office, waiting for him. you’re fidgeting with a rubik’s cube in your hand, and restlessly tapping your foot on the carpet of his office.

suddenly, bucky enters the room with the loud swing of the door.

before you have a chance to stand up, he taps your shoulders from behind. ‘do you have any plans for these three days?’

‘what?’

he walks over to stand in front of you. ‘you don’t have any plans for today, tomorrow and overmorrow, right?’

‘overmorrow?’ you chuckle. ‘um, no, i don’t think so. why?’

‘we have a flight to catch, baby!’ he says, doing finger guns at you.

‘what?’

‘a flight to the one and only, berlin.’

‘in germany?’ you say, a little ruffled.

‘yep.’

‘why? why so last minute?’

‘there’s a press conference, and i’m invited.’

‘don’t you have any meetings?’

‘none as important as this one.’

‘wow.’ you take a deep breath.

‘so, pack your bags! i’ll pick you up in an hour, if that’s okay?’

‘uh, okay, i guess.’ you’re still registering the fact that you have to fly to berlin for three days, on such short notice. not that you’re complaining, though.

🁡🁡🁡

somehow, you’re boarding the flight. it seems like it’s only been a minute since he told you about the news, and now you’re boarding the flight. maybe time really is a social construct.

you’re eyeing everyone around you rather nervously. you don’t remember the last time you were on a flight. everywhere you go, you always try to take an alternative means of transport.

‘okay, here’s our seat,’ he says. you’re in the first class section. jesus christ, sometimes you forget that he’s a ceo and very, very rich. he certainly doesn’t make so much as an effort to remind you of it.

‘um, okay.’

there are two seats that are together, and two screens in front of them. there’s a divider that you think is supposed to cover the two of you. this was made for a couple, you think. and whatever the two of you are, it’s definitely not a couple.

he sits down, and talks to waitress about something. you don’t really hear it too much. your breathing and the illegible clamour of the crowd is too loud.

‘hey,’ he says, tapping your forearm. ‘are you okay?’

‘yeah,’ you say, sitting down, rather slowly. ‘yeah, of course.’

‘okay. if you need anything, you can just ask the stewardess, okay?’

you nod, and release a shaky breath as you look around.

bucky eyes you from the top of the magazine he’s pulled out. you’re acting strange.

suddenly, an announcement carries through the noisy environment.

‘ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard flight 4b7 with service from new york to berlin. we are currently third in line for take-off and are expected to be in the air in approximately seven minutes time. we ask that you please fasten your seatbelts at this time and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments. we also ask that your seats and table trays are in the upright position for take-off. smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. thank you for choosing lufthansa airlines. enjoy your flight.’

there is a giddy smile on bucky’s face, and when he turns to look at you, anticipating the same excitement, he doesn’t get it. instead, he sees you fiddling with the zipper on your bag, and taking deep breaths. your other hand is tightly gripping the arm of the seat.

‘hey, hey, are you alright?’ he says, in a hushed voice so as to not startle you.

‘mhm,’ you nod, unconvincingly.

the stewardess walks up to your seats.

‘we’re taking off in five minutes,’ she smiles.

bucky nods at her.

you release a shaky breath.

‘y/n,’ he says, concerned. ‘you don’t seem okay to me.’

‘it’s nothing, it’s just a stupid little phobia.’

‘what?’

‘i’ve never really liked airplanes,’ you say, with a quiver in the laugh that follows.

‘why didn’t you tell me?’

‘it’s not that important.’

‘y/n… we’re about to take off in some time. are you sure you’re alright?’

‘yes!’ you say, in a high pitched voice. ‘that came out higher than i meant it to. but i’m gonna be fine.’

‘okay…’

but you know that you’re not going to be fine. planes are scary, and people do strange things when they’re scared. you just hope you don’t do anything too crazy.

suddenly, the plane starts moving.

‘oh, god,’ you exhale, looking up at the ceiling in an effort to calm yourself. your hands are tightly gripping the arm supports.

your knuckles are turning white as the plane keeps moving. you stay rigid, almost as though if you move the plane will crash. knock on wood, you think, praying that it’ll be enough because you know you can’t physically knock on wood.

and then the plane starts taking off.

bucky feels hands grip his arm. he looks up from his magazine, and your eyes are pressed shut, lips pursed tight, and white knuckles are gripping his shirt.

his lips part in an effort to say something, but nothing comes out. instead, he flings his free arm over your body, trying to huddle you closer.

‘deep breaths,’ he whispers.

he feels your chest rise and fall against his body.

‘good, just keep going like that, okay? do you want to listen to some music? will that help?’

you whimper softly, and nod.

he’s never seen you like this: vulnerable, and weak. he didn’t think you’d ever be scared of anything. you’re the fiery woman that doesn’t let anyone walk over her. and you still are. but everyone is scared of something, he guesses. and maybe this is your phobia.

he grabs his phone, and takes the earphones and gently presses it into your ear. he taps play on she’s thunderstorms, by the arctic monkeys.

‘does this help?’ he asks.

your breathing gets a little calmer, a stark contrast to the frantic desperation it was. your eyes are still pressed shut, but less tightly then before. your grip on his t-shirt isn’t that firm anymore.

he takes it as a yes.

very soon, your breathing gets more even, and bucky realises that you’ve fallen asleep. the poetry of it all isn’t lost on him.

slowly and quietly, he pulls his phone out from his pocket, and opens his notes app. he starts writing something, but immediately puts it down, because he’ll find time to work on it later. for now, he wants to enjoy the domesticity of the moment.

and the entire nine hour duration of the flight is spent like that: you in his arms, your head tucked underneath his chin, and the soft hum of songs playing in the earphones.

‘ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tagel airport. local time is seven in the evening and the temperature is seventeen degree celsius, or sixty three degrees fahrenheit. for your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the captain turns off the fasten seat belt sign.’ the rest of the announcement is a blur as bucky wakes up to find you asleep in his arms.

he doesn’t want to wake you up. your mouth is slightly parted, and your eyebrows are a little furrowed.

a lazy smile makes its way onto his face. maybe he doesn’t need to remember that he can’t be with you. not right now.

‘y/n,’ he whispers, reluctantly.

you softly grunt.

he chuckles. ‘y/n. we’ve landed.’

your eyes slowly open. and there you are again. bucky didn’t quite realise just how close your faces are.

he’s lost in your eyes. for a moment, all the mindless chatter and opening of overhead cabins, and rustling of feet, is a noisy blur. it’s all drowned out as he stares into your gaze.

in his peripheral, there’s a messy haze of colours. he can’t see anything but you.

he’s been here once before, but it still feels like too many times. yet, he never learns. no one told him how to just… go for it. but he wants to. he really does. no one would care if the two of you share a tender kiss right about now. no one would care.

you look at him. you’re still in a bit of a daze, although it’s almost evening and you shouldn’t be feeling as tired as you do. you’ve probably had the best sleep in god knows how many nights — weeks, months, even — and the two of you hadn’t even reclined the seats into a bed. his embrace is warm, and you don’t want to leave it. it feels like home. the earphones have fallen out of both of your ears, and you can hear the faint buzz of music.

his eyes are very blue. it’s not the first time you’re noticing them, but it feels like it is. but then again, every time you’re this close to him, it feels like the first time.

you want to kiss him. you want to kiss him so much, until your lips are swollen and bruised. you want a kiss like they describe in books and movies. you want a kiss like the ones teenagers dream of having with their crushes.

but that’s all fiction.

‘on behalf of lufthansa airlines and the entire crew, i’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. have a nice evening!’

you clear your throat, and unwillingly move away from him. you know that the more time you spend that close to him and not actually kiss him, the more your heart will shatter.

he understands why you move away. it’s unprofessional. but it still hurts.

he pats down his jacket and moves out of the seat. you’re already pulling open the overhead cabin and dragging out the one suitcase.

the car ride to the hotel is awkward. you are trying your best to avert your gaze from him, even though all you want to do is tell him you’re sorry. you’re sorry that you can’t let yourself be with him.

bucky is playing with the frayed ends of his shirt sleeves; frayed like the ends of his heart. he’s consumed by you, all the time, and this happening twice is too big a hurt. but he, like an idiot, cannot let you go. not until you tell him yourself. and until you do, maybe he can let himself believe that the only thing stopping the two of you from being together is professionalism.

bucky can hear the cameras click and the reporters inaudibly chatter as they near the hotel.

‘how are we gonna go?’ he asks no one in particular.

‘don’t worry about it,’ you respond, gaze fixed on the window.

he clenches his jaw. he wants to say something, but he knows whatever will come out is sure to be disastrous. fuel to the already burning fire.

the car pulls up in front of the hotel.

‘think you should be safe to get off here,’ the chauffeur says.

‘okay. thank you. have a nice day,’ you tell him, as you get out of the car. bucky gets out of the car from the other side.

he sees you walk towards him. your poster is rigid as you stand beside him, almost as though if you moved you would melt and just trip into his embrace. wouldn’t be so bad.

‘hey, maybe we should talk—’

‘later,’ you say, tersely.

bucky nods. he doesn’t know what the two of you would talk about anyway. not like there was much to say.

he pictures himself saying something like, hey, i have a crush on you.

and you would probably say, that’s definitely not reciprocated. because it almost certainly isn’t.

he walks with you through the grassy path leading up to the hotel. it’s fancy: there’s an arched glass ceiling on top, and the soft orange glow of lanterns illuminates the borders of the pathway.

now that he thinks about it, it’s actually kind of romantic. if he could, he’d intertwine his fingers with yours and stroll along the pathways, conversing about the most meaningless things. all a dream.

crash. he doesn’t even process it in time. before he realises that something has happened, you’re clutching your shoulder, the people — who’s existence he had forgotten about until now — walking behind and ahead of the two of you are running helter-skelter, and the glass above them is shattered.

‘we have to go. now,’ you say, in a rushed breath. you grab his arm and pull him along. he moves at your command, but wary of the glass pieces underneath him.

🁡🁡🁡

‘jesus fucking christ,’ he swears the moment the two of you reach the hotel room. ‘what the fuck was that?’ he’s been told his swearing is a telltale sign of his nervousness in situations.

you’re still clutching your shoulder.

‘are you okay?’ he says, walking closer to you.

‘yeah, i’m fine.’ your words are punctuated by pants.

‘oh, my god,’ he says. his eyes widen as he sees the slightest drop of blood fall from under your hand.

‘it’s nothing to worry about—’

‘did you get shot?’

‘no, i think it’s just a bit of a graze wound.’

‘jesus christ!’ he runs his fingers through his hair. ‘i’m gonna call 911!’

‘911 doesn’t work here, bucky.’

‘i— i’ll google the alternative,’ he says, fishing his phone out from his back pocket.

‘no, don’t. they have more important cases to tend to. i’ll fix this up.’

‘what?’ he couldn’t believe what he was hearing right now.

‘bucky, it’s fine. i’m fine.’

‘you’re bleeding!’

‘i know, but it’s fine. nothing some plaster can’t fix.’

‘let me help you, at least.’

you look at him for a minute. releasing an exasperated sigh, you say, ‘okay.’

you move into the bathroom, and he follows.

‘okay, what do i need to do?’ he says, as you sit up on the counter.

‘uh, stop the bleeding first,’ you say, racking your brain for the course you had taken in first aid during training.

‘okay, how do i do that?’

‘is there a towel or something around here?’

bucky looks around, frantically. ‘no, i don’t think so,’ he says, in a small voice.

‘okay, um, give me a minute.’ you try to unbutton your shirt with your elbow. unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work.

‘what are you doing?’ bucky says, the concern rising in his voice.

‘trying to take off the shirt. it’s clean and dry. except the blood stained sleeve, i guess.’

‘do you need help?’

‘yeah.’

‘okay…’ he goes over to you. his hands gingerly reach for the first button, and he looks up to you, as if he’s asking for permission.

you nod slightly. ‘make it fast.’

and he does. he unbuttons the shirt. his fingers are shaking, and that definitely doesn’t help his pace. he’s fussily trying to get the buttons out of the slits of the shirt.

‘bucky, i’m the one that’s wounded. calm down,’ you say, trying to lighten the mood.

bucky’s too tensed up to laugh. he makes his way over to the very last button, and surprisingly, it comes apart easily.

slowly, you release the hand that has been gripping the injury. you release a soft hiss through your teeth.

‘dear lord,’ he mutters.

‘can you help?’ you say. your torso hurts too much to slip out of the shirt.

‘yeah, yeah, of course.’

he slowly and gently slides the shirt off of your shoulders until all you’re left in is a sports bra. bucky tries his best not to look for too long.

‘okay, now what?’ he says, his gaze fixed on you.

‘wrap the clean part of the shirt on the wound, and press firmly.’

‘okay.’ he’s scared, because he doesn’t want to wrap it too tight and cut off the blood supply or something.

he fists up the blood-free sleeve of the shirt, and places it around the blood smeared part of forearm.

‘your hands were clean, right?’

‘yeah, i think.’

he doesn’t think he’s touched anything that could be deemed infectious in the past 24 hours.

‘okay, good.’

‘now what?’

‘we wait until the bleeding is stopped.’

‘how long will that take?’

‘should take ten minutes of pressure at most.’

‘okay. should i just wait, or…?’

you want to tell him to stay. you really do. the wound doesn’t hurt terribly, most of your arm’s gone numb. but you still want him to stay. if pretending you’re in pain is what it’ll take, you’ll do it.

but your wound will get infected if you don’t have gauze.

‘maybe you could run down to the hotel and ask for some dressing? i’m sure they’ll have it.’

‘yeah, okay, i’ll do that. give me a minute.’

and you sit there, as he rushes out in a hurry. you don’t know why you hadn’t talked to him. granted, it’s only been a few hours at most, but it seems like eternity. you didn’t like silence, especially the kind that was forming between the two of you.

it’s complicated, and you know that. you want to rip your hair out in frustration every time you think about it. you’re consumed with guilt.

you try to keep your mind off of it, but then the only other thing left to focus on is your wound. and that’s a boring thing.

you start humming love is a laserquest under your breath to keep yourself distracted. when you reach the second bridge, the door unlocks and you stop. you know it’s probably bucky, but one can never be too safe.

you still in your breath, but release it once bucky comes through the door of the bathroom.

he holds up the roll of gauze he found. ‘this will work, right?’

‘yeah.’

‘okay.’ he starts unrolling it.

‘wait, wait.’

he immediately stops. ‘what?’

‘do as i say first.’ he nods. ‘okay, first wash and dry your hands.’

he places the roll near the sink, and runs the tap. after he’s washed the soap off, he pulls out the paper towels from the dispenser. he wipes his hands.

‘now?’

‘is there any container or something around here?’

‘uh, jesus, i— oh, wait.’ he runs over to the bathtub, and there’s a holder for the soap there. ‘will this work?’

‘does it have holes?’

‘nope,’ he says, examining it, ‘nope.’

‘okay, good. fill that up with some water, and pour it over the wound.’

‘okay…’ he fills the container with water, and gently pours it over the wound. you release a soft hiss through your teeth, and he immediately stops.

‘no, no, keep going,’ you say.

and he complies. he’s pouring the water down slowly until the container empties out. your eyes are pressed shut because you don’t want to think about the singe.

‘okay, that’s done, right?’ he says.

you nod.

‘hey, hey, are you alright? we can still call the ambulance if you want,’ he says, placing his palm on your uninjured forearm.

‘yeah, no, i’m fine. now, we need a clean towel or something.’

‘we don’t have any towels. this goddamn room—’ he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration.

‘hey,’ you say, trying to get him to focus. ‘it’s fine. just grab the bathing robe.’

‘okay.’ he disappears into the room to find the closet which the bathrobe could be in, and returns promptly. ‘this will do?’

‘yep. pat the wound dry with it.’

‘okay.’ he takes the sleeve of the surprisingly heavy robe and dabs it on the wound. you hum in a high pitch momentarily. he looks up at you, concern heavy in his eyes.

‘no, no, keep going.’

‘okay.’ bucky is scared. he’s afraid his heart is going to beat out of his chest, or he’s going to do something wrong. his hands are still shaking. he’s doing his best to keep them steady, but apparently his best is not enough.

‘okay, it should be dry now, i think,’ you say. ‘now, wrap the dressing around it.’

his hand grabs the roll of dressing, and the pair of scissors he brought along. he gently wraps it along your arm, and when he’s done the first wrap, he looks up.

‘is this too tight?’

‘no, it’s great. keep going.’

and so he does, until you can barely see the colour of your skin through the dressing.

he releases a shaky sigh. ‘what the hell was that?’

‘i don’t know. i just know that you can’t stay for the press conference anymore.’

‘no, i know. yeah.’

a moment of silence passes.

‘i’m sorry,’ you say, sheepishly.

he looks up at you. bucky knows exactly what you’re talking about, but he doesn’t quite know why you’re sorry. if anything, he should be the one apologising.

‘you have no reason to be.’

‘no, i’m not sorry about the wound or whatever—’

‘i know.’ he looks down.

you clench your jaw. ‘it just can’t happen, bucky.’

he starts fiddling with his fingers. ‘we’ll find a way to make it work.’

‘it’s a terrible idea.’

‘i don’t care,’ he says, looking up at you. ‘look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want it.’

your lips part, and you gulp. of course you want it. but you can’t have it.

‘it’s highly unprof—’

‘is that the only reason? because if so, it shouldn’t be the one keeping us apart.’

you bite the inner part of your cheek. ‘i don’t know, bucky.’

before he gets a chance to respond, your phone rings. you pull it out of your pocket.

‘hello?’ you say. ‘mm. okay. that’s good.’ a pause, and you look at bucky. ‘yeah, he’s fine. with me, yeah.’ another pause, and you look at the gauze wrapped around your arm. ‘a little wound, nothing too bad. no, i’ll be fine. i fixed it up. yeah. okay. keep me updated.’ with that, you hang up on whoever had called you.

‘who was it?’ bucky asks.

‘one of the other guards back in new york.’

‘have they heard about it yet?’

‘news travels faster than you’d think,’ you say, with a small smile.

bucky wants to continue the conversation the two of you were having before the call, but he knows it wont result in anything good. you’re far too good at your job for that.

‘okay, you should get some rest. i’ll go sleep in another room.’

‘what?’ you say.

‘yeah. good night, y/n.’

there’s a hurt look on your features. bucky wants to erase the memory of that from his head forever.

‘good night, i guess,’ you say, in a voice that is barely a whisper. it’s hoarse, because you feel like crying.

the moment bucky is out the door, you limp out of the bathroom, and head towards the bed. you pull out your phone, and open the email app.

dear mr. barnes, you start. due to certain… you don’t know what to type. …unforeseen events that have taken place over the short course of my job… you don’t want to type it, but you know you have to. you broke the most important and easiest part of the job: don’t fraternise with the client. with a grimace, you type, i believe the best next step would be for me to resign of my own volition.

you read the email several times. your finger hovers over the send button for longer than you’d like to admit. instead, you click on the dropdown option, and choose to save as draft. you weren’t ready for this yet.

🁡🁡🁡

you walk up to bucky’s door the next morning. maybe some part of you was hoping that the path from your room to his would be never-ending, like your dread.

you don’t know what to make of the situation. you hadn’t rejected or accepted anything. mostly rejected, if one had to pick a side, but it’s still ambiguous. in your opinion, at least.

hopefully, bucky thinks the same.

he was right: the only thing keeping you from ruffling his perfect hair and bruising his perfect lips with the most desperate of kisses was your job. and that really shouldn’t be the only reason keeping you. so why is it?

maybe because the first time you’d gotten hurt was enough decidedly. it wasn’t even job-related, but you think this would be worse somehow.

you still remember how your boyfriend in high school had cheated on you and made fun of you behind your back simply because he thought you were too… weird. which, in any case, isn’t a bad thing, but men and their fragile masculinities. you had promised yourself you weren’t going to let yourself be hurt by something as stupid as that, but you failed.

it hurt, and it stuck. maybe you just think that bucky could do better than you. and maybe you weren’t meant to lead a life where you find the one.

your hand knocks on the door, almost as though it did of its own accord, as though to say: if you won’t step up, i’ll do it myself.

you knock thrice, and wait for a minute before the door opens. bucky is dressed neatly, but his hair says otherwise. it’s all ruffled and blown up, and it looks like he hasn’t gotten a single ounce of sleep either.

bucky spent the entire night laying on his bed, shifting and turning his position so he could sleep, but he couldn’t. his eyes were wide awake the entire time, and they were either on the ceiling, or the tables at the sides of the bed.

he was up all night thinking about you, and occasionally there’d be a smile on his face. but mostly, he would think about the hurt look on your face, and it would consume him with guilt.

‘had a good sleep?’ he asks you. selfishly enough, he hopes the answer is no.

the answer is no. but in order to avoid any more of whatever it was that happened last night, you say, ‘yes.’

bucky suspects you’re lying, but he’s fine with it. he knows that the two of you are a lost cause. he never really believed in the whole right person, wrong time thing, but now, he thinks he does. because he truly believed that you were wonderful, and he couldn’t see anything that would drive a wedge between the two of you other than your job. and he couldn’t blame you for that.

🁡🁡🁡

a long, quiet and awkward walk to the car parked ahead of the hotel is followed by another quiet and awkward session in the car.

the chauffeur seems to think something is up too, because both you and bucky are facing the windows on your respective sides. every now and then, he’ll catch a glimpse of the two of you in the rear-view mirror.

‘your fathers called for extra protection,’ you say, briefly.

‘what does that entail?’ bucky’s neck hurts from looking out the window.

‘i won’t be the only one tagging along now.’

some part of bucky wants to believe this was all his father’s decision, and that his father didn’t leave room for your opinion.

you know you will miss spending all that time with him alone, but maybe this is for the best.

‘fine,’ bucky says, quietly, in the hopes to quell his sadness.

🥀 ❤️‍🩹 🌊 🪐 🍷

it’s been a painfully long and awkward week of you and bucky trying not to talk to each other. thankfully, there haven’t been too many moments where the two of you were alone for more than a minute.

bucky wants to talk to you, but every single time he tries, someone or the other seems to want to interrupt. like the universe itself doesn’t want him to be with you.

of course, he doesn’t care. he’ll defeat the universe himself if he has to, so help him god.

‘okay, bye,’ he waves to one of his colleagues exiting his office.

you are sitting near the door, head bent.

bucky sighs. it’s been a long day.

he misses talking to you. he misses your soft laughs, he misses your smiles, and most importantly, he misses the very essence of you. ever since that night in berlin, it’s almost as though you’ve been containing all of the good parts of you in a tub and storing it, hoping it doesn’t spill out and poison bucky with affection.

bucky is still mad about you, of course. you still occupy his mind almost every waking moment of the day. and he’s still caught staring at you through the glass windows of his office during meetings.

and truth be told, you’re still mad about him. it was hard not to be, because even though you were able to resign into the false demeanour of this expressionless, stone faced security guard, bucky was still expected to be as charming as ever. and it was hard to fall out of love with that.

you furrow your brows in confusion. how dare your mind trick you into admitting that; how dare your train of thought lead you into confessing something that huge to yourself?

bucky tugs at his tie, loosening it until it finally comes off his neck. he pulls open the drawer at his desk, and takes out a bottle of red wine he’s been saving.

he also pulls out two wine glasses safely tucked away at the back of the same drawer.

this is the time to have a full conversation with you, in what seems like years; when in reality it’s been only a week.

‘do you want some?’ he says, cautiously.

your eyes snap up to his desk, but not yet his eyes. ‘um, okay.’ what’s the worst that could happen?

he pours the wine quarter-way in both your glasses. once he’s done with yours, he pushes it ahead on his desk.

you stand up and walk towards the chair in front of his desk. you sit down and take a sip from the glass.

he gives his glass a single swirl, and takes a rather hefty sip.

he sees you slightly pucker.

‘is it not good?’

‘no, it’s great. i just haven’t had wine in a long time.’

he hums in response.

the two of you finish your glasses at almost the same time.

bucky pours himself some more wine, and gestures to you. ‘do you want some?’

‘yeah, okay,’ you push your glass ahead. it’s been a long day, and the wine could probably help.

bucky slowly rises from his seat, and stretches out his limbs. he’s been sitting in his chair for a god-awful amount of time.

you keep your eyes on the red liquid in your glass.

‘do you want some music?’ bucky says.

‘uh, yeah. that’s fine.’

he walks over to the speaker in his office, switches it on, and presses the play button. something unfamiliar plays on it.

‘ah,’ bucky says, with a small smile on his face, ‘this.’

‘what is it?’

‘a song from the forties, i think.’

‘wow.’

he walks over to you and places his glass on the desk. ‘would you wanna… maybe… dance?’

‘what?’ you finally look up at him, at his eyes.

a smile grows on his face. ‘dance. with me.’

nothing makes sense in the world, and it’s pointless to try to make any sense out of it, so why not?

‘mm, okay,’ you say, easily.

he lends his hand, and you take it. as you rise from your seat, he pulls you into the centre of his office, where he intertwines his finger between your hand, and places his free arm at your waist.

you place your arm on his shoulder, and look at the windows behind him. the office is mostly empty.

‘nobody’s here,’ he lulls.

you redirect your gaze back at his eyes. it’s been an eternity since you last saw them — since you last really saw them. and you were cherishing every moment of it right now, ingraining every last detail into your head.

‘this is wrong,’ you say, with no intentions of walking out of his embrace and stop swaying softly to the music.

‘i know,’ he says, with a soft smile.

you slowly release your hand from where it’s intertwined with bucky, and place it around his neck. he places that arm around your waist.

‘this is comfortable,’ he says.

‘yeah,’ you whisper.

the two of you are staring into each other’s eyes, and it’s been a while since the two of you have blinked. you want to, but you’re afraid if you do, everything will vanish, as if this tenderness was simply a dream that you couldn’t avail.

‘i know we can’t be together,’ bucky says, quietly.

boldly, you bury your face in the crook of his neck. it’s comfortable, very much so; almost as if it was made for your face.

‘so why are we dancing right now?’ your tone wasn’t accusatory, and there was still a soft smile on your face.

‘i don’t know.’

you slowly come back up from his neck and look him in the eyes.

and right then, bucky could swear the entire world stopped. it was simply you, and him. your hands wrapped around his neck, and his wrapped around your waists modestly, never dipping an inch below.

everything is made up, everything is fake. except for you. and finally, finally, he thinks to himself, fuck it.

he slowly moves towards your face, and his lips touch yours. it’s soft, feathery, and he can barely feel it, but at the same time, it’s enough to send him into a daze. the sensation of your mouth against his is one that makes him more intoxicated than any wine.

you can barely feel his lips on yours, and even though it’s nice, you need more. your hands burrow into his hair, and you press on his lips a little more.

it’s heaven. bucky’s holding on to you gently, but he’s doing it with desperation. he is certain he will fall if he lets go.

the kiss is chaste, tender, and slow. neither of you are in a rush, because you know this moment won’t show up as often as you’d like it to.

and suddenly, it’s like bucky can’t breathe. he’s breathless, but in a good way. he wants more, but at the same time, he wants to let you go briefly, and open his eyes, look at the woman he’s so obviously in love with, and kiss you once again. he thinks he wants to do nothing more for the rest of his life.

and that’s when he makes his mistake. the two of you part, and the lazy, beautiful smile on your face, passages into a parted, horrified look. it’s like you’ve made a mistake.

and you have.

immediately, but reluctantly, you let go of his embrace. ‘this was a mistake.’

bucky knew what you were thinking, but to hear it this loud and clear was like twisting a knife into his abdomen.

you lick your lips instinctively, and walk out of his office.

bucky stands there, wallowing in his defeat. a drunken mistake. that’s all it was, and that was the most it’d ever be.

he walks over to his desk, to put away the glasses. as he’s putting the bottle of wine away, he spots something written on the label in bronze foil: zero; 0.0% vol.; non alcoholic.

he sighs. so maybe it wasn’t a drunken mistake. somehow, that hurt more.

🁡🁡🁡

you reach home after a fast, reckless drive. the firs thing you do is rush to your bedroom, and pull open your laptop. you open up the mail app, rummage through your sea of drafts, and finally find it.

dear mr. barnes,

due to certain unforeseen events that have taken place over the short course of my job, i believe the best next step would be for me to resign of my own volition.

sincerely,

y/n y/l/n,

former head of security detail at barnes and co., assigned to mr. james buchanan barnes.

your lower lip trembles as your cursor hovers over the send button. it was all wrong; a drunken mistake. you think about how good the kiss was, how good he felt, how good you felt, and that is all it takes for you to click on your mousepad before the email is lost to mr. barnes, and out of your reach.

the next few days go by pretty fast. you slept a whole lot, and kept away from all social media. you switched your phone off, so you wouldn’t feel guilty about not returning anyone’s calls or texts.

it had been two days spent in sulking and the same old pyjamas when your childhood best friend and fellow peer in training wanda decided enough was enough.

you weren’t returning her calls or her texts, so she decided to swing by.

you have never regretted giving her a spare key to your apartment more than you do in this moment.

‘oh, don’t look at me like that,’ she says in response to your cold glare.

‘go away,’ you say, turning away from her.

‘y/n, look at you. those…’ she plucks at your old, baggy t-shirt, ‘…tacky pjs, such a crime. now are you gonna tell me what happened?’

‘nothing happened,’ you snap. ‘i’m fine.’

‘i’m trying to help you, y/n. no calls or texts, no nothing, you’ve just cut yourself off from the world! do you think that’s healthy?’

you don’t respond.

‘y/n… you don’t have to tell me what happened. but just promise me you’ll change out of that, and try to move on.’

‘there’s nothing to move on from.’

‘this is about a guy, isn’t it?’

‘what?’ you say, feigning surprise. ‘what makes you think that?’

‘the last time you had gone into total shut down mode was when you broke up with that high school scumbag. that motherfuc—’

‘okay,’ you say, stopping her before she airs out a string of curses. ‘maybe it's about a guy.’ you slink down on your couch.

wanda sits beside you, and places her hand on your shoulder. ‘oh, honey. i didn’t know you were dating anyone.’

‘i’m not— that’s… that’s the thing. i can’t date him.’

wanda tilts her head in confusion. ‘what?’

‘it’s complicated. and it doesn’t matter.’

‘y/n, if this man caused you, an adult, the same hurt that a cheating and lying teenage boy in high school did, it definitely does matter.’

she isn’t wrong. ‘he didn’t hurt me. i think i hurt him. and myself, consequently.’

‘oh,’ wanda says, her lips parted. she still doesn’t quite understand what you’re talking about, but she doesn’t need to. ‘go tell him, then.’

‘what? tell him what?’

‘that you still like him.’

you laugh mirthlessly. ‘it’s more complicated than that.’

‘what’s stopping you?’

you’re about to say something like it’s not professional, or i have a duty to uphold, but suddenly, you realise, you gave up on that. you let go of that.

wanda seems to have recognised your silence, for a smile appears on her face.

‘go, then! what are you waiting for?’

‘my car doesn’t have any gas,’ you say, sheepishly.

‘i’ll drive you,’ wanda says, standing up.

‘i don’t know, wanda—’

‘y/n, you’ve always planned your life out. don’t you wanna do something spontaneous for once?’

🁡🁡🁡

bucky has no clue where you’ve been for the past two days. he’s growing more upset with each second, because he thinks he genuinely upset you and that he’s lost you forever.

he’s impatiently tapping his foot in the conference room, as he’s been doing ever since that day. he’s clicking his pen constantly.

‘and that’s what— hey, barnes, could you not?’ clint says, from where he’s standing at the whiteboard.

‘what?’

‘the pen clicking, bucky,’ yelena says from across the table.

‘it’s pretty bothersome,’ banner agrees.

bucky looks down at his almost red thumb. he hasn’t even noticed he was doing this. ‘right, sorry.’

then, suddenly, the door swings open to reveal a secretary. ‘mr. barnes? there’s someone waiting for you in your office.’

‘tell them to wait,’ bucky tells him.

‘she says it’s important.’

bucky’s ears prick up at the pronoun. ‘did she say her name?’

‘uh,’ the secretary checks his palm, ‘y/n.’

bucky immediately rises from his seat, dropping his pen from his hand. he hears tony groan, but he’s out the door before he can hear any snarky comments.

the walk to his office is excruciatingly long, and when he’s halfway there, bucky’s power walk evolves into a sprint.

he pushes open the door, and there you are, sitting in the same position you had been the first time he had seen you.

upon hearing the door open, you immediately stand up and turn around to face him.

you’re wearing a salmon coloured t-shirt that says serial chiller, and plaid pants. a goofy smile grows on his face.

‘hi,’ he says.

‘hello.’

he can’t do anything but grin like a fool. a fool in love.

‘i should’ve dressed better,’ you chuckle. ‘you’re wearing a suit and i’m… wearing this days old outfit.’

‘i think you look splendid,’ he says. it’s very true.

you laugh. ‘you flatter me.’

‘so, uh, where’ve you been?’

‘i… uh, quit.’

‘what?’

your brows furrow in confusion. ‘didn’t your father tell you?’

‘no… no, he’s on a business trip in shanghai.’

‘oh. well, i did.’

his expression hardens. ‘i’m sorry.’

‘not your fault. well, kinda,’ you say, cheekily.

he laughs. ‘i’ve missed you.’

‘i missed you, too.’

‘uh, hold up, i have to show you something,’ he runs to his desk, and pulls out a notebook. he immediately opens it and starts surfing through the pages, frantically searching for something.

‘okay…’ you stand, your hands hanging at your sides rather awkwardly.

‘found it,’ he says. ‘okay… you have to promise not to laugh.’

‘what? why would i do that?’

‘i might’ve… tried my hand at poetry,’ he says, quietly.

you softly gasp. ‘i wouldn’t ever laugh.’

‘promise?’

‘yes. pinky promise.’

he smiles, and narrows his eyes at you. ‘okay… here goes nothing, i guess.’ he clears his throat, and your eyes widen in anticipation. ‘i come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that i am at liberty to do so,’ he looks up at you briefly, but immediately looks back down, ‘that my heart is and always will be… yours.’

‘oh my god.’

‘okay, i know it’s a little dorky, but—’

‘it’s beautiful. you wrote that? you wrote that… for me, i’m presuming,’ you say, cautiously.

‘yeah. it’s all for you,’ he smiles, putting down the notebook.

‘very romantic, barnes,’ you say, walking closer towards him. ‘i didn’t know you were such a poet.’

‘ah, well, you know,’ he says, looking into your eyes, ‘i’m full of surprises.’

‘bet i could do you one better, though,’ you tease, your fingers gently grabbing his tie.

‘really?’ he says, leaning into your face, and nudging his nose against yours.

‘mm,’ you say, pulling your lips onto his with ease.

bucky was expecting it, but he was still a little taken aback. your fingers run through his hair, messing it up, but he doesn’t think he cares. all he cares about is that you’re kissing him, and he was being kissed by you.

you were soaring. you were drowning in his lips. they tasted like honey, you thought.

the kiss wasn’t chaste and tender anymore, it was passionate, sloppy, and full of desperation. it was almost as though the two of you were trying to make up for lost time. and it might’ve been working.

suddenly, you pull away.

‘i love you,’ you say, against his lips.

a small breath escapes bucky’s mouth. ‘i love you, too. god, i love you so fucking much, you have no idea.’

‘absence really does make the heart grow fonder, huh?’ you smile and draw him into another kiss.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

thank you so much for reading! feedback is so, so appreciated! <3 please do not repost my work on any platform. reblogs are fine!

#SAV UR LIKE. ONE OF MY FAV WRITERS ON HERE #im sobbing #thank u sm 😭😭 #comment reblog #bemine-bucky #no expectations

[dolcezzasfantasy]

he most certainly did jshdfks 😌🕊

lost and found - part 2

summary | you are arrested for crimes against the sacred timeline, but there is much more to the tva than you think there is.

pairing | 40s!bucky barnes x reader, tva agent!bucky barnes x reader

word count | 9.7k (skdjskjs sorry)

warnings | violence!, spoilers for the loki tv show!

notes | this took so long haha hope you enjoy

previous part | masterlist

oshkosh, wisconsin ● 1985

the portal opened up to a location in the renaissance period. hunter c-20 and the others were greeted by a stranger.

‘hi! what’s going on?’ the dark haired woman asked.

the hunters were out of place here. they were in their black uniforms and helmets, while the rest of the populace was dressed in renaissance fashion for parties.

one of the hunters checked their screen for the stray branch. the screen beeped.

‘variant detected, commander,’ the hunter said, gaze fixed on a tent nearby.

‘let’s move,’ hunter c-20 ordered.

‘some of us need this,’ the dark haired woman called out after them, ‘you know.’

the tent was dark, the only source of light being luminous sconces decorating the several poles inside.

‘no nexus energy yet, ma’am,’ a minuteman said. the hunters had their batons at the ready.

music blaring on an overhead speaker diverted their attention.

‘it’s a trap, watch your backs!’ hunter c-20 warned. the minutemen powered their batons.

‘my lord, my ladies, welcome and thank you for joining us, here at the castle. please, settle into your seats for a great battle is about to commence. the prize? our princess. will evil prevail, or are we holding out for a hero?’ the announcer’s voice echoed.

as hunter c-20 moved across the room, something — someone — touched her forehead, spreading electric waves around. the hunter blinked, only this time her pupils had a sort of fire raging behind them. but the fire flickered for only a second.

click went her helmet, off of her head. she walked over to a hunter and kicked him in the shin. a minuteman noticed the commotion.

‘commander?’ she asked.

hunter c-20 walked to a pile of rods, picked one up and smacked the minuteman with it. as the minuteman stumbled backward, a hooded figure grabbed her and knocked her unconscious.

where have all the good men gone? and where are all the gods?

the hunter fought down another minuteman.

where’s the streetwise hercules to fight…

‘what are you doing?’ the minuteman grunted.

‘having some fun,’ the hunter grinned, the fire back in her eyes. it didn’t last for long, however, as she fell to the floor before she could knock the minuteman unconscious.

isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed?

the minuteman crouched down to hunter c-20.

late at night, i toss and turn and dream of what i need…

the minuteman’s gaze flickered to the hooded figure.

i need a hero

he stood up.

i’m holding out for a hero till the end of the night

the mysterious entity put a sword through his chest. he tumbled to the ground.

he’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast

the figure lowered itself to the body.

and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight

it snatched the reset charges away from the belt of the corpse.

i need a hero

it examined the tempad.

im holding out for a hero ’till the morning light

the figure picked the body up and dragged it through the orange portal.

he’s gotta be sure and it’s gotta be soon

and he’s gotta be larger than life

i need a hero

🦇 🧳 ☕️ 🏹 🏷

‘okay, y’all,’ came miss minutes’ voice, ‘what happens when a nexus event branches past red line?

‘very bad things,’ you answer flatly.

‘come on, y/n,’ the orange creature in a hologram said, ‘what is it?’

you sighed. ‘it’s when the tva can no longer reset a nexus event. okay? boring.’

‘right,’ she continued, more enthusiastic than ever, ‘and that would lead to the destruction of the timeline and the collapse of reality as we know it.’

‘are you a recording?’ you probed. ‘or are you alive?’

‘uh, sorta both.’

‘ah,’ you said, rolling up the magazine of motorbikes you had been reading. you looked around to see if anyone was watching, and then smacked the hologram with the magazine.

she yelped. ‘watch it. where’s your manners?’ she asked, hands on her hips.

you watched in marvel. you took another hit.

‘oh, hey! quit it!’ you took another shot, and she dodged it once again.

‘that is not nice. jerk.’ she went back into the computer screen.

‘you can’t hide—’ you were cut off by james.

‘training going well?’

‘yep,’ you nodded.

‘is that my motorbike magazine? put it down, gear up.’ he handed you a neatly folded outfit. ‘there’s been an attack. let’s go.’

you opened it up. ‘put it on,’ he said, as you followed him.

it was a beige jacket. you slung it over your shoulders and put your shirt clad arms into the sleeves.

‘good, yeah. smart,’ he commented as you spun around.

you pushed your hair back.

‘c-20 and her team went dark shortly after they jumped into the 1985 branch. all signs point to another ambush. we’ve grabbed enough temporal aura to know it’s our y/n variant,’ hunter b-15, as you’d come to know her, said.

you were surrounded by minutemen and james.

‘but which kind of y/n, remains unknown.’

‘the less smart one, to be clear,’ you said.

she sighed. ‘let me see the back of that jacket,’ she said.

you turned around, and spotted the variant stitched onto the back. the rest of the people chuckled.

‘oh, that’s real classy. well done.’

‘i don’t want anybody out there to forget what you are,’ b-15 said.

‘your only hope of capturing a murderer?’

‘no, a cosmic mistake,’ she corrected.

‘that’s enough,’ james said.

‘real professional.’

‘here’s the deal,’ james said, ending the banter. ‘when we get out on the branch, we’re not just looking for a time criminal, we’re looking for a y/n. a variation of,’—he pointed at you—‘this girl.’ everyone’s eyes landed on you.

‘one we should all be very familiar with,’ he said, projecting a presentation of you in different outfits, ‘because the tva has pruned a lot of her. always manages to interfere with the timeline, this one.

‘and no two are alike. slight differences in appearances,’ he switched to you in a flashy superhero outfit, ‘or not so slight. different specialisations, although, it’s generally one of the harder fields.’ he switched to you working in a chemistry lab.

‘well, actually, i have a phd in chemistry and physics right about now,’ you said, shoving your fists into the pockets of the jacket and flashing them a grin, ‘so that picture is a little useless if you want them to identify someone different from me.’

‘aren’t women barred from universities in the 40s?’

‘i worked my way around it,’ you smirked, ‘but you already knew that from my file.’

‘okay,’ he said, inhaling, ‘we’re gonna split into two teams, one including myself and doctor y/n.’

‘why?’ one of the minutemen asked.

‘because whoever this variant is, we haven’t been able to find him. so, let’s bring in an expert.’ he looked at you with a kind of determination you’d only ever seen in bucky’s blues.

‘that’s me,’ you said, winking.

🚬 🍂 🖋 💡 🔍

‘do i get a weapon?’ you asked him.

‘nah.’

‘darn it. what if my variant hurts me?’

‘we won’t let that happen.’

‘how can i be sure of that if i don’t have a weapon for myself?’

‘don’t worry about it.’ he nudged you along to the orange portal.

all of you arrived at a renaissance fair of some sorts.

‘apex of nexus signature located, ma’am,’ someone told b-15.

‘i have a question,’ you told james.

‘do tell.’

‘why don’t we just go to a time before the attack? when the variant first arrives?’

‘nexus events destabilise the time flow. this branch is still changing and growing, so you gotta show up in real time,’ he explained. ‘did you watch any of the training videos you were supposed to?’

‘as many as i could stand. the tva’s authoritarian propaganda is exhausting, quite frankly.’

‘what do these do?’ one of the minutemen quizzed you from behind, pointing at the belt of reset charges.

‘reset charges prune the affected radius of a branched timeline, allowing time to heal all its wounds. sounds like a nice way of saying disintegrate everything in its vicinity.’

‘she’s on it!’ james said.

‘i watched the videos! well, some of them.’

they entered a tent.

‘so he’s taking hostages now?’ hunter b-15 asked, as she examined the litter of uniformed bodies and one extra helmet lying amongst it all.

‘the variant’s never taken a hostage before,’ james observed.

‘maybe he’s upping his game.’ she said, as she examined the litter of uniformed bodies and one extra helmet lying amongst it all.

‘or he pruned her,’ a minuteman suggested.

‘a y/n couldn’t have gotten a jump on hunter c-20.’

‘well, actually, you underestimate what i’m capable of—’ you interjected.

‘fan out and search for her. and hurry up, we’re at three units till red line,’ b-15 ordered.

‘let’s go,’ the minuteman said.

‘come on,’ james said.

‘wait,’ you said, stopping james. ‘if you leave this tent, you’ll end up like them.’

‘what do you see?’ he asked you.

‘i see a scheme, a well done one at that. i’ve pulled off many heists by myself, i assume this version of me is somewhat competent enough to do something of that calibre.’

he narrowed his eyes at you.

‘where there are wolf’s ears, wolf’s teeth are near.’

when he raised his eyebrow at that, you explained, ‘it means to be aware of your surroundings.’

‘where did you get that from?’

‘a comic book.’

‘we’re running out of time, james,’ b-15 called out.

‘hold it. just give her a chance.’

‘the tva is drunk with power, blinded to the truth. those you underestimate will devour you. which is why, you walk into one wolf’s mouth after another.’

the device beeped.

‘two units. she is wasting our time.’

‘okay. come on, y/n, make a long story short.’

‘we need to look for c-20,’ hunter b-15 said.

‘that’s exactly what the variant wants you to do. it’s a trap. he’s waiting for you outside this tent.’

‘should i secure the reset charges?’ the hunter asked.

‘no. he wants me. i’m the key to his plan. he knows i’m better.’

‘almost one unit,’ b-15 warned.

‘and he rightly believes that together we can overthrow and rule the tva. but that’s not what i want. i have a new purpose. i’m a servant of the sacred timeline. and knowing what i now know about his tactics, i can deliver you the variant,’ you lowered your voice to a whisper so only james could hear, ‘but i will need assurances.’

‘yeah?’ james asked.

‘assurances that i won’t be completely disintegrated the moment the job is done.’

‘right…’

‘we’ll need to speak to the time keepers. they’re in grave danger.’

the device beeped.

‘there’s no one out there,’ james said.

‘reset the timeline,’ the hunter instructed.

‘you had me there for a second,’ he winked, ‘my ears are sharp.’

the device beeped again. he walked away from you.

the reset charge powered up and once again spread a glowing, lavender, electric field.

the stray branch on the monitor back at the tva slowly disappeared.

🏛 🎞 🕯 🎻 🎬

‘is it just me, or does this office keep filling up with cool stuff each time i walk in?’ james said.

ravonna hummed in response. she was filling up two glasses with scotch.

‘where’d you get that snow globe? i want one,’ james said.

‘too bad.’

he pouted. ‘why are all the trophies from my cases in here?’

‘because i approve the missions,’ ravonna asserted.

‘valid point.’

‘speaking of which, let’s talk about the one you just botched,’ she said, handing him the glass.

‘i hope it’s a double,’ he said, taking a sip.

‘this variant is…’ she opened the file, ‘“insubordinate, stubborn, unpredictable.”’ she glared at him.

‘listen, ravonna, i know,’ james put down his glass, ‘i know my methods with this variant are controversial, but—’

‘towing a dangerous variant into the field is controversial.’

‘it didn’t go exactly the way i wanted it to today, but here’s what we did find out,’ james said, ‘the variant likes to stall for time, and, eventually, we’ll catch the other one doing the same thing. besides, understanding this y/n helps get me closer to the one we’re chasing.’

‘remind me why we’re so involved in this case again,’ ravonna said, taking a sip of her scotch.

‘she’s branched the timeline too many times. it just goes to show that power isn’t the only thing that makes you powerful. it’s her otherworldly intellect.’

‘otherworldly intellect? have you developed a soft spot for her?’

‘i’m just stating the obvious.’

‘the time keepers really want that variant caught.’

‘so do i.’

‘and this is the last chance you’re gonna get with her.’

‘great. that’s all i need.’ he got up and walked towards the exit her office.

‘james?’ she called out.

‘what?’

‘you really believe in this variant?’

‘mm,’ he considered. ‘luckily, she believes in herself enough for the both of us.’

on the other side of the door, you were sitting on a bench.

james beckoned you over.

‘you’re probably wondering what happened out on the mission,’ you said.

‘it was a pathetic attempt. i really expected better from you.’

‘see, that’s the first lesson in catching a y/n. expect the expected.’

he hummed. you walked faster so you could be ahead of him.

‘we are survivors. survivors don’t play around. we lie and cheat so we can get what we want. you think it’s easy being a woman in a male dominated job, with absolutely no one to support you?’

‘i wouldn’t imagine so.’

‘exactly. for all of our lives, we have been tricking and deceiving. and the fun part is, eventually you reach a certain point, where you’ve lied so much, that people just expect it from you.’

‘where are you going with this?’

‘i’m saying that you went into this unprepared. you’d only seen the murderous side of this variant, when, in reality, there is so much more to him. expect that.’

he groaned.

‘he’s smart. he’s a trickster. he’s gonna trick you and you won’t know it.’

‘alright,’ he drawled.

‘he’s gonna manipulate you,’ you told him, ‘just like i could have.’

‘right.’

‘which is why you need me now more than ever.’

‘remind me again, why is that?’

‘because who better to call out a liar than a better liar?’

‘slap that on a t-shirt for me, will you?’

‘look, just,’ you stopped to face him, ‘let me help you. give me one more chance.’

he considered it. ‘alright. but no more messing around and teaching with examples. we’re done with that.’

‘of course.’

‘but you have to work for it.’

‘work?’

‘yes.’

‘what work?’

‘i need you to go over each and every one of the variant’s case files, and then, give me your… how do i put it? your unique y/n perspective. and who knows? maybe there’s something we missed. who better to read a liar than a better liar?’

‘well, you are clowns. i suspect you probably missed a lot.’

‘that’s why i’m lucky i got ya for a little bit longer,’ he winked. ‘let me park you at this desk,’ he said, pointing at one of the empty tables. ‘and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work.’

you sighed and sat down.

‘here’s a good trick for you. pretend your life depends on it. i’m gonna get a snack.’ with that, he left.

you sat down on the chair. there were tall piles of papers sitting on there.

you flipped through a file, uninterested. ‘oh no! don’t tell me the variant ambushed and killed another team of minutemen! and stole their reset charge as well!’ you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

you groaned with frustration.

‘shh,’ you heard a voice say behind you.

you craned your neck to look. ‘shh,’ you hissed furiously in response.

♟ 🦉 🩰 ⏳ 📜

you found a reception. having someone find them with a system was more efficient, you deduced.

‘hi,’ you said to the bespectacled woman behind the desk.

she didn’t respond and kept clicking away on her computer.

‘hi,’ you repeated, this time louder. she still didn’t respond.

your gaze landed on the call bell on her desk. you pressed on it. ding.

the woman switched her gaze from her computer to you.

‘can i help you?’

‘yes. i’m on some important business for the tva. aftermath of a field mission. you know the stuff,’ you said, placing your forearm on her desk. ‘close call to death, i tell ya.’

when she didn’t respond to your irresistible charm, you continued, ‘i’d like the files pertaining to the creation of the tva.’

‘those are classified,’ she said, in a monotone voice. nearly everyone here spoke in a monotone voice. maybe you really were dead.

‘alright,’ you sighed, rephrasing your request, ‘all the files concerning the beginning of time, then.’

‘those are classified,’ she repeated.

‘alright, end of time.’

‘classified.’

‘what files can i have?’ you said, losing your patience.

she led you to an aisle and handed you one file. ‘happy reading.’ her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

variant case file, it read. variant number: r8416 ; variant name: y/l/n, y/n

you sighed.

you headed back to your desk. you rummaged through the other papers, but one in particular caught your eye.

event inquiry

destruction of greenport, new york

event details

greenport was your hometown. as you read the sheet of paper, your eyes widened and the colour drained out of your face.

destruction of greenport (class seven mass murder): total destruction of town

casualties: 3078 (entire town assassinated)

zero variance energy detected

you swallowed. there had to be a mistake. what was this sheet of paper talking about? and why was it amongst your files?

countless questions of which the answers you didn’t want to know swirled around in your head. you sat there, staring at the number of casualties, until your gaze dropped to one phrase.

zero variance energy detected

the gears in your brain started working. everything fit together like clockwork. you gathered the files into your arms and ran to find james.

the elevator opened to a canteen, and you spotted james hunched over his table.

‘i found something,’ you said, as you walked towards him as fast as you could.

‘did you read all the files? because i asked you to not bother me until you read all the files,’ he asked with a small smile on his face. he looked like he just wanted one peaceful lunch. too bad.

‘yes,’ you said. it wasn’t an outright lie.

‘every file?’ he asked incredulously.

‘yes.’

‘pertaining to the variant?’

‘the answer isn’t in the files, it’s on the timeline.’ james dropped his fork, ready to listen to whatever you had to say.

‘he’s hiding in apocalypses.’

‘which apocalypse?’ he said, throwing his hands up. ‘any time in history? there’s too many of ‘em.’

‘the destruction of greenport,’ you said, ‘are you familiar?’

‘yes,’ he said, ‘the total annihilation of it. i’m sorry.’ there was no time to be sorry. what you had deduced was greater than pity.

‘yes, very sad,’ you attempted to muster some grief. it was the consequences of your actions, anyway, if the papers were to be trusted. ‘anyway, it got me thinking.’

he blinked a few times. ‘go ahead.’

‘nexus events happen when someone does something they’re not supposed to do, right?’

‘that’s a bit of an oversimplification, but essentially, yeah.’

‘and then the thing they’re not supposed to do cascades into a whole range of other things that aren’t supposed to happen. and so on and so forth, until eventually, a new timeline branches. is that right?’

‘chaotic alterations of a predetermined outcome.’

‘precisely! so let’s just say,’ you took the bowl of salad he was just eating from minutes ago, eliciting an annoyed what are you doing? from him, ‘your salad is greenport in this scenario.’

‘no, it's not greenport. that’s my lunch.’

‘it’s a metaphor. just hang in there.’

‘i want that salad,’ he pleaded.

‘i could go down to greenport, before i did whatever i did,’ you winced slightly, ‘and i could do anything i wanted.

‘i could,’ you picked a salt shaker up, ‘let’s say, set a nazi on fire.’ you sprinkled the salt in the salad. ‘there they burn.’

‘the salt’s a nazi?’ he asked, arms folded and an unimpressed expression fixed across his features.

‘and i could also,’ you picked up the pepper shaker, ‘stab hodg- a particularly annoying soldier.’ you sprinkled some pepper into the salad.

‘no, just stop,’ he had a worried expression on his face, ‘don’t stab anyone.’

‘i could do,’ you continued sprinkling the seasonings into the bowl, ‘whatever i wanted to do, and it would never matter.

‘and it would never go against the dictates of the timeline, because,’ you grabbed the empty soda can. you needed a full one to complete making your point. you help up a finger to james, ‘gimme a minute.’ you got up in search of someone who had a filled can of soda.

‘excuse me,’ you asked someone. you heard james groan in the background.

‘you!’ casey said. it appeared he was the only one with a filled soda can in the entire cafeteria.

‘nice to see you. i just need this for a second. thanks,’ you snatched his can away from him.

you went back to your table and continued. ‘because, the apocalypse is coming. whatever i did, it’s gonna destroy the village no matter what i do.’ you started pouring the can in the salad.

‘no, don’t do—’ he tried to stop you.

‘that’s the apocalypse.’

‘that’s the apocalypse?’

‘inevitable destruction overpowers all other minor altercations not on the timeline.’ you smiled, holding the can up higher. once the can emptied, you crushed it and put it down. ‘et voilà.’

when james remained silent, you said, ‘there it is! that’s the answer!’

‘to what question?’ he said, tired.

‘okay, it was a clumsy metaphor, i’ll admit,’ you sighed, ‘but you see what i mean, right? it doesn’t matter. it could be any apocalypse, any era, any place, any time. if everything and everyone around you is destined for imminent destruction, then nothing that i, or anyone for that matter, say or do will ever matter.’ you shook the shakers over the bowl. ‘’cause the timeline’s not gonna branch. because it gets destroyed.

‘hence, the variant could be hiding in the apocalypse, be free to do whatever he wants, and we would never know!’

‘not bad,’ he nodded.

‘take me to an apocalypse. i’ll show you!’

‘i’m not allowed to take you for a stroll, much less for a trip to an apocalypse!’

‘oh, james,’ you teased. ‘come on! don’t be such a spoilsport! don’t you wanna know if this theory will work?’ you said, using howard’s tactic.

‘here’s a fun theory,’ he said, narrowing his eyes, ‘you lure me out into the field, and then stab me in the back!’

‘that was one time! and i was teaching you a lesson!’ you huffed.

‘okay, first of all, you’ve betrayed people under the guise of an unwarranted lesson far too many times—’ he started.

‘how do you know about that?’ you asked. it was true. you had had to lie to many men in your field in order to get what you want. the respect, and the power. you wouldn’t be anywhere if it weren’t for your deceptive charm, if you dared say so yourself.

‘i’ve studied your entire life.’

you narrowed your eyes at him. ‘okay, stalker,’ you said, inducing a chuckle from him.

‘okay, fine. you clearly don’t trust me. but if you have studied my life, as you say, you can trust one thing: i love to be right. and very often, i am. there’s not much that i love more than being absolutely correct about something.’ the only thing you did love more than that was bucky.

he looked at you, intrigued. ‘you have a point. you really do love to be right.’

🦇 🧳 ☕️ 🏹 🏷

stratené ostrovy ● 56 ad

the portal opened to what seemed like an underpopulated city.

‘where are we?’ you asked. he hadn’t told you.

‘stratené ostrovy.’ the lost islands. ‘it’s a small island that lived a short life.’

‘how come i’ve never heard of it before?’

‘i told you, it lived a short life. it was dead before any explorers could discover it.’

you looked around you. ‘how’d it get destroyed?’

‘tsunami.’

‘oh.’

‘yeah.’

you drew in a deep breath. how bad could this be?

‘okay, so,’ he said, ‘i’m gonna watch my tempad for any variance energy.’

‘okay.’

‘okay, because we gotta be careful. if you’re wrong, and there’s a huge possibility you are, anything we do can create a huge branch.’

‘no, no,’ you whisper shouted, ‘do not try to make the end of the world sound boring!’

‘we’re not meant to be here,’ he whisper yelled back in response. ‘anything we do can impact the course of history!’

‘okay,’ you sighed.

‘okay, good. we’re gonna start with very small disturbances.’

‘tiny,’ you agreed.

‘can you make bird noises?’

‘what?’

‘yeah, like some whooshing noises.’ he blew air out of his mouth, in an attempt to whistle. a wistful smile grew on your face.

‘beckon them over here,’ you told bucky.

‘what?’

‘yeah.’

‘okay. um.’ he blew with his mouth in a tight pout.

your hand went up to your mouth in order to hide the laugh. ‘what are you doing?’

‘whistling! or, at least, trying to.’

‘oh my god,’ a grin spread across your features, ‘sergeant james buchanan barnes doesn’t know how to whistle.’

‘okay,’ he tried to shush you, ‘no one needs to know.’

‘don’t worry, i won’t tell anyone,’ you assured him. ‘i’m just surprised.’

‘a lot of people can’t whistle, alright?’

‘no, it’s just,’ you started, ‘you’re such a great sharpshooter. and you’re a sergeant. how come you’ve never had to whistle anyone over before?’

‘i have ways to dodge situations like those.’

you smacked his arm with the file in your hand. ‘do you, now?’ you teased.

‘your swindling ways are rubbing off on me, y/l/n,’ he teased.

‘i’m aware that i can be a bad influence,’ you laughed.

the replaying of the memory was interrupted by james. ‘hello?’

you shook your head disapprovingly. you ran off into the crowd.

you stood up on one of the barrels in your line of sight. time to put my slovak skills to use. you had learnt slovak when you were a child, because your slovak mother wanted her roots to carry on.

‘moje meno je y/n!’ my name is y/n! ‘všetci zomriete! sme z budúcnosti! užite si svoje posledné jedlo kým môžete! na ničom nezáleží, nič nemá žiadne dôsledky! tancujte, kým môžete!’ you will all die! we are from the future! enjoy your last meal while you can! nothing matters, nothing has any consequences! dance while you can!

when you said that, a loud wave crashed. chaos ensued, and people were screaming, running. you scampered back to james, trying to quell the heaving in your own chest. you didn’t particularly fancy the idea of drowning to your demise.

‘how’d we do?’ you asked him.

‘i—’ he looked up at you from his tempad, in disbelief, ‘i can’t believe it. you were right. zero variance energy. no branch in the timeline.

‘the tva would never even know we were here,’ you grinned. ‘if i were the variant, which i am, this is where i would hide.’

🕰 🧺 ☁️ 🐇 🗡

‘doomsdays. the variant’s been ambushing our soldiers and hiding out in doomsdays to cover his tracks.’

‘you’re welcome,’ you told him as he walked, rather fast.

‘yeah. in order for this theory to hold, the disasters have to be sudden, no warning, no survivors.’

‘how many disasters fit that criteria?’

‘i don’t know,’ he grabbed a stack of files. ‘we’re gonna find out,’ a sort of determination creeping its way to his voice.

it had taken hours of searching, browsing and surfing through an endless amount of files for you to finally be knocked out. you were close to drooling on the stack of papers, while james was still hellbent on finding the right place.

you heard him yawn and slam yet another folder shut.

‘hey,’ he tapped your head gently. ‘come on, let’s take a walk.’

you groaned, but grabbed your jacket and followed him nevertheless.

he took you to the canteen.

‘by the way, at your desk, that magazine?’ you asked.

‘yeah, the one on motorbikes?’

‘yes. why do you have that?’

‘because they’re awesome.’

you laughed.

you eyed him from across the table. his face was lit up in one of the biggest smiles you’d ever seen. you had to bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling too, but it was proving to be very hard. the very sight of him was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, like a thousand stars glimmering in the night sky all at once.

the two of you had been dating for approximately 3 years now. three years before he enlisted, you recalled.

you knew him well enough by now to know that something was up. something big. james bucky barnes didn’t just smile that wide for nothing. there were crinkles by his eyes and his blues were shining.

‘what?’ he asked you, grinning.

‘you tell me.’

‘nothing, doll.’

‘what are you smiling so wide for?’

he looked up at you. god, he was beautiful. ‘just thinking about how i’m the luckiest man in the whole goddamn world.’

‘and why is that?’ you asked, even though you knew he was going to say something cheesy about how much he loved you.

‘because i get to love you,’ he beamed. but you loved cheesy.

you blushed. ‘alright, what did you do?’

he simply smiled at you in response.

‘buck, what did you do?’ the worry was rising in your voice.

before he could respond, the doorbell rang. he rushed to answer it. you struggled to keep up with him.

it was a man with a motorcycle, parked dangerously close to the porch.

‘there you are! an hour late!’ bucky said.

‘sorry, man, i got caught up with my kid,’ the man apologised.

‘ah, right. tell winnie i said hello.’

he nodded. ‘this the one you asked for, right?’

you were standing at the porch, but you heard that last line. you also heard bucky trying to ask him to quiet down.

‘jesus, you ruined the surprise.’

‘what surprise?’ you were now walking towards them.

‘i, uh,’ he hesitated. ‘remember how much you liked robert livingston on that motorcycle in call the mesquiteers?’

you went red and smacked bucky on the arm. ‘jesus, bucky!’ you whispered furiously.

‘ow,’ he pouted, ‘i’m sorry.’

‘what about it?’ you nervously eyed at the man. he did not need to know about your silly little crush on robert livingston.

‘well,’ he gave you his infamous smirk, which could only mean he’d been up to no good, ‘i bought one.’

you stared at him. when you didn’t say anything, you saw his smile falter.

‘what happened? do you not like it? i knew i shouldn’t have bought it without asking you, damn it, steve warned me against it, i’m so sorry, doll, i’ll sell—’ but you never got to hear the end of it because you had pulled him close and drew your lips to his in a gentle peck.

when you parted — only because someone else was there — he went beet red. he threaded his fingers through his hair.

‘i think that means she likes it,’ he told the man. he laughed in response.

‘i suppose they are,’ you said, snapping back to reality with a small smile on your face.

‘you know, most things in history are kinda dumb and they get ruined eventually, but in the 40s, for a brief shining moment there was a beautiful union of form and function,’ he smiled, ‘which we call the motorbike. and a reasonable man cannot differ.’

it would’ve hurt to see james act so much like bucky, but all it did was alleviate the heavy feeling in your chest. you enjoyed his company.

‘you ever been on one?’

‘no,’ his gaze shifted to the floor, ‘no. i think a tva agent showing up on a badass motorbike on the sacred timeline, as cool as that may seem, would create a branch for sure.’

‘it’d be fun, though.’

‘yeah, it’d be really fun.’

‘why read about them?’

‘just helps remind me of what we’re fighting for,’ he shrugged.

you looked around and shook your head. ‘you really believe in all this stuff, don’t you?’

‘i wouldn’t say that,’ he explained. ‘i wouldn’t say i don’t, either. i just accept it for what it is.’

‘three magic lizards—’

‘time-keepers.’

‘—created the tva and everyone in it—’

‘right.’

‘—including you?’

‘including me.’

‘you know, every time i start to admire your intelligence, you go and say something like that.’

‘okay, who created you, y/n?’ he smiled.

‘what do you want me to say, jesus?’

he laughed. ‘and who raised you?’

‘my family.’

‘a mystery man up in the sky idolised by everyone because apparently he wrote a book,’ he leaned in closer to you, ‘if you really squint and look for it, anything and everything has a reason to be doubted.’

‘the hell is that supposed to mean?’

‘i’m just saying, you accepted everything about your life without much persuading. isn’t that the whole point of being a person of science? to question everything?’

you groaned.

‘all i’m saying is, existence is chaos. nothing makes any sense, so we try to make some sense out of it. the tva is my home, and it’s real.’

‘fair enough,’ you inhaled, ‘you believe it’s real. everything is written. past, present, future. no such thing as free will.’

‘oversimplification, but—’

‘so, in fact, in a way, you and i are the only ones actually free at the tva.’

he narrowed his eyes at you. ‘where are you going with this?’

‘how does it all end?’

‘that’s a work in progress.’

‘pfft, those lazy time-keepers. what are they waiting for?’

‘au contraire. no, because while we protect what came before, they’re toiling away in their chamber, untangling the epilogue from its infinite branches.’

‘ah, i see,’ you said, ‘so, when they’re finished, what happens next?’

‘so are we. no more nexus events. just order. and we meet in peace at the end of time.’

when you tilted your head in incredulity, he said, ‘nice, right?’

‘only order?’

he hummed in response.

‘no chaos? it sounds boring.’

‘not all of us can be unquenchably restless all the time,’ he chuckled.

‘i am not unquenchably restless.’

‘yes, you are. like a little child,’ he teased.

you were about to open your mouth to say something, but decided against it. instead, you said, ‘you’re wrong.’

‘what?’

‘you’re wrong about me being a little child.’

‘and why is that?’

‘because i know something children don’t.’

‘do tell.’

‘not everyone who is bad is truly bad, not everyone who is good is truly good.’ those had been your father’s last words to you.

‘little child,’ he said, deep in thought.

‘it was a bit condescending, patronising. a bit too far, actually.’

‘you’re very clever.’ he stood up from his chair and walked away.

‘i know.’ you followed him.

‘the variant left something behind at an old crime scene,’ he led you to one of the many aisles in the file library, ‘a cathedral. a candy box. an obvious anachronism. i gave it to analysis, but they couldn’t find anything real.’ he was fiddling with something in the shelves.

‘why does that matter?’

‘because now we have two variables. apocalyptic disasters and,’ he pulled something out from the locker he was fidgeting with, ‘a plum.’ it was a very bluish plum. more blue than any of those you’d ever seen before.

‘oh. i’ve never fancied plums much.’ bucky loved them, though.

he led you back to the desk the two of you had been studying at.

‘okay. this type of plum only started showing up on earth from 2047 to 2051. we just have to cross reference that with every apocalyptic event. i’ll give you half, and,’ he smirked, ‘let’s make it a competition, see who finds it.’ you were the most competitive person you knew, and goddamn if he didn’t know it too.

‘okay,’ you said, the adrenaline rising in your voice.

‘you wanna bet something?’ he really must have wanted you to help him, for him to use your weakness for winning so.

‘yeah.’

‘gentleman’s bet.’

‘okay, let’s play for pride.’

‘good. may the best person win. go.’

the two of you had been browsing the files for fifteen minutes when james asked, ‘anything?’

‘uh… it’s not the climate disaster of 2048. or the tsunami of 2051.’

‘okay. keep looking.’

‘uh… 2050. the extinction of the swallow, is that a thing?’

‘completely screwed up the ecosystem,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘krakatoa erupted in 2049 as well. no plums.’

‘god, its just one damn thing after another, isn’t it? cyclone, famine, volcanoes, floods—’

‘got him.’

you showed him an apocalyptic file report.

‘alabama, 2050,’ he observed.

you flashed him a victorious smile.

‘you’re gonna take my job if i’m not careful,’ he teased.

🕊 🪶 ⌛️ 🪜 🦤

‘you want me to approve deployment of a fully armed task force to—’

‘yeah.’

‘—the variant’s potential hiding spot?’ ravonna said, placing special emphasis on the word potential.

‘haven hills, alabama, corporate town owned by roxxcart until it’s wiped out by a hurricane. all the food and supplies you need. if he likes it, there’s no reason he can’t keep going back and just camping out, over and over.’

‘this is all based on a theory from the variant who just blew your previous mission?’

‘yeah, she’s doing great.’

‘james, as your friend, i have to tell you that trusting this woman is not a good idea.’

‘no, i know. but maybe she’s worth the trouble. i mean, she just uncovered a massive hole in our security.’

‘that’s what concerns me!’

he sighed. ‘i can handle her. trust me. this is how we get our guy.’

‘you, i trust. but her?’ she shook her head.

‘listen, ravonna, every instinct is telling me this is where we nail the variant.’

she didn’t say anything.

‘come on. you don’t usually see me this worked up, right? i’m excited! i’m chomping at the bit.’

‘okay,’ she conceded.

‘yes! okay.’

‘but, james?’

‘mm?’

‘there’s not much i can do if it doesn’t work out.’

‘for all time.’

‘always.’

‘okay.’

you were waiting outside her office yet again.

the minute james came through the door, you stood up.

‘we’re on,’ he said.

you followed him, and threw your first up into the air briefly to celebrate the victory.

🐌 🦅 🪵 🪦 🫖

the elevator door opened.

‘we are doing some good work today,’ james said.

‘i thought so too!’ you responded.

‘i’m telling you, you actually help us catch this variant, and who knows, doll.’

‘what, good enough for a face-to-face with the time-keepers?’

‘i didn’t say that,’ he smiled, taking his jacket off. ‘one step at a time.’

‘alright,’ you sighed.

he handed you a handgun. ‘just in case.’

hunter b-15, who walked past you, snatched it as quickly as it had been handed to you ‘absolutely not.’

you glowered at her, but you doubted she paid much attention to it.

‘gather round for a briefing,’ she instructed. ‘roxxcart is a vast superstore common to the area. it consists of a series of sprawling sections, including a large warehouse. this warehouse is being used by civilians as a shelter, trying to ride out the storm.

‘remember, this is a class 10 apocalypse. while the variant shouldn’t know we’re coming, he could be hiding anywhere and should be considered hostile. so stay alert.

‘every time there is an attack, the variant steals a reset charge. he’s planning something. we just don’t know what. so keep an eye out for the missing charges, and if you see a y/n, prune it.’

‘the bad y/n, preferably,’ you interjected.

📺 📻 🔗 🐿 💼

haven hills, alabama ● 2050

the storm was unrelenting, merciless. it destroyed everything in its path. there was a big header advertising the roxxcart supermarket. it had the image of a vibrant beach glowing on it, a stark contrast to the roaring thunderstorm and the ink stained sky. everything was either torn down to shreds or completely drenched and ruined. the inhabitants of the small town were huddled together, hugged by a blanket of trepidation, anxiety and consternation. there was no mistaking it: even if the townspeople didn’t know it, haven hills was going to bite the dust tonight.

your face was stung by the onslaught of rainwater once you entered.

‘anything?’ a hunter yelled out.

‘nothing yet, move out!’ b-15 ordered.

your hair was soaked, your clothes were soaked, yet you weren’t bothered. you liked the rain. after bucky had passed, you found solace in it. you had been told far too many times to stop crying, but no one could see your tears in the rain.

james tugged you towards him and you followed him to the entrance of the supermarket.

the supermarket was empty. the lights were still switched on, however.

you took your shoes off, and held them by the laces in your hands.

‘what the hell?’ b-15 asked from beside you.

‘i don’t want to announce myself with every squeaky footstep like the rest of you!’ you defended. ‘besides, the water had pooled in my shoes. it felt disgusting.’

thunder rumbled, causing the lights to flicker and eventually dim.

‘take both teams and sweep the storm shelter,’ she instructed.

‘yes, ma’am.’

‘y/n and i are going to check out the green house. we’ll meet—’

‘no,’ b-15 interrupted.

he turned to look at her. ‘i’m sorry, no?’

‘you go with d-90. she stays with me.’

‘what are you—’ he narrowed his eyes, ‘she’s under my supervision.’

‘this is my field op, james,’ she retorted. ‘if she’s not a threat, then—’

‘of course she’s a threat,’ james said, eliciting a confused glare from you, ‘do you not remember the time theatre?’

‘james—’

‘i want her with me!’

‘you are more than welcome to go back to the tva and litigate with rennslayer, but right now—’

‘we’re here, we’re not going back,’ he argued, ‘the variant is here!’

‘james, it’s fine, it’s fine. you can trust me,’ you turned to face b-15, ‘i understand i have to earn that, so, i will.’

he looked at you and sighed. ‘try to hang on to your time collar this time,’ he snapped at b-15, walking away with the other hunter.

‘we’ll see you in the showroom,’ another hunter told b-15.

you followed b-15 into the aisles.

🁡🁡🁡

a hooded figure observed the monitors. one of them in particular caught its attention - the one you and b-15 were on. there were other hunters on different monitors as well. the hooded figure placed the charge and set it to go off in twenty minutes. it then exited the room. the timer ticked away.

🁡🁡🁡

the lights were flickering constantly. the only stable source of light was the soft tangerine glow from the top of the baton b-15 was holding. the two of you browsed the aisles, slowly, in silence punctuated by the rain and an occasional boom of thunder.

‘i’m glad we’re getting to spend this time together,’ you said, in an effort to break the silence.

‘quiet,’ she whispered. there was soft clinking in the background.

‘i’m saying we got off on the wrong—’

‘shh.’

the two of you spotted a man in the botany aisle, quietly admiring some potted plants. he seemed to be the only one other than the agents.

‘hey!’ b-15 said. she pointed her baton at him.

he immediately threw his hands up. ‘whoa, whoa, whoa! it’s okay!’

‘what are you doing?’ she asked.

‘shopping for plants,’ he hesitated.

‘in this storm?’ you inquired. it seemed unlikely they were going to survive.

‘it’s a hurricane sale. azaleas are half off.’

‘could that be you?’ her voice was just low enough so that only you could hear her.

‘i mean, i probably would’ve worn something better,’ you eyed his simpleton cardigan and jeans, ‘but, yes, perhaps. it’s possible.’

b-15 walked towards him, baton still risen. when she touched him, his fist caught her wrist, and he dropped unconscious to the floor. you thought you saw something red briefly where their arms connected.

‘is he dead?’ you asked.

‘no. they usually survive.’

there was something different about her. her manner of speaking was different: calmer, more confident, less stern.

she walked up to you, hands tucked behind her back, a wide grin on her face. ‘so, you’re the fool the tva brought in to hunt me down.’

you clicked your tongue in a moment of realisation. ‘me, i presume.’

‘please,’ she chuckled, ‘if anyone’s anyone, you’re me.’ the two of you flashed each other feigned smiles.

‘how nice to meet you,’ you said.

🎓 🏰 ⚔️ ⚖️ 👞

‘for the past hour, we have seen winds intensifying,’ the news anchor’s voice boomed from somewhere distant.

there were babies crying, adults wrapped in foil blankets; hope lost all the same.

‘again, if you’re just tuning in…’

‘check the bags for the reset charges,’ hunter d-90 instructed.

‘you guys fema? national guard?’ the old man asking the question walked towards them.

‘could be any one of them,’ someone else replied.

‘listen, if you got a ‘copter or other transport,’ he walked closer, ‘now is the time to use it. we got women and kids, and that weather ain’t playin’.’ the southern drawl in his accent was heavy.

‘no, i’m sorry, we don’t,’ james said. he would have felt bad for them, but it was hard. he had seen many people like this, their fates much worse.

‘how the hell did you get here then?’

one of the hunters shoved him aside. he started rummaging through one of the bags.

‘what are you doing? hey, these people are scared,’ james said, approaching the minuteman.

the hunter looked him in the eye. it was awkward, given that james was a man taller than most and the hunter was struggling to level with him. ‘they’re about to die. they should be scared.’

‘okay. not of us,’ he asserted, shoving a finger in his chest.

‘sir—’

‘take it easy,’ hunter d-90 intervened.

‘what is it?’

they hurried into a room with one of their minutemen who they thought had vanished.

‘it’s real. it’s real. it’s real,’ hunter c-20 said. her words were punctuated by laboured breaths. she kept repeating the words, almost like a chant of some sorts.

🥃 🎹 🎼 ⚰️ 🤺

‘enchantment is a clever trick,’ you told the variant in b-15’s body, as the two of you walked along the nearly pitch black aisles. ‘cowardly, a bit amateurish, but clever. you’re a magician.’ after seeing what you had, nothing seemed too unrealistic anymore.

‘almost as cowardly as working for the tva,’ she retorted smugly.

‘i’m working for me.’

she scoffed. ‘you really believe that, don’t you?’

‘yep.’

she laughed. ‘and here i was, worried that they’d found a better version of me.’

the two of you were interrupted by someone who seemed to be a store employee. ‘hi, are you guys looking for the disaster shelter?’

‘no,’ she said. she placed her hand on his forearm and dropped to the floor as the flower buying man once had.

you presumed the variant had now shifted into the employee. before you followed him, you crouched down to b-15’s body.

‘oh, bless,’ the variant said, looking down at you condescendingly. ‘are you going to call your little friends for help?’ the chuckle that followed made you want to set him on fire. he reminded you of the men that had taunted you this way when you had first become a scientist. those arrogant knuckleheads.

you glared at him. rising up, you said, ‘what’s the matter? you too scared to meet me face-to-face? show yourself.

‘you know, gaining their confidence was no mean feat.’ the variant stopped walking at this.

‘oh, my god,’ he said, amusement. ‘you went undercover.’

‘if you could possibly sheathe your smarm for a moment, i have an offer for you. that’s why i found you.’

‘go on.’

‘i’m going to overthrow the timekeepers.’ you needed a purpose in life, and if this was it, might as well follow it. ‘but, uh, cards on the table, i could use a qualified lieutenant’s assistance.’

he turned around to face you. ‘i assume you mean… me?’

‘what do you say… y/n?’

‘ugh,’ he said, ‘don’t call me that. you can call me… randy.’ he had gotten the name from the tag on the uniform.

‘god, okay,’ you groaned. ‘i must have been annoying,’ you muttered to yourself. ‘enough with your games. i’ve been trying to help you. i’m nothing if not a priceless asset you can’t afford to give up. i kept them vulnerable at the renaissance fair for some time.’

‘oh, gosh, that was just so nice of you.’ you knew sarcasm when you heard it. ‘but, after eight to ten seconds of consideration, the answer is no.’ he walked to face you, an uncomfortably small distance away from you now. ‘i’m not interested in ruling the time variance authority.’

🦇 🧳 ☕️ 🏹 🏷

‘it’s real, it’s real, it’s real,’ c-20 chanted.

‘what’s real?’ james asked.

‘she’s off the dial,’ d-90 said.

‘it’s real,’ she continued.

‘look at me,’ james said.

‘i wanna go home,’ she told him.

‘we’re gonna get you there,’ he assured her. ‘call the tva, let the infirmary know—’

‘no, no, no. i gave it away. i gave it away.’

‘what did you give away?’ james asked her. she was not making any sense.

‘the time-keepers, where they are! i gave it away how to find them.’

as james comforted her, d-90 said into his comms, ‘b-15, what’s your status?’

b-15 was awoken by the sound of d-90’s voice. ‘b-15, come in, what’s your status?’ he repeated.

she groaned and stood up from where she was lying on the floor.

‘b-15, do you copy?’ he asked again.

she squinted up at her surroundings. she was alone, and y/n was nowhere in sight.

🚬 🍂 🖋 💡 🔍

‘if you don’t wanna rule the tva, what do you want?’ you argued with him.

‘it doesn’t matter. you’re too late.’

‘i think you’ll find i’m well ahead of schedule,’ you riposted. ‘i found your hiding place like,’—you snapped—‘that. i think that suggests that magic isn’t everything.’

you spotted a reset charge. ‘i see. that’s your plan,’ you sighed. ‘lure us all here so you can blow the place up.’ you turned to face him, but he wasn’t there. as you were looking around for him, you felt a sharp blow in your chest. a jab, a kick.

you immediately fell to the floor. the variant’s form had changed. it was now a much beefier man, one much harder to combat.

‘i miss randy,’ you said.

just as you were getting up, he kicked you again. as you were trying to regain your senses, he was chuckling.

‘thank you for helping me stall for time. you really do love to hear yourself talk.’

‘you’re the first person to tell me that.’

he grabbed you by the shoulder and threw you again. you heard him mumbling mockingly behind you.

you flipped your hair behind. ‘i would never treat me like this,’ you muttered.

you stood up. ‘hi.’

he threw a punch, but you dodged it and his fist went crashing into a tv screen instead. you ran away from him. you grabbed something that looked like a smaller brick and smashed it into the variant’s head. he caught it, unfortunately, before any contact was made. you were now both holding it and trying to force it the other’s way.

‘oh, come on,’ you said in-between grunts, ‘stop hiding.’

he lifted his arm and chucked you and the brick the other way. god, he was strong, you thought, your nose scrunching up in disgust. it reminded you far too much of the 40s and the arrogant soldiers who thought they were better than everyone.

you grabbed a pipe from somewhere and hurled it at the variant. he grabbed the other end of it, leaving you with the long metal end of it. you swung it at him.

he dodged the pipe and swung the pipe around your neck.

‘y/n, if you had any honour you’d fight me yourself,’ you reprimanded.

‘i have shit to do,’ he said.

‘enough,’ you yelled, kicking your leg into his groin. he threw you in response.

you were blinking to regain consciousness when a toy dog rolled up to you and started barking. that triggered the other toy dogs to start barking and howling as well.

🏛 🎞 🕯 🎻 🎬

‘james,’ b-15 said, approaching him.

‘where is she?’

‘i lost her.’

‘what happened?’

‘i—’ she started.

‘looks like your favourite y/n betrayed you,’ d-90 snarked form beside him. the three of them started running to look for you.

‘just move!’ james replied.

♟ 🦉 🩰 ⏳ 📜

the variant placed the timer on an elaborate stand. it as set to go off in 1 minutes, 17 seconds. 16 seconds. 15…

you hoisted yourself up, and walked towards the variant.

‘what do you want from me? what is this about?’ you yelled. you had had just about enough of being pushed around like this. you were y/n y/l/n. you were the only one who could play games.

he let out a sinister chuckle in response. ‘brace yourself, y/n.’ his eyes were glowing red. he chuckled some more, and then thudded to the floor. you sighed in exasperation.

‘what do you want from me?’ you heard your voice on recording, faintly coming from somewhere. ‘what do you want from me? what do you want from me? what do you—’ and it repeated.

the voice was coming from behind you. when you turned, your eyes fell upon a hooded figure with two glowing red orbs where its hands should be.

‘what is this about?’ you heard your voice again. it was more distorted, harder to make out this time. the figure removed the cloak.

it was a woman. a woman with flaming red hair, wearing a maroon headpiece and an equally maroon costume.

‘this isn’t about you,’ she snarled.

you stared in awe. you hadn’t expected the variant to be a woman, although it did make sense, because, alas, she was a variant of you, and you were a woman.

‘right,’ you responded, still in a bit of a daze.

meanwhile, the timer gave its ultimate beep, clicked to 00:00 and displayed the word engage. the place was consumed by the darkness.

james, d-90 and b-15 were also hit by the sudden wave of darkness, the soft fluorescent glow being the only source of light.

the screen was now displaying the word initialising. one by one, as though in a choir, the reset charges lit up. there was now an impressive lantern-like display of violet and orange colours. the lights lit up in every aisle. then, one by one, an orange portal opened beneath each of them, dissolving them in a seemingly endless abyss.

‘where they going?’ james asked no one in particular. he sounded helpless.

🕰 🧺 ☁️ 🐇 🗡

meanwhile, back at the ranch, the monitor at the tva was going haywire. there were multiple lines branching out at an alarming rate, and the monitor was being louder than usual. everyone stumbled to their feet in disarray.

‘that’s not possible,’ someone said.

another person frantically reached to make a call. ‘this is analyst 1182-e, uh, reporting code, uh, 000,’ he was furiously flipping through a file, ‘branches rapidly forming at a slope—’

the man who had pegged this impossible snatched the phone from him. ‘somebody just bombed the sacred timeline.’

🕊 🪶 ⌛️ 🪜 🦤

ravonna rennslayer was a woman not intimidated or scared by many. but this frightened her to her core.

the monitor in front of her was beeping and listing a new place and time each second. the timeline displayed above it was recklessly forming branches and splitting. she stood and took her baton off the mantel on the shelf.

hunters were ordered to go and curb the chaos.

🐌 🦅 🪵 🪦 🫖

the woman picked the timer up. it was not beeping anymore, and it’s screen was now empty. the room was drowning in red lights.

she summoned an orange portal, and waved you goodbye. she disappeared on the other end of it.

you had to go. you had to find out what was going on. you wouldn’t be able to rest if you wouldn’t. now that this fire had awoken in you, you couldn’t afford to—

‘y/n!’ you heard a voice call out. james. he was running towards you. there were hunters a few steps behind him. ‘y/n, wait!’

he reached you. there was not much time to think. the hunters were only a few steps behind, and you had to make it quick.

you furiously grabbed his arm. there is no time. hurry up.

‘james, either come with me, or lose me forever,’ you said in one breath.

he hesitated for a second. the hunters were nearing the two of you. ‘james!’ you hissed.

he looked at you and nodded. he took one look at the hunters and rushed with you through the orange portal.

‘damn it!’ the hunters exclaimed.

next part

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thank you so much for reading! feedback is so, so appreciated! <3 please do not repost my work on any platform. reblogs are fine!

#lost and found #comment reblog #peterhollandkait

[dolcezzasfantasy]

lost and found - the epilogue

set in the lost and found universe - catch up on the rest of the series here!

the last part of the series

hi hi !! i can't believe this series finally got over lol i still remember writing the first part

thank you so much for all the support on the story, i am eternally grateful <333

i have two headcanons scheduled to go out in the next couple of weeks, so stay tuned for that!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

the car stopped in front of the shop.

bucky eyed the front door nervously.

‘bucky,’ you said, rubbing the pad of your thumb along his cheekbone, ‘what’s the worst that can happen?’

‘i don’t know.’

‘look, you need the company. you can’t just sit at home, all alone, watching the television.’

‘i read too!’

‘it’s not enough,’ you said. ‘don’t you feel alone?’

‘no,’ he said in a small voice, looking down at his lap.

‘bucky…’

‘well, what do you want me to do?’

‘i want you to come in with me and choose a dog to bring home!’

he rubbed his temples. ‘what if the dog doesn’t like me?’

you chuckled. ‘the dog is gonna love you.’

‘you don’t know that.’

‘trust me.’

he narrowed his eyes at you. ‘fine.’

the two of you headed back inside the shop. with you regaining your degree and starting work as a professor at a nearby college, bucky was left all alone at home. he was doing an online course from a community college so he could get a job soon, too, but he was still alone. and no matter how much he said it didn’t bother him, you knew it did.

and that’s what brought you to the decision of adopting a pet. back when bucky and you were dating, he had loved dogs. surely one couldn’t stop loving dogs, for whatever reason.

the door made a chiming noise as you pushed it open. bucky looked around the shop from where he was standing in the doorframe.

‘hi, there!’ the woman at the counter said.

‘hey, we’re the barnes? we called ahead,’ you said, pulling bucky into the shop.

‘right, of course. feel free to take a look around,’ she smiled.

you gave bucky an excited grin, and he tried his best to return some of your enthusiasm.

you walked over to the golden retriever that seemed pretty excited to see you. he was trying to get his snout out through the bars of the kennel cage, and when you crouched down, he seemed to be going ballistic over trying to lick your hand.

‘hey, boy,’ you said, caressing his snout, and getting your fingers licked in the process, ‘what’s your name?’ you fiddled around for a name tag on him.

bucky kept his distance. it wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs, it was just that they could be a little unpredictable, and they had so much energy. it scared him a little bit.

but he stared at you, and he felt a small smile grow on his face. he would never be able to get used to the fact that even though you had been put through hell and back in the distant past, you still were happy almost everyday, about the littlest things even.

as he softly laughed to himself, he felt a little bit of pressure on his shin. when he looked down, he noticed a white entity.

it seemed to be curling and twisting around him. a cat. what was a cat doing in a rescue shelter for dogs?

the cat stopped rubbing herself against his shin, and started pawing at his knee, almost as though she wanted to be held by him.

bucky stood there for a minute, in confusion, looking around the shop to check if anyone was watching. then, gingerly, he picked the cat up.

she meowed softly, and jumped onto his shoulder. bucky froze a little bit, but he didn’t take the cat off.

he could hear her purring.

‘buck— what?’ you said, laughing a little. ‘is that a cat i see there?’

‘uh,’ he craned his neck the best he could, ‘maybe.’

‘wow. i didn’t know cats were here.’

‘dear lord,’ the woman he had seen previously at the counter said, bustling towards them. ‘that’s alpine. i’m sorry about her. she causes a lot of trouble here.’

the woman proceeded to the take the cat, alpine, off of bucky’s shoulders. bucky found himself missing the light weight.

you stood up and walked towards the woman. ‘i didn’t know there were cats up for adoption here too.’

‘oh, no, there aren’t. but she’d always been lingering outside, and didn’t seem to want to leave, so we took her in.’

‘oh,’ bucky said. there was a strange, alien instinct in him that made him want to ask for the cat so he could cuddle with her again. her fur was very, very, soft. ‘is she up for adoption?’

you gave bucky an amused look.

‘with the influx of new animals coming in every day, we wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of her getting a new home.’

bucky turned to look at you.

the woman smiled knowingly, and started walking away from the two of you. ‘i’ll come back in a minute.’ she then suddenly stopped in her tracks, placed alpine in bucky’s hands, and walked away again.

bucky’s mouth moved to a lazy smile as he played with cat.

‘what are you doing?’ you said, a laugh lingering in your words.

‘we could get a cat,’ he said. ‘what’s the difference?’

‘i didn’t know you liked cats.’

‘i like this one,’ he said. he then redirecting his attention to you. when you narrowed your eyes at him, he said, ‘oh, come on. you’re the one who said i should fix my loneliness or whatever.’

‘i— i did. i just didn’t know the fix would be a cat.’

bucky looked at you, his eyes glimmering with hope. ‘please. look at her. she’s adorable.’ the cat looked up at you, almost as though she could understand what the two of you were talking about. her pupils dilated until there was nothing but a thin blue rim, and a relatively wide black circle. ‘how can you say no to this face?’

‘for the record, i do know what you’re doing.’

bucky held the cat up, and moved her paws around. he started talking in a high pitched voice, ‘please, please, please?’

‘how dare you,’ you said, amused. ‘i can’t believe you would use a cat to lure me into your trap.’

‘well,’ bucky said, lifting alpine so she could rest on his shoulders, ‘i am. whatcha gonna do about it, y/l/n?’

‘evil. sheer evil.’ bucky smirked.

you walked back to the dog — lucky. ‘i kinda wanted to take this guy home.’

‘you can take ‘em both,’ the woman said. she had appeared suddenly. when she registered the look of surprise on your faces, she clarified, ‘it’s just a suggestion. we don’t really have a limit on how many animals you can take home.’

you looked over at bucky. he shrugged. ‘anything you want, doll.’

you grinned. ‘alright, then.’ lucky must have understood your conversation, because he let out a little howl and started pacing around restlessly in excitement.

‘he likes you,’ the woman noted.

🕰 🧺 ☁️ 🐇 🗡

~ a few weeks later ~

‘i’m home,’ you called out. it was late afternoon, and you expected bucky to be sitting in the living room, on the couch, watching television.

you walked into the kitchen, because what if he’s making dinner early? empty.

you walked into the laundry room. nothing. slowly, you walked up to the bedroom.

pushing open the door gently, you saw bucky sleeping on the bed, his mouth slightly parted. alpine was cuddled on his chest, and lucky was sleeping next to him, tongue slightly peeking out.

at the sound of your footstep, lucky sat up.

you tried to shush him, but bucky’s eyes opened up rapidly at the shuffling beside him. consequently, alpine woke up too, and hopped off of his chest.

‘hey,’ you said. ‘what are you guys, uh, doing?’

‘jesus christ,’ bucky said, as he wiped the corners of his mouth. he must have drooled a little in his sleep. ‘what time is it?’

‘um, five in the evening.’

‘i promise i didn’t mean to sleep for that long.’

‘how does something like that happen?’ you chuckle, sitting beside him.

‘well, you see,’ he began, ‘i was going to take a small nap after lunch, and as i was waking up, alpine sat on my chest. i sure as hell couldn’t take her off, because she was sleeping, and then—’

‘—and then you fell asleep waiting.’

‘yep.’

‘wow. good for you, barnes.’

he laughed, and then released a small sigh. ‘i like this.’

‘you like what?’

‘the normal-ness. i never get used to it, ironically.’

you chuckled, and leant forward to place a small kiss on his nose. ‘boop,’ you whispered, as you lowered your mouth towards his.

he kissed you. ‘boop indeed.’

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

thank you so much for reading! feedback is so, so appreciated! <3 please do not repost my work on any platform. reblogs are fine!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fluff #lost and found

[dolcezzasfantasy]

scrapped this idea, because i realise how it’s wrong

honestly if you wanna write a romantic yelena x reader, just do it. it's not immoral bc after all it's just a fanFICTION. immoral is murdering someone irl lol.

ahh ok thank u for this !! the thing is i was reading some fics w her today and saw the writers getting hate and i think that scared me a little :( but nevertheless, thank u !!

#not shaming anyone who does write for her #ppl can do whatever they want on their blogs #but i’ve been reading up on this a little and i’m not the most comfortable w it anymore #dw we r still getting a silly lil sapphic fic ;) #saffic #hm

[dolcezzasfantasy]

Delicate Edges (1)

series summary: Trapped under a mountain of debt to the Hydra club, it is only in moments when Bucky walks into your flower shop that you forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. But a war is brewing. And Bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe. (Biker!AU) pairing: Bucky x reader chapter word count: 7k chapter warnings: sexual harassment, reference to parents’ deaths (cancer, heart attack), extortion, drunken assholes, a blue eyed stranger to the rescue a/n: the first chapter!! welcome to my new series! reminder that there is no tag list, but you can use notifications on @wkemeup-fics for updates 🖤 can't wait to hear what yout think!

series masterlist / series playlist

Your hands were shaking as you attempted to flatten a five-dollar bill against the counter; rolling the paper along the edge, smoothing out the stubborn crinkled lines. At the far end of the shop, the clock hanging above the door echoed with every tick – its hour hand inching toward the eight in short, threatening strokes. The sound carried over the static laced strum of Seven Bridges Road on the radio as if it could strike you through the chest.

“You alright there, deary?” Ms. Leary asked, pointing a finger to your trembling hands as you fumbled with her change. Her tone carried a light waver in its inflection – a charming symptom of her age and years of cigarettes in her youth. To your left was a bouquet of sunset orange marigolds and white carnations – Ms. Leary’s regular Tuesday order the night before she visited her husband downtown at St. John’s Nursing Home. “You seem awfully nervous. Do you have a date tonight?”

Pennies spilled onto the counter as you dared another glance up at the clock. Despite the paralyzing twist of anxiety knotting in your stomach, you pressed out a smile. Ms. Leary was a kind woman; one who shouldn’t trouble herself with knowledge of the men who would find their way into your shop in less than a few minutes time.

“I’ve got enough on my plate with the flower shop these days, don’t you think?” you said, dismissing her assumption awkwardly.

“Always time for love, my dear.” She grinned, gathering her bouquet in her arms. She did not appear bothered in the slightest by the unintentional sharpness in your tone. A smudge of red lipstick touched the edge of her cheek as if her hand had tremorred as she applied it that morning.

You nodded, though you found her romanticism rather unrealistic, and quickly extended the change you were almost certain you miscounted. The register would be short a few dollars, but you didn’t care. Not this close to eight. Not as long as Ms. Leary was gone before he showed up.

“Send Lionel my best, will you?” you asked, willing a kindness back to your voice.

You walked her to the door, a gentle hand guiding against her back as she attempted to linger by the roses. She was slow in her pace and you threw a cautious glance back to the clock again. It mocked you, taunted you – with its bright red hands violently ticking along the notches. Inching closer.

By the time you finally escorted Ms. Leary through the door, sweat had beaded at the nape of your neck. She gave you a wave, promising to see you again next week and bring a batch of her “world famous” chocolate chip cookies beloved by her rowdy grandkids. Charming and kind, oblivious to the threatening loom of shadows as she waddled to her car. You waited in the window until you knew she was safely inside and only when the bright flash of her headlights filled the shop, you shut the front door and locked it.

Next, came the overhead lights; turning off each switch one by one until only a low cast of a single lamp was all that remained. The neon open sign was unplugged, the lights flickering until it, too, faded to back. Those were the rules – lock the door, turn off the lights. Your father had taught you from a young age how to avoid attention when it was time to pay your dues.

Only a few minutes were left as the hour hand approached eight o’clock. You rushed back to the register, nearly tripping over a vase of carnations and the watering hose laying in the middle of the walkway. You cursed under your breath, shoving the hose under the table.

The register wouldn’t have the money you needed. You’d have to fish some extra change out from your wallet to make up the difference for the extra dollars you’d given Ms. Leary. It would make you short on groceries for the week, but you’d rather face an empty stomach than whatever consequences laid in store for being any more under on your payment than you already were.

You rummaged in the bottom of your bag in search of your wallet, nearly threatening to spill the entirety of its contents onto the counter in frustration, when you finally grabbed a hold of the old, faded leather. It had belonged to your father once. His initials were still engraved on the inside pocket.

Your thumb brushed against the lettering. A gift from your mother on your parent’s fifth wedding anniversary. The poor thing was holding on by a thread with all the cracks in the binding and the withered down leather. But your father had carried it for decades. Parting with it felt like betrayal.

“I heard you had a date tonight.”

You froze, hands gripping tight to the cash inside the wallet at the sound of the familiar voice. You hadn’t even noticed the creak of the hinges at the back door, or his footsteps carrying gravel and mud in from the alley. Foolish mistakes your father spent years warning you against.

Always be prepared. Never show your fear. Don't let you guard down for even a second.

Over your shoulder, a figure emerged amongst the shadows. The outline of the sort of man that had been terrorizing your family for almost a decade – black motorcycle jacket hanging off his shoulders, silver rings upon his fingers, and muddied boot prints following in his wake against the clean tile. On his back was faded stitching of a skull with six tentacles emerging from its base – the insignia of the Hydra club.

Marked by the skull on his jacket and the loud hum of motorcycles in the streets, the smart folk in this town had learned to steer clear of Hydra’s men. Scattering in the streets at the sound of engines in the distance, closing up shop before nightfall when the shadows were at their highest. You’d never had a choice in the matter. You’d been thrown under the boot of Hydra long before you were old enough to know what it meant.

“Don’t hold back on me, Y/n. I heard the old lady say you were looking nervous. You miss me that bad?” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he approached, eyeing the vases full of flowers lining the walls of your shop as if he could set fire to the petals with a mere glance.

As he stepped forward into the dim light, you took in the jet-black hair swept away from his face, the hardened look about his features. Wide jaw and cold eyes. Lackey for the Hydra club and right-hand man – Jack Rollins.

You felt the edge of the counter against your spine. Paper crumbled inside your grip; dollar bills molding to the shape of your fist with every step he took. Still, you stayed silent. Couldn’t speak if you had the voice to try. Not with the near decade old Hydra insignia carved into the wall above your doorway – a mocking reminder of what your father had desperately done to help pay your mother’s medical bills and get her into an experimental treatment that didn’t take. Hidden behind an old clock for the sake of your own sanity, but you knew it was there -- watching.

It didn’t matter that it had all been in vain, that the cancer still managed to take your mother after years of suffering through chemo and withering away beyond the woman you knew. The flower shop your parents had dedicated their lives to was now in the hands of the most notorious biker gang on the west side of town. Known for shaking down men in the streets and burning businesses to the ground for shorting them on payments; violent and ruthless – and they were coming to collect their dues.

Rollins set his hands on the counter – caging you between them. You held your breath, looking beyond his shoulder to avoid meeting the cold glaze of his stare. His knee pressed against your thighs as his gaze shifted down to your apron where cut stems and fallen petals lined the pockets. Close enough to feel his breath hot against your neck. He parted your legs.

It was a familiar routine – one where the men of Hydra took advantage of their time in your shop under the cover of darkness. They never pushed it further than what it took to instill a slow moving, paralyzing dread into your stomach, but it was enough to remind you that they could. They could do a hell of a lot worse than scare you. Rollins thrived in every reminder.

“Down, boy,” a voice ordered from the shadows.

Rollins tensed; his jaw wiring shut as he grumbled under his breath. It was only when Rollins put half the distance of the shop between you that you were able to draw air back to your lungs. You could still smell the pungent scent of his cologne – bitter and stinging the back of your throat – and you held back a cough before it could choke you. Under your grip, you relaxed your hold on the money, only to find it dampened with sweat and warped to your fingers.

“What did I tell you about playing with your food?” the voice drawled again and slowly, the leader of Hydra club stepped into the light.

You didn’t dare look him in the eye, didn’t dare let your gaze travel over the mesh of scars on the right side of his face or the way his tongue swept out along his bottom lip as he looked at you.

Brock Rumlow masqueraded himself under the guise of prestige and civility, but it was him you feared more than anyone else. Perhaps it was the calm aura he carried, the deadly quiet in his movements and the knowledge that he could snap under even the slightest of pressure and destroy anything within his reach.

Rumlow stepped forward, casually eyeing the series of pre-made bouquets in the display. He picked a lily from its vase, examining it in his hand before he crumbled the petals in his grip. You watched as they fell in a fallen heap to the floor.

“Tell me you have my money, darling.”

You nodded quickly, eager for this dance to be over. “Right here. As much as I’ve been able to set aside. Business has been slow lately.”

You emptied the register and shoved the crumbled dollars from your wallet into the bag Rollins slid across the counter to you. It would only leave you with enough spare change to scrape by for the rest of your month, but you didn’t care. Just as long as they left.

“I’ll get you the rest,” you added, panic laced through your tone as Rumlow approached the bag with a viciously inpatient look upon his face. “This is all I have. I swear.”

“The Hydra club has done business with your father for more than a decade,” Rumlow said, ignoring your attempts to persuade him. “Do you remember what we did to him when he was short on his payments?”

You clenched your jaw so badly, blood pooled into your mouth. Flashes of your father stumbling into the small apartment past midnight flooded your vision – his right arm clung tight to his bruised ribs, his skin stained in shades of blue and purple. Swelling around his eyes. Unable to look your mother in the eye for fear of his shame.

Afraid to speak and allow the blood to slip past your lips, you only nodded.

“Good. Take that into consideration, won’t you?” He spoke as if he wasn’t threatening to beat you within an inch of your life in the alley behind the shop – as casually as one might ask another to remember their keys on the way out the door.

“Maybe we give her a taste right now,” Rollins snickered from his place in the shadows. “She just admitted she’s holding out on you, boss.”

Rumlow stilled, a hardened look crossing his features though he did not glance back in Rollins’ direction. “We’re not animals, Jack. I provided a warning and she knows to heed it. Besides, the girl has to eat. We can’t get our money if she’s too weak to open shop.”

Rollins pressed his lips together, giving a short, infuriated nod, though he said nothing else. He was right, after all. It was impossible for you to give Hydra everything you made in the last month and still be able to keep the shop open, your bills paid, and food in your stomach. But he was wrong if he assumed you were holding back for anything less. You wanted these Hydra assholes out of your life and you wouldn’t hold onto a single dollar extra if it meant getting them off your backs.

“If I may,” a third voice inquired from the shadows.

Under the dim glow of moonlight from the windows, Loki Laufeyson came into view. He was the only one of the crew wearing a fully pressed suit in favor of the motorcycle jacket and laced boots. He ran the numbers, so you heard; handled the financing side of their extracurricular activities, held the deed to your parents’ soul. He didn’t bother himself with the bikes or dirtying his hands in the streets. No – instead, he found his thrills in the stacks of money lining his pockets.

“Miss Y/L/n has been consistent in her payments since she took over ownership of the shop,” Loki continued, fingers coaxing through the long black hair slicked away from his face. “As a token of acknowledgement, consider simply increasing her interest for the next month to make up for the losses today.”

You paled as Rumlow poked a finger into the bag, briefly eyeing the small mound of bills at the bottom of the bag. You held your breath. Minutes, hours, passed in the time he took to decide your fate, to decide whether he’d take follow Rollins’ feral instincts or take Loki’s advice. You’d never be able to come up with the money next month – not with compounded interest – and perhaps Rumlow knew that. Maybe, he got off on knowing he was setting you up for failure, for whatever horrible consequences he had in mind.

But it would give you another month. Misplaced hope that this time would be different. Hope that left you ruined on the first Tuesday of every month.

Then, Rumlow pursed his lips. He gave a nod to Loki, who swiped the bag into his grip.

“We’ll be back next month.” Rumlow gave a short wave to his men as they headed to the back entrance from where they came. But then, Rumlow paused – the shadows obstructing half of his face, touching over him like an old friend. A wicked smirk pressed at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be short next time. I keep a tight lease on Rollins. I imagine you'd like me to keep it that way, yes?”

You nodded, afraid to say much of anything else. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were almost certain Rollins could hear it from across the room. The way his eyes followed you as a terrifying grin tugged on his lips was enough to make you wonder. Then, he turned; the white stitching of the Hydra insignia watching you as he left.

It wasn’t until the door closed behind him and the low rumble of engines spurred in the distance, fading into the night, that you finally allowed yourself to breathe.

***

“I don’t understand why you can't just go to the police.”

Pietro slid a steaming cup of apple spiced tea across the table. The mug was hand painted from the month he spent at the ceramics shop down the block chasing after the pretty girl with clay on her cheeks and down the front of her smock. You never learned her name, only that Pietro walked away with dozens of sloppily hand painted mugs and a broken heart curtesy of the boyfriend he didn’t know she had.

Pietro slumped into the chair opposite you, brushing his hands against his apron and spreading baking flour down his chest.

“The Hydra club’s a menace to this town,” he continued, a heavy gravel in his voice. “They've got half the town’s businesses under their thumb—”

“—and the precinct in their pocket,” Wanda added, pulling up a chair beside you. She set a tray of dishes on the table and tossed a drying rag at her brother. He gave her a short glare, a battle of wills between them, before he picked up the towel and got to work. Wanda smirked, leaning back into her chair. Her expression sobered as she turned to you. “What did they do this time?”

You shrugged. It wasn’t anything worse than the usual encounters. Rollins was a power-hungry asshole. Loki loomed in the corners in his fine pressed suits like a devious fly on the wall. Rumlow made his less than subtle threats and took your money. You told them as much, though you left out the part where they’d threatened to do you worse if you failed to deliver on your payment next month. Business at the shop had been slower than usual lately, but it wasn’t as if Hydra cared for your excuses. You didn’t want to worry your friends – not with the concerned looks they shared as you spoke.

“How much do you have left on the debt?” Pietro asked quietly.

You clenched your jaw, keeping your focus down on the tea bag as you swirled it inside the cup. Watching the steam circle into the air, the heat of it against your cheeks, the sweet smell of apples in its wake.

“A lot.” More than you could ever hope to pay off.

Your father was desperate when he went to Hydra – offering up the entire deed to the shop and a promise to return double on interest if only they would pay off his dying wife’s medical bills. It was a problem to be dealt with later, he’d told you. All that mattered was climbing out of the medical debt long enough to see your mother get healthy again, to afford an experimental treatment that she wouldn’t live long enough to see the end of. Alexander Pierce was a dangerous man but he played by a certain set of rules. As long as he received his payments, it would be just fine. Your mother would get the treatment she needed and the family business would stay open.

Truthfully, it had worked for a few years. You learned the routine. Tuesday evenings – eight o’clock. Lock the door, turn off the lights. Ready the money. Don’t look them in the eye and don’t make trouble. Don’t resist. Your father had taught you well enough, but the panic of hearing the turn of their engines as they rolled into the alley behind the shop never lessened. They scuffed the tiles when they walked – leaving permanent black marks upon the floors as if to remind you exactly who owned the store your family had given their lives to.

It seemed worth it for a while.

Hydra’s leadership was passed to Rumlow. Your mother was getting better. You survived the worst day of every month.

But then, the treatments stopped working and the cancer took your mother in a matter of months. Your father died of a heart attack not long after. Folks liked to tell you that it was a broken heart that got him in the end, as if that were meant to comfort you in some way. He couldn’t live in a world without your mother, they’d said. It was romantic.

But your heart was broken, too. And you were the one left to deal with the fallout. A mountain of debt. A chain shackled to Hydra. The paralyzing grief of losing both of your parents. There were no words of comfort that could lessen the burden you carried.

“They’re expanding, you know.” Wanda tapped her fingers against her thigh, gaze glancing out the café windows. “I heard from Gregor down on 6th that Rumlow’s starting to charge all of the businesses that fall within Hydra borders. They’re calling it a territory fee.”

Pietro scoffed. “We’re lucky we’re on this side of the line.”

“This is still a biker town, brother,” Wanda reminded him. “We don’t know much about the 107 but at least they don’t bother us. Sometimes I see them riding the streets or getting into it with the Hydra club near the border. I just try to stay out of whatever they’re doing. Doesn’t matter what side of the war you’re on, there’s always collateral damage."

Growing up in Sokovia, the twins would know that better than anyone. They moved from one war zone to another – though this one operated under intimidation and thinly vailed threats as opposed to open warfare and bombings in the streets.

All you knew of the 107 was that four of Hydra’s men ended up in the hospital as a result of a brawl that took place a year ago near the border. At the time, you’d felt an ounce of satisfaction to know Hydra had taken a hit, but it was quickly displaced with the knowledge that cutting off one head only allowed another to grow.

You didn’t care whether the 107 were the enemy of your enemy. They were all the same as far as you were concerned. Just as bloody and violent. Just as vindictive and manipulative. You’d heard rumors they charged protection fees for the businesses that fell under their territory lines. Little more than extortion disguised under a kinder name.

The bell at the front door chimed and it came as a relief. Pietro reached across the table and squeezed your hand lightly before he left to help the new customer. Wanda watched him for a moment, smoothing out the edge of her apron and the fraying stitching of her mother’s name on the left side of her chest.

“What will you do?” she asked gently.

You held the tea cup between your hands, allowing the warmth to coat into your palms. “What I have to.”

Pay Hydra your dues. Stay under their thumb. Do as they ask, when they ask. Survive. Keep your parents’ shop at all costs.

“You know our door is always open for you,” Wanda said. She offered a small smile, a sadness lingering in her eyes as she glanced the tea you had yet to take a sip from. “Hydra shouldn’t cross the border this far into 107 territory. You’re safe here.”

You pressed out a smile in return, telling her your thanks. You took a few sips from the lukewarm cup before you slid a few dollars in the pocket of her apron despite her protests. She meant well, but at the end of the day, you both knew that no matter how bad things got with Hydra, you would never abandon the last thread you had to your parents.

And the truth was, with Hydra looming over your shoulder – you wouldn’t be safe anywhere.

***

After you left the Maximoffs’ café, the sun had already begun to set. It would be a brisk walk to make it home before nightfall, but you figured the fresh air would do you good. You didn’t get out as often as you used to since you took over May Flowers and your weekly trips to visit Wanda and Pietro were about the extent of your socialization these days. Still, it was something, and not even Ms. Leary could fault you for that.

Your walk through the east side of town often felt like a living memory. On your right, you passed by the donut shop your father had often frequented, bartering with the baker to give his chocolate glaze a little extra on the top before he slipped a few extra dollars in the tip jar. A few minutes later, you saw the front entrance to the park where he proposed to your mother. They’d been surrounded in a garden full of purple lilacs at the time right in the early months of summer. It was your favorite spot to picnic as a child, because they’d tell you the story of how he proposed and sometimes – when you were extra good – he might reenact it for you.

You passed by the salon where you’d gotten your hair cut since you were a child and the local library where your mother had dropped you off for day care. You stepped over the pothole in the sidewalk where you’d cut open your knee when you learned how to ride a bike and touched the dent in the stop sign on the street corner when you learned to drive. This side of town carried so much history for your family.

It was better than passing the bank who had refused to give your father a loan before they foreclosed on the flower shop and forced his hand. The lamppost where he had met with Alexander Pierce under the cover of night and arranged for the deal that left you chained to Hydra’s demands. The alley where he’d been assaulted for failing to make a payment on time. Part of you wondered if drops of his blood were still visible amongst the pebbles but you were too afraid to look.

The only decent thing about the west side of the town was the flower shop. Everything else was just another reminder of what Hydra could do to you if you didn’t come up with their money. It was why you tried to escape to the Maximoffs’ when you could. It reminded you that you weren’t as alone as you often felt.

On your left, you walked past the entrance to the Centenarian – a local bar known for its long hours and the rows of expensive bikes parked outside. Even from the sidewalk, you could hear the low hum of Billy Joel playing on the jukebox and the off-key singing echoing inside as a couple danced behind the open window to Paino Man. It smelled of stale beer and even the sidewalk felt sticky under your shoes as you quickly passed by.

You had half a mind to wander in yourself. It had been years since you let yourself enjoy a decent night out – even if it was hunched over the end of a bar with a lone whiskey and quietly observing the people around you. But the sun was setting quickly – oranges and red coating the horizon in its wake – and you knew better than to be out on the streets after dark with the Hydra club patrolling around with liquor in their veins.

It also wasn’t lost on you that the Centenarian could be home to the 107. There were too many bikes parked out front for it to be anything less – but there was something inviting about the laughter that carried down to the sidewalk and the off pitch singing to Billy Joel that made you wonder if maybe you were wrong. Men like the 107 and Hydra wouldn’t dance with their partners in open windows or sing in public. You didn’t even think they had the capacity for it. The very thought of a man like Brock Rumlow wearing anything close to a genuine smile, twirling a woman in his arms for the sake of her laughter instead of his grimy hands snaking down her spine made you shudder.

You ran your fingers along the gold watch on your wrist. It was loose on your arm, with a few too many chains left in the band from when your father wore it. It had been a gift from your mother for his fortieth birthday. He wore it religiously – didn't even take it off when he was working, leaving behind small specks of soil in the creases. Gave it character, he liked to say. You wore it now to hold onto those pieces of him, comforting you when you needed him most.

You approached a small circle of light hanging under a street lamp, vaguely considering whether the spaghetti in your fridge was still mildly passable for consumption, when you felt hand snake around your wrist.

Panic jolted inside you, the instinct to scream smothered by the low chuckle of the voice behind you. He yanked on your arm, spinning you to face him – tugging you back into the shadows.

The first thing you noticed was that there was no skull and tentacled beast patched on the back of a motorcycle jacket. His face was not one you recognized. He reeked of rum as he dug his nails into your wrist. You weren't sure which was worse – the pinch of his nails to your skin or the putrid smell of his breath. He swayed as he leaned in closer to you.

“You’re a pretty thing,” the man slurred, his breath hot against your neck as you tried to inch your way out of his grip – but it was too familiar, a game you’d played dozens of times before. Cat and mouse. Hunter and prey.

When you looked at him again, he wore Jack Rollin’s dark features – the strong cut of his jawline and the cold, dead look in his eyes. It froze you – your stomach plummeting – because you were still on the east side. Hydra shouldn’t be able to cross without serious consequences from the 107, right? That had to be true. You were certain it was true.

But then you blinked again and Rollins’ face morphed back to the stumbling stranger with the flush of alcohol heavy in his cheeks. The panic from the previous night was still itching in your veins. Messing with you. Playing with you. It lingered and followed you wherever you went and even a trip to the east side to visit your friends could not allow you even a moment of reprieve.

“Let me go,” you warned, tugging at your wrist as you shot a desperate glance to the end of the sidewalk. Nothing appeared in the horizon – no one walking alone in the evening. This town knew better than that.

You wondered briefly if this man was part of the 107. He had no distinguishing features, no emblems on a jacket or tattoos of loyalty. You knew Hydra prided themselves in striking fear with the simple glance to the symbol on their backs and you didn’t suspect the 107 to be any different.

This man was just a drunk; an arrogant drunk who stubbled his way into your path and felt himself entitled to lay his grimy hands on you. But a drunk that held a vice grip on your wrist nonetheless.

“Shhh,” his breath traveled along your jawline.

You stilled yourself – holding your breath as his nose brushed along the side of your neck. He was practically incoherent and the stench of rum burned in your nose the closer he leaned into you. You knew he was a stranger – nothing more than an intoxicated man on the street – but you could smell Rollins’ cologne, could even smell the leather of a jacket that was certainly across the town border. It wouldn’t leave you alone. You squeezed your eyes shut.

Maybe if this had happened years ago – back when you still carried an ounce of strength in your bones and the weight of Hydra’s debt didn’t drag against your ankles in heavy, metal chains – maybe, you would have fought back. You would have swiped a closed fist to the side of his face and knocked him down to the dirt where he belonged.

But you’d learned to stay quiet. You learned to be still and let it pass – because it always did. You’d seen the consequences when you didn’t. The scar on the left side of your father’s temple was evidenced enough. It had matched the edge of a ring worn on Rumlow’s right hand.

It would pass. It would pass.

And then suddenly, as if the universe itself had bent to your will, the man was gone.

The open breeze brushed against your wrist, leaving behind a chill against the skin, and you no longer felt dizzy under the stench of alcohol. You heard the man grunt as he collided with the ground, a low grumbling as he shuffled along the sidewalk. A second set of footsteps approached.

It will pass, you told yourself again as you kept your eyes closed – the same way that Rollins always left at the end of the night and Rumlow took his cash. The line was never crossed. It was only ever about fear. Perhaps, if you dared to open your eyes again, you would be in your flower shop on the west side and the hum of engines would ignite in the distance – steadily fading into the night until nothing was left but the gentle coat of silence. Maybe, you wouldn’t be standing in the middle of an empty street alone after dark in a dangerous town.

A hand touched your shoulder – feather light, hesitant – and you flinched. Your eyes shot open; fists clenched as you readied to defend yourself, as foolish as it felt. You knew the drunk was twice your size, but you’d learned how to steel yourself against men like Rumlow and Rollins despite the terror they induced, so you’d go down with a fighting breath in front of this man, too.

But the drunk was no longer standing in front of you, invading your space. Instead, you were met with the calming surrender of startling blue eyes.

Bluer than the delphiniums lined along the outside of your shop – the very same ones your mother had stopped by every morning to touch a gentle fingertip to the petals and take in their scent; quite literally stopping to smell the flowers because she was the sort of woman to take stalk in the smallest moments of joy.

Bluer than the empty sky you’d woken to that morning – calm and gentle as it coaxed you away from the viced grip on your sheets, the sweat stained on your back, and the heavy locks on your doors. Kind on the horizon. Vast. Limitless.

Bluer than the lake behind your grandfather’s cabin as the sun touched the crests just before it reached its peak in the sky.

Blue. Blue. Blue.

It took a moment before you even allowed yourself to venture beyond his eyes to the bristle of stubble along his cheeks and the short wisps of brunette hair brushed back away from his face. He had lines along the side of his eyes – laugh lines, you realized, that must have taken years' worth of joy to produce.

Blue-eyes held his hands up in the air, taking a slow step back as he noticed the tension in your stance. “Are you alright, miss?”

You stared at him; jaw clenched. Your heart was racing too badly to reply, fingers numb under the rush of adrenaline, but you offered him a short nod.

He exhaled in what seemed to be relief, stealing a glance back in the direction of The Centenarian. Piano Man was still playing through the speakers and you realized that the entire encounter had taken place in less than three minutes. It had felt like hours.

“We cut him off an hour ago but I guess he stumbled into a liquor store anyway,” Blue-eyes said, his voice lower than you expected. “He won’t see a drop of our alcohol again, I promise you.”

You swallowed, following his gaze back to the bar. His eyes carried such heaviness – a strange mixture of anger and disappointment you couldn’t quite place.

“You work at the Centenarian?” you asked slowly, regaining your voice.

He smiled at that, his head hung low so you could not see his eyes or the way the lines pressed lightly around them, but still – you could see the faintest traces of a pleasant memory. “Something like that.”

You had half a mind to ask him if it was true about the bar – that it served as the meeting spot for the 107, Hydra’s counterpart on the east side – but you bit your tongue instead. He’d done you a favor by chasing off the drunken man before he’d done any real damage and you weren’t going to repay his kindness by accusing him of working for a bunch of low life criminals.

“It’s getting dark. I should probably get home,” you murmured rather reluctantly, stealing a glance down the open sidewalk. The sun had fallen behind the horizon, leaving only a trail of darkness behind. Stars peppered in the sky, but the shadows hung heavy over the sidewalks on your journey back. At least your shop was close to the border. You’d rather face a run-in with the 107 than Hydra any day. The 107 wouldn't recognize your face, wouldn’t operate under the knowledge that they owned you down to the last penny in your register, and somehow, that was the kinder option.

“Let me walk you,” Blue-eyes offered. His gaze trailed over you, though it wasn’t in the hungry, demoralizing glare that men like Jack Rollins’ carried. It was almost a kindness – a quiet observation for a sign to step back, to put space between you if he crossed an unwanted line. “The streets aren’t always safe when the sun goes down. Could be a lot worse than running into handsy drunks.”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. You were well aware and it didn’t seem as though he took any pride in reminding you. If anything, there was a dangerous sort of anger pressed into his features – a sharp clench of his jaw, his hands taunt into fists. Almost as if he carried the responsibility himself.

“I’m not far,” you told him as he stepped in line with you. “I live above the flower shop on Culver.”

He paused, a slight waver of hesitation in his stance. “May Flowers? On the west side? It’s yours?”

You were surprised he knew of your shop considering the black combat boots and tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. You were certain you would have recognized a face like his if he’d ever shown up in your shop – standing out in rugged contrast to the delicacy of brightly colored flowers and plants inside – but something about his expression was painted in familiarity. You nodded.

But then his jaw clenched, his gaze fixated on the end of the sidewalk. Something like reluctance holding him back.

“It’s only a few minutes from here. I can manage on my own,” you said despite the nerves inching their way back up your spine. You barely knew this man – didn't even know his name – and still, something about this stranger felt safer than the terrifying alternative of being alone. But you’d handled worse before – you'd stool in front of men like Rollins and Rumlow and survived. You could manage another six blocks.

Blue-eyes took another cautious glance back at the Centenarian before his shoulders slumped. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a string of keys. Before you could ask him what he was doing, he unclipped a plastic charm and shoved the keys back into his pockets.

“Take this,” he offered, extending the keychain to you.

You stared blankly at it until he gestured patiently for your hand – never reaching for it before you could offer it yourself. You placed your hand into his, the calloused touch of his palms coaxing against your fingers – rough and labored through the years, a story within the palms of his hands. You shivered as you watched him slide the plastic keychain along your fingers, your pointer and middle finger fitting securely in the openings. He closed your hand around the keychain, leaving two sharp edges piercing through the center of your closed fist.

“You won’t hurt yourself on it,” he told you, tapping his finger on the edge of the plastic, “but if anyone comes at you, this will do some damage if you swing at ‘em.”

You turned your fist in your hand, testing out the motion as Blue-eyes stepped back to give you the space. His arms folded over his chest, a smile brimming upon his lips as he watched you. You found as you clutched the keychain in your grip, that the nerves slipped from their viced grip in your muscle, the panic easing its way from your bloodstream.

You felt the warm ache of a smile against your cheeks. “How can I return it to you?”

“It’s yours,” he replied with a quick shake of his head.

You nodded, biting at the edge of your lip as you played with the sharp edge of the plastic. “Thank you. For this and... for coming to my rescue.”

He shrugged, a teasing grin brightening his features. “You had him on the ropes.”

“Right,” you laughed, surprised to find it possible in your voice. You stole a reluctant took down the sidewalk. “I suppose I should head home now.”

“Yeah,” Blue-eyes sighed, sinking his hands to his pockets. “Get back safe, okay?”

You gave him one last smile, trying not to focus on the way his brow wrinkled at the center or how the edge of his lip was scarred as his teeth bit into the fullest part. As you faced the west side, inching towards the border, you could feel his gaze on you and a shiver crawled up your spine.

It was only after you’d crossed the border into the west that you dared a glance over your shoulder. The Centenarian was long out of view and so was the blue-eyed stranger. You clutched his keychain a little tighter, picking up you pace until you spotted the dark, overhanging sign of your parents’ flower shop.

It wouldn’t be until you finally locked the door behind you that you realized you never learned Blue-eyes' name. A sliver of disappointment sank into your stomach as slid the keychain around the metal loop with your apartment keys. You peered out the window, looking back to the east side of the city, wondering if maybe you might run into the stranger again.

#OH MY GOD JKDFHSDG I CANT WAIT #fic rec #no this is more than just a fic rec #u NEED to read this #DO IT #/j #but...... do it if u can pls #😭

[dolcezzasfantasy]

BUCKY BARNES + legs (requested by anonymous for 10k follower celebration)

#oh lord..... you know what im thinking. you know what im thinking ?! #gAH #nsfw #i think #KSHDKS #my blog is pg 13. #16 ok thats fine #pls dni if ur under 16 kshdks #bucky my beloved

[dolcezzasfantasy]

— Pat Schneider, “The Patience of Ordinary Things”, from Another River: New and Selected Poems 

#gAH #this is a great poem *punches the wall and screams* #GAWD #IDK WHY THIS MAKES ME SO SAD #😭 #guys there is love. everywhere. around you. tis ubiquitous #sigh sigh sigh #prose #pat schneider

[dolcezzasfantasy]

Harry and Florence Pugh in the teaser trailer for Don’t Worry Darling | In theatres 23/09/22

#ok yes ive never been like. as attracted to harry styles but HEY HEY FLORENCE ??? HOLY SHIT #KAJFLWNFKEM I NEED TO SEE THIS. LIKE ITS A NEED #my brain is just. bleep blorp malfunctioning rn #we got kate bishop yesterday and today we get florence ?? hell yeah !! win for the lesbians and others attracted to women !!! #gAWD #i- i have no words 😵💫 #nsfw #i think¿ #im gonna tag it that LMFAOSKDHKSJF #i think my thots make this nsfw #yep #whats it gonna take for me to be in harrys place huh ?? just. 😔✊ #but her hair and her skin and sheS SO PRETTY 🤤🤤🤤🤤 #gAhhh #ok #think i lost it in the tags #anyway #anyway. #florence pugh

[dolcezzasfantasy]

honestly if you wanna write a romantic yelena x reader, just do it. it's not immoral bc after all it's just a fanFICTION. immoral is murdering someone irl lol.

ahh ok thank u for this !! the thing is i was reading some fics w her today and saw the writers getting hate and i think that scared me a little :( but nevertheless, thank u !!

#ok so. heres the plan right #if i come up w a plot for her. itll come out in october or late september maybe? #so dont wait up HAHA #but ill definitely try my best to do this #ask #anon

[dolcezzasfantasy]

thank u sm !!

how the turn tables

this is for @syntheticavenger's how it started - how it's going writing challenge for 5k! congrats!

request: Hello! For the challenge: Any Marvel character / they are locked out of their apartment and need to use your phone - syntheticavenger

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, modern!au

word count: 990

warnings: none! except maybe fluff.

a/n: ok so i'm pretty new at writing fanfics, and thus i just word vomited a little bit. i'm sorry!

// how it started //

bucky shouldn't have stepped out of his apartment in the first place. he still couldn't believe steve had gotten him to go to his third cousin's step-son's bar mitzvah. it was unbelievable. he had stood at the corner of the party, near the table filled with drinks the whole night. in retrospect, he realised he probably came off as sketchy. a tall man, with long hair tucked inside a baseball hat, with a leather jacket on and a cold stare. he didn't mean to come off as standoffish - well, maybe a harmless amount - he just simply didn't know what to do in most social situations.

and here he was, the taste of bad champagne lingering in his mouth, standing outside his front door with his shoulders hunched. he had forgotten his key. of course he had forgotten his key. the perfect ending to a perfect day, he thought scornfully. he had rummaged around - nearly torn apart - his jacket and jeans in search of his keys, to no avail. there were few options left now - drive to steve's apartment all the way in brooklyn, look for a telephone booth, or approach his neighbour. the first two were plain ridiculous. it was 11:34pm and he sure as hell couldn't drive all the way to brooklyn. besides, his car had run out of gas, and it had been nothing short of a miracle that he'd made it to his building in time. the mere idea of looking for a telephone booth in the middle of new york city was laughable. that meant he would have to approach his neighbour, y/n. his impossibly beautiful neighbour, y/n, that made him go weak at his knees.

he hadn't seen much of you, but every little glimpse he caught of you led him to dream about you that following night. dreams he would never tell anyone about.

pull yourself together, barnes. you're better than this. the game plan was simple. knock on your door, explain his plight, ask if he could use your phone to call sam for help, and exit. simple enough.

he patted down the front of his grey t-shirt, and stepped forward to knock at you door which was right opposite his.

you answered a minute later. you looked rather disoriented, half asleep and still registering that someone was at your door. your hair was messy, there were imprints of a pillow on your cheeks and your eyes were half shut and you were clearly having trouble keeping them open.

'hi, sorry for disturbing at a time like this,' bucky said, awkwardly.

you rubbed at your eyes. 'right, it's no problem. what's up?'

he reluctantly pulled his eyes off of your face. 'uh, I was wondering if I could use your phone? I locked myself out of my flat like the klutz I am, and my phone's dead and car's out of gas and I need to call my friend and-'

you started chuckling. 'that sounds like an eventful day.'

'you have no idea,' he smiled.

'come in.'

'what?'

'you need the phone, don't you? I'll make you a cup of tea while you're at it.'

'oh, I don't wanna inconvenience you-'

'nonsense, come on in.'

he bit down on his lip to stop the smile from spreading wide across his face, but he was sure the effort was pointless. thank goodness your back was turned to him as you led him inside your flat.

your place had a very homely feeling. the floors were wooden and there were fluffy carpets all around. there were a lot of posters everywhere and bucky thought he spotted a record player stashed away behind a table in the kitchen area. there was a shelf full of books and the couch was occupied mostly by crocheted blankets and large pillows.

'here ya go,' you said, holding out your mint green phone to him. he noticed the cover had winnie the pooh on it. that made him smile.

'thank you so much.'

as he dialled sam's number into it - which, fortunately, he had memorised for emergencies just like this - he saw you out of the corner of his eye making tea. he shook his head playfully. you were too kind to someone you barely knew.

'yeah, just bring it over,' he said to sam on the phone. by the time he hung up, you had brought him a cup of green tea.

'you're too kind,' he said, repeating his thoughts.

'oh, it's no problem,' you said as you blowed on your own cup. 'I need that little kick anyway. might as well stay awake now instead of trying to go to sleep,' you smiled.

'again, I'm so sorry. you were my last resort.'

'I'm honoured I was your last resort,' you smirked. 'don't worry, we'll find a way for you to make it up to me.'

'I can buy you another green tea this Saturday if you want,' he offered.

'you mean, like, a date?'

'well, depends on how you look at it,' he hesitated.

'no, no. I won't have it any other way,' you laughed.

// how it's going //

the phone had been ringing for 2 whole minutes when bucky grudgingly picked it up.

'what?' he grunted.

'dude, i need you to bring my spare apartment keys to me,' sam's voice came. 'i've locked myself out.'

bucky groaned. he had barely awaken, and he wanted to spend the sunday with his fiancee.

'mm, who is it?' you said, sleepily.

'sam. go back to sleep, i'll be back in an hour tops.'

'bring back waffles.'

he laughed. over the course of your relationship, you had made it clear you had an affinity for waffles.

'of course,' he said, giving you a kiss on the top of your head.

you smiled in your sleep.

strange case of déjà vu, bucky thought to himself, as he exited the apartment he shared with the love of his life.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

thank you so much for reading! feedback is so, so appreciated! <3 please do not repost my work on any platform. reblogs are fine!

#wait wait i cant believe i didnt see this before #gawd i hate tumblr #T-T #comment reblog #how the turn tables #neptunight