#Natasha opens the door and sees Bucky in the dark propped against a wall looking half dead with earphones in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beefromanoff · 6 months

Text

Project Mockingbird Ch. 4

summary: lots of testing to find out what's going on with Charlotte...hopefully a breakthrough?

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: let me know what you think! thanks for reading, xox!

tag list: @bangtanxberm (let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

_________________________________________________________

The first thing I felt was a pounding in my head. I wondered if I was back in Vegas, if I’d overdone it the night before, the bright lights searing through my eyelids. Groaning, I remembered I couldn’t get hungover.

I shifted, trying to prop myself up on my elbows without opening my eyes to the horrific fluorescents above me. Like a knife in my gut, memories rushed back to me.

Him. Rage. Darkness. Nothing.

Shit.

I knew this was a possibility, but I’d hoped against hope that it was just a fearful thought. It had been decades since I’d seen him, and those weren’t exactly stress-free circumstances. I’d thought that after so much time, after being away from HYDRA…but I was wrong. Everything they did to me was still very much present. The instincts they’d drilled into me took precedent even over my own thoughts and desires.

The second thing I felt was a shocking amount of mobility around my arms. My eyes flew open. I was in a hospital bed, still in my workout clothes. My shoes had been tossed to the side of the room. The walls were light gray, sleek. Slightly less sterile-feeling than the average hospital, but still made my skin crawl. I was alone in the room, but I could hear the murmur of voices just outside the door. My heart was pounding in my ears and reflected by the erratic beeping of the monitor to my left. I looked down to see a few wires protruding from the collar of my shirt.

With a whoosh, the door slid open to reveal a small crowd. I recognized Natasha and Steve, someone I recognized as Tony Stark standing a few feet behind them with another dark haired man.

Nat stepped into the room, a smile on her face but her whole body tense. “How you feeling, hot stuff?”

“Where are the restraints?” I set my jaw, staring at my hands.

“What do you mean?”

“I just proved I can’t be trusted, can’t control myself,” My voice was low. “I attacked one of you. I should be restrained.”

Steve looked at the ground, eyes clouded. Tony looked up from the tablet he was holding, observing the room. It was the man next to him who spoke first.

“I know a thing or two about not being able to control yourself, trust yourself.” He was a little skittish, but seemed genuine. “You’re in more captivity in your head than you are here. We aren’t in the business of keeping prisoners. You won’t be restrained as long as you’re fighting something that you didn’t ask to have done to you.”

I lifted my eyes to look at him, giving him a slight nod of thanks.

“Touchy-feely stuff aside - I’m Tony, by the way - I do think we should work out where this is coming from.” He stepped forward and plopped down on the edge of my bed, surprising me with his casual attitude. “I assume you don’t exactly have the warm fuzzies towards labs or doctors, but I promise that Dr. Banner and I aren’t here to do anything but help.” Tony gestured to the man I didn’t know, who nodded.

I looked at Natasha for reassurance before responding. “What do you mean…help?”

“Well, to be frank, there’s clearly something different about you.” Tony laid the tablet on his lap and looked straight at me. “We just don’t know the specifics. Without that, we can’t do much except throw you into a chokehold when you get a little murderous on us.”

“Tony,” Natasha warned.

“What he’s saying is that we can…investigate. We can work with you to figure out what was done to cause that episode you had, and hopefully prevent it from happening in the future.” The man, Dr. Banner, explained.

“Is that even possible?”

This time, it was Steve who answered me. “It was with Bucky.” I snapped my eyes to him. “He had a similar…he struggled at first too. For him, it was trigger words. They were programmed into him, anytime he heard them he would lose himself until we could-”

“Until we could knock him out.” Natasha cut him off, speaking matter-of-factly. I appreciated the lack of sugar coating.

“But…you were able to fix him? Stop the words from having an effect?” I tried to stop the hope snaking its way into my heart, anything to push back against the fear of my own lack of control.

“Yes.” Steve smiled. “He hasn’t had an episode in years. Any anger he feels now is totally under his own volition.”

I nodded slowly, thinking through my options. I couldn’t exactly say no, keep living here for free, and run the risk of attacking another one of their friends.

“When can we start?” I grit my teeth and looked at Tony and Dr. Banner, who glanced at each other.

“We can, if you’re up for it, we can start today?” Dr. Banner shrugged.

“As soon as possible. Please.”

_____________

“Call me Bruce, seriously.” He smiled, handing me a cup of water that I graciously chugged.

We’d been working for the past twelve hours, according to the last time I saw the clock. The day had come and gone, judging by the sun beam peaking around the window shade in my room that had slowly given way to night. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be, and I could tell that Tony and Dr. Ban-Bruce weren’t the type to put a project down when they hadn’t had a breakthrough yet.

First, we did the standard labs. Blood work, blood pressure, retinal scans. Then a few more in-depth tests, an MRI and a CAT scan to give them a better look at what was happening inside me.

Right now, I was hooked up to a machine that mapped out my brain in a three-dimensional, floating model in front of us. I sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling. Electrodes were stuck to my head, neck, and chest, wires going every which way. Natasha had lent me a hair tie to secure my hair in a loose bun on top of my head, making it easier to decorate me with the sensors. After a few hours, Natasha and Steve had left to go eat. It was slow work, admittedly. A few empty coffee cups were strewn across the side table in my room, one having toppled on the floor as a result of Bruce not-so-gently setting it down.

“How about this one?” Tony clicked a button and brought up a hologram of James Barnes, three dimensional in front of me. He was in full armor and mask, holding a hefty gun and looking around for someone. His eyes were cold, distant. His hair was longer then than it was when I saw him out by the lake. Now, it was long enough to tuck behind his ears but not nearly down to his shoulders like this rendering showed.

“Nope. Nothing.” The model of my brain showed nothing beyond the standard yellow flecks of electricity as I spoke, watching the hologram stalk around the room.

“Well, kid, I think there’s only one thing left for us to try.” He sighed, clicking the hologram off. “Clearly, the reaction you’re having isn’t strictly visual. It has to do with Barnes, but we can rule out the trigger being anything electronic. We’ve tried photos, videos, audio recordings, and now holograms, nothing. It’s not causing you to go all haywire.”

“What’s the next step?” I asked cautiously.

“The next step would be live-stimulus monitoring…we’d-”

Tony cut Bruce off. “We’d bring Barnes in here and see how you react.”

“I don’t-”

“Before you say no,” Bruce interrupted, holding his hand out. “We would take precautions. We can restrain you if you prefer, but we don’t have to. We can give you an IV with a fast-acting sedative at the ready. We’ll be prepared if you have an…adverse reaction.”

I swallowed, my heart already speeding up. “If you say so.” I was shocked at how calm I’d been able to stay this whole time. The kindness of the team combined with my paralyzing fear of having another episode allowed me to shove my anxiety down, at least for the time being. My desire to be free of these mental shackles overpowered my deep-seated fear of being experimented on, prodded and poked.

After we’d discussed what precautions I was comfortable with (and the answer was all of them, please) they left me alone in the room with a soft-spoken female lab tech. I’d stripped off my jacket so she could start my IV, forcing myself to think of anything else to avoid the wave of anxiety that came from needles and nurses and everything in between. When it was done and taped down to my arm, she smiled and slid the doors back open. Bruce explained to me what they were looking for in my brain waves and how it would help them figure out what the issue was, but he sounded a million miles away. I was already getting hot, nervous. No one expects being brainwashed and conditioned to kill to be so embarassing. The shame from my earlier episode still sat heavily in my gut, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for two more people to witness my lack of control.

“Ms. Rossi? Are you ready?” The tech spoke gently, positioned by my wrist with heavy-duty restraints sitting open. I nodded and allowed her to set my arm inside and fasten the straps tightly. Once my left arm was all but immobile, strapped to my side, she scurried over to the right side.

When my arms were pinned to the bed, flat at my sides, the tech was poised in the corner with her hand over the button to release the sedative into my veins, I took a shaky, deep breath.

“I’m ready.”

Bruce nodded and tapped his tablet. I heard footsteps coming from down the hall, a few sets. I matched the cadence in my head, determining one set to be Steve’s and one Tony’s. That left the third as the other half to our little experiment. Two sets of footsteps trailed off, hovering a few feet away, out of view. The third set, slow and methodical, approached the opening to my room.

“Come on in, Sergeant Barnes.” Bruce called, eyes flicking from me to the doorway to the model of my brain.

In two heavy steps, he turned the corner and came into view. James, Sergeant Barnes, whatever he went by - stood right in front of me. His lip was split, eye already beginning to yellow around the outside as a result of his accelerated healing. His dark hair was tucked behind his ears. Regarding me warily, he took another step in the room.

I sucked in a breath, trying to resist the inevitable but knowing it was necessary for the research. A white hot pain seared through my head, making me cry out. When I opened my eyes, I saw James wincing.

He must remember this.

For a moment, that sobering thought helped keep the rage from overtaking me. I spoke through clenched teeth, keenly aware of the adrenaline coursing through me.

“I’m…so…sorry,” I forced myself to meet his eyes, resisting the blackout so hard that I felt a blood vessel burst in my right eye. The last thing I saw before I succumbed to the darkness was a pair of sad blue eyes on mine.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“I’m…so…sorry,” Charlotte ground out, eyes locked on Bucky. A few strands of her dark hair were stuck to her forehead, coated with sweat as she fought the brainwashing. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, her eyes hardened. The straining on her face relaxed as she somehow shifted to something inhuman, something predatory.

A low growl rose in her throat as she attempted to lunge at Bucky, thrashing at the restraints. Her back arched and the force of her effort rocked the entire bed.

“Administer the sedative,” Bruce commanded. “Now!”

The lab tech nodded, pressing her thumb down on the button, releasing the drip into Charlotte’s IV. In the forty seconds that had elapsed between when Bucky stepped into the room and when the sedative sent her into a slump against the bed, Charlotte had already yanked so hard on her restraints that she’d made her wrists raw. There was a brief moment of silence after she went limp, all of them taking a moment to collect themselves.

“You okay?” Steve stepped around the corner, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Fine.” His jaw was clenched, less out of fear for the attempted attack but because he so vividly remembered the inability to trust his own mind, to act out of his own control. “That help?”

“I’d say so.” Tony looked incredulous as he raised a hand and turned the hologram in the air. What was formerly a mild, golden glow had shifted to a bright, intense red woven throughout the model.

“This is…insane.” Bruce was slightly open-mouthed, observing as Tony moved the rendering.

“What does this mean? Is this what you expected?” Steve frowned.

“What it looks like, I mean, initially…there’s some kind of conditioning at play here. Whether it’s optical or olfactory…something about Bucky’s physical presence invokes this extreme, visceral reaction. It literally changes her brain chemistry, rewrites her neural passages. You can see that all the areas that fire when she’s functioning normally, when she’s thinking or feeling something physical, or experiencing an emotion…all those are dormant.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance, both of their brows furrowed. Crossing his arms across his chest, Steve opened his mouth to speak before Tony cut him off.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, I’m no neuroscience expert, unless you count the fifteen minutes of internet research I did roughly six hours ago,” He ran a hand along his jawline. “But it sounds like you’re saying they conditioned, programmed her to override all sense of self, consequence, and pain in order to stick to their…objective.”

Bruce nodded grimly. “It’s similar to what different countries did to soldiers in wars throughout history…give them drugs that suppress their decision making skills, inhibit their ability to feel pain. It allowed them to fight longer and often, fight through otherwise debilitating injuries or fatigue. That, combined with the right propaganda or indoctrination, can make an individual follow orders almost blindly…and definitely to their own detriment. Whatever HYDRA did to her, they took that concept and put it on a 10x multiplier. Plus, it’s not dependent on her continually receiving some drug. They literally programmed this into her.”

Bucky let out a deep breath, stepping out of the room and looking up at the ceiling. Watching his friend, Steve couldn’t decide what to ask first. Luckily, Natasha chose that moment to make her re-entrance.

“So what do we do now?” she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.

“Nice of you to join us, Romanoff. Conveniently after any and all risk has subsided.” Tony raised his eyebrows.

“I figured surely two super soldiers, Iron Man and the Hulk had it covered. Plus, if that failed, you have Maddie.” She winked at the lab tech, still standing nervously in the corner.

“To answer your question,” Bruce interrupted, making rapid notes on his laptop. “I think we can fix it, relatively painlessly. Well…easily. Basically, we need to narrow down if the trigger is happening due to something visual or olfactory, her sense of smell. My guess, based on the fact that there was no effect from video footage or even holograms, is that it’s olfactory.”

“And if that’s the case?” Steve was still frowning, watching as Bucky slowly made his way back to the group.

“We would need to sever the olfactory nerve.” Bruce grimaced. “That’s why I wouldn’t say it’s entirely…painless. But it should be quick and effective.”

A groan from the bed interrupted them. All heads snapped to see Charlotte beginning to stir for the second time that day. Instinctively, Steve grabbed the sleeve of Bucky’s jacket and yanked him towards the door. They’d made it to the end of the hall before she’d even taken her second breath.

“D’work?” She slurred, eyelids heavy but fighting to open.

“It did.” Nat sat down on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on Charlotte’s leg. “You did great.”

“How do you feel?” Bruce gestured to the lab tech to remove the restraints and they both set to work freeing her wrists. A band of raw skin circled her arms where she’d fought so violently. As soon as the restraints were set to the side, Maddie scurried out to get a bottle of ointment and q-tips to medicate the wounds.

“Never better,” She raised a hand to rub her temples, stopping when she felt all the wires still attached. Bruce nodded at Natasha and they both began gently tugging the electrodes from her face and chest.

“I think we got what we need. It’s been a long day, why don’t we stop for today and pick up in the morning. You should get some rest.” He smiled gently.

“Good call, Banner.” Tony stood, turning to Charlotte. “If you want, just this once, I’ll let you raid my personal snack stash. That’s where all the really good stuff is kept.”

She chuckled, leaning back. “Mmm, take a rain check. I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

“We used a pretty heavy dose on the sedative…even with your heightened metabolism, it’ll take a bit for it to completely leave your system.” Bruce’s eyes were apologetic.

“Better safe than…” She waved her hand, a yawn cutting her off.

“Alright boys, beat it.” Natasha stood. “Char, I’ll be back first thing in the morning with a breakfast spread like you wouldn’t believe. Sleep it off, it’s late anyways.”

Charlotte smiled lazily as her lids began to droop again. “S’a plan.”

“Sweet dreams, kiddo.” Tony’s voice was the last thing she heard before drifting back off to sleep.

#james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #avengers #bucky fluff #winter soldier #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan #winter soldier fluff #winter solider x reader

20 notes · View notes

real-jane · 2 years

Text

drifting (4)

[cw!bucky barnes x female!reader]

summary: bucky saves the life of a woman when she’s buried in an avalanche. faced with the possibility that his cover might be blown, bucky must keep the woman alive, and try to keep her from finding out who he is… or what he’s done.

how long can he hide?

warnings: none.

word count: 2.5k+

series masterlist

***

Three days without much rest is enough to send any man into delirium. For Bucky, it isn’t an unfamiliar gambit. It’s just that he can’t feel his limbs, and his skin has permanent goosebumps so brutal that the slide of fabric feels like it’s catching on needles. He can’t remember how he got outside, or when… or why he’s barefoot, but he comes to when a hand much smaller than his closes around his wrist.

He looks at her, but there’s a spot where her face should be like she’s standing behind smudged glass. He can’t quite make out what she says either, but her tone is elevated, and she’s pulling, and he doesn’t resist. Bucky just follows. Then he’s sitting on the couch, and there’s a quilt tossed over him. And his feet are jammed into boots. Fingers are on his cheeks and he winces away.

“You’re safe.” It echoes between his ears. Safe.

“Rest, Soldat.”

He shudders. Every nerve ending retreats, but he obeys. He closes his eyes, and everything becomes dark.

***

Bucky sleeps for almost twelve hours. She sits vigil in the chair at the end of the couch, and when he starts to get restless, she reads out loud from where he dog-eared The Hobbit. It’s enough to keep him docile. With his eyes shut, he looks peaceful. She takes a photo… for Steve, she tells herself. She sends it to him without a caption or explanation, but she traces the shape of Bucky’s profile on the screen as if he isn’t laying there, a few feet away. He takes a shuddering breath, and she jumps. She’s getting careless, lazy–it's just that he’s practically snoring. Surely constant vigilance can relent for a few hours while the soldier puts down his burden.

Something about sleep deprivation is tearing down the natural wards his brain has built up since being held in captivity, and he’s slipping. If he’s only going to listen to her if she speaks to him like he’s the Asset, then it’s going to make her mission much harder. And he doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like he’s a toddler, either. Rest, little soldier. Fuck.

She lays her head back.

What would Natasha think? Do you what you must, Nat would say, even if she thought she was crazy. Would she look twice at her for lingering with him like she has all the time in the world, and not like there is an expiration for all this? Would she hold off saying something about how being stranded with him must surely be a dream come true after all that time cradling his file–or would she come right out and say it: you’ve been compromised, and it’s going to get you killed. Both of you.

She is languishing. Thank god Bucky isn’t conscious to see it. It’s even harder to hide it when he’s so obliging in his wakefulness, at least when he’s not sleep deprived. She’s ashamed of herself for it. The pang that sits in her stomach. It hit a nauseating level when she woke up and found the front door of the cabin blown wide open, and Bucky standing twenty feet off, staring out into the expanse of glittering white drifts. For just a split second, she worried that he left.

If that happens… she will follow.

His breath catches, jolting her out of her reverie. She stands slowly, propping herself up with the branch she’s been using as a crutch. No sense sitting here and wondering, or making plans for the un-plannable. Better to wash off. Get some sense of normalcy. Stop staring at the side of Bucky’s face and feeling anything.

It’s easy enough to get into the washroom; the room is small, and she uses the walls to keep herself standing. Against her better judgment, she works at the knots in the flannel keeping her leg splinted, and lets the torn fabric pool on the ground. She’d rather have a better look at the damage, and make sure it’s thoroughly cleaned so that she can accurately report back to Steve. She’s quick to snap several photos of the bruised tissue around her shin, but it’s quite… ordinary looking. Still throbs, but the pain isn’t lingering the way it did in the night.

In the thread with Steve, he hasn’t replied to her photograph of his friend from earlier. The screen is blank except for her proof of interception, the rest of their correspondence having expired after the twelve hour limit. There is one message in her queue, but it isn’t from Steve. Time stamped five minutes ago:

Take care, Пчёлка.

She huffs. Of course Steve showed Nat her message. Shouldn’t have sent it except that she wanted Steve to see his friend was alive. Right?

She rips open the drawer below the sink and drops the phone inside. It hits the bottom of the draw with a thud–dampened by a small, leather journal. It’s bound in soft red leather, littered with imperfections and scratches on the cover which have worn into raised scars. Her heart leaps into her throat. With one finger, she pushes her phone to the back of the drawer, and raises the cover of the journal.

The script is jagged and inconsistent, looping back on itself when it lacks clarity, and stopping without punctuation where there’s a question of how to proceed, but the first entry repeats itself twice. The words come in the same order, save a few corrections for the second. It must be Bucky’s. She sits on the lid of the toilet and cradles the journal in her lap. She touches her lips to keep the noise which builds in the back of her throat silent. It could’ve been a sob if she didn’t.

the man knew me i hit him he said i am his friend then he fell i pulled him out of the river he spit out water i left

the man from bridge knew me i hit him he said i am his friend and he fell from plane i pulled him from the river he breathed and i left

She turns the page.

i am james buchanan barnes

my name is james buchanan barnes

That one repeats over and over, for many pages. And the next.

the plum vendor offered me change and i dropped it and she smiled at me

the plum vendor gave me change and i dropped it by accident and she smiled at me

And the next.

And on. And on. The pages are scribbled on every line, in the margins–always with repeating sentences, always in hasty script. She flips until she finds the most recent entry.

Found a woman. She is alive. Broken leg. I did not do it.

Found a woman. She is alive. Broke her leg. I did not do it.

He must have gone over the letters a hundred times with the ballpoint pen. She wonders when he started using punctuation, at what point it struck him to do so. Clearly he’s been lucid for long enough to adapt in his memory recall. Enough that he needed to remind himself that she was not hurt because of him.

A knock at the door makes her yelp. She clasps a hand over her mouth and lays the book back in the drawer as quietly as she can. In haste, she snatches the phone and grazes her hand against the wood hard enough to skin a slight abrasion.

“Yes?” she calls evenly, though her hand aches and she’s fighting back tears of panic and sorrow in equal measure.

“How long was I out?” His voice is gruff. She swipes her hand under her nose and opens the washroom door so she can peek out at him, even as she stashes her phone in the back of her waistband. He is bleary-eyed, but the dark circles under his eyes have relented considerably.

“All day,” she says. He raises both eyebrows and cards a hand through his hair.

“Should’ve woke me up.”

She shakes her head. “You needed to rest, James. You were delirious.”

He fixes her with a narrow stare. “What?”

“Yeah. You were outside without your shoes on,” she huffs. “Like you were sleepwalking, or something. But once you were inside, you closed your eyes and you were down for the count.”

Bucky leans against the doorway–too close for propriety’s sake, but he seems to need something to bolster him. He looks down at his feet, which are still covered in his ragged boots, even though the laces are untied. She follows his gaze.

“Those boots have seen better days,” she says.

“So have I.” Bucky’s eyes flick up to meet hers. His expression is unreadable. He worries the untamed scruff on his chin. “I keep having this weird feeling like I have met you before,” he says. "Is that crazy?"

She swallows hard. “I thought the same thing.”

“Once you weren’t afraid,” he says.

She lets out the breath she’s been holding, after seeing his desperate words in his pained handwriting over and over again in that god-forsaken journal. She doesn’t stop herself from reaching for his forearm, but it happens almost independent of her consciousness. She lays her fingers over his left arm.

“Got over that pretty quick,” she murmurs. “I can see that you’re a good person, Jamie. Anybody ever call you that?”

He snorts. “My sister. Becca. It’s been a while. You must have one of those faces.”

"Huh."

He pats her hand, and she’s reminded that he’s still gloved… has been since the moment he saw her. She wonders what he would do, if she took off the glove which conceals his prosthesis. If he’d jump away, or if he’d let her look up close and turn his hand over in hers, and watch as the plates shifted in his palm with every little pretense of a muscle movement.

“‘M gonna shower. If that’s okay. I’m sure I need it,” she says, feeling her cheeks heat up at the thought of him agreeing with her.

“I’ll do some clothes washing once you’re done,” he says.

She realizes that her hand has slid up to his shoulder, and he’s staring at her with confusion. She retracts her hold on him and nods. “Alright.”

“But. If you want, I can loan you something again. And I can wash your shirt, at least. I think it’s still with your snow pants.”

She nods. Bucky steps into the washroom without asking her to step back, which results in her body being crowded by his torso as he reaches above her head and grabs a bag from the cabinet above the toilet. He fishes out a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, but he winces to hand them over.

“I’m sorry this is all I’ve got–”

“This is really generous,” she says, before he can dissolve into apologies for more than his slim wardrobe options. “More than. I appreciate it so much. Just. Everything.”

“How’s your leg?” He ignores her sentimentality in favor of deflection, but he doesn’t step out of the washroom. He just leans against the sink and folds his arms, leaving her to sit on the toilet to step out of his personal bubble. She does so, and rucks up the leg of the sweatpants.

“Honestly? Way better than I expected. It must not have been that bad to begin with… or your splint was more effective than I realized. Either way, it’s barely even bruised.”

Bucky kneels at her feet to take a closer look. She watches him in wonder. He grasps her ankle like her bones are made of glass, and rests her heel on his knee. Then, his hands are on her skin, even if the touch is blocked by smooth leather, and he’s looking closely. He frowns.

“Could’ve sworn it looked worse than this,” he mumbles. “Well. Good, it looks good.”

“Yeah. I’m relieved it’s not worse. I wish I had my bag, though… god, I don’t even have deodorant,” she says.

Bucky points to the right-hand drawer–opposite of the one with his journal of self-assuredness–and nods. “Some in there.”

“...can I ask you something? And you can feel free not to answer.”

He sits back on his heels, setting her foot on the ground again. She hugs her arms around herself. “You… you take things. Supplies. From other cabins, right? I’m–this is not me judging you, but… you didn’t really plan on being here long, did you?”

He looks down at the ground, cowed immediately, but she reaches out with both hands before she can stop herself and cups his cheeks. “Forget I asked,” she says. “It’s okay. Are you… are you okay, do you need help?”

It takes several seconds for him to do anything else but stare at the floor. But then, he grasps her wrists. Not hard. Loose enough that she could slip her hands from his hold easily.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

She nods, even as emotion chokes her. “I, um. I’ll help. We’re waiting for the snow to melt, anyway… What else do I have to do?” She laughs lightly. “You need to sleep more, for one thing. No more all-night vigils.”

Bucky tugs her hands down so she’ll stop touching his face. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. That’s enough for me. If you need me to read to you about hobbits again, I’ll happily oblige.”

Then, he finally looks her in the eye, with irises so blue they make her own water… with one eyebrow crooked upwards. He huffs. “Thought I was dreaming that.”

“I mean, if you have other books, I can do lots of good voices.”

He doesn’t smile. Not even the facsimile of a grin. But his mouth un-tightens, and for what it’s worth, his expression seems to lighten. He’s at least not actively frowning. He nods to the closet opposite the washroom door.

“There’s a few in there.”

“Good.”

He stands, but his gaze stays settled on her. He shakes his head, apropos of nothing. She taps the watch at his right wrist. Bucky turns his arm so she can read the time. It’s barely five in the evening.

“While you do your washing, I’ll make something to eat. If you're hungry,” she suggests.

He sighs. “Starving.”

She smiles. Because she wants to, and it isn’t a feeling she has to manufacture in her attempt to get him to trust her, and because he’s rested. He’s solid. Maybe not solid, but he’s at least more stable than she’s seen so far, and speaking in full sentences, and that is something worth celebrating.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“You can leave what you’re wearing on the floor. I’ll get to it with the rest.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jamie.”

He nods, just once.

Bucky leaves her to it, but it takes her a second to stand again and start the shower, because something flashes across her vision like a lightning strike to the brain. It’s just a moment–the shock of a memory, or something entirely unbidden, but it makes her gasp in pain. She clutches her stomach, tugs her shirt up. There’s nothing there, in the place she saw the metal flash towards her soft belly, but the whole image was red.

Red.

***

Chapter 5

tag list: @peterhollandkait @hogwartsahist0ry @ohheyjanie @abitgryffindorky @idgafiamallthefandoms @mysticatto @im-just-star-dust @light-through-stained-glass

message or comment to be added to the tag list :)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfction #drifting by real jane

164 notes · View notes

aries-writingblog · 3 years

Text

Brave Enough

Summary: Bucky wonders if he’ll ever be brave enough to admit his feelings to you

Words Count: 1980- ish (I got a little carried away- sorry!!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: language, characters engaging of age drinking

A/N: gif is not my own, credit to original creator. Happy reading!!

“Bucky, lighten up, man.” Steve griped, flicking through the menu. The brunette didn’t respond, just slumping down lower in his chair and sulking even more. A deep frown etched onto his features. “It’s just a couple hours.”

“Whatever.” He snipped. Bucky could feel his teeth grit together, his jaw aching from pressure. Sam’s foot connected with his under the table, a teasing tilt to his eyebrows.

“He’s just mad that he has to be here instead of lurking ‘round in the shadows back home.” Sam nudged his foot again. Bucky kicked out, but Sam was too quick. Pulling his foot away just in time. “You ever catch him at like three in the morning, just standing around in a dark hallway?”

“Shut up.” Bucky hissed, snatching a spoon from his place setting. The utensil flew across the table, smacking Sam in the chest before falling to his lap. “And I’m not mad I have to be here.”

He truly wasn’t upset he had to be there. He was upset that one person in particular wouldn’t be in attendance. YN was still off on a mission, unfortunately missing Wanda’s birthday dinner. Without her, Bucky would just spend the whole night sulking, no one else treated him the way she did. No one else was her. Without her, his night was already marked as uneventful and boring.

“You are.” Steve corrected, glancing to his watch. “The girls should be here by now. What’s holding them?”

Bucky glanced around the restaurant, eyes scanning over Tony who was animatedly speaking with the owner. Bruce, retuning from the restroom, Peter following him with a million questions. The older man seemed to age further as the teen pestered him- asking questions ranging from science to personal. The kid could be slightly invasive at times.

The door opened- the other half of their party. The birthday girl. Wanda made her way across the room, Natasha behind her and…

“YN.” Bucky felt a weight lift from his chest- possibly his reluctance to be at the table. He watched as she gave him a small smile and wave before Wanda pulled her off to the bathroom.

“Save me a seat!” YN called, meeting Bucky’s eyes. His eyes followed her all the way, until he could no longer see her. Then he was brought back into reality by a cough.

Fuck- he did that in public. His eyes fell to Steve and Sam, their faces schooled into expressions of taunting delight.

“You gonna save her a seat or what?” Steve asked, lips twitching as they begged to smile. Bucky flicked his wrist, giving his friend a very classy middle finger as they snickered in response.

But Bucky did as she said. He unfolded the napkin at the place mat on his right, showing someone was going to sit there. Then he tucked his hands into his lap, waiting anxiously for her return. Sam pursed his lips, leaning his elbows on the table. Bucky groaned, regretting his decision to stay out when Sam sat across from him.

“Won’t you just tell her you’re in love? It would be a lot easier.” He advised, fingers laced under his jaw. Bucky scowled, his foot finally catching Sam off guard, foot connecting with his shin bone. The man cursed, jerking his chair back.

The bathroom door opened, the trio of women hustling toward the table. Natasha was shoving YN playfully, the woman responding with a laugh. Then she turned her eyes to him and he stopped breathing. Stopped living. Oxygen leaving his lungs at an exponential rate when she smiled. Teeth flashing.

“Got a seat for me, Barnes?” She asked- the sound of her voice snapping his consciousness back into the present. Bucky stumbled over himself clumsily, shoving his own chair back to pull hers out for her. “Thank you.” He pushed her back in before taking his own.

“I thought you were still in Arizona?” He kept a constant tab in his brain to focus. There had been several occasions when the pair were carrying a conversation and he noticed, too late, he had just been staring into her eyes. He didn’t mean to- it just happened.

“Just landed. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner I was back- Wanda begged me to come tonight so I had to rush to get dressed.” She explained, giving a half hearted gesture to her clothes. Bucky saw nothing wrong with them- she looked beautiful as always.

“No worries. You look beautiful anyways.” Bucky smiled. He could see in the corner of his eye- Sam and Steve sharing a look across the table. Bucky always experienced these mood swings around YN.

If he was distraught, she was there to soothe him. If he was annoyed or angry, just seeing her face would brighten his day. If he was happy, which wasn’t too often without her being a catalyst, she only intensified that feeling.

Bucky had met YN three months into his stay at the Tower. They shared a wall- his apartment was the one beside hers. He didn’t know she was his neighbor the night she came stumbling home from a mission- exhausted and dirty. Dried blood on her hairline and a red path dripping from her nose. She didn’t notice him that night as he sat in the quiet common area of floor 48. She brushed past him and dug into the fridge. He watched her shove six slices of cold pizza onto a plate and snatch three beers before disappearing into her apartment.

Needless to say, he was intrigued. But he never spoke to her. Not until two months later, in the middle of the night. She happened upon him sitting in the quiet, wide awake and writing in his journal. She commented that she also journaled- sprinting back to her bedroom to bring back a leather bound journal covered in stickers. She then offered him some of his own stickers, pressing them to the black journal in his hands.

Four months of midnight meetings passed and Bucky was infatuated. He found himself wanting to speak to her all the time- going out of his way to find her and talk. Thinking of her all the time, linking an activity with her. Asking himself ‘I wonder what YN would think of…’ Sitting with her at meals, hanging out when she was home. If he could, Bucky would have her attached to his hip at all times.

When they were together, Bucky would go to any lengths necessary to keep her there longer. To take more of her time. For once in his life, he wanted to be selfish. He wanted her complete and undivided attention. Most times, he received it. She happily gave into him, pouring affection onto the super soldier. And he swam in it- unabashedly. Unashamed to be so intoxicated around her.

“Hey, what are you ordering?” YN whispered, leaning toward his

Bucky snapped back, again, noticing that everyone had taken a seat and began to order their meals. Her eyes were trained on him expectantly. YN had seen him lose focus and attempted to reel him back in. He always seemed to fade away, she noticed. She didn’t know where his mind went when it happened but she was a pessimist- she assumed the worst.

“Me- ordering?” Bucky stuttered, his tongue barely catching up with his mind. He winced as she gave a soft smile- another snicker coming from across the table. He shot a glance over to Sam, the biting glare garnered a snarky reply.

“Smooth.” Sam muttered, propping his menu in front his face, shielding it from Bucky’s wrath.

“Sam.” Steve scolded lightly, voice low. Bucky bit back his embarrassment, clearing his throat before responding. It was gonna be a long night.

~~~~~~

YN giggled again, swaying as Bucky latched an arm around her waist. Keeping her upright. It was a struggle- she was very touchy when she was tipsy. Bucky’s heart did jumping jacks, unsure if he should revel in the affection or be disappointed she was doing it while drunk.

“Oh- Bucky, what if we took Four Loko’s and, and… White Claws!” Her fingers wiggled as she spoke, eyes watery and wide. Bucky chuckled, his body unaccustomed to the motions.

“No more alcohol for you tonight, alright? You’re already gonna hate me in the morning for letting you drink so much.” He tugged her waist gently, allowing his fingers to rest on her hip. YN rested her head against his chest as the elevator slowed to a stop on their floor.

“I could never hate you, you know that, right?” She asked, eyes gazing up at him. Bucky heaved a gentle sigh, meeting her eyes. A soft smile on his lips.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

The pair slowly exited the elevator, YN trying her best to break away from his grip. Her attention span was that of a mouse- hands reaching for things in the hallways and in the common area. Finally, they reached the set of doors belonging to them. He released her very carefully to dig through his pockets. YN had given him her spare key months ago, he had it on his key ring. She had it printed in a bright blue- the loudest color on the ring when compared to the black key of his motorcycle and the silver key of his apartment.

He didn’t really need the color distinction. There were only three keys there but hers was the most important one. He had it memorized the day she gave it to him.

“Hey Friday, unlock Bucky’s main door.”

“What? She can do that?” Bucky whipped around, catching a fleeting glimpse of her wobbling, unsteady body as she stumbled into his apartment. “Fuck.”

Bucky abandoned his task in favor of the new, more important task. Getting YN out of his apartment. He followed her at a quick pace, hand outstretched to snatch her wrist but she made an abrupt turn down his hallway. Toward his bedroom.

“YN!” He hissed, reaching for her again. She shoved the door open and made her way into the room. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see your apartment- you never let me in here when we hang out.” She murmured, eyes locking in on the bookshelf in the corner. She made a beeline to it, fingers tracing over the spines of the books. She reached for a book on the second shelf. The second shelf was dedicated to his old journals.

“Okay, maybe…” he gingerly broke her grasp on the book before she could open it, sliding it back into place. Bucky rested his hands on her shoulders, steering her out of the room. “We can do a tour when you’re a little more sober.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her there- Bucky wanted to show her everything, give her everything. But some part of himself kept pushing it all back, keeping her in the light. He didn’t want her to see the bad parts, and there were plenty. He was terrified she wouldn’t want his broken pieces if she saw them.

YN hummed, breaking from his grasp again. He sighed in defeat, letting her go. She tossed her phone to the rug and flopped face first into the bed. A sigh of content rushed from her lips as she snuggled deeper into the blankets.

“Your bed is sooo comfy…” Her voice was muffled by the thick comforter. “This isn’t fair- my bed isn’t this comfy.”

No one’s slept in it since it was purchased- Bucky but back the comment, deciding it wasn’t a good topic to broach. Considering the circumstances. He stood, watching her for a moment. Allowing her to take control for the time being. The smile from earlier began to creep onto his face as she snuggled deeper into the sheets- fully clothed.

“Alright- enough of that, YN. Let’s get you home.” He murmured, tugging on her ankle. She didn’t budge. Bucky stopped, looking up to her face. She was sound asleep. “YN?”

Nothing.

Bucky sighed.

He reached for her ankle again, unclipping the heels from her feet, allowing them to fall to the floor. He swung her legs around, tugging the blankets down on the bed. Bucky pulled them back over her body, reaching into her hair to pull it out of the tight bun she had it in. The hair tie around his wrist as he tucked her in.

“Goodnight, YN.” He whispered softly. Bucky hesitated, lips close to her temple. He could hear a faint snore coming from her throat, dark lashes resting against her cheekbones.

He allowed himself to carefully lean forward, lips pressing to her temple gently. Then he backed away quietly, turning the lights off as he exited. He couldn’t help himself- stealing another glance at her sleeping figure before closing the door. He also couldn’t help the bittersweet smile that tugged at his lips.

One day… one day I’ll be brave enough for you.

Read Part 2: Courageous

#bucky barnes x female reader #james barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

255 notes · View notes

laedback-taurus · 3 years

Text

Come Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: n/a Word Count: 941 A/n: feel free to send in a request, id love some new ideas!

“Bucky?” You asked from your bed as your boyfriend applied the finishing touches to his uniform.

“Yes Doll?” He asked as he admired himself in the mirror. You slid out of your warm bed and appeared behind him in the mirror, wrapping your arms around his torso, propping yourself up on your tippy toes to peek over his shoulder.

“Come back to me” You whispered softly. He smiled at you in the mirror and turned around, resting his hands on your hips. You wrapped your arms around his neck now and looked up at him.

“I’ll always come back to you” He whispered back to you, making you smile. You moved your hand down to his tie, tightening it a bit to neaten the knot and then flatten it back out on his chest.

“I’ll be waiting” he smiled as he watched you fix his tie for him, what would he do without you.

“I’m counting on it; don’t you go forgetting me Doll” he smirked.

“I could never” you pulled him down by his uniform and caught his lips in a loving kiss which he gladly returned. He pulled away and have you a sympathetic smile.

“I have to go…” he whispered with a hint of pain in his voice,

“I know, be careful Bucky” You kissed him one last time, pouring all of love into it, hoping he feels every ounce of it. He pulled away, grabbed his bag and made his way out of your bedroom. You followed him to the front door which he opened. Before he stepped out, he turned and gave you a quick peck for good measure.

“Bye Doll” You watched him walk down the three steps leading off your front patio, down the short walkway and out your front gate. He turned one last time to give you a beaming smile and a wave before he disappeared. You stood in your doorway for a few more minutes just staring at the pathway leading away from your house, the pathway your lover just took, the pathway you pray to see him walk back up when he returns…but that day never comes.

---

You had been in the car with Steve, Nat, Sam and a hydra agent when the Winter Soldier attacked. You had put up a tough fight but ultimately, he had overpowered you. He seemed to be a super soldier like Steve, and that metal arm definitely doesn’t help. You had been thrown back by the blast of the bomb he rolled at the car he thought Natasha was behind. You had hit a nearby car with such force you had definitely broken a rib if not more than one. You could barely move, and you felt absolutely hopeless. You watched your childhood friend fight the Winter Soldier, he seemed to be holding his own and could maybe even get the upper hand on this guy. Suddenly Steve had managed to knock the soldiers mask during the fist fight, and everything seemed to slow down as you all watched him turn to Steve. In that moment you felt your heart break, there stood the love of your life, the man who promised to come back to you all those years ago but never did. You were told he was dead, you mourned him, you still mourn him to this day yet here he is, standing defensively in front of his best friend.

“Bucky?” You and Steve asked at the same time. He looked at you, as if seeing you for the first time. You pleaded with him through your eyes, but you got nothing. His eyes were different, they no longer held light and love, they were just dark and now focused back on Steve, this man was not your Bucky anymore.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Your heart fully shattered in this moment. What had they done to your Bucky, your sweet, loving Bucky? You pushed aside the pain in your ribs and pulled yourself up against the car you were leaning against.

“Come back to me!” You yelled out to him, causing is head to snap in your direction. There was something in his eyes then, as if he were trying to remember but something was stopping him from being able to. Suddenly Sam appeared and knocked bucky down, he looked to you one last time.

“I’ll be waiting” You whispered to him before Nat shot at a nearby car causing it to explode. You sheltered your face from the blast but when you looked back, he was gone.

---

Bucky sat staring blanky ahead of him as some Hydra men worked on fixing up his arm. For some reason, his mind kept going back to you, what you said to him, the way you looked at him.

“Come back to me” he heard those words again expect from a different time, from a memory.

This memory triggered his reflexes and he whacked to man working on his arm into a nearby wall. Some more Hydra men entered demanding a mission report from him, he just continued to stare blankly ahead, thinking of you. A rough slap against his cheek brought him back to realty.

“That girl on the bridge” once again an image of you flashed through his mind. “Who was she?” he asked.

“You met her earlier this week on another assignment”.

“I knew her…”

“Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos and tomorrow morning were going to give it a push. But, if you don’t do your part, I can’t do mine. And Hydra can’t give the world the freedom it deserves”.

“But I knew her…” he says softly.

“Prep him”

“but he’s been out of cryo freeze for too long”.

“then wipe him and start over”.

Bucky’s thoughts drifted to you one last time.

“Come back to me”…

And then you were gone.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #winter solider x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #avengers x reader #avengers #marvel

171 notes · View notes

carolmaximoffs · 3 years

Text

in a crowd of strangers and lovers

summary: of course your ex is working the night you get stood up.

pairing: bartender! ex! bucky x reader

warnings: drinking, cursing, smut, a teeny bit of degradation, bartender! bucky, this is entirely self indulgent, use of a condom for the first time in my writing in i think ever oops

a/n: this has been 3/4 of the way done for so long...finally sat down and cranked out the rest of it. short and sweet and maybe not my best but heres nothin.

You swung your legs idly as you glanced once more at your phone. Only the time glared back at you - no missed calls, no explanation texts, not even a Snapchat or a DM. It was 20 minutes past the time you were supposed to meet the man you’d been talking to for the last couple of months, and you sighed. Obviously, he wasn’t coming. You waved a hand to grab a bartender’s attention before closing your eyes and rubbing at your temples in annoyance. An all too familiar voice disrupted your self-pitying thoughts.

“You look like a tequila girl.” The first words Bucky Barnes had ever said to you. Your eyes snapped open, mouth gaping. Of course...how could you have forgotten? This was the very bar, possibly the very stool you’d met Bucky at. Before you could stammer out a reply, he was making himself comfortable against the bar-top and leaning in conspiratorially. “Hot date?”

“Very,” You sniffed, meeting his gaze in spite of your churning gut. In the glow of a neon sign overhead, his blue eyes burned almost violet. Your heart ached when he beamed, those beautiful stupid eyes crinkling at the corners like they always had.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ve been here for a while now. Show up early?” Bucky propped his chin up with his metal hand; his flesh fingers drummed idly as he waited for your reply. He’d always been able to see right through you; you weren’t backing down so easily this time. You’d actually been late, but Bucky didn’t need to know that. It was bad enough he’d clearly spotted you as soon as you walked in...you weren’t really sure what to do with that information. You lifted your chin, shrugging and looking around as if your evasive date might suddenly show himself.

“I’ll take that tequila now, please,” You replied simply. Bucky’s eyes twinkled with mirth before he turned his back to you.

“Margarita or a straight up shot?” He threw over his shoulder. Your answer was a moment too late - you wouldn’t admit it, but you’d gotten a little absorbed in the way his white tee shirt stretched over the broad expanse of his back. “Y/N.”

“Huh? Oh...surprise me.” You fought the urge to bury your face in your hands again as he smiled and turned back around. You chanced looking at your phone as inconspicuously as possible. Still nothing. Moments later, thick fingers slid a tall glass towards you, rim salted, accompanied with two neat slices of lime.

“M’lady,” Bucky drawled, dipping his head dramatically. He looked up at you beneath his lashes, cheeks straining to contain his grin. Your own face burned and your heart pounded as you mumbled your thanks. You took more of a long gulp than a sip. Just your luck, it caught in the back of your throat, and you spluttered a bit. Bucky looked like he’d won the lottery.

“Careful, sugar,” He crooned, passing you a napkin. Idly, you wondered if, next, you'd fall off the stool. “You know I love to see you choke, but only-”

“Barnes!”

Natasha was standing near the door to the back, arms crossed and brow arched dangerously. Your old friend offered you a tight smile before returning to glaring at her employee. Bucky winked before he sidled off, Nat’s eyes narrowing. You wished the floor would swallow you up right then.

It didn’t, and you were swirling the dregs of your margarita by the time Bucky got back. For whatever reason, you couldn’t compel yourself to leave. Not just yet. You were rewarded, however, when he realized you’d hung around; Barnes’ eyes lit up. He bit back another smile, resuming his nonchalant stance against the bar.

“What was that all about?” You blurted, before Bucky could say anything about the near-empty glass in front of you. His smirk didn’t waver.

“Just Nat lookin’ out for you, s’all. She got off a few minutes ago, wanted to make sure I didn’t give you too much trouble.” His simper stretched into a blinding flash of teeth. “I’m not givin’ you trouble, am I, babydoll?”

You shake your head dutifully, and you think Bucky’s face might split if he grins any wider. His smile drops into something a little more seductive as he tilts impossibly closer. “Looks like your boy toy’s a no show...Sam can cover if you need a little cheering up.”

Body and brain exploded into disagreement; lust bubbled like lava in the pit of your stomach at his request, but you knew better. You had to know better by now - you were the one who’d gotten too involved in the first place. You floundered, managing to blubber a painful combination of "we shouldn’t” or “I don't think that's the best idea”. Bucky’s face fell, only just, but he was quick to hide it as he untied a thick, worn flannel from his waist.

“Wilson - headed for a smoke!” He shouted across the bar to where Sam was seemingly tangled up trying to serve a very amorous bachelorette party. His eyes were steely as he looked at you as if trying to pick you apart. “Think on it, yeah? No big deal, sugar. Back in five.”

You nodded, tracing your finger through the circle of condensation from your drink. You snuck a glance at his retreating form, however, and already wanted to kick yourself. His ass in those jeans...he’d bulked up, clearly, even in the short time since you’d stop seeing each other. And there was no way in hell he thought you wouldn’t notice. The angel on your shoulder was practically throwing a tantrum as you quickly shot a text to your closest confidante.

call me in the am. about to do a bad thing

Wanda texted back almost instantly, but Bucky reentered the bar simultaneously. You clicked off your incessantly active cell phone and put on an expression you hoped wasn’t as much of a grimace as you thought. Bucky raised a single, knowing brow.

“What’s that face for?” He murmured innocuously. You lift a single shoulder in response, working extra to keep your face neutral.

“Changed your mind?” You shrugged again, and when he was sure nobody was looking, he jerked his head towards the back of the bar. “C’mon then, pretty baby.”

“This is stupid,” You mumbled under your breath. You don’t realize how close he is behind you, jumping a little as the door swings shut behind you.

“What’s stupid is waiting an hour for some douche when you’ve got me standing right in front of you,” Bucky whispered hotly, already spinning the two of you so your back hit the wall by the doorframe. A case of the imported vodka Nat loved dug into your calves.

“We split up, Bucky,” You moaned as he licked at the shell of your ear. Honestly, you were half expecting something like “i didn’t know we were together”. Instead, he pulled back for a second to give you sad eyes and a slight twist of the corner of his mouth. Regret?

Before you could truly ponder it, he was ducking back towards you, lips pressing into yours with a fire fueled by all things left unsaid. He kissed his way down your neck, and you heard his voice from months ago: ‘it’s just sex, sweetheart. just enjoy it’. You were drawn back to the present as he tugged at your lip with sharp teeth, and you recalled his gruff morning voice - ‘I better get going’. Memory pierced your hazy brain even as he slid a hand down to cup your sex. You arched into him, and he looked positively feral even in his delight. You pushed the past away as hard as you could and let yourself melt into his touch.

As your head lilted backward to likely smack the wall, Bucky tangled a hand into your hair. He tipped your face back up to kiss it incessantly - several to your cheeks, a peck on your nose, a handful of smooches dotted to your forehead. When he finally reached your mouth again you were laughing, breathy and floaty, and he laughed too. He chuckled softly with you even as he slips his hands into your jeans, past the waistband of your cute-but-not-presumptuous panties. He was still chuckling a little, but it was more smug than amused when his fingers parted your folds and you inhaled sharply.

“Yeah,” He murmured, so low you almost missed it. “There you go, that’s my girl.”

You pretended the burst of heat through your gut is from his palm bumping against your clit. You were halfway through a moan when he withdrew his hand, instead placing both dark metal and pale skin on steadfastly on your hips. Swiftly, he placed you on top of those nagging crates you’d been pressed against - despite the marks on your thighs you’d nearly forgotten about them.

“Bucky, what-” You tried, but he cut you off with a swift press of lips to yours, tongue sliding into your mouth with practiced ease. If you sighed into the kiss, well, you’d call it heat of the moment. The familiar crinkling of foil set your anticipation and adrenaline spiking impossibly higher. Bucky pulled away to line himself up as you caught your breath, which suddenly seemed impossible. He rubbed a comforting thumb over your hip, leaning in again to nip playfully at your jaw.

“You ready, angel?” He murmured; all it took was your assenting nod before he slid home, your body greedily accepting him as if the two of you had never stopped. “Fuuuck...missed you. Missed this.”

Normally, such a suggestion would’ve irritated you - but you couldn’t deny the feelings you had had for him once upon a time, despite the casual nature of your relationship. You knew it was mutual; you knew exactly what he missed. It wasn’t just about the sex - even in the dingy storeroom of the bar, Bucky thrusting as deep as possible with one hand stabilizing the crates and the other on the small of your back, panting into each other’s mouths, it was about the connection. Being this close with another person, especially someone you dared to say you’d been good friends with, had much in common with - the interconnection of body and soul was something else. Or maybe that was your orgasm talking.

It snuck up on you. Your toes curled in your shoes, lip drew between your teeth. “Please.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Bucky rasped, face buried in your shoulder. The hand on your back snaked between the two of you to rub furiously at your clit - you threw your arms around his neck for balance as your mouth dropped open in a silent scream. “Go ahead, let go. Come for me, let me make you feel good, angel.”

That did it. Your hands found purchase in his hair as your back arched; in your desperation to be quiet, you bit your lip so hard the taste of iron crept into your mouth. Bucky never slowed, chasing his own high as well as basking with you in yours. He kissed you, a little sudden, groaning deeply into your mouth as he came.

For a moment, the pair of you were silent, the only sound your heavy breaths and the rustling of clothing. Composing yourself, you made for the door - a hand on your wrist stopped you.

“This was a fluke, I know-” You started. The desperate look in Bucky’s eyes cut you off.

“I don’t...let me try again.” He mumbled, words jumbling together with nerves. He cleared his throat - you’d never seen Bucky Barnes nervous, of all things, and humility wasn’t a bad look for him. “You deserved - deserve better, sweetheart. I want to try again. I want to...I want to do it right.”

“Buck...” Your face softened, but he tensed, fearing rejection. You brought a hand up to cup his cheek softly. “I’d love to try again.”

That nagging voice in the back of your mind was on a roll - you’ll just get hurt again, it warned. He’s not good for you.

But when Bucky’s entire face lit up and he kissed you enthusiastically, making you laugh in equal parts shock and joy, that little voice was silent.

#i don’t like this but i need to get back into writing!#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes smut #bartender!bucky #bucky barnes au #carolmaximoffs

220 notes · View notes

heli0s-writes · 3 years

Text

IV. Symbiosis

Summary: “Since you’ve been caught—” Fury squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries. Petty theft. Grand larceny. The damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

A/N: 4.8k words. I’m a liar who lies because after 4 months of overthinking and coming up with diddly squat, here is part 4 of Trinity Epoch sans smut. I’m sorry! I’ll double your pleasure next time. xx Thank you for sticking with me, I’m so sorry it’s taken so long.

Warnings: Language. References to canon-typical violence.

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

Bucky stays like that a while longer, just breathing.

Your fingers trace his hair—running through the strands, over the shell of his ear, then resting briefly on his cheek. All the ways you used to with Natasha when she’d break her own heart, or maybe ways you would have liked her to have done for you when you felt like you were dying a little bit.

You feel it now: a small death in the wake of last night’s simple touches. Your body and Steve’s body curled around each other sprung something immeasurable, as if the drift flowered then and ripened beneath your skins. You bit into it. You savored its taste. You could have lived on it alone.

Everything smears together like a child’s careless hand in a mess of paints until all the brights muddle dark. A shaky breath as you work yourself into calming, trying to find coherent words while your head remains a pot of sideways soup, at best.

Bucky shifts until he’s looking up at you, nose millimeters away. His irises are just a touch more gray, a sprinkle less green. You can see Steve in him, just as he can see Steve in you and then your eyes begin to prickle, Nat’s face undulating behind the burn.

You don’t really know what you want to say. Maybe apologize, run, beg for forgiveness, grab Bucky by the shoulders and shake him until he understands that you didn’t mean it— you didn’t mean to hurt him. That you love him. That he lives inside you, too.

His ghost from the drift— the aftermath phenomena of the neural bridge when pilots take on a bit of each other’s consciousness out of the cockpit and into the world with them. Take two people with a predisposition for the drift into the cockpit into each other’s brains and they exit heightened—sharper, better—imbued with each other’s strengths and knowledge. Mind-meld long enough, deep enough, and your core endures, but you become a different beast.

When Steve’s consciousness bled into yours, so did Bucky’s. If you walked away with half of Rogers, you also got a quarter of Barnes and it only compounded worse during Polidori’s drop. Resurrecting trauma, agitating itself, making a mess of your weary soul.

You relived his amputation last night, just as fresh as you relived Nat’s death. More visceral than the first trial run, you witnessed him—felt him—torn and hoarse, clutching his shoulder as he rocked helplessly inside Orion’s chest, frayed wires sparking across his cheek and landing in his own blood. His teeth gnashing together as he tried to hold on for Steve’s sake, steering his co-pilot’s panic back on course. Terrified and agonized, but he was hellbent on making it out.

Bucky who made you laugh. Bucky who took you to dinner. Who walked with you, gave you his jacket, listened to your rambling and crying, and kissed you because you reminded him of his co-pilot, or maybe of himself.

How could you not love him, after all this?

Armageddon slows for nothing though, and before the first letter of his name can fall out recklessly from your mouth, three precise thumps jostles it back in.

Steve’s voice is muffled through heavy steel. “You in there?”

The door slides open with a tremulous croak but neither of you bother to separate. Nothing seems to matter now.

“Buck...” Steve looks from one raw face to the other, stepping forward and reaching out. He grasps Bucky’s hand. “We should talk—” he closes his mouth into a thin line, shoulders slumping heavily before letting go. “I’m sorry. Later. Shit’s hit the fan.”

The office is stagnant air full of questions but other than the squeak of the marshal leaning back in his chair, nobody makes a sound.

Fury untucks a finger from the crook of his elbow before pointing it between your eyes.

“Culpability.”

Across the room, you flinch in his crosshairs. Standing apart from them, you’re partially slack against one of many steel filing cabinets, using it to prop yourself up in case your knees might give out as vertigo descends.

It’s been a lot to take in. Everything— the night, the morning, emotionally, mentally, physically. The hull is a steel cage, and pilots are well armored, but you’re still hooked up to the robot enduring damage, taking hits at barely .0001 percent, but taking it all the same. You’re bruised up good beneath your clothes— Polidori’s claws leaving four tender imprints of a scratch to Orion’s right shoulder. Your shoulder. Steve’s shoulder.

To your right, he shifts. A tiny hint of pain streaks over his expression before it falls serene again, fixed on Fury.

“Since you’ve been caught—” the marshal squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries, petty theft, grand larceny, the damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

This thing, being any story a 13-year old kid with two thumbs and a twitter account can spin between now and when you let Pepper Potts spin it for you first. There’s not a lot imagination can’t conjure to fill in the blank pixelated space between Bucky standing on the curb and you right behind him wearing his cap and jacket. Not to mention that once speculation goes live, it starts sprouting all sorts of appendages with minds of their own, and no matter how diligently you might cut one off, two would only sprout in its place.

The marshal stands up and takes heavy steps before turning the corner of his desk, absently tapping a pile of folders together like they’re not already in a perfect column. He slips a manila folder out from the stack and it becomes obvious that his suggestion is just buildup to some other type of impetus.

When you open the file up under his sharp gaze, you feel the blood drain from your face and possibly from your entire body.

The bullet he aimed between your eyes hits home. Cue your brains blowing out slow. Impetus met.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky appears over your shoulder, staring at the same grainy photocopied document. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I make a lot of jokes?” Fury leans forward, pointer curving over the top edge, tapping emphatically one, two, three times, even waving it back and forth in front of your unseeing eyes. “I’ve got a good contact inside the PPDC who risked a lot to get this out. They’re just plans for now, dogeared behind other pages, but don’t doubt the Corps’ cowardice for a second. The second this program looks like it might not hold up, they’ll turn their efforts there.”

You’re gone. Trapped between the lines, vehemently scanning the page, reading the same words over and over until they no longer make sense. But it’s not like they made any sense in the first place.

ANTI-KAIJU WALL: CONSTRUCTION AGENDA. SPRING 2020.

The conception of a perimeter stretching around the Pan Pacific—North and Central America, East and South Asia to isolate emerging Kaiju. It’s a fetal skeleton at most, the roughest of outlines for a plan, and truthfully, it’s no plan at all.

It’s shameful. It’s shit.

The so-called Wall of Life implies the portending death of the Program—of all Shatterdomes and Jaegers. It implies no support, no funding, and no repairs. No Kodiak. No juniors. No future.

Back and forth, you’re still desperately inspecting as if the words might shift into a new message, maybe one that didn’t spell out certain extinction, but despair is rippling across your face. Bi Fang and Polidori had wings, and they were only Category II. Bi Fang massacred one of the best pilots you’ve ever known—and it was only a Category II. Any higher and they’d blow through that wall like a ribbon of wet toilet paper.

Hysteria creeps up at the mere thought of it, fear stubbornly lodging itself in your throat. Nuclear-powered automata—the only proven defense against the terror of massive alien attacks are being dismantled in favor of steel rods and cinderblocks. They might as well build it out of Legos.

Anti-Kaiju Wall. A string of ants meeting a boot.

You’re panting softly, tongue swollen in your mouth, shaking with equal parts terror and rage, on the verge of breaking into inappropriate laughter and yelling.

“What—what do they expect?” You croak, “The breach opens, the fucking thing comes out, sees a fence, and what—they think it’s—going to crawl back in…?”

“Hey, calm down,” Bucky curls his fingers around your elbow. His hand and its black plates are peering at you, purring, dull gold bands threading at the knuckles. For a second, the prosthetic disappears. For a second, he’s blood red again.

“Hey!” Bucky grips tightly when you sway. “I’m fine! Don’t—don’t.” Steve’s jaw is set firmly on your other side, arms crossed so severely his biceps bulge with the strain.

“Nick,” He’s abruptly brusque as he eases the file from your grip. “Give us a minute.”

“You’re in my office.” But the marshal’s words hold no bite. He’s already won; he knows. Cornered again, he’s got you same as before in Red Cloud.

You get the gist: play out your redemption arc and come clean with your record. Win over the public, hoard all the additional support and funding you can because you’ll need every goddamn cent of it when the PPDC rips it away. The gossip. The photos. The headlines. It’s the perfect opportunity for a few hundred million when the media is putting a magnifying glass on your presence in Hong Kong.

Duty. Duty. Duty.

You’re just one small part of this colossal puzzle—a negligible smear of guts across the battlefield trying to keep the rest of the pieces together while the PPDC sits in their panic rooms throttling the entire fucking thing.

Fury steps to the cabinet and slides the file back in its place, keeping the illusion of it being just another unremarkable envelope in a row of hundreds of others. The metal drawer shuts with a clang, housing the most damning piece of information you’ve ever seen. His tact aside, you know he would never show you his hand like this if it wasn’t completely necessary—or pertinent.

Steve was right, you understand now.

The world owes you. And it owns you.

The next six—seven?—hours scatter like pulled teeth with your head spinning like a top the entire way. Pepper had been outside the door for the conversation, waiting on standby to whisk you off for princess lessons. Having already (and correctly) predicted your compliance, Fury scheduled an interview for precisely at nine. Then you were off, towed along by Miss Potts and her hasty strut.

You try to find perspective, reminding yourself that you’ve successfully gone toe-to-toe with the Empire State Building with fifteen rows of teeth seven fucking times and come out on the other side alive and if not in one whole piece, then at least 2-3 relatively serviceable pieces. You’re functional. A little damaged, but fine enough. But there’s also the fact that you’d just hopped out of Orion not even 24 hours ago coupled with how you’re suddenly in the middle of something that feels less like a confused love triangle and more like divine providence at the end of the world.

Fuck. No time to think about it now. The human brain is not programmed to multitask, and you’re hanging on by a mere thread. You prioritize making it through the night just as alive as you can make it out of a drop. Just a couple of hours and you can rest. Just a couple more.

After what felt like an eternity and a half of simulating Q&A, practicing your posture, smiling into a mirror, and one horrible limo ride where you stared dead-eyed out the window—Steve and Bucky’s steely gazes after you—the building finally comes into view.

Hair. Makeup. Wardrobe. You wear pants. You smile for the camera. You don’t stand in the middle of the group photo.

8:55 and time halts to a near stop. You can hear your heart in your throat, or in your skull. Your eyes feel switched from their sockets, or stomach rotated 30 degrees. Someone fixes your mic wire, your blouse collar, asking you to turn just a little over there. Three cameras are pointed to capture every angle, punitive red dots angry and glaring.

A live broadcast was agreed upon to ensure the least amount of potential edits and skews, as well as the charmingly quaint idea that it’s unscripted. The rub, therein, lies upon the burden of poise and a flawless performance. You rehearsed lines until your jaw felt like it was coming unhinged. Then you did it again.

Everything requires precision, and you keep that in mind with your hand on the glass of Dom Perignon being constantly refilled. An amicable gesture by the hosts, but their intentions are cunning: loose lips sink ships, and they’re betting on yours to sink the S.S. Orion Bravo.

Out of view, the translator sits with her legs crossed, listening to the questions before turning the words over in English.

You take a sip of champagne and it fires off like a gunshot—Cantonese and English in rapid-fire verses.

<2017 was a fateful year for both the Jaeger Program and the world. Beloved pilot Natasha Romanoff sacrificed her life to protect Alaska’s coast in a final battle against Category 2 Bi Fang. Memorials dedicated to Romanoff’s efforts appeared across every nation to lament her death and celebrate her heroism. Yet, somehow, no one seemed to be asking the million-dollar question: Where is her co-pilot?>

The host’s open hand urges your reply.

The lights seem to turn up even brighter. Your back starts sweating. The room is about to collapse. In short, naturally—infuriatingly—you choke.

Seven hours of droning like a broken wind up toy, already knowing how to answer this question by heart, prepping yourself for the interrogation, the relentless demand to publicize your grief, to placate the people about your relationship with their heroes—and, you choke.

Bucky’s chin tilts microscopically in the corner of your line of vision. You’re fine, he’s saying, you got it. He’s strangely calm, even pleased, as you stutter involuntarily. Like he’s the first to remember an inside joke you’d long forgotten, his grin widens the longer you look at him. Steve turns next. Focus. Don’t fight the drift. The drift is silence.

And suddenly, your shoulders ease. The static in your exhausted brain slides out of your ears.

You sit up tall. You smile. It doesn’t quite feel like your smile, but, it’s a good one. You know this smile; it’s Steve’s smile. Like a seamless assembly, you fall into rhythm.

The white of his teeth slip out from between Steve’s lips. He notices too.

You calmly recite the introductory speech you’d been practicing for the last two hours, feeling out your new voice, borrowing from his bearing—deeper, smoother, certain. The major points get run through: your record and own personality traits keeping you from the spotlight, admitting genuinely that you’re pretty damn uncomfortable now, so they’ll have to forgive you for any slip ups. It goes over well, as Pepper predicted; “candid” blunders made Rangers human—made them likable.

When the subject of Anchorage rolls back around, you can practically feel Steve’s jaw bulging preemptively. You graze his foot with yours as a warning to back off.

<It’s remarkable that you were able to bring the Jaeger back to shore, there has been only one pilot who was capable of that—>

“I’m thankful to have had Stacker Pentecost as my mentor. I owe so much of my resilience to him. It was difficult, but simply put, I had no other choice. I feel so lucky to have survived it.”

“She was one of a kind.”

“Yes.”

The host clears his throat, visibly awkward that you’re being so terse, but taking the hint until Bucky turns into the spotlight, that divorced happiness he’s so skilled at beaming into the lenses.

Steve easily picks it up, steering the conversation where he wants it to go. He’s disarmingly sincere as he relays the process of Bucky’s injury, replacement, apprehension, and finally success

His bright blue eyes flicker secret messages and you decipher them all.

“The connection was like—"

There’s a bell chiming in your ears. Bright, crisp chirps of it, cutting through laughter and bickering. You taste summer air in your throat, Bucky’s hair flying in the wind. “Riding a bike…”

“Exactly. New bike, same motions, and it worked. It was great. We learned things about each other. Some good, some bad—”

Crosshatched pencil lines of their shared apartment. Smudges of charcoal in a sketchbook. “He’s an unbelievable artist, but—”

“No— don’t say it!”

Bucky smothering a small kitchen fire. Steve throwing a damp rag on him in a frantic attempt to assist. Your voice is bubbling out gleefully. “—an awful cook!”

“It’s true,” Bucky smugly chimes in. “The boy can’t boil water. Breakfast eggs come with shells every time.” You can taste the grit between your molars—crushed grains inside an overdone omelet, Bucky spitting out spinach and feta cheese.

“Oh my god,” you sputter into a sip of champagne. “It’s so bad.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with? Two people knowing my secrets. Two.”

<Fantastic! Already we can see a great friendship here—>

It seems congratulatory, but there’s determination to drive into scandalous territory, poking at any rumor to lance and leak. A sly smile crosses his face as his assistant shows photos of you and Bucky in the city, but the lurid suggestion only gets shrugged off. “We’d gone out for dinner. It was the first time I’d left the Shatterdome after Seigehook and I needed moral support.”

“I’d give you my jacket if you looked cold.”

<Steve, Ophelia isn’t concerned that your new co-pilot is a woman?>

“No, absolutely not. ‘Lia’s the first person to support Orion—and the loudest. I don’t know what I’d do without her. You don’t have her behind the curtain, too, do you?”

<Well, what about personal memories? Won’t you know everything about each other…? Private things?>

“Sure, but what pair of pilots don’t? You got twins and siblings, not just married couples. Look, here’s the thing: the neural bridge doesn’t take you to a filing cabinet. It’s not open like that. It’s more like—somebody help me—” Bucky snaps his fingers your way, “—what’d you call it the other day?”

You didn’t, but you say, “A dream?”

“Right, a dream. If you think about it, you can pull on it, but if it’s not in the forefront of your mind. It’s a non-issue.”

“We’re all adults here,” Steve confirms.

Steve’s palm faces outward as if keeping the host at bay— or, you think, keeping himself at bay. “Hold on. This isn’t about replacement. Nobody is framing it like a nail in the coffin—we’re in the interim of a period of time, readjusting. Short of death, nothing is going to take him away.”

Sunlight. Recruitment. Ice baths. Training until they had to carry each other to bed. Your eyes flutter, head pilfering through the memories like instinct.

“James is still Orion’s co-pilot.” You agree. Apprehension. Dread. Terror. Confidence in each other even when they didn’t believe in themselves. They were together. Nothing else mattered. “Steve’s co-pilot.”

The tight look on his face is temporarily wiped as he beams proudly, “He’s my Bucky. Always has been, always will be.” He claps Bucky on the back twice and each thump’s echo bounces its way into your chest.

Bucky bristles and sputters, but a healthy pink dusts its way across his cheeks, “Don’t embarrass me, Rogers.”

“Are you blushing?” You tease, elated.

“Don’t you start, either.”

<Well… this is very wonderful. Is there a possibility we’ll be seeing a triple-piloted machine? The Tang triplets have been in talks for a new model.>

Steve shakes his head. “We haven’t discussed it yet. Nothing’s off the table, by any means. Just not priority at the moment.”

“Normalcy, as much as we can get in the middle of all this.” Bucky holds out his hand, closing it into a fist, letting the camera zoom in. “We’re… still working through all the kinks, balancing the personal and global.”

He flexes his fingers, letting the microphones pick up the drone of machinery, but his meaning is another secret. Clicking Morse codes of well-oiled obsidian plates purring two names. You’ve stopped listening to everything but the echo incandescent in your heart.

You down your glass.

Champagne tipsy, you try not to stagger through the lobby. The doorman nods toward the limousine parked faithfully by the curb.

The barrage of questions slowed after it became apparent that there would be no sensationalist headline. There was attention to Bucky’s arm, his handsome face, of course, before the banter quickly devolved into entertaining frivolous sidebar queries. Five flutes bubbled down your throat and by the end of it, you no longer wanted to grab camera one and shake the shit out of it, anger whittled down to a dull hum of annoyance.

Thirty million stupid dollars for inane reels of:

What’s in your purse? What do you eat? How do you stay feminine in a Shatterdome full of testosterone—have you tried any K-beauty skincare routines? Do you have anyone special in your life?

Bucky went in, then, leaning forward until he was nearly rocking off and leveled his glare. You know she’s on the other side of the same robot, buckled up into a ninety-pound rig steering two-hundred tons of—

It took a miracle (see: Steve’s firm hand discreetly on the back of Bucky’s neck and Pepper drawing a sharp line across her throat) to effectively halt the derailing train.

“I can’t believe,” Bucky grouses now, opening the door and waving the driver back to the front. “Those goddamn questions.”

“Does wiping my sweaty face with my even sweatier shirt count as skincare? What’s the K stand for?”

Bucky smacks the back of your head with one hand, other clumsily yanking the door open with the other. “For Korean—have you been living under a rock? Just—get in the fuckin’ car.”

You slap him back. “Quit it, you invalid.”

“Invalid? I’ll show you a fuckin’—Steve, did you hear—”

“Both of you, get in the car.”

And you shriek, scrambling in and yanking Bucky along by the scruff of his jacket. Mischief courses beneath your skin, encouraged by clever alcohol, now fully buzzed its way to every extremity.

Still giggling and leaning into the thrill of it, you slump over the smooth plastic molding of the door and press your face against the tinted window. It’s a cool reprieve on your warmed cheek, frosting when your temperature meet the glass. Bucky’s easy Cantonese, albeit slurred, is requesting a ride back to base. His hand has found its way into yours, fingers laced large and warm, clasping tight before he lets go.

“Haven’t had a drink—oh--” you murmur, catching yourself as the wheels shift.

“Since Red Cloud.”

“Outta my head, Rogers.”

“Says the person who kept finishing my sentences during that interview.”

“It’s the champagne! It makes me—“

“Stupid?”

“You’re an ass, Barnes.” But you’re laughing at him, at the way he’s smirking— cheeks gone ruddy. Both of them, open beside each other, heads inclined intuitively together. It makes you ache to see—to experience again after disruption—Rogers and Barnes. Barnes and Rogers. Perfectly fitted.

The partition slides up. The sunroof tugs open with a whistling draft.

Hong Kong’s lights are vivid—too much to properly see the extent of space’s beauty, but there are a few twinkles you’re able to make out in the moonless night as light poles and skyscraper tips whiz overhead. They’re brighter than most, simple to spot patterns in the dark.

“Orion’s out tonight,” you mutter, moving to catch the line of its belt, “Look. Beneath his feet is Lepus, the hare, pursued for all time.” From across, Steve follows, also looking to find their hero as your hair rustles wildly, making a hurricane against your ear.

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” Bucky scolds. He’s annoyed and comfortable on leather, ankle crossed over opposite knee. “You’re not being chased by anything. Besides, if you were a constellation, you’d probably be the soup ladle.”

You laugh. He’s always playing the part of a stoic so well. “Hey, I’ll have you know the Little Dipper’s got the north star in it. That soup ladle’s gonna be the thing that gets you home when you’re lost.”

The tone shifts—time dragging its pace as you look at them in wonder. The city’s overripe heaviness of the blows through, making goosebumps on heated skin.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky slips his jacket from his shoulders to slide over yours. He tugs the lapels down like he’s trying to keep you on earth and your hands clasp on his wrists for a second before you let go. They’re both sitting up now, watching your bleary gaze unfocus.

Steve and Bucky oscillate in front of your eyes, their lines blurring until it doesn’t really matter who you’re looking at—until they become one. So easy, like this, just them like two sides of the same coin, belonging so seamlessly to each other.

“Sorry,” you blurt in shame, “I feel like I fucked it up. Ruined a thing that wasn’t mine to ruin.”

“Think you put it together,” Steve responds quietly, and the simplicity of his statement throws you off. “We found our way.”

“Soup ladle,” Bucky jokes.

“But, aren’t we just trading one war for another? World peace only made it because of monsters.” Unspoken questions hidden inside large-scale metaphors— symbiosis could only be achieved under the lies of other relationships. Whatever this would be, it wouldn’t be accepted. Steve still retains his supermodel girlfriend and you and Bucky dutifully fall in line for your own packaged little PR lies.

He shrugs. “I’m fine with losing a few battles in this war, but Orion’s got a good track record, doesn’t it, Buck?”

“Twelve— thirteen kills, sweetheart.” Bucky’s grin is lopsided. “Don’t forget you made that happen.”

“Thirteen’s an unlucky number.”

“Feels lucky to me.” Steve’s hand wraps around your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse. He taps your skin, looking genuinely apologetic. “Listen, all I can do is ask— and I’m not good at asking for things. I just want to make them happen.” A quick glance at the watch under his cuffs and he tugs at your arm like a lost child, “So, before we get back… will you come here?”

As he said, he’s not really asking. More like reaching his will out to you, finding you when you’re caught in the undertow and pulling you back to safety. To them. Okay. Okay.

Your footing slips, but they take your hands and turn you carefully, letting you settle in between. Bucky hums a low sound, fingers curling around your waist. Steve does the same to the opposite side and you feel both torn apart and held together by them.

Steve nuzzles your neck, hot on your skin.

“She was wrong,” he whispers, barely audible over the sound of your rising breath, “You know that? She was wrong, and I was wrong. I thought it couldn’t happen—thought I had other priorities, other things to manage and settle and save and... I lost sight of what matters most. But I’m gonna really fix it this time—I’m gonna do it right by you.”

He looks to Bucky, pained and relieved, “Both of you, I promise.” He takes Bucky’s hand in his own and holds it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, his palm, saying softly, “I love you, Buck. I’m sorry you waited so long.”

“Hey stupid,” Bucky says shakily when your chin starts to quiver at the sight of them. He’s sniffling and swallowing his syllables, unable to stop himself from staring at Steve’s face in his hand, how Steve kisses the blue pulse in his wrist. “Ain’t you—too pretty to cry?”

The rocking of the car flattens out as Steve gently presses his lips to yours, letting the trail of salt bursting down your cheek into his mouth. He moves to the line of your jaw, promising,

It’s okay. I got you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you anymore.

They kiss you and the world turns itself right.

They kiss you and then they kiss each other. Again and again and again.

#marvel #stucky #stucky x reader #pacific rim au #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #fanfiction #reader insert #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

233 notes · View notes

carelessannie · 3 years

Text

Because I have no patience, here’s the first chapter of my three part Reverse Little Mermaid Winteriron AU

while we're devoting full time to floating chapter one: floating in a blue lagoon

Rating: T (for now) Word Count: 3.5K Relationships: Tony x Bucky, background Natasha x Wanda Warnings: Prejudice against Merpeople, Steve’s kind of an ass, boat violence, magic use Read on AO3

Chapter One | Chapter Two

---

Spring-time has broken— making way, quickly, for a blazing summer. Celebratory music carries from the interior of the city, echoing from the palace in the center all the way out to the surrounding villages, drawing citizens closer— like moths to a joyful flame. Heading in the opposite direction, unseen by guards and villagers, two silhouettes slip toward the shoreline.

Up ahead is an expansive boathouse, accessible only by royal decree and permission from the crown. Bucky lifts up on his toes to check through the window for officers or other sailors— no one in sight. His key easily unlocks the door and he holds it open for Alpine to sprint through.

Bucky pads across the dock, heading for his humble fishing boat and checking for guards, whistling low between his fingers to call his Border Collie to his side. Alpine comes bounding over, shaking out her pure white coat, and pants, eyes wide with excitement.

“Quiet, Alpine,” he hisses, motioning to stay low, “almost there, girl.”

Towards the end of the dock, he can see his boat. Restored over years of hard work, The Widow sits proudly at the end of the line, beckoning him to sail away. He helps Alpine climb inside and makes haste to cast off, pushing away from the dock and dipping his oars into the gentle waves.

The sun is hot, but Bucky doesn’t mind it. His gaze is locked ahead and his focus is sure. The waters are quiet as he rows out into the open ocean, letting the current push him parallel to the coastline and away from the village.

It’s not like he’s running away— no. He just knows his brother would stop him if he knew, and it’s far too close to migration to wait another day.

After a while, he sees the cove— his favorite spot, sheltered under a familiar rocky cliff— and steers towards it. Once he’s close, Bucky tethers the boat to a nearby boulder. He helps Alpine out and climbs up the jagged rocks, settling over the water.

Here he adjusts his covering and removes a few flat stones, revealing provisions he stored long ago in a discreet iron box. Bucky lays on his belly, wiggling until he can peak over the edge.

Then he waits.

It doesn’t take long. With lenses pressed to his face, his enhanced view picks up movement below. Three large figures, cutting gracefully through the crystal clear water, swim into focus. Bucky holds his breath, taking only a moment to scrawl a few details onto his journal pages. Remarkable.

He watches the Merpeople hesitantly explore the cove underneath and talk animatedly between each other. Bucky only hears snippets of conversations as they surface, and it seems like a dark haired, red-tailed Mer is their leader. The other two— the first with bright red hair, and the second with darker skin— follow the red-tailed Mer around the shallow waters, inspecting rocks and plant life, talking distractedly about a settlement nearby.

“These waters are clear, no remnants left from past colonies.”

Bucky knows this already. He’s been observing Mer migration patterns for years, and none of them ever stay long enough to impact the nearby ecosystems. Still, he jots down a note about their self awareness.

“Still, the access to resources and deeper waters is desirable in this area.”

This Bucky knows as well. Outside of the cove and the surrounding reef, there’s a steep drop off down into unexplored waters. He’s tried to swim down a few times, but hasn’t yet found the floor.

Finally the red-tailed Mer speaks, he voice deep and alluring, causing Bucky’s head to snap up in surprise—

“I’m sure the King would be thrilled to hear of this discovery,” he drawls, and something in his tone convinces Bucky that this King would decidedly not be pleased. “Take a few samples, keep them close. I’ll study them in my lab when we get back and present them to the King myself.”

Bucky has to stop himself from chuckling. He understands exactly how this Mer feels about his King, and he’s instantly endeared. He can’t, for the life of him, tear his gaze from the red-tailed Mer. The man is striking, beautiful and full of life, and Bucky has never seen one like him before. His body is lean and toned like most Mers tend to be, but something about his posture screams authority and importance. He sighs, knowing the three of them will probably move on, migrate further south and into warmer waters.

He pulls away to take a drink from his water flask and sees a flash in the corner of his eye. Something approaching— fast and dangerous. The Mers below are oblivious, and the next thing he knows, they’re being circled and cornered by three, large Tiger sharks.

Bucky gets to his knees, gripping the rocks as he watches the sharks close in, forcing the Mers to press together a few meters in front of the cove.

The largest shark attacks. It’s a flurry of motion and violent waters as the other two follow suit, converging on the Mers from all sides. It seems as though each Mer fights a single shark, and they draw vicious, serrated weapons to slice through the water.

But the Tiger sharks are quick. The largest one whips, lightning fast, and catches the red-tailed Mer in the chest, sending him careening into the rocky wall. The other two Mers are chased away. They dodge and swim through the shallow waters and disappear out of sight to avoid the close pursuing sharks. Bucky glances down, watching in horror as the largest shark closes in on his prey below.

The red-tailed Mer isn’t moving, and the shark is swimming closer. Bucky scrambles, picking up his own hunting knife, and stripping off his shirt and boots before diving off the cliff.

His attack takes the shark by surprise, and Bucky plunges into the water, striking clean and slicing through the predator. Blood pours out of the open wound and Bucky has to surface, gulping in air as he watches the shark retreat.

He sheaths his weapon and turns, looking for the injured Mer. Bucky dives down and sees him drifting against the rocky wall, propped up and unconscious. When Bucky gets closer he finds blood, fresh and urgent, seeping out of the Mer’s wound— dead center on his chest.

Without hesitating, Bucky pulls the Mer up to the surface. He swims, slowly but effectively, back to the cove and rests against the rocky shore, letting the vibrant tail hydrate in the water.

“Hey,” Bucky looks into the man’s face, gently pushing back a thick strand of dark hair, “wake up, please. C’mon, I need you to wake up.”

The wound is still bleeding, slower than before, but persistently trickling down into the pool of water.

“Okay, okay… dammit,” Bucky curses, “stay here,” he instructs, mostly for his own sake, and sprints out of the cove, climbing the rock face to retrieve his shirt and a few supplies. Herbs and spices can usually make a good potion, even for inexperienced users— which Bucky definitely isn’t . He rubs a few together in his hands as he ducks back into the cove, kneeling next to the unmoved Mer. Gently, so gently, Bucky presses his fingers against his skin to rub the potion into the wound, wrapping it tenderly with strips of his own shirt after.

The Mer groans, hunching in to protect the wound instinctively.

“No, darling, let me heal it,” Bucky begs, laying the man down again while he works. He looks around. It would help if there was...

Aha! A golden ring dangles from the Mer’s neck, a perfect vessel for a healing spell. Bucky slips the ring on his own finger, taking a deep breath before performing the spell. It’s taxing. It hurts. But Bucky can see the ring glow and flex on his finger, accepting the enchantment and waiting for it’s impending assignment.

The ring is laid back on the Mer’s chest, still attached with the delicate chain, and Bucky is satisfied when he sees the wounds rapidly closing. He sighs in relief, holding the Mers hand and feeling the delicate pulse even out. He wishes he could see the man’s eyes, at least once. Damn the King and his stupid laws.

Movement, stirring from the Mer, and Bucky knows he must go. He can’t help but lean closer, studying the breathtaking features of this man’s face and pressing a lingering kiss onto his temple, before withdrawing and racing for his boat. He whistles for Alpine to join him, and takes off for the village. He’s been away far too long, and the King is bound to have noticed his absence.

---

��Do you know what you have done?”

The King, his brother, is fuming— full of violent rage that even Bucky shys away from. He had pulled Bucky off his boat the moment he returned, ordering the guards to seize him and The Widow for crimes against the crown.

“And to see the Merpeople again, I should have known. How could you, Buck? Openly disregarding my decree and putting all of our people in jeopardy— for what? Research?”

“He was dying!”

“Better him than another one of us.”

Bucky recoils, “You don’t mean that. The Mers have always been peaceful—“

“And that’s because they are ignorant of our existence— dammit Buck! What if he had seen you?”

“He didn’t.”

“And he won’t.”

“What does that mean?” Bucky asks, daring to look his brother in the eye. All he finds is cool indifference.

“It means that until further notice, I’m confiscating your traveling privileges. You will serve in my court and retire to your chambers, guarded as to not leave the grounds— is that clear?”

“Steve, what the hell—“

“You may keep the company of your dog,” the King, his brother and best friend, sets his jaw and points towards Bucky’s beloved boat, “but as a consequence for disgracing your King and country, my guard will take care of your transportation.”

“No!” Bucky cries, fighting the strong hold on his arms as two members of the royal guard unceremoniously drop a torch into his boat, setting it on fire. “Damn you, Steve!”

They let him struggle, thrashing and yelling to no avail, and the crowd watches as his most prized possession is burned to ashes. Bucky falls to his knees, speechless.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the King retreat, walking out of sight without even the courtesy of a dismissal. His vision blurs red.

Steve never listens.

The guards haul him up by the armpits, but Bucky barely even notices. He lets himself be dragged away and led back to his quarters, collapsing onto his bed with a sob as they lock the doors behind him. He feels Alpine crawl up next to him, and he holds her close, soaking her fur with heaving, furious tears.

When the sun goes down, Bucky packs a bag. It’s not an issue to find a way out of the palace— he’s been doing that for years. The issue is tracking down his contact, making sure she still lives across the bay, and convincing her to help him. Her allegiance is strong with the King, but he thinks he might have the upperhand to a few of her debts.

Bucky drops a quick kiss to Alpine’s head, tying a note around her collar. It won’t help to have her starving and the kingdom torn apart in his absence, so he quickly charms the letter to sooth and calm it’s readers. That should give him enough time to evade any search and rescue.

From there, it’s a simple shimmy out the window, a well-timed jump across a few balconies, light-footed paces through empty streets, and then, thankfully, a straightforward hike out of the city. The sun has long since set. Bucky pushes forward, ignoring the increasing chill as he climbs in elevation— his destination is just up ahead.

Before he crosses into her wards, Bucky comes to a stop. He searches the ground for… yes! A small ring of stones lies around her cottage, strengthening her security and vigil over her land, and Bucky kneels in front of them, gently laying his fingers on the ones nearby. It only takes a moment of letting his walls down, power flowing down his arms and into his hands, and he smiles to feel a warm thrum in response. The wards accept his familiar presence, and he stands to make his way to the cottage that lies behind the tree covering.

“You had better have a good excuse to be here, James.”

He hears her greeting before he spots her in the doorframe, curves silhouette tantalizing and a stark contrast from the light within the house. He smiles, picking up his pace and running forward, “Oh, Nat. Damn, if it isn’t good to see you.”

Natasha lets him swing her up into his arms, but gives a stinging flick to his ear.

“I’ve already heard of your transgressions, James. When will you just accept your brother’s rule, and learn that his word is law?”

Bucky sweeps into the cottage and leads the way to her personal rooms. It seems as though someone else has been living in this space— there’s another, strong, trace of magic intertwined with Natasha’s. He ignores her implications and raises an eyebrow, “Who are you hosting, Nat?”

The grin Natasha throws him is downright feral, and Bucky almost regrets asking. She brings her fingers up to her lips and whistles, brief and sharp.

“Her name is Wanda, she will join us momentarily,” Natasha pours him herbal tea, gesturing for them to sit in the living space. He allows himself to put his bag down, but he lets himself fidget a little bit— cataloging his urgency to his friend and trusting her to pick up his unspoken needs. “Tell me, pretty Prince— why are you seeking me out after such drama, at this time of night?”

He frowns at her moniker, but decides to give it to her straight, “Steve’s bias has gotten out of hand. I witnessed an exploration party of three Mers out by my cove, and there was a shark attack. The leader of their party was knocked unconscious, so I intervened to stop the shark from killing him. I had to swim him to safety, Nat, and I enchanted his ring with a healing spell. I left before he could wake up, and when I got back…” Bucky breathes, breaking his eye contact with Natasha, “well, it sounds like you’ve heard the rest.”

Her face falls in a genuine show of regret, “I’m really sorry, James, I know how much—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts her off, “I just need help convincing Steve that Mers are worth protecting. He just sees them as a threat, and he hates their ignorance about us. He doesn’t trust it. But they’re incredible, Nat, honestly. And this one I saw today… damn.”

Her eyes gleam, mischievous, “Oh? You have a crush on the Mer you saved and healed with your magic— how surprising.”

“Shut it, Nat,” he hisses, rolling his eyes as she cackles, “I’ve never seen a man so beautiful in my life. And, I don’t know, something about how he spoke, his voice and his humor—”

“James, I hate you.”

“— excuse me?”

“I now owe Clint a very large sum because of you.”

When Bucky fails to react, Natasha just sighs, “He bet you’d fall in love with a Mer. I just didn’t think you were that stupid.”

“Hey! I’m not in love—”

“Sure, Jay,” she laughs, turning to face the back stairwell as Bucky throws a pillow at her, “oh! Wanda! Please, come in and meet James.”

Standing at the bottom of the staircase is a petite girl, maybe a few years younger than Bucky himself, with auburn hair that rivals Natasha’s in brilliance. He can feel her power from here. A shiver runs down his spine.

She’s careful to walk into the room, as though any sudden movement may set off a catalyst of magic strong enough to rip the room apart. And he honestly doesn’t doubt that could happen.

“This is Wanda,” Natasha introduces them, and Bucky reaches to take her tiny hand in greeting. She looks one part terrified, and another part… angry? She still shakes his hand and mumbles a pleasantry. He knows that if Steve were here, she would probably be arrested for insolence to the crown or something comparable.

“It’s nice to meet you, Wanda. You can call me Bucky, everyone besides Natasha does.”

The look on her face says she will most likely not be calling him Bucky.

“Well, why don’t you spend the night here, James?” Natasha asks, standing to her feet and gliding into the kitchen, “we have a spare room, and can talk strategy in the morning.”

“I’d rather—”

“I insist,” Natasha cuts him off. She pours him a glass of water and pushes it into his hand, “I’m going to sleep. You know where the guest room is.”

“Isn’t…” he awkwardly motions towards Wanda, confused about the sleeping arrangements until he sees the flush in Wanda’s cheeks, the salacious grin on Natasha’s face.

“You don’t worry about us, our arrangements work just fine. Get some rest, James,” and with that, Natasha disappears up the staircase with a small kiss to the top of Wanda’s head. To his surprise, Wanda doesn’t move a muscle. She’s still staring at him, and it starts to get uncomfortable as they sit in silence.

Bucky clears his throat, “So, how did you—”

“I can help you with your problem.”

He does a double take, “— get… uh, what? Which problem?”

Wanda takes a seat across from him, but her posture is anything but relaxed. It’s her facial expression that makes him freeze— not just anger and fear, but knowing. Understanding. He curses himself because instead of scaring him, the knowledge in her eyes draws him closer.

She tilts her head to the side, slightly, “With your Merpeople. And with your brother. I’ve seen the conflict and I witnessed the shark attack. I know how your heart thrums in time with this red-tailed Merman, and how you long for it to beat in time with your brother, the King.”

“How do you—”

“You assume Natasha told me, but rest assured, my power and devices stretch far beyond her secret spies. I have a deal to offer you, and in return, you will earn the ear of the King and the heart of the sea.”

Bucky gives her a suspicious eye, but in reality, his heart is pounding. This girl, barely old enough to inherit land, is offering him the depths of his desires. But he knows mages, understands their loopholes and caveats.

“Tell me, Wanda— what is your scheme? What would be my payment?”

“Simple,” she answers, gaze going distant, “I’d first give you access to the King of the sea. Through the Mer you saved, his only son, you will forge a treaty between land and ocean. I will give you a way in, but in turn, you will have to enter the same spell all Mers are under: to forget and lose humanity. You will still remember names and faces and stories, but all will be in a cloak of ignorance. Like them, you will have no knowledge of the world above.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “How am I supposed to forge a treaty between the two worlds if I can’t remember the one I’ve come from?”

“A royal alliance will break the spell. Marriage or covenant between the Prince of the land and Prince of the sea will not only break the cloak of ignorance on your mind, but also the ignorance of all who live in the Mer kingdom.”

His mind is racing. On one hand, he’s never easily put his trust in a strange mage, even one who seems to be… intimate with Natasha. On the other, he’s been looking for a way into the sea kingdom for years. Her spell could be the bridge that brings everything together.

“Oh, but there is one catch, James.”

“I knew it.”

“If you cannot get the Prince to fall in love and wed you, the enchantment on your memories will keep progressing. You will not only forget humanity, but you will completely forget yourself as well.”

“Does Natasha know you’re offering me this deal?”

“She knows we’re discussing it, yes.”

“How long would I have until my memories start to fade?” Bucky asks. He can’t believe he’s actually considering this.

Wanda seems to consider it, “No less than a month, no more than three.”

“So I’d give up my humanity, get this prince to fall in love with me, and break the spell over their kingdom. If I can’t do it, I’m lost to the sea forever— sound about right?”

Her mouth quirks up in a smile grin, “That’s about the gist of it.”

He thinks about Steve. About his life in the city— all the people who would miss him, and about Alpine and Natasha and even his royal guard. He thinks about the stunning, striking Mer from this afternoon. His ruby scales and cutting wit. Bucky desperately wants to see his eyes.

He looks down at his hands and sighs, straightening his back in determination.

From there, the decision isn’t hard.

#winteriron #Mer!tony #Mage!Bucky #tony x bucky #tony/bucky #fanfic #wip #bucky barnes #tony stark #King!Steve Rogers #kind of violent shark attack #magic use

13 notes · View notes

gomustanggirl16 · 3 years

Text

Traitor Cat

Based off this random idea I have that’s a mix of my own two cats, Corona (no we named her after alcohol two years ago but it is a fitting name) and Tanqueray (gin we have a theme). So Tanq is more my cat, she likes cuddles, she likes to sit on my chest and be in my face and does know when I’m not okay and seems to take my anxiety away. Then there’s Corona, my moms cat, who well lets just say I call her a gargoyle because every morning she sits on the end of my moms bed like a gargoyle staring at her in the dark until she gets up.

So that got me thinking of Liho naturally and I had 15 minutes in an MRI machine (it’s fine I’m fine) to think clearly while ignoring the odd bagging against my back that reminded me of a child kicking the back of your seat on an airplane. So here we have Steve meeting Liho for the first time, this takes place right after TWS and this is also one of many forms of the idea and I’ve had wine so bare with me.

It had been long day, hell it had been a long year, Natasha lost her job, her antimony, her apartment, her parents apparently though that had been years ago, and now she was living in Avengers Tower because gaining her aliases back had been harder than ever before and she had started wondering if it was worth trying. But at least she had Liho, stubborn cat she was she’d missed her after leaving her with the Barton’s while she went Russia she’d found she missed the cat and Liho had seemed to miss her to, crying when she went to the farm to pick her up and see the family.

It was late almost midnight, she’d been tracking a shipment of S.H.I.E.L.D. contraband at the docks that led nowhere, yet. Natasha checked Liho’s bowl her dry food touched, but her wet food she’d asked Tony to put out untouched. That was highly unlike her, but she was still getting used to her new surrounds, now that she wasn’t allowed outside she was going a bit stir crazy, having come into her room the other day carrying one of Tony’s socks collapsing on the floor and proceeding to “kill” it like a mouse.

Natasha moved to her room, going through the motions as she got ready for bed collapsing into the oversized bed and abundant pillows Liho loved hiding in, slowly drifting off. Next time Natasha woke partially spreading her legs only to pause realizing Liho wasn’t at her usual spot at the end of the bed. She looked at the clock to see it was almost 2:30am and felt a slight panic pulse through her. Liho always came to bed. Even when Natasha didn’t want her to she’d sit outside the door and scratch and meow until she was let it, but there her door stood ajar and no Liho.

“Liho?” Natasha called out, nothing.

“Liho?” Natasha tried again getting out of bed and going to her door.

She went through the penthouse calling Liho but nothing. No reply. Oh no, Tony had been shocked learning she had a cat, and even more so when she’d asked him to feed her. He owed her that, but he wasn’t used to owning pets let alone Liho who tried escaping out the door every time it opened. oh no.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. are you able to track Liho’s movements?” Natasha asked trying not to think about all the possible ways Liho could be trapped or hurt or...

“Yes, reviewing the Tower’s surveillance it seems she got out when Mr. Stark fed her this evening and made her way into Captain Rogers quarters.”

Oh god...Steve had just gotten back from Spain tracking Bucky. They made plans to have breakfast later this morning. She needed to get Liho back upstairs before she gave poor Steve a heart attack. She quickly made her way out to the elevator and punched the button for Steve’s floor. Just like she knew he would his front door was unlocked, and she quietly made her way into the living room.

“Liho!!” Natasha whispered looking through the space for black ball of fur while trying not to wake the soldier. She went room by room until she reached Steve’s bedroom and her stomach knotted, knowing her cat this would be it, it’s door was cracked and she peaked in.

Sure enough there she was curled up at the end of Steve’s bed sound asleep.

“Traitor.” Liho stirred yawning and stretching with a little meow. “shh, come on.”

Instead of Liho following her Liho made her way further up the bed towards Steve’s sleeping form. Don’t you dare. Natasha moved quickly around the bed quickly snatching up the cat as she was about to climb up onto Steve’s chest. She was about to make it out the door before her foot snagged sending searing pain through her foot and her to the floor.

“F***”

“What the Hell?” Natasha looked up and turned on her back to see Steve rubbing his eyes as he looked down at where she was on the floor.

“Natasha? Are you okay?” He got up realizing what had happened, helping her up off the floor.

“I’m fine, you know you should really keep that thing on the wall or between your night stand and your bed.” She said looking at his shield now laying in the middle of the floor.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want people tripping over it in the middle of the night who weren’t already here when I went to bed. Speaking of, what are you doing in my room?”

Natasha hesitated, her eyes traying just a bit down his bare torso to where his sweats hung low on his hips-

“Nat?”

“Right-shit where’d she go?” Natasha looked around realizing Liho was gone again. She had to be around here somewhere though.

“Where’d who go? Nat are you sure you’re okay? Even for you this is a little strange.” She frowned getting back on the floor to look under his bed.

“Liho!” She hissed but the only thing there was a duffle bag. “You got any lunch meat? Ham preferably. She doesn’t like cold chicken.”

“There’s a sandwich in the fridge...” Steve replied now more confused than ever. I mean he did wake up to her in her pajamas tripping as she tried to make her escape from his bed room.

She made it to the fridge her foot still stung but she pushed it away as she opened his fridge.

“Nat why don’t you sit down let me take a look at your foot.” Steve tried to insist as he came out putting on a zip up.

She found the remaining hoggie in the fridge and sat down on the stool at the island as Steve went through the freezer for an ice pack,

“Liho, momma’s got ham!” She heard Liho’s distinct chirp before the cat jumped sliding across the counter to get her treat.

She watched Steve jump looking back in the direction Liho had come from then to Liho her self as she tore the thin slices of ham up into smaller bites for Liho. Poor thing was starving.

“Where-whose cat is this?” Steve asked dumbfounded as Liho devoured the ham from his sandwich.

“Steve meet Liho, my traitor cat.” Liho slept with no one not even the Barton kids but her and she was incredibly picky, yet here she was, cozy as could be with Steve.

“Why were you and Liho in my bedroom?” Steve asked again as Liho went over to him head butting his stomach to get him to pet her.

“Because I asked Tony to put some wet food out for her while I was working and he let her get out. I told him she’s sneaky and can’t be trusted, but she still got out. I didn’t noticed until half an hour ago when I woke up and she wasn’t in bed. J.A.R.V.I.S. was the one who told me she’d made it in here. Not sure how long but I found her sleeping on your bed with you and not me.”

Liho seemed completely un-phased as she started purring as Steve paid her attention.

“Probably should have realized there was something in my bed, but Sam and I spent the last three days wide awake and I crashed.” He did look tired really tired.

“I know, I’m sorry I woke you, but she was about to use you as a bed and she likes to lay across your neck until you can’t breathe.” He frowned looking at the cat that was now propping herself up on his chest trying to paw at his face to get his attention back on her.

“So it’s true what they say, pets are their owners.”

“I resent that, I don’t own her, we live together.” Had for two years now.

“That why you refer to yourself as her mother?”

“Oh so you’re cheeky when your half asleep huh?” Truth was it was Clint who started that and it just snuck into her vocabulary.

“So you say. How come I never knew you had a cat?”

“There was no reason to tell you.”

“How did you manage that you were gone so much?”

“Oh Nick would watch her for me.” Steve raised an eyebrow at that and she laughed, “Don’t tell him I told you, but he is quite the cat person, has one himself, used to follow him around hang out at S.H.I.E.L.D. but she passed away a few years ago, so you wouldn’t have seen her.”

“Well alright then. Say what does Liho mean? It’s Russian but I don’t think I’ve heard it.”

“The embodiment of evil fate and misfortune.”

“That’s a terrible name for a cat.”

“Its supposed to be ironic, she’s been everything but for me. I can shut everyone out, but she still wiggles her way in. There are days where I can’t get out of bed, and if I have nowhere to be, I had no reason to, but she won’t let me. She cries and won’t leave me be until I get up, even runs to the shower because she likes to play with the water left in the tub and if I turn it on, I’m not going to waste water. Granted most people think that’s just her hungry and wanting to make a mess, but she’s been my reason for getting up now more than ever. God I felt so scared when I realized she was gone, and a little betrayed. I’m sorry I have no idea why I just told you all of that.”

She looked away from him then playing with Liho’s tail to get her attention.

“You know if I stop looking for him-for Bucky I sometimes think I might go insane. Nat we just destroyed the one infrastructure we had...animals know this.”

“Yeah they do. Last time I leave her with Tony.”

Steve laughed a little shaking his head.

“Not to speak i’ll of the man currently housing us for free, but he can barely feed himself Nat.”

“Yeah, I mean he did what I asked, he just underestimated her willingness to go outside.” Steve smiled at her giving Liho one last pet.

“So, we still on for Breakfast? I know it’s three am now, but I don’t know about you but I’m not going back to sleep.”

“I could go for something to eat, let me cook, I was going to already, but now I think I really should since I woke you up by breaking into your bedroom.”

“Sounds good to me. Come on Liho,” Steve picked her up and Liho settled into his arms like a ragdoll.

Natasha would later recall that as the night she started to fall for him, the way Liho reacted to him, like she was telling her Steve was it, he was the one.

#romanogers #mg writes #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #liho the cat

56 notes · View notes

babylooneytoonz · 3 years

Text

Warnings : lot of Russian phrases and words

Word Count : 2500+

Blood Trails Masterlist -> here.

You fixed yourself on the window, drawing the blood red silk curtains together, your binoculars resting on the bridge of your nose. You squinted your eyes, licking your lips as you eyed the interior of the penthouse suite on the building top opposite yours; the home of your target. Everything looked okay, a warm fireplace lit in one corner, a woman walking around in the house, a Christmas tree; it looked like a normal family. Except for the little girl, she ran around the house like a little bolt of lightning, not literally, but she was faster than what was considered normal for children her age.

You had been living at this place for over a week now, and all you did was stand by the window and observe. The man in the house was hardly ever home; the only time you saw him was after 10 at nights, and that was it. Now, if you wanted to break in, you had to do it before he was back home. The less the people, the easier it'll be to get this done.

Finally, you pulled the binoculars off your eyes and stepped away from the window, dragging your feet against the concrete flooring until you were in your bedroom. Placing the binoculars on the bedside table, you sat down against the edge of the bed, ready to go to sleep when a buzz from your cellphone alerted you. Your hand flew to your phone, that was laying under the pillow, and you saw your Handler's photo flash on the screen.

"Открой мне дверь, моя птица." (Unlock the door for me, my bird.)

For a split second, you let your true feeling reflect on your face, in your eyes; something that you preferred to hide within the layers of your life. Your eyes held a sudden fear, which was quickly masked into cold, emotionless steely ones.

Clutching the phone to your chest, you tiptoed barefooted towards the front door of your furniture less apartment of one week, until you were pressed against the dusty wall beside you, and the door was kicked shut by Vasili, using his foot.

"Не мог перестать думать о тебе, моя красавица." (Couldn't stop thinking of you, my beauty.)

Those were the words he whispered against your lips, as his soft, plump lips were pressed against yours, his arms holding you against his warm body so you could not escape from him. You didn't protest, you didn't fight back, but neither did you kiss him back; it was a one sided kiss, but he didn't seem to mind. Finally, after about a minute or so, his lips pulled away from yours as he brought his palm up to wipe the corner of his mouth.

"Я знаю, что меня здесь не должно быть. Но я не хотел тебя проверить." (I know I shouldnt be here. But I just wanted to check on you.)

You stepped backwards, so you could give the man the space to walk into your apartment. He looked around in distaste for a while, before moving on and disappearing into your bedroom. You fluttered your eyelids shut, and then opened your eyes again, taking one deep inhale, as you followed him in.

"Снимай одежду и дай мне увидеть эти шрамы." (Take your clothes off and let me see those scars.)

Swallowing the lump forming in your throat, along with what little reluctance you felt at the back of your head, you brought your hands to the hem of your nightdress, until you slowly pulled it over your stomach, your chest and then over your head. All this while, Vasili's eyes raked over your body, the dark, almost fading marks a sharp contrast with the smooth, milky exterior of your skin. His breathing hitched, and his eyes darkened with an insatiable hunger, the more his gaze wandered over your body.

"Подойди и ложись сюда, мой маленький сосуд. Позвольте мне заполнить вас." (Come and lay down over here, my little vessel. Let me fill you up.)

Slow, graceful movements, you found yourself laying on your bed, the only piece of furniture that was there in this apartment, with Vasili towering over you, murmuring to you in Russian. You closed your eyes, when you felt him part your legs so he could fill you with himself.

He didn't wait for your body to be ready, he just pushed himself into you, the thickness and his girth causing a sudden friction and a dull stinging pain in your abdomen, making you almost hiss in pain, "Ah, ты чувствуешь себя прекрасно." (You feel perfect.)

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Natasha looked at herself in the mirror once before her eyes trailed along over the bed and she saw her lover's sleeping form. She was already dressed in her uniform and ready to step out as she had been called out on an urgent mission by Tony just hours back. She pulled open the drawer, and her hands flew to her handgun, that she placed in her holster, when Bucky's sleepy voice drawled through their bedroom, "Доброе утро, красивое. (Morning, beautiful.)"

Natasha couldn't help but chuckle, squinting her eyes in the mirror towards him as she grabbed her boots and sat down by the edge of the bed where Bucky's feet were.

"You sure you can take care of her alone?" She smirked, eyeing Bucky from the corner of her eye and he just rolled his eyes, ruffling the sheets slightly and rolling over so he was now propped on his chest, his face held by his palms.

"Oh we'll be just fine, you should go before Stark decides to blow up the towers in protest when his most favourite spy is late for a mission."

Natasha smiled, leaning forward until she was face level with Bucky, and quickly pecked him on his lips, "Well, I'm off, Barnes. Kiss Sasha goodbye for me later, I don't want to wake her up."

He fell back in bed, yawning wide before burying his face into the pillow, "Stay safe, Natalia."

Rubbing her palm against her hair, scratching her scalp absentmindedly as she was lost in his thoughts, she walked out, and forgot to set the security alarm again as she stepped outside. Neither did Bucky, in his semi sleeping state, get out and check the alarm system, for he was sure that his girlfriend must have done it on her way out.

You looked at the the security camera on the wall. Your hand reflexively flew up and you gave the camera a little wave, just when the sounds of Natasha's boots hit your ears, and you pressed yourself against the wall, until the sounds of her boots clanking against the marble flooring of the reception of the building faded away. You smirked, pulling your black mask over your face as you pressed the elevator button. You had already taken care of the security guards down at the reception area, so you didn't have much to bother. The only thing you were now bothered about was the fact that it wasn't the Black Widow that you were to face, but rather, the Winter Soldier.

You had seen the man fight, in videos, in footages and it looked like he was out for blood. Every move, every snap of a neck with his metal arm; the move appeared to be a highly practiced one, that he managed to pull on effortlessly. Shaking these thoughts away, you stepped into the elevator, waiting as the elevator started moving upwards until, with a ping, it finally opened just outside the penthouse suite, the door of which was wide open, thanks to Natasha, who had forgotten to put the lock and the alarms back on.

You stepped into the warm apartment, instantly greeted by a wafting aroma of French toast, and a nice breakfast, that made you smirk slightly. Too bad you were going to ruin a family breakfast, but a woman had to do what she had to do, unfortunately. Keeping your pace steady, but making sure that your boots were not making a ruckus as you tiptoed through the hallway that you had been observing from the outside, you could hear someone whisking eggs in the kitchen.

You had memorized by now, the way to the little girl's room. You had to keep walking down the hallway; until you were standing by the brown door at the extreme end. You brought up your palm to the doorknob, twisting it slightly and the door started opening, with a creaking sound.

"Are you awake, моя кукла?" Bucky's voice called out from inside the kitchen; perhaps owing to his super soldier serum, his sense of listening had enhanced and he had heard the door. Without bothering to reply, you snuck yourself through the opening, and once you were in, you shut the door behind you.

The sun streamed into the room through the cracks in the blinds, but other than that, the room was still engulfed in darkness, and it took almost a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to it. That's when you saw that the bed was empty, the sheets unkempt, as though someone was sleeping in here but had woken up. The first direction your head snapped towards was a door, that you assumed was the bathroom. You lunged towards it, and within seconds, you were standing in an empty bathroom, without any trace of the girl.

Anger surged through your veins, and instinctively, your hands gripped the porcelain of the washbasin, when you heard the small thud of the door shutting outside. Grunting underneath your breath, you darted out of the bathroom, towards the door, your hand now flying to your handgun that was securely held in your waist holster.

Only to come face to face with a gun drawn to your face.

"Sasha, Иди в нашу комнату и не выходи, пока я не приду за тобой." (Go into our room, and do not come out until I come get you.)

The girl glanced at the man with the metal arm, and then she turned towards you, your eyes meeting her blue ones. There was something really familiar about those eyes; and you wanted to get lost in them. It wasn't like Vasili's eyes that hid an evil within those irises, this was something else, something pure.

"Sasha, go."

The little girl, upon hearing her father's low pitched voice, ran into the nearest room, the door slamming shut.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?"

There was a safe distance between the two of you, but it really didn't matter, for the two of you had your guns drawn towards the other one. Your eyes sparkled, with adrenaline, and your smirk was uncanny, hidden behind the mask that covered your face, leaving only your eyes in his view.

"Who I am.. doesn't matter. What matters is the reason I'm here for. It's a pity you just sent her away. We were just getting started to know each other."

It seemed to be working; engaging in a conversation with him. He was distracted, his mind entangled in a web of your words, and the way he held his gun, you could easily get him to drop it. It didn't take much of an effort, you lunged at him suddenly, taking him by suprise, your left foot jutted out to knock the gun off his hand. The kick caused his grip to loosen on the gun, and as a reflex, he dropped it with a clatter to the floor. However, just as the gun dropped, he used his metal arm to catch your foot midair. This time, you used your other foot, jumping over his head with it, your other foot slamming against the side of his neck with a sickening crack.

He grunted as his thick body crashed against the floor with the impact of your kick, his metal arm colliding against the floor with an even louder noise.

"Я слышал истории о тебе, Солдат. Я слышал, тебя сложно победить, потому что ты был создан в том же самом месте, откуда я родом." (I heard stories about you, Soldier. I heard you were a hard one to beat, for you were made at the exact same place from where I come from.)

His metal arm grabbed your foot, and he pulled you hard, which made you lose your footing, and fall backwards, the back of your head hitting against a corner of a cabinet. It was as though it happened in slow motion, but you could feel a sudden crippling pain spread through your skull, rendering you useless, and frozen on spot, on the ground when he pulled himself on top of you, so he was straddling your waist, his body arched forward so he was now whispering darkly against your ear, while you struggled to push him off you, "Вы слышали обо мне еще что-нибудь? Зимний солдат не проигрывает."

(And did you hear another thing about me? Winter Soldier doesn't lose.)

"Могу только сказать ... Солдат, ты начинаешь ржаветь." (I can only say... Soldier, you're getting rusty.)

You slammed your forehead hard against his, and squeezed yourself from underneath him the second he got disoriented enough to loosen his grip on you. What followed after this was a series of punches, kicks, tooth breaking smacks across the face, punches to the ribs, pulling and pushing over each other until the two of you were coated in a sheen of sweat with Bucky once again on top of you, his metal arm pressed against your throat. His flesh arm latched itself to your mask, and he was about to rip it off your face, growling down at you in the most animalistic way when Sasha's voice sounded through the hallway, "Daddy?"

"Sasha, I told you to stay in, until I come get you."

Once again, Bucky's distraction proved beneficial for you as you pushed him off you with all your might, immediately stepping up to your feet, your eyes now on the frightened girl. You would have grabbed her, pulling her over your shoulder of the buzz in your phone had not alerted you.

You pulled out your phone, watching from the corner of your eye as Bucky started getting up, after having made sure that Sasha had run back to her room, you quickly placed your phone to your ear, "Johanna. Mission abort. Уходи оттуда. The Avengers are almost on your tail."

"But Vasili, the kid."

"We'll have more chances, Мой дорогой."

"Fine," you slid the phone back into your pocket, and without thinking, you turned back on your tail, as you darted towards the elevator, with Bucky now running after you. You turned right just as you reached the elevator, and kicked the emergency exit door, watching the wood splinter into two as you slid through the opening your kick had caused. Bucky cursed, when he realized that his body structure was not slender enough to fit in through where you had just managed to easily slide yourself out from.

You smirked to yourself, when you realized that Bucky was now trying to completely break the door, you slowly lowered your upper body, in a dramatic bowing stance and took a step away, eyeing him one last time before you started skimming down the stairs, humming a Russian song,

Без тебя родная я не я

Ты моя мания, ты аномалия

С тобой хочу взлететь на небеса

Я всё построю сам по белым парусам

И мне не нужно много слов, а я снова я

Ты просто будь со мной и всё оя, всё оя

Ведь без тебя родная я не я, родная я не я, родная я не я.

Permanent Bucky Barnes Taglist :

@really-dont-forget-it @thepeakygurl @all-art-is-quite-useless @baumarvel @janajjj @chipilerendi @nyotamalfoy @skittychat @allidoiswritewritewrite @jessyballet @x0xchristine @evansgirl7 @laisbeltrans @thegayseance

Want to be added to the Taglist? Please fill the form here.💙

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #bucky barnes x you

28 notes · View notes

softbiker · 4 years

Text

Born to Run - Chapter 17

Warnings: angst, alcohol abuse, anxiety, heartbreak, police violence (potentially triggering encounter, please heed the warning), language

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: Well, here it is. All I can do is say...I’m sorry. But I promise I’ll fix it. I decided to go ahead and post this tonight because I haven’t gotten to write much lately, I’ve been working constantly and now I’ve got a second job - so I just love getting to write and post when I can. Thank you for sticking with this story. It’s almost a year old now! As always, let me know what you think!!

“I dunno, Mom - I mean it’s not like I planned this-”

“Well, no, honey,” her mother huffed over the phone. “It doesn’t seem like you planned any of it.”

Y/N winced at the sting of her words but didn’t argue. With her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, she grabbed another stack of underwear and socks from the dresser and turned back towards her bed, where a suitcase lay open. A few pairs of jeans and a couple of sweaters were already folded inside. Off to one side, her toiletry bag was stuffed full - skincare and toothpaste and hair products she might not even use but tossed in anyway in her flustered packing frenzy. Her grip on the socks in her hands tightened to keep her fingers from trembling.

It had been 2 days since her fight - breakup - with Bucky. For the first 24 hours, she fell into an anxious, disorganized catatonia; she shuffled from room to room in her house, pacing and biting her nails, opening cabinets at random then promptly closing them. Her fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh, and her heart raced at a breakneck pace. If a single clear thought managed to arrange itself from the scattered clutter of her panic, it was only Bucky’s face, red-eyed and tear-stained as he pleaded with her. After splashing some water on her face and changing into sweatpants, she had put herself to bed, settling in for the longest night of her life. She tossed and turned, hearing the minutes tick by from the clock on the wall. At around 3 am, she threw off the covers in heartbroken frustration and stalked to the kitchen, setting the kettle on for tea and raiding her cabinets for any treats she could find. Thank God she still had that fancy dark chocolate she’d gotten last time she went to the city; it was the only thing her cupboards could provide in the way of comfort food. Armed with a steaming cup of lavender chamomile and an entire half-pound of dark chocolate she settled back under the covers and grabbed the T.V. Remote from her nightstand. If nothing else, she prayed Netflix could distract her, fill her mind with different faces, different voices - drown out the one that wouldn’t leave her.

She managed to doze off towards the end of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, tearful confessions playing in the background of her not-quite-dreams, and woke just before 7. A cold, clear morning greeted her through the window, the air in her room practically frigid, but something in it settled her. Quieted the static that had blurred out all thought since Bucky walked through her door the day before. With a deep breath, she threw off the covers and swung her feet out of bed, leaving the tea cup and chocolate wrapper to deal with later. It was her running shoes she reached for.

An hour and 10 kilometers later, she jogged back up her front porch steps, breathing heavy and feeling light. Her cheeks were charted from the wind, and her nose was running, but the grip on her heart had shaken loose. And as she clambered into the shower, stinging hot and billowing steam, new thoughts began to string together - thoughts for tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that.

Still in sweatpants, hair dripping, she’d scribbled down a list while she sipped her coffee. Names, to-do’s, a seed of a plan. In order, she phoned the clinic, her best friend, her residency program coordinator - and now, at last, her mom.

“I’m driving up to stay with Kat for a few days - maybe a week,” Y/N sighed, ignoring her mom’s comment. “Just to…clear my head, you know?”

“Sure, sure,” her mom agreed. “Though I don’t know why you couldn’t come here…I haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving-”

“Mom.” She closed her eyes, one hand settled on her hip. “It’s not a vacation.”

“No, sweetie, but it doesn’t hurt to come let your mom take care of you…”

Knuckles pressed to her eyelids, Y/N sat down on the edge of her bed. The old mattress creaked, as it had every night she slept in it for the last several months.

“I-I just,” she licked her dry lips and tried to swallow. “I need to be alone for a little bit, Mom. Once I’ve got it all figured out, I’ll let you know. And maybe…who knows, maybe I can come visit soon.”

“Sweetheart.” The voice on the phone is tired, resigned. “Why do you always try to do these things by yourself? You don’t have to be alone.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of her pants. She breathed slowly, warding back the lump that threatened to close off her voice.

“I’m sorry, Mom. But this time I do.”

**********

“You’ve got to go in there and wake him up-”

“I’m not doing it - I wouldn’t touch him with a 10 foot pole when he’s like this.”

“Well, someone’s got to. We’re bugging out in just a couple days-”

Heavy-eyed, and feeling like death warmed over, Bucky stirred at the sound of the voices outside his bedroom. Harsh winter sunlight burst through the blinds over his window; even before he opened his eyes it hurt. Something throbbed inside his skull, and his tongue felt thick and heavy in his parched mouth. Why the hell did he feel this bad? He couldn’t remember the last time he drank like this, to the point of blacked out nausea. His stomach roiled as he turned over, and he felt far too old to be drinking like there was no tomorrow, like he hated himself-

And then he remembered.

Y/N.

Suddenly he had no interest in getting up, getting water, getting something that would settle his stomach. He covered his face with his hands, fingers pressing firm against his eyelids and blocking out any light that came through. It was hot in his room, the combination of heating and a pile of blankets that someone had tucked him in with, but he didn’t move the covers, choosing instead to sweat underneath them.

How had he fucked up so badly? The best thing that ever happened to him - and now she was gone, baby, gone. It would’ve been alright, maybe, if Natasha had allowed him to talk to Y/N himself, but-

Natasha. Just the thought of her set his blood on fire, and he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes flying open - only to immediately regret it as a stronger wave of nausea threatened to claim him. He quickly folded himself in half and put his head between his knees. When his head finally stopped spinning, he propped his elbows up against his knees and threaded his hands through his hair.

Already, he felt a thread of shame and guilt tugging at his gut. It wasn’t right to blame Natasha. He knew that. The lies were all his own; all Nat had done was reveal the truth.

But, God, the look on Y/N’s face - she had never looked at him that way, not even in the beginning when she was afraid he might be a criminal. It chilled him - right down to the marrow of his bones - the cold anger, the mask of disgust and disinterest that she wore to hide the way she hurt. And she did - he could see her pain cracking the ice in her eyes, no matter how she tried to hide it.

He hated himself for it.

A soft knock at the door, and Steve’s blond head poked in.

“Oh,” he said, eyebrows jumping in surprise. “You’re awake.”

Bucky’s scowl deepened as Steve and Sam kindly let themselves into his room and took up post at the foot of his bed.

“Yeah - thanks to you two. You wouldn’t know how to whisper if your life depended on it, Wilson.”

To his credit, Sam didn’t respond - merely rolled his eyes and cast an exasperated glance at Steve. With a sigh, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes down on the soft blue quilt Bucky had haphazardly wrinkled during the night.

“Look, I understand that you’re really upset right now.” Steve’s voice was soft, barely more than a murmur. “I know…I know how much she meant to you.”

Bucky felt his eyes starting to burn as he stared at his friends, and he hastily scrubbed at them with his palms, sniffing.

“But,” Steve continued, licking his lip. “We’ve got our marching orders - we’re on standby to pull out any day now. We - I - can’t have you going on binders, AWOL for 24 hours, and then stumbling in here piss drunk at 3 in the morning.”

“We thought you were dead, Barnes,” Sam added, clenching his jaw. “We’re on fuckin’ suicide watch, man. You’re gonna drink yourself to death over a breakup? Huh?”

Growling, Bucky reached behind himself for a pillow and hurled it at Sam’s head.

“Shut the fuck up-”

“No, Buck, Sam is right.” Steve’s brows were knitted together tightly. His eyes were sympathetic, but the rest of him was unflinching as stone. “You can’t do that again. What if you’d run yourself off the road, or gotten hit by a car?” Bucky scoffed, but Steve didn’t back down. Raising his voice he went on. “No, I really want you to think - would you be better off dead? Is that what you want? Is that what she would want?”

Eyes squeezed shut, Bucky saw her face right before him once again, her smiles, the way she used to look at him. The panic in her eyes during his parking lot showdown with Rumlow, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating on something, how sleepy her eyes were in the mornings - each little piece of her, precious secrets he had tucked away in the hidden corners of his heart. He had thought, dreamed, that he had a lifetime to collect them all, fit all her parts together like a puzzle one piece at a time, and love every moment of it. Now, though. These lone pieces are all he has left, and they will never be enough.

What did she want? He knew only one thing for sure - that she was the only person who could say.

“I don’t think it matters to her either way, punk.”

**********

A few miles outside of town, just past the last lonely gas station, was the exit ramp to the interstate. The road had seen better years; the pavement was pitted with potholes and cracks, haphazardly patched with uneven lumps of asphalt that left drivers weaving between lanes and wondering which would do more damage to their tires. But, since this part of the state saw less traffic than other areas, infrastructure money was slow to trickle down towards repair and reconstruction.

Y/N had driven this road a handful of times - as she moved into town, and then when she had taken the drive a couple of times to visit her friends in the city. It was desolate enough to be a slightly depressing drive; nothing but scorched fields for miles on either side of the road, and the steep ditches that banked it on either side were overgrown with wispy stalks of dead grass. Overhead, a grey and overcast sky shadowed everything, promising a winter day best spent indoors.

She tuned in and out of a true crime podcast while she drove, hardly seeing the road in front of her. Her mind was too far gone on the events of the past few days - and everything she had to do with the coming ones. But there was something comforting here, in the grip of the wheel in her hands, a travel mug of coffee still steaming in the cupholder, an open road ahead of her. She felt…awake, present. Bruised, but not broken. And ready to get back up.

Of course, it shook her when a cop car pulled out of the overgrowth on the shoulder of the exit ramp, putting on speed to keep up with her. Mentally she reviewed her driving - still only 5 over the speed limit, her lights were on and working, her tags were in date. They had no reason to pull her over, she rationalized.

And they didn’t. The car stayed right behind her for the next 10 miles, quietly driving at her speed, keeping a couple car lengths’ distance between. No flashing lights, no sirens.

So why were her palms sweating?

After 20 miles, the sirens finally started blaring, blue and red flashes blinking in her rearview mirror. Despite being raised to respect the law, she felt nervous as she glanced back at the car, easing her foot off the accelerator, but not quite braking to pull over. She bit her lip, hesitating another few seconds as the alarm grew louder behind her. Her stomach clenched nervously.

Stop freaking out. You’re just worried about getting a ticket. Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, she scolded herself and gently pulled her car over to the side of the road, careful not to get too far into the muddy grass along the shoulder. Fingers fidgeting nervously on the steering wheel, she watched as the officer got out of his car and strolled up to her window at a leisurely pace. His head was shaved, and he wore dark mirrored sunglasses, in spite of the gloomy light of the day. As she rolled down her window, she squinted at his face, trying to recognize him from the adrenaline-blurred memories of the night Bucky killed Brock Rumlow - but the low slope of his cheekbones, the clean-shave, the firm-set frown are all unfamiliar to her.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he greeted her, one hand on his hip. It drew her eyes down towards his gun. “License and registration please.”

Instinctively, she nodded and reached towards her wallet lying in the passenger seat to dig out her license. The officer was silent, propping one hand against her car while he waited; she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears and willed herself to calm down.

Clearing her throat, she gathered her courage and spoke up.

“Excuse me, officer-” He barely glanced up from where he was perusing her car registration. “Why did you pull me over?”

He looked up at her fully at the question, shifting his stance and licking his upper lip.

“One of your tail lights is out,” he said, shoving her papers back through the window. “That’s a real safety issue.”

“My tail light…?” Her tail light - which had been changed only a month ago. She knew, because Bucky did it himself. He had always been worried about her safety; every time she was going somewhere without him, he did a full inspection of the car, testing brakes and changing the oil, going over every last inch of it and then filling up the tank with gas before she left. Last time, she’d sat in the garage nursing a cup of cider as she watched him fiddle with the lights…

She shook her head to lose the thoughts of him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but my tail lights are working just fine, I just had the bulbs changed.” She leaned forward in the seat, peering up at the officer. “Are you sure that there’s something wrong with them?”

Frown deepening even further, he crossed his arms and widened his stance.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to get out of the car?”

“Excuse me?”

“Get out of the car, ma’am.”

“What? Why?”

“Please, just calm down and get out of the vehicle.”

“But-” her protest broke off as he shifted his stance back, one hand inching towards the mace in his belt. She glanced at her phone, sitting in the unoccupied cupholder with her aux cable connected to it. Her fingers twitched - for a microsecond, she contemplated the very bad idea of reaching for it, refusing to get out of the car, calling-calling…someone. Someone.

But surely, if she cooperated, this would all be worked out with just a minor headache, or maybe a ticket, she reassured herself. She repeated it in her head as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door, climbing out of the car carefully, her hands held out to her sides where they could be seen.

Once she was out of her car, the officer took a step forward and pushed on her door, shutting it with a resounding click.

“Okay, I’m out of the car…”

“Turn around and put your hands on the hood.”

“I’m sorry, what?” she exclaimed, hearing her voice hitch in alarm. Her eyes cast up the road and back towards the exit ramps - there were no other cars in sight. No witnesses. “Am I under arrest?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, out of patience. His hand went to rest on his gun now. “Turn around and put your fucking hands on the hood of the car.”

Her fists curled and she stood her ground. She willed away her thoughts of Bucky.

“No. I haven’t broken the law, you can’t arrest me for having a tail light out-”

In a blink, his gun was up and trained directly on her.

“Put your hands on the fucking car!” he yelled, loud enough to make her wince at the volume. Her thoughts tunneled on the barrel of the gun aimed at her chest.

Wordlessly, she turned and planted her hands on the cold metal, shivering in just her sweatshirt, her winter coat tossed in the passenger seat while she was driving. The tips of her fingers went numb and her eyes watered, stung by the wind. Her dry tongue pressed against the backs of her teeth - if she tried to swallow she’d choke.

“Who are you?” Her voice shook, but she managed the words. Scared and alone, but she’d fight, goddammit. She’d fight. He would want her to fight. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

“Shut up.” A firm, cold point of pressure between her shoulder blades as he pressed the gun against her back. There was a faint buzzing sound and then the rustle of fabric; when he spoke again, it clearly wasn’t to her. “Yes, sir?” He answered his phone. “Yes - we’re on schedule. I have the package. Will confirm when its secure and en route.”

Her heart raced wildly and her mind went white with fear. What was he talking about? This had to be some kind of mistake, a misunderstanding-

Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the butt of his gun came down against the back of her head; her vision exploded in stars, and then faded to black as she slumped against her car. Barely conscious, she felt herself being dragged away down the road, lifted and shoved into the backseat of the squad car, unceremoniously dumped with her face down against the cold leather. The engine hummed to life; a seatbelt clicked - not hers.

“Sir?” He spoke again from the front seat. “Package is secured.”

She wondered if Bucky was coming to find her. He would, she told herself. He’d come.

And then, nothing.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #born to run #biker!bucky #biker!bucky au #biker!bucky fic

73 notes · View notes

wandas-sunshine · 4 years

Text

The Muse’s Dance - Part 3

Summary: Steve is a fine arts major, (Y/N) is a dance major. Their meeting wasn’t supposed to be anything big, but Steve is sure he’s found his new muse, and (Y/N) is suddenly convinced that maybe she doesn’t have to choose between her career and a relationship.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 7,466

Warnings: Smut, dubcon at first glance, fluff

A/N: The song in the chapter is The Lady Is A Tramp by Frank Sinatra. This chapter connects directly to the previous one, so hopefully the flow isn’t off. Enjoy!

Part 2 | Series Masterlist

The two stood in front of a cute little diner with a bright sign over the door. It read ‘Uncle Ben’s’ in shining letters. The sign in the window said they were open, and Steve held the door open for her. Inside, everything was cheery and safe. The black and white tile, the red seats that matched the jukebox by the counter. The walls were covered with pictures of actors and celebrities from the 50s, and various records. One wall in particular caught her eye, the one behind the counter. It had a collage of pictures surrounding a framed one of a man. She assumed that was Uncle Ben.

“Welcome to Uncle Ben’s diner. What do you think?” Steve had let his arm slide away from her shoulders as she looked around. She seemed a bit brighter now, a smile blossoming onto her face.

“This place is incredible, I love it.” She turned to look at him before hugging his waist tightly. “Thank you, Steve.”

Her fingers reached up, brushing across his cheek. Her eyes danced across his face, landing on his lips for a split second. She wanted to say thank you, maybe not in the best way, but she just wanted to kiss him so badly. She glanced away, and so did he.

“Go ahead, pick any seat you’d like. I’ll grab a menu for you.” Steve suggested, and she nodded, happily making herself comfortable in one of the red booths. She watched Steve lean himself against the counter until a pretty middle aged woman came out. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her smile lit up her face. Whoever she was, she seemed to know Steve well enough. She reached up and ruffled his already messy hair, saying something to earn one of those brilliant sunshine smiles of his.

“You brought a girl,” May pointed out quietly. Steve dropped his head for a second before glancing over towards (Y/N). She looked better than she had when he’d picked her up. The red around her eyes had faded, and the frown that had been etched onto her face had turned into a content smile as she looked around. “You never bring anyone but James and Natasha. She must be something special.”

Steve blushed an even darker shade. Of course she was special. If only he could convince her of that.

“Yeah, she’s real special. But we’re just friends.” He shrugged and took the menu that May had passed across the bar to him. The woman lifted a curious eyebrow and glanced past him at the girl. She was watching on with a dreamy smile that May recognized all too well.

“I don’t think she knows that.” The woman patted his hand affectionately before letting him head for his seat. He shook his head a little. He hadn’t expected that sort of thing from Aunt May, but he probably should have. He slid into the booth and passed (Y/N) the menu. She wiggled in her seat excitedly and he practically felt his heart combust in his chest.

“What were you two talking about?” She asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes. He rolled his eyes at her.

“We were just catching up. She’s surprised I brought someone new.” Steve waved his hand dismissively, but she wasn’t about to let it go so easily. She propped her chin in her hands and stared at him until he went on. “May’s known me for a few years now. I moved in a few blocks down. Me and Buck found the place that night. I don’t really bring anyone around here. Only the special ones.”

Her hand reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Steve considered her special. Special enough to go out of his way to comfort her over something as stupid as her parents coming to support her. Special enough to bring her to his secret place. Special enough to call her his muse.

“Good to know you think so highly of me. Even after everything.” She playfully nudged her leg against his under the table. “So, the burgers here any good?”

“Best in town if I do say so myself.” Their little bit of banter was interrupted by the same smiling woman. Something about her felt safe, familiar. “May Parker. But these guys call me Aunt May.”

She stuck out a hand, and the young dancer took it politely. The handshake didn’t last long as Aunt May placed her hands on her hips.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N). I’m Steve’s —” There was a breath of hesitation. She was so much more than his friend, and both of them felt it. But lingering touches and longing glances, painting company and rehearsal feedback didn’t mean a thing if neither of them trusted themselves to make it something more. “—friend.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sweetheart. Now, what can I get for you two?” If she noticed the awkward moment (and how could she have not?) she didn’t say anything. She simply produced a notepad from her apron pocket, and took the pencil from behind her ear. The two placed their orders, and (Y/N) wondered what exactly Steve’s ‘usual’ was. She wondered how long he’d explored the menu before he settled on it, and how often he strayed from it. She took May’s advice, a bacon cheeseburger with fries. With a promise that their food would be out soon, May hurried out of their way.

Once the two of them were alone again, they fell back into their comfortable quiet. They sipped their water and shared little smiles. It was a silence that both of them could happily stay in all night. The soft music that played eased the awkwardness that may have tried to build.

“Hey, how’s your piece coming?” Her hand brushed against his to draw his attention, not that he’d ever taken it away from her. Her hand lingered there, and Steve so easily could have held it...and Steve so badly wanted to hold it.

“It’s finished actually. Just put the final touches on it today. I can’t wait for you to see it.” He grinned at her, and everything else faded to mere background noise. The way he looked at her was the only thing that mattered anymore.

“Two more days. Are you gonna make it to see me dance?” She asked with a hopeful gleam in her eye. Performing with her parents in the crowd would have her on edge, but if Steve was there, she knew she’d be more than okay.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I promise you I’ll be there.” He crossed his heart with one hand and squeezed hers with the other. The two of them shared a look, emotion clouded eyes meeting and begging one another to say something, to do something to break the building tension between them. Their moment was once more cut short, this time by the arrival of their food. A couple burgers were sat down with two orders of fries, and a chocolate milkshake that made Steve grin. (Y/N) popped a fry into her mouth and hummed appreciatively as it scalded her in that way that french fries tend to do.

“Go on, try the burger! Bucky barely eats anyone else’s. Only the Parkers and the cook know the secret to making them so good.” Steve urged excitedly. She straightened up and picked up the sandwich, making sure to put on a show. She glanced up with a smirk, then took a bite. Her eyes fluttered shut, and the noise she made was practically sinful, a soft moan that had Steve flushing.

“This is the best burger I’ve had in my life.” She announced after a long moment of savoring the bite. “I officially refuse to eat anywhere else. Only here.”

He chuckled, taking a bite out of his own sandwich. The first half of their meal was spent absorbed in their food, only stopping to exchange praise for it. But as their stomachs were filled, slow conversation picked up.

“How did you get into dance?” Steve had asked. (Y/N) finished her fry and sipped at her water before answering.

“When I was little my friends started ballet. So I begged and begged my parents to let me do it too. Ballet turned into tap. Then jazz, ballroom, contemporary. It never stopped.” As she talked about her past dance experiences, her face lit up with an excited smile. “It kind of took over my life. My parents made me stop for a bit when I was 10, but it sort of made me really depressed. My grades slipped, I stopped talking to my friends. So they put me back in, and voila!”

Steve let out an impressed whistle, and she tipped her head curiously.

“All of that, and my grandma taught me to dance in her kitchen.” He laughed without a thought, but (Y/N)’s eyes lit up.

“You dance?” She leaned forward and propped her elbows against the table. No matter how simply adorable the smile on her lips was, Steve recognized the danger in it.

“Only a little. Just some slow dancing. Prom style, you know? She tried to teach me swing dancing, but I just don’t have the coordination for that.” He rambled, sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck as she continued to grin at him. “I don’t wanna know what you’re thinking, do I?”

Steve took another sip from his shake. She simply shrugged and dug through her bag for her wallet. Then she slipped from their booth and practically skipped over to where Aunt May was wiping down the tables.

“Aunt May, you wouldn’t mind if me and Stevie have a little dance, would you?” She asked sweetly. Steve shot up from his spot and shook his head frantically. He wasn’t a good dancer to begin with, but if he tried dancing with her pressed against his chest? That would just be idiotic, he’d make a total fool of himself.

“Oh, why not? Nobody to bother with it.” She joked with a knowing smile. The young dancer squealed and clapped excitedly. Her hand found Steve’s and she tugged him to the jukebox. She pressed the money into his hand and nodded towards the machine.

“Pick your poison.” She giggled, practically bouncing. Steve was nervous, but how could he argue when she was looking at him with such wide, hopeful eyes? And so he scanned the songs before picking. Sinatra’s voice filled the room, and she tugged him a few steps back until they had enough space. She looked up at him, settling his hand on her waist and slipping hers into his other properly. She gave a nod, a silent promise that they’d be just fine.

He allowed himself to relax, giving in to the music and leading her in a dance. On occasion she’d giggle, she’d guide him into spinning her, or she’d add a playful dramatic flair. Every laugh that passed her lips relaxed him more, shattering his nerves piece by piece. They gravitated closer, squeezing out the polite distance they’d begun with until she was pressed firm and safe against his chest. His hand splayed against the small of her back, and her head had found its way to his shoulder as their dance slowed to a sort of intimate sway.

Steve hummed along to the end of the song, and (Y/N) closed her eyes, just taking in the feeling of being held by him once more. She would never get enough of it. And as the music stopped, she expected his grip to loosen, but it didn’t. He kept her snug there, his cheek pressed to the side of her head. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She wasn’t ready for her little piece of paradise to slip away.

He reached up and let his fingers dance over her cheek, brushing his thumb ever so lightly over her bottom lip. She held her breath, eyes locked onto his. There was something different in them now. Something deeper that she couldn’t decipher.

“I think I’m gonna kiss you now.” His voice was hardly above a whisper, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Please kiss me now.” She closed her eyes and tipped her head up. There wasn’t a moment for her to pray that it wasn’t some cruel dream that she was about to awaken from. His lips met hers, so softly at first that she wondered if they were really even touching. Then harder, more desperate. He pulled her tighter to him, and her arms snaked up to let her fingers run through still damp blonde locks. The kiss was slow, and sweet, and tasted a bit of the chocolate still lingering on his tongue as he swiped it across her lips.

When they did finally separate, everything around them flickered back into reality. They were alone now, neither of them had noticed Aunt May disappear into the back. Steve made a mental note to thank her later. When their eyes met again, the both of them had the sweetest smiles on their lips.

“We should probably go. It’s getting late.” (Y/N) whispered, letting her hands slide to rest against his chest. A glance at the neon clock on the wall confirmed that it was nearing 10pm. So Steve nodded and pecked her lips once more, just because he could. Then he let her slip out of his arms.

“Think we’re ready for the bill, Aunt May.” He called, peeking towards the back. A second passed before the woman came out again, this time with a grin that had the artist blushing again.

“This one’s on the house. Call it an early wedding gift.” She teased quietly, then winked before Steve could properly form a reply. And just like that, she left the two alone up front again. He rolled his eyes at her antics. That was just Aunt May, and everyone loved her for that. It kept everyone on their toes.

He returned to their booth and scooped (Y/N)’s bag up. He left ten dollars on the table for May, he knew she could use it.

“Ready?” He asked. She stood up again, and she seemed to have a new glow about her. It didn’t matter that she was exhausted, or that her muscles were overworked. She seemed to be refreshed, more like the girl he’d met that first day a month ago. She nodded and slipped her hand into his, hugging his arm close to her with her other hand.

The two stepped out into the cool night air and began their walk back towards the dorms, quietly enjoying each other’s company. But after a moment, the realization that Steve would simply take her home hit her hard. She slowed, gently tugging at his arm. She didn’t want to go back to her dorm and lay awake in her bed worrying until she managed to slip into a fitful sleep. No, she wanted to stay wrapped up in him until her worries washed themselves away.

“You alright, darlin?” Steve asked, turning to look at her as he noticed her sudden stop. She bit her lip and stepped closer. She didn’t like the way his concern for her made his expression harden. She reached up, gently running her fingers over the crease between his eyebrows to ease it out.

“I’m okay. I just...do you think I can come back to your place tonight?” Her hand slipped down to rest against his chest again. It was a loaded question, one that in her normal state of mind she never would have asked. No, that was Steve’s place to invite her in. Nevertheless, Steve hesitated. Of course he knew exactly what she was implying, the tension between the two of them was palpable. Of course he wanted to take her home with him, he wanted anything she would give to him. But he hated to think of the ways it could backfire. What if she simply wasn’t thinking properly?

“Come on, please.” She practically whined, nuzzling into his neck and pressing a tiny kiss there. “I just need a distraction tonight. Please distract me, Steve.”

He bit his lip, but it wasn’t enough to hide the way he shivered when she dragged her lips over that spot by his jaw, or the little groan that slipped out as he tugged her closer by her hips.

“Wait, (Y/N), wait.” He mumbled, pulling his hands away from her entirely. She instantly stepped back, her chest tightening at the idea that she had pushed too hard, that she’d crossed a line. She looked up with wide, terrified eyes.

“Steve, I’m so sorry.” She whispered. She’d ruined it, ruined whatever had been building between the two of them. He was going to hate her forever.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine.” He reached out and slipped his hand into hers. “I want to take you back to my place, I want to do anything you want me to. But what if you regret it? If I do something that makes you hate me when you calm down from all this anxiety?”

There was a beat of silence, then another. He was beginning to worry until he felt her squeeze his hand. Then she laughed, a sound of nothing but relief. He was too good to be true. Chivalry was most definitely not dead, she thought, it was alive and well, and its name was Steve Rogers.

“Steven Grant Rogers, there isn’t a thing in this world I could regret doing as long as I do it with you.” She leaned closer and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Please, I want you. I won’t regret this, I promise.”

And those words were really all it took. All of Steve’s worries were gone, and the only thing bothering him was the walk standing between them and the privacy of his apartment. Only a few blocks, but it was too far.

The walk, though not particularly long, was excruciating. They could be kissing, he could be touching her, admiring her the way she deserved. But instead, they were stuck half clinging to each other and stealing too-short kisses.

Finally the two made it into his building, and Steve led her to the elevator. (Y/N) impatiently tugged him into a heated kiss as the doors dinged shut. Their lips moved slow and needy against each other, and their tongues danced together until the doors slid open again.

She pouted when Steve pulled away, but his hands stayed on her, gently pulling her along down the hallway. She tugged him in and pressed another teasing kiss to his lips through her giggles. He laughed along, easily spinning her to face away from him. His arms snaked around her waist and pressed her securely to his chest as he walked them towards his door. She stayed obediently nestled there as Steve fished his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door.

Once it was open, (Y/N) wiggled from his grip and slipped into his apartment. It wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined (not that she had spent much time imagining what his home was like), but it was so very...Steve.

There were half finished sketches spread out on the coffee table, and paint bottles spread out on the counter. For the most part, it was clean and fairly neat. There was a fluffy blanket tossed over the back of his dark brown couch, and an easel settled by the big window in his living room. The kitchen was practically spotless aside from a few paintbrushes laid out to dry.

Steve’s arms wrapped around her waist again like they knew that was exactly where they belonged. She hummed and melted back into his warmth. His lips scattered gentle kisses along her jaw.

“I know it’s not much,” He mumbled against her neck. A smile stretched on her lips, and she reached up to run her fingers through his hair.

“No, it’s perfect. I love it here.” She turned her head to guide their lips together. She nipped lightly at his bottom lip. The kiss wasn’t wild or fast, just slow, and deep, and effortlessly setting her skin alight. He drew away from her lips and pulled a tiny whine from the back of her throat with him.

“Come on,” He stepped away and tugged at her hand. His voice had a new tone to it, something dark and rich that had her soaking through her panties. She followed his lead, refusing to let him get too far away from her. He led her down the hall and pushed the door to his bedroom open.

A confident smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, and she slipped from his grip once again. He let out a soft groan, hating the loss of contact. But he watched with a twinkle of lust in his darkening blue eyes as she sauntered to his bed. She sprawled there, taking in the scent of his room and the feeling of his soft blankets beneath her. Then she propped herself up on her elbows to look at her.

He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest forcing his biceps to bulge. She was half convinced they’d tear right through his shirt. His eyes raked over her entirely clothed form. He wasn’t looking at her hungrily, despite the dark swirl of lust in his eyes. There was nothing in his gaze but pure passionate admiration.

“Are you just gonna stand and stare, Rogers?” She questioned playfully. That was all it took for him to snap out of his stupor. He tugged his shirt off and discarded it as he stalked towards the bed. She watched as he crawled closer to her, admiring the Adonis before her. Tanned skin stretched over rippling muscle, his gaze locking with her own. She dragged her hands down his chest and hummed.

“You are...so ripped.” She giggled, drawing a bright laugh from Steve as he kissed her quickly.

“And you’re stunningly beautiful.” He responded after a moment. She shivered as he moved to nuzzle against her neck. He kissed and nipped at sensitive skin, earning quiet hums and sighs of approval. All the while, his hands crept under her sweater. He mapped out every inch of skin, bunching the fabric under her breasts. He needed to remember this, who knew if he’d ever get another chance to be with her this way? Finally, he got tired of fighting with the fabric. He sat back and helped her out of it, whipping it across the room and out of his way.

His eyes took in the newly exposed skin. He stayed put, fingers dancing against her hip bones as he committed this heavenly sight to memory. God knew he’d never ever be able to forget the most beautiful view he ever had the honor to see.

She began to squirm under his adoring gaze, feeling her insecurities creep in. Almost as if he could sense it, Steve grinned and peppered her shoulders with kisses. His fingers pushed her bra straps down her arms. His worship of her continued, warm wet kisses and playful nibbles being strewn across her chest.

“Steve,” She murmured, fingers twirling through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re making me wait.”

He chuckled at the huff she let out, and the little pout that settled on her lips with it. He stretched up to press a searing kiss to her lips, letting his tongue dip just a bit past her lips before he decided to pull away. She lay there, breathless and staring up at him with wide, lust blown eyes.

“Patience. Just let me show you how much I appreciate you.” He brushed some hair from her cheek. With the tiny nod she gave him in reply, he set back to work. His mouth moved over her chest, tongue and teeth teasing along the edge of her bra. When he was finally satisfied with his teasing, he slipped his hand behind her back and popped the hooks of her bra. She wiggled it off and tossed it aside to worry about later.

An appreciative groan rumbled in his chest. She was absolutely stunning. He cupped her breasts gently in large hands, kneading at them, circling his thumbs around her nipples. She arched into his touch and gasped. The sharp sound in his otherwise silent room earned a proud smirk from him.

“So pretty,” He cooed, tweaking both of the hardening nubs and absolutely reveling in the soft moan she let out. He leaned down, sucking one of the peaks into his mouth. He listened closely to her gasps and whines, tugging and twisting at the other. He made sure to commit those sounds to memory, already imagining himself getting off to these memories in the middle of the night. Then he switched sides and patiently repeated the process.

“Stevie, please.” She gasped out, damn near trembling beneath him. He could swear it was the prettiest thing he’d ever heard, the way she said his name so desperately. But he gave in, flicking her nipples one more time before trailing his hands down her stomach. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings and tugged them swiftly down her legs.

“You’re so beautiful. Like a fucking goddess.” He praised, kissing his way up one of her legs, stopping at her hip. He sucked and nibbled until a mark blossomed there. He left a matching one on the opposite him, then continued to kiss and tease his way down her other leg.

(Y/N) writhed and huffed, arousal pooling between her thighs as he took his time worshipping the rest of her. Every touch was setting her on fire, filling her with an intense need that she had never experienced before. Steve could tell, it was easy with the way she gravitated towards his touch. The desperate whines, the way she worked so hard to press her thighs together and get even a little bit of friction.

He nudged her legs open wider, trailing his hands up them. He licked his lips and eyed the dampness that made her core glisten for him. He brushed his fingertips against the spot, and she released a breathy moan. Her head tipped back and her hands clenched for a moment. She looked fucking exquisite. So he teased his fingers against her entrance again, catching another small noise of pleasure and grinning to himself.

“Steve, please. Please, please, please,” She chanted in a breathless whisper. He wanted to tease her, to draw things out even further. He wanted to see just how she reacted when she was denied in favor of admiring her just a tiny bit more, but how was he supposed to resist when she begged for him that way?

His hips ground desperately against the bed in an attempt to ease the ache of his hardness. He glanced at her through long eyelashes, watching as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. He dragged his finger through her lower lips, collecting her arousal on his fingertip and swirling it around her clit. The soft ‘oh’ that fell from her lips brought even more confidence to his actions.

He rubbed tight circles against the little bundle of nerves, taking in the way she turned her head from side to side, and how she’d keen for him if he pressed just that little bit harder. He finally sunk one long finger into her readily waiting hole. A sharp moan filled the room as he curled it, pumping it into her a few times before pulling it out and slipping it into his mouth. He made a show of sucking it clean.

“Shit, baby, you taste almost as good as you look right now.” He smirked. She started to speak, to argue he imagined, but her voice caught in her throat. He dove straight into her, his tongue running bold stripes up her pussy and around her clit, then back again. She cried out, his name on her lips becoming the prettiest sound in the universe. Neither of them cared just how many of his neighbors would complain later on. He wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud and suckled, carefully working two fingers into her and coaxing her towards the edge. With every curl and twist of his fingers, every determined flick of his tongue, she trashed, aching to let the burning coil twisting in her stomach snap.

“Stevie,” She gasped out, fingers curling tight into his hair and giving it a soft tug. He pressed his forearm to her hips, holding her firmly in lace. He didn’t answer really, just mumbled praise into her dripping core, telling her how perfect his name sounded coming from her lips in such a state of ecstasy.

He pulled away, kissing her thighs and hips as his fingers fucked steadily into her, his thumb working tight strokes against her clit.

“Fuck, I’m so close. So so close.” She warned. Her moans were nearly pornagraphic. He watched close, watched the way her back arched from the bed, the way her nose scrunched and her eyes squeezed shut.

“Come on, beautiful. Cum for me.” He pressed, hungrily latching his mouth back to her slick lips. She cried out and writhed under him. Her walls clenched around his fingers as she let herself tip over the edge into pure bliss. He slowed his pace, dragging out the agonizing pleasure until she gently nudged his head away from her sensitive core.

He sat back with a genuine smile on his lips. He wiped the wetness from his chin, letting his hands return to run up her sides. She was stunning there, sprawled out and flushed as she tried to catch her breath, her face clouded with a blissful expression that he’d kill to see every day.

“You did so good for me, doll.” He promised. He kissed his way back up her body, meeting her lips in a soft kiss as he tried to ground her again. “So amazing.”

She grinned against his lips, tugging him closer until his chest was pressed to hers. He kissed her again, slowly now, and she clung to him, content to follow his lead.

“I want you,” She purred and nuzzled against his neck. He groaned and brought his hand down to shed the rest of his clothes. He nearly moaned just at the feeling of freeing his painfully hard length. Her hand wandered down, brushing against his cock and earning a hushed hiss from the man. She curled her fingers around him, marveling at his size. He was just so damn big. She’d never taken anything like him before. He moaned into her neck as she stroked him slowly. “Please, Steve. I need you to fuck me.”

Her desperate request was all it took. He nudged her hand out of the way, stretching for a condom from his stand and opening it in a millisecond. He slid it on, giving himself a few harsh tugs before lining up with her dripping entrance. She rocked her hips impatiently and huffed, making Steve chuckle affectionately.

He pressed into her slow and steady, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth gaped at the delicious stretch, her walls fluttering around him as she tried to adjust to the sheer size. She groaned, her hand flying to grip at his bicep. She was already aching in the best possible way, and he was hardly half way in. A look of worry crossed Steve’s face. He stilled his hips and brushed his knuckles against her cheek.

“Are you alright? Should I stop?” He asked quietly. She shook her head frantically and hooked her legs around his hips.

“Please don’t stop.” She dragged her nails gently down his arm and let herself get used to the searing pleasure of being filled by him. “You’re just...fuck, just so big. Just need a second.”

She could practically see him swell with pride at her words. She rolled her hips, a surprised groan falling from his lips.

“Come on, Steve. Please move, I can take it.” She begged, gaining the courage to swivel her hips. He gripped them tightly, pulling nearly all the way out of her. Her breathy moan was followed up quickly by a whine of his name. It was absolutely sinful, Steve was positive he’d never be the same.

He pushed slowly back into her heavenly warmth, sinking himself entirely into her this time. The painfully slow pace continued until he was able to fuck into her with ease. Then, the pounding of his hips against hers picked up to a nearly brutal speed.

She writhed underneath him, crying out in a sort of pleasure she’d never felt before. It was like she was simply made to be taking him. He watched through lustfully hooded eyes, examining the way her breasts bounced with every thrust, the way her hands searched constantly for something to cling to. He grit his teeth, flicking his thumb against her clit. The senseless noises from her mouth were like a drug.

“You look so damn good like this,” He bit his lip as he drilled into her. He could feel her second orgasm coming, her walls gripping him tighter by the second. “So pretty taking my cock. Gonna paint you like this. Make sure you know how fucking pretty you are when you’re about to cum.”

“Steve,” She warned him, her nails carving marks against his skin as she clung to him. Her words only spurred him on.

“Come on, baby. You’ll feel so good cumming on my cock.” He coaxed. And it was more than enough to push her over the edge. She came with a shriek, trembling in his arms. He dipped his head against her shoulder and nuzzled into her neck, muffling his noises against her skin. A few more thrusts and he was spilling his release into the condom.

He slipped out of her, and she let out a soft hum, shifting to curl into herself. She watched with heavy eyes as he climbed off the bed and took off the condom. He glanced towards her, his lips curling into a smile. She looked like a slice of heaven there on his bed.

Her own smile grew on her lips. She’d just slept with Steve Rogers of all people. She was so entirely lost in her bliss, and come morning she wasn’t sure she’d been able to handle it. He turned towards the door and she whined out a small protest.

“Where are you going?” She mumbled, nuzzling into his pillow. He grinned fondly and shook his head.

“I’ll be right back, love. Just relax,” He promised. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and let her eyes fall shut. She hadn’t noticed the moments passing, or the door clicking shut again. She only opened her eyes when the bed dipped again. Steve gently nudged her legs back open. He carefully cleaned her up, praising her quietly. He shushed her back to sleep, tossing the washcloth into the laundry bin.

The exhaustion from her day washed through her. The ache from the rehearsal, the panic from the fall with her mother, the high from the incredible night with Steve, it all ran through her in the form of insistent sleepiness. She was half out already when Steve climbed into the bed beside her. His arm curled carefully around her and gently tugged her back against his chest. She wiggled until she’d practically molded herself perfectly into him.

Next thing she knew, she was waking up to the dull warmth of sunshine on her bare skin. She groaned quietly, rubbing her eyes and looking around. It took a moment for her sleep fogged brain to process her surroundings. She wasn’t in her bed, she’d gone home with Steve. And oh, god they’d slept together. She closed her eyes, flashes of the night before washing through her and settling her nerves alight again. But she was curled up in his bed, under his ridiculously fluffy blankets, surrounded by his scent. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

She sat up and found her clothes neatly folded and stacked at the end of his bed. She pulled on her panties and her sweater. She glanced in the mirror on the back of his door and deemed the coverage satisfactory. She smoothed her hair out before venturing back into the rest of the apartment. As soon as the door was opened, she was met by the most tantalizing scent, and her stomach rumbled obnoxiously.

Steve was there in the kitchen, his back turned as he worked over the stove. He’d pulled on a pair of black sweatpants, but his top half was still bare. She let her eyes wander over him soaking in the sight once more.

She was sort of expecting the situation to be awkward. She had never been one to sleep with just anyone. But this wasn’t just anyone. This was Steve. He wouldn’t lead her on, or play with her emotions. If it was a one time thing, he’d make that clear. If he just wanted her to leave, he’d say so.

“Morning,” She said finally. Steve looked over his shoulder, a bright smile bloomed on his lips and made her tummy flip.

“Well good morning, sleeping beauty.” He looked back to the pancakes he was working on. And maybe it was just an excuse to not stare at how lovely she looked in the morning light filtering through his front window. “Did you sleep alright, doll?”

The name made her stomach flutter more than ever. She hummed and padded closer, bare feet meeting cold linoleum.

“Yeah, I did. Your bed is so much more comfortable than mine.” She answered. The little moment felt far too intimate. He was making her breakfast the morning after. But truthfully she shouldn’t have expected anything less from him. He was like a real life Disney prince.

“Good. You’re welcome to use it whenever you’d like.” The words caught her off guard, and for a second she was convinced he was teasing, but there was no laughter afterwards. “There’s coffee if you want. Cups are there in the cupboard, cream in the fridge, sugar on the counter there. There should be tea up there too, make yourself at home.”

“Coffee is perfect. Thank you.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and reached to grab a cup for each of them. “How do you take yours?”

Steve gave her a quick glance. He would’ve been more than happy to spend the rest of his mornings that way with her. Pancakes stacking on a platter, bacon and eggs sizzling in the pan, and her making them their morning coffees. Maybe a few kisses, or a chat about their plans for the day.

“Black,” He answered finally. She nodded and busied herself filling their cups. She leaned onto the counter and held his cup out for him.

“You know, you didn’t have to make breakfast.” She sipped from her cup and wandered into the connected living room. There was a nice window that peeked out over the skyline. The sky was only just fading into blue, her favorite time of day.

“I know, but I wanted to. You had a rough day yesterday. I thought maybe this would help make today a little better.” As sweet as it was, it was absurd to think that anything could top the night they’d just shared, She’d had Steve, even just for a moment. “I hope you don’t mind pancakes. I was gonna ask, but I didn’t want to wake you up.”

She turned to take a seat at the small table Steve had laid the food out on. He nudged a plate towards her, and she took the lead in fixing it. It had been some time since she’d had a real breakfast. The dining hall breakfasts didn’t count.

“Thank you for everything.” She said quietly, popping a bite of her syrup-logged pancakes into her mouth. Not to self: Make Steve cook breakfast more often. He gave a little nod and took a bite of his own food. It was quiet for a long moment, just silverware against plates and soft jazz that (Y/N) hadn’t noticed before. The quiet was safe and comfortable, the way it always had been for the two of them. She thanked whatever god may be for that. However, the peaceful breakfast was cut short by the ring of her phone.

“Oh, that’s me.” She stood up, looking around for the device. But she hadn’t even remembered having it, her mind had been somewhere much more important.

“In the living room. I plugged it in last night.” Steve answered her unspoken question. She flashed him a grateful smile and pushed down the buzzing in her chest. He’d thought to plug in her phone. Could he be any more precious if he tried?

She sat down, looking over the notifications on her phone. She had a ridiculous amount of texts, two missed calls from Natasha, seven from Wanda, and even Pietro had tried her. So maybe it would have been a good idea to let Wanda know she wasn’t going to be home.

Hey I’m home. Got takeout!

Its late, are you still rehearsing?

Nat says she hasn’t seen you today. Please pick up

Did you get kidnapped?

So help me god (Y/N) pick up your damn phone

At least tell me you aren’t dead

You will be dead if you don’t have a good excuse

Can’t believe you’re disappearing on us the night before the showcase

It’s 3am if you aren’t here in an hour I’m calling the cops

Okay I didn’t call the cops but I did call Natasha

I think she hates me

Please call me

She felt a wave of guilt. Wanda always worried too much. (Y/N) said it was in her nature as a drama major. There were a few texts from Natasha too.

Hey, you okay?

Wanda’s worried, give us a call

If you don’t come back soon I’m killing your roommate

And one from Pietro.

Please help me, my sister is going crazy

“Everything alright?” Steve asked, peeking in at her. She nodded and waved her phone at him.

“Yeah, just forgot to tell Wanda that I wasn’t coming back. I should give her a call before she calls the cops.” She motioned towards his room before slipping away. She pressed the call button, and the phone didn’t even ring completely before Wanda picked up.

“Where are you? I was worried sick. You didn’t come home, you didn’t answer your phone, I thought you’d been kidnapped or something.” She rambled loud enough to make (Y/N) hold her phone away from her ear.

“Hey, Wan.”

“Don’t ‘hey, Wan’ me! Where are you?” Her best friend huffed from the other end.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I just got wrapped up, and I guess I just didn’t think to call you and tell you I wasn’t gonna be home.” She sat herself down at the edge of his bed. “I’m safe, I’ve been at Steve’s all night.”

“At Steve’s? Your boyfriend Steve?” It was easy to hear the anger in her voice give way to curious amusement.

“Yeah, okay. First of all, not exactly my boyfriend I don’t think. But yeah. I had a bit of a freakout last night. He came and calmed me down. We were out late, so we just came back to his place.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was hardly a lie.

“Oh my god,” Wanda shrieked and (Y/N) flinched, holding the phone at arms length again. “Oh my god, oh my — you guys had sex!”

Wanda giggled as her best friend stammered in a hopeless attempt to deny the accusations. Finally, she took a deep breath.

“Okay, okay. Yes, we slept together. And it was amazing. And then he plugged my phone in and he made breakfast. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, an entire meal.” She confessed quietly, glancing towards the door as if he’d be there eavesdropping.

“And you’re still talking to me because?” Wanda trailed off, and the look on her face was impossible to picture.

“Right, sorry. Home later, I love you.” She said her goodbye quickly before ending the call. She flopped back onto the bed with a quiet groan. This was all too good to be true, so she had to make it last just a moment longer.

38 notes · View notes

avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

Catch and Release - 5

Catch and Release: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 3289

Rating: E

Square filled: @star-spangled-bingo - Steve's Apartment

Warnings: Smut (MMF, oral and vaginal sex, overstimulation)

Synopsis: When you overexert yourself on a mission with Steve and Bucky, the boys admit to having fantasies that involve you. Fantasies that you share. But with one Super Soldier needs intimacy and the other is still dealing with being touch starved, exploring those desires without anyone catching feelings is a little tricky.

Chapter 5: Lying in Wait

You knocked on the door to the apartment that Steve and Bucky shared. They'd asked you around for dinner, which meant dinner and experimenting with their sexuality, and you were more than a little excited. The dice game had gone over really well and for a couple of days after they would each come and tell you about what parts they liked the most. You knew that they’d want to take it further and try more things. Especially given Steve hadn’t technically gone ‘all the way’ with you.

You were very excited too. This whole thing had not at all been what you’d expected. The whole idea of a down and dirty three-way that was all about sex and just getting that release at the hands of the two super soldiers was definitely one that you’d visited alone a lot of times. Somehow this was even better. Steve and Bucky were such good friends, and this arrangement you’d come to was both exciting and safe all at once. They might be finding out more about themselves, but this was your opportunity to find out more about yourself too.

Steve answered and greeted you with a kiss on the cheek. It was funny really, you’d seen him on and off all day, but that was Cap. Steve was a whole different person in a lot of ways and so even though you’d only seen him half an hour ago, this was the first time you were seeing him all day. “Come in,” he said as he held the door open for you.

“I bought wine.” You said holding up the bottle of merlot you’d ‘stolen’ from Tony’s cellar.

“Trying to get us drunk are you?” He asked taking it from you.

You chuckled and followed through the apartment to the table. Their place was a weird mix of old and new. There was a blue velvet wingback couch sitting next to a black leather recliner that had speakers in the headrest. An old cabinet style record player sat next to a large flat-screen TV and had a PS4 sitting on top of it. A set of nesting tables sat in front of the couch and each one was littered with art supplies and Steve’s shield was propped up against the couch.

The walls were decorated with artwork of vintage motorcycles and photos of family and friends. One entire wall was boxed shelving, and each shell was full of books and vinyls. There was no clear theme to any of it. A boxed set of Harry Potter novels sat next to books on military tactics. The Wizard of Oz series was there in its entirety but each volume was sitting on a different shelf. The Wizard of Oz was next to a book on guided meditation. Ozma of Oz was beside some vintage Captain America comic books.

Bucky was in the kitchen cooking. He had his hair pulled back and a floral apron on. The kitchen itself was quite modern and clean compared to the living room. The benchtops were black granite and the fittings were all brushed chrome. Bucky smiled when he saw you and came over and kissed your cheek. “Everything is nearly ready.” He said.

“It smells so good,” you said. “And you look amazing.”

He pinched your hip and went back to his cooking. “Steve, did you put your shit away?”

“Yes,” Steve lied, going straight to the coffee tables and bundling up the art supplies.

“That means your shield too,” Bucky said.

“It’s away,” Steve said. He shoved the drawings and pencils into one of the gaps on the bookshelf before grabbing his shield and shoving it into the hall cupboard.

You chuckled and took down some wine glasses. “It doesn’t matter how much time has passed, I will never get over the fact that he’s the messy one.”

“He’s always been the messy one,” Bucky said. “Drives me crazy.”

“Can I help at all?” You asked as you poured out three glasses.

“There’s a salad in the fridge. You think you can take it out to the table?”

The table was already partially set. The plates and silverware were out, as was a loaf of crusty bread. You took the salad out and by the time you were sitting with Steve and taking your first sip from your wine glass Bucky was bringing out a serving platter piled high with risotto.

“So,” you said, as you all started filling your plates. “What shall we do tonight?”

“Oh, uh…” Steve said, almost dropping his fork. “We thought dinner and if you wanted we could watch a movie…”

“Really? That’s what you want to do?” You teased.

“He’s being polite because he doesn’t want you to feel pressured to do anything,” Bucky said.

“Oh, I know.” You said playfully, putting your hand on Steve’s.

“I just want to make sure you know that your friendship is important to me too,” Steve said, giving your hand a squeeze. “I don’t want to put the sex above that.”

Bucky smiled and leaned over the table and kissed him. Not that you could blame him. You could practically feel your heart swell up. When Bucky sat back in his chair, Steve looked a little love-struck himself.

“Then we should hang out as friends sometime,” you said as everyone started eating. “Like we used to. But I am wearing really expensive lingerie and I’d really like to show you it.”

“And I would definitely like to see it,” Bucky said.

“We were talking about just…” Steve stopped mid-sentence and froze like he had forgotten the word he was looking for. “You know… normal.”

You and Bucky looked at each other and bit back laughter. “Ah yes, normal threesome style, Stevie. Just the way everyone who has threesomes does it.”

Steve looked at Bucky deadpan. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, yeah. I do ‘cause we talked about it before.” Bucky teased. “What he means is because part of this is him getting to do some things he hasn’t done before, we’d like to focus on you and it just be…”

“... vanilla guy on girl sex.” You finished.

“That’s the one,” Bucky said tapping his forehead.

“Gonna run the train,” you said and took a sip of your wine. “Nice.”

“Is that okay?” Steve asked.

“More than.” You said. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, anything,” Steve answered.

“And just to be clear here, I’m talking to Cap. Not Steve.” You added.

“Oh,” Steve said, his posture stiffening. “What is it?”

“No,” Bucky groaned. “Don’t invoke the Captain in here.”

“Just for a second. I promise.” You said. “What happens if the others find out about what we’re doing?”

Steve’s jaw tensed and twitched at the corners as he thought. “I don’t think we should go around bragging about it,” he said. “But this is our personal business We aren’t breaking any rules. If the find out, they find out.”

“Besides, if Tasha doesn’t already suspect, then I don’t think that’s Natasha and we better find out where the real Natasha is,” Bucky added.

You laughed and nodded. “True. You know if Tony finds out he’s going to give you hell for it.”

“What’s new?” Steve said with a small shrug. “Besides, like he can talk.”

“Also valid.” You said. “Alright. I just wanted to make sure. I agree. I don’t want to go telling … well anyone, but like Bucky said, Nat figures this shit out, and I don’t want to be lying to our friends.”

Steve reached over and rubbed your arm. “I would never ask you to do that. You aren’t our dirty little secret. You’re our friend.”

“God, Steve. Saying all the right things tonight. I’m gonna fuck your brains out.” You said.

“And I’ve got second,” Bucky added, reaching over and taking Steve’s hand.

The three of you finished up dinner and cleaned up together. Steve had been right. The three of you needed to nurture the friendship too. This was how this started after all.

When the kitchen was practically sparkling Steve came up behind Bucky and wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his neck. Bucky closed his eyes and hummed softly. He held out his hand to you and you took it and let him pull you into his arms.

His eyes opened and he blinked slowly, as he gazed down at you. “Ready, darlin’?”

You smiled up at him as Steve’s arm snaked around you and he pressed his large hand to the middle of your back. “As I’ll ever be.”

Bucky leaned in and ghosted his lips over yours. You reached up and tangled your hands in his hair and pulled him into a hungry kiss. Steve kissed and nipped at Bucky’s throat as the two of you kissed and pulled you a little tighter against Bucky. You could feel Bucky start to harden against you and you pulled back with a quiet gasp.

“Bedroom?” He asked.

“Bedroom.” You agreed and Bucky put an arm around each of you and the three of you made your way down to the bedroom.

The room was painted sage, with gray trim. The floor to ceiling windows on the far side looked out over the East River and beyond that, Brooklyn. There were more shelves against one wall, though they mostly held little knick-knacks. Things like a signed baseball, a Build-a-Bear dressed as Captain America, and model spaceships - the kind you built yourself. Next to it was an antique drafting table with more art supplies and sketches littering it. There were framed prints on the one bare wall above the bed, each one held different black and white photographs of the New York skyline over the years.

The bed was a king and had been made. A crocheted quilt in dark red and white lay folded in half at the foot over the gunmetal quilt. The bedside table on the left was clean and neat with a digital alarm clock, a dock for a Stark phone a worn copy of Dune. There was also a basket with condoms and lube, the same as you had set up when they’d come to your place. You wondered if he’d decided to steal the idea from you. You couldn’t imagine that they were still using protection like that with each other. The bedside table on the right was a mess of water bottles, notebooks, dog eared novels, colognes, and random scraps of paper.

You looked around as you unzipped your dress. Bucky and Steve began to undress too. “I’ve never seen your room before.”

“So many firsts tonight,” Bucky said playfully.

“Your bed is big enough to fit us three and Thor too.” You said dropping your dress and revealing the black lace push up bra and thong you were wearing.

The two men looked you over like hungry wolves. “Two super soldiers not enough for you,” Bucky teased, stalking over to you and hooking his arm around your waist. “You gotta include a god too?”

“Hey, I’ve been single for ages. Let me have my fantasies.” You joked, as he pulled you to him and lifted you, carrying you to the bed and dropping you on the mattress.

You lay back and arched your back as both Steve and Bucky crawled up with you. Both had taken their shirts and shoes off, but while Steve was down to his boxers, Bucky was still in his jeans. “You’re giving us ours, if you want to share yours with us, we’ll see what we can do.” Steve rumbled as he kissed your neck and collarbone. His hand ran down between your breasts and over your stomach, making your skin break out in goosebumps.

Bucky kissed the other side of your neck and tangled his hand in your hair. “Threesomes are the most common fantasy you know?” You half moaned. “And they’re more common to have the older you get.”

“How do you know this stuff?” Steve asked as he moved his hand to your cunt and he slowly began to palm it.

You moaned pushing up against his hand. “It was in a documentary. You guys are over a hundred. So bringing Thor in would be good for you.”

Steve snorted while Bucky broke down laughing. “We’ll keep that in mind, dork.” Bucky teased and kissed you.

As you kissed, Steve kissed lower. He paused at your breasts and sucked and bit at your nipples through your bra. You reached behind you and unhooked it Steve slid it down and pulled your nipple into his mouth. Bucky joined him at your other breast and they both sucked and bit your breasts as Steve’s hand slipped into your panties and he started to finger your clit. You moaned and squeezed your legs around his hand as you writhed under them.

Steve moved down lower, pushing your legs apart and pulling your panties down. He nuzzled at your cunt and flattened his tongue running it up your folds. You put your feet on his shoulders and pushed your hips up into his mouth. Bucky’s hand caressed your throat as he continued to suck and bite at your beasts.

The sounds you made got louder and louder as Steve became more and more focused. You could tell he hadn’t done this before, but the way he moved was almost like watching him in the field. He’d stop and cock his head to the side while his tongue flicked over your clit or his fingers moved inside of you, when you moaned just the way he wanted, he’d focus on what he’d just done.

As they brought your apart with just their hands and mouths, they kept touching each other too. Stroking each other’s backs or legs. While you moaned and bucked, your orgasm right there on the brink, they held hands.

Steve corkscrewed his wrist and sucked hard on your clit and you came, arching hard up off the mattress and crying out. “Fuck, yes!”

Steve sat up, a proud little smile on his glistening lips. Bucky got up on his knees and kissed him hungrily. You wrapped your legs around Steve and began to grind against his erection as you unfastened Bucky’s jeans. Bucky pushed Steve’s boxers down and began to stroke his cock and Steve groaned into Bucky’s lips, his cock jumping in Bucky’s hand and leaking precum onto your pussy as you rubbed against him.

Bucky broke the kiss and began to nuzzle at Steve’s neck. “You gonna fuck her, Stevie?” He whispered.

Steve groaned and grabbed your thighs. “Yeah, Buck. I want to.”

“She’s so wet and warm, Steve,” Bucky whispered as he grabbed a condom. “You’re gonna really like it.”

Steve closed his eyes and caressed his fingers over your stomach and cunt. You reached up and cradled his jaw as Bucky rolled the condom down over his shaft. Steve looked down at you, his blue eyes blown out with lust. With a snap of his hips, he sunk deep into you.

You both gasped and you arched back as he lifted your hips up to him. Bucky kissed Steve again before leaning down and sucking on your breasts against. His metal fingers went to your clit and rubbed it as Steve started to slowly rut his hips against you, each thrust accompanied by a roll, so it felt like he was touching every part of you.

You felt like a live wire. All your nerves were raw and stimulated as they made you the center of attention. Steve fucked you slow and deep, filling you completely. You gripped his wrists and rolled your hips with him. Pleasure swirled through, starting in your breasts and cunt and meeting in your core. It pressed down on you and radiated out until it was all you knew and all you wanted to know. Your core clenched and you came hard, bucking up under them.

Steve was far from close though. He picked up his pace, fucking you harder and a little more erratically. Bucky began to massage the base of his cock and balls while his thumb rubbed your clit. He switched from one breast to the next, keeping you right on the edge as Steve fucked you.

Steve’s eyes stayed locked with yours and his jaw tensed. You jerked up suddenly as another orgasm tore through you, and with a hard snap of his hips, he came.

Bucky sat back as you relaxed down panting and Steve slipped from within you. “How’re you doing there, darlin’?” He asked as he ran his hands up Steve’s chest.

Steve kissed Bucky’s neck and got up, removing his condom and tossing it out. “Really good, Buck,” you hummed. “You gonna fuck me?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Bucky replied, grabbing one of the condoms and sheathing himself. You sat up and stretched a little and Bucky sat opposite you. You climbed into his lap and lowered yourself down onto his cock. As you began to bounce on his cock Steve moved up behind you and sat with his legs on either side of you and Bucky. He kissed your neck and ran his hands over the two of you. Caressing skin. Pinching nipples. He rubbed your clit and massaged Bucky’s base.

You and Bucky kissed as you moved as one. Your lips moved from lips to neck and back again and the sounds of your moans combined with each other’s and filled the room.

Sweat began to bead your skin as heat flowed through your veins, burning you up from the inside out. Steve hardened against your back as you moved. You began to feel fuzzy and high. Steve’s fingers worked your clit as you bounced faster and faster. It wasn’t long before you came again, and Bucky broke the kiss with a strained groan, gritting his teeth as he tried not to be dragged along with you. It was no use though, his hips jerked and he came just after you.

You stayed joined, slowly rolling your hips as his cock emptied. Steve ghosted his lips up the side of your neck and nipped at your earlobe. “You up for more?” He said in a soft growl.

“Mmm… I could go again.” You hummed.

Three and a half hours the three of you spent switching from one to the other, the only break you got was to rehydrate. By the time you called defeat you wondered if you were ever going to learn your lesson about trying to keep up with the two super soldiers.

You lay panting on the mattress as Bucky and Steve both lay back, the sweat running down their chests in rivulets. You cunt ached and your legs felt weak. You had a vague feeling like you should get up and pee. Get dressed. Go home. You didn’t think you’d even be able to get up. You could barely even think straight. It was all soft-focused.

You struggled up too sitting and blinked around the room.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” Steve asked, putting his hand on your hip.

“Gotta go home,” you mumbled.

“You’re exhausted. Just stay.” Steve reassured you.

“Yeah, darlin’, you liked cuddling with us when we were camping,” Bucky added.

“If I sleepover, then they’ll know.” You tried to reason.

Steve sat up and kissed your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist. “So they know. We’re adults, we can do what we want. Now lie down, you’re exhausted.”

You let yourself collapse back down, unable to think of one possible argument. They both wrapped you in their arms and you were asleep before the blanket was even pulled over you.

// NEXT

#SSB2020 #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #catch and release #lying in wait

382 notes · View notes

thefatedthoughtofyou · 3 years

Text

Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap) - Part 14

Summary: Sam inherits Steve Roger's crime empire after a handful of his men betray and kill him. The rest of the crime world, sensing an opening, go after Sam and the territories he's inherited from Steve. Thankfully, Steve left him a number, someone to call if he ever needs help. Someone, Steve claimed, he can trust. But can Sam really trust a mercenary with that much blood on his name? And that many knives in his pockets.

WARNINGS: (there will eventually be all of these things) blood, violence, murder, shooting, stabbing, sex, blood play , food related things: malnutrition, feeding, blow jobs, bathing/washing, chronic pain. Limb loss and regrowth. Bullet wounds. Gore.

18+ Content: Make Good Choices Kids <3

Ao3

He's walking home, leg and shoulder throbbing, head pounding and then swimming with every alternate step, when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He stops, leans against the nearest wall with a sigh, his elbow propping him up so there's no pressure on his shoulder. He digs for his phone, dropping his head when he remembers he'd left it sitting on the table at Sam's, a bullet hole in the middle of it.

He moves his eyes around the street quickly, scanning for something that was becoming more and more difficult to find, but he found it. He limped across the street and slid into the phone booth, leaving the door open. He shoved his metal hand into his pocket and growled, he didn't carry fucking pocket change. He squinted through the dirty window and hummed to himself, limping back out onto the sidewalk, and up to the man sitting with his back agaisnt the fence.

He dug his wallet out, flipped it open, and grabbed two, hundred dollar bills.

"Got any change in that cup? I'll trade ya." Bucky held the bills between his fingers, wide eyes looking down at the man inquisitively, the scruffy man scrambled to his feet.

"You crazy man?" He said, eyeing Bucky hesitantly, keeping his distance. Bucky shook his head once, trying not to sway on his feet.

"Just really need to make a call." He said, trying his best to smile. The man stares at him for a short moment and holds out the cup of change in his hand.

"You can have it all." He says, snatching the bills from between Bucky's fingers quickly when he holds them out.

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Bucky says, turning back to the phonebooth carefully.

"Thank you. Honestly thanks." The man says before scurrying into the dark. Bucky sighs and slides into the booth again, shoves his change in, dials Wade's number, and waits.

"Wade Wilson's House Of Pancakes, how may I help you?" Wade's voice rings cheerfully down the line, Bucky's mouth twitches but he's too tired to laugh.

"How's the arm?" Is all he says.

"Eehhh it's about the size of a three year olds arm, ultimately unhelpful, still extremely entertaining to look at." Wade muses, and Bucky hears him sit up, he'd probably been laying on the couch.

"You can fight with one arm right?" Bucky asks, his body falling agaisnt the side of the booth.

"Yeah probably. What's goin on? You okay?" Wade asks, Bucky smiles now, he sounds worried.

"I'm being followed." Bucky says, breathing deeply past the aches in his body.

"Sam?" Wade asks.

"Not Sam." Bucky answers, and he hears movement on the end of the line.

"Where are you?" Wade's voice says, closer now, like he's holding the phone with his shoulder.

"You still slipping trackers in pockets?" Bucky asks, his eyes falling closed.

"Uuuh...nooo?" Wade's voice, high with guilt, answers. Bucky snorts, shakes his head.

"Turn it on. Come and find me." Bucky says, his shoulder throbbing under his shirt. He should have asked Helen for a transfusion before he left, he was such a fucking idiot. He shakes his head.

"I'll be there. Who is it?" Wade asks, and Bucky can hear him grabbing weapons, hears the tell tale sound of his swords sliding home.

"Who the fuck else would be at a time like this?" Bucky asks, forcing himself fully back onto his feet.

"Fucks sake. The dynamic duo from hell." Wade sighs.

"Lemme grab like... five more guns, and I'll be there. Tracker's on." He says, Bucky can hear him stomping around, digging through Bucky's stashes, grabbing his guns.

"Okay. Thanks Wade." Bucky sighs.

"Hey." Wade says, firmly. Bucky blinks and shakes his head again.

"Yeah?"

"Just hang in there. I'm coming for you." He says, going still on the other end of the line. Bucky opens his mouth to answer and hears the line click. He doesn't waste anymore change. Just sits the cup next to the phone, for the next desperate caller, and steps out.

He limps past two alleys, his skin tingling. He can feel them getting closer, their eyes on him. He knows she's close. Knows she's gonna take him soon. He's too weak to fight her off right now, and she knows that. Other wise he'd have an arrow in him already. His foot steps past the next building and a hand comes down on his shoulder. He screams, an arm wraps itself around his throat to muffle the sound as his legs are kicked from under him. His vision goes dark before he hits the ground. His last thought before sinking into darkness, that he really needed to learn how to let Helen do her fucking job.

His head is pounding. And his shoulder. And his leg. He tries to move. Can't. His hands are tied behind him, feet secured as well. He holds in a groan and blinks his eyes open, not moving.

The room is dark, a small square of orange light shining in from what Bucky assumes is a street light outside. He can tell the room is small, there's not enough sound for it to be large. He presses his toes down, gently, there's a small amount of give. Carpet on the floor. So an abandoned apartment most likely.

He takes a deep breath, trying not to move. He fucking hates being tied to chairs. His arms are secured behind him, feet tied to the legs. He can feel a pulse moving through his metal arm, she'd disabled that easily. The pulse would stop eventually, but not soon enough. He blinks slowly, waiting for his eyes to adjust a bit more before lifting his head. He can vaguely make out the outline of a door several feet in front of him. The window is behind him. And he has no fucking clue how many floors up they are.

"I know you're awake." Her deep voice says from the shadows.

"Wasn't trying to hide it." Bucky says, dropping his head back, eyes moving over the tarnished popcorn ceiling.

"Yes you were." She says, easy. And Bucky can hear the smirk on her face.

"If I was trying to hide it, I wouldn't have moved." He said, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. He hears two sighs, one on each side of him.

"You're always so argumentative." A different voice says, he sounds annoyed.

"Argumentative. Someone's been keeping up with their word-a-day calendar." Bucky says, smiling into the dark at the voice. A fist slams into his cheek, his head wips to the side, his neck popping with the force of it, the sharp tange of blood flows over his tongue.

"Funny Barnes. You got any more jokes?" The voice asks, closer now. Bucky lifts his head slowly, licking his lips as he looks toward the voice, a face semi visible in the dark now.

"I've always got more jokes." He says, and spits a mouthful of blood at the man next to him. He starts to laugh and is promptly cut off by fingers grabbing his throat. A hand clamps down on his shoudler, fingers digging into the wounds there, Bucky screams around the grip on his neck.

"Clint. Enough." The woman's voice says, sounding bored. The fingers digging into his skin disappear as a light clicks on above him. He watches as Clint backs away from him, stopping when his back hits the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Bucky moves his eyes to the right, she's leaning against the wall too, red hair looking like blood in the low light, her foot proped against the wall behind her.

"Natasha." Bucky nods once. She does the same, her lips a permanent smirk on her face. Bucky moves his eyes back to Clint.

"You got somethin on your face Barton." Bucky sneers, smirking when Clint wipes hurriedly at the blood Bucky had spat there. Bucky feels the pulse in his arm quicken. His head pounds as he looks up at the singular lightbulb above him.

There's silence. For a long moment. He does his best to push the aches in his body away, trying to focus. The silence is pissing him off now, and he knows that's what she wants.

"What can I do for the two of you today?" He asks with a sigh, wishing they'd just get it over with. He wanted to go home and sleep. Or take a shower. One or the other. He'd get both done eventually. Probably. His eyes snap to Natasha as she moves forward.

"We just had some questions." She says, sounding innocent. Bucky watches her move toward him, slowly, her movements smooth and calculated.

"Oh yeah? And what if I dont have the answers you're looking for?" Bucky asks, looking up at her now as she stands in front of him.

"Oh you have the answers we're looking for." She says, bending down, her hand resting on the knee of Bucky's wounded leg. He nods slowly, licking his lips.

"And if I don't feel like sharing?" He asks, knowing what her answer will be before she even moves. Her hand moves fast up his leg, fingers curling into the bullet wound and squeezing. Bucky bites into his lip, holds back the scream. She lets go of him and smiles.

"Listen. I don't wanna hurt you Barnes." She sighs.

"I do." Clint says from behind her, Bucky glances behind her, sees the idiot inspecting one of his arrowheads, turning the shaft slowly between his fingers before looking up at Bucky with a smile. Bucky smiles back, and then returns his attention to the more pressing danger.

"We just..." she paused, pacing a few steps away, arms crossing, she turns back to him.

"We have a request." She says, looking down at him. His brow furrows.

"What kinda request?" He asks, knowing that it doesn't really matter.

"It's about your new owner. Ya know, the guy holding your leash now." She says, smirking down at him. Bucky's stomach turns, as he looks at her, he forces himself not to move, not to react.

"You're such a good little pet." Clint says, stowing his arrow away, crossing his arms again, glaring at Bucky.

"Doing as your told. Following all his little orders." He finishes, taking a few steps forward, Natasha's hand goes to his shoulder, stopping him. They both look down at him.

"What kind. Of request?" Bucky asks again, hoping this time they'll get to the fucking point. They stare at him for a long time. Bucky almost asks again, his lip twitching with annoyance.

"We want a free pass." Natasha finally says, her eyebrows twitching.

"A free pass." Bucky says slowly, was she fucking kidding.

"Or not free. We're willing to pay." She says, smiling again.

"Which is more than he's willing to do for you. At least that's the word on the street." Clint says, glancing at Natasha, both of them smirking.

"You're gonna pay me... to what? Let you kill him?" Bucky asks, his fists clenching behind his back, his ankles straining agaisnt the bindings there. Natasha and Clint both look at him and shrug, their faces moving into identical pouts as they do. Bucky snorts and shakes his head, letting his chin fall to his chest as he laughs.

"It's a good deal. Everyone's had enough of this little game. And after what you did last night, you think that's gonna stop them?" Natasha asked, crouching in front of him.

"It's only gonna get worse. And this loyalty of yours?" She cooed, moving her fingers to the hole in Bucky's jeans again, pressing them into his thigh.

"It's gonna get you killed." She sighed, her fingers pressing harder, dragging a scream out of Bucky. He looked at her, his breathing heavy. His eyes moved to Clint as he lowered himself down next to her. Bucky flexed his fingers behind his back. The pulse running through his arm was fading.

"He's not even paying you. And Steve's gone. You don't have to be loyal to this asshole. Just... let us take care of it." Clint said, smiling at Bucky. Bucky wasn't sure if he was trying to be disarming or not, but whatever it was, it wasn't working. Bucky nodded. Groaning as Natasha used his leg as leverage to stand, Clint disappearing from veiw as well.

"We have a past Barnes. You owe me." Natasha said, her voice hard now. Bucky snorted and looked up at her.

"You're gonna drill me about loyalty and then throw that in my face?" He asks, moving his wrists past each other in their bindings.

"My loyalty saved your fucking life. Unless you remember things differently?" He said, feeling the pulse in his arm die, he twisted his wrists again, slowly.

"No. I remember. But I've paid that debt. Twice over. So now," she leaned down, her fingers grabbing Bucky's thigh again, her other slamming onto his shoulder.

"You owe me." She growled, digging her fingers into his shoulder so hard Bucky could feel blood seeping out of his bandages. He closed his eyes, face pulled tight, biting his tongue to hold in the scream, refusing to give her the satisfaction. And then hears footsteps, slow and steady. He opens his eyes, looks up at Natasha, she's smirking down at him, fingers wiggling against his wound.

"I do owe you. But you can't fucking have him." Bucky smiles as her face drops and rips his arms free, the door behind them slams open at the same time.

"Hey! Strawberry shortcake! Fuck off back to legoland!" Wade yells, tossing a sword into the room. Natasha and Clint dive for the walls. Bucky looks at his feet, Wade's sword stuck in the floor directly between them.

"That was such a convoluted reference!" Bucky yells, grabbing the sword, Natasha dives for him and he falls back, kicking the chair at her as he goes. It smashes into her, breaking and freeing Bucky's legs in one go, throwing her back into the wall. Bucky stands, shoves his first into Clint's face twice and spins to press his back to Wade's, his eyes locked on Natasha as Wade watches Clint.

"What happened to the guns Wade?" Bucky growls, leaning agaisnt the man behind him as his knees threatened to buckle.

"I thought this would be more dramatic!" Wade said, ducking a punch from Clint and kicking him in the chest.

"You left them in the fucking cab again didn't you?" Bucky asked, grunting as Natasha landed a kick to his ribs.

"I left them in the cab again yeah. So embarrassing too! Cuz I set a reminder on my phone. But the cab got here sooner than I expected!" He paused as they both ducked attacks coming at them, before straighting again, backs pressed firmly together.

"Which you know never happens!!!" Wade finished, leaning back further to look at Bucky over his shoulder. Bucky shook his head.

"Can we just get the fuck out of here please? We can talk about you losing my guns, later!" Bucky yelled, kicking a gun out of Natasha's hand, earning a glare from her.

"Okay yeah that's fair! Window?" Wade asked, grabbing Clint and spinning, Bucky staying pressed against his back as Wade turned and tossed Clint at Natasha, she tried to catch him and was shoved back agaisnt the wall, her body leaving a hole in the drywall before they crumpled to the floor.

"Window." Bucky nodded, both of them diving for it.

Bucky regretted jumping as soon as he followed Wade through the glass. They were nearly five stories up. Bucky watched Wade slam into a fire escape, his foot getting caught. Wade reached out. His only good arm grabbing Bucky's metal one as he reached back. Their fingers locked around each other's wrists and Bucky swung up under the fire escape, both of them yelling with strain as he swung back out, hanging onto Wade, four stories up.

"Fucking GOD. DAMN IT!" Wade yelled. His eyes clenched shut in pain as he held onto Bucky. Bucky moved his eyes up Wade's body, he was hanging from his foot, the appendage lodged between two rails on the fire escape above, twisted at a sickening angle.

"Fuck." Bucky breathed, his eyes moving to the window, waiting for Natasha and Clint to appear and start shooting. When they didn't, he moved his attention back to Wade.

"Good catch." He said, grinning up at him, his feet dangling beneath him.

"Well this fuckin sucks." Wade sighed, looking up, down?, at his foot.

"Ooooh that looks so bad. Oh god." He made a gagging noise.

"Do not throw up in your mask!" Bucky warned, pointing at Wade with his free hand.

"I can get you loose, gimme a second." He reached up, grabbing at Wade's belt, muffling a scream behind his lips as he pulled himself up with his bleeding shoulder. Wade did his best to help, pulling him up by his wrist where they were locked together. Bucky grabbed at the fire escape and tossed himself on to it with a pained growl. Leaning over and looking at Wade.

"You okay?" He asked, kneeling down to look at Wade's foot. He scrunched his nose up, brushing his fingers over Wade's ankle and immediately pulling them back when Wade screamed. He pressed his fist to his mouth, holding in his own gag.

"I'm gonna have to twist it to get it out." Bucky said, grimacing at the groan he received in return.

"Just cut it off." Wade said, sounding forlorn. Bucky was about to question him when a sword flew up and onto the fire escape, barley missing Bucky.

"Jesus. Don't fucking kill the messenger. Damn." Bucky grumbled. He looked over the balcony at Wade, his arms, arm, was dangling below his head.

"You sure you want me to do this? You're already regrowing an arm." Bucky said, spinning the sword in his hand as he looked down at Wade. Wade didn't even try to look at him.

"Yeah. Fuck it. What's one more body part between friends." Wade sighed. Bucky looked down at him, he crouched next to Wade's foot again, trying not to look directly at it.

"All the things I've done to you? Not sure friends is the right word for us babe." Bucky said, smirking when heard Wade groan.

"Don't try an turn me on when you're about to cut off my foot! That's so fucked up!" Wade called, Bucky peeked over the balcony and looked at him.

"Just trying to distract you." He said with a smile, leaning back and then leaning back over to look at Wade again, his arm was now crossed over his chest grumpily.

"It worked though didn't it? A little?" He scrunched his nose up, nodding knowingly at Wade. Wade stared at him before letting his arm fall back over his head with a huff.

"Of course it fucking worked! Now would you please cut my fucking foot off so we can go home!" Wade yelled.

"Stop yelling! You'll wake the neighbors!" Bucky yelled back, raising the sword above his head as Wade laughed beneath him. He brought the sword down fast, it moved through Wade's ankle like butter. Bucky heard him curse and leaned over the railing, watching him tumble through the air, hitting the ground with a sickening splat. He bent down and picked up Wade's foot.

"Sorry!" He called over the edge, then headed down the stairs and ladders of the fire escape.

Wade was still on the ground when he reached the bottom. Bucky nudged him with the toe of his good leg.

"You good bro?" He asked, laughing when Wade lifted his hand and gave him a thumbs up, a high pitched whine coming out of him.

Bucky lifted Wade to his... foot, and drapped his arm over his shoulders.

"Can we go home now?" Wade asked, his head falling onto Bucky's shoulder, he sounded pitiful.

"Awww... no." Bucky said, pulling Wade close as he began to limp toward the street.

"What? No? Where are we going?" Wade whined, hopping along next to Bucky.

"Wait did you get my foot?" Wade asked, seemingly not caring that Bucky hadn't answered him.

"I got your foot." Bucky said and then stumbled, his knees buckling under Wade's weight, and the blood loss, and the bullet wounds. He stopped, looking around them in the dark. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon and Bucky needed to get them off the street before that happened. His eyes fell on the locked fence next to them, caging in some kind of construction sight. He pulled Wade's arm from around his shoulders and let him fall agaisnt the fence.

"You're gonna leave me!?!" Wade whined, the eyes on his mask going wide.

"I'm not gonna leave you." Bucky huffed, leaning down to where Wade had sunk.

"Here, just hold your foot, I'll be right back." He pressed Wade's severed foot into his hand, patting Wade's head absent-mindedly as he moved past him, and limped toward the gate. He grabbed the lock holding the chain together and pulled, breaking it easily. He grimaced as he limped through the gate, squinting through the low light to find what he was looking for. He hummed in his throat when he saw it and made his way to it slowly.

It took him almost ten mintues to get back to Wade, a puddle of blood had spread around his ankle before his healing at kicked in good enough to stop it. Bucky stopped in front of Wade, watching as he picked his head up and looked at what Bucky had brought back.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Wade said, glaring up at him.

"I'm really not." Bucky said, looking down at Wade.

"Now, get in the wheelbarrow, and let's go." Bucky sighed, holding onto the handles tightly.

"Cocking sucking. Motherfucking. Fuck!" Wade grumbled and then yelled as he pushed himself off the ground and clumsily lowered himself into it.

"This is ridiculous. I mean this is fucking embarrassing. I can't believe you're making me do this." Wade sighed dramatically, looking up at Bucky, his head tilted back. Bucky looked down, lowing himself a bit closer to Wade.

"You're the one who made me cut your foot off. This is what you deserve." Bucky pressed a quick kiss to Wade's forehead before picking up the handles on the wheelbarrow and limping along, moving slowly, but moving.

"Besides, you actually expect me to believe this the first time you've ever been in a wheelbarrow?" Bucky asked, pushing Wade carefully across a side street.

"Ya know what!?" Wade asked, sounding heated.

"What?" Bucky asked, his voice flat.

"No that's- that's actually fair yeah, I have been." Wade said, his voice calming as he petted his severed foot held against his chest. Bucky watched him for awhile, walking slowly as the sun rose higher. He stopped the wheelbarrow, setting it down next to the pay phone from earlier.

"Who could you possibly be calling at this hour?" Wade asked, his voice was wobbling a little, Bucky couldn't tell if it was on purpose or if he was heading for hysteria. He shoved a few quarters into the phone, ignoring him. The line picked up on the third ring.

"Sam."

"Bucky?" He sounded groggy, like maybe he'd actually managed to fall asleep after Bucky had left.

"We have a problem." Bucky says, licking his lips and pressing his forhead to the cool filthy glass of the phonebooth.

"I'll be ready when you get here." Sam's voice said, no sign of sleep left.

"It'll be a few. I've got... some company." Bucky says, not elaborating.

"The more the merrier." Sam's unamused voice says before the line cuts off. Bucky smiles and walks back out to Wade, picking up the handles and walking back the way he'd come just a few hours ago.

"A problem seems like an understatement." Wade says, his head falling back and to the side, brushing Bucky's hand. Bucky looked down at him, quirked his eyebrow and nodded.

"Yeah." He sighed, stopping for a moment to rest his leg, he bent down, his hand patting Wade's shoulder.

"I'll elaborate on that later. But for now." He stood back up, slowly pushing Wade along.

"Let's go introduce you to Sam." He said, smirking when Wade gasped.

"What?! But my arm! Oh my god and my foot! I'm a mess and you expect me to just walk in there-" Bucky cleared his throat.

"You expect me to just roll in there, no arm, no foot, and just what? Just what huh? Just introduce myself?! I can't even STAND!" He yells, waving his hand around, Bucky shakes his head, just glad he's not waving his foot.

"You'll be fine." He reasures, not well, but he doesn't have much left in him at the moment. Wade goes quiet, for almost too long, and then speaks again.

"What's he like?" He asks, looking up at Bucky with wide eyes.

"Is he beautiful?" Wade sighs, deamily, reaching up to akwardly pet at Bucky's face. Bucky jerks his face away playfully and Wade drops his hand back to his chest. They walk along in silence for a moment.

"You didn't answer my question." Wade points out, his voice low and teasing. Bucky's mouth twitches, his eyes moving over the pink and orange sunrise painting the sky, lingering over the warm colors, before he answers, simply.

"Yeah. He is."

#sambucky #winter falcon #sambucky fic #winter falcon fic #Dirty Deeds #Dirty Deeds part 14 #DD(DDC)#mob boss sam wilson #mercenary bucky #my writing

3 notes · View notes

heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

III. On the road, and off the road

Summary: The three of you travel to Cincy where they find out a lot more about your family. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N: Uh hu h uh uh u huhuhh whaaaaat is happening??? Seriously though, there will be a short angsty segment soon, and then we can get back to the tomfoolery. XX

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

A heavy weight on your stomach wakes you up the next morning. Buckeye has climbed onto the couch and over your body, placing his chin right on your sternum. His tail whacks against your propped-up foot as you begin to stir, and he plants a wet good morning kiss with his nose right over your mouth.

“Ah!” You cry, wiping it off with the back of your hand, “Geez!” He does it again and you can’t help but laugh, even though it’s cold and slimy. He looks pleased as punch as he flops his head back on your chest and stares lovingly into your eyes. Yes, you think, only an animal can love you in the morning. Eye crusts, dragon breath, and all. Stupid big-ass dog makes you soft and gooey.

“C’mon. Off.” You pretend to be annoyed and he slides onto the floor with a whine and follows you into the restroom as you brush your teeth.

Taking in the damage to your apartment— which is none at all, you figure it ended well last night. There’s a memory of you throwing vodka at Tinder-Date-Dickhead and then taking an Uber home. Good call on not driving, you pat yourself on the back and take Bucky outside.

Three alerts are on top of the speech bubble when you get a chance to look at your phone afterwards. Natasha. Steve.

Nat: Sunnywaters?

You heave a sigh and reply: Dude stop threatening me.

Then, you open the other message.

Steve: You up? Buck and I are packing— swimsuits? Yes or no? Also Cincinnati has its own Coney Island… ha ha ha very funny. I bet it stinks compared to the [1/2]

Steve: “real” Coney. Do your parents know we’re coming? I’d hate to intrude. [2/2]

You punch the green call button and rush back inside, scaring Buckeye a little with your sudden frantic movements.

“Good morning!” Steve’s voice sounds like a firecracker. And then he’s popping off in your ear, “Did you get my messages? Bucky and I are happy to stay in a hotel or something – called aerobean? Renting a house? I’m not really sure how that works.”

“It’s called airbnb, you fossil.” You respond off-handedly before catching yourself. “Stop, stop, why are you going to Cincinnati? And what about my parents?”

“You invited us. Are we leaving … today?”

Your face drains completely of color when it hits you— a nebulous and dizzying baseball bat swing to the temple. Last night crashes back into your mind: Steve, looking down, patting sympathetically. Two arms— turning you protectively until the room is sideways. You remember the way the blanket was tucked under your chin and around your shoulders.

“…Did you— did you t-tuck me in?” You ask hesitantly. Steve makes a negative grunt on the other line.

“Buck did that. He said he thought you’d get cold.”

“Oh…. Kay….” You whisper. “Uh. How set are you on Cinci?” You cross your fingers and hope he’ll back out purely based on how pathetic you sound. “It’s a ten-hour drive, dude. You guys okay with that?”

“Sure!” Steve chirps back. “We’ll take turns driving. Although Buck’s kind of a wheel-hog. Gets nervous when he’s not in charge.”

In the distance, you hear Bucky protest and it makes your mouth go dry.

“Uh. Okay. I usually leave early so… meet me here at six tomorrow.”

You hang up and bang the back of your head against the wall. The baseball bat of memory swings again.

You think you might faint because you start to recall last night: the metal hand lifting your head and placing the pillow under your hair. You even remember telling Bucky you loved him? It’s bewildering because you certainly do not love him. What was that thing that T-Pain said again? Your heart squeezes in your chest as you search around frantically for some scapegoat. Ah—yeah, T-Pain famously warbled: Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-a-cohol.

Your body flies over the outfield and into the bleachers before crashing. It’s the most agonizing homerun.

Steve, you think, is probably the one skipping past bases and winking. Somehow, this is all his damn fault.

—

Buckeye scoots around the back of your car, shifting so his weight lands primarily on the cushiony bed. His head is laid gently on Bucky’s thigh, who lost to rock paper scissors and must get squished in the backseat. Lucky for him, you pack lightly, and your legs are much shorter than Steve’s. Unlucky for you, that means he’s right behind you, radiating the heat of a thousand terrifying and silent suns.

It’s been thirty minutes since you started driving. Every time you look into the rear view, Bucky’s blue eyes look back. At this point, you have no idea if any cars are behind you because you will not let yourself look again.

“This is nice.” Steve says breezily, commenting on the silence. You had barely spoken to them when they arrived, instead busied yourself with playing Tetris with your luggage and theirs as well as the fabric box of Bucky’s--- BUCKEYE’s things. God damn it.

“Love it when it’s quiet. Nothing but the road and--” Steve continues.

“Oh, shut up!” You and Bucky reply in unison. You glare up into the mirror. Bucky glares right back. The embarrassment of last night snuffs itself out. Love? In this motherfucker’s dreams.

To your side, Steve stares out the window to hide his smirk.

—

The music of your so-called Driving Playlist bumps through the car speakers. You’ve been subjecting them to your chaotic tastes for the last hour. Every new song is jarring and different than the one before it. There’s Christmas carols. Frenetic Japanese electropop. Incredibly explicit gansta rap. Something else sounds like a broken harmonica for eight whole goddamn minutes. Inexplicable genres and band names. In the middle of a warbly bass line and shrieking synths, you explain that this track is from a “witch house" group you particularly enjoyed as a young girl.

The terms “witch house” and “young girl” so close together makes the both of them shudder. Steve is petrified at the end of each song because the next one always seems to be worse. Bucky squeezes his face between two fully stuffed bags and groans as loudly as he can.

You stop to get gas and Steve walks Buckeye around the perimeter of the station. Bucky comes out from the sliding doors holding three Gatorades and cold brew coffee.

“Drink up.” He commands, flinging a pink bottle at you. “My turn to drive.”

You shake the nozzle when it clicks off and roll your eyes. “No way.”

“You can’t even see over the steering wheel.” You flip him off and silently mock him, rolling your eyes and scrunching up your nose. Then, you replace the nozzle and head inside to use the restroom, flipping him off another time for good measure.

“Don’t! Even!” You threaten behind your shoulder. But of course, by the time you’re halfway to the door, he’s already slid in the driver’s seat.

—

The only way you would stop bitching is if Bucky let you pick the music. So, the cord remains faithfully attached to your phone. And that dreaded playlist.

---

An hour later, your leg bounces from the back, knocking your knee into Steve’s seat. You’ve had to piss like a racehorse for the last twenty minutes and you feel like a fucking water balloon, about to pop. Steve turns around, elbow on the center console and quirks an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yessssss..” you could probably weep right now. No. No thinking of tears because tears are water. No fucking water.

“You’re shaking my seat pretty rough.” Steve accuses.

“You have to go again, don’t you? Jesus, what are you, four?” You’d think about how much you hate him but your bladder requires way more attention right now. This is the best posture you’ve ever had in your entire life. Your back is straight and you’re arching forward slightly—anything to relieve the pressure.

“I’m—- Ugh!” You shriek as the car runs over something and the entire thing rocks up, kicking a sharp jab into your lower abdomen. A wave of chills runs over your arms. “Oh no…” You whisper. Buckeye perks up and begins to sniff around, investigating your concern.

“Maybe I peed a little.” You admit sheepishly, squeezing your thighs together as well as your eyes.

“The next stop isn’t for another half hour…” Steve laments.

“Dirty Keanu Reeves over here gave me Gatorade!” You shake the bottle between them, 32 empty strawberry-flavored sugar-free ounces in all it’s glory. Even the wrapping has been peeled off. Steve sends the both of you a reproachful glare.

“I didn’t think she’d guzzle the whole damn thing!” He chooses to ignore your new nickname for him. He doesn’t even know who Keanu Reeves is. It’s a shame, really.

“Oh please stop arguing please pull over I swear I’ll piss in the forest I don’t care please.” Your words are running together like a waterfall. No. Not a waterfall. Oh god, you think, do not imagine any waterfalls. Bucky flips the blinker on and checks his blind spot before navigating to the right carefully. He puts on the hazards and stops your car—half on the emergency lane and half in the grass. Outside the window is about 200 feet of wildflowers before it turns dark with thick trees.

He turns and takes Steve’s place in-between the cloth seats. “There you are, princess. Pop a squat. Or stand. Just fucking hurry.”

“If I had a dick, Barnes, it would be way bigger than yours.” You push Bucky out of the way and wiggle until you can reach the glove compartment, elbowing Steve’s face in the process. There, your fingers yank a few tissues smushed into the corner of the dusty slot and you bolt. Oh sweet six-pound-and-four-ounces Jesus Christ you’ve never been so happy to piss in the woods.

Steve pats Bucky’s thigh as they watch you shred through the white and orange stalks, ripping a path through the peaceful country green. “Nah, Buck.” He smiles, “You’re pretty big.” Bucky slams the back of his head into the seat and lets out a long-suffering groan.

When you come back you fly into the car and moan happily. Bucky turns around to give you a snarky comment, but you hiss at him like an angry wildcat. “Saw a dead possum in the woods, man.” You say, “Looks just like you.”

—

Both you and Steve are asleep, along with the dog. It’s been a little over an hour now. The Captain reclines in the passenger seat, sunglasses on. You’re pitched over Buckeye, head resting on your splayed arm. The three orders of family-sized burger meals knocked you out first, then Steve. There’s hardly any room in the car for the enormous amount of trash that entailed, but you made do with the space next to your leg and stuffed the bag between you and the door.

Bucky slurps his coffee and drives in silence, frowning when the idea that he misses your bullshit finds him.

—

“God, can we listen to anything else?” Bucky grumbles when some mindless tune comes back on. You smile because Rebecca Black’s “Friday” is your goddamn jam. It’s the single best song to piss off any living person or animal and you embrace it whole-heartedly.

You let Steve browse the rest of your selection, waiting patiently for the inevitable—

“What is this?” He yelps. “Gay for Jesus?” His fingers continue to scroll, “What kind of playlist names are these? Sad n Sexy Santa? Who’s got the Biggest Dick in Baseball?” You’re cackling madly. It doesn’t stop there. “Fingerblast Fest of 2017?”

“What does that even mean?” Bucky mutters.

“Made it for a lesbian couple. Anniversary present.”

Bucky’s face scrunches up with confusion and you enlighten him by leaning forward and thrusting two fingers back and forth so vigorously his seat shakes like an industrial-sized dryer set on high.

“Oh fuckin’ A!” He cries, jerking his head away from your hand. Steve turns red as a beet. “Okay, new rule...” he sighs, turning your phone over on his lap, “Do not ask about playlist names.”

Traffic has clogged up the highway. It’s deadlocked and immobile, stuck in the middle of a big city—all smog and industry. There’s not even good scenery to look at. You are buried in-between the pages of a book, taking advantage of the stillness by reading as much as you can. After this, you’ll have to brush up on your Latin, too. Then Greek. It’s annoying, but at least you don’t have to do another summer immersion program somewhere in bumfuck Florida this year.

A folky tune comes on and it’s a welcome reprieve. Bucky and Steve look up when you start humming along, voice coming out to follow the melody.

“Didn’t know you could sing.” Steve comments.

“Habeo multum talenta.” You reply—brain tuned to Latin. It makes them both wonder what else you can do.

Two hours left to go before the three of you reach your destination. You’ve switched out with Steve, who begrudgingly sits in the back, legs pushed up nearly to his chest while you stretch up front, cracking your back every which way. Bucky has refused to move from the driver’s side.

The music halts for a couple of hours while conversations meander. All sorts of subjects are breached now that there is nothing else to do but talk. The last two months of knowing them, although made you more comfortable, didn’t quite allow you to learn as much as this single car ride has. Most of what you could understand from them was made through your own observations, but now they are more or less open books.

Sometimes, the words hang heavy in the air— old, bulbous and dusty ornaments they polish for you. Steve talks about the war. Bucky does too. You have lots of questions on your end and they illuminate all of them with personal spotlights.

Sometimes, it returns to the playfulness you are used to.

Steve vomited on the cyclone. Bucky lost three dollars trying to win a bear for a girl. You tell him you blew through thirty-five dollars on a crane machine once (for yourself) and the two of you share a moment of solidarity together. Although, it’s hard for you to imagine him as some flirtatious young man and Steve can see it on your face.

“New gal every two weeks.” He informs.

“Were there even that many women in Brooklyn?” You gasp, scandalized.

“They came from all over to get a look at Buck.”

Bucky only rolls his eyes, but you see a smile tug on the other side of his face.

“What was wrong with them?” You whisper on-brand with your usual self, but the memory of his laughter by your front door glows rosy in your mind. Yeah, you can see how girls would get themselves in a tizzy for him. Winter Soldier with his mask on hardly turned heads as much as Captain Adonis America, but if you take a second to look at him, it’s easy to see how built he is. Like a Greek statue. Even his aura is enthralling—a bit secretive, a little dark. He could definitely use that to his advantage.

The smile grows into an almost feral grin—there's that aura, you think. “You haven’t seen nothin’ yet.” He nearly growls.

You sit back and pretend to busy yourself with petting Buckeye because the pink crawling up your neck is about to choke you blue.

Bucky pulls off the familiar highway, drives a distance down the curved road next to the river and you lean back, breathing in that familiar fishy and slightly sickly sewage air.

“Aw yeah. Welcome to Cincy.” You laugh. Steve ducks his head to watch the scene, squinting at billboards and watching houses whiz by.

“What’s Skyline Chili?” He asks as the car zooms by an advertisement. A questionable pile of shredded cheese overtakes the (apparently) chili and hot dog on the otherwise blue sign.

“Depending on your taste, either the best or worst thing you’ll ever eat.” The smile on your face widens when he furrows his brow. “Oh, my sweet summer child... you’re in for a treat.”

Your neighborhood comes into view and you wistfully stare at the immaculate paved roads, manicured wide green lawns, blonde-haired moms pushing baby strollers, and dogs trailing behind them on loose leashes. Buckeye pads around as much as he can in the back, stepping over your lap repeatedly as he begins to recognize where he’s at.

“Pretty nice neighborhood.” Steve comments, making a slow turn. The GPS pulls him into a driveway leading up to your parent’s ranch-style home. They both whistle at the garden in bloom and the cobblestone path. You point him to pull around to the garage where your father’s Benz is parked. The old willow tree hangs over it, weeping petals and leaves on the windshield.

“Holy shit.” Bucky mutters at how the rosebushes and magnolia pots wrap even around the side and the back. The deck is littered with more flowers and potted plants. A stained glass table. Even the outdoor chairs have beautiful plush cushions. There seems to be a room underneath the slope of the yard—perhaps a basement transformed into a living space. Everything matches perfectly. “You do have money.”

You sigh.

“It’s not my money. It’s my parents’.” The scathing and bitter tone makes him frown, but you hop out anyway, slinging two bags over your shoulder and nudging Buckeye into the yard. Your dog happily pounces all over the greenery, chasing butterflies and barking.

“You sure they’re ok with this?” Steve asks carefully.

You nod, “There are lots of perks to being the prodigal son. Daughter, in my case.”

“Thought you had a dick.” Bucky sneers.

��Get with the times, old man. Gender is an illusion.”

—

The house is empty. You lead them through the front door and into the hall where it branches into three areas. There’s a railing and staircase that leads down, but for now they take in the sights on this floor. The first step points straight to the dining room where the table is already lined with china and perfectly arranged. Silk napkins. Crystal glasses. Delicately carved mahogany display cabinet.

On the right is the living space and kitchen where the color scheme turns to a pale aqua, cream, and gold accents. Two scooped leather seats face the flat screen, flanked by built-in shelves filled with books. There is also a small couch and a seafoam armchair and matching ottoman. The coffee table is a gorgeous marble, flecked with gold.

They turn and look down the other way, noticing a large mirror entombed by a heavy decorated frame in between two doors. The walkway continues right and disappears even further down.

You stare at them. They stare back.

“Please don’t.” You beg, dropping your bags with a heavy sigh; this is why you didn’t want them coming. You hate it when people comment on your parents’ house. And they haven’t even seen the pool or tennis court. Or the downstairs living area with the grand piano your fingers nearly bled all over from countless hours of practice. Or the family oil painting you sat for when you were a kid. Fuck.

“I fucking hate it.” Bucky says nonchalantly. “Gaudy shit. Too big. This place haunted?”

You could leap into his arms if they weren’t carrying his bag and your dog’s stuff. Instead, you settle for a genuine smile, all warmth and radiance because you feel it in your heart—the appreciation for his understanding wrapped in snark. “Now we’re talking. C’mon. Let’s go downstairs. You guys can stay in my childhood bedroom.”

They finally drop their bags on the bay window seat in your old room after you unlock it. It’s always been like this— and you never let your parents come in. You open the middle of the window and let the room air out a little and the afternoon light pours in. Your old pictures are still on the shelves. Trophies. Music books. Your suede riding helmet, too. They wander around, peering at the images.

“Where are your parents?” Steve asks.

You shrug and plop down on the king-size bed out of habit, lying back with your legs dangling off the edge. Buckeye hops on with you and pads around a bit before he settles into a bagel-like swirl of a shape. “Ibiza. Dubai. Paris. Virgin Islands. Take your pick. My dad has property in all of them.” You message him anyway. You’re not surprised they’re gone for the summer. You don’t really come back for them; you mostly come back to get away from Manhattan.

“Wow.” Steve mutters.

“He even owns part of a mountain in Colorado. It’s vile. Historically, we’re from Ohio… ugh. I don’t want to talk about it.” You feel like a child again, and being in this space doesn’t help.

Steve examines the paintings in the room and flips through scattered books on the work desk. Bucky trails around your bookshelves, looking at the frames, picking some up here and there to examine what’s inside. “Who’s this?”

Peeking up you blow a pppffbbfbfbt breath of air out between your lips. It’s you, duh. Except your hair is perfectly curled and piled atop your head— a bird’s nest cushion for a sparkly tiara. Your eyes are piled heavily with so much eyeshadow and lash extensions it looks like an ombré spider web, and you’re wearing a low-cut dress swirling with rhinestones. Across your torso is a sash. Yep. Homecoming Queen. You’re pressed up against your date, all smiles, sharp cheeks, shoulders so thin he can see your skeleton jutting out. Over ten years ago, you were a much different person.

“Laugh it up, Barnes.” You mutter. “Thas ya girl, sweet sixteen, massively underweight, and aspiring to be the shiniest trophy wife of them all.”

“Why would I laugh?” He asks, suddenly solemn. Bucky turns to look at you, sprawled out on the bed, sardonic smile plastered to your face. “You don’t look very happy.” He still has the picture in his hand. Steve has paused, too, closing a heavy leather-bound first edition. Being caught in the middle of two concerned stares makes you heavy with anxiety and dread. Instead of spending another second under their gaze, you shoot up and motion for Buckeye to follow.

“Don’t be fucking weird, man.” Then, you’re already up the stairs.

Steve and Bucky glance at each other and Bucky places the picture back on the shelf.

—

In the downstairs living space next to their room, you pour three glasses of thirty-year-old single malt whiskey from the cabinet and plop down on the piano bench. The boys sit on the couch and regard you curiously as you open the cover and stare at the ivory keys. Your foot stomps on each of the paddles underneath vengefully. Then you tip your head back, whiskey along with it, and slam the cover shut with a trembling crash. “Fuck you, Mozart.” You whisper, as if the piano can hear.

You peek downstairs after your bath and call, “Hey! My parents use a water softener so if you feel slimy… it’s normal.” The whiskey has made you flush with excitement and volatile energy.

Steve’s head pops out from the bathroom doorway, neck and chest red from the heat. “Oh, thank God.” He says, “Buck’s been scrubbing for hours.”

“Who the fuck would do this!” Bucky’s voice echoes from the same tiled space. You can practically see it shooting out from the room behind Steve’s shoulder to crash into the adjacent wall like a comic panel.

The towel on top of your head slips and you attempt to grab it quickly, using your other hand to hold onto the knot around your chest. “You guys fucking in there?!”

Steve only grins and sends you a wink, mischievous expression catching you off guard. The towel tumbles down the stairs and your hair slaps itself over your face. The two of you watch the fluffy sheet spread over the bottom of the steps before staring at each other. “You gonna get that?” He asks.

“No.” You reply, abruptly mortified, “It’s yours now.”

Apparently, Steve Rogers has chosen this very moment to make it known that partners is not only platonic in meaning. You don’t know why you’re so embarrassed, because you’ve been harassing them for months about who’s a bottom (you bet all four limbs it’s Bucky), but suddenly the moment is confronting you and all you can do is think about how you’re naked and third-wheeling … in your own damn home. And that maybe you shouldn’t have had all that whiskey.

Captain America rubs the tip of his nose absentmindedly, “You alright?” There is genuine concern in his eyes as he steps out of the doorway and reveals his –NAKED! NAKED!

“No!” You scream, turning your head and hiding behind your outstretched hand. “No! Don’t! You fucking stay there you—Fucking A, Steve!”

He’s not really naked; he’s wrapped hip-down in a towel, but you don’t even want to see the outline of him. As far as you know, he’s a smooth-crotched Ken Doll. Maybe Bucky has like, three dicks. There is so much panic inside of you right now.

The water stops from the shower and rustling is heard as Bucky dries off. You attempt to slowly back up away from the steps and move back into the confines of your own room until your dog springs past you like a loose cannonball and sails downstairs. He banks left into the bathroom and licks a stripe over Steve’s shin before finding his true target: Bucky.

There is tumbling, banging, wincing from you and Steve as Buckeye clobbers his human doppelganger once more. Then, there is yelling and cussing—Steve, moving inside to help, but then more crashing follows before Buckeye tears from the bathroom and up the stairs with two towels clenched tightly in his mouth.

“No…” You whisper, when he drops them at your feet. His tongue flops against his chin and he looks up expectantly, as if you might reward him for his endeavor. Steve’s head peeks out again, and the wry smile he sends your way says: you’re fucked.

Next Chapter

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #self insert #fanfiction #FiMS

771 notes · View notes

fic-for-fic-sake · 4 years

Text

First Date?

A/N: Okay so I wrote this in March during the beginning part of quarantine so keep that in mind while you read. I hope you enjoy it and as always; likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

“Natasha you cannot be serious.” You deadpanned, making a face at her over facetime.

“I am! I read it in a Buzzfeed article, tinder is letting you swipe all over the globe to find a quarantine buddy. It’s a thing.” She pouted from her end of the line, cutting up vegetables for her lunch.

“I mean that’s ridiculous, are people really dating over facetime? Is this what the world has come to?” You asked, flopping down on your bed.

“I mean, life goes on, even if you can’t go outside. Besides, I think it would be good for you, you’ve been in quarantine for more than a week now and you can’t keep facetiming me. Find yourself a new buddy, it could be fun.” She retorted, popping a piece of chopped zucchini into her mouth before throwing the rest in the pan on the stove.

“What are you making anyway? It sounds loud.” You responded, ignoring her observation.

“Stir fry, want some?” She teased, letting you see the pan with everything in it that made your mouth water. Red pepper and zucchini along with broccoli, chicken, and beautiful white rice.

“I wish we were together so you could cook for me.” You moped, feeling your stomach growl with the thought of food. When was the last time you ate again? It was hard to keep track when you couldn’t leave your apartment.

“It’s not my fault you moved to Spain.”

“It’s only for a year! And how was I supposed to know this would happen!” You yelled at her through the phone, you doubted it had the same impact because you were staring at her kitchen ceiling as she tended to her lunch.

“Just think about what I said, I gotta go! I’ll call you back later.” She said, as she blew you a kiss and then hung up, leaving you to look at your own tattered reflection in your black phone screen.

You sighed as you padded to your kitchen in sweatpants to grab a pint of ice cream you had been working on. You popped a spoon in your mouth and scrolled through your phone, looking for the article Natasha was talking about. Sure enough after opening the Buzzfeed app, you saw that people were indeed doing first dates over facetime. It didn’t sound like a terrible idea, you only really had to look presentable from the waist up and you did kind of miss dressing in normal people clothes.

Spooning ice cream into your mouth you redownloaded the tinder app and started swiping through. People from all over the globe popped up on your phone. New York, London, San Francisco, Berlin, Seoul, and New Delhi. You swiped for longer than anticipated and got a few matches but none of them really panned out until you found one profile in particular.

Steve Rogers, an artist from Brooklyn who worked at a law firm, interesting combination. His very first picture drew you in, dark blond almost brunet locks swept to the side, a full beard, and a killer smile. Okay, you were interested. You scrolled through his pictures to find one of him in a suit, presumably at work, another of him in a cream colored cable knit sweater looking out into the middle distance, and the last one was him standing shirtless on a beach, hair slightly shaggier and coffee mug in hand. Holy shit. He was gorgeous. You swiped right and nearly dropped your phone out of shock when it said that it was a match.

No way. No way would this literal Adonis of a human being swipe right on you, but who were you to argue with the tinder algorithm. You got up to put your ice cream back in the freezer when your phone made a pinging sound. A message from Mr. Handsome himself.

Steve: Hey

You: Hi

Steve: Madrid huh? What time is it there?

You: A little after 9pm

Steve: What are you up to?

You: Oh you know, the usual, staring at a wall because I can’t leave the apartment

Steve: Wow, it’s like I’m there with you.

You chucked at his dry humor. You and Steve talked for pretty much the rest of the night before you told him you were going to fall asleep on him if you stayed up any longer. Before he let you log out for the night, he asked you on a date, over facetime. You smiled so hard you swore you tore a muscle in your face. You accepted his proposal and agreed to facetime tomorrow evening for you and tomorrow afternoon for him, so you could cook together.

The next day you were freaking out, deciding what to wear. What does one wear to a facetime first date? This was uncharted territory for all parties involved and the internet, where you would usually go for advice, was no help either. Natasha advised just wearing casual clothing, and she was right. You didn’t want to look formal just sitting around your apartment, that would be weird. You decided on a pair of light wash jeans and a baby pink sweatshirt hoodie from Calvin Klein. You kept your hair down, a simple style. You decided against makeup because after the call ended you were just going to take it off anyway. Perfect, you looked good and casual, not like you hadn’t left your house in four days.

You made sure you had all the ingredients in front of you for a simple dijon sauce and chicken. You were debating whether or not you should wear an apron when your phone rang, it was Steve. You propped your phone up against the wall before you answered.

“Hi!” You exclaimed, adjusting the phone before you stepped back into the frame.

“Hey.” Steve’s voice rang out through your empty kitchen. You took a minute to admire what he was wearing. A plain gray long sleeve shirt hugged his arm muscles and black jeans were on his legs. His hair was swept to the side and his beard was neatly trimmed, truly the picture of perfection.

“Are you ready to cook?” You questioned, pointing your wisk at the camera which garnered a chuckle from him.

“What are you making?” He questioned, as he opened the door to his fridge and began to root around for ingredients, giving you a perfect view of his lower half. You tried not to stare at the image of his perfect ass on the frame, instead focusing on lighting the stove and beginning to chop up some garlic.

“Chicken with a dijon sauce.” You replied, brows knitted in concentration. “What about you?”

“Funny, I’m making chicken noodle soup.” He replied, laying out his celery on the cutting board and also beginning to chop.

“God this is strange.” You commented as you turned on your stove and put some olive oil in the pan.

“Strange good, or strange bad?” Steve implored, putting the chopped celery aside and now moving on to the carrots.

“Yeah, I haven’t decided yet.” You chuckled a bit as you threw your chicken breasts into the pan. “How many times have you made chicken noodle soup?” You wondered.

“I’ve been making it for years, it’s my mom’s recipe.” He explained, a smile on his face as the memory. “It’s kind of a comfort thing and these days I’ll take comfort wherever I can get it.”

“You and me both Steve.” You replied automatically, flipping the chicken in the pan. He laughed and the two of you made polite conversation as you continued cooking your respective meals.

“Okay, you ready to eat?” He asked, ladling his soup into a cream colored deep ceramic bowl.

“My mouth is already watering.” You jested as you plated up your chicken and broccoli and drizzled a healthy amount of sauce over the top of everything. You both went to each of your fridges and grabbed the same bottle of chilled white wine. You had both decided on Verdejo white wine on your suggestion that it was amazing. He said he trusted your recommendation.

You sat at your plain kitchen table in your small apartment, looking into the phone and seeing he lived in less humble dwellings. You could see a beautiful large window with what you assumed showed a spectacular view of the city. He poured his wine into an intricate stemmed glass while you poured yours into a glass cup. You laughed.

“What is it?” He questioned, a small smile playing on his lips. Oh how that smile took your breath away.

“I just think it’s funny that I have a washing machine in my kitchen, my walls are yellowing, and I’m drinking wine out of a cup.” You said, gesturing to your surroundings. “While you are living in a beautiful apartment and have the perfect drinking vessel for your wine.”

“Yeah but you’re only in Spain for a year right? Work with whatcha got.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders, “I went to Romania with a friend of mine and we stayed in this little rundown shack with newspapers on the window and we didn’t have electricity.”

“Wow Romania, what brought you there?”

“I was commissioned to do a painting of the Romanian Athenaeum in Bucharest.”

“Steve that’s amazing!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air, “you must be a really talented artist, why’d you switch jobs?

“I didn’t so much as switch but take a backseat in art. I loved it but it didn’t pay the bills. When I first got to New York I was living on my friend Bucky’s couch, and months later he was kind enough to offer me a position at his law firm.” Steve explained, stopping intermittently to take spoonfuls of soup.

“That’s incredible. I wish I could paint.” You added, putting a forkful of dijon chicken into your mouth. “But art was never my strong suit.”

Before he could provide a response, he brought the wine glass up to his lips and your movements halted as he swallowed a few sips of wine. You wondered what he would think of your recommendation. After a beat he wore the biggest smile on his face.

“Doll, this wine is amazing! How did you know about this?” He asked incredulously.

You could feel yourself blush at the pet name but recovered quickly, “When I studied abroad in Barcelona I went to a few wine tastings and they always had Verdejo and it was always my favorite, hands down.”

You and Steve seemed to have no problem coming up with things to talk about. Your dinner time had long since passed and now you were yawning every few sentences and you could feel your eyes drooping.

“Looks like someone’s tired.” Steve teased, a soft smile playing on those petal pink lips of his. No matter how tired you were you could still feel the need to press your lips against his. After a few more yawns Steve insisted that you hang up and go to sleep which you did begrudgingly. Ten minutes later you sent him a picture of you in your pajamas and tucked under the covers of your small bed. To which he responded with a picture of his own, thumbs up and face beaming.

You had to remind yourself to thank Natasha for forcing you to do this tinder business in the first place.

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfic #mcu fanfic #reader insert #avengers fanfic

18 notes · View notes