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#buck barnes fanfiction

lynlee494 · 5 months

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Chapter Three is Now Up!

Bucky Barnes’s family is indebted to Alexander Pierce, a powerful man who has preyed on him and those like his family for decades. There were only a few years of service left to pay his debt, but recently Pierce's brute Rumlow had been escalating in his violence. Fearing the inevitable and with no where to actually go Pierce can’t reach, Bucky had begun to accept his fate.

Then Bucky’s luck turns when a persistent advertisement for an insanely affordable apartment in Bed-Stuy interrupts his browsing at a bakery, the shop close enough to pick up the free wi-fi from the Avenger’s Tower.

Maybe there is a chance.

****

Clint Barton has a surprise new tenant that he is pretty damn sure there had been no application for. Likely Jarvis’s idea, the AI sparing some processing to help manage Clint’s apartment. Avenging and being a landlord took a toll.

Not a problem except the top floor – Clint’s floor – had been left empty save him for safety reasons. Which meant the only vacancy was right next door. And it turns out the new guy is hot. And maybe kinda in trouble. Which is so his type.

So many ways this can go bad, and Clint is sure he'll find all of them. Chapter Three now up!

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enchantedbarnes · 1 year

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Uncle Buck

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Single Aunt!Reader

Summary: You take your nephew to a Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson Q&A event. The mischievous 8-year-old asks if he can get in line to ask a question. Against your better judgement you agree and let him go up by himself.

Word Count: 626

A/N: I had no intention to write anything on this account but here we are. Excuse the mess.

A young boy - 8 years old, dark hair and eyes full of mischief - walks up to the microphone.

"Hi, I have a question for Bucky..." He asks shyly.

The moderator nods, "What's your question for him, little man?"

The boy looks over at the seats nearby behind him and smirks, turning back to the stage with some more confidence this time.

"Will you marry my Aunt?"

The crowd let's out collective gasps, giggles, and awws. There's some cheering and a loud "OW OWWWW."

You inhale quickly and choke on your own air supply, trying to compose yourself. "BENJAMIN!!!"

You're horrified and shrink down in your seat while pulling your hood up over your head for added cover.

While you contemplate the fastest way to snatch the little traitor and get out of there as swiftly as possible you hear Sam's loud laugh echo through the room.

"I assume that was your Aunt and you're Benjamin?" Bucky asks while smirking.

Tiny traitor nods while grinning ear to ear. "I'm Benji, Auntie's name is Y/n and she thinks you're sooo handsome," he exaggerates with an eye roll, "and she's super fun and pretty and you'd be the coolest unc--"

Exit plan secured you jump out of your seat and rush over to cover his mouth and pull him back from the mic. Your hood still up and head ducked down.

"You said you were asking about the mechanics of his arm, you tiny little punk," you mutter at him but the microphone still picks up what you said.

While you have him secured in a headlock you quickly speak into the mic, avoiding all eye contact. "I apologize, I've never met this child before... I'm going to return him to the proper authorities immediately."

Picking your nephew up as quickly as you can, you toss him over your shoulder. His fit of giggles exploding while he tries yelling out again, "But he hasn't answered yet!"

"He's free later tonight, Aunt Y/n!" Sam shouts while you retreat to the back of the conference room towards the exit. "Your future family seems nice," he jokes while nudging Bucky's arm.

Benji tries to shout back across the room, "SHE IS FREE TOO!! EVERY NIGHT!!"

You shove the exit door open, "You're so dead. On my pick up days for school I will be blasting every embarrassing song I can find with the windows down. I'm going to start saving now and I will be buying every ad space available in your future yearbooks and I will be plastering them with your baby photos. And not the cute ones." Like this kid ever took a photo that wasn't cute.

***

The two of you walk around a food truck area set up outside the conference space. Benji is happily eating a pretzel you only bought so your sister wouldn't kill you for neglecting her child. You grab a seat at a small table to people-watch while he finishes up his undeserved treat.

You let your hood down, setting your vibrant and wild hair free. The color is easy to pick out in a crowd.

Benji is explaining in great detail the plot to a video game he has been playing with his friends and how one level keeps tripping them up.

The chair next to you slides back, "Is this seat open?" A deep voice asks.

Benji grins, "Yes!"

You already know who it is, but you're still startled when you look over and see none other than Bucky Barnes sitting with you and the small trouble matchmaker.

"So... is the potential cool Uncle position still available?" He smirks, hand on his chin looking over at both of you.

This little punk might be getting free pretzels and ice cream for life.

Alright folks! By popular demand, here is part 2!

Uncle Buck Returns

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #uncle buck fic

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buckyalpine · 11 months

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Bucky vs Bucky ft smut

Bucky vs Bucky - Smutty edition.

Imagine time travel going wrong only to end up so right when you have present Bucky and 40′s Bucky in front of you. You love your boyfriend with your whole entire heart and being but there's something about that sweet 40′s baby that makes you weak.

Nothing gets by Bucky who notices the way your thighs squeeze together around his former self or the way you get all shy and giggly. The young soldier is no better, eyeing the prettiest doll he’s ever seen, wanting just 1 taste of his future life. You can’t seem to take your eyes off him; imagine your surprise when you walk into you bedroom to find your Bucky lounging on the couch while the other is leaning against your dresser, both with equally devious expressions. You feel hot all over because there is something in the air, filled with thick tension.

“What-what are you both doing” You stutter out, biting your lip when the young soldier approaches you, cupping your cheek. You let out a needy whimper while Bucky smirked from his place on the touch, tugging the waistband of his sweats down, revealing his aching erection.

“I’m going to sit here and stroke my cock and you’re going to suck his cock like the pretty slutty little princess you are, understand kitten?” He let out a satisfied hum watching you sink to your knees in front of the soldier without a question.

“You look so pretty sugar” He groaned, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling his cock out, chest already heaving when your lips brush against his wet tip. You were greedy for him, too worked up to tease him with just your tongue. You wrapped your plush lips around his tip, nursing and suckling him, your hand pumping what you couldn’t fit into your mouth. “OH-That’s it sweets, you got a real mouth on you-”

He didn’t even realize he was rutting his hips into your mouth, chasing the warm wetness of your throat. You grew more desperate, your panties soaked, needing to feel him inside you, tasting him making you more feral than before. You could’ve passed out at the sight of your boyfriend giving himself long languid strokes, flicking at the slit with his thumb, smearing his arousal all over the head.

“Need something, kitten?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow when you looked over to him with glassy eyes, “You’re little button all tingly baby? You need him to stuff you full, take you right on the floor like the whore you are?”

You desperately nodded, gasping when the much younger Bucky gently laid you on the floor, undressing you with care before throwing all his clothes off. He didn’t waste a second lining himself up, rubbing his blunt tip through your folds, groaning at the feeling of your dripping cunt.

“You’re soaked bunny” He started to press his cock in, the tip breeching your entrance, the both of you moaning in unison at the feeling of his stretch, “Shit, I-i won’t last if you keep squeezin’ me doll”

He rested his forehead against yours, starting off slow, taking your hands and pinning them above your head against the floor. His slow pace only lasted so long; within no time he was fucking into you like an animal in heat, all former composure lost.

“Fuck s’even better than I imagined” Bucky’s hips lifted off the couch, thrusting into his fist watching you lock your ankles together, moaning like a desperate whore on the floor, taking all the cock the soldier was willing to give you. The soldier himself was no better, equally lost in your tight wet heat, growling at the squelching sound that left you each time he fucked up into you.

“Sh-shit doll, you’re-god damn” He groaned, lewd and vulture words swimming in his mind, unable to say them out loud. “You got me thinkin’ pure filth bunny”

“Tell her exactly what she is, she likes it” Bucky smirked, jerking his cock off faster at the sight of your eyes rolling back, loud wanton moans filling the room.

“You’re a pretty little slut doll, don’t get me wrong, you’re pussy is a dream” One he started running his mouth, he couldn’t stop, babbling to himself while you clenched and clawed at him, your eyes darting between the pretty man making you see stars and the other playing with his cock, both men so pretty making you lose it with their words.

“What I wouldn’t give to take ya back with me sweets, fuck, to have a sweet housewife to come to with her legs spread for me, letting me pump her up with my load till she’s all round with my kid”

“She’s a good little kitten, just waiting for cock, isn’t that right baby? Look what you do to us doll”

“Yeah, I know you’d be so good doll, can tell you’d be so perfect with the way you opened these pretty thighs up for me, letting me shove my cock all the way in you”

“Didn’t need me to tell you twice to take his cock, hm? Look how quick you spread your legs baby, sucking him like you’ve never tasted cock before”

“Would you be a good housewife for me baby? Would you cook me dinner wearin’ nothin’ but some pretty heels? Be in bed, waitin’ for me, waitin’ for me to come make that pussy feel all better?”

“She needs it, that cute pearl between her legs is so fuckin’ greedy, always begging for someone to rub and kiss it all better”

“Would put a ring on ya finger in a heart beat” He moaned when you clenched at his words, “You like that, huh darlin’”

Your moans grew more desperate, crying out when he pulled back and sat back on his heels, throwing your legs on his shoulders, watching his cock disappear in and out, pounding into you harder.

“Go-go a head and rub that pretty pussy for me baby-fuck- that’s it, my slutty slutty bunny” His grip around your hips tightened, slamming you down onto him while you reached down to touch yourself, rubbing fast tight circles.

“I’m gonna-I’m-fuck-.Bucky-Soldier-I-please-FUCK” You sobbed in pleasure as your orgasm started to wash over, hiccupping between moans when his hips stuttered, losing his pace.

“FUCK YESSS” Thick warm ropes of cum started to fill your pussy, the hold he had on you softening.

“Wanna see something pretty?” You could hear Bucky’s footsteps approaching; you whimpered as the soldier pulled out, watching your boyfriend stroke his cock, standing over your face. You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out as Bucky jerked himself faster, moaning letting his cum shoot all over your face, drops spilling onto your tongue.

You felt like you were floating, pliant on the floor, a sticky hot mess between your legs, your face wet with his cum. You panted between soft whimpers, the aftershocks of your orgasms unending. Your eyes grew wide when you felt a pair of arms, one warm the other cold, pick you off the floor and toss you onto the bed, your boyfriend and the pretty soldier both standing at the foot of the bed, cocks still hard as ever.

“Better catch your breath sugar, were not done with you”

“Time for you to take us both, sweetheart”

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hotreadingwitch · 11 months

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Bucky x Reader - Nosebleed

Content Warnings/Kinks: slut-shaming, violence (not during sex), dominance, hickeys, nipple play, finger sucking, cum swallowing, light edging, sub/dom dynamic (collaring), daddy kink, praise kink, fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex

Nosebleed

"Man, you're dumb letting your girl out of the house in that outfit" a man slurred from the alleyway beside the club they were on their way to.

Bucky stilled, his hand tensing where it was placed on the small of Y/n's back.

"Bucky don't-" Y/n started.

"Move" he growled, his words harsh, a no-nonsense command.

She hesitated, on one hand, the guy was being rude but on the other, he was just a stupid asshole...did he really deserve to be beaten up by a super soldier just because of one comment? No, Y/n decided at that moment, she didn't deserve to be slut-shamed and if Bucky wanted to make sure that man never said something vile to another woman then so be it. She pulled herself up and moved aside, nodding at Bucky as she did, indicating that he could get violent.

Y/n turned, looking away as she heard Bucky's first blow landing and the man's groan of pain in response.

"Please" the man begged, "I didn't do anything"

"You didn't do anything?" She heard Bucky chuckle darkly, "You don't count slut-shaming women as doing something asshole?"

"Fuck man" he groaned, "I didn't mean it I swear"

Bucky punched him again. Hard.

"Yeah fucking right"

Y/n turned just in time to see Bucky lift the man up off of the ground and slam him against the wall.

"Owwww" the man howled.

"Bucky," Y/n said quietly.

His gaze flicked toward her, steel blue eyes turned almost grey with anger. Her eyes widened at the sight of his bleeding nose, the other man must have gotten a good punch in.

"Let's go home" she added, "He's not worth it"

"Yea man listen to your girl" the man choked out.

Bucky dropped him, letting go of his collar and turning toward Y/n, taking her hand.

"Fucking crazy" the man mumbled under his breath.

Bucky snapped, turning back around and punching the guy so hard he fell onto the ground, knocked out.

"Now we can go" Bucky growled.

Y/n and Bucky walked into Zemo's apartment. It was late so the two other men were already in bed. Bucky gripped Y/n's hand, squeezing it, before asking:

"Can you help me get cleaned up?"

"Sure" she smiled before leading him to the en-suite bathroom in her room.

Bucky balanced himself against the edge of the sink, leaning back, squinting down at Y/n. She wet a towel and started to mop up the wound on his face that would surely leave a bruise the next morning.

"You know I didn't need you to defend me tonight" Y/n sighed as she blotted the blood away.

"I know Y/n but I can't just let people say that kind of thing about you" he sighed.

"My knight in shining armour" she chuckled dryly.

"I'm no knight Y/n" he grumbled as she dabbed under his nose.

"Bucky" she whispered.

She hadn't realized how close their faces were until then.

"Yeah?" he whispered back.

She reached a hand up, tangling it with the hair at the nape of his neck, just above his blood-stained shirt collar.

"You're a good guy you know?" she stated, a small smile on her lips "I don't want you forgetting it"

He closed the gap between them, drawing his lips to hers. His were warm and soft, softer than she'd expected. Y/n kissed him back hungrily, gripping his hair, and pulling him closer.

He pressed up against her, moving her backward into her room, their kisses becoming deeper by the second. Y/n yelped as the back of her knees hit the edge of her bed. Bucky threw her down forcefully before climbing over top of her. His face was inches from hers but not a single part of him touched her shivering body.

"Can I touch you?" He begged gruffly, a growl forming deep in his throat.

She nodded, her nose brushing his as she did, the small touch sending a fire through both their desperate bodies.

Bucky slid his metal hand under her back, unzipping her short dress before pulling it entirely off of her, groaning when he saw the lingerie she was wearing underneath. She smirked up at him, pleased that the simple black lace set turned him on.

"Can you take it off for me doll?" He growled as he balanced above her, taking in her body hungrily.

Y/n nodded before obeying, not breaking eye contact with him as she undid her bra, throwing it onto the floor. Bucky leant down planting kisses from her jaw down to her neck to her chest, sucking on her sensitive skin.

"So beautiful" he breathed onto her skin, "So fucking beautiful"

He continued, slinking lower and lower until he was settled between her thighs. He kissed the bare skin next to her panty line, his warm, red lips making her cold skin shiver. With one swift motion, he ripped her panties off of her. He kissed her inner thighs, again and again, leaving purple marks behind. When he finally reached her pussy she was already aroused, completely ready for him and the pleasure he was about to bring her.

"Please..." she whined desperately.

Bucky began by tracing lazy circles around her clit, making her hips buck upwards to meet his expert tongue.

"Mmm," she moaned, tilting her head back in pleasure as her thighs spread open even further, giving Bucky full access to her aching pussy.

Her whimpers and little breathy moans did nothing but turn Bucky on even more. He felt his cock tighten in his pants as Y/n whispered his name and looked down at him with her doe eyes.

The longer he continued the more she clenched inside, her body begging for an orgasm.

As if he knew exactly what she needed next, he ran his finger up and down her slit, letting it get soaked by her building juices before slipping it inside her. The initial feeling of Bucky's curling fingers hitting her g-spot made her breathe hitch and a loud whimper escape her mouth.

"You're so fucking good for me doll" he groaned, the feeling of her clenching around his fingers making his cock harder by the second.

As he continued lapping circles around her clit and curling his fingers inside her pussy her body reacted to every movement, back arching off of the bed, toes curling. A warmth then spread across her chest as her lower body quivered in anticipation.

"Fuck" she breathed, every single curse word she uttered making him even more aroused. He wanted to get inside her so badly but he knew she needed this, to be warmed up first.

"Mm hm," she mumbled before another louder moan escaped her lips.

Her hips jerked up and down as she came but Bucky held her in place, gripping her thighs tightly, pleasing her through the waves of her release.

Y/n was wet now, her pussy sticky with cum as she lay breathing heavily on the bed. When she calmed down she slunk her hand down Bucky's chest, unbuttoning his tight white button-up shirt as she did. She threw the blood-stained item to the side, letting herself admire Bucky's taut abs.

She then gripped the edge of his belt, looking deeply into his eyes before asking:

"Daddy?"

She could practically see Bucky's cock jump in his pants.

"Yes?" He questioned back, his neck visibly strained.

"Can you fuck me please?"

Bucky complied without another word, sliding a thick finger up her wet slit before shoving it in her mouth, forcing her to taste her own juices. She sucked on it as he unbuckled his belt, sliding it out of the loops and then holding it between his hands.

"Will you wear this for me doll?" He asked.

Y/n's eyes widened slightly, she knew wearing a collar was important to any sub/dom couple. She nodded, ready for whatever was to come.

He slid the leather through the buckle, tightening the belt around her neck causing her to gasp, it was tight but not uncomfortably so. He ran a vibranium finger from the clasp of the belt up to her chin until his cool hand rested on her cheek.

"Ready?"

She nodded and Bucky slid into her wet pussy, grunting as he felt her tighten around his cock. It curved perfectly within her, immediately hitting the right spot. When he began to speed up his thrusts her pussy clenched, sucking him deeper inside her, causing him to groan.

She looked up and made eye contact with him as he continued slamming into her making his cock tighten. He leaned forward without looking away, resting his forehead on hers and staring deep into her eyes. Their breaths intermingled, moans practically in sync. Bucky reached his hand down, as he pressed small kisses on her cheeks and temple and then began rubbing her clit, bringing her all the pleasure she needed.

Y/n sighed, tilting her head back into her pillow as she relaxed into the feeling of his movements on her clit and his rough thrusts. How was it possible that he was so rough and so gentle at the same time?

"Fuck me you feel so good" she groaned, her nose scrunching.

"My pretty girl's got a dirty mouth huh?" he chuckled before beginning to suck on the crook of her neck.

"Mmm," she replied, at a loss for words.

She moved her hips, matching the pace of his hard thrusts, every movement bringing her more and more pleasure. Bucky slid a hand down her body, gripping her outer thigh, likely leaving bruises, pushing her leg up toward her head while the other rubbed fiercely around and around her clit. Every once in a while he'd remove his fingers to spit on them again, edging her, and every time he'd make her beg:

"You want me to rub that pretty little clit doll?" He cooed the question.

"Yes, Daddy please" she whined.

He continued pleasing her as her body ached for the feeling she knew only he could provide. Soon, her body was overwhelmed. Between him fucking her roughly with his perfect cock and him rubbing her clit she was overcome.

"Fuck I'm close" she breathed before she came.

"Good girl" he praised as she tensed around his cock, "such a good girl cumming for me"

She came hard as he thrust, her insides squeezing before loosening, going slack on the plush mattress. Waves of pleasure rolled through her body and he fucked her through every one, coaxing her orgasm out of her body with his hard pumping, soft whispers of her name, and sloppy kisses on her sensitive neck. Bucky groaned loudly and the vein in his neck throbbed, she could tell he was close to cumming as well.

"Ahh," she moaned, looking up at him with grateful eyes as she felt his cum splash within her.

They both panted as he pulled out, the mixture of their cum dripping down onto the mattress.

"You were such a good girl for me doll" he stated warmly, taking her in his arms and kissing her on the forehead.

"Thanks" she smiled, her breathing calming down as she lay comfortably on his firm chest.

#smut #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky smut #bucky #bucky barnes #buck barnes x y/n #y/n

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nicestgirlonline · 6 months

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Let Me Hear You Scream

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT AHEAD! 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI! language, threatening situations, DUB CON, horror elements

Word count: 3.8k

Summary: It’s the 90s so you actually answer the phone when you’re watching movies

a/n: Happy Halloween yall!!!! Still working on other projects but really wanted to get something out for Halloween! This was for @witchywithwhiskey’s Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon! the prompts I picked were Scream and “I’m your boyfriend now” Hope you all enjoy!!!! Thanks for reading, I’d love your feedback! Reblogs and comments are love <3

1993. A sleepy suburban town, where nothing exciting ever happens. Friday night.

Your friends were all going out to Wanda’s party, but you were stuck housesitting for your aunt. Your mom had promised you would house sit weeks ago, so you couldn’t get off the hook. It was a big empty house, more rooms than your aunt could ever need. Most were filled up with storage and dust bunnies.

You tried to make the best of the boring night-in. You rented some Meg Ryan movies with plans to completely veg out. You ordered an extra large pizza with all of your favorite toppings and raided your aunts pantry for snacks.

You glanced down at your shirt and saw red. Pizza sauce! Blooming red circle right in the center of your cream sweater. You let out a huff of frustration. Some Friday night.

You changed into comfy nightwear--a baby blue cotton gown that brushed the very top of your knees, along with a pair of fluffy bunny slippers for good measure. You settled back down in front of the TV.

RING. RING. RING.

You picked up the phone, squeezing it between your ear and shoulder as you carried your snacks over to the kitchen.

“Hello,” you used your best fake customer service voice. Your aunt had asked you to take down any messages. She must have a new boyfriend she was hoping would call. You wait for a response but all you can hear is low breaths through the receiver. “Hello?” You try again

“Is this Sidney?” The voice was weirdly distorted and hard to place. It was deep, clearly a man’s voice.

“Sorry, wrong number dude.” You hung up before he could let another word out. You set the phone down by the cradle and go back to making your snacks. You got out the big popcorn bowl.

The phone rang out again. “Hello?” You answered. You really hadn’t expected to be fielding this many phone calls.

“Hey. Did I call you earlier?” It was the same strange voice. You blew some air through your lips, how annoying.

“Sidney’s not here. Have a good night--”

“Aw man. She must have given me a fake number. I don’t mean to bother you over and over tonight.” He sighed, sounding very apologetic.

“No worries. Have a good night.”

“Wait, wait. I like the sound of your voice.”

You paused. Was it totally weird to just chat with this guy? Yeah. But what harm could it be? You felt a bit of a flutter in your stomach. You never had talked to a stranger over the phone like this. It felt clandestine! You decided to go with it.

“Better than Sidney’s?” You asked, trying to make your voice sound as flirty as possible. You heard him hum approval.

“Much better than…let’s not talk about her. What are you doing tonight?” There was something very familiar about his voice. There was a crackle and static that made it so you couldn’t quite make it out. It must be a shitty connection.

“I was having a movie night. I’m making some snacks right now.” You started to curl the phone cord around your finger.

“What are you watching, Pumpkin? Something scary?”

“No way. I hate scary movies.”

“Especially not when you’re alone right?”

“Uh - um - I’m not alone. Actually.” You lied. How did he know you were alone? Was he just guessing?

“Scary movies are always scarier when you’re all alone, in a big empty house, that’s in the middle of nowhere,” he continued.

A shiver went down your spine. That was a bit too accurate. But there's no way he could possibly know where you were. It was a phone call!

“I just don’t like them. It's either some creepy slasher stabbing some big boobed blonde through her white t-shirt or a ghost that's a metaphor for trauma. No thank you,” you sighed.

“I think you’re being a little hard on them. Maybe if you watched them with a guy to cling to you’d like them more. Do you have a boyfriend?”

There it was. Obviously the alone comment was him trying to set the mood.

“Why do you want to know? Already over Sidney?” You teased him.

“Answer the question.” He was very serious. You didn’t like the tone he had.

“Yes, I do. Are you going to hang up?” You lied again, trying to call his bluff.

“You don’t have a boyfriend. What are you wearing? Something cute and virginal? What about your underwear?” You pulled the phone away from your ear in shock. You were officially too skeeved out. This wasn’t some poor guy who got slipped a fake number. He was a weirdo!

“Ok perv, I’m over this. Bye.”

“I wouldn’t hang up Y/N.” His voice was suddenly hostile. He spat each syllable out filled with hatred. Your blood ran cold. Your heart started to race. How would he possibly know your name?

“Is this a prank? Not very funny. Is this you Tony?” Your voice shook with fear.

“Who’s Tony? That your boyfriend?” He snarled.

“This is a really bad joke. Did someone put you up to this? Scott? Knock it off now!”

“Jesus you’ve got a lot of men in your life. Are you trying to make me jealous or something? I don’t like sharing.”

“I’m serious, this is a bad joke, so just give it up already.” You cried out, you looked around, making sure you were still totally alone.

“I don’t give up so easily. Do you, Pumpkin? Do you give it up to any guy who looks in your direction? I bet you do, you slut. That's why you're talking to a guy you don’t know while you’re all alone.”

“I’m hanging up, I already told you I’m not alone. My boyfriend is here! He’s big and he plays football. S-so don’t call back ok?” You tried to sound as forceful as possible but your lips wobbled and you tripped over your words.

“Pumpkin, you’re lying to me. You’re all alone in that big house in the middle of nowhere, wearing that skanky nightgown. I can see your nipples poking through this whole time. You’re so turned on by a psycho on the phone, huh?”

You let out a scream. You slammed the phone down, hanging it up. You started to spin a circle looking at all the windows, trying to see if you could see somebody watching you. You ran to the front door to make sure they were locked. You went window by window locking them and shutting the curtains. You took a chair from the kitchen and dragged it in front of the door, jamming it beneath the door knob.

RING RING RING RING

You looked around, trying to remember where all of the doors were in the house. You spun around running to the kitchen entrance. You double checked the lock and put the chain on the door. You slid down the door with your back pressing against it trying to catch your breath.

This wasn’t real. This had to be some fucked up prank. The guys were all too hyped up for Halloween and wanted to get a scare out of you. The ringing stopped and you heard the voicemail click, your aunt's outgoing message began to play.

“You screening your calls, skank? You’re gonna die, you little whore! I’m gonna see what your insides look like --” You picked up the phone just to end the message and slammed it back down. As you scampered away it fell down, swinging from the cord. You take off up the stairs, stumbling up the stairs.

You dash into the guest room you had been staying in. You quickly locked the door. Your hands were shaking still. How was this happening?

The window started to jiggle. You could hear the groaning old wood start to slide. With nothing better to arm yourself with you grabbed a pillow and started to wildly smack the intruder with all you could.

“Whoa whoa whoa, it’s me -- it’s me!” Bucky Barnes, your classmate, was gripping the window sill, flabbergasted from the pillow. You hadn’t even had time to register who it was before you attacked.

“Bucky? What the fuck are you doing here?” You demanded. This proved to you it had to be some kind of a prank. Why else would Bucky Barnes, the moody guy from your film class be climbing up to your room.

“Well, when you said you were busy tonight I thought I could just surprise you? Like a grand romantic gesture or something? Can you um, let me in? It's actually kind of cold.” He was shivering out there. He looked so earnest it tugged on your heart just a bit.

You motioned for him to come in. He heaved his body up, awkwardly crawling through the tight window then falling to the ground. He sprang back up quickly, smiling at you.

“Is this a prank? Are you in on this with the other guys or something?” You crossed your arms.

“Um, other guys? Are there other guys here? I thought I was being original.” He peered around you as if to look for them. You rolled your eyes.

“The phone calls Bucky. I’m not joking around.”

“What phone calls? I’ve been driving all night to get here from campus, then shimmying up some ivy. Haven’t exactly had any time to stop at a payphone. You know what. This was a bad idea, I can see that, I’ll just leave.” He sheepishly put his hands in his pockets as he crouched down to leave the way he came.

“No, no wait!” You grabbed him, keeping him from going outside. If it wasn’t Bucky then there was still a psycho out there! “I don’t know what's going on, but this weird guy kept calling me, and he was watching me! Like I think he was outside the house or something.”

“Calm down, calm down. I was just outside. There's nobody out there. It was probably just a prank call.”

He started to rub your back with slow soothing circles. It was intimate in a way you weren’t used to from Bucky. He was the quiet one, never really hung out unless Steve was around. His palm pressed into your lower back, holding you closer to him. His other hand cupped the back of your head, guiding you into the crook of his neck.

“You’re getting so worked up. Maybe you should just lie down.” He shushed you as you tried desperately to explain it wasn’t a prank call. He guided the two of you down to the bed. He laid down next to you.

“Bucky…why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you, I thought you knew…isn’t it obvious how I feel about you?”

Your head was spinning. Bucky liked you? He barely even talked to you! When he casually asked if you were going to Wanda’s party you assumed it was just small talk. He had grunted and left the second you told him you were busy.

“I think I should call the cops about this--”

“I’m here aren’t I? I’ll keep you safe.” His lips connected with yours silencing you from responding. His kiss was eager, but still so gentle. He slowly moved his lips against yours, basking in the taste of you. He took his time and slowly you could feel his tongue ghosts against your bottom lip, looking for entrance.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, the shock, or maybe Bucky was just an extremely good kisser, but you quickly fell under the spell of the kiss. You let yourself get lost kissing him, trying to forget the phone call prankster that had been terrorizing you.

Fear was still racking through your body, but Bucky felt safe. You tangled your hands in his hair bringing him closer. His hand slowly traced up and down your leg. Both his hands grasped your legs, essentially pinning you down. You felt a cool air waft over your thighs as his fingers gently crept beneath your nightgown.

He cupped you over your underwear, grabbing the elastic and letting it snap back against your skin. You finally broke free of the kiss to gasp. He sat back on his ankles, his hand still toying with your panties.

“Bucky, I--”

“Shhh it's ok. I’m here to save the day. No one's gonna hurt you while I’m around.” He pushed aside your panties and started to slowly circle your clit. You whined as he circles you again and again, the pleasure rushing through you and pushing every thought of terror out of your brain.

He pressed his thumb against your clit and dipped his fingers inside of you. He curled his fingers, dragging more moans out of you. As he fucked you with his fingers, you tilted your hips up for more delicious friction.

“That's it my brave girl, Bucky’s here for you,” he murmured above you. He spoke with such hard conviction. His eyes were intensely boring into yours, nearly unblinking. He was no longer softly in the throws of passion. He was a man on a mission.

He kept pumping his fingers, he brought his other hand up from your leg to palm himself through his jeans. He groaned as he adjusted himself and went back to work on you. His other hand circling around your inner thigh, moving your leg up to his shoulder.

“Bucky, please, please,” you babbled as the pleasure began to mount and mount. It was nearly unbearable as you chased your release, grinding your hips up and down on his hand, riding his fingers towards that sweet relief.

“Yes, you’re doing so well, you’re perfect.” He brought his lips to your neck and began to suck at your sensitive spot. You let out a cry of pleasure as your climax flowed over you. You clamped your legs together, biting down on your lip as another cry came out.

You took a moment to catch your breath, Bucky was still nibbling on your neck. You grabbed his face and brought his lips back to yours. He eagerly responded, his lips enveloping yours.

You grabbed the underwear that you were still wearing and rolled it down your body to fling them off. You sat up and grabbed at Bucky until you found his belt. You fumbled, trying to unbuckle it. Bucky's hands quickly found yours and he brought them together, kissing both your palms. He unbuckled the belt on his own. Removing it without ceremony or flourish. He then yanked his jeans and underwear down.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

“I want you so badly, Bucky,” you moaned.

He let out a strangled gasp that turned to laughter. You tilted your head at the reaction. He didn’t sound exactly happy, it was more sinister.

“I just have waited so long to hear you say that to me. I’m so happy right now,” he nearly giggled. He giddily took off his jacket, tossing it to the ground.

“Keep me distracted Bucky, ok?” You asked as you hitch your nightgown up to your waist.

“Oh yes, anything for you, Pumpkin.” He had a devilish smirk on his face as he pressed his lips to your navel, slowly kissing his way up. He grabbed your nightgown and finished taking it off. Tossed it to the side with the pile of his clothes.

He made his way up your abdomen before groping your chest with a satisfied hiss. He squeezed you roughly, making you squeak. He latched his lips onto your breast. You let out a gasp as he lightly bit down. He tended thoroughly to each breast, his wicked tongue teasing at your pebbled nipples until you were a moaning puddle.

He grasped his cock, stroking it a few times before guiding it to your folds. He brushed the head of his cock up and down your cunt, teasing it out. He pressed his forehead against yours.

“You really mean it, right? You want me?” he asked desperately.

“Yes --” Before another word could escape your lips, he entered you. His whole body shivered. He thrust the tip of his head in, easing in and out until he was fully sheathed inside of you. You moaned as the stretch burned in pleasure and pain.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he moaned, the pace he had set was blistering. You gripped his shoulders to keep yourself anchored as he hammered into you. “You’re so tight, so tight fuuuck me.”

He thrust over and over, using the heel of his hand to keep working at your clit. You scratched your hands down his back as his pumps kept hitting the perfect spot. It was torturous pleasure as he kept working up and down your clit, not giving you a moment of respite.

You came again, your body seizing up as you cried out and then falling limp, boneless back down to the bed. Bucky grabbed your hips, pulling your lower body off the bed as he raced for his own release. The slapping sounds of your bodies filled the room along with his deep, gutural breaths.

“Yes, yes, you’re mine, you’re mine, I finally have you, finally, finally…” he babbled as he slowed his pace as he fucked out his climax.

XXX

You curled next to Bucky in the big fluffy guest bed. Both of you were happily satisfied. All thoughts of strangers on the phone were gone from your head. Now it was filled with what just happened.

Hooking up with Bucky? You’d never considered it before. You weren’t sure why, he was so very cute, you thought as you gazed at his face. His eyes were dreamily staring back at you, that big smile had not left his face yet.

“So if you want to like, hang out, I have snacks and movies. We can go curl up on the couch and just completely let our brains rot.” You traced tiny circles on his chest, feeling pretty confident he’d want to stick around.

“I’d be down for a little romcom night, as long as you’re there.” He affectionately tapped your nose.

“Good because that's all I’ve got!”

The two of you got back into a semblance of your outfits, you pulled your nightgown back on, and Bucky pulled on his boxers and the white undershirt he was wearing. You snagged his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. He hummed his approval and kissed you on the cheek.

You grabbed him by the hand and pulled him along down the stairs.

“You can go grab the popcorn, I’ll put the tapes in.” You directed Bucky towards the kitchen as you made your way towards the living room.

You pass the chairs jammed in front of the doors, and you remember your panic.

You shuddered--what a mean prank to pull. What kind of psycho talks to people like that?

You slipped your arms into Bucky's jacket to wrap yourself in it. It smelled sharp and sweet from his body wash and cologne blending together. You stuck your hands in the pockets, only to feel something heavy and tube shaped. You pulled it out, curious, turning it over in your hands a few times to investigate.

It was a long cylindrical looking microphone. You assumed it was some sort of film equipment, but why would Bucky bring that along?

“Hello?” You spoke into the mic. But instead of your own voice, the same distorted, crackling voice from the phone came out.

You dropped it. It was like a hot iron in your hand.

You realized Bucky must have heard you too. Your head snapped towards the kitchen. He was walking slowly towards you, a huge chef’s knife from the kitchen was now in his hands.

“Bucky what the hell is this?” You asked, slowly backing away from him.

“I…can explain.” His grip on the knife tightened and he raised his hands in the air as if in surender, never slowing his pace towards you.

“No, I think you need to leave.” You covered your body with your arms, trying not to trip over the furniture.

“No, no, no you’re misunderstanding --” He was getting closer to you, he reached his arms out to try and grab you.

“Leave me alone!” You screamed out as you broke into a run. You made a mad dash to the front door. Bucky was close behind you.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” He cried out as you fumbled with all the locks. Your hands were shaking, you tried to remove the chain from the door but it wasn’t moving fast enough.

Bucky's arm wrapped around your waist and yanked your body into his. His hard bulge poked at your ass.

“No!!” you cried out as you started to thrash around. You quickly stilled as the sharp point of the knife began to dig into your throat.

“Let’s calm down ok. I think you’re getting too worked up again.”

“B-Bucky, just say that it’s a prank. This was all a big prank. I won’t tell anyone. Just put the knife down please.” You try desperately to reason with him. He lets out an unamused grunt.

He began to drag you away from the door. You strained your neck as far as you could to keep the pressure from the knife as minimal as possible.

“You weren’t supposed to find out. Now it’s all ruined. Fuck. Fuuuck!” He growled. Clearly enraged he started to grapple you down to the floor.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You whimpered, tears oozing from the corners of your eyes. Rolling down your cheeks in huge streaks.

“You don’t get it. You never noticed me. All I wanted was for you to notice me. I just had to grease the wheels a little bit, put on a show to make you see…that I’m the guy for you.” He looked crazed. He moved the knife from your neck to your cheek. He caressed it against your cheeks like a lover's hand.

“Bucky please…put down the knife.”

“You’re misunderstanding me, you’re trying to run away! That’s why I have the knife because you need to listen to me. You always listen to the guy with the biggest tool in the room huh? You thought I was Tony. Does he call you up at night a lot or something? Huh?!”

You were just whimpering as he ranted above you. The blunt side of the knife was pressed against your cheek, the shiny metal reflecting into your eyes.

“Well you don’t have to worry about him anymore.” The look in Bucky’s eyes was primal, like he was no longer a man. The charming smile from before was now warped and too large, his lips curling to show his teeth and gums.

“You’re scaring me. Please don’t hurt me!”

“Hurt you? I would never.” He said, not moving the knife from your face. “I’m your boyfriend now. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you again.”

He brought the knife down from your cheek slowly, the sharp tip dragging down your neck. He began to slice the top button off your nightgown.

“Now, you made such beautiful noises for me before. Let me hear you scream, Pumpkin.”

#horrormoviehoeathon #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #scream au #dark!bucky #dark!bucky x reader #yandere bucky barnes #let me hear you scream #halloween fics #witchywithwhiskey #one shot #marvel fanfiction #buck barnes fanfic #ghostface bucky barnes #banner by cafekitsune

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i-am-true-believer · 6 months

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Hello again, sweet one, my late night scrollers, the early morning dreamers. I hope you're well, I hope today was better than yesterday.

I'm here to remind you that if there's an infinite number of universes, there's at least one where you are your comfort characters favorite person. They love and adore you for all your flaws and quirks and everything you hate about yourself, the same way you love all of their imperfections. There's a universe where they wait by the door for you every night, where they're your absolute best friend, where they take care of you and love you the way you should be loved.

You are so wonderful, did you know that? Every time you have a bad day, every time life tries to knock you down, you find the strength to get back up again. You keep going. Do you know how incredible that is? How proud your comfort character is of you for being able to do that? I'm so proud of you, I believe in you so much, and every day you make it through proves that I'm right to believe in you. We always knew you could do it, that you could make it to tomorrow.

I'll let you get back to your scrolling now, I bet you have so many stories just waiting for you, so many adventures and friendships to have. But before you go, I want to take a moment and remind you of something.

Anything that keeps you going, anything that makes the bad days better, anything that makes life even a little easier, is worth it. If fanfictions and comfort characters help you get through the day, then I hope you find the exact stories you need. Life is so hard and so scary, and sometimes it's easier to lose ourselves in the worlds of our comfort characters, and that's more than okay. Whatever keeps you going isn't anything to be ashamed of. Making it to tomorrow to read the next chapter of a fanfiction or a new edit of your comfort character is a valid reason to keep going.

I hope tomorrow is better than today, and that one day you won't need a reason to keep going, but for now, I'll give you this one. Your comfort character wants you to stay. They will always want you to stay. I want you to stay. I'm always here if anyone needs a friend.

Your comfort character believes in you, and so do I, the random girl on Tumblr who pops in every now and then to remind you that you are loved, you are enough, and you are worth it. You've got this sweet one, I know you do. Happy scrolling.

❤️💛True❤️💛

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nyxindustries · 8 months

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Mine | Bucky Barnes

Fandom: MCU( Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X You, Bucky Barnes x Fem! reader, Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Daddy kink, rough sex, light choking, praise kink, explicit language, cum play (if you squint ), Unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it) Explicit content!

| Masterlist |

He’s jealous and it's not such a good look on your partner as he pushes you to your knees, making you look up when he grabs your chin roughly.

“Look. at. me” Growls the man and you swallow hard, you were already half naked but you were in a lot of trouble as it is with him.

Going to the club and getting drunk, rubbing against another guy in the accident wasn’t such a good guy, also wearing a revealing top that showed your breasts off nicely and other men stared at you in the club. Your partner really didn’t appreciate that either.

So, Yes, you're in huge trouble especially when your partner is very very possessive over you, He is your dominant other half and goes by Daddy, Sir, or Master in the bedroom, mostly Daddy but out in public he goes by James Barnes or just Bucky.

“You’re in trouble!” He says as your eyes wandered to him as you swallow even harder.

“Why?” You choke out

“You know why!” He growls more at you as your eyes look back down.

“Did I tell you to stop looking at me? Look.at.me.” Bucky says and you look back at him.

“Sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean it.” You choke out again as Bucky just smirks

“Oh, you didn’t mean when you were rubbing up against that other man! Or when you decided to wear this stupid top to have everyone look at you” Bucky states as finally ripped your shirt off like he did with your pants moments earlier. Just leaving you in your red lace panties and matching red and black bra.

Bucky very still furious, and your needy to lose control again, but sexual tension lay thick, with the jealousy and need for losing control, at the moment everything hanging by a thread to ruin any chance you had of sorting this out the way normal couples would.

“Get on the bed” He orders as he lets go of your chin, slowly getting up as you got on the bed and Bucky watches with lust in his eyes and love bouncing in his eyes.

Bucky began hovering over you, his dark lustful, love filled eyes wondering all over your half naked body. Bucky arm going underneath you, as he clips your bra quickly then throwing into the air, it landing on the floor somewhere.

“look at you….pathetic.” He says as he straddles you and you gasp softly in response.

Your nipples are hard and your already soaking wet, Bucky knew that. That’s the effect Bucky had on you, when he took control just the way you want it, the way you like it. Bucky hands flicking at your nipples making them harder as you just bit your lip.

“What do you want?” He asks and you look at him as your body moves slightly underneath him, just before Bucky grabs your hands pinning them above your head.

Bucky going down now as he held your hands. His warm mouth meeting your cold hard nipples as he flicked them with his tongue making you want more.

Bucky mouth going in between both of your breasts, giving them both a fair amount of loving. You wanted more.

“P-p-please…please I need more”

You beg out as Bucky smirks more as he removes his mouth then stops as he stares at you as his hand goes down your panties immediately ripping them off of you.

Bucky staring at you, as his metal hand went to your core, massaging your clit slowly as you bit your lip more and Bucky mouth went to your neck giving you kisses and soft sucks. Until Bucky started sucking more and more in places that would show and be there for days.

“You’re mine, Get that I’m your pretty little head of yours” Bucky whispers to you as you look at him with a nod.

“No no, I want you to say it!” He speaks as he grabs your face again, tight this time.

“I’m yours.”

“That’s right baby”

Bucky kissing your neck, and you leaned back slightly, allowing him more access to your neck as he then suddenly bite down roughly causing you to moan out.

His fingers massaging faster until he stopped, suddenly teasing your hole as he pushed your legs further apart and taking his mouth off your neck.

Bucky grinning at you as he strips his shirt and you smirk looking at his body.

“God, you are so hot” You comment as you ran across his chest. Bucky slowly going down on you as his two fingers push into you causing you slightly arc your back.

“Fuck!” You moan out as Bucky begins thrusting his fingers quickly and his mouth meets with your clit quickly too.

His mouth to your pussy, licking you and your wetness. You moan, finding his hair once more and pulling softly. He kissed around the clit, his licks sending sensations and pleasure to you. Bucky pulling you closer to pleasure you more as he flick and lick you in the areas most pleasurable areas, he knew of you.

Bucky knew he was bringing you closer as he thrust his fingers faster, faster, faster as you clench around his fingers tight.

“Fuck fuck fuck, DADDY!…I’m gonna cum…please…please” You moan out loudly as your back arch more.

“Cum for me baby” Bucky pulls away slightly from you, He almost commands you to come and all you can do is just babble and moan due to the pleasure.

Holding your eyes shut as your breathing hitch. “I’m cumming!” You yell out as Bucky work his magic between your legs quicker and faster.

Your legs shaking now as then began cumming violently, all over Bucky face and fingers as he just licked it all up.

Bucky lifting away from your in between your legs as he lick his lips with a satisfied smirk.

“Oh, your not done yet.” Bucky assured you with a very huge smirk on his face as he grab you by your hips swiftly then flip you onto your stomach with your ass in the air.

Bucky smirking as he squeezes your ass tightly before he undone his own pants and underwear.

Before going to you from behind and he slowly slips into you as then grips your hair tightly and pulls you back into his shoulder roughly.

“Fuck….Shit, James” You groan out as you felt Bucky other hand go to your neck, choking you slightly as he smirks seeing the daze expression on your face but that didn’t cloud your eyes that are full with lust , love and neediness in a way.

“Not my name baby” he growls in your ear immediately as he began slamming his cock into you harshly now.

“Did you like those other guys you were grinding on tonight at the club?” Bucky speaks huskily like making you almost shiver as he pounds into you now, making you lose it completely now.

“N-no…no I didn’t…I didn’t mean it “You whimper out with moans escaping your throat now.

“Yeah you didn’t mean it…because your mine” he says

“Yes, yes, I’m yours!” You moan out loudly now as you press your back against his chest. He continue to thrust his cock into you roughly before you pushing his back down into the bed, with his hand still against your head, pushing you into the mattress more as He thrust into you faster, harder again.

Bucky slamming into you now, as you begin moving your hips with him, moving together as Bucky just grabs your hips.

“Mhm baby you like this don’t you?” He asks and you nod sloppily into the pillow your face in pushed into right now as you began almost losing control Fo your body.

“Y-yes…yes yes….please…daddy..” Is all you can moan out in broken sentences and moans that couldn’t escape your throat due to the amount of pleasure, sensations your feeling.

The feeling you felt moments before, that were bubbling up again.

“Fuck fuck!” You scream out as Bucky smirks more at your reactions, knowing your close again.

Bucky pulling out again as you whimper at the lost of his cock.

Until Bucky flips you again on your back.

“I want to see your face while you take all my cum.” Bucky uttered out as his hand went back to your throat with smirk as he ruthlessly. Bucky squeezing your throat just the way you like it, cutting abit of airflow, making you groan and smile slightly in response.

Bucky then slamming back into you as he made eye contact with you as you grip onto your wrist tightly with a smirk.

Bucky free hand and grabbing onto your hip as he slam into you again as you arch your back slot more again.

“FUCK FUCK FUCK!” You scream out now, clenching around Bucky cock now.

“Cum for me baby. I want to you see all destroyed with my cock.” He says as he slams harder and faster.

Mumbling out words that Bucky couldn’t exactly comprehend from you as he pulls you cup and close, chest to chest as you wrap your arms around his neck and his arms around your torso, now you began bouncing up and down fast on his cock.

Panting into his chest as Bucky breathing also hitch with you.

“Shit, baby your gonna make me cum” he groans out as you went faster. Closing your eyes into his neck as

Something exploded, igniting in you again.

Feeling the explosion in your lower abdomen , unravel quickly as you began scream out as cum cover his cock then his cum exploded inside of you.

Eyes close in Bucky’s neck, you let yourself get lost in the pleasure.

The world freezing around you as you groan out in pleasure

Opening your eyes again as now you were staring at the clueing and your head against Bucky chest, you can hear his beating heart through his chest that was slowing down now.

Blinking your vision in again as you slowly look up at him with a soft smile as Bucky gentle kiss your lips and you kiss back.

Everything is too sensitive for anything more as you breath out, breathlessly now with a soft smile on your face.

“Thank you Bucky.” you whisper into his ear as you kiss him again and he covers the both of you with a blanket. You just snuggle in with him again as you just smile in content.

“That was amazing” he says breaking the peaceful silence.

“Yeah it was” You yawn out now as you snuggle more into Bucky and slowly drifting off to a soft chuckle as he hand ran through your hair.

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jasmines-library · 6 months

Text

14 years

WHUMPTOBER DAY 16: Prompt: Experiment. Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Torn from your parents at a young age, you were experimented on. Your body and your mind were altered until you no longer recognised yourself in the mirror. During your time with HYDRA, your only solace came in the form of Bucky Barnes' voice on the other side of the wall. That was, until he left. Now, years later you have the chance to meet him again.

Warnings: Human Experimentation, pain, minor mentions of blood and gunshot wounds, brain surgery? kinda.

Word count: 2.2K

Note: I don’t own the art work in the header. This has not mention of skin colour despite the image on the right, I was using it for the cybernetics. My work is for everyone to enjoy :)

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Darkness. It was all you had known since you were young and torn from your family’s arms. But that was years ago and you had long forgotten that touch could be tender. Since that fateful day, you lived in constant fear of the men who would drag you away from the little relief of sleep you got at night, although it consisted of curling up on a small mattress on the floor. You lived with the fear of waking up again and being forced through another day of poking and prodding in your mind. There was one voice that offered solace. You heard it drift through the vents many times, offering words of comfort. He had been there when you had arrived, soothing you of your nightmares when you woke up in a cold sweat. The voice would disappear for months at a time, until one day it never came back. Your blood ran cold whenever you began to think about what he had done. Part of you was certain that Hydra had done something to him - you knew he was defiant, and more stubborn than you, but all of you hoped that he had gotten himself out of this hellhole. Soon after his absence, without those gentle words drifting from the vents you began to feel less and began to gain control over your abilities. They had told you that emotions clouded your judgement and you had begun to listen without the defiance of your friend. But you supposed, that still wasn’t enough for them. You were never enough.

As part of your daily routine, you were forced awake at the crack of dawn. This time it was a bucket of icy water. Spluttering, and sitting up abruptly, you groaned when you realised the situation. You hated water; it messed with your cybernetics if it got in the wrong places and wasn’t dried properly, and a malfunctioning cybernetic caused you extreme discomfort; migraines and sharp pains where the metal was connected to your body and to your brain. Sometimes, in extreme cases they could cause seizures or body shut down. One thing you were certain of was that although Hydra were technical geniuses, they had no care about the effects their experiments had on their patients as long as they functioned enough to benefit them.

Dripping wet and shivering, you pushed yourself up onto your feet and were gripped harshly by the two guards. As they walked you forwards, your bare feet padded across the tiles. They were cold and bit at your skin. You were dragged through the corridors quickly and you tried to figure out where you were going, but everything looked the same in this facility; sickeningly pristine. When you saw the golden doorway, your chest constricted and you tried to push away, but they forced you into the room and towards the chair which sat in the centre of the square room. There were a number of unfamiliar faces dotted around the room, each tending to a laptop. It was the cart of tools next to the chair that caught you by surprise. It was lined with rows of screwdrivers and odd shaped instruments.

Shoved down unsympathetically you fell into the chair, and the blinds closed seamlessly around your arms. You furrowed your brow when the halo of machinery that sat aloft didn't descend into your face to cause you more pain. Instead a man slid in front of you on a chair. He spoke to you about your cybernetics. You had one that ran around your right temple and down your cheek, it was the one that connected to your eyes and allowed extreme accuracy, as well as the ability to identify anyone in the database- and that was a whole lot of people. You had two more; one which made up the entirety of your knee- that one was accidental. You had sustained it after a gunshot to the knee on a mission. The second was your largest. It was from just above the nape of your neck and down your spine. Many of the nerves in your spine here had been replaced by cybernetics, allowing for complete motor precision and effortlessness when moving. It also ran directly into your brain, altering its pathways to create an advanced way of thinking. Supposedly, this one was a problem. The man told you that when they had created this cybernetic, they had allowed you to feel too much, and this compromised you in missions. They said it was how you ended up with the machinery in your knee.

“You have to learn to comply.” The man told you bluntly. “And to do that, you must not let pests like the winter soldier interfere. He does not care about you, child. The only people who care about you are Hydra. Remember that. If you cannot learn that on your own then we must teach you a lesson.”

He reached slowly towards the tools, picking up a screwdriver and a small hand held object that sparked.

“No…No.” You shook your head.

He only moved closer, swivelling on the chair until he was positioned behind you. Then, with one swift movement, he began to fiddle with the machinery in the back of your head. You shrieked as the pain shot through your head as the screws were removed, unsettling skin and bone, but then came the agony of the machine as it sparked away, allowing pieces of the cybernetic to be shifted or removed. You clenched your jaw, grinding your teeth together to try and bite away some of the pain. The man continued to work, inching deeper into your brain. It hurt; a thousand agonies at once all trailing through your body. Your muscles twitched as he worked around your brain, alternating your wavelengths and your feelings. Soon, your body began to feel numb. The stabbing dulled down into throbbing and shortly after, you felt nothing at all.

~~~

Get in without being seen, take out the enemy, get the data, get out. That was the mission. A simple routine mission that hopefully didn’t require you to ambush your way out. You didn’t like to pull the trigger. It was messy and there was an odd feeling that twinged in your stomach when you watched the bodies drop to the floor like a sack of flour. You couldn’t place it, you just knew that it felt wrong. Especially when they were innocent people. They were usually innocent, your cybernetic told you that much. But your programing stated that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time and would therefore compromise the mission and Hydra.

Sometimes, your mind would think that what you were doing was wrong. Sometimes you stopped what you were doing completely as you fought to keep a grip on a sanity that seemed more natural to you, though wherever you disobeyed, you were strapped to that chair again and experimented with until they made progress in a way that could get you to comply without fault.

You moved stealthily towards the door; it was heavy and made of metal. You could hear voices behind it, muffled by the thickness of the steel. You could place around three or four, and the sound of keyboards clattering away.

Reaching into the pocket of your suit, you pulled out a small device. It was round and attached onto the electronic mechanism of the door. Stepping back, you allowed it to work, listening to it whirr away and raising your dual pistols. When the device let out a burst of electricity and the door flung open, a set of heads turned towards you. You saw their names flash across your vision. Names, aliases, records, articles, all sorts of information that you processed and stored within your brain in seconds. It was the dark haired man who’s name failed to show up on your database that made you frown. If he was an avenger, surely Hydra would have something on him. You contemplated for a split second, before remembering your objective.

Before they had a chance to move, you had released a round or bullets into the room. Most, although accurately placed, ricocheted off of the trained soldiers armour or shields. One however found itself within the shoulder of a redheaded woman. Gunting in discomfort, she dropped, manoeuvring herself around the room to cut you off from the data. You tried to turn, only to collide with a tall blond. You ducked, rolling across the floor to escape his swing. You fired at him, but it was blocked by his circular shield. Turning to move, you came face to face with the woman again, blood dribbling from her shoulder. You backed away, trying to find a gap between the circle they had created around you. And that was when you realised you were trapped. Then, something blunt hit the back of your head.

The first thing you noticed when you awoke was that you weren’t lying on the cold floor. Instead you were chained to a hospital bed by a tight cuff secured just above the hydra insignia they had messily branded into your skin. There were tiny sicker-like pads pressed to your temples, monitoring your brain activity. They made you feel like a child again; helpless with no control.

The man who wouldn’t show up on your database was watching you from afar, leaning against the doorway with his metal arm folded over his other. You could see the angry scarring around it under the top he was wearing. It was similar to the ones on your face and your spine. His dark hair fell in front of his eyes and he tilted his head, studying your movements. You tried searching the database again for him, assuming that in the action your cybernetic scanners had failed to pick anything up, but once again his profile came up blank.

“Who are you?! You asked, furrowing your brow. Too many thoughts raced across your mind. If you were the enemy, why hadn’t they killed you?

The man frowned, inching hesitantly into the room. His moments were precarious as though he was trying not to frighten you. “You don’t remember me?”

That voice… you knew that voice. He had spoken to you before, a long, long time ago.

“Bucky..?” You queried. There was a name you hadn’t heard in a while. A name you unknowingly had yearned for everyday since he left you.

He smiled at you gently. You weren’t sure how you had really pictured him from the other side of the wall, but you weren’t disappointed. He had this gentle look about him as he watched you, though hidden behind it was a haunted look that only someone who had seen the worst could have. “Yeah Doll. It’s me.”

“You left.”

“I know, doll. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave without you but I had no choice.”

You sighed. “Why am I here, Buck? Why didn’t they just shoot me when they had the chance.”

“Because, Barnes is one annoying man.” Another voice chimed in from the doorway. He was an older man with tired eyes. He had a small beard too which sat below the hair above his upper lip. “He thinks that we can help you, like we helped him. Although, I don’t know if you deserve that considering you broke into our home, shot one of our agents and tried to take all of our data. Nat should make a full recovery, by the way.” He added just to jest.

“Stark-”

“You know I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to get torn apart and pit back together over and over and turned into some weapon. I didn’t ask to be one of their little toys.”

Tony pursed his lips. Hot tears streamed down your face as years of your life replayed on loop in your mind. This feeling was something so foreign to you. You didn’t know how to comprehend it. Bucky faltered as he watched your mind fight itself, as you fought between what felt right and what you were told was right.

“Fourteen years. Fourteen years of pain and loneliness. Fourteen years of my life that I will never get back because they were spent being forced to do things that I never asked to do.”

Tony pondered for a moment, gaze lingering on Bucky. He saw how tender he was with you. He knew that Barnes could sympathise with you better than anyone could. They had given him a chance, so why were you any different?

“Call T'Challa.Tell him we need his help.”

Bucky beamed. After quickly reassuring you that he would be back shortly after your protests, he began to make his way down the hall, with a skip in his step. He couldn’t help but smile at the fact that you were going to get help. They were going to remove your programming, and you would be stripped of the confinement that Hydra had wrapped tightly around you like a boa constrictor. He knew that it would take time and effort, pain and trust, but he was willing to stand beside you for it all because he knew that slowly but surely, you would realise that you were safe. Slowly but surely, you would become you again.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 15 ⛤ DAY 17 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

Note: I was listening to the song 14 years but guns n roses whilst I wrote this :)

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navybrat817 · 2 years

Text

A Proper Welcome - Part 2

Pairing: Mechanic Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader x Carpenter Alpha!Hal Carter Summary: Bucky and Hal help you through the beginning of your heat. Word Count: Over 3.3k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), threesome, spitroasting, a/b/o dynamics, conflicting feelings (everything is consensual), talk of safe word, stubborn reader (is that a warning?), Alpha!Bucky and Alpha!Hal (they are warnings, okay?). A/N: Only took me 9 months to get to the next part of A Proper Welcome done for you lovelies! Excited once again to share more this particular reader and relationship as it unfolds. Beta read by the amazing @christywantspizza , but any and all mistakes are my own. Thank you, lovely! Moodboard created by yours truly and banners by the lovely @maysdigitalarts .

Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and updates. Reblogs, comments or asks are welcome as feedback is appreciated!

You weren't sure what you expected to happen after you ordered your alphas to own you, but they didn't move after they both removed their shoes. True to their word, they waited for you to open the door. Your hand shook as you reached for the handle, your defenses still fighting your instincts. Bucky placed his hand over yours when you made no move to open it. You were shocked you were still upright.

“Are you having second thoughts? Are you scared?”

You almost shrank back, not because you didn’t want his hands on you. No, you craved him and Hal. That was the problem. “A bit scared,” you admitted, quickly shaking your head. “Doesn’t matter. Just need you to fuck me.”

“It matters if you’re scared of us,” Hal said, placing his hand on the back of your neck. He didn’t squeeze or apply any pressure, but it soothed you more than you expected. “You need to tell us. Please.”

Your body responded instantly to the combined touch, warmth spreading from your chest down between your legs. “Not scared of you. I’m scared of what happens after,” you felt a tear fall before you could stop yourself. Because Hal was right, everything would change once they had you.

“Didn’t you say we’ll talk after this is over?” he reminded you. “We’ll figure this out.”

“But why would you want me without your marks?” you asked. At least, you thought you asked. Your words felt heavy on your tongue as you tried to turn the handle. It wasn't easy to fight biology.

I don’t want my alphas to reject me. Why do they have that power over me? Why am I giving them that?

“Open the door, baby, and we’ll show you how much we want you. Marked or not,” Hal said against the shell of your ear.

“We’ve got you,” Bucky added, pressing a kiss just above your collar. "You hear me?”

Another tear rolled down your hot cheek. It was exactly what you needed to hear and it wasn’t a lie. Good alphas. My alphas. The knowledge that they would be yours without the bond yet finally made you push the door open.

I’m allowed to be vulnerable. I’m still strong. I’m safe.

"Good girl. We know that wasn't easy. This is your space and it means everything that you're letting us in," Hal praised.

"Your rules, okay? We'll follow them," Bucky added.

"Red," you said quickly. "If I need to stop," you added so they understood what you meant.

You weren't sure how many omegas had safe words or if you could even remember once you slipped past the point of no return.

"Green for good and yellow for warning?" Hal asked, nodding when you did.

"Good girl," Bucky said, shutting the door once the three of you were inside. "Thank you for telling us."

The view of your nest feet away called to you, a fresh wave of slick coming on at the realization that they were going to ruin you there. The only men you would ever allow into your bedroom and the most sacred parts of you were going to get you through this. The tingles of arousal continued to pool from your gut as you stumbled forward, whining when a pair of arms kept you from falling.

“Easy, kitten,” Hal said affectionately. “Let’s get you out of these clothes first. Then we’ll give your body what it needs, okay?”

Bucky stood before you as you nodded and wordlessly lifted your arms when he grasped the hem of your top. "We'll get you through this," he whispered, lifting the fabric away and dropping it to the floor.

Hal kept an arm around your waist as he unhooked your bra, Bucky's hands coming up to remove that as well. Your breasts spilling free relieved some of the tension you carried, but it wasn't what you needed. The ache between your thighs increased when you caught the darkening gaze from the large alpha in front of you.

"Beautiful, omega. Fuck, can I touch you?"

"Yeah. Touch me," you whined, wondering if you looked desirable when you pushed your chest towards his palms. The weight of your breasts in Bucky’s hands occupied you while Hal pulled down your skirt and underwear. He avoided touching your wet, pulsing cunt. Why? "Kiss me."

Bucky brushed his lips against yours, his thumbs brushing along your hardened nipples. Purring from the featherlight touch, heat continued to spread through your body as you moved insistently against him. The kiss ended far too soon, but you had no time to complain when Hal turned your head toward him.

If Bucky's kiss was tender and gentle, Hal's was consuming. His tongue swept inside your eager mouth, taking his time to explore. A slow smolder. A fast burn. They gave you both. Like the last, it ended before you wanted it to.

"She won't break, Buck," he assured his friend.

"What?" you mumbled.

The vibration of a growl had you opening your mouth, registering that Bucky kissed you again. The tenderness simmered still beneath the fervor, their hands strong and sturdy against your trembling body. It no longer felt like your heat dictated your wants. It was them. These men were going to devour you.

Let them swallow me whole.

"You with us?" Hal asked when Bucky's lips trailed along your jaw.

"Yeah. Green," you gritted, your abdomen tightening in pain. "Fuck."

"Okay, let's get you to bed," Bucky slipped an arm around your waist to help Hal guide you over. The action distracted you from the momentary pain, comfort flooding you as they placed you on the mattress. "There you go."

"Clothes. Off." you gasped, gazing between them as you stretched out on your back.

You struggled to sit up as they began to undress, unsure of which one of them to concentrate on. Bucky's broad chest rose and fell with each breath, the metal arm fitting for his hard body. Hal's sun-kissed abs tempted you to touch them. The leaner of the two, he looked no less intimidating. Whimpering when they both began to push off their jeans, you couldn't stop the slick that began to stain your sheets.

"Still need us?" Bucky questioned, his thick cock springing free. "Need us to take care of you?"

"Use your words, omega," Hal smirked, his cock hard and ready, too.

Care for me. Keep me. Don't let me go, please.

"Fuck me," you begged, your fingers twisting in the sheets. The sheer size of them made you wonder if they'd split you in two, but you welcomed the challenge. Your body would accept theirs and make a home for them. "Now."

"On your knees," Bucky ordered.

"Bossy," you muttered as you turned over and moved to the middle of the mattress.

"You like it," Hal noted, settling in front of you on his knees. Instead of shoving his dick in your watering mouth like you half expected, he cupped your cheeks instead. "Don't you?"

Biting your lip, you nodded slightly. "Don't tell him that."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear you," Bucky said, the bed dipping behind you as Hal chuckled. "Fuck, look at you. So pretty. So wet."

"Smells so good. Can't wait to taste you."

You never thought praise for your pussy would make you preen, but your alphas continued to surprise you. The smaller alpha kissed your forehead as hands moved up the back of your thighs, getting closer to your most intimate parts. You could smell their arousal, which fueled your own. The reminders that they were there for you was enough to make you faint.

"Fuck me," you whispered because that was easier to say. It was all your brain could process as your basic nature took over. "Alphas, I need you."

"Bucky needs to stretch you out a bit. We don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't."

You gasped when the first finger breached you. It was embarrassing how wet you were, but you didn't dwell on it as the thick digit pumped slowly in and out of you.

"You're tight, doll. I know you'll open up for us, but he's right. We don't wanna hurt you."

The small hiss you let out had more bark than bite. You'd be sore and exhausted by the time your heat finished. The good alphas that they were, they knew the prep was necessary. You'd be covered in their scents soon enough.

"Bucky, hurry up," you whined as another long, thick finger pushed inside, spreading and stretching you with such care.

"And you call me bossy," you heard the smirk in his voice. "Need me inside you so badly you can't wait a few more seconds? Need Hal that badly, too?"

I'll smack him with his own metal hand when this is over. I swear. No, no, no. Good alpha. He's a good alpha.

"Yes! Please! Why won't you fuck me?!"

Going into heat was an experience you never expected to get used to, no matter how many times you went through it. The need to be taken, bred and claimed wasn’t something you asked for. But being surrounded by the scents of the two powerful alphas boxing you in, you wondered why you resisted your nature so much. Maybe because you had never met anyone like Bucky Barnes and Hal Carter.

But I’m not ready to be claimed. Not yet. What if it does matter to them? What if they want a better omega? Someone who isn’t as stubborn as I am?

A whine bubbled from your chest at the thought of them rejecting you after letting them in, a call to them to protect you. The air that crackled between you and the men shifted to something deeper, more intimate. The rumbles from their chest soothed you, willing your body to relax as your mind shut down more.

"Look at me," Hal urged, dipping his head so he was in your line of sight. You wished you could always see that tenderness in his eyes. "Breathe, baby, please."

Bucky kissed the base of your spine as you took slow, deep breaths. "Good girl. We're still here, doll. Not going anywhere."

"Sorry," you mumbled as Hal shook his head.

"Don't you dare say you're sorry. This is a lot and it's an honor that you're letting us help you."

"You're helping us, too," Bucky said, making you whimper as he pulled his fingers out. "Believe it or not, you are. Our kitten."

"Our beautiful kitten," Hal smiled.

Being called "kitten" just then almost felt like "omega", but it was different. Special. And you weren't sure if it was their words, scents or touch that kept your breathing nice and steady. Maybe it was all of it.

Thank you.

"Look at him," Hal urged, helping you turn your head to look over your shoulder.

You held your breath as you watched Bucky lick your slick from his fingers, a deep growl reverberating in his chest. The sight of his blown pupils added to your crazed need as he brought his hand to his cock. Your thighs twitched as he pressed the tip to your aching hole. He was going to wreck you just for Hal to do the same.

"Green, alphas. Please."

You were ready.

"Fuck," Bucky groaned when he began to push in.

"Breathe," Hal whispered before the air rushed back into your lungs. "Good girl."

By some miracle you didn't collapse as you took Bucky's cock in inch by inch, resisting the urge to push your hips back. As desperate as you were to be fucked deep and hard by each of them, this type of care was what you needed in your core. Hal's hand moved along the back of your neck and shoulders, easing away the remaining tension. As you predicted, your body stretched and welcomed your alpha home. It would for both of them.

Home. I'm home.

"Fuck, you're still tight," Bucky hissed, keeping his hips still as you adjusted to his size. "Pussy's gripping me like a vice."

You purred, clenching around him with purpose as he finally moved. You were already close. It should've mortified you to be on the edge of an orgasm from the first slide of the thick length inside you, but you didn't care.

"Bucky. Hal," your thighs shook as you whined.

"You need to come? It's okay, kitten. Do it," Hal encouraged you, brushing a thumb along your cheek as his other hand fisted his cock.

“Come,” Bucky grunted.

Your eyes widened as your release shot through you, your own cry echoing in the room as your muscles spasmed. Your mind began to fracture as Bucky thrust through it, pleasure blinding you as you found Hal’s mouth. His tongue against yours added to the ecstasy that threatened to tear you apart. You allowed them to destroy you.

The orgasm took some of your edge off, but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until they gave you what biology demanded: to be knotted and bred. They wouldn’t actually breed you tonight, but your body wouldn’t know the difference. Not while you were stuffed full.

Need their knots. Need them.

“There you go, kitten. That’s better, isn’t it? Keep sucking my cock back in.”

Your walls ached as Bucky pistoned in and out of you, tears forming from the burning pleasure that began to quickly build again. The evidence of your climax seeped around his cock as you struggled to hold on, the unyielding and steady pace overwhelming your senses. Your head dropped, trying to lick at Hal, wanting to take care of both alphas.

“Kitten, you don’t have to- Oh, fuck,” Hal moaned as your hands gripped his thighs for purchase, swallowing him down as much as you could. “We don’t deserve you.”

You whined in protest, savoring how he twitched against your tongue. It was the other way around. How were you worthy of them? Their strength and patience, the need to take care of you yet agreeing to your terms. You wished you could find a way to properly thank them. For now, your body would do.

“We don’t,” Bucky’s breath slid over your back as he stretched over you again, forcing you to take more of Hal in your throat. Both of them inside you had your senses in overdrive, taking what they gave you. “Beautiful, fierce, ours.”

“And yours. We’re yours,” Hal’s wrecked voice had your abdomen tightening as tears fell from your eyes, mewling as his hand moved underneath your collar. Damn hormones. “It’s okay. We’ve got you.”

You were thankful you couldn’t speak because the urge to rip your collar off and beg for their marks grew with each thrust. Bucky gripped your hips to hold you in place as you sucked harder and clenched tighter, anything to push the thought of being claimed away. Your heart ached from the struggle because it would feel so right to have them sink their teeth in.

Wouldn’t it?

“You’re brave, kitten. Strong. You’re you. The kind of partner we need,” Bucky reminded you, as if he sensed the internal conflict.

Partner. Not omega, partner. An equal.

“The partner we crave.”

Even as they fucked you, they could see right through you. These alphas who accepted you on your terms and gave you hope for a brighter tomorrow. It was everything you wanted to deny, but everything you needed to believe and accept.

They’re my home.

“Stop,” Hal gasped, gently pulling himself out of your mouth. His cock bobbed in front of your face as he wiped the drool from your chin, trying in vain to take him back in. “We both know you don’t want me finishing in your mouth. Not yet.”

You whined because it was true. As tempting as it was for him to spill down your throat, you needed him in your soaked cunt. Wanted Bucky to pin your arms over your head as Hal put you on your back. God, he’d keep your legs spread open as he speared you over and over.

“Knot me, breed me!” you cried.

“We will. We will,” Bucky promised, driving faster into you.

“You’ll feel us for days. Weeks,” Hal swore and, fuck, you believed him.

“I’m close,” Bucky warned, though he didn’t need to. The swell of his forming knot pushing against your hole gave you the signal loud and clear. “Gonna take my knot like a good girl. Get your slick all over me while I fill you up and make you mine. And when I’m done, Hal’s gonna do the same. ‘Til you’re begging for us to stop.”

“No, don’t stop, don’t stop!” You arched your back as Hal’s hand glided over your bouncing breasts and aching nipples, desperate to be consumed by both of them. “Alpha, please. don’t stop. Oh, God!”

You exploded, moving helplessly between them as your walls twitched. Flames shot down your spine as you once again allowed the sensations to take over again. You barely registered that they spoke to you, coaxing you through another powerful orgasm. A noise spilled from your mouth, something between a scream and plea, tired of being empty.

“Fuck, kitten, that’s it. That’s fucking it. Give it to us. Give us everything,” Bucky growled, thrusting once more.

A kaleidoscope of colors danced in front of your eyes as he seated himself fully inside you, having to hold onto Hal as he filled you like he promised. Hot and thick, your body greedily accepted every drop of him. Teeth sank into your shoulder, drawing another cry from you. It wasn’t a claiming mark, but it felt good.

Everything felt good.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl,” Hal praised, giving Bucky a small smirk and a smack to his shoulder. “Stop growling against her skin and get her on her side so she’s comfortable.”

Bucky grumbled something you couldn’t catch as he released his teeth, kissing tenderly over the bite. He didn’t move you right away, both of you trying to catch your breath. Your heart pounded fast, your walls gripping his knot like it would fade away too quickly if you stopped.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the larger alpha whispered as he nudge the collar with his nose. “This is heaven. You’re heaven. Hal, fuck, you’re gonna lose your mind.”

“I already have,” Hal said, kissing your forehead. “I already have.”

Your heart raced, reaching up to touch your collar. They hadn’t tried to remove it. They listened to you. “Alphas?” you mumbled, wincing when you attempted to inch forward.

“Easy, easy,” Bucky whispered as he wrapped his arm around your waist, carefully shifting so you both laid on the bed. He huffed against your skin as he spooned you, smiling as Hal grabbed a water from the bedside.

“Here.” He brought the bottle to your lips.

You took a few sips, whining when you saw how hard he still was.

“Don’t worry, kitten,” his voice deepened as he set the bottle down and stretched out in front of you. “Once his knot goes down, you’ll have mine.”

“Thank you,” your eyes squeezed shut, hiccuping as your chest seized up. “Stay.”

Don’t cry again. Don’t fucking cry.

“Oh, kitten,” Bucky sighed, rubbing your hip when you hid your face in Hal’s chest. “You don’t need to thank us. We’re staying right here.” “We’re yours, remember? Your alphas,” Hal gave you an assuring smile. “Now be good and rest for a few minutes.”

“Bossy,” you muttered.

“And you love it.”

Their words in your mind lulled you back into a sense of comfort, floating as you stayed boxed between them. A sleepy smile formed, half aware that this was just the beginning and that your alphas weren’t going anywhere. You could be mortified by your needy behavior later. For now, you let yourself be an omega. Because your secondary gender isn't a weakness with them around.

I’m safe. I’m cared for.

I’m home.

*****

We'll see our neighbors again soon. Thanks for reading!

1K notes · View notes

ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 1 year

Note

can i request bucky taking care of you after a long day at work? he cooks or orders in, helps you take a bath/shower, gives you lots of cuddles, reminds you how wonderful and strong you are.

(if you want something less fluff and more hurt/comfort maybe it's bucky taking care of you after a mission gone wrong. you're injured and traumatized, he knows how that is--he's been there. it's hard for him to see you like this, and all he wants to do is make it better)

okay, hope this isn't too long or anything!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲, 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥. || 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

― pairing: bucky barnes x plus size!reader

― summary: no one ever said being a professor is easy, especially not when you're up to your neck in assignments you have to grade, but never fear, bucky will always be there to take care of his favorite teacher.

― warnings: literally none!

― wc: 865

⋆ a/n: thank you so much for your request! i'm so sorry this took literally forever and i'll admit that I've been slacking on answering requests, but i swear that i'm getting better! this'll actually be my second request i answer today i'm pretty sure!

masterlist | AO3

Sometimes you really regret your profession.

It wasn't like teaching the wise brains of tomorrow was all that bad, it was just exhausting, and being an advanced placement teacher, your students got more class work and tests than what you would have been comfortable with assigning. Of course, you let them know that, and they kind of expected it since they paid to take your course, but that just meant that you were up the spout with things that you needed to grade. You were kind of grateful for the spoiled rich students that took your class because they almost never turned anything in, so that just made your job easier.

Huffing as you walked in, Bucky could already sense what kind of mood you're in. He was surprised that you had managed to escape your classroom so early, you usually stayed in later. Kicking off your shoes, Bucky walked over to come and greet you, taking your coat off of you and hanging it up in the hall closet.

"How was work today?" He asked. You turned to look at him, tiredness written all over your face as you allowed yourself to collapse face first into his solid chest. "What if I just quit?" He heard you mumble into his shirt. He couldn't help but chuckle, his chest rumbling against your face as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "Your master's degree would have gone to shit then." He said crudely. You laughed, resting your chin on his sternum so that you could look up at him. "I guess so." You let the silence of the house bring you peace after having a full day of teaching rowdy young adults.

"How about I order in and run you a bath? Let me take care of you, doll." Bucky suggested. You weren't even going to lie and say that you could take care of yourself like you usually would, getting pampered tonight was exactly what you needed. "Yes, Buck, please." He bent down, wrapping his arms around your thick thighs so that he could haul you into his embrace. On any other day, you would have chided him, saying something like he was going to hurt himself even though he was a genetically modified human being, if anything, you felt like a sheet of paper. Bucky would say that you're probably the lightest thing he's ever picked up.

You allowed him to carry you to your shared room where you nuzzled into him, even though your embrace was broken by him gently setting you down. He began to take off your cardigan, followed by your white tank top, leaving you in your bra as he bent down to feel your feet from your flats. You sat down on the side of your bed, Bucky massaging your feet as you let out a content sigh. "God Buck," You said with a delirious laugh, "If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were a masseuse." He let out a laugh too, lifting up both if his hands and wiggling his fingers, "It's all in the hands, sweets." He then sent you a wink as he reached for the band of your jeans, tugging them down.

His touches were innocent, completely focused on your comfort.

"You can lay here while the tub fills up, I just hope the food will get here after you get out." He pressed against your forehead before heading for the bathroom. You followed his instructions, getting cozy in your bed as you watched him turn on the water, searching through the cabinets in your bathroom for a bath bomb and bath salts. You smiled fondly, Bucky picking out all of your favorite scents.

"Alright, dollface. The water is all warm 'n smelling good." You got up, walking to the bathroom while he left to the living to order the food. You stripped the rest of your clothing, sinking into the warm water. Your muscles easily relaxed as the water enveloped your large body, caressing the aching parts of you as you felt like falling asleep.

You stayed in the water until the water slowly began to turn cold, your fingertips shriveled up like raisins despite how good and soft your body felt and smelled due to the bath bomb. Wrapping yourself up in the robe that was left folded for you on the toilet seat, you walked out into the kitchen where the Chinese takeout sat on the counter.

"The food's here just in time." Bucky said with a soft smile. "Chinese?" He nodded, wrapping his arms around you and leading you to the table so that you could sit down. He pulled the chair out for you so that you could sit down. "Mhm, your favorite." He sat down in front of you, both of you silently eating. The silence was peaceful, something that you didn't know you needed after the long day you had.

Words couldn't express how grateful for Bucky you were. Sometimes you questioned what you did in your past life to be able to deserve him, and you knew that if you brought this up to your boyfriend, he'd ask himself the same thing.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback

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enchantedbarnes · 1 year

Text

Uncle Buck Returns

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Single Aunt!Reader

Summary: Our little menace of a nephew has secured a date for you. Here is part 2 to Uncle Buck.

Word Count: 1401

Masterlist: One | Two | Three | Four | Five

A/N: what in the actual f👀 is going on 😅 I was expecting maybe 10 or so people to read Uncle Buck. My notifications haven't stopped going off since I posted. Thank you so much everyone that read it and enjoyed it. I hope you also enjoy this little continuation. P.S. GIF replies are my love language so if you enjoy send me your best (or worst 😈) 🫶

As soon as the pair returned home and walked through the front door, Benji skipped his way in shouting, "MAWWAGE! MAWWAGE IS WHAT BWINGS US TOGEVAH TODAYYYY!" Arms high above him as he rushes through the living room in search of his parents.

"Benji, please don't make me regret letting you watch my favorite movie," you sigh, flopping onto the couch, hands covering your face.

He stopped short and looked back at you, "Have you the wing?" He bowed and giggled then turned back around to continue on with his search.

"You're back!" Your sister shouted while she snatched Benji up into her arms, covering the small boy in kisses. "Did you have so much fun with Auntie today? Why are we shouting Princess Bride quotes?" She gasps, "Did you get to meet the dread pirate Roberts??"

Benji looks up at her in confusion, "What? No Mom, we saw Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson! And guess WHAT!"

"Ohhh, what?!"

He whispers into her ear and throws his head back laughing like a tiny evil madman.

"You did what???!" She laughs.

You groan from the couch.

She walks both of them over to you.

"Did I understand him correctly, is there something we should know? Are you betrothed to a super soldier?"

"I'm gonna go throw up," you groaned again.

Sweating doesn't even begin to cover it.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire.

You agreed to meet Bucky for a late lunch the following day. You've been sitting on the floor by your closet for what you thought was 30 minutes now, staring into the clothing abyss, spiraling into an internal panic.

You don't go on dates. You keep to yourself. It's comfortable. Living in a combined household with your sister and her small family you're certainly never alone.

What are you even supposed to talk about?

Your current job is nothing super exciting to talk about. You do like to go to concerts and musicals... However you can't really imagine the 106-year-old super soldier going to a pop punk or metal show, nor do you imagine him attending Wicked 3 times. Note to self: do not bring up Rogers the musical. Yikes.

Your sister has already talked you off a ledge 3 times since last night when you got home.

While still wallowing in self pity and loathing, two outfits are scattered by you and you have three more in your arms.

Your sister walks by your open door and backtracks peering in.

"Y/n," she sighs, "just wear the first outfit. You'll look great, I promise." She walks over and grabs the armful of clothes from you, dumping them on the bed and grabbing the first outfit. Your favorite pair of black jeans and a sweater you bought specifically because it was so damn soft.

The doorbell rings and your eyes widen. "He's early?!"

"He's on time, you would have noticed if you weren't staring into space for the last hour."

"WHAT?!"

"Don't worry we'll keep him distracted while you finish getting ready."

"Oh sure, don't worry. That fills me with all the confidence..."

"Benji has already asked him to marry you, what's the worst that could happen now?"

"I don't even want to think about the answer to that. So many possibilities come to mind."

You grab your outfit and start rushing around.

"Can I get you something to drink, Bucky?" Your sister asks while she moves about the room.

Bucky and Benji are seated at the kitchen table, just off from the living room. Benji is across from him with his tiny arms crossed on the table, and a very serious look on his face.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Ok, I'm sure she'll be down in just a moment. Make yourself at home. Hopefully we will see you around again soon," she smiles, "I'm just gonna go switch the laundry over quickly. Benji," she looks down at him while pointing two fingers at her eyes and then over to him, "behave yourself," she warns while leaving the room.

The table stare down continues.

"Where do you live?" Benji asks.

"In the city," Bucky answers.

"You have a house?" Benji fires back.

"Apartment."

"Own or rent?"

"Rent."

"Where’s your office?"

"I don’t have one."

"How come?"

"I don’t need one."

"Where’s your wife?"

"Don’t have one.."

"Yet," Benji squints with a tiny smirk, "but how come?"

"It's a long story."

"You have kids?"

"No I don’t."

"How come?"

"It's an even longer story."

"Do you prefer dogs or cats?"

"Both are fine."

"Do you have one?"

"I have a cat. Names Alpine."

"Is Steve Rogers really on the moon?"

"What's your record for consecutive questions asked?"

"38."

"He's up there all right." Bucky answers with a nod.

"Your metal arm and regular arm match well with how ginormous your muscles are."

"How nice of you to notice."

"I’m a kid, that’s my job."

Bucky raises a brow, "Why am I getting the 3rd degree here?"

"Just checking in on my investments. If this didn't work I was going to ask our neighbor Frank, but he kind of sucks," Benji shrugs his shoulders.

Before Bucky can question the language and what the 8-year-old said, you walk into the kitchen and quickly look back and forth between the two of them.

"Oh no, how long have you two been alone in here?? What did he say?" You ask Bucky, looking over at Benji quickly after, "What did you say??" Your eyes narrow.

Benji grins and holds your purse up for you. "Have fun storming the castle," he cheekily smiles with that glint in his eyes.

"Benji," you glare down at him.

Bucky clears his throat while standing up from the table. Walking over to you he points to a small bouquet of flowers that were already in a vase waiting on the kitchen table, "Um, these are for you…" he smiles.

"Thank you so much, they're beautiful," your reply is breathless while you look at the arrangement filled with a small mix of your favorites.

"He also gave me this," Benji holds up an RC truck with a Captain America shield painted on the side.

"That was very nice of him, did you say thank you?"

"Duh," he rolled his eyes while grabbing the remote to the car and rolling it out to the living room, "Thanks Future-Uncle Bucky," he grins and chases after it.

"Anyone ever tell you guys he's kind of a strange kid?" Bucky whispers conspiratorially while offering his arm to you.

You throw your head back with a quick laugh. "Oh, you have no idea."

Your date is going better than you expected.

You have managed to not make a complete fool out of yourself so far and both of you seemed to be enjoying your time together.

You have apologized multiple times for Benji's antics.

Bucky laughed, "He reminds me a bit of a young Steve and my sister Rebecca combined. Didn't realize that combo was possible, it's a little terrifying. I hope they have great medical insurance," he jokes.

"His father's a nurse, so we have in-house medical on demand. My sister tried to convince me to go to law school so someone can represent him when he undoubtedly tries to take over the world. Guess I can save some money and time on law school now that we have a super soldier plus a Captain America connection that can potentially stop him before lawyers need to be involved."

"Your sister already welcomed me to the family when she opened the door to let me in," he smirks.

You put your face in your hands, elbows leaning against the table in support.

"Well now you know where her small menace gets it from."

Bucky helps pull your chair out for you as you're both about to leave. As you stand up your purse falls off the back of your chair, spilling some of its contents on the floor when it lands.

Bucky ducked down to help collect your things when something shiny appeared next to your chapstick. His eyebrows furrow as he picks both up and holds them up to you.

You let out a slightly strangled cough as you realized what he was holding up to you.

Bucky Barnes was kneeling holding up your peppermint chapstick and your Grandmother's opal ring that was supposed to be safely in your jewelry box at home.

...Benjamin!

@pono-pura-vida @bitchy-bi-trash @random-writer-23 @jvanilly @clintsupremacy @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction

Next: Part 3 Lord of the Pins

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #uncle buck #uncle buck fic

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buckyalpine · 7 months

Note

Please please please would you ever think of writing more to wait, what? I love it.

Maybe the group are upset they weren’t their for the wedding so they ask the reader and Bucky to have another one, renewing vows so they call all be there.

Plus the uncle and aunts playing with the baby. Babies first show of super grip.

More babies. How happy Bucky is when she is pregnant again. Maybe twins and they name them after the group; like have a girl so call her Samantha for Sam and a boy who is Nathaniel/Niklaus for nat.

Would love to see Tony as baby 2s godfather. Could totally see him “competing” against Steve. Look I got my Godkid this and that more than steve gave his. Not that it matters as tony fits for best uncle title so he gives everything to baby Stevie anyway :). Etc. Love your writing can’t wait to read your next fic. Anyway How are you? Hope you are well. How do you come up with stories?

YES YES One of my FAVOURITE AUs which I love to keep adding too. I've broken up this ask into parts here:

Wait, what? - 💔🥰 The secret you’ve been keeping from the team can only be hidden for so long (pregnant reader)

Wait, what? 2 - 🔥💔🥰 A little more back story + baby Barnes! (pregnant reader)

I do (again) Wait, what? 3 - 🥰 Everyone missed the first wedding, obviously you have to have another one

Wait, what? More Babies? - 🔥🥰 The family grows with a little new addition

Here is a little drabble with the aunts and uncles being complete menaces because they compete with each other. You shook your head looking at the growing pile of gadgets and toys collecting everywhere. There wasn't a single place where there wasn't a new present from either and aunt or an uncle, your kids spoilt beyond reason.

"Mama look!" Stevie ran into your room with a new shield in hand, proudly showing off the new technology it had been upgraded with from when he first got it. He whistled, grinning when the shield started to rumble before the plates shifted, expanding it to double the size. He had on a special type of watch fitted to his wrist and you couldn't even begin to comprehend what that would lead to.

"Baby, where do we keep all this?"

"In my room!" He scrambled off without looking back, only to have his presence replaced by the twins, each floating into the room with glowing red capes.

"What on earth are you to doing?" You knew better than to try and intervene with whatever it was they were doing, Samantha and Nathaniel giggling while sipping in circles from their latest gift from Aunty Wanda.

"Aunty Wanda charmed it for us!" They squealed, the tiny rocket booster running shoes they had been given from Tony boosting them to the ceiling.

"Get down from there!" You hissed, making your way to the living room to ask each God parent if they were trying to take years away from your life through stress.

"Did you see what I got for the tiny terminators" Tony grinned at Steve, hearing sound of laugher down the hall followed by your exasperated voice. He chuckled when he saw you disheveled form with each twin under your arm, clutching onto them like footballs to keep them from flying off.

"Best. God Father. EVER" Nathaniel grinned while Samantha nodded, trying to squirm from your hold.

"Steve jr got an upgrade too" Steve stated proudly, seeing his god son using his shield to surf down the staircase, causing you to drop one twin and catch your elder son before he face planted onto the floor.

"For F-" You caught yourself before finishing your sentence, both men snickering while you huffed, "I swear, wait till daddy is home" You placed your kids in a pile between their God fathers before going up to take a well deserved bath.

Bucky snorted at the sound of chaos that he heard as he made his way from the gym to your shared bedroom. He didn't want to set food into the living room when his demon spawn and Satan's love child god fathers were together, making his way straight to you instead.

"How are you mama" Bucky whispered softly, seeing the bathroom door left lightly ajar, the scent of lavender filling the room.

"Your children are spoiled Barnes" You peeked one eye open before closing it again, humming when you felt Bucky step into the tub, settling himself behind you.

"And who is spoiling mama?" He smirked, letting a sneaky hand trail down between your legs, kissing the sensitive skin on your neck, "Hm?"

A snap of his fingers was all that was needed to lock the doors and sound proof the walls. He'd already shot a text to Steve before coming to your room.

"You're both babysitting. Code XXX" (and Steve 1000% blushed like mad though Tony cackled and decided to set up a bet on if tonight would make another baby Barnes)

It was going to be a loooong night.

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starryeyedmunson · 2 years

Text

starryeyedmunson masterlist!

hello hello hello! these are all my works, they mostly consist of eddie munson but who i write for kind of depends on the mood i’m in. my blog is 90% smut, therefore is 18+, so minors DNI. other than that, requests are currently OPEN, and feedback is super appreciated! enjoy x

* indicates smut

:( indicates angst

:) indicates fluff

eddie munson x female reader

>series

never worked masterlist * (henderson!cheerleader!reader)

>one shots/requests

piercing (cheerleader!reader)

sleepless nights* (bestfriend!eddie)

- friends with benefits (sleepless nights pt. 2)* (fwb!eddie)

meet me in the pale moonlight* (cheerleader!reader)

hotel sayre* (bestfriend!eddie)

promise! (boyfriend!eddie)

a date at the record store :) (boyfriend!eddie)

unwinding* :) (boyfriend!eddie)

the boots* (boyfriend!eddie)

valentine’s day* :)

lessons in the bedroom* (bestfriend!eddie)

- pop quiz (lessons in the bedroom pt. 2)*

- final exam (lessons in the bedroom pt. 3)*

full service* (hairdresser/barber!reader)

bucky barnes x female reader

>series

ecstasy masterlist* (fraternity!bucky x sorority!reader) - this is literally a lost cause but maybe i’ll start it again

>one shots/requests

final lullaby :(

waking up :)

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allandoflimbo · 1 year

Text

I C E P R I N C E S S ∙ 3

Pairings: Popular Girl!Reader x Outkast!Bucky

Explicit Content - Smut - NO MINORS

Summary:

Bucky Barnes is the quiet boy who gets picked on.

The Reader and her friends run with the popular crowd at Stark High.

As the Winter Ball approaches, she is partnered with Bucky Barnes for a class project. They grow close in an inadvertently secret friendship, which later turns into love.

Only catch is…she’s Steve Roger’s ex girlfriend, and before she was partnered up with Bucky, her friends had planned to use and turn Bucky into Stark High’s new it boy to try and get back at Steve; a disgusting bet.

Another catch: She’s a figure skater at the town’s arena every Tuesday and Thursday nights. Bucky works part time at the rink resurfacing the ice. The other doesn’t know.

Modern AU High School fic - later goes into adulthood.

M A S T E R P A G E - FULL SERIES

Warnings: This story will have a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lot of cursing, and a lot of sex. Oral, praise kink, body worship, overstimulation, etc. you know me. There will also be loss of virginity in this.

Please support your content creators and writers and leave a review.

P R E V I O U S C H A P T E R

The chatter in the room is loud.

It mixed with the sounds of chairs and desks grinding over the floor. Everyone was moving their own to their appropriate spots.

Mrs. Ortiz' voice was even louder. She was lucky if anyone was even really listening to her in the first place.

"Now, this assignment is focused on Psychology analyzing. If you look down, you'll see it's based off a book called Rules by John Will-Brooks. You and your partner will each read every other chapter, taking turns. Each chapter will focus on a type of psychological analysis, and at the end, you will write the information you gather about the person using the questionnaire provided at the end. You'll use that to answer what you gather about the other person. Of course, you're not real Psychologists, so you'll be given a certain answer and script for each one. These are based on real dialogue, real cases. This assignment will last about two months."

You moved anxiously in your seat, crossing your legs at the ankles.

"Hannah, you are with Sasha. Eloise, you are with Daniella. Cameron, you're with Ethan. Eric, you are with Michaela," next she said your name, "you are with James, Jasmin, you're with Chris..." Mrs. Ortiz' voice faded out as your eyes went to James.

It was expected just as much as it wasn't. Irony, they call it.

He sat there in his seat, focused at looking through the new textbook on his desk. He showed no distinctive reaction to Mrs. Ortiz' words and you wondered if he had even heard her.

You still felt terrible about what happened yesterday, but nonetheless, this would be a great opportunity to make amends.

Daniella, that sat next to James, got up to move next to her partner.

You tried to read his body language as he barely lifted his eyes from the pages.

He kept his eyes straight down at his book, gaze completely focused.

He moved onto writing something in his notebook.

It was obvious he wasn't going to be making the first move to sit next to you, and that's what you realize he's doing.

He hated this.

You don't blame him at all for being upset with you.

With a deep breath, you gather your book and notebook in your arms and make your way over to him.

You paused as soon as you arrive by his side. He doesn't look up from his notebook, knowing very well that you were standing there.

His jaw was tense. You hadn't noticed that from afar.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

Even if you wanted to make amends, he clearly did not like you. Especially so soon after you destroyed his Nikes.

Then, he surprises you.

He stops for a second, finally looks at you, and then looks down at the empty chair next to him.

An invitation.

You take that as your cue and you sit.

You swear you can smell lemons and a subtle, but very nice, waft of cologne the moment you sit down.

Despite him looking naturally kind and approachable, you felt uncomfortable.

You timidly set everything down in front of you. You even begin tp tilt your items on the desk into perfect ninety degree angles; not because of your OCD, but because it gave you something to do for about three seconds.

When that's painfully over, you look over at him again.

He didn't even bother glancing up this time. Unsurprisingly.

Should you put yours desks together?

Was he going to be silent the whole time?

You both sit there for a few minutes, wondering if he's thinking the same thing as you:

Who will be the first to speak?

He continues to take his notes and you open your book to review the first lesson.

You take a deep breath and go for it, shifting once more in your seat for good measure. You even scoot up a bit.

"Did you want to do the even numbered chapters and I do the odds?" You ask after a deep breath.

He stops writing and finally sits back in his seat, letting his pen drop.

His movement makes him look taller and you look away bashfully.

You never were so close to him before. You can't help but notice how similarly built he is to Steve. Sometimes it felt like Steve towered over you.

They were definitely the same height; six feet or so.

James was just a little more lean and toned where Steve was bulky. It was obvious how attractive James was. Where Steve had lighter hair, James' was a deep brown, almost black. Where Steve's eyes were blue with specs of green, James' were only blue. Almost grey. Like the sky before a bad blizzard on a cold evening.

Like that night.

The way he sits back like that, now looking at you and waiting, has you on edge.

You don't realize you're staring until you meet eyes and you quickly look away.

He hands you the blue folder with the name "Phycologist #2" written on it.

You take it, reading it over.

He was okay with you doing the odds.

A lump crawls up your throat as you remember what happened yesterday. You grow this deep need to console him, to apologize profusely.

"So, we need to answer these questions first together. And then we'll read each chapter assigned to us, and do the quiz questions after each read to make sure we understood what we read. Is that good for you?" You ask.

He's not looking at you anymore.

He gives you a short nod, almost disinterested.

He's back to fidgeting with his black pen in his right hand.

You tried to ignore that glare in his eyes, the one that said he clearly did not want to be here next to you right now.

As if you already didn't know.

"Uhm. Okay, first question. A long-standing debate in the field of psychology has been whether moving to a new location makes people happier. Do you think this can apply to people who are looking just for change so it's a change in psych or do you think it happens for everyone? Personally I think it happens for everyone."

He doesn't answer you right away. In fact, he takes so long to reply that you start writing down your own answer quietly.

"I think so, too. Especially if it's a stark difference of culture."

It's the first time you've heard him, and at this close proximity, it made the hair on the back of your neck prickle.

His voice.

Like deep and thick honey being poured over a damn Lindt chocolate.

Your movements falter just slightly against your paper, and you blink slowly.

You couldn't help the small smile that grows at the side of your lips.

"Exactly." You say, "it's about the impact and also picking up on the different kinds of life. Like I mean for you, you just came from Europe, right? So this must be so different for you here. This kind of life." It's interesting the way you watch his face go from interested to pure utter confusion.

"Europe?" His voice is a low rumble as he says it. You can't sense his tone. It was a mix between scorn and sincerity.

You raise a brow at him and then look down at his book.

"Yeah, aren't you—?"

He looks at you for a second longer, to the point where you debate if he's trying to have an eye contest with you, and then he looks away with an almost roll of his eyes.

He can't help the scoff that leaves his lips.

"Jeez." He runs a hand through his hair, nearly pulling at the strands.

You watch as his arm flexes through the dark fabric of his shirt.

You shake your head and place your own arm down on the paper in front of you.

"I don't understand?"

You hope he can see how sincere you were.

"Yeah, maybe don't try then." He snaps back. His eyes finally flicker back to you, the disdain in his eyes so visible it makes you recoil, "Please.

Your mouth opens and closes, unsure of what to respond with.

Judging by his tone and energy behind it, he was holding most of his negative feelings in. It catches you off guard for just a bit.

You hated this. You hated that he assumed something that isn't true about the kind of person you are. You hated that everything that kept happening was proving the exact opposite. You hated that he had been bullied and you didn't even know.

You know you've been oblivious in the past, but you never once saw anyone being rude to him before. This week was the first time.

"I didn't mean to drop that paint on you," you say, your voice lowering, "I'm truly sorry about that." He scoffs again, "I am! I was actually on my way here to apologize for what you overheard on Monday. I'm very sorry."

He doesn't say anything but his eyes do stay on his paper, unshifting.

You know why he's upset. You do.

You're not dense.

The last few months opened your eyes. It was a sharp wake up call to realizing who you were and who the people around you were. You hope you can convey that with the next few words you're about to say.

"Look, Matt Murdock is an asshole. But I'm not like that."

The roll of his eyes and the snarl on his lips is palpable.

You feel your teeth clench at his reaction, and this time, your eyes are the ones that go hard and cold.

This boy, just like everyone, knew nothing. But the truth was, you didn't know him either.

This was a game of tug-o-war, and in the middle was a big metaphorical puddle of shame waiting for one of you to fall in.

The silence that follows after his comment settles between the both of you like a heavy blanket.

"We're done here." He says, closing his notebook.

You're surprised at his quick departure. There was no possible way he would just leave. Right? You still had two months of this.

"We still have to go over this chapter—"

He's already standing up, grabbing his backpack and his things off his desk.

"I'm leaving early." He says, eyes darting to the door. It's then that you see another teacher there waiting for him. He eventually sighs and gives you another glance as he shoves his book into his backpack, "I can't fail this assignment. We can continue this tomorrow." You raise a brow at him as he stops and looks at you for another hard second. Then, his eyes look away for a bit, as if he's realizing something. You're wondering what he's thinking, but you don't have to wonder much longer, "I actually won't be here tomorrow."

"Oh," your eyes drop as you think, "Maybe we can meet up somewhere after school? Maybe you can come over? Or I'll go to your place. That's all I can think of. That or we can wait until Thursday."

You weren't tone deaf, but damn were you insistent of making right.

You can see on his face how much he hates this. If this were some kind of mystical novel and the author was describing this exact moment, right here and now, they'd say his dislike for all of this was as palpable as a lonesome revengeful Viking holding a box of venomous cobras over his enemies' body.

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek.

He really needed this A. Was this worth it? If he wanted to keep his GPA at the high percentile, he needed this bad. He didn't know if he trusted you enough to wait until two days from now, when the second lesson was due by then.

He hated everything about this.

Your place or his?

He never thought he'd even have to ask such a question when it came to you and him.

He almost laughs.

He looked at the teacher that was waiting for him at the door and his eyes drift back down to you in your seat.

You and your friends already took all his dignity at this school. He wasn't going to let you do it in his own home.

"I'll come over." He says.

As soon as Bucky parks his car, he turns to his mom.

"How are you feeling? Nervous?" He asks kindly.

She smiles at him.

"A bit. But I'm also a little excited."

Bucky looks away and nods.

"You're high up."

"I might finally get that lung transplant." She says, running her thumb over her son's cheek. She holds her nebulizer bag closer to her lap, "We should be excited, honey."

He smiles sweetly at her.

He was anxious to see how her appointment would go. Based off his own personal research, she was a perfect candidate for a lung transplant, but he was afraid this was too good to be true.

"I am." He pats the middle console, "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

He gets out and walks over to the passenger side. He helps her step out his car, closing the door behind her.

He makes sure to keep his one arm stilling linked with hers.

She uses him for support as she stands, her right hand going into the crook of his elbow, holding him there.

"I'm going to need you to run to the store for me tonight. I wanted to make some lasagna for dinner. What do you think?" She asks as they walk to the entrance of the medical facility.

He opens the door for her as they walk into the chilly air.

"I think it sounds great," his face falls, "Shoot."

"What's wrong?"

"I forgot I'm supposed to study at someone's house." He shakes his head. Family always came first, "I can still go. I'll make arrangements."

"Oh, that's alright. I'll have your dad stop by."

Bucky felt his heart shatter, knowing his dad already had too much to worry about tonight. He was also getting older.

"It's fine, I'll let her know I can't make it. You're more important."

He didn't even have your number, so he's not sure how that plan would even work out.

"Absolutely not. You're going to go." Bucky opens his mouth to retaliate but she stops him, "You're going. End of discussion." He closes his mouth and nods, continue to walk her to the reception desk.

They walk a little more and he waits for the inevitable question.

"So it's a girl study partner?"

He could feel a tingle up his back at the thought of seeing you that way. Revolt and hate. That's the kind of feelings a person like you deserved.

"Trust me, mom. She's not a nice person. I just want this A. Only reason I'm doing this."

A warm chuckle leaves her lips.

"Oh, she can't be that bad."

"She is. She's bad company and so are her friends. I'm going there just for the lesson and then I'm going straight home."

You're drying your hands with a paper towel near the sink when you hear a knock at the front door.

You curse to yourself as you grab your phone and quickly look at the clock.

You completely lost track of time trying to help prepare dinner for your parents.

They were both physicians in two different ERs, so they usually weren't home on Wednesdays until after seven PM. Morning shift.

That meant that tonight you had to help with dinner for when they came home. Usually when they had the graveyard shifts, they'd have something ready on the stove before they left. Out of kindness of their hearts.

Even though you didn't think it was necessary for them to do that every time, especially when you had more than the reason to help them out, you clung onto it. Mainly because it was one of the last remaining things that happened here at home that made it feel like it was still that; home.

You go through your foyer and open the door.

James stood there in a black jacket and dark jeans. He held his book in one arm and his other hand was running through his hair. He looked like he didn't want to be here at all.

He still wasn't even trying to hide it.

You don't let that discourage you.

"Hey," you give him a small smile, "Come on in." You step aside for him to walk in.

The second he steps foot into your house the awkward tension is already there.

You close the door quietly behind him.

You watch as he looks around. The last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable.

You home was dimly lit, the only light on was a lamp in the living room and a soft light over the island in the kitchen.

He notices how homey it feels in here. He also notices all the family photos, especially the ones near the stairs at the front.

"My parents won't be home for another hour or so." You tell him, "Can I take your jacket?"

His eyes flicker over to you immediately.

"No, it's okay." He mumbles, stuffing his left hand into its pocket.

You nod and look away.

You tell him he can leave his shoes at the door and then you point to the dark wooden stairs.

His shoes he actually does remove, leaving him in black socks.

"We can actually go up to my room. Just be careful with these steps. They can get slippy."

He trails behind you and follows you into your room.

You sense his hesitancy to come in all the way as he takes a quick scan.

Your room was nice, he wouldn't deny that.

He notices a few books on your desk and some on a book shelf; mostly fiction. Against your wall on the floor was a pair of white ice skates.

You walk over to your desk and grab your book and notebook.

On your desk was a picture of you and another guy hugging, maybe a few years older than you.

He was placing a kiss on the top of your head.

"You can take a seat." You motion blindly towards your bed nonchalantly, looking for something in your desk drawer.

James makes his way to your bed. It's white and fluffy and still made; pristine.

You finally turn around to face him, and he looks down at your hand. You had been looking for a highlighter.

Classic Yellow.

He doesn't know why his nerves are on high end right now. He doesn't know why he's so nervous about being in a Stark High's princess' bedroom. What he does know is how annoyed he is by your complete oblivion to how incredibly cruel and mean you are and don't realize it. He can't even put into words how much it pisses him off to see you treating him like you or your friends never did the things you did.

You really did all live in your little world with your little perfect lives.

He's seen it for years and he saw it looking at the photos downstairs and now your room. Happy photos everywhere, trophies and metals. For what, he doesn't care.

He's brought back to now when the bed dips down with your weight.

You open your book.

"Alright, do you want to read the first lesson? And then I'll do the questionnaire at the end and we can go from there? Same for lesson two?"

He clears his throat and pulls out his notebook and book.

"Sure."

The behavior is mechanical for the next twenty minutes.

He talks, you respond. He asks, you respond. You ask, he answers.

He watches you as you read everything correctly and answer everything correctly. You were clearly very smart and seemed to take your academics seriously. The fact that you were both able to set your tension aside to focus on your school said a lot about the both of you.

Yeah, he knew what it said.

It said that you were both trying goddamn hard to avoid the huge elephant in the room.

"So that was the last question." You say, writing down your notes in your notebook, "We're covered for tomorrow and Friday." You look up when he doesn't respond, but you see him writing, too.

When he finishes he slides his pen into the spine of his notebook and closes his text book. He starts to pack, getting ready to leave.

You clear your throat.

"Bucky," the second you say his nickname his head snaps up, confused, "I saw it on your notebook." You don't know what look he's giving you but whatever that look is, it makes you feel not too great. He stares at you for a second longer before taking a deep breath and moving off from your bed. His jaw is tense.

He huffs from his nose and looks at you once more. You stand up until you're standing in front of him. You had to tilt your head a bit up.

Definitely Steve's height.

He gives you a cold stare that nearly chills you.

"I should go." He whispers out, eyes on your floor.

You tug on the sleeves of your shirt, debating on how you should stop him, but your words get stuck in your mouth.

You're at lost for what to say as he leaves your room abruptly, leaving you standing there, open text book still on the bed.

N E X T C H A P T E R

Tag list: @dinoswierdmom @sebsgirl71479 @wintasssoldier @melimelbean @steadygoopangelhairdo @prettywhenicry4 @bonkybarnes106 @undeadhoneydew @midnightvitality @ene-rene @ccmarvelxx @hanahkatexo @gr33nleo

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #bucking imagine #marvel #modern AU

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imtryingmyfuckingbe · 2 years

Text

The Truth is: I’m a Liar

Word count: 29,352

Bucky x Mom!Reader

The front door slams, echoing through the house. Y/N’s chest heaves, breathless from the struggle. Blood, sticky and warm and real— she tells herself so thrice until it settles as a reverb in her head— paints her fingers to match her nail polish. It stains her dress and speckles her kitchen floor, whereupon she kneels. Her hands shake around the handle of the chef’s knife.

Five years.

She moved to Lambertville five years ago, took up a new name and a fake personality she perfected: a job at the bank because she fell off the Ivy League track she began in her youth when she birthed her baby and started a life as a single mother making ends meet and trying to give her daughter a normal, stable life. Parks on the weekend. Structured lessons before preschool, and then during, and then when Winnie moved on to kindergarten. A babysitter who she vetted and tested before trusting him with her kid.

She built a life here, goddammit. A lie, but a life nonetheless, constructed from the rubble of who she left behind. Painstaking details so well crafted her neighbors believe it and her coworkers don’t ask questions; brought to its knees by a ghost at her table.

Or, what should be a ghost. Instead, a man with gnarled skin and scars, a fierce, ugly grin, holding a vendetta like a flame, darkened the corner of her kitchen.

It played in slow motion, him rising from the table. His voice rebounds in her head against the lock boxes she stored her past in. ‘It’s high time I get what I’m owed’, he said around his sneer.

Old reflexes kicked in, muscle memory unused for years. A lunge and a grasp and stab. The squelch of the blade when she pulled her arm back and aimed again. His grunt of pain when he tried to block it and it went through his hand. The ringing in her ears.

She sets the knife in front of her, parallel to her knees. The sun shining through the windows glints off of the metal, mocking and surreal. She wipes her hands on the skirt of her dress, twisting her fingers in the fabric; scrubs at her skin until the blood transfers, save for the stain it leaves in its wake.

She exhales through her nose with a forced calmness, wading through the ocean of leftover panic in her chest. A list. She needs a list. A purpose.

The floor, first. Clean the floor and go from there.

She unties the bow holding her dress closed, grimacing at the perspiration sticking it to her arms and her back. It peels away with more effort than usual, her movements slow. The breeze from the overhead fan raises goosebumps on her skin, the sweat drying into a cool coat.

With the edge of the skirt, she wipes the knife, careful of its blade and her fingers. She tosses it into the sink, where it clatters against the other dishes.

The heavy fabric, built to withstand the springtime cool, soaks up the blood splatters on the floor. She needs bleach and a mop and to burn this dress and shower a thousand times over until the water runs clear and she can breathe.

She sends partial, bitter gratitude upwards that Peter, the babysitter, picked Winnie up after school. That Brock fucking Rumlow broke into her home and threatened her on a weekday. Y/N long ago promised to hide this side of her life from Winnie, to tell the same tales she sells the curious neighbors to her daughter. She refuses to allow an egotistical fuck who should’ve stayed dead to force her to renege on that promise.

She balls her dress into a bundle, tucking the bloody portions in on itself to hide them. Her knees ache from kneeling on the floor. It hurts to stand. She grips the countertop to steady herself, cold and shaky and angry.

Livid.

See, her father left before she knew him and her mother liked a drink and a man more than Y/N. She grew up in a house on fire, the bones of it creaking with old ghosts who lived far past their time. Anger, frustration, loss— it burrowed its fingers into her young enough for it to morph into a sick comfort. A blanket of sorts that she wrapped around her shoulders and carried like a shield and a weapon— the right person’s hands make the most innocuous thing dangerous, she learned.

In her kitchen, white-knuckling her dirty dress, it returns in a tidal wave. All at once, overcoming the peace she sought. She put to rest the girl in her youth, shucking her ways to take on the role of a better mother. Caring, gentle, honest. The thing is, she hid those parts of her away but not out of reach.

With a mechanical decisiveness, she stalks to the drawer by the refrigerator. It slides open on a whisper. The gallon freezer Ziploc bag pulls from its box on a whisper. The dress falls into the bag on a whisper, and she presses out the air and zips it shut on a whisper, too.

She used to live, thrive in the murmurs of her work— methodical and calm. It fits her to return to it now.

She places the bag in the back of her freezer, behind two loaves of bread and the chicken nuggets Winnie loves. Surveying the kitchen, with the pots hanging on the wall and the snack pack she made Winnie on the counter, it looks like it does on any given day. Lived in but clean, small remnants of their lives a decoration.

Y/N clenches her jaw, scanning the room. It should reflect the new upset in her life; the new and harsh reality. If things worked like that, her body would reflect her life; her grief, her misgivings, her misdeeds. It’s both a small mercy and a large mockery that skin and rooms scar less often than the wounds wrought within.

She shakes her head, casting out the lamenting of intangible markings. She needs to hurry before Peter brings Winnie home from their after-school date.

From beneath her kitchen counter she retrieves disinfectant wipes and a bottle of bleach, slamming them on the counter. She keeps her mop bucket on the floor of the pantry, along with rubber gloves that extend up to her elbows. She pulls the rubber taut, securing it.

First, the floor. Normally, she uses scented cleaner, diluting it with water. Now, she grabs the dish towel hanging off of the oven and falls back to her knees. She breathes through her mouth, the bleach too acidic and stinging in her nose to power through it.

She takes it tile by tile, wrapping the towel around her pointer finger to get into the grout. Her hand cramps in its tight fist around the towel and against the floor. She scrubs harder. She cleans past where the blood splattered, working her way over where he stepped to erase his presence in its entirety.

She crawls around the table, the floor biting into her knees and the trail of bleach harsh on her skin. Her elbow hits a chair from an errant swipe, the shock of it running up and down her arm. She hisses and ignores it. At the chair where Brock sat, she scrubs the legs and the seat and the backrest. Between the slats, beneath the lip of the seat. Anywhere he may have touched.

The panic evolves into a calm purpose, her harried movements slowing but no less vigorous. The smell of the bleach fills the room and lingers on her skin. If she glares at the open space hard enough, she thinks she sees lingering specks in the air. She throws away the towel.

At the sink, she looks from the bleach in her hand to the knife and back, and then shrugs, dumping a superfluous amount over the dishes. She needs to change her sponge anyway, she reasons, scrubbing at the blade. She cleans the remaining dishes in turn and with the same intent— the plates front and back, the pot in all of its crevices— and puts them in the dishwasher to run.

When she finishes the last one, she turns to the sink itself. She loves the basin, a focal point of the room. It sits in the center of the countertop, a stainless steel that extends far enough for dishes to pile up without it looking messy. The faucet is tall with a curve in its neck, its head extendable. She cleans that, too, just in case.

She misses the sink already, knowing they have to move. She plans to take care of Rumlow herself, since James failed, but he tainted the charm and the comfort. He broke in and sat at her table and dirtied the floor. Dirtied her peace.

She shucks the gloves, throwing them and the sponge away.

What did he touch before she found him? Did he snoop through the cupboards out of twisted curiosity? Her pantry? Did he run his finger along the counter to leave behind his prints like a marking?

She doesn’t know, but she knows him. Knew him. Brock loved mind games, so much so Bucky trusted him less and less the more he reveled in them. He enjoyed playing a shadow in his object’s peripheral vision, disappearing when they turned their heads. Walking through a room with heavy steps to announce his presence, and then prowling like a panther to make someone think he left to abuse the element of surprise.

Y/N found it amusing, once upon a time. The people they targeted deserved the paranoia and confusion. She played the game, too, until Brock turned it into a habit. His intention shifted from scaring those who deserved cold sweats of fear to wanting a hush in the crowd when he walked into the room— no matter if his so-called friends stood in the audience.

Before Y/N left, Bucky talked about ousting him. They, the family she forged through fire and brimstone, had no place for a man hellbent on power.

She cleans the counter with the wipes for that reason. The handles to her cupboards and drawers. Over the stoves and its knobs and the oven door. She cleans and cleans until the surfaces of her kitchen shine and it smells like a hospital. The itch in her fingers urge her to keep going, to pull out her plates and cups and clean the shelves; to throw out her tablecloth and maybe the table, too.

The time on the stove stops her. 4:43. Winnie comes home soon, and Y/N needs to shower.

Sticky sweat and disinfectant linger on her skin. Her underwear clings to her body like a plastic wrap— uncomfortable and tight.

Y/N dries her hands on a paper towel, scanning the room. Good enough, for what she needed done. She turns the fan to its highest setting, hoping to dispel the heavy smell, and cracks the windows along the far side of the wall.

4:47.

She runs her tongue over her teeth and nods. Her feet pad across the floor, not unlike any other day. The living room looks the same, with its haphazardly tossed pillows and throw blankets, Winnie’s toys put away in a bin in the corner of the room. The stairs creak under her steps, the house old but renovated. The shower handle squeaks when it turns and, though it takes a minute to warm, the water is scalding and the pressure heavy.

Like any other day, except blood stains her fingers and the skin on her knees burns.

She cleans herself with the thoroughness of the kitchen, from head to foot and back. First with her hands, scrubbing between her toes and behind her knees and ears. The water runs a light pink circle around the drain, and then it runs clear.

She cleans again with a washcloth, lathering in the discount body wash she got at the local drug store. It fills the bathroom with the scent of flowers and spring, carried through the steam.

She cleans herself again.

And then again.

She rubs her skin raw until the water runs cold and then some.

The slow encroaching freeze steels the fire in her belly, like lava meeting water exploding into volcanic rock— a slower danger, but one nonetheless. She stands until the steam dissipates and reveals her feet once more.

The shower handle squeaks when she turns it off.

The faucet drips and the towel rubs against her skin. Outside, a car honks and someone shouts their grievances, and then silence. A floor below, Winnie laughs.

Y/N closes her eyes, resting her forehead against the shower wall, and focuses on her daughter. Peter murmurs something back which makes Winnie giggle harder and louder. It’s for her that Y/N swears to watch the life leave Rumlow’s eyes; to ensure he can’t enter their lives again and threaten their livelihood.

It’s for her that Y/N forces herself to step out of the tub and get dressed. One foot in front of the other, one pant leg at a time. Leggings, sweatshirt, socks.

Y/N never wanted to have children. She feared herself incapable of the nurture necessary to do it right; of the ability to not fuck up a kid like her mom fucked her up. She took the pregnancy test on a hunch and laid in bed for a day when it came back positive. No matter who knocked on her door, she turned them away. Natasha picked the lock, took one look at Y/N, and crawled in bed beside her.

It took thirteen days to make a plan, and three more to execute it.

Winnie’s voice draws Y/N from her room like a beacon, and down the creaking stairs once more. Peter sits on the floor holding an action figure and a pony while Winnie wiggles a stuffed animal at him. She pauses on the bottom step, hand on the rail, and watches.

Peter slipped into their lives with ease. He reminds her of Pietro, always sunny, always smiling. He laughs and he jokes and he knows how to answer Winnie’s questions in a way that satisfies her. Y/N wishes she could see her friends with Winnie, can imagine it with a clarity unmarred by the years, and then scoffs. She’ll find out soon enough.

Winnie jumps up, turning to face Y/N. “Mama!” she shouts, gleeful and young.

Peter grins at Y/N, too, catching the stuffed animal Winnie throws over her shoulder in favor of running to Y/N. “Hey, Jenn,” he says.

Y/N loathes the lies she tells Peter, a kid she thinks trustworthy. Still, if one person knows her real name, she risks it spreading. She forces herself to smile and steady Winnie, who throws her arms around Y/N’s waist.

“Hey, baby,” she says, leaning down to press a kiss onto Winnie’s head. She caresses her hair with one hand, the other palm against her back. “How was your day?”

Winnie heaves a great sigh, as if burdened with the woes of the world. She shakes her head against Y/N’s stomach. “I hate math,” she groans.

Y/N laughs. “Me too, kid.” She runs her fingers through Winnie’s hair, gently untangling the snatches. “But it’s important! You said you wanted to touch the stars, right?”

Winnie shrugs. “I like looking at them, too.”

Peter stands, tossing the toys in their bin along his way to lean against the couch. He crosses his ankles, hands perched on the back of the couch. “We went to the park and learned about the animals there, didn’t we, Win?”

Winnie pulls back from Y/N, looking up at her. She nods with vigor. “Yeah, Mama. There’s lots.”

“There sure are.” She peers into Winnie’s eyes for extra fortification, drawing strength from their light and joy. “Hey, Peter?” she asks, still looking down.

“What’s up?”

Y/N tucks a strand of hair behind Winnie’s ear and then looks at him. “Do you mind watching Winnie for a little bit more? I need to make a phone call.”

He smiles, confusion apparent in the drawing of his brows. Normally, Peter leaves after he drops Winnie off. Y/N takes phone calls around her all the time, but Y/N doesn’t want to leave Winnie alone— not with the risk of Brock around the corner.

“Uh, sure,” he says slowly.

She nods, smiling quick and ingenuine. His face scrunches up further. “Thanks.”

She kisses Winnie’s head and then spins her by the shoulders, pushing her towards Peter. Winnie offers a soft protest, but goes, casting a glance over her shoulder at Y/N. They return to their spot on the floor, Winnie on her knees and Peter crossing his legs over each other.

Y/N forces herself to look away and return to her room.

On a hook by her door hangs a long unused purse. The colors faded with time and sun exposure, and dust coats the pleather exterior. She hung it up when she moved in, never touching it and hardly looking at it. Now, she stands before it, arms crossed.

If a bag could talk, this one says ‘so it came to this, you foolhardy girl’. She bought it at a flea market in the city, in the DUMBO archway, because it matched her jacket and she happened to walk through it when she felt she deserved something nice. It cost three and a quarter dollars, and came with a free fortune paper in the inside pocket. She can’t recall what the fortune said, only that she laughed and elbowed Nat to show her.

When she made her plan to leave, she emptied it and tore a hole in the inside pocket, revealing the insides of the purse. Within that makeshift pocket, she placed a cheap burner phone and its separate battery. Never used, save to program one phone number.

She bites the inside of her cheek, chewing the skin. She never planned to touch the purse again, let alone stick her hand inside and grab the phone. She allowed herself to reduce it to a marking of her past, a memento of what she left, without a chance of needing it for more.

Y/N rolls her eyes. She dealt with far more nerve wracking things than digging through a purse for a battery and a phone. She slides a finger up the strap of the purse, unhooking it. The items inside jostle. With both hands, she holds the bag, tapping her fingers along its back.

“So it came to this,” she murmurs, sitting on her bed.

She pulls the flap open, the magnet clicking when it releases, and peers inside. Black fabric lines the sides, sagging against the back wall where she cut into it. She reaches through the opening, feeling along the bottom. Her fingers brush against the smooth plastic of the phone, and then she reaches further for the battery.

Two small, innocent without the knowledge of their meaning, objects rest heavy in her palm. She exhales, pulling out her hand. She drops the bag to the floor, focusing on the phone. It looks like the day she bought it— small and gray. She flips it over and forces the back off, then slides the battery into its spot. It clicks into place with a sound only deafening to herself.

Backing returned, she turns the phone over. The small screen on the front lights up with the date and time she turned it off before it corrects itself. She thumbs it open, presses one, and then the call button. With a forced steady hand and bitter bravado, she puts the phone to her ear.

It rings twice before the line clicks. Silence, pregnant with tension because the person on the other line knows the severity of receiving a call from this number.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks.

She sighs, his voice a balm for the torrent of emotions in her chest. Once upon a time, when their wild youth let way for moments of reprieve, Bucky’s voice put Y/N to sleep. She sneaked out of her mother’s apartment to his, or vice versa, and they laid in bed, where Bucky spoke softly and sweetly, Y/N’s head on his chest.

“Got it in one,” she whispers.

Something rustles on the other side of the line. Bucky clears his throat. “What’s going on?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. She wets her lips. “You said you took care of it.” It comes out harsh and biting.

“What are you talking about? Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Brock, James.”

Silence, like Bucky holds his breath. Y/N scoffs.

“I came home from work and he was in my kitchen, James. My house.”

“Where are you now?” he demands, tone shifting off center of the Bucky she knows. Knew.

She never imagined a life without it molding to fit him. Will he recognize her? Will she recognize him? “I’m home. I stabbed him. Twice. He ran.”

“You stabbed him?”

She stands to pace, the energy thrumming in her veins too strong to ignore. “Yes! What was I supposed to do? My kid, she was gonna be home soon and he wouldn’t— it doesn’t matter! You said we were safe!”

“Y/N,” he whispers, and she missed hearing her name on his lips more than she missed the name itself. “Calm down, please.”

“Don’t! Don’t tell me to calm down.” She lowers her voice despite her desire to scream until her lungs give out; to claw and kick at the world until it tells her why she deserves this. Above all, she loathes for Win to hear her yell. The thin floors allow for anything to fall through, including the sudden silence beneath her, Peter’s quiet murmur, and then a return of conversation. She huffs.

“Steve’s on his way. He’ll be there soon. This shouldn’t have happened. I thought— it doesn’t matter. I’m getting Nat and we’ll leave.”

Y/N halts, facing the mirror perched in the corner of her room by the nightstand. “How soon will Steve be here?” she asks slowly.

Bucky coughs. “He can be there in twenty.”

Y/N huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “What’s he doing near Lambertville, James?”

She knows. It makes sense; Bucky never left well enough alone. She foolishly believed his promise to let her cut ties, though even then it felt like a stretch. Bucky loves wholeheartedly; it nearly killed him a few times. He protects those for whom he cares, and that spans a state and the miles between herself and him. Frustration bubbles, but the comfort of knowing her friends— her family— watched over clashes with it. The day fills her chest, weighted and tangible, a cocktail of waning adrenaline and present anger and soft longing, sour on her tongue and slow going down her throat.

“Been keeping an eye on me, have you?” she goads, but gentler than the ire the words suggest.

Bucky sighs. “We’ll talk about this when I get there.”

“I suppose I’ll just ask Steve. I’m sure he’ll answer.”

“Y/N,” he warns, sharp and pointed.

The flow of the conversation, the familiarity of Y/N pushing boundaries and Bucky trying to draw her in, eases a weight that long found home in her bones. “See you soon, Buck.” She flips the phone shut without awaiting a response, more pressing things taking place at the forefront of her mind.

She needs to excuse Peter and prepare Winnie before Steve arrives.

She tosses the phone and catches it in one motion, and then slides it in the pocket of her sweatshirt.

Peter looks up when Y/N returns, an eyebrow cocked. “Everything good?”

She nods. “Yes. Thank you for staying, Peter. I’ll account for it in your check. You’re good to go now.”

He waits a moment, scanning her face, before pushing to a stand. Winnie follows suit, clutching her superhero bear to her chest. “It is always a pleasure, Your Majesty Winifred.” Peter offers a small bow, drawing his arm across his waist.

Winnie giggles and grins, returning with a curtsey. “You are very welcome.”

Peter nods once to Y/N, gaze lingering, and then departs on a final wave. He eases the door shut behind him to prevent it from slamming.

Winnie returns to the floor, picking up her toys. Y/N joins at her side, sitting with her back against the bin. She holds an old Barbie doll with marker stains, smoothing the cut up hair back. “Winnie, honey.”

“Yes, Mama?” Winnie mirrors Y/N’s position, holding the stuffed animal in her lap. She cranes her neck to look up at Y/N.

Y/N sighs. “I’ve got an old friend coming soon. Someone you’ve never met.”

Winnie stays silent, her face blank. Children pick up on more than adults deign to believe, evidenced in Winnie’s gentle stoicism. Y/N loathes to know what other traits she unwittingly imparted unto her daughter.

“His name is Steve. I was friends with him before you were born.”

Winnie nods. “Is he nice?”

Y/N smiles. “Yeah, honey. He’s real nice. I think you’ll like him.” She sets the doll to the side, turning so she faces Winnie. She pulls her legs beneath her and rests her elbow on the lip of the bin. The sharp edges of the wood dig into her skin. “And, after, I have a few more friends coming.”

“From before?” Winnie asks, somehow impressing upon the ‘before’ like she understands the separation between her mother’s two lives.

“Yeah,” Y/N says on a sigh, tapping her pointer finger to Winnie’s nose. “They’re nice, too. Their names are Bucky and Natasha. I think you’ll love them.”

Winnie frowns. “Bucky?”

“It’s silly, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!”

“He’ll fit right in, then, won’t he?” Y/N grins, wiggling her fingers at Winnie and leaning forward.

She reaches for Winnie’s sides, tickling her. Winnie gasps around laughter, doubling over. “No, Mama! Stop it,” she wheezes.

Y/N does, pulling Winnie into her lap so they sit back to chest. She rests her cheek on Winnie’s hair and closes her eyes. Winnie plays with her fingers, intertwining and twisting their hands together. Y/N tightens her hold and sighs.

For a moment, she pretends the looming weekend holds games and reading and relaxing. That she sits with her daughter, holding her because she wants to and not as a means to prevent the pieces fracturing in her chest from piercing a lung.

Winnie, in all of her five year old wisdom, stays silent, focusing on their hands and unprotesting of the quietude. Winnie separates Y/N from Before and the Y/N Now, a thick line dividing her life into two sections. Y/N can’t imagine choosing to not have Winnie, despite the necessary losses in her endeavor to raise her well.

She hopes she raises her well, at least. Her own mother thought herself a fit parent, but it left Y/N with little love to show for it. If Winnie ever looked at Y/N the way Y/N looks at her mother, it would break her heart.

A knock on the door, two quick raps, interrupts. Y/N sighs, opening her eyes. The setting sun shines through the windows, casting a golden glow across the room. She revels in the peace a moment longer, and then tucks the wistfulness away.

“C’mon, kid.”

Winnie uses Y/N’s shoulder to stand. She steps back, looking down. “It’s okay, Mama. Right?” She places her palm on Y/N’s cheek, a mimicry of how Y/N comforts her when she gets upset.

“Yeah. I just don’t wanna get up, I’m so comfy!” She tries for lighthearted, but it falls flat on her ears.

Winnie smiles anyway, grabbing Y/N’s hand as if to help her up. Y/N stands with a groan, pretending to use Winnie’s grip, her legs numb from sitting. “Thank you, honey. Go sit on the couch, please.” She pats Winnie’s back, who listens with less fanfare than her normal attitude.

Y/N fortifies herself. How does someone prepare to see a face from their memories? A person they once relied upon and then left? It aches like pressing a bruise.

Another set of knocks pushes her forward the five steps to the door. Her hand hovers over the knob, a second’s hesitation, before she twists it to reveal Steve. His motorcycle helmet rests tucked between his arm and side. His hair sticks up every which way. He looks the same, save for the wrinkles around his eyes and the beard. It drives a splinter into her heart.

“A beard?” she exclaims, focusing on the easiest thing first.

Steve laughs, full bodied and whole. “Shut up. Lemme in.”

Y/N grins back at him, shaking her head and swallowing all the varying words on the tip of her tongue. She opens the door wider and steps back, motioning him in. Steve scans the room, starting from the left where the toy box rests to the staircase, and then returning to the couch. Winnie peeks over it, her eyes and the top of her head visible, her hands holding the cushion. She ducks down when Steve’s gaze lands on her.

“Well, well, well. Who’s this little one?”

Y/N cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. “This, here, is Winnie. Come say hello, honey.”

Steve’s head whips to look at Y/N, his eyes wide and lips turned down in a contemplative frown. “Winnie?” he draws out.

Y/N avoids his eyes in favor of focusing on drawing Winnie out. Her head pops back up. “Yes,” Y/N confirms. She clears her throat. “Come on, baby.” She holds her hand out.

Winnie shakes her head but stays peering over the back of the sofa. Her eyes flick from Steve’s riding boots up to his hair. “You’re Steve,” she says with all the bravado of a child who knows the truth.

He slowly turns to face her once more. “I sure am. I hear you’re Winnie.” He pauses, almost imperceptible, between ‘you’re’ and ‘Winnie’.

Y/N rolls her eyes. Steve dons a bleeding heart in his chest and on his sleeve. His emotions flick across his face plain as day for anyone to read, and Y/N used to know him front and back and front again. He thinks fast and draws conclusions faster.

“Not a word,” she whispers out of the corner of her mouth.

Steve wets his lips but nods. He steps closer to the couch and to Winnie. “I’m a friend of your mom’s.”

Winnie uses the cushions to push to a stand. “Yes. I know.”

Steve laughs. “Do you, now?”

His teasing tone washes over Y/N. Her head swims with vertigo, trying to make sense of the past standing in her living room talking to her present. Merging into one image, a memory and a fact. She missed this: the comradery, the jokes, the closeness. She regrets for half of a second, taking this away before Winnie experienced it, and then shuts the thought down just as fast. She made the right decision.

Winnie nods. “Mama told me.”

“Oh?” Steve prompts, stepping closer.

Winnie cranes her neck to look at him. “Uh huh.”

The swirling in Y/N’s gut intensifies. “All right, all right. Winnie, can you go to your room for me? I’ve gotta talk to Steve.”

“Mama,” Winnie whines, pouting.

Y/N snorts. “Go on.”

Winnie huffs a sigh. “Nice to meet you,” she says through her glower, the effectiveness lessened by her round cheeks and wide eyes.

Steve snorts. “You as well, Winnie.”

She tries one more time to change Y/N’s mind with a kicked puppy look she perfected too young, but Y/N waves her onward. Winnie stomps across the floor, her shoes lighting up with each step. Y/N bites her cheek to stop from laughing at the sight. Winnie’s door closes with a slam, and then opens again. “Sorry,” she says, albeit without conviction. Her door closes again.

Y/N strains to hear if Winnie intends on pressing her luck by sneaking back downstairs, but the door remains closed. She exhales.

“Come here,” Steve says, quiet.

Y/N steps into his arms, sagging into the hug. His heart beats a clear cadence through his jacket where she purposefully presses her ear. He rests his chin on top of her head. She holds him as tight as she can, forcing her mind blank save for the acknowledgment of the comfort and familiarity.

She hugs Winnie and no one else. While Winnie soothes the ebbing and flowing of aches, she missed these hugs. The ones where she feels small and held; protected and safe.

Steve smooths his hand down the back of her head, landing on her neck. He squeezes, an old gesture of solidarity, and then releases her. Y/N sighs, hollow and full all at once.

“Good?” Steve asks.

Y/N smiles, small and tired but honest. “Yeah. Come on.”

She leads him to the kitchen, the furthest point in the house from Winnie’s room. It allows them privacy, and, above all, bolsters Y/N’s resolve. The wall of cleaner they hit upon entrance brings forth her earlier adrenaline and anger.

Steve coughs around it, shaking his head. “What happened in here?” He settles against the table, setting his helmet behind him.

Y/N crosses her arms and leans against the counter across from Steve, the same spot Brock attacked her. “Buck didn’t tell you?”

“No. He called me and said to get here. That he and Nat and a few others would be following.”

Y/N looks over his shoulder and out of the window. Light pinks and purples and oranges paint the sky, darkening into the blue of the night. The trees lining the sidewalk sway in the breeze. A couple walks past hand in hand, grinning and laughing and easy.

“Brock.”

One word, but it holds the weight of a promise unfulfilled. Steve tenses, his leftover smile vanishing for a grim set to his lips. “What?” he barks. “No, we—”

“— Apparently you didn’t.”

Steve looks down at his shoes. “Y/N, I—”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not— there are more important things to deal with right now than how he survived. Like the fact that he did, and knows where I live and that means he knows about my kid.”

Steve nods.

“How long have you guys been checking up on me?” She wants to get it out of the way; all of it.

His head shoots up. “I—” He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Bucky told you?”

She snorts. “No. I figured it out when he said you’d be here in twenty minutes. What else would put you near me? You expect me to believe it’s a fucking coincidence?” she hisses. “How long?”

“Since you moved here.”

“How often?”

“Y/N…”

“How often?”

His jaw clenches. “We didn’t have a schedule. At least once a month, when time afforded it. It’s a quick drive, all things considered.”

Y/N lets that settle. Once a month for five years. She never caught them, and they never showed themselves. That hurts the most, carving a wound right down her center. If they ignored her boundaries anyway, why not go all in and show their faces?

She sniffs, shaking her head. “Whose idea?”

Steve laughs once, humorless and dry. “Whose idea do you think, Y/N?”

She thought so. “Okay.” And she can’t help herself now, because it builds in her lungs and leaks into her chest, a pressure chamber all on its own upset by the newfound revelations of what passed her by and it leaks out through the holes poked by the splinters. “Why didn’t you— no one ever…” she shakes her head, the words acidic on her tongue. Heavy and harsh, like the stench and taste of the bleach.

Steve sighs. “We didn’t want to mess it up. You deserved— deserve— a normal life. Out of all of us, you had the best shot of it. Hopped on the straight and narrow. A job at a fucking bank, of all the places. You wiped your hands clean, Y/N. We weren’t gonna ruin that for you.”

Small mercies, she supposes. “And he never— I mean, I’ve been here this whole time, and…” Words come easily to Y/N. She thinks and she speaks and it makes sense. After today, she knows nothing except keeping Winnie safe and herself whole.

“He never came. Said he couldn’t.”

She blinks back the tears threatening to spill, saving them for a later date where she can fall apart alone with only herself as judge, jury, and executioner. “Right.” It comes out weak, stilted. She clears her throat and tries again. “Right.”

Silence settles, a thorned bush of flowers. Beautiful and kind, but bloody otherwise. Steve shifts, pulling out a chair and sitting gracelessly. He crosses an ankle over his knee, hands clasped in his lap. His gaze pierces through Y/N, searching past her façade for more than she says or reveals. She knows Steve well, despite the difference in time and space, but it goes both ways.

They used to share conversations with looks and nudges and quiet scoffs. The habit stays, a muscle unused but there, and Steve uses it to parse her thoughts.

“Winnie?” he asks, a hunch and a lifetime and an accusation all rolled into one word.

“I only told Nat.”

“And you think he won’t put two and two together?”

“Well, Steve, when I named her I thought I’d never see any of you again. I was tired and alone and miserable, okay? I just, it felt right.” She pushes off the counter, itching to do something, anything, other than suffering Steve’s weighted silence in response.

Dinner. She can make dinner.

She ignores Steve’s unfailing attention heating her back, stalking to the pantry. She needs to grocery shop. She meant to do that this weekend. Careless for what she grabs, she retrieves the ingredients for pasta. An easy dinner, but at least she can watch the water boil rather than turn around.

The pot clangs against the sink when she fills it, and then the stove when she sets it down. Water splashes over the edges. She glares at it and turns the burner on anyway.

She gathers the onions, tomatoes, peppers, and chicken sausage and lines them up against the wall. Steve shifts behind her. The cutting board clatters on the counter, covering the rustling of his clothing. She reaches for the knife, stopping short of the block and clenching her fist.

Right.

Brock. Bleach. Dishwasher.

She decides on the bread knife, the only other large knife in the block. Peppers first, so they sauté the longest. She cuts the stem and then halves it, foregoing the knife for her fingers to tear out the seeds and glands.

Thoughtlessly, she chops the pepper into slivers and tosses them into the pan. She works through the onions and the tomatoes, stirring when necessary. The process takes time for its parts, but not its complexity.

She lucked out with Winnie, who eats most of what Y/N serves her with minimal complaint. If all else fails, the chicken nuggets in the freezer suffice. The chicken nuggets hiding her bloodied dress.

She slams her hands on the counter, head hanging. The chair scrapes from the force of Steve standing. She points to the freezer with the knife. “I have a dress covered in blood in the same fucking place as my kid’s chicken nuggets.” Her voice shakes. She sniffs. “A bloody dress in the freezer. It sounds like a joke. What’s the punchline?”

Steve’s fingers wrap around Y/N’s wrist, lowering her hand and taking the knife. He reaches around her to set it on the counter. “Let me,” he says softly.

Y/N shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut until they hurt.

Steve spins her by the wrist until she faces him, grabbing her by the shoulders and rubbing. “Y/N, go sit down.”

“Steve,” she whispers, like his name on a harsh exhale says what it needs to.

“I know. I know. Go sit down.” His hands drop, one sliding to her back to push her forward.

She allows it, taking the encouragement to the table and sitting in Steve’s seat. It creaks as she settles, elbows on the surface and her head in her hands.

She used to deal with this shit on a daily basis. A blood stain? No problem. Toss it out and get a new one when income allows. Someone attacks her? Easy-peasy. Throw an elbow or a hook or a kick to their knee so it bends the wrong way. Angry beyond reason? Some sorry motherfucker is bound to test their luck and offer an outlet. Lonely? Go home.

But if she throws out that dress, she risks someone finding it. And no one attacks anyone in Lambertville, so why would she need to defend herself? If she attacked someone, the police would arrest her rather than chock it up to another brawl. And she can’t go home, not in a way that matters.

Home is a hole in her chest and longing she swallows with her coffee and speaks around to her co-workers. Home is a shitty apartment and loud mouthed friends and reckless abandon. Home is her kid and this godforsaken house in this godforsaken town.

Intangible and something she tricked herself into believing she made peace with. Instead, she tucked it away like the rest and carried on like it weighed nothing at all.

The front door bursts open, banging against the wall.

Y/N stands, her heart in her throat and her hands in fists. Steve steps in front of her, wielding the knife and squaring his shoulders. They wait on bated breath for the heavy footfalls to bring forth their owner. Y/N clenches her jaw, staring at Steve’s back.

His shoulders sag and he shifts.

Bucky stalks in, face set in a grim frown. He nods once at Steve and continues past. His hands cup Y/N’s face, turning her head beneath the light. She bites back the sigh at having his skin on her skin again while Bucky slides his palms over her arms, looking for an injury.

She bats his hand away, pulling forth the annoyance from the phone call. “You stop mother-henning me.”

“Shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes, but he pulls her into his chest.

Y/N returns the hug, nose tucked into the junction between his shoulder and neck. She inhales, pulling as much of his scent in as possible. It overpowers the bleach and phantom smell of fresh blood. She closes her eyes and hugs him tighter.

Behind them and off to the side, a new voice mingles in murmurs with Steve. Sluggish to think from the inherent comfort of Bucky’s arms, it takes Y/N two seconds too long to register Natasha’s soft tone. Y/N gasps, presses an old habit closed mouth kiss to Bucky’s shoulder, and pushes him away, turning to Natasha. Heat fills her cheeks when she realizes what she did, but she carries on like she used to, stepping into Nat’s open arms.

They rock side to side, swaying with the force of the hug. “Nat,” Y/N says into her cheek.

Natasha laughs, breathless and joyful. “Y/N,” she responds.

It says enough about the vitality of their friendship that they understand each other. They let go, Natasha keeping an arm around Y/N’s waist so they can lean into each other, and face the others. Steve dumps the pasta in the strainer, running cold water over it. Bucky leans against the table, arms crossed and a small, just the corners of his lips, smile brightens his face.

Y/N dips her chin in acknowledgment of him and he nods back. She intends to rip him a new one later, but for now she revels in the proximity of her family. The holes in the pressure chamber in her chest lessen, mended by Nat’s arm and Bucky’s eyes and Steve’s quiet cooking.

They exchange glances in turn, awe marred around the edges by the reality of why they stand in the same room for the first time in a long time. Y/N looks at her feet when it overwhelms her, clearing her throat.

“I’d say welcome to my home, but I have a feeling you’ve seen it before.”

Nat squeezes her side. “It’s nice. Never been inside.”

Y/N shakes her head and laughs. Leave it to Natasha to look the tension in the face and make a joke. “Well, here you are.”

Bucky looks away, the smile dropping from his face and leaving nothing in its wake.

“Dinner’s almost ready, kids,” Steve singsongs, waving the wooden spoon he uses to combine the vegetables, meat, and pasta sauce. He shoots Y/N a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised.

“Right.” She wipes her sweaty palms on her leggings and steps out from Natasha’s arm.

The overwhelming warmth fades to a low thrum in the back of her mind, present but hindered. Y/N ignores the heat of their attention on her retreating back, walking with purpose to retrieve Winnie. She rounds the corner to the stairs, opens her mouth to shout for Winnie, and then sighs.

On the third to last step sits Winnie with her knees to her chest and her arms around her legs. She stares back at Y/N with wide eyes, caught in her eavesdropping. Y/N shakes her head. “How long have you been here?” She sits on the step next to Winnie, nudging her side with her leg. “Hm?” she prompts, purposefully soft to keep the worry from her voice.

Winnie plays with her fingers. “I just heard someone come in and—” She shrugs.

Y/N smiles, nudging her again. Winnie looks up. “Do you remember me saying I have more friends coming?” Winnie nods. “That was them. They’re a little less polite than Steve, so they didn’t knock. We always knock, right?”

“Yes.” She leans into Y/N’s side.

“Well, I’m glad you know that, honey.” Y/N wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Are you hungry?”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” Winnie exclaims, brightening.

“Steve made pasta. Is that okay?”

“Sure, Mama.”

Y/N stands, holding her hand out to help Winnie down the last steps. At the entrance to the kitchen, Winnie hides behind Y/N’s legs, peeking around to observe the newcomers. Natasha and Steve joke quietly while they plate the food. Bucky took the pulled out seat at the table. He watches the other two with fond eyes, shaking his head.

Y/N clears her throat, drawing their attention. Natasha turns first, dropping to a crouch. “Well, hello, there, ma’am,” she greets, light and airy. “Who might you be?”

Winnie waves but stays hidden. Y/N places a hand on her head, smiling at her daughter. “C’mon, kiddo. Say hi.”

“I did,” she whines, pouting up at Y/N.

Y/N scratches her head. “Are you gonna eat behind my legs? We’ve gotta go sit down, silly.”

Winnie sighs with her whole chest, throwing her head back. “But what if they don’t like me?”

Y/N looks from Winnie to the rest. Natasha still crouches, Steve places the plates at the table, and—

“Not there,” Y/N blurts when Steve places a plate in the spot Brock sat in. She scrubbed the damned thing clean, but she refuses for anyone to use it. She intends to burn it, along with her dress.

Steve, unaffected, shifts the plate one seat over. Bucky’s eyes flicker between the chair and Y/N and back, a glower present on his face. He lands one more time on Y/N and she shakes her head.

Natasha clears her throat, breaking the tension. “Well, I know I’m hungry and I’d sure like to sit at a table and eat. I don’t know about anyone else here.” She slaps her thighs and stands, taking the seat next to Bucky and across from Steve.

“C’mon, kiddo,” Y/N encourages.

Winnie protests with dragging feet but follows. Y/N takes the head of the table, next to Bucky, and Winnie pulls herself into her booster seat; Steve found her dinnerware— plastic plate and fork and cup. “Dig in, kids.”

They do, the clinks of their forks against the plates filling the silence. Y/N focuses on Winnie, watching her watch the newcomers with curiosity. Her gaze lands on Natasha more than the others, and when Nat catches her she looks in haste to her food.

Steve cooked well, the chicken sausage crispy and the vegetables soft. She enjoys eating a meal someone else made, a luxury afforded the few and far between times they eat out. Maybe she can coax one of them to do the dishes for her.

A tug on her sleeve draws her attention. Winnie leans over, beckoning Y/N closer and closer until she cups her mother’s ear. “Why are they here, Mama?”

Y/N’s grip tightens on her fork. She wondered when Winnie would ask, but she didn’t come up with an answer in that time. Y/N refuses to lie to Winnie. She molds her answers to an appropriate response for a kid, but she won’t lie.

She pulls back, flashing a fake grin at Winnie, and clears her throat. Bucky eyes her, chewing slowly. “Well, baby, I need their help.” Not a lie, but not the full truth. Maybe Winnie will let it—

“— With what?” she presses.

Y/N sighs, twirling her fork in the pasta for the sake of a distraction. “There’s an unkind person who…” She shakes her head, starting again. “There’s someone new in town who I know and they aren’t kind. And my friends are good at dealing with unkind people, to make them kind.”

It works enough for Winnie to nod, settling back in her seat with a contemplative frown. Y/N rests her fork against her plate and props her head on a fist. Winnie pushes her food around her plate, flickering between staring at her hand and her audience around the table. Bucky, Nat, and Steve train their eyes elsewhere, respectful of her hesitation.

“Is it the man at my school?”

Y/N tenses, swallowing a reflexive curse, and lowers her hand with purposeful patience, flattening her fingers on the tabletop. “What man, honey?” she asks through a clenched jaw.

Winnie sniffles. “I saw a man at recess. He seemed angry. Mister Nick was there.”

“Oh?” Y/N prompts. “And then what happened?”

Winnie shrugs. “I dunno. I was playing.”

Y/N tries to smile, but it feels brittle and stilted. “That’s okay. Thank you for sharing.” She closes her eyes and wets her lips, controlling her breathing.

She wishes she drove that knife into his heart and twisted. She imagines the squelch and the mess and his snarl morphing into pain; his pulse slowing to a stop and the light leaving his eyes. The part of her who fought without hesitation, no holds barred, rears its ugly head, berating her for failing so miserably to protect the one person in this world relying on her.

She clears her throat and looks at Natasha, who stares back with a perfected steeled gaze. She juts her chin out. Natasha stands. “Do you want to show me your room?” she asks Winnie.

Winnie looks up, startled and eyes wide. She nods, mouth dropped in awe, already clambering down from her seat.

“Come here, kid,” Y/N says, pulling on the napkin by her plate.

She dips it in her cup of water to dampen it, and then rubs at the sauce stains around Winnie’s mouth. Winnie pouts, looking from Y/N to Natasha and back, as if worried Natasha might change her mind and no longer wish to see her things. Y/N cleans the speckles on her hands and deems her shirt a lost cause.

“Okay. Go ahead.”

Their footsteps recede, along with Natasha’s gentle murmuring and Winnie’s replies. Y/N waits for the last stair to creak and Winnie’s door to shut before turning to Bucky and Steve, who share the grim set on her face. “I want him dead.”

Bucky lays his hand on Y/N’s. She yanks it away, pushing to a stand. By the day’s end, she expects her pacing to leave tracks on the floor, a memorial for the turning of events. The turning of her life with a sharp left into her past, a road she thought blocked off for good. Turns out, only she avoided it— everyone else took it like normal.

“Y/N,” Steve starts.

“Don’t!” She whirls on her heel, pointing an accusing finger. “Do. Not. Not only was he here, Steve, he was at my kid’s school. Her school!” She returns to pacing, shaking her head.

A dangerous, useless record of ‘what if, what if, what if’ plays on repeat. What if he got in? What if he got Winnie? What if—

Bucky spins her to face him, one hand on her shoulder and the other on the back of her neck. He steadies her. “We’ll take care of it, okay? You two take off for the weekend. He won’t be a problem by Monday.”

Y/N leans into his grip, pressing it harder into her skin with her hand on top of his. She missed him so wholly his presence soothes old wounds she figured out how to live around. She aches to crawl into his arms and burrow under his skin, into his veins, into his bones.

It’s not enough.

He came because she called, but he’ll leave just the same. She won’t allow herself the comfort of his safety for him to rip it away again. It will kill her.

She peels his hand away from her neck and steps back. “I can’t,” she whispers, hoarse, placing his hand by his side. “I already ran once. I packed up my life and high tailed it to suburban hell, but I made it work. I’m tired. I’m tired, Bucky. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life running— not with a kid. She deserves better than that. And what kind of mother am I if I don’t make sure she’s safe? I should’ve done it before, but I was scared.”

“You were pregnant, Y/N. You had an excuse.” He crosses his arms.

“Yeah, well, now I don’t. She’s got her whole life here.”

“Kids are resilient.”

“They shouldn’t have to be!” she protests, mirroring his tense posture. “They shouldn’t have to have things to be resilient about. I’m her mother, Buck, and that means I gotta be better than my own. Bigger, stronger, scarier.”

“Y/N, we turned out okay, didn’t we? We were okay.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Look at us, James. You’re in a glorified gang and my neighbors don’t even know my real name. I wouldn’t say that we turned out particularly well. I want better for my kid. That means if there’s a monster under her bed I am going to kill it myself.” She pauses, collecting herself. “I can’t run again. I won’t. I ran last time and it caught up to me. It needs to be me. I need to make sure he’s dead. Once and for all.”

“Y/N,” he pleads, voice low.

She smiles despite the effort, meeting his eyes. “Always the fixer, huh, Barnes?” She sniffles and shakes her head. “No. I’m telling you no.”

He stares her down, unyielding to her stubbornness. They came to a head many times for this reason— blowing up because she stood her ground, harebrained and foolhardy according to Bucky. She yelled and protested; he begged and sought to show her reason. She doesn’t yell anymore, and she sees reason.

She thinks it the most reasonable request to see this to the end, if only for Winnie’s sake.

Steve stands, drawing their attention. “You said Wanda and Sam came?”

Bucky nods once.

“Then let them take Winnie for the weekend. To Tony’s. He has that vacation home off the coast an hour out.” He looks at Y/N. “Is that okay?”

She nods, tucking away the glaring apprehension of an hour’s distance between herself and her child.

“Bruce can meet them there, and Clint can meet us here for back up.” His eyes flicker between Y/N and Bucky, unsure of which authority to settle on.

Y/N steps out from behind Bucky, taking the initiative. He may front the Commandos in New York, but she protects her homestead here, now matter how small. She calls the shots. “Okay. We get Winnie out tonight. I’ll call her out of school and I’ll call off work. I want this done by dinner tomorrow.”

“Miller time, right?” Bucky supplies through a biting half-grin that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Miller time.”

Bucky shakes his head, jaw clenched. Y/N huffs, but accepts the offered acquiescing despite his glaring disapproval. She nods her gratitude to Steve, casts one more look at Bucky’s turned back, and turns on her heel.

Natasha and Winnie’s conversation reach to the base of the stairs. Y/N pauses, rearranging her expression until it softens from apparent frustration to unaffected pleasantness. She walks slowly, trailing her hand along the rail, to avoid making noise. She wants her fill of Winnie’s laughter to tie her over until she finishes this and Winnie comes home.

She pauses at the door, peering through the crack. Natasha sits criss cross on Winnie’s bed, holding a faded teal and purple spider. Y/N smiles fondly. Natasha gave Y/N the stuffed animal after her positive test, laying claims to the ‘best aunt’ title.

Natasha, despite her hard exterior, loves children. She wanted a part in raising Winnie; spoke with wonder about all she planned to do. It killed Y/N when she told Nat she needed out, and that meant leaving everything behind. Natasha, one hell of a woman and a steadfast sister, offered her shoulder and shifted her plans to include Y/N’s departure for the sake of her kid.

Y/N raps two knuckles on the door frame, poking her head in. “Well, hello, ladies. Mind if I join?”

“Mama, I was telling Miss Natasha about school! And the birds and the park and Peter.”

“Oh?”

“She sure was. You’ve got a smart one, here, Y/N.”

Y/N grins, proud. “Yeah, I do. I don’t know where she gets it from.”

Natasha snorts. “Beats me.”

Winnie tugs on Natasha's hand, vying for her attention. Natasha focuses on her, face serious and eyes wide. “Yes, ma’am?”

“What’s your favorite animal? I told you all of mine!”

Natasha smiles, soft and fond. “Yes, you did. I like…” she draws it out, tapping her chin and pretending to think. Before Winnie can press, Natasha grabs the spider in her lap and shakes it. “Spiders!”

“Ew,” Winnie grumbles.

Y/N leans against the wall, content to watch the two.

“What? You don’t like spiders?”

“They’re scary.”

“No, no, no. They’re smart, like you. Cunning. They can learn and get smarter. They see colors, too.”

Winnie’s mouth drops. “What?” She turns to Y/N. “Mama, is that true?”

Y/N looks at Nat, who nods. She shrugs. “Yeah, why not.”

“Wow,” she says, awed.

Natasha hands her the plushie. Winnie holds it with newfound reverence, staring in its many beady eyes. She pokes them in turn. She turns it this way and that, examining its legs and asking Natasha more rapid-fire questions. Natasha answers just as fast, amused and entertained.

Y/N lets her marvel over the toy, using the time to gather her thoughts. She needs to pack clothes for Winnie. Her pillow. She sets about it, moving quietly to avoid drawing Winnie’s attention. She can relax for the time being.

Y/N piles clothes into a pink and purple duffle bag she bought Winnie as a part of a gift set for her birthday. The methodical movements and calculating of items keeps her head clear of wayward thoughts. She cares about packing the right amount of underwear and pants and pajamas and socks; nothing else.

She leaves them to retrieve Winnie’s toothbrush and paste, and her towel. Winnie loves the towel for its depiction of the Disney Princesses. Her favorite changes based on the day, but Moana appears more often than not these days. Y/N rubs the end of the towel between her fingers, the fabric pilled and rough from frequent use. She makes a mental note to buy a new one.

In the room, Natasha and Winnie lay on their backs with their legs against the wall, turning their feet left and right. Winnie giggles and elbows Natasha. “Again!” she commands.

Natasha grins. “Okay, okay,” she concedes, doing as asked. She says a sentence in Russian, slower than her normal dictation.

Y/N huffs and rolls her eyes. “Are you teaching my kid how to curse at me in another language, Romanov?”

“Nah. You know all the fun words, anyway.”

“I’m sure in the back of my mind.” She sets the completed duffle bag by the door. “Any room for dear old mom in that huddle?”

Winnie exclaims the affirmative, taking Natasha’s spot when she shimmies over to make room. Y/N crawls in beside Winnie, twisting to lay on her back and rest her legs along the wall. Shadows of stars dot the ceiling from the glow-in-the-dark stars she put up when she first moved in. Some fell over the years while others held on tight. The Big Dipper above the bed misses a star at the top corner of its bucket and on its tail.

“Winnie, would you like to meet more of my friends?”

Winnie squeals, tapping her hand on Y/N’s arm. “Mama, yes. You have so many!”

Y/N laughs. “Yeah, I guess I do.” She grabs Winnie’s hand to hold. “Would you be okay with spending the weekend with them?”

Winnie pauses her movements, looking up at Y/N. She frowns. “I have school tomorrow.”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

Her face brightens, her grin pushing up her cheeks. “Really?”

Y/N hums her assent. “It’s just you and them, though. I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

Winnie jumps to her knees, hands on Y/N’s stomach. She leans in with enthusiasm. “I will, I promise. Is Miss Nat coming?”

Y/N tucks a fallen strand of hair behind Winnie’s ear. “No, honey. I need Nat here.”

She frowns for a second before shaking it away, the light returning. “That’s okay. Who are they?”

Her worry of Winnie’s apprehension at staying with new people washes away. “There’s Wanda and Sam and Bruce and Tony.”

Winnie pouts. “Only one girl?”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Sam would love to play dress up with you,” Natasha interrupts, winking at Y/N.

Y/N shakes her head, grinning back. “And Bruce is super smart. You can tell him all the things you know. He might even teach you some things you don’t.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And Tony, he’s smart, too. But if he asks if you want to experiment, what’s the answer?”

Winnie looks away as if the response lingers in the air over her road map rug. She clenches and unclenches her fingers in Y/N’s sweatshirt and then shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You say ‘No, thank you, Mister Tony’.”

The confusion clears. “Okay, Mama. I can do that.”

“I know you can, baby. So what we’ve gotta do now is get you bathed and changed into jammies. Sound good?”

Winnie deflates, throwing her head back with all the dramatics of a five year old. “But I wanna play with Miss Nat,” she whines, elongating Natasha’s name.

Y/N pokes Winnie’s cheek with her pointer finger until Winnie concedes her attention to her. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can play with Nat again,” she singsongs.

Winnie’s head hangs, but she offers little else in the way of disagreement. It’s small fanfare to get Winnie in the tub. She requested to bathe herself a month ago, and held true to it since. Y/N runs the faucet, directing Winnie to tell her when it warms up enough, and plugs the tub. Winnie clambers in on her own and shoos Y/N out of the room, citing independence this and privacy that.

Y/N slides down the wall, settling on her butt with her knees drawn to her chest. Natasha sits next to her. In the bathroom, Winnie splashes and talks to herself. Y/N leans her head on Nat’s shoulder.

“Hi,” she whispers.

Natasha grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers. They held hands often, once they forged their way through each other’s harsh exteriors and found solace in the shared company. Y/N allows little physical comfort, save for from those whom she loves best.

It took time to gain each other’s trust, in spite of their supposed youthful naivete. They met in passing at the high school before Nat dropped out; shared a few classes and Steve as a mutual friend. Y/N hated Natasha with a vengeance; thought she wanted to take Steve away and by proxy Bucky, because the two are a package deal.

Natasha found Y/N crude and short-sighted, unable to withhold her emotions should the situation need a cool composure. They spat and fought, to the point where Bucky and Steve sought to keep them apart for everyone’s sake.

It took a damning fight between Bucky and Steve for Y/N and Nat to band together. Bucky complained to Y/N about Steve until he ran blue in the face and then some. Steve glowered and glared and shut down. Y/N heard enough and, because of her quick-draw bravado, she approached Natasha before the opportunity arose for it to happen the other way around. She smiles now, remembering the sigh Natasha heaved, accepting Y/N’s momentary truce to get the boys’ heads on right.

Except, the momentary truce turned into a begrudging friendship turned into Y/N decking a girl for shit taking Natasha behind her back and Natasha cleaning Y/N’s knuckles, calling her names in that fond tone of hers.

From then on, the separation of Y/N and Natasha whittled down until they formed a group. It shifted over the years, grew, broke, mended, to form what Bucky lovingly calls the Howling Commandos— a name created the night of his nineteenth birthday after too much stolen liquor and a trip to Coney Island despite its closure until May. The name stuck, no matter how much Y/N teased him for it.

“How are you?” Natasha asks, rubbing her thumb along the back of Y/N’s hand.

“I feel like you know. How many times did you come around?”

Natasha sighs, the shoulder Y/N’s head rests on rising and falling. “Enough. Steve and I rotated the most. Tried to convince Buck, but you know how he is.”

“Do I?”

“C’mon, Y/N.” Nat elbows her. “You know him best. Probably better than Steve,” she teases, poking at a secret Y/N told her late one night after a hard cry.

“Hey, now,” Y/N warns. “I just wish you’d said something. One of you. Any of you.”

Natasha rests her cheek against Y/N’s head. “You asked us not to.”

“I was wrong.”

“Wait, say that again. Let me get that on tape.” Natasha shifts to grab her phone from her pocket, pretending to unlock it.

“Oh, hush. Who did I get my righteousness from, again? Rhymes with ‘rat’?”

Natasha gasps, feigning indignation. “How dare you?” she declares around a grin.

They settle, Y/N hooking her right leg over Nat’s left. Winnie’s quiet splashes persist in the other room, a calming soundtrack. “I missed you,” Y/N whispers like a secret meant to go unheard.

Natasha squeezes her hand. “I missed you, too. I really wanted to tell you, I need you to know. It wasn’t easy. I just…” She shakes her head. “I was so mad at you,” she murmurs. “When you left, it felt like— god, I felt so small.”

Y/N exhales, her breath shaky. She feared Natasha’s resentment, but it comes expected. She harbors it, too. All the feelings she tucked away without naming rise, her chest a well so deep it echoes with the remnants of a life long passed and wounds unhealed in spite of it.

“I get it. I do. There’s more to it than you told me then, and I can make my guesses but…” She shrugs. “You’ve raised a good kid, Y/N. Watching from afar sucked, but it was nice to see you and Winnie— also, ‘Winnie’? Really?”

Y/N groans, resting her head against the wall. “I know, I know. Steve said the same thing when he heard.”

“You told Steve about—?” She gives Y/N a pointed look.

“Oh, god, no. He figured it out today.”

“What’d Bucky say?”

Y/N purses her lips, focusing on their intertwined fingers. “Well, I haven’t exactly said her name in front of him.”

Nat barks a single laugh, incredulous. “Are you shitting me?”

“No,” Y/N whines, covering her eyes with her free hand. She sighs, running her palm down her face.

“How do you expect to get around that?”

“Willful ignorance?”

Natasha laughs, shoulders shaking. “You fucking idiot.”

“Language. Little ears.”

“As if you can refrain from swearing.”

Y/N sighs, grinning. “It’s been hard, I won’t lie.”

She means it as more than not swearing around Winnie. Moving on and creating a life, however small and feeble, took greater effort than Y/N expected to dole out. She contemplated giving up and moving back more times than not in that first year, when Winnie woke with screeches and needed more attention than Y/N thought possible to give. It took a steel spine she forced herself to fortify to stay; to not beg for a forgiveness she hoped she wouldn’t need.

“I have a request.”

Y/N waits for Natasha to continue, her silence a prompting in itself.

“Can we, I, whoever you agree to— I wanna come back, after this. I can’t do this again, Y/N. I miss the hell out of you. Nothing’s the same. I don’t have anyone who returns my shit the way you do. Steve tries, but he’s got his own brand of smartass. It’s not the same. Bucky’s all stoic and shit now. Like a fucking heartbroken loser, damn him.” She turns to face Y/N, wrapping her other hand around their clasped fingers. She pleads with her well-crafted pout, one she perfected to get what she wants. Her words ring true, despite her purposeful expression.

“I’d like that. A lot.”

Natasha grins, triumphant.

“I’m not coming back, though. I can’t. Winnie’s life is here. I’m not gonna uproot her.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. You’re a good mom. Better than any of our own.” She looks down, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. In a small voice, the boldest show of emotions coming from Natasha, she says, “But you can visit, right?”

Y/N smiles and nods. “Yeah. Common ground. Central Park or something.”

Their faces scrunch in faux disgust at the same time. “Manhattan? Really?”

“We won’t go below 96th street.”

Nat snorts. “Brighton, take it or leave it.”

Y/N gasps, slapping Natasha’s arm. “You just want to impart on her our Coney Island days, don’t you?”

She shrugs, unrepentant. Before she responds, Winnie pokes her head around the door jam. “Mama, I’m done.”

“Oh! Good job, baby. Go get dressed.”

Winnie does, stepping over Y/N’s and Natasha’s strewn legs. Y/N leans into Natasha one more time before pushing to a stand, pulling Nat up behind her. “You wanna help her choose an outfit? I think she likes you.”

Nat grins. “Yeah, I do. I like her, too.”

Y/N squeezes her hand once and drops it. “Grab the duffle bag on your way down,” she calls over her shoulder.

She bounds down the stairs, lighter than before. They have a plan, at least an outline of one, that keeps Winnie safe. Winnie likes Natasha, and Natasha wants to come back. It bolsters her relief.

Steve lounges on the couch, stretching across its cushions with a book from her shelf hovering above his face. It’s an old romance novel she picked up in a fit of mindlessness, seeking a distraction from her newly mundane life. The first few years wore on her, with few places to go for company she enjoyed and a baby that didn’t respond in a way that made sense.

She read a lot in that time. Learned how to crochet. Watched enough documentaries she knows a small encyclopedia of random facts. Bought and killed plants. Bought more plants until she learned how to care for them and what ones needed what light and how much water.

She flicks the cover of the book. Steve pulls it down, an eyebrow raised. “This how you got your kicks?” He waves the book.

“Wasn’t getting them anywhere else.”

Steve snorts. “You should tell Buck that. I’m sure he’d be happy to hear it.”

She frowns, confused. “What, that I was lonely and miserable? He’s that mad at me?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” He lays the book open on his chest, crossing his arms behind his head. “You got the kid sorted?”

“All packed. Nat’s helping her choose her outfit.”

His grin softens. “I’m sure she’s having fun.”

“They both—”

A clattering in the kitchen followed by a curse stops her. She leans over the couch to look through the archway. At the sink, Bucky rolled his sleeves up and is elbow-deep in soapy water. He scrubs the pan with vigor, suds splashing onto the counter.

“God, he’s a mess.”

“You don’t sound so torn up about it,” Steve observes.

Y/N pulls away from the display in the kitchen, narrowing her eyes at Steve. “What’s that mean?”

Steve sighs as if burdened with great knowledge he must bestow upon the village idiot. “Nothing, Y/N. Just that it’s been five years and you still look at him like he hung the sky just for you.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, I, I’m not—”

“— and Bucky’s been a little shit since you left,” he continues over her.

“I had to, Steve,” she barks.

He softens. “I know. I’m glad you did. That doesn’t change what you left behind.”

Y/N bites her cheek, forcing down the frustration. She swallows around the stone in her throat. When she left, she thought they’d bounce back like any other time someone left. If she considered that it might linger, it threatened the budding determination to build a better life. Would it hurt more if they moved on? Would that make it easier?

“I didn’t think he’d care that much.”

Steve flops his hand on the back cushion, giving Y/N his palm. She considers it for a moment, the significance of this conversation and her conversation with Nat; the weight of Bucky doing dishes at her sink in her home in some small town in New Jersey. That he came when she called.

She lays her palm over his, and whispers with great difficulty, “When we’re done with this, Steve, he’s gonna leave again. Or I am, depending on how you look at it. Either way, I’m leaving and he’s staying or he’s leaving and I’m staying.” She shakes her head. “I did it once but I don’t think I can do it again.”

The last harsh and vulnerable honesty she told happened under a blanket pulled to the headboard, in stilted whispers to Natasha. She can’t afford to bare her tender spots, not without revealing too much to the wrong people.

“He’d stay if you asked him to.”

She smiles, sad and final. “I want him to want to stay.”

A knock cracks the moment. Y/N steps back and clears her throat. Through the window of the door, Wanda and Sam peer into the room. Wanda waves when she spots Y/N, her grin pushing her cheeks up and wrinkling the skin by her eyes.

“That them?” Bucky asks from the kitchen archway. He dries his hands on a towel, looking past Y/N to the door.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, soaking in his outline in the doorway. She pretends, for a small, sad second, that he occupies that space regularly. Then she turns the feeling off, forces it back down, and opens the door.

Wanda rushes her, throwing her arms around Y/N’s neck and almost bowling her over if not for Sam catching Y/N’s forearm to steady them. He squeezes and lets go, stepping back. Y/N returns the strength of the hug, one hand on Wanda’s back and the other on her head.

Clint happened upon Wanda and Pietro in an alleyway, huddled together behind a dumpster and making plans on how to steal food. He coaxed them back to the bar their group frequented, promising food and warmth. Pietro, lovely and trusting to a fault, followed behind him with Wanda in tow. The Commandos took them in and there they stayed.

Wanda releases her, grabbing Y/N’s cheeks and staring into her eyes. Liner smears Wanda’s waterline and lid, messy in the purposeful made-unmade look she strives to achieve. Y/N rolls her eyes, uncomfortable under Wanda’s piercing gaze. “C’mon, now, kid. Lemme go.”

“You need more sleep.”

“Probably.”

“No,” Wanda protests, turning Y/N’s head in the light much like Bucky earlier, albeit not searching for wounds but something only she knows. “Definitely.” She drops her hands and steps back.

Sam steps in, offering a short but just as warm hug. He pats Y/N’s back and returns to his spot. Y/N claps once. “Right, well. The gang’s all here.”

As if waiting for those words, Natasha follows a bounding Winnie down the stairs. Winnie halts at the bottom step, eyes wide and flicking between Sam and Wanda. She hops from the step, her backpack jostling.

With confidence she lacked earlier in meeting Bucky, Steve, and Nat, Winnie walks to short distance to Y/N’s side. She lips her hand into her mother’s and peers up. “You’re Wanda. And you’re Sam.” She points to them in turn then looks at Y/N.

“Yes, honey. Good job.”

Winnie grins, triumphant and satisfied. “Okay. Let’s go,” she declares.

A smattering of stifled laughs scatter the room.

“She’s certainly yours,” Sam teases.

“She is. She’s also right.” The light atmosphere shifts off center, the group reminded of its purpose. Y/N kneels in front of Winnie, pulling her in by the straps on her shoulders. “What’s in here, kid? Contraband?”

Winnie’s face scrunches up. “What’s that?”

“Nevermind. You got all you need?” She tightens the straps for something to do.

Winnie nods. “I got my books and my spider. Auntie Nat has my bag.”

Y/N’s breath lodges in her throat. She looks from Winnie to Nat and back. “Auntie Nat?”

Winnie shrugs, unaware of the weight and meaning behind her words. “My teacher said an aunt is my mom’s sister. You're my mom, and she’s your sister.” She says it matter of fact, like it makes sense because the truth makes sense.

Y/N sniffs and nods, eyes on Nat over Winnie’s shoulder. “Yeah, honey. Your teacher is right.”

Natasha looks away, adjusting the bag in her grip. Her side profile offers a view of the corner of her mouth twitch. Y/N takes it.

She clears her throat and focuses on the task at hand. “Well, now that we’ve got that sorted, you’re gonna go with Sam and Wanda, okay? And you’re gonna be on your best behavior, right?”

Winnie nods.

“Right?” Y/N says again, stretching it out and grinning.

Winnie nods again. Y/N wiggles her fingers in Winnie’s eyeline before dropping them to tickle her. Winnie screeches, laughing. “Yes! Okay. Yes. Best behavior.”

Y/N stops, pulling her in for a hug. She presses her cheek into the side of Winnie’s head, closing her eyes and swaying, memorizing the impression of Winnie against her chest. A small weekend away pales in comparison to why Y/N tasked Sam and Wanda to watch her daughter, but her heart flutters dangerously in her chest nonetheless at the prospect of not seeing Winnie for three consecutive days. She squeezes harder and presses another kiss to Winnie’s temple.

“Mama,” Winnie whines around a mouthful of giggles, wriggling in Y/N’s arms to get away.

Y/N sighs, but concedes. She stands, keeping a hand on the back of Winnie’s head, and turns to Sam and Wanda. They watch her with knowing eyes, the former with a soft grin and the latter with muted pity. Y/N wades through it in favor of forcing out a smile. “All right, guys. Time to hit the road.”

Natasha steps up to her side, nudging their shoulders together. Y/N takes the kindly offered strength as well as the bag. Winnie, in her excitement, pushes past the group, bouncing on her toes. She grabs the door knob, shaking it.

“Come on,” she urges, turning to face Y/N.

Y/N nods and Winnie yanks open the door, bursting into the night. Sam and Wanda follow behind them, and the rest behind Sam and Wanda. Y/N’s car, an SUV rated best in children’s safety tests she traded her beat-up Mustang for, awaits them at the curb. Streetlights gleam against its finish and paint the road in yellow. Winnie beats them to it.

It's a small fanfare to buckle Winnie and stow the bags. Sam takes the driver’s seat, Wanda in the passenger seat. Y/N hovers over Winnie, double and triple checking the straps. Winnie follows the movements with her eyes, curious but calm. Y/N tugs on the hem of her shirt to straighten it, smooths down her hair, wiggles the stuffed spider she brought along to make Winnie laugh.

Her heart threatens to claw its way from her chest through her throat and out of her mouth. She swallows to keep it down, and pulls the shirt hem once more. A gentle cough behind her jolts her. Winnie needs to get going, and now. Y/N wants to keep her safe, and that means letting her leave— even if it hurts.

Y/N presses a final kiss to Winnie’s forehead.

“It’s all right, mama. Right?”

Y/N smiles against Winnie’s skin. “Yeah, baby.” She trails her hand from Winnie’s hair over her cheek, pausing to caress her thumb over the bone, and then forces herself to pull away. She clears her throat, nods at Sam’s pointed look, and closes the door.

A hand guides her onto the curb, wrapping warm around her forearm. She leans into its owner, siphoning the support to strengthen where her will fails. The car rumbles to a start, headlights switching on. Winnie taps the window and waves with her stuffed animal. Y/N waves back, and then Sam pulls away from the curb.

In the silence of the night, broken by their breathing and the ringing in Y/N’s ear, she and her hodgepodge group of friends watch Sam drive away with her heart in the back seat.

Bucky’s other arm— and of course Bucky offered his side for her to lean on, because who else can hold her up with the ease of years spent fortified and vulnerable— wraps around her waist. She allows it, or pretends she weighed her options in the first place, pressing further into his chest. His hair, shorter than before but long enough to frame his face, tickles her ear.

The taillights of her SUV, a target of red in the distance, disappear on a left turn. Y/N exhales. It rattles in her chest and rebounds against her ribs and fights to offer a facsimile of relief.

Behind them, two sets of footsteps retreat into Y/N’s house, accompanied by hushed conversation. Bucky rests his temple against Y/N’s, pressing into her skin. It weeps from the missed touch as if her skin has a mind of its own, roaring louder than the fear hiding in her throat. She allows it, she pretends, like allowing Bucky to shape himself around her rather than her needing a pillar and needing it to be him.

She allows and allows and allows, because if she admits she has no choice in the matter— that she never did— it threatens to bring her to her knees. She allows them back into her life, and allows Winnie’s leaving, and allows Bucky to hold her fractured pieces together.

He squeezes once, kisses where his head rests, and then pulls back far enough to untwine them but not let go. His hands grip her waist, fingers digging into the skin as a reminder, and turns her. Y/N blames the lamp overhead for her fuzzy vision and not the tears threatening her lash line. Bucky swipes his thumbs beneath her eyes, drawing them upwards to frame her face.

“You good?” he whispers.

Y/N grabs his wrists to pull his hands away, but her own, without her commanding, press his palms harder into her face. She sniffs, shakes her head. “Yeah,” she says to the ground. “Yeah. I’ve just never…” She shakes her head again, trying to dislodge a thought that makes sense. “She’s my whole life. I’m scared. I’ve never been this scared.”

Bucky sighs with his chest, his shoulders rising and falling. He tightens his grip. “I know. She’ll be okay. Once this weekend is over, it’s back to business as usual.”

Y/N opens her mouth to protest, to say she wants for more than the new normal she forced herself to fit into like a too big foot in a too small shoe. The words form on her tongue and sit on the edge of her lips, but she can’t. She refuses to beg for him, not out of pride but care: for Winnie, for Bucky, and, mostly, for herself. As she did in the past, she will slide her foot into the shoe and suck it up rather than listen to Bucky deny her. Pretending she withheld his choice is easier than giving him the chance to break her heart further.

So, instead of saying that, instead of laying her love bare, she nods and withdraws his hands from her face. “Yeah. Business as usual.”

Bucky frowns, eyes tight, like he sees past her forced civility. She walks away before he can ask, stalking into the house. Natasha and Steve sit on the couch, talking lowly. They stop when she comes in. Under other circumstances, she would rib them for circumventing her obvious chemistry for false platonic love. Now, she nods to them, short and quick.

“Come on,” she commands.

Without waiting for them to follow, she continues into the kitchen and then to the door leading to her basement. She flicks on the light by the stairs as she passes. It illuminates her humdrum basement— boxes of Winnie’s outgrown clothes alongside her outgrown toys alongside pieces of Y/N’s life she left to collect dust. Mementos and frames without pictures greet anyone who ventures into the space.

Y/N had a lot of time on her hands when she moved here, first pregnant and without company and then with a newborn who slept scheduled hours. During those scheduled hours, along with her crocheting and reading, she grew restless. Tired in a way sleep didn’t remedy.

She needed to use her hands. Ached for it. They itched and they itched until she gave into the silenced part of herself.

It took a month to draw up the plans and a year to execute them.

Past the boxes and the cleaning supplies and disassembled furniture, a row of metal shelves cuts the room in half. Only, if someone saw the room after her work, they miss the thin line in the middle of the shelves. It fulfilled the child in her who longed for a secret room in which to hide, and the Commando in her who needed to prepare— for what, at the time, she didn’t know.

Now, she pushes aside a bike with training wheels, put away for the winter and yet to come out again, and presses on the middle shelf. It scrapes against the floor, a harsh and loud screeching of metal against concrete. The false shelf opens inward to hide the scratches on the floor from wayward eyes, and on it the trinkets shake and then settle.

Despite the years spent away from the room, she traverses it with ease to the wall whereupon rests the light switch. She flicks it on, revealing an old wooden table at its center and various preparations around the room— weapons gathered over time, files on her neighbors and co-workers, and outfits she loved too much to part with from her days prowling the night-fallen city for something to fight, amongst other things.

She stands, hands on her hips, surveying a room she thought abandoned.

“What the fuck is this?” Natasha asks around a laugh, running a finger along the backside of the metal shelves.

She examines her finger before wiping the dust on her pants, eyes wide as she takes in the room. Steve and Bucky block the doorway, shoulder to shoulder, bearing the same awe and slight befuddlement in their expressions. Y/N smiles, less hindered than before, at seeing her old cohorts in the space she kept for herself should the need arise.

Y/N sweeps her arms open in a presentation of the room. “My bunker.”

Steve sputters, stepping in and leaving Bucky at the entrance. He walks as if dazed, head on a slow swivel left and right. “You built— you built a bunker?”

Y/N shrugs. “All in a day’s work. Well, a year's work, really. Took a bit to avoid suspicion.”

He snorts, shaking his head bowed over the open file on the table. She forgot about that, having left the room in haste upon hearing Winnie crying for her through the baby monitor. For some reason, after that day, she never came back. She tries to remember what changed, but it doesn’t come. Some things die a quiet death sometimes. This room happened to be one of them.

Until now.

Steve flips a page in the file. “Is it safe to assume you have one of these on everyone in town?”

Y/N leans against the wall, crossing her arms. “Just the ones I interacted with the most. Grocery store clerks, doctors and nurses. Things like that.”

“Do I even want to know how you got all of this information?” Natasha asks from where she peruses the section of the wall showcasing knives.

Y/N shrugs. “The internet is a plentiful place for information.”

Bucky, silent for far too long, finally joins them inside. He looks over his shoulder as if something awaits behind him, and then shakes his head. Y/N bites her tongue to keep from asking his thoughts and instead lets him look his fill.

She joins Steve at the table, standing across for him, and waits for the other two to finish their gawking while pretending not to watch Bucky walk the perimeter. He half smiles, just the corner of his mouth, at the old leather jacket hanging from a hook in the wall. He fiddles with the sleeve, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, before letting it fall.

“All right,” he says to the filing cabinet next to the jacket. “You’ve brought us here for…?”

Y/N clears her throat for their attention. In a deep voice, she begins, “I have gathered you here today because—”

“Y/N,” Natasha chides, rolling her eyes.

Y/N sighs. “Fine. It’s because this is my preparation room. For what, I don’t know, but I have it and we’re going to use it so we can make a plan to finish Rumlow and keep my kid safe. Got it?” She phrases it as a question but leaves no room for argument. “Good.”

Bucky and Natasha share a look of raised eyebrows and one set of pursed lips, but join Steve and Y/N at the table. The four stand on their own sides of the table, looking between each other in turn. An undercurrent of excitement hides in their glances. For the first time in a long time, they come together to do what they used to.

Whiplashes of memories overlay the present picture. Them at a lunch table, the week before Natasha dropped out, making plans to see each other with the same frequency as before, disavowing the notion that they risk drifting apart. Another, at Bucky’s mom’s kitchen table, older and more worn but still hopeful to help. And then at a pool table in a bar, despite their ages, joined by newcomers who fancy the idea of feeling important; who want to help the people like them because they couldn’t help themselves.

They came about their self-proclaimed duties by happenstance, walking by a man harassing a lady outside of a club. She shirked his advances, but he ignored her drawn posture in favor of cornering her. Y/N, fueled with years of bitten down rage, swerved from the group to intervene. They followed and it bolstered her resolve. Five minutes of confrontation later, the woman thanked them and the man walked away with his head hung. After that, Y/N sought out ways to keep her corner of the world safe. Turns out, Bucky and Steve and Natasha followed suit on their own.

Y/N came across Bucky holding a guy who manhandled his kid by his throat against an alleyway’s wall. He turned upon her calling of his name, eyes wide and mouth open. The fear on his face, the shame, mirrored her own when her anger at the world bled into the guise of helping the wayward neighbors facing trouble. She swallowed it, then, to step forward to Bucky’s side, offering her support.

Somehow, after, it turned into a purposeful searching of misdeeds to rectify with a tight fist and threats they followed through on to prove a point, and then into making plans and drawing lines for who keeps an eye on where. The rest, the new people and the true forming of Howlies, grew as they grew. Looking back, Y/N can’t identify the turning point of a group of friends trying to better other’s lives instead of their own into the glorified gang she calls it now.

She shakes her head, forcing herself to focus on the present.

“I want it quick and easy,” she starts, hands braced on the table.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Clint?” Steve interjects.

“When is getting here, by the way?”

“Soon. He had to finish something up with his building and then he said he’d come.”

“Perfect, then we can sort this out and fill him in when he gets here.”

“And how do you suppose we sort this out?” Natasha counters.

Y/N bores into the file across from her, closed since Steve finished it. “Me.” She looks up, from Steve to Nat to Bucky, the latter of which frowns. “He came back for me, or to finish whatever he thinks he started.”

“No,” Bucky objects fiercely through clenched teeth.

Y/N rolls her eyes, pushing off the table to stand straight. “We’re not doing this, James. It’s my head on the line, my kid. I lay the stakes.”

Bucky works his jaw, looking away. He nods once, short and stilted.

“So, what? You wanna dangle yourself in front of him like a piece of meat? How do you know he’ll take the bait? As much as I think him an ignorant man, he isn’t stupid, Y/N,” Natasha says, always the voice of reason.

Y/N shrugs. “He knows where I live. He probably has eyes on my house, so he knows you’re here. If you guys leave—”

“—Absolutely not!” Bucky interrupts, loud and commanding.

“Let me finish! If you leave, park a few blocks away, far enough for him to think you really left, you can circle back. Come in through the cellar.” She stares hard at Bucky, meeting the fire in his eyes with her own, daring him to counter her.

He doesn’t look away but he also doesn’t answer. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping at him to respond, something that used to bring them to blows. She doesn’t have time to fight him and get angry and then try to resolve it, not now.

In a calmer voice, strained but quiet, she says, “And then you, all of you, will be here and we can bring him down. Keep a rotating watch outside for him. He’s hard to miss, what with the scars.”

“How do you know he’ll take the bait, Y/N?” Natasha presses.

“I don’t!” she shouts, turning on her heel for the façade of a moment’s reprieve from their heavy attention. She faces the wall with a corkboard, pictures thumbtacked to its surface and strings of various colors drawing relationships between the people in her town. She traces the green line for business between Winnie’s nurse and the pharmacy tech and the bartender off the place on Sixth Street and Jefferson. The string colors the board bright and messy, Lambertville a small enough town for everyone to have business with everyone.

“I don’t know, okay? But it’s the best I’ve got, because I don’t know shit about where he is. If he comes here, which he has already done, need I remind you, we get the upper hand. I know my house. I know the streets by my house.” She turns to face them again. “If anyone else has a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Steve sighs and fiddles with the folder in front of him, tapping the sheets of paper to fit back inside and straightening it. Natasha looks at her chipped fingernail polish, brightened by the whitened skin around them from pressing too hard into the table. Bucky’s anger slips away intentionally, his jaw unclenching and his shoulders sagging. A sad understanding replaces it, and Y/N can’t decide which she hates more.

“Well, isn’t this just a party?”

Y/N whips to face the entryway, dropping her hands to prepare for a fight. In the space stands Clint, hands on his hips, sporting a black eye and a cut through the arch of his eyebrow. He quirks it, lips pulled in an amused smirk. Y/N relaxes.

“When’d you get here?” she asks, stepping forward.

Clint embraces her, swaying side to side. He presses a kiss to her temple and then releases her. “Just a few minutes ago. For someone so worried about someone breaking in, you sure do leave your door unlocked.”

Y/N snorts, shaking her head. “We’ve been busy. Plus, it’d make this job a hell of lot easier if he just burst in.”

Clint hums, looking around the room in the same fashion as Bucky and Steve and Natasha before him. He rocks from the tips of his toes to his heels, back and forth, hands shoved in his pockets. Y/N takes her place at the table and allows him a moment to take it in.

“I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you, Y/N. Not bad.” He sighs and focuses on the group. “So what’s with all the yelling?”

Nat waves in Y/N’s direction. “This one here wants to use herself as bait.”

“Ah,” Clint says like it all makes sense.

Maybe it does, in his eyes. Y/N threw herself into fights with reckless abandon, aching for the familiar relief of split knuckles burrowing alongside the forever present triumph of doing what she believed just. It landed her in their makeshift medic’s office more times than she could count, Bruce mending her cuts and icing her bruises, Bucky reprimanding her from his perch on the counter.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Steve tries, quiet and unsure in a way contradicting his towering stature. He used to be smaller, and the shortening of himself now is a habit long formed but unnecessary. “We’d be here for back up, to keep it easier to manage.”

“So that’s it? That’s the plan? Smoke and mirrors?” Bucky asks in more of a taunt than a confirmation.

“We’ve done it before,” Clint provides, taking a spot next to Steve. “A lot, actually. Worked more times than not.”

“What about your kid? What if something goes wrong? Then what happens to her?” Bucky presses, reminding Y/N she never told Bucky Winnie’s name.

Steve and Natasha share a look over Clint’s head.

“I’m trying not to think about that.”

“Your actions affect her, Y/N.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t built her whole life around my actions? I’m not a fucking idiot, James. But if I think about her then I’ll be paralyzed because she is my life. My life. And that means—”

Y/N freezes. The phone in her pocket, the burner that only Bucky knows the number for, blares its jumpy ringtone. It fills the silence, echoing off the walls and back— haunting despite its bubbly tone. With slow hands as if the damn thing bites, she reaches into her pocket and pulls it out, placing it in the center of the table. Bucky’s eyes widen, flicking from Y/N to the phone and back.

Y/N withdraws her hand, gripping the lip of the table. She sniffs, shaking her head. “Buck?”

“I gave the number to Wanda. Just in case.”

The noise stops, the small screen lighting up to display one missed call. Y/N exhales, reminding herself to breathe. She wants it to be a coincidence; a telemarketer or misdial. Nerves wrack up and down her spine, electrifying her skin and the air.

Y/N doesn’t believe in coincidences.

It rings again.

She wets her lips, drawing the bottom one in to chew. Twice in a row.

A phone with an old number who only one— no, two— people in the world know, ringing twice in the span of a minute?

Y/N looks at Bucky for a split second to gather herself and steal some of his perpetual calmness, then snatches the phone from the table. She holds it in her palm. It vibrates against her skin. A Lambertville area code. She runs her thumb along the seam, contemplating.

The ringing stops.

Y/N waits on bated breath for it to ring again, the silence roaring in her ears. It stays still and quiet at its spot in the center of the table as if afraid to make noise due to the table of stares boring into its face.

“Do you think—?” starts Natasha, interrupted once more by the tone.

Y/N inhales enough to bolster herself and then flips the phone open, pressing the call button. Her hands shake as she brings it to her ear. She looks into Bucky’s eyes, the rest of the room falling away to a tunnel vision of the cool blue-green.

“It’s about time, kiddo!” Brock jeers.

Y/N seethes.

“You know, it’s just such a small world. You’ll never guess who I ran into at a gas station a few miles outside of Lambertville.”

Y/N closes her eyes as tight as she can, hanging her head. “What do you want?”

Brock snorts. “To finish what we started, of course. You’ve been very disrespectful, Y/N. Wasn’t it you who taught me about manners?” he tuts.

A hand overlays her own, warm and comforting. She can’t suffer that kindness right now, not when she needs fire and wrath. She pulls her hand away, wrapping it around herself, and backs up until her back hits the filing cabinets behind her. They clink together, jostled by her weight.

“What do you want?”

“You’re no fun these days. I remember when we used to have fun, don’t you? And then you had to go and ruin it.”

Y/N refuses to argue semantics with a son of bitch like Brock. “Brock,” she barks.

He sighs. “Fine, spoilsport. I want to talk without you stabbing me. One last time, Y/N, for old time’s sake. Also, I have your kid.” He tacks it on like a side remark of the possible future rain— as if it may disrupt plans but they won’t know until it starts pouring.

Y/N clenches her jaw. “Where?”

“You know the town well enough by now, I’m sure. You know that theater off of Bridge Street? Closed for renovations?” Something rustles on the line. “It’s nice in here.”

Y/N doesn’t respond, waiting for his demands. Come alone; come without weapons. Whatever plan he made to get her to him for her daughter’s sake. God, Winnie must be frightened. And Sam and Wanda, what did he do to them?

She lets her imagination run to stoke the fire in her chest. She needs all the strength she can wrap her fingers around, enough to wrap those fingers around Brock’s throat and squeeze.

“You can bring your buddies. I know they came. It’s sweet, isn’t it? You called and they came, even though you abandoned them?”

Y/N opens her eyes, looking from concerned face to concerned face. What’s his play?

“See, your pals, your Bucky, made some enemies, even more in your time away. You got your friends, and I got mine. I figure it’s only fair to give them a fighting chance. Hit us with your best shot, Y/N. Remember that? God, what a time,” he sighs. “See you then.” He hangs up.

Dazed, Y/N pulls her hand away. It dangles at her side, the dial tone ringing loud enough to hear. Brock has Winnie. Her daughter. Her life. She sent Winnie away, right into Brock’s grimy fingers. She thinks of those hands and their past, the blood and the dirt and the cuts, touching her daughter. Holding her. Subduing her.

The phone shatters against the wall, and it’s only then that Y/N realizes she threw it. She looks at her hands, tracing the lines with her eyes and wondering how she holds her daughter with them when they, too, donned the markings of endless fights. A small scar slices the center of her palm from her pinkie to her thumb, a reminder of an altercation gone wrong.

“Y/N,” Bucky whispers.

It starts her into action. She slaps his outstretched hand out of the way, pushing past him to her wall of weapons. A security blanket. A plan Z in case plans A through Y failed. She tunes out the protests behind her, grabbing the first weapons in her sights.

A trench knife and its forearm holster. A tactical knife for one calf, and a Ka-bar for the other.

“Y/N,” Bucky says again, grabbing her arm.

She wrenches it away, ignoring him and reaching for the only two guns she procured before leaving the room to collect dust: a SIG Sauer best for conceal carry and a Smith & Wesson for her thigh.

“Y/N! You really think this is the best plan?” Natasha interjects.

“Yes, I do,” Y/N mumbles, tightening the straps of the holster on her calf and moving on to the next.

The motions, old and unused, settle the harried panic. She did this daily, once upon a time. Her hands didn’t shake then, and they stop shaking now. Knives then guns, the SIG in a holster hidden by her sweatshirt and the other present on the outside of her thigh.

She scans the room for anything else, ignoring the stillness of her friends with their worried attention on her. Between Steve and Natasha, who joined together while Y/N turned her back, her leather jacket hangs from the wall. She wore it just shy of threadbare, her favorite piece of makeshift armor. It lacks the Howlie insignia Kate embroidered on the other’s, a talent she perfected for something to do with her hands and clear her mind, but it belongs to Y/N’s past just the same.

She slides between Nat and Steve, lifting it from its perch. The soft leather folds and sags in her hands. She rubs the fabric between her fingers and thumbs, pressing it against her nose to breathe in the scent. The years in storage rendered its musk stale, but comforting nonetheless. She slides an arm in, the lock boxes in her mind unclicking and revealing the parts of her she thought long laid to rest.

Before she slips into the second sleeve, Bucky grabs her arm once more, his grip tight and warning. He tugs her to face him, leaning in to stand eye to eye. “You’re half cracked and wild, Y/N. What did he say?”

Y/N scoffs. “What do you think he said, Buck? He’s got Winnie. He’s got my kid. I’m half cracked and wild ‘cause I gotta get my kid, and—”

“—Winnie?” he whispers, eyes wide.

Y/N tenses, realizing her fault. Winnie’s name burns on her tongue alongside the reason. She didn’t plan to tell him, at least not like this. The weight in the room and of her slip up join the sticky sweat on her skin, a heated blanket in the middle of June. She swallows, and it hurts.

“She’s yours.”

He shakes his head, brows drawn and mouth agape. “I, what?” he asks on an exhale.

“Don’t act so surprised. We fucked and then I’m pregnant, you can’t tell me you weren’t suspicious. I never told you because I didn’t want you to choose me, choose us, out of some fucked up sense of obligation.” She spits the words with the ire built over years and ignited tonight.

He shakes his head, eyes wide. “I didn’t know. I thought— well…”

“You thought what James?”

He looks to the floor, to her shoes resting beneath where her jacket hung.

She scoffs, pulling her arm away to finish putting on her coat. “You know, rumors spread like a fire, especially around small groups of friends. You think your men are impervious to gossip? I didn’t say anything because it was pointless. The more I would’ve protested, the more they would’ve believed it. Tell me, how many men do you think I slept with before or after you?” she accuses, knowing the answer.

For all that she and Bucky grew up together, some parts of themselves got lost in translation as the years passed.

He swallows, sluggish.

“Two.” She holds up two fingers as if evidence. “Two before you, long before you. None after. You wanna know why Brock targeted me, Buck? Why he couldn’t leave well enough alone? Why, no matter how many times I told him no, he didn’t stop? Because he thought I was the town slut and he took it as an insult that I wouldn’t fuck him.” She shakes her head, tired and over it. Tears gather on her lashes.

He whips his head to look at her. “What? Why didn’t—“

“Because I was pregnant, and I just wanted— it doesn’t matter what I wanted. We’re not having this conversation right now. I need to get to Winnie. You can help or not, I don’t care. But you will not stand between me and my child, do you understand?”

Despite the force of her declaration, she doesn’t want to do this without him. Without her friends behind her, pretending to allow Bucky and Y/N privacy like she didn’t hear Clint’s hitched breath when she told the truth for once in her goddamned life.

Bucky steps back, staring at her. She wonders how she looks to him.

He nods.

Y/N exhales, relieved despite the weight, and grabs her boots, stalking past her friends to the stairs. They creak beneath her, a familiar noise charged with the tension. They sound again when Natasha follows her up, and then the rest.

Her kitchen, lit by the moon through the windows and the light from the basement, glares back at her. This morning, she made breakfast at the stove and packed Winnie’s lunch. She watered the plants on the window sills and washed the dishes.

This afternoon, she cleaned it within an inch of its life. The once strong bleach smell lingers on the floor and table and in the air, a reminder of the turning point. It feels like months ago that she kneeled, peeling off her bloodied dress and preparing for Peter and Winnie to come home.

Now, she walks through it, casting aside the memories. Later, when she packs up and moves again, this time with Winnie, she’ll split herself into a new Before and After, leaving this kitchen behind.

Dazed, lightheaded and viewing herself from a bird’s view, she laces her boots up. Natasha sits beside her on the couch, doing the same. She leans into Y/N, a solid weight along her side. Her quiet whispers go unheard in Y/N’s ears, the rush overtaking the kindness. Y/N nods, absentminded and focusing only on her next steps.

Plan B, because Brock cut Plan A to pieces. Get her kid. Whatever else happens, happens. She makes peace with it now, refusing to dwell on the repercussions of what protecting her child makes of her. No one, not an egotistical fuck nor the love of her life, knows the cruelty in her devotion.

Bigger, stronger, scarier, she told Bucky. She meant it then and means it now.

Steve rode in on his bike, Bucky and Nat in the latter’s Mustang. She and Y/N bought a matching set the day Y/N turned eighteen, celebrating the illusion of freedom. The driver seat welcomes her like her own car, molding to her body. She caresses the steering wheel, a biting grin on her lips not for the happiness of familiarity, but the memory of the fear it instilled in the right people doing the wrong things. She reveled in the power of scaring scarier men with an innocuous drive down the road.

She revels in it now.

Natasha takes the passenger seat, Clint the back, and Steve and Bucky on Steve’s motorcycle. The car rumbles to life, its frame shaking with the transformed engine into a powerful beast. Bucky and Nat spent the summer after getting the cars working to better them, Steve and Y/N sat on coolers drinking beers to jeer rather than help.

Y/N pulls away from the curb, slow and purposeful. If committing one crime, don’t commit another, she learned. She drives the speed limit, focused on the road and not the houses she passes or the stars shining down their disapproval, if stars talked.

Her house, right on Main Street, sits in the center of town— a purposeful move when she bought it. Bridge Street, with the old theater, is a five minute drive through store fronts, house rows, and across the street from a cemetery.

Natasha watches her from her seat. “That was certainly a choice.”

Y/N hums, half listening.

“I mean, what a way to tell Buck he has a kid.”

Y/N sighs, grip tightening on the wheel. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Natasha says and means.

The conversation ends there, more said in the silence than through words. She won’t carry the guilt of whatever she does to Brock and his lackeys, but the guilt of telling Bucky that way, of throwing it in his face as a cruel motivator, will sit in her gut alongside the other good intentions that paved the road to hell.

Steve swerves into the left lane, riding parallel to Y/N. She keeps her eyes forward, but acknowledges him with a flash of the high beams. They used to do this, too, on nights meant for forgetting. They raced and they chased and they ran circles around whatever empty parking lots they found.

Y/N slows, turning right. She creeps to a stop in front of the theater, Steve parking behind her. Low lights shine through the stain glass windows, the front door cracked and bleeding out onto the front steps. The bones of the theater resemble its old business— a church that lost followers after a scandal with the pastor and his wife. The city council renovated it in the early 2000s, relabeling it for community use. They left the bell and the signage and the history, put in a stage, and called it a day.

The keys jingle when she pulls them from the ignition. She steps out. A cold wind rushes her, the year not late enough for warm nights. The eerie silence on the street accompanies the storm in her chest, broken by crickets and their boots on the ground. She stands shoulder to shoulder with Nat and Steve, Bucky and Clint on the far ends.

Her fingers tap against the gun on her thigh as she surveys the entry points. In her research of the congregation after learning of the scandal, she found a blueprint revealing a door in the back. She points to the side of the building, silent.

Natasha, Clint, and Steve nod in unison, stepping out the line up. They creep along the side, sticking close to the shadows and out of view of the windows. Bucky shifts to take Steve’s spot next to Y/N. She allows it for a moment, taking the kindness despite her deserving of less, and then forces herself onward.

On a routine run, she paused at the crack in the door to scan the room. Now, she bursts through, the door banging against the wall from where it rebounds.

Rows of chairs fill either side of the room, leaving a center aisle. On the stage down front, two men whip to look at her. The dark haired one laughs, reclining in his chair. The other one, younger and greener from his visage, looks between the laughing man and Y/N and Bucky.

She stalks down the aisle, unclipping the strap of her holster and withdrawing her gun. In hands used to the weight, she levels the sights on the knees of the laughing man. A bang rings out, rebounding through the space, sharp and disorienting.

He stops laughing, falling from his chair.

The other kid stands, backing up with hands raised. Y/N pulls the trigger, downing him. He screams, curling in on himself.

She braces one hand on the stage and jumps up, towering over the men at her feet. To her left, tied to a pole beyond the curtain, Sam calls for her. “I’m sorry,” he says around a fat tongue and split lip.

She shakes her head. She doesn’t have time to bear his guilt alongside the torrent of fear and anger in herself. Instead of responding, she focuses on the once-laughing man. He groans in pain, eyes squeezed shut but lips pulled into a disgusting grin. His whine morphs once more into stilted laughter.

“Fuck, you’re—”

Y/N steps on his wounded knee, grinding her toe into it. He screams, curling further into himself and panting. “Where’s my kid?” she demands.

“Crazy bitch!” he yells. “You have no idea wha—”

A bang and he sags, head lolling back. Y/N looks over her shoulder. Bucky’s arm lowers to his side, his own gun smoking in his grip. She nods her gratitude and returns to the other kid. God, he’s young. Too young to deserve getting in the mix with these lowlifes. He chose to, unfortunately, and that motivates Y/N enough to transfer the weight of her boot to his knee.

He cries out, tears streaming down his face.

“Where’s my kid?”

“I’d answer her if I were you,” Bucky warns, low and harsh.

“Rumlow!” he shouts through his crying.

She presses harder, leaning her weight into her leg with her gun leveled on his head. “I know that, you stupid fuck. Where?!”

He groans but raises a shaking hand over her shoulder, pointing up. Y/N follows the direction, turning. In the rafters, leaning over the edge of the fence with his hands dangling as calm as can be, Brock smiles his wicked, vile smile down at her. He wiggles his fingers in a wave, cocking his head to the side.

“Quite the show,” he commends, his voice echoing.

Y/N raises her gun to point at his head. The distance puts a clear shot at risk, but she can deal with the repercussions of that. A bleeding man is a vulnerable man. Brock holds his hands up as if they create a formidable barrier between himself and a bullet, his mouth pulled into a faux pout.

“I just wanna talk, Y/N. Then you can take little Willie back.” He says her name with disgust, purposeful in his misnaming. “I haven’t touched a hair on her head, I cross my heart.” He uses his pointer finger to draw an X over the left side of his chest.

Y/N imagines pulling the trigger and hitting that spot.

“She’s not here. That means if you kill me, you’ll never find her,” he warns as if privy to her ire and intentions.

She wishes he could see into her mind, if only to watch her kill him in every crafty way she learned— for walking back into her life, for touching Winnie. In the years since leaving the city and her life, she put away the desire to hurt someone out of anger and not need; it rushes her in full force, overcoming and torrential.

Y/N clenches her jaw, but lowers her gun to her side. Brock raises a brow, eyes flickering to the floor. She clicks the safety on and sets the gun on the ground. “The other ones, too, please.”

Y/N glares at him, unstrapping the knives from her calves.

“I’m sure you have another one hidden. I’m not a fool.”

She lifts up her sweatshirt and unclips the SIG, raising her hand to wave it at him as if to say ‘see? Last one’. It joins her other weapons on the floor. Brock nods, satisfied, and uses the railing to hold himself when he leans back. It shakes from his weight.

“Y/N,” Bucky says lowly, grabbing her forearm. He pauses at the outline of her final concealed knife and squeezes once.

She turns into him to whisper in his ear. “Help Sam and Wanda. She’s here somewhere, Buck. He wouldn’t let her get far.”

Bucky looks from her to where Sam and Wanda sit, the latter slowly waking up.

“Please. I’ve got this.”

Bucky nods once and lets Y/N go. He steps back, taking the heat of his body with him.

“Good guard dog,” Brock mocks from above.

Y/N closes her eyes for a breath, steeling herself, before pushing through the curtains. A ladder leads upwards and into the rafters. She unhooks the chain stating only authorized persons can use it, and starts climbing.

The ceiling stops ten feet high where the V of the roof begins, the ladder extending that length. Y/N works quickly, her boots thudding against the rungs in tune to the racing of her heart. Below her, Sam eases Wanda into his lap and Bucky crouches next to them, his head craned back to look up at her. She smiles at him, feeble, and then pulls herself onto the rafter.

It spans four feet wide and five times as long. Halfway down, Brock sits in a folding metal chair, one ankle crossed over the other. He nods at the matching chair across from him, against the opposing railing. Y/N straightens, pulling her shoulders back and her head high, stalking down the length. The grate clangs with her steps, the structure shaking.

Eyes on Brock, she takes the seat.

He trails his gaze from her shoes to her head, settling on meeting her glare. “Your kid is scrappy,” he starts.

Y/N runs her tongue over her teeth. She taught Winnie a few ways to defend herself, small things capable of a kid. Go for the eyes. The nose. Use fingernails. Kick. Scream. It settles little in her to know Winnie listened. What does that matter if it didn’t work?

Brock points to his cheek. “I got this from her. You teaching her all your neat tricks? She know how to use a knife and a gun, too? You gonna teach her your… other skills when the time comes?” he goads.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, looking away. Dust motes float in the air over the seating area. Ropes from an old production hang from a beam overhead. She counts the fibers she sees from here rather than look at him.

“C’mon, Y/N! We used to talk all the time, do you remember? Catch me up, what’s new with you? Aside from the name and the child and the job, of course. Actually, how about I catch you up on me, since I already know everything about you?” He says it slowly, taunting her.

She bores into the rope harder.

Brock sighs. “See, I got into a horrible accident. A fire, of all things. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” He picks an invisible piece of lint from his pants, eyebrows raised as if expecting a response. “ Well, when I got out, the healing took quite a bit of time—”

“Brock, what do you want?” she barks, tired of his monologuing. She knows what happened to him, and anything after doesn’t matter.

He shrugs. “You really hurt my feelings, Y/N,” he pouts. “And then you put your dogs on me? I just want to know why.”

She scoffs, clasping her hands together on her lap.

“Look at me.”

She ignores him.

“Look at me!” he roars, hoarse and loud.

When she refuses, he grips her chin between bruising fingers and yanks her head to level with him. He sneers, close enough for his breath to sour the air. Y/N glares at him. He shakes her head, his snarl softening into a grin. “See how easy that was?” he coos.

Y/N wets her lips.

Brock, unbeknownst to her left hand creeping up the sleeve of her right arm, leans out of his seat and across the aisle to handle her. His unbalanced weight tips the chair onto its front legs, the metal scratching on the grate when he shifts.

“Why does this matter?” she asks for the sake of distraction.

Brock huffs, his grip tightening, and rolls his eyes. Y/N takes the moment to wrap her fingers around the hilt of her knife.

“Because you disrespected me. I am a man deserving of reverence, you see. And you just…” he tsks.

Y/N unsheathes the knife, the sound hidden beneath his voice. “But why my kid, Brock?” she pleads, as if she cares for his answer.

He opens his mouth to respond. Y/N takes the opening, withdrawing her knife. It enters his thigh with a sick squelch. He falls into his chair, gasping. Y/N, hand still gripping the hilt, follows, shoving it harder into his skin.

“Oh, you’re sneaky,” he commends, his hands coming down over her own.

She braces to fight against him, but he twists the knife. Y/N stills, a bolt of confusion interrupting her grip. In the second she foolishly untenses, Brock jolts forward, slamming his head into Y/N’s nose. It cracks from the force of his strike, pain sweeping across her face. She falls backward, dizzy. Blood rushes from her nose, leaking into her mouth.

The thing is, she got used to the pain of taking hits. Reveled in it, even. It heated the fight in her, made her vicious where she once held control.

She uses the sweatshirt sleeve to wipe under her nose. It stings, tears mixing with the blood. She pulls the fabric away, blood staining it.

Across from her, Brock groans. He grips the knife with one hand, the other around the wound, and pulls. Before the blade leaves his muscles, Y/N springs forward and slams it back down. Brock yells, head thrown back. His chest heaves with his breaths, his teeth stained with blood from his own broken nose.

Without looking, she reaches above for the rope. It pulls against her palm, the fibers rough and old. “You stupid fuck,” she chokes out around the blood and the coarse laughter bubbling in her throat.

She wraps the rope around his throat twice and yanks it. Brock’s hands fly to his neck, fruitlessly pulling on the makeshift noose. The reddened blood vessels in the whites of his eyes brighten the small tears along his lash line. He gapes like an ugly, unrepentant fish.

His cheeks and forehead flush from the lack of oxygen. Y/N loosens the rope.

“Where is she?” she demands in a low tone.

Brock sucks in a breath of air to waste it laughing.

Y/N pulls the rope.

His struggles matter little against her force and his weakness. The knife in his thigh shifts when he kicks at Y/N’s leg, aiming for her balance. She steps out of the way, seeing his hit move in slow motion with sluggishness.

Red washes over his face. She relaxes the rope again.

“Where is she?”

He shakes his head, grinning. “You’ll never get her back, Y/N. I went through trial by fire—”

“—Oh, shut the fuck up,” she shouts over his taunts, pulling once more.

Brock’s neck cracks from the force, his body twisting towards where she holds the rope but held in place by the tension point on the beam. His ineffective fingers grip his throat, no longer fighting. His eyes slide shut faster than he forces them open.

Y/N shifts closer to him, the rope slackening. “Where is—”

“—We found her!” a voice shouts from below.

Brock’s eyes widen, his mouth gaping open. Y/N sighs through a sickly satisfied smile. “Well, would you look at that?”

Brock wraps his fingers around the rope a second too late. Y/N pulls the slack tight, wrapping the rest of the length of her end around his throat. She threads the tip around the rope hanging from the beam and secures the end where the binding meets his neck. He struggles with renewed vigor, the laughter and malice drained from his eyes, true fear taking their place.

Y/N steps back, surveying her work with a quick glance and deciding the rope will hold. She exhales through her nose, using the sting and the pain for strength; for conviction.

His chair tips easily, when she pushes him. The shaking railing put up little fight against the weight of his body. It breaks, pieces falling to the seats below. The rope creaks from Brock’s swinging body, hitting against the rafter.

Y/N pushes away the cruel, sick pride swelling in her chest. She runs to the ladder and skids down it, missing rungs and nearly falling. Her boots hit the ground with a resounding thud. Past the curtains, in the center of the stage, Wanda kneels over a false portion of the floor, whereupon the two men sat. Someone dragged their bodies to the side.

Y/N skids the rest of the distance on her knees, bumping into Wanda. Below them, Natasha holds Winnie in her arms, rocking and shushing her. Bucky, Clint, and Steve stand around them, quiet and tense. Y/N sits, dangling her legs to jump, but Wanda grabs the back of her jacket.

“Wait,” she says.

Y/N stares at her, indignant and confused. “Get off of me. I’m going to see my kid.”

“Like that?” Wanda counters, waving to Y/N’s face.

Y/N presses her fingertips to her cheek, pulling away with blood on her skin. She looks at Winnie and then Wanda.

“She’s been scared enough, Y/N. Here.” Wanda wraps her sweatshirt around her hand and reaches for Y/N’s face.

She wipes the skin to the best of her ability, apologizing when Y/N hisses. Y/N cares little for the pain or how she looks. She needs to hold Winnie and check for wounds and— god, she just needs her kid.

“Okay,” Wanda whispers, pulling away.

Y/N turns to the hole. Bucky stands beneath it, looking up. He outstretches his arms. “Come on.”

Y/N jumps without hesitation, trusting Bucky to catch her. He does, hands on her hips, and steadies her. She offers a rushed “Thank you” and pushes past him, falling to her knees at Natasha’s side. Winnie looks up, tears shining on her cheek.

“Mama,” she cries, pulling away from Natasha and jumping in Y/N’s arms.

Y/N lets the force knock her back, landing on her butt with her knees bent to brace Winnie’s body against her own. She presses a hand to Winnie’s head and wraps an arm around her body, holding her tight. “Oh, baby,” she whispers, sniffling.

Y/N rocks them side to side, Winnie trembling in her arms. Around them, her friends shuffle and whisper. Someone climbs their way out of the floor, and then another two follow. Y/N doesn’t need to look to know Bucky stayed with them, and that Natasha and Steve and Clint took their leave.

Into Winnie’s hair she says, “The rafters. Tell Steve to check him.” Her voice is steady and cold, despite the shaking in her hands and the pressure in her chest.

Bucky calls up to Steve, telling him to do as Y/N asked.

“I tried, Mama. I tried,” Winnie wails into Y/N’s shoulder.

“I know, honey. You did so well. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She repeats it until the words taste like mashed potatoes on her tongue and lose their meaning, and then she says it more.

How can she make this okay? She took Winnie away to save her from moments like this. The fear, the uneven ground on which she stands, paralyzes her. She dealt with tantrums and friends and nosy neighbors, but not this. How does a mother save her kid from remembering this?

Bucky said kids are resilient, and Y/N told him they shouldn’t have to be. She means it, but what does she do when her kid needs that resiliency? Winnie is young and bright and bounces back, but from this?

“Y/N,” Bucky says from above. “We gotta go.”

Y/N holds Winnie tighter, shaking her head. Outside, Brock waits in the rafters. She refuses to subject Winnie to seeing a body hanging; a man her mother killed.

“The rafters,” she presses.

Bucky sighs, resting his palm on the back of her neck. Y/N opens her eyes. Bucky crouches next to them, expression sorrowful and as full as it is empty. “Steve’s taking care of it. We gotta get her outta here, sweetheart.” He rubs his thumb beneath her ear, trying for comfort and failing if only for the circumstances.

“C’mon,” he encourages.

Y/N exhales. “Okay,” she concedes.

She readjusts Winnie, wrapping her legs around her waist and keeping her head tucked into her shoulder. She waits for Bucky’s instructions, too exhausted to think beyond keeping Winnie from seeing things a kid should never see. He looks from Y/N to the floor above and back.

“I’m going to hold her and you’re going to jump out, so when I pass her up she can go straight to you again, okay?” he asks gently but leaves no room for argument.

Y/N nods but hesitates to pass Winnie over. Bucky steps into her space, not reaching for her daughter but for Y/N. He pulls her in, wrapping his arms around both of them and resting his chin on Y/N’s free shoulder. She sags into his chest, dropping her forehead to his shirt, and breathes in his scent.

Some things never change, like his cologne mixed with his natural smell. Like the comfort his arms bring. Like the fluttering in her chest that whispers ‘home, this is home’. Bucky kisses the junction where her shoulder and neck meet, like she did to him earlier today and a million times before. She returns the gesture, then shifts to pass Winnie over.

“Mama!” Winnie cries at the change.

“It’s okay, baby,” Y/N coos, caressing her head. “Bucky’s gonna hold you so I can get out and then you, okay?”

Winnie shakes her head, eyes pinched shut. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know. I know. But we gotta, baby.” She leans down and presses a long kiss to Winnie’s forehead then steps back.

Above her, Clint reaches through the hole, fingers extended. Y/N jumps the short distance between their grips, latching onto Clint’s wrist and Clint to hers. He leans backwards, pulling her up. When the edge of the floor comes close enough to grab, she reaches out and uses it to pull herself up the rest of the way. Arms wrap around her waist, bringing her to solid ground.

Below, Bucky holds Winnie. He stares at her head tucked into his chest, his free hand floating in the air around her head before it settles in her hair. His body sags with a sigh. Y/N’s heart wrenches at the sight, at the rubble of a love she believed long dead, at least from the other end. She lied to herself and she lied to Bucky and she lied to Winnie.

Bucky straightens, looking up. He nods at Y/N, then whispers something to Winnie. They shift, Bucky raising Winnie in the air by the waist. Y/N reaches down, grabbing Winnie’s hand. “Hold on, honey. Hold on tight.”

Winnie listens, wrapping both hands around Y/N’s wrist. Behind her, Clint holds her hips to keep from toppling over. With the added help, she heaves Winnie out of the hole and into her arms. Winnie curls into her chest.

Y/N backs up, allowing Bucky the room to jump and grab the floor with Clint’s help. Over her daughter’s head and in the rafters, Steve wipes Y/N’s knife on his shirt until the blood transfers. He severed the rope holding Brock up, its frayed edges unmoving.

Y/N pushes to her feet, a hand on the back of Winnie’s head to keep it down. “Close your eyes,” she says, just in case.

She sniffs, looking from friend to friend. Wanda sports a budding bruise on her cheekbone, her hair in disarray. Sam holds his shirt to his lip to staunch the bleeding. Natasha slips into the space between Y/N and Clint, standing close enough to hear her breathing. Bucky stands on Y/N’s other side, his hand hovering over her lowering back.

Steve joins them after descending from the ladder. The blood stains his shirt, but otherwise he bears no mark of what the night brought.

“Were there any others?” Y/N asks lowly, as if her voice will break the precarious peace.

“No. Just these three,” Steve says.

“You’re sure?” she presses.

“Yeah?” He frowns. “Why?”

“He said there were people who we…” she shakes her head, not wanting to say the words in front of her daughter.

Steve’s face clears with understanding. “Yeah. It was just them.”

“Good. Okay. That’s good.”

Clint clears his throat, drawing their attention. “Why don’t you guys get going? Take the car. There was another one in the back the rest of us can pile into.”

Y/N nods slowly, struggling to process anything past the weight of Winnie in her arms. She turns, looking at Bucky, hoping her plea to take control comes through in her silence. Bucky nods. “I think that’s a good idea.” He steps in closer, his hovering hand finally setting on her back and heating her skin despite the barrier of her jacket and sweatshirt. She leans into it. “You guys take care of this.”

No one asks what he means. They know. A short round of confirming nods, and Bucky presses Y/N onward, to the stairs on the left of the stage. He walks her down the aisle she stormed an hour ago and down the steps of the theater. Y/N trusts him to lead her, her will and energy drained in equal measure. He opens the back door of the Mustang, stepping aside to allow Y/N to slide in, Winnie holding tight and refusing to let go.

She makes it work, settling into the bench seat. She rests her cheek on Winnie’s head, closing her eyes. Winnie’s chest contracts and expands with her breaths, in tune with Y/N’s. Her small fingers grip the lapel of Y/N’s jacket as if she wants to crawl inside. Y/N knows that feeling.

The car turns on, jostling the pair as Bucky drives away. Y/N shifts, setting her chin on Winnie’s head to meet Bucky’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He looks away when she catches him, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He swallows and nods, but doesn’t respond.

The drive takes less time than how it feels, Y/N’s sluggishness slowing the truth and stretching it into something her head tries to make sense of. The houses and store fronts she passed on the way to the theater look the same; dark due to the time of the night— morning, actually. The homes boast gardens and nice lawns; the shops sales or delicious desserts.

It’s Y/N that is different; changed within a few hours beyond recognition. She reckons her life readied her for the shifts to come, but she doesn’t feel prepared. The sweat cooled on her skin in a sticky blanket and her ears ring. Her head pounds and her eyes strain to stay open through the stinging.

Perhaps she didn’t change, not exactly. She reverted back to her old self, a person who no longer fits in her life. She thought she missed the city and herself, but she moved on and grew without it. Trying that person on after so long without her is stifling. Can she be both people at once? Or only ever a self-made sinner or a suburban mother?

Bucky opens her door, having pulled up to her house. She takes his offered hand, using it to leverage into standing without knocking Winnie’s head. Her tremors stopped somewhere along the drive, replaced with quiet sighs— a marking of sleep.

They shuffle into the house, turning on the necessary lights to see but not disturb Winnie. Bucky halts at the bottom of the stairs, rocking from foot to foot with his hands in his pockets.

Y/N smiles, using her free hand to cup his face. He closes his eyes and leans into it. “I’m just putting her to sleep. I’ll be down.”

He nods against her palm, following it for half a second when she pulls away before righting himself. His weighted attention heats her back as she climbs the stairs to Winnie’s room, careful to avoid the loudest creaks.

Winnie’s room remains a vision of earlier: the bed mussed from her playing with Natasha, the bottom of her dresser open from where Y/N forgot to close it all the way. Y/N pauses in the doorway, taking in another thing left the same while the people inside it changed.

She lets the grief consume her for a harrowing moment. It winds through her bones and flows through her veins. It joins the pounding in her head and the ringing in her ears. It stings with her nose and aches with her feet. It becomes a person within her, filling her to capacity because one body can only hold one person, but here she holds three.

She swallows it down and presses on, like she trained herself to do in her youth. A talent she carried with her into her adulthood and crocheted into the blanket laying across Winnie’s bed. She peels it back and lays Winnie down, untwining her arm from her neck and hand from her lapel. Winnie shifts when Y/N covers her, holding the blanket as she did Y/N’s jacket.

The rocking chair in the corner of the room beckons for her to sit. She listens, abandoning her promise to return to Bucky. He can wait.

She feared the worst upon Brock’s call. Him killing Winnie, hurting her beyond repair. Never seeing, holding, touching, kissing her daughter again. In the seconds where Brock withheld Winnie’s location, Y/N imagined who else she could become. If she thought herself reckless and cruel before, a life without her daughter— a life wherein Brock took her— the loss would mold her, shape her, beyond recognition.

Winnie sighs, drawing her knees up.

Y/N exhales. She won’t find out what kind of monster she can become, not anymore. Not with Winnie sleeping soundly across the room, safe and home and alive. Alive, alive, alive. Y/N swears, as she did before, to make it right.

If she must remold the world to better fit Winnie now— young, sweet Winnie who has a Before and After like her mother— she vows to do it. She never wanted Winnie to section her life off in parts; to divide herself between two times and force sense into any part of life she can.

She props her elbow on the air of the chair, her chin on top of her fist, and pushes her feet into the floor to rock the chair. She bought it for Winnie’s nursery, and couldn’t part with it when Winnie grew too old to want to use it. Y/N sat in this chair to watch Winnie sleep in her crib, to nurse her, to read to her.

Salt touches her lips before she realizes she’s crying, slow but full and so real it hurts. She sniffles, wiping her nose and hissing at the sting. Her shoulders shake with the effort to keep her sobs silent. She covers her eyes with a shaking hand, hiding herself from the room and the space and the new truth.

It wracks through her chest, the chair quaking with her.

She gasps, pressing her other hand to her chest to berate her heart into slowing, only it bolsters the beat and it bolsters the desolation and it bolsters, bolsters, bolsters, until she isn’t a person at all. Just grief married to grief in flesh and bone.

She laughs around the tears, quiet and spiteful. She sure knows how to suffer. If suffering deserves a class, she deserves to teach it.

Hands brace her thighs, stopping the chair and leaning her forward. She pulls her hand from her face. Bucky looks up at her, kneeling at her feet. He reaches up, wiping beneath one eye and then the other. It’s that, his skin on her skin, his eyes on hers, his face drawn and his smell and him coming when she called— it breaks the walls she tried to build between them for the sake of saving her heart, less so piece by piece and more so by a row of C4 reducing it to dust.

She flings her arms around his shoulders, stopping only when their bodies meet and refuse to melt into each other. He wraps his arms around her in return, just as tight.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her skin.

The words form on her tongue for why he shouldn’t apologize, why it doesn’t matter now, why she doesn’t care how he hurt her and how she hurt him, so long as he stays. Instead, she shakes her head. “Me, too.” She is sorry, more than she can bear to admit, not out of pride but for fear of draining herself dry by the time she finishes.

Bucky pulls back, his hands coming up to where her shoulders meet her neck. Unshed tears shine in his eyes, bright in the darkness, reflecting the slowly rising sun through the window. He sniffs, using his grip to draw her forehead to press against his. She mirrors his hold, thumbs on his jaw and fingers on the sides of his neck.

“I didn’t want you to go, not without me,” he starts in a hushed whisper. “But I thought… I was worried I’d put you guys in danger. More people want my head than yours; it’d take more to disappear me, and you needed to get out then. There wasn’t enough time. But I wanted; I need you to know that I wanted.”

Y/N wets her lips, tasting the last of her tears. Their breaths mingle. Too much clouds her head to get out in a way that makes sense. “I didn’t know,” she decides on.

Bucky sighs. “I guess we both kept things from each other.”

It stings but it’s true and fair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have— it wasn’t my choice to make.”

“No, but it was still the right one. For Winnie. For you.”

She lets that settle in her chest, his absolution for her gravest mistake; her cruelest act of love. It stifles the rushing in her ears.

Y/N pulls back to kiss Bucky’s forehead, tilting his neck back to look up at her. “I miss you, Bucky. A lot. I’ve made a life here because I’ve had to, for Winnie. But it hurts, like a contestant ache in my chest and my bones and I just— I just miss you.”

Bucky coos on a sigh. “I know, baby. I miss you too, like a limb. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

Y/N thinks about it, staring into the distance at a poster on the wall. He came when she called, and he means this now, she bets her life on it. She thinks about their past, her present and how it diverges from his. The Commandos back home and the ones cleaning up her mess here. If she asked Bucky to leave them, he would do it in a heartbeat. Less than a heartbeat.

She almost does, opens her mouth to ask for it because he’ll say yes, but she stops. He made them, his family, from the ground up. Leaving them will hurt him more than it did her. On the other side, she won’t risk Winnie’s life on the off chance something like this won’t happen again. She won’t take Winnie away from her stability. Her friends. Her life. Y/N refuses to introduce her daughter to the life she left.

“I don’t know, Bucky. I can’t ask you to leave the Commandos for me. I just won’t. It wouldn’t be fair. But it wouldn’t be fair to Winnie to uproot her life, either. Nor am I willing to risk her life because I miss you.”

The constant sacrifice of loving someone wholly wears on her bones. She wouldn’t change a thing about Winnie, or anything she did for Winnie; she only wishes it were easier.

“Do you trust me?” Bucky whispers.

He asked her this once, years ago in their wild youth, and she said yes without hesitation. It tastes like a memory and truth when she whispers it now.

“Then I’ll take care of it,” he promises. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Y/N sighs, the weight of choosing gently lifted from her shoulders. She nods, conceding to his authority if only for this relief.

“Y/N,” Bucky whispers.

She hums, rubbing her thumb along his jaw.

“Can I please kiss you now?” he begs, small in a way Bucky rarely gets save for when unsure.

“Please,” she whispers in turn, just as pleading and off kilter.

He eases her forward, pausing just before their lips meet. His breath tickles her face, gentle and warm. Whatever he searches for on her face, he finds. He pulls her the rest of the way forward, their lips touching enough to feel it but not enough to satisfy her.

She forgoes his hesitance, pressing into him once more and kissing him with all the love she missed giving him. It was always Bucky for her. Always.

She tries to show him as much with her lips and her tongue, to tell him without words how she longed for him despite the distance. That the heart in her chest belongs to him even though that same heart knows better how to be cruel than loving and kind.

Bucky’s hands fall from her neck to her waist, steadying her. He tilts his head for a better angle, his nose brushing against hers.

Y/N startles back with a gasp, panting. Bucky looks up at her with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice thick.

Y/N can’t help but to huff a laugh. She presses her fingers to her lips and shakes her head. “My nose.”

“Oh, shit,” Bucky says, rising on his knees. “We need to set this.” He tilts her head in the dim light as if looking for something past the break.

“Not here. I don’t want to wake Winnie.”

Bucky looks over his shoulder to Winnie. A small smile ticks up the corners of his lips. He sighs and returns his attention to Y/N. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Y/N drowns in his gaze, warm and tired but tangible through the rays of the rising sun shining across his cheeks. He tucks a wayward strand behind his ear, allowing her to drink in her fill, patient in a way only he knows how. In the liminal space between them, time halted and peaceful, the events of the night fall back. Bucky takes the space, settling into the spot in which he belongs.

Voices below and the gentle closing of her front door break the moment, not in a way that shatters but in a return to reality. Y/N offers a small smile which Bucky returns. She holds her hands against his on her cheeks, squeezes once, and withdraws them. The time for intimacy will come, but it does not belong in her daughter’s room or with her broken nose.

Bucky, in his easy understanding of the words unsaid, presses a kiss to her knuckles. He stands, pulling her with him. She follows like a magnet to metal; like the moon around the earth— wherein he is the moon and she is the earth, and he is the earth and she is the moon.

He waits in the doorway, leaning against its frame, while Y/N checks one last time on Winnie. Her hands press between her cheek and her pillow, eyes moving beneath her lids and mouth gaped for small gasps. Y/N smooths her hair back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Winnie shifts to follow the touch before settling once more into her slumber.

Y/N meets Bucky at the door, sliding past him to the hallway. He lingers for a second, facing Winnie. Y/N allows him the illusion of privacy, waiting for him at the top of the stairs. They need to talk about this, Winnie, and what comes next. Bucky said he’ll take care of it, and Y/N trusts him to do so, but she knows a kiss and a precarious peace forged after a night wrought with panic and anger does not take the place of the hard conversations in their future.

Bucky shuts the door, leaving a crack of space open, and joins Y/N’s side. Hushed conversation meets them from where they stand, the voices low and slow and tired. Y/N braces herself to rejoin her friends and the severity of what they finished. Bucky’s hand on her back lends strength to push forward.

She steps heavy on the stairs that creak, a kind announcement of their coming presence. Bucky follows a step behind her.

Her friends lounge around her living room, Wanda leaning into Natasha’s shoulder on the couch, Steve to Natasha’s left. Sam and Clint occupy the arm chairs perpendicular to the sofa, the former with his head reclined against the backrest and closed eyes. Clint sits with his back against one armrest and his legs dangling over the other, Sam’s hand absently on his shoulder. He looks up when Y/N appears.

All things considered, they don’t look too bad. Sam’s lip stopped bleeding and Wanda suffers rope burns and a sore head, but otherwise they made it out better than expected. Clint dons the most wounds from whatever he took care of before joining their crusade.

Y/N takes a spot on the floor across from the couch, the coffee table between herself and her friends. Bucky stands next to her, leaning against the entertainment center with his arms crossed. The group shares similar looks in turn, both full and empty and tinged with relief.

“It’s done?” Bucky asks above her head.

Steve hums his agreement and leaves it at that. The less they know about how they took care of the bodies, the better.

Y/N wraps a hand around Bucky’s ankle, rubbing her thumb against the bone. He shifts closer to her side.

“What’s next?” Wanda asks, eyes closed and cheek squished into Natasha’s jacket.

Y/N waits for a response, from Bucky or Sam or whomever, but her friend’s attention falls to her. She looks up at Bucky, who stares at her, too. She supposes the responsibility falls to her, since it affects her life and her child. When Steve tried to mediate her argument with Bucky in the kitchen, she chose to step up and take control. Despite her fatigue and general desire to crawl inside of Bucky and sleep for as long as possible, she accepts their gentle pressing for her to decide.

She sighs. “I don’t know. You guys go home, I guess. I stay here and make it work. Help Winnie process.” Y/N shakes her head, out of her depth.

The strength from her friends dissipates as fast as it came. She sags, leaning her head against Bucky’s leg. His hand settles on her head, fingers caressing behind her ear.

“We set your nose,” he says, taking over. “That’s what’s next. And then we get some rest, and deal with everything else tomorrow.” He looks at their friends in turn as if they might protest.

No one does. Sam grumbles his reply, head still craned back, and the rest nod tiredly. They’re beaten but not broken, exhausted but alive, and that’s enough for now.

“I have a bed in my room and a pull out in Winnie’s,” Y/N offers, limited in places to sleep for never having company.

Bucky clears his throat, red tinging his cheeks. He averts his gaze from Y/N, staring at his feet. “I, uh, I know someone in town who has some extra room.”

Y/N straightens, narrowing her eyes. “Who?” she demands, sharp and accusing.

Bucky wets his lips and sighs. “Don’t be angry.”

Y/N leans away to better scowl at him. Who does he know in town? Why does he know anyone in town besides her and Winnie? She knows the answer to that, in the recesses of her mind behind the overwhelming fog of exhaustion. Leave it to Bucky to make contacts in her home because sending her friends to check up on her doesn’t suffice his need to protect.

He rubs his fingers from behind her ear to down her neck, massaging away the knots in her muscles as if to subdue her budding frustration. “Peter,” he admits quietly.

Y/N closes her eyes and inhales. Of course. Her babysitter. It checks out. “This is a conversation for later, James,” she concedes.

“Ooh, ‘James’,” Natasha taunts with a half-smirk.

“Shut up.” Bucky flicks his eyes to Y/N and then away.

She lets the tension sit on his shoulders, hoping it weighs enough to prepare him for his future admonishment, before relaxing into him again. She can’t blame him, she loves just as fiercely and off center of normal. If he left for a town of new people, she would keep an eye on him, too. She intends to save that admission after scolding him.

Bucky sorts out who goes where. Clint and Sam take Peter’s offered couch, standing with great effort and bidding their goodbyes. They pass by Y/N, Sam caresses her head on his way by and Clint bends down for a one armed hug and kiss to her temple. The door whispers shut behind them.

Natasha volunteers to sleep on Winnie’s pull out before anyone else can. She dislodges Wanda’s head from her shoulder and stands, marking her claim by her readiness. She nods once to Y/N, an acceptance of the responsibility for protecting Winnie. On her way by Steve, she runs her fingers through his hair. Y/N resolves to talk to Nat about that, ask her why she denies herself happiness. They deserve each other.

Y/N threatens Wanda and Steve when they try to decline her designation of her bed. They deserve a good night’s rest, especially Wanda. Bucky supports her with a firm, no-nonsense tone. Steve rolls his eyes at that, mumbling under his breath about Bucky taking the chance to return to Y/N’s good graces. Nonetheless, he carts a half-asleep Wanda upstairs.

Bucky offers his hand for her to stand. He pulls her up and into his chest, holding their intertwined hands between their bodies, his other palm against her back. He presses their cheeks together. “I never could let you go, not fully,” he admits into her skin.

Y/N sighs. “He’s a good kid,” she grants, tucking away the scolding and the questions for tomorrow.

Bucky leads her to the couch, sitting her in the center. She looks up at him, silhouetted by the early morning light, his hair a halo. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers, brushing his thumb from her temple to the corner of her lip.

She watches him leave, following his form around the couch and to the kitchen. A rustle and the murmur of a cabinet door closing, he reappears holding a torn sheet of paper towel. He sits next to her, angling their bodies together, and rests his palms on her cheeks, stroking the bone. “This is gonna hurt,” he warns.

Y/N snorts and regrets it, the pain reverberating through her face in mocking of her shirking his words. “I’m well aware.”

Bucky fondly rolls his eyes, the ire diminished by the smile playing at his lips. He braces her nose with his palms. “On three?”

“Oh, as if—”

She gasps, the bone in her nose crunching. Nausea erupts in her stomach and up her throat. She swallows back the bile. “Ouch,” she moans.

“I told you,” Bucky teases.

He twists the ends of the paper towels and inserts them into her nose, mumbling his apologies when she hisses. She broke her nose once before, and dealt with far worse wounds after it, but the current sting overcomes her. The last injury she cared for came from a mishap in the kitchen, remedied by Neosporin and a Hello Kitty Band-Aid. She long forgot pain past minor cuts and scrapes.

“You’re a mess,” Bucky says.

Y/N kicks his leg, too enervated to form a smart-ass response.

“Come on,” he encourages, pressing her backwards with a hand to her shoulder.

Her back meets the couch. She sinks into it. Bucky shifts her to slide between her and the backrest. He pulls her close with an arm around her waist, tangling their legs together. If she had half the mind to speak, she would tell him how his chest belongs at her back; that her heart beats to his cadence, and she breathes in when he does. Exhales when he exhales.

Instead, she sighs and presses against him. He tightens his hold and presses a kiss to her shoulder. It says enough that she leans into it and he does it again, that her skin prickles with solace from his proximity. That her eyes close and she slips into sleep without a fight, warm and safe.

She awakens colder than when she fell asleep, her back no longer heated by Bucky’s body. The once soft morning light brightened into a glaring across her face, the slats in her blinds directing it to her eyes. She squints, pressing up to her side, and looks around.

Small laughter sounds in the kitchen alongside muffled clangs. Y/N leans forward, peering through the doorway. Bucky stands at the stove, his clothes and hair sleep mussed. Steve leans against the counter next to him, nursing a steaming cup of coffee and staring towards the table. He sports a small grin behind his mug, eyebrows raised.

Y/N observes their easy movements. Bucky flips something in the pan, then looks over his shoulder. He chuckles softly at whatever he sees before returning his attention to the food. Y/N smiles, allowing herself to believe for a moment that Bucky intends to make a home out of her home; to cook breakfast and make coffee and smile over his shoulder at Winnie’s laughter.

Y/N flops onto the couch and stretches, extending her arms above her head and her toes over the armrest. Her muscles ache and her face throbs and her head pounds, but it fades into the background of her morning, well-earned relief quelling it enough for her to smile. She relaxes, sagging into the cushions and closing her eyes.

They have miles to go before their lives return to normal— as close to normal as possible, at least. New, frightful experiences to traverse in a way Winnie understands, helping to make sense of why bad things happen to good people. Why mother’s lie to their children, and how to grow from it.

The prospect of giving Winnie the tools she needs daunts Y/N, heavy and looming in the distance, but the weight lessens when thinking of Natasha, who wants to rejoin Y/N’s life and find space in Winnie’s. At Bucky’s voice telling her to trust him; he’ll figure it out. He’ll take care of it. At her friends, who she abandoned but returned, not just when she called, but when time allowed them to check on her and her daughter.

Hell, even Peter, a liar just as much as Y/N and for as good of reasons as Y/N.

Five years alone, learning how to keep herself whole and running while teaching her kid the same tricks. Wake up and eat. Go to school. Learn. Make friends. One day at a time; one pant leg at a time. She kept going because she had to, for Winnie, but now the reasons for why she lived before, beyond motherhood and caretaking and fear, returned when she called.

It’s all she thinks now, and when Steve walked through her front door, followed by Bucky and Nat, then Wanda and Sam, then Clint. A parade of her friends, of her family, dropping their lives when she asked. She refuses to leave them again; promises to keep them in any capacity they allow.

She shuns the quiet fear of vulnerability, casting it away, and vows to stay this time.

On the high of new company with faces of old, she sits up. She pulls back the blanket someone laid over her while she slept, draping it over the back of the couch. Her boots rest neatly side by side under the coffee table, despite her forgetting to take them off before she fell asleep.

Y/N smiles at them and the weight of the silent action— the gentle kindness of caring for someone when they can’t see it to offer gratitude.

“Mama!” Winnie shouts, jumping from her seat at the table when Y/N stumbles into the kitchen.

Y/N crouches, catching Winnie in her arms. “Hi, baby. How’d you sleep?”

Winnie struggles in her hold, pushing away so they stand face to face. “Good. Auntie Nat was there.”

Y/N hums, nodding. “Yes, she was.”

“Mister Bucky is making pancakes for us!” She points to Bucky, who steadfastly keeps his attention on the pan.

Y/N pats Winnie’s head and stands. “He sure is. That’s nice of him, isn’t it?”

Winnie shakes her head vehemently, her hair flying in her face and catching in her teeth from her wide grin. Y/N snorts, hooking a finger around the strands and tugging them free. Winnie pulls her head away with a pout, annoyed. Y/N pokes her nose to make her smile again. It works enough for Winnie to return to her buoyant demeanor, too loud for the pounding in Y/N’s head but not enough for her to squash it. Winnie turns on her heel and returns to her seat, Natasha on her right and Wanda on her left.

An empty spot at the far end of the table where the chair Y/N bleached signifies its discarding. Y/N huffs, overcome with the rush of affection for the blanket and boots and the damned chair. She admires the space for a moment longer, then turns to Bucky. He whips his head back to the stove as if she didn’t catch him staring.

She rests against the counter to his left. “Was that you?”

“Was what me?” he asks the pancake.

Y/N rolls her eyes but leaves it well enough alone, except to lean over and whisper, “Thank you.”

Bucky reaches behind her and procures a half-filled coffee mug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he fibs, handing her the cup.

She takes it, both the shirking of accepting her gratitude and the coffee. It’s his, based on the cream and sugar. Another thing unchanged despite the years. Two cream and a dash of sugar. Still, she sips it gratefully.

Around her, her friends shuffle and converse, casual exchanges of words she ignores in favor of enjoying the background noise it provides. The bleach scent long dissipated, in its place wafting vanilla and cinnamon. She bets if she checks behind Winnie’s chicken nuggets someone discarded her bloodied dress, and hazards a guess at whom.

A knock at the front door signals the arrival of Clint and Sam, who enter without prompting. They trail into the kitchen throwing barbless ribs at one another. Another form, hunched over and hiding, follows in their shadows.

Y/N sets her coffee mug on the counter and crosses her arms. Peter stares at the tile, shame a neon sign through his frown and drawn expression. Y/N narrows her eyes at him, daring him to look. Around them, the quiet conversation halts save for Winnie’s ramblings. Bucky deposits a finished pancake on a plate and pours the batter for another one.

Peter’s gaze flicks up to Y/N’s and then down again. She sighs. “Did he pay you?” she accuses, knowing the answer.

Bucky freezes, surreptitiously glancing over his shoulder, lips thinning when he sees Peter. Sam and Clint stand off to the side, leaning against the wall with their shoulders touching, attention on Bucky. Steve’s gaze flickers between Y/N, Bucky, and Peter, and Wanda and Nat pretend to focus on Winnie.

“Well?” Y/N prompts.

Peter clears his throat. “Yes,” he admits, posture wilting further.

Y/N holds the tension of the moment, powerful from her relaxed stance at the counter, and then grins. “Good. You probably could’ve asked for more than he’s been giving you. We could’ve split it.”

Peter’s head shoots up, confused. “I—what?”

Y/N shrugs, retrieving the coffee mug and smirking through a sip. “Oh, c’mon now, Peter. Do you take me for a fool?”

“You knew?” Peter and Bucky exclaim at the same time.

She didn’t, but she lets them think she figured it out ages ago, if only to watch Bucky’s expression morph into annoyance and Peter’s into bewilderment. Natasha rolls her eyes from her seat, reading through Y/N’s ploy.

The atmosphere lightens, Peter uncurling his shoulders and Bucky returning to the burning pancake. He flips it with his fingers and yelps, shaking his hand to cool it. Winnie laughs.

“Idiot,” Y/N scolds fondly.

“Shut up.”

She does, training her eyes on his profile. His attempt to feign ignorance diminishes at his sporadic glances in her direction, lips pulled up in a smile. She watches him watch the pancakes, flipping them and pouring more batter until he empties the bowl. Sam and Clint elbow past Steve for the coffee and Peter joins Winnie at the table.

It’s all right, all things considered. The chatter fills her usually quiet kitchen, and the gaping whole in her chest. She memorizes the reflection of the sun on the tiles and the clinking of Bucky setting plates in front of the respective eaters, superimposing it over the slideshow of yesterday and every day before— so why they leave, she can pull it from the dusted corners of her mind and relive this moment.

Bucky passes her a plate, taking place by her side. He elbows her. “You didn’t really know, did you?” he whispers.

Y/N shrugs, cutting into the pancake. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Okay. Then I’m lying.”

“Y/N,” he whines, drawing her name out.

She hopes he says it for the rest of their lives, just like that. Sweet like the syrup dripping from her fork, and long like the time she wants with him. Still, she doesn’t grant him the truth, content to omit this one lie.

“Come here,” he says, aware of their audience and the intimacy in the gesture.

She looks at him, leaning forward as if incapable of resisting, pulled into his orbit like a comet and making quick peace with how it may kill her. He meets her in the middle, their faces a breath and a hair between.

“Can I?” he mumbles, flickering between her eyes and lips, awaiting her response.

He’s always been good at that: patiently holding his hand out until Y/N takes it, to jump with him into the unknown. To take the plunge. She does, closing the gap for a short kiss tinged with coffee and morning breath and vanilla. It’s like coming home after a too-long trip to find everything exactly how you left it, changed only by distance and time but never by absence.

“Ew,” Winnie groans.

Their friends laugh and then echo the sentiment. She pecks Bucky’s lips one more time for theatrics and because she can. She earned it. Bucky pulls back with a loud smack, scrunching his nose and grinning. A balled up napkin hits his cheek and falls to the floor, sparking a full chested laughter around the room, but most importantly from Bucky and Winnie.

Y/N laughs too, breathless for the relief of hope in her kitchen. Breathless for the fullness in her chest, not from grief but from a love long swallowed, crawling its way out of its lockbox, nestling into the spot named for Bucky, right next to the spot for Winnie.

She exhales, overwhelmed in a way she wants to stay, and digs into the rest of her pancakes. The rest will come when it comes, but for now she savors the bite and the moment.

326 notes · View notes

povlvr · 2 years

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3 • Operation: Dinner ... Puppies & A Food Festival | OPERATION: FAKING IT ...?

Description: You & Bucky get closer as your mission progresses, will it be awkward when Tony suggests you do more than just hold hands?

Pairing: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Female Avenger Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Cute Bucky, swearing, suggestive language 18+ (no smut yet).

A/N: I really can't keep my word count down, sorry guys!! Remember kids: adopt don’t shop but for the sake of this story, in my universe there is no such things as abandoned animals & no animal cruelty at all.

Series Masterlist

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Team bonding night at the tower usually consisted of a movie or games night, Steve insisted on them ‘for morale’, Bucky rarely came but was told in no uncertain terms that now he was living at the tower there was no excuse for his non-participation. You however, always showed up no matter how many times it ended in chaos, superheroes were way too competitive but watching Thor get all sparkly whenever he lost a hand of cards was never not funny because he was a complete himbo & couldn’t play for shit.

Tonight was different, there wasn’t a game or movie in sight & you felt like a zoo animal in an exhibit, all eyes focused on you & Bucky, you showed up hand in hand having met up earlier in the day to work out how you would survive the whole night with them. Evading their questions was becoming your superpower, Nat, Thor & Peter had you surrounded as they bombarded you for information, you just wanted to hang out with your friends but that was proving difficult, Bucky was slumped in an armchair with Sam pecking his head trying to get something out of him. Feeling guilty for roping him into this chaos you walked over to where he was sat, without saying a word he opened up his arms & you unceremoniously plonked yourself on his lap.

As he straightened out allowing you to snuggle into him ie. grasp onto him like a sloth clinging to a tree you reached into your pocket & pulled out your phone; you two had important business to discuss.

You looked up at him. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey Bambi, you havin’ a good night?’ he kissed your temple in a way that had quickly become your norm.

‘Nope, thought they would have gotten over it & got on with games night so we could look at the dogs Tony lined up for us but no, apparently, we’re more interesting to gawp at than the new Star Wars movie or Kerplunk.'

‘Ignore them Doll, let’s get down to business & pick our little guy.’

There was no one else in the room from that moment on, they could have been staring or commenting but it was just you & Bucky looking at the cute little puppies.

‘Oh. My. God please Bucky, please can we have this one, he’s so so fluffy.’

‘Sure doll, whichever you want we can have.’ He wasn’t capable of saying no to you.

‘That’s no good, I want them all. Tony, can we have all the puppies?’ You looked up him & tried fluttering your lashes, Bucky squeezed you chuckling when he saw your attempts at convincing Tony to let you have your way.

‘No, kid, one only.’ He was uncharacteristically quiet, observing the goings on like a king watching down upon his court, particularly fascinated by how close you & Bucky had become. He hadn’t ever had Bucky down as a cuddler, but he resembled more of a memory foam mattress than Super Solider the way he was moulded around you at that moment.

‘No fair.’ You huffed crossing your arms & pouting.

Sam butted in ‘Hold on a sec, you two are getting a puppy, why are you even living in the tower when you have your own places?’

‘We’re moving in together & waiting on our place.’ Bucky spoke not taking his eyes off you or your bottom lip sticking out whilst your eyes were bulging at what he had just said. He held your face running his thumb over your pout before pulling you towards him, you could hear Tony choking on his drink but your focus was completely on Bucky’s lips, they practically grazed yours when he swooped past them to whisper something in your ear, his breathe tickling your hair, nose nestling into you as he spoke, ‘play along doll, if they think I’m telling you all the dirty things I want to do to you they’ll ignore us, ok?’ He punctuated the ok with a soft kiss, right at the base of your neck.

You moaned, a full-on moan & the man hadn’t said anything remotely sexual, you were teetering on the edge of grinding down on him but froze your hips mortified that you had that reaction. When he pulled away from you, you were blinking in slow motion & gulping for oxygen, did he really just say that? Was he really thinking of dirty things to do or is it just for show? You re-entered the living realm when he threw you a wink & you half batted his shoulder with a playful slap, ‘You can’t say that stuff when we are in company Bucky.’

He pulled up your phone again encouraging you to lay back against him scrolling down the screen, ‘how ‘bout this one?’

‘mm he’s so adorable, you need to help me pick, they’re all too cute, he’s yours just as much as mine.’

He continued to scroll until he set eyes on the most adorable white fluffy guy, you guessed he was a retriever, but you didn’t care, you were in love. ‘Ok, well this little guy I like, will keep you safe when I’m not with you too.’

‘I love him.’ You looked at Bucky with the biggest eyes & smiled at his words, ‘our puppy, our little boy, what we gonna call him? Benedict Barnes is cute.’

‘Yeah Doll, that’s cute. Or Benjie Barnes.’

‘hmm, he definitely needs an old man name like his Daddy,’ you playfully poked his chest & continued rolling off cute puppy names.

Bucky was grateful you switched your eyes back to the screen so you didn’t see his head fall back at what you just called him, his knuckles were white from him gripping onto the chair to stop himself throwing you over his shoulder, marching you to his room & fucking you all night. After he cleared his throat & made sure his cock wasn’t pressed anywhere near you he realised he missed all of your name suggestions.

‘How is James an old man name Bambi?’

You shrugged your shoulders, ‘James might not be but Buchanan sure is.’ He squeezed you tightly as you giggled.

‘Hmm needs to go with Gerald too.’ You pondered.

The intrusion into yours & Bucky’s bubble came when Sam couldn’t hold his questions in any longer, ‘Who the hell is Gerald & hold up, why, if you’re moving in together do you have separate rooms here?’

‘You’re very nosey Samuel.’ You narrowed your eyes at him, but Bucky didn’t like how you had leaned forward away from him so pulled you back into his arms.

‘What they do in their own home is their business, but under my roof they are in separate rooms. Hands where I can see them Tin Man.’

You winked at Tony for his very in character fake outburst, Bucky saw it more of a challenge & his hands found their way to your hips shifting you to lie fully on him with your back pressed to his chest & then wrapped his arms around you.

His lips found their way to your ear again, it’s like he found your kryptonite & was sweetly torturing you with his soft lips & deep gravelly voice, ‘What about Engelburt? That’s an old man name’ Bucky whispered. You wiggled in delight, ‘Engelburt, Burt, Burtie, little Burtie Barnes. Eeeee I love it.’ You twisted yourself around to face him kissing him right at the corner of his mouth.

Crawling up Bucky’s chest until your mouth was to his ear you whispered ‘Bambi, Bear, Burtie & Gerald. Our family.’ You plonked yourself on him, chest to chest with your head tucked in below his, you felt so safe as he held you tight & stroked your back slowly whilst he was deep in thought. You could have stayed like that forever.

The word family knocked around in Bucky’s brain as he held you against him, it’s not something he’s had in a very long time, yes, this one included a coffee robot, but the rest seemed pretty perfect, why he said you were going to be moving in together he didn’t know, trying to annoy Sam wasn’t worth the eventual disappointment when he had to move back into his apartment on his own.

You noticed Bucky was a little quieter than usual in the following days, maybe forcing a makeshift family on him was a bit too much, you weren’t actually together you kept having to remind yourself, would he feel trapped by you if he actually met someone? Obligated to spend time with you & the dog you shared? You had always wanted to see Bucky in love & happy but now the thought of him with someone turned your stomach & made you feel hollow, also kind of rage-y thinking of another person with yours & Bucky’s dog.

Instead of spiralling as you normally would & worrying yourself sick at all the make shift scenarios your brain conjured up you decided to take matters into your own hands, it was puppy day nothing was going to bring you down. You picked up your phone to text your super soldier.

Sheer giddiness pulsated through Bucky, granted he was more of a cat man but having a link to you in the shape of a dog was patching the hole in his heart, plus everyone loved puppies. He wasn’t exactly avoiding you since game night more like having to physically tear himself away from you to avoid smothering you & kissing you senseless, he could feel it building exponentially every second he was with you, he was at breaking point when you were wiggling yourself on his lap once you’d finished talking all things puppies as you lay in his arms watching the group finally get on with game night, he found his peace. It terrified him.

The two days of quiet contemplation did him good, normally he would sabotage anything that had to potential to end in happiness & with how he was feeling he knew that if he had a taste of what you offered & he screwed it up, it would devastate him. For once he overruled his fucked-up brain & chose not to run, you were his sunshine, he was ready for this, he knew he could affect you physically when he flirted & was affectionate with you but were you thinking it was all for show & to annoy your nosey friends? He needed to make sure you understood that everything he did was genuine & that he wanted you to be his girl. When he made his way to your room he was buzzing with excitement, a whole day with you was exactly what he needed, seeing your smiley face as you opened the door made his stomach flip.

The journey had seemed endless as you made your way to Brooklyn, Bucky had promised to bring you back to show you his old stomping grounds after he had pointed out a place he used to take girls dancing. You pictured a young Soldier ready to go to war with women hanging off his arms, you felt silly that you were jealous of them but filled with such sadness at never knowing that guy who apparently was a little scoundrel. You walked wrapped around him a little tighter as he told you some of the tales he had managed to recall until you reached the brownstone home, it was beautiful, steps covered in plants, three stories, it oddly felt like home just from looking at it. You were practically vibrating in excitement when you knocked on the big turquoise door, a sweet silver haired woman answered, her kind face welcoming you inside as you introduced yourselves.

As Ms Alice fixed you both some lemonade at her insistence, you were left sitting in the lounge, squished next to Bucky on the mid-century sofa which apparently wasn’t made to cater two adults let alone a super solider & regular-ish size adult, you peered around the gorgeous interior, tall ceilings, panelled walls & wood flooring, it was exactly your vibe.

‘This house is beautiful, you think she’ll let me live with her?’

‘She’ll have to take me in too Bambi.’ The arm he had around you squeezed you further into his side & a kiss was placed in your hair as you wrapped both your arms around him resting you head on his shoulder.

‘You think she takes in strays? Should have made a brownstone part of the deal, I’ll ask Tony if he’ll buy us one later.’ He had no doubt you would & that the answer would likely be yes, even though it was said in jest the thought of living with you, in Brooklyn with your puppy would be too much for his heart to handle.

After Ms Alice had been through all the information you needed & imparted her wisdom about interiors after you mentioned how much you loved her home it was time to meet the puppies. You sat down cross legged on the floor waiting for them, you were between Bucky’s feet & as your legs bounced nervously, he bent down to kiss your head calming you as always.

All of a sudden you heard the patter of tiny paws on the floor & a litter of puppies were let loose in the room, they swarmed you jumping up & climbing into your lap all vying for your attention, Bucky watched on as you delighted in all the puppy cuddles. It didn’t take long to spot your little guy with a distinctive red bow around his neck, as he bounded up to you tail wagging, you scooped him off the floor & you couldn’t help but let out a sob as you held him. You were so happy.

Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave you at any point as you played with all the puppies, you constantly turned around to look at him & ask him if you could buy whichever puppy you were holding, it pained him to say no to you, but one puppy was enough for now. He reached down & picked up Burtie from the mass of puppies surrounding you.

‘Let’s have a look at you little guy.’ Holding the ball of fluff in front of his face he giggled at how desperate the puppy was to give him kisses, he slipped his hand in his coat & clipped a little black collar around his neck.

‘You keep hold of that girl, she’s has a good spirit.’ His face whipped around to Ms Alice who decided to impart a little wisdom on him too having been watching the two of you.

‘I plan to ma’am.’ He placed Burtie back into your arms & placed another kiss on your head. You inspected the collar & noticed the shiny dog tag hanging from it, it read ‘Burtie Barnes’ on one side & on the other ‘If found please return to Bambi & Bucky Barnes 555-1284’.

Experiencing Bucky with your puppy you imagined was akin to a junkie getting their fix, it was like happiness flowing through your veins every second spent in their vicinity, it might not have been planned or PR approved but you couldn’t resist taking a picture of Bucky attempting to look tough with the bundle of love in his arms & uploading it to your Instagram. If the mission was getting the public to see what a softie the super solider currently cradling your entire heart in his hands was, you just succeeded.

Bucky somehow managed to drag you away from the old woman’s house, even though you were still sulking that you weren’t allowed to buy them all, he hadn’t ever seen you as happy. He knew if he ever got his memory wiped again they wouldn’t be able to touch this one, it was imprinted on him in a way like no other, to his bones. All he could see was your beautiful smile, wide eyes & a ball of fluff in his arms. His family, every step he took he grew more protective, nothing or no one would take you away from him, he was determined to give you the life you dreamt of in a Brooklyn mid-century home.

After Burtie’s first subway ride you headed to the food festival, Bucky’s was arm flung over your shoulders & your puppy asleep in your arms, he noticed the glances you were giving him followed by cute little smiles, he wanted to know what you were thinking & if you were happy as he was right now, if he was living in a dream, he would kill whoever woke him up, he was utterly content for the first time in decades.

It didn’t take you long to find some food, the vendors lined up either side of the closed off street & Burtie quickly woke up at the various delicious smells each stall was offering, you chose chicken & avocado tacos with halloumi bites & Bucky reluctantly tried a pulled pork quesadilla & stole most of your bites, according to your super soldier if it wasn’t plain & boiled it was classed as exotic to him.

It was a dream afternoon together trying out various cuisines in an attempt to develop Bucky’s palate completely undisturbed from your privacy invading friends, although in fairness you did kind of ask for it, you poke the bear it will bite back & as much as you enjoyed being plastered to Bucky whenever you were together being creeped on by a spy & a guy in the vents was freaking you out a little so it felt nice to escape the tower for the day.

Being so stuck in your head & distracted you missed the curb & before you knew what was happening you decked it to the floor, rolling your ankle in the process. Being the good mother you were, you sacrificed your ego & intact bones to make sure that every hair on you beautiful puppies body was unharmed.

One minute you were next to Bucky looking like you were in your own world & then the next second you were on the floor, if you weren’t in obvious pain he would have laughed at you holding Burtie up like he was Simba in the Lion King, a film he’s now glad you insisted he watch just to connect the two images. Once he hauled you back on two legs he thought you resembled a new born giraffe trying to walk, when the pain didn’t show signs of easing he didn’t hesitate to crouch in front of you & offer his services as your personal transportation back to the tower.

You gently placed Burtie in Bucky’s jacket zipping it up to make sure he was secure but enough room for him to see out if he wanted, his beautiful little face popping out beneath Bucky’s chin was so adorable you actually stopped a passer-by to ask them if they could take a photo for your scrapbook. You carefully wrapped your legs around Bucky’s waist & rested your elbows gently on his shoulders, which gave your hands-free reign to play with his hair, tickle the puppy or more importantly feed Bucky the churros you insisted he buy you. You made a mental note to show him the film Ratatouille, a tug of his hair & you were living the real-life version, almost.

It was like every second Bucky spent with you somehow made him feel more whole, would there be a point at which he burst? Perhaps, but to be so needed by you, even if it was to carry you around was fulfilling him like he hadn’t felt before. You didn’t need Gerald, he thought, he could be your coffee robot, he had a metal arm so surely qualified at the robot level, he could see you whenever you wanted, first thing in the morning when you were all cute & sleepy, when you were grumpy during that mid-afternoon lull you always had, or whenever you needed a pick-me-up. He could be your pick-me-up.

He wanted to feel needed by you, to be relied on by someone for something other than fighting, as you were playing with his hair he had to stop connecting the feeling of your fingers in his hair with imagining you tugging on it whilst he split you in two on his cock, he wouldn’t be able to walk if you carried on, so the second you saw the churros & like a magpie honed in on the goods he was relieved that your fingers were now occupied; except now each time you ripped a chunk off & fed it to him he wanted to cry. He needed you & needed to be taken care of by you, it would be more than he ever deserved, Winter Soldier or not.

Bucky hadn’t even broken a sweat by the time you’d gotten back to the tower, as was the norm these days everyone was lying in wait for you both to get home. Thankfully today you had a secret weapon to distract them, the most adorable puppy that ever lived, in your totally unbiased new puppy high opinion. After Bucky unzipped the little guy & handed him to Scott he carried you to the kitchen, you could see Burtie was lapping up all of the attention strutting around from Avenger to Avenger like he owned the place, Bucky lifted you onto the counter to inspect your ankle.

‘I think we’re going to have to invest in icepacks the amount of injuries you sustain a week Bambi.’ You giggled & tried to act offended.

‘We’ll get you some as a house warming gift, you’ll need a first aid kit too. Don’t think I didn’t see those new roller blades on my credit card.’ You narrowed your eyes at Tony regretting not buying your new blades via Paypal.

‘Least Bucky will patch me up unlike when Nat lived with me & refused to reset my dislocated shoulder that time.’ You stuck your tongue out at her, if the opportunity arose you never failed to bring that up.

She plucked Burtie up from the floor inspecting him almost as she replied to your taunt, ‘You brought it on yourself, I had already re-set your elbow that morning.’

‘Nat, are you serious?’ Bucky was livid that she would leave you in pain.

‘What’s the definition of insanity Bambi?’ you didn’t miss the tone of the nickname she stole off Bucky.

‘Doing the same thing repeatedly & expecting a different outcome & don’t call me Bambi, that’s for Bucky only.’ You pouted at her, you may taunt each other every waking minute but Nat was like your older sister who reigned you in when needed but always there for a non-dislocated shoulder to cry on.

Pride swelled in Bucky’s chest at you not allowing anyone else to give you the moniker he used but he was still pissed at Nat, how anyone could leave you in pain & not help you, you the sweetest soul was barbaric.

‘Bucky she was using Peter’s web fluid to swing from the rafters in the hanger bay & kept falling every time she missed, which was every attempt.’

‘Oh.’

You looked at him sheepishly, great, he now thought you were dumb. So much for him patching you up all the time. Whilst Nat was being mean he had removed your boot & sock placing a pack of frozen peas on your ankle.

‘Regardless, you don’t leave her in pain, even if she is insane. You should have called me Bambi, not Romanoff’ He booped your nose as he said it & you wanted to kiss him, you never thought you’d find someone who would put up with your idiotic tendencies & offer to still fix you injuries despite them being self-inflicted most of the time.

Yes, you were an Avenger, but you were an accident-prone clumsy Avenger. It’s not like you were the alien fighting breed of Superhero you hung around with, you were silent, stealthy on flat smooth surfaces & tried to use your intelligence to cripple the enemy. You were a hacker, The Viper, with some fighting skills, you just fell over more than your counterparts which always seemed to startle your enemies & usually worked in your favour.

‘You’ll change your mind when I tell you how she got shot.’ You nearly interjected at that, he really didn’t need to know about the incident. At her words Bucky moved himself in-between your legs, caging you face in his hands, running his eyes over you like he was looking for injuries.

‘You were shot Bambi?’ The concern on his features made you want to cry, he looked pained.

You nodded lifting your shirt to show him the scar, his fingers were brushing over it, looking at you intensely, the puddle he left you in just from his fingertips against your skin meant you weren’t walking anytime soon, sprained ankle or not.

‘I’m fine now, promise.’ You wrapped your legs around his waist & arms around his neck to cuddle him.

‘You need to keep your foot elevated, Doll.’

With a mischievous brow wiggle at Bucky telling him to play along you placed the peas on his shoulder, being as graceful as you could manage you manoeuvred your ankle to sit on top, this would shut Nat up & hopefully stop her telling Bucky about the time you accidentally shot yourself. His eyes were wide, he wrapped his arm around your back & slid you to the edge of the counter, your centre now pressed against his hard abdomen with the other leg hooked around his waist. Like any moment with Bucky his hands were clutching your face & his lips were situated at your ear ready to have you melted into the counter at whatever he was about to say but was annoyingly interrupted by the redhead looking disgusted at the sight at your side.

As you suspected, it worked like a charm. ‘Eww you guys are gross, Tony they’re fucking on the counter.’ Nat whined immediately leaving your vicinity.

Without even a glance in your direction he waved his hand like he was decreeing a new law, ‘No fornication on communal furniture kids, Tin Man you better not be violating my eldest child in the same room as me.’

‘So privately is ok?’

Tony’s eyes shot up meeting Bucky’s with a raised brow.

‘Noted, excuse us guys we’re going to be busy for the next hour … or two.’

He picked you up from the counter in a fireman’s lift not being able to resist patting your backside.

‘Bucky, Jesus. Put me down.’ Despite enjoying the view of his ass, you were not loving the upside-down view of the world.

‘No can-do Bambi, you’re injured, gotta take care of ya’ he collected your handbag & jacket then plucked Burtie out of Peter’s arms.

As he walked out of the common room he decided on the rest of the night’s plan, ‘You fancy watching a movie Doll?’

‘Sure Bucky Bear. How about 50 first dates? Maybe we could get some tips!’

He laughed as he ran down the hall with you both to your bedroom, once you got all settled & snuggled up you watched a film that you forgot was all about someone with amnesia. You pointed out the irony & Bucky thought it was hilarious once you started apologising about how close to home it was for him but he wouldn’t let you turn it off, he knew he would do exactly the same as the film if you didn’t remember who he was every day.

Natasha observed with increasing curiosity you & Bucky strolling into the conference room hand in hand, she could see Tony & the PR manager waiting for you & wondered why you were meeting with them. Rebecca usually only got involved with the team if Bruce was let loose or if one of Tony’s hook ups were doing a kiss & tell, maybe people were getting pissed at you both being together, stealing focus from saving the world or maybe it was something more, as Burtie tried to gnaw at her fingers she sat patiently formulating a plan to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.

After fixing you & Bucky a coffee you sat down at his side waiting for whatever this impromptu meeting was about, as Rebecca set up her tablet with Tony’s ridiculously complicated interface you twiddled your thumbs.

‘Hey, Bucky?’

‘Yeah?’

‘If you could be any kind of fruit, which fruit would you be?’

He couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous question, where the hell you plucked these thoughts from in your brain he didn’t know.

‘Don’t laugh at me, it’s an actual legitimate question, it’s like a personality test, so if you say tomato you’d be a sociopath or something.’

‘I wasn’t laughing at you Bambi, promise. Just love how your brain works sometimes.’

You were beaming, ‘so what would you be?’

‘uhm … I would be a watermelon.’

You gasped, ‘My favourite.’

‘I know Doll.’

‘What do you think I would I be?’

‘A peach.’

‘A Peach?’

You didn’t see Tony roll his eyes & fake wretch at the completely lame pick-up line which obviously was a swing & a miss, you completely skipped what he was hinting at. You thought of a peach, you loved peaches, sweet, fuzzy on the outside, soft on the inside, with a stone in the centre. Oh. Was that what Bucky thought of you? Your face dropped & he noticed straight away but before he could clarify why & stop you spiralling Rebecca started the meeting.

You sat dejected trying to think over what Bucky had just said, surely, he didn’t mean it like you interpreted, instead of getting lost in your head you decided to let it go until after the meeting & you could ask him. Mis-communication was not going to be your downfall in this operation or friendship, apart from the obvious non-communication about the growing feelings for the father of your dog & coffee robot.

‘So far, the public generally are accepting the relationship with open arms as we predicted, opinion is lifted & the additional organic content you are producing is only enhancing it.’

You lifted your head ‘What organic content?’

‘You were spotted at the movies & food festival, there was also a picture circulating from game night, Steve’s selfie managed to capture you both in the background cuddling & then the puppy picture you posted which the public have lapped up’

‘A big beefy guy with a puppy works every time, but what do you mean by generally accepting?’ Something about that phrase was bugging you.

At the click of a button Rebecca pulled up some comments on social media showing that some people weren’t quite buying the story being portrayed to them.

‘I know we can’t expect everyone to react positively, but these accounts have some chunky followings & if it picks up that the whole thing is fake then it could backfire.’

Bucky shuddered at the word fake, none of it was to him, all those moments he wasn’t thinking of how it was being perceived, even in the coffee shop after you held his hand he forgot it was part of the plan, he was just enjoying being connected to you. Sandwiching your little hand between his, enjoying feeling your soft skin, imagining how big his cock would look with your fingers wrapped around it.

‘What are you suggesting?’

Tony smirked, after your text exchange the day before you were dreading what was about to come out of his mouth.

‘I know we said a bit of hand holding & sitting near one another would be sufficient, but you have a dinner date tonight where a photographer will be taking a couple of pictures maybe a kiss would help shut those stories down before they gain traction.’

‘Absolutely not Stark, you can’t expect her to do that.’ Bucky was livid that he was suggesting this, he didn’t want his first kiss with you to be for show, he wanted it to mean something to you both, to be as real as his feelings were for you.

Wow, ouch, why was the thought of kissing you making him so mad? You tried not to get offended, but it was a bit of an ego blow, most guys wouldn’t care so much & just give you a kiss for the camera, apparently not Bucky Barnes.

‘It’s not an order, just a suggestion, a little peck on the lips nothing serious.’ Tony’s dismissive tone infuriated you sometimes.

‘She shouldn’t have to be forced into doing something she isn’t comfortable for this circus.’

‘Just think about it, like I said, it’s a suggestion. Don’t pretend to me like you’ve not done anything, you’re practically humping in front of the team on the regular these days.’

You had been quiet up until now, Bucky seemed to be doing all the pushing back needed with Tony but to have someone presume complete false information didn’t fly with you.

You sat forward from your chair looking at Tony in dismay ‘Pardon me?’

‘You heard me kid.’

‘We’ve not done anything Tony. We’re just fucking around with them, pretending we’re together.’

‘Pretending, sure.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You must be a hell of an actress.’

‘Enough.’ Bucky raised his voice, he needed to stop this building into an argument, he hated the thought of you falling out with Tony over this, over him.

‘Come on Bucky, meetings over.’ You grabbed his hand & stormed out the room.

You were silent in the march to your bedroom, you didn’t know what to feel, humiliation at Tony’s brazenness, embarrassment at Bucky not wanting to kiss you, devastation at the peach thing, it was all swirling & overwhelming you.

‘Bambi, come sit, you need to calm down.’ Bucky lead you to the armchair in the corner of your living space & pulled you onto his lap like it was second nature, he could tell you were spiralling from everything that had just occurred, his large palm was draped across your knees anchoring you to him & the other tracing up & down your spine as your breathing slowly returned to a normal level.

‘I’m so sorry Bucky that was so embarrassing for him to suggest that we’ve been doing stuff & we should kiss. I get it if you don’t want to, it’s fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine. But what was the peach thing about? Do you really think I have a heart of stone, at first I was like, that’s cute I love peaches, their sweet but they have a stone for a heart, do you really think that? I don’t think I do, I think I’m nice, might not be kissable nice but nice, I think I’m nice to you & everyone, yeah trying to pretend to our friends is mean & I guess I’m not usually mean but they followed me once when they thought I was on a date so I’m teaching them a lesson but maybe it’s too mean’ you couldn’t stop rambling on once you saw his face drop, he probably wasn’t expecting you to come out & ask like the idiot you were.

‘Look at me sweetheart.’ He held your face & kissed your forehead to try & calm you down, it worked instantly, all you could think at that minute how he was so good to you, so patient & kind.

‘Let’s start with the peach, absolutely no chance, in no way nor in any universe would I think you have a heart of stone, darling you, precious you, are currently sat on the lap of someone who was once a brain washed assassin & don’t think badly of him for it, don’t judge or fear him. You have a heart of gold.’

‘Oh, sorry I ….’

‘Don’t you dare say sorry, I should have told you that when I said it because firstly, peaches are my favourite fruit.’

‘Your favourite?’ Your eyes lit up & the sunshine he loved returned to your face.

‘Yes, my absolute favourite, they’re also very sweet & soft just like you but also how do I say this right, it’s a line from that movie you love, you, my sweet soft Bambi have an absolutely breath-taking hiney.’

You leaned forward cackling laughing at what he said, you couldn’t believe he remembered that line & also was trying to tell you that you have a peachy bottom, you needed to thank Natasha later for all the squats she subjects you to whenever you’re training with her.

‘As for Tony’s suggestion, I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do it for a picture, to awkwardly kiss someone you’ve never kissed before in a restaurant & have someone taking a picture. I didn’t want you to lower yourself to that. Your dignity is not worth a better reputation for me.’

You took in his words, there was the gentleman you knew, why did your brain think the worst instead of knowing that Bucky always thought of what was right & not with his dick like most men, maybe you overreacted slightly at Tony. Having a quick kiss would probably would shut people up, but Bucky was right, it would be too awkward & obviously fake if a photographer captured a staged first-time kiss. As quickly as the thought occurred to you, you said it out loud.

‘Maybe if we had a practice kiss first it wouldn’t be as awkward.’

Bucky’s head shot up, he looked at you like you were an alien not speaking his language because it sounded to him like you said you wanted to practice kissing. He had died & somehow ended up in heaven? Maybe all the times he had controlled himself around you, you the literal angel in his lap got him a ticket through the pearly gates either that or this was actually happening. Life wasn’t that kind to him, surely?

‘Well if you were to agree to a kiss on our date Bambi then practicing first might be a good plan.’ You didn’t miss the way his eyes were laser focused on your lips or him wetting his own with his tongue, you may have bitten yours watching him do it because you felt a vibranium thumb touching your bottom lip to release it from your teeth whist your head was being manoeuvred slightly on its axis by the big hand embracing your face.

Your lips were like magnets finding their way to each other, as if on instinct your legs found their way to either side of Bucky’s thighs not breaking the kiss for a second, you were connected by a force that couldn’t be parted once they met. It wasn’t a respectful kiss, it was an ‘I love you, can’t live without you’ kind of kiss & if those words were never confessed he wanted to convey it in whatever way he could with his mouth.

Your fingers ran their way through Bucky’s silky soft hair, your brain was empty & completely immersed focusing on the pillowy lips parting & tongue caressing yours, he couldn’t help his hands roaming around to try & pull you as closely as he could to you. You clearly were feeling things the same as him from all the moaning & writhing you were doing in his lap, neither of you wanted it to end. Trying to control his aching cock was proving difficult & as you ground down on him, his hardness jolted you back into the real world, he was hard for you.

You slowly pulled back, reluctantly retreating from his kiss, the best kiss you’d ever had, it was silly really, this relationship & this kiss, the fake relationship & kiss was the best you’d ever experienced, Bucky was the best man you had experienced full stop. You sighed & as you peered into the most beautiful ocean eyes you realised that this would probably end in heartbreak for you, you loved him, maybe you always did, but there was no way Bucky Barnes would ever love you back like that.

Bucky could see how deep in thought you were, maybe he took it too far, got a bit too handsy with you or it might be the erection currently pressed against you making you uncomfortable. He broke the silence hoping that some levity would bring you out of your head.

‘I think we would be asked to leave the restaurant if we did that over dinner.’

You chuckled & appreciated him not making it awkward, you rested your forehead on his shoulder.

‘We’d be on the news if the photographer was capturing it too, might be worth it to piss off Tony.’

‘I’d rather not get skinned alive.’

And just like that you were back to your usual selves.

You were nervous & wearing a hole in the plush carpet you were currently pacing on waiting for the second mission; Dinner. Bucky was insistent on picking you up at your door like a gentleman & you hoped he wouldn’t be able to see the mound of rejected outfits in your closet, not that you were making an effort. You had eventually settled on a silk leopard print skirt with a thigh high slit, a tucked in skin tight black cami showing a bit of cleavage & some nude heels that elongated your legs perfectly.

Three gentle taps on the door sounded just as you secured your earring, you shook your hands, let out a big breath & opened up to see the most beautiful man holding the most beautiful bouquet of sunflowers with a big smile on his face.

You were fucked & so utterly gone for this man.

‘Bucky, these are beautiful, thank you.’

‘My ma’ would throttle me if I showed up to a beautiful girls door ready to take her out & not have any flowers to give her.’

You pinched his little dimpled chin between your thumb & finger ‘that’s so sweet, she raised you well.’ He leaned into your palm kissing your skin gently.

After quickly filling the sink & placing the flowers carefully in them you were ready to go, before setting off you looked your super solider up & down, he was so handsome in his black dinner jacket & jeans combo, he blushed at you checking him out.

‘Like what you see Bambi?’

‘You look so handsome Bear, but take your gloves off, you don’t ever need them around me, ok?’

‘Ok Doll, you look absolutely stunning, I’d have said it earlier, but you took my breath away, so I couldn’t speak.’

You giggled at his shameless flirting, he did make you feel so special all the time & if this is all you ever had with him, it wasn’t so bad.

Given that you were wearing a skirt Bucky drove you to the restaurant, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you in the car, all he could think about your lips against his, you grinding against him on his lap & wanting to run his fingers up & down your folds as you sat in his passenger seat wearing that sinful skirt. He was fully hard & aching for you, he’d been in a constant state of arousal the minute you suggested practicing kissing, it was a continual battle for Bucky not to rip of your clothes & bury his cock inside you, with consent of course.

The restaurant was quiet, far too fancy for Bucky’s taste, the snobbery was reflected in every square inch of the place with the over modernisation of furniture & light fittings, he felt like he was in an episode of Star Trek looking at some of the cuboid chairs.

The maître d' led you to your booth, the lowlight of the room combined with each table perfectly placed under a soft spotlight made you feel completely secluded & in your own bubble, if there were other people there you wouldn’t have known, it was just you & your super solider. You suspected Tony had purchased a few tables around yours so that you could have some privacy or more likely, so that the photographer could get a clear shot of the pair of you.

Every step of the way he was the perfect gentleman, opening the car door, offering his hand as you exited, making sure you were the first through every entrance, pulling out your chair, letting you order first, it was such a contrast to any other date you had been on before, you knew it wasn’t a ploy to sleep with you or impress you, it was just who Bucky was. He did try to impress you when he was offered wine to taste & attempted to be as debonair as possible but fell flat on his face with it when he opened his mouth about the notes, you both were laughing & had no doubt you were pissing off the other diners. Not that you cared.

‘I know you’re probably used to all this with Tony but do you actually like this kind of thing Doll?’ he asked gesturing to the cutlery lined up, all the unnecessary plates & glasses on the table.

‘God no, give me a sofa, pizza & cuddles any day over this.’

One look at the entrée that appeared as if from nowhere over his shoulder & he looked traumatised. You couldn’t help but giggle at his expression.

‘We might have to get one on the way home after this if their portions don’t improve.’

You felt bad that he was going to have to essentially starve himself for the evening whilst you did this, he had a high metabolism thanks to the serum so an endless pit of hunger & this sorry excuse for a meal wouldn’t touch the sides.

Between teeny tiny courses you were glued to his side, the physical affection came naturally to you with Bucky, he was so warm & even though covered in well honed muscle so comfy to snuggle up to, you noticed his hand constantly on your exposed thigh, every touch higher igniting you.

You had just finished a pea mousse monstrosity & glanced up at Bucky, his eyes met yours instantly, you loved the way he angled his face down to look at you without needing to pull away, ‘When should we kiss?’ his eyes immediately dropping to your mouth as the question was asked, his tongue darted across his bottom lip.

‘Now seems a pretty good time Bambi, you ready?’ Your eyes were closing & his lips were already pressed to yours as he finished speaking, like last time his big hand held your face securely & it was electric, how was it a better kiss than the first? You behaved yourself as much as you could & kept it appropriate for the most part, hopefully no one in the restaurant was paying attention, as you parted lips Bucky followed up with a smaller more delicate kiss. He was a master at kissing, you wondered when his last kiss was because if he was going on muscle memory alone he must have had a hell of a lot of practice at one point in his life.

‘I hope they managed to get that on camera.’

‘Oh yeah, what if they missed it?’ Your face was still in his hands & you were looking at him so innocently as you said it, as if you weren’t expecting him to say what he was about to.

‘Maybe we should do it again & make sure this time.’

‘Yeah, can’t let Tony down.’

His lips were on yours again, this time it was a smashing against each other kiss, you exuded as much force as he did to meet each other’s mouth, you hand was holding on to the back of his neck & you didn’t miss the moan from Bucky when you tugged on his hair. Again, almost inappropriate but you walked a fine line before relenting to move away from each other when the waiter cleared his throat to take away your plates.

You were intoxicated in his arms, drunk on him without having a single drop to drink, you didn’t ever want your mouth to be parted from his, it was like he had a spell on you that you couldn’t break, not that you wanted to.

Your lips found his again, connecting less frantically than the last but combined with his hand sliding up the slit in your skirt & gripping your flesh you had to anchor yourself to the booth otherwise you would have ended up in his lap again, you needed to grind on him to relieve some of the tension building within you. It was the sweetest torture you had ever known.

For the rest of the meal you were in a cycle of kissing & courses, courses & kissing, finding any excuse to connect your lips, ‘the photographer might be in the bathroom’, ‘the pictures might be out of focus’, ‘the photographer might have had a phone call’. As soon as the words were uttered your lips would meet again sometimes frantically other times soft, eventually the course stopped coming & you were ushered out of the place both of you laughing at how eager they were for you to leave.

The pizza you ordered in the car met you at the tower, you heart soared when Bucky picked you up & twirled you in the air before paying for the food, despite you insisting it was just pizza Bucky adored you for the gesture.

You woke up surrounded by warmth, you had spent the rest of the night feeding each other pizza cuddled up together with Burtie it just felt right that he stayed over. You glanced over your shoulder at the Super Soldier wrapped around you, he was just so pretty when he slept never mind with a puppy nuzzled against him. You stupidly picked up your phone & noticed a text from Tony.

You lay back in your bed, engulfed in comfort & smiled to yourself at the sunflowers sat on your bedside table. Without thinking you snapped a picture & uploaded it. You didn’t care if you were both in denial if this was the result.

---

AN: Let me know what you guys think! I hope you spotted the anchorman quote!!

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