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geminiwritten · 2 years

Text

flour ; bucky barnes

fandom: marvel

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: sam kisses you to save your cover on a mission, and bucky punches him... but you still don’t believe he’s in love with you?

notes: dear lord, i’m so sorry about this. i started it over a year ago, so it is probably a little disjointed, and i tried writing in present tense for some reason ??? anyway, i hope it isn’t too stupid! i’m trying really hard to get back into writing :)

word count: 5537 (i’m sorry)

“You astound me,” Natasha says, her words fed through the small radio piece tucked into your ear, “your heart rate is barely above seventy b.p.m.”

Your frown is only slight, your demeanour remaining cool and casual as the escalator descends toward the mall’s food court. Beside you, Sam has his cap pulled low on his brow and his sunglasses pushed high on his nose, one hand is resting on the handrail while the other is wrapped softly around your waist. You turn to him to feign conversation as you ask Natasha, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re in the middle of a covert mission,” she says, “possibly gone wrong and you’re still so calm, but the minute Barnes is within a twenty-foot radius your heart rate goes of the Richter.”

Heat flushes through you, blood concentrating in your cheeks and turning them an embarrassed shade of pink, “Nat, what the-”

Sam chuckles and pulls you closer to his side, “Calm down. He lost our signal between the third and fourth levels below.”

Oh. The thrumming in your chest begins to slow again and you focus on keeping your balance as you step off the escalator. Bucky wouldn’t have heard Nat’s stupid remark because he is currently waiting beneath six levels of solid concrete inside a room made entirely of metal. Assuming he hasn’t been found out and tied up, he would be silently watching the mall’s CCTV footage of you and Sam making your way through the food court.

“Meet him outside, in front of Subway,” Nat instructed, “greet him like an old friend you didn’t expect to see. He knows the drill.”

The food court was bustling. Full of hungry, impatient people waiting for their food or searching for an empty table amongst the hoards. It was an unusually busy Thursday that would hopefully work to your advantage.

Sam shot a casual glance over his shoulder, “They’re taking the outskirts; getting close.”

“Do they know who they’re looking for yet?”

He shakes his head as another voice comes through your earpieces, “Anyone copy?”

“Barnes,” Natasha replies, “welcome back.”

“I’m almost out, any complications?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Sam replies, again pretending to converse with you, “but they’re close. We’re about forty away.” Forty seconds, he means.

Bucky sounds relieved as he says, “Copy.”

Forty seconds until you’re out of this hot crowd of bodies and screaming children. Forty seconds and you could call this mission a success. Forty seconds and you will be able to slap Natasha for her stupid comment earlier.

"Are they following?” Sam asks as the two of you step out into the bright sunlight. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust, and you stumble a little as he begins to drag you across the courtyard.

“Yes,” Nat replies, “but I’m not sure they’ve clocked you yet.”

Surely these goons could wait thirty more seconds before realising that you were the couple they were looking for.

“You two look awfully suspicious,” Bucky says, obviously able to see you now.

Your heart begins to beat a little faster and you can hear the amusement in Nat’s tone, “You need to distract them, and one of you take your damn hat off.”

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable,” Sam says as he reaches for your cap.

Your hair falls loose, “What?”

“Twenty seconds,” Natasha informs.

Before you can ask why the hell Sam has stopped walking, his lips crash into yours. The arm around your waist pulls your body against his and the other presses into your back. Panic floods through you, lighting every inch of skin on fire as your brain struggles to catch up, to respond.

It’s over as soon as it begun, and Sam looks more apologetic than proud as Nat says, “Good job, Wilson.”

Your legs feel like jelly as Sam continues tugging you toward the bright green and yellow sandwich shop. Between wisps of loose hair and wandering shoppers, you spot Bucky, his maroon cap shading his face and his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie. You count your steps as the seconds it takes to reach him, and ten later Sam releases you from his hold to greet his ‘old friend’ as Nat had instructed, but before he can even utter a word, Bucky slaps him.

“Are we going to unpack?” Nat asks, sitting on the foot of your bed with her legs crossed and an eager grin spread from ear to ear.

You tuck the corner of your bath towel beneath your arm to secure it as you begin ruffling your damp hair. Rain splatters the floor to ceiling windows on the far side of your room, but as usual Tony has the aircon pumping to keep the whole compound comfortably warm.

“Nothing to unpack,” you reply, “unless you’re talking about how we can do better to not be almost caught next time.”

She rolls her eyes in the reflection of your wardrobe mirror and scoffs, “yeah, okay, let’s completely ignore the fact that Sam kissed you and Bucky freaked the fuck out.”

“He was playing along, he’s a good agent.”

“Playing along?” she stands abruptly, “playing along? Are you serious?”

Heat washes through you, and you watch the colour flush to your cheeks as you finish detangling your hair.

“I know that you know what happened today,” she continues, moving in front of you and gripping your shoulders, “but I need you to acknowledge it and do something about it!”

“Do something about it?” you echo, “like what? Kiss Steve and see what he does?”

Her expression morphs into something from the pits of hell, a devilish grin revealing almost all of her teeth and lighting her eyes with a fire you know all too well.

“No!” you exclaim, stumbling several steps back, “absolutely no way, not in a million years! Natalia Alianova Romanova, wipe that stupid smirk off your face right now!”

“It doesn’t have to be Steve!”

“I was joking!” you turn and drop your towel to replace it with a t-shirt and pyjama shorts, “and it was a dumb joke, I’m not kissing another member of this team. Ever!”

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts your rant, and standing in the slightly ajar door of your room is Bucky. His cheeks are red and his lips frozen mid-word.

Natasha beams at him, “Barnes, how lovely of you to join us.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze and gluing his eyes to Nat, “the door was open, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly, “we were just-”

“Tony said pizzas are here,” he turns on his heel, a thought still clearly unsaid as he rushes away from your room.

You groan into the material of your sweater as you pull it on, “oh, fuck me.”

Nat giggles, “you should have opened with that, he probably would have.”

Using the sleeve of your oversized sweater, you swat at her until she hurries out the door in front of you.

Upstairs, the whole loungeroom smells like cheese and slightly burnt dough, and your stomach grumbles in protest to its emptiness. Bucky is the first person you find, as usual, squashed between Clint and Steve on the loveseat while Wanda sprawls across the larger lounge, her legs resting across Sam’s lap.

“How are you feeling?” you ask her, leaning over the back of the couch.

“Like death,” she grumbles, “I can’t even eat pizza.”

Her face is pale, the circles beneath her eyes several shades too dark, and her forehead is glistening with sweat. Bruce had assured everyone that it was only food poisoning from a three-day old enchilada that Sam left in the fridge without warning anyone of its age, but Tony was still keeping a five-foot distance in fear of ruining his weekend by being hunched over the toilet bowl.

“At least your retaining fluids now,” Nat comforts as she offers her a fresh ice pack.

Conversation is scarce as most of the team eats their weight in pizza, and very little is left by the time Peter skips through the doors having just finished his Thursday afternoon decathlon meeting.

“So,” the kid says as he plops beside you on the floor, “how was today? Fill me in.”

You can feel Natasha’s searing stare as you reply, “it was fine, a little too close for comfort but we pulled through.”

Peter sighs dramatically, “don’t be boring, I want all the details.”

“You heard him, Y/N,” Tony pipes in from the kitchen table, “all of the details.”

His eyes light up at that, “holy shit, what happened?”

“Language,” Steve mumbles, to no one’s acknowledgment.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, “we were in a tight spot, almost caught, Sam kissed me to distract the goons and that’s all. Like I said, it was a fine mission.”

“Sam kissed you!” Peter exclaims, and you want to slap the kid for looking immediately toward Bucky.

Nat, sensing the rising tension and deciding to capitalise on it, giggles, “and then Barnes punched him.”

At the same time Peter exclaims, “oh, my God!” Bucky rises from his seat, drops an almost-empty pizza box on the coffee table, and stomps into the kitchen sink to begin aggressively washing his plate.

“It was a good distraction,” you insist, “they lost all suspicion with us, and he did not punch Sam.”

“Felt like a punch,” Sam grumbles before noticing your glare and stuffing half a piece of pizza in his mouth.

A moment of awkward silence passes before Wanda groans about the gurgling of her stomach and Natasha rushes to find a bucket and towel. Sam begins collecting empty pizza boxes and Bucky continues to wash each plate as they are placed on the bench beside the sink. You make sure that you’re the last to approach him, holding on to your plate as you bounce on the balls of your feet.

“Thanks for cleaning up,” you say, “and I’m sorry about… all that.”

He doesn’t respond, a lock of hair falling from behind his ear as he scrubs another dish.

“And sorry about before, in my room, Nat was just-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupts you, splashing soapy water onto the floor as he takes your plate from you.

You hesitate for a moment more, wanting to say something, diffuse the tension, but the link between your brain and your mouth is numb. Instead, you smile weakly at the side of his face before departing, out of the kitchen and lounge room, right through the doors into the corridor.

Back in your room, you yank your curtains closed and flip off all the lights. The LED light from the television above your bed floods the space with pale illumination, casting long and ominous shadows from your furniture. Despite the volume of Kill Bill Vol. 2 playing unnecessarily loud, you can still hear the splatter of rain outside and the knock at your door that comes almost an hour into the film.

“Come in,” you call, and the house’s AI unlatches the door for your guest.

Sam shuffles in, his eyes blinking to adjust to the dimness, “hey cheery, why the teenage moodiness?”

You shrug, “sometimes you need to be moody.”

He rolls his eyes and sits on the foot of your bed, watching a moment of the movie before turning to face you, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. It was stupid, and I know Barnes likes you, so I don’t know what I was expecting.”

You sit up and pause the film, thankful for the lack of light so that Sam can’t see the redness colouring your cheeks. “You don’t have to apologise,” you say, “Bucky was… I don’t know what he was thinking, maybe something in the basement triggered him, but you don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

His expression rolls through a series of emotions, beginning with scepticism and then confusion, and a couple more that you can’t read before eventually landing on pity. “You really don’t believe us, do you?” he asks.

“Can you stop looking at me like that?” you sink back into your collection of pillows, “it makes me feel pathetic.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “but seriously, you don’t believe us? Was that not an obvious enough display? He is clearly obsessed with you, and I thought you were to, so I convinced him to talk to you this afternoon, but then he came upstairs going on about something he heard, and-”

You sit up again, your head protesting with a dull ache as you interrupt Sam’s rambling, “what did he hear?”

He stops to think for half a second before replying, “you said something to Natasha about never kissing another member of this team… ever?”

It takes you longer than half a second to figure it out and remember why you would say something like that, but then you recall Nat’s wicked smile at the thought of you kissing Steve and the conversation restores itself in your mind.

“Oh, my God,” you sigh, “I did say that but I didn’t mean Bucky, of course I would kiss Bucky. Damn it,” you dig your fists into the featherdown quilt surrounding you.

“Well,” Sam chuckles, “maybe you should tell him that, because he does like you, a lot.”

He presses play on the movie before bidding you goodnight and calling for your bedroom door to be locked once he’s left. You can’t focus on the rest of the movie, too annoyed at yourself for saying something so ridiculous, and too frustrated with Bucky for believing it. Sleep evades you until 2AM, when you begin to dream up embarrassing scenarios in which Bucky rejects you in the most hurtful ways possible. You wake covered in sweat and your chest aching with tension, as if you’d been holding your breath from the moment you fell asleep.

It's only 7AM when you roll out of bed, sliding your legs into a pair of tights and tiredly pulling a clean sweatshirt over your head. You don’t worry about checking your reflection before stumbling out the door with one sneaker on and the other in your hand, your intentions set on the gym.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Tony announces, startling you around the first corner you turn, “you’re just the person I was looking for, actually.”

You fight a yawn as you say, “what do you need?”

“Flour,” he replies, “and eggs, and some other things. The usual order didn’t go through because someone forgot to confirm it, and Barton wants to cook for everyone tonight, so I thought it’d be easier if one of us goes to the store.”

“Okay, first of all,” you can’t fight the second yawn, “the person who forgot to confirm the order was you, Steve reminded you five times, and secondly, why do I have to go to the store?”

“Because, sunshine,” his phone interrupts with a bleep, “I have a very important meeting about next week’s mission and it won’t be just you, Barnes already has the list and is bringing one of the cars up from the basement.”

Your pulse starts to race and you suddenly feel very awake, “Tony, I-”

“I’ll owe you, big time,” his phone chimes again, “please?”

You curse at the little angel on your shoulder winning the war on your conscience, “fine, but you owe me!”

He grins, and that warmth almost makes the next hour of torture worth it. He can’t ignore the noises from his phone anymore and presses it to his ear before turning on his heel and marching back to his office.

Alone in the corridor, you huff and stomp your foot, debating whether or not it’d be worth waking Nat or Wanda up to come with you or better yet, go in your place. Eventually you drag your feet through the compound and down to the ground floor where you find a black car with dark windows waiting just outside the garage entrance.

“Hey,” you say as you open the passenger door.

He looks startled as he mutters, “good morning.”

“Tony said you have the list?” you avoid his gaze, focusing on your shaky hands as you buckle the belt around you.

“Uh, yeah,” the car rumbles to life, “sorry, I just- Tony said he’d send Steve down.”

“Oh,” you finally look at him, revelling in the delicious sound of his morning voice, “I’m sorry, I don’t have to-”

“No,” he says quickly, “I want you to come.”

The car lurches forward before you can reply, and butterflies burst to life in your stomach. The radio is low and you both remain silent for most of the drive, but it isn’t awkward. You’re perfectly happy watching him drive, his hand wrapped around the steering wheel, eyes focused forward, and the way every muscle in his body seems to flex when he changes gears. You were a little disappointed when he finally parked.

“Have you been here before?” he asks, drawing your gaze from his hands to his face.

“As in a grocery store?”

He chuckles, the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard, “as in, this store in particular.”

“Oh,” you fumble with your seat belt, “no, but they’re all the same layout, right?”

You want the image of his smile burnt into your brain forever, but he turns away too quickly and shuts the door before you can even blink.

The store is fairly empty, and there are no people to dodge as you choose a trolley and begin down the first aisle of bread and baked foods. You hold the list and try desperately to focus on the items, but the way Bucky looks in his sweatpants and messy bun pushing a trolley and gazing at foods with glazed eyes. It’s too much.

You clear your throat, “so, we need flour, eggs, chicken-”

“Angel cakes,” he says, picking up a packet of sliced pink and white cakes, “do you like these?”

You nod, “I do, they’re really tasty.”

The way his eyes dip to your lips makes your heart flutter, and he does it twice more before swallowing thickly and tossing two packets of the cakes into the trolley. You continue along with occasional conversation, checking off the list while Bucky adds extra items after confirming that you like them. In the very last aisle of the store, you realise you’d forgotten the flour, but you’re not too annoyed about it because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t upset at the thought of your time with Bucky being over.

“Aisle seven,” you say, guiding the trolley around a corner, “flour, and then we’re done.”

“What is Barton even cooking?” he asks, watching you as you scan the shelves for the exact brand of flour that was on the list.

“Chicken tacos, I think,” you find the flour on the top shelf, “he makes homemade tortillas, it’s pretty good.”

You put the list down on top of the rest of the groceries and pull the sleeves of your sweatshirt up before placing one foot on the bottom shelf of the aisle.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks.

“Flour,” you point to the top shelf before gripping the one in front of you and hoisting your second foot off the floor.

Once you find your balance, you let go with your right hand and stretch up to reach to the very top. It remains only slightly out of reach, so you hike your foot to the second shelf and reach a little further. Your fingers brush the paper package, and you stretch a little further to try and wrap them around it. Just as you think you’ve managed, the three-pound pack topples forward, and you yelp and leap back to avoid it smacking into your face. Your shoes smack the linoleum floor but not before the flour; its contents burst in a white cloud and the powdery stuff causes your left foot to slip from under you. You keep falling backward until your butt hits the floor.

“Y/N!” Bucky exclaims, already on his knees in front of you.

The flour is already all over his black sweats, the cloud slowly dissipating between you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “that was stupid.”

His worry turns into a breathtaking grin as soon as he realises you’re okay, “it was a little bit stupid; you could have just asked.”

“I’m sorry,” you wipe the back of your hand across your cheek, finding a layer of flour there too.

“Don’t apologise,” he wraps his hands around yours to help you up, “but for the record, you can ask me anything.”

“Anything?” you echo, your heart racing when neither of you let go.

His pale eyes are glued to you, his body close enough for you to feel its heat and you can swear he’s leaning even closer. Warmth floods every inch of your skin, and your heart just about stops when you watch his tongue swipe across his bottom lip, but just as you find the courage to close the distance between your mouth and his, your phone rings.

The both of you startled backward and you fumble to find the phone in your sweatshirt pocket. “Hello?” you can’t help the irritated tone in which you answer.

“Hey!” Nat’s voice comes through, “where are you?”

“The grocery store.”

“Oh, what for?”

“Stuff.”

The phone line goes silent for a second, before Nat gasps, “oh, my God, is that where Bucky is too? What the hell are you two at the store for?”

“Tony asked,” you mutter, “we’re on our way home anyway. See you soon.” You tuck your phone back into your pocket and notice that Bucky has taken several steps away from you. “Sorry,” you say, “we should go.”

You begin pushing the trolley down the aisle while ruffling your hair to rid it of flour and a few people look at you strangely as you approach the check out. The guy behind the register is cute, and though you don’t particularly care what he thinks, you realise then that you’ve been shopping with Bucky for two hours in your grossest clothes without having even looked in a mirror.

“You’ve got a little something on your face,” the guy says, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

You laugh through your nose and a small puff of flour comes out, “you should see the other guy.”

He chuckles and begins scanning your items, “aisle seven?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “sorry, I can be a little clumsy.”

“You don’t have to apologise for anything,” he opens another fifteen-cent bag, “but since I will probably be the one mopping it up, you could give me your number as compensation?”

Bucky appears beside you, but you still can’t look at him. “Would you believe me if I said I honestly don’t know my own number by heart?” you say to the cashier.

He laughs again, “I don’t believe a gorgeous girl like you would lie, so yes, I believe you.”

You smile and step to the side to begin loading the bags back into the trolley. When he finally finishes, Bucky pays, and the cashier hands you a receipt with a number scrawled across the bottom next to ‘Dennis xx’.

“Thanks,” you mumble, unable to think of anything else.

Bucky is already out the door with the groceries, and you have to hurry to catch up to him at the car where he has already loaded all the bags into the trunk. “Sorry about that,” you say.

“About what?” he asks, looking at the piece of paper in your hand, “is that the receipt?”

You nod, and he takes it from you, inspecting it quickly before tearing into six pieces and shoving it into his pocket without another word. He is already in the car before you can fully realise what happened, and your stomach takes a nose-dive as the butterflies that were inside of it lurch up into your chest with a renewed, burning passion.

Once you’re both buckled in the car, he all but races out of the carpark, eager to put as much distance between you and that store clerk as possible. His gaze is hard and unmoving from the road ahead, but you can’t help your own as you watch him drive, his movements more jarring than before. Most of the trip is silent except for the soft murmur of the radio, and you spend the entire time trying to think of something to say that isn’t lame but before you can get beyond the idea of an apology, the car slows to a stop inside the dimly lit garage of the compound.

Neither of you move to leave the car, but Bucky turns to you in his seat, “I’m sorry about before, about that cashier’s number, if you-”

“Flour!” you exclaim, the traces of white powdering Bucky’s stubble remind you that while you did find the flour, you never actually put a packet in the trolley.

“Oh, crap,” he says, though a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“What?”

“Well,” he chuckles, “we could just shake out your clothes?”

You roll your eyes but a smile breaks across your face nonetheless, “I’m sure Clint will love that.”

Silence hangs once again, but this time its more comfortable. After a long sigh, you click the button on your belt buckle and exit the car, Bucky mimicking you on the other side of the black sedan. You meet each other at the back of the car, and you hesitate when his hand beats yours to the boot handle. The door wheezes softly as it opens, but Bucky’s eyes are still fixed on yours, and you don’t dare look away.

“Did you want the store clerk’s number?” he asks, “so you can call him.”

You shake your head as you reply, “no.”

“Good,” he finally releases you from his gaze and turns to the bags sitting in the boot.

“What does that mean?” the words come out of your mouth before you’ve even convinced yourself to say them.

He pauses before releasing the bags and facing you again, “it means, I’m glad you have higher standards than that.”

“Oh,” blood warms your cheeks and you look down at your fingers as you nervously play with the hem of your shirt.

He clears his throat before continuing, “and if those higher standards are met by Sam or-or Steve, then I am happy for you and wish nothing but the best for-”

“Sam or Steve?” you interrupt, “Buck, Sam only kissed me to save the mission and, in all honesty, save me, and Steve? Why would you even say that?”

“Because you two are so close, I mean…” he gestures to your torso, and you look down. Beneath all the flour, you recognise the Brooklyn sweater you’d pulled on this morning, Steve’s Brooklyn sweater.

“Bucky, I stole this from Steve months ago,” you say, “I was too lazy to go buy a sweater and as if this would fit across Steve’s shoulders; he didn’t want it.”

“Oh,” is all he can manage.

Your own thoughts are still racing though, and you frown when you connect the last dot, “is that what you heard from my room yesterday? Me saying that I should kiss Steve.”

You can swear that beneath all the flour and stubble, his cheeks are turning pink, “maybe.”

“Oh, my God,” you sigh, bracing yourself on the car, “Buck, I love you but you’re an idiot.”

The stagnant silence of the concrete basement envelops you both, the only sound being a distant drip of water from one of the pipes running along the roof. Nausea settles in your stomach, starting slow as it churns and twists until it feels like a whirlpool of butterflies and stomach acid is about to launch up your oesophagus. The blood rushing to your head starts to pulse in the corners of your vision and sweat breaks out across the back of your neck as your fight or flight instincts begin an internal war.

“You love me?” Bucky asks after what felt like an eternity.

You nod, “I love everyone in the team.”

He takes a step, closing the distance between your bodies, “do you love me like you love the others?”

You shake your head, “no.”

“Tell me how you love me,” he says, and the slightest tone of dominance makes your knees weak.

“I love-” your voice shakes, every nerve in your body a live wire of anxiety and anticipation, “I love you like… like I need you.”

He smirks, his face inches from yours, “come on, doll, you can do better than that.”

You look up at him through your lashes, “like I might fall out of this universe without you.”

He chuckles, “Lame, but better.”

Your nerves snap and you giggle, “do you enjoy torturing me?”

He closes all distance between the two of you, pressing his body against yours and cupping your face between his hands, “not nearly as much as I’m going to enjoy torturing you later.”

He catches your gasp with his lips, slipping his tongue between yours as his fingers slip into your hair. A soft moan escapes between your mouths, and you grasp at whatever you can, your fingers hooking the hem of his hoodie to hold him against you. The burning in your chest explodes into a full blown fire, Bucky’s heat feeding the flames as they steal every ounce of oxygen from you. Only when your head starts to spin and visions dance behind your eyes do you pull away.

Bucky’s lips are swollen and his face flushed, his pupils blown wide with an emotion that sends wet heat rushing to the apex of your thighs. You swallow thickly, “we should go upstairs.”

He nods, “the sooner, the better.”

“The sooner we face Barton, the sooner we can hide in your room,” you say, feigning an innocent smile as you load a grocery bag onto each arm.

Bucky grins, “how long do you think it’ll take him to get over it, a week?”

“At least,” you reply, “I think we should hide for a month, just to be safe.”

“Good idea,” he says, winking and causing your knees to buckle as you step into the elevator.

The grocery bags are the only things stopping either of you from attacking each other on the way up, making it feel like an age before the doors finally open into the main corridor of the top floor. The automatic doors to the lounge room slide apart as you approach them, and they reveal almost the whole team waiting around the television.

“Took you long enough,” Tony says, “have neither of you been to a grocery store before?”

Despite your whole body shaking with energy, you can’t find the wit nor the effort to retort, and neither can Bucky.

“What the hell happened to you?” Nat asks as she steps into the kitchen.

“Flour,” you reply, as if that is all the explanation needed, “and speaking of…”

Most of the team has risen from their respective spots on the couch and crowded around the kitchen, Steve even beginning to unload one of the grocery bags on the counter.

“After I dropped a three-pound bag on myself and made a huge mess,” you continue, “we forgot to actually buy some.”

Steve has taken full control of the groceries, allowing you and Bucky to step back toward the doors. Natasha laughs first, Sam following closely before the rest of the team seem to catch on to whatever joke you were not aware of.

“It’s okay,” Clint says between giggles, “I can see you got a little distracted.”

You frown and turn to Bucky, whose cheeks are brighter than the tomatoes Steve is holding as he stares down at the front of his hoodie. Outlined in white flour against the black material is the unmistakeable print of a woman’s body.

“Oh,” you can’t hold back a giggle despite the warm hue of embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

Bucky clears his throat, “you know what, I think I need to take a shower,” he turns to you, “and so do you.”

“Gross,” Tony says, the first to turn away from the group.

Nat winks just in time for you to see before Bucky wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you back out into the corridor. He stops abruptly as soon as the doors slide closed and backs you up against the nearest wall, trapping you with his body as his mouth crashes against yours. This kiss is different than the last; hotter, hungrier, and all tongue and teeth. His metal hand digs into your hip as he holds you against the wall with just enough pressure to leave delicious bruises on your skin.

“I think,” he speaks between kisses and ragged breaths, “we’re going to… have to… take the week off.”

Your eyes lock with his when he hesitates, waiting for your confirmation, and you can already see a glimmer of panic in his blue gaze.

You kiss him again before saying, “maybe a month, just to be safe.”

END.

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douxreviews · 5 years

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Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) Review

"This isn't freedom, this is fear."

I’ve been looking forward to this more than any other Marvel movie. Yes, that includes The Avengers.

The Winter Soldier arc is one of my absolute favourite comic book storylines of all time. After Captain America: The First Avenger came out I hoped and prayed that the producers would be smart and adapt this storyline for the sequel. When it was finally announced that the sequel would indeed take inspiration from Ed Brubaker and Steve Epting’s original story (a Cold War spy thriller masquerading as a superhero adventure) my excitement soon gave way to concern. That story is just so good it would be impossible for this film to live up to my ridiculously high expectations.

I was wrong.

I bloody loved this film. I will even go so far as to say that it is my favourite Marvel movie to date. I enjoyed it more than The Avengers and you all know how much I loved The Avengers. The Winter Soldier has everything you could possibly want from a summer blockbuster - a smart script that actually makes you think (this is the most topical movie Marvel have ever made), strong characters you care about and action scenes that leave you breathless. Admittedly, many of the film's twists and turns aren't that shocking. I’d already guessed most of them after the first trailer came out. It is testament to how good this film is that this isn't really an issue.

Taking a leaf out of James Cameron’s book, this sequel switches genres from WWII adventure flick to conspiracy thriller. While the studio has tried to sell this as a multimillion dollar tribute to conspiracy films from the '70s like The Parallax View and Three Days of the Condor, The Winter Soldier feels more like a greatest hits package for the entire espionage genre. The Winter Soldier's story is right out of The Manchurian Candidate. The Washington setting recalls All the President’s Men and any number of Tom Clancy novels. And there is something very Person of Interest about the villain's scheme.

Directors Joe and Anthony Russo proved that they could produce great action scenes with Community’s minuscule budget, so it comes as no surprise that when handed a truck full of cash they knocked it out of the park. The Winter Soldier has some of the best actions scenes yet seen in a Marvel. With the exception of the grand finale (which is still ace), the brothers keep the action grounded, eschewing CGI in favour of good old fashioned practical effects and stunt work. Standouts include Cap’s brutal tussle in a packed elevator and Nick Fury being chased through the streets of Washington in his battered S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV.

Chris Evans continues to impress in the lead role, easily finding the lonely soul within the human flag as he struggles to find his place in the morally murky world of post-Watergate, post-9/11 America. In another’s hands, this character could easily be insufferably corny, but in Evan’s he is like a sad little puppy. You just want to hug him. One of the great things about Steve as a character is that he is a genuine team player. He's not one to hog the limelight. This allows the supporting cast more room to shine, particularly Anthony Mackie’s Sam Wilson. Emily VanCamp was the only one who felt underused, but I imagine she'll have an expanded role in Captain America 3.

The standout performance, however, comes from Scarlett Johansson. It’s nice to see all the great work done on her character by Joss Whedon isn't going to waste. This film is as much Natasha’s story as it is Steve’s. She is here as his partner and equal, not his sidekick (that role goes to Falcon). And it is a relief that the film doesn't try to force a romance between the two of them (Natasha spends most of the film trying to set Steve up with others). There are one or two tender moments, but they work more to strengthen the growing friendship between these troubled souls, who are just trying to find their place in this world. The film on the whole is surprisingly romance free, a first for a solo Marvel.

The film benefits from a pair of effective antagonists, an area where recent superhero films have struggled. I’ve seen others complain that the Winter Soldier himself lacks personality. That is the whole point. The Winter Soldier is not meant to be scheming mastermind like Lex Luthor, a charming trickster like Loki or a colourful anarchist like the Joker. He is the Terminator, a relentless, unstoppable force to reckoned with. He is someone who has had every trace of their individuality stripped away, leaving behind nothing but a ruthless killing machine. Elsewhere, Robert Redford - who would’ve made for an ideal Steve Rogers in his youth - puts that twinkly eyed charm to sinister use as S.H.I.E.L.D. boss Alexander Pierce.

Iron Man 3 and Thor: The Dark World dealt with the fallout from The Avengers and how the events of that film affect the respective heroes. The Winter Soldier is all about setting the stage for what comes next. Not just Avengers: Age of Ultron, but for the entire Marvel cinematic universe as a whole, including the likes of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the potential Peggy Carter series that is in the pipeline. The events of this film are going to have widespread repercussions for all our heroes.

Stars and Stripes

— One cameo was, to put it in words only a select few will understand, very cool cool cool.

— Steve’s list of things to catch up on changes depending on which country you see the film in. Here’s the American version:

And here is the British one:

— I'm not afraid to admit that Steve's brief reunion with the elderly Peggy Carter had me in tears.

— Done being in every TV show made in the last ten years, Alan Dale has obviously now moved on to showing up in all the film franchises. I expect to see him in the next Star Wars film.

— As with all Marvel movies, you shouldn’t leave once the credits start to roll. The mid-credits scene was directed by Joss Whedon and acts as a mini prequel for Age of Ultron.

— A certain sorcerer supreme was mentioned at one point. Does that mean a solo movie isn't too far off? Can't we have a Black Widow movie first?

Natasha: "You do anything fun Saturday night?" Steve: "Well, all the guys in my barbershop quartet are dead. So no, not really."

Sam: "You're a lot heavier than you look." Steve: "I had a big breakfast."

Natasha: "Hey fellas, either of one of you know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick up a fossil." Steven: "That's hilarious."

Four out of four Vibranium shields.

Mark Greig has been writing for Doux Reviews since 2011

#Captain America #Captain America: The Winder Soldier #Steve Rogers #Black Widow #Natasha Romanoff #Nick Fury #Sam Wilson #Falcon #Bucky Barnes #Marvel #Marvel Cinematic Universe #MCU #Doux Reviews #Movie Reviews #something from the archive

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