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wvintersoldat · 2 years

Text

cold - b. barnes

summary | you and bucky don’t get along. you never have, and you never will. so of course, Steve has decided you guys will be partnered up for everything from now on.

pairing | bucky barnes x Stark!reader

warnings | swearing, mentions of violence, hypothermia, drowning, mentions of past trauma

_____

“Y/N! I trip over your shit one more goddamn time and I’m fucking burning it!”

“Your cat bites me once more and I’m fucking kicking it!”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Fuck me? Fuck you!”

“I swear to God, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Good luck with that, you fucker!”

Bucky storms past Steve and Sam, anger radiating off of him. The two men share a look, Sam poorly hiding his grin behind his hand.

“God. They’re seriously gonna hurt each other one of these days.” Sam laughs as soon as the door to Bucky’s room slams shut.

Steve grins, though it is quickly replaced by a thoughtful frown. Sam grimaces, recognizing his scheming look, and sighs.

“You’re gonna fuck with ‘em?”

A grin forms on Steve’s lips as he stares at Bucky’s closed door. “How would you feel about getting a new partner?”

Sam snorts. “You’re crazy, man.”

_____

“You’re reassigning me? Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, we’re just rearranging some things. Trying out some new combinations.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you smooth your hair away from your face. Forcing a steadying breath between your lips, you return your eyes to the borderline smug look on Steve’s face.

“Who am I with then? Sam?”

Steve shuffles some papers around on the table, fingers flitting nervously before he glances up at you.

“It's, uh,” he clears his throat, “it’s gonna be you and Buck for a while.”

“What?” You screech, “Bucky fucking Barnes? You paired me with him?”

Steve sighs. “Look, it's not that big of a deal-”

“Fuck off, Steve! Are you out of your mind?”

“If you two could just act like adults for five minutes, this wouldn’t even be an issue.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and turning your back to him as he continues to speak. “Look, if you can’t handle it, I‘ll just take you off of missions for a while.”

Scrubbing a hand down your face, you sigh. The slight edge in Steve’s voice lets you know that this decision is not up for debate, and arguing isn't going to change his mind. Your eyes flutter shut, shoulders rolling forward in defeat as some of the anger seeps out of your body.

“Fine. I’ll work with Barnes.”

“Fantastic. You better go check that you’re all packed up. We leave for Romania in four hours.”

“Yes sir.” You state curtly, not bothering to wait for his dismissal before you turn and hurry toward your room, leaving Steve smirking behind you.

_____

“Ten minutes to the drop point,” Sam calls over his shoulder, glancing back just long enough to catch your nod of acknowledgment. Next to you, Bucky sighs and hauls himself to his feet. You watch him out of the side of your eye as he walks toward the cockpit where Steve and Sam are seated, arguing heatedly with them while glancing in your direction. You roll your eyes at them and pull yourself to your feet, grabbing your parachute and beginning to strap it on.

As you lock the last clasp in place, Bucky appears next to you. You freeze, watching as he double-checks all of the straps on his suit while pointedly ignoring you. When he’s done, he looks up at you and raises an eyebrow.

“Can I help you with something?”

You swallow, quickly dropping your gaze back down and locking the last strap in place.

“Nope. Hand me my knife.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, throwing a glare over at Steve as he watches the both of you from afar before grabbing the knife from the seat next to him and shoving the hilt into your waiting hands. You barely catch the knife before he’s stepping closer to you, his fingers tightening on the parachute straps across your shoulders. The air leaves your lung as his touch ghosts across your collarbones, and he takes your moment of surprise to step closer to you.

“If you fuck this up for me, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

Though a shiver travels down your spine at the threat, you pull back a few inches to meet his eyes, a grin on your lips.

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing.” You whisper, gently grazing your knife over his hip bone and towards the waistband of his pants while watching the glint of something dark flash in his eyes.

“Five minute.” Sam calls.

Bucky releases his grip on you and you slide your knife away from him and into it's holster. Steve clears his throat, standing closer to the two of you now and you finally break your stare in favor of glaring at the blonde man. Steve looks entirely unimpressed with the two of you, going as far as to roll his eyes before he turns to point at the map laid out on the table and begins to speak.

“Alright, guys. We’re dropping you half a mile from the base.” He points to the circle drawn over the blank area of the map, then traces his finger over to the large ‘X’ that marks the Hydra base. “Get in, plant the bombs, and get out. Then, make your way to the safe house, and we will meet you there in the morning. Any questions?”

When neither of you responds, he nods, a stern look appearing on his face. “Y/N, Buck, behave. Look out for each other. No fighting. The last thing we need is either of you killed. Understand?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. Steve grabs his shoulder, forcing the former assassin’s gaze back to him.

“Do you understand?”

You watch Bucky’s jaw tense before he responds. “Yes, Steve. I understand.”

The super soldier’s gaze flicks to you, and you nod quickly. “I understand.”

“One minute.”

Steve nods at the both of you. “Good luck. Stay safe.”

You force a grin and wink at him. “I always am.”

He rolls his eyes, but laughs as you step towards the door that Bucky has pushed open for you to jump out of. He stands in the doorway, watching the ground pass below, and you stop across from him, sucking in a breath as you watch the tops of trees speed past hundreds of feet under you.

You bite your lip as you feel the sting of the wind against your cheek. You see the small clearing you are to land in approaching in the distance, and nervously tighten your straps down in preparation to jump. Anxiety claws at your stomach as you race closer, and then you faintly hear Sam give the signal, and barely register a hand tugging on your arm before the plane is gone from under your feet and you are dropping through the air.

_____

That mission and the next dozen pass in a blur of adrenaline and noise. You and Buck remain at each other's throats, resulting in several injuries between the two of you. You had nearly ruined the last mission when a childish competition and bickering had gotten between you, distracting you from your target. He had almost managed to escape before Steve swooped on and handled it.

After a few disciplinary lectures from Steve and Sam, you and Bucky were given one last chance to redeem yourselves before you were placed on leave for an undetermined amount of time. That is what leads you and Bucky to Kazakhstan, and a moonlit run through the snowy woods.

Flakes of snow hurtle past you, sticking to your icy skin and causing tiny pin pricks of pain to spark through you. The cold air tears at your lungs and throat with every breath you take, and your legs burn with exhaustion. You feel faintly dizzy and sick, and cold- so, so cold.

You have kept pace with Bucky so far, but now you are starting to fall behind, struggling to dodge the fallen trees and sticks in your path and not slip on the icy snow. You want to stop so badly. You‘re exhausted. Your body is screaming at you to lie down in the snow and sleep for a year or two- but you push yourself forward. You tuck the screams of protest away into the back of your mind and focus on the glint of moonlight shining off of Bucky’s metal arm, guiding you through the snowy night.

After what you are sure is a lifetime of running, you reach the top of a small ridge and barely catch a glimpse of a small cabin hidden in the snow and trees a few hundred yards below. You nearly cry in relief, legs threatening to buckle as Bucky continues his brutal pace down towards the safe house.

You race across the final treacherous distance to the cabin, only slowing when Bucky reaches the door and pulls his glove from his flesh hand, pressing his thumb to the small block above the door. A small light flashes once, twice, and then a buzz sounds before it clicks and the door swings open. A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob rips through you as you both spill through the door and into the dark cottage.

For a few moments, you both stand in darkness, leaning against the door and breathing heavily. Your chin falls to your chest and your legs shake with over exertion, but you stay standing. As your breathing slows, you feel Bucky push away from the door and step further into the room, fumbling around in the darkness.

“You got a flashlight?” Bucky says, finally breaking the silence.

You step shakily away from the door, running your hands over your suit in a fruitless search.

“No. I- I’ve got nothing. There's not a light switch?”

“I don't know. I can't see.” He snaps.

“Right. Uh, hold on. Where are you?”

You stumble blindly in the direction you heard him move in before you feel something brush against your side, and then a hand lands on your waist.

“Here.” He says quietly, his warm breath brushing against your cheek.

“Okay, don’t move.”

You trace your hand down the side of your suit, your hand brushing against his briefly before you pull away and find the pocket you are looking for. You fumble with the zipper for a moment before reaching in and grabbing the item you were looking for and pulling it out.

“Aha.” You hold the stun gun to the side, away from both you and Bucky before pushing the button to bring the taser to life. It sparks for a moment, and you feel Bucky’s hand tighten on your hip in surprise. Finally, it clicks to life all the way, and the bridge of electricity provides you with a little light.

You take Bucky’s wrist with your free hand, placing it on your shoulder, and lead him around the room with the tiny light source, searching for a light switch.

“Hey, over there.” Bucky points past to an area to your left, too dark for you to see, and you step closer until the circle of light catches on the edge of a fireplace.

“Okay, well, good job. You found an empty fireplace. Can you start a fire in the dark without wood?”

He scoffs his breath tickling your ear due to how close he was to you, his chest practically touching your back. His hand reaches up to yours, pulling the weapon from your grip. The room goes dark again, and for a moment it stays that way- both of you standing in the dark just inches apart, his warm breath thawing the chilled skin on the back of your neck. Then, there’s a soft buzz before the stun gun clicks back to life, and he's slipping around you to explore.

You stay stuck in your spot for a moment before the cold begins to seep painfully back into your skin. You step forward, closer to Bucky and the light, and watch as he fumbles around until he finds the edge of the fireplace and the small stack of wood piled next to it. He makes a small triumphant noise, and you can barely see the smug look on his face when he turns back to you.

“You’d be so fucked without me.” He snorts, grabbing a few pieces of the wood and throwing them into the fireplace. You roll your eyes at him, stepping over to help.

“Whatever, Barnes. Just start the fucking fire.”

He laughs as you finish piling the wood, and then he uses the stun gun to start it on fire. It only takes a few tries before the old wood ignites, spreading warmth and light through the cabin.

You drop to your knees in front of the fireplace, your cold, shaking hands held out in front of you towards the flames. Bucky stands behind you for a moment before turning to look around the cabin. You hear him shuffling around for a few moments before a chair creaks and groans and Bucky sighs.

“Jesus.” His voice is muffled, and you glance over your shoulder to find his head in his hands.

“You good?”

He snorts, pulling his head up to meet your eyes, and you are shocked by the cold glare he sends your way.

“Am I fucking good? Are you kidding?”

You turn to face him, surprised by his sudden aggression. “What the hell is your problem?”

“You!” He shouts. “You’re my fucking problem, Y/N. God, if you weren’t so fucking annoying and incompetent we wouldn't even have to be here right now.”

“Me? Did you hit your head? I’m the only reason we survived today.”

He laughs. “Yeah, right. I had to drag your ass out of the line of fire more than once. You let yourself get cornered, for God’s sake. If I wouldn't have stepped in, you’d be a splatter in a wall.”

“Why did you step in then, Barnes?”

“Cause I don't need to lose my job over some little princess who’s only here because her big brother had connections.”

Had. Had. Tears well in your eyes at the mention of Tony. It had been five years since Tony died while defeating Thanos, and you still hadn't truly recovered. Your brother had been your closest friend, and you had been closer than anything. Losing him hit you hard, and everyone knew it.

You lock your jaw, pressing your lips together, and shake your head. “Fuck you, Bucky.”

Shaking, you stand and walk quickly to the door stepping outside and slamming it shut as Bucky stands from his chair. Anger and grief swirl through your mind as you trudge towards the woods. As you reach the treeline, you hear the door open again, and Bucky calling your name. Raising your hand over your head, you flip him off and continue to walk away.

The cold bites at your exposed skin and burns your chest, but you tuck your arms close around yourself as push forward, desperate to put distance between yourself and Bucky before you do something that could cost you your position on Steve’s team.

You plod on, your argument with Bucky mixing with thousands of others in your head, all of his harsh words and cold glares causing your anger to grow stronger.

Bucky doesn’t know shit about you, and yet he thinks you aren't good enough to be his partner. He doesn't know how you trained after your parents died, desperate to protect yourself and Tony. He doesn't know about how desperate you were to become stronger and faster and smarter, or the nights your brother had to nurse you back to health after you bit off more than you could chew and picked a fight with someone you shouldn't have. Bucky doesn’t know about your years of training with Nat and Clint- and eventually Steve- after Shield recruited you, or the months you spent being tortured by Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce as they worked to bring down Shield and release the Winter Soldier.

Fury, Tony, and Steve were the only people who knew your story and your extensive qualifications. Bucky didn’t know shit about you or how competent you truly were. So fuck him.

The snap of branches behind you pulls you from your thoughts and has you reaching for your knives.

“Y/N?”

You roll your eyes as Bucky emerges from the trees.

“What the fuck do you want?”

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Look, I’m sorry I pissed you off, but you’ve gotta come back to the safe house.”

You snort. “Fuck off. Leave me alone, you prick.”

“Why are you being so difficult?”

“I’m difficult?” You shout. “You’re an asshole, Bucky Barnes.”

He closes his eyes, sighing again. “Okay. You know what, let's go back to the cabin and talk about this there.”

You stare at him, still holding your knives at your side.

“No?” He rubs a hand over his face. “You’re shaking, Y/N. It's cold out here. Let's just go back to the cabin, and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

He holds out his hand towards you, but you don't move. His head tilts to the side, a pleading look on his face, and quietly adds, “I promise.”

Sighing, you slide the knives back into your suit. You’re reaching for his hand and taking a step forward when there’s a loud crack, and ice-cold water surges up around you.

You’re falling. The water is painfully cold, instantly stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving them burning and raw. Your head dips under the water, into the frozen darkness below, and you’re screaming. Your panicked, frozen mind fights desperately to swim back to the surface, but your limbs are cold, numb, and unresponsive.

You’re drowning. You’re suffocating, choking on the water as you fall toward the murky bottom. Your lungs scream for air, and in a desperate final attempt, you draw upon every last inch of energy within your body to force your arm up towards the surface. For a second, you’re sure you’ll break through the top of the water, but even with the burst of strength, your outstretched arm doesn't quite reach.

With dark splotches forming in your vision, your limbs begin to feel heavy again, and you feel your energy giving out. The cold seeps into every inch of your body, and just before your eyes close, you feel a hand latch onto your wrist and then you’re going up-up, up, up, until you can feel the sting of icy air against your skin and snow pressed against your back.

“Y/N!” Bucky’s voice sounds distant to you, but still full of shock and fear. “Y/N, keep your eyes open. I’m right here.”

You feel him prodding at you, and then you’re on your side and he’s hitting your back. You cough, water leaving your lungs only to be replaced by the brutal icy air. You cough and cough, and then there’s a hand on your face, warm against your frozen skin, and his voice sounds closer, crisper.

“Y/N! Y/N, please! Please come back.”

You groan, and he sighs as your eyes flutter open. Bucky leans over you, the wild panic in his eyes slowly fading away to be replaced by relief.

“Bucky?” Your teeth chatter as you say his name, voice raspy and breath labored, but his eyes side closed and he leans forward slightly, pressing his forehead against your chest for a moment.

“It’s me. It’s me, Y/N.” He pulls his head back to meet your eyes again, grief and worry flashing across his face. “God, I thought I lost you. I almost lost you. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

You’re confused, still in shock, and entering the beginning stages of hypothermia, but you still set a shaking hand against his bicep.

“I’m- I’m okay. I’m right here, Buck.”

“God, Y/N, you’re so cold. Come on, we’ve got to get you back.” He gently wraps his arms under your shoulders and knees, lifting you to his chest and pulling himself to his feet. You tuck your arms against his chest, desperate for the warmth emanating from him.

The walk back to the cabin feels like both a few seconds and several years, but by the time you get here droplets of water have frozen to your skin, and your hair is beginning to freeze. Bucky struggles with the lock for a few moments, then practically kicks the door down when it opens, before racing to the fire.

Bucky sets you down in front of it, hushing you when you murmur his name. He throws a few more logs onto the fire and leaves you again. You have enough conscious thought left to scoot as close as you can to the flames, curling your body up tight into a ball, before Bucky returns.

“Y/N?”

You hum softly in response, eyes closed and body shaking as you lay on the wood floor.

“C’mere doll.” He reaches for you, and you slowly set your trembling hands in his. Bucky pulls you to sit upright in front of the fireplace.

“Is that okay for a minute?” He asks. You nod, swaying gently in his hold, and he frowns.

“You sure?” You nod again and he hesitantly releases you, turning to the pile of blankets and rugs he gathered behind you. Bucky hurriedly sets the rugs out in front of you, covering the cold stone floor with different furs and weavings before tossing a threadbare blanket over the top of the small nest he created. He throws a few pillows into it, then turns back to you.

“Alright, now the scary part.” He crouches next to you, setting his hand against your cheek so you slowly raise your gaze to meet his.

“We gotta get you out of those clothes, doll. Can you help me?”

Bucky’s tone is so gentle- calming and full of warmth and kindness. You aren't used to it, but in your confused state, you trust him entirely. You nod at him, eyes slightly unfocused and body shaking with cold. He nods back, then glances down at your suit.

“Okay, okay. This is- okay.” He sounds nervous, his hands hovering over you as his eyes dart across you. You shakily raise your hand to the front of your suit, fumbling for the zipper with your numb, frostbitten fingers.

“Bucky.” His eyes dart up to meet yours, then he nods and looks down to your hands, gently brushing your fingers away as he grabs the zipper. He slowly drags it down, stopping to unbuckle your utility vest, and then sets his fingers against the edge of the suit, brushing lightly against your collarbone. You shiver, and he pauses, glancing up at you again.

“Ready?”

You nod, and he drags in a quick breath.

“Alright. Arms first.” Bucky’s fingers slide over your bare shoulders and down your arms to your wrists, then one hand at a time helps you free yourself from your suit. You note his gaze dip over your exposed skin for just a moment before making a point to avoid looking anywhere other than your arm. Once you're out, he quickly grabs one of the blankets from the pile and wraps it around your shoulders before he sets his hands against your hips.

“You’re doing great, doll, almost done. Will you help me get this off?” He murmurs, tapping at your suit-covered hips.

“Yeah.” The blanket, fire, and his hands are starting to warm you up, and the fog is slowly clearing from your brain. He seems to notice the slight clarity in your eyes, as he smiles at you and grabs another blanket from the floor to wrap around you. You laugh softly as he settles it over your head to create a sort of hood, and he grins at you before gently pulling your shoes and socks off.

He helps you shimmy out of your pants, again careful to avoid looking at any inch of your exposed skin. While you appreciate the fact he is trying to maintain your sense of modesty, you are so fucking cold that you truly don't care what he sees. He moves you to the bed he created on the floor in front of the fire, covering you in dozens of blankets, and then disappears again. After he’s gone for a few moments, you find yourself staring into the fire, feeling warmth slowly reenter your body. Your mind slowly clears, and you close your eyes as flashes of your near-drowning play in your mind.

After a moment, you hear Bucky return, and turn to look at him. He walks back into the room, a towel in hand, and rubs wildly at his hair. You frown, confused for a second before he pulls the towel away and you realize his hair is wet.

“Bucky?” You slowly pull yourself upright, and he catches your confused gaze and hurries over.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” He asks quickly, eyes darting across your form to try and find the problem.

You fumble through the mass of blankets to free your arm, then reach out towards him. He frowns but doesn't flinch away as your hand finds his damp hair. You run your fingers through the dark strands, then drop them to his shirt, which is also cold and wet. Now that you aren’t shaking as badly, you notice the slight tremble in his body.

“Buck, did you jump in after me?”

He frowns at you, then drops his gaze to your hand settled against his shoulder.

“I-” He cuts himself off, sighs, and starts again, “I tried to grab you, but I got to you too late. I just missed your hand. Then, next thing I know, you’re like eight feet under and I just- I had to get you out, you know, so I just jumped.”

You stare at him. “Bucky Barnes, you jumped into a frozen river to save me?”

He doesn't respond, continuing to stare at your hand. You follow his gaze, slowly moving your hand up to his jaw. You lift his face towards you and he slowly meets your eyes.

“Thank you, Bucky. You saved my life.”

“Again.” He adds with a small smile.

“Don't be a dick. Now strip and get in here before you freeze to death.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got the serum and-”

“Yeah, well I’m still cold and you're always a freaking furnace, so get in here.”

He sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes, but nods.

“Fine, but you gotta turn around.”

“Come on, we both know you peeked.”

His cheeks darken but he gestures for you to turn away. You sigh dramatically and roll towards the fire. You hear him step away, and then turn your head back to glance at him as you hear him pull his shirt over his head. His back is to you, but you watch the muscles along his back and shoulders ripple with the movement. Once the material is over his head you turn back to the fire.

A few moments later you feel your makeshift bed shift as he settles in next to you, careful not to touch you. You roll your eyes, shifting onto your back and turning your head to look at him.

“Really?”

“What?”

“You are half hanging off of this thing.”

“Am not.”

“You have a corner of a blanket.”

“I’m comfortable.”

“I can feel you shaking.”

“That’s you, doll.”

You scoff. “The whole point of this was to not freeze to death. Get in here, I’m cold.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but shifts closer until his arm brushes against yours.

“Better?”

“I guess.”

“You’re needy tonight.”

You elbow him in the side.

“Ow!”

“You’re an ass.”

He grins and you turn back to face the fire.

The two of you lay awkwardly next to each other for a while, neither of you speaking, while you stare into the fire.

“Y/N?” Bucky whispers.

“Yeah?”

“You feelin’ any better?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, then his fingers wrap around your wrist and he tugs lightly. You turn to face him, expecting him to drop your hand, but he keeps his grip.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

You smile softly. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He rolls his eyes, scoffing.

You giggle at him, sliding your arm back until his fingers are entangled in his. “I’m glad I’m alive too. Thank you, again, for saving me.”

He nods, the smile leaving his lips and he looks down.

“I’m- I’m sorry about what I said earlier. About all the shit I’ve said to you, actually.”

You’re shocked, but he doesn't give you a chance to recover before he’s speaking again.

“I- I remember you. From, uh, Hydra. I don't remember why, but I do. You were there- weren’t you? At the end?”

You swallow hard, eyes falling to the reflection of the fire in his metal arm.

“I was.”

“Were you, um, with them?” His hand shakes slightly in yours.

“You think I worked for Hydra?”

“No. Yes? I’m not sure. Everything from that time is still a little fuzzy. But the first day I met you, I recognized you.”

It's beginning to make sense to you now- the truth of why he didn't like you. He thought you worked for the people who hurt him, and no one ever told him the truth of why you were with Pierce and Rumlow because they were either dead or sworn to secrecy.

“They- Pierce and his troop of idiots- knew who I was. They knew I was connected to Steve and Nat, and thought I would have information on them. They sent me on a secret solo mission and then kidnapped me. They knew that Steve could be a threat to their mission so they wanted me to rat him out in exchange for my life, but I refused.”

Bucky watches you silently, emotions flitting across his face as you speak.

“I think they kept us kind of close to each other. I didn’t know you then, but I could hear you screaming. Just having to hear what they did to you Buck- that was the worst part.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispers after a few minutes of silence.

“For what?”

“For being so horrible to you. I thought- I was convinced you were one of them and it turns out you were, you were hurt just like me.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you squeeze his hand. Your other hand reaches up to cup his cheek, and his eyes dart up to yours again.

“It’s okay, Buck. I understand now.”

“Do you think we can start over?” He murmurs.

“Definitely.”

He clears his throat loudly, smiling when you laugh at him.

“Hello. My name is Bucky and I think you are one of the most beautiful people I have ever seen.”

You laugh. “I think your hypothermia is talking.”

He shakes his head. “Nope, it's true. You are beautiful.”

Bucky reaches up and gently pushed a strand of your hair away from your face.

“You're really laying it on thick tonight, Barnes.”

“Is it working?“

“Maybe a little.”

He grins, leaning closer to you.

“It's crazy to think that a few hours ago I wanted nothing more than to break your pretty little face.”

He gasps. “How violent, doll.”

You hum softly, watching the light bounce off of his bright blue eyes.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m cold.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm. I think you should kiss me. To share warmth.”

He laughs. “Right. For medical purposes.”

“Of course.”

He uses your intertwined hands to pull you closer to him, your chest pressing against his. Your breath hitches as his cool metal hand slides over your waist to rest against your spine. You trace your fingers slowly over the ridges of his arm, both of you watching the movement until you reach his shoulder, and then his eyes meet yours.

“Y/N.”

“Buck.”

“Are you sure?”

“So sure.”

Your hand slides up to his cheek, and his eyes shutter closed for a moment, and he opens them again for just a moment before his nose brushes against yours, and then his lips are on yours and every part of you just feels so perfectly right.

Your hand slides to his hair and you tug gently at it, causing him to groan softly into you. You smile into the kiss and his fingers press against your back. He draws back slightly, forehead pressing against yours.

“Doll, you keep doing that, and you’re gonna get us into a situation that neither of us can be in right now.”

Excitement floods through you, but the events of the day flash through your mind and your exhaustion seeps back in. You release your grip with a soft laugh and scratch the back of his head gently.

You press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back. “I guess I’ll just have to remember that for next time, then.”

“Next time?”

You shrug. “I mean, if you want.”

“God, yes.”

You grin, kissing him once more before spinning in his arms and pressing your back against his chest. You feel Bucky’s breath hitch, then his arms are tightening around your waist and holding you against him, his face pressed into your shoulder.

“You sure got snuggly fast.”

He hums into your skin. “I think I’ve liked you for a while now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

“Me too. Maybe we were just expressing it the wrong way.”

He hums again, your newfound comfort lulling you both towards sleep.

“You’re warm.” He murmurs, voice muffled by your skin.

“Yeah, you fixed me right up, Doc.”

He laughs. “Couldn’t have my partner dying on me. Looks bad.”

You laugh, and he tightens his grip on you.

“How are we gonna explain this to Sam and Steve?” You ask after a minute.

“Explain? I think those assholes set us up.” Bucky grumbles.

You laugh again. “Yeah, that definitely sounds like something they’d do.”

“We’ll get ‘em back.”

Your eyes slide closed, your hands resting over Bucky’s. “We’ll make sure they regret ever thinking this up.”

He hums. “They’re gonna hate us. We’re gonna be so obnoxious.”

“As if we weren't already.”

_____

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes #steve rogers #tfatws #catws #post tfatws #post catws #marvel #bucky barnes angst #the avengers

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stuckysnugglebutt · 2 months

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Ok, so I just did a brief A03 search, and I didn't get any hits, so I am presuming this doesn't exist yet.

I'm gonna need someone to write a Captain America and BBC Ghost mash-up. It could be set during CATFA, and the Howling Commandos could be quartered at Button House during R&R in England or between missions for the SSR when they are reporting/coordinating with Col Phillips, et al.

This obviously needs to be a Stucky fic. They could meet the Captain while he is alive and stationed at Button House. This would open up some interesting convos/interaction among the Captain, Stucky, and Havers.

The potential for a time jump to the present day is there as well. Cap (with or without Bucky post WS) could revisit Button House on a mission or to stay at the B&B (or both). Then, he encounters the Captain as a ghost in the present day, which has the potential for a lot of great scenes.

Anywho... there you are writers....a great scenario/writing prompt for you. Go forth and write b/c I need this badly in my life!

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thatmexisaurusrex · 4 months

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Kiss Cam

This is a belated birthday present for @logicheartsoul! It is also based on some suggestions A-chan sent me as well as this spiel we did once. Enjoy and happy belated birthday, A-chan! 🥰

Kiss Cam

| Pairing: SamBucky | Rated: T | WC: 1.7K |

Summary: Sam's supposed to be looking for Bucky in Europe, not getting caught hanging out with Bucky in Houston on a Kiss Cam at Minute Maid Park.

Excerpt:

He was there. That weirdo. That strange old man. When Sam Wilson had taken up the task of finding one James Buchanan Barnes for Steve Rogers, Sam had expected a lot of things. A few fights with a semi-coherent partial-amnesiac. Breaking into old HYDRA safehouses. Maybe a few flights on Tony Stark’s dime. Whatever Sam thought this would be like, it wasn’t this.

READ THE REST ON AO3!

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky fic #dorks in love #first kiss #baseball #kiss cam #post catws #getting together #tooth rotting fluff #my fic #Kiss Cam

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misssclumsy · 1 year

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Tumblr is not Tumblr anymore it's a catblr now

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rillils · 1 year

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OK BUT STUCKY LIVING TOGETHER WITH THE AVENGERS AND BUCKY LOVES TO WEAR FLOWER CROWNS AND OTHER NICE AND PRETTY STUFF AND AVENGERS THINKING HOW CUTE BUCKY IS AND BEING "DISGUSTED" (not actually tho) ABOUT HOW DISGUSTINGLY IN LOVE STEVE AND BUCKY ARE AND BUCKY DENYING THAT HES CUTE AND HIM DOING A CUTE POUTY FACE AND THE OTHER AVENGERS THINKING THATS CUTE AS WELL ALL THE WHILE STEVE IS STANDING THERE JUST WATCHING HIM WITH THE ABSOLUTELY BIGGEST FRICKITJN HEART EYES EVER AND AND YEAH

NONNIE, OH NONNIE MY LOVE, GOD BLESS YOU SO SO MUCH, DARLING 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕 I don't know if you're the same lovely nonnie from the Thor + jealous Steve ask (if you are, then I thank you not 1000, but 2000 times!! 😘😘😘), but either way I LOVE YOU and thank you for bringing such preciousness to my inbox 💕💕💕 I simply adore this trope, and indeed I think this is one of the million opportunities the mcu wasted - so here, I wrote a silly little thing for you that I hope you will enjoy :3

1.5k words under the cut!

The popcorn kernels hit the bottom of the pan with a happy little tinkle, all tin-tiling-a-ling, spilling like summer hail out of the box. Steve barely hears the sound over the sudden burst of laughter coming from the living room, which – and here comes the pleasant surprise – is the baseline soundtrack of all their game nights lately, and he finds himself grinning along with it as he turns the stove on. Who knows, maybe Lucky went hurtling straight into Tony’s house of UNO cards again.

“Aw Barnes, you’re so cute, man,” Clint – of course it’s Clint – slurs through a mouthful of– possibly a pizza pocket. Could be a coupla pigs in a blanket getting shmooshed in there, though.

Bucky’s reply comes through gritted teeth and positively dripping with indignation. “I am not. Cute.”

Oh yes, ooh yes you are, Steve’s brain supplies instantly, and he steals a quick glance (do 37 seconds still qualify as quick?)– a quick glance towards the couch, where Bucky’s currently demonstrating his Eternal Glower of Profound Betrayal. Dark brows pulled tight together, pursed lips just entering the Hardcore Sulking stage, icing sugar caught in his stubble, and the sight alone makes Steve’s heart feel tender and juicy like chicken thighs after six hours in a slow cooker. Could pull him apart with a spoon, he’s so sweet on the guy.

And God but is Bucky cute; cute doesn’t even begin to cover it. In his new fluffy sweater with the kitty prints, the neon-green pj bottoms, and his arms and legs crossed stubbornly in a full-body pout, he’s just about the cutest thing Steve’s lucky, lucky eyes have ever seen.

He’s wearing his second-favorite flower crown, too – a half a wreath of the most delicate fake cherry blossoms that make the steel blue of his irises pop like goddamn fireworks on the fourth of July. The first time little Cassie caught sight of Bucky in that, she dubbed him an Actual Princess, very earnestly adding that he looked, and dare she say it, prettier than Rapunzel, thus producing the loveliest shade of bubblegum pink all over Bucky’s cheeks – a color which Steve has been trying to recreate, with much patience and dedication, with the loving touch of his fingers and the filthiest words he can fit in his mouth, if only to see how far down Bucky’s body he can get it to reach.

In other words, yes – he’s very much on Clint’s side on this one.

“The man’s right, Barton, he’s not cute,” Sam chimes in, his toothgapped grin all but glinting with mischief. “I believe the word you’re looking for is adorable.”

Amen to that, brother, Steve thinks to himself, just barely remembering to cover the pan before the popcorn starts popcornin’ right into his face.

“Fuck off, Wilson,” Bucky replies, helpfully illustrating the anatomy of a middle finger for Sam’s special benefit.

“Excuse me,” Tony pipes up, one UNO Reverse card tucked behind his ear and two more balanced precariously on top of his multi-story card tower, “I would urge all of you people to consider a true evergreen. The all-powerful, the all-encompassing, the one and only: precious.”

A chorus of cooing noises erupts across the room, rippling from body to body all around the coffee table, until Scott’s arm is shooting up, phone a-wiggling in the air.

“Wait wait wait, I’ve got one– JARVIS, if you please?”

There is a beat of silence. Then the AI’s voice echoes through the entire floor, somewhat mortified.

“As per Mr. Lang’s request, I submit for your perusal an animated Graphic Interchange Format, depicting a small child with cartoonish features, who appears to be holding an overlarge stuffed toy in the shape of a unicorn. The script beneath it reads, It’s so fluffy I’m gonna die.”

The GIF in question starts playing on loop on every screen available in the room – including the one that occupies the entire length of a wall – and the little crowd immediately explodes in a symphony of cackles and excited “Yes!”s and “Spot on”s and “Look Barnes, it’s you!”.

“I hate all of you,” Bucky grumbles, seemingly resigned to his fate; but Steve doesn’t miss the amused twinkle in his eye, nor the subtle curl in the corner of his pouty mouth.

Bucky’s gaze finds him, bright and beautiful, and they exchange a long look across the living room’s open space – intimate, somehow, even over the ruckus caused by their merrymaking friends.

And it might be the popcorn beginning to knock into the lid under Steve’s hand, but there’s something here, fizzing in the tips of his fingers, tingling at the base of his neck; something bubbly and sweet filling up his chest, that he just can’t keep a lid on tonight.

When he sees Nat perched on the backrest just behind Bucky, tugging on his half-braided hair and pleasantly threatening, You move your head again and I’ll bite your ears off – and Bucky drawls out a soft little Sorrey for her, but he keeps grinning up at Steve, his eyes like the shimmer of sunlight on clear waters.

When he finds Clint trying to stick fridge magnets to Bucky’s vibranium arm even through his fuzzy sleeve, then dragging Sam into it too like Hey man, check this out, and from there it’s all about how many times they can spell ‘DICK’ on him before Bucky notices and shoves them both off the couch.

Even when Thor interrupts his Mario Kart showdown with Bruce to offer, “Personally, I find it quite a dashing look – although in my experience, fresh flowers improve it tenfold. STEVEN! You must provide your beloved with fresh flowers for his hair every day! It’s tradition!”

And amongst all the snacks laid out before him, the teasing smile on Bucky’s lips is still the only thing Steve wants to taste tonight.

“You hear that, Steven?” Says his beloved.

Steve adores him. Steve would worship the ground his green-socked feet walk on. “Loud and clear, baby.”

Ohh, it’s worth saying it just for the lovely blush it puts on the apples of Bucky’s cheeks, rosey pink and delicious; and maybe, yeah, maybe even for the outburst of catcalls and Get-a-room’s it gets him, the second the word is out of his mouth.

“Aww, he said baby~”

“That’s so cute, you guys–”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

“No, shut up– if you two lovebirds start making out in front of me again, I will throw up in the guacamole bowl and it won’t be pretty.”

“Nah, don’t you listen to this old sourball here, this is a PDA-friendly zone! If you guys feel like a bit of canoodling, some squeezin’ and a-lovin’–”

“Yo Rogers, that popcorn about ready or you still growin’ it?”

And. And Steve loves it. This– this, right here. It’s pure unadulterated chaos sometimes – all right, most of the time – but he can hardly picture his life without a healthy dose of this anymore.

Four years ago, he was a shell of a man; raw pulp under a too-thin rind, the chill of ice still creeping in his veins, with barely the will to see another day.

Two years ago, he found something he’d thought he’d lost forever to the sharp embrace of a frost-coated ravine. Hope. And what a powerful fuel that proved to be.

Ten months ago, when Bucky first sought his kisses again, and slipped into his arms as easy as if he’d never ever left them at all, Steve rediscovered the meaning of bliss. He had everything he needed. Everything he’d dreamed of, night after day after night. What more could he have wished for?

Today, an unexpected answer presents itself to him.

“Hey, pass the chips, will you?”

“You think we’ve got any caramel sauce?”

“If you unleash one more of those green shells upon me, then so help me Odin–”

This. He wants this, with no name to put to it, except for the way it makes him feel inside. This thing that fills a room, warm and lovely, like hot chocolate poured in a cup, and feels so much like an embrace. Like coming in from the cold.

He never would have dared to wish for it. Hell, he didn’t even think he could afford to ask for it, but now that it’s here, he finds he’s hungry for it; and it doesn’t feel like greed at all. It just feels– good.

He’s only vaguely aware of Sam walking up to him, handing him an empty bowl to pour the fresh popcorn in. His brown eyes are gentle, knowing – but then, Sam always seems to know something Steve doesn’t.

“Happy’s a good look on you, man,” Sam says, and this smile, ah, this Steve couldn’t hold back if he tried with all his might.

He looks over to the couch, where Bucky’s holding his belly as he laughs, head thrown back and flower crown drooping perilously over his eyes. Steve is smiling so hard, it hurts.

“Thanks, man.”

#anon #stucky #rillers scribbles #post catws #in a universe where cacw never happened #tonight i'm living in 2012 and it's beautiful ayyyyy #also i didn't reread this so sgdfjdfhgdflkhgsdjkfhj #nonnie!!!! nonnie i really do hope this is okay #don't know if this is something like what you were looking for but i put all of my lil heart into it <3 #i had fun scribbling it too so yoooooo that's a victory for once!!#AND i even discovered the smaller font #at LAST #thank god ;____;#now it's time to wallow in second-hand embarrassment #*lies on the floor*

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 1 month

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Chapter 12 is out! Enjoy!

#my fic #stucky #stucky fic #stevebucky #stevebucky fic #mcu #marvel fic #post catws

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mytrashbin · 2 years

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During a mission in Madripoor, Clint finds out that Brock and other former members of the STRIKE Team /Hydra are being sold at a black market auction.

#brock rumlow #clint barton #hawkeye #captain america #hawkbones #brock rumlow needs a hug #protective clint barton #because he will save them of course #post catws #gif fic #my edits

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glittercake · 2 years

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Part 2 of the sambucky fic Somewhere In The Ruins.

E | 7k | gdv | Tags: post catws; getting together; pwp + feelings; revenge road trip; 5+1 | summary:

He's afraid that once this is over—this pleasure, the simplicity of sex and getting off, and their naked bodies in each other's hands—everything else will filter back in. All the nightmares and the horrors and the blood and bodies. Being far from home, being alone, being angry. It will all come rushing back and drown them.

But for as long as they're here, ebbing like water on the cusp of spilling but never quite getting around to it, there's no room for the nightmares. It simply feels too good. It's too distracting.

Or: 5 times Steve and Natasha fuck instead of dealing with their trauma + one time they don’t.

READ HERE

#stevenat #romanogers #steve x natasha #samantha writes #post catws #can be read without reading part 1

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babygirl-diaz · 2 years

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Each Passing Second

Steve woke up with a gasp and sat up in his bed. He looked around and realized he was in his apartment and whatever he just saw was a bad dream. Throwing the blanket aside, he got out of bed and rubbed his face as he made his way to the kitchen with his phone. Once there, he turned on the kettle and got out a mug and herbal tea. As he made his tea, he scrolled through his phone and called Sam.

It took a while and Steve was about to hang up, thinking Sam was still asleep when Sam finally picked up the phone. "Hey, man."

"Hey," Steve almost let out a sigh of relief when he heard Sam's voice.

"You okay?" Sam asked. Somehow, he always knew when something was up with Steve. "You sound off."

"Nothing. Just had a bad dream," Steve replied, stirring his tea.

"Oh," Sam replied. "You wanna talk about it?"

There was something off about Sam's voice as well, so Steve replied, "No, it's okay. What about you? Are you good?"

There was silence on the other side, and Steve thought Sam had hung up.

"Sam?" Steve called out.

Steve could hear Sam shift. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Are you sure?" Steve pressed on.

"Are you?" Sam asked.

"Sam..." Steve sighed and changed the subject. "I miss you. You should come back home."

"You gave me a job, Steve, and I don't intend to come back until I've completed it," Sam replied adamantly. "And I miss you too."

"God, you have no idea how much I love you," Steve told him. "My love for you only grows each passing second."

"Steve..." Sam gasped.

"It's the truth," Steve replied. "I wish you were here so I could tell you this in person, but this will have to do for now," he added before taking his tea and going back to his room.

"I love you too, Steve," Sam said just as Steve took a seat on his bed.

"Then come back to me," Steve said.

"Steve... you know I can't. Not yet, anyway," Sam told him again.

"Fine, but I'm coming to you next week."

"What? No!"

Sam's rejection took Steve aback. "You don't want me there?" He asked sadly.

"No, of course, I do, baby," Sam told him. "I just- I don't know where I will be next week."

"Wherever you are, just let me know and I'll be there."

Sam sighed, "Okay. I'll let you know, but you should go to bed now. It's late for you."

"Okay, good morning, sweetheart," Steve said.

"Good night, baby." With that, Sam hung up.

Steve drank his tea and looked through his phone at the photos of him and Sam from Stark's party before Sam left.

***

"You're lying to him."

Sam almost jumped out of his skin when he heard that. "Jesus Christ!" He yelled. "You need to wear a cowbell or something around your neck." Sam caught the brown paper bag Bucky threw at him and opened it to find a bagel and cream cheese inside it. "How did you know I wanted a bagel?"

"You're predictable," Bucky replied and climbed into his own bed after placing their coffees on the nightstand.

"No, I'm not!" Sam argued.

"Whatever," Bucky said with a roll of his eyes. "So, what did Steve want?"

"None of your business," Sam informed him as he settled against the headboard and took a sip of his coffee.

"Did you tell him?"

"You know I didn't," Sam replied.

They both went quiet and had their bagel when Bucky asked, "Do you really love him?"

Sam turned to glare at the other man. "What's that supposed to mean? Of course, I love him."

"Then why are you lying to him?" Bucky asked. "Just because I asked you to?"

"I'm not lying to him. I'm just hiding certain truths," Sam replied. "If anything, I'm trying to protect him. I don't want him to discover that a faction of Hydra is still alive. Or he will drop everything to come and help us."

"Hmmm..." Bucky hummed. "You really do love him."

"More than you'll ever know," Sam admitted.

If Bucky wanted to say something else, he kept it to himself. Just as Sam preferred it.

#SamSteve #Sam Wilson #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #SamBucky #Captain America #Post CATWS #Post Avengers AOU #fanfiction #aashnas drabble

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sigloverofwords · 2 years

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Stuck at 56.7 Degrees//Chapter 10

Taglist: @darke15

Barnes couldn’t stop shaking. Chills, bone-deep and trembling, wracked his body. When he could summon the strength to open his eyes, white and grey swum in front of him, morphing away from his touch when he tried to reach out. Occasionally, there was a flash of red, a murmur of a voice.

You, he thought, allowing his eyelids to close against the light that burned his retinas. I know you.

Something touched his forehead, damp and gentle, giving him a moment of relief from the sweat rolling across his skin.

Unable to maintain his grip on consciousness, he let go. Falling, falling, falling.

James’ eyes fly open as he jerks up in bed. A thin sheet slips down his body to pool in his lap. Knife gripped in one hand, he scans the room.

Nothing. Another nightmare.

Scoffing at his own weakness, he returns the Finka combat knife to its place beneath his pillow and shoves the blankets off of him.

He moves through his morning routine without much thought. Check the door, make sure it wasn’t opened during the night. Strip off his sweat-soaked sleep clothes. Seven minute shower, cold. Scrub hard. Don’t think about the nightmares. Shave with the straight edge razor he keeps beneath the sink with his TT pistol. Dress in the tank top and loose pants provided for him. Boots on feet, another Finka in each boot. Stretch. Don’t think about the nightmares. Calibrate arm with a wide swing, listen to the plates move against each other. Be relieved when nothing sticks or grinds. Don’t think about the nightmares. Open the door, stride through the barracks. Meet no one’s eye, keep a scowl fixed to stop them from approaching. Don’t think about the nightmares. Don’t think about the n—

“Солдат!” (Soldier!)

James’ head whips towards the sound. It’s not snapped, not an order or a reprimand. It’s her .

He can’t stop a smile from spreading across his lips when he sees her, waving at him from the entrance to the restricted barracks. She’s tiny, a slip of a thing with red hair that practically glows against the grimy grey snow. He only realizes he’s standing stock still in the middle of the walkway, staring at her, when she begins to jog towards him.

The other soldiers and staff that pass occasionally flow around him, giving him a wide berth. If his intimidating height and musculature wasn’t enough to warn them away, the glinting silver arm with a bright red star on the shoulder certainly would.

She stops in front of him, looking up at him with those wide, green eyes that twinkle with warmth and mischief. Her breath puffs little clouds in front of her pert, pink lips. He can’t stop his gaze from dropping to her lips for a moment before finding her eyes again.

“Принцесса,” he murmurs for only her to hear. (Princess.)

A pink flush that wasn’t from the cold paints itself across her cheeks.

“Can we practice our English today, Soldier?” she asks, her accent almost nonexistent. He knew almost wasn’t good enough for her.

“Of course,” he replies easily. It’s almost strange to speak his native tongue again, his near-native fluency in Russian and Romanian far more useful at this snowy Soviet base tucked deep in Russian lands.

His agreement is met with a stunning smile from the girl that almost made his heart stop.

He knows he shouldn’t think of her as a girl anymore, she is a woman of twenty already, (they had celebrated her birthday last month) and she could very nearly hold her own against him in the ring now.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks, finally tearing his eyes from hers and noting her workout gear and how unsuited it was to protect against the icy breeze and drifting snowflakes around them. She shrugs.

“Not all of us only just rolled out of bed,” she teases. “Some of us have work to do, you know. I’m warmed up.”

He rolls his eyes at her goodnatured needling.

“Good,” he replied, down to business. “We can get straight to our run, then.”

She bounces on the balls of her feet, ready to go.

“Remember, distance,” he says as he turns and begins heading for the edge of the military campus. Beyond the last low, long building, there is nothing but grey fields of snow broken up by the occasional skeletal tree.

“I know, I know,” she waves him off, easily keeping up with his long stride even if she has to take two steps for his one. “No need to expend energy on bursts of speed, humans are stamina hunters, I remember.”

“Well if you remember, show me,” he goads, breaking into a run once they clear the last building. Even though he preached stamina and distance, he is still quick, his enhanced body easily carrying him faster than most men could sprint, and he isn’t even winded. Only a moment later, she is at his side, keeping up with a loping gait. Where he pounds through the thin layer of snow over their path, driving the flakes into mud beneath his boots, she seems to float across the terrain. Her eyes sparkle as she turns gracefully mid-stride, running backwards just in front of him to shoot him a small, almost shy smile. When she turns back around in mid-air he is reminded of the rigorous dance program she was put through, and wonders for a split second if she would be happier as a simple ballerina, rather than the weapon she was becoming.

The weapon I’m helping make her into , he thinks, stomach rebelling at the thought. He shakes his head, driving that train of thought away. Almost without meaning to, he starts to pull ahead, forcing his legs faster, as if he could outrun the guilt hanging over his head.

She lets out an exclamation, speeding up to try and catch him.

“What happened to stamina and distance?” she asks. He doesn’t answer, stopping on a dime and turning directly around, facing back towards the base.

“Last one back has to do an extra twenty minutes in the ring,” he says shortly, before taking off like a shot, leaving her to scramble behind.

“I’ll kick your ass, James Barnes!” she calls behind him, the snowy air muffling her declaration from any curious ears back at base. He just chuckles, knowing that they’d end up doing the extra minutes together anyways. No one else could keep up with her. They were the only two on base who could challenge each other, always pushing, always striving to one up the other, always improving. They were a perfect match, steel sharpening steel.

A single, traitorous thought wanders into his head, almost drowned out by the rush of his pulse and the hammering of his feet against the ground.

Maybe we could make ourselves strong enough to leave this place.

As if sensing his idea, his body rebels, a stitch developing in his side and slowing his pace. She blows past him just a few feet away from the outskirts of the base, and even though she has a trained neutral expression in place for the people around them, he spots the proud lift of the corner of her lips as she keeps up her speed until she is fully past the base border.

Slowing herself down to an easy jog, she stops by the gym, waiting for him with her hands on her hips.

“Fast, Солдат,” she says, a relaxed look in her eyes. (Soldier.) He comes to a stop beside her, breath clouding in front of his face. “Not fast enough,” he jokes.

She shakes her head.

“Your heart,” she says. “It’s too fast.”

James frowns slightly.

“What do you mean—”

He’s cut off when he’s forced to gasp for breath. There’s a pounding ache in his chest, interspersed with sharp pains that make his muscles twitch.

She just stands in front of him, watching. “Too fast,” she whispers, sadly shaking her head. “Too fast.”

James’ head began to swim. When he looks down, his hand is shaking like a dead autumn leaf in a stiff breeze.

“Help me,” he chokes out, before a muscle spasm sends him slamming to his knees in the snow at her feet. His vision narrows, black edges starting to encroach on his view as she crouches smoothly beside him. Her fingers ghost through the air beside his cheek, almost touching his skin that now beads with sweat despite the freezing air.

“Fight it, my soldier,” she begs. Then the tunnel choking his vision closes and he’s falling once more.

The ground rocks beneath him as James’ eyes fly open once more. His world is painted in flashes of orange and yellow, with black smoke pouring over everything. Something moves beside him, red hair streaked with soot, a body in a formfitting black suit as she slams down next to him, taking cover against the rubble he finds digging into his back.

“This is not how I imagined spending our weekend,” the woman beside him spits, although he knew deep down that the vitriol wasn’t aimed at him. Another explosion goes off not far from them, and she steadies her arms on the collapsed structure around them to fire a few shots before ducking back into cover. She glances over, rasing an eyebrow that is half-singed off.

“You letting me do all the work, дорогой?” she asked, and he realizes he has the weight of a rifle in his hands. (Darling)

“Of course not, мое предмет любви,” he replies easily, throwing her a lopsided grin. (My flame)

She returns the expression, face softening for a moment beneath the soot and ash, and something in his chest clenches. A splitting pain cracks across his head, a memory begging to be released. The gun drops from his hands as he presses them to his skull. Someone is screaming themselves hoarse. As the woman, the one he spoke to with such ease and care, abandons her own weapon to kneel in front of him, distantly begging him to talk to her, he realizes he is the one screaming.

“Jami— please—”

Her words are disjointed, each one floating down to him as if whispered far above as the icy hot fingers of pain claw over his head. His throat burns. Snapping watery eyes up for a moment, he sees the fear behind his flame’s beautiful green eyes.

“Help me,” he mouths, vocal chords unable to produce a sound. She cradles his face gently, nodding rapidly.

“I will, I will always help you,” she stumbles over her words, a Russian accent thickening as she strokes fingers over his cheek. Her touch is blessedly cool against his stubbled skin.

“You need to fight it,” she says, but he can’t. The pain is too great, it feels like his skull is cracking beneath his hands, splintering into a thousand pieces and stabbing him everywhere they can. With a final wail of agony, he collapses towards the filthy ground, but instead of hitting the stone he is falling once more.

All is darkness around him. When he tries to open his eyes he finds just more darkness, leaving him unsure if he even raised his eyelids. A faint sound draws his attention, the only stimulation in otherwise-perfect deprivation. It’s a simple, slow melody, sung quietly, almost as if the voice wasn’t paying attention to itself.

“Спасибо вам и сердцем и рукой,

За то, что вы меня - не зная сами,

Так любите: за мой ночной покой,

За редкость встреч закатными часами.”

(I’m grateful to you with my heart and hand

For loving me, while not so realizing,

For granting me nocturnal peacetime, and

For it isn’t us, together at stars gazing,)

He can’t move, suspended in nothingness, so he just closes his eyes and listens, letting the words wash him away once more.

Natasha ached from tensing every muscle in her body at every movement Barnes made. Unable to reach out to any of her contacts for fear of bringing either the US Government, Hydra, or Dreykov’s men down on top of her, she had resigned herself to letting her partner sweat it out.

That had been three days ago.

It had been touch and go for a while, but she kept forcing broth and water down his throat at every opportunity, muttering curses to Hydra and prayers to whatever gods might be listening in the same breath. Finally, late last night, after a frightening few hours where Barnes had stilled, pale and clammy, barely breathing, his fever broke and he slipped into a semi-peaceful sleep. Natasha, who had barely left his side except to clear the burned-out husk of the wrecked cars out of sight and set up some security so she couldn’t be ambushed, fell asleep beside him only minutes later.

Now, with late morning sunlight streaming into the ranch house bedroom, she groaned as she stretched. Her legs were cramped from curling into the chair she had dragged to his bedside, and her neck had a pinched nerve from resting on the mattress beside his hand that set her eyes watering.

Barely conscious, she stood, checking Barnes’ breath and pulse. He had terrified her for a while, his pulse racing far too fast, but she had given him a risky electric shock from her Widow Bites (turned down to the lowest setting) and his heart had reset itself. She was relieved that his pulse and breathing all seemed normal. While he was still pale, some color had returned to his skin. He was on the mend.

Natasha felt like she could cry.

Dropping his wrist from where she had been monitoring his heartrate, she bent to touch her forehead to his fingers, eyes fluttering closed.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she whispered, fighting back waves of exhaustion and relief.

Beneath her touch, his finger twitched.

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