#and is generally agitated - responds slowly to the suggestion he might like to draw some more. He has become largely non verbal. &039;I am. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

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statistically significant | 3 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

The next Monday found you anxiously nursing a coffee, carefully looking over Bakugou’s latest results.

You’d let the model retrain overnight, just to get a more up-to-date picture of Bakugou’s work, and you’d barely slept a wink while it ran, fretting over your first meeting with him. After waking up earlier than ever, you’d found yourself restless all morning, so you’d made your way into Miruko’s agency well ahead of schedule and had spent your time since sucking down coffees and eyeing Bakugou’s assist and rescue scores warily. They still sat well beneath his kill and capture scorings, and you mentally braced yourself for the near impossibility of getting him to prioritize those aspects of his work.

With Mina’s help, you’d been able to con him into working with you. But just because he’d agreed to your bet, you were not stupid enough to think that meant he was going to make anything easy for you.

Bakugou, for his part, seemed the very antithesis of nervous when he met you in the surveillance room. He barged into your makeshift office mid-morning, looking well-rested if annoyed. The door banged loudly off the opposite wall and rebounded closed with a slam that rattled the AV equipment.

“Let’s get this over with,” Bakugou growled, throwing himself down in the seat opposite you. He was dressed in dark training clothes--simple athletic fabrics that suggested that he meant to book it to a training room the second he was done with you. His whole manner suggested you should keep things short.

You sat frozen, fingers paused over your laptop keys. “...Good morning to you too.”

He looked at you incredulously, blonde eyebrows raising. “I didn’t fucking come here for small talk. Get on with it, nerd.”

You suppressed a twitch of irritation, looking away from him where he sat in an agitated pile of strong lines and tense muscle. God you hoped this was all going to be worth it, at the end of things.

You sighed and clicked into the model results screen, knowing it was only going to work him into a lather if you pressed him on social niceties. “Okay, so I did some analysis--”

“Big fucking surprise.”

“--and,” you continued loudly, “as you well know, you need to adjust certain priorities on the field.”

A scoff issued from his direction. “I don’t need to adjust shit.”

It took everything in you not to roll your eyes. He was literally here to discuss adjusting shit. What was the point of him being so defensive?

You eyed him speculatively, taking in the oppositional slant to his broad shoulders, the thin slash of his mouth as he regarded you irritably. Your observations from last week floated to the forefront of your mind, that this was a man who would not easily do anything he didn’t want to do. And it was clear he did not actually want to do this--he had only been baited into it by the grace of his meddling, pink-haired friend.

You mentally resolved to play as nice as you possibly could, to minimize the amount of fussing from his side of things.

“As I think I explained last year,” you began carefully, “the model I train relies on a set of weights, and you’re ranked on that. Your work is divided up into categories: public perception, kills, captures, property damage, rescues, and now assists. Some of those categories are weighted more heavily than others, so if you do well in them, you’ll outperform your peers in the rankings who do just as well in other categories.”

Blood red eyes darted up to a monitor as you projected your laptop screen onto it, the model results translated into neatly organized and color-coded graphs.

“You are unmatched in kills, fairly unmatched in captures as well, and you’ve kept property damage to a surprising minimum in the last few years considering your quirk. You’re also wildly popular, particularly with young people, according to public polls.”

You glossed over the fact that his appearance probably had a lot to do with it, considering the tidal wave of interest from the female bracket of respondents. The fact especially did not bear thinking about when he was alone in a tiny office with you, bare arms and the hard planes of his chest displayed prominently in his training gear.

“Just fucking---out with it,” Bakugou demanded, turning to glare at you again. “I don’t have all damn day.”

The tiniest hint of smoke and sweetness hit your nose as he leaned closer, and you pushed away from him, baring your palms in the universal gesture for peace.

“Okay, okay. So you’re good at those things, but your rescue scores need work, and your assist score puts you in the top ten least cooperative heroes in the entire industry,” you explained, watching as a muscle in his jaw jumped in obvious irritation. “Rescues are the highest weighted category in the rankings model, and assists are the third highest. So no matter how good you are in other areas, you will not surpass anyone who performs well in these categories.”

Bakugou made an annoyed sound, his brows drawing together. “Quit fucking talking to me like I’m a baby. I fucking know--tell me exactly what your fucking nerd-ass model needs me to do and I’ll fucking do it.”

You breathed out of your nose very slowly, quelling the rising tide of annoyance within you. Everything out of his mouth was so abrupt and demanding.

Software engineers, picture the software engineers.

“Okay so I ran deeper analyses on those two categories and compared your movements with generalized results from the top ten heroes from each category,” you continued.

“The thing that stood out in terms of rescues, is that you were almost twice as fast as other heroes to leap into combat with a villain. This means you’re spending less time assessing the situation than other heroes, and therefore spending less time processing victims. So if I had to make a recommendation here, it’s that you should actively look for civilians before jumping into a fight. You might still find that the smarter thing to do is leap into the fight instead of evacuating them, but you at least need to slow down before you do.”

The crease between his brows erased itself and he leaned back in his chair, tension bleeding out of him somewhat, which was--unexpected. You’d have thought he’d get more defensive as you explained his shortcomings to him.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “What else?”

You pulled up two videos and projected them side by side, bright little clusters of dots collected over the location of each hero. “For assists, it looks like when you’re in range of other heroes, you actually do help, at least a little. I only found an issue when I generalized results from the top ten in this category and ran calculations about their movements in comparison to yours.”

You let the videos play, watching Bakugou’s eyes track the movements with unblinking precision. He said nothing as you let the loop repeat, the tense lines of his body inexplicably unravelling even further with each loop. He looked as close to relaxed as you had ever seen him.

After a few loops, he finally let out a scoff. “Those needy fucks stick closer to other heroes,” he concluded gruffly. “That’s what the dots are tracking.”

You nodded. “On average, you move three times farther away from other heroes on scene than the top ten heroes do. So you’re less likely to be in range to help.”

He rolled a powerful shoulder, unwittingly drawing your eyes straight to it. You gave your leg an annoyed pinch under the table, forcing your gaze back up to his face once you realized what you were doing.

“So I have to look for weaklings and stay closer to these b-list fucking clowns, that’s what you’re telling me?” he prompted, running a hand through his mess of blonde hair. It looked unexpectedly soft under his fingers.

You drew your eyes away from him again, focusing hard on the relief you were feeling that he seemed to be processing and internalizing your feedback. “Yeah, you need to assist civilians and stay in range of your team. Those are the only areas in which you really need help.”

There was a sharp crackle, and tense movement caught in the corner of your eye. You turned to find that all of Bakugou’s unease had suddenly returned, a snarl riding his mouth.

“Help?” he demanded. That scent of smoke and sugar suddenly pressed in on you again, sharp and dangerously hot.

You blinked at him in confusion. “...Uh, yeah?”

His gaze darkened and he leaned over the table between the two of you, a calloused hand catching the collar of your shirt to yank you towards him. The corner of the table dug into your ribs, and his fingers were hot where they brushed the skin under your collar.

“I don’t fucking need help,” he spat, crimson eyes boring into your face like a drill. Your hands came up to grab his, trying to untwist it from your shirt, but his fingers only tightened, unyielding.

“What--? Yes you do?” you garbled, fingers scrabbling over his. “What do you--?”

He pulled you further across the table, so that his face was scant inches from your own.

“Fuck you if you think I need anything from you,” he growled in a low tone, voice almost dangerously soft. Your blood iced over in your veins, limbs freezing. He stared at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then, in the next second, you were being shoved backwards into your chair, and then Bakugou was gone, door slamming behind him with a force that shook the walls.

You stared after him in shock, mouth gaping open. He had been fine up until a couple of seconds ago, even seeming to relax under your analysis. But then his temper had suddenly flared for no fucking reason.

What….what the fuck was wrong with him?

You spent the rest of the morning in a state of restless agitation.

What the literal fuck was wrong with Bakugou? Why had he just stormed out like that? What had flipped the switch for him in the space of mere seconds?

You replayed the conversation in your head nonstop all through your next few meetings and over your lunch break, where you furiously wolfed down a bento without tasting any of it. Your frustration carried you all the way into the afternoon, when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through your door.

You looked up into Pinky’s dark eyes and brilliant smile.

“Y/N!” she chirped happily, closing the door behind her and sprawling into the seat across from you.

You returned her friendly smile. “Ashido-san,” you greeted her politely.

She laughed and waved a rosy hand, leaning forward over the table. “I would never ask stats girl to be formal with me. Call me Mina!”

You huffed an embarrassed laugh. That was sweet, but the nickname stats girl needed to die a brisk and fiery death.

“Mina, then,” you amended, pulling up her model results on your laptop, trying to tamp down on your embarrassment. She was almost overwhelmingly friendly.

Her dark eyes flickered over you curiously and a cautious smile played about her mouth. “Heard it didn’t go well with Katsuki this morning.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “He told you?”

She laughed. “No, I just saw him annihilating a training room. I know him well enough to know when he’s throwing a tantrum.”

An awkward, hot sense of shame welled up within you at the thought that you’d pushed him to that, though you didn’t know how. You got the sense that you’d taken one step forward but two steps back. So much for your promotion.

“Uh yeah, he kind of...stormed out? He’d been listening, actually, and I thought things were going weirdly well. The bet was a good idea, so thank you,” you said. “I just…somehow I screwed it up, I think.”

Mina rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, splaying out flat in her seat. “God, you know what? I’m just so tired of my best friends being guys. They’re so dramatic and so fussy about their tough guy image. And take themselves so seriously, for no reason, even fucking Denki. I have sat every single one of them down and forced them into make up so it’s absolutely baffling to me that they still stomp around like they’re so serious and so tortured.”

Your mouth dropped open as what she’d just said caught up with you. Take themselves seriously...when she’d forced them into make up? “No. Even…?”

Mina smirked. “Oh yeah, even Katsuki. No idea why he thinks he’s such a tough guy when all it takes is a couple of tears and boom, he’s working a smokey eye and tiny little pigtails.”

You choked on a laugh, trying to dispel the horrifying image in your mind of Bakugou in mascara and lipstick. The idea of him in make up was somehow even more intimidating than his usual appearance. You did not want to know more.

It certainly did beg the question, however, why he was such a difficult jerk if it was that easy to get him to acquiesce to something that horrifying. Maybe the answer lay in Mina’s powers of manipulation. She’d known to make the bet with him, after all. And if she knew how to get him into eyeliner and lipstick, then she might know how to get him to agree to let you help him.

“Wow,” you murmured. “That’s...terrifying. How did you even convince him though? I can’t get him to spend more than two seconds around me without blowing his top like a volcano.”

Mina grinned conspiratorially, leaning over the table. “You just have to know how to work him. Trust me, you might have good numbers sense, but I have pretty good people sense. Katsuki is all smoke and fire until you dig underneath.”

You almost did not want to know what was underneath. “That’s--but he’s so volatile. I can’t predict any of it.”

Mina's grin widened. “Actually, it’s pretty straightforward. He’s actually super in control all of the time, even when it seems like he’s lost it. He’s only really sensitive about one thing.”

“For example,” she leaned forward, her smile morphing into something dark and leery. “I heard he burned through your dress at the Hero Awards.”

You put your face in your palm. “Yes. This is what I’m talking about--I thought he was gonna fry me to a crisp.”

Mina snorted, raking a hand through her mess of curls. “Maybe I only see it because my acid is similar--but it’s pretty hard to only burn through a tiny strip of fabric and not touch anything underneath, even if you’re not out of your mind with anger. It requires some precise control. Wouldn’t you say?”

You froze in your seat, staring at her. Implications began to creep over you like a dark shroud. “What?”

She grinned. “He didn’t touch you, right? Only the dress?”

You gaped at her. “Yeah--only the dress.”

She cut her dark eyes to you, looking like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “Very interesting that he managed to sear straight through your dress, then, without burning you. One might think he did it on purpose.”

You floundered. “But I--but he--! I told him to do better and he got all worked up and intense!”

Mina laughed out loud. “I bet he did. Katsuki’s a total control freak but he loves a challenge. That’s why he took your bet, and that’s why your meeting didn’t go as poorly as you thought it might at first, and that’s why he was so fixated on you after the Awards.”

Your face heated. “Don’t put it like that.”

She chuckled. “I don’t know how you feel about him, but I can guarantee he’s very interested in you. He loves girls who don’t take any of his shit. Why do you think he signed with Miruko? It’s actually kinda gross,” she made a face.

Your face was on fire. A hot wave of embarrassment washed through you and you resisted the urge to dive under the table and hide. This is not the turn you thought the conversation would be taking.

“Uh, so,” you managed, fingers fluttering. “So--um, why did he freak out earlier then? I did tell him everything he was doing wrong. But then he lost it, I think when I told him I would help.”

Mina’s grin settled back into place. “He’s so fucking predictable. He hates being looked down on, and the word help implies that you think he’s weak enough to need it. I’ll bet you anything that’s why he totally flipped.”

You considered this. “But I didn’t mean it like that--”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s got a very specific way of looking at things. He’s way better than he used to be but that’s the one thing he’s still sensitive about.”

You mulled that over. It did explain, then, why he’d reacted so poorly when he’d seemed to be fine with your critique. “Does he really need to be seen as strong that badly?”

Mina picked idly at the fluff on her costume’s jacket, thin fingers tangling in the white strands. “He has insane expectations for himself, and he’s only comfortable when everyone else has those too. It’s like if you think he can’t live up to those standards, that you don’t truly see him.”

So that was it. The mystery of Bakugou’s volatile nature explained--a weirdly deep-seated inferiority complex wrapped up in layers of crankiness and--you blushed--an interest in girls who gave him shit. You quickly buried any considerations on his romantic inclinations, and focused on the inferiority complex.

Whether you’d intended to or not, this morning you had managed to convey to him that you thought he was incapable, and not in a way that personally challenged him like the bet had, or your demand he do better at the Hero Awards. It was so ridiculous, you thought, but then so was he. And if you wanted to make any progress on your promotion, then you were gonna have to suck it up and work within those constraints.

You sighed. You owed him an explanation, maybe even an apology.

Mina regarded you approvingly from across the table. You also owed her a drink. Maybe several.

“Got it,” you acknowledged, clicking back into your model results and pulling up her ranking analyses. “And thank you--I owe you a ton. Now let’s get to what we came here to do which is to talk about how you can kick even more ass.”

Mina grinned, leaning forward in delight. “You’re welcome. And hell yeah, this conversation was so not passing the Bechdel test.”

You snorted, suppressing a wild smile. Oh, you really liked her.

You would apologize and get things back on track with Bakugou. And once Bakugou netted you your promotion, you were gonna turn back and rocket Mina up the rankings to give him a run for his money.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #tw threats #tw gendered violence

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wonderlandmind4 · 6 years ago

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Delicate Stages Drabbles: 17

Beginning

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: Drabbles following Delicate Stages. Looking into the life of Bucky and Ana.

Warnings: Language. Fluff. Light smut. Implied smut. Sad tones. A shower scene. The beginning.

Words: 6.6k

A/N: Hi. So. Here it is....the beginning of the end...game....(Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first)

“You what now?” Bucky asks for the third time, scratching his head in bemusement, staring at the box in his hand.

Ana cackles from the bathroom, opening the door. “Read the instructions. I’m not explaining it again.”

Bucky has reread the instructions five times. “So, you pee on a stick and it’s supposed to tell you if you’re pregnant or not? That doesn’t seem reliable.”

“It can be and can not be, but it’s one way to find out. The test nowadays are more accurate. There’s a blood test too, but I hate needles.”

Bucky hums in agreement. “Still fucking weird.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Ana tells him fondly after she washed her hands. She places a gentle kiss to his jaw, snatching the box out of his hand.

“Has it been two minutes yet?” He questions eagerly.

“No, and don’t get too excited, Snowflake. Sometimes it doesn’t happen right away. It’s about timing and cycles and-“

Bucky kisses her lips. “We can keep trying, I have no qualms about that.”

She tugs his hair. “You wouldn’t,” She deepens the kiss, molding her lips against his.

They continue kissing until a timer goes off on her phone. Ana breaks out of Bucky’s hold, disappearing into the bathroom, before reappearing with the white stick in her hand. She meets his eyes and he stands next to her, peering down at it. Her hand is covering the result screen.

“Ready?” She sounds nervous.

Bucky kisses her temple before nodding. He wraps his fingers around her wrist as she removes her other hand. There’s no mistaking the clear result displayed on the strange stick. His eyes slide to his wife, who hasn’t reacted at all. There’s a beat of silence. Then-

“Oh well,” Ana shrugs nonchalantly, throwing the stick into the trashcan by the bed. “Next time.”

“Annie,” Bucky whispers. He belatedly realizes he feels disappointed.

Ana wraps her arms around his middle, pressing her face into his bare chest. She tenderly kisses his scars. “You okay?”

“Are you?” He cups the back of her head with his palm, wishing he had his left arm to hold her tighter.

“I’m fine. You sound upset.”

“Not upset, darlin’.”

He feels her nod, but her shoulders tremble slightly. The pads of her fingers dig into the skin of his back. He can feel her energy clouding over, as if she failed him.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky coos, sliding his hand over to cup her jaw and guide her face up. She doesn’t meet his gaze. “Annie Doll, hey. Look at me, sweetheart.”

When she does, there’s an unsettling amount of anxiety in her pretty eyes. She’s biting her bottom lip, so Bucky gently tugs it free with his thumb, before soothing it over with his finger.

“It’s okay,” He reassure gently. “I promise. Like you said, it doesn’t always happen right away. We can keep trying, yeah?” He grazes his nose with her until she’s smiling. “Maybe take one more test?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” She sighs with relief.

“I love you.”

Ana responds with a light kiss to his lights, her hand trailing up his back to cup his neck. He kisses her three times in quick recession.

“I love you, too.”

They fall quiet as they stand there in each other’s arms, foreheads pressed together.

“Pizza?” Bucky offers brightly.

“Yes!” Ana pulls back, rushing out of the room.

He laughs after his wife, still endeared by everything she does.

After the pizza is gone, just two crusts left over, they lounge on the couch watching a movie. Ana has her knees over Bucky’s lap, his right thumb drawing soothing circles over the faint scars in her knee.

“I just thought…” Ana begins softly, her tone somber. She huffs, meeting his eyes. “I just thought with that feeling…”

“Because it got stronger?” Bucky finishes for her.

“Yeah,” She absentmindedly places her hands over her stomach and chest. “I felt it up my spine, then my stomach. In my core, Bucky. The same feeling but, stronger.”

“It’s been happening more frequently right?”

She nods. “Should I call, Steve? Tony even?”

“Possibly. Just promise me you’ll let me know if it starts affecting you physically.”

“Promise. Can you hand me the fluffy crust, please?”

Bucky takes a bite out of it to get a reaction. He does, a bright one, resulting with her on top of him fighting for her crust. It ends with the crust forgotten and another attempt of trying again.

***

Ana is sitting at her desk in the Lab, taking notes on her psychological Energy theory, when she suddenly stops and straightens up. A surge of prickling energy shot down her spine, causing her to glance over her shoulder, seeing nothing but empty space. Strange, since it felt like someone was standing behind her. The feeling was stronger than the others she felt before, so she grabs her notebook and writes it down.

She tracks down Shuri and together they find her brother. They talk about the possibilities of the feeling, of what it could mean.

“Do you feel as if it’s a probable threat to Wakanda?” T’Challa inquires gently.

Contemplating, Ana chooses her words carefully. “Not exactly. Sometimes it feels more internal, other times it feels like…as if…a storm is coming. Over the world.”

Ana breaks out into a laugh after a long stretch of silence. “I sound ridiculous.”

“Not necessarily,” The King assures her. “There was mention of this similar situation before with you, yes? With the Avengers.”

“Yes, but that was…” She trails off, remembering all the times at the compound she felt strange. “Yeah. I did feel something was off, and it eventually affected me towards the end there. Again, this sounds a little silly. I know Wakanda safest place to be. Wouldn’t you be able to detect if there was a threat coming?”

“She is correct,” Okoye confirms, shooting the King a meaningful look.

He nods, lost in deep thought. Ana turns her attention to Shuri, who has been working on the rings for the past half hour. Her brows are furrowed in concentration as she tinkers with the jewelry. She’s been silent the entire time.

“Captain Rogers suggested I might be growing stronger in my abilities,” Ana informs them. “Those rings regulate the Alchemy, but they don’t amp it up, nor do they affect the Empathy.”

Shuri hums as a response, finally putting down her tools. “Your abilities are a science, a miracle, but still embedded into your DNA, and science is always growing, always changing. I would not be surprised if it’s attempting to show in different ways. Developing a new ability isn’t far off either.”

She then hops off the stool she was sitting on, grabbing the rings to bring them to Ana. They don’t look any different from when she was first gifted them.

“They’re working perfectly. I did make moderation's to the protective shield this time,” Shuri explains brightly. “It’s still laced with vibranium, still impenetrable, but I added an extra flare of electricity, just in case someone attacks-

“Why the hell does it need an electric field from attacks?” A new voice joins them.

Ana’s somber mode immediately lightens, her heart automatically settling with comfort. She smiles as Bucky walks up to her, shooting Shuri a curious yet, firm glare. Her husband wraps his right arm around her ribs, kissing the back of her head. Ana melts into his solid, warm hold.

“In case she wants to get away from your annoying face,” The princess teases, wiggling a finger at his nose.

“It’s practical,” Okoye chimes in with her usual strict tone. However, Ana sees the playful sparkle in her dark eyes. She swears the general is secretly fond of Bucky and her. “She’s a fighter, this one.”

“There’ll be no fights here, especially not with my Annie,” Bucky growls, nipping at her ear.

Ana laughs. “As if you could stop me from kicking some ass!”

He pauses. “Unfortunately, that is very true.”

“Sergeant Barnes!” Shuri yelps. “Did you come into my lab bare foot!?”

Bucky stiffens. “My shoes were dirty!”

“Get your husband out of my workplace, Ana!”

Bucky is cackling as he ducks behind Ana. Rolling her eyes, she begins to push her childish husband backwards, catching T’Challa’s eye.

“I’ll inform you if the feeling continues to grow stronger,” She promises, the shoves the over-grown child that is her husband out of the Lab.

***

Only two days pass before the feeling does grow stronger. Ana nearly forgets she’s helping Bucky on the farm. She gently coaxes two baby goats towards the giant bucket of water, both kids having found a clay puddle. Their fur is covered in thick, burnt orange clay, beginning to cake on their hairs. She’s in the middle of rinsing off the first goat, when she drops the small pitcher she’s using, standing up. She blinks in a daze, slowly turning to look behind her.

Absentmindedly, she wraps her arms around her torso, pressing her palm against her chest and frowning at the surrounding area. The feeling didn’t just tingle down her spine again, but curled through her stomach, nearly knocked the breath out of her lungs. She tries to shake it off, but her fingertips tingle as if they’re going numb. Weird.

“Ana?” Bucky’s voice snaps her out of her daze. “What is it, darlin’?”

“Hmm?” She blinks slowly, stretching out her fingers. Bucky comes up next to her, brushing away a few stray hairs sticking to her temple. “I…I’m fine. Sorry, I’m good.”

“You sure? You’re-“ He pauses, his fingers hovering along her cheekbone. “-Shimmering again.”

Ana frowns in bemusement. “I’m not upset or anything.”

“Is it that feeling again? It’s been happening more frequently?”

“Yes, but, it was quick. I don’t feel it anymore. I gotta finish bathing these kids.”

Bucky appraises her once more, then nod. “Tell me if it’s worse, Ana.”

Ana huffs, agitated. “It just feels like, as if…I can’t explain it properly. It just feels off. I feel off right now.”

“You let me know if it starts to worse, dangerous.”

Ana nods at him before kissing his bare shoulder, readjusting the dark patterned shawl tied over his left side. She shoots him a smile, then gets back to the goats.

The feeling continues over the next two weeks. It nearly made her feel sick a few times, as if it was draining her energy as well. Thankfully, that part only lasted three days. Ana just becomes use to it now, almost ignores it. As if like it’s a layer of thick air covering her skin. At one point, she curiously plays with her Energy rings, wondering if the inactivated rings can still that new layer protection.

What she can’t ignore for much longer is how frustrated it makes her feel. Instead, the energy turns into something Ana thinks she needs to release. As if she needs to run for miles, or box for hours, or…or…

Bucky has been a distraction lately, even when he’s not around. She finds herself missing him whenever she’s in the Lab and he’s staying in the hut. When he gets home to their apartment, Ana pulls him into the shower, trying to disprove that shower sex doesn’t work. She disproves it three times.

Or, Ana will leave the Lab early, sneak onto the farm and view Bucky from the distance. Watching his bicep strain as he lifts and throws hay bales, bags of feed and even more fallen branches around. Watching as his thick muscular thighs and back flexes with strain. Watches when he pushes his long hair back, exposing his strong jaw and thickening beard.

She’ll wait until dark, when the children and families have gone to bed, and they’re both clean from the lake. She pulls him into the hut, and rides him until they’re both seeing stars, and can no longer move, panting into each other’s skin.

At one point, Ana has a long overdue kink talk with him. She had giggled as Bucky’s face turned bright red at one point, clearing his throat and shifting. He had shut off her phone after she showed him some videos, tossing it to the bed.

“Some of those are…strange,” Bucky grumbles, avoiding her eyes. “I don’t think I like those ones.”

Ana kisses his extremely warm cheek. “And you don’t have too,” She chuckles kindly. “Not everything is for everyone. We can stick to the mild things.”

She picks up his hand, resting it gently against the base of her throat. “Like this one,” She says huskily, “that, you’ve done before.”

Bucky lightly squeezing the sides of her neck. Her breath hitches in her throat. She brings her hand up to his hair, digging her fingers in and tugging at the roots. “Or this.”

Bucky’s breath shudders. He nods, then sears his lips to hers, sliding his hand from the front of her neck to the back, pulling her down on top of him. His hand trails down her spine, leaving fire in this wake, and lightly smacks her ass.

“Hmm, that too,” Ana moans into his mouth.

Bucky chuckles, slipping his hand underneath her sleep shorts, grabbing a handful of her ass. “Anything else that turns you on, doll face?”

“F-fuck,” She stutters at the name as Bucky suddenly trails his hand from her ass to her front, dipping his fingers into her wet core.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” He teases, his voice reaching that aroused growl, quickly working his fingers. “For me to fuck you nice and hard until you’re coming all over my cock?”

Ana whimpers, her eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head. She places a rather harsh bite on his collarbone.

They don’t really sleep that night until the sun breaks over the horizon. The ominous feeling subsides just a little after that. As if her energy had been seeking out Bucky’s in a more intimate way than before.

Three months later: July 2018

Bucky halts his movements, his bicep straining as he holds the bale of hay in the air. Ana had caught his eye as she bent down to gently kiss the elbow of one of the little girls. The child had tripped over a hidden rock and landed on her elbow. Ana was there instantly, picking her up and rocking her, soothing her. She placed the girl down on the hay, quickly running into the hut to get the wrap.

Bucky smiles at his wife, imagining a future with Ana doing this to their child, or children. How she would be a kind, gentle mother, but he also knows she would be firm and protective. His heart swells with the with the idea of it.

Turning, he throws the hay into the pile. He opts for the sacks of grain this time, about to pick a bag up when his chest clenches. He frowns in confusion, until the frantic calls of the children reach his ears. The goats begin to stomp their hooves in distress. Cat stops running around his feet and takes off toward the kids.

“White Wolf! White wolf!”

Spinning quickly, Bucky runs to his wife, who’s bent over and rubbing her chest. She lifts her hand, waving him off, as if that would do anything. She looks a little pale, despite the shimmer of her skin.

“I’m fine, I swear,” Ana pants heavily, arms wrapping around her middle.

Bucky helps her straighten up. “Are you sure? What the hell was that?”

“I’m not sure, just a surge of energy.”

“Should you sit? Take a break or go to the Lab?”

Ana suddenly smiles at him. “Honey, I’m fine, I promise. Go back to you dirtying yourself up.”

“You may want to reassure the kids,” Bucky nods his head towards the children, expressions filled with concern.

“Right. Right.”

Ana pats his chest, giving him one last smile before she gathers the concerned children. They all surround her, hugging her legs and waist. Suddenly they break out into giggles, and the concern they were all feeling has faded away.

Bucky sighs in relief pushing his hair back, then winces. It’s been to long since he’s given it a good wash, and he’s running out of clean clothes he usually wears on the field. Maybe they can have a laundry day later and he can convince Ana that just a slight trim to his hair won’t make much of a difference in length.

He shrugs the thoughts way, then continues to work. He’s cleared one pile of hay, throwing the last bale onto the stack, so he grabs a bag of feed instead. Bucky is halfway through the feed sacks when movement drawls his attention, and the once happy day suddenly deflates.

T’Challa, Okoye, and two guardsmen walking towards him, a large case carried between them. Bucky has an inkling of what it is. He throws the sack harder than necessary, before he makes his way to them.

The men walk up to another stock pile of hay, placing the case on top of it. They stepped back once Bucky arrives. He swallows nervously, adjusting the shawl covering his left side. He glances up to meet the King's eyes for a moment. The look of determination with the tiniest gleam of sympathy makes Bucky's heart rate pick up. He flicks the locks open with his thumb, lifting the top of the case.

Resting against a statin cushion is a new vibranium arm. It looks exactly like the previous one sitting in the closet in their apartment. Shuri must've created the newest version, probably lighter, stronger, with more tech intertwined. His shoulders drop automatically, the same time his heart falls to his stomach. They wouldn’t have made the small journey out here just to present him with a new and improved arm. He knows what this means.

“Where’s the fight?” He inquires wearily, grinding his teeth. He hears how resigned his voice sounds. This was the last thing he expected living in Wakanda.

“On its way," T'Challa answers curtly. Then he glances over Bucky's shoulder as Ana has just walked up next to him, placing her hand on his lower back. Softer, T’Challa says, “Protection will be provided, of course.”

Bucky shifts his eye to Ana's face. She frowns as she gazes down at the new arm, then looks between Okoye, who remains stoic, and T'Challa. “From what? What’s going on?”

“I think you both better come with us," The King requests kindly. “The Captain is on his way with company.”

Bucky feels Ana slip her hand into his, and he tries to tamper down his disappointing dread. He knew he couldn’t run from war for long. Now his perfectly, peaceful crafted world with his wife is shattered. He squeezes her hand, feeling the all too familiar tingles of her empathic energy.

“Actually,” Ana speaks up. Bucky picks up on the slight tumor in her tone. “Do you mind if we meet you after we clean up a bit?”

T’Challa opens his mouth, but the clearing of Okoye’s throat makes him snap it shut. He cast her a sideways glance as she tilts her head down. The King turns to look at them once more, nodding his head.

“Of course. Would you like to take this with you then?” He nods to the arm.

“Please,” Ana answers.

Bucky is still soundlessly reeling over this abrupt turn of events. He doesn’t even notice the company has felts them, until a sharp snap breaks him out of his mind. He drags his eyes to the case, Ana now leaning over top of it, her head down with her hair falling over her shoulders to cover her face.

“He never flat out said war, did he?”

Her voice is small, still with the same shakiness. Bucky places his hand between her shoulder blades. He doesn’t answer, because if he says anything it will be a lie, and if he speaks, his voice will betray his emotions.

“Well,” She chirps, pushing herself up. Bucky counts the golden specks in her eyes. “Better get home, looks like you haven’t showered in weeks.”

That, causes an involuntary, indignant noise from him. “It’s only been two days from a full-on shower. I’ve been bathing in the lake.”

Lifting her hand, Ana scratches her nails against his overgrown beard. “Whatever you say, Winter Wonderland.” Their smiles don’t linger for long, as the situation at hand settles over them again.

“Let’s go, Annie Doll,” Bucky sighs, grabbing the case by the handle. “Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

Ten minutes into their walk to the apartment, when Ana gasps sharply next to him. Simultaneously an invisible force passes through his chest causing him to drop the case. He quickly turns to his wife, doubled over with one hand bracing herself on her knee and the other digging into her chest. She nearly topples over, Bucky steadying her with his arm around her back as she struggles to inhale. He can feel how clammy she is through her thin shirt, can see her tan skin rapidly paling.

“Ana, I’m here, slow breaths, darling. I’m right here, you’re okay,” He promises, ignoring his own fear.

Bucky attempts to find positivity within himself and sends it her way, hoping by god that she can feel it. He hasn’t seen something like this happen to her in two years; when dark energy was deliberately thrown her way. It doesn’t last long before Ana takes a deep breath again, and again.

“There you go, love” He praises softly, rubbing her back. “Just count. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe, it’s okay.”

She nods as he reassures her, reaching out her hand to press against his own chest. Slowly, Ana straightens up. Her eyes briefly meet his then she shifts her gaze to the sky. The panic subsides in Bucky’s heart, and he isn’t sure if it’s his own or Ana’s. Hair as has fallen over her face, so he gently pushes the strands behind her ear, earning her eyes back to his.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Ana answers breathless, her fingers tightening in his dirty shirt. “Yeah. It’s- that’s what I- oh god. This is what I’ve been feeling, Bucky, this entire time. This…this war.”

Bucky presses closer to her, snaking his arm around her stomach and pressing a comforting kiss to her hair. If she has been gradually feeling this ominous threat looming over her for a good year, he doesn’t really want to know what they will be facing. However, Bucky makes a promise to himself right then.

Ana will not be anywhere near the fight. He will absolutely refuse it. He will protect her at all costs. She suddenly removes his arm from her stomach, replacing it with her own hands.

“It’s the…the…I feel sick,” She mumbles, eyes fluttering close.

“Do you need to see the doctor?” Bucky asks frantically; this isn’t good.

She shakes her head, leaning her weight against him. They’re quiet as she works through her breathing, all while Bucky tries to convey his own feelings of comfort to her. Slowly, her skin regains color, and the pained expression in her eyes fades. Relief settles over his heart as she at least starts to look better.

Bucky holds onto Ana, her head pressed against his chest, keeping a protect arm over her hands. He’s contemplating way to keep her safe, get her as far away from the center of the fight as he can.

“Tony.”

“What?” Bucky blinks himself out of his thoughts.

“Tony,” Ana whispers. “I have to call Pepper.”

“Right, let’s go then. Are you alright to walk?”

Ana nods, flashing him a smile that seems way too bright for what just happened. She laces her fingers with his, clearly not minding the layer of dirt on his skin. Bucky had been expecting to feel anxiety, even fear. Instead, he feels warmth seeping through his veins, warming his body. He knows her. He knows Ana is trying to hold back her feeling for his sake and as he meets her eyes again, he offers her a small smile. He doesn’t mention that he knows she’s trying to hide her real emotions.

***

Bucky leans against the door frame of their bedroom, just as his wife hangs up the phone. He had his hand on the faucet, ready to wash the work day away, when he felt a pang of worry shoot through his chest. He just caught the tail end of the conversation, already figuring out that whatever news was conveyed, it isn’t good.

“I thought you were taking a shower,” Ana states as she stands, dropping the phone on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Is his response.

Shrugging, she answers, “Tony left. Pepper said they were out for a jog and some strange guy with a cape opened this weird portal? He asked for Tony’s help or something. Dr. Banner was with him. She said he looks shaken, then Tony told Pepper he had to go with them. She hasn’t heard from him since…since she contacted him in space.”

Shit. Whatever is happening is going to be bad. Bucky frowns, making his way over to her to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

“Stark’s smart and resilient. He’s going to be just fine,” He assures her; and himself.

Ana nods. “C’mon, dirty boy,” She quips lightly, pushing him back. “Pretty sure you haven’t washed your hair in two weeks, and Steve is arriving today. Gotta look all spit spot when your boy comes for war.”

Before Bucky can reprimand her for the ill-time joke, Ana is already in their room. He follows her, the shower already on and quickly heating up the bathroom. Bucky begins to strip off his dirty clothes as he watches Ana grab a towel, hesitate, then grabs another one. She places them on the hooks next to the shower door, sliding it open.

Bucky absolutely loves how the shower was built; smooth stone walls with a built-in bench. The space is large, with three different shower heads providing the perfectly pressured spray. One is mounted to the wall on the right, connected to another one that detaches. The third in placed on the ceiling above, something Ana had told him was called a “rain shower”. The first time he first it he didn’t want to leave, as the flow of the water felt amazing.

Ana had only turned on the first two, steam from the heated water already filling up the room. Now completely naked and making sure the port of his left shoulder is properly covered, Bucky steps into the spray. He allows himself to stand under the water with his eyes closed, listening while Ana still moves about. Huffing with the exhaustion of knowing he has to fight yet another war, he roughly shoves his fingers through is tangled, greasy hair.

The door slides, Bucky’s eyes snapping open when Ana steps in. He takes a moment to admire her, as he does daily, but now, it feels just a little different. His eyes slowly rake down her naked form; the smooth olive tone of her complexion that outlines her accentuating curves. He counts the scars littering her body, marring her nearly flawless skin. From the older ones on her hips and wrist, to the two-year-old bullet wounds on her shoulder and stomach and the five small, perfectly spaced dots on her right knee. The most recent scar spans 10 inches over her knee from the surgery she had. Each one is a few shades lighter than the rest of her, some raised and roped over with new tissue, some subtle yet jagged.

Bucky loves her all the same, but for now he keeps the memories of how she got most of those scars away. Instead, he focuses on her tattoos. The words about family inked on her ribs, the Latin ones on her foot, the lotus flower he knows is behind her ear.

“Buck,” The way Ana says his name always makes his heart flutter. “You have to actually use soap.”

There’s a hint of amusement in her tone. He shrugs sheepishly, clearly distracted by his loving, beautiful wife. Ana rolls her eyes, silently beckoning him to come closer. As he does, she grabs his hips, turning him and making him sit down on the bench, which is much warmer on his bare bottom than he anticipated.

Bucky gazes up at her, but she moves, adjusting the shower heads so the spray isn’t hitting their faces. She grabs his shampoo, conditioner and her own hair treatment bottles, bringing them closer to the bench. Then she finds the soap he prefers and the soft scrubby loofah.

Finally, Ana pushes his wet hair back, away from his forehead and off his face. Her rich, golden dotted, brown eyes meet his; abruptly the atmosphere changes around them. The weight of what T’Challa brought them wasn’t from the brand-new arm Shuri created. No. It was the ever ominous, looming clouds of war, of fighting, of possible lives being lost that weighs in their hearts, their bones. Sinks into their skin, taints the air, and just like that, their peaceful, lives in Wakanda was shattered.

Bucky suddenly has to- needs to touch Ana, lifting his hand to trace the scars along her hip. He trails his fingertips over her hip bone, across her navel, to her other hip. He repeats the notion, then wraps his arm around her back and pulls her as close as he can without her tripping against the bench. Bucky rests his forehead between her ribs, pressing a light kiss to her skin. He exhales heavily.

He feels her hands gripping his shoulders before hugging around his head. This moment only lasts a minute or so, before Ana’s hands leave his skin and he hears the snapping of a bottle cap. He leans back, but keeps his hand on her hip, his thumb rubbing circles.

“Close your eyes, Sergeant,” Ana commands softly, her hands covered in shampoo. “Don’t want to get soap in those baby blues.”

Bucky smiles as he follows her order, reveling in the feel of her hands lathering the shampoo in his hair. Instantly, his muscles melts at her touch, her fingertips massaging his scalp. He dips his head lower, so Ana has easier access to the ends of his hair, which he has neglected to cut. Bucky breathes her in, trying to find her natural scent behind the slightly fragrant shampoo. He listens carefully to the heartbeats, his favorite type of music; his lips turn down.

He can’t give this up. He can’t lose this happiness he has found, after seven decades. He can’t lose Ana. He must fight in this war, he has to protect her, protect their lives, their future. He has to help Steve and their friends, he has to fight and help protect whatever the reasoning is, to win, defend this gracious country, the people, earth. But. He will walk away without looking back if he was asked.

“Tilt your head back, Snowflake,” His wife’s sweet voices cuts through his chaotic thoughts.

He does as he’s told, his eyes remaining shut, feeling the warm pressure of the water rinse through is hair. The palm of Ana’s hand swipes against his forehead twice, before he finally opens his eyes. Her face is stoic, but soft, wet lashes clumping together, little baby hairs curl and stick to her skin. She catches him looking at her and a small smile graces her red lips. She replaces the hose, then dips forward to kiss his eyebrow.

Bucky grabs the conditioner, handing it to her. He straightens up as she’s distracted, placing a feather light kiss to the side of her breast. Ana huffs a little giggle before tugging on his wet hair. She repeats the same actions with the conditioner but takes her time to carefully detangle every knot she finds with her fingers. As she lathers his hair, Bucky continues to press kisses all over her torso; hips, stomach, ribs, her forearms. It’s when she leaves the soap in as she grabs the body wash does Bucky finally speak up.

“I won’t do it if you ask me.”

The words are whispered against her shower warm skin, barely audible over the continuous water flow. He knows she hears him, because her movements stop, the loofah resting on his shoulder. He felt her muscle grow tense, and he hears the up kick of her heartbeat. She drops the loofah, hooking her finger under his chin to lift his face.

“I can’t ask you that, Bucky,” Ana replies solemnly. Her eyes are dark with chaotic emotions. He knows she wants to, but she’s right. She never would ask that of him.

“Steve, T’Challa, they need you. You’re-“ She swallows thickly, and Bucky catches her jaw clenching. “You’re a damn good shot and a great fighter. They need all the help they can get.”

He knows, as much as he doesn’t want to admit right now. “This isn’t a war I want to fight.”

“Was there ever a war you wanted to fight?”

He doesn’t answer. Ana speaks again, and with her words, brings his greatest fears.

“I’ll join too-“

“No.” Bucky shoots down immediately.

“I can help-“

“I absolutely refuse you to.”

Ana abruptly turns, grabbing the hose again and tilting his head back. “Hush, honey. Keep your mouth close, don’t want soap getting in.”

He glares up at his wife for all of three seconds, before his eyes flutter close as she rinses his hair again. Bucky squeezes her hip three times in silence and feels her muscles relax again. She squeezes his bicep, three solid times. They don’t speak again until after Ana puts in the hair oil and washes it away.

“Want me wash your beard too?” She questions, cupping his jaw.

Bucky kisses her palm. “I’ve got it, sweetheart. Thank you.”

She nods, turning her back on him so she can wash her own hair. Bucky finishes the rest of his cleaning routine, just as Ana is rubbing her own rain scented conditioner in the ends of her hair. He drops the loofah on the bench, his eyes flickering to the jagged scars on her back once more.

Ana has been through her own hell, through her own unfathomable pain. He has seen her broken, pale and bleeding. He has had nightmares, ones he has never even told her about where he dreamt he was in her kitchen, watching what happened with her brother. Bucky’s heart aches for several reasons, but Ana fighting? Ana being broken again, draining her own life energy for the sake of this war and to win, is the ache that will kill him.

Stepping up behind her, Bucky gently gathers her long, dark hair in his hands, and continues to wash it for her. He takes his time running his fingers through the wet silky stands, dropping kisses on her shoulder and neck.

“Best of wives,” Bucky murmurs against her skin, grabbing the shower head. “Best of women.”

Her breath hitches when he washes the soap out. “Te amo con toda mi alma y todo mi corazón. All I feel is you.”

The hose slips from his hand, smacking loudly against the wall but Bucky doesn’t care. Ana spins around the same time Bucky pulls her close, holding each other tightly. Slick skin to slick skin, their bodies pressed together as one. Bucky’s arm hugs up her spine, her arms wrapped around his torso. Her face is buried against his chest, as he keeps his lips on top of her head.

He feels Ana trembling, but it’s not from the shower, since the water hasn’t gone cold yet. He feels a sorrowful turmoil curl through his heart, and he holds her a little closer, soothing his thumb over the top of her spine.

They hold each other as husband and wife, as best friends, as soul mates with their energy entwined, for as long as they possibly can.

***

After a quick but comfortable silent lunch- (but not before Bucky secretly trimmed his hair and beard, much to Ana’s displeasure who pouted for a solid five minutes) – they both stare at the new arm resting comfortably in the cushioned case.

Bucky watches as his wife tentatively touches the arm, tracing the golden lines from the top of the bicep to the tips of the fingers. She sighs heavily before she picks it up, tilting her head to the side.

“There’s a note here,” Ana announces, looking over her shoulder.

He stands next to her, picking up the small square paper. “White Wolf, I included another gift for you under the cushion. Made specifically and especially for you. The material is light, and bullet proof, my own special design. I hope you like it!

-Shuri

-PS. I got the inspiration from an old war jacket of yours.”

Bucky shares a quick confused look with Ana, before he lifts the cushion. Folded neatly is a navy blue, one sleeve vest, with leather straps atop the shoulders, and six sewn diagonal line. Bucky is speechless for a moment as he touches the strange material. The vest looks like a modern version of the one he wore during World War ll, although not as thick, and not made of wool. There’re clear signs of Wakandan teach woven into the threads, giving a slight sheen against the light. He figures that’s the bull-proof aspect of it. He continues to trace over the breast of it, finding the little tabs at the end of each thick line that snap together. Once he has them undone, he opens the top flap of the vest, reveling a zipper to the second layer underneath.

Bucky picks it up, examining the rest of the garment. There’s a zipper on each side that looks like it can be adjusted to his size, and a built in X shaped holster with two empty slots. A thrill of excitement shoot through is heart; at least he’ll have his knives back, he was quite fond of those.

“It’s- uh,” Ana clears her throat thickly.

Bucky quirks his eyebrow at her. Her warm eyes are wide, twinkling with something Bucky has seen many, amazing, times before. She likes it. No, Ana loves it.

“Really, Annie?” Bucky laughs despite the situation.

“What?” She scoffs, knocking her hip into his. “You look so charming and handsome in blue. Plus, I’ve seen those old photos of you and, well. Stop looking at me like that.”

Bucky can’t help that his expression has grown soft. He pecks a kiss to her eyebrow in response. “Help me put it on?”

“Help you take if off later, more like,” Ana grumbles, sending a shit eating grin his way.

“Шалунья,” He says fondly.

They grow a little more serious after that, as Ana carefully attaches his arm. Once the initial discomfort of his nerves connecting to the vibranium appendage fades, Bucky flexes his fingers, twists his wrist and circles his arm.

“Feels okay?” Ana checks, opening the vest for him. “It’s been a several month since you wore it.”

“It feels great, actually,” Softer he says, “and you know why I haven’t-“

“I know, babe,” Her smile speaks wonders. “Let’s get this on, and be on our way.”

Once the vest is on, zipped and fastened correctly, with Bucky fishing out an older pair of tactical pants, they leave their apartment behind. They decide to take the long route again, Bucky keeping right arm around Ana’s shoulders with their fingers tangled together. She has her left arm around his waist, walking perfectly in sync, attempting to draw out the time they have together until the fight begins.

***************************************************************************

Te amo con toda mi alma y todo mi corazón - I love you with all my soul and all my heart

Drabbles: Sixteen Drabbles: Eighteen

(I snuck in a musical reference...)

Tags: @thecreatiivecorner @kat-lives @stressedasalways @watchoutforfrostbite @justreadingfics @keldachick @fics-i-read

#delicate stages drabbles #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character

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lightshadowverisimilitude · 7 years ago

Text

Chaos and Dancing Stars 6/?

Here’s a teeny update for you, hot off the keyboard.

Part one, two, three, four, five

Tony sat across from Barnes at the big table in Bruce’s lab, Bruce standing at one end. After his terse explanation, Steve had excused himself from the room and headed for the shower. Tony huddled over a cup of hot cocoa. He felt shocky and cold, and there was a nagging sense at the back of his head that he was missing something. That something was 240 pounds of omega, but Tony pretended that he didn’t know what was pulling at him.

Barnes had a mug of his own, but he was just toying with the handle. Tony could smell the butterscotch schnapps in it from the other side of the table, and for a moment his mouth watered. He wanted it so badly that he could almost feel the tingling numbness spreading down his chest. Shaking it off, he ducked down to take a sip from the cocoa.

“I guess this has happened before?” Bruce asked into the tense silence. Even stacked against Steve’s obvious unhappiness, he was still curious. Like usual, Steve was a scientific curiosity. Tony had very mixed feelings on the whole mess. When Barnes didn’t respond, Bruce tentatively pointed out, “He’s been awake for over five years.”

Tony had thought about that too. Most omegas went into heat once a year, and most were pretty regular out of puberty. He tried to think back to all of the falls he’d known Steve, and carefully examined each absence. Could he have been hiding it by sneaking off for a few days? Who had gone through his heats with him? Or, worse, had he been going through them alone, locked up in an omega vault or out in the middle of no where? Not Barnes – he’d been brought in barely 18 months before. Tony found himself stewing in agonized jealousy mingled with anger, and hurt. Steve could have told him.

Mouth twitching up in a humorless smile, Tony reminded himself that he hadn’t been very open the one and only time Steve had tried to talk tendencies with him. At the time, he’d thought he’d been justified in shutting the conversation down – and he was, he didn’t owe that to anyone – but now… well, maybe it would have gone differently if Tony had known.

“It’s only happened once, ‘sfar as I know,” Barnes grumbled, finally taking a drink from his cocoa. He gulped it down despite the heat and thumped it hard back to the table. “Thought it was a fluke.” He shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. Barnes had a natural – really, almost unnatural – grace in combat, but when he was out of the field, his shoulders moved stiffly and unevenly.

(read more)

“Sounds like it’s not a comfortable subject,” Bruce said. “But if you can give me some details, I might be able to help him. Not,” he hastened to add, “the details, just…” He twisted his thumbs together over the table and tried to give Barnes an encouraging smile.

Barnes grunted. “We were on mission. He was acting weird, but he’d gone almost a hundred hours without sleep so we just thought… Even supersoldiers have limits, right? And then when we were 60 miles behind enemy lines, he just…” Barnes waved vaguely in the direction of the common room – at least where the common room would be if it weren’t two floors below them. He shifted uncomfortably. “We tied him up, gagged him, kept watch. Three days later, we completed the mission and went back to camp.”

Tony’s jaw dropped open and his blood turned to steam in his veins. “You tied him up and gagged him?” he hissed in outrage.

“We didn’t have a choice,” Barnes said, but his eyes were glued on the table and his shoulders curved slowly inward. “We didn't have all the consent forms, and ….” Barnes waved at the computer monitors around the room as if they encompassed all the progress Omega Rights had made in the last several decades. He directed a faint glare at Tony. “But we weren’t savages. We weren’t going to… Christ. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways. I was the closest thing to an alpha in the unit, and I couldn’t have held him down.” He lifted his chin like he was daring Tony to suggest it had been a failing on his part.

“You don’t leave an omega tied up and gagged for three days,” Tony said stubbornly. His spine had slowly uncurled throughout Barnes’ excuses, and he found himself thrusting his chest out.

Barnes curled further forward, chin tilting down and to the right. His eyes went glassy and he got very still. Before Tony could decide what to do with the submission – he didn’t want it, he hated it when glimpses of The Asset peeked through Barnes’ bristly exterior – the door opened. Steve stepped in, freshly showered and still damp. His shirt clung lovingly to his chest and stretch tight over his abs, transparent in splotches where he hadn’t quite caught all the water.

“They didn’t have a choice,” Steve said. He didn’t look the least bit abashed that he’d been eves dropping. He crossed his arms over his chest, set his feet in a solid stance, and stared at Tony. “Stop bullying him.”

“I’m not –”

“– He’s not bullying me,” Barnes finished with an affronted huff.

Righteous rug torn out from under his feet, Steve hovered uncertainly. His arms relaxed, but his hands didn’t make it back to his sides. They tightened and relaxed on his ribs, giving him an air of vulnerability that was severely at odds with all the muscle Tony didn’t think was on display by accident. Steve looked between the three of them, and then to the fourth mug sitting covered to Tony’s left. Tony nudged it toward him, and he finally relaxed enough to creep closer.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked once Steve had appropriated the mug and clambered onto a stool.

“Frustrated,” Steve said, and then winced. He tried to give Bruce an apologetic smile, but it came out as an uncomfortable grimace.

Tony caught himself leaning toward Steve’s side and forced himself back. Charged silence fell. At a glance, Tony could tell that Bruce was fit to burst with questions, and Barnes wanted to be absolutely anywhere else. For his part, Tony wasn’t sure if he would have been happier in caveman mode, dragging Steve back to his lair by one leg, or far away from the whole mess.

Steve made an unhappy noise. “I never went into heat before the serum,” he said finally. He squirmed on the stool and dragged one fingernail over the lip of the cup. “I was too skinny and too sick. I didn’t care – it wasn’t something I really wanted anyway. After the serum?” He looked down at his mug. His shoulders jumped in a short burst of laughter. “One would assume that an alpha would be free of heats.”

“Whoever this ‘One’ asshole is obviously never met you,” Barnes muttered.

At least it got a fleeting smile out of Steve. “We never told anyone,” he said so quietly that he could have been talking to his chocolate. He straightened up with reluctant effort and looked at Tony straight in the eye. “I attacked them, Tony. It was like I was outside of my body, like I had no control. If I’d been alone with anyone…” He shuddered, face going pale. “It took every one of them to hold me down long enough to get me restrained, and then I just started…”

“Keening,” Barnes provided softly. “Worst noise I’d ever heard.”

Steve flinched, and then turned the motion into a shrug. “We were behind enemy lines, and I was too far gone to understand why making noise was a bad thing. If they hadn’t gagged me, we all would have been killed or captured. So that was it, and then it was done. No big deal.”

Tony just stared at him, trying to process it. No big deal? Not only had he gone into his very first heat in an uncomfortable environment to begin with, but he’d gone through three days of heat gagged and bound? Tony tried to picture them stuffing him into a tent and how much strain it would have been on everyone involved, but most of all on Steve. Tony felt an uncomfortable shudder lodge in between his shoulder blades and tried to knock it loose without success. It sat there, clutching at his spine and ratcheting up his general agitation.

Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out as a heavy sigh, Steve took a gulp of his cocoa. He set the mug down very carefully, and then nodded to himself, and looked up. Miserable and resigned, he said, “Just put my room on lockdown. Though someone might want to tie me up. Just in case.”

“No,” Tony hissed without thought.

Barnes straightened up as well, though he didn’t say anything one way or another. His eyes fastened on Steve’s unhappy face. At the opposite end of the table, Bruce shifted uncomfortably. He made an aborted gesture to touch Tony’s arm, and then hummed. His fingers th-th-th-thumped on the metal table

“You can’t actually tell him ‘no,’ Tony,” Bruce pointed out gently.

Tony glowered. “I know that,” he snapped. Heat settled just behind his sternum, and then flushed up his face. He met Steve’s wary gaze. “You don’t have to,” he tried to explain, but his tongue felt clumsy and it was struggle to hold the nausea down. He kept flashing back to a dirty cave and scrape of sandy grit at the corners of his mouth.

“I could hurt you,” Steve said softly. “I could hurt you badly.”

Aiming for light and teasing, Tony asked, “Who’s the alpha here anyway?” He missed light-and-teasing by about six miles, and ended up somewhere in the territory of annoyed-and-desperate. He drew in a calming breath, banishing the specter of hot sand and the scent of burning metal. “If you want to do it alone, I’m not going to stop you. But you don’t have to, and hey – convenient, willing alpha on hand. What more you could ask for?”

For a second, Steve looked like he had an answer to that question, but he let it go. Tony couldn’t express how much he hated the idea of Steve – of anyone, but especially Steve – going through heats like that. He knew they would have tie him up if Steve decided to ride it out. Any omega in heat was enough of a handful, but a supersoldier? A locked door wasn’t going to keep him isolated, and Tony didn’t have a supersoldier-proof vault to stick him in. He felt Bruce’s eyes on the side of his face, but he didn’t return the gaze. Tony’s opinion on Steve’s heat mattered exactly not-at-all-percent, and what he wanted mattered even less. He noticed that his knuckles had turned white on the mug, and then noticed Barnes’ noticing him. He let the mug go.

“How long will this…” Steve made a vague gesture down to himself. His lips curled as he continued, “this interrupter last?”

Bruce shrugged. “For a typical omega, the effect varies from just knocking the cycle off by a few months, to a kind of a reset, and they might not go into heat again for a year. For you?” He spread his hands as if to prove they were empty. “I’m honestly surprised it’s lasted this long.”

Steve nodded miserably. He looked over at Barnes, who just looked back at him with a tight jaw. Tony finally realized that between the two of them, Steve would probably prefer Barnes. The only reason he’d come to Tony in the first place was that he’d been the only option. Barnes was only slightly a-ten, but Steve might not care. Physically, Barnes would be more likely to keep up with him. Tony surprised himself with the surge of anger and jealousy that thundered out of him. Barnes hadn’t been there to walk Steve through the complexities of living in the 21st Century, or to answer his weird questions on every random topic from “What’s Lulcatz?” to “What’s your opinion on Ronald Regan?” Or to make sure he was warm and comfortable and had enough art supplies to keep him busy on sleepless nights. Barnes hadn’t been the one Steve had come to whimpering, or the one who’d spent most of the day on the couch with him.

My biology does not control me, Tony reminded himself sharply. He’d lived his life by those six words, and it wasn’t the time to go the easy way so he could blame it on pheromones later. He kept quiet, and tried to stay still so he didn’t inadvertently interrupt whatever silent communication best friend thing they were doing. Bruce caught his eye, and they did some silent communication science bros thing themselves. Bruce’s eyebrows wanted to know if he was okay. Tony lifted a shoulder uncertainly. Bruce nodded sadly, his lips pulling together and then down.

“I want someone on hand to restrain me if I go too far,” Steve announced. His hands shook, but his voice was steady. He didn’t quite meet Tony’s eyes when he suggested, “And maybe you and I should talk alone for a while.”

Bruce nodded agreeably, but he didn’t move until Barnes slid off his stool and grabbed him by the sleeve.

Blushing, Bruce said, “Oh, right. There’s… Jarvis has the consent forms. If you. Well…” He gestured awkwardly between Tony and Steve. “You better have them on file. Before.”

Steve tried to give him an encouraging look, but mostly he just looked frightened. “Thank you, Bruce.”

“Sure,” Bruce said. He pushed his glasses up his face and let Barnes lead him out of the room.

#ladyshadowdrake writes #a/b/o #stony #chaos and dancing stars

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