#capain america

[avengerscompound]

"𝓘 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷, 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻, 𝓰𝓸 𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓰."

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER

[onheil-ferguson]

Tips for autographed shield needed

I'm going to have my Capain America shield signed soon and I'm not sure how to proceed!

Anybody who has had theirs signed previously who can offer advice will be super appreciated!

Its the Hasbro Legends version of the shield, so it is plastic. What type of marker or pen have people had the best luck with? My biggest fear is that it's going to wipe off or get smudged.

In terms of lugging it around the convention space, any advice for how to keep it protected? The signing times are early in the day iirc so it's several hours worth of risk (plus the bus ride home).

[pannypunkpanda]

Sam in a potion — August 31

[abuckygirlarchive]

Steve: They told us at the Pilsburg Inn that you were the daughter of the previous owners? Betty: Yes... mom and dad ran the inn a long time ago.  Steve: Your mother was Gretchen Zeller, before she married your father? And she’s from Germany? Sharon: We’re not the only people to ask about your mother recently, are we? Betty: No... there was someone, a little over a week ago.  Steve: Was it this man? Betty: Yes... only his hair was different, shorter. He seemed like a nice enough man, but I think he was a little out of his tree, if you know what I mean. Steve: Because he said he knew your mother a long time ago? Betty: She never talked about the war... but sometimes an old movie would come on the TV, and she would get distant... quiet. Dad said she lost a lot of people she cared about back there... Her father was killed by the Nazis.  Steve: She was a resistance fighter... and brave as hell. My friend, the man who visited you... he loved her.  Better: Yes... you could see that in his eyes. Like I said, I thought he must’ve been confused.  Sharon: Did he say where he was headed? Or what plans he had? Betty: He just wanted to know where she was buried... said he wanted to pay his respects before it was too late.  Sharon: What do you think he meant by ‘ before it’s too late ? ’ Steve: I think he’s going to try to kill Lukin for what they did to him.. and I don’t think he plans to survive the attack.

Captain America Volume 5 #16 and 17. 

[d-white211]

[sheisraging]

“Whatever it takes.”  Avengers: Endgame (2019), dir. Joe and Anthony Russo

[katsens-writing]

Meeting the Sergeant

Summary: Bucky goes to the museum to search for answers to some questions that have been haunting him and he finds some unexpected help along the way.

Word Count: 2.3k

Content: Angst, PTSD, fluff. Let me know if I need to add anything.

A/N: This is the third story that came from what was supposed to be a simple, short and sweet meet-cute type of thing. This can be read before or after reading both Meeting the Team and Meeting the Agent. Let me know what you think! I may make more from it...

    ~

     Bucky felt a bit of unease growing in his chest as he approached the museum. He knew it was a bad idea to be here. He shouldn’t be going anywhere near the museum or any public place for that matter; he may have been proven innocent of the attack at the accords, but as far as the media was concerned, he was still a criminal. Everyone would be looking for him, especially after Steve gets back. Every fiber of his being, all of his training, was screaming at him to run, to get out of D.C. as fast as possible and to never look back, but he couldn’t do it. This museum may be his only chance to get some answers-- he had to at least try.

     He constantly had dreams and nightmares about what he had done as the Winter Soldier and about who he had been before that. He had dreams of his life before the war, dreams of things he couldn’t remember. His dreams of after the war were even worse. He always saw names and faces of people he didn’t remember meeting, in places he never recalled being. In most cases, the only thing he was certain of was that the person in question was dead and that he had killed them. The worst part though was that he didn’t remember enough of his life during and right after the war, or of his life as the Winter Soldier, to be able to tell what was real and what was an invention of his fear and guilty conscience. His most recent dreams had involved the Howling Commandos and Steve. He knew it was too risky, that he could be recognized but-- he had to know. So he went to the museum with a dark zip-up hoodie and a grey baseball cap. He was a little on edge and nervous as he walked up the steps and made his way through the crowd outside the entrance. He didn’t realize the crowd was waiting to get through security until he noticed the security guards.

     His eyes widened and his heart began to race as his eyes fell on some guards by the entrance, checking visitors as they came in. His breathing increased and he began to sweat as one guard with close-cropped grey hair looked in his direction and frowned. He quickly turned to leave but before he could, another guard he hadn’t noticed following him caught his arm. Bucky immediately tensed up, his reflexes ready to kick in--

     “Easy,” the guard muttered. “It’s ok, Sergeant. I’ve got your back.” Bucky’s eyes widened incredulously at the guard. He quickly clamped his mouth shut as they turned back toward the museum. The guard escorting Bucky looked over at the guard who had been eyeing him and gave a brief nod. The other guard’s eyes narrowed but he nodded in return before turning back to the waiting visitors. A cold sweat broke out on Buckys’ forehead and he swallowed hard. He couldn’t do anything; there were too many people around that could get hurt.

     “C’mon,” the guard spoke, leading Bucky toward the exit doors. He pulled a key card on his belt and held it up to a panel next to the door. The guard waited until he heard a click and pulled the door open. They walked through the doors and, before he could break away, the guard quickly led Bucky to an empty office to the right of the doors. He closed the door behind him and turned to Bucky, indicating a chair. Bucky ignored the gesture and silently cursed to himself. How could he have allowed himself to be caught like that?

     “What are you doing here?” the guard turned to Bucky, questioning him.

     Instinctively Bucky remained silent. He’d been interrogated many times before; he knew how this would go.

     The guard sighed. “I’m not looking to cause you any trouble, all right? I just want to know, why are you here?”

     Bucky looked up at the guard with a stubborn, narrowed gaze. “Wanted to see that museum,” he finally answered, his tone defensive with just a hint of sarcasm. “I thought that’s what it’s here for.”

     “That’s not what I meant,” the guard sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. He rubbed his face before turning back to Bucky. “I mean what are you doing here in D.C.? You should be lying low somewhere.”

     Bucky snorted in disbelief. “What would you know about that?”

     “More than you would think.” Bucky narrowed his eyes at the guard’s response. The guard’s gaze was steady but not challenging. “58th Pararescue. We did a lot of laying low after our missions in the deserts.”

     Bucky eyed the guard warily. The guard sat down before indicating the chair again. Bucky glanced at it quickly then back to the guard before sitting down slowly.

     “So, I’m guessing if you’re still here, it must be for something pretty important.” The guard looked at Bucky after rubbing his forehead.

     Bucky was silent for a moment. “I wanted to see the museum,’ he repeated.

     The guard looked at him, studying his face for a second, and blinked. “You wanted to see your exhibit,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. Bucky’s gaze narrowed before he lowered his eyes without replying. “Probably the others’ too.” Bucky’s gaze quickly shot back to the guard at his words.

     “It’s coming back to you now, isn’t it?” The guard asked Bucky, tilting his head. “Your memory. And I’m guessing it’s not all good.”

     “That’s one way to put it,” Bucky replied bitterly after a moment of silence.

     “There are people who can help with that. Good people,” the guard straightened. “I have a friend at the VA hospital. He helped me through some stuff when I lost my brother. Maybe once things have settled down for you, you can look him up.” The guard rose from his seat. “In the meantime, how about we get you some answers?”

     Bucky looked up and blinked in surprise before slowly rising to join the guard. He followed him out of the office and to the right. They wove in and out of exhibits and around displays. Bucky’s brow furrowed as he saw all the different planes and space shuttle models. He looked up at the planes hanging overhead.

     I’ll have to remember to come back here sometime when I’m done running, he thought. Bucky lowered his head, turning his attention back to following the guard, and he froze.

     “Here we are,” the guard turned to Bucky and saw him standing there. He looked at his watch. “The exhibit will be pretty empty for about a half hour or so, they’ve got a demonstration for the kids on the east lawn. I’ll be at the exit if you need anything.”

     With a nod, the guard departed, but Bucky hardly noticed. He slowly approached a portrait etched in a glass panel. His lips parted in surprise at the face before him- his own face before the war. He almost didn’t believe it was him. He looked so different back then and he hadn’t even remembered what he had looked like. If it hadn’t been for the caption, he would’ve thought it was someone else. He slowly walked through the exhibit, reading through his past. He stopped when he got to a picture of him and his mother and his sisters. He remembered that the girls had driven his ma crazy that day, trying to keep their dresses clean. Of course, right after the picture was taken, they chased a cat through a mud puddle. He chuckled wistfully at the memory. He made his way over to a panel about the Howling Commandos. As he approached it, an audio recording started, with facts about the Commandos and where they had been. He listened for a minute to the narrative as it listed the locations of the different Hydra bases that they had destroyed before tuning it out. He scanned through the first panel on his old unit before moving to the next one. Glancing over it, he realized it had little facts and bits of information about the Howling Commandos. His heart rate quickened in anticipation. His eyes fell on a picture of two kids. ‘Jaqueline and Brian Falsworth’.

     Falsworth had two kids! Bucky’s stomach lurched. He felt like he was going to be sick. He quickly scanned the panel. Still not finding what he was looking for, his breathing started to increase and his heart beat rapidly, drowning out everything else. He frantically, desperately searched for any information, anything at all that could help... until his eyes fell on an old black and white video. His lips parted slightly in surprise. The video showed clips of Bucky and Steve during the war, at different camps and interviews. The sight of his best friend calmed him and his senses started to come back. Suddenly, the audio recording caught his attention again. ‘Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.’

     Bucky shut his eyes tight as a wave of relief washed over him. A single tear slipped out the corner of his eye. He lowered his head and a silent sob escaped, his body trembling. They made it. They made it home! Bucky took several deep breaths before he opened his eyes and wiped away the remaining unshed tears that had begun to form. They all made it! I didn’t--

     His thought was interrupted by the sound laughter approaching from the entrance of the exhibit. Bucky took one last look at the video before heading to the exit. When he turned the corner, he saw the guard standing there, leaning back against a wall with a mural of the Howling Commandos.

     The guard turned and looked at Bucky with a smile. “You look pretty happy for a guy who just found out he died.” Bucky smirked lightly as he approached. “Although to be fair,” the guard continued, “they are talking about removing the audio from the exhibit.”

     No. They have to keep it. Bucky thought. Bucky’s smile faded as the mural behind the guard came into full view. Following his gaze, the guard looked up at the wall behind him and pushed off it before taking a few steps away. Bucky joined him and they turned to look over it together.

     After a moment the guard glanced to the side at Bucky. “It’s something, isn’t it? Took them months to complete. They had it finished just in time for the Fourth that year.” Bucky nodded silently, his brow slightly creased. After another moment, the guard turned to face Bucky. “Did you find some answers?” he asked softly.

     Bucky turned to the guard, his eyes narrowed. “How did you recognize me? he asked suspiciously. “And don’t say it was from the news because it wasn’t.” He wasn’t sure who had done it, but all of the news stations that were still calling for his head had mysterious data breaches and any footage they had of him had been erased. I’ll have to ask that redhead about it next time I run into her, he thought. He knew he’d run into her again, eventually; he always did. Bucky blinked and turned his attention back to the guard.

     “I didn’t at first,” the guard admitted. “But I know PTSD when I see it. When Parks, that other guard, saw you...” the guard lifted his arms to waist height, splaying his fingers. “Instant fight or flight stance. As I got closer though...”

     The guard looked up at Bucky with a shrug. “My granddad was in the 86th infantry. They were on their way to the Ruhr to back up the Ninth Army. They had almost made it there when they were ambushed. Granddad and two of his buddies stayed behind while the others retreated, to give them time to get away. By the time someone had realized, they had already made it to the Ruhr and had been engaged.”

     The guard reached in his pocket and Bucky stiffened slightly. The guard noticed and paused before looking at Bucky, waiting. They locked eyes for a brief second and Bucky relaxed. The guard slowly pulled out his wallet and took out a picture before handing it to Bucky. The picture was of a soldier in an old uniform that Bucky knew all too well, with a young woman standing next to him holding a baby. “You and the Howling Commandos freed him when you took out that Hydra base in Dortmund.” The guard smiled wryly with a light chuckle. “Granddad told us all about the Howling Commandos every chance he got. He had pictures, newspaper clippings, articles, everything. Enough to start an exhibit,” the guard motioned back the way Bucky had come with a laugh. “A month before he died, Granddad got to meet Dugan again and thank him.”

     Bucky quietly handed the photo back to the guard, swallowing a lump that had formed in his throat. “Thank you,” he spoke softly, his eyes a little moist.

     The guard took the photo and put it back in his wallet before pulling out a small piece of paper. The guard looked Bucky in the eye as Bucky lifted his gaze. “You served us Sergeant Barnes. You gave up more than we will ever know. We can never repay you, but when you’re ready, at least let us try.” Bucky took the paper and saw the VA logo and the government seal with a familiar name typed below it. Bucky looked up at the guard questioningly.

     “My buddy at the hospital. He served too. He’ll take good care of you,” The guard smiled as Bucky took the paper. “Next time you want to come by, call ahead. My number’s on the back. You can come before close and take all the time you want.”

     Bucky cleared his throat and extended his hand. “Thanks. For everything, Officer...?”

     The guard smiled and took Bucky’s hand. “Riley. Sergeant James Riley. It’s an honor to meet you, Sergeant Barnes.

~

AAN (Another Author’s Note): If you are a veteran who is dealing with PTSD and other mental health issues, below are some links and numbers for resources.

Veteran’s Crisis Line: 1-800-273-8255, press 1 to talk to someone

If you are hard of hearing call 1-800-799-4889

Send a text to 838255 to connect with a VA responder

Start a confidential live chat at VeteransCrisisLine.net/Chat

If you are an active duty service member, guardsman or reservist, visit MilitaryCrisisLine.net

If you know of a veteran who is dealing with PTSD or other mental illness and want to know how to help, visit the #BeThere site.

To all our veterans: You are not alone. Thank you for your service.

[highly-bored-sociopath]

I’M SORRY, I HAD TO SHARE IT WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD

[intrexxt]

So someone mentioned that they wanted to see the Avengers in this video and my hand slipped...

[avengerscompound]

Avengers (1998) #61

[the-bomb-sammi-morse]

Oh shit that’s right!  How is the world going to react to Steve’s “disappearence”?!

[smittywing]

This movie had me from, “On your left,” but watching all these people make split-second decisions to trust Cap just *flail*

The everyday heroes of Captain America: The Winter Soldier (Inspired by this post)

[pannypunkpanda]

Tiny Sam cuteness (to go with the Bucky and Zemo ones nfjdkdkdk) — August 22

[anika-ann]

His Lucky Charm - Pt.3

Type: (mini)series, slight AU, ‘met in a café, but with a twist’

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 6100

Summary: Steve’s new (girl)friend is a little too obsessed with his good luck. He finds it sweet and utterly adorable. She’s like his personal lucky charm. And by god, does he feel lucky to have her.

A wise man once said: Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

Warnings: mention of a near death experience, feels, angst & fluff, language

A/N: Dialogue heavy chapter. I am not sorry 😅 OH and a little SURPRISE in the end notes 😇

Story masterlist

Steve’s head felt painfully full as he drove home, his skull almost throbbing with the speed his thoughts and emotions twirled in his brain as he was trying to process what he saw today – and in the last nine months of knowing you.

He couldn’t get the image of you almost breaking down about him not carrying a drawing from his mind now that he understood that it was about much more than what the drawing represented.

A lucky charm. He could scoff had he had the energy to do anything but steer the bike and his crazy fast train of thought.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out the reason why you didn’t exactly scream whatever you were hiding from the rooftops; if one thing hadn’t changed since his younger years it was that people were afraid of different. People isolated themselves from different. It came as far that people hated different.

What baffled him was why you wouldn’t tell him. You must have known that he of all people – he, with a supersoldier serum in his veins, a serum that so fundamentally changed his body and emphasized his character – would understand, or at least tried his best. And he was trying even now, but--- you were together for nine months.

Nine months; surely you could have found an hour of your time to tell him and explain. He would have thought you cared as much.

But you didn’t, so in addition of being mad at you, he was deeply wounded by the fact you didn’t deem him worthy. That your bond wasn’t as profound as he believed it to be, that you didn’t view the relationship seriously enough to enlighten him into something as big as some sort of a bullet-stopping power.

It was too much. Anger, hurt, disappointment – but also endless curiosity. He couldn’t deny it, he was only human and you--- he had thought you were just extremely superstitious. But now he recalled how he had found you mouthing soundlessly with the drawing in your hand and how you always cursed using the best-known fabled magician.

He felt like an idiot for not realizing it and that didn’t help your case. It had done nothing for him to find an ounce of understanding for your position either. He hated when someone made an idiot of him – as all people did. The fact it was you just made it more painful; it was a betrayal coming from a place he’d least expect.

Steve thought he might burst with all the emotions and their intensity before he even got home.

Home. Was it?

The ride on his bike through the city was unbearably long and somehow too short at the same time, the search for a parking spot seemingly endless. He couldn’t handle another minute without getting an explanation. Without resolution.

Steve strode past the elevator on instinct. His brain was too busy to calculate whether it would be faster or slower than the stairs, but what he was certain of was that he needed to do something to occupy his body while his mind was racing almost too fast to keep track.

Pushing the keys to the lock was torture; every cell in his body was buzzing with the acute need to just kick the door open, because it would be faster and it would give him a sensation to focus on, rather than his frantic thoughts and rapidly changing feelings. He went through way too many of them at least three times in the past ten minutes; it was exhausting.

Lured by the jingle of his keys, you stalked to the small hall – the one with the sweet home decoration on the wall that should have told him, that practically screamed on him the obvious – clearly startled. He didn’t have to search for the cause: for one, he hadn’t let you know he was coming home and for two, he probably looked like he’d been through hell.

And yet; as soon as you saw him, seemingly unharmed, your eyes lit up, an unsure and somehow worried smile passing your lips… the word ‘home’ enveloped Steve like a comfort blanket despite everything.

“Steve! You’re--- what—are you okay?” you sputtered, rushing to him to close the door he had stupidly left open as he stood in the middle of the hall, dumbstruck by the new influx of emotions.

You fumbled around him, so close and yet as if you two were galaxies apart, your gaze roamed over him, studying him wide-eyed, long seconds passing. As you crouched and untied his boots (because he still wasn’t moving to do it on his own), his gaze yet again flew over the words on the sign you had insisted on hanging in your new apartment.

Smoke of air and fire of earth bless and cleanse this home and hearth drive away all harm and fear only good may enter here.

Steve couldn’t but wonder. Should he come here to harm you after his revelation, would he have been somehow stuck at the threshold, entry denied by some invisible barrier?  

He snapped from his musings when you stood to your full height and beckoned towards the inside of the apartment with your chin, walking backwards, your gaze never leaving his face, searching, concerned.

The words tumbled out before he could think of them twice.

“I almost died today.”

It was the most unlikely sentence, the thing that mattered the least at the moment, because he needed to know, he couldn’t wait to ask his question--- but then he saw you looking at him with so much care and the words just spilled.

Throughout his way home, his world collapsed, was rebuild, collapsed and rose from the ashes again, foundation shaky. He was overtaken by so many feelings, battling for dominance, alternating in claiming victory.

Betrayal, because you lied to him, or kept one hell of a secret.

Hurt, because you didn’t trust him enough to enlighten him.

Anger, because you lied to him, or kept one hell of a secret and maybe even played some sort of a charade half of the time while he had trusted you with his deepest secrets.

Doubt, because if you kept this from him… what else he didn’t know? How well did he really know you?

But as you halted in your steps, hand flying to your mouth, your eyes speaking of nothing but sheer fear and relief combined, so genuinely shaken, all these feelings flew out of the window.

Because there was still a part of you – perhaps the most important part – that remained uniquely you and nothing Steve would learn would change that.

“I almost died and all I saw was you and—” he rasped, stopping mid-sentence, because his head was full of you and he was saying all the things he didn’t mean to. He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter right now.”

But it did.

It was the only thing that mattered, because it was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment, the only thing that kept him from snapping even now after he had some time to make sense of all this nonsense. And he turned the facts in his head over and over and tried to understand, but the truth was he couldn’t. You were the one with the answers. And Steve truly craved those answers. Almost as much as he craved holding you and forgetting all about this.

But in all the mess surrounding you, a mess you were the cause of, somehow you were also the only constant.

“I’m here. Alive. And I’m pretty sure it’s because of this.” He pulled out the small evidence bag from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, gently unfolding the paper upon taking it out. He didn’t have to however; one glance and you knew what it was. And what more, you understood what it meant – it was written all over you face. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

The hand you had clamped over your mouth balled up into a fist, your eyes turning glassy, expression shifting drastically. Steve thought he had seen you scared before, but right now, you seemed absolutely terrified – and devastated.

He was watching your face for two full seconds before the visceral need to take his question back and wrap you in his arms to comfort you nearly overrode the carnal desire to learn the truth, maybe while backing you into a corner until you spitted it all out. It was a close call.

Whatever the secret you had been keeping from him, whatever actions you took or did not take… in its essence, you had done nothing but protected him. He didn’t want you to be scared. As unwise as it perhaps was of him, the one thing about you that hadn’t changed was that he still loved you. Deeply, unshakingly and with every ounce of his whole being.

That he was certain of; but the rest was frighteningly hazy. It would be so easy to take the question back, but forgetting all about it was not an option.

You nodded to yourself once, dropping your hand to the other, the signature fumble of your fingers returning. Your voice sounded so small that even if Steve barely heard it, it felt like a punch to his gut.

“Yeah. Of course… uhm, are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want some water? Tea? Coffee? I brought orange juice from the store-”

“Not now.”

Frankly, he could use some water; his mouth was dry as Sahara Desert, but he didn’t think he could last another second without knowing as much of the truth as he could. And should he watch you so silent, curled into yourself to be as small as possible for a few more moments, he’d break.

Especially as his brain only now registered that you were wearing his hoodie, a habit you picked up on whenever he left for a mission. He wondered if there was more behind it besides you missing him. A good luck charm of your own.

You just nodded again, appearing to resign, accepting that nothing would prolong the inevitable. You had to talk about something you clearly didn’t want to. Something you had done, something Steve couldn’t begin to fathom just yet, but that had saved his life today.

“Can I just- can I just say I’m sorry? I’m sorry that I---” You kept averting his gaze as you mumbled and swallowed heavily. “I understand if you’re here to… to arrest me or-“

Steve’s train of thought came to a screeching halt for the second time that day, wind knocked out of him.

Say what?

“Or… I don’t know, neutralize the threat or-“

His stomach made a wild somersault, his knees feeling as if made of jello. Neutralize the threat??

“What?” he asked breathlessly, as you brought your hands up, fingers interlocked, teeth grazing your thumbs anxiously. You turned your gaze to the ceiling, blinking away tears, not answering. “What on Earth are you-“

“I know I practically lied to you and I kept a secret from you and that doesn’t even begin to cover it and… I know that’s awful and just want you to know that I’m sorry. And--- that I understand. You’re a good man, Steve. You do what you have to do.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, painful smile and wet cheeks on display as you dropped your hands to your sides, clutching at the thin fabric of your leggings, an image of a nervous wreck and Steve finally, finally had a revelation.

I’m sorry. My fear and insecurities got the best of me.

He thought he had got it right the second time when he thought it was about you overthinking the possibility of a relationship with him because you understood it came with maybes and missed dates. But no. He had still got it cardinally wrong when you admitted why you didn’t say yes to him right away, over nine months ago. Or he had got it at least partly wrong.

When you said no, it wasn’t about the mantle he carried, about his job, about the complicated life he led and would inevitably impact your relationship if it ever developed – it was about you. He could tear his hair out for not figuring it out as soon as he found out about the drawing.

You had a secret and you were scared of his reaction, even in the beginning.

You were scared of what Steve Rogers would think; you were terrified of what Captain America would do if he realized you had some sort of powers. The fact you were terrified even now was nothing short of heart-breaking.

If Steve wasn’t concerned about scaring you further at the moment, he would have bounce at you to snuggle you and tell you were being a complete idiot. A smart one and a cautious one, but a complete idiot.

You thought he came here under the pretence of a talk about the drawing to arrest you. You wondered if he was here to kill you even.

Jesus God Almighty.

Even if his anger had been at the wheel, Steve would never touch a single hair on your head; as stupid as it was of him, he wouldn’t; maybe not even if you were the one holding him at gunpoint.

But you seemed genuinely oblivious to that fact that he would never do anything to purposely hurt you.

“I’m here to talk,” he whispered, willing himself to talk gentle but firm, because this was truly important. Jesus Christ, did you really think---

Yes. Your expressive eyes said it all: yes, you did.

Steve didn’t think the word ‘offended’ sufficiently summed up how he felt about you making such assumption.

“I lived through something very strange today. I was shot in the chest and didn’t get as much as a graze. And when I tried to shoot at the suit without one important object in it later, the same bullet, from the same gun, tore the suit apart. I want to know why. I want to know how. I want to talk,” he repeated, realizing that it was the ultimate truth.

Because yes, you lied, you kept a secret, but you surely had your reasons. And Steve wanted to hear them. He didn’t want to assume anymore.

“It’s as simple as that.”

That seemed to give you some courage as you, still teary eyed, stuck your chin out.

“I regret keeping it from you. I regret doing something like that without your consent. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” you said fiercely, and the amount of conviction in your voice left no doubt.

No doubt that you loved him. No doubt that, as absurd as it sounded, you hadn’t changed since he had left in early morning. You were still you: beautiful and sweet and mischievous and protective of his luck. Of him. It warmed him inside out, peace settling in his heart.

Now he had to work on calming his mind.

Steve slowly crossed the distance between you, eyes boring into yours and you reciprocated, emotions shifting in your face as he drew closer, lips parted as you released a shaky breath when he stopped a single step from you. Reluctantly, unsure of your reaction, he placed his free hand over your arm, lifting the drawing to your field of vision. Your eyes flickered to the offending object and back to his face.

He gave you an encouraging smile as you gazed up at him from under your damp eyelashes, and god, no matter how much Steve hated seeing you miserable, he couldn’t deny your fresh tears somehow made your eyes shine brighter.

“I’m sure you would. Tell me about it. Tell me about you.”

The two of you still stood halfway between the couch and the door, but you revealed the truth anyway, even if it was something both of you should probably at least sit down for.

“Well. It’s as simple as this,” you echoed his earlier words quietly, gulping, but still holding his gaze. “I’m a witch--- less than a quarter witch I suppose, but… a witch.”

Yeah. Steve needed to sit down. And maybe get that water.

Or a sip of the Asgardian mead.

Steve’s head was still swimming with all he was learning, but the shift of the atmosphere was almost palpable. There was no rush anymore, the tension easing. The way you sat next to him, your whole body facing his even if not touching, your feet on the couch, one propped up as you leaned onto the backrest – it all spoke of sense of comfort. It put your fuzzy socks on display, the last touch to cosiness; you weren’t completely relaxed, but you were both getting there. The now dimly lit room only added to the atmosphere, an air of mystery – but undeniably soft.

Steve was grateful and relieved, to be honest, that you were able to let go of some of the restlessness. Clearly, you no longer believed he was here – at his home, at your home – to hurt you, as absurd as it sounded. He could, to a point, follow the train of thought that had led to such assumption, but it still baffled him.

Then again, he still knew nothing about your experience with people reacting to your magic. Trauma was an ugly monster that often lurked under the surface and poked its head out in the least convenient moments – and in the least convenient ways.

For his part, Steve thought that whatever you had done was rather wonderful: he couldn’t deny you saved his life and the mere notion of you doing what you could to protect him made his heart sing.

Yet, he couldn’t but wonder if his ‘luck’ meant someone else’s misfortune. Nothing big – he knew you wouldn’t hurt anyone, not truly – but perhaps someone received a few more papercuts than usual, kept tumbling over his own feet, bumping hips onto tables.

Maybe that someone was you. Maybe you working magic in order to keep him safe meant you were breaking some kind of a magic rule – how was he supposed to know? The mere idea made him shudder.

“The spell you casted…” he started off hesitantly after a short silence. You were letting him process often, endlessly patient and he was grateful for that. “Is it, uhm… dark magic?”

You tilted your head, kind smile adorning your lips. It only now occurred to him that in his efforts not to sound blunt or accusing, he did exactly that; asking you if you performed some crazy dark ritual. But you didn’t seem offended.

“There’s no such thing as dark or black magic – or white magic for that matter. Magic is… magic. It’s… it’s a tool, a force of nature,” you said, shrugging lightly, licking your lips as you thought of the best way to explain. Your face lit up subtly as you figured something out. “Like the serum you were injected with. It’s an inseparable part of you, but you choose how much you use it. Well, to a point.”

To a point? So you couldn’t control it entirely? He wondered how that worked… was it that you sometimes forgot yourself like he did? Using too much force? He couldn’t imagine it, not with how expertly you had been hiding it from him. He added anther question on his seemingly endless list.

“And you choose whether you use it to do harm, to destroy. Or to help,” your smile grew even more tender. “To protect.”

Another beat of silence followed, allowing him to gather his thoughts.

“My powers aren’t… how to say this. The strength of the magic diminishes with each generation. With me barely using the powers in the first place… it means that my magic is weak-“

That made Steve’s eyebrows jump, heart skipping an outraged beat.

“It stopped a bullet that tore kevlar like it was cotton candy,” he questioned your statement, instantly regretting it.

You averted his gaze, gulping, body visibly shuddering at the image his choice of words must have painted in your head. Apology was already at the tip of his tongue, but you seemed to quickly shake the dark thoughts away, eyes finding his again, brief challenge flashing in them.

“And my ancestors could protect cities if they chose to. They could tie the protection to a family, to a specific person, whatever they wanted. Me… I can’t do that.”

Ancestors. You rarely talked about your family and Steve respected that, because it was more than clear it was a touchy subject; you barely spoke to your mother, not even introducing him yet, and apparently you had a falling out with your sister quite a long time ago. Fundamentally different view of the world you had told him; now, Steve couldn’t but wonder if it had anything to do with this. With magic.

And Steve might not understand magic, but one thing he did understand.

“The drawing.”

That was why you used it: because you couldn’t protect him directly for some reason. That was why you clung to it so stubbornly.

Remembering how he had actually caught you casting the spell, he felt like a complete foul again. He should have known, he should have figured it out, he should have seen signs… just like he saw the signs of anxiety taking a hold of you again, withdrawing yourself from him just a few inches as if you anticipated a fiery reaction to something you were about to say.

“Yes. I couldn’t--- it was on my mind for a while, casting that spell,” you admitted quietly, averting his gaze as if you were confessing to something as wicked as plotting a murder. “And when I saw that drawing… I saw an out, a perfect excuse how to get away with it.”

“So… the spell is within the drawing.  If I give the drawing to someone else…?”

You shook your head rapidly, looking rather apologetic.

“It’s not that simple. Yes, the magic is tied to the drawing, protects whoever has it to a point, but… my magic is always reaching out to--- to you.” Oh. “I suppose you are protected even without the drawing, but significantly less so, so please, if you could keep wearing it—if, if you want, of course, I understand-” you stuttered, unsure all over again, regret, shame-

Steve wouldn’t have that. Not now. Especially since he thought he was beginning to understand what you were saying, it was at his fingertips, but he needed a last push, last clue.

“I will. I do want to keep wearing it. But… what do you mean by reaching out to me?”

You shifted uncomfortably, sighing. Whatever you were about to say, Steve promised himself he would control his reaction, because you seemed like the idea of telling him was about to give you an ulcer.

Reaching out despite the distance you had put between you, he gently cupped your elbow, hand sliding down to your wrist, fingertips caressing your palm before he took your hand to his.

“Hey. You can tell me.”

“It’s emotion-based magic,” you muttered under your breath, inaudible for anyone but a supersoldier.

Steve felt his brows draw together. The simple sentence was both perfectly clear and yet ridiculously vague. One look at his face told must have told you he didn’t quite understand yet, so you reluctantly elaborated. He squeezed your hand encouragingly, even if it was his heart beating rapidly in anticipation.

“Emotion-based magic means… well, the protective spell is--- uhm, let’s say that the stronger the urge to protect, the stronger the feeling the wielder of magic has for the one enchanted… the stronger the spell is. Does that… does that make sense?”

Hell yes it made sense. Steve would have smacked himself for not getting it right away if he knew how to control his body, but his mind was buzzing with the revelation, static noise filling his ears.

Urge to protect. Stronger the feeling. Emotion-based magic.

It was about love. The more you loved the one protected, the more protected they were. Steve thought his heart might burst with how full it felt all of sudden, how quickly it was hammering in his chest. You were able to protect him from a bullet like that – and maybe from a grenade when he thought of it, because the heat he had felt after kicking it away was a little too searing not to leave a mark – because you loved him.

Steve had a literal, physical prove of how deep your feelings for him ran, because he was lucky enough to sit here with you, unharmed. He had no idea why you were so reluctant to admit that, because it only demonstrated the fact you loved him just as much as he loved you.

It was mind-blowing. More so when he realized you were not only afraid to admit this, but your powers to begin with. You did all that, while fearing his reaction. You risked your relationship with him, you risked you’d lose his affection, in order to protect him.

How unselfish could love be?

He stared at you with wonder, the warmest of feelings rushing through his veins, the world bright as never before. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cackle his way through eternity just so he wouldn’t burst with the nearly suffocating happiness.

And you were watching him, anxious of his reaction, the hand which wasn’t enveloped in his restlessly fumbling with the hem of the hoodie you wore.

“That’s amazing,” he whispered the first thing that came to his mind, unable to find a word that would fully express that he felt like he just found the eighth wonder of the world.

“Huh?”

This time Steve did chuckle at the small baffled sound, words spilling from his lips as they came.

“You are amazing. You—you went so far to protect me, thinking that maybe--- maybe if, or more like when, I figured it out… everything could change. And you still did it. For me. I---I can’t even- that’s incredible. You are incredible.”

Yet again, you seemed taken aback, nothing but a shocked “oh” leaving your lips.

You were so adorably flustered and surprised at once, so irresistible, that Steve couldn’t hold back anymore.

His body was moving before he realized it, right hand curling around your nape, left pulling your body to flush to his, lips swallowing the startled noise you let out at the sudden movement.

You submitted to his advances willingly, letting him pull you on top of him with a content sigh as he sucked on your lower lip, mouth parting for him obediently when he wordlessly asked for more. He hoped to pour all of his feelings into the kiss, fingers in your hair tender, reverent, because here you were, his his his to love, to protect, to cherish, just like he was yours and he wanted you to understanding it in your very soul, no doubt left that if part witch or not, you were everything, his little slice of heaven on Earth.

Even if he still needed air to breathe. He forced himself to tear apart from you for a moment, forehead resting against yours, eyes fluttering open only find yours still closed. A tear slipped down your cheek and Steve would have thought it was a happy one, but with each passing second, he grew aware of how despite letting him take and returning the kiss with fervour, there was tension in your spine, your fingers clutching his shoulders a little too tightly.

He would have thought this would be an absolution. Him, telling you he found your confession the best damn thing, kissing the living daylights of you – but here you were, something still on your mind. Alarm bells sounded in his head, but he tried to put out the rising panic. Whatever bothered you couldn’t be terrible, he refused to believe that.

“What is it?” whispered, barely withdrawing an inch.

Your lips trembled, eyes finding his, wide and glassy, something resembling guilt reflecting in them.

“There’s… there’s a question you’re not asking,” you rasped, fighting a lump in your throat, confusing Steve even more. “An important one. I think you now think I’m this perfectly selfless person who--- who just loves you so much-“ That would be correct. “-and I do, but I--- there is this one question and I know it must have crossed your mind, because you’re too smart not to think about it.”

Trust you to turn whatever was bothering you to compliment him. Steve sighed, mind racing as he watched you avert his gaze. It wasn’t hard to figure out what question you had in mind, not with his heart brimming with affection for you, now more than ever.

It was a logical question he supposed, it had crossed his mind, but he saw no point in asking it.

Why ask a question to which one didn’t need an answer?

“Do you want me to ask?” he said softly, brushing away the tear that was about to roll down your cheek.

You tried to climb off of him, but Steve refused. His arm locked around you, fingertips still laid on your cheek. A brief look of panic crossed your face, but you didn’t fight him, resigning.  

“Don’t you want to know?”

Steve sighed. Frankly, no, not really. But it seemed important to you and it did seem appropriate to get it out of the way. If not for himself, then for you. Because apparently, you might not believe you were in danger anymore, but still thought your relationship might.

Steve pulled you yet an inch closer to his chest and slid his fingers under your chin, a gentle reminder to look him in the eye.

“Can your magic help someone fall in love with you?”

He couldn’t even force himself to say make someone fall in love, because he simply didn’t think you were capable of such level of manipulation; not you as a person, not as a descendant of witches.

More tears escaped your eyes as you nodded, warm droplets landing on Steve’s face, silent “yes” falling from your trembling lips.

Steve couldn’t but smile despite hating seeing you cry over this on visceral level. He was… satisfied with your answer, perhaps more than he should. It was certainly good to know that you could do that.

And it was an interesting piece of information, an interesting piece of a puzzle, sure, but one he needed less that you seemed to believe.

“Okay.”

He leaned in to kiss your forehead, lingering as the skin felt as if it was on fire under his lips. His poor enchantress, stressing over nothing.

When he retreated, he found you staring at him, utterly confused by his reaction. He had to hold back laugh at your baffled expression as this was clearly not the response you expected. By gods, he adored you.

“B-but-“

“I don’t need to ask the follow-up question,” he said simply, voice unwavering unlike yours.

“I- I don’t--- why?“

He reached to caress your hair, the smile still playing in the corner of his lips as he toyed with the ends. “I did feel enchanted. I still do. But it has nothing to do with the magic coursing through your veins.”

“How would you know?”

That would be a fair question, he supposed. But it wasn’t enough to make him question his feelings for longer than a millisecond despite your hardened gaze.

“Because I know you. And right now, you could have tricked me into asking, because you knew it was an obvious question, one you’d want to get out of the way if the answer was yes. And you could have simply said no, get me off your back. But you said yes.”

“Could be my plan all along, tricking you into thinking this.”

He raised an eyebrow, wordlessly telling you that he could see that your painfully overthinking brain kicked in. But he could also tell that his words had taken effect; you were only protesting half-heartedly now. Still, he humoured you. He needed to put all cards on the table if he wanted to move on.

“Could be, I suppose,” he mused. “But sweetheart, have a little faith in my ability to read people – to read you. Because I know with absolute certainty that the answer to did you make me fall in love with you by using magic would be no and it would be the truth. Because you’re a good and honest person. You’re the woman I fell for all on my own. You’re the woman I love. You’re the woman I’d like to marry one day.”

Your breath hitched and Steve would have cursed himself for the slip, but the expression of utter awe on your face gave him enough satisfaction to make up for it. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of it. He was more taken aback by the realization that at some point, his hands acted on their own volition, now cradling your face, holding it gently but firmly so he could look you in the eye and get his point across.

“And today… today has been a lot, but it hasn’t changed a thing about how I feel. Maybe I love you a little bit more, knowing you went through the trouble for my sake. But… that’s it. Tell me you understand?” he pleaded lowly.

Tell me you understand I love you. Tell me you understand that despite our flaws and despite what happened, I love you still. Because I know nothing else. Because there is no other way. Because I can’t imagine losing you.

His stomach made an unpleasant somersault at the last thought and at the profound truth in it. He hoped you could read all the unspoken words in his expression, in his touch.

Your eyes were wider than ever, gazing at him with sheer wonder, attentively roaming his face, no doubt searching for any sign of a lie, of doubt, of fear even – but finding none.

“I—I love you too,” you whispered and despite hearing it so many times, Steve could feel the true undeniable weight of the words more than ever. But you didn’t say yes. He watched you just as intently, waiting for your confirmation. “Oh. A-and I understand.”

The widest of smiles spread on his lips and you mirrored his expression reluctantly until a chuckle spilled from your lips and you wrestled your hands around him so you could hug him close, face hidden in the crook of his neck, shoulders shaking with laughter and sobs at once.

Steve’s heart raced in his chest but he embraced you with the same fervour, fingers twisting in your hair to hold you to him protectively, wishing to shield you from the onslaught of emotion that made you shiver so violently. He felt tears prickle in his own eyes as more of yours sunk into the sensitive skin of his throat, but from how your lips pressed to his pulse point, tender and loving, he knew this time they weren’t tears of fear or sorrow.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, feeling your fingers flex, a choked noise bubbling up your throat and the shushing noise left his lips on its own, arms carefully rocking you in his embrace.

“I was so scared I was gonna lose you,” you whispered hastily and Steve squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his heart clench painfully, hating whatever or whoever made you fearing the confrontation so much. Even if it was just anxiety – he couldn’t know and wasn’t ready to investigate yet – he wanted to punch it dead.  

“You didn’t. And you won’t. I’m right here. I love you, sweetheart. I love you, I love you…”

Each declaration was followed by a kiss to whenever his lips could reach, until the pitiful noises of your sobs and cackles turned into silence, occasionally interrupted by a soft watery giggle. Steve was proud to be able to comfort you like that, honoured that he was the one who could do it.

He let you process just as you had let him earlier, his own mind wandering, but present enough to be aware of any minute movement, any alternation in breathing, any new noise you made.

When you melted into him completely – into his still battle battered body, rather filthy if he was honest with himself – he allowed himself to close his eyes, nose buried in your hair, pushing all worries about consequences of his behaviour at the Tower and all implications of your confession away for the time being.

Right now, he was here, with you; and not one thing changed about the fact that he was the luckiest guy in this universe to have that.

Part 4 (I couldn’t squish more into this already long chapter)

S.R. masterlist

Thank you for reading this far 💕

Confession: I cannot let these two go just yet. I just can’t. I have a little something planned for them, but also for you.

I have a little challenge for you. That is, if you’re interested. I am awful at drabbles AND requests, but I will try my best to write a His Lucky Charm drabble for the first three of you who will contact me (in a comment, via an ask or a message, in a reblog) with a very specific observation - see below.

From the very first chapter, I was dropping hints about magic, because obviously, I didn’t want the drawing thing to happen entirely out of blue. We already know that there was the Merlin’s beard swearing, her inclination to believe in superstitions, the sign in her apartment, Steve actually catching her working her magic (even if he didn’t know at the time), the actual word magic or even a magic wand in the text…

BUT. If you find one particular hint that has been there since the first posting, a very much NOT subtle one that appeared REPEATEDLY, let me know. Oh, and know that to find it, you don’t have to be a particularly attentive reader🤭  thinking outside the box allowed and encouraged 😅

If you’re amongst the first three correct answers (if I even get so many answers), I’ll try to scribble something for you 😘 - remember, it will be limited to a drabble related to this fic.

Much love, 

Anika

[rainydaydream-gal18]

Bucky Barnes x Reader: Shall We Dance?

(Author’s Note: Hey all, I’m back but this time with a Bucky fic!  I just thought this was an adorable idea, and I even found a soundtrack for it.  You could play some 1940′s instrumental jazz in the background while reading this fic to enhance the experience, or not.  Up to you!

Also, this is sort of an AU that takes place after Civil War, but where the Avengers don’t separate yet.  So yeah I’m jumping on the bandwagon of Avengers still living in the tower with Bucky joining them XD)

   “Are you sure about this?” you asked, poking your head around the corner.  Taking note of what the guests were wearing, you immediately felt out of place.  Despite the party having a 1940’s theme, most of the ladies were wearing rather modern dresses that were long and elegant and touched the floor.  Some did go as far as pinning their hair in updos that were fitting for the time period, but even so, you glanced down at your old-fashioned evening gown and perfectly matched shoes with doubt.  It was a beautiful deep blue dress that went almost to your ankles.  The sleeves were a tad puffy at the shoulders before tightening into long sleeves the rest of the way to your wrists.  The outfit was very lovely, but it was most definitely out-dated compared to what the guests were wearing.

   It was a birthday celebration for Steve Rogers- a surprise one at that.  Stark had volunteered a floor of the Avengers tower for the venue, and Natasha and you had the neat idea of making it an old-fashioned party complete with music from the 1940’s to make things feel more like home.  You and Nat had fun researching the sort of clothes worn back then, but apparently not everyone had taken the theme so literally.

   “You kidding me?” Natasha responded in a low voice, brows furrowing slightly.  “You look great.  Now, let’s get out there and own it.”  A smile crept on your face, and you were glad to have a friend go into the party with, especially someone as confident as Romanoff.  She was dressed in a 1940’s gown too, though hers was a pretty dark green which complemented the red lipstick she wore.  “We were pretty specific about the theme of the party,” she continued.  “Technically, most of these people are the ones out of place, not us.”

   “Good point.”

   “This is for Steve anyway.  I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture.”

   It wasn’t necessarily the guests that concerned you.  Or Steve.  A certain someone would be in attendance, and you strived to be cool as a cucumber.

   “Alright, here goes nothing.”  You stepped out from the hallway and couldn’t help but smile.  The music was jazzy, and the lights made the scene even more charming as couples danced on the floor while others conversed at little tables or the bar.  Natasha walked beside you, eyes scanning the room.  They rested on Bruce, who was talking to Tony with a drink in his hand.

   “You going to say ‘hi’?” you asked, giving her a playful nudge.  She played it off as if she couldn’t care less, but you knew there was something going on between her and the scientist.

   “Maybe later.”

   A waiter approached with a tray, and Natasha gratefully accepted a shrimp cocktail while you decided to take a chance on a pastry.  As you bit into your snack, you looked to your friend.   

   “You look beautiful,” you complimented. 

   She flashed a warm smile, a rare but lovely sight from the secret agent.  “You look beautiful too,” she said.  Then, her eyes seemed to dart to something behind you.  “It looks like someone else thinks so.”

   Your mouth fell open.  “What?”  You snuck a glance over your shoulder in the most subtle way you could before quickly turning away when a pair of dark blue eyes gazed in your direction.  Your heartbeat quickened as Natasha raised a brow.  “It’s Bucky.”

   “Yes, it is,” she nodded, though her probing gaze didn’t leave your face as she took in your expression.  “Something wrong?”

   “No,” you said quickly.  A little too quickly.

   Her eyes traveled to the former Winter Soldier before a hint of a smirk appeared on her lips.  “Oh, so you still have a thing for him?”

   “What?  I never told you that.”

   “Didn’t need to.”  Her smirk grew.  “I sort of read people for a living, and it’s written all over your face whenever he walks in the room.”

   “Well, glad I was being subtle,” you remarked with an eye roll.  “I just get so nervous.  He’s a good friend, and…”

   “And he’s coming over here.”

   “He’s- what?”

   “He’s walking this way,” she mumbled under her breath.

   You followed her eyes to see those eyes fixed on you as he approached.  Though his dark hair was still somewhat long and unkempt, he wore a nice suit and shoes.  His lips pressed together in an awkward smile as he entered the space where you and Natasha stood.

   “Hey,” he greeted with a small wave.

   “Hi,” you said, smiling.  Natasha didn’t speak.  She only observed the interaction as your eyes wandered the room in desperate search for something else to talk about.  “This turned out to be a nice party,” you commented.  “You think Steve is having a good time?”

   “Yeah,” Bucky agreed, looking over to see the Captain having a dance with Sharon.  “It is nice.  I think he’s having fun.  Sure looked happy to see everyone when he walked in.”

   You laughed as you remembered his reaction- your friend and teammate’s look of pleasant surprise and then a big smile as everyone shouted “surprise!”  You even asked that Tony get a picture from the security footage.

   “Definitely loved the look on his face,” you said.  The conversation between the two of you quieted for a minute as both of you looked at your surroundings until Bucky spoke up again.

   “You like the music?” he asked, gesturing with a metal hand to your feet.  You hadn’t even noticed yourself swaying in place to the tune.  The realization caused you to give a sheepish smile and shrug.

   “I think I do.”

   Bucky’s little awkward smile widened, and his eyes held warmth as he asked, “do you wanna’ dance with me?”  Your eyes travelled to that inviting gaze of his, and it was like your heart was doing flips.  You nodded, and he extended his other hand to take yours.  Then, he looked to Natasha.  “Mind if I steal her for a dance or two?”

   Natasha smirked again.  “Not at all.  Have fun, you two.”

   Bucky glanced your way again before leading you toward the dance floor.  You shot a look at Natasha over your shoulder, mouth falling open in shock that this was happening.  She gave a nod of approval.

   Bucky stopped before going too far into the crowded space, turning to put the metal hand at your waist while you put your arm around the back of his neck.  He exhaled sharply in a silent chuckle, glancing down at his feet.  “Sorry,” he said, eyes darting back up to yours.  “It’s been a while.  I haven’t danced with a woman in….well, about seventy years.”

   “Oh,” you said quietly.  An ache grew in your heart at the thought.  He’d spent a lot of time brainwashed and forced to do awful things for Hydra.  Before you could dwell on it much further, you remembered where you were and tried to keep the conversation light-hearted.  “Well I hope I don’t disappoint you.  I haven’t had much experience dancing to this kind of music.”

   “_________,” he said, starting to sway to the music.  You let him lead you in the beginnings of the dance.  “You are far from disappointing me.”  He stepped back to give you a twirl, and you followed through with a smile on your face.  “And since I’m out of practice, we won’t do anything fancy.”

   “Sounds good to me.”

   A warm feeling gathered in your chest, and you were absolutely elated as you and Bucky let the tune carry you both.  The grin never left your expression.  He seemed to be smiling even wider as he got more comfortable.  Hearing this kind of music on the radio used to feel so strange to you.  You’d breeze past it to the next station in search of something more to your taste, something more modern.  But being there in that moment, dancing with Bucky, it felt so real.  So alive.  You could see why people enjoyed it.  From then on, you’d never think of it the same way.

   “You look gorgeous, doll,” Bucky said over the music, drawing your attention from the live band and back to his gaze.  The lights reflected as a splash of glowing color amongst the beautiful blue of his eyes.  “Where’d you find a dress like that?”

   You ducked your head slightly from the compliment.  “Oh, I got it online.  It was Natasha’s idea.  We were hoping everyone would dress up, but turns out it was just us.”

   “Well, I like it.  Love it, actually.”

   “Thank you.”  He gave you another twirl just as the song ended, and both of you pulled away to applaud the band along with the other couples.  Then, the band took a short pause to turn pages and take a breather before playing a slower song.  As the other couples drew closer to dance slowly, you stole a glance at your dance partner, wondering if he’d want to dance this song with you or take a break.  Before you could ask, he offered his hand.  You smiled, uncertainty vanishing, as he gently pulled you forward and put an arm around you.  Your face was inches from his shoulder, and you decided to just go along with it by wrapping your arms around him.  You took your first few steps of the dance carefully, adjusting to the slower tune.  Despite the hair raised on the back of your neck and the way your breath caught in your throat at the sweet moment you had dreamed of many times, it felt so safe there.  So secure.  You didn’t want to leave anytime soon.

   “So I’m impressed,” you said.  “No feet have been stepped on yet.”

   He pulled away ever so slightly to give you a humorous look.  “It’s been some time, but I have danced before, _________.”

   You laughed.  “Actually I was talking more about myself.”

   “Ah.  See, that makes more sense.”

   “Oh, please,” you joked.  “I’m not that bad.”

   He chuckled softly and rested his cheek against yours, like you’d seen in old-timey movies, as he swayed with you.  “No, no that bad indeed.”

   You were stunned into silence again at the contact.  Your steps weren’t a concern anymore because it felt like you were floating across the dancefloor.

   “Is this okay?” he asked.  The question was so quiet considering how close his voice was.  

   It felt wrong to nod and break the contact, so you just uttered a hushed, “yeah.  It’s more than okay actually.”

   How long had you been dancing?  You weren’t sure.  All you knew was eventually the band announced that they’d be taking a break, a well-earned one in your mind.  Everyone at the party applauded, and you and Bucky hesitantly pulled away.

   “Hey, Buck,” a new voice greeted.  “Hey there, _________.”

   “Happy birthday, Steve,” Bucky said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.  “You’re in pretty good shape for being, what, ninety-eight?  What’s your secret?”

   Steve gave a chuckle.  “I already heard that one a few times today.  But thanks, my secret is that I go for a run every day.” 

   “Happy birthday,” you chimed in with a grin, giving him a hug.  “Do you like the party?”

   “Yeah, I really do.  I heard you had something to do with the theme?”

   “Me and Nat both did.”

   That Steve Rogers smile appeared on his face, softening his features even more.  It was the kind of smile that made anyone feel like a million bucks because it was always so genuine.  “Well, thank you.  It was very sweet of you both.”

   “There he is!” Thor called, and the three of you looked over to see him holding up a glass.  “The birthday boy!  Come hither and tell us one of your tales of victory!” 

   Steve hesitated, looking at you and Bucky.  “Ah, guess I’ll be right back, then?”

   “Go see your other guests,” Bucky told him, giving him a nudge.  “We’ll catch up with you later.”  Steve gave one last wave and approached the group, causing them to erupt in cheers.  You and Bucky exchanged looks, laughing.

   “How long do you think they’ll keep him?” Bucky asked.

   “A while, for sure.”  Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Natasha and Bruce conversing casually.  Wanda and Vision walked past, both glancing your way and waving.  They looked so cute together.  With the music gone, all you could hear was quiet chatter and the clinking of glasses and silverware.  It was such a peaceful atmosphere.

   “Want something to eat?”

   You nodded.  “Yeah, I do.”  He stopped a waiter so that the two of you could grab a few appetizers and go find a seat.  You found a few lounge chairs near the window where you could look out at the city lights in the dark.  There was some playful banter, as usual, and some brief talk of superhero work before you settled on a game of truth or dare.  So far, Bucky had dared you to try a new food that you weren’t so sure about, and you had dared him to throw a straw wrapper at Sam just to get his attention.  It was your turn to pick again, and you chose “dare.”

   “I dare you,” Bucky began, narrowing his eyes as he leaned back in the chair in thought.  “I dare you to save me the next dance, and the one after that.”

   Your smile faded at his words while you played with the hem of your dress.  “Hm, okay.”  You paused.  “Truth or dare?”

   “Truth,” he said.

   “Alright, here’s my question: Is there a reason you want all these dances with me?”

   His gaze was fixed on you sincerely as he opened his mouth to reply.  Unfortunately, this happened to be the moment that Steve returned.

   “I’m back,” he announced.  “Sorry about that.”  He halted to observe the way you and Bucky looked at each other so intently.  “Oh, am I interrupting?”

   “Um, no, we were just…”

   “Playing a game.”  Bucky said quickly.  “Truth or dare.”

   Steve nodded.  “Gotcha’.  Hey, was that why you threw straw wrappers at Sam?”

   “It was only one straw wrapper,” Bucky corrected.  “And yes, it was the reason.  If you talk to him again, you should tell him that it was ___________ who put me up to it.  I was just following the rules of the game.”  He feigned innocence with the casual shrug of his shoulders.

   “I bet,” Steve chuckled.

   Just then, you noticed the band heading back to their instruments.  It appeared that their break was over and they were beginning to play again.  Immediately, Bucky looked at you and then his friend.  

   “Speaking of rules of the game,” he said.  “__________ here owes me a dance.  Are you up for it?”

   You smiled, rising from the lounge chair.  “Sure.  It was a dare, after all.”  In reality, you both knew that it was a joke and you didn’t have to comply with the dare if you didn’t want to, but the thing was, you did want to.  You wanted to save all your dances for him.  As he led you to the dance floor again, you didn’t see Natasha walk over to Steve with her arms folded.

   “You think they’re going to get together?” she asked.

   “It’s their business,” Steve pointed out.  “Not our place to get involved”.  Natasha glanced his way with a raised brow, and he sighed in defeat.  “Okay yeah, I think it’s going to happen soon.  Back home, Bucky was never this hesitant when it came to dates.  He’s really taking his time with her. I think it’s because he really cares about her.”

   “That’s sweet, but how do you know he feels that way?”

   “He told me.  We’re best buds, remember?”

   “I thought you and I were best friends,” she deadpanned.  They shared a humorous look as they watched the two of you moving to the rhythm of the jazzy music, big smiles across your faces.  “I just hope it happens soon.”

   “I hear that.”

[incorrectmarvelkids]

Peter: Hey guys, so for today's vlog on "Day I Don't Even Freaking Know Anymore" of quarantine I just wanna say-

Peter: I'm really PO'd. Just like absolutely upset at the state of things.

Peter: The way people are acting and treating others.

Peter: I just wanna- I just wanna scream and swear!

Peter: Ya know what? I will! I'm gonna swear!

Peter:

Peter:

Peter: *sweating*

Bucky, in the background: Well?

Peter: I'm working up to it.