#early post-serum bucky barnes

[banneriscarried]

Okay, so, sorry for hijacking this post, but I saw it and just couldn't resist, and I wrote 2k on the subject, attached below.

Unbeta'd, very lightly edited, all that junk. :)

Bucky knew he was different. Something about him was wrong for reasons he couldn't name, but he had some suspicions about.

At first, it was small stuff. Being able to walk with the group without any support after the successful liberation of the prisoners HYDRA had kept, needing more drinks to feel anything while at the bars he and the Howling Commandos found themselves at during their few moments of leave, being the only member of the Howling Commandos that could keep up with Steve with little effort. Those were the things that could be written off.

Bucky was in a bad way after Steve rescued him, but he'd heard countless stories of men doing the impossible because they were desperate enough to survive. He also wasn't the worst off out of the whole group. He'd been dizzy, but his legs were whole and unbroken. His brain was foggy for the first couple of days, but he didn't need much brain power to put one foot in front of the other, especially not when it was Steve only a few steps ahead of him.

Drinks were increasingly watered down as the war waged on, alcohol facing the same rationing as everything else. It was a resource, a necessity for dealing with the horrors of war, whether someone was on the battle field or not, and therefore made to stretch as far as possible. If the other Commandos still took far fewer drinks to reach tipsy and beyond, well that said more about their tolerance than it did about Bucky, right?

Of course Bucky was always able to keep up with Steve. That had been his job for most of his life, and somehow the punk managed to get into less trouble as the unbeatable giant of a man he was now than he had as a scrappy little thing back in Brooklyn. He had an unfair advantage, a degree in Keeping Steve Alive even if he'd never had the chance to go to college himself. It was years of training that kept him only a couple steps behind Steve, even as the hours of walking while bearing the weight of necessities and weapons wore on and the rest of the Commandos grumbled quietly to themselves about aching feet and the surrounding chill. It was his job to have Steve's six, and that overpowered every other instinct he had that could've gotten in the way.

But then there were things that were harder to explain.

Bucky had been a good shot since the moment he'd first picked up a rifle back at boot camp in the states. He'd had an eye for it, and he took advantage of that fact when he was in the trenches with Dum Dum and Gabe, taking far fewer shots than most of the men he was supposed to be leading but having a better success rate with the shots he took. This skill was part of Steve's official reasoning for adding Bucky to the team, so he could act as their sniper when necessary, and it was a job Bucky took seriously. It's why he used a M1941 Johnson instead of the standard Garand, he needed to be able to get extra distance if necessary, but the thing about extra distance was that it made for a harder shot.

One of the first missions the Howling Commandos went on, before they'd completely figured out how they worked best together, Bucky had been positioned towards the edge of what could be realistically expected of him, the distance necessary because it was the only place they could find where he'd be covered and would still have a good, uninterrupted view of where the real action would be taking place. He got into position, forcing his attention onto the soon to be battle field and shoving all thoughts that weren't battle analysis into a box. His focus was absolute, completely unshakable until he was finally given the signal from Captain America, telling him that his job was over. He'd barely stood up, refusing to allow himself to wince at the pain in his stiff muscles, when the realization of just how close he'd come to letting his team get hurt. He'd picked off all the immediate threats he could, but the memory of a one shot he'd made, and just how badly it would've ended if he had missed, stood out above the rest, causing bile to rise in his throat. If he'd pulled the trigger even a millisecond later, if the wind had changed direction by a couple degrees, or a particularly powerful gust happened at just the right time somewhere between himself and the HYDRA goon, then Steve would've been... But it didn't go that way, he reminded himself. He made the shot, and Steve barely even seemed to notice just how close to death he'd come.

But that wasn't the end of the impossible shots. After a few missions of him acting as sniper, the other Howlies seemed to catch on to just how good of a shot Bucky was now, and a few rounds of betting amongst themselves solidified the assessment. It only took a couple months for Morita, Dum Dum and Frenchie to start a habit of getting other soldiers to take wagers on what Bucky could manage to shoot whenever they were at basecamp. As it turned out, he could make pretty much any shot they asked of him within a couple tries at the most. Even tiny objects in motion weren't safe, since Bucky's vision had become almost unnaturally good, and with single seconds seeming to lengthen into minutes the moment he was focused behind the barrel of his gun.

It didn't seem to matter to any of the other commandos that they weren't shots he would've been able to make before Azzano. Either that, or, based off of a joke Dum Dum made about him holding out on them as he counted the cigarettes, crumpled bills and bars of rationed chocolate Bucky had won him, they didn't realize that it was a new development.

Things were weird, but Bucky mostly ignored that fact, pretending that it wasn't unnatural to be able to shoot a thrown bottle cap from a hundred yards away, that it was completely normal for him to be able to keep up with Steve, even when he forgot to slow down for the sake of the other Howlies, that it was just luck and misremembering that healed bruises, cuts, cracked bones and bullet holes so quickly that he rarely ever went to medical anymore unless Steve was the one who saw him get hurt.

What really gave it away to him though, funnily enough, was when the Howlies had gotten as close to drunk as they allowed themselves to get these days while on leave and started an arm wrestling tournament. It was stupid fun, fueled by watered down liquor and pent up energy that came from days of leave, where the most action any of them got was in the form of meetings with higher ups.

Steve sat out, sipping a glass of water and trying to pretend that he wasn't amused by his team's antics.

Bucky was finally starting to feel the fuzziness that came with finally drinking enough to feel tipsy. He tried to sit out of the contest too, vague memories of lugging weeks worth of surprise as if it was nothing flitting through his mind, but none of his companions were having it. Steve was only allowed an out because he had an unfair advantage, after all.

He tried not to think too hard about anything when his turn in the tournament came up, tried not to think too hard about the fact that he had to use his newly developed acting skill to pretend that it took effort to slam his teammates' hands into the table, or about the look on Steve's face when he watched Bucky take his turns.

He was about ready to forget the whole thing, letting the yells of his companions fade into the background while he considered getting himself another beer before calling it a night when Dum Dum came up with a suggestion that the rest of the Howlies wouldn't let go.

"How about Bucky goes against Cap this time?"

That caught his attention, and he could tell by the look on Steve's face that Dum Dum was going to win any argument their captain put up. The moment that Steve gave in, Bucky felt his own arguments die in his throat.

Out of the rest of the commandos, Steve was the only one who seemed to know that there was something wrong with what Bucky was able to do. He never said anything, never questioned why Bucky's blue jacket was soaked with blood if a bullet just grazed him, or how Bucky managed to climb a massive pine tree when the lowest branches were almost twenty feet up without breaking a sweat. He just gave Bucky a look, like he was trying to scan for some sort of difference, like if he stared hard enough he could peel back the layers of Bucky's mask and figure out what he really was, because they both knew he wasn't the Bucky that left him behind in Brooklyn, just like how Steve wasn't the same one who had been dragged out on a double date their last night together.

Steve gave Bucky that same look, the one that was searching and desperate and concerned, that pieced things together that were out of Bucky's reach.

So Bucky agreed without a fight, refusing to meet Steve's eyes when their hands clasped on the table. He prepared his act, using the split moment he had to pretend to put up a fight despite not moving a muscle of his own. His hand slammed down into the table, and for a single moment Bucky thought that would be the end of it. Steve won, they all knew he'd win, Bucky knew he would've won even if he did put up an actual fight, it was the exact outcome that should've happened.

But the look on Steve's face hardened, his jaw set. It wasn't quite a glare, but Bucky could read the meaning behind it with no problem. That was the downside of knowing someone as well as he and Steve knew each other. They could read each other like a kids book, each other's intentions always written on their faces plain as day in a language only they understood. It was perfect for when they were together on the battle field, it allowed for them to move seamlessly as a unit, two bodies following a single train of thought and reacting before the other could even start to act. It wasn't so great when Bucky was trying to hide something.

Instead of moving on and accepting the win, Steve set up again, and Bucky knew better than to argue with that stubborn look on his face.

Dum Dum counted them down a second time, and this time Bucky didn't hold back. He didn't even consider putting on a front as he pushed against Steve's hand.

His best friend's eyes widened in surprise, but he adapted quickly, and suddenly Bucky could feel Steve pushing against him too instead of just acting like a brick wall. It was over pretty quickly after that, but it was obvious that Steve had to put in some effort this time before Bucky's hand hit the table.

Neither of them mentioned the incident after the initial shouting from their drunken friends, and the rest of the Howlies followed their lead after a few days. There were more important things to focus on than Bucky lasting thirty seconds into an arm wrestling contest against the great Captain America. It eventually just became another point on the list that they kept about his oddities and skills, another moment for Dum Dum and Morita to brag about while drunk to other, drunker, soldiers to earn some quick cash or restock on tokens for gambling amongst themselves.

Bucky didn't stop thinking about it though. It was hard to stop thinking about the whole incident when it seemed to just be confirmation of something that had been simmering in the back of his mind for months, something he'd been trying desperately to ignore before the dam finally cracked.

For the first time since things started getting weird for him after Azzano, Bucky finally acknowledged, just to himself, that he was fucked.

Y’all think Bucky was built completely different but bc he got his serum from Hydra no one really thought about why that was

Like the Howling commandos are like “oh yeah that’s Bucky over there he:”

- has carried 3 injured men on his back through an active war zone

- has to drink 15 beers before he feels shit

- is the only one capable of physically fighting Steve

- can scale buildings by just fucking jumping up the sides

- Regularly disables tanks with a rifle and his bare hands

“Why the fuck is he like that?”

“It’s just Buck I dunno”

[navybrat817]

Any thoughts for WETnesday with Bucky?🤭🤭

Okay, Syd. I wrote this after work for Wetnesday and promptly fell asleep. So, I'm posting this on Thirsty Thursday! And that has to be Mr. Barnes before you two are married.

Dinner Plans

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't want to be late for dinner, but you don't seem to be in a rush to go.

Word Count: Over 2.8k

Warnings: Established relationship, quick unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, lovelies), possessive behavior, a bit of humor and fluff, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I love this couple, okay? @targaryenvampireslayer and @starlightcrystalline, I hope you enjoy! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was still early in the evening as Bucky got ready for dinner. Checking his watch once he put it on, he sighed. If he was late, Steve would give him a hard time. And if Steve gave him a hard time, Sam would only give him the gasoline to fuel the fire. Just the thought of it had his face shift to his grumpy stare you loved.

His gaze softened when you went to the vanity. Would the guys give him a hard time if he said he was in love and wanted as much alone time with you as possible? How being with you was like floating on a cloud and being pulled back down to earth all at once? He didn’t care if they’d call him out for being sappy. He sure as hell suffered enough in his life that he could afford to be appreciative of you and maybe a little selfish when it came to you.

But checking the time, he grumbled. “We were supposed to leave five minutes ago,” he said.

He would’ve rather gone to a hole in the wall kind of place or a diner to have dinner, but it wasn't his turn to pick the dinner out with some of the gang. Plus it was nice getting to dress up with you since you liked how he looked in suits. To be fair, you said he looked good in anything and he felt the same way about you. How you always managed to look like a goddess, he’d never know.

You hummed. “We still have a few minutes to spare,” you said, which he wasn’t sure how you knew since you hadn’t looked at the time. “And you are not dressed yet, so it’s not like we can head out the door.”

He paused to stare at you. “Neither are you,” he pointed out, licking his lips as you leaned forward a bit more as you applied your makeup. He shook his head after a moment, trying to snap himself out of the spell you always managed to put him under. “I’m bringing you one of my cardigans to put over your shoulders in case you get cold.”

Because the weather was nice for the evening, you picked out a sleeveless dress. He didn’t know if the restaurant would be cold though, and he didn’t want you shivering through the meal. You likely had something to match your dress, but putting one of his cardigans over you was like that extra touch of belonging to him in case anyone got any ideas.

“You just want one of your shirts draped over me like a big neon sign that says I’m yours and you don't want guys checking me out on my dress,” you said like you knew exactly what he was thinking. There was no reason to deny your words since it was the truth. “But I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

“I do like my clothes draped over you,” he smirked. He liked having his smell on you, too. “But you know what I don’t like? Steve and Sam bitching if we’re late. It’ll spoil my appetite.”

“Aww, my poor super soldier,” you teased, smiling at him in your reflection and making his heart skip a beat. “If we’re late, you can just blame me. I won’t let them give you a hard time, okay?”

Bucky couldn’t blame you though. Not entirely. You were late getting in the shower thanks to him insisting on the two of you staying in bed. Serum stamina or whatever you wanted to call it, but he felt bad some days for his almost constant need. You didn’t seem to mind though.

“They won’t believe me,” he said, staring again when the strap of your bra slipped from your shoulder. “And baby, you know I adore you, but you need to quit distracting me so I can finish getting dressed.”

Ever since you moved in, you’d been a distraction in a wonderful way. He often found that he’d pause to look at photos or little touches you incorporated into the place, giving him a chance to reflect on memories you made together and even learn more about who you were before you met. Hearing your laughter or voice call to him from another room also made him drop whatever he was doing, too. Sharing a space with someone could be daunting, but it was easy with you, like you had lived together for years. It made him look forward to more.

“Me? Distracting you?” You turned your head toward him and gave him an innocent glance. You were anything but innocent. “I'm not doing anything.”

Bucky almost snarled. Like hell you weren't doing anything. Swaying your hips and prancing around in your lingerie before you sat to get ready, lingerie which barely covered your gorgeous tits and sweet cunt. He wanted to rip it to shreds or tear it off with his teeth. You wouldn’t mind, right? He could always get you more to destroy.

“Not doing anything? Look at you,” he said incredulously as you turned back to the mirror and pushed your bra up. He should’ve been holding your breasts. “Why aren't you wearing a robe?”

You tilted your head. “Well, you said before I got in the shower that we were in a slight rush, so I figured putting on the robe was a waste of time. At least I have my underwear on, though I know you’d rather I be naked.”

If Bucky had his way, you’d be naked all the time. At least, when you two were at home. Logically he knew he couldn’t have that at work, functions, or anything of that nature, but the image in his head was nice. “For such a rush you seem to be taking your time.”

“I'm not taking my time. I'm finishing my makeup,” you argued, carefully applying your lipstick. “Like it?” you asked, blowing him an air kiss. It was a pretty shade. It would look even prettier smeared around his cock.

He closed his eyes with a groan. Some days he felt like a caveman with the thoughts that consumed him. “You look beautiful,” he said once he opened his eyes. Like always. “Now get your dress on so I can show you off before I put the cardigan on you.”

“Show me off?” You slowly stood from your chair and gave him a generous view of your backside. His cock twitched in his pants, and there was no reason to hide the pure lust in his eyes when you turned to face him. “You flatter me, Mr. Barnes.”

He chuckled. It always did something to him when you called him Mr. Barnes. It was something affectionate, sweet. “I think you’re the one flattering me, Mrs.-” he exhaled before he could finish, and he heard the hitch in your breath across the room.

“What was that?” you asked breathily.

He adjusted the watch on his wrist and avoided your gaze. You were his girl, yeah, and the love you had for each other spoke volumes, but you weren’t his wife. Not yet. God, how he wanted you to be- for you to take his last name, wear his ring on your finger, be his partner in all aspects of life. He wanted it to be more than just a dream.

“I didn’t say…” He cleared his throat and put on a blank face, only because he didn’t know how you’d react. “Anything.”

Your eyes raked over him before you beckoned him forward with a finger. He swore no one would ever control him again after HYDRA brainwashed him, but you could’ve commanded him to do anything. It didn’t frighten him because you would never harm him, never take advantage of him. Taking him into your care and maintaining his trust was one of the ways you showed you loved him.

Once he stood in front of you, barely an inch away, you whispered, “Were you about to call me Mrs. Barnes?”

He swallowed hard, his heart racing. It was one thing to say you loved each other, to want a future together, but what if you weren’t ready when he popped the question? “I was,” he whispered back.

You smiled, not looking the least bit put off or afraid. He should've known it wouldn't bother you, especially with you being the one to say “I love you” first. “I think that has a really nice ring to it,” you said, your hands moving to unbuckle his belt.

“You think so?” he asked, forgetting for a moment that he was capable of breathing. “You like the idea of being my wife?”

Bucky would no doubt be the kind of husband who’d brag about you. He’d find ways to insert “my wife” in conversations just to let others know that you picked him out of everyone else on the planet. Not just that, he wanted people to know how proud he was to be your man and that he’d find reasons every day to be proud of you.

“I love it,” you confirmed, sighing when he ran his fingertips along your arms. “Makes my heart race,” you admitted. He could hear it. “Makes me wet.”

Bucky arched his hips and pressed up against you. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, not stopping you as you unbuttoned his pants. He was thinking of just cancelling dinner so he could throw you on the bed and stay inside you for the rest of the night. “We need to-”

“Oh. Now might be a good time to tell you that Steve pushed the reservation back by a half hour,” you cut in, mouthing over his racing pulse. “He figured he’d message me since I’m better about checking my phone, and-”

Bucky picked you up with ease and tossed you onto the bed. Your wide-eyed expression as you bounced nearly had him busting out of his pants, and he didn’t hesitate to crawl over you and pin you down. Relishing in the moan you let out when he lightly bit your neck, he did it again a little harder. “No wonder you took your time and teased me,” he smirked when you squirmed beneath him. “My future wife.”

“My future husband,” you moaned, bucking your hips up. “Need you in me. We can be quick.”

You got a hand in his hair and forced his head up to yours, your tongue impatiently pushing into his mouth. He groaned in understanding, feeling just as desperate as you. Knowing how turned on you were at the thought of being his wife turned him on, and he could barely form a coherent thought as he took his cock out and gave it a couple of quick pumps.

“Say it again,” he demanded, shoving your panties aside and rubbing the head of his cock along your slit. He took his time earlier today stretching you, and he wanted nothing more than to feel you around him again.

And the way you reached between your bodies and gripped the base of his cock, he knew you wanted the same when you said, “Fuck me, my future husband.”

He eased in gently, making you whine. He thought he’d whine, too, for a second because of how good he felt. God, how good it would feel to hold your hand one day and feel his ring against your skin. “You okay?” he asked, dragging his thumb along your lower lip once he was fully inside you. You were tight still, so wet, and oh, he was going to fuck you and make it quick, but he wasn’t going to hurt you.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, starting deep into his eyes as you clenched around him with purpose and brushed his hair back. He tried to be still, tried not to thrust like a wild animal. “Are you?”

“I’m okay,” he promised, easing his hips back. “Just hold on while I fuck you.”

Your back arched when he slammed himself back in nice and deep, your cry bouncing off the walls. Here in the comfort of your home you didn’t have to smother any noises, didn’t have to keep quiet. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you, how you were the queen of his world.

Being inside you all he got out was, “You feel so fucking good.”

And because you could read him like no one else could, you tenderly smiled. “I love you, too.”

He threw his head back as you clutched his arms, determined to make you feel good, determined to show you how much he loved you even as he fucked you. “Gonna put you on your hands and knees after dinner. Make you watch in the mirror while I fuck you,” he groaned. “Can imagine it's part of our honeymoon.”

“Please!’ you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts.

Bucky grabbed your thighs to lift you higher, uncaring if he ruined his pants for the evening. Watching you tremble beneath his, a vision of ecstasy, he was happy to stay there forever. Wrapped up in you was where he always wanted to be.

“Gonna come,” you moaned, reaching up to pull his hair again, your body quaking. “Bucky, please.”

Bucky groaned. He hadn’t rubbed your clit how he wanted to. Didn’t get to tear your bra off and tease your nipples. He did promise to fuck you later though, and he’d do all those things and more. “Then come for me,” he smirked, leaning down to say against your lips, “Future. Mrs.. Barnes.”

You got impossibly tight and the flood of wetness that gushed around him triggered his own orgasm, a rush of heat filling him as he filled you. His mouth fell open as you clung to him, and he heard you moan his name as your eyes went glossy. He wanted the image of you getting off to taking his last name etched in his brain for all time. He wanted his name to fall from your lips again and again on your wedding night.

The cloud in his mind began to lift. You, his future wife, were beneath him, still shaking, still holding him like a lifeline. He didn’t want to let you go either. “Holy… shit…” you panted.

He braced himself above you, trying not to crush you as the euphoria slowly faded. It never really went away though. Not with you. “Holy shit,” he agreed. He stayed inside you, your sweet mewl making him smile as he kissed you. “Is this a new kink?” he asked, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, touching his cheek. “New kink unlocked.”

Touching your lips with his once more, he chuckled. “You ruined my pants,” he teased. It wouldn’t have been the first time. The first time you rode his thigh and got your release all over it, he nearly came, too. “Good thing I have a few minutes to change.”

He cradled you close when he shifted to the side, making you moan again. “Yeah, well, you ruined my panties. Fair is fair.”

“I did,” he smirked, running his fingers along your spine. “Hey.”

“Hey what?”

“I love you,” he whispered, wanting to say it as often as he could. They weren’t just words, but a declaration, a promise.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, tracing one of the buttons on his wrinkled shirt.

His lips brushed your forehead. He’d never get tired of hearing you say that. “If I asked you to marry me right now, would you say yes?”

He wouldn’t propose right this second. You deserved something more romantic. But in his heart, he just wanted to hear you say that you’d say yes.

You giggled, your eyes full of love. “I would say yes in a heartbeat,” you replied, kissing him gently. Your answer relieved him. “And I’d marry you anytime, anywhere.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But?” he asked, sensing a “but” in there.

“But don’t ask me right now, okay?” you smiled, in sync with his thoughts. “I mean, I’d like to think my pussy would make you propose now-”

“And it would,” he smirked.

You giggled again. “But ask me when I’m not expecting it… Whenever it feels right to you.”

“I will,” he promised.

“Looking forward to it.” You snuggled closer and missed his look of adoration. “Hold me for one more minute before we get ready to go?”

As if he could ever deny you. “I’ll hold you as long as you want,” he whispered.

He no longer cared if Steve or Sam gave him shit should they show up late. If you wanted him to skip dinner just to hold you, he’d do it. If you wanted him to surprise you when he proposed, he would. And no matter when Bucky asked you to be his wife, he’d make sure it was perfect as it could possibly be.

AHH! I love them so much. How do you lovelies think he proposed? ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[scoonsalicious]

3.4 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of Bucky's past, minor fluff.

Word Count: 482

Previously On...: Bucky and Lily went out to brunch, and Bucky lied about his upcoming plans with you.

A/N: I'm going to let you all know well in advance that, once I finish posting through Chapter 5, I am going to take a small break from updating so I can write (I'm thinking maybe a week, tops). I've had some things going on recently that have been taking up a lot of my mental and emotional energy, which has prevented me from being as invested in the story as I want to be, so I need to take some time to get myself in the right headspace to where the story just flows out. I'm currently only two chapters ahead, and that makes me nervous, so I would like to build my buffer back up again. So, there will be a pause in updates starting on Tuesday, May 14th, and updates will resume on Tuesday, May 21st. I do hate doing this, and I know that, as a reader, it's so annoying when you have to wait between updates, but it needs to be done in order to provide you with the best story possible. I probably should have taken more time between finishing Unwanted and beginning to post With Friends Like These..., but I was too eager to share it with all of you to wait, lol. I want to be upfront and honest with all of you ahead of time, so I hope you understand.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You’d spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon digging up everything you could about Bucky’s trial. At first, you were getting nowhere, not being able to find any information about ‘Bucky Barnes,’ but then you nearly slapped yourself on the head when you recalled Lily referring to him as ‘Jamie.’ Obviously, ‘Bucky’ was a nickname, and once you searched ‘James Barnes + trial,” you were nearly overwhelmed by the number or results you got.

Meticulously, you went through them, as if you were gathering intelligence for a military op. You read all about his history in World War II with Steve (which, admittedly, you sort of already knew about from Nat), but things took a turn when you discovered he’d been declared MIA: Presumed Dead, only to resurface around 2014.

You nearly started crying when you read what had been done to him– the loss of his arm, the experiments, the serum, all under the control of the terrorist group, Hydra. The brainwashing. And you really did start to cry when you read about what Hydra had made him do for them. The assassinations, the murders. Screw whatever Zadie and Rand thought. This poor man was a victim. One who didn’t deserve to spend a moment behind bars. Your heart positively broke for him. 

You were wiping the tears from your eyes when Zadie popped her head in. “Hey, Major,” she said, a devilish smile on her face. “You got a delivery.”

You look back at her, puzzled. You weren’t expecting anything. Getting up from your chair, you made your way to the front reception area. There, on Zadie’s desk, was a beautiful gold bowl holding a live fuschia orchid plant. 

“There’s a note!” Zadie squealed, bouncing on her toes and wringing her hands together in excited anticipation.

Biting your lip, you reached over and picked up the note. Unfolding it, you tried to make out the messy scrawl:

‘Major,

Thanks for bringing some beauty into my life last night. Figure it’s only fair I return the favor. Looking forward to seeing you tonight for dinner. - Bucky’

“Oh. My. God.” Zadie picked up a piece of paper from her desk and began fanning herself. “I don’t care how many people that guy murdered,” she said. “That’s the most romantic fucking thing I’ve ever seen!” She paused. “How did he even know orchids are your favorite?”

“I don’t know,” you said, gently running your finger along the edges of the soft petals. “I guess I’ll have to ask him tonight.” You looked back at the note, rereading it, and smiling. You felt your stomach fill up with butterflies, as though you were a sixteen year old girl again, getting flowers from a boy for the very first time. God, but this man seemed absolutely perfect. 

But you were never this lucky. You couldn’t help but wonder when the other shoe would drop.

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[t-lostinworlds]

omg some hurt comfort with any of the five characters (it’s your choice) and " hey... you've been crying. " i’d eat it up i tell ya

A/N: okay, so i went with bucky bc ngl i'm currently fawning over him right now. so this is the first ever bucky fic i've posted so pls be nice sksksk. also, another love confession made it into this one sksk. hope you like it @annab-nana !! <3

bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader | wc: 2k…blurb she said | best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, canon typical trauma of being a hero™️ | prompt in bold!

The early hours in the compound's gym had always brought some sort of peace. It was empty and quiet, undisturbed.

Although it was a false sense of quietness if it came in the form of raw knuckles hitting worn-down leather, the faint song of crickets, the chains rattling on the ceiling, and the deep harsh breaths that accompanied each jab and left hook, a kick and a blowing right hand, another punch that had your already split skin stinging at the impact.

Because inside your head was anything but peaceful.

With narrowed eyes and gritted teeth, you twisted on your heel and swung behind you, only for your fist to be caught midair.

You knew it was a conscious decision on his part, always careful and wary about his own superhuman strength, doubled down around you. But still, you were thankful enough that Bucky blocked your punch with his calloused and warm palm. Because if it were cold and silver, you would've fractured your entire hand.

If the punching bag hadn't done that already.

"I told you not to sneak up on me," you stated lowly, chest heaving.

"I didn't." Bucky raised a brow. "I called your name twice."

You didn't hear him. Too distracted by your rage and guilt paired with the audibly loud abuse you'd inflicted on the punching bag.

Bucky looked at your fist, still enclosed in his much larger hand and frowned.

"Where are your gloves?"

"Didn't feel like wearing any." You shrugged, pulling your hand away and shaking it off nonchalantly as if your knuckles weren't already swollen.

Bucky glanced to where your blood had colored his skin.

You turned towards the bag, flexing your fingers to get back into it only for a whole mass of muscles and super soldier serum to block your way.

"That's enough," he said firmly, but the concern in his eyes was unmistakable.

With clenched fists and a sharp glare, you gritted, "Nobody tells me what to do, Barnes."

"You're hurting yourself."

"I don't fucking care."

"I do."

That crumbled your resolve a little—only a little, since anger and grief were still boiling rampant in your veins.

"Out of my way. James."

"No."

"Fine!" you growled, pushing at his chest, frustration misplaced. "Fight me then!"

Bucky's tall stature remained unfazed, eyes carefully roaming your features before they softened.

"Hey…" he whispered, fingertips akin to feathers as he caressed your glistening cheeks. The lines were too carefully drawn for them to be sweat. "You've been crying."

You didn't know if it was his touch, his voice, his cerulean eyes, staring at you with such softness and care or everything all at once. But it drained the adrenaline out of your body, taking with it your heart as it fell on the floor.

Your exhaustion came in a sweeping wave as your lips trembled, your body slumping forward, falling into Bucky's already open arms.

He pulled you into his chest with a sigh, "Come on. Let's take care of those hands before they get infected."

•••

The silence that hung between you and Bucky as he cleaned your wounds wasn't deafening, but it also wasn't comfortable.

You didn't know how much of it he knew, the reason for the gnawing guilt that made sleep evade you like the plague. 

"Steve won't tell me what happened on the mission, and I'm not going to force you to talk if you don't want to," he said as if he read your mind. After wrapping both your hands with the bandage, he carefully held it in his, a barely there squeeze as he tried to meet your eyes. "But I'm here, doll."

Like a dam that gave way to too much pressure, too many cracks in the foundation, you broke.

Bucky sighed as he scooped you into his arms, your legs draped over his thighs as means to keep you closer, shielded, safe.

You gripped the fabric of his shirt, tight fists resting on his back as you buried your face into his neck, tears staining his skin.

He gently rocked you as a means of comfort, hands rubbing circles on your back, one warm, one cold as he pressed his lips against your temple. But he didn't say anything. He simply waited, already knowing that you'd talk to him when you were ready.

It made it so much easier to do so, knowing that he was always all ears during moments you needed him to be.

"T-There's a little girl…during the rescue mission," you whispered, voice shaky, though with the kiss on your forehead, you knew he heard. "She's ten, got separated from her parents during the commotion and–she's very chatty, feisty, said she could take out the bad guys once she gets big enough but she never let go of my hand as we made our way back to the Helicarrier," you chuckled softly, smile falling as buried your face further into his chest.

Bucky wrapped one arm around your shoulder, the other on your waist, holding you close with a reassuring squeeze.

"Then t–there was an explosion and I—" you choked back a sob. "We got separated and when I found her again she was just gaining consciousness b–but then the concrete behind her started to collapse and I-I ran to her as fast as I could—God I just wanted to grab her so it wouldn't fall on her. I didn't care if it ended up being me but I just…" You lifted your head to look at Bucky with teary eyes, voice broken, bottom lip trembling. "I wasn't fast enough."

He frowned, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing away as much of your tears as he could.

You shook your head with a choked sob, eyes squeezing shut. "H-Her scream, Buck…I-I can't get it out of my head.

"Steve had to come and h-help lift the debris and I just—I just watched. N-Now, she's in a coma and the doctors said s-she might not walk again or-or wake up and it's all my fault."

"Hey, no, it's not, doll," Bucky protested determinedly. "You did what you could."

"But it wasn't enough," you sniffled, gaze falling on your lap in shame. "I-I felt so helpless w-watching her get carried on a stretcher. It felt like whatever I do, it will never be enough because if I couldn't save her then…how can I save anyone else?"

"You've done more than enough," Bucky argued vehemently. "You've saved a lot of people's lives and not just civilians. You've saved lives at the expense of your own. That bullet you took for Nat when she was down and defenseless, the way you dragged Sam out of the enemy fire even though you've rendered yourself vulnerable.

"I mean, think about what you've done for me alone. The sleep you've lost just to be there for me when things get rough, the patience and care you have for me, just— " Bucky took a breath. "Think about all the things you've done for a man who frankly doesn't deserve any of it."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. "You do, Buck, I—"

"My point is," he hummed, holding your face in his hands, the deep blue of his irises coated with sincerity. "You've saved me in more ways than I could ever imagine, Y/N, not just out there on the field, but by being there for me too. I can't thank you enough for it.

"And when that little girl wakes up, she's going to be forever grateful that you saved her life. Because you did, despite everything else, you did save her."

"B-But what if it happens again?" you whispered worriedly. "And t-this time, it would be worse."

"There's this kid from Brooklyn, smart but a pain in my ass sometimes, a bit patriotic, self-sacrificial, and who I trust and care about. I think you know him," Bucky said, tapping your nose, making your lips quirk slightly with the softest chuckle. He smiled proudly at that. "Kid said something about this job, and how we try to save as many people as we can. But, we can't always save everybody—"

"And if we can't find a way to live with it, maybe nobody gets saved," you finished, smiling sadly. "I heard that speech, too."

Bucky nodded. "You make such a huge difference in the field that when you're not out there, people are going to notice. You bring the best out of the team, doll. You bring the best out of me," he paused, taking your hands in his. "But, there's also nothing wrong with being on the bench for a little while. Because I think it's also time for you to be selfish for once, put yourself first."

"I just—I don't think I can trust myself again. I'm not a hero, Buck, not after what happened," you admitted, voice dejected as that barbed-wired guilt curled around your heart. "I mean, hell, I don't have superpowers. If I had, s-she would've been fine."

"So, there's also this girl," Bucky started, thumb caressing your cheek, smile soft as he held your gaze, "who's definitely one of the bravest people I know, smart and a smartass, kind, sweet, selfless. She cares so deeply for other people that sometimes, she forgets to care for herself. And she has impeccable taste in music and tv shows." He winked before his face softened. "She told me, our past mistakes don't define who we are, but what we do about it, does. And she's right, she always is. I should listen to her more often."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at him throwing your own words back at you.

"But then she'd argue how it wasn't even my mistake to begin with, that it was HYDRA, it wasn't my fault. She's so stubborn about it, willing to fight who thinks otherwise, hell, she'd even fight me on it sometimes and I…" he took a breath, gaze never leaving yours as he said, "I love her for it."

"Bucky…" you whispered, eyes glossing but for a different reason this time.

"I thought after…everything, I wouldn't be able to feel those emotions again, too messed up, too broken. I mean, how could I when I barely even like myself? But you changed that, Y/N. Not only did you make me believe I can love again, but you also made me want to learn to give myself that kindness, too," he said, lips curved into that precious smile only you got the pleasure of seeing. "If you don't think that's some kind of superpower on its own, then how about the way you care so much for other people? It inspires the team—it inspires me to do the best I can to save everyone. You don't need some kind of superhuman strength or magical abilities to be an important member of the team because you're the heart of it. And that's powerful enough."

"I think I made you watch too many romcoms," you chuckled tearily, pressing your forehead against his, heart warm and aching as you looked at the man who'd stolen your heart without much effort involved.

It was just easy with Bucky.

He laughed, "Maybe. But it's a good manual on how to get the girl. My manual is a little bit outdated nowadays," he joked, nudging the tip of his nose with yours, a nervous glint in his eyes. "I'm not sure if it's working yet, though."

You tilted your head with a giggle and pressed your lips on his. You felt his whole body relax, a sigh tickling your cheek as he cupped the nape of your neck, head tilting to pull you that much closer. Coolness wrapped around your waist, one that was welcomed—needed, even, as you snaked your arms around his broad shoulders.

It was careful yet sweet, simple but laced with all the emotions your words could never justify—gratitude, longing, adoration, love.

"You've always had me, Bucky," you whispered once you pulled away.

There was a shyness in his eyes, tongue darting out as if to savor the taste of your lips for one more moment, as he asked, so softly, "Can you…can you say it?"

"I love you," you said without hesitation, fingers tracing his jaw. "All of you."

Bucky responded by pulling you back in for another kiss, one that assured you that, even though this job wasn't easy, you both would be alright.

As long as you have each other to lean on.

⤷ t's february frolicking celebration

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[broodybuck]

A Lending Hand | Series Part 1

Series Summary: When Steve finds out what Bucky's been doing behind closed doors, he's happy to lend a hand. He's willing to do whatever it takes to find how much of the Bucky he knew is still left.

Series Tags: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes | Rated E | Tags: 18+ explicit smut, recovering Bucky, post cacw, denial of feelings, handjobs, first time, Avengers tower, no refractory period, power bottom Steve, top Bucky

[Masterpost] // [ao3 link]

"He needs to talk to someone," Tony says.

"He needs to talk, first," Steve refutes.

Tony drops the argument. This is their fourth discussion on the matter, due to the fact that since bringing Bucky back to the tower he's remained mute — completely silent.

Steve wants to give him time. He's been through a lot, too much, and he doesn't think throwing him in front of a therapist will do any good right now.

Even so, there's plenty of room for concern. Bucky never leaves his room and his door is always locked. Steve believes he deserves some privacy, some alone time. He deserves to take his time.

However, on a few occasions, Steve has run into Bucky leaving his room. Each time, Bucky appeared to be gleaming in sweat, his forehead coated in an even sheen.

At first, Steve assumed he was having nightmares which would be understandable. But over time Steve has run into him in the mornings, in the early afternoons, anytime it seemed, Bucky was still sweating.

It's made Steve worry that Bucky is sleeping all his days away which doesn't sound healthy. Because he knows with the serum, sweat doesn't come easily so Steve has to assume it's nightmares.

One day, Steve knocks on Bucky's door. It's the middle of the day. No one else is around and Steve's given Bucky more than enough space this past month.

There's no answer after Steve knocks. He waits and then knocks a second time, this time a little louder.

"Bucky?" he calls and knocks a third time.

There's no answer so he tries the doorknob but it's locked. Fear creeps into his chest and he considers breaking the door down before he thinks about how annoyed Tony will be. He realizes that JARVIS can simply inform him if Bucky's in his room or not.

He tries to handle this calmly but within a moment he finds himself sprinting down the hall.

"JARVIS?" Steve blurts out in the common area.

"Yes, Mr. Rogers?"

"Can you please check on Bucky — on um, James Barnes. Is he in his room?"

"Let me check, sir. Yes, he's there."

"Oh," Steve frowns. "Is he alright?"

"His health is consistent with the past few weeks. Standard, no threat, his heart rate is accelerated."

"Accelerated, why?" Steve asks.

"I am not sure what Mr. Barnes is doing."

"What do you mean?"

"I can show you footage," JARVIS offers.

"Footage?"

"I can show you into Mr. Barnes's room so you can see what he is doing."

"Well, that's a violation of privacy. Can't you just tell me why his heart rate's accelerated?"

"It's not clear," JARVIS responds.

"How is it not clear?"

"His body is covered. There is unidentifiable motion."

"What— alright, show me. Just show me."

JARVIS lights up a display in front of Steve and footage of Bucky's room becomes clear from the feed.

Bucky's in his bed, the comforter is up to his neck but there's blatant motion coming from under the covers. One Steve recognizes instantly, one that makes his face beet red, his skin tingle.

"Turn it off!" Steve snaps.

The feed snaps off.

"I'm sorry, sir. Was there something wrong with the feed?" JARVIS asks.

"No, I saw it just fine," Steve mumbles and then walks back to his room.

He needs a moment to process what he saw because what he saw was Bucky jerking off. Under the covers, yes, but the motion was indisputable.

Has Bucky really been masturbating every hour of the day he's locked in his room? That doesn't sound healthy but who could Steve talk to about this? This is so personal and dirty... Steve feels his pants tighten and his face fills with shame.

He decides he needs to talk to Bucky himself. The problem is, Bucky couldn't even bother to answer the door the last time he knocked. So Steve plans to run into him again.

It's pretty easy once Steve stalks Bucky's door from down the hall for a few hours. He watches Bucky rush into the bathroom late the next afternoon. Then he waits in front of the man's door for his return.

Bucky stops short when he sees him. He's holding a towel in his hands which he clutches tighter the moment he sees Steve. His face stays emotionless, his eyes scan the floor suddenly.

"Hey," Steve says. "I wanted to talk to you."

He gets no response, so Steve simply steps aside and motions Bucky to reenter his room. Bucky follows the instruction and gets back into the bed hiding his body under the covers once more. Steve doesn't see the towel anymore. He presumes maybe it's for the sweat.

Steve enters the room and shuts the door behind him, wondering briefly if that might alarm Bucky, but his intent is only to give them some privacy. He steps toward the bed and gently sits on the very edge. He tries to remain far enough away from Bucky and when the other man doesn't flinch or react, Steve assumes it's okay.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Steve begins. "I've noticed you've been spending a lot of time in this room. Some fresh air and exercise could really be good for you."

Bucky says nothing. Steve realizes he doesn't know why he thought Bucky would finally decide to speak to him now of all days. Perhaps he was just hopeful and mainly worried.

"I need you to know, I'm here for you," Steve continues and without thinking, he puts his hand on Bucky's leg. "If you ever need to talk about anything."

Bucky doesn't answer, doesn't move except for his eyes that eventually trail down to his leg where Steve's hand is sitting. Steve draws it back apologetically.

"Sorry about that," Steve says. "Anyway, I wanted to mention that I have the serum too. And sometimes it can make me feel a bit restless or um, pent-up. I like to run in the mornings. I work out too. The heavy bag is good for punching, lets out a lot of tension."

Bucky stares at him, still silent.

"Just mentioning," Steve smiles, feeling his face blush. "In case you feel that sometimes too. Since I have the serum as well, if you ever have questions I'm happy to answer them."

No response.

Steve nods and forces another smile even though he feels this was a complete fail. He stands from the bed and begins to make his way to the door. Then he hears the smallest whisper.

"Wait."

He spins back around with wide eyes. He waits patiently, keeping his distance, praying he didn't mishear.

Bucky's face pinches, he looks down and Steve notices his fist clench.

"I have... tension," Bucky says, so low Steve swears no normal person would have heard it. Steve's never been so thrilled. He rushes toward the bed with a beaming smile.

"That's okay. I can show you where the gym is and some exercises. I think it would help."

Bucky shakes his head no. Steve's smile falters.

"Don't want to work out," Bucky tells him quietly.

"Okay, well there's also a massage, meditation— how about swimming?"

Bucky's eyes go wide at that and Steve's stomach drops.

"No swimming," Steve corrects quickly. "What do you want to try? I'll help any way I can."

Bucky's face begins to turn a shade of pink Steve hasn't seen. He hates to ever refer to his friend as his past alias but it's quite strange seeing an ex-assassin blush.

"Touch," Bucky finally says.

"Touch?" Steve repeats.

"Me," Bucky finishes.

Steve gulps, he doesn't mean to but the mix of nerves and sudden temptation are mixing heavily inside of him.

The truth is, he's wanted Bucky all his life. And he never got to touch him because, in their past, Bucky wasn't out yet. Not to anyone else, at least. He told Steve his truth but he told Steve he plans to date girls and marry a woman. That he'd pretend the rest of his life.

It saddened Steve even back then but he didn't argue, never tried to push Bucky. Which is why he never made a move no matter how much he was in love with the man.

Currently, Bucky's not fully himself. And he's only fighting biological, physical needs. He has no one else to turn to. But Steve would rather die than not help Bucky. But this kind of help, would mean something very different for Steve.

"Too much," Bucky says, knocking Steve out of his thoughts.

"What?"

Bucky carefully grips the comforter and pulls it off him. He lifts his shirt and pushes his shorts down, revealing a painful looking erection lying against his stomach.

It's a lot for Steve to take in. He's seeing his best friend's cock for the first time but not only that, it's unusually hard. Like wow, it's nearly purple. It looks like he's been hard for hours and dammit, that should not be making Steve's mouth salivate.

"Oh um," Steve's voice cracks and he looks away, embarrassingly turned on — oh god, what should he do?

"Can you try?" Bucky asks.

His voice is heavy now with fatigue and Steve considers the fact that Bucky hasn't been rubbing one out every hour of every day. Maybe he's been struggling to get himself to finish even once.

The thought sounds horrific and painful. Steve needs to help him. Of course, he's going to help him.

"Yes, I can try," Steve says.

He sits down on the bed but pauses before touching him. He wants to be sure Bucky knows what he's asking.

"So, you want me to touch you... there, with my hand. Right?"

Steve points to the man's cock and Bucky nods instantly. Steve reaches his hand out before pulling it back again and licking his palm.

"For some lubrication, it'll be less rough," Steve explains. "Okay, I'm going to touch you now."

He reaches out and places his hand on the hard shaft and dear lord, it feels hot under his palm. Christ, how long has he been sitting like this? Bucky's eyes squeeze shut and then open again, he studies Steve's hand.

"I'm going wrap my hand around you now, hold it — it should feel good," Steve prepares him and then proceeds to do as he says.

He hears Bucky's breath hitch. Steve feels hot suddenly with his hand around his best friend's cock, with Bucky's breath hitching from his touch. It's all so much.

"I'm gonna move my hand now," Steve tells him. "Slow, at first. Should still feel good."

Bucky nods this time which makes Steve feel a little better. He pulls one fist from the base to the head. Bucky bites back a moan but Steve hears part of it and it makes a shot of arousal race through him.

"And again," he says and drags his fist back down.

Bucky's mouth presses tight, his eyes closed.

"Does it feel good or bad?" Steve checks.

Bucky's mouth opens but it takes him a second to get the word out. "Good."

"Good, I'm going to move faster now."

He begins a steady motion up and down Bucky's cock and within a couple of strokes a bead of precum dribbles from the tip.

"That's good," Steve notes. "That's what we want more of."

"Mngh," Bucky mumbles.

Steve keeps pumping him light and easy. Then he tightens his grip and drags a tight fist up and down him. It draws a long, wounded moan out of Bucky. Steve has to stop. He hasn't heard Bucky make that sound before and knowing he caused it, that it's a sound of pleasure he caused. He needs to take a second.

Steve is breathing heavy but thankfully Bucky doesn't seem to be taking any notice of Steve except for his hand.

Steve pumps him a few more times, tight but slow. Then he opens his fist and lets his fingers glide up the shaft and rub under the red, nearly purple, head. Bucky wails at this, it's actually a high-pitched wail that catches Steve off guard. He pauses.

"Good or bad?"

"Good, good," Bucky murmurs. He sounds so drunk with pleasure that Steve is officially hard. "Please, more."

Steve runs his thumb over the slit and that elicits another loud whine. He drags his fist back down and up, twists his palm over the head and that's when Bucky's hips jolt up. He heaves in a breath so sharply, that Steve needs to pause again.

"Need..." Bucky pants. "I can't... don't know why it won't..."

"I got you, Buck. Let me help you. I can do this for you," Steve tells him.

Steve swipes the next bead of precum that leaks from Bucky's cock and uses it as more lube to resume a steady motion. He brings his other hand over to reach under Bucky, squeeze and roll his balls and this makes Bucky's hips buck again.

Steve doesn't stop this time, he can see how badly Bucky needs this release and now he's determined to give it to him. He keeps jerking him off, faster and faster until Bucky's eyes are rolling back, he's arching up.

"It's okay, let it happen," Steve says.

Bucky's legs tremble just before Steve watches the come burst out of him.

It's a lot, pouring out in thick spurts and so much keeps coming, Steve's not sure if he should slow down or stop. But Bucky looks like he's in another dimension of pure ecstasy so Steve keeps fisting his cock until the stream slows and then only drops dribble from the slit. He finally slows down and then releases his grip entirely.

Bucky's breathing hard, his chest heaving, his forehead covered in that same sheen of sweat he's seen on him before. His eyes are closed and Steve waits for him to calm down. He's worried about doing too much but he can't help it, he takes Bucky's hand and rubs his thumb inside his palm, comfortingly. At least, he hopes it's comforting.

Bucky slowly opens his eyes again and looks down at their hands. He takes another deep breath and finally, his chest settles.

"Did that help?" Steve asks.

"Yeah," Bucky nods. "You have no idea."

And for the first time, Bucky doesn't whisper or mumble his words. He sounds almost like his old self. Just for a moment, just with that line, Steve is transported back in time. He's with his pal. he's with the man he's hopelessly in love with.

And Steve can't stop himself, he leans over and kisses Bucky right on the lips.

He pulls back quickly and immediately apologizes even though he doesn't regret it. He's been waiting decades to do that.

"It's okay," Bucky says and again, he sounds almost normal.

It sends a rush of hope through Steve no matter how bizarre and abnormal this afternoon turned out to be.

Steve stands from the bed, ignoring the hard-on straining in his own pants, and backs away from the bed.

"If you ever need help with that again... you know, I'm here," Steve says.

Bucky smiles, it's small, but a real smile nonetheless. It's the first Steve has seen since Bucky's been here. The hope beams stronger.

"Can you come back tomorrow?"

"Yes," Steve accepts and then he swiftly turns around and exits the room.

He doesn't have time to waste with awkward goodbyes, he needs to get off so bad.

[majesty-madness]

A Past Encounter - Bucky Barnes x reader (nsfw)

Summary: Being in a relationship with Bucky, Y/N prided herself on knowing him quite well but when she’s accidentally teleported back to 1940, Y/N discovers that there is a whole other Bucky that she has yet to meet. The sweet flirt that had everything going for him before his unfortunate capture by HYDRA.

Word Count: 1400+

Warnings: Modern times, annoyed Bucky, Post-Serum Steve, cursing, bad explanation of science, probably predictable clichés, angst, mentions of not sleeping or eating

a/n: not proofread. Also kind of a short chapter.

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Chapter Eight

Nearly two days of trudging through old newspaper articles, scouring through every possible documented event since the early 1800’s, and there still had yet to be anything hinting at Y/N’s whereabouts. 

FRIDAY was processing information as fast as she could, but with so many different bits of information sprinkled throughout human history, it was taking quite a while. Not to mention that the team was simultaneously reading over whatever physical copies they could get their hands on. 

They’d barely been able to rest peacefully with Y/N’s whereabouts unknown. 

Bucky had been up two days straight at this point, Natasha couldn’t focus on anything not even to fix her hair when she got out of bed this morning, Steve made over a dozen cups of coffee to keep from falling asleep, Sam had a constant ache in his neck from bending over all the newspapers, Tony made a continuous tapping sound throughout the compound because he was restless, and Bruce was trying his damndest to grasp onto any solution to get her back but time travel wasn’t his area of expertise. 

At some point, Tony had become too restless with research so he bid the team a half assed explanation before quickly making his to the lab with Bruce following as he too needed a break from reading the many tragedies throughout human history. 

That left the rest of the team to keep looking for whatever clue they might not exist.

“I’ve been thinking…” Natasha suddenly said, finally looking away from the pile of papers in her lap. 

“About what?” Steve asked before downing the last bit of coffee left in his cup. 

She thumbed the corner of the article in his hand for a moment as she thought to herself a second. “You know, it’s possible that Y/N ended up at a time when recording events like in newspapers wasn’t a priority.”

Steve’s blue eyes jumped over to Natasha sitting in a cushioned chair, feet propped up on the table. He could immediately see the exhaustion etched into her face, despite the pointed statement, he knew she was just as worried as the rest of them. 

“I won’t argue on that because I’ve thought about it too.” Steve admitted in a sigh. 

Natasha didn’t say anything nor look away, she simply watched Steve as he reached for his coffee cup and looked disappointed upon realizing it was empty. 

Normally, she might have laughed but not today. 

“Let’s say that even if she did, Y/N might never come across any kind of event someone might feel important enough to actually write down.” Sam cut in, sitting up from bending over his own pile of papers to slouch in his chair.

“I know.” Steve sadly agreed, thumbing the handle of the now cold porcelain in his hand. 

He continued to dwell in his own thoughts about what they were going to do, when he finally glanced over at his friend. 

The tall man appeared utterly exhausted, dark bags forming under his bloodshot eyes since he hadn’t slept the last two days. For the slightest of seconds, Steve heard the grumbling of Bucky’s stomach making it clear that he hadn’t eaten anything along with not sleeping. Not to mention that the once light stubble on his cheeks grew longer and darker with the beginnings of a beard appearing on his face. 

It was only two days, but it was the longest two days of his life, Steve could tell. If he was honest, Steve was pretty tired himself. 

However, he did not like that Bucky was neglecting himself. Though if he said anything, Bucky would probably not take it very well. 

Instead of prompting Bucky to take a break, Steve stood up from his chair and headed towards the door of the conference room they were in. “I’m going to get some more coffee…”

As he stood from his chair, it made the familiar scratching sound against the material of the flooring and neared the door. His body was just about to pass through the threshold of the doorway when a beeping sounded out from the A.I.

Steve whipped around to see that FRIDAY pulled up an old newspaper. Everyone sat at attention, eyes widened and shining with a sense of hope. 

“I found her.” The automated voice said. 

“Talk to us, FRIDAY.” Natasha prompted as she jumped up from her seat to step closer to the holographic screen. 

“According to The NY Times, there was a reported fire inside an apartment building.” She began while zooming in on the photo of the building where Y/N was standing in a crowd of people. “The article reads: ‘In the late afternoon of Brooklyn, New York, there was a reported fire inside the tenth floor of an apartment building. 70 year-old Markus Crawford, said he was attempting to make dinner, when he got a phone call. He left an oil covered pan on top of the stove with a towel sitting near it which caused the fire. There were no casualties aside for Mr. Crawford who fell to the floor and hurt his leg during the chaos of the incident. His current condition is unknown, though it’s suspected he will make a full recovery. Unfortunately, the same cannot say the same thing for the apartment building as the fire demolished six floors in all.”

There was a pause between the individuals when Sam scoffed and shook his head. “That has nothing to do with Y/N.” 

“But that is Y/N in the photograph.” Natasha states, briefly pointing to the screen. 

Bucky hurriedly got up from his seat to approach the screen itself, staring directly at the picture, Y/N inside the frame clear as day. “What’s the date?”

FRIDAY spoke again, “The date is; Sunday, June 15 1941.” 

Steve and Bucky jerked their heads to one another, the dots connecting simultaneously in their minds. 

“She’s home.” 

Natasha couldn’t stop the excited laugh from escaping her throat as she silently thanked the universe for allowing them to find their friend. 

“Can you confirm its authenticity?” She asked FRIDAY. 

“Every piece of information I have collected has been processed through multiple checks, and I can indeed confirm it is an authentic article.” The A.I. responded with a soft but still programmed voice. 

Steve then walked up next to Bucky, reassuringly grabbing ahold of his shoulder and gave it a couple of pats. “We found her.” 

Bucky, eyes gleaming with joy, turned to his best friend. “Yeah we did.”

“We gotta tell Tony.” Sam suggested, hopping out his seat to stretch from the hours of sitting in the same place. 

“He and Bruce are in the lab. FRIDAY send what you found to Tony; we’ll go let him know.” Natasha ordered, jogging out of the conference room. The other three wasted no time following their comrade out of the room and down the few flights of stairs to the lab. 

All the way, each of them practically bouncing on their feet like excited kids about to tell their mom something that happened on the way to school. 

This was it! 

They found the date, the location, and now they just needed to find her. 

And with Tony’s genius for understanding the concepts that left most of them stumped, they could bring her back. 

The team entered a hallway before making a tight corner straight through a pair of glass doors, and speedily walking toward Tony, who stood on the other side of the room. 

Natasha had been smiling the whole way to the lab, but the moment she caught a familiar and very unwelcome man standing with him, her smile disappeared. She slowed her pace, cautiously making her way over to her friends as if it were a trap. 

Steve was the second to notice, and when he did, he wasn’t afraid to voice his concern. “Mr. Secretary. What are you doing here?” 

All the men inside the lab now focused their attention on the other members of the Avengers upon hearing Steve’s voice. 

The gray haired man went to respond to the question when Tony desperately spoke first. “It seems there has been a misunderstanding about Y/N, but that’s okay, Ross was just leaving.” 

“There hasn’t been any misunderstanding, Stark. It’s you who seems to have misunderstood why I’m here.” Ross quickly corrected him causing Tony to become quiet. 

“What’s going on?” Natasha sternly asked, her eyes shifting between Tony and Bruce who were at a loss for words. 

Then Ross stepped forward, leaving Tony and Bruce behind him while he blankly faced the other avengers. His hardened eyes scrutinized them before he decided to speak. 

“The investigation into the whereabouts of Y/N L/N is no longer your concern.”

________

Tagged Profiles

@honeyrydernot @spn-obession @tinyminxie @fluffybunnyu @saintmagx

[ao3feed-stevebucky]

What You've Tamed

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Wyda7rX

by mind_empty_heart_full

Steve Rogers thought he was destined for an early grave until Bucky came along and turned his life upside down. Now the veil has been lifted between his normal human existence and the magical underbelly of New York. Can Steve navigate this new world or will Bucky's quest for vengeance bring tragedy to both?

-----------------

Or: Bucky is a kitsune (fox spirit) who helps Steve discover his magical powers...and other things.

Words: 4219, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Captain America - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Wong (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff, Sarah Rogers (Marvel), Alexander Pierce

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Onmyouji Steve Rogers, Kitsune Bucky, Onmyoudou, Yin and Yang Magic, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Kind of a John Constantine vibe with humans/magic users/supernatural creatures, but I am playing it fast and loose with the mythology, Hydra, Bucky is out for revenge but Steve is very distracting, Bucky's tails are useful for many things, Enthusiastic Consent, Smut, Wall Sex, Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Who needs enemies when you got friends like Natasha and Clint

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Wyda7rX

[ao3feed-peggysous]

Most Likely (high school reunion Stucky fic)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/EKXDZ7U

by loveforpreserumsteve

"Shaking his head, Bucky grabbed the stack of mail. Bill. Bill. Another bill. Spam. Avon catalog for the woman who lived there in the early 2000s and has since passed away. More bills. More spam. A letter for Bianca. Extremely early birthday card for Enola. And then -

'Well, f*ck me.'

'What?' Vienna questioned, taking a seat at the table. Concerned, 'Did someone die?'

'No, worse,' Bucky exaggerated, moving over to the breakfast table. There, in his hand was an RSVP postcard. 'It's my twenty-fifth high school reunion.'"

-Modern Stucky AU -Smut and other mature content -past WinterWidow -past Steggy

***I don't own Marvel or the characters of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, nor any of the other Marvel characters

Words: 1279, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, M/M

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa, Rick Mason/Natasha Romanov (Marvel)

Additional Tags: High School Reunion, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Past Teen Pregnancy, Post-Divorce, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Bucky Barnes, Single Parent Steve Rogers, Single Parent Bucky Barnes

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/EKXDZ7U

[rosepetalsinwinter]

Look At Me — Bucky Barnes

Pairing: 40s!bucky x nurse!reader

Word count: 11,951

Summary: She never expected to fall so deeply for Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes, what with his skirt-chasing tendencies and cocky personality. Except how was she to know war would change everything she thought she wanted? Suddenly, she wanted him.

Warnings: angst, violence, WW2, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, death, torture, whump, HYDRA, post-serum Steve Rodgers, kissing, angst with happy ending. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Note: I got a little carried away... oops. Anyway, happy reading!

Ao3│Wattpad│Ko-fi

Main Masterlist

Enjoy!

"We'll set up camp here. The sun's getting low, and it's not safe to travel at night. We'll freeze to death if we try." James "Bucky" Barnes flung his pack to the ground and stretched his aching limbs over his head, sore from walking all day.

The infantry had left camp early that morning, just before dawn. They were to travel across the Eastern Italian border and meet the British battalion just south of Azzano. General McGinnis planned to march with a regiment of his own a week after news of the 107th's safe arrival reached camp.

"Should I start a fire, Sergeant?" Private Andrew Eaton asked, rubbing his hands together. The sun was setting, spreading a soft glow over the snow-ridden forest. "Warm us up?" His eyes flicked toward the girl, and she stiffened under his gaze.

She was a nurse, travelling with the soldiers because of her immaculate record. She had never lost a man before; one could be on the brink of death and would survive if she got her hands on them. Her expertise was unmatched and desperately needed on the Eastern Front, where the allies were losing men at an alarming rate.

Bucky shook his head. "We're too close to enemy lines. The smoke will draw attention, and we can't risk that."

Multiple eyes drifted to the nurse's shivering form, some filled with pity, others with concern. She had not once complained about the walk nor the temperature, but she was no soldier. Everyone knew her body was at risk of collapse; unaccustomed to the harsh terrain of the Dolomite Mountains, her back hunched with the weight of her pack, her eyes drooped with fatigue, cheeks crimson with cold and body trembling.

Mimicking Bucky, she, too, flung her bag on the frozen soil and dropped unceremoniously on it, finally giving in to her exhaustion.

"You sure about that, Sergeant Barnes?" Eaton questioned. The girl widened her eyes in alarm. It was one thing to hold the soldiers back with her slow pace and decreased stamina, another to put them all in danger. "Maybe we should risk it."

Typically, questioning a superior officer was inappropriate and inexcusable, but not one person reacted negatively to the Private's question. Murmurs of approval spread through the men.

Bucky turned toward the nurse, taking in her form. Like the rest of his soldiers, he also worried for the girl—more than he should have. She did not have any endurance training. She had not even left the relative safety of the camp until now, and it took everything in Bucky to stop himself from carrying her back to base camp, where she would be safe from the threat of gunfire and death.

He opened his mouth—to either agree with Eaton or disagree with him—no one could know. The girl chose that moment to let go of her hesitations. "I once spent an entire night out in the streets of France with just a pair of gloves and a tattered jacket," she rushed out. At the confused looks, she clarified, "in the middle of December." More looks. "In negative twenty-five-degree weather..." her voice was slowly tapering into shyness. "I am alive, am I not?"

"How much is that in Fahrenheit, Miss?" And the conversation moved forward.

The soldiers insisted on lighting at least a small fire for the girl's sake, igniting one under the cover of the dense coniferous trees. While the men began to set up camp for the night, Bucky stood there with a puckered brow and a frown marring his features, before shaking his head and helping them.

The nurse decided she would not be the one to risk them all. After another twenty minutes or so of bickering, she finally lost her temper. "You might as well know by now; I'm inherently stubborn, and nothing any of you say or do will change my mind."

After that, a perimeter was established, lookouts were posted, and tents were begrudgingly set up. Some soldiers retired to rest while others passed down alcohol, huddled against each other to conserve heat.

"It'll warm you up." Bucky sat down next to the shivering girl on a collapsed, decaying tree. He thrust a flask toward her mouth, urging her to drink from it. He took a sip when she made no move, clearing his throat and asking her again. "Will you drink some?"

His voice was sweet and kind, and she despised it. She pursed her lips in response and leaned away. "No, thank you," she replied while her teeth chattered.

Bucky frowned in annoyance. Her stubbornness, which he usually found amusing, was turning out to be somewhat of a hindrance.

"Sorry, doll, but it wasn't a question." He thrust the flask toward her once more, belligerent in his attempt.

She leaned farther away, and Bucky followed her, trapping her against the tree. "No, thank you. You know I don't drink alcohol—."

"Yes!" he suddenly grew frustrated and ran a trembling hand through his brown locks. Somehow the girl always managed to get on his nerve. "I know you don't drink, alright? And I know you hate cursing, that you're stubborn as hell, and that you talk funny because 'proper use of language is important.' I also know that you'll die of hypothermia if you don't warm yourself up, and I rather not have to explain to Colonel Phillips that we lost our only good nurse to stubbornness."

The girl inhaled sharply, her emotions in overdrive. She didn't realize how much he noticed her little quirks.

"I'd rather not have to explain to Colonel Phillips that we lost our only good nurse to stubbornness."

"Now, your whining might've worked in Brooklyn," Bucky continued. "Especially with Steve backing you up; but it won't work here. If you haven't noticed, we're not in New York anymore."

"I have eyes," the girl snapped, convinced she was nothing but a burden to him and the soldiers. She wondered again why Colonel Philips sent her, of all people, with the 107th. She didn't think she was that good. "You won't have to explain a thing. Don't worry. I won't die so easily."

Her words were laced with contempt and a hint of something else. Remorse, Bucky realized with a start, though before he could ponder on it any longer, she began to rise, seemingly done with their conversation.

"Damn it, woman!" Bucky's loud voice caught the entire camp's attention. He grabbed her forearm and yanked her back down. She winced when her bottom landed on the trunk a bit too hard. "I'll force this down your throat if I have to."

The girl blanched, shocked by Bucky's authoritative tone. "N-no, you will not!" She made an effort to appear commanding, but her stutter betrayed her. She was scared he would make good on his promise.

"You do not want to test me," he seethed. There was a look in Bucky's eyes she had not seen before. A crazed, almost feral glint in his pupils.

Her heartbeat quickened, and her insides warmed. She chalked it up to adrenaline. "I'm not that cold anymore."

Bucky said nothing, just continued to stare at her with the feral look still in his eyes.

Seconds passed—seconds that felt like minutes—before he spoke. "We're sleeping in one tent tonight." She didn't know why he was telling her that. "Together. To preserve body heat." She was still confused. "You either drink this, girl," he thrust the flask toward her lips once more. "or I'll make you sleep between my men. God knows they haven't touched a woman in months. So they won't have any complaints."

She argued with him, calling him petty names, and stuttering through excuses. "Y-you—you're."

"What?" he taunted. "Say it. Am I an asshole? A fucking idiot? Go on, don't be shy."

"You're an incompetent Sergeant. The most incompetent I've ever met!"

"I'm the only Sergeant you've ever met," Bucky deadpanned. "Seriously? That the best you can do?"

It was. "You're not that cruel! You're bluffing, like you bluffed about throwing me in the East River last year when I went out with that doctor."

"That doctor was a fucking creep with a criminal record," Bucky seethed. The girl's refusal went unheard. "And I wasn't bluffing. If Steve didn't stop me, you would have been swimming with the fish."

She muttered her annoyance under her breath, but Bucky caught it.

"God as my witness, I'll take you over my shoulder and lie on top of you if I have to!" One look into his eyes, and she could tell he was not lying.

When again he thrust the flask toward her mouth, she begrudgingly took it from him, bringing the cool metal to her lips. When the alcohol's bitter smell reached her, she almost gagged at the potent stench.

"I can't!" the girl choked on a sob, shoving the flask back into Bucky's hands.

A smirk adorned his pink lips, so unlike the anger she had been expecting. "Don't say I didn't warn ya." And before she could react, her world had been turned upside down.

Her legs went up, and her head went down. For a few moments, she froze, unable to understand what had happened. When a hand landed on her bottom, she gasped, realizing that Bucky had indeed made good on his promise—taken her over his shoulder.

When she screamed out of frustration, he shushed her. "Don't make me gag you."

The girl felt red, hot embarrassment at being treated like a child in front of all the soldiers. She scratched fruitlessly at Bucky's back, only to end up clutching his fatigues with numb fingers as he carried her across the clearing. At least the men had half a mind to keep their gaze averted when she was thrown unceremoniously inside one of the tents.

"You act like a caveman," she hissed, looking up at his scrunched brow.

Bucky's eyes softened, and all previous frustration and anger left him. Her insult amused him, and he plopped down next to her with a silent huff. "And you act like a brat."

The girl's answering words died on her tongue at Andrew Eaton's voice. "Lose the frown, Miss. There's not a single man here who wouldn't take a bullet for you, Barnes included."

A couple more soldiers entered the small tent, taking up the rest of the space. The girl ignored them, inhaling deeply. "I was perfectly fine outside, Andrew. Not cold at all."

A quick laugh from Bucky. "Is that why your lips are blue, and you're shaking like a leaf? 'Cause, you're not cold at all?"

"—He's just tryna keep you alive," Andrew interrupted before another argument could ensue.

A laugh bubbled up in the girl's throat before she could stop it. For some reason, the suggestion that Bucky Barnes was keeping her alive made her hysterical. Bucky Barnes, the man who couldn't keep a plant alive. She laughed until her stomach hurt, then she took a deep breath, clutched her middle while she fell backwards, and continued laughing.

"Fucking hell? She's crazy," the girl heard Bucky curse under his breath, but she was so far gone in delirium she could not be bothered to scold him for it.

"At least she's not frownin' anymore," Andrew offered.

The girl laughed harder, curling in on herself. Bucky stared at her with confused amusement, barely concealed, and chuckled softly. She was the most bizarre person he had ever met. So odd. Lately, he caught himself smiling more in her presence than ever before, finding it harder to resist her contagious delights. She was a constant amusement for the rest of the soldiers as well. Entertaining, though stressful.

She was still very clumsy, tripping on rocks and slipping down declines. A soldier needed to be watching her all the time, and that soldier, unbeknownst to her, was generally Bucky. He had grown eyes in the back of his head, trying to ensure she did not hurt herself. The girl had touched the hearts of all the men, his most of all, though he tried to conceal the fact by being curt and severe with her. Despite that, he did find pleasure in being able to tame her.

Ludovic Fournier, the Frenchman, muttered a phrase in his native tongue, and Andrew translated for him. "Women go a bit crazy before starting their courses. It's best to indulge them and not question it."

The entire tent went crazy, laughing and hollering almost as hard as the girl had been. Though she was not laughing anymore, and she was not amused. Her laughter died as quickly as it started—jarringly abrupt.

"I'm right here, you know!" She turned to the Frenchman. "Dis-moi, monsieur," the girl turned to him with a sarcastic and slightly intimidating curl of her lips. "Comment avez-vous appris tant de choses sur les femmes?"

The Frenchman swallowed thickly, and from behind him, Andrew translated his words to the small group. "She's asking how he got so damn smart."

"Ma femme."

"Ah! Idiote moi. Mais bien sûr. Ta femme doit être folle si elle tá épousé. Rien à voir avec se scours. Accune femme saine désprit ne portrait passer plus d'une journee avec toi sans avoir besoin d'être admis dans en établissement mental par la suite."

"She says, don't blame that time of the month, or your poor wife, when it's you're the reason she's like that." He guffawed out loud, drawing the girl's attention, before continuing. "Anyone would go crazy after spending more than a minute with you. Jesus Christ! Man, oh, man!"

The girl went warm all over. That was precisely why she tended to keep quiet. Her temper would rise if she did not keep her emotions in check. She had only ever lost it with Bucky before, never in front of a crowd. "Excuse me, gentlemen," she mustered what remaining dignity she had left, "but it's time for me to rest. I will see you all in the morning, bright and early. Good night."

Amidst all the hysterical laughing and the rampant rambling, the girl had forgotten Bucky's promise. He yanked her down before she could leave. He had indulged her long enough.

"I'm not letting you kill yourself—don't," he started, when he noticed her lips curl, "start laughing again. It was traumatizing enough the first time."

What he meant: "Please don't laugh again, because if you do, I wouldn't want you to stop. Ever." Except he did not know he felt such a thing. So, he annoyed her instead, undermining his affection for her.

The girl huffed loudly, voicing her frustration. The rest of the men settled inside the tent, pressed against each other for heat, hoping for at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. "I'm not cold anymore. I told you before."

"You're the worst liar I have ever met. Seriously! Worse than Steve." That was true. Steve was a horrible liar. "I can see you shivering. Hell! I can hear you!"

Bucky decided to give her a choice. A poor one, yes, but a choice, nonetheless. "Where do you wanna sleep? In between Fournier and Ward or next to Eaton?" He leaned in close, putting a hand next to his mouth as if indulging her with a secret. "I gotta warn you, though. He snores like a pig."

The girl simmered. She did not want to spend the night in the middle of men, and Bucky knew that. He was intimately aware of her reservation toward the opposite sex."Over here is fine." She was referring to the front of the tent where she was already seated.

"Perfect! This way, I'll be able to keep an eye on you."

"Excuse me?"

"You did choose the coldest spot, but I won't complain. Promise." He shrugged out of his jacket.

"What are you doing?"

"—as long as you wear this."

By now, it was a sort of ritual for Bucky to demand something of the girl and for her to deny him. No matter how helpful or minuscule the command, she could hardly help it anymore, even though it always ended with her compliance—sometimes forced.

"No, thank you." She was nothing if not stubborn.

Bucky scoffed. Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her down until she was in his lap. The girl stifled her scream and gasped instead.

The rest of the men were almost all asleep, exhausted from the long day. So was the girl, though she would not admit it. She was tired and cold—more than usual—and scared; of what was to come and of what was currently taking place. Her ancient promise of staying away from James Buchanan Barnes was becoming harder to uphold.

Bucky knew this—not of her promise, of course, but of her crumbling resolve—So he pushed. He flustered and confused her. "Only because it's amusing," he told himself—her reaction to his teasing. "Only because it's amusing,"

"You should stick with red. Purple is not a good colour on you, and that's what you'll become if you don't listen to me." He placed his jacket over her shoulders, and she was instantly warmed.

"What about you?" Her voice was meek and hesitant, words honeyed in their delivery. "Will you not get cold?" But he only smirked and raised his brows in answer. "Oh. Right." She had forgotten his natural affinity for all things warm, so unlike her own, for all things cold.

"I've got both you and Eaton keeping me warm. I wouldn't worry about it." Bucky smirked when the girl said nothing and only blinked in surprise.

She lowered herself, letting her head touch the soft ground. Tarps had been placed neatly all over, offering protection from the snow surrounding them. She turned away from Bucky, putting a foot of space between him and herself, holding her breath when she felt him lie next to her. However, the second she relaxed, his arm wrapped around her midsection and pulled her flush against his front, not an inch separating them.

"Bucky!" she warned in a hushed whisper, struggling against his hold. "This is inappropriate!"

"No!" he huffed in her ear, hot breath warming her neck. "This is survival!" She continued her futile attempts, trying harder to elude his grasp. "Besides, I gave you my only jacket, and I need to—Damn it, woman! Stop moving," he groaned in her ear.

"Why?" she asked, squirming harder.

"Because—Damn it!" he groaned again. "Just stop, will ya?" A deep breath. "Please."

The girl went still. Bucky Barnes never said please, never begged. She had not thought it possible. So, to hear him beg her... she decided she could never let Bucky Barnes use that word ever again. It was dangerous when uttered by his lips. An irresistible, compelling word that she could never deny, gladly giving in to any request.

"Please."

"Sorry," she muttered quietly, quickly settling down, unsure if he was listening. He was. "I'm sorry."

The girl let the tiredness of the day wash over her. She let Bucky's arms hold her, keep her safe and warm, and protect her. Her eyes closed, and she entered the state before sleep where the body was still aware and preparing for rest.

"You drive me crazy," Bucky's whispered in her ear, so quiet she convinced herself she imagined it.

"You drive me crazy too," was her last thought before she let deep slumber overtake her. Except the girl knew Bucky did not mean it with the same intention as hers. "So crazy."

At a steep decline, her foot swept away from under her on an icy patch of grass. From behind her, Bucky dropped his copy of "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," extending his arm to grab her. He was not fast enough, and she fell on her back, sliding down until she hit a mountain of fresh snow.

"Jesus Christ, Darling!" Bucky reached under her arms to haul her up as if she weighed nothing. "You gotta watch where you're stepping."

"It's too dark," she sputtered, wiping snow off her face. "I couldn't see anything." From the east, the full moon was their only source of light, doing a poor job of illuminating the path through the dense forest around them.

"Fucking hell," Bucky swore, appraising the girl from head to toe. "You're soaked."

"I'm fine," she rasped, already beginning to shiver as the cold permeated her layers to settle in her skin. "I can keep going."

"Like hell you can," Bucky muttered, looking ahead to see everyone else's progress.

"There's no need to swear," the girl grumbled, pulling her hat farther down.

Bucky raised a brow at that. "At least the cold didn't get to your head."

She rolled her eyes, turning to leave, but Bucky grabbed her before she could take a single step, hauling her up in his arms. She shrieked, wrapping her hands around his neck for stability. "What are you doing?"

"You're going to trip again," he said by way of explanation. "It's just a little bit further. Then we'll set up camp."

Bucky ignored the girl's protests, quickly catching up with the rest of the battalion. They walked another mile in about half an hour, and Bucky ignored all of the girl's grumbling, only acknowledging her once they reached a small clearing and began setting up camp.

"Shut up," he grumbled, to which he received a smack on the back of his head.

"You shut up."

He lowered the girl next to the small smokeless fire Simon Ward lit, draping his jacket over her, "Dry up as much as you can. I'll be back."

Scooting closer to the small blaze, the girl pulled Bucky's jacket tighter around her shoulders, studying the flame with intensity as she recalled waking up the past few days.

The girl had gone to sleep slightly rigid and stiff, unused to resting next to another body, but she woke up in a tangle of limbs. Bucky's hands in her hair, her face tucked in the crook of his neck. Sometime in the middle of the night, she had turned over and gravitated closer to the heat his body was radiating. It was the best sleep either of them had ever had. Neither was willing to acknowledge it.

The night after was a repeat of the night before. Bucky threatened alcohol down the girl's throat, and she responded with a litany of insults which he laughed away. They wrestled while everyone watched—Bucky won, and the girl awoke the next day surrounded by a familiar warmth and a musky scent one could only describe as Bucky Barnes.

A week later, the moon was low in the sky, marking the beginning of winter. Neither the girl nor Bucky brought up their temporary sleeping arrangements, choosing to ignore the feelings festering inside them. The girl felt her resolve slowly crumbling. What was that promise she made to herself regarding Bucky Barnes? She couldn't quite recall.

The girl busied herself with unpleasant memories of his. She remembered when she first moved into the apartment across from Bucky. She was carrying a box full of books up the fifth floor of a six-story building. She had to take a break every few minutes to rest her arms, or they would've fallen off. Just outside her door, she collided with a brick wall. Her books went flying—so did she—and Bucky Barnes ran past her without so much as an "excuse me," muttering profanity under his breath. From then on, she started hating him.

That's how she met Steve. The slender young man popped a blonde head out of his friend's door and asked if he could help. She said, "no thanks," but he didn't listen, insisting on bringing the rest of her things up. That night, over a cup of hot tea, she learned about James Buchanan Barnes and his skirt-chasing tendencies. She began to hate him a bit more.

She recalled all his jabs of how she dressed, the way she looked, mocking her insecurities by sarcastically complimenting her. The ruined date with that doctor—never mind the potential criminal record. His threat to drown her.

He broke her friend's heart, told her he would call the next day and didn't. She was married now with a baby on the way, but it was the principle of the thing that irked her.

One by one, all of Bucky's wrongdoings came to the forefront of the girl's mind. When he argued with her, undermined her, and treated her like porcelain. When he called her "doll," "darling," and "sweetheart."

She hated that most of all.

Still, she could not ignore the tiny flutter in her heart whenever she thought of the blue-eyed sergeant. Despite all the bad, she now only remembered his warm smile and comforting embrace.

The girl brought her hand dangerously close to the fire, letting the flame irritate her skin before pulling away. She still felt cold.

Bucky returned a few moments later, rubbing his bare hands together in front of his face. "You tired?"

The girl ignored his question, asking one of her own. "Where are your gloves?"

Bucky's frosty breath momentarily covered his face. "Bradshaw lost his."

"Jeremy?"

Bucky nodded with a smile, unsurprised the girl knew most of the soldiers' names. "Wait, what are you doing?"

She fished her gloves from her coat, thrusting them toward him. "They're dry now. Here, take them."

"Don't be stupid," Bucky scoffed, "you'll get cold." Still, she persevered, leaving her hand dangling. "I'm not taking your gloves," Bucky said with finality.

"Alright," she nodded, dropping her hand and taking off his jacket instead.

Bucky seized her by the shoulders, stopping her and giving her a little shake. "What the fucking hell, woman! Keep your jacket on. It's freezing."

"Don't swear. It's yours, not mine. Take it." She tried prying his fingers off, but he wouldn't budge. "The gloves or the jacket, Bucky. Your choice."

"So goddamn stubborn. Every day you find something new to argue with me about, don't you?"

"Pick one," she warned, "or I'm giving both to Jeremy."

With a mumbled curse, Bucky snatched the gloves from her lap, putting them on like a petulant child.

"And say thank you," she snapped, slightly perturbed he hadn't taken back his jacket.

Bucky squinted his eyes, dropping down next to her. "You're acting like a real brat today."

"You're acting like a caveman! Now leave me alone so I can sleep in peace." She had turned away from Bucky, but when he offered no reply, she swallowed uneasily and looked back. His eyes glinted with mischief, hinting at his next step. "Bucky, no!"

She tried to stop him but was no match for his strength. Her world spun, and she found herself on his shoulder once again. Thankfully she stayed quiet this time, not bringing any extra attention toward them.

"I'll show you caveman." Bucky plopped her down in one of the smaller tents with space just enough for two, closing the flap behind him.

She steamed in forced fury, trying to take comfort in the fact that, pretty soon, she wouldn't have to put up with the infuriating soldier at all. She failed.

After a moment, when Bucky still hadn't moved from his hunched-over position at the front of the tent, the girl snapped at him. "What are you waiting for, Bucky? Come to bed!"

They both paused, processing the girl's words. "Come to bed." It was the first time she willingly called for him. She looked down, embarrassment creeping up her neck, unable to see the smile on Bucky's face.

Carefully, Bucky settled in behind her, embracing her with both arms, fitting her against him. When she began to squirm, he only had to issue a single warning before she relaxed. He sighed gratefully, not wanting a repeat of the past week where she slept oblivious while he tried to tamp down his arousal.

"This is nice," Bucky thought the girl muttered, though he couldn't be sure because she was already asleep.

"Yeah, this is really nice," Bucky whispered against her temple as blissful sleep overtook him.

From a distance, the Italian alps were quite breathtaking. She imagined a cabin in the forest, high on the Dolomite mountains; this would be her view. Maybe she would move here one day—once the war was over—and ask Steve to join her. Steve didn't have anyone stopping him from leaving other than Bucky. Maybe Bucky could join too? She shook that thought away.

The Dolomites were far behind them now, and as they passed town after town, destroyed and abandoned, an unsettling feeling grew vigorous in her gut. They were close to the Austrian border, hugging the small villages and settlements as they got closer to their destination: Azzano.

They made camp as the sun set, supplying the perfect backdrop to a most tiresome journey. The girl slung her pack to the ground and stretched her muscles while waiting for Bucky to finish ordering the men around.

He offered her water when he finished, which she took gratefully. "Lieutenant General Allan Montgomery should be here within the week. We'll travel the rest of the way to Azzano together." Then Bucky's eyes downturned. "We're only a few miles away from the front line. Do you remember your training?" he asked, looking for hesitation.

Of course, by training, he was referring to the hour-long lesson she was given on battlefield defence, not that any of it stuck. She tried schooling her features, failing miserably. "Yes, I do." Her voice was strong and confident, though she felt anything but. "If we spot the enemy, I'm supposed to set up a station at a safe spot and wait for the injured there. They will be sent back if they are fit to fight. If not..." she trailed off, unable to stomach the fact. "But I won't let that happen," she promised.

Bucky looked at her pityingly, as if he knew something she did not. "Let's hope so. The rest of the 107th should be here in a couple of days with General McGinnis. They were right behind us, so—"

Bucky paused, looking behind the girl at the soldiers setting up camp, before shaking his head and continuing. "Are you tired? The sun's beginning to set."

The girl wrapped her arms around her shoulders and shook her head.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked, immediately picking up on the girl's discomfort.

"Bucky..." she began hesitantly. "How long will you make me sleep with you?"

Bucky frowned. "Do you feel uncomfortable? I know I came across as an asshole, but I didn't want you to freeze to death. Sorry, we can stop."

Unable to respond immediately, the girl looked at him with barely concealed bewilderment. Apologizing; is another thing Bucky Barnes did not do. "No, I don't want to stop. It's just..." she trailed off, looking for the right word. "inappropriate, especially with the General joining us soon."

"No, it's not," he said matter of factly. "We're friends."

"Friends don't sleep together," the girl responded, unsure of what she wanted to hear him say.

Bucky waited until she looked him in the eyes. "We're the exception. Hey, they've got bigger matters to worry about than us sharing body heat. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Well, good."

An awkward silence fell between the pair, and the girl cleared her throat before the feeling could consume her. "The men look ready to fight," she observed, watching her surroundings.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, uh... I mentioned we're near the front lines, right? So we need to set up a perimeter and plan the best line of attack. Make sure we have a solid line of defence in case something happens. Hey, don't worry. We've got this." Bucky gave her shoulder a tiny shove.

"Oh," she huffed, "I am not worried."

"Yeah?" a smile lit his eyes. "Your face is telling me a different story."

She pursed her lips in frustration. "I'm not worried about you, Bucky," she snapped, "I'm worried about Steve. He needs his friend to come back home—in one piece—and now, I know you normally have no regard for your safety, but you have to be careful if you don't want to leave our friend alone in Brooklyn."

Bucky saw red. He pulled at his hair in frustration. It was unbelievable how quickly she was able to rile him up. "Are you kidding me? I'm the one with no regard for safety? In the time I've known you, you've almost died over five times. You can't even cross the street without putting yourself in danger! Hell! I'm still confused about how they let you in this damn war in the first place." He rushed his words, voicing his anger and annoyance. He only registered the last part of the girl's sentence when he took a deep breath.

"Why would Steve be all alone in Brooklyn?" he asked in a more even tone. "You're going to be there, and a few months later, I'll join... he won't be alone. Why would you say that?"

He froze at the look on her face. Guilt—In her eyes, in the way she held herself, oozing from her pores. Bucky could smell it. Bucky could even taste it. "What did you do?"

"I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you both sooner, but I only just decided and—"

"What. Did. You. Do?" Bucky grit out.

The girl took a deep breath. "I'm leaving. Moving to Canada. I already asked for a transfer—"

"Canada? Fucking Canada?"

"—Don't swear, please," she pleaded.

"This is some sick joke, right? Tell me you're joking." Bucky grabbed her forearms, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bucky, but I already applied for the transfer. I'm supposed to be moved to a different regiment when we get back to base."

There were many things the girl expected Bucky to say. She expected him to be happy that he was finally rid of her. Relieved she would be gone. She did not expect him to be hurt.

"Were you ever gonna say goodbye?"

"Bucky, I—"

"To Steve, to me. Were you ever going to tell me if I hadn't asked?"

No, she would not have. "Please, Bucky," she pleaded. "I don't want to leave you angry. For the sake of our past, let it go. We won't see each other again for a long time. Not until the war is over."

Bucky scoffed. "Phillips would never let that happen; he wouldn't let you leave. You're his favourite nurse."

She furrowed her brows in response. "I'm not Colonel Phillips' favourite nurse. He has no favourites."

"You're everyone's favourite nurse," he replied as if stating a fact.

"Liar!" she wanted to scream at him. She knew she was not his favourite.

"Not yours," she whispered, staring at him for a moment. "Lila Bellamy told me about the date you took her on. She said you turned a war zone into the most romantic place she'd ever seen. You brought her flowers, danced with her, and kissed her on the cheek once the night was over." She felt wetness gathering in her eyes. "You were the perfect gentleman."

When the first tear dropped, she didn't bother wiping it away. "When you return to base camp, please give Lila my regard. She was quite worried for me. Will you let her know I'm safe? She would be glad to hear from you, and I won't get to talk to her before I leave."

Bucky's grip on her shoulder tightened almost painfully, making her flinch. Through the hurt coursing in her body, she managed a feeble smile. "Try not to break her heart? You two look good together."

"No!" Bucky had had enough; he could hold his words in no longer. "There's nothing between Lila and me."

The girl shook her head. "You don't have to lie."

"Stop it!" Bucky exploded, shaking her. "Stop pushing me away. I don't want Lila; I never wanted her. I've only ever wanted you!"

"Bucky," the girl gasped.

"There's no way I'm letting you leave me, doll," he started, and there was that word she hated. "I'll take you over my shoulder if I have to, but you're not going to fucking Canada; because I love—"

Bucky never got to finish his sentence, never got to tell the girl how he felt because one of his worst nightmares was suddenly realized.

A bullet whizzed past them both—so close that the girl could smell the gunpowder in the wind, could feel its displacement through air against her cheek before it found a home in the soldier behind her. She screamed as she fell, Bucky's heavy weight shielding her body, keeping her down. Her world turned upside down, and she found herself on the cold ground with Bucky's grip on her arms tightened painfully.

To her right, the unfortunate soldier lay dead, with an 8-millimeter-sized hole in his head oozing a steady stream of thick blood. A wound meant for her.

The girl touched a hand to her cheek, which had suddenly warmed. It came back painted as red as the poppy fields back in Provence, France.

She began to tremble as shock overtook her.

Bucky swore under his breath, eyes wide as he took in their surroundings. Beneath him, the girl's eyes darkened in fear. She smeared the splatter of blood on her cheeks and stared at her fingers in horror.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." She kept muttering under her breath, eyes wide and lips quivering. "N-No. No. No. No."

All around Bucky, the soldiers ran, grabbing artillery and readying defences. "What the hell happened!?" he screamed. "We had a perimeter set up!" Underneath him, she shivered—out of shock or fear, he determined, rather than the cold.

"Those Nazi bastards were waiting to ambush us!" a voice shouted from amidst the chaos. "They knew we were coming!"

Another bullet whizzed past Bucky's head, embedding itself in the ground next to the girl's head. He jerked her away and swore. "Fuck!" She still trembled under him, muttering nonsense. He took her face in his hands, urging her to look at him. " Hey, darlin'? Doll, look at me."

Her eyes were glued to her shaky hands. "Oh God, no. No, I can't. I can't. I can't."

For a few seconds, Bucky froze above her—a few seconds too many—before his training kicked in. He needed to get her out of there. Bucky yanked her hands to the side and held her face in a bruising grip, forcing her to look at him.

"We're in a war zone right now." He said her name with fierce assurance. "The enemy isn't going to stop until we're all dead. I need you to remember the promise you made me this morning. You promised you wouldn't let anyone die—Hey!"

The girl tried peeking at the dead soldier beside her, but Bucky blocked her view.

"Don't look at him. Why are you looking at him? Look at me," he said. The girl whimpered, her eyes misting. "Look at me. That's not your fault."

She shook her head.

"—Hey! It's not. Those German bastards killed him, not you."

"That bullet was meant for me," she sobbed between breaths, "it should have hit me." The desperation in her voice cut him like a knife. He felt her fear as if it were his own.

"Don't you dare! Don't you fucking dare!" Under normal circumstances, Bucky would be concerned at the girl's lack of reaction to his cursing, but he had already spent too much time coddling her, and the men needed him. "I'm gonna go and avenge that soldier's death, darlin'," Buck shouted over the sound of battle. "I'm going to burn those Germans to the ground. I'm going to do my job, and you have to do yours."

She looked at him then, and Bucky exhaled gratefully at the clarity he saw in her eyes, hidden behind adrenaline and fear. She gave him a little nod and stifled her sobs. "I feel a little sick."

"Me too," said Bucky, hauling them both to their feet.

The second they were upright, Bucky yanked her behind a tree for cover against the onslaught of bullets raining down on them. "You have to run." He grabbed his rifle from behind his back and checked the ammunition.

"Bucky—"

"When I tell you to, I want you to run toward those trees over there," he pointed to a slight decline, where the trees were thicker and provided more cover, "and I want you to keep on running."

"Wait! No!"

"No matter what happens!" He would not look her in the eyes—Could not look her in the eyes. "You run until you reach the last marker—" Bucky took off his helmet and placed it on the girl's head, fastening it over her hat. "—about a mile and a half out—"

"Bucky, listen to me!"

But he would not listen to her. The girl kept calling him, but he ignored her. He knew his eyes would betray his fear if he did. And he knew that the terrified look that had most likely taken up residence on her face, would force him to lose the last of his sanity and carry her back to base. This war zone was the last place he wanted her.

"You stay there until someone comes for you, and you don't—"

"James!"

And there it was, that damned name. So absolutely dangerous when uttered by her lips. Time slowed for both of them as if the war had pressed pause. Sound faded, colours brightened, and for a few minuscule seconds Bucky and her existed in their own little world, where the blood on her hands was paint, and the look in his eyes was love and not fear.

Bucky looked down, expecting to see the girl hysterical and weeping. Instead, he saw something completely different. Her eyes were clear, the most they had been in weeks, terribly similar to the look she would get in camp when the life of a soldier was in her hands.

And when she spoke, there was determination in her voice. A promise. "You better come back in one piece for Steve." And he knew she meant, "be careful."

He blinked at her, once, then twice, ensuring there were no other hidden messages behind her words. "You better run fast." And she knew he meant, "I will."

The world around them came back into focus, and with a final tightening of her helmet, Bucky pushed her away, sending her running toward safety.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

How much time had passed? She couldn't be sure. Her boot-clad feet were numb from being buried in the snow, and her back was sore from chafing against the rough bark of a pine tree.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

How much time had passed? The sun had long since disappeared under the horizon. In its stead was the moon, still as big and beautiful as the night before. Was it privy to all the horrors the girl wasn't? Did it frown over the violence and brutality it witnessed, or did the inhumanity of the act make it shine brighter?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

How much time had passed? Above her, a bird chirped loudly, disturbed by the gunfire that seemed to grow closer as the moon rose higher in the sky. An hour? Two? It certainly felt like more.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The girl placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, patting her chest as a means to settle it. "It's okay," she whispered, afraid to voice her thoughts any louder. "It's okay."

She twisted her body around the thick trunk, peeking at the darkness beyond her hiding spot. Another jarring explosion, fake sounding and unreal, before the world quieted. Eerily so.

The bird above her stopped its music. The leaves stopped their little dance. The girl twisted fully, staring intently at the spot she had come running from before finding a temporary home against her tree. All felt normal—well, as normal as could be.

What was it that prompted her forward and on her feet? Bucky's instructions rang clear in her head. "You stay there until someone comes for you." No one was there for her, yet her feet began to move of their own volition. Perhaps at the persuasion of a greater force. Fear; she could taste it on her tongue.

Fear that made her keep going despite the ache in her limbs. Fear that numbed her skin against the sharp tendrils of wind cutting her face. Fear of the quiet. Of being alone. Of being without him.

"Bucky," her whisper echoed against the draught. "James," her heart bled through the frozen ground.

The stench hit her first. Her nose picked up on what her eyes could not. Rotting flesh, putrid and burnt. Sweat and vomit mixed in with the minerally dirt. Her tongue flared up next as copper permeated the rest of her senses, overwhelmingly strong. And the fear; she caught herself against a tree as it engulfed her, making her lose the contents of her stomach.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The girl was at the edge of the clearing, with the gruesome scene of battle right in front of her. Her eyes moved fleetingly across everything, afraid of what she might find. What was once the site of a lively campsite was now demolished in a mess of guts and spoils.

The earth had turned over to create trenches and hiding spots. Dead bodies and dismembered limbs were scattered across the ground, decorating it with a gruesome excuse for peace.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The calm before the storm.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She spotted movement from the corner of her eye, followed by a low groan of pain.

James. Her heart lurched.

A head of blonde curls bobbed from behind a mountain of dirt. The girl reached behind her for her pack, realizing it lay abandoned on the battlefield. She spotted it twenty-something meters away to her right.

Her eyes squeezed shut. The girl wasn't sure if it was safe to venture out, but it was so quiet, and still, she reasoned the worst of it had passed. She made up her mind; first, the pack, then the wounded soldier.

With her arms pumping rhythmically, she ran. Five, ten, fifteen meters out. The girl skid to a stop, bending to grab the pack. Instead, cold metal kissed her temple, and she stopped breathing.

Her terror-stricken eyes met dilated blue ones. Her pack perched on the edge of what resembled a small trench, hidden from the rest of the clearing. Several soldiers sat hunched over, brandishing various weapons. Bucky Barnes lowered his rifle as gut-wrenching fear overtook his face. He shook his head vigorously, reaching up to grab her, but she stumbled back on her arms, clutching the pack to her chest.

The girl swallowed the sob threatening to spill over. Bucky was alive and safe, though a bit roughed up. She looked to her left at the blonde soldier immobilized by his injury, and Bucky followed her gaze. She noticed the moment it clicked for him, and she made her decision on the spot. She only hoped her eyes accurately portrayed her feelings.

Bucky's mouth opened in a silent scream of her name, and he leapt from his spot, tossing his weapon to the side. Andrew Eaton grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and yanked him back to safety. The girl took that opportunity to scramble to her feet. Behind her, Bucky's muffled shout echoed in her ears.

"He's okay," she reassured herself. "Bucky's okay."

The wounded soldier was lying on his front, eyes closed and motionless. She fell to her knees, placing two fingers against his windpipe. There, faint and irregular, an indistinct pulse was striving to intensify.

The soldier was alive. Good, she thought, I can work with that. His dog tags peeked from under his coat: Matthew Miles Davidson. Frantic hands ran over his body, feeling for a wound. Her hand came away wet, and she discovered his pants soaked with blood. Bracing herself on her knees, the girl rolled Matthew over with a groan.

"Sorry," she whispered when he moaned in anguish. "I'm sorry." Producing a pocket knife, she cut the fabric away from his right thigh, displaying his injury. Puckered skin oozed a steady flow of red, painting her hands. She laced her fingers together and pressed against the opening, using her entire weight to stop the blood.

The girl's thoughts were in overdrive, swiftly taking in and storing information. No exit wound, meaning the bullet was still inside. Matthew was faintly moving, his chest rising and falling with every breath. The girl decided she would remove the bullet, bandaging the wound before dragging him past the trees for cover.

However, over the adrenaline rushing through her ears, she did not realize another fight had broken out. Someone shouted from a distance, and the girl pulled away, unbuckling Matthew's belt and folding it in half. She needed to clean his wound, and since the morphine was in a different pack, with the rest of the medicine, Matthew was going to feel everything.

He was slightly more lucid now, staring at her, so she grabbed his face and urged him to listen. "Bite down on this, Matthew." And he obediently followed her direction.

"Good, you're doing very good." She ran a hand over his hair, cooing with a sad smile. "Don't make any noise, okay?"

The girl retrieved a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a large roll of bandages. She had tweezers in her pack for removing the shell, needle and thread for the other gashes. Those she kept in the kit and moved out of the way. Uncapping the rubbing alcohol, she liberally poured some over her hands to sanitize them before positioning the bottle over the laceration.

"This is going to hurt," she warned Matthew before tipping the bottle over.

The second the ethanol breached his wound, Matthew let out an ear-splitting scream, despite the sound being muffled by his belt. He writhed on the ground, body spasming in pain.

His groans of agony cloaked the racket of the fight around her, making it so she couldn't hear the tank powering up.

"You're okay, Matthew!" she cried.

From her right, someone screamed, and a solid form collided with her, tackling her to the ground. The night sky turned a light blue, flashing white for a brief moment, and the girl raised her head. In her spot, where she sat just a second ago, tending to Matthew's wounds, was air. No supplies, no pack, and no Matthew. The only evidence that something, or someone, had been there was the roll of bandages in her hand and the blackened earth outlining the shape of a body.

Looking to her saviour, she didn't know if she should be grateful or ungrateful that her life was spared.

"You're okay!" Bucky cried, roaming his hands over her body, feeling if she was alive and well. "Fuck! I told you to fucking stay there!" He craned his neck to witness his men steadily losing ground, unmatched by the enemy and their technology.

When Bucky turned toward the girl, the fear in his eyes left her paralyzed. Panic-stricken hands ripped at her clothes, and at first, she was too shocked to react, but as the feeling returned to her limbs, she protested against him.

Bucky smeared a handful of dirt over her face, covering her eyes and lips. She clawed at his chest, trying to stop him, but he forced her back. They were still on the ground, him on top of her, leaving her immobilized.

Then he grabbed the bandages and lifted her undershirt to wrap her chest. "Stop," she whimpered. "Bucky, stop."

He didn't listen.

"James," she pleaded.

And there was that damned name again. Bucky stopped, looking into her eyes to see his terrified form reflected back. "We're losing," he rasped.

No further explanation was needed when Bucky looked at her like that. The girl heard all he wanted to say, saw all he wanted to do, and felt all he begged to show. She relaxed her body, giving him all her trust, and let him do what he did best.

That night the moon witnessed the girl surrendering to Bucky Barnes. That night, he saved her.

The air reeked of secretion. The girl didn't know why she found that detail so surprising. What else was a prison supposed to smell like if not human feces, fear and hopelessness?

She didn't remember the ride over. Shortly after surrendering, they were herded, like cattle, into armoured trucks. Masked men pulled her away from Bucky and tied her hands behind her back, shoving her into a separate truck.

The drive wasn't long, and in a few hours, they were stopping. When a guard pushed her and nine others into a dark cell, she fell to her knees and cried. Fortunately, Andrew Eaton was in the same cell as her, and he pulled the girl to him, muffling her sobs against his chest. Her high-pitched wailing was sure to catch someone's attention.

War was not kind to men, even less to young women. If they caught her, what would they do? She remembered the fear in Bucky's eyes as he frantically concealed the weight of her breasts, flattening them to resemble a man's. She decided she didn't want to find out.

The girl fell asleep in Andrew's arms wishing she was in Bucky's embrace instead. But Andrew was cold, and no matter how hard she tried, her imagination could not do Bucky justice.

In the morning, guards came for them. A burly-looking German soldier explained to her group in broken English that they were going to be put to work. Weapons manufacturing. "How does it feel?" he asked, "that we'll be killing your brothers with the weapons you make for us." They laughed amongst themselves, then pointed their guns at her and the prisoners, putting them to work.

Nights passed miserably. Andrew assured the girl Bucky was somewhere in the facility, in one of the cells scattered across the vast space, though that did little to calm her. She cried herself to sleep, body aching from the laborious work forced upon them.

By morning, the news spread. Men were being taken away.

A foul-faced officer was picking soldiers at random, plucking them away. "Hitler's right-hand man," someone sneered. "The devil incarnate," another cowered.

Andrew kept the girl tucked away against him, shielding her from wandering eyes. The dirt on her face had washed away, her hair loosened from her braid, bindings slack. She finally looked like a woman.

She saw the proof of it etched on Andrew's face when the guards came near. It was yet another night, and she was resting her head against the thick bars of the metal prison when she heard them. Andrew tried to hide her, but space was limited, and the devil's keen eye landed on her before she could move.

"What have we here?" A man with a drooping face and quizzical brow bent down to look at the girl. He grabbed her jaw in a rough grip through the bars when she attempted to crawl away. "Ah!" he exclaimed fervently, digging his nails into her skin until she whimpered. "A girl?"

His free hand went to her neck, dropping lower and lower until she protested, pushing him away. "No!"

The man raised a brow. "How did you manage to slip through, Mäuschen?" He gestured to the guards behind him, who marched forward to open the bars. "Let's find out, shall we?"

"Don't touch her, bastards!" Andrew shouted, pulling her back.

The girl wanted to stop him, but she became paralyzed with fear. The men had guns and long sticks—Andrew had nothing but his wits about him and a pair of worn fists.

The next few events happened in quick succession. A muscle in the devil's face twitched, his smile momentarily dropping, which he swiftly schooled. "Das Mäuschen has a protector? What a waste." He shrugged carelessly. "No matter. Always more where he came from."

A bang resounded, and Andrew fell backwards, eyes wide and unmoving. Someone screamed, loud and shrill. It wasn't until a guard whisked the girl away that she realized it was her screaming.

The prisoners shouted in protest as she passed by them. From amongst the hoard of fury, a pair of blue eyes met hers, two hands grasped cool metal, and two lips parted to call out her name. The girl craned her neck to look, but heavyset doors closed behind her before the voice could reach her ears.

She closed her eyes to block out her surroundings, and when she finally reopened them, it was the next day.

His name was Arnim Zola—Dr. Arnim Zola—and he was a scientist working for HYDRA. That's where they were held captive, the Doctor divulged, at one of the many facilities HYDRA owned across the continent.

The Doctor passionately described the importance of the work done at HYDRA while the girl was bound to an exam table. "How lucky that you will not only be alive to see HYDRA shine, but you will also take part in it." He checked the girl's pulse, jotting something down on a clipboard. "We lost many of the men. They all fight the effects. It will be interesting to see how a woman fares, don't you think?"

She was too tired to struggle, and when the Doctor injected a burning liquid in her veins, she found she was too tired to scream.

The world turned black.

When she came to, however long later, Dr. Zola was hunched over his desk, shuffling through papers while muttering under his breath. "How is this possible? I gave her a larger dose."

The burning had turned to ice in her veins, and she shook violently against her restraints as she shivered. "Please..."

"I don't understand. Are you sweating it off?" Then he hummed. "I will need more tests." And her world turned black once again.

How much time had passed? Days? Weeks? Months? The girl could not be sure of anything other than that the cold in her veins had found a home in her heart.

"Immune," she heard the Doctor repeat. "Nothing is working."

She was counting the marks on the wall of the tiny room she was locked in when Dr. Zola approached her one day. "Herr Schmidt wants me to dispose of you," he told her. "But I think you can serve us yet."

She turned away from him and closed her eyes, trying to ignore him.

"That prisoner. What was his name? The one who died protecting you?"

Andrew. The girl opened her eyes and looked at Dr. Zola with distrust.

"He made me wonder if the others would do the same."

"They won't," she told him, trying to hide her desperation. "I'm only a nurse."

Dr. Zola snickered mischievously, slowly backing out of the small room. "We will see about that."

That night they brought the first prisoner. Someone she did not recognize. "Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."

He spat on Arnim Zola's face. "Go to hell, you son of a bitch!"

The Doctor wiped away the drool with a wry smile, gesturing to the soldiers holding the girl still. "No!" she managed to shout before they plunged her face into a bucket of ice water.

She held her breath at first, hoping to bide some time before they pulled her out, but as her heart raced and the grip on her arms tightened, she couldn't help it any longer. She began to thrash, shaking and sputtering as the water invaded her lungs.

After what felt like an eternity, she tasted fresh air, heaping lungfuls to ease the burn in her throat.

The prisoner thrashed against his restraints, screaming profanities into the air as Dr. Zola injected him with a blue substance.

"Stop resisting!" the Doctor demanded. "You'll ruin the transformation!" He turned toward the girl. "Do you want her to die?" he asked the prisoner. "They'll kill her."

The prisoner screamed louder.

"Again!" Dr. Zola ordered.

The girl managed to take a deep breath before they plunged her into the water again, not that it helped. The torture went on for the rest of the night. By the last hour, the prisoner had died, lying in a pool of vomit.

The next night they brought the second prisoner. Someone she did recognize. "Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."

"Jeremy? No!" the girl began to cry. "No, not him!"

"Miss?" Jeremy looked at Dr. Zola with indignation. "Let her go."

"Do as I say," Zola repeated, "and I will."

"Go to hell."

And so it began.

Though, It did not last very long. When the girl screamed for the first time, Jeremy Bradshaw gave in. "I'll do it. I'll do anything. Just let the lady go."

Zola smiled victoriously. "Now, that wasn't so hard. Was it?"

A few hours later, Jeremey's heart gave out.

"He was weak," Zola proclaimed. "We need someone stronger."

The next night they brought the third prisoner. Someone she knew.

The girl had prepared herself this time. She wouldn't cry or scream out; she would fight! But none of it mattered when she saw the person standing before her.

War was not kind to men, and this one was proof of it. His hair was longer, touching the tips of his ears, and a light beard covered most of his face, making him almost unrecognizable. Almost. His piercing blue eyes stayed the same.

"James," she whispered. Tears gathered in her eyes, waiting for the moment he saw her.

"Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."

Bucky screamed the moment he did, mouth open in rage. The girl wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Was she as haggard in appearance as him? She sure felt it.

Bucky threw the soldiers off him, shouting her name as he ran toward her. He came to a halt when someone put a gun to her head, and the soldiers took the opportunity to restrain him once again.

"Yes, you are strong, indeed. Now, will you do as I say?" Zola asked.

"Eat shit, cocksucker."

Bucky was being so strong. So could she.

When the soldiers grabbed the girl, she was ready. She kicked one of them between the legs, and when he loosened his hold, she bit the hand on her shoulder. She must have made it two steps before they restrained her again.

She heard the buzz before she could feel it, and an unbridled scream left her. Electricity travelled up her spine, burning a pathway through her nerves. Her muscles went lax, and she fell, convulsing on the cold floor.

"No," she whimpered as they administered another shock through a small black device. But they were unrelenting, kicking her half-conscious form while she was down.

Bucky roared in rage while they abused her, but he could do nothing but watch as they gave her another electric shock.

"I'll kill you sons of bitches! I'll fucking kill you!"

Zola injected Bucky with the blue liquid. "Relax your muscles! Let the transformation take over."

"Fuck. You!" Bucky seethed.

The girl crawled toward him from her position on the ground, dragging herself by her nails. The soldiers followed leisurely, laughing at her pathetic attempt. The next shock made her throw up. Bile and stomach acid; since she hadn't been able to keep anything else down.

"She'll die, Soldier," Zola warned Bucky. "There's only so much a person can take."

Bucky stopped thrashing, briefly looking at the girl before addressing the Doctor. "What will you do to her?" he asked, unconcerned for himself.

"Bucky, no."

"Will you hurt her?"

Zola smiled, knowing he had won. "As long as you do as I say, I promise she will remain unharmed."

The girl began to cry. "Don't give up, Bucky. I can take it."

"��No, she can't," Zola interrupted.

"James!"

Their eyes met, and the girl knew Bucky had made up his mind. "I'll do anything." He slumped against his restraints, giving over his control. Before the Soldiers dragged her away, Bucky mouthed three words that shattered her completely. "I love you."

The doors closed before she could mouth it back.

Bucky Barnes was in shock. He had to be. That was the only reason he was on his feet after a week of hell, feeling only slightly bruised and fatigued. Yes, it was the shock that kept him moving, and not whatever it was the Doctor injected in him.

"Did it hurt?" Bucky asked, only slightly stumbling.

"A little," replied Steve Rogers. The same Steve Rogers Bucky remembered being at least two heads shorter.

"Is this permanent?" Bucky took in the striped shield, the muscles hidden by leather.

"So far."

Bucky chuckled, pressing his chest to feel his heart beating wildly within.

"The exit's through here," Steve gestured.

Bucky pulled him back. "Wait. I have to find someone first."

"Who?"

Bucky stared at his friend for a moment, hesitating. Steve didn't know the girl was with him. She never told anyone where she was deployed. Bucky whispered her name before clearing his throat and saying it louder.

He saw the surprise on Steve's face slowly morph into determination. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's get her."

They found her quickly. She was in an unmarked room on the second floor, hiding underneath a small blanket. Steve stayed behind, and Bucky entered the dark space with careful steps.

He heard the girl whimper in protest and scurry closer to the wall. "Not again. Please!"

Bucky bent down, and what he saw made him pause. He almost didn't recognize the girl with her sunken face and pale skin. She had lost weight, and her clothes were hanging off of her, but her eyes were what broke him. Wide and distrustful. Lifeless.

Bucky wiped his tears away, determined to stay strong. "Come here. I've got you."

The girl crawled farther away as if trying to embed herself in the wall. Bucky grabbed her face with both hands. "Look at me. Hey! Look at me, doll. It's Bucky."

She finally met his eyes, and Bucky saw the moment she recognized him. "James?" she sobbed, clutching his shirt in a weak grip. "You're here!"

Bucky lifted the girl in his arms, keeping her close to his chest. The first thing he noticed was how cold she was; the second was that she weighed almost nothing. When Bucky stumbled out, unsteady on his feet, Steve grabbed her from him, exchanging the shield for her. "Reserve your energy. We've got a long way to go."

"Steven? Am I dreaming?"

Steve laughed sadly. "No."

"You're big now," she sighed. "What happened?"

Steve shrugged. "I joined the army."

"I always knew you would."

They all laughed, happy for a moment that they were reunited. But danger was near, Bucky could feel it, and his smile dropped. Around them, parts of the building exploded, making the ground shake.

"Quick! Through here!" Steve shouted, taking two steps at a time, and Bucky tried his best to keep up. They were so close. He could feel it.

"Captain America!" A voice shouted, stopping them. "How exciting!"

Steve lowered the girl to her feet, grabbing his shield from Bucky and taking a fighting stance.

When Bucky realized who the strange voice belonged to, he pulled the girl behind him, shielding her from view. It was him, the man who dragged her away all those days ago. Bucky couldn't tell then, but it was apparent now that he was a high-ranking officer. Perhaps the mastermind behind this whole operation. Zola stood next to him, cowering behind a large briefcase.

"I am a great fan of your films!" mocked Johann Schmidt. "So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive."

Steve and Schmidt were at arm's length, and the Captain did not hesitate to swing at Schmidt. The man stumbled back, clutching his face in surprise.

"You've got no idea," Steve huffed.

"Haven't I?" And Schmidt took a swing of his own, putting a fist-sized dent in Captain America's shield.

"Steve!" The girl screamed from behind Bucky.

The two began to fight, and Bucky had to keep her from running toward their friend. "He's got it," he told her; and he did.

Steve kicked Schmidt, sending him back a few feet, and Zola stepped forward. He pressed a button that collapsed the bridge Steve was on.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you," Schmidt exclaimed. "You see, I was his greatest success!" He peeled the skin off his face, revealing red flesh underneath.

"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky found himself asking, a bit dizzy from the incident. He held the girl tighter against him when she started shaking like a leaf.

Schmidt made a closing remark that went over Bucky's head, and he and Zola left. An explosion caused the trio to stumble, forcing Steve into action. "Come on, let's go. Up."

Bucky pulled the girl along, and they went up a floor, stopping in front of a metal beam.

"Let's go. One at a time," Steve urged, helping Bucky over the railing.

"What are you doing?" the girl shouted over the loud explosions.

"There's no other way!" Bucky told her. "Stay behind me."

Steve helped her over the railing next, and Bucky grabbed her.

"I can't!" she shook. "I'll fall."

Bucky pulled her close. "Don't look down. Why are you looking down? Look at me."

"No!"

"Yes! One step at a time, alright? Steve's right behind you." The beam quaked with every step, but Bucky did not slow down. He tossed the girl over the railing and leaped the rest of the way; right before the beam fell from underneath him.

Bucky's stomach dropped. There was no way for Steve to cross. "There's gotta be a rope or something!"

"Just go!" Steve cried. "Get out of here!"

"No! Not without you!"

Steve hesitated before backing up as far as he could and making a run for it. Bucky's stomach dropped, thinking Steve wouldn't make it, but then he emerged from the smoke and landed safely on his feet. The trio ran.

The half-moon was low in the sky when they made camp after two day's journey. It was late, and the prisoners were tired. Bucky made his rounds, checking the perimeter and the tents for anything suspicious.

The Battle of Azzanno was still fresh in his mind, and despite Steve's reassurances, Bucky could not let down his guard.

"How is she?" Steve asked Bucky.

Bucky didn't know the answer. "She won't talk to me," he said frustratedly. "She says she's fine, but I can see she isn't."

Steve sighed, having expected that answer. "And how are you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. You both went through something traumatic." Steve grabbed Bucky's shoulder. "Talk it out, why don't you?" and left with a reassuring smile.

Bucky found the girl in one of the smaller tents, huddled in the corner for warmth.

"I was waiting for you," she admitted.

Bucky let a small smile grace his lips. They had come a long way. "Not too long, I hope."

"Very long," she rebutted. "I'm all cold."

Something in the girl's expression hinted at something deeper, something permanent. A rawness that she couldn't hide. It made Bucky's eyes burn. "Let me warm you up then." He fell to his knees and embraced her, holding her trembling body as tightly as he could.

The girl craned her neck and looked at Bucky with teary eyes. "Are you okay?"

Bucky took a second because he didn't know. Was he okay? He adjusted his hold until the girl was in his lap, snug against his front. "No, I'm not," he decided. "But as long as you're here, I will be."

Her hair was open, so Bucky put his forehead against the soft strands and closed his eyes. "Are you okay?"

The girl took a shuddering breath. "I—I was scared, and I—" She sobbed once, then twice. "No, I'm not okay!" And she began to weep. Agonizing sobs shook her entire body.

Bucky held on tight, whispering reassurances until, however long later, she eventually settled. "But I will be," she hiccuped.

The two sat silently for a while before she shifted to face him. Bucky wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady and caressed her face. "I love you," he whispered, leaning in until their noses brushed.

Her eyes pierced his, conveying all she felt, and she softened in his arms. "James."

And there was that damned name again. Bucky pulled her toward him, closing the small distance between their lips.

Oh, she was soft, putty under his skilled mouth. He groaned, pressing closer until the only thing separating them were clothes. "Sweetheart." He tasted her lips with his tongue, asking for permission which she swiftly granted.

"James," she whimpered against him, clawing at his jacket for purchase. They kissed until she became breathless, reluctantly pulling away with a moan to fill her lungs.

Bucky felt his heart beating out of his chest. "I'm here," he vowed, "I'm right here. Never leaving you again."

Her pleasure-stricken face met his with an intensity that left him more breathless than her lips had. "James, I love you."

And Bucky knew in his soul that all would be well. He took her lips once again, sealing his promise with a kiss.

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[newmih]

Nightmare

Words: 690

Characters: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Summary: Bucky comes to see Y/N after a nightmare.

A/N: I haven't posted in a while but honestly, Ramadan + heat… not a good combination to make you want to write. No rereading! /English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistake I made./

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Bonne lecture

He stopped outside her door to try to catch his breath. Since Y/N had moved out of the compound, it was much longer and harder for Bucky to get to her. With his hands on his knees and his back bent in half, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. He'd been running non-stop once he'd decided he wanted to see her.

The two had known each other for a few years now. She was the first person (after Steve) to trust him fully even though their first meeting hadn't exactly gone well. She had told him several times and still continues to tell him that it was not his fault if he tried to kill her and that anyway the key word in that sentence was try.

He got up and knocked on the door. He leaned against the wall and listened to the commotion inside. Finally, the door opened on Y/N, her hair a mess, her shirt stained and still looking very sleepy. She rubbed her arm and raised her eyebrows in surprise when she saw Bucky. The latter straightened up immediately.

"Buck? What are you doing here?" The nickname made her smile. She was the only one (besides Steve) he let call her that. He opened his mouth, hesitated before launching into it. "I had a nightmare about you and I just wanted to make sure you were okay." The woman's bad mood seemed to disappear instantly and her gaze softened.

She beckoned him in before opening the door wider and stepping aside to let him through.

She didn't ask him what he had been dreaming about, she never asked him. Instead, she went to the kitchen to get him something to drink. It seemed to her that he had just run a marathon and even though he was recovering quickly thanks to the super soldier serum, she couldn't help but worry about him.

He followed her into the room, so close to her that she could feel his body heat. She closed her eyes for a few seconds to try to compose herself before finally pouring him some water. "Here." He took the glass from her hands as she turned to him and placed it directly on the table. Disregarding Y/N's frown, he took her in his arms. He needed to be reassured that she was okay, that she was safe.

She did not push him back, on the contrary and embraced him in return. He put his chin on her head and closed his eyes to enjoy it. They stayed in this position for a long time, long enough for both of them to start cramping. Finally, Y/N sighed and crossed her arms over her chest gently. "Maybe you should go home. You're going to have to get up early tomorrow because of your mission."

He shook his head violently, tears already beginning to form. He felt so vulnerable right now but he didn't care. It was Y/N who saw him like this so he didn't care. "I don't want to leave. But if you want-" "Why?" Her voice had softened and she looked at him without understanding. Why?" Because I feel good with you. Like nothing bad could happen." She took a few seconds to think before closing the distance between them both and kissing him.

Bucky didn't even bother to figure out how they got there. He took Y/N's face in his hands and responded to her kiss. His lips were soft against the ex-assassin's. Running out of oxygen, they broke apart to breathe. "I love you." He did not leave him time to answer and attacked his lips. During a few minutes, he strewn his face of kisses, whispering to him how much he was in love with her between two.

Finally, she gently pushed him away and couldn't help but giggle at the man's rush to kiss her. "Buck! Give me a break!" He smiled at her and moved his hands down to her hips to pull her as close to him as possible. "I love you too Bucky." She added, after catching a glimpse of the loving look he was giving her.

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Don't Lie to the God of Lies - Part 2

Word count: 5100

Warnings: ruthless Loki, ruthless Bucky… yeah just ruthless. Mmhmm.

This is a three-prompt-inspired fic - incorporating requests for Don't Lie to the God of Lies part 2, a Loki/Bucky tagteam, and a Prompt by an anon requesting reader pranking Bucky until he finally decides to get back at them.

Today is also exactly 6 months since posting my first fic, which just so happens to be part 1 of this new fic! It’s crazy to think how much I’ve written and how many kind people have interacted with my posts since then 💚💚

Read Part 1

The damned god wasn’t ticklish. Not one bit. If he was, then he was damn good at hiding it.

You tried every ticklish spot you could think of, and he simply allowed you to do it, even raising his arms to allow free access to his entire torso. He didn’t even flinch. And the smile on his face? That was a haughty smirk, one that simply oozed ‘I-told-you-so.’

You had to literally beg him on your knees not to tell anyone your secret. He finally agreed, only because he was getting sick of your groveling. But making deals with the devil was never free. He had conditions, and you had to abide by them, or he wouldn’t be holding up his end of the bargain.

He and Bucky had been in some kind of unspoken feud for about a week now. Bucky had apparently drunk an entire bottle of Loki’s Asgardian mead, having discovered that he could actually feel a little bit tipsy from the liquor despite his super soldier serum. Loki had been plotting revenge ever since he’d confronted the metal-armed soldier and gotten no more than a shrug in response. He had a few pranks planned out, of course. But why get his hands dirty when he could make you do it for him?

“You want me to prank Bucky. Repeatedly.” You stared at Loki incredulously, wondering if he was pulling your leg. His face remained completely serious as he nodded, brows raised in confusion.

“Yes, that… is what I said, is it not?”

You began to laugh humorlessly. “Loki – I can’t! If Bucky found out it was me, I’d be in so much trouble!”

“Then it’s best you avoid giving yourself away,” he suggested facetiously, his lips curling up into a smirk. “Wouldn’t want to be on the Winter Soldier’s bad side, would you?”

“Ughh, Loki!” you groaned in frustration, running your hands through your hair, beginning to pace anxiously. “Is this really my only way out? You can’t come up with anything else?”

“Darling – need I remind you that you’ve been strutting about, touting the fact that you’re not ticklish to anyone who dare even try to prove otherwise. This is a considerable secret you want me to keep. And that comes at a price.”

You paused, taking a deep breath before turning to face Loki again. “Fine. What do I have to do?”

Loki briefed you on the revenge he had plotted for the super soldier. Admittedly, you couldn't deny that his ideas were pretty funny and, surprisingly, didn't involve all that much magic. You tried to look at the bright side - at least if you were going to have to put yourself at risk of Bucky catching you, you were going to have a little fun doing it.

The next morning, you awoke to a knocking at your door. It was still dark outside, the sun only just barely peeking up over the horizon. Groggily, you staggered to your bedroom door and opened it to find Loki standing on the other side. You gasped a little, running your hands through your hair to smooth the knots that had formed in your sleep as your face began to burn, knowing Loki was seeing you in such a state.

"Wh-what are you doing here so early, Loki?" you whispered, trying to suppress a yawn.

"As you may recall, Barnes awakens quite early to go for his morning run before the sun rises," he reminded you, his eyes skimming over your oversized sleep shirt and cotton shorts. You wrapped your arms self-consciously around yourself.

“Ok - which prank are you asking me to pull, then?”

Bucky had a rather specific routine in the morning. He went for a run, he returned to the compound, he showered, and he sat down to have his morning coffee. He took his coffee the same way every morning - a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of cream. Your job? Replace the sugar with salt before he returned.

"Isn't this kind of a juvenile prank?" you asked as you opened the sugar bowl, pouring the sugar out into a separate bowl to empty it.

"That is the point, darling. Would you suspect that I, the God of Mischief, performed such a 'juvenile' prank, as you call it?"

"... Fair enough." You poured salt into the dish and replaced the cover, hiding the bowl with the sugar in the back of a cabinet. "There. Happy now? Can I go back to sleep?"

"Oh, I don't think so. We've got more work to do."

You groaned, rubbing your eyes groggily. "Fine, but you're going to wait until I have my own cup of coffee."

"Be my guest." He turned to exit the kitchen, pausing in the doorway. "Don't use the sugar dish - you'll be sorry." You rolled your eyes, hiding an amused smirk as you turned on the coffee maker.

As you left the kitchen with your coffee mug, Bucky passed by you with a gruff 'good morning' on his way to the coffee maker. You kept a straight face as you said good morning, taking a sip of your coffee as you continued on to meet Loki and prepare the next prank. A sudden shout of disgust from down the hall told you Bucky had encountered your trick. You only hoped he didn't suspect you because you'd been the last in the kitchen.

Next up was probably your favorite of Loki's ideas. You waited patiently in the common room, watching television with Steve until Bucky came in to join the two of you. He eyed you warily when he entered the room, but didn't say anything as you looked back at him with pure innocence written on your face. Taking a seat beside Steve on the sofa, he placed his phone on the armrest and began to make casual conversation.

You had a sense he was already beginning to suspect you, and so you knew you had to tread carefully. You participated in conversation with the two super soldiers, interjecting occasionally where it made sense and otherwise pretending to watch the television. After you'd sat there long enough for Bucky to let his guard down a bit more, you stood and exited the room under the ruse of having to use the restroom. As you passed the sofa, you took mental note of where Bucky's cell phone was sitting. Your best shot at appearing innocent was to wait until you returned to take his phone - he wouldn't suspect you took it right from under his nose and then sat right back down in the living room.

Sure enough, when you returned you casually swiped the phone from the arm of the sofa, stuffing it in your back pocket before taking your seat on the arm chair. You waited casually, wanting Bucky to notice the phone was missing while you were still sitting there in the room so you could lead him to believe your innocence. It took a surprisingly long time for him to reach for his phone, having been caught up in a lively conversation with his best friend. You watched as he blindly patted his palm around the sofa arm without looking, turning his head only when he realized he couldn't find it.

"Where's my phone?" His eyes darted immediately to you, narrowing suspiciously. "Alright, where'd you put it?"

"Huh? What do you mean, where'd I put it? Why would I take your phone?" you asked, feigning ignorance.

"Don't lie to me. I know you're guilty." He rose to his feet, approaching the chair to stand over you threateningly. You held your hands up in surrender.

"Search me if you'd like. I didn't take your phone, Buck."

"Maybe I will." He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, studying you as though trying to discern whether you were being honest. You held your arms out, palms up flat.

"Seriously, Buck. I don't have it."

"We'll see about that." He patted his hands along your long sleeves, running them down along your sides. You knew what he was trying to do when he dug his fingertips into your ribs and sides on the way down. Luckily, you'd prepared for it and maintained your straight face despite how badly it tickled.

"Buck, I've told you I'm not ticklish already - why do you bother trying?" you asked teasingly as his hands left your sides, a scowl etched across his face. "Do you believe me now? I don't have your phone."

"You must have hidden it somewhere," he scoffed, folding his arms across his chest.

"Seriously? Why do you think I'm out to get you today??"

"Oh, come on! Like I don't know you were the one who put salt in the sugar dish this morning. Why are you pranking me?"

You snorted. "Someone put salt in the sugar dish?? Is that why you yelled this morning?"

His face melted from irritated suspicion to confusion, his heavy brow furrowing. "Yeah, they did. You didn't know? You were walking out with a coffee when I went in the kitchen this morning."

You shrugged. "Don't take sugar in my coffee."

Bucky seemed to buy it finally, his arms relaxing by his sides. "Well somebody took it. It was right here next to me." He turned and walked out of the room, grumbling about how he was going to catch the culprit in the act. You looked up at Steve, who was eyeing you thoughtfully.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you asked.

"No reason. You just seem pretty defensive for someone who didn't pull these pranks."

"I'm not -"

"Look, I don't want to get in the middle of... whatever is going on. But let me tell you from experience - Bucky doesn't take pranks sitting down. He will seek revenge."

"Well, I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to prank him," you insisted, standing up and adjusting your sweater to cover the part of Bucky's phone that stuck out of your back pocket. "If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go find someone to hang out with who doesn't look at me like I've committed some sort of crime."

Steve chuckled, waving you off dismissively as you left the room. "I'd avoid Bucky if I were you."

You headed up to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you before taking a seat in the middle of your bed and pulling Bucky's phone out of your pocket. Opening his settings, you began changing his autocorrect feature to replace common words like 'and' and 'the' with the word 'dork' - a harmless prank, but god was it going to be funny when he couldn't figure out how to fix it.

"I see you've succeeded in getting Barnes' phone without detection."

You leapt a mile into the air, turning to find Loki leaning against your desk. "Loki! God, I'm gonna put a bell on you or something. Could you announce yourself next time??"

"Now, darling, there's no fun in that." He paced over to where you sat, leaning over your shoulder to look at the screen as you worked.

"To respond to your statement - no, I didn't completely evade detection. He's beginning to suspect me."

"How unfortunate."

"Loki!" You looked up from the phone screen, glaring at the nonplussed god. "I'm serious! He gave me a pat-down because he thought I took his phone!"

"You did."

"Not the point. He's suspicious, and if I keep pulling pranks he's gonna figure it out. And according to Steve, he doesn't let people get away with making a fool of him without consequences. If Steve is afraid to prank him, what's he gonna do to me?"

Loki shrugged. "I suppose you'll just need to be more careful."

"You're seriously gonna make me go through with the last prank?"

"Unless you want me to announce your little secret."

You groaned, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose. "Loki, if I ever find any dirt on you, you'd better believe I'm gonna blackmail you just as hard as you're blackmailing me."

Loki chuckled, rumbling deep in his throat. "Good luck with that, darling." Without another word, he strode out of your room, leaving you to finish your task.

A thought occurred to you just then. You knew exactly how you could get the blame off of you, and implicate Loki in all of this, without him ever being the wiser. Smirking, you returned to Bucky's phone settings and got to work enacting your plan.

The final prank was going to be the most challenging to pull off without getting caught. Somehow, you had to attach a small circular device to his metal arm somewhere, which would disengage the appendage when activated. It would be pretty funny to see his face when his arm just randomly pops off. But he already suspected you, and so you knew he couldn't see you when you attached the device or he'd immediately know you'd done it. You hoped Bucky's suspicion of Loki was growing after he discovered your last prank.

You hadn't expected the perfect opportunity to just drop into your lap, but here you were. As you wandered down the hallway toward the kitchen, you overheard a heated debate in the common room between the metal-armed soldier and the dark-haired prince of Asgard. Silently, you crept toward the door, keeping out of sight while you listened to find out what was going on.

"I don't know why I didn't realize this was you from the very beginning! It's so obvious!" Bucky exclaimed with irritation.

"Barnes - I am telling you the truth, believe it or not. I did not perform these pranks," Loki insisted, calmly and coolly.

"Then why does my phone suddenly autocorrect everything to say 'Loki rules'?" Bucky demanded. You threw your hand over your mouth to prevent a laugh from escaping. So he had discovered what you did.

"Think about it for a moment. Why would I implicate myself in such an obvious manner if I were the one who pulled this on you?" Loki reasoned. Bucky was silent for a beat. You poked your head cautiously around the doorway to get an idea of where the men were positioned. They were seated on the sofa facing away from the door, with Bucky on the left side facing toward Loki on the right. Perfect.

You ducked down low and hurried silently to crouch behind the back of the couch. Sliding the device from your pocket, you hobbled silently around the side of the couch, swiftly pressing the device onto the outer side of his upper arm, the vibranium cool against your warm palm. Wasting no time, you hurried out of the room before they finished their argument, returning to hide in your bedroom and avoid Bucky for a bit. For good measure, you pulled out the remote to the device you'd planted on Bucky's arm and activated it. It was a shame you wouldn't get to witness his reaction, but it would certainly help to put the suspicion on Loki, seeing as he was the only person in the room with Bucky.

You spent most of the afternoon hiding out in your room, waiting what felt like a long enough duration of time that the last prank would have either blown over, or Bucky would have already hashed it out with Loki. Eventually, though, you needed to show your face again in the public areas of the compound. It would be just as suspicious for you to hide for the entire night.

It was in your routine to hit the gym in the late afternoon before dinner, so you put on a pair of leggings and a tank top and headed down as you normally would to try to adhere to a sense of normalcy. It'd be in your best interest to let Bucky see you following your usual schedule.

The rest of the gym was empty at this time. This was typically the case - exactly the reason why you preferred working out this time of day. Placing your water bottle in the corner, you headed over to the sparring area where there were cushioned mats so you could stretch out before beginning your workout. You sat on the floor, bending one knee and straightening out the other leg so you could stretch your hamstring.

"I thought I might find you in here."

Your heart leapt into your throat when you heard Bucky's voice from the doorway, but you hid it well. Tilting your head up at a non-startled speed, you offered Bucky a smile in greeting.

"Hey, Buck. Did you figure out who took your phone yet?"

"I did, yeah." He meandered into the room, approaching the side of the sparring arena. You turned your attention back to your stretches and waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't say any more, merely standing by the edge where the mats began.

"So... who was it?"

"I think you know who it was."

You turned to look at him again, shifting to sit cross-legged on the floor. "Bucky - we've been over this -"

"You can drop the act. He told me everything."

Damn.

"Who told you everything?" you asked, trying to sound confused.

"I did."

You looked up to find Loki striding into the room, coming to a halt at Bucky's side. His expression was smug, positively dripping with mischievous glee. You rose to your feet, deciding it would be best if you were prepared to flee on a moment's notice.

"Oh, he did, did he?" you asked sarcastically, meeting Loki's eye with a confident stare. Your eyes shifted to look at Bucky, jutting your chin toward Loki as you spoke. "Did he also tell you he was the one who made me pull all those pranks?"

"He did." Bucky didn't appear annoyed, or at least, not at Loki. Confused, you tilted your head in a silent request for an explanation. "We decided that the two of us are even now, since I did drink his mead, after all."

"Oh. Well, great. Glad you made amends then." Not liking where this seemed to be heading, you headed to the corner to grab your water bottle and get the hell out of there while you still could.

"Don't you want to know what else he told me?" Bucky asked. Despite the fact you were facing away from him, you could hear the smirk in his tone. Against your better instincts, you froze on the spot, whipping around to shoot Loki a panicked look.

"You didn't."

"Oh, I did."

You bolted.

The only problem was the mischievous duo was standing between you and your exit. In a desperate attempt to get past them, you tried to catch them off guard, sprinting straight toward them and diving into a somersault to duck under their reach. You popped right back up to your feet and kept running, a skill you were thankful to have learned as an agent.

You turned your head to look over your shoulder and see where they were, startled to find they weren't there. It dawned on you, as you ran directly into a solid form, that Loki had played a trick on you.

"NO! Loki! You ALWAYS do that!!" you cried in frustration as he wrapped his arms around you, preventing you from escaping in his tight grasp.

"And yet you always fall for it. Why is that, darling?" You groaned into his chest in frustration, deciding to save your energy rather than fighting his hold. "Barnes - you recall what I told you?"

"Oh I remember." You gasped as you felt his hands rest on your back, just below your shoulder blades - the trigger point that had given you away in the first place.

It wasn't as though you didn't want this to happen. After yesterday, when Loki had discovered your lie and did his damnedest to make you regret it, you'd anticipated it would only be a matter of time before he told the others. In a way, you'd actually found it fun - and, not to mention, you didn't mind having the trickster's full and undivided attention. But you had an innate sense of self-preservation that you couldn't ignore. You couldn't just stand there complacently and allow the two to tickle you to tears.

"Wow, you're already so tense! Loki, you weren't kidding."

"I'd never jest about this," he responded, leaning back a bit to look down at your face while still holding your arms tight to your sides. You looked up at him with your most pleading face, silently begging him to release you. He chuckled, his smirk only broadening. "You crossed both Barnes and myself today, and you think giving me an adorable pouting look will make me change my mind?"

"You think I'm adorable?" you asked, smirking. His eyes narrowed as his cheeks began to turn red, looking up over your shoulder to Bucky.

"Do your worst."

And gods, he did.

It was worse than you remembered from the evening before - perhaps because last night you didn't have someone trapping you in a bear hug to hold you still at the same time. Especially since that someone was now Loki. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Bucky had one human hand and one solid metal one - two very different sensations, but equally as ticklish.

There was no hiding it; you were already far too flustered by the whole situation to try to pretend like he wasn't tickling you. You exploded into immediate hysterics, writhing in Loki's arms to try to break his hold on you.

"Wohohow! This is gold!" Bucky exclaimed in awe, kneading his thumbs in tight circles into the backs of your ribs. Your knees buckled, the entirety of your weight leaning heavily into Loki's front.

"Now that you've got her laughing, you'll find she's actually ticklish everywhere. Watch." Loki began to scratch at your sides where his hands rested. Bucky didn't ease up in his torment either - in fact, if anything, he made it worse by digging his fingers into the sides of your upper ribs while continuing to toggle his thumbs into that awful trigger point. You buried your face into Loki's chest and let out a shrill, muffled scream. It seemed to surprise even the mischievous trickster, as he paused his torment for a moment and nodded at Bucky to pause as well.

"You... you guys... are such jerks..." you panted, face still buried in Loki's shoulder.

"Perhaps if you'd simply pranked Barnes as requested without trying to sell me out, you'd be spared from my vengeance," Loki goaded.

"OR if you'd told Loki you WOULDN'T do it, maybe I wouldn't have had to get revenge," Bucky added.

"Oh, bull shit, Bucky," you argued, looking over your shoulder at the super soldier. "You and I both know that as soon as Loki told you the truth, you'd have been testing it out as soon as you could get your hands on me."

"You're probably right," he agreed, grinning. "Loki, you want a go?"

"What?! No, he does NOT 'want a go' Bucky!" you demanded.

"Quite the contrary, actually. Barnes, if you would."

You shrieked in protest as you felt Bucky's hands close around your arms just above your elbows, pulling you from Loki's grasp and pinning your arms behind your back. You felt your face burning hot as Loki eyed you predatorily, shrinking into Bucky under his gaze.

"Hello, darling," he said with a teasing grin.

"Still think I'm adorable?" you retorted cheekily. He stepped a bit closer, looking you in the eye as he wiggled his fingers in the air just inches from your belly. Your abdominal muscles contracted to avoid his fingers, an anticipatory smile already tugging at your lips.

"It's adorable, yes - watching you squirm despite the fact I'm not even tickling you yet."

"L-Loki! Dohon't!"

"You think that's going to stop me?" His fingertips made contact with your belly, barely grazing along the skin. "You think I don't know that you don't mind this as much as you pretend to?"

"Wh-whahat??"

"You heard me." He applied slightly more pressure with his fingers, scratching lightly at the sides of your belly. Drawing your bottom lip up between your teeth, you tried desperately to hold back the giggles threatening to spill from your mouth as Loki played at your resolve. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll stop."

"I...Ihi-HEHEY!!" Not waiting for your response, given it was taking you so long to provide it, Loki began to claw into your belly with both hands. You doubled over, bursting into giggles. Bucky held fast to your arms despite your thrashing, chuckling behind you at your predicament.

"Damn, you are ticklish everywhere. How the hell do you hide it so well?" Bucky asked curiously.

"I'm... traiHAHA… trained to withstand TOHORTURE!" you explained through sporadic laughter.

"Torture? That's an awfully strong word, seeing as you're enjoying this so much."

"BUCKY!" Your face burned impossibly hotter, and Loki removed his tickling fingers from your belly. Gasping for breath, you made a show of it by looking down at the floor with your hair tousled over your face, hiding your colored cheeks.

"I think we're flustering the young agent," Loki snickered, lifting your chin with two fingers.

"Where else is she ticklish?"

"Nope! Nowhere else! Uh-uh!" you protested, shaking your head frantically.

"Oh, I know just the spot! Hold her there for a moment." Loki stepped around behind you to take Bucky's place, circling his arms around your waist before suddenly dragging you down to sit on the ground. Bucky cocked his head in confusion. "Her feet are quite ticklish."

You yelped in protest. "What?! No! Bucky, I swear, don't you even THINK about it!"

"It's too late for that - I already thought about it," he teased, kneeling by your feet and reaching for your ankles. You jerked your feet away from his reach, planting them firmly on the floor right in front of you.

"I don't think so, darling." Loki held your waist with one arm and reached for your knee, pinching above your kneecap. With a spluttering giggle, you kicked your leg out, right into Bucky's reach to grab your ankle. Once Bucky had hold of both ankles, Loki threw one leg over your shins to hold your legs out straight while Bucky removed your sneakers.

"Wait, WAHAHAIT! Guhuhuys!!" You knew you were beginning to sound whiny, but you didn't much care. As the cool air of the room chilled your socked feet, you gave Bucky the same pleading look you'd offered Loki earlier. He was equally as impervious to your pouting.

"This is for putting the salt in my coffee AND making me believe you hadn't done it!" Bucky began scratching along the soles of your feet with both hands, grinning when you threw your head back into Loki's shoulder and let out a rapid stream of giggles. "Aww, now that's adorable!"

"Buhuhucky!! Stohohop teasing mehehe! You're such a jeheherk!"

"Now that's no way to speak to the soldier!" Loki scolded playfully, digging his fingers into your ribcage. You batted at Loki's hands weakly as your giggling intensified to belly laughter.

"No-no-NOHOHO LOKI! GUHUYS!!" You were finding very little success in fighting either of them off, practically melting into Loki with desperate laughter. Giving up on tugging at Loki's hands, you let them rest on his knees on either side of you, squeezing into the muscle above his kneecap as he discovered a particularly sensitive spot at the bottom of your ribs.

You didn't expect the god to yelp in surprise, his fingers suddenly stilling against your ribcage. Bucky halted his attack as well, startled by the sudden jolt by the trickster god.

"Loki?" You turned your head to look at the red-faced trickster, a wide smirk painted across your face. "Something you want to tell me?"

"Not a word," he growled.

"Oh, don't try to hide it! You ARE ticklish!" You squeezed rapidly at his knees for emphasis, giggling as he began to laugh and squirm to evade your fingers. "I am SO getting revenge!"

"I think not, darling."

"Bucky? Do you think you'd be willing to help me out here?"

"Help you pick on Loki? Absolutely." Before Loki could react, Bucky shifted his hands to pin down Loki's ankles, holding fast. You continued to pinch ruthlessly at his knees, pleased with yourself for stumbling upon the one spot that drew laughter from the God of Mischief.

"BARNES! RELEHEHEASE ME!" Loki demanded loudly.

"That's no way to talk to the soldier, Loki," you mimicked, sliding your fingers underneath his knees to scratch at the delicate skin through the material of his pants. This seemed to be even more effective, as his laughter actually pitched up in volume and his arms constricted around you more tightly in a desperate attempt to pull your hands away from his knees.

He began to weakly tickle your ribs again in a last-ditch effort to get you to falter in your efforts to torment him. It worked, surprising you enough to make you drag your arms back to block your ribs and begin to giggle ticklishly again.

"OK, OK TRUHUHUCE!" you pleaded. Loki relented, and Bucky released him, chuckling at the pair of you.

"Wow. I gotta say - it's not every day that you witness a tickle fight between an Avenger and a god," he snickered, rising to his feet and offering you a hand up. You accepted it, turning to help Loki to his feet as well.

"You'd be wise not to breathe a word of this to anyone else," Loki growled at him.

"Uh, yeah, I agree, you need to swear secrecy here, Buck," you added, folding your arms and glowering at him.

"Oh, hell no! I'm telling everyone about this, it's too good not to!" he refused, smirking. "Between you having lied to everyone that you aren't ticklish, and him just being Loki and ALSO being ticklish, there's no way I can keep this to myself."

You turned to look at Loki, a panicked look in your eyes. He met your gaze, a smirk slowly spreading across his face as a thought crossed his mind. You realized exactly what he was thinking, the pair of you turning on a disgruntled-looking Bucky.

"Alright, Buck - I think it's time to find out if super soldiers are ticklish too."

Part 3

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Nemesis: Retribution (4)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR (18+ ONLY. I WILL BLOCK YOU), voyeurism, exhibitionism, authority kink, praise kink, spanking, slight dom themes, polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, mentions of character death, fluff if you squint, 

A/N: Slowing it down just a bit to move plot along. Freaking out on the reblogs and comments are encouraged and will be rewarded with cookies. Seriously though, I love hearing what you guys think and use some of it to make the next chapters better. I adore you all! Have at it!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

1:4 Apple Crumble

Steve Rogers had kindly offered for you and your team to stay at the Compound. For however long this mission would take, you were all going to start running straight at it early tomorrow. In terms of the mission, he was relieved to have your help. The sooner the serum was out of circulation the better and they truthfully did need your help. This underground world was more your scene now and you could better navigate it.

On a personal level, he was glad that you were sticking around even if it was on a contract. He would take whatever opportunity he can and make the best of it. That's how he's always been and he wasn't going to change that now.

He told himself that it was because he was the Captain that he was at your door this late after you all had agreed to part for the night. It was out of consideration that he carried with him some of his own clothes to offer you in case you needed something to change into. It was out of a need to clear the tension with you now that you were going to work as a team again that he was knocking on your door.

That was all.

You opened the door a moment later wrapped only in a short towel and with your hair still dripping wet from the shower. The smile that rose on your face was sly as you leaned on the doorframe with your arms crossed and your hip cocked to one side. He swallowed.

Maybe that wasn't all.

"What can I do for you, Cap?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was far too distracted by the little droplet that rolled down from your temple to the valley of your breasts. He shook his head and cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus only on your eyes and not the inappropriate answers that sprung to mind at your question.

"I brought you a change of clothes in case you need it," he managed to say. "And I wanted to talk to you if you're not too tired."

You opened the door wider and took the clothes from him without a word, turning into the room toward the bathroom. You casually dropped your towel to the floor and Steve choked at the sight of your bare back, a small set of black panties the only stitch you wore. The breath in his chest released only when you disappeared into the bathroom, the door cracked open offering him enticing glimpses as you moved around.

Steve hurriedly closed the door behind him and as he made his way further in, he caught sight of an open go bag beside your bed with clothes clearly visible. There was also a shirt and sweats beside it, the design he knew belonged to Pietro. He felt a little embarrassed. Of course Pietro would have already beaten him to it and that your team always came prepared. Still there was a satisfaction that bloomed in him when you stepped out clad in his shirt, the hem barely reaching mid thigh and bare feet soundlessly crossing the carpeted floor until you came to sit with him on the sofa. You tucked your legs under you and rested your head on your hand over the back of the seat.

"Gotta say I like this look, Steve," you grinned at him.

He chuckled, self-consciously rubbing at his beard and pulling at the hair at the back of his collar. The light dusting of red on his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

"What? You don't like the all American apple pie look?"

You hummed and took a leisurely look at him from head to toe. Rugged and imposing as he appeared, the heat on his face intensified at your obvious appreciation and the way you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip. You were biting your lip when your eyes met his again, trying to stop yourself from laughing at how flustered he was getting and how much you were enjoying it. You've always found Steve handsome and he made apple pie look damn good, but this look on him was just so dangerously delicious.

You had a type.

"I'm more of an apple crumble kind of girl. I like the texture better," you winked. "And I don't mind a little beard burn."

"Will your team mind that I'm talking to you without one of them here?"

You raised an eyebrow and held his unsteady gaze, clearly understanding he meant more than just your professional relationship with the three men.

"You're curious."

"It's none of my business. That's not what I came to talk to you about," he stammered, unaccustomed to how forward you were.

"What did you want to talk about then?"

"I wanted to apologize properly and thank you for agreeing to help."

You groaned and threw your whole body back on the seat, causing Steve's shirt to ride up just shy of completely flashing him. You sat back up and pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long breath. It was only the fact that it was Steve that you were even entertaining this conversation.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Steve," you firmly dismissed.

"I do, Nem. We all do."

"Fine. List down what you're sorry about. Let's go through it one by one or we can draw lots to make it interesting."

"Nem," he said, low and clear with warning yet imploring you to listen. "Can you take this seriously for one second?"

The ever present smirk on your face dropped as you sighed heavily and ran a hand through your hair. For the first time since he's seen you, your expression softened a fraction and a shadow of the person he used to know passed across your features.

"Listen to me, Steve. I don't blame any of you. I'm not angry at any of you. I honestly have no room for more anger even if I wanted to be."

In the beginning you were. There were days while you were getting tortured that you hated them while you pleaded to the heavens for them to rescue you. It had taken a decade and three incredible men for that inferno of fury to turn into a manageable bitterness.

"Do you know how tiring it is to be so fucking angry all the time?" you chuckled darkly. "It took a while, but I learned to prioritize what I choose to be angry about."

"Salvacion," he muttered and you nodded, your eyes staring blankly forward.

"I've carried that name for a decade, Steve. That asshole has to die by my hands."

Steve saw now how selfish he was for forcing the conversation with the purpose of earning your forgiveness. It was for easing his own guilt that he was doing it when instead he should have just been thanking you for what you did and had to endure.

"Why didn't you ever come back?"

"I tried, Steve. When I was recovered enough I tried to go back. Did you know my sister had a girlfriend?"

He shook his head, throat suddenly closing at the sight of absolute misery in your eyes. He regretted starting this conversation even more.

"Jill. She was amazing to Lily and she was like a sister to me too," you smiled a little, not in your usual sarcastic way but with a hint of gentle fondness before your expression hardened once more.

"I saw her and I just couldn't bring myself to face her. I'm the reason the love of her life is dead. I couldn't, Steve"

It started off with the fear that they might have killed Jill too. You told yourself you had to know, but truthfully you were trying desperately to find a connection to Lily. You found her visiting the graveyard, laying flowers on two stones and spending the afternoon sitting on the ground tearfully talking to the dead. The shame burned through you and from then on you made it your sole purpose to destroy the man who took Lily from you both. Until then you had no right to face her. You had no right to return to the life you once knew.

Steve noticed that you weren't crying although the look in your eyes was swimming with grief. He expected you to cry, but somehow seeing you with dry eyes only made you look more in pain. You only clenched your fists, your shoulders tense and your jaw stiff. Steve decided he would tell the others instead of having you go through this conversation again.

He would do that for you.

You woke up surprisingly refreshed the following morning, strangely lighter than you have felt in the past decade. You didn't expect for that talk with Steve to have such an impact on you. You smiled ruefully, remembering your many counseling sessions with Curtis before and that maybe you were finally seeing his point.

FRIDAY had directed you to the larger conference room for today's briefing session with the rest of the team. You were wearing another one of Steve's shirts paired with your usual cargo pants, a fact that didn't go unnoticed judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smiles. Billy in particular was leaning in to whisper to Matt what was going on.

"You don't have to tell me. I can smell it," Matt chuckles, crinkles visible at the edges of his dark sunglasses. "His cologne is quite distinct."

You smacked Billy on the arm, but laughed with them as well before throwing a wink at Steve who proceeded to blush a deep red. As you took your seat, a cup of coffee suddenly materialized in front of you accompanied by Pietro's ever bright smile. You smiled gratefully and took a sip, eyes slightly rounding in surprise at the taste.

"You remembered how I took my coffee."

"I've forgotten nothing about you, little star."

You haven't taken your coffee that way in so long. It's been just strong plain black coffee lately, the lack of sugar and cream where you lived with the boys being a factor. It had seemed pointless to eat something sweet when there was a permanent sour taste in your mouth from life. Now though you couldn't seem to help taking one sip after another, licking your lips before going in for more.

Right now this tasted right.

You didn't notice that Billy was smiling adoringly at you and sharing a look of approval with Frank as the briefing began, happy that someone aside from him was spoiling you. You certainly didn't know that Matt was smirking because he heard your heart literally skip a beat at the sweet gesture.

It took hours for the meeting to wrap up, but there was still more to do before you could actually take action. A number of the Avengers were sent out to gather more intel while the rest would stay to make further preparations.

"I only really need to talk to Frank a bit more," Steve said as he approached your group. "Why don't we have Pietro show you guys around the Compound? There are some improvements I think you'll find interesting."

Your tour guide for the afternoon appeared beside you, taking your hand in his and bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement. He was just too cute that you couldn't help but let out a small smile. The effect he had on you remained it seems.

"A tour would be really helpful for me," Matt easily agreed.

"And I go wherever the pretty girl goes," Billy added, slinging his arm over your shoulders.

"Great. Surrender your weapons and you should be good to go," Steve asked with a pointed look at both you and Billy who groaned in answer.

Billy was ready with a string of complaints and counter arguments when the clang of metal on the glass conference table stunned him into silence. He watched in complete disbelief as you removed every gun and blade attached to your body, efficiently dismantling them and lining them up on the table.

"Is she?" Matt murmured, leaning closer to Billy.

"Yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

By the time you stepped back, there was practically a decent sized armory on the table. How and where you managed to fit all of it on your person was a mystery to them.

"You missed one," Billy said, snapping out of his daze.

He stepped in front of you and casually slipped his arm up the front of your shirt and under your sports bra. His fingers grazed unnecessarily close to your now hardened nipples and he simply winked when you raised an eyebrow at him. Billy pulled out two small throwing daggers soon after and placed them alongside your other weapons.

"Oh yeah. I keep forgetting about those," you chuckled.

"Do you always come armed to the teeth?" Bucky snapped, clearly bothered by the display.

"She doesn't want her team to carry extra ammo for her, Sergeant," Billy scowled at him, the obvious animosity surprising Bucky. When he turned back to Pietro, his expression was back to his usual playful one. "So how about that tour?"

Frank turned to Steve when you had exited the room. "You gotta teach me that trick, Cap."

"What trick?"

"First time in 10 years I've seen her take any kind of order without a knife fight first," he said, cracking a smile and shaking his head.

It turns out that coming back was doing some good for you and this made him more comfortable around the Avengers. He wasn't about to braid them friendship bracelets but he was less inclined to pop a cap in their ass. At least for the time being.

Walking around the Compound brought back some of that wonder you felt when you first stepped in, but it recalled everything you had lost. Sensing the sudden tension in you, Billy gripped you by the waist and pulled you into his side. He kissed your temple, a silent reminder of what you had gained.

Pietro had been an absolute sweetheart, specifically describing what was in the area for Matt's benefit and pointing out the changes to you. The training area was your last stop, the place you had spent the most time in during your short stint here. There were loud sounds coming from the area and walking in you saw fresh-faced recruits in paired off sparring sessions.

Your full attention was on Pietro as he happily listed off the new features and answered questions from Matt and Billy, the latter now in businessman mode as he thought of what he could implement for Anvil. You were having an unusually pleasant time until a familiar shrill voice demanded your attention.

"Well look what the street cat dragged in. Y/N?"

You knew that voice. A decade with torture and trauma included apparently couldn't change how much her voice grated at you. The cold smirk made a reappearance on your face as you slowly turned to face her, the three men with you were instantly alarmed at the change in your demeanor.

"Kim," you nodded.

"Thought you were dead."

"Thanks. Can't say I thought about you at all though."

"I see you're still pathetically clinging to Pietro."

"What can I say? He's really cute," you said with a wink at Pietro who seemed to enjoy the compliment.

She sneered at you, her irritation rising when you weren't backing down like you used to do. She couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed about you, but you seemed rougher around the edges and far too cocky for her liking. Luckily, she still remembered a sure-fire way to take you down a few pegs.

"I'm teaching a class on hand to hand combat. How about we show them a demonstration on what a real fight looks like?"

You giggled as your smile grew, a disturbing sight that made even Kim doubt herself for a moment. You nodded your head in easy acceptance and she looked like she was pleased at herself for getting this opportunity. Before you could step forward though, you found Matt's walking stick blocking your path.

"What? It's not assault if it's provoked," you grinned at the frown on his face.

He hated it when you found loopholes, but he relented with a heavy sigh. He was too used to this. He leaned toward Pietro and told him that he should inform the Captain.

"Get some snacks too, roadrunner," Billy chuckled, delightedly watching you strip off your shirt and walking confidently towards Kim on the sparring mats.

Pietro had returned a moment later after completing his task, actually handing Billy a bag of fresh popcorn. The smile on his face froze when he caught sight of your bare skin. So far all he had seen as evidence of your torture was what was visible on your neck and face. He had stupidly brushed that fact aside, too excited to have found you again. Now the vicious marring on your beautiful skin was a cruel reminder of their failure as your team. They had failed you.

He had failed you.

Back in the conference room, the same feelings were shared by two super soldiers. They had pulled up surveillance on the training area after Pietro's message, just in time to see you take off that shirt.

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs at the horrific sight. He was alive and you had paid a heavy price for saving him. He could barely keep his eyes on you, the shame burning through him. He didn't want to imagine the amount of pain you had to endure to sustain those injuries.

"Don't you people dare look at her with pity," Frank warned. "Those scars are a testament to her strength. She's damn beautiful."

Steve agreed. He'd caught a glimpse of your scars last night and jarring as they were, your complete lack of self consciousness to them just made you more alluring. Looking back at the screen though he was concerned that you could hurt yourself. Kim was a top agent now, high enough in the ranks to be training recruits and leading missions. She had proven herself deadly in combat, but the way you were grinning was chilling in itself.

"One question before we start," you said.

"What?" Kim scoffed, flipping her braided hair over her shoulder.

"When's your next mission?"

"2 weeks. Why?" she answered, perfect brow raised in confusion.

"Just calculating your recovery time," you shrugged. "I'm nice that way."

Kim predictably charged at you then, growling and cursing at you under her breath. You smirked, standard SHIELD movements were easy to read for you. You stayed completely still and relaxed in your stance as she lunged at you with her fist. You timed your movement precisely, sidestepping at the absolute last moment. One hand grabbed at the back of her head, forcing it down to ram against your oncoming fist with a sickening crack.

Broken nose.

Kim shrieked in pain as the blood gushed from her nose and she tried to pull away from you. You didn't let her. You pulled her down by the shoulder to bend her over before driving your knee up her midsection. She wheezed at the impact, the mat below her smattered with her blood.

Bruised ribs. Maybe slightly broken.

You unceremoniously threw her aside, letting her fall groaning on her side. You clicked your tongue, watching her struggle and turning to the class she was supposed to be teaching.

"Lesson 1, kids," you waved your hands in Kim's general direction. "Don't end up like that."

Broken ego.

You turned to go back to your boys when the glint of metal caught your eye. You tilted your head just in time for the dagger to zip past your eye line, only thinly scratching at your cheek. Your hands reacted on instinct, reaching for the small hidden pocket along the waistband of you pants. You flicked the thin blade with deft fingers, embedding on the mat and landing it purposely close to Kim's eyes that it cut through her fake lashes.

"Nem!" Steve's unmistakable voice boomed through the speakers. You had forgotten that they had FRIDAY everywhere. "We said no weapons."

You rolled your eyes and smiled cheekily at the cameras. "It's just a nail file. I don't like keeping blood under my nails."

"You call that training?" Steve groaned rubbing his eyes and turning to Frank.

"I call that anger management," Frank said, amused at how unpredictable to handle they already found you when they've barely scratched the surface. He noticed how Bucky looked furious, his metal hand clutching a little too hard onto the table. "Don't like what you see, Sarge?"

Bucky didn't answer. He didn't tell them that he didn't like what he saw because he knew he was a major contributor in what caused it. If only he had been kinder, gentler, more honest. Maybe things would have turned out differently.

He walked down the hallways much later gripping a first aid kit in his metal hand and nervously running the other through his cropped hair. The cut on your face was barely anything, but he needed an excuse to talk to you. He was afraid you would turn him away, but he was terrified that you wouldn't. He didn't know what to say to you. He didn't know how to begin to apologize for everything he's done. His palm grew sweaty and beads were beginning to form on his brow.

He was only a few steps away from your bedroom door and he was sorely tempted to turn back around when he noticed that it was cracked open and he could hear voices from inside. He should have followed his instinct to keep his distance but a high whine that definitely came from you pushed him to peak through the small opening.

What he saw made his already thumping heartbeat grow quicker. His eyes grew wide and his throat went dry. Whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn't this.

You. Stark naked. Grinding your mound on someone's face.

You looked absolutely glorious as you wound your hips in your chase for release; head thrown, back arched, and lips in a dreamy smile. The view he had of you, facing him and deep into your pleasure, was enough to cause his pants to tighten. He couldn't see which one of your teammates was beneath you, the bedframe blocking his view. Whoever they were, Bucky was jealous. He wanted to taste you too.

He felt that stirring of longing again now as he watched you in the throes of passion with another man. He felt it the moment you stepped back into their lives. He felt it during the 10 years they thought you were dead. And he felt it when you were still in training as a recruit every time you smiled at Pietro and Steve.

You picked up your pace and he could see muscular arms reach up to grip your waist and pull you down harder. You were panting curses, your breathing turning erratic and Bucky could see your thighs begin to shake. The sight of you coming undone has to be the most entrancing thing he's ever seen.

Movement from you and your partner pulled him from the hypnosis caused by your erotic display. His face heated up, deeply embarrassed at having watched you for so long and finding enjoyment in basically violating your privacy. He was about to leave when the man whose face you had been riding, came up to kneel behind you.

He pulled your hips back against his own, sliding his hard length easily into your dripping cunt causing you to moan so deliciously that Bucky felt a shiver run down his spine. You reached your hand up to grip the back of his head, letting him bury his own in your neck as he set a languid pace with his thrusts.

Your head rolled to the side and your eyes opened, locking directly with Bucky's. You smirked and reached down to circle your swollen bud, pressing your back further against the hard body rutting behind you and purposely putting on a show. You winked at him.

He bolted out of there.

"That wasn't very nice, honey," the low voice was thick with lust in your ear. His breathing was growing labored too, finding your heat wrapping around him overwhelming.

"I don't see you stopping, Captain."

"How can I when you're gripping me so tight?" He snapped his hips earning a sharp moan from you. "Did you like that? Torturing my best pal with me balls deep inside you?"

You sighed and closed your eyes. Apple pie Steve wouldn't have whispered such sinful things to you, but this Steve could make you cum with just filthy words alone.

"Yeah, you did. Look at you clenching and soaking my cock from having Bucky watch you. You like being bad to him, honey?"

A sudden smack to your ass had you snapping your eyes open. He chuckled into your neck, biting down hard on the juncture as he felt you gripping him even tighter.

"Answer," he growled, landing a harsher smack to your bottom.

"Yes! Yes, Captain, I did."

"Good. Will you be good for me now, honey? You caused a bit of trouble today." His thrusting was still slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein with each stroke as he drove you into a stupor. "Will you be a good girl for your Captain now?"

"Yes, Captain."

He smirked against your skin, pleased at your compliance. He was reveling in the power he had over you. Frank had said that you never took orders without a fight, but here you were being so good for him. Pliable. Yielding. He was enjoying it.

He gathered your hair in one hand and pulled, your back arching beautifully and emphasizing where his cock was buried deep inside you. With each thrust his cock came out glistening with your slick. The image made him lose control, abruptly escalating his pace to rail feverishly into you.

He had you gasping and clutching at the sheets instantly, begging for him to go harder and push you over the edge. He bent over you and reached around to rub furiously at your throbbing clit.

"Cum like a good girl, honey. Cum around my cock," he commanded. "I wanna feel you fucking drown me."

You came, lights dancing in your eyes and your head empty of all thoughts aside from the pleasure that racked your body. He followed soon after with a loud grunt, the sensation of you fluttering around him too much to resist.

He fell on top of you, spent and satisfied. Your sweat and heavy breaths mingling together as you both tried to return back to the world. You liked the heavy feel of him on top of you, strangely finding comfort in the weight.

He dragged you with him when he rolled off you, spooning you and planting kisses on the back of your shoulders that had your skin tingling from his beard.

"When are you going to put him out of his misery?"

"When it stops being fun?" you chuckled.

Steve wasn't going to push the issue. He knew that it was up to you whether you forgave Bucky or not and when that would be. It would be on your own terms how things moved. Just like what happened between you two. He wasn't expecting it, but the heated argument about the injuries you inflicted on one of his best agents had somehow escalated into him spanking you and you growing wet from it.

Not that either of you were complaining.

You turned around in his arms to face him, looking up at him with a taunting smirk. "You sure your old heart can take being in a polyamorous relationship?"

He chuckled and pecked your lips before going back in for a much deeper kiss that had you swooning. When he pulled back, he was looking at you lovingly.

"I'm known for waiting too long about things like this. I lost my shot at you 10 years ago. I'm not missing out on you again."

His words were firm and genuine. He honestly thought that he would mind having to share you with several other men. He thought that he would feel jealous and possessive. Instead, he felt reassured. He knew that wherever and whenever he lacked, someone else would pick it up and he would be the same. There was a sense of relief knowing that you would always be taken cared of by people who felt the same for you as he did.

"Well then you have some making up to do for waiting so long," you said nibbling at his lower lip.

He groaned and grabbed your thigh, hitching your leg up on his hip. Your thighs and core were still sticky and slippery from both your releases. His tongue dove into your mouth and he could feel you moan against his lips as he ran the tip of his cock against your still sensitive core. Your nails dug into his back as he sunk in, fitting perfectly inside you.

"You're running with a super soldier now, honey," he said, eyes burning with want. "I can do this all day."

------------------------------------------------

A/N: Some asked about Jill and Kim so here you go, lovelies. Come freak out with me in the comments and reblogs. Thank you all for the support! More coming soon. 

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[scoonsalicious]

5.4 Major*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, explicit sexual content (hand stuff, fingering) Minors GTFO: I don't serve your kind here.

Word Count: 900

Previously On...: Lily knows Bucky's been lying to her, and she's surmised he's on a date. That's got to end.

A/N: Posting a little early today to make up for yesterday being so late!

I've decided to postpone my break by a few days, so I will give you Chapter 6 in its entirety before I take my mini-hiatus. It's only three parts long, so I will start my break on Thursday, 5/16 and resume posting on Thursday, 5/23. It's a better place in the story to leave you, a little bit more dramatic than at the end of this chapter, like I had originally planned, lol. It felt off leaving you all here.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You flopped your body down onto your bedsheets with a giggle. “Full marks, Sergeant,” you gasped between panting breaths. “Once again.” It was all the two of you could do to get back to your apartment without ripping each other’s clothes off.

Bucky laughed and came to lay down alongside you, propping his head up on his vibranium arm. Leaning over, he bent down to kiss you. “I couldn’t have done it without you, doll” he said with a grin, but then his face grew serious. “Seriously. It’s never been like this with other girls.”

You blushed and playfully pushed at his rock hard shoulder. “Come on, Bucky,” you said with a laugh. “You’ve already got me naked and exactly where you want me; you don’t need to sweet talk me.”

Bucky placed a hand on your sweat-slicked hip, gently turning you to your side so you were facing him. “I’m not,” he told you, searching your eyes with the utmost sincerity in his expression. He pushed back a strand of damp hair away from your face. “I’ve been with… well, a fair number of girls over the years.” At the raise of your eyebrow, he held his flesh hand up defensively. “What? I’m 105 years old, doll. I’ve been around the block.” You couldn’t hold back your laugh at that, and he kissed your nose before continuing: 

“Like I said, a fair number of girls. And none of them, not a single one, ever made me feel the way I have when I’m with you.” He cupped your cheek in his hand and you felt your cheeks flame in a blush. “Come on, sugar. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too. That this,” he took his hand off your cheek to motion between your two bodies, “isn’t something special.”

“It’s been a little over a day, Bucky,” you chastised him gently with a smile, afraid to admit that you, too, felt this was something unique. “Maybe thirty hours?” Thirty hours in which the two of you had somehow managed to have sex eight times, not that you were counting. You couldn’t believe how quickly he was able to get it up again after he came, but he’d assured you that was his favorite side effect of the serum that had made him a super soldier. It had quickly become your favorite, too.

Bucky’s face fell, and you realized that he wasn’t going to judge you if you told him the truth, because he felt it just the same. “The best thirty hours of my life,” you clarified, tucking your fingers under his chin so you could bring his gaze back up to yours. “And yes, I feel it, too. It’s never been like this before. Not with anyone else.”

“Not even with your ex-husband?” Bucky asked with a playful smirk.

“Especially not with Conner,” you told him with a roll of your eyes. “Took me years to teach that man where my clit was, and even on his best days, he still needed a map.”

“Oh, you mean this, right here?” Bucky deftly slid his hand between your thighs, finding your hub of nerves almost instinctively and began to lightly trace it with his finger, sending an electric tingle through your body. 

“Fuck, yes,” you exhaled, reaching up to grab Bucky’s shoulder for support as he increased the pressure. He moved his metal arm from under his head and slid it behind your shoulders as he pulled you flush with his chest.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he murmured into your hair as he moved his fingers faster against you, occasionally dipping them down to your entrance to collect some of your slick for lubrication. You hitched a leg up over his hip to allow him better access to your core. 

“Jesus, Bucky,” you moaned, feeling yourself building to the crescendo. Taking your hand off his shoulder, you grabbed his wrist, guiding his movements so you could grind your desperate cunt against his hand.

“Do you want my fingers, sugar?” Bucky panted. You looked up at him to find his gaze locked on where his hand had vanished between your thighs, his pupils completely blown from lust. “Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers until you squirt all over me?”

You couldn’t even get out a coherent word, just a pathetic whine that turned into a near scream when Bucky plunged three of his digits into you. The air was full of the frantic sounds of your combined breathing, along with the rapid squelch of his fingers driving in and out of your cunt with a speed you didn’t know was humanly possible. It felt like he was hitting every part of you, even parts you didn’t know existed until now. Every time with Bucky felt that way.

“How you doing, sugar?” Bucky asked as he continued to drive his fingers home. “You okay?”

You nodded and grunted in the affirmative, loving how he always checked in on you. You were so much more than okay. You were transcendent. 

Soon, you felt that intense, unfamiliar build up that only he had been able to pull out of you once before, on the living room floor. The pleasure was so intense, you couldn’t see straight and you were exploding all over again, clinging to Bucky for dear life as you screamed his name. 

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

[melancholyshadow]

he’s a family affair || s. rogers

(NOT IN A WEIRD WAY)

summary: you finished your medical residency six months ago, and this was not the job you thought you were going to get. 

pairing: steve rogers x female!reader (maybe a little bucky barnes x female!reader)

warning: i dont think this part has any 

an: hello! this is the beginning of my steve series, and i am so excited!!! i’ve wanted to write this for so long! input is appreciated!! should be posting the next part of my bucky series tomorrow!! enjoy! also this fic isn’t set in a specific part of the mcu timeline, i’m making my own timeline lol. also also, no one yell at me for calling it the ‘superman serum’ i thought it was funny.

As you walked out of your apartment building, you were greeted by two things. One, being the early morning chill of April. Secondly, a man holding a sign with your last name written on it in black sharpie. You approached him, pulling your thin blazer closer to your body, “Are you Ms. (Y/L/N)?” He asked, noticing you. You nodded your head, and he read the confusion on your face. “I work for Tony Stark, and he asked me to pick you up for your appointment.” He explained, you finally noticed the Stark Industries logo plastered on the side of the large SUV. Tucking the sign under his arm, he gestured towards the back passenger door, and pulled it open for you. You stepped in quickly, wanting to get out of the cold as soon as possible. 

The ride was quiet other than the radio in the front playing a ton of old songs, some of them you knew, others not so much. You watched as the other’s car passed and the people walking along the sidewalks, all in their own little world. The ride to Stark Industries was only about a twenty minute drive from your place, but with the New York City traffic, it was around forty minutes instead. 

Once the infamous building came into your view, you felt your heartbeat quicken a bit. The car slowly came to a stop out front, and you went to grab for the door handle, but the driver stopped you, “I’ll be right over.” You waited for a few moments before the door was ripped open by the driver. He put his free hand out for you to grab, allowing you to stabilize yourself as you stepped out of the car. “Thank you.” You smiled, straightening out your skirt. “Of course.” He smiled, shutting the door.

“So, you’ll just walk through those front doors, tell the receptionist your name, and she’ll check you in.” The driver explained, motioning towards the large glass doors about twenty feet in front of you. Thanking him one last time, you repositioned your portfolio under your arm and your purse further up on your shoulder. 

“I’m here to see Mr. Stark.” You explained, smiling down at the receptionist, who didn’t meet your gaze or even try to smile back at you. “Most people are.” She said smugly, looking you up and down. “Your name?” She asked, smacking her gum loudly between her teeth. “It’s probably under my last name, (Y/L/N).” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other nervously. Her annoyed facade cracked for a moment, eyes widening in shock. “(Y/F/N)? She asked, finally meeting your gaze. You nodded, handing her your license for proof of identification. 

She grabbed the phone next to her, punched in a couple numbers, and brought it up to her ear. “Happy, yeah, I have Mr. Stark’s 11:30 down here waiting.” She explained in an annoyed tone, twirling the phone cord around her index finger. She let out a couple “mhmm’s” and “nuh-uh’s” before placing the phone back down on the receiver. “Someone will be down to get you.” She explained, practically shooing you away from her desk. 

You took a seat in one of the plush white chairs, placing your bag and portfolio in the seat next to you. Grabbing the phone from the side pocket of your bag, shooting one of your friends a text that read, “Waiting to meet him now, Wish me luck!” As you tossed your phone back into your purse, a large man walked up to you. “Are you (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)?” He asked, reading your name off the paper attached to his clipboard. “Yes, sir.” You answered, standing from the chair and putting a hand out for him to shake. 

The man was heavier-set, not too much so, and wearing a suit, white dress shirt with black pants, jacket, and tie. His face was decorated with a salt and peppered mustache, beard, and goatee, and bushy eyebrows to match. But his hair was free of any grey, which you found odd, figuring he dyed it and didn’t bother doing so with his facial hair. There was a small name plate sitting above his left breast pocket, it read “Happy Hogan, Head of Security. Mr. Hogan grabbed your hand, shaking it. His hands were clammy and warm, you noticed some sweat forming on his brow. Just a warm man, you assumed.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. (Y/L/N). You can follow me.” He smiled, tucking the clipboard under his arm. He started walking towards the elevators, and you quickly grabbed your things, taking big strides to keep up with him. Pressing the button with an up arrow, the both you waited for the elevator to make its way to you. After a few moments, the large metal doors stretched open, giving enough space for both of you to walk in simultaneously. Happy’s large thumb pressed the button marked ‘15.’

“Once we reach our floor, you’ll have to go through some additional security screenings.” He explained, watching the red number increase one at a time. “Sounds good.” You agreed, watching those same red numbers. You had already walked through a metal detector and your things ran through a small conveyor belt, like the ones at the airport. As the large metal doors opened on the fifteenth floor, you noticed a security guard waiting on the other side. “I’ll take those.” Happy said, putting his hand out to take your purse and portfolio. 

“Arms out and spread your legs, please.” The security guard said, holding one of those hand held metal detectors, but one that looked like it was on steroids. This didn’t surprise you, you were convinced Tony had created them, being sure they could catch anything metal and some. After no beeps emerged from the machine, the security guard gave Happy a thumbs up, he smiled and handed back your things. Happy led to a pair of hardwood doors, and knocked heavily. A voice called something out from the other side, but you couldn’t quite make it out. 

As he pulled open one of the doors, Happy gestured for you to enter. You walked in and noticed a familiar looking man sitting behind a large desk, fiddling with a pen. You had seen his face all over the news, on newspapers, and one thousand tabloids. It was Tony Stark, or Iron Man, both names just as infamous as the other. But he wasn’t alone, as you expected him to be, there was another man.

He was a man of a darker skin complexion and lacked any hair on his head. You noticed an eye-patch that laid over the curve of head and all the way under his ear. He was dressed in a long black trench coat and underneath was a jumpsuit, and on his feet were black combat boots. He was sitting in a chair off to the side, but close enough to Tony’s desk that he clearly would be part of this conversation.

“Good morning, Ms. (Y/L/N).” Mr. Stark said, breaking your train of thought. “Good morning, Mr. Stark and Mr…” You trailed off, looking towards the mystery man. “Fury.” He said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mr. Fury.” You repeated, shifting your weight uncomfortably. “Take a seat, please.” Tony said, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk. You happily did so, cursing at yourself for even thinking these heels would be comfortable. As you seated yourself, you unzipped your portfolio, “I brought my dissertation, like you asked.” You explained, handing him the two copies, and you now know why he asked you make a second copy. Tony handed Fury one of the copies, and they both read over it for a few moments. 

The silence was thick enough to cut with a knife and the nerves had you practically vibrating. The only thing breaking the silence was a page being flipped every so often. “What made you want to do your dissertation on the chemical construction of this so-called, “Superman Serum?” Fury asked, still flipping through the pages, scanning. “Well, it’s an interest that’s run through my family for a couple generations now.” You began to explain.

“Supposedly, my great-grandfather was friends with a man named Dr. Erskine. They shared a lab when they worked for the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Erskine asked him to help him perfect this serum that would completely alter one’s DNA. Make them ten times faster and one hundred times stronger. It would also make their bodies' regeneration processes occur at a much faster rate and essentially pause any aging.” Tony’s gaze was laser focused on you. “And my great-grandfather claimed that he was there when Steve Rogers became Captain America.”

“You sound skeptical about your great grandfather’s claims, Why?” Fury asked, completely forgetting about the paper in his hand. “Well for many years, I thought he was just a senile old man.” You began to explain. “He was in his late-eighties when I was born, and I remember as a kid he would tell me these stories, like they were, well, stories. Going on about meeting Captain America and watching his friend, Dr. Erskine die.”

“When he passed, I was fifteen, and that summer my family and I were tasked with going through all of his belongings. And in his attic I found a box, covered in years of dust and hidden behind some old Halloween decorations. It was full of documents, photos, journals, and everything else you could think of, about his time with Dr. Erskine. And ever since then, with their research, I've been trying to see if I could recreate and perfect their work.” 

“Why do you call it the Superman Serum?” Tony asked, glancing down at the page in front of him. “Well, I’ve looked through everything in that box over a thousand times and they never named it, they just referred to it as ‘The Serum.’ And I figured, if it makes the person stronger, faster, and excel regeneration properties, that sounds just like Superman.” 

“Well, (Y/F/N), we have a proposition for you.” Fury said, bringing himself to his feet. “I work for an organization called Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistic Division, or S.H.I.E.L.D.” He took a seat on the edge of the desk, directly to your left now. “We’ve been watching you work for awhile, and after some consideration, we’d like to offer you a position to work with us, and more specifically, with our two Super Soldiers, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.” He explained, putting his hand out behind him, and Tony placed two folders into his hand. “These two individuals have been injected with a version on Dr. Erskine’s “Super Soldier Serum.”

Fury then handed you those same folders. They were a manila color decorated with their acronym, and a crest that looked like a bird. The bottom had bolded words that said “Security Level 7 or Above Required.” You were speechless, so confused, yet a small bit of excitement swelled in the bit of your stomach. “I-I don’t understand.” You confessed, your eyes darting between the two men. Then Tony spoke up, 

“You’re about to make your great-grandfather very proud.”

It had been a week since the meeting with Stark and Fury, and you were still reeling about the whole situation. You pinched yourself almost daily, to make sure you weren’t dreaming. And today was no different. The phone next to you buzzed, and a name, one you would never get used to seeing, popped up. It was Tony. 

Before you left his office a week ago, Tony handed you a cell phone. “This is how Fury and I will get in contact with you until further notice.” This didn’t surprise you, since you didn’t expect Tony Stark to give a new girl his personal phone number, and you were convinced Fury only communicated with people through morse code.

The text read, “Some of the Avengers are heading off on a mission. I’ll need you to come to the Compound tomorrow, so that you’ll be here before they get back. Plus, Banner wants to talk to you about your “Superman Serum,” bring as much stuff from that box as possible. Thanks.” And attached was an address. 

Banner, like Bruce Banner? Not only does that man have seven PhD’s, but he’s also the Incredible Hulk! Mind-blowing. As the day go on, your situation seems to get crazier and crazier. You quickly typed out a response, “Alright, I’ll be there by noon tomorrow. Thanks.” This would be the first time you met anyone other than Tony, Happy, and Fury. And you were incredibly nervous. 

Who wouldn’t be? These are literal superheroes, you were living almost every child’s dream. This was your childhood dream. Especially to meet the first Avenger, Captain America. You grew up hearing about him, he was your first crush. Your grandpa had described him to you multiple times, also telling you about his personal history, as well. And that day they found him on ice and when he was finally unfroze, he was exactly like you imagined him to be. 

It was hard for you to sit still, running around your apartment, throwing things into a suitcase. Giving yourself enough options for anything they could throw at you, unless it was aliens, you didn’t have anything to wear if they threw aliens at you. When night finally fell, you popped a couple melatonin, knowing your nerves would keep you up all night. 

They worked a tad bit, but you woke up at around 7:30 the next morning, not knowing what to do with yourself for the next hour and a half. Then you remembered that Tony had asked you to bring some stuff from the box you found at your great-grandfather’s house. Walking down the hallway, you made your way towards the guest room, where you stored the box. 

The box wasn’t so much a “box” anymore. It was more of a file cabinet. You had organized most of it, so it was easier to comb through when you needed too. You grabbed three of your great-grandfather’s lab journals, one folder full of case reports, and some pictures he took during the serum trials. As you pulled out one of the journals, something fluttered out and landed on the floor. 

That was odd. You never stuck anything in these journals because everything had its own place in the cabinet. Whatever it was, there was nothing on the back, as you picked it up, you flipped it over. Your eyes widened, it was a picture. You had never seen this picture before, it must have been stuck to the inside cover of the journal. You eyes glanced at the four men, recognizing all of them. 

It was you great-grandfather, Dr. Erskine, Howard Stark, and Captain America. “You have gotta be kidding me.” You chuckled, a wave of disbelief washing over you. Placing the picture on top of the stack,  throwing it all in a backpack and placing it by your bag. 

You managed to kill the hour and a half, and soon you were throwing all of your belongings in the back of your car. The Compound was only about a two hour drive from your apartment, you had put it in your GPS about a hundred times, just to double, triple, and quadruple check. You were actually excited for most of the drive, but absolutely dreading getting out of New York City, so you gave yourself an extra hour to do so, just to be on the safe side. 

The drive was full of loud music, a drink from your favorite coffee joint, and psyching yourself up to meet everyone. When the GPS said “You have arrived at your destination,” you weren’t entirely sure if that was correct. Or you weren’t, until you saw the giant ‘A’ plastered on the side. Not very conspicuous. 

You noticed someone approaching your car, and as they got closer you saw a familiar face, it was Happy. “Hey, Mr. Hogan!” You called through your opened window. “Hey (Y/F/N).” He said back, opening the driver side door for you. “Oh, thank you.” 

Pressing the button to lift your trunk, you stepped out of the car and towards the back. “I’ll have someone bring your things to your room.” He explained, handing you a keycard, with a large ‘3’ and ‘C’ written on it. “Alright, but I’ll take this.” Grabbing the backpack full of your great-grandfather’s things. “And here’s your access card to get the elevators, rooms, labs, so on and so forth. Happy explained that Tony and Bruce would be on the fourth floor, which was a completely dedicated floor of labs and conference rooms.  

You expected the interior to be similar to that of the Stark Industries building, busy and bustling. But instead, it almost seems barren. You remembered Tony  mentioning some of the Avengers were off being the heroes they are, but surely everyone else had to be somewhere else. You chalked it up to them being in their rooms or on another floor. 

So, you climbed in the nearest elevator, scanning your access card, and pressed the number four. The metal doors opened into a small hallway with three or four doors on either side, and one all the way at the end of the hallway. That door was the only one with a light on, so you made your way towards it. 

You scanned your access card, and a little green light flickered, so you pulled open the door. And just as Happy said, there was Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. “Hey, champ.” Tony greeted, looking away from the two floating DNA strands in the middle of the room. “Hello, Mr. Stark…” You smiled toward him, then looked towards Bruce, “Hello, Dr. Banner.” He smiled at you, awkwardly. 

“I brought that stuff you asked for.” You reached for the backpack, walking towards Banner. Unzipping the bag, you began placing all the content in front of him. His eyes lit up, immediately grabbing for one of the journals. He flipped through them furiously, and you left him to do so, joining Tony. “Banner’s actually the reason we found you, ya’know?” 

“Wait really?” You questioned, glancing behind you towards the doctor. He was so enthralled that he didn’t even look up. “Yep, he was conducting a seminar for Dr. Coleman.” Dr. Coleman is a professor at your college, he helped you throughout your entire college career, especially with your dissertation. Coleman took you under his wing, as you started college earlier than most. “He told Banner about you, showing him your dissertation.” Tony continued. 

“Banner came back and said that we needed to keep tabs on you.” You were shocked. One, how did Dr. Coleman know Banner, and two, this answered your question about how they found out about you. “He wanted me to reach out immediately, but I wanted you to finish your medical residency first.” You finished your medical residency about 6 months ago, finishing at a younger age than average. “And here you are now.” Tony laughed. 

Some time had passed, and the lab door opened. All three of you looked up and towards the woman standing in the doorway. “Vision made dinner.” She said with a thick accent. She was absolutely. gorgeous. Her skin looked like porcelain and her auburn hair contrasted beautifully. She wore a sweater much too large for her and a pair of black leggings.“Hungry, champ?” Tony asked, placing a hand on the middle of your back. You nodded, not noticing your hunger till now. 

Tony and Bruce walked out first, and the woman waited for you while you grabbed your purse, leaving the journals and such for Dr. Banner. “Hello, I’m- (Y/F/N), I know.” She cut you off and smiled at you sweetly. “Banner and Tony have been talking about you for months now.” She explained, as the two of you walked to the elevator. “I’m Wanda.”

Dinner was great, well it was after the initial shock of seeing Vision. You had seen him on the news once or twice, but it was very different in person. “Vision doesn’t eat.” Tony explained, when he noticed you looking at the empty space in front of Vision where a plate should be. “Messes with his computer parts.” Banner said, stuffing a piece of broccoli in his mouth. Everyone chatted and you sat their in awe, pinching yourself once again, to make sure you weren’t dreaming. 

Wanda was in the middle of telling an embarrassing story about Tony when a female voice cut her off, speaking from all around you, “Mr. Stark, the Quinjet has landed.” She spoke, her voice was very realistic, but a small tone of mechanics still present. “Thank you, F.I.R-Sir, Rogers in injured.” She cut him off. Tony looked at you, 

“It’s your time to shine, champ.”

[ao3feed-stevebucky]

Most Likely (high school reunion Stucky fic)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/mncA3Fq

by loveforpreserumsteve

"Shaking his head, Bucky grabbed the stack of mail. Bill. Bill. Another bill. Spam. Avon catalog for the woman who lived there in the early 2000s and has since passed away. More bills. More spam. A letter for Bianca. Extremely early birthday card for Enola. And then -

'Well, f*ck me.'

'What?' Vienna questioned, taking a seat at the table. Concerned, 'Did someone die?'

'No, worse,' Bucky exaggerated, moving over to the breakfast table. There, in his hand was an RSVP postcard. 'It's my twenty-fifth high school reunion.'"

-Modern Stucky AU -Smut and other mature content -past WinterWidow -past Steggy

***I don't own Marvel or the characters of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, nor any of the other Marvel characters

Words: 1279, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, M/M

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa, Rick Mason/Natasha Romanov (Marvel)

Additional Tags: High School Reunion, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Past Teen Pregnancy, Post-Divorce, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Bucky Barnes, Single Parent Steve Rogers, Single Parent Bucky Barnes

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/mncA3Fq

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: ��It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.