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captainsimagines · 3 years ago

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dreaming in june || six

Summary: At the request of an old friend who now happens to be the new Captain America, you move to a place that only vaguely feels peaceful, to secretly protect his best friend. There you meet Bucky Barnes, your next door neighbor, who has also lived countless lives, seen a lot of things, and lost the one he loved. You have more in common than you thought.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) POC Enhanced Reader

Based on the Song(s): Heat Waves by Glass Animals and iann dior ; Coney Island by Taylor Swift and The National

Series / AO3 Link

(6/15)

Warnings: mentions of genocide; mentions of death; mentions of lyn*hing; mentions of suicidal thoughts; mentions of alcohol and alcoholism; discussions of torture; strong language

Word Count: 8,000+

Author’s Note: You think this is angst? I’d prepare myself for the upcoming chapters! xxMoni

“He doesn’t need to breathe under this ocean—he remembers the taste of air just fine.”

This can’t be real. Your eyes must be inventing this with each step you take toward him. Your imagination must be running wild. But Bucky’s angrily yelling and Druig’s smug responses are bringing you back to yourself.

This is real. Druig is actually here.

“What the fuck?” you seethe as you crowd Druig’s personal space. He’s still attached to the wall, binded by sharp edges and snapping roots. He still looks the same. He’s just like you. He hasn’t aged a day. Granted, his hair is slightly longer on top, curlier, and his eyes are shining differently. He’s still Druig. Druig has the responses to all your unanswered questions.

“Princess,” he says again, like he too is struck down by surprise. Bucky has stopped yelling—not that Druig was even listening. He’s simply looking at you.

“Do not call me that,” you growl, pointing a finger dangerously close to his face. His eyes cross a little as he looks down at it. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“I—” he starts, but then shakes his head. He looks down at the roots wrapping his body. “Can I please be let down?”

“No,” Bucky answers immediately.

Druig still doesn’t pay him a glance. “Princess,” he says, wincing when the roots tighten across his torso. “Please allow me to explain.”

“What are you doing to me?” you whisper. It’s impossible to stop the sudden sting of tears. You do not want to cry in front of him. He owes you answers—you do not owe him tears. You are not a sob story. “Why are you still alive?”

You already know how. He’s an Eternal—he explained it, you two discussed it in depth—Hell, he theorized that maybe you were one as well. But it wouldn’t make sense: Why weren’t you sent down with them near the beginning of human civilization?

But you didn’t ask how. You asked why.

“Who is this?” Bucky asks. His hands are wound in tight fists near his thighs. He’s not wearing his gloves, so you can clearly see the plates of his metal hand recalibrating.

“Druig,” he introduces himself, a soft grin decorating his otherwise stoic expression. “No need for other introductions. I know who you are.”

Bucky doesn’t like that. He absolutely detests when others claim they know him. Nobody knows him. Not anymore. When people claim they know Bucky, they’re almost always referring to the shit Bucky’s trying to find closure with—The Fist of Hydra, Captain America’s right-hand man, James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th.

He’s just Bucky.

“Hyacinth,” Bucky says through clenched teeth. “Say the word and he goes.”

You finally tear your hard glare away from Druig. “He can kill you, James. Do not antagonize him.”

Bucky doesn’t like hearing that either. There aren’t a lot of people that can kill him unless they’re also superpowered or alien-like—

Did Druig call you ‘Princess’?

“She’s right,” Druig smiles. His Irish accent hasn’t changed one bit. After all these years on this planet, his accent remains unchanged. Why wasn’t that the case with yours? “Has she told you about me?”

No, you haven’t. Why would discuss Druig to Bucky? He abandoned you. He didn’t deserve a retelling.

But Bucky, bless him, is understanding this situation completely out of context. Druig’s smug grin is the same as every guy’s when they introduce themselves as someone who used to fuck their girl, like they’re about to go into descriptive detail about how they bent you over their desk at work this one time. He’s calling you Princess… only Bucky’s allowed to call you pet names with romantic undertones.

Before Bucky can respond, his left arm suddenly jerks. Then, it’s buried deep inside your wall. Druig’s eyes glow a faint yellow.

And you, well, you see red. You command the plants off the wall, never letting their grip on Druig loosen, and slam him into the hardwood floor. His head bounces from the impact so you wrap extra roots around his neck. He struggles, watching as you climb over him to straddle his chest. You lean down to make sure he can read your lips clearly.

“You do not control his mind,” you spit. You swear your cheeks are vibrating and your lips are trembling. Yet, you feel oddly satisfied at seeing him forcibly detained. “You never control his mind. Not him. Do you hear me?”

Druig’s smile is long gone. The vines around his neck tighten, then he’s nodding his head as best as he can. “Princess,” he gurgles.

“Not him,” you repeat, painfully.

“Not him,” Druig recites. The vines instantly loosen as you climb off him. The plants decrease in length, strangely crawling back to their corresponding pots. Once settled, it’s like they were never intended for harm in the first place.

Druig grunts and rolls onto his side. He coughs a couple times and rubs at his chest. Bucky cleans his fist of drywall. He forces himself to stay where he is—he might just kill this guy anyway.

“What in the Hell!”

All heads whip to the front door, startled by the outburst. Sam stands there, shocked, shield in hand. He carefully intrudes and guides both you and Bucky behind him, raising the shield.

“Shortcake, you good?”

You nod. Sam continues, “Buck?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” Bucky waves him off. He doesn’t know if he’s lying to himself or not: Someone just controlled his mind. After months of recovery and nightmares plaguing his sleep, someone has succeeded in controlling his mind once again.

“Who is this?” Sam asks.

You carefully walk around Sam and to Druig. Sam makes a move as if he’s trying to block you, but Bucky holds him back. Bucky’s seen the way you defend yourself—he’s pretty sure you’ll be able to do it again.

“You need to start talking.”

Druig nods as he struggles to stand. “Please. I understand you’re upset.”

“Upset?” you scoff. “Druig, I’ve had five hundred years to be upset.”

“Five hundred?” Sam exclaims. He looks from you, to Druig, to Bucky. The ignored exclamation leads him to quickly realize that he’ll get his answers soon enough.

“Princess…”

“Stop calling me that,” you beg, voice cracking at the end. “I am not a Princess anymore. I haven’t been in a long time.”

“It does not erase who you are.”

“Druig, you left me for dead!”

The room silences. Your heart pounds in your ears.

“No, I didn’t.”

You stalk toward him and shove him by his shoulders. Druig allows it. “You didn’t come back! You sent my people, unprotected, to come save me! You sent Ari back when I specifically told you to keep him safe! Out of all people! You were supposed to keep him safe!”

Druig winces as you shove him again. His face crumbles and his voice lowers, solemn with true grief. “I was helping everyone else cross the river. I was with the Chief. Ari assured me—”

“Our weapons were no match for guns, Druig! You had one gun and ten bullets! Ten wasn’t enough to take on the Spanish army!”

“I know,” Druig raises his hands in defeat. “But I trusted Ari would fight well to keep you safe.”

“I had already died when he came back for me!” you choke. Your face is drenched. “He died for nothing.”

At this, Druig doesn’t speak. He studies your face slowly, like he’s memorizing every intricate detail he most likely already knows. You don’t want his reaction to affect you—but seeing him again is scrambling your mind. You’ve been betrayed; you’re devastated and angry. Every horrible adjective, in every language invented, describes your state of mind.

“I went back for you,” Druig admits, swallowing hard. “I went back and I found—” He cuts himself off as he bows his head. A muscle in his jaw tightens.

You know what he’s going to say. It doesn’t hurt any less.

“I found him lynched and cold,” Druig breathes, voice low. Sam and Bucky are immovable. “I found them all lynched and cold. I couldn’t find you anywhere. I thought they… I thought they captured you. I cut them all down and I buried them, Princess. I promise you I buried them far away from that death site and followed your rituals. I promise.”

“I was right there,” your voice wobbles. “I was in the middle of it all. How could you not see me?”

Druig’s face contorts into awful confusion. “I didn’t see you.”

Of course not. You literally buried yourself.

“Where did you bury him?”

“Right under the tree that the two of you loved to climb to hunt. I’ve visited over the years. I promise you he’s still there.”

A sob tears upwards through your chest, bursting wetly. He’s buried. His soul has found some peace. But the bracelet…

“Shortcake,” Sam gently calls, walking to you until his chest presses against your back. You turn and wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him close to bury your face in the crook of his shoulder. “Hey.”

“It still doesn’t answer my question,” you hiccup. “Why is he here?”

“A lot has happened in the past year,” Druig sighs. “We were fighting the deviants.”

Fuck it all, you think. More fucking chaos?

“Did you at least win?” you ask, turning your face out so Druig can see you. He’s standing by the couch, cautious and nervous.

“Yes. But after we defeated Tiamut, a lot of things happened. I started hearing voices,” he explains, a grimace painting his features. “They were so loud, Princess. I tried to stop them but then…”

“Enough stalling,” Sam demands, holding you closer. “Tell us or get the hell out. I can’t have this shit so close to where I sleep, man. I literally just left a crisis meeting. I’m not in the mood.”

Druig clears his throat. “I could hear yours. I thought I was going crazy. I thought for sure you were dead. But you said something that made me realize you weren’t.”

“Don’t expose my thoughts.”

“I left you little clues,” Druig continues. “You fed James that chip, even though you wanted to eat it. Remember? The mark in that awful Greek myths book describing the God of mind control and hypnosis? I thought I was being subtle.”

“You…” you pause, turning to face him fully. “You’ve been controlling my mind?”

Yeah, Bucky wants to kill this guy. He’s proud of himself for staying still this long, but that’s shot to Hell. He stalks toward Druig and wraps his metal hand around his throat. Surprisingly, Druig doesn’t struggle. It’s as if he’s defeated, like reminiscing has taken its toll. “So that’s your power? Mind control? Out of all fucking powers?”

“James,” you whisper to him, squeezing his shoulder. “He won’t hurt me. He’s violated me but he won’t physically hurt me.” That doesn’t make this any better, Bucky thinks. It’s not a good feeling being violated. He releases his hold on Druig’s neck and turns away, struggling to control his breathing.

Sam knows Bucky like the back of his hand. He’s seen him crumble under stress, under fear, under an ocean of dreadful depression. He knows exactly what the root cause is before he even walks through the front door. Sam has remedies for all possibilities. And this crumbling—this one is because of fear.

Sam moves to stand in front of both you and Bucky again. He believes you when you say Druig won’t physically hurt any of you but he’s not taking any chances. When he asked you to protect Bucky, that meant that Sam assigned himself the job of protecting you. “We can continue this tomorrow. You know where the new Avengers compound is?”

Druig glances at you, probably hoping you’ll ask him to stay. It’s obvious he has so much more to say and he doesn’t like being shut down. When Druig speaks, he likes to be listened to. But Sam is serious, and Druig respects Sam, so he gently nods and whispers a small I’m sorry, Princess before he leaves through the front door. He’ll be back, there’s no doubt about it, but at least you can finally take a moment to process today’s events.

“I’m going to bed,” you announce in a mumble, before you strip yourself of your sweater and satchel. Your limbs feel heavy and weightless at the same time. You want to march down the stairs and into the street and demand even more explanation from Druig. But there’s this small piece of your mind that’s telling you he’s telling the whole truth—everything he knows now.

“Wait,” Bucky rushes, turning you around so he can cup your cheeks. He searches your face for any warning signs. “Come over to our place, yeah? You shouldn’t be alone after someone just broke into your apartment.”

What he wants to say is, I don’t want to leave you alone after you just admitted to me, this morning, that you’ve tried taking your own life before. Having something this serious suddenly appear from your past… Trust me, you don’t want to be alone with your thoughts.

“Yeah, Shortcake. Let us make you breakfast this time,” Sam smiles, rolling his shoulders. Sam usually finds it difficult to switch from Captain America mode to Sam Wilson. Everytime he leaves an event and stumbles into his unmarked car with security tailing him, he stays in the mindset the whole ride home. The second he steps into the rundown apartment complex, it’s like everything shatters and he can finally breathe again. Right now, he desperately wants to drop the shield and make himself some damn tea.

Simply put, when work follows Sam home, he wants to blow shit up.

“I just want to sleep,” you explain. Bucky’s hands provide such a comfortable combination of hot and cold. You find yourself snuggling your cheek into his palms. If Bucky notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You can sleep with us.”

You can’t help the funny grin that spreads across your cupped cheeks. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I’ll take the couch.”

“I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed.”

“Trust me, Shortcake. Alpine won’t let you sleep if you take the couch,” Sam laughs. He walks to the front door as Bucky gently shoves you toward your bedroom.

“Grab your pajamas, Hyacinth. Sleepover time.” They leave to gather extra blankets since Bucky only sleeps with the top sheet. You quickly rinse your body in the shower, brush your teeth, and apply a generous amount of lotion. The pajamas you choose are your most modest ones: cotton shorts and a green t-Shirt that reads Do Good For All. You aren’t much for merchandise, but Jane Goodall has always been a role model of yours.

How weird that is. You, having role models. Stranger things have happened.

You shuffle out your door with only your phone and charger, triple-checking your lock. Bucky and Sam have left their door slightly ajar, so you can hear their hushed conversation.

‘I found out this morning. She told me.’

‘What? She told me she was old. Period. Not five-hundred years old.’

‘What do you consider old, Sam?’

‘Like… you.’

‘Smooth. Never ask a woman her age.’

‘Man, shut the fuck up.’

“I was born in 1501. I am five-hundred and twenty-three years old.” Both men practically snap their necks as you walk through the door. Sam pretends he was petting Alpine, who is mewling softly with the sudden attention. Bucky stumbles backward, catches himself on the counter, and awkwardly poses. “You expected me to arrive. I don’t know why you’re so surprised I caught your conversation.”

They clear their throats and stretch out their limbs, as if they forgot how to act normally. You simply smile at them and open their fridge. “What do you guys have? I still haven’t eaten dinner.”

“I’ll make sandwiches,” Sam says, moving to wash his hands. Bucky stumbles again, blushing, like you’ve literally caught him red-handed.

“I fixed the bed,” he says, motioning you toward his room. “Let me know if you’d like more blankets.”

The bed is full of blankets. Drowning in them. Big, heavy, thick ones that will for sure suffocate you. You flush with the knowledge of Bucky’s nervous state. For him to bombard you with quilts of safety and protection in the middle of summer makes your stomach clench down on itself.

“Thank you,” you say, opting to just accept it. You’ll sleep without them then throw them over yourself early in the morning so Bucky doesn’t notice. “Do you guys have potato chips?”

Bucky rapidly nods, speed-walking to the kitchen and throwing open the cabinets. You sit on a nearby barstool and watch these two men throw ingredients around and curse because of burnt bread. When the sandwiches are finally constructed, the three of you consume them and two bags of potato chips while watching TV. You’re about three bites in when the first Hobbit movie starts.

Sam literally vibrates. “Oh, shit! You’ve never watched these, huh?” he exclaims excitedly, throwing a potato chip at Bucky. Bucky shakes his head, eyes wide as he devours the opening credits. His smile is so bright it makes your chest hurt. An hour into the movie and Bucky is the happiest you’ve ever seen him since he moved in.

It’s only the first movie, though. P.S I Love You begins once the end credits finish rolling. Sam, same as you, watched Bucky more than the movie itself. Bucky asks, “There’s two more, right? Where can I watch them?”

“I’ll subscribe to HBO Max tomorrow, Buck,” Sam says, collecting the abandoned plates. “Then we’ll absolutely blow your mind with the Lord of the Rings trilogy.”

“No, no! I want to read the books first!”

You smile knowingly. Sam always requests books from the library—Bucky hasn’t yet. But that look he always sends you when you ask… Now you have a reason to check them out for him.

“I’m heading to bed,” you announce, standing up and dusting your shorts from crumbs. It’s past midnight and your eyelids are starting to droop. Before you enter Bucky’s room, however, you pause and lean against the doorframe. “Thank you. For today. Both of you.”

“Anything for you, Shortcake,” Sam smiles. He wipes his hands dry with a paper towel.

“I owe you two answers—”

“No, you don’t,” Bucky insists.

“Yes, I do. If Druig comes back then there’s just going to be even more random shit brought up. You’re my friends. I’ll answer your questions tomorrow, okay?”

Bucky and Sam know when they’ve been defeated. They nod their goodnights.

You don’t sleep with the blankets. Instead, you wrap yourself in the singular sheet that smells wholly like Bucky Barnes, breathing in slowly as you drift off into a deep slumber.

There’s a girl in his bed.

Bucky marvels at what’s in front of him. He knows he should have knocked, but it’s half-past eight and Sam was asking how many pancakes you’d want for breakfast. Instead, Bucky peeked inside and immediately froze when he spotted you.

When was the last time he had a girl in his bed? He can’t remember bringing home any girls back then. He never wanted to make Steve uncomfortable with unknown company. Steve never brought anyone home either. Their naughty escapades occurred outside their shared home, and Bucky vaguely remembers his many walks of shame during the young hours of the morning. The walks of shame that occurred at night started from a different part of town—one that Bucky made sure Steve never knew about.

You’re on your back, legs sprawled with your right one bent at the knee. One of your arms rests on your stomach while the other is bent above your head. Your breathing is regular, your nostrils flare with every deep breath, and your chest rises so gracefully that Bucky nearly sighs.

Alpine sneaks between his legs and into the room, sprinting toward the bed. “Ally, no!” Bucky whisper-yells a second too late.

Cats, for some reason, seem to weigh more when you’re in the woes of exhaling. You practically shoot up from the mattress and send Alpine flying to the edge of the bed.

“Fucking—!” Sam’s scream of surprise is accompanied by the sound of the living room window shattering. Both you and Bucky run out the room to find a massive tree branch invading the once spotless living room. It vibrates a quiet apology in your ears, then settles on the floor.

“Shit,” you laugh, covering your mouth. “I am so sorry!”

Sam stands with a spatula as a sword, while Bucky blinks at the branch. Bucky’s mouth parts, but then he immediately shuts it.

“Consider us equal,” Sam mumbles. Pancakes burn behind him. “Bucky ruined your wall, you ruined our window. Equals.”

Burnt pancakes never tasted so good.

You’re smart. You’re aware of your surroundings for lack of a better expression. That’s why you fully assume Druig is going to visit you at work.

He doesn’t. And you don’t know whether to be sad or not. You’re indifferent.

Yeah, indifferent.

But the person that does show up while you’re finishing that stack of textbooks you neglected yesterday is Peter Parker. Except, he isn’t dressed in that awful UPS uniform. He’s dressed like a normal, teenage kid: graphic t-shirt, black jeans, running shoes.

“Well, if it isn’t Peter Parker!”

Peter blushes scarlet red. He’s lived a year and a half without anyone immediately noticing him or calling his name like an old friend. To suddenly have someone remember him, and not just know him, is intense.

“Hi,” Peter replies shyly, waving small.

“Did the person you visit yesterday have all your answers?”

Peter shuffles and runs a hand down the back of his neck. “Uh, not exactly. I wasn’t really invited in.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, the person who conducted the spell also doesn’t recognize me and did not let me in his home.”

Peter’s expression shows that he’s trying to hold it together, like he’s brushing that off as if it’s an everyday thing. I can fix it, don’t worry. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been through this once or twice. I know my way around these things.

“Peter,” you groan a little as you stand from your kneeled position. The textbooks are once again abandoned. “You have to tell me what’s going on. This technically involves me, no?”

Peter hesitates. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”

You purse your lips. “Hmm.” You study the kid again. His forehead is starting to sweat and his left foot is stomping ever so slightly. “Then I can’t help you,” you say, returning to your original kneeled position to continue shelving. Peter steps closer.

“I’m sorry, hey.” Peter extends his hands out like he’s trying to get you to look at him again, but retracts them quickly. He wants to touch you, touch the one person who remembers him, touch someone for the first time in a long time that isn’t just for a stupid handshake. “I just don’t know what to do. I’m alone in this. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

You squint at him and relent. The kid is tugging at your heartstrings, and you’re not so easily swayed. Sure, pouty lips and tear-swimming eyes usually make you empathetic, but you’re a relatively tough person. Five-hundred years of brutality can do that to a person. But Peter Parker strikes a cord in the meat of your heart, playing a tune that you haven’t heard in ages.

It’s almost maternal.

“I am going to the Avengers new compound today,” you say quietly, checking your surroundings. “Meet me here.” You take the pen from your clipboard and write your address on the interior of his wrist.

“They won’t let me in,” he rushes, nerves extending to his hands. He’s shaking in your grasp.

“They will if you’re with me. I have an invitation from Sam Wilson himself.”

Peter immediately relaxes. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”

“Meet me there at five, okay?”

He’s trusting you with all he has. That’s not an easy thing to do. Apparently no other soul seems to remember him. He’s relying on you to figure out why.

“He’ll be here."

Sam and Bucky sit at your dining table, fiddling with their zippers and thumbs. They eye you warily, then share looks with each other.

Peter is twenty minutes late.

“Who is this guy, Orchid?” Bucky asks.

Your pants have little yellow-painted orchids along the seam. Your stomach swoops. “A kid who needs as many answers as I do.”

They both nod, pretending they’re not confused. You’re not about to air Peter’s dirty laundry without him here to explain himself. Did he get held up? Spider-Man business? What if he’s hurt? Maybe he couldn’t find the building because it looks like the six others on the street—

“He is outside.”

The light bristle of leaves outside your window communicates with you slowly, enunciating all three words in case you didn’t understand it.

“What do you mean he’s outside?”

“Huh?” Both Sam and Bucky say.

“Shush,” you instruct, holding up your hand and looking out the window.

“He is pacing. He does not want to go in.”

You huff a breath and roll your shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Bucky asks, standing from the chair.

“Take Samuel.”

“I think Sam should come with me.” Bucky feels something pinch at his heart. The overthinking devils begin to hammer their way through the sturdy walls he’s been building around his brain, but it’s no use. Those words have an effect on him whether he wants to admit it or not. Of course, you’d want to take Sam. Sam’s Captain America. You can’t go downstairs and bring the Winter Soldier for protection. That would look bad.

“We’ll be right back,” Sam mumbles, clapping his shoulder. Bucky goes to move, but you lay a hand on his chest to prevent him.

“They’re telling me to take Sam. I don’t know why yet. But they also say that it’s for a good reason.”

Bucky studies your face, his eyebrows furrowing as he watches you squint over his shoulder. Then you’re tilting your head a little to the right. You’re listening to something. They’re such simple movements, but Bucky is enthralled. He pushes down that feeling almost as quickly as it materialized.

“I’ll wait here then.” He doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about. But he’s guessing he’ll get his answers tonight when he’s allowed to start asking questions. You did say so in the morning.

You nod, then leave the apartment with Sam. Sam’s quiet on the journey down the stairs. He checks the surroundings and eyes people going about their day a little too strangely. But all his nerves completely dissipate when he sees a kid pacing the sidewalk right outside, hands running through his hair and lips spitting silent pep-talks. He doesn’t look more than twenty-years old. Sam’s curiosity has spiked.

“Peter,” you say, pushing open the glass doors. “Hey.”

“Hi,” the kid says a little too cheerily.

“So, you got the right apartment.”

“Yup.”

“Are you changing your mind?”

Peter brings his hands up to his chest, picking at his nails. He glances at Sam and blushes. “When you said you had an invitation to the Avengers Compound, I thought ‘Cool!’ But then I remembered you also said that you lived right next to Captain America and Bucky Barnes, so.”

You cross your arms, suddenly defensive. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of him?”

Peter doesn’t need you to clarify—he assumes you mean Bucky. “No! No, trust me. It’s just…”

Sam steps closer so he’s right beside you. He holds the same tentative expression.

Peter sighs, “I already know him. He and I work small jobs around the city. I know him from before, too. And since I’m completely expecting the little unknown fact of me being Spider-Man to be brought up once or twice tonight… I’m worried he’s going to think that I tricked him.”

That’s why you were instructed to bring Sam instead. “Peter, I’m sure you had a good reason.” He must have. To be so surprised that you have been the only one to remember both his identities, then he must have had a good reason for avoiding the discussion with Bucky.

“You’re the spider-thing?” Sam nearly exclaims. You slap a hand over his mouth and begin walking backwards to the main entrance. You motion Peter along with your free hand. Sam’s mumbling something behind your closed palm.

The entire flight back up the stairs is pure chaos. Sam is tripping over his feet and watching Peter with funny eyes, all while Peter avoids looking at him.

Bucky startles when your front door bursts open. The smile on your face immediately lowers his defenses. “This is Peter Parker! Apparently you two know each other.”

Bucky gapes at Peter, eyeing him from the top, down. “What’s happening, kid? You hurt?”

You wave a hand through the air. “Apparently his questions may be tied in with my answers. We’re heading to the compound now.”

Whatever science Bruce Banner has been working on has successfully allowed for him to revert back to his human form. He looks a little… fuzzy, but you don’t question it. Magic, science, optical illusions—whatever. Right now, Bruce Banner looks like Bruce Banner and that’s what’s important.

“I haven’t seen you guys in a long time. Can I ask what the hell is going on? Who are these new people?” Bruce asks, frozen with a wrench in one hand and a pen in the other. He ventured to the communal floor when Sam buzzed in, asking for Bruce and Bruce only. No other Avenger is at the compound anyway. Clint visits sometimes, but it’s usually when they need him or his expertise. Rhodey rarely visits anymore unless it’s for state business or to see Bruce. Even then they avoid specific conversations. No one knows where Wanda is. And Thor only visits when someone calls to him.

These days, it’s usually Bruce and Bucky.

“This is my neighbor and friend,” Sam introduces you to Bruce. Hearing your first and last name is always a little odd, especially if you’re not at work. Not a lot of people know it. Coworkers, yes. The DMV. Your landlord. Teachers, neighbors, the Starbucks barista. But everyone who’s important—they call what they see. To Sam, you’re a pastry for some goddamn fucking reason. Just thinking about that makes you laugh. To Bucky, you’re every flower in the world. To Ari, you were always love, or my spirit.

Nicknames have always been your favorite. Period.

“This is Peter Parker. He’s the crime fighting spider on TV.”

“I, um…” Peter pauses, nervous. “I actually helped you guys fight Thanos.”

Everyone freezes.

“We would have remembered you—” Sam starts, but Peter shakes his head quickly.

“No, you wouldn’t have. Trust me, it’s not your fault. I made a deal with Dr. Strange.”

It takes almost thirty minutes for Peter to finish telling his story. No one believes him at first—it’s hard to believe someone when they tell you they were a prominent figure in your life and yet, you don’t remember him. It doesn’t take a lot to convince Sam and when Peter mentions Dr. Strange, he’s got Bruce wrapped around his finger. It’s Bucky that takes a lot of convincing—or rather, accepting.

How, in all that is good and evil in this world, is this happening to him again? Another thing he used to know—erased. Only this time, it didn’t take electrical torture or Hydra riddles. It was because of a fucking spell. Magic. He’s lost a memory again—a rather massive memory of someone he’s grown to like. He doesn’t blame Peter for “tricking” him (that’s a rather harsh word)—Bucky remained invisible for a time, on purpose. This kid had no choice.

Anger drowns his mind as Peter continues explaining. It makes him sick thinking this, but a drink would soothe his mind right about now.

“She’s the only one I’ve encountered that still remembers me. It’s like I was never erased,” Peter says, pointing at you. Bucky steps back in alarm, while Sam and Bruce gawk in unison.

“I don’t know why. It’s not the only reason we’re here, but…” You’re here to meet Druig, too. He should be here any minute. His brief announcement of having heard your thoughts, even from so far away, could explain why you’re one of the few souls who remember Peter.

“He should be able to Google the damn address,” Sam mumbles, rubbing a hand across his jawline.

“This is…” Bruce pauses. His eyes scan the room like he’s doing math mid-air. He even lifts the pen a couple times and slashes imaginary numbers. “A lot.”

Bucky sighs. No one ever has a definitive answer. He feels his flesh hand lift, then is cradled inside a smaller hand. Warmth instantly crawls up his skin and wraps him kindly. Your touch is like rapid relief. What was he so worried about again? When did you inch closer to him during that long fucking conversation? Why is he so calm that someone just randomly touched him, without his permission, without prior knowledge? You don’t even act like you’ve realized you’ve done it.

He likes that. Instinct.

You explain the basics of your power to Bruce, your history, and your very few theories about why you remember Peter. It could be because your brain is insanely old—new magic may not affect it as much as fresh minds. It could be because you’re a gifted person yourself—maybe other people's influence is nonexistent. You don’t voice your last theory, though.

Or, it could be because I’m not human.

“I can run some basic tests. They’re the same tests I ran on everyone here when we first formed the team. Non-invasive. I can also summon Thor and get his perspective. He deals with magic a lot better than I do.”

“You’re not freaking out?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause this is the craziest shit I’ve come across,” Bruce says sarcastically.

“I can think of crazier things.”

You involuntarily flinch, the voice still so familiar and hurtful. You try to cover your discomfort, but it’s too late. Bucky noticed. He won’t let you stray from his side at all tonight.

“How—” Bruce stutters, but Sam raises a hand.

“Another enhanced pain in the ass that knows how to bypass security. Not our first rodeo, man.”

Okay, Bruce accepts that.

Druig walks around the couch with hands crossed behind his back, eyeing everyone up and down. He’s not smirking like he usually does. His eyes are sad.

“I’m ready to answer your questions.”

The questions don’t push and shove to the front of your mind like you expected them to. Rather, they step up one by one in terms of urgency. “Did my people get to safety?”

“They did. They were safe for generations.”

Your chest caves inward in a satisfying gust of breath. “And now?”

Druig smirks, blushing a little. “We are in the trenches of the Amazon. Me and their descendants. It’s very difficult for outsiders to find us.” He shrugs, this time grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve set traps.”

Same old Druig.

Sam steps forward timidly, like he doesn’t want to interrupt. But you can tell the question is burning a hole through his tongue. “You’re saying ‘my people’. Shortcake…”

All eyes are set on you. Peter gawks for all the right reasons—Kid believed he’d only be discussing his issues and his history. This is new territory, and it makes it just that much more interesting. Peter Parker is a history geek. So is Bruce, by the looks of it.

“Tenochtitlan fought for months. Until disease and genocidal tactics almost completely wiped us out. A lot of my people escaped. A lot didn’t.” You and Druig share remorseful looks. There were eight million. You’re not even sure if the surviving number was over five-hundred thousand. “I was the only child of Monctezuma II to escape.”

Bucky chokes quietly on his own spit. His eyebrows rise exponentially. He’s a science geek, but goddamn does this history lesson open new doors. “The Monctezuma?”

“There were two,” you mumble.

Peter chimes in with, “You’re not listed on Google.” Everyone turns to him with mixed expressions of offense and confusion. “Sorry.”

You smirk, looking down at your feet. “I was not the daughter of the Queen.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

“I was a bastard. My mother was… Enhanced. She had the ability to speak to animals.” You smile at the faint memory of your mother directing a conversation between you and a goat. “That’s the only reason I was an heir to the throne.”

“Enhanced individuals have existed all this time?” Bruce gapes, readjusting his glasses. It’s not so much a question—Bruce says it as if he’s received new evidence for the hypothesis he’s had on the timeline and existence of enhanced individuals.

“There’s a word for people like me.”

“Princess—”

“It’s exactly like how you would describe genetic mutations. Over millions of years, things either evolve or die off. Evolution through natural selection or human interference.” Inherited, not acquired abilities. You haven’t met anyone who fits the description besides your mother. “I just don’t know why I’m still alive and unaging. Why did I stop here?” You motion to yourself. “Why did Strange’s magic not affect me?”

Druig’s stare narrows.

“We can run some tests,” Bruce repeats, his expression light. He’s really nice and now you’re internally punishing yourself for refusing Sam’s invitations all those years ago. Sometimes you wonder how everyone was before their world turned upside down.

“So, you’re… really a princess?” Bucky asks, his flesh hand rubbing the back of his head. You can’t tell if he’s blushing or if he’s uncomfortable.

“Haven’t had an empire to run in a long time.”

“She’s being modest. After the fall, she led a group of villagers through the most dangerous depths of the jungle and forest to safety. She married a neighboring tribe’s future Chief to create a long-lasting alliance. And she stayed behind and fought the invaders when they found us again,” Druig praises, resting a hand on your shoulder. He squeezes, and in spite of all the trouble you still have with him, the gentleness of it settles you. It reminds you of home.

“You helped a lot, too,” you say, but Druig quickly cuts you off.

“I wasn’t the one they were following. I wasn’t the one they admired.”

It’s impossible to look at Druig and not see Ari. It seems unreal to have someone here, in the same room, who remembers who Ari was, what he was like, what his favorite foods were. Even though Druig isn’t him, it feels like there’s a part of Ari in the present day, regardless.

“Let’s run the tests, yeah?”

You nod at Bruce, crossing your arms and hugging yourself tightly. Sam and Bucky immediately follow, both right beside you. Peter follows, but remains a respectable distance away. You’re all almost out the door when you glance back at Druig, stopping entirely. “Are you going to leave again?”

Druig’s face opens to reveal an expression of surprise, confusion, and despair. “I finally found you. Why would I leave now?”

“Druig.” You quickly jog back to him, eyes watering. “I’m not telling you to leave. But I need you to go check and see if Ari is still there.”

“Princess, I promise you—”

“They found his bracelet.”

Druig’s face suddenly falls, his eyes angry. “I’ll have Makkari check. Tomorrow, here.” He practically stomps past everyone and to the exit. He throws a glance over his shoulder and meets your eyes. “I will see you.”

It’s a promise.

“You ready, Orchid?”

“So… you and Druig?”

Sam stayed behind to make sure Peter got home safe and to check out his apartment. Sam claimed he was doing it for “Captain America purposes” but you know he feels incredibly guilty for forgetting who Peter was. Even if it’s not his fault. He’s suddenly turned paternal. You and Bucky walk up the stairs to your apartments, for some reason still avoiding the short ride of the elevator.

You smirk at him. “He’s been pining after the same woman for thousands of years. I don’t have that much influence to break that connection.”

Bucky feels his worries shave off slowly until they’re all gone. Thank fuck.

Once the two of you enter the hallway, the silence feels forced. There’s a hanging conversation that neither of you want to initiate, but Bucky’s tired of procrastinating. It makes him feel sleepy.

“You’re worried about the results.”

You huff a quiet laugh, knocking your knuckles against your doorframe. “Is it that obvious?”

Bucky doesn’t want to claim that he can read your mind. He doesn’t want to put words in your mouth, or try to make you see something that isn’t there. He left his last therapist for that reason, so he phrases it the only way he knows how.

“After Steve rescued me in Austria,” he begins, his thumbs dancing over each other as he rests his intertwined fists over his stomach. “They wanted to run a physical. Standard POW physical to see if I was still fit for duty.”

Bucky says it like there’s bile crawling up his throat. Mental injuries didn’t exist yet, only physical ones. Bucky was tortured, but there wasn’t anything apparently wrong with him. Not from a visible standpoint. They didn’t offer him an out—the more bodies in war, the better.

“See, I remember Hydra strapping me down for hours and toying with me. Everything that people feared about torture was real. I don’t think they left out any specific type.”

You wince. Bucky’s blue eyes turn miserable and cold. All types of torture means exactly what it means. All. “Please, don’t tell me—”

“I won’t. At least, not here in the hallway,” Bucky chuckles, but it’s not rooted in humor. “I refused the physical. In a way, I think I knew what they injected me with. After seeing Steve, I just knew. I realized I was right when I took a bullet for him.”

“You took a bullet for a super soldier?” You don’t mean for it to sound like you’re teasing, but it’s the way it comes out.

Bucky doesn’t flinch. “I loved him.”

He took that bullet in the winter of 1944 without a doubt swimming through his head. He remembers ignoring the pain and thinking, At least it wasn’t him. “I healed in a week. And I didn’t tell anyone how.”

“But you can die?”

“That’s not the point,” Bucky says. He sighs and goes to rub his eyes. “If I would have completed that damn physical or told Steve, maybe he would have come for me. He would’ve assumed that it was entirely possible for me to survive that fall. He would have come back for me.”

Because how could Steve not?

“It’s better to know than live in denial?”

“Yeah.”

You turn your key over in your hand nonstop. You get it. Honestly, you get it. You’ve lived this long not knowing what you are or where your powers stem from. You already know you’re immortal. What difference will it make to achieve scientific proof?

“It is not your fault that he didn’t come back for you,” you boldly declare. “James, listen to me. Steve didn’t know. You didn’t know. You can’t blame yourself for everything that happened after.”

“It doesn’t erase the fact that it could have changed everything.”

Yes, but that’s not the point. You don’t know how to express that to him. Bucky doesn’t seem as if he wants to be challenged. “No. It doesn’t.”

“So take it from me. You’ll have your answers tomorrow. And I promise you, it doesn’t matter if you’re fully human or not. Your powers, your lifespan—they don’t define you. Fuck, everything in my head is telling me you’re a God. That’s not to freak you out but hey, I’m blanking on other terminology.” He grins when that makes you sputter a laugh. “You’re a goddamn orchid today. That’s all you need to be. That’s all I need you to be. I don’t expect anything else you’re not ready to give.”

The air catches in your throat. You mentally count to three, giving yourself enough time to marvel at everything Bucky. “Thank you, James.”

Bucky nods, wanting desperately to trace the outline of your upper lip. He doesn’t try to convince you to partake in another sleepover. He’s right next door, his bedroom wall shared with yours. If you need him, he’ll be there quicker than the speed Sam reaches when he throws the shield. Bucky gets it—it’s nice to be alone, even better when there’s another person nearby.

He shuts his apartment door and falls against it.

His heart feels sore, his hands are completely motionless, and a wave of overwhelming calm suddenly covers him. He doesn’t need to breathe under this ocean—he remembers the taste of air just fine.

Bucky Barnes, against all odds, realizes that what he’s feeling is a combination of friendship and love. The same thing he felt for Steve, the same thing he feels for Sam. He’s felt it in the food you shovel into his mouth; he’s felt it in the blankets you’ve laid on him while unconscious; he’s felt it in the way you call him James and the pet names he returns; he’s felt it every single time he’s discussed your mere existence during his sessions; he’s felt it in the large amounts of physical exertion it takes for you drag his super soldier body across a room.

The thought of your voice, the shape of your eyes, the curve of your mouth, your mannerisms—it all lingers even after he steps away from the door and ventures further into his apartment. Alpine scurries to his side, rubbing her face to his shin. He floats absentmindedly, seemingly dazed, as he conducts his nightly routines. Feed Alpine, check for bugs, lock the windows, make sure the stove is completely off.

It doesn’t hit him until he lays down in bed, petting Alpine as she nuzzles against his torso.

He likes you.

His Lavender, his Ivy, his purple Hyacinth, his goddamn blooming yellow Orchid. He likes you.

Bucky’s eyes swell with fresh tears. But he’s not having a bad day. In fact, he’s had a pretty fucking good day, all things considered. He smiles and wipes at his cheeks, missing a few stray tears as they travel down and tickle his ears. Bucky doesn’t feel guilty for it, or alone, or stupid for thinking so.

He likes you.

No one can replace Steve. Whether Steve said it or not, the truth remains that Bucky’s love was, sadly, unrequited. There was no proof stating otherwise. Steve burrowed into the deep confines of his heart one summer afternoon at the young age of eighteen and he never left. Bucky fed Steve, clothed him, paid for his medication, kept his draft card hidden from him, took a bullet for him, fell off a train for him. And during his endless torture with endless questions of Where is Captain America? Did the United States government share the secrets of the super soldier serum with the 107th? Did Steve Rogers ever tell you?, Bucky succeeded in not revealing a single thing.

You feed Bucky, you drape his body in warmth when the alcohol makes him shiver, you got him a library card just this morning, you kept your powers hidden for his sake, and you put yourself first when Druig trespassed. You’re his friend.

Sam always gets him his own meal when he orders takeout, even when Bucky doesn’t ask. He washes his hair when he’s depressed, brushing out the knots and memorizing Bucky’s favorite conditioner. He even watches movies he’s already seen, just to witness Bucky watching them for the first time.

He can’t believe he’s just now realizing you two are him, eighty years ago. And he’s basically little ‘ol Steve Rogers. Bucky falls asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in a long time.

No one can ever replace a first love. No one can ever replace Steve Rogers. But this isn't a replacement—it’s finding someone or someones who make him feel whole again.

Taglist: @cloudyfeel @howlermonkey69 @wintersgirl1917 @aquariusbarnes @fandoms-writings @shirukitsune @goldylions @real-jane @mannien @natbarnes1917 @sentimental-for-maneskin @dezthegeek @avengershoney @cutelittletwistedhorror @gabewerk

(I’ve sent you a private message if Tumblr didn’t let me tag you.)

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x poc!reader #enhanced reader #captainsimagines #by Moni #dreaming in june #dreaming in june series #part six #bucky barnes x f!reader #reader x bucky barnes

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pitubea1910 · 4 years ago

Text

“Kiss me again”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Featuring: Peter Parker

Words: 2k

Warning: -

Tags: -

Request: -

Notes: I could do a second part of this if you’re interested :) Feedback is appreciated!

Masterlist

You just couldn’t stop thinking about it and how much you wanted it to happen again.

***

You were in the middle of a mission. Fury had decided that you and Steve were the best ones for the job. In his opinion, Steve was the one with the ‘kindest’ face so no one would suspect him. And you, being the latest addition to the team, wouldn’t stand out. It would just look like the Captain had decided to introduce you to some of the most important personalities of New York.

However, according to the mission, your presence at the governor’s re-election party was just a cover that would allow you to sneak around the mansion to retrieve some important files that had evidence of the government being ‘in bed’ with Hydra. Piece of cake, right?

So, there you were, in the Dior dress Tony had managed to get for you and wearing the most uncomfortable heels you had ever tried. You couldn’t understand why someone would waste thousands of dollars on this murderer weapons. Your feet were killing you and all you could think about was how nice your usual combat boots were.

“Smile”, Steve said in your ear when he approached you with a glass of champagne. “You look like you’re about the kill someone.”

“You would look like that as well if you were wearing these heels”, you said, but forced a smile on your face anyway. “Can’t we just get to the point?”

“We have just arrived”, he said looking around. “We have to make some conversation, blend in, so no one notices when we go upstairs.”

“I still don’t know why Natasha didn’t come”, you sighed. “She’s way better at these things than I am.”

“Think of it as training”, he said, waving at a man you thought you had seen on TV at some point. “Not everything is fighting, running and knocking people out.”

“That would be too beautiful to be true”, you sighed, making him laugh.

“No wonder you and Bucky get along so easily”, he commented. “He would rather die than coming to one of these events.”

“I can’t blame him”, you shrugged and sipped some of the champagne. At least it was delicious.

But you couldn’t drink too much. You had to stay sober long enough to carry your mission out. Once the job was done, you could get as wasted as you liked.

“Watch out”, Steve said, placing a hand on your back to call your attention. “The Governor is coming. He probably wants to meet you.”

“Why me?” You asked as you saw the man whose file you had memorised approach.

“You’re an Avenger, remember?” He said as a polite and friendly smile appeared on his face. It made you wonder how many parties of this kind he had attended to.

“Captain America”, the governor said with a huge smile on his face as he shook Steve’s hand vigorously. “Such a pleasure to have you here tonight, Rogers.”

“It is my pleasure, sir”, Steve nodded before turning to you. “May I introduce you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)? The newest addition to our team”, he said.

“I wonder where do you all come from”, Cuomo said as he shook your hand. He had a firm grip. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, sir”, you said with a polite nod.

“It’s only you two today?” The governor asked.

“I’m afraid so”, Steve said. “The rest of the team had other business to attend to.”

“Avenging never ends, right?” Cuomo smiled. “Well, it was a pleasure to see you. I have to say hello to so many people. Enjoy your night and I’ll talk to you later. I would like to discuss some ideas I talked about with the Secretary.”

“Absolutely”, Steve smiled.

“Lovely to meet you, (Y/L/N)”, the governor said before walking away.

You let out a sigh and took another sip of the champagne.

“What do you think?” Steve asked, moving to stand in front of you.

“Not as bad as I thought”, you shrugged, following the governor with your eyes. “What do you think he wants to talk about?”

“Don’t worry about that”, Steve shrugged it off. “He just likes to brag about his relationship with Ross. His ideas are usually bullshit.”

“But you have to keep him happy”, you said.

“You’re learning”, Steve smiled. “Okay, listen to me. We’ll walk around for like half an hour and then we will meet at the staircase. If someone asks-“

“I’m going to the bathroom”, you said. “I know what I have to do, Rogers”, you said with a wink before walking away.

If you had turned around just once, you would have seen Steve’s smile as he saw you walking away from him.

For the next thirty minutes, you did as Natasha had told you the night before. Made small talk, smile, be a bit of a flirt but not enough to have someone fall for it, laugh without making it look like you’re sucking up. Just be the perfect guest. However, you were extremely relief when you saw Steve by the stairs, waiting for you.

You excused yourself, saying you were going to the bathroom, and walked towards him. He was looking down at his phone, probably checking the time you two had. Just when you were a couple of feet away, he looked up and smiled as he saw you.

“Just in time”, he said.

“I’m British, remember?” You said with a smile. “Let’s do this.”

With a nod, he let you walk in front of him and placed a hand at the bottom of your back while you two walked upstairs. Casually, you looked around to make sure no one was looking at you two, and everyone seemed to focus on their own conversations to pay attention to the two people going upstairs.

“According to the blueprints”, Steve said as you reached the first floor and turned to the right, ignoring the ‘Off Limits’ sign that security had placed there. “Cuomo’s office is down this corridor and to the left. You go first and check the security while I connect the coms so Peter can hack the security.”

“I can’t believe we’re trusting a 16 years old boy with the hacking of the security”, you said like you had done a million times before.

“Tony couldn’t believe they were trusting you to come to this mission”, Steve shrugged.

“What?” You frowned and looked at him. You didn’t know about that. “Tony didn’t trust me?”

“He just said that you weren’t ready yet for an undercover mission. That’s all”, Steve quickly explained. “If you want, you can have a word with him later when we’re finished.”

You sighed and nodded. Steve was right. You couldn’t let anything get to you at that moment. You had to be focused. Although you had to admit it was a bit painful to know that Tony –the one who had recommended you for the team and had tracked you down to London- didn’t think you were ready.

Without further word, you made your way down the corridor, paying attention to any noise around you. But all the noise you could hear was the one from the party downstairs. It looked like no one was around. When you got to the corner, you stopped and peaked around it. You could spot the door of the office at the end of it. Everything was quiet. No one was around.

“Clear?” You heard Steve’s voice in your ear, making you jump a little bit when the coms were suddenly connected.

“Clear”, you said.

“On my way. Parker, how you doing?” Steve asked.

“Almost done, Captain”, the kid said. “I just have to get through the last firewall and you’ll be set.”

“How much time do you need?” You asked.

“A minute”, he said.

“Make it faster”, Steve said at the same time he reached where you were.

“Yes ma’am”, Peter said.

“And don’t call me ma’am”, you rolled your eyes, making Steve smile.

Just then, you heard a door opening in the same corridor where the office was. You opened your eyes widely and looked carefully. It was the governor’s own personal bodyguard.

“What the fuck is he doing up here? Why isn’t he with the governor?” Steve asked.

“The question is what we’re going to say when he sees us. The bathroom is at the other end of the corridor”, you said. “Damn it.”

You could hear the footsteps getting closer as you looked around. There was no hiding place. You could use the getting lost excuse, but it was quite useless when you were in a mansion full of signs telling you where you could go and what was off limits.

You looked at Steve, who looked as he was getting ready to fight. That was a mistake. Everyone knew who you were and there was no way you could just walk out freely if you beat the head of the governor’s security. There had to be something else you could do. And suddenly, you knew what that was.

“Kiss me”, you said grabbing Steve’s hand.

“What?” He said surprised.

“Just kiss me, for fuck’s sake.”

Before he had time to protest, you pull him by his neck and kissed him. At first, he didn’t kiss you back, but then he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing you back and taking control of the situation. One of his hands moved up to your hair as he pulled you closer.

“What is this?”

You two pulled away, your face completely blushed, and looked at the bodyguard. When he saw who you two were, a grin appeared on his face.

“Sorry, Captain”, he said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

With a nod, he kept on walking away, like he had seen nothing. You felt Steve’s eyes on you, although you couldn’t manage to look up. You bite your lip and took a deep breath.

“That was intense”, you heard Peter say in the coms.

***

Having a crush on Steve Rogers was something that happened to everyone. He was kind, loyal, funny, caring and, of course, way too handsome for this world, but you had never thought it could be more than a crush. Until now.

It had been a week since that happened. The mission was successful. You had managed to retrieve the data that you needed and go back to the party to blend in. However, you weren’t able to focus for the rest of the night, and neither for the rest of the week.

Every time you crossed paths with Steve, you blushed like you were a teenager. When you were in the same room, you avoided eye contact. You hadn’t talked about it, he hadn’t brought it up and the only person who knew about it –Peter- had said nothing, which was surprising.

Yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about. All you could do was remember the feeling of his lips against yours. How soft and warm they were, the way he held you against him, his body against yours. It was driving you crazy. Even sleeping was becoming harder.

There you were, lying awake at 3 in the morning, picturing those blue eyes over and over again, that smile and those lips. Maybe if you kissed him again, it would go away. Maybe that was all you needed and you could go back to normal. Maybe it was just a brief infatuation that would go away with another brief kiss.

Yes, that was probably the solution.

You kicked the sheets off and got out of bed. Without even bothering on putting on some shorts and wearing only the long t-shirt you used to sleep, you walked out of your room and went to Steve’s as silent as possible. You didn’t want to wake anyone up and get asked questions you didn’t know how to answer.

Luckily, Steve’s room wasn’t far from yours and soon you were softly knocking on his door. Even if he didn’t hear it, you knew F.R.I.D.A.Y would wake him up if you asked her to. That wasn’t necessary. A wide awake Steve opened the door and looked at you surprised.

“(Y/N)?” He asked. Without saying anything, you walked in. “Everything okay?” He asked when he closed the door. “It’s 3 in the morning”, he said.

“Yeah, I know”, you said fidgeting with the necklace you always wore. “I can’t sleep.”

“What’s wrong?” He asked frowning and walking over to you, obviously worried.

“Kiss me again”, you said straight away.

Steve stopped walking and stood there in the middle of the room, looking at you like you had just taken off your clothes. To be honest, it felt like that.

“Excuse me?”

“I…” you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About… our kiss. Every minute of every day. Every time I look at you, I feel your lips and your body and when I close them, you’re there too. I don’t know…” you sighed. “I need you to kiss me again, Steve. I think it’s the only way I can get over this.”

“Over what exactly?” He asked, crossing his arms.

“Over whatever feelings I have for you.”

Now that you were saying out loud, you realised how stupid it sounded. How kissing him was supposed to be helpful? It would probably have the opposite effect. And yet, there you were, asking him to kiss you. There was no going back now, so you might as well keep on going with your dumb idea.

“You have feelings for me?” Steve asked, a hint of smile appearing on his face.

“Can you please stop repeating what I say?” You said frustrated. Steve chuckled a little bit and walked over to you, placing a hand on your cheek.

“I can kiss you. I actually have been thinking about that too the last days”, he admitted, taking you by surprise. “But I really don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Why not?” You frowned, allowing yourself to get lost in his eyes.

“Just a hunch”, he shrugged. “So?”

You looked from his eyes to his mouth and then back up again. Now you needed his kiss. You wouldn’t be able to go away without it after being this close to him, after feeling his breath on your face.

“Kiss me”, you said for the third time.

“As you wish”, he said in whisper before leaning down to kiss you.

It was even better than you remembered. And as soon as his lips touched yours, you knew he was right. It wasn’t going to work, it had been a stupid idea. You needed more. This kiss wasn’t going to be enough, you were going to want more. More kisses, more touches, more of him. And you didn’t know what to do about it.

#steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #avengers #avengers imagine #imagine #pitubea #x reader #chris evans #peter parker #spiderman #tom holland #cap

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