#when the find bucky kate just pulls out her notes.

[ginnsbaker]

mastermind

Summary: As your sticks fly across the drums, your eyes momentarily scan the crowd, taking in the faces, the movements, the ecstatic energy. And then, in the flickering club lights, you spot her // …or the one where you find Wanda in the crowd during your band's gig, only to discover there's much more to her than you initially thought.

Word count: 5.2K+ | Tags: Smut (18+), Fluff, Oral and fingering (W receiving), Squirting, Overstimulation, Meet-cute, Drummer!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Requested by anon. I got carried a way for a bit and took a few liberties. Hope you like it!

-

You almost didn’t make it for tonight’s gig. 

Still recovering from the flu you caught last week, you were close to letting Kate fill in on the drums. That is, until Yelena begged you not to let her girlfriend botch a sold-out evening.

The tension backstage is thicker than Bucky’s pre-show smoothie, and, given the mishmash of green ingredients, that's saying something.

“I'm just saying, letting Kate drum tonight is like giving a cat a keyboard and expecting Bonham,” Yelena says, gesturing wildly with her hands.

“Continue talking and you might not have a girlfriend by the end of your next sentence!” Kate huffs, spinning on her heel to stomp out of the area. 

You sip on your water, trying to keep your hydration levels up but also stifle a chuckle. This isn’t the first time Yelena’s protective streak has clashed with Kate's overenthusiastic approach to... well, everything. Natasha is trying, and failing, to keep a straight face, while Bucky seems to have found sudden interest in the intricate patterns on his boots. 

Your head is throbbing, the remnants of the flu still gnawing at your energy, but you've mustered up just enough strength to make it through tonight's set. Before Yelena or any other band member can comment further, the organizer gestures for your band to take the stage.

You take a deep breath, followed by another swig of water. It's almost showtime, and the excitement is seeping through the nerves, reminding you why you endure the endless rehearsals, sleepless nights, and yes, even the pre-show squabbles.

As you step onto the stage, the applause is deafening. The lights illuminate the sea of faces before you, and you can see the familiar glint of excitement in the eyes of returning fans mixed with the curious expressions of first-timers.

Bucky approaches the mic, flashing his signature charming smile at the crowd. “Good evening, everyone! We’re ecstatic to see so many familiar faces and new ones too! We've got a great set for you tonight, but before we start, let's give a big shoutout to Y/N here, who's powering through the flu to be with us tonight!” The crowd roars in appreciation, and you can't help but wave sheepishly, a tentative smile stretching across your face.

Natasha strums the opening chords of the first song, her fingers dancing effortlessly over the strings. Yelena, momentarily forgetting her earlier spat with Kate, loses herself in the rhythm, the bassline syncing perfectly with your drumbeat. The music flows, each note hitting the right spots, the synergy between band members mesmerizing the audience.

As your sticks fly across the drums, your eyes momentarily scan the crowd, taking in the faces, the movements, the ecstatic energy.

And then, in the flickering club lights, you spot her.

There's a brunette, her hair cascading down, dancing like she was born for this exact moment. The way she sways and lets loose to the rhythm—it's captivating.

But it's when she turns around that your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. Her eyes meet yours, and the world seems to slow down for a moment. Those intense, deep-set eyes pull you in, making it impossible to look away. They're filled with an emotion that's hard to pinpoint: intrigue, curiosity, maybe even a hint of challenge. The message is clear—she's noticed you, just as much as you've noticed her. 

She doesn't break the gaze, and as her hips move in tune with your beats, there's a silent communication happening. Your hands, despite the rising temperature of the room, feel cold against the drumsticks. It's a battle to maintain your rhythm and not lose yourself under her spell.

Natasha, catching the look on your face, leans in during a brief instrumental break. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply, attempting to refocus. Your distraction had almost caused you to miss a beat or two. 

Your eyes are locked onto the brunette once more as she starts grinding against her friend, her movements confident, sultry, and unapologetically magnetic. It's the sort of dancing that would have any person within the perimeter drooling on the spot. Usually, you'd shy away from openly watching someone move so suggestively, but you find yourself completely mesmerized.

As the next song kicks off, you throw in some extra flash on the drums, just to see if she'll play along. And sure enough, with every fancy beat you drop, she dances right to it. It's like you're both in this unspoken challenge, seeing who can outdo the other. Your fingers grip the drumsticks tighter, and you can feel the heat rising on your face.

That's when Natasha glances in the same direction and catches on. “Well, well, looks like someone's got a fan,” she murmurs with a wink, her voice barely audible over the booming speakers.

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool, but the dryness in your mouth betrays your nonchalance. “Just playing my part,” you quip, though you're keenly aware that your concentration tonight is split between the drums and the mesmerizing dancer.

Yelena, following the exchange between you and Natasha, leans in from the bass guitar, raising an eyebrow. “Who's got you all hot and bothered?”

“Shut up, Yel,” you retort. With cheeks aflame, you try to shove Yelena’s teasing aside, to focus solely on the music coursing through your veins. However, the allure of the brunette is a magnet you can’t seem to resist.

As the beat picks up, so does the pace of your heart, hammering against your chest with every enthralling movement she makes. She is intoxicating, and you’re utterly spellbound.

During the bridge, you hit a sour note—a misstep that rarely happens—and Bucky gives you a dirty look from across the stage. He’s a perfectionist when it comes to the music, and you mouth a silent “sorry” before forcing your eyes away from the captivating sight in the crowd.

But not before catching her reaction.

She's laughing, her eyes alight with impishness, and you'd swear she's looking right at you. There's a knowing smile on her lips that suggests she knows exactly the effect she’s had on you. It’s both mortifying and exhilarating.

You try to keep to the side, hiding behind cymbals and drums, but it's impossible to shake the sensation of being observed. It's like she's got a spotlight aimed right at you, and you're center stage. Every moment you resist looking her way feels like an eternity, but every time you feel the pull to glance in her direction, Yelena’s earlier tease flares in your mind, keeping your eyes stubbornly on Bucky’s flashy shoes.

As the last song fades and the applause rolls in, you set down your drumsticks, nerves and excitement warring within you. You don't hang around for Bucky's wrap-up speech. Instead, you hustle to get backstage.

-

To everyone's shock, you decide to stick around after the gig. You're usually the most introverted one in the group and never do this.

Natasha sidles up to you, a teasing smirk on her lips. “So, about that girl you couldn't take your eyes off of...?”

You attempt to play it cool, but your nervous fidgeting with your drumsticks gives you away. “What girl?” you ask, feigning ignorance.

Bucky snorts in amusement, a wicked grin stretching across his face. “The one you were practically eye-fucking the entire set? Thought you were gonna jump off stage and grab her right there.”

You're now the shade of a ripe tomato, desperately searching for a diversion. “You guys are seeing things,” you mumble, avoiding their amused gazes.

“Honestly, I was half-expecting her to throw a bra onstage or something, the way you were gawking,” Yelena chirps in.

“Enough,” you protest weakly, your voice drowned out by the laughter of your bandmates.

Just as you're about to slip away to the bar for a breather, a waiter approaches you with a drink in hand. “Compliments of the lady over there,” he says, nodding towards a dim corner of the club.

You peer in the direction he's indicating but can't make out who it's from. The drink looks fancy, possibly alcoholic. Glancing at the waiter, you inform him, “I can't drink alcohol right now, but thank you.”

Natasha snatches it from the tray. “Well, if you're not taking it, it's mine.”

Bucky laughs. “Is everyone in this club trying to woo our drummer tonight?”

You roll your eyes at them, trying not to dwell on the mystery woman. However, it's not long before the same waiter returns, this time holding a simple glass of lemonade. “The lady noticed you weren’t drinking the cocktails and thought you might prefer this.”

Your curiosity almost gets the better of you, but the memories of the striking brunette dancing to your beats earlier still linger fresh in your mind. You opt not to scour the club's corners to spot who's sending the drinks. Instead, you lift the lemonade in a thankful gesture, aiming it in the general direction of where the waiter had pointed, and offer a polite, appreciative smile into the dim.

Natasha teases, “Playing hard to get, huh?”

You shrug and take a sip from your drink. “Just soaking in the night and the rewards of our hard work,” you remark, patting the pocket where you tucked away the cash from tonight's gig. “Isn't that what we're here for?”

-

An hour later, the club's neon and strobe lights continue to play tricks on your eyes, turning every brunette head you spot into a potential sighting. Each time, however, it’s not her.

Bucky's animated conversation about a new track he's been working on fades into the background. Natasha keeps throwing you knowing glances, but doesn't press. It's Yelena who finally comments, probably having had enough of your desolate puppy-dog look. She nudges you with her elbow, Kate giggling drunkenly by her side. Yelena's arm is protectively around Kate, but her sharp gaze is all on you.

“You know, you won't find her by just sulking here and gazing at every brunette that walks past. You gotta move,” she challenges, her tone equal parts bored and encouraging.

Kate, in her slightly inebriated state, adds with a giggle, “Yeah, go get her, tiger!”

“It's not that easy, you know,” you sigh, brooding over your drink. “Plus, what if she's not even interested?”

Yelena's smirk is almost predatory. “From what I saw? Trust me, she's interested. Now go.”

With a resigned sigh, you push yourself up from the booth. Steeling yourself, you start weaving your way through the crowd, using your slightly sober advantage to maneuver past intoxicated dancers. You scan every corner and table as you walk past, even though there's a nagging feeling in your gut that she might have already left the club.

It’s after what feels like an eternity that you spot a familiar cascade of brunette locks by the bar. She’s engaged in what appears to be an animated conversation with a tall, equally striking man. However, her posture—shoulders slightly hunched, eyes darting around—suggests that she’s far from comfortable.

The protective instinct kicks in before you can talk yourself out of it. Closing the distance, you position yourself between her and the persistent guy, offering her a way out. “Hey there,” you say, smoothly, your voice loud enough to be heard over the clamor. “I've been looking for you. Sorry I'm late.”

She catches on immediately, her relief evident as she steps closer to you, away from the guy. “There you are! I was starting to worry,” she plays along, giving you a swift kiss on the cheeks that has your eyes widening for a second and breaking character. Thankfully, the guy doesn’t notice your blunder, and sensing he's lost this battle, scowls and retreats into the crowd.

Turning to her, you can't help the grin that finds its way to your face. “Sorry for that, I wanted to help, but I didn’t also want to cause any trouble.”

She smiles back, her eyes gleaming in the club lights. “Thank you for the save. I was about to resort to more drastic measures.”

The banter between you flows naturally, the awkward ice broken by the unusual circumstance of your first interaction. “I'm Y/N,” you offer, extending a hand.

“Wanda,” she says, taking your hand. Her grip is firm and her hand warm against yours. It sends a jolt of electricity up your arm. Only now do you notice her eyes, the shade of green in them, and the way they reveal so much yet nothing at all. Just like that, you fall a little deeper into her trap.

“Wanda,” you repeat, tasting the name on your tongue as if trying it out. Your smile broadens instinctively, and she catches it, her nose scrunching up bashfully.

“What?” she asks.

“Oh, nothing,” you chuckle nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “I just think it's a beautiful name. Fits someone as beautiful as you.”

She blushes, and you can't help but inwardly high five yourself for making her smile like that. She looks away for a moment, trying to hide her smile but fails miserably, and you find it endearing.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she says, her eyes meeting yours once more, a shy smile on her lips.

The night unfolds seamlessly from there. You find a quiet corner away from the crowd, where the music is a distant thump, allowing conversation to flow freely.

“So, when did you start drumming?” Wanda asks, leaning in a bit, genuinely seeming interested in your answer. You try your best to stay calm as you feel the heat radiate from her body.

“Believe it or not, I started a bit late, around twelve,” you reply, smiling at the memory of your younger self, awkwardly trying to grasp the drumsticks. “But I played the guitar first, picked it up when I was just five.”

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Wow, so you're a multi-instrumentalist?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, but can't help the proud grin that creeps onto your face. “Something like that. But I mainly stick to drums in the band.”

She tilts her head, her eyes shining with interest. “Why don't you play the guitar for the band then?”

“Natasha's better than me on the guitar. She's got this incredible flair and finesse. I mean, I'm good, but she's... amazing.”

Wanda nods, absorbing the information, “I've heard her play, she really is. But I'm sure you're just as great.”

You laugh, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Then, taking a sip of your drink, you add, “Playing the guitar actually helps a lot when I'm writing our songs.”

“Wait, you write the songs?”

“Most of them,” you confirm, trying to sound as modest as you can be. “It's a collaborative effort, of course. But yeah, having a knowledge of multiple instruments, especially the guitar, helps lay the foundation for many of our tracks.”

Wanda looks at you, clearly impressed. “That's incredible, Y/N. No wonder your music feels so... personal. It's like you're telling a story with every song.”

“You’ve listened to our songs before?” you ask, mildly surprised.

Wanda nods sheepishly, as if caught harboring a guilty secret. “I might have, a few times... I definitely came here tonight to see you guys perform.” 

She then places a hand on your knee, and all at once, your throat feels parched. She scoots closer to you, to speak directly into your ear. “I wish I could see you play the guitar for me.”

You swallow hard. Her suggestion has certainly crossed your mind several times throughout the conversation. “Actually,” you begin, trying to steady your voice, “we keep our instruments in the back of the van. If you're interested, I could... play something for you?”

Wanda pulls back slightly to meet your eyes, looking like she wasn’t expecting you to actually agree to give her a private performance. “Really? Now?”

You nod, then stand and extend your hand to her, grinning. “Ready for a show?”

-

This isn’t exactly the kind of show you had in mind when you led Wanda to the back of the van. But you’re just twenty seconds into the new song you’ve been working on when she grabs your face with both hands and draws you in for a ferocious kiss. It’s a kiss that you haven’t tasted in a while—completely unrestrained.

You're lucky the drum set hasn't been loaded up yet, and with Bucky's keyboard being used by the current band onstage, there's just the right amount of space. Taking advantage, you push Wanda onto her back without breaking away from the kiss.

You pull away just enough to ask, “Are you sure?” while Wanda starts to slide your jacket down your arms.

Wanda nods impatiently, tracing her tongue along the underside of your chin, clearly enjoying the reaction she provokes.

“Was that a yes?” you prod, sitting up. Wanda sighs, albeit a bit irritably, only because you're suddenly out of her reach, before she collects herself enough to answer, “Yes, Y/N, I'm sure.”

“It's just that... I usually don’t do this,” you confess, looking down in embarrassment.

Your heart is pounding so loudly you're sure Wanda can hear it, especially with the way she's studying you intently. You can feel the heat creep up your neck, coloring your cheeks a deep shade of pink. This isn't typically your scene, and you wonder if she's regretting her decision.

But then, with a move that’s smooth and tender, Wanda slides her fingers under your chin, lifting your head to meet her gaze. Her eyes aren't filled with judgment or mockery, but with genuine understanding and something else you can't quite place.

“I find it... sexy,” she murmurs. “It’s refreshing, actually. Everything about you feels genuine. It's rare to find someone not playing games.”

Your eyes widen a fraction. That wasn't the reaction you'd been expecting.

She smirks a little at your expression, that hint of mischief returning. “Did you think admitting you're a little inexperienced would scare me off? If anything, it makes this even more exciting.”

“I'm not exactly 'inexperienced',” you argue with a bashful smile.

Her voice drops to a whisper, making your breath catch, and she inches just a bit closer. “I'm sure about this, Y/N. The back of a van might not be a romantic scene from a movie, but…” she breathes, and then she makes sure you feel every word she’s going to say next being spoken in your ear. “But right now? I swear, I might just go crazy if you don't touch me.”

Her statement stokes the fire between your legs and acting on the pull you feel, you lean in, hesitating just for a fraction of a second before capturing her lips with yours. Wanda lets out a soft, sultry moan as you deepen the kiss, your tongue boldly seeking entrance. She grants it, and you're immediately intoxicated, not just by the taste of the vodka she's been sipping on, but by Wanda herself. The way she feels, the way she responds—it's all consuming.

She tilts her head, granting you better access, and you take the opportunity to explore every inch of her mouth. The gentle tang of the alcohol is present but overshadowed by her own unique flavor, which is even more intoxicating. You can feel her hands resting on your shoulders, fingers gripping you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

Wanda's breath hitches sharply as you confidently take charge. You yank her shirt off in one quick move, and she's laid bare under the soft street lights. Outside, some party is still in full swing, but in here, it's all about the uninhibited hunger between the two of you.

You slip your fingers to the back of her bra, fumbling just a moment before unhooking it, revealing her. Not wasting any time, you dive in, taking her nipple in your mouth, savoring it. The sensation drives her wild, and she arches her back, pushing herself deeper against you with a throaty moan.

Her fingers grip your hair, guiding and sometimes just pulling when she needs more. Every sound she makes, every pull of her fingers, gets you more revved up. It's intense, it's messy, but it's all too real.

As your hands venture lower, you notice her pupils dilate and her breathing grow uneven.

“You still sure?” you whisper, releasing her nipple with a wet pop. She responds with a desperate whine, pressing her hips closer to yours.

“Use your words, baby girl,” you murmur, nipping at her pulse point.

“Yes, yes, yes…” she answers breathlessly. “Please, Y/N.”

Your fingers playfully glide over her entrance, teasing her, “So wet for me,” you marvel, pressing a firm kiss to her neck. Your fingers dip inside her just slightly, pulling back out to further tease her.

“It's too bad I don't have my strap with me,” you groan, grinding against her thigh, letting her feel how turned on you are. “You'd look so pretty, taking it all.”

Her breathing hitches, “God, I wish you had it too.”

Wanda’s whines intensify, a sweet sound of pure desperation, as you suddenly remove your fingers from her. “Why did you—” she starts to complain, but you silence her with a searing kiss.

“I want to see all of you,” you murmur against her lips. Her skirt is the next target, and you fumble with the zipper, eager to remove the barrier between your hands and her skin. However, as you're about to pull down her underwear, a thought strikes you. Looking around the back of the van, you remember how it's been used for hauling equipment, and the floor isn't exactly pristine.

Thinking quickly, you grab your jacket and lay it out beneath her, ensuring she's on a cleaner surface. “Always got to take care of my girl,” you wink at her, trying to lighten the moment.

“Your girl?” Wanda echoes, her eyes half-lidded, a playful smile curling on her lips.

You realize your slip-up a beat too late, but then, her underwear and skirt are swiftly discarded, and she lies there, beautifully exposed to your hungry gaze.

“You're breathtaking,” you whisper in awe.

She flushes under your gaze. “I could say the same for you,” she murmurs, pulling you closer.

Your eyes roam her body, the soft curves and inviting skin, particularly where she's most sensitive. But you've always been one for asking. 

“Can I taste you?” The question leaves your lips, whispered against the skin of her inner thigh, making her shiver.

She responds with a needy, “Yes, please,” and bites her bottom lip, arching her hips slightly, as if laying herself bare for your indulgence.

You don't waste any more time. Shuffling down, you position yourself between her legs, the aromatic scent of her arousal filling your senses. Carefully, you part her folds with your fingers, your tongue darting out to collect the first taste. The first touch of your tongue against her wetness draws a sharp inhale from her, followed by a moan that has your ears burning from how shameless it sounds.

Your tongue swirls around her swollen nub, establishing a pattern that has her thighs clenching around your head. “Fucky, right there,” she groans, her hips thrusting up, eager to meet each glide and flick of your tongue. The wet sounds of your mouth paired with her whimpers urge you to sneak a hand beneath your jeans, seeking relief for your own building tension.

Her hands tighten in your hair, pulling you closer, almost as if she's trying to mold you to her. “More, right there... Oh, god!” she cries out, providing the exact guidance you need.

Amused by her reactions, you intentionally draw out a slurping sound as your tongue dives deeper, making Wanda retreat, but you abandon your own need for release to grab her ass and pull her back to your mouth. 

“Y/N, please, please, I’m—”

“You like that, don't you?” you tease, voice husky with lust. “You sound so pretty when you beg.”

She keens, a desperate sound, her fingers tightening their grip on your hair. You're relentless, enjoying every second of her unraveling, and she's close—so close.

“Are you going to come for me, Wanda?” you growl, lost in the intoxicating taste of her, pressing your tongue deeper, seeking out every intimate spot that makes her body jolt and writhe above you. Her voice breaks into a high-pitched cry, “Y/N! I'm—I'm—” and you feel her climax, her entire body shaking with the force of it, her wetness dripping from your chin down to your throat, drenching you in the process. 

Wanda's gasps fill the space as she shudders, the aftershocks of her orgasm leaving her body trembling. A wicked grin spreads across your face as you take in the sight of her, completely spent and vulnerable. She squirms beneath your mouth, trying to escape the onslaught of sensations. “Too much,” she pants, her voice hoarse.

Ignoring her plea, you continue your ministrations, lips and tongue working in tandem, driving her to the brink once more. As you feel her tensing up, preparing to escape your relentless assault, you slip two fingers inside her, feeling the tight clench of her around you. The unexpected intrusion steals her breath and the fight from her limbs, her resistance melting under your touch.

“You want more, don't you?” you murmur before your lips find her clit again. 

The van is starting to smell like sex. You know you'll have to do something about this later, but for now, you can't bring yourself to care as you take in every detail of the naked girl before you. The pleasure is almost overwhelming for Wanda, teetering on the edge of pain, but she feels another climax building deep inside her.

“Y/N!” she cries, her grip on your hair tightening, her back arching. “I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!”

You don't stop, doubling your efforts, fingers and tongue working in sync, driving her up and beyond any point she's ever known. Suddenly, there's a gush, wetter and warmer than before, surprising you both. You pull back slightly, and she looks down, mortified. Her face turns a deep shade of red, and she tries to squirm out from beneath you.

“I'm so sorry... I—” Wanda stammers, scrambling to hide her face in her hands.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, a smirk forming on your lips. “Wanda, that was... incredibly hot.”

She looks away, still trying to process what just happened. “I didn’t... I've never...”

Sitting up, you gently cup her face, making her look at you. “Hey, it’s alright,” you say softly, trying to reassure her. “Don't be embarrassed. I'm honored that you felt comfortable enough with me to let go completely.”

She gives a shaky laugh, her fingers lightly tracing circles on your chest. “I can't believe you made me do that on the first try.”

“And I’m extremely lucky to be able to,” you say with a chuckle, gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face.

She blushes for a moment, then says, “I noticed you didn’t... you know. Do you want me to...?”

“Next time,” you promise, pressing a tender kiss on her forehead. “Right now, I need to make sure this van doesn’t end up as evidence of our... activities.” You wink, earning a soft giggle from her.

“Besides, I have to admit, I thoroughly enjoyed watching you fall apart because of me,” you add, mischievously wetting your lips.

She blushes, playfully swatting at your arm. “You're impossible.”

-

You were the first to step out of the van, offering Wanda a moment of privacy to get dressed. When she finally emerges, she leans on you for support. “I can't feel my legs,” she jokes, struggling a bit. She hands you your jacket which you'd forgotten, helping you slip it on. Immediately, the scent of her hits you, reminding you that she had climaxed twice on that very fabric.

Before you can dwell on the thought, a man approaches Wanda. It’s the same guy from earlier, the one she was arguing with at the bar. You instinctively square your shoulders, ready to step in between them, protectively, but Wanda halts you with a hand on your chest.

“Pietro!” Wanda exclaims, letting out an exasperated sigh as she utters her brother's name. You halt, puzzled.

She knows this guy?

Pietro looks at Wanda, then at you, his eyes narrowing for a moment. “You ready to go, Wanda?” he asks, clearly impatient.

She turns to you, giving you a soft, apologetic smile. “Y/N, this is my brother, Pietro.”

You swallow dryly, offering a somewhat clammy hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Pietro just eyes your hand, perhaps connecting the dots from earlier. Feeling like an idiot, you quickly pull your hand back, subtly rubbing it against your pants. He departs without another word, muttering to Wanda, “I'll be in the car. Don't keep me waiting too long.”

Wanda watches Pietro go, her smile fading a bit. Turning back to you, she takes a deep breath. “Okay, so, about earlier,” she starts, biting her lower lip nervously. “I might have, um... staged that whole fight thing to get your attention. He wasn’t too thrilled about the idea, but he played along.” Her eyes dart to the ground, avoiding your gaze.

You blink, processing her confession. Before you can come up with any coherent response, she giggles at the dumbfounded expression on your face. “I really have to go,” she says.

And then, before you can react, she plants a featherlight kiss on your cheek. The warmth of it lingers on your skin as she steps back, her eyes holding yours for a long, sweet moment.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes glistening under the soft moonlight. “Tonight was... unexpected, but amazing.”

And with that, she turns and hurries off to where Pietro is waiting for her by a parked car. You stand there, feeling the spot on your cheek where her lips touched, watching her until she hops into the car and drives off into the night. It’s only after the car disappears around the bend that you mentally kick yourself for forgetting to ask for her number. With a sigh, you turn back to your van, resigned to cleaning up.

The chill of the night settles in, and when you slip your hands into your jacket pockets, your fingers catch a scrap of paper. It feels out of place, foreign to the usual belongings you stash in there. You pull it out, and to your surprise, it's a receipt. The drinks listed there jog a memory: an alcoholic cocktail offered to you earlier in the night which you politely declined, and the tangy lemonade that followed right after.

Realization dawns on you. Wanda had been orchestrating things all night. You flip the receipt over and your heart skips a beat. Scrawled at the back in a neat, cursive handwriting is her number, accompanied by a simple message: “Call me soon.”

Grinning like a fool, you grab a cloth and some disinfectant from the compartment. Cleaning the back of a van has never felt this satisfying.

[lostloveletters]

Jesus or Gasoline (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Woody isn't sure what she believes in, except for the way John Brady makes her feel.

Note: Here it is, the result of my making a ‘guy who says grace before giving head’ joke about Brady. I wanna give a million thanks to all the Woody/Brady babes out there because y'all's support and enthusiasm for them means the world to me! As usual I listened to a lot of Bruce Springsteen while writing this. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Inevitable historical inaccuracies. This goes into Woody’s not so great childhood/young adulthood and her generally negative internalized thoughts surrounding religion. Sexually explicit content involving oral sex (f. receiving) and coming in pants.

The field behind the hangar was a questionable date spot at best, but Woody figured it was better than nothing. Secluded enough with some lighting as to not be stumbling around in the dark, but without fear of being easily identified if they got caught before they could make a break for it if needed. 

Word of the late night rendezvous had come from Holly, barely able to contain her excitement at being the messenger. “Your beau wanted me to tell you to meet him tonight,” she whispered, giggling as she added, “said you’d know where.”

Woody had given Holly all of the details the night John Brady kissed her, her best friend in ecstatic disbelief that so much had happened while she and Bucky were listening to a baseball game across the way. Holly took girl code as a sacred oath, not mentioning Woody and Brady’s relationship to a soul in the week or so that had passed. John wasn’t exactly pleased when Woody let him know that she told Holly, but he supposed if Woody trusted Holly that much, he could, too.

“There you are, sweetheart,” John said, with a genuine fondness that she almost couldn’t believe was directed toward her. “Have you been waiting long?”

She shook her head, greeting him with a kiss. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day.”

“I brought you something,” he said, pulling a Hershey bar from his pocket. 

“Don’t waste that on me, are you kidding?”

“Holly told me you give the village kids whatever candy you get, and I know ground crew doesn’t get as much in your rations as we do.” 

Good ol’ Holly. “They appreciate it more than me.”

He looked at her pointedly, though eyes glistened in amusement as he half-scolded, “Don’t reject a gift, sweetheart. It’s bad manners.”

Woody fought back a smile, felt her cheeks heating up . “Thank you, Johnny. You’re real sweet.” Gave him a kiss on the cheek and squeezed his forearm. “Can we at least split it?”

“I won’t say no to that.” 

The grass was damp from the late afternoon rain. She was glad she thought to grab an old blanket, worn out and smelled faintly of fuel, but it’d do. 

He split the bar in two, handing the bigger half to her. She took a bite, surprised to find herself feeling a wistful melancholy for the states at the taste of it. Wasn’t sure she ever felt homesick before, but there was a first time for everything. Like John laying out on the blanket, resting his head in her lap.

“Comfortable?” she asked with a laugh.

“Great view from here.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“You know, I’ve been dying to ask you this ever since I met you,” he began, giving her pause at the seemingly endless possible questions he could hit her with. “Do you really like being called ‘Woody’?”

She nodded, stroking his hair, taking in how relaxed he looked. “Yeah, I really do. It’s been nice to leave ‘Kate’ behind and start fresh.”

“So your first name is just Kate?”

“Shows you how much thought my parents put into it.”

“See, I wanna know more about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“We talk a good deal, but I don’t know much about your life before all of this.”

“I don’t have anything nostalgic or good to tell you, especially not about me. I’m ashamed of who I was before. I’m trying to be better, John. I really am. I don’t—I don’t hang around people who have nothing going for them.”

People like how she used to be. The backstreets burst at the seams with them. Children of neglect, of the Depression, of something wild otherwise running through their veins. They made their homes where they could. Guys who rode around on streaks of lightning, spewing pure gasoline from snarled lips on each of those hilly avenues until they were wrangled in the back of cherry-topped police cars. Girls who should’ve known better drank empty promises out of broken glasses, handed to them by the constantly circling shark-men. Kate learned quickly not to get attached to anyone. They looked out for each other, but they weren’t friends. There was a difference.

“I got an older brother named Tom. Last I heard he was in jail for holding up a liquor store,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since I was eleven, though. That’s when I really started looking after myself.”

“Eleven is pretty young to be on your own,” he said, taking her hand from his hair and holding it in his own, intertwining their fingers.

“What were you doing when you were eleven?”

He shrugged. “Rode bikes around with my friends. Started learning saxophone. I was an altar boy, too.”

“So your family went to mass a lot when you were growing up?”

“Every Sunday that we could. I remember my mom waking us up to go even when we had to walk through a foot of snow to get there because the roads hadn't been cleared yet,” he said, his voice growing softer as he spoke. “Doesn’t seem all that bad, now. Maybe it—it helped some.”

Woody had seen John make the sign of the cross dozens of times. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Remembered the first time she watched him among the other Catholic guys in the 100th, crowded around the chaplain for his makeshift blessing on the tarmac before their missions. Devotion ran exceptionally high then, men suddenly armed with a rainbow of beaded rosaries and holy cards adorned with saints whose weary eyes gazed upward, where those men were soon to be. Their heads bowed in silent contemplation as the priest concluded in Latin, John’s mouth moving along with sed libera nos a malo. But deliver us from evil.

A handsome face like his deserved half a dozen kids with names like Mary and Francis who filed neatly into a pew with their shiny patent shoes and a big family meal to look forward to after mass. Kids who gave the likes of her odd looks when she shuffled into church for whatever lunch the nuns were dishing out that afternoon. Always dressed in her Sunday worst—ill-fitting blouses and holey shoes until she ditched their charity and decided she was better off raising hell in denim jeans. God loved everyone, and his love was unconditional, but no one wanted to say he loved some people more than others, and Kate was pretty low on his list. 

After all, Kate Woodward was born without a middle name on a Wednesday morning that even god himself forgot about. Didn’t know what the weather had been like the first time she breathed in the air of her home city, but she was sure it felt like a kick in the chest. Probably why babies cried when they made their grand escape from the womb. 

Hardly raised in the first place, Kate had little faith in god or man, just in the machines she could bend to her will until they gave her freedom to go wherever she pleased. But her freedom had gnashing teeth and a forked tongue that were never satisfied, no matter how many vices she fed it, and she was nothing short of gluttonous in this endeavor. 

Tried and true, the one she had the hardest time shaking—sticky fingers. If Kate saw something she liked, she took it. From drug store shelves to purses to wallets, nothing was off limits. As time went on, her spoils only got bigger and better, linking up with people who taught her how to steal cars like riding a bike. She had yet to find a replacement for that particular thrill, but her self-control had markedly improved in a little over two years.

Then there were men with hacksaw smiles that threatened to cut her open if she got as close as they wanted her to. Thunderous voices that cracked with rage when she’d shove the smoldering cherry tip of her cigarette into a hand that got too close for comfort. None of them were any good, not like the man with his head in her lap, who brought her chocolate rations and listened intently to her, even as her voice shook with trepidation at bearing so much of her heart.

Woody hummed, her fingers trembling as she traced the features on his face—his expressive brows, the nose that gave him a profile she could hardly tear her eyes from, lips she dreamed about since the night he first kissed her and every time since. Besides the power of a well-maintained engine, she believed in the way she felt about John.

“I was lonely and angry,” she murmured after relaying her patchwork of regrets and fears to him. “I made a lot of mistakes because of that. It’s not an excuse. But I wanna be honest with you so you can still change your mind about me if you want to. I understand if you do.”

“There’s nothing to change my mind about, sweetheart. I want to be with you,” he said, conviction strong in his voice as he sat up.

“I’m not a virgin,” she stressed.

He shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I would’ve been surprised if you were.”

“Well, I didn’t love any of them—four guys in total, mind you—and it’s not like I got anything out of it, either.” She sighed. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

Crushes were for girls who lived in nice houses and wrote hearts above their i’s. Desire ran hot, expressed in glances made with hooded lids beneath buzzing neon lights that left a thousand things unsaid. But after that handful of physically underwhelming experiences which ended up being far more trouble than they were worth, she came to the conclusion that she was better suited to get her own rocks off.

“Got what out of it?” he asked.

She chewed on her lip. The only sin out there was getting caught, and Kate Woodward never got caught. Woody chose to confess. “I had to get to the good part myself.”

“That’s unacceptable.” 

Her heart sank. “I haven’t done it in—“

“Those selfish bastards never made you come?” 

“Not one.”

“In that case, I’d be glad to be your first.”

“I want you to be,” she said, leaning back on her hands in the dewey grass, spreading her coverall-clad legs apart. “I wanna do everything with you.”

He placed his hand on her thigh, his fingers playing with the inner hem of her coveralls. “Tell me how you want it, sweetheart.”

“I want your mouth.” Truthfully, she’d never had a guy go down on her before. Heard about it from other girls, wild ones out in the desert. A few others as she got to know the first group of WAAC girls she bunked with after enlisting. Even from Holly, as apparently Stan had been generous and enthusiastic about that aspect of their sex life. Stan, Stan, what a man, the girls would tease about Holly’s fiance before he was dearly departed. 

The corners of John’s lips twitched up as he brought his fingers further along the hem, inching closer to her covered sex. “Never had a girl ask me to do that before.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“Why would I?”

She hesitated, averting her eyes from him. “A lot of guys think it’s gross.”

“I think I should decide for myself, don’t you?” He cupped her chin, caressing her jaw with his thumb. “Look at me, sweetheart. What do you want me to do?”

Upon returning her gaze to his, she found no judgment behind his eyes, but a passionate sincerity.

“I want you to go down on me,” she said.

She studied him as he watched her. His pretty lips parted slightly, drinking her in as more of her body was exposed. It wasn’t a strip tease, nothing sexy about the way she pulled her arms out from the sleeves and yanked her coveralls down to her knees, finally kicking them to her ankles and off entirely. Sat before him in her white t-shirt, plain underwear, and boots, almost boyish if not for her breasts, low on her chest, nipples poking through the fabric. 

“Are you wearing a bra?” He sounded breathless, almost as if he couldn’t believe he was even asking.

“No,” she said, her lips curving into a smile, letting him in on another secret. “I always take it off at the end of the day. Don’t tell anyone.” 

As if the other girls didn’t know, with some degree of judgment along with their understanding that the damn thing got uncomfortable, could chafe with all the work they were doing, the sweat and friction. It wasn’t like anyone could really tell beneath the other layers, anyway. But anyone meant anyone of the male persuasion, and with that, John dutifully shook his head.

His lips were on hers in an instant, a hand on her waist, the other shoved up her shirt, squeezing her breasts. She gasped at the way his rough palm felt against her nipple, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue in her mouth. Her moans were lost to the world, claimed by him and him alone. He straddled her lap, keeping her in place beneath him. 

John moved his hand from her waist to between her legs, rubbing her already wet pussy through her underwear. Her lips were undoubtedly swollen from the ferocity with which he kissed her. A delicious shiver ran down her spine at the thought of how it’d feel against her cunt. 

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, and she lifted her hips, allowing him to pull them off of her. Bringing up her knees, she felt a burst of adrenaline rush through her at being so exposed to him.

“You need to tell me how I’m doing, alright? I wanna make sure you feel good,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” she mumbled, almost dizzy with desire as he lowered his face between her legs.

His hot breath on her cunt, lips brushing against her folds. She strained to hear… whispering?

“Johnny?” she asked after a few moments of aching anticipation. “Baby, if you don’t wanna— Jesus Christ,” she choked out. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the rest of them. 

His tongue lapped at her clit, eyes looking up at her for approval. With a shaky nod, she bid him to continue, biting her lip as to stifle the whine that threatened to escape her mouth. A noble attempt, but fruitless when he licked up her pussy with the flat of his tongue, pulling a moan from deep in her chest. Her heart was beating between her legs. 

Woody could make herself feel pretty damn good on her own. She lifted a dirty magazine from a guy in Reno once. Had pictures and everything, though she wasn’t sure how real it all was. She’d look at the pictures, tongue between her lips and hand between her thighs as she imagined herself in those women’s places, feeling the ecstasy written all over their expressive faces with their typically faceless partners. From there, she’d get creative, allowing her mind to conjure up a man who, behind her closed eyes, could bring her to orgasm. Even in her wildest fantasies, she never thought she’d find one who’d actually want to bury his face in her pussy. 

Fuck, if she couldn’t feel John’s fingers digging into her thighs, she would’ve almost thought she was dreaming. She grabbed his hair, pressing his face harder against her cunt. He was giving so much, and she’d take all of it, greedy with the pleasure he offered her.  

He slid two fingers inside her pussy, slowly enough to see how she’d take it before pumping them in and out at a quicker pace. Used his other hand to hold her down when her hips jerked up in his face, like her muscles had a mind of their own, hellbent on reaching an orgasm. Hell, so was she.

“Just like that— fuck,” she rasped, her nails scraping against his scalp.

She nearly wanted to ask if he’d been lying, if he had gone down on a girl before. He at least had enough experience to know where her fucking clit was, but his mouth. Jesus, how could he expect her to go to the officer’s club and watch him play saxophone after this? As if she wouldn’t be sitting there, skin feverish, thighs pressed together, thinking about his mouth and his fingers in that moment. The way his teeth grazed against her clit, making her pussy clench around his fingers. The way it almost felt like he was making out with her cunt. Their eyes would meet, and he’d know, maybe have a little smirk on his face up there, too. An obscene secret privately shared amidst dozens of other people who’d be none the wiser. 

“Don’t stop,” She was so close it almost hurt, wound up tight and pulsing in her gut, waiting to be released. “Please don’t stop.” Hot tears rolled freely down her cheeks. Her chest felt like it was on the verge of bursting open. Between a fistful of grass and a hand buried in his hair, she cried out his name like a vulgar prayer in the night as her orgasm rocked through her.

A universe of stars burst across her abdomen, white-hot supernova tearing through her muscles, blinding her from anything but the pleasure that pulsed from her pussy. She finally came down from it, covered in sweat, chest heaving, a wild-eyed woman as John pushed himself back up on unsteady arms.

She grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer so he was straddling her lap. Took in his mussed up hair and the way his lips glistened with the traces of her still on them. She kissed him, a muffled moan in her throat at the taste of herself on this tongue. 

She wanted him. More of him. Everything he had to give. Wasn’t sure it’d be enough to sate her need, but damn if she couldn’t try.

“Johnny, can’t we just do it?” she pleaded, her voice a girlish whine that sounded otherwise foreign coming from her as she desperately pawed at him.

“Next time,” he whispered. “Next time, sweetheart, I promise.” Grazed his teeth against her hummingbird pulse. “I didn’t bring a condom.” 

“But what about you?” she pressed, reaching for his crotch. “You must be—“

He shook his head, cheeks flushed as he licked his lips. “I got carried away, sweetheart. I, uh—I’m good.” 

She slipped her hand down his pants, feeling the sticky evidence of his orgasm for herself. Her fingertips brushed the sensitive head of his spent cock, sending a shiver down his spine. Was he good, though? He groaned. No wonder Douglass kept so many goddamn rubbers in his footlocker.

“Next time,” he repeated, voice strained and husky in a horrific display of self-control. He nearly regretted it when she pulled her hand away, feeling something sinful stir in his gut as she inspected her hand, finally bringing it to her mouth and licking the residue off her knuckles with a feline-esque curl of her tongue.

“Just say the word, Johnny. Whenever you want me to return the favor, I’ll drop everything for you.”

He swallowed roughly. She meant it.

[beefromanoff]

Going Under - Ch. 7

summary: another day on tour with Bucky Barnes as your personal security guard...does it GET any dreamier?

characters: Bucky Barnes x OC

soundtrack: everybody’s changing - keane

warnings: fluff, pop star fantasy x love story, set in an AU where the Avengers reunite after Civil War, pre-infinity war, slight angst, hurt/comfort, lonely reader/OC.

author’s note: i’ve been wanting to write this knife flip parallel for SO long ugh finally here it is! enjoy, let me know what you think, xo!

chapter list/links

- xo

____________________________________________

Just like all the days before, Bucky paced in the front row of the empty stadium. Stage hands wandered around him, plugging in various cords and rolling equipment into place for this evening’s show. Gianna’s vocal warm ups had become comforting to him at this point in the tour, a pleasant routine they lived out more days than not. Today was different, though. 

Today, they’d woken up together. 

Every morning preceding this one was pretty much the same. Bucky would wake up with the sun, shower and get dressed, and check in with the Avengers. Even though he was away on this longer term mission, he liked to stay in the loop with what the rest of the team was doing. Once it got closer to 8am, he’d head to retrieve Gianna. Her daily responsibilities didn’t start right away, but she liked to begin the day at her own pace, have some time to herself before being thrust into the daily itinerary already set out for her. 

She’d never said it outright, but Bucky knew it was her way of taking some semblance of control over her life. Even if it was only between the hours of 8-10am, even if it was only to find a cute coffee shop in a new city, even if her only company was her paid security, it was her time. He was determined to make sure she got it. 

Normally, he’d cross the hall and do his signature knock on the door, his metal hand louder than the average. While he heard her footsteps pad across the carpeted floor, he’d do a quick Google search for the nearest coffee shop with croissants, her favorite. By the time the door opened to her fresh-faced smile, he had their destination all picked out. 

It was Bucky’s favorite part of every day. 

Despite the small crew, the nature of touring with an internationally beloved pop star was that there would be people surrounding them almost all the time. Whether it was the band, the stage crew, paparazzi, fans (who were somehow always screaming and/or crying), or Tom and Kate…there was very little solitude outside of their hotel rooms. Considering they typically didn’t return to their hotel rooms until well past midnight most nights, that time was rare. 

When they got coffee, it felt more private, intimate. They’d pull their baseball caps low and their hoods up, a half-hearted attempt to hide from the world that knew exactly where they were. Or rather, where Gianna was. That was another perk of being by her side, no one ever really noticed Bucky. Although he typically had a jacket or sweatshirt on, he bet if he walked out with his metal arm bared for the world to see, not one person would notice if Gianna Cruz was by his side. He liked the anonymity he got from being with her, although he felt a pang of guilt knowing that his privacy was at the cost of her own. 

“Whatcha doing?” Gianna’s playful voice snapped him out of his stupor. 

He looked up at her, standing on the edge of the stage with her hand on her hip, bedazzled microphone in the other. 

“Oh, the usual, watching the best show in the world.” He teased. 

She rolled her eyes, shrugging off his flattery. “No silly, what are you doing there.” Her hand gestured to his, where he was absentmindedly playing with the knife he normally kept holstered on his thigh. He had been tossing, flipping, catching, generally just playing with it.

Bucky looked up at her, feeling a hint of embarrassment that he’d been brandishing a weapon clearly enough for her to notice. "Sorry, I didn't even realize I was doing it," he said, his voice soft.

Gianna smiled, eyes twinkling with the mischief of another idea. 

"Can you show me how to do that?" she asked, pointing at the knife.

Bucky looked at her, surprised. He wondered why on Earth she’d be stopping a rehearsal to learn how to flip a knife. 

"Sure, I can show you, but if you lose a finger before the show we may have to refund some tickets," he said, hopping onto the stage with her. 

“I was thinking maybe I’d use my own weapon of choice…” She waved the pink microphone, the glitter catching the stage light. 

“Ah, I see. A new party trick.” 

Gianna watched as Bucky expertly threw the knife up with one hand and caught it backhanded with the other. She was mesmerized, watching the way his metal arm glinted in the light. He tossed it again, flipping it in his hand before performing the same catch.

"Wow, that's so freakin’ cool," she breathed, her voice full of admiration.

Bucky smiled, his cheeks flushing despite himself. "It's all in the wrist.”

He shoved down his inner voice, teasing him for blushing over a girl who was fawning over moves he’d perfected as a lethal assassin. Nothing cute about that. 

Gianna kept her eyes on Bucky’s hand, holding the microphone in position. He slowly flipped the knife, catching it as slowly as his super soldier reflexes would allow him. She tossed the microphone up, but promptly knocked it to the ground when she attempted the backhanded catch. 

The stadium was filled with an awful high-pitched sound as the microphone feedback hissed through the speakers. Gianna clapped her hands over her ears and made a face. 

“Sorry,” She called sheepishly as several of the crewmembers gave her a dirty look. She looked at Bucky and giggled, clicking the microphone off.

Bucky laughed, "It takes practice," he said, his voice reassuring.

They spent the next hour practicing the move, Bucky gently guiding her hand and teaching her the proper technique. Gianna was surprised at how patient and gentle he was.

As Tom came to tell them it was time to break for lunch, Gianna felt a sense of accomplishment. She had all but mastered the move, thanks to Bucky's guidance. They walked backstage to the green room where lunch had been catered in, with Gianna practicing the flip as she walked. 

“See?” Bucky said, putting his arm around her. “You’re a natural.” 

“I had a good teacher.” She said, scrunching her nose up at him. 

Later that evening, as Gianna was performing one of her more upbeat, chart-topping songs, she threw her microphone up with one hand and caught it backhanded with the other, just like Bucky had taught her. 

She looked backstage as she continued to execute all her choreography to perfection, winking at Bucky as he watched her. A mixture of emotion swirled in his stomach. He felt pride, a giddy sense of enjoyment watching her perform. He felt that familiar warmth at the way she somehow made him feel like the only person she saw in a crowd of hundreds of thousands. New to the mix was a different kind of warmth, a little lower than the butterflies in his stomach. Something about the way she was dancing, hair tousled from all the movement, performing his move and then that wink…he shook his head, afraid of where that train of thought was headed.

As they slipped into the back of the black suburban, Gianna started tugging bobby pins out of her hair. 

“So did I look cool?” 

“Oh man, I almost started screaming along with the rest of ‘em.” Bucky teased, holding out his hand to collect the pins as she let her hair down. 

“Maybe tomorrow you can teach me something else. Got any other cool tricks?” 

“Not unless you have a way to incorporate a roundhouse kick into your little dances.” 

“Hey, that may spice things up.” She shrugged, running her fingers through her hair to release the rest of the curls. 

“I think you’re all set in that department.” Bucky breathed, watching her hair cascade down her back. 

“Oh yeah?” She shifted in the backseat, facing him. 

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. His breath caught in his chest as her fox-like eyes tempted him just by the way they bore into his own. 

Thankfully, they were interrupted by the driver. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” He called from the front seat. “We may have an issue.” 

Leaning forward, Bucky saw the issue in question. Hoards and hoards of fans had set up camp outside the hotel, crowding the entire block. The circle drive of the hotel was hopelessly entrenched in teen girls with feather boas. There was no way the suburban could drive in, and even if they somehow made it through the crowd, Gianna would get absolutely ambushed trying to get into the hotel. 

Bucky immediately shifted gears. “Circle the block, go up to 17th. There’s a service entrance to the hotel.” He was punching away on his phone, telling Tom to alert the hotel they’d need access to the back. 

The driver did as he was told, taking a detour to bring them up the shadowed alley behind their hotel. 

“Pull up to the unloading bay, as close as you can get.” Bucky instructed. 

As the suburban came to a stop, Bucky leapt out of the car, striding quickly to Gianna’s side. He opened the door and slung her bag over his shoulder before holding out a hand to help her down. She was quiet as she exited, resigning herself to the chaos that became more and more commonplace each day. 

Bucky jumped onto the concrete ledge in front of them, easily clearing a 6 ft wall. The ledge was made for semi trucks to back up to, unloading supplies for the hotel. Gianna looked up at him, her eye level at least a foot beneath where he was standing. Crouching down, Bucky slid his hands around her upper arms, pulling her onto the platform with him. He didn’t so much as blink, as if lifting her from that height was as easy as lifting up his coffee cup in the morning. 

Focus, this is not the time. Gianna swallowed hard, ignoring the jolt in her stomach when he took her hand and pulled her towards the back door. 

The purposeful strides, the firm but gentle grip he kept on her hand, the way he never let her carry her own bag, the way the dark jeans hugged his hips - get it together, G!

As they slid into the elevator and Bucky punched the key to their floor, Gianna looked up at the ceiling. She was alarmed at how little she cared about the turn their night took, especially in comparison to the growing urge she felt to get Bucky back in her bed. 

They strode towards their respective rooms in silence. Bucky glanced over their shoulders every few steps, ensuring they were alone. As they approached Gianna’s room, he slowed and put his hand on her lower back. 

“We should be alright, we’ve got guys at the front doors and at the elevators. No one’s getting up here. The worst case scenario is you have to listen to them scream your name all night.” 

I’d rather listen to you scream my name all night. 

Gianna’s eyes widened, looking up at Bucky, petrified he’d somehow heard her thoughts. 

“What? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He looked back and forth between her eyes, noticing a red flush spreading across her face. 

“I uh, nothing.” She breathed out. “Just trying to take it all in.” 

She took another deep breath. “Thanks for tonight, Bucky, and last night. And every night on this tour. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“Well, doll, you don’t have to. At least not for 12 more weeks.” He squeezed her shoulder, the cool metal of his hand chilling her through her sweatshirt sleeve. 

“I’ll have to talk to Tom about that contract extension.” Her words were teasing but her voice was soft, eyes looking up at him, swirling with all sorts of things he couldn’t begin to read. 

“Goodnight, G.” Bucky’s voice was low. “Call me if you need anything.” 

“Night, Buck.” 

Gianna bit her lip as she closed the door, leaning into it as it latched behind her. She wondered if not wanting to sleep alone qualified as her needing something. Before she could contemplate it too hard, she forced herself into the dark bathroom room to take a shower.

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

since tumblr ATE THE NICE WRITING I DID y’all get the gross word vomit version

so kate is at a briefing steve is at, post-thaw; after the meeting he corners her (he grabbed her and gets a broken nose for it; that’s not important) and he says something like “so what were those block countries Fury was talking about”

(kate thinks steve approaches her because he doesn't think she’s scary; in reality he approaches her because in his eyes, she’s his age)

which leads to kate barging into Fury’s office to yell about how NO ONE THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO TELL CAPTAIN STEVE ABOUT THE MOON LANDING OR THE BEATLES OR GAY RIGHTS OR OR OR OR

fury: thank you for volunteering. now get the hell out of my office

which is how kate accidentally becomes a shield agent. oops.

and so she goes....waaay overboard. 

or just the right amount of board.

so she starts in the 1920s which steve is a SHIT about because ma’am he LIVED through that

i know that you dick but living through something doesn't mean you fully understand everything about how or what happened, looking at something after even a few years have gone by changes how we understand what happened--

I LIVED THROUGH IT

YEAH WELL I LIVED THROUGH 9/11 AND THE WAR ON TERROR AND I KNOW YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT THOSE THINGS ARE BUT OUR UNDERSTANDING OF THEM IS STILL EVOLVING SO SHUT UP

fine. what’s a dick. are you calling me a private eye? is that supposed to be insulting?

jesus. christ.

(later, steve will appreciate this, and how it was actually kind of nice to have someone not just assume he knew everything about what happened with the war. he didn’t know about Isaiah Bradley, or Hiroshima and Nagasaki, or the Nuremberg trials, which...people tend to just assume he does)

after they get past ww2 kate breaks out “we didn’t start the fire” and they just go down the lyrics line by line

as in, kate builds lesson plans around the song. it’s a good jumping off point, anyway

and kate actually learns stuff she didn’t in school. she had no idea what the hypodermics on the shore bit was about.

i don’t know if steve would have had a television?? but like. he picks up tech pretty fast

he cannoT get over space travel

he watches apollo 13 five times. steve LOSES HIS MIND when hidden figures comes out

(”british beatlemania” devolves into an anglophile week where they watch doctor who and harry potter)

kate specifically tries to find weed that will affect steve for “woodstock”

(and some things are SO FUN. music is SO FUN)

(some things are TERRIBLE)

she’s the one who tells him about school shootings and segregation and the AIDs crisis and rape culture and the red scare and the lavender scare and Kennedy’s assassination and apartheid and Holocaust deniers and it’s just a lot, sometimes

and sometimes kate tries to Not feel so much and makes them watch “seminal romantic comedies” which pretty much means “meg ryan movies”

but it is also incredibly satisfying to see firsthand steve’s liberal tendencies

by the time they get to reagan they’ve jumped forward enough, pop culture wise, that kate can say “he’s a DICKWAD” and steve gets it.

“a total FUCKSTICK,” she says.

“is that like a douchebag?”

they visit stonewall when they get to that point. it’s where steve comes out to her

“i like guys and gals. well, everybody, i guess. always have.”

“hey,” kate leans into him, links their arms together. “me too.”

kate doesn't know how to reassure steve sometimes. he feels like he should have been there for this. could have stopped some of it. or changed it.

and sometimes kate looks at him and thinks you thought you were dying so we could be better and do better and we just fucked it up

kate makes him do all those required reading lists. lord of the flies, notes from the underground, catcher in the rye, to kill a mockingbird, fahrenheit 451...but also harry potter and the hunger games and twilight and simon vs the homo sapiens agenda. 

“i want you to be well rounded. and i’d feel bad if someone asked you ‘team edward’ or ‘team jacob’ and you didn’t know what they meant.”

inside, she is CACKLING

(”why doesn’t she just pick both? i’m confused.”)

(kate inhales her coffee and almost chokes to death)

(”what part of QUEER didn’t you understand, hawkeye?”)

also the twilight zone, leave it to beaver, the addams family, the beverly hillbillies, gilligan’s island, xena, sailor moon, friends, lost, arrested development, the office

they spend a lot of time together

“teaching him EVERYTHING is a FULL TIME JOB, OKAY?” kate snaps when billy brings this up. they are having coffee and kate stopped mid-sentence to send steve five evanescence songs. then sk8er boi

“have you told him about nickelback yet? you have to. you can’t protect him from everything, kate.”

but anyway. lots of time together. bingeing shows and watching movies and eventually it’s not just to bring him up to speed it’s because they *gasp* like each other. 

but also. it’s steve.

it’s in the middle of bringing up baby, after guess who’s coming to dinner and african queen but before desk set (it’s a hepburn night) that steve is just like. wait. when did we get to the point that we’re like. LAYING on the couch. curled up next to one another. CUDDLING. 

(they did this two nights ago on Pixar Night. and the week before on Cult Classics night)

“ARE WE DATING”

“what????”

“dating??? going steady??? are we???”

neither of them know. 

but probably

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 26

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: none

A/N: no smut this time, just bucky meeting the family

NEXT CHAPTER

Her mother pulled Bucky into the house. She lived exactly where he’d expect her to live in, a dark academia sort of environment in shades of green, burgundy and dark browns. The walls were filled with shelves containing seas and seas of books and little memorabilia. There were photos of the family on the walls and Bucky noticed the little one right by the staircase of a young girl in a periwinkle dress sat on the beach with a bright smile whom he was absolutely certain was his Y/N. The woman continued to lead them until what he guessed was the living room where the fireplace was on and two kids were running around.

Bucky stood behind with Y/N as her mother made haste towards the drinks’ trolley where Y/N was almost sure the same watered down bottle her brother Anthony had constantly stolen from as a teenager still stood. They were lucky enough not to still have been noticed, her family having an weirdly tradition of not allowing anyone in the living area until they had a drink in hand. Of course she knew why, her family made so many questions both appropriate and inappropriate you’d have to be positively inebriated to deal with it. 

     - Everyone... - Lucy, Y/N’s mother, handed Bucky a burgundy coloured liquid before pulling him inside the living room. - Don’t be shy, Bucky. Everyone, this is Bucky, he’s Y/N’s boyfriend. 

     - I thought he’d be smaller. - a man got up from the dark burgundy couch, walking up to Bucky with an extended hand towards him. Bucky looked at his hand then at his own, before switching to shake it with his flesh arm rather than the metal aberration he’d covered with a glove. - Had a nice flight? Little bean here said she booked first flight tickets even though I told her it’s ...

    - A waste of money, I know dad. - Y/N interrupted. 

    - It was nicer than I expected, sir. - Bucky said yet Y/N could see that little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. - Your daughter made it all the better.

    - Hope she didn’t bother you with leitmotifs. - another man who looked just around Y/N’s age piped up.

     - Colin, don’t even say that word, it might get her started. - a girl, blonde hair dressed in a baby blue dress added. - Oh wow, you’re athletic.

     - C’mon El, you promised to help me tease Y/N about her first serious boyfriend. - Colin wrapped his arms around Y/N but she merely playfully slapped his chest. - Look at you, the last Y/L/N sibling to introduce someone to the family. We were gonna buy you a cake but mum said no.

    - Colin Y/L/N, leave your sister be. - Lucy slapped her son’s head. - We are very happy that Y/N and Bucky are here. 

   - She’s happy there’s a chance you might give her grandchildren. - Colin whispered before adopting that grin that as children made Y/N want to throw a pillow at him.

   - Colin, I said to leave your sister be. - Lucy wrapped her arms around her eldest daughter. - That is not the reason I’m happy you’re dating. Me and your father were just afraid that you would be a bit lonely in New York.

   - Because you have no friends. - Eloise added.

   - Eloise, leave your sister be. She has plenty of friends. - their father added, not moving from his chair where he had returned to read the paper. 

   - Where is your sister? She should be here to meet Bucky.

   - Claire is busy with her husband convincing my husband to get me to have a rat-like creature they call a baby. - Eloise sat down on the other couch, legs crossed over each other. - Do you want a baby, Bucky?

   - Eloise! - Y/N yelled out of shame. Now she understood why her mother looked so dead whenever she had to go shopping with 4 children at 10 AM. She was clearly wrong to think her siblings would act like regular human beings in front of a guest, they barely acted like regular human beings on a regular basis. - We should go put the bags in my bedroom.

   - No, wait, beanie. CLAIRE! CLAIRE COME SAY HI TO YOUR SISTER AND BUCKY! - Y/N’s mother rushed to the kitchen, yelling out whom he guessed was the name of Y/N’s last sibling. Out of the kitchen and into the living room came a girl dressed in the same dress as Eloise except it was purple, holding a bundle of blankets against her chest. 

  - Aw, let me hold Sophie. - Y/N dropped her bags to meet her sister who handled her the baby. Bucky inspected the scene, watching as her embarrassed facade quickly changed into one of wonder as she looked at her niece. - Look at you, you’re so cute, Miss Sophie, yes you are. 

  - Claire, say hi to Bucky.

  - Why is he so tall? - she shook his hand. - I thought you’d be smaller with that nickname.

Is this was Steve felt like after the serum? Bucky had never stopped to consider that maybe his nickname sounded like a name you’d give a short guy, to be honest, he doesn’t even remember how it came to be, he just remembered his mum calling it and it sticking. However, he did have to admit that he enjoyed seeing everyone’s confused look once they met him as if he was the tallest man alive when he was barely taller than Y/N’s brother. 

    - Conor, Jack come meet Bucky too. - Y/N’s mum held two men by the arm who looked as lost in the family reunion as Bucky did. - Conor’s Eloise’s husband and Jack’s Claire’s. 

    - Okay. - Y/N interrupted before anyone else told her boyfriend he was too tall. Handing Sophie back to her sister, she held Bucky’s hand. - We are going to put the bags upstairs and take the coats off and we’ll return. 

Y/N knew her family way too well. She had been here when Claire brought Jack home for the first time and her father questioned him about a notorious case followed by Colin asking him if he needed earbuds for Claire’s snoring. She had also been there when Conor and all of Colin’s girlfriends so she knew when it was time to run away with Bucky from her very devoted and very curious family who had already decided to have the baby conversation with him before she had even mention it.

Bucky looked at the photos that were scattered on the staircases’ wall. He could always pinpoint where Y/N was, normally in the front with those beautiful, shining eyes. He noticed one particular photo of Y/N alone against a dark blue background in her graduation gown holding her diploma, posing like a beauty queen. He made a note to sneak a photo of it once she wasn’t looking.

She led him into her bedroom. It was a rather small one in tones of white and beige with a double bed. The walls were clean rather than one with a bookcase of dark wood filled with books, trophies and little frames of photos of her as a kid. Her bed had a small white lamb laying on it with some heart shaped pillows and a knitted beige blanket. 

     - Is that you? - Bucky rushed to the shelf to grab a photo of Y/N as a toddler dressed as a ballerina holding a golden medal.

    - Yeah. My grandmother was a prima ballerina so she made all of us do ballet which came quite in handy when I was in Phantom. - she put her coat on the hook on the door. - Sorry about my mum, and my dad and my siblings. I should already apologise for their husbands and the toddlers you haven’t met yet since they’re out with Grandma Louis who I’m also sorry for. 

     - That’s fine. I think they don’t hate me much.

    - It’s better than when Colin introduced Kate, mum was so upset she didn’t speak to her. I would say they love you. 

     - So which one is the oldest? Is there an hierarchy I should know about?

     - I’m the oldest then Colin, Claire and finally Eloise. Eloise got married first and then Claire and Colin is living la vie boheme. 

     - And you? - he wrapped his arms around her waist

    - I’m the actress. Once Aunt Petunia or Grandma Louis gets here you’ll listen to the “the debate team champion becomes an actress kissing all those men and she’s still single” discussion. I also apologise for that in advance. 

    - Well but you are not single anymore. - Bucky leaned down to kiss her. - And I will allow you to parade me as your boyfriend. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. 

    - Ah yes, my three time three-time boxing champion boyfriend. 

    - You’re not gonna drop that, aren’t you?

    - What? It’s very alluring, gets me going.

    - Is that why you gave me an handjob at the airport, princess? - he leaned down to whisper against her ear. She felt goosebumps raise up her skin, mouth drying up as she tried to find the words. - You better have thick walls, princess. 

   - Beanie ... - her mother knocked on the door, pushing the door slightly open and sticking her head in. - We were wondering if Bucky ate meat. We bought this meat that’s not really meat and it’s vegan. I asked some of my colleagues at work to help me cook it and we made some but we can make more if Bucky wants some.

    - No, Mrs. I’m okay with anything, it’s fine. 

    - Non sense. Y/N tell Bucky he can pick what to eat. You’re American right? I’m making some chicken nuggets for the kids and Colin, I could make you some if you’d like. 

    - Mum, that’s stereotypical. 

   - Nonsense, beanie. What do you want to eat, Bucky?

   - I’ll eat whatever Y/N does, m’am. - he tried to hide the little grin as Y/N stood by his side still processing what Bucky had just said to her. - It’s fine, m’am, really. I don’t want to be a bother, I’m so grateful you and your family are okay with having me for Christmas. 

Lucy merely smiled at him as a way of saying it was no problem. Y/N knew her family, they adored to embarrass their children in front of their partners, lovers, and friends but they would adore whoever their children adored as if they belonged to the family since the dawning of time. The actress rose her head to look at her boyfriend, staring at the door like a fading vision on the desert, relaxed muscles and expression. Her hold on his hand strengthened as her head laid against his shoulder, laying a small kiss on the fabric of his shirt.

     - Do you want to go downstairs? We can stay here for a few minutes before dinner. 

     - Yeah, princess. - he snapped himself out of his state, smiling down at his caring girlfriend before following her down the stairs.

Her family had a lot of photos, some on big frames on the wall and other small ones in coffee tables and other surfaces. He couldn’t help but look at them, watching Y/N through the ages and wondering how she was. She always had that look, that inner shyness and bright eyed appearance. Most photos were school photos with that dark blue background followed by a few backstage photos of her in elaborate stage makeup and costumes. Bucky wanted a photo of her, any photo of her, to have in his wallet. Not that he would forget what she looked like, he could never forget it but he wanted to. He wanted to look at her face whenever he paid for his coffee, show people when they asked about her, he guessed he wanted to have the same pride in showing his girlfriend his father had about showing his mother. He wanted a suburban existence, no more Winter Soldier, no more Avengers, just James Barnes. Yet, he also knew he did not deserve that. No, he had taken that structure from so many people he didn’t deserve it. 

Once in the living room, there were more people, notably two kids running around the Christmas tree and two women sat by the beautifully placed table. He felt shy, not knowing exactly what to say, barely knowing these people. 

    - Ah, let me look at you. - one of the woman from the table got up and walked towards them. Bucky thought none of it, thinking it to be directed towards Y/N until the woman took him by surprise by cupping his face. - You’re just gorgeous. Nice eyes, strong features. 

     - Aunt Petunia! - Y/N took her aunt’s hands away from Bucky’s face. - Please. 

     - You know what they say about men with strong features, great lovers, great breeders.

     - Oh my god. - that’s it, she was no longer going to have a boyfriend once she got back to New York. - Bucky, this is my aunt Petunia. 

     - Nice to meet you m’am. - Bucky extended his hand to her but the woman merely pushed him towards the table.

     - I thought she was kidding when she said she was bringing someone home yet here you are. - she led both of them to side by side seats on the table. - So, Bucky have you meet Grandma Louis?

    - I’m afraid not. 

    - Look ma, Y/N brought a boyfriend home. 

   - Can we please not treat this like a world limited event?

   - Nope. - Colin sat next to Y/N. - I had a bet with Eloise you’d date a 50 year old librarian and I lost which is unfair because 100 year old soldier is almost the same. 

   - It’s not and you know it. - Eloise argued from the other side of the table. - How’s the movie, Y/N? 

   - It’s ... good. - she forced a smile, not wanting to show the same family who always wondered why unlike every of her siblings she, the debate captain and champion, had turned down the option to do Law and instead pursued an acting career. Did acting made her happy? Yes. Did the movie made her happy? No. 

   - She’s the best actress I have ever met and seen. - Bucky drew invisible circles over her palm. - Everyone’s always speechless during her takes. 

   - That’s my beanie, always the best at whatever she does. - Y/N’s father added. - Besides, one of us has to not be a lawyer. We’re starting to be known as the lawyer family. 

   - So Bucky, are you enjoying London? Have you ever been? - Claire asked while putting the bibs on her two toddlers who were still happily playing with toy cars on the table.

   - Long time ago, it’s a bit different now. 

   - Y/N should take you to see the tree in Trafalgar, it’s absolutely stunning. - Lucy added. - It’s where her father purposed. 

   - It’s where everyone purposed in this family. We need a new tradition. - Colin rolled his eyes. 

   - If it were up to you, you’d purpose in a McDonalds after coming from the pub. 

   - Shut up, Eloise. 

Bucky merely kept to himself during the dinner, replying to the questions that were thrown his way and laughing at the jokes. There was the odd questions every once and then which Y/N would normally reply to followed by telling him she was sorry which he found adorable. Normally it was him who was defensive over her, too defensive even and to see her take on the role warmed his heart. The dinner ran smoothly and soon everyone was sat on the couch by the fireplace. She was by his side, head on his shoulder as a It’s a Wonderful Life played on the television. 

The night kept going in and in until everyone decided to climb up to their respective bedrooms. Y/N turned on the heating the moment she came in, stripping onto her own cozy red pyjamas while Bucky kept inspecting her room. She had a bunch of books and programs from various West End musicals as well as a few bits of Star Wars memorabilia scattered on the shelves and a Phantom of the Opera music box on her desk. What caught his attention was the tiny miniature of a white picked fence house on her bedside table. Had she been an avid miniature collector and he didn’t know about it?

    - Hey, what’s this? - he pointed at the little house.

    - Oh ... that.

    - Is it a sore topic? I’m sorry princess, I didn’t mean to ...

    - It’s okay, Bucky. - she smiled. - It’s just a silly thing from when I was a kid. I told my mum I wanted to marry Luke Skywalker and move into a white picket fence home and she bought me it. Then I just wanted the house as I grew up but hey I live in SoHo, the best I can do is get another one of those

   - You want a white picket fence house?

   - It’s silly. - she hide her head as a familiar heat climbed up to her cheeks. Bucky placed the miniature back where it was, walking up to her. 

   - It’s not silly. I like picket white fence houses too, princess.

   - You do?

   - Yeah. One of my cousins had one when I was a kid and I always envisioned one for myself. 

  - Did you? 

  - Yeah and then I met you and I thought screw the home, as long as I get to come home everyday to you we could be living in a cardboard home but if you want a white picked fence house than I’ll give you one.

  - Buck ...

  - I’m not kidding. - he smiled at her. - We’ll live wherever you’d like and every single day we’ll come back home to each other and I will pretend I’m not tired so I can stay up and look at you smiling at those TV show reruns you like so much.

  - You like them too. - she added. 

  - Maybe but until then ... - he walked up to his bag removing an worn out big navy blue box. - You can have this. 

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[inknopewetrust]

In Another Universe Part 4 (Marcus Moreno x Reader)

Summary: The reunion you've both been waiting forever for.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader (We Can Be Heroes/MCU Crossover)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is it! Thank you all for showing interest in this series and being so enthusiastic about it. @jupitersmooneuropa, this is for you! You're idea was so wonderful, I just couldn't resist making it into a mini-series and I hope I did you proud. Requests are currently CLOSED but will be open again soon. Check out my MASTERLIST for all other works!

Being a hero meant a lot of different things to a lot of different people. Some loved the fame, the recognition, the money that sometimes came with, while some just wanted to be helpful and loved for their work. But one quality heroes had in common was that they were able to calm their nerves in the most crucial moments.

For Marcus Moreno, that crucial moment was now, and he could barely contain his nerves.

Clint could feel the anxiety radiating off the man. Marcus tried to play it cool because he had everything that made him seem cool: the swords, the tactical gear, his stoic face, but it wasn't enough to mask emotions from a world-class spy. Though Clint was able to sense it, he wasn't sure what exactly to say. He had only heard about Marcus through you, he only knew what little you told him, and that was how he determined Marcus wasn't some alien but the man you've been waiting for.

It was an awkward silence. One filled with the quiet roaring of the engines and every now and again, the sound of alerts from the computers around them. Clint kept his eyes on the sky while Marcus took peaks at the landscape below. The world looked so much like his own... just not as technically advanced as his own. The clouds swallowed the sip and his eyes drifted forward again as he took in a deep breath and exhaled.

"Nervous?" Clint managed to crack Marcus a smile and glanced at the man sitting to his right. Marcus chuckled, nodding his head with a nonchalance.

"You could say that."

"There's no reason for you to be."

"There's always a chance for something to go wrong."

Clint shrugged and flipped some switches as the quinjet began to descend.

"Are we there already?"

"Almost. About 5 minutes out."

Another uneasy silence fell over them but Clint wasn't contributing to it. Marcus just wanted everything to be like it was before. You, Missy, and himself in a home that felt like home. He couldn't have asked for a better partner in life and work, and it was taken away from him just like your life was taken away from you, but he wasn't going to say his life was better without you because it wasn't. Marcus just feared that maybe this life here was better than the one you had built with him. No one's reassurance except your own could tell him otherwise.

"Can I ask you a question?" Marcus glanced at Clint before returning to look forward again, a little embarrassed to be talking about you with someone he didn't know. But he knew you loved Clint like a brother, just as Natasha had been a sister, so he understood there was a level of trust there. Clint mumbled a 'go ahead' but his attention wasn't entirely on Marcus.

"Is she happy here?"

'Loaded question, but alright Mr. other world.' Clint thought before answering with the only truthful answer that could be given. He has watched the progression of a quiet depression become one of reclusiveness and a bitter happiness. You weren't happy here, in this world, with him or any of the Avengers. Natasha was gone, Steve was gone, Wanda was MIA, Bucky and Sam were on their own adventures. No one was here except him and that wasn't nearly enough to support someone who lost everything and then some because of a greedy man with glowing stones. This wasn't your home anymore.

"Was. She was at one time. I don't think this is where her heart is anymore."

Clint gave him a flat smile but Marcus did not return it. The thought alone of you avoiding social contact because happiness was ripped away from you in every direction was heart-wrenching. He never wanted to bring you any pain and a part of him couldn't help but believe that if he tried harder, if he hadn't wasted time being upset with your arrival years ago, things may have been different.

"We're here."

The announcement sent shockwaves through him. A thunderbolt of pure, unexplainable fear and anticipation of seeing you again struck his core. This was it; this was his endgame and the farm that slowly made itself clear out the window was the destination.

"Let me go in and see them first, make sure they're home, and then I'll come back. Is that alright?"

Marcus could only nod and watch the man grab his bags and bow and leave the jet. Marcus unbuckled himself because there was no point in staying in the seat. The back was left open and while Clint had told him to stay, he couldn't help but walk down the ramp and stand just to the side of the jet. He ran his hand over the side of the matte gray finish, slightly impressed by the time it took to get there. It was faster than he thought even if it felt like an eternity.

The house was a nice weathered white. It had seen better days and as Clint approached the door, he noted all the fixes needed. The rusted door handle, the broken pot in the corner, an abundance of yard toys and broken bicycle parts laid around him. He managed to open the door with limited squeaking, but Laura heard it and so did Lila. The boys weren't home because if they were, they would have tackled him to the ground the moment they heard the ship land in the yard.

"Clint!? What are you doing here? I thought you weren't supposed to be back for two weeks." Laura said as soon as she came around the corner from the kitchen. Lila was right behind her with a smile and hug for him–which he gladly accepted.

"Emergency. Where is Y/n? I have something I think she'd want to see."

Laura furrowed her eyebrows and moved to the window. Outside, beside the jet, stood a man who could have been a new Avenger for all she knew. She turned back to Clint, moving away from the window so Lila could sneak a glance too.

"What is it? Who is that man out there?"

"That man is Marcus. That Marcus. He just appeared at the compound looking for her. They apparently have been trying to find a way to bring her back and whatever he did, it worked."

Laura let out an audible gasp, returning to the window and looking at the man. Slowly, just as Clint had hours before, she began to piece together the man before her eyes from the stories you had told her about.

"Oh my God! OH MY GOD!" She almost yelled so loudly the neighbors two blocks away could hear her. Clint shushed her but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. Laura ran to the staircase and yelled up it.

"Y/n! Get down here!"

"Oh my God, Clint! She had a great day today and wow-I just can't believe it."

You had heard Laura's loud enthusiasm from the room you had been staying in. You thought you'd leave her be until her voice trailed up the stairs again and she called out to you. It wasn't like you had any idea of what was going on. You heard the quinjet, figured Clint was back, and it was around dinner time so maybe it was time to eat? It was the first time in a long time that your thoughts hadn't been cluttered with death or sadness, but those feelings lingered. You exited the room, walked down the stairs and smiling at Clint when you saw his face.

"How's the girl?" Kate Bishop.

"She's a real hero." Clint replied and you nodded your head in reply. Doing so, you managed to turn toward the window from your place on the second to last step. Outside sat the quinjet that had taken so many of you and your friends on missions that could have well been your last. But it wasn't the vehicle that caught your undivided attention, but the body beside it. Standing tall in black.

Your eyes had to have been deceiving you.

"What is going on?" Your voice was barely a whisper, but Laura caught it, smiling and grabbing your hand. Your attention never left the window. The man was pacing slightly, a nervous tick you were sure you knew.

"Laura-"

"Go and see for yourself, Y/n." Her voice was quiet too but reassuring and warm, like a mothers should be. The man outside didn't know what was going on, but he left your sight because you descended the rest of the steps and ran out the door.

The door squeaked loudly this time and with a bang, fell shut. You barely made it to the steps before you stopped on the gravel. about 20 yards away, the man heard the door and turned.

Even if the entire world was watching the scene unfold on Clint's lawn, many could not recall who moved first. Laura would say Marcus because that's who she could see, but you were slightly convinced it was your own feet. Nevertheless, after the door had slammed and the two of you met again, the universe drew you together like magnets. You ran, he ran, and with the collision, you both wrapped your arms around each other and soon your feet were off the ground.

You could barely say a word with your blubbering tears, and he wasn't about to make his obvious either so instead of talking, he just pulled away enough to look you in the face. Your eyes the same, your nose the same, your lips still perfect to him. Your hands moved from around his neck to his face. You gently held his face in your hands as you tried to control yourself.

"You're really here?" It was a broken ask but he managed a smile and moved a piece of hair out of your face.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"I missed you s-so much." Marcus couldn't help but grin at the admission. It was everything and more than he wanted to hear.

"I love you. I love you so damn much." His hand rested on the back of your neck and he pulled you to him. His lips were just as you remembered.

Perfectly him and as if they were made for your own.

Reunions were sentimental and good. But they were followed with a series of questions that were often difficult to hear. Marcus had held you for a long time. You weren't sure how long and you weren't exactly complaining either, but there was a linger question: how did he get here and how in the world are you getting back?

You had been adamant in telling him 'yes' the moment Marcus asked you the question about returning to his world. That was the plan for you. There were no other options because life with Marcus and Missy was your life now and whoever was left that loved you like family had to accept that. Marcus had explained the machine built to travel through worlds over dinner with Clint because perhaps he could be the one to help. He had travelled through time before so what is traveling through universes, right?

But later that night, when the reunion had settled and everyone had gone to bed, Marcus sat on the edge of an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room with a woman he loves. Clint could help you, but he needed time. So, he left with the jet while you stayed with the family and Marcus. He went to go see Stephen Strange because he managed to pick up the phone late that night.

"Do you think they'll be able to get us back? I don't want to leave Missy there all alone." Marcus voiced his worry with a sad reflection. You sat up from your reclined position and waddled over to him, running your hands up his back and then around his shoulders before he gently took them and tugged them around him. He missed your touch so much.

"You've never seen Dr. Stephen Strange do his 'magic' so I think there's a chance."

"Are you sure this is what you want?" He turned his head just enough so he could look at your face. You may have been a spy, but your eyes never lied to him. He knew you better than any interrogator could ever wish to have known you.

"Yes, I want to be with you and Missy and all those heroes with weird names." You laughed for the first time in a long time and it was music to his ears. He smiled to where his eyes crinkled in the corners as your fingers played with the nape of his neck where his loose hair sat.

"I just want you to be happy, Y/n. Your happiness means everything to me."

"I am happy with you. I am happy in our home. This makes me happy."

That was enough for him. The next day you both waited... and waited... and waited for even one word from Clint, but nothing came. Sometime in the afternoon, the heavy engine of the quinjet could be heard in the yard so you dropped the puzzle pieces on the table beside Lila, grabbed Marcus' hand and ran out the door. Clint had a small smile on his face, but it was the sharply dressed Doctor that you focused your attention on.

"Doctor."

"Agent."

"I trust there is a way home if you're here. You wouldn't come all this way to bare bad news."

"Your skills on reading people alarm me, though I would expect nothing less from an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Stephen nodded and then extended his hand to Marcus who shook it in return. They introduced themselves to one another and Stephen put a gold bar on his fingers before extending his hand to the wide landscape of the farm.

"What are you doing?" You asked with a furrowed brow. This wasn't the way Marcus had come, they were supposed to fix the control pad he had on his arm.

"Do you really think the Sorcerer Supreme can't open portals to other universes? There are so many worlds you don't know, but you found the one you were meant to be in, so let me get you both home."

With a circular movement of his fingers, Stephen opened a yellow portal that slowly became an image of a world you had known before. A house, perfectly structured in the suburbs was on the other side. The grass perfectly mowed and the bushes trimmed, the mail box accidentally left open which you knew was Missy's fault. The curtains were open and the sun shone brightly into the home. Marcus grabbed you hand, squeezing it tightly as you took in the sight. Months had gone by where you dreamed of this moment, of that house and all its residents. Your dream was here now with the man holding your hand to support you.

"Y/n." Clint called out to you, breaking your stare. You turned around and he approached with his family in tow. He held out a small envelope which contained a note from them and a series of pictures that you would later cry over, but it was a final goodbye from your life here on this Earth.

You hugged them all with tears in your eyes but when Marcus re-took your hand, it felt like it meant something more than just running off into the sunset together. It felt normal and needed and necessary to move forward in your life.

"Are you ready?" Marcus asked you to which you could only reply with one word:

"Yes."

Tag list for series: (thanks for the support!!)

@pasckles @jupitersmooneuropa @agingerindenial @karnita-mexicana @mcueveryday @shadowolf993 @computeringturtle @roxypeanut

[olivemac]

heartbeat | chapter seven | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | mild angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence, smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | mild angst, coarse language, oral sex (m receiving), smut (m/f), 18+ ONLY

Citation | Russo, J., & Russo, A. (2016). Captain America: Civil War. Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures.

A/N #1: The end is here. Let me know what you think. I'm considering continuing this through TFATWS, but we'll see what time allows.

A/N #2: Very, very minor spoiler (reference) for TFATWS episode 4.

master list | AO3 link

_____

prev chapter

_____

T'Challa contacts Steve to tell him of Zemo's arrest and to offer refuge in Wakanda for a while.

"He also says they may be able to remove the Winter Soldier programming from your head, Buck," Steve tells Bucky and Kate.

Bucky looks almost hopeful, if not a little uncertain. Kate reaches over and takes his hand in her own, squeezing it lightly. It's the first real interaction they've had since she cleaned his wounds when they boarded the Quinjet, and, as much as he hates to admit it, her touch makes his heart flutter. He just wishes she'd talk to him, tell him what she's thinking. Instead, she drops his hand and makes herself busy cleaning up medical supplies.

Steve sets the coordinates for Wakanda, and Kate keeps her distance from Bucky for the rest of the flight.

_____

Wakanda is more beautiful than Kate, Bucky, or Steve ever could have imagined. T'Challa greets them as they descend the Quinjet ramp and leads them into the palace.

"Tonight, you will eat and rest, and tomorrow we will see what we can do for your friend," T'Challa says, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

_____

When Kate emerges from the shower, there are clean clothes and a plate of food in the room she's been given. She changes and eats, and then lays on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to think about Tony hitting her with that stunning blast. She struggles to block out the ache in her chest that forms when she remembers the mixture of rage and grief on his face, but soon hot tears are rolling down her cheeks. She lays there for a while, crying until she’s sure she doesn’t have any tears left.

She can't remember the last time she felt so unmoored. For the last two years, her almost sole focus has been Bucky. First, finding him. Then...she shakes her head, loving him.What a fucking cliche, she thinks, falling in love with the ex-assassin who killed her parents. But she can't help that being away from him hurts more than the knowledge that he was there that night in December because she knows it wasn't him, it wasn't Bucky. HYDRA took everything from her. He was just the weapon they used.

Kate wipes her face and gets to her feet. Without another thought, she's in the hallway and knocking on Bucky's door. The urge to see him is overwhelming.

When Bucky opens the door, Kate's on him before he can fully process that she’s there, her arms around his neck and her lips on his. It takes a moment for the shock to wear off, but then he’s kissing her back, pulling her into him with his one good arm and letting the door close behind them.

Kate’s hands are hot on his chest, pushing his borrowed undershirt up until he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside. She does the same with her own tank. When her shirt is off, she moves to kiss him again, but Bucky takes her chin in his hand and looks into her eyes. Her pupils are blown wide, and her heartbeat is frantic. Kate's ferocious in her need for him, and it makes his heart swell with pride.

He drops his hand from her face and hooks his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him again and kissing her soundly. Kate's fingers tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, and Bucky pushes them down his legs, along with his boxers, before helping her out of her own pants and underwear. She sinks to her knees in front of him and places a trail of kisses across his right hipbone, then the left. She moves her lips hotly across the thick shaft of his cock and runs her tongue over the vein that stretches from base to tip.

When Kate takes him fully into her mouth, Bucky lets out a groan so deep he thinks he can feel it reverberating in his toes. She works her mouth over him a few times before Bucky's hand caresses her cheek and guides her off his cock with a slick pop. He pulls Kate to her feet and kisses her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. They stumble to the bed, and Bucky lets himself fall backward, bringing Kate with him. She slides down the length of his cock so slowly he thinks he might combust, and when she sets a brutal pace, her thighs squeezing against his hips, Bucky's toes curl, and he has to take deep breaths to stop himself from coming too soon.

Watching Kate over him like this, watching her breasts bounce with each of his upward thrusts and her fingers dance over the place where they're joined, Bucky thinks this is the closest thing to salvation he might ever have. She comes quickly, clenching around him and falling forward onto his chest. Kate places a series of kisses across his scarred left shoulder. The Wakandan medical team removed what was left of the damaged arm and sealed his shoulder with a cap. But Bucky isn't thinking of his lost arm right now; he's only thinking of the fire in his belly that is catching, spreading down his legs and up his chest as he keeps rutting up into Kate's body. She pushes herself up again, leaning her hands on his chest and works him through his own pleasure.

Bucky comes with a roar and clasps Kate's body against his own. She presses wet kisses against his neck as they both catch their breaths, and when she lifts her head to look him in the eye, she's smiling brightly.

"Hi," she whispers.

"Hi," he returns.

She kisses him again, slowly this time.

"I love you," she says, her fingers grazing his stubbled cheek.

"I love you, too," he replies, "and God, Kate, I'm so sorry."

She watches him for a moment, her eyes moving over his face, before she says, "I know," and kisses him once more.

They settle across the pillows in the bed, Bucky on his back and Kate resting her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm.

"I spoke to Shuri earlier," she tells him. "She seems optimistic that she can remove the Winter Soldier programming. But it might take some time. She suggested you go back into cryo while she studies your brain scans."

Bucky is quiet for a moment, then says, "I spent seventy years in and out of cryo, what's a few more?"

"I'll be here when you wake up," Kate tells him. "Whenever you're ready to see me."

"You sure, doll?" Bucky asks, looking at her, trying to find any apprehension in her eyes. He's giving her an out, a chance to walk away, but she won't take it.

"Always," Kate says, smiling. "I told you I love you, Bucky, just you. And whatever happened while you were the Winter Soldier, that's in the past. Zemo wanted to tear the Avengers apart with that tape, and he might have succeeded. Steve lost half the team, I've lost Tony, but...” she pauses, “I don't want to lose you."

“You won’t,” he promises, and he kisses the top of her head before they both fall asleep.

He wakes her up in the middle of the night to make love to her twice more because he can't believe she's here, in his arms, after everything, and he isn't sure what tomorrow will bring.

_____

The next morning Steve greets him in the hallway outside their rooms, and Bucky nearly chokes when Steve claps him on the shoulder and whispers conspiratorially, “Sounded like Kate forgave you last night.”

“Watch it, punk,” Bucky says, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Just like old times. James Bucky Barnes gets the girl,” Steve laughs.

Bucky rolls his eyes, but secretly he likes that Steve still sees some of the pre-HYDRA Bucky in him.

Kate is already in the lab when they arrive, laughing with Shuri about something. She smiles at them both and takes Bucky’s hand in her own while Shuri goes over her plan for deprogramming.

When everything is prepped, Steve asks Bucky, "You sure about this?"

Bucky smiles softly. "I can't trust my own mind," he says. "So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing...for everybody."

As the cryo chamber fills, Bucky focuses on the sound of Kate’s heartbeat just a few feet away. He wants that to be the last thing he hears before he goes to sleep and the first thing he remembers when he wakes up.

_____

Once Bucky is in cryo and they've thanked T'Challa and Shuri, Kate follows Steve to the Quinjet.

"You're going to get the rest of the team out, aren't you?" Kate asks, looking at Steve.

"I am," he says.

"You'll probably need someone who can hack into the prison security system," Kate tells him.

"I probably will," Steve says, smiling.

_____

Ten months pass quickly when you spend most of that time frozen. For Bucky, the haze of cryo is punctuated by brief stints of lucidness, followed by Shuri plucking the remnants of HYDRA from his brain. Wake up, remove some programming, back in cryo.

“It’s a gradual process,” Shuri explains.

When Ayo takes him to the woods and repeats the words to him – the words that controlled so much of his life – Bucky tries to remember the sound of Kate's heartbeat and the feel of her hand in his.

One morning, after he's completely freed from HYDRA, Shuri greets him as she always does, "Good morning, Sergeant Barnes."

"Bucky," he tells her again.

Shuri smiles. This routine has been going on for two weeks now, but Bucky likes it, likes the familiarity of it all, the sense of calm it gives him.

"There's someone here to see you," Shuri says, nodding over her shoulder.

Bucky turns to see Kate standing in the light of the early morning sun, looking as beautiful as he remembers.

"Hey, soldier," she says, smiling at him.

"Kate," he breathes. He takes three long strides to her and wraps his right arm around her tightly, lifting her off the ground. She gasps and laughs, and when he puts her down again, she kisses him deeply, letting him sweep his tongue into her mouth, her hands cupping his face gently.

When he pulls away from her, he keeps his arm wrapped around her and her body pressed against his so he can feel her heartbeat next to his own, where it belongs.

_____

Fin.

_____

Lost Scene: The Club

[iwillbeinmynest]

Redcove Harvest - Bucky x Reader(f)    Chapter 8

Authors Notes: Oh look, Kate isn’t dead! Hello, hi, it’s me the absolute WORST. *FacePalm* 

AU: Farmhand!Bucky x SingleMom!Reader

Word Count: 900+

Notes/Warnings: (Notes are for the whole series) FLUFF, mentions of a past toxic relationship, a wild storm at the end, drama and a break-up, mentions of drinking, kids being adorable and ridiculous, kissing, romance and a tiny bit of angst if you look hard but nothing more than that of a Hallmark movie.

Masterlist  Series Masterlist 

Bucky tossed the fifty pound chicken feed bag onto the pile he had made. This was the first of many heavy lifting jobs that he would have to do today.

After his last dinner with Y/N, she sent him a text two days later that she no longer needed his help on the farm and that she would mail him his last check.

He knew that wasn’t true. He had only completed just half of what she’d originally asked him to do. He must have done something to upset her. There was no way this was all over a painting.

The next day he went to her house only to have Gracie answer the door. She told him that Y/N wasn’t feeling good and had been in bed all day.

Bucky called her that night and she sent him to voicemail. She texted him right after and said she wanted to be left alone and asked him not to come back to the property.

He hated it but respected her request.

So now, he was working part time at Steve’s Feed and Seed store hauling pallets of feed and other products off the delivery trucks.

It had been two weeks since Y/N asked him to leave and he’d felt sick ever since.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve called.

Bucky paused and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Yeah?”

“After you finish this, I need you to grab the forklift and bring all the outdoor pallets into the warehouse. That storm will be rolling in around four and I want as much secured as possible.”

Bucky nodded. “Sure thing.”

“Make sure you grab the new kid to help and maybe even Mike. It’s a lot of moving around and you’ll need help.”

“Okay,” Bucky nodded as he grabbed another fifty pound bag to stack on top of his last pile.

Steve shifted his weight and exhaled as he crossed his arms. “You okay, pal? I know with everything with Y/N you-”

“I’m fine, Steve.” Bucky answered quickly.

Steve didn’t believe him but he knew when his friend needed space.

*   *   *   *   *

Bucky threw his keys on his dash after parking his truck in Steve’s driveway. Steve wasn’t too far behind him but the rain and winds had already started. He pulled out his phone and opened his weather app. He pulled up the radar and exhaled as he ran his hand over the short beard that was forming on his chin. This storm was massive. The local news channels were advising everyone to stay inside and to stay off the roads.

Bucky wanted to check on Y/N. He wanted to ignore her request and make sure that she and those girls were okay.

Then, as if she’d heard him, Y/N’s name popped up as his phone began to ring.

He let it ring once but only because he was in shock, “Hello?”

“Mr. Bucky?”

His heart sank, “Grace? Is everything okay?”

“Not really. My-”

“Are you safe? Where is your mom and your sister?”

“Lex is with me. We are in the upstairs hallway. But momma went outside and the rain is really bad. I saw on the news that this storm is dangerous and-” Grace was starting to give into panic. “And I don’t wanna lose my momma too!” She was crying now.

Bucky grabbed his keys, cranked his truck and threw it into reverse as he peeled out of Steve’s driveway and raced towards Y/N’s property. “Okay, okay, hey, listen, I’m on my way. I’m coming. But I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“Mhm.” She sniffled.

“I need you to stay upstairs, right where you are with Lexi, alright. I’m going to go straight out and find your mom. But everything is going to be fine. We get storms like this all the time. It’s nothing to be worried about,” He felt guilty for lying about this but he needed her to calm down.  “I’m going to hang up and call Mr. Steve, okay? Have you met him?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Great. He’s my best friend and I’m going to call him so he can come watch over you and Lex. So, if you see another truck outside it’s okay, that’s just Mr. Steve, alright? Real quick, can you leave your house key on the rug outside of your front door?”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky could hear her running downstairs.

“Great. Lock the door back when you are done and go sit with Lex so she doesn’t get scared.”

He heard the door open and close and locks being turned.

“Okay,” She sniffed again but she sounded calmer.

“Perfect. Great job, that was super helpful. I’m going to hang up but you call me if you need me, okay?”

“Okay.” She said.

“Bye, grace. I’ll be there in just a few.”

 “Bye.”

The second the call was disconnected, He speed dialed Steve.

“Hey, what’s u-”

“Steve, I need you to head up to Y/N’s place, now.”

“What’s happening?”

“Grace just called me, freaking out. Apparently Y/N is out in the storm. She didn’t tell me why but I can bet it was to take care of her animals.”

Steve let out a swear.

“I need you to go to her house and keep an eye on Grace and Lex. There is a key at the door.”

“Are you sure? I can help-”

“I’m sure.” Bucky focused on driving.

“Okay. I was just about to turn down our street so I’m not far behind you.”

“Thanks.” And Bucky hung up.

Bucky turned onto the now graveled drive that would take him to Y/N’s house.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *  

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[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 19

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2349

Warnings:  Pregnancy

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 19: Names

I was just under twenty weeks pregnant when I went to have my glucose test and the ultrasound that would tell us about any major abnormalities and possibly what sex the baby was.  The twins were on one of their home days and we were taking them along too, so they could be there when they learned if the last of their new siblings would be a brother or sister.  Everyone was excited and there had been bets made on if it would be a boy or a girl.  Some people seemed to think that statistically, it would have to be a boy as there were already three girls on their way.  However, Tony, Bruce, Sam, and Bucky all knew that’s not how statistics worked and seemed to think that it would be a girl just because the universe wanted us to have to all agree on four different girls' names at the same time.

While I was waiting for the sugar drink to take effect Natasha and Wanda had their checkups.  They were now up to 28 weeks and everything was really good.  Even Wanda with the twins was looking very on track.  Both girls were growing strongly and Doctor Schroeder had no concerns at all about her getting to full term with them.

When I’d finally had my blood test and come into the examination room, Natasha and Wanda were finishing up and I was directed to get up on the table for my ultrasound.  Steve, Tony, and Bruce were in attendance.  Pietro was sitting on Bruce’s knee playing with a stethoscope, while Steve held Riley and she tried to grab every single thing that was in reach of her.

“How have you been feeling, Elise?”  Doctor Schroeder asked as I got into position and she set up the ultrasound machine.

“Good,” I said. “The morning sickness passed.  I have more energy.  They kick a lot so I don’t get worried about them too much.”

“That’s good.  And you’re keeping your stress levels low?”  She asked, squeezing some gel on my stomach.

“Well…” I said, guiltily.  “Less stress than when I was pregnant with the twins.”

She shook her head and pressed the paddle to my stomach.  “You really need to be taking care of yourself, Elise.”

“You tell that to the world,” I snarked, and she laughed as she pressed the paddle down on her stomach.

The baby came into view on the screen, looking like an actual baby right down to the fingers and toes.  “I’m assuming you’re all finding out the sex,” she said.

“Oh yeah.  I definitely want to know what flavor of spawn El is cooking,” Tony said.

“And I’m guessing you’re all hoping for a boy,” she joked.

Tony went to speak, but Steve quickly cut him off.  “We’ll all be happy either way.”

“What about you kids?”  Doctor Schroeder asked.  “Do you want this to be a brother or a sister?”

“I wanna sisder,” Riley said quickly.

“No, Wiley,” Pietro argued.  “Deres fwee sisders.  I wanna brovver.”

Doctor Schroeder started laughing.  “Well, let’s see which one of you gets your wish.”

She moved the paddle getting it into position to see better.  “Alright, if you’re placing bets, now’s the time,” she said.  Tony crossed his fingers and started chanting, “Boy, boy, boy, boy, boy.”

“And we have a…” she said slowly, dragging out the suspense for as long as possible.  “Boy.  You’re having a boy.”

“Yes!”  Tony said, pumping his fist in the air and leaning over and kissing me deeply.

“You hear that, Piet?”  Bruce asked.  “You get a brother.”

“Yay!”  Pietro said, bouncing on Bruce’s lap.

“Oh, no,” Steve said.  “We’re going to have a little mini-Tony in the family.”

I started laughing and cradled Tony’s jaw.  “I know.  Isn’t it great?”

“A boy,” Tony repeated.  “Three girls and a little boy.”

“Will this make picking names easier or harder, do you think?” I asked.

The answer to that question was ‘harder’.  Having one boy made deciding on the name harder.

After we finished up with the doctor we met the others on the garden deck with the dogs for a kind of picnic to try and work out names. With the twins, I had been the one to decide their names.  I accepted input but no one was willing to argue with me about which names I settled on because I’d been under so much stress during the pregnancy.  This time, we were all deciding together.

Having three girls on the way meant that everyone was willing to be more open to accepting girl’s names put forward by other people because there was always another daughter to have the girl’s name they preferred.  There was only one boy and anyone that had a name they liked or was special to them wanted it to be the one used.  So while the kids played with the dogs, we all sat around arguing about names.

“Hey, hey,” Steve said, putting his hands up.  “Maybe we need to write a list.”

Tony opened up a screen that we could all see.

“So for girls we have; Sarah, Rebecca, Kate, Thour, Torunn, Ada, Lyra, Rose, and Marya,” Steve said.  “And for boys we have; Paul, Thomas, William, Módi, Edwin, Ian, George, and Alex.”

“That’s more names than kids alright,” I joked as I helped myself to an egg salad sandwich.

“Should we vote?”  Natasha asked.  “I only suggested a girl’s name and Tony only suggested a boy’s name so we might be able to work it out through votes.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bucky argued.  “Some of those names are important.  Some are just names we like.”

“Maybe people who have names they wanted to be used already should get less of a vote this time,” Wanda suggested.  “I mean, Pietro is already named for my brother.  It is only fair that the names I suggested be put at the back of the line.”

“Does that mean El doesn’t get a say this time?”  Clint asked.  “I mean, Piet and Riley were named without a vote. She just decided.”

“Whose fault is that, Clint?” I snarked.

“Right,” he said, holding his hands up.  “I know.  Sorry, I was just asking.”

“Elise gets just as much a say as everyone else,” Steve said firmly.  “She may have selected Riley and Pietro’s names but she chose them based on people who were important to some of us.”

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” Riley said, running flat out into the group, followed by Spotty.  She slammed into Sam’s side, drawing a soft ‘oof’ from him before grabbing his arm and pulling on it.  “Come, come pway.”

“Hold on, you monster.  We’re just trying to pick the names for your new brothers and sisters,” Sam explained, picking her up and tossing her in the air.  “After I finish my lunch I’ll play.”

“Why don’t you and Pietro get in the swings and I’ll push you,” Wanda suggested.  Riley seemed to think that was a good idea as she ran back off with the dalmatian on her heels.  When she and Pietro climbed up into their toddler swings, Wanda flicked her wrist and used her telekinesis to push them.

“Is it worth noting that Sarah was a name put forward by two people and so was Rebecca?”  I asked.

“That’s a good point,” Steve agreed.

“Plus those are family ones.  I’d really like to name one of my daughters after my sister,” Bucky said.  “And it was Bruce’s mom too right, Bruce?”

Bruce nodded.  “That’s right.  I would definitely like to honor my mother.  She was the only reason I made it through infancy.”

“And I’d like to use Sarah for the same reason,” Steve agreed.

“Plus Sarah was my late sister’s name,” Sam added.

“I’m fine with Sarah and Rebecca being two of the names,” I said.

“Anyone not okay with that?”  Tony asked.  When no one argued it, he moved the names Rebecca and Sarah to a new column.

“Was there any other girl’s names that were special to us?”  Steve asked.

“Marya was my mother’s name,” Wanda said, still flicking her wrist back and forth as she swung the kids.  The sounds of the squeals floating over to us.

“And Rose was the name I chose when I had a miscarriage,” Natasha said. “I know that’s not the same thing but… I feel attached to the name.”

Clint put his arm around her and rubbed her side.

“They’re both really pretty names,” I said.  “I’d be happy with either.”

There was a murmuring of agreement from the others. Tyr who seemed to be finished playing with the kids came over and curled up on Bucky’s lap and he started playing with the spaniel’s ears.

“I guess the question would be if either of you is happy to have the name as a middle name?  And if not, do you want to hold onto it in case we have any more children in the future.”

“I can wait,” Wanda said, caressing her stomach. “Pietro was named for my brother and I want to do this again.  Maybe not for a while but I love being pregnant.”

Tony moved the name Rose under Rebecca and Marya to a completely different line.

“Alright, we’re getting somewhere,” Steve said.  “Anyone not okay with any of these girls' names being middle names?”

“If we ever use Thour, I’d like it to be a first name,” Thor said.

“Same with Kate,” Clint added, and both names were moved to the row with Marya.

“Well that leaves three names, which is exactly what we need,” Bruce said.  “So let’s just see how they sound together.”

There was a little toing and froing, and at one point Clint and Sam got up to play with the kids while we argued about how the names sounded together.  In the end, we settled on Rebecca Torunn for the baby Natasha was carrying, and Sarah Lyra and Rose Ada for the twins.

“Alright we have eight boys’ names and one boy,” Steve said.  “How are we going to do this? What names are important to us?  Ian was my grandfather and George was Bucky’s dad.”

“Paul was my dad,” Sam added.

“Edwin was Jarvis’ first name,” Tony said.

“But all of you have also had a kid or more named after someone important to you,” I reasoned.  “Has anyone not done that?”

“Well you, and you’ve carried the most babies,” Sam said playfully.

“That is true. But I did also name the twins with no discussion,” I added.  “I don’t know if I have any names that I really love anyway.  I like having the names be important to all of you.”

“Seriously though, El,” Bruce said.  “All of us have put names forward and all of us have had at least one name that was important to us used already.  Isn’t there a name you grew up loving?  Or a family member who you did love?  A grandparent maybe?”

I shook my head and shrugged a little.  “I liked the name Nova I guess,” I said.  “But I’d much rather he be Edwin or Ian or Paul than Nova.”

“Not George?  Rude,” Bucky teased.

“Come on now, Buck,” I teased back.  “You have a common name like George and you don’t even use it.”

“Oh and Paul is so… uncommon,” he snarked.

“Anyway,” I said, rolling my eyes.  “Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Bruce now all have first names for kids.  Yes, Riley’s middle name comes from Tony’s mom, but given that this baby is one he specifically asked to have, I think it’s fair that we name him Edwin unless anyone has any huge objections to that.”

“I don’t!”  Tony joked.

When no one argued with it the name Edwin moved from the maybe pile to the list under Rebecca, Sarah, and Rose.  “Alright, Eddie is gonna need a middle name,” Tony said.

“I say George,” Bucky said.  “Seeing as Elise just seriously dissed my dad’s name.”

I smothered a laugh and pushed him.  He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me back so we were both lying on the ground.  I squealed and started wrestling with him and soon the dogs and then the twins were trying to get in on the action too.  “Bucky!”  I squealed as I struggled under him.  “This isn’t how you get what you want!”

“Really?”  He asked as he started tickling me.  “I think it’s gonna work.”

“Stop it!  I’m gonna pee myself!”  I squealed.

“Daddy!  You weave mommy awone!”  Pietro said, protectively pushing Bucky to get him off me.

Bucky sat up laughing.  “Oh no, I’m sorry, peanut.  I shouldn’t be so mean to mommy should I?”

Pietro put his hands on his hips and huffed.  He looked so much like a mini Steve that it would have been easy to forget that Clint was actually his biological dad.  “Oh man,” Tony laughed.  “Cap version 2.0.”

“Thank you, Piet,” I said, pulling him into my arms and cuddling him.  “We were just playing.”

“Otay, mommy,” he said, snuggling up to me.

“Daddy Bucky wants your little brother’s name to be Edwin George Skjodbærer.  What do you think?”  I asked.

Pietro seemed to think about it for a moment and nodded his head.  “Is good.”

Steve chuckled.  “Well, I think the king has spoken.  Edwin George?”

Everyone nodded in agreement and Tony moved George next to Edwin in the list.  “That’s one more thing done,” he said.  “Now all we really need to do is stock up on baby supplies and hire the nannies.”

“There is one other thing we need to work on,” Steve said seriously and looked at me.  “We need to figure out how to get rid of El’s stress.”

I frowned and nodded.  It was definitely something I needed to work out, but I was afraid that any steps I took might just make it worse.  Whatever the case was, I need to go speak to my mother and hope that I could get some kind of closure for good.

// NEXT

[cruciatusforeplay]

This is part two of a hella big post. Check out part one here. These are all a lot more recent, so I'm gonna try to be less spoilery, but there are gonna be some.

A not-so-brief history of Hawkeye in Comics Part Two (spoilers below the cut)

A note on events, dying and doubling down on Hawkeyes

Comics love doing big events, and I'm not covering them in here. Partly because they are huge and complex and to just focus on Hawkeye would be an injustice to the stories, but also because the amount of stuff I would need to spoil would be way beyond just a little Hawkeye. Clint was involved in Secret Wars (1984), which was one of the first crossover events of its kind. Another notable era is 2004-2009, where there is an incredible amount of superhero politics driving big narratives. If you're new to comics, you might not know that characters dying is common and rarely permanent. This is relevant because while I said that I wouldn't talk about events, I think it would be pretty uncool to not mention that Hawkeye dies and is brought back to life (Avengers Disassembled, House of M, New Avengers #26). It's around here that Clint picks up the Ronin mantle.

This is also when Dark Reign/Dark Avengers is going on. For anyone who'd like some Clint whump from this era, there's a top notch naked torture scene in New Avengers Annual (2009). Clint is involved in several other big events and crossovers over later years, but that's definitely a seperate list.

In the time where Clint is dead, Captain America is hanging out with a group of newly formed Young Avengers, including archery badass Kate Bishop. Cap suggests to her that she take up the Hawkeye mantle and gives her Clint's old bow. After Clint returns, he becomes initially her mentor, before they form a very close friendship. Clint is initially doing Ronin things, but even when he lays down ninja robes, they decide to be very Hawkeye about the whole thing and both keep calling themselves Hawkeye, despite the obvious confusion this causes.

Hawkeye's ears: Hawkeye vs. Deadpool #0-4 (2014)

This is a fun little miniseries that you could treat as a Halloween special if you so desired. It's set in the time after Fraction's run and there are a few callbacks, but nothing major if you've not read that. Clint is a little short-tempered and hypermasculine in this run for my personal taste, but it's got lots of grumpy Clint Vs sassy Wade while they vaguely attempt to team up. The thing this run does really well is Clint's deafness, despite the lack of visible hearing aids. There are comments around lip-reading, wearing aids when wearing other headgear, there's some sign language, and this is the run where Deadpool pulls his mask up so Clint can lipread and see his face while he signs (facial expressions are really key in sign language). It's lovely. Otherwise the run gives you a Kate cameo, some Deadpool and Hawkeye disaster/shenanigans, and perhaps most importantly, the return of the skycycle.

Key background: All New Hawkeye #1-6 (2015)

This run is often overlooked, but the art in the flashbacks is beautiful. We get some key information around Clint and Barney's abusive home situation - with their dad who drank and beat them, and how they ended up in care after their parents died, and subsequently their early days in the circus. There is a definite shift in how Barney is characterized as a bad influence compared to the 2003 run. It parallels with the rest of the arc which focuses on Clint and Kate Bishop working together to get some kids out of a very bad situation. The rest of Lemires run is a little weird and has no major repurcussions for anyone except Barney (which I won't elaborate on because it's relevant to the Fraction run).

Back to your roots: Tales of Suspense #100-104 (2017)

Seeing Clint cycle back and return to Tales of Suspense is really lovely. This comic is one of my all time favourites. It's incredibly tight story-telling with a great plot and really fun dynamic. The premise is Clint and Bucky teaming up to figure out the body trail being left after Black Widow's death. Clint is obnoxious and a delightful mess, Bucky is sporting a permanent scowl and is hilariously level-headed. It's a lot of fun and it's a lovely build on the tension and teamwork between these two idiots (who I, as an avid Winterhawk shipper, am completely gone for, but even without that, this is a great comic.) It also has some killer covers, and the facial expressions are absolutely hilarious.

Hawkeyes together: Hawkeye #13-16 (2017) and West Coast Avengers #1-10 (2018)

The Hawkeye run is Kate Bishops run and it has a larger continuing storyline that runs from the beginning of her Hawkeye and way into WCA, but I've listed the issues that you'll want for Kate and Clint shenanigans, and you should be able to catch up without the rest if you don't want it. These comics are ridiculously fun, especially West Coast Avengers, which has Kate leading the team this time. There's loads of jokes, and it strikes a nice balance between Hawkeyes being disasters and being hyper competent. Truthfully, this is Kate's show, and Clint takes a backseat, but their dynamic is killer here so I think is deserves a mention. There are also plenty of Clint related wardrobe malfunctions and Lucky the Pizza Dog is around.

Our most recent boy: Hawkeye freefall #1-6 (2020)

I haven't read this one yet, but it's been extremely well received by the fandom. As a result, good news: no spoilers! It's a short run, which may have had something to do with it being published during 2020, and specifically around a time when Marvel were experiencing some major distribution issues (which would have led to digital release only and as a result lower sales), but that's all guesswork because I haven't actually researched it. This run has someone dressing as Ronin and letting Clint take the blame for their nefarious deeds (oh no!). Clint makes some classic Clint (read: dumpster fire) decisions, and the art looks fun and vibrant. Can't really give you more without reading it myself 😅 If you need more Clint still, he's also rumoured to be knocking around in the 2020 Black Widow run, but I've not had the money to get my mitts on that yet either.

Notable AUs:

Marvel is a big fan of throwing a well known cast into an alternative universes, so there are a few other places to look for him.

The Ultimates universe was largely speaking a bit of a shitshow, but they did give us a very dark and gritty Clint, so if that's your jam, ultimate hawkeye is the place to be. Old Man Hawkeye appears alongside Old Man Logan, and they are both, you guessed it, old. It's not the only time we get Clint as a wrinkly dude (the second half Lemire's run also has some timey-wimey stuff happening), but this is a version of Clint who is going blind (granted we've seen that before too, but this is a darker vibe than Blindspot). Wanna know who the greatest marksman is without his sight - old man Hawkeye for you! Finally there's the Zombie 'verse: zombie Clint is a little confused, but he's got the spirit. Clint got zombiefied and then left in some rubble as only a head for 40 years before getting picked up, so he's a little worse for wear. If you need that in your life then Marvel Zombies is your universe. For a full rundown of all the universes including animated and MCU, click here.

Notable aliases:

Clint's been a few other people than Hawkeye in the 616 universe (the main Marvel Comics universe). He used one of Hank Pyms growth serums and became a giant strongman in Avengers #63 (1969) and stuck around in his Goliath form for more than a few issues. After Cap had died, Clint returned from the dead and tried on Captain America for all of one issue in Fallen Son #3 (2007). He decided (with a little help from Kate) that it wasn't right to wear the uniform, which in turn led to some interesting tension between him and Bucky Barnes when Buck did become the new Captain America. Finally, there's his most well-known alternate persona: Ronin. Clint becomes Ronin after returning from the dead, wanting a break from his Hawkeye persona and an opportunity to become Ronin arises in New Avengers #27 (2007). Clint is not the only person to have used these aliases. Additionally, Hawkeye has been used not only by Clint and Kate Bishop, but also by Bullseye during the Dark Reign.

The things we haven't talked about

Like I said at the very beginning, there is a lot of Clint Barton knocking around in comics and even with all this there's a lot of content I haven't focused on. For instance, I've not talked a lot about his relationships, beyond his marriage to mockingbird (and really I only scratched the surface with that), and honestly once you start getting into interpersonal relationships we're starting to move on from what can be done in a Tumblr thread.

There are also some topic specific threads floating around, which you might like to look at too.

@vaguelyrotten has done a run down of some great dumpster fire Clint Barton comics (some of which I haven't listed) and you can see that here.

@bobbimorses did a great summary of Clint's historical deafness for instance which you can find here.

There's also this little bit all about Clint and Bucky in canon (thanks to @nightwideopen ) and how Winterhawk became a thing (thanks to @1000-directions )

This is slight sidenote, but @clintscoffeepot did a really great comprehensive of Fraction Clint's apartment which is just a really useful writing resource and you can get that here.

There is also this website which I stumbled across fairly far into writing this post which does actually look like it might be comprehensive.

If I've missed anything major, or listed something incorrectly or you just have some Clint related opinions that I need to know about, do hit me up.

[robertppattinson]

always the gentleman: steve rogers

summary: steve rogers x reader. smut!!!!! steve keeps walking in on reader having some alone time, and goddamn it if he doesn’t wish it was him instead of an ann summers toy she’s holding.

word count: 1,900

warnings/tropes: smut, clueless!steve, tease!steve. bucky has a cameo teehee. enjoy!

-

The first time Steve sees you like this, it’s a complete and utter accident.

This meaning shaky breath, hair clung to face, a wild bucking of the hips. This meaning ass up in the air, right hand between your legs, the sweetest friction. This meaning soft mewls, almost sinful, though he was adamant you could never be anything but angelic, celestial, even. 

It’s his own fault, really. Steve knows he can be oblivious, careless. The thought of walking in on you in such a compromising and vulnerable position, bent over in your bed, in your room, had never even so much as made a peep at him before he entered without a knock. Your bed, your room; how many times did he have to remind himself? He should know better, for heaven’s sake. Getting involved with someone at work was sacrilegious, no matter what sector ‘work’ regarded. Office romances always ended badly - why should the Avengers Compound get off any easier? ‘Involved’ is a loose word for it, now that he reconsiders. He can’t be ‘involved’ with someone he has only touched in his dreams, really, truly touched like he craved with the girl who left stains on every inch of his brain since the day he met her.

It’s a miracle he has enough sense to remain still, like the carved statue he is, and painfully quiet. Steve aches everywhere; his hands, yearning to reach out and touch you; his legs, eager to step forward; his dick, aching with relentless throbs that snake all the way up his spine, prick his ears and bloom a tender blush on his cheeks. 

It’s a miracle you aren’t privy to his heart, thunderous in his chest, surely visibly protruding from his t-shirt. Golden rings still on your long, slender fingers, glistening in the sunlight poking through your open window. Wait - open window? Don’t you know somebody could see you? Not any neighbours this high up in the building, granted, but somebody? Drones aren’t hard to come by these days, he scolds you internally. And he realises in the boyish, clueless way he’s still prone to that he is that somebody watching you. He wants to leave, knows he should, but he cannot, for the life of him, tear himself away from this. From you. So beautiful, he can hardly stand it. How delicious you must taste in his hungry, greedy mouth; how gorgeous you must look above him, below him, whichever way you wanted; how sickeningly sweet you must feel clenching around him. He’s sweating, poor boy, almost as much as you are -  small, wet tell-tales of exertion on the armpits of your crop top as you work yourself closer to coming. Your legs tremble, tanned against the pale eggshell sheets strewn across the bed, bottom lip harshly bitten into. A hiss of pleasure, a high-pitched intake of breath, one last curl of your fingers and you are undone. 

It’s a miracle he finally regains control of his limbs, silently leaping out of view back out into the corridor before you turn your head towards the door, frowning, swearing you had closed it. Only a few metres apart, a goddamn-cockblocking-son-of-a-bitch wall separating you, both figures shudder and sigh blissfully. Fucked out on your bed, sensitive, you carefully draw your fingers into your folds one last time, curiously observing the milky liquid of your come, and bring it up to your mouth, moaning at the pleasant taste. 

Steve is about to leave, actually leave this time, he means it, when he hears it.

“Mmm,” a sensuous moan, almost guttural. He swears his dick has never been this hard, never wanted to pop out of his jeans so much. That is, however, until: “Steve…” 

Shit. Shit. Shit. You couldn’t have seen him, surely? A quick whip of his head to the door reveals he has escaped a lifetime of embarrassment; no sign of you. Still fucked out on your bed. But if you hadn’t heard him, then - oh. And there it was, the biggest, thickest erection of his life, and all he could do was tuck his dick into the waistband of his boxers (Calvin Kleins, after he had heard you swooning over the Mark Wahlberg and Kate Moss campaign from the 90s), and traipse sullenly to his own room. Steve felt like a teenage boy caught looking through his father’s Playboy, indignant, yet secretly proud of having found the Playboy in the first place. 

With a sigh, embarrassed, shameful and utterly, utterly horny, Steve turns back towards your door and closes it for good, polite measure once he hears the shower turn on. Always the gentleman.

-

The second time Steve sees you like this, he tells himself it’s another accident, that he just happened to be on the wrong (right) floor at the wrong (right) time. 

Looking for Bucky is an innocent act. Why his friend, more like life companion, really, would even be on this floor is beyond him, but Steve pulls out his phone and taps on Bucky’s contact. He’s wandering the floor, from one corridor to the next, when he hears a light buzzing to the east of the building. Goddamn Bucky left his goddamn phone lying around again. Goddamn it. 

He draws closer, and though his mind is slow to catch up, rusty with these lustful theatrics, the most primal part of him senses the situation immediately. The buzzing is louder now, more akin to a gentle rumble, and his dick twitches. Here he is again, outside that door. Only now, he doesn’t have to turn the handle to open it; it’s already ajar. 

Is he a narcissist for thinking you left it open for him, just him, so he could see and hear you again? 

One peek. Only one, quick peek and that’s it, Rogers, I mean it. And he does, truly - but he had also meant not to be presented with the sight before him again, meant not to drift his hand towards his own centre, for lack of a better word. It really felt like his centre - his dick, he means; everything revolves around that goddamn thing lately. He’s hard, palming himself and trying not to have his mother’s shrill voice in his head, yelling at him to stop being a pervert and pull himself together. 

But he can’t, and he’s petulant towards this fact. He can’t, not when you have never looked quite so riled up. Eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth gaped open in a silent scream, thighs trembling. Small hands forcefully wrapped around a pink vibrator - a rabbit, he thinks they call this particular type - that gets slightly twirled around until you find the right spot. You come much quicker than when using just your fingers, practically writhing around as if you’re being electrocuted. This vulnerability is insanely captivating, Steve notes, this openness. Whenever he jerks off, in the shower, in his bed with a condom (a posh wank, you had called the concept once), he does so quietly, stealthily, still coy and afraid of someone hearing him. Suddenly, there’s nothing he wants more than to have the whole Compound hearing his name slipping from your cherry lips, echoing through the glass and metal. Just the mere thought drives him crazy, hand down his jeans to touch himself properly when you come for a second time, harsher, more sustained and by God, there it is again:

“Oh, Steve… fuuuuck.”

The deliciousness of this barely has time to register before he feels the familiar release of his own orgasm. Right in his jeans. Goddamn it all to hell. 

He’s lucky they’re a deep blue, almost black, so he can walk to his room without arousing much suspicion. It’s wildly uncomfortable, and more than a little gross, but he’ll take what he can get. 

“Hey - you rang?” 

Fuck off Bucky, I swear to God.

“Uh, sorry. Butt-dial,” Steve offers, shuffling awkwardly, trying to get past his miscreant of a friend as quickly as possible.

Bucky raises an eyebrow in question, but decides to let it go. Many years together have taught him to keep to his own business unless Steve asked for help himself, or was otherwise unconscious and covered in blood.

“Alright… I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Wanna show Y/N this new album I’ve been listeni-”

Steve storms off. Always the gentleman.

-

The third time Steve sees you like this, eyes cloudy with lust, squeezing your thighs together for some, any, kind of relief, it is by no means an accident. 

Grey joggers cover his bottom half, his chest bare and t-shirt discarded in a crumpled up mess next to him. He doesn’t know what has come over him, this sudden bravery to practically gallivant his penis in your face as you try to concentrate on the TV, gripping the nunchucks much harder than usual. Wants to test you, he supposes, confirm his suspicions. He’s hopeful, and he has every right to be.

You’re not the best driver as it is, never mind that this is Mario Kart, but the willpower it takes to keep your eyes on the screen is inhuman. Every other second, though, your vision flits towards his groin, mentally tracing the outline of his dick. He’s big, of course, even when flaccid. Your mouth waters involuntary at the conjured up image of him at his full hardness, lining himself up just before his head enters you. 

“Stupid fucking-” you grunt, hitting random buttons in vain as your character is knocked off the track and falls into the water. 

Groaning at your new sixth position (you were just second, for crying out loud), you glance at Steve, who is smirking at you already, having just pushed himself into first place and finishing the track. 

“Language!” He laughs, a big, boisterous sound that makes you nervous. You loved making him laugh - your favourite pastime. Aside from making him come in his jeans outside your door, of course. 

“Funny you should say that,” you begin, tongue wetting your bottom lip anxiously. Come on, Y/N, time for you to be brave now.

“Oh?” 

“You weren’t telling me off for swearing yesterday.”

Silly Steve, it takes him a moment to process the comment. You take the opportunity, can see his cogs turning, to stand up in front of him. And you peep at his joggers, too, but who can blame you?

“… Oh.”

You hold out a hand, shaking almost imperceptibly, inviting, tempting him. “You coming, Captain?”

He’s too far gone to even try to resist, and his hand feels so… so homely wrapped around yours. You reach the door of the games room and before you can pull it open to scurry upstairs, Steve releases your hand and pries the door open himself. 

“After you, doll.”

You know he does this just so he can look at your bum as you walk up the stairs, so you roll your eyes to the heavens, and he smirks again, his brain working faster now and picturing you rolling your eyes in a different, imminent way. 

Steve has been raised right, of course, would never dream of letting a girl, especially his girl, walk through a door without opening it for her first. That’s what he tells himself, at least. Totally not so he can check you out. Always the gentleman.

[areiton]

three days - stony

Read on AO3 | Mind the AO3 warnings, friends. 

~*~ 

The day begins like this:  

Tony is cursing, and Steve is laughing.  

It’s how they’ve woken up for years now, Steve’s hands cool and familiar against Tony’s belly as he crawls back into bed with his husband, and Tony’s rasping complaints just as familiar.  

“There’s coffee, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, hair wet where it falls into his eyes and Tony peers up at him through his good eye.  

It’s been decades since Thanos, since he gave his right arm and his eye and almost his life—since Extremis reversed the damage and so much of his aging and slowed down the remains.  

“We could stay in bed,” Tony bargains, and Steve grins at him, rolls them in the sheets until Tony is straddling his hips and drags him down for a kiss, hands skating over his sides.  

~*~  

The day begins like this:  

There is silence. Cool sheets and bright sunlight. He hasn’t slept. He can’t sleep in the utter silence, and can’t bring himself to leave their bedroom either.  

There’s the scent of familiar cologne and motor oil in the air, and he can’t bring himself to leave, isn’t sure it’ll be there, if he does.  

There’s a tap on the door, and Harley comes in, trailed by Peter.  

“Hey, Pops,” Harley murmurs, hands shoved in his pockets. He’s wearing his suit, already. It’s not that strange, seeing him in a suit—Harley has been CEO long enough that seeing him wearing a suit as trim and fitted as Tony’s is familiar and comforting.  

Peter is too, though, and his eyes are wet and red-rimmed and he looks-- 

He looks like Tony did. Grey streaks his hair and his eyes are tired, his smile weaker than it used to be.  

He looks younger than Harley, and Steve wonders if that’s a curse or a blessing. Tony worried about it, about how he’d handle a long life, extended by his mutation, when his husband was gone.  

Steve blinks hard, because Tony had never considered that for them. Not when Extremis and the serum evened the playing field for them, not for decades now.  

“It’s time,” Harley says, softly.  

~*~  

The day begins like this:  

An alarm is blaring, beyond the walls of his room, and Steve jerks upright. “Report?” he barks, and there’s a brief moment of silence cut only by the klaxon.  

“Commander, they’ve asked you stay behind,” FRIDAY says.  

He snorts, and moves, all efficiency as he slips into the stealth suit.  

It needs a bit of work, but it’ll do, at least until he can get to the city.  

“What’s the situation, FRI?” he asks.  

She feeds it to the comm he never goes without, and he reaches for his shield before leaving the small, unadorned room behind.  

The halls of SHIELD are crowded, bustling with agents scurrying to answer the still screaming alarm, but they all give way, something he notes with only the barest kind of interest.  

His hair falls in his eyes and he scrapes it back impatiently, securing it at the nape of his neck.  

“Need to cut that, Stevie,” Bucky says, falling into step beside him.  

“Think you should sit this one out,” Director Bishop says as they stride into command center. Her eyes are worried and her mouth is tight and Steve smiles at her, sharply.  

“Now you know that’s not gonna happen, Katie Kate,” Bucky drawls, and because he’s looking for, Steve sees her tiny flinch.  

Even now.  

“Stark,” she says, and Steve straightens.  

“What’s the mission, Director,” he asks, implacable.  

She sighs and drags up a holoscreen. “We know he’s harnessing electricity,” she begins and he settles in.  

“This might be the one,” FRIDAY murmurs and Steve closes his eyes, and hopes. 

~*~  

The morning goes like this:  

Tony leans against him, half asleep against his back while Steve makes eggs. The house is quiet today—just the two of them, the team confined to the Compound. He thinks about spending a little time in his studio, after breakfast.  

“I need to do some work on the prototypes Peter sent over,” Tony mumbles against his back and Steve mentally rearranges his plans. Sketching in the workshop and going over SHIELD mission reports it was.  

There were days, of course there were, when they retreated from each other, spent in their own separate corners of the house, days Tony spent in the city because even now, years after Pepper’s retirement and handing the reins to Harley and Peter, he’s active at SI. There are days when Steve goes on a mission for SHIELD with Bucky, and they don’t see each other for a week or more.  

But mostly, when they can, they spend their time together.  

“Too many years apart,” Steve murmured, when Tony asked him about it, right after they got married.  

Now, it’s habit, and comfortable, and Steve smiles does at the eggs while Tony snores against his back, and thinks about the long empty day stretching ahead of them.  

~*~  

The day goes like this:  

They drive together, Steve and the boys who are not boys, the men who have been his sons. Morgan is waiting, with her children, and theirs, and Steve resents them, just for a moment, resents everyone here—the remains of their family and their team, Bucky and Sam, everyone standing around him and the fucking urn waiting.  

Peter speaks first.  

Because Steve—Steve loved him, loves him still, with every breath that is in him, he thinks he will love Tony until he’s dust and faded memories—but Peter was part of Tony’s soul, all his genius and sacrifice and kindness wrapped up in a boy without a speck of his blood. Peter was the son he chose, and it’s fitting, that Peter is the one speaking first, the one saying goodbye while Steve stands over an urn that feels too heavy and too light and all wrong.  

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.  

There was Extremis and the serum, there was every villain and battle they survived and all the years they fought and all the love they built despite it.  

There was a century between them and secrets and so much love he can’t quite breath through it.  

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.  

But then, he supposes. It wasn’t supposed to end at all.  

~*~  

The day goes like this:  

The quinnjet is quiet. FRIDAY has fallen silent, but Steve knows she’s running all the information she can find, and after all the years she’s spent growing, there’s nothing she can’t find.  

Bucky sits next to him, silent, because there’s nothing to say anymore.  

The SHIELD agents and Avengers—there are Avengers, new ones, people whose names he can’t remember or doesn't want to learn, a Captain America that Sam chose that he doesn’t want to know—are quiet, a low murmur of voices and spike of laughter, but it’s been long enough that no one disturbs him and Bucky, until they’re coming up on the drop site and Scarlet Witch—not Wanda, not his team, they’re all gone now—says, “Eyes up. Everyone comes home safe.”  

There’s a chorus of voices, and Bucky leans briefly into his side, and Steve’s eyes cut to his brother.  

FRIDAY is quiet in his ear and the wind whistles as the fliers take to the sky. There’s a lightening storm, just beyond the quinnjet.  

He smiles.  

“Commander Stark,” he hears, shouted, a moment before he throws himself from the jet, and Bucky follows.  

~*~  

The day goes like this:  

The alarm comes in while Tony is scolding DUM-E, and Steve is laughing, and he grins at Steve, bright and beautiful. “Wanna save the world, honey?”  

“We’re retired,” Steve says, dryly.  

“FRIDAY, what is it?  

“A new threat, Boss. Something in space.”  

Steve shifts, uneasy, because space has never meant anything good for them, but Tony is grinning, bright eyes and eager, and he already knows how it’ll end.  

“Get your suit,” he sighs, “FRIDAY, let Hill know we’re coming in.”  

“Sure thing, Commander.”  

~*~  

The day goes like this:  

After they scatter the ashes.  

After the family gathers and leaves-- 

After the house has gone silent, but for DUM-E's sad lonely beeping, when the lights are off and the curtains are drawn and the studio has been closed off-- 

He sits in the dark with a gun in his hand and only the thought of Tony’s disappointment in him keeps him from pulling the trigger.  

~*~  

The day goes like this:  

The fight is brutal. The Avengers are falling in around him and Bucky, but there’s rain and the air is thick with electricity.  

Hawkeye goes down under an electric bolt from the wizard wielding it and Scarlet Witch screams his name.  

“Cap,” FRIDAY murmurs. “Wait.” 

It’s going to hell, fast, the rain and the electricity working together to blind and ground their fliers, to slow the fighters on the ground. An EMP brings down Iron Patriot with a clattering roar that almost throws him back to that fucking fight in Germany, a lifetime ago, but he grits his teeth,  tenses-- 

And waits.  

It comes in waves, pulses where the wizard gather’s his power, before it’s thrown in a scattering arc, in a sharp concentrated bolt, devastating their ranks.  

“Now,” Friday snaps, and he throws himself forward.  

The last thing he hears is Bucky’s scream.  

~*~  

The day ends like this:  

They should have stayed home.  

Where Tony was warm and grumbling and their forever stretched endless in front of them.  

They should have stayed home.  

It goes to hell, fast, faster than he can parse. The villain is an alien they’ve never faced before, and Tony’s voice is sharp and worried over the comm. 

“Cap, he’s pulling the energy of a fucking star,” Tony says.  

“A star?” Steve echoes.  

“Stars are a form of energy—that's what he’s pulling.”  

“Ours?”  

Tony’s silent and Steve almost laughs, because of course they’re on a throwaway mission with a villain who wants to drain the power of their damn sun.  

“What can we do to stop him?”  

Tony is quiet, a long moment, and then--”FRIDAY, take care of him, would you? Ferryman Protocol, code echo alpha zeta tango niner.”  

The ship jerks a little, and FRIDAY says, apologetic, “Sorry, Cap. Orders.”  

“Tony,” Steve starts, but he’s flying already, the boosters on his suit bright as stars as he slams into the alien. Giant tentacles as black as the space around them snake around the suit and Tony says, softly. “I’m so sorry, beloved.”  

“Tony, come back here,” Steve begs. “Please--” 

“I wanted so badly to grow old with you, Steve,” Tony says. The suit is flying again, pulling the alien with him, and Steve can’t breathe, it’s flying. “FRIDAY--don’t let him watch.”  

He screams when the ships monitor’s go black.  

He screams when an explosion rocks the ship.  

He screams when FRIDAY reports, her voice shaking with tears, “I’ve lost contact with the suit.”  

He screams and he screams, and Tony never responds.  

~*~ 

The day ends like this:  

He catches sight of himself in a mirror in the dark. It’s been almost a year since that day in space, a year of searching space and scanning for lifesigns and Peter frantically building tech to go search for Tony.  

It’s been a year of unending grief and wild baseless hope and silence that’s never answered.  

He catches sight of himself and he breaks, shatters the mirror and then the table, so furious suddenly he doesn’t check himself. He finds himself in his studio, shattered easels and canvases, his pencils broken and sketchbooks torn apart, chest heaving and sobs trapped in his throat.  

He’s destroyed it, the place that Tony built for him, the place where he would sleep, while Steve sketched.  

He trembles, and says, softly, “FRIDAY. I can’t stay here.”  

“I’ll inform SHIELD you’re moving back to headquarters,” she says, and he nods.  

He takes his suit, the one that Tony made him, his shield, and a picture of Tony, saved from the ruined studio, and leaves.  

~*~  

The day ends like this:  

Bucky carries him.  

He can’t breath, and there’s a panicky fear in his gut, shades from a boy that he hasn’t been in a lifetime.  

He can’t breath and there’s peace in it, because FRIDAY is almost purring in his ear, and Bucky is carrying him and crying and there’s a smile, strange and familiar, on his brother’s face. 

He waited.  

Even now, almost a decade after Sam’s death, Bucky waited.  

“End of the line,” Steve rasps and Bucky laughs, lowers him in the quinnjet that is dark and still.  

The Avengers that he doesn’t know, never let himself know, are behind him, silent and grim and he thinks maybe they are crying.  

He wants to tell them not to.  

He wants to tell them this is his choice.  

Bucky knows, and that is enough. FRIDAY knows, his faithful companion for all the long empty years since Tony died.  

He closes his eyes and his heartbeat falters.  

~*~  

The day begins like this:  

He wakes and there’s a warmth, familiar and comforting, against him, and he twists.  

Tony smiles at him, impossibly young and heartbreakingly perfect, his eyes bright, and his right hand trembling as it pushes back Steve’s hair.  

“You kept me waiting a while, beloved,” he murmurs.  

Steve curls close, and Tony hums, soft and soothing and comforting, as he holds him.  

[until-theend-oftheline]

Talk It Out

Pairing: Stucky

Warnings: Nightmares, PTSD, self-blame

Squares Filled: Nightmares for @badthingshappenbingo​​ 

Word Count: 1100ish

A/N: This is written for @avengerscompound​​ and her Kate Takes a Line Writing Challenge. Loook Katie, I am not late ;)

Betaed by: no one - all mistakes are mine

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Steve stood at the edge of the bed watching Bucky sleep. He was quiet now, curled in on himself, just like he always did after a particularly bad nightmare. Steve always had a hard time going back to sleep after one of Bucky’s nightmares.

It didn’t matter if Bucky had woke up screaming, covered in sweat or if had been quiet whimpering and crying for a while. Either way, Steve’s touch always seemed to help.

He held him when he woke up screaming, letting Bucky cry against his neck until he excused himself to go clean up. Steve on those nights would change the sweat-drenched sheets before crawling back into bed waiting for Bucky to come back to bed. When he did he barely looked at Steve, he just crawled back into bed, making himself as small as possible.

When it was crying and whimpering, Steve rolled over holding Bucky close until he stilled. Those times Bucky stayed in Steve’s arms but only because he wasn’t aware Steve suspected.

Tonight had been a bad one, and Steve wanted nothing more than to be in that bed holding Bucky close. He couldn’t though. For some reason, Bucky needed to be alone after those and even if it hurt Steve worse than he’d ever confess, he walked away. He couldn’t be this close to Bucky without really being close.

Steve quietly closed the door to their shared room, walking across the living area and onto the balcony. Steve took a deep breath, letting the cool air into his lungs. He smiled a sad smile when he felt the sting, knowing that a century ago the sting would have been stabbing pain. Still, sometimes Steve longed for that time. Everything had been simpler than when all he had to worry about was finding the money for his medicine and holding Bucky’s hand without anyone noticing.  

Steve hadn’t realized it then, but he had been happy. Even if he was constantly picking fights and trying to change the world for the better. It had needed it. It still did, but sometimes he wondered if all of it had been worth it.

If Steve hadn’t insisted on leading a team to take out HYDRA and the Nazis Bucky would have gone home. Bucky hated the war. He fought it because he felt like he had too and he stayed because he wouldn’t leave Steve behind. If Steve hadn’t asked him, he would never have been on the train that day. He would never have fallen, been tortured and brainwashed. Every nightmare Bucky suffered was Steve’s fault. It was no wonder Bucky wouldn’t let him hold him after one of those, Steve thought as he stared out over the city.

He was so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t heard Bucky get out of bed, wrap a sheet around his body before padding across the living space to lean against the doorway to the balcony.

“You keep carrying all this on your shoulders it’s going to screw up your posture,” Bucky’s voice sounded behind him, making Steve jump slightly. Bucky chuckled as he walked up behind Steve, wrapping himself and the sheet around him.

“It comes with the job,” Steve tried to lie but regretted the moment he felt Bucky stiffen behind him.

“Job? Is that what we are to you?” Bucky asked, starting to pull back, but Steve quickly spun around, holding him close.

“God no. Buck. I was trying… I was trying to make you think I was worrying about something else,” Steve confessed and Bucky frowned, running his hands calmingly over Steve’s back.

“Why?” Bucky asked, letting Steve pull back just enough that they could look each other in the eye.

“You suffered enough because of me. You don’t have to worry about my overthinking things too,” Steve muttered and Bucky instantly cupped his face.

“None of what happened to me is your fault. You found me. You brought me back,” Bucky tried to reason with his boyfriend.

“70 years after I should have… Bucky I should have searched for you then at least,” Steve began to tear up, as he looked into those loving blue eyes of Bucky’s.

“Stevie… You couldn’t have known. Neither of us could have,” Bucky reasoned. “Steve please, come back to bed.”

Steve sighed leaning into Bucky’s embrace, closing his eyes enjoying the closeness for a while, before nodding. He took Bucky’s hand letting him lead them both back to the bedroom.

It wasn't long before Bucky was curled in on himself again and Steve was lying on his side, watching him. Steve ached to put his arms around him; assure him that no one would ever hurt him again. He couldn’t. He knew what Bucky had been through and that he needed time. Even getting to where they were now had been a long road and Steve knew they still had a long way to go.

“Will you hold me?” Bucky’s voice was quiet, almost frail and Steve froze. Only for a few seconds before he moved in. Wrapping his arm around Bucky, entangling their legs.

“Always,” he promised him, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s neck. “I didn’t think you wanted me too.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you too?” Bucky questioned, tilting his face to look up at Steve. The confusion was written all over both men’s faces, as Steve started to explain.

“I thought… when you have a bad nightmare, you always lie so far away when you return to bed,” Steve gently ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, not wanting him to think he was blaming him.

“I thought you were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you again,” Bucky blurted out. “I thought you were asleep. I wake you all the time and I didn’t want to wake you just because I needed you to hold me.”

Steve’s eyes widened as Bucky leaned up to press a soft kiss against his lips. “Steve. I don’t blame you for anything. And I will never not need you.”

“You got me,” Steve mumbled, burying his face in Bucky’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

“You can always wake me. Especially if it’s to cuddle,” Steve smiled against Bucky’s skin, loving how his body rumbled when he laughed.

“Duly noted,” Bucky grinned, before yawned and closing his eyes. It took a few moments longer before Steve drifted off, but he didn’t mind. Having Bucky in his arms, feeling him breathing so easily, was worth every second of lost sleep. He was safe and that was all that mattered to Steve in the end.

Reblogs spread my work and make me happy. Got a favorite part/line? Did something touch you? Do you relate in some way? Please tell me and make my day.  

Stucky (x Reader) Tag Team

@feelmyroarrrr​​ @princess-evans-addict​​ @littlebittcrazy​​ @sleepretreat​​ @hellaqueerangelofthelord​​ @danijimenezv​​ @becs-bunker​​ @blacktithe7​​ @grace-for-sale​​ @scarletlingeries​​ @avengerscompound​​ @barnesrogersvstheworld​​ @averyrogers83​​ @sorenmarie87​​ @docharleythegeekqueen​​ @erosbellrke @slowlywithfreedom​​  @the-wayward-robot​​ @myfanficlibrarium​​ @dottirose​​ @panicatttckiss @kimmiestrawberrykiwi​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​ @stormi-ames​​ @anxiousamandapanda​​

@miraclesoflove​​

[etherealwaifgoddess]

Puppy Love

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A continuation in the What He Wants universe where Bucky and you spend the weekend snowed in with your new puppy.

Warnings/ Content: definitely a warning (spoiler?) the puppy breaks his leg in the snow. It’s not graphic or very descriptive of the injury but it’s a topic and he’s gonna be just fine after the vet trip. But it’s still a little heart breaking because... puppy.

Word Count: 2518

Author’s Note: First off, a HUGE thanks to @lancsnerd who gave me the deets on how to post a fic with the “keep reading” option on an iPad. This fic would not have been posted anytime soon without her help. Also, @lancsnerd is a BRILLIANT fanfic writer so if you haven’t read anything of her’s yet you are missing out and should do so ASAP. Now about Puppy Love... I seriously meant to write just a sweet little fic about Bucky and the reader adjusting to puppy parenthood but.... I’ve been angsty lately. Sorry not sorry. When I was a little kid my dog broke his leg in the same way Poe does and got a little purple cast too. So that’s where that came from. If you haven’t read the rest of the What He Wants series it isn’t super necessary but I’m kinda in love with it so you can find the master list HERE if you want to check it out first.

Okay, I’ve rambled enough for now. Love you all & thanks for reading!! XOXO - Ash

Puppy Love

There was a distinct learning curve for all three of you when Poe arrived. You had visions of early morning snuggles, warm, and cozy in bed with your man and puppy. The reality was something very different.

“Oh no! Not again!” you scold as Poe tries in vain to wiggle his little butt under your blankets. It’s your first weekend morning with him and you just want to sleep in a little. Bucky had taken him out for his morning potty trip and now he was ice cold and far too wiggly.

“Come on, he just needs mama snuggles.” Bucky protests on Poe’s behalf, giving you equally sad puppy dog eyes.

You grumble but make room, allowing both man and beast to slide into the warm bed next to you. It’s barely a minute before Poe and Bucky are both restless and resort to playing peek-a-boo with the comforter. Cold air hits your bare skin and you squeal, displeased with the commotion in your bed. Giving up on your dreams of warm, snuggly weekend mornings you get up to find clothes and start the coffee.

“My boys.” you call out affectionately from the doorway when you return. Bucky is sprawled out on his back with Poe flopped on top his chest, having apparently worn each other out with their play. You set the coffee mugs down on your dresser and pull your phone off of it’s charging station so you can snap a few pictures of the saccharine sweet domestic scene. Bucky grins up at you from the bed and extends his right hand, beckoning you to join them.

Bucky straightens up so you can hand him his mug and Poe reluctantly shifts down onto his lap. He hasn’t bothered to put his prosthetic on yet but he did carefully pin up the empty sleeve on his left; there will be no risking leaving it down in bed and having Poe think it’s a toy again. “I think the snow’s almost here. The wind was picking up a bit while we were out earlier.” Bucky tells you.

“I hate March snow storms, just when you think we’re done… Nope! And I’m sorry it ruined your party, love.” You kiss his shoulder gently to punctuate your apology. You had spent an hour on the phone with Pepper canceling and rearranging everyone’s plans the night before when the severity of the pending storm was confirmed.

“It’s not a big deal, we can go up in two weeks and it’ll be just as fun. ‘Sides, I’d rather spend the weekend curled up with you two anyway.”

Shooting him an indulgent smile you lean your head to rest on his shoulder lightly. As much fun as it would have been to see everyone again, a quiet weekend at home to get adjusted with Poe is a much more appealing option. Bucky is, as you suspected, a completely over the top puppy-dad. He had spent the better part of his nights the past two days finding “the best” dog care items out there from a feeding bowl with a time release function to a cozy dog bed that looked like an actual human bed. Toys were coming in endless supply as well as books on training and Bucky had already started talking about moving Poe onto a “filler free” puppy chow as soon as possible. It was all a bit over the top but Bucky cared so much, you didn’t have the heart to dissuade him.

By noon the storm was in full swing and so were Bucky’s efforts to train Poe. The books all agreed that formal training should wait until he was a little older but Bucky was determined to teach him the basics. So far you had been lucky with no accidents and he wasn’t big on barking so that left what Bucky deemed the “fun” bits of training like responding to small commands to sit, stay, follow, speak, roll over, and shake. You watch quietly over the top of your book as Bucky sits cross legged on the floor with Poe trying to teach him “speak”, mimicking a yipping sound to encourage him. It’s tempting to get a quick video of the ridiculousness for the Avengers group chat but you resist the urge long enough that they moved on to “shake” before you can.

Eventually Bucky hops back up announcing it’s time for another potty break, scooping Poe up in his arms. Bucky dresses him carefully in the little red and black flannel dog coat he had purchased for him, insisting it’s too cold for a tiny dog outside. Bucky had been amazed by next day shipping and the plethora for dog items on Amazon. Not that you had any room to talk, you had found a Bucky-sized coat that matched Poe’s exactly and it was due to arrive later that afternoon. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up and their twinning is guaranteed to bring you endless amounts of amusement each winter.

They are only outside for a minute when you hear a sharp, high pitched yelp followed by Bucky screaming Poe’s name. You bolt up from the sofa, forgetting the blizzard outside and racing into the storm. The ice and snow bite at your sock clad feet and the wind hitting your face stings like needles. You yell for both of them frantically, fearing the worst, until finally Bucky comes into view holding a crying Poe in his arms. Bucky is a mess, eyes large and watering from more than just the storm, his expression panicked. “He got a little far out so I called him back and he was being a good boy and listened but he when he jumped back up on the patio he slipped on the damn ice and fell off. He couldn’t get back up and he’s not letting me touch his back leg now. I think he’s hurt bad. What do we do?” Bucky rambles breathlessly, clinging to the tiny, whining puppy in his arms.

“Okay.” you steel yourself against your own growing concern. They both need you to be strong right now. “Okay, we need to get everyone back inside so we can see what we’re dealing with and go from there.”

Bucky nods and follows you back up to your apartment where you can better assess Poe’s condition. It’s obvious something is seriously wrong by the way Poe keeps his leg curled up close to his body and actually growls when you get within an inch of it. It’s his back right leg and Bucky has been careful not to hold him there. “Let’s set him down and see if he can put any weight on it.” you suggest and Bucky shoots you a look but places him carefully on the floor between you. Poe’s leg stays curled close to his body and he limps three leggedly towards his bowl. “I’ll call the vet now.” you say and Bucky hurries over to pick him up. You watch as Bucky carries Poe over to his food bowl and sits down with him on the floor to hand feed him so he can stay comfortable in Bucky’s arms.

The vet agrees he needs to be seen immediately and they have a 24 hour emergency clinic that can take them. Thankfully Poe and Bucky are already bundled up so as soon as you have your coat and shoes on you are out the door and slowly navigating the roads to the vet’s office. Bucky sits ramrod straight the entire ride, a haunted look in his eyes as he watches Poe, whispering a never ending stream of comforting words to him. His fear and worry are palpable and it’s heartbreaking that things have gone so terribly wrong just a few days into having him.

The emergency vet clinic is empty when you arrive and they take Poe back right away. Bucky glares down the nurse who requests she take him back for xrays and you step in. “Sweetheart, she has to do this. If his leg is broken we need to know.” you tell him softly, rubbing his back in a soothing motion. Bucky nods stiffly and hands over Poe to the patiently waiting nurse. “I know you’re worried, I am too.” you assure him.

“He’s just so tiny. And it’s my fault. I was calling him back and he was hurrying because he’s just such a good boy and then he fell...” Bucky’s voice cracks and he trails off, not trusting his voice to continue.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. “I know, love, I know.” You tuck your head below his chin, snuggling against his still cold coat and letting the contact comfort you both.

It is an agonizing ten minutes until the nurse reappears with Poe. They gave him something for the pain but encourage Bucky to not touch his hurt leg when he takes Poe back into his arms. She tells you the vet will be in to go over the results in a few minutes and thankfully the waiting time is brief.

“Hi folks.” a tall, grey haired woman announces as she joins you in the small exam room. “I’m Doctor Kate, it’s good to meet you, though it could have been under better circumstances.”

You shake her hand and give her a quick smile. She is the vet you were supposed to have Poe’s well check with next month. “I’m Y/N and this is my fiance, Bucky.”

“And this little guy must be Poe.” she reaches out to scritch Poe behind the ears affectionately. “So, we have bad news and good news.”

“Just give it to us straight, doc.” Bucky requests, his voice thick with concern.

“My kind of people.” Dr. Kate gives him a kind smile before continuing, “So your little guy did break his leg when he fell. He’s going to need a cast while that heals but the good news is that puppies heal amazingly fast. About half the time of an adult dog. So we’ll get you all back for another set of x-rays in about four weeks and hopefully the cast will be able to come off then too. Do you have any questions?”

“Do you have any care instructions for while he’s healing?” Bucky asks.

Dr. Kate nods, “Yep, I have a whole bunch of papers printed out for you to go home with. You can start reading over them if you want while we get Poe’s cast on him.”

Bucky thanks the doctor and trades her Poe for the stack of papers. You curl up under his arm to start reading along with him while the doctor takes Poe off to get his cast put on. “He’s gonna be okay.” You remind Bucky.

“I know, but… it’s still hard.” He sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“But we get through it. When have our lives ever been easy?”

Bucky huffs a wry laugh, “Yeah. Pretty much never.”

You tilt your head up to kiss him, needing the grounding connection of your lips against his. A sigh slips from your throat and you nestle in against him when you finally break the connection.

Dr. Kate returns a few minutes later with Poe who is sporting a small purple cast on his broken leg. “Do you have any more questions?” She asks handing the puppy back to Bucky’s eager arms.

You shake your head, “No, I think we’re good for now. Thank you so much for helping him.”

“That’s what I’m here for. You folks have a safe trip home.”

You shake her hand and gather your things to leave.

The ride home is more difficult in the storm than the ride there but the mood inside the car is significantly less tense. Bucky is talking softly to Poe who is looking a little more alert than he had been.

“You know,” Bucky tells him, “I fell and got hurt too, a really long time ago. It was scary but I’m okay now and you’re gonna be okay too. And you, lucky pup, get to keep your leg.”

You take a shuddering breath, trying not to become overwhelmed with emotion while driving. You know exactly what fall he’s talking about and it makes your entire body ache to think about what he had gone through at the hands of HYDRA because of it. How he can so calmly talk about it now is extraordinary but shows he really has been working hard to move on from all the trauma in his past, and god knows there was a lot of it.

Safely back in your apartment, Bucky sets Poe down in his new doggie bed and tucks him in with a tiny fleece blanket which is as necessary as it is cute. He joins you on the sofa where you're curled up to watch Netflix, burrowing in so that his head rests on your chest. You move your arms to hold him, his adrenaline rush from earlier is crashing now that everyone is home safe. Bucky helps pick out a show and you wiggle your way out with a promise to be quick so you can get two tumblers of whiskey. After an afternoon like that, a little whiskey is absolutely called for. With the serum degrading, he’s been able to feel the effects of alcohol again, a new and amusing discover for you both.

You cuddle up once again, letting him use you as a pillow, and hand him his glass. He’s picked out a documentary on the solar system and it doesn’t surprise you in the least. Bucky is fascinated by space and loves learning more about the world outside of your own. He sips his drink slowly and you can smell the sharp sweetness on his breath when he cants his head up for a leisurely kiss.

“He really is gonna be okay.” Bucky says with a long sigh.

You smile down at your poor worried soldier, “Of course he is. A few more weeks and it’ll be like it never happened.”

“Watching him fall into the snow… it was awful. Brought back some memories I wish I didn’t have.”

“I can’t even imagine. But you held it together. You helped our boy and got him to the doctor so he could get patched up. You did everything you possibly could have.”

“I know.” He says slowly, letting his mind catch up to everything he’s feeling, “I know I did. I think I just need a little time to process everything that came up today. It was a lot.”

“Oh, sweetheart, of course. We don’t have to do anything else this weekend except lay together watching space shows and drinking whiskey. If you want to talk I’m here, and if you want to just sit quietly we can do that too. Whatever you need, love.”

“Just need you.” Bucky says into your chest, nuzzling in comfortably.

You card your fingers through his silky hair, watching as your engagement ring catches in the low light. “You got me. Always.”

Tag list lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty  @abswritesfandoms @rupestria @dark-night-sky-99 @ladyemofhousestark  ***IF ANYONE WANTS ADDED / REMOVED JUST LMK :)

[themaskedwriter]

Movie Quotes - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You always quote movies around Steve, and when he admits he hasn’t seen most of them you organize a movie night. But does he have the guts to admit to you that he’s the Jack to your Rose?

Warnings: Fluffy, nothing really haha, swearing more than likely

Note: This is my submission. My three hints are: - I use an anonymous name for my blog. - My blog could go to war, with the name that I have - I often base my fics off of songs, such as Dodie. 

Word Count: 3,725

The coffee machine buzzed to indicate everyone that it was, in fact, working. However, the noise went past the ears of Bucky - who was leaning against the kitchen counter, hand clasping a mug of tea, as he conversed with Steve. The captain was already dressed - naturally - and he’d already been on a morning run, “to kill some time.”

Something about the air in the room changed when you entered through the open doorway, as you short pajama pants contrasted greatly from Steve’s blue jeans. You moved with a sense of ease to the coffee machine, placing a mug beneath the dispenser location, and pressing “release.”

“Morning, fellas,” you grinned, already chirpy despite the early morn that left only the three of you awake. Where as Steve woke up to run, and Bucky woke up to escape the torment of his mind, you didn’t have any specific reason to awake: or so they thought. In fact, you did. It gave you more minutes with a certain blonde, who was always dressed at 6 in the morning as though it was as normal as tying his laces.

They both shot you a smile in reply, and you removed your mug and took a long slurp - the heat barely making you wince. Moving towards the kitchen island, you placed the mug down before hoisting yourself to sit on the marble finish. Retrieving the baby pink cup to your lips, you took a rewarding slurp, before placing it back down.

“Stevie,” you called, and his eyes instantly darted to meet your own from where they originally rested on his mug - so he didn’t stare at your bare legs for what could be considered too long to be normal. A taunting smirk came to your lips, as you narrowed your eyes: “Hold my pie,” you remarked, in an exaggerated deep and (what was meant to be) masculine voice.

He brought a similar smile to his lips, as he gazed around in thought. “Um…robo-cop?”

“What!? No, you idiot! iRobot!” you laughed, and Bucky chuckled similarly.

“I knew that one,” he muttered, and Steve shot him a glare. However, his gaze weakened as he danced his focus back to you.

“Never seen it,” he admitted, and you almost choked on your drink.

“What? What! How?” you snapped, and as his mouth fell open to answer, you left him impersonating a gold-fish. “That’s it, we’re adding that to the list.”

“This list is gonna be as long as the girl’s who’ve rejected Sam,” Bucky now hissed, which earned a punch in the bicep from Steve. You couldn’t help but giggle though, as you jumped off the counter top with a now empty mug. It always baffled the blonde how you could down it without wincing, though the water was close to boiling.

“Buck does have a point though, we do need to start shortening this list. You free tonight?” you asked, placing the mug in the dishwasher before slamming it closed. Steve was close to having a heart attack internally, as the butterflies that raced around his stomach batted their wings against his heaving chest. Bucky had a smirk, able to hear the erratic heart-race, and so his cheeks naturally darkened in shade. He prayed you couldn’t hear how nervous your simple question made him.

“Yeah, sure,” he breathed, praying to any higher power that his voice sounded level and even: not like a school-girl being hit on by her crush. You shot him a grin, nodding your head.

“Wonderful. I’ll bring three of the movies on our list, including my favourite: iRobot.” And with that refreshing conclusion, like a glass of fresh lemonade during a heat-wave, you skipped out of the kitchen and down the hall. As soon as you were out of sight and ear-shot, and Steve could no longer hear your foot-steps padding, he turned to Bucky in alarm.

“Oh God. What do I wear? What do I do?” he panted, grabbing the elder’s shoulders. Bucky just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Buy some snacks, wear some joggers, and relax: it’s only Y/N,” he grinned, pushing his hands off of him, and vanishing out the room - though not with the same energy you radiated. Steve stared after the two of you, breathing out in tense worry.

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” he hissed.

***

***

After pulling bargains and deals with the rest of the avengers, you’d claimed the main living area for you and Steve. Some, such as Sam, were eager to have the two of you finally go on a date - of sorts - instead of (to quote) “eye-fondling each-other, all the time.” Some led to you being $100 short, as Nat made you pay her to use the other T.V so she could watch her season finale. Tony made sly comments about how he shouldn’t see any weird stains on the sofa, which was rewarded with a smack to the face, and Bucky simply agreed to leave the two of you alone out of the kindness of his scarred heart.

It was rolling to around 8pm, and you were actually shitting yourself. You didn’t think you’d be so nervous, spending alone time with Steve. After all, you’d watched movies with him before, except it was usually with someone else, and it wasn’t as intimate. This wasn’t intimate, though, was it? It was to educate him on the world of pop-culture, it was necessary for him to fit in with the 21st century. However, you knew that was a lie you told yourself in an attempt to clam the swarming thoughts in your mind.

Skipping down the hall in some Hollister joggers, and a black tank top - with three quarter length sleeves that flared out just after the elbow - you made your way into the living area. Steve wasn’t there yet, but it didn’t phase you as you’re agreed to meet at half 8, and it was only twenty past.

Picking up the remote, you went through Netflix and Amazon, getting ready to watch the movies you’d decided to combat for the evening. It first was iRobot - your favourite movie, and the one Steve had failed today’s movie quote quiz you always gave him. Then you’d watch Forest Gump, in which you’d once told him in reassurance that “life was like a box of chocolates” and he thought you were actually offering him a chocolate. Finally, the evening would conclude with Titanic - so you could make non-stop references about Kate and Leo, and Rose and Jack. Always, for your own viewing pleasure of the second hottest male on earth: young Leo. Just as you’d finished sourcing the movies, the door opened and Steve entered with a carrier of snacks, and some bowls stacked in his left hand.

“Hey,” you smiled, sitting up and turning to him. He wore dark blue sweat pants, that were loose around the crotch, and a loose black tee. You didn’t even think he owned loose clothing, but something about this look made him seem squishy adn adorable, and so you beckoned him over with a smile. He pushed the coffee table nearer to the largest sofa, where you were both sitting, and spread out bowls. “What’s in the bag?”

He rose his brows, before furrowing them in thought. “I’m not sure which movie that’s from,” he admitted shyly, and you giggled.

“It’s not a movie quote, silly,” you chuckled, pushing the blanket off your legs and moving closer. He shook his head with a chuckle, before showing you the contents of the carrier.

“Okay, so, we’ve got Haribo,” he said, and you nodded as he poured them into a bowl.

“Iconic,” you chimed.

“Pop-corn,” he spoke, whilst raising the bag of sweet-n-salty pop-corn.

“Classic,” was the grinning response.

“Doritos. You’re, um, favourite flavour,2 he said, mumbling the last part with a nervous blush. You smiled wider, heart fluttering a little at the sentiment.

“Aw, you remembered!” you smiled, your own cheeks heating a little: and you could imagine the teasing from Tony and Sam if they were here.

“And…two beers,” he smirked, before placing down the glass bottles along with an opener. You nodded, diving for one of them, as he collected the bowl holding the pop-corn, and made his way to the sofa.

When he first sat down, it was so apparent he was nervous. You could’ve fitted a small elephant between the two of you, and so you took the executive choice of moving closer to him. So close, in fact, that your thighs brushed. And his cheeks grew darker once more, as he placed the pop-corn bowl in his lap. You took a handful, dragging the blanket so it covered your thighs, and you decided to lean your head against his shoulder subconsciously: it was more comfortable, anyway.

“So, if we start with iRobot,” you said, lifting the remote and pressing play. “This is my favourite movie of all time. And Will Smith is amazing in this. Oh! There’s this really funny scene when Spooner - which is Will Smith - is like ‘a robot can’t paint a masterpiece,’ or something like that: and Sonny - the robot - is like, ‘can you?’ you rambled, smile almost bursting off your face, as you essentially spoiled most of the film before the opening was over. Though he was missing an important part of the movie, he couldn’t help but focus on your face, as you watched the all to familiar scenes whilst your mouth ran a mile a minute. When you were like this, talking about things you adored, he could fall into it and never want to find a way out.

***

***

By now, you were approaching the end of Titanic. You’re body had shifted, so your head was on Steve’s lap - that was concealed by the bright pink blanket - and he’d moved the Doritos to the side so you could snuggle down. Throughout the scenes, his eyes danced down to see your droopy eyes focused on the scenes, an easy smile on your face. From time to time, you’d giggle or repeat a line you liked under your breath, and sometimes you’d tell him a small fact about something in the movie, and the production of it. He wasn’t really listening, just admiring the way you were so intent on knowing everything about anything you loved.

At this moment, the room was pitch black aside from the light glaring off the giant flat-screen. It made the features of your face glimmer, and Steve’s own face look even more enticing, on the moments when you’d chuckle at a joke, and you’d glance up to shoot him a smile - happy he was enjoying this as much as you. The pop-corn was all gone, the Haribo dish half empty, and the beer bottles discarded.

The ship was nearly completely enveloped by the ocean’s relentless waves, bullying against the structure. People were diving off the sinking ship, yelling and shouting radiating through the room. Steve knew of the titanic, as it was before his time, but the movie made it seem more real: the images from the tragedy only drawings or sketches that were released in papers. He also discovered he was a sucker for romances, as he become almost emotionally attached to the couple who nearly got trapped within the filling levels of the boat.

Rose was in the water, yellow life jacket on, as she lay on top of some floating debris. Jack was holding her hand, but Steve knew he was a doomed man. A sniffle sounded, and he glanced down to see tears soaking your cheeks, as you tried to keep your reaction discreet.

“Jack. Jack! There’s a boat Jack,” Rose whimpered, shaking his hands as he lay lifeless. You couldn’t help it, this scene always tore you apart from the inside out. A sniff was all you could do, as snot tried to join the waterfall down your cheeks. Suddenly, a hand was in your hair, and you jumped a little. Then you felt Steve run his fingers through the strands in comfort, and you sniffled with a sad laugh.

“This part always gets to me,” you admitted, through a thick tone. He chuckled gently, watching the moments on the television.

“I’ll never let go: I promise.” she spoke, kissing his wrist before letting him slide into the water. Even Steve had to admit to himself that it was pretty emotional, but something about your reaction made him feel fuzzy inside. You were such a romantic. Suddenly, he felt you shift, as you moved to sit up to wipe your cheeks. He pulled his fingers from your hair, feeling a little embarrassed by the natural reaction - he’d always do it to Bucky’s younger sister whenever she was upset and her brother wasn’t around.

You let out a shy giggle, sniffing and wiping your nose on the back of your wrist.

“Wow. I mean, could you imagine that? Meeting your soulmate, and having to let them sink into the ocean?” you sniffed, turning to meet Steve’s icy gaze. He chuckled, shrugging.

“Been in a similar situation,” he joked, and you covered your mouth.

“Oh God, Steve, I didn’t even think. I didn’t upset you, did I?” you panicked, reaching for the remote to turn it off, though it was nearly finished anyway. He laughed, shaking his head, before catching your wrists.

“Don’t be daft. It was perfect. This whole evening was, pretty perfect,” he blushed, smiling down at your face. It was still flushed form tears, but you didn’t want to break his gaze, as you smiled back. And then his eyes flitted to your lips - for only a second - and your heart beat picked up. His smile dropped, as did yours, and you waited in pure anticipation.

He leaned closer, and your eyes closed, and…

Then you heard a sigh, and you opened to your eyes reluctantly, to see him back to how he was sat before. A feeling of regret and embarrassment came over you.He wasn’t going to kiss you, but now you’ve just completely outed yourself ad embarrassed yourself for expecting it. God, he probably felt pressured. Oh God.

His grip loosened on your hands, and you dropped them to your lap, as Celine Dion sang out the God awful theme song nobody likes. After clearing your throat, a painful silence painting over you both, you nodded.

“Well, goodnight, Stevie. Thanks for, um, joining me,” you smiled, meeting his eyes for only a moment before standing up and essentially sprinting out the room: feeling mortified.

***

***

“So,” Bucky started, staring at Steve - who was still in his running gear, from his routine morning run. Steve didn’t react, instead he watched the mug fill with coffee that had little to no effect on his metabolism. Bucky rose a brow, took a slurp of his drink, then sighed. “Hello?”

“What?” the blonde almost snapped, causing brown brows to raise from the elder super soldier.

“How was your date with Y/N last night?” he wondered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world: because, to be honest, it was.

“It wasn’t a date.” he muttered, taking his drink and refusing to meet his friend’s eyes.

“Oh no, what happened?” Bucky sighed,. moving closer and placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder. The blonde pulled away and shot him a glare.

“Nothing happened,” he spat. Bucky frowned, before grimacing.

“She didn’t show up?” he asked, sadly, voice dropping to be more empathetic. Steve let out a another huff, and as he was about to retaliate, and tell Bucky to mind his own God damn business, you waltzed into the room. However, it didn’t hold the same spring in your step like usual, and Steve didn’t let this go unnoticed: and neither did Bucky. Instead, he watched with a frown as you shot Steve an almost nervous smile, got your drink, and vanished.

“Okay, what happened?” Bucky snapped, once your footsteps had fallen out of ear-shot.

“What are you talking about, Buck?” Steve groaned, downing his drink to make his escape quicker. Bucky grabbed his best pal’s bicep and rose a brow.

“I mean, she comes in here looking like a deflated balloon, doesn’t say a word to either of us, and doesn’t give you her movie quote trivia question,” Bucky reeled, waiting to gauge his friend’s reaction. Steve sighed, staring at his feet.

“Well, we were watching the movies. And she had her head in my lap. And then she started crying, cause of the movie, and sat up. So, long story short, I nearly kissed her,” he admitted, with a slight blush, and a defeated look clear in his eyes. Bucky broke out into a smile.

“That’s great! that’s so great! So, then what?” he wondered, like a child eager to see what happens next in a movie. But Steve instead shrugged, before glancing up.

“I didn’t kiss her and she bolted.” Steve admitted, broken tone seeping through and making its way into Bucky’s ears. His shoulders sagged, and he frowned at his friend. “I just, I don’t know! I got overwhelmed and I haven’t kissed someone in so long!” he ranted, staring into his friend’s orbs with a pleading look. Bucky gave a sad smile in reply, and rubbed Steve’s arms up and down in comfort.

“You gotta kiss her, Stevie. She’s perfect for you, and she clearly likes you. Why do you think she never quizzes me?” he chuckled, and Steve met his eyes.

“I missed my chance, Buck,” he grumbled. Bucky laughed, shaking his head.

“Don’t do that again. You never got to take Peggy out, don’t do it another time.”

***

***

You sat on your bed, fingers brushing through the book Wanda had recommended - and you’d buried your nose in straight away. Your moment of serene silence was interrupted by a knock on your door.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, stop the music please,” you spoke, placing the book down after “dog-earing” the page. You jumped off the large comforter, moving to the door and opening it to see a tall, broad shoulder super soldier. He breathed out a sigh upon seeing your face. It wasn’t upset, or angry, but more questioning.

“Steve,” you said, a little aghast. He smiled, before sticking his hands in his pocket. “What can I do for you?”

“i need to tell you something,” he said, and something about his tone was almost grave and unsettling. You nodded, stepping to the side to let him into the room, as your heart beat picked up. you then let the door swing closed, and you turned to see him pacing a little, in the middle open space of your corner of the world.

“Stevie, is everything-”

“Don’t. I just, I need to tell you this,” he said, holding a hand up to cut you off. Then, his fingers dug into his jean’s pocket, and he lifted out a folded square of paper. You held your breath, heart pulsing in your ears, as you rung your hands together and waited for him to start.

“Y/N,  I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.” he said, voice shaking a little, and your heart lept. Dirty Dancing. “Because, the truth is, you had me at hello,” he continued, not daring to look up to see your reaction. Jerry Maguire. “I think you should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how,” he almost admitted, through the infamous lines of Gone with the Wind, and you felt a smile taking over your dainty features. His shoulder’s weren’t as tense, and his voice was calmer, as he knew the words held meaning that he couldn’t explain. “They say, when you meet the love of your life, time stops. And that’s true.” Big Fish. “And, when I’m with you, Y/N. Time does stop. And I don’t know why I didn’t kiss you last night, because I was going to. And I’m sorry for making you think I wouldn’t ever want to, because I do.”

Steve finally took in some air, before glancing up to meet your eyes. He held the paper in his shaking hands, though he didn’t need to read them any longer. You were smiling, the beams from it brighter than those from the sun, and he wanted to catch them in a jar and save for a rainy day. He took a step closer to you, and you decided to let him come to you, the same way he tried to last night.

“I’ve come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours,” he chuckled nervously, coming closer to you with every short step taken. You bit down on your lip, nodding to the words originally spoken from Sense & Sensibility. His pale hand took yours, and you looked up to meet his blue orbs that stared into your soul: oh how you wanted to drown in them.

“And you don’t have to feel the same way. I’m not expecting you to say anything. You can tell me to leave, and I’ll leave. But, if you want to give this a shot: so do I. And if it doesn’t work out…well, in all honesty, it would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.” Steve breathed against your lips, forehead almost pressing against your own. His eyes bore into yours, and he waited for you to push him away.

But instead, your lips curved into a smile, and you remarked, “The Fault in our Stars: I didn’t think you’d seen that movie.” And with that, he pressed his lips against yours. You wasted no time in wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with a smile, before titling your head to deepen the kiss. He was now grinning against your lips, causing you to chuckle from the odd sensation. Pulling away reluctantly, from lack of air, he looked at your blushing face.

“Now that, Steve, should be a famous movie quote,” you smirked, before pressing your swollen lips to his own once more.

[olivemac]

heartbeat | chapter four | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | mild angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence, smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | the romance tropes keep coming, angst, canon-typical violence, mild alcohol use, smut (m/f), 18+ ONLY

master list | AO3 link

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prev chapter

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The months pass slowly, and Kate is content to stay in the little bubble she and Bucky have built. She almost forgets she has to tell Steve about Bucky at some point. Almost.

She wakes one morning in early June with Bucky's arms tight around her. They've been sleeping together most nights, and they’ve both found it keeps their nightmares away. As she shifts her body to rise from the bed, his hold tightens. He buries his face in the curls at the nape of her neck.

“Bucky,” she whines, “let me go.”

He rolls her onto her back and hovers over her, peppering kisses over her face. When his lips finally meet hers, he sweeps his tongue into her mouth and tastes her. She pushes against his shoulders, and he relents, lifting from her.

“Bucky,” she laughs, “I have to pee.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, too, and she loves that rare sound.

"I'm going to shower and start the coffee," she says, slipping out of his grasp.

Bucky flops onto his back and enjoys the smell of Kate on the sheets around him, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. He’s content to lay like this all day, if only Kate would return to bed. Finally, he stretches, happily, and his hand hits an empty beer bottle he left on the nightstand the night before. The bottle tips and rolls beneath the bed, and Bucky groans. He climbs out of bed and slips his boxers on before kneeling on the floor and reaching for it. As his hand wraps around the rogue bottle and pulls back, he feels something sticking out from under the bed frame. When he draws it out, he can see that it’s a file.

He opens it, and his heart stops. The Winter Soldier. His military photo is staring back at him, along with records of who he was, what they made him do.

A cold rage tears through him. He's been so stupid. He let her get close and now she would turn him over to HYDRA.

The bathroom door opens, and Kate steps out, dressed in clean sweats, her damp hair curling down her back.

"Who are you?" he growls.

Kate sees the open file and the hard look in Bucky's eyes. She doesn’t answer.

"Who. Are. You?" He’s on her before he finishes the sentence, his titanium hand wrapping around her neck and slamming her against the wall. “Who do you work for? HYDRA?"

She shakes her head vehemently and tries to speak through his stranglehold. He loosens his grip.

"No," she says. “I know Steve Rogers."

"What?"

"Steve Rogers asked me to find you."

He drops his hand from her neck, and she gulps in air, her own hands reaching up to touch the tender flesh.

“I work for Stark Industries. My name is Katherine Stark. Two years ago, Steve asked for my help tracking you down. I hacked cameras around the globe and ran the footage through an advanced facial recognition software I designed. When I got a hit on you in Bucharest, I came to see if it was really you. I wanted to be sure before I told Steve.”

“Does he know where I am?” he questions.

“No.”

“You lied to me,” Bucky growls.

“I never lied…I….” She pauses. “It’s not like you were honest with me, Sergeant Barnes,” she digs.

Bucky’s jaw clenches.

"Are you going to tell Steve Rogers where I am?" he questions.

She hesitates, then says, "No."

He nods once, then grabs the rest of his clothes and leaves, slamming the door on his way out. Kate collapses to the floor, sobbing.

_____

Bucky paces in his own apartment. Stark. The name feels familiar, but he can’t place it, and he’s too angry to think straight. He loved Kate – loves her still, despite his anger and this betrayal. He clenches his titanium fist so tightly he can hear metal grinding on metal.

In her own flat, Kate allows herself to sob for a while before pushing herself off the floor. She’s ruined everything. She thinks about calling Steve, letting him swoop in to save the day. She imagines him confronting Bucky, talking sense into him, convincing him that she was only doing what she thought was best. But she knows that isn't true; she wasn't doing what was best, she was being selfish when she came to Bucharest. She thought she could save Bucky and now she's pushed him away. She knows Bucky will run, knows he'll disappear somewhere, and she'll never be able to find him again, but she can't bring herself to call Steve and admit her mistake. She doesn't want to tell him that she found Bucky and then absolutely ruined him.

_____

The day passes slowly. Bucky keeps pacing, angry but unsure what his next move should be, afraid Captain America will knock down his door any moment and he'll be forced to confront his past. And what of his past? He's been remembering more and more, writing everything down. With Kate, he feels like the Bucky he was before the war, before HYDRA, but he can't shake the feeling that the Winter Soldier is still lurking inside of him, so tangled up with who he is that he'll never escape the Soldat.

He thinks about the file Kate has and the photo of him stuck to the inside cover – twenty-six, eager to serve his country and prove himself, completely unaware of the horrors his future would hold, the things he would be made to do. He wonders what Kate saw when she looked at that photo. If she read the file then she knows who is really is, but she still let him get close to her; she still let him into her bed and fucked him every night. Bucky scrubs a hand over his face.

And if she knows Steve Rogers, then she also knows about his past – before HYDRA. He's knocking on her door before he can stop himself. When she opens it, he can see that she's been crying, but he can't let himself dwell on that.

“Tell me what you know about me," he says.

She stares at him for a moment before moving aside and letting him in. There's a suitcase on the floor – half-full – and a bottle of whisky on the kitchen table. She pours him a glass, then refills her own. They sit at her kitchen table.

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," she starts, "Born March 10, 1917 in Brooklyn, New York. Father: George. Mother: Winnifred. Sister: Rebecca. Childhood best friend: Steve Rogers. Drafted in 1943. Expert marksman. Captured by HYDRA in '44. Rescued by Captain America. Completed missions with the Howling Commandos. 1945 presumed dead. Captured by the Soviets and used as a weapon by HYDRA. The Winter Soldier."

He knew all of this – bits and pieces of it, at least – but he's gutted by how much she knows, how much she didn't tell him.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

“Steve asked me to find you," she says. After a while she adds, "When my software identified you, here in the Bucharest, I was afraid of what Steve would do, afraid that if you ran again, it would break him. I thought if I could keep Steve in the dark, I could protect him."

"Are you and Steve...?" he trails off, licking his bottom lip.

"He's my friend. I care about him," she says, shaking her head. "But we're not...it's not like that."

"Why did you stay? Why not tell Steve where I am?" he asks.

Kate pauses. She takes a sip of whisky, sets her glass down, and looks him straight in his eyes. "Because I fell in love with you."

Bucky is quiet for a time. "After everything you know about me?" he finally asks.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Kate shrugs. "Because I got to know you – not as Steve's best friend or as Sergeant Barnes or as the Winter Soldier, but as you, just you. You're a good man, Bucky."

Bucky sets his own glass down and stands. Kate thinks he's going to leave, but instead he pulls her to her feet and wraps his arms around her.

"Say it again," he says, looking into her eyes.

"What?"

"That you love me."

Kate smiles. "I love you."

He doesn't say it back, not yet. He wants to, but first he wants to enjoy this moment. So, he presses his lips against hers and tries to convey everything he feels in one kiss.

_____

“What do you remember?” Kate asks.

They're lying naked in her bed, her head on his chest and his arms tight around her.

“Everything. Nothing. It comes back in flashes. The memories sometimes feel like they belong to someone else," he says. “I have nightmares. About the things I’ve done. But not when I'm with you."

She smiles. "I sleep better with you, too."

He turns his head to look down at her.

“I have this dream, sometimes, about the night my parents died. There’s a man standing outside the car window. He’s dressed in all black, but I can’t see his face. All I can see is his chest in a leather tactical jacket and then a flash of silver." She's quiet for a moment before she says, "I was three when it happened so it's not like it's a real memory, just some figment of my imagination to help cope with the trauma. At least, that's what my therapist said."

Bucky is quiet.

Stark. Howard Stark. The super soldier serum he stole. Siberia. The memory hits Bucky like a freight train.

The Winter Soldier stands beside the wreck of the Starks' car. Howard begs for help: "Help my wife, my daughter. Please. Help." The Soldier pulls him up by his hair and stares at his bloodied face. A look of recognition crosses Howard's face. "Sergeant Barnes?" he groans. The woman in the passenger seat is calling for her husband. The Soldier strikes the man in the head, smashing his skull open. He pulls him up and places him in the driver's seat, then walks around the side of the car. The woman is crying. The Soldier kills her, as well. As he pulls his hand away from her throat, he sees the child in the backseat of the car. He pauses. The order calls for no witnesses. She's staring at him, her eyes wide. He turns away.

Fuck, Bucky thinks. He needs to tell Kate the truth. But when he focuses on the soft rhythm of her heartbeat, he doesn't think he has it in her to break that heart. Not right now. He decides the truth can wait. He knows it's selfish, not telling her, but maybe he's always been a little selfish.

So, instead of telling her that he was there that night, that he killed her parents, he turns on his side to face her and traces his fingers over the bruises forming on her neck. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “It was a reasonable reaction.”

"No, it wasn't. I hurt you."

"Make it up to me," Kate says, and she reaches for him.

Bucky slides his hands from Kate's neck over her collarbone and breasts and down to her waist. He rolls them so he's hovering above her. He reaches back up to wrap a stray curl around his finger before letting it go, then presses his forehead against hers.

"I love you, Kate," he says.

She smiles. "I love you, too, Bucky."

Bucky groans as he slides inside of her. Kate's eyes fall shut, and he studies the look of bliss on her face.

"Look at me," he whispers, moving against her slowly.

When she does, she's caught in the depths of his eyes, his pupils blown wide, the smallest sliver of blue visible around black. "I love you," she says again.

Bucky pushes himself onto his knees and shifts Kate's hips upward. "Put your legs up," he says, reaching for her calves and placing her ankles on his shoulders. "Good girl," he murmurs, his hands sliding beneath her knees. Kate moans at the change in position. Bucky turns his head and kisses her right ankle, laving his tongue over the soft skin.

“Say my name, doll," he demands, reaching between them to stroke her.

“James,” she breathes.

He’s taken by the sound of his given name on her lips, and his hips stutter. "Fuck," he groans, and the tight coil of pleasure in his lower belly snaps. Bucky moves through it, keeps his fingers on Kate until she's coming, and then collapses next to her, sighing.

"I love you," he whispers. And he takes her hand in his and holds it over his own frantic heartbeat.

_____

When Kate wakes the next morning, Bucky is gone. There's a note on the nightstand in his neat script.

Gone to the market. Back soon, doll. Don't move.

She smiles and stretches. When she reaches for her phone, she sees a news alert that makes her heart stop: Winter Soldier wanted for UN Bombing in Vienna.

She texts Steve.

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