certified fangirl

bucky barnes apologist

[beefromanoff]

masterlist

Bucky Barnes x OC

Going Under - COMPLETE

as a wildly famous singer's safety is called into question, Bucky Barnes is assigned to act as her personal security. over the course of the tour, their relationship evolves from professional into something more. when disaster strikes, Bucky is the one waiting to avenge her.

_______________________

Project Mockingbird

when HYDRA was still trying to brainwash Bucky Barnes, they realized they needed something to control him, something stronger than a regular human, something they could control too. they started a new series of experiments, ones with a new goal. decades after Project Mockingbird began, only one test subject remains.

_______________________

Tempting Fate

growing up in Brooklyn, Steve and Bucky knew a girl that nearly tore their friendship apart. Genevieve was beautiful, enigmatic, tempting. they made a pact never to let another girl come between them again. now, decades later, Tony Stark has brought a new lead engineer to Stark Industries.

she's beautiful, brilliant, and the spitting image of her grandmother.

as Evie pursues what, and who she wants, Steve and Bucky have to decide if their pact should hold up, or if it's time to give into temptation.

_______________________

Tony Stark x OC

Dream Team

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 29

summary: Charlotte makes her decision.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: HI SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG, I just wanted this chapter to do justice to the twist! pls let me know what you think! also I write faster if I know people are waiting on the chapter so feel free to harass me LOL - I love these two and can't wait to finish out their story with a bang <3

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge @cjand10 @capswife @otterlycanadian @read-just-cant-stop

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

Charlotte never fell back asleep.

She lay there, curled into Bucky’s side, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. One arm was slung loosely around her waist. Their legs tangled beneath the sheets. The world outside their window slowly lightened from pitch black to a smoky blue, hints of dawn reaching into the sky.

She could feel the warmth of his skin, the slight twitch of his fingers as he shifted in sleep. He was peaceful. It was rare, but slowly, achingly slowly becoming less so. When he slept, the crease between his brows wasn't as deep. His breathing was slower. His muscles never seemed to fully relax, but they weren't quite so tense that she questioned if he was fake-sleeping just to appease her. The nightmares no longer came every night. When they did, she pulled him out. Just like he did for her.

Night after night, they'd both begun to stop dreading the overnight hours. Not having to face them alone made the terrors lurking in the darkness a little less suffocating.

But after her dream last night, Charlotte still found herself unable to breathe.

She waited until the light was strong enough to fill the room before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and slipping out of bed. His arm tightened briefly around her waist as if his body resisted the separation, but he didn’t wake. She reached for her shirt, tossed on the floor after he'd stripped it off of her last night. At least he didn't rip this one. She grinned at the memory and pulled on a soft pair of SHIELD emblazoned joggers.

“Where you goin’?” came his voice, still scratchy with sleep.

She smiled as she pulled her hair up. “Not far. Coffee. Walk. Wouldn't object to company.”

Bucky sighed, pushing himself upright and scrubbing a hand down his face. “I’ve got to cover one more training session for Steve this mornin'. Don't know why he books everything at the ass-crack of dawn. Remind me to stop agreeing to this.”

"Does it beat being shot at in active combat, out on a mission?"

"Ask me after the session. We'll see if anyone cries."

Charlotte grinned. “Soft-hearted, sentimental types, all of them.”

“Terrified of disappointing me,” he corrected.

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I’ll survive solo. I might drop by the lab, see what Calla’s working on.”

"Mmkay. Walk later?"

“Sure thing.” She turned and padded out toward the kitchen, bare feet quiet on the floors. A few minutes later, the scent of fresh coffee reached the bedroom.

Bucky closed his eyes again and smiled to himself. In the weeks since they'd reconciled, he'd finally begun to let himself breathe. Stop wondering when he'd wake up and realize this was the only good dream he'd ever had. Day by day, waking up and seeing her green eyes look back at him, he'd started to believe that maybe things would end well after all.

____

Charlotte wandered through the gleaming halls of the science wing, three coffee cups in hand, one balanced precariously on the lid of another. It was her second of the day, fresh from the cafe in the main building. Her steps were light, neutral. She'd taken this walk multiple times per week since she and Calla had become close, coming to visit extra when Sam was away.

She and Bruce were hunched over a data console when she entered. Neither of them looked up.

“Morning, geniuses,” she announced cheerfully, setting the cups down and distributing them.

Calla startled slightly, glancing over with a tired smile as she reached out gratefully. “Jesus, you move like a cat.”

Charlotte smirked. “Just trying not to disturb the mad science.”

Bruce accepted the mug with a polite nod of thanks. “No disturbances here. We’re just monitoring vibrational decay patterns from the last field sample.”

“Fascinating,” Charlotte deadpanned, then wandered around the lab like she had no real goal.

Calla watched her circle past the workbench, then the tool shelf.

“You looking for something?”

“Nope,” Charlotte replied, too quickly. “Just… passing time before Bucky’s free.”

"Ah, young love." Bruce teased.

Charlotte gave a huff of a laugh, then paused as if a thought had just occurred to her. She scratched her temple, played casual. “Hey—random question. When I eventually go to Calla’s wedding, do I have to wear this thing?” She held up her wrist, the fresh green light of her bracelet blinking steadily. “Not really a fan of accessorizing with government-mandated jewelry.”

Calla raised an eyebrow. “You worried it won’t match your dress?”

“Very,” Charlotte said smoothly. “I’m thinking something floor-length and dramatic. Maybe sleeveless. I’ll need my wrists free for all that I plan to do on the dance floor.”

"We don't even have a date yet," Calla laughed.

"Forgive me for being excited about one of my best friends getting married," Charlotte teased. "Did I mention this is my first wedding, like, ever? You know, growing up orphaned and raised in captivity and whatnot."

Calla tried and failed to hide the sympathetic look on her face.

Bruce smiled faintly. “There’s a manual override, but it has to be logged. You’d need one of the release tools from the secure cabinet.”

Charlotte gestured vaguely. “That one?” she asked, pointing toward the sealed case on the lower shelf.

“Yeah,” Calla said. “But again—it has to be logged, it requires two authorized fingerprints. It seems like overkill, but the cabinet has a lot of things that do a lot more than unlocking jewelry.”

Charlotte grinned. “Noted.”

She let the moment hang, then shrugged and sipped her coffee. “Good to know though. Just figured I’d ask before the dress fitting. I assume I'll be asked to be a bridesmaid.” She winked.

"I guess we'll see how much trouble you cause me before then." Calla winked right back.

"Or how much coffee I bring?"

"That too."

They turned back to their screens, and Charlotte lingered only a few seconds more before giving a chipper, “Thanks for the chit chat,” and stepping back towards the doors.

“You just got here,” Calla called after her as she slipped out.

“Busy day ahead! Bye, miss you already!” Charlotte replied over her shoulder.

Bruce stared at the door as it slid closed behind her.

“…Was she acting weird?”

Calla blinked. “Yes. More than usual? Not sure.”

Bruce cocked his head. “Hmm.”

"Like you said, it's young love. It'll make fools of us all."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

_____

It was well past midday when the mission team returned. The quinjet’s engines hummed a familiar tune as it touched down, and the bay doors opened with a hiss. Charlotte stood just outside the compound’s main atrium, arms crossed loosely, watching from a distance as Steve, Natasha, Sam, Wanda, and Peter filed out—mud-splattered, mildly bickering, scowling, and very much alive.

She let herself smile.

The reunion would wait; showers and food were their top priorities. She watched them file towards the locker room in the back of the hangar until they disappeared, feeling something loosen inside of her. Regardless of how dangerous or not the mission was, nothing was without risk. She set her shoulders, rolled her neck, and headed back into the training room. 

By dinner, the whole team was gathered around the long table again. Laughter bounced off the walls, and plates piled with everything from pasta to pierogi made the rounds.

Charlotte sat near the middle, sandwiched between Calla and Bucky, her smile easy but a touch too still. She didn’t talk as much tonight. Didn’t dominate the flow with sarcasm or sharp comebacks. She let herself just… listen. Watch.

Natasha had just finished a story when Sam jumped back in with gusto. "No, no, tell them about the part where you thought the ring leader was the politician's son."

"He looked important!" Peter defended. "Suit, Rolex—how was I supposed to know he was the bad guy?!"

"Because the actual hostage was zip-tied with a bloody nose, being held at gunpoint" Natasha deadpanned.

"And then Sam, trying to be the hero," Wanda chimed in, smirking, "decides to drive the humvee through the fence."

"It was either that or let golden boy here argue with a fourteen-year-old insurgent holding a rocket launcher," Sam said, pointing his fork dramatically at Steve. "And don’t act like the mud bath wasn’t cleansing."

"I still have mud in my hair," Wanda complained.

"Likewise." Natasha agreed. "And I still had fiberglass from the blasted out windows in my suit when we landed. Bulletproof, my ass."

"You’re welcome for the exfoliation," Sam said with mock sincerity.

Natasha raised her wine glass. "To SHIELD's insurance premiums. May they always rise."

Laughter chorused around the table, Charlotte grinning along with it. Wanda leaned across and gently nudged her. “You okay? You're quiet tonight.”

Charlotte blinked and smiled. “Yeah. Just…glad everyone’s here.”

Something in her voice gave the table pause. But instead of teasing her, there was a beat of quiet, and then Steve lifted his glass.

“To being here.”

The others followed suit. Glasses clinked. The moment passed.

As dishes were cleared and too many bodies crammed onto a sectional to watch Sam channel surf, there wasn't one detail Charlotte didn't try to commit to memory. 

Later that night, long after the laughter and bickering had faded and everyone had trickled off to their quarters, the hallway lights were dimmed.

Peter shuffled out of his room in socks, rubbing his eyes and headed for the kitchen. As he passed Charlotte’s door, he noticed a faint glow under the crack. Just steady enough to make him hesitate. It didn't flicker like a TV. 

He paused, head cocked, debating. It was rare for she and Bucky to sleep in their own quarters, but not unheard of. From what he could tell, they’d trade off rooms a few nights a week and spend the remainder alone. Figuring they’d gotten their fill of each other while they were alone for the week, he paused to check on her. One hand raised halfway to knock… then stopped. He heard the tapping of a finger against a tablet, the scratch of a pen on paper, the rustling of covers as if she were shifting position. Feet, pacing. 

He shook his head, mumbled something about it being none of his business, and turned back toward the fridge to get the water he came for. 

____

The sun rose soft and pale behind a thin sheet of clouds, casting the compound in a calm, silvery glow. The smell of strong coffee and melted chocolate drifted through the air, luring the team from their rooms with more success than any morning briefing ever had.

Bucky was the first to wander into the kitchen, hair still damp from his shower, hoodie damp around the collar where it met his hairline. He paused at the threshold of the kitchen, brow raised slightly at the sight before him.

Charlotte stood at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping a pancake with laser focus. A plate stacked high with golden, melty chocolate chip pancakes sat nearby, alongside a pan of fluffy scrambled eggs and an entire pot of coffee that looked slightly darker than usual, but not concerningly so.

"Did we switch realities overnight, or are you actually cooking for a second time?" he asked, leaning on the counter with a teasing glint in his eye.

"Don’t act so shocked, Barnes. Domestic and lethal can coexist," she said, tossing him a dishtowel to set the table. "Besides, I wanted to prove I can do pancakes as well as you."

He grabbed two mugs and started pouring the coffee. "One thing I won't object to being beaten at."

The others trickled in not long after—Steve in his sweats; Sam and Nat bickering quietly about whether he snored loud enough to hear through the wall; Wanda rubbing her eyes, already reaching for her mug; and Peter with bedhead so intense it looked comical.

Everyone paused when they saw the spread.

"Damn, Char," Sam said, eyeing the pancakes piled high. "What’s the occasion?"

Charlotte shrugged, flipping another onto the pile. "Just felt like feeding the masses. You’re all lucky I like you."

"You’re sure you’re feeling okay?" Natasha asked with a smirk as she grabbed one off the top.

Charlotte wiggled the spatula in her direction. "Eat your breakfast and don’t ask questions."

Plates were filled, mugs refilled, and slowly the kitchen filled with the sounds of the living and the caffeinated. 

Steve leaned back in his chair. "Alright, what’s everyone got today?"

Sam groaned. "Two debriefs and a strategy meeting for the next op."

"I’ve got a hand-to-hand class with the newer recruits," Bucky added, sipping his coffee. "Steve, you still covering tactical with the R&D team?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Apparently they want me to test a new kind of shield. Again."

"That went great last time," Peter mumbled, earning a few laughs.

"I’ve got to head into the lab," Wanda said. "Calla asked me to help with some quantum calibration."

"I might run another sim," Charlotte added casually, piling fruit onto her plate. "Maybe go pester Calla afterward if you guys are done. Or I'll come supervise." She winked at Wanda.

Bucky gave her a sideways look. "You just can’t stay out of that sim room."

"Gotta train like you fight, Barnes. Isn’t that what you always say?" She flashed him a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He nodded slowly, but said nothing.

The morning rolled on in lazy, pleasant rhythm until they all pulled themselves from the table and towards their separate responsibilities. 

____

The air was humid with the tang of old gunpowder and disinfectant, a familiar mix that hung in the early morning quiet of the locker room. Charlotte adjusted the straps on her combat boots, kneeling by the bench with a small pile of gear spread around her like a careful arrangement. Every knife was sharpened. Every magazine was full. Her tac vest lay folded with precision.

Sam strode in, a protein bar hanging out of his mouth. "You know you're still grounded, right?"

Charlotte didn’t look up as she double-checked the calibration on her gauntlet. "I know. Just figured I’d give the simulation room a little thrill."

Sam raised an eyebrow, eyeing the meticulous setup. "Looks like you’re packing for a mission, not a sparring session."

She shrugged, zipping her vest as she echoed her earlier sentiment. "Train like you fight. Besides, it’s a Hydra base scenario. Those simulations don’t pull their punches."

Sam snorted, popping the last of his protein bar into his mouth and quickly suiting up. "You and that Hydra base. You’ve run that same sim more than Steve reuses his war metaphors."

Charlotte slung her vest on and flashed him a grin. "That’s slander."

They started down the corridor toward the simulation room.

"You and Calla get anything else planned for the wedding?" she asked, voice light. 

Sam nodded. "Flowers are narrowed down. Cake’s been taste-tested four separate times, because apparently we’re that couple now. We’re between two dates, really just waiting to see when my sister can get her family mobile. Cal wants to hire a company to light off fireworks, I say we just send Barton out into the woods and have him do it."

"Economical, I agree." Charlotte hummed. "Sounds like it'll be beautiful."

Sam gave her a sideways glance. "Yeah, well, you’ll see it for yourself. Pretty sure you’re not escaping that dance floor."

Charlotte opened her mouth as they rounded the corner just as Steve came into view.

"Morning, again." he called, fully suited and star-spangled.

"Captain," Charlotte greeted with a salute too dramatic to be sincere.

Steve shook his head. "Let’s get this thing started."

____

Calla leaned against one of the counters, sipping something bright and green from a glass flask. Wanda sat perched on a stool nearby, cross-legged and relaxed, both of them mid-conversation, laughter still lingering in the air.

The door swung open and Charlotte entered, cleaned-up from the simulation but with a fresh, shallow cut bleeding just above her brow. Her hair was still damp and brushed through with her fingers. She moved stiffly, favoring one side slightly.

Wanda looked up first. "You’re bleeding."

Charlotte waved her off, crossing to the nearest cabinet to snag a towel. "Barely. It’s just a love tap. Sim threw a tantrum. The programmers have it out for us, I swear."

Calla arched a brow as she examined the wound. "That love tap is going to need stitches, even if you keep treating it like a paper cut."

Charlotte pressed the towel to her head and gave a lopsided grin. "You act like I don’t have a whole collection of forehead scars already."

Calla narrowed her eyes slightly. "Sit down."

She grabbed her first aid kit and popped it open with a sigh, already pulling out a suture needle.

Charlotte raised a hand in protest. "No stitches. Just tape it."

"It needs stitches," Calla countered, already disinfecting the cut.

Charlotte flinched but didn’t budge. "It’s just gonna open back up soon anyway. Let’s not waste the effort."

Calla paused, studying her. She hesitated, then set the needle aside. "Fine. But you’re getting steri-strips. Don’t come crying to me when you’re leaking brain fluid."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," Charlotte said, voice light.

Calla applied the strips with practiced efficiency, then leaned back. "You’ve been around the lab a lot lately. Not that I don’t enjoy the company, but…what gives?"

Charlotte leaned against the edge of the counter, bloody towel still gripped in her hand. "What, I can’t just enjoy some quality time with two of my favorite people?"

Calla didn’t buy it. "You hate sitting still. And labs."

"True," Charlotte admitted. "But you are my loophole. Clearly you see my reaction when you come at me with a needle."

Wanda offered her a smile but glanced at Calla, who rolled her eyes.

She returned her gaze to Charlotte, playful but probing. "You’re not here on Sam's orders to find out how much the flowers cost, are you?"

"Please, I only spy for my own kind." Charlotte quipped. "But I am on his side when it comes to leaving the pyrotechnics to Barton."

Wanda’s eyes dropped to the bracelet on Charlotte’s wrist. "Still green after that SIM?" She tilted her head, genuinely curious. "I know they recalibrated everyone’s thresholds after the last update, but still—that run was brutal. You must've barely gotten winded."

Charlotte accepted the compliment with a light shrug, but at the same time tugged her sleeve down over the device with calculated nonchalance. "Feeling peachy," she said. "If you don't count the moderate concussion, that is."

"You know you don’t have to be a crash test dummy every time you train," Calla said lightly.

"But then how would I keep my fans entertained?"

"You don’t have fans. You have a very patient inner circle."

"Same thing," Charlotte said, smiling thinly.

She lingered a moment longer, then pushed off the counter with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. "Well, I’ve officially disrupted your productivity. Don’t let me slow you down. I’ll just hover here and pretend I’m being helpful."

Wanda and Calla exchanged a glance as they turned back toward their monitors. Calla resumed typing, muttering something about data sync delays, while Wanda started scanning over her shoulder, her brow furrowed in concentration. Charlotte tilted her head and thought how lucky she was to have friends as brilliant as they were beautiful. 

_____

The rest of the day unfolded better than she could have scripted it..

After the lab, Charlotte found Bucky waiting near the trailhead, a bottle of water in one hand and her sweatshirt in the other. They walked the perimeter path in easy silence, boots crunching on gravel, shoulders brushing. She listened to him recount a particularly brutal sparring match he’d watched between two rookie agents. She teased him for going soft on the new recruits. He grumbled something about losing faith in the next generation.

The sun came and went behind low clouds, and by evening, the team gathered once more for dinner. Someone had managed to get a pizza order through that didn’t involve diplomatic clearance, and they all crammed around the common room couches—boxes open, drinks half-finished. They’d started the Fast and Furious franchise the night prior and were continuing with their marathon for Charlotte’s benefit. Sam insisted it was mandatory education.

Charlotte laughed. Really laughed. She stole fries from Peter’s plate and flicked pepperoni at Sam when he got too dramatic. She leaned into Bucky’s shoulder when he reached around her. The ordinary magic of it all settled deep in her chest. She could have lived in that moment forever. 

But, as with every moment, it had to come to an end. They went to their separate rooms with varying degrees of mumbled goodbyes. She crawled into Bucky’s bed like she’d done so many times recently. This time, she breathed in his scent a little deeper, let the warmth of his body soak into her bones. She kissed him slowly and they made love even slower. They fell asleep in each others arms. 

She stayed curled against him, skin to skin, letting herself pretend it could last forever.

He was asleep within minutes.

She waited until his breathing evened out, until his grip around her waist went slack. Then, as gently as she could, she slid out from beneath the sheets.

The air felt colder the moment she stood.

Padding barefoot through the compound, she moved like a ghost. In her room, a black duffel waited in the closet, pre-packed and zipped tight. She lifted it without hesitation, not pausing to look around. No second-guessing. Not now.

Back at Bucky’s door, she slipped a folded note beneath it. Just a few words. More than he’d want. Less than he deserved.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she left another note on the counter. A stack, actually—one for each of them. She’d labeled them with care. Wanda’s was the shortest. Sam’s had a small drawing on it. Calla’s was sealed with a hair tie.

The halls were quiet. She ducked low to avoid the hallway cameras, navigating blind spots she’d memorized over the last two weeks. When she reached the locker room, her suit was already prepped in her locker, folded and waiting. Even her weapons were in place.

Every step was deliberate. Every motion rehearsed.

She changed quickly, strapped on her boots, braided her hair up and out of the way. Her fingers hovered over the bracelet on her wrist for just a moment, thumb brushing the seam. Then she adjusted her sleeve and moved on.

Outside, the night was thick and quiet. She set a small remote trigger and waited in the shadows. Thirty seconds later, a motion sensor lit up on the opposite side of the grounds. The guards cursed and jogged toward the disturbance, flashlights cutting through the dark.

She sprinted across the tarmac.

The hangar bay was still and humming, lights dimmed for the overnight cycle. One jet sat prepped—fueled, powered, half in shadow. She ducked inside and dropped into the pilot’s seat. Her hands moved quickly over the console. Charlotte moved fast. Pre-flight checks. Systems online. Jet humming beneath her like a held breath. She dropped her bag, dove beneath the pilot console, and worked by feel. A few wires crossed. A breaker flipped. The Quinjet’s tracking signal went dark. If anyone checked, it would register like a maintenance glitch.

Only one tether left to cut.

She stood, tugged her sleeve up, and glared at the bracelet on her wrist.

The last way they could find her. The last thing keeping her from disappearing completely.

Without hesitation, she drew her pistol, flipped it around in her hand, and slammed the butt into the bracelet.

It sparked. But didn’t crack.

Again. And again. She grit her teeth, feeling time running out before the night guards would clear the false alarm and come back. She struck it again.

The metal wouldn’t give.

"Need help with that?"

Her head snapped up.

Bucky stood halfway up the Quinjet ramp, shadows clinging to his frame, voice low. He was back in his sweatpants and hoodie from the night before.

Charlotte froze. "Bucky—"

"I'm not here to stop you."

She lowered the gun slightly, chest heaving. “You don’t understand, I have to go, I have to—”

“I do,” he said quietly, walking toward her. “I knew something was off. Just didn’t want it to be this.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to try and talk me out of it. I need to do this. I’m doing it for you. I can’t live in a world looking over my shoulder, waiting for them to catch up to us. If only one of us can see a world without Hydra, then I’m going to make damn sure it’s you.”

He stopped in front of her. No anger. Just something deeper. Steadier.

“I’m not here to talk you out of it either.”

He reached for her wrist.

She didn’t flinch.

He gripped the bracelet with his vibranium hand and, without fanfare, crushed it until it sparked and cracked and finally snapped free.

The metal clattered to the floor between them.

She looked up at him, stunned.

“I’m going with you. Just give me a minute to suit up.”

[beefromanoff]

Hey I love your writing- this is by no means trying to be one of those annoying asks but are you okay?

hi thank you so much 🥹😭 i’m okay, you are not annoying and so kind for asking! however, the fanfiction author’s curse is absolutely real and it’s been a wild little bit of time. buttttt trying to get back on my regular upload game for those like you who are so kind to read my stories ❤️‍🔥

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 28

summary: the team goes on a mission, minus Bucky and Char who are...sidelined.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: hello again loveliesssss! sorry for the less frequent uploads, i'm trying to stay consistent on both stories rn and also life is crazy. i have a really big final arc planned for this story and i want to do it justice so pls let me know if you're still with me and enjoying this story! THANK YOU FOR READING!

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge @cjand10 @capswife @otterlycanadian @read-just-cant-stop

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

The hum of the simulation room filled the air like white noise, smooth and constant. Early morning light filtered through the high windows of the compound, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Outside, clouds loitered, heavy and gray, but inside the mood was brighter—if a little charged.

Charlotte tugged her ponytail tight and stepped up to the control panel. Natasha and Steve flanked her, suited up in training gear. Calla lounged nearby, observing with arms crossed and a crooked smirk on her face.

Steve sighed as Charlotte keyed in the simulation parameters. “I still don’t know why I agreed to this first thing in the morning.”

Natasha’s expression didn’t budge. “Because you’re a professional, Rogers.”

"Because you’re hoping to learn some new moves," Charlotte said smoothly, not even looking up from the control panel. "From your two favorite girls who also happen to be able to kick your ass."

Natasha smirked, tilting her head. "Speaking of new moves, how’s the training room extracurriculars going? You seem to be an avid learner these days."

Charlotte clicked a few buttons, fighting a grin. "I like a full-body workout. Instructor is a menace though. I've never been more sore in my life."

Steve groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like he could will himself out of the room. "Please, for the love of all things decent, spare me."

Natasha pressed on mercilessly. "Just saying, I've never trained so hard I broke gym equipment and a doorframe in one session."

"I do what I can," Charlotte replied, deadpan.

"You do who you can," Natasha corrected, not even attempting to veil her allusions.

Steve held up both hands. "I’m begging you. Begging. No more."

His gaze caught the setup of the scenario Charlotte had programmed. His brows pulled together. “Huh.”

Natasha followed his gaze to the screen, reading the parameters over his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Bit specific, isn’t it?”

Charlotte shrugged, casual. Too casual. “Keeps me sharp.”

Steve didn’t look convinced. “Hydra infiltration layout, tiered guards, perimeter breach points…we've done a variation of this every run for the last two weeks.”

Natasha crossed her arms, giving Charlotte a pointed glance. “Coincidence?”

“Totally.” Charlotte met her look evenly. "I mean, how many other global terrorist organizations do we have to rotate through? Our options are pretty limited." She turned and went back to punching in a few things on the monitor. 

Steve watched her, but let it go—for now. He tapped his shield against his boot like he was filing the thought away for later.

“Alright,” Charlotte said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get started before Old Man Rogers starts to show signs of rigor mortis.” She winked at him before walking towards the middle of the massive open room as the holographic walls began to ripple, the simulation unfolding around them. The florescent lighting shifted to mimic a cold night sky, stars hidden behind grey clouds. The smooth flooring was replaced by hard, frozen ground. An ominous building took shape up ahead of them, the infamous Hydra logo emblazoned on the door.

Steve muttered under his breath, half to Natasha, half to himself, “I’m going to mention this to Bucky.”

Natasha’s eyes stayed forward, voice low as they walked. “Good idea.”

____

The common room hummed with easy noise—silverware clinking against plates, chairs scraping back from the long table as people settled in with full plates and superhuman appetites.

Charlotte slid into her seat at the far end, tucking one leg beneath her and snagging a bread roll off the communal basket before it could make its rounds. Calla was already seated across from her, stirring something into her drink with deliberate slowness. Wanda and Peter chatted quietly nearby, Wanda nudging him every time he gestured too wildly with his fork.

Sam arrived last, setting down a casserole dish with the smug flair of a man who absolutely did not make it himself. "Dinner is served," he announced, despite having obviously swiped it from the SHIELD commissary.

"You heated it up," Charlotte pointed out dryly.

"Which is more than Barnes did," Sam shot back, dropping into the chair beside her.

Bucky, seated to Charlotte’s left, didn’t look up from his plate. "I hunt. I gather. I provide."

"You men and your primitive coping mechanisms," Calla murmured, taking a sip of her drink.

Steve, across the table, smiled faintly but didn’t engage, too focused on slicing into his portion like it had personally offended him.

Peter, wide-eyed and earnest, pointed his fork at Sam. "Wait, you actually know how to cook? That’s so cool."

"First of all," Sam said, leaning back with mock offense, "yes. Second of all, none of you get to act surprised after I carried dinner home like a victorious champion. Third of all—"

"Don’t say it," Bucky warned, eyes narrowing without looking up.

Sam grinned anyway. "Third of all, as long as you two stay out of my bedroom, we’ll call it even."

Charlotte didn’t miss a beat. She bit into her roll, chewed thoughtfully, then said around her bite, "No promises."

Peter coughed into his water. Wanda elbowed him, fighting back a grin.

"Sam," Steve sighed, already regretting his life choices.

"What?" Sam lifted his hands innocently. "Somebody had to say it. Whole training wing's still under repair. Maintenance has questions. I have questions. Mostly about how structurally unsound our infrastructure apparently is."

Calla chimed in without looking up from her plate. "I don’t think it was the infrastructure. I think it was operator error. Or operator enthusiasm."

Charlotte raised her glass slightly, like she was toasting the accusation. "Guilty as charged."

Bucky, deadpan, finally glanced up. "You’re all very lucky I like this bread. Otherwise, I’d leave."

"Like you could leave her side for more than five minutes," Sam muttered, earning a glare that was half-hearted at best.

The banter rolled on as plates filled and refilled. The conversation shifted to tomorrow’s mission, the easy mood dimming just a shade.

"We’re wheels up at 0500," Steve reminded them. "Simple extraction. Should be in and out."

An awkward pause settled over the table. Everyone knew who wasn’t included in "we."

Charlotte broke it smoothly, raising her glass again. "Well, some of us will be here holding down the fort. Providing moral support. Making sarcastic commentary. Keeping Sam’s room warm."

Sam barked a laugh, pointing his fork at her. "I swear, you so much as breathe in my doorway—"

"—and you’ll do what?" Charlotte shot back, one brow raised.

Sam opened his mouth, paused, then chuckled as he shook his head. "Touché."

The tension bled away under the warmth of familiar rhythms. They slipped back into easier conversation, plates scraped clean, glasses emptied and refilled. Even as the night wound down, the current beneath it all remained—quiet, but steady.

Charlotte felt it thrumming beneath her ribs, thrumming louder than the laughter around her.

Soon.

_____

They hadn’t been spending many nights apart—not since they reconciled. Not every evening ended in tangled sheets or flushed skin, but they always ended up in the same bed. Sometimes Charlotte crashed in his room, sometimes he ended up in hers. Sometimes they talked until they passed out. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. But they hadn’t been alone, not really, in days.

Tonight, Bucky’s room. The compound was quiet around them, dipped in late-night stillness. Outside, storm clouds loomed, but only the occasional gust of wind rattled the windows. Inside, the warmth between them was dense and steady. Charlotte lay curled against him, one leg hooked over his thigh, breathing slow, dreams weightless.

Until his weren’t.

It started in his breathing—shallow and sharp, chest rising faster. Then the tension came, coiled in every limb. His fingers twitched. A faint sound escaped his throat, somewhere between a growl and a gasp. 

Charlotte’s eyes fluttered open. She tensed but didn’t startle, didn’t move suddenly. She just watched him for a second, wide and wary eyes studying him in the darkness. Then she shifted, bracing herself on one elbow.

“Bucky,” she murmured softly, voice low but firm. No answer. He was too deep in it. Too lost.

She tried first with a whisper, brushing the hair from his forehead. "Bucky," she murmured again, a little louder this time. Still nothing.

Her palm pressed flat to his chest, feeling the erratic thunder of his heartbeat. She gave his shoulder a shake. "Hey. You're safe. It's okay."

He didn’t stir. If anything, his body coiled tighter. Then, suddenly, he jerked—one sharp, panicked movement that nearly knocked her off the bed. Charlotte caught herself, breath caught in her throat.

That was when she knew: words wouldn’t work. Not this time. He was too far gone.

So she changed tactics.

She pressed her palm to his chest again. His skin was damp with sweat, heartbeat erratic beneath her hand. Her fingers slid lower, down his taut stomach, over his flexed muscles. She climbed over him, slow, one thigh sliding across his hips until she was straddling him. He was rigid beneath her, still caught in some far-off hell, but the warmth of her, the weight of her—it cut through.

“Come back to me,” she said, soft but commanding.

His breathing hitched. His hands fisted the sheets.

Charlotte rolled her hips gently once—just enough to stir something deeper. Then again. A low sound left his throat, almost wounded.

His eyes opened, finally. Glazed and wild, pupils blown wide. He stared up at her like she’d dragged him from the bottom of the ocean.

“You’re not dreaming anymore,” she whispered.

His voice cracked. “You sure?”

She leaned down, brushing her nose against his. “Positive.”

He reached for her—grasping, desperate. His hands found her hips, fingers digging in. She caught his wrists before he could flip them, pinned them to the mattress. Her pace didn’t change.

“Breathe,” she told him. “With me.”

He did.

She shifted slightly, lifting just enough to slip her sleep shorts down her legs and off the bed. Bucky’s breath hitched, but he didn’t stop her—just reached for the waistband of his own boxers and tugged them down, rough and impatient. Skin to skin now, the contact finally broke through what little fog remained.

She sank down on him slowly, a low gasp caught in her throat as he filled her. His hands clutched her hips, holding on like she was the only thing anchoring him to the present.

Bucky let out a shuddered breath, wrecked. “Fuck, Char…”

The rhythm between them built, slow but relentless. Not polished. Not gentle. Raw, like something scraped bare. Every roll of her hips reclaimed him. Every movement said you’re here, you’re safe, you’re mine.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” she breathed, dragging his full name out like a lifeline. “Stay with me.”

He choked on a laugh—wrecked, breathless. “You…you keep doing that, I’m not gonna survive.”

“You’ve survived worse.”

His hands cupped her face now, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. “You’re the only thing that keeps me alive.”

She stilled, leaning down so her forehead pressed to his while he was still embedded deeply inside her.

The storm outside cracked, wind howling against the windowpanes.

They didn’t move.

Eventually, she collapsed onto his chest, their skin sticky, hearts thudding in sync. His hand slid into her hair, holding her there like if he let go, she might disappear.

Neither of them spoke. But his nightmares didn't come back that night.

___

The kitchen lights were still set to their low nighttime mode when Charlotte padded into the common room, sweatshirt sleeves hanging down past her hands and hair still damp from a quick rinse. Outside, the world was still a shadow—barely past dawn, grey clouds low and unmoving—but inside, the coffee smelled strong, and the mission team was gearing up. One thing they all had in common was a passionate distaste for overhead lighting, especially early in the morning.

Steve stood by the counter, mug in hand, scanning his tablet with military focus. Wanda and Sam leaned against the island, mid-conversation, while Natasha slid two Pop-Tarts into the toaster. Peter, who'd flow in sometime the night before, was bouncing on the balls of his feet, was trying to stifle a yawn.

Charlotte leaned on the opposite counter, stealing the last clean mug and pouring herself a cup of coffee. “You all look like the cautionary shot at the beginning of a Folgers commercial.”

Sam gave her a look. “That’s because we’re the only competent ones left. Somebody’s gotta save the world while you and Barnes play house.”

“Please,” Charlotte replied, sipping her coffee. “I’d hardly call ‘rescuing the senator’s idiot son from being kidnapped again so his daddy doesn't have to pay the ransom he can definitely afford’ world-saving. Sounds more like community service.”

Natasha didn’t even look up from her pastries. “She’s got a point. The kid practically FaceTimed his kidnappers to give them his location.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t mean it’s not important. International optics, political leverage—”

“Oh yeah,” Charlotte cut in, voice flat. “Nothing screams geopolitical leverage like a hostage who tried to bribe his captors with crypto and feet pics.”

Peter choked on his orange juice. “Wait, what?”

Wanda winced. “I didn’t need that image. It’s too early.”

"To be fair," Nat spoke through a full mouth. "Foot photos from an incredibly conservative and polarizing politician's son would probably fetch a pretty penny from the right buyer." 

Charlotte pointed at her, raising her eyebrows at Sam. "See!"

“I see nothing,” Sam said, splitting the remaining coffee in the pot between his mug and Charlotte's. “Except a mission briefing and an order. Which I follow. Because I'm not benched.” 

“Ouch,” Charlotte muttered, sipping her coffee.

"If you can't take the heat..." he winked at her and began making another pot.

At that moment, Bucky entered, looking like he’d already lost a fight with the morning. Hair damp, sweatshirt loose, and expression set to default scowl. He walked straight to the counter and reached for the coffee pot only to realize it had mere drops in it. The look on his face when he turned was nothing short of a grimace.

“Aw,” Sam said sweetly. “Did the caveman not get his beauty sleep?”

Bucky didn’t even blink. “Keep talking and I’m putting your toothbrush in the toilet.”

"Good morning to you too, sunshine."

"Sam, if you keep provoking the rogue agents, we aren't responsible for what happens to you." Nat warned.

Steve chuckled, setting down his mug. “Okay, okay. We’re wheels up in forty-five. Let's move down to the equipment room.”

There was a pause. Everyone nodded. Quiet but comfortable. Shifting into action mode, like they'd done dozens of times before. As they filed toward the elevator, Sam turned and pointed a finger at Bucky. “And stay outta my damn room.”

“Go to hell, Wilson.”

Peter looked between them, wide-eyed. “Why would he be in your—?”

“Don’t ask,” Wanda said quickly, grabbing Peter by the shoulder and steering him out of the room.

Charlotte sipped her coffee and watched them go, her expression unreadable. She didn’t say anything until the last of them disappeared behind the sliding doors.

Then she looked up at Bucky. “Wanna run a sim?”

He glanced at her. “A little early for that, don’t you think?”

“C’mon,” she said, already moving. “You know I get cranky if I don’t get my fix of simulated death before noon.”

Bucky followed with a sigh, coffee in hand. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I'm just keeping you sharp. You should be thanking me.”

Bucky paused behind her, then reached out and pulled her close by the waist. His voice was quiet, rough-edged. "I should be thanking you. For last night."

Charlotte leaned into him, fingers brushing over the back of his hand where it rested against her stomach. "You already did. Quite thoroughly, if I remember."

He huffed a small laugh, but his tone stayed earnest. "Not for that."

She turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. There was something steady in it. It was open, honest in a way he didn’t always allow himself to be. He wasn’t thanking her for anything physical and they both knew it.

Her hands slid up his chest. "Don't mention it."

They stood like that for a moment, close and still and warm in the quiet kitchen. She nudged him lightly. "You disappointed you’re not going with them?"

Bucky’s expression twisted into a dry smirk. "You mean am I crushed to miss Sam’s impassioned speeches and Peter’s early morning optimism? Devastated."

Charlotte smiled, but didn’t let him off the hook. "I’m serious. I just want to make sure you don’t regret benching yourself."

He shook his head. "I don’t. Not for a second."

She searched his face, but whatever she was looking for, she seemed to find it. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. Good. Sim?"

Bucky glanced around the now-empty room, then back to her. “We’ve got the place to ourselves. Sit with me a minute.”

Charlotte hesitated, eyes flicking toward the elevator. “I was kinda hoping to get the jump on you while you’re still groggy.”

“Sit,” he repeated, guiding her gently toward the barstools at the kitchen island. “We never get the quiet.”

She relented, dropping beside him with a sigh. “Fine. But I'll need a refill.”

He didn’t answer right away, just raised an eyebrow as he reached for the pot and brought it over to her raised mug. Her eyes stayed on the pour, a flicker of tension just behind her teasing smile. He caught it—barely, but it was there.

“You okay?” he asked, casual but careful.

Charlotte’s voice was too light. “Just eager to kick your ass in a training sim. What, is that illegal now?”

His gaze didn’t waver.

She nudged him. “If you make pancakes, I’ll stay.”

Bucky raised a brow. “Chocolate chips?”

“Obviously.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

They settled back in the quiet. Just for now.

___

The sim room was cold and cavernous, echoing with their footsteps as they stepped inside. Charlotte keyed in a sequence at the console, fingers flying with practiced ease. Of all the team members, she logged the most hours training here. Whether it was her distaste for the SHIELD agents, her free time from being one of the few that didn’t assist with training them, or the fact that she was a chronic yes man to all the others and never declined a chance to train with them, it had become her most-frequented spot at the compound.

Bucky leaned against the edge of the console, arms crossed as he looked her over. Her outfit was full combat-ready: black tactical pants tucked into scuffed boots, utility belt fastened with spare mags and two pistols holstered, tight compression top layered beneath a reinforced vest holding a dozen knives at her ribs, shoulders armored, her own version of the Widow’s Bite wrist arsenals on each arm. Her hair was tied back in a high braid, and her gloves were already on. She looked more like she was heading into a battlefield than a simulated spar.

“You know they make training suits for a reason, right?”

Charlotte didn’t even glance up. “And miss the opportunity to haul thirty pounds of gear around for no reason? Sounds lazy.”

“It wouldn't take you ten minutes to suit up if you didn’t wear the full tac suit. You planning to deploy mid-simulation?”

She finished setting up the program and shot him a smug look as it began to whir to life around them. “Train like you’ll fight, soldier.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “You sound like Steve.”

“No wonder you like me so much.”

She turned to the center of the room as the grey walls shifted into the landscape she’d selected. Bucky followed suit, taking it in. “This base looks familiar. Is this…is this Hydra?”

She shrugged. “I’ve been using a lot of their base layouts lately.”

“That’s weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“It’s very weird.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why would you choose to put yourself in this setting, Char?”

“Call it exposure therapy.” She grinned. “Maybe I just like watching you shoot Nazis.”

His brows furrowed. He didn’t buy it, but he let it go.

“Alright, do you want to keep chatting, or can we kick some ass now?”

Bucky rolled his eyes but pulled the guns from each of his thigh holsters and began to walk through the field towards the looming building in front of them. Charlotte took a breath, set her shoulders and followed.

___

Afternoon light filtered through the high windows of the training wing, casting long, slanted shadows over the gym mats and racks of weapons. The place was nearly empty with most of the team on mission, and Bucky now roped into teaching not only his ordinary training groups, but also Steve and Sam's. Charlotte, left to her own devices, was burning through her third workout of the day. After their joint simulation, she'd big goodbye to Bucky and then run the same one two more times herself. Each time, she'd vary the parameters or the circumstances just enough to keep her on her toes. By the time she'd made it to the training room, she was already tired and bruised all over. That was hours ago.

Her breathing was heavy, sharp and rhythmic. Sweat clung to her temple as she finished her another run—twenty burpees, a hundred-meter sprint, twenty pushups, kettlebell swings, a full-body throw against the sandbag dummy, then again. And again.

She paused at the edge of the mat, swiping her forearm across her brow before glancing at her bracelet. Still amber. But barely. Not red. Not even close. Not yet.

Charlotte exhaled, dragging in the humid air through her nose. She was stronger now. Her limits had stretched in the last few weeks—what once pushed her into burnout now just made her tired. She wasn’t Steve, wasn’t Bucky. But she wasn’t the girl that blacked out in the woods, either.

She adjusted the wraps on her hands and moved to the heavy bag, striking with clean, brutal precision. Her hits were faster now. Sharper. Less rage, more control.

The room echoed with the rhythm of her fists.

She put everything she had into every strike.

Train like you fight.

____

Bright lights. Too many colors. The endless hum of slot machines. Charlotte sat at the bar, drink in hand, posture relaxed but eyes sharp.

Across the casino, a senator swept in with six security guards flanking her. Suits. Dark glasses. The works. Charlotte’s entire body went still.

The way they moved. The silence around them. It was too clean. Too precise. Too Hydra.

She stared at her drink. Her hands trembled.

They’ll never stop coming for me.

She finished the glass. Left without saying a word.

That night, in her hotel room, she woke up gasping, fingers digging into the mattress. Sweat soaked her shirt. A knock at a door down the hall made her flinch.

She didn’t sleep again.

Back then, she told herself she’d run forever if she had to.

Now, she knew better.

She wouldn’t run. Not anymore.

The common room was oddly quiet for the evening, the lack of noise and laughter even more apparent at night. Sounds of cooking filled the air, but Charlotte was too distracted to really listen to them. From Bucky's room, the water shut off with a dull hiss, and a moment later, he stepped into the hallway, towel slung low on his hips. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends. He padded barefoot into the kitchen and paused.

Charlotte stood in front of the stove, arms crossed, brow furrowed at the screen of her phone propped up on the counter. A cooking video played silently, all fast cuts and aesthetic angles.

"I don’t want to hear you narrate it," she grumbled at the screen. "I want to see your damn hands."

Despite her frustration, the kitchen smelled incredible—roasted garlic, lemon, something spicy.

"Smells like you figured it out anyway," Bucky said, tugging a shirt on as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Trial and error," Charlotte muttered, still squinting at the phone. "Heavy on the error."

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble, y'know. It's just us."

She glanced over her shoulder, catching his eye with a smile. "Well, I owed you a meal," she said, nodding toward the stove. "You made pancakes. Figured I should return the favor."

"So whatever I do for you, you'll return the favor?" he asked, stepping closer, brushing a hand against the curve of her back. "Remind me to cash in more often."

"You’re insufferable," she said, though the corner of her mouth twitched like she was trying not to grin.

"But charming. And hungry," he added. "Come on. Let’s eat on the balcony. It’s a nice night—and Wanda’s not here to insist we all eat at the table."

Charlotte let out a theatrical gasp. "Finally, some anarchy around here."

They took their plates outside and settled in as the sky began to deepen. She continued to make excuses for her cooking and curse the nearly impossible-to-mimic video, but when they sat down to eat—plates balanced on the small balcony table, a light breeze brushing past them—the meal was damn near perfect.

They didn’t talk much at first. The sun was sinking low, bathing the compound grounds in amber light.

Charlotte nudged his leg under the table with hers. "So, Pancake Chef Extraordinaire. That what you’d be doing if your world hadn’t fallen apart?"

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Something like that. Steve and I always thought we’d stay in Brooklyn. He wanted to be an artist. I always said I'd get a real job, maybe something in finance. One of us would have to be able to make rent."

"I can't picture you in a suit, but I don't think I'd hate the sight."

He gave her a side glance. "Don't get your hopes up."

She smiled into her glass. "Maybe our next undercover job you'll get to live out your Wall Street fantasies."

"My fantasy or yours?" He raised an eyebrow. 

"One and the same."

He chuckled, then went quiet for a beat. "I haven't given thought to what else I'd do in a long time."

Charlotte turned toward him, her voice soft. "I don't know that I ever really have."

Bucky looked at her for a long second, eyes tracing the slope of her profile in the amber light. “You’re still young. Plenty of time to figure it out.”

She smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Young is relative.”

He reached out, brushing a thumb across her cheekbone. “Hey,” he said gently. “You’re not exactly running out of time.”

She leaned into his touch—just for a second—then pulled back with a quick shake of her head, as if chasing away a thought. “Anyway,” she said brightly, rising to her feet and collecting their plates. “Dinner’s not gonna clear itself.”

Bucky stood up with her, catching her wrist before she could step inside. “Hey. Sit down. I’ve got it.”

“You cooked and cleaned this morning,” she argued.

“And doing a few more dishes won't kill me. Let me do this.” His voice was soft but firm. “Sit. Breathe. Enjoy the quiet for a minute.”

Charlotte hesitated, but something in his eyes settled her.

She handed over the plates with a grateful look. “Fine. But I’m picking the movie tonight.”

“You picked last time,” he called over his shoulder.

She smirked. “And I’ll pick the next one, too. Get used to it.”

When he returned, Charlotte didn’t turn from where she stood at the railing, soaking in the last of the light. She just leaned into his side as he slid an arm around her waist. They stood like that for a while, quiet.

Then she shifted to face him, her hand rising to touch his jaw. He was freshly shaven, and she ran her thumb slowly along his cheekbone.

"Char," he murmured, eyes on her lips. "Yeah?"

"I don't wanna watch a movie."

She blinked up at him, lips parting. “No?”

He shook his head, voice low. “No.”

Charlotte's breath caught. “How did you plan to pass the time?”

“Hmm.” His hands slid to her hips, thumbs pressing into the dip of her waist. “Thought about a few ways today.”

Her fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. “Mmm, do tell.”

“I think I'd rather show you.”

He leaned in, kissing her like it was inevitable. Slow and unhurried. Like they had forever. Her hands rose to his shoulders, then tangled in his hair as he deepened it. She opened for him, melting into the kiss as if her entire body knew what came next.

He pulled her closer, hands sliding down her back, under the hem of her shirt. Skin to skin. She sighed into him.

They parted only long enough to breathe.

“I never want to stop kissing you,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Good,” he rasped. “Because I’m obsessed with you.”

She laughed quietly, lips brushing his again. “Let’s go inside.”

He caught her wrist gently. “No. Stay here. Sun’s down. Sky’s ours.”

They lowered onto the cushioned bench near the railing, limbs tangled. His mouth never left her skin—her collarbone, her shoulder, the side of her neck. Every kiss slow, deliberate.

She shifted to straddle him, hands finding the hem of her shirt and tugging it up over her head. His eyes darkened, hungry and reverent all at once. He helped her shimmy out of her bottoms, his own hands dragging at his waistband.

The first moment they came together was soft and devastating—her hips rolling down slow, his breath a shudder in her ear.

They moved like they knew every inch of each other. Because they did.

Outside, the sky turned deep navy, a single star blinking above the horizon.

Neither of them noticed.

_____

Bright lights. Too many colors. The endless hum of slot machines layered over the clink of ice in glasses and low laughter. Charlotte sat at the bar, drink in hand, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. Her reflection in the mirrored shelves behind the bar looked normal. Composed. Almost bored.

But her pulse was racing.

Across the casino floor, a senator swept in with six security guards flanking him. Suits. Dark glasses. Earpieces. The works.

Charlotte’s entire body went still.

The way they moved. The tight formation. The silence around them, the way conversations seemed to bend around their presence.

Too clean. Too precise. Too Hydra.

She turned her face toward her drink, heart pounding so hard it made the glass tremble in her grip. Her palms were slick. Her mouth dry.

A flash of movement at the corner of her vision—a guard adjusting his sleeve. She flinched.

Her breath came short. Her chest ached with the effort of staying calm, staying still, staying invisible. She couldn’t remember how to breathe.

They’ll never stop coming for me.

She left the bar without finishing her drink, tossing a hundred dollar chip onto the marble surface before stumbling out onto the neon-soaked street. She thought she could outrun the feeling. That maybe if she just kept walking, it wouldn’t follow. She kept her head down. Her heels clacked rapidly against the concrete as she bobbed through the crowd. 

Just keep moving. Just keep going. 

She must have walked a mile before beginning to slow down, finally daring to lift her head up. Right as she did, she walked smack into the chest of a suited man towering over her. Viselike fists gripped her arms as he muttered into an earpiece. 

"Ich hab sie. Sie kommt nach Hause.“ I've got her. She's coming home. 

Charlotte sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath, thrashing to break free from a grip that only existed in her mind. Her chest heaved as Bucky sat upright next to her, immediately rubbing her back. 

"Breathe, baby," He murmured, sleep weighing down his voice. "You're safe, I'm here."

She nodded, but couldn't form words. Just kept choking down oxygen. Her hands balled into fists against the plush comforter, grounding herself in this room. This compound. In freedom. She hadn't had this nightmare since she left Las Vegas. It used to plague her nearly every night, making her move hotels, change her hair, hole up in her room for days on end. She hadn't had it in months, and yet here was the feeling all over again. The horrific, suffocation realization that no matter where she went, they'd never stop coming for her.

Back then, she told herself she’d run forever if she had to. She’d burn through passports, disappear, erase herself. She'd stay one step again, stay gone for the rest of her life.

Now, she was different.

She wouldn’t run. Not anymore.

[beefromanoff]

Tempting Fate Ch. 13

summary: all the angst, the tension, the pining, it's all reached a boiling point. now it's about to spill over. a few times.

author's note: guys. GUYS. nobody panic. this is the one. sorry this chapter took me so long! first of all, it's 14k words LOL but second - IT HAD TO BE PERFECT. pls let me know what you think. this is my first time writing this style so let me know if you like it and I'll do more. so happy for our little trio. can't wait to hear what you think ;')

MINORS DNI

masterlist

tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings @jainaeatsstars @mcira @brooklynbear32

The elevator doors slid shut behind Sam with a quiet hiss.

And then…nothing. Nothing but stifling, electrifying silence. It pulsed like a heartbeat in the space between them. No one moved. No one breathed. No one allowed themselves to consider what stood to change.

Steve’s chest was rising and falling like he’d just gone a few rounds in the ring. Bucky’s jaw was set, his hands flexing at his sides. Evie stood in the center of the room; perfectly still, spine straight, chin high, but eyes searching, daring.

They stared back at her like she wasn’t real. Like she might vanish if they blinked. She almost wanted to make a joke. Break the tension. Ask if they needed a blood pressure check. Or a Viagra.

But then Steve took a step forward.

Bucky’s head turned just slightly, but he didn’t stop him.

Another step. Another. Until Steve was standing right in front of her. Not touching. Not speaking.

His eyes were wild with emotion. More so than she’d ever seen from him. Not across the table at dinner. Not beside her on the couch. They were ablaze. Conflicted. Hungry. Reverent.

His hand rose. Brushed her cheek. Slowly, gently, like he was asking permission.

Evie didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She just nodded once, so subtly she worried he might miss it. Before she could think twice, everything snapped.

Steve surged forward, his mouth on hers with a kind of desperate care, like he’d been starving but didn’t want to break her. She met him without hesitation, lips parting, hands threading into his hair, grounding herself. His hands cupped her jaw, so large that his fingertips met on the back of her neck. A shiver went down her spine as she felt warm breath on her shoulder. Bucky. He was behind her, his hands sliding up her sides, one warm and one cool metal, the former shaking slightly as his lips found the curve of her neck.

Evie let out a breathless laugh into Steve’s mouth. “Took you long enough.”

Steve groaned, low in his throat, like words were a foreign concept now.  “We’re slow learners, apparently.”

Bucky didn’t stand still. He grabbed her hips and tugged her back into him, hard enough to make her gasp. Her body arched between them, pliant and electric, a live wire held at both ends. One of Bucky’s hands slipped up under her shirt, calloused fingers skating over her stomach, then up, under the band of her bra. The other tangled in her hair, angling her head so he could nip along the line of her shoulder, just as Steve leaned back in.

Her head fell back against Bucky’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as Steve moved to her jaw, lips featherlight but hands heavy. “God, you two are so—greedy.”

“We’ve been patient,” Steve breathed, kissing a trail down her arm, holding her left hand like it was made of glass..

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky said.

Evie turned just enough to catch Bucky’s mouth with hers, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. His lips were rougher, more demanding, like he had something to prove. Her knees nearly buckled.

Hands steadied her. Steve’s. Always the anchor.

Evie turned fully in Bucky’s grip, hands sliding up his chest as she rose onto her toes and kissed him, slow and deep. He caught her easily, both hands spanning her back as he pulled her closer, chest to chest. His lips moved hungrily against hers, one hand gripping the back of her thigh, the other tangled in her hair. The pressure of his body sent her backward a step—right into Steve, who caught her hips with a low chuckle.

"Easy," Steve murmured, his voice rough as his hands smoothed over her waist. "She’s ours for one minute and you’re already manhandling her," Hemock-scolded.

"You think I’m the problem here?" Bucky shot back, never taking his eyes off Evie.

Steve’s fingers traced her spine. "We’ve got a lot of time to make up." His hands still roamed, sweet and eager, brushing her sides, then down to her hips, slipping under her sweatshirt as Bucky cupped her face and kissed her again, his tongue featherlight against hers as she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss.

There was a strange, almost hilarious awkwardness to the moment. Evie never considered herself overly petite, but here she was, swallowed between the two of them, not nearly enough surface area for their wandering hands. Their touches overlapped, fumbled, collided, and it only made her dizzier.

She broke the kiss with a breathless command. “Couch, now."

Bucky didn’t hesitate. His hands found the backs of her thighs, lifting her clean off the ground. Feeling a sudden lack of warmth as she pulled away from Steve’s chest at her back, she wrapped her legs around Bucky’s waist, clinging to him as he strode toward the couch. The second he set her down, Steve was right there, standing beside him, already fumbling with his belt like his restraint had run out somewhere between the kitchen and the cushions.

When Steve’s belt clinked open, Bucky raised an eyebrow. His gaze flicked to Evie, then back to Steve, a slow smirk forming. “Already?”

Steve shot him a look. “You want to go slow now?”

Evie, breathless and grinning, grabbed a fistful of each of their shirts and dragged them down to her. “Focus.”

Bucky kissed her first, bending toward her with a groan like he couldn’t hold it in. His metal hand splayed across her ribs. The tension in the air thickened; heat, hunger, anticipation swirling like a storm about to break.  She broke the kiss and yanked his shirt over his head, then tugged at her own sweatshirt until he helped her out of it. His eyes raked over her like he didn’t know where to start.

“Jesus, Evie,” he muttered. “You’re—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she teased, cheeks flushed as she learned back in. “Flatter me later.”

Steve was seated on her right side, momentarily frozen, watching the two of them like he was trying to memorize every detail. Bucky glanced over her shoulder. “You good, Cap?”

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed. “I’m fine.”

Evie looked over at him, breathless and smug. “You joining, or do I need to file a formal invitation?”

That did it. Steve stripped his shirt off and she swore his eyes darkened as they trailed over her.

Bucky’s hands were everywhere—down her sides, tracing her ribs, skimming under her bra strap. Steve’s fingers followed, ghosting along the back of her neck, down her spine. They touched her like she was a map they’d studied but never gotten to explore. And now, finally, they were being given the chance to learn her. Where their hands went, their lips soon followed, and her skin burned with the ghost of their touches.

“You okay?” Bucky asked softly, brushing a thumb across her stomach as he leaned her backwards on the couch between them.

“Tell us if you need a second,” Steve added.

“I don’t need a second,” she said breathlessly, the words sharper than usual. Her eyes flicked between them, daring, defiant. “I need you both to stop asking and start doing.”

Steve let out a strangled laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky’s grin was crooked and wolfish as his eyes flicked up to Steve’s. “She said to learn her…”

“So we will.”

They didn’t waste any time. Bucky leaned down, kissing her again, deeper this time, as her hands fumbled with the button on his jeans. Steve sat beside her, eyes dark, hand stroking slowly down her shoulder as he brushed her hair to one side and started kissing her neck.

Evie’s bra strap slipped off one shoulder, caught between Steve’s fingers as his mouth traced the new line of skin. Her breath hitched. Bucky’s hand covered hers on her jeans, helping her undo the button she was fumbling with.

“You’re gonna kill us, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, voice thick with awe.

Evie let out a shaky breath, her voice faltering as she tried to hold onto her usual bravado. “Could be worse ways to go.”

Steve’s lips curled against her neck, warm and steady. “Nothing could drag me away now.”

Bucky’s hand moved to her back, unhooking her bra with one practiced motion. The garment slipped down her arms and was gone before she could blink. She let out a sound—half gasp, half groan—and then they were both touching her again. Exploring. Memorizing. Worshipping.

Then Bucky gently shifted her and pushed her backward, letting her fall into Steve’s lap, her back pressed to his chest. “Lift up for me, sweetheart.”

Evie did as she was told, raising her hips so Bucky could tug her jeans down. Steve took full advantage of her new position, hands flattening over her ribs as his mouth found her bare shoulder. He kissed gently along her collarbone, whispering something she didn’t quite catch but that made her shiver anyway. His hands moved carefully, up her bare stomach and over her ribs. When he reached her chest, he hesitated—just for a moment—his breath hitching. Evie could feel the conflict in him, the restraint. 

She squirmed slightly in his lap, the contrast  of Bucky’s hungry gaze and kisses up her leg with Steve’s featherlight touch making her dizzy. Her hand found Steve’s forearm, guiding him, encouraging him, her voice soft and wrecked. “Touch me, Steve. Please.”

That was all the permission he needed. His hands flexed, molding to the curve of her breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive skin. Evie gasped, her back arching slightly into his touch, and Bucky let out a low, appreciative groan as he watched the scene unfold.

He had worked her jeans off slowly, savoring the way her skin revealed itself inch by inch and covering it with kisses. He was torn between watching Steve explore her and the sheer need to keep going. His hand slid up her thigh, pausing briefly as his eyes lifted to hers. “He’s doing good, huh?”

Evie barely managed a nod, lips parted, eyes fluttering as Steve pinched her nipple between his fingers.

“Look at you,” Bucky murmured to Steve, voice thick with heat and something like pride. “She’s squirming, Cap. Keep going.”

Steve’s grip firmed, growing more confident, fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles around her nipples that made Evie whimper and writhe in his lap.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, gaze dark. “You’re so damn beautiful like this.”

Bucky’s hand continued trailing south, fingertips brushing just beneath the waistband of her underwear. Evie let out a soft gasp, her hips twitching instinctively. Steve, still seated behind her, tightened his arms around her waist, clearly feeling every shift and arch of her body against his.

She could feel him—hard, insistent, pressed right against her lower back. It sent another thrill through her.

“Jealous you don’t have the best view?” Bucky teased, eyes flicking to Steve.

Steve huffed a breath, his voice low. “Jealous you get to see her face when I do this,” and shifted his hand, his thumb brushing teasingly over her nipple in a way that made her breath stutter. A whimper escaped her lips as her hips jerked forward involuntarily.

Bucky groaned at the sight. "Fuck," he breathed, eyes locked on her face, predatory and desperate all at once.

Evie turned her head, catching Steve’s cheek with a breathless kiss. “You can trade places later.”

Bucky’s smirk widened, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of her underwear at last. “Or we could share.”

Steve’s breath hitched at that, his arms tightening slightly around Evie as his gaze met Bucky’s over her shoulder.

“Shift her a little,” Bucky said roughly, already moving to the floor to kneel between her legs. “We’ve got enough room. Barely.”

Steve adjusted, lifting Evie gently so she could rest more fully against the him, her legs spreading as Bucky knelt and tugged her underwear down and off. He tossed them aside without looking.

“Jesus,” Steve whispered against her ear, one hand still roaming her chest, the other gripping her hip harder than he probably meant to as he watched Bucky. She didn’t care. She wanted his fingertips to bruise and his voice to echo in her head forever as he spoke to her. “You’re incredible.”

Evie was breathless, boneless, head spinning.

Bucky dipped low between her legs, eyes locked on hers as his fingers pressed gently into her thighs, spreading her further. She shivered from the cool air on her fully naked body and from the sheer anticipation of what would come next. Hopefully her. 

Steve’s lips found her jaw. “You good, Eves?”

She nodded, barely able to form a sound.

“Then hold on,” Bucky murmured. “We’re just getting started.”

His hands moved with purpose, brushing up her inner thighs, teasingly avoiding where she needed him most. He pressed a lingering kiss to the soft skin beside her hipbone, then another, trailing inward with agonizing patience. As he kissed lower, his thumb grazed just under her navel while the heat of his breath sent shivers skittering across her skin again.

Steve hadn’t let up either. His mouth traced the slope of her neck, lips warm and steady, breath hot against her ear. One of his hands palmed her breast, slow and steady, while the other gripped her upper arm, keeping her still for Bucky. The press of his chest against her back was grounding, the gentle rhythm of his lips against her skin a sweet contrast to Bucky’s growing hunger.

Evie’s fingers twitched, gripping Steve’s thigh behind her as she trembled in their hold. Her body arched instinctively, caught in the push-pull between soft worship and the slow build of fire. She wasn’t sure which way to lean. Which way she wanted more. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his jeans.

Bucky's breath was ragged as he dropped a kiss to the inside of her thigh, voice low and teasing as he raised his eyes to look at them. “Cap, you just gonna sit there and watch, or you wanna lend me a hand?”

Steve stilled behind her, his grip tightening on her arm. “I—yes.”

“Give me your hand,” Bucky's voice was low, tearing his eyes away to look up with a smirk. 

Steve released his grip on her arm and slid his hand down, across Evie’s stomach. Bucky met it just above her bellybutton and guided it lower until Steve’s palm hovered over her center. Their fingers brushed, slow and deliberate, as Bucky guided Steve’s hand over the softest, most sensitive part of her. She gasped—just the idea of both of them touching her there already too much.

“Here,” Bucky murmured, sliding his own fingers alongside Steve’s. Their hands brushed, intentional, intimate. “Start light. Real light. Like this.”

He finally touched her exactly where she needed, drawing slow, lazy circles, barely-there touches that made Evie squirm and moan in Steve’s lap.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed, his fingers mimicking the motion.

Evie whimpered, her head tipping back onto Steve’s shoulder, spine arching.

“She’s shaking,” Steve muttered, voice tight.

“She’ll survive,” Bucky said, watching her face with hungry awe. “Barely.” 

Evie wasn’t sure she would. Her breath came in short bursts, every nerve ending drawn tight with sensation. But God, she didn’t want them to stop.

Her breath hitched. “I—” A gasp. Her fingers clenched, still bunched with Steve’s jeans. “You. Both of you. Just—” Another whimper, her head falling back. “Don’t stop.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh against her thigh. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Steve’s fingers continued their exploration, finding rhythm, growing bolder. His other hand returned to her chest, kneading her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Evie’s breath came in quick, broken gasps as her thighs tensed. She twitched, instinctively trying to close her legs, but Bucky was faster. His metal arm shot out, unyielding, catching the inside of her knee and holding her open as he knelt between her.

“Ah-ah,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, his thumb stroking a slow line along her inner thigh. “No hiding.”

She gasped, eyes fluttering, body trembling beneath their touch. Her back arched again, hips bucking into Steve’s hand. 

“You’re doing good, Cap,” Bucky muttered. “She’s already falling apart.”

“Don’t stop—please don’t stop,” Evie whimpered.

“Trust me, he wasn’t planning on it.” Bucky leaned in to press a kiss to her thigh. “In fact… let’s up the ante a little.”

She barely had time to process it before she felt the shift—Steve’s hand moving up to her chest and being replaced by cold fingers parting her gently, drawing an agonizingly slow circle around her entrance.

“Fuck,” he muttered with a grin, eyes flicking up to her face. He dragged his finger through the slickness, slow and deliberate, teasing her opening without pressing in. “That for me or him?” 

She whimpered, too far gone to answer.

He huffed a soft laugh, clearly amused. “What, no comeback?” he taunted, dragging his finger slowly back through her. “That’s gotta be a first.” He lifted his hand, eyes locked on hers as he sucked the finger into his mouth, slow and deliberate.

Steve made a noise behind her as Bucky grinned around his finger before letting it go. “Damn,” he muttered, his tone somewhere between boyish awe and cocky satisfaction. “With a mouth like yours, I wasn’t expecting you to be so sweet.” His thumb brushed just above where she throbbed for them, the movement light enough to make her whimper. Just enough pressure to make her jolt and squirm in Steve’s lap. He groaned again as she writhed, grinding on him unintentionally.

“Patience, baby. We’re just getting started.” He cooed, drawing a lazy line down before sliding one finger inside her with a slow, devastating precision.

Her whole body jolted. A soft, broken sound slipped from her throat.

Steve’s breath hitched behind her as both hands froze again. “How’s she feel?”

Bucky’s eyes never left her face. “Fucking perfect.”

Evie let her head fall back against Steve’s shoulder, whimpering as her fingers clutched at his thigh. Steve’s hands started moving again—slower, more intentional now as he traced each peaked nipple. Circles that dragged, lingered, teased.

Bucky curled his finger inside her, slow and deep. The combination—Steve teasing, Bucky filling—was almost too much. Her hips jerked, seeking pressure, desperate to chase the wave already building beneath her skin. She let out a choked cry.

“Words, baby,” Bucky said, coaxing her. “You good?”

Evie nodded quickly. “Yes, more, please,” The words fell out of her in pieces—sharp, high, breathless.

“That’s it,” Bucky murmured, gaze locked to hers. “She likes that, doesn’t she, Cap?”

Steve groaned, squeezing her breasts. “Yeah,” he rasped. “She really does.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked, eyes dark. “Wanna feel how much?”

Steve’s breath hitched audibly behind her, hands still gripping her. Bucky looked up, gaze burning. “C’mere.”

He caught Steve’s wrist and brought his hand lower, slower than necessary—like he wanted to savor every inch of the descent. Evie was trembling now, her head tipped back against Steve’s shoulder, lips parted but useless.

“Right there,” Bucky murmured, guiding Steve’s fingers right where his own had just pulled out of her. “Feel that?”

Steve exhaled like he’d just touched a live wire. “Jesus, Buck.”

“I know,” Bucky said, voice low, guttural. “She’s dripping for us.”

Evie whimpered, her hips twitching under their touch. She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

Bucky slid his fingers aside fully, making room. “Feel her. Go slow. Just one.”

Steve obeyed. His fingertip eased inside, tentative, and Evie gasped, arching against him and grinding into his palm.

“Holy shit,” Steve groaned, completely undone.

Bucky watched her face, her thighs, Steve’s hand. Every reaction. Every flicker of pleasure. “She likes when you curl your finger just a little. Yeah, like that. You feel her tighten?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.

Evie let out a strangled noise, half a sob, half a moan.

Bucky grinned. “Good girl. You’re takin’ us so well.”

"More," she breathed. "please,"

Bucky chuckled low in his throat, glancing up at her flushed, unraveling face. “Who's the greedy one now?” His tone wasn’t mocking. It was something darker. Hungrier. Like he loved it.

“Not even two minutes of us being inside you and you want more?” He shifted where he kneeled between her thighs, eyes flicking between where Steve’s one hand was still gently moving inside her and the sharp, desperate rise of her chest beneath his other. 

Steve was practically panting behind her, his voice wrecked. “She’s—fuck, she’s so tight.”

Evie whimpered again, her hips bucking up of their own accord. “Please—”

“All right, Eves,” Bucky murmured, leaning in. “You asked for it.”

Steve shifted behind her, sitting up straighter to deepen the angle of his reach. The movement curled Evie forward slightly, her back arching as she gasped—and suddenly, she could see everything. Her shirtless back pressed to Steve’s bare chest as she trembled, her legs spread wide over his lap, and Bucky kneeling in front of them, broad shoulders bracketed between her thighs, gaze locked on hers.

The vulnerability made her pulse stutter.

The intimacy made it worse.

Bucky leaned in close, cupped her face and kissed her—sloppy and slow, like he had all the time in the world. His tongue swept against hers with practiced ease, coaxing soft, wrecked little sounds from the back of her throat. She clung to his shoulders, barely aware of anything but the heat of his mouth and Steve’s hand still moving inside her. When Bucky finally pulled back, her lips parted in a helpless, silent plea.

“You feel that, baby?” he murmured against her mouth. “That’s one of us,” And then he slid a finger in alongside Steve’s. “And there’s two.”

Evie’s head fell back with a broken gasp, only for Bucky to catch her chin and tilt it downward again, making her watch as both their hands moved between her legs, in and out. Her eyes locked on the sight of fingers disappearing into her, her own body stretched open around them, her breath catching at the visual proof of what they were doing to her. Her eyes fluttered closed as both of their fingers curled inside her at once, fighting for space.r

“Eyes on me,” he said softly. “Look at how well you take us.”

She opened her eyes. Her lips trembled. Her thighs twitched. 

“Shit,” Steve hissed, feeling the way her body pulsed and squeezed around them both. His breath was hot against her ear now.. “You’re shaking, Ev…”

“’Course she is,” Bucky murmured, not taking his eyes off her flushed, parted lips. “She’s got Captain fucking America inside her.”

She whimpered at that, clenching instinctively, and both of them groaned in response.

“Shit—there. Did you feel that?” Bucky asked Steve, tone half-teasing, half awed.

Steve swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Good. Do it again.”

Steve followed instruction without hesitation, adjusting his angle, dragging his fingers in the same slow curve, and Evie gasped—full-bodied, back-arching, pulse-spiking.

“That,” Bucky said, smirking. “That’s your spot, sweetheart. You tell us when we get it right.”

She tried. She really did. But the words wouldn’t come. All she could manage was a strangled noise and a sharp nod, her body trembling in their hands. 

Bucky’s grin widened. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He pulled his finger out of her and gently nudged Steve’s hand away. “Mind if I take it from here?”

Steve blinked, wide-eyed and breathless, but let his hand fall, resting it instead on Evie’s hip. She saw his finger gleam in the low light and her heart fluttered again.

“What are you—” she gasped, her voice strained and breathless.

“Just relax, baby,” Bucky murmured, already lowering himself. “Let me finish what we started.”

Before she could protest—if she even wanted to—his hands gripped her ass, pulling her forward until her hips were perched on the edge of the couch. He leaned in slow, eyes flicking up to meet hers, and that look alone almost undid her.

“God, you’re a mess down here,” he murmured. “All that for us?”

She whimpered, hips twitching.

And then he was on her. His tongue and lips moving with unhurried, devastating precision. He was relentless but playful, alternating between firm pressure and featherlight teasing, just enough to keep her right on the edge. He moaned against her like he was savoring every lick, hands tightening around her thighs every time she gasped.

Steve watched, stunned and reverent, one hand stroking her hair, the other still belted around her stomach as her body started to quake. “He feel good?” he murmured, awestruck.

“Too good,” she choked out, voice shaking. “I— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Bucky said against her, the vibration nearly making her sob.

Steve’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist now, grounding her, holding her steady as she started to come apart. His lips brushed her temple, tender even now. “You’ve got her so close,”

“Damn right I do,” Bucky agreed softly, pulling back barely an inch, still so close she felt his hot breath on her. “Don’t blink, Stevie. You’ll miss the best part.”

Her back arched, thighs clamped tight around his shoulders, hands scrabbling at Steve’s arm as her entire body tensed. She could feel her nails digging into his skin but she didn’t care. Bucky’s tongue moved with maddening purpose, dragging slow, practiced circles before dipping lower—tasting, teasing, coaxing. He alternated pressure just enough to keep her dangling, right there on the edge. Her stomach fluttered. Her legs shook. She felt her breath lock in her throat as her head tipped back, vision going white at the edges.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Steve murmured, kissing her temple, her jaw. “You’re right there. Don’t keep him waiting.”

She shattered—completely. Her thighs clamped down. Her back arched. And her cry was so raw, so beautiful, it punched the air from both their lungs. The noises she made weren’t coherent. Wrecked little cries, gasps, pleas that dissolved into nothing as Bucky held her through every wave, not letting up until her body collapsed boneless and trembling into the couch cushions. 

Steve swore under his breath. Bucky gripped her thighs tighter as he worked her through it, not letting her move, committing every noise, every tremor, every aftershock to memory. He didn’t stop until her body sagged, trembling and spent, between them. A thin sheen of sweat caught the low light on her skin. Her head lolled back against Steve’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as her body trembled through the last of it.

He finally pulled back, lips and chin slick, eyes blown wide with something between arrogance and awe.

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed.

Bucky leaned in and pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. ““Still breathing?”

Steve loosened his arms around her from behind, grounding her gently. “Talk to us, Eves.”

She let out a half-laugh, half-whimper. “Might need...a minute.”

Bucky grinned, brushing away a strand of hair stuck to her cheek. “Guess we found your off switch, huh?”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, kissing the side of her head. “That was...incredible.”

“Mmhmm,” Evie breathed, letting her hand trail lazily over Bucky’s forearm. “So what I’m hearing is…I exceeded expectations.”

Steve laughed again, softer this time. “You could say that.”

Bucky smirked, eyes raking over her with mock scrutiny. “I don’t know. There might be some data missing. Think we should run a few more tests.”

Evie cracked one eye open, chest rising and falling slower as her breath returned to her. “If you keep talking shop, I might change my mind about sleeping with coworkers.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining a second ago,” Bucky shot back, brushing his thumb along the inside of her thigh. “And we’re not coworkers, remember?”

“Could be good for team building,” Steve murmured, completely deadpan.

Both Evie and Bucky turned to stare at him.

Steve blinked, suddenly unsure. “…What? It might.”

Evie burst out laughing, half-delirious, half-delighted, while Bucky just shook his head, grinning like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty, Rogers,” Evie muttered, still breathless from laughter.

Steve’s hand was still splayed over her ribs, just holding her as they all came down. “How do you feel, Eves?”

“I don’t know if I should say—might inflate his ego…” She winked lazily at Bucky.

Before she could say more, Bucky reached over with a smirk and casually lifted Steve’s arm, turning it to reveal four distinct red marks along his forearm—sharp little crescents, already blooming with crimson.

“Think the damage speaks for itself,” Bucky said, voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “And I was going easy on you.”

Evie gasped, eyes wide as she turned in Steve’s lap. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Steve blinked down at the marks, almost surprised. “Huh…I didn’t even notice.” He shrugged, still dazed, but smiling. “I’ll survive.”

“He can take a few scratches.” Bucky grinned. “So can I, if you want to test it out.”

Evie rolled her eyes, letting her head thunk lightly against Steve’s shoulder. “You are insufferable.”

Bucky leaned back with the cockiest smile she’d ever seen. “And yet, you begged for me.”

“Beginner’s luck,” she shot back, though her voice was still breathless and shaky. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, Evie, baby,” Bucky said, glancing down at Steve’s arm with faux sympathy. “I won’t forget the way you felt falling apart for a long, long time. Little late for modesty now.”

Steve coughed a laugh, shaking his head as he curled his arm more protectively around Evie. “Okay, okay. We’re calling a truce before I start blushing.”

Evie turned, planting a kiss on his adorably flushed cheek. “Too late.”

Steve smiled down at her, brushing a thumb across her hip without thinking. “How are you feeling? Really.”

Evie paused, her expression softening as she looked between them. She was still trembling a little, still floating, still so far gone that it was hard to form full sentences. “I feel great, really. I just…I feel like I want…”

“Whatever you need,” Steve interrupted, brow furrowed in concern. “You just say what.”

Evie grinned, her breathing finally slowing. “Again.”

Bucky choked out a laugh. “You’re insatiable.”

“You’re the ones who said you’ve got time to make up,” she murmured, dragging her fingers down Steve’s thigh in a lazy stroke. “M’just keeping you on task.” Steve’s breath hitched. 

“Think you just gave Steve a heart attack.” Bucky grinned.

“Not dead yet,” Steve said, dragging his hand along his jaw. “But give it time.”

Evie pushed herself off of Steve and slowly stood. Her body still hummed with aftershocks, but the glint in her eye was already returning.

Her legs were shaky, her chest still heaving, but she rose to her full height anyway—bare, flushed, glistening in the dim light. For a moment, the boys didn't move. Steve’s arms were loosely draped over the back of the couch, hair mussed, eyes dazed. Bucky leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs, breathing hard like he was restraining himself.

Evie raised a hand.

“Sit back.”

They obeyed instantly. Wordless. Wide-eyed.

She stepped forward, the sway of her hips deliberate, dragging her fingers across her lower stomach as she looked them over. Where she stood between their knees, she sank slowly to the floor, resting on her haunches. The look in her eyes was pure mischief as the flicked her gaze back and forth between them.

She reached for Bucky first, hooking her fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tugging them down with agonizing slowness. His breath caught as he lifted his hips to help her, never taking his eyes off her. When she looked up at him through her lashes, his jaw clenched.

Then she turned to Steve.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling left out, Captain,” she murmured.

His eyes were wide as she repeated the same teasing process, tugging his boxers down with a smirk. When he made a sound, a stuttered breath that bordered on a whimper, Evie practically preened.

Then she gave them each a few glorious, aching moments of attention. A thigh kiss here. A slow stroke of her finger there. Letting them squirm and groan, never letting either of them have too much.

She pulled back, still kneeling, and surveyed them. Bucky looked like he was about to lunge. Steve looked like he was barely keeping it together.

Evie tilted her head toward Steve.

“You were stuck behind me last time,” she said, voice playful but low. “Think it’s only fair I give you some proper attention. Sound fair, Buck?”

Bucky dropped his head back with a groan. “I’ll survive,” he muttered. “Barely.”

Evie turned to Steve, crawling between his knees. He moved to lean forward and kiss her, but she caught his wrists and pushed them back.

“Let me,” she whispered.

He nodded, too dazed to argue.

Bucky watched, slack-jawed, as Evie lowered herself and took Steve in her hand, slow and methodical. Steve cursed, low and guttural, head falling back. One hand gripped the couch; the other reached for her, hovering for a beat before finding her neck, fingers curling tight in her hair as her head moved up and down.

She worked him with confidence, with care, with skill that made Steve shudder.

And then, when he was close—“Evie,” he gasped, barely coherent—she leaned up, kissed the underside of his jaw, before moving back down and pushing him over the edge.

Steve came undone with a groan that bordered on a prayer, his hips stuttering, hand clutching her hair like it was the only solid thing in the world. Evie worked him all the way through it, her eyes crinkled in a way that said she’d be smiling if her mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. She let the silence stretch just long enough to drive Bucky crazy, licking her lips as she shifted her weight, making him watch. 

“Your turn.”

Bucky looked like he’d been holding onto the last thread of his sanity and Evie had just set it on fire.

She was still on her knees when she turned to him, hair tousled, mouth flushed, chest rising and falling with satisfaction. Her lips were parted, her tongue darting out just briefly to wet them as she crawled toward him on the carpet. No hesitation. No pretense. Just her, glinting with sweat and intention.

He let out a disbelieving laugh that caught in his throat; part curse, part plea, as she settled between his legs. Her hands braced on his thighs. 

“You okay there, Sergeant?” she asked, feigning concern as she looked up at him through her lashes.

“I’m hanging by a goddamn thread,” Bucky growled.

She smiled sweetly. “Good.” She lowered her head and took him into her mouth.

Bucky’s head dropped back against the couch with a thunk. One hand gripped the armrest, the other immediately following Steve’s lead and threading into her hair. His gasp was ragged, his thighs tensing beneath her palms.

"Fuck—Evie—Jesus, you—”

She worked him like a promise. Like a punishment. Like she had something to prove. And maybe she did. Maybe this was her way of taking back control, of reminding them both that for all their strength, she was the one driving them to the brink.

Bucky watched her with a look that bordered on disbelief, his mouth slack, his chest rising fast. She glanced up at him again and moaned deliberately, sending a tremor through his whole body.

“Not playing fair,” he ground out, echoing his earlier words to Steve.

She popped off him just long enough to whisper, breathless, “Never do.” And then she swallowed him again.

It didn’t take long. He was already too far gone—too keyed up from watching her with Steve, too wound tight from waiting his turn. His hips jerked slightly, and then he stilled, eyes wide, jaw clenched as he came with a low, guttural groan, his hand tightening in her hair as if he could anchor himself there. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t falter. She saw it through with maddening, meticulous precision.

When she finally pulled back, she sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like she’d just finished something sacred.

Bucky was wrecked. Steve was wrecked.

Evie looked like she’d just won the war, tilting her head slightly, smirking up at them from the floor. She was still catching her breath, glowing with the thinnest sheen of sweat, when the quietest, most inopportune sound betrayed her.

Her stomach growled. Loudly.

Steve froze. Bucky blinked. And then both of them looked down at her, eyes narrowing in that particular brand of overprotective concern that made her want to laugh and roll her eyes at the same time. 

She groaned, flopping sideways onto the couch cushion. “No one heard that. It didn’t happen.”

“Evie,” Steve said slowly, as if speaking to a wild animal. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I’m fine,” she protested. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“You’re still in the middle of something,” Bucky said, raking a hand through his hair. “Which is exactly why you need to eat. You’re not passing out on us in round three.”

She shot him a look. “You assume I’ll be the one who taps out.”

“You almost did about a half hour,” he raised his eyebrows.

“That wasn’t from hunger.”

“I know,” he grinned, dropping a kiss to her temple as he reached for his phone. “We’re ordering pizza.”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but Steve was already getting up and tugging his discarded shirt over her head. “Shh. What’s the rush?”

Evie blinked as Steve’s shirt, massive and soft and smelling like clean soap, settled over her otherwise naked body. The thin sheen of sweat began to cool on her skin, sending a shiver through her. She tucked her knees up onto the couch and folded her arms with a sigh.

“Fine,” she muttered, trying to look put out even as her body melted into the cushions. “But I want pineapple on the pizza. And garlic knots too.”

“You’ll get whatever you want,” Steve said.

Bucky was already tapping in the order. “That’s kind of the whole deal, baby.”

That was that. The pizza order was in. Fifteen minutes later, they had cleaned up and now sat around in varying levels of haphazard redressing: Evie in the t-shirt and Steve’s boxers, Bucky in his own, and Steve with a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips and a hoodie in hand.

Evie squinted at him.

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She wordlessly pointed at the hoodie.

“…You’re cold?”

“No,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Lose the sweatshirt.”

“What do you have against the Yankees?” His brow furrowed, adorably innocent.

“Nothing, but I have a fundamental problem with you wearing a shirt for any amount of time longer than absolutely necessary.”

Bucky bit back a laugh and shook his head. “I think you just got objectified, Rogers.”

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I’ll suffer.”

He tossed the hoodie across the back of the couch and sat down beside her, his bare chest warm against her side. Evie immediately curled into him like it was instinct.

“Better,” she murmured.

Bucky flopped down on her other side, stretching out until his knee nudged her thigh. “So now that we’ve satisfied your no-shirt policy, what other rules should we be aware of?”

Evie tapped her chin theatrically. “Hmm. No pants before noon. At least one of you must be touching me at all times. And I’m entitled to the last garlic knot.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “You’re not even going to pretend to share?”

“I’ve been generous enough today,” she said primly, then shot him a look. “You disagree?”

He held up both hands in surrender. “Not even a little.”

Bucky leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You're lucky you’re cute.”

She grinned. “You’re lucky I don’t charge for the privilege.”

Before either of them could respond, the call button near the elevator buzzed.

“Pizza,” Steve announced, already rising like it was a mission.

Evie reached out and tugged the waistband of his sweats low enough to expose the curve of his lower back. “Make sure they didn’t forget the garlic knots, soldier.”

Steve glanced back at her and mock-saluted with a look on his face that was comically serious given the context. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once he was gone, Bucky shifted closer, resting a hand on her thigh. “You really want those garlic knots, huh?”

Evie gave him a slow blink. “You think I’m not going to replenish my carbs after burning, like, three thousand calories?”

Bucky grinned. “Fair enough. But if you go into a food coma, I’m not carrying you to bed.”

“Liar,” she said, smug.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice softer now. “Big one.”

Evie leaned into him, her smile fading into something quieter. “This is weird, right?”

Bucky paused, then nodded. “Yeah. But not in a bad way.”

Steve returned moments later with two boxes stacked in his hands and a grin on his face. “Alright, team. Carbs incoming.”

For the next hour, they gave it their absolute best effort to descend straight into carb-induced stupors. When they finished, there wasn’t a garlic knot to be found and the only remnants of the pizza were a few discarded crusts. They all laid back against the couch, sprawled and satisfied in more ways than one. 

“So,” Evie said, glancing between them, lips twitching. “Is this how either of you expected the night to go?”

Steve closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the cushions. “Not especially.”

“I thought it went pretty well.” Bucky gave a half grin.

Steve let out a groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Pretty well?”

Evie raised a brow. “Yeah, Buck, I don’t know what you guys get up to when I’m not around, but something tells me that wasn’t exactly your average Sunday night.”

“I dunno,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Could be considered team bonding. Open communication. Several shared goals. A decisive victory.”

“Victory, huh?” Evie narrowed her eyes. “To whom do we award the spoils?” 

“I felt pretty victorious when you came all over my—”

“Okay,” Steve leaned forward, ears pink as he held up a hand. “Let’s not be vulgar.”

“Interesting sentiment from the man who left bruises on the back of my throat.” Evie tilted her head to the side, relishing in the way his cheeks flushed. 

Steve groaned again, covering his face. “Please tell me that isn’t true.”

“Look…it wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t a complaint either.” she drawled, licking her thumb clean of garlic butter. 

“Which is terrible for a man’s ego, clearly.” Bucky chimed in.

Steve dropped his hands, scowling. “You two are insufferable.”

“And you,” Evie said, poking him in the chest, “are adorable when you’re flustered.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve said, lifting both hands in surrender, “I’m gonna go make coffee before this gets any worse.”

Bucky snorted, nudging her thigh with his foot. “Careful, Cap. She’s already plotting her encore.”

“I’m not even recovered from the opening act,” Steve muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Evie leaned back against the cushions, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You poor thing. Just a simple soldier. No match for two unrelenting lunatics.”

“Hey,” Bucky said, holding up a hand. “Speak for yourself. I’m extremely reasonable in bed.”

“Sure,” Evie drawled. “If reasonable means finger fucking before you’ve ever actually taken me on a date. Steve’s the only gentleman left, it seems.”

“I said reasonable, not full of endless patience.”

Evie scoffed, lounging back against the cushions with an exaggerated stretch. “Mm. That sounds a lot like a ‘you’ problem.”

Bucky leaned in, all arrogance and amusement. “Oh, it’s a you problem, sweetheart. You’re the one who couldn’t keep your legs closed long enough for me to ask you out.”

“In my defense,” she said, batting her lashes, “you didn’t exactly give me much of a chance when you picked me up and threw me on the couch.”

“Didn’t hear any complaints,” he muttered, brushing a thumb over a faint mark on her collarbone like he was admiring his handiwork.

From the kitchen, Steve cleared his throat—loudly.

Evie turned her head just enough to call out, “How’s that coffee coming, Cap? Or did we finally manage to short-circuit you?”

Steve’s voice floated back, dry and a little strangled. “I’m fine. Coffee’s uh, almost done.”

Bucky shook his head. “He’s not fine.”

Steve reappeared behind the couch, mugs in hand, still obediently shirtless, hair a little wilder than usual. Adorably disheveled and earnest. Evie’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes met hers.

“Coffee’s done,” he announced as he handed Evie a mug. “We don’t have the fancy machine, but Sam keeps something vanilla flavored, so I used that. I hope it’s close to what you like.”

She took a sip, eyes locked on him over the rim. “Mm. Nailed it.”

“Of course he did,” Bucky muttered, reaching for his own mug. 

Evie smirked. “Don’t worry, Buck. You’ve got other skills.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” He took a long drink of his coffee, then shot her a look over the rim. “And if you’re lucky, I might still take you to dinner.”

She leaned forward, setting her mug down on the table. “That sounds dangerously close to a date.”

“Only if you promise to keep your hands to yourself until dessert.”

“Not a chance,” she said again, quieter this time. “I like you two too much to behave.”

“Yeah,” she said, a little softer now. “I mean—I’m not saying we all need to define anything right this second, but it wasn’t just...fun. Even though it was fun.”

Steve let out a quiet breath, looking down at his hands for a second. “Good,” he said. “Because it meant something to me too.”

Bucky glanced between them, then exhaled a laugh that didn’t quite hide the note of relief underneath. “Jesus. Here I thought she was just using us for our stamina.”

“Maybe it’s a little of both.” Evie turned to him, grinning. “Were you serious about that dinner?”

“More than I’ve ever been before.” His gaze didn’t break from hers. 

Biting her lip to quell the smile blooming across her face, she turned to look at Steve. “What about you, Captain?”

“What about me?” His returning smile was world-endingly sweet.

“Would you care to join us? Or have you had your fill of dinner dates with me already?”

“Evie,” He leaned forward, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t think I will ever get my fill of anything involving you.”

Holy shit. Her heart fluttered so much she was almost concerned for its ability to continue beating. His gaze was so earnest, so pure, so precious. She wanted to grab his face and kiss every square inch of it. On her other side, Bucky. His gaze was…different. Warmer than she’d ever seen it, but intense as hell. The way he watched her, she felt certain that he clocked every miniscule movement she made, down to the twitch of her lips as another smile began to spread. She held his gaze for a second longer before breaking it to sip her coffee before she wilted between them.

“So… what now?” Bucky’s voice dipped a little softer.

Evie looked back at him. Then at Steve. “You mean, like… was this a one-time thing?”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Well…we’re not exactly following protocol.”

“Good thing I’ve never cared about protocol,” Bucky said.

Evie chewed her bottom lip, shifting on the couch. “I don’t want it to be a one-time thing.”

“Neither do I,” Steve said.

Bucky nodded. “Me either.”

A pause.

Then Steve cleared his throat, eyeing the pile of clothes on the floor. “Are we… supposed to tell anyone?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You want to send out a newsletter?”

Evie grinned. “We could title it Teamwork Makes the Dream Work. Maybe make it into one of Cap’s video PSA’s?”

Steve made a sound of utter despair and dropped his face into his hands.

Bucky, to his credit, nodded solemnly. “I’d subscribe.”

After another half hour or so, conversation and laughter had ebbed into quiet—comfortable, lingering silence broken only by the hum of the city beyond the windows and the soft, syncopated rhythm of their breathing. They’d all melted into each other; Evie laying back against Steve, with Bucky leaning against her bent knees.

Evie tilted her head, cheek brushing Steve’s arm he’d draped over her as she looked between them. “Did you ever think about it?”

Bucky blinked down at her, lazily drawing patterns on her thigh. “Think about what?”

She let a beat stretch just long enough to make them both squirm, then said, “What it’d be like. Your first time with me. Either of you.”

Steve made a sound that was mostly a choke.

Bucky raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You trying to kill him again?”

Evie smirked. “I just think it’s sweet. One of you, at least.”

Steve cleared his throat, clearly debating whether to answer. But then his voice emerged, soft and sincere. “I didn’t think it’d ever really happen. But yeah... I thought about it.”

“Yeah?” Evie turned fully toward him, chin on his chest now, watching his expression. “What did you picture?”

He was quiet for a second. Then, “That I’d mess it up. Or rush it. That you’d change your mind. I didn’t think I’d get to have this with you. Not really.”

Something in her expression softened. She reached up and brushed a thumb over his cheekbone. “You didn’t mess it up.”

Bucky’s voice was low and teasing. “I feel like I deserve some of the credit for that.”

“You want to be next?” Evie murmured, shifting her gaze.

Bucky met her eyes. “I figured I’d ruin everything the second I touched you. That I wouldn’t be able to stop once I started.”

Her breath caught, but she masked it with a half smile. “And now that you’ve started?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened slightly. “I’m still not sure I can stop.”

The air between them shifted again, softer now, sweeter. Evie’s fingers slid up to the back of Steve’s neck, her other hand brushing along Bucky’s arm. She didn’t smile this time—just looked between them.

“So what do you want it to be like?” she asked, voice quieter now. “If we do it, all of it. Right. Slow.”

Bucky exhaled slowly. Steve swallowed. Neither of them met her eyes.

Then, gently, Steve said, “I’d…want you to feel everything. No rush. Just…real.”

Bucky nodded once, voice almost a murmur. “Let us show you what slow feels like.”

Evie’s lips curved—not in a smirk this time, but something smaller. Surer.

She leaned in, brushing her mouth against Steve’s, then Bucky’s, pressing the softest kisses to their lips. “You guys have another round in you?”

Bucky leaned his head back against the couch, smirking up at the ceiling. “Depends if that’s an offer.”

Evie tilted her head, mock-innocent. “Just curious. Wondering what your strategy would be if you were going to try something tonight.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You want our tactics?”

“Mmhmm.” She stretched, deliberately lazy, her bare legs brushing across Bucky’s lap. “Purely hypothetical, of course.”

Bucky glanced at Steve. “You hearing this?”

Steve’s grin was slow, more confident now. “Loud and clear.”

“Alright then.” Bucky shifted, one arm draped along the back of the couch behind her. “If we were going there tonight…”

“If,” Evie repeated, nodding solemnly.

“...I’d probably start by slowly taking Steve’s t-shirt off you.” His hand moved, featherlight at first, brushing the hem of the shirt she’d stolen. “Nice and easy.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but Bucky was already pushing the fabric up, slipping it over her head with a gentleness that made her breath catch.

Steve hummed. “I’d probably start with your legs.”

“Oh?” Her voice wavered slightly.

“I’d want them over mine again,” he murmured, guiding her to shift until she was straddling his lap. “Just like this.”

Bucky’s hand slid down her spine. “Good view from here.”

Evie swallowed hard, her arms looping loosely around Steve’s neck.

Steve leaned in, his mouth brushing her collarbone. “Then maybe I’d trail a few kisses down your chest. Just so you’re warmed up.”

“Hypothetically,” she whispered.

“Of course.” He whispered it against her chest, kissing directly over her heart before moving to each of her breasts.

Bucky’s hands found her hips, gripping her tightly from behind. “Then I’d get my hands on you. Keep ‘em there this time.”

Evie blinked, dazed, head rolling slightly back as he kissed her neck. “That sounds… efficient.”

“Strategic,” Bucky corrected.

Steve laughed softly against her skin, hands sliding up her back. “Some would say we’re…ttactical experts.”

Evie’s voice was thinner now, her composure cracking. “This is some really compelling…theory work.”

Bucky leaned forward, mouth brushing her shoulder. “Sweetheart…we haven’t even gotten to the field test yet.”

Evie’s breath hitched, her fingers flexing against Steve’s shoulders. “And what happens…in the field test?”

“Depends how cooperative you are,” Bucky murmured, lips grazing the curve of her shoulder as he brushed her hair away. “You like taking orders, Eves?”

“Depends on who’s giving them,” she whispered.

Steve’s hand drifted to her thigh, slow and warm. “You trust us to handle you right?”

Her response was a shaky nod. Her voice had abandoned her.

“Good girl,” Bucky said, barely audible, fingers sliding over her ribs. “Then I’d say it’s time we—”

“—escalate the operation?” Steve offered.

Evie let out a strangled laugh, breathless and on edge. “God, you two and your damn mission metaphors.”

“What can we say?” Bucky grinned against her skin. “We’re professionals.”

Steve nudged her nose with his, his voice low. “We just want to make you feel good.”

She melted a little more, spine loosening, legs widening slightly over Steve’s lap. Bucky noticed. His hand followed.

“If this were real,” he said, tone gravelly, “we’d take our time.”

Steve spoke between kisses to her collarbone. “We’d let you feel…everything.”

“And we’d make sure you knew—” Bucky paused, brushing her hair back from her neck and kissing her so softly a shiver ran down her spine. “—how wanted you are.”

Evie opened her eyes and looked right at Steve, tilting his chin up to get his full attention. Her voice was a rasp now, all bravado stripped away. “It is real. Please, make it real.”

A beat passed. Then Bucky leaned in, kissed her temple, her cheekbone, the edge of her mouth. Steve pressed a hand to her chest, right over her heart.

“Say the word,” Steve murmured, his voice like velvet. “And we’ll start.”

Evie’s hands found both their cheeks, tugging them closer, forehead pressed to Steve’s, lips brushing Bucky’s.

“Show me what slow feels like.”

Evie felt their weight shift around her—Bucky moving back to make room, Steve gently lifting her and laying her down across the cushions. She had two soldiers at her mercy and yet somehow felt like the one surrendering. Propping herself up on her elbows, she felt oh so vulnerable, yet oh so safe all at once. 

“Hypothetically…” she murmured, voice delicate now, “...who goes first?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You trying to start a fight?”

Steve frowned, clearly not having thought this far. “We could flip a coin.”

“Sounds like the least violent way to settle it,” Bucky rubbed his jaw, looking down at her. “But knowing you, Eves, you’d just pick for us.”

Her mouth curled into a lazy smile. “Maybe I like the power.”

“We noticed,” Steve murmured, taking her leg in his hand and kissing her knee. “And I like that about you.”

“But right now,” Bucky added, fingers trailing down the inner thigh of her other, “you don’t have to do anything.”

Evie drew in a slow breath.

Bucky leaned forward, kneeling down beside the couch, and kissed the center of her chest, soft and slow. “Just let us.”

Steve’s hands traveled her sides like he was memorizing her shape, his touch featherlight, grounding her. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”

The air shifted then—warmth giving way to something heavier. A hush that wasn’t silence. A reverence that wasn’t hesitation. It was holy, almost, the way their hands moved across her skin like she was something to be worshipped. Not possessed, but cherished.

Evie was silent for once. Breathless. Floating.

Bucky’s voice was lower now, lips trailing down her stomach. “We’ll take our time.”

Steve kissed her shoulder again. “We’ve got all night.”

She was stretched out before them—Bucky knelt beside her, hands tracing up and down her body. Steve sat between her legs, his hands smoothing up her thighs in long, deliberate strokes.

Neither man was in a hurry.

“God, look at her,” Bucky murmured, eyes raking over every inch of her. “You ever seen anything like it?”

“Not once,” Steve said softly, almost to himself.

Evie flushed, biting her lip. They weren’t teasing now. They were in awe.

“You okay?” Steve asked, eyes flicking to hers as he trailed kisses up her inner thigh.

She nodded, slow and certain.

“Good?” Bucky asked, lips ghosting over her neck.

“Great,” she whispered.

Steve tightened his arms around her legs, anchoring her in place. “That’s our girl.”

Bucky smiled, just a faint tug at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s make her feel it.”

Steve pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh again, then higher, taking his time. Bucky nuzzled into her neck, brushing her hair back so he could kiss the skin beneath it. His hand splayed over her stomach and ribs—cool and light, comforting, grounding.

They were talking like she wasn’t even there, but not in a careless way. It was intimate. Like they couldn’t stop admiring her long enough to speak directly to her.

“She’s so warm,” Bucky said, voice low as his hands stroked the curve of her breast. “Every time I touch her, it’s like she melts.”

“I might be addicted,” Steve’s voice was desperate as he made his way closer and closer to where she needed him.

“Right there with you,” Bucky murmured. “She’ll ruin us.”

Evie let out a quiet whimper, and Bucky looked up.

“You still with us, Ev?”

She nodded, dazed, eyes closed. “Feels… good.”

Steve chuckled. “Not even doing anything yet.”

“We’re just getting started,” Bucky added.

Steve leaned in then, slow and sure, and kissed her—there—with the same sweetness he’d kissed her mouth. No rush. No teasing. Just devotion.

Bucky kept her grounded, lips trailing along her shoulder as one hand came up to brush over her pounding heart. “She’s trembling,” he whispered.

“She’s perfect,” Steve answered, the vibration of his voice nearly making her buck her hips towards him. Evie exhaled shakily.

“Easy,” Steve soothed, stroking her legs while he planted the softest, most teasing kisses to the exact spot he knew had made her fall apart earlier. “We’ve got you.”

“I wanna see her eyes roll back again,” Bucky murmured, looking up at Steve. “Real slow.”

“Together?”

“Always.”

Evie was already breathless, eyes glazed with pleasure, when Bucky pulled back just slightly. “Let’s lie her down,” he said, glancing up at Steve with a quiet nod. “Give her a little more room to squirm.”

Steve was already moving, gentle as ever, easing his arms out from under her legs. “You okay if we move you, sweetheart?”

She nodded, a soft, “Yeah,” slipping past her lips.

They shifted her with quiet coordination, helping her lie fully back against the cushions, Bucky guiding her hips as her legs stretched out fully as Steve moved from between them. She sprawled across the couch now, long and languid and utterly undone, her hair spilling across the throw pillow, skin flushed in the warm light.

Bucky settled between her legs this time. Steve took his place, kneeling on the ground beside her head, stroking a hand through her hair as he leaned over to press a kiss to her temple.

“I wanna watch you fall apart,” Bucky murmured again, more to himself than to her.

And then he was kissing her thighs—slow, sloppy—making his way up with a patience that bordered on reverent. His mouth met her gently at first, soft pressure and featherlight flicks, just enough to make her hips rise instinctively. She whimpered so pathetically she would have hated herself if she weren’t floating in bliss already.

Steve stayed close to her face, brushing hair back, peppering kisses along her cheek and jaw. “You’re okay,” he whispered, hand cradling her head like she was precious. “We’ve got you.”

She whimpered, arching when Bucky’s mouth moved lower, deeper, finally tasting her like he couldn’t help himself. His tongue flattened against her as he took a slow, wet lick right up her center. A full out moan escaped her mouth as her back arched.

“God,” Steve whispered, watching her reaction. “You’re incredible.”

Evie gasped, hips jerking. One of Bucky’s hands pressed her thigh open again, his other arm curling beneath her leg to keep her steady. Every movement was patient. Deliberate.

“She’s shaking so bad,” Steve said again, voice awed.

Bucky glanced up from between her thighs, lips shining, eyes dark. “Could get used to thie sight.”

Evie’s fingers curled into the couch cushions, head turning toward Steve. Words didn’t come, but her eyes were pleading, desperate.

Steve smiled, brushing his thumb gently across her cheek. “You’re safe, Evie. Be patient, pretty girl. Just let it happen.”

Bucky kept going, now with a slow, rhythmic pressure of his added finger that made her come apart one breath at a time. All at once, her whole body arched, back bowing off the cushions, breath hitching with every pulse. And just like they wanted, she fell apart—her legs trembling, mouth parting with a soft cry as her climax swept over her in waves.

“There it is,” Bucky coaxed against her. “So fucking beautiful.”

Steve caught her hand, holding it and grounding her as her body trembled through it.

Bucky didn’t stop until her thighs twitched in earnest, until she whimpered from oversensitivity and tried to shift away. Only then did he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and falling into the couch cushion, watching her chest rise and fall with each ragged breath.

“You still with us?” Steve murmured, kissing her temple again.

Evie opened her eyes slowly, dazed and glowing. “That was…wow. Was…a lot.”

Bucky grinned. “Good ‘lot’ or bad ‘lot’?”

“Best kind of ‘lot,’” she whispered.

Evie was still catching her breath when she opened her eyes, lids heavy and lashes damp. But even through the haze, her gaze found Steve’s—locked and sure.

“I want more,” she whispered, voice raw and quiet but firm.

Steve’s breath caught audibly in his chest. His hand had never stopped stroking her hair, but now it paused, like he was steeling himself.

Bucky exhaled a soft laugh. “Greedy girl.”

Evie’s lips curved shyly. “Can you blame me?”

Bucky leaned back, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “Alright,” he said slowly, then turned to Steve. “You’re up, Cap.”

Steve’s eyes widened, throat working as he swallowed. “Me?”

“You were behind her for half the damn night,” Bucky said, voice dry but not unkind. “Figured I’d be a gentleman. I got to taste her. You get to—” he waved a lazy hand in the air, “—do the honors.”

Steve looked down at Evie, utterly silent for a moment, then leaned in close enough for their foreheads to touch. “You sure?”

Evie reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek. “I’m sure.”

He exhaled slowly, then kissed her—slow and steady, like he was sealing the moment into something sacred. And then, without a word, he scooped her into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh,” she gasped, startled but grinning, her arms wrapping around his neck. “We’re doing this, huh?”

“Not the couch,” Steve said, his voice low and certain. “Not for the first time.”

Evie’s breath caught. Her head tucked into the curve of his neck, but her hand reached out blindly, fingers brushing until they found Bucky’s.

“You’re coming too,” she murmured.

Bucky was already rising, his grin lazy but his eyes warm as he laced their fingers together. “You think I’m letting you two have all the fun?”

Together, they crossed the room—Steve steady and strong with Evie in his arms, Bucky at their side, leg by their joined hands. As Steve’s bedroom door swung open, it felt less like the start of something wicked and more like the continuation of something quietly, undeniably, painfully good.

Leaning down over his perfectly made bed, Steve laid Evie ever-so-gently onto her back. The air was thick with anticipation, both of their eyes locked on her from where they stood beside the bed. Rolling onto her side, Evie reached for the hem of Steve’s sweats and tugged them down, her heavy-lidded stare locked with his the whole time. When they’d dropped to the ground, she rolled onto her back again, watching them devour her naked body with their eyes. 

“C’mere,” she breathed. In an instant, two large, male bodies hovered over her. Steve was more central, kneeling between her legs, one hand planted beside her head to keep his weight off of her, the other cupping her jaw. Bucky was on her left side, all kisses and light touches to her collarbone as he let Steve take the reins. Above her, Steve lowered to take one of her nipples into his mouth, his tongue tracing the outside before his teeth bit down just enough to make her cry out in want for more. His touches were tantalizing, but always just a fraction too light, too fast to give her what she wanted more by the second. He was still holding back.

“She’s not gonna break,” Bucky murmured, dragging his knuckles lightly along her hip, then up to her stomach. “But if you’re scared, take your time. You’ve got her now.”

Steve moved back up and kissed her, then again—longer, deeper. Their tongues met at the edge of the kiss, dancing, before she opened her mouth to invite him further. He obliged. His tongue claimed her mouth, every bit as exploratory as his hands had been on her body. Evie melted into it, her fingers curling into his shoulders. She ignored the voice in her head that kept cheering from the recesses of her mind. I’m making out with Captain America!

She held his jaw as the pace slowed, giving him a final kiss before letting her hands slip off of his jaw. He trailed kisses down her body as he moved lower and settled between her legs. He was slow, careful, every move laced with intention. His hand brushed down her thigh, then up again, ghosting along the inside, drawing a soft sigh from her lips.

“Touch her,” Bucky said gently. “Let her guide you. Just follow her lead.”

Steve’s fingers slipped between her thighs and Evie gasped—more from the tenderness than the pressure. Her legs widened instinctively, welcoming. He traced a line up and down through her. “Fuck,” his head lolled back as he felt how ready she was. Slowly, he slid one finger inside of her. She moaned, pushing her hips into his palm. 

Evie sighed, already squirming. Her fingers curled around the sheets as he added a second finger, drawing lazy circles with his thumb. It was good—so good—but her hips rocked toward him, urging him for more.

“Easy,” Steve murmured. “You’re already…so wet.” His voice was strained, rough around the edges. “Just want to make sure you’re ready.”

“I’m so ready,” she whispered, but her voice caught as his fingers crooked slightly inside her. The stretch was enough to make her legs twitch, but not enough to satisfy.

From beside her, Bucky chuckled low in his throat. He brushed a hand through her hair, stroking her like she was something precious and unruly. “You’re not even trying to hide how desperate you are, huh?”

“I am desperate,” she breathed, arching her hips toward Steve. “He’s taking his sweet time—”

“You want him to wreck you,” Bucky murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “But he wants to make it perfect.”

Steve added a third finger, watching her closely as she tensed, then slowly relaxed again. He moved deliberately, giving her time, keeping his thumb working steady circles as he eased her open.

“You’re doing so good, Eves,” he said softly, sweat beading at his brow from the sheer effort it was taking to hold back. “Almost there.”

She whimpered, caught between Bucky’s soothing hand at her cheek and the relentless care of Steve’s hands between her thighs. Her back arched, head pressing into the pillows as the pressure built, coiling tight.

“Tell me what you need,” Steve whispered, voice hoarse.

Evie’s eyes fluttered open, blown-wide pupils locking onto his.

“Now,” she gasped, breathless and shaking. “I need you—all of you. Please.”

The second she said it—now, all of you, please—something shifted in Steve. His eyes darkened, jaw tight, but his touch remained gentle as he withdrew his fingers, glancing down to make sure she was ready.

Evie reached for him the moment he moved, legs falling open in invitation, urgency thrumming through every inch of her.

Steve lined himself up, one hand on her thigh, the other braced near her ribs. He paused, eyes flicking to hers for one last check. Her answer was a nod—eager, trembling—and she pulled him down for a kiss as he started to push in.

Evie’s mouth fell open, a stunned breath catching in her throat as her body stretched around him—more than she was expecting, more than she’d ever felt. Steve pressed his forehead to her shoulder, trembling with restraint, and she clenched her hands against his back.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve groaned, voice frayed. “Are you okay?”

Bucky’s hand was already at her hairline, stroking gently. “Breathe, Evie. Deep breath, baby. That’s it.”

She exhaled shakily, then sucked in another breath, nodding—barely.

Steve tried to pull back, concern written all over his face, but Evie’s hands locked around his waist.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, wrecked. “Just… give me a second.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to her temple, murmuring soft encouragement. “You’re doing so good. That’s the worst of it, I promise.”

“Jesus, you’re—” Steve’s jaw was clenched like he was holding himself back from moving an inch. “You feel like heaven, Evie. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “I want this.”

Her body slowly adjusted, the sharp stretch giving way to a deep, full ache. She relaxed into it, her breath evening out, and Steve began to move—just a little, a careful test. Evie whimpered, half pain, half pleasure, and Bucky caught her mouth in a kiss to ground her, slow and anchoring.

“She’s with you,” Bucky said quietly to Steve, hand stroking her ribs. “You feel her? She’s good. She’s so good.”

Steve didn’t answer with words—just a gutteral sound as he began to move again, slow, careful thrusts that let her feel every inch of him.

Evie gasped softly, her hand tightening on Bucky’s.

“Good girl,” Bucky whispered, kissing her again, slow and messy. “You’re taking him so well.”

Steve’s pace stayed slow, but his breath had gone ragged, chest rising and falling in short bursts. Evie could feel him shaking, feel the respect and restraint in every movement like it cost him something not to fall apart right then and there.

Bucky’s hand stayed wrapped in hers, his thumb rubbing slow circles into the back of her hand like he was trying to anchor her. When Steve adjusted his angle, hitting deeper, more deliberate now, Evie gasped—and turned toward Bucky on instinct.

He met her with a kiss. Soft. Open-mouthed. Unhurried. He swallowed her sounds like they were precious, like they were just for him.

“You’re so good for us,” Bucky murmured against her lips, voice wrecked and low. “You’re takin’ him so well.”

Steve groaned above her, his hips stuttering slightly. “You have no idea how good she feels.”

Evie’s legs tightened around Steve’s hips without meaning to, her body reacting to the combination of words and movement and touch. Her hand gripped Bucky’s tighter, nails digging into his palm as Steve picked up the pace just slightly—still careful, still tender, but more confident now.

“You okay?” Steve whispered, voice brushing the back of her neck.

She nodded, breathless. “Don’t stop.”

Bucky leaned in again, brushing a kiss to her temple. “She said don’t stop, Rogers.”

Steve let out a broken laugh. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Evie reached blindly for Bucky’s face, cupping his jaw as Steve thrust deeper. Each thrust was deeper now, more fluid—still restrained, but less hesitant. His hand slid down to cradle the side of her thigh, holding her closer, more sure of the way she fit against him. She kissed Bucky again—needier this time, lips trembling, body arching—and he kissed her back like he needed it to stay sane.

Every few movements, Steve would murmur something: her name, a soft curse, a half-formed plea. And Bucky would answer with a look, a touch, a whispered reassurance meant for them both. Held between them, kissed and worshipped and loved, Evie could barely tell where one man ended and the other began.

She’d never felt anything like it.

And she never wanted it to stop.

Steve’s rhythm faltered just slightly—enough for Evie to feel the shift. His control was fraying, unraveling by the second. Every flex of his hips made her gasp, and every gasp made him groan like it was his undoing. She moaned when he adjusted his angle again, hitting a deeper spot that made her eyes roll back. Her fingers clawed at Bucky’s hip.

“Fuck,” Steve moaned above her. “Evie, I—” His voice broke.

“You’re okay,” Bucky said softly, watching them both. “You’ve got her.”

Evie turned to Bucky again, and he met her halfway, kissing her through a loud moan as Steve buried himself deeper, harder. Her hand trembled in his, so he pressed it to his chest, letting her feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath his skin.

Steve’s hand found her thigh, holding her steady as his thrusts grew uneven—more ragged, more desperate, like every part of him was singing with the need to come undone inside her.

“I’m—Jesus—Evie,” he gasped, and she arched into him, breath catching on a broken laugh.

“Please,” she whispered, voice wrecked and raw. “Want to feel you.”

Steve pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze blown wide and hungry. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned in and kissed her one last time, sweet and gentle in a sharp contrast to the aggressive thrusts he’d worked up to. He let out a strangled sound, hips stuttering as he pushed in, deep and hard, one final time. His whole body shook as he came, forehead pressed to her shoulder, breath a ragged mess against her skin. Evie wrapped her arms around him instinctively, like she needed to hold him together while he fell apart.

Bucky’s hand slid through her hair, then down to her waist. “Breathe, baby,” he murmured. “You’re still trembling.”

She hadn’t realized she was. Her legs were shaking, her chest heaving, her body buzzing from the aftershocks. She felt so full, so warm, so completely unraveled—and yet so grounded by the weight of them both.

Steve didn’t move for a long moment, his breath finally evening out. When he did lift his head, he looked at her like he didn’t know what to say. Like maybe nothing would ever be enough.

“You okay?” he asked softly, eyes searching hers.

Evie gave a dazed, breathless nod. “Yeah,” she managed. “That was…wow”

Bucky tilted his head, still stroking her hair. “No smartass remark?”

She let her head roll towards him. “Give me a minute.”

Steve still hadn’t moved. He was still fully seated inside her, his body covering hers wholly. Still afraid to hurt her, he held himself up on his forearms, only letting a fraction of his weight rest on her. He looked at her like she was the answer to a question he didn’t know he’d been asking his whole life.

“You’re hovering,” Evie whispered after a moment, her hands sliding up Steve’s sides. 

Steve huffed a laugh, eyes crinkling, and dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Didn’t want to crush you.”

“You do weigh like two tons,” she muttered. “And yet somehow, I’m still alive.”

“It was touch and go for a minute there,” Bucky said, grinning as he leaned in to press a kiss behind her ear. “Glad to see you survived being rearranged.”

Evie groaned. “Please don’t say ‘rearranged’ again while he’s still inside me.”

Steve flushed. “Sorry—do you want me to—?”

“No,” she said quickly, curling a hand around the back of his neck to keep him there. “Just…don’t move yet.”

His gaze softened even more, if that was possible. He nodded and leaned down to rest his forehead against hers again.

Beside her, Bucky’s arm slid under her neck so he could shift closer, pressing a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. “You did so good, Eves,” he murmured, his thumb stroking softly over her ribs. “We’ve got you.”

Evie closed her eyes for a second, overwhelmed by it all—the heat, the weight, the tenderness that filled the quiet. She felt tucked into place. Like her body knew theirs. 

Steve let out a long breath as he finally eased out of her, moving slow, careful not to jostle her too much. She winced, just slightly, and he immediately kissed her cheek. “Sorry baby, so sorry.”

“I’m okay,” she murmured, turning into his touch. “That was worth everything.”

She was still trembling when she turned toward Bucky, eyes heavy-lidded and glassy. Her lips were kiss-bitten, her hair a wild halo of sweat-induced curls around her flushed face, and her breath hitched as she reached for him.

“C’mere,” she whispered, voice raw and rasping.

Bucky’s hand was still smoothing gently along her thigh. His eyes tracked every twitch of her body, every lingering shiver.

“Evie,” he said softly, brushing hair off her cheek.

“Please,” she murmured, trying to tug him closer, even as her arms lacked the strength to do much more than paw at him.

He caught her wrists gently, kissed her knuckles, and shook his head. “You’re wrecked.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re still shaking, and I’m not the kind of guy who stops once he starts.”

She let out a weak, breathy laugh, but her gaze stayed pleading. “I want you.”

His expression shifted—heat flickered behind his eyes like a storm just waiting to break. He leaned in, kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then down to the base of her throat where her pulse thundered.

“I want you too,” he murmured, voice like velvet and gravel all at once. “You have no idea how badly.”

“Then—”

“No.” He kissed her again to soften it. “Not tonight.”

Evie’s brows pinched, just slightly. She looked like she might protest again.

“I want all of you,” Bucky said, his voice lower now, rougher. “But not when you’re still shaking from round one. Not when you can’t even keep your eyes open.”

“I can—”

“You’ve given enough tonight. Taken enough. Let me wait. Let me want it for a little longer.”

She exhaled shakily, and Bucky leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers.

“Besides,” he added, lips brushing hers as he spoke, “I’m patient. But I do charge interest.”

A flush crept across her cheeks. “How much interest are we talking?”

His grin was slow, dangerous. His grin was slow, dangerous. “Let’s just say by the time I’m through, you’re gonna owe me a lot.”

Evie winked. “Good thing I’m rich.”

Bucky raised a brow. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” she smirked, her voice a low rasp. “So charge all the interest you want, Barnes. It’s a deal.”

“Not the worst deal I’ve ever made.”

“You’ve made worse deals?” Evie asked, eyes glinting.

He leaned in, kissed her shoulder, and murmured, “Yeah. Like waiting another day to fuck you senseless.”

Evie laughed so hard her still-shaking body couldn’t handle it. “You’re the worst.”

“Probably.” His smile faltered. “But seriously. I’d wait as long as I have to. I know you’re worth every second.”

“I can vouch,” Steve chimed in earnestly.

Evie smiled softly between them, eyes finally closing, fingers still curled loosely around Bucky’s.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered.

Bucky kissed the inside of her wrist, just once. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “And every day after.”

They helped her sit up, her limbs still lazy and heavy. She blinked at the clock and groaned. “Shit. I’m double parked downstairs.”

Steve furrowed his brow, suddenly snapped back to reality. “You’re what?”

“I wasn’t planning to stay,” she said, rubbing her face.

Both men stared at her. She stared back. “I came over here to yell at you.”

Bucky raised a brow, voice smooth. “This wasn’t the outcome you had in mind?”

Evie gave a slow blink, deadpan. “Well, I wasn’t expecting the sex to be this good. That part’s on you.”

Bucky barked a laugh. “That part’s on him,” he said, jerking his thumb toward Steve, who was already halfway to the door, tugging his sweats back on.

“We’re not doing blame-shifting right now.” Steve was back in action mode, grabbing his phone and her keys. “I’ll go move it. You’re not getting towed on my watch.”

“You know which one’s mine?”

He shot her a look over his shoulder. “Evie. You think I haven’t noticed every detail about you by now?”

Her smile came quick, touched and just a little embarrassed.

Bucky stood too, brushing a hand over her hair like she was something precious. “I’ll start the shower. Get you cleaned up. Find you something soft to sleep in.”

Evie blinked up at them, suddenly quiet. “So I’m… staying?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Steve called as the door swung shut behind him.

Bucky’s voice was lower, fond and final. “Bed, shower, snacks—take your pick. But you’re ours tonight.”

Evie sighed and stood with a stretch, completely naked and unbothered.

“Dibs on your softest shirt,” she called after him.

“You already stole it last week,” Bucky muttered, but he was smiling as he turned down the hall.

The steam curled from the bathroom in lazy clouds, the heat of the shower still lingering in the air as Evie stepped out wrapped in one of Steve’s towels, swallowing her whole except for her damp curls and flushed cheeks. She padded barefoot into the bedroom, where Bucky was tugging the blankets down on Steve’s bed.

“You’re both staying here,” she said firmly.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, brows raised. “This is Steve’s room.”

“Exactly. It’s the biggest. And I’m not making a Sophie’s choice tonight.”

She dropped the towel and climbed straight into the center of the bed like it was a throne. “And don’t even try to argue. I’m too sore to throw a good fit, but I will if I have to.”

Steve walked in just in time to catch that last part, holding three water bottles and Evie’s keys.

“Sore?” he repeated, concerned.

Evie gave him a look. “Stevie. Babe. I will never walk the same again.”

Steve turned a color red he probably hadn’t been since before the serum. Bucky, already pulling the covers back to climb in one one side, let out a low laugh.

Steve slid in on her other side with a sigh, placing the water bottle on her nightstand. “Drink some of that.”

“Yes, Captain,” she teased, but took it anyway.

The three of them laid in a moment of silence, limbs brushing, breath slowly evening out—until Bucky’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He groaned again and grabbed it, squinting at the screen. “It’s Sam.”

Evie lifted her head, interested. “What’s he say?”

Steve rolled over to peek. “‘Is it safe to come back?’”

Steve grabbed his own phone, typing out a reply. “Telling him tomorrow morning.”

Bucky smirked and typed his own response. “‘I’d say give it a few days.’”

Evie giggled and buried her face in Steve’s shoulder.

Sometime deep into the night, long after the banter had faded and their breathing had evened out, Evie stirred.

She blinked groggily at the dark room, disoriented by the warmth pressed against both sides of her body. Her bladder gave an insistent throb.

Carefully, she shifted her weight and began inching out from beneath the blanket. The reaction was immediate.

Steve tensed at her back, already propping himself up on one elbow. “Evie?”

Bucky’s voice came low and alert from her other side. “You okay?”

She paused mid-scoot, squinting at them both. “Guys. I’m not escaping into the night.”

“You’re breathing different,” Steve said, sounding unfairly awake for someone who’d been snoring half a second ago.

“I have to pee,” she mumbled, rubbing one eye with the back of her hand.

A pause.

“Want me to come with you?” Steve asked seriously.

“Oh my god.”

“I’ll get the lights,” Bucky offered, already half-sitting up.

“No,” she whispered sharply, flapping a sleepy hand to keep them both from moving further. “I’m fine. I have two legs and a brain cell left. Please go back to sleep.”

They didn’t.

She shuffled off to the bathroom with muttered curses, and both men stared at the doorway like guard dogs waiting for the all-clear. She returned a minute later, even more rumpled and bleary-eyed, and dropped gracelessly back into the bed with a huff.

“See?” she muttered, curling back into the warm nest of blankets. “Not abducted. Not broken.”

Steve leaned in to press a kiss to her shoulder. “Welcome back.”

“Five more hours,” she yawned. “Then I’m your problem all over again.”

Both men settled back in, arms curling around her instinctively. One hand found hers beneath the sheets.

She was asleep again before she could figure out whose.

[beefromanoff]

Tempting Fate Ch. 12

summary: Evie and Jade finish their girly weekend of fun, Steve and Bucky are being dodgy, Evie doesn't deal well with uncertainty. a tipping point in their relationship.

author's note: guys. GUYS. it's getting so real. this is a big moment. PLS PLS PLS love this as much as I loved writing it. the next one will be amazing. worth the twelve chapter wait. promise. xoxoxox

masterlist

tag list: tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings @jainaeatsstars @mcira @brooklynbear32

The party was over, but the bass pounded on. No, that was just Evie's head.

She woke late on Saturday morning, blinking slowly against the warm slant of morning light that streaked across her comforter. Normally she loved the natural light of the penthouse, but she could have done with a cloudier day today. Her hair was a mess, her eyeliner was smudged, her mouth dry from the tequila haze of the night before—but she was smiling.

A big, stupid, swollen-lipped smile.

The hoodie she wore still smelled like Bucky. Her skin still burned in places she wasn’t going to think about yet. And her heart felt full. Like something had happened the night before that couldn't be undone, even if the three of them had technically stopped before they got to the good part.

The very, very good part.

She stretched, groaning softly as her arms hit the edge of her headboard. Somewhere in the apartment, someone swore.

Jade.

Evie groaned and rolled out of bed, padding into the kitchen in bare feet to find her best friend leaning against the counter in giant sunglasses, hair wild, robe barely tied.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Jade croaked. She lifted her mug dramatically. “I’m trying to make coffee. But the pot is fighting me.”

Evie snorted. “Because that’s a milk frother.”

"And here you said the money wouldn't change you."

Evie grinned and pulled two mugs from the cabinet, walking to the coffee machine teeming with a freshly brewed batch and filled them both with actual coffee, and passed one over. She mentally thanked her drunk self for remembering to set the timer. 

Jade took the mug like it held her life force. “Bless you.”

They collapsed on the couch, curled under a blanket, both still in their pseudo pajamas—Evie in the hoodie that absolutely did not belong to her, and Jade in a tank top that Evie had been missing since their junior year.

“So,” Jade said after a beat, lifting her sunglasses just enough to peek at her. “Wanna talk about what the hell happened in that closet?”

Evie tried to keep a straight face. Failed.

“I don’t even know what to say,” she ran a hand over her face. “It was… holy shit.”

Jade grinned. “You looked like a deleted scene from an NC-17 version of The Great Gatsby.”

“Oh my God.” Evie buried her face in her hands. “Was it that bad?”

“Babe, I walked in on you with your legs around Bucky Barnes’ waist and Steve Roger's tongue in your mouth. It wasn’t bad. It was beautiful. I'd swipe my card for the Pay-Per-View version so fast.”

"Stop," Evie groaned, fighting her grin. “I don’t even know what came over me. You seriously saved my ass.”

"Yes. I'm amazing. You're welcome." Jade sipped her coffee, completely unfazed. “And please. I know exactly what came over you. Two brooding, muscle-bound legends with repressed emotions and enough sexual tension to power Manhattan.”

Evie giggled, then sighed. “Do you think it was a mistake?”

“Do you?”

“No,” she said without hesitation. “But I think they might.”

Jade tilted her head. “Mmm. Why do you think that?”

"They're two men from the forties, isn't a threesome a little...progressive?"

"You're ignoring the operative word," Jade sipped her coffee. "Men."

Evie reached for her phone, thumbs hovering.

“What are you doing?”

She typed as she spoke. “Sending a text.”

Jade raised a brow. “What kind of text?”

Evie hit send and grinned. “The good kind.” She flipped the screen around. 

Evie: So… we gonna finish what we started in that coat closet or what?

"You're insatiable." Jade giggled. "I love it."

Dropping her phone onto the blanket, Evie waggled her eyebrows at Jade. "So, what's the verdict? How was your first Tony Stark party?"

"Well," Jade sipped her coffee, eyes glinting. “Speaking of closets…”

Evie blinked. “What about them?”

Jade adopted her most innocent expression. “It would’ve been a crime not to finish what you started.”

Evie stared. “No.”

Jade nodded.

“You did not.”

Jade’s grin widened. “You're all about testing hypotheses, Eves. I had to see if your boss was a one hit wonder or if he's always that good with his hands. My hypothesis was correct.”

Evie shrieked and nearly choked on her coffee. “Jade.”

“What? You think you’re the only one who can have a little salacious rendezvous with an Avenger?”

Evie threw a pillow at her. “You absolute menace. I'm gonna have to hear about this. In far too much detail.”

Jade batted it away with a flourish. “You’re welcome for that too, it was some of my best work.”

The buzz of Evie's phone interrupted her before she could fake a gag in Jade's direction.

Steve: Did you make it home okay?

Bucky: You get some water?

Evie stared at her phone.

“…Okay,” she said slowly. “What is this? Suddenly I have two overprotective dads?”

Jade peered over her shoulder, then sipped her coffee. “You probably short-circuited their super-serum-enhanced libidos. Give ‘em a minute.”

Evie laughed, but it was softer now. She set the phone down, curling deeper into the couch.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said aloud, half to Jade, half to herself.

Jade ignored her. "So, city girl, what's on the agenda for the day?"

The rest of Saturday passed in a haze of good food, retail therapy, and unfiltered girl time.

They wandered in and out of every luxury store on the Upper East Side, trying on dresses they had no occasion for and sunglasses too big for any rational human face. But here and there, Evie would swipe her card and they'd leave with a new shopping bag, if only to prove they were serious shoppers and not the giggling college-adjacent girls she was sure they looked like to the employees. 

The texts from that morning remained unanswered. She didn't quite know what to say, so she just let it breathe. Jade was probably right, they were likely reeling from the night before. She would be too if she weren't so focused on how to make it happen again. 

She was still giggling about Jade’s dramatic attempt to barter with a pretzel vendor when she ducked into a dressing room with a slinky burgundy dress she simply couldn't resist. She had no need, no event, and no arm space left.

But she did have endless closet space,  an obscene salary, and a horribly enabling best friend. So as she slid it up her body, she decided who would be the tiebreaker. After wrangling the zipper up, she examined the gown. 

She looked ridiculous in the best way. Curves hugged in all the right places, hair a little tousled from the breeze outside, lipstick somehow still intact from the street food they'd been chowing down on all day.

She grinned at her reflection, pulled out her phone, and snapped a quick mirror selfie for her favorite three person group chat. 

Evie: Not as conducive to coat closet mischief, but what do we think?

Their response didn't come in the ten minutes it took Jade to get restless, so she made the snap decision to buy it. What good is a penthouse with closets in every bedroom if you can't fill them? The giddiness of time with her best friend and the retail therapy carried Evie for another hour or so, but she caught herself checking her phone to see if she'd missed a message. She tried to stay present, but every so often, when Jade was in a dressing room or distracted by a pair of truly unhinged boots, Evie found herself scrolling back through the messages. Re-reading. Wondering if maybe her tone had been off. If she'd brushed off their less-than-enthusiastic tone from this morning a little too quickly. 

By the time they stumbled back into the apartment late in the afternoon with sore feet, arms aching from carrying their bags all day, and faced that hurt from laughing, the weirdness still lingered. It was somewhere in the back of her mind, in her peripheral. Checking her phone one last time before deciding to leave it in her room for the night, she fought the knot in her stomach. Still no response. Tossing it on her bed, she flipped the light off and left it alone with the piles of bags she'd deposited on the floor. Whatever they were doing, issue or not, that was tomorrow's problem.

Evie Langston did not put her life on pause for two brooding men with communication issues.

Even if they were those two brooding men. Even if she couldn't stop flashing back to the way they felt, sounded, tasted...

Shaking her head, she made a beeline for the kitchen and poured herself a bottle of wine. 

"J, what do you want to do for dinner?" She called across the living room. 

"Ugh, how can you ask that, I'm so stuffed from the street food." Jade emerged from the biggest guest room, flopping onto the couch. 

"First of all, we both know that's never stopped you before, and second; I need to know if I need to stay hot or if I can put sweats on?" Evie waltzed over and handed her one of the glasses. 

"Hmm," Jade mused as she took a sip. "As appealing as it sounds to let you show me a Manhattan good time, I vote we stay in. Last night was fun, but we didn't really get to hang out. Let's save the night out for the next time I invite myself up here. Sound good?" 

"Sounds more than good," Evie grinned. "Pick a movie, we can get Chinese."

"Oh my gosh, I would kill for an order of crab rangoon right now." 

Rolling her eyes, Evie was so thankful that her best friend never changed. 

Hours later, the results of their indecision were strewn across Evie's coffee table. They'd made the kind of order that was wildly unnecessary—five entrees, two kinds of dumplings, both fried and steamed rice, two orders of crab rangoon and one of spring rolls for good measure. Jade insisted on using chopsticks, even though she was clearly struggling and eventually gave up halfway through, stabbing a piece of chicken with one like it was a skewer.

Now, they sat curled on the couch, empty containers splayed out on the coffee table, movie dialogue humming in the background.

“Do you remember when our biggest concern was whether or not our fake IDs would scan at that dive bar near campus?” Jade asked, swirling the last bit of her wine. They'd finished off the first bottle and were taking a second attempt at the expensive bottle from the night prior, now that they were feeling adequately warm and fuzzy inside. 

Evie groaned. “God. I forgot about that place. What was it called? The Rusty Tap?”

“The Rusty Tap,” Jade confirmed. “Home of sticky floors and questionable life choices.”

"I think we provided the questionable life choices," Evie laughed. “You’re the one who convinced me to sneak out the night before midterms. Said we needed ‘vibes over academic validation.’”

“Like you've ever needed to study,” Jade said, tipping her drink in a mock-toast. “You're Genevieve Langston. Child prodigy. MIT grad. Stark Industries genius. Soon to be Vogue-featured super scientist. You should be thanking me for making sure you had fun in college.”

"I do owe you one for that," Evie raised her glass to clink Jade's. "For knowing when to get me into a mess, and when to get me out of one. Cheers to you." 

"Cheers to me for being the best, for sure," Jade toasted. "But also cheers to you, for real, for living your dream. I've always known you were destined for greatness, but it's a relief knowing at least one of us is going places."

Evie scoffed, nudging her knee as she shrugged off the compliment. “Please. You’re out here hoodwinking the entire Ivy League. That takes talent.”

Jade smiled but didn’t immediately respond. Her gaze lingered on the flickering screen, expression softer than usual.

“I’m really proud of you,” she said eventually. “I don’t say that enough, but I really am. You’ve built this whole life—and you didn’t take shortcuts to get here. You didn’t let anyone else dictate who you had to be.”

Evie blinked. The moment landed heavier than expected.

“I’m proud of you too, you know,” she said quietly. “Even if you’re still technically enrolled at Harvard under a fake name.”

Jade snorted. “God, don’t remind me.”

“Do you ever think about… what comes next?” Evie asked.

Jade exhaled slowly. “Sometimes. It’s like—I’ve spent so long running from the version of life my parents tried to script for me. Hedge funds, law school, marrying some portfolio manager named Chadwick, or something. Sitting on the board of a nonprofit that's basically just a tax shelter for my husband, keeping up appearances while he sleeps with his receptionist and I try not to get too boozy at our kids' private school talent shows.”

Evie winced. “Yikes.”

“Right? But now that I’ve gone so deep into running from what I know I don't want, I don’t actually know where I’m headed.”

"Where do you want to go?" Evie spoke gently. "What makes you happy?" 

Jade hesitated for a moment, twirling her wine glass. "You want to know something weird? I’ve always had this itch to start my own nonprofit. Like, actually build something that does real good—not just some glossy, tax-deductible PR stunt. But every time I think about it, I feel like I’m just this… privileged kid playing dress-up."

"Jade," Evie tilted her head. "You’d be amazing at that. You’ve seen the ugly underbelly of that world. You’d actually know what to avoid."

"That part is true," Jade said, perking up. "I grew up around all these foundations that were supposed to be about change, but they were really just about image. My parents made donations so they could throw fancy galas and see their names printed on marble walls. Half the time, the money didn’t even get where it was supposed to go."

"So change it," Evie said. "You’ve got the brains, the insight, and the motivation. And let’s be real, you work at a bar even though you could literally buy it in cash, so it’s not like you’re in it for the clout."

Jade let out a surprised laugh. "Okay, hey, I like the Bos. It's a cultural institution."

"Have you ever talked to Tony about this? Surely he'd have some pointers on the right people to talk to." Evie leaned back on the couch.

Jade took a sip of her drink, narrowing her eyes suggestively. "There hasn’t really been that much talking between us."

Evie snorted, nearly choking on her wine. "Of course not."

Jade reached for the bottle and filled her glass, topping Evie's off before setting it back down.

"But seriously," Evie pushed gently. "Maybe it’s time you stopped pretending you aren't brilliant, too. If you pull this off half as well as you've pulled off pretending to go to Harvard when your dad is one of the most esteemed alumni and donors, you'll change the world."

"Damn." Jade cocked her head. "You're not half bad at speeches, you know that?"

"It's all the heroes I hang around, I guess." Evie bumped her knee and winked. "I mean it. You'd be amazing. Plus, with all this money, I'm gonna need a good write-off one of these days."

“God, I love you,” Jade said, resting her chin on her curled up knees.

“Back at you, J.”

They sat in comfortable food coma silence for a while, the movie still murmuring in the background. The remains of their feast lay scattered in cardboard boxes and plastic cups, the last rays of the sun sinking below the horizon and casting a golden glow through the massive windows.

Looking at Evie, Jade nudged her gently with her elbow. “So… you gonna tell me how it feels? Finally getting everything you’ve ever wanted?”

Evie raised a brow, then smiled slowly. “If anyone tries to pinch me, I’ll make them my next test subject.”

Jade laughed, but her eyes stayed on Evie. “Seriously.”

Her smile faded into something softer. “It’s weird. I spent my whole life thinking I didn’t want the things most people dream about. I never really pictured myself settling down, not in the traditional sense. Never wanted the white picket fence or a house full of kids. I wanted a lab. I wanted to create things that haven't been possible until me. I wanted to create something revolutionary. I never pictured my wedding day, my dress. Not once. I didn't realize it was strange until I got to high school and realized I was the odd one out.”

Jade nodded. “You always said love was a distraction.”

“Because it always felt like one. I didn’t know if I could love someone who didn’t get it. Who wouldn’t want to live inside the chaos with me. Every time I tried to date someone, they'd like the whole 'tech girl' thing for a while, but the lab hours and the one track mind tend to get old pretty quick. Nothing ever stuck. Nothing ever made me wish it had.”

Jade tilted her head. “And now you’ve got two chaos-certified Avengers sniffing around your workbench.”

Evie huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

“So what does the future look like with them?” Jade nudged her again.

Evie’s answer came slower this time. “I don’t know.”

“But you want to see?”

Evie looked over at her. “I think I do.”

Jade smiled. “Then let's hope this one sticks.” She leaned her head back against the cushions, letting the quiet settle again.

Then, because she couldn’t help herself: “So, how do you think your parents are going to react when you show up for Thanksgiving with two World War II veterans in tow?”

Evie barked a laugh, running her hand down her face. “Oh my God.”

“I’m just saying,” Jade added, smirking, “Your mom’s going to have some questions. Like: Which one is your boyfriend? Do they eat carbs? Are they housebroken?”

Evie rolled her eyes. “First of all, my mom will probably knit them matching scarves and immediately offer them homemade pie. And second, my dad will just be relieved I brought home anyone who'll indulge him enough to watch the Yankees game.”

Jade tilted her head. “You think they'd be that chill?”

“They’re amazing,” Evie said honestly. “Like… disgustingly supportive. My childhood was basically an after school special come to life. Family dinners, mom braiding my hair, parents who are embarrassingly in love. They never pressured me to be anything but myself. Even when ‘myself’ meant blowing up the toaster in a fifth-grade science fair.”

“I always knew I liked them,” Jade smiled. "No wonder you're so well-adjusted.  But how are you funny? I thought you needed childhood trauma for that?" 

"Just another mystery of my brilliance, I suppose." Evie smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I don’t know if bringing home them would go over quite as well as I'd like to think.”

“Because they’re older?”

“Because there's two of them.”

Jade considered. “Fair. But if your parents know you like you say they do, they should have known it would take more than one man to really pique your interest.”

Evie groaned. "Let's just not think about that right now. Also, I'm done pretending this wine isn't ass. I'm getting the good stuff."

They settled in with a cheaper bottle and an endless amount of conversation topics, determined to make the most of the hours remaining.

Jade’s car pulled up to the curb late the next morning.

She’d managed to fit all her things back into the same small overnight bag she came with, even though Evie swore it defied the laws of physics with everything they'd bought. They took the elevator down together, new oversized sunglasses on their faces to protect their mildly hungover eyes from the morning sun. 

The valet pulled up with a flourish. Jade sighed dramatically.

“Okay, call me as soon as the Vogue interview drops or the second you get Eiffel Towered. Whichever comes first.”

Evie choked on her laugh. “You are the worst.”

Jade blew her a kiss and slid into the back seat. “You love it. Bye, baby genius.”

“Bye, Harvard dropout.”

The door closed, and the car pulled away, leaving Evie standing on the curb with a grin.

The apartment felt too quiet after Jade left. Evie changed into leggings and a sweatshirt, one of her own this time, hating how much it bothered her that they'd never replied to her dress photo. After half an hour of piddling around the penthouse and pacing the kitchen, she gave in and sent a text:

Evie: Game day. Come watch the Yanks with me? I promise snacks.

They replied a few minutes later:

Steve: Can’t tonight. Got a debrief at the compound.

Bucky: Sorry. Training will go late.

Evie stared at the screen. The excuses were polite, but they weren’t convincing. She tossed her phone on the couch and buried herself in her work, grabbing her tablet and pulling up project files. For a while, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

At 7:43 PM, she caved and dialed Sam.

He answered on the second ring. “Hey, Evie. What's up?”

Evie pulled her knees onto the couch, tablet still in her lap. “Nothing. Just checking in. How’s the compound?”

Sam paused. “Uh… the what now?”

Evie narrowed her eyes. “The compound. You’re at the compound, right?”

“We’re not at the compound, where'd you hear that?”

"Funny, Steve told me that’s where you were. He said you had a debrief. And Bucky said he had training. At the compound. Which is why they couldn't see me tonight. I'm assuming that's also why they've been acting strange all weekend. Would you happen to know anything about this?"

There was a pause. A long one.

“Oh, come on, Sam,” she pressed. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not—look, I’m not trying to get in the middle of this,” he hedged. “They’re grown men. They can talk to you themselves.”

“Well clearly they can't, so talk to me. What's going on? Is everything okay? Listen, if Friday was weird for them, they don't have to avoid me, it really isn't a big deal—”

"Evie," Sam exhaled. “Screw this. I’m not digging my own grave to protect two idiots who can’t use their words.”

Evie went silent, waiting.

“They found out,” he said slowly. “About Ginny. Your grandma. They realized who she was, and now they’re spiraling.”

“Wait, my grandma? Why the hell does that matter?”

“I guess it was...complicated when they were all friends. They’re stuck in their heads. Overthinking whatever the hell it was, your age, all of it. It’s like it short-circuited their brains. They feel ancient, and guilty, and scared, and instead of being normal about it, they’re hiding. Honestly? You should just give them some space. Let them sort it out. They'll come around.”

Evie stood up, walking to grab her shoes from where she'd kicked them off this morning. “Great. I’ll give them fifteen minutes of space. While I drive over.”

She didn't hear Sam's last protest before she hung up. 

It was raining lightly when the valet brought her car up. Of course it was. Her windshield wipers were the only sound as she drove in silence the few blocks over to the Tower. She gripped the steering wheel and made herself focus on the road.

She wasn’t nervous. Not really. She was annoyed. Confused. Lacking patience for any kind of miscommunication or misunderstanding. So she double parked in the front circle drive, strode quickly through the front doors and rode the elevator in silence, the floor numbers blinking slowly. Her heart pounded—not from fear, but from the sheer anticipation of fixing this. Evie had never dealt well with things she didn't understand. The urge to figure it out and fix was always her driving force, and it only grew stronger the more she cared about something. So now, she was practically buzzing as the elevator slowed to a stop on their floor. 

When the doors opened, she heard voices. Low. Tense.

“I told you we should’ve just talked to her,” Steve’s voice snapped.

“And said what, exactly?” Bucky snapped back. “Hey, sorry, we can't talk until we figure out what the hell we're doing here?”

“She deserved better.”

“She deserved honesty.”

Sam's voice chimed in. “She deserves a lot more than either of you jackasses panicking like idiots.”

Evie stepped into the room, arms folded. “Well, for starters, I think she deserves an explanation."

Sam looked up from his coffee, looking like the only one not about to crawl out of his skin. "Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention—Evie’s on her way over here."

Steve sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his hair as he began pacing.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Sam and muttered under his breath, "I hate you."

Steve opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at Bucky like maybe he'd magically found the words Steve couldn't. Bucky looked like he wanted to teleport through the floor.

"Ev—" Steve started, then faltered.

Evie folded her arms. "No. You don't get to start with 'Ev.' You start with why the hell you've been avoiding me like I’m radioactive."

"It’s...complicated," Steve said quietly.

"Try me."

Bucky said nothing. His jaw flexed, but he wouldn’t look at her.

"Ev—" Steve began again before stopping himself, searching for different words.

Bucky cleared his throat. "Look, we didn’t—" He broke off, jaw tightening, eyes still not meeting hers.

Steve tried again. "It’s not that we don’t care. It's the opposite, it's...we just..." He trailed off, helpless. "We didn’t handle it well."

"You did not." She cocked her head. "But I'm still in the dark as to what it is that you're handling."

Steve glanced at Bucky, then back to Evie. "You're… young. And this thing with you—it’s not just about attraction, it's um...we’re trying to be careful," He finished lamely.

"Careful." She repeated, looking back and forth from him to Bucky. Neither of them met her gaze, instead focusing intently on the floor.

Evie narrowed her eyes, arms still folded across her chest. She turned to look at Sam, expression skeptical. "Translate."

He looked at the two mildly panic-stricken men and then back at Evie.

"They almost got caught in a love triangle with your Grammy back in the day," Sam said, very matter-of-fact. "And they’re scared they’ll end up wanting to kill each other, again, if they try it with you. Also? They’re spiraling because you’re eighty years younger than them, and they feel like geriatric perverts for what they were about to do to you in that coat closet."

Steve winced. Bucky closed his eyes and groaned.

Sam didn’t stop. "They can’t wrap their big, dumb, super-soldier brains around the idea that this might actually be real, and instead of dealing with it like adults, they’ve decided to hide." He paused, glancing at them. "Sound about right?"

Steve and Bucky looked at each other. Then nodded. Sheepishly. Synchronously.

Evie stared at them, pretending not to enjoy the way they shrank under her gaze. She took a slow step forward, uncrossed her arms, and exhaled.

"Okay," she said. "My turn."

She took another step forward, gaze flicking from one of them to the other. “First of all? You need to forget about her. Grandma. Ginny. Whatever.”

Steve blinked, frozen. Bucky stiffened slightly.

“She adored you both. She told me stories, showed me pictures, talked about how brave you were—how kind. But she was madly in love with my grandpa. They had a beautiful life. So whatever happened—or didn’t happen—between you three? It stayed in the past. It never went anywhere. She ended up where she was supposed to. You two found your way back to each other. It all worked out in the end. Set yourselves free of whatever is holding you back because of it.”

Neither of them spoke, so she continued.

“Second, I’m not her.”

Both heads lifted to meet her gaze.

“I might look like her. I might have her genes. But I’m not her.” Her voice didn’t waver. “We couldn’t be more different.”

She let that sit for a beat.

“So if you want to stay stuck—hung up on the idea of someone you knew a century ago, and all of the 'almosts' that came with her, that’s your choice. But if you want to get to know me—if you want to find out who I actually am before deciding I’m too much or too complicated or too young—this is your chance. I won't tell you what to do, but I'm pretty fucking great. Whether you want to learn that for yourself or not, figure it out. And do it fast. I might not be the Man out of Time, but I'm sure as hell not in the business of wasting my own.”

Evie crossed her arms again. “And just because something didn’t work then doesn’t mean it can’t work now. You know how I know that?”

She took another step.

“Because the two of you are walking, talking, excuse-making proof that impossible things happen every day." She gestured at Steve. "You should be dead." She turned to Bucky. "You should be dead about ten times over." They both stiffened as she continued. "You both should be ghosts. Instead, you’re here relearning everything, building new lives, risking everything for the world and the people you care about.”

She paused to let it settle.

“So don’t stand there and tell me this—” she gestured between the three of them “—is where you draw the line at impossible.”

Steve looked down. Bucky still wouldn’t meet her eyes. Her voice became quieter, but no less firm.

“I’m not a child. I’m not some wide-eyed kid chasing a fantasy. I’m an educated, consenting adult who knows what she wants.”

She took one more step, right into their space now.

“I’m not drunk. I’m not in danger. I’m not under duress. I'm mentally sound. I'm a grown woman. I have health insurance, I pay my taxes, and I make six figures working in one of the most high-pressure industries for the most prestigious company in the country, maybe the world. I’ve survived Tony Stark’s HR department and egos of the MIT male population. I have a great relationship with my father. I’m not confused. Not even a little bit."

She looked at them fully now.

“I want this. Whatever this turns into. I want to see where it goes." 

Both men looked like they were about to snap as she continued. 

"Right now, I'm hoping it goes somewhere horizontal. Quickly."

Sam, still hovering somewhere behind her, took a long sip of his coffee. “Well. Damn. I feel like I should—”

Steve and Bucky, voices overlapping instinctively: “Get the hell out.”

And he did.

[beefromanoff]

Tempting Fate Ch. 11

summary: the rest of the party and the aftermath

author's note: second half of the party chapter, enjoy <3

masterlist

tag list: tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings @jainaeatsstars @mcira @brooklynbear32

The party had just kicked into another gear when Sam Wilson spotted her— a short haired blonde perched at the bar in a dress that probably cost more than his first car. He made his way over with a grin.

"You must be Jade."

She looked up, one brow arched. "Depends who’s asking."

He chuckled, reaching out a hand. "Sam Wilson. We’ve never officially met, but I feel like we’re about to have a trauma bond. Our best friends are in the middle of the weirdest love triangle-slash-life crisis I’ve ever seen."

Jade lit up and shifted to face him fully. "Oh my God, you know about it! Tell me everything. It's so hard to be a long distance bestie."

Sam leaned a hip against the bar, swirling his drink. "Okay, so here’s what I know from the front lines. Evie started what, a couple months ago? The day she started, you’d think those two had just witness a nuclear meltdown. I’m talking, catatonic. Which, I mean, for Bucky isn’t too far off from his usual communication style. You know, grunts and gestures. But for Steve, it was definitely unusual. Girl had them both shaken up from the jump. It’s been like watching a social experiment ever since. Sometimes they’re totally cool together, sometimes I’m afraid I need to sleep in my suit in case I need to break up a grudge match between two hundred year old super soldiers in the middle of dinner."

Jade laughed. "What even is their dynamic? Capta—Steve and Bucky, I mean. Like, are they dating? Friends with benefits? Rivals? Besties?"

Sam raised his hands. "Unclear. They're both clearly infatuated with the same woman and somehow... fine with it? Most of the time? They all go on dates—sometimes together, sometimes apart. But they don't talk about it. Ever." He sipped his drink. “There was a night at an arcade, I think that was all three of them. Then another time, Steve left home dressed for a dinner date, Bucky left a few hours behind him, Steve came home alone and Bucky…didn’t come back for another hour or so? Shit was so uncomfortable.”

Jade grinned. "This is filling in some hilarious gaps. What else can you tell me, Sam Wilson?"

"So I like to mess with them, right?" 

"Naturally."

"Okay, so early on after we all met her, Evie pulled an all-nighter in the lab and I told her to come sleep it off at our place instead of going all the way home."

"Chivalrous," Jade commented.

“So she passes out on our couch, Steve and Bucky wake up to find her there, and I’m not exaggerating when I say they probably went out on a forty mile run afterwards. We didn’t see either of them for hours.” 

“Is that a good thing?” She raised an eyebrow. 

“I think the jury is still out on whether any of this is a good thing or a bad thing.”

“From where I’m standing, it seems pretty fun.” Jade sipped her cosmo, smirking.

"Says the one who doesn’t have to live with two thirds of this dysfunction. I mean...these two haven't been normal about her, ever, but, I'm telling you, it just keeps getting worse. I'd never put pressure on a woman, I mean, I have a sister," He gave Jade a knowing look, like it excused what he was about to say. "But if those two don't get laid soon, I think they might decimate half of the city."

Jade clutched her heart. "That’s the most romantic, moderately concerning thing I've ever heard."

Sam nodded solemnly. "Exactly. Welcome to my life."

"Well, if Evie's pulling all-nighters in the lab, she's not too far gone. She's done that her whole life. I used to joke with her that she was made in a lab, that's why she feels so at home there." Jade paused as she raised her glass to her lips. "Come to think of it, she's also been a Captain America fangirl her whole life too. I guess some things really never change." 

"Wait, really?"

Jade gave him a look. “Oh yeah. She had a Captain America poster in her room for years. And the stories her grandma used to tell were basically bedtime propaganda for Steve Rogers being prince charming. Bucky, too. Even before he was pardoned, Evie insisted he was a good guy because of everything her grandma used to say. According to Evie, she grew up thinking the super soldiers were real-life fairy tale princes.”

Sam raised a brow, curious now. “Her grandma told her all that?”

Jade nodded. "Oh yeah, she told stories about them all the time. I guess she actually knew them back in the day. I wouldn’t have believed her, but when we went back to Evie’s parent’s house one summer, I saw the old photos in some scrapbook. She sure did."

Sam's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, 'knew them'?"

She shrugged. "They were friends. Good friends, I think. I only saw a few photos, but they looked pretty cozy. But then again, Evie’s grandma never met a stranger. That’s actually who she’s named after. Genevieve. She went by Ginny, but Evie’s always been, well, Evie."

Sam froze.

Jade kept sipping, oblivious. "If Evie’s any indication of whether manifestation is real, I guess I need to get a poster of Pedro Pascal in my bedroom, stat."

"Genevieve," Sam repeated slowly. "Your friend’s full name is Genevieve Langston."

"Yeah, why?"

Sam stared at her. Mouth slightly open.

"Oh... shit."

“What?” Jade cocked her head, brow furrowed at the sudden change in tone. “Wait, where are they anyways? I haven’t seen Evie in like, half an hour.”

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Sam glanced around the room. “It’s been…it’s been bit for those two as well. Shit.” He downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on the bar, walking towards the edge of the room.

“Why do you keep saying that? Where are you going?” She pranced behind him, the clicking of her heels drowned out by the music and conversation.

"Let’s think about this,” Sam muttered, scanning the room as they walked, "when your sexually frustrated best friends vanish from a party together, and one of them spent last night trying to threaten me to fly them home early over a text message from the girl they probably vanished with, you don’t exactly need a SHIELD briefing to figure out what’s going on."

Jade paused beside him at the edge of the crowd, squinting suspiciously toward the hallway with a coat closet she’d seen on her way in.

"Wait, back up. They actually tried to get you to fly back early? For Evie?"

"Steve was as close to losing his damn mind as I’ve ever seen him," Sam nodded. "Whatever Evie texted broke them. Short circuited. Completely."

Jade blinked. "Oh my god. She’s a wizard."  

At that exact moment, they heard it: a woman’s voice nearby, crisp and polished.

"Excuse me, have you seen Ms. Genevieve Langston? I’m hoping to grab a quick moment—Leah Westbrook, Forbes."

Jade’s eyes went wide as she and Sam exchanged a look. She mouthed. "Oh, shit."

"Nope," She said instantly, already turning. "Nope, nope, nope. We are not letting Evie’s first magazine feature be accompanied by a public sex scandal."

"Agreed," Sam said, already moving again. "Operation Save the Career: go."

“The coat closet.” Jade said tightly. Walking quickly but trying to remain as nonchalant as possible, they made a beeline for the hallway. They reached the door in seconds, but Jade’s hand on the knob stuttered.

“Locked,” she hissed.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Of course it is. They’re doing shameful, unspeakable things.”

Jade jiggled the handle uselessly as she hissed. “Evie! Open this damn door or so help me—”

From inside, nothing.

Sam sighed, loosened his tie, and cracked his neck.

“Stand back.”

___

It had been a blur.

Hands beneath fabric. Fingers skimming over lace. Mouths that couldn’t decide where to land.

Warm palms dragged down her ribs. Lips caught the corner of her jaw. Teeth—someone’s—grazed her collarbone.

Her back against Steve’s chest. Her thighs around Bucky’s waist.

Heat and silk and breathless noise.

Too fast. Too much. Too good.

His hands gripped beneath her thighs, holding her up like he didn’t feel the weight. Like he could’ve held her there forever. Behind her, Steve’s breath hit the curve of her shoulder like a match waiting to catch flame.

Bucky’s mouth on her throat. Steve’s voice, broken in her ear. His tie loose around his neck. The rattle of Bucky’s belt buckle against the rings on her hands.

Her dress hiked up to her hips.

One of Bucky’s hands was under the hem, his thumb circling higher, higher— Steve’s hands flattened against her ribs, dragging her back against him, anchoring her.

Someone whispered her name like a prayer. Someone else bit back a curse.

She didn’t know who she was moaning for. Didn’t care. It was too much and not enough—

And just as Steve’s hands slid higher—

The door exploded open.

"OH MY GOD." Jade exclaimed, pushing Sam inside and shutting the door behind them as well as she could with the busted latch.

Evie was suspended midair, legs wrapped around Bucky, Steve’s chest pressed against her back, both men looking carnal and ready to do the unspeakable things Sam had already assumed they were.

Bucky’s dress shirt was untucked and half-unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up, hair mussed like someone had grabbed it—which, of course, someone had. Steve’s tie hung loose around his neck, collar popped, shirt wrinkled. Evie’s dress straps had both fallen down her shoulders, her lipstick smeared and visibly printed against the side of Steve’s neck. Her hair was a wreck.

They looked like a Gatsby-era painting depicting sin incarnate.

And also, like they’d completely forgotten they were at a party. Both men straightened, letting Evie’s legs slide gently to the floor until she was standing between them, barefoot next to her discarded heels.

Sam slapped a hand over his eyes. "Seriously?!"

Jade didn't hesitate, storming into the fray. "I love this for you, babe, really I do—but the Forbes reporter is literally asking for you by name and unless you want your debut cover story to be accompanied by TMZ photos and a call from HR—"

Evie groaned. "Shit."

"Yeah." Jade tugged the hem of Evie's dress down to its full length and moved to put her straps back on her shoulders. All three grown men stood idly by, Sam politely averting his eyes while Steve and Bucky looked like everyone was suddenly speaking a language they didn't know. Jade snapped her fingers, raptly getting their attention. 

"Super soldiers, it's time to move." She gave Sam a stern look. "We cannot all leave here at the same time or it's gonna look even worse than what the truth was, somehow." Waving her hand one more time, she nudged Steve towards the door. "Go on, wait, fix your shirts, ugh, Sam..."

"I got it," Sam shook his head, pushing both men towards the door as he muttered commands under his breath. "Go straight to the bathroom. Fix yourselves up. Damn fools. Fix your shirts, splash some water on your faces, and for the love of God, don’t speak to anyone until you look less like a deleted scene from Basic Instinct,” he barked as he followed them out.

Jade stayed behind, shutting the closet door again before turning to Evie, hands already digging in her clutch.

“Okay, sit,” Jade commanded, pulling a compact from her bag and shoving it into Evie’s hand. “Blot. Do not smear.”

Evie lowered herself onto the lone bench in the cramped space, fighting a grin as she did what she was told. Jade was still giving marching orders.

“Your hair’s a disaster, no offense, and somehow there's lipstick everywhere but your lips. And…” Jade’s voice trailed off as she leaned in. Her eyes narrowed at Evie’s neck. “Oh, no.”

“What?” Evie asked, breath still uneven.

Jade moved the small mirror in Evie's hand and pointed. A dark mark was blooming just above her collarbone.

Evie winced. “Okay. That’s… definitely there.”

“Uh-huh.” Jade reached behind her neck and unclasped the chunky pearl necklace she’d been wearing. “We’re hiding that like it’s a state secret. Surely it's not the only one at this party.”

She looped it around Evie’s neck with practiced precision, then stepped back.

“There. Classy. Strategic. Nobody will know your neck was just treated like a buffet by the two most lethal men in the room.”

Evie bit back a grin. “I don't know about that, I heard Clint Barton was here somewhere.”

Jade rolled her eyes. “Which one of them gave you that anyways?”

“Hell if I know.”

Jade cackled. “Okay, you’re fine now. You look devastating and dangerous. Let's go make you famous for being brilliant.”

____

Across the room, Jade stood near the bar, drink in hand, watching Evie charm a small ring of people like she was born for it. The Forbes reporter was practically glowing, nodding along as Evie gestured animatedly, her eyes bright, her words fluid and clever. She looked polished, magnetic, every inch the Stark Industries prodigy Tony claimed she was.

Jade couldn’t stop smiling.

God, she’s good.

It wasn’t just Evie’s brain (which was terrifying) or her quick wit (which could cut through steel and male ego) it was her sheer presence. The way she commanded a room, even while holding a glass of champagne and talking about something so high tech that half the people gathered around her were only pretending they understood.

“She’s gonna rule the world one day,” Jade murmured into her glass, pride swelling in her chest.

“Yeah,” came a voice beside her, smooth as ever. “And I’m gonna take full credit for it.”

Tony slid in beside her, hands in his pockets, smirking at the sight of Evie charming the press with one perfectly timed joke that elicited a chorus of expensive sounding laughs.

Jade didn’t look at him. “You’re already planning your speech, aren’t you?”

“Obviously. I’m thinking something humble—‘I single handedly discovered, pursued, trained, and funded the second most brilliant mind in the world.’ Short. Sweet.”

She huffed a laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

It was quiet for a moment, but watching Evie, there was something softened in both their expressions.

“I’m proud of her,” Tony said, voice low. “Kid’s the real deal.”

Jade smiled. “I know. She deserves this.”

“Did I hear someone almost hooked up in my coat closet?”

“Almost?” Jade raised a brow, playing coy.

Tony grinned. “That’s what I was told. Seems like a missed opportunity.”

“Tragic, really,” Jade said, taking a sip. “Guess they didn’t want their professional reputations damaged.”

Tony tilted his head, a slow smirk curving across his mouth.

“Well,” he said, draining the last of his drink, “it’s a shame. I think mine is due for some damage. Yours?”

Jade set her glass down beside his with a little clink before meeting his eyes. “I don't have a professional reputation.”

"Have I mentioned that I love you yet?"

___

It was well after midnight when Sam finally stepped out onto the balcony and found them.

Steve was slouched against the railing. Bucky stood beside him, arms crossed, staring into the skyline with the expression of a man contemplating violence or reckless acts of romance, maybe both.

Neither of them spoke when Sam approached.

He sighed. “You two done sulking?”

"No." Bucky grunted.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, patting his shoulder. “Your country thanks you for your plucky attitude. Now come on, your chauffeur services are needed. The girls are hammered.” He took the half-empty beer from Steve's hand and walked back through the glass doors.

Steve slowly stood, muttering, “Guess I'm not finishing anything tonight.”

The party had thinned out considerably by the time Bucky and Steve reentered. Music still pulsed low in the background, but the energy had shifted: less frenzy, more afterglow. Less lounging, more sprawling across the velvety furniture.

Evie and Jade were perched barefoot on top of the bar, dresses slightly askew, giggling like intoxicated little forest sprites. A bottle of top-shelf tequila was passed between them as they took turns pouring it directly into the mouths of three very willing participants: a current senator, a former NBA player, and Colonel James Rhodes.

“Say ahhhh!” Evie crowed, tipping the bottle as Rhodey leaned back with surprising grace.

“Ten points,” Jade announced, then added, “You’re next, Senator. Don’t be shy.”

Bucky blinked. “The hell—”

“Oh, oh, Eves!” Jade waved from the bar, spilling tequila down her own arm. “Our rides are here.”

Steve gave a good natured smile, holding a hand up to help them down from the bar. “Time to go, ladies.”

"His muscles are so big," Jade whispered incredibly loudly as she took his hand and climbed down. "I wonder what else is big." She winked at Bucky, who stood up straight, unsure how to react.

"Only one way to find out," Evie giggled, opting for the dramatic dismount as she spun on her tiptoes and let herself trust fall backwards off the bar.

"Shit," Steve stepped closer, catching her in his arms bridal style.

"My hero," She cooed, kissing his cheek and watching it turn bright red.

Bucky hadn't taken his wary eyes off Jade, who was holding the tequila bottle on the bar again. “Bottle down. Now.”

“Wow,” Jade said. “Okay, Dad.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky muttered as he plucked the bottle from her hand and put it on a shelf over her head.

"Daddy?"

"Steve." Bucky's voice was tight as he called for assistance.

"Coming," Steve set Evie down, keeping one arm looped around her waist as he reached for Jade with the other, gently guiding her with a hand on her lower back.

It took twenty minutes, three stumbles, and one unfortunate moment where Jade pressed every button just to “see the lights,” but they eventually made it down to the valet.

Evie had fallen into a fit of laughter that left her doubled over against Bucky, who was pretending not to enjoy the way she clung to his arm. Steve, meanwhile, was valiantly trying to keep Jade from going back upstairs and convincing the senator to join them for pancakes.

Once safely buckled into the back seat of Steve's jeep, the girls immediately flopped into each other.

“Do you think his abs have abs?” Jade whispered way too loudly, poking a finger into the air somewhere in Steve’s direction.

“They definitely do,” Evie declared, then leaned forward to press her cheek against Bucky’s left bicep. “And you’re like… a Greek statue. But colder.”

Bucky's brow furrowed. “Thanks?”

Jade reached up from the back and ruffled Steve’s hair. “You’re like… if Captain America was hot.”

“I am Captain America,” Steve said, gently batting her hand away.

“Even better,” she whispered, smug.

“Okay, no more tequila for you two ever again,” Steve muttered.

Evie stretched across the seat dramatically, draping her legs over Jade's lap. “You two are so pretty, it’s unfair. Like genetically unethical. I think just being around you two makes me ovulate.”

"What does that even mean?" Bucky looked over his shoulder.

"It means she wants to have all of your babies," Jade poked his shoulder.

Steve looked like he might spontaneously combust. Bucky coughed into his fist.

The jeep turned down Evie's block, headlights sweeping across the familiar entrance to her building.

“Come on,” Bucky said, hopping out as the valet opened the doors. “Let’s get you two upstairs." 

Steve helped Jade down on the opposite side of the car as Bucky lifted Evie by her waist and set her down on the concrete.

Evie immediately wobbled in her heels and grabbed a fistful of his jacket. “Whoa. Floor moved.”

“That’s gravity,” Bucky said. “Been around a while.”

Steve stood still as Jade looped her arm through his. “All good?”

“I’m great,” she grinned, leaning on him as she turned to Evie. “He’s warm. I’m keeping him.”

“You can borrow, but you can’t keep.” Evie slurred over her shoulder as Bucky guided her towards the doors.

Steve flushed as he followed them, trying to keep a very unstable Jade upright while also being physically respectful. When they finally made it upstairs and reached the apartment door, Evie turned and blinked at the two super soldiers like she was just realizing they were leaving.

“You’re not coming in?” she asked, swaying slightly.

Steve cleared his throat. “Not tonight.”

Jade waltzed through the penthouse and flopped on the sectional, already halfway into her post-party coma. “Lame.”

“Sleep,” Bucky said, pointing at Evie. “And water. And carbs.”

Evie leaned forward and poked a finger into his chest. “You’re bossy when you’re hot.”

He caught her finger gently, held it for a second. “You’re chaos when you’re drunk.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Steve smiled, a little crooked. “Goodnight, Evie.” He looked over her shoulder and waved. "It was nice to meet you, Jade." 

"Thank you for our freedom," She called, waving.

“Night, Captain.” Evie kissed him on the cheek before turning to Bucky and doing the same. "Night, Sarge." Jade wolf-whistled.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Bucky and Steve stood there for a moment, just blinking at the wood.

Steve finally said, “I’m too sober for this.”

“Same,” Bucky muttered. “Let's go drink.”

___

The apartment was quiet when Steve and Bucky returned. The buzz of the party was gone, replaced by low lamp light and the soft hum of the AC kicking on. Sam was still up. He sat at the kitchen island in sweats, nursing a glass of water. He didn’t look up when they walked in, just set the glass in his hand down and waited.

Bucky clocked the tension immediately. “You waitin’ up to give us shit?” he asked, pulling his loose tie the rest of the way off.

Sam finally looked at them. “No,” he said simply. “I’m waiting because there’s something you two should know.”

Steve stilled. Sam never used that voice, not unless something was serious. “What is it?”

“Did you know Evie’s named after her grandmother?”

Bucky raised a brow. 

“No,” Steve said cautiously.

Sam took a deep breath. “Evie’s full name is Genevieve. After her grandmother. Who went by Ginny.”

That made them freeze. Steve’s fist hit the counter a little too hard. Bucky didn’t move at all, like stillness might change what he just heard.

Sam didn’t push. Didn’t smirk. Just met their eyes and continued, voice calm. “Jade told me tonight. Said Evie’s been infatuated with you two since she was a kid. Her grandma used to tell her stories. Had pictures. Said she even had a Captain America poster in her room.”

“You’re telling me—” Steve’s voice caught. “Her grandmother is—”

“Yeah,” Sam said softly. “That Ginny.”

Silence slammed into the room. Bucky turned away, one hand gripping the back of a chair like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Steve leaned back against the kitchen island, arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes unfocused.

“We kissed her,” Steve muttered. “We didn’t know.”

“This is…” Bucky shook his head, jaw clenched. “It’s like a fucking time loop.”

“She’s not Ginny,” Sam said. “You know that.”

“She looks like her,” Steve whispered. “We saw it from the day we met her. We should have known.”

“But she’s not her,” Sam said again, firm this time. “She’s Evie. Your Evie.”

They didn’t respond. Sam pushed away from the counter, letting the silence stretch. “I’m gonna go to bed,” he said. “Didn’t tell you this to make it worse. Just figured you deserved to know before you said something you couldn’t take back.” He paused in the hallway. “She’s a sweet girl and she cares about you. Figure it out.”

Steve stood frozen. Bucky didn’t look up. The only sound was the faint tick of the wall clock. Like the whole world was holding its breath.

“I knew this would come back to bite us in the ass one day,” Bucky muttered finally, voice low and bitter. “Just didn’t see it happening like this.”

“She’s known about us since she was a kid,” Steve said quietly. “She’s still a kid. Shit.”

Bucky sat heavily in the chair, head in his hands.

Neither of them spoke again for a long, long time.

Time stretched on into the unholy hours of the night, Steve stared into space as Bucky handed him another glass of whiskey, jaw tight. “Jesus.”

Bucky sat across from him, voice quiet. “I know.”

“She’s Ginny’s,” Steve said slowly, like saying it out loud might change it.

“Yeah.”

Steve’s gaze dropped to the floor. “We had her pressed between us. My hands were under her dress. Your mouth was on her neck.”

Silence stretched between them.

“You think I don’t remember every second?” Bucky said, voice rough.

Steve shook his head, face tight with regret. “What were we thinking?”

“We weren’t,” Bucky muttered bitterly. “That’s the problem.”

“The coat closet…” Steve started, then exhaled hard. “We had her—I would've... She’s so young. And we just—” He trailed off, swallowing hard.

“We didn’t start it,” Bucky snapped, sitting forward, braced on his knees. “You forgetting what she said? How she moved? She’s not some innocent little—” He stopped himself, exhaled. “She knows exactly what she wants.”

Steve was quiet a long moment. “But do we?”

Another beat of silence fell.

“This feels… wrong. Doesn’t it?” Steve asked. “She’s Ginny’s granddaughter, Buck.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Steve drummed his fingers against the countertop, fast and erratic.

“She looks like her,” he whispered. “Same smile. Same damn eyes.”

“Don’t say that.” Bucky’s voice was flat, almost warning. "She's Evie. I don't want to see Ginny."

“You would’ve done anything for Ginny,” Steve said, louder now.

“So would you,” Bucky shot back, sharp and hard.

The silence that followed was charged.

Bucky’s voice was lower when he spoke again. “She almost tore us apart.”

“No.” Steve’s voice softened. “We did that. She never asked for anything but our friendship. We’re the ones who ruined it because we both wanted more. It never would’ve worked. We were all too different. We just didn’t want to believe it.”

Bucky gave a dark chuckle. “I couldn’t look at you for six months.”

Steve huffed. “I’ve never wanted to fight you before then.” He leaned against the counter, dragging his hand over his jaw. “Jeez, Buck. Granddaughter? I don’t think I’ve ever felt older in my life.”

“It’s not just about Ginny,” Steve added after a moment. “That does...complicate things. It's just...unorthodox. I know she's made it clear what she wants, but for some reason, this perspective just makes it all feel...wrong. We're too old for her mother, how could we even consider doing whatever we're doing with Evie?”

"Well," Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "I don't exactly want to scour the retirement home for my next date, if that's what you're insinuating."

Steve laughed, hanging his head. "No. No, I don't want to do that either."

"So? Where does that leave us?" Bucky leaned forward.

"Is it wrong to want to be with her," Steve met his eyes. "Even after all of this?"

Bucky was quiet for a moment before responding. "If it is, then I'd be a hypocrite for calling you on it."

It was quiet for a moment as they both sipped their drinks. 

Steve stared at the floor, voice barely audible. “Why didn’t she tell us?”

“Because she knew it’d complicate everything,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve looked up, shaking his head. “Or because she didn’t want to lead with, ‘Hey, you knew my grandma.’ Doesn’t really set the mood.”

Bucky was silent for a moment, then spoke, softer now. “She looked happy. With us.”

“She still might be.” Steve nodded slowly. "We just need to figure out if it's possible for this thing to work without destroying all of us."

[beefromanoff]

Tempting Fate Ch. 10

summary: Friday night. Jade's in town. Tony throws a party. chaos ensues.

author's note: so this was originally twice as long but it was taking me forever to finish because I keep adding more, so I split it in half. here's part one <3

masterlist

tag list: tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings @jainaeatsstars @mcira @brooklynbear32

Friday Afternoon | Stark Industries

Evie shut down her workstation with a satisfied sigh, for once not running up against the lab’s automatic “Hey, go home, workaholic” lights-out protocol. One implemented by Tony after she’d pushed 50 hours straight working, which normally he wouldn’t care about, but he claimed Pepper was trying to get his HR violations down these days. So today, she had wrapped up early, packed her things, and for the first time in forever, she wasn’t the last one in the lab.

Because today was special. Today, Jade was coming.

She grinned to herself, stuffing her tablet into her bag, barely able to contain the excitement buzzing in her chest. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind—Steve and Bucky consumed most of her waking thoughts, work was both exhilarating and infuriating, and she still felt sheer giddiness at the fact that her days were full of uninhibited innovation. One thing was missing, and it was her best friend in the world. It was all coming together. Now she had a weekend of chaos, cocktails, and much-needed girl talk awaiting her just outside of this tower..

But first—one quick stop.

Evie took the elevator up rather than down, the familiar ding echoing softly in the otherwise quiet residential floor. She swiped her access card with ease (one minor security clearance update never hurt anyone) and stepped inside the apartment Steve, Bucky, and Sam shared. The place was eerily still, missing its usual inhabitants, but that didn’t stop her from waltzing in like she belonged there.

She grabbed a sticky note from the counter, uncapping a pen with her teeth as she scrawled out a quick message:

Boys—Hope the trip isn’t too miserable without me. I’d say I miss you, but I don’t want it to go to your heads. See you tonight.P.S. Borrowing a hoodie from JBB, since I already stole one from Cap and never gave it back. Need to keep things even.

She signed it with a little heart.

Then, purely because she could, Evie meandered over to the bedroom she knew was Bucky’s, opened the closet, and rifled through until she found something suitable. A navy SHIELD crewneck with a small emblem embroidered on the shoulder, tiny threaded font reading ‘Sargeant J. Barnes’. Her heart fluttered seeing his name there.

Focus.

With one last glance around, she slipped out of the apartment, the elevator taking her down the dozens of floors to the lobby. When the doors slid open, she was met with the most smug face she’d seen in quite some time. Or however long it had been since she last ran into her employer.

“Well, well, well,” Tony drawled, arms crossed over his chest.

Evie narrowed her eyes. “If you’re about to say something clever, don’t. I’m leaving early for once. No snark allowed.”

Tony gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “Leaving early? My god, someone take a picture. I thought you and the lab were legally married at this point.”

Evie huffed, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. “There’s another few years before common law kicks in, Stark.”

“I prefer to concern myself with other parts of the law,” he said simply.

Evie gave all her faux sweetness as she tilted her head. “Like what the punishment is for being drunk and disorderly?”

“Precisely.” Tony shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, suddenly far too casual. “Anywho, I assume you’re leaving to go fetch your oh-so-delightful friend and prepare for tonight’s party. There’s no more noble cause. Carry on.”

Evie stopped walking and narrowed her eyes. “That’s it? No more commentary?”

Tony put a hand over his chest. “Nope. Go forth, have fun, commit minor crimes. If you don’t tell me what happens, I’ll assume the worst. I’ll see you both later.”

Evie smirked as she turned. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Tell Jade I can’t wait to see her,” Tony called behind her. “I’ve missed her every day!”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to pass it along.” Evie called back as she crossed the lobby, fighting a grin.

She’d been back in her apartment for approximately fifteen minutes when Jade texted that she was pulling up. Evie practically flew out of the elevator, nearly colliding with a poor delivery guy carrying three overloaded Doordash bags.

“Sorry—uh, important business,” she called over her shoulder, sprinting past the concierge desk and straight to the glass doors leading outside.

Jade’s car was a sleek, suspiciously expensive little thing, pulling up to the curb just as Evie burst through the doors.

“YOU—”

“OH MY GOD—”

The valet had barely stepped toward the driver’s side before Jade shrieked, throwing the car into park and launching herself out of the vehicle with zero regard for drawing attention to herself.

Evie ran right across the pavement. Right past a bewildered businessman who barely dodged out of the way. Right into Jade’s open arms. They collided, shrieking like they had just been separated for years instead of months.

Jade jumped, wrapping her arms and legs around Evie, forcing Evie to stumble slightly as she attempted to keep them both upright.

“I’VEMISSEDYOUSOMUCH,” Jade wailed dramatically, with absolutely zero regard for the fact that they had texted every single day and FaceTimed three times a week.

“IT’SSOGOODTOSEEYOU,” Evie screamed back, equally unhinged.

The valet, midway through reaching for Jade’s keys, paused, blinked twice, and subtly stepped back, as if deciding he did not get paid enough to be involved in whatever was happening here.

The doorman, however, was unfazed. He just sighed, rubbed his temple, and muttered, “Lord have mercy..”

Jade finally released Evie enough to slide back to her feet, but only barely, still clinging onto her arms.

“Oh my God, let me look at you—”

Evie grinned, stepping back dramatically and giving a twirl. “Same me, new tax bracket.”

Jade wheezed. “You look hot. Bitch, you look expensive. Is this what working for Tony Stark does to a person?”

“I mean, mostly I just get bullied on a corporate level and work obscene hours, but yes, the paycheck is nice.” Evie smirked, crossing her arms. “And damn, nice wheels, J. Guess your law career is really paying off.”

Jade grinned, patting the side of the car. “Oh, you know. Dad said I needed something reliable for my final year at Harvard.”

Evie snorted. “Mmm, yes. A brand new BMW convertible. Very practical. Perfect for studying.”

“Wouldn’t want to be late for class.” She winked.

Evie cackled, shaking her head. “Jesus, you are getting way too good at this. How are you even pulling this off?”

Jade smirked, slipping her arm through Evie’s as they finally started walking inside, making room for the valet to slip in and take her car. “Turns out, forged transcripts and the occasional paid-off admin assistant go a long way.”

“God, I cannot wait to see how this whole thing explodes one day.”

“We all have our cross to bear.” Jade sighed, dramatic. 

The elevator dinged as they stepped inside, trading places with the delivery driver from before. That’s when Jade finally took in Evie’s outfit, specifically the sweatshirt draped over her frame, the name embroidered on the sleeve, clearly not hers.

Her eyes snapped up, mouth dropping open. “IS THAT—”

Evie slapped a hand over her mouth, hissing. “Lower your voice.”

Jade ripped Evie’s hand away. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME—”

Evie gave a polite nod to the man, looking curiously over his shoulder as he walked through the lobby. Pushing the ‘close door’ button incessantly, she released Jade as the doors finally slid shut.

Jade cackled, utterly delighted. She bounced on her toes, eyes still locked onto Evie’s crewneck. “Evie. Genevieve. You absolute menace. That’s Bucky Barnes’ hoodie.”

Evie lifted her chin. “So it is.”

Jade fake-fanned herself. “Oh, my God. I leave you unsupervised for five minutes, and you’re out here stealing clothes off New York’s most eligible super soldier.”

Evie smirked, crossing her arms. “I didn’t steal anything off of them. It’s not my fault they just leave clothes lying around. In their bedrooms. On floors that I have access to.”

“Wait, did you say them? As in plural?” Jade clutched her heart. “I am so proud of you right now.”

The elevator dinged.

Evie grinned, looping an arm through Jade’s as they stepped out onto her floor. “Welcome home, baby.”

Jade sighed dramatically, already kicking off her shoes as they stepped inside.

“Holy shit, Eves,” She was breathless as she set her bags down and walked through Evie’s apartment. She took in the high ceilings, massive windows, and incredible skyline view. “Screw fake law school, I’m about to move in here and be your sugar baby. I’ll even call you daddy, swear.”

“Shut up,” Evie laughed, crossing her arms. 

“I’m not kidding,” Jade bounced up, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Laundry, breakfast in bed, I’ll treat ya real nice…” She planted a glossy kiss on Evie’s cheek, making her squeal and shove her aside. 

“Jade!” She giggled, wiping the gloss print off of her cheek. “First of all, you can’t cook for shit, otherwise maybe I’d be tempted. Second, we need to get ready. We have a party to attend tonight.” 

Jade froze and turned, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” 

An hour and a half later, Jade stood in front of Evie’s full-length mirror, tilting her head as she critically assessed the black dress she had just wiggled into.

“Okay, but does this say fun and flirty or I have committed fraud and I’m not afraid to do it again?”

Evie, finally finished with her makeup, flopped across her bed, took a lazy sip of wine and smirked. “It definitely says I lied my way into Harvard and will lie my way into your bed, too.”

Jade beamed. “Perfect.”

Evie giggled, rolling onto her stomach to grab the nearly full bottle of obscenely expensive wine from the nightstand. She tipped the bottle toward Jade’s glass, topping it off with an artistic flourish. “Drink up, baby. This bottle cost me way too much for us to even be considering drinking it.”

Jade snorted but took a sip anyway, immediately making a face. “Jesus Christ.”

Evie winced, tasting hers again. “Yeah, I know.”

Jade stared at the bottle. “This wine costs more than my rent. Why does it taste like ass?”

Evie groaned, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “I dunno. I saw a price tag with too many zeroes and thought surely this would be amazing for a special occasion such as this. Turns out, rich people are drinking garbage and convincing themselves they like it.”

Jade sighed. “Well, we gave it a shot.” She grabbed the nearly empty bottle of cheap tequila from the dresser instead, twisting off the cap with a flourish. “Let’s drink like the poor little peasants we are at heart.”

Evie grinned. “God bless America.”

Music played in the background, a Lana-filled playlist that was just loud enough to drown out their talking-over-each-other-catch-up but not loud enough to be a full-blown noise complaint.

Evi sat cross-legged on the bed, lazily twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she watched Jade attempt to curl her hair and take a tequila shot at the same time. It went about as well as expected.

Jade coughed, eyes watering, and set the shot glass down way too hard. “Jesus. Okay. Back to the important topic—”

Evie sighed, more for show than actual desire not to have this conversation. Jade spun to face her, eyes glinting. “THE SUPER SOLDIERS.”

“God, you’re relentless.” Evie groaned, rolling back onto the bed. 

Jade cackled, crawling onto the bed beside her. “Evie. You are living the dream scenario of every woman in America. Possibly the world.”

Evie tilted her head. “I don’t know. Chris Evans exists.”

Jade waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, he’s great. But Eves, you have Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes wrapped around your perfectly manicured little finger, and I need details.”

Evie examined her hand nonchalantly. “I did get a manicure yesterday.”

Jade gasped, grabbing Evie’s hand. “Oh, let me see—” She blinked. “Wait, don’t change the subject.” She snatched Evie’s phone off the bed. “I swear to God, if you’re not texting them right now, I’ll do it for you.”

Evie laughed, reaching for it, but Jade dodged out of reach. “Oh my God, give it back—”

“Not until you admit that you’re in deep,” Jade sing-songed, holding the phone above her head.

Evie flopped back onto the pillows, groaning. “Fine. Yes. They are distracting and annoying and entirely too good-looking for their own good. Happy?”

Jade beamed. “Extremely. I mean, seriously. How is it fair? One super soldier? Understandable. Two? That’s just greedy.”

Evie grinned. “Oh, it’s criminal.”

Jade shrieked, kicking at her before launching herself off the bed and grabbing her half finished tequila shot. “Okay, okay—real talk.” She downed the rest of  it like it was water, then pointed dramatically. “You like both of them, right?”

Evie sighed, running a hand through her damp hair. “Yes.”

Jade smirked. “And they both like you?”

Evie paused, picking at the hem of Bucky’s sweatshirt.

“…Yeah.”

“And they’re both going to be at this party tonight?” 

“Yep.”

Jade wiggled her brows. “Oh, this is so good.”

“Please, you’ll be so distracted with all of New York’s finest bachelors-and-otherwise to even pay attention to me.” Evie sipped her drink, pacing herself more than her friend.

“As if a girl can’t multitask,” Jade winked. “Now go get dressed, we have a party to attend.”

Evie laughed, checking her phone as she pushed off of the bed. 

A text from Bucky popped up: You seriously broke into our floor just to steal a hoodie?

A response from Evie: i like to keep things even.

She stretched her arm out and snapped a quick photo. Evie, cozy in the hoodie, sipping ridiculously expensive wine, legs bare.

A new message from Bucky popped up.

Bucky: Brat.

Evie laughed, delighted, as she texted back.

see you tonight. xo

Jade, watching intensely, grabbed Evie’s arm. “I love you so much.”

Evie grinned.

“I know.”

________

The Uber pulled away, tires crunching against the pavement as Evie and Jade stepped onto the curb, looking up at the blazing spectacle that was the Stark Tower penthouse. Even from the ground floor, the music was thumping, and through the massive glass windows, silhouettes of partygoers moved beneath the glow of chandeliers and flashing lights.

Jade let out a low whistle, tipping her chin up as she took it all in. “I’m sorry. What kind of party did you say this was?”

Evie smirked, shifting her clutch under her arm. “A Tony Stark party.”

Jade grinned, turning toward her. “So pure chaos?”

“Correct.”

Jade’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the entrance, where a small army of private security guards stood flanking the doors. She gestured toward them, deadpan. “Okay, but why is there actual security? This is a party full of Avengers.”

Evie sighed, looping her arm through Jade’s and tugging her toward the private entrance. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to worry about supervillains crashing the party—just drunken CEOs and foreign dignitaries who can’t hold their liquor.”

Jade snorted, glancing over her shoulder as one of the guards subtly reached up to press his comms earpiece. “Are we even cool enough to be here?”

Evie grinned, flashing her badge at the private scanner. “We don’t have to be. I have clearance.”

A soft beep sounded, and the doors slid open, leading them into a sleek, gold-lit private lobby with a direct elevator to the penthouse.

Jade’s eyes widened as they stepped inside, her head tilting up. “Holy shit.”

Evie laughed, hitting the button for the top floor.

Jade turned to her, eyes bright. “Dude. I have seen this building on the news since I was like, twelve.”

Evie grinned, linking arms with her again. “Yeah? You starstruck?”

Jade huffed, rolling her eyes. “A little. Not the point.” She turned to Evie suddenly, excitement creeping into her voice. “Wait—can I see your lab?”

Evie let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over her heart. “Not even through the front door yet and you’re already more interested in my tech than my actual presence? Wow. I feel so used.”

Jade grinned, leaning dramatically against the elevator wall. “Evie. Bestie. Love of my life. I am always interested in you. However, I also have an insatiable hunger for your cool science shit. Show me the lab.”

Evie laughed, shaking her head. “Later. After the party.”

Jade groaned, dramatically tilting her head back. “Fine. But only because I know you’re excited to see your boys.”

Evie arched a brow, immediately deflecting. “I’m actually far more concerned for Tony’s behavior if he has to wait much longer before seeing you.” She tilted her head, lips curving. “Considering this entire party is because of you.”

Jade blinked, flat expression not fooling either of them.

“…Oh, shit.”

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, spilling Evie and Jade into the chaos of a full-scale Stark Tower party. The atmosphere hit them instantly—low lighting pulsing in time with the bass, laughter threading through conversations over the sound of clinking glasses, the gleam of a champagne tower catching the light from the massive chandeliers overhead. The open-concept space was packed, a swirling mix of New York’s elite, SHIELD operatives, and Avengers alike, all seamlessly blending into Tony’s particular brand of organized debauchery.

Even from across the room, Evie felt their eyes on her.

Steve and Bucky had been mid-conversation, Steve nursing a drink, Bucky flicking a poker chip idly between his fingers, when she stepped in. Now, they both stood frozen, the air around them shifting in a way that only seemed to happen when they were together. Their focus was locked, unwavering. Desperate.

A slow, satisfied smile curled at the edges of Evie’s lips.

Oh, they were done for.

“Ready to meet them?” Evie murmured to Jade.

“They’re so much…bigger in person,” Jade said through her smile as she looked them up and down across the room.

Evie waggled her fingers in a lazy wave, biting back a smirk as she watched Bucky shift in his stance, his grip tightening around the chip until it snapped in half. Steve didn’t even blink. Didn’t move. Just held her gaze like he was waiting.

She took a step forward—

And got intercepted.

“Evie!” Tony’s voice was already in rare form: booming, slightly slurred, and laced with the unmistakable glee of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. His arm slung around her shoulders before she could even react. “Just the genius I was looking for.”

She sighed, less than amused, before glancing up at him. “Oh? I was under the impression you had other priorities tonight.”

Tony smirked, then looked beside her to where Jade stood, effortlessly elegant in her champagne-colored dress, watching them with her usual brand of sharp amusement. His grip on Evie tightened. “Ah, yes. My priorities have just materialized in front of me. Hello, Harvard.”

Jade tilted her head, feigning confusion. “I’m sorry, have we met? I feel like I know you from somewhere…”

Tony grinned, already enjoying himself. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe from your wildest dreams?”

Jade let out a soft hum, considering. “Mmm, no, that’s not it.” She tapped a manicured finger against her lips. “Wait—you’re that billionaire. What’s your name again?”

Tony’s brows lifted. “You wound me.”

Jade’s lips twitched. “Something industrial… Stock? Stork?”

Tony’s smirk widened. “Keep going, sweetheart. It’s getting better.”

Jade snapped her fingers. “Oh, that’s right—Stank.”

Evie snorted. Tony barked out a laugh, clearly eating it up. “God, you’re dangerous. I love it.” He looked at Evie. “I love her.”

Jade took a slow look around the room, feigning disinterest. “You should be careful about throwing that word around, Stark. A girl might think you mean it.”

Tony leaned in, his grin sharp. “And what if I do?”

The air between them crackled. Evie rolled her eyes. “Alright, well, I’m not third-wheeling whatever this is.”

Tony barely glanced at her, waving her off. “Yeah, yeah, go find your geriatric boyfriends.”

Evie shot him a glare over her shoulder. “I will.”

And she did.

As she wove her way through the crowd, she felt the air crackling the closer she got.

They didn’t say anything at first.

Steve stood straighter the second he saw her, like his body reacted before his brain caught up. He was holding a glass, but he hadn’t taken a sip. Bucky was still flipping the half of the poker chip between his fingers, eyes pinned to her.

Evie slowed as she approached, letting them look. She never shied from attention anyway, but but there was just something about the way they looked at her.

Steve cleared his throat, gaze flickering from her heels to her face and back again. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “You look beautiful.” Not flirtatious. Not teasing. Just… sincere. Sweet. Steve.

Evie blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Thank you,” she said, softer than intended.

Bucky hadn’t spoken yet, but his eyes lingered on her a little longer, flicking over her hair, the dip of her collarbone, the cut of her dress. He didn’t say anything at first. 

“I thought you were going to wear red,” he said finally, voice rough at the edges.

“I did.” Her lips curled, tilting her head.

Steve tilted his head, brow creasing as his eyes scanned down her black dress.

Evie leaned in ever so slightly. Lowered her voice. “Underneath, Captain.”

It took a full second for Steve to compute. Bucky’s hand flexed around the fragmented poker chip.

“You’re dangerous,” Steve murmured.

“That’s funny,” Evie said, tone brightening into a tease. “Coming from the two men who’ve been sending me texts that could land you in mountains of HR paperwork for a very long time.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched. “You started it.”

“I seem to remember something about a coat closet,” Steve added, voice lower now.

“Mmm. I did mention that,” Evie mused, stepping just a little closer. “Tell me, Captain. Did that make you blush?”

Steve’s jaw ticked. “A little.”

“And you?” she asked, turning her attention to Bucky. “Still thinking about that red lace?”

Bucky didn’t respond. He just reached behind him and set the poker chip down on the table—snapped clean in half again. “Every damn minute.”

Evie’s smile turned dangerous. “Well then,” she said, taking a small step back, just enough to give them a better look. “What are you going to do about it?” Evie lifted a brow, coy and composed—but her pulse was hammering.

Bucky took a half-step forward. Steve’s hand flexed at his side like he wanted to reach for her and couldn’t. The tension wrapped around all three of them like static; buzzing, bright, inevitable.

“Okay, absolutely not,” a voice cut in from behind her. “This is a family-friendly event—depending on your definition of ‘family’ and your tolerance for lawsuits.”

Tony. Again.

Evie exhaled sharply through her nose, already annoyed, but the sheer smugness in his voice made her slowly turn towards him, not bothering to mask her glare.

“Tony,” she said, biting the word.

He grinned. “Evie. Darling.”

“What the hell do you—”

Tony leaned in, voice lowering just for her. "Unless you want the entire party to watch you and America's Most Wanted devour each other with your eyes, I suggest you take a lap."

Evie narrowed her eyes. “And what if I want exactly that?”

Tony clucked his tongue and slung an arm around her shoulders like he owned the place. Which, unfortunately, he did. “Then I’d have to remind you that I’m technically your boss. And Pepper has not-so-gently reminded me that I can’t afford another PR firestorm this quarter.” He turned to Steve and Bucky, nodding once with the air of a man who’s been dragged into this mess against his will. “Gentlemen.”

Steve looked like he was desperately trying to remember how to breathe. Bucky looked like he was seconds from committing a violent crime.

“I hate you,” she muttered. “Where’s Jade?”

Tony gestured with his drink toward the other side of the room. Evie followed his gaze and nearly snorted. Across the party, Jade was leaning casually against a barstool, absolutely holding court with a senator who looked completely enraptured, hanging onto her every word.

Evie shook her head. “Of course.”

Tony hummed. “You think she’s talking about politics?”

Evie glanced at the way Jade’s lips curved as she spoke. The way the senator was nodding along, utterly transfixed.

She smirked. “Not a chance.”

Tony took a sip of his drink, watching. “I love her.”

Evie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, get in line. Now what do you want? I know you have better things to do at this party than cockblock.”

Tony grinned, turning back to her. “I dunno, I just wanted to talk.” He slowly sipped his drink, clearly amused at her impatience. “Maybe to tell you that Leah Westbrook from Forbes is here, wanting to meet you and,” He nonchalantly swirled his drink, looking around the room as if he had all the time in the world. “Schedule a time to do a feature piece on Stark Industries’ newest prodigy?”

Evie blinked. Her irritation melted so fast it could’ve steamed off her skin. “What?!”

Tony smirked. “She said, and I quote, ‘I want to talk to the redhead in the black dress who made Tony Stark hire her twice.’ I assumed that was you.”

Evie clutched his arm, eyes wide. “You’re not messing with me?”

“Would I ever?” he said innocently. 

“Yes,” She scoffed, as though it were obvious.

“Well, I’m not. This is no joking matter. It’s very impressive, Red. I should know, I got my first Forbes feature at twenty-one. So, you know. You’re not too far behind.”

Evie scoffed. “You’re a nepo baby.”

“Rude, but not incorrect,” he said, shrugging. “Still counts.”

He took another sip of his drink, watching her practically vibrate with excitement. “She’s here with a few other reporters,” Tony added casually. “She said your latest patents have the tech world buzzing.’”

“Oh my god,” Evie whispered, bouncing slightly in her heels.

“Still mad I interrupted your very public verbal foreplay?”

“Yes,” she said sweetly. “But I’ll exact revenge after my cover story comes out.”

Tony chuckled. “You’re terrifying. I’m so proud.”

Evie threw her arms around him in a quick, excited hug; her excitement getting the best of her. “I know. Thank you. Thank you.” She spun on her heel. “Where’s Jade—Jade!”

Jade, still mid-conversation with the senator who looked visibly enchanted by her, looked over just in time for Evie to grab her by the wrist and yank her out of his orbit.

“We have a situation,” Evie hissed, fighting to keep her face neutral when her cheeks ached to break into a giddy smile.

“Is it a good situation or a blow-something-up situation?” Jade asked, already reaching for her clutch like she needed lip gloss either way.

“Forbes.” Evie squeaked. “There’s a woman here from Forbes. She wants to meet me.”

Jade blinked, jaw dropping. Then grinned. “Champagne. Immediately.”

“Yes.”

They both turned in perfect sync like a well-rehearsed heist team and started speed-walking toward the drinks table.

An hour later, the party was in full swing.

The music had shifted to something low and sultry, champagne was flowing like tap water, and the floor had split into loosely organized clumps: Stark Industries execs on one side, Avengers and their honorary members holding court on the other, an amalgamation of politicians, models, and professional athletes in between.

Evie stood near the balcony, half-listening to a perfectly pleasant but unmemorable CEO who’d introduced himself with some line about admiring her work. Though she would have bet her entire first years’ salary that he didn’t even know what she really did, she’d nodded, smiled politely, even laughed once—but her eyes kept drifting.

Steve and Bucky were holding position by the bar, where Natasha had stationed herself as the unofficial bartender. She wore a stunning green dress with a plunging neckline, and an expression that made people tip her without being asked.

The martini glass was cold against Evie’s palm, condensation dripping down the stem as she swirled the last remnants of the drink. She barely noticed.

Because across the room…

Steve and Bucky.

They looked good. Oh, so good.

While she stole another glance in their direction, another suit-clad business man joined them and the two began to drone on about stock options or quarterly earnings or some other meaningless nonsense. She tore her eyes away and forced herself to pretend to be engaged in the conversation in front of her, all the while committing the previous image to memory. Steve in a perfectly tailored navy suit, Bucky in all black, both leaning against the bar, sleeves rolled up, watching her just as much as she was watching them.

She should not be this affected.

Bucky lifted his glass to his lips, ice clinking softly, his blue eyes dragging down her frame at a pace that should have been criminal. Steve, beside him, was more subtle, but just as devastating. Jaw flexing, fingers drumming against the bar, like he was actively forcing himself to stay put.

They weren’t even hiding it.

Evie was losing her goddamn mind.

“…so as you can see, it’s a very exciting time for investors.”

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Who the hell were these guys?

She had stopped paying attention fully somewhere around his first mention of the economy.

Across the room, Bucky smirked. Steve glanced at him before leaning in to mutter something against the rim of his glass. Bucky huffed a quiet laugh. Evie bit her lip.

Enough.

She downed the last sip of her martini in one smooth motion, then, without even sparing a glance at the CEO, pressed the empty glass straight into his hand. He looked up from the conversation he was having, startled, but Evie was already turning.

“I’m gonna go, uh…yeah…goodbye.”

And then she was walking. Straight across the party. Straight to them. Straight to whatever she had been dying for since Saturday night.

She saw Bucky’s smirk widen. Saw Steve swallow hard. She reached them, didn’t even hesitate. One hand wrapped around Bucky’s wrist. The other hooked a finger through Steve’s belt loop. She pulled them. Not that she needed to, they followed instantly. 

Natasha blinked. “Well. Okay then.”

Wanda, who had quietly returned with a flute of champagne just in time to see it happen, tilted her head. “I knew it,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I said it last week, did I not?”

“You did,” Nat grinned, sipping her drink.

Wanda nodded toward the hallway Evie had just disappeared down, flanked by two super soldiers who looked ready to commit crimes. “Think we should warn the cleaning staff?”

Nat shook her head. “Just be glad you didn’t check a coat.”

The door shut with a quiet click.

Evie barely had time to register the dim lighting, the walls lined in luxury coats, the faint thud of bass from the party beyond before Bucky moved.

One step. Then another.

She backed up instinctively and collided with something solid. Warm.

Steve.

A sharp inhale.

Trapped.

“Going somewhere?” Steve’s voice was low, right against her ear.

Her breath hitched. Bucky stopped in front of her. “She’s been making those eyes all night,” he said, eyes dark. “Thought we weren’t gonna do something about it?”

Evie lifted her chin, heart racing. The heat between them was molten. “I was counting on it.”

That was all it took.

Steve moved first, his hand finding her jaw, tilting her face up and back towards his. His eyes searched hers, giving her just enough space to say no.

She didn’t.

He kissed her—hard. Like he’d been starving for it. Like he’d been counting down the days. Weeks. Maybe longer. His hand snaked up and cupped her jaw, turning her head and kissing her deeper.

Evie melted into it, her hand wrapping around his wrist, her breath catching in a little sound she didn’t mean to make.

In front of her, Bucky watched for exactly two seconds before stepping in.

His hands gripped her hips—hot and sure, metal and flesh—and then he was pulling her back against him, mouth finding her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her skin like he already knew every inch of her.

Steve broke the kiss just long enough to breathe.

Bucky didn’t wait.

He lifted her. Effortlessly. Pressed her between them, spine flush against Steve’s chest, thighs wrapped around Bucky’s waist.

“God, look at her,” Bucky muttered, voice rough, lips dragging along her collarbone. “You should see her face.”

Steve’s breath was shaky against her ear. “Fuck, Eves…”

Evie’s head tipped back, eyes fluttering. She was caged in completely: Steve’s arms wrapped low around her waist, Bucky holding her up like she weighed nothing, their hands finding skin like they’d been waiting for permission.

Steve kissed along her shoulder. Bucky’s fingers skimmed under the hem of her dress.

“Tell us to stop,” Steve murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered.

She felt Bucky’s grin against her throat. Steve’s answering exhale was practically a growl.

They were absolutely— 100%— About to make a scene.

[aimeekatee]

[fckmebarnes]

"people are allowed to dislike things"

WRONG. NO ONE is allowed to dislike bucky barnes.

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 27

summary: missed connection, missed connection...BOOM. they finally collide.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: HI HERE YOU GO AS PROMISED did you trust me?! are you happy?! now we can really get to the fun part now that all this angst is behind us (probably)

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge @cjand10 @capswife @otterlycanadian @read-just-cant-stop

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

8:27am

Bucky stepped into the sim room, only to find Steve tightening his wrist wraps and Natasha keying in coordinates at the console. The room smelled faintly of burnt ozone and recycled air, residual from the last simulation. Monitors flickered idly, displaying mission parameters as Nat approved them.

They both looked up as he entered. Natasha tilted her head, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey,” Steve said, adjusting the wrap around his knuckles. “You here for the training run?”

“No,” Bucky replied, scanning the room, tension lining his shoulders. “Looking for Charlotte.”

Nat didn’t blink, eyes coy. “She said she wouldn't be joining us today.”

His jaw tightened just a hair. Not enough for someone else to notice—but Natasha did. She always did. "I'd check the training room. She's been spending a lot of time there lately."

Bucky gave a small nod and turned to leave, already moving toward the door.

Nat’s voice followed him, dry and amused.

“Don’t look so worried. She doesn’t bite.”

He paused in the doorway. Turned his head just enough to glance at her. “Yes, she does.”

Nat smirked. Steve coughed to hide a laugh. "Good luck, Sarge." She called after him. "Maybe try using words this time."

Metal glinted as Bucky raised his middle finger without slowing or turning around.

As the door started to close behind him, Steve muttered to Nat, “Two tacticians who can dismantle an explosive in seconds but absolutely cannot figure out how to communicate their feelings.”

Nat leaned back against the console, arms crossed. “Tragic, really.”

8:37am

Charlotte pushed through the door out onto the SHIELD weapons range.

The air still smelled of gunpowder and smoke, bitter and familiar. Training dummies stood in a lopsided row, some pocked with fresh impact marks. Spent casings littered the floor, glinting under the fluorescent lights.

At the far end of the room, Sam was wiping down a rifle, sliding it back into the rack. He was alone.

"Where’s Barnes?" Charlotte asked, her voice steady.

"Well good morning to you, sunshine," Sam glanced over his shoulder, a flicker of something knowing in his eyes, but his tone stayed easy. "He bailed on class. Told me he had something important to do."

She tried not to react, but something in her expression must’ve given her away. Sam’s mouth curved just a little, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

Charlotte kept her tone neutral. "Did he say where he was going?"

"Didn’t ask," Sam replied, setting another weapon back in its place. He threw her a glance over his shoulder. "Figured you might know more than me."

Her jaw tightened. "Guess not."

Sam offered a half-shrug, more reserved than he would’ve been if he were teasing Bucky directly. "Check the sim room. If he’s not there, maybe try the gym. Or the dock down by the lake, if he’s feeling real dramatic and broody."

Charlotte’s lips twitched, just barely. "Sim room it is."

She turned on her heel, boots echoing against the concrete floor as she left him to his cleanup. Behind her, Sam shook his head to himself, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth as he went back to work.

8:44am

Bucky cut across the compound grounds, boots crunching over gravel as he caught sight of Calla leaving the main café, a paper cup of coffee in hand. Morning sunlight glinted off the rim as she lifted it to her lips, already halfway turned toward the admin wing.

“Calla,” Bucky called, picking up his pace to catch her.

She slowed but didn’t stop, twisting at the waist to look back at him over her shoulder. Her brow lifted, and there was something just a little too knowing in her expression.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she greeted, taking a sip of her coffee, unbothered as ever. “What a lovely surprise.”

"Hi," Bucky didn’t waste time. “You seen Charlotte?”

Calla let out a small hum, as if considering how much she wanted to play this game. She started walking again, leisurely, forcing him to fall into step beside her.

“Maybe I have. Maybe I haven’t,” she replied, the edge of a grin tugging at her mouth.

He gave her a flat look.

Calla, unbothered, took another sip. “Maybe the sim room? She's been going there almost every morning.”

“I already checked.”

“Mmm.” She glanced sideways at him, sharp and amused. “Then your next best bet is the training room. If she's not in either place, we'll have to file a missing persons report because those are the only two places she hangs out these days.”

Bucky’s jaw worked for a moment, like he wanted to push for more but thought better of it.

Instead, he gave a tight nod. “Thanks.”

Calla’s expression softened just a fraction, as if she saw something in him he wasn’t saying out loud. “Good luck, Barnes.”

He was already moving, but her parting words chased after him anyway. “Don’t wait for her to spell it out. She couldn't even if she wanted to. Just...meet her where she's at.”

Bucky didn’t respond. His expression stayed unreadable, but something in his shoulders set with determination. He gave Calla a small, solemn nod, then turned and strode toward the training room.

8:49am

Charlotte marched toward the sim room, her pulse thudding with rising impatience. Through the reinforced glass, she caught a glimpse of Steve and Natasha mid-simulation, focused on the shifting obstacles and flickering monitors. Outside, an agent monitored the session from the control panel, eyes on the data feed.

She didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Is Sergeant Barnes in there?”

The agent startled slightly, then shook his head. “No, Agent Rossi. But he was here about twenty minutes ago. Looking for you, actually—”

Charlotte’s head snapped toward him. “What?” The word was sharp, cutting clean through the hum of the equipment.

The agent blinked, hesitating. “He...asked if you’d been through yet. Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff were the ones who talked to him—"

Her jaw clenched. “Where did he go?”

“Um, he didn't say,” A pause, like he wasn’t sure if he should say more. "But I heard them tell him something about the training room,"

She sucked in a breath, frustrated but already pivoting. “Thanks.”

Without waiting for further explanation, she turned on her heel, footsteps clipped and quick as she strode down the hall, faster than before. Her pulse was ticking up, not from exertion, but from something else entirely—a sharp cocktail of annoyance and anticipation.

If she didn’t catch him this time, she wasn’t sure she ever would.

She walked faster.

8:54am

Bucky stepped into the training room, hopeful despite himself.

The space was quiet, almost too quiet, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights. Training mats lay undisturbed, gear stacked neatly along the far wall. No scuff marks from a sparring session, no towel draped over the edge of the bench, no telltale sign she’d been there.

He scanned the room anyway, as if she might materialize from thin air if he just looked hard enough.

Nothing.

Bucky exhaled through his nose, a low, tired sound. He crossed the room slowly, boots muted on the padded floor. At the center, he paused, turning in a small circle like he could feel her absence vibrating in the walls. It was foolish, he knew, but the disappointment still settled in his chest.

He raked a hand down his face, shaking his head at himself. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe she didn’t want to be found today. Maybe he’d see her tonight in the common room, when things were neutral ground, and they could pretend they weren’t both circling the drain.

With a resigned sigh, he turned toward the door.

8:57am

Charlotte stormed down the corridor toward the training room, her boots striking the floor with sharp precision. Her pulse was a live wire, snapping under her skin, crackling with irritation. She muttered to herself under her breath, too low for anyone to catch, but just loud enough to give herself something to hold onto.

"Fucking ridiculous," she hissed. 

She shoved the door open with more force than necessary—and nearly collided with him. Bucky was maybe five feet from the door, eyes snapping to meet hers as they both froze.

Charlotte’s breath hitched in her chest, words dying on her tongue. All the fire she’d been carrying fizzled in an instant, like cold water thrown over hot coals. Neither of them moved.

His blue eyes swept over her, surprised but wary, like he hadn’t expected this moment either. Charlotte reminded herself to breath, her pulse thudding loud in her ears. The door slammed shut behind her, jolting both of them out of their stupor.

"Hi," Bucky spoke first.

"Hi."

"I've been looking for you."

Charlotte swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Her pulse hadn’t slowed—if anything, it thudded harder now, irregular and fast. “I’ve been looking for you too,” she said quietly. "It turns out you're a lot harder to find when I actually want to see you."

Their eyes stayed locked for a moment, something fragile and unspoken balancing in the air between them.

“And do you?” Bucky's voice was softer this time, tentative. Vulnerable, despite herself. “Want to see me?"

“Yes,” Charlotte admitted.

Her breath came a little easier, though her heart still pounded beneath her ribs. The adrenaline had nowhere to go, caught between flight and something that felt suspiciously like hope.

A moment passed.

“You here to yell at me?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow, trying to play it light but not quite getting there.

“No,” Her expression softened. “Not this time.”

He took a tentative step closer, lifting his hands in surrender. "You gonna try to kill me again?"

Her mouth quirked to one side. "To be determined."

"You broke two of my ribs," He raised an eyebrow at her, half-amused.

"You broke my heart," She retorted, crossing her arms. 

His mouth parted, whatever sharp reply he had withering on his tongue. The humor faded from his eyes, leaving something rawer in its place.

“I know,” he said quietly.

The simplicity of it, the unguarded truth in his tone, caught her off guard. Her arms loosened over her chest, unfolding just a little, smothered the fire inside her for the second time since she'd walked through the doors.

“I deserved what you did,” Bucky added, softer still. He shook his head, gaze dropping briefly to the floor before he looked back at her. “I deserved worse.”

Charlotte’s throat tightened. The defense she’d started to build began to crumble under the weight of his honesty.

“You hurt me,” she admitted, voice rough, but there was no fire behind it now. Only truth. “It wasn't just the briefing, or the report. It was everything. You didn't have my back, and what you said...”

“I know,” he said again, eyes pleading. “I kept waiting for the right moment to explain. But you kept running, and I kept—" He let the words fall away, frustrated with himself. "—I kept letting you.”

A bitter smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. “Guess we’re both good at running.”

Bucky’s gaze softened even more, and he took another small, careful step closer. “Then let’s stop.”

Silence stretched between them. 

Charlotte exhaled, shaky but real. “Okay,” Her voice cracked just a little on the word.

"Okay?" He repeated, like he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it.

“Okay." She echoed.

"I'm sorry, Char." Bucky exhaled through his nose, as if the word alone wasn’t enough, as if he had to fill the space with something more—something that explained the mess between them. "So fucking sorry."

“I didn’t know what to write in that report,” he continued, rough and uneven. His hand flexed at his side like he wanted to reach for something, maybe her, maybe not. “I sat there for hours, Charlotte.” Her name felt heavier in his mouth than it ever had before. “I kept thinking about what would happen if I lied. If I didn't write an objective report.”

Her eyes flickered, but she didn’t speak. Not yet.

“I wanted to,” he admitted, voice cracking at the edges. “Christ, I wanted to. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t play favorites, they'd all have seen right through it. Hell, they already did.”

He shifted, the tension pulling tight across his shoulders. His gaze dropped, as if he couldn’t quite bear to look at her fully.

“If I lied and you got sent into another mission thinking you were invincible, thinking you couldn't make a mistake…” He swallowed hard. “And something happened to you—if you got hurt because I didn’t have the guts to say the truth on paper, I couldn’t have lived with that.”

Her arms folded tighter across her chest, reflexive. A flicker of old defenses rising to shield herself from the sting of his words.

But he didn’t stop.

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said hoarsely. “I thought if I did it by the book, maybe you’d hate me for a day, a week, but at least you’d be alive to do it.”

Her chest rose and fell sharply, her breath unsteady now.

"You said I was a liability."

Bucky’s eyes lifted, something sharp flashing behind them—not anger, but something closer to pain.

“I know,” he said softly. “And I meant it.”

Her defenses snapped halfway back into place, her arms folding tighter across her chest. He saw it—the flicker of steel in her spine—and pushed forward anyway.

“I meant it,” he repeated, voice rough, “because it’s true. Char, you scared the hell out of me.”

He took a small, unsteady breath. “During the attack, when you doubled back for that data—when the HYDRA aircraft exploded with you in range—”

His throat bobbed, his gaze unfocused like he could still hear it, still see it play out in his head.

“We weren't close enough to help you,” Bucky went on, hoarse. “All I could do was listen to the audio feed. I heard you accept it. Heard you give your coordinates. I heard you accept that you were going to die, Charlotte."

Charlotte’s breath hitched, sharp and shallow.

“I took Steve’s shield and jumped out of a moving quinjet because I thought I was about to lose you,” Bucky rasped. His chest heaved with the memory. “I didn’t even think. I just—jumped.”

Her eyes were glassy, fixed on him like she was seeing him for the first time.

“And then Arizona,” Bucky continued, almost stumbling over the words now that they’d started to fall free. “When you went rogue, seeing you running across the rooftop like you didn’t care what happened to you—”

He set his jaw, regaining his composure.

“It brought me right back there,” he admitted, raw. “To that moment over the quinjet speakers, thinking I was hearing your voice for the last time. And I couldn’t go through it again. I couldn’t, Char.”

Silence swallowed the room.

His chest rose and fell like he’d just fought a battle, like getting those words out cost him everything.

“I wrote what I wrote because I couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t do it again,” Bucky said, finally meeting her gaze, completely bare. “And because I couldn’t survive it if you did.”

She opened her mouth, just barely, the beginnings of a response curling in her throat.

But Bucky shook his head, rough and immediate. “Wait—just let me—”

His hand lifted slightly, like he could catch her words in the air before they fell.

“It’s not just that I don’t trust you,” he forced out, voice tight and frayed at the edges. His eyes, wide and unguarded, pinned hers. “I do. I do, Charlotte.”

Her breath hitched again, a small, involuntary sound.

“It’s me,” he confessed, raw. 

Silence, somehow jagged and heavy. Suffocating.

“I don’t trust what I’ll do,” Bucky said, his face twisted in a grimace like the words physically hurt. “If something happens to you. If you go down out there, or if I hear you say goodbye over comms again—”

He exhaled, harsh and uneven, and rubbed a hand over his face like he could wipe away the thought.

“I’d burn the whole goddamn world down trying to get to you,” he rasped. “And I wouldn't care who got caught in the crossfire.”

The truth hung between them, too big, too real to be taken back.

His chest heaved, his shoulders tight with the weight of it. But there was relief there, too—a sliver of it—like saying it aloud had carved open a space between them that finally felt honest.

Like, maybe, this was what she needed to hear all along.

Without thinking, Bucky closed the distance between them in two long strides. His hands found her arms, not rough but firm, like he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding her.

“I took myself off active combat rotation,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. His fingers curled lightly around her biceps, anchoring. “I never got to tell you—because you didn’t give me the chance to.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, breath catching.

“If you’re emotionally volatile,” he went on, voice low and ragged, “Fuck, then so am I.”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

“My feelings for you,” he confessed, rough and raw, “they make me a hell of a liability. In the field, and everywhere else, for that matter.”

His thumb brushed along her sleeve like he couldn’t help it, like he needed the contact to steady himself.

“I wasn't trying to sideline you forever,” Bucky said, gaze never leaving hers. “I just need you to care about your own life as much as I do.”

Charlotte’s breath shuddered out of her, and for a heartbeat, it felt like she might fall apart entirely. Instead, she let out a quiet, breathless laugh. It wasn’t sharp or bitter, just a small flicker of relief curling in her chest.

“Damn,” she managed, her voice unsteady but laced with the barest hint of humor, “Guess that means we’ll have to find a hobby. You know—if we’re both off the mission roster.”

A huff of a laugh escaped Bucky, low and rough, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward like he couldn’t stop it. "Guess we will.”

Her lips curved into something fragile but true. And then, without thinking, she lifted her hands and pressed them to his chest—flat, open, right over his heart.

He stilled beneath her touch, breath catching in his throat.

“I thought I lost you,” she admitted, the words soft but weighted. “But it wasn’t just the report.” Her voice caught, but she pushed through it. “It was reading those words in your handwriting. Seeing you—you—call me volatile, a liability.” Her breath hitched, raw in her chest. “It felt like you were confirming everything I’m terrified is true about me.”

Bucky’s brows drew together, like the ache in her voice physically hurt him.

Her palms stayed firm over his heartbeat, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her fingers.

“It felt like you saw all the worst parts of me,” Charlotte continued, her gaze locked on his, voice rough. “Like you saw them, and you agreed.” She swallowed hard, emotion swelling in her throat. “I wanted to make you feel it. I wanted you to hurt the way I did.” Her voice cracked again, but this time she didn’t shy away from it. 

Bucky’s eyes searched hers, pained and rough. His hands tightened gently on her arms like he could steady her—or himself.

“That’s not—” He broke off, exhaling hard, frustrated not with her but with himself. “That’s not what I saw.”

Her brow furrowed, like she didn’t dare believe him.

“I never saw you that way,” Bucky rasped. His words came raw and halting, like he was yanking them straight from his chest. “You think I saw someone reckless, someone broken—but I saw someone who kept fighting, no matter how bad it got.”

She blinked, quick and sharp, and her hands trembled slightly over his heart.

“You saw someone who ran straight into a death sentence,” she bit out, but her voice wasn’t angry—it was desperate. “Who couldn’t even tell when she was burning out.”

“I saw someone they tried to break,” Bucky shot back, fierce. “And failed.”

His chest heaved with the force of it, and for a heartbeat, he looked like he might say more—but his gaze softened, and what came next was quieter. Truer.

“I didn’t write that report because I thought you were weak,” he said. “I wrote it because you scared the hell out of me.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“You always think I look at you and see what’s broken,” he continued, his thumb brushing her arm like he couldn’t not touch her. “But all I’ve ever seen is what they did to you. And all I’ve ever felt is guilt that I didn’t get you out." His hands tightened ever so slightly around her arms, as if he was afraid she'd turn to smoke and slip through his fingers. "I couldn't save you when it counted. I've been trying to make up for it ever since you came back into my life."

Charlotte’s lips parted, breath caught tight in her chest. Her hands, still splayed over his heart, felt the thrum of it beneath her fingertips.

“You did save me,” she said softly, but there was a quiet strength under the words. Her gaze flicked up to meet his. “Just... not the way you think.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, like he wanted to protest, but she shook her head.

“You didn't get me out of that HYDRA facility,” she went on, voice rough but earnest. “But I got out. I got myself out.” There was a flicker of fire in her eyes, pride laced with truth. “You can't keep blaming yourself for not saving me when you were drowning, too.” she added, softer now. 

His lips parted, something raw flickering across his expression.

“But you’ve saved me since then,” Charlotte continued, a small, almost smile curling at her mouth. “In so many ways.”

She ticked them off on her fingers, like she was tallying proof aloud for both of them.

“When you find me awake in the middle of the night and bring me coffee, because you know I can't go back to sleep after the nightmares,” She tilted her head. "Or when you explain movie plots to me we're all watching something I’ve never seen—and you know I won’t understand it,"

Bucky let out a quiet breath of a laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"When you turn the thermostat up in the common room because you know I absolutely hate the cold," She raised her eyebrows. "Even though I know the whole team gets pissed at you for it."

He chuckled, looking at the floor.

"Yeah," she added. "You've saved my ass literally, too." Her lips quirked into a faint smile. "You jumped out of a goddamn quinjet. You carried me out of the woods. You know when I'm going down before this thing does half the time." She gestured loosely to her bracelet, her eyes flicking to it before finding his again.

“But you really save me when you make me laugh,” she went on, her voice dropping to something fragile and real. “When you remind me that this is real. That I got out. That I’m here.”

She fought against the swell of emotion rising fast, her next words barely more than a whisper.

“You save me a little bit every time you make me feel safe,” she breathed. “And... normal. And... ” Her eyes searched his. “Loved.”

The last word hung in the air, soft and simple and complex and shattering.

Bucky’s breath caught, just a fraction. His gaze softened ever so slightly, like the floor had dropped out from under him, but he didn’t mind the fall. His chest rose with a slow, uneven breath as his hands slid from her arms to her waist, like he needed to feel her there, real and solid.

“Good,” he spoke slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “Because you are.”

______

"Yo, wait up!" Agent Thompson jogged down the corridor, breathless, catching up to two fellow agents just outside the east wing.

"You guys hear why the training room’s locked down for the rest of the day?" he asked, slightly out of breath.

Agent Morales, already halfway through a protein bar, shrugged. "Heard someone hurled a weight bench across the room. Lodged it clean into the wall. Took out the doorframe too. Maintenance says it’s a hazard zone for at least a couple days."

"No shit?" Thompson’s eyes widened.

"Oh, it gets better," chimed in Agent Reed, grinning like a man who knew exactly what kind of gossip he was delivering. He lowered his voice conspiratorially, glancing over his shoulder even though the hall was empty. "Word is, Jenkins walked in for his noon sparring slot and found Sergeant Barnes and Agent Rossi going at it on the mats."

Thompson nearly choked on air. "You’re kidding."

"Swear to God," Reed said, holding up his hands. "Barnes apparently grabbed the nearest bench and launched it at the wall. Guess the doorframe was just collateral damage."

Thompson gaped, shaking his head. "That’s one way to tell someone to fuck off."

Morales let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "I don’t know who I’m more jealous of."

"I just want to see the security footage," Thompson muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, good luck with that," Reed snorted. "FRIDAY’s probably already scrubbed it. Bet Stark’s got it on loop in his tower right now, though."

The trio slowed as they passed the caution tape strung across the training room entrance, the gaping hole where the bench had embedded in the wall now cordoned off with bright yellow warnings.

Morales tilted his head, squinting at the angle of the bench like he was trying to reverse-engineer the physics of the whole situation. "How would you... I mean, what position would you have to be in....and how would you throw it from, like what angle—"

Thompson frowned, equally perplexed. "Honestly? It's impressive."

Reed let out a low whistle, crossing his arms as he surveyed the damage. "Maybe Barnes is teaching the wrong course."

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 26

summary: the dust is settling between Bucky and Char.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: next chapter coming so soon! let me know what you think! we're getting close to happiness, I SWEAR! I won't make them suffer forever!

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge @cjand10 @capswife @otterlycanadian @read-just-cant-stop

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

It was almost midnight when Charlotte knocked.

She held the wine behind her back like it was an apology, stolen from Tony’s private collection. She hadn’t even looked at the label—just grabbed the first thing with a cork and enough dust to feel expensive.

Calla answered barefoot, in bike shorts and a faded Air Force sweatshirt, her curls half-pulled back and face bare. She blinked once, took in the sight of Charlotte in her SHIELD hoodie and tousled hair, and stepped aside without a word.

“Sorry it’s late,” Charlotte said, holding up the bottle as a peace offering. “I come bearing gifts.”

Calla arched a brow. “From Stark’s stash?”

Charlotte grinned. “Nothing but the best contraband for you.”

They moved through the apartment like muscle memory—Charlotte kicking off her shoes by the door, Calla pulling two glasses from the cabinet. No lights except the kitchen and the dim glow of the other compound buildings seeping through the windows. They sat on the couch. Charlotte curled one leg under her, cradling her glass like it might warm more than her hands.

“I should’ve come sooner,” she said quietly.

“You should’ve,” Calla agreed, no heat in her tone. Just honesty.

“Things have just been…busy.” Charlotte toyed with her glass.

Calla gave her a look. “Don’t play that with me. I already know it’s been a shitshow with you and Barnes. Sam told me.”

That cut through whatever casual mask Charlotte had been trying to hold up.

“Oh,” she said.

“Yeah.” Calla took a sip. “So if you’re here to give me the edited version, don’t bother.”

Charlotte stared at her wine. “I wasn’t.”

“Good.”

For a moment, Charlotte just sat there. She didn’t know where to start—not with the mission, not with Bucky, not even close with the way she felt split in two emotionally. So she started with the facts.

“I went off script on the mission,” she said. “Split from the team, chased down intel we weren’t supposed to have. Got great information, but pissed everyone off doing it.”

Calla said nothing, just nodded for her to keep going.

“I slept with him.” Her voice didn’t shake. It was just… flat.

“I figured,” Calla said gently.

“Several times, actually.”

“Naturally.” 

Charlotte’s lips twitched. “Sam again?”

“Nope. Just a hunch. All that ‘we hate each others’ guts and can’t stand to be in the same room’ energy had to go somewhere. I’m surprised it took this long.”

She huffed a laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It wasn’t just that. It was good. Great, really. Then it wasn’t. I think I fucked it up. Or maybe he did. Or maybe we both did.”

Calla leaned back, tucking her legs up under her. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte admitted. “I keep thinking if I just keep moving, I won’t have to.”

“But you came here.”

“I came here because you’re the one of the only people who sees through my bullshit without making me feel like a case file.” She looked down at her glass. “And the other person isn’t really an option right now.”

Calla’s gaze softened. “Then let me see.”

Charlotte exhaled through her nose. “I’m angry,” she said. “At him. At me. At SHIELD. At all of it. But I don’t know what to do about any of it.”

“Then let’s start from the beginning,” Calla said decisively, sitting up straighter. “Walk me through the mission, why you did what you did. If you broke protocol, there was a reason, right?”

Charlotte hesitated, swirling the wine in her glass, then let the words spill slowly.

"After the compound attack, something didn’t sit right. Everyone kept saying it was just some fringe HYDRA loyalists—radicals trying to make noise—but I didn’t buy it. It felt... too organized. Too specific."

Calla nodded, listening.

"I just couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it. So when we were on the mission and I saw an opening to steal the laptop, to dig deeper, I took it. I knew it wasn't part of the mission, but I couldn't miss the window. I just...couldn't." She paused, jaw tight. "It wasn’t about ego. I wasn’t trying to go rogue just to prove a point. I was scared. Genuinely scared. And I—I didn’t think I needed permission to act, not if it meant we’d get blindsided again."

Charlotte’s eyes stayed on her drink. "So yeah, I went off script. I got the intel. But it cost me. Bucky's opinion. SHIELD’s trust. Hell, maybe even my place on the team."

She shook her head. "I was just so fucking scared they were coming back. I couldn’t do nothing. Not again. The thing is, Calla...I think I was right."

Calla lifted her head slightly, brows pinching together. "Wait. What do you mean, you think you were right?"

Charlotte hesitated. "There were files on that laptop—logs, blueprints, references to supply chains that shouldn’t exist anymore. It wasn’t just a list of names or old files—it was current. Coordinated. They’re rebuilding, Calla. And not in a fringe, underground forum kind of way. This was structured. Funded."

Calla’s expression shifted into something more serious. "Did you take it to SHIELD?"

"I tried. I flagged it to Maria within twenty-four hours. She shut it down. Said they’d look into it but it didn’t meet the threat threshold yet. Too many unknowns, not enough confirmation. Protocol this, clearance that—"

She shook her head. "They buried it in red tape. And I get it, I do. You can’t just go demolishing every abandoned base you find on a hunch. But I’m telling you, this isn't something you can just wait on. Not with HYDRA."

Calla sighed. "Look, I know they can be frustrating, but they don’t take something like this lightly. If they brushed it off, it’s not because they don’t care. They just can’t move on something without a full picture. That’s the deal. It sucks, believe me, I get it. But just because they're not doing anything now doesn't mean they're not doing anything at all."

Charlotte didn’t respond right away. Just looked back down at her wine, her jaw set.

"Char," Calla tilted her head, reaching out and touching her knee. "I'm not taking their side. I know this is a big deal and if you tell me you've got a bad feeling about this, then I'm with you one hundred percent." 

Charlotte's eyes flicked up to meet hers. 

"I can't tell you what to do. I'm just saying...you'll have a lot more resources at your disposal if you just play nice for a little longer and work with SHIELD. There's not one single person at this compound that wants to see HYDRA come back. Especially after the attack, no one will take this lightly." She squeezed Charlotte's knee. "I promise you that. I don't have much sway over the intelligence division, but I'll see if I can put a few bugs in the right ears. Sam, too."

"Thank you." She gave a half-hearted smile, squeezing Calla's hand. 

"I've got your back. What's the fun in being married to an Avenger if you can't throw your weight around every now and again?" She winked. "Speaking of...does Bucky know about this?" 

Charlotte hesitated, her thumb brushing the rim of her glass. "No."

Calla pulled back just enough to look at her. "Why not?"

Charlotte exhaled through her nose. "Because...it's a long story."

"You're already here after midnight, my schedule isn't exactly jam-packed right now." Calla tilted her head, voice gentle.

Charlotte cracked a small smile that didn't meet her eyes.

"Char," Calla’s brow knit. "Charlotte. He’s the only person on the planet who will understand what this means like you do."

“I know,” she said, too quickly. Then again, slower. “I know.”

“But?”

Charlotte stared ahead, eyes unfocused. "It's all so screwed up, Cal. I don't even know what's my fault and what's his at this point."

Calla didn’t say anything. Just waited.

Charlotte let out a shaky breath, her gaze still distant. "We got stranded after the mission. That storm rolled in and we got grounded for a couple days at the safe house." She paused. "It was quiet. After everything that had happened, it felt like the world had stopped spinning for a second. And I—I let myself breathe. I think he did too."

Calla gave a small nod of encouragement, but didn’t speak.

"One thing led to another," Charlotte continued, eyes flicking toward her wine. "It wasn’t planned. But it was... good. It was, um...my first time. I didn’t know if I should tell him, but then it was all happening so fast and I didn't know what I was doing so I just...told him. He was so...kind. Didn’t say anything weird or make it a big deal. He just made me feel safe. Made sure it was what I wanted."

A beat passed.

"It was." Her mouth curved into a half-smile. "It really, really was." 

Calla laughed. "I want to press you for details SO badly, you have no idea, but this doesn't feel like the time. Just know that one day, Charlotte Rossi, you will be giving me the full, unadulterated play-by-play."

"Deal," Charlotte chuckled despite herself, taking a sip of her wine. "So, we slept together. It was...yeah. We fell asleep. And then the goddamn Iron Legion blew the door in at six a.m. Like...full breach and clear. Wood shrapnel and rain everywhere. We thought we were being assassinated."

Calla’s eyes widened as she raised her hand to cover her mouth, smothering a laugh. "You're joking."

"Oh, but I'm not. I’ve never put pants on that quickly in my entire life." Charlotte chuckled softly into her glass. "Turns out we missed the check in...and then didn't answer our phones for about ten hours."

"Sam mentioned something about..." Calla reached out and lifted Charlotte's left arm, her bracelet glinting in the low light. "This?"

"Oh, well, that too." She shook her head, cheeks flushing. "Not exactly the way I would have chosen to tell the team, but here we are."

They chuckled as Calla refilled their glasses. Charlotte explained the rest of the time at the safe house. The slow pace. The quiet. The Spaghetti-O's and the storm and the conversations. Her eyes looked distant, wistful. Calla just listened.

"We got back and went straight to the briefing and...it was like none of it had happened. I don't know what I expected, I mean it wasn't like we confessed undying love for each other. We slept together." Charlotte looked like she was trying to convince herself. "The briefing went to shit, and I was mad, yeah. But then I read the report. His report."

Charlotte’s voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke the words that had been echoing in her mind since she read them. "Emotional volatility presents an ongoing liability in the field."

Calla’s expression tightened. "Shit."

Charlotte nodded. "I just...snapped. I found him in the training room. Started throwing punches. Trying to bait him. Then—"

She swallowed. Her fingers gripped her glass too tightly.

"It got messy. Emotionally. Physically. I didn’t know what I wanted—I just knew I wanted him to feel as wrecked as I did."

Calla watched her carefully. "Did he fight back?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Not really. He just stood there and took it. Tried to talk to me. With the rest...I initiated it. All of it. I wanted to feel powerful, in control, but... I took something that was sweet...something that felt sacred between us. And I made it ugly." Her voice cracked, just barely. "I thought it would make me feel better. I thought it would level the playing field, somehow. I wanted to punish him for making me feel like I didn’t matter. And now I can’t take it back."

She looked down. "I hate that I did it. I ruined it. I ruined us."

Calla was quiet for a long moment. Not judging. Not trying to spin it. Just there. Then she reached out and gently took the glass from Charlotte’s hands, setting it on the coffee table. Her hand returned, covering Charlotte’s again.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

Charlotte’s throat tightened.

“He’s not some fragile thing you broke, Char. He’s a grown-ass man with just as much baggage and trauma as you, maybe more. You can't break something that hasn't been whole in a very long time.” She squeezed Charlotte's hand. "But you can fix it, if you want to."

Calla continued. “I’m not saying it didn’t hurt. I’m not saying it wasn’t messy. But you didn’t ruin anything. The two of you? You’ve survived far worse than each other.”

Charlotte didn’t say anything. Her eyes were glassy, but dry. The silence hung between them.

“I think you’re both still figuring it out,” Calla said softly. “All of it. And maybe this was never meant to be clean. Maybe it’s supposed to be hard. Broken. Real. But you didn't survive everything you have just to isolate yourself from the one person who understands the special kind of screwed up that you are.”

Charlotte nodded slowly, like the movement cost her something. She leaned into Calla’s shoulder, finally letting her body rest. "You're right." 

Calla rested her head against Charlotte's. "I know."

“I missed you,” Charlotte said, barely above a whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Calla replied. “Even if you try to ghost me again.”

Charlotte smiled at that. A real one. Small, tired, but real.

“Next time I steal wine,” she murmured, “I’ll bring snacks too.”

“You better.”

_____

The training room was quiet this early—fluorescents buzzing above, the faint clink of her bracelet against a weight every so often, her breathing and the blood pumping in her ears drowning it all out.

Charlotte moved like a machine. Sweat dripped from her temples, soaked into her sports bra, streaked down her spine. She didn’t stop to wipe it away.

This was her rhythm now: pain, precision, pause—just long enough to check the small LED light on the band circling her wrist.

Still orange. Not red. Not yet.

She launched into the next round: box jumps, drop squats, front kicks against the heavy bag, followed by a full sprint to the other end of the room and back. Again. And again.

Her lungs burned, muscles screaming. The kind of scream that came from growth, not failure. She could feel it. The difference. It was a small distinction, but she was learning it.

Weeks ago, she would’ve collapsed by now. Her body would’ve buckled, the bracelet’s alarm blaring as protein saturation spiked and her systems tipped into shutdown. But now, the orange light held steady.

Just beneath the danger zone.

She had learned how to live there.

Charlotte dropped into a low push-up, held it until her arms trembled, then exploded upward into a burpee. Again. Again. Each motion was deliberate, vicious, controlled.

This wasn’t punishment. This wasn’t therapy. This was adaptation.

Her body wasn’t just healing—it was hardening. Learning to carry more. Endure longer. Last through what was coming.

She didn’t know how long she’d be in the fight when it started. Only that she wouldn’t walk away from it with anything left in the tank.

Another sprint. This time her vision narrowed. Her limbs felt heavier, heart pounding loud in her ears—but not too loud. Not loud enough to drown out the soft ping of her bracelet.

She glanced down mid-stride.

Orange.

She skidded to a stop, breathing hard. A long pause. Chest heaving. Hands on her knees.

Just under the red zone.

She looked at the bracelet for a beat longer than usual, then tore off the wrap around her hand and resecured it tighter. No shaking. No flinching. Just resolve.

She turned back toward the bag.

And dove in again.

_____

The compound was quiet when Bucky came in from his run, damp with sweat, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. The sun was just starting to rise, casting pale gold light across the hardwood floors. The scent of fresh coffee hung in the air, proof of life from another early riser.

He headed straight for the kitchen, the refrigerator humming softly as he filled a glass with water. From the living room, a page turned.

Natasha was curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, flipping through a magazine like it was the only thing in the world worth doing. A half-empty mug steamed on the side table next to her. She didn’t look up.

He drank, then leaned on the counter, catching his breath.

Another page turned.

Then, out of nowhere:

“Charlotte’s hair is curly.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

Still no glance his way. “It's really pretty actually. Not full ringlets, you know, but it's definitely there. It suits her. A little messy, a little unruly.”

Bucky stared down into his water. Jaw flexing. He blinked once. Twice. “I didn’t know that.”

“She didn’t either. Not for a long time. She said it used to fall out after cryo—kept breaking. Too damaged to grow in right.”

A beat. Bucky’s grip tightened on the glass.

She turned a page nonchalantly. “It started curling a few weeks ago. Just… happened. The longer she's been here, the more it shows.”

He didn’t respond.

Nat closed the magazine, finally looking up at him. “It means she’s healing. She feels safe here. That's a good thing.”

Silence stretched long between them. He didn’t say anything, but her words sank in.

He set the glass down. “I’m gonna shower.”

Natasha didn’t stop him. Just went back to her magazine, pages rustling as he disappeared down the hall.

_______

The last of the junior SHIELD agents filtered out of the weapons bay, sweaty and bruised and pretending not to limp. Sam clapped one on the shoulder as he passed, muttering something about keeping his elbow in next time unless he wanted to dislocate it.

Bucky was silent, disassembling his pistol with his standard don’t talk to me expression.

So naturally, Sam ignored it.

“You know,” Sam said, wiping his hands on a towel, “for someone who looks like they just saw a puppy get hit by a car, you really crushed those drills today. You're not a half bad instructor. I think only a few agents left crying.”

Bucky didn’t look up. “Thanks.”

Sam leaned against the table. “That was a compliment, man. Don’t make me regret it.”

Again, he didn't look up from what he was doing.

“Right.” Sam gave him a look, then took a breath and dove in. “So. You gonna talk to her?”

Bucky’s hands stilled. He didn’t need clarification. Didn’t even bother pretending he didn’t know who her was.

“I tried,” he muttered.

“Try again.”

“She doesn’t want to see me.”

Sam shrugged. “Still worth the attempt. You kinda broke the unspoken ‘don’t write your maybe-girlfriend up in an official report’ rule. That’s at least worth a conversation.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “She wasn’t my—”

“Yeah,” Sam cut in, “but she was something. And don’t even try to pull the ‘I did what I had to do’ line. It doesn't matter why or what you did at this point, it's all done. Now, it's just about what you do from here.”

"Good speech." He grumbled, turning away from the table.

"I mean it, man." Sam moved to meet Bucky's eyes again. "You both screwed up in your own, unique way. You're both pissed, more at yourselves than at each other. You both want to fix it, but you're too afraid of fucking it all up more to even try."

Bucky looked up. “She tell you that?”

“Wifey privilege,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows. “Calla’s the vault. I just get access.”

“What exactly did she say?”

Sam held up a hand. “Nope. Not my story to tell. But I will say this—whatever version you’ve got in your head of how she feels, it’s probably wrong. Go fix it.”

Bucky gave a humorless huff. “What, just go knock on her door and expect her not to try to break my nose?”

“I mean, that's probably never off the table with her. But no. Don’t go to her door.”

Sam tossed the towel into the laundry bin and turned to leave, then paused.

“Start with the sim room,” he said over his shoulder. “She’s been running a lot of solo drills in there lately.”

Bucky nodded, trying to communicate some kind of gratitude without words. He looked down at the weapon on the table, turning it over in his hands as he fought himself on what to do. When he looked back up, Sam was gone.

He set the gun down and started towards the simulation room.

The sim room was still warm when Bucky stepped inside.

Not warm like comfort—warm like recently-used. Like whoever had been there had left just minutes before. He could still smell the ozone sting of spent energy rounds in the air, the faint echo of boots on padded flooring fading into nothing.

He was too late.

Again.

He exhaled through his nose and glanced around. The lights were still dimmed, the last program flickering on standby. She hadn’t even shut it down fully.

“FRIDAY,” he said, voice low. “Pull up the most recent simulation run.”

A pause, then the AI responded, smooth as ever.

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.”

The screens blinked to life. Bucky took a step forward—then stopped.

It was that simulation.

The urban cityscape. Hostage extraction. Multiple armed targets and split-second decisions. The same one he’d run with her weeks ago. The same one that escalated into a screaming match between them. She said it was a bullshit test. He said it was life or death. She’d said things she regretted. He’d walked out. Neither of them had been entirely wrong, but neither of them had been right either. It seemed to be a recurring theme with them. 

But this time… she was different.

The recording played through at double speed. Charlotte moved like smoke—silent, calculated, lethal. Every move efficient. Every decision precise. She used the environment to her advantage, never hesitated, and dropped her targets before they knew she was there.

He watched her breach the final building, neutralize the last two hostiles, and secure the hostages.

No casualties.

The screen froze on the final stats:

Mission Success: 100%Hostiles Neutralized: 6Civilian Casualties: 0

Bucky stared at it.

Zero.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just let the silence settle into his bones.

She had done it.

Without him. Without fanfare. Without needing to prove anything to anyone but herself.

The screen dimmed to a freeze frame of her face mid-mission, caught in a moment of stillness between kills.

Bucky froze.

The look in her eye wasn’t cold like it had been when she was brainwashed. It wasn’t vacant. It wasn’t empty.

It was determined. Fierce. Confident. The same look she’d had in her eye when she leapt off that rooftop in Arizona onto the Quinjet, security hot on her tail.

She was going off script.

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 25

summary: picks up immediately after the last chapter. Char and Bucky deal with things in their own way. Char digs into the intel she recovered.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: HI I KNOW THE ANGST IS HARD BUT STICK WITH ME I PROMISE ILY GUYS LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge @cjand10 @capswife @otterlycanadian @read-just-cant-stop

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

The smell of garlic and sautéed onions filled the compound kitchen. It was warm, grounding, familiar. Sam stirred something in a cast iron skillet while Nat leaned against the counter, sipping wine from a stemless glass. Steve had taken up dinner roll duty with Wanda, arms dusted with flour and forearms bare from where he’d rolled his sleeves up. His brow was furrowed as he tried to listen intently while she explained the best way to knead the dough.

It was quiet in the best way. The way all of them had come to love and keep sacred. The feeling of home in their dysfunctional, roommates-in-a-top-secret-defense-compound kind of way. It just worked. The music was low, barely audible over the clink of utensils, the casual conversation as they worked. Peaceful.

Then Charlotte walked in.

No—stormed in.

She didn’t say a word.

Hair wild and wind-tangled, braid barely holding. Lips swollen, colorless. A faint smear of blood streaked across the back of her hand, drying into the folds of her knuckles. Her eyes were hollow. Her shirt clung damp to her skin in patches, like she’d either just come from the gym or been outside in the cold too long.

Whatever she’d been doing—it wasn’t sanctioned.

She didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t pause.

Nat straightened slightly from the counter. “We’re making a plate for you.”

Charlotte didn’t stop walking.

“Not hungry,” she muttered, voice flat. Dead.

She disappeared down the hall a beat later, boots heavy against the floor.

The door to her room clicked shut.

Silence hung in the kitchen for a moment, heavy and strange.

Sam was the first to speak. “Has anyone seen Bucky in the last few hours?”

Nat shook her head, slowly. “Not since earlier.”

Steve wiped his hands on a dish towel, jaw already tightening.

“I’ll go look.”

___

Charlotte shut the door behind her and froze.

She didn’t lock it. Didn’t move. Just stood there, staring without seeing.

The walls felt too close. Her breathing too loud. She was claustrophobic, itching to crawl out of her own skin.

She was still wearing the same clothes—clothes she’d pulled on without thinking, ruined with guilt and the faint smell of him. Her hands twitched at her sides like they didn’t know what to do.

Her mind hurt from all the emotions running through it. It was past full. Overflowing. Short circuiting.

She turned toward the bathroom on autopilot. Twisted the shower knob all the way hot. The pipes groaned. Steam began to roll up the mirror like smoke.

Her fingers brushed the hem of her shirt. The one she'd button halfway less than twenty minutes ago. As she stood over him, ignoring the desperate, broken, pleading look on his face.

It hit her.

All of it.

She collapsed onto the bathroom floor, breath hitching as the tears came. The first sound she made was a broken exhale. The second was a strangled gasp that turned into a sob halfway out.

What the fuck did I do?

She’d told herself it was about power. About control. About reclaiming something before it was taken again.

But now?

Now she just felt… scraped raw. Like every nerve ending had been exposed and left out in the cold.

You said he saw you. That was the whole thing. He sees you. So what the hell did you just show him? 

Another sob tore through her chest. She doubled over, arms bracing on her knees, forehead resting in her hands.

You gave him everything. And then you made it mean nothing.

Her hair was a mess, falling around her face. She could still taste him on her lips, sweet and familiar and so very him. It was soured by the metallic tang of blood still lingering on her tongue.

You looked him in the eye and told him he wasn’t safe to love you. Then you went and proved it.

She didn’t know how long she sat there.

Long enough for the mirror to fog.

Long enough for the steam to start condensing on the ceiling.

Long enough for her tears to run out.

Long enough for the weight of her own choices to settle like lead in her lungs.

She finally stood, slowly, as if every inch of her body was something borrowed. Hands that didn't even feel like her own unbuttoned her shirt, her jeans, let it all drop to the floor like evidence of a crime she still couldn't believe she'd committed.

The shower was waiting. Still scalding.

She stood and willed it to wash any trace of him away, not caring how much of herself went with it.

____

The training room was dark now, lit only by the muted glow of the rainy, grey sky filtering through the high windows. The steady drumming against the glass was the only sound in the space.

Bucky sat on the floor, back against the wall, legs drawn up loosely in front of him. He was dressed now—sweatpants, a gray SHIELD-issued tee—but he looked like he’d been hit by something far heavier than fists.

His eyes were forward but unseeing.

Steve found him like that. He stepped in quietly, not wanting to startle him. “Hey.”

Bucky didn’t move.

Steve came closer, slowly, until he was a few feet away. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

No answer.

Steve studied him. Took in the swollen lip, the mussed hair, the still-unbandaged scrapes on his knuckles.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it had something to do with Charlotte,” he said carefully. 

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He exhaled hard through his nose, like he was trying to will the words into existence. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Steve waited.

“She… she went rogue. Broke protocol. Blew the cover. It—it was reckless.” His voice was low, strained. “And I… I didn’t want it to look like I was protecting her. Favoring her. Because if something happens in the field again and I—if I hesitate, or if I cover for her, and she gets hurt—” He broke off, voice cracking.

“Maria made it clear that I had to be objective. I thought the report would protect her. I didn't want her benched, but what the hell was I supposed to do? All I wanted was to do right by her. Keep her safe.”

Another moment of silence.

Steve took a seat next to him on the ground. “Did you talk to her about that? Before you submitted it?”

Bucky gave a dry, mirthless laugh. “No. No, I just… wrote it. Sent it in. Somehow hoped she'd never have to see it.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers catching in his hair.

“I didn’t think she’d look at me like that.”

Steve said nothing.

“I just—I tried to stay objective. Tried to keep my feelings out of it. Because if I didn’t, I knew I’d lie. I’d lie to protect her feelings but if I did that I'd be putting her at risk in another way. So I chose."

He blinked, slowly. Like he was still trying to process what happened.

“But this?” he said, voice raw. “I don’t know what the fuck that was. What we just—what she just—” His voice faltered again, tangled in disbelief and devastation. “She didn’t even look at me.”

Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees. 

“She didn’t even look at me,” Bucky murmured again, quieter. Like that was what gutted him most.

Steve didn’t interrupt.

“Last time… when we—” he swallowed, eyes darting across the floor. “It was soft. Careful. She… she didn’t know what she was doing. And she let me lead. Trusted me.”

He let out a bitter breath, half a laugh, half a wince.

“She trusted me.”

His hand flexed on his knee, then stilled. “And now? She didn’t say my name. Not once. Wouldn’t meet my eyes. Just—it was like it meant nothing. Like I meant...nothing.”

Steve’s brows drew together, but he didn’t speak. Just let Bucky keep going.

“I kept thinking maybe… maybe it was a punishment. Maybe she wanted me to hurt the way she did. Or maybe she wanted to feel nothing at all. I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck it was.” His voice was unraveling, pulled tight and thin.

Bucky leaned back against the wall again, letting his head thud gently against the cool surface. His eyes closed.

“It wasn’t romantic,” he whispered. “Not really. It wasn’t even a hookup. It was all anger. It was… revenge.”

Steve’s voice was quiet. “Do you regret writing it?”

Bucky hesitated.

“Yes,” he said, then corrected himself. “No. I mean—I don’t know. The words weren’t wrong. But they weren’t right, either. Not about her. Not about what she’s capable of.”

Another pause.

“They were safe. That’s what they were. Safe for me.”

Steve leaned back against the wall. “You think she’s going to forgive you? Think you'll be able to go back to normal?”

Bucky’s laugh was empty. “I don’t even know what normal is for us.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends like he could wring the ache out of his skull.

“We’ve never had a normal. From day one it’s been—trauma, training, deflection, silence. She tried to kill me the day she showed up here. And now…” He shook his head, jaw clenching. “Somehow it’s more fucked up than ever.”

“You know,” Steve said after a moment, “she puts you on a pedestal.”

Bucky’s head turned sharply.

Steve shrugged. “She might not act like it. Hell, most of the time she acts like she’d rather throw you off it. But it’s there. Always has been. What you think of her? It matters more than she wants it to. Probably more than she understands.”

Bucky’s brows drew together.

“She let you see her, Buck. The real her. The version she probably doesn't even know that well herself yet. And when you wrote that report…” Steve paused, choosing his words carefully. “You didn’t just undermine her judgment. You told her she was exactly what she’s afraid she is.”

Bucky’s face twisted, like the words physically hurt. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.

“I know,” Steve said. “But you know her better than anyone. Which means you can hurt her more than anyone.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, the rain tapping steadily against the windows, the air between them heavy.

“I think I broke it,” Bucky whispered, like saying it out loud made it real. "Whatever it is that we had."

Steve didn’t correct him. Didn’t try to argue. Just let the truth settle like dust.

Then, finally, he said, “You might’ve. But she’s not fragile. And you’re not hopeless. Whatever it is, it can be put back together.”

He pushed off the wall and stood.

Steve turned away, but his voice lingered.

“Fix it,” he said. “Or at least try.”

_____

The simulation room buzzed with quiet energy—shoes scuffing against the mat, gear clicking into place, muted conversation as the team prepped for the afternoon exercise. Fluorescent light beamed down from above, stark and sterile, catching on the sleek black of their uniforms.

Peter tugged at the straps of his chest rig, brow furrowed. "Wait—we’re not starting yet, right? Don’t we need to wait for Charlotte?"

Bucky's head snapped up so fast it was almost imperceptible. His hands froze mid-strap. For a half-second, he looked like he might speak.

He didn’t.

Natasha didn’t even glance up from where she was adjusting a gauntlet. "She requested private sessions. One-on-one only."

Peter blinked. "Oh. Why?"

"She’s benched from field work for now. Protocol after an internal flag." Natasha’s voice was flat. Factual. Not cruel, but not warm and fuzzy either.

Another pause settled over the room. No one said what they were all thinking.

Peter glanced awkwardly at Bucky, who was now very focused on redoing the same strap he'd already tightened. Wanda looked away. Sam shifted his weight.

Bucky didn’t move.

Natasha’s voice cut softly through the silence. "Don’t look so surprised. You wrote the review, Barnes."

That finally made him lift his head. His jaw ticked. "Would you have done it differently? Disobeyed orders?"

Nat regarded him for a beat, then leaned her elbow against the weapon rack beside her. "Depends. Was I trying to protect her? Or protect myself?"

His eyes narrowed just slightly. "I wasn’t trying to protect myself."

She shrugged. "Then yeah. I probably would’ve lied. Or found a different way."

"I didn’t want her pulled permanently. Just…"

"Just enough to keep her safe, right?" Her tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was tired. Like she’d had that conversation with herself before. "That’s the problem, Barnes. You can’t protect someone and call it objectivity."

Steve stepped into the center of the mat, voice level as he cut a glance at the two of them. "This isn't the time. Load up sim three. Let’s move."

Natasha pushed off the wall and walked past Bucky without another word. Peter followed her, muttering under his breath. Sam and Wanda moved toward the sim controls.

Bucky stayed still for a moment longer.

Then he pulled his gloves on and stepped into line, but the set of his shoulders said everything.

He’d felt her absence before. This wasn't just absence, this was the aftermath of his own actions.

He squared his shoulders and took his place on the line. It was time to work.

______

Charlotte walked through the intelligence wing like she belonged there. Because she did. The floor was a maze of glass-walled rooms and polished concrete halls, lit by sunlight that streamed in through tall windows. Analysts tapped away at terminals or moved in hushed conversation, none of them surprised to be interrupted by an Avenger mid-shift.

She approached the intelligence desk calmly, badge in hand. The agent behind the desk blinked when he saw her stop in front of him.

"I’m requesting the Phoenix files. Specifically anything recovered from the laptop—Asset 318."

The agent hesitated. "That data hasn’t been cleared for general review. I’m not sure—"

"Check my credentials."

He did. His eyebrows rose slightly . "You’ve got Avenger-level clearance." He spoke more to himself than to her.

"So it seems." She gave a tight smile, ignoring the eyes of other agents peering across their workstations to watch the interaction.

He didn’t argue. A moment later, he returned with a secured tablet, punching away on the screen. "Here’s what we pulled from the drive. It’s fragmented in places. We also cross-referenced it with older reports—anything flagged as a possible link."

"Thank you," she said simply, taking the device.

She turned and left without ceremony, her boots echoing down the hallway as she made a point to jerk her head towards the onlookers. She'd never seen them scatter so quickly.

—

Back in her room, Charlotte kicked off her shoes and dropped into the chair at her desk, tablet in hand. She powered it on and waited as a soft glow was cast across her face. The device lit up, projecting a sleek holographic interface into the space above it—dozens of folders hovered in the air, suspended like constellations. Names she didn’t recognize. Code strings. Dates. Locations. A few of of them shimmered in red, broken or not yet decrypted by the agents. But the rest...

Her eyes scanned each header as she reached up, dragging one holographic folder aside with two fingers and expanding another with a flick of her wrist. She rotated the interface gently, drawing files closer with practiced ease.

Then she paused.

One file caught her eye. A list of recent resource acquisitions—equipment, personnel, weapons. One of the locations was familiar. She couldn't place why, but her gut told her it was significant to her.

She pulled open additional files with swift gestures, pinning them in space side by side. With a tap and hold, she cross-referenced data fields and connected the threads between them like weaving a digital web. Patterns started to form—supply chains, dead drop sites, old assets reactivating. This wasn’t a coincidence.

This wasn’t scattered remnants.

This was coordinated. Intentional. A global network of fringe HYDRA sites—all reporting back to one command center.

She kept working—dragging files, running queries, pulling reference after reference. The clock on her desk ticked past midnight, and she barely noticed. At some point, her notes had taken over half the desk, scribbled connections running between cities, names, and shipment manifests.

Then something clicked. A single reference tucked in the corner of a decrypted communiqué. A location code. A date. Something about weapons infrastructure that didn’t add up.

Charlotte stilled. Her heart thudded in her chest, slow and heavy.

She double-checked it. Then again.

They weren’t just restocking old arsenals. They were looking to infiltrate something protected. Something global. Strategic. She didn’t have confirmation—not yet. But she had a theory. One she didn’t like. 

Charlotte’s blood ran cold. She leaned back in her chair, the holograms flickering softly above the tablet still glowing in her lap.

"Holy shit..." she whispered, breathless.

She fumbled for a pen and the nearest pad of paper, already jotting down half-legible notes as she leaned forward again. Her eyes darted across the projections, hands moving with renewed urgency.

It was going to be a long night of pulling on a thread she wasn’t sure she wanted to unravel.

.

_____

First thing the next morning, Charlotte stood near the elevators outside SHIELD's upper-level conference wing. She'd dressed in dark athletic leggings, sneakers, and a SHIELD-issued crewneck. Her hair was haphazardly tucked behind an ear, a few stray strands curling around her face. If it weren't for her enhanced recovery making little to no sleep a nonissue, she was sure the circles under her eyes would be alarming at best.

She shifted from foot to foot, rolling her shoulders as if trying to release some of the static buzzing beneath her skin. Her fingers tapped against her thigh in a restless rhythm, and every few seconds she checked the time on the wall. 

When the doors slid open, Maria Hill stepped out, flanked by two department heads mid-conversation. Charlotte stepped forward.

"I need a meeting," she said, cutting in without preamble. "Now. It’s urgent."

Maria blinked. "Can it wait until—"

"No. It can’t."

Something in her tone—measured, grounded, not frantic but serious for once—made Maria pause. "Alright, Rossi. Let's hear it." She looked between the two department leads beside her. "You’re coming too."

Minutes later, the four of them sat around a conference table. Charlotte projected a holographic interface above the center console, flipping through files with practiced speed.

"Over the past forty-eight hours, I’ve been analyzing everything pulled from Asset 318—the laptop from the Sanctuary op." She tapped a cluster of folders, opening them into a web of connections. "What I’ve found isn’t just Hammer selling stolen tech or scattered HYDRA activity. It’s coordinated. Funded. Active."

Maria frowned. "We investigated a potential resurgence after the compound attack. It looked like it was just radicals acting on old manifestos. You’re saying it’s more than that?"

"It looked that way because that's how they wanted it to look. They wanted to draw the team out, attack the compound. Where all of our intelligence is. It wasn't mean to attack the Avengers, otherwise they would have just targeted the Quinjet. They wanted to lower the shields and destroy the base, and all the information with it. Without our intel, we'd be set far enough back to give them the head start they need."

"To do what, exactly?" Maria crossed her arms.

"To fully reestablish themselves." Charlotte looked her dead in the eye. "They never fully went away. They just went quiet. Strategic. Rebuilt themselves in pieces across the globe, all reporting back to a single command site."

She rotated the interface, pulling one file to the center. A string of code and a corresponding location. "This base? It’s active. Staffed. Hidden behind a humanitarian aid shell company operating out of Southeast Asia."

One of the agents shifted. "That’s not enough to launch anything on."

Charlotte’s jaw tensed. "Then maybe this is."

She expanded another file—a decrypted internal memo referencing weapons infrastructure, logistics rerouting, and flagged mentions of nuclear access points. She paused long enough for them to read.

Maria’s expression darkened. "You think they’re trying to gain control of a nuclear system?"

"I think they’re close. I think if we wait, they’ll get what they need. And no one will see it coming."

The room was quiet for a moment too long.

The other agent shook their head. "Even if we believed you, we can’t act on this. There’s no official proof, and that compound is under diplomatic protection. It’s not SHIELD jurisdiction."

Charlotte let out a sharp breath, incredulous. "You can't be serious. We're just going to sit on this? Wait around while they build something capable of wiping out cities?"

"Charlotte—"

"No. No, this is insane." She paced a short line behind the table. "You want an invitation? You want a press release? By the time you get your authorization, they'll already have their foot in the door. We’ve seen what they’re capable of when we underestimate them. I've lived it." Charlotte slammed both palms against the table, the holographic interface flickering in response to the sudden jolt. Papers scattered. The agents flinched.

The first agent shook his head, clearly uncomfortable. Maria's jaw was tight.

"This isn't a decision made lightly," Maria said. "And I understand you're close to this, emotionally—"

"Don't," Charlotte cut in, her voice dropping. "Don't act like I'm being irrational. I might not have taken 'stick up the ass decorum' like all your other little agents, but I'm not exactly a stranger to combat or HYDRA. This is real, and it's urgent. I swear if you just let me go—"

"You're not cleared for active field work anymore." Maria's voice was grim. There was almost a flicker of regret on her face, if Charlotte weren't too furious to see it.

Everything in Charlotte stilled.

The breath in her lungs vanished.

She straightened. Smoothed her hands over the table like nothing had happened.

The temperature in the room felt like it had dropped ten degrees.

“Understood,” she said, voice cold and flat.

She reached for the tablet and powered it down in one movement, the light vanishing from the room.

“Thank you for your time.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Just turned and walked out, the door hissing closed behind her before anyone could speak.

______

Charlotte’s footsteps echoed down the hallway like gunfire, sharp and steady despite the chaos in her chest. Her pulse was racing. Her hands still shook. She gripped the tablet tighter, knuckles white against the matte casing.

She didn’t slow down until she reached a side corridor—one of the quiet ones, barely lit. She leaned back against the wall, trying to breathe, to settle the storm still roaring in her skull.

She'd expected resistance. But not this. Not dismissal. Not Maria throwing the report back in her face, further invalidating anything she had to say.

She scoffed under her breath, half a laugh, half a choke. Of course they wouldn't believe her. 'Emotional volatility in the field presents an ongoing liability.'

Her mind flashed back to the balcony. Weeks ago. That night she couldn’t sleep. He'd found her there, brought coffee. Didn't balk when she broke down. 

When she'd asked him if he was scared, if HYDRA were really back...

"Shitless." He'd said. 

That's how she felt now. Her pulse pounding, her hands clammy. Just the thought, the notion, the very possibility that they were back...

She was scared shitless.

And she wanted to tell him.

God, she wanted to tell him.

To find him in the gym or the kitchen or anywhere he might be, tablet still clutched in her hand, and spill it all—every thread, every connection, every horrifying possibility. He’d listen. He’d understand. He was the only person on the planet who could.

But she couldn’t. Not now.

Not after what she did. Not after how she looked at him. Not after what happened between them.

So instead, she straightened. Braced her shoulders. Decided to go to one place she could find a ghost of him without facing the real thing.

Charlotte steeled herself and headed towards the training room.

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 24

summary: post-briefing fallout. a chilling flashback. Bucky and Char not using their words well. atonement. revenge. spite?

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: so........I'm sorry in advance for the emotional wreckage of this chapter. enjoy <3

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge @cjand10 @capswife @otterlycanadian

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

Late Afternoon | SHIELD Compound

Charlotte hadn’t stopped moving since she’d stormed out of the briefing room that morning.

She’d run. Hard. Longer than she had in years, until her legs burned and her lungs felt like they were being grated from the inside. The trail around the compound blurred beneath her feet, each lap bleeding into the next until she couldn’t remember when she’d started or how many she’d done.

Somewhere around what she assumed was the twenty-fifth mile, her wrist monitor’s light blinked from green to yellow.

That was when she stopped. Somewhere deep inside her, his voice still echoed. Telling her to hit the brakes, to listen to herself. For once, she actually did. If only to spite him for thinking she’d never learn.

She ignored the cramping in her calves, the raw sting in her heels from socks that had rubbed past their breaking point. Ignored the sharp pang behind her ribs that came every few steps, begging her to sit for a moment and catch her breath. But she wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

She was terrified of slowing down and risking all the emotions she’d been running from catching back up with her. So she kept walking, one foot after another, towards her building. 

Back inside, the shower was scalding—deliberately so. She let the heat pour over her until her skin turned blotchy and raw, like she could melt off the memory of his fingers from the last few nights. From the safe house. From her skin. Her bones.

She didn’t scrub. She just stood there. Let it burn.

By the time she dressed, her limbs felt like boiled noodles from the exertion and the heat. She threw on the first set of clean clothes she could find—Nat’s old jeans and a white button up, sliding a belt on to secure the pants to her body. She dried her hair halfway before hearing raindrops hit her windows, resigning herself as she left it to dry the rest of the way in her natural loose waves. She slipped her feet into boots and made her way through the thankfully empty common room. From the elevator to the path across the compound, she moved on autopilot. The rain was nothing more than a light spring drizzle, so she didn’t bother with an umbrella. She entered into the building that housed the lab before long anyways.

She wasn’t planning to say much to Calla. She just needed to do something. Anything.

The compound halls were quiet at this hour, bathed in that late-afternoon lethargy that still affected even the most elite training facility in the world..

She didn’t realize how fast she was walking until the sound of footsteps caught up behind her.

“Agent Rossi?”

Charlotte turned.

A junior agent—young, mid-twenties maybe, with a SHIELD badge clipped to his belt—approached her, holding a tablet in one hand and a stylus in the other.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said, adjusting his grip on the tablet. “Just need a quick signature on the final mission report from the Prague op. Lead agent evaluation’s already been filled out, but protocol says we still need yours on the last page.”

She blinked at him. “Sure,” she said, voice flat. “Yeah. No problem.”

He held the tablet out to her.

Charlotte nodded absently, taking it without looking up. “Yeah. Sure.”

She scrolled with her thumb, eyes scanning the top page—debrief summary, asset assessments, tactical breakdown. The usual.

Until she hit a subheader: Lead Agent Evaluation – Barnes, J.

Her thumb stilled.

Her eyes skimmed the section, heartbeat slowing to a crawl as the words sharpened into focus:

“Agent Rossi demonstrated repeated disregard for undercover protocol and public perception during mission 87-3. She disobeyed direct orders and compromised the chain of command. While her skill set remains formidable, her emotional volatility in the field presents an ongoing liability. It is my professional recommendation that she not be reassigned to active missions until further psychological assessment has been completed.” —Barnes, James B.

Charlotte’s thumb hovered over the screen like it didn’t belong to her, like if she didn’t move, maybe the words would rearrange themselves into something less gutting. Less final.

She read it again.

And again.

The world didn’t blur—it sharpened. Every edge of fluorescent light above her buzzed too loud. Every breath of the agent across from her echoed like it was happening in a cavern.

She’d spent the day trying to figure out how to choke down Bucky’s comments in the briefing, how to make sense of it.

But this? This was a knife.

A professionally worded. Clinical. Objective. Traitorous. Fucking. Knife.

She could hear his voice in every word. He hadn’t just criticized her performance. He’d discredited her entire capability in the field.

He didn’t say she had a bad day. Made a bad judgement call. He said she was unstable. Dangerous. A liability.

And the worst part—the part that made her stomach lurch and her knees feel suddenly too hollow to stand on—was that some awful, secret piece of her believed him. Believed that he was right.

Believed that he’d seen the truth no one else had the guts to say.

Believed that he’d always seen it.

Not good enough. Not stable enough. Not safe.

Her thumb curled tightly around the edge of the tablet, the screen groaning under her grip.

No. No, fuck that.

Not from him.

Not after everything.

“Is something wrong?” the agent asked gently.

Charlotte looked up. Her face was blank. Cold. That practiced, perfect mask.

“No,” she said. “I’ll handle it.”

She handed back the tablet without signing and walked out, the echo of her boots sharp against the floor.

The agent stared after her, confused, until she turned the corner and disappeared down the hall.

______

Late 2015  | Bucharest

The streets of Bucharest were crowded—shoulder to shoulder with locals and tourists, noise and color blending into chaos. Bucky moved with purpose, head low beneath his hood, careful not to draw attention. But he could feel it—the shift in the air. Like something sharp brushing against the back of his neck.

He didn’t need to see her to know.

She was close.

He turned slightly, just enough to glance behind him. And there she was. Their Mockingbird.

She moved through the crowd like a shadow—fluid, silent, deadly. Civilian clothes. Neutral expression. Nothing out of place. But Bucky saw it. The stiffness in her shoulders. The exactness in her stride. The calculated sweep of her eyes, ticking through faces like a weapon scanning for a lock.

His stomach twisted.

They sent her after me.

She didn’t see him—yet—but she was close. Too close.

He ducked into a narrow alley, heart hammering, back pressed against cold brick. He waited, breathing shallow. Listening.

He risked another glance.

There she was again. Right at the edge of the alley, weaving through the crowd with quiet precision. Her face—

It was empty.

That same terrifying stillness they’d programmed into him. Cold. Detached. Her features slack with focus, with obedience. She wasn’t herself, not that he ever really knew who that was. She was inhuman.

She was the weapon they made her.

And she didn’t even know how close she’d come to accomplishing her mission this time.

He wanted to run to her. Pull her out. Grab her and disappear into the shadows like he should’ve done years ago. Even if he had to knock her unconscious to get her out of here. 

But then he saw them.

Scattered through the crowd like vultures—HYDRA agents, blending in, eyes fixed on her. One sipping coffee. One pretending to read a newspaper. Another with a camera. None of them were watching him.

They were watching her.

Not to protect her. To keep her in line. To keep her from disappearing.

They’d learned from their mistake with him. They weren’t going to lose their new favorite weapon. Not without blood. He suspected they were under orders to splatter her brains across the pavement rather than let her escape. His stomach lurched and he forced the nausea down.

He looked at her one more time—how she moved, how still her eyes were, how deeply she’d disappeared inside herself.

And he made the only choice he could.

He slipped into the shadows.

______

Present Day | Training Room

The steady, punishing beat of Bucky’s fists against the punching bag echoed through the training room. They were steady, relentless, like he was trying to beat back something inside him that wouldn’t stay down. The knuckles on his right hand were raw. He hadn't bothered to tape them when he showed up an hour ago, ready to feel everything. His jaw was tight. Sweat clung to him in a sheen, plastering his hair to his forehead. He'd opted to leave the lights off, the high windows letting in just enough light from the overcast day to draw long shadows on the floor. His own person ghost, haunting his peripheral as he moved.

He heard her before he saw her—boots striking the mat in quick, deliberate strides. They were just erratic enough for him to know she wasn't coming here on friendly business. 

He turned just in time for Charlotte to shove him square in the chest.

He staggered, caught off guard, arms instinctively rising. Not to strike back, but to defend against her onslaught as she was already reloading to hit him again. “Charlotte—”

She didn’t wait. Her fist cracked into his right shoulder as he blocked her knee driving up against his ribs. He remained on the defensive.

"Fight back," She ground out, gritting her teeth as she swung an elbow and lunged forward. He dodged it, jerking backwards and retreating across the mat. He was disarmed enough by her rage that he didn't regain his balance, didn't snap into combat mode.

"I'm not going to—" He dropped underneath a sharp right hook. "Fight you—"

Her left knuckles collided with his face in a jab he missed as he pleaded with her eyes. She felt the soft skip of his lip burst as she made contact. Blood bloomed instantly, a pool of red leaking from the corner of his mouth. His head snapped back with the force, a grunt escaping him.

She didn’t slow. Didn’t hold back. No remorse flickered in her eyes—only fury, frayed and unrelenting.

Bucky caught her next punch with one hand and deflected the other with his forearm. “Charlotte—stop—”

She twisted, broke free of his grip, and whirled to drive her elbow back into his ribs. He grunted, catching her arms as he pulled her back against his chest, trying to restrain her without hurting her. “This isn’t how—”

She arched her back and shoved off him, breath ragged, already reloading her weight on her back foot. He dodged her next swing but didn’t strike back, didn’t retaliate. He refused to hurt her, but he wasn’t just going to stand there and get torn apart either. 

“Dammit, Char,” he muttered, ducking another swing. “Talk to me.”

She didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn't. Instead, she launched into a melee of kicks, one after the other, driving him backwards as he dodged them. 

This wasn't either of their standard fighting rhythm. Charlotte was ordinarily calculated, precise, calm as her body slipped into what it was programmed to do. But now, she was fighting with her heart rather than her mind. Bloodlust clouded her vision as she carried on, throwing her full force into every blow, not caring how much energy she wasted. Stumbling backwards, Bucky was far from his element. His strength came from going on the offensive, striking first, hitting harder, finishing things quickly. But with Charlotte, the end was the only thing he never wanted to see. Even as she seemed intent on beating the shit out of him. So he kept retreating, kept raising his hands to deflect kick after kick.

Finally, she froze. Chest heaving, fists trembling, eyes blazing as they met his for the first time since she'd stormed in.

"Why?” One word. A single, splintering accusation. She hurled it at him with as much force as any of her blows.

Bucky exhaled like it had been trapped in his chest for hours. “Maria asked for an objective report. She gave me an ultimatum. I gave her what she wanted. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Less than a day,” she cut in, voice sharp, “after I gave you the one untouched piece of myself I had left. And you hung me out to dry already.”

His shoulders dropped like the weight of her words was actually pressing down on them. His gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tightening.

A pause.

Bucky had no excuse. Not one that would matter.

He stepped toward her, slow, hands lowered like he was approaching a live wire. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said, voice low. “I thought—God, Char, I thought it would protect you. If they thought I was being unfair, playing favorites, we'd never be assigned to anything together again. If I was objective, they’d sideline you temporarily. Keep you out of the field. Let's be honest, you don't always have the best track record of self-preservation. If I'm not there, I don't trust anyone else to watch your back like I would. I wasn't trying to undermine you,  I didn’t mean to cut you down. I was just doing...I tried to do the right thing. I was trying to keep us from getting separated and I was trying to keep you breathing, Charlotte.”

Her expression didn’t shift.

Bucky took another step. “You’re not a liability. You never were. I just… I don't want to lose you. Not as a teammate, and not...for good.”

For a second, he held her gaze, thought she might say something. Might look away. Might soften.

Instead, she said, “Make it up to me.”

His head tilted ever so slightly. Blood rushed in his ears. He felt the same beat pulsing in his lip and ribcage where she'd landed her hardest hits. It was all background noise. The only thing he wanted to hear was her voice. He wanted to hear her say that she meant what he thought she did.

“Now?”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. “Now.”

He looked at her like she might destroy him. Like maybe she already had.

“Charlotte…”

She stepped in, close enough to feel her breath against his neck. Her voice was low and cutting. “For God’s sake. And I’m the one who can’t follow orders?”

Something inside him cracked. He reached out with both hands and cupped her jaw, pulling her into a deep kiss without caring about the blood still spilling out of his lip.

He held her like she was something sacred. Like he was a man on death row and she was the judge who'd just expunged his record. Like she was the first and last good thing he'd ever known.

She kissed him like she was trying to prove a point.

Ferocity. Pressure. Aggression. A low, unguarded sound escaped him—half relief, half ruin—as she put her hands on his chest and backed him toward the wall. His hands trailed softly from her face to her waist, unsure. She gave a final shove as they closed the gap between his back and the wall, thrusting him into it with more force than necessary.

She didn’t stop kissing him.

There was nothing warm in it—only control. Sharp, deliberate control. She kissed him like she could make him taste the betrayal she felt. He tilted his head, trying to kiss her deeper, one hand coming back up into her hair at the nape of her neck.

She bit his lip.

His breath hitched as fresh blood filled his mouth—reopening the cut that had only just begun to clot. The gasp didn’t slow her. If anything, it seemed to spur her on. She broke the kiss only to lift the hem of his shirt and rip it over his head. Lifting his arms, he obliged her, trying not to be unnerved by the still-angry haze in her eyes. Her lips crashed into his as she threw his shirt off to the side.

He groaned into the kiss when her fingers raked down his chest, nails dragging fire in their wake. His hands worked her belt loose, fumbling with the button of her jeans beneath. Impatiently her hands shoved his out of the way, tugging her pants just low enough to get what she came for. His hands slid up to the buttons of her shirt, making it halfway down before she turned and shoved him to the mat. He followed her lead, dropping to his knees and letting her join him, both of their hands wrestling with the tie on his drawstring pants as their words were lost into the kiss. The knot relented, her hands tugged his waistband down and revealed that he was more than ready for her. 

Bucky wasn't sure if he imagined it when he saw her eyes dart down, raking across his body, but he swore her pupils dilated. She refused to meet his eyes as she tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him back into a kiss, the metallic tang of his blood still on her tongue.

“Charlotte—” he rasped.

“Shut up,” she whispered—not cruel. Just absolute. "Shut up and make it up to me."

The point of no return. Bucky drew a breath, desire and guilt and absolution muddled together in his mind, and crossed right over. He gripped her arms and in one movement, spun her on her knees so her back was against his. Her pants were still half-on, shirt half unbuttoned and pushed up to her ribs—no undressing, no tenderness. Just access. Just control.

"You sure?" His voice was rough, one thread of restraint intact as he lined himself up behind her.

"Do it," She damn near growled.

He thrust into her. The gasp she let out was the first human sound she'd made since she came into the room. One of his arms wrapped around her, holding her to him in the somewhat awkward position they were in, both kneeling on the mat. The other gripped her hips with bruising strength, giving him leverage to push into her again and again and again. 

One hand reached behind him to tangle in his hair, and he leaned in, kissing her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone. She yanked his head back by the hair.

“Don’t,” she warned. Her voice didn’t shake.

She arched her back, sending him even deeper. Despite himself, Bucky's head fell back, a moan escaping his throat as he picked the rhythm back up. Charlotte leaned forward, falling to her hands and knees, pulling him with her. His left hand braced himself on the mat, and his right hand snaked around her waist to find itself between her legs. He didn't ask for permission before giving her what he knew she liked. Needed.

Her breath hitched the second his fingers found her. Not because she was surprised, but because it felt good—infuriatingly good. Her forehead dropped to the mat, hands fisting against it, her body no longer pretending to keep control. Bucky watched her carefully, his own control fraying with every fractured sound that slipped from her lips.

She didn’t speak, didn’t guide him. She didn’t need to.

He knew every cue—every stutter in her breath, every shift in her hips, every way she tried to stay silent and failed.

She was unraveling against him, but she wouldn't let it show. Not fully.

Her hand reached back, blindly grabbing for his thigh, his hip, anything to ground herself. When her nails dug into his skin, it pulled a growl from deep in his chest.

He leaned forward slightly, letting his forehead rest between her shoulder blades, their bodies slick with sweat and steam, the air between them thick and too quiet. He was losing himself in the rhythm, in the way her body welcomed him even as her mind screamed stay away.

Bucky didn't know what it meant. He just knew he couldn’t stop.

Her breathing hitched once—twice—then turned sharp and fractured as she came apart beneath him, biting down on her own lip so hard he could almost feel the sting himself.

The sound she made wasn’t loud.

It was haunted.

He followed her over the edge seconds later, vision blurring at the edges as his body folded forward, wrapped around hers like he could shield her from something that had already happened.

Their bodies stilled. For a moment, time itself stood still along with them. They both collapsed to the mat, Bucky's left arm draped over Charlotte's back. 

Both of their breathing heavy, irregular. For a moment, he wondered if it was all okay. If they'd be okay. He closed his eyes, searching for any kind of words to communicate what the hell he felt. Before he could find them, Charlotte moved. She rolled out from under him, standing and zipping her pants like she hadn’t just shattered him on the floor. She fastened her belt but left the top half of her shirt forgotten and unbuttoned.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position, still breathing hard. He looked up at her, dazed and broken wide open. There was something desperate, needy in his eyes.

She didn’t even meet them to see it.

His voice cracked the silence, raw and raspy. "Char..."

“Emotional volatility in the field presents an ongoing liability,” she said, her voice calm, cold, venomous. 

She turned away, heading for the door. Her footsteps echoed through the otherwise empty room. She didn’t once, but as she walked out, she wiped his blood off her mouth with the back of her hand.

And then she was gone.

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 23

summary: Bucky and Charlotte return from the safe house and face their debriefing. Bucky suffers flashbacks.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: GUYS so sorry it's been like a year lololol I fell victim to the fanfiction author's curse and life has been trying to actually end me, but HERE I AM. also I've been more active on my other story, but this one is getting neglected NO LONGER. please enjoy! also if you review or comment it does motivate me so much that I will neglect my responsibilities and upload. thanks for reading, xoxoxox!

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge @cjand10 @capswife @otterlycanadian

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

HYDRA Base | 1960’s

​​The guards hauled him forward, the metal cuff around his wrist biting into his skin as they forced him toward the pit. His feet echoed against the cold, concrete floor, muscles tensed to resist. He didn’t understand why he was here—why they hadn’t just tortured him into submission like they always did. But then he heard them talking.

“She’s the only one who survived.”

“Let’s see if she survives him.”

Bucky stiffened. The Russian was easy enough to parse, but the meaning behind the words made his gut twist. Survived? Who?

They reached the edge of the pit, and he dug his heels in just enough to look at the scientist watching from the shadows. “What is this?” His voice came out raw, hoarse from disuse. He barely recognized it.

Dr. Kovacs barely spared him a glance. “A demonstration.”

Two more guards entered from the opposite end, dragging a figure between them. Bucky’s stomach twisted. A girl. Small, gaunt—her skin stretched too tightly over muscles that had grown too fast, every fiber visible beneath the pale surface. It was a miracle she was standing at all. No. Not standing. Being held upright.

Her head was shaved close to the scalp, but on one side, a raw, jagged scar ran from temple to the base of her skull. Her face should have been pretty—delicate, even—but there was something horrifying about the way her cheekbones jutted out too sharply, the way her skin was nearly translucent. Experimentation had carved itself into her, left her covered in evidence of what had been done—sticky residue from torn-off bandages clung to her skin, faint bruises from countless needles dotted her arms, and faded marker lines traced the places where scientists had planned their next "adjustments."

Bucky’s chest tightened. He’d seen the aftermath of HYDRA’s work up close. Heard about the newest batch. The ones who didn’t survive.

And yet, she was still standing.

“She’s perfect,” Kovacs mused, watching as the guards shoved the girl forward. She staggered but didn’t fall. “Strong but pliable. The right balance.”

Bucky felt sick. The right balance for what?

One of the guards took a step forward, barking an order in clipped Russian. "Attack, soldier!" The command rang through the air like a gunshot, cold and absolute.

Bucky didn't move. He wouldn't. Couldn't. The blank look in the girl's eyes—vacant, waiting—told him everything he needed to know. She wasn’t making choices. She was waiting for input.

He set his jaw. "No."

A second passed, then another.

The guard's expression twisted in irritation before he raised a prod and jammed it into his ribs. White-hot pain cracked through him. He staggered, but when he looked up, his stomach dropped.

The girl had moved too.

She hadn’t been hit. No one had touched her. But she had mirrored his reaction perfectly.

Bucky frowned, exhaling shakily as he straightened. The guards prodded him again—he contorted and jerked to the side. She did the same.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He took a step forward.

So did she.

No.

Not just so did she. She moved exactly as he did.

A perfect mirror.

His fingers curled into fists. What the hell had they done to her?

Kovacs hummed, nodding. “Half a second too slow,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then he looked at the guards. “Bring her back. I’ll make adjustments.”

“No.”

The word ripped from Bucky’s throat before he could stop it. The guards stilled.

Kovacs arched a brow. “No?”

Bucky forced himself to unclench his fists, to keep his breathing steady. The girl was looking at him now, head tilted slightly. There was something distant in her expression. Not blank, not entirely—but wrong. Something missing.

She didn’t know. She didn’t even know.

Bucky took a breath. “She’s fast enough.”

Kovacs smirked and spoke in heavily accented English. “Leave the thinking to me, Soldier.”

One of the guards reached for her arm. Bucky flinched first, instinct tightening his muscles before he could stop it.And just like before—as if tethered to him by an invisible thread—she flinched too.

Bucky’s stomach lurched.

They were going to take her back. Cut into her. Change her. Make her faster. Make her more like him.

His pulse roared in his ears. This was his fault. They had made her because of him. Because he was too strong to control, too volatile to be useful. They needed a failsafe. A replacement.

And if he kept fighting back, they would keep breaking her until she was enough to kill him.

He knew what he had to do.

Bucky exhaled sharply, shifting his stance. The guard with the prod took a step closer, anticipating resistance. There was always resistance.

Not this time.

Bucky dropped his shoulders. Unclenched his jaw. Lowered his gaze.

The guard hesitated.

Kovacs hummed in interest. “Hmm.”

The guards dragged the girl away. She flicked her gaze to his, as though whatever, whoever, lurked beneath the surface had come up for just a moment.

Then she was gone.

Bucky swallowed hard. The ghosts of her movements still flickered in his mind. Not quite human, not quite machine.

He flexed his fingers once, twice, hearing the cybernetics of his arm whir.

That was the moment he began to let go of himself entirely.

________

By morning, the storm was gone, leaving behind a sky so clear and bright it almost felt like an apology for the forty eight hours prior. The field around the safe house was a mess—branches snapped like twigs, leaves scattered everywhere, the ground still damp from the downpour. It looked like nature had thrown a tantrum and then slipped away quietly before anyone could call it out. 

Charlotte tugged at the tactical suit, borrowed from the stash in the Quinjet. "I swear, these suits shrink in the wash," she grumbled.

Bucky glanced over, his own suit fitting him like a second skin. "Or maybe we just ate one too many cans of old Spaghetti-O’s," he teased, helping her adjust the straps across her back.

"Hey," Charlotte protested, swatting his hand away playfully, "speak for yourself. I'm in prime fighting shape."

"Could've fooled me," Bucky quipped, dodging her hand. "You looked pretty pinned down last night."

"That’s called tactical submission," she retorted. "Learn the difference, Barnes."

With their gear in order, they finished gathering their belongings, half of which were still strewn across the floor in the entryway. While Bucky did a quick pre-flight check, Charlotte contacted the Compound.

"Mission Control, this is Agent Rossi reporting. The storm has passed, and we're prepping for takeoff back to base," she radioed in.

From the other end, the agent’s voice crackled through the comm, "Copy that, Agent Rossi. Glad to hear you survived the storm—seemed like a rough one."

Charlotte grinned, shooting a look at Bucky. "It was touch and go for a while there, but we managed."

The flight back was smooth, considering Charlotte hadn’t logged very many flight hours since her crash course a few weeks prior. The Quinjet touched down at the compound with enough precision that Charlotte gave Bucky a smug look. "See? Barely a bump."

Bucky raised an eyebrow as he powered down the systems. "I've seen smoother landings from Stark after a three-day bender."

They hopped out of the Quinjet, still ribbing each other, but their enthusiasm dipped the second they spotted Steve and Natasha waiting at the hangar—both holding coffee, both looking way too amused for comfort.

"Thought you might need this," Natasha said, handing the steaming cup to Charlotte with a knowing smirk. "Long nights can be a killer."

Charlotte rolled her eyes, accepting the coffee. "Here we go. Thanks, Nat."

Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder, resisting a comment but grinning all the same. "Welcome back, you two. Briefing room, ten minutes."

As they walked down the path towards the main building, Natasha shot them a look, a mix of amusement and concern. "Ready to face the music?"

Charlotte took a long sip of her coffee. "As I'll ever be. Let's just hope Maria’s in a forgiving mood."

The briefing room was tense with expectation as they entered. Maria Hill sat at the head of the table, flanked by Tony and two SHIELD agents whose stern expressions didn't bode well with Charlotte's hopes. She and Bucky took their seats, the weight of the room's scrutiny settling on them. At least Tony's expression was amused.

Maria started without preamble. "Let's hear it. The mission was a success, but there were deviations from the plan. We need a full debrief."

Charlotte took a steady breath, pushing down the discomfort curling in her stomach. She wasn’t about to apologize for what she’d done, but standing in front of Maria Hill and two stone-faced SHIELD agents still put her on edge. "Intel was spot on," she began, resisting the urge to look at Bucky for confirmation that she was doing this right. "We located the target, secured the thumb drive containing all communication logs—" 

"At which point, Ms. Rossi decided to make an unplanned detour," one of the SHIELD agents interjected, his tone dry. She recognized him, one of the agents from her training group at the beginning of her stint at the compound. His face looked different when it wasn't twisted in spite after she'd thrown him to the grown during a sparring session. Go figure it was him assigned to the mission, of course he'd be intent on making her look bad.

Charlotte's smile didn't waver. "Yes, I retrieved a laptop with additional intel from the target's hotel room. Wasn't part of the original plan, but the opportunity presented itself, and I took it."

Maria raised an eyebrow, turning her attention to Bucky. "Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky straightened slightly, glancing at Charlotte before answering. "She executed it well. No casualties, minimal exposure, and we retrieved additional intel beyond what we planned for. The mission was a success."

Maria's expression remained unreadable. "Give me an objective report, Sergeant. As if it were any other agent."

Bucky's jaw ticked as he exhaled sharply. He glanced at Charlotte again, but this time, there was no defense left to offer. "It...was risky. The hotel was crawling with security. We agreed to exfil immediately after obtaining the thumb drive."

Natasha, who had been silent until now, shifted slightly in her chair, her fingers tightening around her coffee cup. Steve looked down at his lap, his jaw set, clearly uncomfortable with how quickly the room had tensed.

Charlotte's eyes flicked between them, catching the way Natasha's expression hardened just a fraction, the way Steve deliberately avoided looking at her. She wasn't stupid. They were backing off, letting Maria take the lead—but they weren't exactly on her side, either.

Bucky exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. "It...was risky. The hotel was crawling with security. We agreed to exfil immediately after obtaining the thumb drive."

"And if I hadn't grabbed the laptop, we'd be missing half the story," Charlotte countered, her voice rising slightly. "Sometimes you have to adapt on the ground."

Tony leaned forward, his interest piqued. "What was on the laptop?"

"You name it. Their next moves, financial records, contacts, data that points to HYDRA affiliates—real valuable shit," Charlotte explained, her gaze flicking to Bucky, challenging him to disagree.

Maria tapped her pen on the table, her expression unreadable. "While initiative is often valuable, deviation from a plan without communication is dangerous. It compromises team safety. Especially in the case of a covert operation, this didn’t exactly fly under the radar.” 

Charlotte narrowed her eyes, staring right back at Agent Hill. She liked her, respected her, but she sure as hell wouldn’t be made to feel bad for potentially sending them further onto HYDRA’s trail. 

The other SHIELD agent chimed in. "We had a plan for a reason. Charlotte's actions, while successful this time, could have compromised the mission. It's very difficult to offer support when the field agents go off script."

Charlotte bristled, setting her coffee down with more force than necessary. "So, what? We just stick to the plan, even if there's a chance to end all this sooner? To get more than we hoped for?"

"Look, all they're saying is you don't make that call alone, Charlotte," Bucky tried to diffuse. "You were successful this time, but you put yourself in danger. You put the mission in danger. If those guys had gone rogue, you could have been hurt. Captured, even." His voice trailed off at the end, as if the oxygen had been sucked from his lungs.

The room fell silent, the tension thick. Charlotte's eyes flashed with defiance as she set her jaw, eyes boring into his. "I understand protocol. I can follow orders. But I saw a chance to get us closer to taking down HYDRA for good, and I made a judgment call. I thought you of all people would understand that, Sergeant."

Steve intervened before Bucky could reply. "Okay, let's calm down. We all want the same thing here—to stop HYDRA. Charlotte, your initiative is valued and so is the intel, but Bucky's right. We operate as a team, and that means communication and coordination. We gotta play it safe."

Charlotte crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. "Noted. Next time I’ll send a memo."

Maria closed her folder, signaling the end of the meeting. "We'll review the full reports and discuss this further if needed. Good work, but remember, we're a team. Let's act like one."

Maria left the room first, flanked by the SHIELD agents. Tony followed closely behind, giving Charlotte a sympathetic look as he called, "I like the attitude, kid. I was never great at sticking to the plan either."

When it was down to the four of them, the air remained charged, the unresolved tension palpable. Natasha and Steve exchanged a look, as if they were deciding who would give the speech. Before they could settle it, Charlotte pushed back from the table and stood. 

"Charlotte, wait," Bucky called.

"Don't." She whirled. "I get it. Why take a swipe at the organization that stole years from our lives, hell,* stole* our lives? Why go after them when we can sit on our fucking hands and ask for permission instead?" Her words hung in the air as she stormed out of the room. 

Bucky sighed, closing his eyed and tilting his head up to the ceiling. 

"I'll leave this one to you, Cap." Nat spoke softly, patting Steve's leg before sliding out of the room.

"Hey, man, you okay?" Steve asked, his tone light but concerned.

Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Yeah. Just… frustrated, I guess."

Steve tilted his head, studying him for a moment. "Frustrated how? Because she went rogue, or because you get why she did it?"

Bucky huffed out a breath, shaking his head. "Both. She went off-book, yeah, but she got results. And I can’t even say she was wrong. I just—" He dragged a hand down his face. "I don’t like watching her throw herself into the fire like that."

Steve nodded, his expression understanding. "You mean, the way you used to?"

Bucky shot him a look, but there was no heat behind it. "Yeah, yeah. I hear it. Doesn’t mean it’s easy to watch."

Steve chuckled. "No, it never is. You know how many times I had to pull you out of some reckless situation before you finally figured that out?"

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. I remember."

Steve smirked. "And now, look at you. Got your own 'Bucky' to deal with. Poetic, isn’t it?"

Bucky huffed a laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in it. "Yeah, real poetic."

“You know, from an outsider's perspective, you and Charlotte are almost comical with these mood swings.”

Bucky shot him a glare. “Really? That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, but it might help to see the bigger picture. You two have been at each other's throats one minute and saving each other the next since she arrived. It’s like watching a pendulum swing.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, I know." He leaned back, arms crossed, mulling it over. "We’re either at each other’s throats or—well, the opposite. No grey area."

Steve nodded. "Sounds exhausting."

"You have no idea." Bucky let out a dry laugh. 

Steve shot him a look. "Have you tried just talking to her? You were just with her for like a week straight."

Bucky exhaled, shaking his head. "Look, we didn’t exactly have a lot of downtime for deep conversations these past few days."

Steve raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Oh? And what exactly were you two busy doing that talking wasn’t a priority?"

The question hung in the air, and Bucky’s silence was answer enough. Steve’s smirk widened into a full-fledged grin. “I see. Well, that explains the extra tension.”

“It’s not like that,” Bucky started, but Steve cut him off.

“Buck, it’s exactly like that. You two are like fire and ice. Remember the forest? The training exercises? The mission? You save her, she saves you, you fight, you make up. It’s a cycle. Maybe this time around, you just added a new… element to the mix.”

Bucky couldn’t help but snort, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him. “So, what? You’re saying this is just how it's going to be forever?”

“Not saying that,” Steve replied, his voice becoming softer. “Just maybe try to talk before it turns into another fight. You both obviously care a lot—to fight that hard, to protect that fiercely, it means something, Bucky.”

Bucky nodded slowly, the fight draining out of him. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll try to talk to her.”

“Good,” Steve clapped him on the back. “And hey, maybe keep the mission debriefs a little less… fiery, for all of our sake.”

“No promises.”

HYDRA Base | Late 1960’s

The guards hauled him through the dimly lit corridors, his boots scuffing against the cold floor. The walls were dark, clinical. No sound besides the echoes and the mechanical whir of cameras tracking his every movement movement.

Bucky blinked slowly. His mind was sluggish, like moving through water. He knew he had just returned from a mission. Knew his knuckles ached from something. Knew he was being taken back to the chamber to be wiped. Knew there was blood caked on his face and in his hair. 

He didn't know who it belonged to.

Didn’t matter. Nothing did.

The guards paused outside a glass-paneled observation room. Bucky barely registered the movement, barely cared, until a sharp, panicked sob cut through the air.

His body reacted before his brain did.

He turned his head.

Inside, a girl was on her knees.

Not just a girl. The only girl who'd survived around here. Their Project Mockingbird.

She wasn’t as gaunt as before. Her hair had grown out just enough to fall in uneven tufts around her face. But her body—they had perfected it now. The skin stretched taut over enhanced muscle, every fiber visible beneath the pale surface. The scientist standing over her was speaking, his voice cold and measured.

“You hesitate.” His Russian was crisp, unwavering. “You still believe mercy is an option.”

The girl shook her head, her breaths coming too fast, too sharp. There were tears on her already bloodied and swollen face.

Bucky’s stomach twisted. Tears wouldn’t help her here.

The scientist gestured to the small, trembling shape in front of her.

A rabbit. White, fragile. Innocent.

“Kill it,” he ordered.

Charlotte’s whole body flinched. “No,” she whispered.

A shock crackled through her. She cried out, her back bowing in pain, but still, she didn’t move for the creature.

The scientist sighed as if he were disappointed and bored. “Kill it. Now.”

She was shaking violently now. “Please,” she choked out. “Please, don’t make me—”

Another shock. Then a strike to the ribs. Bucky barely stopped himself from reacting.

“She still clings to weakness,” the scientist murmured to a guard beside him. “She still feels.”

Bucky’s pulse pounded in his ears. Move. Do something.

The his body never listened to the command.

The scientist shook his head. “Enough.”

A gun clicked.

The girl lunged forward. “No—!”

The shot rang out.

Blood sprayed across the wall and her face as she fell to her knees where the animal used to be.

Charlotte let out a sob, her hands shaking violently as she covered her face. She was too slow. Half a second too late.

The guards nudged Bucky forward. He didn’t resist. Didn’t look back. Didn’t react as they led him to his chamber, forced him inside.

The sedation kicked in fast. He barely felt the needle.

As the darkness closed in, one fractured thought lingered.

Half a second too late.

[beefromanoff]

Tempting Fate Ch. 9

summary: the boys are called upstate. Evie hits a work wall. Jade is coming.

author's note: these long chapters just keep coming! STAY TUNED!

masterlist

tag list: tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings @jainaeatsstars @mcira @brooklynbear32

Monday Morning 

The streets of New York were already alive with the Monday morning rush—horns blaring, footsteps hurried, the scent of fresh espresso mingling with crisp morning air. Evie adjusted the strap of her bag, forcing herself to focus on the simple act of walking. One foot in front of the other.

Her brain was still stuck on Saturday night.

The way Steve had looked at her. The way Bucky had touched her. The way she’d felt so completely caught in their gravity, like she could float right off the surface of the earth and never find her way back.

She shook her head. No. We are not spiraling about this at seven in the morning.

Reaching for her phone, she pulled up the same order she always placed at her usual coffee shop. The same one she grabbed every Monday before heading into the lab. Muscle memory. Routine.

Her phone buzzed.

Steve [7:12 AM]Don’t go to your coffee shop. Come to the Tower.

Evie blinked. Then, narrowing her eyes, she typed back.

Evie [7:13 AM]Bossy. Why?

His response was instant.

Steve [7:13 AM]Because I said so.

She scoffed, but before she could fire back, another message came in.

Steve [7:14 AM]I have coffee.

That made her stop.Before she could talk herself out of it, she changed course, cutting through the next crosswalk and heading straight for Stark Tower. By the time she reached the entrance, Steve was already waiting outside. He was leaning casually against the railing, the morning sun catching in his hair, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms like some kind of cruel and unusual punishment for her self-control.

In his hands were two cups of coffee.

Evie slowed her steps, raising an eyebrow as she approached. “Bit early for dramatic gestures, Rogers.”

Steve just grinned, handing her one of the cups. “Didn’t know if you wanted hot or iced.”

Evie blinked. Her chest tightened. That wasn’t just the sticky sweet gesture she saw on the surface. That was a callback to one of their first interactions. That was him remembering her indecisive nature and proving the moment had meant something to him.

She took the cup slowly, fingers brushing his. “You remember that?”

His smile softened. “Of course.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Steve’s gaze flickered to her bandaged hand, his brow furrowing. “How’s it feeling?”

It took her a second to realize what he meant. Your hand, duh. Evie flexed her fingers. “Good as new.”

Steve didn’t look convinced. Gently—so gently—he reached for her wrist, turning her hand over in his. His fingers skimmed the edge of the bandage, his grip warm, steady. The street noise faded. The breath caught in her throat.

Suddenly, Saturday night was right there again.

The moment they hadn’t finished. The one that had been cut short. The one still lingering in the space between them now, threatening to make her knees buckle right here on the pavement. The one that had been cut short by one ill-timed fumble of a wine glass.

Steve exhaled softly, thumb brushing over her knuckles before finally releasing her hand. The absence of his touch left a warmth behind, a lingering sensation that she tried (and failed) to ignore.

“Good,” he murmured, voice just a little too rough. “Didn’t like seeing you bleed.”

Evie swallowed. Her pulse was hammering against her ribs. Super Soldiers can’t hear heartbeats, right? Shit. She needed to say something, anything, before she lost the last thread of her composure. For Fuck’s Sake, Evie, get it together. 

She forced a smirk, tilting her head. “So. Bucky got scared off?”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Not exactly.”

Evie raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.

Steve took a sip of his coffee, fighting his sheepish grin. “We flipped a coin.”

Evie’s lips parted, half amused, half incredulous. “You—”

“We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“That is the dumbest excuse I’ve ever heard.” Evie scoffed.

“Well, I won.” Steve grinned. “Best two out of three.”

Evie groaned, covering her face. “Oh my god.”

Steve just shrugged. “He called for a rematch.”

She shook her head, exhaling a laugh. “You two are impossible.”

Steve’s gaze softened. “Yeah,” he murmured. “We know.” He gestured toward the entrance. “C’mon. I’ll walk you up.”

Evie didn’t argue, falling into step beside him as they moved through the lobby. Steve nudged his badge against the scanner, waiting for her to do the same before stepping through. The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside, leaning against the railing as he pressed the button for her floor. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet was comfortable.

“So, what’s on your agenda today, Cap?”

Steve shrugged. “Meetings. Training. A debrief with Sam.” He tilted his head. “You?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Evie sighed. “Running some tests. Finishing up some reports for a patent we’re about to file. Working on a new light refraction tech that I’ve been daydreaming about for way too long.”

Steve’s lips twitched. “Sounds thrilling.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hey, some of us actually like our jobs.”

“I wasn’t kidding,” Steve protested. “And I like my job just fine.”

The doors slid open, and they stepped out together, falling into step again as they moved through the halls toward the lab. She was always the first engineer to arrive, so she had the pleasure of a quiet lab first thing in the morning. Just seeing the glow of the hibernating monitors in the otherwise dark room made her brain begin to buzz, her fingers itch to tinker with all of the projects waiting for her.

As they reached her door, Steve hesitated. “Hey.”

Evie turned, eyebrows lifting. “Yeah?”

His eyes flickered to her hand. “If it starts bothering you—”

“What? You gonna swoop in and fix me up again?” She tilted her head, her voice teasing.

Steve didn’t miss a beat, answering as though it was obvious. “Yes.”

Her breath caught.

His eyes softened, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Just let me know.”

And then, with one last lingering glance, he turned and walked away.

“Steve,” She called, snapping out of her daze. He paused, looking down the hallway at her. “Thanks for the coffee.” Raising the cup, she offered him what she hoped was a genuinely sweet smile. 

He returned it. “Anytime.” 

Evie exhaled slowly, watching him disappear down the hall before shaking her head and pushing into the lab.

Okay. Focus.

The lab hummed with quiet efficiency, the soft whirring of machinery and the occasional clink of metal against glass filling the space. It was comforting—familiar. The kind of environment that pulled Evie in and refused to let her go.

And she didn’t mind. Not one bit. This was where she thrived. Her mind sharpened the second she started working, slipping into a flow state as easily as breathing. The world outside the lab blurred into white noise. Her fingers moved instinctively, testing connections, adjusting wiring, refining the circuits she’d been building for weeks.

Despite the fact that her morning had started with the final boss of Monday morning distractions, aka Steve Rogers waiting with two coffees and that damned smile—Evie had barely thought about it once she sat down at her station.

This was what she loved.

The problem-solving, the thrill of creation, the challenge of making something work. The fact that she was playing a role in designing cutting-edge tech for the Avengers? That still hadn’t worn off, no matter how many times she stepped into this lab. Especially now, when she was especially emotionally invested in the safety of two Avengers in particular, she felt that there was no higher calling for her life than her work.

By the time she lifted her head, blinking against the brightness of her screen, she realized that the hours had disappeared.

A loud, unexpected growl tore through the quiet.

Evie startled slightly, blinking down at her stomach like it had betrayed her. The sudden realization that she hadn’t eaten anything besides the morning latte hit her, breaking through her hyper-focused state with an almost embarrassing intensity.

She sat back, rolling her shoulders and stretching her arms overhead, feeling the telltale stiffness that came from hunching over her workstation for too long.

Her phone was buried under a mess of scrawled notes and wires, and it took a minute to fish it out. She thumbed it open, barely sparing a glance at the time before instinctively tapping into her usual delivery app. Thai food, same order as always—spicy drunken noodles and crispy spring rolls. Quick. Easy. Greasy. Comforting.

A notification buzzed with the estimated arrival time.

Evie stood, rolling out her neck as she stretched her lower back. The thought of eating at her workbench didn’t sit right. For all of her messy tendencies, the lab was the one place she held herself to the highest standard. Messy, brain-dump notes made even less legible by her caffeine on an empty stomach? Totally fine. Oily fingerprints from her takeout food? The line had to be drawn somewhere.

By the time the delivery guy arrived, she was already downstairs in the lobby, squinting against the mid-afternoon sun streaming through the massive windows. She grabbed the bag with a smile and a murmured thanks before walking back to the elevator and scanning her badge.

She hesitated as the doors opened.

The obvious choice was to go to one of the many break rooms, meeting rooms, even to turn around and go eat outside in the fresh spring air. But her feet didn’t move, her thumb hovering over the button for her floor before slowly shifting.

A different idea settled in. Without overthinking it, she pressed the button for the training floor instead.

The training room was quieter than she expected.

Over and over, she heard the thud of fists hitting the heavy bag as it echoed off the walls. The only sound filling the space as Evie stood at the doorway, food in hand. Bucky was focused—right hand wrapped, shoulders tense, sweat dripping down his temple where little strands of dark hair were plastered to his skin. His jaw was clenched in concentration, his body moving with that easy, deadly precision he always carried.

She lingered for a second. Watching. Then, clearing her throat, knocked lightly against the doorframe as she walked further in. “Hey, Barnes.”

His head snapped up. Evie didn’t miss it—the way his eyes flickered when they landed on her, the way his stance shifted slightly, something unspoken easing in his shoulders.

She held up her takeout bag. “Didn’t feel like getting soy sauce on my workstation.” It was a lame excuse. They both knew it.

Bucky’s lips twitched, wiping a hand over his face before nodding toward the benches along the wall. “Yeah? And here I was thinking you just missed me.”

Evie rolled her eyes but fought a grin as she made her way over. Settling onto the bench, she crossed her legs before pulling out her food. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, returning his attention to the bag, but there was something lighter in the way he moved now. Like she had brought something easy into the room, something that had been missing.

Evie popped open the container, the scent of warm food filling the air. She watched as Bucky shifted his stance, throwing a sharp, clean hook. “Don’t you get bored of hitting that thing?”

Bucky shrugged, barely glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t you get bored of building things?”

Evie grinned. “Touché.”

Silence stretched between them—not awkward, but aware. Bucky’s movements slowed, his punches measured now, like he was more focused on the conversation than the workout.

“How’s the hand?” He asked suddenly, glancing over.

Evie flexed her fingers instinctively, staring down at the bandage still wrapped around her palm. “Barely hurts.”

Bucky nodded, eyes lingering for a second longer. “Good.”

And there it was again. That quiet, gentle thing that had wrapped around them over the weekend. The thing she had felt when he lifted her onto the counter, when he pressed a towel to her palm, when he had muttered ‘just let me’.

For all the cockiness, the teasing, the sharp-witted remarks…there was a softness underneath Bucky Barnes that snuck up on her. She didn’t hate it.

Evie picked up her chopsticks, taking a bite. Then, watching him carefully—“You eat yet?”

Bucky exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Not yet. Wasn’t really thinking about it. You offering?”

She gave him a pointed look before gesturing to her food. “You should. I know you’re on some weird super-soldier sustenance setting, but still. Lo mein is good for the soul.”

Bucky chuckled, catching the spare set of chopsticks she tossed at him. “Good to know.”

Evie raised an eyebrow as he picked up a spring roll. “Not too much though. I heard Tony’s considering an Avengers swimsuit calendar for this summer to bring in some extra revenue for the team.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he ate. He took the seat next to her—close, but not overbearing. Just comfortable. Easy. They ate in companionable silence, the occasional brush of chopsticks against takeout containers filling the space. It was nice. Uncomplicated.

“So what are you bringing to life today?”

She looked up at him, mouth full. “How much detail do you want?”

He chuckled. “Believe it or not, I used to be a science nerd. Hit me with it all.”

Evie swallowed, ignoring the tug on her heart that he loved what she held so dear, then launched into an explanation—simplifying where she could, but not holding back. Bucky listened, nodding occasionally, his brows pulling together in focus. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t check out halfway through, didn’t give her the blank look she sometimes got when she got too deep into her work. He just… listened.

When she finally finished, he let out a low whistle. “Damn. And here I was thinking I was productive today.”

Evie smirked. “Yeah, well, some of us change the world one prototype at a time. Others just hit things.”

Bucky scoffed. “Hey, hitting things is a science of its own.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “Sure it is.”

He nudged her knee with his. “You wanna try?”

Evie arched her brow. “What, punching a bag? No thanks. I’d like to keep the use of at least one of my hands.”

“Suddenly that smart mouth is nowhere to be found?” Bucky shook his head, grinning. “Where’s the confidence?”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I have plenty of confidence, Barnes. I just don’t see the point.”

Bucky leaned back against the bench, stretching his arms out across the backrest. “Point is… you’re always in that lab. Might be good for you to mix it up.”

Evie tilted her head, considering him. “You trying to recruit me as a sparring partner? What, Sam doesn’t do it for you anymore? I’ll tell him you said so.”

He shrugged. “Might be fun.”

She exhaled, narrowing her eyes as tapping her chopsticks against the edge of her container. “Maybe next time.”

Bucky smirked. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Monday Evening

The Tower lobby was mostly empty this late at night, save for the distant hum of security monitors and the soft whir of the elevators filling the space. Outside, the city was always the opposite. The dinner crowd was lively, even on a Monday night. Maybe sometime she'd make an effort to leave the office before seven, join the crowds. Friday, she mentally vowed. Friday, I'll take off early and spend the time being normal with Jade.

Evie exhaled, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she strode toward the glass doors, her mind already halfway home and itching to peel off her jeans.

“Evie.”

She glanced up at the sound of her name and turned towards the footsteps echoing against the polished marble. Her stomach dipped slightly when she saw them.

Steve and Bucky were moving toward her, their strides deliberate, not their casual, easy gait. It wasn’t their presence that caught her off guard. It was what they were wearing.

Not full tactical gear, but definitely not civilian attire either. Fitted black jackets, reinforced boots, utility belts strapped in strategic places. Gear designed for movement, for function. For flight? Interesting.

Evie slowed, arching a brow. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you two again? At the same time, no less.”

Steve huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “We wanted to catch you before we left.”

“Left?” Evie blinked. 

Bucky sighed, rolling his shoulders like he was already over it. “Upstate.”

Her brows pulled together. “Since when do you two take road trips?”

Steve shot Bucky a pointed look before turning back to her. “We have to head up to the compound for a few days. Help with training.”

Evie tilted her head. “You’re trainers now?”

Steve smirked slightly. “Something like that. Nat and Rhodey take on the bulk of it, well, with Maria's oversight. But somehow, Nat got called into an intel mission for SHIELD and Rhodey was already scheduled for a Naval visit all week. So they need us to come step in as trainers for the week.”

Bucky huffed. “More like glorified babysitters.”

Steve gave him another sharp look before explaining, “Every few weeks, we go up for a bit to help train the agents anyways. The compound is where a lot of the team stays full-time.”

Evie’s brows lifted. “A lot of the team?”

Steve crossed his arms, nodding. “Nat, Wanda, Rhodey—most of them live up there. They come to the city for bigger briefings, but otherwise, they’re stationed at the compound.”

Evie blinked. “Then why are you two still here?”

Steve answered first. “We prefer New York.”

Bucky glanced at him, then looked back at Evie. His voice was lower. “We have our reasons to stay.”

Evie’s stomach flipped but she kept her expression neutral, shifting her bag strap higher. “So you’ll be gone all week?”

Steve sighed, nodding. “We’ll be back Friday afternoon. In time for our plans.”

Evie hesitated. “Actually…” Both men stilled. She shifted slightly on her feet. “My best friend is coming to town.”

Steve’s expression softened immediately. “Jade?”

Evie nodded. “I was hoping you guys would get to meet her.”

Bucky cocked his head, arms still crossed. “You said the day we got to meet Jade would be the day you signed your own death wish.”

Evie lifted a brow. "Maybe it's the radiation from the lab finally getting to me, but I'm feeling optimistic about my chances of survival. Yours, on the other hand...."

Steve chuckled. "Duly noted."

Bucky just nodded, clearly not one to be cheered up. "We wouldn’t miss it."

Before Evie could respond, Steve’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen before exhaling. Bucky already knew. “Wilson?”

Steve answered with a tight, “Yeah, we’re coming,” before hanging up and stuffing the phone back in his pocket.

Bucky exhaled through his nose. “Sam’s just dying to get up there, huh?”

“He’s waiting on us.” Steve shot him a sharp glance. Bucky didn’t look amused.

Evie offered a smile, tilting her head. “Wouldn’t want to keep the babysitting detail waiting.”

Bucky shot her an unimpressed look. “Hilarious.”

Steve, already stepping back toward the elevator, shook his head with a half-hearted grin. “We’ll see you Friday, Evie.”

Bucky lingered for half a second longer, his blue eyes flickering over her, as if it was an effort to tear them away. Evie held his gaze, steady, willing him not to.

With one last nod, he turned and followed Steve. She watched them disappear into the elevator. The doors slid shut.

Suddenly, Friday felt a lot further away. Evie sighed, adjusting her bag before heading for the exit, her own footsteps echoing against the marble the only sound once again.

Quinjet | Flight to Upstate New York

Sam was already waiting when they boarded. Arms crossed. Expression expectant.

He let them settle into their seats as he launched into a smooth takeoff, letting the hum of the Quinjet fill the space for exactly four seconds before starting in on them. “So.”

Bucky exhaled loudly, dropping into a seat with an audible thud. “Jesus.”

Steve buckled in, fingers pressing against his temples like he was already bracing for whatever was coming.

Sam glanced over his shoulder, grinning as he guided them higher into the atmosphere. “Y’all sure took your sweet time getting here.”

Steve sighed. “We said we were coming.”

“Oh, I heard you,” Sam said. “I heard ‘Wilson, we’re coming.’ Five minutes later? Still no sign of you two. Then I get another text saying, ‘On our way.’ That was ten minutes ago. From the same building, no less.” He shook his head, amusement flickering across his face. “So… what’s the holdup?”

Bucky didn’t even look at him. “Traffic.”

Sam snorted. “That’s cute. Try again.”

Steve exhaled, already tired. “We stopped to see Evie.”

Sam’s grin spread across his face. “Of course you did.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky looked out the window, as if he could will himself out of this conversation. Sam flicked a switch on the dash, shaking his head. “Man, I knew something was up. You two haven’t been right since Saturday. That whole flight back? Not a word. Then you disappear all day Sunday, and now, here we are. Y’all are down bad.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Sam.”

“No, no, no, don’t ‘Sam’ me, Cap. You don’t get to drop ‘we stopped to see Evie’ like that’s a normal sentence. ‘Cause I know y’all. And you don’t just stop to say hi to Stark’s miscellaneous employees.”

Bucky finally turned, voice flat. “You’re the one who said we should get out more.”

“Man, I mean on a Friday night, grabbing a beer or a game. Not getting caught up in some kind of workplace romance with a college student.” He gave them a teasing stern look. 

“That’s not what this is,” Steve protested.

Sam smirked. “Yeah? It was just a casual exchange? That why you took so long?”

Steve shifted in his seat, fingers tapping against his thigh. “We just—wanted to let her know we’d be gone all week.”

Sam’s eyes gleamed. “We just wanted to let her know we’d be gone all week.” He mimicked Steve’s voice with an exaggerated seriousness, shaking his head. “Man, you two are done for.”

Steve sighed. Sam cackled, looking way too pleased with himself.

Desperate to redirect, Steve cleared his throat. “She told us her friend Jade’s coming to town.”

“Jade?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, her best friend. She wants us to meet her.”

Sam grinned. “Ohh, this just keeps getting better. Meeting the best friend already? Damn. For two old guys, you’re sure on an expedited timeline”

Bucky sighed, arms crossed. “Not already. She’s coming to town to visit Evie anyways. Evie wants us to meet her. It’s not a big deal.”

Sam smirked. “Sure, it’s not.” He turned to Steve. “Girls don’t do anything without intention, trust me. I’ve been stuck on one too many flights with Nat and Wanda to believe otherwise. If she wants you to meet Jade, you can be sure that Jade already knows all there is to know about you. She’s probably the final vote as to which one of you gets to sleep with her. The impartial judge. Yeah, it all makes perfect sense.”

Steve, officially done with this conversation, just stared ahead.

Bucky stared out the window, his fingers tapping restlessly against his bicep. “She doesn’t need Jade’s approval.”

Sam snorted. “That’s cute. You actually believe that?”

Steve gave him a look. “She likes us, Sam. She wouldn’t have—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “—let things get this far if she didn’t.”

Sam’s smirk deepened. “Oh, I’m sure she likes you. But you think that stops a woman from running a full background check and consultation with the council? No, no, my friends. You’ve already been vetted. And if Jade doesn’t like what she sees? Well, then, it was nice knowing you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” Sam tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Let’s think. We’ve got one hyper-intelligent engineer who somehow keeps Stark in check, who also has two super soldiers wrapped around her little finger within weeks of meeting them. You really think she’s just out here making spontaneous decisions? Casual introductions? Evie’s playing chess. You two are the pawns.”

Bucky frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense. You don’t use two pawns in—”

“Not the point,” Sam cut in.

Rubbing his temples, Steve muttered, “Can we change the subject?”

Sam ignored him entirely, gesturing between them. “What I’m saying is, you two might think you’re the ones in control here, but if Jade gives the thumbs down, you’re toast. Poof. Gone. Evie’s too pragmatic to keep both of you around if her best friend calls you bad investments.”

Bucky scoffed, but something made Steve uneasy. It was convoluted, and it came from Sam of all people, but it made sense.

Sam exhaled dramatically, looking between them. “Look. I’m just saying—what happens when this goes sideways? What’s the plan then?”

Steve’s jaw tightened slightly. “Why would it go sideways?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You serious? You ever seen a work breakup? It’s worse than a regular breakup. And this? This is two super soldiers and the only person keeping Stark’s tech from blowing us up on missions.”

Bucky frowned. “She wouldn’t sabotage us.”

“You sure? You break her heart, next thing you know—bam. Mid-mission, your comms go out. Your targeting system shuts down. My jetpack accidentally malfunctions—”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s not going to sabotage us, Sam.”

“I don’t know, man. You’re underestimating the power of a woman scorned.” Sam hummed.

Bucky, despite himself, smirked slightly. “You speaking from experience, Wilson?”

“You might have years on me, but I’ve been in the players club longer than you would believe, Sarge.”

Steve shook his head, but before he could argue further, the Quinjet lurched slightly as the control panel signaled they were high enough to engage autopilot.

Sam flicked it on and stretched, grinning. “Well, anyway. I, for one, cannot wait to see how this plays out.”

Bucky side-eyed him. “It’s not a show, Sam.”

“Oh, it absolutely is. My lucky ass has a front row seat.”

Tuesday Afternoon | Stark Industries Lab, Midday

Evie was deep in a groove. Safety glasses on, gloved hands deep in wiring and circuitry, hair pinned back in a way that she hoped minimized the risk of it catching on fire from the sparks flying her way. As it often happened in the lab, time was a distant memory she had no concept of. 

The door slid open with the king of all interruptions calling out to her as he stepped across the threshold. 

“Dearest protege!”

Evie jumped, barely managing not to drop the circuit she was working on. She closed her eyes, inhaled sharply, and exhaled through her nose before turning around.

“Tony.”

He grinned, leaning casually against the counter of her workstation. “Why do you say my name like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re debating whether homicide is a viable option.”

Evie exhaled, setting her tools down. “Because I’m trying to work. Don’t you want to get your money’s worth out of me?”

“It’s my money to waste, kiddo, don’t worry your offputtingly beautiful mind about it.” Tony took this as his cue to waltz further into the lab, picking up random objects and examining them like he had any intention of using them. “You’re due for a break, anyway. All work and no play makes for a dull, tragic genius. Not that I would know”

Evie folded her arms. “You’re getting long-winded. What do you want?”

Tony gasped, placing a hand on his chest. “Can’t a man visit his favorite engineer without being rushed out the door?”

Evie arched her brow.

Tony smirked. “Fine. Maybe I just wanted to check in—make sure my favorite super seniors aren’t having you churn butter or stitch their names into handkerchiefs.”

Evie huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “They’re fine.”

“You’re fine,” Tony echoed, tilting his head as he studied her. “Which is…suspicious.”

Evie frowned. “Suspicious how?”

“Because I have eyes. And because I live in a tower with these men, which means I see everything. And I gotta say—Steve’s been walking around like he cracked the Da Vinci Code, and Barnes? He’s suddenly expressive. Which, in his case, means I’ve now counted five different facial expressions instead of one.”

Evie fought the warmth creeping up her neck. “That’s just…your imagination.”

Tony scoffed. “Sure it is.” He perched on the edge of a nearby table, folding his arms. “So. What’s on the itinerary this weekend? A candlelit waltz? Whispering sweet nothings over war rations? Or—wait, let me guess—old-fashioned, chaperoned courting?"

“Actually, I do have plans,” Evie said, her grin slow and knowing as she finally warmed up from work mode. “And they’re very exciting, if I do say so myself.”

Tony wiggled his fingers, urging her to continue.

“Jade’s coming to town.”

Tony stilled, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, well, well.”

“What?” Evie pulled off her glasses and massaged her temples, not realizing she’d been wearing them long enough to make her ears sore.

“It’s settled.” Tony stood, rubbing his hands together. “We’ll  throw a party. One of my signature, it’s been too long anyways. People might think I’ve lost my edge. Stop begging, I’ll do it.”

Evie sighed, running a hand through her hair as she closed her eyes. “Tony, what are you talking about?”

“A party, Evie.” Tony made a sweeping gesture. “Music, drinks, bad decisions, all of New York’s finest.” He waggled his brows. “Also, me.”

Evie rolled her eyes. “Um, no.”

Tony pressed a hand to his chest. “Why do you hate joy?”

“I don’t hate joy. I hate whatever hidden motive you have that’s giving you that,” She stuck a finger in his face. “Little mischievous twinkle in your eye. That can’t mean anything good.”

Tony grinned. “Oh, that’s fair. Astute hypothesis, champ. But still—Jade’s coming to town. You’ve got two of New York’s most eligible geriatrics whipped and ready to kiss the ground you walk on. What better way to celebrate this impending disaster than with a party?”

“I’m not sure I like how you just phrased that.”

Tony waved her off. “More importantly—why was I not made aware that your oh so lovely best friend was gracing us with her presence?”

Evie groaned, already seeing where this was going. “Tony.”

“I mean, it’s been, what? Years? Feels like only yesterday.” He exhaled dramatically.

“You slept with her one time.” Evie rolled her eyes. 

“Correction.” Tony held up a finger. “One night. No one said anything about one time.”

Evie fake gagged. “I don’t need to hear this.”

“Are you sure? I’ve got a full recap in my diary, I could do a dramatic reading if you want.”

“Tony.”

“Fine, fine.” He smirked. “I’ll keep the reminiscing to a minimum. But if she wants to run it back for old times sake, it would be inhospitable for me to turn her down.”

Evie gave him a flat look.

“So it’s settled. I’m throwing the party. End of discussion.” Tony grinned. “What is this anyways, a—”

Evie snatched it back before he could finish the sentence. “A variable frequency modulator.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Ah, yes. That was my first guess.”

“It stabilizes energy output to prevent overheating in small-scale arc reactors.” She looked pointedly at his chest. “You should be thanking me for this, it could save your ass one day.”

Tony clicked his tongue. “This is why I pay you the big bucks.”

“I’m adding a rule to my employment contract that says you aren’t allowed to touch my stuff.”

Tony held up his hands in surrender, stepping back. “Hey, I just wanted to admire the work of Stark Industries’ resident overachiever. My bad.”

Evie rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Tony checked his watch, then reached for his phone as he headed for the door. “Well, this has been fun. I’ll leave you to your modulating frequencies and certainly not dating two super soldiers at once—which, for the record, I still don’t buy.”

He was already dialing as he walked out. “Pep, hey, listen—do me a favor and find someone to commission an ice sculpture. Something tasteful, but, you know… excessive. No, I won’t explain. Just make it happen.”

Wednesday Afternoon | Stark Industries Lab

Evie adjusted the settings on the control panel, her eyes flicking between the code running on her screen and the device on the table in front of her. The small hexagonal prototype hummed softly, its surface shimmering as it tried—tried being the key word—to bend the light around it.

She held her breath.

The surface wavered. The edges blurred. And then—

A sharp pop, a flicker of static, and the light refracted in the wrong direction, sending a bright glare straight into her eyes.

“Fuck!” Evie flinched back, rubbing her temples as the prototype fizzled out with a pitiful beep. She exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping. Well, that was a new way to fail.

For weeks, she’d been testing different configurations for her light refraction project—an attempt to incorporate invisibility into the Avengers’ suits using Stark’s latest nanotech advancements. Theoretically, it should’ve worked. But theory, as she was learning, had no regard for actual functionality. The refraction wasn’t bending properly, the stabilization matrix was unstable, and everything was giving her a headache. She’d continually picked it up and put it down, working on smaller projects to give her a sense of accomplishment before this one made her run her head through the wall. Even her little detour yesterday with the arc reactor improvements didn’t make her feel better for not being able to get this one right.

Evie sighed, rubbing a hand down her face before slumping onto the floor beside her workstation. Think, Evie. There’s got to be something you’re missing.

Nope. She had nothing. Just an increasingly bad mood and a growing urge to throw the prototype out the window. Instead, she reached for her phone, unlocking it with a flick of her thumb. Her texts with Steve and Bucky were already open, their innocent good morning messages staring back at her.

Her lips twitched slightly. She shouldn’t text them. She could just…be frustrated and sulk like a normal person.

Fuck that.

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard before she typed:

Evie [5:43 PM]: I’m in a horrible mood and in need of something to cheer me up. Any chance your trip ends early?

She stared at the message for a second before hitting send, already anticipating the kind of response she’d get. She barely had time to lock her phone before it buzzed again.

Steve [5:44 PM]: What happened? Are you okay?

Evie blinked.

Bucky [5:44 PM]: Did something happen? You need us?

Her lips parted slightly. Oh. This was not the response she expected. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating, before she huffed a quiet laugh and typed back.

Evie [5:45 PM]: You two are way too serious. I just meant I was frustrated. No emergencies. Just in need of some quality entertainment.

Send.

Another buzz.

Bucky [5:45 PM]: Who do I need to kill?

Evie snorted, shaking her head.

Steve [5:45 PM]: Do you need a distraction?

Her lips curled slightly. That was more like it.

Her gaze flicked to the failed prototype still sitting on the table, the remnants of her bad mood still coiled in her stomach.

She tapped out a reply.

Evie [5:46 PM]: Maybe. What kind of distraction are you offering?

Steve [5:46 PM]: What do you need?

Evie’s stomach flipped.

It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t teasing. It was so much worse. Steve Rogers was direct. Always had been. Always would be. She knew all she had to do was name it, tell him what she needed, and he’d give it to her.

Bucky, on the other hand…

Bucky [5:47 PM]: I got a couple ideas.

Evie definitely felt that one. She let her head fall back against the cabinet, exhaling through her nose. They were going to kill her.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she typed:

Evie [5:47 PM]: Bold of you to assume I don’t have ideas of my own.

Silence.

For a second, she thought maybe she’d finally caught them off guard.

Bucky [5:48 PM]: Look at you, all talk.

Evie narrowed her eyes, grinning.

Evie [5:48 PM]: Oh, I’m all talk?

Steve [5:48 PM]: He’s just mad he’s not there to test that theory.

Her jaw dropped. Okay. Okay.

Steve Rogers, ladies and gentlemen.

Evie inhaled slowly, resisting the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl, but before she could formulate a worthy response, another message popped up.

Bucky [5:49 PM]: I hate this stupid trip.

Evie snorted.

Evie [5:49 PM]: Aww. You miss me, Barnes?

Bucky [5:50 PM]: Maybe.

Her breath caught. No teasing. No sarcasm. Just—maybe.

She swallowed, staring at the message a beat too long before forcing herself to type back.

Evie [5:50 PM]: …When are you guys back?

Steve [5:50 PM]: Friday morning.

Bucky [5:51 PM]: …Why?

Evie bit her lip, stretching her legs out in front of her before typing back.

Evie [5:51 PM]: Because Tony’s throwing a party Friday night.

Steve [5:52 PM]: Of course he is.

Bucky [5:52 PM]: Why am I not surprised?

Evie [5:52 PM]: You shouldn’t be. But you should be marking your calendars, because it’s in both of your best interest to be there.

Steve [5:53 PM]: Why is that?

Evie bit her lip, fingers hovering over the keys.

Evie [5:53 PM]: Well. If you play your cards right, you might just find out what my ideas are.

Bucky [5:53 PM]: Last time we played cards, things worked out pretty well for us.

Evie’s stomach flipped.

Steve [5:53 PM]: Should we be concerned?

Evie [5:54 PM]: Only if you don’t like surprises.

Steve [5:54 PM]: Give us a hint.

Evie grinned, drumming her fingers against her knee.

Evie [5:55 PM]: Three hints. That’s all.

Bucky [5:55 PM]: Generous.

Evie [5:55 PM]: I know.

She tapped out the first one, biting her lip.

Evie [5:56 PM]: 1. Red lace.

Bucky [5:56 PM]: …Go on.

Steve [5:56 PM]: Evie.

Evie smirked, stretching out the suspense before sending the next.

Evie [5:57 PM]: 2. An unlocked coat closet.

Bucky [5:57 PM]: …Jesus Christ.

Steve [5:57 PM]: and three?

Evie grinned.

Evie [5:58 PM]: 3. Three’s company. (I love company.)

Bucky [5:59 PM]: …

Steve [5:59 PM]: You can’t just say that and go back to your day..

Bucky [5:59 PM]: Yeah. You better explain yourself.

Evie [6:00 PM]: Use your imagination. Back to work for me. Xo!

And before they could reply, before they could demand clarification, she locked her phone, setting it down on the desk beside the bane of her existence. She’d successfully distracted herself from all work angst, replacing it with something else coiling hot in her stomach.

Thursday Evening | Evie’s Building

Evie stepped out of the shower, the steam curling around her as she secured a towel around her body. She let out an exhausted sigh, rolling her shoulders to ease the ache in her back. Eight hours hunched over a lab table, shifting between positions that had her bent at odd angles, and she had nothing to show for it. The prototype still wasn’t working, and her patience was wearing thin.

She towel-dried her hair with one hand as she made her way to the kitchen, sighing again as she poured herself a generous glass of wine. If nothing else, I deserve this.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced down at the screen. Incoming Call: Steve Rogers.

“Hello Cap,” she cooed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We’re both here,” Steve replied tersely.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice sounded a tiny bit further away.

Her stomach flipped despite herself. With a quick sip of wine, she answered. “Double trouble. What’s up, boys?”

“Just checking in,” Steve’s voice was genuine. “You sounded stressed yesterday.”

“Yeah, you okay?” Bucky added, his tone dry.

Evie scoffed. “I was until I spent all day ruining my posture trying to get this damn prototype to work.”

“Any progress?” Steve actually sounded concerned. Bless him. 

“Oh yeah,” she deadpanned. “On my spinal injury. On the prototype? Not even a little. Next subject please, or I’ll be pouring vodka in my wine.”

Steve chuckled, the kind of sound that could make a girl forget her problems and maybe even her name. “So… we were talking.”

Evie raised an eyebrow, setting her wine down. “Dangerous.”

“About you,” Bucky added.

She feigned offense. “Should I be worried?”

Steve hummed. “We just had some… thoughts.”

“Guesses,” Bucky corrected.

She leaned against the counter, intrigued. “Oh?”

Steve played along. “About those hints you left us.”

“You’re still thinking about that?” Evie smirked, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. 

Steve sounded determined as he plowed ahead with the guesses. “Red lace…”

Bucky, confident, “It’s lingerie.”

Steve, skeptical, “You think she’d admit that?”

“Nah, but I know we’re right.”

Evie fought back a smile. “You have no proof.”

Steve countered, “Then tell us we’re wrong.”

Silence.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” She heard Bucky’s smug grin through the phone.

“The unlocked coat closet, I mean, that speaks for itself.” Steve continued.

“And three’s company? We have a hunch.” Bucky added.

They were so busy going back and forth that they didn’t notice Evie setting her wine down and waltzing to her bedroom, rifling through a drawer. They were still going on as she got back to the counter and picked up her phone. Opening the camera, she held up her other hand with the thin red lace of her favorite panties dangling off her finger, holding it up lazily in front of the couch—the very couch where things almost happened last weekend. She snapped a photo.

And sent it.

A pause.

“…What the fuck.” That was Bucky.

“Evie,” Steve’s voice was almost a whine. A plea.

Evie took a slow sip of wine. “Yes?”

Bucky sounded like he was struggling for words. “You did not just do that.”

“What?” Evie feigned innocence. 

Steve exhaled, sharp and exasperated. “You know what.”

Silence.

Bucky muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. Steve didn’t speak, but Evie could hear the tension in his breath.

She grinned, tilting her head back against the couch. “I was just… clarifying your guess.”

“Evie,” Steve whined again, his voice even more desperate.

Bucky let out a dry laugh, but it sounded a little strained. “Fucking hell.”

Evie bit her lip, fighting a grin. She took another sip. “Sweet dreams, boys.”

Upstate | Avengers Compound

Steve rubbed a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. Bucky just stared at his screen, jaw tight. Neither spoke.

Silence.

Painful, torturous silence.

Bucky sat frozen at the edge of the desk, his grip locked so tight on the back of the chair that the wood creaked under his fingers. Steve stood beside him, arms crossed, staring down at his phone like if he focused hard enough, he could will time to move faster.

Neither of them had spoken since Evie’s text had wrecked their entire night twenty minutes ago.

Not since the photo.

Not since the red lace that was definitely not leaving their minds’ eye any time soon.

Steve swallowed hard. “We have to leave.”

Bucky’s eyes didn’t move from the floor. “Obviously.”

A beat of silence. Then, at the exact same time, they turned and marched down the hallway toward Sam’s room.

Sam had just gotten comfortable.

He was sprawled across his bed, in sweats, mid-sip of a beer, enjoying his one night of peace and solitude before he had to deal with dumbass recruits again tomorrow.

Then—footsteps.

Determined. Unrelenting. Doomed.

Sam sighed, not even looking up as his door flew open. Steve and Bucky stood there, looming, intense, looking like they had just survived something between a firefight and an emotional crisis.

Sam blinked. “No.”

“You don’t even know what we’re—” Steve frowned. 

“No. Whatever it is, no.”

Bucky exhaled sharply. “We need to leave.”

Sam tilted his head. “Oh, you mean before we finish our contracted responsibilities? The ones that are literally why we’re here?”

Steve clenched his jaw. “It’s just a little early.”

Sam set his beer down. “Uh-huh. A whole day early. It’s 11pm, why the hell would we leave now?”

Sam’s eyes flicked between them. His smirk slowly returned.

“Ohhh, I see.”

Bucky rolled his shoulders. “No, you don’t.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Lemme guess. Evie?”

Neither of them answered.

Sam chuckled. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

Steve exhaled, like maybe if he breathed through it, he could get Sam to just agree without a fight. “We’re serious, Sam.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are.” Sam gestured vaguely to both of them. “I mean, look at you. You’re both—” He paused, searching for the right words. Then, he just gestured again, looking fully disgusted. “This.”

Bucky gritted his teeth. “We’ll owe you.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Steve turned on the charm. That soft, earnest, pleading golden retriever energy that was supposed to work on everyone.

“Sam. You’re our friend.”

Sam stared at him. “And?”

Steve blinked.

Sam took another sip of his beer, unmoved.

Bucky exhaled angrily through his nose. “Come on, man. I’ll spar with you for a week. No complaining.”

Sam hummed, considering. “That is tempting.”

“I’ll even let you pick the music.”

Sam’s eyebrows lifted. For a second, it looked like he might cave. Then he shrugged. “Still no.”

Steve took one single step forward.

Sam immediately lifted a hand. “Nope. Don’t even try it.”

Bucky glared. “You flew us out here, you can fly us back.”

Sam shrugged. “I could. But I won’t.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Sam.”

Sam smirked. “Steve.”

Bucky growled.

Sam grinned.

“Listen, fellas,” he sighed, deeply entertained. “Y’all are actin’ insane. And I am not enabling this.”

“Sam,” Steve tried again, softer, desperate.

Sam’s grin widened. “Oh, now I get the soft voice.” He just shook his head. “Y’all need to chill. Take a cold shower. Go for a jog. Do literally anything except make me get back in that Quinjet.”

Bucky huffed. “I hate you.”

Sam toasted his beer. “It’s mutual.”

He slammed his door in their faces.

[beefromanoff]

Tempting Fate Ch. 8

summary: seven days is too long. game night. wine. tension. just read it, okay! TRUST!

author's note: the longest chapter yet and I'm not even a little bit sorry. ENJOY AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK <3

masterlist

tag list: tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings @jainaeatsstars @mcira @brooklynbear32

Avengers’ Tower | Friday Night

Bucky slammed his keys onto the counter, too hard. The sharp crack echoed through the quiet halls of the Tower, a violent punctuation to his mood. His blood was still running too hot, his grip too tight, his pulse hammering a fraction too fast.

Steve was already there, standing in the kitchen with his hands braced against the counter, jaw tight. Waiting.

Bucky paused, exhaling hard through his nose as he ran a rough hand over his jaw. He was trying to rein it in, to be the picture of restraint—but the drive back had done nothing to settle him. If anything, it had only made it worse.

Finally, Steve broke the silence. “Dinner was nice.”

Bucky, without missing a beat, replied flatly, “Bet it was.”

Steve exhaled slowly, the sound thick with patience. Bucky braced for it, for the steadying presence that had always been Steve Rogers—a man who liked his battles clean, his conflicts logical. But there was nothing clean or logical about tonight.

“What does that mean?” Steve asked, his voice edged with something carefully restrained.

Bucky grabbed a glass from the kitchen, shrugged. “Nothing.”

Steve sighed. It was such a Steve thing to do. And maybe it was the fact that Evie had gotten under his skin, or maybe it was that he’d left her apartment feeling like he was crawling out of his own body, but suddenly, Bucky couldn’t take it anymore.

He turned, leaning against the counter, arms crossing over his chest as he closed his eyes and forced himself to take a slow breath.

“Did something happen?” Steve’s brow furrowed.

Bucky exhaled through his nose. “Nope.”

Steve’s eyes flickered up. “You sure?”

Bucky yanked off his jacket, jaw clenching. “I just drove her home. That was the deal, wasn’t it?”

Steve’s fingers curled against the counter. “Didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

Steve pushed off the counter, stepping forward, voice clipped. “Because I know you, Bucky.” His words were sharp, precise. “And you’re acting like—”

“Like what?” Bucky cut in, voice rough.

Steve’s eyes flashed. “Like a guy who wanted a hell of a lot more than just to drive her home.”

Silence. Bucky’s shoulders tensed. Steve wasn’t wrong. And that pissed him off even more.

“So what?” Bucky shot back. “You think that just because you took her out once, it means you’ve got the right to dictate what I’m allowed to want?”

Steve’s brows pulled together, offense flickering in his expression. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “Sure as hell sounds like it.”

Steve’s frustration boiled over. “For God’s sake, Bucky, we can’t let this happen to us again.”

Bucky froze.

Because there it was. The thing neither of them had actually said out loud. Not until now.

“She’s not Ginny.” Steve’s voice was rough, like the words were made of something heavy. “But history is going to repeat itself if we don’t act differently this time.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

“I like her, Buck.” Steve exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “And I know you feel it too, so don’t stand there and act like—”

Bucky cut him off, voice tight. “You don’t know what I feel.”

Steve stilled. His blue eyes flickered with something restrained. Something just as dangerous.

“You’re right.” Steve’s voice was calm now. Too calm. “But I know what I saw tonight.”

Bucky’s stomach coiled. Steve’s next words were soft. Measured. Unforgiving.

“You’re losing this time.”

The words hit like a gunshot.

Bucky took a slow, steady breath…and then he smirked. Slow. Mocking. His voice was low, edged with something sharp.

“Funny,” he murmured. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. Bucky’s smirk didn’t fade. The air between them stretched. Too tight. Too sharp.

And then—their phones vibrated at the same time.

Both of them paused. Steve reached for his first. Bucky, slower, pulled his from his pocket.

They both looked down.

One message.

From Evie.

Seven days is too long. Are you both free tomorrow?

The silence between them shifted. The heat, the hostility? Gone. Replaced with something else. Something worse. Steve was the first to look up. Bucky lifted his gaze a second later. Suddenly, they weren’t fighting each other anymore. Because neither of them had won. Neither of them had lost.

The game was still being played. 

Evie had just made her next move.

Steve exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Are you still mad?”

Bucky stared at the phone for half a second longer. Then, after a long beat, he muttered, “Not at her.”

Footsteps sounded from across the room. Then Sam’s voice, dry and unimpressed. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

Both men turned.

Sam stood in the doorway, wearing sweatpants and an old Air Force t-shirt, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed. He squinted at them. “Y’all fighting? Over a girl? At this age?”

He shook his head as he crossed the living room and opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. Taking a sip, he strolled up to them. “I shouldn’t be the one telling you two how to act. How bad could this possibly be?”

Neither of them answered.

Sam looked between them. Then his gaze dropped to their phones. He saw the text. Paused.

“Oh, shit.” He grinned, shaking his head. “You’re both fucked.”

And with that, he took another sip, clapped Steve on the shoulder, and turned toward his room. “On that note, I’m going back to bed. Try not to break anything until morning. I need my REM.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city outside.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, his heart rate finally slowing, rational thoughts filtering back in. “So, what do we do?”

Steve’s voice was low, deliberate. “We go.”

“Steve, are you out of your mind? She’s a kid.” Bucky hissed. 

Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking more uncharacteristically disheveled than Bucky had seen in years, before jabbing a finger into Bucky’s chest. “Don’t act like you haven’t had the exact same thoughts I have. I saw you at the arcade. I saw you look at her tonight. For God’s sake, Buck, you came home ready to rip someone apart. I haven’t seen you this—” He paused, searching for the word. “Frustrated,” he settled on, though his eyes said he meant something stronger. "In years. You can act like you're above this but we both know if she'd invited you in tonight, you wouldn't be here having this conversation with me."

Bucky set his jaw, rubbing his hand along it as he thought. He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing heavily. When he opened them, something had shifted. His voice was quiet, but firm. “She’s only twenty-five.”

“She’s still an adult. She’s made it clear what she wants.” Steve countered, his voice unwavering. “Don’t tell me you saw her in that dress earlier and thought about her age.”

“We’re a little more than adults, Stevie.” Bucky huffed, pacing around the dimly lit living room. “We’re decades older than her.”

Steve’s eyes darkened. “It doesn’t seem to faze her. Quite the opposite, I’d argue.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one talking us out of this? The voice of reason? The morality compass?”

Steve exhaled, running a hand down his face. “I’m having a really hard time thinking of any reason I shouldn’t pick up the phone and tell her we’ll be there tomorrow.” His voice was calm. Too calm.

Bucky dropped down onto the couch next to him, rubbing his face. “Okay,” he sighed. “Say… you do that. We go. Then what?”

Steve stared blankly ahead, absently reaching for the half-empty beer that had been forgotten on the counter.

“I don’t know.” He exhaled, his composure cracking just slightly.

“I mean,” Bucky ran a hand down his jaw, voice edged with something heavier. “I get it. Believe me, I fucking get it. But let’s look at this rationally. She’s twenty-five. We’re… not. She’s the spitting image of a girl we knew when we were teenagers. She’s Stark’s prized fucking pony, whatever the hell kind of engineering program he’s running.” He let out a slow breath. “And as if all of that weren’t reason enough to forget this whole thing… there’s still the most glaringly obvious issue.”

Steve chuckled dryly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What’s that?”

Bucky leaned back against the sofa, letting his head drop against the cushion.

“There’s two of us… and one of her.”

A moment of silence stretched between them.

Steve’s voice was low, cautious.

“Why does that have to be a problem?”

Saturday Morning | Training Room

The dull thud of fists against pads echoed through the training room. Steve exhaled sharply, throwing another controlled punch. Sam absorbed the hit, pivoted, and shot him a pointed look.

“Alright, man. Out with it.”

Steve frowned. “With what?”

Sam scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You and Bucky were acting up last night.”

Steve threw another punch. Harder. “We were fine.”

Sam laughed. “Oh, you were fine? That’s why you two were talking like you were one step away from throwing hands in the living room?”

Steve’s jaw ticked.

Seeing he was onto something, Sam smirked. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Steve threw another punch. Harder. Faster.

Not missing a beat, Sam shifted his stance, blocking with ease. “So. Who pissed off who first?”

Steve exhaled through his nose. “It wasn’t like that.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so it wasn’t about Evie?”

Steve stilled.

“Bingo.” Sam’s smirk widened.

Steve huffed, stepping back, running a hand through his hair.

“Alright. Let’s hear it.” Sam dropped his gloves, grabbing a water bottle.

Steve shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah? Well, lucky for you, I love complicated.” Sam took a sip.

Steve exhaled, stretching his shoulder. “It’s just… Evie.”

Sam scoffed. “Right, that’s been established.”

Steve ignored him. “She’s—” He hesitated. “—I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

Sam leaned against the ropes. “That’s a nice way of saying you’re down bad, Rogers.”

Steve sighed. “I’m not—”

Sam raised a hand. “Man, please. You took her to dinner last night, got all dressed up, probably gave her your best old-school charm, and then you let Bucky drive her home? I don’t even need to see the game tape to know that was a bad play.”

Steve’s jaw tightened.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “What, too soon?”

Steve exhaled, rolling his neck. “You don’t get it.”

Sam shrugged. “Then make me get it.”

Steve was quiet for a second. Then—finally—he spoke. “It’s not just about Evie.”

Sam tilted his head. “What else is there?”

Steve’s voice was measured. “There was a girl. A long time ago.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised slightly.

Steve exhaled. “Her name was Ginny.”

Sam leaned in. “Ohhh. Do tell.”

Steve gave him a look.

Sam held up his hands. “I’m listening. Go on.”

Steve sighed, running a hand down his face. “She was our friend. Bucky and I—we both liked her. Really liked her. And it was bad.”

Sam frowned. “Bad how?”

Steve hesitated. Then, quietly, “We almost ruined everything.”

Sam’s expression shifted. Because Steve wasn’t one to be dramatic. This was really weighing on him.

Steve rolled his shoulders, voice low. “She didn’t want to choose. We weren’t ready to share. Couldn’t handle it. We let our feelings with her overshadow the friendship we had with each other. We got so…territorial that she decided she was done with us. We realized we screwed up too late, tried to fix things, say we could be friends like we all used to be, but then the draft came, and we lost it all anyway.” He exhaled sharply. “It’s the only time I’ve ever seen Bucky as an enemy. Even when he wasn’t…Bucky.”

Sam was silent. Then— “Damn.”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah.”

Sam processed. His eyes narrowed.

“So, wait. Let me get this straight.” He pointed at Steve. “You and Bucky fought over a girl back in the day.”

Steve nodded.

Sam pointed at him again. “And now, all these years later… a girl who looks exactly like her shows up out of nowhere?”

Steve hesitated. Then, reluctantly— “…Yeah.”

Sam blinked. “Oh, that’s messed up.”

Steve sighed. “Tell me about it.”

Sam, ignoring him, leaned forward. “So, what’s the game plan, Cap? You gonna learn from the past, or you two gonna crash and burn again?”

Steve exhaled, dropping his head and sending sweat droplets shooting for the floor. “I don’t know.”

Sam lifted his hands. “You don’t know?”

Steve raked a hand through his hair. “She’s not Ginny.”

Sam folded his arms. “But?”

Steve’s throat worked. “But we weren’t ready then.” His voice was quiet. “And I don’t know if we’re ready now.”

Sam considered that. “Well. I do know one thing.”

Steve looked up.

Sam grinned. “Based on that text, she sure as hell ain’t waiting for you to figure it out.”

Evie’s Apartment

Evie tossed her phone onto the nightstand and collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her heart was still racing, her pulse still thrumming in her ears. She felt wild. Like she was balancing on the edge of something. Like she was one step away from toppling into an abyss—and the worst part?

She liked it.

Tonight had been...intriguing.

Dinner with Steve had been dangerous in an entirely different way—soft, easy, slow-burn tension that made her feel safe, warm, wanted. He made her laugh. He listened. He looked at her like she was something to be admired, something to be kept.

Steve made her want to prove how good she could be.

Bucky had made her want to do the opposite.

That car ride? The elevator? The way his metal hand had felt against her spine—cold, deliberate, possessive? He unraveled her one breath at a time, one touch at a time, until she wasn’t sure if she was still standing on solid ground. He didn’t just make her feel wanted. He made her feel claimed.

Fuck it.

Evie sat up, grabbing her phone, thumbing through her texts, rereading the last one she’d sent.

Seven days is too long. Are you both free tomorrow?

She had sent it on impulse. On instinct. On wine-drunk desire.

Because she needed to see them again. Both of them. And she wanted them to know it.

Her phone buzzed. The screen illuminated in the dim room, casting light against her sheets.

Steve: We’re both free. Who do you want to pick you up?

Evie grinned, pulse spiking.

She didn’t hesitate.

Evie: Both. Meet at my door. I trust you both remember the way.

She hit send.

Tossing her phone back onto the nightstand, she leaned back against the pillows, grinning to herself.

This game was no longer a game.

Tomorrow night, someone was going to break.

_____

Saturday Night | Steve’s Car

The drive was tense.

Steve’s knuckles flexed against the steering wheel, his jaw tight, eyes locked on the road ahead. Bucky sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, his fingers tapping impatiently against his bicep. Neither had spoken much since leaving the Tower.

Because they both knew exactly where they were headed and what they were walking into.

Steve exhaled, grip tightening as he flicked on the turn signal. “This is a mistake.”

Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re the one who said we should go.”

Steve didn’t argue, didn’t even look over. “Yeah. I did.”

Another stretch of silence. The city lights blurred past the windshield, the quiet hum of the tires against the pavement doing nothing to fill the space between them.

Steve cleared his throat. “You think she’s playing with us?”

Bucky’s fingers stilled. His voice was even. “No.”

That admission should’ve made Steve feel better. It didn’t.

He adjusted his grip, his thumb brushing absently over the worn leather of the steering wheel. “So what happens tonight?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He let the question hang between them, let it settle in the space filled with too many unspoken thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. “Guess that depends on us.”

Steve glanced over. “Meaning?”

Bucky turned his head, meeting his gaze, expression unreadable. “Meaning we need to decide if we’re done fighting this.”

Steve swallowed, looking back at the road. He already knew his answer. He’d known it the second she’d sent that text.

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how this works, Steve.”

Neither did he. Not really. But he knew one thing for certain. Neither of them wanted to turn around.

The streetlights cast sharp shadows through the truck as Steve pulled onto Evie’s street, slowing as they approached her building. Bucky shifted, glancing toward the entrance, where the doorman was already eyeing them with recognition.

Steve put the truck in park, exhaling slowly. “We go in there together.”

Bucky’s hand hovered over the door handle. “And then what?”

Steve didn’t hesitate. “We find out if she’s playing games or if she really wants this. Us. If she does…”

He let the words hang, heavy with unspoken possibility.

Bucky nodded once, a slow, measured movement. Then, with nothing left to say, they both climbed out of the truck.

Saturday Night | Evie’s Apartment

Evie opened the door to both of them standing there.

Steve was all polished charm. A crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up to the forearms, looking impossibly put together. Bucky was all dark intensity. His black Henley stretched across broad shoulders, jaw already set, eyes sharp. They were both watching her. Not moving. Just taking her in.

And fuck. She felt it. Right down to her bones.

A slow smile curled at her lips. "Seven days was too long," she murmured, leaning against the doorframe like she wasn’t already unraveling.

Steve’s jaw ticked. “Yeah. It was.”

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver. "You gonna let us in, doll?"

Evie tilted her head, dragging out the moment—watching the way they waited for her, the tension in the space between them so thick it was practically tangible. Then—stepping aside, opening the door wider— "Depends. You boys play cards?"

The snap of the deck shuffled between Steve’s hands.

Bucky sat across from Evie, rolling his shoulders, casual but always watching. The apartment felt different tonight. Warmer. Heavier. Evie poured three glasses of wine, the scent of aged oak and dark fruit curling into the air as she handed them out. She wasn’t even sure they needed it—the night was already buzzing.

Steve dealt the first hand, the snap of the cards against the table filling the quiet between them. "You know," Steve said, grinning slightly as he picked up his cards, "the last time I played poker, it was with a bunch of guys in my unit who thought bluffing meant yelling really loud."

Evie smirked, lifting her glass. "And how’d that work out for you?"

Steve shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. "I won. But mostly because I had the best poker face."

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "That’s because you had the best face, period."

Evie laughed softly, watching the way Steve ducked his head, that boyish blush creeping in.

"See," she said, tilting her head as she glanced at Bucky, "I always thought you were the card shark."

Bucky smirked, flicking a glance at Steve before looking back at her. "That’s ‘cause I cheat."

Steve rolled his eyes. "He doesn't cheat. He just gets in your head until you forget how to play."

Evie grinned, setting down a card. "Sounds like a cheater to me."

Bucky leaned back, resting his arm along the back of the couch. "Sounds like you're looking for trouble."

Her pulse kicked up. Just a little. Just enough.

The touches started small. Steve’s knee brushed against hers under the table. Bucky's fingers slid over hers when he passed her a card. Steve leaned over to grab the deck, his shoulder pressing into hers just slightly longer than necessary. Bucky placed a hand on her wrist absentmindedly, holding her still for a second before letting go. And Evie felt it all. Every single one.

By the time they were three rounds in, the air was shifting. The wine was making everything looser.

The conversation lowered, slowed. Evie could feel Steve watching her. She could feel Bucky waiting. And so, she set her cards down. Picked up her wine.

And said, "I had an interesting dream earlier this week."

Steve’s hand stilled on his glass. Bucky’s fingers stopped mid-shuffle. Both of them looking at her now. Focused. Locked in. Evie took her time as she set the scene, relishing how they hung on every word.

As she finally reached the part they'd been hungrily waiting for, Evie paused. She tilted her head, watching them, the way tension coiled between their shoulders. "One of you was behind me. The other—" she trailed off, letting the words hang, letting their imaginations fill in the rest. She swirled her wine, eyes flickering between them. "I was helpless. Warm. Surrounded." A slow pause. "I couldn’t tell whose hands were on me. I didn’t care."

Bucky exhaled, sharp and controlled. Steve’s jaw flexed.

She took a sip of wine, voice softer as she slowly explained the rest of the dream. "It felt inevitable. Like it had always been leading there."

Bucky leaned back, his jaw tight. Steve’s grip on his wine tightened so much she feared for the integrity of the glass.

And when she finished, there was only silence. Thick. Heavy. Alive.

Steve’s voice came first. Low. Hoarse. Like he had to drag the words out.

“Was it a good dream?”

Evie smirked. Didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate. And said, "I've gone to sleep every night since hoping to have it again."

Steve and Bucky looked at each other. A silent exchange. A decision.

And then—

Bucky tilted his head, voice low. "Think we’d be more comfortable on the couch, Rogers?"

Steve, watching Evie carefully, smirked. "Yeah. I think we would."

Evie exhaled slowly.

This wasn’t competition anymore. This was collusion. This was them deciding, together, to take control. 

She stood first, walking to the oversized sectional and intentionally sinking onto the small corner cushion, perpendicular to the longer side where she knew they’d sit. Right where she could look at both of them. Feel both sets of eyes on her.

The table had been a buffer—small, but present. But here? Here, there was nothing.

The warmth of the wine lingered in her bloodstream, heightening everything. The scent of Steve’s cologne—clean, masculine, something subtly old-fashioned—drifted in as he settled in front of her. Beside him, Bucky leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, an intensity in his eyes that made her pulse jump.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Steve, eyes still on her, smirked slightly. "So, tell me something, Evie."

She glanced at him, tilting her head. "Something like what?"

Steve took his time. His voice was smooth, but edged with something deeper. “What do you think really makes a good poker face?”

Evie smiled. "Not giving yourself away."

Steve hummed. "Hmm. And how are you at that?"

"You tell me." Evie raised an eyebrow.

Steve didn’t break eye contact. "I think you like playing games."

Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh, leaning back. "No shit."

Steve grinned, but his gaze didn’t waver. "I also think you like winning."

"Doesn’t everybody?" Evie took a slow sip of her wine.

Steve’s voice dropped just slightly. "Not like you do."

Something about the way he said it sent a flicker of heat down her spine.

Bucky watched them both, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, as if amused. "You two gonna keep dancing around it all night?"

Evie turned to him. "Dancing around what, Barnes?"

Bucky tilted his head, studying her, his metal fingers tapping idly against the glass in his hand. "You said seven days was too long."

She held his gaze, trying her best to look innocent. "It was."

Bucky’s eyes darkened slightly. "Then quit stalling."

Evie’s breath caught. The air thickened.

Steve’s arm was draped along the back of the couch now, the faintest brush of his fingertips against her shoulder blade making her hyper-aware of every single movement. Bucky, still leaning forward, was close. Close enough that she could see the sharpness in his gaze, the way his chest rose and fell just a little slower than before.

She swallowed.

Steve leaned in, tilting his head slightly as he murmured, “You wanna play another game, Evie?”

She exhaled slowly. “What are the rules?”

Steve’s lips barely parted. “I think we’re past rules.”

Bucky, watching her carefully, smirked. “And I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you invited us here.”

Evie’s stomach flipped. Because they were right. She had known. She had invited them both. She had waited seven days, and then another agonizing twenty-four hours, because she’d wanted this.

Now she was here. Pressed between the only two men who had ever made her feel this alive. The air was suffocating. She could still feel Bucky’s eyes on her, like he was waiting. Holding out. She could still feel the ghost of Steve’s fingers against the exposed skin of her shoulder, featherlight, patient.

It was her move.

And she always played to win.

So she let herself break first.

She lifted her head—slowly, deliberately—meeting Steve’s gaze. His jaw flexed slightly. Her pulse hammered. And then, just as she leaned in—

Steve’s fingers brushed her chin. A featherlight touch. A silent command. And his voice, quiet, devastating, “Not yet.”

Evie stilled. Something hot curled in her stomach.

Because suddenly—they were the ones in control. And the way Steve was looking at her? The way Bucky was watching her from the other side? She was going to break. And they knew it.

Steve’s fingers curled, the only sign that he was feeling the palpable tension in the room. Bucky exhaled slowly, like he was fighting something off, his fingers flexing against his knee.

Evie’s breath was uneven. She could feel it, the way the night was shifting, the way the power she had so confidently wielded before was slipping right through her fingers. And the worst part? She had no desire to take it back.

Steve, still leaning in, unbearably close, spoke without letting his gaze leave hers. "You wanted to play a game, Evie," he murmured, voice quiet, smooth. “We’re just making sure you’re ready for it.”

Evie’s pulse jumped.

Bucky scoffed softly, low in his throat. “She was ready the second she invited us here.” His voice was rough. Almost gravelly.

Steve smirked slightly, tilting his head. “Maybe. But she’s not the only one who gets to set the pace.”

Evie’s lips parted. Because fuck.

Bucky leaned back slightly, eyes sharp as he looked between them. Then, his smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. "Alright, Rogers," he murmured. "How do you wanna do this?"

Steve turned to him, expression unreadable. Then, after a long moment—he grinned.

Evie suddenly understood what it felt like to be completely and utterly outmatched.

Steve glanced at Bucky. "We make her wait."

Evie’s stomach flipped. She opened her mouth—to argue, to push, to say something—but before she could, Bucky was already shaking his head, exhaling through his nose like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

Then—his voice lower, rougher—"You’re stronger than me."

Steve just smiled.

Bucky ran his tongue along his teeth, then turned back to Evie, tilting his head. His stare was blistering.

Evie’s heart pounded. She knew that look. She knew what it meant. Her grip on the stem of her glass was too tight. Her breathing was too shallow. And fuck, they were enjoying this.

Bucky leaned forward slightly, voice dangerously soft. "What’s wrong, sweetheart?"

Evie hated how much she felt it. The sharp, dizzying heat in her stomach. The weight of their attention, heavy enough to drown her. Steve brushed a knuckle against her knee, absentmindedly, like it wasn’t sending her pulse skyrocketing. Bucky just watched.

Evie had never wanted to break more in her entire goddamn life.

But never ever lost. So instead of crumbling, instead of giving them what they wanted—she smirked. Tilted her head. And, lifting her wine glass to her lips, she took a slow, deliberate sip before setting it down on the coffee table. She leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees, mimicking their positions facing her. As she leaned forward her dress hung open enough to pull both of their eyes down to her collarbone and below. The exact reason she’d chosen the ill-fitting slip dress from the back of her closet as tonight’s attire.

Bucky cursed under his breath.

Steve—steady, unshakable Steve—dragged a slow hand down his face, exhaling through his nose.

She smiled, syrupy sweet. “Something wrong, boys?”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them answered.

"Alright, Rogers." She angled her head, pretending to think before lifting her eyes to him. "Truth or dare?"

Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. "Oh, another game, huh?"

Steve didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate. "Truth."

Evie tapped her fingers against her wine glass, studying him. Then, her voice smooth, deceptively light—"What was going through your mind when you knocked on my door tonight?"

Silence. Steve’s jaw flexed as he sat up straight and ran a hand through his hair. Bucky’s smirk disappeared. The air in the room thickened, pressing in from all sides.

Steve exhaled slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching. Then, finally, he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, gaze locked onto hers. "If I tell you that, Evie, you’re not gonna sleep tonight."

Her stomach dropped.

Bucky shook his head. “Jesus, Rogers.”

Evie hated how warm her face felt. She swallowed hard, pretending like that hadn’t just wrecked her. "If you say so," she tried to summon her normal bravado, voice just barely even. "Your turn, Bucky."

Bucky considered her for a long moment, then, without looking away, asked, “Truth or dare?”

Evie leaned forward slightly, lips curving. “Dare.”

Bucky’s fingers drummed against his knee. Then, with devastating ease—“Come sit with us.”

Silence. Not because it was unexpected. But because it wasn’t. Because this was where it had been heading the whole time. Evie exhaled through her nose, slow, steady. Then—without breaking eye contact—she stood. Steve and Bucky both watched her move. Watched the way she took her time, deliberate, like she knew she had all the power in this moment.

And then, just to see if they’d stop her—She settled herself right between them.

Steve’s arm was already along the back of the couch, and as she sat, his fingers just barely brushed against her bare shoulder. Bucky turned just slightly, body shifting toward her, his knee pressing against hers.

And then—Steve, voice low, warm, right by her ear— “You comfortable?”

Evie’s stomach dropped. Her pulse skipped. And when she turned her head, Steve was closer than she expected, his blue eyes sharp, unreadable. Bucky was watching them both, and God help her, it wasn’t jealousy in his eyes—it was something else entirely.

Evie wet her lips, heart hammering, and then replied, “Getting there.”

Bucky’s smirk lingered. His blue eyes flickered between hers, amusement simmering above dwindling self-control.

Evie held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. "Truth or dare?"

Bucky, predictably, smirked. "Dare."

Evie tilted her head in consideration before grinning. “Refill my wine.”

Bucky scoffed, but reached for the bottle, the glass clinking against his metal fingers. “That’s the best you got?”

“You said dare. I dared.” Evie shrugged, her smirk growing as she regained her footing.

Bucky muttered something under his breath but stood, taking her glass and moving to the counter. The sound of wine pouring filled the silence, but when he returned, Evie narrowed her eyes. He had filled her glass nearly to the top.

She raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”

Bucky’s face was borderline impatient as he set it in front of her. “What you asked for.”

Evie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she picked up the glass, tilting it toward him. “Trying to get me drunk, Barnes?”

Bucky didn’t waver. He leaned in slightly, voice low. “Sweetheart, you could be stone-cold sober, and you’d still be exactly where I wanted you.”

Evie’s stomach dropped, and when she met his gaze, blue and sharp and waiting, she knew—he wasn’t playing anymore. Neither was she.

The moment stretched. Tightened.

Steve cleared his throat. “My turn?”

Bucky didn’t look away from her immediately. Didn’t move. But finally, after a beat, he leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Your turn, Rogers.”

Steve picked up his wine, considering his next move. Then—“Truth.”

Bucky smirked slightly before shifting his attention to Steve. His voice was slow, almost lazy. “What’s stopping you?”

Steve exhaled slowly, setting his glass down. Then, finally, his voice steady—"Nothing."

The room went silent. Evie’s pulse pounded.

Steve leaned forward. Slow. Deliberate. And, voice smooth, devastating, "Your turn, Evie."

“Dare,” she breathed, before she could think better of it.

Steve lifted an eyebrow. Evie arched hers right back, daring him to make it good.

Bucky, smirking, leaned in slightly, gaze flicking between them. Then—his voice smooth, lazy, dripping with something unspoken—"I’ve got one."

Steve glanced at him, lips twitching slightly. "Go ahead."

Bucky turned to Evie, expression all slow, predatory amusement. "I dare you," he murmured, voice almost too quiet, "to sit still."

Evie frowned slightly. "That’s not a—"

But then Bucky reached out. Slow. Deliberate. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered. His thumb grazed the side of her neck, barely there, just a whisper of touch against her pulse. Her breath caught.

Steve exhaled through his nose, his own gaze darkening. Then he reached out, mirroring the movement, sweeping the hair from the other side of her neck.

His knuckles dragged along her shoulder, fingers barely ghosting over her collarbone.

And fuck. Evie could not sit still. Not when every nerve in her body felt like it had just been set on fire. A shiver ran down her spine and she tilted her head back despite herself.

Steve smirked slightly, still tracing his hand down the back of her arm. "You lost."

Bucky tilted his head, grinning slowly. "Too bad. I was hoping you’d last a little longer, Ev."

Evie swallowed, her pulse hammering.

Steve, still watching her, smirked slightly. “Our turn, then.”

Evie raised a brow. “Our?”

Steve’s smirk widened. “We’re playing together now.”

Bucky shifted closer. “That a problem?”

Evie swallowed.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, knuckles white against the deep red fabric. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, but she refused to let them see her falter again. Not after that. Not after she’d lost.

She lifted her chin, voice smoother than she felt. “Not at all.”

Bucky exhaled a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking between hers. “Then let’s keep going.”

Steve leaned in slightly, like he was considering her. Like he was seeing just how far she was willing to go. “Truth or dare, Evie?”

She should’ve picked dare. She should have picked something physical, something that would keep her moving, anything but the trap she knew they were about to set.

But Evie didn’t back down.

She crossed her legs, voice measured. “Truth.”

Bucky hummed, tilting his head. “Dangerous choice.”

Steve, ever the gentleman, let her sit with the tension for a moment before delivering the killing blow.

“How do you choose between two things you want?”

The room went silent.

Evie inhaled sharply, throat dry, eyes snapping to his. And Steve just held her gaze, blue eyes unwavering, as if he had all the time in the world to watch her squirm.

Bucky, next to him, wasn’t smirking anymore. He was waiting. Watching.

Because they both couldn't wait to see what she’d do next.

She reached for her wine glass, but her fingers were unsteady—whether from the heat of the moment or the question she couldn’t answer, she didn’t know.

The glass slipped.

She tried to catch it—a stupid, instinctual reaction—but the moment her hand gripped the shattered glass, a sharp pain lanced through her palm.

Shards hit the floor. Blood bloomed instantly across her skin.

She hissed, flinching, but before she could even process the pain, Bucky swore.

“Shit—Evie.”

He was right there. His hand covered hers, pressing his sleeve against the cut, grip firm but gentle.

Evie blinked up at him, heartbeat pounding in her ears, thrown by how fast he’d moved, how genuine the concern on his face was.

Steve, who had been standing in stunned silence, snapped out of it and immediately started cleaning up the shards from the carpet. Glancing up at them, he spoke to Bucky. “You got her?”

Bucky didn’t even look up. “I got her.”

Evie was still in a daze as he kept pressure on her wound with one hand and guided her up and into the kitchen with the other on her lower back. This was not the same man who had just been toying with her minutes ago. This wasn’t the cocky, slow-burning Bucky who had taunted her through the truth or dare game.

This was the soldier. The protector. The good man.

And the way he was looking at her...brows drawn, mouth pressed into a tight line, sleeve already stained with her blood...it was softer than she ever expected.

“Does it hurt?” he muttered, pulling his hand away to examine the wound.

Evie huffed, still slightly breathless. “Not as much as my pride.”

His mouth quirked, just slightly, but his focus didn’t waver.

“C’mon. Up.”

Before she could even question it, Bucky lifted her. Hands firm at her waist, he effortlessly set her on the counter, like she weighed nothing. And suddenly, Evie was eye-level with him.

She swallowed.

His vibranium fingers brushed her wrist as he turned on the faucet, guiding her injured hand beneath the water. The warmth soothed the sting, but she wasn’t sure if it was the water or the way Bucky was touching her that sent a shiver down her spine.

She pursed her lips. “I can handle—”

“Just let me.”

It wasn’t a request. His voice was gruff, his eyes unwavering. And for once, Evie didn’t argue.

The moment stretched, something unspoken passing between them, before he finally said, "Where’s your first aid kit?"

Evie blinked, feeling slightly dazed. “Bathroom. Second cabinet.”

Bucky barely turned his head before calling out, “Steve—go grab it.”

Steve, having just swept the last shards of glass into the trash, nodded sharply. “On it.”

And then, for a moment, it was just them. Bucky’s vibranium hand rested lightly on her knee as he pressed a towel to her palm, holding the pressure steady. For the first time all night, he wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t teasing.

Evie tilted her head slightly, voice softer now. “You do this a lot?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Not lately.”

Something about the way he said it made her chest feel tight. Bucky’s grip was firm, steady. His sleeve was already soaked with blood, but he didn’t seem to care—his focus was entirely on her.

Evie swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her pulse skipped at the way he was touching her.

“I can handle a little blood, you know,” she muttered, voice softer than she meant it to be.

Bucky just huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Evie, I know,” he said, still pressing the towel against her palm. “But you don’t have to.”

Her breath caught. It was the way he said it. Like it wasn’t just about her hand. 

She frowned. “You’re getting your sleeve all—”

“Don’t care.” His voice was low, final.

Her eyes flicked up to his. He wasn’t smirking anymore. Wasn’t teasing. There was something unguarded about him now.

Evie exhaled slowly. “I think you just wanted an excuse to pick me up.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked just slightly. “That obvious?”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

For a second, neither of them move. Then Steve walked in. His footsteps were brisk, but his voice was calm.

“Alright, let’s get that wrapped up.”

Just like that, the moment shifted. Bucky didn’t let go right away. Neither did Evie. But when Steve set the kit down, the two men moved in sync—like this was something they’d done a hundred times before. Steve pulled out gauze while Bucky finally released the pressure, handling her with care, his vibranium fingers brushing her skin as he adjusted the towel.

Evie let them work, let them fuss over her, let herself feel warm under their attention. It wasn’t until Steve was tying off the bandage that he finally said, “You should get some rest.”

Bucky nodded, stepping back just slightly, his eyes lingering on her. “Yeah. Let us take care of the mess.”

Evie should have argued. Should have insisted she was fine. But between the gentleness of Bucky’s hands and the solid warmth of Steve’s presence, she couldn’t quite find it in herself to fight them. Instead, she just sighed. “Fine.”

Evie barely had time to blink before they had moved into action.Steve started gathering the cards, stacking them in precise, military-perfect order, while Bucky moved to collect the glasses, dumping the leftover wine into the sink.

“You don’t have to—” she started.

Bucky just cut her a look. “Go to bed, sweetheart.”

Evie narrowed her eyes at him, but she was too tired, too warm, and too flustered to argue properly. She sighed instead, pushing off the counter and heading toward her bedroom, one of them following.

It wasn’t until she reached her door and turned around that she saw it was Steve. Bucky had stayed behind to finish cleaning up. Steve moved past her easily, switching on the small lamp beside her bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The glow cast warm shadows across his face, his expression unreadable as he gave her a once-over, checking one last time that she was okay.

Evie leaned against the doorway, voice quiet. “You guys worry too much.”

Steve exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “You make it easy.”

Her stomach flipped. Before she could respond, Bucky appeared in the doorway.

He leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, eyes lingering on her for a beat too long. “Door’s locked,” he murmured. “Windows, too.”

Evie raised a brow. “Wow. Full security detail tonight?”

Bucky smirked slightly. “Guess so.”

Steve gave her one last, long look, his voice gentle. “Get some rest, Evie.”

Bucky tipped his chin. “Night, Ev.”

And then, just like that, they were gone.

She heard the front door click shut. Heard the lock turn. And still she didn’t move.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just the night that felt too quiet. It was everything.

Evie collapsed onto her bed with a sigh, the warmth of the evening still clinging to her skin.

Her phone buzzed.

Jade [12:47 AM]: WELL??????

Evie let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head.

How the hell was she supposed to explain this?

She stared at the screen for a moment before typing:

Evie [12:49 AM]: I think I just got medically tended to by two super soldiers who almost set me on fire with a truth or dare game.

Evie [12:49 AM]: Also pretty sure I blacked out for a full five minutes when Bucky Barnes lifted me.

Jade [12:50 AM]: DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT I AM ALREADY ON MY WAY TO YOUR HOUSE??????

Evie laughed, shaking her head.

Then—her fingers hovered over another message.

Not to Jade.

To them.

For a long moment, she just stared.

Did she?

…No.

Instead, she tossed her phone onto the nightstand, pulled the blanket tighter around herself, and just let herself feel it.

_______

The apartment door locked behind them.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way down the hall.

The elevator ride was silent.

By the time they stepped into the garage, the night air cutting through the warmth still lingering in their skin, neither had said a word.

Steve slid into the driver’s seat of his Jeep, Bucky into the passenger side.

The doors shut.

Steve started the engine.

They pulled out onto the road, the glow of streetlights passing in long, golden streaks.

For several minutes, the only sound was the rumble of the tires against pavement.

And then—

"What the hell just happened?"

Steve exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

Bucky let out a dry, humorless chuckle, running a hand over his face. “I mean—did we—was that—” He broke off, shaking his head.

Steve’s grip tightened on the wheel.

Bucky huffed. “I mean, it was just a game, right?”

Steve flicked his eyes over to him. Flat. Unamused.

Bucky exhaled. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

The silence stretched again, but this time, it was charged.

Because they both knew the answer.

Steve tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, staring out at the road.

“The cut… snapped us out of it.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Yeah. Guess it did.”

Neither of them pointed out that they hadn’t wanted to snap out of it.

That they had wanted to keep pushing.

That it was getting dangerous.

Steve exhaled through his nose. “She okay?”

Bucky nodded, jaw flexing. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s fine.”

Steve stayed quiet for a beat too long.

Bucky noticed.

“Spit it out, Rogers.”

Steve didn’t answer at first. His fingers tapped against the wheel again, slower this time.

Finally, he spoke.

“We have to be careful.”

Bucky’s head snapped toward him. “You think I don’t know that?”

Steve didn’t look at him. “I’m serious, Buck.”

Bucky’s pulse ticked in his throat.

Steve kept his gaze ahead. “We can’t do this.”

Bucky swallowed. “We already are.”

Steve’s jaw ticked.

His hands tightened on the wheel, but he didn’t argue.

Because Bucky was right.

They were already past the point of stopping.

Steve exhaled sharply. “How the hell did we get here?”

Bucky huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You tell me.”

Steve’s grip flexed. “I should’ve never agreed to that damn game.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, ‘cause that’s the problem.”

Steve shot him a look. “It didn’t help.”

Bucky’s lip curled slightly. “Nah. It just made us stop pretending.”

Steve exhaled through his nose. He was trying to stay calm, but Bucky could see the tension in his shoulders, the weight in his eyes.

Bucky rolled his neck, staring out at the passing lights. “You gonna say it?”

Steve didn’t answer.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “You gonna say we should stay away?”

Steve’s fingers drummed against the wheel.

Bucky shook his head, voice lower now. “That we should back off? That it’s not right?”

Steve’s silence was loud.

And that pissed Bucky off more than if he’d just said it.

Bucky turned to him fully. “Say it, Rogers.”

Steve’s knuckles went white on the wheel. “You think I want to?”

Bucky’s pulse ticked. “You think I can?”

The words landed like a gunshot.

Neither of them spoke.

The Jeep rolled to a stop at a red light, the glow of the streetlamp catching the tightness in Steve’s jaw, the tension in his posture.

Bucky’s voice was quieter now. “You think we can just—what? Go back to normal?”

Steve exhaled.

No. They couldn’t.

Not after tonight.

Steve stared at the traffic light, shoulders rising and falling with forced breath.

Bucky watched him carefully.

Steve spoke. “We have to make a choice.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “What the hell kind of choice?”

Steve swallowed. “Either we stop this now…”

Bucky clenched his fists.

“…or we figure out what this is.”

Silence.

Bucky let that settle. And then he laughed. Low, almost disbelieving.

“Figure out what this is?” He shook his head, huffing. “You think there’s a version of this that works?”

Steve stayed quiet.

Bucky turned back to the window, tapping his fingers against his knee. “What do you think she’d say?”

Steve exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”

Bucky scoffed. “Bullshit. You know exactly what she’d say.”

Steve gritted his teeth. “She wouldn’t run.”

Bucky stilled.

Steve glanced at him. “Would you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

The light turned green. Steve pressed the gas. Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the ride.

The Jeep rolled into the Tower garage, the tires humming softly against the concrete. Neither of them moved to get out right away. Steve exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Bucky just stared ahead, flexing his fingers, like he still felt Evie’s skin beneath them. Finally, they climbed out.

The elevator doors slid open, and Steve walked out like a man on a mission.

Bucky followed, silent, brooding, and generally radiating a ‘do not engage’ energy.

They were almost free. Almost.

“Well, well, well.”

Steve stopped walking.

Bucky groaned immediately.

Because there, lounging on the couch, beer in hand, smirking like he’d been waiting all night, was Sam.

He kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “Look who finally decided to come home.”

Steve sighed, already too exhausted for this. “Sam.”

Sam ignored him, glancing between them. “Y’all been out late.” His eyes flicked down. “Rogers, you’re tense as hell. Barnes, you look like someone just ran you over. And…” He squinted. “Wait. Is that blood on your sleeve?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

Sam’s grin disappeared immediately. “What the hell happened?”

Steve sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not—”

“Not what? Because I’m looking at you two, and I see a war crime and a moral crisis.”

Bucky exhaled sharply. “It’s Evie’s.”

Sam blinked. “Excuse me?”

Bucky rolled his shoulders, jaw tight. “She cut her hand.”

Sam held up a hand. “Okay. Back up. Let’s run this from the top, because right now, I have zero context, and I’m at a solid eight out of ten on the ‘should I be concerned?’ scale.”

Steve muttered, “It was a game.”

Sam blinked. “...A game?”

Steve nodded.

Sam turned to Bucky. “A game?”

Bucky just stared. “Yeah.”

Sam paused. He studied them both, tilting his head. His grin returned, slowly.“Oh, hold up.”

Steve closed his eyes. “Sam—”

“No, no, no. Y’all don’t get to drop ‘she cut her hand’ and ‘it was a game’ like that makes sense. Because I know that face, Rogers.” Sam smirked, leaning back on the couch. “That’s your ‘I am currently in an emotional crisis and I don’t know how to process it’ face.”

Bucky grunted. “You got a PhD in analyzing him now?”

Sam pointed at him immediately. “And you? You’re all clenched jaw and broody silence, which means one thing—”

Bucky glared. “Don’t say it.”

Sam’s grin widened. “You got it bad, Barnes.”

Steve sighed heavily.

Bucky groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

Sam crossed his arms, full smug mode activated. “So. Which one of you is gonna tell me what happened?”

Silence. 

Sam blinked. “Oh my God. Y’all don’t even know, do you?”

Steve exhaled. “Not now, Sam.”

Sam just chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, I’m gonna enjoy watching this train wreck.”

Bucky strode towards his bedroom, footsteps heavier than necessary, muttering, “Shut up, Wilson.”

Sam, grinning like he just won the lottery, raised his beer to his lips.

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t say a word.”