- a forbidden romance makes its way to the avengers compound
- cw: just kissing :p
You were truly grateful for the life you’d been given.
Sure, it was a little unconventional. You’d been used as a pawn by more villains than you could count, kidnapped once by one of your dad’s former mentor, and you’d faced death more times by fifteen than most kids should in a lifetime.
But hey! At least now you live at the Avengers Compound now. A sleek stretch of glass and steel nestled beside a quiet lake, filled with the world’s greatest heroes.
And one very pretty boy.
Peter Parker.
Well. Secretly.
Because your father, Tony Stark, would never approve.
He’d made that painfully clear the second Peter stepped foot into the compound.
“This is my daughter,” Tony said cheerfully, clapping a hand down on Peter’s shoulder with just a bit too much pressure. “You touch her and I’ll make sure that suit flies itself into space with you in it.”
Peter froze. “S-Sir—got it. Loud and clear. Space is… very cold. I hear.”
Tony smiled. Too wide. “Good kid.”
As if that weren’t enough, the others didn’t exactly make things easier.
Natasha caught on almost immediately, forever watching the two of you with a knowing smirk, dropping comments like, “You’re standing awfully close,” or, “Wow, Parker, you blush easier than I thought.”
Steve had slipped effortlessly into the role of overly protective uncle, offering Peter firm handshakes and even firmer lectures about respect and curfews.
And then there were Sam and Bucky.
They loved you. Truly. They’d burn the world down for you without hesitation.
But Peter?
If there were a book titled “One Million Ways to Embarrass a Teenage Boy”, they’d already be half way done.
“Hey, Spider-Boy,” Sam would call, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “You ever, uh, stick to walls accidentally when you’re nervous?”
Bucky would nod thoughtfully. “Happened to me once. Ripped a door clean off its hinges.”
Peter would sputter. You would laugh. And later, you’d apologize into his shoulder while he pretended not to enjoy the attention.
The only people you ever really found peace with were Wanda, who understood quiet better than anyone else.
At first, there wasn’t even a spark.
It started slow. Two teenagers surrounded by adults who didn’t get the jokes, the trends, or why bullying kids on roblox wasn’t actually morally wrong. (they started the fight anyways. you guys would just end them)
Late nights in the lab became routine. Homework spread across worktables, Peter perched on a stool while you sat on the floor with your back against the counter.
Over time, those inches of space between you shrank.
Knees brushing.
Shoulders touching.
Soft giggles over inside jokes whispered so quietly they felt like secrets, even when no one else was around.
And then came the night on the roof.
The compound was quiet, the lake reflecting the stars like spilled light. You sat side by side, legs dangling over the edge, the cool breeze tugging at your hair.
Peter picked at the hem of his hoodie. “Do you ever feel like… you’re not really allowed to be tired?”
You glanced at him. “All the time.”
He let out a shaky breath. “Everyone expects me to be okay. To keep smiling. To keep helping. And I want to. I do. But sometimes I’m just—”
“Tired of pretending,” you finished softly.
“Yeah. That.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder. “You don’t have to be strong up here.”
Peter turned toward you, eyes searching your face like he was afraid to hope. “Neither do you.”
The moment stretched—quiet, fragile, terrifying.
Then he leaned in.
The kiss was gentle. Hesitant. Like both of you were testing whether the world might shatter if you crossed that line.
It didn’t.
Six months later, sneaking around the world’s most trained spies and heroes had become your favorite game.
Being together felt easy in the quiet moments, so normal it almost hurt. Peter walking you back to your room after missions, bumping his shoulder into yours like it was an accident. Sharing earbuds on the couch while pretending to watch a movie, his head slowly tilting until it rested against yours. Him building tiny gadgets just to make you laugh, mini web shooters that sprayed silly string, or a bracelet that warmed when you held hands.
Late nights became your thing.
Peter would sit cross-legged on the lab floor while you sprawled beside him, his mask tossed carelessly nearby. Sometimes he’d absentmindedly play with your fingers while explaining whatever he was working on, voice soft, eyes lighting up in that way that made your chest ache.
“You know,” he’d say quietly, “this is my favorite part of the day.”
You’d smile. “The science?”
He’d glance at you, shy but sure. “You.”
Stolen kisses in empty hallways. Fingers brushing in the lab. Peter’s hand warm and sure at your waist whenever no one was looking.
Until the day you got caught.
It happened on accident.
You and Peter were in the lab late, too late, because that’s where you always ended up when neither of you wanted the night to end. The overhead lights were dimmed, the only real glow coming from holograms and scattered screens.
Peter stood between your knees while you sat on the edge of a table, his hands resting loosely on your thighs as he talked. You weren’t even listening anymore, too focused on the way his thumb traced absent patterns, the way his voice dropped when it was just the two of you.
“You’re staring,” he said softly.
“You’re cute,” you replied.
He smiled, cheeks warming, and leaned in. The kiss was slow, familiar, safe. His forehead rested against yours afterward, noses brushing.
“I wish we didn’t have to hide,” he murmured.
Before you could answer—
“Wow.”
You both froze.
Tony Stark stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Behind him, like a perfectly choreographed nightmare, were Natasha, Steve, Sam, and Bucky.
Peter nearly fell over trying to step back. “M-Mr. Stark—sir—I—this isn’t—”
Your hand shot out, gripping his wrist, grounding him. “Dad.”
The room was silent.
Natasha broke it first. “So that’s been happening.”
Sam let out a low whistle. “Man. I owe Bucky twenty bucks.”
Bucky nodded. “Knew it.”
Steve looked between you and Peter, then cleared his throat. “Are… are you both okay?”
You nodded. “Yes.”
Peter swallowed, straightening despite the panic written all over him. “I care about her. A lot.”
Tony’s gaze flicked to where your fingers were still laced together.
“How long?” he asked.
“A while,” you said quietly.
Tony exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I leave you alone for five minutes.”
Natasha leaned in. “Technically it was six months.”
“Nat,” Steve warned.
Tony sighed again, then looked at Peter. Long. Assessing.
“You hurt her,” Tony said flatly, “and I end you.”
Peter nodded immediately. “Understood.”
Tony turned to you. “You happy?”
You didn’t hesitate. “Very.”
Another pause.
Then Tony muttered, “Unbelievable.”
Natasha smiled. “That’s Stark approval.”
Tony shot her a look, then glanced back at Peter. “You make her smile.”
Peter nodded, voice steady now. “Every day.”
Tony groaned. “Great. Fantastic. I officially hate this.”
You waited.
“…But,” he added, quieter, “I trust you. Both of you.”
Peter’s eyes widened.
Sam clapped his hands. “Aw. Family moment.”
Bucky smirked. “Still don’t like him.”
Peter squeezed your hand.
And this time, he didn’t let go.
But he was smiling too.
like, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated <3
Summary: You and Bucky are good friends, but you didn't realize he knew practically everything about you...
Word Count: 4,779
The conference room was unusually quiet for a Tuesday afternoon meeting. Everyone was already seated – Steve flipping through a tablet, Natasha sipping coffee, Sam looking like he was seconds away from falling asleep with his head propped on one hand.
You were seated toward the middle, elbow on the table, cheek in your palm, staring at the clock.
"Ugh," you groaned softly. "I'm already thirsty. I should've brought water."
Sam cracked one eye open. "Rookie mistake."
You gave him a half-hearted glare. "Thanks, Sam. So helpful."
Then your stomach growled and you sighed again. "I should've brought snacks, too. I have a bag of those garlic parmesan Dot’s pretzels in my room – they’re my favorite. I was gonna bring 'em but I forgot. They would've been perfect right now."
"Garlic pretzels in a closed room? Bold choice," Natasha quipped, smirking over her mug.
"They’re elite. You wouldn’t understand."
Just as you finished your sentence, the door opened and in walked Bucky, casual as ever, looking like he hadn’t rushed at all despite being a solid five minutes late.
"Hey," he said to the room before walking over to your seat.
Without saying anything else, he placed a bottle of water and a Ziploc bag full of garlic parmesan Dot’s pretzels in front of you, then sat down beside you like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You blinked at the items.
So did everyone else.
Steve’s mouth parted. Natasha looked genuinely surprised. Sam sat up straighter, eyebrows raised. Even Tony, who’d just entered behind Bucky, paused mid-step.
You looked at the bag. Then the water. Then at Bucky.
"...You literally just brought me exactly what I said I wanted like ten seconds ago."
Bucky blinked at you. "Yeah? I figured you’d be thirsty – you never bring water to meetings. And you usually get hungry around this time, so I brought snacks."
There was a beat of silence.
And then it hit.
"Oh my God," Sam laughed, pointing dramatically. "They’re not even dating and he knows her snack schedule."
Steve covered a smile with his hand. "That’s...actually kind of impressive."
Natasha leaned forward. "You even brought her favorite flavor?"
Bucky frowned slightly, confused. "Well, yeah. She likes the garlic parmesan ones."
"HE KNOWS THE FLAVOR, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," Tony declared like a ring announcer. "WE’VE GOT A SOFTIE IN THE WILD."
You buried your face in your hands, cheeks burning. "Oh my God, you guys–"
Bucky just shrugged, annoyingly unbothered. "What? She gets grumpy when she’s hungry."
And somehow that only made it worse.
Or better.
Depending on who you asked.
You hadn’t even opened the bag of pretzels yet. They just sat there in front of you, taunting you while your face turned redder by the second.
And Bucky? Completely calm. Like being a walking encyclopedia on your habits was not wildly incriminating.
That is, until Sam leaned forward with a grin.
"Okay, Barnes. Pop quiz."
Bucky gave him a suspicious side-eye. "Why?"
"Because," Tony chimed in, "you just demonstrated an alarming level of girlfriend knowledge for someone who's allegedly not dating her."
"We're not–!" you started, but Natasha held up a finger to silence you.
"This is more fun."
She turned to Bucky. "Favorite coffee order. Go."
"Caramel iced latte, extra ice."
Your jaw dropped slightly. "That’s–"
"Correct," Sam cut in, smirking. "Alright, alright – shampoo and conditioner brand?"
Bucky didn’t even hesitate. "Pantene – the coconut scent."
You whipped around to stare at him. "How the hell do you know that?!"
He looked at you like it was obvious. "Because your bathroom always smells like coconut. And that one time you stayed at my place after a mission, you complained that I only had 2-in-1."
Natasha bit back a laugh. "We’re logging that for future teasing."
"Okay, okay," Tony leaned on the table like he was hosting a game show. "Let’s make this harder. Favorite snack that's not garlic parmesan pretzels?"
"Peanut M&M’s. But she picks out the brown ones and eats them last because she says they taste the most ‘chocolatey.’"
You slapped a hand over your mouth. "Are you keeping notes somewhere?!"
Bucky just shrugged like it was no big deal. “You talk a lot when we hang out.”
"My heart can’t take this," Steve said, dramatically clutching his chest.
"Mine either," Sam added. "This is some Hallmark level slow burn stuff and I didn’t even know I wanted it."
"Do you know her favorite hoodie too?" Natasha asked.
He glanced at you, then pointed without looking. "That light grey one she stole from me? Wears it three times a week, minimum."
You gaped at him. "...You let me steal that."
"You think I didn’t notice?" he said, and you caught the tiniest curve of a smirk on his lips.
The room collectively lost it.
"Okay, this is criminal," Tony declared. "I’ve seen actual married couples who know less about each other."
"You’re clearly in love with her," Sam added helpfully.
Bucky’s smirk dropped slightly, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered in his expression as he glanced at you – soft, unsure, and maybe a little too earnest.
You froze.
So did he.
And then Natasha cleared her throat. "Well, this meeting is officially a disaster, but I’m emotionally invested now."
Steve gave you both a look. "Anything either of you wanna share with the class?"
You made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, covering your face with your hands again.
Beside you, Bucky just leaned back in his chair and said, “Can we please talk about the mission now? Before they start planning our wedding?”
But even as he said it, you felt his knee brush against yours under the table.
--
The meeting finally wrapped up after an hour of mission briefings, supply checklists, and Tony trying to convince Steve to let him name the next Quinjet The Iron Bus. Everyone stood, gathering their things, but the tension in the room wasn’t about the mission at all – it was about you and Bucky.
You had barely pushed your chair back before Sam clapped his hands once and turned to Bucky with renewed mischief in his eyes.
"Alright, now that the boring stuff’s out of the way – round two."
Bucky blinked. "Seriously?"
"You thought we forgot? That whole time I was pretending to care about drone placements, I was building a list."
"I was also building a list," Natasha added, already pulling out her phone.
Steve sighed but didn’t stop them. “I mean…I am kind of curious now.”
Tony grinned. “This is the best part of my day.”
You groaned. “Oh my god, guys–”
“Nope,” Sam said. “Too late. Barnes, what’s her favorite candle scent?”
“Vanilla,” Bucky said without pause.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Okay, but how do you know that?”
“You lit one in my kitchen once. Said it was ‘elite cozy vibes.’”
Tony choked on a laugh. “He even quoted her. This is so real.”
Natasha stepped in next. “Alright – what color does she always pick for her nails?”
“Soft pink. Unless she’s in a mood, then it’s that dark reddish-purple color…what’s it called? ‘Black Cherry?’”
You squinted. “Okay, that’s either creepy or impressive–”
“Impressive,” Sam decided. “Definitely impressive.”
Steve raised a brow. “What about her go-to song when she’s in a bad mood?”
Bucky smiled a little. “idontwannabeyouanymore by Billie Eilish.”
You blinked. “Wait, how do you even know that?”
“You played it on repeat for like four days after that one mission with the HYDRA facility. I asked you if you were okay and you said, ‘I’m fine, I just need to cry and hydrate.’”
Natasha was actually laughing now. “He’s got quotes, too.”
Tony raised a finger like he was conducting an interview. “Okay, Bucky – final round. What’s her go-to breakfast when she’s had a rough night?”
Bucky leaned back casually. “Scrambled eggs with pepperjack cheese, hot sauce, two slices of toast, and coffee with oat milk and a tiny bit of cinnamon.”
Everyone turned to you like you’d just been caught in 4K.
You stared at him. “You remembered all of that?”
He shrugged. “I’ve made it for you before.”
Sam fake-fainted onto the conference table.
“I can’t take this,” Steve said, rubbing his temples. “This is ridiculous.”
“It’s domestic,” Natasha corrected. “And I love it.”
You groaned again and dropped your head onto your crossed arms. “Can the floor swallow me now?”
Bucky leaned over and murmured, “I think they’re just jealous.”
You peeked up at him. “Of what?”
He gave you that tiny smirk again. “That I pay attention.”
You sat up and shoved the bag of pretzels toward Bucky with a flustered laugh. “Here. Take these back. You’ve earned them.”
Bucky just grinned and tossed one in his mouth. “They taste better when I’m right.”
--
Eventually, the room emptied out. Steve wrangled Tony into actually submitting a mission report, Nat headed to the gym, and Sam left muttering about needing a nap.
You lingered, still sitting in your chair, picking at the label on your water bottle while Bucky packed up his notes. The teasing had died down, but your heart hadn’t quite stopped doing somersaults.
He was halfway to the door when you said, softly, “Hey, Buck?”
He paused, looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
You motioned for him to come back. “Can I ask you something?”
His brows rose, but he came back over, folding his arms as he leaned against the edge of the table beside you. “You wanna quiz me now?”
“Maybe.” You tilted your head, watching him. “I just wanna see how far this weird…psychic Barnes ability goes.”
He gave a lazy grin. “Alright. Hit me.”
You took a breath. “Okay. Pads or tampons?”
He blinked once. “Both.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Details?”
He scratched his jaw, not missing a beat. “You use the regular tampons most days, but you always keep a pack of those thin pads with the wings in your bathroom drawer – orange wrapper, right? You said the combo makes you feel less paranoid about leaks when you’re out on missions.”
Your jaw dropped a little.
Bucky’s smirk faded, growing a little more serious when he saw your expression. “I wasn’t, like, digging through your stuff or anything. You asked me to grab painkillers once while you were curled up on the couch, and I saw the pack when I opened the drawer. And you mentioned the tampon thing that one time when we got stuck waiting in that safe house for hours and you were grumpy.”
You swallowed. “Okay…uh. Chocolate preference?”
“Milk chocolate when you’re just craving sugar, milk chocolate with caramel when you’re on your period.”
Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t stop. “When I cry, what do I want someone to do?”
“Sit with you. Don’t talk unless you ask. You like quiet comfort.”
You were fully staring at him now, unable to find any words, so he filled the silence gently.
“I know you get really overwhelmed when you feel like someone’s watching too closely while you’re upset. You hate feeling...exposed. So I don’t stare. I just stay close.”
You blinked fast, chest tightening with something way bigger than embarrassment now.
“Why?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “Why do you pay attention like that?”
Bucky shrugged one shoulder, not meeting your eyes at first. “Because you matter to me. And…when someone matters, you notice things. The important stuff. The things that make them feel seen.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, overwhelmed. “No one’s ever paid attention like that. No one’s ever noticed.”
Finally, he looked at you again. And this time, there was no smirk, no teasing grin – just something quiet and sure in his eyes.
“I noticed.”
After a moment, you smiled faintly. “What’s my favorite place to be when I’m sad?”
“Anywhere I am,” he said without missing a beat.
And this time, you didn’t even try to hide the way your heart skipped.
--
Later that evening, the compound was quieter – mission prep done, sparring sessions wrapped up, and the post-meeting teasing finally done.
You’d snuck off for a hot shower, hoping to wash away the lingering flush in your cheeks from earlier. The Avengers had been relentless, and even though Bucky hadn’t said anything else since the conference room, his words still echoed in your head.
I noticed.
You exhaled under the spray and tried not to think about it too hard.
Meanwhile, in the common room, the chaos was still quietly unfolding.
Tony strolled in with a tablet in hand, looking far too pleased with himself. “Alright, children, it’s that magical time – takeout vote. We've got Thai, Indian, tacos, pizza, sushi, and that weird little vegan place Bruce likes.”
“I swear to God, if you put seaweed bowls on the menu again–” Sam started.
“Focus,” Tony cut him off, tapping the screen. “We’ll tally up votes. Bucky, where’s your girl?”
Bucky, sprawled comfortably on the couch with one leg slung over the side, didn’t even flinch at the phrasing. “Showering.”
“Wow,” Natasha muttered. “Didn’t even blink at that.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “And you’re voting for her too, I assume?”
Bucky nodded, nonchalant. “Two for Indian.”
Steve looked up from his book. “Did she say that?”
“Nope.”
Sam smirked immediately. “So we’re guessing now?”
“I’m not guessing,” Bucky replied evenly. “She’s not in a pizza mood today.”
Tony looked at him like he was a contestant on a game show. “So you're locking in Indian for the both of you. No communication. No signals. No magic powers?”
Bucky shrugged. “Yep.”
“I’m starting a betting pool,” Sam announced, pulling out his phone.
“I want in,” Natasha said, crossing her arms.
“She loves pizza,” Steve reminded. “Are we sure about this?”
“She does love pizza,” Bucky agreed, arms folded behind his head. “But not tonight.”
Sam grinned wide. “Alright, let’s take some bets. Five says she picks pizza. Anyone else?”
Money and pride were quickly thrown around – half the team convinced Bucky’s luck had to run out eventually, the other half wary because…well. It was Bucky. And somehow he just knew things about you.
Five minutes later, you wandered into the common room in fresh clothes, hair damp and rubbing moisturizer into your face with zero awareness of the quiet, expectant tension in the air.
“Hey,” you said casually, “what’s going on?”
Tony cleared his throat, playing it cool. “Just figuring out dinner. Got a few options – Thai, Indian, tacos, pizza, sushi, and Bruce’s vegan sadness bowls. What sounds good?”
You made a face, thinking. “Hmm, not really in the mood for pizza today. Indian.”
The room exploded.
“NO WAY,” Nat yelled.
“Unbelievable,” Steve said.
Sam stood and threw his arms in the air. “THIS IS RIGGED.”
Tony shouted over the chaos, “I CALL WITCHCRAFT.”
You froze, blinking at everyone, confused.
“Did I miss something?” you asked slowly.
Bucky just sat there calmly, like he hadn’t just won the mind-reader Olympics. “Told them you’d want Indian.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “Did you spy on me in the shower or something?”
“Nope,” he said, looking smug. “Just know you.”
The team descended into chaos again – some demanding their money back, others insisting on a rematch next week.
You just grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and chucked it at Bucky’s chest.
He caught it, laughed, and tossed it back. “I’m undefeated.”
--
The food arrived about twenty minutes later, the smell of warm spices and garlic naan instantly filling the common area. Tony called out a triumphant “Dinner’s here!” like he’d made it himself, and everyone swarmed the table to claim their orders.
You padded over a little slower, then Bucky turned from the table and held up a hand.
“I got your plate,” he said casually, already balancing two in his hands.
You paused. “Wait, I didn’t even tell you–”
“I know.” He handed it over without fanfare.
You looked down.
Your favorite combo – chicken tikka masala, a scoop of basmati rice (but not too much), a piece of garlic naan torn in half, some cucumber raita on the side, and a few spoonfuls of that tangy chickpea salad you always liked when you weren’t in the mood for something too heavy.
You stared at the plate like it had been conjured by sorcery.
He turned and headed for the couch like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just read your mind again. And behind you, the rest of the team was once more staring – some with mouths open, others quietly shaking their heads.
Sam muttered, “Alright, I’m starting to believe he’s just a very hot, brooding psychic.”
Natasha leaned toward Tony. “We should run a brain scan.”
Tony looked vaguely offended. “Trust me, I already tried. He’s just…annoying.”
You followed Bucky to the couch and sat beside him, setting your plate on the coffee table before sinking into the cushions.
“You keep doing that,” you said after a second, still looking at your dinner.
“Doing what?” he replied, tearing off a piece of naan without looking at you.
“Knowing what I want. Before I even know what I want.”
That made him glance over. His voice was quiet now, just between the two of you. “Is it weird?”
You thought about it. “It’s…not. I mean, it should be. But it’s not. It’s actually kinda–”
Your voice caught, the word sitting there, unsaid.
Comforting.
Bucky nodded like he already knew.
Then, like he wanted to shift the moment before it got too close to something you couldn’t take back, he leaned in a little with a smirk. “Don’t act too impressed. I just paid attention. And you’re kinda predictable.”
You nudged his arm with your elbow. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.” He bumped his knee gently against yours. “Still right, though.”
The rest of dinner passed in a cozy haze – soft laughter, shared food, everyone gradually settling into their usual spots. But the way Bucky’s knee stayed resting against yours, neither of you moving – it felt like something new.
--
A while later, plates were cleaned, takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, and stomachs full enough that no one was in the mood to move much – perfect conditions for the sacred Avengers tradition: movie night.
“Alright,” Tony called out from where he was already draped dramatically over the recliner. “What are our options tonight?”
Okay, we got The Godfather, Jaws, Tangled, Mission Impossible, 21 Jump Street, and John Wick,” Sam read off the screen.
You stood, stretching. “I’ll be right back. Don’t vote without me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve said, even though everyone absolutely would.
The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Tony sat up like a meerkat. “Alright. Let’s go. What’s your pick, Barnes?”
“John Wick,” Bucky said, without even looking up from where he was idly spinning the empty naan container on the table.
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Nat whipped her head around. “You’re not choosing Tangled?”
“Nope.”
“She just said the other day that she wanted to watch it,” Nat reminded him, pointing dramatically. “Like, word for word, ‘I wanna rewatch Tangled soon.’ You’re telling me you’re going against that?”
Bucky just shrugged, totally unbothered. “I know what she wants tonight.”
Tony looked at Sam, eyes narrowed. “This is the beginning of the fall of House Barnes. The man’s gotten cocky.”
“I give him one more round,” Sam muttered, already pulling out his wallet. “Five bucks says she picks Tangled.”
“Ten says 21 Jump Street,” Clint called from the kitchen. “I say she’s in a comedy mood.”
“I’m going full chaos,” Nat added, grinning. “Twenty on Jaws.”
Steve, ever neutral, just raised his eyebrows. “You really think she wants an action movie right now?”
Bucky finally looked up. “She’s tired. Mentally wiped. Tangled is comfort, yeah, but she wants to zone out, not cry over animated lanterns.”
Tony blinked. “You’re playing 4D chess.”
“She’s playing checkers,” Bucky replied calmly. “I just know the board.”
The room was a barely contained mess of betting and bickering by the time you reappeared.
You sat back down, cozying up with the blanket you’d left on the couch. “We vote yet?”
“We were just about to,” Steve said, way too quickly.
They went around the room, collecting votes with forced casualness.
Then, all eyes turned to you.
You paused, lips pursed in thought. “Hmm…”
The silence was deafening.
You tapped your chin. “Not really in the mood for Disney right now, actually…”
Someone gasped.
“…Let’s do John Wick.”
The room erupted.
“WHAT?!”
“No way – NO WAY–”
“Check her room for bugs!”
“ARE YOU TWO SECRETLY DATING?!”
Tony was pacing, Sam collapsed dramatically onto the rug, and Nat looked like she was genuinely questioning reality.
Meanwhile, Bucky just leaned back, arms crossed, as calm as ever.
You blinked at the chaos. “Did I…do something?”
“Oh, you did something,” Sam groaned, flopping backward.
“You broke them,” Bucky muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, his voice full of quiet amusement.
You looked over at him, fighting back a smile. “You knew I’d pick it.”
He met your gaze, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Course I did.”
And somehow, in the middle of popcorn-throwing accusations and Tony trying to demand a federal investigation, your heart started beating just a little faster.
--
The next morning started like any other: coffee, early training, then hitting the showers.
You stretched your arms behind your head, grimacing. “I’m starving. I want eggs. Like, five eggs.”
“Go shower, Egg Queen,” Sam called. “We’ll save you a spot.”
You flipped him off over your shoulder, already headed toward your room.
Once you disappeared around the corner, the rest of the group started trickling toward the kitchen. Bucky walked in with Steve, Nat, and Sam, still towel-drying his hair, when the teasing immediately resumed.
“So,” Nat said, leaning against the counter with a smirk, “you gonna make her eggs now, Barnes? Scrambled? Sunny side up? Whole omelet situation?”
Bucky gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Would. But she’s not gonna want eggs anymore.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “She literally said the word ‘eggs’ like two minutes ago.”
“Yeah,” Sam added. “Plural. With intention.”
“She’s gonna change her mind,” Bucky said calmly, reaching for the pancake mix.
There was a beat of silence.
“…You’re kidding,” Clint said, appearing behind them and already suspicious.
“Nope.”
Nat crossed her arms. “Alright. What is she gonna want?”
“Chocolate chip pancakes,” Bucky said, pulling ingredients from the cabinet. “Light layer of peanut butter on top. Not spread thick. Just enough.”
“And syrup?” Steve asked, deadpan.
“Just a little. Thin drizzle over the top, not drowning.”
“Drink?” Sam challenged, narrowing his eyes.
“Chocolate milk.”
At that, no one said anything for a second. They just stared. Nat was already pulling out her phone.
“I’m documenting this. If you’re wrong, I’m sending the video to every group chat we have.”
“Do it,” Bucky said, already whisking batter like a man with zero fear of failure.
Ten minutes passed. Pancakes were golden, peanut butter spread lightly, and the chocolate milk was already poured in your favorite mug.
And then, you walked in, hair damp and pulled back, hoodie sleeves half covering your hands. You opened the fridge, still blinking from the heat of the shower.
“Hey,” Bucky said without turning around. “Want me to make your eggs?”
You stared into the fridge for a beat. “Mm…no, actually. I think I want pancakes.”
The room went dead silent.
You didn’t notice. “Do we have chocolate chips?”
Still silence.
“Oh, and chocolate milk,” you added, pulling the fridge door closed. “You know, that sounds really good actually.”
You turned.
The plate was already sitting on the counter.
Your chocolate milk was already in your mug.
You blinked. “Wait. Did you–”
“Yeah.” Bucky slid the plate toward you with a casual smile. “Figured you’d want pancakes.”
You looked down at it, then back up. “Okay, that’s…insane.”
“I’m used to you changing your mind,” he said with a little shrug. “I listen.”
And then, the room exploded.
“NOPE – NOPE, I’M OUT!” Sam stormed out of the kitchen.
Nat was filming again. “I hate how calm he is. Like he didn’t just perform witchcraft again.”
Steve just looked vaguely disturbed. “I don’t even know my own favorite pancake setup that well.”
You blinked at Bucky again, who was completely unfazed, like this wasn’t the millionth time in twenty-four hours he’d rearranged reality by knowing you a little too well.
You took a bite of the pancake, still warm and soft and perfect.
“…Okay,” you mumbled with your mouth full. “This is actually kinda amazing.”
He leaned against the counter, smug as ever. “Told you.”
--
The others slowly trickled out of the kitchen after breakfast, muttering in stunned tones, still trying to recover. Nat was rewatching her own footage like it was evidence in a conspiracy theory. Tony was threatening to install surveillance.
But eventually, it was just you and Bucky, the clink of your fork on the plate and the hum of the fridge the only sounds left behind.
You took another bite, slower this time. It was still warm.
You glanced at him, leaning back on the counter across from you, arms crossed, looking completely at ease – like this wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world, like he hadn’t just predicted your entire breakfast down to the drizzle of syrup.
“…How do you do that?” you asked, finally, voice soft in the quiet.
He raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”
You gave him a look, the corners of your mouth twitching. “Bucky.”
He smirked a little, then pushed off the counter and walked over to you, grabbing a clean mug and pouring himself some coffee. He didn’t answer right away.
“I just pay attention,” he said eventually, voice quieter now. “That’s all.”
You swallowed the last bite and leaned forward on your elbows. “Yeah, but…it’s more than that. You don’t just notice, like, big stuff. You know all these little things about me. Things most people don’t even think to remember.”
He looked over at you, gaze steady but warm. “Well, most people don’t really look at you the way I do.”
You blinked.
“Not in a creepy way,” he added quickly, a hint of a smile breaking through. “Just…I notice things.”
He sat across from you, wrapping his hands around the coffee mug. “You start craving chocolate when you're stressed. You say you want eggs, but if you’ve just showered, you usually go for something sweet instead. You hum when you’re thinking. And when you’re overwhelmed, you get really quiet – not annoyed, just kind of…floaty. Like your brain’s stuck buffering.”
Your breath caught a little, something fluttering deep in your chest.
“And you always drink chocolate milk when you feel safe,” he added, softer this time. “Not just when you’re hungry.”
You looked down at your mug. You hadn’t even realized that.
Silence fell between you again, but this time it felt heavier – comfortable, but with something unspoken stretched between you.
“…Why?” you asked, finally.
He looked up.
You met his eyes. “Why do you notice all that?”
Bucky didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you for a moment, like he was deciding how honest to be.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: “Because you make it easy to care.”
You didn’t say anything.
Couldn’t.
He took a breath, eyes flicking down to the table, then back up.
“I’ve had to watch my back for a long time. I notice things – it’s how I survive. But you…” He gave a quiet laugh, like it surprised even him. “You’re the first person who made me want to notice the good stuff. The small stuff. Just so I could take care of it.”
That flutter in your chest turned into a full-blown ache.
You stared at him, unsure what to say, heart pounding.
But before either of you could say another word, Sam’s voice yelled from the other room:
“Hey, Barnes! If you’re done being a walking love song, can you bring the remote?!”
Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Every time.”
You were still looking at him, a soft smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “You’re kind of a sap.”
He grinned at that, his eyes flicking to yours with a spark. “Only for you.”
And then he got up, grabbed the remote, and tossed a wink over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.
Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky is looking for his Dog Tags, and you just so happen to have them.
Disclaimer: Mostly fluff and fun, kinda enemies/rivals to lovers vibes, open ended kinda, reader is mentioned to own a knife. Not Proof Read.
Bucky had been looking for them for weeks.
His dog tags. His identity. His attachment to a life long forgotten.
They’d been with him on his last mission; he was sure of it. He remembered clasping them in his hand before laying them under his uniform. And he never took them off unless…did he?
“Buck. You’ve already looked in here. Twice.”
Sam’s eyes tracked Bucky around the room as if he was the madman’s doctor. Bucky wasn’t paying attention and nearly ran into Sam’s legs that were resting on the coffee table.
“Dude.”
“They’ve got to be here,” Bucky kept muttering to himself. “They have to be.”
“Buck, I will get you a new set.”
Bucky shook his head. “I don’t want another set.”
Sam stood with a sigh, placing his bookmark in his book. “For all we know, they’ve been trampled into the mud on our last mission.”
“I would have noticed them. I never saw them.”
Sam watched as Bucky looked in every cupboard in the kitchen. He sighed, again. “Have you asked Y/n?”
Bucky scowled. “She doesn’t have them.”
“And you know this because…”
“I’ve already checked.”
Sam watched Bucky. “Did you ask? You know, before you ransacked her room.”
“I didn’t ransack her room.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two recently. It’s like you’ve gone from agreed silence to sworn enemies, but maybe you should just ask her. She might know.”
“I’ll ask Wanda.”
“Y/n’s better.”
Bucky looked over his shoulder to Sam as he opened another cupboard. “But Wanda is my friend.”
Sam sighed before walking into the kitchen and shutting every door Bucky had left open.
“Buck-“
“I’m gonna look outside.”
“Bucky!”
He wasn’t listening. But you were.
“You know, all he’s gotta do is ask.”
Sam looked over his shoulder at you as you leaned by the main entrance. Bucky had left through the back.
“Do you know where they are?”
You tried to hide your smile and shrugged. “I might do.”
Sam turned around. “Y/n.”
You gave in and walked inside. “Oh, come on, Sam. He kept my knife from me for, like, three months.”
That had been true. It was your favourite one. You’d lost it after being pulled away by Yelena for some ‘Kate Bishop’ emergency. Bucky had found it in the training room and kept it from you for three months.
It wasn’t until you were both on a mission that you saw him flip it through his fingers before using it. He’d just chuckled when you called him an Ass.
“Gotta be more careful next time, doll.”
You could have punched him in the face.
So, when you found his dog tags on the ground, you made a decision.
Originally, you were going to give them to him. But when you pulled your knife from your holster back on the jet, you were reminded of what he’d done.
It was simply payback.
“You know, he’s not gonna be happy when he finds out.”
You shrugged. “S’only fair.”
“Where are you even keeping them? He probably turned your entire room upside down.”
You nodded, “Oh, he did. But he’s never gonna find them.”
From under your clothes, you pulled out the military issued dog tags. Embossed on the metal was Bucky’s name, birthdate and blood type. On the second was his regiment.
Sam gave you a slightly judgmental look but you could see the pride he was trying to hide.
“You’ve gotta tell him eventually.”
“You’re not gonna tell him?”
Sam shrugged as he passed you and picked up his book. “I knew he had your knife. I didn’t help you, I’m not helping him.”
You gave a small gasp, “I knew it!”
Sam just laughed his way down the hallway.
Meanwhile, you looked back at the dog tags with a light smile, your thumb brushing over his name.
You’d give them back soon. But a little just desserts would do no harm to the super annoying, massive pain in the ass, super soldier.
Bucky looked for two more weeks. His dog tags were lost forever. He had a feeling Sam know something since he’d suddenly changed his tune on issuing him some fresh dog tags.
“Just hold out. Maybe they’ll show.”
“Who told you that?”
Sam shrugged, “I went to a psychic.”
Bucky rolled his eyes before trudging over and sitting beside his friend. He’d hold out for one more week, then he was gonna issue them himself.
You could feel Bucky’s eyes still on you. He was practically searing a hole into the side of your face.
He’d been like that for three days. Watching you. Staring.
“You know something,” he said when he finally cornered you.
You acted as if you didn’t know what he was talking about. “I know nothing.”
“Where are they?”
“Where are what?”
“Stop acting dumb,” Bucky told you.
“Ever considered I’m not acting, Barnes.”
Bucky chuckled a little. “Every day.”
You walked into that one.
“But I know there’s a small part of you that’s a lot smarter than you’re letting on. So, I’ll ask again. Where are they?”
“Please.”
Bucky leaned back a little. “What?”
You clasped your hands behind your back and leaned forward a little, practically bouncing on your feet. “Where are they, please?”
Bucky stared at you before groaning. “Where are they…please?”
You stood tall and shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Quit lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
Bucky sighed. “Do you really enjoy this?”
“Enjoy what, Bucky?”
You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. “You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side from day one.”
Your gaze hardened on him as you stepped closer. “And you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass. Look, don’t you think if I’d taken them, I’d have kept them safe? Safer than being hidden in my room? I know what they mean to you, Bucky.”
You stepped back before you could let your mind wander to places further than just standing inches from Bucky in an empty hallway.
“Kinda like my knife.”
Before you disappeared down the corridor, that last sentence only added fuel to Bucky’s fire. You had them. They were safe. But if they weren’t in your room, where the hell were they?
It took him ten days to realise. And when he finally did, he hadn’t been thinking about them.
It had been just before he closed his eyes. It hit him. The safest place from him, was you. They’d been on your person the whole time. They had to be.
And, despite the clock beside his bed telling him it was almost 23:00, he knew where you’d be.
You hadn’t been sleeping much for the last few months. He knew because of how tired you seemed to move. A little slower, a little more distant.
Zipping up his grey jacket, he padded his way down towards the training room.
You hadn’t spotted Bucky standing against the wall, grey sweatshirt, white tee and darker pajama pants. If you had, you would have made some kind of comment about wearing plaid in Spring.
“I figured it out,” Bucky called out calmly as he watched you.
You ducked your head as if you’d just avoided a bullet. “What the- James.” You gave a huff. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Bucky just smiled casually and pushed himself from the wall. “I figured it out.”
“Figured what out?” You asked, a little breathless. You’d been in the training room, alone, for the last two hours.
“Where you’ve been keeping my dog tags.”
“Really? Who says I have them?”
“You and I both know you’ve had them since the beginning.”
You just watched him, studied him. A slight smirk broke out on your face. “I don’t know who took them, Buck. But I’d say it’s Just Desserts, wouldn’t you?”
“For stealing your knife?”
You nodded. “I’d say so, yeah.”
“Wanna know how I figured it out?”
“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”
Bucky shrugged. “You knew I’d find out it was you. But you also know I avoid you as much as I can. And I know you’ve done the same with me. That’s how I kept hold of your knife for so long.”
That much was true. It was just safer to avoid each other than it was to deal with the potential ramifications of being left alone together longer than ten minutes.
You let Bucky continue as he walked closer to you. You remained fixed in place, just watching him. He looked so…domestic. Slightly bed ridden hair, freshly showered, relaxed. Cosy.
“So, the best place to keep my dog tags safe would be with you, at all times. All day. All night.”
“Really?”
Bucky nodded. “Yeah.”
“And what makes you so sure I have them on me now?”
Bucky took a final step forward and looked you over. His body was in chest from you.
“May I?”
You nodded, realising where his eyeline had fallen. Silently, his fingers reached out. Ignoring the way his touch felt against your skin, you watched as he pulled his tags from under your shirt.
He examined them.
“Found ‘em.”
You looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Seems we have a winner. I must say though, I can see why you get so attached. There’s something…familiar about having them with you all the time.”
Bucky nodded. But he seemed to be thinking. Then he smiled before tucking them back into your shirt.
You were confused. “Don’t you want them back?”
He nodded. “One day. But, for now, you should keep them safe. They look good on you.”
You looked down, mostly to avoid his blue gaze.
There had been a few moments like this over the last few years. Moments where the ten minutes ran out and it was just you and Bucky, alone, barely inches from each other. All the while, comments passed between you both which made you think that, deep down, you didn’t hate him.
The party's thumping downstairs in the Avengers compound, music vibrating through the floors like a distant heartbeat. Laughter and clinking glasses echo up from the common room where the team's celebrating our latest win. I've only been here a couple weeks, but it feels like a lifetime already—especially with Wanda. She's older than me, towering over me, her presence commanding even in a crowd. We're keeping us hidden, though. No one knows; It's our secret, ours. Wanda's hand brushes mine under the table as Tony Stark saunters over, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, grinning like he owns the night. "Come on, you two! Shots are flowing, and Cap's attempting karaoke. Don't tell me you're bailing early."
I glance at Wanda, her green eyes locking onto mine with that knowing spark. She squeezes my fingers lightly. "We're good, Tony," she says, her voice smooth but firm. "Long day. Need to unwind our way, with some TV and wine."
Tony chuckles, waving it off. "Suit yourselves. More for us." He wanders back to the chaos, and Wanda stands, tugging me up with her. We slip away unnoticed, weaving through the corridors until we reach her bedroom door. She pushes it open, guiding me inside before locking it with a soft click that seals us in our private world. The room's dimly lit, her scent—something warm and spiced—lingering in the air. Wanda turns to me, her chest rising faster now, eyes darkening with hunger. "Sweetheart," she breathes, stepping close, her hands framing my face. "I can't hold back much longer. Seeing you all evening, pretending... I need to you; Now."
Her words send a shiver down my spine, heat pooling between my legs. I nod, breathless, as she rushes to undress me. Her fingers fly over the buttons of my shirt, peeling it off my shoulders, then yanking down my pants and underwear in one swift motion. My skin prickles in the cool air, nipples hardening as she exposes me completely. "Lay on your stomach, baby," she murmurs, voice husky with command. I obey, climbing onto the soft mattress and stretching out face-down, my cheek against the mattress. The sheets feel cool against my bare body. Behind me, I can hear the rustle of fabric—Wanda undressing in a frenzy, her clothes hitting the floor. The bed dips as she climbs on, her strong thighs straddling mine, pinning my legs shut with her weight. I feel her, her hard cock pressing against my ass as she adjusts herself, the tip nudging between my thighs.
She leans over me, lips brushing my ear. "My good girl," she whispers, one hand sliding under my hips to guide her cock to my entrance. She pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching my pussy around her thickness. I gasp at the fullness, the slow burn of her entering me. "That's it, my little girl. Take mommy inside you."
I moan softly, clenching around her as she bottoms out, her hips flush against my ass. "Mommy," I whimper, the word slipping out like a plea.
Wanda starts moving, gentle thrusts that rock me into the bed, her pace deliberate and unhurried. "Good girl, call me mommy," she says, her voice affectionate, laced with need. She kisses the back of my neck, one hand stroking my side. "I've wanted this all night. You feel so perfect, so tight for me... My sweet girl."
Her words wrap around me like warmth, each slow slide of her cock drawing out my pleasure. She keeps it tender, grinding deep but not rushing, her body covering mine protectively. "I want to enjoy you for a moment," she murmurs, nipping my shoulder. "Just like this, slow and close. Your mommy's good girl, aren't you?"
"Yes, mommy," I breathe, pushing back against her slightly, savoring the drag of her inside me. Her free hand tangles in my hair, not pulling, just holding, as she whispers more endearments—her hips rolling in that steady rhythm that builds the tension without breaking it. But eventually, her control frays. Her breaths come out sharper, thrusts deepening. "God, Y/N, I need more," she groans, her weight pressing me fully into the mattress, pinning my arms down with her own before interlocking our hands together; which makes me grunt as she does so. She keeps me still, immobile under her dominance, as her pace quickens. Now she's fucking me harder, slamming into me with force that jolts my whole frame, the bed creaking under us.
"Mommy!" I cry out, the intensity overwhelming, her cock hitting deep with every thrust. She grunts above me, her hips snapping forward, driving me into the sheets. That's my girl," she pants, her voice rough now. "Take it all, you're mine."
The pressure builds fast, coiling tight in my core. Wanda's hand slips between my legs, fingers circling my clit in firm strokes that push me over the edge. I shatter, pussy clenching hard around her as waves of orgasm crash through me. She follows seconds later, burying deep and flooding me with hot cum, her body shuddering against mine. We ride it out together, intense and connected, her groans mixing with my whimpers. She doesn't pull out right away. Instead, she collapses gently over me, cock still buried inside, cockwarming me as our breaths even out. "Stay like this a bit," she says softly, kissing my damp skin. "Feel me in you. Mommy's not done yet." We linger there, her warmth seeping into me, until the ache rebuilds. Wanda shifts, starting to move again, slower at first but building quickly to that same fierce rhythm. Round two is hungrier—she flips me onto my back midway, spreading my legs wide and thrusting in deep, her eyes locked on mine as she calls me "good girl" and "mommy's girl" through gritted teeth. We climb higher, faster, until another shared climax rips through us, her cum mixing with the first load, spilling out around her as she pumps a few more times. Exhausted and sated, Wanda eases out, gathering me in her arms. "Come on, baby," she says tenderly, carrying me to her bathroom. The tub fills with warm water, steam rising as she adds bubbles and her favorite lavender oil. She settles in first, pulling me between her legs, my back to her chest.
She washes me with gentle hands, soaping my skin, massaging my shoulders and breasts with care. "My perfect girl," she murmurs, rinsing my hair, fingers combing through the strands. I lean into her, letting her pamper me—kissing my temple, tracing lazy patterns on my stomach. "You were so good for mommy tonight. Relax now." The water soothes our aching bodies, her touch turning the afterglow into something even sweeter. Downstairs, the party rages on, but here, it's just us—our secret world, safe and intimate.
bucky who would drop everything if his wife texted him from their room in the compound asking for snuggles.
like he could be mid-conversation, his phone buzzes, and it’s just one word: “snuggles?” and suddenly he’s usian bolt sprinting to get to his wife.
this is 10000% factually accurate. argue with the wall
--------
He’s in the middle of a conversation when it happens.
Mid-sentence, actually—something about mission briefings and supply delays and why Sam thinks the coffee machine is haunted—when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
It’s subtle. A soft vibration against his thigh. Easy to ignore.
Bucky Barnes does not ignore it.
He stops talking like someone hit pause on him.
Sam squints. “—you good, man?”
Bucky’s already pulling his phone out, thumb moving on muscle memory alone. He doesn’t even bother to hide it, doesn’t bother to pretend he isn’t checking it right there in the common room, in front of God and the entire Avengers roster.
One notification.
From you.
One word.
Snuggles?
That’s it. No punctuation. No emoji. Just the question mark hanging there like a trap.
Bucky’s face changes immediately.
It’s subtle if you don’t know him. A softening around the eyes. His jaw unclenches. His shoulders drop like the weight of the world just slid off them.
Then he’s gone.
Literally gone.
One second he’s standing there, phone in hand. The next, he pivots on his heel and takes off at a speed that absolutely should not be possible in a government-funded building.
“Was that—” Sam starts.
A blur barrels past the couch.
Wanda blinks. “Did he just—”
“He did,” Sam says, watching Bucky disappear down the hall. “He absolutely did.”
Clint leans forward, delighted. “Is he running? For love?”
“For snuggles,” Sam mutters.
Bucky does not slow down.
Not for corners. Not for stairs. Not for dignity.
He takes the hallway like a man possessed, boots pounding against polished floors, metal arm swinging in perfect rhythm. Someone yells something behind him—probably about no running in the compound—but he doesn’t even register it.
All he can see is your door.
Your room.
His room.
Your bed.
He skids to a stop outside the door, hand already lifting, then thinks better of it and opens it quietly, because he knows you. Because if you asked for snuggles, you might already be halfway to sleep.
The door clicks shut behind him.
And there you are.
Curled up on the bed, blankets pulled up to your chin, hair messy, eyes heavy. One pillow clutched to your chest like a placeholder.
Your head turns when you hear him.
A smile spreads across your face.
“You came fast,” you murmur.
Bucky exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment his phone buzzed.
“Always,” he says, low and certain.
He toe-kicks his boots off without bothering to line them up, shrugs out of his jacket, and crawls onto the bed with the kind of reverence most people reserve for churches.
The second he’s close enough, you reach for him.
The second he’s close enough, he folds around you.
It’s automatic. Years of muscle memory and instinct and need. His arm slides under your neck. His chest presses to your back. His metal hand settles at your waist, warm despite everything.
You hum, content, melting into him.
“There it is,” you sigh.
He presses his face into your hair, inhales deeply. Shampoo. Laundry soap. You.
His whole body finally relaxes.
“What happened?” he murmurs. “You okay?”
You shrug a little. “Just… one of those days.”
That’s all it takes.
His grip tightens—not possessive, not restrictive. Just there. Solid. A promise.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I got you.”
You wiggle closer, fitting yourself against him like you were made to go there. Like you belong there.
Which you do.
His thumb starts tracing slow, absent patterns against your hip. Circles. Lines. The same motion he does when he’s grounding himself, except now it’s for you. Or maybe it’s still for him. The line between the two has blurred over the years.
You tilt your head back until it rests against his shoulder.
“Did I interrupt something important?” you ask, teasing.
Bucky snorts quietly.
“Sam was talking,” he says. “So no.”
You laugh, soft and sleepy.
He smiles into your hair.
“You texted,” he continues. “That’s important.”
You turn in his arms to face him, eyes warm.
“Even if it’s just snuggles?”
“Especially if it’s just snuggles.”
He kisses your forehead. Your temple. The corner of your mouth.
The world outside your room doesn’t exist anymore.
No missions. No trauma. No ghosts. No expectations.
Just this.
Just you and him tangled together in the quiet, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, his breath warm against your skin.
Down the hall, somewhere far away, Sam is absolutely telling everyone what just happened.
Bucky does not care.
He’s exactly where he needs to be.
And if your phone buzzes again later—snacks? or still here? or don’t move—he’ll answer that call too.
summary: your teammates almost can't stand you when you're huffy and puffy on a particular day. at least, all of them but one, who comes and makes sure you're not upset with him.
wc: 1.7k+
cw: suggestive themes, friends to lovers
Steve really doesn’t understand what’s bothering you, and it seems neither do any of your other teammates. After all, you were okay yesterday, but since the morning hit, all Steve seems to hear coming from you are dissatisfied huffs and angry comments. Quite frankly, he’s a little scared, unlike the concern that he sees radiating off of Natasha or the annoyance that’s clear on Tony’s face.
Despite his super soldier serum and the undeniable strength he has over you, he’s still scared when stepping onto the mat with you, making sure his defences stay up quite well in fear that you’ll knock his brains out of his skull. He rolls his eyes when Tony makes a mean comment about hoping you get your anger out so they don’t have to deal with it for the rest of the day. Steve just hopes this bad mood isn’t targeted towards him — he’s praying that you’ve just woken up on the wrong side of the bed, not that your friends have done something to anger you.
Either way, he sneakily changes the training charts so that Peter is now up against Bucky in a sparring round that’s sure to brighten your day. In the meantime, he just has to survive training with you. He’s surprised at the force you immediately display when running kickboxing drills. It’s not that you’re stronger than usual, but he feels the power coming from within you that enhances your movements like you’ve got extra energy you need to spend. Steve secures his feet into the mat so he doesn’t budge, flexing his arms harder while he holds the punching pads so they don’t slam back into his nose.
Steve, ever the encouraging teammate, mutters words of praise as you go along, and he smiles at you softly when you falter after he says “Perfect form, good job.” Your eyes meet his over the punching pads and you swallow thickly, feeling your face go hotter than it already is, even with sweat covering your features. When you switch around, you stand oddly still whilst Steve secures the boxing pads around your arms, tightening the strap so you can comfortably carry it. He tries to be more gentle on you than usual, even if not obviously so, but a furrow of your eyebrows quickly makes him return to using his usual force. Again, he’s unusually scared of you today, but maybe later he’ll buy you coffee and ask if you’re unhappy with him or just life.
“Um, I don’t think I’m going to stay for sparring.” You tell Steve eventually, your voice oddly shy, and it’s hit turn to furrow his eyebrows. “Is everything okay?” You glance at the sparring chart where your name is jotted down right by Steve’s, and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. It’s already torturous enough having to be this close to him for drills, but you can imagine Steve easily tossing you onto the mat before securing his body over yours until you can no longer move, and you’re afraid that if that happens, you’ll have a reaction that will tell everyone on your team exactly how worked up you are today.
You finally nod, unsure what to use as an excuse. “Yeah, I’m just not having my best day.” You settle on. Steve nods, ducking his head down closer to yours to whisper “I put Peter and Bucky together for sparring, if that’ll cheer you up.”
At least you stay for that fight.
It’s entertainment to you, and instead of Steve doing his captain duties and calling out comments for either men to fix their forms or keep their hands in front of their faces, he spends the match looking at you, and ensuring that the smile on your face is really there. You disappear after that, and the entire team immediately turns to throw comments at Steve. Even Peter, that respectful boy, manages to ask “You really put me against Mr. Barnes to make a girl smile, Mr. Rogers? Isn’t that a little cruel?” Steve doesn’t bother defending himself against anyone because he knows that will double the attacks on him.
You’re still in the shower by the time training finishes and Steve heads towards his room to shower, but it seems like the second he strips down and steps into his bathroom, he hears another door open. You trudge down the hallway and head towards the kitchen, intending on filling up your water bottle and disappearing back into your bedroom for no one to find. But Natasha catches you in the kitchen, and she crosses her arms over her chest as she watches your movements, asking with that smooth voice of hers “That shower soothe your worries?”
You glance up at her from the corner of your eye as you straighten up, face contorting into one of confusion. “You know, because you’ve been acting bratty all day?”
At least you seem sheepish at the revelation. Natasha smiles at you with a low chuckle, pausing for a moment to give you a moment to reply. You take a long, greedy sip of water as though to procrastinate having to answer your best friend, then finally reply “Natasha I haven’t been fucked in like three months and my ovulation really had to remind me this morning.”
Natasha bursts into a fit of laughter, and you slump your shoulders, unimpressed with her. “You’ve been a bitch because you need to get fucked?”
“Yes! That’s normal! You just don’t get it because all of your internal organs were taken from you!” You snap, and Natasha shrugs, mumbling “Yeah, pretty much exactly it. Look, if you really need to get fucked, please go let Mr. Captain America know. He’d love to take care of that for you.” You huff unhappily, mumbling “That’s not funny, Natasha.”
“Come on, you think I’d keep saying this over and over if it wasn’t true? Every time you say it’s not funny and every time I say ‘No it’s not funny, it’s just the truth’. Are we going to go through this again?”
“Swear on your life, Natasha.” The serious tone in your voice surprises her. “Does that mean you’re gonna do it?” She counters with a smirk.
“Well probably, if I know for a fact that he’d be happy to bend me over!”
Natasha furrows her eyebrows, humming to herself. “Mhm, I don’t know, he seems like a missionary guy to me, don’t you think?” She swallows thickly at the glare that takes over your face and she nods her head vigorously “He likes you.”
“Yeah, okay, I’m not doing it.” You can hear Natasha groan as you leave the kitchen, returning to your room. It’s a shame. If he’s so chivalrous after all, he should be the one to make the first move. But making the first move if there’s a risk you don’t like him back could be a grave mistake. After all, the last thing he’d want to do is make you uncomfortable.
Your bed welcomes all your existential feelings, and you find yourself pouting in the emptiness of your own room. Not only are you really worked up, and not only would you love to be ruined by a big strong man at the moment (who could also specifically look like the man living across the hallway from you with his blond hair and huge muscles), but you also wouldn’t hate the possibility of having a boyfriend (who could also specifically act like the man living across the hallway from you with his kind heart and respectful nature). Today, you’re not in the mood to branch out and deal with new people, but the next time something even remotely similar to this happens, you’ll just make your way to one of the workspaces upstairs, where one of Tony’s kind mechanic works. He’s made a move on you before, and you don’t doubt he’d do it again if you went in there with flirty eyes and a throb between your legs that needed to be fixed.
Maybe you’ll just sleep it off today and go on a quest to find someone tomorrow. That is, if you’ve stopped thinking about Steve by that time.
A knock comes to your door.
“Yeah?” You call out, sitting up in bed, holding the covers close to you. The door creaks open and you laugh quietly because of course it would be him of all people to come looking for you this instant. “Can I come in?” Steve asks from the doorway, and you nod, patting the spot beside you on your bed. He carefully closes the door behind him before approaching slowly, holding out to you an iced coffee. You smile as you take it from him, placing it on your bedside table as you thank him.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He says quietly and you nod again, seriously deliberating with yourself on whether this is your real sign that he likes you. Not Natasha’s half joking truths that always make you second guess, nor the delusions that Wanda feeds you just because she’s a supportive friend. “I’m okay.” You whisper, clearing you throat a little. Steve hesitantly puts a hand over the sheets where your knee lies, eyes flooded with concern. “Are you sure? I don’t want to push, but if something has you upset, I’m here for you.”
You shift your body underneath the sheets so you can slide your legs under you, and Steve pulls his hand back from you, worried to have made you feel uncomfortable. But you only change the way you’re sat so you can move closer to him, cupping his cheeks in your hand and pressing your lips to his. Steve falters for a millisecond before his hands are coming up to grip your hips in his firm hands, dragging you closer to him as his lips move against yours. You melt against him when the kiss begins feeling more natural, lips parting to meld against each other. One of your hand trails down from Steve’s face to settle on his chest, and you can feel the rapid beating of his heart under your hand.
Steve pulls back from the kiss, his cheeks rosy and lips plump when he asks “You really are okay, then?”
“I’m more than okay, Steve.” You tell him, though that may be a slight lie because you don’t know how okay you’ll be when he kisses you harder and your body turns to jello in his arms. You'll excuse your excitement as too much energy to burn, but Steve will feel your lies and ask if there's anything he can help with.
"Does he read books?" I'm sure most people would ask.
Yes, he does. He's not a cartoon character after all.
And since he reads them, then he probably reads e-books or his AI reads them out loud to him? The majority indeed think so, according to this poll.
But the majority is wrong again. Because throughout the films, we see Tony surrounded by paper books. Lots of paper books:
“The bookcases were filled with physics, engineering and scientific books to reflect Tony’s pursuits, as well as novels and other subjects that the writers informed us would be of more interest to Pepper...”
And, ta-da, an entire library that we've never seen, but which existed in the Malibu mansion:
From Marvel Studios Cross-Sections book.
Thus, we clearly see that he had entire libraries of paper books, most of which are his own. We see him using them.
What we don't see is him using e-books or listening to audiobooks.
It's been suggested that he might listen to audiobooks while working. I've already covered his preferences for when he turns music on and when he needs silence while working. When he's actually working, he needs to be undistracted. If you think about it, an audiobook is a far worse source of distraction than music. We might also recall this scene from IM 1:
How do you guys imagine him immersed in his work and at the same time following the plot of a book? Like this?
Audio book: - I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket - which had the feel of a biohazard suit - and headed out into the rain.
Tony, while calibrating Mk 7: - What?
And we can confidently say he wasn't a fan of e-books, since he was so hung up on paper ones. It's much easier and faster to get the digital book you need, especially for him, but as you can see, he was used to burying himself in piles of paper tomes.
P.S. As a bonus:
For Tony's version from Midnight Suns game, the "Reading by the Fire" activity is one of his favorites.
