#avengers reader insert

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

For You

Title: For You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Analyst!Reader

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: Injured reader, fluff, angst, kissing, and mentions of blood, broken bones, surgery, and the Blip

Summary: Y/N is an analyst at the compound, but there’s something about her that Bucky can’t quite place. After an attack, he finds out that her secret involves more than just herself.

A/N: This takes place after Endgame, but everybody lives! This fic is probably a little more niche, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway. As always, thank you for reading and supporting me in all the ways you do. Dividers by @firefly-graphics

His new therapist has instilled it in him to look for constants to ground himself, things in his life that he can always count on, though Bucky is fairly certain that that instinct has been there long before the doctor put words to it. He’s always thrived on consistency, even before the war.

By far, his favorite constant is the playlist that Y/N plays every night as she readies for bed. Their bedrooms share a wall. He can vaguely place the instrument as a violin, or maybe a cello, but he’s never had the nerve to ask her which. He hadn’t been allowed to listen to music during his imprisonment, and before he fell off the train, he was always more focused on the company than the background music. He didn’t—and still doesn’t—go to a lot of concerts, either, which leaves him in the lurch when it comes to identifying instruments.

The faint strains wind their way from the speaker in her room to Bucky’s apartment. Every night he listens for it. When the music finally arrives, he closes his eyes and lets it carry him to sleep. On the nights when the nightmares plague him and keep him from fully drifting off, Bucky listens all the way through her playlist. Though he doesn’t know any of their names, he can recognize most of the songs by now, even when she stops them partway through or listens to the same few sections over and over again. The constant rewinding is an odd habit, that much he could admit, but her music has become a source of comfort for him. She rarely adds new songs, too, which he appreciates.

Bucky never mentions to anyone how much he enjoys listening to Y/N’s music. His interactions with her are few and far between, and he knows the team would give him hell if he admitted any kind of link with her. She’d joined the team as an analyst during the last year of the Blip, and she’d moved into the compound when it became clear that she could do her job more efficiently if she was nearby. Originally, she’d had the whole hallway to herself, but once Bucky and the rest of the population returned and the compound had been rebuilt, Bucky took an apartment next door to hers. He hadn’t initially wanted to have a direct neighbor, but Fury had insisted that the units be given out sequentially, and Bucky hadn’t wanted to start a fight. Either way, that part of the residential wing now holds two occupants, both of which keep to themselves. He’s perfectly happy with the arrangement.

“You were up late last night,” Sam says, and Bucky grunts as he pours himself a cup of coffee. It’s thick and dark, which means that he’ll have to add more sugar than usual. Whoever made the pot clearly doesn’t know the value of good coffee in the morning, or maybe they just don’t care.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I know that?” Sam presses after a few moments.

Bucky can feel him staring and he sighs, reaching for the glass sugar container pushed up against the wall. Sam takes a sip of his own coffee.

“Did you get your little bird to follow me around?”

Sam scowls, almost a perfect mirror of Bucky’s own expression. “His name is Redwing, and no. I was in Y/N’s room last night. It was pretty late when I left and I could hear you moving around in your room.”

“Oh, that’s not creepy at all,” Bucky remarks. Sam narrows his eyes, which Bucky ignores as he spoons sugar into his mug and then pushes the container back into place. “I didn’t know you and Y/N were friends.”

Shrugging, Sam shifts his mug to the other hand and grabs one of the muffins Wanda had left out for the team. She’s been on a baking kick lately, not that Bucky’s complaining.

“We’re friendly enough. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Friends with Y/N,” Sam replies.

Bucky glances over at him, suspicious. “No. We only talk when she’s helping on missions. Why?”

Sam only hums in response and takes a bite of the muffin. He’s being obnoxious on purpose, but Bucky doesn’t have the energy to take the bait and fight back. He had been up late the night before. Y/N’s music hadn’t helped like it normally did, so Bucky had worked out on the floor, forced himself to journal for his therapy appointment, and paced the perimeter of his room. By the time he finally wore himself out, the sun was about to rise. He’d only slept maybe an hour before his alarm had gone off.

“She plays louder for you, you know,” Sam says, shouting after Bucky as he leaves the kitchen.

The hallways of the compound are blissfully empty, which allows Bucky to relax a little as he walks back to his room. His temple throbs and he ignores it, taking a sip from his mug. The coffee scalds his throat on the way down. It doesn’t matter—the serum never lets his tongue or fingers be burned any longer than an hour unless it’s major.

Turning down the hallway of his apartment, Bucky pauses for a split-second at the sight of Y/N backing out of her room.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” she says, shooting him a quick smile.

He returns it, though from the worried look she gives him in response, he can only assume that his expression held more of a grimace than anything.

Y/N turns her attention back to her doorway as Bucky passes by, and he catches a glimpse of a black wheeled case. It just barely fits through the door. She pulls it out of her room and steadies it with one hand when it rocks as it rolls over the vinyl divider separating her apartment carpet from the concrete hallway.

“I’ll see you around!” she calls after him.

Bucky glances back over his shoulder, surprised that she even thought to say goodbye after his initial response, and he lifts his mug in farewell. Y/N smiles again—a warm, devastatingly genuine smile that makes Bucky’s stomach flip and his throat tighten—then turns forward and keeps walking.

Her black case trails steadily behind her. Bucky stares after her for a moment, watching as she turns the corner towards the elevators. He feels like he should know what’s inside of it, but he can’t quite put his finger on whatever it is. The case definitely doesn’t hold weapons, at least not any that he’s seen before, though it’s very possible Stark created new tech without telling him. Then again, Y/N isn't the person to be testing new tech anyway. She has minimal field training; all employees in the compound have to master a list of basic defense skills and she’s no exception. Bucky’s seen her in action. She can hold her own, but she isn’t one to go out of the way to try a new tactic or do something fancy. That means it probably isn't new tech, and that irritates him more. His temple throbs again.

Why can’t I figure this out? What the hell is it?

Shaking his head, Bucky keeps walking and heads into his apartment. The door slams behind him, muffling FRIDAY’s automatic greeting.

“Dim the lights,” Bucky grumbles, and the room immediately gets darker. “Mission status report?”

“Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff are scheduled to return at 0800 hours. The mission was successful and there were no injuries. Would you like me to contact them?”

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief. “No, thank you.” He pauses, sipping his coffee and staring out at the forest that lines the property. Sam is headed across the lawn towards the tree line, no doubt to test the new Redwing tech he’s been working on with Torres. The soldier had been here earlier in the week. Bucky had hid in his apartment.

“Do I have anything I have to go to today?”

“Your schedule is clear, Sergeant Barnes. Would you like me to add something?” FRIDAY asks.

“No,” he answers, maybe a little too quickly. Then again, FRIDAY won’t judge him, at least not to his face.

The carved wooden coaster Y/N had bought him on the only vacation she’d taken since before the Blip has gotten lost somewhere under the bed. He’d probably knocked it down during a nightmare. Silently, he takes another sip from his mug and then sets it down in the bare spot on the nightstand where the coaster should be before dropping himself onto the edge of the bed. He can feel bad about the water rings on the wood later.

“Is Y/N scheduled to work on any missions this afternoon?” The question escapes before Bucky can even process what he’s thinking, let alone saying.

“Today is Miss Y/L/N’s day off,” FRIDAY reports.

Is it Tuesday already?

Rubbing his eyes with his right hand, Bucky tries to focus. He’s gotten by on less sleep than this before. What’s gotten into him? Why did seeing her in the hallway leave him so rattled?

His phone chimes with a text alert and he drops his hand back down, sighing, then reaches for the device. It’s Steve—they’re on their way back and he’s sent a special report back to Y/N. Though it’s her day off, it’s urgent. Steve asks if Bucky can check in with her to make sure she’s gotten it.

“Why’re you always asking me to ask her this stuff, punk?” Bucky grumbles. He texts that to Steve, then sends another message affirming that he’ll check in with Y/N, regardless of whose job it should be. Steve doesn’t answer.

"FRIDAY, has Y/N left yet?”

“Miss Y/L/N just got off the elevator on the second floor.”

With a groan, Bucky pushes himself up from the mattress and downs the rest of his coffee. He leaves the mug on the nightstand to be cleaned up later, then heads out of his room toward the elevator.

The analysts’ room is only one floor down, but it’s secure and requires a retinal scan or an intense series of passwords. It takes up most of the level, with the exception of a meeting room, the break room, and a small lab where Tony tests his non-lethal designs. There are no windows, mostly due to the confidential nature of the missions, but there is a small one in the break room that Y/N had outfitted with a Roman shade shortly after the new compound had opened. She’d added plants too, claiming that looking at greenery when you’re stressed will help to calm you down. Bucky isn’t sure if he believes her, but when he stays back to help with longer missions, he takes advantage of the window in the break room if the analysts’ room starts to feel claustrophobic.

Y/N’s desk sits against the largest wall of the room so she can have plenty of room for screens, and there’s a glass wall separating her set up from the others. It turns opaque and soundproof at the touch of the button, providing even more confidentiality for important missions. Since joining the team, she’s quickly proven herself to be a vital asset and a good friend to the group. Bucky can easily admit that his job would be a lot harder without her, as would his life. Every mission that she works goes smoother, leaving him with less stress before and after. Between that and the music, life is infinitely better with Y/N as part of the team. Not that he’ll admit it aloud to anyone.

Y/N is now the main analyst at the compound, hence Steve pulling her in on her day off. She won’t complain. She never does. It’s part of what sets her apart from the rest; she, like Steve, never takes a break.

When the elevator doors open, Bucky’s first thought is that the lights shouldn’t be off. Even the emergency panels are dark. His stomach twists in warning, he wishes he’d brought a gun. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something is definitely wrong. His second thought is that Y/N can’t be here like FRIDAY had told him. If she had come down to the analysts’ room, she would’ve told someone about the lights being off right away.

“Hello? Is somebody there? I need help!”

Y/N’s voice echoes through the dark hallways and spurs him to action. Bucky draws back his left fist and smashes the glass protecting the fire emergency kit built into the wall. He grabs the ax and stalks down the hall on high alert. There are no signs of an intruder, but he grips the handle in his right hand and clenches his other into a fist.

“Y/N?” he calls. “Where are you?”

The relief in her voice makes Bucky’s heart clench. “Bucky! I’m at my desk! I’m— I’m stuck, I can’t get out!”

He practically runs to her desk. The serum sharpens his vision enough that he’s able to see the damaged desks strewn in his path despite the blackout, and he climbs over them or pushes them out of the way with ease.

When he gets to her, Bucky sets the ax within arm’s reach and crouches beside Y/N. His brain quickly catalogues the scene, creating a mental list of all the hazards and threats. With no imminent danger from an assailant, the only threat is to Y/N’s health.

The desk has been flipped and she’s pinned underneath it. Most of the weight is on her limbs, but she’s laying on her back and a spike of panic goes through him when he realizes that she could have spinal damage or internal bleeding.

Several of the screens have fallen from the wall onto one of her legs, and shattered glass litters the floor. The glass wall between her desk and the others has been completely destroyed as well. A loose wire lays nearby and the sharp smell of gasoline burns his nostrils the longer he stays beside her.

“FRIDAY?” Bucky called. When there’s no response, he pulls out his phone and orders it to call Tony. He puts the phone on speaker, sets it in a relatively clear spot on the floor, and turns on the flashlight while the call connects.

“Tony, the second floor’s been compromised. Y/N’s trapped and I’m getting her out now. Have Cho prep the medbay for her.”

Tony’s response is just as urgent as he predicted it would be, and almost immediately, Bucky hears the alarms going off on the other floors. No doubt Sam is running in from the forest now, and Steve and Natasha will be alerted that the compound's been compromised. The call ends and he turns his attention back to Y/N.

She shifts slightly, then lets out a sharp cry of pain and a sob. It rips his heart in two.

Focus, he reminds himself. The longer she’s stuck, the greater the damage could be.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Bucky soothes. “Stay still for me, okay?"

She inhales sharply and nods. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Barnes.”

“It’s not your fault. I need you to stay still so I can get this off of you, alright?”

She nods again, and Bucky gets to work inspecting the desk and screens. Once he’s sure that moving them won’t endanger her any further, he carefully lifts them up, then away. He moves everything closer to where it belongs and then comes back to where she’s still laying on the floor. She hasn’t attempt to move, though he’s not sure if that’s due to her training or if she’s simply unable to.

“Okay, Y/N. You think you can move?” he asks. “Start small.”

“I think so,” she says, though her voice sounds less than confident. She starts to roll over onto her side, but she jerks back in pain and lets out a shout as soon as she puts weight on her arm. The sound of her crying will echo forever in Bucky’s head, he’s sure of it.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Hold still.”

He looks her over, searching for blood or exposed bones. There’s nothing that seems extremely dangerous for her, though she’s clearly broken at least one bone in her arm and her pants are dotted with splotches of blood from where the glass has cut through the fabric.

Bucky sits up and looks back toward the elevator, listening for any sign that Stark or the others are on their way. All he can hear is the wail of the sirens reverberating down the elevator shaft. He clenches his teeth.

If they don’t get here soon…

Her voices breaks when she pleads, “Stay.”

Y/N shivers as shock sets in, and he can tell after only a few seconds that she’s clinging to consciousness. Her eyes are unfocused, though her gaze is directed toward him. After a moment more, he resolves himself to get her to the medbay on his own.

“I’m stayin',” he promises. With great care, and slower than he’d like given that he isn’t sure where the intruders went, Bucky shifts her legs so that he can slip his arm underneath the backs of her knees. He wants to adjust her hands so that her wrists are crossed over her chest, but his hands hover over her long enough that she realizes his intentions.

“My wrists…. Bucky…”

She’s never called him solely by his first name. His heart squeezes inside his chest, and for a second he thinks he’s having a heart attack. “I know, sweetheart, I know. I’m gonna get you out of here. I’m gonna carry you up to medbay.”

“What?” Panic fills her expression. His breath catches in his throat. “What? No, Bucky, it hurts! Please don’t—”

She lets out a shout when Bucky lifts her up, cradling her against his chest with his right arm behind her knees and the vibranium one supporting her back. Her wrists rest loosely over her abdomen. Y/N continues to shake, both from the shock and the pain, but also from her continued sobs. Her throat sounds raw and Bucky grits his teeth, his own eyes filling with tears.

As he climbs back over the rubble of the analysts’ room, Bucky tries to keep from jostling her as much as possible, but by the time they reach the elevator, she’s passed out with her head slumped against his chest.

He bends at the knees, squatting down just enough to press the button to call the elevator with one finger. When it doesn't light up, he mutters a curse and turns towards the stairwell door behind him. There’s a noise from the other side of the door, and then it flies off the hinges and he finds himself staring into Tony’s palm. It’s already alight with bright white energy and Bucky instinctively backs away.

“Whoa! Whoa! Hey!” Bucky shouts. “Back off, Stark!”

“Well, don’t stand in front of doors if you don’t want ‘em shoved open! What do we got?” Tony replies. He drops his hand back down to his side, his head turning as he scans the dark analysts’ room behind Bucky for signs of danger or an intruder.

“Power’s out, including FRIDAY and the elevator. I haven’t seen or heard anything since I got down here, but everything’s destroyed and it smells like gas. Not sure if it’s a leak or if they tried to light the place before I got here, but she seems to be breathing fine.”

Tony steps closer. His mask lifts, revealing his face. Bucky doesn’t need any light to see the concern and fear in Stark’s eyes. He’s clearly not the only one affected by Y/N’s state.

“What happened?” Tony asks, glancing down at Y/N.

“I don’t know if they attacked her or if she was trying to keep the information on the computer safe, but I found her pinned underneath her desk. The screens fell, too, but mostly on her legs.”

Tony nods. “Sam’s checking the other floors, but we haven’t found anything. We’ll take it from here. You get her up to see Cho.”

Nodding, Bucky climbs the three flights of stairs to the fifth floor, leaving Tony to search the analysts’ floor for any information on the intruders and their motives.

The medbay is tucked in between the two main labs, where the different researchers have easy access to doctors. They need them more often than they’d like to admit, but thankfully, any researchers in the vicinity evacuated when the alarms went off, leaving the medley clear and the staff free to take care of Y/N.

As soon as the stairwell door opens, Helen is waiting for him. Tony must have relayed that he was on his way up with Y/N, because even when the medical team is ready to stitch people up after missions, they only come running if they knew there’s an emergency. Two medical assistants rush over with a gurney.

“What happened?” Helen asks.

Bucky follows their lead and carefully lays Y/N on the bed as he replies, “She was trapped underneath two smashed screens and a desk. I don’t know what else happened, but she’s definitely injured her arms, wrists, or hands. The cuts on her legs are from the shattered glass. She passed out about two minutes ago, most likely from the pain.”

Helen nods and starts walking behind the gurney as they wheel her away. “We’ll take it from here, Sergeant. We’ll let the team know if there are any significant updates.”

Though he should be relieved that Y/N is in good hands, Bucky’s stomach still twists as he watches the medical team disappear through the double doors and into the medbay. He’s frozen in place as he watches the access light beside the doors turn red, locking out any unwelcome visitors.

A hand on his arm makes him flinch, and he turns, already pushing the person away. Steve immediately backs up to give him space, both hands in the air.

“Whoa, hey. It’s just me, man,” he soothes. “Is Y/N in there?” He nods at the medbay doors, still keeping his distance. He slowly lowers his hands. “Tony told me what happened.”

“The whole floor was destroyed, Steve.”

“Did they hurt her?” Steve asks, a hint of iron in his voice. He clearly doesn’t like the thought of Y/N facing danger alone, either. The entire team loves her. If someone hurt her, they’d pay.

I’d make them pay, Bucky thinks.

“I don’t know.” He clenches his jaw and his fists follow suit. “She was trapped under her desk and two screens, but I swear, if we find out they did something—”

Steve places a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find them, Buck. Don’t worry.”

Bucky shrugs him off and goes to stare out the windows. As much as he hates to admit it, the sight of all the greenery surrounding the compound helps calm his racing heart, just like Y/N always says it will. For a second, his mind wanders, wondering if he should get a plant for his apartment.

Does she have plants? As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he frowns at himself. Don’t be a creep.

The elevator down the hall chimes, and Bucky doesn’t have to look away from the windows to know that Tony has arrived, along with Sam and Natasha.

“How is she?” Nat asks. Steve answers, and Bucky tunes them out, focusing instead on the tree line and the tangled thread of thoughts going through his head over and over again.

If I’d only gotten there sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.

If I hadn’t gone back to my room to avoid Sam, maybe I would’ve been able to stop whoever it was.

If I’d stopped to ask what was in her case—

Bucky straightens. It’s as if someone has poured ice water over his head. Y/N’s case, he remembers. The strangely shaped black case hadn’t been anywhere near her desk, at least not that he’d seen, but he hadn’t been looking for it at the time. He’d been so focused on helping her that he’d forgotten all about it. If the case holds weapons or Stark tech of some kind, he needs to find it.

“I’ll be back,” Bucky says, already marching past the rest of the group towards the stairwell. “Is the power back on the second floor?”

“Yes, but—”

He ignores the rest of Steve’s response, already flinging open the door and taking the stairs in twos. It only takes him forty-five seconds to get back to the analysts’ room.

With the power back on, Bucky can truly see the damage, and he has to stop in the doorway to catch his breath. There isn’t a single desk, chair, or computer setup in the room that hasn’t been destroyed. From the doorway, he can even see that the lab has been raided, and several people have already begun the clean-up process on that end of the floor. His train of thought sticks for a second, providing him image after image of the horrible things that could have happened to Y/N if he hadn’t gotten there in time or if the assailants hadn’t fled. He pushes them away, focusing on the task at hand.

It takes almost a half hour of searching, but Bucky finally find Y/N’s discarded case wedged upright against a wall by a desk strewn lengthwise on its side. He tips the desk off the case, then lowers it back to the floor with his left hand while he holds the case against the wall with the other.

Unsure of what he’ll find, Bucky lowers the case to the floor and exhales sharply. He kneels down beside it. His hands hover over the strange, curved top for a second while his heart pounds in his chest. If this is a weapon, there’s no telling what might happen when he opens it up. He still has the strange feeling that he should know what’s inside of it, but it’s like his brain won’t focus. He’s used to missing pieces of his memory, especially things he would’ve known before HYDRA. His therapist would be telling him to talk it out and try to make connections between what he knows now and his memories from back then, but there’s no time for that. The only logical thing a case like this could be in the Avengers compound is a weapon, and if it’s been damaged or armed, he can’t risk it.

He pulls out his phone and dials on autopilot. The line connects almost immediately.

“Where did you go?” Steve asks.

“Second floor. Listen, Y/N had some kind of case with her when she was attacked. I’m not sure what’s in it, and if whoever trashed the place tampered with it—”

There’s no cordiality in Steve’s voice when he answers, “I’m on my way.” The call ends a second later.

Steve appears within a minute, walking with purpose across the room. He’s still in his gear from the mission. Behind him, Sam enters in full gear as well, his shoulders tense and his vision focused forward.

“What do we know about the case?” Steve asks as he approaches.

“Nothing, but I feel like I should. Maybe it’s one of those weapons that Stark was talking about last week in the conference room?” Bucky never pays attention during the bi-weekly and post-mission debriefs, and everyone knows. Nobody dares correct him.

Once the two men are close enough to see the case laid out on the floor, Sam lets out a relieved chuckle. “Oh, man,” he says, and he stops a dozen feet away.

Steve stops too, his hands on his hips as he sighs and tilts his head back, closing his eyes. He turns to the side after a second, just enough that Bucky can’t tell his expression, but his posture is infinitely more relaxed.

“What?” Bucky asks, sitting up a little straighter. He hates feeling like everyone knows something that he doesn’t, especially when he already feels like he should. “What is it?”

Sam grins down at him. Bucky has the sudden urge to deck him.

“That’s her cello,” Sam explains, continuing when he narrows his eyes at him, “She must’ve been on the way to her lesson.”

Bucky blinks, and suddenly, everything makes sense. It’s like he’s walked into a brick wall that knocked something into place, and now all the pieces of the story are connecting, one by one. The instrumental music, the way it repeats over and over again, the way the case looks oddly familiar… Everything makes sense.

“She plays the cello,” Bucky murmurs. He stares at the rubble around them, his mind spinning as he uses that information to make sense of so many other interactions he’s had with Y/N, including the one from this morning.

Steve drops his hands back down to his sides. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I—” Bucky clears his throat and glances up at him, then looks away. He turns back to the case on the floor and hastily unzips it. Inside, laying carefully cushioned by black velvet, is a cello. The overhead light reflects off the red wood, showing off the grain, and though a small part of Bucky desperately wants to run his fingers over it—his real fingers, so he can feel the smoothness of the wood and the tension in the strings—he restrains himself. He knows better than that.

“I knew,” he says, quieter than before.

The room falls silent for a few moments before Steve rests his fingertips on Bucky’s shoulder, just for a second, then walks away. Sam follows him, but Bucky doesn’t turn to watch them leave. He sits on the floor beside the cello, just looking at it. He listens to the chatter and the noise coming from the lab clean-up, but mostly, he looks at Y/N’s cello. It’s beautiful, and well taken care of. It’s a miracle that the case protected it from the attack. The case itself doesn’t even look scuffed.

Sam had said she was on her way to a lesson. Bucky hadn’t even known that she played the cello, let alone that she took lessons, though in retrospect, he should’ve figured it out. She’s been playing for him every night for months now. How had he been so blind?

Finally, after the stairwell door slams again and several more moments have passed, he zips up the case. Then, carefully, he lifts it up by the handle at the top, tilting it so the wheels stay solidly on the floor. It takes some maneuvering to get it through the analysts’ room to the now-working elevator. He has to keep stopping to move desks, screens, and toppled chairs out of the way, and each time, Bucky stands the cello case upright, gently supporting it with both hands until he’s sure it’s stable.

After what Y/N’s been through, he tells himself, she doesn’t deserve to have something so important to her destroyed.

He makes it to the elevator and heaves a sigh, but he keeps the cello close until he’s back outside his apartment. He only lets go of it just long enough to get the door open. Bucky stores it on the floor of his empty closet, where he can lay it down with nothing around it. His clothes are all in the dresser anyway, and he promises himself it will only be there until Y/N is safely back in her room, rather than in the medbay.

“Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY says, and Bucky flinches. He closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath.

“What?”

“Captain Rogers is requesting your presence in the medbay. He says to tell you that it’s urgent, but that Y/N is fine.”

It feels as if all the tension in Bucky’s body has drained been out through his feet. He hangs his head, his hand on the wall beside the closet door, and nods.

“Okay.” Sighing, he runs a hand over his face and inhales deeply, then closes the door the rest of the way. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

FRIDAY doesn’t answer, as usual, so Bucky heads up one floor to the medbay. The rest of the team has dispersed, but Steve remains standing outside the double doors. The light beside them is green. He looks up when the elevator chimes. He still hasn’t changed out of his gear.

“She’s okay,” Steve reassures.

Bucky nods. “I got your message.” He doesn’t have to say it, but they both know that he’s grateful Steve repeated it anyway.

“The doctor says she’ll make a full recovery.”

“Why does it sound like there’s something more?” Bucky asks. Sighing, Steve glances back at the doors.

“Her right wrist is broken and she’s got three broken fingers on her left hand.”

“So she’s out of commission for a while.”

“At least twelve weeks, maybe more, depending on how the recovery goes. She had to have surgery.”

“We’ll have to find someone to help out on missions when she can’t,” Bucky says. “I’m sure that Fury has some kind of hierarchy we can use.”

Steve shakes his head. “Buck, she won’t be able to play cello that whole time. That’s— That’s gonna feel like a death sentence to her. To you.”

Bucky turns and stares out the windows again. A crow flies by, cawing loud enough that he can hear it through the glass.

After a moment, he asks, “Did everyone know that she played cello except me?”

“It was never a secret. It’s in her personnel file,” Steve tells him.

Bucky sighs again. He’s never read anyone’s files. It feels like an invasion of privacy. He’s gone most of his life without privacy, and he hates the fact that anyone can know whatever they want about people in the compound. He refuses to betray anyone else that way if he can help it.

“Listen,” Steve begins, and Bucky turns to face him. “She asked for you.”

“Me?”

He smiles a little, clearly amused, though there are bags under his eyes. He still hasn’t slept since returning from his two-week mission somewhere in the Arctic. “You rescued her.”

As much as Bucky wants to scoff at his friend’s expression, he can’t argue when it comes to Y/N. He just can’t. “Right.”

“Just… Get in there. Tell her to let us know if she needs anything.”

“Will do, pal.” Bucky stays put until the elevator doors close behind Steve and the numbers above them start to descend. He goes into the medbay then, quietly, just in case Y/N is asleep.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

Helen steps into view with a tablet in hand and Bucky straightens. Her presence always sets him on edge, though he knows she’s part of the team.

“Doctor. How’s she doing?”

She gives him a tight, polite smile. “She’s recovering. She’s already awake, and she’s asking for you. I assume that’s why you’re here?”

Bucky nods, then hesitates. “With her injuries… She plays the cello.”

The polite smile turns into a pitying grimace. “It’ll be quite the recovery for her, but Tony has already told us he’s on the lookout for the best physical therapist he can find.”

Already nodding again, Bucky turns towards the doors to the surgical recovery room. He’s been here before, once for himself and once for Steve, and he knows the layout like the back of his hand. He doesn’t need to, however, because Y/N is blinking at him from her bed, her expression soft and sleep-addled.

“Bucky,” she murmurs, and she squints a little. Her speech isn’t quite slurred, but she’s less clear than normal. It makes his heart clench to see her like this. “The light’s are bright.”

“I’ve got it.” He dims them with the switch on the wall before taking the chair beside her bed.

She’s laying on her back with her right wrist on the bed beside her. It’s heavily bandaged. Her left hand is on top of her stomach, also wrapped in clean bandages.

“Thank you.” She closes her eyes and he wonders after a minute if she’s gone to sleep, but then opens them and looks at him intensely.

“You should rest,” Bucky says, and she hums in response.

“Probably. Thank you for saving me. If you hadn’t shown up…” He shakes his head and scoots forward in his seat, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Someone would have found you if I hadn’t.”

Y/N shakes her head back at him, frowning. He can see the panic forming, an after-thought clouded by the pain medication. “My cello…”

“I’ve got it. It’s in my room.”

“Your room?” She scrunches up her nose at him. “Why?”

He can’t help but chuckle at her. Bucky knows it’s the anesthesia and the drugs, but her expression is far from the ordinary.

“I can’t access your room, Y/N.”

“Oh.”

The recovery room lapses into silence, except for the monitors beside him, but then Y/N says, “I’m sorry I won’t be able to play for a while.”

“You don’t need to apologize. This isn’t your fault.”

“I know. I’m still sorry.”

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to make her feel better, so he stays silent. She watches him from the bed, her eyes closing further and further between each blink until finally, she just keeps them closed.

Bucky sighs and sits back in the chair. He pulls his hand away when he realizes it’s still touching her shoulder. The sliding doors open behind him.

“She needs to rest,” Helen says. It’s not a statement; it’s an order, and Bucky’s heard enough of those to know which ones are worth following. He stands and nods politely at her, then leaves without another word.

Two weeks later, FRIDAY alerts Bucky to Y/N’s presence at his door. He opens it to find her standing there, her tablet held against her chest with her good wrist.

“Bucky,” she greets, though she’s not smiling.

The fact that she’s still calling him by his first name still makes his breath catch in his throat. “Everything okay?”

“Can you help me with something?”

He nods and steps aside, making space for her in the doorway. She steps inside his apartment, silently taking it in before she takes a seat on one end of his couch. She pulls her arm away from her chest and allows the tablet to clumsily fall to her lap.

“I’m making a playlist,” she explains, “of all the music I normally play.”

“I’m not sure how I can help with that,” Bucky replies, closing the door. He stands near the wall until she glances at the empty end of the couch and gestures with her bandaged hand.

“FRIDAY is great, but sometimes things need a human touch, you know?”

He can’t argue with that, so he nods and sits opposite her. He’s very aware that they’re alone in his apartment for the first time.

How is she so casual about this?

She’s talking to her tablet and he realizes that he’s zoned out on her. Embarrassed, he gets up from the couch and takes the few steps to his bedside, where he’d set down his morning cup of coffee. It’s room temperature now, but the bitter taste is sharp in his mouth and makes him focus on the present.

“See? I really just need help putting them in order,” she’s saying. “FRIDAY put them all on the playlist, but no matter how I phrase it, I can’t get her to put them in the order I want.”

“You’ll have to show me how to do it.”

Y/N looks up at him, as if she’s surprised he’s responded to her. “Really? You’ll help?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

I’d do anything for you.

Seemingly at a loss for words, she shrugs and glances back down at the tablet, then at him again. Then, she says, “It’s easy. Come sit with me and I’ll show you.”

The invitation is simple, and he’s helpless. He sits beside her, closer this time, and takes the tablet from her lap. She explains how to move the tracks around on the playlist—he understands after only a few seconds that she needs help because she physically can’t move them around without the use of her fingers—and he obediently moves them around. Sometimes she stops to ask his opinion on where to place something on the playlist. She hums the main melody when she can, or she’ll have him play part of the track until he recognizes the tune. Much to his surprise, Bucky recognizes all of them.

“I think that’s good,” Y/N finally says, and he locks the screen. It goes dark in his lap. “Thank you. I feel like anyone else would’ve thought this was stupid and tedious, but I like them in a certain order, you know?”

Bucky nods. “I do.” He hesitates, then asks, “Did Helen tell you when you’ll be able to play again?”

She shakes her head and the light in her eyes dims. “No. It’ll be a couple months at least, I’m sure.”

“Oh.”

What am I supposed to say to that?

“I’m sorry,” he tries again.

Y/N forces a closed-lipped smile. It’s half-hearted and she looks down at her lap, where her bandaged hands are resting.

“It’s strange, you know?” she asks after a moment, still not looking at him. He doesn’t respond, hoping she’ll clarify. “Not playing, I mean.”

“You usually play every day.”

“I have for years. The only time I didn’t was right after the—” She falls silent again, and he knows what she means.

The Blip.

“You didn’t disappear.”

“No. But I wished I had.”

“Where were you?”

She inhales deeply, sitting up taller. Nobody likes reliving painful memories, Bucky knows this from experience, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“Playing. I was the principal cellist at the New York Philharmonic. We were in the middle of a concerto, and I was playing the solo when my stand partner just… dissolved. Sometimes I can still feel her ashes on my hands.” Y/N’s voice trembles, but she continues, “There was screaming. My friends and co-workers were disappearing all around me, and even our conductor… He was there one moment and gone the next. I could hear the audience screaming, instruments hitting the floor…”

Bucky wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close as she begins to cry. He hates himself for dredging up such a painful memory for her.

Idiot, he thinks, as he soothes her with soft noises and murmurs of reassurance. Why didn’t you stop her?

After several minutes, she sits up and he pulls his arm back. Y/N reaches for a box of tissues on the small table beside the couch, but when she’s unable to pull one out without the box sliding out of reach, Bucky stands to get it for her. He holds onto the box and stands off to the side in case she needs another.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N finally says, pinching the tissue with the fingers on her right hand. “I’m a mess.”

“I’m the one that brought it up, I should be the one apologizing to you.”

She shakes her head and looks up at him, her eyes puffy and red from crying. “You have nothing to apologize for, Bucky.”

He nods and sits back down beside her. They sit in silence for several moments before he asks, “Why did you become an analyst? A lot of orchestras kept going.”

Y/N sighs and leans back against the couch. He turns so he can see her better. Her fingers fidget with a hole in her jeans. The tissue she’d used has fallen onto the floor beside her feet.

“It was too hard to be on the stage after what happened, and I didn’t feel… useful.” She lets out a rueful laugh. “It feels awful to say that aloud. I’m a big proponent that music is one of the few things in life that doesn’t need a “use”. It does so much for people, even stuff that we don’t realize.”

“So you went back to school?”

She looks over at him, curious. “I have two degrees. You didn’t know that?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’ve never read your file.”

“Oh.” Y/N pauses. “I haven’t read yours either, for what it’s worth.”

He’s filled with a sudden gratitude for that and his shoulders drop a little. He hadn’t even realized they’d been tense.

“Anyway, I found any entry level position and then got promoted a few times. I didn’t play for over a year, and then when I finally decided I could handle it, it became more of an escape than anything. I tried to audition for a few things on the side, but every time I felt any kind of pressure to perform, I’d totally break down. It was awful. There was one time that I had a flashback as I was playing. When I finally calmed down, one of the panelists told me that I’d only played two notes before I started hyperventilating. She said I played the whole piece in its entirety before I passed out.”

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N shrugs and glances at him. “It is what it is. I stopped auditioning after that, and it honestly didn’t feel like my life was lacking anything. I was still playing, just in a different capacity. And when Fury hired me and I got to move here, I had more time to play. I wasn’t commuting an hour to my job every day, which was nice. Fury made sure I had access to whatever sheet music I want, and Tony’s continued that.” She smiles a little.

Bucky hesitates for a moment before asking, “Why did you stop calling me Sergeant Barnes?” He’s been wondering for so long that it feels like he might never figure it out if he doesn’t ask.

Why did you say it like that? Idiot, she’s going to think that you don’t want her to call you that!

Her smile falters at the sudden change in conversation. “What?”

“You started calling me Bucky after the attack. You didn’t before.”

“Do you not want me to call you that?” She stands, frowning at him.

Frantically, Bucky stands and scrambles to fix things. It feels like his stomach is eating itself from the inside out. “No, it’s fine.” It’s more than fine. “You just used to be so formal.” I hated it. “And now you’re more…”

“Informal,” she concludes. He nods and she glances at his half-made bed. He’d been in the middle of making it when she came to the door. “Well… you called me sweetheart.”

“I did?” Bucky frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as he wracks his brain for a memory of the phrase. “When?”

“When you were digging me out of my office.”

“I don’t… remember that. I’m sorry,” he offers. He’s always been so careful not to cross any boundaries. Her formality had always been a boundary he’s assumed was purposeful on her part. He’d respected it at every turn, but if he was the one to cross it first, without her permission…

She shakes her head with a small, surprisingly shy smile. “Don’t be. I don’t mind.”

Bucky’s heart skips a beat. His stomach pauses mid-twist. “You don’t?”

“No.” She pauses. “I’ve wanted to call you Bucky for a long time. It felt strange calling you Sergeant Barnes when everyone else just called you by your nickname. Especially since…” Y/N trails off, then reaches down to gather up her tablet. “I should get going. Thanks for your help with the playlist.”

“Since what?”

“Never mind.” She goes to step around him and Bucky panics. He reaches out and grabs her arm, just above her elbow. Y/N pauses and looks up at him. Her jerks his hand away as if it’s been scalded, despite the fact that it’s his vibranium one.

“I’m sorry.”

“I play for you,” says Y/N, plainly. She pauses, then corrects, “I used to play for you.”

“What?” The floor might as well have dropped out from beneath his feet. He can’t quite catches breath. “When?”

“Every night, when you weren’t out on missions. I have since the compound was rebuilt, for months now.”

Y/N steps back over to the couch and bends down so she can gently drop the tablet onto the cushion. She straightens up and looks at him. In the hallway, Bucky hears two of the maintenance personnel walk past, talking to each other softly. He doesn’t place the language, which is a first for him. He’s so used to listening in on other’s conversations, scrambling for every piece of intel he can get about his surroundings, but suddenly, all he can think about is her. It’s the same feeling he’d had when he found her pinned to the floor by the desk, but with less terror involved. His mind is singularly focused on her.

She plays louder for you, you know. Sam’s words from the morning of the attack ring in Bucky’s ears.

“Why?” His voice feels stuck in his throat and he swallows. “Why would you do that?”

Moving closer to him, Y/N reaches up with her right hand. The neon cast has been signed by the rest of the team. Someone’s even drawn a cello near the top, albeit a poor attempt at one. She hovers near his arm before gently placing her hand there. He doesn’t pull away, though he knows she’s moving slow enough so that he has plenty of time to.

She’s smiling. “Because you appreciate it, Bucky. From what I can tell, you love it, for some of the same reasons that I do. When I play…” Y/N inhales deeply and then shakes her head. “It’s peaceful. It helps me calm down when I’m stressed. It reminds me that there’s beautiful things in the world. After some of the missions we’ve done—”

“—it’s hard to remember that not everything’s bad,” Bucky finishes.

“Exactly.” She shifts her hand, moving it up his arm and onto his shoulder. Her cast is bulky and the hardened fiberglass is rough even through his shirt.

“I like you a lot,” she murmurs. “I’ve been scared to tell you until now. Hell, I’m still scared. I think… I think that every time I played for you, I was trying to tell you, but I just didn’t know how to put it into words.”

“I like you too,” he says. The tightness in his chest loosens at the confession. “Will you still play for me when you’re able? Now that I know it’s you and not just a recording?”

She nods, her face breaking into a full, bright smile. “I’ll play for you especially now that you know."

Months later, Bucky finds himself outside Y/N’s door. He fidgets for a second with the flowers in his hands, wondering if he should’ve even brought them in the first place. He takes a step back with the intent to head back to his apartment and leave them there before coming back, but he freezes when the door opens and Y/N meets his eyes.

She’s changed since dinner. Instead of her normal work clothes—black pants and an Avengers-branded shirt—she’s wearing sweatpants and a shirt with the letters “NEC” emblazoned on the front.

Y/N smiles at him, and then her eyes fall to the flowers in his hands and she smiles wider. “Are those for me?” she asks.

“Yeah. I don’t”—Bucky clears his throat—“I don’t know if it’s still the tradition to bring flowers to someone’s performance…”

She reaches out and takes them. She brushes her fingers over the petals and Bucky watches in silence. The scars from the pins in her fingers have healed, though he knows that her hands and her wrist ache when the weather changes, just like his shoulder.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you. But this isn’t a performance, not really. It’s just for you.”

His heart thumps in his chest when she steps out of the way to allow him into her apartment. He’s been here a few times, but not at night. His nightly routine has never included her, not until now.

Her apartment didn’t look much different in the evening than it did during the day. The sun hasn’t set yet, but her blinds are closed, letting in only a little bit of light. The overhead lighting is dimmer as well, and Bucky notices that in the corner where her cello normally sits on its stand, a light has been clipped onto the music stand and the cello is laying on its side beside the chair.

Though he also has a studio, hers is larger, presumably because she’d moved into the compound first. Her bed takes up most of one side, and plants mark every foot or so across the long windowsill. A large one with dinner plate-sized leaves stands guard in the far corner of the room, opposite her cello. The TV on the wall facing the bed is playing something on mute and she grabs the remote from the dresser as she passes by. Y/N turns off the show and tosses the remote onto the bed.

“These really are beautiful,” she says as she grabs a water glass from her bedside table. It’s only half full of water, but she carefully fits the ends of the bouquet into the glass and leans it precariously against the wall. “Where did you even get them? You’ve been here all day.”

“Do you want me to get you a vase? Pepper probably has one somewhere…”

She shakes her head, smiling as she walks back to him. “No. I want you to sit so I can play for you.”

Y/N holds out a hand and Bucky meets her halfway. She grabs his vibranium hand and then leads him to the end of the bed, where he obediently sits. Still smiling, she sits in the chair behind her music stand and picks up the cello.

His breath catches in his throat as he watches her adjust her posture. The bow hovers above the strings for just a moment before she moves it smoothly from one side of her body to the other. The sound is much louder than when he’s listened to her play through the walls and tears well up his eyes immediately.

“What do you want to hear?” she asks, looking up at him.

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from her cello. He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. “Whatever— Whatever you want to play. I want to hear it all, darling.”

Her smile softens before she closes her eyes and touches the bow to the string. She plays piece after piece, song after song, until Bucky has tears running down his cheeks. He wipes them away so he can watch her clearly.

Y/N sways as she plays, moving with the music in a way that makes him never want to look away from her. She smiles too, and when it turns sad, she frowns a little, her eyebrows furrowing as she attunes her whole body to the music.

The room is barely lit by the time she finishes. He knows it’s late. The rest of the team will have gone to bed already, making him and Y/N the only two still awake. The sky outside Y/N’s windows are dark.

“Bucky?” She sets her bow down and meets his eyes. Her expression flickers when she sees the dried tear tracks on his face. “Are you alright?”

He nods. “Yeah. I’m alright.”

She carefully shifts the cello back onto its side beside the chair, then comes over to sit beside him on the bed. She slips her hand into his. “Whatcha thinking about?”

He looks down at where their joined hands sit between them on the mattress. “I don’t know what to say. It’s even more beautiful now that I know it’s you. Now that I can see you playing. You’re amazing, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” she says, and he can tell even without looking up right away that she’s a little flustered by the compliment.

“I mean it.” Bucky looks up at her, then takes his free hand and reaches over to curl a finger underneath her chin. He holds her gaze for a moment. “You played beautifully, baby.”

She ducks her head, smiling wide. It’s pure joy, radiating out of her, and it makes Bucky’s chest feel tight.

No longer able to stop himself, he guides her face back to his. When he leans in and kisses her, and she practically melts into him. The mattress dips when she moves toward him, making her slide even further until their hips touch and he’s forced to let go of her hand.

“Stay the night,” she murmurs. She brushes her fingers over his face, trailing them from his temple to his jaw, and he shivers. Her breath is warm and he closes his eyes, just breathing her in.

“I shouldn’t.”

What if I have a nightmare?

The words are unspoken, he’s sure of it, but then she says, “I’ll play for you again if you wake up, if you can’t fall asleep. I’ll play all night for you if I have to, James Buchanan Barnes, I just want you to stay.”

He shudders under the weight of her words. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his lap and holding her close, and he buries his face against her shoulder.

“Y/N…”

"Stay.”

“Okay.” He kisses the place where her shirt ends and her skin begins. She brings a hand up to caress his spine in long, smooth motions.

“I’ll stay,” he tells her, and he says it like a promise, one that he intends to keep.

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[https-bobreynolds]

save her

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x thunderbolts*! reader

summary: during a mission, seeing you in danger caused the void & sentry to show up.

warning: mentions of bloods, injuries, a curse word mentioned, anxiety and self-blaming. mentions of y/n. also, reader’s a badass who has powers like wanda.

author’s note: i’m not gonna lie, this is my BEST fic yet and i’m pretty sure it’s gonna be hard to beat so i hope i did the action sequences justice!! this is inspired by @disillusioniary ‘s comment on my bob headcanons post!! hope you like it <3

the thunderbolts* was currently on a mission deep in enemy territory. your target was a highly fortified secure facility that contained weapons of mass destruction. the mission was complicated because the target was heavily protected by an elite special ops division, so you were all expecting heavy resistance.

the team was currently moving through a heavily guarded corridor. the area was well fortified and manned by heavily armed guards. every corner was armed with motion detected weapons, and there were multiple barriers in strategic locations to make progress more difficult.

you had been briefed before the mission, and you were aware of the risks you were all taking. the mission brief was clear: reach the target and retrieve the weapon, or destroy it if you can’t recover it.

every member of the team was confident they could complete the mission, but they were also fully aware that there was a very real chance they wouldn't make it out alive.

the team was approaching the target area, and things were getting tense. they could hear voices coming from the other side of the door, and they knew they were about to meet a lot of resistance, there was at least a hundred of them… but they were still calm, still focused on the mission. they all knew the risks, but they were willing to take them.

bob was in the middle of the team, sandwiched between bucky and john. he was feeling nervous, his heart racing in anticipation. he had never been in a situation like this before, had never been in the middle of a fight like this. he felt like a fish out of water, he felt out of place, like he didn't belong here.

he was lost in his thoughts, trying to calm himself down... he was feeling a lot of things all at once, and his nerves were getting the better of him. he was trying to keep it together, not wanting to show the other how scared he was... but his breathing was coming out in short, quick bursts.

you noticed him from behind, quickly patting his shoulders in reassurance, giving him a nod and a smile when he looked back at you with his doe eyes, thankful for the reassurance, and making him feel so much better, knowing that you were there to support him.

that brief sense of peace was quickly tarnished when bucky made a signal with his hand ‘1, 2, 3’ and within seconds, the door exploded wide open, revealing a large amount of soldiers ready to kill them all.

all hell broke loose. bullets started flying, alexei was screaming “FEEL THE WRATH OF THE THUNDERBOLTS!!”, and the team scattered, taking cover and firing back. bob was crouched behind a corner, his heart pounding in his chest. he could barely see past his own fear, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly hold his gun... then he heard a voice, one of the others calling out to him.

“bob- look out..!” you yelled, jumping in front of him, quickly moving your hands to literally, work your magic through. you are a master of telekinesis, chaos magic, and mind manipulation- though not as strong as your mentor, wanda maximoff, yet.

he snapped out of his fear induced trance and turned to look at you, just in time to see you jump in front of him. he could see the energy surging from you, the magic surging through the air, he felt a wave of disbelief wash over him... was this really real?

“focus..!” he heard someone yell out, only God knows who, in the midst of the chaos. he shook his head at that, trying to clear his mind and focus on what was happening around him. the battle was all around them, the bullets flying and the explosions thundering. it was sensory overload, and he was trying to stay focused.

“bob, try and get the weapons, will you??” yelena said from across the room, as calmly but still firm as she could, shooting at the enemies. bob swallowed his own spit, adam’s apple bobbing, ‘m-me??’ he thought to himself, wondering why the hell was he here instead of washing the dishes back at the tower.

his thoughts was disturbed as he heard an “i’ll cover you, go!” from you, energy surging once more, covering the man with a chaos-magic shield.

bob took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart... he could see the weapons on the other side of the room, and he knew he had to get to them. he was scared, but he knew he had to trust you to keep him safe. he nodded to you, trying to summon the courage to make a move.

he quickly ran, feeling a surge of adrenaline, bullets bouncing off from your magic shield. it made him feel safe, really, but you were getting tired, having to protect not only yourself but bob. only realizing now, that you’re holding off the enemies in front of you with one hand while protecting him with the other.

‘almost there…’ he thought to himself.

the moment he was there, his mind were in shambles, trying his best to think straight. ‘the mission was either to retrieve or destroy…’ and the latter seemed much easier than the first one.

he grabbed onto his gun and shot directly at the weapons, seemingly having to forgetten the fact that they are in fact, highly explosive.

after that, everything just seemed to go in slow motion- the moment the huge explosion occurred: alexei quickly pulled yelena into a bear hug, protecting his little girl from the debris, and they were fine- as they both were furthest away from the weapons.

bucky quickly threw a punch on a soldier before he ran and slid away from the explosion, leaving him to safety. walker got his shield to protect both him and ava, still getting pushed by the impact of the explosion though.

you however?

you completely lost focus on your surroundings and focused it all on his, placing both your hands in front of you, at him, using the energy surge to create a much more powerful shield for him- the impact of the explosion immediately throwing you and several shrapnel onto the wall, causing you to spit out blood, cuts everywhere.

“shit, y/n, are you okay??” bucky asked, from somewhere in the background.

bob couldn’t look, couldn’t believe what he had done... the explosion had been massive, and he was expecting to be injured, to have been hit by shrapnel... but none of the debris had touched him- you were protecting him, shielding him from the explosion... he felt guilty, guilty that he had done this to you. he tried to look back at you, hoping beyond hope that you were okay.

he rushed over to you, trying to find a way to help... he couldn’t stand seeing you in pain, especially knowing it was his fault. he crouched down next to you, trying to assess the damage... he could see that you were struggling, and it was tearing him apart.

“i-i’m alright, bob…” you said slowly, trying to reassure him as if you weren’t a few seconds away from fainting, eyes starting to feel so… heavy.

bob didn’t know what to say, he just crouched there, shaking, as if he’s the one in pain. “you know damn well she’s not.” a familiar, dark voice suddenly came to his head, it was the void.

“you did this to her”

“this is your fault”

bob’s heart sank, his mind racing with guilt... it was all his fault, he had caused this. he could see that you were struggling, that you were in pain, and it was all because he had failed to think rationally.

“i… i don’t k-know what to do… i don’t know how to help her…” bob scrambled, feeling like he was spiraling, trying so hard to remember the first-aid kit tutorials that you showed him several nights ago, “why can’t i… w-why can’t i remember??”

“you can’t save her...” the dark voice immediately says, as bob’s thoughts were being consumed by guilt and fear, like he was drowning- like he was sinking deeper and deeper into a whirpool of anxiety.

“but i can.”

bob froze, he knew that voice... it was the other one, the one that he tried so hard to keep locked away.

“p-please…” in a second, bob closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him away, wanting nothing but you to be safe, “save her…”

the next moment, bob opened his eyes, now with golden rings around it, it was no longer bob, it was the void. bob was long gone, replaced by a cold and calculated demeanor, his black silhouette... his gaze fixated on only one person, you.

bob the void immediately stood up, and in an instant, flew across the room, throwing punches at the remaining soldiers who dared stand against his way. he was like a storm, destroying everything in his path... he moved with such grace and speed, like a work of art, each punch executed with precision and accuracy.

it was almost like an… overkill, even, he didn’t care about their wellbeing at all. he just kept throwing punches even if they were already unconscious. unbeknownst to him however, you were becoming weaker and weaker. the blood loss making your eyes droopy, your breathes shorter.

the more he fought, the more angry he got... he could feel the rage building up inside him, could feel himself losing control... but he didn’t care, all he cared about was taking the soldiers down, one by one.

he found himself on top of a poor soldier, punching him to oblivion. he couldn’t stop- until he heard a familiar voice, john’s to be exact, “bob. that’s enough.”

but that alone wasn’t enough to stop him, ava, who was holding your weak body, yelled at him, “you have got to save her, bob.”

for a moment, it seemed like the void might listen… his fist was inches away from smashing the soldier’s face in again, but he froze, almost shocked by what he heard.

‘save her’ he repeated in his mind, as if reminding himself. her. the girl who had bob in a chokehold, the girl who had shown him affection that nobody has in more than twenty years, the girl who’d do anything for him.

he abruptly stood up, walking back to them, to you... the others immediately prepared themselves, ready to defend themselves in case he gets volatile, “you can’t save her, not by punching people… not like this… but the sentry can” yelena says, desperate to save her friend.

the void stood there, trying to make sense of what he had been told… ‘the sentry?’ he thought, ‘how can the sentry possibly save her?’ he couldn’t understand, but he wanted to try, for her.

he suddenly remembered, the sentry is a being… so powerful… so almighty… that he can heal others with a simple touch. “i can… save her…” the void bob muttered, feeling a sense of determination wash over him… he had to try, he had to save you.

in a few second, his black silhouette started to fade away, going back to bob’s figure- but the others could tell that it wasn’t him, not with golden rings around his pupils anyway.

he was quiet, slowly moving closer to the girl. but it wasn’t because he was afraid or anything like that, no. it was because of his pride, knowing that he is the only one who could save you.

he knelt down next to you, his gaze fixed on your injured frame... he could see the pain you were in, the suffering you were going through... it made his heart ache to see you like this, but he would never admit to that.

he looked at the others, one by one, as if saying ‘look at me, look at your savior’, before he touched your arm, hands glowing a golden bright aura.

the others watched in awe, they were all holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next- never could they have imagined your scars and wounds healing in just a mere seconds, your breathe coming to a better pace, and your eyes, opening once more.

you groaned, your eyes fluttering open as you slowly came to... you could feel something different, something had changed... you weren't in pain anymore, you weren't feeling sick anymore... you were good as new.

“bob..?” you asked softly, looking at the man with the golden eyes. he let out a small sigh of relief before his eyes went back to his normal state, closing it shut, and fainting right next to you.

you were immediately alarmed to see him collapse next to you, worried that he was hurt somehow. you checked him for injuries, and when you couldn't find a single one, you looked over at the others, searching for an explanation.

“don’t even ask.”

part two

[soulgazingwithbucky]

why bucky has a blowout

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Summary: bucky would never take advice from valentina or any of the thunderbolts, let alone hair advice. but the love of his life? a different story

Warnings: fluffy ig?

Word count: 750

A/N: i never thought i would miss the unbearable itch to write, and yet!!! so happy i was able to make something, so i hope ya enjoy! If you find yourself enjoying this, feel free to check out my other works here <3

"Stay still, Buck," you murmur softly.

Bucky stifles a huff. He could stay still for hours--if he wasn't in front of the bathroom mirror, forced to stare at his reflection. Behind him, you cup a strand of his hair in your hand.

You release the strand, pleased at the slight curl that has formed.

"I'm not doin' anymore of these things, doll," Bucky says. "M'telling Valentina she can put Walker up there from now on."

"You tell her, love," you encourage, though you're a bit distracted wrapping the next strand of hair around the thermal brush. You've never met your husband's "boss," but you've heard enough to get a sense of her character. You doubted Bucky was going to be able to get himself out of press conferences.

"After this hairstyle, though? You'll be first in line for any media coverage," you tease.

This time, Bucky can't hold back a grumble at the thought. You giggle, but it's quickly stifled by a yawn. Bucky softens at the sight of your sleepiness.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he says sheepishly.

Valentina is a blur as she rushes past Bucky. But she pauses abruptly, taking a few steps back until she's planted in front of him. Bucky does his best to ignore her, staring straight ahead, but he eventually puts down his sandwich and slowly meets her eyes.

"This won't do," Valentina says, gesturing at his head. Bucky doesn't care much about what "won't do," but he has a meeting with Agent Taylor in twenty minutes. He very much likes the idea of enjoying his sandwich on the couch, sans the Contessa.

"What, Valentina?" Bucky says slowly.

"This hair," she responds, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I have been telling him that!" Alexei declares. Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose as the Red Guardian emerges from the kitchen. "I told him, my sponsorship with Drybar is at risk if--"

"Oh, Drybar? That's pretty good. Listen, Bucky, if there's one thing I know, it's hair. Wish you could ask that guy, am I right?" Valentina gestures in Bob's general direction in the next room.

"No," Bucky responds.

"I tell him, so flat," Alexei continues, "so lifeless! Bucky, hair care is so important--"

"Great talk, everybody," Bucky declares, scooping up his sandwich and taking it into the other room.

When Bucky recalled the conversation to you, he thought you'd laugh it off with him. Instead, he saw a glint in your eye that made him worried. Afterwards, he came home one too many times to you binge watching hair tutorials. Foolishly, he held out hope that you would lose interest, but then packages of hair tools started arriving at your door.

"You know," you said, holding back another yawn, "if we lived closer to the Tower, we wouldn't have to wake up so early."

"Not yet, doll," is Bucky's gruff response. Living far away meant that it would be harder for people to link you two. It wasn't that he would get relentlessly teased by his coworkers about being married--that was a given. But if they were on a mission, and one of them became compromised? He couldn't imagine what would happen if the wrong people found out about his life. About you. He already had to live with the fact that Sam helped you both find this house, and now--

"He's our friend, Buck." You recognize the distraught look on your husband's face, and you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of his spell. "He would never do anything to hurt us."

Bucky moves to place a kiss on your hand, grateful that he doesn't always have to talk for you to understand him. He opens his mouth to express his appreciation, but you interrupt him.

"All done," you say proudly. The wide grin on your face is almost enough to make Bucky forget that he is going to be sitting in a room full of journalists in a few hours. You comb your fingers through his hair to loosen the curls, then apply hairspray. Bucky makes a show of sputtering. He never makes a show of anything, but he loves the way you giggle at his antics.

He turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You wrap your hands around his neck, trying your best to avoid your hard work.

"My wife," he says, a phrase he will never get tired of saying. He plants a kiss on your lips before you respond:

"My hero."

[backtothefanfiction]

Hiii!!! Absolutely love your Joaquin fics rn!! Could you write a Joaquin x fem!reader, who has captain marvels powers? Or atleast very similar. Maybe it takes places during the celestial fight during new world order, and maybe also the aftermath?

No Strings Attached | Joaquin Torres x Avenger!reader

Summary; you had an agreement, a simple arrangement, but feelings are always inevitable in these things

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warning: Smut! 18+ Only! PinV, oral (female receiving), a little dirty talk

A/N: So I’m doing the double today. How very efficient of me. Also I recall a wish for the shower scene I wrote the other day to have turned into something spicy so I figured I’d deliver under this ask. Enjoy.

You didn’t have the time or focus for a relationship and neither did Joaquin. You didn’t even live in the same state. But both working with Avengers on Avengers level missions, you often ran into each other and ended up working with one another every few months or so. And on the occasions when that did happen, you both had found a great way to let off a little bit of steam post mission.

The second he found out his latest mission was going to be in your neck of the woods he couldn’t wait. It took all of his concentration to stay focused on the mission at hand and not on finally getting his dick wet later.

He was chasing down the bogey when your voice came through his comms. “Yo Torres, want an assist?”

He shook his head as he smiled to himself. Although it had been his mission, being in your city meant it was only a matter of time before you got involved. “I was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show.” he said as he looked to his right and you pulled alongside him. Where he needed a whole suit and fancy gear to fly, you had cosmic powers that literally blasted you through the air like a rocket.

“What can I say? I was busy,” you threw back.

“Doing what?” he asked.

“Cancelling my plans for the evening,” you smiled at him with a knowing wink.

“Falcon, we’ve got two more missiles incoming,” a controlled male voice cut through the comm link to you both.

“I’ll get these two,” you said, indicating to the ones you were both currently chasing, “you get the other two.”

“Alright.” he agreed before he began to bank left and turn back toward the direction of the other two missiles.

Chasing down missiles was routine for you at this point. You angled your head forward, your arms pushing back to your sides as you put on another burst of speed to catch up to the missile on the right, coming up beneath it. You quickly began to guide it towards the direction of its companion and the two collided in mid air in a firey blast.

“How you doing back there feathers?” You asked through the comms, coming to a stop and hovering mid air as you sought out the flash of green against the blue sky that would indicate where he was.

“They’re splitting off.” he grunted down the comms as he tried to fight with one of the missiles, willing it to change course and drop down into the sea.

“I’m on it.” you said, spotting the stray missile in the distance. You raced for it but realised you weren’t going to make it in time. Instead you stopped and put all your effort into pushing a photon blast towards it, hoping to detonate it before it got too close to the ground. Your body jerked backwards with the force and you waited with baited breath for it to make contact.

3…2…1! Your arm came up to shield your face as you were knocked backwards by the blast but you quickly caught yourself again.

“Is that all of them?” you asked?

There was a pause before the other male voice from before came through the comms to tell you both that Cap had got things back under control on the ground and you could both stand down.

“Just another day at the office, huh?” you said to Joaquin as he came up alongside you again.

“Yeah, just another day at the office.” he agreed.

“At least I don’t have to do the paperwork on this one.” you taunted before you shot him a small salute and began to divert your course and head back home.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It was nearly 9pm by the time he arrived. You’d been able to eat, tidy up, shower and even catch a couple episodes of the latest tv show you were binging. The second you opened the door to your appartment and let him in, he was on you.

“Is it weird if I say I missed you,” he panted between kisses and you pulled him inside and he kicked the door closed behind him.

“You mean your dick missed me,” you joked as you ripped the open checked button down off of his shoulders and he quickly slipped his arms out of it, not wanting to waste any time.

“Yeah, that too,” he said as his mouth tried to keep up with you as you guided him down the hallway to the open kitchen living room. “Dios mio eres hemosa,” he muttered to himself as you reached to pull your T-shirt up over your head and threw it across the room.

“Look you want to keep talking or do you want to fuck me? Your call Torres.” you panted as you tried to keep things moving along.

He quickly lifted his white T-shirt off over his head and exposed his golden skin to you.

“Someone’s been working out,” you commented as you took in his abs.

“Now who’s talking,” he grinned as he quickly closed the gap between you again, his hands threading into the hair behind your heads as he smashed his lips back into yours.

You couldn't help but moan against his lips as you felt him push his body up against you, his dick already growing hard and pushing against the zipper of his jeans. You both almost tripped over the arm of the sofa as you blindly tried to move back towards your bedroom, your hands completely lost as they frantically moved across one another’s skin.

“Uhg, fuck this,” he groaned, lifting you by the back of your thighs and slamming your back down into the couch cushions, his fingers scrambling to pull down your sweats and underwear before he dived headfirst between your legs.

You immediately began to whimper as his tongue carded through your folds, flicking hungrily at your sensitive clit. Your fingers tangled into his hair encouragingly as you tipped your head back, your eyes closing as you focused only on the feeling of his tongue against your cunt.

“Oh Joaquin, fuck,” you panted as you felt your muscles already beginning to tingle and grow tight.

He hummed happily into your pussy as he ate you out, your praise and whimpers like music to his ears as you squirmed beneath him. He was leaning over the arm of the chair to be at the right angle and he reached to undo the button and zipper on his jeans to alleviate some of the pressure from his erection, shifting his junk in his pants before he moved that hand back up towards your entrance. His slid two fingers inside you with ease, the tips of them curling in a come hither motion that had you practically writhing beneath him, desperate for release.

“Come on baby, just let go. Vamos bebe, dámelo.” he said huskily and you practically screamed as your climax took over you, soaking his fingers and tongue.

“Ahí está. Esa es mi chica.” His words always made you delirious. Always left you in a haze. And for just a little time you could imagine and play pretend. For those couple hours you were with him, you were his girl. And he was yours.

You quickly pushed him back off you so you could slam your mouth against his again, your tongue lapping your juices from his lips.

“God, you’re a fucking dream,” he praised and once again his words went straight to your head.

“Where do you want to do it? Here, or in the bedroom?” you asked him.

“How about here, then in the bedroom. Then in the shower, on the kitchen counter,” he listed off as your lips began to mark a hungry trail down the side of his neck, your hand moving to palm at his length as he fought to rid himself of his jeans.

“Sounds like a plan,” you panted, wanting to make the most of the limited time you had together, “How long do we have?”

“My flight leaves at 8am.” he said.

“Then, I guess we best get moving then,” you encouraged him.

“You still on the-“

“Yep,” you quickly responded, desperate to finally feel him inside you again after months of just playing with yourself and your magic wand.

“And you haven’t?”

“Nope.” You replied just as quickly. He always asked the same questions just to check in on the off chance anything had changed, but there was no one else other than Joaquin. That’s why you had started sleeping with him in the first place. No strings. No complications. Just really good sex. “What about you? Have you?”

“No.” he quickly said, but there was a flash of something in his eyes that said there was more to that answer than he really wanted you to know. “Okay, enough talking,” he panted as he grabbed your legs and pulled you closer to the end of the sofa, tilting you up at just the right angle and lining himself up, before teasing his way inside. You both let out a deep moan as he began to fill you up, your mouth hanging open as his brow furrowed in concentration, not wanting to blow his load before he had even begun.

You were always so wet for him. So warm and welcoming. Fucking you felt like coming home and that scared Joaquin. No strings, that was what you both agreed, but he knew he was failing. Knew every time he saw you, every time you hooked up, he grew a little more attached to you. He’d wake the next morning and struggle to leave. He’d lay awake after a long day back home, just wondering what you were doing. If you thought of him in the same way. Sometimes he even thought about just buying a plane ticket and showing up on your door. Not even to have sex, but just watch tv and cuddle up on your sofa. To hear you laugh. To be with you when you wanted to cry.

“Oh shit,” he grunted as he continued to thrust into you, the realisation hitting him as his eyes locked onto yours, He was completely and utterly in love with you and he knew all it would take would be one more orgasm together and he would be completely and utterly yours.

You saw how the look on his face changed. You knew exactly what it meant too. “Say it,” you said to him as his eyes moved from your face to where your two bodies met, willing himself to make it less personal again. If he just focussed on that angle he could pretend he was watching porn. Detach himself from the act just long enough to get through this.

“Say it,” you demanded, but he shook his head. “Joaquin!” you said firmly, forcing him to look into your eyes again. “Say it,” you said again more softly and that’s when he saw it. The same feeling reflected in your eyes.

“I love you,” he said.

“Fuck,” you squeaked as he hit that sensitive spot inside you just right, “I love you too,” you panted, finally allowing yourself to admit to yourself and him what you’d known for a while now. “I love you too.” You breathed.

He practically growled in hunger at your words, his hips picking up pace as he became desperate to make you cum again. His girl. His only one. His thumb reached to rub circles over your clit. He knew he couldn’t last much longer, especially with the way you were looking at him and he needed you to finish with him. “Vamos baby,” he began to encourage his words husky, “necesito que te corras para mí.”

Your body began to tense under his ministration, your muscles bearing down in anticipation. You could see the concentration on his face, the effort to not blow his load just yet. Not before he had made you cum one more time this round.

You moved your fingers down to circle your clit, replacing his own fingers to speed the process along just that little bit quicker. “That’s it baby, so beautiful. That’s my girl,” he encouraged until you were able to let go.

Your orgasm hit you like a truck, your fingers reaching to grip tightly onto his biceps and ground you as he continued to pump himself into your sensitive cunt once, twice, three times more until he stilled, his chest heaving as his body fell forward. His arms just about caught him, propping himself up before he collapsed on you completely as he filled you up.

You sighed as you breathed heavily and tried to regulate yourself. “Uhhhgg, so much for no strings attached.” you finally said when you didn’t feel like your heart was going to lurch out of your chest anymore.

“Yeah,” he chuckled and agreed, his head turning so he could look you in the eyes once again. “So much for no strings attached.” he repeated, before you both began to laugh.

[buckybarnesisbabygirl]

I'm Not Enough

Pairing: Bucky x reader, thunderbolts!bucky x reader

Summary: Bucky was always insecure and you were always prepared to get him through it. But, seeing you getting cozy with Bob set him on a path there was no turning back on.

Warnings: no use of y/n, bit of swearing, angst with no comfort (sorry was in angstyyyy mode today), miscommunication, feelings of self-doubt, anxiety etc.

WC: ~2k

You were over. Your relationship was done. Bucky had ended it.  

Yours and Bucky’s relationship had definitely not been simple or traditional in any way – but it was yours. You seemed to orbit each other in perfect harmony. Bucky worshipped you and helped you to believe you were enough and that you were always capable no matter how much you doubted yourself. And you helped Bucky in his journey to overcome his past self and nightmares that still plagued him.  

Affection was normally displayed in quiet moments: a kiss on the cheek before a mission or a positive note left on the other’s desk when there was a ton of paperwork to do. Of course, there were also very dramatic moments, like the first time Bucky told you he loved you. Screaming across a battlefield during an epic fight with Thanos with the fate of the world in your hands was definitely not the time to be confessing your undying love – but it happened.  

Unfortunately, Bucky still had his insecurities. Bucky always thought you were too good for him, and that he could never be what you deserved. You did your best to make him feel safe and loved but sometimes his anxiety got the best of him. On those days you would let him talk and cry all his worries out and you would be there to reassure him and acknowledge his feelings. And when he didn’t want to talk, just sit and be, you would do that too. Spending the entire night with Bucky’s head lying softly on your chest while you ran your fingers through his hair.  

The fight happened after a training session with the rest of the Thunderbolts. Bucky was not having a great day mental health wise, but he was trying to get through training and he could vent to you all he wanted later. Every interaction with another human being (except for you) on that day seemed to be his last nerve. He could almost hear his sanity snapping every time Alexei asked where the spare punching bags were because he’d broken another.  

He was high strung and on edge, and seeing you helping Bob with his form when firing a gun at a silhouette target sent him into a downward spiral. His anxiety tumbled into a powerful thunderstorm of doubt and fear at losing you.  

Of course he knew you would never dream of cheating on him -you’d rather die than be unfaithful to a man who had such trust issues. But, seeing you with your hands on Bob’s hips to adjust his form, made him rethink your entire relationship. You were talking closely into Bob’s ear and and laughing quietly when he cracked his usual self-deprecating jokes.  

His breaths were getting shallower and sharper when Bob fired a shot and you enthusiastically hugged him when he hit almost dead-center. He stormed out of the gym, abandoning a sparring match with Yelena, ignoring her yells of anger and confusion. You noticed right away when Bucky sulked out of the gym, so you left Bob with John -who would no doubt hinder Bob’s progress with a firearm - but Bucky was more important.  

The hallway smelled industrial and commercial – definitely Valentina’s touch. It didn’t feel like the home you had come to know when the Avengers resided there. You caught up with Bucky who was pacing back and forth in front of the doors to the zen garden Bob had been intent on maintaining.  

“What’s going on, Bucky? You left the gym so quickly.” You asked, hoping for a straightforward and honest answer, but you were ready to coax it out of him with cuddles and forehead kisses if necessary.  

“It’s…it’s nothing, baby. It’s stupid.” He said, keeping his head down. His feet didn’t stop moving and his hand came up every seven seconds to run through his hair.  

You grabbed his hands in an attempt to stop his frantic pacing and grab his attention. His fingers stopped shaking and his shoulders relaxed and dropped an inch as soon as your hands were in his. But you weren’t out of the woods. 

“Please talk to me, Bucky. You promised to be more open. If you don’t tell me what’s bothering you, I can’t help you.” You said in the most compassionate and loving tone you could muster. Not that it was forced – you obviously cared for him very much – but you were also tired from the days activities and not getting much sleep last night (another nightmare of Bucky’s resulted in you waking at 3 am and not getting back to sleep).  

“You-you were with Bob in there...and it just...” He couldn’t get a sentence out. He kept rethinking his words and hesitating. 

You let out a soft, tired sigh. It was also one of relief at this being a situation you could easily fix, and not something bigger like an anxiety attack or one of Bucky’s nasty migraines. 

But Bucky heard a different sigh. He didn’t hear the dedication and reassurance you had meant to convey with it. Instead, when your warm breath hit his face, he assumed you were annoyed and bored. Bored with him constantly bugging you with his crippling insecurities.  

His shoulders tensed once more and he quickly dropped your hands. You raised your eyebrows at his odd behavior. Normally, when you came to Bucky’s aid, he would gratefully accept – and he would never pass up an opportunity to hold you close.  

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you.” He said coldly. He tried to walk past you, hoping to go up to your shared bedroom and get some sleep. He figured you would just go back to the gym, grateful for some time away from him. He knew he wouldn’t sleep well, if at all, without you by his side but he needed to remove himself from your clearly agitated presence.  

“Wha-Bucky? Bucky, where are you going?” You quickly caught up with him and grabbed his wrist.  

“It’s fine, doll. Just go back to training. It’s nothing, you don’t want to have to deal with me right now.” He kept his gaze locked on your sneakers and refused to look up when you asked him too. 

“What are you talking about, Bucky? I’m always going to be here for you.” 

That made him look up. “Bob would treat you better. You know it. I know it. He probably knows it. You should find someone better.” 

You had to keep your jaw from physically dropping at Bucky’s statements. He was so wrong. Bucky had always had his problems, but this was new. He’d never outright said you should leave him.  

“Bucky, I don’t want to be with Bob. I love you, Jamie. Only you.” 

Normally, those words would shake him out of whatever stupor he was in, but it wasn’t working now. 

“Doll, this isn’t good. I’ll only drag you down. I don’t know why you ever settled for me as long as you did.” His voice was rough and low.  

Alright, now you were getting angry. You had done everything you could to make Bucky feel like he deserved the world; that he deserved you. Why wasn’t it enough? 

You’d never told him, and you often thought it was stupid, but Bucky’s insecurities could make you feel insecure yourself. What were you doing wrong? Why weren’t you giving him the support he needed? There was always a gnawing feeling in your gut when Bucky had a new episode of doubts and tears. What could you have done to prevent him from feeling this way? Why didn’t you do it? What kind of awful person couldn’t make their own partner feel safe in the relationship? 

“Bucky, I don’t know what you need from me.” You decided to try and subtly voice your concerns. “I need you to tell me what you need, what you’re worried about, and I can try to help you.” 

“I’ve already told you, haven’t I?” His tone was getting more agitated and sharp.  

You responded accordingly, becoming blunter and defensive. “It’s not about Bob. It’s never been about you worrying about me leaving you for someone else. I’ve told you a thousand times how much I love you. How much it would tear me apart to not have you in my life. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” 

That stung. A small part of him wanted to pick you up in a bear hug and hold each other until the end of time. But he was too angry and too defeated to listen.  

“Doll, I...this has to end.” 

“What?” Your mouth ran dry and your eyes widened so big you thought they might pop out of your head. Your heart began to drum louder in your chest with anxiety. “No, Bucky. It doesn’t. I can help you with this. I’ve always helped you through this.” 

Bucky sighed and shook his head. “It’s not enough. You haven’t...haven’t helped me.”  

That certainly wasn’t what he meant to say. But his brain was shrouded grief and doubt and it was like he couldn’t hear the words coming out of his mouth. He was moving on autopilot; his only goal was making you realize you deserved better.  

“I haven’t helped you?” Your voice was small, meek, and on the verge of cracking. Your vision was clouding with unshed tears.  

“You can’t help me. You’ll never be able to help me.” Bucky meant this to say that he was beyond fixing, but this was not how you took it. You took it as him saying you weren’t loving or caring enough to help him. “Just leave, doll.” 

“Fine.” You were defeated and trying not to cry in front of him. “But don’t call me ‘doll’. You’ve ended this. Follow through. I can’t believe you, Bucky. I’ve tried so hard.” Your hands were shaking and tears were flowing softly down your cheeks, and you didn’t try to stop them. You wanted him to see the pain he was causing you. Maybe it would bring him to his senses. “I’ve tried so hard to make you feel safe and loved and secure. Every time you doubted my love for you it broke my heart that you couldn’t see that you deserve all the love in the world. Regardless of your past. I love you, Bucky. And I know you love me.  

Sooner or later, you will come back. You’ll realize what you’ve just done, and you’ll want to fix things. But it’ll be too late. You’ve broken us. You were our undoing. Not me. Don’t you dare come crawling back and beg for forgiveness. What you just said made me feel like shit. And you promised me you would always treat me with respect and admiration and kindness. You know I’ve never gotten that before you. No one has ever loved me like you. Why can’t you see that I love you? Why am I not enough for you, Bucky? I know you try and paint it as your insecurities, that you’re not good enough for me, but based on what you just told me...I’m the problem. I’m not good enough for you. Goodbye, Bucky. And don’t even think about chasing after me.” 

You turned your back to him and stormed off. You felt like you were floating on air and trudging through wet cement at the same time. Your senses were detaching and yet you were aware of every noise in a mile radius. You and Bucky were over.  

When you opened the door to your room you were panting and crying even harder, if that was possible. You slammed it behind you and broke. Your back hit the door and you slid down with sobs and shaky breaths and there was no sign of it ever stopping. You could sit there and cry forever. So that’s what you did. You sat there and cried.  

Because you had just lost the person you’d loved the most in the world. The person who held you and kissed you and hugged you and told you he loved you a million little times. He’d left you. Because you weren’t...enough. 

[fanfic-scribbles]

Flowers For

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You give Bucky flowers, because friends can give each other gifts and it doesn’t have to mean anything. This time, though, it ends up meaning everything.

Quick facts: Romance – Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff!, background Steve/Sam/Natasha, everybody’s a little shit

MCU Timeline: Set some nebulous time after CA:TWS (though while I do make allusions to the MCU “Civil War” we’re familiar with…it didn’t happen like that. I mostly just wanted Ned and MJ and Peter around for a cute mention.)

Words: 2787

A/N: I badly needed fluff and this just sort of happened. Enjoy <3

~

Bucky seems…sad, lately.

You don’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t look any different than he normally does. He doesn’t speak any different than he normally does. But there is an air around him that feels almost melancholic, and though most of your other friends treat him the same as always, you do catch Sam and Steve looking at him a few more times than normal, which confirms your suspicions. You just don’t know what to do about it. Sam and Steve are both closer to him than you are. Surely they can fix whatever is wrong, and you should just butt out. …Right?

The first flower is a fluke.

You find it by the curb of the sidewalk. Dropped in a rush, a few of the rose’s petals have been pulled off by whatever event cast it aside in the first place, but it is still overall lush and gorgeous. You pick it up– carefully, because curiously there are a couple of thorns– and dust it off. You carry on to the park where you’re going to meet up with Bucky.

And there he is, looking almost lost as he casts his gaze out to some unknown point. It’s pointless to follow– you get the feeling that, whatever he’s looking for, isn’t even here. And to further cement your worry, he doesn’t even notice you until you’re almost within arm’s reach. He leans back to cover the small flinch, and he smiles at you, in a way that if you were only able to see his eyes you wouldn’t even be able to tell. “You made it,” he says gently.

His focus moves down to your hand and his expression takes on a tinge of curious wonder. It’s not out of place or character– Bucky has a lot of little plants he tends to. Some herbs, a little vegetable seed he’s experimenting with, some–…flowers…

“Whatcha got there?” he asks and tilts his head to one side.

If it didn’t have the thorns, you’d be tempted to put it behind his ear. It would look beautiful– more beautiful. Because it’s him, and he’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever known, inside and out. But you can’t say that. You can’t risk not having him around.

You lift the flower towards him and say, “It’s for you.”

His eyes light up, but he looks between you and the flower a few times. “How come?”

“Just because,” you say firmly, and hold it higher. It feels right, and it feels even more right when he takes it and his face relaxes, showing some of the tired lines of the age that doesn’t yet show, but there’s a small genuine smile that bends the edges of his eyes, and makes your heart bloom into a flower all its own.

~

The next time you meet up, you’re more prepared. Buying a whole bouquet seemed…silly? Too much? But you got what you could find and so most of the flowers are stashed at your apartment, looking pretty in a cup, and you have a select few in hand, tied with a little ribbon you had lying around. The price tag hurt so bad it almost feels insulting these flowers don’t actually have any thorns, but, stupid expensive idea or not, you want to see how this goes.

Bucky is sitting on a ledge outside the museum, shaking his leg absently, but when he senses you nearby, he stops, sits taller, and turns. His eyes go immediately to the flowers and he smiles, but quashes it down almost immediately again.

“Seriously,” he says as you approach and hand them over. His eyes squint at you with some suspicion. “What’s the occasion?”

“Flowers are pretty,” you say without thinking. “And soft. And nice.”

“So why give them to me?” he huffs, derision shading his words as he casts his gaze down again.

You put the flowers in front of him, insistent enough that he finally takes them. “Because they’re pretty, and soft, and nice, and you like them,” you say. And I like you, you think but do not say. And when he lifts them to his face, getting lost in a thought, the soft petals graze his skin, and briefly touch the corner of his lips, and it’s so beautiful you think this is all very, very worth whatever price tag comes with it.

~

But you do find a florist that sells flowers by the stem. You actually find more than one, because, after a few times of coming in, the comments they made were…not mean, no, certainly not, but pointed. And you just can’t deal with that right now. Because Bucky is such a good friend, and he has enough to deal with without also worrying how you’d take his rejection– or, worse, that you’re just another person to want something from him. He’s had so much stress, and pain, and it just doesn’t do to imagine you contributing to more of that. Besides– flowers are, in fact, nice, and pretty, and soft, and fully capable of being utterly platonic.

Even if the way Bucky smiles every time he receives one (or two, or five,) makes your stomach do a flip.

“You know, bringing a fella flowers when you’re out to dinner with him is gonna give people some ideas,” he says, a smirk playing at his mouth as he flips the menu over.

“Not when they see the person giving you the flowers,” you say, trying to match his teasing tone. But as you go for your menu, he catches your hand. You stop and look at him. He stares at you for a few moments that almost make you squirm, but then he lets go, his hand sliding slowly, (so wonderfully slowly), away from yours.

“Then they’re idiots,” he says decisively, as if daring anyone to actually say that to his face. He even scowls a bit and looks around. Before you can apologize for your bad joke, he adds, “No one talks to my bestie like that,” and goes back to his menu.

It surprises a laugh out of you, and he’s smiling again. “We might need to cut down on your hangout time with Peter,” you say, and pick up your menu for real this time. You can still feel the ghost of his hand on yours, and you savor the memory of it. He doesn’t…touch, like that. It was nice.

“MJ,” Bucky says. He glances at you a few times and pulls some of his hair behind his ear. “She helped me cut my hair.”

“She did a great job,” you say earnestly. It’s not super short, still falling down enough he could ostensibly put it in a tiny ponytail, but it had been getting quite long, before. While it had looked nice, supplying one with many fantasies of running fingers through the full length, or braiding, or– …well, ultimately, you know the maintenance of it had annoyed him, and that’s what really matters.

“I want it shorter, but this was as much as I could manage,” he admits. He brightens. “Those are good kids.”

He tells you about his day, and how the three-man “Spidey-crew” somehow made an absolute wreck of one of Tony’s training rooms despite only one of them actually being enhanced, and as much as you’re riveted by the story, you can’t help but notice how Bucky’s right hand keeps drifting over to pet the flower petals throughout the night.

~

“Hey.”

You look up– and squint at Steve. You don’t know exactly what that look on his face is, but you know trouble when you see it. Not bad trouble, like someone’s dying, but that Captain “The Biggest Little Shit In The World” America is going to make trouble. “Hey,” you say cautiously. You look around. You’re supposed to be meeting someone else today. “Is Bucky okay?”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says, and there it is– that grin that means you are going to regret whatever comes out of his mouth next– about zero point three seconds before he adds, “He seems to be collecting enough flowers to be able to open his own shop though. Don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“Mm, no,” you say, because Steve Rogers is not the only little shit in the area. God, at this point Bucky practically collects them.

“Interesting,” Steve says, with a little too much…well, interest.

You bristle. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says, feigning innocence. “I just said it’s interesting.”

“And what would your boyfriend think about that?” you ask. You then try not to actually think about what Sam would have to say about it.

Of course, you don’t get away that easy. “He’s also wondering when you’re going to make an honest man out of Bucky,” Steve says, dropping the pretense.

You scowl. “He already is an honest man.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Steve says, gently, but…it’s true. He’s the one who took on the world for him. And won. “Hey,” he says and sits next to you. “It’s fine, just…you know Buck’s going to wonder about all this.”

You swallow. “He won’t bring it up,” you say. You hope. “Even if he kn–… He wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.” He’s so good. He’s too good.

“He might also not bring it up because he’s as afraid of rejection as you are.” Steve squeezes your shoulder, then stands. “But from here on, it’s not up to me– it’s up to the two of you.” You don’t even get a chance to fully absorb all that before he adds, “That said, you should be more concerned about what my girlfriend thinks about all this.”

You immediately feel your blood go cold.

~

The knife of Natasha hangs silently over your head. Silently, because she made sure to stop by just to stare at you a little too intensely and a little too long. At this point, you’re not sure who’s actually more protective of Bucky– Steve or Natasha. You’re pretty sure the latter is the scarier of the two, though. Only pretty sure though, because Steve probably only backed off because he knew she was going to step in.

You sigh, and watch the rain fall outside your window. Maybe you never should have– but, no, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. It made Bucky happy. It makes Bucky happy. Overprotective friends or not, it’s worth it.

…And if you do get dead and buried, you’ve probably bought enough flowers for Bucky that he won’t even have to buy any arrangements.

There’s a knock at your door and you scramble up, but at the quiet, familiar, “It’s me,” you relax again. And then you scramble to go hit the light. Bucky can’t see you yet so he doesn’t know you’ve been brooding in the dark, but it suddenly feels a lot sillier, all told. Then you answer the door, and he’s smiling, and oh boy, you really are in trouble, aren’t you.

“I got something for you,” he says, and unzips his jacket, bringing out…

…A small bundle of flowers.

You freeze. You should have expected this– Bucky is the kind of guy to get and then give in equal (or more) measure, but there’s something about Bucky, with his nice new haircut, showing up at your door, giving you flowers, that makes your heart ache. But the longer you stand there, the more his smile starts to wilt, until he finally says your name in such an uncertain tone that you snap out of it.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful,” you say, and take them to go get a tall cup or something to put them in.

He breathes a sigh of relief and starts pulling off his jacket and shoes. “Thank God; I wasn’t sure what kind of flowers you like, but I put those together and they just felt right, you know?”

You nod agreeably, even though you think if Bucky showed up with them half-rotted and smushed with most of their petals gone, you’d still have been equally choked up. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say gently and turn to face him, and oh, he is suddenly very, very close.

“I wanted to,” he says, and doesn’t back down. His eyes flick from place to place, though, and he swallows. “Just…because. That’s good enough, right?”

“It is,” you agree, because it is, and you stand by that. But the way Bucky is looking at you is searching, and you feel your chest clench. What is he looking for. Did Steve snitch. Natasha wouldn’t (she loves leverage a little too much for anyone’s full good) but if you have to kill Captain America for being a bitch you will–

“What if it wasn’t just because,” he blurts out. And there’s no other way to describe it; the words fall right out of his mouth like they didn’t even mean to. But you both freeze, and Bucky stands tall, and he doesn’t take them back. He looks right at you and says, “What if…what if they meant something?”

It’s so quiet. Rain pats against glass in waves, but even it is softer now, and you swallow. “What would…they mean?”

And, because there is no hiding the hope in your voice, Bucky relaxes, and once again becomes the kind of person who would look at an angry chihuahua of a man and think befriending him was a good idea. “Well,” he drawls, leaning into you more, but your lower back is against the counter and he rests his hands on it, on either side of you. “It’s not your birthday…it’s not a holiday…”

“And what kind of holiday would you get me flowers for?” you ask, deadpan, because he– he wouldn’t actually make fun of you for this. He’s not that cruel. So this has to be going one place, and you think you know what it is.

Right?

“Valentine’s Day?” he suggests. But his eyes are intense, and for a few moments neither of you say anything, but his mouth is right there, and yours opens just a bit in a Pavlovian response you absolutely should not have but that you desperately want a reason to develop.

“Seems like that might be kind of a statement,” you say softly. You swallow again. “If you. Did that.”

“Yeah?” he asks and leans in, somehow, impossibly closer.  “Maybe I just wanted you to have something nice. And soft.”

His lips are almost touching yours, so close, so close. “Maybe I’d like something else,” you say, more breath than words, and then there he is, there he is closing the distance at last and his lips are on yours and your lips are on his and his chest presses hard against yours and the counter is digging into your back. But his arms wrap around you, and no flower petal can hold a candle to his lips, you think deliriously, wrapping your arms so tight around him that if you had enhanced strength, you think you’d crush him. His lips are mostly soft, but you can feel the little ridges, a hint of a split that must have happened in training this morning, and his tongue and yours. When you finally separate, it’s slow, and while you both take a moment to breathe, you try to wrap your head around…all of this.

“Man,” you murmur. “If I knew all it would take is some flowers…”

Bucky lets out a hoarse laugh, and passes the tips of his fingers gently across your cheek. “What can I say?” He smiles, and it makes his eyes crinkle. “I’m a cheap date.”

You smile too, and say, “We’ll see about that.”

~

When you go to meet with Bucky for your first official date, you bring flowers– and so does he. He hands you your little bindle, but you go about sticking your selection right in his coat breast pocket– and find something familiar about the new broach he has. It’s a little pin containing three rolled dried rose petals in resin, it looks like.

“Is that…” you ask, and he nods.

“I wanted to keep it,” he says, and adjusts the fresh flowers in his pocket. You didn’t plan it like this, but they look so perfectly at home, and when he smiles at you it nearly makes your knees weak. “You look amazing,” he says, gently, and holds out his hand. “Shall we?”

In one hand you hold firm stems and soft petals. Your other hand, you slide into his– against skin calloused and creased and warm and, despite all of its supposed imperfections, better than any flower could ever hope to be. You grip tight, and say, “We shall.”

~

[strawwritesfic]

Male!Loki x Enhanced!Female!Reader: A Place Like Home [Ch. 3]

Summary: Be careful what you wish you for—the clichés might never stop coming.

Challenge: "160 Collective Drabbles" on Lunaescence Archives

Rating/Tags: T (Reader-Insert; Female Reader-Insert; POV Second Person; Not Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase Two Compliant; Canon Divergence - Post Movie: Avengers (2012); Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Alternate Universe; Enhanced!Reader; Redeemed!Loki; Not A Deconstruction; Established Relationship; Panic Attacks; Other Tags Not Added to Avoid Spoilers)

Pairings/Relationships: Loki/Reader; Avengers Team & Reader; Background Canon Relationships

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Master List

Ao3 Version

Chapter 3: Flawed Angles

You pulled your hat further down over the tips of your ears as you left the warmth of the library to throw yourself at the mercy of the unforgiving outdoor chill. Only 6:00, but already the typical blaze of lights momentarily overloaded your vision. A thick lavender ceiling overhead promised snow, and indeed a single flake landed (and melted) on the tip of your nose.

"It's Cinnabar!"

"You mean she's really here?"

"So the gossip blogs were right?"

Wrapping your scarf more securely around your neck unfortunately would not prevent people from spying on you. That old MCU adage about hats and upturned collars being the perfect disguise? Utter baloney—in this version of the universe, at any rate.

If you had any functioning brain cells left, you'd head back to Avengers Tower right then and there. All your recent pilgrimages to the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the team. You could be trusted now to venture out into the city alone and not completely lose your head, but that didn't stop them from being suspicious about what you were up to, especially Loki.

And Loki in particular was the one causing you to hesitate over going home. The two of you may have shared that tender moment and a kiss a few weeks prior, but you had had a lot of time to think since then, and to research. The more you read about the Many-World Interpretation and Brane Theory and all the rest of the ways the multiverse might function, the more you thought it better if you kept your distance from him and everyone else that resided at the tower.

Your stomach growled at your decision to avoid dinner with the group yet again. Heeding this warning, you stopped at the back of a line leading to a street-vendor food cart. A soft pretzel with mustard would tide you over until you felt it safe to risk a trip to the kitchen for leftovers.

They'd all appreciate it once you figured out how to get home. The real [Name] would come back, and then everyone would be so relieved they didn't get taken in by an imposter.

"I thought I spotted you in the crowd."

The male voice behind you made you jump. When you spun on the spot, you found Steve standing there with a twinkle in his eyes. He looked good out of uniform. Dressed appropriately for an evening in January and with a dark beard growing in, he bore a striking resemblance to that photograph of Chris Evans women kept taping to the front of Mountain Lodge-scented candles way back when.

And when you made it back to your own world, even if you dared to tell anyone about this, they'd never believe you. How unfair was that?

Steve's sparkle diminished while he watched you stare at him. You could have kicked yourself for getting so distracted by another handsome man.

"Hey, Captain Rogers," you said once you'd recovered a little.

He chuckled. "'Captain Rogers'? I don't think you called me that when we first met."

"I didn't?"

What kind of person were you in this place? No one had indicated that you were behaving all that differently thus far. But if you were so rude as to be instantly familiar with Captain America, you wondered how any of the Avengers had come to like either version of you.

"We've been good friends pretty much since day one," Steve explained.

You'd almost forgotten your hunger in the wake of Steve's sudden appearance. Your stomach kindly reminded you when Steve held out one of two soft pretzels he now held in his hands. Since when had you been at the front of the line? More importantly, since when did Steve Rogers purchase you snacks?

"God, I am such a Mary Sue," you muttered as you took the pretzel. Dating Loki; working as an Avenger; automatic BFFs with Captain America—who was now throwing you a very confused look.

"You're a what?"

"Never mind!"

A hasty bite of food stopped him from investigating your statement further. Though it was apparent he wanted to press, Steve instead just quietly led you up the street in the direction of what passed for home. You both stopped at the next bench to sit down and eat. A few blessedly peaceful moments passed—you were slowly but surely learning to tune out the near-constant whispers and squeals and giggles that followed you and every other Avenger around out in public—before you thought of something less about you to say:

"Are you headed home from game night with the Sousas?" Normally, Steve drove his motorcycle there, but you saw no sign of his vehicle that night.

Steve brightened considerably at the mention of his scheduled Thursday activity. "The grandkids came this week. I think I'm well on my way to being on the list of top five favorite grandparents."

He looked so happy that you couldn't help grinning back. Not all the changes between this world and the MCU you knew were good ones. Clint remained awfully sour about his divorce from Bobbi, for instance. Steve, Peggy, and her husband all getting to know each other again was one of the best differences.

Unfortunately, this ember of happiness did not get to grow into a blaze. Steve swallowed a bite of his food and expertly swapped the subject matter back to you:

"Running into you like this on my way back wasn't an accident, though."

You stiffened. "Huh?"

"Loki asked me to check on you. He's been worried about you. We all have, actually."

"How did you know I'd be at this specific library?"

"The Internet." He laughed at your surprised expression before nudging your shoulder with his massive one. "Yes, I can use the Internet without help or supervision."

Well, that explained the mini-fan club that kept ambushing you at the doors upon closing each night. You couldn't exactly brush the whole thing off by saying you were fine either. By no stretch of the imagination—anyone's imagination—were you "fine."

Steve polished off the rest of his pretzel while waiting for you to answer. Suddenly nauseous, you nibbled at yours more out of a need for something physical to focus on. Then you sighed, watched your breath float up into the waiting flurry above, and said:

"He shouldn't worry about me so much."

"He loves you, [Name]." Steve said this as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "He's going to worry."

"Does he love me? How does he know?"

"Everyone can see it. Ever since you met him, he's changed. None of us were really pleased when his dad just sent him back to earth after what Loki did. Things at the tower were tense. Maybe he didn't have his powers anymore, but we still didn't trust him. His own brother expected him to go back to causing trouble the minute we took our eyes off him."

Just like every other Loki-becomes-an-Avenger original-character fanfic before the start of Phase 2. It took some effort on your part not to roll your eyes at the cliche your life had become. Steve must have sensed at least some of your irritation, because he went on:

"He wants to be better in part because you showed him something the rest of us couldn't: the value of human life."

"Cap—Steve, that's great and all." Hard to swallow with a straight face, but great nonetheless." I didn't ask you how you know he loves me, though. I want to know how he knows he loves me."

"Is this about your amnesia?"

He'd given you the perfect out. Agree, and you could both move on without what would surely be a difficult conversation, and another risk on your part of being sent for counseling. If Steve gave you the benefit of the doubt—a big if—then he'd probably just give you a (truly stellar) pep talk about how everyone on the team was there for you, no matter how long it took you to recover. The yes was on the tip of your tongue...

...but you couldn't. Real or not, this was Captain America talking to you. It felt wrong to willfully lie to him.

"I don't think I have amnesia, Steve."

"Is that why you've been going to the library almost every day?"

“Yeah.”

"So what do you think is the problem?"

Poor pretzel. Purchased to be eaten; sentenced to death via being picked apart by your nervous fingers. "I don't think I'm the [Name] you all know. I think she and I are different people. I'm from a different universe."

You said this all this in a rush, eager to get the worst over with. Maybe Tony could use his funds and pull to get you imprisoned in a nice mental institution. All you knew was that if you hesitated a moment longer, you were likely to change your mind about telling the truth, and that wouldn't help anyone.

What you expected following the aftermath of dropping such a bombshell—astonished laughter, forced calm, a logical reminder that Dr. Cho had given you a checkup last week and confirmed the poisoned-into-amnesia theory—did not happen. Steve's eyebrows lifted, sure. He looked startled. But before he said anything, he paused to process your reveal.

"So what happened to our [Name], then?" he asked, and you could tell by his tone that he wasn't humoring you.

"I don't know. I just don't think I'm her. Maybe we got swapped somehow? But this isn't where I belong. Everything's so different. In the world I'm from—"

You cut yourself off with a splutter that you tried your best to cover with a cough.

Steve frowned. "In your world, what?"

"I'm not an Avenger." Telling Steve he wasn't real where you came from didn't feel like the best idea just then. All you had to go on was your gut instinct, too. Steve believed you now; that didn't mean you had unlimited permission to whittle down his willing suspension of disbelief. "Does this mean...you believe me...maybe?"

The hopeful bubble in your chest didn't last long. Steve took a long time to reply. He filled the anticipation by observing all your surroundings. Every second that you didn't get a response, the air in your lungs burned hotter and hotter. At last, he said:

"Let's just say that I'm not prepared to dismiss your theory out of hand."

All the tension vanished in one enormous exhale. "Really?"

"The world got pretty strange while I was frozen. And it isn't like I haven't seen an artifact capable of transporting people in the blink of eye firsthand."

"That's right!" So great was your shock that it propelled you to your feet. The remains of your pretzel fell to the sidewalk to be set upon by pigeons. "The Space Stone!"

"The what? Is that something from your universe?"

You hoped not. God, you hoped not. Forgetting yourself in the moment, you grabbed both Steve's shoulders in your hands. They were so wide that you had to painfully stretch your arms to manage it. Forget Doritos; this man’s figure was an entire slice of pizza.

"Steve, where's the Tesseract?"

This did not clear up his confusion. "Asgard, last time I checked. Why?"

You could have put both your hands on his face and kissed him right then and there. Only knowing that doing so would surely end up on the front page of some supermarket tabloid and ruin your alternate's relationship with Loki prevented you from doing so. Well, not only knowing that. Sure, Steve was handsome and all, but you'd always had more of a thing for antiheroes than dyed-in-the-wool Boy Scouts. So you settled instead for letting out a triumphant cry as you tried (and failed) to yank him up off the bench.

"Okay. You are definitely too heavy to manhandle. Get off your ass, would you? Let's go!"

He was kind enough to get onto his own two feet without making you prance on the spot for too long. But that kindness dissipated when he made a show of stooping over to pick your litter off the ground to deposit it and his own trash in the closest bin.

"Steve!" you groaned.

The corners of his mouth twitched. So he was teasing you! You opened your mouth to hotly berate him for delaying the return of his supposed friend, but he cut you off with an inquiry:

"Where are we off to in such a hurry?"

"Home!" Now that you had his attention, you eagerly raced toward the next street corner. Then you spun on your heel to add, "And to talk to Loki. I think I know how to get [Name] back, but I'm going to need his help."

"A pity, then, that that Asgardian has never aided anyone during his miserable life."

Why would someone say such a thing? Before you could ask as much, the words died in your throat. You heard the voice—deep and feminine—and immediately felt something long, cold, and sharp cut through your scarf to press against the soft skin of your neck. Your attacker remained behind you, so you could not see them. Steve, however, you had a perfect view from which to see his eyes go wide.

"[Name]!"

"Is that who this is? I thought she looked similar to the images provided to me."

The speaker forcefully wrenched you around to face them. Your fears were confirmed when you saw Gamora standing there. Talk about someone being taller in person—and much more intimidating. With her free hand, she grabbed the back of your head to move it this way and that.

"She is not identical. Some of her angles have more flaws than others."

You gulped, too frightened to be offended by such an observation.

"You!" she barked at Steve. "Is this truly [F Name] [L Name]?"

"Who wants to know?" you heard him ask.

"My father."

Oh, no. Ice rushed through your veins, leaving you effectively stunned. You couldn't have escaped Gamora's grip even if it hadn't been like iron in both hands.

"Well," Clang! Where the hell had Steve been hiding his shield all this time? "I have some bad news for you. I don't know who your father is, and I don't give a damn what he wants [Name] for."

Gamora's dark green lips pulled up into a smirk. "You will soon. Sooner than planned, perhaps. From what I overheard, my hostage has yielded me a second boon. The Asgardian's beloved here knows all about the Infinity Stones."

A deep chill sank into your bones at the realization that Gamora had heard your conversation with Steve. How much more did she suspect of you? You licked your lips and risked speaking despite the switchblade at your throat. "The what? I don't know anything about—"

The blade pressed in just enough to draw out a trickle of blood. You could feel the thin stream of warmth coursing toward your chest. "You may attempt to peddle your deceptions when in the presence of my father. We'll see just how well that so-called 'god' has taught you the art of treachery."

Steve predictably took this opportunity to heave his shield at the two of you. Equally predictably, Gamora saw this coming from a mile away. The vibranium at your neck withdrew only for her to wrap one muscular arm around you there to drag you out of the way alongside her. A few civilians heard the resulting noise of metal-on-concrete and foolishly drew closer to spot the source of the commotion.

"Let her go, and no one needs to get hurt," Steve called as his shield returned to him.

Though you couldn't see her face from this uncomfortable angle, you could hear the smile in Gamora's voice when she responded: "That's too bad. I do love it when others get hurt."

The handful of watchers you'd seen crowding around cried out in surprise and pain. You remained blind to just about everything but the grimy sidewalk beneath your feet. From the sound of things, you guessed that Gamora had done something to attack them—a smart tactic against someone like Steve. She must have really done her homework; the Gamora you knew hadn't even met Captain America.

What were you thinking? You didn't know Gamora. All you had seen was someone play Gamora on the big screen. Although you weren't entirely sure that that distinction mattered at all. Whatever was going on—alternate dimension, coma dream, some bizarre afterlife—you had to operate under the assumption that you were in a very Stay Alive sort of situation. Dying could not be on the agenda.

You tried to wrench free of her grip, if for no other reason than that your back didn't appreciate being twisted into such a position. Gamora didn't bother with a weapon this time. She simply smashed your face directly into the cement. Dazed, tasting blood, you rolled limply to one side—but your lack of momentum resulted in nothing more than you staggering right back into your assailant.

She gripped your neck in one hand, lifting you into the air as she looked you up and down. The faint tattoos serving as her eyebrows furrowed with disbelief. "You give yourself up so easily? I confess myself disappointed. Your dossier implied the one called 'Cinnabar' would put up more of a fight."

Dark spots crept in at the sides of your vision. Much more of this, and you'd black out. You used your hips to swing your dangling legs backward, then straight into Gamora's torso. She dropped you with a faint noise of what you supposed was surprise; you doubted such a blow had truly fazed her.

Now was the time to put every second spent having your ass handed to you by Clint and Natasha to good use. With a speed you wouldn't have believed you had in you during your training session only a few hours ago, you ducked her ensuing jab and tumbled almost gracefully over her leg sweep. Just two simple moves were enough to leave you out of breath. But you knew you couldn't stop then. Natasha had been kind enough to not allow real weapons in your fights (so far); Gamora would not offer you the same amount of latitude.

And just where had Steve gone off to?

Something far to your right, so far as to be out of your line of vision, exploded. You heard more screams. Distant sirens filled the air.

Well, that answered that question.

"Oof!"

And served as a distraction in Gamora's favor. She bowled you over. Perhaps you should have taken not being gutted as a sign she intended to take you alive. You weren't entirely sure you found that suggestion encouraging, especially when the back of your head smashed against the bricks of the buildings lining the dirty, empty street she'd lugged you into. Gamora flashed you a triumphant grin from where she had you pinned by her knees just before she swung one fist right at your face.

You had barely enough wits about you to block the blow with the back of your hand. In response, she wrapped her fingers once more around your neck.

Perfect. This was something you remembered.

Your knees went up. Your hands curled around her wrists. Your leg pressed against one of her feet. Up you arched your back, then flipped over with all the strength you could muster.

Here was where you ought to take the opportunity to fight back—punch her in return or stomp on her stomach. But you didn't like your odds of getting much more than that done before Gamora got back on her feet. You instead got up and backed away with your palms facing her.

"Please," you said into her confused silence. "We both know you don't really want Thanos to get his hands on the stones."

Gamora's eyes widened at your pleading, albeit not by much. Slowly, she stood. You let out a short breath of relief at having reached her. No one had to know that you knew anything about the true nature of the Tesseract. No one had to know you had a good idea where every Infinity Stone had been hidden. She could leave and get back to her life in time to join up with the Guardians of the Galaxy, and you would be in an entirely different reality before any of Thanos' other children returned to Earth.

Then, in one lightning-quick movement of her legs, she had you flat on your back again. You found her sword brandished directly at your face while you painfully tried to catch your breath.

"You must be confusing me with my bleeding-heart sister. I assure you that I am quite content to aid my father in his quest, and much more capable of managing it than Nebula could ever be. At any rate," Gamora stooped to grab your hair and roughly pulled at it until your shoulders left the concrete, "the Asgardian stole from us, and now I will steal something of equal importance to him. Your knowing about the Infinity Stones is merely a small incentive to keep you alive. You ought to rejoice. I don't believe a jellyfish like you could manage to live that long otherwise."

Oh, God. Was this it? Was this the end of one long, weird dying dream? What lay on the other side? Your world, hell, something stranger still? And would getting stabbed still hurt?

Gamora lowered her blade to make a final query: "Why would the Earth's mightiest heroes ever include someone like you in their ranks?"

"Because I can do this."

"What—"

You lunged upward awkwardly—but awkwardly did the trick when all you needed to do was clamp your palms onto Gamora's cheeks. She shrieked upon contact. Steam spewed from the places your skins touched. All you felt was a strong buzzing in your hands. She, on the other hand, lurched out of your grip in apparent pain.

Well, now what? You made no move to pursue her. She gasped for breath as she gaped at you. Angry, dark green patches bloomed across Gamora's face. If she had looked hostile before, now she looked downright malicious, and you had just used up your one and only parlor trick. The continued commotion a block or two away made it clear Steve wouldn't be available to bail you out anytime soon either.

Gamora took a deliberate step in your direction and growled, "You will pay for that."

Of course you would; you had no doubt about that. Your first instinct was to screw your eyes shut to avoid seeing the moment of your death. But no. Did you really want to go out in as undignified a manner as you'd arrived in this world? So you forced yourself to keep your eyes open as she drew nearer and nearer.

Then she froze. Her eyes rolled back inside her head. And she collapsed like a sack of potatoes.

Behind her stood Loki done up in full costumed regalia, gleaming horned helmet and all. He gripped his scepter in two white hands. "Well, it seems as though I arrived just in time." His eyes met yours. "No more solo trips to the library for a little while, hm?"

All you could manage in reply was a shaky nod. At least that was a step or two above bursting into tears.

[ynscrazylife]

could you write any fanfics or headcannons about the avengers doing family stuff? like going shopping altogether? with a the reader being the daughter of tony stark and something like y/n!stark x peter parker? just fluff

Domestic Avengers Would Include . . .

It would be difficult to get all the Avengers to go shopping at once but where there’s a will, there’s a way

The hardest to convince would probably be Natasha and Bucky but they love you, so they’d join you anyway

You and Wanda would take forever in the changing rooms (forcing Peter and Vision to hold all your stuff)

Thor would go straight for the food court, marveling at all the Midgardian food

Tony would probably go to any of the tech or expensive stores

Nat would browse and window shop with Steve and Bruce

Sam and Bucky would get into some fight and would nearly be kicked out

By the time you get to the court room, Thor would have all different kinds of food and candies

(Peter has to literally drag you away from the candy at a certain point)

I think this just goes to show that if you give them the chance, the Avengers are really a family and can be domestic

They all look after each other, but especially of you and Peter

Natasha, Wanda, and Carol are like older sisters/aunts, Steve, Bruce, Thor, Vision, and Clint are like uncles, and Sam and Bucky are like older brothers

Wanda always cooks. She and Pepper would teach you how to cook

The team all fight over Wanda’s cooking

At first, Steve tried to teach you how to drive

It did not work out

Next, Nat tried to teach you

(You nearly crashed into someone that day)

Finally, Bruce taught. He’s pretty chill so it worked out

The Avengers would also help you with homework. Nat has experience with helping Clint’s kids after-all

You go down to the lab to get Tony, Bruce, and Peter’s help for math

Steve and Bucky for history

Steve would def help with art (hc he’s an artist)

Carol would help with any space related classes like Astronomy

Vision would check your grammar and punctuation and spelling (he’d edit your essays)

GOING PROM SHOPPING WITH THE AVENGERS IS CHAOTIC

they all insist on seeing yours and Peter’s outfits and everyone has an opinion

(Your wedding day will be so much worse)

Wanda almost buries you with the amount of outfits she picks out

And they get so many freaking pictures

It’s a little insane how many pictures they insist on taking

“We need one of Peter opening the door.” “We need one of Y/N coming down the stairs.” “Clint, you’re in the background, move!”

They send you off in a limo paid by Tony

You and Peter have such a sweet and fun night

They’d also definitely go to your graduation

Tony pulled some strings to get all the Avengers tickets but finding seats next to each other was a challenge

They clap and cheer the loudest

And take you out for the best ice cream

Okay okay but . . . Movie nights

Sam insists on popcorn from the movies, forcing Steve to go out and get a million bags of popcorn

Everyone takes turns choosing movies

(That backfires when Bruce chooses a nature documentary and everyone revolts)

BLANKET FORTS

SLEEPOVERS IN THE LIVING ROOM

(Which you have to force everyone to do)

Going out on the roof and Star gazing

Which means you had to force Tony and Bruce to build you a telescope

It’s worth it though

The Avengers just being the best, most supportive family you could ask for

THERES SO MUCH LOVE THERE

❤️❤️❤️