Jane is so close she has to look up, jutting her chin with the confidence of someone who knows when she’s right--which is, for her, often. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” she says.
Sif stands her ground. “And how is that?” she asks, smile teasing at her lips.
Jane is preparing herself, knows that this will not work unless Sif helps her out. Jane slides her hand up Sif’s neck, cradling the back of the Asgardian’s skull. She hoists herself up onto her tip-toes and whispers, “Like you want to do this.”
Sif leans down to meet her, holds Jane up against her so the kiss is not broken when Jane stumbles ever-so-slightly. “You’re right,” Sif murmurs against her lips, smiles at her. “And yet there are a great many things I want to do yet.”
Jane flushes, pulls away just enough to give Sif the look. “Maybe we should do those things,” she says, a bit out of breath. She feels the press of Sif’s body against hers. “Don’t you think?”
With a hum of agreement, Sif proceeds to carry Jane somewhere more private.
Natasha isn’t looking at him, isn’t even facing him, but he knows she heard. With nothing on, her defenses down, it’s easy to see the way her back tenses.
“Tasha?”
She still hasn’t moved.
Clint scratches his head. “Well, I just thought you should know.” He stares at the sheets in the hopes of saving himself from his embarrassment. It isn’t working.
“I knew,” she says. “Before.”
Clint nods to himself. “Yeah. ’Course you did. Must’ve been obvious for someone like you.”
Natasha turns her head, but not quite enough to look at him. “People fall in love with me all the time. It’s part of my job.”
Clint exhales sharply through his nose. “Yeah,” he mumbles again, deflated and defeated.
She picks up her shirt, her jeans, and she dresses quickly, effortlessly, but she hesitates. Natasha finally faces Clint, allowing him to see her, even if she does not return the favor. “You’re not a mark, Barton. When you say that, I-- I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve never been in love before.” She shrugs. “Or maybe I have. I can’t remember now, I’ve faked it so many times.”
Clint tries to wave her off. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Don’t worry about it.”
“I do.” Natasha tries to be nonchalant as she takes Clint’s hand in hers. “You just told me you’re terrified.” Clint opens his mouth, but she goes on. “I don’t want to scare you, Clint. I really--” Natasha’s throat works and her grip goes too tight. She drops Clint’s hand when he winces. “I care about you, Barton,” she settles on finally.
Clint is watching her now, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“It’s not enough, is it?”
Clint scrambles up onto his knees and dares to wrap his arms around her. “Hey,” he murmurs. “’Course it is.”
Natasha laughs, bittersweet with the happiness and guilt swirling around in her gut like a growing storm.
looks: somewhat attractive | eh | not really my type | pretty | handsome | beautiful | stud | gorgeous | SWEET LORD MERCY
can you relate to this character on a personal level?: no | not really | somewhat | yes | they are me
would you date/be friends with this character in real life if they were real?: total bros | friends | best friends | date | become their steady boyfriend/ girlfriend | neither | i don’t know
Bucky is super tactile and constantly touching things unconsciously. He holds Sam’s hand under the table, tracing the lines of his palm, or over the skin under Sam’s jaw when their in bed. As far as hobbies go, Bucky really likes photography and reading, because are easily accommodated with the superheroing. Sam is a reader too, though he’s a big movie guy too. Plus, he’s totally an amatuer ornithologist and he thinks raptors are the fucking COOLEST. He’s got a thing about teeshirts, if the fabric is too stiff, he doesn’t have time for that kind of nonsense. Sam can hop out of buildings and fly but if there is a spider in the room he will fuck right out of there because fuck spiders man.
I wanted to do something else but this has been sitting in my ask way too long.
"Anything," she tells him, her fingers tangled in his.
"This is a dream," he says.
Erica frowns--it's more of a pout than anything else--and she clutches his hand a little tighter, and he knows it's just his subconscious but it hurts all the more. "That's stupid," she finally manages.
Boyd smiles at her. "Yeah, guess it is. How 'bout another one?"
Her smile is just as beautiful as he remembers. "Yes," she says. "Please." She's jiggling her foot and it makes her whole body shake.
"I always wanted to kiss you," he murmurs. Her expression softens, her eyes widen, and he leans in. Erica moves in at the same time and he hears her heartbeat quickening--
The mission is a total success—with minimum injury, even.
Sam had shown up and flown straight into a HYDRA agent as they aimed a gun at him. It might’ve been risky, but it had paid off. He didn’t get shot and killed, after all, and neither did Steve and Bucky.
Bucky hadn’t expected help, although Steve had seemed unsurprised at the Falcon’s appearance.
"You got moxie, kid," Bucky says to Sam, his mouth making his rather innocent words twist shape.
Sam smiles, but it’s more than a little awkward. He ends up staring down at the goggles in his hands instead of at Bucky. For some reason he can’t even fathom, he’s blushing. ”…Right.”
Bumping his metal shoulder into Sam’s flesh and bone counterpart, he adds, “Ever need back up or…anything else, you just let me know. I’m here.”
Sam lets out a sigh and a jerky nod and it’s weird how tense he feels. It shows, and Steve starts laughing then, doubling over and putting a hand on his thigh. Sam is more confused than ever. What could possibly be so funny?
"Yeah, yeah, laugh at the guy who saved your dumb asses," Sam tells them, and it’s good-natured—not particularly defensive or anything—but it just makes Steve smile at him.
Bucky’s mouth is hanging open and he’s squinting at Sam as if Sam might be just a little bit slow. He glances at Steve, who sobers only slightly.
"It was pretty subtle, Buck.” The side of his mouth is still quirked up. “For you, I mean.”
Sam looks between them, brows furrowing. “What? What’d I miss?”
Bucky sighs, runs his human hand through his hair, and his smile at Sam is soft, if almost patronizing. “I’m flirting with you.”
Sam blinks at him, expression blank. “Oh.” Slowly, his face breaks into a wide grin.
~400 words. I don’t think this is at all what you intended. Oops.
~~~
"It’s…therapeutic," Bucky says, and Sam just shakes his head.
Sam’s eyes search out Bucky’s. “Uh-huh,” he agrees. “It’s got nothin’ to do with you thinkin’ you deserve that pain, right?”
Bucky’s eyes flicker away from Sam’s, but then he smirks, licks his lips. “So what?”
"What if I don’t want to hurt you?" Sam asks, cupping Bucky’s cheek in his hand. The touch is soft and Bucky can’t bear it right now, going stiff and tense before he flinches away.
"Then I’ll make you," Bucky says, swallowing.
"You can’t make me hurt you, Buck…" Sam starts. He doesn’t try to touch him again, but he looks pained and like he wants to.
"Shut up," Sam manages, hands curling into fists. "Don’t lie to me."
"I felt useful." Bucky grins and it’s just this side of dangerous. "It’s nice to feel useful."
"Shut up," Sam says again. "I know you.”
Bucky steps forward until Sam has to back himself against the wall. “I would’ve killed you. You and Steve and Natasha. Anyone.”
"Anyone you were ordered to,” Sam corrects, carefully avoiding eye contact, and the metal of Bucky’s arm whirs as it shifts. Sam tries to sidestep around him and Bucky trips him, follows him to the floor.
Bucky straddles Sam. “I felt powerful,” he says. “I didn’t give a second thought to those people. To you. To Steve.”
Sam doesn’t fight him, doesn’t move even as Bucky puts his metal hand down an inch from Sam’s head. “Yeah,” Sam murmurs, then swallows and speaks more clearly. “Yeah, you did. You cared, under all that brainwashing. You cared a lot.”
Bucky is furious, body quaking. “I killed all those people.”
"The Winter Soldier killed all those people," Sam says. "You’re Bucky."
"It was still me," Bucky argues. "Damn it, Sam. Hurt me."
"No," Sam tells him.
"Please, hurt me. Hurt me." Bucky’s spine arches, his body caving in on itself as his eyes close, tears falling. "Hurt me."
Tentatively, Sam reaches up, smoothing his hands down Bucky’s back. “It wasn’t you.”
"Fucking hurt me,” Bucky sobs. “I need you to.” He curls into Sam’s chest in defeat, tremors wracking through his body as Sam continues to rub his back, to hold him without trapping him.
