“i know we almost died just now, but… am i the only one who’s hungry?” is so harmless reader core… but what if it was Bucky saying this?
Also hi i love u
hi <3 hey <3 i love u too <3 harmless turns 4 years old next year she's like in school now
Catch up with the rest of the series here!
"Great job, team," you pant, raising your hand for a high five. "I think that was very well handled."
Bucky, still trying to process what exactly the fuck just went down, does not even respond when you match his indifference, dropping your hand to slap it against his.
"Is that how it always goes?" you ask him, looking around the empty lot. "I figured there'd be a lot more zing, y'know? Some oomph. That was like, fine."
The mission was going fine, calm even, until you managed to piss them off, leading to them calling in backup, leading to you both being severely outnumbered, leading to you deciding you'd gotten bored which finally lead to you ending it with a timeout-inator.
Things had exploded, Bucky had to pull down a door to shield you both-- it was a whole thing that he definitely did not mentally prepare for. This was just supposed to be a simple data extraction. He doesn't know at which point nuclear guns got involved.
"How--" Bucky stops mid-sentence, brain scrambling to put together things, "--how did you get assigned on this mission again?"
It wasn't like he claimed to be the expert on all things SHIELD, but he figured that a non-Avenger, non-agent needed a lot of clearance to be allowed on a mission, no matter how mundane the initial objective was. The fact that it devolved into madness was more on you than SHIELD.
"I wrote my name on the sign-up sheet," you explain, smoothing out your singed clothes.
"The what?"
"Fine, you caught me," you give in without even trying, dusting some ash off his shoulder. "I forged my name on some documents, used some white paint. Did an ol' switcharoo. You know how it goes."
"You faked your way here?" he shouts, dropping the damn door he was still holding. "What the hell was your plan?"
"Why does everything need a plan? Why can't I just tag along to see what you do for a living?"
"We nearly got killed. You--"
"But we didn't."
"That is not the point. You said it was a special mission, you said you had clearance from Nick to--"
"I said Nick would give me clearance for anything. And it is a special mission. I'm here, isn't that the specialest gift of all?"
"You didn't ask?" he screeches instead. "How did you get here? Who the fuck was supposed to be here in your place?"
"Clint," you say with a sheepish smile. "He told me he'd wash my garage so we swapped."
That fucking moron. "He'd wash your garage in exchange for you risking your life--"
"I didn't risk anything." You scoff. "I knew we would handle that like champs."
"We nearly got annihilated by a nuclear gun." He drags a hand down his face. "If he didn't trip over your stupid jacket in the last second, we would be dust."
"Well yeah, only if you put it like that," you relent. Bucky glares at you.
You look out at the empty room, one hand on your hip. Lot of rubble and shrapnel in places they had no reason being.
"Huh," you say after a while. "Guess we did just almost die."
"That's it?" he raves, still incredulous. "That's all you have to say?"
"That's crazy-sauce, man," you add, throwing your hands up when he glares at you. "What? What else should I be saying?"
"Where the fuck did you send them?" Bucky finally makes a move, wiping the dirt off his metal fingers onto his cargo pants.
"I put them in timeout," you reply, tapping the gun you'd put back into he pocket of your pants.
"Where is timeout?"
"Like, somewhere outside of time," you dismiss. "Time-out. You get it."
His eyes clench shut, taking a deep inhale in before exhaling, lest he pop a blood vessel.
Idk if you're taking requests or anything for the prompts, but "just sit there and look pretty and let me handle this" is so harmless coded. Like i can just see reader saying this to Bucky and immediately getting decked by whatever they're fighting.
i think it's so funny how i said 'my requests are open i want to try something new' and everyone said 'hey remember that thing you wrote 4 years ago with over 20 parts and like 20 drabbles. we want that'. and honestly? fair. i missed my children. miss v and bucky you will always be famous. to me.
Catch up with the rest of the series here!
All Bucky had asked for when he told you he needed some help with the vegetable garden was some light digging. Some good old-fashioned seed dispersing. Watering, even, if you really wanted to get freaky.
But nowhere in his plan does he consider live garden gnomes running buck-fucking-wild, gardening tools raised as weapons, wreaking chaos and destruction on whatever their grubby little porcelain hands could gain access to.
"Why does this always happen to you?" Bucky sighs from the deck.
"Well, I'm sorry I thought the little creatures that live in the garden all day would be good at gardening. How was I supposed to know their first instinct is to commit manslaughter?" you shout, bent over as you rush behind one of them, cackling as it snipped the air with the hedge cutters. "Fuck, they're fast."
"Keep them away from the cherry tomatoes," Bucky calls, entirely unhelpfully. "I was gonna make a tart tonight."
"Ooh, yum," you say, sticking your leg out to trip one of the beasts. "Where are your beautiful tomatoes again?"
"Corner," he reminds, hands crossed over his knees. "You know, you can just say you need help."
"Nope," you exclaim, driving one headfirst into the ground. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'm gonna handle this and your cherry tomatoe-- motherfuck--"
You wheeze full body, doubling over as one of them launches off the porch and straight into you, missing your head and instead landing straight into your stomach.
"I can't breathe," you rasp out, hunching over. "Holy fucking-- porcelain shitheads--"
"For fucks' sake," Bucky mumbles, rolling up his sleeves and tugging off his apron, tossing it behind him.
Another jumps straight onto your back, only for Bucky to pluck it right off and kick it directly into the sun.
All of them stop their madness for a second to watch it fly away, scream getting quieter and quieter as it fades.
And then they start cackling again, screeching as they crawl up your back.
"I'm fine," you wave him away, voice still high. "I'm totally good. No, seriously, sit down. And put that apron back on, you look really hot--"
"I'm not letting you get killed by garden gnomes," Bucky interrupts, shaking one off furiously as it climbs up his hand.
"I'll have you know, dying by one of my inventions is a very honourable way to go."
"It's embarrassing. And get off the ground, they're digging a hole in the garden to bury you."
hi!! i hope you’re doing well. i just wanted to say that i’m very happy i found you here. i read “harmless” two years ago on ao3 and reread it a few times. it helped me get through a rough patch and brought me a lot of joy. when i remember a random line from it a laugh to this day. it’s one of my favourite fic of all time.
so thank you a lot!!
i didn’t expect to find you on tumblr, but bucky barnes fluff tag had other ideas. just started “unsolved”. it’s great so far, i’m eaiting patiently for the next chapter.
thanks again.
love <3
it makes me so happy to know that harmless was able to provide some kind of comfort to you. i hope things are better now and you are doing well ❤️
i would say it's fate that the tag did this 🫡
thank you so much for such a kind message. it really means the world to me. thank you for reading the stuff i write, i appreciate it so much ❤️
What do you think Bucky would do/think when miss villain gets hit on but doesn’t realize it.
Bucky's glaring before he even realises.
Though, to be fair, he's always glaring so it doesn't always register when he does. System default.
You're talking excitedly on a panel, mic threatening to fly away with the way you gesture around wildly.
It's the first you'd been invited to and Bucky didn't think twice before clearing out his schedule to come to watch. EvilCon was only one day a year but he'd put it on his digital calendar, a reminder on his phone, circled it on the common room calendar. And written it with Sharpie on his metal arm. Just in case.
And here he was, pride in his chest and an extremely large, cartoonish moustache on his face. That and the giant googly sunglasses he has on-- courtesy of your online purchases to his house, obviously-- leaves him out of harm's way for the time being. Or they all knew who he was but they were ignoring it completely.
They probably wouldn't by the way he was about to flip a chair, but that was a bridge he'd explode when he came to it.
He's so proud though. Records you the same way a dad would at a kid's talent show, camera shaky and his own commentary in the background.
"The guy was flirting with you," he states the second you're in the car, heading out for dinner he's insisted on because being on a super evil panel something to celebrate, damn it.
You're basically buzzing out of your seat in excitement even though it was nearly four hours later.
"What guy? The security guard?"
"The guard flirted with you?"
"Oh, sorry, were you talking about the guy from the food court?"
Bucky's eyebrows pull together. "There was a guy in the food court?"
Right. You clear your throat, decided the hole you dug yourself was big enough so you just ask him straight up.
"The moderator," he replies.
"The moderator?"
"Yeah, Bargain Basement Riddler." Bucky nearly rolls his eyes at the thought of the outlandish green garment he wore. "Whole time-- swear to Christ, he was trying so hard."
"I literally didn't even notice," you muse.
"I know."
"You're pissed at him for flirting." You grin, wide and smug.
"I'm not pissed at him for flirting with you. I wouldn't be able to help myself either," Bucky replies absentmindedly. "I'm pissed because he was doing it all wrong."
"Oh?" you ask, eyebrow quirking in amusement.
"Yeah, it was painful," he grumbles. "Like, he kept bringing up taking you in his stupid rocket to blow up a star when you literally said you like submarines better."
"I do think the lil' fucked up creatures down there are fascinating."
"I know," Bucky emphasizes, audibly annoyed. "And that whole thing with testing your inventions out with you. Like you didn't say five minutes ago it was something personal to you."
Your lips purse, impressed. "You were listening way more than I thought you would."
"Of course, I was," Bucky exclaims. "I wanted to throw something at him. You gave him so many ins and he just went with-- whatever."
"You're mad because you... could do it better?" You squint at him.
"Yeah." Which now that he's thinking about it, sounds completely ridiculous. It's not like that guy was the one driving you to get cake from the best diner in the district.
"Well." You blow out an exhale. "Maybe next time I'll invite you up there with me. You could give him a crash course."
"Absolutely not," he mumbles. "He's gonna have to put in the effort if he wants to try with you. If he's gonna steal you away, he can't half-ass this shit."
"He's not stealing me away."
"Not with those lines, he's not."
"Yeah, all he's gotta do is pretend like he hates me for a year and a half."
"I'm not gonna apologise for your standards being low."
You snort, reaching across the car to pick up a stray hair left over from his fake moustache. "With a trash stache like that? No one else stands a chance. Got my heart all fluttery, Barnes. A real catch."
Bucky drops it when you laugh at the sheer stupidity of this conversation, a smile growing on his face.
Dinner's nice. He tells you what he liked about the convention, even shows you the keychain he picked up for Steve and the stuffed raven on a branch for Alpine. You tell him you don't think they'll call you back after you left the stage in an explosion of smoke and lazers.
He says that was probably a fire hazard. You ask him what he thought the live flamethrower counter was then.
He narrows his eyes at you when you steal the larger slice of cake and it only deepens when you amend it by pressing a kiss to his cheek, leaving a bit of frosting there.
It's a good day.
But later at night, when you're in bed with him, half asleep and warm, it comes obnoxiously at the stroke of midnight.
"I mean, honestly, 'Let's get coffee and end the world together'? What is he, a fucking CW show?"
Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)
Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, obnoxious flirting, mention of tax fraud, money launderig, etc. you know. the usual
Word count: 5.8k
A/N: oh hi. no i didnt disappear for two months what? anyway. for a story to have a conclusion, there should be a plot. and since there is no plot, just have some good vibes and idiots <3
shoutout to my sparkle anon for the can opener slander <3
also to my love currently in another continent on video call with me as i post this. i love you. thank you for all the non-decisions decisions and sitting with me for 8 hours and hearing me complain. this is for you mwah. now send chips ahoy
if you want more of them, check out Harmless Mini Drabbles to catch up on what we’ve done so far!
okay now for the last time!!
Previous Part || Series Masterlist
It was a fine day.
A good day, even, to watch your lair descend into complete chaos after your plan to take over the tri-state area with an army of clones fails.
Not to mention the unperformed musical number.
It smacks Bucky in the face right as he enters-- an ocean of teal shades and a chorus of his name squawked at him like the seagulls from Finding Nemo. If he wasn’t so damn used to it, he would have maybe had a faint blush at the occasional “you’re pretty” thrown in there.
In greeting, he presses his lips into a thin line. A rather pathetic excuse for a smile, if you could even call it that.
“Well, hello. What an unexpected surprise.” One of the voices is agreeably louder than the others, and so he diverts his eyes to the circular platform raised from the floor. “And by unexpected I mean completely expected.”
“Y/N.” He ignores the multitude of ‘yeah?’s to zero in on you in the centre.
“Bucky.”
He can tell it’s the original-- not because of the ultramarine tuxedo you have on, accessorised with a sparkly dance cane and definitely more feathers than should ever be on something that’s not a bird-- but because of the additional top hat. No one else in the crowd had one.
“Clone army? You serious?”
“You can’t blame me, Bucky.” You throw him a wide-toothed grin, eyes still hidden behind the masquerade mask you’ve got covering half your face. “I gave you the chance to destroy the blueprint and you never took it, so now we have to deal with it.”
“Deal with what?”
“Us taking over the tri-state idea,” you say, bringing your foot down loudly on the metal platform.
Scarily in sync and in a manner that leaves him speculating how long you had to practise this, your doppelgangers do the same before falling into the first position of a dance number.
He winces. Hands in the air, no one else moves.
“Where’s Nico?”
“He said he was gonna get ribbons to tie around everyone’s wrist so we can differentiate between the orignal and the copies.”
Bucky stares at you.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just tie one around your wrist?” he asks slowly.
You blink at him, arms lowering. “He was excited so I gave him twenty dollars, leave me alone.”
“You’re the only one with a hat,” Bucky continues emphasizing.
“You’re the only one with a hat,” you mock, voice high pitched and muffled. “Stop focusing on the technicalities, you killjoy.”
“There is not a single person in this lair who thinks.”
“And that includes you.”
Rightfully, he walked straight into that one. If he tried hard enough, he could place the blame for the profound loss of his critical thinking ability on hanging out with you.
“You don’t deserve our performance.” You sigh dramatically.
“Thank God,” he deadpans.
All of a sudden it’s his one, lone metallic middle finger against an army of white-gloved middle fingers challenging him.
“Can you please finish with… whatever this is.” He checks his watch. “We got somewhere to be.”
“A hot date?” You lean forward on your palms, bodyweight precariously balanced on the cane.
“You wish.”
“I do, actually,” everyone echoes back at him. He wonders if they’re only programmed to hit him with insults and pick up lines.
A smile slips past his otherwise well-maintained, time tested facade of annoyance. “Get it over with.”
“Alright, everyone. Just as we practised.” You straighten out your spine, arm holding the cane high in the air with your head tilted to the sky. “One, two, three--”
“Attack,” your clones say in unison.
“What?” You look down quickly. “No, not that. The other one.”
They look up at you. “Unclear chain of commands.”
“Not Battle Plan #3, execute Dance Routine #2.”
They look at each other. Bucky, too, watches them look at each other.
“Unclear chain of commands.” They tilt their head up at you.
“What the hell is unclear about-”
“Executing Battle Plan #3.”
“For fuck’s sake,” you curse, crouching to leap down from the platform. “Not Battle Plan #3.”
“Confirmation received. Battle Plan #3 in motion.”
“I said not-” You land gracefully on the ground, already in a defensive stance.
Hot, he thinks. Not a good time to let you know, however.
“Abort Battle Plan #3.”
“Plan set in action.” They march eerily into straight lines, easily at least two hundred of them populating the lair. “Clownproof Protocol activated.”
“Oh, my God, you idiots-- deactivate Clownproof Protocol.”
But they’ve shifted positions already. Backs stiff as a cardboard and eyes a nice, bright red that doesn’t go well at all with the shade of blue they’re dressed in.
“No,” their voice, robotic and gravelly, is a sharp contrast from before.
Right.
“Hmm,” he notes, unsurprised and unimpressed. “Your clones are malfunctioning, sweetheart.”
“I can see that.” You grit your teeth, spinning around to watch them as they reach behind their backs.
“Should do something about it.”
“Ya think?” you shout when they swiftly brandish their weapons.
“I do, yeah.”
Long cylinders tubes of foam and small tubes of translucent material.
He doesn’t have to spend too long racking his brains on what they as they hold up the smaller sticks. A beat passes before a crack sound reverberates through the lair, neon colours of blue, green, pink, and yellow bright in your palms.
The lair goes dark.
There’s a long silence before--
“Are you kidding me?”
Bucky doesn’t wait for the collective, loud battle cry to finish before he calmly makes his way to the corner of the room to stand.
“Your plan was to take over the tri-state area using pool noodles and glow sticks?” he snorts, vaguely making out your silhouette through the flashes of pink and purple on your face.
“This was for the fucking dance number,” you seethe, top hat giving away your location like a lighthouse. “Everyone stop it. I swear to God if you even breathe at the espresso machine, I’ll--”
Bucky checks his phone. Two texts from Steve that he leaves on read and a video from Clint on the group chat that he doesn’t even open.
He can hear the chaos upholding in front of him. Pool noodles fly across the crowd, glowsticks thrown up in the air and down before getting kicked around the floor. More of a fucking rave than an actual plan gone wrong.
“We got an hour left.” He locks his phone and slips it back in his pockets. “D’you think you’ll be done by then?”
“You can help, y’know.” You duck under a pool noodle being flung at you.
"I'm not gonna fight you, Y/N.”
"Bucky, baby, these are my evil clones.”
"I'm not gonna hit your clone," he argues back from his place in front of the wall. “Make them not look like you or something. Maybe then I’ll help.”
“That’s very sweet, and you’re adorable.” You jump to land a dropkick against your carbon copy, whipping around to glare at him. “But I hate you.”
It’s almost on instinct that the exact opposite nearly slips out of him, but he bites it back. Considering that he hadn’t ever said it to you before, saying it in the middle of a clone battle with yourself didn’t seem like the most opportune moment. He’s been holding onto it for weeks, a little more time wouldn’t hurt, would it?
“I know,” he says instead, crossing his arms over his chest again. “Pay attention. You’re behind you.”
You swing around, kicking the feet out from under a clone. The sharp clang of metal on the tiles of your floor is reassuring.
The lair door swings open. All activity comes to a halt when the darkness temporarily lifts.
Someone stands at the doorway, light casting a halo around his broad figure.
“Hey boss,” your new assistant says cheerfully. “And boss, and boss, and boss, and boss--”
“Hey Nico,” you cut in from the middle. “Hit the reverse button on the clone machine, please.”
And the glowsticks resume flying through the air.
“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes, veering through the crowd with soft ‘excuse me’ and ‘coming through’s. The little cloth bag he carries when he goes shopping finds itself tied to his belt, for safekeeping in case things get too ugly.
Nico was ridiculously tall, easily towering over all the clones. His shirt is about two sizes too small and the seashell necklace he kept around his neck because it reminded him of his home and his mom looked like tiny beads in comparison.
Despite Bucky’s initial cynicism, the guy seemed to fit in rather well at the lair. He was clearly just as fascinated as you were with the wacky tech ideas, doing his part by taking on all the heavy lifting which previously was managed by you and your several levitation rays.
“I couldn’t find enough colours for two hundred people so I just picked up some coffee for us and Christmas lights,” he informs loudly, letting out a small ‘oof’ is courtesy when one of you thump his chest with a pool noodle.
Not to forget, Bucky also appreciated how Nico’s spring cleaning got rid of years’ worth of junk from the lair, the new windows he had you blow into the walls to allow in more sunlight because he believed it helped productivity and the fact that the furniture always smelled of lavender.
“That’s great, buddy.” You struggle against one of them in a swordfight and Bucky briefly considers stepping in until you deftly disarm them, flipping them over your shoulder before springing up. “Did you get the Tekton set?”
“No, they were all out.” He takes a large leap to the raised stage at the end of the hall, the floor vibrating where he lands momentarily. “But I got some new screwdrivers because I broke them last week.”
“Broke them? I thought you lost them.” You throw him a glance in the middle of shoving a clone aside.
“No, that was the previous previous set. I broke the ones we got after that.”
And the guy apparently had an aversion to screwdrivers, it looked like.
“How did you break vibranium sc-”
“Wrap it up, Y/N, we gotta go.” Bucky reminds over all the noise, back still very much pressed against the wall.
“Oh, hey Sergeant Barnes!” Nico calls out, ducking to avoid a glowstick thrown at him. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Afternoon, Nico.”
“Would you want some coffee?” he asks politely.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“I only brought two cups but you can have mine. Or maybe if we mix it together we can form one mega drink--”
“Nico, the switch,” you intervene.
“Sorry, boss.” He hurriedly turns back to the machine, gently picking one of your clones up and setting them aside like they were made of nothing. Maybe he could be an Avenger.
“It’s okay.” You let out a noise of irritation when someone thunks you on the head with a glowstick. “Any day now.”
“Um-” Nico’s eyes dart over the control panel. “Which one’s the button again?”
“The big red one that says ‘reverse switch’, probably.”
“That’s-” he pauses. “That’s not here.”
“What d’you mean that’s not there?” Your arms hold back the attack of a noodle. “Check the emergency panel.”
“Okay.” He momentarily disappears behind the gigantic box until his voice comes back muffled. “It says we need a password.”
“A password?”
Bucky sends a text to Steve that they might be late.
“What the fuck is th- okay, fuck that. Just hit any switch that’s not green.”
“Gotcha.” He waddles back to the front, shaking his fingers out. “Is yellow okay?”
“Any colour, Nico,” you whine.
“You got it, boss.” He slams his palm down on the button.
Bucky can feel the giant wave that runs through the lair, the hair on his arm standing straight.
Mechanical groans and the noises his laptop makes when it powers down soon follow as the red eyes return back to normal. Instead of just falling over, which he’s sure would haunt his nightmares for days, every clone just plops themselves down on the ground, crossing their legs and sitting as he remembers he did in middle school.
“Yay.” You lean against the railing for support, breathing heavily.
“You did it, boss.” Nico gives you a large thumbs up. “It all went according to plan.”
“Sure it did.” You nod. “Definitely. That was the plan.”
Bucky scoffs out a laugh, pushing himself off the wall and making his way to you. He makes sure to flip the switch on his way to you, bringing light back into the lair.
“Why-” you hold up a finger, still trying to catch your breath “-why did we put a password on the emergency panel?”
“Because, uh-” Nico gestures towards Bucky in what felt like an apology.
Bucky looks back at him strangely.
“It was to stop him,” he adds. “No offence, Sergeant B.”
“None taken,” Bucky reassures because it was literally his job.
“Fine, whatever.” You ignore the whole exchange, dragging yourself to behind the machine. “What’s the password?”
“I dunno.” Nico scratches the back of his head. “Did you try ‘password’?”
Your head pops around to stare at him unblinkingly. “Our password is ‘password’?”
“No, wait.” He snaps his fingers in a moment of realisation. “I think maybe it’s one two three.”
Bucky nods along, mouth pursed inward. It seemed pretty on-brand.
“It’s not working.” You glance up at Nico.
“One two three four.”
He can hear the chime of the keypad as you punch in the numbers, mumbling to yourself.
“You’ve gotta be shi- why did that work?” You throw your hands up when there’s a woosh of air following a small click. “Who decided that?”
Nico shrugs. “We didn’t. It just came with the system.”
“The system?”
“You guys don’t change the default password?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. “Even I do that and I’m six hundred years o-”
“Okay,” you interrupt, pulling off the panel and letting it fall to the floor with a clang. “No more password-based stuff, Nico, make a note of that.”
“Noted.” He pulls out a tiny little book, scribbling in it with the pencil attached before flipping it closed.
A second later the machine whirs to life, blue light emanating from it. The sounds of a generator overpower what he’s sure is Bye Bye Bye by *NSync playing through the speakers.
Each of the clones gets up, dust their blue suits off before obediently lining up in a queue. He can hear them shoot compliments at each other, either for the wrinkled suit or the glowsticks in their pockets.
“See you later.” You give them a small wave. “Or not.”
“Bye,” Nico says to the first person who walks through the door and disappears. “See you. Nice meeting you. See you around. Bye--”
With the determination of a person too polite to be alive, he makes sure to bid farewell to every person who walks through the machine.
Your eyebrows upturn at him but you say nothing.
“Hey,” Bucky says, stealing your attention. “Did you have fun?”
“Loads.” You wipe the sweat off your brow, ditching your post to come stand in front of him. “You ever been in a battle against yourself? Should try it sometime.”
“No, only one of us can be the designated idiot at a time.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “You good?”
“It’s your turn next week.” You let out an exhale before giving him a bright smile. “All good.”
“Told Steve we’re gonna be late.”
“Oh, good. I need a shower.” You scrunch up your nose, picking at your suit. “Maybe a nap. How about we don’t go?”
“Sure, if you’re the one to break the news.”
“Coward.” You poke at his chest. “Fine, but we’re taking the bike.”
“Why would we need to take the bike if you’re gonna cancel?”
“Because-” you open your mouth to begin, only to be cut off by a sound of utter distress from across the platform.
From the side, you see Nico standing over his espresso machine that lay in pieces on the floor.
You look at Bucky. He already knows what you’re gonna say.
He shakes his head. “Just go.”
“It’ll only take twenty minutes.” You flash him a smile. “You’re my favourite person in this room. Maybe even this street.”
“Yeah, yeah.” It nearly escapes him again, the words hanging at the top of his tongue. Shouldn’t be this easy to say, should it? “Go on. He looks like he’s about to cry.”
You blow him a kiss before stalking towards Nico, placing a hand on his shoulder. The smile he gives you doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you gently dismiss his insistence that it’s okay before bending down to assess the damage.
Bucky lets out an exhale before pulling out his phone to hit play on the video Clint sent at least two days ago.
“You did what?”
Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. “Stop being dramatic.”
“I’m being dramatic?” you scoff. “You bought a house.”
“So?”
“I was gone for twenty fucking seconds and you bought a house without telling me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was necessary--”
“Not necessary? We’re together and you’re-”
“Guys,” T interrupts. “It’s just Monopoly.”
Steve nods from his place on the couch.
“T, he bought a house without telling me.” You turn to her immediately, voice shrill in complain.
“It’s a fucking board game.” Bucky leans back. “It’s your fault you left.”
“To get your thirsty ass some apple juice, you loser.”
“Did I a-”
“I don’t even buy apple juice. Where did you get that?” T points to the glass in front of you, half full.
“I have resources.” You cryptically count the fake currency in your hands, glancing at the board in front of you for your properties.
“Are they allowed to team up?” Steve’s voice is low when he asks his girlfriend.
“No.” T narrows her eyes at you slipping Bucky a wad of cash, an unnaturally high sum.
“She just gave him cash.”
Bucky silently takes it, looking his best friend right in the eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right.” You clear your throat, getting up from your place and pretend to dust yourself off. “I’m going to the kitchen for some orange juice--”
“I don’t have orange juice.”
“Does anyone want some?” You place your hands on your hips. When you get a round of declinations in return, you nod. “Alrighty. Be right back.”
“No more chips, we need to get dinner,” T calls out. “You won’t find any, but still.”
“Yes, ma’am.” You throw her a salute before marching on to your quest.
Bucky counts the money he has left. It’s a few seconds of silence as it dawns on him that he has more money than he realised initially. The obscene amount he had procured made no sense, even if he counted the amount you’ve been slipping him all evening.
“I’ll be back.” He pushes himself off the couch, shoving the bills into his pocket for security while he investigated.
In hushed tones from what he left behind, he hears, “They’re strategizing. It’s a team meeting.”
The reply, however, comes back at a normal volume. “It’s literally just a board game, what is wrong with you people?”
“You’re doing what she told you not to, aren’t you?” Bucky finds you amidst a kitchen full of half-open shelves.
“I’m definitely not looking for chips.” Your head was tilted up as you scoured T’s cabinets for her extra stash you know she kept hidden. “Would never do that.”
“Sure you’re not.” He leans his weight against the counter, watching you blindly reach about the space. “Check behind the cereal box.”
“Checked.”
“Check inside the cereal box.”
“Oooh,” you exclaim, pulling the box out and flipping open the cardboard lid. “Only an evil genius would know that. What are you not telling me, Barnes?”
“I live with like, thirty people. You learn to hide things.” He watches you pull out a brand new packet of nachos stealthily. “Are you actually mad at me?”
“Fuck no,” you respond immediately. “I’m just gonna use my public meltdown to our advantage. Throw ‘em off their rhythm, they’ll never see us coming.”
Which reminds him, “We’re not on the same team, I don’t know why you keep giving me money.”
“You’re my sugar ba-”
“Stop,” he interrupts.
You grin at him, tearing open the packet gently. “I’m embezzling funds and stashing them at your bank. Some of the notes are from my game back home.”
“You brought your own currency?”
“Sure did,” you sing. “You’re my fall-man. You’re going to take the blame-”
”No, get your illegal money out of my bank, what the fuck?”
“Go to jail-”
“I refuse.”
“And then I’m going to bust you out of there and then we’ll live on an island or something.” You shake the bag gently, well out of her earshot, shuffling the chips toward you.
“No.”
“Go team, I’m so proud of us.” You pop a nacho in your mouth and smile at him widely.
He shakes his head, reaching into the bag you hold out for him. “Not a team.”
“Hold on now, what happened to Team Dumbass? Bracelet Bitches my beloved?”
“It died when you tried to get me sent to jail for money laundering and tax fraud.”
“If that’s all it takes to break us apart then it wasn’t that strong in the first place.” You sigh, placing a hand on his chest before retracting it quickly to shove it into the bag again.
But it has been. Strong, he means, for months now. He would never be able to say it out loud but he’s pretty sure it’s the most content, happy even, he’s been in nearly a hundred years. Also, it’s the most absurd mix of distress and fun he’s ever chosen to be subjected to.
“Steve thinks we’re strategizing in here.” He hums.
“I already have a strategy.” You stand close enough beside him to have your elbows touching. You’ve found that likes some sort of physical contact, no matter how small it may be.
“S’ppose it involves me.”
“Obviously. Maybe if you didn’t betray me then I’d tell you what it was.”
He scoffs. “It was one house that I bought with my own non-illegal currency.”
“Without telling me,” you reiterate. “And all your currency is illegal, I’ve been swiping it out the whole evening.”
His eyebrows cinch together at this new piece of information but he doesn’t pursue it further.
Instead, he takes another chip. Counts the number of tiles between the countertops on both sides of the room. Revels in the feeling of your skin grazing against his metal arm.
He hears you reach into the bag, snapping his mind out of the little trip it was taking.
“Hypothetically, in real life,” Bucky begins, breaking the momentary silence, “if I ever did buy a house-”
The smile drops from your face instantly. “Did you actually-”
“No,” he adds quickly. “Hypothetically. In the future. Not now.”
You eye him skeptically, all other movements put on halt for that brief period.
“I didn’t buy a fucking house, I swear.”
You press back a smile at his degree of seriousness, feeling relief flood into your system. “Go on.”
“You’d be open to that?” Bucky looks at you out the corner of his eye.
“Sure.” You shrug casually and he lets out a short breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “But I got some hypothetical conditions.”
“Course you do,” he mumbles.
“Number one,” you announce, holding your hand up with a chip pinched together between your fingers, “No can openers.”
“Okay, hypothetical plan cancelled,” he says immediately.
“No can openers, I’m serious.” Your laugh is short, teasing.
“It’s the first thing we’d hypothetically get.” He rolls his eyes. "You call me over every time you need me to open one."
"Because those pieces of shit are hard. And I just call you over to see your face."
He knows.
“And your arms. They look great while you do it.”
Okay, moving on.
“Second--” You do it before he can “--Jake.”
“What about him?”
“Hypothetically, he’s gonna be happy that I moved out and I can’t have that.”
Bucky quirks an eyebrow.
“Let’s fake my death.”
A little too dramatic, he thinks.
“Give him something to be sad about.” You grin. If he knows you, then he knows there are at least three plans already formulating in your head.
“He won’t be,” he reminds.
“You’re right, he won’t.” The smile vanishes slowly, narrowed eyes taking its place. “Fine, then fuck Jake. He can starve after he realises I’m the one who restocks his stupid yoghurt.”
Bucky’s pretty sure Jake knows. It’s also why your roommate buys your favourite pasta sauce even though just the mere sight of it makes him want to, in his words, projectile vomit.
But remembering Jake brings up another detail.
“What about Alpine?”
“Alpine 2.0.” Your answer comes back startlingly fast. “I’ll clone her.”
“We’ve already seen what happens to your clones.”
“Just because a few of them went rogue-”
“We’re not cloning Alpine.”
“Fine.” You huff. “I’m pretty sure Jake’s more attached to A.N.K.L.E.S. now anyway.”
“The murder Roomba?” Bucky picks up nacho. Dinner wouldn’t be an issue for him, his metabolism was much higher than the average human’s.
“It’s not a fucking Roomba, it’s a droid and its name is A.N.K.L.E.S.”
Bucky scorns. “Since when?”
“Since forever. The A stands for ABBA and the rest I don’t know yet.” You pop a chip into your mouth. “Either way, I don’t think he’d care much.”
“Okay, so hypothetically we get Alpine.” Bucky chews slowly, thoughtfully. “She gets a room.”
“Alpine gets two rooms. One for the day and one for the night.”
“The cat doesn’t need two rooms.”
“She deserves two rooms.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“You feed her enough to need two rooms.”
“Shut up, she’s a growing cat,” he murmurs. He just pinned a new recipe to try out for her on his Pinterest board.
“She’s grown.”
“Alpine can pay rent if she wants two rooms.”
“Jerk. Don’t subject my cat to capitalism.” You take a pause. “Cat-pitalism.
He stares at you. “Hypothetical plan cancelled.”
“Third,” you continue regardless, “I’m gonna fill the entire place with traps and fake doors and shit, it’s gonna be so cool.”
He gets vivid flashbacks to pen swords and almost-mushroom clouds. His nose twitches.
Bucky pushes himself off the counter’s edge to get some water. “You get one room to invent and none of it ever leaves that space.”
“How do I take it to lair then?”
“Figure it out.”
“What if you sneak into the room and steal the plan and ruin my inator?”
He had an all-access pass to the lair and it had never happened before. There was no reason to believe he was going to start now.
Still, he kisses your cheek on his way past you. “Figure it out.”
“Okay, well then hypothetically I’m gonna build a portal in one of the rooms.”
“I will burn your hypothetical portal to the ground.”
“You can’t do that, I have a hypothetical force shield.”
“Your force shield has a hypothetical battery that I’m gonna remove.”
“That was one time.”
“One room to invent on the weekends and you use your teleporting shit to get it to the lair.” Bucky’s been here enough for dinner parties and game nights to know where T keeps her all her dishes.
“Okay, new hypothetical plan,” you say as he holds his glass out under the tap. “I’m gonna build a lair in our garage.”
“Garage?” In this economy? Fuck no.
“Fine, dungeon, then.” Your eyes shine. “We’re gonna stay in a castle.”
He shuts the tap off. “You’re gonna stay there alone.”
You continue excitedly, “A big, dark castle and you will never see me again because there’s gonna be so many rooms.”
“Great. Let me know when you’re moving,” he says dryly. “Gotta move all your stuff out of the Tower.”
“Yeah, lemme call a moving van for my fucking toothbrush.”
“Your other stuff.” The water disappears in a few strong gulps. The glass, he decides, can be the alibi he needs for being there, just in case T comes at you for stealing from her stash. If he was going to jail for money laundering, you could go for theft.
“What other stuff?” You squint.
“Y’know…” he trails off when he realises you very much don’t know, setting the glass down. “Your inators and stuff.”
Your head tilts inquisitively. “Thought those go to S.H.I.E.L.D..”
"Well, yeah. They’re supposed to." Bucky shoves his hands in his pocket. "I don’t know, just had a feeling you'd want 'em back one day."
“Wait, so you kept them?” You fight the smile that threatens to spread across your face. “Since when?”
“Freeze gun, I think.”
“Wasn’t that-- wait--” Your eyebrows knit together before your jaw drops. “Wasn’t that the first time we met?”
“Don’t remember.” Yes, he does. Yes, it was.
”You’ve had a crush on me since our first meeting?”
“No.”
“Oh my God, you’ve had a crush on me since our first meeting.”
He drags his palm across his face. “They’re getting recycled first thing tomorrow.”
“Not before I see them first.” You jump up with a renewed interest in this conversation. “Where even are they? The storage? On a ship?”
“My room.”
“I’ve been to your room, I’ve never seen my inators around.”
“You’ve seen the shelf,” he argues, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You mean that fucking drawer in the corner?” You cross your arms too, in retaliation. “The one you’ve stuck together with tape?”
“Why do you think it’s like that? I ran out of fuckin’ space, it’s too full.”
“I didn’t know it had my inators, I thought it was just like that.”
“You thought it’s barely hanging together because it was just like that?”
“Like owner, like cabinet.” You laugh when he rolls his eyes at you. “I’m kidding. Here, have a chip.”
“No,” he says as he takes the one you’re offering. “Hypothetical plan cancelled.”
“Okay,” you move on. “So in our castle, there’s gotta be at least one hypothetical room for all our friends.”
“Right, so that’s zero rooms for you then,” Bucky notes.
“We’re literally in my best friend’s kitchen right now.”
“Ask her if she feels the same.”
“T,” you call out and he gives a short exhale in disbelief. “Are you my best friend?”
Her voice comes back loud and clear. “No.”
“See? She loves me.” You turn to Bucky.
“You’re missing a few steps there.”
“No, I think I got all of them.” You nod. “T, Jake, Alpine and her three rooms.”
“Oh, so Alpine gets three rooms now.”
“Yeah, duh.”
He’d disagree but Alpine really was the royalty in this house. It was only time till she took over the entire house. The Tower had been claimed months ago anyway.
“Fine. But then hypothetically, if we’re doing this then you need to do it properly.” Bucky pauses. “Castle’s gotta be all-black.”
You reel back. “It certainly does not.”
“Black walls, black furniture--”
“Pink walls. Blue furniture.”
“...black cushions. Black curtains--”
“Yellow cushions. Purple curtains.”
“No garlic, no mirrors--” he continues to list out.
“We’re not vampires, Bucky. The castle has to look like a Barbie dreamhouse or I’m not staying.”
“I guess it’s just me and Alpine then.”
“You’re going to steal my child and stay in a castle that I made without me.”
“Bitch. I’ll leave all my inators in every room. They will be the first thing you see in the morning and the last thing you’ll see at night.”
“...black kitchen. Black floor--” he continues in revenge.
“Alpine’s going to get four rooms. Morning, afternoon, evening, night.”
“Black doors. Black bed. Black can-opener--”
“No can-openers.”
“Black wardrobe. Black--”
“I will evict yo--” You stop abruptly. “Why are we arguing about this?”
It’s not like you ever needed a solid reason before.
“Let’s just build a treehouse and stay there,” you propose instead.
“Deal.” He holds his hand out for a handshake, which you grab firmly.
“You guys done in there?” Steve calls out. “Neither of us wanna check if you’re fine, so please just get out.”
Bucky rolls his eyes, dropping your hand.
You gesture to the bag of chips. “D’you think I should take this out th-”
“Hide.”
“Good call.” You stash it back in the cabinet for later. Not in the cereal box, since it was your bag now.
You can tell game night’s gonna go on for longer, given that your plan to bankrupt Steve so hard he’d never be able to play the game again without tearing up had still not been put into action.
“Get your money out of my bank.”
“We’ll see.” You grin, cupping his cheeks and giving him a quick kiss before taking a step past him. Only, he tugs you back for one more, just a little longer than the last. It’s nice that it still leaves him feeling things in his stomach he refuses to put a name to.
You hum as you pull away with a small smile. “Wait three minutes before showing up so people don’t think we came together.”
Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck even are you talking about?”
“Actually, you know what? I think it’s time we let them know we’re-” you drop your volume “-official.”
He stares at you. “We’ve been together for months.”
“Shhh, they’ll hear you.”
“There’s nothing to hide.”
“Yeah, only ‘cause we’ll tell them.” You roll your eyes.
“They already fucking kn-” he shuts his mouth. “I’m not gonna do this again. Stay here if you want, I’m leaving.”
“You’re just gonna ditch me? Traitor.” You change stances immediately.
“You just s--” For the love of God. “--you’re insufferable.”
You stifle a laugh. “Go on, say it.”
"Say what?" he asks wearily.
"Say, 'God I hate you', or something like that."
He should say it. It's tradition, and you're waiting there, arms crossed across your chest. There's a mock glare on your face but a twinkle in your eye.
"I love you," he says instead.
It’s a second before your face pulls into the biggest smile he’s seen.
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thank you for all the memes, the playlists, the hundreds of asks, the ideas, the artwork, things that reminded you of this series, your miss villain headcanons, people who contributed towards the clone discourse, tried to start a tiktok revolution, lurked around on my blog and in general, just your love for this ridiculous fic. i am so grateful.
