Summary: Some of the Avengers were transformed into babies and Bucky and Reader have to take care of them without knowing that it was a plan to make them confess their feellings.
Notes: Hi guys, I wrote it very fast and didn't review, so if there's any mistakes just ignore please. I have this ideia running in my mind for months, but still didn't end up as i was wondering, probably wil rewrite someday.
Going on missions always gave me a strange sensation. Even on the easiest ones, I’d feel that tightness in my chest, like something was about to go sideways. Because of that, I always tried to be there for everyone when we headed out, or even when someone was sent on a solo op.
Although death was an old friend in this line of work, it’s not something you ever get used to. Losing loved ones is always hard, nothing prepares you for the news that someone you love died in combat. And that brings us to the present moment, as Bucky and I stare at Loki—damn him—on the quinjet ramp with none of our friends in sight. The pre-mission briefing flashed through my mind like a movie.
[FLASHBACK ON]
"HE’S NOT TRUSTWORTHY, GOLDILOCKS!" Tony’s voice boomed. Rhodey looked ready to literally jump between Tony and Thor.
"HE IS MY BROTHER!" Thor’s thunderous voice echoed through the room. Even though Tony was seething, Thor was grinning, as if the idea of bringing Loki along to help was just a family picnic.
"Twenty bucks says Tony hides all of Thor’s Pop-Tarts by the end of the day," Clint whispered.
"Thirty says he hides them before lunch," Bucky’s voice rumbled beside us. Son of a... when did he get here?
"You two are terrible," I said, smiling, feeling Bucky’s breath closer than ever.
As the argument unfolded, with Tony listing every single reason why Loki shouldn't be on the mission, Steve finally arrived to bring order to the chaos.
"You’re acting like children, for God's sake," he said in that inspiring yet defeated tone, like he’d had this argument twenty times before—which he probably had. "Loki is going, Tony. He promised to behave, and Thor will vouch for him."
"Of course he promised," Tony scoffed. "He’s literally the God of Mischief, Capsicle. Get over it, he can't be trusted." He sat down, crossing his arms—the Stark way of saying 'I don't agree, but I'm done arguing,' which was a victory in itself.
The mission was complex. Apparently, a magical artifact had been found in a remote part of Italy and taken to a Hydra base. Loki had felt a surge of magic—which no one believed until Wanda called to report sensing a massive magical wave during the night.
"Everyone clear?" Steve’s voice cut through my thoughts. "We move out in one hour. See you at the ramp."
[FLASHBACK OFF]
I could feel the tension radiating of Bucky. He looked torn between throwing a knife at Loki or asking what the hell happened.
"I can explain," the God said, raising his hands in surrender.
"You'd better. Where are the others?" I asked, crossing my arms and walking toward him with Bucky at my side.
"Something unexpected happened. The artifact was... different than anticipated," he shrugged as we boarded the quinjet. "But it's reversible. I've read about this in Asgardian texts."
"Just shut up and take us to them," Bucky growled. Suddenly, a sound echoed through the jet... was that a toddler’s giggle?
As we reached the main cabin, we were met with five... children? By Odin, I was actually going to kill Loki.
"What did you do to them?!" I yelled in pure shock. Five toddlers—our friends—no older than two, were playing on the floor. Their gear was scattered everywhere; Tony’s suit stood sentry nearby, watching over the kids.
I pointed my gun at Loki’s head at the same time Bucky growled, "Start talking, Reindeer Man"
With a frustrated sigh, Loki explained how Thor’s stubbornness had triggered the artifact.
"And why didn't you turn into a kid too?" Bucky asked.
"I didn't touch the artifact. When Natasha got shocked and threw it, I caught it with the box," he shrugged. "But there's a counter-spell in Asgard. I just have to find it. The effect should only last a week."
"You can't leave us here alone with this mess!" I said in disbelief.
"Sorry, darling, duty calls," he said before vanishing. Son of a bitch.
I looked at Bucky. He was staring at the five kids on the floor. Our family, now babies. They were cute, at least.
"What now?" I asked with a tired sigh.
"Steve is still a punk, no matter the age," he said, smiling. Steve was sitting on his shield while baby Natasha spun him at a terrifying speed. Thor and Tony were babbling at each other, and Clint was lying on his back, grabbing his own feet. It was going to be a long week.
Once we got them back to the Compound, I had FRIDAY order baby food, bottles, toys, and diapers. Bucky and I moved mattresses into my room; we decided it would be easier to keep an eye on them if we were all together.
After much debating, Bucky won, the kids would sleep on the floor mattresses to stay safe, and we would share my bed. It was big enough for him to be comfortable, but he mistook my blushing for discomfort. He had no idea my face was red because I’d wanted to climb him like a tree for years now.
"Need a hand, doll?" Bucky’s voice startled me as I warmed up milk in the kitchen.
"It would be much appreciated, Sergeant," I winked.
"We should probably bathe them" he said casually. "Steve smells like sweat and Natasha has a bloodstain on her leg."
"You’re right. Let's wash them before they pass out."
We headed to the improvised playroom (Bucky’s room). Baby Thor was shooting tiny sparks from his fingers at the TV. Every time a spark hit, the channel changed, leading to cheers from the other four. God help us, they're like a gang.
"Why didn't you grab Steve?" I asked as Steve curled up in my arms and Clint tried to bite Bucky's metal shoulder.
"Steve’s been a kicker since we were kids," he said with a wink.
Later that night, as Bucky rocked Clint to sleep, he asked, "You think we should tell Pepper?"
"You think she can handle Morgan and Tony as a toddler? Let her rest," I smiled. "We’ve got this, Barnes."
"Yeah, doll. We do." He gave me that secret smile—the one that made me think he might actually feel the same way, even though I was sure he loved Natasha. Ever since I’d read their Hydra files, I’d tried to keep my distance to protect my heart. I stopped leaving notes on his coffee; I stopped volunteering for his missions. He noticed, but he only responded with more kindness, like bringing me my favorite donuts from across town.
"What are you thinking about, doll?" Bucky’s warmth settled beside me in the kitchen.
"You," I answered without thinking. My eyes widened immediately after, and I felt my entire body go rigid. His low chuckle reached my ears as I scrambled to justify myself. "I mean... I was thinking about this whole situation, about how calm you’re being," I said, still unable to meet his eyes. I felt him move away from my side at the counter, only to lean against the one directly in front of me.
“If it makes you feel any better, I was thinking about you too,” he said, looking deep into my eyes as if he could see right through the lie I’d just told. “Actually, I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time,” he continued, running his metal hand through his hair and taking a deep breath. “I think about you all day long, even when I’m out on missions. You occupy every single thought I have. I didn’t know what that was before, but now I do.” He took a step forward, cupping my face in his hands, I felt my cheeks flush at his touch. “I love you. Ever since I arrived at the compound and you looked at me like I wasn't a monster... I didn’t know what love was back then, but I knew I loved you.”
My eyes locked onto his, unable to believe what I had just heard. His gaze radiated a love so loud and clear that I couldn’t fathom how I’d never noticed it before.
“James…” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. His eyes were full of love—and a desperate fear of what I might say next. “I love you too,” I said, smiling as I pulled his face closer to mine. I shared a small smile with him before pressing my lips to his in a kiss fueled by years of passion. His left hand slid down to my waist, pulling me firmly against him, while his right hand moved from my face to my neck, deepening the kiss.
My hands trailed down his chest until they reached his belt, fumbling to undo it, when he suddenly lifted me and sat me on the kitchen counter. As his hands slid down to caress my thighs—which instinctively wrapped around his waist—a soft moan escaped my lips. His kisses moved down to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin before his lips immediately soothed the spot.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Tony’s voice snapped me out of the trance Bucky’s lips had put me in.
“Son of a bitch! You scared me!” I barked, taking a ragged breath while Barnes laughed, his face still hidden in my neck. As I looked up, the whole family was standing in the kitchen doorway, all of them wearing huge grins.
“It was about time,” Natasha said. “Everyone was getting sick of watching Barnes pining over you and following you around like a lovesick puppy.” She winked, and just like that, everything felt normal again—Clint and Tony immediately started listing every single time Bucky had melted for me without me even noticing.
“Want to get out of here, doll?” Bucky whispered in my ear, making me smile.
“As long as it’s with you, Sergeant, I’ll go anywhere,” I replied. He scooped me up into his arms and carried me out of the kitchen to the sound of everyone’s laughter.
As we stepped out, I caught sight of Loki leaning against the far wall. He gave me a knowing nod and a smirk before vanishing into thin air. That’s when it hit me: the whole thing had been a setup to make us finally admit how we felt.
Please write more of Azriel x Archeron/reader it was so amazing!! Also do you have a masterlist? so i can read more of your stories??
Hi!! I'm on my exams week on Uni, so i'm not posting much but I'll keep this in mind (azrielxreader) and I don't have a masterlist yet, but I'm working on it <3
The conversation with Amren wasn't the most productive one I've ever have, but she was old, she knew tricks my mind would never have imagined. Through a long moment of guided meditation, we managed to find a way to numb the bond, Azriel would never feel anything I felt, without the lack of concentration I usually need, and vice versa. He'd be free to do what he always wanted, but it would require a considerable amount of power for me to do that. So, during the month that follow the conversation with Amren, I had to constantly infuse my power into a magical crystal that would help with the spell.
It took a month for us to correctly use my powers to get the result I so desperately wanted. Doubt was a constant companion, my head told me to just get it over with, but my heart told me to give him a chance. But it was hard to give a chance to someone who didn't want you, only want what you represented.
Azriel was another constant during that month, always getting close and trying to strike up a conversation, always entering the same room and trying to get closer. But I wasn't stupid. I would get close to anyone else to avoid contact with him, to avoid looking into his eyes and seeing the disappointment and pain.
In the last few days, Azriel had already asked to talk, because in his mind, this was something he could fix. But I always came up with an excuse not to talk to him. Elain and I continued to treat each other well, despite my previous anger, it wasn't her fault that she received the love of the person I had wanted for so long, but I also avoided talking to her much, fearing I'd trigger some emotion I couldn't handle and accidentally scorch her garden. It had happened before, as soon as I realized her feelings for my mate I accidentally burn her garden to the ground.
And it all led me to the present moment, Lucien and I talking in the garden of the river house. I ended up telling him about my mate bond, which was the main reason we got close when we were in the Spring Court, united by rejection, even if Lucien and Elain's relationship was slightly less terrible. It was almost poetic.
"Are you going to try today?" he asked, looking at me, and I nodded. "I'm tempted to ask you to do that with my bond too," he said with a little laugh. There was no way to truly smile when Elain just don't' take decisions like an adult and just reject the poor male.
"If you want, I'll do it," I said, shrugging. "By the way, I like the new haircut, you look handsome." It wasn't a lie that Lucien was handsome, and now with his hair cut short and half-shaved on the sides, he was even more charming.
His laughter made me laugh too. I felt a tug on the bond and knew Azriel was nearby, but I didn't look around.
"Thanks, little one, you've been a great help. If it makes you feel better, would you like to go for coffee tomorrow? I think you'll need it after tonight," he said, smiling, and I laughed. I knew what he was doing. He also felt Azriel's presence. After his Day Court powers awoke, Lucien was very receptive to external stimuli of darkness and shadows, as if his light were sentient. Although Lucien and I would never be more than friends, the urge to seduce him to make Elain suffer was something that passed in the back of my mind, but I start to see him like and older brother.
"You're unbelievable, Lucien, but I'd love to. You are by far my favorite Vanserra," I said. He smiled.
"I'm serious. If you need help with anything, let me know. You know I wouldn't spare any effort to help you," he said, hugging me and turning to leave. Unfortunately, he had to be in the Day Court to resolve political matters with Helion and Eris. Everything seemed much easier for them after Beron's death.
As soon as he left, I inhaled the scent of roses in the garden and turned to go into the house. Thanks to the Mother, everyone knew about my current situation with Azriel and Elain, but no one said anything, not even Nestha and Mor, who were known for meddling in other people's business. But as soon as I passed the large pine trees to get to the entrance of the house, Azriel practically materialized in front of me. I hadn't even noticed him approaching, even though I'd felt his presence lingering around the garden since Lucien and I went outside. His expression was stoic, but his eyes were the saddest I had ever seen.
"We need to talk, Yn, please," he said, clearing his throat and putting his hands behind his back.
"I don't think we do," I said, trying to get past him, but he stopped me, holding my arm lightly but still making me stop. "What do you want, Azriel?"
"I... I would like to apologize. I'm so sorry, I'm so very sorry for not noticing the bond before. I want you. I was so blind, but now I know that I want you," he said with a choked voice, his eyes filling with tears. "Please, Sn, give me a chance, please, I promise I'll try to be better for you."
My eyes were full of tears, but I couldn't give in. I couldn't be the second option, the choice of convenience. Difficult choices require strong convictions. I can't accept less than what I know I deserve.
"I accept your apology, Azriel," I said, and he smiled slightly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "But I don't accept you, or the bond." His smile disappeared. "I can't accept being the second choice, being chosen only because of a greater force. I don't want that. I deserve to be loved completely and not by half. You were by my side for over a year and never saw me as more than a friend." His tears ran down his beautiful face, and he opened his mouth to speak, but I continued, "Today I'm going to get rid of this feeling of the bond. I thought you deserved to know." I said, and he choked. "Feel free to love whoever you want, but I know it won't be me. You will always have a place in my heart, but I can't give my heart to you."
"No, please, Yn, please, don't do this. I can get better, I... I love you," he said and hugged me in a fit of desperation. I didn't have the strength to return his hug. "Don't do this to me, give us a chance, please."
"I'm sorry, Azriel," I said, feeling his sob, his tears falling on my shoulder while mine wet my face. "Look at me, please."
I asked, and he squeezed me tighter, until he finally looked at me, his eyes swollen and sad, reflecting the sadness of my own. Looking at him like this, I wondered, would we ever be happy?
"I'll make up for all of this, all this pain I put you through," he said, stroking a lock of my hair behind my ear, his eyes analyzing every detail of my face, as if it were the last time he would look at me. "I promise, I'll never hurt you, but please, don't get rid of the bond." His voice was the saddest I had ever heard, and his eyes were pleading as he looked at me.
Tears ran from our eyes. He was as broken as I was, maybe even more so. My heart was about to win over this decision, but I had to be strong, I couldn't get hurt again. I held his face in my hands, wiping away his tears, his eyes staring at me with an almost oppressive intensity.
"It will be like a buffer. It won't destroy the bond completely, you don't have to cry. You'll finally be able to love whoever you want, Az," I said, trying to smile, and he kept crying. One of his hands went up to hold my hand that was on his cheek.
"Please, Sn, don't do this. Silence me as is normally done. I promise not to bother you, but please, don't do this," his beg, unfortunately, hit my heart. My tears continued to flow. "Yell at me, fight with me, hit me if you need to, but please, don't do this."
"I'm not going to fight with you, but I'm not going to accept it, not the way I am now. You hurt me for a year, not because you love Elain, but because I was by your side, Azriel, and you still hadn't realized that we were mates. You didn't notice me, and I was right there," I said, stepping out of his arms and his warmth. "I can't heal overnight. I need time, months, years, decades, I don't know how long, I don't know if I'll ever give you a chance."
"It doesn't matter," he said, holding his hands out to my face, only for me to take a step back. The pain flickered in his eyes but quickly disappeared. "I'll wait for as long as it takes. I'll wait for you. I'm going to try to win you over. I'm going to do better than before, I promise."
His eyes shone with something unknown, and my tears had already stopped. I ran my fingers through my hair and looked into his eyes. What a persistent man, by the Cauldron.
"Feel free to do that, but I don't promise that anything will ever happen between us," I said, and even so, his eyes didn't stop shining, as if just the possibility of being able to stay in my life would be enough.
"I don't care if I have to spend my whole life trying to erase the pain I put you through, Yn" he said and smiled, a toothy smile that used to be directed only at Elain, it made me dizzy. "You worth every second."
I gave a dry chuckle and straightened up. He straightened up too and smiled, offering me the way to go ahead, and I nodded, thanking him. It would be a long road, but I think I could heal one day. Even if it wasn't with him, I think one day I would be able to find the love I deserved.
It had been a year since the conversation in the garden, and I had made progress in healing, in understanding my new fae life without war and conflicts in the middle of it. Each day hurt a little less, and each day I learned a little more. Elain came to me after a while, after Rhysand opened his big mouth to gossip with the whole family about what was happening.
"I'm so sorry, Yn, if I had known he was your mate, I would have never done that," she said, crying, and I nodded. I couldn't feel anything about her tears, but I knew she was being truthful. "The day we kissed, I had this vision, something comfortable and domestic, but deep down I knew it wouldn't be with him. I knew in that moment there was no use chasing someone who wasn't mine. I'm sorry for the pain I caused you."
"It's okay, Elain," I said, hugging her. After all, she was still my older sister. "I'm happy you're choosing to give Lucien a chance after everything, and I'm sorry too for frying your plants," I paused, "again."
She laughed, and then it was as if nothing had happened between us, because forgiving Elain was just that easy, and for her, apologizing and moving on was much easier than for any of us, because that's just how she is, a good person.
Our sisterhood progressed relatively well after that day. But the constant shadow hanging over me never went away. Azriel had spent several days just existing near me, as if the bond might go silent at any moment, as if he feared I would go back on my decision and end that invisible thread that united us. Although I avoided talking to him at all costs, I found great companionship in his shadows, which were always nearby, even though I hated it at first.
MEMORY ON
I walked into the kitchen, thinking about what flavor of cookie to make. Chocolate and caramel seemed divine, but something with blueberries made my mouth water with craving. I started taking the ingredients out and placing them on the marble counter to start preparing everything, but as soon as I mixed the eggs and sugar, a mass of darkness slid in through the kitchen floor, entangling itself around my feet and climbing up my body. The touch of the shadows was cold, but not unpleasant. I frowned, looking at them.
"Where is your master?" I asked as if they would answer me, and they writhed around my arms, whispering too softly for me to hear anything. "Go back to him, this is misbehaving."
They spun around me and continued to play with my hair, running over my cheek and my arms, their touches were like little touches sliding up and down my body, while I continued to mix the ingredients and make the cookies.
"Here we go, left arm for yes and right arm for no" I said while they tickled me lightly "Got it?" I asked and raised my arms, and they all quickly coiled around my left arm. Interesting... "Does Azriel know you're here? Did he send you?" They coiled around my right arm. Strange, he always knew where they went. "Are you lying to me?" Right arm again.
I continued with the questions, and soon they were walking around the kitchen with me as if they were a part of me too, which I supposed was what they thought, or feel? Had no idea how it works.
"Can you whisper for me too?" I asked, and they nodded. "How?"
I felt a brave shadow coil close to my ear and speak so softly that I almost didn't hear: "you just have to pay attention, master's mate." HOLY SHIT. I started to laugh, as I hadn't in a long time, and they spun around me, all of them now whispering together in my ear, as if they were a big family, like the Inner Circle on game night when Rhysand uses his powers to win and Cassian can't prove it.
"we love your laugh"
"you smell like vanilla and strawberries"
"Your hair is so soft"
"we wanted to come to you so badly" one said
"but he never let us, and he didn't even understand our fascination with you" another whispered. It was strange, but they had different inflections, as if each had its own consciousness beyond Azriel, yet still followed his commands.
I choked on their affirmations, smiling even wider, feeling that at least one part of Azriel had recognized me as a first choice, even if the master of the shadows himself didn't acknowledge me as his mate before. As soon as I took the first batch of cookies out of the oven, loud voices came through the front door.
"I'm serious, Cassian, they've never done this before," I heard Azriel's powerful voice say.
"Maybe they just went out for a walk," Cassian's booming voice spoke. "With a master like you, I'd run away at the first opportunity too." Rhys let out a scandalous laugh as he walked into the kitchen with the other two.
"I think I found them, Az," he said when he entered the kitchen, his violet eyes staring at me inquisitively, causing the other two males to come into the kitchen as well. Cassian laughed loudly when he looked at me, throwing his head back while holding his stomach, and Azriel seemed to freeze in place, all the color draining from his face.
"Shadows, can you hit Cassian for me?" I asked, and they ran off to hit the General while I smiled. "Now I know why you like them."
I said, shrugging at Azriel, who quickly regained control of the shadows and started apologizing, as if they had irreparably defiled my soul just by existing near me.
"I'm sorry, Y/N, it won't happen again, I was distracted, and they just disappeared, and I..." I interrupted his apologies.
"You don't need to apologize, they were just curious," I said, and his cheeks blushed beautifully as he quickly retreated from the kitchen, and Rhys and Cassian whispered to each other like little girls.
MEMORY OFF
It's impressive how much one can heal when you decide to embrace the pain. In the first months after our frustrating conversation, the pain was almost unbearable, but now that a year had passed, everything felt so light, as if focusing on myself and discovering who I was when I wasn't suffering for someone was exactly what I needed.
Everything in the cabin was always suffering, and as soon as I turned fae, everything got worse—all those emotions inside me, bubbling to the surface, wanting to come out and destroy the world—all of them now fully under control. Reflecting on myself, it was easy to understand why Azriel had chosen Elain, she might have been wanting to die, but she knew who she was, while I hadn't lived long enough to find out who I was.
As time went on, I tested everything I had always wanted to do: I painted with Feyre, I fought with Nesta, I ended up destroying some plants trying to garden with Elain, I made friends, and I snuck out to go to another Court for a party. It didn't go very well, as Mor and Azriel had to winnow me out after I accidentally started a fight, but at least I was winning, which wasn't the best argument I've ever used, considering I had to listen to a lecture from Rhysand about responsibility.
The worst part of this whole year of healing and self-discovery was that, even though I danced and kissed other guys, I could never bring myself to go to bed with any of them, as if it were a betrayal to Azriel. This irritated me deeply, but I learned to live with it, after one particularly bad situation where my skin started tingling with lightning and I unintentionally set fire to the mattress of a guy I had met at Rita's bar.
And to make matters even worse, Azriel, the idiotic bastard was the sweetest man I had ever known. If I sat at the table in the morning, a coffee and a plate full of my favorite foods would be placed in front of me by him. If I was sad, a bouquet of my favorite flowers, which only grew in the Day Court, would appear on my bed. I hadn't carried a single bag all year, as his shadows were always following me and magically making everything disappear, from night-time tea to new books full of annotations, he did it all.
And he didn't even expect anything in return. He just did it and gifted me things he knew I would like because he wanted me to know that he loved me, even if I ignored his kindness, he still continued to do it. The first few times it happened, I just pretended nothing had occurred—the first flower, the first late-night tea, with no words spoken between us—until the first book came.
I had arrived in my room, and there was this dirty romance novel, battered at the edges and full of annotations. At first, I thought it belonged to Nesta. I grabbed it impulsively and read it. Actually, the book was so good that I couldn't stop reading, I finished it in an absurdly short time.
That night, when everyone was around the dinner table, I held up the book to give to Nesta, but to my surprise, she just stared at me and said with her usual feline smile, that one that says I know something that you don't "It's not mine."
"What do you mean it's not yours? This was the dirtiest, most depraved thing I've ever read, sis. I can't believe anyone else here shares your taste in books besides me, and it's not mine, so it has to be yours," I said, raising my eyebrows at her. Everyone at the table was staring at the two of us.
"Actually, the book is mine," Azriel's husky voice spoke, and then chaos reigned, everyone talking at once as they tried to grab the book from my hands. Rhysand and Cassian were definitely making jokes, and Azriel's ears were red, actually, his whole face was flushed.
But I couldn't hear what they were saying, because my focus was entirely on the Shadowsinger, and his eyes were looking directly into mine, as if he could read my mind. I reinforced my mental shields just in case.
"Thank you, Azriel," I said, and everyone fell silent. "If you have any other recommendations, I would be delighted to read them." The smile the Shadowsinger gave me haunted my most depraved and delusional dreams for a week.
And now here I was, washing the plate from the cake I had eaten. Feyre said I did certain domestic tasks just so I wouldn't forget I was once human, instead of just using magic to do them. I couldn't help but agree.
"You've been washing that plate for five minutes now," Cassian's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
"Good morning to you too, General," I said, drying my hands on the napkin and turning to face him. "To what do I owe the honor of this intrusion at such an ungodly hour of the morning?"
"I came to see you," he said, smiling as he sat at the table, and I leaned back in the chair, staring at him. "Alright, I came to see if you're okay. Nesta said you've been distracted during the Valkyrie training."
"Thank you for the concern, but I'm fine, just... thinking."
"About Azriel?" he threw back, smiling, the bastard "You should give him a chance, poor male, he's following you around like an abandoned puppy."
"I don't know, I just... I don't think he really likes me," I said, sitting down across from Cassian, and he raised his eyebrows. "It's hard to explain, Cass, but he only started noticing me after he found out, and I don't want to be just the second choice. I liked him long before the day you guys rescued us from the ice. I think ever since I was human, I already liked him, even through all the fear I felt."
"I know he was an idiot, but if it helps," he said, holding my hand over the table, "Azriel always, I mean always watched you. You just never noticed, and neither did he, but it was obvious to everyone. That's why it was a shock when he started trying something with Elain."
I let out an awkward little laugh and stood up, hearing the others arrive, the noises getting louder.
"Just give yourself a chance, Y/N," Cassian said. "Allow yourself to be loved, and if he hurts you again, I'll kill him myself." His smile lessened, but not the light in his eyes.
"I'll think about it," I said just as Rhys and the others burst through the door with a bang, arguing like children.
I got up from the table and went to the living room while everyone else sat down at the table for breakfast, which I had already eaten, waiting to leave for Velaris and meet Sebastian, one of the friends I had made at the coffee shop, the poor guy whose bed I had set on fire. At least a beautiful friendship was born from that horrible incident.
"Hi," Azriel's voice reached my ears as I grabbed my jacket. "Are you alright?"
His spy senses noticed that I was tense and upset by the conversation with Cassian, because the puzzle of whether or not to give the Shadowsinger a chance was still a question mark for me. Could I overcome that whole situation?
"Yes, I'm fine," I lied, looking at him as he slowly studied me. "Thanks for asking," I said, stepping outside the house, wandering the streets. Azriel wasn't following me, but I could feel that some of his shadows were nearby—they always were.
I arrived at the coffee shop where we had agreed to meet and sat in my usual spot, near the window, waiting for Sebastian.
"Y/N, my dear," Sebastian's soft voice pulled me out of my daydreams. He was soon in front of me, with a cup of tea and a familiar book. "You're late."
"You're immortal, time means nothing to you," I said, and he smiled, handing me the book.
"Only because I like you," he said and winked at me. "The book you asked your sister for—it took a while, but it finally arrived."
"Thanks, Bash, and how are you and Marco?" I asked about his newly found mate, and he smiled dreamily.
"We're great, I never imagined I'd find someone like him, who understands every part of me," he said and held my hand over the table. "And you, my little flower, how is that heart of yours?"
Sebastian knew vaguely about the situation I had gotten myself into, but he never mentioned anything directly. He just asked indirectly if I was okay with everything. But he always gave me the best advice.
"It's okay, I'm still in the same dilemma," I said, and he nodded. "I don't know what to do, Sebastian. Every time I look at him, my heart hurts wanting to get close. I wish I never had to deal with this," I said, and he squeezed my hand.
"Darling, from personal experience, think about what your life would be like if you accepted the bond. Reflect on that, and if it's better than this resident sadness I see in your eyes, I think it's worth giving a chance. You don't have to jump straight to the full relationship, but allow him to be your friend first."
"Thank you," I said, truly appreciating his advice.
After some more conversation about his sister, who had gotten herself into big trouble when she accidentally caught a cold and every time she sneezed a piece of furniture in the house froze completely—Winter Court fae, always charming—I decided to leave the shop and walk to Feyre's house, which was where I was staying during the week while my new apartment underwent some renovations.
Thoughts spun through my mind as I could practically visualize a life alongside Azriel. His scent and his warmth infiltrated so quickly that I barely noticed he was by my side, just walking in silence. Every time I went out and stayed until dark, he did this, and when he was on a mission, one of his shadows would creep up my arms, making his presence known.
"Azriel," I said softly. For a moment, I thought he hadn't even heard, but his steps stopped, and he turned to me. "I think I'm ready to take the next step. I think I can be your friend, if you still want to." I said, unable to look into his eyes.
"There's nothing I want more than that," he whispered, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. The gesture brought my eyes directly to his. The intensity of his gaze was overwhelming. "Thank you for giving me this chance, Y/N."
I smiled at him and took his hand in mine, starting to walk again. He was so silent beside me, it seemed like he was even holding his breath, but it was as if a piece of my heart was mended again. As I walked with my hand intertwined in his, I felt his pure shock and love leaking through the bond that he normally kept so discreet.
We arrived at Feyre's house, and everyone was there, still fighting over some silliness that Cassian and Rhys had said. Their eyes widened comically at my hand holding Azriel's. Their smiles were so big they could tear their faces, until the moment was broken by Nyx, who stumbled at my feet, making me let go of the Shadowsinger's hand to catch him.
"Aunt Y/N," he said, holding my cheeks and smiling. I smiled back and poked his belly, drawing small giggles from him. I turned to Azriel and saw him smiling at me.
The rest of the night passed like this: Azriel watching me as I played with Nyx, occasionally interrupting the playing with the kid to argue with the others, and Rhysand and Cassian letting out distinctly unmanly laughs while talking in each other's heads—pathetic.
It had been a few days since I had decided to be Azriel's friend. Giving him this chance was fundamental for me to overcome my previous anger. During our first week as friends, he asked me so many questions about myself, what I liked and what I didn't like. He took his time to actively get to know me, and not just pretend he was there.
During the months I had avoided him, he merely existed near me, always hovering, afraid that I would disappear, or whatever was going on in his head, but always respecting my boundaries. But now that I had verbalized that I wanted to be his friend, to get to know him, he was on a new level of commitment.
Every time I mentioned a book or a bakery, he offered to go with me, or read with me, always wanting to know more about me, like the time we spent the whole night discussing Sellyn Drake's latest release.
MEMORY ON
"I can't believe it is him, Azriel," I said, exasperated, unable to believe this fundamental new piece of information I had just received.
"Just don't tell Nesta I told you this," he said, smiling from the other side of the sofa. His beautiful wings were relaxed behind his back, and he was smiling at me, that smile that brought joy to his eyes.
"Of course, I won't tell her, it's dangerous—she might kidnap Helion and make him give away all the spoilers for the next books if she knows," I said, still shocked, and he chuckled, his shoulders shaking with laughter, and I couldn't help myself, laughing along with him.
"If you knew how I found this out..." he said, smiling as he ran his hands over his face, his expression softening.
"By the Mother, now I have to know," I said, leaning closer to him to hear the story.
MEMORY OFF
After the most restful night's sleep I'd had in years, full of dreams where I was surrounded by the Spymaster, I went downstairs for coffee and found Azriel there, smiling so softly that my heart skipped a beat. I had to remind myself that we were friends now, I could handle this without spontaneously combusting.
"Good morning," I said, stopping in front of him at the foot of the stairs.
"Good morning," he said, looking at me gently. "Would you like to go for coffee with me? As friends, of course."
My cheeks flushed as he stood there, waiting for an answer. A small smile appeared on my face.
"Sure, as friends," I said, heading towards the door, and he held my wrist. "What?"
"It's kind of... Well... We need to fly, or winnow, if you prefer," he said, running his hand through his dark hair, as if he is embarrassed of point it out.
"Fly?" I asked, staring intently at his wings. I'll have to accept. I hadn't flown for a long time now, and I didn't even get to enjoy the feeling back then because Cassian is a bitch. It would be nice to fly again. "Let's fly then, it will be an interesting experience, Shadowsinger."
His shoulders relaxed, and he led me out of the house, his hand on my back, guiding me to the balcony. As soon as we stepped outside, he turned to me, briefly crouching down and picking me up in a bridal style. Thank goodness I wasn't wearing a dress.
"Hold tight, and if you feel like it's too much, just tell me, and I'll stop," he said, his face so close to mine that our eyes were level. I sighed and nodded, a little nervous about the proximity.
Azriel launched us into the sky with a powerful beat of his wings, and soon my initial fear passed, causing me to loosen my grip around his neck a bit and open my eyes. The view was the most marvelous I had ever seen. Velaris was hundreds of feet below us, and yet it was beautiful. I looked at Azriel's face and let out what sounded like a gasp.
"The view is breathtaking," I smiled, turning my eyes back to the city. "I can't believe this is how you always see the city, it's beautiful."
"Not more than you," his whisper sounded like a shout in my ears, making me blush to the tips of my ears.
My body stiffened slightly, and he certainly noticed, as a thread of sadness briefly passed through his eyes, but was quickly gone as he arrived at what looked like a clearing. Velaris wasn't in winter, so small flowers were growing all around.
"We're here," he said, setting me down and guiding me to the beautiful picnic that was waiting for us there. Apparently, he had planned all of this in advance. "I didn't know what you'd like to eat today, so I brought a little bit of everything you like," he said, looking at me.
"Thank you, Azriel, that explains why there is so much food," I said, laughing, and he blushed. Cute.
As soon as we sat down and arranged things, we started eating. He had remembered the tart I had mentioned the other day, with chocolate and hazelnuts. The conversation flowed normally, with occasional awkward silences, but nothing truly strange. Overall, it was very nice. There wasn't the crowd of people that usually surrounded us when we went to the coffee shop, so there was this thick layer of intimacy that we weren't used to, but it enveloped us in warmth and affection.
"Thank you for the picnic, Az. It's been a long time since I enjoyed a day as beautiful as this outdoors," I said, lying on the blanket and looking up at the sky. Some trees around us darkened the sun's rays and kept my eyes from burning.
"I should be thanking you, for accepting this date," he said softly, when suddenly his eyes widened. "I mean, this outing between friends, because that's what we are... I'm sorry." I breathed in the fresh breeze and I hold one of his hands between mine. His body trembled slightly, and I smile.
"I wouldn't mind if it is a date," I said softly, squeezing his hands while looking into his eyes.
"Then I guess I can't disappoint you, right?" he said, smiling, his shadows rising up my arms to kiss my cheeks like his soft caresses. "It is a date, then, Y/N."
His shadows played with my hair while I laughed and lay down on the blanket again. Azriel lay down beside me, looking at the sky with me.
"I think they like me," I said, raising my arm while some shadows coiled around them. "I like them." The affirmation seemed to make them even more frantic, their whispers incomprehensible to me this time.
"I don't know what's gotten into them today, they don't seem to obey me," he said, and they soon returned to him. "I'm sorry, they're usually not so... mischievous."
"You don't need to apologize," I said, holding his hand in mine as I stared at the clear spring sky. His hand was so big compared to mine, and his shadows soon returned to my hands, but didn't climb up my arms. "I like this, I like you."
The affirmation came out before I could stop it, but I soon realized I didn't regret it. Azriel's eyes were wide, and I had never seen so much sadness in a look before. I peeked through the bond and felt an immense anguish.
"I like you too, very much," he said, looking at our hands joined. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he said, and I understood what he meant. All the previous "I'm sorry's" from him made much more sense.
"It's okay, Az," I said, sitting up and placing a hand on his shoulder as he sat up too. "It doesn't hurt anymore, at least not as much as it used to." I said, trying to smile, and he seemed to relax. "You couldn't have known." That sentence seemed to bring all the sadness back to his face.
"I should have," he said, staring at me deeply. "Damn it, by the Mother, Y/N, I'm the best spy in Prythian and I couldn't realize you were my mate. You accepted this date, you agreed to be my friend, but all I can think about is how much I've already failed with you and how much I've already made you suffer. I'm sorry, Y/N, I feel this pain through the bond and I can't forgive myself for putting you through this. I can only think that Cassian should have beaten me even more for what I did to you, because you are light, and I don't deserve you. I can't forgive myself for what I did to you. I was so ashamed of myself because of all the emotions you were feeling, and all that pain, that I just disappeared that night. I reflected a lot on why I did that. I went to the healing centers for the mind, and I finally faced the truth, it was easier to pretend feelings for Elain, who could never be mine, than to face real feelings for you that could consume me."
"It's a shame you haven't forgiven yourself, because I forgive you," I said, sitting on my knees and holding his face between my hands. "I forgive you, Azriel, not because you are my mate, but because you earned that forgiveness. Over all these months, I saw in your eyes how much it hurt you when I rejected you or rejected the bond, but I needed to heal first, and you never forced me into anything, you just remained, constant, even while I hurt you with my silence. I saw more in your eyes than any words could express. That's why I accepted and wanted to be your friend. I would like to give us a chance."
His arms wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me into his lap, placing his face on my neck, breathing deeply. His arms tightened around my waist.
"I love you," he whispered, finally pulling his head back to look at me. "I love you. I thought I knew what love was, but I didn't, not until I met you. I know your heart is healing and that it's not an easy path, but I want you to know that every piece of my heart belongs to you, every beat, not just in this world, but in the next too. I will always be yours."
I was already crying as I held onto his shoulders, his eyes wet with unshed tears. I moved my hands up to his neck and leaned closer, my breath a gasp away from his lips. I looked into his eyes, and that was all I needed to close the distance between us.
His lips were soft, softer than any dream I had ever had. His hands squeezed my waist, climbing up my torso to hold the back of my neck, kissing me even more passionately, his tongue asking passage between my lips, and I immediately granted it, moving my hands over his shoulders, until I held his soft hair, groaning at the first touch of his tongue on mine, but he soon pulled away, giving me brief little kisses on my lips.
"By the Cauldron, why did we take so long?" I said, smiling, and his eyes shone. It was as if a part of his sadness had mysteriously disappeared.
"I love you," he said, giving me another little kiss. "You are perfect," another kiss, "and I am the happiest and luckiest male in the entire Phythian."
I smiled against his lips and briefly pulled back, rubbing my nose against his, my hands running through his hair, pulling his strands so his face briefly moved away from mine, looking into his hazel eyes. My emotions were so close to the surface that it started raining on us, small lightning bolts forming above our heads.
"My magic girl," he said, hugging me as the rain fell on us. "My mate." His smile was so bright that I could envision our future together. Finally, my heart was whole again.
Hi Guys, I'm so excited that u guys liked the Azriel oneshot, I'm already working in the part two, and I can't' wait to share with u soon, trying my best to translate everything right.
I was thinking about some Rhysand angst (with happy ending) after, or maybe something about Bucky Barnes (angst too), beacuse I'm obsessed with the super soldier after thunderbolts. Let me know what you'd like to read after, I got a full list of oneshots in my native language that I just have to translate and post.
summary: Reader know Azriel is her mate but hide from him because he's in love with Elain
Notes: Hi Guys, this is my first one shot in english, and english is not my first language, so be nice, and if have some mistakes, let me know. I usually don't write angst, so this is going to have a happy ending, eventually, after he suffer a lot, because I like to make man suffer a little. Hope u enjoy it!
"And then she just walked away?" I ask the shadowsinger when the sparring lesson finished "Are you sure?"
He was standing by my side, cleaning the weapons we used, his shoulders was down, like he was carrying the weight of the world, but even like that he was still the most handsome man I ever seen, like a sad fallen angel.
"Of course I'm sure" he said passing his marked hands through his face, exhaling a deep breath while look at me " I told her I wanted to be more than just a friend, and then she kissed me, but suddenly she just push me away and ran out, like I was a plague and she needded to avoid touching me"
His face reflected his broken heart, but I was good to hide mine, so he never see through my eyes that every time he talk about her a little piece of me was being tearing apart.
I softened my expression to something less sad, as I thought about what I would say to him, but I wanted to scream, scream loud enough for everyone to hear and know that he was my mate, the one who was predestined for me but who would never be mine. But I couldn't scream, because he was already in love with my sister. And that pain was worse than all the torture I had endured in all these years as a fae.
'You know what, I don't think all this chasing makes sense anymore,' he said, sighing and sitting down beside me, as he ran his calloused fingers through his onyx hair. 'Rhysand doesn't approve it, and he's already told me to stay away from Elain. I don't think it's worth continuing, even if it's what I want,' he sighed in defeat, as if he had finally understood that he had lost this battle. 'I never understood why he's so against the idea of the two of us being together.'
I took a deep breath as I watch the smoke condense before my breath; it's starting to get cold, we'll probably have snow again in a few days.
'Maybe it's because he's already been through this with Feyre,' I said, looking at the wooden sword in my hands. 'She was in love with another male. He saw and felt what it's like to have a mate in love with someone else. Maybe he just identifies with Lucien on that point,' I said with a sigh, rolling my shoulders back, trying to dissipate the remaining tension of the sparring. 'All of this would be easier if Elain would just make a decision and reject the poor male.'
Azriel looked at me with that calculating expression, as if he were being presented with this perspective for the first time. Then he turned his eyes back to the sky and let out a sad laugh, the kind that doesn't reach his beautiful eyes.
'I think you might be right,' he said. 'I spent a year pursuing someone who already has a mate, and who will never be mine, no matter what I do,' he sighed.
And then my heart bled. It was as if he was thrusting the truth-teller into my lungs and all the air was being sucked out. I sighed to hold back the tears and looked up at the sky, hoping for some miracle, praying to the Mother just to shake some sense into this idiot and into the idiot Elain, for them to realize, to see that I was right there, suffering. But deep in my heart, I knew it wasn't their fault that they had those feelings. But I also knew it was time to end mine.
'There's someone out there made for you, Azriel,' I said, trying to sound encouraging. 'There's someone for all of us.'
'But what about you?' he said, and I felt his eyes trace my face as I just stared at the dark sky. 'You always sit there, or come to train and let me talk about Elain, and I don't think I've ever heard you talk about any male,' he finished, giving a strange smile that didn't light up his eyes as usual. 'Do you already have someone special? Someone you left in the Spring Court when you were there with Fay, perhaps? Or did you meet someone here in Velaris?'
'I've already met my mate,' I said, letting out a puff of air. I heard Azriel choke and cough beside me and let out a little laugh. 'But we wouldn't work out. He's in love with someone else, and I would never ruin that"
The sound of indignation he let out made a strained laugh escape me.
'How can he be so idiotic to be in love with someone else when he has you as a mate?' he said, trying to cheer me up, even without knowing he was the idiot in question. 'He must be blind. Does he know you're mates?'
'He's not blind, he's just in love with another, and that's fine. I lived my life without knowing there would be someone made for me, so it's not relevant to have someone now, anyway,' I said, trying to pretend everything was okay. 'And no, he doesn't know. I tried to talk to him as soon as I found out, but he already had his eye on someone else. But it's alright; it doesn't hurt anymore. I think that's what love is, after all, it's giving the person the chance to be happy, even if that happiness isn't with you.'
'That was very poetic of you. Have you been reading Nesta's books?' he said, clearing his throat while I put a lkttle smile in my face. 'But I think you should tell him. I think he has the right to know.'
'I think you're right,' I agreed, letting out a little laugh. He smiled. 'But I'm too like to Rhysand to be able to say anything. I don't want him to feel obligated to love me, I want someone who loves me for who I am, not because a greater force united us,' I said, laughing, and he laughed along, without imagining that he was the idiotic male in love with someone else.
I got up, going to put away the training sword, and he stayed there. I felt his eyes on me, like a soft caress, but I couldn't take that love he felt for her away from him. He would never love me for who I was, after a year hearing him talk about Elain, I get it that he just wanted a mate. And although there were four of us, he didn't even consider that I could be his mate. I couldn't let him know, because then he would question why he ended up with the ugly sister, when the beautiful Elain was right there, ready to be his.
As soon as I turned around to say goodbye, he was already standing, his onyx eyes wide like two saucers, unreadable but the most scared and shocked I had ever seen him. The bond that had previously swum between my hands and within my chest was now rushing with unrestrained emotions.
'Azriel…' I tried to say, when he vanished through his shadows. I had to admit, the Mother had a sense of humor, intertwining two cowards together. 'Goodnight, then,' I whispered into the void, feeling the tears stream down my face, and soon the whirlwind of emotions that had settled in my chest disappeared, giving way only to the usual sadness and emptiness that I welcomed as an old friend.
The day had dawned more quickly than usual, considering I had spent the night crying. Knowing there would be a rejection was not worse than feeling the rejection, at the end was just the same amount of pain, but it had been a year since I felt the constant emptiness that was the bond. I was already used to it and I already knew what was going to happen, there was no competition between the ugly sister and the beautiful Elain. Even knowing this since childhood, the pain of knowing what would happen didn't lessen the pain of what did happen.
After a long shower to look presentable, I quickly changed and went out for breakfast. Only Rhysand and Nyx were visible at the table, which was good, because Feyre would surely read right through my face as she always did since we were kids.
'Good morning, most beautiful thing in the world,' I said, entering the kitchen.
'Good morning, Y/N,' Rhysand said, and I give him a weird look.
'I was talking to the baby,' I said, wrinkling my nose, and he laughed. 'But good morning to you too, you lazy bum.'
Nyx made those cute baby noises and reached his little hands out to me. At least one of us was excited today.
'He loves me, did you see?' I said, tickling his tummy as he smiled and twisted to get down to the floor—he was starting to crawl. 'Where is everyone?'
'Cassian and Nesta, you already know,' he said, sighing as if he couldn't take the two of them fucking like rabbits anymore. 'Feyre and Elain went to buy clothes in the city, something about a last-minute date,' he said, carefully analyzing my reaction, too attentive for someone who should not know anything— so he knew.
'That's good,' I said while serve myself a coffe and a toast, feeling a squeeze in my chest, but I needed to pretend, to pretend until the lie became real. 'So, Elain finally decided to give Lucien a chance?'
'I don't know for sure. Feyre tried to hide information, but I think it has something to do with Azriel,' he said, still staring deeply at me, searching for something in my eyes. I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. 'Why?'
'Nothing, I'm just surprised,' I said, trying to sound indifferent. 'My sister is going on a date; I'm happy for her.'
'Holy Mother, Y/N,' Rhys said exasperatedly, putting Nyx down to crawl on the floor and staring at me with a serious face. 'We both know what's going on. Stop pretending.'
'Stop pretending about what?' I shrugged. 'There's nothing to stop pretending about.'
'I know Azriel is your mate,' he verbalized the situation. So Azriel couldn't stay and talk to me yesterday, but he had time to go gossip with Rhysand. 'I know you know too. When were you going to tell him?'
'That's not what you did with Feyre, is it?' I said, standing up and clenching my hands into fists, my power running through my veins, electricity sparking across my skin. 'Don't come talk to me about any bond, Rhys. I'm not going to force anything with someone who spent the whole year coveting my sister, and when I tried to tell him, he literally ignored me in favor of staring at Elain who was pining away like an idiot. Guess what? we all were, but I was his to care for, AND LOOK WHAT HE DID" I shouted the last part, rage overflowing through my pores.
'If you had told him as soon as he and Cassian rescued you and Feyre on the ice, he wouldn't have done any of this. He deserved...' Rhys said, running his hands through his hair, as if he were in a political impasse he couldn't solve. He couldn't finish the sentence, because I cut him off.
'I don't want someone to love me after discovering we were made for each other by idiotic mystical forces that I didn't even get a chance to comment on,' I said, pointing a finger at him. 'I may not have said anything, but don't come talk to me about deserving. Lucien also deserves to be rejected so he can move on, and I didn't see anyone forcing Elain to do that, so don't tell me he deserved to know.'
'But what if he could love you too? Would you just throw that away…' he tried to argue, before I exploded again, the cutting words coming out before I could stop them.
'No. I'm fed up, Rhys. I'm tired. He knew about the bond yesterday and disappeared, didn't say anything, and honestly,' I said, moving away from the table. 'It's better this way. I don't want this bond. I don't want this pain. I hate it. I wish I never had to feel this, this constant feeling of pain, of not being good enough. I don't want it. One day, I'll find someone who truly loves me, and it won't be him.'
'Don't say that,' Rhys said, running his hands through his hair in defeat. His expression was too hurt for someone who wasn't part of this bond. 'You two could talk and work things out. Come on, Y/N, you could give him a chance.'
'There's nothing to talk about. I've made my decision,' I said, looking firmly into his purple eyes. 'He's the best spy in all of Prythian. Did you ever wonder if he already knew about the bond and just chose to ignore it? Feyre find out by herself" I said as I turned to leave the kitchen. 'I don't want to talk about this anymore, and I hope he and Elain explode together in that ridiculous garden. I know you think everyone deserves the love you and my sister share, but it's not the same for everyone. I think it's time you understand that not everything is the way you'd like it to be.'
I left the Town house and went to Amren's apartment. I couldn't stand being there anymore. I would find a way to break the bond. I was made by the Cauldron itself; there had to be something I could do to alleviate the pain I was feeling, which now felt infinitely worse than when he didn't know about the bond, even if I had to fry the bond from the inside out.
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
summary: bucky’s still finding his footing in the new avengers—getting into a relationship is the last thing he has time for. it’s a good thing that you’re alright with a slow burn.
tags: new avengers!reader, bucky yearns for you obvi, mutual pining, slow burn (as the title suggests), coworkers to lovers
warning(s): gender neutral reader, brief mentions of reader not having family/community growing up, suggestive content (no smut just a lil spicy)
word count: 9.6k
note: partially inspired by my favourite kacey musgraves song!! i just feel like bucky is so slow burn coded, he would really need to ease into things after everything he’s been through. also i kind of struggled with this one so i hope it feels cohesive and not as jumbled as it was in my mind 😭
masterlist
The Quinjet still smelled like smoke, scorched metal, and something distinctly chemical, which was never a good sign after infiltrating an actual chemical plant. You wanted water, a shower, and maybe to never hear the word vat again.
“Just so we’re all clear,” John called from the pilot’s seat, his voice carrying over the steady drone of the engines, “none of this was my fault.”
Of course it wasn’t, at least according to him.
“Oh my god,” Yelena groaned, collapsing into the seat across from you. She tugged her hair tie free and re-braided her short hair with quick, violent tugs. “You blew our cover in under two minutes. Two. I’ve had longer conversations with my dentist.”
Leaning your head back against the seat, you closed your eyes, letting the vibration of the jet rattle through your skull. If this turned into another hour-long blame-fest, dental work might have sounded preferable.
“I didn’t blow our cover,” John snapped, twisting in his seat. “Alexei’s the one who knocked over the vat.”
“Vat was unstable,” Alexei boomed, sitting up straighter. “Do not put this on me.”
Yelena pressed both palms to her face, groaning. “You are a giant red man in a tracksuit. Everything is on you.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to laugh. Ava didn’t even try. Her corner reverberated with a sound that could have been laughter or the slow death of her soul.
“Excuse me, assassin peanut gallery,” John fired back, swivelling fully around now, “but at least I didn’t phase halfway through the floor when the alarms went off.”
Ava’s head shot up. “And I came back for your sorry arse, didn’t I? You’d still be zip-tied to a pipe if I hadn’t.”
“I could’ve gotten out.”
“You were whimpering.”
“I was trying to find a strategy.”
“Oh yes, very strategic crying,” Yelena muttered, rolling her eyes. “Terrified henchmen everywhere.”
That was it. You couldn’t hold it in. The laugh burst out of you before you could smother it, loud and unguarded. The others turned toward you like they’d just remembered you existed.
“I’m sorry,” you managed, wiping at your eyes, “but if we’re passing out blame, we shouldn’t skip over John trying to intimidate the guards by bringing up all his varsity football accolades.”
John’s ears went red. Ava choked on a laugh. Alexei slapped his knee and barked so loudly the seats vibrated. Yelena gave you a nod of approval, almost like you’d earned a stripe.
And then, the smallest thing: across the aisle, leaning against the bulkhead with his arms folded, Bucky’s mouth tilted upward just barely. The kind of smirk you could miss if you weren’t looking, though you always were.
Warmth flared in your chest. Nobody else got that smile. For John, there was disdain, Yelena a put-upon tolerance, Alexei saintly patience. But sometimes, when the timing was right, Bucky smiled at you.
You forced your gaze away, but when you flicked back a heartbeat later, he was already watching you. He didn’t look away.
“It wasn’t bragging about football,” John sputtered, dragging you back into the noise. “I was improvising!”
“Yes,” you said, resting your chin against your hand, “and now three men in hazmat suits think you’re trying to get a football scholarship to live out your dreams.”
Another round of laughter erupted, though John only groaned and turned back to the controls, muttering curses under his breath.
You sank into the hum of the Quinjet, exhaustion pressing heavier as adrenaline faded, leaving your muscles sore and your thoughts sluggish. Bob would’ve hated this. Too much shouting, too many near-misses, and too much uncertainty. He was still learning to trust his Sentry powers, still flinched when he lost control. It was probably better that he hadn’t been here.
This was the New Avengers: loud, messy, one snarky remark away from mutiny. Somehow both a disaster and a family, and somehow yours.
“So what exactly was the plan out there?” Ava asked finally, sitting up straighter. Her tone was calm, but the spark in her eyes made it clear she was happy to keep mocking the others.
“Welcome to working with America’s Most Wanted Rejects,” you said dryly.
John sighed theatrically. “I don’t know why you people think you’re so much better than me—”
“Because we are,” Yelena cut in at the same time you said, “because we didn’t get tied up or almost cause a chemical spill.”
The overlap earned Ava’s first real laugh of the night. Alexei chuckled like it was the punchline of his favourite joke. Behind it all, you felt Bucky’s gaze brush over you again, steady, weighty, like he was already cataloguing the exact words you’d said.
You still weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up here; on paper, your résumé made sense: black ops, missions that never made the news, orders that left more scars than medals. You’d been efficient and forgettable when you wanted to be; the kind of asset someone like Valentina could polish and tuck neatly into her collection of broken toys.
But under all that, you’d never been the same brand of chaos. Yelena and Alexei wore theirs on the outside, Ava carried hers like a blade, and John was a walking PR problem with an identity crisis. You’d always been softer, patient in ways the others weren’t, maybe because years of drifting never let you belong anywhere.
The New Avengers felt like the family you hadn’t realised you were starving for, handed to you in a bunker full of misfits.
Bucky had been the last thing you expected. The fact that he said yes when Valentina dangled leadership in front of him. That he chose to stay. That he chose you, in a way, simply by sticking around long enough for your paths to tangle. And somewhere in the middle of it all, you started noticing the glances he didn’t mean to send your way, the ones that lingered just a little too long.
It wasn’t an instant spark. That had been there, sure, but tentative. Now it was a quietly building warmth, a recognition of each other under all the noise and chaos of this team. Enough to know it wasn’t just imagination.
The Watchtower loomed ahead when the Quinjet touched down. It was dark when you stepped off the quinjet, boots heavy against the hangar floor. It always looked too big when you first got home, with wide hallways and high ceilings.
“Welcome back,” came a soft, sheepish voice.
Bob stood waiting by the door in his robe and slippers, hair mussed like he’d just woken up from a nap. He wrung his hands together, looking like a kid caught staying up past curfew.
“Sorry,” he blurted. “I didn’t get to the dishes yet. I tried, I swear, but I—”
“It’s fine,” you cut in, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug before he could spiral. “Don’t worry about the dishes. It’s good to see you.”
Bob went still for a moment before letting out a quiet breath and hugging you back. The tight line in his shoulders eased. When he stepped away, he actually smiled.
Yelena groaned, throwing herself onto the sofa like she was claiming territory. “Finally. Home. I never want to move again. Somebody order a pizza.”
Ava dropped next to her with a sigh that could’ve been exhaustion or contempt. Probably both.
“Great,” John muttered, following them in. “Get mud all over the upholstery. That’s exactly what we need. A filthy couch.”
“Who cares?” Yelena shot back without opening her eyes. “You made us filthy in the first place.”
“You tripped,” Ava corrected before John could argue.
You sank into an armchair on the edge of the chaos, watching them volley accusations back and forth. The noise didn’t bother you. You liked the sharp edges and too-loud voices filling the space. When the arguments petered out and the room dipped into quiet, you didn’t rush to fill it. You let yourself rest in the stillness, hands folded loosely in your lap, heartbeat finally slowing.
That’s when Bucky moved.
You sensed him before you saw him, the deliberate weight of his footsteps across the floor. He didn’t make a show of it, but he came to stand beside your chair, leaning a little closer than necessary.
“Good work tonight,” Bucky said, low enough that it was almost private. Almost.
The words caught you off guard. Not because of the praise, but because of the way his voice softened around the edges. You looked up at him, surprised, and found him looking back like he hadn’t realised how close he’d drifted.
For a heartbeat, the room went silent. Yelena cracked one eye open. Ava tilted her head. Even Alexei paused mid-chew in the kitchen.
This wasn’t another glance he hadn’t meant to send. This was deliberate. And everyone saw it.
Bucky cleared his throat, straightened, and crossed his arms again, back in the familiar scowl. But it was too late. The shift had been noticed and filed away by the team.
You fought the urge to smile. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you’d never hear the end of it if the others caught it. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, letting the quiet settle again, pretending your pulse wasn’t hammering at the simple fact that Bucky Barnes just said you did a good job.
Later, as you wrapped a towel around yourself and tugged the shower curtain back, you nearly leap out of your skin at the sight of Yelena leaning casually against the sink.
“Jesus!” you shrieked, fumbling to hold the towel in place.
Yelena rolled her eyes like you were the one intruding. “Can you not scream in my ear? I don’t want to lose my hearing before dinner.”
“What are you doing here?” you demanded, heart still racing.
“Don’t change the subject.” She tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. “What was that back there? Barnes, giving you compliments.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks before you could stop it. “It was nothing,” you said quickly, which was the wrong thing to say because Yelena’s smirk only sharpened.
“You’re a terrible liar,” she sing-songed, stepping past you like she owned the place. “Trust me, I know liars. And I saw the way you looked at him. Like little cartoon hearts were about to pop out of your eyes.”
You groaned, reaching for your clothes while she flopped dramatically onto your bed. “It wasn’t like that,” you denied.
“It was exactly like that,” Yelena countered, arms tucked behind her head. “Don’t worry, I think it’s cute. A deadly assassin and a grumpy centenarian soldier. Very romantic comedy.”
You shot her a look over your shoulder. “If this is your way of pitching me your next spy rom-com script, I’m not buying it.”
Yelena grinned, unfazed. “Fine, but I am keeping the title. The Winter Soldier and the Clueless One Who Was Terrible at Pretending Not to Love Him Back.”
“Terrible title,” you muttered, pulling a shirt over your head.
“Terrible denial,” she shot back immediately.
You turned to point at her. “For the record, he was just being nice. That’s it.”
“Mm-hm.” Yelena made a show of examining her nails. “And then you stared at him like he invented buttered toast. But sure, polite.”
You huffed, sitting on the edge of the bed to tug on your socks. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
“Of course.” Yelena leaned up on her elbows, her tone dropping just slightly out of pure mischief. “It’s a gift. But I’m not wrong. Bucky looked at you like he was seeing something he didn’t think he’d ever get to have. And you looked back like you might actually let him.”
That silenced you. Not because Yelena was teasing this time, but because there was a trace of honesty in her voice, sharp enough to slip past your defences.
You’d felt Bucky’s eyes on you, sure. You’d felt that subtle warmth in your chest when he’d noticed you in a way others didn’t. But hearing Yelena put it into words made your heartbeat stutter.
You pressed your palms against your cheeks, trying to cool them. By the time you pulled on clean clothes, Yelena was still lounging there like a cat in a sunbeam, watching you with far too much amusement.
A knock rattled your door. “Pizza’s here,” Bob’s voice called. There was a pause, and then, with impeccable timing: “By the way, what was that back there with Bucky?”
Yelena cackled so hard she nearly fell off the bed.
“Not you too, Bob,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands.
From the hallway, Bob sounded far too pleased with himself. “Hey, I’m just saying. Guy’s got it bad.”
The Watchtower mellowed on Friday nights when everyone got together for movie night. It was Bob’s turn to pick, and he’d gone into the main common room to peruse his options with a grin like a kid getting his favourite toy.
Yelena, however, was having none of Bucky’s absence.
“No,” she declared, arms crossed, perched on the edge of the couch. “Absolutely not. This is unacceptable.”
Ava and John exchanged glances, a silent communication that spoke volumes. “There’s no chance he’s showing up,” Ava insisted.
“It’s just a movie,” John said, his voice flat. “He can sit out. He’s got… whatever it is he does with his metal arm and politics. He doesn’t have to—”
“No,” Yelena cut in sharply, as if this were a personal affront. “Bob will assume he didn’t come because of the movie choice. He’ll feel bad and think he failed his only duty in the team. He’s too polite to say anything, but you know he’ll spiral.”
“You’re being very intense about a movie,” Ava said, though her tone wasn’t entirely unconcerned.
“I’m being considerate,” Yelena replied.
“Okay, well, what are we supposed to do?” you asked from your spot on the couch. You were upside down with your head dangling off the cushion and your feet propped on the backrest. “There’s nothing we can do to make Bucky attend movie night.”
The room went strangely still.
You blinked at the sudden silence, then narrowed your eyes at the collective smirks on your teammates’ faces.
“What?” you demanded. “Why are you all looking at me like that? Stop. Stop with that face.”
Ava tilted her head. “There’s nothing we can do, sure…”
John folded his arms, his smirk widening. “But you might have a shot.”
You sat up properly, frowning. “Excuse me?”
Yelena was already nodding vigorously. “You can talk to him. He listens to you. You have… whatever it is he likes about you.”
“‘Whatever it is’?” you repeated, incredulous. “That’s not a plan. That’s—”
“It’s a very good plan,” Yelena argued, her eyes gleaming. “And it will work.”
“So I’m supposed to… what?” you asked in disbelief. “Bribe him? Threaten him?”
“Convince him,” Yelena corrected you. “You can do it. You have charisma, charm, those sweet eyes that make people want to make you smile.” You raised an eyebrow at the odd compliment. “He likes you. Use it against him, flirt a little. I know he’s old but it won’t give him a heart attack.”
Ava and John snorted simultaneously.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” John said. “He’s not showing up. If I had anything worth betting, I’d bet it.”
Yelena leaned closer, eyes glinting with the thrill of manipulation. “You’re going to get him to go, and Bob will never know you twisted his arm.”
“And if I fail?” you asked, throwing your hands out in the universal shrug of exasperation.
“You won’t,” Yelena said firmly.
You pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long breath. “Fine,” you said finally. “I’ll go find him. Happy?”
Rising from the couch, you felt a twinge of apprehension.
Bucky didn’t attend any of the ten movie nights you’d had so far. Convincing him wasn’t going to be a matter of casual chat. He was disciplined, careful, and annoyingly immune to half the world’s attempts at persuasion, charm, or threats.
You made your way down the corridor, muttering every bad line: Hey, movie night? Too casual. Bob picked it, don’t make him sad? Too guilt-trippy. Yelena said you have to? Too honest.
By the time you stopped outside his door, you still had nothing better. You knocked, and the door cracked open after a short pause.
Bucky filled the frame in a worn t-shirt and sweatpants, barefoot, hair mussed from repeated hand-runs. He looked tired in that irritating way where tired made him look better, not worse.
His blue eyes landed on you, faintly startled, before they softened into suspicion.
“Hey,” you said, leaning on the doorframe. “What are you up to?”
“Not watching a movie,” Bucky said flatly.
You grinned. “Funny, that’s what I’m here about.”
His brow tugged into the tiniest crease. “They sent you.”
“Sent is a strong word,” you said, spreading your hands. “Think of me as the diplomatic envoy.”
That got you the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. If you hadn’t been staring, you’d have missed it. “Still not going,” Bucky said.
You huffed, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room before you could second-guess yourself. “Not even for Bob?”
That made him sigh. Bucky shut the door behind you and watched as you helped yourself to the trinkets scattered across his bookshelf. He always crossed his arms like that. It was as if he thought nobody would notice how much he was paying attention if he folded himself up tightly enough.
“You’re seriously going to make me the bad guy who crushed Bob’s spirit?” you asked. “Because Yelena says if you don’t show, he’ll never pick again. He’ll think you hated it. You’ll ruin movie night forever. Do you want that on your conscience?”
Bucky grinned. “You rehearsed this,” he accused.
“Obviously,” you said, not bothering to deny it. “I practice all my guilt trips to maximise emotional manipulation. What am I, an amateur?”
The laugh that slipped out of him was quiet, rasping at the edges. It lit his whole face for a second—brightening his eyes, loosening something in his jaw—and you nearly forgot how words worked.
You blinked fast, pretending your stomach wasn’t flipping.
“Anyway,” you said quickly, “Bob will be crushed if you don’t come. And then Yelena will be crushed. And then John will be—well, John doesn’t care. But Alexei will try to make Bob feel better, and that will inevitably make all of us feel a lot worse.”
Bucky tilted his head, studying you. The thing about his gaze was that it didn’t skim. He looked right at you, steady, like he could pull you apart molecule by molecule if you stood there long enough.
“You really want me to come?” he asked quietly.
The question landed heavier than it had any right to. You swallowed. “Yeah. I do. It’d be nice to see you participate in the team bonding stuff.”
For a beat, your pulse thudded a little too loud in your ears. You were hyper-aware of how close Bucky had gotten, how his arm was just an inch from yours.
Then Bucky smirked, a flash of old-school charm, and said, “You trying to sweet-talk me, darlin’?”
Oh, perfect. Flirting. Casual, easy, like it was no effort at all for him. Because that was totally fair and not at all distracting.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you managed, though your voice betrayed a hint of warmth. “I’m just here to stop Bob from crying into his popcorn.”
“Sure,” Bucky said. His smirk deepened. “And you barged into my room to keep your midnight snack dry. That’s the only reason?”
You gave him a flat look. “Wow. You’re actually trying to flirt with me.”
That earned you a low laugh, but this time he looked down, shaking his head. For half a second, the cockiness slipped just enough for you to notice the faintest pink dusting across his cheeks. You didn’t mention it; some things were better left unprodded.
Instead, you wandered over to his desk and tapped a finger against one of the neatly stacked mission reports. “Look, to be honest, they all want you there. You’ve known them for a couple months now, all they know is emotional repression. Trust me, they want you there.”
Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, glancing up through his lashes.
You softened your tone. “I’d like you to be there. That’s it. No tricks, no guilt trip. Just me saying it.”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. His arms were still folded tightly, but his shoulders had eased, and the sharpness in his eyes had dulled into something uncertain. Then he exhaled, the corners of his mouth tugging up in the barest smile.
“Alright,” Bucky said. “I’ll be there.”
Relief loosened your chest. You grinned, trying not to look too smug about it. “Good. Bob will be thrilled. And I’ll get to avoid Yelena’s dramatic sighing for one whole evening. Everybody wins.”
Bucky shook his head, still smiling faintly, as if he couldn’t quite believe you’d managed to talk him into it.
You started for the door, pausing with your hand on the handle. “Oh, and for the record? You don’t have to flirt to get invited to movie night. But bonus points for effort.”
His laugh followed you into the hall, low and warm. You didn’t see the way he leaned against the door after you left, arms finally uncrossing, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and something softer.
When everyone piled onto the big sectional in the common room that night, Bob was practically glowing. He clutched the remote in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other.
“Alright, everyone. Prepare yourselves for the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time,” Bob declared. “Toy Story.”
Everyone applauded his movie choice.
Alexei had outdone himself with snacks. Three bowls of popcorn lined the coffee table, plus a suspiciously large jug of something fizzy that Yelena had already claimed for herself. Ava had curled into one corner with a blanket pulled up to her chin, John sprawled like he owned half the sofa, and you were on the love seat with an oversized blanket of your own.
The room felt warm, chaotic in the way only shared comfort ever was. Then the air shifted because Bucky walked in.
Conversation stuttered, the crunch of popcorn fell still, and six pairs of eyes swivelled toward him. He didn’t acknowledge it; he didn’t even falter. He crossed the room with calm, even steps and lowered himself onto the love seat at your side like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Your heart did a weird little kick. You masked it with a smile, lifting the edge of your blanket in quiet invitation. Without looking at anyone else, Bucky slid beneath it, the faint brush of his shoulder against yours sending a wave of warmth through every nerve.
The heat of him contrasted with the cool metal of his arm between you. Every movement—the flex of fingers, faint scrape of fabric—made your pulse trip over itself.
“What are we watching?” he asked, voice low enough that it felt like the question was meant just for you.
You leaned in, your smile tugging wider. “Toy Story. Trust me, you’ll love it.”
For a second, Bucky studied you, and you could feel that unblinking intensity of his gaze. He had a way of looking that made you want to fidget, like he was cataloguing every flicker of expression you couldn’t control. Then he gave the subtlest nod, lips twitching in what might have been the beginning of a smile.
The movie started, and the room carried on as though nothing unusual had happened.
The kitchen was quiet in the way you liked best. The low hum of the fridge filled the emptiness, and the soft clink of bowls and measuring spoons grounded you in the rhythm of it all. There was comfort in the precision of baking and the simple act of making something sweet you could share.
You were rolling neat balls of dough between your palms when you heard quiet footsteps padding into the kitchen. “Didn’t think anyone’d be awake,” a smooth voice commented.
You looked up, startled, and nearly dropped the dough. Bucky was standing beside the fridge, holding a cold bottle of water, shadowed in the dim kitchen light. His broad shoulders filled the space, hair a little mussed like he’d given up on sleep.
You noticed how quietly he moved, like a shadow in combat boots.
“You scared me,” you said, pressing the dough onto the tray. “Don’t sneak up on people unless you want a wad of cookie dough to the face.”
His mouth tugged into that almost-smile. “Noted.” He stepped closer, glancing at the counter. His scent hit you faintly. Soap and something sharper, metal and clean air, like winter caught on fabric. “What’re you making?”
“Snickerdoodles.” You reached for the cinnamon sugar, rolling a ball through it until it was evenly coated.
Bucky took a sip of water. “Never had one.”
You dropped everything with an exaggerated gasp. “You’ve never had a snickerdoodle? Aren’t you, like, a hundred years old?”
“Technically, yes.” He leaned back against the counter beside you, the heat of him radiating at your shoulder. “The name always sounded made up to me.”
“Bucky.” You stared at him in horror. “You’re from Brooklyn. They have some of the best cookies in the city. This is unacceptable!”
That earned you a low huff of laughter, the kind he probably hadn’t meant to let slip. You caught the way his lips pressed together right after, like he was trying not to give too much away.
“Come here,” you ordered, pointing toward one of the empty trays waiting to be filled with cookie dough. “You’re officially on cookie duty. You need to have a snickerdoodle as soon as possible, non-negotiable.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow but obeyed, turning around to face the counter. His metal fingers tapped once against the surface before stilling.
You moved the bowl of cookie dough between the two of you, suddenly aware of how near he was standing. “Have you ever baked before?”
“Not unless you count field rations on a hot car hood,” he said, chuckling quietly.
“I do not.”
“My Ma used to bake a lot growing up, but I spent a lot of time out of the house,” Bucky added, shrugging.
“Well, I’m giving you a crash course.” You held up the dough ball, then extended your hand toward him. “Roll it in the cinnamon sugar, make sure it’s covered.”
Bucky hesitated a beat before taking it from you. His touch was careful, as though he thought he might crush it by accident.
“It’s not a grenade,” you teased, lips twitching. “Don’t worry, it’s actually kind of relaxing once you get the hang of it.”
His eyes flicked up to meet yours. For a second, neither of you moved, the sugar dust clinging to his fingertips. His gaze was steady. He rolled the dough in the bowl until it was coated, then set it on the tray as if it were something immensely delicate.
“There,” Bucky said, his tone dry but fainter than usual.
“Look at you.” You slid the tray you’d completed into the preheated oven, trying not to smile too much at the faint pride in his voice. “You’re a natural. I think we’ll make a baker out of you.”
“Don’t spread that around,” he muttered. But the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
You noticed the way his shoulders seemed to ease, just a fraction, when you grinned at him. “Your reputation as what? The grumpy recluse with murder eyes?” you teased.
“Exactly.” He set another sugared dough ball on his tray, his movements gentle despite his words.
You bumped his shoulder with yours, casual but deliberate. He felt warm and steady against you. “Your secret’s safe with me,” you promised.
The two of you worked in silence for a while, aware of the fleeting brushes of fingers and shoulders, the quiet tension threading between you.
Bucky tilted his head toward the glass of the oven, watching the first tray you’d slid inside. “How long till they’re done?”
“About ten minutes. Thirteen if we want them a little crisper.” You dusted sugar off your palms onto a nearby towel. “Patience is part of the process.”
“Not my strong suit.” He smirked faintly.
You nudged the sugar bowl closer to him. “Then focus on the important part. Like not dropping sugar all over the kitchen.”
Before you could tease him further, you noticed how Bucky’s eyes strayed to your cheek. He reached over instinctively, brushing away some flour. His thumb grazed your skin; soft, careful, fleeting. His expression didn’t betray any emotion, but there was something unguarded that made your breath catch.
“There,” he said quietly when he was done.
“Thanks,” you murmured. You busied yourself with replenishing the cinnamon sugar bowl, partly to have something to do, partly because your heart wouldn’t settle otherwise.
“So, what made you decide to bake five trays of snickerdoodles instead of getting some sleep?” Bucky wondered, still rolling dough balls.
“I like baking at night,” you admitted, tone lighter than the words felt. “It feels like the only time the place is mine. It’s quiet. No shouting, no chaos.”
Bucky glanced sideways, curiosity in the cut of his gaze. “You do this a lot?”
“Whenever I can’t sleep. Which, considering what we do, is often.” You lined a third tray with baking paper. “It makes me reconnect with myself, I guess. I like reminding myself I exist outside of missions and training and whatever else. It’s simple, but—” You laughed under your breath. “I sound ridiculous.”
“You don’t,” Bucky said quietly, earnest. “It doesn’t sound ridiculous at all. I wish I was better at doing that.” His sincerity tugged at you, that delicate ache you always tried to smother with jokes.
You shifted against the counter, meeting his gaze. “I never really had a family growing up. Not the way most people do, anyway. I always felt like I was just trying to survive on my own. So being here with the team is great. It’s loud and messy, but it’s family. And sometimes being alone is the only way I know how to feel like I belong in it.”
Bucky nodded. “Makes sense.”
You tried to smile, but it wobbled. “Guess cookies are cheaper than therapy.”
That drew a small, bold laugh from him, warmer than anything else in the quiet kitchen.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I get what you mean about family. Not having it, then finding it in pieces.”
He wasn’t looking at you, eyes distant, the oven light catching the lines around them.
“I was close with my Ma and Pop. My sister, too. But that feels like someone else’s memories most days,” Bucky confessed. “Steve was always there. Then I had those Winter Soldier years, and Steve left when I finally felt close to normal again. I guess I never fully let myself be part of anything after that.”
You rested a hand lightly on the counter beside his, knuckles nearly brushing. The air felt weighted, delicate. What caught your attention was the quiet honesty in his voice, and how much it cost him to hand it over.
“That sounds lonely,” you said softly.
Bucky’s mouth twitched. “Guess I got used to it.” His impossibly blue eyes flicked toward you, and for a heartbeat, you couldn’t look away.
“And now?”
“I’ve got Sam. Didn’t think I’d ever get used to that, either. But he doesn’t let me keep walls up for long. Drives me crazy.” A small huff of laughter escaped him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Truth is, sometimes I’m afraid I’ll mess it up. Say the wrong thing, push too hard. I don’t exactly have the best track record keeping people close.”
With a small smile, you nudged his arm with your elbow. “For the record, you’re doing fine here. No complaints so far.”
He chuckled, low and surprised. “Guess that’s something.”
“You know, survival used to be the only thing I thought about, too. It gets in your bones, that mindset.” You rubbed your thumb along the edge of the counter, fighting the urge to put your hand over Bucky’s. “But after everything, I want to use what I’ve got for something good. Otherwise all the years of scraping by don’t mean anything.”
Bucky’s eyes burned as he studied you. The attention felt heavy, but not in a way you wanted to run from. “I know what you mean.”
When his fingers brushed yours on the counter, lingering just a moment too long, your chest tightened. You stayed still, unwilling to be the first to pull away.
Neither of you moved until the oven beeped. By the time the last tray was ready, the first batch was resting on a cooling rack, cinnamon-sugar crusts glinting perfectly.
Bucky’s fingers brushed yours lightly as you shifted. His heat was subtle but steady, and you leaned in slightly, testing the warmth between you.
“So,” you said softly, taking off the oven mitts, “if you keep this up, I’m going to have to start requesting your help full-time.”
He cracked a small smile. “I’d be honoured,” Bucky replied, steady and quiet.
You tried not to notice the way his gaze lingered on your hands as you plated the first cookies, or how close he leaned when he reached for the last tray.
“Don’t eat them all at once,” you teased, stepping slightly back to give him room at the counter.
“No promises,” Bucky retorted, grinning widely. His blue eyes held yours a beat longer than needed, and your heart skipped.
You lifted a cooled cookie to your mouth, then offered another to him. He glanced at you, checking your reaction, before taking a bite. The moment his teeth sank in, his shoulders relaxed, and a grin broke across his face, genuine and wide.
The Watchtower elevator doors slid open to chaos. The message you received when you were waiting for the team to return said the mission hadn’t gone well. Ava and John half-carried Yelena between them, her arm pressed tight against her ribs where a blade had nicked her deep. The med team rushed forward, voices brisk and clipped, and you hung back, giving them space.
Your stomach twisted, anger bubbling beneath the worry. Things should never have gone that far. You’d seen too many close calls turn permanent, and the sight of her doubled over nearly made your chest cave in.
You stayed long enough to see Yelena disappear into the med bay, Ava close on her heels, John barking about Yelena’s vitals and other wounds. The tension in your shoulders didn’t ease until the doors swung shut behind them.
You exhaled slowly, already replaying the mission radio in your head. You wondered what you would have done differently if you hadn’t been assigned a solo mission yesterday and been given the day off.
Only when the dust settled did you notice Bucky, leaning against the wall, left hand braced, right shoulder stiff. He was standing a fraction too straight, like holding himself upright by force of will. His breaths were shallow, measured, as if careful not to let pain slip through. A shallow gash ran across his collarbone, blood drying dark against the black fabric of his shirt.
The shot of panic hit sharp and sudden. How had you missed Bucky bleeding quietly in the corner?
“You’re hurt,” you said quietly.
He shrugged one shoulder, the movement tight. “Not bad. She needs the medics more.”
You inched closer. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need looking at.”
Bucky gave you a half weary, half amused look that said he’d rather wrestle a bear than let anyone fuss over him. “Are you offering an alternative to med bay?”
“Yeah,” you said before you could think better of it. “Me.”
One of Bucky’s brows arched, though his shoulders stayed tight with pain. “Not necessary. The serum’ll take care of it.”
“Right,” you said, folding your arms. “And what? You’re going to bleed all over the Watchtower corridors until it does? That’ll look great for morale.”
It came out sharper than you meant, but you couldn’t help it. Bucky could joke about the serum all he wanted, but bleeding was still bleeding.
A flicker of laughter escaped him, fading as he winced. His eyes softened—lashes lowering, mouth easing—a tiny surrender that made your stomach flip.
“Come on,” you said gently, stepping closer. “Just humour me, please?”
For a long moment, Bucky didn’t move. Then, with a weary sigh, he let you hook a hand lightly around his wrist and lead him back to the elevator to go to your floor.
Your room was quiet when the door clicked shut behind you. The buzz of medics and the echo of boots in the corridor were gone. It left only the hush of Bucky’s ragged breathing and the dull throb of adrenaline fading.
“Bathroom,” you directed, nudging the door open. The space was small but tidy, pale tile reflecting the warm light overhead. You dug under the sink for your emergency kit, trying not to notice how he filled the doorway, tall and heavy-shouldered, braced as though standing too long hurt.
“Sit,” you told him, pointing at the counter.
Bucky gave you a long, unimpressed look that might have worked on anyone else. But he pushed himself up with a quiet grunt, settling onto the marble. He perched there stiffly, one knee bent against the cabinet, one hand pressed to the counter for balance. His breath came shallow, as though he didn’t want you to see how badly he was hurt.
Of course, he’d rather stand there bleeding than admit he wasn’t invincible. Typical Bucky.
“Shirt off,” you demanded, washing your hands and opening the first aid kit.
That earned you a wry smirk, but he obeyed, tugging at the hem of the black fabric. He hissed when it caught against the wound, jaw clenching as he stripped it over his head. The shirt hit the counter beside him in a dark crumple, and your breath stuttered at the sight he left bare.
The gash wasn’t catastrophic, but it was messy, a long, angry line stretching across his collarbone. Dried blood clung to the edges, seeping down toward muscle already crowded with old scars. You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus on the wound, not the breadth of his chest or the heat radiating off his skin.
“I’ll try to be gentle,” you promised, dampening a cloth with warm water.
Bucky smiled faintly, though his shoulders stayed tense. The way he said it—casual, because he’d been through so much worse—did something in your chest. It was a reminder that he carried pain like second nature, and you hated how normal it sounded in his voice.
You stepped between his knees, counter pressing into your thighs as you lifted the cloth. Your other hand steadied him lightly at the edge of his ribs. The first swipe drew a sharp breath through his teeth, his muscles tightening under your touch.
“Sorry,” you murmured, softer now.
His gaze found yours, startlingly steady. “Not your fault.”
It wasn’t fair, the way Bucky looked at you. It was as if he’d decided you were the only thing in the room that mattered. Like your hands on him weren’t just necessary, but wanted.
The quiet nearness, and the way his eyes didn’t leave you, made your pulse trip. You focused on careful movements, wiping away the dried streaks until his skin came clean. But every time your fingers brushed him, you felt him shudder.
“You should’ve said something sooner,” you said, rinsing the cloth.
Bucky let out a low hum. “Didn’t want to make a fuss. Yelena needed the medics more.”
He made it sound so simple, like bleeding out in silence was just good manners. You wanted to shake him, and maybe also wrap him in bubble wrap forever.
“That doesn’t mean that you should bear your pain silently,” you reminded him.
For once, he didn’t argue. He just looked at you, eyes burning blue and unguarded.
You reached for the antiseptic, twisting the cap with careful hands. “This’ll sting.”
Bucky nodded, though the muscle in his jaw ticked as the antiseptic touched raw skin. His breath stayed controlled, but you felt the slight tremor when your fingers pressed too close.
“You’re shaking,” you said quietly.
His mouth tugged upward with sardonic humour. “Maybe it’s cold.” The smile lingered longer than the joke did, his eyes tracing your face like he was making note of every reaction.
“You’re also a terrible liar,” you accused.
That startled a small laugh from him. He leaned unconsciously into your touch as you taped a bandage across the worst of the gash, the tilt of his head brushing his hair against your wrist. The faintest sigh escaped him then, almost inaudible, but his lashes lowered for a heartbeat in something close to surrender. You lingered a second longer than needed, heart skittering as you tied off the last strip of gauze.
There was a moment when his hair fell forward and covered his forehead. Without thinking, you brushed it back, fingertips sliding across his temple. Your hand paused there, thumb hovering near the angle of his jaw.
Bucky didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers found the hem of your shirt and began to fidget at it, as though he hadn’t realised he was touching you at all.
“There,” you said, voice hushed. “All better.”
Bucky’s chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths, and your hand still hovered near his shoulder. “Thanks,” he said, equally quiet.
You stepped back an inch, just enough to breathe, but his eyes followed you.
“You don’t usually let people help you,” you said softly. “That much is obvious.”
“I don’t usually let people touch me,” Bucky amended your statement. He paused, then added, quieter still, “But I trust you.”
The words caught you off guard, landing warm and heavy in your chest. You wanted to say something witty or cute to defuse the weight, but it felt small and stupid in the face of his honesty.
Instead, you said, “I trust you too.”
Something eased in his shoulders then, like a weight shifting. He studied you with a softness that made your breath falter, eyes dropping to your mouth and back again.
Butterflies rioted in your stomach, but you forced a crooked smile. “Well, you’re not out of the woods yet. You have a couple other cuts that need tending to, so sit still.”
You worked in silence for a few minutes, adjusting bandages, pressing Band-Aids into place. Each time you leaned close, Bucky’s breath brushed your hairline. Once, when you smoothed a Bluey Band-Aid along the edge of his shoulder, your thumb grazed bare skin.
Your brain screamed to pull back, but your traitorous body betrayed every feeling to Bucky without your consent.
Bucky shivered again.
“Ticklish?” you teased lightly.
“Not exactly.” Bucky’s eyes locked on yours, and the raw honesty in them made you avert your gaze for a breath.
You could’ve drowned in that look if you’d let yourself. Which was why you dropped your gaze like the coward you were.
You swallowed hard, stepping back to check your work. “Done.”
“Looks good,” he said, still watching you like you were the only thing keeping him upright. “Thank you.”
“Any time.” You packed away the last of the kit with fumbling fingers, acutely aware of his attention on you.
Finally, Bucky broke the silence with a low murmur. “You’re good at this.”
“Patching up reckless idiots?” you teased.
His smile grew, soft and rueful. “Something like that.”
And there it was again; that little tug in your chest that made it hard to remember which one of you was supposed to be bleeding right now.
You laughed under your breath, the sound easing the tension by a fraction. “Well, lucky for you, I don’t mind.”
Bucky studied you as if he were recording the way you said things. The tilt of your mouth, that easy sarcasm that lived just under the surface. Then his voice softened. “Don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”
The words landed heavier than he intended; you saw it in the way he immediately glanced down, like he’d given too much away.
You felt your chest ache, heat sparking low in your stomach. “Good thing you don’t have to find out,” you whispered.
He leaned forward slightly, fingers finding the edge of the counter as if to steady himself. You reached out and tucked a stray bit of hair behind his ear, fingertips resting against his skin for a beat longer than necessary. His eyes dropped to your hand, then up, and there was a fragility there.
“Careful,” Bucky said, voice teasing. “I’m starting to think you’re making moves on me, darlin’.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, though your voice came out softer than you meant.
He let out a laugh, small and genuine, as he pushed himself up slowly with one hand braced on the counter. Instead of tugging his shirt back on, he tossed it over his uninjured shoulder.
Then he leaned down and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek.
Your breath caught, eyes fluttering shut for half a heartbeat, heat flooding your chest before you forced yourself to steady. When you opened them again, Bucky was watching you with a reverence that was devastating in its quiet intensity, something warmer and more open than you’d ever seen him let slip.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said. “You can stop worrying about me now. I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah?” You crossed your arms, trying for sternness and failing because your mouth was already curved. “Because I have a strict policy of making sure the men I patch up don’t ruin my handiwork.”
A flash of fondness crossed Bucky’s face. “Lucky for you, I can follow rules,” he guaranteed.
Bucky gave you one last smile before turning toward the door. Just before he stepped out of your room, you caught the subtle motion of his hand rising and brushing his mouth, lingering there like he was trying to memorise the feeling of your cheek against his lips.
You shuffled down the hall in your pyjamas, already planning to apologise to the first human unlucky enough to meet you before caffeine did its work.
Bucky stood in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy, stubble scattered across his face. He was leaning casually against the counter, bulging biceps on display, and in front of him sat two mugs of coffee. Steam curled lazily upwards from both.
Your half-asleep brain couldn’t compute it. Bucky was waiting there, coffee ready, as if he did this every day. Your heart stuttered before your mind caught up.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you croaked, which was the closest you could manage to good morning.
Bucky lifted a mug and held it out towards you, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Morning, sunshine. This one’s yours.”
You blinked at him, then at the mug. You knew just from the smell that it was exactly how you drank it; the right strength and the perfect amount of milk. Even the sugar count was perfect.
You tried for sarcasm, something to cover the way your pulse was suddenly rattling. But all that came out was, “You memorised my coffee order?”
“Wasn’t hard,” Bucky said, eyes lingering just a little too long on your face. “You’re predictable in the morning.”
It was nothing, just coffee, but it wasn’t nothing at all. Nothing, except your hands were trembling faintly as Bucky watched you like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
You reached for the mug, and his fingers brushed yours. Just a graze, skin against skin. Nothing worth remembering, except your body disagreed. Heat sparked at the point of contact, shooting up your arm with the speed of lightning. The mug was warm, but Bucky was warmer.
His hand didn’t drop immediately. Bucky lingered half a second too long, and you felt the faintest twitch of his fingers as if he had to stop himself from holding on. When he finally let go, his shoulders shifted in the smallest, betraying way. It was as if he’d felt the spark too and didn’t trust himself not to show it.
“Static,” you managed, your voice an octave higher than usual. “That’s what that was.”
Bucky’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous. “If you say so.” His voice had that gravelly scrape to it, like he’d been up all night.
He lifted his own mug, taking a casual sip like he hadn’t just short-circuited you with one brush of his fingers.
You narrowed your eyes at it. “What are you drinking? Because if that’s decaf, I’m staging an intervention.”
“Herbal tea.”
You made a face. “And yet you’re standing there, completely conscious? I can’t string two words together until I have coffee.”
The corners of Bucky’s mouth lifted, almost too small to notice if you weren’t watching him the way you always did. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly, “I’m wide awake now.”
You froze, mug halfway to your lips. It took a second for your brain to catch up, to realise Bucky didn’t mean the tea, or the hour, or anything else except you. Because you were finally awake, finally with Bucky.
Your grip on the mug was barely steady, and for one insane moment, you thought about asking if herbal tea was super-soldier code for: I’ve been in love with you this whole time.
Bucky didn’t look any steadier. Every brush of his gaze, the tilt of his head, made it impossible to think straight.
He swallowed once, throat tight, and when his gaze flicked down to your mouth before snapping back up, it wasn’t an accident. His jaw shifted as if holding himself back took actual effort. And you knew that feeling well, because you were doing the exact same thing.
You forced yourself to take a sip, partly for the caffeine, mainly to keep from blurting out something mortifying like kiss me right now or I’ll die. The coffee was hot, rich, perfectly made, and entirely useless at cooling the heat prickling your skin.
“So tell me,” you said, lowering the mug just enough to peek over the rim, “do you always get up at military o’clock?”
Bucky’s mouth twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Force of habit.”
Your heart did something embarrassing in your chest, like it was trying to vault straight out. Bucky said sweetheart so casually, so easily, like it had been sitting on his tongue waiting for an excuse, and suddenly your knees felt suspiciously weak.
You tried to laugh it off. “Force of habit, right. Meanwhile, I’m still negotiating with gravity before eight a.m.”
“That’s why I made the coffee.” Bucky’s eyes flicked down briefly to your mug, then back up. “Someone’s gotta keep you upright.”
You pressed a hand to your forehead like a starlet in an old film. “My hero,” you crooned, putting a faux-sultry lilt on the words. “How can I thank you?”
The joke should have broken the tension, but only wound it tighter.
Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, and you noticed the way his voice had dipped without him meaning to. “You being here with me is enough, darling.”
He was standing just a fraction closer than strictly necessary, and suddenly the kitchen didn’t feel large enough for both of you and the pull between your bodies. Every detail of him felt magnified: the rasp in his voice, the scent of soap clinging to his skin, the way his body seemed so close, like he’d closed the distance without moving at all.
On a reckless impulse, you reached over and plucked the mug from Bucky’s hands. “Hmm,” you murmured, tipping it just enough to take a sip. “So this is how you live, huh?”
He didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch. He just watched, eyes locked on your mouth, and your stomach did that ridiculous flip that felt like it might unseat your ribs.
“You always gotta tease me, huh?” Bucky’s voice was low, teasing, but threaded with something intense, a subtle tremor that you recognised immediately.
“Guess you’ll just have to stop me.” Your voice came out steadier than you felt, but only just.
The words hovered in the air like a dare.
That was it. Something snapped between you; the tension, the heat, the waiting. You both leaned in, and there was no pause, no hesitation. Just the inevitability of months of glances, touches, and unspoken confessions spilling over into one, all-consuming kiss.
His hands found your waist, bracing, pulling you closer, and you dropped the mug on the counter beside you before grasping his shoulders, smiling against his mouth. It was fire and softness at once, everything neither of you had dared to say aloud before.
You deepened the kiss, and Bucky groaned low in his throat, a sound that made something inside you lurch. His fingers splayed along your spine, pulling you impossibly closer, and you couldn’t resist sliding your hands up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him shut his eyes. A low groan escaped him that made your chest tighten, and you could feel the rapid thrum of his pulse under your hands.
You pressed against him, and his body heat spread through you, making your stomach flutter. His hand traced the curve of your hip, the warmth of his palm searing, while yours roamed over the broad plane of his shoulders, down to the dip of his lower back. Each brush of skin against skin made you whimper softly.
Bucky’s breath came faster, hitching between soft curses and little whines that mirrored the ragged ones tumbling from your own lips. You moved with him, both of you greedy for the closeness you’d denied for so long.
Little moans and soft laughs, each hitch of his breath against yours, made the world shrink to the heat of him, the rhythm of your pulse, mirrored perfectly in his. Your tongue traced his, and he hummed, a vibration against your own mouth that made your chest ache.
When you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, you grinned. “You’ve been making me wait for this forever,” you teased.
Bucky let out a shaky laugh, his voice low and rough, “Maybe that’s why I can’t keep my hands off you.”
You grinned, breathless, teeth grazing his bottom lip in a tease he didn’t resist. “Good thing I don’t want you to.”
Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, grazing the skin of his abdomen, memorising the muscles and scars you’d admired from a distance for far too long. Bucky shivered under your touch, letting out a low, ragged sound that made your pulse spike. His thumbs traced light, teasing paths along the curve of your back, making you shiver and press closer.
His hands stayed on your waist at first, then tentatively roamed higher, thumbs brushing over the curve of your back as if checking you were really there. He dipped his head to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. A soft laugh escaped your lips as his teeth grazed gently. Each breath he stole made your head spin, every shiver and hitch of his breath mirrored your own.
Your hands travelled freely over him, exploring the strength beneath the surface you’d only ever glimpsed. Every brush of skin, every press and sigh, made it painfully clear how long you’d both been denying this. He groaned and reconnected your lips, meeting with a hunger that he’d been smouldering for months.
You pressed chest to chest as he lifted you onto the counter, legs wrapping around his waist. Just as your fingers tangled in the nape of his neck and his hands pressed possessively at your hips, the elevator doors opened. You jumped, Bucky tensed, and then the chorus hit.
“Finally!” Yelena shouted, hands on her hips like she’d been waiting her whole life to say it. “We thought you two would combust before actually doing it!”
“We are witnessing a miracle!” Alexei added, voice booming as he leaned against the doorway.
You groaned, burying your face against Bucky’s chest, and he muttered something in the back of his throat that sounded like he wanted to kill them all.
“We’re hungry,” John said, arms crossed, smirking like he wasn’t part of the chaos. “We don’t care that you’re finally enacting your mutual wet dreams in the kitchen.”
Bucky’s hands shifted on your waist, tightening just slightly. “Give us a minute,” he said in a low voice.
“Not happening,” Ava chirped. “We want pancakes.”
“And orange juice,” Bob agreed.
“And updates on the kiss that has been long overdue,” Yelena said happily.
You squeaked, feeling Bucky’s hands lift you higher effortlessly, your arms instinctively clutching his shoulders as he carried you off the kitchen counter. He grinned, declaring, “I think I have a better idea.”
Bucky strode toward his room, unbothered by the team’s protests. Even as he walked toward his room, your bodies stayed flush, and he pressed the occasional kiss to your lips and cheek.
“Breakfast can wait,” Bucky said quietly, “But I’ve done enough waiting.”
synopsis: After you confided in Bucky about your past, he began to ice you out - shooting you dirty looks instead of his usual smiles... especially when he sees you blushing for Steve.
warnings: 18+, angst, smut (fingering, oral - f receiving, masturbation, dirty talk, softdom!bucky, possessive sex, maybe slight size kink ish? but about bucky being big, blushing kink? is that a thing? if it is, bucky has it), references to past violence committed by bucky and accidental destruction / injury caused by reader, cursing, jealous!bucky, shy!reader, panic attacks, no use of y/n, eventual fluff, reader is down so bad for bucky
word count: 12.2k
note: i have just started using tumblr in the last few weeks and this is my first ever time writing an x reader fic / smut so please be kind, this is scary!! if i have done anything wrong in terms of formatting, tagging etc. please let me know bc i am still learning the ropes!
Bucky had shown you something like kindness once. Being the newest recruit to the team and joining under the circumstances that you did, it had seemed like he understood you and your baggage better than the others did back then. Not that there were ever any grand gestures of goodwill; there never was with Bucky. But he would pick you up something for lunch without you having to ask, make you a coffee in the morning, ask how you were doing. And when you told him, he listened - as in, actually listened. Thinking back on everything you told him made you feel so brainless and short-sighted; made you feel like you had given up something deeply personal you couldn’t now claim back.
Nowadays, he brushed off any attempt at conversation. He wasn’t the most forthcoming conversationalist with anyone but he was particularly cold towards you, sometimes going so far as to completely blank you when you would ask him a direct question. And that was fine - just fine. But you couldn’t quite pretend you didn’t still look for him in every room. Couldn’t pretend you didn’t look at him first when anything significant happened, even when it hurt.
“Maybe you should spar with Steve today,” Natasha suggested not-quite-indifferently, popping a hand on her hip. “Change things up a bit, you know.”
You felt the traitorous heat flood to your face before you had even really processed the comment. You knew the formula by now; someone would make a teasing comment about Steve, your entire face would light up red with heat, the whole team would try to suppress a smirk (or pretend to try), and then Steve or Wanda would show mercy by changing the subject.
You hated Bucky more than ever in those moments. Because your eyes would instinctively move to him, in time to see the disgusted expression on his face, as if he couldn’t believe anyone was entertaining the idea of you and Steve. You hated him, but you also hated yourself. Because of how inferior it made you feel - because of how far under his thumb you were, even after all of his stony silence.
“She’ll be training with me again,” Wanda said, voice light and airy, before turning to you. “You’re not free of me until you move that damn elevator.” You jumped on the escape she offered with a reply about the assignment, your face pink and body numb with embarrassment. You could hear Nat and Sam snickering behind you as you walked with her toward the back of the room. Steve was shushing them about as effectively as a substitute teacher.
“Such an open book.” Wanda laughed as you both came to a stop by the elevator, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear affectionately. “Now let’s try to open your mind.”
You focused your attention on the elevator - prodded the corners of it with your mind, felt its crushing weight on your tongue… and pushed.
Your telekinesis hadn’t suddenly appeared the night you tore down your college dorms. You had been in the business of ignoring it and covering it up throughout your childhood and young adulthood; hoping it would just go away. But it didn’t. It lingered and grew like a tumour until it was no longer possible to shut your eyes to it. The day your old life ended - that day in the NYU dorms - was the worst of your life. It wasn’t just the calamity and ruin - the total destruction of the building - and it wasn’t even the subsequent confinement by SHIELD. It was those endless, agonising hours that you spent in your own dorm room, books and stationery flying everywhere, feeling that the pot was boiling over, feeling that the force inside you was reaching a glorious, devastating crescendo and trying your best to stop it.
Wanda had been trying to help you tame this force, turn it into something palatable that SHIELD could bend to its own will. But Wanda’s powers were different to your own - easier to manage. You couldn’t yet say how well this taming was working.
“You almost had it. Try again.”
You sighed, bone-tired after the mental gymnastics of attempting to send a ten-ton freight elevator up 80 stories without the adrenaline rush of being on the field. You stretched your shoulders and glanced around, eyes catching Steve and Bucky sparring at the opposite end of the gym. Bucky barked a loud, rough laugh watching Steve charge at him. He moved as rapidly as an arrow from a bow, sending Steve flying past him. He turned swiftly to kick his backside on the way. Steve stumbled and Bucky smirked wickedly.
There was something wolf-like about Bucky. His fierce, blue eyes maybe, or his stern bearing. But looking at him now, with his wide-mouth grin, shoulders loose and his eyes soft with no fixed gaze - he looked more like a playful dog. You had never seen him look that way before, not even when you first joined the team. He was all dark clouds and edges sharp enough to cut yourself on, but right now it all cleared up for just a moment. He was beautiful. It sent the breath right out of your lungs.
You had hardly committed the view to memory when Bucky caught your gaze. He stopped short, caught off-balance, and the two of you stood on opposite ends of a long hall, staring for just the blink of an eye. And then his expression changed; the relaxed grin turning to a straight line, the brilliant gleam in his eye extinguishing. You were met with that revolted expression he seemed to save especially for you.
You caught fire. You could feel your veins bulging, straining against the skin on your temple - fury and humiliation congealing to replace any awe or admiration you had been experiencing. The injustice of the whole affair was gnawing at your insides.
You remembered what it was like to confess everything to Bucky. You laid bare all your sins - some that you hadn’t even been able to mention in your court-mandated therapy sessions. You remembered the look of understanding and empathy that had bloomed in his blue eyes that night, only for him to give you the cold shoulder the very next day.
A throbbing rage was working its way up your gullet. Hadn’t he said that he understood? That he, of all people, knew what it was like to live with the remorse and agony of inflicting pain and suffering to others against your will. You hated him. You hated him.
“You did it!”
The fire died immediately. You swung round to look at Wanda who was ogling you in wonder and exhilaration. It was only then that you noticed the digital indicator above the elevator displayed the number 80. You had moved it up without even realising. Without even trying.
“Yeah, finally.” You smiled tightly at her. She was beaming at you with pride that made it impossible to admit that it had been a fluke.
“I’m so proud of you,” she gushed, grabbing you into a hug. “Go to your room for a nap, you must be exhausted. We’ll practice again tomorrow.”
You didn’t hesitate.
“To recap, the objective is simple: kill the power, get inside, reach the 40th floor and extract the data from the mainframe - quietly. Leave no trace, no noise, not even a shadow. Needs to be clean and tight. You will have a team, led by Garcia, but they’ll all be offsite. You’ll be going in alone.”
Bucky shot up abruptly from the meeting room table. “With all due respect…” he said, throat bobbing up and down while he seemingly considered his words. “I think I might need someone with a little more experience on this one. Doesn’t sound like we can risk anything here.”
You bit your cheek and watched the pen in front of you twitch and shake of its own volition. You focused on not sending it flying across the room.
“No.” Maria said. “You have both been picked specifically for this mission. The stairwell is monitored by cameras that are run by backup power systems so the stairs is not an option. Once that power goes out, you’ll need someone who can move that elevator up to your floor. And like I said, you will have Garcia with you remotely.”
Daniel Garcia, a non-commissioned army sergeant around your own age, stood at the back of the room, nodding resolutely to confirm his confidence in the plan.
“Well then maybe Steve-“
“No.” she repeated with finality. “You have been assigned this mission for your stealth. We can’t afford any loose ends. You’ll get the detailed brief after the meeting.”
You saw as Bucky cringed at the word ‘stealth’. His clean-up jobs as the Winter Soldier had been plenty stealthy. He knew that was what she was referring to. Everyone did. A beat passed while he seemed to weigh up his options and then he sat down.
You willed away the humiliation that sat heavy in your stomach and forced yourself to keep your face impassive. You could feel the eyes around the table trying to catch a subtle look at you.
You had moved the elevator a few more times since your first accidental success, but never with ease and never in the timeframe specified by Maria just now. As Maria moved on to discuss the next mission, you glanced over at Wanda, who was looking at you with absolute confidence you wished you could have a share of.
You had done the regular SHIELD field training - they had practically kept you in solitary confinement for three years after the NYU disaster, which gave you plenty of time to learn the ropes. But you had never been assigned a mission that relied solely on your ‘powers’, as they called it. Sure, it came in handy to be able to throw someone around like a ragdoll in combat without lifting a finger, or drop a car on someone who was about to let it rip with a machine gun. But if all else failed, you could still go on like a regular field agent. Your telekinesis had never been an absolute requirement for the success of a mission before and you wondered what might happen if, in the critical moment, you simply couldn’t. You looked over at Bucky who was already staring directly at you, and you knew he was already thinking the same thing.
Bucky, along with most others on the team, was clued into just how unpredictable this power of yours was. Before you had begun to train with Wanda, it appeared exclusively in times of emotional turmoil, which made it difficult to control or forecast. Even now after all of your training, those times were still when the power was at its highest… strong enough to bring down an entire building, brick by brick.
And therein lay the crux of the issue.
You knew the reason why everyone wanted you to be with Steve, even if nobody would say it out loud. He was so boyish, so All-American. His stable, grounded nature - it would make sense to put you both together. He would always make sure you don’t fly off the handle. He would know how to tame that little troublesome force of yours, would be able to subdue it with nothing but soft smiles and reassurance. And recently, you had been considering it.
You blushed at the team’s comments about Steve only out of embarrassment and diffidence. But you caught the way Steve had been suppressing a smile recently when the teasing started, even while trying to change the subject. The way he had been targeting you with those boyish smiles more frequently, as if waiting for you to be brave enough to smile back in the same way. And you started thinking maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to spend more time with someone like Steve - someone who could help you domesticate that creature inside you.
But if coming clean to Bucky had changed him from a friend to someone who detests you so abruptly, you didn’t want to think about the reception you would get from someone as pure and good Steve. Bucky’s body had been used for almost seventy years to murder targets and civilians alike - but you could still feel the look of disgust from the far end of the table slithering up your spine.
The heat in Serbia was utterly oppressive. It was the middle of the night, but the heat still pressed on you like a weight, sizzling all your nerve ends and heightening your agitation. Dampness collected at the back of your neck, curling those small hairs that were not long enough to be tied into your neat plait. You had woken up in a Belgrade hotel that morning, sheets soaked and eyes crusted shut with perspiration. It had only become hotter since.
You had been searching despairingly for something to say to Bucky for the last hour, but everything you thought of came off as a bit desperate and the heat was making you flustered. So you just kept your mouth shut instead. Bucky was wired like a barbed fence - you worried one wrong move would make you bleed. And besides, he would have to say something eventually.
Minutes passed. Every second was fraught with tension - you both knew this was it, you two would have to speak for the first time in weeks. You were both standing alone in a blind spot, four blocks away from the building you were targeting.
He puffed out a breath. “Into position. They’re ready for us.”
You gave him a curt nod. How goddamn anticlimactic. You trailed behind him as the team in your ear got ready to shut out the power to the building.
“Get movin’.” he barked at you without looking in your direction. You scowled to yourself.
“Shut up,” you whispered, not intending to be heard. He shot you an unforgiving look - his stern brow furrowing intimidatingly. It made your cheeks flame and you sped up, embarrassment settling in. Just like a child who had cursed under their breath. You noticed Bucky grinning slightly in your peripherals but you were too sheepish to feel at all astonished.
The tower you stopped in front of was robust and imposing; it wasn’t half the size of Stark Tower, but looked far more intimidating. It stood tall, brutal and grey, asserting itself proudly amongst the other smaller buildings. Your heart thumped out of sync with the rest of your body as you glanced upwards.
“You ready?” Bucky asked, searching you intently with his eyes as you approached a side entrance. You just blinked back at him. You hadn’t been expecting that.
If you were surprised by the question, you were immensely more so when Bucky refused to move. Like he was really waiting for your answer. His eyes held yours steadily, with none of the usual revulsion. You just nodded at him once, not able to manage much more.
He searched your expression one last time before nodding back and shooting a quick ’Now’ to Garcia in his ear. He waited for the red light on the door handle to go out and pushed it open.
The building was pitch black, but still cool from the AC that had been running seconds prior. The drastic change in temperature induced small bumps to surface over your arms.
There were still a few people in the building - security and late workers. You could hear a few of them call out in surprise in the otherwise deathly quiet. Maria had briefed you both to expect this. Bucky didn’t delay for a second, following the directions he had been provided with certainty, even in the complete absence of light. You followed closely after him, the tactical light on his gun showing you the way.
It took you a second to realise you had made it to the elevator hall when Bucky stopped. You looked around at them all and felt them with your mind, working your way around their edges and weighing them up: 6 options, all passenger lifts, all 2 tons or less.
Easy. If Bucky would stop looking at you.
You focused your attention to one of the elevators and attempted to pick it up with your mind. But at each attempt you struggled to blot him out. You could see him without looking, gazing at you with thinly veiled disapprobation and judging the worth of your abilities on these few seconds. It weakened your will.
“Performance anxiety?”
“Shut up,” you snapped, eyes flicking over to him. “You’re being intimidating on purpose.”
“Am I really that scary, darlin’?”
Your breath caught. Something about the way he said it - low and dangerous - made your stomach wound tight, betraying your own brain. His eyes were boring into you in the same stony way as always - but in that moment, in the darkness of that hall, it didn’t look like disgust or disapproval. It looked more like hunger.
He was closer to you than you had noticed. You could hear his breath, coming out in steady puffs. Could feel the heat radiating from his body in waves and caressing your skin. You wanted - you needed him to be closer. You trembled under the intensity of the gaze, feeling that familiar heat rushing to your cheeks. His eyes followed it, pupils dilating - blowing so wide as if trying to swallow the picture. You couldn’t help it - you let out a breathy gasp. It was quiet, probably imperceptible to anyone but Bucky. But something snapped. You watched as the look in his eyes went from hunger to all-out desire. There was no denying it anymore. You watched his hand twitch, as if deciding whether to reach out and touch -
There was a shout in the distance. Something in Serbian. You did not understand but Bucky seemed to.
“Get the lift.” he said, his voice low and cold. “I won’t look.”
You blinked dumbly at his composure. Your body was still in flames while his had turned to stone in an instant. You could already see his jaw twitching with impatience as you gathered yourself. Your breath was coming out in mortifying pants.
It did not take you long to summon the elevator this time. You pried apart the doors with ease, stepped in with Bucky, and sent it up to floor 40. You were still too dazed to even feel a sense of accomplishment after stepping out.
Bucky stalked over to the mainframe immediately while you hung self-consciously by the elevator, holding it up where it was with practiced ease. You tried not to think about him - about what just happened between the two of you, but you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of him. You weren’t even looking at him but you could feel him. Could almost still feel the heat radiating from him.
You were in agony as the seconds dripped by steadily. You had your back to Bucky, holding your breath - somewhere between stillness and frenzy. You waited to hear a soft sound, a step, a thought. But he worked quickly and silently before returning to your side, tucking the small hard drive into a pocket. It must have taken him less than five minutes in total.
You were about to say something - you weren’t even sure what it was - but booming male voices emerged nearby. In immediate and blind panic, you let go of the elevator and listened to it rattle, tumble and fall 40 floors to the ground. You froze for a beat, processing what you had just done.
Bucky grabbed your waist with bruising strength and jostled you into a corner. You weren’t completely out of sight but it was all you had time for. Three men - two of them burly and one thin - came sprinting to the platform and peered down the elevator shaft, shining industrial flashlights at it and speaking in rapid Serbian. You couldn’t understand what they were saying - it was all that you could do to lock eyes desperately with Bucky, grasping at any shape of composure while anxiety clawed its way up your chest. He was staring right back, maintaining your gaze steadily. His strong hands were still on your waist, gripping you tightly, as if he thought you might run if given the chance.
The darkness of the building was your best friend. If any of them moved their heads just slightly to the right, they would have seen you. And then it would all be over. Not that you would be in any danger, necessarily. Bucky could take all three out so quickly and so quietly, it would hardly cause even the slightest fuss.
But that wasn’t the objective. The objective was to keep it clean, tight, quiet. You had already fucked that up. Royally.
Something appeared to have been decided and the three men darted to a door across the hall. Bucky immediately dislodged himself from where he held you in the corner and took your hand gently instead to pull you out in front of the elevators again. The adrenaline was withdrawing from your body so rapidly that you felt faint.
“They think the elevator plummeted because of the power outage but they’re going down to the ground floor to take a look. We gotta get down there before them or we will be stuck here. I need you to call up another elevator. You think you can do that for me, doll?”
You think it was the confidence and calm in Bucky’s face that gave you the strength to rally. You weren’t entirely certain that he wasn’t faking it, but if he could watch you mess up so badly and still be able to appear to have faith in you, then you should be able to suck it up.
You nodded once and moved on autopilot. The elevator was summoned, the doors were pried apart and the two of you went hurling at breakneck speed towards the ground floor. Once you got to the platform, you made sure to close both doors behind you - leaving no trace, though you supposed it hardly mattered at this point. Bucky grabbed your hand again and the two of you went sprinting through the same door you came in.
The journey back to your hotel was a dim and blurry haze. You allowed Bucky to communicate with the team while you focused on your shame alone and tried not to let it swallow you whole. There was nothing to be said between the two of you; everything was perfectly understood. You had compromised the two of you and Bucky had been forced to save both the mission and your skins. The moment you shared before any of it went down felt like another timeline now - all you could think was that you had now finally proved to him once and for all that you had earned his disgust and distrust.
You were trembling by the time you made it back to your hotel room, hanging on to your emotions by the smallest thread that was slipping through your grasp by the second. When you opened the door to the dingy apartment, you hadn’t expected to see Bucky marching in behind you as you went to close the door. He was still chatting busily on the phone.
“Yes. Yeah, all secure. No complications in that regard. Can’t we discuss this in the brief once we’re back, Garcia?”
You glanced at him warily and you saw him glance warily back. You hadn’t heard him bring up your fuck-up yet, but there was always time to think about that later. Right now, you just needed him out.
“No, it’s fine. Ok. Talk later.”
With the phone back in his pocket, yourself and Bucky both blinked at each other. The silence was unrolling itself across the two of you - stretched, thin, awkward.
“I’d like to be alone, please.” you said. Your voice sounded pathetic and small even to yourself.
Bucky shifted on his feet, blue eyes flitting across the room. “They thought it was the power outage that caused it. I heard them say it.”
You didn’t have the patience to be comforted awkwardly by Bucky out of obligation right now - or the time. You could feel that familiar pot threatening to boil over, felt unreleased energy sparking in your temples and fingertips. You needed him gone before he could witness whatever it was that was about to burst forth.
You could have borne it, maybe, could have folded up the shame and tidied it away to deal with later - had it been anyone else there with you but him. But knowing how well acquainted he was with your sins and the guilt that they inspired meant you couldn’t hide from him. He had even heard it told from your own lips - long before he became a ghost to you.
He saw you for what you were. You felt it in every glance he shot your way, his face plastered with resentment. In the long, cold silences. In his unadulterated horror at even the smallest suggestion of a relationship between you and his friend. You didn’t need him to tell you what he saw; you already knew.
“I’d like to be alone, please.” you repeated. Your voice didn’t waver this time, but you could feel your eyes lose focus - becoming glazed with your blind panic.
“You might wanna be, but it doesn’t look like you should be.” was his gruff response.
The energy in your temples was spreading its way down your throat and to your chest - electricity was sizzling and bubbling inside you. “Why are you here? We’re not friends.”
You were snapping at him now. You needed him gone.
A clothes hanger soared out of the open wardrobe and you knew it was too late. Knew there was no time now to get him to leave.
You sat on the end of the bed and brought your knees to your chest, pressing your forehead to the top of your knees, allowing your face to touch the bare and warm skin below the hem of your shorts.
You tried this every time. It never worked.
The bedside lockers began to inch forward, as if being drawn by an attached rope. You didn’t see or hear this, all you could hear was a whirring - but you could feel yourself doing it with your mind. As if you were pulling them with your own hands by no choice of your own.
Bucky’s hands - warm and calloused - pulled your face free from where it was locked to your thighs. He cradled your cheeks with both hands and forced your eyes to his own.
“I’m gonna need you to calm down for me, doll. Can you do that?”
His hands were rough on your skin, the kind that belonged to years killing - but they cradled your face like you were something sacred. It struck you sideways, the strangeness and gentleness of it, before a vase went pummeling to the floor and the panic pulled you back under.
“You don’t need to be nice.” you forced out, your voice muffled and strange. “Just let me deal with it.”
The speed was picking up. The framed posters were flying from the walls, clothes were shooting out from your suitcase. Trying to stop it from exploding was the worst part. You knew you were trying to fight the inevitable but it seemed that to just resign yourself to it would be unforgivable, even if it was like trying to plug a river with your thumb.
Bucky’s hands moved from your face to your hands, clutching them with a numbing grip. You were briefly surprised to glance up and find him unshaken. His jaw was clenched, but you couldn’t see any other signs of unease. His blue eyes were trained on you with unaffected calmness and care. His voice was low and subdued, almost a whisper, when he spoke.
“It’s not your fault, darlin’. Shit happens and we deal with it. You got us outta there, didn’t you? We got it done, didn’t we?”
A beat passed while you just looked at him.
He slowly let go of your hands, bringing his flesh arm to your back and metal arm to the underside of your knees. The metal was pleasantly cool against your skin. Lifting you with impossible ease, Bucky tentatively brought you to his lap. Slowly, giving you plenty of time to look or sound an objection, he covered you in an embrace.
Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him and breathed him in, suppressed shakes and sobs escaping from your body. You scramble to get closer, to feel his body beneath your touch - warm and solid. Bucky didn’t say much - he murmured a few encouraging words, repeating that it is not your fault, repeating that you got them out of there. But it felt like he was holding all your pent up silence, your pain, your guilt, just for a few moments. It felt like you were able to put it down and let him take it on for you temporarily.
You weren’t sure when the objects stopped flying across the room. You surrendered your power to Bucky, and sobbed into his shoulder until you were worn out.
When you woke up, everything was put back into its rightful place. The objects you broke were either mended or cleared out. You found yourself beneath the duvet.
And Bucky was gone.
Bucky had been extracted from Serbia early.
There were still some loose ends to tie up in Belgrade but this was evidently below his paygrade. You were left to wrap up the mission with the rest of the team.
Dan Garcia was more than happy to keep your mind occupied with conversation while his team worked. You found that it was no wonder he worked his way up the army ladder so young, being as he was; handsome, charming, and very personable. You could admit, however, that his charm as it was applied to you sometimes tested the bounds of friendliness or professionalism, and you sometimes came away from the workday with a headache that was not only induced by the Serbian heat. But at least it kept you busy.
You knew your own feelings well enough to identify that emptiness you felt when you discovered Bucky had left the hotel room and the country.
You were in love with him.
You thought maybe you always had been, since the very first day he took you under his wing at Stark Tower.
You hated him for it, but hated yourself more.
If you were pathetic enough to let a love like this survive the cold-shoulder Bucky had been giving you, maybe you needed a bit of a reality check.
In a way, you supposed it was better like this. You needed a few days to get your head around what had happened between the two of you anyway and steel yourself to the fact that it will never mean anything. Because you’re still you and he’s still disgusted by all your baggage and guilt and yes, okay, maybe somewhere in the darkest recesses of your brain, you sometimes thought that you shouldn’t really be allowed to love someone and be loved back anyway. The force with which you wanted him was humiliating and unrelenting, but at least in Serbia you didn’t have to dread bumping into him over breakfast.
By the time you did make it back to Stark Tower, you were all anxious uncertainty. Not only about how Bucky would react after your episode, but also about what the team knew of the events. You knew Bucky would have told them about the elevator but the hotel? Would he have said anything about that?
When, however, you walked into the kitchen on the evening of that first day and were met with a host of congratulations, coupled with some not-very-subtle digs at Bucky for initially doubting you, you knew he hadn’t said a word about any of it. Not the elevator, not the hotel. Nothing.
You weren’t sure if this concealment was a wise decision on his part, but as the decision was already made (and admittedly because it yielded the best outcome for you), you elected to say nothing of the events to anyone else.
Bucky hung back while you spoke to the rest of the team. You were sure that he had concealed the events in Serbia for your benefit, but you could not reconcile this man who refused to even look in your direction with one that would be so kind to you. You could reconcile this man even less with the one who held you close to him just a few short days ago.
He didn’t sit down at the table with the rest of the team and the message was clear. Nothing had changed.
When Steve winked at you and said, “It was all my training, of course.”, Bucky audibly scoffed from where was standing. The team pretended not to notice, but you could see the way their movements slowed down. Sam looked over at Bucky, perplexed. Bruce kept his eyes to his food but didn't eat. You were worried Bucky would say something - expose your failure from Serbia - when Wanda contributed a second scoff. “You wish, Rogers.”
You smiled and took a swig of your drink, but it felt like razorblades going down.
You saw Dan Garcia walking past the door to the kitchen as you were finishing up your meal. He peered in the door to smile at you and a sense of obligation, as well as a desire to escape Bucky’s presence, propelled you out of the room to greet him.
“Hey. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Maria called me in to deliver the report.” he said, holding up a thick manilla envelope for display. “I guess email feels too impersonal.”
He was on the wrong floor for that, but you didn’t point it out.
“Right,” you laughed. “Maybe she wants to do some team bonding.”
He rolled his eyes, a smile etching itself on his face.
“Hope you’re getting the hero’s welcome you deserve,” he said.
You shifted. “That’s a bit generous.”
“Come on,” he pressed on, not catching the way your eyes were flitting towards the door. “You did a great job. You deserve a bit of credit.”
He was clearly also not aware of the elevator incident. You paused, hoping he would change the subject. When he didn’t, you simply said, “Couldn’t have done it without you, Garcia.” because no other response was immediately coming to you.
He dismissed this and emitted a booming laugh, but the compliment was felt. He lost a fight against a grin and stood straighter, his chest puffing forward like a pigeon.
“Please,” he scoffed. “I sat in a truck talking to a pretty girl who knew exactly what she was doing. Very humbling.”
Your face went hot. You hadn’t meant to embolden him with the compliment - had rather meant to change the focus away from your own fake accomplishments.
You floundered a bit and Garcia, likely mistaking this for flattery, puffed his pigeon chest out a little bit more.
You hadn’t taken any heed of Bucky walking towards you - not until he was standing directly in front of you.
All 6 feet and 5 inches of Bucky’s figure was imposing and intimidating. It was always stupefying to see him and feel the power of his presence, no matter how accustomed to him you were. You were also well used to his formidable glares, but you weren’t used to seeing them directed at someone else. Garcia didn’t notice that anything was amiss, still smiling at you.
“Hi, Barnes. How’s it going?”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice sharp enough to cut glass.
Now, Garcia looked at him properly. You could identify the second that he registered Bucky’s severe countenance, losing his smile, chest deflating. He blinked.
“Have to drop a report to Maria.” he said, smiling with forced ease.
“Better get to it then.” It was a command. A dismissal, flat and unmistakable.
You watched Garcia’s mouth open and close. Bucky wasn’t like this with him, ever. You had seen the way they got along. He treated the agents well - always steady, calm, fair, even when annoyed. He never pulled rank on him like this.
Garcia turned to you with a tight, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “See you later.”
You murmured a goodbye and watched him take off down the hall, shoulders tense.
Yourself and Bucky stood across from each other as his footsteps faded, neither of you speaking. Bucky’s cold expression attached itself to you in the absence of Garcia, and you waited for him to explain what had just happened.
Instead of explaining and without even offering an excuse, Bucky took one last glance at you before taking off down the opposite corridor. You watched him go with astonishment - had almost let him disappear out of sight - but your legs moved quicker than your mind.
He was a fast walker. You ran to keep up.
“What the fuck, Bucky? What was that?”
He didn’t look at you, just continued walking down the corridor. You felt your blood pressure spike, a rattling pain entering into your head and your vision blurred with anger. You felt you might have started screaming at him, then and there - demanding explanations and apologies - but he spoke.
“He shouldn’t be here. This is our floor.”
You rolled your eyes.
“When has that mattered before? We get visitors up here all the time.”
“Visitors are invited.” he snapped. “He isn’t wanted here.”
Bucky made it to a door and began to open it, but you slammed it shut again using your mind. It wasn’t necessary - you knew that - but you put so much weight behind that slam, it physically pushed him back. For just a beat, his eyebrows raised and he looked at you in complete astonishment.
You refused to feel embarrassed anymore. You refused to keep playing on his terms.
“Why do you get to decide that he wasn’t wanted here? Why do you get to make that call?” You were cracking open now; the boards of your restraint were splintering. You weren’t really talking about Garcia anymore - didn’t give a damn about him - but Bucky chose not to notice.
“Don’t be stupid.” he barked. Energy was surrounding you both, whirling around the two of you and capturing you both in a bubble. His voice lowered now, sending your heart rate skyrocketing. He came closer, towered above you.
He was looking at you with a deep heat that settled in your bones and warmed you from the inside. His eyes looked the same way they did in Serbia, that moment before the world came crashing down. Hungry.
Your entire body flushed. You wished more than anything that you could control your reaction to him - wish you could fight that pierce of want he sent through you.
“You really think he was here for paperwork? I know what those sergeants are like, doll. I used to be one of them. He was here for you.”
Your courage was leaving you fast. Your face tingled and went pink with heat as you felt his words low in your abdomen. You watched his sharp, stubbled jaw twitch as he focused on the blush on your cheeks, his eyes blowing dark and wide.
Oh…
Something about the way he was entranced by your blush was lighting a fire in your skin and coiling something up tight in your belly.
“What if that’s what I want?” you managed cautiously. You were bluffing.
He reached out and finally - finally - touched you, his large, calloused hand enveloping your face and running his thumb over your blushing cheek. The warmth of his hand travelled to your stomach and nestled low. You fought to stay still, to hide how badly you wanted him, but tremors were running through you.
“It’s not though, is it darlin’?.” he whispered, his low voice spreading over your body like honey.
You felt completely bare and exposed to him - you couldn’t hide anything from him, couldn’t pretend any longer.
“Kills me to see you give those pretty little blushes away to Steve but I can almost believe he deserves them. They aren’t meant for boys like Garcia.”
He leaned closer before you could process his words and placed a featherlight kiss on the edge of your neck. You gasped, the feeling of his warm lips sending shockwaves all the way down to your navel.
Bucky pulled away from you, breathing heavily and completely broken. You blinked back at him, struck dumb by the feeling of him so close and desperate for him to continue. It took you a second to realise that you were surrounded by broken ceramic.
You glanced dimly at the now-broken vase on the floor. It had flown from the table and hit the wall less than ten feet from you. You could feel small, beige pieces of clay crunch beneath your shoes as you shifted uncomfortably. A sudden chill came over you, wiping out all the heat left by Bucky’s kiss to your neck. You recognised it as the same Japandi sculptural vase that littered every floor on the building - nothing special or irreplaceable about it. But the moment was over.
You stumbled awkwardly away from Bucky, watching his metal fingers twitch, as if aching to grab you again. It was almost comical how quickly you had gone from wanting him closer - willing to do anything to have him - to wishing he was a million miles away.
You squirmed for a bit, reluctantly looking over at him. He was now also looking at the fragments on the carpeted floor. You struggled to get a read on him, like he was retreating into himself and going to a place you could no longer reach. If anything, he just looked tired.
This was too much. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to force your mind blank, squashing down your embarrassment and shame. The last thing you wanted was to send the table flying with it.
“I’ll, um…” you staggered out, “I better go ask someone to help clean that up.”
You shuffled down the corridor quickly, ignoring Bucky’s voice calling your name behind you and thanking your blessings that he did not decide to follow.
You were wretched. Completely immoveable.
Steve’s text inviting you to join the team for some beers in the communal area had been unanswered for the last hour. You didn’t consider the offer for even a second but you did wonder if Bucky was down there with them. You doubted it.
You didn’t even have the energy for your telekinesis to play up and throw some shit around. All you had the energy to do was to replay your conversation with Bucky over and over again - the arguing, the look he gave you when you blushed, his lips on your neck. You could still feel it as if it left a bruise.
His words: Kills me to see you give those pretty little blushes away to Steve but I can almost believe he deserves them.
What did that mean?
You thought maybe you knew but it felt too ludicrous, like something you invented to make yourself feel better. Your stomach capsized each time you replayed it.
You couldn’t understand what his feelings were - maybe it was pointless to even try.
He could pretend that nothing happened between the two of you in front of the elevators in Serbia. Could even say that the way he held you in your hotel room that night meant nothing - that he was just doing his job. But he couldn’t pretend now - not after his lips had touched you the way they did.
Your phone lit up from your pillow.
STEVE: Come on down
STEVE: Don’t make me come get you!
You sighed.
You couldn’t really fool yourself into believing you ever felt anything more than friendship for Steve, but it was nice to think about sometimes. Like, the thought of being with someone who actually wanted you back made you feel hopeful about your future. The idea that some day you could fall for someone who didn’t look at you with disgust while thinking of your past transgressions - like you could be normal.
Damn Bucky for ruining that for you. One sentence from him and now you can’t even think of anyone else without a dull ache forming in your chest.
You didn’t even know how long you had been horizontal for, but it was too long. You fought every muscle in your body to haul yourself out of your bed and to the kitchenette. You knew there was nothing in your fridge worth eating but you looked anyway: sour cream, half a jar of pasta sauce and some peaches that were probably gone off. Nope.
A knock at your door made you stand up straight, closing the fridge. Annoyance prickled at your skin.
“I’m tired, Steve.” you called out, hoping it would be enough to deter him but doubting it. “I think I’ll stay in.”
“Maybe later.” you added gently when you didn’t get a response.
Dead silence from outside your door. You rolled your eyes and mouthed a silent ‘Fuck this’. Begrudgingly, you trudged over to the door, ready to shoot down his ploy to get you out the door.
Bucky stood in front of you, somber and irritable. He looked down at you grumpily, his jaw clenched and a wrinkle between his brows. His hair was mussed up, like he had been running his hands through it. Your heart lurched.
“Not Steve. Sorry to disappoint.” he grumbled.
You were stunned. You fumbled for a bit, feeling awkward and out of place in your own skin, but could eventually do nothing but absently step aside and allow him to enter.
He crossed the threshold hesitantly and when you closed the door behind him, you turned to observe him. It was so bizarre to see him in your room. He was almost too big for it, towering over everything and taking up your space. You watched his eyes travel around the studio, fixing themselves to your recently-vacated bed, to the books on your shelf, to the pictures on the walls of your loved ones who you hadn’t called in far too long, to the dishes in your sink.
You wondered if this was just as strange for him. You wondered if he had ever pictured what your room might look like. You had imagined his. In your mind, Bucky’s room had no pictures or posters. His shelf was filled with books - modern classics and sci-fi - which kept his mind occupied when insomnia had its grips on him. It was neat and tidy aside from a leather jacket draped over the arm of his sofa and a lazily made bed.
Bucky fixed his sullen stare on you.
“I wanted to apologise.”
You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Not that.
“What for?”
“For…” You had never seen him in as much discomfort before. And you had seen him get shot. “I shouldn’t have gotten close to you… like that. Earlier.”
“You shouldn’t have got-? Oh fuck you, Bucky.”
You could think of plenty of things he could apologise for, but that wasn’t one of them. For a moment, you just stared at his astonishment. He was surprised by the fury and humiliation he found buried in your voice. It almost made you more enraged that he was surprised. Like he didn’t know what he was doing when you were feeling every bit of the blow he just dealt you.
The anger was helping you ignore the brutal chasm in your chest but didn’t quite do enough to fend off the humiliated tears.
“Do you think I’m some sort of machine? That I don’t have feelings? I know what I’ve done, I know what you think of me. I don’t need you to make me pay for it every day - it haunts me enough, Bucky! Do you think I am heartless enough to not feel this by myself? Because you’re wrong. I have as much heart as you, and if I can see yours past everything you have done, then you should be able to see mine too.”
You didn’t fully know what you were saying. If you had been thinking, you might have regretted bringing up his past but all you could think about was your own pain. You could hear glass smash somewhere behind you but you didn’t look. Bucky was startled, his blue eyes distraught, hands reaching out for you.
“I don’t expect anything from you, but this is cruel, Bucky, it’s not fair.” you wailed, squirming to evade his grasp. “You can’t play with my feelings like this and expect me to- let me go!”
You could see Bucky through blurry eyes, even as you did your best to wiggle out of his grasp. He said your name like a plea, but you could barely hear him. He had gone pale, face awash with panic and mouth ajar.
“No, that’s not-” he ushered out, desperately. His eyes were searching for yours but they wouldn’t meet him. “I never thought less of you for anything that happened in your past. How could you think that? Me, of all people.”
You froze finally, slightly dazed.
“What?” you tried to say, but it came out as a croak.
““I can’t help but want you, but I can’t let myself have you. I’m no good for you, sweetheart. No good for anyone, but definitely not you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I love you.”
The words fell in front of you and landed at your feet.
You finally looked at him. He was looking down at you, brooding and handsome. You had never seen him like this, so hopeless and scared - it terrified you. Your mouth filled with cotton.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know,” he laughed bitterly, with a sad, resigned smile. You hated how cavalier he was being about this. Was this some sort of joke to him?
His grip on your forearms loosened as he became sure that you wouldn’t bolt, but he didn’t drop them.
“If you… then why…” you couldn’t get the words out. Your tongue suddenly weighed a ton in your mouth.
“You gave me a look, couple months ago.” Bucky said, mouth twitching at how ridiculous it sounded. “When you were telling me about your past. Looked at me like I could… I dunno, kiss the pain away or something. Killed me, darlin’. Because I know I’ll just make it worse. I’ve got too much shit to…”
Bucky was struggling. You could see him grapple with his words, force them out. He was so pathetic and beautiful, you had to stop yourself from leaning into him.
“Because you should be with someone like Steve. Someone who’s good, all the time.” he said coldly and his brow furrowed like he didn’t want to admit it. “You said you wanted to feel normal again. That’s not something I can help with.”
You bit your cheek hard until a bitter, metallic taste flooded your mouth. Something was blooming inside you as much as you tried to suppress it.
All that shame, all the ruminating over how you had shared too much… all for nothing. He loved you.
“You’re idiotic.” you breathed.
An attractive little line formed in between his brows and he pouted, uncharacteristically boyish.
“I don’t want Steve. Never have.” you said. “I can’t feel normal around someone who is good all the time - it makes me feel, like, some freak of nature or something. I have only ever felt normal when I’m with you.”
The words swim between you for a moment.
Bucky was ravaged. His pretty, blue eyes met yours in what you now recognised to be adoration. He was almost dazed at your confession. You could tell he was uncertain of how to act, what to do. You looked at him for a beat.
“Did you have to choose that day to go cold on me?” you continued. “I spilled my guts and you just… I thought…” you couldn’t finish your thought because his face crumpled as he seemed to understand all at once. The way his constant rejection retraumatised you, made you feel subhuman.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” he said, voice low and gravelly. His face was twisted with agony and he wiped a large hand over his face. “I never meant to make you feel that way, I just thought you would be better off with space. Every time I looked at you, I just thought about how you would be happier with someone else and it made me feel sick. Jesus, I’m sorry. Nothing you said changed how I feel about you. I think nothing could.”
It was too late for this, right? It should be, but…
You stepped closer to him, shoes touching and faces a hair’s breadth apart. Slowly, hesitantly, your hand travelled up between the two of you. Bucky’s throat bobbed up and down as he watched it move and you felt a shallow gasp escape him when it landed on the side of his neck, gently cupping the skin there. His eyes fluttered closed, like he had been waiting for this for years.
You stood there for a second, bathing in the reaction he had to your touch.
You wished you could have made him sweat a bit more, maybe even beg. But you knew this would be the outcome whatever way you swung it. Knew it would end up with his hot skin on yours, and you had waited for that long enough. You couldn’t help it. Something about him was made just for you, molded specifically for you to love and keep.
“I love you too.” you whispered.
He leaned forward to kiss you then, his hand guiding your face to his carefully and pressing his lips to yours with great restraint. The other hand went to your waist and pulled you towards him.
The feeling of his coarse lips, the scrape of his dark stubble against your jaw - it was unearthly. Your heart was pounding and you knew he could hear it. Your lips moved tentatively against his at first. Slowly.
You couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. It felt like something from one of your dreams. You almost expected to wake up, bedsheets soaked and a hollow throb wracking your body.
His lips were so sweet against yours and you thought you could feel every ounce of his love in the gesture. You wanted to stand there with him - just like this - all night.
But the heat in your stomach slowly melted its way between your legs. Your brain went haywire. You couldn’t think - couldn’t even feel anything except his hands, his lips, his body against yours. He was overwhelming your senses and sending you into overdrive.
Bucky made a low, dark sound against your lips, feeling you respond to him, and you stilled. You parted from him for just a second, breathing heavy. His eyes were dark, glassy, focused on you - traveling your face and heavy with desire. He was a man possessed. You knew there was no going back now. Couldn’t if you tried.
When you kissed him again, there was nothing tentative about it. It was messy and raw. Hands reaching to his neck, chest pressing up against him, thighs pressing together, desperate for friction. Closer, closer, closer. The need for him was building in you. You were afraid to ever stop, in case he walked away again.
“Tryin’ to be a gentleman here.” he said between kisses. You didn’t stop.
You could feel Bucky’s restraint breaking. His hands travelled downwards and you could feel the imprint of each individual finger grip possessively on your hips and he pulled you closer and, shit, his hands felt beautiful on the flesh of your hips. He lifted you with almost impossible ease and you instinctively wrapped your thighs around his waist. You could feel him stiff against you when he sat you both down on your unmade bed, you now straddling his lap. It sent a thrill up your spine, your whole body wired with nothing but pure want while his hands stroked and squeezed your bare thighs.
The way his mouth moved against yours was sinful and he felt so big and broad against your touch. You had thought about him like this almost obsessively. You wanted more. You wanted everything he had to give you.
The thumb of his metal hand dipped into your loose lounge shorts and caressed a line where your abdomen cascades down to your groin. You gasped at the sudden cold sensation, pulling out of his kiss and throwing your head back. He attacked your neck, lathering kisses there instead. Lips, tongue, teeth.
You had lost all sense of yourself, completely immersed in him. You jumped, feeling his hand enter your underwear and his thumb brush your clit lightly. It knocked the wind out of you - forced a moan from your lips. A frame came crashing down from the wall with a loud thud but neither of you paid it any attention. Bucky responded with a groan of his own and ground his finger down harder. The metal ridges on his hand created a friction you had never before in your life experienced.
Bucky raised his head. “Can you feel how wet you are, sweetheart?” he murmured, eyes half-lidded and hazy with desire.
You could. You were dripping. You could see the evidence on his jean-clad thighs.
He continued to rub loving shapes inside the now-transparent fabric of your underwear. You saw stars. “Making such a mess. I’ve barely touched you yet.”
Yet.
“Look at that.” he murmured, brushing a finger of his unoccupied hand over the heat that was blooming in your cheek. “Going all pink for me.”
You squirmed and whined and bucked desperately for him, hips canting and gyrating, feeling completely out of your mind. You were embarrassed by Bucky’s vulgar words and his probing focus on your face but you didn’t have the power to hide anything from him.
He slipped a finger inside you and you felt a streak of white-hot pleasure burst through you. You gripped him and grinded down, almost against your own will. The cool metal finger was delicious against your warmth. Bucky sighed and you felt the gust of breath hit your mouth. You kissed him again.
“You should see yourself right now, baby. Cute and shy and blushing while you wiggle around, trying to take my finger deeper. So perfect.”
He was torturing you. He smiled wickedly and refused to move a muscle, basking in how you whined and twitched for him. You knew he was waiting for you to beg for him to move but you couldn’t form words.
You were past embarrassment, too far-gone. You grabbed his large shoulders and began to grind your hips up and down pathetically, whimpering his name.
Bucky was clearly not expecting this. His eyes blew wide as he watched you feverishly, drinking in your movements. “So pretty fucking yourself on my finger.” he whispered and you were suddenly landing softly on the bed.
Bucky was standing above you, towering over. You hadn’t really thought about how you might be affecting him, too focused on the bruising pleasure he was sending through your veins. But he looked wrecked. Messy hair, swollen lips, dark eyes piercing through yours with desire. You could see the large, hard outline of him through his jeans, his crotch and thighs now wet and sticky with the evidence of your burning need for him. All traces of that cocky superiority were gone, replaced with a sort of desperation.
“Can I make you feel good? Please?” It came out as a plea.
You thought about teasing him, saying something cheeky and coquettish, making him beg. But he had already knocked any resemblance of control out of your head. You weren’t even sure if you could pretend anymore. You just nodded.
With painful leisurliness and precision, Bucky lifted you into the centre of the bed. His strength was always a surprise to you, even knowing that he was a super soldier. He lifted your entire body like you weighed no more than a feather.
You tugged at the fabric of his t-shirt and he pulled away to raise an eyebrow at you, but lifted it off, followed by his jeans. He was left in only a pair of black briefs. You had been around Bucky while he was shirtless before, but had never been brave enough to let yourself look for more than a few seconds at a time. His arms supported his weight as he covered your body with his own on the bed, hills and valleys of huge, tanned muscles pulled tight. You let your eyes fall to his chest, where his dog tags sat, wet with perspiration, between huge pectoral muscles. His thighs were large and all muscle and you pictured yourself sitting on them. But it was his underwear that caught your attention, really. The black fabric was straining against the giant outline of his cock. You couldn’t look at it too long - you were already shaking with want. He was so big and pretty and yours.
He smiled at your wandering gaze and pressed his lips to yours again, swallowing each noise you made hungrily. You sank your head into the pillow and let him kiss you, feeling lightheaded and gooey at the reverence you could feel coming from him in waves. His mouth felt so right on yours, it almost made you angry. How could he have made you wait so long for this?
You would give him hell later, maybe. Right now, he was moving his kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of sizzling skin behind him. When he reached the top of your crewneck, he played with the hem, eyes looking up to you for a split-second for permission. Your lips twitched into a smile. His finger had already been inside you.
He seemed to understand and pulled your top over your head gently, under which your breasts were bare. Reaching down with both hands, he slid your drenched shorts and panties down your legs until you were completely bare before him.
He pulled up onto his knees to stare at you like this for a moment, drinking you in lazily with dark eyes. His eyes paused at your breasts and travelled down your stomach slowly before catching on your glistening heat. He made a strangled noise at the back of his throat as he saw it properly for the first time. You flushed under his gaze, a hint of self-consciousness tugging at you suddenly.
“I love it so much when you blush for me, sweetheart. Hated seeing you get all hot and bothered for Steve. I’ll keep this pretty pussy so busy, you’ll never think about him again.”
You hadn’t noticed his arm moving down until his hand found your clit again, calloused fingers clutching and rubbing with jealous vigour on your clit. You were so wet, he had to grind down hard to find the right friction.
You cried out and heard a loud crash somewhere in your apartment, making Bucky chuckle.
“Never felt like this for Steve.” you said, voice breathy and whiney. “Was just- ah- was just embarrassed. By everyone…”
You couldn’t finish your sentence. Bucky was grinning wide at you, possessive and wolfish, rewarding you for your confession by sliding one finger into you and then two. You thought your eyes might have rolled back momentarily but you weren’t sure.
“Thought you got sick of waiting for me. Moved on to Steve.” he growled, pushing his fingers in and out of you with punishing languidness. “But the whole time you were just mine, weren’t you?”
“Yours.” you agreed, nodding frantically.
“Fuck.” he moaned, wide eyed, flushed, desperate. “I’ll give you everything you want. I love you.”
You thought you might want to hear that again, and again, and again.
Bucky pulled you to the edge of the bed and got to his knees in front of you. He began to kiss your breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth briefly before continuing on his way down your stomach, nipping the skin there lightly with each kiss. You lay back and could feel his cold dogtags trailing against your skin. When he lingered for a second on the basement of your stomach, you could feel them knocking against the heat between your legs. You shivered.
Finally, finally, he looked up at you, caught your eyes, and lowered his beautiful mouth to where you needed him most.
The sounds you made were obscene but you had no control over them. Instinctively, you tried to close your thighs, feeling overwhelmed by the pleasure he was affording you, but he pried them apart instantly while licking a stripe up your pussy.
You felt his finger probe your entrance lightly, teasing you with just one inch while he latched on to your clit and sucked.
He could have made you come apart at the seams in a matter of seconds and he knew it, slowing down or stopping when your moans became a little too whiney.
“I think about seeing you like this all the time.” he admitted in between kisses and licks to your clit. He gave you another few inches of his finger and stroked your walls. “Legs spread and whining for me like a brat. Can’t sleep without thinking about making you come on my tongue.”
The image of Bucky alone in bed, thinking about you like this with a metal hand on his cock, had you gasping. Your mind instinctively tossed over your bedside locker. It landed on its side with a loud thud. It sounded like the leg might have snapped off.
Bucky barked out a laugh, seeing it collapse beside him where he was kneeling at the floor. For probably the first time in your life, you laughed at this strange, troublesome power of yours too.
It lasted only a second.
Bucky pulled his finger out completely before adding another, pushing both in to the hilt. They were so long and thick - you all but screamed at the sudden fullness. A dish exploded in the sink.
“So responsive.” he said, awe-struck. “You only have two of my fingers, sweetheart. Can’t wait to see how you take my cock. Maybe tomorrow. I’ll fill you up so good.”
His words were striking you dumb. It occurred to you briefly in your pleasure-drunk haze that you would probably never again be able to be with anybody but him. Not after feeling what it was like with Bucky. It wasn’t like this with anyone else. This was it.
“I love you.” you whispered to him, brushing your hand through his dark hair. The look he gave you in return was so adoring and soft, it almost made you burst into tears. You didn’t know you could be loved like this.
But then he was grinding his fingers in and out of you and you yelped at his exquisite, excruciating pace. You grinded down further on his fingers and you were speaking in tongues, babbling nonsense.
“I love you, I’m yours, Bucky. All yours. I love you, please, feels so good, I love- ah”
You suddenly jerked on his fingers, laying up on your elbows and noticing that Bucky had his unoccupied hand in his underwear, stroking himself to the sight of you, the feel of you, your words.
The hand Bucky had inside you slowed - almost stopped - to prevent you from coming. You were so close. You wanted to see what he was doing under his briefs. Wanted his tongue back on you. Wanted to come. But you didn’t have the words, your debilitating shyness overriding anything.
He saw your flustered state and smirked, continuing to stroke himself at a brisk pace, almost gloating.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? You want my tongue back? Gonna have to use your words.”
“Bucky, please.” you begged.
“Please what?” he mocked you, throwing his head back at the pleasure he was giving himself.
You flashed red and he breathed a laugh. Irritation flashed through you quickly and before you could think about it, your mind was probing out gently. With great carefulness, you used all your concentration to slowly and gently push Bucky’s head downwards.
All amusement fleeted from his face and was replaced immediately with a dark kind of astonishment. “Fuck, baby,” he sighed, completely ruined. “Not so shy when you need me this bad, huh?” You saw his hand grip himself tighter. He surrendered himself to your power.
He allowed his head to be pushed down, immediately pressing his tongue flat and sloppy against your clit, circling. His fingers sped up inside you, pistoning in and out with a desperate and mismeasured pace.
“You’re so messy, sweet girl.” You felt his words vibrate against you.
You looked down. A mix of your slick and Bucky’s spit was spilling all the way down your trembling thighs and onto the floor. You might have cared even a few moments ago but you were too far gone, slurring praises and ‘I love you’s.
“You gonna come, baby?”
You nodded, not checking whether he saw. He was making beautiful noises against your clit.
“Good. I’m about to spill into my underwear at the taste of you.”
Your vision went white and you fell apart. When your orgasm took you, you grabbed his hair instinctively and screamed, cunt pulsing and squeezing around his fingers, bucking your hips up to grind against his mouth. You dimly heard furniture and decorations and tableware crashing around you but you barely noticed it. If anything, it just reinforced that the world was crashing down around you with the intensity of the experience.
He was talking you through it, telling you how good and messy and pretty you were. He continued to make out with your pussy as he spilled into his underwear, muttering filthy praises about how good you tasted.
It took you a moment to come to. When you finally opened your eyes, you saw he had moved you back into the bed and under the covers. The room was in tatters, clothes strewn everywhere, furniture in pieces, broken glass on the floor.
Bucky let out a throaty laugh, watching you look around the room in astonishment. “You made a mess in more ways than one.”
Heat began to bloom in your abdomen and face again at his words and he laughed again. “Give this old man a chance to recover, sweetheart.”
You giggled and looked at him with shy interest, not sure where exactly to go from here. You wanted him closer but didn’t know how to ask.
Bucky smiled, staring down at you with such a loving gaze, it made you feel like you were floating. “Still shy? After all that?”
“Stop.” you groaned, slapping his bicep. You forced him closer using your mind, and he slipped towards you with a yelp, blue eyes wide with fascination. “I’ll never get used to that.”
“I’ll never get used to this.” you sighed, nuzzling into his chest and breathing in his smell.
“Well you better.” He placed a kiss on the top of your head and you melted. “Because I’m done with all that self-sacrificing bullshit. I’m all yours now. But I think we better fuck in a padded room from now on.”
When you sat down at breakfast with the team the next day, you affected a casual indifference. You didn’t arrive with a pep in your step, didn’t send any moonstruck looks Bucky’s way, didn’t chat any more or less than normal. You sat beside Steve, same as always. Chatted with Wanda, same as always. Ignored Bucky, same as always.
It was inevitable that the team would eventually find out about yourself and Bucky. But, for now, it felt like an electric, intoxicating secret - something just for the two of you.
Bucky wasn’t quite as good as you at hiding his stares. You felt his stare prickle and light up your skin, but nobody else seemed to notice.
Sam called for your attention and you turned to him, still laughing at something Wanda had said. “What the hell did you do to Steve?”
“When?” you asked, raising a perplexed eyebrow.
“Last night. He went to go get you for beers with all of us. Poor guy came back without you, red as Tony’s goddamn suit. Wouldn’t tell us anything except that you were busy.”
Your head snapped over to Steve who was sinking in his chair, looking like he wanted to slip and melt into the ground.
Your face exploded with heat and your eyes shot to Bucky instinctively.
All eyes one-by-one followed yours to Bucky, who was leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk dancing on his lips.
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