A/N: I feel like that scene from Mulan where Mushu rises up from the smoke and shouts “I LIVEEEEEE.” Anyway, just a little fluffy thing I wrote inspired by adopting my own dog. Hope you enjoy :)
“Explain to me again why we need to cross state lines to go get this dog?”
“Because,” you half-whine. “She’s been at the shelter for five months and she needs a good home and I want her. And she just happens to be a four and a half hour drive away.”
Bucky sighs dramatically from the driver’s seat of the car, but a smile tugs at the edge of his lips as he keeps his eyes on the road. You take it as a good sign to keep going.
“I have scoured the internet, Bucky,” you say. “I have looked at so many dogs. And until Tony lifts his one-dog-per-Avenger rule, I can’t adopt them all so I had to choose wisely.”
“And what makes this dog so special?” he asks.
You pause for a second as you mentally run through the shelter’s bio for the 12 year-old dog you’ve set your heart on. You wrack your brains for the perfect tidbit that will make Bucky feel the instant love you felt for her, but you come up empty.
“I don’t know,” you eventually say. “I just like her.”
You glance over and see Bucky’s eyes soften.
“Good enough for me,” he says simply. “Let’s go get your dog.”
You smile and resist the urge to reach out and squeeze Bucky’s hand as it rests lazily on the gear shift.
Instead, you grab your phone and scroll until you find the perfect playlist. You can’t help the shit-eating grin that spreads across your face as “Who Let the Dogs Out” begins to play.
Bucky lets out an incredulous laugh.
“Tell me you didn’t create a playlist with only songs about dogs for our four hour drive,” he says, only half joking.
“Fine,” you smirk. “I won’t tell you.”
-
It’s love at first sight as the shelter staff introduces you to the dog, who you instantly decide is named Leia. She looks up at you and Bucky with her big, beautiful eyes, her tail thumping against the chain link kennel with a ferocity like she knows that she’s coming home with you.
Bucky plays with her as you fill out all the paperwork, and just like that, she’s yours.
The car ride home feels much shorter, Leia napping in the back seat, seemingly tuckered out from her eventful day, her being an old lady and all. You and Bucky are silent the whole drive home, an unspoken agreement not to wake Leia. But you keep glancing over to give Bucky an ecstatic smile, unable to contain your joy. For Bucky’s part, the smile never leaves his lips.
It’s only once you get home that you realize bringing Bucky with you might have been a mistake. As soon as you get out of the car, Leia is glued to Bucky’s side, following him around the Tower like –– well, like a lost puppy. She follows him to the kitchen, nearly tripping him as he tries to grab himself a snack in the hopes of getting a treat herself.
When he sits down on the couch with you to watch a movie, she hops up beside him, plopping her head into his lap.
When he tries to go to the bathroom, she gets up expectantly and follows him, only to sit right outside the door until he comes back.
It’d be pretty damn cute if she wasn’t supposed to be your dog.
You try desperately not to take it personally. You just want her to be happy and feel safe, and you’re just glad to have her here. But after the third failed attempt to coax her over to you with a handful of treats, your smile is faltering and you can feel your heart fall in your chest.
“It’s okay,” Bucky says softly as you settle on the other side of the couch, Leia half-asleep in his lap. “I was reading an article earlier that said it takes dogs some time to get adjusted.”
“I know,” you say quietly.
Halfway through the movie, Leia gets up and wanders off on her own to explore. You want to get up and rush after her, but you take a deep breath and give her her space. You feel Bucky’s arm reach around you slowly as he rubs soft circles into your shoulder. You find yourself leaning into him and nestling against his chest.
When the movie ends, the two of you head off to look for Leia and find her curled up on Bucky’s bed. She looks so comfortable and content that you don’t even have the heart to try and bring her to your room.
“Bucky, do you mind if Leia sleeps here tonight?” you ask.
“Happy to have her,” he says. “You know - ”
He cuts himself off and you turn to look at him curiously.
“What do I know?”
“I was going to say you can sleep in my bed with Leia and I can sleep in yours?”
“She’ll just end up leaving in the middle of the night to go looking for you,” you say.
Bucky nods, but his brow is furrowed, still clearly thinking.
“What?” you ask.
“You’re welcome to sleep here too,” he says, his voice quiet.
The air feels a touch heavier than it did a moment ago and you feel your heart speed up.
“Are you sure?” you ask, your need to be close to Leia outweighing your nerves.
“Of course,” he says, a small lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re the best,” you say. “I’ll go change into my pajamas and be right back.”
You dart out of the room before either of you have a chance to change your minds. Once in the safety of your room, you throw on your pajamas, brush your teeth and scurry back to Bucky’s.
Just as you’re about to head into the room, you hear Bucky’s voice and stop short. You quickly realize he’s talking to Leia.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly flattered,” he says. “I really like you too. I think we’re going to be really good friends.”
You sneak a peak into the room and are rewarded with the sight of Bucky, lying on his stomach petting Leia. Even from the doorway, you can see that his pajama pants are covered in Leia’s short hairs, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“But here’s the thing, Leia,” Bucky continues. “(Y/N)’s your person. I wouldn’t even know about you if it weren’t for her. She’s the one who found you and decided to spend a whole day driving across the state to come get you, and I’m just the guy who came along for the ride.”
You can’t help but smile at the tenderness in Bucky’s voice and the way that he’s talking to Leia like she might actually answer him. He scootches closer to Leia and you find yourself leaning forward to catch his next words.
“(Y/N) is easily the best person I’ve ever met,” Bucky says, and you feel your heart melt. “She is absolutely incredible and you are the luckiest dog to get to spend your life with her. If you just give her a chance, I promise you’ll love her as much as I do. So do that for me, would you?”
Leia sits up, as if considering his words. Bucky smiles and leans down to plant a kiss on Leia’s head before heading off to the bathroom. You tiptoe into the room and perch on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly stroking Leia’s fur as you mull over Bucky’s words.
“All set?” Bucky startles you from your thoughts and you beam up at him.
“Yep,” you say, sliding under the covers, conscious of trying to make sure to maintain an appropriate amount of space for Bucky. “Thank you again for this.”
“Of course,” he says, sliding in beside you. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed by the distance between you two. “Kind of the least I can do.”
“After stealing my dog’s heart?” you tease.
“She’ll come around, I swear,” Bucky insists. As if on cue, Leia stands up and walks over to you. Your eyes widen as she lies down and burrows into your side, head resting on your chest.
Gingerly, you turn your head to face Bucky, careful not to move a muscle as your lips are overtaken by the widest smile possible.
Bucky’s eyes light up and he chuckles softly.
“See?” he grins. “What did I say?”
“This is literally the best moment of my life,” you whisper, and you realize you’re not just referring to Leia. Bucky seems to realize that too, and you see a faint pink dusting spread across his cheeks. If it weren’t for the dog precariously balanced on top of you, you just might kiss him.
Bucky pushes himself up on his forearms, carefully maneuvering toward you without shaking the bed. He places a tender kiss on your forehead, and you feel your face heat up. He pulls back and lays down on the other side of Leia, and you feel her tail thwomp your leg enthusiastically.
You wiggle your arm out from under her and reach for Bucky’s hand, brushing his fingertips before threading your fingers through his.
“Good night,” he whispers.
“Good night, Bucky,” you reply, before angling your head down toward your slumbering dog as best you can. “Good night, Leia. Welcome home.”
OK I’M SORRY I just had to log onto Tumblr to talk about this cuz I wasn’t going to watch any clips and then I saw this and I just want to know how Marvel knew the EXACT thing to make Bucky say to make me love him even more??? Like he’s hot AND he likes Tolkien?? I cannot deal with this information.
A/N: This is the end of the line, friends! Thank you to everyone that’s read, commented, messaged me, reblogged, and liked the chapters. I appreciate each and every one of you and I hope I wrote something worthy of your time!
As ready as you are to confess your love, there’s a bit of a hiccup – Steve accepted a solo follow-up mission to run down all the loose ends on your previous mission.
But it’s not a big deal, you tell yourself. You’ll just wait for him to come back.
But hours turn into days, which turns into a whole week. You’re practically climbing up the walls, annoying the hell out of everyone else in the Tower when the call comes in from F.R.I.D.A.Y.
“Captain Rogers is requesting backup,” she says and you shoot up off the couch, where you were partaking in a spirited game of Clue with the rest of the team. Olly lets out an annoyed huff and moves from his spot on the couch next to you to lay his head in Bucky’s lap.
“I’ll go!” you half-shout, kicking off your pajama pants and pulling your tactical suit on. You’ve kept it nearby, just in case.
“You’re still recovering,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. protests.
“Let her go, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Tony interrupts. “Or the rest of us are going to need medical recovery.”
You shoot Tony a grateful look as you finish zipping up.
“Go get him, tiger,” he says. “If you’re not together by the time you get back, you’re both grounded.”
The flight feels endless, but you finally make it out to a snowy mountaintop. You spot Steve’s Quinjet and park yours right next to his.
You step out of the plane, shivering from the chill. You scan the snowy terrain, but there’s no sign of your Star Spangled Man with a Plan.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you ask.
“Captain Rogers has already engaged the hostiles,” she explains. “He’s inside the safe house, about 300 meters forward, just beyond the tree line.”
“Of course he has,” you sigh, breaking into a light sprint. You ignore the slight twinge in your rib cage as you run, desperate to get to Steve. You hear a spray of gunfire, and pick up the pace, even as your body continues to remind you how right F.R.I.D.A.Y. was to try to stop you from coming on the mission.
You reach the safe house and waste no time kicking down the door to reveal three Hydra operatives. You shoot your stingers at the three guards, watching them drop to the ground with a pang of satisfaction. Steve looks up at you and you can practically hear your heart pounding in your chest. Bloodied and bruised, he still manages to muster up the ghost of a smile.
“(Y/N)?” Steve crosses the room toward you, Hydra operation seemingly forgotten. “You should be at the Tower resting. There’s no way you’re healed-”
“Definitely not healed,” you say. “But I wanted to talk to you, and you’ve made yourself pretty difficult to find.”
Before Steve can say anything, more Hydra fighters surge into the room, and you turn so that you’re back to back, facing off against them.
“How many more of them are there?” you ask.
“Intel didn’t say,” Steve replies, sizing up the guards brave enough to approach him.
“This is a tiny ass cabin, there can’t be that many more,” you groan.
One of the Hydra fighters near you lunges forward with an electric stun baton and you dodge, jabbing up to catch her in the face. She falls backward, and the rest of the guards close in on you and Steve, and you both get swept up in the fight.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Steve calls out. You glance over and see he’s taking on the guards one by one in hand-to-hand combat. While you’re wheezing and wincing, he’s taking his sweet time, barely breaking a sweat.
“Oh,” you say, blocking a Hydra punch and putting the offending agent in a headlock. “That. Well. I love you.”
Steve knocks the agent he’s fighting with to the ground, and turns around to look at you, his eyes wide. The remaining agents take advantage of the distraction to try and land a punch, but Steve knocks them backwards without taking his eyes off of you.
“What?” he asks, and as you flip the headlocked fighter to the ground, you offer Steve a small smile.
“I love you,” you repeat. “Like, actually love you.” You launch yourself at Steve and it catches him off guard. You knock him to the ground as a gunshot rings out. You’re so close to Steve, your gazes locked on each other. Without even looking, you aim a stinger behind you, taking out the guard that almost shot Steve.
“I thought...” he says, and trails off.
“That’s all I came here to say,” you reply, shrugging. “We’ve got company.”
As if on cue, a hail of gunfire appears and Steve rolls the two of you out of the way, grabbing his shield and flinging it towards the guards who’ve seemingly appeared out of nowhere. And just like that you’re back to fighting, side by side.
“I have something to say too,” he says. “About Sharon. I walked her home because I wanted to end things with her, for good. She was too drunk, so I spent the night on her couch to make sure she was okay, and in the morning, I told her that I was in love with you.”
You breath catches, and it’s all the distraction they need for one of the agents to put you in a chokehold. As you gasp for breath, Steve throws his shield at the agent’s legs, knocking him down and letting you burst free.
The last Hydra agent left standing reaches into his pocket and pulls out a grenade, slipping the pin out and tossing it in Steve’s direction. Wordlessly, you reach down to pick up Steve’s shield and toss it towards him. He catches it and slams it down over the grenade, containing the blast.
The agent looks between the two of you, and makes a move to bolt out the door. Steve volleys his shield after him, knocking him down just as he’s about to reach the door.
The two of you stand there in silence for a second, catching your breath.
“So you were saying something about being in love with me?” you tease. You can’t help the smug grin that spreads across your face. Steve lets out a low laugh and rolls his eyes, but when he meets your gaze there’s nothing but warmth.
“I was,” he says. “Because I am.”
“I might need you to say it again,” you say, your smile somehow growing even wider. “I was kinda busy fighting Hydra agents and saving your beautiful ass, so I just want to be sure I heard you right.”
“You first,” he tosses back.
“Fine,” you say. “I love you, Steven Grant Rogers. And not in a fake way.”
“I’m in love with you, (Y/N),” Steve says, and you feel like you’ve swallowed a swarm of butterflies. “Only you.”
“Cool.”
“Cool?”
“Sorry, I’m a bit new at this whole love thing,” you shrug. “What would be a more appropriate response?”
“Well I’d hardly call myself an expert,” Steve says. “But I personally would really like to kiss you.”
“Cool.”
“(Y/N).”
“I’d love that,” you say. “But you’re gonna have to come to me. I think I pulled out a few stitches.”
In a few short strides, Steve crosses the room, his hands going straight to your face as he leans in to kiss you.
“Excuse me?”
You look up to find a sheepish S.H.I.E.L.D. agent standing in the door.
“Clean-up crew,” the agent says. “Are we good to move in?”
“All yours,” you say. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
Your hand slips into Steve’s as you lead him out of the cabin and outside where the snow has just begun to fall. It’d be almost romantic, were it not for the smoldering remains of the safe house behind you, and the shouts of the S.H.I.E.L.D. clean-up team.
“Wanna try that one again?” you ask, hooking an arm around Steve. The words are barely out of your mouth before Steve’s lips are on yours. The kiss is gentle, slow and warms you all the way down to your toes. He pulls back and rests his forehead against yours.
“Let’s go home,” you say. “Olly’s missed you, you know.” Steve opens his mouth and you immediately cut him off. “And don’t you dare say something cheesy about how you’re already home because you’re with me, because I’ll actually melt into a gooey puddle.”
“You know me too well,” Steve says. “Fine. Let’s go home.”
--
Mid/After Credits Scene (cuz I can’t help myself, but no promises on a sequel)
You’re barely paying attention to the mission briefing, poring over new weapons specs, when you catch a flash of light out of the corner of your eye. You tear your eyes away from the paper just quickly enough to watch the light streak across the sky towards the compound.
“What the hell is that?” you ask, and everyone looks up.
“Fury wanted us to meet someone,” Nat says. “Friend of his from his early S.H.I.E.L.D. days.”
“That’s a person?” Bucky asks.
“Goes by Captain Marvel,” Tony interjects. “But unlike our Cap, she handles more intergalactic threats.”
“So she’s an alien?” Wanda asks. You’re about to say something when Steve pushes the doors to the conference open, and a blonde woman steps past him. It’s all you can do to keep your jaw from dropping to the floor.
“She’s not an alien,” you say quietly to Wanda.
“How–”
“This is Carol Danvers,” Steve says. “She’s an old friend of Fury’s.”
Carol’s eyes sweep the room before her eyes land on yours. She pauses, almost startled, before the corners of her smile twist up into her trademark smirk.
“Hey there, kid,” she says. “It’s been a while.” Steve’s eyes widen, his brow furrowing.
“You two have met before?” he asks, and Carol lets out a low chuckle that makes your heart race.
“Oh, we’ve met,” Carol says. She pushes some buttons on the computer device on her sleeve, and you see a hologram pop up. A hologram of an envelope with your handwriting on it, addressed to Carrie Danvers. Your very first letter, to your very first crush.
A/N: Hello to all the new readers and to everyone who has had such sweet and lovely things to say! Thanks for reading :)
Everything hurts.
The light’s too bright and your head is throbbing and it feels like your body is on fire and every breath you take feels like you’re swallowing cacti.
And then the mission comes flooding back to you and you’re trying to push yourself up, ignoring the pain that courses through your body, desperate to make sure–
“Easy, easy.”
A flash of red hair and suddenly Nat’s there, gently restraining you and helping you back into bed.
“Everyone’s safe, (Y/N),” she says. “It’s okay.”
“Steve?” you ask. “And Bucky?”
“Steve's fine,” she reassures. “Bucky’s–”
“Right here.” A mop of brown hair and blue eyes crashes into your narrow field of vision, and you feel yourself relax. Until you realize that you’re sitting in between the two people you’ve been trying to avoid for the past few months.
“How long have I been out?” you rasp. Nat pours you a glass of water, gently placing in a straw and positioning it so you can reach.
“Two days,” she says. “We’ve been taking turns, waiting.”
“Nat, I’m so sorry,” you say. “About how things came out.”
If you didn’t know Nat so well, you wouldn’t catch the way her grip around the glass tightens, ever so slightly. Or the flash of emotions – rage, hurt, sadness – in her eyes before she steels her gaze.
“So you have feelings for Bucky?” she asks. Your eyes flit over to Bucky, who’s doing an excellent job avoiding your gaze.
“Had,” you say. “Which isn’t necessarily better. But I never would have acted on them.”
“When Steve said...” she trails off. “I didn’t know what to think. You know it takes a lot to catch me off guard.”
“I think I owe you an explanation,” you say. “Both of you.”
And then you find yourself explaining the whole situation, painting Nat and Bucky a picture of the last few months. You make sure to spare no detail, desperate to make them understand and hate you a little bit less. True to her tradecraft, Nat’s face remains unreadable, leaving you to wonder how she feels after you wrap up your story. Bucky’s still staring out the window, his face just as blank as Nat’s. It’s your fault for having so many spy friends.
“Wow,” she finally says, after you’ve been sitting in silence for a few minutes.
“Yeah,” you say.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Nat says. “I feel like I would’ve understood.”
“You’re scary as shit!” you protest, and that makes her smile. “But in all seriousness, I didn’t want you to hate me. I didn’t realize how I felt about Bucky, or how I thought I felt, until after you started dating, and I didn’t want you to think I was an asshole.”
“So you pushed me away,” she says.
“Not the most mature move,” you admit. “But easier than dealing with my feelings.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Nat says. “Thank you. For being honest.”
“Thanks for listening,” you say. “I don’t want to push you, but are we good?”
“Of course,” she says, wrapping you in a ginger hug. Pain shoots through you, but you ignore it. “Now that you’re awake, I’m going to go finish writing up my mission briefing, if that’s ok.”
“Of course,” you say, though your heart begins to race at the thought of being left alone with Bucky. “Love you, Nat.”
“Ditto,” she smiles, squeezing your hand before sweeping out of the room.
Leaving you with Bucky.
"You’ve been awfully quiet,” you say, your heart beating a mile a minute.
“It’s a lot to take in,” he says.
“I understand,” you say. “Do you want to talk about it? Or do you have any questions for me?”
“It’s just...when Nat and I broke up, I was looking for a reason why,” he says. “And when I got your letter, it felt like a sign. Like, maybe I was always supposed to be with you and not Nat, and that’s why she and I didn’t work out. And so I thought...”
He trails off, and you realize this is the most open you’ve heard Bucky be in the whole time you’ve known him. You fight an internal battle in your head, but eventually let yourself give in to your instinct, reaching out and taking his hand. He looks up at you, finally meeting your eyes for the first time.
“But the feelings weren’t there,” Bucky continues. “I just got them mixed up, wanting to make sense of everything. It took me a while to realize that. I love you, (Y/N), but not like I loved Nat. Love Nat.”
“That’s fair,” you say. “And I’m sorry. That I confused you. Those letters were never supposed to get out, obviously. That was just me, processing my feelings on my own.”
“You told Nat that you don’t have feelings for me anymore,” he says and you nod.
"I’d never been in love,” you said. “Not for real, until Steve. I didn’t know what it felt like, and by the time I figured it out...I think I was just a little too late.”
“You don’t know that,” Bucky says. “I’ve seen the two of you together.”
“And I’ve seen him and Sharon together,” you say. “It’s hard to feel like they’re not meant to be together. I think things got messy and confusing during our whole fake-dating escapade, but I don’t really think it was ever real for him the way it was for me.”
“That’s not true.”
You look up to find Wanda standing in the doorway. It takes everything in you not to throw yourself into her arms, settling instead for the gentle hug she wraps you in.
“What do you mean?”
“I have something to show you,” she says, and you realize she’s holding the teal fabric box you kept your letters in. She sets it down on the table and gingerly removes the cover. You snort when you see the contents.
“Tell me that’s not what I think it is,” you tease.
“It is.”
“Wanda, you’re the sole reason the New York tabloid industry is functioning.”
“Shut up.”
Bucky looks over your shoulder and lets out a low whistle.
“How many clippings you got in there, Wanda?”
The answer: a lot. Wanda seems to have collected various tabloid and magazine articles and pictures of your fake relationship with Steve. Everyday pictures of the two of you living your lives together. Each picture seems to strengthen the dull ache in your heart, and you force yourself to look away, up into Wanda’s eyes.
“Why are you showing me these, Wanda?” you ask.
“Look,” she says simply.
She picks up a photo and places it in front of you. It’s from the Coney Island date, while the two of you were watching the fireworks. Steve’s arms are wrapped around your waist, his head nestled in your hair. Your arms rest over his and you’re leaning back into him as the two of you look up at the sky in awe.
She lays down another picture, the two of you eating at some restaurant. Steve is feeding you a piece of chicken with his chopsticks that you had just taught him how to use.
A picture of the two of you walking Ollie, you laughing at some joke Steve had just told you, your body folded perfectly into his like it belongs there.
A picture from one of the many red carpet events you’d been harangued into attending. You’re looking straight ahead at the cameras, a perfect smile plastered on your face. But Steve is focused on you, and you feel your heart stop as your fingers reach up to trace the image. His eyes look so soft, and there’s a small smile on his lips, a smile just for you.
And in that moment, you know.
“I have to tell him,” you say quietly. You look up and Bucky nods, a small smile on his face.
You wake up the next morning, the first day of the new year, and a smile spreads across your lips.
Last night had been perfect.
You and Steve had not made it back to the party for the rest of the night, ringing in the new year together on the balcony. Granted, you had barely registered the fact that the clock had struck midnight – the shouted countdown had barely registered. Steve had walked you to your floor, leaving you with a final good night kiss, and the promise to see you in the morning.
As you cook yourself breakfast, you hear a knock at the door and practically waltz over. You throw the door open and your smile widens when you see Wanda.
“Wanda,” you say, dragging her into the apartment. “I have amazing news. Last night–”
“You and Steve,” Wanda says. “What happened, exactly?”
“We kissed,” you say. “For real. It was...words can’t do it justice, really.”
“Have you checked your phone?” Wanda asks, and you catch a note of something in her voice that makes you pause.
“No, it’s dead” you say. “I forgot to charge it after last night. Why?”
“Don’t,” she says. “At least not for a little bit. But you need to see this.”
“See what, Wanda?” you ask, your heart dropping into your stomach. “Holy shit, what happened?”
“It’s...” She taps on her phone before handing it to you.
And just like that you feel your heart drop into your stomach. The feeling of drunken euphoria left over from last night fades away, leaving you with the makings of an emotional hangover.
Pictures. Multiple pictures. Steve walking Sharon home, hand on the small of her back. Steve, holding Sharon’s hand. Steve, with his lips on Sharon’s. Steve, leaving Sharon’s apartment in the morning, wearing the same clothes. You hand the phone back to Wanda and sink onto the couch.
“Next time, let’s lead with that,” you say, aware of how tight and small your voice sounds. “Just cut me off next time. Before I sound all gushy and happy and completely idiotic.”
“(Y/N),” Wanda says, sitting down next to you. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”
“The explanation is that I made a mistake,” you say. “And I should’ve gotten myself out of this earlier.”
Wanda pulls you towards her and you roll your head onto her shoulder, holding her much tighter than is probably comfortable. She reaches up to stroke your hair, and you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes.
“I’d say let’s get drunk, but I’m pretty sure you’re on call, right?” Wanda says and you let out a small laugh.
“Yeah,” you say. “Well that, and it’s 9 in the morning. On New Year’s Day.”
“Maybe not the best idea if you believe that New Year’s Day sets the tone for the rest of your year,” Wanda says.
“God I hope n–”
You’re cut off by a knock at the door. Your eyes dart to Wanda’s, wide with panic.
“Is it...?”
“No,” Wanda smiles, getting up to answer the door. “Just who we needed.”
She opens the door to reveal Nat, and in spite of everything, you feel yourself relax.
“I’m not here to talk about it, unless you want to,” Nat says. “I come bearing face masks, cupcakes and wine.”
“I’m on call,” you say.
“Me too,” Nat smiles. “So Wanda’ll be drinking alone. Also I brought the materials to cast a curse on him, if you’re into witchcraft. I bought them on Etsy.”
“Thank you,” you say, hurdling over the couch to wrap Nat in a hug. “I’ve missed you. I mean, I know we’ve both been here, but it’s been–”
“Yeah,” Nat says, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you too. Something’s burning.”
“That would be my breakfast,” you say. “Good thing you brought over cupcakes.”
Once you’ve got the face masks on and Wanda’s sufficiently tipsy, you start playing Mario Kart, which devolves into you and Nat cursing each other out as you battle for first while Wanda does her best not to get last place. Your mind drifts to Steve every so often, but you do your best to shake it off, trying to focus on–
“Shit, we’re getting called in,” Nat says. You sigh, but spring into action, grabbing your phone to scan the incoming intel. A time-sensitive raid on a newly-discovered Hydra safe house in Canada, believed to be their new weapons facility.
“Now?” Wanda protests. “Today?”
“Tell that to Hydra,” you say. “I too would appreciate if they observed calendar holidays.”
“Shit,” Nat says again, and you look over.
“What?”
“It’s not just you and me,” she says. You groan.
“Don’t tell me.”
“You and me, Steve and Bucky.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“If only.”
“This is going to be a sticky situation,” Wanda intones sagely from the couch. You sigh, resisting the urge to collapse onto your bed and scream.
“Understatement of the year.”
You quickly wipe off your face mask and change into your tactical gear before heading up to the helipad with Nat. You can practically hear your heartbeat in your ears, and your mouth feels impossibly dry.
“You ok?” Nat asks, as the elevator ticks off the floor numbers.
“No,” you say flatly. She reaches over and grabs your hand, squeezing it gently. You lean into her, head on her shoulder, and steel yourself.
The doors open, and Steve’s right there, waiting. You feel your heart constrict, but do your best to keep your face in check, holding back any flicker of emotion.
“(Y/N),” Steve says softly.
“Hello,” you say. “Hi Bucky.”
There’s an awkward silence that hangs in the air, and you know that if you let the silence persist, someone will say something and you’ll be forced to confront the awfulness of the situation. And you really can’t do that right now.
“I’ll fly,” you offer, heading towards the Quinjet.
“But–” Steve starts.
“I want to get a move on,” you say. “I’d like to get back as soon as possible.” You don’t miss the look shot between Nat and Bucky, or the way Steve seems to deflate where he stands, just a little.
As soon as you slide into the pilot’s seat, you punch in the coordinates for the base and scan the plotted course. You scroll through your phone, looking for an appropriate playlist to fill the silence and once everyone is safely onboard, you take off to the sound of belated Christmas carols.
“Can we talk?” Steve asks. “About last night?”
“Not right now,” you say flatly. “I’m flying the Quinjet.”
“There’s autopilot,” Steve points out.
“Tactically, I think it’s a better move to fly in manually,” you say. An obvious lie, but Steve lets it go, retreating to the back of the jet, where he engages in a hushed conversation with Nat.
You try to drown out your own thoughts with the Christmas carols, singing along quietly under your breath. Bucky sits down next to you, wordlessly, and places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You turn to look at him for the briefest of seconds, and offer him a small smile before turning back to your controls.
The flight is quick and soon you’re in the Canadian wilderness, no sign of the supposed Hydra safe house. The intel had been pretty sparse – no indication of the size and capacity of the facility, leaving you only to guess.
You land the Quinjet a few miles away and send out of a few of Tony’s nano drones for recon. The four of you cluster around the holo table as you examine the schematics for the surprisingly large underground facility, more a small base than a safe house.
"Steve’s taking the lead on this one,” Bucky says. “What’s the call?”
“(Y/N) and I will sneak into the facility and figure out the best way to destroy the materials,” Steve says. “Buck, find a vantage point and cover us. Nat, you’re our backup, but you’ll stay in the Quinjet so we can make a quick getaway if we have to.”
You know in the back of your head that Steve’s made the assignments based purely on skill sets. You know this. But at the same time, you want to kill him for the set up.
“Fine,” you say tightly, grabbing a bag . “Let’s get a move on.”
You grab a bag of detonators and practically leap out of the Quinjet as soon as the door springs open. The faster you finish the mission, the sooner you can shut yourself back into your apartment and drown your sorrows in dessert.
You and Steve move through the facility in relative silence. Even with all that’s happened, you still read each other effortlessly, moving instantly to cover each other. You try to stay focused, but every movement, every time he brushes past you makes your heart break just a little more.
You finally reach the server room and you sit down at a computer terminal to try to access Hydra’s database. Steve stands guard at the door, glancing back at you every five seconds. You block him out and hack in, plugging in a flash drive to download everything for analysis before you destroy it all. After ensuring the process has started, you stand up and begin to set charges around the room.
“(Y/N), we need to talk,” Steve finally says.
“We’re on a mission right now,” you toss back.
“We’re waiting for a file download,” Steve replies. “We’ve got time.”
“I don’t know what there is to talk about,” you shrug. “You got what you wanted.”
“Sharon drank too much and needed help getting home,” he explains.
“And then she needed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and then you also decided to stay the night?” you retort. “I’m not an idiot, Steve.”
“She kissed me,” he says. “I told her–”
“I’m tired, Steve,” you say, finally setting down the explosives to look at him. “I’m tired of being second-best. Or fake-best.”
“That’s not–”
“Steve. Drop it.”
Your eyes widen in surprise as you recognize Bucky’s voice on the comms. Steve closes his eyes and sighs, and when he looks at you, you see a flash of hurt in his eyes.
“Is this even about me and Sharon?” he asks. “Or is this about you and Bucky?”
“Are you kidding me?” you half-laugh. “Only one of us was in the tabloids kissing and going home with someone else!”
“Not right now, Steve,” Bucky says and Steve lets out a half-chuckle.
“Are you still in love with Bucky, (Y/N)?” he asks.
“I think–”
“Steve and (Y/N), you’ve got incoming.” Your blood runs cold as you recognize Nat’s voice on the comms. You glare at Steve, who at least has the decency to look apologetic.
“Nat, I’m-”
“We’ll talk later. You need to get out of there.”
The door bursts open and it feels like there’s a hundred Hydra guards and all thoughts of Steve and Bucky and Nat have flown from your head. You’re just focused on trying to stay alive.
You manage to fight your way out of the room, through the seemingly endless hallways as wave after wave of Hydra fighters threaten to overwhelm you. At some point, you see a flash of red hair and realize Nat’s come to back you up. With her help, you’re able to make it to the last hallway leading out into the open, back to the Quinjet.
But there’s too many of them blocking the way out, and in that moment you know what you have to do. You look to Steve and Nat and raise the detonator in your hand.
“Run like hell.”
You press the button and then there is only fire. You run as you feel the ground start to crumble below you. You push forward, through smoke and falling debris until you’re running into the light and you see the Quinjet in the distance. You turn your head to look for Steve and Nat, praying that they both made it out.
A/N: Sorry it’s been a crazy minute. I have all the chapters written and saved in my drafts and then just got caught up in a whole lot of other things but one of my pet peeves (not that it’s ever a writer’s fault!) is when I’m reading a fic and it’s a series and I get invested and then they stop updating. Not saying anyone is necessarily super invested in this, but I just want to finish it for my own peace of mind. If you’re reading this, hope you and your loved ones are safe and healthy. -Liv
(Also I’m tagging everyone that had asked to be tagged last year when I was updating regularly. There’s only a couple chapters left, but if you want to be taken off the tag list no worries just lmk)
You hear the knock at the door and pull yourself out of your thoughts. You force yourself to stop imagining all the ways tonight could go wrong and take a deep breath, as if to make sure your voice is even when you speak.
“Come on in,” you call out. “I’m almost ready.”
“It’s me,” you hear Wanda reply. “Not your beautiful boyfriend.”
“Oh good, you can zip me in,” you say, waddling out of your bedroom, holding your dress up with one hand and attempting to fasten a necklace with the other, hoping that Wanda won’t notice that–
“You’re not wearing the right dress,” Wanda says. You sigh.
“I changed my mind,” you reply. “i just didn’t think it looked good.”
“It looked amazing,” Wanda insists. “That’s why you bought it. Go change.”
“I don’t want to,” you whine. “Just zip me.”
“(Y/N).” You recognize her tone and know full well that it’s a losing battle. With an overly dramatic sigh, you flounce out of the room and change into the green dress that Wanda spotted tucked away on forgotten rack at the dress store she dragged you to earlier. It’s far from anything you’d usually wear, and even though you’d felt happy with it at the store, after the past few days, you hadn’t felt the confidence to pull it off.
You make the switch and head back out to Wanda, who gives you an approving nod. It’s then that you notice she’s carrying a bouqet of beautiful deep burgundy roses.
“You brought me flowers?” you ask, confused.
“These were outside your door,” Wanda says, handing them to you as she steps behind you to zip up the dress. “I just brought them in.”
“Is there a card?” you ask, taking them nonchalantly.
“Do you need a card to know who they’re from?” she teases. She reaches forward and snaps one of the blooms off, reaching for a pin to tuck it into your hair. “You ready?”
“You look beautiful,” you say, grabbing her hand and pulling her out the door.
“As do you,” she says. “Where are you meeting Steve?”
“On his floor,” you say, stepping into the elevator and pressing the corresponding button. “So we can walk down the red carpet together.”
“Of course,” Wanda says, and you can hear the question in her voice. She looks over at you, and when you fail to meet her gaze, she pushes forward.
“Are you–”
“I don’t know,” you say, a little too cheerily. “Have I said you look stunning yet?”
You’re spared as the elevator dings to a stop and the doors slide open. Or are you? Just down the hallway is Steve, walking towards you and you’d swear he’s moving in slow motion.
You feel your mouth go dry as you let your eyes rake over him, taking in the way the tux hugs his frame perfectly, the tight angle of his jaw, the flecks of green in his eyes. This oh-so-perfect fake boyfriend of yours.
“Hey,” he says, stepping beside you.
“Hey,” you reply, unable to form a much more complex sentence.
“Mind if I cut in?” Steve says and Wanda grins, passing your hand over to him. His fingers immediately thread through yours.
When you reach the floor that the party’s on, as soon as the doors open, you’re met with a flood of flashing lights. Just like at the memorial opening, you focus on Steve’s grip on your hand, the small of your back, your waist, as he guides you through the mayhem, ever the pro.
As the photographers click away, he leans forward, his lips brushing against your ear. You fight back a shiver.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, and you wonder if he’s maintaining a picture-perfect smile.
“Absolutely not,” you say, your smile plastered in place, but getting harder to hold.
“You won’t even look at me.”
“I can look wherever I want.”
“(Y/N).”
Something in Steve’s voice makes you look up, forces your gaze to turn away from the cameras and up to meet his eyes.
“Steve.” His name comes out a lot softer than you meant it to. More of a sigh than a statement. He seems to relent, turning to thank the photographers before gently ushering you into the party.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “What happened?”
“Oh look,” you say, gesturing over Steve’s shoulder. “Sharon.”
Steve turns and as soon as Sharon’s got Steve’s attention, you dart away. You don’t have the stomach to watch him slip away from you.
You find a table and grab a flute of champagne, chugging it more like a shot than a glass.
“Take it easy,” you hear a voice in your ear. You whip around to find Tony, smirking at you. “This is a classy establishment, I’ll have you know.”
“Sorry,” you say, downing another flute. “You might not have noticed, but this isn’t really my scene.”
“Oh, I noticed,” he says, taking the glasses from you. You roll your eyes and resist the urge to flip him off.
“Just let me get drunk off of champagne in peace,” you say. “I won’t make a scene. I promise I won’t break your precious, ridiculously-priced ice sculptures.”
“Oddly specific,” Tony tosses back. “And somehow, not at all reassuring.”
“I just really want to touch them,” you whine. “I know I’m not supposed to, but I want to make them melt.”
“(Y/N),” he says. “What’s wrong? Does this have something to do with...” He trails off, gesturing over to where Steve and Sharon are talking. It’s at that moment that Steve looks up and you can only hold his gaze for a second before you feel the need to look away. You grab Tony’s arm and drive him out of Steve’s view, into the beautiful fake forest that he’s had assembled in the middle of the room.
And that’s when the truth comes gushing out. It’s not the alcohol so much as it is the need to get everything off your chest, to let your feelings escape and hang in the air.
“Wow,” Tony says, once you’ve finally finished your story. “So you two have been faking it this entire time?”
“Yes,” you say. “Well, he has.”
“Look,” Tony says, taking your hands. “I don’t care how this started. But I’ve known Steve long enough to know.”
“Know what?”
“This isn’t just pretend for him,” Tony says and you sigh, pulling away. “It’s clear from the way he looks at you.”
“And how’s that, exactly?” you say, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.
“Like you are the center of the universe,” Tony says. “Like his world starts and ends with you.” You try to ignore the warmth that flares up in your chest, pushing it back down.
“It doesn’t even matter,” you say. “He’s still in love with Sharon. And I’m just some idiot that got caught up in the act.”
“Forget about Sharon for a minute,” Tony says. “Who came up with this whole idea?”
“He did.”
“Who planned on having this last until New Year’s?”
“He did.”
“And who was completely okay with you kissing him for no apparent reason?”
“I said it was life or death.”
“There is literally no situation where a kiss would be life or death. You’re not Sleeping Beauty.”
“Your point, Tony?”
“If there’s anyone who got caught up in the act, it’s not you,” he says. “Otherwise, explain to me why he’s out on the balcony, alone. Waiting for you.”
“What are you talking about?” you say, fighting the urge to crane your neck.
“Go,” Tony says, pushing you away from him.
“Surprisingly wise advice,” you say.
“Nothing surprising about it,” Tony winks. “I’m older and wiser.” You have to resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him, knowing it’ll only prove his point.
“Much older,” you tease. “So old. Ancient, really.”
“What are you still doing here, making fun of an old man?” Tony says and you sigh, forcing yourself to turn away and make your way towards the balcony.
Sure enough, Steve is out there alone, leaning on the balcony railing and staring out at the New York skyline. You take a deep breath, running your hands over the fabric of your dress, before you step out to join him.
“All by yourself out here?” you ask. Steve looks up at you and you force yourself to meet his gaze. You see the way his eyes soften, ever so slightly, and you feel your heart do a soumersault.
“My girlfriend seems to be avoiding me,” he says.
“I’m sure I can find Sharon around here somewhere,” you retort, immediately regretting your words. Steve turns away and you reach out a hand to grab his arm. “Wait. Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
“What did you mean?” Steve asks.
“I mean...aren’t you happy?” you say, fighting against the sudden tightness in your chest. “This is what you wanted, when we first started this charade. Isn’t it? I just want you to be happy, Steve.”
“(Y/N), what color is your dress?” Steve asks.
“Green,” you say quietly.
“And what color is my tie?”
“Green.”
“Exactly.”
“And?”
“And I sent you flowers.”
“I got those.”
“And I didn’t send flowers to anyone else.”
“Steve, what are you trying to say?”
“I wanted to be here tonight, with you,” he says. You shiver, not sure if it’s from the wind or his words. Steve interprets it as the former and shrugs off his jacket, wrapping it around you. You offer a smile as thanks.
“Okay,” you say. All you want to do is ask him, but you don’t trust yourself to speak. You can feel all the words on the tip of your tongue, begging to spill from your lips.
“Okay?” he asks.
“I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you,” you offer, pulling his jacket tighter around yourself.
“It’s okay,” Steve replies softly. His eyes meet yours and you find yourself moving forward on your own, drawn in by something you don’t quite recognize in his gaze. The closer he gets, the more your hands itch to reach out and touch him, to run your fingers over his cheeks and through his hair.
As if he can hear your thoughts, Steve reaches out, his touch feather-light as he guides your hands to his face, as if giving permission. His hands drift down to your waist, pulling you ever so slightly closer.
“Ok?” you ask, your voice just above a whisper. You can’t stop looking at Steve’s lips, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a tiny smile.
“Ok,” he echoes. “Can I kiss you?”
You’ve kissed before, but always for a reason. Always surrounded by people. Never just because you want to. Standing here on the balcony, you know this kiss is meant to be for just the two of you, no one else.
And there are certainly more words to be said, more emotions to hash out and details to iron out. But all you can think is how much you want his lips on yours, and for it to mean something.
You nod and then he kisses you, finally.
And even thought it’s not midnight yet, you’d swear there are fireworks going off all around you, surrounding you in this moment.
