#confident!reader

Someone once told Sirius he couldn’t escape the incestuous nature of his family, and that’s when the boys started hexing anyone who made any sort of joke on the topic. Soon enough, people learned to keep their mouths shut. 

But it wasn’t what other students made it seem. You all may have been perceived as a lascivious bunch who couldn’t keep your hands off of each other, but there were deep emotions between some of you that surpassed mere physical attraction. 

James probably had one of the most tame histories, save for Peter, who managed to find a girlfriend outside of the group. In James’ past, there was casual fling with Lily, which both parties wanted to be more, yet neither ever had the courage to say it. The relationship ended when they both inwardly thought they’d be better off letting go than silently yearning for more. Aside from that, James had managed to kiss each of you some way or another, whether it be via drinking games or experimental fun.

As for the rest of you, let’s just say you all did a bit more than kiss some of the other members in your group before you all coupled off. 

You, for example, have dabbled in romance with both Sirius and Remus at different points in time. There was a frenzied night with Remus that had you both longing for more, yet never acting on it. And there was a time where everyone thought you and Sirius would end up together. The tension between you two was once so palpable it pervaded your every interaction and shrouded your awareness of anything but each other. It fizzled after a while of neither of you ever making a real move, but sometimes you both feel it creep back into your conversations like an addiction you couldn’t shake. 

Lily and Remus also had a history. They were together for a while, a saccharine relationship that made those around them equally jealous as they were nauseous. Eventually, they broke it off because they couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. They theorized that they must be better off as friends, but what could’ve been still seems to loom over them. 

And James doesn’t know this, if he found out now he might disintegrate on the spot, but everyone’s fancied him at some point. But there’s something about Potters and their tendency to be oblivious. Everyone’s tried to get out of James’ friend zone and it went quite unnoticed. Lily was the only one who’s ever succeeded, and yet, they let each other become their ones that got away. 

It might be a good thing that James never knew about his friends’ crushes. He probably would’ve turned most of you down, depending on the timing. And that would’ve haunted him now. He already has to deal with the pining and the nerves and the misery of it all. Regret added to that mix would send him over the edge. 

After all, the minute you all walk into the common room his heart is already racing with nerves. 

First came Remus and Sirius, Remus having his arm slung across Sirius’ shoulders. Sirius’ walk is an odd looking shuffle due to the way he presses himself into his boyfriend’s side. 

There’s the pining. James wishes he could be sandwiched between them. He imagines shuffling along, like Sirius, and watching the pace of their footsteps sync up. 

Next, James sees Lily. Beaming, as always. She has a firm grip on your hand as she tows you in after her. You two are giggling about something and James swears he’s never heard anything more beautiful than the way your laughters intertwine. He’d give anything to be included in whatever you two were so charmed by. 

“Hey, Prongs,” Remus greets as they sit on the sofa next to him. Remus’ knees knock against James’. James doesn’t want to think about how much it affects him. 

“Hi Jamie,” you say in a sing song voice, passing in front of him as Lily leads you to sit on the armchair with her. The two of you might as well be on top of each other when you get situated, your legs twisted together.

James shifts in his seat, “Hi,” he rasps, then clears his throat, “Hi guys.” 

“What are you up to?” Lily bats her beautiful, long eyelashes at James.

James picks up a book Peter left on the end table next to him, “Studying,” he lies. What he was really doing was thinking about all of you. He couldn’t exactly disclose that, now could he? 

Lily’s eyes dart down to the cover of the book, “Advanced History of Magic?”

“I thought you dropped that after OWLs?” You wonder aloud. 

James presses his lips into a line while he tries to think of what to say, “Yeah, I, er- I’m not studying for class. I’m studying for pleasure. History is a very important subject.” James internally groans. He curses Peter in his mind for not leaving a better book behind. 

The couples around him seem to share skeptical glances that make James want to walk into the Black Lake, lie down, and drown there. 

James' next words tumble out like a torrent, “It’s actually Peter’s. He was telling me something interesting from his class. Wanted to read up on it myself. Anyway, I should go return this to him. Cheers, guys.”

Before anyone can say anything, James is already speeding off with the book. 

Oh, the misery. James hates how awkward things have become. He’s not usually an awkward person, but being around all four people he’s crushing on is overwhelming, even for him. 

Somewhere in Hogwarts’ halls, James leans against one of the cold stone walls and hugs Peter’s book to his chest. 

What is wrong with me, he thinks. And then he gets a tad arrogant, I’m James Potter! I can handle anything. Even having a thing for my best friends. 

James decides right then and there that he doesn’t want to feel like such a mess anymore. It’s time for a different approach. 

The next time he sees one of you, he thinks to himself, you know how to be confident, James, you’ve done it before. And so he puts on his best act. 

But for some reason, acting confident translated into constantly flirting with all of his friends. He really had no intention of doing that, it’s not like he actually wanted to get with any of you. He’d never want to try to interfere in your relationships. But for some reason, as his words tumbled out with amorous undertones and romantic implications, the negative emotions tumbled away too. So he kind of just kept doing it. 

From then on, your interactions with James have gone much more smoothly. Admittedly, they were also much more intoxicating. 

One day after Quidditch practice, James finds you and Lily wrapped up in each other’s arms on the sofa. Your arms are around Lily’s waist as you both watch the crackle of the fireplace before you. The sofa’s back cushions lay strewn across the floor to accommodate the space the two of you take up. 

With a grin fitting his face, James approaches the sofa. 

“Hey,” he calls on his approach. The two of you shift onto your backs to look in the direction of James’ voice behind you. When he arrives, he leans his forearms on the back of the sofa, one folded over the other, and hovers above you two, “Lily, Y/N.” He greets. 

“Hi James,” Lily says on behalf of you both. 

James eyes leisurely drift along the length of the couch and back up again, “Don’t you two look cozy.”

“Sure are,” Lily grins lazily, “If there were any more room on here we’d invite you to join,” your girlfriend jokes. 

“That’s alright, doll,” James says with a lopsided smile. He then leans in closer to you, and you notice the sparkling reflection of the firelight in his eyes. He lowers his voice to a whisper as if he’s telling you a secret, “Next time.” His voice comes out like silk and his eye contact is unwavering. You find it too intoxicating to even blink.

Your lips part slightly, and you can hear Lily’s breath get caught in her throat. It was just two words, it really shouldn’t have affected you two so much. Maybe it’s the way he said them… or maybe it’s just James. James, whose tousled hair is sticking to his forehead still from a strenuous practice and whose lips are only centimeters away. 

A moment of silence passes between you three before James straightens out his spine, standing with his hands resting where his forearms previously were. 

His fingers pitter patter against the sofa back, “I’m off to shower…” James says, “Save me a seat at dinner?”

Without waiting for a reply, James walks towards the boys dormitories. You both watch James disappear up the stairs. When you look at Lily, you find her face flushed. You wiggle your eyebrows and she slaps you on the arm, knowing exactly what you’re thinking. Her hand lingers, then trails down to fit into yours. She discovers a sweaty palm, and now she’s the one raising her eyebrows. 

⋆⋅✶⋅⋆

A few days later, Remus and Sirius find themselves in a similar situation. 

The three Marauders found themselves running for their lives from Filch after attempting to pull a prank without their fourth, who had to bail last minute. They had to rethink the plan on the spot without the extra set of hands, and found themselves nearly getting caught. 

Luckily, Remus knew this area of the castle intimately from his prefects rounds, and found them a room to hide in. 

The boys tumble inside. Sirius and James find themselves with their backs to the nearest wall, both heaving to catch their breaths. Remus locks the door behind them, and releases a shocked laugh as he backs into the room. 

“Quick thinking, Rem. I wonder what other tricks you have up your sleeve.” James says, his tone suggestive. 

“Oi!” Sirius exclaims while Remus flushes. Sirius looks a bit amused, but still feels a bit territorial too. 

James swivels to face Sirius, his body not coming out of contact with the wall. He leans his forearm on the stones above Sirius’ head. Being a bit shorter, Sirius has to look up at James as he leans in ever so slightly, “Don’t worry, Sirius. I find your secrets just as intriguing.” 

Territorial feelings cured. Sirius tries to place the feelings that replaced them and… oh. His head snaps towards his boyfriend, who looks downright besotted with the display in front of him. 

James maintains eye contact and a confident smirk as lets his arm slide down the wall until his palm is flat against it, level with Sirius’ head. He gives the wall a gently pat, then abruptly turns away. 

He takes a single step towards Remus, “I have a sneaking suspicion Filch is still lurking in the area. I’ve got the cloak, so I’m off to be your knight in shining armor and cause a distraction.” James winks, and then he’s out the door. 

The pair of boys that were left behind watch the door thoughtfully for a few moments. 

Sirius’ tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he prepares himself to make a bold suggestion. 

“Hey Moony?” he asks. 

“Yeah?” Remus responds breathlessly. 

“Hear me out about something…” Sirius trails off, still looking in the direction James left in. 

⋆⋅✶⋅⋆

A week later, you and Lily enter the common room in search of your messy-haired friend. He spots you two before either of you find him. 

“If it isn’t my favorite girls,” James waves you both over to where he is seated, which is a small table by the window. Remus and Sirius, who look a bit peeved to have James’ attention drawn away from them, are sitting across from him. 

“What brings you here?” James asks when you arrive at his side, “It’s date night, if I’m not mistaken, isn’t it?” 

You share a look with Lily, “Yes, actually, we’re just about to head off to Hogsmeade.” 

Lily rests a hand on James’ shoulder, “But we were thinking… we’d love it if you’d join us.” 

While the confusion on James’ face starts to soften into understanding, Sirius chokes on his own spit. His voice is strained as he holds back from coughing, “James is busy.”

Your eyes dart to Sirius, “Is he?” then back to James. “Couldn’t you make some time?” You bat your eyes at him. 

Sirius looks horrified, “We have some— Marauders only!— business to attend to. James was just about to accept our invitation, isn’t that right, Prongs?”

“Uhh, I-” James sputters, wildly taken aback by what’s happening. What is happening? 

“Well why don’t you two just invite Peter,” you suggest callously as Lily’s grip on James’ shoulder turns possessive. 

“This isn’t the kind of business we want to invite Peter to. We want James.” Sirius’ eyes narrow. 

You furrow your brows at Sirius’ words and it takes a moment for the meaning of them to sink in. Your features harden as Sirius and Remus suddenly go from friends to competitors. 

“Well I guess you’re out of luck, then.” You say, squinting down at Sirius, “I think James is going to want to come with us.”

Sirius didn’t much like the way you looked down on him, so he brought himself up to his feet where he could tower over you. 

“It’s cute that you think so, but we’re closer to James than anyone. James is our best friend.”

“And I think it’ll be staying that way.” 

“I beg to differ.” Sirius counters, his tone laced with arrogance. 

James’ jaw goes slack at the implication.

“If you're going to beg I prefer that you get on your knees first.” Your voice is dripping with mockery, challenge, and something else that takes everyone a moment to decipher. 

It’s something familiar, a certain tension that’s proving once again to have never fully gone away. It flashes in Sirius’ eyes too, his fiery gaze wavering to give way for a fervent expression. 

The sudden shift in tone sent an electric shock through the three onlookers, James’ jaw dropping impossibly lower.

“Trust me, doll. Where I’m involved, I’m not the one who’s gonna be begging on their knees.” 

Remus somehow looks like he’s enjoying this, which should be unusual for a guy watching his boyfriend flirt with someone else. He’s leaned back in his seat, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips, as his eyes dart between each of his friends. 

“What’s happening,” James chokes out, the nerves he expelled weeks ago suddenly bubbling back up again. 

No one answers James. Remus is having too much fun and you are too busy staring down Sirius. Lily joins you, inching closer to both you and him as she leans over your shoulder, her body pressing into your back. 

“Oh, he’s lying, don’t you think?” She says, her voice velvety smooth. 

“Certainly so. I have it on good authority that he’s the type to want to be in charge,” you jut your chin toward Remus, whose gaze you meet while memories of each other swirl around in your minds, bringing matching twinkles to your eyes. 

“Can-? Can I interject?” James takes a shot at cutting through the tension, his voice cracking.  

“Of course, Jamie,” you turn your head from Sirius to look at him but a soft hand pinching your chin gently turns you right back. 

“Eyes on me, dollface, I’m not done with you,” Sirius says firmly, as if proving how commanding he can be. 

A choked noise emits from James’ throat and it’s not clear if it’s in protest of being cast aside again or a direct reaction to the way Sirius is handling you. 

Remus inches his hand towards James’, bumping his pinky into his. “Sit tight, I want to see where this goes,” he tells him. 

“See? So effortlessly commanding,” you vocalize to Lily, a hungry look in your eyes as they flick to Remus. 

Sirius’ possessive nature flares up. “This has been real cute, but you can you can back off of them now,” Sirius say, referring to both his boyfriend and James. 

Your eyes dart back to Sirius and that hungry sort of look doesn’t falter, “Want me to focus on you, do you? Ddon’t worry, baby, I can multitask.”

“Let's cut to the chase, are you two about to fight or kiss?” James defies Remus’ command to sit tight, suddenly speaking boldly, regaining his confidence from either sheer will or impatience, “Either is fine, I suppose, as long as you continue to let me watch.”

“I second that,” Remus agrees at once. 

“Third,” Lily chimes in, “though I’d prefer to see the ladder.” 

As James words sink in, it brings you back down to reality, that familiar veil of tension that shrouds your better judgment lifting. 

Worry filters in first, your actions suddenly feeling inappropriate. That they were, but you’re less worried about the nature of your actions and more so the fact that you behaved in such away with someone else right in front of your girlfriend. When you look at her, you’re met with a sly countenance that reminds you she was an active participant. 

You’re not the only one having inner turmoil after the racy display, a silence that’s tense for different reasons washing over you all. Everyone seems to be contemplating the implications of what just happened and how you all so fondly reacted to it. 

Lily is the one to cut through the silence first. 

“You know… I wouldn’t mind if all three of you joined us,” Lily tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as she asks “Do you, Lovie?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind at all,” your words coming out like a plea when you respond. 

Remus carefully stands from his seat, approaching Sirius with revere and settling his arm across his shoulder. His free hand extends to you, which you take without hesitation. His tender touch sends shivers up your spine. 

Your four sets of eyes drift to James, who’s still in his seat trying to process what’s going on. When it sinks that this is real life, he looks back at you all like you’re a newfound treasure. 

It’s instant, the way the feelings that never went away metamorphosize into something beautiful and new. And it’s an adjustment, for sure, but you all lean into it with surprising ease. 

The rumors fly, of course, when your peers start to take notice of the way things have changed. No amount of previous hexing scares them away from jumping to their conclusions and spreading their rumors. This time around, you’re all too enamored with each other to care much about what people say, but you do find it pitiful that they could never understand. But some witnesses to the loving little touches and soft remarks between each of you and all of you find that it makes sense now—all of you were destined from the start. 

For you have always been drawn to each other. It’s why you constantly gravitated from one to the next, the pull from those you left behind never really going away. 

It feels like a dream the way you all settle back into place with each other. James looks at you all in disbelief everyday. He couldn't have imagined a more perfect solution to his previously helpless pining.

You're quite pleased as well, the longing for what you never had with each of your boys finally resolved.

And Lily and Remus share a look some days, eyes twinkling, finding comfort in knowing now what their missing piece was. Or rather, pieces. 

“Well, I think I can pinpoint now why all of our relationships kept not working out,” Lily tells him once, in the very beginning. You’re all strolling around outdoors, basking in the sun, still shyly navigating through the newness of it all. 

The knuckles of your left hand fondly brush against those on James’ right. Lily walks alongside you, Remus on the end next to her. And Sirius has fallen behind purposefully, admiring the way the four of you look together. 

“Why’s that, Dove?” Remus asks. 

“Greed,” Sirius interjects, an impish grin dances on his lips as he jogs up to join you all again. He squeezes between you and Lily, slinging his arms around you both.

Sirius nuzzles his nose into the side of your face, “But who’s to say we can’t have it all?” 

“C’mon, babe, wake up!” you call again, holding your phone away from your face. “Okay, sorry, Angela, how can I help you?” you ask into the microphone.

“Babe? Did someone spend the night?” Angela teases.

“You know he did. Early morning calls from you are new, though.”

“We’re infiltrating a money laundering scheme. The Metro captain said you’d be a good fit to lead the operation,” she explains.

“Yeah, I can do that. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Perfect! And I’d tell you to take your time getting ready, but you always look good.”

“Back atcha.”

You end the call and yell another wake-up call with more urgency. There’s a case to be worked on, and you know you can get it done. If you can get to work, that is.

“Sergeant Bradford,” you greet as you approach Angela’s desk. “Detective Lopez.”

“Morning,” Tim replies.

You smile at him before asking Angela where your temporary team is. She tells you they’re arriving shortly and meeting in the roll call room. There’s a case file spread open on her desk, and you lean beside her to look at it.

“When do you think your captain will just realize that I’d be a great permanent fixture on your team?” you ask Tim, looking up through your lashes. “I’d only distract you boys sometimes.”

“I think that’s the major concern,” Tim deadpans.

“Granted, we wouldn’t be able to work together,” you sigh.

“Why not?”

“We’d draw too much attention, Tim. Look at us.”

You smile again and Tim shakes his head. Your confidence reads as flirtation occasionally, but Tim has always been drawn to you. He’s constantly impressed by how good you are at your job, and how aware you are of what you are worth. Your strengths and weaknesses are well-known to you, and you use them to your advantage. Most importantly, you don’t let anyone walk over you. Being a woman in the police force is hard, but you make it look effortless and do it with grace.

“Why am I in charge of this?” you ask.

“You’ve worked a laundering op before, right?” Angela asks.

“I assisted in one when I was on patrol, yeah.”

“A very successful one, from what I hear. Since you’ve been on the ground for one, you were the best choice.”

You nod before you notice the Metro team enter. As you stand and move toward Tim, he wonders if you’re this confident outside of work, or if it’s something you’ve built up to maintain your sanity in a job surrounded by men.

“Think we’ll be done by eight?” you murmur.

“Why? Have a date?” he counters.

“Something like that,” you reply with a wink. “Let’s go catch some money launderers, Bradford.”

“We’ve got three Metro teams here for this op,” the Metro captain explains as you enter. “Work together or get out of my station, is that clear?”

Overlapping replies of “Yes, ma’am” mix as you lead Tim toward the front of the roll call room. A television screen shows the layout of the warehouse you will be infiltrating, but you have to explain all the minor details. Your previous success in a place like this was due to the precision of little movements, and this will be no different.

“So, what’s the plan?” a man in the front row asks.

You nod toward him and say, “Our goal is-“

“I was asking Sergeant Bradford,” he interjects.

You smile at him as you explain, “I’m in charge of this operation, so I can answer any questions you have. Our goal is to infiltrate the operation without breaching. Once inside, we can better understand the operation. Then, three different teams will breach from the locations marked on the map.”

“‘Scuse me,” someone calls from the back.

“Yes?”

“Why leave the front side open during the breach?”

“Excellent question. This unit backs up to a storefront on the opposite side. Patrol units will evacuate that store before the raid, so there will be no exfil points nor civilian interaction.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“No problem. You have your team assignments, and we will ensure each team is in location before the infiltration. In the case of anyone exiting the building before the breach begins, immobilize and detain as quickly and quietly as possible. Are there any other questions?”

Everyone shakes their head, and you hear the first man who cut you off mutter something under his breath.

“One more thing,” their captain adds. “If any one of you have decided to feel misogynistic today, get out now. I will not tolerate you rejecting orders for any reason. One more disrespectful comment toward another officer will get you benched. Indefinitely. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the men call together.

As they leave, she apologizes to you, but you brush off her concerns with a smile. You’re used to it, and she is too.

“Thank you for letting me join this operation,” you tell her.

“Of course. I hear you and Bradford are the best,” she replies. “Prove ‘em right.”

You nod before following Tim out. There’s a bit of time until you have to change and prepare to infiltrate, and you have paperwork to do until then.

“Good work in there,” Tim says.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls, Bradford,” you joke. “See you in a bit.”

He watches you walk toward your desk. When Angela slaps his arm, though, he turns away quickly with wide eyes.

“What was that for?” he demands.

“Are you going to ask her out or not?” she sighs.

“Not.”

“Why not?”

“Um, I don’t have a death wish,” Tim says dramatically. “She does not like being hit on, you know that.”

“No, she doesn’t like being objectified. You asking her out – genuinely being interested in her – would get an entirely different response.”

Tim rolls his eyes and notices a man walking toward you. He lays a hand on Angela’s shoulder and turns her toward you.

“Hey, baby, you need someone to escort you home tonight?” the man asks, though his eyes are nowhere near your face. “No need to go home without a man one more time, right?”

“The only boy I’ll be taking home tonight is my son, so no thank you,” you reply easily.

“Son?” Tim whispers.

“You didn’t know?” Angela asks.

“No, I… Look, Lopez, the point is I don’t need her to stop talking to me because I asked her out.”

“Then don’t ask her out like that.”

“She doesn’t want anything!” Tim exclaims. “Drop it.”

You look up when his voice raises, and your brows furrow when you see him talking to Angela. They wave, and you shake your head in amusement before returning your attention to your paperwork.

“I didn’t even know she had a son,” Tim adds quietly. “She keeps me on my toes at work, and that’s enough.”

“Sure,” Angela agrees. “But what about when it’s not enough anymore?”

“So…” Tim begins as you walk down a street to reach the target location.

“Put your arm around me,” you say suddenly.

Tim doesn’t question your request as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. His eyes are on your face, and you smile as you look up at him.

“It’s busier than I thought it’d be,” you murmur. “Don’t need to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves.”

“Not a problem. We’re going to a place that doesn’t exist anyway,” Tim replies.

“You seem… off. Are you okay to do this?” you check.

“Yeah, I’m good. Angela just pried into my personal life again. Made me question things, for some reason.”

You chuckle and shake your head against Tim’s forearm. “Trust me, I know that situation all too well. She’s been trying to get me to start dating since my son got old enough to be left with a babysitter.”

Tim hums and you realize he may not have known as much about your personal life as Angela. You don’t talk about your home life much at work for a couple of reasons, but the biggest is your concern about the comments you’d get. Being a cop is hard enough, but a cop who is a single mother is much different. The things that the men you work with would say require a level of patience that you don’t have, and your confidence can’t conceal that.

“We’re here,” Tim alerts as you reach the entrance.

He removes his arm from your shoulders and opts to take your hand as he opens the door and leads you inside. The false front, Coo-Coo Cash Checking, is tiny, though you suppose they need as much room as possible for their backdoor counterfeiting business.

“Welcome, folks,” a man says as he steps to the desk. “What can I help you with?”

“My girlfriend and I are looking to buy a house but can’t get approved for the loan we need. A friend of mine told me you, or your boss, Malcolm Dmitri, could help,” Tim explains.

The man nods at the mention of the code word and steps back. “Sure, we can. Mr. Dmitri is in a meeting right now but should be done in about five minutes. Mind waiting?”

“That’s perfect,” Tim replies. “Thank you, sir.”

The door closes behind him and you turn toward Tim.

“Something feels off,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

He looks around, but there isn’t much to see in the five-foot-deep entryway where you stand. You rise to your tiptoes and look over the desk, but there’s nothing back there, either.

“They’re going to do something unexpected,” you say. “Let’s just roll with it.”

“Within reason,” Tim argues.

“What if my reason is different than yours?” you ask, leaning against him and smiling.

“Then I’ll pull rank,” he answers, sounding breathless.

“And here I thought we were friends.”

You pout, and Tim looks away quickly. Just as you stand and prepare to apologize for going too far, the door opens again.

“Mr. Dmitri can see you now. The problem is his office is small, so it’ll have to be one at a time. He’ll see you first, Miss…” he trails off, waiting for your name.

“Walton,” you answer, making up a name quickly.

Tim squeezes your hand, but you run your finger over his palm as you step forward. He registers your signal but doesn’t like what you’re about to do.

“I’ll be right back, honey,” you promise as you walk through the door.

Tim leans back against the wall as he waits for your signal to breach. He will rush inside the moment he hears it. Not a moment before, though, because he knows you and you know what you’re doing.

As you and Tim walk out of the front door after a successful raid, you pull his hand into yours again.

“Ask me what you wanted to ask before,” you say softly. “I don’t keep my personal life a secret from you on purpose, it’s just that some of the guys at work… I know how they’d treat me if they knew I had a kid.”

“I get it,” Tim replies. “You said you’re a single mom. I guess I’m just surprised anyone would leave you.”

“I left him,” you admit. “I know what I’m worth and that didn’t always sit well with him. I wouldn’t change a thing, though, because I got an amazing son out of the deal.”

“What were you thinking?” one of the Metro officers demands as you near the rendezvous point. “Going in there alone was stupid!”

“I had the situation under control,” you reply calmly.

Tim drops your hand and levels his gaze on the man before you. He’s too close to you, but Tim won’t step in unless he has to. You can handle yourself, he knows that, but it doesn’t keep him from getting angry with people who talk down to you.

“Clearly! They could’ve taken you in a second!” he replies. “How do you deal with her, Bradford? You just let her waltz into a death trap.”

“She is good at what she does,” Tim answers. “And you would do well to treat her like the cop she is and not my assistant. This is her operation, so stop questioning her decisions.”

“Oh, she’s got you on a tight leash, Bradford.”

“That’s enough,” you interrupt, your friendly smile long gone. “I know what I am doing, and since you clearly have no trust in me as a member of your team, you can go.”

“That’s not your call, girlie.”

Tim steps forward, but his Metro captain approaches before he can say anything.

“She dismissed you, officer. That means go. Now.”

The officer rolls his eyes and stomps as he pushes against your shoulder to get past. You shake your head before you ask if all of the suspects are in custody.

“Every one of them,” the captain answers. “Excellent work in there.” “I appreciate that,” you reply. “Sergeant Bradford was a great asset in there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Reviews are coming up soon.”

She winks at Tim before she pats your shoulder and returns to the mobile command unit. You exhale and roll your shoulders back to stand straighter.

“I’m sorry,” Tim offers.

“I don’t let it affect me anymore. My confidence threatens their insecurity, so they try to knock me down. I’ve gotten very good at standing my ground. But I meant what I said, you were great in there; couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I wasn’t even with you,” Tim argues.

“Yes, you were. I knew that you’d be there the moment I signaled. That’s why I was okay going a few steps further alone because you had my six.”

“Always.”

“There is one thing I’d like to ask you to do, though,” you begin. Tim nods, and you request, “Whatever Angela wanted you to do, go do it. She looks out for our best, even when it just feels like pointless meddling.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure, you can.”

“No, I really-“

“Tim,” you groan, leaning back.

“She wants me to ask you out,” Tim blurts out.

You stand up to look at him, and he simply shrugs. Though you suspect why he doesn’t want to do it, based on how you usually respond to being hit on at work, you know that you would say yes before he even finished.

“I have a kid,” you remind him quietly.

“So?” Tim asks, furrowing his brows.

“That’s a non-starter for most guys.”

“Most guys are idiots, then.”

You smile as you agree. “But you’re not. So, what are you going to do?”

Tim shakes his head, so you sigh and do something for both of you.

“Tim Bradford, will you go out with me?” you ask.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m asking you out. Now, my son may have to crash the date because my sitter is supposed to leave early tomorrow, but he’s a good kid. Most of the time.”

“Okay,” Tim says. “Yeah, let’s go out.”

“See, that wasn’t so scary,” you tease. You lean toward him to whisper, “And I promise that I’m not just using you to be a good influence in my son’s life. He has all the father figure he needs in Optimus Prime.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Tim asks quietly.

“Which part?”

“The-“

You cut Tim off with a kiss on the cheek, and when your hands hit his shoulders to steady yourself, he knows that Angela was right. She can never know that, though, and it was a one-time thing. Tim pulls you into a hug before you can pull back.

“Thank you for defending me,” you tell him.

“You didn’t need it,” he counters.

“Yet you did it anyway. That makes it even better, Tim.”

“Thanks for asking me out.”

“Now that we did need. I can get another sitter so we can go on a real date.”

“No, bring your son. He’s important to you, so he needs to be a part of this. If he doesn’t like me, we go back to being work friends.”

“And if he does?”

“Then I guess I have to fight Optimus Prime.”

“Mm,” you hum, pretending to think. “I think you could take him with a little help from me.”

“A sentient robot who turns into a semi versus two human cops? You’re more confident than I thought.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No, I don’t.”

You step away from Tim and smile. “Then it’s a date. Am I in charge of this operation or are you?”

“Well, you did this one so well… I’ll handle the date; you just look perfect as always.”

You gasp and point at Tim as you walk backward toward your car. “You can flirt!”

“I learned from the best,” he replies playfully. “See you tomorrow.”

“Twice!” you remind him. “And, Tim, don’t bother to brush up on your fighting skills. You’re better than Optimus, every day of the week. He’s going to adore you.”

New York was its usual blur of steam and bustle, the sound of heels on pavement and taxi horns creating a constant undercurrent beneath the clipped rhythm of passing conversations. The kind of day that invited routine, predictable commutes, and the gray of morning suits and navy wool coats blending together like a painting left out in the rain.

But you? You were a jolt of color in a city that had forgotten how to look up.

Bucky saw you the moment he stepped out of the corner diner. You were sitting alone on a bench nearby, legs crossed in a carefree way that made your bright red socks peek out above sturdy black boots. The hem of your coat swung open just enough to show a patchwork skirt that probably shouldn't have matched your floral scarf, but somehow did, perfectly. Not because it followed any fashion rule he knew, but because you wore it like you’d invented it. Like every thread had been chosen with purpose, not approval.

And there you were, hooking yarn through a crochet needle like it was second nature. So casual and focused like the world didn’t exist around you.

You weren’t trying to be noticed.

But that’s exactly why you were.

Bucky had seen a lot of beautiful people. Dated more than his fair share of women who giggled at his compliments and leaned just a little closer when he smiled. His charm was tried and true, smooth as jazz on a Sunday night. But standing across the street from you, watching as you looped and pulled at lavender yarn with practiced ease, he felt a momentary pause in his step, like someone had nudged a record player.

You looked… content. The kind of content that didn’t beg to be seen or photographed. You just were.

And for once, Bucky wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He lingered longer than he meant to, waiting for a glance, or a flicker of acknowledgement. But you didn’t look up once. You were humming something under your breath, the rhythm of the needle seemed to follow whatever tune you were hearing. You looked completely at peace with yourself.

A guy in uniform wasn’t usually ignored in this part of the city.

But you? You didn’t even blink his way.

He told himself it was just curiosity. That he hadn’t been rejected, exactly. You hadn’t said anything at all. You hadn’t noticed him. That had to be a fluke, right?

So the next day, he tried again.

Stepped into the café across from the post office just as the lunch crowd was thinning out. He spotted you immediately with that same energy and same unapologetic flair at one of the smaller tables. Today you wore mismatched earrings and a jacket embroidered with tiny flowers near the collar. You were crocheting something again, pink this time, puffy and squishy-looking as a cup of tea sat in front of you.

You glanced up when the bell above the café door rang but your gaze passed right over him, like he was just another guy in line. Not Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, beloved by Brooklyn and its entire female population.

His pride took a small hit, not enough to bruise, but just enough to make him grin.

This was his moment.

He adjusted his collar, smoothed the sleeves of his uniform jacket, and crossed the floor with that signature, effortless charm. Women turned to watch him pass. It happened without fail. A nod here, a flirty smile there. He didn’t even have to try.

But you? You were humming, completely unbothered.

The seat across from you was empty, so he rested a hand lightly on the back of it. “Mind if I join you?”

Your eyes flicked up, quick but calm. Not startled or flattered, just curious. You studied him like he was a street performer who’d wandered too close.

“Sure,” You said simply, without warmth or hostility. Like you were just… letting him exist there.

He sat, a little off-balance from how easy you made it seem. Like you were the one granting him an audience.

“I couldn’t help noticing your… project,” He said, nodding toward the mass of pink yarn. “Is that a hat, or am I just lucky enough to be witnessing art in progress?”

Your lips quirked slightly, not a full smile though.

“It’s a frog,” You replied.

He blinked. “A… frog?”

“Yeah, for a friend. She likes them in pastels.” You turned the piece slightly in your hands, inspecting a stitch. “Still needs legs.”

Bucky chuckled. “Well, he’s already got personality. You make all kinds of stuff like that?”

You shrugged. “If it brings someone joy, why not?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, letting his voice dip into something smooth. “You’ve got a real talent. Haven’t seen anything quite like it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You say that like I’m supposed to be impressed.”

His grin faltered for the briefest second. “No, just… making conversation.”

“I’m not a puzzle to solve,” You stated softly, not unkindly. “Or a riddle to charm your way through.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they cut through the usual rhythm of things. You didn’t need to raise your voice. You just spoke plainly, like truth didn’t need decoration or sugar coating.

Bucky held your gaze, struck by how steady you were. You weren’t trying to knock him off his game. You just weren’t playing.

There was no flustered reactions, no flirting, just quiet confidence.

You returned your focus to your yarn, fingers moving with a rhythm that seemed to have existed long before he arrived and would continue long after he left. The conversation was over. At least, for now.

He sat back, nodding slowly, lips pressing together in thought.

Most people he met were impressed by the uniform, the smile, or the easy charm. It was enough to get him just about anything he wanted.

But you weren’t most people. And for the first time in years, Bucky Barnes wasn’t entirely sure what to do next.

Bucky wasn’t the kind of man who stewed over things. He lived fast, talked smooth, and moved on before things got too complicated. There were dances to attend, friends to meet, war looming in the background, but even with everything spinning around him, you stayed in his head.

It didn’t make sense.

You hadn’t flirted back. You hadn’t blushed. You hadn’t even bothered to finish your tea while he was trying to win you over. And yet, here he was three days later, waiting outside the small park you always passed through after the café.

You weren’t hard to find. Same bench, same yarn, though today it was green, deep and foresty, coiled in your bag like something half-alive.

Bucky approached a little slower this time. No cocky lean or theatrical grin. He simply held a paper cup of tea in one hand, steam curling from the lid.

“You always pick the perfect weather,” He commented, lightly.

You looked up, then down at the cup.

“Chamomile and honey,” He offered. “Figured I owed you for the frog lesson.”

You reached for the drink, examining the label. “Not bad. I usually go lighter on the honey.”

He grinned. “Guess I’ll have to try again sometime.”

“Might not be a next time.”

The words weren’t mean. You even took a sip. But you said them like a boundary drawn in chalk. Clear, quiet, and unmoving.

Bucky sat beside you anyway. Not too close but just close enough to notice the small pouch hanging from your bag, crocheted of course, with what looked like a hand-stitched constellation on the flap.

He tilted his head. “What’re you making now?”

You hooked the yarn without looking up. “A scarf.”

He watched your fingers move. “For someone special?”

“I am someone special.”

That made him laugh, real, warm, and caught off guard. “That you are.”

You gave him a look. It wasn’t a glare or a smirk. It was something in-between, sharp and knowing.

“I don’t usually go out with people who treat me like a curiosity they want to solve,” You spoke, voice even.

He swallowed once, smile dimming to something quieter. “I wasn’t trying to–”

“You were,” You cut in gently. “But I’m not offended. Most people do it without realizing.”

Bucky looked down at his hands. That stung a little. Not because you were wrong, but because you were right. And you weren’t trying to shame him for it. Just… telling the truth.

You sipped your tea, still crocheting.

But, he didn’t leave. And that? That surprised you more than anything else.

Something changed after that second conversation. Bucky didn’t flirt again, not in the usual way. No teasing, no grin meant to melt or distract. No showmanship.

He still showed up, though.

Sometimes at the café, sometimes across the park, once even at the bookshop where you loitered through the mystery aisle. He didn’t always say something. Sometimes he just watched. Respectfully and thoughtfully. And each time, you let him.

Which meant he started noticing things.

You never rushed things. Not your tea, not your words, not even your projects. There was a deliberate steadiness to you, each stitch purposeful and each silence comfortable. You made the world slow down around you without even meaning to.

He also caught on to the little details.

How you carried two extra hooks, how you tapped the table twice before starting a new row, ritual or habit, he didn’t know, how your music taste changed by the day: punk one morning, old soul the next.

Most people, Bucky realized, were so busy trying to be seen that they forgot how to see.

But not you.

And you started noticing him too, albeit subconsciously. Not because he was charming or persistent or wore the hell out of that uniform, but because he didn’t push.

You half-expected him to disappear after the second conversation. Most men did, either offended or bored by the way you didn’t play along. You weren’t rude, just… aware. You’d been flirted with before, complimented, pursued for your looks, confidence, or different personality. It never lasted long though. People wanted the idea of you, not the reality. Not the slow, complex, sometimes silent parts of you.

But Bucky came back and never left.

He sat across from you with a patience that unnerved you more than any come-on ever had. He asked questions, real ones. Not about your appearance, not about where you were from or who you were seeing. He asked about yarn, about patterns, or about what you liked to make when it was just for you.

He remembered things.

Once, when you were talking absentmindedly about your favorite animals, not the usual ones, but the oddballs, the ones no one ever appreciated, you mentioned maned wolves. Called them “awkward foxes on stilts with the energy of a cryptid and the soul of a misunderstood poet.” You figured it would go in one ear and out the other.

But the next time you saw him, he had a crumpled magazine in his bag, folded open to a page with a photo of one.

“They really do look like they know secrets,” He said, holding it out with a sheepish little grin.

And you laughed. Full-out, loud, and genuine.

He looked stunned by it. And from that point on, he didn’t just see you, he kept noticing you piece by piece, thread by thread.

And that?

That scared you a little. Because part of you had started noticing him, too.

Bucky didn’t know what made him do it, exactly. Maybe it was the way you said it. Or maybe it was the slow, surprising realization that he wanted to make something for you. Not buy, not charm, make.

It was a terrible idea.

He knew it the second he walked into the little corner craft shop you always went to. The woman behind the counter smiled too brightly and asked what he was looking for, and Bucky realized he had no idea how to answer.

“Yarn,” He said finally.

“What kind?”

“…The good kind?”

It took forty-five minutes, three confused salespeople, and the emotional energy of a full combat drill before he left the shop with three skeins of brown, one of black, and something labeled “rust.” He had a hook, somehow acquired a pattern, and a printed photo of the weird, spindly creature you liked so much.

He was going to crochet you a maned wolf.

God help him.

The attempt was, in a word, catastrophic.

His fingers fumbled. The loops turned into knots. The legs came out uneven, wildly uneven. The head was lopsided. The tail refused to attach properly. He stabbed himself with the hook more than once and cursed loud enough that Steve poked his head in, saw the pile of yarn and horror on the table, and immediately left.

It looked… cursed, like a feral sock puppet.

But Bucky couldn’t stop.

Because every time he wanted to quit, he thought about how your hands moved when you crocheted. How peaceful you looked, even when things were tangled. How you called the process “a mess, but mine.” How you made strange, beautiful things for people you cared about.

So he kept going. Stitch by awkward stitch.

And when he finished, when he held the final, wonky, too-long-legged mess in his hands, he laughed because it was terrible.

Yet it felt like the most honest thing he’d ever made.

When he finally presented it to you, it was raining that day. it wasn’t a storm. It was more so the kind of soft, misty drizzle that made the city feel quieter than usual. Your usual café was half-empty, the windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. You had a fresh ball of blue yarn in your lap and a half-finished shawl trailing from your hook. The rhythm of your hands was steady, patient, as the world went on ignoring itself around you.

Bucky stepped in, damp at the shoulders, hair a little windswept from the walk.

You saw him the second he entered because of course you did. His presence had long since become familiar, like a comma in a sentence. Always appearing at the right moment, never asking for more than you were willing to give.

But today?

He looked nervous. Actually nervous. Not his usual fidgeting-for-effect, not the grin that followed. Just real, quiet tension under his collar as he approached your table, one hand behind his back.

You raised an eyebrow.

He sat and didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he pulled something out from behind him, wrapped in paper that looked suspiciously like an old pattern printout.

“I made you something,” He said, voice too casual to be natural. “Don’t laugh.”

You set your yarn aside slowly. “That depends on what it is.”

He handed it over, eyes trained anywhere but your face.

You peeled the paper back.

And blinked.

It was… something. Brownish-rust colored, with long uneven legs, too-large ears, and a wildly misshapen tail. One button eye sat lower than the other, and the stuffing peeked out of a seam near the back.

But you recognized it immediately.

“A maned wolf?” You asked softly, holding it in both hands.

He winced. “I was going for ‘charmingly odd,’ but I think I landed on ‘traumatized woodland cryptid.’”

You stared at the thing: at the yarn, the uneven stitching, and the fact that the legs bent wrong. And yet, somehow, it was perfect.

Your fingers curled around it gently, thumb brushing one of the crooked ears.

“You made this?” You asked.

“Every stitch,” He said, sounding half-proud, half-terrified. “Took me a week. The tail fell off twice. I stabbed myself four times. Steve thinks I’ve joined some kind of yarn cult.”

You looked up.

And there it was, something soft in his eyes. No performance. No smooth delivery. Just a man who remembered something small. Something you loved. And tried, really tried, to make something just for you.

It was awful, but it was yours.

You let out a quiet breath, the kind that broke into something halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

“I love him,” You said.

Bucky blinked. “You do?”

“He’s got character,” You nodded, clutching the wonky wolf to your chest. “Looks like he’s been through something. Probably has opinions on taxes.”

A slow smile spread across Bucky’s face, genuine, lopsided, and beautiful.

You met his eyes.

“So,” You spoke. “About that date.”

He straightened. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

He didn’t take you somewhere flashy which honestly surprised you.

You’d expected a swing club, maybe a jazz lounge with polished floors and the kind of place where he’d nod to the staff and slip the host a folded bill. You’d expected a little show because people always liked to show they liked you, never quite willing to just be with you.

But Bucky picked a bookstore.

A quiet, tucked-away shop that smelled like old wood and paperbacks that had lived full lives before ever being sold. He opened the door for you, and when the bell above the frame rang, he looked a little sheepish.

“I figured you might like somewhere that doesn’t talk too loud.”

You blinked at him, then smiled.

He was learning.

There was no pressure in the air. No grand gestures. Just warmth.

He didn’t hover, either. You wandered off for a while, and he let you. No over-the-shoulder glances, no need to fill silence. When you returned with a book about South American wildlife and a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, he raised an eyebrow.

“Let me guess. Maned wolf trivia night?”

“Preparation is everything,” You said, flipping it open.

He laughed.

Afterward, you walked together in the evening light. It was still misting a little and still quiet. He didn’t try to hold your hand or try to read your mind. He just matched your pace, his jacket slung over one arm, the faint sound of passing streetcars humming through the city.

“You know,” You said finally, “You’re not what I expected.”

“Yeah?” He asked. “What were you expecting?”

You thought for a second.

“Someone who wanted to win.”

Bucky looked over. “And now?”

“Now,” You said, softly, “I think you just wanted to understand.”

He nodded once. “You make it easy to want to.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. Just walked together, but your hand brushed his.

This time, he took it and this time, you let him.

And later that night back in your apartment, you set the crooked maned wolf on your nightstand. It leaned a little too far to one side, its tail still threatening to fall off, and one leg almost comically bent.

But it looked like it belonged there, like it had been yours all along.

You smiled, touched the top of its head gently, and turned out the light.