prompt: “And our love story? I know it may not feel like it right now, baby, but I promise you, it’s just getting started.” (This is Us)
warnings: swearing, angst with a fluffy ending
a/n: This is my first successful attempt to getting back into writing long form. It’s also my entry for @softhairbarnes‘s challenge that was due, like September 18th. I’m so sorry it took so long, and the prompt is bolded in the fic!
Bucky Barnes hated weddings.
Actually, no. That’s not quite accurate because he loved Sam and Natasha’s wedding. When Sam had asked him to be a groomsman, he’d actually cried. In fact, he cried at least four times that day: watching Tony walk Natasha down the aisle, during the vows and the first dance, and then when he’d watched his girl catch the bouquet.
His girl.
No.
He needed to stop that. You’re not his girl anymore.
It was that stupid bouquet toss that had caused him to panic. It had sent him into a downward spiral as his anxiety reared its ugly head, telling him that he’d never have this with you.
It didn’t matter what the stupid tradition said.
Steve was standing near the front with Tony and Sam, mingling with your parents and having a grand old time. He must’ve said something at least a little funny with the way that your mom had her head thrown back in a laugh.
That used to be him. He used to be the one chatting with your family at events, his arm around your waist. Your dad always called him ‘son’ and your mom fretted over whether he was eating enough while your older siblings gave him hell for keeping you away from them in New York City for too long. He’d never thought he’d have a family in the twenty-first century, but yours had welcomed him with open arms. Your brothers had become his brothers, your sister became his sister.
And then he’d fucked it all up.
And because of his fuck up, he was sitting in the back pew of a church, watching some asshole named Chad chat with one of his groomsmen while waiting for the ceremony to start.
The worst part was that it was all wrong. This wasn’t the wedding you wanted. He knew that for a fact.
First off, the church. You never wanted a church wedding in the middle of August, damn it. Everyone was sticky with sweat, even with the air conditioning on full blast, and more than a little miserable.
And there wasn’t… There wasn’t enough flowers. The only flowers present were two bunches of white tulips on either side of the altar.
Fucking tulips. In white. It was like you’d had zero hand in planning your own wedding.
Which, from the look of things, you probably didn’t.
There just wasn’t enough color. It was all pristine white, as though trying to create some image of purity that he knew you didn’t have. You weren’t some kind of innocent virgin like the whole church thing suggested.
The trip you two had taken to the Dominican Republic a few years ago had made sure of that.
You’d told him about the wedding you dreamed about in the middle of the night, between sleepy kisses and wandering hands. The sheets had been kicked off at some point. You’d tangled your legs with his, soft fingers brushing his hair back away from his face as you murmured into the crook of his neck, “I want a small wedding outside. Just you and me and our family.”
“Yeah, baby?” He’d chuckled, drawing you even closer, if it were possible. “Just us and our family?”
“Mmhm. Don’t need anyone else.”
He’d hummed his agreement as he rolled the two of you over, leaning over you. His forehead pressed against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist. “What else? Hm?”
“What do you mean, ‘What else?’” You had asked, his t-shirt riding up your torso. You’d stolen it at some point, almost permanently becoming one of your so-called ‘sleep shirts.’
“Tell me about our wedding.”
Your bright eyes crinkled as you giggled, your fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Our wedding, huh?”
His fingers attacked your sides in retaliation, sending you into a fit of laughter.
“Okay! Okay!” You had allowed him to lie on your chest, his head resting right above your racing heart. His weight was a welcome one, grounding you and keeping you in the present. Just as Bucky had his demons, you had yours, too. Your voice was soft and sweet, barely audible, as you continued, “It’ll be outside… in June… And there’ll be flowers. We’ll have so many flowers that no one will know what our color scheme is supposed to be.”
A laugh from your fiancé, your soon-to-be husband, pulled him out of his memories. God, the smug bastard.
Part of him wondered if he even knew about your past relationship. Granted, he had to. You were together for so long, it would be strange to not at least mention him to your new lover. Your fiancé.
Right?
Without a second thought, he stood up from the cold, hard pew and went through the double doors that people were still filing in from. He didn’t care that he received more than a few dirty looks after bumping shoulders with a few people. He didn’t recognize more than half of them. Some of them he can vaguely remember from one of your family reunions.
He had so many questions that he needed to ask you. He needed answers.
His invitation was crumpled in his hand as he searched the church, looking for any hint that might lead him to where the bridal party was getting ready. He knew that he’d find you wherever that was. Wanda and Natasha, too.
“Bucky?”
The familiar voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to see your older sister standing standing behind him. Josephine, or Jo, as she preferred, was your only sister, the second born of five. He had no doubt in his mind that she’d bawled when you’d asked her to be your maid-of-honor.
“Hi,” he said with a bit of a wince. He knew how he looked right now. Crazed. Desperate.
She had a glass of what appeared to be water in her hand, but he could smell the vodka from where he stood.
Some liquid courage for the bride?
“She doesn’t like vodka,” he said, his voice barely audible.
Jo rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and crinkling the silky gray material of her bridesmaid’s dress. “Yeah, well, she used to not like guys named Chad either, but here we are.”
He wasn’t quite sure what to say or how to respond at all, and just stood there with his mouth hanging open like a codfish.
“Come on,” she said, nodding further down the hall. The first few feet were completely silent, their footsteps muffled by the old carpet covering the floor. There was no way this church had been renovated since the seventies.
“She misses you, you know.” She kept her eyes forward, refusing to look at him as she admitted things she’d sworn secrecy to. “She won’t admit it to anyone but me, but she does. We all do.”
His blue eyes drifted down to the cardstock in his hand. It was white, just like the rest of your wedding, with you and your fiancé’s names embossed on it. It was worn from the amount of times he’d folded and unfolded it in his anxious state. “I didn’t expect to get an invitation.”
“She didn’t send it. I did.”
It was said so matter-of-fact that he didn’t even register her words at first. But the second he did, he tripped and almost fell flat on his face. “You what?!”
“Oh, come on, Bucky,” she said, stopping in front of him. “This… This whole thing isn’t right. I know you feel it, too.” She motioned back down the way they came. “This isn’t her. She’s settling for someone that isn’t right for her because she thinks you don’t want her. And I…” Her eyes, the same brilliant shade as yours, drifted to the ground. “I knew that if you came, it would mean that you still love her.”
“I—” He ran his hand over his face. “Of course I do. But she deserves more than me.”
If Jo’s eyes could’ve rolled to the back to her head, then they would’ve. “You’re both absolute idiots.” She grabbed his hand and set the glass of vodka in his hand before pushing him towards a closed door. “This is your chance to fix it.”
He looked at her once more before turning back to the door, knocking once.
“Come in.”
God, just hearing your voice in person for the first time in three years sent waves of affection through him.
The first thing he saw when he opened the door was your back. You were sitting at the vanity in the room, toying with one of the pins your hair.
“Jo, can you help me? This just… isn’t right.”
But Bucky was frozen by the door. His mouth was suddenly dry and he had to fight the urge to down the entire glass of vodka in his hand.
“Jo, really—” You turned in your chair, freezing when you saw him standing there instead of your sister. “Jamie?”
You looked so… so shocked. Hesitant. Maybe even a little scared?
“Uh… Hey, sweetheart,” he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “It’s, uh… It’s been a while.” When you just stared at him, he held out the glass. “Jo gave me this to, uh, to give to you.”
But you didn’t take it. Your fingers were white from how hard you were gripping the back of the chair. “What are you doing here?”
His heart was beating so hard he was sure his ribs were going to break like glass. “You… You look beautiful.”
And he wasn’t lying. You were truly a vision in white. The veil covering your hair was trimmed in delicate lace, framing your features in a way that made you appear almost angelic.
Your fingernails were digging into the palms of your hands as you finally stood up. “James, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Jo invited me.”
You cursed under your breath, your eyes drifting up towards the ceiling. “Fucking Jo.”
He took a step forward, a little scared of how you’d react. His hands were trembling. “I… I…” He cleared his throat as he desperately tried to gather his thoughts. Rolling his shoulders back, he willed himself to have some fucking courage, damn it. After what must’ve been an eternity, he finally allowed himself to meet your gaze. “Listen, I could say a lot of shit right now about how sorry I am, and it’d be true. Because I am sorry. I was stupid and dumb and, and a lot of other words that I can’t think of right now because fuck, you’re right here and I… I miss you. I miss you more than anything in the world, and if I could take it back, I would.” When you didn’t retreat, he took a few more steps towards you. “I love you. I love you so god damn much, and I never should’ve pushed you away.” The vodka was rippling, his hand was shaking so much. “You’re the love of my life, and I’d be willing to bet anything—in fact, I’d bet Steve’s life—that I’m the love of yours.”
“James—”
“Tell me that you love him,” he said, now standing just mere inches from you. He set the glass on the vanity without breaking eye contact. You could feel his breath gently fanning across your face. “Tell me you love him and I’ll leave. I won’t ever bother you again. But, sweetheart, there’s no way he can ever love you how much I love you.” His hand, calloused and rough, tenderly cupped your cheek. “I don’t have any right to you, I know. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t even try to make things right. And our love story? I know it may not feel like it right now, baby, but I promise you, it’s just getting started.”
Even though your eyes were watering, you didn’t step away from him. Your cheeks had just gotten hotter and hotter the closer he’d gotten to you. “What are you asking me, James?”
“Come with me,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. His voice sounded pained, his metal hand grasping yours. “We can get out of here, go home. Please.”
You took in a shaky breath, a million thoughts running through your mind.
“Say you’ll run away with me, sweetheart.”
“I… I can’t.”
Bucky jerked away from you, feeling like a pot of boiling water had been tossed onto him. “What do you mean?”
Nose scrunching as you sniffled, you reached out to him. “Jamie, please…”
He backed towards the door, shaking his head. “Don’t ‘Jamie’ me.”
Wiping at your eyes, you rushed to explain. “I can’t just… just leave him at the altar, Jamie! I can’t hurt him like that!”
“Why not?!”
You looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “What the hell do you mean, ‘Why not?’ I’m engaged to him. I promised to spend the rest of my life with him, and—”
“You don’t love him!”
The words died in your throat. Your chest was heaving against the confines of your dress. “I’m engaged to him.”
“That doesn’t mean shit,” he said bitingly. His arms waved around dramatically as he spoke. “You’re sitting here in a dress, about to give the rest of your life to an asshole—Which, by the way, really? Chad? You decided to marry an asshole named Chad of all things?—because you can’t hurt his feelings?” He really wished he’d downed some of that vodka right about now, even though it wouldn’t really do much for him. “Are you really going to throw your life away like that?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to keep yourself from crying. You were supposed to walk down the aisle in less than thirty minutes, and your makeup artist would kill you if you’d ruined her hard work. “I… I love him.”
Bucky stared at you for a long moment, hoping that you would realize what a mistake you were making. But when it didn’t come, he let out a huff of air. “You keep telling yourself that.” He took one last look at you as he opened up the door, ready to leave. “Have a happy life, sweetheart. I’ll… I’ll see you around.”
He allowed the door to shut behind him before the waterworks started, forcing himself to not go back in when he heard you crying.
Stupid super soldier hearing.
“Bucky?”
He looked up to see Jo standing there, the hopeful look in her eyes quickly diminishing. “She, um… She says she loves him.”
He knew that she could hear you crying even without a super soldier serum coursing through her veins. Without even giving him a second look, she slipped into the room and out of his sight. Your sobs seemed to get even louder when she entered.
Not able to withstand the torture that was being so close to you without being able to call you his, Bucky ran.
He left the church, grabbing a bottle of champagne that was sitting on the catering truck outside.
It would seem that your reception was to be in the basement of the church, of all places.
He didn’t even bother to tell anyone he was leaving. After all, he’d ridden with the team to the church, and he didn’t want to have to beg one to drive him back to the Tower and miss the ceremony. They’d actually been invited.
You wanted them there. But not him. Not after how badly he’d fucked up.
It wasn’t like any of them actually expected him to be able to make it through the vows, or even into the sanctuary.
He aggressively wiped at his eyes as he walked down the crowded streets of New York City. “Don’t you have places to be?” He wondered aloud as yet another person bumped into him.
His feet knew where to take him before his mind did.
The 50 Street Station on Broadway.
The night you first met, you’d just finished a shift at Ellen’s Stardust Diner. Your roller skates were sitting by your feet as you waited for the subway. Bucky had just been wandering around the city and had somehow ended up across Manhattan.
He’d instantly been smitten with the girl working her way through university, and it had been history from there.
He sat on one of the benches, uncorking the bottle with little difficulty.
If anyone was curious as to why an Avenger was drinking in a subway station at noon on a Saturday, no one asked.
And in his nice suit, too.
“Oh, buddy, how the hell did you end up here?” He asked himself before taking a long swig from the bottle. Some of the bubbling liquid dribbled down his chin and he wiped it on his jacket sleeve that definitely cost more than his childhood home back in the twenties.
He would kill for some of Thor’s Asgardian mead at the moment.
But he’d just have to settle for some second rate champagne that, honestly, probably wasn’t even real champagne.
“Probably made in America,” he muttered to himself as he inspected the bottle.
Sure enough, right there on the back under all the nutritional information, it said Made in California.
“Can’t even get real champagne for her,” he said to no one in particular. No one in the station was paying him any mind, choosing to let him wallow in misery on his own.
Seven trains had passed by before he heard it.
“James?! Jamie?!”
He imagined that right? The wind from the trains was playing tricks on him. Making him hear your voice.
An exquisite form of torture, really.
“Jamie!”
But it sounded so real.
Curiously, he lifted his head, the almost empty bottle dangling from his fingers.
And there you were.
Still a vision in white in your wedding dress. Your veil was half torn off, your hair falling. The hem of your skirts was dirty from the muck that covered the streets of New York City. You held a suitcase in your hand, rolling your shoulder back to accommodate the weight and pressure of carrying it through the city.
“What are you doing here?” He asked as he got to his feet, the champagne forgotten. He wiped at his eyes, desperately trying to appear more put together than he felt. “You… You are here right? I’m not hallucinating or anything?”
“No, you’re not hallucinating,” you said as you set the suitcase down with a huff.
He blinked slowly at you, almost afraid that you’d disappear if he closed his eyes. “I mean, you never know with fake champagne.”
“Shut up.”
He watched as you sat down on the bench he’d been occupying for a little over an hour and a half, crossing your arms over your chest. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing here?”
“You’re getting married to Chad.”
With an eye roll that reminded him a lot of Jo, you kept your eyes on the approaching subway. “Clearly not.”
He snuck a peek at your left hand, heart pounding when he realized that you didn’t even have your engagement ring on. “Oh.”
You two sat in silence for a few minutes, not speaking. It was so peculiar to be in the exact spot that you two had met seven years before. So much had changed but at the same time, so much was the same.
He was still crazy about you, for one, and it would appear that you felt the same.
“I hate that you’re right all the fucking time.”
His heart skipped a beat and he finally turned to look at you. “What was that?”
And despite how much you fought it, a small smile was tugging at your lips. “Shut up. You know what I said.”
“I’m not right all the time,” he said slowly, inching his pinky closer and closer to yours. “I wasn’t right to leave you.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“I should’ve just told you that my anxiety was getting the better of me like you told me to.”
“Yes, you should’ve.”
He inhaled sharply as his finger finally brushed yours, and you allowed his fingers to intertwine with yours.
“Better late than never, I suppose,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his.
The silence between you was loaded with tension. And the both of you knew that you had a lot of things to discuss, things to figure out if you were going to work in the long run.
But you were here and he loved you and you loved him.
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Summary: Peter tries to show the reader how good together they are.
Warnings: Dark (OF AGE) Peter, drugging, kidnapping, mIf masturbation, smut
Word count: 4.7k
AN: This is my submission for the amazing @softhairbarnes and @wxntersoldiers writing challenges. I’m so sorry it’s a little late, my family life has just been such a shambles recently, but its finally here. My prompt for @softhairbarnes was love triangle and for @wxntersoldiers it will be in bold.
My Masterlist
Reflecting back on all the times he told him you needed to close your blinds while you slept, Peter was very glad you always forgot as he sat on your fire escape, watching you through the glass of the of your window as you slept and the life of the city bustled around him. He didn't even know why he was here, he just had the shit beaten out of him as he tried to stop an armed robbery all the way over in Manhattan. Although he managed to web up the perpetrators he had taken a few serious hits, hits she should be having someone over at the Tower look at but instead as soon as he finished webbing the bad guys up, he had crossed the river, swinging from building to building without realising where he was headed until he found himself on your fire escape.
It wasn't the first time he had felt the insatiable desire to come visit you after a mission, but it was the first time he had been frozen, stuck outside your window, unable to move as he watched you. If it weren’t for the fact that he could hear your accelerated heart rate and the little breaths you let out every few seconds he would have thought you were asleep. But he knew better.
You lay on your bed, your eyes closed with the covers pulled up to your torso, covering most of his view of your body that he longed to see. The sheets moved slightly as you rocked your hips into your fingers, swirling them in your slick, pushing them in and out of you.
Moans escaped your lips as the pressure started to build and they sounded like angels singing to Peter as he stood watching you, his blood flowing south.
What he would give to throw those sheets from your body, preferably burning them so they could never hide you from him again.
Hi palm twitched, itching to palm himself through his suit, his flushed skin a direct contrast to the nip of the brisk night wind swirling around him. One hand gripped the railing while his other spread itself over his cock. It would have been so much better if he could take his suit off and wrap his fist around himself, better still if he could go inside and join you, but for now he restrained himself to the feeling of his palm rubbing against himself.
He was already hard, embarrassingly so, just from the sounds you were making and he found himself spilling into the suit before you had finished. Tony would kill him if he ever found out but the bliss running through Peters body was far too enticing to care at the moment.
He continued watching you as his breaths slowed, watching the way your jaw slackened and your head tilted as you approached your high. He felt himself start to get hard again, despite only just finishing. He wanted you that badly.
His hand returned to his cock, continuing to work it as he watched you, getting himself fully erect again. He was so sensitive that the pressure was almost too much to handle. With the way your breaths were egging shallower and faster, he knew you were close as well. He could almost pretend that you were doing it together if he closed his eyes, that the moans tumbling from your lips were his doing, that he was the reason for the blissed out expression on your face.
‘Oh yes, I’m your girl. Yes, yes, I’m yours baby.’
Yes, you were his girl. The thought tightened the coil in his abdomen. He just needed one last push, he was nearly there.
Even from this distance Peter could hear the sound of your fingers disappearing into your pussy, the squelch proving just how turned on you were. His heart beater in time with yours, pummelling in his chest as he chased his release. He tried to hold back, wanting to come with you and when you did, the bliss completely flooded his senses, making him nearly miss it. Miss how you moaned His name.
‘Yes Captain, just like that. Oh god, I’m cumming Steve, I’m cumming.’
Peters eyes snapped open, cold dread setting in, taking over the warmth that had filled his veins mere moments before.
Captain? Steve? As in his friend Steve? You had been thinking of him? Why?
Ever since he had met you in freshman year Peter had wanted you, wanted you to see him as more than just a fellow decathlon teammate, more than just a friend.
He had trusted you implicitly, finally revealing the truth that he was Spider-Man after he had saved your life when your train had been derailed. He had foolishly broken up with MJ for you, thinking that your distance from being his best friend had been caused by jealousy.
And now he found out this. That while he was yearning for you, you were looking at someone else. Someone he had introduced you.
Jealously flooded through him. You were meant to be his best friend, his nurse when he got injured, his girl. Not Steve’s.
Had you been after him this entire time? No, surely not. You had been best friends well before Peter had introduced you. Did Cap want you back?
He only realised that he was still holding the railing when it snapped under the pressure, emitting a long groan echoing the feeling of Peter’s heart breaking.
Your eyes snapped open at the noise, glancing around you but you didn’t see him, hidden by your window ledge, gazing out to the city. A hollow feeling crept through his chest as he tried to convince himself it was fine that you didn’t feel the same. He would get over you.
+
But he didn't. He couldn't. Nearly a month had passed since that night and although it killed him more and more inside every time, he couldn't resist the pull of your windowsill. Sometimes you would just be sleeping peacefully, ignorant of his presence, other times he would get to watch you come apart again, echoing your orgasm with his own.
He found his thoughts of you taking over his mind, infiltrating every waking moment, making it increasingly hard to get over you as he had said he would. Yet, despite his newfound obsession with you, your once perfect image started developing flaws in his mind. He found himself constant questioning your motives, were you friends with him purely for his connection to the Captain? Was that why you kept stopping by the tower? In a desperate attempt to catch sight of him? Rage surged through Peter whenever he thought of you and Steve, he had thought that night on the windowsill that he would be able to let you go but as time went on, he knew you were meant to be his.
You would be his.
Steve didn’t understand you like he did. He didn’t know your ins and outs, your little quirks like the back of his hand but Peter did. He just had to make you realise you were so good together.
+
It was a Friday night, and just like every other week You and Peter had headed over to the Avengers’ Towers for your weekly movie night, making full use of the surround sound home theatre that Tony had deemed absolutely necessary.
It had been Peter’s turn to pick the film and just like always, he wanted a horror film, loving the way you would curl up into his chest whenever something even remotely scary happened. He had been so happy, so excited for the night, but now it was all ruined.
Steve and Sam has been in the common room when you arrived and as soon as Sam realised Steve had never seen Rosemary’s Baby, he had insisted on joining them. It would have been fine if it were anyone else, or even if it had happened before that night, but now Peter couldn’t focus on anything but the fact that you were sitting next to Steve and not him. He knew deep down that you hadn’t done it on purpose, that was where you and he sat every Friday night, on the small little loveseat, preferring to squash up together. It was his fault he wasn’t the one sitting next to you. He had been placed in charge of the popcorn and Steve had nipped in first.
But surely you could have said something. Something to prevent the supersoldier from sitting next to you, if you truly valued his friendship. But no. Peter was forced to sit and watch as your body unconsciously shifted closer and closer to Steve’s. He thought he couldn’t take any more but it only got worse when half way through the movie, Steve wrapped his arm around your shoulders, resting on the back of the couch, earning him an unwavering death glare from Peter. That should be him.
When the end credits finally started rolling, you realised you had barely been paying attention throughout the entire film, your attention completely diverted to the man sitting next to you, trying to sneak in glances through your peripherals. You hadn’t intended on it happening but sitting next to your favourite supersoldier had been your favourite kind of torture, feeling his immense body heat radiate into your skin, or the way his taught muscles flexed whenever he shifted in his seat. The things that body could do to you. It had been a common fantasy of yours, one that you planned to keep hidden until your dying days, but a girl can dream right?
The raw power his body exuded wasn’t the only reason the super soldier dominated your dreams though. For someone so powerful, so widely respected, he was so tender, so soft. You had always been interested in him, in the tales of Captain America before he was even rediscovered in the ice. But what fascinated you more, was the man himself, Steve Rogers.
You thought you had hidden your fascination rather well, never staring at him for too long or trying to always see him whenever you and Peter at the Tower. You definitely didn't want to do anything that would jeopardise your friendship and make Peter feel uncomfortable. He was everything to you. Plus users in the famous Steve Rogers would probably never even think of you as anything but the girl that hung out with Peter. He was far too worldly, experienced and wise for you, and you were far too young for him. It broke your heart to think about it, but it would be okay. You would get over him.
+
It was well after midnight, when the second film finally ended, leaving the rain in darkness. You had been surprised that Steve had stayed the entire time. After Rosemary’s Baby had finished, Sam had insisted on watching The Shining, claiming it was the perfect film to follow Rosemary’s Baby. You didn’t quite understand his logic, but you hadn’t complained and Peter had merely shrugged his shoulders when Sam suggested it.
Even though he had been so passionate about watching it, Sam zonked out about halfway through, his body sprawling along the couch and light snores coming from him. Although you didn’t understand why, Sam’s departure had left the room in an odd state of tension, Peter’s glare on Steve never ceasing. You didn’t know what was going on between them but you figured it was probably something to do with the Avengers and had nothing to do with you, Peter would have told you if it did. Oh how wrong you were.
Steve glanced over at you, concern reflecting in his eyes in the darkened room. ‘Are you okay getting home?’
‘She's fine. I’m giving her a lift home.’Peter's voice barked out before you had a chance to respond but you smiled, grateful that you won't have to catch the subway late at night by yourself. ‘Do you mind waiting here while I go to the bathroom real quick?’ You nodded at him and watched as Peter left, leaving you alone with Steve. Nerves fluttered in your stomach and you chastised yourself. You were truly being ridiculous.
The silence of the room, save for Sam’s light snores was eating you up inside. You had to say something, anything, to break it but you didn’t know what. Awkwardly clearing your throat, you tried. A simple how’d you like the film. That would suffice, surely. It seemed like an appropriate common ground.
‘So uh…’ Your tongue didn’t want to work, the pressure of his eyes digging into yours was too much. You didn’t want to come off as an idiot to him. ‘How’d you like the uh, the films?’ You turned away from him, praying that in the dark he couldn’t see the cringe creep across your face. Why did you have to be so awkward?
‘Oh uh, yeah, I thought they were okay. Not really my style you know?’ His voice seemed hesitant, nervous even, drawing your eyes back to his. What did he have to be nervous about?
‘Yeah I completely get what you mean. I am not a massive fan of horror or anything, but it's Peter’s favourite.’ The room fell back into silence, but you were determined not to let it stay like that. Clearing your throat for a second time, trying to clear away your awkwardness, you tried again. ‘I uh, I know Sam gave you some shit for not having seen it before but you know, even though you missed a lot while under the ice, not everything is worth catching up on if you know what I mean? Especially if it's not your thing.’ Your gaze was locked in your twiddling fingers, afraid that you had over stepped in the silence that followed.
‘Yeah I know, it’s just sometimes it gets lonely. That’s why I spend so much time here and not my apartment. I love it when you and Peter come round, you’re so good together.’
Together? You recoiled in confusion. Did he think you and Peter were together together? You opened your mouth to correct him. You knew it was a long shot but how could you ever expect him to show any interest in you if he thought you were with his teammate?
But the words you had formed in your mind were interrupted by Peter reentering the room, swinging his car keys on his index finger and whistling a little tune, a broad smile on his face for the first time that night. ‘You ready to go?’ He asked, gesturing towards the door.
Your head swivelled back to Steve, seeing him push up to his feet. ‘Well then, I guess I'll see you around, get home safe.’ As he retreated into the hallway you still longed to correct him, but the opportunity had passed. You resigned yourself to make the fact that you were single known to him the next chance you got.
You followed Peter out of the room, into the elevator and down to the underground car park. The fluorescent lights were the only source of light in the wee hours of the morning, making Peter - and undoubtedly you as well - look sickly in their cool glow.
He held the car door open for you, a sleek shiny audi which had been a graduation gift from Tony. Ducking your head, you stooped into the car, barely noticing the sharp prick in your neck as you buckled yourself in and Peter shut the door, climbing in on the other side.
The street lights flashed as you passed, reflecting in your eyes which were stooping closed on their own account, barely staying open for longer than a few seconds.
You felt his hand on your thigh as he drove, his thumb rubbing circles on the exposed skin, drawing your eyes to him. The overhead lights danced against his skin as the car zipped through the city, illuminating his dark eyes, and his perfect teeth shrouded by a sinister smile that looked out of place on his boyish face. ‘Someone’s feeling a it tired hey? It’s okay, just close your eyes, I’ll let you know when we get there so we can get you into bed.’
Your head felt heavy, resting against the cool glass window as you tried to smile at him. You wanted to thank him for offering to give you a lift home but the words died on your lips as your eyes shut closed, the power of sleep overcoming you at last.
+
Your head pounded as you awoke, your vision a blurry mix of colours, shadows dancing around the room. Even after your vision had cleared you didn’t recognise where you were immediately, but the old Star Wars poster for the Empire Strikes Back made you realise that you were in Peter’s old bedroom. It had been so long since you had been here, over a year now. He had moved out last summer to the Tower as it was so much closer to NYU.
The room was only illuminated by the many tealight candles placed sporadically throughout it, casting the room in a soft amber glow. You felt him move before you actually saw him, brushing a finger across your cheekbone.
‘You’re awake, finally. I’ve been waiting for so long. I was starting to worry that I gave you too much.’ He smiled lovingly at you, madness glinting in his eyes. You tried to shrink back, away from his touch, confused as to what was going on, but the small double bed gave you little room to move on and the pounding of your head prevented you from getting up.
‘Uh, Pete? What’s going on? Why are we here?’ Your voice was heavy, thick with sleep, as you croaked out your demand for answers.
‘It’s okay Honey, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re perfectly safe here with me. I just thought it would be better to do it here since Aunt May is out of town with Happy this weekend. That way we have the whole place to ourselves. We won’t have to worry about anyone barging in.’ He reached out again, running his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp, attempting to lure you into a false sense of security, but you refused to fall for it.
‘Do what here Peter? I thought you were taking me home.’
‘Consummate our relationship of course. You know, you really made me question me feelings for you when I saw you that night, touching yourself to thoughts of Cap. It made me think you weren’t who I thought you were, a sweet wholesome girl who had been able to see me, even when nobody else could. I’ve wanted you for so long - since freshman year for crying out loud! and seeing you pine over Cap nearly killed me. But now we both know that’s never going to happen. He practically said so himself. We’re so good together.’ He shifted up onto his elbow, his hand easily pinning you back down to the bed as you tried to sit up, to get away from him.
‘Pete I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re friends. Just friends. Please just let me go.’ Panic had well and truly started to set in, your heart palpitating in your chest. What had gotten into him?
‘I know that may be how you feel now, but it’s okay. You just need to be shown what we could be; you just need to be convinced of what is possible. I’ll be so good to you. I know what you like already, I know how you love to be stuffed full. The first time I saw you riding that pretty pink dildo of yours I came so hard, wishing it was my cock inside of you. I’ll be so much better than that toy. Just you wait and see.’ His hand on your shoulder trailed down, cupping your breast through your shirt, kneading it with his fingers as his mouth descended on yours. Your tried to twist your head away from him, his lips brushing against your cheek instead.
‘Peter stop. What is going on with you? Let me go.’ Your body writhed, trying to force him off of you but he took it as encouragement, shifting to completely lean over you, his legs on either side of yours, his chest pressing against yours as his weight resting on his elbow beside your head.
‘It’s okay Honey, just give in.’ He whispered into your ear, his voice echoing around inside your head, his lips trailing down your neck, to your collarbone, sucking and biting, marking you as his.
Your hands raised up, pulling at his hair, fisting it in clumps, trying to pull him off of you. Was he seriously about to do this? This boy whom you had known for years, confided in with every little secret you had. How did you not see the darkness he held? That consumed him? Yes you refused to give up; refused to let him win.
The scream that had been built in your throat was cut off, muffled by something, something that tapped your lips together, something soft and silky yet strong and unbreakable. His web.
‘I really didn’t want it to be like this Honey, I wanted our first time to be soft and gentle, so I could show you how much I love you but if you’re going to continue to behave like this, you’re not going to give me a choice.’ He pulled your hands from his hair effortlessly, holding them against the headboard as he webbed them to it, trapping them. Your eyes were open wide, your fear practically tangible as he railed his hands down your chest, lifting the hem of your dress up, above your body, letting it sit just above your head, still trapped by your arms.
‘The things this dress does to me, god. When I saw you wearing it today I just knew I had to have you, I had to feel every inch of you.’ His hands dipped beneath your bra, relishing in the fact it had a clasp at the front, prying it open, your breasts spilling out into his hands.
‘Seeing these from a distance just really didn’t do them justice. They’re so pretty up close.’ His mouth descending to your nipple, licking and sucking on the tender skin, rolling it in his mouth while one of his hands toyed with the other one.
The moans that you swallowed tasted like betrayal. How could your body be responding to this? How could it like this? How could it be craving more?
His lips as soft as silk trailed further down your body, resting above the plain cotton panties you had worn that day, humming appreciatively as he pressed his nose against your still clothed mound, inhaling your scent.
‘You smell so good Honey and I bet you taste even better.’ He liked a strip of you, adding to the dampness that already coated the cotton. ‘I can’t wait to devour you, imagining it has gotten me through so many lonely nights. The taste of your cunt on my tongue, the way I’ll draw orgasm after orgasm from you, ruining you for anyone else.’
He shifted back, tugging your panties down your legs along with your last shred of hope. There was nothing you could do to prevent it, he was far stronger than you and with your hands bound to the headboard and your mouth gagged you didn’t stand a chance.
You hated the way his tongue licked your walls, tasting the juice that was already there, the way your cunt clenched around nothing, begging for something to fill it. You hated the way he worked his fingers in you, twisting and curling them, stroking against your sweet spot eliciting moan after moan from your lips that were barely concealed by the thin layer of webbing. You hated the way his tongue circled your clit, rolling it into his mouth, sucking on the sensitive flesh, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
The pleasure he was giving you was far too much for your body to handle, the coil in your belly tightening until you couldn’t take it any longer and with only final, gentle, nip on your clit, you came, all over his face, your slick drenching his fingers.
Peter sat back on his haunches, staring at his fingers, glistening in the candlelight, in amazement. He took each finger into his mouth one at a time, moaning as he sucked the taste of you off of them, the bulge in his pants growing inexplicably larger.
‘See how good I am for you Honey? How well I know your body, inside and out.’ His voice was thick with lust as he pulled his shirt over his head, his hands slipped down to unbuckle his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down in one go, giving his erection some much needed air and space.
He didn’t fail to notice the way your pussy clenched as you caught sight of his cock, the sheer girth and length of it enough to make any woman mad with lust, no matter the circumstances.
‘Oh you want this don’t you Honey? I can just tell. Such a greedy cockslut but that’s okay because you’re my cockslut.’ You couldn’t help the moan that stemmed from his words, living for the way they made your walls clench again, even more slick coating them, spilling onto the bed beneath you.
You felt his tip prod at your entrance, coating his length in you, before he gently inched in, pausing every few inches as you grew accustomed to the stretch of your walls before he finally bottomed out, his balls pressing against you. ‘Fuck, you’re so fucking tight Honey. So much better than I thought.’
You loved the way he filled you so completely, even larger than your favourite dildo, making you feel every ridge and vein as he sheathed himself inside you. You loved the way he thrusted into you, gently at first but slowly increasing in speed and force, his hips rolling into yours, his tip hitting your g-spot with every stroke. You loved the way his lips were on your neck as he rutted you into the mattress, sucking and biting, adding to the marks he made earlier as he fully claimed you as his.
You could feel your orgasm building with every roll of hips. His abdomen rubbing against your clit, bringing you even closer.
Your breathing was laboured, your hips raising up to meet his every thrust, longing - no matter how fucked up the situation was - for a release, for more.
You felt his fingers on your jaw, tearing away his webbing, freeing your lips as his descended onto them in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, pure possession. His tongue circled into your mouth, exploring every crevice, coating you as his, swallowing your moans just as you swallowed his.
Peter leaned back, his pace never faltering as he shifted your legs over his thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he fucked into you, getting even deeper now. His fingers toyed with your clit, bringing you impossibly close as his hips started stuttering, his own orgasm creeping up on him.
‘Comeon Honey, cum for me. Let go; let me feel your walls clench around my cock. I know you’re nearly there, just let go for me.’
You had no control over your body as it spasmed against him, pleasure filling your veins as you came, squirting all over his cock, loving the warmth that came from his own release, spilling into your cunt.
He collapsed on top of you, his cock starting to soften inside of you as he caught his breath, his eyes staring into yours.
He kissed you, slow and sweet this time, his lips pressing against yours, his tongue coaxing a response from yours. His cock twitched inside of you, hardening again as he pulled away, a bright smile on his face and a hazed, blissed out one on yours; his fingers trailing across your cheekbones, admiring you in the candlelight.
Summary: And he hangs up with a final goodbye. He hopes he never has to see you again.
WARNINGS: blood, guns, drinking, implied sexy times, fluff, angst, some callbacks and stuff so that’s fun :^) swearing
Pairing: Nomad!Steve x fem!Reader
Word Count: 8.1k
A/N: for @softhairbarnes and her I Love You 3000 challenge. my theme was Secret Love. i fulfilled the prompt in a way, so i hope you can see it that way, too.
Steve meets you in some backwater bar on the border of Vermont and Québec. You’re knocking back tequila shots, he’s stopped after driving thirteen hours from the North back down, and he’s aching for something to get his hands on.
“You got a problem?” he asks not unkindly because he’s watched the bartender pour you what he counts as your fifth shot since he’s sat down at the counter, and you smile. You’ve got a pretty smile, full of dangerous intentions, and Steve, who is tired, bloody, and bruised, smiles back.
“Not one you can’t fix.” You shrug, tipping another shot back and exposing that throat of yours that he can nearly taste. You’ve got a black long-sleeve thing on that cuts across, bares your collarbones and brings out the spark in your eyes when you catch him staring.
“What’s your name, kid?” Because you’re young, way younger than he thought when he first decided to sit beside you, and the shady bar lights drench you in warm, synthetic yellow as you shrug and tell him.
“But I didn’t expect Captain America to walk in here, so I don’t look my best,” you murmur, and your breath ghosts across his lips when you turn to look at him. He can taste it, the alcohol that nearly stings his tongue, and you. You taste like warm cinnamon, and something sharp, too, that bites at the roof of his mouth.
“Steve,” he replies. “Not Captain America.” And he smiles into your mouth as you crush his body with yours.
.
“How’d you get these bruises?” you ask, sheets twisted around your body all messily, and he glances down at you with half a smile. His arm around you, he strokes the bare skin of your shoulder as your fingers dance over his ribs.
“Comes with the job.” Your fingers drag over his skin, feather-soft and nearly ticklish, and his lips find your temple, squeezing you closer. You’re so warm against him, soft and pliable, and you dust his bearded jaw and neck with kisses, palm sliding across his chest to grab at his shoulder. Your leg splayed across his waist, you nuzzle into his collarbone.
“You have anywhere to be?” you murmur sometime later, when the sun’s drifting through the blinds of the cheap-ass motel they’d stumbled into. Still naked, Steve can’t bring himself to move away from you. Not when you’ve melted against him, swollen lips kissing him every now and then. “Avenging, and all that?”
“No. Finished Avenging for now, kid.” He sighs as you hold onto him, nothing but heat and sweat and the sheets that just barely contain you. “Where do you live? I can take you back when you go.”
“I don’t live anywhere,” you say, voice deep in your chest. He can feel it as your words whisper against his throat, and his hand on your shoulder slides to your back, down to your hip. “I can go wherever you go, Rogers.”
“Just like that?” he muses aloud. You raise your head, your hair a gorgeous mess atop your head as you smile lazily, and Steve thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You press a kiss against his mouth, another gust of cinnamon pushing into his mouth and you roll onto him, fingers on a large purple mark on his ribs. His mouth opens beneath yours in a soft moan as your legs bracket his hips. Sitting up triumphantly, you rake the hair out of your eyes, and smile.
“Just like that.”
.
You’re a sharp thing, with calluses and scars and a smile full of secrets.
The first one makes Sam blow up in your face.
“So, we’re just gonna let kid of the guy who tried to have all of us killed walk in here?” His voice is too loud for the quinjet and you jut your chin out defiantly. Steve, arms crossed, stands and lets you soak it in. He knows you can take it by how the smile never slides from your face.
“I’m not my father. I’m on the run for a reason.”
“Yeah, right. They start ‘em off young in H.Y.D.R.A., don’t they? And I bet Alexander Pierce made sure his kid knew all about what he did—”
“Sam.” Natasha’s voice cuts across the heat like a freezing wind, and Sam backs off immediately, eyes flickering to the woman. “Steve, we can’t just pick someone up and go. It’s hard enough as it is with the four of us.”
“I can pull my own weight,” you say before Steve can respond, and his lips press together in a soft smile when you drop your hand from the red star inked into your bicep. Your hands hang loosely at your sides, and Steve pushes off the quinjet bench. Wanda tilts her head curiously, and he knows she’s reading your mind. “I was taught, y’know, to pull my own weight.”
“Nat?” Steve asks quietly and the blonde looks to him, a sigh spilling from her lips. One. “Sam?”
“Fine. But I got my eye on you,” he mutters and you shrug, your smile growing. Two.
“I like her,” Wanda announces, tilting her head up at Steve. Her eyes glitter with specks of red and you turn to her, eyebrows arched. “She is honest.”
“Yeah?” Steve cocks his head and meets your eyes, and the two of you share this smile that he can’t quite place the meaning of. Three.
The second one makes Wanda laugh.
You’re good at hustling, an innocent little thing in the dingy lights of the pub as the other four scrape by.
Your beer is perched precariously on the edge of the pool table as you lean over, squinting an eye. Steve watches from a distance at the bar, Natasha much closer at a table nearby, as you stick out your tongue and stand back up again, pouting.
“Show me how to do it again?” you ask sweetly to the guy standing way too close to you, and Steve turns his burning gaze to the dark beer. Wanda plucks a fry from the basket they share as Sam brings back a cute little pink drink for their resident Sokovian. Steve smiles at the bright orange umbrella balancing in the crushed ice.
“She’s being useful,” Sam comments, sipping on his mojito, and Steve turns to look at you again. Your mouth is curled into a laugh as you lean over, cue stick sliding between your fingers.
“Did you just admit you were wrong about her?” Wanda points out cheekily, and the man rolls his eyes. “She is very good, Steve.” Even from far away, cinnamon lingers around him, and the super soldier blinks.
“You like her a lot, huh?” he asks, eyes not drifting from your form as you fire the cue ball with deadly accuracy, landing two at once. Only the eight ball remains, and you barely give it a glance before it’s in the bag. Steve watches as the guys let out a chorus of groans, bills tossed onto the lit table and you scoop it up, counting.
Wanda chuckles into her fruity little drink, fingers twisting the umbrella between black-painted nails as she shrugs. You come over then, half-empty beer in your hand and a wad of bills stuffed in your pocket.
“Hey.” Your cheeks are flushed, a gentle sheen of sweat covering your skin, and Steve smiles as you ruffle his too-long hair. “I got two-fifty. How long are we staying?”
“Not too long.” Steve’s heart skips a beat when you flash him a wide smile. “Go.” You nod, turn around and prance farther down the bar where the guy you’d sweet-talked is ordering refills. Steve knocks back the rest of his beer and clears his throat. “I’ma head to the bathroom. Keep an eye out.”
“‘Course.” Sam gives a nod, and Wanda can barely contain her smile as she waves him farewell. Steve doesn’t give it another moment’s thought because the second he’s heading for the bathroom, he sees you leaning against the guy as he whispers something undeniably stupid.
Whatever. He shakes away the little nagging pest biting at his ankles.
The third secret makes Natasha sigh in relief.
There’s an ambush in Bogotá, and gunfire leaves holes for bright light to stream into their dark hideout. A bullet tags Wanda in the shoulder, and Natasha presses her palm to the girl’s shoulder as Steve and Sam take them out from above. Blood seeps out of the Sokovian’s shirt and Steve scoops her up as Sam covers their six.
Running back to the quinjet, Natasha climbs onboard to see you sitting on the bench, the first aid kit cracked open beside you. You snap on a pair of latex gloves and stand immediately upon seeing the four.
“Bring her here.” Wanda groans softly, eyes squeezing tight as Steve sets her down and you shoo them away, snipping open her shirt. Your eyes narrowed, you barely spare any of them a glance as you set to work fixing the wound. “Natasha, come here.”
She crouches beside you and Steve watches you work, quick, nimble, already five steps ahead, and the corner of his mouth quirks up.
“You a doctor?”
“I have a MD-PhD,” you reply, gloved fingers inspecting the wound carefully. Natasha’s eyes widen, and she lets out a sigh as she holds onto Wanda’s knee in comfort. You press gauze against the wound as your other hand digs through the first aid kit. “Shit always happens in Bogotá. Honestly.”
“Yeah, Pierce mentioned something about that,” Steve mutters and you send him a look. “Fury rescued you from the embassy.” You press your lips together, smirking.
“That was my older sister, but yeah, he did. I don’t know if I should be insulted or not that you thought I was that old.”
“Well, Pierce was a wrinkly old man who did get up to illegal activities.” Steve shrugs and you roll your eyes. Your fingers work on their own as you merely supervise what has to be muscle memory. “Wouldn’t put it past him with biotech implants or something.”
“I was his kid. He may have been a terrible person, but he wasn’t a terrible father.” Your eyes linger for a moment, something dark flickering in your irises before you turn back to your work, and Steve lowers his head, swallowing. Natasha glances between the two of you but doesn’t mutter anything except small comforts to the bleeding girl.
“It’s gonna be okay, Maximoff.”
“Not a through-and-through, alright.” You pull out something that looks a lot like tweezers. “Nat, hold the gauze here. Okay, great. Wanda, can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. We’re gonna dig a bullet out of you, okay?” Your eyes dart up to meet the girl’s, who’s barely keeping them open and you turn to Steve. “Hold her hand. Keep her awake. She’s gonna need something to squeeze down on.”
“This… this does not sound fun,” Wanda whispers as Steve sits down beside her. He takes her hand in his and immediately, her fingers squeeze his palm tightly. Your eyes flicker across his face, and for a moment, your gazes meet and Steve nods, swallowing to wet his dry throat. Your hair is pulled tightly away from your face, your face an absolute effigy of concentration as you lower your gaze again to the pulsing wound.
“It’s not going to be. No knockout drugs this time.”
There is no fourth secret. That is, if you don’t count all the different ways you know that make him tick.
That is, there is no fourth secret. Not one that Steve wants to admit to himself.
.
You throw knives with Natasha, and practice firing guns with Sam. You share recipes with Wanda and help Steve map out missions.
You’re the one who finds them an abandoned place they make into a base with stolen punching bags and yoga mats, a swimming pool out back. It’s somewhere in the outskirts of Zermatt, between two mountains and half-inside a cave, and Steve likes it more than he’d admit.
Steve likes a lot of things the team won’t ever make him admit.
They don’t know it, ‘cause this Steve Rogers knows how to keep a fucking secret, and he runs himself ragged hiding you around, sneaking you out of his room when Natasha stays up late boxing or Sam’s watching some old movie on the telly you snagged. And you go with it because you like the secret, this little thing that’s just you and Steve’s, and no one else’s.
“Why can’t I go out?” you ask teasingly, fingers tangled in his hair, arm strong around his neck, and he sighs with his nose pressed against your cheek, arms laced around you. You’re cocooned by all of Steve and the chill of the mountain snow as a radiator rattles in the room. “Always keeping me in the quinjet. Now, it’s here, and hell, I like here more with you in it.”
“‘Cause you think I don’t know people are trying to find you?” he asks, finger running circles on your stomach and he burns touching you, but damn if it’s the most delicious death he could ask for. You glance up at the steel ceiling and he sighs as he wraps an arm around your chest, hand planting on the tattoo on your bicep. “You were running’ when I found you.” You look at him, lips pressed together all childlike and he sighs. Your scent swaths him, pulls him in, and your hand runs through his beard, nails scratching skin lightly.
“Yeah, but I’m not running now,” you whisper, forehead knocking against his. You lift your chin, your lips brushing against the spot between his eyebrows and Steve’s eyes close as your hand flattens against his cheek. You hold him to your chest as his arms tighten around you. Ironwire muscle flexes beneath his palms.
“We’ll always be runnin’, kid,” he whispers, hot and heavy, and you sigh. Your lips press against his hair, hand stroking down the wavy brown curls. “At least until I can get you home.”
“Yeah?” you chuckle into your words and he raises his head, blue eyes blown at the sight of your face. You look ragged, with swollen lips and smokey eyes, hair tousled by his hand and god, does he want to kiss you and every-fucking-thing in the dictionary that involves you and him naked. “And where’s that?”
“I dunno.” His hand pulls back from your waist to cup your cheek, and his thumb brushes over your blooming purple cheek where Sam had gotten you two days ago in the ring. Steve’s fingers trail down your face, take hold of your chin, and his eyes rest on your parted lips. “Haven’t decided on that yet.”
.
“I don’t like it. She won’t be safe on a mission. H.Y.D.R.A. has eyes everywhere,” Natasha retorts, throwing her legs up on the dining table. Her chopped blonde hair swings around her jaw as she sucks on a lollipop at a ripe 6AM. Steve wrinkles his nose but doesn’t comment on it.
“I know, but none of us are safe outside. And, she’s always saying we coddle her too much. Come on, Natasha, let her live a little,” Steve replies. “She’s been running homebase since she got here.”
“Steve, you know people are looking for her.”
“She’ll be fine,” Sam replies, entering the room. He can guess what they’re talking about from a mile away. “If Steve’s there, she’ll be safe.” He throws clothes into his duffel bag that he drops on the dining table, sweats, balled socks, and tank tops filling it up, as you walk in, arms stretched above your head. Your earpiece is snug in your ear and your hair is tied away from your face as you walk past Natasha with a yawn. “Hey, girl.”
“Morning, Wilson.” You slump onto the couch, switching on the TV as you kick your feet up. Steve heads on over, collapsing beside you and you send him an easy smile. Your hair’s damp and you smell stronger of cinnamon than you did last night. He wants to just lean in, have a taste. You reach forward for the remote, flick through the channels, and the moment is gone. His eyes track you, though, and you know it. “How are you still packing for the trip? I told you like two nights ago that you were going to leave today for the supply run.”
“I leave things at the last minute, girl. You know me.” Sam zips up his bag, swings it onto his shoulder. “And Tulum, by the way? We still needa put someone on it, Steve.” The man sends the blond a knowing look before he goes, grabbing the keys for the hijacked jeep off the counter. “Peace out.”
“See you in a few days, Sam,” Natasha calls out, swinging her legs off the table. She heads for the counter, opening the cabinet and grabbing a cup as you settle on some channel playing an animal documentary.
“I can handle Tulum,” Steve begins slowly, the gears turning in his head. When he looks at you, bundled up in one of Sam’s discarded hoodies and pajama pants folding over your feet, he can’t help but think of the girl he met at the bar who knows how long ago. Has it been a year, yet? It feels a hell of a lot longer.
“Alright.” Steve catches the edge on Natasha’s reply and he looks at her to see her glaring back at him.
“Sam could go with you,” you suggest, turning your head back to look at the both of them. “I could use a break from him.”
“Or you could.”
“Whaddya mean?” You tear your eyes off of an elephant rolling in the mud to meet Steve’s clear gaze. He half-smiles behind his beard, and his eyes crinkle in a way that causes a soft look to overcome your face. As the quiet draws on, your mouth drops open and you blink. “Me? You’re taking me out on a mission?”
“Yeah, kid. I am.” He thinks you might kiss him right then and there, blow your cover and the chance to head out on a nice summer vacation, just the two of you, but you simply bounce in your seat and reach over to hug him tight. He reciprocates it as platonically as he thinks he knows how, and draws back way too quick. “Excited?”
You show him just how excited you are later that night, between dinner and dessert.
.
“This is what I’ve been missing,” you sigh. The routine drugs bust had went on fine, and you’d been spectacular, flawless, and now the two of you lay on the beach near the motel you’re staying at, the white sand burning beneath your towel as you soak up the golden sun. Steve glances at you, so drop-dead gorgeous in that two-piece that he can barely keep his hands off of you. Your sunglasses perched on your nose, you smile against the faint wind. “Hell, I love my life with you guys, Rogers, but I’ve missed this.”
“You live somewhere hot, once?” he asks, hoping to add onto the list he knows about you. Wedged somewhere between pool player extraordinaire and your MD-PhD, the meaning of your tattoos inking up and down your arms, and the reason why you were running in the first place, he wants to know where you grew up.
“Mhm, yeah. L.A., actually, but it was a different kinda hot than here.” Your fingers cross on your stomach as you tilt your head back. Steve smiles, the sun burning into his back as he leans on his elbow. The giant crush on the ocean sends a wave of calm through him.
“You wanted to become an actress?”
You break into a tell-tale smile, and he smirks, leaning over to kiss your cheek. Your arms wrap around him and your sunglasses clash with his face as he rolls onto your towel. Your legs tangled up, you land on top of him and grin against his lips as he sucks a kiss onto your bottom lip.
“Maybe.” You pinch the arm of your sunglasses and tug them off, twisting them between your fingers. “I didn’t stay, though.”
“Clearly.” He noses your chin affectionately and you drag his abandoned towel towards yourself, flopping down beside him. Your fingers interlaced, you set your glasses back on as Steve raises his chin to the wind. It’s so quiet here, nice, peaceful. It smells fresh, and sunny, and bright. So unlike the battlefield of gun oil and sweat earlier. He blows out a sigh, content to just rest in the quiet for a while. “It’s nice being here, relaxing.” With you.
“Yeah.” You squeeze his hand. “You know, I trust you, Steve. I wouldn’t have gotten too mad if you kept me in there, y’know? ‘Cause I know someone could’ve found me if you didn’t find me first.” He turns to you, his free hand coming to trail up the tattoos littering your skin, and he presses a kiss to the red star inked into your bicep. You tense underneath his touch, and he strokes his kiss away. “Shit, I’m sorry.” It’s awful, not knowing what you’re apologizing for, and Steve’s lips press together as you turn your face away.
“It wasn’t your fault, kid. None of it was. You didn’t know,” he whispers lowly, and you look at him through the dark shades. He hooks a finger on the bridge, dragging your sunglasses off your face so he can see you clearly, and sighs, folding them and setting them near your interlocked hands. “It’s never gonna be your fault.”
“It’ll always be my fault,” you reply stubbornly, and he can hear your tears. Yet, your face is dry and Steve cups your face, eyebrows knitting together. “You think I don’t know what they would’ve done to me?” He takes you quick into his arms, pulls you onto him and rolls so he shields you from the sun. Your arms tight around his chest, you press your forehead against his chest. “I should’ve known about what he was doing. He was my dad—“
“Don’t think about that.”
“They sure as hell were grooming me to take his place,” you continue, and Steve kisses your hairline, hand dragging over your back as he holds you tight. “They’d come for me if they knew I was here.” He pulls back, hand trailing over your neck to gently hold you away from his chest, and he swallows at the blankness in your eyes. “And they’d come for you, too.”
“We’d protect you,” he murmurs, brushing the hair away from your face, and you smile bleakly. “Hey, now. Come on. You sick of the sun?” His hand cups your face, and you lean into his palm as you nod. “Alright. Let’s head back to the room.” He sits up, grabbing the spare towel and you clear your throat as he glances back to check that you’re okay.
“I’m sorry, Steve.”
“Hey, kid, no.” His hand cusps your bicep, covering that awful star, and he kisses you softly, slowly, sweetly. He nearly loses his words when the taste of cinnamon floods his mouth. “Nothing to be sorry for, alright?” He kisses you between the eyes before standing, flapping the towel to beat out any dust. You stand, too, taking the other towel and doing the same. Stuffing the two into the beach bag, Steve slides it onto his shoulder and turns to you, hand outstretched. You take it and he finds your skin deathly cold. Squeezing some life back into you, he tugs you flush against him.
“I think it’s better if I stay inside from now on,” you mutter. Steve’s hand tightens on yours, and he nods. You’re a painted target walking around in the sunlight, and Steve takes out a towel, draping it around your shoulders before wrapping an arm around around you.
“If that’s what you want, kid,” he whispers into your ear, lips brushing your temple and your arm sneaks around his waist. Heat tingles along his skin and something snaps in his chest as he gazes down at you.
“It isn’t, but it’s better for the both of us.” You lean just barely on his shoulder, the smell of sea salt clinging onto the damp strands of your hair. “It’s safer that way.”
.
And so you stay inside. You run missions from homebase, crack jokes over the comms with Sam, and report back on what happens in town while the team’s away. And they’re away a lot.
Steve calls you because he just misses the sound of your voice, but he pretends it’s about weekly updates and has anyone seen you? A part of his mind wonders if you’re tired of his repetitive questions, but you never give any indication that you are. Your answers are always long and rambling, and he always feels that smile tug at his cheeks, the fire in his chest spreading down to his fingertips as you talk about how you’d spot a stray cat and wanted to take it back to homebase or about the new recipe you’d made up.
All of them are in Singapore without you in the heat of summer, a humid, buzzing island that has everyone restless. The nights are warm, and with Sam’s snores and the sound of Natasha and Wanda talking in the room next door, Steve can’t quite manage to catch the winks of sleep he so desperately wants. Even in nothing but boxers, sweat is slick against his back and he groans softly, pulling himself out of bed.
The room is drenched in black and Steve feels around for a shirt, shrugging it on. He doesn’t bother with the buttons. No one’s awake at this hour around here. He pulls over some shorts just in case, his phone in his pocket, stuffs his feet into his sneakers, and heads out. The walkway is lit with bright, burning lamps, and the walls are painted a pasty cream that’s scuffed with grey and black as he sucks in a wet breath.
Mosquitoes and flies buzz as a moth flaps past, and Steve sighs, feeling the air gloss over his cheek like honey. Descending down the steps, he heads out into the parking lot, glancing around. There are not a lot of cars parked, and the only thing he can see is the heat making shapes in the distance, so he leans against the cement half-wall, taking out his phone. He dials, waits for the line to click.
“Hey, Rogers.” Your voice comes out clearly over the speaker and he sighs, letting the sound of your voice wash over him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just callin’ to see how your day’s been.”
“I went to town today,” you say and Steve smiles, crossing his feet at the ankles. “I bought some new books to read and I’m teaching myself German to pass the time.”
“Really? Sounds interesting,” he murmurs. A light is buzzing and flickering and Steve squints against the faded light. A bunch of flies are flitting around it, attracted to the little blinker. “I can help, y’know? Picked up a bit back in the War.”
“Really?” He hears you laugh, and then there’s a sharp pang of yearning. The stakeout has gone on for far too long, and he misses you much more than he thought he would. It’s different than when he knew he’d come back in three or four days. No, this has been two months, and just the sound of your laughter makes him breathless. “You can give me a few private lessons, then.”
“Guess so, kid.” Something clatters on your end and he frowns. “What are you doing?”
“Uh, nothing. I… I just knocked something over.” Something bleeds into your voice and he pushes off the half-wall. His shoes scuff against rough ground and he raises his head to the sky. The sky is midnight black, Aegean blue spilling into the stars as the sun rises to chase the moon, and an ugly knot ties in Steve’s throat. Chase.
“Kid, are you alright?”
“Of course.” You chuckle, like he’s silly to ever think that, and he exhales through his nose, hand shoved into his pocket. He paces up the length of the parking lot, shoe kicking a stray pebble. “Look, is there anything else you need?”
“No, but—”
“Great. I’m kinda busy back here.” You shuffle on the other end, and he closes his eyes, ears straining to decipher the static. Ice replaces the warm blood in his body as a deep voice pierces through the speaker. He hears your voice then, faint from your distance to the speaker as you hush whatever it is that made the sound. “Steve, look, I… I’ve gotta go. I… I’ll see you when you get back.” Your laughter replays in his head as you hang up, and his gaze drifts off to the asphalt. Your voice sounds hollow as he plays it back, and the knot tightens.
Steve keeps telling himself that he’d been imagining things as he walks back into the room and shuts the door with a soft click. His body numb and freezing, he clenches his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering. An uneasy tide of nausea swirls in his stomach and he swallows back acid.
“What’s up, man?” Sam whispers blearily, sitting up, and Steve just sits on his bed, pulling off his shoes and flinging his shirt off. Sinking into the hard mattress, Steve tosses his phone onto the nightstand and closes his eyes. His hands run roughly over his face and he takes a deep breath.
“Nothing, I… I went out for a walk. Can’t sleep,” Steve replies — lies. “Go back to sleep, Sam.”
“Alright.” The covers flap and Steve lets out a deep sigh, resting his head on his hands as he stares patterns into the ceiling. A current lances up and down his body, and the urge to punch something through a wall is nearly too much.
.
You don’t pick up any of his calls thereafter, and yet you still run comms.
It feels an awful like a break-up, but Steve knows you two were never dating dating in the first place, so he doesn’t know why the ache in his heart grows at the sound of your small talk with Natasha or Sam or Wanda, but never him.
No, not him.
“You alright, Steve?” Natasha asks, wiping the blood off her cheek from where a goon had died trying to swing at her when she’d been covering Wanda. “You’ve been in a bad mood these past couple of days.”
“No, I’m fine. Eager to get back to Zermatt is all,” he says, stuffing a bloody, dust-laden tee into his duffle bag.
“Eager to get back to her?” Nat asks, a small smile curling at the corners of her mouth, and Steve sends her a weary, fake smile.
“Yeah. She’s part of our team.” A hand squeezes his bicep, and his smile falters. Natasha’s eyes gaze at him earnestly, clear as ice and just as piercing. “What?”
“Nothing.” And the blonde turns away, a sack over her shoulder as she helps Wanda move her things back to the quinjet parked miles away. “I’ll see you on the jet.”
.
Homebase is empty, with just a card and wilting roses, and a stack of books you never got the chance to read. Natasha, Wanda, Sam, they scour every level, every room, for another hint of where you’re going, where you’ve gone.
Steve doesn’t even need to call out your name to know that you’ve disappeared.
.
I did it to keep you safe. You don’t know what they will do if they find out my connection to you. They’ll find you, and kill you, and I can’t let that happen. They won’t ever stop looking for me.
So I’m leaving, because this is the best thing I can do until you’re safe. Don’t look for me. I know you will.
I wish I could see you again, but it’s better if I don’t.
Steve reads the card before he goes to sleep every night.
He knocks his skull against the steel wall of his room, just imagining you. It’s been a month now, maybe more or maybe less. He can’t even remember how long it’s been since he’s last seen your smile, ran his fingers through your hair, and it feels like a knife has lodged itself in his ribs, twisting ever so slightly every time he reads it. He stares down at the black ink scribbled into thick card and your signature, the last he has of you and he wants to tear it apart.
“Steve!” His head snaps up, and his neck cracks at the sound of Sam’s voice. There’s three sharp knocks, and Sam’s shadow spills through the small slit under his door. “Steve, you need to see it.”
“What is it, Sam?” His voice scratches, tired, and he doesn’t even muster the strength to get up. He knows the other three talk about him, about you, but ever since you left, homebase has been so much emptier. There’s no echoing laughter, or shrieks from one of your prank wars with Sam, and Steve can only sleep, stuff his head beneath pillows to shut out your ghost haunting him.
“Look, man—” Sam crouches and slips something underneath— “It was mailed to us today.”
Steve gets up and the air around him moves like a wave, a rush of cold and wet and his knees buckle beneath him as he collapses. Grabbing the phone, he wipes at his face and blinks, clearing his throat.
“She’s somewhere we can’t get,” Sam whispers, and then his footsteps fade away, and Steve swallows back another bruise blooming in his throat, leaning against his door with a quivering breath. Legs bent, he opens the flip phone. The screen illuminates to reveal a single notification.
5 Voicemails.
Steve hits play.
“If you’re getting this, it means I’ve decided to leave. My time with you guys was… it really was the best time of my life, but even I can’t outrun my past. I need to face it, and I don’t want to live my whole life in fear.”
Steve lets your voice wash over him, head tilting back once more and the tears come, hot and heavy. The phone burns against his ear as you sigh, so alive, it's like you’re just on the other end and his heart bursts, eyes fluttering shut.
“If you’re listening, it means someone’s found me, and it means I’ve decided to go back home. I’m sorry. I… I couldn’t write all I wanted to in a note, so if you’re my favourite person in the world, Steve, press one. If you’re the best sister I could’ve asked for, Nat, press two. If you’re my favourite little witch, press three. And if you’re my partner in crime, Mr. Birdman, press four.”
The phone clatters to the floor, along with Steve’s knuckles as his arm falls limp. His bones have turned to solid blocks of lead and he swallows down burning acid. His thumb hits the speaker before he hits 1.
“Steve…”
“There’s so much I could say.”
Steve leaves his room, slamming the door shut behind him and Natasha, who’s wringing her hair through a towel, pauses in the hall to watch him pass. His name bubbles at her lips, and yet the ground shakes in his wake, and Natasha knows better than to speak your name.
“I don’t even know where to begin, really.”
He punches until he bleeds, and he doesn’t even realize it until the punching bag begins to slicken with blood. His fists slide along the tattered thing, and he swallows, rolling and curling his fingers. The sting is delightful, and for a moment, his fists ache more than his heart.
“I guess I should start off with I’m sorry.”
Wanda stitches his knuckles up later after dinner. Steve flinches when she pours alcohol over his wounds and digs the needle through his flesh. Natasha watches, pretending she’s only in the kitchen to grab the saltine crackers. Wanda’s magic fizzles along her fingertips. They’re both watching him like dogs, because there’s too much glass in this room, and too many sharp little things that remind him too much of you.
“I never meant to hurt you. I… I don’t even know how to begin to make up for this.”
“Steve.” Sam tosses a newspaper at him after a supply run with Natasha, and the supersoldier unfolds the print with a sharp snap. In dark block letters, he reads out your name, and the announcement of your engagement to the German chancellor’s son.
“But I was running for a reason. And… and you once told me about Siberia. About how an empire that topples from within is dead forever. The idea just came to me.”
Steve breaks his stitches when he uppercuts an arms dealer in Phuket. The blood runs warmly down his fingers, thick and sticky. He learns that you taught Wanda how to stitch flesh wounds and gave her a cinnamon roll recipe.
“Can you…” His voice fades and Wanda looks up at him gently as she wraps bandages around his bruised hands.
“I can try. It will not taste as good as hers, though,” she warns and Steve can barely muster a smile. That was not what he’d been asking for, and the warmth in Wanda’s smile makes something in him shatter. You’d had the same smile. Maybe. He doesn’t know.
Maybe he’s just searching for you in other people.
“This is my duty. Ever since my dad died, I thought I could outrun a shadow. But I can’t do that anymore.”
They televise your wedding since it’s a big deal. Steve watches bits of it, catches it in flashes, sees you in such a stunning white dress that he can barely remember to breathe. The air catches in his throat, and his lips part, eyes trained on your smile that looks so, so real, and suddenly someone is tugging on his hand.
“Steve,” Natasha whispers, “you’ve spilled your juice.” His gaze drifts from the screen to Nat, who only takes the carton of OJ, and grabs a paper towel roll. Steve looks down at the mess he’s made, orange juice spilling all over the counter, overflowing from his glass and dripping onto the floor, and he dips his head to the counter. The knot is hard to swallow again.
He feels like he hasn’t breathed in ages. He didn’t realize how much he’d miss you until you were already gone.
“I’m going to dismantle H.Y.D.R.A. And it’s probably going to take a long time, but my brother’s with me. I haven’t seen him since I was ten. Since Dad took me and left, and he’s… different. He’s good.”
Edinburgh is a mere spot in the distance as Steve watches Wanda and Vision speak to each other, hands laced, shoulders brushing. A bitter taste floods his mouth and he pulls out your card to give his hands something to do.
“I called him while you guys were away and we came up with a plan together. I couldn’t tell you because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it. And I didn’t want you to go through it, trying to convince me not to go.”
The card is ripping, foxing and wrinkled where he kept folding and unfolding it, and he closes his eyes, pressing his nose into the card stock. Just the faintest scent of cinnamon clings to the sheet and he can imagine your hand whispering over the card as you thought of what to say.
“I’m marrying the German chancellor’s son to clear my name. Ever since the Battle of the Triskelion, you know Alexander Pierce isn’t exactly a popular figure so I’ll be a target without his protection. He’s really nice and polite. He won’t ever treat me wrong. I know that. But I miss you.”
Wakandan winds caress his face as he walks back from the forcefield. The blue-faced alien’s stare burns into his back. Natasha looks down, steadying her breath, and Steve can only think about how he might die here, today, in Wakanda without even seeing you again. And if he fails today, you’ll be following him into whatever afterlife there is.
“I don’t even know if you ever felt the same, but I can hope that you did. Maybe I should’ve said it. Maybe things would’ve — could’ve — been different.”
The moment Thanos’ fist connects with his temple, his vision explodes in a frenzy of black stars and warm yellow light. His body goes before he can stop it, and mind-splitting pain spills from his head. The forest clearing floor is cool against his burning cheek and he barely feels the shockwave that runs over his body before his mind goes blank. His mouth full of ash, his fingers dig into the moist dirt and a warm wind swoops against his cheek. Your card bends his pocket, and he struggles, grabbing at the world with invisible hands while death stands behind him.
Exhaustion pulls him into the dirt, cuffing him to the dried leaves and the soil as his lungs heave for air. Agony trips down his spine and he lets out a soft groan as his eyes slip shut.
“But I love you.”
Time rewinds. Death is blasted away and his shadow no longer floats around Steve and he gasps, his brain burning from the wave that washes over him. He sucks in a breath, air stealing into his lungs and he blinks, squinting against the sunlight as he wiggles his fingers. Everything burns, and it pulses in oscillations from his split temple. Tears burning into his stinging eyes, he pushes himself up and nearly stumbles as the sun inside him sends fire burning down his legs. He feels like he’s been trampled over by a thousand horses and a grunt slips past his lips as his hand digs through his pocket.
Pulling your card out, his fingers shake as he unfolds it. Dirt has been smeared over the once-pristine cardstock and he swallows at the blood he streaks over the black ink as his fingers brush over your words.
“I’d like to think we could’ve been happy.”
Steve’s hand shakes as he slathers shaving cream along his jaw. He wonders what you’d think, to see him clean shaven — Captain America, again, but not really. And then an icy fist grips his stomach, wrenches him sideways. His phone sits on the edge of the counter, and he stares at it out of the corner of his eye. He’d left you a voice message to the number you used to have, silently begging for you to be alive, but with each ticking second, dread sinks its claws into his back.
He runs the razor carefully over his skin, one hand holding his other wrist to steady it. There are only two nicks along his jaw and neck, and they clot before he finishes shaving. He barely recognizes his reflection as he pats away the stray cream clotting at his neck. The light in his eyes has been snuffed out, and his skin sags in a way he’s not comfortable with as he stares at the hollow man before him.
“But it just isn’t meant to be. And I’ll have to be okay with that.”
“Bunch of tired old wheels! I got nothin' for you, Cap! I've got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options! Zero, zip, nada. No trust - liar.” Tony’s gaunt face stares back at him, dark, wide eyes hidden behind sunglasses but still, Steve can see past the shades. He thinks of Tulum, sandy beaches and sea salt wind, and how you’d looked an awful like Tony does now.
An unsteady man topples before him, and his lungs squeeze out every last breath as Tony rips off his reactor — his heart — and slams it into his open palm. Steve doesn’t even know where to begin and he barely opens his mouth before Tony collapses at his feet.
Steve hoists him up, swallowing the bruising blooming in his throat. The ache spreads to his bleeding heart, and he is nearly severed at the knees. Everything tilts, blurs into a plethora of color.
You failed, a voice in his head hisses. And she’s dead. She died believing in you. He sets Tony carefully on the bed that Bruce leads him to, shaking his head free of the devil lurking in his mind.
“I’ll take it from here, Steve,” Bruce murmurs and he nods, retreating out of the room. He doesn’t have a place here. Not anymore.
“I love you, Steve Rogers.”
Later that night, after his first trip into space and with his legs still gummy from the G-force, he sets the arc reactor carefully on Tony’s nightstand, lips pressed together. His eyes rake over the sleeping man’s body, and he wants to ask Tony for advice. About what, he doesn’t know.
“Even if you don’t love me back.”
His phone rings, shattering the illusion of peace in the room and Steve twists to grab his phone from his pocket, fingers slipping as his heart jumps to his throat. An unknown phone number burns across the screen and he walks out of the room, brushing past Natasha who barely has a question forming on her lips.
“Goodbye.”
He’s just down the hall when he answers, and the phone burns against his ear as he barely whispers, “Hello?”
“Kid—” Everything breaks at once at the sound of your voice. You sound so much older, voice deeper, darker, and it’s like the light’s been stolen from you as he closes his eyes, swallows, tries to tell you that somehow, he’d failed, and— “you’re okay.”
“Yeah. What’s happening? Why did people disappear?” you whisper and he shakes his head as the first of the tears begin to fall over red, flushed cheeks. It rushes back to him, hearing your voice. A voicemail he’d listened to religiously for days on end that by now he has memorized it, every pause and stutter and breath, bounces in his skull as he searches for things to say. Searches among the long list of things he wants to say for what’s most important.
“Are you alright? Are you safe?” His voice cracks and you sigh, sounding close to tears yourself by the way your breath comes in fragments over the speaker despite your voice remaining firm. The remnants of Steve’s heart are blown away in the wind. You sound exhausted.
“I’m fine. I… my brother, my husband and I, we’re flying to New York to meet with what’s left of the U.N. They called an emergency council meeting. His father disappeared and the people are looking to him.”
Steve’s throat tightens and he nods, sucking in his bottom lip as more burning tears slip over his skin. Your husband. Of course. It’s so petty, so small compared to what he’d just seen, but somehow, the two words have punctured his lungs.
“Steve, are you still there?” you ask quietly, breathily, and he exhales, shaking himself of the heat that clouds his face as his heart weeps. Some very broken part of him wants to convince you to stay far away where he can’t have even a remote chance of seeing you, but he ignores that voice in his head as the ache in his chest swells.
“You should have said it.” Steve does not need to clarify. Your wrinkled, blood-smeared card lays in the back pocket of his jeans, and he hates the weight it still carries. You inhale sharply, softly, and Steve wonders if you’re still the same. Cinnamon spice, sharp as a dagger, a smile full of secrets.
“Please, don’t.”
“You should have said it,” he repeats, eyes closing. He knows you will be just as he’s remembered you. If he sees you, he knows he’ll taste that sharpness in his mouth again, the warmth of cinnamon and the ironwire of your arms. He knows, and he should’ve said it, too. Tears balance on the tips of his eyelashes as he wipes them away with the heel of his palm. Eyes finding the ceiling, he blinks hard against his palm and leans against the wall, temple pressed into cold metal that seeps into his bones. His lips numb. “Have a safe flight.”
There is a long pause on your end where Steve balances the choices of hanging up the phone or not, and he wonders if he even has the strength to press End Call. Your soft breathing buzzes through the speaker as you let out a sigh, and then utter, just barely, something faint and so terribly final. “Thank you, Steve.”
You don’t ask if you can see him. You know his answer, and he knows better. Some things are better left just as they were. A year-long fling. He can tell himself that that was all it was as much as he wants.
Steve always had a problem admitting things to himself.
He sucks in his tears and a quivering smile forces its way onto his face, as if that’ll convince him that this is what he wants. But it isn’t. He knows it. It’s better for the both of us. It’s safer this way.
Warnings: some angst, mentions of death and blood (some of it may be considered a tad bit graphic, I’m sorry), language (one word), fluff and soft Bucky, unedited (I’m so tired, I’m sorry)
Summary:
A/N: This is not only a request, but also a part of @softhairbarnes ’s I Love You 3000 Writing Challenge. I know I’m a day late, but I had a huge assignment to submit last night. Thank you to the lovely anon who requested this. I had fun writing it, although I did get a little darker with it than I initially intended to. I’m sorry about that, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.
Masterlist // Buy me a coffee!
You’re watching movies with Sam and Clint in the living room when Wanda comes in to tell you that Steve and Bucky will be landing at the compound in approximately 10 minutes, as well as the fact neither have any injuries. The three of you nod and thank her for sharing the news before turning your attention back to the screen.
About 15 minutes have passed when you hear a door slam shut followed by grumbling. You flinch at the sound and look over your shoulder to find who caused it
“Hey, man, we’re glad you’re back and all, but do you have to be so loud?” Sam asks Bucky Barnes upon spotting him. Bucky ignores him, as if he hadn’t even heard him speak. He passes through like somewhat of a zombie, clearly lost in his own head as he makes his way toward his room. As soon as he exits the room, you’re on your feet.
“Where are you going?” Clint asks as you begin to walk away. When he notices that you’re exiting the room rather than heading over to the kitchen area, he calls out to you, “You’re missing the best part!”
Clint’s words fall on deaf ears as you tail Bucky. He’s got a fair amount of distance between you; every time you catch sight of him, he disappears around another corner. He takes the stairs rather than the elevator as well, likely to avoid bumping into someone. Rather than following him up multiple flights of stairs, though, you decide to take the elevator up to his floor. Just as you step off the lift, you hear another door slam.
Swiftly, you make your way down the hallway to his room. You can hear things being tossed around and overturned from a few paces away. A quiet knock on the door silences the ruckus. For a moment, there is nothing.
On the opposite side of the door, Bucky is still, and thinking of ways to tell Steve that he just wants to be alone without hurting his feelings. When he finally opens the door, his words die in his throat as his eyes fall upon you. You had followed him? How didn’t he notice that?
“Hey, are you okay?” you ask with a small yet hopeful smile.
“I- Yeah, I’m all good. Thanks, Y/N.” He begins closing the door, but you stick your hand out and stop it.
“Really? Because you’re pretty slammy for someone who’s ‘all good’.” He lets out a deep sigh, and his eyes find the floor. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He knows he doesn’t deserve your time or kindness, but your tone is too sweet for him to even think about saying no to you.
Slowly, he opens the door again and gestures for you to come in. It’s a silent response. You slip past him and he closes the door behind you, quietly this time.
“What’s on your mind, Bucky?” He takes a seat on the edge of his bed and you follow suit, taking a seat beside him.
“It’s just this last mission,” he says with a huff as he cards his fingers through his hair.
“I thought it was successful?”
“It was, but,” his voice trails off and covers his face with his hands, shaking his head. After a moment he finally speaks again, his voice muffled by his palms.
“There were so many civilians. We- We tried to get them out, but there were too many of them and not enough time.” He stops again. Inhales sharply. Exhales.
“There was this little girl. She was there one second, looking at me right in the eyes, and then the next second she was gone. Disappeared in a wave of smoke and bullets.” Another pause. You can tell this is difficult for him.
“I could have saved her. If I just ran a few more steps, I could have saved her, but instead I took cover.” He stops for a beat, then continues, “When the smoke cleared and the gunfire ceased, I saw her, lying in a pool of blood.”
You don’t realize that you’re crying until you feel something wet on your neck, but you quickly dry your tears before Bucky can see them. You were at a loss for words. Sure, you had been on missions where civilians were killed, but this sounded pretty bad. Bucky has already seen too much death and destruction in his lifetime.
“It should have been me,” he whispers, and you're momentarily stunned.
“Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true. I could have saved her.”
“And then you would be dead.”
“Maybe it’s better off that way. I mean after all I’ve done, it’s only fair.”
“You don’t get to make that call,” you all but snap at him.
“I’ve done so many horrible things.”
“That wasn’t you, Bucky,” you say softly, a sharp contrast from your tone a moment ago. You move behind him a bit and wrap your arms around his torso, resting your chin on his left shoulder, minding the scars.
He pulls away a bit, having convinced himself that he doesn’t deserve your sympathy, your affection, but you pull him closer in response. One of your hands finds his hair, running your fingers through it in a soothing manner.
“You shouldn’t be so nice to me,” he says, his voice quiet.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because I don’t deserve it.”
Dear God, how can this man think he deserves anything less than the world? you think.
“You’re a good man, Buck.” You whisper the words in his ear.
“Not good enough,” he mumbles.
“For what?”
“For you.” Two words. Just two words have his heart jumping into his throat because shit they just slipped out.
Your heart is racing, but you’re sure he couldn’t mean what you thought he did. No, he meant your friendship of course. He was wrong either way.
“That’s interesting,” you start as you mindlessly play with his hair, “because I don’t think I’m good enough for you.”
He thinks he’s must be having some sort of crazy dream right now, because there is no way those words left those lips of yours.
“That’s crazy,” he says, and he can feel you shrug in response from behind him.
“I guess we accept the love we think we deserve,” you tell him as you begin to braid his long, silky locks.
“But you deserve better than me,” he whispers, so quiet you nearly miss it.
“What if- What if I don’t want what you think is better?”
“I’m not sure what you’re saying, Y/N.”
“I’m saying,” your voice trails off into a brief pause, and then, “what if I want you?”
Bucky is silent for several moments, and you begin to worry that you’ve scared him or made him uncomfortable. You remove your hands from his hair, which is almost half braided.
He thinks over what he wants to say, as well as the million possible ways he could say it. Finally, he decides to speak up.
“I want you too, so badly, but I’m not good for you.” You reach over and cover his mouth with your hand before he continues, then shift your position so you’re beside him again.
“Bucky, I’m an adult. I know what I want and what’s good for me. You need to get your head out of your ass and realize that you’re not who they made you into. You are not a monster. You are not a machine. You are a human being, and the life you deserve was stolen out from under your feet. You need to start letting go of the past and try to see that it’s about time that you got to be happy.”
He sits there for a moment, processing what you’ve just said and mulling it over in his mind.
“I-” he begins, but you cut him off.
“Don’t even dare try to convince me that I’m even a little bit off, because I know that deep down you know that I’m right too.”
He closes his eyes. Nods slowly as he slips his hand into yours. Then, very quietly, he whispers, “I think I can try.”
You’re smiling so hard because you’ve finally made a dent, even if it’s small.
“You deserve love, Bucky. I promise you do. I think it’s time you started believing that too,” you say before bringing his knuckles to your lips for a moment.
He grins at you like he’s looking at the most beautiful sunset he’s ever laid eyes on, positively blossoming with color. And after a moment he pipes up again.
“Could you maybe uh... keep doing that with my hair? It felt kinda nice.” You giggle at his question, turning into full on laughter, and to him it sounds like a choir of heavenly angels singing in perfect harmony.
“Sure, Buck,” you tell him before moving behind him once again and getting to work on his hair.
You run your fingers through the strands before twisting them over and under and pulling at them gently until you’ve finished, and Bucky sits in contentment, telling himself that he wants to get used to this—that he does, in fact, deserve this. Once you finish, you use a hair tie to secure the braid, and he leans into you. For the remainder of the night, the two of you sit there. You run your fingertips over his arms, tracing patterns into his skin and following the smooth, clean-cut grooves in the metal, and occasionally place chaste kisses to the nape of his neck. Bucky feels loved, but just as importantly, he feels like he deserves to be.
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A/N: Written for @softhairbarnes‘s I Love You 3000 writing challenge (thanks so much for the opportunity btw) with the prompt: ‘Yes, I’m with you my love / It’s the morning and just we two - “Sunshine Of Your Love” by Cream’ Technically this is a sequel to Tired of Love Songs (which can be found on my fanfic blog here), but you don’t have to read it to read this :)
Warnings: Smuttttyyyyyy smut cause I’m insufferable ha, umm slight angst? Like a teeny tiny bit
Word Count: 1393
Long missions were not a novelty to Tony Stark. Being the CEO of Stark Industries for so long had him used to being away from home all the time, and (Y/n) was almost always with him on the missions anyway so he never really gave much thought to it. This last mission, however, had been entirely different. (Y/n) had been assigned to go deep undercover in a Hydra cell, while Tony and the rest of the Avengers continued the search for Loki's scepter. One month in, and they were forced back to square one with every lead turning out to be a diversion. Tony tried to blame his frustration on the lack of progress, but in reality, he was scared. It had been two weeks since anyone had heard from (Y/n), and no one seemed to be able to tell him where she was. He tried to rationalize his fear, he knew that (Y/n) was more than capable of taking care of herself and that radio silence was typical in those type of operations, but the truth was that Tony had been waiting for someone like her all his life and he'd only just figured that out. He eventually just gave in and flew back to the tower to try and find her himself. He had barely landed before starting to give the orders to JARVIS to initiate a search.
"Sir, I believe that will be unnecessary, as Miss. (Y/l/n) is currently asleep in your bed," Tony reeled, confusion knocking him back a step. She's what?
"When did she get back?" He said, feet already carrying him towards the elevator. He didn't bother saying which floor, knowing JARVIS would take him where he needed to go.
"Yesterday evening,"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Miss. (Y/l/n) requested her presence be hidden under Protocol 5.04," Panic and hurt began to bleed through his chest like palladium poisoning. Why would she- Oh god, something must have happened- But she would have told you if she was hurt, right? At the very least JARVIS would have. What did you do that she felt the need to hide from you? What if she met someone? What if she decided she couldn't do the whole superhero lifestyle anymore? What if- By then he had reached their shared bedroom, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight that greeted him when he gently pushed open the door. (Y/n) was sleeping peacefully in my shirt, the golden rays of the sunrise casting her in an angelic glow. He was almost loath to disturb the visual at all, but his anxiety about why she didn't want him to know she was home got the best of him. He stepped into the room proper and silently slipped out of his shoes before tiptoeing to the edge of the bed.
"Hey, wake up sleepyhead," He said as he gently brushed a strand of (h/c) hair from her face, smiling softly as she began to stir. Just being around her always calmed him down, allowing his thoughts to focus back in.
"Tony?" She asked softly, reaching up to rub the sleep from her eyes. He could nearly see the moment her brain caught up and realized what was happening and couldn't keep the grin from his face when she shot straight up. "Tony! You're here!"
"So are you," He said pointedly, still smiling in an attempt to maintain the casual atmosphere. (Y/n) bit her lip sheepishly before replying.
"I wanted to surprise you, and I had some stuff I wanted to take care of before you got home," He could feel his palms growing sweaty, and he tried to subtly dry them on his pants leg.
"Must be some pretty important stuff, then," His tone sounded bitter even to his own ears and he dropped his eyes, knowing she'd either start yelling at him about staying out of her business and not trusting her or she'd tell him she'd had enough of his bullshit and was gonna move out.
"I'd like to think our one year is pretty important, yeah," Her voice was soft and full of understanding, so unlike anything he was expecting that he was kicking himself mentally for believing that she would ever hide something from him. She seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, as her arms wrapped around his shoulders in a hug. "It's okay, I'm not going anywhere," He pulled her into his lap and buried his face in her neck as he clung to her. Too good for me. Don't deserve her.
"I'm sorry," He mumbled. (Y/n) gently pushed his head back from her, forcing him to look at her. The smile on her face was warm and gentle, like a ray of sunlight that soothed his soul.
"So am I. Had I known you guys were gonna be back so soon I would have told you I was home," He offered a lopsided grin.
"You guys? Last I checked I don't have a mouse in my pocket," It took only a moment for her to catch his meaning, and her eyes lit up.
"The team isn't here?" He shook his head, leaning forward to ghost his lips against hers.
"It's just us, babydoll," His hands slid up her thighs to grab her waist beneath his shirt. "Which is really handy considering you know full well how much better you look in my shirts than I do," She tugged at her lower lip as she grinned, shaking her head.
"Well then, Mr. Stark, maybe I can find some way to make up for scaring you," Her hands began undoing the buttons on her shirt, starting at the bottom and working her way up. He hummed in response as his hands followed the trail of skin that slowly became exposed with each button until finally, they landed on her breasts.
"I'm sure you'll come up with something, Miss. (Y/l/n)," He gave a gentle squeeze before moving higher and pushing the shirt off of her shoulders. She shrugged the material off quickly before pulling him into her lips, and his own shirt quickly followed its brother to the floor. Tony felt himself being pushed back until he was lying back on the bed with (Y/n) hovering over him. Her nails trailed down his chest, drawing a hiss as they passed over his nipples before her hands started working on his pants fastening.
"Why, Mr. Stark it seems you're happy to see me," His resulting laugh was cut short as her hand dipped beneath his waistband to wrap around him, stroking languidly. His hips bucked up into her hand as she passed her thumb over the head of his cock, slowly increasing the speed of her strokes until he was a panting mess beneath her. He reached a shaky hand up to grab her wrist, stopping her movements before rolling her underneath himself, claiming her lips once again in a passionate kiss. His hands moved to her waist to drag her lace panties off before shoving his own pants and boxers to the floor. He reached over and pulled a condom from the nightstand, still not breaking apart from her lips as he rolled it on quickly. There was no pomp and circumstance as he guided himself inside her, just a mutual laugh as he slipped out before readjusting and when he was finally fully seated within her, an overwhelming sense of home. Tony never considered himself a romantic but, in those moments, bodies moving together, slick and wet and perfectly imperfect, his thoughts were drowning in waves of love and affection. Each thrust of his hips came with praise, each moan he drew, pushing him further. When his fingers found her clit, and she came with a strangled cry of his name he knew he was only seconds behind her, and sure enough he gave one, two, three more thrusts before he followed her into blissful oblivion. He removed himself from the bed only long enough to clean himself and her up, and immediately pulled her back into his arms.
"I love you, honey," Tony murmured into her hair. The panic that would usually come with those words was nowhere to be found, blocked out by the sunshine of her love.
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A/N: Completed for @softhairbarnes‘ “I love you 3000″ challenge!
Warnings: This is some ridiculous fluffy stuff, no smut or egregious violence.
Pairing: Dr. Stephen Strange x Reader
Rating: T-ish (Maybe PG?)
Word Count: 3,144
Summary: Reader is under a curse. Stephen freaks out. Feelings are felt.
The incubus had taken more out of you than you would have liked to admit.
It’d been throwing hexes and curses at you and your fellow sorcerer, Stephen Strange, as quickly as it could conjure them. He was dragging out the battle in Hell’s Kitchen far longer than you’d predicted.
“What is this guy’s problem?” you grunted, ducking behind a shield Stephen had thrown over the two of you.
“He’s probably confused,” the sorcerer offered, and you sighed, conjuring another round of spells that barraged back and forth until you were able to edge in and try something new.
Your last spell had been the winner to take it down, but not before it threw a half-hearted hex in Stephen’s direction. It was pure instinct when you shoved Stephen aside.
Stepping in its path, you barely felt a tickle as the purple mass of energy dissipated on contact with your skin. Snorting, you joined Stephen while he rounded on the near unconscious demon and bound him.
“That was good luck in guessing its weakness,” he murmured, hefting the large monster onto its feet and stepping through the portal you’d summoned to Kamar-Taj.
“In my experience, there is no such thing as luck,” you replied lightly, signaling to a nearby trainees to open the gates to the holding cells; until the demon could transported to its proper realm.
“You know, if I could have you replaced, I would have done it months ago,” he sighed, shaking his head at the Star Wars quote and passing the demon off to one of the Masters to handle. “You’re just lucky you know a thing or two about the mystic arts.”
“You like having me around,” you teased, nudging his elbow through the portal to the New York Sanctum. “You’d get bored, admit it.”
“I admit nothing,” he shot back coolly, earning an exaggerated eye-roll from your direction.
This wasn’t anything new. The two of you went back and forth over and over, but there existed a mutual respect which sustained the partnership.
It was the reason you’d been assigned to New York and why, truly, Stephen hadn’t appealed to have you replaced. You two were the only people (aside from Wong) who could tolerate one another for long periods without killing each other.
“Did one of you bring back lunch?” Wong called from the library, setting aside a large leather tome and catching up with the two of you while Stephen headed for his study.
“Well, uh, no,” you replied with a frown, glancing to Stephen. “The demon was a little tougher than we thought and he might have destroyed that deli we like.”
“We misjudged the dimension it was from,” Stephen clarified. “Luckily, someone was able to take him down before he took out all of Hell’s Kitchen.”
“The devil didn’t come to help?” Wong questioned, crossing his arms.
“He figured it was more of our wheel house,” you offered a half-hearted shrug, stretching into a yawn. “But speaking of lunch, I need some nutrition or I might just pass out. Who’s up for takeout?
“I need to make sure that spell wasn’t anything serious,” Stephen’s expression shifted before you or Wong could decide on a restaurant. You groaned, unwilling to wait even longer for something to wake you up.
“It wasn’t anything,” you waved him off, returning your attention to Wong, who now shared Stephen’s concerned expression. “Wong, it literally disappeared when it hit my hand. I’m talking a tiny curse that wasn’t even powerful enough to do any immediate damage. I don’t think it’d be powerful enough to linger, and cause some kind of malicious thing down the line.”
“Good, then this shouldn’t take long,” Stephen decided, clapping his hands and transporting himself and you to the study. “We weren’t positive where his energy was coming from, I’d rather be safe.”
He stood at your side while you dropped down on a nearby stool, holding your arms up and yawning again. His hands began to glow, a wist of yellow energy wrapping itself around your torso, moving outward to your limbs and head. When it finished, it disappeared into a fine mist.
“I don’t want to be a total jerk and say ‘I told you so’, but sometimes I do know what I’m doing,” you chided with raised brows. “I am a Master of the Mystic Arts after all.”
He frowned, seemingly unsatisfied with the result of his test.
“You don’t sense it?” he questioned, summoning a book and flipping through the pages. You recognized it vaguely as a demon guide and repositioned to the more comfortable sofa. This was going to take a while if he was pulling out the books. “I feel like something is radiating from you.”
“It’s probably my dazzling personality,” you supplied, summoning your own book and scanning the pages. You found the entry on the specific demon and held it up for him to view. “Run of the mill, basic, destroyer of cities and hearts. It’s just an incubus that wandered through the wrong portal. Didn’t we deal with a whole number of them a few months ago in Detroit?”
“Different dimensions though… He didn’t touch you, did he?” he questioned, glancing over the edge of the book with quirked brows. You sat up, trying to recall the fight and letting out another yawn.
“I don’t remember being seduced by the inter-dimensional sex demon,” you grinned up at him, but your expression fell when you noticed he was still focused on the text.
When he didn’t reply after a few moments, you spoke again.
“Stephen, it’s probably nothing. You didn’t talk to the snakes again, did you? They’re alway making you overly paranoid.”
“I just…” his frowned to himself while he continued reading.
“-have a bad feeling about this?” you offered, earning an irritated grunt from the sorcerer.
With a wave of his hand, you felt yourself slam down in one of the kitchen chairs next to Wong.
“You’ve really got to stop with the pop-culture jokes,” Wong was thumbing through a pile of takeout menus, not bothering to look up. “He hates them.”
“I know,” you stood up and moved toward the cabinets, searching for a tea with caffeine. “But I don’t think he minds when I do it.”
“Why do you think that?” he asked, genuinely intrigued by your confidence.
“I usually get away with it,” you mused, digging through the stashes of teas and finding none to your suiting. “Do we have anything with caffeine in it? I’m about to fall over.”
“I think Strange took the last english breakfast this morning, I haven’t had time to run to the store,” he held up two menus. “Chinese or Thai?”
“What about that green Kree stuff?” you closed the cabinets, pausing to glance at the menus. “Which one has a better curry?”
“The Thai place,” Wong replied. “And we ran out a few days ago after we all stayed up trying to get the curse out of that necklace.”
“Oh yeah,” you frowned, rolling your head and trying to shake off the sleepiness that threatened to cloud your head. “Let’s do Thai. I’ll take something incredibly spicy and a green tea or something.”
“They have coffee,” he offered, pointing to the beverages on the menu. You perked up. Coffee was a rare delicacy in the Sanctum that prided itself on its eclectic tea options from around the universe.
“Yes, a huge cup, maybe two?” you thought back to Stephen. He didn’t seem tired, but you two did fight off the same demon… you caught yourself yawning again. Maybe he was fighting sleep too?
“Did he find anything?” Wong asked when you sat back down, propping your face up by your elbows and staring at the menu to decide.
“He’s being ridiculous,” you brushed the question off. “Something about sensing something radiating off of me? It’s silly. He probably needs a nap more than I do.”
Wong paused and shook his head. He fixated his focus on you for a few seconds before returning to the Thai menu.
“I don’t feel anything,” he confirmed and you threw a hand up.
“Exactly! I think something’s have been switching his teas around,” you sighed under your breath and stood up. “I’ll see what Dr. Overthinker wants- be right back.”
You hoped Wong hadn’t seen you struggle to catch your footing outside of the kitchen, but glancing back, his attention was still fixed between the two menus.
A small victory, in that while you could handle Stephen’s teasing, Wong’s cool, witty remarks were absolutely terrifying. It was something about how he said things without the slightest expression-
Your vision gave a whirl, and you caught your weight with a palm against the wall. Blinking a few times, you tried to get your head straight, but the world just spun faster and you felt your legs drop from under you.
The last thing you saw was a blur of red fabric before your world faded to darkness.
Summary: Y/n makes Bucky understand that he doesn’t have to be alone in dark times.
Word count: 1,014
Warnings: ANGST, Dealing with mental illness /Depression, Eventual comfort
A/n: This is my entry for the lovely @softhairbarnes ‘I Love You 3000′ Writing Challenge. I hope you all enjoy it. Feedback is always welcome!
If you happened to be having a hard time, please talk to someone, anyone, even a stranger. If they aren’t willing to listen find somebody who will. You don’t have to be alone in dark times.
"Bucky, you here?" Y/n open the door, pocking her head in the bedroom. Just the sight in front of her was enough to break her heart. Bucky is lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, eyes glassed over, looking at something no one can see accept him. Stuck in his head, he doesn't react when Y/n opens the door. For the super-soldier, who usually is very much aware of his surrounding, it is rather odd from him not to respond to her presence in the room. She gingerly takes a step in his direction. Trying not to startle him, she calls out for him again.
"Bucky, it's me." Her voice is faint in the quiet room."It's Y/n. I'm back from the mission."He still doesn't replay.
If she didn't know any better, she would think he's high on something, but that thought doesn't even cross her mind as she nears him. She carefully lowers herself on the bed, reaching out for him, she gently puts her hand over his. Even from where she's sitting, she can tell that he hasn't showered for days. He slightly turns his head in her way, his eyes meeting hers. There is a flick of emotion in them until they, again, go blank. She gazes into them. For a minute, she doesn't speak. She's just sitting there, looking soldier in his eyes, knowing those are not the same eyes she fell in love with. Knowing that man in front of her is not the same man she fell in love with all those years ago. She missed his smile, laugh, the sparkle in his eyes showing that he was alive, while at this moment all those eyes show, was dying man trapped in a healthy body.
She looks him over, catching details which show that he hasn't been taking care of himself. His rather dirty clothes drenched in sweat, hair grassy, beard unshaved, his hollowed cheeks showing that he hasn't been eating.
She squeezes his hand, trying to get his attention.
"Bucky?" She whispers. "Bucky, when was the last time you ate?" She questioned, regretting leaving his side in the first place. He was much more important than any mission in the world. She wanted to be with him in these dark times, knowing that being alone with dangerous thought can drive a person insane. And depression is filled with those dangerous thoughts. Nothing is worse than not being able to be left alone with yourself, With your mind. In those times, you need someone to be there with you.
"Bucky." She leaned forward, making a bold move by touching his face.
The moment his skin made contact with hers, His head snapped in the opposite side. He quickly sat up, looking forward, back crouched, hair covering his face. He slowly turned his head to his right, looking out of the windows.
She momentarily froze. What is she supposed to do? What is she supposed to say? She was not as psychologists. She was just a person in love with a damaged man. She doesn't know what is right and what is wrong to say in this situation. Therefore, she did one thing she wanted somebody to do when she was going through something similar to this, rather than telling her to get over it. She swiftly strangled his legs by sitting on top of them, grabbing his face in her hands. "Bucky look at me." She tries catching his eyes. "look at me." She draws his hair out of his face. "I'm here. I'm not going to leave you. "She forces his head to move in her direction. "We'll get through this together. You don't have to be alone. "He finally looks at her, seeing her eyebrows furrowed in concern, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "You have me. I'm not going to let you be all by yourself in this dark path. I know..." Her hands slide down from his cheeks to his neck, thumbs stroking his jawline. "I know it's hard to get out from that hole, but I need you to see the light at the end of the tunnel. It's hard. You feel lost. It's okay. I'm here. We'll get through this together. So..." Her breaths are coming out shaky." I need you to fight, fight, don't give up. Please..." Her voice broke." For me. I need you. This up there," She taps his temple." This is a parasite. We need to get it out from you. Don't welcome it. Don't bond with it. Don't give up on life. Don't lock me out." Her bottom lip quivers. "Fight it. Choose to live. I know life is hard, mean, cruel, and something you just want to end it all." Her eyes fill with tears. "But you've got people who love you. You've got me. So pick me, choose me, love me, because God knows I love you and leaving without you sounds horrifying.
She breathes out shakily, swallowing hard, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. However, she's not the only one. Bucky's eyes are filled with tears. What was he doing? Y/n is there for him and he is pushing her away. But it is all he knows. it is all new to him, to have someone to care for him, to love him, help him. It was all new. For years all he knew was pain and misery. There was no one by his side to protect him, but right now Y/n was with him, offering her love and who was he to refuse it.
He quickly pulls her in for a hug, hand on her waist, holding her tightly. One of her hands traveled up to his hair, stoking it in comfort. He buried his face in her neck. Her eyes screwed shut, heart breaking when she felt wetness, from salty tears, on her neck.
"It hurts." choked out Bucky. " it hurts so much."
Tears rolled down her cheeks as the words left her mouth.
"I know darling, I know." She kissed his temple. "We'll get through it together."
Summary: Death is a subject that should be easy for someone like Bucky after all these decades – well it isn ‘t and he finds out even more about himself and her along the way.
