#ssb2020

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.      

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.  

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”  

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.    

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.  

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.  

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.  

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.  

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”  

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.  

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.  

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.    

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.  

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”  

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.    

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.  

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.    

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.  

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.  

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“    

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself. 

“The whole process, it feels sort of  - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.  

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.  

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.    

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.  

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.  

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.  

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

-

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?  

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.  

Yours,

Bucky”

-

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

The crackling stops. You wait for a beat or two, blinking slowly, listening hard, and then you start moving again - trying to find something, someone… anything. You nervously continue to play with the hem of your dress as you pad through this still forest, the soft dirt squishing through your toes. The sound of water soon hits your ears, soft and rippling, and just at the end of the path, there’s a small bank leading to a quiet little river. 

You quicken your pace, stepping into the grass, and then the wet sand before you fall to your knees and dip your hands into the water. You splash your face, once, twice, three times, before dipping your hands back into the surprising cool liquid, cupping them to collect a small amount. You bring it to your lips to drink, slurping it in haste as your thirst overwhelms you. Handful after handful, you bring the small offering of water to your lips, barely finishing the gulp before thrusting your hands back in the water.

You’re so consumed with the cool liquid that you don’t even hear the crackling of the leaves behind you. You drop your hands back into the water as you lift your eyes to the other side of the bank slowly. Your breath goes shallow again as you blink rapidly, now acutely aware that you’re being watched by someone, or something. You swallow hard and let your lips part as you turn your head, peeking over your shoulder - and suddenly, you’re face to face with a large, white wolf. 

Your chin starts to tremble as fear paralyzes you. The animal’s eyes are a piercing blue as they stare back at you. Its head is low, ears laid back on its head. Its nose twitches as it sniffs at the air, but it never takes its eyes off of you. It lowers its head to the ground, sniffing at the footprints you left behind before it lifts its gaze to you again. 

It takes a step towards you, slowly, and then another, and another. You don’t move -  you can’t. You just start to tremble as it closes the distance between you, a single tear slipping down your cheek as your eyes cloud over with water. It gets nose to nose with you, blinking slowly as it starts to sniff you. You let out a sob as it pushes its nose into your hair, breathing you in. It lets out a hard breath, tossing your hair with it before it tilts its head towards the sky and howls loudly. 

You jump and gasp at the sudden burst of noise as it rocks through the forest. Birds flock from the trees as more howls from somewhere deep in the trees, making you snap your head towards the chorus, your chest now heaving. 

“You’re quick,” a deep voice sounds, making you snap your head back again, “Took me hours to track you.”

The wolf is suddenly gone, now replaced with a very tall, blonde, blue eyed, naked man. Your eyes go wide as you scramble back into the water. You blink furiously, pushing more hot tears down your face as your mind starts to race. You shake your head as your face breaks, finally giving into the confusion and fear that’s motivated you for most of the day. The man kneels and tilts his head as he watches you, his eyes still searching as if he isn’t quite sure of you.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, holding out his hand, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you cry openly, “I don’t - I don’t know where I am.”

“It’s okay, I’ll explain it to you on the way. Come.”

He wiggles his fingers, trying to coax you out of the water. You shake your head again frantically, dragging in a breath, nearly choking on it, “Please, I just, I want to go home. Please.”

“Come.” He says again, his voice still soft- still calm. 

“No, please let me go. Please.” You beg.

The man sighs, blinking back at you slowly, “You can’t go home. Come with me please, before something dangerous finds you.”

You stare at his hand, still outstretched towards you, before you cut your eyes back up to his. A deep growl sounds through the trees, followed by a series of menacing barks. You and the man both snap towards the noise. A black wolf moves through the trees on the opposite side of the stream, instantly sending chills down your spine. Its eyes are golden, but a darkness looms in them as it peers at you. It starts to growl again, lowering its head as it bares its teeth, barking loudly again.

“Cut it out,” the man behind you says sternly, “She’s already claimed, Rumlow.”

You gasp when the black wolf changes right in front of you. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, a dark haired man stands on the bank, “She hasn’t been marked yet,” he smirks, his eyes bouncing between yours and the man behind you, “So technically, she hasn’t been claimed, Rogers.”

“Back off. I’m warning you.”

“Ooooh,” Rumlow laughs, “Scary voice.”

You swallow and glance up at the man behind you, Rogers. He keeps his eyes across the stream, his hands balled at his sides, his chest swollen with possession, “Get behind me,” He hisses, “Now.”

You oblige - and fast. You scramble to your feet and step behind him, peering around his arm at the menacing Rumlow. He sneers at you, wiggling his fingers, trying to intimidate you. The golden eyed man takes a step into the water and Rogers transforms back to his four legged alter ego. He digs his paw into the wet sand and lowers his head as a deep growl rumbles in his throat. 

You skirt your eyes back to this Rumlow, watching as he turns, thick black hair and four legs returning to his frame. He barks at you and Rogers, saliva dripping from his mouth as he bares his teeth. 

They lunge at each other without so much as a warning, making you stumble back as you inhale sharply. The sounds of nails ripping through flesh, water splashing, loud barking and growling fill the air as you once again blink back tears. You stand in utter disbelief as these two half animal, half man creatures rip into each other - one, seemingly for your protection, the other for ownership. 

Rogers prevails. He pins the black wolf to the mud, his teeth biting into the others throat and neck, shaking his head back and forth. The black wolf whelps in pain as it kicks and scratches at the much larger, much stronger opponent. Rogers releases him, taking a few steps back but keeps his eyes on the other as it scrambles back up the bank. The golden eyes are back on you as he whips back around, growling lowly, but soon scampers off with a heavy limp.

Rogers watches the trees for a minute longer before he turns and moves slowly back to your side. He rubs his head against your hand, licking your fingers gently. You look down at him, his big blue eyes gazing back up into yours and you can’t help but pat the top of his head. He did just save you, after all.

“Thank you.” You offer softly.

He takes a few steps past you and then turns to look at you, waiting for you to join him. You really have nowhere else to go and knowing now what exactly lurks out in the trees, you’re too afraid to have him leave you. The two of you start to walk back in the direction that you first came. He stays in his wolf form, his heavy paws padding softly in the dirt next to you, his eyes wide and alert as you traipse through the forest. Your mind races with the silence, his words playing over and over again - you can’t go home. You can’t go home. You can’t go home. Your stomach starts to twist all over again. Why can’t you go home? What did you do to make it so? 

Maybe it’s a dream - maybe it’s just all one big, bad dream and you can’t wake yourself up. You start to pray, closing your eyes as you walk, pleading with God to just wake you up from all of this. But you don’t - wake up that is. 

You walk for hours. The heat beating down on you from the sun starts to wear on you, your throat going dry again as sweat beads on your forehead. Your feet ache as each footprint you leave behind starts to clump with blood. Your vision starts to blur and you stumble slightly, making Rogers snap his head towards you.

He circles your legs, barking a few times before he changes into his human form again. He grabs your elbow, his eyes searching yours intently before he brushes your messy hair away from your face. 

“We’re almost there, let me carry you.”

You pull away from him but stumble again, “I’m fine, I -”

Without another word, you’re lifted from your feet with ease. He curls you into his broad, hairy chest, wrapping an arm around your back and tucking the other underneath your knees. You’re too exhausted to fight him. You rest your head against his chest and let him carry you slowly the rest of the way, your eyes closing to slits. You’re barely conscious when Rogers steps through a wall of brush and shrubs and suddenly, you’ve stepped into a utopia. 

You blink furiously as you try and make sure that you are seeing what you are really seeing. The air smells sweeter. The trees and grass are alive with motion as a breeze whips over your body. You feel eyes on you as Rogers moves you through this new town-like place. You can see cottages placed randomly throughout the trees as people start to come out from them, watching. You tense, but Rogers is quick to quell your fear.

“It’s okay. Your scent is spreading, that’s all.”

“My scent? I smell bad?”

He smiles a little, keeping his eyes straight ahead, “Not bad, just new.”

“Where are we going?”

“To see Wanda. She’s our seer.”

He moves you through another set of trees and you’re standing at the edge of a large lake. The water level is low - a wispy waterfall to your left barely dribbles into the body of water. That’s when you spot her, a redheaded woman bathing in the water. Her back is to you, but she’s calm as she sweeps her hand over her outstretched arm, smoothing water over her skin. Rogers sits you on your feet but keeps his hand on the small of your back to help keep you steady. 

You glance over at him, where he meets your gaze, shaking his head gently as he taps his index finger against his lips, “Wait until she calls for you.” He whispers. 

Another man pops up from underneath the water seconds later, scaring you slightly. He pushes the water away from his face with his hands before he sweeps them over the top of his head. He smiles at you, and you smile back without hesitation - he’s so beautiful. It’s a warm, gentle, friendly smile - the gap in his teeth and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes invite you to feel just a little more comfortable. The sun makes his brown skin glow, accentuating the drops of water that collect on his shoulders and chest.

“Steve?” You hear the woman say.

“Yes. I have her.”

“I know you do,” her voice is sweet, thick with comfort  and amusement, “Sam, can you bring her to me?”

She disappears under the water. You watch as the other man, Sam, swims towards you and glance nervously over at Rogers - no, Steve. He gives you a reassuring nod and a hint of a smile before you turn back just as the smooth skinned Sam emerges from the water. You quickly avert your eyes towards your feet, as he’s stark naked as well, but steal a glance or two. Water cascades down his rippled chest and stomach, glinting underneath the strong sun.

Sam outstretches his hand, a broad smile lighting up his face, “Hi, I’m Sam. Welcome.” 

When you hesitate, Steve steps a little closer, “She’s still a little foggy.”

“That’s okay, darlin’. We’re not going to hurt you. Promise.” Sam reassures, keeping his hand open and outstretched. 

You take it with trepidation, allowing him to slowly pull you into the cool water. It feels good on your achy, bloody feet, and sore limbs. Sam turns to you again, “It’s okay if you want to dip under. You’ll feel a whole lot better, I swear it.” 

You don’t even hesitate. You push your body underneath the water, closing your eyes as your hearing gets muffled by the liquid. You pop back up seconds later, pushing your hands over your hair as the sun warms you again. He’s right. You do feel a whole lot better - clean. 

Sam wraps his long fingers around your arm and places it over his shoulder, before doing the same with the other. Before you can question him, he starts to swim out deeper, pulling you with him. You let him carry you towards the mysterious woman, who is now wearing a bright smile as she wiggles her thin fingers at you as you approach. She swims underneath the waterfall and Sam follows, setting you on your feet before he exits.

“Hungry?” She asks, handing you a small bowl of assorted fruits, “I wish I could offer you more, but we’re going through a bit of a rough growing season. I had to walk for miles to find these as it was.”

“That’s okay,” You greedily take the bowl, stuffing the sweet berries into your mouth, “Thank you, I’m- starving. Thank you.”

“Eat up, baby. I know you’re exhausted.” She watches you as you eat, her eyes twinkling as she smiles. She closes her eyes after a few minutes and tilts her head upwards, nodding every now and again as if she’s listening to something - or someone. 

She moans softly as she sways her hands back and forth in the water, her fingertips just barely touching the surface. Then, suddenly, she pops her big eyes open and blinks at you, “My God,” she whispers, “It’s you.”

“M-me? I-” You stammer, glancing around nervously.

She smiles big as she grabs your hands in hers, “We’ve been waiting for you. Bucky, he’s… I promised him you’d come and here you are.”

You shake your head slowly as dread fills your stomach, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t- I don’t even remember how I got here and Steve says that I can’t go home. Please. I just- I want to go home.”

Wanda pulls you into her bare chest, hugging you tightly. She pulls away seconds later, her eyes bouncing between yours, “This is scary at first, it was for all of us, but you’ll come to love it here. You are going to rule this forest one day and drive out all of the evil. You, dear girl,” she smiles at you again, “You will finally bring us peace. Please, close your eyes.”

“Wanda, I don’t-”

“Shhh,” she coos, “Close your eyes.” 

You take a breath, letting your shoulders slump slightly but close your eyes. You feel Wanda braid her fingers with yours before she starts to speak again.

“Only the cursed inhabit this enchanted forest.” She says softly. Your lips part as fear flushes through you, “All of us, at different times found ourselves wandering through these trees, cursed to never be able to leave. Each one of us has gained an affliction over time, some sooner than others.”

“Affliction?” you whisper, your chest starting to heave.

“I’m a seer. I wasn’t at first, it came to me over time. I can see other’s afflictions before they manifest. I’m also known to have premonitions and visions of what’s to come. Steve and Sam, they are lycans, able to shift between wolf and human form. Bucky, whom you’ll meet soon enough, a werewolf. Unlucky for him, full moons come around every night. Clint, another shifter of an avian kind. Natasha and Carol, mermaids, unable to walk to the earth.” 

“Then what am I?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“We’ll get to that soon,” She answers. You feel the water shift as she moves around you. She drags her hands up your arms and shoulders softly, “Try and remember. Remember what brought you here.”

You focus your breathing, in through your nose, out through your mouth, as you force your brain to try and remember. You squeeze your eyes tight, but nothing forms - not a thought, not a memory… nothing. You shake your head as your chin starts to tremble, all of the fear and anxiety rising up in your throat. 

“I can’t,” you start to whimper, “I can’t remember, I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Wanda coos, hugging you from behind, “It’s okay. Relax, just try and remember. Feel the water and the warm sun, just let it carry you away. Focus on the waterfall, hear it.”

Tears stream down your cheeks but you push out a shaky breath as you digest her words. Feel the cool water. Hear the waterfall. Wanda grabs your hand, flipping it over before she presses her fingers into your palm, drawing gentle circles, “Just try and remember.”

A quick image flashes before your eyes - pink. Balloons, a congratulations banner… the clinking of champagne glasses. Then, there’s faces, happy ones - Shelia! Romero and Tammy are also there, all hugging you, wishing you luck. You’ve worked so hard for this! No one deserves this more than you!

“I got it,” you whisper, “I got the job. I was promoted to bank manager.”

“That’s it. Stay there, just remember.”

You see it now. They threw you a party during your lunch break - bought you a cake and everything. After the celebration, you walked back to your desk and there it was - one singular cupcake, topped with pink icing and white sprinkles. 

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand, “Oh my god.” 

Wanda sways you back and forth softly, resting her chin on your shoulder, walking you through it. You looked around, but saw no one paying you any attention. You sat in your chair, stuffed to the gills from the lunch and the cake - but you brought the small pastry to your nose anyway, inhaling the sweetness of it. You moaned as a smile spread on your face. You were always a sucker for a cupcake. 

You peeled away the wrapping and brought it to your face again, ready to take a bite, when you noticed a small slip of paper peeking out from underneath your keyboard. You pulled it out with the tips of your fingers and furrowed your brow as you read the unfamiliar handwriting. You deserve all that’s coming to you. 

More tears spill from your eyes as the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. 

You looked around one final time to see if anyone was watching, but found no one paying you any mind. You looked back down at the cupcake in your hand and shrugged before closing your eyes and taking a bite. You moaned again as the spongy cake exploded on your taste buds. It was the best cupcake you had ever had. You finished it quickly and tossed the wrapper and note, before waking up your computer and returning to your emails, not even noticing the little old woman slipping out through the front doors. 

“I didn’t give her the extension.” You whisper, your voice shaky, “She was months behind on her mortgage, we had already given her three. I couldn’t. My hands were tied. I couldn’t grant her another extension, I just couldn’t.”

“It’s okay, dear girl.”

“It’s not okay!” You shout, “She cursed me! She sent me here!”

“I told you it was going to be hard at first.”

You pull away from her, spinning around to face her again, “I want to leave! Now!”

“Honey -”

She reaches for you but you slap her hands from you as you back away, “I’m leaving. I’m not- I don’t know what you want, but I’m leaving!”

You move underneath the wispy waterfall and back out into the large lake as Wanda screams for you to stop. You swim hard, and fast towards the shore, feeling Sam and Steve’s eyes on you as they lounge underneath one of the large trees. They both stand, their eyes wide as you stumble up onto the bank, tripping over your own feet as you try and gain some traction. 

You run towards the trees, the weight of your wet dress not slowing you down in the least bit. You hear Wanda’s voice again, this time instructing Sam and Steve to let you go, “She’ll get lost out there.” Steve worries.

“She’ll be fine,” Wanda says, taking a breath as she wades in the water, “You’ll just have to find her again in the morning.”

You run for miles. You run until the sun is replaced by the moon and the sounds of the day have completely stilled. You hear nothing but your own footsteps and the chirp of a cricket that you never seem to find. It’s cooled down considerably, your body is racked with chills as a gust of wind whips around you. The only thing keeping you going is fear. You’re afraid to stop and rest, not knowing what or who is out in these woods in the dark. 

You push deeper, trying to use the moonlight as a guide but you have no idea what you’re looking for. Every time you think you’ve found a way out, that maybe you think you see a road or hear a car, you just move into a section of trees and shrubs and grass. This forest is never ending. Maybe they were right. Maybe you can’t -

You snap your head and gasp as a loud scream erupts from deep in the trees. It awakens the birds, making them all screech and fly out from their nests. The scream erupts again, this time louder, so loud you have to cover your ears. It sounds like a man being ripped apart from limb to limb. He screams again - a blood curdling one - and you cringe as it seems even louder, like he’s right behind you. 

You start running again. The screams continue but each one gets deeper, more animal-like, more painful. You freeze right in your tracks when a loud, long howl sounds through the sleepy forest - a bay at the large, white moon in the sky. Unlucky for him, full moons come every night. 

Soon, all you can hear is your own breathing. You cower behind a tree, hugging it tightly as you keep your eyes wide, your pupils surely blown. There’s a rustling in the trees and brush, twigs snapping, heavy, fast footsteps. Another howl, followed by random barks and then rushed footsteps again. Your eyes fill with water as your mind races, unsure of what to do, where to go. You don’t want to die out here. 

Smell? I smell bad?

Not bad, just new.

Fuck.

You snap your head over your shoulder, watching as the bushes in the distance start to shake as something moves through it. You push away from the tree and dart off to your left, ducking and dodging random limbs and vines as you try to flee. You keep turning around as you run - but you see nothing. You just hear it. Barking, growling, howling - the heavy footsteps pounding into the ground as it closes in on you. 

“Shit!” You cry as you push yourself as hard as you can, willing your feet to carry you faster. Your lungs and legs burn as you cut through the trees, ignoring the stinging cuts on your arms and feet from the branches whipping against you. You turn again, gasping you finally spot the beast chasing you emerging from the brush. 

Just as you do, your foot tangles in an exposed root, tripping you. You hit the ground hard, face first, screaming as pain rips through your ankle and lower leg. A shadow casts over you as a large mass jumps clear over your head. It lands on all fours, the ground shaking with its weight when it lands. You sit up quickly, trying to back away, dragging your now bum leg as your fingernails dig into the dirt underneath you.

You drag in a deep, shaky breath as instant tears flood your face. Your body shakes as your face completely breaks with emotion. You stare back into a pair of pitch black eyes. This beast is huge - larger than Steve and Rumlow combined. It howls again, making you scream as your eardrums nearly burst from the sound. It stands on its back legs as it bays again and you could swear it’s seven feet tall. It falls back to the earth with another heavy thud, then lowers its head as it zeros in on you again. 

It starts to growl, snarling its lip to show its sharp, white teeth. It barks and snaps at you, saliva dripping from its mouth as it takes a step towards you. You scamper backwards but your back slams into a tree. You try to stand but fall back to the ground as your leg just can’t carry you. It steps towards you again, still growling, still snapping. 

You push up against the tree as hard as you can, almost wanting it to swallow you whole. You shut your eyes as the heat from its breath washes over your face, the rush of air pushing from its nostrils tossing your hair. You squirm, whimpering when you feel its wiry hair on your legs, its whiskers grazing against your cheek. You turn your head as it sniffs at you loudly, pushing its long nose through your hair and down your neck.

It pushes out another forceful breath through its nose, making you jump. You blink your eyes, slowly opening them as you turn back to face it. You pull in deep, audible breaths as you stare back at this… thing, this affliction, as Wanda’s words come back to you. Bucky, he’s… I promised him you’d come and here you are… 

“Please,” you whisper quietly, so quietly you barely hear yourself, “Bucky, please.”

It tilts its head at the sound of the name - but not in the way you’d hoped. His eyes narrow as he snarls his lip again, that menacing growl rumbling through his chest and throat. His ears lay back on his head as he drops it, clearly threatened. He crouches down as he snaps at you again, dragging his front paw through the dirt as he readies himself to pounce. 

You start to sob loudly, holding your hands out as you plead and beg - screaming for your life. The adrenaline and anxiety coursing through your veins becomes ever present as your head starts to spin. Your palms get sweaty, your heart racing and thumping against your chest as your body shakes. You can’t catch your breath, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t fill your lungs with air. You’re hot and cold all at the same time. Your vision tunnels - your pupils shrinking to the size of the tip of a pin. 

Suddenly, everything goes black. 

Bucky glances down at the woman in his arms as he trudges through the trees. It’s early morning, the sky still orange and pink as the birds start to sing. He’s not sure who she is, he just remembers her smell - strong - calling to him in the dark of the night. It’s the most vivid scent he’s ever encountered. So pure, so heavy that he can remember it even after his change. She’s not the usual newcomer around here -  that he can tell. 

He pushes into his home surroundings, most of their small community still snuggled tight in their cottages - “Bucky! There you are.”

He snaps his head towards the approaching Wanda, eyeing her as she steps next to him, sweeping her hand over the passed out woman’s forehead, “You know this one?” He asks. 

She nods, “Just came to us yesterday. She’s -”

Bucky just nods, glancing out into the distance as he knows what she’s about to say, “She’s hurt. I think her ankle is broken. I might have - I think the gashes are from me.”

“No worries, I’ll get her fixed up. Do you mind taking her to your cottage?”

He sighs heavily, sending his eyes towards the small redhead, watching as she smiles softly, “Wanda,”

“You and Steve have more space,” she shrugs, her face filling with surprise as Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Sam and I just had a baby. This poor thing needs rest and looking after.”

“Well,” Bucky starts gruffly, “Steve can look after her then.”

Wanda throws her hands on her hips, giving him a stern look before she turns her attention to the shuffling coming from behind them, “Clint? Can you do me a favor?”

The short blonde approaches, nodding his head towards Bucky, “Of course. Who’s that?” He asks, pointing towards the unconscious woman in his hands.

Wanda smiles brightly, “She’s our Faery.”

Clint’s eyes widen as a smirk spreads on his face, “No shit, really?”

Wanda nods, and Bucky rolls his eyes again.

“What’s the favor?” Clint asks, chuckling softly.

“See if you can find Steve and Sam. They’re out looking for her. They couldn’t have gotten far.”

With another quick nod, Clint is now soaring towards the tops of the trees, his arms replaced by long, sleek wings as he transforms. He screeches, his bird call rippling through the forest as he flies out of sight. 

Bucky starts to move again, readjusting the woman in his arms as her legs bounce against his naked thigh. He moves into he and Steve’s shared cottage, Wanda right behind him as he moves into his room. He lays the unconscious woman down on his bed before walking back out of the room without a word. 

He collects a large bowl from the kitchen and fills it with warm water while grabbing clean towels and cotton swabs. He pads back into the room, sitting the supplies on the small table next to his bed before he pulls open the drawer, grabbing his stitch kit and tossing it on the bed.

“Where are you going?” Wanda questions from her spot on the bed, watching as he walks back towards his bedroom door.

Bucky doesn’t even turn around. He just holds up a bar of soap as he heads for the main door, “Bath.”

Bucky runs his hands through his short hair as he comes up from underneath the water. He’s still not really used to it, but he needed the haircut, and Steve actually did a good job on it. He keeps his eyes closed and his head tilted towards the sky as the sun beats down on him, warming him as he stands in the cool water. There is nothing better than a bath after a night of pillaging. 

His mind floats back to Wanda and the strange woman keeping him from collapsing into his bed. He scoffs at just the thought. He’s never bought into Wanda’s bullshit. She’s been blowing smoke up his ass for years, but it just goes into one ear and right out the other one. She’s coming Bucky, I can feel it. She’ll fix this place and she’ll love you forever, plus a day. He rolled his eyes then and he rolls his eyes now. She seems to forget this place is a literal curse. 

Who could love you? Bucky pops his eyes open as the thought floats through his mind. Who could actually love a monster like you? “Nobody,” he mumbles to himself, letting his eyes drop to the water. That’s why it’s all bullshit. 

He hears a rustling in the trees and turns his head and body to watch Sam, Steve, and Clint emerge. Sam lifts his hand towards him, which Bucky returns with a head nod, before he swims towards the bank to join the three men.

“Where did you find her?” Steve asks as soon as he’s on the bank.

Bucky shrugs, “Out pretty far. I came across her on my way home.”

“She’s hurt?” Steve questions again, his face and eyes full of concern.

“Broken ankle, some gashes and cuts, but she’ll live.”

“You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

Bucky grits his teeth as he narrows his eyes, “I don’t know, maybe. What’s with all the fucking questions?”

Clint slaps him on his arm, smirking all the while, “You know Steve and that bleeding heart of his.”

“She’s our faery, we’re all supposed to take care of her.” Steve says, pushing past Bucky.

“Jesus,” Bucky mumbles, dropping his head into his hands to rub his face, “I’m not in the mood for all of this.”

“When are you ever in the mood?” Sam quips, shaking his head, “Where’s my wife?”

“In my bedroom, tending to our fabulous faery.” Bucky huffs, “Fuck, I just want to sleep. I should have put her in Steve’s room.”

“I wouldn’t talk about your soulmate like that, Barnes. Women don’t like sarcasm.” Sam smiles, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t you start. She’s not my soulmate, she not gonna bring peace or whatever the fuck Wanda is always spouting off about. She’s just another cursed soul, just like the rest of us. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Sam and Clint glance at each other, shaking their heads at the cynical man before them, “Whatever, fuck off. I’m going to sleep.” Bucky grumbles, turning back towards his cottage.

“You can sleep at ours if you want,” Sam calls, “I'll bunk with Steve until the girl is back on her feet.”

“And have that sniffling, whiny little brat of yours waking me up every hour? No thanks.”

He ducks quickly as a rock whizzes by his head, “Don’t talk about my baby boy like that, Barnes!”

Bucky bounds inside his shared home and makes his way towards his bedroom, leaning against the door frame as he listens in on Wanda and Steve. The girl looks better already, the dried blood splattered on random parts of her body gone. Her tattered dress is also gone, replaced by one of Wanda’s hand sewn tunic’s. The deeper of her gashes are sewn together, her feet wrapped in leaves of the bountiful lamb ear. 

Her face is soft as she breathes in and out gently. Her hands are crossed over her chest as Wanda crushes up more herbs beside her, smoothing the goop over her flesh wounds. He turns away after a few minutes, as her scent starts to make him dizzy in this confined space. He wonders how Steve can handle being that close.

His heavy feet carry him into the living room, his eyes growing heavier and heavier with each step. He falls onto the old, lumpy hand sewn pillows that sit atop the nicked up couch that Steve fashioned with his bare hands, and grabs the blanket thrown over the back. He covers his entire body and head while burying his face in the cushions as he tries to drown out Wanda and Steve’s hushed voices. 

Bucky wakes with a start hours later. A loud pounding noise beats over the roof of the small cottage, making him spring up. He snaps his head towards the front door, finding it wide open. He stands quickly, peeking his head into his room, finding the woman still asleep on his bed but doesn’t find Wanda or Steve. He takes off towards the front door, but stops in his tracks when he realizes what the pounding is. 

Rain. 

He moves out onto the small porch, finding Steve sitting on the step, “How long has it been raining like this?”

“Hours,” Steve smiles up at him, “Started right after you fell asleep. Do you remember the last time it rained like this?”

Bucky shakes his head. They get showers here and there, just enough to keep the stream and the lake flowing but this? It’s been months since they’ve seen a steady, strong, purposeless rain. 

“Wanda had a premonition, a strong one. She had to go lay down.” Steve says gently, not taking his eyes off the rain, “She said this is just the beginning. This is because of her.”

“Steve, come on-”

“There’s not going to be a full moon tonight.” Steve says, cutting him off, “Wanda saw it, Buck.”

Bucky squares his jaw as an irrational anger flushes through him, “That’s not possible.”

“It is. She saw it, Bucky. Wanda is never wrong, you know that. She’s proved it time and time again.”

“I’ve been here for seventy years,” Bucky growls, his tone hard, “I’ve turned every night -  every single night there’s a full moon. That’s my affliction, it doesn’t just go away because some woman shows up one day.”

Steve drops his head, shaking it softly. He shrugs after a minute or two, not wanting to pick a fight, “Okay, Buck.”

“I don’t know why you fall for that shit.” 

“Maybe because I want to believe in something more, something bigger. I get it,” Steve retorts, “We fucked up in our old lives, but we were given a second chance.”

“A second chance?” Bucky asks incredulously, “You call this a second chance? Bound to a god forsaken forest and having to skulk around like an animal for the rest of eternity?”

Steve hangs his head, but smirks nonetheless, “It’s not that bad.” 

“For you,” Bucky reminds him, “Try having your limbs twist and break every night and get back to me about it being a second chance.”

Bucky pushes past him, off of the porch and into the rain. He lets it beat down on him, cleansing him of the anger building inside of his chest before he pushes his hands over his hair, “I’m going for a walk.”

Steve just nods in acknowledgement and returns his gaze towards the gray sky. 

You wake up slowly, fluttering your eyes as you stretch out your limbs. You rub your face as you groan slightly, rolling your head into the pillows beneath you. You sit up and let out a yawn before you glance around the unfamiliar room. It’s minimal, a table, a chair in the corner, and a bed. It’s cozy still, even with the scarce decor. 

You’ve never felt better in your life. All the aches and pains in your body are gone. There’s no anxiety or fear. Your eyes don’t burn, your throat isn’t dry. You feel so good.  You glance down, running your fingers over the hand stitched garment that covers your body. You then graze your fingers over the stitches in your leg, a purple and blue bruise surrounding it, but you feel no pain. You unwrap the leaves around your feet and wiggle your toes before you toss your legs over the side of the bed. 

You notice a small bowl of fruit and a homemade mug sitting on the small wooden table next to the bed. You pick up the bowl, popping what looks like a blueberry into your mouth before you moan in satisfaction, closing your eyes as you swallow. You stand, tucking the bowl into your chest and grabbing the mug before you head out of the bedroom. You glance around as you move slowly through the cottage, from room to room, finding it empty. As you pop a strawberry into your mouth, you move out of the second bedroom and back into the living room, where you peek out of the small window. 

A steady, hard rain pours from the gray sky. You stand and watch for a few minutes, bringing the mug to your lips and draining the cup of it’s sweet liquid. You sit the now empty cup and bowl down and walk out onto the porch, the defending sound of the rain now unmuted by the walls of the cottage. You reach your hand out, letting the fat drops plop against it as a smile spreads on your face. You’ve always loved the rain. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, breathing in the earth - the dirt and leaves and grass - letting it fill your lungs as they’re all nurtured by the water. Without thinking, you step off of the small porch, right into the rain, letting it wash over you. Your hair sticks to your head, your thin tunic becomes glued to the curves of your body, accentuating your hips and breasts as you start to walk aimlessly through the quiet, sleepy little community. 

You move into a field of tall grass and hold out your hands as you walk slowly, letting the blades graze your palms. You close your eyes again as your head starts to swim and a warmth starts to spread through your body, starting in your toes and moving all the way up to your head. You’re not sure what exactly has happened over the past twenty four hours but, now, with each passing minute, you start to feel like you’re home - almost as if this is what you’ve been searching for your whole life.

“What are you doing?” You jump at the sound of the deep, gruff voice. You pop your eyes open, spinning on your feet to come face to face with a dark haired man. His eyes are a crystal blue, his jaw square, his eyes crinkled in the corners as he squints at you, “You shouldn’t be out here.” 

“W-why not?” You ask softly.

“You’re ankle, it’s-” he drops his eyes to your feet, his lips parting as he finds them in perfect condition, “What did you do?” 

He moves towards you quickly, scaring you slightly as he lifts the thin material covering your body, “What did you do?” He asks again, his voice irritated, his eyes angry.

“N-nothing. Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Your ankle was broken. Wanda had to give you stitches in that leg.” He points.

You snatch the material of your tunic from his fingers, stepping back, “I still have the stitches,” you rebuff, glancing down at your leg, “See? They’re right -”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at your now healed leg. You shake your head, letting out a breath, “I just… the stitches were there, my leg was bruised, just… just right before I walked out here.”

You look up at the man standing before you, your eyes bouncing wildly between his as he stares back at you. You can’t read his expression, but the wheels in his head are definitely turning as he drops his eyes from yours. He turns his head to the side slightly and stares into the grass as he tries to work something out in his brain. 

“Do you know what’s happening to me?” You ask softly as you push your wet hair out of your face.

He turns back to face you as soon as the words leave your lips. His mouth falls open, but no words come out. He just stares at you as the rain beats on him, slipping down his neck and chest and abs before it hits the ground below.

“You haven’t spoken to Wanda?”

“Just a little,” you shrug, swallowing hard as you drop your head to look at your feet, “I didn’t really, um, give her a chance to explain it all. I was... scared.”

You feel his eyes roam over you as you twist the bottom of your tunic in your fingers, “You need to talk to Wanda. She’ll explain it to you.” He answers simply as he turns away.

You watch him as he walks away from you. His shoulders broad, the muscles in his back flexing as he moves. You bite your lip as your eyes fall to his behind, sculpted and hard, and his thighs, thick and sturdy. Your stomach clenches. The rain doesn’t help either - the water droplets cascading down his sinewy body, providing you with quick, fragmented images of your tongue licking each droplet away. 

You let out a breath, and then Wanda’s words float back to you again, stronger and louder this time. Bucky, he’s… I promised him you’d come and here you are.

“Are you, um,” you call out to him, “Are you Bucky?”

He stops, rolling his shoulders in irritation, “What about it?”

“You’re what attacked me last night?”

You watch as he drops his head, his back muscles tensing as your question reaches him. He turns to face you, his jaw tight, his eye narrowed, “You’re still breathing aren’t you?”

You glance around nervously, “Well, yeah, I-“

“Then I didn’t attack you, did I?”

You swallow. You’re not sure if it’s just you or if he’s always like this, but he’s trying really hard to intimidate you. It’s working… kind of, “You tried too.” You answer back quietly.

He scoffs at the notion, “If I had tried to attack you, I’d be digesting you right about now. I should’ve, I wouldn’t have to eat for a week. That would be a welcome change.”

You squint your eyes at the unnecessarily rude comment, “You’re an asshole.” You spit back angrily, your brow furrowing, “I’m just trying to-“

“I don’t care what you’re trying to do.” He shouts, “Keep outta my way and I’ll stay out of yours.” 

“No problem there, pal.” 

“Wonderful, darling.” He sneers, before turning and walking off again.

You scoff hard, crossing your arms over your chest in a huff. You cut your eyes back towards him as he moves through the grass and your stomach tightens again. A warmth spreads through you as your fingers start to itch - wanting to feel him. Your lips part as your breath starts to come a little faster - a little harder - and you’re not even sure why. Something is just drawing you to him. 

You don’t understand for the life of you what’s happening in this moment. Maybe it was the berries and fruit, or that drink that was left by the bedside, but you’re warm all over, your head is spinning and you want nothing more than to feel that man inside of you - even now after your tense exchange. Heat rises in your cheeks as your breath starts to rush. You twist the bottom of your tunic harder as you become acutely aware of the ache between your legs. A fire starts to rage in the pit of your stomach - you want him to put it out. 

Before you can stop yourself, you're running after him, your feet squishing in the mud as you move. You reach out for him once you’re close, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. He turns quickly, bringing to you a quick halt in front of him. He scrunches his face in utter confusion and maybe a little annoyance as he blinks down at you, “What? What do you want?”

You push up onto your tiptoes and kiss him hard. You moan into him as you rest a hand on his shoulder and push the other into his hair, pulling him closer. He pulls away seconds later, his lips parted and swollen, pure befuddlement playing in his eyes.

You blink back at him as your chest heaves. You open your mouth to speak, but you can’t find the words. Your mind is just - blank. You rest your hands on his shoulders again and drop your eyes to his chest as your fingers start to trace the light scars littered across his otherwise smooth skin. Some are old and white, some deep and purple, some raised, some smooth. They’re all beautiful - they make him beautiful. You drop your hands down to his stomach, just feeling him, his muscles, his masculinity, his strength. 

You bite your lip. 

You take a deep breath as you feel his arms wrap around you, his hands cupping your ass before he lifts you right off your feet. You stare back into his ice blue eyes as you push your hands into his dark hair again and wrap your legs around his waist. He kisses you - deeply. You accept his tongue into your mouth, letting it massage the roof of your mouth before it slides along yours. You push your chest into his as your lips smack against one another’s, both of your moans rising into the air around you.

The rain is still heavy as he lays you down in the grass. You tug at the wet garment covering your body, pulling it over your head to expose your nakedness to him. You’ve never been this forward in your life, but something is pulling you, filling you with confidence and power and awareness. You want to be one with him, with the earth, with the wind and the rain. You want to connect with everything around you. You let him grope your breast with his large, calloused hand. You let him drag his lips along your neck, his teeth nipping at your sensitive skin.

He pushes your legs open gruffly with his hand as he pulls away from you. You dig your feet into the wet, soft earth, the mud squishing between your toes as you feel his rough fingers sweep through your folds. He rubs at your clit quickly, not really for you, but for him - just to touch you - giving you the feeling that it’s been a while since he’s felt a woman. Pride swells in your chest. 

He then leans over, his lips hovering over yours, his fingers gripping the grass. Then - oh, and then - he starts pushing at your opening, breaking into your awaiting cunt. You gasp as your body inhales inch after inch of him until he’s buried to his hilt - his hips flush against yours. You whimper softly as your flesh stretches wider than ever before to hold him. It feels good. You let out the breath that you’ve been holding as Bucky settles into the feeling of you. His eyes flutter as his mouth hangs, the rain dripping off of his brow and the tip of his nose down onto you.

He bucks into you and you grunt, grabbing onto his forearms and digging your nails into his thick skin. He pushes again, and again, and again until he has a succinct, hard rhythm. Your body bounces with each thrust, your pussy gripping him harder and harder with each pass. The sky really opens up then. A flash of lightning streaks across the sky as a crack of thunder rips through the silence. Not that either one phases the two of you. 

You lean up and kiss him again, biting down on his lips as he fucks into you. You wrap an arm around his shoulders and neck, hanging on for dear life as you breathe him in - the raw, carnal scent of him filling your lungs. He thrusts into you suddenly, as hard as he can, and then just stays there, pressing against the deepest part of you. Another bolt of lightning slashes through the sky as you cry out - his name falling from your lips - the sound of it tripping off your tongue sending a shiver right down his spine. 

Your pussy starts to quiver as he moves again. His hips are quick and swift, his cock pushing, pushing, pushing until you’re writhing underneath him. Tears sting your eyes as the intensity of the past twenty four hours rolls through your body. Every synapse within you fires as the warm tears start to slip out of the corners of your eyes, the hard rain sweeping them away. 

You cry out again as a sharp pain travels through you, your sensitive nipple now between Bucky’s teeth. Thunder claps again. You push your chest into his wet mouth as his tongue swirls around your skin. He bites down again and your hips jerk up into his as you roll your head in the mud. You run your hands up and down his arms, gripping and groping as his weight pins you to the ground. You’re almost certain that as he drills his hips into yours, he’ll push you right into the ground, straight down to the earth’s core. 

The orgasm that’s been laying in wait, deep inside of your belly, starts to ripple through you. The sparks start to fly, soft as first but within minutes, the embers are now a full blown fire. You screech and wail as your body tenses and curls into his. The rain gets harder, the lightning spidering through the clouds, the thunder so loud it could burst your eardrums. Another push of his hips and you let out a long, deep growl as your release is finally set free. 

The air whips up around you as you come undone beneath him, shaking the leaves of the trees and the blades of grass. His hips still crash into yours as you claw at his back with your fingernails, but they grow more desperate as the seconds pass. A moan rumbles through his chest, then his breathing hitches - his eyes slam shut. You tense, squeezing your slick pussy around his cock as he starts to spill his seed. You want it all, every last drop - not an ounce to be wasted. 

You grab his face in your hands and press your forehead into his as you both ride out the waves of your orgasms. The warmth of his thick cum spreads through you as his hips jerk and his body shudders. His body slides against yours until he is totally spent, collapsing on top of you when he just can’t hold himself up any longer. You cradle his head with your hands as he tucks into the crook of your neck. You push your fingers through his wet, dark tresses, massaging his scalp slowly as you stare up into the sky. 

The rain slows - it’s still steady, but calmer than before. The lightning and thunder disappears, the wind dies away. You and Bucky stay connected as you drag your fingers up and down his spine. He leans back after a few minutes pass, and stares down at you, his eyes roaming your face as he tries and fails to figure you out. 

“Who are you?” He asks softly, slowly realizing the power you hold.

You breathe gently as you blink back at him, “I don’t know.”

You throw your head back as you pant loudly. Your hips roll against Bucky’s as you ride him on top of his bed. You lean forward slightly, pressing your palms into his broad chest, your fingers digging into his flesh. His strong hands are around your hips, helping you move, pushing you forward and then backwards, and then forwards again. 

A bead of sweat slips between your breasts but his tongue captures it before it can delve any further. He falls back onto the thin mattress that holds the two of you and lets his hands fall to your thighs, “God,” he pushes out between clenched teeth, “S’fuckin’ good, girl.”

You start to bounce on top of him, pushing more of your weight into the center of his chest. His hands leave your hips to grip your bouncing tits, massaging them hard before he takes each of your nipples between his rough fingers. He slips his hands around to your back, groping your flesh quickly before he grabs your long locs to pull them gently. You groan as a slight pain prickles at your scalp, but smile as you push your hands up to cup your breasts.

The rain picks up outside again as the familiar pull of an orgasm starts to tickle your insides. You work your hips, up and down, up and down, up and down on his cock until you’re quaking. Your clit jumps with convulsions as you come, your thin fingers stroking the aching flesh to exacerbate the feeling. Bucky isn’t far behind, just like the other four times the two of you have made love throughout the day and evening. 

He hisses and grunts as he lifts his hips into yours, fucking up into you as his spunk fills you to the brim before it slips back out and down his shaft. The thunder outside cracks again as you fuck him for all he’s worth, until you literally can’t sit up any longer. You fall onto his chest, your breath heavy and hard as you nuzzle into him. Your skin sticks to his as humidity fills the room but you hum happily.

You start to trace the scars on his chest with your index finger, your eyes growing heavy. You still don’t know what is drawing you to this man. One minute, you’re both seething with anger directed at one another, the next, you’re making love like it’s your last hours on earth. With each passing moment, you feel him seeping into your heart - your soul - and you don’t even know him. All you know is that you don’t ever want to leave this bed again.

“I have a question.” You whisper after several minutes.

“What’s that?” He slurs, half asleep.

“How long have you been here?”

He wraps his arms around your waist, holding your body tight to his, “Too long.”

“How long?” You press.

“Seventy years,” he says, letting out a breath, “Give or take a year or two. Go to sleep.”

You giggle but close your eyes anyway, “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“I’ve heard that a time or two. Now shut up, I mean it.”

“Steve said that I was already claimed. What does that mean?”

“You’ve asked your question, girl.”

“Come on,” you whine, “Please?”

He sighs heavily, turning his head into the pillow, keeping his eyes closed, “There’s evil out there in the woods. Not everybody is as nice as us.”

You sit up, flattening your palm to his chest as you blink at the side of his face, “Rumlow? He’s evil?”

“You saw Rumlow? When?” He asks, popping his eyes open as he turns to face you.

“Yesterday, when Steve found me.”

Bucky lets out another breath, his eyes calming, “He’s evil. It’s a good thing he didn’t find you first.” He reaches towards you, sliding his hand along your face before he cups your chin, “Now, I’m going to put you out if you don’t go to sleep.”

You smile softly and lay back down on his chest, nuzzling into him, “Sheesh, okay grumpy.”

He tightens his grip around your waist and just as you are slipping between consciousness and sleep, you swear you feel his lips on your forehead and hear a faint goodnight, girl. 

Bucky sits straight up as a jolt of fear flashes through him. He snaps his head towards the window as the sun peaks in behind the thin, white curtains that cover it. Daytime. It’s daytime and he’s still in his bed. How in the - 

Something shifts beside him and he jerks again, letting out a breath as an arm slinks over his chest. He eyes the small woman next to him, her leg slung over both of his, her face nuzzled into his bicep as she drags in deep, calm breaths. The previous day’s events flash through his mind - his lips on hers, her nails dug into his skin, her sweet gasps as he plunged into her over and over and over again.

She’s coming Bucky, I can feel it. She’ll fix this place and she’ll love you forever, plus a day. 

Wanda’s words play back through his mind. He huffs, letting out a breath before he lowers his head to his hands and rubs his face. He turns his head and peeks over at the sleeping woman next to him. It’s been a long time since he’s woken up to such a sight. Warm brown skin, long locs spidering across the stark white sheets, a gentle, soft face… it takes him back to the 40s. How it felt to wake up next to his girl everyday. God, he wonders where she is now, if she’s even still alive.

He blinks and reaches out slowly, placing his palm flat on her back. He watches as it rises and falls with each steady breath before he sweeps his fingers across her smooth skin. He cups the side of her face and rubs his thumb across her cheek… it’s been a long time… and it feels nice. She feels nice.

Movement outside of his door grabs his attention and then a soft knock spreads through the room. Steve pokes his head in, smiling softly as he eyes the sleeping girl.

“This is not what it looks like.” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face again.

“Of course it isn’t,” Steve shrugs, “Wanda’s here for you.”

“Wonderful,” Bucky titters, “Give me a minute.”

When Steve disappears, Bucky turns back towards the sleeping body next to him. He dips down and places his lips to her forehead, and then the side of her face, and then on the tip of her nose before he sits up straight. He watches as she smiles in her sleep, before she hums softly. He smiles back. He throws his feet over the edge of the bed and stands - what the fuck is happening to him? He couldn’t stand her twelve hours ago. 

“Wanda,” he starts as he moves into the living room, shutting his door, “What brings you here so early?”

She smirks, tossing her red hair over her shoulder as Steve hands her a mug, “You know why I’m here.”

“Do I?” He asks sarcastically - smirking as she levels a slap to his arm.

“How is she?” 

“Who?”

“Goddamn you, Barnes!” She laughs.

“She’s fine,” he shrugs, “Still sleeping.” 

“With you?” 

Bucky sends his eyes towards her, squinting them just a bit as she smiles back at him. Steve hands him a mug seconds later, which he accepts and sips before he answers, “Nosy ass.”

“You are awfully nonchalant about this whole thing,” Steve pipes up, “It rained like hell all day and well into the night, and then, more importantly, you didn’t turn. No full moon, and all we get from you is your usual sarcasm.” 

Bucky shrugs, “Yeah, that was nice.”

“That was nice?” Steve scoffs, “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky laughs lightly, “Okay, yes, some weird shit is going on, alright? I don’t have an answer for you.” 

“It’s not weird, it’s her.” Wanda says, sending her eyes to his closed door, “She is powerful.” 

Bucky rubs his face again, his brain turning, “It still doesn’t make any sense. You have to be cursed to end up here, right? So how does she have all of this power? Where is it coming from? Who fucking decides?”

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times,” Wanda says, tilting her head, “We may have been cursed, but even here, in this place, we all still have a destiny to fulfill. We were meant to adapt and survive for some reason or another. Our afflictions have shown that.”

Bucky casts his eyes to his feet as he runs his hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to bring up that within twenty four hours, her broken ankle is completely healed. That not one scratch is present on her body. That every time she came in his arms, the wind and the rain got stronger and harder. If he does, it’s real. Everything Wanda’s been telling them for years is actually coming true - and he’s found the love of his life. 

“What is it? What happened?” Wanda asks, eyeing him quietly, “What are you thinking?”

Bucky clicks his tongue, throwing her a look, “Nothing, damn.” 

“James Buchanan Barnes, so help me!”

He rolls his eyes, “She’s… her ankle, you remember? It was broken, clearly.”

“I remember.” 

“Well, it’s not, now,” he says slowly, shifting his eyes around the room, “It wasn’t yesterday when she was roaming around outside.” He snaps his eyes to Wanda when she gasps and covers her mouth with her fingers, “The gash on her leg, her feet, they’re all healed up. It’s like nothing even happened to her.”

Wanda’s eyes go wide as she glances off into space, her mind racing. She opens her mouth to speak, but a loud knock at the front door interrupts her, “Babe,” Sam starts as he pops his head inside, “You gotta come look at this.”

The three of them follow the excited Sam as he pulls them down towards the lake. The waterfall rushes with intensity, the water level of the lake higher than they’ve ever seen it. They rush up the hill just to the side of the lake and waterfall to the connecting stream above and stop in their tracks as they push through the trees. 

Fish, all sizes and colors, leap from the water and then dive back in as they swim along. Natasha pops her head up out of the water, her green-blue tail swishing behind her, “Do you see this?” She laughs, “This is incredible! We haven’t had fish like this in God only knows how long.”

“When did this start?” Bucky asks.

“Last night, but it was just a few. Carol and I just thought a few got separated from their school, but we woke up this morning to all of this.”

The water starts to ripple upstream as something cuts through it with ease. Once the shadow underneath reaches them, it circles Natasha before it bobs up in the water, Carol’s blue eyes and warm smile falling onto the group, “Go check the orchards. I’ve never seen them like this.” 

Apples, oranges, peaches, and lemons scatter the ground as Bucky, Sam, Wanda, and Steve move through the trees. They haven’t yielded in months and now they are so full, they can’t even hold their production. Wanda’s eyes fill with tears as she reaches towards a blueberry bush, plucking off a single berry. Sam wraps her up in his arms, kissing the side of her face as she smiles up at him through the emotion, “She’s going to save us, Sam. We’re going to be okay.” 

“I never lost faith, baby.” He whispers, swaying her gently back and forth, “Never for a minute.”

Steve picks a bright red apple from the sprawling tree above him and brings it to his mouth, sinking his teeth into it. He closes his eyes and hums in appreciation as the sweet taste explodes against his taste buds.

Bucky wipes at the corners of his mouth, wiping away the juices from the plumb he’s just inhaled. Wanda was right. He should have never doubted her. 

“Is everything okay?” A soft voice sounds behind them, making them all turn. You stand a few feet away, worry written all over your face, the bottom of your tunic bunched in your hand, “I woke up and everybody was gone.”

You cut your eyes to Bucky as he plucks a handful of blueberries from a small bush. He walks towards you, stepping right up to you before he brings one of the berries to your lips. Your eyes bounce back and forth between his, searching for an answer that you’re not sure he has. You’re almost shocked when he smiles back at you. You open your mouth and accept the small piece of fruit, chewing slowly before you swallow.

“Everything’s okay.” He answers, kissing your lips quickly - softly, “We’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you.” 

Quite the contrary. Bucky kisses you sweetly, clutching your face in his large hands, metal smooth on one side and gun- and knife-roughened palm on the other. You shiver as the gold ridges in his vibranium hand catch on your skin and graze the line of your jaw, and take a moment to breathe, saying, “Bucky? What are we doing here?”

He nuzzles into you, nose grazing the soft stretch of skin below your ear, placing a gentle kiss on your neck. It’s too dark to see him, but you trace the outline of his face with shaking fingertips. “Isn’t it obvious, angel?” He asks, his hot breath hitting your skin. “I’m seducing you?”

“All this effort for little ol’ me?” You murmur in a gasp as his teeth find the hollow of your throat, where he bites hard enough to make you keen, but soft enough that he won’t leave a mark. In response, he walks you backward into a shelf.

Your sweatshirt is taken off with hasty movements, and you tug at the hem of his sweater in sharp motions. When he doesn’t break away from placing wet kisses over the tops of your breasts, you use that super strength that got you recruited to tear it off. He pauses. You can imaging his gaze on yours but can’t see it, and you’re worried for a second until he hoists you up and puts you in a shelf.

Bottles of what you think are cleaning liquids go toppling, and you freeze with Bucky’s hands on your waist and his on your shoulders. There are voices outside, in the hallway. Bucky is close enough that you can see the cerulean glow of his petrified eyes in the light filtering in from under the locked door. That’s when you lose it.

It starts with a giggle that you try to tamp down behind bitten lips, and then by kissing away the worry, but soon you are shaking with laughter, and have to bury your face in his shoulder, breathing in the sweat-salt scent of your boyfriend, until he is smiling into the crook of your neck, too.

Outside, Nat is saying, “Did you hear that?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Sam says, privy to their secret and you can hear the strain of desperation in his voice. He really isn’t much of a spy, but Nat decides to leave it be, and soon, they’re gone.

Bucky recovers first, trailing his tongue from the top of your bra to just below your jaw, while his hand makes short work of your jeans and removes them to trail up your inner thigh. You’re still delirious from the fear of near-discovery when he covers your lips with his, and you form a smile against his mouth as his hands find your underwear.

“Bucky,” you murmur, smile leaving your face to be replaced by a muted moan as his thumb strokes over your clit and he gently works one thick finger inside your velvet folds. You’re soaking wet and he’s barely gotten started, now moving his finger inside of you with slow thrusts that have you arching towards him.

He takes a break from exploring your mouth to groan into your neck, hard against your inner thigh and trying to be patient and gentle. “Easy, darlin’. Don’t want the others to know we’re in here, do you?”

So you stifle the next moan in his mouth by leaning to kiss him, mouths bumping clumsily in the dark and then latching on. His skin is tight and strong under your fingers, and you trace the joint between metal and flesh on his left shoulder with a delicate caress. He shudders and gives you another finger, opening you up to him, not that you need much more of his work. You’re ready.

His pants come off with quick flicks off your wrists and as he steps out of them, he bumps into a broom – how does Tony design a hypermodern superhero complex and still need physical brooms? – and it falls to the ground with a clatter.

But you’re in too much of a hurry to care, and Bucky rips off your underwear with a strong tug, pulls you closer and then works his cock into you slowly, until he is buried in you, to the hilt. The feeling is magnanimous, and you hold him close to you, your arms around his shoulders in an intimate embrace, breathing into his ear.

He smells like sweat and your perfume and his cologne, and you breathe him in deep, then roll forward, and he growls. Pulls out until just the tip is in you and then pushes forward to bury himself in you again, and you gasp, your hands finding a home in his hair, drawing all the hair out of the bun he had it tied in previously.

“Shhh, baby,” he urges again, saying, “Can’t have the others runnin’ in here.” And then there’s a pause, and his voice drops into a wicked whisper. “Or is that what you want? You want everyone to know how good I love you, is that it, baby doll?” The words are muttered sharply into your shoulder, accompanied by deep, rolling thrusts that build the ache in your belly until you are a writhing mass of want, as he keeps talking. “If that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you, honey. You won’t walk right for days and they’ll all know,” he murmurs.

His hands finds your clit again and your walls flutter around him. Bucky is big and you are so full, so sensitive, you can feel every ridge and vein graze your walls as you roll forward in tandem with his thrusts.

The finger on your clit moves in sharp circles and your toes curl where your feet are locked behind his back as he thrusts. The pace becomes frenzied as he gets closer to release and the fireworks waiting behind your eyelids explode, the dark growing white hot as you come around him, feeling him swell inside you before he comes, too, in fast, shallow thrusts, emptying himself inside of you.

Peppering kisses across his shoulders, you breathe deep and slow, willing your heartrate to return to normal while your fingertips seek out his wrists to feel his pulse slow. He twists his hand to catch yours, and your fingers intertwine.

The air smells like cleaning supplies and sex.

Someone tries the door handle.

You and Bucky let go of each other’s hands but stay close, still bare to the skin and thrumming with electric fire.

“Sam, what are you doing?” You asked when Sam pulled into a random car park. It had struck you as odd, this pit stop wasn’t on your meticulously planned itinerary. “Do you need something from the store?”

“Nah, baby, we gon’ have some car sex.” Sam blurted out and you couldn’t help but laugh at how blunt he was about the activity in question.

“What if someone sees us?” You questioned but your hand found his muscular thigh. ”You okay with having someone see Captain America’s ass or any part of my sexy body?”

“That is a risk I am definitely willing to take. I saw the lingerie you put on this morning and although this outfit is on point. I want it off.” You were dripping just thinking about it, Sam had made you feel sexy, made you feel wanted. Biting your lip, you lifted your hips, ]your hands diving under your skirt and pulling your panties down, tossing them in Sam’s direction.

“I guess you can keep those if you like them so much.” You whispered in his ear, tongue grazing over the shell of it. You’re grinning from ear to ear when you were finally able to pull down his jeans and underwear, his cock springing free from its confinements. He really was turned on by you, and that made you wetter by second.

Checking your surroundings, it was packed full of cars and people were flooding in and out of the store but you supposed it was better than the car park being completely empty and having some, if not all, the attention drawn to the both of you.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, you hiked up your skirt, bunching it up around your hips. You straddled him, feeling him widening his legs below you.

“God, I’m so glad you didn’t drive in the bug today.” You laughed, already lining yourself up with the tip of his cock, sinking down on him. He grunted, teeth biting down on his bottom lip as he thrusted up into your pussy. You clawed onto his shirt, grabbing hold of his shoulder for stability.

Public sex was always so risky. But the risk of getting caught sent a thrill through your entire body. If you did get caught though, there was nothing that anybody could say or do to stop you from riding him.

“Look at you,” Sam coos at you, humming deep in his throat. “You look so sexy on top of me, baby girl.”

His lips pressed to the exposed softness of your collarbone, leading to the swell of your breasts. Sam pushes them together, his head turning from side to side in your breasts. You giggled before he captured your nipple in his mouth, teeth scraping against it as he pulled back.

Settling onto your knees, you rose up as high as you could; your head hitting the roof of the car. When you knew that just the tip of dick was inside you, you slammed back down onto him. Your skin slapping together. You repeated the action over and over again, Sam letting you take charge as you rode him, his hips sporadically fucking up into you.

Sam was close; he could feel it inside him. The knots. The tightness. The pain. He could have come when you threw your panties at him but he wanted to hold on for as long as long as he could. He wanted to come inside your pussy, wanted you to milk him dry of all he had, wanted you to clench your pussy and keep his come inside you for the rest of the day. And without your panties it was going to be a difficult task to keep it from dribbling down your thighs. 

He grunted beneath you, thrusting up into you. He took this moment to spit on his fingers, pressing them to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You squealed as rubbed at your clit with vigor. Sam wanted you to come hard and come quick, and he knew exactly what he was doing to get you there.

Legs quivering, your stomach tightens under Sam’s dirty work. Falling forward, you convulse against Sam’s chest. “Are you gonna come for me, baby girl? Fuck! Shit, I love you! Love it when you clench around my cock.”

“Yes! Sam, fuck! Keep rubbing my clit, baby. Use your big cock and come in my pussy. Please! Fuck!” Your legs clench around Sam’s thighs, your pussy doing the same to his cock. Closing your eyes, you groan at the force of your orgasm, writhing at how powerful it was. You came with a cry, he continued to rub your clit as you rode the waves of the aftershocks. Sam came, his whole body rid of any motion other than panting and holding you close.

“Shit, Sam.” You said against his neck, out of breath as you returned to the land of the living. “Why haven’t we done that before?”

Sam coughed out a laugh, watching intently as you rise from his lap, detaching yourself from his softened cock, his come dripping with your pussy. “Because there is always someone else in the car or we’re apart, that’s why. And you’re constantly complaining about your back so we have to do it where we have space otherwise you won’t let me touch you for about a week.”

“Why you always gotta call me out like that?” Rolling your eyes, you returned back to your seat and readjusted your skirt and pulled up the top that Sam had pulled down while he was sucking on your tits. “I think we should get outta here.”

“Why because we’ve ruined your itinerary?” 

“Just leave them, James,” Natasha said, as she passed through the room on her way to the fridge. “Stark can fix them.”

“This is way below Stark’s pay grade.  I can do it,” Bucky argued, and like the miniature tasers were trying to spite him right back he got zapped again.  “Fuck!  You little…”

There was a rapping on Clint’s door followed by a snuffling sound and scratching.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Clint complained, tripping over Steve’s shield and then his own quiver as he made his way to the door.

He pulled the door open to reveal Clint’s one-eyed Labrador mix, a little boy who looked to be about three or four years old, and you.

“Hey, Clint,” you said, cheerily as the little boy chased the dog inside.  “Returning Lucky.  Thanks for letting me take him out.”

“You kidding?”  Clint replied as Steve quickly got to his feet and started picking up weapons and putting them up out of the reach of little hands.  “Did me a favor.  Thanks for taking him with you.”

“Of course, Geo loves him,” you replied.  “Geo, you say thank you to Mister Barton?”

“Dank,” the little boy who seemed to be named Geo said.  “Nad, Nad, Nad…”

Natasha smiled softly.  It was a rare thing to see and it made Bucky feel a little warm on the inside.  A feeling he was still getting used to experiencing.

“What is it, malysh?”  She asked.

Geo then babbled a series of words that seemed to include ‘balloon’, ‘doggy’, ‘fly’, and ‘cake’ but Bucky couldn’t quite follow what he was actually saying.

“Well that all sounds fantastic,” Natasha said, brushing the little boy's hair off his face.  “What a wonderful day you’ve had.”

He bounced on his toes and kissed her cheek before running off toward Bucky.

“Geo, honey,” you said in that patient voice that some parents couldn’t seem to be able to perfect.  “We need to go,” you said taking a step into the room.  “Sorry, Clint.”

“Mama, but dis,” Geo complained, coming over to Bucky and patting his arm.

“No, honey, they’re doing work,” you said, as Geo caressed the metal plates on Bucky’s prosthetic arm.

“Whad dis?”  Geo said, looking up at Bucky.

“Oh my god,” you said, sounding mortified as Clint stifled a laugh.  “I’m so sorry, Sergeant… Barnes?”  You said his name like a question, confirming his identity.

Bucky shook his head.  “It’s fine,” he said to you and turned his attention back to Geo.  “That’s my arm.”

“Is a robod arm?”  Geo asked.

“Yeah, it’s a robot arm,” Bucky answered.

Clint laughed and closed the door behind you.  “You might as well get comfortable.  This is gonna be a while.”

“You’re sure?”  You asked, “You look busy.”

“Nah, Bucky’s just trying to fix something he can’t fix,” Clint said.  “You want a drink?”

“A beer would be amazing,” you said and took a seat on the couch.

“You fix fing?”  Geo asked.

“Yeah, that’s right.  I’m fixing these?”  Bucky said, showing the little boy the Widow Bites.  Steve gave Bucky a look that was slightly disapproving but he didn’t actually say anything.  Bucky wasn’t sure he was good with kids.  He always felt a little awkward, like he was going to say or do the wrong thing.  He did like kids though.  They didn’t know what he was and they were true to their emotions.  If they didn’t like you, you knew right away.  Maybe showing the Widow Bites to a toddler was a terrible thing to do, but he seemed interested and you didn’t say anything, so Bucky figured he can’t have done anything too bad.

Clint handed you a beer and introduced you to everyone as Geo looked at all the pieces of the Widow Bites carefully like he really understood what was going on with them.  “They rent the place two floors below this one,” Clint explained.

“Geo loves Lucky, so Clint lets us take him to the park when we go and he doubles as my guard dog,” you added.

“So what is it you do?”  Steve asked.

“Oh, this and that,” you said, cryptically.  “I sometimes do shifts at a coffee place down the street.  I babysit.  I do some temp work here and there.”

“That must be difficult,” Steve said.

“I make do,” you said.  “Geo’s dad died and I do what I have to to get by.”

Steve frowned.  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You shrugged.  “Thank you, I’m sure you understand loss.  Given… everything.”

“Dis go dare,” Geo said, pointing at one of the wires and moving his finger to a circuit board.

“Yeah?  I dunno, buddy,” Bucky said, not sure how to tell a toddler that he could just randomly solder pieces of a weapon together.

“Goes dare,” he insisted, climbing into Bucky’s lap.

“You might as well just do it,” Natasha teased as she lounged back on the recliner.  “It’s not like he’ll make it worse.”

“Alright,” Bucky said.  “You keep your hands back okay?”

“Otay,” Geo said, putting one hand on each of Bucky’s arms.  Bucky carefully soldered the wire into place and powered the tasers on.  They started up fine and when he gave the to Natasha and she tested them out they seemed to work fine.  Bucky looked from you to Geo and back at Natasha with the tasers.

“Did … did you just fix them, pal?”  He asked.

“Uhh… he… kinda has a knack for things like that,” you said, putting your drink down.  “Hey, Geo, maybe we should go.”

The way you reacted reminded Bucky of a prey animal who’d realized they’d just gotten themselves cornered. Your eyes flicked to the exits and back to your son.  “Hey,” Steve said, gently.  That commanding but soothing tone coming to him instinctively.  “You’re alright.  You’re safe here with us.”

“Yeah, hon,” Clint agreed.  “If you can’t trust Captain America, who can you trust?”

You seemed to relax back in the chair and Geo climbed off Bucky’s lap and toddled over to where Lucky was lying and lay down against him.  Steve looked at the little boy and then at you.  “If you need to talk to anyone… or you need any help.”

You shook your head.  “It’s… fine.  I’ve been dealing with it.”

“Dealing with what exactly?”  Steve asked.

“You ever read the book ‘Firestarter’?  Or see the movie?  The movie had Drew Barrymore in it?”  When Steve’s blank look never changed.  “No, of course not.  Why would you?  Anyway, it’s like that.  And … well, less attention the better.  So thank you, but I’m fine.”

Steve looked you over and gave a nod.  “If you ever change your mind…”

“I know where you are.  And I appreciate the offer,” you stood up and threw your beer bottle into Clint and Natasha’s recycling bin.  “I better take him back home.  He’s gonna pass out.”

Bucky looked back over at Geo who now had his eyes closed and was curled into Lucky’s side.  You picked up the little boy and he snuggled into your neck and opened and closed his hands on your back.  “Thanks again, Clint.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Clint said getting up and opening the door for you.  “He likes going out with you.”

“I’ll see you,” you said and hurried out of the room.

“Way to go,” Natasha teased.  “You scared away our only normal friend.”

“What did she mean by the Firestarter thing?”  Bucky asked.

“See, that’s new,” Clint said, flopping down on the couch. “I just knew she was a widow.  Firestarter is a story about this couple that goes through a bunch of medical testing at college and then they have a kid who can light fires with her mind.  And the people who did the testing on them start chasing them around the country to get the kid.”

Steve stiffened up and pulled out his phone. “You didn’t know she was on the run?”

Clint shook his head.  “Just a widow with a kid.  I have heaps of single mom tenants.”

“Clint likes to offer them cheap rent and then they’re so grateful they sleep with him,” Natasha explained.

“Hey now!”  Clint spluttered.  “Don’t make me sound like an asshole.  I offer them cheap rent ‘cause they are usually getting back on their feet.  Plus they’re often divorcees and they feel safer in the building two Avengers live in.  Can’t help it if some of them start hanging around and making me food and then one thing leads to another.”

“Maybe I should do some checking up on that,” Steve said.  “If she’s in trouble, we can’t just ignore it.”

“She obviously doesn’t want to be noticed, maybe you should just leave it alone,” Natasha said.

“We’re authority figures.  I can understand why she might not trust that we can help,” Steve said.  “But you and I both know we can.”

“Fine!” Natasha said, holding up her hands in defeat.  “Do what you like.”

“Did you really sleep with her?”  Bucky asked, getting up off the floor and moving to the recliner as Steve tapped around on his phone.

“Her?  No.  Just something that’s happened a few times with other tenants.  Nothing planned,” Clint explained.  “She’s cute though, right.”

Clint wasn’t wrong.  Bucky did think you were attractive.  You seemed nice too, the fact you trusted Geo with him meant a lot to him and the way you didn’t make a huge deal about Steve.  A lot of women always made a huge deal of Steve.  Not that Bucky could blame them for that too.  He’d been harboring a crush on Steve that stretched way back before most women even looked twice at Steve.

“You’re really okay with that, Tasha?”  Bucky asked.  Natasha and Clint didn’t exactly have a conventional relationship.  It wasn’t really one he was used to seeing but they seemed happy.  He kept expecting jealousy to rear up but they just spoke about how they each slept with other people like it was no big deal at all.

“Yeah, of course,” Natasha said.  “Gotta let go of the idea monogamy is the only possible happily ever after, James.  Some people find happiness alone and in themselves, some find it in the beds of strangers, some with one loving partner.  And some with multiple.”

“And some people like to shack up with their best friend and get up to all kinds of shenanigans,” Clint added, moving from the couch to the recliner with Natasha and curling up with her.

“Find what it is that makes you happy,” Natasha concluded.  “Besides sleeping with one person for the rest of my life-” She mimed yawning and Clint laughed and snuggled into her more.

“If only…” Bucky muttered as he looked at Steve.

Steve looked up from his phone puzzled and raised an eyebrow at him.  “What's that, Bucky?”

“Nothing, go back to being a snoop,” Bucky grumbled, once again ignoring the clear opportunity to come clean about his feelings.

“You want us to set you up with her, Buck?”  Clint asked.  “She's really fun. She and Geo come up a bunch.  We eat pizza and play videogames or take the dog out.  She's artistic too and snarky.  And Nat even likes her.”

“It's true, I do,” Natasha said.  “She brings us coffee and croissants from the place she works.”

“Then what would she want with me then?” Bucky asked, almost folding in on himself.  Clint gave him a look that both said he understood and that he pitied him and Natasha scowled at him.

“James,” she said.

Bucky knew he had to deflect quickly or he'd get a lecture about being worthy of love, and he was really not in the mood for that.  He quickly waved a hand in Steve’s direction.  “Set her up with Steve.  He's the one worried about her past and she treated him like a normal person.”

“Oh that's a good point,” Clint said, nudging Natasha.

Natasha picked up a cushion and threw it at Steve.  He caught it on reflex and looked up at him. “How about we organize dinner for you and her?” Natasha suggested.  “Then you can try and get her backstory in person in a less aggressive fashion.”

“That's a good idea,” Steve said, completely oblivious that he was being set up on a date.  “Set it up.”

Natasha smirked at Bucky and winked.  Bucky smiled back and hoped that it hid the little flare of jealousy he just felt raise it’s head.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around him and tapping the side of his neck. Bucky nodded. 

“Just hang tight.”

You put your head down, face in his hair as he started walking. It jarred you at first, but you grit your teeth and soon got used to the rhythm of Bucky walking. You could feel his body heat through his suit, and you closed your eyes as your chest and stomach started to warm. 

“Y/N? Hey. Hey, don’t fall asleep. Come on, kid.”

You blinked heavy eyes open, glancing around. You lifted your face from Bucky’s dark hair, sliding off his back and landing on the front porch of a cabin. You looked up at him and he nodded, twisting the doorknob and walking inside. You waited by the door, stepping further inside when you couldn’t take the cold anymore. 

“All clear.”

You sank against the wall, rubbing shaking hands together and blowing into them, wincing when that hurt both your ribs and your throat. Bucky walked into the room and saw you, and he walked over to loop your arm around his neck, picking you up and carrying you to the sofa. He sat you down and threw the blanket on the back over your shoulders. You nodded to him and tried to smile, and he gave you a forced smile back as he knelt before you. 

“I’m going to start a fire, okay? See if I can’t get you warm.”

You poked a numb finger into his chest and he rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about me.”

You poked him again and he gave a soft laugh. 

“You’re shivering so hard I’d think that couch was a vibrator if I sat beside you.”

Your eyes widened and Bucky laughed again. He patted your knee and stood up, and you tried to pull the blanket tighter around you. 

He had a fire going in no time, the logs crackling and popping as the flames burned through them. Bucky lifted the sofa and pushed it closer to the fireplace, and you held out your hands, wincing as you reached for warmth. Bucky grabbed a few more blankets and surrounded you with them, and you’d at least stopped shivering. You still felt cold, so you knew Bucky must feel the same, but he wouldn’t stop moving for you to ask. He did find a pen and a notepad, so you were at least not gesturing anymore. 

He always glanced your way whenever he made it into the room, whether to throw another log on the fire or check your blanket nest or—his best idea yet—finding a pot in the kitchen and filling it with snow, boiling it over the fire so you’d at least have something to drink. 

You held a cup of the cooled snow water in your hands, wincing every time you swallowed. Bucky walked into the room and you tapped your pen against the notepad, getting his attention. He lifted his eyebrows when he looked at you and you held up the notepad. 

Would you PLEASE sit down?

He huffed out a breath. 

“I had to check every nook and cranny around here, make sure we’re safe.”

You scribbled across the notepad. 

You did that 3 times already. Relax. 

Bucky sighed. He narrowed his eyes at you and you raised an eyebrow at him, and he finally acquiesced, walking over and sitting beside you on the sofa. He exhaled, and you reached over, patting his flesh arm. He turned and grabbed your hand, shaking his head. 

“Jesus, Y/N. You’re freezing.”

You pointedly looked at the blankets around you and nodded at the fire, but Bucky shook his head. 

“It’s not enough. You’re going to catch hypothermia. And with your ribs broken the way they are …”

He swallowed, and you raised an eyebrow. Bucky shook his head, unfastening the buckles on his suit. Both of your eyebrows jumped to your hairline when he shook off the jacket, pulling the tank over his head and standing before you in some serious shirtless glory. You blinked and he started unwrapping blankets from around you. You shook your head and he hung his, letting out a breath before lifting his head and staring into your eyes. 

“Your lips are blue. Don’t even try and start with me.”

You opened your mouth and he glared at you. You shut your mouth, unwrapping the blankets around you and giving a full-body shiver. Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open when you looked to Bucky, who was cursing under his breath, now clad in just his boxers. 

“Buck—“ “Don’t talk. Christ, you sound like you’ve gargled glass.”

You shook your head and he rolled his eyes. 

“Body heat is the quickest way to warm you up.”

You opened your mouth and he closed his eyes, shaking his head. You leaned forward and grabbed the notepad, handwriting shaky this time. 

I don’t think I can take my suit off.

Bucky’s lips moved as he read the message, and you watched him swallow before he nodded. 

“Can you stand? I’ll help you.”

You nodded, gasping and shivering when you were free from the blankets. Bucky helped you stand, made sure you were steady on your sprained ankle—at least, that’s what you hoped it was—then leaned around you, picking up the sofa and pushing it closer to the fire. 

He came back and stood before you, and you pointed to your back. He moved a bit, finding the zipper at your neckline, slowly unzipping your suit. You shivered, giving a hoarse moan when the chill in the cabin hit your now bare skin. Bucky unfastened your bra before you could say anything about it, stepping in front of you and pulling you to his chest. You gasped, moaning brokenly before burrowing closer to him. 

“Shit, baby. You should have said something. God, you’re freezing.”

You nodded, putting your face in his neck. Bucky cursed again, rubbing his flesh arm up and down your back. 

“My damn arm …”

He sighed, and you wobbled a bit, both of his arms coming around you to steady you. 

“Easy. Here, let’s sit down.”

You nodded, letting him lead you to the sofa. You sat down, hunching over towards the fire, moaning softly when that tugged at your broken ribs. Bucky fixed blankets around you, then crawled onto the sofa behind you, pulling you to his chest. You gave a low keen, and Bucky shushed you, rubbing his flesh hand up and down your arm before pulling the blankets around the two of you. 

You sat like that for a while, huddled together in the blankets by the roaring fire, Bucky’s flesh arm gently caressing you while he tried to keep his metal arm away from you. You leaned your head back against his and he turned his head, touching his forehead to your temple. You let your hand drift down to the back of his, slowly tracing letters. 

B A B Y

“‘Baby?’”

You nodded, tapping his wrist. Bucky moved his head to your ear, growling the words there, making you giggle. 

“Are you having delusions? Hearing things? You may be worse off than I thought.”

You shook your head, reaching up and scratching his stubbled chin. He sighed, shifting a bit, pulling you closer. 

“I guess I let it slip, huh?”

You nodded, shifting your position, sitting sideways in his lap, head on his shoulder. He sighed again, resting his head atop yours. 

“I just … I didn’t mean … “

He blew out a breath. 

“It took me off-guard how cold your touch was. I didn’t realize how cold you still were. The damn serum or whatever I’ve got keeps me from getting too hot or too cold, but I should have been thinking about you.”

You shook your head, clutching his flesh arm. He glanced down at you, licking his lips. 

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

You nodded, widening your eyes and shaking your head. Bucky smiled, cupping your chin in his flesh hand. 

“You don’t have to be scared. And you don’t have to stay awake for me. You’re warming up. I’ll keep watch, keep an eye out for the quinjet. Rest.”

You nodded, sitting up and moving until you were backwards in his lap, your soft breasts pressed against his chest. Bucky gave a soft groan, pulling you closer. Within seconds, you were asleep, wrapped in his warmth, and Bucky stretched out on the couch, twisting until you were laying beside him. He tucked as many blankets around you as he could, putting your back to the fire, staring at your sleeping face, the few wispy hairs that had escaped the bun on top of your head that Nat must have helped you with. 

Bucky sighed, feeling his own eyes grow heavy. He blinked and widened his eyes, staring into the fire. You snuggled closer to him, and he let his arms hold you tighter. Surely someone would notice the smoke from the chimney. If not, they’d see his multiple SOS from around the house and come find them. 

He shifted a bit on the sofa, holding you close, resting his head atop yours. He wouldn’t be any good to you exhausted. Just a few minutes of shuteye is all he’d need, and he’d be back in fighting shape. His eyes slid closed as one of the logs broke in the fireplace, sending sparks flying up the chimney and a burst of heat towards your back. 

“Shit. I found them!”

Steve dropped his shield as he ran to the couch, breath visible when he exhaled. 

“Damn it. Come on. Come on, guys.”

He unwrapped blankets from the bodies on the couch, neither of which were responding to his pleas. He untangled the last blanket to discover you on top of Bucky, both of you clad only in your underwear. Steve reached a shaky hand to press two fingers under your jaw, giving a breath of relief. He moved his hand to Bucky’s neck, giving a breathy laugh when he felt the slow throb of Bucky’s heart. 

“Goddamn it, Steve. Give us a status report!”

Steve sat back on his heels, one finger going to the piece in his ear. 

“They’re alive.”

Breaths of relief seemed to echo in his ear. He shook his head, speaking again as he tucked blankets back around the two of you, surveying your bodies as best he could 

“Y/N has severe bruising to her neck.” “How severe?” “From ear to ear, Tony. God, her throat looks horrible.”

The comms were quiet, until Tony spoke up again. 

“What about Barnes?” “No visible bruises. They’re both alive, but unresponsive.” “Probably hypothermic.” “Definitely. Looks like they had a fire going and they’re huddled together under a ton of blankets, but they’re still cold.” “Together?”

Mumbles sounded in his ear and Steve rolled his eyes. He glanced out the window and spoke again. 

“Looks like the jet could land fairly close to this cabin.” “We’re almost there, Cap. Think you can get them out yourself?”

Steve pursed his lips, then nodded. He started to try and pick you up, pulling you away from Bucky, but Bucky weakly grabbed onto you, holding you close and giving a quiet grunt. Steve let you go, watching Bucky calm a bit and smiled. 

“On second thought, I may need a little backup.”

“Y/N? Hey. Can you hear me?”

You did hear something, but it sounded like you were underwater. 

“Come on, honey. Open your eyes.”

You didn’t want to. It was nice and dark and warm where you were, and you wanted to stay there. 

Wait. 

Warm?

You groaned, feeling a gentle pressure on your hand. 

“Easy. Take it easy, Y/N. Take it slow.”

It felt like a chore, and honestly took a lot of work, but you finally opened your eyes. You turned to see Tony sitting beside your bed, a soft smile on his face. 

“There you are. Hi there.”

You blinked and he nodded. 

“How you feeling?”

You lifted a shaky hand to your throat and he nodded. 

“Yeah you, uh … You had us all worried. Your vocal cords were damaged pretty badly, but with as quiet as you’ve been … still, Dr. Cho wants you to rest your voice as much as you can.” “And that’s why I’m here.”

You turned your head to see Clint at the foot of your bed. He smiled at you, moving his hands as he signed while he spoke. 

“They knew you were pretty good at sign language, so we decided to have me translate until Cho gives you the go-ahead to talk again.”

You raised an eyebrow and Clint grinned at you. 

“Hey, I can do it. I won’t even lie and tell them you’re saying nothing but bad words.”

You smiled, turning your head and giving a deep sigh. You patted your side, noticing then how bandaged up you were. You looked back to Tony and he nodded. 

“Four, five, and six are broken on the right, eight and nine on the left.”

You looked to Clint and finger spelled F-O-O-T. He nodded. 

“Broke your right ankle.”

You let your head fall back to the pillows and he smiled. 

“Please. I’ve had worse.”

Tony didn’t need an interpreter when you held your middle finger up to Clint, the two of them laughing softly. You looked back to Clint, fingerspelling another word. He gave you a soft smile. 

“He’s alright. They had a time warming him up, but he’s doing better now.”

You furrowed your brows, hands slowly moving. Clint watched for a moment, then nodded. 

“Yeah, you both were badly hypothermic when we finally got to you. There’d been a fire, but it was long burned out.”

You shook your head and Tony patted your shoulder. 

“It took us almost two days to find you.”

You looked back to Clint, motioning again. 

“He’s okay, babe. I promise.”

You signed again and Clint’s eyebrows raised before he slowly nodded. 

“Yeah, I’ll get him.” “Barton, if you’re going to translate, you’ve got to do it both ways.” “She just said she wants to see him. I said I’d get him.”

Tony rolled his eyes and you smiled at him. You nodded and he sighed. 

“Don’t scare us like that again, got it?”

You nodded, and he leaned up, kissing your forehead before standing up and opening the door. 

“Goddamn it, Barton, I said I’m fine. Ain't nothing wrong with my legs.” “Clearly something’s wrong with your ears, though. Cho said take it easy—“ “And that means I can’t even walk?” “Stop being such a whiny baby. Nothing’s wrong with her ears.”

Clint pushed a wheelchair into your room, and you smiled at the sight of a clearly grumpy Bucky. His face softened when he saw you, leaning forward and taking your hand when Clint rolled him close to your bed.

“Hey, sunshine. How you feeling?”

You shook your head, pushing your hand away from your chest and Clint laughed. 

“Lousy, she says.”

Bucky held your eyes for a minute, then spoke. 

“Hey, Barton? Can you give us a minute?” “Oh, I’ve been hired to translate.” “I think I can handle her for a few minutes.” “But I —“ “Clint.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder. Clint looked to you and you nodded, and he raised his eyebrows before he turned and walked out. You looked to Bucky and he sighed. He shook his head, reaching out and laying his hand on yours. 

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head and he gave your hand a squeeze. 

“No, I … I should have taken better care of you. I fell asleep and—“

You sat up, wincing with your broken ribs, laying a finger against his lips. Bucky closed his eyes, reaching up and taking hold of your hand. You smiled, resting back against the pillows. There was a whiteboard and a marker on your bedside table, and Bucky grabbed it, handing it to you. You wrote for a moment, then turned the board around for him to read. 

You saved me. 

Bucky swallowed, shaking his head. You nodded and he blew out a breath. 

“But I should never have fallen asleep. I should have kept the fire going, made sure you were warm.”

You underlined the words, forcefully motioning the board towards him again. He hung his head and you set the board aside, scooting closer to him and reaching out to hold his face in your hands. He lifted his head and you felt him swallow before he shook his head, moving closer to you until his lips were touching yours. 

You swear your heart stopped, but your brain kicked in and you kissed him back. He broke away and settled his forehead against yours, giving a sigh. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

He laughed when you pinched his side and he nodded, never moving his head from yours. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner. I should have, before I almost let you freeze to death.”

He yelped when you pinched him again, pulling his head back to glare at you. You smiled, lifting a hand to his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch and you took his metal hand, lacing your fingers with his. Bucky glanced down at your joined hands and nodded. 

“Tony said he’s going to work on some upgrades. Temperature regulation or something. Maybe some way we can cover the metal with something smoother? Or warmer? I didn’t really understand the intricacies of what he was saying.”

You nodded and rolled your eyes, and Bucky smiled. 

“Right. It’s Tony. Who can understand him? Besides Pepper?”

You mouthed “Pepper” at the same time Bucky said her name, and the two of you shared a smile before Bucky sighed. 

“I really want to kiss you again.”

You raised an eyebrow and he smiled as he ducked his head. 

“I don’t know what I’m waiting on. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hand from his and settling back against your pillows. You motioned with your head and his eyes widened. 

“What about when your audience comes back in?”

You grabbed the whiteboard and scribbled on it, turning it so Bucky could read. 

They found us wrapped up together in our underwear. If they’re surprised by us making out, it’s their own damn fault.

Bucky laughed when he read your message, then nodded. He climbed up onto the bed with you, laying on his side, brushing your hair away from your face. 

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.”

You shook your head and he nodded, focusing on his hand in your hair. 

“I’m probably going to be a mess sometimes. Just … don’t give up on me?”

You reached up to hold his wrist, grabbing the whiteboard again. 

I’m not going anywhere. 

Bucky smiled, nodding his head. His eyes met yours and you set the whiteboard aside, then looked into his blue-gray eyes again. You mouthed the words, careful to make no sound. 

Kiss me.

Bucky grinned, nodding as he moved closer to you, the two of you huddled together once again, this time for a different sort of warmth.

Hands gripping the crumpled sheets that have seen too much action in the last two days to be sanitary, thighs quaking as you ride the ridge between euphoria and the strained tension of seeking it.  You’re a mess, but you’re his mess.  He hasn’t said so much but you’ve been together for months.  The chemistry between you before the Chitari attack on New York exploded in a frenzied rut afterwards.  It was as much survivor’s guilt as it was a celebration of your continued existence, and you’d been fucking ever since.

Steve grunts.  A momentary break in the rhythm of his thrusts tells you he’s getting close, the swell of his cock against the heat of your cunt a prelude to your next orgasm; it’s been building for a while, struggling against the numbness of previous orgasms but it’s almost there now, right on the edge.

You cry out, a breath held too long escapes like a wail and your pleasure climbs further, crawling under your skin until there are tears in your eyes.  It hurts but it’s exquisite and he knows he has you, he knows you’ll come when he does and that drives him crazy.  That connection you have, that symmetry, it’s always been there in the way you work together, the way you fight, the way you take his cock like no one else ever has.  It’s not love, but he needs you and he knows you need him too, and that’s enough.

“You like that?  Huh?”  He grinds out through gritted teeth, the aggression left over from your last mission is still there, not quite fucked away, yet.  “You like it when I fuck you raw?”

You do.  You like anything he gives you.  From the tender care and caress of love-making to the sharp pain of pinched and slapped skin, and being used and fucked so hard you can’t remember your own name.

“Sir, yes Sir!”  You wail through the pleasure, unable to stifle the noise the way he has you arched back.  Breath ragged and throat raw from panting, you grin when he loses control; a surprised gasp of pleasure – you have never called him ‘Sir’ before, but he seems to like it.

“Fuck yes!  Take my cock!”  He all but roars as he makes you feel every inch of him.

The spasms start and you’re almost there, grunting and growling together as he starts to come.  You can feel it, the pressure of his spunk being forced deeper with each thrust.  You tighten even more, cresting the wave of pleasure with a high-pitched keening noise you never knew you could make.

Suddenly you’re pitched face-first into the mattress, empty and panicked as your orgasm slips away like water down a drain.  Steve is spluttering and flapping his hands in the air, knocking the light so it casts erratic shadows around the room.

“JESUS-FUCK!”  He shouts, hoarse and angry.  You’ve never heard Steve swear anywhere except when he’s buried in you balls deep.

Tears are filling your eyes; the come-down from your failed euphoric high isn’t pretty.  “What the FUCK, Steve?”

You watch him stumble off the bed and crash to the floor, struggling backward with his glistening erection slapping his thighs as he shuffles on his hands and ass.  He looks terrified, backed up against the cabin wall scanning for some unknown horror.  Anger gives way to your autonomic danger response.  Purely on instinct you snatch up your handgun and aim where he’s pointing.

“It’s still alive!”  He wheezes, wide-eyed with terror.

“What is?”  You search frantically past the swinging lightbulb, anything that has him this scared can’t be good.  “I can’t see anything!”

“Up there!”  He squeals, cowering behind his arms and you finally see the beast; mottled brown and entirely too big to be natural.

It takes flight, dusty wings carrying it towards Steve once more in a slow attack that has him panicking more. He’s petrified and static, frozen by fright.  Who knew Steve Rogers was afraid of moths?

You jump into action. Scooping up on of Steve’s discarded gauntlets you wield it like a flail, the stiff leather of the forearm acting as the beater.  It’s a swing for the S&M hall of fame, and you strike the winged demon with as much force as you can muster.  Pitching the huge critter out of the air, you won’t forget the dull smack it makes against the leather, nor the thump against cabin wall it hits right after.

Pouncing, you pulverise the giant moth against the wood floor with Steve’s blue leather until it’s nothing but dust and mangled limbs.  Even dead it’s a chilling sight.  A shiver slinks down your spine.  You aren’t afraid of wildlife but that grotesque monstrosity gave you a case of the heebie-jeebies.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” Steve asks curiously as he peeks at the dead moth.

“No, Steve,” you say flatly as you scoop the corpse up with Steve’s gauntlet, “Mothra over here is just taking a beauty nap – of course I killed him!”

“Poor thing.”

“Are you serious?”  You’re shocked by his sudden compassion.

“I never said to kill him.”

“You whined that he was alive, and you whine now that I killed him.”  You scoff incredulously.  “There’s no pleasing you is there?”

“Well-”

“Should I try to revive him?” You thrust the corpse of Mothra towards Steve, who scrambles to his feet.

“No-no-no” he cautiously moves aside, “I’m just trying to sound tough, or at least tougher.”

“I’m totally convinced.” You chuckle as you dump Mothra out the window unceremoniously.  “And now I think you owe me.”  You smirk as an idea pops into your head.

“But-”

“Twice!”  You stalk him backwards towards the bed, a predatory glint in your eyes.

“I don’t-”

“Once for the moth,” you back him up until his calves hit the frame, “and once for the ruined orgasm.” You push him and he falls, bouncing on the mattress with a wolfish grin.  The realisation of what’s to come exciting him once more.

“Alright soldier,” Steve props himself up on his elbows to watch you climb up his body, “I’ll give you what you want.”

“Not this time.”  You crawl up him until you’re straddling his chest. “This time I take what I want.”

He moans as you settle yourself on his face, his mouth smothered by your mound.  The mess between your thighs is slicking his jaw and cheeks but he doesn’t seem to care as you grind yourself on him.

Licking and sucking and eager to please you, Steve devours you like his last meal.  And as you look down the flat plane of your stomach to watch him you can’t help but smirk at the embellishment he’s sporting; a shimmery dusting of grey on his left cheek - Mothra’s kiss.