#tcoy

You’ve had a lot of time to reflect about your own feelings, because after Keigo left to fight that villain the other day (and after you managed to get off the ground and clean up) you were sure it was a heat-of-the-moment thing. Yeah, he looked pretty, and there was something dreamy and domestic about laughing and throwing baking ingredients at each other, so maybe your heart just got confused. 

But you’d called him to ask if he was okay (instead of a usual text) and he’d picked up the phone and laughed and your heart had not done that before. Not with Keigo, not on the phone, and not like that. And usually his pet names amused you, but he’d called you “sweetheart” over the phone and his voice was tired and drawled a bit. It made you dizzy. You said goodbye pretty soon after that.

You’re barely walking up the stairs of your apartment complex when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Butterflies (and moths, a few) erupt in your stomach when you read the name, and then immediately die when you read the text itself.

keigo baby 🐦

Do u want to have a playdate with me 👉👈 I could come over if ur mom says its okay

Why him? You think to yourself, swallowing the vomit in your throat and fishing your keys out of your bag to unlock your door. You text back when you get inside, throwing your belongings on the nearest surface.

y/n

don’t ever talk to me again

keigo baby 🐦

Is that a yes??

y/n

….fine, but if u ever use those emojis again i’ll break up with u. legally 

keigo baby 🐦

baby no!!!!

You throw your phone down onto your sofa before flopping over it, letting yourself sink into the cushions for a moment. It takes no more than ten minutes for Keigo to be at your door, letting himself in without so much as a knock. You know that it’s technically your doing, since you didn’t lock it when you came in, but you still whine at him about it, and he mocks you jokingly.

It seems he either senses your tiredness or didn’t have anything in mind to do anyways, because all Keigo does is lift your legs up from where they’re sprawled out on the couch and sits down in their place, letting them flop back onto his lap. He adjusts so his wings aren’t smashed against the back of the couch (or, at least, not as much). You move your feet off of his lap.

You’ve come to really appreciate days like this, where you simply bask in his company and he does yours. As much as Keigo is nonchalant about his lifestyle, you know it’s exhausting for him to do what he does every single day, and then to have to talk to people (fans, reporters, anyone). He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know. And, well, if you can give him a moment of comfort -

God, no, stop thinking like that. You can’t afford to think like that right now. 

The two of you talk, occasionally sharing posts from social media and laughing at dumb little cat videos (there was one that was five whole minutes of one of the guys from that k-pop band being compared to cat pictures and it’s the most wholesome thing you’ve ever seen to date). Before you know it, it’s been a few hours, the sun just fully covered by the distant mountains. The sky cools down in purple and blue hues, dressing up for the night to come. You and Keigo are laughing over old vines, and in your mind you think that it really couldn’t be that bad for this to be every night instead of just… some nights.

At the end of the compilation Keigo groans out a lingering laugh, stretching his legs out as best he can without hitting your coffee table. You stand up, feeling the need to move around as well, and walk towards your kitchen for a drink. Keigo stands after you but doesn’t move, letting his wings flex and stretch from being contained for so long. You get a glass of water, lift it to your lips just as Keigo lifts his arms above his head and holy fucking shit, his stomach -

Tummy! the tiny voice in your head squeals, but the hornier one screams at the top of its lungs ABS and honestly you don’t know what the fuck to do and neither does your body so you choke on your water. Keigo startles, eyes wide, and with a mumbled “holy shit” makes his way over to you as you cough and sputter over your sink.

It takes a minute, but you eventually come back, eyes watery and face red for multiple reasons. You take a deep breath and Keigo rubs your back, eyeing you, which only makes the entire situation worse.

“Jesus, are you okay?” He asks, and you nod, but you can’t look at him.

“Yeah, uh,” you clear your throat, blinking a few times. “Just… went down the wrong pipe, I guess.”

Fuck.

-

You barely recover from seeing a sliver of Keigo’s stomach, and the memory haunts you for days. You attempt at willing it out of your brain, try to tell yourself that you just didn’t see it at all, but your heart is strong as hell and refuses to let your head forget it. You think about it multiple times a day. You think about it for at least twenty minutes each time. You think about it until Keigo texts you a little less than a week after it happened.

Your phone buzzes on the counter in the kitchen and you finish up your bread dough, putting it into a bowl gently and setting a timer to let it prove. Once your hands are effectively clean, you open the message, letting yourself scoff.

keigo baby 🐦

Just finished a photoshoot, could really use a donut right now :/

Attached to his message is a picture of himself, and honestly, he looks really fucking good. It takes pretty much everything in you not to collapse and die. God.

You look up a picture of a donut on Google - they sold out today, and you are not going to make one just for Keigo - and send it to him. For my hardworking fake boyfriend, you send with it. Mostly to emphasize fake for both of you. Yourself especially.

keigo baby 🐦

Fake??? :( sweetheart, u hurt me

Your mind stops working when you read his text, so you leave him on read.

-

The next time you see Keigo in person is when you’re contemplating whether or not you should keep… hanging out with him.

The contract only has a little over a month left, so it’s not as if it’d be that hard to deal with… besides, it’d be easier on the both of you when this whole thing inevitably ends. You don’t see yourself being able to be around him without thinking about kissing him over and over. Not now, at least. You hope it changes. You hope it’s a weird phase or something. 

Keigo texts you and invites - demands - you over (his excuse is that with the hero conference coming up soon many of the smaller heroes are taking care of villains and giving him more time off) and honestly, if you’re really gonna try to stop talking to him as much, this could be your goodbye or whatever. Also, he mentioned wine, and you need to get drunk. Like, “give me an entire bottle so I can cope with the idea of falling for you because I know that you don’t feel the same and I am simply trying to ride out the rest of this “relationship” so I don’t ruin our dynamic and chemistry while we’re being watched by literally the entire world” drunk.

Yeah. It’s been a rough few weeks.

Every time you go to Keigo’s apartment it reminds you of just how broke you are, but you suppose the apartment itself is fitting. It’s definitely modern, but it holds the clutter of Keigo’s personality - blankets strung everywhere, LED lights, a poster of Endeavor hung up in his closet (but you’re sworn to secrecy about that, you pinky promised). When you knock on his door he doesn’t answer, and it’s a good minute and a half before you get a text that says “it’s open, come in” and you sigh, because again, why him?

He’s sitting on the couch, and when he sees you he smiles like he didn’t just refuse to open the door because he’s too lazy. “Well, if it isn’t the love of my life,” he says, and for a second you can fool yourself into believing it’s genuine.

“I’m just here for the wine, dude,” you tease, and he mocks offense at your words.

“Ouch. Mid-relationship rejection.”

Nonetheless, Keigo gets the wine himself (selective little shit) and two glasses, pours each of you one. It isn’t long before you’ve had at least three glasses but no more than five, and you’re maybe, perhaps, a little drunk. 

Keigo is, too, so you’re not really alone, but he’s talking about something Endeavor did like he’s the greatest hero in the world. It makes you smile, just a bit, but then again, you’re usually sentimental when you’re drunk, so maybe it’s just that. Or maybe it’s because you like him. It doesn’t really matter now.

“Hey, Kei,” you murmur when he’s done with his story. He hums, takes another sip out of his glass. “What happens when this is over?”

You look at your feet, scrunching up your toes inside your socks so you have something to look at. Then your eyes move up more, to the top of his coffee table, and then finally they land on him, and he looks gorgeous. He always does.

Keigo blinks once, twice, then shrugs, goes back to his wine. “Dunno. I hope we’re still friends, though,” he says.

“Friends? You want to be friends?”

You’re drunk. You should go to sleep, or go home, or something. Talking is not something you should be doing.

“What?” Keigo asks, but more like he didn’t hear you rather than he didn’t understand, so you take your chance, even through your hazed mind.

“Nothing,” you say, swirling the wine in your glass. “Forget about it.”

And it seems like he does, because when you wake up on his couch the next morning with a killer headache and he stumbles out of his room with a groan he doesn’t mention anything about it even when he talks about everything else.

-

Keigo texts you a few days later, a picture of him posing with another wine bottle. 

keigo baby 🐦

round 2??

The picture is cute. He’s smiling, all lips and curves and blonde hair and tan skin. He’s dressed in sweats, you can see, but he still looks like a model. It makes your heart sink and fly at the same time.

y/n

can’t, sorry. have to stay late at angel cakes. i’ll see u at the hero conference tho

He doesn’t text you for a while after that.

-

The conference comes quick, and before you know it you’re in another hotel suite, getting makeup done. It doesn’t take as much dressing up - your dress is shorter this time, less formal, your makeup less extravagant. You don’t feel nervous, not like last time, but you don’t necessarily feel comfortable either. Your makeup artist is different this time.

It takes a considerably less amount of time for you to get ready, and you stare at yourself in the mirror before it’s time to go. Your dress is beautiful - blue, royal, deep and light at the same time and gorgeous. Simple, too, nothing too out there. When you step out of the hotel room you notice Keigo’s still in his hero costume, but you suppose he has to be. You don’t match with him like you did last time.

There’s no banter, no teasing, no compliments. The ride to the venue is quiet. Keigo sends you a look at one point - a “tell me what’s wrong” look - but you only shrug, offer him the best smile you can, which apparently isn’t convincing, because he frowns when he sees it. You wish he wouldn’t frown so much.

The conference is short, but maybe you’re just distracted. An usher walks you to your seat at a VIP table and it seems like you sit down and then it ends. You clap for Keigo, smile like you’re endlessly proud of him - and you are, even if it doesn’t show that well tonight - and watch him make a scene becuase that’s what he does. He winks at you at one point during the night, while he’s talking into the microphone, and you know it’s for the publicity. The conference ends significantly earlier than the awards show, however, so you don’t have to stay in the suite for the night. 

The ride back to the suite seems shorter than the ride to the venue and it takes you maybe twenty minutes to wipe the makeup off of your face and take off your dress. You walk across the hall to Keigo’s room, knock on the door. He answers.

“Okay, I’m gonna head out, I’m feelin’ kinda tired,” you tell him with a small smile. “Just wanted to say bye.”

“Let me walk you home,” he says instead, and your brain yells at you no!

“No, it’s fine, Kei -”

“Please. I want to.”

He’s never said that before, and a part of you knows you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if he hadn’t, so you nod and let him follow you out of the hotel and to your apartment. The walk is silent and it makes you feel uneasy but you can’t really do anything about it, not with what you’re trying to do, so nothing happens until you reach your apartment.

You know where this is going, even if you don’t want to, so you take a deep breath, hold the door open for him so Keigo can come inside. He looks at you weirdly for a moment but then enters your apartment, standing in the junction of your entryway and living room like he’s uncomfortable. You let him, then walk to the kitchen for something to drink.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask, eyeing him suspiciously.

Keigo scoffs. “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

You know he noticed - it’s impossible not to, but you didn’t think… you didn’t think he’d call you out on it. Your pause is evident, but you pretend like it didn’t happen at all. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say.

“Yeah? Wanna rethink that, sweetheart?”

The almost-malice in his tone when he says your usual pet name startles you, and when you look up at Keigo it seems like it startled him, too, doe-eyed and looking at you. You shake your head, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room behind him to throw your things down, try to pass the message to him that this is not good. “You’re wrong,” you say.

“I’m not - I’m not wrong, Y/N,” he says, turning around to look at you. “Every time I see you it seems like you’re pushing me away, like you’re not here, and I don’t know if I did something, but I -” he pauses, runs a gloved hand over his face and you want to tell him that it’s not his fault, but that would lead to you telling him everything, and you can’t. “I miss you.”

His voice is broken. When you speak again, your voice sounds like his, but somehow worse. Smaller. “You’re wrong,” you insist. You know he’s not.

“I’m not,” he pushes back. “I’d like to think that in the months we’ve been -”

He stops himself, and you take your opportunity. “That we’ve been what? Dating? We’re not dating, Keigo, we both signed a fucking contract to benefit your public image! This is nothing!”

You have no idea what you’re doing. It’s not nothing. It will never be nothing.

“You think this is nothing?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you know for sure we’ll still be friends when this is over.”

He can’t, and he won’t. You’re trying really hard not to cry, but it hurts to fight with him like this, and it hurts that you think you’re falling in love with him, and it hurts that if you tell him it’ll ruin everything and it hurts, so a few tears slip out anyways.

“Y/N,” Keigo says, and his voice is so soft. You want to melt into him, but you shy away when he reaches for you. “Please just tell me -”

“I can’t do this anymore,” you choke out. “I can’t - I’m - I’m calling it. I’ll send my lawyer if you need anything but I just…”

You can’t even look at him. Has he always been so far away?

“Get out, Keigo.”

It sounds so cold, so unfamiliar, coming from your mouth and you half expect another person to have said it entirely. This isn’t you, this isn’t how you and Keigo act, this isn’t… this isn’t it. There’s a pause, like he’s waiting for something, but then you hear him sigh - practically feel him deflate, and then he walks out of your apartment, door shutting quietly behind him.

It’s so quiet when he’s gone.

Ideal Federal Savings Bank, USA, April 2014

The temporary HYDRA facility was dirty. Empty lockboxes lay scattered across the ground, covered in dust and dirt. The area in the middle of the room had been swept and cleaned for the Memory Suppression Machine (MSM).

Bucky sat on the chair for the machine, his left arm resting on a table as the scientists worked to fix it. The battle earlier that day had left the inner workings of the metal arm on display.

His face was stern, unfeeling, hiding the ocean of confusion he felt as unknown memories bubbled to the surface.

“Sergeant Barnes.” A man in a lab coat with a bow tie and round glasses leered over him.

A punch. Did he throw it? Or receive it?

A train rushing past snow-covered mountains.

“Bucky!” A man wearing a strange uniform with worry clearly evident on his face. The same face as the man he had fought earlier.

A broken handle.

A ravine rushing towards him as someone screamed—no, as he screamed.

Soldiers in fur hats carrying a body with a missing arm. A red trail of blood in the snow.

A woman. “I’ll take care of you.”

A needle jabbing into the woman, and an overwhelming sense of panic.

“The procedure has already started.”

Scientists, doctors, cutting off the remaining arm.

Waking up with a metal arm. Flexing the metal fingers, he suddenly reaches out to grab the observing scientist by the throat.

“You are to be the new fist of HYDRA.”

The man with the bow tie, smiling at him.

“Put them on ice.”

The woman thrown in a machine identical to his.

His reflection staring back at him as everything froze.

He lashed out, throwing the scientist working on his arm across the room.

Every soldier turned to him, pointing their guns.

A skinny kid getting beat up in an alley. He rushes to save him.

A funeral. He searches for someone. The kid?

“I don’t know your name, but I’m sure it’s as beautiful as you are.” The woman from before, smiling at him shyly.

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.” The woman’s voice.

“I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.” The kid—no, the man from the bridge’s voice.

“Mission report.”

He didn’t notice Alexander Pierce enter the room, and he didn’t care.

“Mission report now.”

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

“I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”

Pierce backhands him.

“The man on the bridge,” he says quietly. He knows he shouldn’t speak. He knows what will happen if he asks too many questions. He doesn’t care; he needs to know. “Who was he?”

“You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

He’s lying. He knows Pierce is lying. “I knew him.”

Alexander Pierce sat on a stool in front of him. “Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time. Society’s at a tipping point between order and chaos, and tomorrow morning, we’re gonna give it a push. But, if you don’t do your part, I can’t do mine. And HYDRA can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.”

“But I knew him.”

Pierce sighed before giving the order to have his memory wiped.

He gulped and opened his mouth for the guard. They pushed him back in the chair and watched as the MSM began its work. The metal plates attached to his face, and, as much as he tried to fight it, he screamed.

--

Triskelion Ship, USA, April 2014

Who was this man?

He had spared his life not once but twice now in the same battle. Why would his target do this?

“You know me,” the target said.

“No, I don’t!” He swung wildly, punching the man with his left arm and nearly collapsing. After having several tonnes of steal crush him, getting his arm broken, and being knocked out, he was tired.

They were both panting.

“Bucky, you’ve known me your whole life.”

“C’mon, Steve! You don’t want to make me go on by myself, do you?” A skinny boy chased after him.

“Slow down, Buck. It’s not like the Cyclone is going anywhere.”

He backhanded his target to the glass floor.

“I can get by on my own.” The boy had the same face as his target, but they weren’t the same, were they?

“The thing is,” he said, “you don’t have to.” He put his arm on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.

“Shut up!” He knocked him to the floor again.

The man stood, dropping his helmet and shield. “I’m not gonna fight you. You’re my friend.”

A voice in his head begged him to stop, to listen to the man. But Pierce’s voice was louder. ‘Complete your assignment. Finish it, or we’ll finish you.’

He tackled the man to the ground, repeatedly punching him. “You’re my mission.”

The man did nothing, and he hesitated.

“Then finish it,” the man mumbled through his torn face. “Because I’m with you to the end of the line.”

He couldn’t do it.

The floor gave out beneath them as a piece of the ship shattered the glass. He held on to a metal beam, watching the man he knew fall to the ocean below.

“Bucky, come on. There are men laying down their lives; I got no right to do any less.” His friend was the best person he knew, always trying to do what’s right. “That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”

He couldn’t let him die. He let go of the beam and dropped into the water.

--

HYDRA Siberian Facility, Russian SFSR, October 1945

“Sergeant Barnes, so good to see you.”

It had been months since anyone other than Y/n spoke to him. Guards would deliver a meal in the morning and evening but say and do nothing. Y/n was his only comfort, and he hers.

They had grown even closer in the cell. With nothing to do, they told each other stories, some real, some fiction. He had told her all about Steve and their adventures together. She told him about her father and how even when he was sick, he was always telling jokes. They grieved their loved ones and tried to soothe each other’s sorrows. They were doing quite well; stories of their loved ones no longer caused pain but a fondness of the memory.

Seeing Dr. Zola with his white lab coat and round glasses made all that fear and pain return.

“Ah, and my assistant, Fräulein L/n.” The man sneered and gestured for the cell to be unlocked. “I believe the serum has worked—at least in a small capacity. We’re going to need to do some more tests to find out.”

Guards entered the cell, securing their hands and escorting Y/n and Bucky out of the house.

They followed Dr. Zola to a lab, a room neither of them had seen before. It was large and circular with no windows. There was an operating table in the centre of the room, surrounded by machines and tools that he did not recognize.

The guards secured Bucky to the table. One held Y/n in clear view of the Bucky.

Zola stuck a needle into Bucky’s arm, drawing several vials of blood. “Hopefully, this will tell us what worked.”

Bucky grunted, and Y/n struggled against the guard.

“Fräulein L/n, I am so disappointed in you. You had real promise. You could have become one of the top specialists in HYDRA if you wanted—”

“You lied to me. I cannot work for liars, nor will I work for someone who takes pleasure in hurting others.”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. It’s no matter now. But we do have to figure out what we’re going to do with you.” He glanced between the prisoners, then walked towards the table holding the vials of Bucky’s blood.

Bucky realized what he was going to do before Y/n. “No! No, please.”

Zola walked towards Y/n, a needle filled with blood in his hands. She struggled in the guard’s grip. “This isn’t exactly sanitary,” the doctor drawled with his thick accent, “but whatever the result, the effects will be satisfactory.

He jabbed the needle in her arm.

Y/n grunted in pain and pulled against the guard. Her arm broke free, and she slapped the doctor. The guards quickly had her restrained again.

“Take her back to the cell,” Zola smirked. “Ignore the screams.”

--

Bucky was exhausted when they threw him back in the cell that night, but he found the strength to crawl to Y/n and pull her into his lap. He had heard her scream as the serum in his blood mixed with hers. She had been to one to comfort him when he went through the process. He couldn’t stop Dr. Zola from giving her the serum, but he could try to ease the pain.

“I’ll take care of you.”

--